FRANKISH ARCHITECTURE.
CONTENTS.
Historical notice—The pointed arch—Freemasonry—Mediæval architects.
THE architectural history of the Central or Frankish province is widely
different from that of any of those we have yet examined. At the end of
the 5th century the whole of the North of France was overrun by Clovis
and his Franks, and on his death in 511 his dominions were divided into
four kingdoms, of which Metz, Paris, Soissons, and Orleans, were the
capitals. If we take these cities as centres, and add their districts
together, they correctly represent the limits of the architectural
province we are now entering upon. With various fluctuations, sometimes
one kingdom, sometimes two or even three being absorbed in one, they
were at last united under Pepin in 748, only to make way for the
accession of Charlemagne and his universal empire over the whole Gothic
districts of Europe, with the exception of England and Spain.
With the Merovingian kings we have nothing to do; they have not left one
single building from which to judge of the state of the art during their
ascendency—(they must have been Aryans _pur sang_)—nor can our history
with propriety be said even to begin in France with Charlemagne. His
accession marks the epoch towards which an archæologist may hope to
trace back the incunabula of the style, but as yet no single building
has been found in France which can with certainty be ascribed to his
reign. The nave at Montier-en-Der, the Basse Œuvre at Beauvais, and
other buildings, may approach his age in antiquity, but we must travel
down to the time of Capet (987) ere we find anything that can be
considered as the germ of what followed.
This may in a great measure be owing to the confusion and anarchy that
followed on the death of Charlemagne; and to the weakness of the kings,
the disorganisation of the people, and the ravages of the Northmen and
other barbarians, from which it resulted that no part of France was in a
less satisfactory position for the cultivation of the arts of peace than
that which might have been expected to take the lead in all. Thus, while
the very plunder of the Central province enabled the Normans to erect
and sustain a powerful state on the one side, and to adorn it with
monuments which still excite our admiration, and the organisation of the
monks of Burgundy on the other hand promoted the cultivation of arts of
peace to an extent hardly known before their time in Northern Europe,
Central France remained incapable even of self-defence, and still more
so of raising monuments of permanent splendour.
There must no doubt have been buildings in the Romanesque style in this
province, but they were few and insignificant compared with those we
have been describing, either in the South or in Normandy and Burgundy.
Even in Paris the great church of St. Germain des Prés, the burial-place
of the earlier kings, and apparently the most splendid edifice of the
capital, was not more than 50 ft. in width by 200 in length before the
rebuilding of its chevet in the pointed style, and it possessed no
remarkable features of architectural beauty. St. Geneviève was even
smaller and less magnificent; and if there was a cathedral, it was so
insignificant that it has not been mentioned by any contemporary
historian.
Several of the provincial capitals probably possessed cathedrals of some
extent and magnificence. All these, however, were found so unsuited to
the splendid tastes of the 12th and 13th centuries, that they were
pulled down and rebuilt on a more extended scale; and it is only from
little fragmentary portions of village churches that we learn that the
round Gothic style was really at one time prevalent in the province, and
possessed features according to its locality resembling more or less
those of the neighbouring styles. So scanty indeed are such traces, that
it is hardly worth while to recapitulate here the few observations that
might occur on the round Gothic styles as found within the limits of the
province.[348]
This state of affairs continued down to the reign of Louis le Gros,
1108-1136, under whom the monarchy of France began to revive. This
monarch, by his activity and intelligence, restored to a considerable
extent the authority of the central power over the then independent
vassals of the crown. This was carried still further under the reign of
his successor, Louis le Jeune (1137-1179), though perhaps more was owing
to the abilities of the Abbé Suger than to either of these monarchs. He
seems to have been one of those great men who sometimes appear at a
crisis in the history of their country, to guide and restore what
otherwise might be left to blind chance and to perish for want of a
master mind. Under Philip Augustus the country advanced with giant
strides, till under St. Louis it arrived at the summit of its power. For
a century after this it sustained itself by the impulse thus given to
it, and with scarcely an external sign of that weakness which betrayed
itself in the rapidity with which the whole power of the nation crumbled
to pieces under the first rude shock sustained in 1346 at Crecy from the
hand of Edward III.
More than a century of anarchy and confusion followed this great event,
and perhaps the period of the English wars may be considered as the most
disastrous of the whole history of France, as the previous two centuries
had been the most brilliant. When she delivered herself from these
troubles, she was no longer the same. The spirit of the Middle Ages had
passed away. The simple faith and giant energy of the reigns of Philip
Augustus and St. Louis were not to be found under Louis IX. and his
inglorious successors. With the accession of Francis I. a new state of
affairs succeeded, to the total obliteration of all that had gone
before, at least in art.
The improvement of architecture, keeping pace exactly with the improved
political condition of the land, began with Louis le Gros, and continued
till the reign of Philip of Valois (1108 to 1328). It was during the two
centuries comprised within this period that pointed architecture was
invented, which became the style, not only of France, but of all Europe
during the Middle Ages; and is, _par excellence_, the Gothic style of
Europe. The cause of this pre-eminence is to be found partly in the
accident of the superior power of the nation to which the style belonged
at this critical period, but more to the artistic feelings of their
race; and also because the style was found the most fitted to carry out
certain religious forms and decorative principles which were prevalent
at the time, and which will be noted as we proceed.
The style, therefore, with which this chapter is concerned is that which
commenced with the building of the Abbey of St. Denis, by Suger, A.D.
1144,[349] which culminated with the building of the Sainte Chapelle of
Paris by St. Louis, 1244, and which received its greatest amount of
finish at the completion of the choir of St. Ouen at Rouen by Mark
d’Argent, in 1339. There are pointed arches to be found in the Central
province, as well as all over France, before the time of the Abbé Suger;
but they are only the experiments of masons struggling with a
constructive difficulty, and the pointed style continued to be practised
for more than a century and a half after the completion of the choir of
St. Ouen, but no longer in the pure and vigorous style of the earlier
period. Subsequent to this it resembles more the efforts of a national
style to accommodate itself to new tastes and new feelings, and to
maintain itself by ill-suited arrangements against the innovation of a
foreign style which was to supersede it, and the influence of which was
felt long before its definite appearance.
The sources from which the pointed arch was taken have been more than
once alluded to in the preceding pages. It is a subject on which a great
deal more has been said and written than was at all called for by the
real importance of the question. Scarcely anything was done in pointed
architecture which had not already been done in the round-arch styles.
Certainly there is nothing which could not have been done, at least
nearly as well, and many things much better, by adhering to the complete
instead of to the broken arch. The coupling and compounding of piers had
already been carried to great perfection, and the assignment of a
separate function to each staff was already a fixed principle. Vaulting
too was nearly perfect, only that the main vaults were either
hexapartite or six-celled, instead of quadripartite, as they afterwards
became; an improvement certainly, but not one of much importance. Ribbed
vaulting was the greatest improvement which the Mediæval architects made
on the Roman vaults, giving not only additional strength of
construction, but an apparent vigour and expression to the vault, which
is one of the greatest beauties of the style. This system was in
frequent use before the employment of the pointed arch. The different
and successive planes of decoration were also one of the Mediæval
inventions which was carried to greater perfection in the round Gothic
styles than in the pointed. Indeed, it is a fact, that except in window
tracery, and perhaps in pinnacles and flying buttresses, there is not a
single important feature in the pointed style that was not invented and
in general use before its introduction. Even of windows, which are the
important features of the new style, by far the finest are the circular
or wheel windows, which have nothing pointed about them, and which
always fit awkwardly into the pointed compartments in which they are
placed. In smaller windows, too, by far the most beautiful and
constructively appropriate tracery is that where circles are introduced
into the heads of the pointed windows. But, after hundreds of
experiments and expedients had been tried, the difficulty of fitting
these circles into spherical triangles remained, and the unpleasant form
to which their disagreement inevitably gave rise, proved ultimately so
intolerable, that the architects were forced to abandon the beautiful
constructive geometric tracery for the flowing or flamboyant form; and
this last was so ill adapted to stone construction, that the method was
abandoned altogether. These and many other difficulties would have been
avoided, had the architects adhered to the form of the unbroken arch;
but on the other hand it must be confessed that the pointed forms gave a
facility of arrangement which was an irresistible inducement for its
adoption; and especially to the French, who always affected height as
the principal element of architectural effect, it afforded an easy means
for the attainment of this object. Its greatest advantage was the ease
with which any required width could be combined with any required
height. With this power of adaptation the architect was at liberty to
indulge in all the wildness of the most exuberant fancy, hardly
controlled by any constructive necessities of the work he was carrying
out. Whether this was really an advantage or not, is not quite clear. A
tighter rein on the fancy of the designer would certainly have produced
a purer and severer style, though we might have been deprived of some of
those picturesque effects which charm so much in Gothic cathedrals,
especially when their abruptness is softened by time and hallowed by
associations. We must, however, in judging of the style, be careful to
guard ourselves against fettering our judgment by such associations.
There is nothing in all this that might not have been as easily applied
to round as to pointed arches, and indeed it would certainly have been
so applied, had any of the round-arched styles arrived at maturity.
Far more important than the introduction of the pointed arch was the
invention of painted glass, which is really the important formative
principle of Gothic architecture; so much so, that there would be more
meaning in the name, if it were called the “_painted-glass style_,”
instead of the pointed-arch style.
In all the earlier attempts at a pointed style, which have been alluded
to in the preceding pages, the pointed arch was confined to the vaults,
pier arches, and merely constructive parts, while the decorative parts,
especially the windows and doorways, were still round-headed. The
windows were small, and at considerable distances, a very small surface
of openings filled with plain white glass being sufficient to admit all
the light that was required for the purposes of the building, while more
would have destroyed the effect by that garish white light that is now
so offensive in most of our great cathedrals. As soon, however, as
painted glass was introduced, the state of affairs was altered: the
windows were first enlarged to such an extent as was thought possible
without endangering the safety of the painted glass, with the imperfect
means of supporting it then known.[350] All circular plans were
abandoned, and polygonal apses and chapels of the chevet introduced; and
lastly, the windows being made to occupy as nearly as was possible the
whole of each face of these polygonal apses, the lines of the upper part
of the window came internally into such close contact with the lines of
the vault, that it was almost impossible to avoid making them correspond
the one with the other. Thus the windows took the pointed form already
adopted for constructive reasons in the vaults. This became even more
necessary when the fashion was introduced of grouping two or three
simple windows together so as to form one; and when those portions of
wall which separated these windows one from the other had become
attenuated into mullions, and the upper part into tracery, until in fact
the entire wall was taken up by this new species of decoration.
So far as internal architecture is concerned, the invention of painted
glass was perhaps the most beautiful ever made. The painted slabs of the
Assyrian palaces are comparatively poor attempts at the same effect. The
hieroglyphics of the Egyptians were far less splendid and complete; nor
can the painted temples of the Greeks, nor the mosaics and frescoes of
the Italian churches, be compared with the brilliant effect and
party-coloured glories of the windows of a perfect Gothic cathedral,
where the whole history of the Bible was written in the hues of the
rainbow by the earnest hand of faith.
Unfortunately no cathedral retains its painted glass in anything like
such completeness; and so little is the original intention of the
architects understood, that we are content to admire the plain surface
of white glass, and to consider this as the appropriate filling of
traceried windows, just as our fathers thought that whitewash was not
only the purest, but the best mode of decorating a Gothic interior. What
is worse, modern architects, when building Gothic churches, fill their
sides with large openings of this glass, not reflecting that a gallery
of picture-frames without the pictures is after all a sorry exhibition;
but so completely have we lost all real feeling for the art, that its
absurdity does not strike us now.
It will, however, be impossible to understand what follows, unless we
bear in mind that all windows in all churches erected after the middle
of the 12th century were at least intended to be filled with painted
glass, and that the principal and guiding motive in all the changes
subsequently introduced into the architecture of the age was to obtain
the greatest possible space and the best-arranged localities for its
display.
FREEMASONRY.
The institution of freemasonry is another matter on which, like the
invention of the pointed arch, a great deal more has been said than the
real importance of the subject at all deserves. Still this subject has
been considered so all-important, that it is impossible to pass it over
here without some reference, if only to explain why so little notice
will be taken of its influence, or of the important names which are
connected with it.
Before the middle of the 12th and beginning of the 13th century, it is
generally admitted that the corporation of freemasons was not
sufficiently organised to have had much influence on art. At that time
it is supposed to have assumed more importance, and to have been the
principal guiding cause in the great change that then took place in
architecture. Those who adopt this view, forget that at that time all
trades and professions were organised in the same manner, and that the
guild of masons differed in no essential particulars from those of the
shoemakers or hatters, the tailors or vintners—all had their masters and
past-masters, their wardens, and other officers, and were recruited from
a body of apprentices, who were forced to undergo years of probationary
servitude before they were admitted to practise their arts.
But though their organisation was the same, the nature of their pursuits
forced one very essential distinction upon the masons, for inasmuch as
all the usual trades were local, and the exercise of them confined to
the locality where the tradesmen resided, the builders were, on the
contrary, forced to go wherever any great work was to be executed.
Thus the shoemakers, tailors, bakers, and others, lived among their
customers, and just in such numbers as were required to supply their
usual recurring wants. It is true the apprentices travelled to learn
their profession and see the world before settling down, but after that
each returned to his native town or village, and then established
himself among his friends or relatives, where he was known by all, and
where he at once took his station without further trouble.
With the mason it was different: his work never came to him, nor could
it be carried on in his own house; he was always forced to go to his
work; and when any great church or building was to be erected in any
town, which was beyond the strength of the ordinary tradesmen of the
place to undertake, masons were sent for, and flocked from all the
neighbouring towns and districts to obtain employment.
At a time when writing was almost unknown among the laity, and not one
mason in a thousand could either read or write, it is evidently
essential that some expedient should be hit upon by which a mason
travelling to his work might claim the assistance and hospitality of his
brother masons on the road, and by means of which he might take his rank
at once, on reaching the lodge, without going through tedious
examinations or giving practical proof of his skill. For this purpose a
set of secret signs was invented, which enabled all masons to recognise
one another as such, and by which also each man could make known his
grade to those of similar rank, without further trouble than a manual
sign, or the utterance of some recognised pass-word. Other trades had
something of the same sort, but it never was necessary for them to carry
it either to the same extent nor to practise it so often as the masons,
they being for the most part resident in the same place and knowing each
other personally. The masons, who thus from circumstances became more
completely organised than other trades, were men skilled in the arts of
hewing and setting stones, acquainted with all recent inventions and
improvements connected with their profession, and capable of carrying
out any work that might be entrusted to them, though they never seem to
have attempted to exercise their calling except under the guidance of
some superior personage, either a bishop or abbot, or an accomplished
layman. In the time of which we are speaking, which was the great age of
Gothic art, there is no instance of a mason of any grade being called
upon to furnish the designs as well as to execute the work.
It may appear strange to us in the 19th century, among whom the great
majority really do not know what true art means, that six centuries ago
eminent men, not specially educated to the profession of architecture,
and qualified only by talent and good taste, should have been capable of
such vast and excellent designs; but a little reflection will show how
easy it is to design when art is in the right path.
If for instance we take a cathedral, any one of a series—let us say of
Paris; when completed, or nearly so, it was easy to see that though an
improvement on those which preceded it, there were many things in its
construction or design which might have been better. The side-aisles
were too low, the gallery too large, the clerestory not sufficiently
spacious for the display of the painted glass, and so on. Let us next
suppose the Bishop of Amiens at that period determined on the erection
of his cathedral. It was easy for him or his master-mason to make these
criticisms, and also to perceive how these mistakes might be avoided;
they could easily see where width might be spared, especially in the
nave, and where a little additional height and a little additional
length would improve the effect of the whole. During the progress of the
Parisian works also some capitals had been designed, or some new form of
piers adopted, which were improvements on preceding examples, and more
confidence and skill would also have been derived from the experience
gained in the construction of arches and vaults. All these of course
would be adopted in the new cathedral; and without making drawings,
guided only by general directions as to the plan and dimensions, the
masons might proceed with the work, and, introducing all the new
improvements as it progressed, they would inevitably produce a better
result than any that preceded it, without any especial skill on the part
either of the master-mason or his employer.
If a third cathedral were to be built after this, it would of course
contain all the improvements made during the progress of the second, and
all the corrections which its results suggested; and thus, while the art
was really progressive, it required neither great individual skill nor
particular aptitude to build such edifices as we find.
In fine arts we have no illustration of this in modern times; but all
our useful arts advance on the same principles, and lead consequently to
the same results. In ship-building, for instance, as mentioned in the
Introduction (page 45), if we take a series of ships, from those in
which Edward III. and his bold warriors crossed the channel to the great
line-of-battle ships now lying at anchor in our harbours, we find a
course of steady and uninterrupted improvement from first to last. Some
new method is tried; if it is found to succeed, it is retained; if it
fails, it is dropped. Thus the general tendency constantly leads to
progress and improvement. And, to continue the comparison a little
further, this progress in the art is not attributable to one or more
eminent naval architects. Great and important discoveries have no doubt
been made by individuals, but in these cases we may generally assume
that, the state of science being ripe for such advances, had the
discovery in question not been made by one man, it soon would have
occurred to some other.
The fact is, that in a useful art like that of ship-building, or in an
art combining use and beauty like that of architecture—that is, when the
latter is a real, living, national art—the progress made is owing, not
to the commanding abilities of particular men, but to the united
influence of the whole public. An intelligent sailor who discusses the
good and bad qualities of a ship, does his part towards the advancement
of the art of ship-building. So in architecture, the merit of any one
admirable building, or of a high state of national art, is not due to
one or to a few master minds, but to the aggregation of experience, the
mass of intellectual exertion, which alone can achieve any practically
great result. Whenever we see any work of man truly worthy of
admiration, we may be quite sure that the credit of it is not due to an
individual, but to thousands working together through a long series of
years.
The pointed Gothic architecture of Germany furnishes a negative
illustration of the view which we have taken of the conditions necessary
for great architectural excellence. There the style was not native, but
introduced from France. French masons were employed, who executed their
work with the utmost precision, and with a perfection of masonic skill
scarcely to be found in France itself. But in all the higher elements of
beauty, the German pointed Gothic cathedrals are immeasurably inferior
to the French. They are no longer the expression of the devotional
feelings of the clergy and people, and are totally devoid of the highest
order of architectural beauty.
The truth of the matter is, that the very pre-eminence of the great
masonic lodges of Germany in the 14th century destroyed the art. When
freemasonry became so powerful as to usurp to itself the designing as
well as the execution of churches and other buildings, there was an end
of true art, though accompanied by the production of some of the most
wonderful specimens of stone-cutting and of constructive skill that were
ever produced. This, however, is “building,” not architecture; and
though it may excite the admiration of the vulgar, it never will touch
the feelings of the true artist or the man of taste.
This decline of true art had nowhere shown itself during the 13th
century, with which we are concerned at present. Then architecture was
truly progressive: every man and every class in the country lent their
aid, each in his own department, and all worked together to produce
those wonderful buildings which still excite our admiration. The masons
performed their part, and it was an important one: but neither to them
nor to their employers, such as the Abbé Suger, Maurice de Sully, Robert
de Lusarches, or Fulbert of Chartres, is the whole merit to be ascribed,
but to all classes of the French nation, carrying on steadily a combined
movement towards a well-defined end.
In the following pages, therefore, it will not be necessary to recur to
the freemasons nor their masters—at least not more than incidentally—
till we come to Germany. Nor will it be necessary to attempt to define
who was the architect of any particular building. The names usually
fixed upon by antiquaries after so much search are merely those of the
master-masons or foremen of the works, who had nothing whatever to do
with the main designs of the buildings. The simple fact that all the
churches of any particular age are so like to one another, both in plan
and detail, and so nearly equal in merit, is alone sufficient to prove
how little the individual had to do with their design, and how much was
due to the age and the progress the style had achieved at that time.
This, too, has always proved to be the case, not only in Europe, but in
every corner of the world, and in every age when architecture has been a
true and living art.