[Illustration: 782. Elevation of Domkirc_A History of Architecture in all Countries, Volumes 1 and 2, 3rd ed. From the Earliest Times to the Present Day

Friis.) Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 783. Plan of Church at Roeskilde. (From Steen Friis.)

Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 784. Frue Kirche, Aarhuus. (From Marryat’s ‘Jutland and

the Danish Isles.’)]

Its general dimensions, as shown in the plan (Woodcut No. 783), are 265

ft. long by 75 in breadth internally. The whole area is only about

24,000 sq. ft., and consequently not more than half that of most English

cathedrals.

From the elevation (Woodcut No. 784), it appears simple and elegant in

its design, and contains the germ of much that is found afterwards in

the churches of the neighbourhood, especially in the range of small

gables along the side of the aisles, marking externally each bay of the

nave.[402] This arrangement is almost universal in the North of Germany,

but seldom, if ever, found in France or England.

[Illustration: 785. Church of Kallundborg. (From Marryat’s ‘Jutland and

the Danish Isles.’)]

At Aarus is a somewhat similar church, commenced about the year 1200,

but rather larger, being 300 ft. in length by 80 in breadth. In its

present state, however, it is only a very ugly and uninteresting brick

building in an indifferent state of repair.[403] The Frue Kirke, in the

same town, is a far more pleasing specimen of art, and is a fine example

of the style prevalent on the southern shores of the Baltic, from which

province the design is evidently borrowed. Like every specimen of honest

art, it is pleasing; but neither its form nor arrangement will bear any

very close analysis.

The cathedral at Ribe, on the northern limits of Schleswig, with an apse

something like that of Lund Cathedral, but of slightly more modern date,

and wanting the gallery under the roof, and the Cathedral of Viborg,

rebuilt between 1130 and 1170, and said to be one of the finest

specimens of Continental Norman, also deserve mention.

Sometimes, we get a touch of originality even in this province, as in

the church of Kallundborg (Woodcut No. 785), built in the form of a

cross, with one square tower in the centre, and four octagonal towers,

one at the end of each of the arms of the cross transept. Was it a

caprice? or is it borrowed from any other form? Except in the Kremlin at

Moscow, I do not know where to look for any such type, and even then the

likeness is very remote. A larger octagon in the centre, with four

square towers around it, must have been a happier arrangement, and, if

properly subordinated, have formed a picturesque group. In this example

the church itself is lost sight of, and the towers are not remarkable

for beauty.

GOTHLAND.

The island of Gothland, though politically attached to Sweden, deserves

to be treated as a little province of its own in an architectural view,

inasmuch as it possesses a group of churches within its limits as

interesting as any in the North of Europe; and peculiar, if not

exceptional in design. Their existence is owing to the fact, that during

the 11th and 12th centuries a great portion of the Eastern trade which

had previously been carried on through Egypt or Constantinople was

diverted to a northern line of communication, owing principally to the

disturbed state of the East, which preceded and in fact gave rise to the

Crusades. At this time a very considerable trade passed through Russia,

and centred in Novogorod. From that place it passed down the Baltic to

Gothland, which was chosen apparently for the security of its island

position, and its capital, Wisby, one of the Hanse towns, became the

great emporium of the West. After two centuries of prosperity, it was

gradually superseded by the rise of other Hanseatic towns on the

mainland, and a final blow was struck by Valdemar of Denmark, who took

the town by storm in 1361. Since then it has gradually become

depopulated. The consequence has been that, no additional accommodation

being required, the old churches have remained unaltered; many also have

entirely disappeared, the materials having been used for other buildings

and for converting into lime; so that in Wisby, the capital, only eleven

remain of the eighteen or twenty churches she formerly possessed, and

the only reminiscence of the locality of those destroyed consists in the

streets and houses to which they have bequeathed their names.

[Illustration: 786. Helge-Anders Church. (From a drawing by Mr. Axel

Haig.)]

[Illustration: 787. Interior of Church at Gothem. (From R. I. B. A.

Transactions.)]

The cathedral church of St. Mary was originally founded about the year

1100, burnt down in 1175, and rebuilt as we now find it about 1225. Like

all the others it is small, being only 171 ft. 6 in. long by 99 ft. in

width. It is the only church now used for divine service, the remainder

being in ruins.

One of the most remarkable churches in Wisby is that of the Helge-Anders

(church of the Holy Ghost), founded originally, it is said, in

1046.[404] This, however, must refer to an earlier church, for the

actual building[405] belongs to the transitional period both in its

construction and in its details; it cannot, therefore, according to Mr.

Haig, “have been erected earlier than at the beginning of the 13th

century,” and this may apply only to the chancel, the north wall of

which seems to indicate an earlier date than the rest of the building—in

all probability about 1250 would be the date of the church, generally

speaking. The nave is an octagon of about 48 by 45 ft., somewhat

irregular in its setting out and owing to want of space was built in two

storeys, both of which are vaulted, the vaults being carried by four

octagonal piers on ground floor and circular piers on second floor in

the vault of the lower storey there is an opening in the centre about 7

ft. in diameter, which is said to have been formerly filled with an iron

grating. The chancel (which is square externally and internally, having

a small apse and two small vestries) opens into both lower and upper

church by semicircular arches, and thus serves for both. There was a

third storey in the roof with stone gables on the east face of the

octagon; the roof is gone, but it may have terminated as that of the

church of Kallundborg (Woodcut No. 785).

[Illustration: 788. Folö Church, Gothland. (From Marryat’s ‘One Year in

Sweden.’)]

The church most like this in Germany is perhaps that at Schwartz

Rheindorf (Woodcuts Nos. 718 and 719). It also resembles the chapel at

Landsberg (Woodcut No. 720); but the most extended and indeed the

typical example of a church of this class is St. Gereon’s at Cologne

(Woodcuts Nos. 740 and 741).

The churches of St. Lars and St. Drotheus, the so-called sister churches

(probably from the resemblance of their plans), belong probably to the

11th century, but the pointed work in them is evidently of a later

period. About the same date, 1097, is given for St. Nicholas, the church

of a Dominican convent, but the whole has been remodelled at a later

period, the main arches of the nave rebuilt, and probably the whole

church revaulted in the 13th century, at which period also the octagonal

chancel was built.

[Illustration: 789. Portal, Sandeo Church, Gothland. (From Marryat’s

‘One Year in Sweden.’)]

The church of St. Katharine, belonging to the Franciscans or Grey

Friars, was also wholly remodelled in the pointed period. It is said to

have been founded in 1225. The choir, with its polygonal apse, was built

in 1376-1391, and the piers and arches of the nave were rebuilt about

the year 1400, the church being reconsecrated in 1412.

One peculiarity found in some of the churches of Gothland is the

bisection of the nave by two or more arcades carried on columns and

placed in the centre of the church, the easternmost arch being supported

by a corbel built in above the keystone of the chancel arch.[406] One of

these churches, St. Göran, or St. George, outside the walls of Wisby,

consists of a nave of three bays divided by a central arcade (the

western pier being square, the eastern circular), and a chancel of two

square bays. A second example is found at Gothem, about twenty miles

east of Wisby. Here the eastern portion of the nave, only consisting of

two bays, is bisected; the western portion was probably intended to

carry a tower, the walls being much thicker than the rest of the church.

The arches thrown across the western part of the nave under the tower

are semicircular and carried on twin columns; the column in the centre

of the nave is circular, much loftier than the twin columns, and carries

pointed arches (Woodcut No. 787). The great height of these arches

allows of their being carried on a corbel above the chancel arch instead

of its forming, as at Folö, the keystone of the chancel arch. In this

latter church the nave is also divided by three arches carried on

circular columns which diminish in diameter as they rise, but not to the

extent as shown in Marryat’s work[407] (Woodcut No. 788). A fourth

example is given in Major Heales’ work,[408] in which the arched ribs of

the vault are carried on a clustered capital carved with foliage of

early English type, the pier or column being circular.

[Illustration: 790. Portal, Hoäte Church, Gothland. (From Marryat’s ‘One

Year in Sweden.’)]

The portals of the churches at Sandeo (Woodcut No. 789) and Hoäte

(Woodcut No. 790), dating probably from the middle of the 14th century,

and two other examples at Stänga and Garde (about 30 miles from Wisby),

are interesting on account of the singular blind cuspings round the

inner order, a treatment which seems peculiar to the Gothland style.

They are singularly elegant specimens of the art, and worthy of being

quoted if for that reason alone.

Another peculiarity seems to be that the Gothland churches are all small

buildings, like the Greek churches. There does not appear to have been

any metropolitan basilica, or any great conventual establishment, but an

immense number of detached cells and chapels scattered in groups all

over the island, with very few that could contain a congregation of any

extent.

ROUND CHURCHES.

[Illustration: 791. Round Church, Thorsager. (From Marryat’s ‘Jutland

and the Danish Isles.’)]

To the archæologist the Round Churches form the most interesting group

in the Scandinavian province, though to the architect they can hardly be

deemed of much importance. They are, however, so remarkable that many

theories have been formed to account for their peculiarities. The most

general opinion seems to be that the circular form was adopted for

defensive purposes; and this seems to be borne out by the description

given in Major Heales’ work, who, referring to the four examples in

Bornholm (which are of the same type as others in the Scandinavian

provinces), states, pp. 26 and 29: “Each consists of a circular nave, a

chancel, and an apse.” The dimensions are always moderate; the internal

diameter of the naves being, Olska, 34 ft. 2 ins., Nyska, 35 ft. 4 ins.,

Nylarska, 38 ft. 2 ins., and Oester Larsker, 42 ft. 3 ins. (Woodcut No.

793) “In two cases even the chancel wall are convex in plan, so that

their ground plan is formed without a single straight line.” The nave is

covered with a vault carried on a central pier (except in the case of

the Oester Larsker, where there are six piers, the space in the centre

being open to an upper storey). The second storey is similarly vaulted,

and the central pier rises to carry the roof timbers of the third or

upper storey. “The walls of the nave vary in thickness from 5 to 6 ft.”—

“beyond a small doorway and a few loopholes measurable by inches there

are no external openings except in the upper storey, which consists of a

gallery formed in the thickness of the wall and lighted by loopholes

arranged not to correspond with the openings by which the gallery is

entered from the central chamber.” The approach to this upper chamber as

well as to that of the first floor is by narrow, steep, and crooked

staircases in the thickness of the wall, which could be easily defended,

at all events for a time, the assumption being that the church might be

attacked by freebooters coming by sea whose onslaught would not be of

long duration.

[Illustration: 792. Section and Ground-plan of Round Church, Thorsager.

(From Marryat’s ‘Jutland and the Danish Isles.’)]

The circular form of church would seem to have been much more common in

Northern Europe in the early centuries of the Christian faith than

afterwards. In the richer and more populous South they were superseded,

as has above been pointed out, by basilicas of more extended dimensions,

into which they were frequently absorbed. In the poorer North they have

sufficed for the scant population and remained unchanged.

[Illustration: 793. Round Church of Oester Larsker, Bornholm. (From

Marryat’s ‘Jutland and the Danish Isles.’)]

Mr. Marryat enumerates eight examples in Denmark,[409] and there are at

least as many, if not more, in Sweden. All are of Teutonic type—naves

with small apses—as contradistinguished from the French or Celtic form,

where the circular part became the choir to which the nave was added

afterwards.

[Illustration: 794. View and Plan of Hagby Church, Sweden. (From

Marryat’s ‘One Year in Sweden.’)]

That at Thorsager, in Jutland, though not one of the oldest, may be

taken as a type of its class, and its arrangement and appearance will be

understood from the preceding view, section, and plan (Woodcuts Nos. 791

and 792). The building is not large; the diameter of the circle

internally being only 40 ft., and the floor encumbered by four great

pillars; the total length over all is 90 ft. Originally it seems to have

been intended as a two-storey church, the vault being omitted over the

central compartment, as was the case in the Helge-Anders Church at Wisby

(Woodcut No. 786). The whole design is certainly pleasing and

picturesque, though there is a little awkwardness in the way the various

parts are fitted together.

The round Church at Oester Larsker, in Bornholm (Woodcut No. 793), is of

exactly the same type as that at Thorsager, but older, and having more

the appearance of being fortified than the other; there being a range of

small openings immediately under the roof.

In Sweden there are some examples of round churches, the most typical

being that at Hagby (Woodcut No. 794); though it is not so picturesque

as the two last quoted, it differs in reality very little from them,

showing a permanence and consistency of type throughout the whole

province where they are found.

[Illustration: 795. Läderbro Church and Wapenhus, Gothland. (From

Marryat’s ‘One Year in Sweden.’)]

So great a favourite was this circular or octagonal form of nave,

however, that it clung to the soil long after its meaning was lost, and

we find it stretched into a tall octagonal spire in Läderbro Church, but

still serving as a nave to a small choir, the foundation of which is

said to date as far back as 1086. The octagon as we now see it certainly

belongs to the 13th or 14th century. Something of the same feeling may

have led to the peculiar arrangement of Kallundborg Church (Woodcut No.

785). There four octagonal naves lead to as many choirs joined together

in the centre. If we had more knowledge, perhaps we could trace the

affiliation of all these forms, and complete a little genealogy of the

race.

WOODEN CHURCHES.

Curious as these circular edifices certainly are, there is a group of

wooden churches still existing in Norway which are as peculiar to the

province and as interesting to the antiquary at least, if not to the

architect, as anything found within its limits. They are not large, and,

as might be expected from the nature of the materials with which they

are constructed, they are fast disappearing, and in a few years not many

probably will remain; but if we may judge from such accounts as we have,

they were at one time numerous, and indeed appear to have been the usual

and common form of church in that country. Everywhere we read of the

wooden churches of Saxon and Norman times in our country, and of the

contemporary periods on the Continent; but these have almost all been

either destroyed by fire or pulled down to make way for more solid and

durable erections. That at Little Greenstead in Essex is almost the only

specimen now remaining in this country.

The largest of those now to be found in Norway is that of Hitterdal. It

is 84 ft. long by 57 across. Its plan is that usual in churches of the

age, except that it has a gallery all round on the outside. Its external

appearance (Woodcut No. 797) is very remarkable, and very unlike

anything of stone architecture. It is more like a Chinese pagoda, or

some strange creation of the South Sea islanders, than the sober

production of the same people who built the bold and massive round

Gothic edifices of the same age.

Another of these churches, that at Burgund, is smaller, but even more

fantastic in its design, and with strange carved pinnacles at its

angles, which give it a very Chinese aspect.

[Illustration: 796. Plan of Church at Hitterdal.]

That at Urnes is both more sober and better than either of these, but

much smaller, being only 24 ft. wide by 65 ft. from east to west. As may

be seen from the view (Woodcut No. 798), it still retains a good deal of

the Runic carving that once probably adorned all the panels of the

exterior, as well as the various parts of the roof. As these decayed

they seem to have been replaced by plain timbers, which of course

detract very much from the original appearance.

All the doorways and principal openings are carved with the same

elaborate ornaments, representing entwined dragons fighting and biting

each other, intermixed occasionally with foliage and figures.

This style of carving is found on crosses and tombstones, not only in

Scandinavia, but in Scotland and Ireland. It is only known to exist in

its original form on wood in these singular churches.

[Illustration: 797. View of Church at Hitterdal. (From Dahl’s ‘Holtz

Baukunst in Norwegen.’)]

There can be no doubt about the age of these curious edifices, for not

only does this dragon-tracery fix them to the 11th or 12th century, but

the capitals of the pillars and general character of the mouldings

exactly correspond with the details of our own Norman architecture, so

far as the difference of materials permits.

With the circular churches, and those at Wisby, these wooden churches

certainly add a curious and interesting chapter to the history of

Christian architecture at the early period to which they belong, and are

well deserving more attention than they have received.

When our knowledge of the examples is more complete, we may perhaps be

able to trace some curious analogies from even so frail a style of

architecture as that of wood. Something very like these Norwegian

churches is found in various parts of Russia. The mosques and other

buildings erected in Cashmere and Thibet of the Deodar pinewood are

curiously like them. The same forms are found in China and Burmah, and

much of the stone architecture of these countries is derived directly

from such a wooden architecture as this. It may perhaps only be, that

wherever men of cognate race strive to attain a given well-defined

object with the same materials, they arrive inevitably at similar

results. If this should prove to be the case, such a uniformity of

style, arising without intercommunication among people so differently

situated, would be quite as curious and instructive as if we could trace

the steps by which the invention was carried from land to land, and

could show that the similarity was produced by one nation adopting it

from another, which all research has hitherto tended to prove was in

reality the case.

[Illustration: 798. Church of Urnes, Norway.]

BOOK VII.

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.

ENGLAND.

IT is perhaps not too much to assert that during the Middle Ages

Architecture was practised in England with even greater success than

among any of the contemporary nations. In beauty of detail and elegance

of proportion the English cathedrals generally surpass their Continental

rivals. It is only in dimensions and mechanical construction that they

are sometimes inferior. So lovingly did the people of this country

adhere to the Art, that the Gothic forms clung to the soil long after

they had been superseded on the Continent by the classical Renaissance;

and the English returned to their old love long before other nations had

got over their contempt for the rude barbarism of their ancestors. It is

now more than a century since Horace Walpole conceived the idea of

reproducing the beauties of York Minster and Westminster Abbey in a lath

and plaster villa at Strawberry Hill. The attempt, as we now know, was

ridiculous enough; but the result on the Arts of the country most

important. From that day to this, Gothic villas, Gothic lodges, and

Gothic churches have been the fashion—at first timidly, and wonderfully

misunderstood, but now the rage, and with an almost perfect power of

imitation. The result of this revived feeling for Mediæval art which

interests us most in this place is, that every Gothic building in the

country has been carefully examined and its peculiarities noticed. All

the more important examples have been drawn and published, their dates

and histories ascertained as far as possible, and the whole subject

rendered complete and intelligible. The only difficulty that remains is,

that the works in which the illustrations of English art are contained

range over 70 or 80 years—the early ones published before the subject

was properly understood; and that they are in all shapes and sizes, from

the most ponderous folios to the most diminutive of duodecimos. Their

number too is legion, and they therefore often go over the same ground.

The one book that now seems wanted to complete the series of

publications on the subject, is a clear and concise, but complete

narrative of the rise and progress of the style, with just a sufficient

amount of illustration to render it intelligible. Two volumes in 8vo, of

500 pages each, might suffice for the distillation of all that is

contained in the 1001 volumes above alluded to: and with 1000

illustrations, if well selected, the forms and peculiarities of the

style might be rendered sufficiently clear. But less would certainly not

suffice.

Under these circumstances, it will be easily understood that nothing of

the sort can be attempted in this work. With only one-tenth of the

requisite space available, and less than that proportion of

illustration, all that can be proposed is to sketch the great leading

features of the subject, to estimate the value of the practice of the

English architects as compared with those on the Continent, and to point

out the differences which arose between their methods and ours, in

consequence of either the local or social peculiarities of the various

nationalities.

This compression is hardly to be regretted in the present instance,

since any one may with very little trouble master the main features of

the history in some of the many popular works which have been published

on the subject, and all have access to the buildings themselves. It need

hardly be added, that these are far better and truer exponents of the

feelings and aspirations of those who erected them than all the books

that ever were written. Unless a man learns to read the lessons these

stone books so vividly convey, by an earnest personal investigation of

the monuments themselves, of one style at least, he will hardly ever be

able to understand the subject; but for the purpose of such a study, the

English Mediæval architecture is perhaps the most complete and perfect.

Nowhere else can all the gradations of change be so easily traced; and

in no other style was there so little interference from extraneous

causes. Throughout, the English sought only to erect the building then

most suitable to its destination, with the best materials available for

the purpose; and the result is therefore generally more satisfactory and

more harmonious than in other countries where the architects were more

trammelled by precedents, or more influenced by local peculiarities.

CHRONOLOGY.

Years’ Name

duration. of style.

Departure of } 400 } {

Romans } } {

} {

Arthur { 480 to } 300 { Megalithic.—Stone

{ 542 } { Rude Monuments.

To establishment } } {

of Heptarchy } 700 } {

To Conquest 366 { Early round-arched,

{ or Saxon Style.

William I. 1066 } {

William II. 1087 } {

Henry I. 1100 } 109 { Round-arched style,

Stephen 1135 } { Norman.

Henry II. 1154 } {

Henry II. 1175 } {

Richard I. 1189 } 97 { Early pointed Lancet,

John 1199 } { or Plantagenet style.

Henry III. 1216 } {

Edward I. 1272 } { Perfected pointed

Edward II. 1307 } 105 { Decorated, or

Edward III. 1326 } { Edwardian style.

Richard II. 1377 } {

Henry IV. 1329 } {

Henry V. 1412 } 156 {

Henry VI. 1422 } { Late pointed Perpendicular,

Edward IV. 1460 } { or Lancastrian style.

Edward V. 1483 } {

Richard III. 1483 } {

Henry VII. 1485 } {

Henry VIII. 1509 } { Fan-vaulted Transitional,

Edward VI. 1546 } 117 { or Tudor

Mary 1553 } { style.

Elizabeth 1557 } {

To 1602 } {

After the departure of the Romans, the various tribes that inhabited the

island were left so feebly organised, and so unequally balanced, that

they could find no better occupation for their time than that of cutting

each other’s throats; in which they were afterwards so ably seconded by

the Saxons and Danes, that it is in vain to look for any development of

the arts of peace among them. They were equal to the erection of a

Stonehenge or an Avebury in honour of those who fell in the struggles

against their foreign invaders; but beyond this their architectural

aspirations do not seem to have reached.

With the establishment of the Heptarchy, and more especially after

Alfred’s glorious reign, we might expect something better. The country

was then converted to Christianity. Churches were wanted; and there were

Italian priests to be found who could tell the inhabitants what was

being done at Rome and elsewhere on the Continent. But against this we

have the knowledge that the dominant race was Saxon or Danish—Aryan _pur

sang_—and art had consequently no place in their affections. Their

churches were probably small and rude, just sufficient for their

purposes, and no more; and designed, like railway stations, to last only

till necessity compel an enlargement. Most probably, too, the greater

number were built of wood; and for the true Saxon style we ought perhaps

to look to the Norwegian wooden churches—described in the last book—as

types of the style, rather than to the towers erected, probably, as

additions to the original wooden churches. Of these towers, many still

remain in our island; but in almost every case the wooden nave has been

superseded by one of stone and generally in the pointed-arch style of

architecture.

With the Norman Conquest a new state of things was inaugurated. Great

tracts of country and great part of the wealth of the conquered races

escheated to the Conqueror, and in the division of the spoil the clergy

seem in some cases to have been even more fortunate than the laity. But

however this may have been, it will be easily understood that a French

hierarchy vowed to celibacy would be able to find no better way of

employing their easily acquired wealth than in the display of

architectural magnificence. During the century which succeeded the

Conquest, the Saxon cathedrals, with scarcely an exception, were swept

away to make room for nobler buildings designed by foreign architects,

and all the larger abbey churches were likewise rebuilt. All this was

done with such grandeur of conception, and so just an appreciation of

the true principles of architectural effect, that even now the Norman

nave, in spite of its rudeness, is frequently a more impressive specimen

of art than the more polished productions of the succeeding centuries.

The impulse once so nobly given, the good work proceeded steadily but

rapidly. During the three centuries which succeeded the Conquest, all

the artistic intellect of the nation seems to have been concentrated on

this one art. Poetry hardly existed, and Painting and Sculpture were

only employed as the handmaids of architecture. But year by year new and

improved forms of construction were invented and universally adopted.

New mouldings, and new applications of carvings and foliage, were

introduced; and painting on opaque substances and even on glass was

carried to an astonishing degree of perfection. All this was done

without borrowing and without extraneous aid, but by steadily

progressing to a well-understood object with a definite aim. It is true

that occasionally, as at Westminster Abbey, we detect the influence of

French arrangements; but even there the design is carried on in so

essentially English a manner, with details so purely English, as to make

us feel even more strongly how essentially native the style had become.

The Ethnic combination, which led to the marvellous perfection of Gothic

art during the Edwardian period, was as fortunate as can well be

conceived. It was a Celtic hierarchy and aristocracy steadied by a Saxon

people; with the substratum of an earlier Celtic race, held in absolute

subjection by the Saxons, but rising again, at least partially, to the

surface, under the Norman domination. It was something like what

happened in Athens when a Dorian race was superimposed on one of

Pelasgic origin; and, although the conditions were here reversed, and

the field far more limited, the result was still most successful. Within

the limits of a century, the French had jumped from the tentative

example of St. Denis (1144) to the perfection of the Sainte Chapelle

(1244). Our St. Stephen’s Chapel was not finished till a century

afterwards; but while the French hardly ever went beyond their great

13th century effort, in the 16th century we were building the Royal

Chapels at Windsor, Westminster, and Cambridge.

The French wars and the wars of the Roses seem to have altered the

original state of affairs to a very considerable extent. The Norman

nobility were decimated—almost, indeed destroyed—and another stratum of

society came gradually to the surface, but this time certainly not

Celtic. On the walls of the churches of the Lancastrian period we read—

faintly, it must be confessed—the great Saxon motto, “The greatest

possible amount of accommodation at the least possible expenditure of

money and thought.” During this period, too, the cathedral and

conventual hierarchies were yielding before the development of the

parochial system. It may be wrong to assert that the Reformation began

as early as 1400, but it is true that the seeds were then sown, which

afterwards ripened into the explosion of the Commonwealth. Some very

grand churches were no doubt erected during the Lancastrian period, and

some beautiful additions made to existing edifices; but they were hard

and mechanical as compared with that which preceded them. They were the

work of accomplished masons, not wrought out with the feelings of

educated gentlemen; and, though we may admire, we cannot quite adore

even the best and noblest productions of their age.

Under the Tudors the style went out in a blaze of glory. Nothing can be

more gorgeous and fascinating than the three Royal Chapels, and the

other contemporary fan-roofed buildings; but they are like the fabled

dying hues of the dolphin—bright and brilliant, but unnatural and

fleeting. It was the last spasmodic effort of an expiring style, and

soon passed away.

After the reformation was complete there was no longer any want of new

churches, and the great incentive of making a house worthy of the

service of God was taken away; so that during Elizabeth’s reign,

architecture was almost wholly occupied in providing new and more

extensive mansions for the nobility and landed gentry. Spacious rooms,

well-lighted galleries, comfortable chambers, and good accommodation for

servants were the demands of the time, with sufficient stateliness, but

at the least possible outlay. Comfort and economy are the inherent

antitheses of architectural effect; and then, as now, brought the art

down from its exalted pedestal almost to the level of a mere useful art.

But the Bodleian Library and other buildings in our Universities show

that the art lingered even in the 17th century, and that men still

looked upon mullions and pinnacles as objects on which a little money

might be advantageously spent. But it was no longer the old art: of

course there are exceptions, but that was struck down on the battlefield

of Towton in 1461, only to be partially galvanised into life at

Bosworth, twenty-four years afterwards.

Although Gothic architecture continued to be employed in the

Universities and in remote corners of the land long after it had ceased

to be practised abroad, it must not therefore be assumed that the people

of England generally regarded it with admiration. To them it was the

symbol of a superstition from whose influence they gloried in escaping,

or the emblem of a feudal tyranny from which they were just emerging

into partial freedom. During Elizabeth’s reign the struggle was hardly

over; the wounds of the combatants were still fresh and bleeding, the

anger of the contest had by no means subsided, and they looked with hate

and abhorrence on whatever recalled the stern realities of the past. We

can now afford to look on the Middle Ages with far different feelings;

our wounds have long since been healed, and hardly a scar remains. Time

has thrown its veil of poetry over what was then a mere prosaic matter

of fact, hiding those features which were once so repulsive, and

softening much which even now it is impossible to forget. They shrunk

from what they felt as a reality; we cherish it because it has faded

into a dream.

Bearing in mind the prevalence of these feelings, we should not be

surprised that so soon as classical art was presented to them the people

rushed to it with avidity. The world was then ringing with praise of the

newly disseminated poetry of Virgil, the eloquence of Cicero, and the

glorious narratives of Livy. A new light was dawning, and the cry arose

on all sides, “Away with the Middle Ages, with their superstition and

their tyranny. Roman greatness, Roman literature, and Roman art are to

regenerate the world!” We are now convinced that the Classical

Renaissance was not successful; but is it quite clear that a Mediæval

revival will not prove even a greater and more disastrous mistake?

Be this as it may, in the whole range of artistic history it would be

difficult to find any single monograph that might be made so complete in

itself, or all the details of which are so well known, as that of

Mediæval art in England. We know its birth and parentage; we can follow

it through youth to the bloom of manhood. We can admire it in the staid

maturity of its power, and in the expiring efforts of its failing

strength; and we know the cause of its decay and death. To those who are

able to grasp it, no story can be more interesting; while to those who

desire to understand what architecture really is, how it can be

cultivated so as to insure success, and by what agencies it is sure to

decay and finally to die, no subject is capable of being more

instructively treated.

CHAPTER II.

SAXON ARCHITECTURE.

SO few and indistinct are the traces of architectural art in England

before the Norman Conquest, that for a long time it was a moot point

among antiquaries whether or not any such thing existed as true Saxon

architecture. The question may now be considered as settled in the

affirmative. In his last edition, Rickman enumerates twenty churches in

which fragments are found which certainly belong to the pre-Norman

period, though no complete example can be pointed to as illustrating the

style then prevalent. Since Rickman’s death ten to fifteen more

specimens have been discovered. Generally they are towers or crypts, as

St. Winifred’s at Ripon, or the pillars of a chancel-arch, as at

Reculver. Sometimes it is a doorway, at others only a piece of rude

walling. On a review of the whole, it is evident that architecture in

England was certainly ruder and less developed than that on the

Continent at the same age; both were, of course, based on the Roman art

which preceded them; but, owing probably to our insular position, the

attempted reproduction of Roman work was of so barbaric a character as

to have suggested at first a wooden origin for some of the features. Mr.

G.G. Scott, however, in his essay on the history of ‘English Church

Architecture’ (1871), says: “What we term Saxon architecture is in

reality but an English version of the contemporary art of Italy with

which the Roman missionaries and their successors were well acquainted,

and which they endeavoured with imperfect success to naturalize here.”

On this subject Mr. Scott says, p. 42: “There is no feature more

characteristic of Saxon architecture than the use of rude pilaster

strips. The imitation of the mode of bonding of such pilasters, in the

construction of groins, and in the jambs of doorways and other openings,

constitutes what is known as ‘long and short work.’ This has sometimes

been supposed to be a tradition of wooden construction. It is certainly

nothing of the kind. It represents simply the manner in which a classic

pilaster is ordinarily constructed as distinguished from the mediæval

method of forming a quoin.” It should be observed also that the method

of placing upright posts of timber at intervals for the sake of economy

in filling in between, with brick-nogging or forming plaster surfaces or

battens, is a much later type of construction; the earliest timber

church in existence (and it is doubtful if that was built before Norman

times), viz., Greensted Church, Essex, is constructed of huge balks of

timber placed side by side, and is entirely unlike the disposition of

the upright bands of stone found in Saxon work. Triangular heads to

doorways and windows are found in St. Jean of Poitiers, in St. Front at

Périgueux, and elsewhere in France, “where the scientific mode of the

construction and the perfection of the details, forbid us to attribute

it to the habit of building in wood.” The baluster shafts also, Mr.

Scott suggests, were copied from Roman balusters. The projecting

hood-mould over doorway and window openings, which is not an independent

ring of masonry as in Norman and Gothic work, is copied from the outer

moulding of the Roman archivolt. In fact, as Mr. Scott observes, p. 43:

“Our ruder Saxon churches exhibit, in however crude a form, the

principles of a style distinctly arcuated—a style, that is, of which the

typical forms are determined by scientific masonry. However rude and

even barbarous in execution they may be, they are not rightly termed

even debased Roman.” “They exhibit a purely arcuated style, true in its

science, however imperfect in its art.”

[Illustration: 799. Tower of Earl’s Barton Church. (From Britton’s

‘Architectural Antiquities.’)]

[Illustration: 800. Windows, Earl’s Barton. (From Britton.)]

[Illustration: 801. Saxon Doorway at Monkwearmouth. (From a

Photograph.)]

Although interesting to English antiquaries, the specimens of Saxon art

are so insignificant as hardly to deserve much notice in a universal

history of the art, and one or two examples will suffice to explain the

peculiarities of the style. The tower of Earl’s Barton in

Northamptonshire contains in itself more undoubted Saxon characteristics

than any other specimen yet described: its angles, as shown in Woodcut

No. 799, are constructed with that peculiar form of quoin known as “long

and short,” while its faces are ornamented by long pilaster-like slips

connected by semicircular arches or more frequently by straight-lined

cross-bracing which might be regarded as wooden in its character were it

not for the through bond stones which mark their junction. The windows

(Woodcut No. 800) are formed by gouty balusters, looking very much as if

they were turned in a lathe, and the whole arrangements bear out that

character. Even more characteristic of the style than this, is the

doorway under the tower of the church at Monkwearmouth in Durham

(Woodcut No. 801). There seems no doubt but that it is part of the

church which Benedict Biscop erected there in the 7th century. According

to the chronicles, when he was enabled by the liberality of King Ecgfrid

to found a monastery there, he went, in 674, to Gaul to procure masons

who could erect it in the “Roman manner” that is, in imitation of the

basilicas in Rome. The twined serpents with birds’ beaks, on the right

doorpost, are, as we know from manuscripts of that age, singularly

characteristic of the style, but not, so far as I know, found elsewhere

engraved in stone on a church door. Though quaint and interesting to the

antiquary, it must be confessed there is not much grace or beauty in any

feature of the style, or even an approach to grandeur of dimensions in

any example which has been spared to the present day.

Had any great conventual church or cathedral survived we might perhaps

be forced to modify this opinion:[410] but the only one of which we know

anything is that which was erected at Canterbury by Archbishop Odo in

the years 940-960, to replace the older church of St. Augustine.[411]

Even this, however, we only know from the description of Edmer, the

singer, who saw it before it was destroyed by fire in 1067. Like the

German churches of that age, it seems to have had two apses. The

principal one, towards the east, was appropriated to the clergy; while

the western one belonged to the laity, or, as we should now say, was

devoted to parochial purposes.

Its walls and structure probably resembled the nave of Montier-en-Der

(Woodcut No. 610), or the Basse Œuvre at Beauvais (Woodcut No. 608)—

plain piers supporting round arches below, and small circular-headed

windows in a plain wall above.

Outside the original church of St. Augustine to the eastward—at what

distance we unfortunately are not told—Cuthbert, the second archbishop,

about the year 750 erected a second church, “as a baptistery, and in

order that it might serve as the burying-place of future

archbishops;”[412] thus combining the two rites in a ceremonial church

apart from the basilica, exactly as was done in Italy during the

Romanesque age. It is by no means improbable that the eastern

termination of the present cathedral known as Becket’s Crown stands on

the site of this old baptistery, and retains its dimensions; but it is

difficult to prove this, so completely have all the features of the

church been altered by subsequent rebuildings.

From what we know of Saxon MSS. and other indications, it would seem

that painting was a favourite mode of decoration among the Saxons; and

if so, their interiors may have been more successful as works of art

than their external architecture would lead us to expect. But as no

specimen of Saxon painted mural decoration has come down to our time, it

is hardly safe to assume much with regard to this.

CHAPTER III.

ENGLISH MEDIÆVAL ARCHITECTURE.

AN entirely new state of affairs was inaugurated in 1066 by the Norman

Conquest of England. A new aristocracy, new laws, and a new language

infused new life and energy into every department of the State, and an

age of unwonted activity and brilliancy superseded the lethargic misrule

of the Saxon period.

In nothing was this more manifestly evident than in architecture.

Instead of a barbaric and debased style, a real lithic art was

introduced and adopted at once, on a scale of magnificence but little

known even in France at that time. Almost all our great cathedrals were

either rebuilt, or at least remodelled, at that time, and great monastic

institutions were founded all over the country, demanding churches and

buildings on a scale undreamt-of before that time. The impulse thus

given lasted for nearly five centuries, till the Saxon element in the

population again came to the surface at the Reformation; but during that

long period it continued without break or drawback, and forms a style

complete and perfect in itself,—imported, it is true, in the first

instance, but taking root in the soil, and with little aid from abroad

growing into a thoroughly vigorous and acclimatised style. So completely

is this the case, and so steady and uninterrupted was its progress, that

it is impossible to separate its various stages one from another, but it

is proposed to treat it as one style and in one chapter in the following

pages. In a larger work it might be necessary to divide it into parts,

but within our limits it will certainly be found more convenient, as it

certainly is more logical, to treat it as a whole.

PLANS OF ENGLISH CATHEDRAL CHURCHES.

[Illustration: 802. Plan of Norwich Cathedral. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

The most remarkable and universal peculiarity in the arrangement of

English churches, when compared with those on the Continent, is their

extraordinary length in proportion to their breadth. In this respect

they seem to stand alone when compared with any buildings existing in

other parts of the world. The ancients affected a double square; in

other words, their temples were generally twice as long as they were

broad. In the Middle Ages, on the Continent, this proportion was

generally doubled. Practically the internal width was multiplied by 4

for the length. This at least seems to have been the proportion

generally aimed at, though of course it was often modified by

circumstances. In England the larger churches generally reached the

proportion of 6 times their width for their length. Most of our

cathedrals have been so altered and modified by subsequent additions

that it is difficult now to trace their original arrangements; but

Norwich exists in plan almost exactly as originally erected (A.D.

1096-1135), as will be seen from the plan (Woodcut No. 802). The nave to

the west of the intersection is more than 4 times its width (70 × 295).

The rectangular part of the choir is more than a square, and with the

apse and its aisle, exclusive of the chapels, makes altogether a length

of 410 ft. internally, or nearly 6 squares. At Peterborough and Ely the

proportion seems to have been as 5 to 1 to the centre of the apse; but

if there was a circumscribing aisle or chapel, the longer proportion

would obtain. At Canterbury and Winchester, and generally in the

south-eastern cathedrals, as built more immediately under French

influence, the original proportion was somewhat shorter; but so

impressed were the English architects with the feeling that length was

the true mode of giving effect, that eventually the two cathedrals last

named surpassed it. Canterbury (Woodcut No. 803) attained an internal

length of 518 ft. while the width of the nave is only 72, or as 7 to 1.

At Winchester (Woodcut No. 806) these dimensions are 525 and 82, or

something less than 7 to 1, owing to the greater width of the nave.

[Illustration: 803. Plan of Canterbury Cathedral. Scale 100 ft. to 1

in.]

It is extremely difficult to assign a satisfactory reason for this

peculiarity of English plans. It arises so suddenly, however, in the

English churches of the Norman age that it must have pre-existed in

those of the Saxons; though why they should have adopted it is by no

means clear. If these churches had wooden roofs, which was almost

certainly the case, their naves might easily have been wider, and it can

hardly have arisen from any æsthetic motive. As we now judge them, these

early naves were badly proportioned for hearing an address from the

bishop or prior, and as ill adapted for a multitude to see what was

passing at the altar; but for pictorial effect they surpass everything

erected on the Continent, unless with greatly increased dimensions of

height or width. Whether, therefore, it were hit upon by accident or by

design, its beauty was immediately appreciated, and formed the governing

principle in the design of all the English cathedrals. It was a

discovery which has added more to the sublimity of effect which

characterises most of our cathedrals than any other principle introduced

during the Middle Ages.

All the cathedrals above enumerated, indeed most of those which were

Conquest, were erected on very nearly the same plan as that at Norwich.

Durham (1095-1133) was the first to show any marked deviation from the

type[413] (Woodcut No. 804). The nave and choir became nearly

proportioned to one another, and for the first time we see a distinct

determination from the first that the building should be vaulted. All

this involved an amount of design and contrivance which entirely

emancipated us from the Continental type, and may be considered as

laying the foundation of the English style.

In addition to what was doing at Durham there prevailed an extraordinary

activity in church-building in the North of England during the whole of

the 12th century, owing to the erection of the great abbeys whose

gigantic fossils still adorn every main valley in Yorkshire. As this

part of the country was more remote from foreign influence than the

South, the style developed itself there with a vigour and originality

not found elsewhere; but its effect was appreciated, and when Lincoln

was rebuilt, about the year 1200, the English style was perfected in all

essential parts. This is even more remarkably shown, however, at

Salisbury, commenced in 1220 and completed in 1258, with the exception

of the spire, which does not appear to have formed part of the original

design.

[Illustration: 804. Plan of Durham Cathedral. (From Billings.) Scale 100

ft. to 1 in.]

In this church we have a plan not only extremely beautiful, but

perfectly original. There is scarcely a trace of French or foreign

influence; everything is the result of the native elaboration during the

previous century and a half. The internal dimensions, according to

Britton, are 450 ft. by 78—a little under the English standard, but

sufficiently long for effect. The apsidal arrangement, so universal in

Norman cathedrals, has disappeared never to return, except in

Westminster Abbey (1245-1269), and in some readjustments, as at

Tewkesbury; and the square eastern termination may henceforth be

considered as established in this country—the early symbol of that

independence which eventually led to the Reformation.

Once the Salisbury plan came to be considered the true English type, the

Norman cathedrals were gradually modified to assimilate their

arrangements to it. The nave and transept of Winchester were already too

extensive to admit of a second transept, but the choir was rebuilt on

the new model; and when afterwards the nave was remodelled by William of

Wykeham it became one of the most beautiful, as it continued to be the

longest, of English cathedrals (556 feet, over all).

[Illustration: 805. Plan of Salisbury Cathedral. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

About the same time Ely had a choir and presbytery added to it in lieu

of the old Norman choir, which raised it to the very first rank among

English churches;[414] and when, in 1322, by a fortunate accident the

old Norman tower fell, the intersection was rebuilt in a manner that

rendered it exceptionally pre-eminent among its rivals. There is perhaps

no feature in the whole range of Gothic architecture either here or on

the Continent more beautiful than the octagon of Ely (Woodcut No. 808),

as rebuilt by Alan of Walsingham, the sacrist at the time the tower

fell. He, and he alone of all northern architects, seems to have

conceived the idea of abolishing what was in fact the bathos of the

style—the narrow tall opening of the central tower, which, though

possessing exaggerated height, gave neither space nor dignity internally

to the central feature of the design. On the other hand, the necessity

of stronger supports to carry the tower frequently contracted still more

the one spot where, according to architectural propriety, an extended

area was of vital importance to the due harmony of the design.

[Illustration: 806. Plan of Winchester Cathedral. (From Britton.) Scale

100 ft. to 1 in.]

In the present instance the architect took for the base of his design

the whole width of the nave and aisles, constructing in it an octagon,

the sides of which are respectively 25 and 30 ft., and the diameter 65

ft. in one direction east and west, and 70 ft. transversely. By this

arrangement a central area was obtained more than three times the extent

of that originally existing, and, more than this, a propriety and poetry

of design which are not to be found elsewhere. All this too was carried

out with the exquisite details of the best age of English Gothic, and

the effect in consequence is surpassingly beautiful. Unfortunately,

either for want of funds, or of confidence in their ability to execute

it, the vault, like that of York, is only in wood, though, from the

immense strength of the supports, and their arrangement, it is evident

that a stone vault was originally intended. The very careless—one might

almost say ugly—way in which the lantern was finished externally, shows

unmistakably that it was not intended to last long in its present form.

Be that as it may, this octagon is in reality the only true Gothic dome

in existence; and the wonder is, that being once suggested, any

cathedral was ever afterwards erected without it. Its dimensions ought

not to have alarmed those who had access to the domes of the Byzantines

or Italians. Its beauty ought to have struck them as it does us. Perhaps

the true explanation lies in the fact that it was invented late in the

style. New cathedrals or great churches were very rarely commenced after

the death of Edward the Third; and when they were, it was more often by

intelligent masons, than by educated gentlemen, that they were designed.

[Illustration: 807. Plan of Ely Cathedral. (From Dugdale.) Scale 100 ft.

to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 808. Octagon at Ely Cathedral. (From Murray’s ‘Cathedral

Handbook.’)]

After this, very little novelty was introduced into the design of

English cathedrals. York, however, was almost entirely rebuilt in the

form towards which the architects were tending during the whole of the

Middle Ages, and it may consequently be considered as the type at which

they were aiming, though hardly the one to which we can give the most

unqualified praise. The nave was erected between the years 1291 and

1331, the choir between 1361 and 1405; the length internally is 486 ft.;

the width of the choir, 100 ft.; of the nave, 106 ft.; both these last

were, unfortunately, dimensions which the architects did not feel

themselves equal to grappling with in stone, so that the roof, like the

lantern at Ely, was constructed of wood, in imitation of a stone vault,

and remains so to this day.

Owing to the great width attempted for the nave, York has not the usual

proportion of length affected by other English cathedrals, and loses in

effect accordingly. Its great peculiarity is the simplicity and

squareness of its plan, so unlike what is found anywhere abroad. The

church is divided into two equal parts; one devoted to the laity, one to

the clergy. There are no apsidal or other chapels. Three altars stood

against the eastern wall, and it may be 3 or 4 in the transept. Beyond

this nothing. There is none of that wealth of private chapels which

distinguishes Continental cathedrals and churches, or even Canterbury,

the most foreign of our English examples. The worship even at that early

period was designed to be massive and congregational, not frittered away

in private devotion or scattered services, and marks a departure from

Continental practices well worthy the attention of those who desire to

trace the gradual development of the feelings of a people as expressed

in their architecture, and the architecture only.

The abbey church at Westminster is exceptional among English examples,

and is certainly, in so far at least as the east end is concerned, an

adaptation of a French design. The nave, however, is essentially English

in plan and detail, and one of the most beautiful examples of its class

to be found anywhere. So, too, are the wide-spreading transepts; but

eastward of these the form is decidedly that of a French cathedral.

Henry VII.’s Chapel now stands over the space formerly occupied by the

Lady Chapel; but before it was pulled down the circlet of apsidal

chapels[415] was as completely and as essentially French as any to be

found in the country where that feature was invented. In the choir,

however, the architects betrayed their want of familiarity with the form

of termination they had selected. The angle at which the three bays of

the apse meet is far from pleasing, and there is a want of preparation

for the transition, which tends to detract from the perfection of what

would otherwise be a very beautiful design.[416]

As the choir was sepulchral, to accommodate the shrine of the Confessor,

the design was appropriate, and its introduction in this instance cannot

be regretted; but on the whole, there is nothing in the church of

Westminster to make us wish that this feature had become more common on

this side of the Channel.

[Illustration: 809. Plan of Westminster Abbey. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

Notwithstanding the beauty of the result, it may still be considered as

open to discussion whether the English architects were always correct in

adhering to length in preference to height as the modulus of their

designs. When, however, we reflect how immensely the difficulties of

constructing a stone roof are increased by every addition to the width

or height of the vault, we cannot but acknowledge their wisdom in

stopping at that point where sufficient spaciousness was attained,

without increasing constructive difficulties. Nowhere in English

cathedrals are we offended by mechanical _tours de force_. Everywhere

there is sufficient solidity for security, and a consequent feeling of

repose most conducive to true architectural effect.

It may also be remarked that the strain of turning the head upwards

detracts considerably from the pleasure of contemplating tall interiors,

while the eye likes to dwell on long-drawn vistas which can be explored

in a natural position. But, perhaps, the greatest advantage of moderate

dimensions in section is that they do not dwarf either the worshippers

or the furniture of the church. Everything in an English cathedral is in

just proportion, which is certainly not the case in many Continental

examples; and there is variety and a play of light and shade in the long

aisles of our churches which is wholly wanting in French and German

examples.

Another point on which a difference of opinion may fairly exist, is

whether the square termination of our cathedrals is or is not more

beautiful than the apsidal arrangements so universal abroad.

When, as at Salisbury, or Wells, or Exeter, there is a screen of open

arches below the east window, it may safely be asserted that a polygonal

termination would have been more pleasing; but when, as at York, or

Gloucester, or Carlisle, the whole eastern wall is a screen of painted

glass, divided by mullions and tracery of most exquisite design,

judgment will probably go the other way. Such a window as that at York,

33 ft. in width by 80 ft. in height, is a marvellous creation, which few

architectural developments in any part of the world can rival or even

approach. On the whole, perhaps, the true answer to the question, is

that, where a number of smaller chapels are wanted, the chevet form is

the best and most artistic termination for a church; where these are not

required, the square form is the most beautiful, because it is the most

appropriate, and, like everything appropriate, capable of being made

beautiful in the hands of a true artist.

VAULTS.

Whatever opinion may be formed as to the proportions of English

cathedrals, or the arrangement of their plans, there can be no dispute

as to the superiority of their vaults over those of all their

Continental rivals. The reasons for this are various, and not very

recondite. The most obvious is the facility of construction which arose

from the moderation just pointed out in the section of our churches.

The English always worked within their strength, instead of going to the

very verge of it, like the French; and they thus obtained the power of

subordinating constructive necessities to architectural beauty. Thus the

English architects never attempted a vault of any magnitude till they

were sufficiently skilled in construction to do it with facility. In a

former chapter it has been pointed out how various and painful were the

steps by which the French arrived at their system of vaulting—first by

pointed tunnel-vaults and a system of domes, then by a combination of

quadripartite and hexapartite intersecting vaults, of every conceivable

form and variety, but always with a tendency to domical webs, and to the

union of all pre-existing systems. This experimentalising, added to the

great height of their roofs, and the slenderness of their clerestories,

never left them sufficiently free to admit of their studying æsthetic

effects in this part of the construction.

A second reason was, that for 150 years after the Conquest, our

architects were content with wooden roofs for their naves. One of the

earliest vaults we possess is that at Durham, commenced by Prior

Melsonby, 1233. Long before that time the French architects had been

trying all those expedients detailed at pp. 113, 114, and had thus

succeeded in vaulting their central aisles a century before we attempted

it. In doing so, however, their eyes got accustomed to mechanical

deformities which we never tolerated, and they were afterwards quite

satisfied if the vault would stand, without caring much whether its form

were beautiful or not.

A third cause of the perfection of English vaults arose from the

constant use of ornamental wooden roofs throughout the Middle Ages. The

typical example of this form now remaining to us is that of Westminster

Hall. But St. Stephen’s Royal Chapel had one of the same class, and

there is reason to believe that they were much more common than is

usually supposed.[417] All these were elaborately framed and richly

carved and ornamented, often more beautiful than a stone vault, and

quite as costly; and it seems impossible that a people who were familiar

with this exquisite mode of roofing could be content with the lean

twisted vaults of the Continental architects. The English alone

succeeded in constructing ornamental wooden roofs, and, as a corollary,

alone appreciated the value of a vault constructed on truly artistic

principles and richly ornamented. Their eyes being accustomed to the

depth and boldness of timber construction could never tolerate the thin

weak lines of the French ogive, just sufficient for strength, but sadly

deficient in expression and in play of light and shade.

Although it is, perhaps, safe to assert that there is not, and never

was, a Saxon vaulted church in existence; and that, during the purely

Norman period, though the side-aisles of great churches were generally

vaulted, the central aisle was always ceiled with wood; yet, from a

study of their plans, we are led to conclude that their architects

always intended that they should, or at least might, be ornamented with

stone roofs.

[Illustration: 810. Nave of Peterborough Cathedral.[418] (Cath. Hb.)]

In the first place the area of their piers is enormous, and such as

could never have been intended to support wooden roofs. Even making

every allowance for the badness of the masonry, one-tenth of the

sectional area would have sufficed, and not more was employed

cotemporaneously in Germany when it was intended to use wooden roofs.

There is also generally some variation in the design of the alternate

piers, as if a hexapartite arrangement were contemplated. But the

evidence is not conclusive, for the vaulting shafts are usually similar,

and in all instances run from the ground through the clerestory, and

terminate with the copings of the wall, so that, in their present form,

they could only be meant to support the main timber of the roof. It may

be that it was intended to cut them away down to the string-course of

the clerestory, as was actually done at Norwich in 1446, when the nave

was vaulted; but at present we must be satisfied with the evidence that

the architects were content with such roofs as that of Peterborough

(Woodcut No. 810), which is the oldest and finest we possess. It is very

beautiful, but certainly not the class of roof these massive piers were

designed to support.

Though we may hesitate with regard to the intention of the builders of

Norwich, Ely, or Peterborough, there can be no doubt, from the alternate

piers and pillars, that when Durham (Woodcut No. 804) was commenced it

was intended that the nave should be covered by a great hexapartite

vault. Before, however, the intention could be carried out, the art of

vaulting had been so far perfected that that very clumsy expedient was

abandoned; and, by the introduction of a bracket in the nave, and

afterwards of a vaulting shaft in the choir, a vault of the usual

quadrilateral form was successfully carried out between the years 1233

and 1284.

It is probably to St. Hugh of Lincoln that we owe the first perfect

vault in England. Coming from Burgundy he must have been familiar with

the great vaults which had been constructed in his country long before

the year 1200, when he encouraged his new followers to undertake one not

necessarily in the Burgundian style, but in that form with which they

were conversant from their practice in erecting smaller side-vaults. He

built and roofed the choir of Lincoln, immediately after which

(1209-1235) the nave (Woodcut No. 811) was undertaken by Hugh of Wells,

and its roof may be taken as a type of the first perfected form of

English vaulting. It is very simple and beautiful; but it cannot be

denied—and this is felt still more at Exeter—that the great inverted

pyramidal blocks of the roof are too heavy for the light pier and

pierced walls which support them. Another defect is, that the lines of

the clerestory windows do not accord with the lines of the “severeys” of

the vault. This defect was remedied at Lichfield, but nowhere else,

until the invention of the four-centred arch and of fan-tracery. At

Lichfield (Woodcut No. 812) the triangular form of the clerestory

windows afforded a perfect solution of the difficulty, and gave a

stability and propriety to the whole arrangement that never was

surpassed, and never might have been relinquished had not their fatal

fondness for painted glass forced the architects in this, as in other

instances, to forego constructive propriety for indulgence in that

fascinating mode of decoration.

[Illustration: 811. Nave of Lincoln Cathedral. (Cath. Hb.)]

Beautiful as these simple early roofs were felt to be, the great mass of

the “severeys,” or inverted pyramids, formed a very obvious defect. It

was, however, easily remedied when once perceived. The earliest example

of its successful removal is probably in the roof of the choir at

Gloucester (1337-1377) (Woodcut No. 813). In this instance the roof is

almost a tunnel-vault with the window spaces cutting into it, so as to

leave nearly one-third of the space unbroken; and, as the whole is

covered with rich and appropriate tracery, the effect is highly

pleasing. The same principle was afterwards carried to its utmost

perfection in the roof of St. George’s Chapel at Windsor. In that case a

flat band was introduced as a separate constructive compartment in the

centre, supported by the severeys, and as the roof is ornamented with

ribbings of the most exquisite design, it forms perhaps the most

beautiful vault ever designed by a Gothic architect.

[Illustration: 812. Nave of Lichfield Cathedral. (Cath. Hb.)]

The great invention of the English architects in vaulting is the form

usually known as fan-tracery. It is so beautiful in itself, and so

exclusively English, that it may, perhaps, be worth while to retrace the

steps by which it was arrived at. This may lead to a little repetition,

but the stone vault is so essentially the governing modulus of the style

that its principles cannot be made too clear.

[Illustration: 813. Choir of Gloucester Cathedral. (Cath. Hb.)]

The original form of the intersecting vault is that of two halves of a

hollow-sided square pyramid placed opposite one another in an inverted

position.[419] One half of such a vault is shown at A and A A (Woodcut

No. 814, fig. 1). The English seem early to have tired of the endless

repetition of these forms, and, after trying every mode of concealing

their sameness by covering them with tracery, they hit on the happy

expedient of cutting off their angles, as shown at B and B B. This left

a flat square space in the centre, which would have been awkward in the

central vault, though in a side-aisle it was easily got over, and its

flatness concealed by ornament. Arrived at this stage it was easy to see

that by again dividing each face into two, as at C, fig. 1, the

principal original lines were restored, and the central space could be

subdivided by constructive lines to any extent required. By this process

the square pyramid had become a polygonal cone of 24 sides, which was

practically so near a circle that it was impossible to resist the

suggestion of making it one, which was accordingly done, as shown at D

and D D, fig. 1.

[Illustration: 814. Diagrams of Vaulting.]

So far all was easy, but the fact of the flat central space resting on

the four cones was still felt to be a defect, as indeed is apparent in

such a vault as that of the cloisters at Gloucester (Woodcut No. 815),

where a segment is used nearly equal to an equilateral spherical

triangle. In this case they did not dare to employ a constructive

decoration, but covered the space with circles so as to confuse and

deceive the eye. At Windsor (Woodcut No. 816) the defect was obviated by

using a low four-centred arch invented for the purpose, so that the

outer tangent of the concoid was nearly flat, and the principal

transverse rib was carried to the centre without being broken—as the

others might have been had that mode of decoration been deemed

expedient. This may be considered the perfection of this kind of

vaulting, and is perhaps the most beautiful method ever invented. At

Westminster (as shown in Woodcut No. 817) the difficulty was got over by

reversing the curve by the introduction of pendants. This was a clever

expedient, and produced a startling effect, but is so evidently a _tour

de force_ that the result is never quite satisfactory; though on a small

scale perfectly admissible.

These devices all answered perfectly so long as the space to be roofed

was square, or nearly so; but when this mode of vaulting came to be

applied to the bays of the central nave, which were twice as long in one

direction as in the other, the difficulties seemed insuperable. By

cutting off the angle as in the former instance (as at B, fig. 2,

Woodcut No. 814), you may get either a small diamond-shaped space in the

centre or a square, but in both cases the pyramid becomes very awkward;

and by carrying on the system as before, you never arrive at a circle,

but at an elliptical section as shown at D, fig. 2 (Woodcut No. 814).

[Illustration: 815. Vault of Cloister, Gloucester.]

The builders of King’s College Chapel strove to obviate the difficulty

by continuing the conoid to the centre, and then cutting off what was

redundant at the sides, as in E, fig. 2, or, as shown in the view of the

interior (Woodcut No. 846) further on.

The richness of the ornaments, and the loftiness and elegance of the

whole, lead us to overlook these defects at Cambridge, but nothing can

be less constructive or less pleasing that the abruptness of the

intersections so obtained. In the central aisle of Henry VII.’s Chapel

it was avoided by a bold series of pendants, supported by internal

flying buttresses, producing a surprising degree of complexity, and such

an exhibition of mechanical dexterity as never fails to astonish, and

generally to please; though it must be confessed that it is at best a

mere piece of ingenuity very unworthy of English art. By far the most

satisfactory of these roofs is that at Windsor, where a broad flat band

is introduced in the centre of the roof, throughout the whole length of

the chapel. This is ornamented by panelling of the most exquisite

design, and relieved by pendants of slight projection, the whole being

in such good taste as to make it one of the richest and probably the

most beautiful vault ever constructed. It has not the loftiness of that

at Cambridge, being only 52 ft. high, instead of 78, nor is it of the

same extent, and consequently it does not so immediately strike

observers, but on examination it is far more satisfactory.

[Illustration: 816. Vault of Aisle at St. George’s, Windsor.]

[Illustration: 817. Aisle in Henry VII.’s Chapel, Westminster.]

[Illustration: 818. Retro-choir, Peterborough Cathedral. (Cath. Hb.)]

The truth of the matter seems to be that, after all their experience,

the architects had got back to precisely the point from which they

started, namely, the necessity of a square space for the erection of a

satisfactory intersecting vault. The Romans saw this, and never swerved

from it. The side-aisles of all cathedrals and all cloisters adhered to

it throughout; and, when it was departed from in the wider central

aisles, it always led to an awkwardness that was hardly ever

successfully conquered. In some instances, as in the retro-choir at

Peterborough (1438-1528), two windows are boldly but awkwardly included

in one bay (Woodcut No. 818), and the compartments are so nearly square

that the difficulty is not very apparent, but it is sufficient to injure

considerably the effect of what would otherwise be a very beautiful

roof.

In Henry VII.’s Chapel the difficulty was palliated, not conquered, by

thrusting forward the great pendants of the roof and treating them as

essential parts of the construction, and as if they were supported by

pillars from the floor instead of by brackets from the wall. By this

means the roof was divided into rectangles more nearly approaching

squares than was otherwise attainable; but it is most false in

principle, and, in spite of all its beauty of detail, cannot be

considered successful.

[Illustration: 819. Choir Arches of Oxford Cathedral. (Cath. Hb.)]

Strange as it may appear from its date, the most satisfactory roof of

this class is that erected by Cardinal Wolsey in the beginning of the

16th century over the choir of Oxford Cathedral. In this instance the

pendants are thrust so far forward and made so important that the

central part of the roof is practically quadripartite. The remaining

difficulty was obviated by abandoning the circular horizontal outline of

true fan-tracery, and adopting a polygonal form instead. As the whole is

done in a constructive manner and with appropriate detail, this roof—

except in size—is one of the best and most remarkable ever executed.

The true solution of the difficulty, in so far as the vault was

concerned, would have been to include two bays of the side-aisles in one

of the centre; but this would have necessitated a rearrangement of both

plan and exterior to an extent the architects were not then prepared to

tolerate, and it never was attempted, except perhaps in the instance of

the retro-choir at Peterborough (Woodcut No. 818). Had it been done in

King’s College Chapel at Cambridge (Woodcut No. 846), it would have been

in every respect an immense improvement. At present the length of King’s

College Chapel is too great for its other dimensions. Had there been six

bays instead of twelve, its apparent length would have been considerably

diminished, and the variety introduced by this change would have

relieved its monotony without detracting from any of the excellent

points of design it now possesses.

The English architects never attempted such vaults as those of Toulouse

and Alby, 63 and 58 ft. respectively, still less such as that of Gerona

in Spain, which is 72 ft. clear width. With our present mechanical

knowledge, we could probably construct wider vaults still. Even the

Mediæval architects in England might have done more in this direction

than they actually accomplished, had they tried. On the whole, however,

it seems that they exercised a wise discretion in limiting themselves to

moderate dimensions. More poetry of design and greater apparent size is

attainable by the introduction of pillars on the floor, and with far

less mechanical effort. Unless everything is increased in even a greater

ratio, the dwarfing effect of a great vault never fails to make itself

painfully apparent. We may regret that they did not vary their vaults by

such an expedient as the lantern at Ely, but hardly that they confined

them to the dimensions they generally adopted.

PIER ARCHES.

Although the principles adopted by the English architects did not

materially differ from those of their Continental confrères with regard

to the arrangement of pier arches and the proportions of triforia and

clerestories, still their practice was generally so sound and the

results so satisfactory, that this seems the best place to point out

what the Mediæval architects aimed at in the arrangement of their wall

surfaces.

[Illustration: 820. Transformation of the Nave, Winchester Cathedral.

(Cath. Hb.)]

[Illustration: 821. Choir of Ely Cathedral. (Cath. Hb.)]

In the Norman cathedrals the general scheme seems to have been to divide

the height into three equal parts, and to allot one to the pier arch,

another to the triforium or great gallery, and the third to the

clerestory. In all the examples we now have, the upper is the smallest

division; but I cannot help fancying that some arrangement of the

timbers of the roof gave the additional height required. It is generally

supposed that the roof at Peterborough (Woodcut No. 810) was originally

flat. This, however, is by no means clear, nor that it started so low;

but, be that as it may, the woodcut (No. 820) will explain the usual

arrangement, as well as the changes afterwards introduced. At Winchester

the two lower divisions are practically equal, the upper somewhat less,

and the alternate arrangement of the piers hints at a hexapartite vault,

if such should ever come to be executed. When William of Wykeham

undertook to remodel the style of the nave, he first threw the two lower

compartments into one, as shown on the left-hand side of the cut. He

then divided the whole height, as nearly as the masonry would allow him,

into two equal parts, allotting one to the pier arches, and apportioning

the upper as nearly as he could by giving two-thirds to the clerestory

and one-third to the triforium. With pointed arches this was the most

pleasing and satisfactory arrangement adopted during the Middle Ages;

but when something very like it was attempted in the nave of Gloucester

with round arches, the effect was most unpleasing. Before the

architects, however, settled down to this proportion, a variety of

experiments were tried. One of the most successful was the nave of

Lichfield Cathedral (Woodcut No. 812). Here the whole height is divided

equally: one half is given to the pier arches, and the other divided

equally between the clerestory and triforium. If the latter had been

glazed externally, as was the case at Westminster Abbey and elsewhere,

and made to look like part of the church, the whole might be considered

as satisfactory. As it is, the area of the clerestory is so much less

than that of the triforium, that the proportion is not quite agreeable,

though the solidity and repose which this arrangement gives to the roof

is above all praise.

[Illustration: 822. Two Bays of the Nave of Westminster Abbey. Scale 25

ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 823. One Bay of Cathedral at Exeter. Scale 25 ft. to 1

in.]

All these objections were obviated in the three bays of the choir at

Ely, which were rebuilt by Walsingham at the same time as the octagon.

Here the triforium and clerestory are equal; but the upper window is so

spread out, and so much is made of it, that it looks equal to the

compartment below. The pier arch below is also subdued to less than half

the whole height, so as to give value to the upper division. These

proportions are derived from the very beautiful Early English presbytery

beyond; but they are here used with such exquisite taste and such

singular beauty of detail that there is perhaps no single portion of any

Gothic building in the world which can vie with this part of the choir

of Ely for poetry of design or beauty of detail.

The perfection of proportion, as of many other things, was reached in

Westminster Abbey (1245-1269). Here the whole height is divided into two

equal parts, and the upper subdivided into three, of which one is

allotted to the triforium, and two to the clerestory. It is true this

involves the necessity of springing the vault from a point half way down

the clerestory windows, and thus the lines of the severeys do not accord

quite with those of the lights; but at best it is a choice of

difficulties, and the happy medium seems to have been reached here more

successfully than elsewhere. The proportion of the width of a bay to its

height is here also most pleasing; it is as 1 to 5½.[420] Sometimes, as

at Exeter, it sinks as low as 1 in 3, but the whole effect of the

building is very much destroyed by the change.

Shortly after this, as in the choir at Lichfield (1250-1325) or at

Exeter (1308-1369), the mania for the display of painted glass upset all

these arrangements—generally at the expense of the triforium. This

feature was never entirely omitted, nor was it ever glazed internally,

as was frequently the case on the Continent; but it was reduced to the

most insignificant proportions—sometimes not pierced—and, with the wider

spacing just alluded to, deprived the English side screen of much of

that vigour and beauty which characterised its earlier examples.

WINDOW TRACERY.

The date of the introduction of the pointed arch in England—for it may

be considered as established that it was _introduced_—is a question

which has been much discussed, but is by no means settled. The general

impression is that it was at the rebuilding of the cathedral of

Canterbury after the fire of 1174 that the style was first fairly tried.

The architect who superintended that work for the first five years was

William of Sens; and the details and all the arrangements are so

essentially French, and so different from anything else of the same age

in England, that his influence on the style of the building can hardly

be doubted. Of course it is not meant to assert that no earlier

specimens exist; indeed, we can scarcely suppose that they did not, when

we recollect that the _pointed arch_ was used currently in France for

more than a century before this time, and that the _pointed style_ was

inaugurated at St. Denis at least thirty years before. Still this is

probably the first instance of the style being carried out in anything

like completeness, not only in the pier arches and openings, but in the

vaults also, which is far more characteristic.

Even after this date the struggle was long, and the innovation most

unwillingly received by the English, so that even down to the year 1200

the round arch was currently employed, in conjunction with the pointed,

to which it at last gave way, and was then for three centuries banished

entirely from English architecture.

Be this as it may, in their treatment of tracery, which followed

immediately on the introduction of the pointed arch, the English

architects showed considerable originality in design, though inspired by

the same sobriety which characterises all their works. They not only

invented the lancet form of window, but what may be called the lancet

style of fenestration. Nowhere on the Continent are such combinations to

be found as the Five Sisters at York (Woodcut No. 824), or the east end

of Ely (Woodcut No. 825), or such a group as that which terminates the

east end of Hereford (Woodcut No. 826). Tracery it can hardly be called,

but it is as essentially one design as any of the great east windows

that afterwards came into fashion; and until painted glass became

all-important, such an arrangement was constructively better than a

screen of mullions, and as used in this country is capable of very

beautiful combinations.

[Illustration: 824. The Five Sisters Window, York. (From Britton.)]

So, at least, the English architects of the 13th century seem to have

thought, for they continued to practise their lancet style, as in the

much-quoted example of Salisbury Cathedral, long after the French had

perfected the geometric forms; which may be seen from the contemporary

cathedral in Amiens. In France, as was pointed out in a previous chapter

(p. 163 _et seq._), we can trace every step by which the geometric forms

were invented. In England this cannot be done, and when we do find a

rudimentary combination of two lancets with a circle, it is more

frequently a harking back to previous forms than stepping forwards

toward a new invention.

[Illustration: 825. Ely Cathedral, East End. (Cath. Hb.)]

[Illustration: 26. Lancet Window, Hereford Cathedral. (Cath. Hb.)]

When, however, painted glass became an indispensable part of church

decoration, it was impossible to resist the influence of the French

invention. Like many other Continental forms it seems first to have been

systematically employed at Westminster, when the choir was rebuilt by

Henry III., A.D. 1245-69, but even then it was used timidly and

unscientifically as compared with the Sainte Chapelle at Paris, which

was commenced 1244, and completed long before the English choir. Once,

however, it was fairly introduced, the English architects employed it

with great success. One of the earliest examples is the beautiful

circular window of the north transept at Lincoln. It, however, is still

of the imperfect tracery of the early French examples. The lines do not

in all instances follow one another, and flat plain spaces are left, as

in what is generally called plate tracery. True geometric tracery is,

however, seen in perfection in the Angel Choir at Lincoln (1270-1282),

in the nave of (York 1291-1330), or better, in such abbeys as Tintern or

Gainsborough. In the chapter-house at York (Woodcut No. 829) the style

had already begun to deviate from the French pattern, and before the end

of the 13th century the English had so thoroughly assimilated it that

hardly a trace of its original form was left. The chapel at Merton

College, Oxford, is perhaps the most beautiful example remaining of that

exquisite form of English tracery; but St. Stephen’s Chapel,

Westminster, was the typical example, and specimens of it are found in

all our cathedrals. One at St. Anselm’s Chapel at Canterbury (Woodcut

No. 830) is perhaps as characteristic as any. When tracery had reached

this stage, it seemed capable of any amount of development, and was

applicable to any form of opening. All the difficulties of fitting

circles into spherical triangles which had so puzzled the early builders

were conquered,[421] and the range of design seemed unlimited. But

during the Edwardian period there prevailed a restless desire for new

inventions, and an amount of intellectual activity applied to

architecture which nothing could resist; so that these beautiful

geometric forms in their turn were forced to give way after being

employed for little more than half a century, and were superseded by the

fashion of flowing tracery, which lasted, however, for even a shorter

period than the style which preceded it. This time the invention seems

to have been English; for though we cannot feel quite certain when the

first specimen of flowing tracery was introduced in France, the

Flamboyant style was adopted by the French only after the English wars,

whereas the Perpendicular style had superseded this and all other

Decorated forms in England before the death of Edward III.

[Illustration: 827. East End of Lincoln Cathedral. (From Wild’s

‘Lincoln.’)]

[Illustration: 828. North Transept Window, Lincoln Cathedral. (Cath.

Hb.)]

During the time that flowing forms were used in England they gave rise

to some of the most beautiful creations in window tracery that are

anywhere to be found. The east windows at Carlisle (Woodcut No. 831) and

of Selby, are two of the finest examples, and illustrate the peculiarity

of the style as adopted in this country. Though the forms are flowing,

and consequently, as lithic forms, weak, the parts are so exquisitely

balanced by the stronger ribs introduced and by the arrangement of the

whole, that, so far from any weakness being felt, the whole is quite as

stable as the purposes to which it is applied would seem to require.

Another equally constructive and equally beautiful example is the south

transept window at Lincoln (Woodcut No. 832), where the segmental lines

introduced give the strength required. Though almost all its lines are

flowing, it looks stronger and more constructively correct than the

north transept window (Woodcut No. 828), which is wholly made up of

circular forms, and is in itself one of the best examples of the earlier

form of English geometric tracery. Circular windows were not, however,

the forte of English architects; they very rarely used them in their

west fronts, not always in their transepts, and generally indeed may be

said to have preferred the ordinary pointed forms, in which, as in most

matters, they probably exercised a wise discretion.

[Illustration: 829. Window in Chapter-house at York. English Geometric

Tracery.]

[Illustration: 830. Window in St. Anselm’s Chapel, Canterbury.]

[Illustration: 831. East Window, Carlisle Cathedral. (From a Drawing by

R. W. Billings.)]

[Illustration: 832. South Transept Window, Lincoln Cathedral. (Cath.

Hb.)]

It may not be quite clear whether William of Wykeham (1366-1404)

invented perpendicular tracery, but certain it is that the admiration

excited by his works in this style at Winchester, Oxford, and elsewhere,

gave a death-blow to the Decorated forms previously in fashion. Although

every lover of true art must regret the change, there was a great deal

to be said in favour of the new style. It was pre-eminently constructive

and reasonable. Nothing in a masonic point of view could be better than

the straight lines running through from bottom to top of the window,

strengthened by transoms when requisite for support, and doubled in the

upper division. The ornaments, too, were all appropriate, and,

externally at least, the whole harmonised perfectly with the lines of

the building. Internally, the architects were more studious to prepare

forms suitable by their dimensions and arrangements for the display of

painted glass, than to spend much thought on the form of the frames

themselves. The poetry of tracery was gone, but it was not only in this

respect that we miss the poetic feeling of earlier days. The mason was

gradually taking the guidance of the work out of the hands of the

educated classes, and applying the square and the rule to replace the

poetic inspirations of enthusiasts and the delicate imaginings by which

they were expressed.

[Illustration: 833. Perpendicular Tracery, Winchester Cathedral.]

It is curious to observe how different the course of events was in

France. While Saxon common sense was gradually coming to the surface in

this country and curbing every fancy for which a good economic reason

could not be given, the Celtic fancy of our neighbours broke loose in

all the playful vagaries of the Flamboyant style. Their tracery became

so delicate and so unconstructive that it is a wonder it ever stood, and

no wonder that half the windows of that date are now without tracery at

all. They were carved, too, with foliage so delicate that it ought to

have been executed in metal and never attempted in stone—in wonderful

contrast to the plain deep mouldings which surround most of our windows

of that period.

EXTERNAL PROPORTIONS.

If the sobriety of proportion which characterised the design of English

architects led to satisfactory results internally, its influence was

still more favourable on the external appearance of their churches. An

English cathedral is always a part of a group of buildings—the most

important and most dignified part, it is true, but always coinciding and

harmonising with its chapter-house, its cloister and conventual

buildings, its bishop’s palace or abbot’s lodging. In France the

cathedral is generally like a giant among pigmies—nothing can exist in

its neighbourhood. The town itself is dwarfed by the immense incubus

that stands in its centre, and in almost no instance can the subordinate

buildings be said to form part of the same design[422]—both consequently

suffering from their quasi-accidental juxtaposition.

This effect is even more apparent when we come to examine the sky-line

of the buildings. Their moderate internal dimensions enabled the English

architects to keep the roofs low, so as to give full effect to the

height of the towers, and to project their transepts so boldly as to

vary in perspective the long lines of the roofs from whatever point the

building was viewed. Their greatest gain, however, was that they were

able to place their tallest and most important feature in the centre of

their buildings, and so to give a unity and harmony to the whole design

which is generally wanting in Continental examples. One of the few cases

in which this feature is successfully carried out in France is the

church of St. Sernin at Toulouse (Woodcut No. 578), but there the body

of the building is low and long like the English type, and a tower of

the same height as those of the façade at Amiens suffices to give

dignity to the whole. That church, however, wants the western towers to

complete the composition. In this respect it is the reverse of what

generally happens in French cathedrals, where the western façades are

rich and beautifully proportioned in themselves, but too often

overpowered by the building in the rear, and unsupported by any central

object. In Germany they took their revenge, and in many instances kill

the building to which they are attached. In England the group of three

towers or spires—the typical arrangement of our architects—was always

pleasing, and very frequently surpasses in grace and appropriateness

anything to be found on the Continent. Even when, as at Norwich or at

Chichester, the spire is unsupported by any western towers, the same

effect of dignity is produced as at Toulouse; the design is pyramidal,

and from whatever point it is viewed it is felt to be well balanced,

which is seldom the case when the greatest elevation is at one end.

The cathedral at Salisbury (Woodcut No. 834), though, like the two last

named, it has no western towers, still possesses so noble a spire in the

centre, and two transepts so boldly projecting, that when viewed from

any point east of the great transept it displays one of the best

proportioned and at the same time most poetic designs of the Middle

Ages. It is quite true that the spire is an afterthought of the 14th

century, and that those who added it ought to have completed the design

by erecting also two western towers, but, like St. Sernin’s, it is

complete as it is, and very beautiful. The flêche at Amiens is 20 ft.

higher than the spire at Salisbury, being 424 ft. as against 404 ft. Yet

the Salisbury spire is among the most imposing objects of which Gothic

architecture can boast, the other an insignificant pinnacle that hardly

suffices to relieve the monotony of the roof on which it is placed.

[Illustration: 834. Salisbury Cathedral, from the N.E.]

Lichfield (Woodcut No. 835), though one of the smallest of English

cathedrals, is one of the most pleasing from having all its three spires

complete, and in the proportion originally designed for the building and

for each other. The height of the nave internally is only 58 ft., and of

the roof externally only 80 ft.; yet with these diminutive dimensions

great dignity is obtained and great beauty of composition, certainly at

less than one-fourth the expenditure in materials and moyen it would

have cost to produce a like effect among the tall heavy-roofed

cathedrals of the Continent.

[Illustration: 835. View of Lichfield Cathedral. (From Britton’s

‘Cathedral Antiquities.’)]

Had the octagon at Ely been completed externally,[423] even in wood, it

would probably have been superior to the spire at Salisbury both in

height and design. As before mentioned, it was left with only a

temporary lantern externally, and, as was always the case in England, no

drawing—no written specifications of the designer have been left. The

masons on the Continent were careful to preserve the drawings of

unfinished parts of the designs. The gentlemen architects of England

seem to have trusted to inspiration to enable them to mould their forms

into beauty as they proceeded. With true Gothic feeling they believed in

progress, and it never occurred to them but that their successors would

surpass them in their art, in the manner they felt they were excelling

those who preceded them.

[Illustration: 836. Lincoln Cathedral.]

The three-towered cathedrals are not less beautiful and characteristic

of England than those with three spires. Nothing can exceed the beauty

of the outline of Lincoln[424] as it stands on its cliff looking over

the Fens (Woodcut No. 836); though the erection of a screen in front of

the western towers cuts them off from the ground, and so far mars their

effect when seen close at hand. York perhaps possesses the best façade

of the class in England, both as regards proportion and detail. The

height of the towers to the top of the pinnacles is under two hundred

feet (196), but this is quite sufficient for the nave they terminate, or

the central tower with which they group. At Amiens the western towers

are respectively 224 and 205 ft. in height, but they are utterly lost

under the roof of the cathedral, and fail to give any dignity to the

design.

[Illustration: 837. View of the Angel Tower and Chapter-house,

Canterbury. (Cath. Hb.)]

For poetry of design and beauty of proportion, both in itself and in the

building of which it forms a part, perhaps the Angel Tower at Canterbury

is the best in England, and is superior to any of the same class of

towers to be found elsewhere. It is difficult, however, among so many

beautiful objects, to decide which is the best. The highest tower at

Wells is only 165 ft. from the ground to the top of the pinnacle, yet it

is quite sufficient for its position, and groups beautifully with the

western towers. Though of different ages, the three towers at Durham

group beautifully together, and the single tower at Gloucester crowns

nobly the central point of that cathedral. But the same is true of all.

The central tower or spire is the distinguishing feature of the external

design of English cathedrals, and possessing it they in this respect

surpass all their rivals.

The western façades of English cathedrals, on the contrary, are

generally inferior to those on the Continent. We have none of those

deeply recessed triple portals covered with sculpture which give such

dignity and meaning to the façades of Paris, Amiens, Rheims, Chartres,

and other French cathedrals. Beautiful as is the sculptured façade of

Wells, its outline is hard, and its portals mean. Salisbury is worse.

Winchester, Exeter, Canterbury, Gloucester, indeed most of our

cathedrals, have mean western entrances, the principal mode of access to

the building being a side door of the nave. Peterborough alone has a

façade at once original and beautiful. Nothing but the portico of a

classic temple can surpass the majesty of the three great arches of the

façade of this church. The effect is a little marred by the fact that

the central arch, which should have been the widest and have formed the

chief entrance to the nave, is narrower than the other two, and,

further, is blocked up by a chapel built between the central piers. The

great portal in fact does not agree, either, with the main lines of the

church behind, and so far must be regarded only as a decorative front;

but, take it all in all, it is one of the most beautiful inventions of

the Middle Ages.

[Illustration: 838. West Front of Peterborough Cathedral. (From

Britton’s ‘Picturesque Antiquities.’)]

Such a screen would have been better had the arches been flanked by two

more important towers than those which now adorn that façade, but unless

the piers of the central tower were sufficient to carry a much more

important feature in the centre, the architects showed only their usual

discretion in refusing to dwarf the rest of the cathedral by an

exaggerated façade.

It may sound like the indulgence of national predilection to say so; but

it does seem that the English architects seized the true doctrine of

proportion to a greater extent than their contemporaries on the

Continent, and applied it more successfully. It will be easily

understood that in so complicated and constructive a machine as a Gothic

cathedral, unless every part is in proportion the whole will not unite.

It is as if, in a watch or any delicate piece of machinery, one wheel or

one part were made stronger or larger in proportion to all the rest. It

may be quite true that it would be better if all were as strong or as

large as this one part; but perfection in all the arts is attained only

by balance and proportion. Whenever any one part gets too large for the

rest the harmony is destroyed. This the English architects perfectly

understood. They kept their cathedrals narrow, that they might appear

long; they kept them low, that they might not appear too narrow. They

broke up the length with transepts, that it might not fatigue by

monotony. Externally they kept their roofs low that with little

expenditure they might obtain a varied and dignified sky-line, and they

balanced every part against every other so as to get the greatest value

out of each without interfering with the whole. A Gothic cathedral,

however, is so complicated—there are so many parts and so many things to

think of—that none can be said to be perfect. A pyramid may be so, or a

tower, or a Greek temple, or any very simple form of building, whatever

its size; but a Gothic cathedral hardly can be made so—at least has not

yet, though perhaps it might now be; but in the meanwhile the English,

considering the limited dimensions of their buildings, seem to have

approached a perfect ideal more nearly than any other nation during the

Middle Ages.

DIVERSITY OF STYLE.

There is still another consideration which must not be lost sight of in

attempting to estimate the relative merit of Continental and English

cathedrals; which is, the extraordinary diversity of style which

generally prevails in the same building in this country as compared with

those abroad. All the Great French cathedrals—such as Paris, Rheims,

Chartres, Bourges, and Amiens—are singularly uniform throughout.

Internally it requires a very keen perception of style to appreciate the

difference, and externally the variations are generally in the towers,

or in unessential adjuncts which hardly interfere with the general

design. In this country we have scarcely a cathedral, except Salisbury,

of which this can be said. It is true that Norwich is tolerably uniform

in plan and in the detail of its walls up to a certain height; but the

whole of the vaulting is of the 15th century, and the windows are all

filled with tracery of the same date. At Ely, a Norman nave leads up to

the octagon and choir of the 14th century, and we then pass on to the

presbytery of the 13th. At Canterbury and Winchester the anomalies are

still greater; and at Gloucester, owing to the perpendicular tracery

being spread over the Norman skeleton, they become absolutely

bewildering.

In some, as Wells or York, it must be confessed the increase in richness

from the western entrance to Lady Chapel is appropriate, and adds to the

effect of the church more than if the whole were uniform throughout.

This is particularly felt at Lincoln, where the simplicity of the early

English nave and choir blossoms at last into the chaste beauty of the

Angel Choir at the east end. It follows so immediately after the rest as

not to produce any want of harmony, while it gives such a degree of

enrichment as is suitable to the sanctity of the altar and the

localities which surround it.

Even, however, when this is not the case, the historical interest

attaching to these examples of the different ages of English

architecture goes far to compensate for the want of architectural

symmetry, and in this respect the English cathedrals excel all others.

That history which on the Continent must be learnt from the examination

of fifty different examples, may frequently be found in England written

complete in a single cathedral. The difficulty is to descriminate how

much of the feeling thus excited is due to Archæology, and how much to

Architecture. In so far as the last-named art is concerned, it must

probably be confessed that our churches do suffer from the various

changes they have undergone, which, when architecture alone is

considered, frequently turn the balance against them when compared with

their Continental rivals.

SITUATION.

Whatever conclusion may be arrived at with regard to some of the points

mooted in the above section, there can be no doubt that in beauty of

situation and pleasing arrangement of the entourage the English

cathedrals surpass all others. On the Continent the cathedral is

generally situated in the market-place, and frequently encumbered by

shops and domestic buildings, not stuck up against it in barbarous

times, but either contemporary, or generally at least Mediæval; and

their great abbeys are frequently situated in towns, or in localities

possessing no particular beauty of feature. In England this is seldom or

never the case. The cathedral was always surrounded by a close of

sufficient extent to afford a lawn of turf and a grove of trees. Even in

the worst times of Anne and the Georges, when men chiselled away the

most exquisite Gothic canopies to set up wooden classical altar-screens,

they spared the trees and cherished the grass; and it is to this that

our cathedrals owe half their charm. There can be no greater mistake

than to suppose that the architect’s mission ceases with heaping stone

on stone, or arranging interiors for convenience and effect. The

situation is the first thing he should study; the arrangement of the

accessories, though the last, is still amongst the most important of his

duties.

Durham owes half its charm to its situation, and Lincoln much of its

grandeur. Without its park the cathedral at Ely would lose much of its

beauty; and Wells lying in its well wooded and watered vale, forms a

picture which may challenge comparison with anything of its class. Even

when situated in towns, as Canterbury, Winchester, or Gloucester, a

sufficient space is left for a little greenery and to keep off the hum

and movement of the busy world. York, among our great cathedrals is

about the most unfortunate in this respect, and suffers accordingly. But

in order to appreciate how essentially the love of Nature mingled with

the taste for architectural beauty during the Middle Ages, it is

necessary to visit some of the ruined abbeys whose remains still

sanctify the green valleys or the banks of placid streams in every

corner of England.

Even if it should be decided that in some respects the architects of

England must yield the palm to those of the Continent as regards the

mechanical perfection of their designs, it must at least be conceded,

that in combining the beauties of Art with those of Nature they were

unrivalled. Their buildings are always well fitted to the position in

which they are placed. The subsidiary edifices are always properly

subordinated, never too crowded nor too widely spaced, and always

allowing when possible for a considerable admixture of natural objects.

Too frequently in modern times—even in England—this has been neglected;

but it is one of the most important functions of the architect, and the

means by which in many instances most agreeable effects have been

produced.

CHAPTER-HOUSES.

The chapter-house is too important and too beautiful an adjunct to be

passed over in any sketch, however slight, of English architecture. It

also is almost exclusively national. There are, it is true, some “Salles

Capitulaires” attached to Continental cathedrals or conventual

establishments, but they are little more than large vestry-rooms, with

none of that dignity or special ordinance that belongs to the English

examples. One cause of the small importance attached to this feature on

the Continent was that, in the original basilica, the apse was the

assembly-place, where the bishop sat in the centre of his clergy and

regulated the affairs of the church. In Italy this arrangement continued

till late in the Middle Ages. In France it never seems to have had any

real existence, though figuratively it always prevailed. In England we

find the Bishop’s throne still existing in the choir at Norwich; and at

Canterbury, and doubtless in all the apsidal Norman cathedrals, this

form of consistory originally existed. Such an arrangement was well

suited for the delivery of an allocution or pastoral address by the

bishop to his clergy, and was all that was required in a despotic

hierarchy like the French Church; but it was by no means in accordance

with the Anglo-Saxon idea of a deliberate assembly which should discuss

every question as a necessary preliminary to its being promulgated as a

law.

[Illustration: 839. Chapter-House, Bristol. (Cath. Hb.)]

[Illustration: 840. Chapter-House, Salisbury. (Cath. Hb.)]

In consequence of this, we find in England chapter-houses attached to

cathedrals even in early Norman times. These were generally rectangular

rooms, 25 or 30 ft. wide by about twice that extent in length. We can

still trace their form at Canterbury and Winchester. They exist at

Gloucester and Bristol and elsewhere. So convenient and appropriate does

this original form appear, that it is difficult to understand why it was

abandoned, unless it was that the resonance was intolerable. The

earliest innovation seems to have been at Durham, where, in 1133, a

chapter-house was commenced with its inner end semicircular; but shortly

after this, at Worcester, a circular chamber with a central pillar was

erected, and the design was so much approved of, that it became the

typical form of the English chapter-house ever afterwards. Next,

apparently, in date came Lincoln, and shortly afterwards the two

beautiful edifices at Westminster and Salisbury. The former, commenced

about the year 1250, became, without any apparent incongruity, the

parliament-house of the nation, instead of the council-chamber of a

monastic establishment; and all the parliaments of the kingdom were held

within its walls till the dissolution of the religious orders placed the

more convenient rectangular chapel of St. Stephen at their disposal. Now

that it has been restored, we are enabled to judge of the beauty of its

proportions; and, from the remains of paintings which have been so

wonderfully preserved, of the beauty of the art with which it was once

decorated. It only wants coloured glass in its windows to enable us to

realise the beauty of these truly English edifices.

[Illustration: 841. Chapter-House, Wells. (Cath. Hb.)]

That at Bristol is late in the style (1155-1170), and consequently

almost approaches the transitional epoch, but is very rich and

beautiful. The eastern end has been unfortunately pulled down and

rebuilt, but the western end, shown in the annexed Woodcut (No. 839), is

one of the richest and best specimens of late Norman work to be found

anywhere.

[Illustration: 842. Chapter-House, York. (Cath. Hb.)]

But, having once got rid of the central pillar, which was the great

defect of their construction as halls of assembly, they would hardly

have reverted to it again, and a true Gothic dome might have been the

result had the style been continued long enough to admit of its being

perfected.

Salisbury chapter-house (Woodcut No. 840) was erected shortly

afterwards; and, though its original beauties have been to a great

extent washed out by modern restorations, it still affords a very

perfect type of an English chapter-house of the 13th century, at a time

when the French geometric tracery was most in vogue. That at Wells

(1293-1302, Woodcut No. 841), however, is more beautiful and more

essentially English in all its details. The tracery of the windows, the

stalls below them, and the ornaments of the roof, are all of that

perfect type which prevailed in this country about the year 1300. Its

central pillar may perhaps be considered a little too massive for the

utilitarian purpose of the building, but as an architectural feature its

proportions are perfect. Still the existence of the pillar was a defect

that it was thought expedient to remove, if possible; and it was at last

accomplished in the chapter-house at York, the most perfect example of

the class existing, as its boasting inscription testifies,—

“Ut Rosa flos florum,

Sic Domus ista Domorum.”

Like all the rest of them, its diameter is 57 or 58 ft.—as has been

suggested, an octagon inscribed in a circle of 60 ft. diameter. In this

instance alone has a perfect Gothic dome been accomplished. It is 12 ft.

less in diameter than the lantern at Ely, and much less in height; but

it is extremely beautiful both in design and detail, and makes us regret

more and more that, having gone so far, the Gothic architects did not

follow out this invention to its legitimate conclusion.

By the time, however, that York chapter-house was complete, all the

great cathedrals and monastic establishments had been provided with this

indispensable adjunct to their ecclesiastical arrangements, and none

were erected either in the Lancastrian or Tudor periods of the art, so

that we can hardly guess what might have been done had a monastic

parliament-house been attempted at a later date.[425]

CHAPELS.[426]

Although not so strictly peculiar, the forms of English chapels were so

original and offer so many points of interest that they are well worthy

of study.

With the exception of the chapel in the White Tower there is perhaps no

example of a Norman Chapel now existing, unless the remains of the

infirmary chapels at Canterbury and Ely may be considered as such. The

practice of erecting them seems to have risen with our educational

colleges, where all those present took part in the service, and the

public were practically excluded. One of the finest and earliest of

these is that of Merton College, Oxford. It has, and was always designed

to have, a wooden roof; but of what fashion is not quite clear, except

that it certainly could never have been like the one now existing.

[Illustration: 843. Internal Elevation in St. Stephen’s Chapel,

Westminster.]

The typical specimen of that age, however, was the royal chapel of St.

Stephen at Westminster, which, from what remained of it till after the

Great Fire, we know must have been the most exquisitely beautiful

specimen of English art left us by the Middle Ages.[427]

It was 92 ft. long by 33 ft. wide internally, and 42 ft. high to the

springing of the roof. This was of wood, supported by hammer-beam

trusses similar to, but evidently more delicate in design and more

elegantly carved than those of Westminster Hall, which were apparently

copied from those of the chapel. The proportions were beautiful; but the

greatest charm was in its details, which were carried out evidently by

the best artists, and with all the care that was required in the

principal residence of the sovereign.

Though nearly a century later in date,[428] St. Stephen’s Chapel is so

nearly a counterpart of the royal chapel of Paris—“the Sainte Chapelle”—

that it may be worth while to pause a second to compare the two. In

dimensions, on plan, they are not dissimilar; both are raised on an

under-croft or crypt of great beauty. The French example has the usual

apsidal termination; the English the equally characteristic square east

end. The French roof is higher and vaulted; the English was lower and of

wood. It is impossible to deny that the French chapel is very beautiful,

and only wants increased dimensions to merit the title of a sublime

specimen of Gothic art; but the English example was far more elegant.

All the parts are better balanced, and altogether it was a far more

satisfactory example than its more ambitious rival, of the highest

qualities to which the art of the Middle Ages could attain.

[Illustration:

Half plan Upper Storey.

Half plan Crypt.

844. Plan of Ste. Chapelle, Paris. Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration:

Half plan Upper Storey.

Half plan Crypt.

845. Plan of St. Stephen’s, Westminster. Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 846. Interior View of King’s College Chapel, Cambridge.]

We have an excellent means of ascertaining how far St. Stephen’s Chapel

would have been damaged by a vaulted roof, by comparing it with the

nearly contemporary chapel at Ely (1321-1349), erected under the

superintendence of the same Alan de Walsingham who designed the octagon

of the church. Its internal dimensions are 100 ft. long by 43 wide, and

sixty high. The details of the screen of niches which form a dado round

the whole chapel are perhaps, without exception, the most exquisite

specimens of decorative carving that survive from the Middle Ages. The

details of the side windows are also good, but the end windows are bad

in design, and neither externally nor internally fit the spaces in which

they are placed. With painted glass this might be remedied, internally

at least; but the whole design is thrown out of harmony by its stone

roof. As a vault its width is too great for its length; the height

insufficient for its other dimensions; and altogether, though its

details are beyond all praise, it leaves a more unsatisfactory

impression on the mind than almost any other building of its class.

King’s College Chapel at Cambridge (1479-1515) errs in exactly the

opposite direction. It is too long for its width, but has height

sufficient to redeem the length, though at the expense of exaggerating

its narrowness. These, however are all errors in the direction of

sublimity of effect; and though greater balance would have been more

satisfactory, the chapel is internally so beautiful that it is

impossible not to overlook them. It is more sublime than the Saint

Chapelle, though, from its late age, wanting the beauty of detail of

that building.

Henry VII.’s Chapel, Westminster (1502-1515), differs from all previous

examples, in having side-aisles with chapels at the east end and a

clerestory. Its proportions are not, however, pleasing, but it makes up

in richness of detail for any defects of design.

Of the three royal chapels, that at Windsor (1475-1521) is perhaps on

the whole the most satisfactory. Being a chapel it has no western or

central towers to break its sky-line and give it external dignity; but

internally it is a small cathedral, and notwithstanding the lateness of

some of its details (part of the vault was finished in the reign of

Henry VIII.), is so elegant and so appropriate in every part as to be

certainly one of the most beautiful Gothic buildings in existence; for

its size, perhaps the most beautiful. Considering that these three

last-named chapels were being erected contemporaneously with St. Peter’s

at Rome, it is wonderful how little trace of classic feeling they

betray; and how completely not only Gothic details but true Gothic

feeling still prevailed in this country almost up to the outbreak of the

Reformation.

PARISH CHURCHES.

Were it possible in a work like this to attempt anything approaching an

exhaustive enumeration of the various objects of interest produced

during the Middle Ages, it would be impossible to escape a very long

chapter on the parish churches of England. They are not so magnificent

as her cathedrals, nor so rich as her chapels; but for beauty of detail

and appropriateness of design they are unsurpassed by either, while on

the Continent there is nothing to compare with them. The parochial

system seems to have been more firmly rooted in the affection of the

people of this country than of any other. Especially in the 14th and

15th centuries the parishioners took great pride in their churches, and

those then erected are consequently more numerous as well as more

ornamental than at any other time.

[Illustration: 847. Plan of Circular Church at Little Maplestead. Scale

50 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 848. Spire of Great Leighs Church, Essex.]

[Illustration: 849. Tower of Little Saxham Church, Suffolk.]

Strange to say, considering how common the circular form was in the

countries from which our forefathers are said to have emigrated, it

never took root in England. The round churches at Cambridge,

Northampton, and London, were certainly sepulchral, or erected in

imitation of the church at Jerusalem. The one known example of a village

church with a circular nave is that at Little Maplestead, in Essex. It

is of the pure German or Scandinavian type[429]—a little St. Gereon,

standing alone in this form in England; but a curious modification of it

occurs in the eastern counties, in which this church is situated, which

points very distinctly to the origin of a great deal of the architecture

of that country. There are in Norfolk and Suffolk some forty or fifty

churches with round Western towers, which seem undoubtedly to be mere

modifications of the western round nave of the Scandinavian churches. At

page 331, Läderbro Church (Woodcut No. 795) was pointed out as an

example of a circular nave attenuated into a steeple, and there are no

doubt many others of the same class in Scandinavia. It was, however, in

England, where rectangular naves were common, that the compromise found

in this country became fashionable. These Norfolk churches with round

towers may consequently be looked upon as safe indexes of the existence

of Scandinavian influences in the eastern counties, and also as

interesting examples of the mode in which a compromise is frequently hit

upon between the feelings of intrusive races and the habits of the

previous inhabitants.

It is doubtful whether round-naved and round-towered churches existed in

the eastern counties anterior to the Norman Conquest; so far as we know,

none have been described. The earliest that are known were erected

during the Norman period, and extend certainly down to the end of the

Edwardian period. Some of the towers have perpendicular details, but

these seem insertions, and consequently do not indicate the date of the

essential parts of the structure.

As a rule, the English parish church is never vaulted, that species of

magnificence being reserved, after the Norman times at least, for

cathedrals and collegiate churches; but on the other hand, their wooden

roofs are always appropriate, and frequently of great beauty. So

essential does the vault appear to have been to Gothic architecture both

abroad and in this country, that it is at first sight difficult to admit

that any other form of covering can be as beautiful. But some of the

roofs in English churches go far to refute the idea. Even, however, if

they are not in themselves so monumental and so grand, they had at least

this advantage, that the absence of the vault allowed the architect to

play with the construction of the substructure. He was enabled to

lighten the pillars of the nave to any extent he thought consistent with

dignity, and to glaze his clerestory in a manner which must have given

extreme brilliancy to the interior when the whole was filled with

painted glass. Generally with a wooden roof there were two windows in

the clerestory for one in the aisles: with a vaulted roof the tendency

was the other way. Had they dared, they would have put one above for two

below. But the great merit of a wooden roof was, that it enabled the

architect to dispense with all flying buttresses, exaggerated pinnacles,

and mechanical expedients, which were necessary to support a vault, but

which often sadly hampered and crowded his designs.

[Illustration: 850. Roof at Trunch Church. (From a Drawing by H.

Clutton.)]

[Illustration: 851. Roof of Aisle in New Walsingham Church.]

So various were the forms these wooden roofs took that they almost defy

classification. The earlier and best type was a reminiscence, rather

than an imitation, of the roof of St. Stephen’s Chapel or Westminster

Hall, but seldom so deeply framed. That at Trunch Church, Norfolk

(Woodcut No. 850), may be taken as a fair average specimen of the form

adopted for the larger spans, and that at New Walsingham of the mode

adopted for roofing aisles. Some, of course, are simpler, but many much

more elaborate. In later periods they become flatter, and more like the

panelled ceiling of a hall or chamber; but they were always perfectly

truthful in construction, and the lead was laid directly on the boarded

framing. They thus avoided the double roof, which was so inherent a

defect in the vaulted forms, where the stone ceiling required to be

protected externally by a true roof.

Among so many examples it is difficult to select one which shall

represent the class, but the annexed plan of Walpole St. Peter’s,

Norfolk, will suffice to explain the typical arrangement of an English

parish church. In almost every instance the nave had aisles, and was

lighted by a clerestory. The chancel was narrow and deep, without

aisles, and with a square termination. There was one tower, with a

belfry, generally, but not always, at the west end; and the principal

entrance was by a south door, usually covered by a porch of more or less

magnificence, frequently, as in this instance, vaulted, and with a

muniment room or library chamber over it.

[Illustration: 852. Plan of Church of Walpole St. Peter’s, Norfolk.

Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

Often, as at Coventry, Boston, and other places, these churches with the

above described arrangements almost reached the dimensions of small

cathedrals, the towers and spires matching those of the proudest

ecclesiastical edifices; and in many instances the details of their

tracery and the beauty of their sculptured ornaments are quite equal to

anything to be found in the cathedral of the diocese.

DETAILS.

When we consider the brilliancy of invention displayed in the decorative

details of French ecclesiastical buildings, the play of fancy and the

delicacy of execution, it must perhaps be admitted that in this respect

the French architects of the Middle Ages far excelled those of any other

nation. This was, no doubt, due in a great measure to the reminiscences

of classical art that remained in the country, especially in the south,

where the barbarian influence never really made itself felt, and whence

the feeling gradually spread northwards; and may be traced in the

quasi-classical details of the best French examples of the 13th century,

even in the Isle de France. More also should perhaps be ascribed to the

Celtic feeling for art, which still characterises the French nation, and

has influenced it ever since its people became builders.

Though the English must yield the palm to the French in this respect,

there is still a solidity and appropriateness of purpose in their

details which goes far to compensate for any want of fancy. There is

also in this country a depth of cutting and a richness of form, arising

from the details being so often imitated from wood-carving, which is

architecturally more valuable than the more delicate exuberance of

French examples.

These remarks apply with almost equal force to figure-sculpture as a

mode of decoration. Neither in Germany nor in this country is anything

to be found at all comparable with the great sculptural Bibles of

Rheims, Chartres, Bourges, and other great cathedrals of France; even

such at Poitiers, Arles, St. Gilles, are richer in this respect than

many of our largest churches. It is true that the sculptures of the

façade at Wells, or of the Angel Choir at Lincoln, and the façade of

Croyland Abbey, are quite equal in merit to anything of the same period

on the Continent; and, had there been the same demand, we might have

done as well or better than any other nation. Whether it arose from a

latent feeling of respect for the Second Commandment, or a cropping out

of Saxon feeling, certain it is that, with certain exceptions, such as

the Lady Chapel at Ely, figure-sculpture gradually died out in England.

In the 14th century it was not essential; in the 15th and 16th it was

subordinate to the architectural details, and in this respect the people

became Protestant long before they thought of protesting against the

pope and the papist form of worship.

[Illustration: 853. Staircase at Canterbury Cathedral.]

As already hinted at, it is probable that a great deal of the richness

of English decorative carving is due to the employment, in early times,

of wood as a building material in preference to stone. It is difficult,

for instance, to understand how such a form of decorative arch as that

on the old staircase at Canterbury could have arisen from any exigency

of stone construction; but it displays all that freedom of form and

richness of carving that might easily arise from the employment of

timber.

The same remarks apply, though in a less degree, to the Norman gateway

at Bristol (Woodcut No. 854); which may be regarded as a typical

specimen of the style—sober, and constructive, yet rich—without a

vestige of animal life, but with such forms as an ivory or wood carver

might easily invent, and would certainly adopt.

[Illustration: 854. Norman Gateway, College Green, Bristol. (Cath. Hb.)]

The great defect of such a style of decoration as this was its extreme

elaboration. It was almost impossible to carry out a large building,

every part of which should be worked up to the same key-note as this;

and, if it had been done, it would have been felt that the effect was

not commensurate with the labour bestowed upon it. What the architects

therefore set to work to invent was some mode of decoration which should

be effective with a less expenditure of labour. This they soon

discovered in the deep-cut mouldings of the Gothic arch, with the

occasional intermixture of the dog-tooth moulding (as in the nave at

Lichfield, Woodcut No. 812), which was one of the earliest and most

effective discoveries of the 13th century. Sometimes a band of foliage

was introduced with the dog-tooth, as in the doorways leading to the

choir aisles at Lincoln (Woodcut No. 855), making together as effective

a piece of decoration as any in the whole range of English

architecture,—more difficult to design, but less expensive to execute,

than many Norman examples, and infinitely more effective when done.

[Illustration: 855. Capitals, &c., of Doorway leading to the Choir

Aisles, Lincoln. (Cath. Hb.)]

The west doorway at Lichfield (A.D. 1275, Woodcut No. 856) shows the

style in its highest degree of perfection. There is just that admixture

of architectural moulding with decorative foliage which is necessary to

harmonise the constructive necessities of the building with the

decorative purposes to which it was to be applied, combined with a

feeling of elegance which could only have proceeded from a thoroughly

cultivated and refined class of intellect.

[Illustration: 856. West Doorway, Lichfield Cathedral. (Cath. Hb.)]

[Illustration: 857. Tomb of Bishop Marshall, Exeter Cathedral. (Cath.

Hb.)]

Everything in England of the same age bears the same impress, so that it

is difficult to go wrong in selecting examples, though hopeless to

expect, with any reasonable amount of illustration, to explain its

beauties. The niches at the back of the altar-screen at Winchester are

among the best examples of that combination of constructive lines and

decorative details which when properly balanced make up the perfection

of architectural decoration; or, perhaps, even better than these are the

heads of the three niches over the sedilia in the parish church at

Heckington in Lincolnshire (Woodcut No. 858). The style of these

examples is peculiar to England, and quite equal to anything that can be

found on the Continent; and thousands of examples, more or less perfect,

executed during the Edwardian period, exist in every corner of the

country. Bishop Marshall’s tomb at Exeter (Woodcut No. 621), though

somewhat earlier, displays the same playful combination of conventional

foliage with architectural details.

[Illustration: 858. Triple Canopy, Heckington Church, Lincolnshire.]

[Illustration: 859. Prior de Estria’s Screen, Canterbury Cathedral.

(Cath. Hb.)]

[Illustration: 860. Doorway of Chapter-House, Rochester Cathedral.

(Cath. Hb.)]

After the year 1300, however, we can perceive a change gradually

creeping over the style of decoration. Constructive forms are becoming

more and more prominent; merely decorative features being gradually

dropped as years went on. In Prior de Estria’s screen in Canterbury

Cathedral, for instance (Woodcut No. 859), though all the elegance of

earlier times is retained, the principal features are mechanical, and

the decoration much more subdued than in the examples just quoted. The

celebrated doorway leading to the chapter-house at Rochester (Woodcut

No. 860) is a still more striking example of this. It is rich even to

excess; but the larger part of its decoration consists of ornaments

which could be drawn with instruments. Of free-hand carving there is

comparatively little: and though the whole effect is very satisfactory,

there is so evident a tendency towards the mere mechanical arrangement

of the Perpendicular style that it does not please to the same extent as

earlier works of the same class.

TOMBS.

Among the more beautiful objects of decorative art with which our

churches were adorned during the Middle Ages are the canopies or shrines

erected over the burying-places of kings or prelates, or as cenotaphs in

honour of their memory. Simple slabs, with a figure upon them, seem to

have been all that was attempted during the Norman period; but the pomp

of sepulchral magnificence gradually developed itself, so that by the

end of the 13th or beginning of the 14th century we have some of the

most splendid specimens existing, and the practice lasted down almost to

the Renaissance, as exemplified in Bishop West’s tomb at Ely

(1515-1534), or Bishop Gardiner’s at Winchester (1531-1555).

[Illustration: 861. Tomb of the Black Prince, Canterbury Cathedral.

(Cath. Hb.)]

At first the tomb-builders were content with a simple wooden tester,

like that which covers the tomb of the Black Prince at Canterbury; but

this became one of great beauty when applied, as in Westminster Abbey,

to the tomb of Edward III. (Woodcut No. 862), where its appropriateness

and beauty of detail distinguish it from many more ambitious shrines in

stone.

In general design these two monuments are similar to one another, and

must have been erected very nearly at the same time—the difference being

in the superior richness and elaboration of the regal as compared with

the princely tomb.

[Illustration: 862. Tomb of Edward III. in Westminster Abbey.]

Although this form of wooden tester was the most usual in monuments of

the age, stone canopies were also frequently employed, as in the

well-known monument of Aymer de Valence (died 1324) in Westminster

Abbey. But all previous examples were excelled by the beautiful shrine

which the monks of Gloucester erected, at a considerably later period,

over the burying-place of the unfortunate Edward II. (Woodcut No. 863).

In its class there is nothing in English architecture more beautiful

than this. It belongs to the very best age of the style, and is carried

out with a degree of propriety and elegance which has not been surpassed

by any example now remaining. If the statues with which it was once

adorned could now be replaced, it would convey a more correct idea of

the style of the Edwardian period than can be obtained from larger

examples.

[Illustration: 863. Tomb of Edward II. in Gloucester Cathedral. (Cath

Hb.)]

It seems to have been as much admired then as now; for we find its form

repeated, with more or less correctness of outline and detail, at

Winchester, at Tewkesbury, and St. Alban’s, as well as elsewhere, the

whole forming a series of architectural illustrations unmatched in their

class by anything on the continent of Europe.

[Illustration: 864. Tomb of Bishop Redman in Ely Cathedral. (Cath. Hb.)]

As a fine specimen of the form taken by a multitude of these tombs

during the last period of Gothic art we may select that of Bishop Redman

at Ely (1501-1506). Though so late in date, there is nothing offensive

either in its form or detail. On the contrary, it is well proportioned

and appropriate; and though there is a little display of over-ingenuity

in making the three arches of the canopy sustain themselves without

intermediate supports, this is excusable from its position between two

massive piers. It is doing in stone what had been done in wood over

Edward III.’s tomb at Westminster, and is one of many instances which

might be quoted of the interchangeableness of wooden and stone forms

during the whole of the Middle Ages in this country, and a proof of the

influence the one always had on the other.

[Illustration: 865. Waltham Cross (restored).]

Among the most beautiful monuments of a quasi-sepulchral character

existing in this country are the crosses erected by Edward I. on the

spots at which the body of his queen Eleanor rested on its way from

Nottinghamshire to London. Originally, it is said, there were fifteen of

these, all different in design. Three only now remain; one near

Northampton, one at Geddington, and a third at Waltham (Woodcut No.

865).[430] Though greatly dilapidated, enough remains to show what was

the original design. While extremely varied both in outline and detail,

every part is elegant, and worthy of the best age of English

architecture.

Had it not been the custom in those days to bury the illustrious dead

within the walls of the churches, this is probably the form which

sepulchral monuments would generally have taken. If we may judge from

the examples left us, we can have little doubt but that, with more

experience and somewhat increased dimensions, these monuments would have

surpassed the spires of our cathedrals or parish churches in every

respect as architectural designs. Being entirely free from utilitarian

exigencies, the architect had only to consult the rules of his art in

order to produce what would be most pleasing and most appropriate. We

can only therefore regret that so purely English a form of sepulchral

design began and ended with this one act of conjugal devotion.

CIVIL AND DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE.

One of the most remarkable characteristics of English architecture,

though but a negative one, is the almost total absence of any municipal

buildings during the whole period of the Middle Ages. The Guildhall of

London is a late specimen, and may even be called an insignificant one,

considering the importance of the city. There are also some corporation

buildings at Bristol, and one or two unimportant town-halls in other

cities; but there we stop. Nothing can more vividly express how

completely the country was Frenchified by the result of the battle of

Hastings, than this absence of municipal architecture. Till a very

recent period the king, the baron, and the bishop, were the estates of

the realm. The people were nowhere, and neither municipalities nor

guilds could assert an independent existence.

On the other hand, in proportion to her population, England is rich in

castles beyond any other country in Europe—especially of the Norman or

round-arched Gothic age. Germany, as already pointed out, has some fine

examples of the Hohenstaufen period. France has scarcely any, and

neither France nor Germany can match such castles as those of London,

Rochester, Norwich, Rising, &c. The Welsh castles of the Edwardian

period form an unrivalled group themselves; and are infinitely superior,

both in extent and architectural magnificence, to the much-lauded

robber-dens of the Rhineland; while such castles as Raglan, Chepstow,

Kenilworth, Warwick, or Windsor are, for picturesque beauty and elegance

of detail, quite unmatched except by one or two ruined strongholds in

the North of France. The discussion of their merits, however, would more

probably come under the head of military architecture, which is excluded

from this work, and cannot therefore be entered on here.

It is difficult, however, to draw the line exactly between the castles

and the castellated mansion, the moated grange, and lastly the mansion

or manor-house, which, towards the end of the Gothic period, had become

so numerous in England, and form an architectural group so beautiful and

so peculiarly English.

[Illustration: 866. Plan of Westminster Hall. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

A History of Architecture in all Countries, Volumes 1 and 2, 3rd ed. From the Earliest Times to the Present Day · 第 12 / 18 章

[Illustration: 782. Elevation of Domkirche Roeskilde. (From Steen