Chapter IV: Part 4

Corinthian into France, had it not led to this glorious result. In the nave of Nôtre Dame every vestige of this _Greekesque_ foliage is got rid of, its general outline alone excepted;[23] and a kind perfectly new and most truly noble is subtituted, founded slightly on reminiscences of the true Romanesque foliage previous to the Oriental importation, retaining the outline suggested by the acanthus leaf, but worked up into a form which had never before been hinted at, and which was destined to effect a great revolution in this branch of art. From this time forward (till the end of the thirteenth century) the French carving is noble and effective in the very highest degree--at first gradually approaching natural forms without directly imitating them, but eventually adopting frankly the productions of nature as its guide, but so far conventionalising them as to fit them perfectly to their position, and to make them produce a contour

Capital from the apse.]

harmonising with, and adding the utmost beauty to, the features of the architecture to which they are applied. I exhibit specimens of this class of foliage in Nôtre Dame (Figs. 47, 48). I will also call attention to a drawing of one of the capitals from the apse of St. Leu, near Creil (said to have been executed a little after a great accession of wealth to the abbey in 1175, M. le Duc says about 1190), as a specimen of the same advance in foliaged carving, and to some of the capitals from the west front of Nôtre Dame (about 1220) as examples of its success just before the systematic introduction of natural foliage.

At this point I ought to mention the introduction (though of somewhat earlier date) of what the French call the capital “_à crochet_.” I exhibit a sketch showing its origin from a plain unruffled leaf, which accompanied the Byzantine acanthus (Fig. 51). This plain leaf may be seen in a simple form in the apsidal columns at Noyon, in a more advanced state in the nave of the same church, and at Laon (which, however, is a good deal later), and pretty well developed at Sens, and at Montmartre. In Nôtre Dame the capital _à crochet_ assumes a considerable importance, and in the west front is used in its most perfect purely conventional form; while a little later, as at the Sainte Chapelle, it is decked and entwined with natural leaves in the most elegant manner imaginable. No feature which arose during the French transition is so universal in its influence on the architecture of other countries. In France its use is often carried to a vicious excess; but, used in moderation, it is a very valuable element in the _architecturalisation_ of foliage.

I have to apologise, as well for the length to which I have prolonged my remarks on the French transition, as for the very meagre outline with which the limits of a lecture have compelled me to satisfy myself. I will reserve a few remarks suggested by what has passed so hastily in review till I have described some of the English examples.

The English transition was so complete in itself, and all its stages so perfect and so consecutive, that were it not for our knowledge of that of France, and for the _interpolation_--if I may say so--of the almost purely French work at Canterbury, one would be loath to believe that it had been influenced by any other than the natural and spontaneous working out of the development of our own Romanesque.

It may be divided into several stages, though they are often intermingled in the same work.

First, those buildings which are strictly Romanesque, excepting only that pointed arches are partially used. Such is the nave of Fountains Abbey. The date of this is unknown; but it was in all probability erected between 1140 and 1150, thus agreeing in age with St. Denis. Next comes Kirkstall Abbey, commenced in 1153, and, though it appears to have taken thirty-three years to complete it, retaining the same character throughout--_purely_ Romanesque--and that of a stern and severe variety, but with the pointed arches to its more important parts. Buildwas Abbey belongs to the same class, commenced probably a few years after the foundation of the abbey in 1135, its earlier parts thus probably agreeing in age with Fountains.

These examples would appear at first sight to date back our transition as early as that of France; but this would scarcely be a fair conclusion, for, without doubt, many French examples of the same kind--mere Romanesque with the larger arches pointed--exist in France of an earlier date than that of Abbot Suger’s work. I will therefore pass over these merely incipient specimens.

The next class is the extremely refined Norman,

with or without pointed arches--such as the Galilee at Durham, where, though the date is clearly transitional, the ornaments are Norman of a delicate character, very different from Fountains and Kirkstall, and showing a later date. This was the work of the celebrated Bishop Pudsey, the great promoter of the transition in the north. He commenced in 1155 (as I

believe) with his chapter-house--a purely Norman work--and closed with the erection of Darlington Church, nearly as purely Pointed;[24] his episcopate spreading over about forty years. Of this class the examples in the north of England are most numerous, but are so intermixed with decidedly Pointed work as somewhat to confuse the classification. It is common, in fact, to find a building nearly purely Pointed, but with doorways of this class; of which there is a notable, but not very early instance, at Jedburgh, where the doorways are perfect gems of refined Norman of the highest class and most artistic finish, while the interior of the church is purely Pointed.

One of the most remarkable specimens of this class is at St. Mary’s Abbey, at York, in the vestibule of the chapter-house. I give a restored view of one of the entrances, partly from remains _in situ_, and partly from fragments preserved in the Museum. The date of this most exquisite work is unknown; but I should suppose it contemporary with the later years of Archbishop Roger, the great promoter of the transition in that diocese, and who presided over the see from 1154 to 1181. He rebuilt the choir of his cathedral, of which the noble remains of the crypt were

discovered a few years back, of a very refined Norman style. He also built the palace on the north side of the cathedral, of which a most beautiful fragment remains (Fig. 65). This fragment, though simple, and with round arches, agrees exactly in its detail with the doorway at St. Mary’s, even to the exact diameter and height of its shafts and capitals, and was, no doubt, executed by the same persons.

Roger, also, as has been proved by Mr. Walbran, built the choir at Ripon, of which I give a bay (Fig. 66). Of the same class, and in the same diocese, may be mentioned the west end of Selby Abbey and the Church at Old Malton; Roche Abbey, and of the same date are probably the stately remains of Byland Abbey--one of the noblest relics of the age, and of which the choir was clearly built on the plan of that of Roger at York.

In the south I will first mention the Church of St. Cross, near Winchester, which seems to be intermediate between the above-named classes; it is Norman, of a grand and severe, but, at the same time, highly refined character, but with pointed arches to all principal parts; its foliage is untinged by French taste, but is of a very refined and elegant character; it is as massive as the earlier specimens, without their heaviness--impressive, without becoming oppressive; it is, in fact, the most perfect and the purest type of the indigenous English transition. Unfortunately, its date is unknown, for though founded in 1136, and the hospital actually commenced in that year, it is impossible to give so early a date to the church. It was founded by Henry de Blois, brother to King Stephen, who held the see of Winchester from 1129 to 1171, and it is but reasonable to suppose that the earlier parts of the church were completed during his lifetime.

Contemporary with the close of this structure is the great western tower of the Cathedral at Ely, erected by Bishop Ridel, between 1174 and 1189, in a very grand and effective style, for the most part purely English in character, but occasionally displaying the influence of French examples in the use of the _crochet_ capital.

This brings me to the great type of the third class--those buildings which are unquestionably in the Pointed style, but retain sufficient reminiscences of their Romanesque origin to distinguish them from the fully-developed Early English. I allude to the choir (Fig. 69) and Trinity Chapel (Fig. 70) at Canterbury. I may here save myself and you much time by referring you to Professor Willis’s admirable architectural history of this cathedral, a book with which every architectural student should be familiar. I will only mention that the splendid late Norman choir having been destroyed by fire in 1174, the monks committed its restoration to William of Sens, who had, in all probability, been engaged on the recently-completed cathedral in that city. He carried on the works till disabled by an accident in 1179, when he left them in the hands of his assistant, called, by way of distinction, William, the Englishman, who brought them to a close in 1184 or 1185.

The work of the first William is almost purely French, and, though far more elaborate than that at Sens, very strongly resembles it. He had, however, the good judgment to Anglicise it in a slight degree, as we see in the liberal use of the zigzag and other

Norman ornaments. His capitals are some of the Byzantine character of Sens, and others in the newly-developed style of Nôtre Dame at Paris, and are very finely carved (Fig. 71). The arches are not all pointed, the pier arches, wall ribs, and triforium arches being round.

William the Englishman discarded the Byzantine foliage, and adopted, almost exclusively, the Nôtre Dame type and the capital _à crochet_, which he carried out with extreme beauty. His work is far more beautiful than that of his master, though from the resemblance of the plan to that of Sens, and from the use of doubled columns, it must have been laid down by the French William. I know no work of the age finer than those of these two architects. One thing I will remark about the second architect, that he made his crypt, in which he worked unfettered by the designs of another, more English than the superstructure, using there (as he did also in one or two other places) the round abacus, subsequently so characteristic of English work.

The influence of the French work thus introduced into England is distinctly marked, and there is no difficulty in tracing it wherever it exists; but it is by no means such as to supersede the national type. Perhaps the most pervading symptom of it is the prevalence henceforth of the _crochet_ capital, though even that seldom assumes a form wholly French, but receives a distinctly English and often a local modification. The most palpable instance (and almost the only one of this direct kind which I remember) of the imitation of Canterbury work is seen in the hall of the castle at Oakham, built by Walkelin de Ferrers, probably, as Mr. Hartshorne says, between 1180 and 1190. In this the capitals, though with some originality, are obviously of French character, and probably founded on those of the Trinity Chapel.[25]

Immediately after Canterbury, and probably in part contemporaneous with it, was the magnificent Abbey Church of Glastonbury. It appears to have been erected chiefly between 1180 and 1190, though finished a little later. I am not aware whether the Chapel of St. Joseph of Arimathea (which stands at the west end, like the Galilee at Durham) was built earlier than the church:[26] at first sight it would convey that impression, all the arches, except those of the vaulting, being round. In its details, however, it

resembles those of the church, where the arches are all pointed. This chapel is of exquisite beauty, and its details in the highest degree refined; indeed, nothing could exceed the studious care with which every feature and the profile of every moulding is carried out. The English type is adhered to in the retention, in an exceedingly refined form, and in great variety of decorations founded in the chevron, and in the use of intersecting arcades. The external buttresses assume

a form of peculiar elegance and originality; the base moulds are of noble form, wholly differing from those in France. The turrets at the angles are of great beauty. The whole shows symptoms of a perfect knowledge of French developments, but the only distinctive imitation of them is in the capitals, which display, in many instances, the _crochet_ form, but with a beauty and freedom of treatment peculiarly their own, differing not only from the French examples, but from the great majority of English ones, and exercising a strong local influence, extending from Somerset along the north side of the Bristol Channel, and reaching even the distant Cathedral of St. David’s. The church agrees in its details with the chapel, but its remains are grievously fragmentary. The triforium was united

with the pier arcade in a manner I do not recollect in any other Pointed church, though it is seen on a round-arched form at Oxford, and in the early portion of Jedburgh Abbey. The piers are beautifully clustered, as is suggested by the multifarious destinations of their parts, one portion being to carry the vaulting of the aisles; a second, the lower tier of pier-arches; a third, the upper tier; and a fourth, the higher vaulting. It is distressing to think how little of this most glorious church remains. It was probably unequalled by any transitional church in England, but has actually--even up to our own day--been used as a stone quarry!

I should have mentioned that in the chapel the pointed vaulting is used in its fully-developed form--both main arches and side cells being pointed.

Of the same age is a great part of the Cathedral of St. David’s, of which I give an internal bay (Fig. 76). It was commenced in 1182, just after William of Sens relinquished his work at Canterbury. Its character is decidedly more Romanesque than that of Glastonbury. The arches are generally round, and the vaulting seems to have reversed the early custom, being round in the main arch, and pointed in its side cells. The ornaments of the chevron type are used, as at Glastonbury; there is the same refined and studious detail, and the same class of capital is occasionally used, though the majority are formed on the Norman cushion capital. This form of capital had undergone a long series of changes; at first the cushions were single on each face and the profile convex; then they became gradually multiplied, but still convex below; then the outline became concave; subsequently the cushions from semicircles became a much greater portion of a circle, appearing like a series of rolls bent into a concave outline, with deep hollows between them. This occurs frequently at St. David’s. The next step is to decorate the circular ends of these rolls. This is done at St. David’s, sometimes with foliage, sometimes with little figures, as in medallions, and, as a last step, before the final rejection of the type, the whole roll is converted into foliage together. At St. David’s all these later steps are exhibited in a very curious and interesting manner. Some of them may be seen in the choir of Lichfield Cathedral, and at Hereford in the eastern chapel.

At St. David’s the triforium is united with the clerestory, something as at St. Germain des Pres.[27] The clerestory has two bays to one arch below, and has had sexpartite vaulting; not, as usual, embracing two bays, but two of these semi-bays. It is interesting to find in this most remote of the cathedrals of South Britain, and only just verging out of the Romanesque, a degree of originality and of refinement equal to what is met with in our best examples.

The circular portion of the Temple Church in

London is exactly contemporary with Canterbury, having been consecrated in 1185, the year when that work was completed. It is somewhat less advanced in style, possibly from a preference felt among the Templars for the Romanesque. The pillars and main arches, with the vaulting generally, it is true, are quite advanced Pointed, and are exceedingly beautiful; but the triforium consists of an intersecting arcade, as at St. Cross, and the windows are quite Norman; while, on the other hand, the wall-arcading is pointed. The capitals are of several varieties; most of them are of the simple water-leaf form so prevalent in the north of England, while others are founded on the cushion and the _crochet_ forms.

It is exceedingly vexatious that the dates of buildings of this period are so difficult to be ascertained.

Even where we know by whom they were erected, their founders were often so long-lived as to render the information perfectly indefinite. Thus, Pudsey presided over the see of Durham for forty years, Roger over York for nearly thirty years, and Henry de Blois over Winchester forty-two years; and Walkelin de Ferrers, who built the hall at Oakham Castle, held the manor from 1161 to 1201.

Among the later works of the transition may be mentioned the eastern part of Chichester Cathedral[28] (Fig. 80), a most beautiful example, of which I give an internal view; and a yet nobler specimen is the eastern portion of Tynemouth Abbey (Fig. 81). Of this I give a restored view, in which I have supplied one of the bays which have fallen, and also the vaulting, with its curious termination,

against the east end. This, again, is a dateless work. Though externally the flat Norman buttress is retained, it possesses internally no Romanesque features, but is purely Pointed and thoroughly developed in every part, though retaining what in England is the great distinguishing characteristic of the transition--the square abacus. The details are exceedingly rich and beautiful, while the vast thickness of its walls gives to the interior a massive grandeur seldom equalled. Its situation is ungenial, being on a dull promontory and close upon the shore, so that every blast from the German Ocean whistles through its arches; yet, chilling as its position is, no one of taste can visit it without finding his heart warm up with admiration of its noble and beautiful architecture, which is excelled by few, if any, examples of its period.

In the same northern district is Hexham Abbey, a noble example of what may called the _transition_ from the _transition_ into the developed Early English (Fig. 82). Farther north, again, we have noble examples at Kelso, Jedburgh, and Dryburgh: the first having the round arch nearly throughout; the second, as I have before said, famed for its exquisite doorways; and the last having doorways equally refined, but remarkable rather for their chaste simplicity than for their richness of detail. I ought also to mention, among other northern examples, the Abbey of Furness and the sister church of Cartmel; also the noble refectories at Fountains and Rivaulx.

To attempt, however, an enumeration of English examples would be an endless task. So far from being a mere exotic, the country appears to have been absolutely saturated with transitional buildings: and these, so far from showing any of that inaptitude which would accompany the use of a mere imported style, actually evince a degree of originality and a revelry (if I may use such a term) in the new art which is perfectly charming, and display beauties wholly different from any I have seen in other countries. Not only is this the case in works on a grand scale, but in the smallest village churches, in which we find the style reduced to its simplest elements, yet exhibiting a sense of beauty and a studious attention to detail which is quite surprising. One of the features of these simpler productions is the plain unfoliated capital--such as those at Fountains Abbey--but which, from its simplicity, is of frequent use in village churches. Nothing could be more severely plain, yet it possesses a degree of beauty equal in its way to that of the most gorgeous capitals. We see from the examples I give from Ripon and Fountains, how this passed off into the round moulded capital which is so peculiar a characteristic of the English Early Pointed.[29]

The distinctive characteristics of the productions of the English, as compared with the French, transition, are somewhat difficult to define, inasmuch as they begin in a manner the very reverse of that in which they terminate; for at first they evince themselves in a stronger resemblance to the preceding Romanesque,

while they terminate in a style differing from it more decidedly than was the case with the perfected Early Pointed architecture of France. The early transitional works of the royal domain of France appear to an English eye more advanced than they really are, because the Romanesque of that district had less of those characteristics which, to our eye, distinguish the style, than those either of England or of other parts of France. The designs of the archivolts--as M. Viollet le Duc says, were sparing in ornament but liberal in mouldings; and if we compare Early Pointed examples with the preceding Romanesque of the same district of France, we shall find that the changes were comparatively slight. In England the change was at first equally slight; but the Romanesque being rich in characteristic decorations, it follows that, to us, our early transition appears more Romanesque than that of France. Compare, for instance, St. Cross with Sens; the proportion of round to pointed arches in each differs but little. At Sens even the vaulting of the aisles is round, while at St. Cross it is pointed; nor do they differ much in their relation to the preceding Romanesque of the same districts, as will be seen by comparing my sketch of an internal bay at Sens with some I give of corresponding portions of French Romanesque churches; yet Sens, being absolutely devoid of those Romanesque ornaments in which St. Cross is so rich, strikes our eye as being more advanced.

We had, in fact, much more to be got rid of in our Romanesque than they had in and about the Isle of France.

The remarkable converse of this is, that at the close of our transition we had not only thrown off this excess of Romanesque characteristics, but had gone beyond the French in altering those of a less palpable kind, and introducing details distinct from those of the preceding style. Thus our arch mouldings became far more rich and more studied in their profile than those in France, which continued to be little more than the repetition of a roll between two hollows, while ours were composed of numerous and beautiful members; the proportions of our windows became much more graceful than those customarily used in France, and the basement mouldings were better. On the other hand, we were far less liberal in the use of sculpture, and we generated a purely moulded capital, which the French can scarcely be said to possess--thus, if I may say so, giving ourselves the choice of a _Doric_, as well as a _Corinthian_, variety in our columns; and, finally, we relinquished the square form of the abacus, and made our capitals for the most part round; so that, at the end of our transition, we had departed much more widely from our own Romanesque than the French had from theirs; and while the early French transitional works look more advanced than those of a corresponding stage in England, the case is reversed at its close, when the English examples appear more advanced than the French, as may be seen by comparing the interior of the Galilee at Ely with the western portals of Nôtre Dame, which are of some years’ later date.[30]

I will close my outline of the English transition by referring to four examples which mark the limits of its duration, by showing how soon the true Early English attained its perfect development. The examples I cite for this purpose are the following:--

1st. The choir and eastern transepts at Lincoln, which were
completed by Bishop Hugh before the close of the twelfth century,
and which, though of early character, are decidedly not
transitional, but developed Early Pointed.

2d. The western portals at St. Alban’s, built by William de Cella
between the years 1195 and 1205.[31]

These are among the most beautiful Early English works in the
kingdom, and have no Romanesque reminiscences, nor any French
characteristics, except the _crochet_ capital, which is
magnificently developed beneath round abaci.

3d. The eastern chapels at Winchester, built by Bishop de Lucy
about 1204. These have no striking feature, excepting that they are
pure “Early English,” and even show suggestions of tracery.

4th. The Galilee porch at Ely, built by Bishop Eustacious, who held
the see from about 1195 to 1214, and which is one of the most
magnificent specimens of the fully-developed style in the
country.[32] It has the _crochet_ capital gorgeously enriched, not
with French, but English conventional foliage; while the arch
mouldings are filled with the most exquisite foliage of pure Early
English character.[33]

Thus we see that though the French preceded us in the commencement of their transition, our own was, with very trifling exceptions, equally national with theirs, and that it was not only completed as soon, but that it was carried through to a style more distinctive, and fully as national as the glorious Early Pointed of France.

On this subject I will only add one remark: Early as were the first French developments compared with ours; long as was the interval of stagnation between St. Denis and St. Germain des Pres; many as were the steps between the stages of the transition in both countries, and many more before we had developed out of it that Pointed style we know as the “Early English,” with its lancet windows and round abaci; the whole was, nevertheless, carried through within the period of _one lifetime_. Not only were the transitions of France and England carried on to perfection under contemporary monarchs, but that queen who was present at the consecration of Suger’s precocious monument, who caused that subsequent stagnation by her frivolity, and who perhaps witnessed the completion of St. Cross during her long captivity at Winchester, actually lived there long enough to have seen the fully-developed Early English of De Lucy’s chapels in the neighbouring cathedral.

The length to which my remarks on the French and English transition have been necessarily extended has compelled me to limit what I hoped to have said on that of Germany to a very few observations.

I have already mentioned the extraordinary tardiness of the Germans in relinquishing their much-loved Romanesque. I am not prepared, as in the case of French and English buildings, to trace out the first appearance of the pointed arch, and I have no doubt that there are numerous instances of its use at an earlier date; but there is nothing like a transition into the pointed-arch _style_ till the commencement of the thirteenth century--after it had been completed both in England and France. Nevertheless, the German transition is as distinctly national and as evident an offspring of their own Romanesque as that of France or England; indeed, it is so peculiar as to appear, at first sight, to have little in connection with the architecture of either of those countries, and is usually spoken of as being only a slight variety upon German Romanesque. Let any one look at a few of its leading productions--as St. Martin, St. Gereon, and a few others at Cologne; the churches at Neuss near Dusseldorf, Limburg on the Lahn, Zinzig, or Gelnhaussen; the western façades at Andernach, Xanten, St. Sibald at Nuremberg, and at Halberstadt, the east end of Magdeburg, or at the representations of the cloisters (now destroyed) of St. Gereon, or Altenberg, or at any of the multitudinous list of German churches of the first quarter of the thirteenth century--and he will at once see that they present as natural and logical a transition from their own national Romanesque as the works of Suger do from that of the royal domain of France. The use of the _crochet_ capitals in some of the later examples is the solitary instance of any direct imitation of the already perfected transition in the neighbouring countries.

The great misfortune of the German transition was that it occurred so late that, before they could perfect it, the French had passed into the second stage of their developed Pointed, and had worked out the great problem of window tracery. The consequence was that German patience at length gave way;--they relinquished their transition just as they were perfecting a Pointed style of their own, and, throwing themselves almost wholly into the hands of the French, passed at one step from their own curious and characteristic art into the fully-developed style of Amiens and Beauvais.

Mr. Fergusson laments this as having prevented the development of a perfect _round-arched_ style; but it must be recollected that the round-arched style of Germany had been almost entirely relinquished previously to the succumbing of their national architecture before the dominant star of France: the loss, then, we have to lament is not that it prevented a more perfect round-arched development, but that it suspended, when on the eve of being perfected, the formation of a really national German variety of the _pointed-arched_ style; and though they did much to remedy this, it unquestionably rendered their architecture for the next century in some degree a German version of French style.

I have, however, dwelt so long upon the mere history of the transition that I have had no time to extract any useful practical lessons from the changes in art we have been tracing out. What, then, are the leading lessons they suggest?

1st, They show us how absolute must have been the necessity in generating a perfect arcuated style, to cast away the slavery--I will not say of the round arch, for it is one of the most genuine and useful forms--but of the adherence to one unchanging form in the arch, admitting of no variation in its proportion of height to span, nor any change of form suited to its statical duties, or its geometrical or æsthetical position.

2d, They suggest encouragement in the task of working out a style suited to the exigencies of our day, by showing how vast are the results to be anticipated when not only the artists, but when the rulers, the nobles, the ecclesiastics of a country thoroughly set themselves to the task with one heart and one mind, and work on together with all their zeal, energy, and perseverance, till they have insured the great object of their designs. Would that we could see some equivalent effort in our own country and in our own day!

In the age we have been treating of, the previous architecture, though in a great degree original, retained elements derived from the degenerated Roman, and others belonging to the ages of darkness and barbarism which succeeded; but, by the effort we have been chronicling, both these elements were thrown off, and the style came forth like gold tried in the fire--pure and refined.

3d, We may learn a lesson of _patience_ from what we have reviewed. Those of us who have been endeavouring to generate a style on the basis of the architecture of our own family of nations, have been often taunted with the slowness of our progress. Now, it is scarcely twenty years since we set earnestly about the task; and, rapid as the transition in the twelfth century appears, we have seen an interval of twenty years in its history in which we can trace no progress at all; which, with all our deficiencies, can hardly be said of us during a corresponding period. Let us, then, take courage, and press forward in spite of temporary discouragement, and in the end a like success may crown our labours.

4th, It has often been spoken of as a vice to be too fond of studying _transitional_ styles. This may possibly be true as regards taking them as our models; but I hold the very contrary to be the case as to selecting them as special objects of study. They are the very periods of intellectual energy--the moments of the most intense effort of the human mind. From them we learn what zeal, what determination, what strength of will, what unity of purpose, what patient perseverance are required in working out a great good. The result of the mighty struggle was that, freed from every barbaric or lifeless element, our architects commenced the next century with their course clearly open before them, everything in their power, and no hindrance to the attainment of their object. Would that we could say this of ourselves, whatever may be our views as to _style_!

5th, Then, again, in the style itself of the buildings we have been considering there is much for us to learn. They possess a masculine grandeur, a noble sturdiness of character, an independence of ornament united with a grateful acceptance of its aid, which would supply a wholesome element to any style. A perfected style is often defective in these characteristics. It is toned down to too perfect a symmetry--a too nicely weighed balance of parts: the whole may suggest nothing but harmony, yet the parts are too much lost in the whole; there is too much of the satiety of attainment, and not enough of the excitement of the effort after perfection. The first developments of Pointed architecture produce an excitement on the mind which more perfected examples do not give rise to, and it seems to me that they contain elements which we should not do amiss to instil into our works, as I may have occasion to suggest more practically, if I should continue my course of lectures in this place.

6th, There is something to be learned from the curious history I have traced out of the re-introduction of one classic element--the Corinthian capital--at the moment when all other relics of the architecture of the old world were about to be thrown off. It is a kind of parallel to the revival of classic literature at the same period, on which M. Viollet le Duc remarks:--“It is precisely at the moment when the researches into antique letters, sciences, philosophy, and legislation were pursued with ardour--during the twelfth century--that architecture abandoned the last remnants of antique tradition, to found a new art whose principles are in manifest opposition to those of the arts of antiquity.” “Are we, then,” he proceeds, “to conclude from this that the men of the twelfth century were not consistent with themselves? Quite the contrary; but that which distinguishes the Renaissance of the twelfth from that of the sixteenth century, is this--that the former penetrates into the antique _spirit_, while the latter allows itself to be seduced by the _form_.”

The Corinthian capital stood alone among the details of ancient architecture, as being founded on principles of beauty common to all _ages_. It was foreshadowed in the works of their earliest predecessors, the Egyptians, and had suggested the forms for the capitals used in all succeeding styles, whether by the Byzantines, the Sassanians, the Saracens, or the Gothic conquerors of Rome. It was, then, consistent that, while about to purge their arts of mere dead rudimental relics of ancient art, this one feature should be revived as a nucleus for development. The same may be said of the pointed arch, if the theory be true of its Saracenic suggestion. It had been invented in very early times, perhaps earlier than even the round arch, though its uses were not then appreciated. The Romanesque builders had adopted many dead forms of ornament from Saracenic and Persian manufactures, and the introduction of this one really living feature at the moment when the exigencies of the style demanded it (whether the idea occurred to them spontaneously or by suggestion) was the signal for throwing off, as effete and useless, all the Orientalisms which they already had in use.

From this we may learn not to shrink from adopting into our developments external suggestions from whatever source, provided only that they approve themselves to our eye and our intellect as legitimate sources of beauty, or aids to construction, and as capable of being harmonised with the style we are working out. Let us throw them boldly into the fining-pot, and if we are skilful manipulators, the gold will remain and the dross be thrown off.

Another thing we may learn is, that the mere precedence of one nation in the working out of a style does not deprive the developments of neighbouring countries of the claims of nationality. The English transition began a little later than the French, and it is, as we have seen, distinctly marked in its character and its results, so that no one can ever mistake an English building for a French one.

The German transition came on after the English and French were perfected, yet is (if anything) even more national than our own; while the Italian Gothic, though an absolute importation, and often defective in detail, has more strongly-marked national characteristics than any other.[34]

When, however, we use the term “national,” we do not usually refer to these local varieties, but rather wish to express the general fact that, in our own country and amidst the family of European nations, those styles which were generated during the rise of our own civilisation are more national than the revived architecture of the ancient world. Each country has its own local variety; but the whole is one style, and that style is our own. While reviving this style, then, though we make in each country our own phase of it our groundwork, we must not permit either the narrow prejudices of friends, or the taunts of critics, to lead us into the folly of rejecting any of the really noble and valuable elements of our style, in whatever country they may have been generated.

I will close my too protracted lecture with a quotation from that admirable writer and accomplished architect I have so often referred to.

He thus describes the leading practical principles of the architecture to which the transition we have been tracing out was the pioneer:--

“From the commencement of the thirteenth century architecture developed itself after a method completely new, in which all the parts deduced themselves--the one from the other--with an imperious rigour. Now, it is by the change of method that revolutions in sciences and arts commence. The construction commands the form; the piers destined to bear several arches divide themselves into as many columns as there are arches; these columns are of a diameter more or less substantial, according to the load which will rest upon them, rising side by side with them to the vaults which they have to sustain, their capitals assuming an importance proportioned to this charge. The arches are slight or thick, composed of one or more ranges of voussoirs, as dictated by their function. The walls, becoming unnecessary, in great structures disappear completely, and are replaced by window-openings decorated with stained glass. Every necessity becomes a motive of decoration. The roofs, the leading off of the water, the introduction of light, the means of access and circulation to the different stages of the building--even less important matters, such as iron-work, lead-work, ties, props, the means of warming and ventilation, not only are not concealed, as is so often done in our buildings since the sixteenth century, but are, on the contrary, frankly acknowledged, and contribute, by their ingenious combination and the taste which ever presides over their execution, to the enrichment of the architecture.[35] In a beautiful edifice of the commencement of the thirteenth century, splendid as we may think it, there is not an ornament to be spared, for each ornament is but the consequence of requirement satisfied.”

LECTURE IV.

The Thirteenth Century.

Mediæval architecture usually classified under heads of
centuries--Actual points of change do not coincide with these
divisions--Auspices for the development of the Early Pointed
style--Great works in England and France--Artistic disturbance in
Germany--Progress in Italy--Energy pervades every branch of
art--Perfected Early Pointed a natural growth from
Romanesque--Leading characteristics--Columns--Bases of
Columns--Capitals--Plan of the abacus--Circular plan--Whence this
arose--Moulded capitals--Windows--Bases of buildings--Cornices and
foliated bands--Doorways--French and English compared.

In the two lectures I delivered during the last session, my object was to trace out the development of Pointed architecture from the Romanesque nucleus of the preceding age; to show how far this was the result of constructional necessities and the natural progression of art, and how far it was aided and furthered by external influences; and to illustrate the unity and grandeur of the artistic movement which, in so short a time, generated an art at once so original and so truly noble. My object on the present occasion will be to give a general sketch of that art when it had arrived at its culminating point, or rather during that wonderful century through which it reigned triumphant, rejoicing in the full attainment of the object of its strivings, and, proceeding from strength to strength and from beauty to beauty, filled the countries of Western Europe with creations at once new to art, and in many respects nobler than anything the world had previously seen.

Though it is convenient to classify our Mediæval architecture under heads of centuries, its points of change do not, in reality, coincide with such a division. It would, perhaps, be nearer to the fact if we classed the last quarter in each century with that which follows: thus, in this country the Norman style would be supposed, roughly speaking, to occupy the interval between 1075 and 1175; the Early Pointed style from thence to 1275; the Middle or Decorated periods from 1275 to 1375; and so on.

On this view of the case, a great deal of what I treated of in my last lecture belongs artistically to the present one, and a portion of what I am embracing under the head of the thirteenth century would better go with the fourteenth. As, however, I should wish to be as comprehensive as possible in defining the period of the unimpaired integrity of the style, I gladly extend it to the very end of the century, and will not quarrel with those who would dip a little into the succeeding one; for, though I prefer the strength and boldness of the works of the earlier part of the century, the style can hardly be regarded as complete if deprived of the more delicate productions which characterise its close.

In my last lecture I showed how, both in France and England, the last quarter of the twelfth century was occupied in bringing the earlier phase of Pointed architecture from a state of mere transition to one of full development and consistency, and how that the works of this period of especial earnestness in onward striding are characterised by a masculine vigour, scarcely equalled at any other stage.

We have now to view the Early Pointed style at the period of the full attainment of its aims, and when its endeavours were rather to amplify and to extend its means than to construct a style.

The thirteenth century commenced under the most favourable auspices for the development of the newly-created architecture. In France, both the secular and the ecclesiastical powers were in the highest state of prosperity; and if in England such was not the case with the Crown, and we were checked by a bad and mean-spirited King, it is clear that both the Barons and the Church were in a state of high prosperity, for, from the very opening of the century, we find works on the grandest scale to have been everywhere undertaken. Whether in the castle, the palace, the cathedral, the monastery, or the parish church, we find the newly-developed style to have been put largely into practice, so that scarcely a building of note fails to show the impress of the youthful art. Every great church must have its share of it; thus, at Canterbury, though they had just completed the eastern half in the style of the transition, the cloisters were added in the perfected manner. At York, again, the choir had been rebuilt in the last half of the preceding century; but the perfected style must have its sway, so the Norman transepts were rebuilt in it. At Lincoln the transformation of style had commenced under St. Hugh before the close of the twelfth century, and before 1280, but small vestiges of the Norman structure remained. At Ely the century commenced with the building of the western porch, which was followed up by the magnificent eastern arm of the cathedral. At St. Alban’s the gigantic Norman church had not been completed much more than half a century before its western façade was demolished and recommenced in the new style, in which one-half of the nave partook; and before the thirteenth century was finished the choir had also been rebuilt. At Durham the Norman church received the magnificent addition of the Chapel of the Nine Altars: at Fountains a similar addition was made, with an entirely new choir and many noble appendages. Wells Cathedral was almost rebuilt in the new style. Indeed, it is scarcely possible to single out any great church which does not more or less evince the influence of the great architectural movement which ushered in the thirteenth century. Its most complete work is the cathedral at Salisbury; and among its later creations we may enumerate the eastern portion of Westminster Abbey, the whole of Tintern Abbey, and the greater part of the once sumptuous church of St. Mary’s Abbey, at York; while its last decade produced some of the most exquisite gems of art, such as the tombs of Crouchback, of De Luda, and of Archbishop Peckham; the chapel of Ely Place, Holborn, and the Eleanor Crosses; so that, taken as a whole, the century can claim most of the noblest, as well as of the most elegant, productions of English art.

In France its pre-eminence is, if possible, yet more manifest. The century opened there under the fully established power of Philip Augustus, the most powerful monarch who had ruled France since the days of Charlemagne. In the days of his predecessor the English King had governed more French provinces than the King of France himself; but now the English

were almost entirely expelled, and this mighty monarch reigned without a rival. In his days commenced an almost general rebuilding (wholly or in part) of the cathedrals, excepting such as were of very recent date. The west façade of Nôtre Dame at Paris, the greater part of Rouen, of Rheims, of Amiens, of Coutance, of Bourges, the eastern half of Le Mans, and a list far too long to be enumerated, owe their grandeur to his reign, or those immediately following.

Towards the middle of the century the same work progressed gloriously under the auspices of St. Louis, and though slackened from actual satiety towards the close of the century, it was not really checked till the commencement of the English war.

As in England, the works thus produced evince masculine grandeur of the highest order at the commencement, and the most delicate beauty at the close of the century, while during its middle portion the two are united in the works of St. Louis. In Germany the works of this century evince great artistic disturbance. The change from the round to the pointed-arch style had been there resisted, while both in France and England it had been worked out to maturity. At the opening of the century, German architecture consisted of a highly-refined variety of Romanesque, with the partial use of the pointed arch, chiefly where suggested by constructional necessities. This, during the first quarter or more of the century, developed itself into an Early Pointed style, strictly German, and holding out promises of great force and originality--promises which were frustrated by the sudden inroad of French Gothic about 1250, after which, though Germany took a course still very much her own, it was one in a great degree severed from her noble early tradition, and emanating from the French graft rather than from the original stem.

Italy received her Pointed architecture from France and Germany, and mingled it freely with her Classico-Lombardic traditions. The union produced many noble and many incongruous developments. The lessons they offer must be used with caution; but Italy being the land of ancient art, the land of sculpture, of painting, of rich marbles, of mosaic work, and of municipal and other civic edifices, the graft of Northern art upon so prolific a stock has, as may readily be imagined, produced varieties which the circumstances of Northern nations would have rendered impracticable in its native lands; and the suggestions they offer, if judiciously used, are well calculated to add copiousness to the style in the hands of its modern revivers. Of this I may have occasion to say more hereafter.

The thirteenth century was to Mediæval art what the Periclean and Augustan ages were to the Greek and Roman; and in each case, though war and bloodshed are in themselves hostile to art, there can be no doubt that the excitement of the human mind, resulting from great national struggles, has tended to produce that advance in art which followed, in one case, the glorious assertion of national independence; in another, the conquest of the world; and in a third, the romantic and unselfish efforts of the Crusaders.

It was a period of deep-seated mental excitement, of a prodigious upstirring of the human intellect. Our learned men at the present day may smile at the quaint and imperfect erudition of these early periods of our civilisation, but they should remember that they were our days of _youth_, of _warmth_, and of rising vigour, while the more perfected literature of our own age may possibly be found to superadd to its maturity a few symptoms of old age.

This youthful energy pervaded every branch of art; everything seemed to experience a new, a generous, and vigorous impulse. All Europe became filled with the productions of the newly generated art; every city became a repertory of noble and sublime architecture, and every town and village became possessed of productions equally beautiful, if more modest in their pretensions; while the intervening country was studded over with castles and monastic establishments, in which the same majestic art displayed itself in ever-varying forms, each suited to meet their different requirements.

Nothing is more difficult than to describe a perfected art. My last two lectures traced out the gradual construction of Pointed architecture, and its transition from the preceding style. This was comparatively easy; but to describe it when it had attained perfection is far less so.

The fact is that there is neither in France nor in England any very marked difference between the styles during the later period of its transition, and when perfected beyond that unity and consistency of parts which indicate maturity. In France, particularly, this is the case; for neither had the style there continued long to evince its transitional state by the retention of strictly Romanesque features--unless the square abacus can be so designated--nor did it, when perfected, throw off, as in England, that one detail which to our eye seems a relic of transition. The later transition and the earlier perfected specimens seem in France to be the same art, a little more developed and more homogeneous, rather than to have many describable points of difference. In England the change of the abacus from the square to the round form makes the distinction more marked, so that English examples at the opening of the thirteenth century always appear later and more advanced than contemporary French ones. I instanced in my last lecture four early examples of perfected Early English: the eastern transept of Lincoln, completed about 1200; the eastern chapels at Winchester, about 1204; the western portals at St. Alban’s, finished about 1205; and the western porch or Galilee at Ely, finished about 1214. None of them show any remains of transitional character, and all having the English round capital in full development, appear to the English eye more advanced than such works as the western portals of Nôtre Dame at Paris, which are, if anything, somewhat later in date. In this country, in fact, the form of the abacus is the distinguishing feature between the transition to the perfected style, while in France there is no such distinction to be found. The difference is more one of feeling, which the practical eye perceives at once without being able to define.