Chapter III: Part 3

There is nothing in either the architrave or the frieze that calls for observation, except that the Moderns have frequently given to this Order, by way of distinction, a convex frieze, technically termed a _pulvinated_ one from its fancied resemblance to a cushion (_pulvinar_), whose sides swell out by compression when sat upon. A frieze of the kind occurs in what is otherwise a very corrupt specimen of the Order, in the Baths of Diocletian. It would be absurd to suppose that such form of frieze originated in an imitation of the thing after which it is now named; and there are two motives, either of which, or both combined, may have led to it. The first of them is, that such curvature in the face of the frieze may have been thought very suitable for the Ionic Order, as agreeing with the curved forms predominating in the character of the capital, namely, the volutes. The second is, that a convex surface produces greater diversity of light and shade than a plain one; and coming between the architrave and cornice, is sufficiently distinguished by contour alone. Still it must be admitted that such form is somewhat too arbitrary and fanciful to be in accordance with strict architectural principles. It is well enough suited for interiors, or for entablatures upon a small scale, such as those of doors and windows, but not for a large external Order. The pulvinated frieze occurs frequently in the Cinque-cento and Renaissance styles, and in our own English Renaissance, or Elizabethan. An instance of it may be seen in that well-known and celebrated piece of architecture by Jones, the front of Whitehall Chapel, whose Ionic Order generally will convey an idea of the Italian mode of treating it. And it so happens that the tasteful little screen front of Dover House (added by Holland to the original mansion), on the opposite side of the street, offers an example of the Ilissus Ionic, whereby immediate comparison between the two styles may easily be made. Another specimen of Italian Ionic, and of Italian Doric, is the new portion lately added to the Carlton Club House, Pall Mall, which is all but a literal copy from Sansovino’s Library of St. Mark at Venice. Sansovino seems there to have aimed at the greatest possible richness for both Orders; and in his building the Doric metopes are sculptured, but are left plain in the Club House, although such decoration for them would have been novelty here, and would have brought that lower Order more into keeping with the upper one. The shafts of the columns are not fluted as in the Italian building, but for very sufficient reason: being of dark polished granite, they would have acquired no great richness in consequence of their being so cut; on the contrary, the effect of the material itself would have been impaired. The Ionic capitals have an ornamented necking, which is here not only a beauty but a great propriety, because without it the capitals would have looked diminutive, more especially beneath such a greatly exaggerated entablature. Tested by ordinary rules, this last must be pronounced monstrous, licentious in the extreme, perhaps downright barbarous; and, no doubt, would be so, were it not protected by the name of Sansovino. His English copyist has therefore sufficient authority for it,—not so, Sansovino himself: whence, then, did he get his _precedent_? Well, he dispensed with precedent, and using the privilege of a Master in his Art, ventured beyond its written rules and conventionalities,—ventured where he might have failed, and exposed himself to derision,—but succeeded, and has been crowned by applause. In Art, as in other things, success sanctifies enterprize: if you fail, the world calls you a madman or fool; if you succeed, it bows down to you as a genius. It must be confessed that such an entablature as Sansovino has there given his Ionic Order would be nothing less than monstrous, did the Order itself constitute the edifice, as in the antique temple; instead of which, the two Orders there introduced are no more than ornamental accessories, and the greatly enlarged entablature of the upper one is to be regarded as proportioned with reference not so much to its own columns as to the general mass of the entire façade. It may be as well to remark here, that both the Carlton Club House and Whitehall Chapel are instances of _super-columniation_, or two Orders placed one over the other—in the former building, an Ionic over a Doric—in the latter, a Corinthian over an Ionic Order. And in both cases the columns are _attached_ or _engaged_, as is said of columns which are united to the face of a wall so as not to project from it as much as their diameter, but only about half or three-quarters of it, and are therefore termed respectively _half_ or _three-quarter_ columns.

CORINTHIAN ORDER.

We now arrive at the third and last of the Orders, or that which is distinguished from the other two, more by its deep and foliaged capital than by its proportions,—at least it is chiefly so distinguished from the Ionic, with which it has in other respects many points in common; for the columns of both have bases differing but little from each other, and their shafts are fluted in the same manner. How this Order came to obtain the name of Corinthian is not very clear; nor is it, architecturally, of any moment whether such name be right or wrong. All that is certain is, that examples of this Order have not been found at Corinth itself, where, judging from its name, it would seem to have been the prevalent style of building, and there brought to perfection. There is a pretty legend relative to the origin of the Corinthian capital, which, if not true, has at least probability in its favour, and is many degrees less nonsensical than the supposed origin of the Ionic one. Nay, it is even valuable and instructive, as showing how well a skilful artist can derive hints from trivial or accidental circumstances, and by improving upon them, turn them to account. As the story goes, the sculptor Callicrates was so struck by the graceful forms into which the leaves of an acanthus plant had grown up around a tall basket covered by a square slab, that he sketched it, and conceived the idea of fashioning the capital of a column after it. It must be owned that the anecdote seems itself to be an invention intended to account poetically for the origin of such form of capital, and perhaps on no better grounds than that of a fancied general resemblance,—just as some dreamers have detected the origin of the Gothic style in an avenue of lofty over-arching trees, or in the interlacing stems of a framing of wicker-work. Unluckily for the credit of so respectable a legend, the earliest examples exhibit, instead of the strongest and most direct resemblance to the presumed prototype, the faintest and most vague of all. The Corinthian capital seems rather to have developed itself gradually out of the Doric one; first, by its necking being deepened and ornamented with a row of leaves, and then afterwards the echinus suppressed, and the whole body of the capital made to expand in a concave curve up to the abacus, with a second row of plain and flatter leaves above the first one. At least the capitals to the small columns of the porches of the Tower of the Winds at Athens, and others discovered at Miletus and elsewhere, seem to favour such hypothesis; and in further evidence of such Doric derivation is the circumstance of the columns of the Tower of the Winds being without bases. It will be argued, perhaps, that such examples do not all answer to the character afterwards established and adhered to for capitals belonging to that Order. Very true: but then they may surely be received as incipient efforts and attempts towards the formation of a third class of capitals; and in the instances just referred to, the overhanging square abacus without any foliage or curling tendrils spreading out to support its extremities, points, in our opinion, clearly enough to a derivation from the Doric capital, considerably enlarged downwards, and also greatly enriched. However, we leave others either to adopt or reject this notion, just as they may be disposed. At the best, all such questions are little better than matters of idle curiosity, and must always remain questions after all.

To quit conjecture for fact, the fact is the Corinthian Order does not appear to have been ever matured into a distinct style and complete system by the Greeks. There is, indeed, one solitary Athenian example of Corinthian, which exhibits the utmost refinement of exquisite richness attempered by exquisite delicacy. In the Lysicrates capital,—as we will for convenience call it (the example alluded to being that of the monument of Lysicrates, otherwise called the Lantern of Demosthenes, at Athens),—foliation may be said to have attained its culminating point: rivalled it may be, but hardly surpassed. Still it must be confessed, as a whole, that Order leaves much to be desired for it, there being nothing of corresponding beauty and luxuriance in the rest of it. The cornice, for instance, is only a simple dentelled Ionic one, nor are any of the mouldings of the entablature cut. There was, however, in that particular case, above the entablature, what fully counterbalances and carries out the idea and expression of the capitals, namely, the ornamental roofing, and the matchless finial which crowns the structure, and produces a full climax of beauty and of grace. Charming as the original itself is, or, more correctly speaking, _was_, it has perhaps been more blunderingly copied and imitated than almost any other antique structure. Although the whole—its lofty-proportioned basement included—is not above 36 feet high, a copy of it, or what calls itself such, has sometimes been hoisted up on the top of a lofty tower, or raised on a modern church or chapel to serve as its belfry; or else the columns and entablature have been taken just verbatim, and applied, by way of change, as an Order, upon a scale for which the capitals, at least, were never intended. The Strand front or entrance of Exeter Hall consists of a loggia with lofty columns of the kind, whose capitals, being placed at such a height, show as no better than heavy sculptured masses whose details it is impossible, or at least requires great patience, to make out. More preposterously still, the Girard College at Philadelphia plumes itself upon exhibiting an exact copy of this Order, where the columns are magnified to the height of between fifty and sixty feet, so that all that can be made out of the capital is, that it is exceedingly rich,—by very far too much so for any other part or feature in the building;—and that is called being classical!

Let us now consider the Corinthian Order in its general and prominent characteristics, belonging to all varieties of it alike. Although the Order itself is the most delicate and lightest of the three, the capital is the largest, being considerably more than a diameter in height,—upon the average, about a diameter and a quarter. This, however, will cause the reader no surprise, if he bears in mind what has been before said as to the proportion to be observed between the column and its capital. The taller the former is, the taller must be the latter also, and so far bulkier; although, while actually increasing its bulk, its tallness corrects the appearance of heaviness by giving the _proportion_ of slenderness. A capital whose height is only half a diameter is, of course, by no means positively so bulky as one which is upwards of an entire diameter in height, but then it is much bulkier or broader in its proportions, being about twice as broad as it is high,—whereas the other is much higher than it is wide. This explanation makes, we hope, the matter sufficiently clear, and that after it the reader will not feel himself at all puzzled about it.

The capital has two rows of leaves, eight in each row, so disposed that of the taller ones composing the upper row, one comes in the middle, beneath each face of the abacus, and the lower leaves _alternate_ with the upper ones, coming between the stems of the latter; so that in the first or lower tier of leaves there is in the middle of each face a space between two leaves occupied by the stem of the central leaf above them. Over these two rows is a third series of four leaves, turned so as to support the small volutes which, in turn, support the angles of the abacus. Besides these outer volutes, which are invariably turned diagonally, as in the four-faced Ionic capital, there are two other smaller ones, termed _caulicoli_, which meet each other beneath a flower on the face of the abacus. The abacus itself is differently shaped from what it is in either of the other two Orders. In the Doric it is, as we have seen, merely a thick square slab, fitting the echinus beneath it, and left perfectly plain. In the Ionic it is square, but its sides are moulded, whether they are carved or not. The Corinthian abacus, on the contrary, is not, properly speaking, a square, although it may be said to be so in its general form, inasmuch as it possesses _squareness_, having four equal sides. Instead of being straight, the sides of the abacus are concave in plan, being curved outwards so as to produce a sharp point at each corner, which is accordingly cut off. Thus we find that the abacus here assumes a very different shape from its original one; yet merely to know this is to know very little. Such form of it is of course a distinction, but it was not for the sake of distinction that it was adopted. It grew out of intention and purpose: it was dictated by necessity—by artistic necessity at least, which requires that the abacus should be adjusted to and conform to the upper part of the capital, so that they fit each other. Now a square abacus would not at all suit a capital whose foliage spreads out so widely at its angles. We have spoken of the capitals of the Tower of the Winds, as, according to our opinion, showing the earliest formation of what we now call the Corinthian capital. In that example the abacus is square, and the upper row of leaves are of the kind called _water-leaves_, from their resemblance to those of water-plants, being broad and flat, and merely carved upon the _vase_ or body of the capital. The next stage of progress or transition was to add larger curling leaves and volutes to support the angles of the abacus; but then if the abacus remained square as before, it would either overhang the capital too much in the centre of each face of it, or would not cover the enlarged sweep of the leaves and volutes at the angles. Consequently, it was necessary to effect both extension and reduction for the abacus,—extension at its angles, and reduction as regards its general bulk, which beforehand apparently very difficult, if not impossible feat, was accomplished in the simplest manner possible, by merely curving the sides of the abacus. Thus not only is the abacus expressly shaped in conformity with the great projection of the leaves, &c., at the four angles of the capital,[3] but a beautiful contrast, contributing to general harmony, ensues in consequence,—the concave sides of the abacus corresponding antithetically—in other words, contrasting with the general convexity of the capital.

The general structure and configuration of the Corinthian capital are now described, and, it is to be hoped, understood also. It may be as well, however, just to recapitulate: the body of the capital is surrounded by two rows of leaves, eight in each row; besides which there are four leaves, which, with the volutes over them, serve to support the four angles of the abacus, which is fashioned as we have just been explaining. Simple and limited as these elementary and _constitutional_ forms may be thought to be,—insufficient for any great variety or range of character, the Corinthian capital admits of almost infinite modification. Putting entirely aside all details and their minutiæ, the capital of this Order is susceptible of very great diversity of character in regard to its general proportions alone, as may be seen by a comparison of a few—and they but a very _few_—examples given in a note below.[4]

[3] For similar reason, the same concavity in the sides of the abacus takes place in the four-faced Ionic capital, the abacus being so shaped in order that it may subtend over and cover the diagonally turned volutes.

[4] We place these examples according to their respective proportional heights, beginning with the highest, and descending to the lowest, and note their measurements in _minutes_ rather than in diameters and fractional parts, as being the most direct and convenient mode of comparison. The height of the capital is taken exclusive of the astragal which divides it from the shaft of the column; and as the _expansion_ of the capital upwards has also to be considered, the extreme width of the abacus is also indicated.

Height of Diagonal of capital. abacus.

Lysicrates example 87' 94' Nerva do. (columns of the Forum of Nerva) 73' 90' Pantheon at Rome 69' 90' Jupiter Stator, Temple of, 66' 97' Tivoli, Temple of the Sibyls, 60' 81'

Almost every antique example is marked by something peculiar to itself; wherefore, properly to analyze them and compare them all, would require not only some scores, but some hundreds of drawings, and hundreds might be multiplied into thousands, were we to collect together all the varieties of the descendants of the Corinthian or foliaged-capital column that are to be found in buildings of the so-called Byzantine style, when the original idea of an Order had been entirely lost sight of. In fact, all the compositions that have been produced with the intention of producing a _new_, and what as such ought to be a perfectly distinct Order, congruent in all its parts, have consisted of little more than variations of the Corinthian capital; as if difference in the details of the capital sufficed to constitute a different and quite distinct Order. Properly understood, _Order_ is, if not exactly so, little more than another word for style; and a new style is not to be invented or established, like the alteration from old to new style of the almanac by Act of Parliament. Style must of necessity grow up gradually: the ideas of many minds must contribute to its formation.

From the examples whose proportions are stated in the preceding note, it will be seen that the height of the capital varies from 60', or just a diameter, to 87', or nearly half as much again; although it must be allowed that the latter is a very unusual degree of height, nor does that example (the Lysicrates one) belong, like the others, to the Roman Corinthian class. Reserving our remarks on one or two particular specimens of the latter till after we have spoken generally of the other parts of the Order, we continue by saying that the proper Corinthian base differs from that of the usual Ionic or Attic in having two smaller scotiæ, separated by two astragals: however, both kinds are employed indiscriminately, and the Attic is that which is generally used, except a greater degree of delicacy and richness than ordinary be required. As the shaft is fluted similarly to that of the Ionic column, viz. with twenty-four channels, there is nothing for notice or remark there, unless it be that the flutes are sometimes _cabled_, as it is called, that is, the channels are hollowed out for only about two-thirds of the upper part of the shaft, and the remainder cut so that each channel has the appearance of being partly filled up by a round staff or piece of rope, whence the term _cabling_. Though not approved by puritan critics,—who, nevertheless, wink at, or else are blind to much greater licenses,—this mode of fluting certainly gives an expression of greater strength to the lower part of the column, and, by contrast, that of greater delicacy to the upper one. Although fluting, for the columns, seems to have been considered by the Ancients essential to the character of this Order, the Moderns appear to consider it quite a matter of indifference, and what may be omitted _at discretion_. Undoubtedly there are several antique examples exceedingly richly decorated in all other respects, yet with the shafts of the columns unfluted; but then that was for very good reason, the shafts being either of polished granite, or precious marble, whose intrinsic value and beauty fully supplied the place of further embellishment.

ENTABLATURE.—The architrave is generally divided into three faciæ, (the lower one much narrower than the others, which is rather contrary to architectonic principle, the weaker member being placed under heavier ones,) with mouldings between them, which, though frequently left plain, are properly enriched in the best and most consistently finished-up examples. We pass over the frieze, that being merely a single surface, either plain or sculptured. The cornice is very much larger than in the other Orders,—larger as to height, and consequently as to projection also; which increased height and projection, and we may add, increased richness, are demanded by the greatly enlarged bulk of the capital and its more elaborate decoration. Examples vary so greatly that we can give only approximating mean and average proportions, which may be set down at about 2 diam. 12' for the whole entablature, and 54', or something less than a diameter, for the cornice; but it is in many instances more, in others as much less. As may be supposed from this greatly increased depth of the cornice, it consists of a greater number of mouldings beneath the corona, for that and the cymatium over it invariably retain their places as the crowning members of the whole series of mouldings. To the dentels of the Ionic cornice is added a row of _modillions_, immediately beneath and supporting the corona. These modillions are ornamental blocks, curved in their under surface somewhat after the manner of the letter S turned thus [symbol]; and between them and the dentels, and also below the latter, are other mouldings, sometimes cut, at others left plain. Sometimes a plain uncut _dentel band_ is substituted for dentels; sometimes, in simpler cornices, that is omitted altogether, and plainer blocks are employed instead of modillions; or else both dentels and modillions are omitted, as in the Temple of Antoninus and Faustina, notwithstanding that it is considerably enriched, even the face of the corona being fluted.

Besides the several varieties of the Corinthian shown in the whole composition of the Order, or the columns and entablature together, there are numerous fragmentary examples existing, either in single columns or capitals alone, or in cornices and other parts of entablatures; some of which display such prodigality of decoration and such difference of character from the usual Corinthian, that they might very well pass for belonging to a distinct Order, if that variety which is classed as a separate one, under the name of COMPOSITE, can with any propriety be reckoned such, merely because the volutes at the angles of the capital are expanded into the proportions of those in the Roman Ionic capital.

The very dissimilar varieties to be met with, all belonging to one and the same Order, show plainly enough that the Architects of antiquity considered themselves at liberty to design their own detail, and to treat an Order as a composition marked out for them in its leading forms and general proportions, but which they might fashion nearly _ad libitum_ in other respects. Modern Architects adopt a contrary course, which, if not particularly artistic, or even rational, is certainly convenient; although in spite of all precaution to secure conformity and maintain architectural orthodoxy, grievous licentiousness will creep in. It is something to get what is only a faithful copy of an ancient example, but it is only very rarely we get even that. For instance, fluting is omitted for the columns where such decoration may be required, in order to make them correspond with the degree of richness given to the entablature; or else it is the latter with which wholesale liberty is taken,—mouldings which in the cornice of the original are more or less enriched, being left plain, or a bare frieze substituted for a sculptured one, and other little liberties of that kind, which are considered perfectly allowable, and to make hardly any real difference, although they in fact alter the character of the whole composition. Either the original is itself faulty, or it must suffer by _piecemeal_ alteration. It will, perhaps, bear to be somewhat reduced in richness, or, _vice versâ_, to have a greater degree of decoration given it; but in whichever way such kind of alteration takes place, it should be conducted uniformly for the whole composition. No excellence of proportions can atone for _disproportion_ in regard to consistency of embellishment, and for the general disharmony of the whole composition. Italian Architects not unfrequently either overload their compositions with ornament, or leave them quite bare, and make no scruple of putting a cornice of the most meagre description, without either dentels or modillions, to an Order whose capitals denote it to be intended for Ionic or Corinthian.

It was, perhaps, fortunate both for Sir John Soane, and that example of the Corinthian which he employed for the Bank of England, that it was not an invention of his own, or it would, in all probability, have been ridiculed as a monstrosity; and he would have been thought to have there out-Soaned himself in whimsicality and capriciousness. As it happens to be, however, an express copy from the circular Temple at Tivoli, people are at liberty to admire it, more especially as the mere application of it for the first time in this country—the only one where it has been adopted—does not exalt Soane into the successful inventor of a ‘new Order.’ In the system of the Orders it may certainly be regarded as a newly-discovered planet, being so distinct from every other example of the foliaged-capital class; distinct not only in the capital itself, but in all its members, in all its proportions, in the style of all its details, and, consequently, in its character. The height of the column is only 9·25' diameters; the capital, measured from above the astragal, only 1 diameter, and the entablature only 1·42' diameter. These proportions give the whole Order a certain expression of masculine simplicity, more especially as the column is hardly diminished at all, the difference between the upper and lower diameter amounting to no more than 4', or only ¹/₁₅th of the larger diameter, that being of course 60', and the other 56'. The base consists of two _tori_, but instead of the usual scotiæ between, there is merely a narrow plain fillet, and a second broader one, overhung by the upper torus. Besides which, another peculiarity is, that the lower torus is somewhat detached from the surface on which the column stands, by a very narrow but deep incision beneath it,—a mode of treatment quite different from the usual one of placing the base upon a square plinth, but which, different as it is, does not produce, as might be supposed, any appearance of weakness, the incision being no more than a mere line—a delicate artistic touch. The fluting (at least the mode in which the flutes are terminated) is not a little remarkable; for below, they and the fillets are continued, and die into the upper edge of the base; while above, they are terminated horizontally instead of by a semicircular curve, as in all other examples of both Ionic and Corinthian fluting. The capital is so exceedingly peculiar in conformation and detail as to defy verbal description. The leaves have nothing in common with those of the usual acanthus; the volutes are of peculiar shape, and the flower which ornaments the abacus is as singularly large, and descends to the top of the upper leaf: boldness and breadth of parts characterize the whole composition, and also that of the entablature. As all its mouldings are uncut, this last would be much too plain to be in keeping with the column, were not the frieze sculptured with rich and ‘bossy’ festoons in the same energetic style as the capitals. Such ornamentation of the frieze is absolutely part and parcel of the Order; and the value of it will be best understood by comparing those parts of the Bank, in which it is retained, with others in which it is omitted. The same Order, with the frieze enriched, has also been since employed in the front of St. Paul’s School, St. Paul’s Churchyard; but there, owing to windows and other disturbing circumstances, its effect is greatly impaired, as is the case even in the centre of the south front of the Bank itself, where it differs widely from the beautiful loggia at the north-west angle of that edifice, and compared with which it manifests in the part first mentioned a sad falling off, becoming no better than a dull, spiritless, prosaic version of its real self. In a word, it is out of its element.

The next, and it must be the last example which can here be noticed, is that of the so-called ‘Jupiter Stator,’ which may be said to exhibit _Corinthianism_ in its fullest luxuriance. Great as is the dissimilarity between this and the preceding example of the Order, they are alike in one respect, each being perfect in its way, complete, and harmonious in all its parts; and we ought to be thankful that two such opposite specimens of one and the same—namely, the foliaged-capital style—have been preserved to us for our admiration, and for our instruction also, as if on purpose to convince us what opposite kinds of beauty may be arrived at where, though the general configuration of the Order is adhered to, a different spirit and character are infused into it. Of the example now referred to, the character is elaborate richness subdued by refined taste. Though of lower proportions than usual, the capital is singularly ornate, and a corresponding degree of ornateness is diffused over the entire Order. The second or middle facia of the architrave, and all the members of the cornice, except the dentels and the cymatium over the corona, are sculptured, and the whole is consistently finished up in every part. The first application among us of this superb example of the Corinthian was in Holland’s beautiful portico to Carlton House, where, instead of being moderated, its richness was even augmented, the bases of the columns being carved, and the frieze sculptured. That portico has disappeared: the columns, indeed, still remain, having been used for the portico of the National Gallery, but the Order itself exists no more—at least not there. Another copy of it we now have in the Treasury Buildings, Whitehall, where it was applied by Soane, but with no great judgment or taste, his building being quite at variance with the Order he selected for it, the former being any thing but Corinthian in character. Perhaps he selected it, as we have done, for the purpose of exhibiting in two of his works such very distinct styles of Corinthian as are the Tivoli and the Jupiter Stator Orders. As now altered by Mr. Barry, the Treasury Buildings have received a great accession of richness, and the frieze, which was before plain, is now ornamented. But the Order itself is not improved, at least does not show itself to the same advantage as before, by being raised so much higher above the eye than it was at first; it looks comparatively diminished, and the beauty of its details is lost. We have, indeed, the Order; and nothing is wanting but that impressiveness and effect which gave such charm to the portico of Carlton House.

As to that variety of the Corinthian which passes under the name of _Composite_, the reader may now, after what has been said and shown, be left to judge whether it can with any propriety be classed as a distinct Order, instead of being reckoned merely as a variety of the other, and by no means the most striking variety of that foliaged-capital class. The difference between the two extends to no more than a part of the detail of the capital, the general normal character or Corinthianism of which is no way affected. And if the Ionic Order be allowed to comprehend many decidedly marked varieties of the voluted-capital type, there surely can be no necessity for splitting Doric and Corinthian, and getting out of them the Tuscan and Composite Orders. It will, perhaps, be fancied by some that by thus reducing the number of the Orders to three, we in some degree limit the resources which the Architect derives from them. The fact, however, is precisely the reverse; for although we limit them in number, we set no limits to their respective powers. A hundred different examples, each marked by individual character, or peculiarity of treatment, may yet all belong to the same generic type or order. Ancient examples are not to be considered merely as _patterns_, to be copied mechanically, but as studies for the Architect’s guidance and instruction.

COLUMNIATION.

Columns and entablatures in themselves do not, properly speaking, constitute an Order, although they serve as specimens of it. They must enter into and regulate the organization of a structure before they can become by composition what is, strictly speaking, an Order. As exhibited in their temples, the system of columniation practised by the Ancients was strictly organic and natural. Instead of being something accessory, supplementary to, and independent of the fabric, that might be either omitted or applied at pleasure, as commonly practised in Italian and modern composition, the Order itself constituted the exterior of the building, at least of that side or front of it where it was introduced, when it was not continued throughout; so that the Order and its dimensions once established, and the mode of intercolumniation determined, the edifice shaped itself. Before we enter upon the subject of intercolumniation, it will be desirable to explain the various forms of temples, and the technical terms by which they are distinguished.

The _naos_, or _cella_, as it is more usually called, or temple itself, was comparatively small, even where the entire mass was of considerable size, gradual extension of plan being produced not so much by any great enlargement of the interior as by external columniation and its gradual development. It is probable that the earliest Greek temples consisted of the _naos_ only, and were accordingly plain ASTYLAR buildings, or without columns, except in front or at the entrance end, where an enclosed porch was formed by introducing columns, by continuing the side walls, and placing columns between them _in antis_, that is, between the two _antæ_ or pilasters forming the ends of those walls. The next step seems to have been to advance the porch before the main building, instead of keeping it recessed within the side walls, thereby converting it from a portico in antis, into a _prostyle_, or projecting line of columns: thus a _distyle in antis_, or a portico consisting of two columns between antæ, consequently of three _intercolumns_, or open spaces between the antæ and columns, would become a _tetrastyle_, or projecting portico of four columns and three intercolumns. By the other end of the building being similarly treated, the temple became _amphiprostyle_, or prostyle at both ends, in rear as well as in front, the sides still remaining _astylar_. The next and last style of advancement was to continue columniation all round, enclosing the _cella_ within colonnades along its sides as well as at its ends, which disposition of plan is expressed by the terms _peristyle_, or _peristylar_, and _peripteral_, which of necessity produces two columns and two intercolumns more in front; for what would otherwise be merely a tetrastyle prostyle, with four columns and three intercolumns (the number of the latter being always one less than that of the others), becomes by the colonnades being continued along the side, a _hexastyle_ (_six_ columns and _five_ intercolumns); or if originally a prostyle hexastyle, it would be rendered an _octastyle_ (_eight_ columns and _seven_ intercolumns), and so on.[5] It should be observed, too, that a building cannot at the same time be _peristylar_ and have a _prostyle_ portico, the latter being merged in the general columniation, instead of projecting from the rest of the edifice as a distinct feature. Of peristylar temples there were two sorts, viz. those with a single row of columns on each side, and those which have two, which last are distinguished by the term _dipteral_, i. e. having two wings or _aisles_ on each side. Although it did not at all affect the general external appearance, notwithstanding that it extended the plan by adding two more columns and intercolumns to the front, this last-mentioned mode was attended with greater richness of columniation, and the inner columns contributed not a little to variety of effect and play of perspective; besides which, greater sheltered space was gained for ambulatories; whereas in the usual simple peristyle, where the space between the outer columns and the walls of the cella was limited to the width of a single intercolumn, the side colonnades were mere narrow passages, very little wider—at least in Doric temples—than the diameter of the columns themselves, consequently of very little actual service. In what is called the _pseudo-dipteral_ mode, more of clear space within the colonnades was provided by omitting the inner columns, which mode reduced the plan to that of a simple peristyle, the only difference being, that instead of the width of a single intercolumn, a clear space, equal to two intercolumns and one column, was gained for the ambulatories. The Temple of Jupiter at Selinus was of this description, and being only octastyle in front,—the least possible width for a dipteral or pseudo-dipteral plan,—of the seven front intercolumns, four (_i. e._ two on each side) were given to the lateral colonnades, and only three left for the breadth of the _cella_, which must have looked like a smaller edifice standing within a colonnaded and covered enclosure.

[5] By way of illustrating these terms more directly by instances taken from well-known modern porticoes which answer to the respective denominations and distinctions above noted, we here give a classified list of some of them:

Distyle { Two columns } St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. in antis. { & two antæ. } Three } inter- { Hanover Chapel, Regent Street. Tetrastyle. Four columns. } columns. { *Covent Garden Theatre.

{ St. George’s Church, { Bloomsbury. { *St. George’s, Hanover Square. { St. Martin’s Church. { Five { *St. Pancras’ Church. Hexastyle. Six columns. { inter- { India House. { columns. { Post Office. { *College of Surgeons. { *College of Physicians. { *Colosseum.

{ Seven { National Gallery. Octastyle. Eight columns. { inter- { Royal Exchange. { columns. { British Museum.

{ Nine } Decastyle. Ten columns. { inter- } London University College. { columns. }

The porticoes marked with the * are simple prostyles, or _monoprostyle_, advancing only a single intercolumn forwarder than the rest of the building; while the others are _diprostyle_, or show two open intercolumns on their flanks; except Hanover Chapel, whose portico is partly prostyle and partly recessed, and that of the India House, which is entirely recessed, although its elevation is not a composition _in antis_; had it been such, it would have been a _tetrastyle in antis_, that and a hexastyle having the same number of intercolumns, viz. five.

The above few and simple arrangements of plan are nearly all the varieties that the Greek temple style offers; and some of them are little better than distinctions without differences, inasmuch as the differences do not affect general external appearance. Peripteral, dipteral, and pseudo-dipteral, all agree in the main point, and the two latter answer to the name of peripteral as well as the first, being merely modifications of it. Great as were its æsthetic beauties, Greek Architecture was—why should we scruple to confess it?—exceedingly limited in its compass and power of expression: what it did, it did admirably, but it confined itself too much to one idea. “When you have seen one green field,” says Johnson, “you have seen all green fields;” and so we may say of Greek temples,—when you have seen one or two of them, you have seen all of them. However they may differ from one another as to the treatment of the Order adopted for them, the number of their columns, and mere particulars of that kind, they resemble each other very nearly in all leading points. Not only were their plans invariably parallelograms, but alike also as to proportion, forming a double square, or being about twice as much in length as in breadth; for so exceedingly _methodical_ was the Greek system, that the number of columns on the flanks or sides of a peripteral temple was regulated and determined by the number of those in front. The number of the columns in front was invariably an even one, as otherwise there would be no middle intercolumn; but on the flanks of the edifice, where there was no entrance, the number of the intercolumns was an even, and that of the columns an uneven one, so that a column came in the centre of these side elevations.

As to the mode in which the front influenced the sides by determining the number of columns for them, the established rule seems to have been to give the flanks twice as many intercolumns as there were columns at each end: thus the Parthenon, which is octastyle, has _sixteen_ intercolumns, consequently seventeen columns, on each flank. In like manner, a hexastyle temple would have _twelve_ intercolumns and thirteen columns on its sides. There are, however, exceptions; for instance, the temple at Selinus, which has been mentioned as an example of the pseudo-dipteral mode of columniation, is an octastyle, with sixteen, or just twice as many columns on its sides as in front; consequently the intercolumns are only fifteen, and being uneven in number, there is a middle one, as in the front itself. After all, the difference caused by there being an intercolumn more or less than usual is but a very slight one, such as is to be ascertained only by counting the columns, and such as not to occasion any perceptible difference in the general physiognomy of the building.[6]

[6] Should the reader be quite fresh to the subject, he is recommended to draw out for himself,—merely roughly mark down,—the several dispositions of columns which have been spoken of; for by compelling him to consider them carefully, he will be better able to understand them, and have them distinctly impressed upon his memory. The annexed may serve as a specimen of such short-hand architectural notation, in asterisks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *
* Peripteral Hexastyle, *
* 12 intercolumns *
* on sides. *
* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Besides the restriction as to general proportion of plan, namely, the fixed relationship between the length and the breadth of the building, proportion with regard to height was limited in a different way, and in such a manner that the character of increased richness and importance derived from a greater number of columns was attended, not indeed by decreased height, but by _decreased loftiness_, or proportional height, that is, height as measured by either breadth or length. Paradoxical as this may sound at first, nothing can be more clear when once explained. Discarding nicety of measurement, we will call a _tetrastyle_ portico about a square in height, that is, about as high as wide; but add four more columns, extend it from a tetrastyle to an octastyle, so that it becomes about a double square in breadth, or twice as wide again, and the inevitable consequence is, that it is then only half as high as wide; that is, as to proportion, only half as _lofty_ as it was before. The expression of _loftiness_, in which altitude greatly predominates over breadth, was quite beyond the reach of the Greek system. Their temples might be planted on lofty eminences, but the structures themselves never towered upwards. As far as it went, their system was perfect,—so complete indeed in itself as to be unfit for almost any other purposes than that for which it was expressly framed.

If the Romans corrupted the Greek Orders, the Doric and Ionic, they developed and matured the Corinthian Order, and also worked out a freer and more complex and comprehensive system of Architecture. To say nothing of their introduction and application of those important elements of both construction and design, the arch and vault—which hardly belong to a mere treatise on the Orders—it is to the Romans that we are indebted for varieties and combinations of plan that will be sought for in vain among Grecian structures.

Of the Romans it may be said, “Mutant quadrata _rotundis_,”—circular forms and curves displaying themselves not only in elevation and section, but in plan; and while, among the Greeks, Architecture was confined almost exclusively to external appearance and effect, in the hands of the Romans it was made to minister to internal display of the most enchantingly picturesque kind, as would be amply attested by the Pantheon alone. In that edifice, and Hadrian’s Mausoleum (now barbarized into the Castello di S. Angelo), the cylindrical form was exhibited upon an imposing scale; in the Temple at Tivoli, in far lesser dimensions, but with most captivating taste; and again in the Tomb of Cæcilia Metella, we have a fine example of an unbroken _astylar_ circular mass. In such structures as the Colosseum and other Roman Amphitheatres, a different form of curvature, namely, the ellipsis, was employed with admirable propriety and effect. In interiors, again, we find the hemicycle or concave semicircular form both frequently and variously applied by the Romans in such edifices as their Baths, which afford many excellent studies for combinations of _plan_.

To enter into the system of Roman Architecture as the subject itself would require, would very far exceed our present purpose and limits; much less can we pretend to treat here of the still more varied and complex Italian or Modern-European system, into which _fenestration_ so largely enters, _columniation_ being, more frequently than not, subordinate. Were we to touch upon the last-mentioned style and its various elements, it could be only so superficially as to be more disappointing than instructive. Better that the reader should admire our forbearance than complain of our unsatisfactory jejuneness. We may, however, permit ourselves to throw out one or two general remarks; the first of which is, that it is a great error to confound with the Italian the two Ancient Classical styles, applying to them alike the epithet ‘Grecian,’ merely in contradistinction to Gothic or Mediæval Architecture. It is absurd, too, to pretend to test by the Greek style, one so totally differently constituted as the Italian; an error that could hardly have been fallen into but for the practice of applying the same names to very different things. The term ‘Order’ has quite a different meaning, as applied to the original classical mode of the Art, from what it has in the other. In Italian composition, an Order is more frequently than not, mere decoration in the shape of columns and entablatures, fashioned _secundum artem_ (a very different thing from _artistically_), so as to resemble in detail and certain conventional distinctions those of the Ancients. Infinitely better would it have been, if, instead of allowing themselves to be misled by the pedantry of Vitruvius, the Architects of the so-called Revival, who showed much happiness of invention in other respects, had treated the Orders freely; or perhaps still better, had they worked out ideas of their own for columns and entablatures, whenever they had occasion for them either as matters of necessity, or as mere decoration. Had the Italians allowed themselves greater latitude in that respect, they would, in all probability, have been far less licentious upon the whole than they frequently were, and their buildings would have been more homogeneous—more of a piece. But they must, forsooth, be Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian, ofttimes all the three at once, and a very great deal else into the bargain. Therefore the affecting to retain the ancient Orders in their purity served no other purpose than that of making all the more evident how completely their first intention and character had been lost sight of.

The clinging with scrupulous punctilio to what had become dead-letter forms after the system which had produced them had been abandoned and exchanged for another and widely different one, was merely superstition and pedantry. It might show acquaintance with traditional learning and the writings of Vitruvius; but it also showed dulness of æsthetic feeling, or, what is not much better, deficiency of æsthetic power. There was, however, one mode of applying columns, which, although generally regarded as the most licentious and unorthodox,—nay, even preposterous, because quite contrary to all classical practice and precedent,—has at least one propriety, that of being rational, since columns there officiate as columns—as real supports; whereas in a great deal of Modern Architecture that is admired for the correct taste it displays, columns and their entablatures are mere expletives, instead of actual component parts of the fabric, and simulate a mode of construction neither required for nor practised in the fabric itself. The particular mode here alluded to is that in which arches are not only introduced together with columns, but the arches and columns are so indissolubly married together that they cannot be divorced, inasmuch as the arches are supported by the columns themselves, the former springing immediately from the capitals of the latter.[7] Such combination, it might be supposed, would be gladly admitted as sufficiently legitimate, both because in accordance with rational architectonic principles, and because it greatly extends the resources of the Art; nevertheless, such is the omnipotence of prejudice, that instead of being welcomed and adopted by us, it has been decried as a barbarism. As an irresistible and crushing argument against it, we are told that columns were not _originally_ intended to be so applied;—admirable logic, truly! There are a great many other things besides columns which have in course of time come to be applied to uses not originally contemplated. In regard to that combination of columns and arches according to which the latter spring immediately from the others, and are supported by them, there are two questions: the first and practical one is; Do the columns afford sufficient support?—the second and æsthetic one is; Is there also appearance of sufficient support; or, is there any thing contradictory to principle, to judgment, and good taste? The first question needs no answer, since it answers itself, it being an indisputable fact that columns so employed do answer the purpose to which they are turned. The other question is not so easily answered: the prejudiced will of course answer it according to their own contracted taste and narrow notions, condemning the mode alluded to, without any inquiry into its merits and advantages, merely on the ground of its being quite at variance with the classical system of _trabeated_ columniation, that is, with columns supporting a horizontal architrave and entablature, or general horizontal _trabeation_. That by the substitution of arches for architraves, the character of the Greek system is forfeited, cannot be denied; but then another character is established, whose difference from the original one ought not to be made its condemnation. To demand of a different mode that it should resemble and conform to the laws of that from which it differs, is absurdity in the extreme, for it is requiring that it should be at once a different one and the same. To compare different styles is a very useful sort of study; but to make any one style the criterion or standard by which others are to be judged, is preposterous.

[7] This mode of uniting together columns and arches is perfectly legitimate, whereas that in which a fragment of the usual entablature is left sticking or added to each column, (as, for instance, in the interior of St. Martin’s Church,) is decidedly solecistical, since it is injuriously reminiscent of _epistylar_ construction or trabeation,—is in itself unmeaning, and causes the columns to appear to have been too short, and therefore to have been eked out in height by blocks upon them, fashioned to resemble so many detached bits of an entablature.