Chapter V: Part 5

Though I speak of the Early Pointed as a newly-generated art--as it in effect was--it must never be forgotten that it is a distinct and natural growth from the pre-existing Romanesque. The more I study old examples the more obvious does this appear. Take either France or England alone, and you may from either construct, _ad libitum_, unbroken _catenæ_ of examples, showing step by step the natural and logical growth of the new style out of the old; and that without any essential imported element (for the Byzantine capital, which was the parent of the Gothic one, was an accidental, though a happy, importation).

This progressive growth was but the practical realisation of three great aims towards which the Romanesque architects were ever striving--the perfecting of their arcuated and vaulted construction, the increase of the altitude of their proportions, and the general adding of refinement and elegance to their details. Thus, if you take the internal bay of a Norman cathedral, and simply set yourself the task of increasing its height in a given proportion, the result will be a Gothic bay, for the arches cannot participate in the increased elevation without becoming pointed. If the details are further refined, it becomes an ordinary transitional design; and if the process is carried on a little farther, it becomes a perfected Early Pointed work--the distinction between transition and perfected Early Pointed being merely the carrying on of the process by which the former was generated out of Romanesque. This fact, which all who look closely into it must see, was what led a talented writer to say that Early Pointed was only Romanesque improved. He meant this as an argument against it as compared with the still succeeding styles; but I confess, for my own part, while feeling strongly the truth of the observation, and highly appreciating the importance of some of the subsequent developments, I do not the less admire the glorious productions of the Early style from seeing in them the evidences of the vigorous stock from which they have sprung.[36]

It will be seen, by enumerating the leading characteristics of Pointed architecture, that the great majority of them were already perfected, or, at least, brought to that reasonable and consistent state of development which stops short of excess and exaggeration, at the commencement of the thirteenth century.

The pointed arch had obtained universal predominance, though without involving the rejection of the semicircular or the plain segment, where circumstances called for them; the general predominance of the vertical line was acknowledged, without running into the excess of underrating the horizontal; lofty and aspiring proportions prevailed, though not to the extent of exaggeration, and without unreasonably asserting their claims in works of a humbler class; the subdivision of arches into orders, and the clustering of the pillars, so as to satisfy the eye that each member of the arch was severally supported, had arisen during the Romanesque period, and was now carried out still more systematically and with greater elegance; and the system of making the bases and capitals face in the direction of the insisting arch-rib, which had also arisen early, was (in France at least) very generally adhered to. The distinction between constructional and decorative pillars--one of the great characteristics of the Gothic style, both Round and Pointed--was carried to its fullest extent; the vaulting system was perfected, though retaining its normal simplicity; and the corresponding system of buttress (solid or arched) and pinnacle, which are the necessary accompaniments of a perfect arcuated style, had been brought to perfection; the continuity of line was acknowledged sufficiently to suggest a feeling of natural growth of the parts one from another, from the bases of the shafts to the bosses of the vaulting, but without that sacrifice of force and of all salient points which became the vice of later styles.

The principle of rendering the useful features ornamental was fully developed; as an instance of it--the doorways, the only parts of the exterior which _must_ of necessity be seen from close at hand, were rendered magnificent beyond all former precedent, and became the vehicles of noble sculpture, and the great exponents of the objects of the building, whether religious or secular. The windows now became great characteristic objects, not only from their richly painted glass within, but as leading architectural features, both within and without. The bell towers became glorious structures, rendering the cities conspicuous throughout the whole surrounding district, and making every village a distinct and beautiful point in the landscape. The same principle obtained in all secular structures. The castles of the nobility became truly noble structures, glorious for the stern grandeur of their external aspect, and for the massive beauty of their internal architecture; the gates and defences of cities partook of the same severe grandeur; while the street fronts, the town halls, and other civic buildings, displayed architectural characteristics, modest or grand, as suited their several purposes. In Italy, where municipal institutions were more developed, noble street palaces were erected; and everywhere the architecture, whether viewed in the mass or in its details, was suited, as by an unerring instinct, to the objects on which it was exercised.

The decorative system of the architecture had also been brought to great perfection. The mouldings were refined without losing boldness or strength--in fact, were strong or delicate, as suited their position; the foliated carving had arrived at very high perfection, and was of a kind perfectly new--the magnificent creation of the artistic mind; sculpture was often profusely used in connection with architecture, and if not of that perfectly studied symmetry which satisfies the academic critic, it evinces a boldness of conception, a quickness of invention, and an unaffected grandeur of sentiment, which our modern sculptors would do well to emulate, while it is eminently suited, by its rigid lines and severe force, to architectural purposes.

It would be absurd to attempt, in a single lecture, to give any detailed description of the architecture of this great period; nor is it necessary, as no style is so familiar to those whose attention has been at all turned to such subjects; I will, however, take a few of its leading points, and call attention to some of their characteristics.

I will begin with the _Column_. In no feature is the difference between Classic and Gothic architecture so strongly marked as in the column. In the former, one general idea alone prevailed--the round shaft with a capital, and with or without a base. In the latter this normal type is equally admissible and equally honoured, but, in addition to it, an almost endless list of forms are introduced. In the first place the round column is converted at pleasure into the octagonal or other polygonal form--this is a mere variety of the normal type; then either the round or the polygon is flanked by four smaller shafts, attached or detached, and these subsidiary shafts may be increased in number, subordinated one to another, both in size and salience, and may be all attached, all detached, or the attached and detached shafts may be used alternately or in any other order in the same pillar.

Then, again, instead of the cylindrical pillar, we may have four cylinders united in one, and these may in their turn be made the nucleus round which detached or attached shafts may be grouped: or we may have two or more separate cylindrical main shafts carrying the load, and may group subordinate ones round them; and again, we may take other forms of nucleus--as the square, the canted square, or a pier with receding orders--and place our shafts round them; and, finally, we may form groups in which no specific form of nucleus is to be traced, but which consist of shafts arranged with reference to the superincumbent arch alone.

The number of changes which may be rung on these varieties of pillar are absolutely endless, though it is not desirable to indulge too much in the more intricate forms of grouping, but, as a general rule, to keep to forms which are naturally suggested by the duties the pillar is designed to perform. When detached subsidiary shafts are used, it is somewhat unnatural to joint them in their length without introducing some visible means of tying them to the main pillar within. This necessity gave rise to the use of the moulded band, which forms so beautiful a feature in the pillars of this period. It is sometimes made of brass, but more usually of stone or marble.

The bases of columns throughout the Romanesque period were most usually founded on some traditional variety of the Attic base. The resemblance is often obscure, but in many cases very close.

Towards the end of the Romanesque period very great attention began to be paid to the sections of base mouldings, and in transitional works they are often more beautiful than at any other period. The difference between these bases and the ordinary Attic base is of the same kind which distinguishes Greek from Roman moulding. It is an extreme delicacy of curve, the substitution of elliptical sections for circular, and a wonderfully studious grouping of the hollows, rounds, and arrises, so as to produce a refined and delicate contrast and gradation of light and shade, without destroying the strength necessary to the main supporting feature. In this they showed a high appreciation of what is in all architecture a difficult problem--the uniting the conflicting claims of the lower part of a building, as on the one hand demanding the greatest strength of character as supporting the whole structure, and on the other a delicate finish, as the part open to the closest inspection.

The bases have usually one more part than a Classic base, having in most cases a projecting sub-plinth, either chamfered or moulded. In earlier instances the plinth and sub-plinth are both square in plan; and here, again, we obtain a feature of great beauty which antique architecture did not possess. I mean the beautiful leaves or bosses of foliage which spring out of the lower torus to cover the projecting angles of the plinth.

This projection is often reduced by making the torus overhang the square plinth in the centre of its sides, and a little projecting corbel is often put to carry this overhanging, as well as the leaf to cover the angles of the plinth.

At a later period the square plinth gave way to the octagonal, and in England and Normandy often to the round form.

In early work the bases often faced about diagonally as the caps, to indicate the direction of the arch-ribs to be supported.[37]

In France the elliptical section of the lower torus continued much longer than in England, and the upper torus was often converted into a kind of ogee, and both in France and England the scotia was usually very narrow and deep--so much so, indeed, as to hold water. In England another kind of base is frequent, in which a bead is substituted for the scotia.

In some rich work the plinth is clothed with foliage.

I have said a good deal of the history of the capitals of the Early Pointed period in my last lecture. I particularly showed that about the period of the transition a great change took place in France in the form of the capitals, in which the old Romanesque form was almost universally abandoned in favour of one of a distinctly Byzantine origin, which I suggested came, in all probability, by way of Venice, at the time of the erection of the Byzantine churches in Aquitaine; and that though the domical construction of churches then brought into France does not appear to have extended northward of the Loire, the Byzantine capital of the Corinthianesque type was adopted quite into the north of France, and became the parent of the exquisite capitals and foliage which, in the next generation, pervaded the architecture both of France and England, and, a little later, of Germany.

I also showed that the peculiar stalk or crocket, which became so constant a feature in early Gothic capitals, took its origin from a plain unraffled leaf frequent in the Byzantine capitals,[38] which in their turn may have been suggested by unfinished leaves, which are of very common occurrence in capitals of that period.

During the first half of the thirteenth century these crocket capitals were brought to very high perfection, the stalk or crocket either appearing in its most normal form, or being more or less clothed and concealed by foliage. In the latter case it forms a strong background to the leaves, giving them the apparent stiffness and strength necessary to their position. These usually turn over in a bunch of foliage, which is distinct from the leaves which clothe them, so that there is no inconsistency, but the reverse, in the clothing foliage being natural, while the terminal bunch which completes the crocket is conventional.[39] Towards the middle of the century the natural and conventional foliage were very much used together, the former being often a light playful overlaying of stronger leading forms; but afterwards, in French work, and still later in English, natural foliage became the rule and conventional the exception.

The capitals which prevailed during this century form the most magnificent series which any style of architecture can boast. Whether the foliage is natural, conventional, or both united, the artistic power evinced is truly delightful; and when it is recollected that no two capitals are ever found exactly alike, the fertility of invention they display is perfectly wonderful.

It would be hopeless in such a lecture as this to attempt to go through, even in the most cursory manner, the endless varieties of capitals--from the stupendous masses of noble foliage which crown the apsidal columns at Rheims, whose single shafts are nearly six feet in diameter, to those of the delicate colonettes which decorate the mullions of windows. This one feature alone would form an ample subject for an entire lecture, or almost for a series of lectures. I will confine my present remarks to the great characteristic differences which distinguish French from English capitals during the thirteenth century.

This great distinction lies in the plan of the abacus; for while in France the square form of the preceding style continued, the English architects very soon substituted the circular plan.

It is a curious question how and when this arose. In both countries the round abacus was, in some instances, used from an early period; but this was chiefly on great cylindrical columns, with low capitals, such as those in the nave of Gloucester Cathedral, though even in France the round form occasionally occurs to subordinate shafts, as at St. Omer; but, as a general rule, both countries used the square or the angular form till late in the transition, when the English commenced the free adoption of the round, first alongside of the other, and afterwards to its almost entire exclusion.

So early as the erection of the crypt under the Trinity Chapel at Canterbury, by William the Englishman, about 1180, we find the round moulded capital; and in the altar recesses in the eastern transept we find the round abacus on foliated capitals; though, I confess, I doubt its belonging, in this last-mentioned instance, to the original work.

Much difference of opinion now exists as to the comparative merits of these two forms. By some the square abacus is assumed to be the great symbol of force and vigour; while by others it is said to be inconsistent with the true principles of Gothic architecture. Perhaps the question might be solved by deciding that both are beautiful, both vigorous, and both consistent with Gothic architecture, and, therefore, that both should be admitted on equal terms as portions of our general _matériel_.

The advantages of the angular abacus are, that it allows of the capitals indicating the direction of the arch-ribs, and assuming irregular forms suggested by them (Fig. 97), which the round form _forbids_; that it allows of the use of _square_ orders, and, consequently, of simpler and more effective arch mouldings than can be placed in the round abacus, on which the mouldings have to be somewhat crushed in their section, and their parts multiplied, to bring them nicely on to the round support; and that the angles indicate the direction towards which the main stalks of the foliage should tend. There can be no doubt, on the whole, that it produces the most vigorous effect; and I must plead guilty to an un-English preference for it, though I also greatly admire its competitor, whose advantages are the beautiful form which the round moulding takes as seen in perspective from below, and its less disturbance of the continuity of line.

Another great characteristic of English architecture is the moulded (unfoliated) capital. This is almost wanting in French architecture; and I strongly contend that the invention of this capital, which we may almost claim for our own country, is one of extreme value, and supplies what would be otherwise a great _hiatus_ in the style. Among its earlier instances is that I have already mentioned in the crypt at Canterbury (Fig. 98). It is there in rather a plain and normal form, nearly resembling a capital denuded of its foliage, but with the space below the abacus and the bell somewhat increased, for the sake of strength. The fully-developed moulded capital differs from this in having a considerable overhanging moulding, which is the substitute for, and the representative of, the foliage of the richer capital (Figs. 99, 100). Though this overhanging moulding is uniform in type, the varieties it assumes in detail are endless, and the groups of mouldings in these capitals are among the most beautiful in the whole range of Gothic architecture; and the addition of this beautiful feature to our rich treasury of forms of capital is of infinite value.

The abacus of the moulded capitals is not necessarily round. There are many instances of its being square, and still more of its being octagonal--a form which is continued through the later periods of English architecture.

I ought to have mentioned that in its normal condition the abacus is in a separate stone from the rest of the capital, though convenience frequently suggests its being in one.

When marble shafts, however, are used, it is far better that the same material be used also for the abacus.

Next in importance to the column as a characteristic of the style, we must place the _Window_. Indeed, it has generally been made to take the precedence of it, and is no doubt that by which the date of a building is most readily ascertained and its style defined.

The Romanesque windows were simply openings with round heads, the jambs and arches being either perfectly plain, moulded, with or without enrichment, or the jambs shafted. These windows were most usually isolated, but were here and there grouped into couplets, triplets, etc., or made to form portions of continuous arcading.

In the early days of the transition the windows remained unaltered, otherwise than as to the general refinement of their details. Later on the arches were made pointed, and their proportions somewhat elongated; and even in the fully-developed Early Pointed style--properly so called--the window differs little in principle from that of the Romanesque period, though, in fact, it assumes a widely different form, through its carrying towards their ultimate results the principles of grouping begun during the previous style, and those of refinement and elongation incident to the transition.

It is in carrying out these principles to a still greater extent that the Early Pointed of England differs from that of France. It is really the same style, and no important feature can be pointed out in the one country which is not to be found in the other; but just as the Germans, by dwelling longer on the Romanesque style, rendered it more refined and perfect than elsewhere, so the English, by the continued retention of the unmullioned window, systematised its use in a manner not equalled in other countries. I see no difference of principle in the fenestration of the Early French and the Early English Pointed styles: in both the principle was the decoration and combination of single lights. Nor do I see that in England this was done in a manner essentially differing in any respect from what was common in France. The great difference was the far greater width of the French openings, which often rendered their windows inelegant in proportion, while it offered a noble field for stained glass. The characteristic of the English windows, on the other hand, was narrow and tall proportions, and a greater amount of enrichment of the jambs and arches, though none of these are, by any means, constant features. Sometimes we find in English works lightness carried to a vicious extreme, as in the beautiful but frail eastern transept at Worcester; though in a majority of instances it retains a masculine firmness and solidity, as in the east end of Whitby.

Time would fail me to illustrate the magnificent combinations of this early class of window to be found in cathedrals and monastic churches--as the east end of Ely, the west at Llandaff, or the north transept at York; nor would it be possible to enumerate the simple and impressive village churches to which, in their humbler forms, though with equal artistic merit, they lend such a charm. The style is too well known in England to need minute description, and its merits too fully acknowledged to need enforcement from me.

I will rather proceed to consider that great invention which may be considered to complete the series of developments which constituted Pointed architecture: I mean the mullioned and traceried window; not that I consider it as in all points better than its predecessor, nor that in our own revival it should supersede it; but that, as a matter of fact, Gothic architecture would have been imperfect without it. Like almost every other feature of Pointed architecture, the traceried window grew out of the Romanesque.

In all periods of Romanesque we find occasionally two or more arched openings comprised under one enclosing arch. The arrangement is more frequent in belfry windows and triforium openings than elsewhere, but occurs in ordinary windows, especially in secular buildings. The space intervening between the large arch and the two or more placed below it was, even as early as this, occasionally pierced with circles or other forms of opening. Here, then, we have the elements of the mullioned window before even the introduction of the pointed arch. In the same situations it gradually developed itself, step by step, during the Early Pointed period, so that we have in triforium arcades and in other positions a pretty full development of what is called _plate_ tracery before its use became frequent for ordinary windows. The case was pretty much the same both in France and England, though on the whole the love of placing two openings under one arch was greater in France; thus, we see in the aisles at Chartres two plain lights under one arch with a circular opening, and above, in the clerestory, a very large circle in the head with somewhat complex subordinate piercings. The same is the case at Bourges, where three lights are often comprised under one arch, with a single circle in the head.

The next great element which aided in producing tracery windows was the wheel, or other richly-pierced circular window. This, again, originated under the Romanesque style, as we may see at Barfreston and elsewhere. It is, in fact, a very close approach to tracery, and when placed in the space between comprising and comprised arches, it almost completes the change. All that is wanted is the piercing of the intervening spaces in forms whose outlines are parallel to the main piercings, so as to form what Professor Willis calls _bar_ tracery. This was, I fancy, commenced in France--though there are very early traces of it in England--and was done at first in a partial and clumsy manner, as in some windows at Le Mans and Tours, but soon was systematised.

I do not see that in any of the previous steps the French were in advance of the English architects, but in this last step I think they were so, and this led them to a much earlier abandonment of the single window and its combinations; so that for some time the French were using tracery windows, while we were rendering more perfect the unmullioned system--not from want of knowledge of the other, but rather from a preference for a system in which we were producing more beautiful combinations than our neighbours had attained.

It is not a very profitable question to inquire by how many years the French may have been in advance of us in this development, and it is so exceedingly difficult to get at positive dates of the erection of buildings in either country, that it would be impossible if desired. The fact, no doubt, is, that for many years the two kinds of window were contemporaneous. Thus, traceried windows may have been in use at Rheims and Amiens, while the older kind was being used at Bourges and Chartres.

It is said that in England the fully-developed bar tracery was first used in Westminster Abbey, which was commenced in 1245; but this is merely an assumption; and it is clear that it was used in the eastern part of St. Paul’s, a part of which was consecrated in 1240. The east window of Netley Abbey looks very early, but I do not know its real date, but believe it is said to have been finished in 1249; while the eastern windows at Lincoln look too thoroughly developed to be very early specimens, though known to have been erected between 1256 and 1280. In any case the change had fully established itself in England during the third quarter of the century.[40]

There can be no doubt that, whichever class of window we prefer, this invention was of immense practical utility. It rendered possible what was never attained before--the formation of windows of _any_ width which might be wanted, without injury to the beauty of the building. This is, in fact, the great use of the mullion, to enable you to use wider windows than you could use without it--indeed, to render their width unlimited; and the consequence of the invention was the introduction of windows in some cases not less than 30 feet or more in width, and 60 or 70 in height, and that without appearing to make any unseemly gap in the walling, which would otherwise have been the case with a window of one-sixth of the size.

After the system was once introduced, it seems to me to have been often more beautifully carried out in England than in France; indeed, I hardly know in France windows of equal beauty with those at Lincoln, Tintern, or St. Mary’s Abbey at York.

At a later period excess of tracery became the great vice of the style, but while kept within bounds, it unquestionably was a great element to its perfection; and though it must always be remembered that a building of any amount of beauty and dignity can be designed without it, it would be placing upon ourselves a very foolish restriction if, merely from an individual preference for the earlier and sterner style, we were to debar ourselves from the use of so convenient and reasonable an element.

One feature in which the English works of this period appear to me to be peculiarly excellent is the base moulds; I do not mean of columns, but of the building itself. I have never seen any in France to equal many of our own in the quality of appearing eminently fitted to support the whole structure, or in the artistic arrangement of their parts.

Against this we may balance on the other side the French cornices and foliated bands, which are one of their most beautiful characteristics. They usually consist of two courses--a hollow projecting moulding containing the foliage, capped by a weather moulding--the equivalent respectively of the bell and abacus of the capital; indeed, in many cases forming the continuation of the capitals of window jambs across the intervening piers. We have in many cases cornices equivalent to these--as at York, Howden, and the nave of Lichfield; but they are, on the whole, a much less English than French feature. The foliage they contain is usually of great beauty, and eminently suited to its position.

The great glory, however, of the French churches is their doorways; and beautiful as are those of our own, they make no kind of pretension to vie with those of our neighbours in magnificence. In this respect the architects of the two nations seem to have gone on quite contrary principles; for the French, even in buildings on a secondary scale, introduced portals of prodigious size and extreme richness, while the English, even in buildings on a grand scale, often made their doorways very inconspicuous. Compare, for instance, the façades of Amiens and of Wells: in one the portals are everything, so that you can recollect little else; in the other they are nothing, and you can scarcely recollect their existence; while, in the façade above, the English example is the richer of the two; and the illustrative sculpture which in the one case is expended on the portals, is in the other diffused over the entire front. In England a magnificent portal is of rare occurrence; in France one looks for it as a thing of course. Nothing more glorious than the great French portals can be conceived: the lofty and deeply-receding jambs are divided in their ample height into two portions, the pedestal or basement of which is richly decorated either with diaper-work or with sculptured medallions, or, as at Amiens, with both; and the upper stage contains colossal figures of apostles or other holy men of old, who appear to view with severe and solemn benignity the entering crowd, and to express, by the gravity of their countenances, the caution, “Keep thy foot when thou goest to the house of God.” In the tympanum are sculptured scenes from Scripture history, the lives of saints, our Lord surrounded by the evangelistic symbols, or perhaps the awful scenes of the final Judgment; and the mouldings of the arch are probably filled with angelic figures, as if the guardians of the faithful worshippers; while this impressive array of imagery is placed in a setting of the noblest and most perfect architecture, and that on a scale well suited to the sublimity of the sentiments expressed.

The portals of Nôtre Dame at Paris, of Amiens, and of Chartres, may be instanced as among the most striking examples; but all great churches of the end of the twelfth and of the thirteenth century have the same truly glorious approaches, well calculated to solemnise the minds of those entering by them, and to prepare the way for the overwhelming dignity of the interior.

The nearest approach which we have in England to this class of doorway is the south entrance to the

eastern part of Lincoln--a truly noble portal;[41] but on the whole, though of a different class, the most dignified approach to any English cathedral is the western porch of Ely.[42]

St. Alban’s has had three magnificent western entrances. The smaller ones have been wonderful works of art, though now ruined.

The north porches of Salisbury and Wells are very noble; indeed, many of our great churches have portals which we should deem magnificent, could we forget those of France, and which we know to be eminently beautiful, however they may be surpassed in magnificence.

In almost all other parts the English cathedrals of this age are often richer than the French, as in the clustering of the columns, the richness of the arch mouldings, the beauty of their wall arcading, the importance and detail of the triforium, etc.; while, on the contra side, they have to yield greatly to the French in altitude, and in many cases in general scale, as well as in the amount of sculpture with which they are enriched.

My object in drawing these comparisons is not a wish to lay any claim to superiority for either, nor to shake the claims of our neighbours to general precedence, as I view Paris to have been, in a certain sense, the centre and metropolis of Mediæval art. It is rather to show that these were the arts of a great _period_, not of a single _people_; that all were labouring together in perfecting a great and glorious development of art, each knowing well what others were doing, each according to their means taking care to keep up to the standard already attained, and to add to the public treasury developments of their own; each making it his great endeavour to do his own work as well as it could possibly be done according to the means at command, and each people vying with its neighbours, not in the spirit of petty jealous competitors for praise, but each striving, with a noble and glorious emulation, to do the utmost in its power to further the great art which all had contributed in generating.

Having given, in this and my two preceding lectures, a rough and very imperfect sketch of the rise and perfecting of Gothic architecture, it is not my intention any further to pursue the subject historically; but--assuming the thirteenth century to be the great period of the style--I should wish, in any future lectures I may give, to illustrate and discuss its principles, and the many sections into which it divides itself, whether geographical varieties or the leading features of the buildings themselves. I may not be able to carry out this intention, but in my next lecture, the last of the present session, I purpose--after alluding to some of the most remarkable works of the period and with some slight description of their characteristics, and after calling attention to the all-pervading character of the art as it bore upon secular and other buildings, upon the allied arts, and upon the ordinary arts of common life--to found upon what we have had in review before us some general suggestions as to the practical lessons we ought to learn from what we have been considering, and the influence it ought to have upon our own artistic practice.

LECTURE V.

The Thirteenth Century--_continued_.

St. Saviour’s, Southwark--Choir of Temple Church, London--Chapel at
Lambeth--Westminster Abbey--Its Italian mosaic work, monuments, and
ancient reredos--Chapel of St. Ethelreda, Holborn--St. Alban’s
Abbey--Priory Church, Dunstable--Stone Church near
Gravesend--Waltham Cross--Jesus Chapel, Cambridge--Ely and
Peterborough Cathedrals--Warmington Church--West Walton
Abbey--Crowland Abbey--St. Mary’s and All Saints, Stanford--Ketton,
Grantham, and Frampton Churches--Lincoln Cathedral--Southwell
Minster--Newstead Abbey--York Cathedral--St. Mary’s Abbey, and St.
Leonard’s Hospital, York--Skelton Church--Beverley and Ripon
Minsters--Fountains, Rivaulx, Whitby, Kirkham, and Guisborough
Abbeys--Chapel of the Nine Altars, Durham--Hexham and Dryburgh
Abbeys--Chapel of Holyrood--Elgin and Glasgow Cathedrals--Furness
Abbey--Southern examples--Most great churches in France vaulted,
not so in England--Universal excellence of workmanship from 1175 to
1400--Domestic architecture of France, Germany, Italy, and
England--Influence of thirteenth century work on our artistic
practice.

In my last lecture I gave a hasty outline of the developed architecture of this great period.

I will now endeavour to give an equally hasty glance at some of its more marked creations, beginning--as in duty bound--at home. Their number, however, is so great, that one is perplexed to know where to begin, or in what order to take them. Perhaps the most profitable way will be to imagine the student to live in London, and to commence with the works of this century, which he may study within a walk of his home.

Let us begin, then, with the church of St. Saviour--formerly St. Mary Overie--in Southwark.

When I first knew this Church the whole of it was standing: externally, it is true, the aspect it presented was not very pleasing, for it had been cased almost throughout with red brick, and the Lady Chapel was little else than a ruin. The choir was then in course of restoration. The interior was a most noble structure, and was almost perfect, and nearly all of this century, though some small portions westward were earlier, and the south transept possibly a little later. The whole was on a very symmetrical design, that of the nave being very much the same with the choir.

Its character may easily be judged of from what remains. It was nobly massive and grand, not of lofty proportions, but still such as to satisfy the eye. The pillars were alternately round and canted squares, flanked with attached shafts; the triforium consisting of arcades, interrupted only by the vaulting shafts. At the east end is a beautiful Lady Chapel, vaulted on light clustered pillars.

The restoration of the choir was carried out by the late Mr. George Gwilt, aided by his sons; and it is impossible too warmly to praise the zeal and ardour with which they pursued the work, their study of the style then so little understood, or the untiring pains they took to render their restoration accurate. All these ardent lovers of ancient art are now deceased, and I feel a melancholy pleasure in bearing witness to their merits. I was intimately acquainted with one of the sons, and never did I meet a man more enthusiastically devoted to the style on which his artistic education had been founded. He absolutely adored everything which was Early English; and, in carrying out restorations--in one of which he aided me--so faithfully did he reproduce the whole work, that nothing could induce him to alter even the positions of the jointing of the ashlar work.

The pains which Mr. Gwilt took in restoring the choir disgusted the heartless parishioners, who, on proceeding to the transepts, placed the work in other hands; but, on the Lady Chapel being undertaken by private individuals, Mr. Gwilt nobly undertook the work gratuitously, and carried it out with the same care he had bestowed on the choir.

Shortly after this, a report having arisen that the nave roof was decayed, a surveyor was employed to examine it, who, recklessly condemning it as unsafe, it was taken off, and none put on in its place. The walls, being of chalk, became shattered by exposure to the frost of several winters; and when the restoration of the nave was proposed to the parishioners, that enlightened body of men negatived it, and, taking down the glorious old structure, erected the present abject monstrosity in its place.[43]

Happily, however, the interiors of the choir and Lady Chapel are still perfect. Let us hope and pray that their widowhood may not be of much longer duration, but that a reproduction of the noble nave may be substituted for its unworthy supplanter.

I should mention that the nave was entered on the south side by a very noble double doorway, of great height and depth, though when I knew it its decorative features had perished. I will only add that if measured drawings of this church are in the possession of the family of Mr. Gwilt, it would be most desirable that they should be deposited among public archives, to await the time when they _must_ be wanted as a guide to the re-erection of the lost portions. In the meantime let me beg of you to study well what remains.[44]

Next in importance, and probably in date, comes the choir of the Temple Church, which was consecrated in 1240--a more fortunate building than the last, and not needing from me any chronicle of its restoration. It is, in idea, a magnified transcript of the Lady Chapel at St. Saviour’s, being, like it, vaulted throughout upon pillars of equal height, and is probably about the most perfect specimen in England of this beautiful mode of construction.

The only other important instance I recollect in London of the earlier portion of our style is the chapel at Lambeth--a very good Early English chapel, though somewhat dishonoured by plaster vaulting, the ribs of which I myself saw being prepared for by a core of spikes and tar-cord. Let us hope that this is the last instance of such construction, especially of its introduction in a time-honoured building like this!

We now come to one of the noblest of England’s temples--the Abbey Church of Westminster; and you will readily excuse me from dishonouring this truly glorious temple by attempting its description in the course of a hasty catalogue like that I am now giving. As you all know, it was commenced in 1245 by King Henry III., and the eastern portions finished about 1269. This makes it contemporary, in a certain sense, with Amiens; for though the latter was commenced in 1220, it was not completed till 1288. There can be no doubt that the cathedral at Amiens was, at the time of its erection, viewed as the most perfect development of the style; for it is clear that it was made, in many instances, the model on which the designs of other churches were formed.

Cologne Cathedral, for instance, was commenced in 1248, during the erection of that at Amiens, and is manifestly a free copy of it so far as concerns its earlier portions;[45] and though Westminster Abbey is by no means built on the model of Amiens, it was probably influenced by it. That prodigious pile, carried forward through so long a series of years, would be a great object of interest to all contemporary church-builders; and Henry, who was much in France, would naturally send the architect of his own sacred mausoleum to see the great work of his day.

Westminster Abbey is a church built on a French ideal, but with English detail--a great French thought expressed in excellent English.

The windows are of the perfected bar tracery, which had not yet been much used in England; but in other respects I cannot find a distinctively French detail--or scarcely any--in the building, excepting the work of a single French foliage carver. Even the plan, which is purely French in idea, is carried out in a manner quite different from that of any French church I have seen.

In the architecture the union of the manners of the two nations is most happy. The pillars are nearly like those of the great French cathedral, but the side shafts, instead of being attached, are separate shafts of Purbeck marble, the nucleus and the capitals and bases being all of the same beautiful material. The use of this hard stone led to that of moulded unfoliated capitals, in which they lose in effect when compared with those at Amiens; but the nobler material would more than compensate for this.

The triforium is far superior to that at Amiens both in design and detail, and the whole internal design, though inferior in size and altitude, is to my eye far more pleasing; and when its varied materials retained their colour, and the Purbeck marble, which pervades every part, preserved its polish, there cannot be a doubt as to the superior magnificence of its effect.

The parts, too, are much better proportioned, with perhaps, the one exception of the too acute form of the main arches; the wall arcading is much more beautiful, and the details generally more richly moulded. We have, then, here, at our doors, a building whose interior is equal to that of any existing Gothic building, and we have no excuse if we do not avail ourselves of so noble an opportunity of study.

Of the exterior I will say nothing. All its old features had perished by the end of the seventeenth century, when they were vilely renewed, and this base restoration is now in its turn decayed.

The chapter-house is a splendid but melancholy relic, little more than a ruin, and that not like those ruins which seem to do honour to the memory of their bygone glory by the picturesque loveliness which graces their decay. It is choked up with presses, chests, galleries, huge sacks of parchment, and every possible obstruction and disfigurement. Its beautiful windows--which filled the entire width of its sides--are walled up, and its elegant vaulting destroyed. Just enough remains to render its restoration practicable. I have, with great labour, traced out all the old details, and only wish for the chance of restoring it in some degree to its pristine beauty.[46] I should mention that the splendid encaustic floor is still perfect, and that very fine specimens of wall painting still remain. The vestibule and staircase by which it is approached are beautifully designed, and the doorway from the cloister is among the most splendid relics of English art. The latter is in a dreadful state of decay, but I am happy to say that it has just been stereotyped in its present state by the application of an invisible solution, which will prevent the further progress of disintegration, and which has set and hardened the crumbling particles, which the gentlest touch would have before displaced.

The foliated carving in Westminster Abbey unites the two great types which characterise this century--the conventional and the natural--and contains some of the best of each. I commend it to your careful study, and will mention that all within reach has been indurated in the manner I have just alluded to. What remains of the figure sculpture is also of great merit, especially four angelic figures in the triforium of the transept,[47] and two full-length figures in the chapter-house, one of which I had the great happiness of discovering.

The internal proportions of the church seem to me to surpass those of any other I have seen. They appear to be generally founded upon the equilateral triangle, and a comparison of this with many other churches will confirm the truth of what I have heard has been stated by an ancient Freemason--that the square will furnish good proportions, but the equilateral triangle much better.

The introduction of Italian mosaic-work[48]--both porphyry mosaic on the pavement, and glass mosaic on the tombs of the builder and rebuilder of the Abbey--is a fact of great interest, as showing the high estimation in which the arts peculiar to Italy were then held, so much so as to lead to the bringing to England of two master mosaic-workers--Odorico and Pietro[49] (each, no doubt, with his staff of workmen)--to carry out the two branches of the art. Both artists were from Rome, as the inscriptions still testify; but their work was put together here, as is proved by the use of Purbeck marble, both as the groundwork of the pavement and for the architecture of the tombs. This architecture is not very elegant in its details, excepting only the beautiful spiral pillars, and some of the surface patterns prepared for the mosaic; and the introduction of an art so inferior to their own, for the sake of the rich inlaying it contained, still more strongly proves their appreciation of the merits of the mosaic art. Let us follow the example more wisely, and when we import any foreign specialty, let us not bring with it any of the demerits which chance to accompany it, but unite it with the best art we are masters of.

I know few, if any, churches which possess the same internal beauty as Westminster Abbey. More modern art has done its worst to ruin it, but its intrinsic loveliness overrides every such attempt, and reigns triumphant over every disfigurement. One characteristic it possesses almost alone--I mean the virgin privilege of perpetual exemption from the brush of the whitewasher. It probably owes this unique happiness to its having been built on the principles of constructive polychromy. It has materials of at least four varieties of colour, and these, in some degree, systematically and artistically used; and this fact has been sufficient to keep the whitewasher at bay. We are told that it is un-English and fantastic to care anything about the colours of our materials; but let it never be forgotten that the churches which could boast of the chaste dignity of their unvaried stone colour, have been, both at home and abroad, made over periodically to the tender mercies of the monochromist, while this, at least has been spared,--and that on account of the “un-English” phantasy of using more than one natural colour in its construction. These colours are now nearly concealed by smoke, but they still show modestly through, and still aid in rendering the tone more solemn and striking than that of any church I have seen, excepting that very different one--St. Mark’s at Venice.

Among the monuments in the Abbey belonging to this century I will mention--in addition to the Italian works already alluded to--the effigy of William de Valence, an oak figure plated with enamelled copper, the enamels on which are of magnificent workmanship; the beautiful bronze effigies of Henry III. and Queen Eleanor, with the marble altar-tomb of the latter, and its beautiful iron grille (Fig. 114); the pretty little altar-tomb of some of the royal children, and the gorgeous monuments to Edmund Earl of Lancaster, and Aveline, his countess: the latter have been among the most splendidly decorated works of their day, and are worthy of the very closest study, both by the architect and the architectural painter.

Fig. 113.--Retabulum, or moveable Reredos, formerly belonging to the High Altar, Westminster Abbey.

_The paintings, except the merest fragments, have gone from the panels to the right of the centre compartment._]

I will call attention to one other object in the Abbey--I mean the remarkably ancient retable or movable reredos formerly belonging to the high altar. It is a wonderful work of art, and I call attention to it especially in this place, because it contains the most beautiful specimen of very early painting remaining in this country. The pictures are probably by an Italian artist, several of whom are known to have been brought over about this time; but I confess I have seen no work of its age in Italy which I thought equal to it, an opinion confirmed by an Italian professor of architecture to whom I once showed it. It is, I believe, contemporary with the early days of Giotto.

I will now pass on to a far humbler building, and one very little known or visited; I mean the Chapel of St. Etheldreda, in Ely Place, Holborn.

This was the chapel of the splendid town palace of the Bishops of Ely, and was built by Bishop De Luda soon after 1290. The destruction of the palace you will, I dare say, recollect to have been celebrated by Pugin in his “Contrasts.” It was sold during the last century, and the present untempting-looking street built on its site--a place where one would as little expect to find a gem of ancient art as the ripe strawberries which Dickon of Gloucester saw growing there and begged for.

The chapel is in a wretched plight; its side windows have lost both tracery and mullions, its west window is in great measure boarded up, the cradled roof plastered, the whole galleried around and fitted up with pewing which would disgrace a tabernacle of the last century; yet through all this its beauty still shows. The chapel is, as was so usual with private chapels, elevated on an overground crypt, so as to bring it to a level with the principal apartments of the palace. Curiously enough, this crypt is not vaulted, but has over it the original floor of massive timber.

The east and west windows, of five lights each, are among the finest of their period and size.[50] The side windows, denuded of their tracery, retain, internally, their beautiful jamb mouldings, and the wall between them has a graceful canopied and crocketed panel to each intervening pier, which gives the sides a very rich effect. I had long and often lamented their mutilated condition, and was one day trying to get at some clue to the design of their tracery, by examining the scars where it had been amputated, when the thought struck me that the two westernmost of them being blocked up by the adjoining houses, might, if opened out, be found to retain their decorative features. I applied for permission to do this; and what was my delight, on removing the material which obstructed them, to find the old window--mutilated, indeed, and shattered--but still retaining every element needful to the restoration of its design!

The doorway to the chapel is very beautiful, and its foliated ornament well worthy of study. The internal dimensions are about 90 feet by 30--a favourite size, it would seem, and not differing much from the dimensions of St. Stephen’s Chapel, that at Temple Balsal, or the Sainte Chapelle at Paris (reckoning the latter in French feet).

The architecture of the chapel is nearly allied to that of a series of sepulchral monuments I alluded to in my former lecture, and some of them again in this. One of these is that of its own founder at Ely; the second and third are those of Edmund and Aveline, at Westminster Abbey; and the fourth is that of Archbishop Peckham, at Canterbury. All these date between 1290 and 1300, and are works of exquisite beauty and of the richest decorative art.

I will now lead you on a short excursion out of London, to a glorious old temple which was, in the days of my pupilage, considered to be within walking distance, and can now be reached in less than an hour by railway. I mean the venerable Abbey Church of St. Alban.