It is very necessary, in the outset of all inquiry5, to distinguish carefully between Architecture and Building.
To build, literally7 to confirm, is by common understanding to put together and adjust the several pieces of any edifice2 or receptacle of a considerable size. Thus we have church building, house building, ship building, and coach building. That one edifice stands, another floats, and another is suspended on iron springs, makes no difference in the nature of the art, if so it may be called, of building or edification. The persons who profess8 that art, are severally builders, ecclesiastical, naval9, or of whatever other name their work may justify10; but building does not become architecture merely by the stability of what it erects12; and it is no more architecture which raises a church, or which fits it to receive and contain with comfort a required number of persons occupied in certain religious offices, than it is architecture which makes a carriage commodious13 or a ship swift. I do not, of course, mean that the word is not often, or even may not be legitimately14, applied15 in such a sense (as we speak of naval architecture); but in that sense architecture ceases to be one of the fine arts, and it is therefore better not to run the risk, by loose nomenclature, of the confusion which would arise, and has often arisen, from[Pg 16] extending principles which belong altogether to building, into the sphere of architecture proper.
Let us, therefore, at once confine the name to that art which, taking up and admitting, as conditions of its working, the necessities and common uses of the building, impresses on its form certain characters venerable or beautiful, but otherwise unnecessary. Thus, I suppose, no one would call the laws architectural which determine the height of a breastwork or the position of a bastion. But if to the stone facing of that bastion be added an unnecessary feature, as a cable moulding, that is Architecture. It would be similarly unreasonable16 to call battlements or machicolations architectural features, so long as they consist only of an advanced gallery supported on projecting masses, with open intervals17 beneath for offence. But if these projecting masses be carved beneath into rounded courses, which are useless, and if the headings of the intervals be arched and trefoiled, which is useless, that is Architecture. It may not be always easy to draw the line so sharply and simply, because there are few buildings which have not some pretence18 or color of being architectural; neither can there be any architecture which is not based on building, nor any good architecture which is not based on good building; but it is perfectly19 easy and very necessary to keep the ideas distinct, and to understand fully6 that Architecture concerns itself only with those characters of an edifice which are above and beyond its common use. I say common; because a building raised to the honor of God, or in memory of men, has surely a use to which its architectural adornment20 fits it; but not a use which limits, by any inevitable21 necessities, its plan or details.
II. Architecture proper, then, naturally arranges itself under five heads:—
Devotional; including all buildings raised for God's service or honor.
Memorial; including both monuments and tombs.
Civil; including every edifice raised by nations or societies, for purposes of common business or pleasure.
Military; including all private and public architecture of defence.
Now, of the principles which I would endeavor to develope, while all must be, as I have said, applicable to every stage and style of the art, some, and especially those which are exciting rather than directing, have necessarily fuller reference to one kind of building than another; and among these I would place first that spirit which, having influence in all, has nevertheless such especial reference to devotional and memorial architecture—the spirit which offers for such work precious things simply because they are precious; not as being necessary to the building, but as an offering, surrendering, and sacrifice of what is to ourselves desirable. It seems to me, not only that this feeling is in most cases wholly wanting in those who forward the devotional buildings of the present day; but that it would even be regarded as an ignorant, dangerous, or perhaps criminal principle by many among us. I have not space to enter into dispute of all the various objections which may be urged against it—they are many and spacious23; but I may, perhaps, ask the reader's patience while I set down those simple reasons which cause me to believe it a good and just feeling, and as well-pleasing to God and honorable in men, as it is beyond all dispute necessary to the production of any great work in the kind with which we are at present concerned.
III. Now, first, to define this Lamp, or Spirit of Sacrifice, clearly. I have said that it prompts us to the offering of precious things merely because they are precious, not because they are useful or necessary. It is a spirit, for instance, which of two marbles, equally beautiful, applicable and durable25, would choose the more costly26 because it was so, and of two kinds of decoration, equally effective, would choose the more elaborate because it was so, in order that it might in the same compass present more cost and more thought. It is therefore most unreasoning and enthusiastic, and perhaps best negatively defined, as the opposite of the prevalent feeling of modern times, which desires to produce the largest results at the least cost.
Of this feeling, then, there are two distinct forms: the first, the wish to exercise self-denial for the sake of self-discipline[Pg 18] merely, a wish acted upon in the abandonment of things loved or desired, there being no direct call or purpose to be answered by so doing; and the second, the desire to honor or please some one else by the costliness28 of the sacrifice. The practice is, in the first case, either private or public; but most frequently, and perhaps most properly, private; while, in the latter case, the act is commonly, and with greatest advantage, public. Now, it cannot but at first appear futile29 to assert the expediency30 of self-denial for its own sake, when, for so many sakes, it is every day necessary to a far greater degree than any of us practise it. But I believe it is just because we do not enough acknowledge or contemplate31 it as a good in itself, that we are apt to fail in its duties when they become imperative32, and to calculate, with some partiality, whether the good proposed to others measures or warrants the amount of grievance33 to ourselves, instead of accepting with gladness the opportunity of sacrifice as a personal advantage. Be this as it may, it is not necessary to insist upon the matter here; since there are always higher and more useful channels of self-sacrifice, for those who choose to practise it, than any connected with the arts.
While in its second branch, that which is especially concerned with the arts, the justice of the feeling is still more doubtful; it depends on our answer to the broad question, Can the Deity34 be indeed honored by the presentation to Him of any material objects of value, or by any direction of zeal35 or wisdom which is not immediately beneficial to men?
For, observe, it is not now the question whether the fairness and majesty37 of a building may or may not answer any moral purpose; it is not the result of labor27 in any sort of which we are speaking, but the bare and mere11 costliness—the substance and labor and time themselves: are these, we ask, independently of their result, acceptable offerings to God, and considered by Him as doing Him honor? So long as we refer this question to the decision of feeling, or of conscience, or of reason merely, it will be contradictorily38 or imperfectly answered; it admits of entire answer only when we have met another and a far different question, whether the Bible be[Pg 19] indeed one book or two, and whether the character of God revealed in the Old Testament39 be other than His character revealed in the New.
IV. Now, it is a most secure truth, that, although the particular ordinances40 divinely appointed for special purposes at any given period of man's history, may be by the same divine authority abrogated42 at another, it is impossible that any character of God, appealed to or described in any ordinance41 past or present, can ever be changed, or understood as changed, by the abrogation43 of that ordinance. God is one and the same, and is pleased or displeased44 by the same things for ever, although one part of His pleasure may be expressed at one time rather than another, and although the mode in which His pleasure is to be consulted may be by Him graciously modified to the circumstances of men. Thus, for instance, it was necessary that, in order to the understanding by man of the scheme of Redemption, that scheme should be foreshown from the beginning by the type of bloody45 sacrifice. But God had no more pleasure in such sacrifice in the time of Moses than He has now; He never accepted as a propitiation for sin any sacrifice but the single one in prospective46; and that we may not entertain any shadow of doubt on this subject, the worthlessness of all other sacrifice than this is proclaimed at the very time when typical sacrifice was most imperatively47 demanded. God was a spirit, and could be worshipped only in spirit and in truth, as singly and exclusively when every day brought its claim of typical and material service or offering, as now when He asks for none but that of the heart.
So, therefore, it is a most safe and sure principle that, if in the manner of performing any rite48 at any time, circumstances can be traced which we are either told, or may legitimately conclude, pleased God at that time, those same circumstances will please Him at all times, in the performance of all rites49 or offices to which they may be attached in like manner; unless it has been afterwards revealed that, for some special purpose, it is now His will that such circumstances should be withdrawn50. And this argument will have all the more force if it can be shown that such conditions were not essential to the[Pg 20] completeness of the rite in its human uses and bearings, and only were added to it as being in themselves pleasing to God.
V. Now, was it necessary to the completeness, as a type, of the Levitical sacrifice, or to its utility as an explanation of divine purposes, that it should cost anything to the person in whose behalf it was offered? On the contrary, the sacrifice which it foreshowed was to be God's free gift; and the cost of, or difficulty of obtaining, the sacrificial type, could only render that type in a measure obscure, and less expressive51 of the offering which God would in the end provide for all men. Yet this costliness was generally a condition of the acceptableness of the sacrifice. "Neither will I offer unto the Lord my God of that which doth cost me nothing."[B] That costliness, therefore, must be an acceptable condition in all human offerings at all times; for if it was pleasing to God once, it must please Him always, unless directly forbidden by Him afterwards, which it has never been.
Again, was it necessary to the typical perfection of the Levitical offering, that it should be the best of the flock? Doubtless the spotlessness of the sacrifice renders it more expressive to the Christian52 mind; but was it because so expressive that it was actually, and in so many words, demanded by God? Not at all. It was demanded by Him expressly on the same grounds on which an earthly governor would demand it, as a testimony53 of respect. "Offer it now unto thy governor."[C] And the less valuable offering was rejected, not because it did not image Christ, nor fulfil the purposes of sacrifice, but because it indicated a feeling that would grudge54 the best of its possessions to Him who gave them; and because it was a bold dishonoring of God in the sight of man. Whence it may be infallibly concluded, that in whatever offerings we may now see reason to present unto God (I say not what these may be), a condition of their acceptableness will be now, as it was then, that they should be the best of their kind.
VI. But farther, was it necessary to the carrying out of the Mosaical system, that there should be either art or splendor56 in the form or services of the tabernacle or temple? Was it [Pg 21]necessary to the perfection of any one of their typical offices, that there should be that hanging of blue, and purple, and scarlet57? those taches of brass58 and sockets59 of silver? that working in cedar60 and overlaying with gold? One thing at least is evident: there was a deep and awful danger in it; a danger that the God whom they so worshipped, might be associated in the minds of the serfs of Egypt with the gods to whom they had seen similar gifts offered and similar honors paid. The probability, in our times, of fellowship with the feelings of the idolatrous Romanist is absolutely as nothing compared with the danger to the Israelite of a sympathy with the idolatrous Egyptian;1 no speculative62, no unproved danger; but proved fatally by their fall during a month's abandonment to their own will; a fall into the most servile idolatry; yet marked by such offerings to their idol61 as their leader was, in the close sequel, instructed to bid them offer to God. This danger was imminent63, perpetual, and of the most awful kind: it was the one against which God made provision, not only by commandments, by threatenings, by promises, the most urgent, repeated, and impressive; but by temporary ordinances of a severity so terrible as almost to dim for a time, in the eyes of His people, His attribute of mercy. The principal object of every instituted law of that Theocracy65, of every judgment66 sent forth67 in its vindication68, was to mark to the people His hatred69 of idolatry; a hatred written under their advancing steps, in the blood of the Canaanite, and more sternly still in the darkness of their own desolation, when the children and the sucklings swooned in the streets of Jerusalem, and the lion tracked his prey70 in the dust of Samaria.[D] Yet against this mortal danger provision was not made in one way (to man's thoughts the simplest, the most natural, the most effective), by withdrawing from the worship of the Divine Being whatever could delight the sense, or shape the imagination, or limit the idea of Deity to place. This one way God refused, demanding for Himself such honors, and accepting for Himself such local dwelling, as had been paid and dedicated71 to idol gods by heathen worshippers; [Pg 22]and for what reason? Was the glory of the tabernacle necessary to set forth or image His divine glory to the minds of His people? What! purple or scarlet necessary to the people who had seen the great river of Egypt run scarlet to the sea, under His condemnation72? What! golden lamp and cherub73 necessary for those who had seen the fires of heaven falling like a mantle74 on Mount Sinai, and its golden courts opened to receive their mortal lawgiver? What! silver clasp and fillet necessary when they had seen the silver waves of the Red Sea clasp in their arched hollows the corpses75 of the horse and his rider? Nay76—not so. There was but one reason, and that an eternal one; that as the covenant77 that He made with men was accompanied with some external sign of its continuance, and of His remembrance of it, so the acceptance of that covenant might be marked and signified by use, in some external sign of their love and obedience78, and surrender of themselves and theirs to His will; and that their gratitude79 to Him, and continual remembrance of Him, might have at once their expression and their enduring testimony in the presentation to Him, not only of the firstlings of the herd80 and fold, not only of the fruits of the earth and the tithe81 of time, but of all treasures of wisdom and beauty; of the thought that invents, and the hand that labors82; of wealth of wood, and weight of stone; of the strength of iron, and of the light of gold.
And let us not now lose sight of this broad and unabrogated principle—I might say, incapable83 of being abrogated, so long as men shall receive earthly gifts from God. Of all that they have His tithe must be rendered to Him, or in so far and in so much He is forgotten: of the skill and of the treasure, of the strength and of the mind, of the time and of the toil84, offering must be made reverently85; and if there be any difference between the Levitical and the Christian offering, it is that the latter may be just so much the wider in its range as it is less typical in its meaning, as it is thankful instead of sacrificial. There can be no excuse accepted because the Deity does not now visibly dwell in His temple; if He is invisible it is only through our failing faith: nor any excuse[Pg 23] because other calls are more immediate36 or more sacred; this ought to be done, and not the other left undone86. Yet this objection, as frequent as feeble, must be more specifically answered.
VII. It has been said—it ought always to be said, for it is true—that a better and more honorable offering is made to our Master in ministry87 to the poor, in extending the knowledge of His name, in the practice of the virtues88 by which that name is hallowed, than in material presents to His temple. Assuredly it is so: woe89 to all who think that any other kind or manner of offering may in any wise take the place of these! Do the people need place to pray, and calls to hear His word? Then it is no time for smoothing pillars or carving90 pulpits; let us have enough first of walls and roofs. Do the people need teaching from house to house, and bread from day to day? Then they are deacons and ministers we want, not architects. I insist on this, I plead for this; but let us examine ourselves, and see if this be indeed the reason for our backwardness in the lesser91 work. The question is not between God's house and His poor: it is not between God's house and His Gospel. It is between God's house and ours. Have we no tesselated colors on our floors? no frescoed92 fancies on our roofs? no niched statuary in our corridors? no gilded94 furniture in our chambers95? no costly stones in our cabinets? Has even the tithe of these been offered? They are, or they ought to be, the signs that enough has been devoted96 to the great purposes of human stewardship97, and that there remains98 to us what we can spend in luxury; but there is a greater and prouder luxury than this selfish one—that of bringing a portion of such things as these into sacred service, and presenting them for a memorial[E] that our pleasure as well as our toil has been hallowed by the remembrance of Him who gave both the strength and the reward. And until this has been done, I do not see how such possessions can be retained in happiness. I do not understand the feeling which would arch our own gates and pave our own thresholds, and leave the church with its narrow door and foot-worn sill; the feeling which enriches [Pg 24]our own chambers with all manner of costliness, and endures the bare wall and mean compass of the temple. There is seldom even so severe a choice to be made, seldom so much self-denial to be exercised. There are isolated99 cases, in which men's happiness and mental activity depend upon a certain degree of luxury in their houses; but then this is true luxury, felt and tasted, and profited by. In the plurality of instances nothing of the kind is attempted, nor can be enjoyed; men's average resources cannot reach it; and that which they can reach, gives them no pleasure, and might be spared. It will be seen, in the course of the following chapters, that I am no advocate for meanness of private habitation. I would fain introduce into it all magnificence, care, and beauty, where they are possible; but I would not have that useless expense in unnoticed fineries or formalities; cornicings of ceilings and graining of doors, and fringing of curtains, and thousands such; things which have become foolishly and apathetically100 habitual—things on whose common appliance hang whole trades, to which there never yet belonged the blessing101 of giving one ray of real pleasure, or becoming of the remotest or most contemptible102 use—things which cause half the expense of life, and destroy more than half its comfort, manliness103, respectability, freshness, and facility. I speak from experience: I know what it is to live in a cottage with a deal floor and roof, and a hearth104 of mica105 slate106; and I know it to be in many respects healthier and happier than living between a Turkey carpet and gilded ceiling, beside a steel grate and polished fender. I do not say that such things have not their place and propriety108; but I say this, emphatically, that the tenth part of the expense which is sacrificed in domestic vanities, if not absolutely and meaninglessly lost in domestic discomforts109, and incumbrances, would, if collectively offered and wisely employed, build a marble church for every town in England; such a church as it should be a joy and a blessing even to pass near in our daily ways and walks, and as it would bring the light into the eyes to see from afar, lifting its fair height above the purple crowd of humble110 roofs.
VIII. I have said for every town: I do not want a marble[Pg 25] church for every village; nay, I do not want marble churches at all for their own sake, but for the sake of the spirit that would build them. The church has no need of any visible splendors111; her power is independent of them, her purity is in some degree opposed to them. The simplicity112 of a pastoral sanctuary113 is lovelier than the majesty of an urban temple; and it may be more than questioned whether, to the people, such majesty has ever been the source of any increase of effective piety114; but to the builders it has been, and must ever be. It is not the church we want, but the sacrifice; not the emotion of admiration115, but the act of adoration116: not the gift, but the giving.2 And see how much more charity the full understanding of this might admit, among classes of men of naturally opposite feelings; and how much more nobleness in the work. There is no need to offend by importunate117, self-proclaiming splendor. Your gift may be given in an unpresuming way. Cut one or two shafts118 out of a porphyry whose preciousness those only would know who would desire it to be so used; add another month's labor to the undercutting of a few capitals, whose delicacy120 will not be seen nor loved by one beholder121 of ten thousand; see that the simplest masonry122 of the edifice be perfect and substantial; and to those who regard such things, their witness will be clear and impressive; to those who regard them not, all will at least be inoffensive. But do not think the feeling itself a folly123, or the act itself useless. Of what use was that dearly-bought water of the well of Bethlehem with which the King of Israel slaked124 the dust of Adullam?—yet was not thus better than if he had drunk it? Of what use was that passionate125 act of Christian sacrifice, against which, first uttered by the false tongue, the very objection we would now conquer took a sullen126 tone for ever?[F] So also let us not ask of what use our offering is to the church: it is at least better for us than if it had been retained for ourselves. It may be better for others also: there is, at any rate, a chance of this; though we must always fearfully and widely shun127 the thought that the magnificence of the temple can materially add to the efficiency of the worship or to the power [Pg 26]of the ministry. Whatever we do, or whatever we offer, let it not interfere128 with the simplicity of the one, or abate129, as if replacing, the zeal of the other. That is the abuse and fallacy of Romanism, by which the true spirit of Christian offering is directly contradicted. The treatment of the Papists' temple is eminently130 exhibitory; it is surface work throughout; and the danger and evil of their church decoration lie, not in its reality—not in the true wealth and art of it, of which the lower people are never cognizant—but in its tinsel and glitter, in the gilding131 of the shrine132 and painting of the image, in embroidery133 of dingy134 robes and crowding of imitated gems135; all this being frequently thrust forward to the concealment136 of what is really good or great in their buildings.3 Of an offering of gratitude which is neither to be exhibited nor rewarded, which is neither to win praise nor purchase salvation137, the Romanist (as such) has no conception.
IX. While, however, I would especially deprecate the imputation138 of any other acceptableness or usefulness to the gift itself than that which it receives from the spirit of its presentation, it may be well to observe, that there is a lower advantage which never fails to accompany a dutiful observance of any right abstract principle. While the first fruits of his possessions were required from the Israelite as a testimony of fidelity139, the payment of those first fruits was nevertheless rewarded, and that connectedly and specifically, by the increase of those possessions. Wealth, and length of days, and peace, were the promised and experienced rewards of his offering, though they were not to be the objects of it. The tithe paid into the storehouse was the expressed condition of the blessing which there should not be room enough to receive. And it will be thus always: God never forgets any work or labor of love; and whatever it may be of which the first and best proportions or powers have been presented to Him, he will multiply and increase sevenfold. Therefore, though it may not be necessarily the interest of religion to admit the service of the arts, the arts will never flourish until they have been primarily devoted to that service—devoted, both by architect and employer; by the one in scrupulous140, earnest, affectionate[Pg 27] design; by the other in expenditure141 at least more frank, at least less calculating, than that which he would admit in the indulgence of his own private feelings. Let this principle be but once fairly acknowledged among us; and however it may be chilled and repressed in practice, however feeble may be its real influence, however the sacredness of it may be diminished by counter-workings of vanity and self-interest, yet its mere acknowledgment would bring a reward; and with our present accumulation of means and of intellect, there would be such an impulse and vitality142 given to art as it has not felt since the thirteenth century. And I do not assert this as other than a national consequence: I should, indeed, expect a larger measure of every great and spiritual faculty143 to be always given where those faculties144 had been wisely and religiously employed; but the impulse to which I refer, would be, humanly speaking, certain; and would naturally result from obedience to the two great conditions enforced by the Spirit of Sacrifice, first, that we should in everything do our best; and, secondly146, that we should consider increase of apparent labor as an increase of beauty in the building. A few practical deductions147 from these two conditions, and I have done.
X. For the first: it is alone enough to secure success, and it is for want of observing it that we continually fail. We are none of us so good architects as to be able to work habitually148 beneath our strength; and yet there is not a building that I know of, lately raised, wherein it is not sufficiently149 evident that neither architect nor builder has done his best. It is the especial characteristic of modern work. All old work nearly has been hard work. It may be the hard work of children, of barbarians150, of rustics151; but it is always their utmost. Ours has as constantly the look of money's worth, of a stopping short wherever and whenever we can, of a lazy compliance152 with low conditions; never of a fair putting forth of our strength. Let us have done with this kind of work at once: cast off every temptation to it: do not let us degrade ourselves voluntarily, and then mutter and mourn over our short comings; let us confess our poverty or our parsimony[Pg 28], but not belie24 our human intellect. It is not even a question of how much we are to do, but of how it is to be done; it is not a question of doing more, but of doing better. Do not let us boss our roofs with wretched, half-worked, blunt-edged rosettes; do not let us flank our gates with rigid153 imitations of medi?val statuary. Such things are mere insults to common sense, and only unfit us for feeling the nobility of their prototypes. We have so much, suppose, to be spent in decoration; let us go to the Flaxman of his time, whoever he may be, and bid him carve for us a single statue, frieze154 or capital, or as many as we can afford, compelling upon him the one condition, that they shall be the best he can do; place them where they will be of the most value, and be content. Our other capitals may be mere blocks, and our other niches155 empty. No matter: better our work unfinished than all bad. It may be that we do not desire ornament156 of so high an order; choose, then, a less developed style, also, if you will, rougher material; the law which we are enforcing requires only that what we pretend to do and to give, shall both be the best of their kind; choose, therefore, the Norman hatchet157 work, instead of the Flaxman frieze and statue, but let it be the best hatchet work; and if you cannot afford marble, use Caen stone, but from the best bed; and if not stone, brick, but the best brick; preferring always what is good of a lower order of work or material, to what is bad of a higher; for this is not only the way to improve every kind of work, and to put every kind of material to better use; but it is more honest and unpretending, and is in harmony with other just, upright, and manly145 principles, whose range we shall have presently to take into consideration.
XI. The other condition which we had to notice, was the value of the appearance of labor upon architecture. I have spoken of this before;[G] and it is, indeed, one of the most frequent sources of pleasure which belong to the art, always, however, within certain somewhat remarkable158 limits. For it does not at first appear easily to be explained why labor, as represented by materials of value, should, without sense of [Pg 29]wrong or error, bear being wasted; while the waste of actual workmanship is always painful, so soon as it is apparent. But so it is, that, while precious materials may, with a certain profusion159 and negligence160, be employed for the magnificence of what is seldom seen, the work of man cannot be carelessly and idly bestowed161, without an immediate sense of wrong; as if the strength of the living creature were never intended by its Maker162 to be sacrificed in vain, though it is well for us sometimes to part with what we esteem163 precious of substance, as showing that in such a service it becomes but dross164 and dust. And in the nice balance between the straitening of effort or enthusiasm on the one hand, and vainly casting it away upon the other, there are more questions than can be met by any but very just and watchful165 feeling. In general it is less the mere loss of labor that offends us, than the lack of judgment implied by such loss; so that if men confessedly work for work's sake, and it does not appear that they are ignorant where or how to make their labor tell, we shall not be grossly offended. On the contrary, we shall be pleased if the work be lost in carrying out a principle, or in avoiding a deception166. It, indeed, is a law properly belonging to another part of our subject, but it may be allowably stated here, that, whenever, by the construction of a building, some parts of it are hidden from the eye which are the continuation of others bearing some consistent ornament, it is not well that the ornament should cease in the parts concealed167; credit is given for it, and it should not be deceptively withdrawn: as, for instance, in the sculpture of the backs of the statues of a temple pediment; never, perhaps, to be seen, but yet not lawfully168 to be left unfinished. And so in the working out of ornaments169 in dark concealed places, in which it is best to err64 on the side of completion; and in the carrying round of string courses, and other such continuous work; not but that they may stop sometimes, on the point of going into some palpably impenetrable recess170, but then let them stop boldly and markedly, on some distinct terminal ornament, and never be supposed to exist where they do not. The arches of the towers which flank the transepts of Rouen Cathedral have rosette orna[Pg 30]ments on their spandrils, on the three visible sides; none on the side towards the roof. The right of this is rather a nice point for question.
XII. Visibility, however, we must remember, depends, not only on situation, but on distance; and there is no way in which work is more painfully and unwisely lost than in its over delicacy on parts distant from the eye. Here, again, the principle of honesty must govern our treatment: we must not work any kind of ornament which is, perhaps, to cover the whole building (or at least to occur on all parts of it) delicately where it is near the eye, and rudely where it is removed from it. That is trickery and dishonesty. Consider, first, what kinds of ornaments will tell in the distance and what near, and so distribute them, keeping such as by their nature are delicate, down near the eye, and throwing the bold and rough kinds of work to the top; and if there be any kind which is to be both near and far off, take care that it be as boldly and rudely wrought171 where it is well seen as where it is distant, so that the spectator may know exactly what it is, and what it is worth. Thus chequered patterns, and in general such ornaments as common workmen can execute, may extend over the whole building; but bas-reliefs, and fine niches and capitals, should be kept down, and the common sense of this will always give a building dignity, even though there be some abruptness172 or awkwardness, in the resulting arrangements. Thus at San Zeno at Verona, the bas-reliefs, full of incident and interest are confined to a parallelogram of the front, reaching to the height of the capitals of the columns of the porch. Above these, we find a simple though most lovely, little arcade173; and above that, only blank wall, with square face shafts. The whole effect is tenfold grander and better than if the entire fa?ade had been covered with bad work, and may serve for an example of the way to place little where we cannot afford much. So, again, the transept gates of Rouen[H] are covered with delicate bas-reliefs (of which I [Pg 31]shall speak at greater length presently) up to about once and a half a man's height; and above that come the usual and more visible statues and niches. So in the campanile at Florence, the circuit of bas-reliefs is on its lowest story; above that come its statues; and above them all its pattern mosaic55, and twisted columns, exquisitely174 finished, like all Italian work of the time, but still, in the eye of the Florentine, rough and commonplace by comparison with the bas-reliefs. So generally the most delicate niche93 work and best mouldings of the French Gothic are in gates and low windows well within sight; although, it being the very spirit of that style to trust to its exuberance176 for effect, there is occasionally a burst upwards177 and blossoming unrestrainably to the sky, as in the pediment of the west front of Rouen, and in the recess of the rose window behind it, where there are some most elaborate flower-mouldings, all but invisible from below, and only adding a general enrichment to the deep shadows that relieve the shafts of the advanced pediment. It is observable, however, that this very work is bad flamboyant178, and has corrupt179 renaissance180 characters in its detail as well as use; while in the earlier and grander north and south gates, there is a very noble proportioning of the work to the distance, the niches and statues which crown the northern one, at a height of about one hundred feet from the ground, being alike colossal181 and simple; visibly so from below, so as to induce no deception, and yet honestly and well-finished above, and all that they are expected to be; the features very beautiful, full of expression, and as delicately wrought as any work of the period.
XIII. It is to be remembered, however, that while the ornaments in every fine ancient building, without exception so far as I am aware, are most delicate at the base, they are often in greater effective quantity on the upper parts. In high towers this is perfectly natural and right, the solidity of the foundation being as necessary as the division and penetration182 of the superstructure; hence the lighter183 work and richly pierced crowns of late Gothic towers. The campanile of Giotto at Florence, already alluded184 to, is an exquisite175 instance[Pg 32] of the union of the two principles, delicate bas-reliefs adorning185 its massy foundation, while the open tracery of the upper windows attracts the eye by its slender intricacy, and a rich cornice crowns the whole. In such truly fine cases of this disposition186 the upper work is effective by its quantity and intricacy only, as the lower portions by delicacy; so also in the Tour de Beurre at Rouen, where, however, the detail is massy throughout, subdividing187 into rich meshes188 as it ascends189. In the bodies of buildings the principle is less safe, but its discussion is not connected with our present subject.
XIV. Finally, work may be wasted by being too good for its material, or too fine to bear exposure; and this, generally a characteristic of late, especially of renaissance, work, is perhaps the worst fault of all. I do not know anything more painful or pitiful than the kind of ivory carving with which the Certosa of Pavia, and part of the Colleone sepulchral190 chapel191 at Bergamo, and other such buildings, are incrusted, of which it is not possible so much as to think without exhaustion192; and a heavy sense of the misery193 it would be, to be forced to look at it at all. And this is not from the quantity of it, nor because it is bad work—much of it is inventive and able; but because it looks as if it were only fit to be put in inlaid cabinets and velveted194 caskets, and as if it could not bear one drifting shower or gnawing195 frost. We are afraid for it, anxious about it, and tormented196 by it; and we feel that a massy shaft119 and a bold shadow would be worth it all. Nevertheless, even in cases like these, much depends on the accomplishment197 of the great ends of decoration. If the ornament does its duty—if it is ornament, and its points of shade and light tell in the general effect, we shall not be offended by finding that the sculptor198 in his fulness of fancy has chosen to give much more than these mere points of light, and has composed them of groups of figures. But if the ornament does not answer its purpose, if it have no distant, no truly decorative199 power; if generally seen it be a mere incrustation and meaningless roughness, we shall only be chagrined200 by finding when we look close, that the incrustation has cost years of labor and has millions of figures and histories in it [Pg 33] and would be the better of being seen through a Stanhope lens. Hence the greatness of the northern Gothic as contrasted with the latest Italian. It reaches nearly the same extreme of detail; but it never loses sight of its architectural purpose, never fails in its decorative power; not a leaflet in it but speaks, and speaks far off, too; and so long as this be the case, there is no limit to the luxuriance in which such work may legitimately and nobly be bestowed.
PLATE I. PLATE I.—(Page 33—Vol. V)
Ornaments from Rouen, St. Lo, and Venice.
XV. No limit: it is one of the affectations of architects to speak of overcharged ornament. Ornament cannot be overcharged if it be good, and is always overcharged when it is bad. I have given, on the opposite page (fig. 1), one of the smallest niches of the central gate of Rouen. That gate I suppose to be the most exquisite piece of pure flamboyant work existing; for though I have spoken of the upper portions, especially the receding201 window, as degenerate202, the gate itself is of a purer period, and has hardly any renaissance taint203. There are four strings204 of these niches (each with two figures beneath it) round the porch, from the ground to the top of the arch, with three intermediate rows of larger niches, far more elaborate; besides the six principal canopies205 of each outer pier107. The total number of the subordinate niches alone, each worked like that in the plate, and each with a different pattern of traceries in each compartment206, is one hundred and seventy-six.4 Yet in all this ornament there is not one cusp, one finial that is useless—not a stroke of the chisel207 is in vain; the grace and luxuriance of it all are visible—sensible rather—even to the uninquiring eye; and all its minuteness does not diminish the majesty, while it increases the mystery, of the noble and unbroken vault208. It is not less the boast of some styles that they can bear ornament, than of others that they can do without it; but we do not often enough reflect that those very styles, of so haughty209 simplicity, owe part of their pleasurableness to contrast, and would be wearisome if universal. They are but the rests and monotones of the art; it is to its far happier, far higher, exaltation that we owe those fair fronts of variegated210 mosaic, charged with wild fancies and dark hosts of imagery, thicker and quainter211 than[Pg 34] ever filled the depth of midsummer dream; those vaulted212 gates, trellised with close leaves; those window-labyrinths of twisted tracery and starry213 light; those misty214 masses of multitudinous pinnacle215 and diademed216 tower; the only witnesses, perhaps that remain to us of the faith and fear of nations. All else for which the builders sacrificed, has passed away—all their living interests, and aims, and achievements. We know not for what they labored217, and we see no evidence of their reward. Victory, wealth, authority, happiness—all have departed, though bought by many a bitter sacrifice. But of them, and their life, and their toil upon the earth, one reward, one evidence, is left to us in those gray heaps of deep-wrought stone. They have taken with them to the grave their powers, their honors, and their errors; but they have left us their adoration.
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1
adorns
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| 装饰，佩带( adorn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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4
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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erects
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| v.使直立，竖起( erect的第三人称单数 )；建立 | |
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commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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legitimately
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| ad.合法地；正当地，合理地 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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durable
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| adj.持久的，耐久的 | |
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costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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costliness
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| 昂贵的 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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33
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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contradictorily
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| adv.反驳地，逆，矛盾地 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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ordinances
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| n.条例，法令( ordinance的名词复数 ) | |
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ordinance
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| n.法令；条令；条例 | |
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abrogated
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| 废除（法律等）( abrogate的过去式和过去分词 )； 取消； 去掉； 抛开 | |
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abrogation
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| n.取消，废除 | |
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displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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rites
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| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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52
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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54
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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mosaic
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| n./adj.镶嵌细工的，镶嵌工艺品的，嵌花式的 | |
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56
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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59
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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60
cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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err
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| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
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65
theocracy
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| n.神权政治；僧侣政治 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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71
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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cherub
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| n.小天使，胖娃娃 | |
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74
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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76
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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80
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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81
tithe
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| n.十分之一税；v.课什一税，缴什一税 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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85
reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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86
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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87
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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88
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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89
woe
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|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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90
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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91
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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92
frescoed
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| 壁画( fresco的名词复数 )； 温壁画技法，湿壁画 | |
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93
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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94
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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95
chambers
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|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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96
devoted
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|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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97
stewardship
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| n. n. 管理工作；管事人的职位及职责 | |
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98
remains
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|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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99
isolated
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|
| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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100
apathetically
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|
| adv.不露感情地；无动于衷地；不感兴趣地；冷淡地 | |
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101
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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102
contemptible
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|
| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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103
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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104
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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105
mica
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| n.云母 | |
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106
slate
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|
| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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107
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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108
propriety
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|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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109
discomforts
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|
| n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 )；不愉快，苦恼 | |
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110
humble
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|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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111
splendors
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|
| n.华丽( splendor的名词复数 )；壮丽；光辉；显赫 | |
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112
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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113
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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114
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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115
admiration
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|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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116
adoration
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|
| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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117
importunate
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|
| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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118
shafts
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|
| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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119
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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120
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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121
beholder
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| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
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122
masonry
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|
| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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123
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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124
slaked
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| v.满足( slake的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
passionate
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|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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126
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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127
shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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128
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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129
abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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130
eminently
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|
| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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131
gilding
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| n.贴金箔，镀金 | |
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132
shrine
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|
| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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133
embroidery
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|
| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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134
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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135
gems
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|
| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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136
concealment
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|
| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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137
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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138
imputation
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|
| n.归罪，责难 | |
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139
fidelity
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|
| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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140
scrupulous
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|
| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
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141
expenditure
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|
| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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142
vitality
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|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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143
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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144
faculties
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|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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145
manly
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|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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146
secondly
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|
| adv.第二，其次 | |
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147
deductions
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|
| 扣除( deduction的名词复数 )； 结论； 扣除的量； 推演 | |
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148
habitually
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|
| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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149
sufficiently
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|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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150
barbarians
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|
| n.野蛮人( barbarian的名词复数 )；外国人；粗野的人；无教养的人 | |
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151
rustics
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|
| n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 )；粗野的；不雅的；用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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152
compliance
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|
| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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153
rigid
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|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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154
frieze
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|
| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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155
niches
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|
| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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156
ornament
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|
| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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157
hatchet
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|
| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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158
remarkable
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|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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159
profusion
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|
| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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160
negligence
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|
| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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161
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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163
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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164
dross
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| n.渣滓；无用之物 | |
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165
watchful
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|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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166
deception
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|
| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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167
concealed
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|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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168
lawfully
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|
| adv.守法地，合法地；合理地 | |
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169
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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170
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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171
wrought
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|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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172
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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173
arcade
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| n.拱廊；(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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174
exquisitely
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|
| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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175
exquisite
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|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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176
exuberance
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|
| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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177
upwards
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|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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178
flamboyant
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|
| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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179
corrupt
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|
| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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180
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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181
colossal
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|
| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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182
penetration
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|
| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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183
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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184
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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185
adorning
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| 修饰，装饰物 | |
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186
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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187
subdividing
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| 再分，细分( subdivide的现在分词 ) | |
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188
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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189
ascends
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|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的第三人称单数 ) | |
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190
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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191
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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192
exhaustion
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|
| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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193
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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194
velveted
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| 穿着天鹅绒的，天鹅绒覆盖的 | |
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195
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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196
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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197
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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198
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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199
decorative
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| adj.装饰的，可作装饰的 | |
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200
chagrined
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|
| adj.懊恼的，苦恼的v.使懊恼，使懊丧，使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
receding
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|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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202
degenerate
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|
| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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203
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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204
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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205
canopies
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|
| （宝座或床等上面的）华盖( canopy的名词复数 )； （飞行器上的）座舱罩； 任何悬于上空的覆盖物； 森林中天棚似的树荫 | |
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206
compartment
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|
| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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207
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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208
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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209
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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210
variegated
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|
| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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211
quainter
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| adj.古色古香的( quaint的比较级 )；少见的，古怪的 | |
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212
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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213
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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214
misty
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|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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215
pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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216
diademed
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217
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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