FROM THE PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
Although the present work may in some respects be considered as only a new edition of the ‘Handbook of Architecture,’ still the alterations, both in substance and in form, have been so extensive as to render the adoption of a new title almost indispensable. The topographical arrangement, which was the basis of the ‘Handbook,’ has been abandoned, and a historical sequence introduced in its place. This has entirely altered the argument of the book, and, with the changes and additions which it has involved, has rendered it practically a new work; containing, it is true, all that was included in the previous publication, but with a great deal that is new and little that retains its original form.
The logical reasons for these changes will be set forth in their proper place in the body of the work; but meanwhile, as the Preface is that part of it which should properly include all personal explanations, I trust I may not be considered as laying myself open to a charge of egotism, if I avail myself of this conventional licence in explaining the steps by which this work attained its present form.
It was my good fortune to be able to devote many years of my life to the study of Architecture—as a fine art—under singularly favourable circumstances: not only was I able to extend my personal observations to the examples found in almost all the countries between China and the Atlantic shore, but I lived familiarly among a people who were still practising their traditional art on the same principles as those which guided the architects of the Middle Ages in the production of similar but scarcely more beautiful or more original works. With these antecedents, I found myself in possession of a considerable amount of information regarding buildings which had not previously been described, and—what I considered of more value—of an insight into the theory of the art, which was certainly even more novel.
Believing this knowledge and these principles to be of sufficient importance to justify me in so doing, I resolved on publishing a work in which they should be embodied; and, in furtherance of this idea, sixteen years ago I wrote a book entitled ‘The True Principles of Beauty in Art.’ The work was not—nor was it intended to be—popular in its form. It was an attempt of a young author to do what he thought right and best, without consulting the wishes of the public on the subject, and the first result, as might have been—and indeed was—anticipated, was that no publisher would undertake it. In consequence of this, only the first volume was published by Longmans in 1849, and that at my own expense and risk. The event proved that the booksellers were right. The book did not sell, and it became a question whether it was worth my while to waste my time and spend my money on a work which the public did not want, or whether it would not be wiser to abandon it, and wait for some more favourable opportunity. Various circumstances of no public interest induced me at the time to adopt the latter course, and I felt I could do so without any breach of faith, as the work, as then published, was complete in itself, though it had been intended to add two more volumes to the one already published.
Some years afterwards a proposal was made to me by Mr. Murray to utilise the materials collected for the more ambitious work in the more popular form of a Handbook of Architecture. The work was written in a very much more popular manner than that I had previously adopted, or than I then liked, or now think worthy of the subject; but the result proved that it was a style much better suited to the public demand, for this time the work was successful. Since its publication in 1855 a large number of copies have been sold; the work has now for some years been out of print, and a new edition is demanded. Under these circumstances the question arose, whether it would be better to republish the Handbook in its original form, with such additions and emendations as its arrangement admitted of, or whether it would not be better to revert to a form nearly approaching that adopted in the ‘True Principles,’ rather than that followed in the composition of the Handbook, as one more worthy of the subject, and better capable of developing its importance.
The immense advantages of the historical over the topographical method are too self-evident to require being pointed out, whenever the object is to give a general view of the whole of such a subject as that treated of in these volumes, or an attempt is made to trace the connexion of the various parts to one another. If the intention is only to describe particular styles or separate buildings, the topographical arrangement may be found more convenient: but where anything beyond this is attempted, the historical method is the only one which enables it to be done. Believing that the architectural public do now desire something more than mere dry information with regard to the age and shape of buildings, it has been determined to remodel the work and to adopt the historical arrangement.
In the present instance there does not seem to be the usual objection to such a rearrangement—that it would break the thread of continuity between the old and the new publication—inasmuch as, whichever method were adopted, the present work must practically be a new book. The mass of information obtained during the last ten years has been so great that even in the present volume a considerable portion of it had to be rewritten, and a great deal added. In the second volume the alterations will be even more extensive. The publication of the great national work on Spanish antiquities,[[3]] of Parcerisa’s ‘Beauties, &c., of Spain,’[[4]] and, above all, Mr. Street’s work,[[5]] have rendered Spanish architecture as intelligible as that of any other country, though ten years ago it was a mystery and a puzzle. Schulz’s[[6]] work has rendered the same service for Southern Italy, while the publications of De Vogüé[[7]] and Texier[[8]] will necessitate an entirely new treatment of the early history of Byzantine art. The French have been busily occupied during the last ten years in editing their national monuments; so have the Germans. So that in Europe little of importance remains to be described. In Asia, too, great progress has been made. Photography has rendered us familiar with many buildings we only knew before by description, and both the Hindu and Mahomedan remains of India are now generally accessible to the public. Colonel Yule’s[[9]] work on Burmah and M. Mouhot’s[[10]] on Siam have made us acquainted with the form of the buildings of those countries, and China too has been opened to the architectural student. When the Handbook was written there were many places and buildings regarding which no authentic information was available. That can hardly be said to be the case now as respects any really important building, and the time, therefore, seems to have arrived when their affiliation can be pointed out, if it ever can be, and the study of architecture may be raised from dry details of measurements to the dignity of an historical science.
In the present work it is intended that the first two volumes shall cover the same extent of ground as was comprised in the two volumes of the ‘Handbook,’ as originally published, with such enlargement as is requisite to incorporate all recent additions to our knowledge; and chapters will be added on Celtic—or, as they are vulgarly called, Druidical—remains omitted in the ‘Handbook.’ The ‘History of Modern Architecture’ will thus form the third volume of the work; and when—if ever—it comes to be reprinted, it is intended to add a Glossary of architectural terms, and other matters necessary to complete the book. When all this is done, the work will be increased from 1500 pages, which is the number comprised in the three volumes as at present published, to more than 2000 pages, and the illustrations will be augmented in at least an equal ratio.[[11]] Notwithstanding all this, it is too evident that even then the work can only be considered as an introduction to the subject, and it would require a work at least ten times as large to do full justice even to our present knowledge of the history of architecture. Any one at all familiar with the literature of the subject can see at once why this is so. Viollet le Duc, for instance, is now publishing a dictionary of French architecture from the eleventh to the sixteenth century. The work will consist, when complete, of ten volumes, and probably 5000 illustrations. Yet even this will by no means exhaust the history of the style in one country of Europe during the five centuries indicated. It would require at least as many volumes to illustrate, even imperfectly, the architectural history of England during the same period. Germany would fill an equal number; and the mediæval architecture of Italy and Spain could not be described in less space.
In other words, fifty volumes and 20,000 woodcuts would barely suffice to complete what must in the present work be compressed into 500 pages, with a like number of illustrations.
Under these circumstances it will be easily understood that this book is far from pretending to be a complete or exhaustive history of the art. It is neither an atlas nor a gazetteer, but simply a general map of the architectural world, and—if I may be allowed the small joke—on Mercator’s projection. It might with propriety be called an abridgment, if there existed any larger history from which it could be supposed to be abridged. At one time I intended to designate it ‘An Historical Introduction to the Study of Architecture, considered as a Fine Art;’ but though such a title might describe correctly enough the general scope of the work, its length is objectionable, and, like every periphrasis, it is liable to misconstruction.
The simple title of ‘History’ has therefore been adopted, under the impression that it is entitled to such a denomination until at least some narrative more worthy of the subject takes its place. Considering the limits it thus became necessary to impose on the extent of the work, it must be obvious that the great difficulty of its composition was in the first place to compress so vast a subject into so small a compass; and next, to determine what buildings to select for illustration, and what to reject. It would have been infinitely easier to explain what was necessary to be said, had the number of woodcuts been doubled. Had the text been increased in the same ratio a great many things might have been made clear to all, which will now, I fear, demand a certain amount of previous knowledge on the part of my readers. To have done this, however, would have defeated some of the great objects of the present publication, which is intended to convey a general view of the history and philosophy of the subject, without extending the work so as to make it inconveniently large, or increasing the price so as to render it inaccessible to a large number of readers. The principle consequently that has been adopted in the selection of the illustrations is, first, that none of the really important typical specimens of the art shall be passed over without some such illustrations as shall render them intelligible; and, after this, those examples are chosen which are remarkable either for their own intrinsic merit, or for their direct bearing in elucidation of the progress or affinities of the style under discussion; all others being sternly rejected as irrelevant, notwithstanding the almost irresistible temptation at times to adorn my pages with fascinating illustrations. The reader who desires information not bearing on the general thread of the narrative must thus have recourse to monographs, or other special works, which alone can supply his wants in a satisfactory manner.
It may tend to explain some things which appear open to remark in the following pages, if I allude here to a difference of opinion which has frequently been pointed out as existing between the views I have expressed and those generally received regarding several points of ancient history or ethnology. I always have been aware that this discrepancy exists; but it has appeared to me an almost inevitable consequence of the different modes of investigation pursued. Almost all those who have hitherto written on these subjects have derived their information from Greek and Roman written texts; but, if I am not very much mistaken, these do not suffice. The classic authors were very imperfectly informed as to the history of the nations who preceded or surrounded them; they knew very little of the archæology of their own countries, and less of their ethnography. So long, therefore, as our researches are confined to what they had written, many important problems remain unsolved, and must ever remain as unsolvable as they have hitherto proved.
My conviction is, that the lithic mode of investigation is not only capable of supplementing to a very great extent the deficiencies of the graphic method, and of yielding new and useful results, but that the information obtained by its means is much more trustworthy than anything that can be elaborated from the books of that early age. It does not therefore terrify me in the least to be told that such men as Niebuhr, Cornewall Lewis, or Grote, have arrived at conclusions different from those I have ventured to express in the following pages. Their information is derived wholly from what is written, and it does not seem ever to have occurred to them, or to any of our best scholars, that there was either history or ethnography built into the architectural remains of antiquity.
While they were looking steadily at one side of the shield, I fancy I have caught a glimpse of the other.
It has been the accident of my life—I do not claim it as a merit—that I have wandered all over the Old World. I have seen much that they never saw, and I have had access to sources of information of which they do not suspect the existence. While they were trying to reconcile what the Greek or Roman authors said about nations who never wrote books, and with regard to whom they consequently had little information, I was trying to read the history which these very people had recorded in stone, in characters as clear and far more indelible than those written in ink. If, consequently, we arrived at different conclusions, it may possibly be owing more to the sources from which the information is derived than to any difference between the individuals who announce it.
Since the invention of printing, I am quite prepared to admit that the “litera scripta” may suffice. In an age like the present, when nine-tenths of the population can read, and every man who has anything to say rushes into print, or makes a speech which is printed next morning, every feeling and every information regarding a people may be dug out of its books. But it certainly was not so in the Middle Ages, nor in the early ages of Greek or Roman history. Still less was this so in Egypt, nor is it the case in India, or in many other countries; and to apply our English nineteenth century experience to all these seems to me to be a mistake. In those countries and times, men who had a hankering after immortality were forced to build their aspirations into the walls of their tombs or of their temples. Those who had poetry in their souls, in nine cases out of ten expressed it by the more familiar vehicle of sculpture or painting rather than in writing. To me it appears that to neglect these in trying to understand the manners and customs, or the history of an ancient people, is to throw away one-half, and generally the most valuable half, in some cases the whole, of the evidence bearing on the subject. So long as learned men persist in believing that all that can be known of the ancient world is to be found in their books, and resolutely ignore the evidence of architecture and of art, we have little in common. I consequently feel neither abashed nor ashamed at being told that men of the most extensive book-learning have arrived at different conclusions from myself—on the contrary, if it should happen that we agreed in some point to which their contemporary works did not extend, I should rather be inclined to suspect some mistake, and hesitate to put it down.
There is one other point in which I fancy misconception exists, of a nature that may probably be more easily removed by personal explanation than by any other means. It is very generally objected to my writings that I neither understand nor appreciate the beauties of Gothic architecture, and consequently criticise it with undue severity. I regret that such a feeling should prevail, partly because it is prejudicial to the dissemination of the views I am anxious to promulgate, but more because at a time when in this country the admiration of Gothic art is so nearly universal, it alienates from me the best class of men who love the art, and prevents their co-operating with me in the improvement of our architecture, which is the great object which we all have at heart.
If I cannot now speak of Gothic architecture with the same enthusiasm as others, this certainly was not the case in the early part of my career as a student of art. Long after I turned my attention to the subject, I knew and believed in none but the mediæval styles, and was as much astonished as the most devoted admirer of Gothic architecture could be, when any one suggested that any other forms could be compared with it. If I did not learn to understand it then, it was not for want of earnest attention and study. I got so far into its spirit that I thought I saw then how better things could be done in Gothic art than had been done either in the Middle Ages or since; and I think so now. But if it is to be done, it must be by free thought, not by servile copying.
My faith in the exclusive pre-eminence of mediæval art was first shaken when I became familiar with the splendid remains of the Mogul and Pathan emperors of Agra and Delhi, and saw how many beauties of even the pointed style had been missed in Europe in the Middle Ages. My confidence was still further weakened when I saw what richness and variety the Hindu had elaborated not only without pointed arches, but indeed without any arches at all. And I was cured when, after a personal inspection of the ruins of Thebes and Athens, I perceived that at least equal beauty could be obtained by processes diametrically opposed to those employed by the mediæval architects.
After so extended a survey, it was easy to perceive that beauty in architecture did not reside in pointed or in round arches, in bracket capitals or horizontal architraves, but in thoughtful appropriateness of design and intellectual elegance of detail. I became convinced that no form is in itself better than any other, and that in all instances those are best which are most appropriate to the purposes to which they are applied.
So self-evident do these principles—which are the basis of the reasoning employed in this book—appear to me, that I feel convinced that there are very few indeed even of the most exclusive admirers of mediæval art who would not admit them, if they had gone through the same course of education as has fallen to my lot. My own conviction is, that the great difference which seems to exist between my views and those of the parties opposed to them arises almost entirely from this accident of education.
In addition to this, however, we must not overlook the fact that for three centuries all the architects in Europe concurred in believing that the whole of their art began and ended in copying classical forms and details. When a reaction came, it was not, unfortunately, in the direction of freedom; but towards a more servile imitation of another style, which—whether better or worse in itself—was not a style of our age, nor suited to our wants or feelings.
It is perhaps not to be wondered at, that after three centuries of perseverance in one particular groove, men should have ceased to have any faith in the possibility of reason or originality being employed in architectural design. As, however, I can adduce in favour of my views 3000 years of perfect success in all countries and under all circumstances, against 300 years of absolute failure in consequence of the copying system, though under circumstances the most favourable to success in other respects, there seems at least an à priori probability that I may be right and that the copyists may be mistaken.
I may be deceiving myself, but I cannot help fancying that I perceive signs of a reaction. Some men are becoming aware of the fact that “archæology is not architecture,” and would willingly see something done more reasonable than an attempt to reproduce the Middle Ages. The misfortune is, that their enlightenment is more apt to lead to despondency than to hope. “If,” they ask, “we cannot find what we are looking for in our own national style, where are we to look for it?” The obvious answer, that it is to be found in the exercise of common sense, where all the rest of the world have found it, seems to them beside the mark. Architecture with most people is a mystery—something different from all other arts; and they do not see that it is and must be subject to the same rules as they all are, and must be practised in the same manner, if it is to be successful.
Whether the nation will or will not soon awaken to the importance of this prosaic anti-climax, one thing at least seems certain and most hopeful. Men are not satisfied with what is doing; a restless, inquiring spirit is abroad, and if people can only be induced to think seriously about it, I feel convinced that they will be as much astonished at their present admiration of Gothic town-halls and Hyde Park Albert Memorials, as we are now at the Gothic fancies of Horace Walpole and the men of his day.