Rudimentary Architecture for the Use of Beginners / The Orders and Their Æsthetic Principles

by W. H. Leeds

THE ORDERS.

Although this little treatise is limited to the consideration of Ancient and Classic Architecture, we may be allowed to explain briefly what is to be understood by Architecture in its quality of one of the so-called Fine Arts, if only to guard against confused and erroneous notions and misconceptions. It will therefore not be deemed superfluous to state that there is a wide difference between Building and Architecture,—one which is apparently so very obvious that it is difficult to conceive how it can have been overlooked, as it generally has been, by those who have written upon the subject. Without building we cannot have architecture, any more than without language we can have literature; but building and language are only the matériel,—neither, the art which works upon that matériel, nor the productions which it forms out of it. Building is not a fine art, any more than mere speaking or writing is eloquence or poetry. Many have defined architecture to be the art of building according to rule: just as well might they define eloquence to be the art of speaking according to grammar, or poetry the art of composing according to prosody. Infinitely more correct and rational would it be to say that architecture is building greatly refined upon,—elevated to the rank of art by being treated æsthetically, that is to say, artistically. In short, architecture is building with something more than a view to mere utility and convenience; it is building in such a manner as to delight the eye by beauty of forms, to captivate the imagination, and to satisfy that faculty of the mind which we denominate taste. Further than this we shall not prosecute our remarks on the nature of architecture, but come at once to that species of it which is characterized by the Orders.

In its architectural meaning, the term ORDER refers to the system of columniation practised by the Greeks and Romans, and is employed to denote the columns and entablature together; in other words, both the upright supporting pillars and the horizontal beams and roof, or trabeation, supported by them. These two divisions, combined, constitute an Order; and so far all Orders are alike, and might accordingly be reduced to a single one, although, for greater convenience, they are divided into three leading classes or families, distinguished as Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian. It was formerly the fashion to speak of the FIVE ORDERS, and also to treat of them as if each Order were reduced to a positive standard, admitting of very little deviation, instead of being in reality included in many subordinate varieties, which, however they may differ from each other, are all formed according to one common type, and are thereby plainly distinguished from either of the two other Orders. The vulgar Five Orders’ doctrine is, it is to be hoped, now altogether exploded; for if the so-called Tuscan, which is only a ruder and bastard sort of Doric, and of which no accredited ancient examples remain, is to be received as a distinct Order, a similar distinction ought to be established between the original Ancient or Grecian and the derivative Roman and Italian Doric, which differ from the other quite as much, if not more so, than the Tuscan does from either. Even the Grecian Doric itself exhibits many decided varieties, which, though all partaking of one and the same style, constitute so many Doric Orders. The Pæstum-Doric, for instance, is altogether dissimilar from the Athenian or that of the Parthenon. Again, if the Composite is to be received as a distinct Order from the Corinthian, merely on account of its capital being of a mixed character, partaking of the Ionic, inasmuch as it has volutes, and of the Corinthian in its foliage, the Corinthian itself may with equal propriety be subdivided into as many distinct Orders as there are distinct varieties; and the more so, as some of the latter vary from each other very considerably in many other respects than as regards their capitals. Except that the same general name is applied to them, there is very little in common between such an example of the Corinthian or foliaged-capital class as that of the monument of Lysicrates, and that of the Temple at Tivoli, or between either of them or those of the Temple of Jupiter Stator and the Pantheon, not to mention a great many others. Instances of the so-called Composite are, moreover, so exceedingly few, as not even to warrant our calling it the Roman Order, just as if it had been in general use among the Romans in every period of their architecture. With far greater propriety might the Corinthian itself, or what we now so designate, be termed the Roman Order, being not only the one chiefly used by that people, but also the one which they fairly appropriated to themselves, by entering into the spirit of it, and treating it with freedom and artistic feeling. In fact, we are indebted far more to Roman than to Grecian examples for our knowledge of the Corinthian; and it is upon the former that the moderns have modelled their ideal of that Order.

What has been said with regard to striking diversity in the several examples of the Corinthian, holds equally good as to those of the Ionic Order, in which we have to distinguish not only between Roman and Grecian Ionic, but further, between Hellenic and Asiatic Ionic. Nor is that all: there is a palpable difference between those examples whose capitals have a necking to them, and those which have none,—a difference quite as great, if not greater, than that which is recognized as sufficient to establish for the Composite the title of a distinct Order from the Corinthian; inasmuch as the necking greatly enlarges the proportion of the whole capital, and gives increased importance to it. The Ionic capital further admits of a species of variation which cannot possibly take place in those of either of the other two Orders: it may have either two faces and two baluster sides, or four equal and similar sides,—the volutes being, in the latter case, turned diagonally, the mode chiefly practised by the Romans; but by the Greeks, and that not always, in the capitals at the ends of a portico, by placing the diagonal volute at the angle only, so as to obtain two outer faces for the capital, one in front, the other on the ‘return’ or flank of the portico.

It is therefore unnecessary to say, that to divide the Orders into Five, as has been done by all modern writers, until of late years, and to establish for each of them one fixed, uniform character, is altogether a mistake; and not only a mere mistake as regards names and other distinctions, but one which has led to a plodding, mechanical treatment of the respective Orders themselves, nothing being left for the Architect to do, so far as the Order which he employs is concerned, than merely to follow the example which he has selected,—in other words, merely to copy instead of designing, by imitating his model with artistic freedom and spirit. Our view of the matter, on the contrary, greatly simplifies and rationalizes the doctrine of the Orders, and facilitates the study of them by clearing away the contracted notions and prejudices which have been permitted to encumber it; and owing to which, mere conventional rules, equally petty and pedantic, have been substituted for intelligent guiding maxims and principles.

Having thus far briefly explained the rationale of the Orders with regard to the division of them into three leading classes, each of which, distinct from the other two, yet comprises many varieties or species,—which, however much they may differ with respect to minor distinctions, all evidently belong to one and the same style, or what we call Order,—we have now to consider their constituent parts, that is, those which apply to every Order alike. Hitherto it has been usual with most writers to treat of an Order as consisting of three principal parts or divisions, viz. pedestal, column, and entablature. The first of these, however, cannot by any means be regarded as an integral part of an Order. So far from being an essential, it is only an accidental one,—one, moreover, of Roman invention, and applicable only under particular circumstances. The pedestal no more belongs to an Order than an attic or podium placed above the entablature. In the idea of an Order we do not include what is extraneous to the Order itself: it makes no difference whether the columns stand immediately upon the ground or floor, or are raised above it. They almost invariably are so raised, because, were the columns to stand immediately upon the ground or a mere pavement, the effect would be comparatively mean and unsatisfactory; the edifice would hardly seem to stand firmly, and, for want of apparent footing, would look as if it had sunk into the ground, or the soil had accumulated around it. With the view, therefore, of increasing height for the whole structure, and otherwise enhancing its effect, the Greeks placed their temples upon a bold substructure, composed of gradini or deep steps, or upon some sort of continuous stylobate; either of which modes is altogether different from, and affords no precedent for, the pedestal of modern writers. And here it may be remarked, that of the dignity imparted to a portico by a stylobate forming an ascent up to it in front, we have a fine example in that of St. George’s Church, Bloomsbury, which so far imitates the celebrated Maison Carrée at Nismes. Nevertheless, essential as some sort of stylobate is to the edifice itself, it does not properly belong to it, any more than that equally essential—in fact more indispensable part—the roof.

It is not without some regret that we abandon, as wholly untenable, the doctrine of the pedestal being an integral part of an Order: it would be so much more agreeable to say that the entire Order consists of three principal divisions, just the same as each of the divisions themselves. As regards the entire structure, such triplicity, that of ‘beginning, middle, and end,’ was observed. For ‘beginning,’ there was substructure, however denominated, or whether expressly denominated at all, or not; for ‘middle,’ there were the columns; and for ‘end’ or completion, the entablature. For the whole of a structure, there is or ought to be such ‘beginning, middle, and end;’ but from the Order itself we exclude one of them, as not being dependent upon it either for character or treatment.

The pedestal being discarded as something apart from the Order itself, the latter is reduced to the two grand divisions of column and entablature, each of which is subdivided into three distinct parts or members, viz. the column, into base, shaft, and capital; the entablature, into architrave, frieze, and cornice; so that the latter is to the entablature what the capital is to the column, namely, its crowning member,—that which completes it to the eye. Yet, although the above divisions of column and entablature hold good with regard to the general idea of an Order, the primitive Greek or Doric one does not answer to what has just been said, inasmuch as it has no base,—that is, no mouldings which distinctly mark the foot of the column as a separate and ornamented member. Hence it will perhaps be thought that this Order is not so complete as the others, since it wants that member below which corresponds with the capital above. Still the Grecian Doric column is complete in itself: it needs no base,—in fact, does not admit of such addition without forfeiting much of its present character, and thus becoming something different. Were there a distinct base, the mouldings composing it could not very well exceed what is now the lower diameter or actual foot of the column; because, were it to do so, either the base would become too bulky in proportion to the capital, or the latter must be increased so as to make it correspond in size with the enlarged lower extremity. Even then that closeness of intercolumniation (spacing of the columns), which contributes so much to the majestic solidity that characterizes the genuine Doric, could not be observed; unless the columns were put considerably further apart, the bases would scarcely allow sufficient passage between them. The only way of escaping from these objections and difficulties is by making the shaft of the column considerably more slender, so that what was before the measure of the lower diameter of the shaft itself, becomes that of the base. That can be done—has been done, at least something like it; but the result is an attenuated Roman or Italian Doric, differing altogether in proportions from the original type or order. The shaft no longer tapers visibly upwards, or, what is the same thing, expands below.

Before we come to speak of the Orders severally and more in detail, there are some other matters which require to be noticed; one of which is the origin of the Greek system of columniation, or the prototype upon which it was modelled. Following Vitruvius, nearly all writers have agreed to recognize in the columnar style of the ancients the primitive timber hut, as furnishing the first hints for and rudiments of it. Such theory, it must be admitted, is sufficiently plausible, if only because it can be made to account very cleverly for many minor circumstances. Unfortunately, it does not account at all for, or rather is in strong contradiction to, the character of the earliest extant monuments of Greek architecture. Timber construction would have led to very different proportions and different taste. Had the prototype or model been of that material, slenderness and lightness, rather than ponderosity and solidity, would have been aimed at; and the progressive changes in the character of the Orders would have been reversed, since the earliest of them all would also have been the lightest of them all. The principles of stone construction have so evidently dictated and determined the forms and proportions of the original Doric style, as to render the idea of its being fashioned upon a model in the other material little better than an absurd though time-honoured fiction. Infinitely more probable is it, that the Greeks derived their system of architecture from the Egyptians; because, much as it differs from that of the latter people with regard to taste and matters of ornamentation, it partakes very largely of the same constitutional character. At any rate the doctrine of a timber origin applies as well to the Egyptian as to the Hellenic or Grecian style. Indeed, if there be any thing at all that favours such doctrine, it is, that construction with blocks of stone would naturally have suggested square pillars instead of round ones; the latter requiring much greater labour and skill to prepare them than the others. But, as their pyramids and obelisks sufficiently testify, the most prodigal expenditure of labour was not at all regarded by the Egyptians. That, it will perhaps be said, still does not account for the adoption of the circular or cylindrical form for columns. We have therefore to look for some sufficiently probable motive for the adoption of that form; and we think that we find it in convenience. In order to afford due support to the massive blocks of stone placed upon them, the columns were not only very bulky in proportion to their height, but were placed so closely together, not only in the fronts of porticoes, but also within them, that they would scarcely have left any open space. Such inconvenience was accordingly remedied by making the pillars round instead of square. Should such conjectural reason for the adoption of circular columns be rejected, it is left to others to propound a more satisfactory one, or to abide, as many probably will do, by the old notion of columns being so shaped in order to imitate the stems of trees. It is enough that whatever accounts for the columns being round in Egyptian architecture, accounts also for their being the same in that of the Greeks.

Among other fanciful notions entertained with regard to columns and their proportions, is that of the different orders of columns being proportioned in accordance with the human figure. Thus the Doric column is said to represent a robust male figure, and those of the two other Orders, female ones,—the Ionic, a matron; the Corinthian, a less portly specimen of feminality. Now, so far from there being any general similitude between a Grecian Doric column and a robust man, their proportions are directly opposite,—the greater diameter of the column being at its foot, while that of the man is at his shoulders. The one tapers upwards, the other downwards. If the human figure and its proportions had been considered, columns would, in conformity with such type, have been wider at the top of their shafts than below, and would have assumed the shape of a terminus,[1] or of a mummy-chest. With regard to the other two Orders, it is sufficient to observe, that if so borrowed at all, the idea must have been preposterous. We happen to have a well-known example of statues or human figures, and those, moreover, female ones, being substituted for columns beneath an entablature; and so far are they from confirming the pretended analogy between the Ionic column and the proportions of a female, that they decidedly contradict it, those figures being greatly bulkier in their general mass than the bulkiest and stoutest columns of the Doric Order. At any rate, one hypothesis might satisfy those who will not be satisfied without some fancy of the kind, because two together do not agree: if columns originated in the imitation of stems of trees, we can dispense with the imitation of men and women, and vice versá.

Some may think that it is hardly worth while to notice such mere fancies; yet it is surely desirable to attempt to get rid of them by exposing their absurdity, more especially as they still continue to be gravely brought forward and handed down traditionally by those who write upon the Orders, or who, if they do not actually write, repeat what others have written. It is worth while to clear away, if possible, and that, too, at the very outset of the study, erroneous opinions, prejudices, and misconceptions. We do not pretend to explain and trace, step by step, the progress of the Doric Order, and of the columnar system of the Greeks, from their first rudiments and formation. We have only the results of such progressive development or formation; of the actual formation itself we neither know nor can now ever know any thing. The utmost that can now be done is to take the results themselves, and from them to reason backwards to causes and motives. Adopting such a course, we may first observe, that there is a very striking and characteristic difference between Egyptian and Grecian taste and practice in one respect: in the former style the columns are invariably cylindrical, or nearly so,—in the other they are conical, that is, taper upwards, and in some instances so much so, that were they prolonged to double their height, they would be almost perfect cones, and terminate like a spire. This tapering greatly exceeds that of the stems of trees, taking for their stem the trunk, from above which the branches begin to shoot out. It appears to have been adopted for purely artistic reasons, certainly not for the sake of any positive advantage, since the diminution of the shaft, and the great contraction of the diameter just below the capital, must rather decrease than at all add to the strength of the column. What, then, are the artistic qualities so obtained? We reply,—variety and contrast, and the expression of strength without offensive heaviness. The sudden or very perceptible diminution of the shaft,—it must be borne in mind that our remarks refer exclusively to the original Greek style or Doric Order,—produces a double effect; it gives the column an expression of greater stability than it otherwise would, combined with comparative lightness. What is diminution upwards, is also expansion downwards; and similar difference and contrast take place also with respect to the intercolumns, although in a reverse manner, such intercolumns being wider at top than at bottom. So far the principle of contrast here may be said to be twofold, although one of the two sorts of contrast inevitably results from the other. Were it not for the great diminution of the shaft, the columns would appear to be too closely put together, and the intercolumns much too narrow, that is, according, at least, to the mode of intercolumniation practised by the Greeks in most of their structures in the Doric style; whereas such offensive appearance was avoided by the shaft being made considerably smaller at top than at bottom,—consequently the intercolumns wider above than below, in the same ratio; so that columns which at their bases were little more than one diameter apart, became more than two, that is, two upper diameters apart at the top of their shafts, or the neckings of their capitals. In this style every thing was calculated to produce a character of majestic simplicity,—varying, however, or rather progressing, from heaviness and stern severity to comparative lightness of proportions,—for examples differ greatly in that respect: in some of the earlier ones the columns are not more than four diameters in height, while in some of the later they are upwards of six, which last-mentioned proportions not only amount to slenderness, but also destroy others. The capital itself may be proportioned the same as before relatively to the diameter of the column, but it cannot possibly bear the same ratio as before to its height. The average proportions for that member are one diameter for its width at its abacus, and half a diameter for its depth: consequently, if the entire column be only four diameters in height, the capital is ⅛th of it, or equal to ⅐th of the shaft; whereas, if the column be six or more diameters, the capital becomes only ¹/₁₂th of the column, or even less, so that the latter appears thin and attenuated, and the other member too small and insignificant. Yet though the original Greek Order or style exhibits considerable diversity with respect to mere proportions, it was otherwise very limited in its powers of expression, and moreover something quite distinct from the nominal Doric of the Romans and the Italians, as will be evident when we come to compare the latter with it.

Before we enter upon this part of our subject, and previous to an examination of the details of the several Orders, it should be observed that the diameter, that is, the lower diameter of the column, is the standard by which all the other parts and members of an Order are measured. The diameter is divided into 60 minutes, or into two halves or modules of 30 minutes each; and those minutes are again subdivided into parts or seconds when extreme accuracy of measurement is required; which two last are noted thus: 5′ 10″, for instance, meaning five minutes and ten seconds.