CHAPTER IV
THE INTERIOR
The Nave.—The most casual observer will have noticed that churches of the Gothic style are divided vertically into bays, and that in cathedrals and large churches these bays are usually further divided horizontally into three compartments, the lowest consisting of the main arch and piers, the highest of a window or windows, known as the clerestory, and the middle, called the triforium, consisting usually of an arcade, sometimes blind, sometimes pierced, and occasionally even glazed. This triforium fills up the space between the top of the main arches and the bottom of the clerestory window which is covered on the outside by the roof of the aisle. As a distinct division or architectural feature, the triforium arcade is not a necessary part of the structure. In smaller churches it seldom exists. But in most cathedrals, as at York, a passage runs behind it, and is generally lit by the holes in the arcading. As has been stated, however, the arcading is often blank, and in such cases there might be nothing but a bare space of wall in its place, for all the practical purpose it serves. Since, therefore, its form is not dictated by considerations of utility, there is far more variety in its treatment than in that of the other two divisions, the main lines of which are formed by structural necessities; and yet the success or failure of an interior often depend upon the arrangement and proportion of the triforium; and the arrangement of the triforium, its emphasis or subordination, was one of the chief problems with which the builders of Gothic churches had to deal. Since such a church is generally divided into three storeys, the main lines of the interior would naturally be expected to be horizontal, and in many interiors of the Norman and Early English periods they are so, as, for instance, in the nave of Wells Cathedral. But the stone vault, which played so important a part in the development of Gothic style naturally emphasised, with its ribs converging at regular intervals, the vertical division into bays as opposed to the horizontal division into storeys.
The supports of the outside wall were gradually concentrated by the use of pinnacles and flying buttresses placed between the windows; the windows themselves grew in size with the introduction and development of tracery and the increasing taste for the decoration of stained glass; until the final organism of Gothic architecture was attained, and the typical Gothic Church, from being a building of three storeys, pierced by windows, became a structure made up of vertical supports, with the intervening spaces filled with glass. When this phase of development was reached, the building became as organic in all its parts as the human body. Structure was ornament, and ornament structure, and the two were fused as they have never been in any other style of architecture. Decoration and variety of outline were supplied by the mere disposition of the supporting masses, the arrangement of structural lines; to the exterior, by the flying buttresses, the pinnacles, and the window tracery; to the interior, by the banded shafts, the capitals, the groined ribs of the vaults, and the openings of the triforium. Outside the church became a framework of glorified stone scaffolding; inside, an avenue of columns rising from the ground to the vaults, with intermediate spaces of tracery and coloured glass. But before this stage was reached there were many compromises and passing phases, and every considerable church in England, until the end of the fourteenth century, may be classified and criticised, not only for its beauty, but as a link in the development of Gothic architecture. The builders were grappling with both tendencies, the vertical and the horizontal; they were not consciously working on a theory of complete vertical development; they made progress by structural experiment, and a sensitive eye for possibilities of beauty; and in the meantime their problem, both structural and artistic, was to make a happy compromise between vertical and horizontal lines. It was a problem which probably presented itself to them in the question how they were to treat the different storeys of the building. Structural difficulties would be continually at war with their aesthetic ambitions, and the heavy stone vault made structural difficulties a serious matter. There was a growing desire for space, for height and width, for light and colour. With every increase of height and width the burden of the vault became more oppressive; with every enlargement of windows its supports were weakened. As a rule, the English builders were far less ambitious in their treatment of these problems than the French. Amiens Cathedral, begun at the beginning of the thirteenth century, is structurally as daring as can be. Salisbury, but for its spire, a later addition, is comparatively modest and timid. The French builders quickly reached the limits of structural possibilities, and their type became fixed. The English, with less economy of support, and a lower organisation of structure, were better able to play with their forms. So their churches present a series of continual and often inconsequent experiments in the treatment and proportion of every storey, particularly of the triforium, and in compromise between vertical and horizontal tendencies. Thus at Beverley, Salisbury, and particularly in the nave of Wells, the horizontal tendency is predominant, and the triforium is both important and continuous, without regard for the vertical division of the bays. In the Early English transept of the minster itself the triforium is the most prominent feature of the design. These are all examples of Early English work, but in the nave of Lichfield, which is Decorated, the triforium is still far more prominent than the clerestory. In the same way a various and experimental use may be noticed of the shafts dropping from the point at which the ribs converge. At Wells and Salisbury these shafts reach only to the top of the triforium. They are so insignificant as hardly even to suggest a vertical division. At Beverley they cease a little way above the capitals of the main piers, and are still very slender. At Exeter they are much more prominent, and terminate in rich corbels reaching to the capitals of the main piers; while in the later naves of Canterbury and Winchester, not only do they reach to the ground, but they are forced so far forward, and rendered so prominent by continuous mouldings on each side of them, that they become the most significant part of the whole structure. They seem to be the columns on which the vault is supported; and we have at last the avenue of stone.
The nave of York Minster was built at an intermediate stage, in which neither the vertical nor the horizontal tendency predominated. We might have expected, therefore, a design something like that in the naves of Exeter or Worcester; but the York builders were ambitious. They were determined to build a nave both lofty and wide, and with a great space for the display of stained glass. It seems likely, though we have no evidence to support the theory, that they were influenced by French example. There can be no doubt, as Professor Freeman has pointed out, that the design is more French than that of any other large English church, hitherto built, except Westminster Abbey. The most casual observer will be struck at once by the large space occupied by the glass. The clerestory is unusually large; the main arches unusually high, and thus far the greater part of each bay is filled with the clerestory and the aisle windows. With so much space given to the highest and lowest storeys, it naturally follows that the triforium is almost squeezed out of existence. Indeed, out of a total height of 99 feet, there are only about 13 between the top of the main arches and the bottom of the clerestory. It would have been almost impossible to give so narrow a triforium a separate and independent design; and, therefore, by a device often found in French cathedrals, the triforium is merely a continuation of the mullions of the clerestory windows. Behind these mullions is the customary triforium passage; but the design really consists only of two parts, the clerestory and the main arches. It is as if the lower part of the light of the clerestory windows were divided from the rest by a transom, and pierced, but not glazed, so as to let in light to the passage behind them. This is the first example of this treatment, which was so happily followed in the naves of Winchester and Canterbury, in an English cathedral. In earlier examples, even where the triforium was decisively divided into bays and had ceased to be a continuous arcading, it was absolutely independent of the clerestory, as in the transepts of the minster. There can be no doubt that the plan adopted in the nave was a convenient and logical one. It is impossible to have every advantage; and where the designer has set his heart on a wall of glass, he cannot combine it with a rich and prominent triforium. Unfortunately, the architect of the nave, though ambitious and logical up to a certain point, did not carry his pursuit of the vertical tendency far enough. He aimed at unity and coherence in the design of each bay, and for the sake of that unity and coherence he was forced to sacrifice the richness and fulness of pattern given by a prominent and independent triforium. The later builders at Winchester and Canterbury made up for this, as has been said, by the emphasis they gave to their vertical lines. But at York, while the insignificance of the triforium deprives the design of all horizontal continuity, there is little attempt at vertical emphasis. True, large shafts rise from the floor to the converging point of the ribs of the vault; but these shafts are not forced forwards as at Winchester, but lie flat against the wall. They are prominent enough when each individual bay is examined, but they do not catch the eye when the nave is looked at as a whole. In the naves of Salisbury or Beverley the eye is led on from west to east by the circling band of the rich triforium; in the naves of Winchester and Canterbury it is attracted from floor to roof by the upspringing clusters of shafts; at York it wanders from point to point without any prominent feature to catch it. The blank space in each bay between the windows of the clerestory and the vaulting shafts ought to be a welcome contrast to the curves of tracery, the clusters of pillars and mouldings in a strong and forcible design. At York it appears to be simply a piece of wall which requires decoration.
Everywhere there is a lack of emphasis, not only in structure but in detail. The windows are not recessed, the capitals are small, the mouldings are delicate rather than forcible. The main piers are thin, their shafts are rather monotonously and tamely divided, the mouldings of the arches are narrow and shallow, the mullions of the clerestory and the shafts on each side of them are unusually slender; and this is peculiarly unfortunate in a nave, the width of which is greater both actually and proportionately, than that of any other English Gothic cathedral. To make a successful design of such proportions, there was need of strong vertical lines to give it the appearance of unusual strength: and not only the appearance but the reality. It is a significant fact that the builders were afraid to place a stone vault on their nave, and thus it is a Gothic building without that feature which gives its whole significance to the Gothic style, and by reason of which the design of this nave came to be what it was. It is a curious paradox, that the builders of York should have abandoned one of the most attractive features of earlier art in pursuit of a more logical design, and should then have been forced to abandon that very vault which gave their design all its logic. It is as if a dramatist strictly subordinated all his characters before the central figure of the hero, and then discovered that the exigencies of the plot would not allow of the introduction of the hero at all.
The most casual observer, on first entering the nave of York Minster, must have a vague feeling of disappointment, a consciousness that something is wanting; he will see that his feeling is justified, when he learns that it is the first building in England of which the design is entirely dominated by the necessities of a stone vault, and yet that it is crowned by a wooden roof. But it must not be supposed that this nave is altogether to be condemned, as some critics have condemned it. Each bay, looked at by itself, is not only perfectly logical and coherent in design, but is filled with delicate and appropriate detail. The capitals, if small, are finely carved; the mouldings well contrasted and subordinated; and the window tracery is the finest possible. It is a work of the best age of architecture with all the characteristics in detail of that age; yet it is not the work of a builder of genius, but of a careful scholar, who has imperfectly assimilated the principles of his masters.