3. From 1377 to 1509, terminating with the accession of Henry VIII. This constitutes the age of the Florid Gothic, which, between these dates, underwent a succession of changes; first, from aspiring, to flatly-pointed and obtuse arches, with large daylights, in panels and straight mullions, instead of tracery; hence the names Obtuse and Perpendicular English; becomes more and more ornamented; ceilings of the richest and most complicated tracery, with pendents; Henry VII.'s chapel fine specimen.
4. From 1509 to 1625; when the reign of Charles I. introduces Inigo Jones, and the revival of ancient architecture. First part of the reign of Henry the Eighth a continuation of the Florid Gothic; subsequently the designs of Holbein, and of the Italian artist employed by that monarch, entirely ruined the Gothic, introducing a most barbarous mixture of Roman, Italian, and Gothic. In the succeeding reigns, a stiff and most unmeaning style arose; and, in Scotland, we trace a near approach, if not in magnitude, at least in excellence, to the English examples of Gothic; while the fortunes of the art are found to assimilate to its history in Germany, in as far as a character of great perfection was early formed, and longer preserved, than in the south. It must appear a singular proof of hasty and inconclusive inquiry, that, while an English origin has been claimed for the pointed arch, its elements are found of a date more ancient in Scottish ecclesiastical buildings, not to mention those on the Continent.
In opposition to all the preceding theories, we consider the system of pointed architecture, or that properly denominated Gothic, to have arisen independently, though almost contemporaneously, among the nations of Europe most conspicuous for the cultivation of this peculiar style. In this we are borne out by a series of monuments in each country, showing the progressive rise and introduction of the pointed arch, from the form of two long stones, placed on supports, and meeting at top—a contrivance as still visible in the walls of Mycenæ, of three thousand years' standing, up to the finished lancet arch, as in Salisbury cathedral. Or, granting even the Eastern introduction of the arch—and here the monuments are of very doubtful antiquity,[F]—what does this prove with regard to the origin of the system?—Absolutely nothing. This knowledge alone would not go further to enable the architect to construct a Gothic cathedral, than would one of the voussoirs in teaching him the properties of the arch itself. The system is one entire and independent whole, in which the pointed arch is merely an instrument subservient to principles, in consequence of which, if not invented, it was at least improved and rendered perfect. In this light the subject has too seldom been viewed: a light which places Gothic architecture in true and dignified position of an independent branch of art, governed by its own precepts of convenience, stability, and ornament.
When, in consequence of an extraordinary out-breaking of religious zeal and enthusiasm, an astonishing change was wrought in the frame of European society, one of the first impulses was to provide, in those countries hitherto comparatively ignorant of the arts, more suitable edifices for the services of that religion, in whose cause multitudes were shedding, or ready to shed, their blood in distant and unknown regions. Thus the Crusades were, but not as usually supposed, the cause of the introduction of art. They operated as one of those moral springs of action by which the arts, as the course of human life, are found to be directed.
Under such impressions, when the architect contemplated the ancient structures, the principle of convenience would at once suggest the necessity of heightening their low arches, and decreasing their enormous supports, by which light was obstructed, and space filled up. He saw, however, these efforts could not be accomplished on the old methods:—here the principle of stability—no abstract theory, but the knowledge of the practical builder—taught him, that by elevating the crown of the arch, and thus removing in part the lateral pressure, both objects would be accomplished; for while height was gained, the weight would be thrown more into the perpendicular, and consequently would remain firm with diminished support. The principle once introduced, was carried even to frightful boldness. But again, though the lateral pressure was removed from the arcade itself, abutment was still to be provided at the extremities and side-walls. Hence the peculiar characteristic of the buttress. This indeed existed in the old Gothic; but here the feature assumed a novel appearance. The arches being placed high, required additional altitude to be added, as a counterbalance, at the opposing point; thus the buttress was converted into a turret or pinnacle, susceptible of every varied form which it afterwards received, when the desire of ornament, without the guidance of taste, wandered into every maze of fantasy. Thus the whole system depended upon principle—neither rising, like an exhalation, in consequence of imported knowledge, nor emulating some remote association or model, but by the slow and gradual process of experience.
The Gothic cathedral, thus contemplated in its native character and principles—established in unmoved security by the very agency of those forces which tend most directly to destruction, displays an evidence of science, perhaps, when the times are considered, the most wonderful in the whole history of intelligence. Never have the stereometric precepts of building—one of the most difficult branches of the art, been better exhibited than in these piles. Mass counteracts mass,—the very confliction of downward efforts upholds the reed-like column, and hangs on high the ponderous vault. Self-balanced, the entire system contains within itself the essence of its own existence in the chain of means and end, of minute contrivance, and of one purpose. Yet amid all this no effort is apparent, even while the mind starts at the power of its own ingenuity over the properties of matter, and the laws of nature—the artist seems to sport with his subject, to tempt the prostration of his airy fabrics. Here come into aid the principles of Gothic ornament, than which nothing pertaining to the style more merits admiration, whether as enabling the architect to extend the fantasy of his plans, or still more as essentially producing those effects which these plans contemplate. In no system of architecture, the Grecian not even excepted, do the ornamental, so completely integrate and harmonize with the necessary modes. Ornament could not here be removed without destruction both of beauty and stability; it strengthens, yet conceals the necessity of support; and, like the garniture of herbage, and flower, and twining plant, upon the rugged face of earth, it spreads to the delighted eye its mazy error, where would else be only a frightful and unformed mass of nodding masonry.
Such are the merits of Gothic architecture, examined in itself, and in reference to the times which gave it birth. Apart from these considerations, viewed as the object of refined perception or cultivated taste, the entire system is defective. In architecture, pleasurable emotion arises from a two-fold cause—the modes, and the associations of the art. In regard to the former, it may be laid down as an universal precept of taste, that in architecture, of all the arts, according to the exhibition of principle, and to the facility with which the mind conceives design, and traces intention, will be the mental pleasure produced by the work. This constitutes the very essence of exalted feeling in Greek art, which, grounded upon obvious principle, consonant with natural appearances, and pursuing beauty as a final aim, fills the mind with delight and admiration. In Gothic architecture, all this is reversed: its first principle is, to conceal all principle; to dazzle and to surprise by effects seemingly at variance with all the usual harmonies of things. Hence, on entering a Gothic edifice, though the mind, at first, be strongly affected by the magnitude and daring arrangement of the forms, where
——the tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
Bearing aloft the arch'd and pond'rous roof,
By its own weight stands steadfast and immoveable;
yet neither the judgment nor the fancy experiences those continually increasing emotions of delight which a Grecian building inspires. Again, the associations connected with Gothic structures are temporary, and, in great measure, local. They are dependent on our assurance of antiquity. Remove from such their antique reminiscences, and venerable traditions, and they are despoiled of all, or good part, of their power over the imagination. With religious Gothic, our associations are more congenial; the holiness of the sentiment mingles its permanency even with the abstract forms; we love the very semblance of the place,