Lectures on the rise and development of medieval architecture; vol. 1

by Sir George Gilbert Scott

Thus, in a noble Gothic building, the ornamental character arises from a greater or less richness in the doorways, in the windows, the buttresses, the cornices, parapets, or other parts needful for the uses or construction of the building. This belongs to all noble architecture, but is more thoroughly, I think, carried out in Gothic than in other styles, and perhaps less so in modern Italian, especially in what is commonly called Paladian, than in any other. I do not lay claim to it as an argument in favour of one style above another, for all ought to possess it alike; but the absence of it in a very great deal of modern architecture is at least a proof that much reformation is needed among ourselves; and the strong degree in which it was adopted as a maxim by the Gothic architects is a proof of the reasonableness of the principles on which they acted.

There are, of course, in all styles of architecture decorations of a merely gratuitous kind, and when largeness of means leads to profusion, they are likely to be carried to excess; but in Gothic architecture of the best periods the beauty of a building (after good proportion, outline, etc., are secured) depends not on this deliberate ornamentation, but on the artistic treatment of the necessary features. Whatever parts were dictated by practical necessity were the chief objects on which decoration was expended, and to which the architect trusted for the beauty of his building.

More especially was it, par eminence, a window style. Of all the objects provided for, the admission of light was the first and chiefest; accordingly, the window was made, both within and without, the leading source of beauty. It is by the design of the windows that we define the gradations of style. It is chiefly by the windows that we describe a building, and the first question asked about a Gothic building generally relates to its windows. On them, therefore, was expended a large portion of the architectural decoration. How marvellous, then, is the inconsistency which we meet with!—people with one breath objecting to Gothic architecture—the offspring of Northern climes—as not admitting light enough, and urging the use of Southern architecture to obviate the imagined defect; and then telling you of the beauties of a modern building,[61] the great characteristic of which is, that its principal façade has no windows at all!

Next to the windows, the doorways claim the most careful attention. Indeed, in some respects, they had the precedence, inasmuch as of all parts of a building the doorway is that which challenges the closest inspection. The decorations, consequently, of doorways are those which contain the greatest amount of actual sculptured art. It is a great principle to place sculpture where it will be best seen; and as every one who enters a building must of necessity obtain a close view of the doorways, they were naturally made the great vehicles for sculpture. In France especially, every part of the doorway frequently is sculptured. Take, for example, the western portals of Amiens: the pedestal or basement of the jambs is decorated with medallions, illustrating Bible history by bas-reliefs; the jambs contain colossal statues of saints; the central pillar of the great double doorway contains the chief statue; the tympanum is filled with subjects, and the orders of the arch with angelic figures; so that the entire doorways are alive with sculpture.

The buttresses, again, those naturally uncouth projections—mere inert masses to resist the pressure from within—are rendered beautiful by their stately proportions and architectural details, the niches and statues which adorn their receding stages, and the aspiring pinnacles by which they are crowned.

The stone roof-plate, enriched with mouldings and foliage, and, perhaps, supported on sculptured corbels, becomes the crowning horizontal feature; and the parapet—the defence of the workmen engaged on the roofs—is pierced into tracery, or forms a miniature arcade, giving delicacy and lightness of effect to the generally massive structure; while the bell-tower, raised high to make its voice heard from afar, becomes the culminating ornament of the whole exterior. So completely was it the recognised principle of the architecture to render the useful and constructive parts sources of decoration, that, where any deliberate decoration was made use of, it was often formed of imitations of constructional features, such as window tracery, arcades, gables, pinnacles, columns, etc.

I am not prepared to say that this is in itself to be applauded; indeed, I think it ought, at the least, to be kept within moderate limits; but it nevertheless owed its origin to the firm hold which the principle of rendering construction the leading source of decoration had upon the architects. Being accustomed to decorate construction, they got into the habit of using constructive forms as decorations.

My illustrations have hitherto, perhaps, for the most part, been taken from churches, but the same principle of common sense applies equally to secular structures. Each is treated in a manner suited to its class and purpose. Those classes and purposes differ, as a matter of course, in a majority of cases, from their correlatives at the present day, as they did in different periods of the Middle Ages themselves, and in the different countries of Europe, at any given period; so that the mere fact of such differences existing is no argument against any lesson we may learn from them. I presume, for example, that no great analogy can be established between a Roman villa and one of the nineteenth century in England, and not much between an Italian Renaissance palace of the fifteenth century and a London mansion of the nineteenth. Even in Germany and in France at the present day the houses differ greatly from those in England. The question of the rationale of a style is rather whether it is so flexible and so essentially founded on common sense and reason that it will readily shape itself to meet practical demands, however varied they may be.

Now, it is scarcely possible for a building of the Middle Ages and one for a kindred purpose at the present day to differ more widely in their requirements than did different buildings of the same age; and if the most varied demands of one period are equally met by a given style, why should we fear that the same style would fail to meet variations proceeding from a change of manners and habits?

Take, for example, a Gothic fortification and a Gothic town hall. Can any requirements be more totally different? In one the great object was to shut off all communication from without: external windows must be either wholly avoided or reduced to mere eyelet-holes. In the other the walls are perforated with windows to the greatest extent which the strength of the structure would admit. In one the entrance must be guarded by all possible contrivances; in the other it must, as it were, open its arms widely to invite the incoming citizens. In the one the whole expression is one of stern exclusion and frowning defiance; in the other of busy concourse and festive hilarity. Now, is it possible for these widely differing demands and contrary expressions to have been more perfectly embodied than they are in the feudal castle, and in the halls of the manufacturing cities of Flanders and Germany?