The “revival of letters” was followed by a revival also of the architecture of those races whose literature was resuscitated; and with this revival came a certain, though scanty, knowledge of its history; but the investigation of the entire history of architectural art, and the constituting it into a branch of our literature, has been reserved for a period which possesses no architectural style of its own, excepting as the result of revival or imitation.
Is, then, this study to be viewed as a thing to be avoided? Certainly not. Our predecessors worked honestly, and with perfect success, in accordance with the conditions of their times; those of our times are wholly different, though, I fear, the reverse of favourable; but, nevertheless, they are the conditions to which we have succeeded in the due course of events which we could but little control. It may be that this historical and archæological tendency of our time is the saving clause in our position, which, in its absence, might have been an utter blank. Let us not, then, throw away that which, for aught we know, may be our solitary birthright, in the vain hope of recovering conditions long since passed out of our reach. It is ours rather to use well and wisely what we possess, regulating, controlling, and guiding it; striving earnestly after better things by whatever means; but without rejecting those suggested by the circumstances of our period.
Nevertheless, let it ever be remembered that art history is not art, nor architectural history architecture. They may, like the syren’s song, lead us wide of our mark, though they may, perhaps, if rightly used, be made to guide or aid us in a right path.
The study, however, of architectural history has many and wholly differing phases. It may, for example, be followed purely from an historical and archæological point of view, or it may be pursued mainly with an artistic sentiment. Both are interesting, but, I need hardly say, the latter is the spirit in which our studies as artists should be followed up.
It may, again, even if artistic in its purpose, be followed up generally, and through the whole course of the history of the art; or it may, while not neglecting the main line of history, be concentrated and intensified upon those styles, or that style, which we desire to be the guide and foundation of our own artistic productions. I need not say that here, again, the latter is the course most profitable to ourselves.
The great danger of the study is the dissipation and unfocussing of our own artistic thoughts; just as the great strength of the days when this study was unknown, was the absolute concentration of all architectural thought upon the matter actually in hand; an advantage which in our day is absolutely, and, I fear, irrecoverably lost.
Be this, however, as it may, it has become a part of the necessary education of a gentleman to know something of the past history of our great art; and, a fortiori, it is necessary to an architect, if only as a matter of literary culture. We must, however, take care that our thoughts and tastes are not led away by it into a state of objectless dissipation, having no concentration on any one guiding form of art, but viewing all forms of beauty with equal pleasure, and free from any strong and healthy preference.
The most natural course for the student of architectural history is to limit himself mainly and firstly (though not eventually, perhaps) to those styles from which our own architecture, whether native or borrowed, whether living or revived, is lineally descended—“to look to the rock whence we were hewn.” And truly it is a right glorious genealogy which we can boast.
The history of architecture is the history of civilisation, for architecture unites and embraces the sister arts, and art is the visible exponent of civilisation.
Our more Western civilisation is distinct from that of the far East; and, without disparagement to the latter, its study may be viewed as separate from it.