Lectures on the rise and development of medieval architecture; vol. 2

by Sir George Gilbert Scott

To ourselves it is incomparably more interesting, inasmuch as it became the architecture, par excellence, of our own and immediately neighbouring countries. It grew up in this country with our institutions; it is of the same age with our constitution and our system of laws, and in many respects with our ecclesiastical polity. It adapted itself to our climate, our materials, and our scenery. In this style are the monuments of our kings and of our forefathers; and, above all, in its original and identical temples do we still celebrate the offices of our holy religion. Well, then, may we say—in common with each nation of Western Europe—that this is our own, our natural and our national style!

And well may we glory in this assertion, for look at the monuments of that style! I have not been stinting or cold-hearted in my eulogy of the architecture of ancient Greece and Rome, so I may call you to witness that I am not narrow or one-sided if I give way to a generous enthusiasm now I come to speak of that which we may proudly call our own.

The architecture which produced our glorious cathedrals and abbeys; our churches of every scale, from these down to that of the humblest hamlet; which produced the colleges of our universities, with their noble chapels and halls; which produced the stately municipal buildings of the great manufacturing cities of Mediæval Europe; with every form of structure needed, for whatever purpose; and united true and appropriate art with every form of building, from the humblest to the most stately. An architecture, too, which decorated its edifices with such a form of art as our ancient painted glass; and which carried on its influences over metal-work, jewellery, painted decorations, and every collateral art in the same spirit of exquisite and original taste, may well claim to stand side by side with the most glorious productions of antiquity; but to ourselves, as the inhabitants of the countries where it prevailed, and the descendants of the artists who produced it, it has pre-eminent claims to our most loving and enthusiastic admiration; while the more closely, constantly, and carefully we study its remains, the more entirely shall we be convinced that our love and admiration cannot exceed what is due to its intrinsic excellencies.

This architecture, though a lineal descendant of those of the old world, was, when in the fulness of its development, so absolutely diverse from them that they can in no way be compared by likeness, but only by contrariety. It was an absolutely new phase of art, bearing no kind of resemblance to its early progenitors. Where their characteristics were horizontality of line, directly downward pressure, a clinging closely to mother-earth, and an imperturbable repose,—we may almost say an eternal sleep,—those of this new creation were an upward soaring, an apparent inversion of gravitation into a striving towards heaven, and a vivacious wakefulness in every feature. Constructively, instead of the mere support of dead weight, its principle is the systematic balancing of an infinity of diagonal pressures; yet this, though a constructive fact, is not an artistic characteristic, for in its more spiritual effects, weight and thrust seem to be annihilated, and converted into upward striving, so that the archivolt, the flying buttress, and the ribs of the vaulted roofs, seem rather the medium of upward than of downward pressure. In elegance and expressiveness of detail, no previous style had surpassed it; in endless variety of imagination or in spirituality of sentiment, none had ever approached it. It was the greatest marvel that architectural art had produced, and it united all these magic qualities with a gravity and solemnity in the temple, a stern solidity in the castle, an asceticism in the monastery, a quiet, retiring sentiment in the seat of learning, a cheerfulness in its civic and domestic structures, and a deeply touching expression in its sepulchral monuments, which no style could possibly go beyond, and none have yet equalled.

It presented, too, during its course, a beautiful series of variations. Its earliest phase stern and precise, with details rivalling the Greek in the studiousness of their contour; in its second, lighter and less severe; in its third, branching off into an infinity of charming lines, suggestive almost of vegetable growth; and in its last, while returning rather to earlier rigidity, indulging in new developments scarcely foreshadowed by its earlier forms. Thus, at Glastonbury, at Salisbury, in the choir of Westminster, in the naves of York and Winchester, and in the Chapels of King’s College and of Henry VII. we have a series of works, all belonging to the same general type of architecture, yet presenting diversities the most marked and beauties the most varied.

Nor was it alone in its successive periods that varied phases were produced. Each country in which it flourished had its own series of national and provincial types. Thus, in France, in England, in Germany, in Spain, and in Italy, and even in far-off Scandinavia, we find it adopting ever-changeful forms, though all belonging to the same great stem.

Mr. Fergusson, though an opponent of its revival, thus speaks of Gothic architecture:—“Not even the great Pharaonic era in Egypt, the age of Pericles in Greece, nor the great period of the Roman empire, will bear comparison with the thirteenth century in Europe, whether we look to the extent of the buildings executed, their wonderful variety and constructive elegance, the daring imagination that conceived them, or the power of poetry and lofty religious feeling that is expressed in every feature and in every part of them.”

And again, while speaking of its sculpture, which is not usually considered as its strongest point, he remarks:—“The great cathedrals of Chartres and Rheims even now retain some 5000 figures scattered about or grouped together in various parts, beginning with the history of the creation of the world and all the wondrous incidents of the first chapter of Genesis, and then continuing the history through the whole of the Old Testament. In these sculptures the story of the redemption of mankind is told, as set forth in the New, with a distinctness and at the same time with an earnestness almost impossible to surpass. On the other hand, ranges of statues of kings of France and other popular potentates, carry on the thread of profane history to the period of the erection of the cathedral itself. Besides these, we have, interspersed with them, the whole system of moral philosophy, as illustrated by the virtues and vices, each represented with an appropriate symbol, and the reward or punishment its invariable accompaniment. In other parts are shown all the arts of peace, every process of husbandry in its appropriate season, and each manufacture or handicraft in all its principal forms. Over all these are seen the heavenly hosts, with saints, angels, and archangels. All this is so harmoniously contrived and so beautifully expressed, that it becomes a question even now whether the sculpture of these cathedrals does not excel the architecture.”

Noble and exquisite, however, as it was, it at length ran its course; and, by some uncontrollable movement of the human mind, it gave way to what the world had, till then, never witnessed—a resuscitated style.

I will not attempt to philosophise on this new phenomenon in art. It seems to have originated in a double cause; firstly, the very natural pride felt by the Italians in the antique monuments of their own land and their own race; and, secondly, in the appreciation of these antique monuments which was engendered and fostered by the revived love of classical literature.