The buildings I have thus imperfectly described I have selected as having been all commenced within the eleventh century. I trust I may be able during the next session to follow on the style through its subsequent and more ornate stages, and on again through the interesting period of its transition into the Pointed style; and, while doing this, I hope to illustrate my remarks by means of many of the smaller creations of the style, and by some which are other than ecclesiastical.[32]
For the present,—after travelling over an eventful period of nearly seven centuries, and tracing out the rise of British[33] architecture through many phases,—I must bring my course for this session to a close, apologising if I have, in the warmth of patriotism, been induced to lead you out of the beaten and accredited track of art; though at the same time convinced that the architecture we have been considering will be found on close examination to contain germs and principles which have been and may again be made to germinate into styles of art of the highest and noblest character.
LECTURE XIII.
The Transition.
The close of the eleventh century—The “new manner of building”—Conditions necessary to an arcuated, as distinguished from a trabeated, style—First principles of Grecian and Roman architecture—Rationale of the arcuated style—Its developments—Cloisters of St. Paul without the Walls and St. John Lateran, Rome—Doorways—Windows—Vaulting over spaces enclosed by walls or ranges of piers—Simplest elements defined—Barrel-vaults—Hemispherical vaults or domes—Groined vaults.
WHEN I delivered my last lectures in this Academy, it was my intention to give a practical sketch of the history and development of architecture in this country from the earliest rise of civilisation among the races of which our nation is composed, down, perhaps, to the period of the revival of Classic architecture. As, however, such continuous history has been disturbed by the omission of my lectures last season, and as few now present heard, and fewer, probably, now remember, those lectures, it is not my intention to continue my former course, but, adopting as my stand-point the stage at which I had then arrived, to digress into an inquiry into some of the practical and artistic principles of the class of architecture of whose development I was then treating.
The chronological point which I had reached was the close of the eleventh century,—a point well fitted to be chosen as one for leaving the beaten track for the purpose of inquiring into principles. It was the very stage at which the great round-arched style, which had just developed itself into a strong and sturdy luxuriance, was in the condition best suited to receive the refinements of art.
It was, too, the very eve of that wonderful politico-religious movement which was to bring the nations of the West into contact with the East;—thus preparing the way for a vast influx of new ideas and of fresh artistic elements; and, so far as our own country was concerned, it was just the moment when the simple and unambitious architecture of the Anglo-Saxon race had given place to the more colossal edifices and the more systematic style of the Norman invaders; and when the newly-imported architecture, having taken firm root in our soil, was ready to become naturalised as our own, and to be pressed forward in all zeal and earnestness by the united races which—now neither Saxon nor Norman—were becoming, to all intents and purposes, English.
Nor let it be supposed that the architecture, thus made ready as the nucleus of subsequent developments, was in itself essentially rude, or mean, or barbaric. I admit that it was stern and severe, and lacking the refinements of advanced art; and that its sculpture, though a reflection from that of Byzantium—as that had been from ancient Greece—was nevertheless grim, uncouth, and unrefined; yet in grandeur of conception and in vastness of scale its productions vied with those of almost any period or country; and I shall be able to show you that it contained principles the most profound and accurate, and capable of being carried forward to any degree of refinement.
A single half-century had, in fact, filled the length and breadth of our land with structures of prodigious scale and impressive grandeur, founded on the most reasonable principles, and containing, in a rough and unrefined form, the most prolific and the most artistic elements. So many of these vast edifices have given place to others of more advanced style, or have been recklessly destroyed, that we can now with difficulty realise the architectural status of a country where they were rising or were just completed in every town and (on a reduced scale) in almost every village;—a period when vast fortresses, such as the Tower of London and the stupendous keeps of Rochester, of Norwich, and of Headingham were specimens of the vernacular architecture to be seen all over the land; when the now shattered ruins of Newark and the grim tower of Newcastle were as freshly erected as their names imply; when the awful names of Durham and Gloucester were but specimens of the “new manner of building” then recently introduced, and which pervaded the whole land; and when no city, or hardly a village, could be approached without the lofty scaffoldings heaving first into view which surrounded campaniles which could boast such as those at St. Alban’s and Tewkesbury as their types.
We will, however, quit the track of mere history, to inquire into the intrinsic principles of the architecture thus far attained, and in course of development; and I must beg to be forgiven if, in doing so, I am compelled at times to repeat what I have brought under your notice in former lectures; for, not then intending to go systematically into this inquiry, I have occasionally forestalled my subject by adverting to these principles, as the course of my historical sketch chanced to suggest.