Rudimentary Architecture for the Use of Beginners / The Orders and Their Æsthetic Principles

by W. H. Leeds

The next, and it must be the last example which can here be noticed, is that of the so-called ‘Jupiter Stator,’ which may be said to exhibit Corinthianism in its fullest luxuriance. Great as is the dissimilarity between this and the preceding example of the Order, they are alike in one respect, each being perfect in its way, complete, and harmonious in all its parts; and we ought to be thankful that two such opposite specimens of one and the same—namely, the foliaged-capital style—have been preserved to us for our admiration, and for our instruction also, as if on purpose to convince us what opposite kinds of beauty may be arrived at where, though the general configuration of the Order is adhered to, a different spirit and character are infused into it. Of the example now referred to, the character is elaborate richness subdued by refined taste. Though of lower proportions than usual, the capital is singularly ornate, and a corresponding degree of ornateness is diffused over the entire Order. The second or middle facia of the architrave, and all the members of the cornice, except the dentels and the cymatium over the corona, are sculptured, and the whole is consistently finished up in every part. The first application among us of this superb example of the Corinthian was in Holland’s beautiful portico to Carlton House, where, instead of being moderated, its richness was even augmented, the bases of the columns being carved, and the frieze sculptured. That portico has disappeared: the columns, indeed, still remain, having been used for the portico of the National Gallery, but the Order itself exists no more—at least not there. Another copy of it we now have in the Treasury Buildings, Whitehall, where it was applied by Soane, but with no great judgment or taste, his building being quite at variance with the Order he selected for it, the former being any thing but Corinthian in character. Perhaps he selected it, as we have done, for the purpose of exhibiting in two of his works such very distinct styles of Corinthian as are the Tivoli and the Jupiter Stator Orders. As now altered by Mr. Barry, the Treasury Buildings have received a great accession of richness, and the frieze, which was before plain, is now ornamented. But the Order itself is not improved, at least does not show itself to the same advantage as before, by being raised so much higher above the eye than it was at first; it looks comparatively diminished, and the beauty of its details is lost. We have, indeed, the Order; and nothing is wanting but that impressiveness and effect which gave such charm to the portico of Carlton House.

As to that variety of the Corinthian which passes under the name of Composite, the reader may now, after what has been said and shown, be left to judge whether it can with any propriety be classed as a distinct Order, instead of being reckoned merely as a variety of the other, and by no means the most striking variety of that foliaged-capital class. The difference between the two extends to no more than a part of the detail of the capital, the general normal character or Corinthianism of which is no way affected. And if the Ionic Order be allowed to comprehend many decidedly marked varieties of the voluted-capital type, there surely can be no necessity for splitting Doric and Corinthian, and getting out of them the Tuscan and Composite Orders. It will, perhaps, be fancied by some that by thus reducing the number of the Orders to three, we in some degree limit the resources which the Architect derives from them. The fact, however, is precisely the reverse; for although we limit them in number, we set no limits to their respective powers. A hundred different examples, each marked by individual character, or peculiarity of treatment, may yet all belong to the same generic type or order. Ancient examples are not to be considered merely as patterns, to be copied mechanically, but as studies for the Architect’s guidance and instruction.

COLUMNIATION.

Columns and entablatures in themselves do not, properly speaking, constitute an Order, although they serve as specimens of it. They must enter into and regulate the organization of a structure before they can become by composition what is, strictly speaking, an Order. As exhibited in their temples, the system of columniation practised by the Ancients was strictly organic and natural. Instead of being something accessory, supplementary to, and independent of the fabric, that might be either omitted or applied at pleasure, as commonly practised in Italian and modern composition, the Order itself constituted the exterior of the building, at least of that side or front of it where it was introduced, when it was not continued throughout; so that the Order and its dimensions once established, and the mode of intercolumniation determined, the edifice shaped itself. Before we enter upon the subject of intercolumniation, it will be desirable to explain the various forms of temples, and the technical terms by which they are distinguished.

The naos, or cella, as it is more usually called, or temple itself, was comparatively small, even where the entire mass was of considerable size, gradual extension of plan being produced not so much by any great enlargement of the interior as by external columniation and its gradual development. It is probable that the earliest Greek temples consisted of the naos only, and were accordingly plain ASTYLAR buildings, or without columns, except in front or at the entrance end, where an enclosed porch was formed by introducing columns, by continuing the side walls, and placing columns between them in antis, that is, between the two antæ or pilasters forming the ends of those walls. The next step seems to have been to advance the porch before the main building, instead of keeping it recessed within the side walls, thereby converting it from a portico in antis, into a prostyle, or projecting line of columns: thus a distyle in antis, or a portico consisting of two columns between antæ, consequently of three intercolumns, or open spaces between the antæ and columns, would become a tetrastyle, or projecting portico of four columns and three intercolumns. By the other end of the building being similarly treated, the temple became amphiprostyle, or prostyle at both ends, in rear as well as in front, the sides still remaining astylar. The next and last style of advancement was to continue columniation all round, enclosing the cella within colonnades along its sides as well as at its ends, which disposition of plan is expressed by the terms peristyle, or peristylar, and peripteral, which of necessity produces two columns and two intercolumns more in front; for what would otherwise be merely a tetrastyle prostyle, with four columns and three intercolumns (the number of the latter being always one less than that of the others), becomes by the colonnades being continued along the side, a hexastyle (six columns and five intercolumns); or if originally a prostyle hexastyle, it would be rendered an octastyle (eight columns and seven intercolumns), and so on.[5] It should be observed, too, that a building cannot at the same time be peristylar and have a prostyle portico, the latter being merged in the general columniation, instead of projecting from the rest of the edifice as a distinct feature. Of peristylar temples there were two sorts, viz. those with a single row of columns on each side, and those which have two, which last are distinguished by the term dipteral, i. e. having two wings or aisles on each side. Although it did not at all affect the general external appearance, notwithstanding that it extended the plan by adding two more columns and intercolumns to the front, this last-mentioned mode was attended with greater richness of columniation, and the inner columns contributed not a little to variety of effect and play of perspective; besides which, greater sheltered space was gained for ambulatories; whereas in the usual simple peristyle, where the space between the outer columns and the walls of the cella was limited to the width of a single intercolumn, the side colonnades were mere narrow passages, very little wider—at least in Doric temples—than the diameter of the columns themselves, consequently of very little actual service. In what is called the pseudo-dipteral mode, more of clear space within the colonnades was provided by omitting the inner columns, which mode reduced the plan to that of a simple peristyle, the only difference being, that instead of the width of a single intercolumn, a clear space, equal to two intercolumns and one column, was gained for the ambulatories. The Temple of Jupiter at Selinus was of this description, and being only octastyle in front,—the least possible width for a dipteral or pseudo-dipteral plan,—of the seven front intercolumns, four (i. e. two on each side) were given to the lateral colonnades, and only three left for the breadth of the cella, which must have looked like a smaller edifice standing within a colonnaded and covered enclosure.

The above few and simple arrangements of plan are nearly all the varieties that the Greek temple style offers; and some of them are little better than distinctions without differences, inasmuch as the differences do not affect general external appearance. Peripteral, dipteral, and pseudo-dipteral, all agree in the main point, and the two latter answer to the name of peripteral as well as the first, being merely modifications of it. Great as were its æsthetic beauties, Greek Architecture was—why should we scruple to confess it?—exceedingly limited in its compass and power of expression: what it did, it did admirably, but it confined itself too much to one idea. “When you have seen one green field,” says Johnson, “you have seen all green fields;” and so we may say of Greek temples,—when you have seen one or two of them, you have seen all of them. However they may differ from one another as to the treatment of the Order adopted for them, the number of their columns, and mere particulars of that kind, they resemble each other very nearly in all leading points. Not only were their plans invariably parallelograms, but alike also as to proportion, forming a double square, or being about twice as much in length as in breadth; for so exceedingly methodical was the Greek system, that the number of columns on the flanks or sides of a peripteral temple was regulated and determined by the number of those in front. The number of the columns in front was invariably an even one, as otherwise there would be no middle intercolumn; but on the flanks of the edifice, where there was no entrance, the number of the intercolumns was an even, and that of the columns an uneven one, so that a column came in the centre of these side elevations.

As to the mode in which the front influenced the sides by determining the number of columns for them, the established rule seems to have been to give the flanks twice as many intercolumns as there were columns at each end: thus the Parthenon, which is octastyle, has sixteen intercolumns, consequently seventeen columns, on each flank. In like manner, a hexastyle temple would have twelve intercolumns and thirteen columns on its sides. There are, however, exceptions; for instance, the temple at Selinus, which has been mentioned as an example of the pseudo-dipteral mode of columniation, is an octastyle, with sixteen, or just twice as many columns on its sides as in front; consequently the intercolumns are only fifteen, and being uneven in number, there is a middle one, as in the front itself. After all, the difference caused by there being an intercolumn more or less than usual is but a very slight one, such as is to be ascertained only by counting the columns, and such as not to occasion any perceptible difference in the general physiognomy of the building.[6]

Besides the restriction as to general proportion of plan, namely, the fixed relationship between the length and the breadth of the building, proportion with regard to height was limited in a different way, and in such a manner that the character of increased richness and importance derived from a greater number of columns was attended, not indeed by decreased height, but by decreased loftiness, or proportional height, that is, height as measured by either breadth or length. Paradoxical as this may sound at first, nothing can be more clear when once explained. Discarding nicety of measurement, we will call a tetrastyle portico about a square in height, that is, about as high as wide; but add four more columns, extend it from a tetrastyle to an octastyle, so that it becomes about a double square in breadth, or twice as wide again, and the inevitable consequence is, that it is then only half as high as wide; that is, as to proportion, only half as lofty as it was before. The expression of loftiness, in which altitude greatly predominates over breadth, was quite beyond the reach of the Greek system. Their temples might be planted on lofty eminences, but the structures themselves never towered upwards. As far as it went, their system was perfect,—so complete indeed in itself as to be unfit for almost any other purposes than that for which it was expressly framed.

If the Romans corrupted the Greek Orders, the Doric and Ionic, they developed and matured the Corinthian Order, and also worked out a freer and more complex and comprehensive system of Architecture. To say nothing of their introduction and application of those important elements of both construction and design, the arch and vault—which hardly belong to a mere treatise on the Orders—it is to the Romans that we are indebted for varieties and combinations of plan that will be sought for in vain among Grecian structures.