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

by W. H. Leeds

ROMAN AND MODERN IONIC.

To elucidate this part of our subject at all satisfactorily would require a great number of drawings; accordingly we must make shift as well as we can without them, leaving the student to turn to other works for examples,—should he, as we trust he will, have imbibed from our remarks any relish for the study of the Orders by accurate comparison of various examples of one and the same Order. Neither the Romans nor their modern successors appear to have comprehended the genius of the Ionic Order any more than of the Doric. Their best imitations, both of the one and the other, were of but a bungling kind. They certainly had no great affection for either, for we find comparatively very few instances of them in Roman remains. As treated by them, the Ionic capital was not only greatly impoverished, but deformed also,—impoverished by the volutes being greatly reduced in size, and consequently in importance also, as characteristic marks of the Order,—and deformed, owing to the tasteless treatment of it in other respects. Instead of the gracefully flowing festoon hem, or mouldings over the echinus, which seems to connect the two volutes or sides of the face of the capital together, there is a straight line without any moulding to it, and the echinus, projecting before it, produces an appearance of clumsiness—of the several members not being properly adjusted to each other. As in all the Greek examples, the echinus of the capital, which passes behind the volutes, is invariably carved with that sort of pattern which workmen call ‘eggs and darts,’ ova or egg-shaped ornaments, almost naturally resulting from the contour of the moulding before it is cut; and the echinus of the Ionic, being always so carved, is on that account distinguished by the name of ovolo,—not because its section or profile is any portion of an oval or elliptic curve; for among other things the Roman style differs from the Greek in having all its moulding, both convex and concave, formed of portions of circles, by which its details become less elegant in contour. But we cannot enter into such niceties in a mere rudimentary work. Even in the best Roman and modern examples, the volutes are decidedly inferior to Greek, being comparatively tame and meagre, yet coarse also. Italian Architects have sometimes made them so small and insignificant that they give scarcely any character to the capital, or render it distinguishable, at a little distance, from the Doric, its general mass being no greater. The spiral makes fewer revolutions, and the hem or moulding which forms it is flat, as is also the inter-spiral or general surface of the volute, which has never any secondary spirals upon it, though that and the intervolute are sometimes enriched with foliage.

Of the Roman Ionic Order, as a whole, we know very little, there being only three accredited examples of it, viz. the Theatre of Marcellus, the Temple of Fortuna Virilis, and the Temple of Concord. Of the first of these, the capital is the simplest and plainest, and also the smallest in its proportions; that of the second is by very far the best, its volutes retaining most of the Greek character; and that of the third is remarkable, if not for its ugliness in other respects, for its volutes being turned outwards diagonally, so as to present four equal faces,—a mode afterwards re-invented and brought up as a novelty by Scamozzi, in honour of whom it has since been distinguished by the name of the Scamozzi capital. But if there are few ancient buildings remaining of the Roman Ionic Order, there are numerous detached specimens of it in antique columns that have been preserved by having been made use of in other buildings, or deposited in collections of sculpture. Many of these have been delineated and published by Piranesi and others; and they are so numerous and so varied that we cannot pretend either to classify them, or to particularize even the principal ones. All that we can here say is, that although they fall far short of the refined taste exhibited in Greek examples, some of them possess considerable merit, and supply ideas for other and better varieties. They also serve to convince us that, like the Greeks, the Romans did not abide by a single stereotype pattern for each Order: the attempt to establish such uniformity and conformity to rule was reserved for the Palladios and Vignolas of the 16th century.

There is a fine antique example of the kind in the British Museum, in which the volutes are placed diagonally, and beneath each face of the capital there is not a mere flat mask, but a head, cut out in bold relief, all of them different from each other. The whole is excellently well composed, and highly interesting as a study. One of the varieties of Ionic capitals shown by Piranesi is that from a column in the Church of Santa Maria Transtevere at Rome, which is ornamented on its face with a small head or bust upon the face of the intervolute and abacus, and the eye of the volutes themselves is unusually large, and contains a small half-length female figure carved upon it,—which, though it can be distinctly seen in a drawing, can be hardly perceptible in the column itself. The only other variety of or invention for the Ionic capital that we can notice is one that has frequently been practised by Italian Architects, and which may be distinguished as the festoon or festooned capital, the volutes being turned diagonally, and a festoon being suspended from the eye one volute to that of the other beneath each face. This not only gives variety and richness to the capital, but by increasing its volume or bulk, increases its importance also, and produces great play of light and shade: there is harmony together with diversity in the combination of forms, the curve of the festoon being, though dissimilar, in agreement with the outline of the volutes. The columns of the circular portico to the Church in Langham Place have capitals of this description, in which cherub heads are introduced into the festoons; and so far as the mere capitals go, that specimen of Ionic is entitled to much praise: the misfortune is, that the Order is not satisfactory as a whole; for the increased richness of the capitals requires that there should be a corresponding degree of richness given to the entablature. At present there is no proportion—that is, with regard to decoration—observed; for the same entablature, or cornice at least, which is in keeping with a smaller and plainer capital, cannot be equally adapted to a larger and more ornate one, but partakes of either excess, or the ‘too much’ in the one case, or of deficiency, or the ‘too little’ in the other,—not perhaps as to size, but in regard to the quantum of embellishment. To obviate the meagreness and insignificance of the usual Italian Ionic capital, Sansovino and some others have frequently given it a necking, either plain or enriched, which, even when plain, greatly improves the general appearance of the column by increasing the depth of the capital and reducing the height of the shaft. To make this the clearer, let us, without pretending at all to exactness, call the column nine diameters high, and the capital either half a diameter, or a whole one, accordingly as it is without or with a necking: now in the first case the capital will be to the shaft (base included) only as one to seventeen, whereas in the other it becomes as one to eight; which is not at all too much, while the other way the shaft is much too lanky, and the capital too low,—as is probably felt by those who cannot explain the cause of such disagreement and disproportion.

Entablature.—There is not much to say, at least there is no occasion for saying much, relative to this part of the Roman and Modern Ionic Order. The ancient examples of it are by far too few to admit of any general laws for it being derived from them; nor are the examples themselves very satisfactory. That of the Ionic of the Theatre of Marcellus is, perhaps, the best upon the whole, and seems to have been that which has guided the Moderns in the composition of their entablature, although they have very greatly diminished the proportions of the cornice, which is there nearly equal to both architrave and frieze together. In the Athenian Ionic we may set down the architrave, frieze, and cornice as about 50, 50, and 35 minutes respectively, making altogether two diameters and 15 minutes (or a quarter of a diameter); therefore the cornice is to each of the other two divisions of the entablature only as 35 to 50. In the Roman Ionic, on the contrary, the cornice is by much the largest division: in the Fortuna Virilis example the measures are,—architrave 38', frieze 19', cornice 70'; in that of the Theatre of Marcellus, 43'—36'—66', making the entire entablature 127', or 2 diameters 7'. Although modern Architects vary from these proportions, and some of them make the frieze equal to or more than the architrave, they all agree—in doctrine at least, if not in practice—in making the cornice the largest division of the entablature; and as the projection is usually equal to its height, or thereabouts, the cornice thus gains in importance both ways, and, as far as its mere proportions are concerned, becomes an adequate finishing to the entire Order. This latter mode certainly appears more in accordance with artistic principle: shall we then presume to say that the Greeks were wrong in their treatment of the Ionic cornice?—Well, let us say then, that they were not quite so right as they might have been. To us, the Asiatic Ionic cornice (for instance that of the Priene Order) is far more satisfactory than either the Hellenic or Athenian; and in our opinion it would require a cornice richer still, to correspond with the highly elaborated Erechtheum capital, and maintain due artistic keeping in the whole of that Order. These remarks partake, perhaps, too much of digression: we will therefore dismiss them, and the cornice also, merely adding that either dentels, or larger plain blocks, placed rather wide apart from each other, are considered the proper characteristic marks of the Ionic cornice.

There is nothing in either the architrave or the frieze that calls for observation, except that the Moderns have frequently given to this Order, by way of distinction, a convex frieze, technically termed a pulvinated one from its fancied resemblance to a cushion (pulvinar), whose sides swell out by compression when sat upon. A frieze of the kind occurs in what is otherwise a very corrupt specimen of the Order, in the Baths of Diocletian. It would be absurd to suppose that such form of frieze originated in an imitation of the thing after which it is now named; and there are two motives, either of which, or both combined, may have led to it. The first of them is, that such curvature in the face of the frieze may have been thought very suitable for the Ionic Order, as agreeing with the curved forms predominating in the character of the capital, namely, the volutes. The second is, that a convex surface produces greater diversity of light and shade than a plain one; and coming between the architrave and cornice, is sufficiently distinguished by contour alone. Still it must be admitted that such form is somewhat too arbitrary and fanciful to be in accordance with strict architectural principles. It is well enough suited for interiors, or for entablatures upon a small scale, such as those of doors and windows, but not for a large external Order. The pulvinated frieze occurs frequently in the Cinque-cento and Renaissance styles, and in our own English Renaissance, or Elizabethan. An instance of it may be seen in that well-known and celebrated piece of architecture by Jones, the front of Whitehall Chapel, whose Ionic Order generally will convey an idea of the Italian mode of treating it. And it so happens that the tasteful little screen front of Dover House (added by Holland to the original mansion), on the opposite side of the street, offers an example of the Ilissus Ionic, whereby immediate comparison between the two styles may easily be made. Another specimen of Italian Ionic, and of Italian Doric, is the new portion lately added to the Carlton Club House, Pall Mall, which is all but a literal copy from Sansovino’s Library of St. Mark at Venice. Sansovino seems there to have aimed at the greatest possible richness for both Orders; and in his building the Doric metopes are sculptured, but are left plain in the Club House, although such decoration for them would have been novelty here, and would have brought that lower Order more into keeping with the upper one. The shafts of the columns are not fluted as in the Italian building, but for very sufficient reason: being of dark polished granite, they would have acquired no great richness in consequence of their being so cut; on the contrary, the effect of the material itself would have been impaired. The Ionic capitals have an ornamented necking, which is here not only a beauty but a great propriety, because without it the capitals would have looked diminutive, more especially beneath such a greatly exaggerated entablature. Tested by ordinary rules, this last must be pronounced monstrous, licentious in the extreme, perhaps downright barbarous; and, no doubt, would be so, were it not protected by the name of Sansovino. His English copyist has therefore sufficient authority for it,—not so, Sansovino himself: whence, then, did he get his precedent? Well, he dispensed with precedent, and using the privilege of a Master in his Art, ventured beyond its written rules and conventionalities,—ventured where he might have failed, and exposed himself to derision,—but succeeded, and has been crowned by applause. In Art, as in other things, success sanctifies enterprize: if you fail, the world calls you a madman or fool; if you succeed, it bows down to you as a genius. It must be confessed that such an entablature as Sansovino has there given his Ionic Order would be nothing less than monstrous, did the Order itself constitute the edifice, as in the antique temple; instead of which, the two Orders there introduced are no more than ornamental accessories, and the greatly enlarged entablature of the upper one is to be regarded as proportioned with reference not so much to its own columns as to the general mass of the entire façade. It may be as well to remark here, that both the Carlton Club House and Whitehall Chapel are instances of super-columniation, or two Orders placed one over the other—in the former building, an Ionic over a Doric—in the latter, a Corinthian over an Ionic Order. And in both cases the columns are attached or engaged, as is said of columns which are united to the face of a wall so as not to project from it as much as their diameter, but only about half or three-quarters of it, and are therefore termed respectively half or three-quarter columns.

CORINTHIAN ORDER.

We now arrive at the third and last of the Orders, or that which is distinguished from the other two, more by its deep and foliaged capital than by its proportions,—at least it is chiefly so distinguished from the Ionic, with which it has in other respects many points in common; for the columns of both have bases differing but little from each other, and their shafts are fluted in the same manner. How this Order came to obtain the name of Corinthian is not very clear; nor is it, architecturally, of any moment whether such name be right or wrong. All that is certain is, that examples of this Order have not been found at Corinth itself, where, judging from its name, it would seem to have been the prevalent style of building, and there brought to perfection. There is a pretty legend relative to the origin of the Corinthian capital, which, if not true, has at least probability in its favour, and is many degrees less nonsensical than the supposed origin of the Ionic one. Nay, it is even valuable and instructive, as showing how well a skilful artist can derive hints from trivial or accidental circumstances, and by improving upon them, turn them to account. As the story goes, the sculptor Callicrates was so struck by the graceful forms into which the leaves of an acanthus plant had grown up around a tall basket covered by a square slab, that he sketched it, and conceived the idea of fashioning the capital of a column after it. It must be owned that the anecdote seems itself to be an invention intended to account poetically for the origin of such form of capital, and perhaps on no better grounds than that of a fancied general resemblance,—just as some dreamers have detected the origin of the Gothic style in an avenue of lofty over-arching trees, or in the interlacing stems of a framing of wicker-work. Unluckily for the credit of so respectable a legend, the earliest examples exhibit, instead of the strongest and most direct resemblance to the presumed prototype, the faintest and most vague of all. The Corinthian capital seems rather to have developed itself gradually out of the Doric one; first, by its necking being deepened and ornamented with a row of leaves, and then afterwards the echinus suppressed, and the whole body of the capital made to expand in a concave curve up to the abacus, with a second row of plain and flatter leaves above the first one. At least the capitals to the small columns of the porches of the Tower of the Winds at Athens, and others discovered at Miletus and elsewhere, seem to favour such hypothesis; and in further evidence of such Doric derivation is the circumstance of the columns of the Tower of the Winds being without bases. It will be argued, perhaps, that such examples do not all answer to the character afterwards established and adhered to for capitals belonging to that Order. Very true: but then they may surely be received as incipient efforts and attempts towards the formation of a third class of capitals; and in the instances just referred to, the overhanging square abacus without any foliage or curling tendrils spreading out to support its extremities, points, in our opinion, clearly enough to a derivation from the Doric capital, considerably enlarged downwards, and also greatly enriched. However, we leave others either to adopt or reject this notion, just as they may be disposed. At the best, all such questions are little better than matters of idle curiosity, and must always remain questions after all.

To quit conjecture for fact, the fact is the Corinthian Order does not appear to have been ever matured into a distinct style and complete system by the Greeks. There is, indeed, one solitary Athenian example of Corinthian, which exhibits the utmost refinement of exquisite richness attempered by exquisite delicacy. In the Lysicrates capital,—as we will for convenience call it (the example alluded to being that of the monument of Lysicrates, otherwise called the Lantern of Demosthenes, at Athens),—foliation may be said to have attained its culminating point: rivalled it may be, but hardly surpassed. Still it must be confessed, as a whole, that Order leaves much to be desired for it, there being nothing of corresponding beauty and luxuriance in the rest of it. The cornice, for instance, is only a simple dentelled Ionic one, nor are any of the mouldings of the entablature cut. There was, however, in that particular case, above the entablature, what fully counterbalances and carries out the idea and expression of the capitals, namely, the ornamental roofing, and the matchless finial which crowns the structure, and produces a full climax of beauty and of grace. Charming as the original itself is, or, more correctly speaking, was, it has perhaps been more blunderingly copied and imitated than almost any other antique structure. Although the whole—its lofty-proportioned basement included—is not above 36 feet high, a copy of it, or what calls itself such, has sometimes been hoisted up on the top of a lofty tower, or raised on a modern church or chapel to serve as its belfry; or else the columns and entablature have been taken just verbatim, and applied, by way of change, as an Order, upon a scale for which the capitals, at least, were never intended. The Strand front or entrance of Exeter Hall consists of a loggia with lofty columns of the kind, whose capitals, being placed at such a height, show as no better than heavy sculptured masses whose details it is impossible, or at least requires great patience, to make out. More preposterously still, the Girard College at Philadelphia plumes itself upon exhibiting an exact copy of this Order, where the columns are magnified to the height of between fifty and sixty feet, so that all that can be made out of the capital is, that it is exceedingly rich,—by very far too much so for any other part or feature in the building;—and that is called being classical!