The Sources and Elements of Art Considered in Connection with Architectural Designs [1]

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The present paper is not offered as a contribution to the treasures of knowledge already in existence on things external, but is rather intended to draw attention to the primary sources and elements of Art, its relation to man’s being and its consequent importance as a teaching agent.

There are two points on which a man must make up his mind thoroughly, if he wishes to be successful in his course of life; first he must know what he has to do, and second he must find out how to do it to the best of his advantage. Let us consider these with reference to Architecture. There is much misconception in the public mind as to the proper position of the Architect, and what should be expected of him. It is necessary that he should be sufficiently acquainted with the laws of matter to enable him to erect or construct a fabric that will endure. He must be acquainted with the uses to which his edifice is to be appropriated to enable him to make it for its purpose. These are palpable requisites and appreciable by the most ordinary minds because they are connected with an [aim?] absolutely inseparable from the everyday wants and necessities of man. But the great Teacher has told us that man cannot live by bread alone; he is possessed of a higher nature which has wants and necessities of its own, and the grand concern of life is to develop this higher nature in order that we may be fitted to occupy a place in a more perfect and permanent sphere of existence when the present order of things shall have passed away. The great business of the Architect is to study these wants and address himself in his work to the desires of intelligent and thinking beings, and discharge his functions as an elevator of the public mind.

It might be supposed that the vital importance of this branch of duty would recommend itself without requiring one word to be said on its behalf, but strange as it may seem it is nevertheless true that many of those who build houses for themselves are only anxious to provide accommodation and shelter and if a little latitude be allowed in the way of design it is granted more as a concession to the wishes of the Architect in order to secure his services in other matters, than from any value set on it by the proprietor himself. It is also a matter of surprise that, in this much vaunted age of civilization, Architectural design has no market value. Almost every material but stone and lime is enhanced according to the amount of mind employed in fabricating it into shape, but in valuation of a building of any kind we never see a single shilling put down to account of architectural design be it ever so meritorious.

This is surely a most anomalous state of things and must be ascribed to what is commonly called the utilitarian tendencies of the times. But let us hope for a better day when the word utility will be used to designate objects that have a higher end [than] to send them ministering to the mere necessities of the passing time, and to bring down that consummation so devoutly to be wished. That the artist has a most important part to play will be sufficiently apparent when we consider the true nature of Art. The term Art is usually applied exclusively to the creations of the Painter, the Sculptor and the Architect but on inquiry it will be found to have a much wider signification and embrace within its scope the whole range of Poesy. In short it is the expression of whatever is great in man thrown in harmonious composition, the embodiment of the divinity that stirs within us, the utterance of the soul’s emotions, the exercise of that power which refuses to recognise the limits of time and space as the boundary of its activity and its ever struggling to shake itself free from physical restraint. It is the revelation of that mysterious faculty by which man feels himself to be the son of the Omnipotent and lays claim to an endless life. The reflecting man is conscious that his present condition is an imperfect one, that his individual nature is discordant in itself and continually running counter to the laws of nature in general, but at the same time there is implanted in him a strong desire for a better state of things. In his thoughtful moods he has dreams of order and harmony; his dreams become visions and fill his mind, and he seeks relief by putting them into a permanent form and clothing them in some language familiar to himself and others. He becomes an Artist.

Besides the verbal language composed of arbitrary signs and sounds there are other vehicles of thought of which he may avail himself, such as Form, Colour, Sound and the like; these are the languages of nature known and read in all ages, and every intelligent man has felt the force of their eloquence. It is argued, however, by many that these languages are unsatisfactory and are incapable of conveying any exact meaning, and they cry out for something which they can understand – something definite and real – but it will be found on a little reflection that everything great is indefinite simply because we cannot comprehend it. What is more real than Deity, Space, Duration, Life and at the same time what is more indefinite and incomprehensible? The more definite anything is, the less is its importance but what we cannot comprehend we may at least apprehend, what we cannot compass we may approach near enough to obtain a prospect of its greatness. Yet let it be remembered that there is a wide difference between the indefiniteness of crudity and the indefiniteness of greatness.

In these languages of nature the attributes of the Deity are revealed to man; indeed what is this universe but a diagram of the mind of God? In geometry a point is position without magnitude, a line is length without breadth, but we can receive nothing from without except through the senses and the senses are cognisant only of matter or the properties of matter; a point is therefore represented by a dot, and a line by a scratch, whilst the reality is the idea of the point or the line. In like manner the forms of creation are nothing to us if we do not see in them a meaning. When we look at the very small amount of matter animate or inanimate which is convertible to what are termed useful purposes in comparison with that which is addressed to man’s higher being, we must be impressed with the conviction that there is some momentous purpose in all this. [He has?], we feel, not clothed with beauty the world which he has given us for a habitation, or filled the heavens over our heads with glory without giving us also the power to appreciate; consequently imposing upon us the duty of exercising that power.

The works of nature have been truly designated by the poet as “the elder Scripture writ by God’s own hand.”[2] What a text book for the artist and what a mission is his! As the minister of the Gospel ponders over the page of revelation and draws from thence those lessons by which he seeks to enlighten the minds and kindle in the hearts of his hearers that love to God and man which absorbs all law, so the artist ponders over those elder Scriptures and, in so far as he is an epitome of the Author, in like measure will he realise His meaning and enjoy a communion with Him, more or less intimate and extensive, every expression of nature having a corresponding echo in the soul of man. The mountain suggests to him power, majesty and duration; the sea and the sky unlimited space; the valley or the lake glowing in the splendour of the setting sun speaks to him of tranquillity and peace; the melody of the grove is to him the voice of joy and praise, and the sighing of the breeze mingled with the sound of running waters steals over his heart like the low rapturous whisperings of devotion. This aspect of intelligence which we meet with everywhere in nature has impressed the minds of men in all ages with a sense of the mysterious and feeling[?], of the presence of something superior to themselves. Amongst the ancients, certain localities were supposed to be inhabited or occasionally frequented by their gods and a host of other spiritual beings, differing in their characteristics according to the peculiar nature and complexion of the scene frequented; and in our own land the same circumstance gave rise to a variety of interesting superstitions which the flood of modern knowledge has swept clean away without leaving anything better in their room. The clear headed man of the present day looks down into the crater of Vesuvius where, of old, Vulcan forged the thunder bolts of Jove and declares that there is nothing in it. To the uninformed mind mystery generally produces terror or something akin to it, to the intelligent man it is an inducement to enquiry, for he sees through the twilight a region of unimaginable grandeur, and if he be an artist he will endeavour to reveal to his fellow men the riches of this unknown land and thereby entice them to explore for themselves.

As the Creator has manifested himself to us in an endless variety of phases so there are various walks of art suited to the capabilities and gifts of different teachers and the different powers of appreciation of the taught. There is the Poet, the Painter, the Sculptor, the Musician and the Architect all occupying prominent positions within the sphere of Poesy; beside which there are many others more or less intimately connected with them, each having some particular duty to fulfil, but all – when their efforts are properly directed – labouring towards the same end; that is, to bring to light and concentrate the suggestions of nature; to exhibit man as he ought to be; to raise the mind from the material to the spiritual, from the temporary to the enduring; and to create order and harmony out of confusion and discord.

Painting and Sculpture are usually denominated the imitative arts and accordingly many professors of these arts have no higher aim than to imitate nature, but it is difficult to conceive a more dangerous error or to name one that has produced [more] mischievous results. Art does not consist in the representation of natural objects but in the embodiment of mental conceptions in the forms of nature. Works of this description are called Creations, and rightly so; but the term cannot be applied to the productions of the imitator, for he is no author but merely a scribe copying writings in a language which he does not understand. No wonder therefore that they cannot be read. There can be no end served in portraying ordinary and familiar objects, but that of displaying the dexterity of the artist, unless it be done with an evident intention of exciting pleasurable reminiscences. In such a case unnecessary or distracting parts would be excluded and others introduced in order to make the meaning of the work more apparent; for while nature as a whole may be perfect, a patch clipped out of her robe will look like a patch until it be modified and shaped to serve a purpose, when it again becomes a whole. The variety of parts in creation is so infinite that no two are exactly alike, consequently all are not models of perfection; on the contrary it may be doubted whether only part is so. Really the nearest approach to perfection of which we have any experience is that ideal standard which exists in the soul of man commonly called the conscience, and by this every pretension to excellence is tested and judgement pronounced with more or less clearness, just in proportion to the amount of freedom with it may be allowed to act.

We are told by those who have been looked up to as authorities that to attain excellence in art the best features must be selected from a whole class or family and continued in an individual. This evidently presupposes a discriminating power of no mean order, and naturally leads to the belief in a standard of excellence as before stated. But if this faculty has the power of judging of the merits of things brought under its observation, it follows as a matter of course that it requires only exercise and cultivation to enable it to create something entirely new, and accordingly we find in the literary, musical and architectural arts much that has no prototype in external nature, but has been drawn directly from the inner being of man. In literature, the artist is at liberty to embody his thoughts in a description of natural objects or their prototypes, or he may do so in the expression of pure thought without direct reference to external things. The means employed to communicate his thoughts is an invention, his language is composed of arbitrary signs and sounds which require to be learned e’er they are understood.

This is not the case, however, in Music and Architecture, for their languages are not of this limited description but may be appreciated by any man having a properly constituted mind, no matter to what age or country he may belong. A young child will weep on hearing a plaintive melody, and what human being can traverse unawed the aisles of a Gothic cathedral? The language of music is founded upon certain sounds which represent the affections and the passions, and are common to man and many of the lower animals; love, joy, grief, despair and every other emotion of the heart has its own peculiar sound well and universally understood; these are the elements, but the art consists in their combinations – they must be regulated by time and arranged in harmonious relation towards each other.

Architecture may be called the music of form, as has already been remarked; its combinations resemble nothing in external nature yet like music its elements may be traced to that inexhaustible resource. There are certain forms and proportions which invariably produce the same impressions upon the mind; these, however, do not as sounds in music [do] express the affections and passions, but rather qualities of the character, such as power, dignity, elegance, grace and the like. Each of these qualities may be unmistakably expressed by a great variety of forms or modifications of form, hence many styles of architecture have sprung up at different periods and in different parts of the world. Whilst all are more or less worthy of notice special attention may be called to the four following: namely the Egyptian and Greek of the early ages, and the Moresque and Gothic of the middle ages; each possessed of distinction characteristics, and having forms and proportions chastened and purged of extraneous matter to a degree that leaves little room for improvement in the particular form of design followed out. In remote antiquity, when the art of printing was altogether unknown and a knowledge even of written language confined to a few, the wise and the great who sought to influence the multitude found a suitable medium for their purpose in the fine arts, but chiefly in Architecture. Veneration for the Deity and respect for temporal power were impressed upon the minds of the people by the severe grandeur of the temple and the splendour and magnificence of the palace. Indeed in those simple times the two leading points of faith were “love God and honour the King” and the wonderful remains of the ancient world will shew how well these were illustrated in architecture. Buildings of a public kind were constructed with so much skill and of such massive and durable materials that while almost every other description of edifice has totally disappeared, they yet exist – shorn it may be of their once fair proportions but still great in their ruins – and are regarded as the most authentic records left us of the civilisation and mental attainment of the race which produced them.

Amongst the earlier monuments of antiquity those of Egypt stand pre-eminent for number, extent and grandeur. Here we first find a style brought to maturity and architectural thought clearly and harmoniously uttered. The Egyptian temple, though somewhat rude and ungainly in detail, is a perfect model of composition in the class to which it belongs: that, namely, which addresses itself to the contemplative faculty. The columns, being elaborately detailed, break the light which falls upon them into a thousand sparkling fragments – some sharply contrasted with shadow, others delicately fading into neutral tint and from that into the sombre gloom of the background – giving rise to a pleasing reverie of thought. This constitutes the centre of the composition and various means are resorted to, in order to prevent the mind wandering out of the subject.

First, all the intercolumniations except the centre one are filled up to a certain height with slabs of a plain character, giving an effect of solidity and breadth to the lower portion of the centre. Then the side piers and architrave enclose the design in, as it were, a continuous frame, and to complete the whole, the edifice is crowned with a cornice remarkable for its simplicity and dignity, consisting of a single curve of large proportions terminating in a narrow fillet. But while the attention is kept lingering about the centre half, chained by the fascination of its beauties half confined by the power of the surroundings and superincumbent mass, the management of the lines of contour awaken feelings which cannot be embodied.

The external lines of the side piers inclining towards each other as they ascend not only give an appearance of stability and suggest duration, but indicate a point of junction at an indefinite altitude; and the sharp clear horizontal line of the fillet of the cornice – hung, as it were, in air over the shadow in the curve and projecting considerably over the walls – points latterly into unlimited distance. In this composition we see variety in unity, a complex system controlled and governed by a presiding principle, thus realising in some measure that idea of order and harmony which every human soul thirsts after.

The Egyptians having attained to a degree of excellence in their particular walk which they could not pass, or possibly being confined to the use of certain symbolic forms, they were prevented from acquiring that eminence in the refinement of their details which they had gained in composition. It remained for the Greeks to put the finishing touch to the architecture of the primitive era. In their hands, matter lost all trace of materiality and marble became pure thought. Not inferior to their predecessors in composition, they greatly excelled them in correctness of proportion and beauty of detail. Untrammelled by the rules and restrictions of a worn-out ritual, they soon departed from the forms borrowed from the Egyptians, or modified them into consistency with their own genius. Thus in the porticoes of the earlier temples they used side piers or antae as in Egypt, but instead of the level cornice they adopted the angular pediment. This feature, increasing in mass as its sides approach and join each other at the apex, served the purpose of giving unity to the composition. Thus, by nearing the centre, command the whole, [so?] the enclosing antae were rendered unnecessary, and the horizontal lines, being carried right through the perpendicular sides, produced a feeling of lateral extent.

Amongst rude nations and unskilful artists material magnitude has been considered the only source of grandeur, but how ever desirable it may be in enhancing the effect of a work of art, it is certainly not an element of primary importance. The head of a statue of Jupiter of ordinary size may to the mind seem greater than the temple which contains it. And Turner the painter could express immeasurable space on a leaf of his pocket book. It is relative proportion, not actual magnitude, that produces greatness, and this the Greeks understood thoroughly. Their Doric temples were more remarkable for the dignity of their aspect than the vastness of their dimensions, and we see in them more of the inspired work of the intelligent artist than the compulsory toil of the heart broken and degraded bondsmen.

What has been lost to the world from the wanton destruction of Greek buildings [by] savage conquerors, or their wholesale removal by Roman connoisseurs, we know not, but those that remain, [which?] were then nothing more than the few dilapidated examples on the Acropolis of Athens and its immediate neighbourhood, bear ample testimony to the loftiness of thought and purity of taste of the wonderful people by whom they were reared, and claim for their Architects the very highest place amongst those of the ancient world. It has been urged as an objection to the use of Greek Architecture that it wants variety and consequently becomes tiresome from the same forms being exhibited over and over again, but this objection applies only to the slavish copying of examples unadapted to the circumstances of purpose or situation; where we expect to find a work radiant with genius, we see only an obscure reflection of some distant luminary in a tarnished mirror.

If this style, from being purged not only of every incongruity but of everything that is not absolutely necessary, is more limited than some others which derive scope from the looseness of their principles, still it is not so very meagre in resource as is generally believed. The Athenian remains though few in number are yet sufficient to show that their authors had no difficulty in producing variety.

First, we have the Doric of the Parthenon [as] an embodiment of majestic grandeur, faultless in composition, exact in proportion and scrupulously severe in detail. The Ionic, which differs essentially from the Doric in its parts, is equally perfect in design and, as exhibited in the Erectheum, is as much distinguished for elegance and refinement as the Parthenon [is] for grandeur. Again, there is the small Temple of Pandrosus, one of the Erectheum group, while in perfect keeping with the Ionic of the other parts of the building, is yet treated in a manner quite distinct; in place of columns we have female figures, termed caryatidae, surmounted by an entablature, unique in design and admirably adapted to its circumstances. Besides these temples there are the two Choragic Monuments of Thrasyllus[3] and Lysicrates; the first, an example of the freedom with which a master may accommodate familiar forms to an entirely novel combination. This monument has three columns of a square form, an arrangement which has been denounced by critics as intolerable in ordinary circumstances but, in this case, the balance is maintained by the centre columns being narrower than those at the sides, and also by the skilful management of the superincumbent structure.

The other Monument, that of Lysicrates, which is circular in form, is probably the most exquisite bit of ornamental design in existence and generally considered the type of the Corinthian order; indeed if we except the Temple of the Winds, which is comparatively rude, this is the only example of that order of a purely Greek character now to be found in Greece. It will be seen that in the examples here referred to, there is great variety in composition, character and detail, combined with unrivalled excellence in design and execution; consequently if modern imitators have failed in producing that variety which is necessary to give interest to a design it is not for want of elasticity in the style but because they have not succeeded in catching up its true spirit.

As the national virtues of the Greeks declined, the lamp of ancient Architecture burned lower and lower. On being transferred to the Romans, it revived for a season and promised to regain its former lustre, but, notwithstanding all the encouragement which unbounded wealth could bestow it, never again gave forth that steady light it was want to do, but gradually sank in obscurity. Although the Romans at first set the stamp of their genius with unmistakable decision upon the Greek originals, their works wanted that unity of intention and subserviency of every part to the whole which was so distinguishing a characteristic of the public buildings of Athens. In their favourite order, the Corinthian, instead of a highly studied harmony of severe lines, they substituted gorgeous effects of foliated ornament and enriched mouldings; in short the decorator took the place of the Architect, and in process of time when the arch became extensively used in construction, the column and entablature, which had hitherto occupied the place of honour, dwindled into mere features of mural decoration and lost all pretension to symmetrical proportion. Thus ancient architecture, which had so long filled the world with admiration, was reduced to a state of poverty and neglect, though still retaining a few of the trinkets and faded fineries of its former grandeur.

When things had come to their worst, the hard struggle between the lintel and the arch which had existed for a lengthened period was now brought to a termination, and with the infusion of youthful vigour from the barbarous nations which humbled and ultimately destroyed the power of Rome, an entirely new era of architecture began to dawn. Issuing from the Roman basilica where the arch had completely supplanted the entablature, and accompanied by a fresh order of things – a new people, a new religion and new modes of construction – Architecture began again to assume a consistency which was finally matured in the ecclesiastic structures of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

Previous to the development of the Christian style, there arose one of marvellous beauty amongst the Arabs. This people were approaching civilisation as the Greeks and Romans were receding from it, and when literature, art and science had been all but forgotten in Europe, they were preserved in Asia and cultivated with much zeal and success. The vigorous promulgation of the Mohammedan faith roused the energies of the Arab race to an intense degree of activity, and while the excitement was the cause of much evil, it was not unmixed with good. When the minds of the great became wearied with conquest and war, they were turned with an unabated ardour to the arts of peace. The Arabian princes vied with each other in the encouragement of everything which tended to give lustre to their courts; in so far as consistent with the doctrines of the Koran, these forbade the representation of any living thing, and consequently that share of attention which might otherwise have been bestowed upon painting and sculpture was concentrated on architecture and the decorative arts: hence the great and rapid progress of the Arabs in these departments .

The Alhambra is probably the most perfect example of this style of architecture with which we are acquainted, and its splendour has been the theme of admiration from the time of its erection to the present day. Looking upon it as a chapter of history, it is a true record of the character and circumstances of the Arabs in Spain. Having carried their arms and their creed over considerable portions of Asia and Africa they pushed across the Straits of Gibraltar into Europe and for a time overcoming every opposition settled themselves in the south [of] Spain. But they were too distinct both in race and religion from their neighbours to be allowed to live long in quietness, and their footing at best was very precarious from the repeated efforts of the Spaniards to drive them out of the country. Consequently the Alhambra, seen from without, is a strong fortress; within, it is a gorgeous palace – like its chivalrous occupants, a terror to enemies but a pattern of refinement and all the social virtues to friends. The interior of its courts, its halls, and its chambers present a combinations of everything that could minister to the wants and pleasures of intelligent and highly cultivated minds, and the gratification of the most luxurious habits.[4]

Whether we consider the architecture, the carved ornament or the colouring, it is a marvel of exquisite beauty and harmony and in every respect different from what had prevailed amongst the ancients. All its forms are light and graceful. The courts and halls are surrounded with arcades. The arches, which are of what is called the horse shoe form and pointed, have their inner lines cut into a variety of curves and angles, and spring from shafts so slender in proportion to the mass above that, but for the manner in which that mass is treated, they would seem inadequate to their purpose. To obviate this objection, and to take away the appearance of weight, the flat surfaces over the columns are covered with a maze of delicately carved foliage in which the masses, spaces, forms and lines are disposed with the most consummate skill; while the effect of the whole is still more enhanced by gilding and colours which, though individually strong, are subdued by contrast into a soft and pleasing brilliancy. Indeed the hesitating hand of experience is nowhere to be traced in all this elaborate series of designs, and we regard the result not as the work of hands and implements but as a creation of the mind.

The Christian style of architecture emerged slowly from amidst the wreck of ancient art and, by degrees, acquired features and forms peculiarly its own, until the Roman original was scarcely traceable except in the semicircular arch which prevailed till the beginning of the thirteenth century. Up to this period it laboured heavily under a weight of superfluous matter, and in general its aspect is rather grim than grand. The requisite number of parts had, however, been collected and to a considerable extent arranged in order, when, on the adoption of the pointed arch, it began to exhibit the true spiritual character and assumed an air of perfect consistency in composition, proportion and detail, and a strict subservience of the means to the end. How far the Christian architects were indebted to their Mahommedan brethren it is impossible to say, but it is not likely that men who had advanced so far themselves could regard with indifference the excellencies of others, or refuse to take hints from those who had preceded them in the development of a kindred walk of art.

There is probably no better method of acquiring a knowledge of architectural design than by instituting a thorough comparison of the peculiarities of the various matured styles; such an enquiry could hardly fail in adding greatly to the resources of the professional man, and giving juster and more liberal views to the ordinary observer: for it would shew that the same ends may be gained by a variety of means, and that, however unlike two edifices seem to be in outward appearance, their effect upon the mind of the spectator may be very similar.

The difference between the architecture of the ancients and that of the Middle Ages is at first sight very striking, but on comparison it will be seen that a common intention directs each. The pagan temple is a simple form; the Christian cathedral a group of forms. It has already been remarked that in the Egyptian temple, the attention is confined to the centre by a surrounding frame, in the Greek it is arrested by the central and apex of the pediment; in the cathedral the mind is kept from wandering indifferently [over?] a multitude of subordinate features by the commanding bulk of the main tower and the superior altitude of the spire. Thus we perceive that unity – the most essential property in design – is gained by very different modes of treatment. But an exact parallel may be drawn between the Egyptian gateway and the west front of the cathedral where the central feature is rendered the point of attraction from the smallness of its dimensions, as compared with the side towers.

Next in importance to unity in a design is its power of suggesting relations with surrounding space. In the temple, the unobstructed lines which carry the mind insensibly beyond the subject have a horizontal character and suggest lateral extent. In the cathedral they are perpendicular and suggest altitude, the towers, spires, turrets, buttresses, gables and pointed arches all having an upward tendency, and throw into the shade the fainter level lines of the bases, string courses and parapets. But in the treatment of the voids and solids in the respective edifices, the difference is not less striking. In the temple, great care is bestowed upon the form of the columns, and in adjusting their proportions to the intermediate void space and the apparent weight of the entablature above. In the cathedral, the attention is given to the form and proportion of the openings, their arrangement in relation to each other, and the contrast to their size to the amount of solid wall remaining.

In the early Pointed style, windows of a simple form and of often very beautiful proportions are inserted into a plain wall, which is strengthened with buttresses equally plain: the extent of solid being considerably greater than the void producing an expression of severe dignity akin to that of the Egyptian or Greek Doric. In the next period, the window is larger and subdivided with tracery into a variety of geometrical figures contrasting with each other both in size and shape, thus forming a design of no little intricacy. The surrounding masonry becomes more richly molded and the buttresses, which were at first used only for resisting the thrust of the vaulted roof, are now terminated with pinnacles rising above the wall head [and] assuming an important place in the composition. This period, which is usually considered the most perfect, expresses grandeur softened by elegance like the Ionic of the Greek.

In the succeeding periods, characterised by Flowing and Perpendicular tracery, the window becomes still larger and the wall is lost sight of altogether; the buttresses and parapets are over-run with elaborate panelling – the use of plain wall as a means of contrast being entirely thrown away or, if small portions do here and there occur, they serve the purpose that ornament does in the simpler styles by giving relief to the general fritter of detail and the order of design is reversed. The conceptions of the imagination give place to freaks of fancy and Architecture descends from the high position it aspired to as an embodiment of religious sentiment and from the rank of being a refining and elevating art, and is content to become the reflection of a luxurious age: to astonish with its intricacy and to please with the richness of its decoration. Thus the last properly organised style of architecture which the world has produced, after having passed through the stages of development, maturity and decay, severe grandeur, refined dignity and meretricious ornamentation, was at last pushed aside to give place to a resuscitation of the styles of the ancient world.

In this country, the Roman, or certain modifications of it, held undisputed sway, till towards the end of the last century. About that time delineations of the principal buildings of Greece were published by Stuart and Revett, then came Denon’s representations of Egyptian remains and after that Britton’s Gothic Cathedrals. [5]

The labours of those men opened up a field of operation which was immediately occupied by a host of delineators both able and zealous, so that we of the present day have within our reach the best specimens of every style that can be named, carefully measured and detailed with the most, fastidious exactness.

The question then comes to be, what is to be done with this immense collection of examples? Are we to regard them as the only standards of excellence, and so absolutely perfect that to change or modify any of their peculiarities would be to commit unpardonable sin? This seems to be the doctrine held by the great majority of modern architects and critics, but it is so manifestly absurd that to admit it would lead to the conclusion that we are not only become degenerate but that the present races of mankind have altogether lost that creative power which shone with such splendour in former generations. But this is not the fact; the resources of the architect are not exhausted, and from the variety exhibited in bygone styles it may safely be assumed that as great variety is yet to be displayed in those that are to come.

It is argued by those who hold the architectural canon as completed, that, even admitting the desirableness of some new manifestation of vitality, the case is utterly hopeless under present circumstances – that the extent of our knowledge producing a diversity of tastes renders our practice desultory; and that although a man of superior abilities were to strive to strike out a course for himself, it would be impossible that he could, during the limited period of an ordinary life time, bring his system to maturity; and in proof of this we are referred to the fact that each of the styles which have appeared in the world required several centuries for their development. But it must be borne in mind that the architects were not possessed of our advantages. Their books if they had any were few, and their field of observation in general confined to the examples afforded by the locality in which they laboured; we wonder then that their progress was slow – nevertheless they did advance, and, instead of copying the works of their predecessors, they adopted the principles by which they were guided and expressed them with greater clearness until they attained to that degree of excellence in their respective walks which we justly regard with so much reverence and admiration.

When we look upon the monuments of ancient attainment, those venerable pages of stone and lime, and trace back step by step the footprints of intelligence into the region of the profound unknown. When [we] behold the “Kings and awful Fathers of mankind” still living and looking upon us with an aspect of power, or of benignant serenity, we feel our minds elevated by the contact, invigorated by the reach of thought necessary to unite the past with the present; and kindred sympathies will tell [us?] that these men are our brethren and whatever they did we may do, and if we set about it in a right way our increased knowledge will enable us to do much more easily. Let everyone who is able think for himself, at the same time taking advantage of whatever may be communicated to him either by his predecessors or his contemporaries, and let him have his library in his mind but use no man’s thought till he has made it his own.

Success is not to be gained by ingeniously contriving how this, that and the other thing may be joined together and hammered into something like a whole. The metal must be put into the crucible and molded into a new form. A design is a Creation of the Imagination.

Notes

1.    Alexander Thomson’s lecture on ‘The Sources and Elements of Art Considered in Connexion with Architectural Design’ was given at an extraordinary meeting of the Architectural Institute of Scotland in St Mary’s Hall, Renfield Street, Glasgow, on Thursday, 24th March, 1853. Although the Glasgow Herald reported on 28th March that he read “an elaborate and interesting paper” and that afterwards “a rather lively discussion ensued," Thomson’s text was not published in the Institute’s Proceedings and exists only in a typescript bound in a volume labelled Essays by Alexander Thomson now in the possession of his grand-daughter, Catherine Rentoul. “B. Thomson Forrest / Arden / Kilmarnock” is inscribed on the flyleaf and the texts included seem to have been typed out by Thomson’s daughter, Elizabeth Forrest, mostly from original manuscripts which are now lost. As some errors and omissions clearly occurred in the copying, an attempt has been made to rectify these here while new punctuation and paragraphing has also been introduced.

2.    “Tis elder Scripture, writ by God’s own hand” is a line from the Night Thoughts of 1742-45 by the English poet, Edward Young, meditations on death which, perhaps, were surprising for a Presbyterian to have enjoyed.

3.    The Choragic Monument of Thrasyllus with its central square column as engraved by Stuart & Revett for volume two of The Antiquities of Athens, published in 1789, provided inspiration for Schinkel and, above all, for Thomson, who discussed this cave entrance as if it still existed although it had actually been destroyed in 1826 during the Greek war of independence.

4.    Thomson’s interest in the Alhambra in Granada and in Arabian architecture may explain why commercial views by Frith and others of Islamic buildings in Cairo and Seville in addition to ones of the Alhambra are among the collection of Thomson’s own photographs gifted to Glasgow Corporation in 1934 and now in the collection of the Museums & Art Gallery.

5.    James ‘Athenian’ Stuart and Nicholas Revett visited Greece in 1751-55 and published the first volume of The Antiquities of Athens in 1762, the second following in 1789. Baron Dominique Vivant Denon published his Voyage dans la Basse et la Haute Egypte in 1802 (English edition 1803), which anticipated the great Description de l’Egypte of 1809-28 originally commissioned by Napoleon (Andor Gomme in The Architecture of Glasgow noted that the Queen’s Park Church was a variation on Nubian temple designs which Thomson could have seen illustrated in Denon). The antiquary and topographer John Britton published his series of monographs on The Cathedral Antiquities of England between 1814 and 1835.