12625	----	Proofreading Team ARCHITECTURE AND DEMOCRACY BY CLAUDE BRAGDON F.A.I.A. 1918 [Illustration: PLATE I. THE WOOLWORTH BUILDING, NEW YORK] PREFACE This book can lay no claim to unity of theme, since its subjects range from skyscrapers to symbols and soul states; but the author claims for it nevertheless a unity of point of view, and one (correct or not) so comprehensive as to include in one synthesis every subject dealt with. For according to that point of view, a skyscraper is only a symbol--and of what? A condition of consciousness, that is, a state of the soul. Democracy even, we are beginning to discover, is a condition of consciousness too. Our only hope of understanding the welter of life in which we are immersed, as in a swift and muddy river, is in ascending as near to its pure source as we can. That source is in consciousness and consciousness is in ourselves. This is the point of view from which each problem dealt with has been attacked; but lest the author be at once set down as an impracticable dreamer, dwelling aloof in an ivory tower, the reader should know that his book has been written in the scant intervals afforded by the practice of the profession of architecture, so broadened as to include the study of abstract form, the creation of ornament, experiments with color and light, and such occasional educational activities as from time to time he has been called upon to perform at one or another architectural school. The three essays included under the general heading of "Democracy and Architecture" were prepared at the request of the editor of _The Architectural Record_, and were published in that journal. The two following, on "Ornament from Mathematics," represent a recasting and a rewriting of articles which have appeared in _The Architectural Review, The Architectural Forum_, and _The American Architect_. "Harnessing the Rainbow" is an address delivered before the Ad. Club of Cleveland, and the Rochester Rotary Club, and afterwards made into an essay and published in _The American Architect_ under a different title. The appreciation of Louis Sullivan as a writer appears here for the first time, the author having previously paid his respects to Mr. Sullivan's strictly architectural genius in an essay in _House and Garden_. "Color and Ceramics" was delivered on the occasion of the dedication of the Ceramic Building of the University of Illinois, and afterwards published in _The Architectural Forum_. "Symbols and Sacraments" was printed in the English Quarterly _Orpheus_. "Self Education" was delivered before the Boston Architectural Club, and afterwards published in a number of architectural journals. Acknowledgment is hereby tendered by the author to the editors of these various magazines for their consent to republication, together with thanks, however belated, for their unfailing hospitality to the children of his brain. CLAUDE BRAGDON. _August 1, 1918_. CONTENTS ARCHITECTURE AND DEMOCRACY I. Before the War II. During the War III. After the War ORNAMENT FROM MATHEMATICS I. The World Order II. The Fourth Dimension HARNESSING THE RAINBOW LOUIS SULLIVAN, PROPHET OF DEMOCRACY COLOR AND CERAMICS SYMBOLS AND SACRAMENTS SELF-EDUCATION LIST OF FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS Plate I. The Woolworth Building, New York Plate II. The New York Public Library Plate III. The Prudential Building, Buffalo, N.Y. Plate IV. The Erie County Savings Bank, Buffalo, N.Y. Plate V. The New York Central Terminal Plate VI. Plan of the Red Cross Community Club House, Camp Sherman, Ohio Plate VII. Interior View of the Camp Sherman Community House Plate VIII. Imaginative Sketch by Henry P. Kirby Plate IX. Architectural Sketch by Otto Rieth Plate X. 200 West 57th Street, New York Plate XI. Imaginary Composition: The Portal Plate XII. Imaginary Composition: The Balcony Plate XIII. Imaginary Composition: The Audience Chamber Plate XIV. Song and Light: An Approach toward "Color Music" Plate XV. Symbol of Resurrection Every form of government, every social institution, every undertaking, however great, however small, every symbol of enlightenment or degradation, each and all have sprung and are still springing from the life of the people, and have ever formed and are now as surely forming images of their thought. Slowly by centuries, generations, years, days, hours, the thought of the people has changed; so with precision have their acts responsively changed; thus thoughts and acts have flowed and are flowing ever onward, unceasingly onward, involved within the impelling power of Life. Throughout this stream of human life, and thought, and activity, men have ever felt the need to build; and from the need arose the power to build. So, as they thought, they built; for, strange as it may seem, they could build in no other way. As they built, they made, used, and left behind them records of their thinking. Then, as through the years new men came with changed thoughts, so arose new buildings in consonance with the change of thought--the building always the expression of the thinking. Whatever the character of the thinking, just so was the character of the building. What is Architecture? A Study in the American People of Today, by LOUIS SULLIVAN. Architecture and Democracy I BEFORE THE WAR The world war represents not the triumph, but the birth of democracy. The true ideal of democracy--the rule of a people by the _demos_, or group soul--is a thing unrealized. How then is it possible to consider or discuss an architecture of democracy--the shadow of a shade? It is not possible to do so with any degree of finality, but by an intention of consciousness upon this juxtaposition of ideas--architecture and democracy--signs of the times may yield new meanings, relations may emerge between things apparently unrelated, and the future, always existent in every present moment, may be evoked by that strange magic which resides in the human mind. Architecture, at its worst as at its best, reflects always a true image of the thing that produced it; a building is revealing even though it is false, just as the face of a liar tells the thing his words endeavor to conceal. This being so, let us make such architecture as is ours declare to us our true estate. The architecture of the United States, from the period of the Civil War, up to the beginning of the present crisis, everywhere reflects a struggle to be free of a vicious and depraved form of feudalism, grown strong under the very ægis of democracy. The qualities that made feudalism endeared and enduring; qualities written in beauty on the cathedral cities of mediaeval Europe--faith, worship, loyalty, magnanimity--were either vanished or banished from this pseudo-democratic, aridly scientific feudalism, leaving an inheritance of strife and tyranny--a strife grown mean, a tyranny grown prudent, but full of sinister power the weight of which we have by no means ceased to feel. Power, strangely mingled with timidity; ingenuity, frequently misdirected; ugliness, the result of a false ideal of beauty--these in general characterize the architecture of our immediate past; an architecture "without ancestry or hope of posterity," an architecture devoid of coherence or conviction; willing to lie, willing to steal. What impression such a city as Chicago or Pittsburgh might have made upon some denizen of those cathedral-crowned feudal cities of the past we do not know. He would certainly have been amazed at its giant energy, and probably revolted at its grimy dreariness. We are wont to pity the mediaeval man for the dirt he lived in, even while smoke greys our sky and dirt permeates the very air we breathe: we think of castles as grim and cathedrals as dim, but they were beautiful and gay with color compared with the grim, dim canyons of our city streets. Lafcadio Hearn, in _A Conservative_, has sketched for us, with a sympathy truly clairvoyant, the impression made by the cities of the West upon the consciousness of a young Japanese samurai educated under a feudalism not unlike that of the Middle Ages, wherein was worship, reverence, poetry, loyalty--however strangely compounded with the more sinister products of the feudal state. Larger than all anticipation the West appeared to him,--a world of giants; and that which depresses even the boldest Occidental who finds himself, without means or friends, alone in a great city, must often have depressed the Oriental exile: that vague uneasiness aroused by the sense of being invisible to hurrying millions; by the ceaseless roar of traffic drowning voices; by monstrosities of architecture without a soul; by the dynamic display of wealth forcing mind and hand, as mere cheap machinery, to the uttermost limits of the possible. Perhaps he saw such cities as Doré saw London: sullen majesty of arched glooms, and granite deeps opening into granite deeps beyond range of vision, and mountains of masonry with seas of labor in turmoil at their base, and monumental spaces displaying the grimness of ordered power slow-gathering through centuries. Of beauty there was nothing to make appeal to him between those endless cliffs of stone which walled out the sunrise and the sunset, the sky and the wind. The view of our pre-war architecture thus sketchily presented is sure to be sharply challenged in certain quarters, but unfortunately for us all this is no mere matter of opinion, it is a matter of fact. The buildings are there, open to observation; rooted to the spot, they cannot run away. Like criminals "caught with the goods" they stand, self-convicted, dirty with the soot of a thousand chimneys, heavy with the spoils of vanished civilizations; graft and greed stare at us out of their glazed windows--eyes behind which no soul can be discerned. There are doubtless extenuating circumstances; they want to be clean, they want to be honest, these "monsters of the mere market," but they are nevertheless the unconscious victims of evils inherent in our transitional social state. Let us examine these strange creatures, doomed, it is hoped, to extinction in favor of more intelligent and gracious forms of life. They are big, powerful, "necessitous," and have therefore an impressiveness, even an æsthetic appeal, not to be denied. So subtle and sensitive an old-world consciousness as that of M. Paul Bourget was set vibrating by them like a violin to the concussion of a trip-hammer, and to the following tune: The portals of the basements, usually arched as if crushed beneath the weight of the mountains which they support, look like dens of a primitive race, continually receiving and pouring forth a stream of people. You lift your eyes, and you feel that up there behind the perpendicular wall, with its innumerable windows, is a multitude coming and going,--crowding the offices that perforate these cliffs of brick and iron, dizzied with the speed of the elevators. You divine, you feel the hot breath of speculation quivering behind these windows. This it is which has fecundated these thousands of square feet of earth, in order that from them may spring up this appalling growth of business palaces, that hide the sun from you and almost shut out the light of day. "The simple power of necessity is to a certain degree a principle of beauty," says M. Bourget, and to these structures this order of beauty cannot be denied, but even this is vitiated by a failure to press the advantage home: the ornate façades are notably less impressive than those whose grim and stark geometry is unmitigated by the grave-clothes of dead styles. Instances there are of strivings toward a beauty that is fresh and living, but they are so unsuccessful and infrequent as to be negligible. However impressive these buildings may be by reason of their ordered geometry, their weight and magnitude, and as a manifestation of irrepressible power, they have the unloveliness of things ignoble being the product neither of praise, nor joy, nor worship, but enclosures for the transaction of sharp bargains--gold bringing jinn of our modern Aladdins, who love them not but only use them. That is the reason they are ugly; no one has loved them for themselves alone. For beauty is ever the very face of love. From the architecture of a true democracy, founded on love and mutual service, beauty would inevitably shine forth; its absence convicts us of a maladjustment in our social and economic life. A skyscraper shouldering itself aloft at the expense of its more humble neighbors, stealing their air and their sunlight, is a symbol, written large against the sky, of the will-to-power of a man or a group of men--of that ruthless and tireless aggression on the part of the cunning and the strong so characteristic of the period which produced the skyscraper. One of our streets made up of buildings of diverse styles and shapes and sizes--like a jaw with some teeth whole, some broken, some rotten, and some gone--is a symbol of our unkempt individualism, now happily becoming curbed and chastened by a common danger, a common devotion. Some people hold the view that our insensitiveness to formal beauty is no disgrace. Such argue that our accomplishments and our interests are in other fields, where we more than match the accomplishments of older civilizations. They forget that every achievement not registered in terms of beauty has failed of its final and enduring transmutation. It is because the achievements of older civilizations attained to their apotheoses in art that they interest us, and unless we are able to effect a corresponding transmutation we are destined to perish unhonoured on our rubbish heap. That we shall effect it, through knowledge and suffering, is certain, but before attempting the more genial and rewarding task of tracing, in our life and in our architecture, those forces and powers which make for righteousness, for beauty, let us look our failures squarely in the face, and discover if we can why they are failures. Confining this examination to the particular matter under discussion, the neo-feudal architecture of our city streets, we find it to lack unity, and the reason for this lack of unity dwells in a _divided consciousness_. The tall office building is the product of many forces, or perhaps we should say one force, that of necessity; but its concrete embodiment is the result of two different orders of talent, that of the structural engineer and of the architectural designer. These are usually incarnate in two different individuals, working more or less at cross purposes. It is the business of the engineer to preoccupy himself solely with ideas of efficiency and economy, and over his efficient and economical structure the designer smears a frosting of beauty in the form of architectural style, in the archæological sense. This is a foolish practice, and cannot but result in failure. In the case of a Greek temple or a mediaeval cathedral structure and style were not twain, but one; the structure determined the style, the style expressed the structure; but with us so divorced have the two things become that in a case known to the author, the structural framework of a great office building was determined and fabricated and then architects were invited to "submit designs" for the exterior. This is of course an extreme example and does not represent the usual practice, but it brings sharply to consciousness the well known fact that for these buildings we have substantially one method of construction--that of the vertical strut, and the horizontal "fill"--while in style they appear as Grecian, Roman, Renaissance, Gothic, Modern French and what not, according to the whim of the designer. [Illustration: PLATE II. THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY] With the modern tendency toward specialization, the natural outgrowth of necessity, there is no inherent reason why the bones of a building should not be devised by one man and its fleshly clothing by another, so long as they understand one another, and are in ideal agreement, but there is in general all too little understanding, and a confusion of ideas and aims. To the average structural engineer the architectural designer is a mere milliner in stone, informed in those prevailing architectural fashions of which he himself knows little and cares less. Preoccupied as he is with the building's strength, safety, economy; solving new and staggeringly difficult problems with address and daring, he has scant sympathy with such inconsequent matters as the stylistic purity of a façade, or the profile of a moulding. To the designer, on the other hand, the engineer appears in the light of a subordinate to be used for the promotion of his own ends, or an evil to be endured as an interference with those ends. As a result of this lack of sympathy and co-ordination, success crowns only those efforts in which, on the one hand, the stylist has been completely subordinated to engineering necessity, as in the case of the East River bridges, where the architect was called upon only to add a final grace to the strictly structural towers; or on the other hand, in which the structure is of the old-fashioned masonry sort, and faced with a familiar problem the architect has found it easy to be frank; as in the case of the Manhattan Storage Warehouse, on 42nd Street, New York, or in the Bryant Park façade on the New York Library. The Woolworth building is a notable example of the complete co-ordination between the structural framework and its envelope, and falls short of ideal success only in the employment of an archaic and alien ornamental language, used, however, let it be said, with a fine understanding of the function of ornament. For the most part though, there is a difference of intention between the engineer and the designer; they look two ways, and the result of their collaboration is a flat and confused image of the thing that should be, not such as is produced by truly binocular vision. This difference of aim is largely the result of a difference of education. Engineering science of the sort which the use of steel has required is a thing unprecedented; the engineer cannot hark back to the past for help, even if he would. The case is different with the architectural designer; he is taught that all of the best songs have been sung, all of the true words spoken. The Glory that was Greece, and the Grandeur that was Rome, the romantic exuberance of Gothic, and the ordered restraint of Renaissance are so drummed into him during his years of training, and exercise so tyrannical a spell over his imagination that he loses the power of clear and logical thought, and never becomes truly creative. Free of this incubus the engineer has succeeded in being straightforward and sensible, to say the least; subject to it the man with a so-called architectural education is too often tortuous and absurd. The architect without any training in the essentials of design produces horrors as a matter of course, for the reason that sin is the result of ignorance; the architect trained in the false manner of the current schools becomes a reconstructive archæologist, handicapped by conditions with which he can deal only imperfectly, and imperfectly control. Once in a blue moon a man arises who, with all the advantages inherent in education, pierces through the past to the present, and is able to use his brain as the architects of the past used theirs--to deal simply and directly with his immediate problem. Such a man is Louis Sullivan, though it must be admitted that not always has he achieved success. That success was so marked, however, in his treatment of the problem of the tall building, and exercised subconsciously such a spell upon the minds even of his critics and detractors, that it resulted in the emancipation of this type of building from an absurd and impossible convention--the practice, common before his time, of piling order upon order, like a house of cards, or by a succession of strongly marked string courses emphasizing the horizontal dimension of a vertical edifice, thus vitiating the finest effect of which such a building is capable. The problem of the tall building, with which his predecessors dealt always with trepidation and equivocation, Mr. Sullivan approached with confidence and joy. "What," he asked himself, "is the chief characteristic of the tall office building? It is lofty. This loftiness is to the artist-nature its thrilling aspect. It must be tall. The force of altitude must be in it. It must be every inch a proud and soaring thing, rising in sheer exultation that from bottom to top it is a unit without a dissenting line." The Prudential (Guaranty) building in Buffalo represents the finest concrete embodiment of his idea achieved by Mr. Sullivan. It marks his emancipation from what he calls his "masonry" period, during which he tried, like so many other architects before and since, to make a steel-framed structure look as though it were nothing but a masonry wall perforated with openings--openings too many and too great not to endanger its stability. The keen blade of Mr. Sullivan's mind cut through this contradiction, and in the Prudential building he carried out the idea of a _protective casing_ so successfully that Montgomery Schuyler said of it, "I know of no steel framed building in which the metallic construction is more palpably felt through the envelope of baked clay." [Illustration: PLATE III. THE PRUDENTIAL BUILDING, BUFFALO N.Y.] The present author can speak with all humbleness of the general failure, on the part of the architectural profession, to appreciate the importance of this achievement, for he pleads guilty of day after day having passed the Prudential building, then fresh in the majesty of its soaring lines, and in the wonder of its fire-wrought casing, with eyes and admiration only for the false romanticism of the Erie County Savings Bank, and the empty bombast of the gigantic Ellicott Square. He had not at that period of his life succeeded in living down his architectural training, and as a result the most ignorant layman was in a better position to appraise the relative merits of these three so different incarnations of the building impulse than was he. Since the Prudential building there have been other tall office buildings, by other hands, truthful in the main, less rigid, less monotonous, more superficially pleasing, yet they somehow fail to impart the feeling of utter sincerity and fresh originality inspired by this building. One feels that here democracy has at last found utterance in beauty; the American spirit speaks, the spirit of the Long Denied. This rude, rectangular bulk is uncompromisingly practical and utilitarian; these rows on rows of windows, regularly spaced, and all of the same size, suggest the equality and monotony of obscure, laborious lives; the upspringing shafts of the vertical piers stand for their hopes and aspirations, and the unobtrusive, delicate ornament which covers the whole with a garment of fresh beauty is like the very texture of their dreams. The building is able to speak thus powerfully to the imagination because its creator is a poet and prophet of democracy. In his own chosen language he declares, as Whitman did in verse, his faith in the people of "these states"--"A Nation announcing itself." Others will doubtless follow who will make a richer music, commensurate with the future's richer life, but such democracy as is ours stands here proclaimed, just as such feudalism as is still ours stands proclaimed in the Erie County Bank just across the way. The massive rough stone walls of this building, its pointed towers and many dormered chateau-like roof unconsciously symbolize the attempt to impose upon the living present a moribund and alien order. Democracy is thus afflicted, and the fact must needs find architectural expression. In the field of domestic architecture these dramatic contrasts are less evident, less sharply marked. Domestic life varies little from age to age; a cottage is a cottage the world over, and some manorial mansion on the James River, built in Colonial days, remains a fitting habitation (assuming the addition of electric lights and sanitary plumbing) for one of our Captains of Industry, however little an ancient tobacco warehouse would serve him as a place of business. This fact is so well recognized that the finest type of modern country house follows, in general, this or some other equally admirable model, though it is amusing to note the millionaire's preference for a feudal castle, a French chateau, or an Italian villa of the decadence. The "man of moderate means," so called, provides himself with no difficulty with a comfortable house, undistinguished but unpretentious, which fits him like a glove. There is a piazza towards the street, a bay-window in the living room, a sleeping-porch for the children, and a box of a garage for the flivver in the bit of a back yard. For the wage earner the housing problem is not so easily nor so successfully solved. He is usually between the devil of the speculative builder and the deep sea of the predatory landlord, each intent upon taking from him the limit that the law allows and giving him as little as possible for his money. Going down the scale of indigence we find an itinerancy amounting almost to homelessness, or houses so abject that they are an insult to the very name of home. [Illustration: PLATE IV: THE ERIE COUNTY SAVINGS BANK, BUFFALO, N.Y.] It is an eloquent commentary upon our national attitude toward a most vital matter that in this feverish hustle to produce ships, airplanes, clothing and munitions on a vast scale, the housing of the workers was either overlooked entirely, or received eleventh-hour consideration, and only now, after a year of participation in the war, is it beginning to be adequately and officially dealt with--how efficiently and intelligently remains to be seen. The housing of the soldiers was another matter: that necessity was plain and urgent, and the miracle has been accomplished, but except by indirection it has contributed nothing to the permanent housing problem. Other aspects of our life which have found architectural expression fall neither in the commercial nor in the domestic category--the great hotels, for example, which partake of the nature of both, and our passenger railway terminals, which partake of the nature of neither. These latter deserve especial consideration in this connection, by reason of their important function. The railway is of the very essence of the modern, even though (with what sublime unreason) Imperial Rome is written large over New York's most magnificent portal. Think not that in an age of unfaith mankind gives up the building of temples. Temples inevitably arise where the tide of life flows strongest; for there God manifests, in however strange a guise. That tide is nowhere stronger than in the railroad, which is the arterial system of our civilization. All arteries lead to and from the heart, and thus the railroad terminus becomes the beating heart at the center of modern life. It is a true instinct therefore which prompts to the making of the terminal building a very temple, a monument to the conquest of space through the harnessing of the giant horses of electricity and steam. This conquest must be celebrated on a scale commensurate with its importance, and in obedience to this necessity the Pennsylvania station raised its proud head amid the push-cart architecture of that portion of New York in which it stands. It is not therefore open to the criticism often passed upon it, that it is too grand, but it is the wrong kind of grandeur. If there be truth in the contention that the living needs of today cannot be grafted upon the dead stump of any ancient grandeur, the futility of every attempt to accomplish this impossible will somehow, somewhere, reveal itself to the discerning eye. Let us seek out, in this building, the place of this betrayal. It is not necessarily in the main façade, though this is not a face, but a mask--and a mask can, after its kind, always be made beautiful; it is not in the nobly vaulted corridor, lined with shops--for all we know the arcades of Imperial Rome were similarly lined; nor is it in the splendid vestibule, leading into the magnificent waiting room, in which a subject of the Cæsars would have felt more perfectly at home, perhaps, than do we. But beyond this passenger concourse, where the elevators and stairways descend to the tracks, necessity demanded the construction of a great enclosure, supported only on slender columns and far-flung trusses roofed with glass. Now latticed columns, steel trusses, and wire glass are inventions of the modern world too useful to be dispensed with. Rome could not help the architect here. The mode to which he was inexorably self-committed in the rest of the building demanded massive masonry, cornices, mouldings; a tribute to Cæsar which could be paid everywhere but in this place. The architect's problem then became to reconcile two diametrically different systems. But between the west wall of the ancient Roman baths and the modern skeleton construction of the roof of the human greenhouse there is no attempt at fusion. The slender latticed columns cut unpleasantly through the granite cornices and mouldings; the first century A.D. and the twentieth are here in incongruous juxtaposition--a little thing, easily overlooked, yet how revealing! How reassuring of the fact "God is not mocked!" The New York Central terminal speaks to the eye in a modern tongue, with however French an accent. Its façade suggests a portal, reminding the beholder that a railway station is in a very literal sense a city gate placed just as appropriately in the center of the municipality as in ancient times it was placed in the circuit of the outer walls. Neither edifice will stand the acid test of Mr. Sullivan's formula, that a building is an organism and should follow the law of organisms, which decrees that the form must everywhere follow and express the function, the function determining and creating its appropriate form. Here are two eminent examples of "arranged" architecture. Before organic architecture can come into being our inchoate national life must itself become organic. Arranged architecture, of the sort we see everywhere, despite its falsity, is a true expression of the conditions which gave it birth. [Illustration: PLATE V. THE NEW YORK CENTRAL TERMINAL] The grandeur of Rome, the splendour of Paris--what just and adequate expression do they give of modern American life? Then shall we find in our great hotels, say, such expression? Truly they represent, in the phrase of Henry James, "a realized ideal" and a study of them should reveal that ideal. From such a study we can only conclude that it is life without effort or responsibility, with every physical need luxuriously gratified. But these hotels nevertheless represent democracy, it may be urged, for the reason that every one may there buy board and lodging and mercenary service if he has the price. The exceeding greatness of that price, however, makes of it a badge of nobility which converts these democratic hostelries into feudal castles, more inaccessible to the Long Denied than as though entered by a drawbridge and surrounded by a moat. We need not even glance at the churches, for the tides of our spiritual life flow no longer in full volume through their portals; neither may the colleges long detain us, for architecturally considered they give forth a confusion of tongues which has its analogue in the confusion of ideas in the collective academic head. Is our search for some sign of democracy ended, and is it vain? No, democracy exists in the secret heart of the people, all the people, but it is a thing so new, so strange, so secret and sacred--the ideal of brotherhood--that it is unmanifest yet in time and space. It is a thing born not with the Declaration of Independence, but only yesterday, with the call to a new crusade. The National Army is its cradle, and it is nurtured wherever communities unite to serve the sacred cause. Although menaced by the bloody sword of Imperialism in Europe, it perhaps stands in no less danger from the secret poison of graft and greed and treachery here at home. But it is a spiritual birth, and therefore it cannot perish, but will live to write itself on space in terms of beauty such as the world has never known. II DURING THE WAR The best thing that can be said about our immediate architectural past is that it is past, for it has contributed little of value to an architecture of democracy. During that neo-feudal period the architect prospered, having his place at the baronial table; but now poor Tom's a-cold on a war-swept heath, with food only for reflection. This is but natural; the architect, in so far as he is an artist, is a purveyor of beauty; and the abnormal conditions inevitable to a state of war are devastating to so feminine and tender a thing, even though war be the very soil from which new beauty springs. With Mars in mid-heaven how afflicted is the horoscope of all artists! The skilled hand of the musician is put to coarser uses; the eye that learned its lessons from the sunset must learn the trick of making invisible warships and great guns. Let the architect serve the war-god likewise, in any capacity that offers, confident that this troubling of the waters will bring about a new precipitation; that once the war is over, men will turn from those "old, unhappy, far-off things" to pastures beautiful and new. In whatever way the war may complicate the architect's personal problem, it should simplify and clarify his attitude toward his art. With no matter what seriousness and sincerity he may have undertaken his personal search for truth and beauty, he will come to question, as never before, both its direction and its results. He is bound to perceive, if he does not perceive already, that the war's arrestment of architecture (in all but its most utilitarian and ephemeral phases) is no great loss to the world for the reason that our architecture was uninspired, unoriginal, done without joy, without reverence, without conviction: a thing which any wind of a new spirit was bound to make appear foolish to a generation with sight rendered clairvoyant through its dedication to great and regenerative ends. He will come to perceive that between the Civil War and the crusade that is now upon us, we were under the evil spell of materialism. Now materialism is the very negation of democracy, which is a government by the _demos_, or over-soul; it is equally the negation of joy, the negation of reverence, and it is without conviction because it cannot believe even in itself. Reflecting thus, he can scarcely fail to realize that materialism, everywhere entrenched, was entrenched strongest in the camps of the rich---not the idle rich, for materialism is so terrible a taskmaster that it makes its votaries its slaves. These slaves, in turn, made a slave of the artist, a minister to their pride and pretence. His art thus lacked that "sad sincerity" which alone might have saved it in a crisis. When the storm broke militant democracy turned to the engineer, who produced buildings at record speed, by the mile, with only such architectural assistance as could be first and easiest fished up from the dragnet of the draft. In one direction only does there appear to be open water. Toward the general housing problem the architectural profession has been spurred into activity by reason of the war, and to its credit be it said, it is now thoroughly aroused. The American Institute of Architects sent a commissioner to England to study housing in its latest manifestations, and some of the ablest and most influential members of that organization have placed their services at the disposal of the government. Moreover, there is a manifest disposition, on the part of architects everywhere, to help in this matter all they can. The danger dwells in the possibility that their advice will not be heeded, their services not be fully utilized, but through chicanery, ignorance, or inanition, we will relapse into the tentative, "expensively provisional" methods which have governed the housing of workers hitherto. Even so, architects will doubtless recapture, and more than recapture, their imperiled prestige, but under what changed conditions, and with what an altered attitude toward their art and their craft! They will find that they must unlearn certain things the schools had taught them: preoccupation with the relative merits of Gothic and Classic--tweedledum and tweedledee. Furthermore, they must learn certain neglected lessons from the engineer, lessons that they will be able immeasurably to better, for although the engineer is a very monster of competence and efficiency within his limits, these are sharply marked, and to any detailed knowledge of that "beautiful necessity" which determines spatial rhythm and counterpoint he is a stranger. The ideal relation between architect and engineer is that of a happily wedded pair--strength married to beauty; in the period just passed or passing they have been as disgruntled divorcés. [Illustration: PLATE VI. PLAN OF THE RED CROSS COMMUNITY CLUB HOUSE, CAMP SHERMAN, OHIO] The author has in mind one child of such a happy union brought about by the war; the building is the Red Cross Community Club House at Camp Sherman, which, in the pursuit of his destiny, and for the furtherance of his education, he inhabited for two memorable weeks. He learned there more lessons than a few, and encountered more tangled skeins of destiny than he is ever likely to unravel. The matter has so direct a bearing, both on the subject of architecture and of democracy, that it is worth discussing at some length. This club house stands, surrounded by its tributary dormitories, on a government reservation, immediately adjacent to the camp itself, the whole constituting what is known as the Community Center. By the payment of a dollar any soldier is free to entertain his relatives and friends there, and it is open to all the soldiers at all times. Because the iron discipline of the army is relaxed as soon as the limits of the camp are overpassed, the atmosphere is favourable to social life. The building occupies its acre of ground invitingly, though exteriorly of no particular distinction. It is the interior that entitles it to consideration as a contribution to an architecture of that new-born democracy of which our army camps have been the cradle. The plan of this interior is cruciform, two hundred feet in each dimension. Built by the Red Cross of the state of Ohio, and dedicated to the larger uses of that organization, the symbolic appropriateness of this particular geometrical figure should not pass unremarked. The cross is divided into side aisles, nave, and crossing, with galleries and mezzanines so arranged as to shorten the arms of the cross in its upper stages, leaving the clear-story surrounding the crossing unimpeded and well defined. The light comes for the most part from high windows, filtering down, in tempered brightness to the floor. The bones of the structure are everywhere in evidence, and an element of its beauty, by reason of the admirably direct and logical arrangement of posts and trusses. The vertical walls are covered with plaster-board of a light buff color, converted into good sized panels by means of wooden strips finished with a thin grey stain. The structural wood work is stained in similar fashion, the iron rods, straps, and bolts being painted black. This color scheme is completed and a little enlivened by red stripes and crosses placed at appropriate intervals in the general design. The building attained its final synthesis through the collaboration of a Cleveland architect and a National Army captain of engineers. It is so single in its appeal that one does not care to inquire too closely into the part of each in the performance; both are in evidence, for an architect seldom succeeds in being so direct and simple, while an engineer seldom succeeds in being so gracious and altogether suave. Entirely aside from its æsthetic interest--based as this is on beauty of organism almost alone--the building is notable for the success with which it fulfils and co-ordinates its manifold functions: those of a dormitory, a restaurant, a ballroom, a theatre, and a lounge. The arm of the cross containing the principal entrance accommodates the office, coat room, telephones, news and cigar stand, while leaving the central nave unimpeded, so that from the door one gets the unusual effect of an interior vista two hundred feet long. The restaurant occupies the entire left transept, with a great brick fireplace at the far end. There is another fireplace in the centre of the side of the arm beyond the crossing; that part which would correspond in a cathedral to the choir and apse being given over to the uses of a reading and writing room. The right transept forms a theatre, on occasion, terminating as it does with a stage. The central floor spaces are kept everywhere free except in the restaurant, the sides and angles being filled in with leather-covered sofas, wicker and wooden chairs and tables, arranged in groups favourable to comfort and conversation. Two stairways, at the right and left of the restaurant, give access to the ample balcony and to the bedrooms, which occupy three of the four ends of the arms of the cross at this level. The appearance and atmosphere of this great interior is inspiring; particularly of an evening, when it is thronged with soldiers, and civilian guests. The strains of music, the hum of many voices, the rhythmic shuffle on the waxed floor of the feet of the dancers--these eminently social sounds mingle and lose themselves in the spaces of the roof, like the voice of many waters. Tobacco smoke ascends like incense, blue above the prevailing green-brown of the crowd, shot here and there with brighter colors from the women's hats and dresses, in the kaleidoscopic shifting of the dance. Long parallel rows of orange lights, grouped low down on the lofty pillars, reflect themselves on the polished floor, and like the patina of time on painted canvas impart to the entire animated picture an incomparable tone. For the lighting, either by accident or by inspiration, is an achievement of the happiest, an example of the friendliness of fate to him who attempts a free solution of his problem. The brackets consist merely of a cruciform arrangement of planed pine boards about each column, with the end grain painted red. On the under side of each arm of the cross is a single electric bulb enclosed within an orange-coloured shade to kill the glare. The light makes the bare wood of the fixture appear incandescent, defining its geometry in rose colour with the most beautiful effect. The club house is the centre of the social and ceremonial life of the camp, for balls, dinners, receptions, conferences, concerts without number; and it has been the scene of a military wedding--the daughter of a major-general to the grandson of an ex-president. To these events the unassuming, but pervasive beauty of the place lends a dignity new to our social life. In our army camps social life is truly democratic, as any one who has experienced it does not need to be told. Not alone have the conditions of conscription conspired to make it so, but there is a manifest _will-to-democracy_--the growing of a new flower of the spirit, sown in a community of sacrifice, to reach its maturity, perhaps, only in a community of suffering. The author may seem to have over-praised this Community Club House; with the whole country to draw from for examples it may well appear fatuous to concentrate the reader's attention, for so long, on a building in a remote part of the Middle West: cheap, temporary, and requiring only twenty-one days for its erection. But of the transvaluation of values brought about by the war, this building is an eminent example: it stands in symbolic relation to the times; it represents what may be called the architecture of Service; it is among the first of the new temples of the new democracy, dedicated to the uses of simple, rational social life. Notwithstanding that it fills a felt need, common to every community, there is nothing like it in any of our towns and cities; there are only such poor and partial substitutes as the hotel, the saloon, the dance hall, the lodge room and the club. It is scarcely conceivable that the men and women who have experienced its benefits and its beauty should not demand and have similar buildings in their own home towns. [Illustration: PLATE VII. INTERIOR OF THE CAMP SHERMAN COMMUNITY HOUSE] Beyond the oasis of the Community Club House at Camp Sherman stretch the cantonments--a Euclidian nightmare of bare boards, black roofs and ditches, making grim vistas of straight lines. This is the architecture of Need in contradistinction to the architecture of Greed, symbolized in the shop-window prettiness of those sanitary suburbs of our cities created by the real estate agent and the speculative builder. Neither contain any enduring element of beauty. But the love of beauty in one form or another exists in every human heart, and if too long or too rigorously denied it finds its own channels of fulfilment. This desire for self-expression through beauty is an important, though little remarked phenomenon of these mid-war times. At the camps it shows itself in the efforts of men of specialized tastes and talents to get together and form dramatic organizations, glee clubs, and orchestras; and more generally by the disposition of the soldiers to sing together at work and play and on the march. The renascence of poetry can be interpreted as a revulsion against the prevailing prosiness; the amateur theatre is equally a protest against the inanity and conventionality of the commercial stage; while the Community Chorus movement is an evidence of a desire to escape a narrow professionalism in music. A similar situation has arisen in the field of domestic architecture, in the form of an unorganized, but wide-spread reaction against the cheap and ugly commercialism which has dominated house construction and decoration of the more unpretentious class. This became articulate a few years ago in the large number of books and magazines devoted to house-planning, construction, decoration, furnishing, and garden-craft. The success which has attended these publications, and their marked influence, give some measure of the magnitude of this revolt. But now attention must be called to a significant, and somewhat sinister fact. The professional in these various fields of æsthetic endeavour, has shown either indifference or active hostility toward all manner of amateur efforts at self-expression. Free verse aroused the ridicule of the professors of metrics; the Little Theatre movement was solemnly banned by such pundits as Belasco and Mrs. Fiske; the Community Chorus movement has invariably met with opposition and misunderstanding from professional musicians; and with few exceptions the more influential architects have remained aloof from the effort to give skilled architectural assistance to those who cannot afford to pay them ten per cent. Thus everywhere do we discover a deadening hand laid upon the self-expression of the democratic spirit through beauty. Its enemies are of its own household; those who by nature and training should be its helpers hinder it instead. Why do they do this? Because their fastidious, æsthetic natures are outraged by a crudeness which they themselves could easily refine away if they chose; because also they recoil at a lack of conformity to existing conventions--conventions so hampering to the inner spirit of the Newness, that in order to incarnate at all it must of necessity sweep them aside. But in every field of æsthetic endeavour appears here and there a man or a woman with unclouded vision, who is able to see in the flounderings of untrained amateurs the stirrings of _demos_ from his age-long sleep. These, often forsaking paths more profitable, lend their skilled assistance, not seeking to impose the ancient outworn forms upon the Newness, but by a transfusion of consciousness permitting it to create forms of its own. Such a one, in architecture, Louis Sullivan has proved himself; in music Harry Barnhart, who evokes the very spirit of song from any random crowd. The _demos_ found voice first in the poetry of Walt Whitman who has a successor in Vachel Lindsay, the man who walked through Kansas, trading poetry for food and lodging, teaching the farmers' sons and daughters to intone his stirring odes to Pocahontas, General Booth, and Old John Brown. Isadora Duncan, Gordon Craig, Maeterlinck, Scriabine are perhaps too remote from the spirit of democracy, too tinged with old-world æstheticism, to be included in this particular category, but all are image-breakers, liberators, and have played their part in the preparation of the field for an art of democracy. To the architect falls the task, in the new dispensation, of providing the appropriate material environment for its new life. If he holds the old ideas and cherishes the old convictions current before the war he can do nothing but reproduce their forms and fashions; for architecture, in the last analysis, is only the handwriting of consciousness on space, and materialism has written there already all that it has to tell of its failure to satisfy the mind and heart of man. However beautiful old forms may seem to him they will declare their inadequacy to generations free of that mist of familiarity which now makes life obscure. If, on the other hand, submitting himself to the inspiration of the _demos_ he experiences a change of consciousness, he will become truly and newly creative. His problem, in other words, is not to interpret democracy in terms of existing idioms, be they classic or romantic, but to experience democracy in his heart and let it create and determine its new forms through him. It is not for him to _impose_, it is for him to be _imposed upon_. "The passive Master lent his hand To the vast soul that o'er him planned" says Emerson in _The Problem_, a poem, which seems particularly addressed to architects, and which every one of them would do well to learn by heart. If he is at a loss to know where to go and what to do in order to be played upon by these great forces let him direct his attention to the army and the army camps. Here the spirit of democracy is already incarnate. These soldiers, violently shaken free from their environment, stripped of all but the elemental necessities of life; facing a sinister destiny beyond a human-shark-infested ocean, are today the fortunate of earth by reason of their realization of brotherhood, not as a beautiful theory, but as a blessed fact of experience. They will come back with ideas that they cannot utter, with memories that they cannot describe; they will have dreamed dreams and seen visions, and their hearts will stir to potencies for which materialism has not even a name. The future of the country will be in their young hands. Will they re-create, from its ruins, the faithless and loveless feudalism from which the war set them free? No, they will seek only for self-expression, the expression of that aroused and indwelling spirit which shall create the new, the true democracy. And because it is a spiritual thing it will come clothed in beauty; that is, it will find its supreme expression through the forms of art. The architect who assists in the emprise of weaving this garment will be supremely blessed, but only he who has kept the vigil with prayer and fasting will be supremely qualified. III AFTER THE WAR "When the old world is sterile And the ages are effete, He will from wrecks and sediment The fairer world complete." _The World Soul_. Emerson. He whom the World Soul "forbids to despair" cannot but hope; and he who hopes tries ever to imagine that "fairer world" yearning for birth beyond this interval of blood and tears. Prophecy, to all but the anointed, is dangerous and uncertain, but even so, the author cannot forbear attempting to prevision the architecture likely to arise from the wrecks and sediment left by the war. As a basis for this forecast it is necessary first of all briefly to classify the expression of the building impulse from what may be called the psychological point of view. Broadly speaking, there are not five orders of architecture--nor fifty--but only two: _Arranged_ and _Organic_. These correspond to the two terms of that "inevitable duality" which bisects life. Talent and genius, reason and intuition, bromide and sulphite are some of the names we know them by. Arranged architecture is reasoned and artificial; produced by talent, governed by taste. Organic architecture, on the other hand, is the product of some obscure inner necessity for self-expression which is sub-conscious. It is as though Nature herself, through some human organ of her activity, had addressed herself to the service of the sons and daughters of men. Arranged architecture in its finest manifestations is the product of a pride, a knowledge, a competence, a confidence staggering to behold. It seems to say of the works of Nature, "I'll show you a trick worth two of that." For the subtlety of Nature's geometry, and for her infinite variety and unexpectedness, Arranged architecture substitutes a Euclidian system of straight lines and (for the most part) circular curves, assembled and arranged according to a definite logic of its own. It is created but not creative; it is imagined but not imaginative. Organic architecture is both creative and imaginative. It is non-Euclidian in the sense that it is higher-dimensional--that is, it suggests extension in directions and into regions where the spirit finds itself at home, but of which the senses give no report to the brain. [Illustration: PLATE VIII. IMAGINATIVE SKETCH BY HENRY P. KIRBY] To make the whole thing clearer it may be said that Arranged and Organic architecture bear much the same relation to one another that a piano bears to a violin. A piano is an instrument that does not give forth discords if one follows the rules. A violin requires absolutely an ear--an inner rectitude. It has a way of betraying the man of talent and glorifying the genius, becoming one with his body and his soul. Of course it stands to reason that there is not always a hard and fast differentiation between these two orders of architecture, but there is one sure way by which each may be recognized and known. If the function appears to have created the form, and if everywhere the form follows the function, changing as that changes, the building is Organic; if on the contrary, "the house confines the spirit," if the building presents not a face but however beautiful a mask, it is an example of Arranged architecture. The Gothic cathedrals of the "Heart of Europe"--now the place of Armageddon--represent the most perfect and powerful incarnation of the Organic spirit in architecture. After the decadence of mediaeval feudalism--synchronous with that of monasticism--the Arranged architecture of the Renaissance acquired the ascendant; this was coincident with the rise of humanism, when life became increasingly secular. During the post-Renaissance, or scientific period, of which the war probably marks the close, there has been a confusion of tongues; architecture has spoken only alien or dead languages, learned by rote. But in so far as it is anything at all, æsthetically, our architecture is Arranged, so if only by the operation of the law of opposites, or alternation, we might reasonably expect the next manifestation to be Organic. There are other and better reasons, however, for such expectancy. Organic architecture is ever a flower of the religious spirit. When the soul draws near to the surface of life, as it did in the two mystic centuries of the Middle Ages, it _organizes_ life; and architecture, along, with the other arts becomes truly creative. The informing force comes not so much _from_ man as _through_ him. After the war that spirit of brotherhood, born in the camps--as Christ was born in a manger--and bred on the battlefields and in the trenches of Europe, is likely to take on all the attributes of a new religion of humanity, prompting men to such heroisms and renunciations, exciting in them such psychic sublimations, as have characterized the great religious renewals of time past. If this happens it is bound to write itself on space in an architecture beautiful and new; one which "takes its shape and sun-color" not from the niggardly mind, but from the opulent heart. This architecture will of necessity be organic, the product not of self-assertive personalities, but the work of the "Patient Daemon" organizing the nation into a spiritual democracy. The author is aware that in this point of view there is little of the "scientific spirit"; but science fails to reckon with the soul. Science advances facing backward, so what prevision can it have of a miraculous and divinely inspired future--or for the matter of that, of any future at all? The old methods and categories will no longer answer; the orderly course of evolution has been violently interrupted by the earthquake of the war; igneous action has superseded aqueous action. The casements of the human mind look out no longer upon familiar hills and valleys, but on a stark, strange, devastated landscape, the ploughed land of some future harvest of the years. It is the end of the Age, the _Kali Yuga_--the completion of a major cycle; but all cycles follow the same sequence: after winter, Spring; and after the Iron Age, the Golden. The specific features of this organic, divinely inspired architecture of the Golden Age cannot of course be discerned by any one, any more than the manner in which the Great Mystery will present itself anew to consciousness. The most imaginative artist can imagine only in terms of the already-existent; he can speak only the language he has learned. If that language has been derived from mediaevalism, he will let his fancy soar after the manner of Henry Kirby, in his _Imaginative Sketches_; if on the contrary he has learned to think in terms of the classic vernacular, Otto Rieth's _Architectur-Skizzen_ will suggest the sort of thing that he is likely to produce. Both results will be as remote as possible from future reality, for the reason that they are so near to present reality. And yet some germs of the future must be enfolded even in the present moment. The course of wisdom is to seek them neither in the old romance nor in the new rationalism, but in the subtle and ever-changing spirit of the times. [Illustration: PLATE IX. ARCHITECTURAL SKETCH BY OTTO RIETH] The most modern note yet sounded in business, in diplomacy, in social life, is expressed by the phrase, "Live openly!" From every quarter, in regard to every manner of human activity, has come the cry, "Let in the light!" By a physical correspondence not the result of coincidence, but of the operation of an occult law, we have, in a very real sense, let in the light. In buildings of the latest type devoted to large uses, there has been a general abandonment of that "cellular system" of many partitions which produced the pepper-box exterior, in favour of great rooms serving diverse functions lit by vast areas of glass. Although an increase of efficiency has dictated and determined these changes, this breaking down of barriers between human beings and their common sharing of the light of day in fuller measure, is a symbol of the growth of brotherhood, and the search, by the soul, for spiritual light. Now if this fellowship and this quest gain volume and intensity, its physical symbols are bound to multiply and find ever more perfect forms of manifestation. So both as a practical necessity and as a symbol the most pregnant and profound, we are likely to witness in architecture the development of the House of Light, particularly as human ingenuity has made this increasingly practicable. Glass is a product still undergoing development, as are also those devices of metal for holding it in position and making the joints weather tight. The accident and fire hazard has been largely overcome by protecting the structural parts, by the use of wire glass, and by other ingenious devices. The author has been informed on good authority that shortly before the outbreak of the war a glass had been invented abroad, and made commercially practicable, which shut out the heat rays, but admitted the light. The use of this glass would overcome the last difficulty--the equalization of temperatures--and might easily result in buildings of an entirely novel type, the approach to which is seen in the "pier and grill" style of exterior. This is being adopted not only for commercial buildings, but for others of widely different function, on account of its manifest advantages. Cass Gilbert's admirable studio apartment at 200 West Fifty-Seventh Street, New York, is a building of this type. In this seeking for sunlight in our cities, we will come to live on the roofs more and more--in summer in the free air, in winter under variformed shelters of glass. This tendency is already manifesting itself in those newest hotels whose roofs are gardens, convertible into skating ponds, with glazed belvideres for eating in all weathers. Nothing but ignorance and inanition stand in the way of utilization of waste roof spaces. People have lived on the roofs in the past, often enough, and will again. [Illustration: PLATE X. RODIN STUDIOS, 200 WEST 57TH STREET, NEW YORK] By shouldering ever upward for air and light, we have too often made of the "downtown" districts cliff-bound canyons--"granite deeps opening into granite deeps." This has been the result of no inherent necessity, but of that competitive greed whose nemesis is ever to miss the very thing it seeks. By intelligent co-operation, backed by legislation, the roads and sidewalks might be made to share the sunlight with the roofs. This could be achieved in two ways: by stepping back the façades in successive stages--giving top lighting, terraces, and wonderful incidental effects of light and shade--or by adjusting the height of the buildings to the width of their interspaces, making rows of tall buildings alternate with rows of low ones, with occasional fully isolated "skyscrapers" giving variety to the sky-line. These and similar problems of city planning have been worked out theoretically with much minuteness of detail, and are known to every student of the science of cities, but very little of it all has been realized in a practical way--certainly not on this side of the water, where individual rights are held so sacred that a property owner may commit any kind of an architectural nuisance so long as he confines it to his own front yard. The strength of IS, the weakness of _should be_, conflicting interests and legislative cowardice are responsible for the highly irrational manner in which our cities have grown great. The search for spiritual light in the midst of materialism finds unconscious symbolization in a way other than this seeking for the sun. It is in the amazing development of artificial illumination. From a purely utilitarian standpoint there is almost nothing that cannot now be accomplished with light, short of making the ether itself luminiferous. The æsthetic development of this field, however, can be said to have scarcely begun. The so recent San Francisco Exposition witnessed the first successful effort of any importance to enhance the effect of architecture by artificial illumination, and to use colored light with a view to its purely pictorial value. Though certain buildings have since been illuminated with excellent effect, it remains true that the corset, chewing-gum, beer and automobile sky signs of our Great White Ways indicate the height to which our imagination has risen in utilizing this Promethean gift in any but necessary ways. Interior lighting, except negatively, has not been dealt with from the standpoint of beauty, but of efficiency; the engineer has preempted this field to the exclusion of the artist. All this is the result of the atrophy of that faculty to worship and wonder which alone induces the mood from which the creation of beauty springs. Light we regard only as a convenience "to see things by" instead of as the power and glory that it inherently is. Its intense and potent vibrations and the rainbow glory of its colour beat at the door of consciousness in vain. When we awaken to these things we shall organize light into a language of spontaneous emotion, just as from sound music was organized. It is beside the purpose of this essay to attempt to trace the evolution of this new art form, made possible by modern invention, to indicate what phases it is likely to pass through on the way to what perfections, but that it is bound to add a new glory to architecture is sure. This will come about in two ways: directly, by giving color, quality, subtlety to outdoor and indoor lighting, and indirectly by educating the eye to color values, as the ear has been educated by music; thus creating a need for more color everywhere. As light is the visible symbol of an inner radiance, so is color the sign manual of happiness, of joy. Our cities are so dun and drab in their outward aspects, by reason of the weight of care that burdens us down. We decry the happy irresponsibility of the savage, and the patient contentment of the Oriental with his lot, but both are able to achieve marvels of color in their environment beyond the compass of civilized man. The glory of mediaeval cathedral windows is a still living confutation of the belief that in those far-off times the human heart was sad. Architecture is the index of the inner life of those who produced it, and whenever it is colorful that inner life contains an inner joy. In the coming Golden Age life will be joyous, and if it is joyous, colour will come into architecture again. Our psychological state even now, alone prevents it, for we are rich in materials and methods to make such polychromy possible. In an article in a recent number of _The Architectural Record_, Mr. Leon V. Solon, writing from an entirely different point of view, divines this tendency, and expresses the opinion that color is again renascent. This tendency is so marked, and this opinion is so shared that we may look with confidence toward a color-evolution in architectural art. The question of the character of what may be called the ornamental mode of the architecture of the New Age is of all questions the most obscure. Evolution along the lines of the already existent does not help us here, for we are utterly without any ornamental mode from which a new and better might conceivably evolve. Nothing so betrays the spiritual bankruptcy of the end of the Iron Age as this. The only light on this problem which we shall find, dwells in the realm of metaphysics rather than in the world of material reality. Ornament, more than any other element of architecture, is deeply psychological, it is an externalization of an inner life. This is so true that any time-worn fragment out of the past when art was a language can usually be assigned to its place and its period, so eloquent is it of a particular people and a particular time. Could we therefore detect and understand the obscure movement of consciousness in the modern world, we might gain some clue to the language it would later find. It is clear that consciousness is moving away from its absorption in materiality because it is losing faith in materialism. Clairvoyance, psychism, the recrudescence of mysticism, of occultism--these signs of the times are straws which show which way the wind now sets, and indicate that the modern mind is beginning to find itself at home in what is called _the fourth dimension_. The phrase is used here in a different sense from that in which the mathematician uses it, but oddly enough four-dimensional geometry provides the symbols by which some of these occult and mystical ideas may be realized by the rational mind. One of the most engaging and inspiring of these ideas is that the personal self is a _projection_ on the plane of materiality of a metaphysical self, or soul, to which the personal self is related as is the shadow of an object to the object itself. Now this coincides remarkably with the idea implicit in all higher-space speculation, that the figures of solid geometry are projections on a space of three dimensions, of corresponding four-dimensional forms. All ornament is in its last analysis geometrical--sometimes directly so, as in the system developed by the Moors. Will the psychology of the new dispensation find expression through some adaptation of four-dimensional geometry? The idea is far from absurd, by reason of the decorative quality inherent in many of the regular hypersolids of four-dimensional space when projected upon solid and plane space. If this suggestion seems too fanciful, there is still recourse to the law of analogy in finding the thing we seek. Every fresh religious impulse has always developed a symbology through which its truths are expressed and handed down. These symbols, woven into the very texture of the life of the people, are embodied by them in their ornamental mode. The sculpture of a Greek temple is a picture-book of Greek religion; the ornamentation of a Gothic cathedral is a veritable bible of the Christian faith. Almost all of the most beautiful and enduring ornaments have first been sacred symbols; the swastika, the "Eye of Buddha," the "Shield of David," the wheel, the lotus, and the cross. Now that "twilight of the world" following the war perhaps will witness an _Avatara_--the coming of a World-Teacher who will rebuild on the one broad and ancient foundation that temple of Truth which the folly and ignorance of man is ever tearing down. A material counterpart of that temple will in that case afterward arise. Thus will be born the architecture of the future; and the ornament of that architecture will tell, in a new set of symbols, the story of the rejuvenation of the world. In this previsioning of architecture after the war, the author must not be understood to mean that these things will be realized _directly_ after. Architecture, from its very nature, is the most sluggish of all the arts to respond to the natural magic of the quick-moving mind--it is Caliban, not Ariel. Following the war the nation will be for a time depleted of man-power, burdened with debt, prostrate, exhausted. But in that time of reckoning will come reflection, penitence. "And I'll be wise hereafter, And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool." With some such epilogue the curtain will descend on the great drama now approaching a close. It will be for the younger generations, the reincarnate souls of those who fell in battle, to inaugurate the work of giving expression, in deathless forms of art, to the vision of that "fairer world" glimpsed now only as by lightning, in a dream. [Illustration] ESSAYS ORNAMENT FROM MATHEMATICS I THE WORLD ORDER No fact is better established than that we live in an _orderly_ universe. The truth of this the world-war may for the moment, and to the near and narrow view appear to contradict, but the sweep of human history, and the stars in their courses, show an orderliness which cannot be gainsaid. Now of that order, _number_--that is, mathematics--is the more than symbol, it is the very thing itself. Whence this weltering tide of life arose, and whither it flows, we know not; but that it is governed by mathematical law all of our knowledge in every field confirms. Were it not so, knowledge itself would be impossible. It is because man is a counting animal that he is master over all the beasts of the earth. Number is the tune to which all things move, and as it were make music; it is in the pulses of the blood no less than in the starred curtain of the sky. It is a necessary concomitant alike of the sharp bargain, the chemical experiment, and the fine frenzy of the poet. Music is number made audible; architecture is number made visible; nature geometrizes not alone in her crystals, but in her most intricate arabesques. If number be indeed the universal solvent of all forms, sounds, motions, may we not make of it the basis of a new æsthetic--a loom on which to weave patterns the like of which the world has never seen? To attempt such a thing--to base art on mathematics--argues (some one is sure to say) an entire misconception of the nature and function of art. "Art is a fountain of spontaneous emotion"--what, therefore, can it have in common with the proverbially driest, least spontaneous preoccupation of the human mind? But the above definition concludes with the assertion that this emotion reaches the soul "through various channels." The transit can be effected only through some sensuous element, some language (in the largest sense), and into this the element of number and form must inevitably enter--mathematics is "there" and cannot be thought or argued away. [Illustration: PLATE XI. IMAGINARY COMPOSITION: THE PORTAL] But to make mathematics, and not the emotion which it expresses, the important thing, is not this to fall into the time-worn heresy of art for art's sake, that is, art for form's sake--art for the sake of mathematics? To this objection there is an answer, and as this answer contains the crux of the whole matter, embraces the proposition by which this thesis must stand or fall, it must be full and clear. What is it, in the last analysis, that all art which is not purely personal and episodical strives to express? Is it not the _world-order_?--the very thing that religion, philosophy, science, strive according to their different natures and methods to express? The perception of the world-order by the artist arouses an emotion to which he can give vent only in terms of number; but number is itself the most abstract expression of the world order. The form and content of art are therefore not different, but the same. A deep sense of this probably inspired Pater's famous saying that all art aspires toward the condition of music; for music, from its very nature, is the world-order uttered in terms of number, in a sense and to a degree not attained by any other art. This is not mere verbal juggling. We have suffered so long from an art-phase which exalts the personal, as opposed to the cosmic, that we have lost sight of the fact that the great arts of antiquity, preceding the Renaissance, insisted on the cosmic, or impersonal aspect, and on this alone, just as does Oriental art, even today. The secret essence, the archetypal idea of the subject is the preoccupation of the Oriental artist, as it was of the Egyptian, and of the Greek. We of the West today seek as eagerly to fix the accidental and ephemeral aspect--the shadow of a particular cloud upon a particular landscape; the smile on the face of a specific person, in a recognizable room, at a particular moment of time. Of symbolic art, of universal emotion expressing itself in terms which are universal, we have very little to show. The reason for this is first, our love for, and understanding of, the concrete and personal: it is the _world-aspect_ and not the _world-order_ which interests us; and second, the inadequacies of current forms of art expression to render our sense of the eternal secret heart of things as it presents itself to our young eyes. Confronted with this difficulty, we have shirked it, and our ambition has shrunk to the portrayal of those aspects which shuffle our poverty out of sight. It is not a poverty of technique--we are dexterous enough; nor is it a poverty of invention--we are clever enough; it is the poverty of the spiritual bankrupt trying to divert attention by a prodigal display of the smallest of small change. Reference is made here only to the arts of space; the arts of time--music, poetry, and the (written) drama--employing vehicles more flexible, have been more fortunate, though they too suffer in some degree from worshipping, instead of the god of order, the god of chance. The corrective of this is a return to first principles: principles so fundamental that they suffer no change, however new and various their illustrations. These principles are embodied in number, and one might almost say nowhere else in such perfection. Mathematics is not the dry and deadly thing that our teaching of it and the uses we put it to have made it seem. Mathematics is the handwriting on the human consciousness of the very Spirit of Life itself. Others before Pythagoras discovered this, and it is the discovery which awaits us too. To indicate the way in which mathematics might be made to yield the elements of a new æsthetic is beyond the province of this essay, being beyond the compass of its author, but he makes bold to take a single phase: ornament, and to deal with it from this point of view. The ornament now in common use has been gathered from the dust-bin of the ages. What ornamental _motif_ of any universality, worth, or importance is less than a hundred years old? We continue to use the honeysuckle, the acanthus, the fret, the egg and dart, not because they are appropriate to any use we put them to, but because they are beautiful _per se_. Why are they beautiful? It is not because they are highly conventionalized representations of natural forms which are themselves beautiful, but because they express cosmic truths. The honeysuckle and the acanthus leaf, for example, express the idea of successive impulses, mounting, attaining a maximum, and descending--expanding from some focus of force in the manner universal throughout nature. Science recognizes in the spiral an archetypal form, whether found in a whirlpool or in a nebula. A fret is a series of highly conventionalized spirals: translate it from angular to curved and we have the wave-band; isolate it and we have the volute. Egg and dart are phallic emblems, female and male; or, if you prefer, as ellipse and straight line, they are symbols of finite existence contrasted with infinity. [Figure 1.] [Illustration: Figure 1.] Suppose that we determine to divest ourselves of these and other precious inheritances, not because they have lost their beauty and meaning, but rather on account of their manifold associations with a past which the war makes suddenly more remote than slow centuries have done; suppose that we determine to supplant these symbols with others no less charged with beauty and meaning, but more directly drawn from the inexhaustible well of mathematical truth--how shall we set to work? We need not _set_ to work, because we have done that already, we are always doing it, unknowingly, and without knowing the reason why. All ornamentalists are subjective mathematicians--an amazing statement, perhaps, but one susceptible of confirmation in countless amusing ways, of which two will be shown. [Illustration: Figure 2.] Consider first your calendar--your calendar whose commonplace face, having yielded you information as to pay day, due day, and holiday, you obliterate at the end of each month without a qualm, oblivious to the fact that were your interests less sordid and personal it would speak to you of that order which pervades the universe; would make you realize something of the music of the spheres. For on that familiar checkerboard of the days are numerical arrangements which are mysterious, "magical"; each separate number is as a spider at the center of an amazing mathematical web. That is to say, every number is discovered to be half of the sum of the pairs of numbers which surround it, vertically, horizontally, and diagonally: all of the pairs add to the same sum, and the central number divides this sum by two. A graphic indication of this fact on the calendar face by means of a system of intersecting lines yields that form of classic grille dear to the heart of every tyro draughtsman. [Figure 2.] Here is an evident relation between mathematical fact and ornamental mode, whether the result of accident, or by reason of some subconscious connection between the creative and the reasoning part of the mind. To show, by means of an example other than this acrostic of the days, how the pattern-making instinct follows unconsciously in the groove traced out for it by mathematics, the attention of the reader is directed to the design of the old Colonial bed-spread shown in Figure 3. Adjacent to this, in the upper right hand corner, is a magic square of four. That is, all of the columns of figures of which it is composed: vertical, horizontal and diagonal add to the same sum: 34. An analysis of this square reveals the fact that it is made up of the figures of two different orders of counting: the ordinary order, beginning at the left hand upper corner and reading across and down in the usual way, and the reverse-ordinary, beginning at the lower right hand corner and reading across and up. The figures in the four central cells and in the four outside corner cells are discovered to belong in the first category, and the remaining figures in the second. Now if the ordinary order cells be represented by white, and the reverse ordinary by black, just such a pattern has been created as forms the decorative motif of the quilt. It may be claimed that these two examples of a relation between ornament and mathematics are accidental and therefore prove nothing, but they at least furnish a clue which the artist would be foolish not to follow up. Let him attack his problem this time directly, and see if number may not be made to yield the thing he seeks: namely, space-rhythms which are beautiful and new. We know that there is a beauty inherent in _order_, that necessity of one sort or another is the parent of beauty. Beauty in architecture is largely the result of structural necessity; beauty in ornament may spring from a necessity which is numerical. It is clear that the arrangement of numbers in a magic square is necessitous--they must be placed in a certain way in order that the summation of every column shall be the same. The problem then becomes to make that necessity reveal itself to the eye. Now most magic squares contain a _magic path_, discovered by following the numbers from cell to cell in their natural order. Because this is a necessitous line it should not surprise us that it is frequently beautiful as well. [Illustration: Figure 3.] The left hand drawing in Figure 4 represents the smallest aggregation of numbers that is capable of magic square arrangement. Each vertical, horizontal, and corner diagonal column adds up to 15, and the sum of any two opposite numbers is 10, which is twice the center number. The magic path is the endless line developed by following, free hand, the numbers in their natural order, from 1 to 9 and back to 1 again. The drawing at the right of Figure 4 is this same line translated into ornament by making an interlace of it, and filling in the larger interstices with simple floral forms. This has been executed in white plaster and made to perform the function of a ventilating grille. Now the number of magic squares is practically limitless, and while all of them do not yield magic lines of the beauty of this one, some contain even richer decorative possibilities. But there are also other ways of deriving ornament from magic squares, already hinted at in the discussion of the Colonial quilt. [Illustration: Figure 4.] [Illustration: Figure 5.] Magic squares of an even number of cells are found sometimes to consist of numbers arranged not only in combinations of the ordinary and the reverse ordinary orders of counting, but involving two others as well: the reverse of the ordinary (beginning at the upper right hand, across, and down) and the reversed inverse, (beginning at the lower left hand, across, and up). If, in such a magic square, a simple graphic symbol be substituted for the numbers belonging to each order, pattern spontaneously springs to life. Figures 5 and 6 exemplify the method, and Figures 7 and 8 the translation of some of these squares into richer patterns by elaborating the symbols while respecting their arrangement. By only a slight stretch of the imagination the beautiful pierced stone screen from Ravenna shown in Figure 9 might be conceived of as having been developed according to this method, although of course it was not so in fact. Some of the arrangements shown in Figure 6 are closely paralleled in the acoustic figures made by means of musical tones with sand, on a sheet of metal or glass. [Illustration: Figure 6.] [Illustration: Figure 7.] The celebrated Franklin square of 16 cells can be made to yield a beautiful pattern by designating some of the lines which give the summation of 2056 by different symbols, as shown in Figure 10. A free translation of this design into pattern brickwork is indicated in Figure 11. If these processes seem unduly involved and elaborate for the achievement of a simple result--like burning the house down in order to get roast pig--there are other more simple ways of deriving ornament from mathematics, for the truths of number find direct and perfect expression in the figures of geometry. The squaring of a number--the raising of it to its second power--finds graphic expression in the plane figure of the square; and the cubing of a number--the raising of it to its third power--in the solid figure of the cube. Now squares and cubes have been recognized from time immemorial as useful ornamental motifs. Other elementary geometrical figures, making concrete to the eye the truths of abstract number, may be dealt with by the designer in such a manner as to produce ornament the most varied and profuse. Moorish ceilings, Gothic window tracery, Grolier bindings, all indicate the richness of the field. [Illustration: Figure 8.] [Illustration: PLATE XII. IMAGINARY COMPOSITION. THE BALCONY] [Illustration: Figure 9.] Suppose, for example, that we attempt to deal decoratively which such simple figures as the three lowest Platonic solids--the tetrahedron, the hexahedron, and the octahedron. [Figure 12.] Their projection on a plane yields a rhythmical division of space, because of their inherent symmetry. These projections would correspond to the network of lines seen in looking through a glass paperweight of the given shape, the lines being formed by the joining of the several faces. Figure 13 represents ornamental bands developed in this manner. The dodecahedron and icosahedron, having more faces, yield more intricate patterns, and there is no limit to the variety of interesting designs obtainable by these direct and simple means. [Illustration: Figure 10.] If the author has been successful thus far in his exposition, it should be sufficiently plain that from the inexhaustible well of mathematics fresh beauty may be drawn. But what of its significance? Ornament must _mean something_; it must have some relation to the dominant ideation of the day; it must express the psychological mood. What is the psychological mood? Ours is an age of transition; we live in a changing world. On the one hand we witness the breaking up of many an old thought crystal, on the other we feel the pressure of those forces which shall create the new. What is nature's first visible creative act? The formation of a geometrical crystal. The artist should take this hint, and organize geometry into a new ornamental mode; by so doing he will prove himself to be in relation to the _anima mundi_. It is only by the establishment of such a relation that new beauty comes to birth in the world. [Illustration: Figure 11.] Ornament in its primitive manifestations is geometrical rather than naturalistic. This is in a manner strange, that the abstract and metaphysical thing should precede the concrete and sensuous. It would be natural to suppose that man would first imitate the things which surround him, but the most cursory acquaintance with primitive art shows that he is much more apt to crudely geometrize. Now it is not necessary to assume that we are to revert to the conditions of savagery in order to believe that in this matter of a sound æsthetic we must begin where art has always begun--with number and geometry. Nevertheless there is a subtly ironic view which one is justified in holding in regard to quite obvious aspects of American life, in the light of which that life appears to have rather more in common with savagery than with culture. [Illustration: Figure 12.] [Illustration: Figure 13.] The submersion of scholarship by athletics in our colleges is a case in point, the contest of muscles exciting much more interest and enthusiasm than any contest of wits. We persist in the savage habit of devouring the corpses of slain animals long after the necessity for it is past, and some even murder innocent wild creatures, giving to their ferocity the name of sport. Our women bedeck themselves with furs and feathers, the fruit of mercenary and systematic slaughter; we perform orgiastic dances to the music of horns and drums and cymbals--in short, we have the savage psychology without its vital religious instinct and its sure decorative sense for color and form. But this is of course true only of the surface and sunlit shadows of the great democratic tide. Its depths conceal every kind of subtlety and sophistication, high endeavour, and a response to beauty and wisdom of a sort far removed from the amoeba stage of development above sketched. Of this latter stage the simple figures of Euclidian plane and solid geometry--figures which any child can understand--are the appropriate symbols, but for that other more developed state of consciousness--less apparent but more important--these will not do. Something more sophisticated and recondite must be sought for if we are to have an ornamental mode capable of expressing not only the simplicity but the complexity of present-day psychology. This need not be sought for outside the field of geometry, but within it, and by an extension of the methods already described. There is an altogether modern development of the science of mathematics: the geometry of four dimensions. This represents the emancipation of the mind from the tyranny of mere appearances; the turning of consciousness in a new direction. It has therefore a high symbolical significance as typifying that movement away from materialism which is so marked a phenomenon of the times. Of course to those whose notion of the fourth dimension is akin to that of a friend of the author who described it as "a wagon-load of bung-holes," the idea of getting from it any practical advantage cannot seem anything but absurd. There is something about this form of words "the fourth dimension" which seems to produce a sort of mental-phobia in certain minds, rendering them incapable of perception or reason. Such people, because they cannot stick their cane into it contend that the fourth dimension has no mathematical or philosophical validity. As ignorance on this subject is very general, the following essay will be devoted to a consideration of the fourth dimension and its relation to a new ornamental mode. [Illustration] II THE FOURTH DIMENSION The subject of the fourth dimension is not an easy one to understand. Fortunately the artist in design does not need to penetrate far into these fascinating halls of thought in order to reap the advantage which he seeks. Nevertheless an intention of mind upon this "fairy-tale of mathematics" cannot fail to enlarge his intellectual and spiritual horizons, and develop his imagination--that finest instrument in all his chest of tools. By way of introduction to the subject Prof. James Byrnie Shaw, in an article in the _Scientific Monthly_, has this to say: Up to the period of the Reformation algebraic equations of more than the third degree were frowned upon as having no real meaning, since there is no fourth power or dimension. But about one hundred years ago this chimera became an actual existence, and today it is furnishing a new world to physics, in which mechanics may become geometry, time be co-ordinated with space, and every geometric theorem in the world is a physical theorem in the experimental world in study in the laboratory. Startling indeed it is to the scientist to be told that an artificial dream-world of the mathematician is more real than that he sees with his galvanometers, ultra-microscopes, and spectroscopes. It matters little that he replies, "Your four-dimensional world is only an analytic explanation of my phenomena," for the fact remains a fact, that in the mathematician's four-dimensional space there is a space not derived in any sense of the term as a residue of experience, however powerful a distillation of sensations or perceptions be resorted to, for it is not contained at all in the fluid that experience furnishes. It is a product of the creative power of the mathematical mind, and its objects are real in exactly the same way that the cube, the square, the circle, the sphere or the straight line. We are enabled to see with the penetrating vision of the mathematical insight that no less real and no more real are these fantastic forms of the world of relativity than those supposed to be uncreatable or indestructible in the play of the forces of nature. These "fantastic forms" alone need concern the artist. If by some potent magic he can precipitate them into the world of sensuous images so that they make music to the eye, he need not even enter into the question of their reality, but in order to achieve this transmutation he should know something, at least, of the strange laws of their being, should lend ear to a fairy-tale in which each theorem is a paradox, and each paradox a mathematical fact. He must conceive of a space of four mutually independent directions; a space, that is, having a direction at right angles to every direction that we know. We cannot point to this, we cannot picture it, but we can reason about it with a precision that is all but absolute. In such a space it would of course be possible to establish four axial lines, all intersecting at a point, and all mutually at right angles with one another. Every hyper-solid of four-dimensional space has these four axes. The regular hyper-solids (analogous to the Platonic solids of three-dimensional space) are the "fantastic forms" which will prove useful to the artist. He should learn to lure them forth along them axis lines. That is, let him build up his figures, space by space, developing them from lower spaces to higher. But since he cannot enter the fourth dimension, and build them there, nor even the third--if he confines himself to a sheet of paper--he must seek out some form of _representation_ of the higher in the lower. This is a process with which he is already acquainted, for he employs it every time he makes a perspective drawing, which is the representation of a solid on a plane. All that is required is an extension of the method: a hyper-solid can be represented in a figure of three dimensions, and this in turn can be projected on a plane. The achieved result will constitute a perspective of a perspective--the representation of a representation. This may sound obscure to the uninitiated, and it is true that the plane projection of some of the regular hyper-solids are staggeringly intricate affairs, but the author is so sure that this matter lies so well within the compass of the average non-mathematical mind that he is willing to put his confidence to a practical test. It is proposed to develop a representation of the tesseract or hyper-cube on the paper of this page, that is, on a space of two dimensions. Let us start as far back as we can: with a point. This point, a, [Figure 14] is conceived to move in a direction w, developing the line a b. This line next moves in a direction at right angles to w, namely, x, a distance equal to its length, forming the square a b c d. Now for the square to develop into a cube by a movement into the third dimension it would have to move in a direction at right angles to both w and x, that is, out of the plane of the paper--away from it altogether, either up or down. This is not possible, of course, but the third direction can be _represented_ on the plane of the paper. [Illustration: Figure 14. TWO PROJECTIONS OF THE HYPERCUBE OR TESSERACT, AND THEIR TRANSLATION INTO ORNAMENT.] Let us represent it as diagonally downward toward the right, namely, y. In the y direction, then, and at a distance equal to the length of one of the sides of the square, another square is drawn, a'b'c'd', representing the original square at the end of its movement into the third dimension; and because in that movement the bounding points of the square have traced out lines (edges), it is necessary to connect the corresponding corners of the two squares by means of lines. This completes the figure and achieves the representation of a cube on a plane by a perfectly simple and familiar process. Its six faces are easily identified by the eye, though only two of them appear as squares owing to the exigencies of representation. Now for a leap into the abyss, which won't be so terrifying, since it involves no change of method. The cube must move into the fourth dimension, developing there a hyper-cube. This is impossible, for the reason the cube would have to move out of our space altogether--three-dimensional space will not contain a hyper-cube. But neither is the cube itself contained within the plane of the paper; it is only there _represented_. The y direction had to be imagined and then arbitrarily established; we can arbitrarily establish the fourth direction in the same way. As this is at right angles to y, its indication may be diagonally downward and to the left--the direction z. As y is known to be at right angles both to w and to x, z is at right angles to all three, and we have thus established the four mutually perpendicular axes necessary to complete the figure. The cube must now move in the z direction (the fourth dimension) a distance equal to the length of one of its sides. Just as we did previously in the case of the square, we draw the cube in its new position (ABB'D'C'C) and also as before we connect each apex of the first cube with the corresponding apex of the other, because each of these points generates a line (an edge), each line a plane, and each plane a solid. This is the tesseract or hyper-cube in plane projection. It has the 16 points, 32 lines, and 8 cubes known to compose the figure. These cubes occur in pairs, and may be readily identified.[1] The tesseract as portrayed in A, Figure 14, is shown according to the conventions of oblique, or two-point perspective; it can equally be represented in a manner correspondent to parallel perspective. The parallel perspective of a cube appears as a square inside another square, with lines connecting the four vertices of the one with those of the other. The third dimension (the one beyond the plane of the paper) is here conceived of as being not beyond the boundaries of the first square, but _within_ them. We may with equal propriety conceive of the fourth dimension as a "beyond which is within." In that case we would have a rendering of the tesseract as shown in B, Figure 14: a cube within a cube, the space between the two being occupied by six truncated pyramids, each representing a cube. The large outside cube represents the original generating cube at the beginning of its motion into the fourth dimension, and the small inside cube represents it at the end of that motion. [Illustration: PLATE XIII. IMAGINARY COMPOSITION: THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER] These two projections of the tesseract upon plane space are not the only ones possible, but they are typical. Some idea of the variety of aspects may be gained by imagining how a nest of inter-related cubes (made of wire, so as to interpenetrate), combined into a single symmetrical figure of three-dimensional space, would appear from several different directions. Each view would yield new space-subdivisions, and all would be rhythmical--susceptible, therefore, of translation into ornament. C and D represent such translations of A and B. In order to fix these unfamiliar ideas more firmly in the reader's mind, let him submit himself to one more exercise of the creative imagination, and construct, by a slightly different method, a representation of a hexadecahedroid, or 16-hedroid, on a plane. This regular solid of four-dimensional space consists of sixteen cells, each a regular tetrahedron, thirty-two triangular faces, twenty-four edges and eight vertices. It is the correlative of the octahedron of three-dimensional space. First it is necessary to establish our four axes, all mutually at right angles. If we draw three lines intersecting at a point, subtending angles of 60 degrees each, it is not difficult to conceive of these lines as being at right angles with one another in three-dimensional space. The fourth axis we will assume to pass vertically through the point of intersection of the three lines, so that we see it only in cross-section, that is, as a point. It is important to remember that all of the angles made by the four axes are right angles--a thing possible only in a space of four dimensions. Because the 16-hedroid is a symmetrical hyper-solid all of its eight apexes will be equidistant from the centre of a containing hyper-sphere, whose "surface" these will intersect at symmetrically disposed points. These apexes are established in our representation by describing a circle--the plane projection of the hyper-sphere--about the central point of intersection of the axes. (Figure 15, left.) Where each of these intersects the circle an apex of the 16-hedroid will be established. From each apex it is now necessary to draw straight lines to every other, each line representing one edge of the sixteen tetrahedral cells. But because the two ends of the fourth axis are directly opposite one another, and opposite the point of sight, all of these lines fail to appear in the left hand diagram. It therefore becomes necessary to _tilt_ the figure slightly, bringing into view the fourth axis, much foreshortened, and with it, all of the lines which make up the figure. The result is that projection of the 16-hedroid shown at the right of Figure 15.[2] Here is no fortuitous arrangement of lines and areas, but the "shadow" cast by an archetypal, figure of higher space upon the plane of our materiality. It is a wonder, a mystery, staggering to the imagination, contradictory to experience, but as well entitled to a place at the high court of reason as are any of the more familiar figures with which geometry deals. Translated into ornament it produces such an all-over pattern as is shown in Figure 16 and the design which adorns the curtains at right and left of pl. XIII. There are also other interesting projections of the 16-hedroid which need not be gone into here. [Illustration: Figure 15. DIRECT VIEW AXES SHOWN BY HEAVY LINES TILTED VIEW APEXES SHOWN BY CIRCLES THE 16-HEDROID IN PLANE PROJECTION] For if the author has been successful in his exposition up to this point, it should be sufficiently plain that the geometry of four-dimensions is capable of yielding fresh and interesting ornamental motifs. In carrying his demonstration farther, and in multiplying illustrations, he would only be going over ground already covered in his book _Projective Ornament_ and in his second Scammon lecture. Of course this elaborate mechanism for producing quite obvious and even ordinary decorative motifs may appear to some readers like Goldberg's nightmare mechanics, wherein the most absurd and intricate devices are made to accomplish the most simple ends. The author is undisturbed by such criticisms. If the designs dealt with in this chapter are "obvious and even ordinary" they are so for the reason that they were chosen less with an eye to their interest and beauty than as lending themselves to development and demonstration by an orderly process which should not put too great a tax upon the patience and intelligence of the reader. Four-dimensional geometry yields numberless other patterns whose beauty and interest could not possibly be impeached--patterns beyond the compass of the cleverest designer unacquainted with projective geometry. [Illustration: Figure 16.] The great need of the ornamentalist is this or some other solid foundation. Lacking it, he has been forced to build either on the shifting sands of his own fancy, or on the wrecks and sediment of the past. Geometry provides this sure foundation. We may have to work hard and dig deep, but the results will be worth the effort, for only on such a foundation can arise a temple which is beautiful and strong. In confirmation of his general contention that the basis of all effective decoration is geometry and number, the author, in closing, desires to direct the reader's attention to Figure 17 a slightly modified rendering of the famous zodiacal ceiling of the Temple of Denderah, in Egypt. A sun and its corona have been substituted for the zodiacal signs and symbols which fill the centre of the original, for except to an Egyptologist these are meaningless. In all essentials the drawing faithfully follows the original--was traced, indeed, from a measured drawing. [Illustration: Figure 17. CEILING DECORATION FROM THE TEMPLE OF DENDERAH] Here is one of the most magnificent decorative schemes in the whole world, arranged with a feeling for balance and rhythm exceeding the power of the modern artist, and executed with a mastery beyond the compass of a modern craftsman. The fact that first forces itself upon the beholder is that the thing is so obviously mathematical in its rhythms, that to reduce it to terms of geometry and number is a matter of small difficulty. Compare the frozen music of these rhymed and linked figures with the herded, confused, and cluttered compositions of even our best decorative artists, and argument becomes unnecessary--the fact stands forth that we have lost something precious and vital out of art of which the ancients possessed the secret. It is for the restoration of these ancient verities and the discovery of new spatial rhythms--made possible by the advance of mathematical science--that the author pleads. Artists, architects, designers, instead of chewing the cud of current fashion, come into these pastures new! [Illustration] [Footnote 1: The eight cubes in A, Figure 14, are as follows: abb'd'c'c; ABB'D'C'C; abdDCA; a'b'd'D'C'A'; abb'B'A'A; cdd'D'C'C; bb'd'D'DB; aa'c'C'CA.] [Footnote 2: The sixteen cells of the hexadehahedroid are as follows: ABCD: A'B'C'D': AB'C'D': A'BCD: AB'CD: A'BC'D: ABC'D: A'B'CD': ABCD': A'B'C'D: ABC'D': A'B'CD: A'BC'D: AB'CD': A'BCD': AB'C'D.] HARNESSING THE RAINBOW Reference was made in an antecedent essay to an art of light--of mobile color--an abstract language of thought and emotion which should speak to consciousness through the eye, as music speaks through the ear. This is an art unborn, though quickening in the womb of the future. The things that reflect light have been organized æsthetically into the arts of architecture, painting, and sculpture, but light itself has never been thus organized. And yet the scientific development and control of light has reached a stage which makes this new art possible. It awaits only the advent of the creative artist. The manipulation of light is now in the hands of the illuminating engineers and its exploitation (in other than necessary ways) in the hands of the advertisers. Some results of their collaboration are seen in the sky signs of upper Broadway, in New York, and of the lake front, in Chicago. A carnival of contending vulgarities, showing no artistry other than the most puerile, these displays nevertheless yield an effect of amazing beauty. This is on account of an occult property inherent in the nature of light--_it cannot be vulgarized_. If the manipulation of light were delivered into the hands of the artist, and dedicated to noble ends, it is impossible to overestimate the augmentation of beauty that would ensue. For light is a far more potent medium than sound. The sphere of sound is the earth-sphere; the little limits of our atmosphere mark the uttermost boundaries to which sound, even the most strident can possibly prevail. But the medium of light is the ether, which links us with the most distant stars. May not this serve as a symbol of the potency of light to usher the human spirit into realms of being at the doors of which music itself shall beat in vain? Or if we compare the universe accessible to sight with that accessible to sound--the plight of the blind in contrast to that of the deaf--there is the same discrepancy; the field of the eye is immensely richer, more various and more interesting than that of the ear. The difficulty appears to consist in the inferior impressionability of the eye to its particular order of beauty. To the average man color--as color--has nothing significant to say: to him grass is green, snow is white, the sky blue; and to have his attention drawn to the fact that sometimes grass is yellow, snow blue, and the sky green, is disconcerting rather than illuminating. It is only when his retina is assaulted by some splendid sunset or sky-encircling rainbow that he is able to disassociate the idea of color from that of form and substance. Even the artist is at a disadvantage in this respect, when compared with the musician. Nothing in color knowledge and analysis analogous to the established laws of musical harmony is part of the equipment of the average artist; he plays, as it were, by ear. The scientist, on the other hand, though he may know the spectrum from end to end, and its innumerable modifications, values this "rainbow promise of the Lord" not for its own beautiful sake but as a means to other ends than those of beauty. But just as the art of music has developed the ear into a fine and sensitive instrument of appreciation, so an analogous art of light would educate the eye to nuances of color to which it is now blind. [Illustration: PLATE XIV. SONG AND LIGHT: AN APPROACH TOWARD "COLOR MUSIC"] It is interesting to speculate as to the particular form in which this new art will manifest itself. The question is perhaps already answered in the "color organ," the earliest of which was Bambridge Bishop's, exhibited at the old Barnum's Museum--before the days of electric light--and the latest A.W. Rimington's. Both of these instruments were built upon a supposed correspondence between a given scale of colors, and the musical chromatic scale; they were played from a musical score upon an organ keyboard. This is sufficiently easy and sufficiently obvious, and has been done, with varying success in one way or another, time and again, but its very ease and obviousness should give us pause. It may well be questioned whether any arbitrary and literal translation, even though practicable, of a highly complex, intensely mobile art, unfolding in time, as does music, into a correspondent light and color expression, is the best approach to a new art of mobile color. There is a deep and abiding conviction, justified by the history of æsthetics, that each art-form must progress from its own beginnings and unfold in its own unique and characteristic way. Correspondences between the arts--such a correspondence, for example, as inspired the famous saying that architecture is frozen music--reveal themselves usually only after the sister arts have attained an independent maturity. They owe their origin to that underlying unity upon which our various modes of sensuous perception act as a refracting medium, and must therefore be taken for granted. Each art, like each individual, is unique and singular; in this singularity dwells its most thrilling appeal. We are likely to miss light's crowning glory, and the rainbow's most moving message to the soul if we preoccupy ourselves too exclusively with the identities existing between music and color; it is rather their points of difference which should first be dwelt upon. Let us accordingly consider the characteristic differences between the two sense-categories to which sound and light--music and color--respectively belong. This resolves itself into a comparison between time and space. The characteristic thing about time is succession--hence the very idea of music, which is in time, involves perpetual change. The characteristic of space, on the other hand, is simultaneousness--in space alone perpetual immobility would reign. That is why architecture, which is pre-eminently the art of space, is of all the arts the most static. Light and color are essentially of space, and therefore an art of mobile colour should never lack a certain serenity and repose. A "tune" played on a color organ is only distressing. If there is a workable correspondence between the musical art and an art of mobile color, it will be found in the domain of harmony which involves the idea of simultaneity, rather than in melody, which is pure succession. This fundamental difference between time and space cannot be over-emphasized. A musical note prolonged, becomes at last scarcely tolerable; while a beautiful color, like the blue of the sky, we can enjoy all day and every day. The changing hues of a sunset, are _andante_ if referred to a musical standard, but to the eye they are _allegretto_--we would have them pass less swiftly than they do. The winking, chasing, changing lights of illuminated sky-signs are only annoying, and for the same reason. The eye longs for repose in some serene radiance or stately sequence, while the ear delights in contrast and continual change. It may be that as the eye becomes more educated it will demand more movement and complexity, but a certain stillness and serenity are of the very nature of light, as movement and passion are of the very nature of sound. Music is a seeking--"love in search of a word"; light is a finding--a "divine covenant." With attention still focussed on the differences rather than the similarities between the musical art and a new art of mobile color, we come next to the consideration of the matter of form. Now form is essentially of space: we speak about the "form" of a musical composition, but it is in a more or less figurative and metaphysical sense, not as a thing concrete and palpable, like the forms of space. It would be foolish to forego the advantage of linking up form with colour, as there is opportunity to do. Here is another golden ball to juggle with, one which no art purely in time affords. Of course it is known that musical sounds weave invisible patterns in the air, and to render these patterns perceptible to the eye may be one of the more remote and recondite achievements of our uncreated art. Meantime, though we have the whole treasury of natural forms to draw from, of these we can only properly employ such as are _abstract_. The reason for this is clear to any one who conceives of an art of mobile color, not as a moving picture show--a thing of quick-passing concrete images, to shock, to startle, or to charm--but as a rich and various language in which light, proverbially the symbol of the spirit, is made to speak, through the senses, some healing message to the soul. For such a consummation, "devoutly to be wished," natural forms--forms abounding in every kind of association with that world of materiality from which we would escape--are out of place; recourse must be had rather to abstract forms, that is, geometrical figures. And because the more remote these are from the things of sense, from knowledge and experience, the projected figures of four-dimensional geometry would lend themselves to these uses with an especial grace. Color without form is as a soul without a body; yet the body of light must be without any taint of materiality. Four-dimensional forms are as immaterial as anything that could be imagined and they could be made to serve the useful purpose of separating colors one from another, as lead lines do in old cathedral windows, than which nothing more beautiful has ever been devised. Coming now to the consideration, not of differences, but similarities, it is clear that a correspondence can be established between the colors of the spectrum and the notes of a musical scale. That is, the spectrum, considered as the analogue of a musical octave can be subdivided into twelve colors which may be representative of the musical chromatic scale of twelve semi-tones: the very word, _chromatic_, being suggestive of such a correspondence between sound and light. The red end of the spectrum would naturally relate to the low notes of the musical scale, and the violet end to the high, by reason of the relative rapidity of vibration in each case; for the octave of a musical note sets the air vibrating twice as rapidly as does the note itself, and roughly speaking, the same is true of the end colors of the spectrum with relation to the ether. But assuming that a color scale can be established which would yield a color correlative to any musical note or chord, there still remains the matter of _values_ to be dealt with. In the musical scale there is a practical equality of values: one note is as potent as another. In a color scale, on the other hand, each note (taken at its greatest intensity) has a positive value of its own, and they are all different. These values have no musical correlatives, they belong to color _per se_. Every colorist knows that the whole secret of beauty and brilliance dwells in a proper understanding and adjustment of values, and music is powerless to help him here. Let us therefore defer the discussion of this musical parallel, which is full of pitfalls, until we have made some examination into such simple emotional reactions as color can be discovered to yield. The musical art began from the emotional response to certain simple tones and combinations, and the delight of the ear in their repetition and variation. On account of our undeveloped sensitivity, the emotional reactions to color are found to be largely personal and whimsical: one person "loves" pink, another purple, or green. Color therapeutics is too new a thing to be relied upon for data, for even though colors are susceptible of classification as sedative, recuperative and stimulating, no two classifications arrived at independently would be likely to correspond. Most people appear to prefer bright, pure colors when presented to them in small areas, red and blue being the favourites. Certain data have been accumulated regarding the physiological effect and psychological value of different colors, but this order of research is in its infancy, and we shall have recourse, therefore, to theory, in the absence of any safer guide. One of the theories which may be said to have justified itself in practice in a different field is that upon which is based Delsarte's famous art of expression. It has schooled some of the finest actors in the world, and raised others from mediocrity to distinction. The Delsarte system is founded upon the idea that man is a triplicity of physical, emotional, and intellectual qualities or attributes, and that the entire body and every part thereof conforms to, and expresses this triplicity. The generative and digestive region corresponds with the physical nature, the breast with the emotional, and the head with the intellectual; "below" represents the nadir of ignorance and dejection, "above" the zenith of wisdom and spiritual power. This seems a natural, and not an arbitrary classification, having interesting confirmations and correspondencies, both in the outer world of form, and in the inner world of consciousness. Moreover, it is in accord with that theosophic scheme derived from the ancient and august wisdom of the East, which longer and better than any other has withstood the obliterating action of slow time, and is even now renascent. Let us therefore attempt to classify the colors of the spectrum according to this theory, and discover if we can how nearly such a classification is conformable to reason and experience. The red end of the spectrum, being lowest in vibratory rate, would correspond to the physical nature, proverbially more sluggish than the emotional and mental. The phrase "like a red rag to a bull," suggests a relation between the color red and the animal consciousness established by observation. The "low-brow" is the dear lover of the red necktie; the "high-brow" is he who sees violet shadows on the snow. We "see red" when we are dominated by ignoble passion. Though the color green is associated with the idea of jealousy, it is associated also with the idea of sympathy, and jealousy in the last analysis is the fear of the loss of sympathy; it belongs, at all events to the mediant, or emotional group of colors; while blue and violet are proverbially intellectual and spiritual colors, and their place in the spectrum therefore conforms to the demands of our theoretical division. Here, then, is something reasonably certain, certainly reasonable, and may serve as an hypothesis to be confirmed or confuted by subsequent research. Coming now finally to the consideration of the musical parallel, let us divide a color scale of twelve steps or semi-tones into three groups; each group, graphically portrayed, subtending one-third of the arc of a circle. The first or red group will be related to the physical nature, and will consist of purple-red, red, red-orange, and orange. The second, or green group will be related to the emotional nature, and will consist of yellow, yellow-green, green, and green-blue. The third, or blue group will be related to the intellectual and spiritual nature, and will consist of blue, blue-violet, violet and purple. The merging of purple into purple-red will then correspond to the meeting place of the highest with the lowest, "spirit" and "matter." We conceive of this meeting-place symbolically as the "heart"--the vital centre. Now "sanguine" is the appropriate name associated with the color of the blood--a color between purple and purple-red. It is logical, therefore, to regard this point in our color-scale as its tonic--"middle C"--though each color, just as in music each note, is itself the tonic of a scale of its own. Mr. Louis Wilson--the author of the above "ophthalmic color scale" makes the same affiliation between sanguine, or blood color, and middle C, led thereto by scientific reasons entirely unassociated with symbolism. He has omitted orange-yellow and violet-purple; this makes the scale conform more exactly with the diatonic scale of two tetra-chords; it also gives a greater range of purples, a color indispensable to the artist. Moreover, in the scale as it stands, each color is exactly opposite its true spectral complementary. The color scale being thus established and broadly divided, the next step is to find how well it justifies itself in practice. The most direct way would be to translate the musical chords recognized and dealt with in the science of harmony into their corresponding color combinations. For the benefit of such readers as have no knowledge of musical harmony it should be said that the entire science of harmony is based upon the _triad_, or chord of three notes, and that there are various kinds of triads: the major, the minor, the augmented, the diminished, and the altered. The major triad consists of the first note of the diatonic scale, or tonic; its third, and its fifth. The minor triad differs from the major only in that the second member is lowered a semi-tone. The augmented triad differs from the major only in that the third member is raised a semi-tone. The diminished triad differs from the minor only in that the third member is lowered a semi-tone. The altered triad is a chord different by a semi-tone from any of the above. The major triad in color is formed by taking any one of the twelve color-centers of the ophthalmic color scale as the first member of the triad; and, reading up the scale, the fifth step (each step representing a semi-tone) determines the second member, while the third member is found in the eighth step. The minor triad in color is formed by lowering the second member of the major triad one step; the augmented triad by raising the third member of the major triad one step, and the diminished triad by lowering the third member of the minor triad one step. [Illustration: Figure 18. MAJOR TRIAD, MINOR TRIAD, AUGMENTED TRIAD, DIMINISHED TRIAD] These various triads are shown graphically in Figure 18 as triangles within a circle divided into twelve equal parts, each part representing a semi-tone of the chromatic scale. It is seen at a glance that in every case each triad has one of its notes (an apex) in or immediately adjacent to a different one of the grand divisions of the colour scale hereinbefore established and described, and that the same thing would be true in any "key": that is, by any variation of the point of departure. This certainly satisfies the mind in that it suggests variety in unity, balance, completeness, and in the actual portrayal, in color, of these chords in any "key" this judgment is confirmed by the eye, provided that the colors have been thrown into proper _harmonic suppression_. By this is meant such an adjustment of relative values, or such an establishment of relative proportions as will produce the maximum of beauty of which any given combination is capable. This matter imperatively demands an æsthetic sense the most sensitive. So this "musical parallel," interesting and reasonable as it is, will not carry the color harmonist very far, and if followed too literally it is even likely to hamper him in the higher reaches of his art, for some of the musical dissonances are of great beauty in color translation. All that can safely be said in regard to the musical parallel in its present stage of development is that it simplifies and systematizes color knowledge and experiment and to a beginner it is highly educational. If we are to have color symphonies, the best are not likely to be those based on a literal translation of some musical masterpiece into color according to this or any theory, but those created by persons who are emotionally reactive to this medium, able to imagine in color, and to treat it imaginatively. The most beautiful mobile color effects yet witnessed by the author were produced on a field only five inches square, by an eminent painter quite ignorant of music; while some of the most unimpressive have been the result of a rigid adherence to the musical parallel by persons intent on cutting, with this sword, this Gordian knot. Into the subject of means and methods it is not proposed to enter, nor to attempt to answer such questions as to whether the light shall be direct or projected; whether the spectator, wrapped in darkness, shall watch the music unfold at the end of some mysterious vista, or whether his whole organism shall be played upon by powerful waves of multi-coloured light. These coupled alternatives are not mutually exclusive, any more than the idea of an orchestra is exclusive of that of a single human voice. In imagining an art of mobile color unconditioned by considerations of mechanical difficulty or of expense, ideas multiply in truly bewildering profusion. Sunsets, solar coronas, star spectra, auroras such as were never seen on sea or land; rainbows, bubbles, rippling water; flaming volcanoes, lava streams of living light--these and a hundred other enthralling and perfectly realizable effects suggest themselves. What Israfil of the future will pour on mortals this new "music of the spheres"? LOUIS SULLIVAN PROPHET OF DEMOCRACY Due tribute has been paid to Mr. Louis Sullivan as an architect in the first essay of this volume. That aspect of his genius has been critically dealt with by many, but as an author he is scarcely known. Yet there are Sibylline leaves of his, still let us hope in circulation, which have wielded a potent influence on the minds of a generation of men now passing to maturity. It is in the hope that his message may not be lost to the youth of today and of tomorrow that the present author now undertakes to summarize and interpret that message to a public to which Mr. Sullivan is indeed a name, but not a voice. That he is not a voice can be attributed neither to his lack of eloquence--for he is eloquent--nor to the indifference of the younger generation of architects which has grown up since he has ceased, in any public way, to speak. It is due rather to a curious fatality whereby his memorabilia have been confined to sheets which the winds of time have scattered--pamphlets, ephemeral magazines, trade journals--never the bound volume which alone guards the sacred flame from the gusts of evil chance. And Mr. Sullivan's is a "sacred flame," because it was kindled solely with the idea of service--a beacon to keep young men from shipwreck traversing those straits made dangerous by the Scylla of Conventionality, and the Charybdis of License. The labour his writing cost him was enormous. "I shall never again make so great a sacrifice for the younger generation," he says in a letter, "I am amazed to note how insignificant, how almost nil is the effect produced, in comparison to the cost, in vitality to me. Or perhaps it is I who am in error. Perhaps one must have reached middle age, or the Indian Summer of life, must have seen much, heard much, felt and produced much and been much in solitude to receive in reading what I gave in writing 'with hands overfull.'" This was written with reference to _Kindergarten Chats. A sketch Analysis of Contemporaneous American Architecture_, which constitutes Mr. Sullivan's most extended and characteristic preachment to the young men of his day. It appeared in 1901, in fifty-two consecutive numbers of _The Interstate Architect and Builder_, a magazine now no longer published. In it the author, as mentor, leads an imaginary disciple up and down the land, pointing out to him the "bold, upholsterrific blunders" to be found in the architecture of the day, and commenting on them in a caustic, colloquial style--large, loose, discursive--a blend of Ruskin, Carlyle and Whitman, yet all Mr. Sullivan's own. He descends, at times, almost to ribaldry, at others he rises to poetic and prophetic heights. This is all a part of his method alternately to shame and inspire his pupil to some sort of creative activity. The syllabus of Mr. Sullivan's scheme, as it existed in his mind during the writing of _Kindergarten Chats_, and outlined by him in a letter to the author is such a torch of illumination that it is quoted here entire. A young man who has "finished his education" at the architectural schools comes to me for a post-graduate course--hence a free form of dialogue. I proceed with his education rather by indirection and suggestion than by direct precept. I subject him to certain experiences and allow the impressions they make on him to infiltrate, and, as I note the effect, I gradually use a guiding hand. I supply the yeast, so to speak, and allow the ferment to work in him. This is the gist of the whole scheme. It remains then to determine, carefully, the kind of experiences to which I shall subject the lad, and in what order, or logical (and especially psychological) sequence. I begin, then, with aspects that are literal, objective, more or less cynical, and brutal, and philistine. A little at a time I introduce the subjective, the refined, the altruistic; and, by a to-and-fro increasingly intense rhythm of these two opposing themes, worked so to speak in counterpoint, I reach a preliminary climax: of brutality tempered by a longing for nobler, purer things. Hence arise a purblind revulsion and yearning in the lad's soul; the psychological moment has arrived, and I take him at once into the _country_--(Summer: The Storm). This is the first of the four out-of-door scenes, and the lad's first real experience with nature. It impresses him crudely but violently; and in the tense excitement of the tempest he is inspired to temporary eloquence; and at the close is much softened. He feels in a way but does not know that he has been a participant in one of Nature's superb dramas. (Thus do I insidiously prepare the way for the notion that creative architecture is in essence a dramatic art, and an art of eloquence; of subtle rhythmic beauty, power, and tenderness). Left alone in the country the lad becomes maudlin--a callow lover of nature--and makes feeble attempts at verse. Returning to the city he melts and unbosoms--the tender shaft of the unknowable Eros has penetrated to his heart--Nature's subtle spell is on him, to disappear and reappear. Then follow discussions, more or less didactic, leading to the second out-of-door scene (Autumn Glory). Here the lad does most of the talking and shows a certain lucidity and calm of mind. The discussion of Responsibility, Democracy, Education, etc., has inevitably detached the lurking spirit of pessimism. It has to be:--Into the depths and darkness we descend, and the work reaches the tragic climax in the third out-of-door scene--Winter. Now that the forces have been gathered and marshalled the true, sane movement of the work is entered upon and pushed at high tension, and with swift, copious modulations to its foreordained climax and optimistic peroration in the fourth and last out-of-door scene as portrayed in the Spring Song. The _locale_ of this closing number is the beautiful spot in the woods, on the shore of Biloxi Bay:--where I am writing this. I would suggest in passing that a considerable part of the K.C. is in rhythmic prose--some of it declamatory. I have endeavoured throughout this work to represent, or reproduce to the mind and heart of the reader the spoken word and intonation--not written language. It really should be read aloud, especially the descriptive and exalted passages. There was a movement once on the part of Mr. Sullivan's admirers to issue _Kindergarten Chats_ in book form, but he was asked to tone it down and expurgate it, a thing which he very naturally refused to do. Mr. Sullivan has always been completely alive to our cowardice when it comes to hearing the truth about ourselves, and alive to the danger which this cowardice entails, for to his imaginary pupil he says, If you wish to read the current architecture of your country, you must go at it courageously, and not pick out merely the little bits that please you. I am going to soak you with it until you are absolutely nauseated, and your faculties turn in rebellion. I may be a hard taskmaster, but I strive to be a good one. When I am through with you, you will know architecture from the ground up. You will know its virtuous reality and you will know the fake and the fraud and the humbug. I will spare nothing--for your sake. I will stir up the cesspool to its utmost depths of stench, and also the pious, hypocritical virtues of our so-called architecture--the nice, good, mealy-mouthed, suave, dexterous, diplomatic architecture, I will show you also the kind of architecture our "cultured" people believe in. And why do they believe in it? Because they do not believe in themselves. _Kindergarten Chats_ is even more pertinent and pointed today than it was some twenty years ago, when it was written. Speech that is full of truth is timeless, and therefore prophetic. Mr. Sullivan forecast some of the very evils by which we have been overtaken. He was able to do this on account of the fundamental soundness of his point of view, which finds expression in the following words: "Once you learn to look upon architecture not merely as an art more or less well, or more or less badly done, but as a _social manifestation_, the critical eye becomes clairvoyant, and obscure, unnoted phenomena become illumined." Looking, from this point of view, at the office buildings that the then newly-realized possibilities of steel construction were sending skyward along lower Broadway, in New York, Mr. Sullivan reads in them a denial of democracy. To him they signify much more than they seem to, or mean to; they are more than the betrayal of architectural ignorance and mendacity, they are symptomatic of forces undermining American life. These buildings, as they increase in number, make this city poorer, morally and spiritually; they drag it down and down into the mire. This is not American civilization; it is the rottenness of Gomorrah. This is not Democracy--it is savagery. It shows the glutton hunt for the Dollar with no thought for aught else under the sun or over the earth. It is decadence of the spirit in its most revolting form; it is rottenness of the heart and corruption of the mind. So truly does this architecture reflect the causes which have brought it into being. Such structures are _profoundly anti-social_, and as such, they must be reckoned with. These buildings are not architecture, but outlawry, and their authors criminals in the true sense of the word. And such is the architecture of lower New York--hopeless, degraded, and putrid in its pessimistic denial of our art, and of our growing civilization--its cynical contempt for all those qualities that real humans value. We have always been very glib about democracy; we have assumed that this country was a democracy because we named it so. But now that we are called upon to die for the idea, we find that we have never realized it anywhere except perhaps in our secret hearts. In the life of Abraham Lincoln, in the poetry of Walt Whitman, in the architecture of Louis Sullivan, the spirit of democracy found utterance, and to the extent that we ourselves partake of that spirit, it will find utterance also in us. Mr. Sullivan is a "prophet of democracy" not alone in his buildings but in his writings, and the prophetic note is sounded even more clearly in his _What is Architecture? A Study in the American People of Today_, than in _Kindergarten Chats_. This essay was first printed in _The American Contractor_ of January 6, 1906, and afterwards issued in brochure form. The author starts by tracing architecture to its root in the human mind: this physical thing is the manifestation of a psychological state. As a man thinks, so he is; he acts according to his thought, and if that act takes the form of a building it is an emanation of his inmost life, and reveals it. Everything is there for us to read, to interpret; and this we may do at our leisure. The building has not means of locomotion, it cannot hide itself, it cannot get away. There it is, and there it will stay--telling more truths about him who made it, than he in his fatuity imagines; revealing his mind and his heart exactly for what they are worth, not a whit more, not a whit less; telling plainly the lies he thinks; telling with almost cruel truthfulness his bad faith, his feeble, wabbly mind, his impudence, his selfish egoism, his mental irresponsibility, his apathy, his disdain for real things--until at last the building says to us: "I am no more a real building than the thing that made me is a real man!" Language like this stings and burns, but it is just such as is needful to shame us out of our comfortable apathy, to arouse us to new responsibilities, new opportunities. Mr. Sullivan, awake among the sleepers, drenches us with bucketfuls of cold, tonic, energizing truth. The poppy and mandragora of the past, of Europe, poisons us, but in this, our hour of battle, we must not be permitted to dream on. He saw, from far back, that "we, as a people, not only have betrayed each other, but have failed in that trust which the world spirit of democracy placed in our hands, as we, a new people, emerged to fill a new and spacious land." It has taken a world war to make us see the situation as he saw it, and it is to us, a militant nation, and not to the slothful civilians a decade ago, that Mr. Sullivan's stirring message seems to be addressed. The following quotation is his first crack of the whip at the architectural schools. The problem of education is to him of all things the most vital; in this essay he returns to it again and again, while of _Kindergarten Chats_ it is the very _raison d'être_. I trust that a long disquisition is not necessary in order to show that the attempt at imitation, by us, of this day, of the by-gone forms of building, is a procedure unworthy of a free people; and that the dictum of the schools, that Architecture is finished and done, is a suggestion humiliating to every active brain, and therefore, in fact, a puerility and a falsehood when weighed in the scales of truly democratic thought. Such dictum gives the lie in arrogant fashion, to healthful human experience. It says, in a word: the American people are not fit for democracy. He finds the schools saturated with superstitions which are the survivals of the scholasticism of past centuries--feudal institutions, in effect, inimical to his idea of the true spirit of democratic education. This he conceives of as a searching-out, liberating, and developing the splendid but obscured powers of the average man, and particularly those of children. "It is disquieting to note," he says, "that the system of education on which we lavish funds with such generous, even prodigal, hand, falls short of fulfilling its true democratic function; and that particularly in the so-called higher branches its tendency appears daily more reactionary, more feudal. It is not an agreeable reflection that so many of our university graduates lack the trained ability to see clearly, and to think clearly, concisely, constructively; that there is perhaps more showing of cynicism than good faith, seemingly more distrust of men than confidence in them, and, withal, no consummate ability to interpret things." In contrast to the schoolman he sketches the psychology of the active-minded but "uneducated" man, with sympathy and understanding, the man who is courageously seeking a way with little to guide and help him. Is it not the part of wisdom to cheer, to encourage such a mind, rather than dishearten it with ridicule? To say to it: Learn that the mind works best when allowed to work naturally; learn to do what your problem suggests when you have reduced it to its simplest terms; you will thus find that all problems, however complex, take on a simplicity you had not dreamed of; accept this simplicity boldly, and with confidence, do not lose your nerve and run away from it, or you are lost, for you are here at the point men so heedlessly call genius--as though it were necessarily rare; for you are here at the point no living brain can surpass in essence, the point all truly great minds seek--the point of vital simplicity--the point of view which so illuminates the mind that the art of expression becomes spontaneous, powerful, and unerring, and achievement a certainty. So, if you seek and express the best that is in yourself, you must search out the best that is in your people; for they are your problem, and you are indissolubly a part of them. It is for you to affirm that which they really wish to affirm, namely, the best that is in them, and they as truly wish you to express the best that is in yourself. If the people seem to have but little faith it is because they have been tricked so long; they are weary of dishonesty, more weary than they know, much more weary than you know, and in their hearts they seek honest and fearless men, men simple and clear in mind, loyal to their own manhood and to the people. The American people are now in a stupor; be on hand at the awakening. Next he pays his respects to current architectural criticism--a straining at gnats and a swallowing of camels, by minds "benumbed by culture," and hearts made faint by the tyranny of precedent. He complains that they make no distinction between _was_ and _is_, too readily assuming that all that is left us moderns is the humble privilege to select, copy and adapt. The current mannerisms of Architectural criticism must often seem trivial. For of what avail is it to say that this is too small, that too large, this too thick, and that too thin, or to quote this, that, or the other precedent, when the real question may be: Is not the entire design a mean evasion? Why magnify this, that, or the other little thing, if the entire scheme of thinking that the building stands for is false, and puts a mask upon the people, who want true buildings, but do not know how to get them so long as Architects betray them with Architectural phrases? And so he goes on with his Jeremiad: a prophet of despair, do you say? No, he seeks to destroy only that falsity which would confine the living spirit. Earlier and more clearly than we, he discerned the menace to our civilization of the unrestricted play of the masculine forces--powerful, ruthless, disintegrating--the head dominating the heart. It has taken the surgery of war to open our eyes, and behold the spectacle of the entire German nation which by an intellectual process appears to have killed out compassion, enthroning _Schrecklichkeit_. In the heart alone dwells hope of salvation. "For he who knows even a genuinely little of Mankind knows this truth: the heart is greater than the head. For in the heart is Desire; and from it come forth Courage and Magnanimity." You have not thought deeply enough to know that the heart in you is the woman in man. You have derided your femininity, where you have suspected it; whereas, you should have known its power, cherished and utilized it, for it is the hidden well-spring of Intuition and Imagination. What can the brain accomplish without these two? They are the man's two inner eyes; without them he is stone blind. For the mind sets forth their powers both together. One carries the light, the other searches; and between them they find treasures. These they bring to the brain, which first elaborates them, then says to the will, "Do"--and Action follows. Poetically considered, as far as the huge, disordered resultant mass of your Architecture is concerned, Intuition and Imagination have not gone forth to illuminate and search the hearts of the people. Thus are its works stone blind. It is the absence of poetry and beauty which makes our architecture so depressing to the spirits. "Poetry as a living thing," says Mr. Sullivan, "stands for the most telling quality that a man can impart to his thoughts. Judged by this test your buildings are dreary, empty places." Artists in words, like Lafcadio Hearn and Henry James, are able to make articulate the sadness which our cities inspire, but it is a blight which lies heavy on us all. Theodore Dreiser says, in _Sister Carrie_--a book with so much bitter truth in it that it was suppressed by the original publishers: Once the bright days of summer pass by, a city takes on the sombre garb of grey, wrapped in which it goes about its labors during the long winter. Its endless buildings look grey, its sky and its streets assume a sombre hue; the scattered, leafless trees and wind-blown dust and paper but add to the general solemnity of color. There seems to be something in the chill breezes which scurry through the long, narrow thoroughfares productive of rueful thoughts. Not poets alone, nor artists, nor that superior order of mind which arrogates to itself all refinement, feel this, but dogs and all men. The excuse that we are too young a people to have developed an architecture instinct with that natural poetry which so charms us in the art of other countries and other times, Mr. Sullivan disposes of in characteristic fashion. To the plea that "We are too young to consider these accomplishments. We have been so busy with our material development that we have not found time to consider them," he makes answer as follows: Know, then, to begin with, they are not accomplishments but necessaries. And, to end with, you are old enough, and have found the time to succeed in nearly making a fine art of--Betrayal, and a science of--Graft. Know that you are as old as the race. That each man among you had in him the accumulated power of the race, ready at hand for use, in the right way, when he shall conclude it better to think straight and hence act straight rather than, as now, to act crooked and pretend to be straight. Know that the test, plain, simple _honesty_ (and you all know, every man of you knows, exactly what that means) is always at your hand. Know that as all complex manifestations have a simple basis of origin, so the vast complexity of your national unrest, ill health, inability to think clearly and accurately concerning simple things, really vital things, is easily traceable to the single, actual, active cause--Dishonesty; and that this points with unescapable logic and in just measure to each individual man! The remedy;--_individual honesty_. To the objection that this is too simple a solution, Mr. Sullivan retorts that all great solutions are simple, that the basic things of the universe are those which the heart of a child might comprehend. "Honesty stands in the universe of Human Thought and Action, as its very Centre of Gravity, and is our human mask-word behind which abides all the power of Nature's Integrity, the profoundest _fact_ which modern thinking has persuaded Life to reveal." If, on the other hand, the reader complains, "All this is above our heads," Mr. Sullivan is equally ready with an answer: No, it is not. _It is close beside your hand!_ and therein lies its power. Again you say, "How can honesty be enforced?" It cannot be enforced! "Then how will the remedy go into effect?" It cannot _go_ into effect. It can only come into effect. "Then how can it come?" Ask Nature. "And what will Nature say?" Nature is always saying: "I centre at each man, woman and child. I knock at the door of each heart, and I wait. I wait in patience--ready to enter with my gifts." "And is that all that Nature says?" That is all. "Then how shall we receive Nature?" By opening wide your minds! For your greatest crime against yourselves is that you have locked the door and thrown away the key! Thus, by a long detour, Mr. Sullivan returns to his initial proposition, that the falsity of our architecture can be corrected only by integrity of thought. "Thought is the fine and powerful instrument. Therefore, _have thought for the integrity of your own thought_." Naturally, then, as your thoughts thus change, your growing architecture will change. Its falsity will depart; its reality will gradually appear. For the integrity of your thought as a People, will then have penetrated the minds of your architects. Then, too, _as your basic thought changes, will emerge a philosophy, a poetry, and an art of expression in all things; for you will have learned that a characteristic philosophy, poetry and art of expression are vital to the healthful growth and development of a democratic people_. Some readers may complain that these are after all only glittering generalities, of no practical use in solving the specific problems with which every architect is confronted. On the contrary they are fundamental verities of incalculable benefit to every sincere artist. Shallowness is the great vice of democracy; it is surface without depth, a welter of concrete detail in which the mind easily loses those great, underlying abstractions from which alone great art can spring. These, in this essay, Mr. Sullivan helps us to recapture, and inspires us to employ. He would win us from our insincerities, our trivialities, and awaken our enormous latent, unused power. He says: Awaken it. Use it. Use it for the common good. Begin now! For it is as true today as when one of your wise men said it:-- "The way to resume is to resume!" COLOR AND CERAMICS The production of ceramics--perhaps the oldest of all the useful arts practised by man; an art with a magnificent history--seems to be entering upon a new era of development. It is more alive today, more generally, more skilfully, though not more _artfully_ practised than ever before. It should therefore be of interest to all lovers of architecture, in view of the increasing importance of ceramics in building, to consider the ways in which these materials may best be used. Looking at the matter in the broadest possible way, it may be said that the building impulse throughout the ages has expressed itself in two fundamentally different types of structure: that in which the architecture--and even the ornament--is one with the engineering; and that in which the two elements are separable, not in thought alone, but in fact. For brevity let us name that manner of building in which the architecture is the construction, _Inherent_ architecture, and that manner in which the two are separable _Incrusted_ architecture. To the first class belong the architectures of Egypt, Greece, and Gothic architecture as practised in the north of Europe; to the second belong Roman architecture of the splendid period, Moorish architecture, and Italian Gothic, so called. In the first class the bones of the building were also its flesh; in the second bones and flesh were in a manner separable, as is proven by the fact that they were separately considered, separately fashioned. Ruined Karnak, the ruined Parthenon, wrecked Rheims, show ornament so integral a part of the fabric--etched so deep--that what has survived of the one has survived also of the other; while the ruined Baths of Caracalla the uncompleted church of S. Petronio in Bologna, and many a stark mosque on many a sandy desert show only bare skeletons of whose completed glory we can only guess. In them the fabric was a framework for the display of the lapidary or the ceramic art--a garment destroyed, rent, or tattered by time and chance, leaving the bones still strong, but bare. This classification of architecture into Inherent and Incrusted is not to be confused with the discrimination between architecture that is _Arranged_, and architecture that is _Organic_, a classification which is based on psychology--like the difference between the business man and the poet: talent and genius--whereas the classification which the reader is asked now to consider is based rather on the matter of expediency in the use of materials. Let us draw no invidious comparisons between Inherent and Incrusted architecture, but regard each as the adequate expression of an ideal type of beauty; the one masculine, since in the male figure the osseous framework is more easily discernible; the other feminine, because more concealed and overlaid with a cellular tissue of shining, precious materials, on which the disruptive forces in man and nature are more free to act. It is scarcely necessary to state that it is with Incrusted architecture that we are alone concerned in this discussion, for to this class almost all modern buildings perforce belong. This is by reason of a necessity dictated by the materials that we employ, and by our methods of construction. All modern buildings follow practically one method of construction: a bony framework of steel--or of concrete reinforced by steel--filled in and subdivided by concrete, brick, hollow fire-clay, or some of its substitutes. To a construction of this kind some sort of an outer encasement is not only æsthetically desirable, but practically necessary. It usually takes the form of stone, face-brick, terra-cotta, tile, stucco, or some combination of two or more of these materials. Of the two types of architecture the Incrusted type is therefore imposed by structural necessity. The enormous importance of ceramics in its relation to architecture thus becomes apparent. They minister to an architectural need instead of gratifying an architectural whim. Ours is a period of Incrusted architecture--one which demands the encasement, rather than the exposure of structure, and therefore logically admits of the enrichment of surfaces by means of "veneers" of materials more precious and beautiful than those employed in the structure, which becomes, as it were, the canvas of the picture, and not the picture itself. For these purposes there are no materials more apt, more adaptable, more enduring, richer in potentialities of beauty than the products of ceramic art. They are easily and inexpensively produced of any desired shape, color, texture; their hard, dense surface resists the action of the elements, is not easily soiled, and is readily cleaned; being fashioned by fire they are fire resistant. So much then for the practical demands, in modern architecture, met by the products of ceramic art. The æsthetic demand is not less admirably met--or rather _might_ be. When, in the sixteenth century, the Renaissance spread from south to north, color was practically eliminated from architecture. The Egyptians had had it, hot and bright as the sun on the desert; we know that the Greeks made their Parian marble glow in rainbow tints; Moorish architecture was nothing if not colorful, and the Venice Ruskin loved was fairly iridescent--a thing of fire-opal and pearl. In Italian Renaissance architecture up to its latest phase, the color element was always present; but it was snuffed out under the leaden colored northern skies. Paris is grey, London is brown, New York is white, and Chicago the color of cinders. We have only to compare them to yellow Rome, red Siena, and pearl-tinted Venice, to realize how much we have lost in the elimination of color from architecture. We are coming to realize it. Color played an important part in the Pan-American Exposition, and again in the San Francisco Exposition, where, wedded to light, it became the dominant note of the whole architectural concert. Now these great expositions in which the architects and artists are given a free hand, are in the nature of preliminary studies in which these functionaries sketch in transitory form the things they desire to do in more permanent form. They are forecasts of the future, a future which in certain quarters is already beginning to realize itself. It is therefore probable that architectural art will become increasingly colorful. The author remembers the day and the hour when this became his personal conviction--his personal desire. It happened years ago in the Albright Gallery in Buffalo--a building then newly completed, of a severely classic type. In the central hall was a single doorway, whose white marble architrave had been stained with different colored pigments by Francis Bacon; after the manner of the Greeks. The effect was so charming, and made the rest of the place seem by contrast so cold and dun, that the author came then and there to the conclusion that architecture without polychromy was architecture incomplete. Mr. Bacon spent three years in Asia Minor, and elsewhere, studying the remains of Greek architecture, and he found and brought home a fragment of an antefix from the temple of Assos, in which the applied color was still pure and strong. The Greeks were a joyous people. When joy comes back into life, color will come back into architecture. Ceramic products are ideal as a means to this end. The Greeks themselves recognized their value for they used them widely and wisely: it has been discovered that they even attached bands of colored terra-cotta to the marble mouldings of their temples. How different must have been such a temple's real appearance from that imagined by the Classical Revivalists, whose tradition of the inviolable cold Parian purity of Greek architecture has persisted, even against archæological evidence to the contrary, up to the present day. In one way we have an advantage over the Greek, if we only had the wit to profit by it. His palette, like his musical scale, was more limited than ours. Nearly the whole gamut of the spectrum is now available to the architect who wishes to employ ceramics. The colors do not change or fade, and possess a beautiful quality. Our craftsmen and manufacturers of face-brick, terra-cotta, and colored tile, after much costly experimentation, have succeeded in producing ceramics of a high order of excellence and intrinsic beauty; they can do practically anything demanded of them; but from that quarter where they should reap the greatest commercial advantage--the field of architecture--there is all too little demand. The architect who should lead, teach and dictate in this field, is often through ignorance obliged to learn and follow instead. This has led to an ignominious situation--ignominious, that is, to the architect. He has come to require of the manufacturer--when he requires anything at all--assistance in the very matter in which he should assist: the determination of color design. It is no wonder that the results are often bad, and therefore discouraging. The manufacturers of ceramics welcome co-operation and assistance on the part of the architect with an eagerness which is almost pathetic, on those rare occasions when assistance is offered. But the architect is not really to blame: the reason for his failure lies deep in his general predicament of having to know a little of everything, and do a great deal more than he can possibly do well. To cope with this, if his practice warrants the expenditure, he surrounds himself with specialists in various fields, and assigns various departments of his work to them. He cannot be expected to have on his staff a specialist in ceramics, nor can he, with all his manifold activities, be expected to become such a specialist himself. As a result, he is usually content to let color problems alone, for they are just another complication of his already too complicated life; or he refers them to some one whom he thinks ought to know--a manufacturer's designer--and approves almost anything submitted. Of course the ideal architect would have time for every problem, and solve it supremely well; but the real architect is all too human: there are depressions on his cranium where bumps ought to be; moreover, he wants a little time left to energize in other directions than in the practice of his craft. One of the functions of architecture is to reveal the inherent qualities and beauties of different materials, by their appropriate use and tasteful display. An onyx staircase on the one hand, and a portland cement high altar on the other, alike violate this function of architecture; they transgress that beautiful necessity which decrees that precious materials should serve precious uses and common materials should serve utilitarian ends. Now color is a precious thing, and its highest beauties can be brought out only by contrast with broad neutral tinted spaces. The interior walls of a mediaeval cathedral never competed with its windows, and by the same token, a riot of polychromy all over the side of a building is not as effective, even from a chromatic point of view, as though it were confined, say, to an entrance and a frieze. Gilbert's witty phrase is applicable here: "Where everybody's somebody, nobody's anybody." Let us build our walls, then, of stone, or brick, or stucco,--for their flat surfaces and neutral tints conduce to that repose so essential to good architectural effect: but let us not rest content with this, but grant to the eye the delight and contentment which it craves, by color and pattern placed at those points to which it is desirable to attract attention, for they serve the same æsthetic purpose as a tiara on the brow of beauty, or a ring on a delicate white hand. But just as jewelry is best when it is most individual, so the ornament of a building should be in keeping with its general character and complexion. A color scheme should not be chosen at random, but dictated by the prevailing tone and texture of the wall surfaces, with which it should harmonize as inevitably as the blossom of a bush with its prevailing tone of stems and foliage. In a building this prevailing tone will inevitably be either cold or warm, and the color scheme just as inevitably should be either cold or warm; that is, there should be a preponderance of cold colors over warm, or vice versa. Otherwise the eye will suffer just that order of uneasiness which comes from the contemplation of two equal masses, whereas it experiences satisfaction in proportionate unequals. Nothing will take the place of an instinctive colour-sense, but even that needs the training of experience, if the field be new, and a few general principles of all but universal application will not be amiss. First of all it should be remembered that the intensity of color should be carefully adjusted to its area. It is dangerous to try to use high, pure colors, unrelieved and uncontrasted, in large masses, but the brightest, strongest colors may be used with safety in units of sufficiently restricted size. For harmony, as well as for richness, the law of complementaries, in its most general application, is the safest of all guides, but it must be followed with fine discrimination. Complementary colors are like married pairs, if they find the right adjustment with one another they are happy--that is, there is an effect of beauty--but lacking such adjustment they are worse off together than apart. Every artist who experiments in color soon finds out for himself that instead of using two colors directly complementary, it is better to "split" one of them, that is, use instead of one of them two others, which combined will yield the color in question. For example, the color complementary to red is green-blue. Now green-blue is equidistant between yellow-green and blue-violet, so if for red and blue-green; red, yellow-green and blue-violet be substituted the combination loses its obviousness and a certain harshness without losing anything of its brilliance, or without departing from the optical law involved. Such a combination corresponds to a diminished triad in music. Another important consideration with regard to color as employed by the architect dwells in those optical changes effected by distance and position: the relative visibility of different colors and combinations of colors as the spectator recedes from them, and the environmental changes which colors undergo--in bright sunlight, in shadow, against the sky, and with relation to backgrounds of different sorts. The effect of distance is to make colors merge into one another, to lower the values, but not all equally. Yellow loses itself first, tending toward white. The effect of distance, in general, is to disintegrate and decompose, thus giving "vibration" as it is called. A knowledge of these and kindred facts will save the architect from many disappointments and enable him to obtain wonderful chromatic effects by simple means. Many architects unused to color problems design their ornament with very little thought about the colors which they propose to employ, making it an after-consideration; but the two things should be considered synchronously for the best final effect. There is a cryptic saying that "color is at right angles to form," that is, color is capable of making surfaces advance toward or recede from the eye, just as modelling does; and for this reason, if color is used, a great deal of modelling may be dispensed with. If a receding color is used on a recessed plane, it deepens that plane unduly; while on the other hand if a color which refuses to recede--like yellow for example--is used where depth is wanted, the receding plane and the approaching color neutralize one another, resulting in an effect of flatness not intended. The tyro should not complicate his problem by combining color with high relief modelling, bringing inevitably in the element of light and shade. He should leave that for older hands and concern himself rather with flat or nearly flat surfaces, using his modelling much as the worker in cloisonné uses his little rims of brass--to confine and define each color within its own allotted area. Then, as he gains experience, he may gradually enrich his pattern by the addition of the element of light and shade, should he so decide. Now as to certain general considerations in relation to the appropriate and logical use of ceramics in the construction and adornment of buildings, exterior and interior. In our northern latitudes care should be taken that ceramics are not used in places and in ways where the accumulation of snow and ice render the joints subject to alternate freezing and thawing, for in such case, unless the joints are protected with metal, the units will work loose in time. On vertical surfaces such protection is not necessary; the use of ceramics should therefore be confined for the most part to such surfaces: for friezes, panels, door and window architraves, and the like. When it is desirable for æsthetic reasons to tie a series of windows together vertically by means of some "fill" of a material different from that of the body of the wall, ceramics lend themselves admirably to the purpose--better than wood, which rots; than iron, which rusts; than bronze, which turns black; and than marble, which soon loses its color and texture in exposed situations of this sort. On the interior of buildings, the most universal use of ceramics is, of course, for floors, and with the non-slip devices of various sorts which have come into the market, they are no less good for stairs. There is nothing better for wainscoting, and in fact for any surface whatsoever subject to soil and wear. These materials combine permanent protection and permanent decoration. But fired by the zeal of the convert the use of ceramics may be overdone. One easily recalls entire rooms of this material, floors, walls, ceilings, which are less successful than as though a variety of materials had been employed. It is just such variety--each material treated in a characteristic, and therefore different way--that gives charm to so many foreign churches and cathedrals: walls of stone, floors of marble, choir-stalls of carved wood, and rood-screen of metal: it is the difference between an orchestra of various instruments and a mandolin orchestra or a saxaphone sextette. Ceramics should never invade the domain of the plasterer, the mural painter, the cabinet maker. Do not let us, in our zeal for ceramics, be like Bottom the weaver, eager to play every part. Ceramics have, as regards architecture, a distinct and honorable function. This function should be recognized, taken advantage of, but never overpassed. They offer opportunities large but not limitless. They constitute one instrument of the orchestra of which the architect is the conductor, an instrument beautiful in the hands of a master, and doubly beautiful in concert and contrast with those other materials whose harmonious ensemble makes that music in three dimensions: architectural art. SYMBOLS AND SACRAMENTS Architecture is the concrete presentment in space of the soul of a people. If that soul be petty and sordid--"stirred like a child by little things"--no great architecture is possible because great architecture can image only greatness. Before any worthy architecture can arise in the modern world the soul must be aroused. The cannons of Europe are bringing about this awakening. The world--the world of thought and emotion from whence flow acts and events--is no longer decrepit, but like Swedenborg's angels it is advancing toward the springtide of its youth: down the ringing grooves of change "we sweep into the younger day." After the war we are likely to witness an art evolution which will not be restricted to statues and pictures and insincere essays in dry-as-dust architectural styles, but one which will permeate the whole social fabric, and make it palpitate with the rhythm of a younger, a more abundant life. Beauty and mystery will again make their dwelling among men; the Voiceless will speak in music, and the Formless will spin rhythmic patterns on the loom of space. We shall seek and find a new language of symbols to express the joy of the soul, freed from the thrall of an iron age of materialism, and fronting the unimaginable splendors of the spiritual life. [Illustration: PLATE XV. SYMBOL OF RESURRECTION] For every æsthetic awakening is the result of a spiritual awakening of some sort. Every great religious movement found an art expression eloquent of it. When religion languished, such things as Versailles and the Paris Opera House were possible, but not such things as the Parthenon, or Notre Dame. The temples of Egypt were built for the celebration of the rites of the religion of Egypt; so also in the case of Greece. Roman architecture was more widely secular, but Rome's noblest monument, the Pantheon, was a religious edifice. The Moors, inflamed with religious ardor, swept across Europe, blazing their trail with mosques and palaces conceived seemingly in some ecstatic state of dream. The Renaissance, tainted though it was by worldliness, found still its inspiration in sacred themes, and recorded its beginning and its end in two mighty religious monuments: Brunelleschi's and Michael Angelo's domical churches, "wrought in a sad sincerity" by deeply religious men. Gothic art is a synonym for mediaeval Christianity; while in the Orient art is scarcely secular at all, but a symbolical language framed and employed for the expression of spiritual ideas. This law, that spirituality and not materialism distils the precious attar of great art, is permanently true and perennially applicable, for laws of this order do not change from age to age, however various their manifestation. The inference is plain: until we become a religious people great architecture is far from us. We are becoming religious in that broad sense in which churches and creeds, forms and ceremonies, play little part. Ours is the search of the heart for something greater than itself which is still itself; it is the religion of brotherhood, whose creed is love, whose ritual is service. This transformed and transforming religion of the West, the tardy fruit of the teachings of Christ, now secretly active in the hearts of men, will receive enrichment from many sources. Science will reveal the manner in which the spirit weaves its seven-fold veil of illusion; nature, freshly sensed, will yield new symbols which art will organize into a language; out of the experience of the soul will grow new rituals and observances. But one precious tincture of this new religion our civilization and our past cannot supply; it is the heritage of Asia, cherished in her brooding bosom for uncounted centuries, until, by the operation of the law of cycles, the time should come for the giving of it to the West. This secret is Yoga, the method of self-development whereby the seeker for union is enabled to perceive the shining of the Inward Light. This is achieved by daily discipline in stilling the mind and directing the consciousness inward instead of outward. The Self is within, and the mind, which is normally centrifugal, must first be arrested, controlled, and then turned back upon itself, and held with perfect steadiness. All this is naively expressed in the Upanishads in the passage, "The Self-existent pierced the openings of the senses so that they turn forward, not backward into himself. Some wise man, however, with eyes closed and wishing for immortality, saw the Self behind." This stilling of the mind, its subjugation and control whereby it may be concentrated on anything at will, is particularly hard for persons of our race and training, a race the natural direction of whose consciousness is strongly outward, a training in which the practice of introspective meditation finds no place. Yoga--that "union" which brings inward vision, the contribution of the East to the spiritual life of the West--will bring profound changes into the art of the West, since art springs from consciousness. The consciousness of the West now concerns itself with the visible world almost exclusively, and Western art is therefore characterized by an almost slavish fidelity to the ephemeral appearances of things--the record of particular moods and moments. The consciousness of the East on the other hand, is subjective, introspective. Its art accordingly concerns itself with eternal aspects, with a world of archetypal ideas in which things exist not for their own sake, but as symbols of supernal things. The Oriental artist avoids as far as possible trivial and individual rhythms, seeking always the fundamental rhythm of the larger, deeper life. Now this quality so earnestly sought and so highly prized in Oriental art, is the very thing which our art and our architecture most conspicuously lack. To the eye sensitive to rhythm, our essays in these fields appear awkward and unconvincing, lacking a certain _inevitability_. We must restore to art that first great canon of Chinese æsthetics, "_Rhythmic vitality,_ or the life movement of the spirit through the rhythm of things." It cannot be interjected from the outside, but must be inwardly realized by the "stilling" of the mind above described. Art cannot dispense with symbolism; as the letters on this page convey thoughts to the mind, so do the things of this world, organized into a language of symbols, speak to the soul through art. But in the building of our towers of Babel, again mankind is stricken with a confusion of tongues. Art has no _common language;_ its symbols are no longer valid, or are no longer understood. This is a condition for which materialism has no remedy, for the reason that materialism sees always the pattern but never that which the pattern represents. We must become _spiritually illumined_ before we can read nature truly, and re-create, from such a reading, fresh and universal symbols for art. This is a task beyond the power of our sad generation, enchained by negative thinking, overshadowed by war, but we can at least glimpse the nature of the reaction between the mystic consciousness and the things of this world which will produce a new language of symbols. The mystic consciousness looks upon nature as an arras embroidered over with symbols of the things it conceals from view. We are ourselves symbols, dwelling in a world of symbols--a world many times removed from that ultimate reality to which all things bear figurative witness; the commonest thing has yet some mystic meaning, and ugliness and vulgarity exist only in the unillumined mind. What mystic meaning, it may be asked, is contained in such things as a brick, a house, a hat, a pair of shoes? A brick is the ultimate atom of a building; a house is the larger body which man makes for his uses, just as the Self has built its habitation of flesh and bones; hat and shoes are felt and leather insulators with which we seek to cut ourselves off from the currents which flow through earth and air from God. It may be objected that these answers only substitute for the lesser symbol a greater, but this is inevitable: if for the greater symbol were named one still more abstract and inclusive, the ultimate verity would be as far from affirmation as before. There is nothing of which the human mind can conceive that is not a symbol of something greater and higher than itself. The dictionary defines a symbol as "something that stands for something else and serves to represent it, or to bring to mind one or more of its qualities." Now this world is a _reflection_ of a higher world, and that of a higher world still, and so on. Accordingly, everything is a symbol of something higher, since by reflecting, it "stands for, and serves to represent it," and the thing symbolized, being itself a reflection, is, by the same token, itself a symbol. By reiterated repetitions of this reflecting process throughout the numberless planes and sub-planes of nature, each thing becomes a symbol, not of one thing only, but of many things, all intimately correlated, and this gives rise to those underlying analogies, those "secret subterranean passages between matter and soul" which have ever been the especial preoccupation of the poet and the mystic, but which may one day become the subject of serious examination by scientific men. Let us briefly pass in review the various terms of such an ascending series of symbols: members of one family, they might be called, since they follow a single line of descent. Take gold: as a thing in itself, without any symbolical significance, it is a metallic element, having a characteristic yellow color, very heavy, very soft, the most ductile, malleable, and indestructible of metals. In its minted form it is the life force of the body economic, since on its abundance and free circulation the well-being of that body depends; it is that for which all men strive and contend, because without it they cannot comfortably live. This, then, is gold in its first and lowest symbolical aspect: a life principle, a motive force in human affairs. But it is not gold which has gained for man his lordship over nature; it is fire, the yellow gold, not of the earth, but of the air,--cities and civilizations, arts and industries, have ever followed the camp fire of the pioneer. Sunlight comes next in sequence--sunlight, which focussed in a burning glass, spontaneously produces flame. The world subsists on sunlight; all animate creation grows by it, and languishes without it, as the prosperity of cities waxes or wanes with the presence or absence of a supply of gold. The magnetic force of the sun, specialized as _prana_ (which is not the breath which goes up and the breath which goes down, but that other, in which the two repose), fulfils the same function in the human body as does gold in civilization, sunlight in nature: its abundance makes for health, its meagreness for enervation. Higher than _prana_ is the mind, that golden sceptre of man's dominion, the Promethean gift of fire with which he menaces the empire of the gods. Higher still, in the soul, love is the motive force, the conqueror: a "heart of gold" is one warmed and lighted by love. Still other is the desire of the spirit, which no human affection satisfies, but truth only, the Golden Person, the Light of the World, the very Godhead itself. Thus there is earthy, airy, etheric gold; gold as intellect, gold as love, gold as truth; from the curse of the world, the cause of a thousand crimes, there ascends a Jacob's Ladder of symbols to divinity itself, whereby men may learn that God works by sacrifice: that His universe is itself His broken body. As gold in the purse, fire on the forge, sunlight for the eyes, breath in the body, knowledge in the mind, love in the heart, and wisdom in the understanding, He draws all men unto Him, teaching them the wise use of wealth, the mastery over nature, the care of the body, the cultivation of the mind, the love of wife and child and neighbour, and, last lesson of all, He teaches them that in industry, in science, in art, in sympathy and understanding, He it is they are all the while knowing, loving, becoming; and that even when they flee Him, His are the wings-- "When me they fly, I am the wings." This attempt to define gold as a symbol ends with the indication of an ubiquitous and immanent divinity in everything. Thus it is always: in attempting to dislodge a single voussoir from the arch of truth, the temple itself is shaken, so cunningly are the stones fitted together. All roads lead to Rome, and every symbol is a key to the Great Mystery: for example, read in the light of these correspondences, the alchemist's transmutation of base metals into gold, is seen to be the sublimation of man's lower nature into "that highest golden sheath, which is Brahman." Keeping the first sequence clearly in mind, let us now attempt to trace another, parallel to it: the feminine of which the first may be considered the corresponding masculine. Silver is a white, ductile metallic element. In coinage it is the synonym for ready cash,--gold in the bank is silver in the pocket; hence, in a sense, silver is the _reflection_, or the second power of gold. Just as ruddy gold is correlated with fire, so is pale silver with water; and as fire is affiliated with the sun, so do the waters of the earth follow the moon in her courses. The golden sun, the silver moon: these commonly employed descriptive adjectives themselves supply the correlation we are seeking; another indication of its validity lies in the fact that one of the characteristics of water is its power of reflecting; that moonlight is reflected sunlight. If gold is the mind, silver is the body, in which the mind is imaged, objectified; if gold is flamelike love, silver is brooding affection; and in the highest regions of consciousness, beauty is the feminine or form side of truth--its silver mirror. There are two forces in the world, one of projection, the other of recall; two states, activity and rest. Nature, with tireless ingenuity, everywhere publishes this fact: in bursting bud and falling seed, in the updrawn waters and the descending rain; throw a stone into the air, and when the impulse is exhausted, gravity brings it to earth again. In civilized society these centrifugal and centripetal forces find expression in the anarchic and radical spirit which breaks down and re-forms existing institutions, and in the conservative spirit which preserves and upbuilds by gradual accretion; they are analogous to igneous and to aqueous action in the formation and upbuilding of the earth itself, and find their prototype again in man and woman: man, the warrior, who prevails by the active exercise of his powers, and woman, "the treasury of the continued race," who conquers by continual quietness. Man and woman symbolize forces centrifugal and centripetal not alone in their inner nature, and in the social and economic functions peculiar to each, but in their physical aspects and peculiarities as well, for man is small of flank and broad of shoulder, with relatively large extremities, _i.e., centrifugal_: while woman is formed with broad hips, narrow shoulders, and small feet and hands, _i.e., centripetal_. Woman's instinctive and unconscious gestures are _towards_ herself, man's are _away from_ himself. The physiologist might hold that the anatomical differences between the sexes result from their difference in function in the reproduction and conservation of the race, and this is a true view, but the lesser truth need not necessarily exclude the greater. As Chesterton says, "Something in the evil spirit of our time forces people always to pretend to have found some material and mechanical explanation." Such would have us believe, with Schopenhauer and Bernard Shaw, that the lover's delight in the beauty of his mistress dwells solely in his instinctive perception of her fitness to be the mother of his child. This is undoubtedly a factor in the glamour woman casts on man, but there are other factors too, higher as well as lower, corresponding to different departments of our manifold nature. First of all, there is mere physical attraction: to the man physical, woman is a cup of delight; next, there is emotional love, whereby woman appeals through her need of protection, her power of tenderness; on the mental plane she is man's intellectual companion, his masculine reason would supplement itself with her feminine intuition; he recognizes in her an objectification, in some sort, of his own soul, his spirit's bride, predestined throughout the ages; while the god within him perceives her to be that portion of himself which he put forth before the world was, to be the mother, not alone of human children, but of all those myriad forms, within which entering, "as in a sheath, a knife," he becomes the Enjoyer, and realizes, vividly and concretely, his bliss, his wisdom, and his power. Adam and Eve, and the tree in the midst of the garden! After man and woman, a tree is perhaps the most significant symbol in the world: every tree is the Tree of Life in the sense that it is a representation of universal becoming. To say that all things have for their mother _prakriti_, undifferentiated substance, and for their father _purusha_, the creative fire, is vague and metaphysical, and conveys little meaning to our image-bred, image-fed minds; on the physical plane we can only learn these transcendental truths by means of symbols, and so to each of us is given a human father and a human mother from whose relation to one another and to oneself may be learned our relation to nature, the universal mother, and to that immortal spirit which is the father of us all. We are given, moreover, the symbol of the tree, which, rooted in the earth, its mother, and nourished by her juices, strives ever upward towards its father, the sun. The mathematician may be able to demonstrate, as a result of a lifetime of hard thinking, that unity and infinity are but two aspects of one thing; this is not clear to ordinary minds, but made concrete in the tree--unity in the trunk, infinity in the foliage--any one is able to understand it. We perceive that all things grow as a tree grows, from unity to multiplicity, from simplicity and strength to beauty and fineness. The generation of the line from the point, the plane from the line, and from the plane, the solid, is a matter, again, which chiefly interests the geometrician, but the inevitable sequence stands revealed in seed, stem, leaf, and fruit: a point, a line, a surface, and a sphere. There is another order of truths, also, which a tree teaches: the renewal of its life each year is a symbol of the reincarnation of the soul, teaching that life is never-ending climax, and that what appears to be cessation is merely a change of state. A tree grows great by being firmly rooted; we too, though children of the air, need the earth, and grow by good deeds, hidden, like the roots of the tree, out of sight; for the tree, rain and sunshine: for the soul, tears and laughter thrill the imprisoned spirit into conscious life. We love and understand the trees because we have ourselves passed through their evolution, and they survive in us still, for the arterial and nervous systems are trees, the roots of one in the heart, of the other in the brain. Has not our body its trunk, bearing aloft the head, like a flower: a cup to hold the precious juices of the brain? Has not that trunk its tapering limbs which ramify into hands and feet, and these into fingers and toes, after the manner of the twigs and branches of a tree? Closely related to symbolism is sacramentalism; the man who sees nature as a book of symbols is likely to regard life as a sacrament. Because this is a point of view vitalizing to art let us glance at the sacramental life, divorced from the forms and observances of any specific religion. This life consists in the habitual perception of an ulterior meaning, a hidden beauty and significance in the objects, acts, and events of every day. Though binding us to a sensuous existence, these nevertheless contain within themselves the power of emancipating us from it: over and above their immediate use, their pleasure or their profit, they have a hidden meaning which contains some healing message for the soul. A classic example of a sacrament, not alone in the ordinary meaning of the term, but in the special sense above defined, is the Holy Communion of the Christian Church. Its origin is a matter of common knowledge. On the evening of the night in which He was betrayed, Jesus and His disciples were gathered together for the feast of the Passover. Aware of His impending betrayal, and desirous of impressing powerfully upon His chosen followers the nature and purpose of His sacrifice, Jesus ordained a sacrament out of the simple materials of the repast. He took bread and broke it, and gave to each a piece as the symbol of His broken body; and to each He passed a cup of wine, as a symbol of His poured-out blood. In this act, as in the washing of the disciples' feet on the same occasion, He made His ministrations to the needs of men's bodies an allegory of His greater ministration to the needs of their souls. The sacrament of the Lord's Supper is of such beauty and power that it has persisted even to the present day. It lacks, however, the element of universality--at least by other than Christians its universality would be denied. Let us seek, therefore some all-embracing symbol to illustrate the sacramental view of life. Perhaps marriage is such a symbol. The public avowal of love between a man and woman, their mutual assumption of the attendant privileges, duties and responsibilities are matters so pregnant with consequences to them and to the race that by all right-thinking people marriage is regarded as a high and holy thing; its sacramental character is felt and acknowledged even by those who would be puzzled to tell the reason why. The reason is involved in the answer to the question, "Of what is marriage a symbol?" The most obvious answer, and doubtless the best one, is found in the well known and much abused doctrine, common to every religion, of the spiritual marriage between God and the soul. What Christians call _the Mystic Way,_ and Buddhists _the Path_ comprises those changes in consciousness through which every soul passes on its way to perfection. When the personal life is conceived of as an allegory of this inner, intense, super-mundane life, it assumes a sacramental character. With strange unanimity, followers of the Mystic Way have given the name of marriage to that memorable experience in "the flight of the Alone to the Alone," when the soul, after trials and purgations, enters into indissoluble union with the spirit, that divine, creative principle whereby it is made fruitful for this world. Marriage, then, however dear and close the union, is the symbol of a union dearer and closer, for it is the fair prophecy that on some higher arc of the evolutionary spiral, the soul will meet its immortal lover and be initiated into divine mysteries. As an example of the power of symbols to induce those changes of consciousness whereby the soul is prepared for this union, it is recorded that an eminent scientist was moved to alter his entire mode of life on reflecting, while in his bath one morning, that though each day he was at such pains to make clean his body, he made no similar purgation of his mind and heart. The idea appealed to him so profoundly that he began to practise the higher cleanliness from that day forth. If it be true, as has been said, that ordinary life in the world is a training school for a life more real and more sublime, then everything pertaining to life in the world must possess a sacramental character, and possess it inherently, and not merely by imputation. Let us discover, then, if we can, some of the larger meanings latent in little things. When at the end of a cloudy day the sun bursts forth in splendor and sets red in the west, it is a sign to the weather-wise that the next day will be fair. To the devotee of the sacramental life it holds a richer promise. To him the sun is a symbol of the love of God; the clouds, those worldly preoccupations of his own which hide its face from him. This purely physical phenomenon, therefore, which brings to most men a scarcely noticed augmentation of heat and light, and an indication of fair weather on the morrow, induces in the mystic an ineffable sense of divine immanence and beneficence, and an assurance of their continuance beyond the dark night of the death of the body. When the sacramentalist goes swimming in the sea he enjoys to the full the attendant physical exhilaration, but a greater joy flows from the thought that he is back with his great Sea-Mother--that feminine principle of which the sea is the perfect symbol, since water brings all things to birth and nurtures them. When at the end of a day he lays aside his clothes--that two-dimensional sheath of the three-dimensional body--it is in full assurance that his body in turn will be abandoned by the inwardly retreating consciousness, and that he will range wherever he wills during the hours of sleep, clothed in his subtle four-dimensional body, related to the physical body as that is related to the clothes it wears. To every sincere seeker nature reveals her secrets, but since men differ in their curiosities she reveals different things to different men. All are rewarded for their devotion in accordance with their interests and desires, but woman-like, nature reveals herself most fully to him who worships not the fair form of her, but her soul. This favored lover is the mystic; for ever seeking instruction in things spiritual, he perceives in nature an allegory of the soul, and interprets her symbols in terms of the sacramental life. The brook, pursuing its tortuous and stony pathway in untiring effort to reach its gravitational centre, is a symbol of the Pilgrim's progress, impelled by love to seek God within his heart. The modest daisy by the roadside, and the wanton sunflower in the garden alike seek to image the sun, the god of their worship, a core of seeds and fringe of petals representing their best effort to mimic the flaming disc and far-flung corona of the sun. Man seeks less ardently, and so more ineffectively in his will and imagination to image God. In the reverent study of insect and animal life we gain some hint of what we have been and what we may become--something corresponding to the grub, a burrowing thing; to the caterpillar, a crawling thing; and finally to the butterfly, a radiant winged creature. After this fashion then does he who has embraced the sacramental life come to perceive in the "sensuous manifold" of nature, that one divine Reality which ever seeks to instruct him in supermundane wisdom, and to woo him to superhuman blessedness and peace. In time, this reading of earth in terms of heaven, becomes a settled habit. Then, in Emerson's phrase, he has hitched his wagon to a star, and changed his grocer's cart into a chariot of the sun. The reader may perhaps fail to perceive the bearing of this long discussion of symbols and sacraments upon the subject of art and architecture, but in the mind of the author the correlation is plain. There can be no great art without religion: religion begins in consciousness as a mystic experience, it flows thence into symbols and sacraments, and these in turn are precipitated by the artist into ponderable forms of beauty. Unless the artist himself participates in this mystic experience, life's deeper meanings will escape him, and the work of his hands will have no special significance. Until it can be said of every artist "Himself from God he could not free," there will be no art worthy of the name. SELF-EDUCATION[1] I take great pleasure in availing myself of this opportunity to speak to you on certain aspects of the art which we practise. I cannot forget, and I hope that you sufficiently remember, that the architectural future of this country lies in the hands of just such men as you. Let me dwell then for a moment on your unique opportunity. Perhaps some of you have taken up architecture as you might have gone into trade, or manufacturing, or any of the useful professions; in that case you have probably already learned discrimination, and now realize that in the cutting of the cake of human occupations you have drawn the piece which contains the ring of gold. The cake is the business and utilitarian side of life, the ring of gold is the æsthetic, the creative side: treasure it, for it is a precious and enduring thing. Think what your work is: to reassemble materials in such fashion that they become instinct with a beauty and eloquent with a meaning which may carry inspiration and delight to generations still unborn. Immortality haunts your threshold, even though your hand may not be strong enough to open to the heavenly visitor. Though the profession of architecture is a noble one in any country and in any age, it is particularly rich in inspiration and in opportunity here and now, for who can doubt that we are about to enter upon a great building period? We have what Mr. Sullivan calls "the need and the power to build," the spirit of great art alone is lacking, and that is already stirring in the secret hearts of men, and will sooner or later find expression in objective and ponderable forms of new beauty. These it is your privilege to create. May the opportunity find you ready! There is a saying, "To be young, to be in love, to be in Italy!" I would paraphrase it thus: To be young, to be in architecture, to be in America. It is my purpose tonight to outline a scheme of self-education, which if consistently followed out I am sure will help you, though I am aware that to a certain order of mind it will seem highly mystical and impractical. If it commends itself to your favor I shall be glad. Many of you will have had the advantage of a thorough technical training in your chosen profession: be grateful for it. Others, like Topsy, "just growed"--or have just failed to grow. For the solace of all such, without wishing to be understood to disparage architectural schooling, I would say that there is a kind of education which is worse than none, for by filling his mind with ready-made ideas it prevents a man from ever learning to think for himself; and there is another kind which teaches him to think, indeed, but according to some arbitrary method, so that his mind becomes a canal instead of a river, flowing in a predetermined and artificial channel, and unreplenished by the hidden springs of the spirit. The best education can do no more than to bring into manifestation that which is inherent; it does this by means of some stimulus from without--from books and masters--but the stimulus may equally come from within: each can develop his own mind, and in the following manner. The alternation between a state of activity and a state of passivity, which is a law of our physical being, as it is a law of all nature, is characteristic of the action of the mind as well: observation and meditation are the two poles of thought. The tendency of modern life and of our active American temperament is towards a too exclusive functioning of the mind in its outgoing state, and this results in a great cleverness and a great shallowness. It is only in moments of quiet meditation that the great synthetic, fundamental truths reveal themselves. Observe ceaselessly, weigh, judge, criticize--this order of intellectual activity is important and valuable--but the mind must be steadied and strengthened by another and a different process. The power of attention, the ability to concentrate, is the measure of mental efficiency; and this power may be developed by a training exactly analogous to that by which a muscle is developed, for mind and muscle are alike the instruments of the Silent Thinker who sits behind. The mind an instrument of something higher than the mind: here is a truth so fertile that in the language of Oriental imagery, "If you were to tell this to a dry stick, branches would grow, and leaves sprout from it." There is nothing original in the method of mental development here indicated; it has been known and practised for centuries in the East, where life is less strenuous than it is with us. The method consists in silent meditation every day at stated periods, during which the attempt is made to hold the mind to the contemplation of a single image or idea, bringing the attention back whenever it wanders, killing each irrelevant thought as it arises, as one might kill a rat coming out of a hole. This turning of the mind back on itself is difficult, but I know of nothing that "pays" so well, and I have never found any one who conscientiously practised it who did not confirm this view. The point is, that if a man acquires the ability to concentrate on one thing, he can concentrate on anything; he increases his competence on the mental plane in the same manner that pulling chest-weights increases his competence on the physical. The practice of meditation has moreover an ulterior as well as an immediate advantage, and that is the reason it is practised by the Yogis of India. They believe that by stilling the mind, which is like a lake reflecting the sky, the Higher Self communicates a knowledge of Itself to the lower consciousness. Without the working of this Oversoul in and through us we can never hope to produce an architecture which shall rank with the great architectures of the past, for in Egypt, in Greece, in mediaeval France, as in India, China, and Japan, mysticism made for itself a language more eloquent than any in which the purely rational consciousness of man has ever spoken. We are apt to overestimate the importance of books and book learning. Think how small a part books have played in the development of architecture; indeed, Palladio and Vignola, with their hard and fast formulæ have done the art more harm than good. It is a fallacy that reading strengthens the mind--it enervates it; reading sometimes stimulates the mind to original thinking, and _this_ develops it, but reading itself is a passive exercise, because the thought of the reader is for the time being in abeyance in order that the thought of the writer may enter. Much reading impairs the power to think originally and consecutively. Few of the great creators of the world have had use for books, and if you aspire to be in their class you will avoid the "spawn of the press." The best plan is to read only great books, and having read for five minutes, think about what you have read for ten. These exercises, faithfully followed out, will make your mind a fit vehicle for the expression of your idea, but the advice I have given is as pertinent to any one who uses his mind as it is to the architect. To what, specifically, should the architectural student devote his attention in order to improve the quality of his work? My own answer would be that he should devote himself to the study of music, of the human figure, and to the study of Nature--"first, last, midst, and without end." The correlation between music and architecture is no new thought; it is implied in the famous saying that architecture is frozen music. Vitruvius considered a knowledge of music to be a qualification of the architect of his day, and if it was desirable then it is no less so now. There is both a metaphysical reason and a practical one why this is so. Walter Pater, in a famous phrase, declared that all art constantly aspires to the condition of music, by which he meant to imply that there is a certain rhythm and harmony at the root of every art, of which music is the perfect and pure expression; that in music the means and the end are one and the same. This coincides with Schopenhauer's theory about music, that it is the most perfect and unconditioned sensuous presentment known to us of that undying _will-to-live_ which constitutes life and the world. Metaphysics aside, the architect ought to hear as much good music as he can, and learn the rudiments of harmony, at least to the extent of knowing the simple numerical ratios which govern the principal consonant intervals within the octave, so that, translating these ratios into intervals of space expressed in terms of length and breadth, height, and width, his work will "aspire to the condition of music." There is a metaphysical reason, too, as well as a practical one, why an architect should know the human figure. Carlyle says, "There is but one temple in the world, and that is the body of man." If the body is, as he declares, a temple, it is no less true that a temple, or any work of architectural art is in the nature of an ampler body which man has created for his uses, and which he inhabits, just as the individual consciousness builds and inhabits its fleshly stronghold. This may seem a highly mystical idea, but the correlation between the house and its inhabitant, and the body and its consciousness is everywhere close, and is susceptible of infinite elaboration. Architectural beauty, like human beauty, depends upon a proper subordination of parts to the whole, a harmonious interrelation between these parts, the expressiveness of each of its functions, and when these are many and diverse, their reconcilement one with another. This being so, a study of the human figure with a view to analyzing the sources of its beauty cannot fail to be profitable to the architectural designer. Pursued intelligently, such study will stimulate the mind to a perception of those simple yet subtle laws according to which nature everywhere works, and it will educate the eye in the finest known school of proportion, training it to distinguish minute differences, in the same way that the hearing of good music cultivates the ear. It is neither necessary nor desirable to make elaborate and carefully shaded drawings from a posed model; an equal number of hours spent in copying and analyzing the plates of a good art anatomy, supplemented with a certain amount of life drawing, done merely with a view to catch the pose, will be found to be a more profitable exercise, for it will make you familiar with the principal and subsidiary proportions of the bodily temple, and give you sufficient data to enable you to indicate a figure in any position with fair accuracy. I recommend the study of Nature because I believe that such study will assist you to recover that direct and instant perception of beauty, our natural birthright, of which over-sophistication has so bereft us that we no longer know it to be ours by right of inheritance--inheritance from that cosmic matter endowed with motion out of which we are fashioned, proceeding ever rationally and rhythmically to its appointed ends. We are all of us participators in a world of concrete music, geometry and number--a world, that is, so mathematically constituted and co-ordinated that our pigmy bodies, equally with the farthest star, throb to the music of the spheres. The blood flows rhythmically, the heart its metronome; the moving limbs weave patterns; the voice stirs into radiating sound-waves that pool of silence which we call the air. "Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, Or dip thy paddle in the lake, But it carves the bow of beauty there, And ripples in rhyme the oar forsake." The whole of animate creation labours under the beautiful necessity of being beautiful. Everywhere it exhibits a perfect utility subservient to harmonious laws. Nature is the workshop in which are built _beautiful organisms_. This is exactly the aim of the architect--to fashion beautiful organisms; what better school, therefore, could he have in which to learn his trade? To study Nature it is not necessary to go out into the fields and botanize, nor to attempt to make water colours of picturesque scenery. These things are very well, but not so profitable to your particular purpose as observation directed toward the discovery of the laws which underlie and determine form and structure, such as the tracing of the spiral line, not alone where it is obvious, as in the snail's shell and in the ram's horn, but where it appears obscurely, as in the disposition of leaves or twigs upon a parent stem. Such laws of nature are equally laws of art, for art _is_ nature carried to a higher power by reason of its passage through a human consciousness. Thought and emotion tend to crystallize into forms of beauty as inevitably, and according to the same laws, as does the frost on the window pane. Art, in one of its aspects, is the weaving of a pattern, the communication of an order and a method to lines, forms, colors, sounds. All very poetical, and possibly true, you may be saying to yourselves, but what has it to do with architecture, which nowadays, at least, is pre-eminently a practical and utilitarian art whose highest mission is to fulfil definite conditions in an economical and admirable way; whose supreme excellence is fitness, appropriateness, the perfect adaptation of means to ends, and the apt expression of both means and ends? Yes, architecture is all of this, but this is not all of architecture; else the most efficient engineer would be the most admirable architect, which does not happen to be the case. Along with the expression of the concrete and individual must go the expression of the abstract and universal; the two can be combined in a single building in the same way that in every human countenance are combined a racial or temperamental _type_, which is universal, and a _character_, which is individual. The expression of any sort of cosmic truth, of universal harmony and rhythm, is the quality which our architecture most conspicuously lacks. Failing to find the cosmic truth within ourselves, failing to vibrate to the universal harmony and rhythm, our architecture is--well, what it is, for only that which is native to our living spirit can we show forth in the work of our hands. Your work will be, in the last analysis, what you yourselves are. Let no sophistry blind you to the truth of that. There are rhythms in the world of space which we find only in the architecture of the past, and enamoured of their beauty we repeat them over and over (off the key for the most part), on the principle that all the songs have been sung; or we just make a noise, on the principle that noise is all there is to architecture anyway. It is not so. Those systems of spatial rhythms which we call Egyptian, Classic, Gothic, Renaissance architecture and the rest, are records all of the living human spirit energizing in the stubborn matter of the physical plane with joy, with conviction, with mastery. When that undying spirit awakes again in you, stirred into consciousness by meditation, which is its prayer; by music, which is its praise; by the contemplation of that fair form which is its temple; and by communion with nature, which is its looking-glass; you will experience again that ancient joy, hold again that firm conviction, and exercise again that mastery to transfuse the granite and iron heart of the hills into patterns unlike any that the hand of man has made before. [Footnote 1: An address delivered before the Boston Architectural Club in April, 1909.] 
17730	----	* * * * * A STUDY OF THE TEXTILE ART IN ITS RELATION TO THE DEVELOPMENT OF FORM AND ORNAMENT BY WILLIAM H. HOLMES. Sixth Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, 1884-'85, Government Printing Office, Washington, 1888, pages 189-252 * * * * * CONTENTS. Page Introduction. 195 Form in textile art. 196 Relations of form to ornament. 201 Color in textile art. 201 Textile ornament. 202 Development of a geometric system within the art. 202 Introduction. 202 Relief phenomena. 203 Ordinary features. 203 Reticulated work. 210 Superconstructive features. 211 Color phenomena. 215 Ordinary features. 215 Non-essential constructive features. 226 Superconstructive features. 228 Adventitious features. 231 Geometricity imposed upon adopted elements. 232 Extension of textile ornament to other forms of art. 244 ILLUSTRATIONS. FIG. Page. 286. Mat or tray with esthetic attributes of form 197 287. Tray having decided esthetic attributes of form 198 288. Pyriform water vessel 198 289. Basket with esthetic characters of form 199 290. Basket of eccentric form 200 291. Character of surface in the simplest form of weaving 204 292. Surface produced by impacting 204 293. Surface produced by use of wide fillets 204 294. Basket with ribbed surface 205 295. Bottle showing obliquely ribbed surface 205 296. Tray showing radial ribs 205 297. Combination giving herring bone effect 206 298. Combination giving triangular figures 206 299. Peruvian work basket 206 300. Basket of Seminole workmanship 207 301. Surface effect produced in open twined combination 207 302. Surface effect produced in open twined combination 207 303. Surface effect produced by impacting in twined combination 208 304. Surface effect produced by impacting the web strands in twined combination 208 305. Surface effect produced by crossing the web series in open twined work 208 306. Tray with open mesh, twined combination 208 307. Conical basket, twined combination 209 308. Example of primitive reticulated weaving 210 309. Simple form of reticulation 211 310. Reticulated pattern in cotton cloth 211 311. Peruvian embroidery 213 312. Basket with pendent ornaments 213 313. Basket with pendent ornaments 213 314. Tasseled Peruvian mantle 214 315. Pattern produced by interlacing strands of different colors 216 316. Pattern produced by interlacing strands of different colors 216 317. Pattern produced by interlacing strands of different colors 216 318. Pattern produced by interlacing strands of different colors 217 319. Base of coiled basket 218 320. Coiled basket with geometric ornament 218 321. Coiled basket with geometric ornament 219 322. Coiled basket with geometric ornament 220 323. Coiled basket with geometric ornament 220 324. Coiled basket with geometric ornament 221 325. Coiled basket with geometric ornament 223 326. Coiled tray with geometric ornament 224 327. Coiled tray with geometric ornament 225 328. Tray with geometric ornament 225 329. Tray with geometric ornament 226 330. Ornament produced by wrapping the strands 227 331. Ornament produced by fixing strands to the surface of the fabric 227 332. Basket with feather ornamentation 227 333. Basket with feather ornamentation 227 334. Piece of cloth showing use of supplementary warp and woof 228 335. Piece of cloth showing use of supplementary warp and woof 228 336. Example of grass embroidery 230 337. Example of feather embroidery 231 338. Figures from the Penn wampum belt 233 339. Figures from a California Indian basket 234 340. California Indian basket 234 341. Figures from a Peruvian basket 235 342. Figure from a piece of Peruvian gobelins 236 343. Figures from a Peruvian vase 237 344. Figure from a circular basket 238 345. Figure of a bird from a Zuñi shield 239 346. Figure of a bird woven in a tray 240 347. Figure of a bird woven in a basket 241 348. Figures embroidered on a cotton net by the ancient Peruvians 242 349. Figures of birds embroidered by the ancient Peruvians 243 350. Conventional design painted upon cotton cloth 243 351. Herring bone and checker patterns produced in weaving 246 352. Herring bone and checker patterns engraved in clay 246 353. Earthen vase with textile ornament 247 354. Example of textile ornament painted upon pottery 248 355. Textile pattern transferred to pottery through costume 248 356. Ceremonial adz with carved ornament of textile character 250 357. Figures upon a tapa stamp 251 358. Design in stucco exhibiting textile characters 251 TEXTILE ART IN ITS RELATION TO THE DEVELOPMENT OF FORM AND ORNAMENT. BY WILLIAM H. HOLMES. INTRODUCTION. The textile art is one of the most ancient known, dating back to the very inception of culture. In primitive times it occupied a wide field, embracing the stems of numerous branches of industry now expressed in other materials or relegated to distinct systems of construction. Accompanying the gradual narrowing of its sphere there was a steady development with the general increase of intelligence and skill so that with the cultured nations of to-day it takes an important, though unobtrusive, place in the hierarchy of the arts. Woven fabrics include all those products of art in which the elements or parts employed in construction are largely filamental and are combined by methods conditioned chiefly by their flexibility. The processes employed are known by such terms as interlacing, plaiting, netting, weaving, sewing, and embroidering. The materials used at first are chiefly filiform vegetal growths, such as twigs, leaves, roots, and grasses, but later on filiform and then fibrous elements from all the kingdoms of nature, as well as numerous artificial preparations, are freely used. These are employed in the single, doubled, doubled and twisted, and plaited conditions, and are combined by the hands alone, by the hands assisted by simple devices, by hand looms, and finally in civilization by machine looms. The products are, first, individual structures or articles, such as shelters, baskets, nets, and garments, or integral parts of these; and, second, "piece" goods, such as are not adapted to use until they are cut and fitted. In earlier stages of art we have to deal almost exclusively with the former class, as the tailor and the house furnisher are evolved with civilization. In their bearing upon art these products are to be studied chiefly with reference to three grand divisions of phenomena, the first of which I shall denominate _constructive_, the second _functional_, and the third _esthetic_. The last class, with which this paper has almost exclusively to deal, is composed mainly of what may be called the superconstructive and superfunctional features of the art and includes three subdivisions of phenomena, connected respectively with (1) form, (2) color, and (3) design. Esthetic features of form are, in origin and manifestation, related to both function and construction; color and design, to construction mainly. In the following study separate sections are given to each of these topics. It is fortunate perhaps that in this work I am restricted to the products of rather primitive stages of culture, as I have thus to deal with a limited number of uses, simple processes, and simple shapes. In the advanced stages of art we encounter complex phenomena, processes, and conditions, the accumulation of ages, through which no broad light can fall upon the field of vision. In America there is a vast body of primitive, indigenous art having no parallel in the world. Uncontaminated by contact with the complex conditions of civilized art, it offers the best possible facilities for the study of the fundamental principles of esthetic development. The laws of evolution correspond closely in all art, and, if once rightly interpreted in the incipient stage of a single, homogeneous culture, are traceable with comparative ease through all the succeeding stages of civilization. FORM IN TEXTILE ART. Form in the textile art, as in all other useful arts, is fundamentally, although not exclusively, the resultant or expression of function, but at the same time it is further than in other shaping arts from expressing the whole of function. Such is the pliability of a large portion of textile products--as, for example, nets, garments, and hangings--that the shapes assumed are variable, and, therefore, when not distended or for some purpose folded or draped, the articles are without esthetic value or interest. The more rigid objects, in common with the individuals of other useful arts, while their shape still accords with their functional office, exhibit attributes of form generally recognized as pleasing to the mind, which are expressed by the terms grace, elegance, symmetry, and the like. Such attributes are not separable from functional attributes, but originate and exist conjointly with them. In addition to these features of form we observe others of a more decidedly superfunctional character, added manifestly for the purpose of enhancing the appearance. In very primitive times when a utensil is produced functional ideas predominate, and there is, perhaps, so far as its artificial characters are concerned, a minimum of comeliness. But as the ages pass by essential features are refined and elements of beauty are added and emphasized. In riper culture the growing pressure of esthetic desire leads to the addition of many superficial modifications whose chief office is to please the fancy. In periods of deadened sensibility or even through the incompetence of individual artists in any period, such features may be ill chosen and erroneously applied, interfering with construction and use, and thus violating well founded and generally accepted canons of taste. In respect to primitive works we may distinguish four steps in the acquisition of esthetic features of form, three of which are normal, the fourth abnormal: First, we have that in which functional characters alone are considered, any element of beauty, whether due to the artist's hand or to the accidents of material, construction, or model, being purely adventitious; second, that in which the necessary features of the utensil appear to have experienced the supervision of taste, edges being rounded, curves refined, and symmetry perfected; third, that in which the functionally perfect object, just described, undergoes further variations of contour, adding to variety, unity, &c., thus enhancing beauty without interfering with serviceability; and, fourth, that in which, under abnormal influences, beauty is sought at the sacrifice of functional and constructive perfection. [Illustration: FIG. 286. Mat or tray exhibiting a minimum of esthetic attributes of form. Moki work--1/8.] The exact relations of the various classes of forces and phenomena pertaining to this theme may be more fully elucidated by the aid of illustrations. Woven mats, in early use by many tribes of men and originating in the attempt to combine leaves, vines, and branches for purposes of comfort, are flat because of function, the degree of flatness depending upon the size of filaments and mode of combination; and in outline they are irregular, square, round, or oval, as a result of many causes and influences, embracing use, construction, material, models, &c. A close approach to symmetry, where not imposed by some of the above mentioned agencies, is probably due to esthetic tendencies on the part of the artist. The esthetic interest attaching to such a shape cannot be great, unless perhaps it be regarded, as all individuals and classes may be regarded, in its possible relations to preceding, associated, and succeeding forms of art. The varied features observed upon the surface, the colors and patterns (Fig. 286), pertain to design rather than to form and will receive attention in the proper place. [Illustration: FIG. 287. Tray having decided esthetic attributes of form. Obtained from the Apache--1/2.] In point of contour the basket tray shown in Fig. 287 has a somewhat more decided claim upon esthetic attention than the preceding, as the curves exhibited mark a step of progress in complexity and grace. How much of this is due to intention and how much to technical perfection must remain in doubt. In work so perfect we are wont, however unwarrantably, to recognize the influence of taste. [Illustration: FIG. 288. Pyriform water vessel used by the Piute Indians--1/8.] A third example--presented in Fig. 288--illustrates an advanced stage in the art of basketry and exhibits a highly specialized shape. The forces and influences concerned in its evolution may be analyzed as follows: A primal origin in function and a final adaptation to a special function, the carrying and storing of water; a contour full to give capacity, narrow above for safety, and pointed below that it may be set in sand; curves kept within certain bounds by the limitations of construction; and a goodly share of variety, symmetry, and grace, the result to a certain undetermined extent of the esthetic tendencies of the artist's mind. In regard to the last point there is generally in forms so simple an element of uncertainty; but many examples may be found in which there is positive evidence of the existence of a strong desire on the part of the primitive basketmaker to enhance beauty of form. It will be observed that the textile materials and construction do not lend themselves freely to minuteness in detail or to complexity of outline, especially in those small ways in which beauty is most readily expressed. Modifications of a decidedly esthetic character are generally suggested to the primitive mind by some functional, constructive, or accidental feature which may with ease be turned in the new direction. In the vessel presented in Fig. 289--the work of Alaskan Indians--the margin is varied by altering the relations of the three marginal turns of the coil, producing a scalloped effect. This is without reference to use, is uncalled for in construction, and hence is, in all probability, the direct result of esthetic tendencies. Other and much more elaborate examples may be found in the basketry of almost all countries. [Illustration: FIG. 289. Vessel with esthetic characters of form. Work of the Yakama--1/4.] In the pursuit of this class of enrichment there is occasionally noticeable a tendency to overload the subject with extraneous details. This is not apt to occur, however, in the indigenous practice of an art, but comes more frequently from a loss of equilibrium or balance in motives or desires, caused by untoward exotic influence. When, through suggestions derived from contact with civilized art, the savage undertakes to secure all the grace and complexity observed in the works of more cultured peoples, he does so at the expense of construction and adaptability to use. An example of such work is presented in Fig. 290, a weak, useless, and wholly vicious piece of basketry. Other equally meretricious pieces represent goblets, bottles, and tea pots. They are the work of the Indians of the northwest coast and are executed in the neatest possible manner, bearing evidence of the existence of cultivated taste. [Illustration: FIG. 290. Basket made under foreign influence, construction and use being sacrificed to fancied beauty--1/3.] It appears from the preceding analyses that _form_ in this art is not sufficiently sensitive to receive impressions readily from the delicate touch of esthetic fingers; besides, there are peculiar difficulties in the way of detecting traces of the presence and supervision of taste. The inherent morphologic forces of the art are strong and stubborn and tend to produce the precise classes of results that we, at this stage of culture, are inclined to attribute to esthetic influence. If, in the making of a vessel, the demands of use are fully satisfied, if construction is perfect of its kind, if materials are uniformly suitable, and if models are not absolutely bad, it follows that the result must necessarily possess in a high degree those very attributes that all agree are pleasing to the eye. In a primitive water vessel function gives a full outline, as capacity is a prime consideration; convenience of use calls for a narrow neck and a conical base; construction and materials unite to impose certain limitations to curves and their combinations, from which the artist cannot readily free himself. Models furnished by nature, as they are usually graceful, do not interfere with the preceding agencies, and all these forces united tend to give symmetry, grace, and the unity that belongs to simplicity. Taste which is in a formative state can but fall in with these tendencies of the art, and must be led by them, and led in a measure corresponding to their persistency and universality. If the textile art had been the only one known to man, ideas of the esthetic in shape would have been in a great measure formed through that art. Natural forms would have had little to do with it except through models furnished directly to and utilized by the art, for the ideas of primitive men concentrate about that upon which their hands work and upon which their thoughts from necessity dwell with steady attention from generation to generation. RELATIONS OF FORM TO ORNAMENT. It would seem that the esthetic tendencies of the mind, failing to find satisfactory expression in shape, seized upon the non-essential features of the art--markings of the surface and color of filaments--creating a new field in which to labor and expending their energy upon ornament. Shape has some direct relations to ornament, and these relations may be classified as follows: First, the contour of the vessel controls its ornament to a large extent, dictating the positions of design and setting its limits; figures are in stripes, zones, rays, circles, ovals, or rectangles--according, in no slight measure, to the character of the spaces afforded by details of contour. Secondly, it affects ornament through the reproduction and repetition of features of form, such as handles, for ornamental purposes. Thirdly, it is probable that shape influences embellishment through the peculiar bias given by it to the taste and judgment of men prior to or independent of the employment of ornament. COLOR IN TEXTILE ART. Color is one of the most constant factors in man's environment, and it is so strongly and persistently forced upon his attention, so useful as a means of identification and distinction, that it necessarily receives a large share of consideration. It is probably one of the foremost objective agencies in the formation and development of the esthetic sense. The natural colors of textile materials are enormously varied and form one of the chief attractions of the products of the art. The great interest taken in color--the great importance attached to it--is attested by the very general use of dyes, by means of which additional variety and brilliancy of effect are secured. Color employed in the art is not related to use, excepting, perhaps, in symbolic and superstitious matters; nor is it of consequence in construction, although it derives importance from the manner in which construction causes it to be manifested to the eye. It finds its chief use in the field of design, in making evident to the eye the figures with which objects of art are embellished. Color is employed or applied in two distinct ways: it is woven or worked into the fabric by using colored filaments or parts, or it is added to the surface of the completed object by means of pencils, brushes, and dies. Its employment in the latter manner is especially convenient when complex ideographic or pictorial subjects are to be executed. TEXTILE ORNAMENT. DEVELOPMENT OF A GEOMETRIC SYSTEM OF DESIGN WITHIN THE ART. INTRODUCTION. Having made a brief study of form and color in the textile art, I shall now present the great group or family of phenomena whose exclusive office is that of enhancing beauty. It will be necessary, however, to present, besides those features of the art properly expressive of the esthetic culture of the race, all those phenomena that, being present in the art without man's volition, tend to suggest decorative conceptions and give shape to them. I shall show how the latter class of features arise as a necessity of the art, how they gradually come into notice and are seized upon by the esthetic faculty, and how under its guidance they assist in the development of a system of ornament of world wide application. For convenience of treatment esthetic phenomena may be classed as _relieved_ and _flat_. Figures or patterns of a relievo nature arise during construction as a result of the intersections and other more complex relations--the bindings--of the warp and woof or of inserted or applied elements. Flat or surface features are manifested in color, either in unison with or independent of the relieved details. Such is the nature of the textile art that in its ordinary practice certain combinations of both classes of features go on as a necessity of the art and wholly without reference to the desire of the artist or to the effect of resultant patterns upon the eye. The character of such figures depends upon the kind of construction and upon the accidental association of natural colors in construction. At some period of the practice of the art these peculiar, adventitious surface characters began to attract attention and to be cherished for the pleasure they gave; what were at first adventitious features now took on functions peculiar to themselves, for they were found to gratify desires distinct from those cravings that arise directly from physical wants. It is not to be supposed for a moment that the inception of esthetic notions dates from this association of ideas of beauty with textile characters. Long before textile objects of a high class were made, ideas of an esthetic nature had been entertained by the mind, as, for example, in connection with personal adornment. The skin had been painted, pendants placed about the neck, and bright feathers set in the hair to enhance attractiveness, and it is not difficult to conceive of the transfer of such ideas from purely personal associations to the embellishment of articles intimately associated with the person. No matter, however, what the period or manner of the association of such ideas with the textile art, that association may be taken as the datum point in the development of a great system of decoration whose distinguishing characters are the result of the geometric textile construction. In amplifying this subject I find it convenient to treat separately the two classes of decorative phenomena--the relieved and the flat--notwithstanding the fact that they are for the most part intimately associated and act together in the accomplishment of a common end. RELIEF PHENOMENA. _Ordinary features._--The relieved surface characters of fabrics resulting from construction and available for decoration are more or less distinctly perceptible to the eye and to the touch and are susceptible of unlimited variation in detail and arrangement. Such features are familiar to all in the strongly marked ridges of basketry, and much more pleasingly so in the delicate figures of damasks, embroideries, and laces. So long as the figures produced are confined exclusively to the necessary features of unembellished construction, as is the case in very primitive work and in all plain work, the resultant patterns are wholly geometric and by endless repetition of like parts extremely monotonous. In right angled weaving the figures combine in straight lines, which run parallel or cross at uniform distances and angles. In radiate weaving, as in basketry, the radial lines are crossed in an equally formal manner by concentric lines. In other classes of combination there is an almost equal degree of geometricity. When, however, with the growth of intelligence and skill it is found that greater variety of effect can be secured by modifying the essential combinations of parts, and that, too, without interfering with constructive perfection or with use, a new and wide field is opened for the developmental tendencies of textile decoration. Moreover, in addition to the facilities afforded by the necessary elements of construction, there are many extraneous resources of which the textile decorator may freely avail himself. The character of these is such that the results, however varied, harmonize thoroughly with indigenous textile forms. To make these points quite clear it will be necessary to analyze somewhat closely the character and scope of textile combination and of the resultant and associated phenomena. We may distinguish two broad classes of constructive phenomena made use of in the expression of relieved enrichment. As indicated above, these are, first, essential or actual constructive features and, second, extra or superconstructive features. First, it is found that in the practice of primitive textile art a variety of methods of combination or bindings of the parts have been evolved and utilized, and we observe that each of these--no matter what the material or what the size and character of the filamental elements--gives rise to distinct classes of surface effects. Thus it appears that peoples who happen to discover and use like combinations produce kindred decorative results, while those employing unlike constructions achieve distinct classes of surface embellishment. These constructive peculiarities have a pretty decided effect upon the style of ornament, relieved or colored, and must be carefully considered in the treatment of design; but it is found that each type of combination has a greatly varied capacity of expression, tending to obliterate sharp lines of demarkation between the groups of results. It sometimes even happens that in distinct types of weaving almost identical surface effects are produced. It will not be necessary in this connection to present a full series of the fundamental bindings or orders of combination, as a few will suffice to illustrate the principles involved and to make clear the bearing of this class of phenomena upon decoration. I choose, first, a number of examples from the simplest type of weaving, that in which the web and the woof are merely interlaced, the filaments crossing at right angles or nearly so. In Fig. 291 we have the result exhibited in a plain open or reticulated fabric constructed from ordinary untwisted fillets, such as are employed in our splint and cane products. Fig. 292 illustrates the surface produced by crowding the horizontal series of the same fabric close together, so that the vertical series is entirely hidden. The surface here exhibits a succession of vertical ribs, an effect totally distinct from that seen in the preceding example. The third variety (Fig. 293) differs but slightly from the first. The fillets are wider and are set close together without crowding, giving the surface a checkered appearance. [Illustration: FIG. 291. Surface relief in simplest form of intersection.] [Illustration: FIG. 292. Surface relief produced by horizontal series crowded together.] [Illustration: FIG. 293. Surface relief produced by wide fillets set close together.] The second variety of surface effect is that most frequently seen in the basketry of our western tribes, as it results from the great degree of compactness necessary in vessels intended to contain liquids, semiliquid foods, or pulverized substances. The general surface effect given by closely woven work is illustrated in Fig. 294, which represents a large wicker carrying basket obtained from the Moki Indians. In this instance the ridges, due to a heavy series of radiating warp filaments, are seen in a vertical position. [Illustration: FIG. 294. Basket showing ribbed surface produced by impacting the horizontal or concentric filaments. Moki work--1/8.] [Illustration: FIG. 295. Alternation of intersection, producing oblique or spiral ribs. Piute work--1/8.] [Illustration: FIG. 296. Radiating ribs as seen in flat work viewed from above. Moki work--1/4.] It will be observed, however, that the ridges do not necessarily take the direction of the warp filaments, for, with a different alternation of the horizontal series--the woof--we get oblique ridges, as shown in the partly finished bottle illustrated in Fig. 295. They are, however, not so pronounced as in the preceding case. The peculiar effect of radiate and concentric weaving upon the ribs is well shown in Fig. 296. By changes in the order of intersection, without changing the type of combination, we reach a series of results quite unlike the preceding; so distinct, indeed, that, abstracted from constructive relationships, there would be little suggestion of correlation. In the example given in Fig. 297 the series of filaments interlace, not by passing over and under alternate strands, as in the preceding set of examples, but by extending over and under a number of the opposing series at each step and in such order as to give wide horizontal ridges ribbed diagonally. [Illustration: FIG. 297. Diagonal combination, giving herring bone effect.] [Illustration: FIG. 298. Elaboration of diagonal combination, giving triangular figures.] This example is from an ancient work basket obtained at Ancon, Peru, and shown in Fig. 299. The surface features are in strong relief, giving a pronounced herring bone effect. [Illustration: FIG. 299. Peruvian work basket of reeds, with strongly relieved ridges.] Slight changes in the succession of parts enable the workman to produce a great variety of decorative patterns, an example of which is shown in Fig. 298. A good illustration is also seen in Fig. 286, and another piece, said to be of Seminole workmanship, is given in Fig. 300. These and similar relieved results are fruitful sources of primitive decorative motives. They are employed not only within the art itself, but in many other arts less liberally supplied with suggestions of embellishment. [Illustration: FIG. 300. Effects produced by varying the order of intersection. Seminole work--1/8.] Taking a second type of combination, we have a family of resultant patterns in the main distinguishable from the preceding. [Illustration: FIG. 301. Surface effect in open twined combination.] [Illustration: FIG. 302. Surface effect of twined, lattice combination in basketry of the Clallam Indians of Washington Territory--1/8.] Fig. 301 illustrates the simplest form of what Dr. O.T. Mason has called the twined combination, a favorite one with many of our native tribes. The strands of the woof series are arranged in twos and in weaving are twisted half around at each intersection, inclosing the opposing fillets. The resulting open work has much the appearance of ordinary netting, and when of pliable materials and distended or strained over an earthen or gourd vessel the pattern exhibited is strikingly suggestive of decoration. The result of this combination upon a lattice foundation of rigid materials is well shown in the large basket presented in Fig. 302. Other variants of this type are given in the three succeeding figures. [Illustration: FIG. 303. Surface effect in impacted work of twined combination.] The result seen in Fig. 303 is obtained by impacting the horizontal or twined series of threads. The surface is nearly identical with that of the closely impacted example of the preceding type (Fig. 292). The peculiarities are more marked when colors are used. When the doubled and twisted series of strands are placed far apart and the opposing series are laid side by side a pleasing result is given, as shown in Fig. 304 and in the body of the conical basket illustrated in Fig. 307. [Illustration: FIG. 304. Surface effect obtained by placing the warp strands close together and the woof cables far apart.] [Illustration: FIG. 305. Surface effect obtained by crossing the warp series in open twined work.] In Fig. 305 we have a peculiar diagonally crossed arrangement of the untwisted series of filaments, giving a lattice work effect. [Illustration: FIG. 306. Decorative effects produced by variations in the radiate or warp series in an open work tray. Klamath work--1/4.] Fig. 306 serves to show how readily this style of weaving lends itself to the production of decorative modification, especially in the direction of the concentric zonal arrangement so universal in vessel-making arts. The examples given serve to indicate the unlimited decorative resources possessed by the art without employing any but legitimate constructive elements, and it will be seen that still wider results can be obtained by combining two or more varieties or styles of binding in the construction and the embellishment of a single object or in the same piece of fabric. A good, though very simple, illustration of this is shown in the tray or mat presented in Fig. 286. In this case a border, varying from the center portion in appearance, is obtained by changing one series of the filaments from a multiple to a single arrangement. [Illustration: FIG. 307. Conical basket of the Klamath Indians of Oregon, showing peculiar twined effect and an open work border--1/8.] The conical basket shown in Fig. 307 serves to illustrate the same point. In this case a rudely worked, though effective, border is secured by changing the angle of the upright series near the top and combining them by plaiting, and in such a way as to leave a border of open work. Now the two types of construction, the interlaced and the twined, some primitive phases of which have been reviewed and illustrated, as they are carried forward in the technical progress of the art, exhibit many new features of combination and resultant surface character, but the elaboration is in all cases along lines peculiar to these types of weaving. Other types of combination of web and woof, all tapestry, and all braiding, netting, knitting, crochet, and needle work exhibit characters peculiar to themselves, developing distinct groups of relieved results; yet all are analogous in principle to those already illustrated and unite in carrying forward the same great geometric system of combination. _Reticulated work._--A few paragraphs may be added here in regard to reticulated fabrics of all classes of combination, as they exhibit more than usually interesting relievo phenomena and have a decided bearing upon the growth of ornament. In all the primitive weaving with which we are acquainted definite reticulated patterns are produced by variations in the spacings and other relations of the warp and woof; and the same is true in all the higher forms of the art. The production of reticulated work is the especial function of netting, knitting, crocheting, and certain varieties of needlework, and a great diversity of relieved results are produced, no figure being too complex and no form too pronounced to be undertaken by ambitious workmen. In the following figures we have illustrations of the peculiar class of primitive experiments that, after the lapse of ages, lead up to marvelous results, the highest of which may be found in the exquisite laces of cultured peoples. The Americans had only taken the first steps in this peculiar art, but the results are on this account of especial interest in the history of the art. An example of simple reticulated hand weaving is shown in Fig. 308. It is the work of the mound builders and is taken from an impression upon an ancient piece of pottery obtained in Tennessee. [Illustration: FIG. 308. Incipient stage of reticulated ornament. Fabric of the mound builders.] Fig. 309 illustrates a bit of ancient Peruvian work executed on a frame or in a rude loom, a checker pattern being produced by arranging the warp and woof now close together and now wide apart. Open work of this class is sometimes completed by after processes, certain threads or filaments being drawn out or introduced, by which means the figures are emphasized and varied. In Fig. 310 we have a second Peruvian example in which the woof threads have been omitted for the space of an inch, and across this interval the loose warp has been plaited and drawn together, producing a lattice-like band. [Illustration: FIG. 309. Simple form of ornamental reticulation. Ancient Peruvian work.] [Illustration: FIG. 310. Reticulated pattern in cotton cloth. Work of the ancient Peruvians.] In a similar way four other bands of narrow open work are introduced, two above and two below the wide band. These are produced by leaving the warp threads free for a short space and drawing alternate pairs across each other and fixing them so by means of a woof thread, as shown in the cut. Examples of netting in which decorative features have been worked are found among the textile products of many American tribes and occur as well in several groups of ancient fabrics, but in most cases where designs of importance or complexity are desired parts are introduced to facilitate the work. _Superconstructive features._--These features, so important in the decoration of fabrics, are the result of devices by which a construction already capable of fulfilling the duties imposed by function has added to it parts intended to enhance beauty and which may or may not be of advantage to the fabric. They constitute one of the most widely used and effective resources of the textile decorator, and are added by sewing or stitching, inserting, drawing, cutting, applying, appending, &c. They add enormously to the capacity for producing relievo effects and make it possible even to render natural forms in the round. Notwithstanding this fact--the most important section of this class of features--embroidery is treated to better advantage under color phenomena, as color is very generally associated with the designs. [Illustration: FIG. 311. Open work design embroidered upon a net-like fabric. From a grave at Ancon, Peru.] One example of lace-like embroidery may be given in this place. It is probably among the best examples of monochrome embroidery America has produced. In design and in method of realization it is identical with the rich, colored embroideries of the ancient Peruvians, being worked upon a net foundation, as shown in Fig. 311. The broad band of figures employs bird forms in connection with running geometric designs, and still more highly conventional bird forms are seen in the narrow band. Appended ornaments are not amenable to the geometric laws of fabrication to the extent observed in other classes of ornament. They are, however, attached in ways consistent with the textile system, and are counted and spaced with great care, producing designs of a more or less pronounced geometric character. The work is a kind of embroidery, the parts employed being of the nature of pendants. These include numberless articles derived from nature and art. It will suffice to present a few examples already at hand. [Illustration: FIG. 312. Basket with pendent buckskin strands tipped with bits of tin. Apache Indians--1/8.] Fig. 312 illustrates a large, well made basket, the work of the Apache Indians. It serves to indicate the method of employing tassels and clustered pendants, which in this case consist of buckskin strings tipped with conical bits of tin. The checker pattern is in color. [Illustration: FIG. 313. Basket with pendants of beads and bits of shell, work of the northwest coast Indians.--1/4.] Fig. 313 illustrates the use of other varieties of pendants. A feather decked basket made by the northwest coast Indians is embellished with pendent ornaments consisting of strings of beads tipped with bits of bright shell. The importance of this class of work in higher forms of textiles may be illustrated by an example from Peru. It is probable that American art has produced few examples of tasseled work more wonderful than that of which a fragment is shown in Fig. 314. It is a fringed mantle, three feet in length and nearly the same in depth, obtained from an ancient tomb. The body is made up of separately woven bands, upon which disk-like and semilunar figures representing human faces are stitched, covering the surface in horizontal rows. To the center of these rosette-like parts clusters of tassels of varying sizes are attached. The fringe, which is twenty inches deep, is composed entirely of long strings of tassels, the larger tassels supporting clusters of smaller ones. There are upwards of three thousand tassels, the round heads of which are in many cases woven in colors, ridges, and nodes to represent the human features. The general color of the garment, which is of fine, silky wool, is a rich crimson. The illustration can convey only a hint of the complexity and beauty of the original. [Illustration: FIG. 314. Tassel ornamentation from an ancient Peruvian mantle.] We have now seen how varied and how striking are the surface characters of fabrics as expressed by the third dimension, by variation from a flat, featureless surface, and how all, essential and ornamental, are governed by the laws of geometric combination. We shall now see how these are related to color phenomena. COLOR PHENOMENA. _Ordinary features._--In describing the constructive characters of fabrics and the attendant surface phenomena, I called attention to the fact that a greater part of the design manifested is enforced and supplemented by color, which gives new meaning to every feature. Color elements are present in the art from its very inception, and many simple patterns appear as accidents of textile aggregation long before the weaver or the possessor recognizes them as pleasing to the eye. When, finally, they are so recognized and a desire for greater elaboration springs up, the textile construction lends itself readily to the new office and under the esthetic forces brings about wonderful results without interfering in the least with the technical perfection of the articles embellished. But color is not confined to the mere emphasizing of figures already expressed in relief. It is capable of advancing alone into new fields, producing patterns and designs complex in arrangement and varied in hue, and that, too, without altering the simple, monotonous succession of relievo characters. In color, as in relieved design, each species of constructive combination gives rise to more or less distinct groups of decorative results, which often become the distinguishing characteristics of the work of different peoples and the progenitors of long lines of distinctions in national decorative conceptions. In addition to this apparently limitless capacity for expression, lovers of textile illumination have the whole series of extraordinary resources furnished by expedients not essential to ordinary construction, the character and scope of which have been dwelt upon to some extent in the preceding section. I have already spoken of color in a general way, as to its necessary presence in art, its artificial application to fabrics and fabric materials, its symbolic characters, and its importance to esthetic progress. My object in this section is to indicate the part it takes in textile design, its methods of expression, the processes by which it advances in elaboration, and the part it takes in all geometric decoration. It will be necessary, in the first place, to examine briefly the normal tendencies of color combination while still under the direct domination of constructive elaboration. In the way of illustration, let us take first a series of filaments, say in the natural color of the material, and pass through them in the simplest interlaced style a second series having a distinct color. A very simple geometric pattern is produced, as shown in Fig. 315. It is a sort of checker, an emphasized presentation of the relievo pattern shown in Fig. 291, the figures running horizontally, vertically, and diagonally. Had these filaments been accidentally associated in construction, the results might have been the same, but it is unnecessary to indicate in detail the possibilities of adventitious color combinations. So far as they exhibit system at all it is identical with the relievo elaboration. [Illustration: FIG. 315. Pattern produced by interlacing strands of different colors.] [Illustration: FIG. 316. Pattern produced by modifying the alternation of fillets.] [Illustration: FIG. 317. Isolated figures produced by modifying the order of intersection.] Assuming that the idea of developing these figures into something more elaborate and striking is already conceived, let us study the processes and tendencies of growth. A very slight degree of ingenuity will enable the workman to vary the relation of the parts, producing a succession of results such, perhaps, as indicated in Fig. 316. In this example we have rows of isolated squares in white which may be turned hither and thither at pleasure, within certain angles, but they result in nothing more than monotonous successions of squares. [Illustration: FIG. 318. Pattern produced by simple alternations of light and dark fillets. Basketry of the Indians of British Guiana.] Additional facility of expression is obtained by employing dark strands in the vertical series also, and large, isolated areas of solid color may be produced by changing the order of intersection, certain of the fillets being carried over two or more of the opposing series and in contiguous spaces at one step, as seen in Fig. 317. With these elementary resources the weaver has very considerable powers of expression, as will be seen in Fig. 318, which is taken from a basket made by South American Indians, and in Fig. 341, where human figures are delineated. The patterns in such cases are all rigidly geometric and exhibit stepped outlines of a pronounced kind. With impacting and increased refinement of fillets the stepped character is in a considerable measure lost sight of and realistic, graphic representation is to a greater extent within the workman's reach. It is probable, however, that the idea of weaving complex ideographic characters would not occur to the primitive mind at a very early date, and a long period of progress would elapse before delineative subjects would be attempted. I do not need to follow this style of combination into the more refined kinds of work and into loom products, but may add that through all, until perverted by ulterior influences, the characteristic geometricity and monotonous repetition are allpervading. * * * * * For the purpose of looking still more closely into the tendencies of normal textile decorative development I shall present a series of Indian baskets, choosing mainly from the closely woven or impacted varieties because they are so well represented in our collections and at the same time are so very generally embellished with designs in color; besides, they are probably among the most simple and primitive textile products known. I have already shown that several types of combination when closely impacted produce very similar surface characters and encourage the same general style of decoration. In nearly all, the color features are confined to one series of fillets--those of the woof--the other, the warp, being completely hidden from view. In the preceding series the warp and woof were almost equally concerned in the expression of design. Here but one is used, and in consequence there is much freedom of expression, as the artist carries the colored filaments back and forth or inserts new ones at will. Still it will be seen that in doing this he is by no means free; he must follow the straight and narrow pathway laid down by the warp and woof, and, do what he may, he arrives at purely geometric results. [Illustration: FIG. 319. Base of coiled basket showing the method of building by dual coiling. The base or warp coil is composed of untwisted fiber and is formed by adding to the free end as the coiling goes on. The woof or binding filament, as it is coiled, is caught into the upper surface of the preceding turn--1/8.] [Illustration: FIG. 320. Coiled basket with simple geometric ornament. Work of the northwest coast Indians--1/8.] I will now present the examples, which for the sake of uniformity are in all cases of the coiled ware. If a basket is made with no other idea than that of use the surface is apt to be pretty uniform in color, the natural color of the woof fillets. If decoration is desired a colored fillet is introduced, which, for the time, takes the place and does the duty of the ordinary strand. Fig. 319 serves to show the construction and surface appearance of the base of a coil made vessel still quite free from any color decoration. Now, if it is desired to begin a design, the plain wrapping thread is dropped and a colored fillet is inserted and the coiling continues. Carried once around the vessel we have an encircling line of dark color corresponding to the lower line of the ornament seen in Fig. 320. If the artist is content with a single line of color he sets the end of the dark thread and takes up the light colored one previously dropped and continues the coiling. If further elaboration is desired it is easily accomplished. In the example given the workman has taken up the dark fillet again and carried it a few times around the next turn of the warp coil; then it has been dropped and the white thread taken up, and again, in turn, another dark thread has been introduced and coiled for a few turns, and so on until four encircling rows of dark, alternating rectangles have been produced. Desiring to introduce a meandered design he has taken the upper series of rectangles as bases and adding colored filaments at the proper time has carried oblique lines, one to the right and the other to the left, across the six succeeding ridges of the warp coil. The pairs of stepped lines meeting above were joined in rectangles like those below, and the decoration was closed by a border line at the top. The vessel was then completed in the light colored material. In this ornament all forms are bounded by two classes of lines, vertical and horizontal (or, viewed from above or below, radial and encircling), the lines of the warp and the woof. Oblique bands of color are made up of series of rectangles, giving stepped outlines. Although these figures are purely geometric, it is not impossible that in their position and grouping they preserve a trace of some imitative conception modified to this shape by the forces of the art. They serve quite as well, however, to illustrate simple mechanical elaboration as if entirely free from suspicion of associated ideas. [Illustration: FIG. 321. Coiled basket with encircling bands of ornament in white, red, and black, upon a yellowish ground. Obtained from the Indians of the Tule River, California--1/8.] In Fig. 321 I present a superb piece of work executed by the Indians of the Tule River, California. It is woven in the closely impacted, coiled style. The ornament is arranged in horizontal zones and consists of a series of diamond shaped figures in white with red centers and black frames set side by side. The processes of substitution where changes of color are required are the same as in the preceding case and the forms of figures and the disposition of designs are the same, being governed by the same forces. [Illustration: FIG. 322. Coiled basket with ornament arranged in zigzag rays. Obtained from the Pima Indians of Arizona--1/8.] Another choice piece, from the Pima Indians of Arizona, is given in Fig. 322. The lines of the ornament adhere exclusively to the directions imposed by the warp and the woof, the stripes of black color ascending with the turns of the fillet for a short distance, then for a time following the horizontal ridges, and again ascending, the complete result being a series of zigzag rays set very close together. These rays take an oblique turn to the left, and the dark figures at the angles, from the necessities of construction, form rows at right angles to these. A few supplementary rays are added toward the margin to fill out the widening spaces. Another striking example of the domination of technique over design is illustrated in Fig. 323. [Illustration: FIG. 323. Coiled basket with two bands of meandered ornament. Obtained from the Pima Indians of Arizona--1/4.] Two strongly marked, fret-like meanders encircle the vessel, the elements of which are ruled exclusively by the warp and woof, by the radiate and the concentric lines of construction. This is the work of the Pima Indians of Arizona. [Illustration: FIG. 324. Coiled basket with geometric ornament composed of triangular figures. Obtained from the McCloud River Indians, California--1/8.] I shall close the series with a very handsome example of Indian basketry and of basketry ornamentation (Fig. 324). The conical shape is highly pleasing and the design is thoroughly satisfactory and, like all the others, is applied in a way indicative of a refined sense of the decorative requirements of the utensil. The design is wholly geometric, and, although varied in appearance, is composed almost exclusively of dark triangular figures upon a light ground. The general grouping is in three horizontal or encircling bands agreeing with or following the foundation coil. Details are governed by the horizontal and the oblique structure lines. The vertical construction lines have no direct part in the conformation of the design excepting in so far as they impose a stepped character upon all oblique outlines. These studies could be carried through all the types of primitive textile combination, but such a work seems unnecessary, for in all cases the elaboration in design, relieved and colored, is along similar lines, is governed by the same class of forces, and reaches closely corresponding results. * * * * * We have observed throughout the series of examples presented a decided tendency toward banded or zonal arrangement of the ornamentation. Now each of these bands is made up of a number of units, uniform in shape and in size and joined or linked together in various suitable and consistent ways. In contemplating them we are led to inquire into the nature of the forces concerned in the accomplishment of such results. The question arises as to exactly how much of the segregating and aggregating forces or tendencies belongs to the technique of the art and how much to the direct esthetic supervision of the human agent, questions as to ideographic influence being for the present omitted. This is a difficult problem to deal with, and I shall not attempt more here than to point out the apparent teachings of the examples studied. The desires of the mind constitute the motive power, the force that gives rise to all progress in art; the appreciation of beauty and the desire to increase it are the cause of all progress in purely decorative elaboration. It appears, however, that there is in the mind no preconceived idea of what that elaboration should be. The mind is a growing thing and is led forward along the pathways laid out by environment. Seeking in art gratification of an esthetic kind it follows the lead of technique along the channels opened by such of the useful arts as offer suggestions of embellishment. The results reached vary with the arts and are important in proportion to the facilities furnished by the arts. As I have already amply shown, the textile art possesses vast advantages over all other arts in this respect, as it is first in the field, of widest application, full of suggestions of embellishment, and inexorably fixed in its methods of expression. The mind in its primitive, mobile condition is as clay in the grasp of technique. A close analysis of the forces and the influences inherent in the art will be instructive. For the sake of simplicity I exclude from consideration all but purely mechanical or non-ideographic elements. It will be observed that order, uniformity, symmetry, are among the first lessons of the textile art. From the very beginning the workman finds it necessary to direct his attention to these considerations in the preparation of his material as well as in the building of his utensils. If parts employed in construction are multiple they must be uniform, and to reach definite results (presupposing always a demand for such results), either in form or ornament, there must be a constant counting of numbers and adjusting to spaces. The most fundamental and constant elements embodied in textile art and available for the expression of embellishment are the minute steps of the intersections or bindings; the most necessary and constant combination of these elements is in continuous lines or in rows of isolated figures; the most necessary and constant directions for these combinations are with the web and the woof, or with their complementaries, the diagonals. If large areas are covered certain separation or aggregation of the elements into larger units is called for, as otherwise absolute sameness would result. Such separation or aggregation conforms to the construction lines of the fabric, as any other arrangement would be unnatural and difficult of accomplishment. When the elements or units combine in continuous zones, bands, or rays they are placed side by side in simple juxtaposition or are united in various ways, always following the guide lines of construction through simple and complex convolutions. Whatever is done is at the suggestion of technique; whatever is done takes a form and arrangement imposed by technique. Results are like in like techniques and are unlike in unlike techniques; they therefore vary with the art and with its variations in time and character. All those agencies pertaining to man that might be supposed important in this connection--the muscles of the hand and of the eye, the cell structure of the brain, together with all preconceived ideas of the beautiful--are all but impotent in the presence of technique, and, so far as forms of expression go, submit completely to its dictates. Ideas of the beautiful in linear geometric forms are actually formed by technique, and taste in selecting as the most beautiful certain ornaments produced in art is but choosing between products that in their evolution gave it its character and powers, precisely as the animal selects its favorite foods from among the products that throughout its history constitute its sustenance and shape its appetites. * * * * * Now, as primitive peoples advance from savagery to barbarism there comes a time in the history of all kinds of textile products at which the natural technical progress of decorative elaboration is interfered with by forces from without the art. This occurs when ideas, symbolic or otherwise, come to be associated with the purely geometric figures, tending to arrest or modify their development, or, again, it occurs when the artist seeks to substitute mythologic subjects for the geometric units. This period cannot be always well defined, as the first steps in this direction are so thoroughly subordinated to the textile forces. Between what may be regarded as purely technical, geometric ornament and ornament recognizably delineative, we find in each group of advanced textile products a series of forms of mixed or uncertain pedigree. These must receive slight attention here. [Illustration: FIG. 325. Coiled basket ornamented with devices probably very highly conventionalized mythological subjects. Obtained from the Apache--1/8.] Fig. 325 represents a large and handsome basket obtained from the Apache. It will be seen that the outline of the figures comprising the principal zone of ornament departs somewhat from the four ruling directions of the textile combination. This was accomplished by increasing the width of the steps in the outline as the dark rays progressed, resulting in curved outlines of eccentric character. This eccentricity, coupled with the very unusual character of the details at the outer extremities of the figures, leads to the surmise that each part of the design is a conventional representation of some life form, a bird, an insect, or perhaps a man. By the free introduction of such elements textile ornament loses its pristine geometric purity and becomes in a measure degraded. In the more advanced stages of Pueblo art the ornament of nearly all the textiles is pervaded by ideographic characters, generally rude suggestions of life forms, borrowed, perhaps, from mythologic art. This is true of much of the coiled basketry of the Moki Indians. True, many examples occur in which the ancient or indigenous geometric style is preserved, but the majority appear to be more or less modified. In many cases nothing can be learned from a study of the designs themselves, as the particular style of construction is not adapted to realistic expression, and, at best, resemblances to natural forms are very remote. Two examples are given in Figs. 326 and 327. I shall expect, however, when the art of these peoples is better known, to learn to what particular mythic concept these mixed or impure geometric devices refer. [Illustration: FIG. 326. Coiled tray with geometric devices probably modified by ideographic association. Moki work--1/4.] The same is true of other varieties of Pueblo basketry, notably the common decorated wickerware, two specimens of which are given in Figs. 328 and 329. This ware is of the interlaced style, with radially arranged web filaments. Its geometric characters are easily distinguished from those of the coiled ware. Many examples exhibit purely conventional elaboration, the figures being arranged in rays, zones, checkers, and the like. It is to be expected, however, that the normal ornament of this class of products should be greatly interfered with through attempts to introduce extraneous elements, for the peoples have advanced to a stage of culture at which it is usual to attempt the introduction of mythologic representations into all art. Further consideration of this subject will be necessary in the next section of this paper. [Illustration: FIG. 327. Coiled tray with geometric devices, probably modified by ideographic association. Moki work--1/4.] [Illustration: FIG. 328. Tray of interlaced style of weaving, showing geometric ornament, probably modified by ideographic association. Moki work--1/4.] The processes of pure geometric elaboration with which this section is mainly concerned can be studied to best advantage in more primitive forms of art. [Illustration: FIG. 329. Tray of interlaced style of weaving, showing geometric ornament, probably modified by ideographic association. Moki work--1/4.] _Non-essential constructive features._--Now, all the varied effects of color and design described in the preceding paragraphs are obtained without seriously modifying the simple necessary construction, without resorting to the multiple extraordinary devices within easy reach. The development and utilization of the latter class of resources must now receive attention. In the preceding examples, when it was desired to begin a figure in color the normal ground filament was dropped out and a colored one set into its place and made to fill its office while it remained; but we find that in many classes of work the colored elements were added to the essential parts, not substituted for them, although they are usually of use in perfecting the fabric by adding to serviceability as well as to beauty. This is illustrated, for example, by the doubling of one series or of both warp and woof, by the introduction of pile, by wrapping filaments with strands of other colors, or by twisting in feathers. Savage nations in all parts of the world are acquainted with devices of this class and employ them with great freedom. The effects produced often correspond closely to needlework, and the materials employed are often identical in both varieties of execution. The following examples will serve to illustrate my meaning. The effect seen in Fig. 330 is observed in a small hand wallet obtained in Mexico. The fillets employed appear to be wide, flattened straws of varied colors. In order to avoid the monotony of a plain checker certain of the light fillets are wrapped with thin fillets of dark tint in such a way that when woven the dark color appears in small squares placed diagonally with the fundamental checkers. Additional effects are produced by covering certain portions of the filaments with straws of distinct color, all being woven in with the fabric. By other devices certain parts of the fillets are made to stand out from the surface in sharp points and in ridges, forming geometric figures, either normal or added elements being employed. Another device is shown in Fig. 331. Here a pattern is secured by carrying dark fillets back and forth over the light colored fabric, catching them down at regular intervals during the process of weaving. Again, feathers and other embellishing media are woven in with the woof. Two interesting baskets procured from the Indians of the northwest coast are shown in Figs. 332 and 333. Feathers of brilliant hues are fixed to and woven in with certain of the woof strands, which are treated, in the execution of patterns, just as are ordinary colored threads, care being taken not to destroy the beauty of the feathers in the process. The richly colored feathers lying smoothly in one direction are made to represent various figures necessarily geometric. This simple work is much surpassed, however, by the marvelous feather ornamentation of the Mexicans and Peruvians, of which glowing accounts are given by historians and of which a few meager traces are found in tombs. Much of the feather work of all nations is of the nature of embroidery and will receive attention further on. A very clever device practiced by the northwest coast tribes consists in the use of two woof strands of contrasting colors, one or the other being made to appear on the surface, as the pattern demands. [Illustration: FIG. 330. Ornament produced by wrapping certain light fillets with darker ones before weaving. Mexican work.] [Illustration: FIG. 331. Ornamental effect secured by weaving in series of dark fillets, forming a superficial device. Work of the Klamath Indians.] [Illustration: FIG. 332. Baskets ornamented with feather work. Northwest coast tribes--1/4.] [Illustration: FIG. 333. Baskets ornamented with feather work. Northwest coast tribes--1/4.] An example from a higher grade of art will be of value in this connection. The ancient Peruvians resorted to many clever devices for purposes of enrichment. An illustration of the use of extra-constructional means to secure desired ends are given in Figs. 334 and 335. Threads constituting a supplemental warp and woof are carried across the under side of a common piece of fabric, that they may be brought up and woven in here and there to produce figures of contrasting color upon the right side. Fig. 334 shows the right side of the cloth, with the secondary series appearing in the border and central figure only. Fig. 335 illustrates the opposite side and shows the loose hanging, unused portions of the auxiliary series. In such work, when the figures are numerous and occupy a large part of the surface, the fabric is really a double one, having a dual warp and woof. Examples could be multiplied indefinitely, but it will readily be seen from what has been presented that the results of these extraordinary means cannot differ greatly from those legitimately produced by the fundamental filaments alone. [Illustration FIG. 334. Piece of cotton cloth showing the use of a supplementary web and woof. Ancient Peru.] [Illustration FIG. 335. Piece of cotton cloth showing the use of a supplementary web and woof. Ancient Peru.] _Superconstructive features._--In reviewing the superconstructive decorative features in the preceding section I classified them somewhat closely by method of execution or application to the fabric, as stitched, inserted, drawn, cut, applied, and appended. It will be seen that, although these devices are to a great extent of the nature of needlework, all cannot be classed under this head. Before needles came into use the decorative features were inserted and attached in a variety of ways. In open work nothing was needed but the end of the fillet or part inserted; again, in close work, perforations were made as in leather work, and the threads were inserted as are the waxed ends of the shoemaker. The importance of this class of decorative devices to primitive peoples will be apparent if we but call to mind the work of our own Indian tribes. What a vast deal of attention is paid to those classes of embroideries in which beads, feathers, quills, shells, seeds, teeth, &c., are employed, and to the multitude of novel applications of tassels, fringes, and tinkling pendants. The taste for these things is universal and their relation to the development of esthetic ideas is doubtless very intimate. Needlework arose in the earliest stages of art and at first was employed in joining parts, such as leaves, skins, and tissues, for various useful purposes, and afterwards in attaching ornaments. In time the attaching media, as exposed in stitches, loops, knots, and the like, being of bright colors, were themselves utilized as embellishment, and margins and apertures were beautified by various bindings and borders, and finally patterns were worked in contrasting colors upon the surfaces of the cloths and other materials of like nature or use. No other art so constantly and decidedly suggested embellishment and called for the exercise of taste. It was the natural habitat for decoration. It was the field in which technique and taste were most frequently called upon to work hand in hand. With the growth of culture the art was expanded and perfected, its wonderful capacity for expression leading from mere bindings to pretentious borders, to patterns, to the introduction of ideographs, to the representation of symbols and mythologic subjects, and from these to the delineation of nature, the presentation of historical and purely pictorial scenes. And now a few words in regard to the character of the work and its bearing upon the geometric system of decoration. As purely constructive ornamentation has already been presented, I will first take up that class of superconstructive work most nearly related to it. In some varieties of basketry certain bindings of the warp and woof are actually left imperfect, with the idea of completing the construction by subsequent processes, the intersections being gone over stitch by stitch and lashed together, the embroidery threads passing in regular order through the openings of the mesh. This process is extremely convenient to the decorator, as changes from one color to another are made without interfering with construction, and the result is of a closely similar character to that reached by working the colors in with warp and woof. In a very close fabric this method cannot be employed, but like results are reached by passing the added filaments beneath the protruding parts of the bindings and, stitch by stitch, covering up the plain fabric, working bright patterns. Fig. 336 is intended to show how this is done. The foundation is of twined work and the decorating fillets are passed under by lifting, with or without a needle. This process is extensively practiced by our west coast tribes, and the results are extremely pleasing. The materials most used are quills and bright colored straws, the foundation fabric being of bark or of rushes. The results in such work are generally geometric, in a way corresponding more or less closely with the ground work combination. [Illustration: FIG. 336. Grass embroidery upon the surface of closely impacted, twined basketry. Work of the northwest coast Indians.] A large class of embroideries are applied by like processes, but without reference to the construction of the foundation fabric, as they are also applied to felt and leather. Again, artificially prepared perforations are used, through which the fillets are passed. The results are much less uniformly geometric than where the fabric is followed; yet the mere adding of the figures, stitch by stitch or part by part, is sufficient to impart a large share of geometricity, as may be seen in the buckskin bead work and in the dentalium and quill work of the Indians. Feather embroidery was carried to a high degree of perfection by our ancient aborigines, and the results were perhaps the most brilliant of all these wonderful decorations. I have already shown how feathers are woven in with the warp and woof, and may now give a single illustration of the application of feather work to the surfaces of fabrics. Among the beautiful articles recovered from the tombs of Ancon, Peru, are some much decayed specimens of feather work. In our example delicate feathers of red, blue, and yellow hues are applied to the surface of a coarse cotton fabric by first carefully tying them together in rows at regular distances and afterwards stitching them down, as shown in Fig. 337. The same method is practiced by modern peoples in many parts of the world. Other decorative materials are applied in similar ways by attachment to cords or fillets which are afterwards stitched down. In all this work the geometricity is entirely or nearly uniform with that of the foundation fabrics. Other classes of decoration, drawn work, appliqué, and the like, are not of great importance in aboriginal art and need no additional attention here, as they have but slight bearing upon the development of design. [Illustration: FIG. 337. Feather embroidery of the ancient Peruvians, showing the method of attaching the feathers.] Attached or appended ornaments constitute a most important part of decorative resource. They are less subject to the laws of geometricity, being fixed to surfaces and margins without close reference to the web and woof. They include fringes, tassels, and the multitude of appendable objects, natural and artificial, with which primitive races bedeck their garments and utensils. A somewhat detailed study of this class of ornament is given at the end of the preceding section. _Adventitious features._--Ornament is applied to the surfaces of fabrics by painting and by stamping. These methods of decoration were employed in very early times and probably originated in other branches of art. If the surface features of the textile upon which a design is painted are strongly pronounced, the figures produced with the brush or pencil will tend to follow them, giving a decidedly geometric result. If the surface is smooth the hand is free to follow its natural tendencies, and the results will be analogous in character to designs painted upon pottery, rocks, or skins. In primitive times both the texture of the textiles and the habits of the decorator, acquired in textile work, tended towards the geometric style of delineation, and we find that in work in which the fabric lines are not followed at all the designs are still geometric, and geometric in the same way as are similar designs woven in with the fabric. Illustrations of this are given in the next section. * * * * * I have dwelt at sufficient length upon the character and the tendencies of the peculiar system of embellishment that arises within textile art as the necessary outgrowth of technique, and now proceed to explain the relations of this system to associated art. In the strong forward tendency of the textile system of decoration it has made two conquests of especial importance. In the first place it has subdued and assimilated all those elements of ornament that have happened to enter its realm from without, and in the second place it has imposed its habits and customs upon the decorative systems of all arts with which the textile art has come in contact. GEOMETRICITY IMPOSED UPON ADOPTED ELEMENTS OF DESIGN. At a very early stage of culture most peoples manifest decided artistic tendencies, which are revealed in attempts to depict various devices, life forms, and fancies upon the skin and upon the surfaces of utensils, garments, and other articles and objects. The figures are very often decorative in effect and may be of a trivial nature, but very generally such art is serious and pertains to events or superstitions. The devices employed may be purely conventional or geometric, containing no graphic element whatever; but life forms afford the most natural and satisfactory means of recording, conveying, and symbolizing ideas, and hence preponderate largely. Such forms, on account of their intimate relations with the philosophy of the people, are freely embodied in every art suitable to their employment. As already seen, the peculiar character of textile construction places great difficulties in the way of introducing unsymmetric and complex figures like those of natural objects into fabrics. The idea of so employing them may originally have been suggested by the application of designs in color to the woven surfaces or by resemblances between the simpler conventional life form derivatives and the geometric figures indigenous to the art. At any rate, the idea of introducing life forms into the texture was suggested, and in the course of time a great deal of skill was shown in their delineation, the bolder workmen venturing to employ a wide range of graphic subjects. Now, if we examine these woven forms with reference to the modifications brought about by the textile surveillance, we find that the figures, as introduced in the cloth, do not at all correspond with those executed by ordinary graphic methods, either in degree of elaboration or in truthfulness of expression. They have a style of their own. Each delineative element upon entering the textile realm is forced into those peculiar conventional outlines imposed by the geometric construction, the character of which has already been dwelt upon at considerable length. We find, however, that the degree of convention is not uniform throughout all fabrics, but that it varies with the refinement of the threads or filaments, the compactness of the mesh, the character of the combination, the graphic skill of the artist, and the tendencies of his mind; yet we observe that through all there is still exhibited a distinct and peculiar geometricity. So pronounced is this technical bias that delineations of a particular creature--as, for example, a bird--executed by distant and unrelated peoples, are reduced in corresponding styles of fabric to almost identical shapes. This conventionalizing force is further illustrated by the tendency in textile representation to blot out differences of time and culture, so that when a civilized artisan, capable of realistic pictorial delineation of a high order, introduces a figure into a certain form of coarse fabric he arrives at a result almost identical with that reached by the savage using the same, who has no graphic language beyond the rudest outline. A number of examples may be given illustrating this remarkable power of textile combination over ornament. I select three in which the human figure is presented. One is chosen from Iroquoian art, one from Digger Indian art, and one from the art of the Incas--peoples unequal in grade of culture, isolated geographically, and racially distinct. I have selected specimens in which the parts employed give features of corresponding size, so that comparisons are easily instituted. The example shown in Fig. 338 illustrates a construction peculiar to the wampum belts of the Iroquois and their neighbors, and quite unlike ordinary weaving. It is taken from the middle portion of what is known as the Penn wampum belt. The horizontal series of strands consists of narrow strips of buckskin, through which the opposing series of threads are sewed, holding in place the rows of cylindrical shell beads. Purple beads are employed to develop the figures in a ground of white beads. If the maker of this belt had been required to execute in chalk a drawing depicting brotherly love the results would have been very different. [Illustration: FIG. 338. Figures from the Penn wampum belt, showing the conventional form imposed in bead work.] My second illustration (Fig. 339) is drawn from a superb example of the basketry of the Yokut Indians of California. The two figures form part of a spirally radiating band of ornament, which is shown to good advantage in the small cut. Fig. 340. It is of the coiled style of construction. The design is worked in four colors and the effect is quiet and rich. [Illustration: FIG. 339. Conventional figures from a California Indian basket.] [Illustration: FIG. 340. Basket made by the Yokut Indians of California.] Turning southward from California and passing through many strange lands we find ourselves in Peru, and among a class of remains that bespeak a high grade of culture. The inhabitants of Ancon were wonderfully skilled in the textile art, and thousands of handsome examples have been obtained from their ancient tombs. Among these relics are many neat little workbaskets woven from rushes. One of these, now in the National Museum, is encircled by a decorated belt in which are represented seven human figures woven in black filaments upon a brown ground. The base and rim of the basket are woven in the intertwined combination, but in the decorated belt the style is changed to the plain right angled interlacing, for the reason, no doubt, that this combination was better suited to the development of the intended design. Besides the fundamental series of fillets the weaver resorted to unusual devices in order to secure certain desired results. In the first place the black horizontal series of filaments does not alternate in the simplest way with the brown series, but, where a wide space of the dark color is called for, several of the brown strands are passed over at one step, as in the head and body, and in the wider interspaces the dark strands pass under two or more of the opposing strands. In this way broad areas of color are obtained. It will be observed, however, that the construction is weakened by this modification, and that to remedy the defect two additional extra constructive series of fillets are added. These are of much lighter weight than the main series, that they may not obscure the pattern. Over the dark series they run vertically and over the light obliquely. [Illustration: FIG. 341. Conventional human figures from an ancient Peruvian basket.] It will be seen that the result, notwithstanding all this modification of procedure, is still remarkably like that of the preceding examples, the figures corresponding closely in kind and degree of geometricity. The fact is that in this coarse work refinement of drawing is absolutely unattainable. It appears that the sharply pronounced steps exhibited in the outlines are due to the great width of the fillets used. With the finer threads employed by most nations of moderate culture the stepped effect need not obtrude itself, for smooth outlines and graceful curves are easily attainable; yet, as a rule, even the finer fabrics continue to exhibit in their decorations the pronounced geometric character seen in ruder forms. I present a striking example of this in Fig. 342, a superb piece of Incarian gobelins, in which a gaily costumed personage is worked upon a dark red ground dotted with symbols and strange devices. The work is executed in brilliant colors and in great detail. But with all the facility afforded for the expression of minutely modulated form the straight lines and sharp angles are still present. The traditions of the art were favorable to great geometricity, and the tendencies of the warp and woof and the shape of the spaces to be filled were decidedly in that direction. [Illustration: FIG. 342. Human figure in Peruvian gobelins, showing characteristic textile convention. From chromolithographs published by Reiss and Stübel in The Necropolis of Ancon.] [Illustration: FIG. 343. Human figures from a Peruvian vase, done in free hand, graphic style.] In order that the full force of my remarks may be appreciable to the eye of the reader, I give an additional illustration (Fig. 343). The two figures here shown, although I am not able to say positively that the work is pre-Columbian, were executed by a native artist of about the same stage of culture as was the work of the textile design. These figures are executed in color upon the smooth surface of an earthen vase and illustrate perfectly the peculiar characters of free hand, graphic delineation. Place this and the last figure side by side and we see how vastly different is the work of two artists of equal capacity when executed in the two methods. This figure should also be compared with the embroidered figures shown in Fig. 348. The tendencies to uniformity in textile ornament here illustrated may be observed the world over. Every element entering the art must undergo a similar metamorphosis; hence the remarkable power of this almost universally practiced art upon the whole body of decorative design. [Illustration: FIG. 344. Human figure modified by execution in concentric interlaced style of weaving--1/3.] That the range of results produced by varying styles of weaving and of woven objects may be appreciated, I present some additional examples. Coiled wares, for instance, present decorative phenomena strikingly at variance with those in which there is a rectangular disposition of parts. Instead of the two or more interlacing series of parallel fillets exhibited in the latter style, we have one radiate and one concentric series. The effect of this arrangement upon the introduced human figure is very striking, as will be seen by reference to Fig. 344, which represents a large tray obtained from the Moki Indians. The figure probably represents one of the mythologic personages of the Moki pantheon or some otherwise important priestly functionary, wearing the characteristic headdress of the ceremony in which the plaque was to be used. The work is executed in wicker, stained in such bright tints as were considered appropriate to the various features of the costume. Referring in detail to the shape and arrangement of the parts of the figure, it is apparent that many of the remarkable features are due to constructive peculiarities. The round face, for example, does not refer to the sun or the moon, but results from the concentric weaving. The oblique eyes have no reference to a Mongolian origin, as they only follow the direction of the ray upon which they are woven, and the headdress does not refer to the rainbow or the aurora because it is arched, but is arched because the construction forced it into this shape. The proportion of the figure is not so very bad because the Moki artist did not know better, but because the surface of the tray did not afford room to project the body and limbs. [Illustration: FIG. 345. Figure of a bird painted upon a Zuñi shield, free hand delineation.] Now, it may be further observed that had the figure been placed at one side of the center, extending only from the border to the middle of the tray, an entirely different result would have been reached; but this is better illustrated in a series of bird delineations presented in the following figures. With many tribes the bird is an object of superstitious interest and is introduced freely into all art products suitable for its delineation. It is drawn upon walls, skins, pottery, and various utensils and weapons, especially those directly connected with ceremonies in which the mythical bird is an important factor. The bird form was probably in familiar use long before it was employed in the decoration of basketry. In Fig. 345 I present an ordinary graphic representation. It is copied from a Zuñi shield and is the device of an order or the totem of a clan. The style is quite conventional, as a result of the various constraints surrounding its production. But what a strange metamorphosis takes place when it is presented in the basketmaker's language. Observe the conventional pattern shown upon the surface of a Moki tray (Fig. 346). We have difficulty in recognizing the bird at all, although the conception is identical with the preceding. The positions of the head and legs and the expanded wings and tail correspond as closely as possible, but delineation is hampered by technique. The peculiar construction barely permits the presentation of a recognizable life form, and permits it in a particular way, which will be understood by a comparison with the treatment of the human figure in Fig. 344. In that case the interlaced combination gives relievo results, characterized by wide, radiating ribs and narrow, inconspicuous, concentric lines, which cross the ribs in long steps. The power of expression lies almost wholly with the concentric series, and detail must in a great measure follow the concentric lines. In the present case (Fig. 346) this is reversed and lines employed in expressing forms are radiate. [Illustration: FIG. 346. Figure of a bird executed in a coiled Moki tray, textile delineation.] The precise effect of this difference of construction upon a particular feature may be shown by the introduction of another illustration. In Fig. 347 we have a bird woven in a basket of the interlaced style. We see with what ease the long sharp bill and the slender tongue (shown by a red filament between the two dark mandibles) are expressed. In the other case the construction is such that the bill, if extended in the normal direction, is broad and square at the end, and the tongue, instead of lying between the mandibles, must run across the bill, totally at variance with the truth; in this case the tongue is so represented, the light vertical band seen in the cut being a yellow stripe. It will be seen that the two representations are very unlike each other, not because of differences in the conception and not wholly on account of the style of weaving, but rather because the artist chose to extend one across the whole surface of the utensil and to confine the other to one side of the center. [Illustration: FIG. 347. Figure of a bird woven in interlaced wicker at one side of the center.] It is clear, therefore, from the preceding observations that the convention of woven life forms varies with the kind of weaving, with the shape of the object, with the position upon the object, and with the shape of the space occupied, as well as with the inherited style of treatment and with the capacity of the artist concerned. These varied forces and influences unite in the metamorphosis of all the incoming elements of textile embellishment. It will be of interest to examine somewhat closely the modifications produced in pictorial motives introduced through superstructural and adventitious agencies. We are accustomed, at this age of the world, to see needlework employed successfully in the delineation of graphic forms and observe that even the Indian, under the tutelage of the European, reproduces in a more or less realistic way the forms of vegetal and animal life. As a result we find it difficult to realize the simplicity and conservatism of primitive art. The intention of the primitive artist was generally not to depict nature, but to express an idea or decorate a space, and there was no strong reason why the figures should not submit to the conventionalizing tendencies of the art. I have already shown that embroidered designs, although not from necessity confined to geometric outlines, tend to take a purely geometric character from the fabric upon which they are executed, as well as from the mechanical processes of stitching. This is well shown in Fig. 348, a fine specimen given by Wiener in his work Pérou et Bolive. [Illustration: FIG. 348. Embroidery upon a cotton net in which the textile combinations are followed step by step. Ancient Peruvian work.] A life form worked upon a net does not differ essentially from the same subject woven in with the web and woof. The reason is found in the fact that in embroidery the workman was accustomed from the first to follow the geometric combination of the foundation fabric step by step, and later in life delination he pursued the same method. It would seem natural, however, that when the foundation fabric does not exhibit well marked geometric characters, as in compactly woven canvas, the needlework would assume free hand characters and follow the curves and irregularities of the natural object depicted; but such is not the case in purely aboriginal work. An example of embroidery obtained from an ancient grave at Ancon, Peru, is shown in Fig. 349. A piece of brown cotton canvas is embellished with a border of bird figures in bright colored wool thread. The lines of the figures do not obey the web and woof strictly, as the lines are difficult to follow, but the geometric character is as perfectly preserved as if the design were woven in the goods. [Illustration: FIG. 349. Embroidery in which the foundation fabric is not followed accurately, but which exhibits the full textile geometricity. Ancient Peruvian work.] [Illustration: FIG. 350. Design painted in color upon a woven surface, exhibiting the full degree of geometric convention. Ancient Peruvian work. Copied from The Necropolis of Ancon.] So habit and association carry the geometric system into adventitious decoration. When the ancient Peruvian executed a design in color upon a woven surface (Fig. 350), using a pencil or brush, the result was hardly less subject to textile restraint. As a matter of course, since there are two distinct styles of decorative design--the textile and the free hand--there exist intermediate forms partaking of the character of both; but it is nevertheless clear that the textile system transforms or greatly modifies all nature motives associated with it, whether introduced into the fabric or applied to its surface. In countries where the textile art is unimportant and the textile system of decoration does not obtrude itself, free hand methods may prevail to such an extent that the geometric influence is but little felt. The Haidah Indians, for example, paint designs with great freedom and skill, and those applied to woven surfaces are identical with those executed upon skins, wood, and stone, but this art is doubtless much modified by the means and methods of Europeans. Our studies should be confined wholly to pure indigenous art. EXTENSION OF TEXTILE ORNAMENT TO OTHER FORMS OF ART. I have now dwelt at sufficient length upon the character of the textile system of ornament and have laid especial stress upon the manner in which it is interwoven with the technical constitution of the art. I have illustrated the remarkable power of the art by which decorative elements from without, coming once within the magic influence, are seized upon and remodeled in accordance with the laws of textile combination. Pursuing the investigation still further it is found that the dominion of the textile system is not limited to the art, but extends to other arts. Like a strong race of men it is not to be confined to its own original habitat, but spreads to other realms, stamping its own habits and character upon whatever happens to come within its reach. Its influence is felt throughout the whole range of those arts with which the esthetic sense of man seeks to associate ideas of beauty. It is necessary, before closing this paper, to examine briefly the character and extent of this influence and to describe in some detail the agencies through which the results are accomplished. First and most important are the results of direct transmission. House building, or architecture as it is called in the higher stages, is in primitive times to a great extent textile; as culture develops, other materials and other systems of construction are employed, and the resultant forms vary accordingly; but textile characters are especially strong and persistent in the matter of ornament, and survive all changes, howsoever complete. In a similar way other branches of art differentiated in material and function from the parent art inherit many characters of form and ornament conceived in the textile stage. It may be difficult to say with reference to any particular example of design that it had a textile origin, for there may be multiple origins to the same or to closely corresponding forms; but we may assert in a general way of the great body of geometric ornament that it owes something--if not its inspiration, its modes of expression--to the teachings of the textile system. This appears reasonable when we consider that the weaver's art, as a medium of esthetic ideas, had precedence in time over nearly all competitors. Being first in the field it stood ready on the birth of new forms of art, whether directly related or not, to impose its characters upon them. What claim can architecture, sculpture, or ceramics have upon the decorative conceptions of the Digger Indians, or even upon those of the Zuñi or Moki? The former have no architecture, sculpture, or ceramics; but their system of decoration, as we have seen, is highly developed. The Pueblo tribes at their best have barely reached the stage at which esthetic ideas are associated with building; yet classic art has not produced a set of geometric motives more chaste or varied. These examples of the development of high forms of decoration during the very early stages of the arts are not isolated. Others are observed in other countries, and it is probable that if we could lift the veil and peer into the far prehistoric stages of the world's greatest cultures the same condition and order would be revealed. It is no doubt true that all of the shaping arts in the fullness of their development have given rise to decorative features peculiar to themselves; for construction, whether in stone, clay, wood, or metal, in their rigid conditions, exhibits characters unknown before, many of which tend to give rise to ornament. But this ornament is generally only applicable to the art in which it develops, and is not transferable by natural processes--as of a parent to its offspring--as are the esthetic features of the weaver's art. Besides the direct transmission of characters and forms as suggested in a preceding paragraph, there are many less direct but still efficacious methods of transfer by means of which various arts acquire textile decorative features, as will be seen by the following illustrations. Japanese art is celebrated for its exquisite decorative design. Upon superb works of porcelain we have skillful representations of subjects taken from nature and from mythology, which are set with perfect taste upon fields or within borders of elaborate geometric design. If we should ask how such motives came to be employed in ceramic decoration, the answer would be given that they were selected and employed because they were regarded as fitting and beautiful by a race of decorators whose taste is well nigh infallible. But this explanation, however satisfactory as applied to individual examples of modern art, is not at all applicable to primitive art, for the mind of man was not primarily conscious of the beauty or fitness of decorative elements, nor did he think of using them independently of the art to which they were indigenous. Now the ceramic art gives rise to comparatively few elements of decoration, and must therefore acquire the great body of its decorative motives from other arts by some process not primarily dependent upon the exercise of judgment or taste, and yet not by direct inheritance, as the techniques of the two arts are wholly distinct. Textile and fictile arts are, in their earlier stages, to a large extent, vessel making arts, the one being functionally the offshoot of the other. The textile art is the parent, and, as I have already shown, develops within itself a geometric system of ornament. The fictile art is the offshoot and has within itself no predilection for decoration. It is dependent and plastic. Its forms are to a great extent modeled and molded within the textile shapes and acquire automatically some of the decorative surface characters of the mold. This is the beginning of the transfer, and as time goes on other methods are suggested by which elements indigenous to the one art are transferred to the other. Thus we explain the occurrence, the constant recurrence of certain primary decorative motives in primitive ceramics. The herring bone, the checker, the guilloche, and the like are greatly the heritage of the textile art. Two forms derived from textile surfaces are illustrated in Figs. 351 and 352. In the first example shown, herring bone patterns appear as the result of textile combination, and in the second a triangular checker is produced in the same way. In Fig. 352 we see the result of copying these patterns in incised lines upon soft clay. [Illustration: FIG. 351. Herring bone and checker patterns produced in textile combinations.] [Illustration: FIG. 352. Herring bone and checker figures in fictile forms transferred from the textile.] Again, the ancient potter, who was in the habit of modeling his wares within baskets, seems to have conceived the idea of building his vessels by coiling just as he built his baskets. The surface exhibits coiled ridges like basketry, as shown in Fig. 353, and the textile character was further imposed upon the clay by marking these coils with the thumb and with implements to give the effect of the transverse series of filaments, and the geometric color patterns of the basketry were reproduced in incised lines. When these peoples came to paint their wares it was natural that the colored patterns native to the basketry should also be reproduced, and many more or less literal transfers by copying are to be found. A fine example of these painted textile designs is shown in Fig. 354. It is executed in a masterly style upon a handsome vase of the white ware of ancient Tusayan. Not only are the details reproduced with all their geometric exactness, but the arrangement of the designs upon the vessel is the same as in the textile original. Nine-tenths of the more archaic, Pueblo, ceramic, ornamental designs are traceable to the textile art, and all show the influence of textile convention. [Illustration: FIG. 353. Earthen vase built by coiling, exhibiting decorative characters derived from basketry.] [Illustration: FIG. 354. Ceramic ornament copied literally from a textile original.] Another peculiar class of transfers of a somewhat more indirect nature may be noticed. All the more advanced American nations were very fond of modeling the human form in clay, a large percentage of vessels having some trace of the human form or physiognomy. Now, in many cases the costume of the personage represented in the clay is also imitated, and generally in color, the details of the fabrics receiving their full share of attention. Such an example, from a sepulcher at Ancon, is shown in Fig. 355. Here the poncho or mantle thrown across the shoulders falls down upon the body in front and behind and the stripes and conventional fishes are accurately reproduced. In this way both style and matter of the textile decoration are introduced into the ceramic art. [Illustration: FIG. 355. Textile patterns transferred to pottery through the copying of costume. From The Necropolis of Ancon, by Reiss and Stübel, Pl. 94.] It will be seen by these illustrations that there are many natural methods, automatic or semiautomatic in character, by which the one art receives aid from the other; that in the beginning of the transfer of textile ornament to fictile forms the process is purely mechanical, and that it is continued automatically without any very decided exercise of judgment or taste. As a result, these borrowed decorations are generally quite as consistent and appropriate as if developed within the art itself. Later in the course of progress the potter escapes in a measure from this narrow groove and elaborates his designs with more freedom, being governed still to a certain extent by the laws of instinctive and automatic procedure. When, finally, intellect assumes to carry on the work independently of these laws, decoration tends to become debased. Turning to other branches of art, what traces do we find of the transfer to them of textile features? Take, for example, sculpture. In the wood carving of the Polynesians we observe a most elaborate system of decoration, more or less geometric in character. We do not need to look a second time to discover a striking likeness to the textile system, and we ask, Is it also derived from a textile source? In the first place let us seek within the art a reason for the peculiar forms. In carving wood and in tracing figures upon it with pointed tools the tendency would certainly be towards straight lines and formal combinations; but in this work there would be a lack of uniformity in execution and of persistency in narrow lines of combination, such as result from the constant necessity of counting and spacing in the textile art. In the presentation of natural forms curved lines are called for, and there is nothing inherent in the carver's art to forbid the turning of such lines with the graver or knife. Graphic art would be realistic to an extent regulated by the skill and habits of the artist. But, in reality, the geometric character of this work is very pronounced, and we turn naturally toward the textile art to ask whether in some way that art has not exercised an influence. The textile arts of these peoples are highly developed and were doubtless so in a degree from very early times, and must have had a close relation with the various arts, and especially so in the matter of ornament. Specific examples may be cited showing the intimacy of wood carving to textilia. Bows, spears, arrows, &c. are bound with textile materials to increase their strength. Knives and other weapons are covered with textile sheaths and handles of certain utensils are lashed on with twisted cords. In ceremonial objects these textile features are elaborated for ornament and the characteristic features of this ornament are transferred to associated surfaces of wood and stone by the graver. A most instructive illustration is seen in the ceremonial adzes so numerous in museums (Fig. 356). The cords used primarily in attaching the haft are, after loss of function, elaborately plaited and interwoven until they become an important feature and assume the character of decoration. The heavy wooden handles are elaborately carved, and the suggestions of figures given by the interlaced cords are carried out in such detail that at a little distance it is impossible to say where the real textile surface ceases and the sculptured portion begins. All things considered, I regard it as highly probable that much of the geometric character exhibited in Polynesian decoration is due to textile dominance. That these peoples are in the habit of employing textile designs in non-textile arts is shown in articles of costume, such as the tapa cloths, made from the bark of the mulberry tree, which are painted or stamped in elaborate geometric patterns. This transfer is also a perfectly natural one, as the ornament is applied to articles having functions identical with the woven stuffs in which the patterns originate, and, besides, the transfer is accomplished by means of stamps themselves textile. Fig. 357 illustrates the construction of these stamps and indicates just how the textile character is acquired. [Illustration: FIG. 356. Ceremonial adz, with carved ornament imitating textile wrapping. Polynesian work.] Textile materials are very generally associated with the human figure in art, and thus sculpture, which deals chiefly with the human form, becomes familiar with geometric motives and acquires them. Through sculpture these motives enter architecture. But textile decoration pervades architecture before the sculptor's chisel begins to carve ornament in stone and before architecture has developed of itself the rudiments of a system of surface embellishment. Textile art in mats, covers, shelters, and draperies is intimately associated with floors and walls of houses, and the textile devices are in time transferred to the stone and plaster. The wall of an ancient Pueblo estufa, or ceremonial chamber, built in the pre-esthetic period of architecture, antedating, in stage of culture, the first known step in Egyptian art, is encircled by a band of painted figures, borrowed, like those of the pottery, from a textile source. The doorway or rather entrance to the rude hovel of a Navajo Indian is closed by a blanket of native make, unsurpassed in execution and exhibiting conventional designs of a high order. [Illustration: FIG. 357. Portion of a tapa stamp, showing its subtextile character. A palm leaf is cut to the desired shape and the patterns are sewed in or stitched on.] [Illustration: FIG. 358. Design in stucco, exhibiting textile characters.] The ancient "hall of the arabesques" at Chimu, Peru, is decorated in elaborate designs that could only have arisen in the textile art (Fig. 358), and other equally striking examples are to be found in other American countries. The classic surface decorations known and used in Oriental countries from time immemorial prevailed in indigenous American architecture at a stage of culture lower than any known stage of classic art. It may appear that I have advocated too strongly the claims of the textile art to the parentage of geometric ornament and that the conclusions reached are not entirely satisfactory, but I have endeavored so to present the varied phenomena of the art that the student may readily reach deductions of his own. A correspondingly careful study of other branches of art will probably enable us finally to form a just estimate of the relative importance of the forces and tendencies concerned in the evolution of decoration. * * * * * INDEX Alaskan Indians, illustration of ornamentation by 199 Ancon, Peru, examples of ornamentation from graves at 212, 230, 231, 236, 243, 248 Apache, illustrations of ornamentation by 198, 213, 223 British Guiana Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 217 Chimu, Peru, ornamentation of "hall of arabesques" at 251, 252 Clallam Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 207 Color in textile art 201, 202 Color phenomena in textile ornament 215-232 Form in textile art and its relation to ornament, with illustrations from Indian work 196-201 Geometric design, relations of, to textile ornament 202-244 Holmes, W. H. paper by, on textile art in its relation to the development of form and ornament 189-252 Klamath Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 208, 209, 227 McCloud River Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 221 Moki, illustrations of ornamentation by 197, 205, 224, 225, 226, 238, 240 Northwest Coast Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 213, 218, 227, 230 Penn wampum belt 233 Peruvians, ancient, illustrations of ornamentation by 211, 212, 214, 228, 230, 231, 235, 236, 237, 242, 243, 248 Pima Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 220 Piute Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 198, 205 Polynesian ornamentation, illustrations of 249, 250 Seminole Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 207 Textile art in its relation to the development of form and ornament, paper by W. H. Holmes on 189-252 Tule River Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 219 Tusayan ornament, illustrations of 247, 248 Wiener, cited 242 Yokut Indians, illustrations of ornamentation by 233, 234 Zuñi, illustrations of ornamentation by 239 * * * * * 
19953	----	SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION--BUREAU OF ETHNOLOGY. ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT OF FORM AND ORNAMENT IN CERAMIC ART. BY WILLIAM H. HOLMES. CONTENTS. Page. Introductory 443 Origin of form 445 By adventition 445 By imitation 445 By invention 450 Modification of form 450 By adventition 450 By intention 452 Origin of ornament 453 From natural objects 454 From artificial objects 455 Functional features 455 Constructional features 456 From accidents attending construction 457 From ideographic and pictorial subjects 457 Modification of ornament 457 Through material 458 Through form 458 Through methods of realization 459 ILLUSTRATIONS. FIG. 464.--Form derived from a gourd 446 465.--Form derived from a conch, shell 447 466.--Form derived from a stone pot 448 467.--Form derived from a wooden tray 448 468.--Form derived from a horn spoon 448 469.--Form derived from a bark vessel 446 470.--Form derived from basketry 449 471.--Form derived from basketry 449 472.--Form derived from a wooden vessel 449 473.--Coincident forms 451 474.--Form produced by accident 451 475.--Scroll derived from the spire of a conch shell 454 476.--Theoretical development of current scroll 455 477.--Ornament derived through modification of handles 455 478.--Scroll derived from coil of clay 456 479.--Ornamental use of fillets of clay 456 480.--Variation through, the influence of form 459 481.--Theoretical development of the current scroll 460 482.--Forms of the same motive expressed in different arts 461 483.--Forms of the same motive expressed in different arts 461 484.--Forms of the same motive expressed in different arts 461 485.--Geometric form of textile ornament 462 486.--Loss of geometric accuracy in painting 462 487.--Design painted upon pottery 463 488.--Theoretical development of fret work 464 489.--Theoretical development of scroll work 465 ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT OF FORM AND ORNAMENT IN CERAMIC ART. BY WILLIAM H. HOLMES. INTRODUCTORY. For the investigation of art in its early stages and in its widest sense--there is probably no fairer field than that afforded by aboriginal America, ancient and modern. At the period of discovery, art at a number of places on the American continent seems to have been developing surely and steadily, through the force of the innate genius of the race, and the more advanced nations were already approaching the threshold of civilization; at the same time their methods were characterized by great simplicity, and their art products are, as a consequence, exceptionally homogeneous. The advent of European civilization checked the current of growth, and new and conflicting elements were introduced necessarily disastrous to the native development. There is much, however, in the art of living tribes, especially of those least influenced by the whites, capable of throwing light upon the obscure passages of precolumbian art. By supplementing the study of the prehistoric by that of historic art, which is still in many cases in its incipient stages, we may hope to penetrate deeply into the secrets of the past. The advantages of this field, as compared with Greece, Egypt, and the Orient, will be apparent when we remember that the dawn of art in these countries lies hidden in the shadow of unnumbered ages, while ours stands out in the light of the very present. This is well illustrated by a remark of Birch, who, in dwelling upon the antiquity of the fictile art, says that "the existence of earthen vessels in Egypt was at least coeval with the formation of a written language."[1] Beyond this there is acknowledged chaos. In strong contrast with this, is the fact that all precolumbian American pottery _precedes_ the acquisition of written language, and this contrast is emphasized by the additional fact that it also antedates the use of the wheel, that great perverter of the plastic tendencies of clay. [Footnote 1: Birch: History of Ancient Pottery, 1873, p. 8.] The material presented in the following notes is derived chiefly from the native ceramic art of the United States, but the principles involved are applicable to all times and to all art, as they are based upon the laws of nature. Ceramic art presents two classes of phenomena of importance in the study of the evolution of æsthetic culture. These relate, first, to _form_, and second, to _ornament_. _Form_, as embodied in clay vessels, embraces, 1st, _useful shapes_, which may or may not be ornamental, and, 2d, _æsthetic shapes_, which are ornamental and may be useful. There are also _grotesque_ and _fanciful shapes_, which may or may not be either useful or ornamental. No form or class of forms can be said to characterize a particular age or stage of culture. In a general way, of course, the vessels of primitive peoples will be simple in form, while those of more advanced races will be more varied and highly specialized. The shapes first assumed by vessels in clay depend upon the shape of the vessels employed at the time of the introduction of the art, and these depend, to a great extent, upon the kind and grade of culture of the people acquiring the art and upon the resources of the country in which they live. To illustrate: If, for instance, some of the highly advanced Alaskan tribes which do not make pottery should migrate to another habitat, less suitable to the practice of their old arts and well adapted to art in clay, and should there acquire the art of pottery, they would doubtless, to a great extent, copy their highly developed utensils of wood, bone, ivory, and basketry, and thus reach a high grade of ceramic achievement in the first century of the practice of the art; but, on the other hand, if certain tribes, very low in intelligence and having no vessel-making arts, should undergo a corresponding change of habitat and acquire the art of pottery, they might not reach in a thousand years, if left to themselves, a grade in the art equal to that of the hypothetical Alaskan potters in the first decade. It is, therefore, not the age of the art itself that determines its forms, but the grade and kind of art with which it originates and coexists. _Ornament_ is subject to similar laws. Where pottery is employed by peoples in very low stages of culture, its ornamentation will be of the simple archaic kind. Being a conservative art and much hampered by the restraints of convention, the elementary forms of ornament are carried a long way into the succeeding periods and have a very decided effect upon the higher stages. Pottery brought into use for the first time by more advanced races will never pass through the elementary stage of decoration, but will take its ornament greatly from existing art and carry this up in its own peculiar way through succeeding generations. The character of the ornamentation does not therefore depend upon the age of the art so much as upon the acquirements of the potter and his people in other arts. ORIGIN OF FORM In order to convey a clear idea of the bearing of the preceding statements upon the history of form and ornament, it will be necessary to present a number of points in greater detail. The following synopsis will give a connected view of various possible origins of form. / By adventition. Origin of form--| By imitation--------/ Of natural models. \ By invention. \ Of artificial models +FORMS SUGGESTED BY ADVENTITION.+ The suggestions of accident, especially in the early stages of art, are often adopted, and become fruitful sources of improvement and progress. By such means the use of clay was discovered and the ceramic art came into existence. The accidental indentation of a mass of clay by the foot, or hand, or by a fruit-shell, or stone, while serving as an auxiliary in some simple art, may have suggested the making of a cup, the simplest form of vessel. The use of clay as a cement in repairing utensils, in protecting combustible vessels from injury by fire, or in building up the walls of shallow vessels, may also have led to the formation of disks or cups, afterwards independently constructed. In any case the objects or utensils with which the clay was associated in its earliest use would impress their forms upon it. Thus, if clay were used in deepening or mending vessels of stone by a given people, it would, when used independently by that people, tend to assume shapes suggested by stone vessels. The same may be said of its use in connection with wood and wicker, or with vessels of other materials. Forms of vessels so derived may be said to have an adventitious origin, yet they are essentially copies, although not so by design, and may as readily be placed under the succeeding head. +FORMS DERIVED BY IMITATION.+ Clay has no inherent qualities of a nature to impose a given form or class of forms upon its products, as have wood, bark, bone, or stone. It is so mobile as to be quite free to take form from surroundings, and where extensively used will record or echo a vast deal of nature and of coexistent art. In this observation we have a key that will unlock many of the mysteries of form. In the investigation of this point it will be necessary to consider the processes by which an art inherits or acquires the forms of another art or of nature, and how one material imposes its peculiarities upon another material. In early stages of culture the processes of art are closely akin to those of nature, the human agent hardly ranking as more than a part of the environment. The primitive artist does not proceed by methods identical with our own. He does not deliberately and freely examine all departments of nature or art and select for models those things most convenient or most agreeable to fancy; neither does he experiment with the view of inventing new forms. What he attempts depends almost absolutely upon what happens to be suggested by preceding forms, and so narrow and so direct are the processes of his mind that, knowing his resources, we could closely predict his results. The range of models in the ceramic art is at first very limited, and includes only those utensils devoted to the particular use to which the clay vessels are to be applied; later, closely-associated objects and utensils are copied. In the first stages of art, when the savage makes a weapon, he modifies or copies a weapon; when he makes a vessel, he modifies or copies a vessel. This law holds good in an inverse ratio to culture, varying to a certain extent with the character of the material used. _Natural originals_.--Natural originals, both animal and vegetable, necessarily differ with the country and the climate, thus giving rise to individual characters in art forms often extremely persistent and surviving decided changes of environment. The gourd is probably the most varied and suggestive natural vessel. We find that the primitive potter has often copied it in the most literal manner. One example only, out of the many available ones, is necessary. This is from a mound in southeastern Missouri. In Fig. 464, _a_ illustrates a common form of the gourd, while _b_ represents the imitation in clay. [Illustration: _a_, Gourd. _b_, Clay vessel. FIG. 464.--Form derived from a gourd.] All nations situated upon the sea or upon large rivers use shells of mollusks, which, without modification, make excellent receptacles for water and food. Imitations of these are often found among the products of the potter's art. A good example from the Mississippi Valley is shown in Fig. 465, _a_ being the original and _b_ the copy in clay. In Africa, and in other countries, such natural objects as cocoanut shells, and ostrich eggs are used in like manner. Another class of vessels, those made from the skins, bladders, and stomachs of animals, should also be mentioned in this connection, as it is certain that their influence has frequently been felt in the conformation of earthen utensils. In searching nature, therefore, for originals of primitive ceramic forms we have little need of going outside of objects that in their natural or slightly altered state are available for vessels. [Illustration: _a_, Shell. _b_, Clay. FIG. 465.--Form derived from a conch shell.] True, other objects have been copied. We find a multitude of the higher natural forms, both animal and vegetable, embodied in vessels of clay, but their presence is indicative of a somewhat advanced stage of art, when the copying of vessels that were functionally proper antecedents had given rise to a familiarity with the use of clay and a capacity in handling it that, with advancing culture, brought all nature within the reach of the potter and made it assist in the processes of variation and development. _Artificial originals_.--There is no doubt that among most peoples art had produced vessels in other materials antecedent to the utilization of clay. These would be legitimate models for the potter and we may therefore expect to find them repeated in earthenware. In this way the art has acquired a multitude of new forms, some of which may be natural forms at second hand, that is to say, with modifications imposed upon them by the material in which they were first shaped. But all materials other than clay are exceedingly intractable, and impress their own characters so decidedly upon forms produced in them that ultimate originals, where there are such, cannot often be traced through them. It will be most interesting to note the influence of these peculiarities of originals upon the ceramic art. A nation having stone vessels, like those of California, on acquiring the art of pottery would use the stone vessels as models, and such forms as that given in Fig. 466 would arise, _a_ being in stone and _b_ in clay, the former from California and the latter from Arizona. Similar forms would just as readily come from gourds, baskets, or other globular utensils. Nations having wooden vessels would copy them in clay on acquiring the art of pottery. This would give rise to a distinct group of forms, the result primarily of the peculiarities of the woody structure. Thus in Fig. 467, _a_, we have a form of wooden vessel, a sort of winged trough that I have frequently found copied in clay. The earthen vessel given in Fig. 467, _b_, was obtained from an ancient grave in Arkansas. [Illustration: _a_, stone. _b_, clay. FIG. 466.--Form derived from a stone pot.] [Illustration: _a_, wood. _b_, clay. FIG. 467.--Form derived from a wooden tray.] [Illustration: _a_, Horn. _b_, Clay. FIG. 468.--Form derived from a horn spoon.] [Illustration: _a_, Bark. _b_, Clay. FIG. 469.--Form derived from a bark vessel.] The carapace of some species of turtles, and perhaps even the hard case of the armadillo, could be utilized in a similar way. The shaping of a knot of wood often gives rise to a dipper-shaped vessel, such as may be found in use by many tribes, and is as likely an original for the dipper form in clay as is the gourd or the conch shell; the familiar horn vessel of the western tribes, Fig. 468, _a_, would have served equally well. The specimen given in _b_ is from Arkansas. As a rule, however, such vessels cannot be traced to their originals, since by copying and recopying they have varied from the parent form, tending always toward uniform conventional shapes. A vessel of rectangular outline might originate in wood or bark. In Fig. 469, _a_, we have a usual form of bark tray, which is possibly the prototype of the square-rimmed earthen vessel given in _b_. [Illustration: _a_, Wicker. _b_, Clay. FIG. 470.--Form originating in basketry.] [Illustration: _a_, Wicker. _b_, Clay. FIG. 471.--Form originating in basketry.] [Illustration: _a_, Net. _b_, Clay. FIG. 472.--Form originating in basketry.] Basketry and other classes of woven vessels take a great variety of forms and, being generally antecedent to the potter's art and constantly present with it, have left an indelible impression upon ceramic forms. This is traceable in the earthenware of nearly all nations. The clay vessel is an intruder, and usurps the place and appropriates the dress of its predecessor in wicker. The form illustrated in Fig. 470, _a_, is a common one with the Pueblo peoples, and their earthen vessels often resemble it very closely, as shown in _b_. Another variety is given in Fig. 471, _a_ and _b_. These specimens are from southwestern Utah. Fig. 472, _b_, illustrates a form quite common in the Southern States, a section in which pouch-like nets and baskets, _a_, were formerly in use and in which the pots were often modeled. +INVENTION OF FORM.+ In the early stages of art, forms are rarely invented outright and I shall not stop to consider the subject here. +MODIFICATION OF FORM.+ The acquisition of new materials, the development of new uses, the employment of new processes of manufacture, and many other agencies lead to the multiplication of forms through modification. The processes by which highly differentiated forms are reached are interesting throughout and repay the closest study. A preliminary classification of the various causes that lead to modification is given in the following synopsis: / / /To assume form. | |Incapacity of material--\To retain form. | |Incapacity of the artisan. | |Changes in method of manufacture. |By adventition--|Changes in environment. |Changes of use. Modification of form--| |Lack of use. | \Influence of new or exotic forms, etc. | | /To enhance usefulness. |By intention--| | \To please fancy.--/For the beautiful. \ \For the grotesque. +MODIFICATION BY ADVENTITION.+ _Incapacity of material._--It is evident at a glance that clay lacks the capacity to assume and to retain many of the details of form found in antecedent vessels. This necessarily results in the alteration or omission of these features, and hence arise many modifications of original forms. The simple lack of capacity on the part of the potter who undertook to reproduce a model would lead to the modification of all but the most simple shapes. The acquisition of the art by a superior or an inferior race, or one of different habits would lead to decided changes. A people accustomed to carrying objects upon the head, on acquiring earthen vessels would shape the bases and the handles to facilitate this use. Improvements in the methods of manufacture are of the greatest importance in the progress of an art. The introduction of the lathe, for example, might almost revolutionize form in clay. As arts multiply, clay is applied to new uses. Its employment in the manufacture of lamps, whistles, or toys would lead to a multitude of distinct and unique forms. The acquisition of a new vessel-making material by a nation of potters and the association of the forms developed through its inherent qualities or structure would often lead ceramic shapes into new channels. [Illustration: _a_, wood. _b_, clay. FIG. 473.--Coincident forms.] The contact of a nation of potters with a nation of carvers in wood would tend very decidedly to modify the utensils of the former. One example may be given which will illustrate the possibilities of such exotic influences upon form. In Fig. 473, _a_, we have an Alaskan vessel carved in wood. It represents a beaver grasping a stick in its hands and teeth. The conception is so unusual and the style of vessel so characteristic of the people that we should not expect to find it repeated in other regions; but the ancient graves of the Middle Mississippi Valley have furnished a number of very similar vessels in clay, one of which is outlined in _b_. While this remarkable coincidence is suggestive of ethnic relationships which do not call for attention here, it serves to illustrate the possibilities of modification by simple contact. [Illustration: _a_ _b_ FIG. 471.--Form resulting from accident.] A curious example illustrative of possible transformation by adventitious circumstances is found in the collection from the province of ancient Tusayan. A small vessel of sphynx-like appearance, possibly derived more or less remotely from a skin vessel, has a noticeable resemblance to some life form, Fig. 474, _a_. The fore-legs are represented by two large bosses, the wide-open mouth takes the place of the severed neck, and a handle connects the top of the rim with the back of the vessel. The handle being broken off and the vessel inverted, _b_, there is a decided change; we are struck by the resemblance to a frog or toad. The original legs, having dark concentric lines painted around them, look like large protruding eyes, and the mouth gapes in the most realistic manner, while the two short broken ends of the handle resemble legs and serve to support the vessel in an upright position, completing the illusion. The fetich-hunting Pueblo Indian, picking up this little vessel in its mutilated condition, would probably at once give to it the sacred character of the water animal which it resembles, and it might readily transmit its peculiarities of form to other generations of vessels. It is not necessary in this study to refer at length to the influence of metallic vessels upon ceramic forms. They do not usually appear until the ceramic art is far advanced and often receive a heritage of shape from earthen forms. Afterwards, when the inherent qualities of the metal have stamped their individuality upon utensils, the debt is paid back to clay with interest, as will be seen by reference to later forms in many parts of the world. +MODIFICATION BY INTENTION.+ _To enhance usefulness._--There can be no doubt that the desire upon the part of the archaic potter to increase the usefulness and convenience of his utensils has been an important agent in the modification of form. The earliest vessels employed were often clumsy and difficult to handle. The favorite conch shell would hold water for him who wished to drink, but the breaking away of spines and the extraction of the interior whorl improved it immeasurably. The clumsy mortar of stone, with its thick walls and great weight, served a useful purpose, but it needed a very little intelligent thought to show that thin walls and neatly-trimmed margins were much preferable. Vessels of clay, aside from the forms imposed upon, them by their antecedents and associates, would necessarily be subject to changes suggested by the growing needs of man. These would be worked out with ever-increasing ease by his unfolding genius for invention. Further investigation of this phase of development would carry me beyond the limits set for this paper. _To please fancy._--The skill acquired by the handling of clay in constructing vessels and in efforts to increase their usefulness would open an expansive field for the play of fancy. The potter would no sooner succeed in copying vessels having life form than he would be placed in a position to realize his capacity to imitate forms not peculiar to vessels. His ambition would in time lead him even beyond the limits of nature and he would invade the realm of imagination, embodying the conceptions of superstition in the plastic clay. This tendency would be encouraged and perpetuated by the relegation of vessels of particular forms to particular ceremonies. +ORIGIN OF ORNAMENT.+ The birth of the embellishing art must be sought in that stage of animal development when instinct began to discover that certain attributes or adornments increased attractiveness. When art in its human sense came into existence ideas of embellishment soon extended from the _person_, with, which they had been associated, to all things with which man had to deal. The processes of the growth of the æsthetic idea are long and obscure and cannot be taken up in this place. The various elements of embellishment in which the ceramic art is interested may be assigned to two great classes, based upon the character of the conceptions associated with them. These are _ideographic_ and _non-ideographic_. In the present paper I shall treat chiefly of the non ideographic, reserving the ideographic for a second paper. Elements, non-ideographic from the start, are derived mainly from two sources: 1st, from objects, natural or artificial, associated with the arts; and, 2d, from the suggestions of accidents attending construction. Natural objects abound in features highly suggestive of embellishment and these are constantly employed in art. Artificial objects have two classes of features capable of giving rise to ornament: these are _constructional_ and _functional_. In a late stage of development all things in nature and in art, however complex or foreign to the art in its practice, are subject to decorative treatment. This latter is the realistic pictorial stage, one of which the student of native American culture needs to take little cognizance. Elements of design are not invented outright: man modifies, combines, and recombines elements or ideas already in existence, but does not create. A classification of the sources of decorative motives employed in the ceramic art is given in the following diagram: /Suggestions of features of natural utensils or objects. | / | | /Handles. | | |Legs | | Functional|Bands | | \Perforations, etc. | | |Suggestions of features of | |artificial utensils or objects.| /The coil. | | |The seam. Origin of ornament| |Constructional|The stitch. | | |The plait. | \ \The twist, etc. |Suggestions from accidents /Marks of fingers. | attending construction. |Marks of implements. | \Marks of molds, etc. | | \Suggestions of ideographic features or pictorial delineations. +SUGGESTIONS OF NATURAL FEATURES OF OBJECTS.+ The first articles used by men in their simple arts have in many cases possessed features suggestive of decoration. Shells of mollusks are exquisitely embellished with ribs, spines, nodes, and colors. The same is true to a somewhat limited extent of the shells of the turtle and the armadillo and of the hard cases of fruits. These decorative features, though not essential to the utensil, are nevertheless inseparable parts of it, and are cast or unconsciously copied by a very primitive people when similar articles are artificially produced in plastic material. In this way a utensil may acquire ornamental characters long before the workman has learned to take pleasure in such details or has conceived an idea beyond that of simple utility. This may be called unconscious embellishment. In this fortuitous fashion a ribbed variety of fruit shell would give rise to a ribbed vessel in clay; one covered with spines would suggest a noded vessel, etc. When taste came to be exercised upon such objects these features would be retained and copied for the pleasure they afforded. [Illustration: _a._--Shell vessel. _b._--Copy in clay. FIG. 475.--Scroll derived from the spire of a conch shell.] Passing by the many simple elements of decoration that by this unconscious process could be derived from such sources, let me give a single example by which it will be seen that not only elementary forms but even so highly constituted an ornament as the scroll may have been brought thus naturally into the realm of decorative art. The sea-shell has always been intimately associated with the arts that utilize clay and abounds in suggestions of embellishment. The _Busycon_ was almost universally employed as a vessel by the tribes of the Atlantic drainage of North America. Usually it was trimmed down and excavated until only about three-fourths of the outer wall of the shell remained. At one end was the long spike-like base which served as a handle, and at the other the flat conical apex, with its very pronounced spiral line or ridge expanding from the center to the circumference, as seen in Fig. 475 _a_. This vessel was often copied in clay, as many good examples now in our museums testify. The notable feature is that the shell has been copied literally, the spiral appearing in its proper place. A specimen is illustrated in Fig. 475 _b_ which, although simple and highly conventionalized, still retains the spiral figure. [Illustration: _a_ _b_ _c_ FIG. 476.--Possible derivation of the current scroll.] In another example we have four of the noded apexes placed about the rim of the vessel, as shown in Fig. 476_a_, the conception being that of four conch shells united in one vessel, the bases being turned inward and the apexes outward. Now it is only necessary to suppose the addition of the spiral lines, always associated with the nodes, to have the result shown in _b_, and by a still higher degree of convention we have the classic scroll ornament given in _c_. Of course, no such result as this could come about adventitiously, as successful combination calls for the exercise of judgment and taste; but the initiatory steps could be taken--the motive could enter art--without the conscious supervision of the human agent. +SUGGESTIONS BY FEATURES OF ARTIFICIAL OBJECTS.+ [Illustration: FIG. 477.--Ornament derived through the modification of handles.] _Functional features_.--Functional features of art products liable to influence ornament comprise handles, legs, feet, rims, bands, and other peculiarities of shape originating in utility. Handles, for instance, may have been indigenous to a number of arts; they are coeval and coextensive with culture. The first load, weapon, or vessel transported by man may have been suspended by a vine or filament. Such arts as have fallen heir to handles have used them according to the capacities of the material employed. Of all the materials stone is probably the least suited to their successful use, while clay utilizes them in its own peculiar way, giving to them a great variety of expression. They are copied in clay from various models, but owing to the inadequate capacities of the material, often lose their function and degenerate into mere ornaments, which are modified as such to please the potter's fancy. Thus, for example, the series of handles placed about the neck of the vessel become, by modification in frequent copying, a mere band of ornamental figures in relief, or even finally in engraved, punctured, or painted lines, in the manner suggested in Fig. 477. Legs, pedestals, spouts, and other features may in a like manner give rise to decoration. [Illustration: _a._--Coiled fillet of clay. _b._--Double coil. FIG. 478.--Scroll derived from coil of clay.] _Constructional features._-Features of vessels resulting from construction are infinitely varied and often highly suggestive of decoration. Constructional peculiarities of the clay utensils themselves are especially worthy of notice, and on account of their actual presence in the art itself are more likely to be utilized or copied for ceramic ornament than those of other materials. The coil, so universally employed in construction, has had a decided influence upon the ceramic decoration of certain peoples, as I have shown in a paper on ancient Pueblo art. From it we have not only a great variety of surface ornamentation produced by simple treatment of the coil in place, but probably many forms suggested by the use of the coil in vessel building, as, for instance, the spiral formed in beginning the base of a coiled vessel, Fig. 478 _a_, from which the double scroll _b_, as a separate feature, could readily be derived, and finally the chain of scrolls so often seen in border and zone decoration. This familiarity with the use of fillets or ropes of clay would also lead to a great variety of applied ornament, examples of which, from Pueblo art, are given in Fig. 479. The sinuous forms assumed by a rope of clay so employed would readily suggest to the Indian the form of the serpent and the means of representing it, and might thus lead to the introduction of this much revered creature into art. [Illustration: FIG. 479.--Ornamental use of fillets.] Of the various classes of utensils associated closely with the ceramic art, there are none so characteristically marked by constructional features as nets and wicker baskets. The twisting, interlacing, knotting, and stitching of filaments give relieved figures that by contact in manufacture impress themselves upon the plastic clay. Such impressions come in time to be regarded as pleasing features, and when free-hand methods of reproducing are finally acquired they and their derivatives become essentials of decoration. At a later stage these characters of basketry influence ceramic decoration in a somewhat different way. By the use of variously-colored fillets the woven surface displays figures in color corresponding to those in relief and varying with every new combination. Many striking patterns are thus produced, and the potter who has learned to decorate his wares by the stylus or brush reproduces these patterns by free-hand methods. We find pottery in all countries ornamented with patterns, painted, incised, stamped, and relieved, certainly derived from this source. So well is this fact known that I need hardly go into details. In the higher stages of art the constructional characters of architecture give rise to many notions of decoration which afterwards descend to other arts, taking greatly divergent forms. Aboriginal architecture in some parts of America had reached a development capable of wielding a strong influence. This is not true, however, of any part of the United States. +SUGGESTIONS OF ACCIDENTS.+ Besides the suggestions of surface features impressed in manufacture or intentionally copied as indicated above, we have also those of accidental imprints of implements or of the fingers in manufacture. From this source there are necessarily many suggestions of ornament, at first of indented figures, but later, after long employment, extending to the other modes of representation. +IDEOGRAPHIC AND PICTORIAL SUBJECTS.+ Non-ideographic forms of ornament may originate in ideographic features, mnemonic, demonstrative, or symbolic. Such significant figures are borrowed by decorators from other branches of art. As time goes on they lose their significance and are subsequently treated as purely decorative elements. Subjects wholly pictorial in character, when such come to be made, may also be used as simple decoration, and by long processes of convention become geometric. The exact amount of significance still attached to significant figures after adoption into decoration cannot be determined except in cases of actual identification by living peoples, and even when the signification is known by the more learned individuals the decorator may be wholly without knowledge of it. MODIFICATION OF ORNAMENT. There are comparatively few elementary ideas prominently and generally employed in primitive decorative art. New ideas are acquired, as already shown, all along the pathway of progress. None of these ideas retain a uniform expression, however, as they are subject to modification by environment just as are the forms of living organisms. A brief classification of the causes of modification is given in the following synopsis: /Through material. Modification of ornament------|Through form. \Through, methods of realization. _Through material._--It is evident at a glance that _material_ must have a strong influence upon the forms assumed by the various decorative motives, however derived. Thus stone, clay, wood, bone, and copper, although they readily borrow from nature and from each other, necessarily show different decorative results. Stone is massive and takes form slowly and by peculiar processes. Clay is more versatile and decoration may be scratched, incised, painted, or modeled in relief with equal facility, while wood and metal engender details having characters peculiar to themselves, producing different results from the same motives or elements. Much of the diversity displayed by the art products of different countries and climates is due to this cause. Peoples dwelling in arctic climates are limited, by their materials, to particular modes of expression. Bone and ivory as shaped for use in the arts of subsistence afford facilities for the employment of a very restricted class of linear decoration, such chiefly as could be scratched with a hard point upon small irregular, often cylindrical, implements. Skins and other animal tissues are not favorable to the development of ornament, and the textile arts--the greatest agents of convention--do not readily find suitable materials in which to work. Decorative art carried to a high stage under arctic environment would be more likely to achieve unconventional and realistic forms than if developed in more highly favored countries. The accurate geometric and linear patterns would hardly arise. _Through form._--Forms of decorated objects exercise a strong influence upon the decorative designs employed. It would be more difficult to tattoo the human face or body with straight lines or rectilinear patterns than with curved ones. An ornament applied originally to a vessel of a given form would accommodate itself to that form pretty much as costume becomes adjusted to the individual. When it came to be required for another form of vessel, very decided changes might be necessary. With the ancient Pueblo peoples rectilinear forms of meander patterns were very much in favor and many earthen vessels are found in which bands of beautiful angular geometric figures occupy the peripheral zone, Fig. 480 _a_, but when the artist takes up a mug having a row of hemispherical nodes about the body, _b_, he finds it very difficult to apply his favorite forms and is almost compelled to run spiral curves about the nodes in order to secure a neat adjustment. [Illustration: FIG. 480.--Variations in a motive through the influence of form.] _Through methods of realisation_.--It will readily be seen that the forms assumed by a motive depend greatly upon the character of the mechanical devices employed. In the potter's art devices for holding and turning the vessel under manipulation produce peculiar results. In applying a given idea to clay much depends upon the method of executing it. It will take widely differing forms when executed by incising, by modeling, by painting, and by stamping. Intimately associated with methods of execution are peculiarities of construction, the two agencies working together in the processes of modification and development of ornament. I have previously shown how our favorite ornament, the scroll, in its disconnected form may have originated in the copying of natural forms or through the manipulation of coils of clay. I present here an example of its possible origin through the modification of forms derived from constructional features of basketry. An ornament known as the guilloche is found in many countries. The combination of lines resembles that of twisted or platted fillets of wood, cane, or rushes, as may be seen at a glance, Fig. 481 _a_. An incised ornament of this character, possibly derived from basketry by copying the twisted fillets or their impressions in the clay, is very common on the pottery of the mounds of the Mississippi Valley, and its variants form a most interesting study. In applying this to a vessel the careless artist does not properly connect the ends of the lines which pass beneath the intersecting fillets, and the parts become disconnected, _b_. In many cases the ends are turned in abruptly as seen in _c_, and only a slight further change is necessary to lead to the result, _d_, the running scroll with well-developed links. All of these steps may be observed in a single group of vessels. It may be thought by some that the processes of development indicated above are insufficient and unsatisfactory. There are those who, seeing these forms already endowed with symbolism, begin at what I conceive to be the wrong end of the process. They derive the form of symbol directly from the thing symbolized. Thus the current scroll is, with many races, found to be a symbol of water, and its origin is attributed to a literal rendition of the sweep and curl of the waves. It is more probable that the scroll became the symbol of the sea long after its development through agencies similar to those described above, and that the association resulted from the observation of incidental resemblances. This same figure, in use by the Indians of the interior of the continent, is regarded as symbolic of the whirlwind, and it is probable that any symbol-using people will find in the features and phenomena of their environment, whatever it may be, sufficient resemblance to any of their decorative devices to lead to a symbolic association. [Illustration: FIG. 481.--Theoretical development of the current scroll.] One secret of modification is found in the use of a radical in more than one art, owing to differences in constructional characters. For example, the tendency of nearly all woven fabrics is to encourage, even to compel, the use of straight lines in the decorative designs applied. Thus the attempt to employ curved lines would lead to stepped or broken lines. The curvilinear scroll coming from some other art would be forced by the constructional character of the fabric into square forms, and the rectilinear meander or fret would result, as shown in. Fig. 482, _a_ being the plain form, painted, engraved, or in relief, and _b_ the same idea developed in a woven fabric. Stone or brick-work would lead to like results, Fig. 483; but the modification could as readily move in the other direction. If an ornament originating in the constructional character of a woven fabric, or remodeled by it, and hence rectilinear, should be desired for a smooth structureless or featureless surface, the difficulties of drawing the angular forms would lead to the delineation of curved forms, and we would have exactly the reverse of the order shown in Figs. 482 and 483. The two forms given in Fig. 484 actually occur in one and the same design painted upon an ancient Pueblo vase. The curved form is apparently the result of careless or hurried work, the original angular form, having come from, a textile source. [Illustration: _a_, free-hand form. _b_, form imposed, by fabric. FIG. 482.--Forms of the same motive expressed in different arts.] [Illustration: _a_, free-hand form. _b_, form imposed by masonry. FIG. 483.--Forms of the same motive expressed in different arts.] [Illustration: _a_ _b_ FIG. 484.--Variations resulting from change of method.] Many excellent examples illustrative of this tendency to modification are found in Pueblo art. Much of the ornament applied to pottery is derived from the sister art, basketry. In the latter art the forms of decorative figures are geometric and symmetrical to the highest degree, as I have frequently pointed out. The rays of a radiating ornament, worked with the texture of a shallow basket, spring from the center and take uniform directions toward the margin, as shown in Fig. 485. But when a similar idea derived from basketry (as it could have no other origin) is executed in color upon an earthen vessel, we observe a tendency to depart from symmetry as well as from consistency. I call attention here to the arrangement of the parts merely, not to the motives employed, as I happen to have no examples of identical figures from the two arts. [Illustration: FIG. 485.--Geometric form, of textile ornament.] [Illustration: FIG. 486.--Loss of geometric accuracy in painting.] It will be seen by reference to the design given in Fig. 486, taken from the upper surface of an ancient vase, that although the spirit of the decoration is wonderfully well preserved the idea of the origin of all the rays in the center of the vessel is not kept in view, and that by carelessness in the drawing two of the rays are crowded out and terminate against the side of a neighboring ray. In copying and recopying by free-hand methods, many curious modifications take place in these designs, as, for example, the unconformity which occurs in one place in the example given may occur at a number of places, and there will be a series of independent sections, a small number only of the bands of devices remaining true rays. [Illustration: FIG. 487.--Design painted upon pottery.] A characteristic painted design from the interior of an ancient bowl is shown in Fig. 487, in which merely a suggestion of the radiation is preserved, although the figure is still decorative and tasteful. This process of modification goes on without end, and as the true geometric textile forms recede from view innovation robs the design of all traces of its original character, producing much that is incongruous and unsatisfactory. The growth of decorative devices from the elementary to the highly constituted and elegant is owing to a tendency of the human mind to elaborate because it is pleasant to do so or because pleasure is taken in the result, but there is still a directing and shaping agency to be accounted for. I have already shown that such figures as the scroll and the guilloche are not _necessarily_ developed by processes of selection and combination of simple elements, as many have thought, since they may have come into art at a very early stage almost full-fledged; but there is nothing in these facts to throw light upon the processes by which ornament followed particular lines of development throughout endless elaboration. In treating of this point, Prof. C.F. Hartt[2] maintained that the development of ornamental designs took particular and uniform directions owing to the structure of the eye, certain forms being chosen and perpetuated because of the pleasure afforded by movements of the eye in following them. In connection with this hypothesis, for it is nothing more, Mr. Hartt advanced the additional idea, that in unison with the general course of nature decorative forms began with simple elements and developed by systematic methods to complex forms. Take for example the series of designs shown in Fig. 488. The meander _a_ made up of simple parts would, according to Mr. Hartt, by further elaboration under the supervision of the muscles of the eye, develop into _b_. This, in time, into _c_, and so on until the elegant anthemium was achieved. The series shown in Fig. 489 would develop in a similar way, or otherwise would be produced by modification in free-hand copying of the rectilinear series. The processes here suggested, although to all appearances reasonable enough, should not be passed over without careful scrutiny. [Illustration: FIG. 488.--Theoretical development of fret-work.] [Footnote 2: Hartt: Popular Science Monthly, Vol. VI, p. 266.] Taking the first series, we observe that the ornaments are projected in straight continuous lines or zones, which are filled in with more or less complex parts, rectilinear and geometrically accurate. Still higher forms are marvelously intricate and graceful, yet not less geometric and symmetrical. [Illustration: FIG. 489.--Theoretical development of scroll work.] Let us turn to the primitive artisan, and observe him at work with rude brush and stylus upon the rounded and irregular forms of his utensils and weapons, or upon skins, bark, and rock surfaces. Is it probable that with his free hand directed by the eye alone he will be able to achieve these rythmic geometric forms. It seems to me that the whole tendency is in the opposite direction. I venture to surmise that if there had been no other resources than those named above the typical rectilinear fret would never have been known, at least to the primitive world; for, notwithstanding the contrary statement by Professor Hartt, the fret is in its more highly-developed forms extremely difficult to follow with the eye and to delineate with the hand. Until arts, geometric in their construction, arose to create and to combine mechanically the necessary elements and motives, and lead the way by a long series of object-lessons to ideas of geometric combination, our typical border ornament would not be possible. Such arts are the textile arts and architecture. These brought into existence forms and ideas not met with in nature and not primarily thought of by man, and combined them in defiance of human, conceptions of grace. Geometric ornament is the offspring of technique. INDEX. Acquisition of new material modifies form in pottery 451 Adventition, a source of form 445, 450 America as a field for study of art 443 Basketry copied in pottery 449 Busycon shell copied as a vessel, The 454 California, Pottery from 447 Ceramic art, Origin and development of form and ornament in, W.H. Holmes 437-465 form discussed 444 ornament discussed 444 Coils suggesting spiral ornament 456 Decorative motive in pottery, Sources of 453 European civilization checked aboriginal American art 443 Fancy modifying form in pottery 452 Fictile art related to written language 443 Form modifies ornament in pottery 458 of pottery modified by certain influences 450-452 Hartt, Prof. C.F., on form of designs as influenced by structure of the eye 463-464 Ideographic elements of decoration 453 Imitation, A source of form 445 Improvements in modes of manufacture modify forms in pottery 450 Intention a modifier of form in pottery 452 Modification of ornaments in pottery 458 Non-ideographic elements of decoration 453 Origin and development of form and ornament in ceramic art (W.H. Holmes) 437-465 Origin of ornament in pottery 453 Ornament in pottery, Origin of 453-457 Ornamental elements modified by invention 453 Pottery from California 447 Tusayan 451 Utah 449 Scroll, Possible origin of the 459 Shells copied in pottery 447 Skin vessels copied in pottery 447 Sources of decorative motive in ceramic art 453 Spiral ornament from coils 456 Stone vessels copied in pottery 447 Symbols adopted rather than invented 460 Utility modifies form in pottery 452 Wooden vessels copied in pottery 447, 451 Written language as related to fictile art 443 
22427	----	ONE THOUSAND AND ONE Initial Letters Designed and Illuminated by OWEN JONES DAY & SON LITHOGRAPHERS TO THE QUEEN LONDON, 1864. [Illustration: A a] [Illustration: B b] [Illustration: C c] [Illustration: D d] [Illustration: E e] [Illustration: F f] [Illustration: G g] [Illustration: H h] [Illustration: I i] [Illustration: J j] [Illustration: K k] [Illustration: L l] [Illustration: M m] [Illustration: N n] [Illustration: O o] [Illustration: P p] [Illustration: Q q] [Illustration: R r] [Illustration: S s] [Illustration: T t] [Illustration: U u] [Illustration: V v] [Illustration: W w] [Illustration: X x] [Illustration: Y y] [Illustration: Z z] [Illustration: Numbers] 
23450	----	THE BOOK OF ORNAMENTAL ALPHABETS, Ancient and Mediæval, FROM THE EIGHTH CENTURY. WITH NUMERALS, INCLUDING Gothic; Church Text, Large and Small; German Arabesque; Initials for Illumination, MONOGRAMS, CROSSES, &c., FOR THE USE OF ARCHITECTURAL AND ENGINEERING DRAUGHTSMEN, MASONS, DECORATIVE PAINTERS, LITHOGRAPHERS, ENGRAVERS, CARVERS, &c. COLLECTED AND ENGRAVED BY F. DELAMOTTE. SIXTEENTH EDITION [Illustration: Capio Lumen] LONDON: CROSBY LOCKWOOD AND SON, 7, STATIONERS' HALL COURT. 1914. PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION. As there are no works of Ancient Alphabets of any excellence published in a cheap form, I have been induced, after many years' study and research in my profession as a Draughtsman and Engraver, to offer this collection to the favourable notice of the public, trusting that its very moderate price and general usefulness will be a sufficient apology for the undertaking. The demand for a Fourth Edition within so short a period of the publication of the Third, has convinced me in the most agreeable manner that it has been a work required by the public. To render it still more worthy of their attention, I have here introduced some additions, likely to enhance the interest and increase the value of the pages, as an indication of the esteem in which I have held the encouragement, and the respect I have paid to the suggestions of the purchasers of this book, and the critics by whom it has been so liberally reviewed. INDEX. PAGE 8TH CENTURY. VATICAN 1 8TH CENTURY. BRITISH MUSEUM 2 8TH AND 9TH CENTURIES. ANGLO-SAXON 3 9TH CENTURY. FROM AN ANGLO-SAXON MS. BATTEL ABBEY 4 FROM MS. LIBRARY OF MINERVA, ROME 5 10TH CENTURY. BRITISH MUSEUM 6 11TH CENTURY AND NUMERALS 7 12TH CENTURY. FROM THE MAZARIN BIBLE 8 12TH CENTURY. TWO SMALL. BRITISH MUSEUM 9 12TH CENTURY. BRITISH MUSEUM 10 12TH CENTURY. BODLEIAN LIBRARY 11 13TH CENTURY. HENRY III. WESTMINSTER ABBEY 12 13TH CENTURY. FROM LATIN MS 13 13TH CENTURY. MS 14 14TH CENTURY. DATE ABOUT 1340 15 14TH CENTURY. BRITISH MUSEUM 16 14TH CENTURY. ILLUMINATED MS 17 14TH CENTURY. RICHARD II. 1400. WESTMINSTER ABBEY 18 14TH CENTURY. RICHARD II. 1400. SMALL. WESTMINSTER ABBEY 19 14TH CENTURY. BRITISH MUSEUM 20 14TH CENTURY. FROM MS. MUNICH 21 14TH AND 15TH CENTURIES. TWO SMALL. BRITISH MUSEUM 22 1475. BRITISH MUSEUM 23 1480. BRITISH MUSEUM 24 1490. BRITISH MUSEUM 25 HENRY VII. WESTMINSTER ABBEY 26 15TH AND 16TH CENTURIES. GERMAN 27 15TH AND 16TH CENTURIES. GERMAN. SMALL 28 15TH AND 16TH CENTURIES. ORNAMENTAL RIBBON 29 16TH CENTURY. HENRY VIII. MS 30 16TH CENTURY. FROM ITALIAN MS 31 16TH CENTURY. FROM ALBERT DURER'S PRAYER BOOK. LARGE 32 16TH CENTURY. ALBERT DURER'S PRAYER BOOK 33 16TH CENTURY. VATICAN 34 16TH CENTURY. GOTHIC. MS 35 16TH CENTURY. GOTHIC 36 16TH CENTURY. GOTHIC. MS 37 16TH CENTURY. LARGE, SMALL, AND NUMERALS. FRENCH. MS 38 17TH CENTURY. MS 39 17TH CENTURY. CHURCH TEXT. MS 40 GERMAN ARABESQUE 41 GERMAN ARABESQUE. SMALL 42 METAL ORNAMENTAL 43 INITIALS 44 INITIALS 45 15TH CENTURY 46 INITIALS 47 NUMERALS 48 NUMERALS 49 16TH CENTURY 50 16TH CENTURY 51 16TH CENTURY. FROM WOOD ENGRAVINGS 52 MONOGRAMS, CROSSES, &C. 53 [Illustration: 8th Century. Vatican.] [Illustration: 8th Century. British Museum.] [Illustration: 8th and 9th Centuries. Anglo-Saxon.] [Illustration: 9th Century. From an Anglo-Saxon MS. Battel Abbey.] [Illustration: From MS. Library of Minerva, Rome.] [Illustration: 10th Century. British Museum.] [Illustration: 11th Century, and Numerals.] [Illustration: 12th Century. From the Mazarin Bible.] [Illustration: 12th Century. British Museum.] [Illustration: 12th Century. British Museum.] [Illustration: 12th Century. Bodleian Library.] [Illustration: 13th Century. Henry the Third. Westminster Abbey.] [Illustration: 13th Century. From Latin MS.] [Illustration: 13th Century. MS.] [Illustration: 14th Century. Date about 1340.] [Illustration: 14th Century. British Museum.] [Illustration: 14th Century. Illuminated MS.] [Illustration: 14th Century. Richard the Second. 1400. Westminster Abbey.] [Illustration: 14th Century. Richard the Second. 1400. Small. Westminster Abbey.] [Illustration: 14th Century. British Museum.] [Illustration: 14th Century. From MS. Munich.] [Illustration: 14th and 15th Centuries. Two Small. British Museum.] [Illustration: 1475. British Museum.] [Illustration: 1480. British Museum.] [Illustration: 1490. British Museum.] [Illustration: Henry the Seventh. Westminster Abbey.] [Illustration: 15th and 16th Centuries. German.] [Illustration: 15th and 16th Centuries. German. Small.] [Illustration: 15th and 16th Centuries. Ornamental Riband.] [Illustration: 16th Century. Henry the Eighth. MS.] [Illustration: 16th Century. From Italian MS.] [Illustration: 16th Century. Albert Durer's Prayer Book. Large.] [Illustration: 16th Century. Albert Durer's Prayer Book.] [Illustration: 16th Century. Vatican.] [Illustration: 16th Century. Gothic. MS.] [Illustration: 16th Century. Gothic.] [Illustration: 16th Century. Gothic. MS.] [Illustration: 16th Century. Large, Small, and Numerals. French. MS.] [Illustration: 17th Century. MS.] [Illustration: 17th Century. Church Text. MS.] [Illustration: German Arabesque.] [Illustration: German Arabesque. Small.] [Illustration: Metal Ornamental.] [Illustration: Initials.] [Illustration: Initials.] [Illustration: 15th Century.] [Illustration: Initials.] [Illustration: Numerals.] [Illustration: Numerals.] [Illustration: 16th Century.] [Illustration: 16th Century.] [Illustration: 16th Century. From Wood Engravings.] [Illustration: Monograms, Crosses, &c.] 
25290	----	None 
43805	----	[Illustration: FRONT COVER] LITTLE BOOKS ABOUT OLD FURNITURE II. QUEEN ANNE LITTLE BOOKS ABOUT OLD FURNITURE Uniformly bound, Crown 8vo Price 2s 6d net each I. TUDOR TO STUART II. QUEEN ANNE III. CHIPPENDALE AND HIS SCHOOL IV. THE SHERATON PERIOD LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN 21 Bedford Street, W.C. [Illustration: QUEEN ANNE WALNUT TALLBOY AND STOOL (EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.)] LITTLE BOOKS ABOUT OLD FURNITURE ENGLISH FURNITURE: BY J. P. BLAKE & A. E. REVEIRS-HOPKINS. VOLUME II THE PERIOD OF QUEEN ANNE [Illustration: WILLIAM HEINEMANN LOGO] NEW EDITION ILLUSTRATED LONDON MCMXIV WILLIAM HEINEMANN _First published October 1911_ _New Edition January 1913_ _Second Impression June 1914_ _Copyright London 1911 by William Heinemann_ INTRODUCTION The sovereigns of England, unlike those of France, have seldom taken to themselves the task of acting as patrons of the fine arts. Therefore when we write of the "Queen Anne period" we do not refer to the influence of the undistinguished lady who for twelve years occupied the throne of England. The term is merely convenient for the purpose of classification, embracing, as it does, the period from William and Mary to George I. during which the furniture had a strong family likeness and shows a development very much on the same line. The change, at the last quarter of the seventeenth century, from the Jacobean models to the Dutch, was probably the most important change that has come over English furniture. It was a change which strongly influenced Chippendale and his school, and remains with us to this day. The period from William and Mary to George I. covered nearly forty years, during which the fashionable furniture was generally made from walnut-wood. No doubt walnut was used before the time of William and Mary, notably in the making of the well-known Stuart chairs with their caned backs and seats, but it did not come into general use until the time of William. It continued in fashion until the discovery of its liability to the attacks of the worm, combined with the advent of mahogany, removed it from public favour. Walnut nevertheless remains a beautiful and interesting wood, and in the old examples the colour effects are probably unsurpassed in English furniture. Its liability to "worming" is probably exaggerated, and in the event of an attack generally yields to a treatment with paraffin. Certainly the furniture of what is termed the "Queen Anne period" is in great request at the present day, and as the period was so short during which it was made, the supply is necessarily limited. We referred in the introduction to the first volume to the fact that the present series does not in any sense pretend to exhaust what is practically an inexhaustible subject. The series is merely intended to act as an introduction to the study of old English furniture, and to provide handbooks for collectors of moderate means. The many admirable books which have been already written on this subject seem to appeal mostly to persons who start collecting with that useful but not indispensable asset--a large income. In the present volume, although rare and expensive pieces are shown for historical reasons and to suggest standards of taste, a large number of interesting examples are also shown and described which are within the reach of persons of moderate incomes, and frequently an approximate price at which they should be acquired is indicated. In collecting the photographs necessary for this volume we are indebted to the Director and Secretary of the Victoria and Albert Museum, South Kensington, London, for placing the various exhibits at our disposal and particularly for causing a number of new exhibits to be specially photographed. However good a photograph may be, it can only be a ghost of the original, which should always, if possible, be examined. We would therefore strongly recommend readers when possible to examine the museum objects for themselves. The South Kensington collection, admirable as it is, is still far from complete, and increased public interest should contribute to its improvement. For the further loan of photographs we are also indebted to Mr. F. W. Phillips, of the Manor House, Hitchin, Herts; to Mr. J. H. Springett, High Street, Rochester, and others to whom we acknowledge our indebtedness in the text. J. P. Blake A. E. Reveirs-Hopkins 21 Bedford Street, W.C. CHAPTERS PAGE I. THE QUEEN ANNE PERIOD 1 II. SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN AND GRINLING GIBBON 18 III. MIRRORS, STOOLS, AND SOME NOTES ON A QUEEN ANNE BEDROOM 34 IV. CHAIRS AND TABLES 47 V. CHESTS OF DRAWERS, TALLBOYS, CABINETS AND CHINA CABINETS 65 VI. SECRETAIRES, BUREAUX, AND WRITING-TABLES 76 VII. CLOCKS AND CLOCK-CASES 82 VIII. LACQUERED FURNITURE 95 BIBLIOGRAPHY It is with pleasure we acknowledge our obligations to the following authorities: Percy Macquoid: "The Age of Walnut." (The standard work on the furniture of this period.) J. H. Pollen: "Ancient and Modern Furniture and Woodwork." An admirable little handbook and guide to the furniture and woodwork collection at the Victoria and Albert Museum, South Kensington. F. J. Britten: "Old Clocks and Watches and their Makers." (Exhaustive in its treatment, and fully illustrated. The standard book. A new edition has recently been published.) John Stalker: "Japanning and Varnishing." (The earliest English book on this subject. Published in 1688 during the craze for japanned furniture.) Law: "History of Hampton Court," vol. iii. Ashton: "Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne." Evelyn: "Diary." Macaulay: "History of England." CHAPTER I: THE QUEEN ANNE PERIOD WILLIAM AND MARY, 1689-1702 ANNE, 1702-1714 GEORGE I., 1714-1727 William the Third was a Dutchman and, although he was for thirteen years King of England, he remained a Dutchman until his death. His English was bad, his accent was rough, and his vocabulary limited. He had a Dutch guard, the friends whom he trusted were Dutch, and they were always about him, filling many of the offices of the Royal Household. He came to England as a foreigner and it remained to him a foreign country. His advent to the throne brought about certain changes in the style of furniture which are generally described as "the Dutch influence," which, however, had its origin at least as far back as the reign of Charles II. Both William and Mary were greatly interested in furnishing and furniture. They took up their residence at Hampton Court Palace soon after their coronation, and the place suited William so well and pleased him so much that it was very difficult to get him away from it. William was a great soldier and a great statesman, but he was more at his pleasure in the business of a country house than in the festivities and scandals of a court life, both of which he perhaps equally disliked. The Queen also cordially liked country life, and no less cordially disliked scandal. Mr. Law, in his interesting book on Hampton Court, mentions the story that Mary would check any person attempting to retail scandal by asking whether they had read her favourite sermon--Archbishop Tillotson on Evil Speaking. With the assistance of Sir Christopher Wren as Architect and Grinling Gibbon as Master Sculptor, great changes were made in the Palace at Hampton Court. The fogs and street smells of Whitehall drove William to the pure air of the country, and there was the additional attraction that the country around the palace reminded him in its flatness of his beloved Holland. When one of his Ministers ventured to remonstrate with him on his prolonged absences from London, he answered: "Do you wish to see me dead?" William, perhaps naturally, cared nothing for English tradition: he destroyed the state rooms of Henry VIII. and entrusted to Wren the task of rebuilding the Palace. The architect appears to have had a difficult task, as the King constantly altered the plans as they proceeded, and, it is said, did a good deal towards spoiling the great architect's scheme. In William's favour it must be admitted that he took the blame for the deficiencies and gave Wren the credit for the successes of the building. The result--the attachment of a Renaissance building to a Tudor palace--is more successful than might have been expected. The King's relations with Wren seem to have been of a very friendly sort. Mr. Law mentions the fact that Wren was at this time Grand Master of Freemasons; that he initiated the King into the mysteries of the craft; and that William himself reached the chair and presided over a lodge at Hampton Court Palace whilst it was being completed, which is, in the circumstances, an interesting example of the working rather than the speculative masonry. Mary was herself a model housewife, and filled her Court with wonder that she should labour so many hours each day at her needlework as if for her living. She covered the backs of chairs and couches with her work, which was described as "extremely neat and very well shadowed," although all trace of it has long since disappeared. It is appropriate to observe, as being related to decorative schemes and furnishing, that the taste for Chinese porcelain, which is so general at this day, was first introduced into England by Mary. Evelyn mentions in his diary (June 13, 1693) that he "saw the Queen's rare cabinets and collection of china which was wonderfully rich and plentiful." Macaulay expresses his opinion with his usual frankness. He writes: "Mary had acquired at The Hague a taste for the porcelain of China, and amused herself by forming at Hampton a vast collection of hideous images, and vases upon which houses, trees, bridges, and mandarins were depicted in outrageous defiance of all the laws of perspective. The fashion--a frivolous and inelegant fashion, it must be owned--which was thus set by the amiable Queen spread fast and wide. In a few years almost every great house in the kingdom contained a museum of these grotesque baubles. Even statesmen and generals were not ashamed to be renowned as judges of teapots and dragons; and satirists long continued to repeat that a fine lady valued her mottled green pottery quite as much as she valued her monkey and much more than she valued her husband." It is strange to consider in these days how greatly Macaulay, in this opinion, was out of his reckoning. There is, perhaps, no example of art or handicraft upon which the opinion of cultured taste in all countries is so unanimous as in its admiration for good Chinese porcelain, amongst which the Queen's collection (judging from the pieces still remaining at Hampton) must be classed. Mary was probably the first English queen to intimately concern herself with furniture. We have it on the authority of the Duchess of Marlborough that on the Queen's first visit to the palace she engaged herself "looking into every closet and conveniency, and turning up the quilts upon the beds, as people do when they come into an inn, and with no other concern in her appearance but such as they express." We find in this period lavishly painted ceilings, woodwork carved by Grinling Gibbon and his school, fine needlework, upholstered bedsteads, and marble mantelpieces with diminishing shelves for the display of Delft and Chinese ware. The standard of domestic convenience, in one respect, could not, however, have been very high, if one may judge from the Queen's bathing-closet of this period at Hampton Court Palace. The bath is of marble and recessed into the wall, but it is more like a fountain than a bath, and its use in the latter connection must have been attended by inconveniences which modern women of much humbler station would decline to face.[1] [1] The bathroom is, however, not in itself so modern in England as might be supposed. Wheatley mentions that as early as the fourteenth century a bathroom was attached to the bedchamber in the houses of the great nobles, but more often a big tub with a covering like a tent was used. Good specimens of the wood-carving of Grinling Gibbon (born 1648, died 1721) are to be seen at Hampton Court, to which Palace William III. appointed the artist Master Carver. He generally worked in soft woods, such as lime, pear and pine, but sometimes in oak. His subjects were very varied--fruit and foliage, wheat-ears and flowers, cupids and dead game, and even musical instruments--and were fashioned with amazing skill, resource, and ingenuity. He invented that school of English carving which is associated with his name. His fancy is lavish and his finish in this particular work has never been surpassed in this country; but it is doubtful whether his work is not overdone, and as such may not appeal to the purer taste. Often his masses of flowers and foliage too much suggest the unpleasant term which is usually applied to them, viz. "swags." Frequently nothing is left to the imagination in the boldness of his realism. Fig. 1 shows a very happy example of his work over a mantelpiece in one of the smaller rooms in Hampton Court Palace, which is reproduced by the courtesy of the Lord Chamberlain, the copyright being the property of H.M. the King. Upon the shelf are pieces of china belonging to Queen Mary, but the portrait inset is of Queen Caroline, consort of George IV. In the grate is an antique fire-back, and on either side of the fire is a chair of the period of William and Mary. The Court bedsteads (and probably on a smaller scale the bedsteads of the upper classes generally) continued to be at once elaborate and unhygienic, and were fitted with canopies and hangings of velvet and other rich stuffs. King William's bedstead was a great four-poster, hung with crimson velvet and surmounted at each corner with an enormous plume, which was much the same fashion of bedstead as at the beginning of the century. Fig. 2 is an interesting photograph (reproduced by permission of the Lord Chamberlain) of three Royal bedsteads at Hampton Court, viz. those of William, Mary, and George II. The chairs and stools in front are of the period of William and Mary. The table is of later date. Most of the old furniture at Hampton Court, however, has been dispersed amongst the other Royal palaces. An excellent idea of the appearance of a London dwelling-room of this period is shown in Fig. 3. It was removed from No. 3 Clifford's Inn, and is now to be seen at the Victoria and Albert Museum. The owner, John Penhallow, must have been well-to-do, as the fine carving about the mantelpiece and doors was expensive even in those days. The festoons of fruit and flowers of the school of Grinling Gibbon around the mantelpiece, in the centre of which are the arms of the owner, and the broken pediments over the doors surmounting the cherubs' heads, are characteristic of the time. The table with the marquetry top and "tied" stretcher is of the period. The chairs retained for a time that rigid resistance to the lines of the human form which marks the Stuart chairs; but very soon adapted themselves in a physiological sense. What is termed the Queen Anne period of furniture may be said to date from the reigns of William and Mary (1689-1702), and Queen Anne (1702-1714), to that of George I. (1714-1727). The Dutch influence of William and Mary became Anglicised during the reign of Anne and the first George, and the influence remains to this day. Mahogany was introduced about 1720, and thenceforward the influence of Chippendale and his school came into force. The Queen Anne style has probably been over-praised, a little misunderstood, and possibly a trifle harshly treated. Mr. Ernest Law, whose studies of this period we have already mentioned, describes it as "nothing better than an imitation of the bastard classic of Louis XIV., as distinguished from the so-called 'Queen Anne style' which never had any existence at all except in the brains of modern æsthetes and china maniacs," and as a case in point refers to Queen Anne's drawing-room at Hampton Court Palace. This verdict is no doubt a true one as regards the schemes of interior decoration, with their sprawling deities and the gaudy and discordant groupings of classical figures of Verrio and his school, to be seen at Hampton Court and other great houses. Verrio, as Macaulay wrote, "covered ceilings and staircases with Gorgons and Muses, Nymphs and Satyrs, Virtues and Vices, Gods quaffing nectar, and laurelled princes riding in triumph"--a decorative scheme which certainly does not err on the side of parsimony. The taste of a Court, however, is by no means a criterion of taste in domestic furniture. There can be no doubt that to this period we are indebted for the introduction of various articles of furniture of great utility and unquestionable taste. The chairs and tables in particular, depending as they do for charm upon simple lines and the transverse grain of the wood, for neatness of design and good workmanship are unsurpassed. Amongst other pieces the bureaux and long-cased clocks made their appearance; also double chests of drawers or tallboys, mirrors for toilet-tables and wall decoration; and washstands came into general use, as well as articles like card-tables, powdering-tables, &c. The houses of the wealthy were furnished with great magnificence and luxuriousness in a gaudy and ultra-decorative fashion. Restraint is the last quality to be found. Judging however from the many simple and charming specimens of walnut furniture surviving, the standard of comfort and good taste amongst the middle classes was high. Table glass was now manufactured in England; carpets were made at Kidderminster; chairs grew to be comfortably shaped; domestic conveniences in the way of chests of drawers, writing bureaux, and mirrors were all in general use in many middle-class houses. Mr. Pollen, whose handbook on the Victoria and Albert collection is so much appreciated, writes of the Queen Anne furniture as being of a "genuine English style marked by great purity and beauty." Anne, the second daughter of James II., was the last of the Stuarts, with whom, however, she had little in common, and indeed it is with something of an effort that we think of her as a Stuart at all. Personally she had no more influence upon the period which bears her name than the Goths had upon Gothic architecture. The term "Queen Anne" has grown to be a conveniently descriptive term for anything quaint and pretty. We are all familiar with the Queen Anne house of the modern architect, with its gables and sharply pitched roof. This, however, is probably suggested by various rambles in picturesque country districts in England and Holland; but it has nothing in common with the actual houses of the period under review. The bulk of the genuine furniture which has come down to us was probably from the houses of the merchant classes, the period being one of great commercial activity. The condition of the poor, however, was such that they could not concern themselves with furniture. Mr. Justin McCarthy, in his book on these times, estimates that one-fifth of the population were paupers. A few rude tables and chairs, a chest, truckle-beds, and possibly a settle, would have made up the possessions of the working-class house; and it is probable that not until the nineteenth century was there any material improvement in their household surroundings. It was a time in which the coffee-and chocolate-houses flourished; when Covent Garden and Leicester Square were fashionable neighbourhoods; when the Sedan chair was the fashionable means of transit; when the police were old men with rattles who, sheltered in boxes guarded the City; and when duels were fought, in Lincoln's Inn Fields. The coffee-house was a lively factor in the life of the times: although wines were also sold, coffee was the popular drink. The price for a dish of coffee and a seat by a good fire was commonly one penny, or perhaps three-halfpence, although to these humble prices there were aristocratic exceptions. Anderton's Hotel in Fleet Street, "The Bay Tree" in St. Swithin's Lane, and the now famous "Lloyd's" are interesting developments of the Queen Anne coffee-houses. Coffee itself was retailed at about seven shillings per pound. Chocolate-houses were small in number, but included names so well known at the present time as "White's" and the "Cocoa Tree." Chocolate was commonly twopence the dish. "Fancy the beaux," Thackeray writes, "thronging the chocolate-houses, tapping their snuff-boxes as they issue thence, their periwigs appearing over the red curtains." Tea-drinking was a social function and mainly a domestic operation, and to its popularity we owe the number of small light tables of this period. Snuff, or the fan supply each pause of chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. The price of tea fluctuated very much--some years it was much cheaper than others, varying from 10s. to 30s. per lb., although it is said that in the cheaper sorts old infused leaves were dried and mixed with new ones. As regards pottery and porcelain, the Chinese was in great request, following, no doubt, on the fashion set by Queen Mary. The English factories--Worcester, Derby, Chelsea, Bow, Wedgwood, and Minton--only started in the last half of the eighteenth century. Mr. Ashton, in his interesting book on "Social Life in the Reign of Queen Anne," quotes the following advertisement, which points to the continued popularity of decorative china: "Whereas the New East India Company did lately sell all their China Ware, These are to advertise that a very large parcel thereof (as Broken and Damaged) is now to be sold by wholesale and Retail, extremely cheap at a Warehouse in Dyer's Yard. Note.--It is very fit to furnish Escrutores, Cabinets, Corner Cupboards or Spriggs, where it usually stands for ornament only." This fashion first brought into use the various forms of cabinets used for the display of china. The earliest pieces would therefore date from the end of the seventeenth, or the beginning of the eighteenth century. In the first volume of this series we referred to a characteristic of Elizabethan woodwork, viz. inlaying--the laying-in of small pieces of one or several kinds of wood in places cut out of the surface of another kind. In the period under review two further practices are deserving of special notice. The first is veneering, which consists of wholly covering one sort of wood (frequently a common wood, such as deal or pine, but also oak) with a thin layer of choice wood--walnut, mahogany, &c. The object of veneering was not for purposes of deception, as it was not intended to produce the effect that the whole substance was of the finer sort of wood; but by means of applying these thin overlays a greater choice of wood was possible, and a more beautiful effect was produced by the juxtaposition of the various grains. Although at the present time the term veneer is frequently used as one of approbrium, the principle it stands for is a perfectly honest one. It is very much the same as the application of the thin strips of marble to the pillars and walls of St. Mark's at Venice, which is called incrustation, and of which Ruskin writes in the "Stones of Venice." The basis of St. Mark's is brick, which is covered by an incrustation or veneer of costly and beautiful marbles, by which rich and varied colour effects are produced which would have been impossible in solid marble. The same principle applies to veneers of wood, in which there is likewise no intention to deceive but rather a desire to make the most of the materials on hand. It would have been impossible to construct a great many cabinets of solid walnut-wood, nor would the effect have been so satisfactory, because, as already pointed out, the fact of veneers being laid in thin strips immensely increases the choice of woods and facilitates the composition of pleasing effects. There is, moreover, often a greater nicety of workmanship in the making of veneered furniture than in the solid article, and it is indeed often a complaint that the doing up of old veneered furniture is so expensive and troublesome. In old days veneers were cut by hand--sometimes one-eighth of an inch thick--but the modern veneer is, of course, cut by machinery, and is often a mere shaving. In the period under discussion walnut-veneering reached great perfection, beautiful effects being produced by cross-banding various strips and varying the course of the grains and the shades. Oak was first used as a base, but later commoner woods such as deal. It is a mistake to condemn an article because the basis is not of oak. As a matter of fact, after a time oak went out of use as a basis for the reason that it was unsatisfactory, the veneer having a tendency to come away from it. We frequently find the front of a drawer is built of pine, to take the veneer, whilst the sides and bottom of the drawer are of oak. Marquetry, which is also a feature in furniture of this period, is a combination of inlaying and veneering. A surface is covered with a veneer and the desired design is cut out and filled in with other wood. Its later developments are of French origin, and it was first introduced into England from Holland towards the end of the seventeenth century, after James II. (who had been a wanderer in Holland) came to the throne. Most arts date back to ancient times; and the arts of woodcraft are no exceptions. Inlaying, veneering, and wood-carving reach back to the temple of Solomon; and the Egyptians also practised them. Ancient inlay, moreover, was not confined to woods--ivory, pearls, marbles, metals, precious stones all being requisitioned. During the reigns of William and Mary, Anne, and George the First, events of great importance transpired. St. Paul's, that great monument to Wren and Renaissance architecture, was opened; the Marlborough wars were fought; the South Sea Bubble was blown and burst; Sir Christopher Wren and Grinling Gibbon completed their work; Marlborough House and Blenheim were built; Addison, Pope, and Daniel Defoe were at work; Gibraltar was taken; England and Scotland were united; the Bank of England was incorporated; and last, but not least, the National Debt started. CHAPTER II: SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN AND GRINLING GIBBON The temper of a nation is reflected in its architecture and, in a lesser degree, in its furniture. When we look at the furniture of the last of the Stuarts, Mary II. and her sister Anne, we see written all over it in large letters one great virtue--sobriety. In the oak furniture of the last of the Tudors and the first of the Stuarts (Elizabeth and James I.) we find the same sober note; but in the main it is more essentially English. In the Augustan era of Elizabeth we certainly see in the more pretentious examples of Court-cupboards and cabinets the influence of the Renaissance; but the furniture made by the people for the people is simply English in form and decoration. During the troublous times of the two Charles and to the end of the revolution which placed William and Mary on the throne, the country was alternately in the throes of gaiety and Puritanism; and a dispassionate view leads one to suppose that "Merrie England" had the greater leaning towards merriment. The people of England knew well enough that sobriety was good for them, and Cromwell gave it in an unpalatable form. The remedy was less to the country's liking than the disease, and with the Restoration in 1660 the passions of the nation ran riot in the opposite extreme. The final lesson came with the twenty-nine years of misrule under Charles II. and James II. Having drained the cup of degradation to the dregs, the country set about her real reformation by the aid of Dutch William, himself the grandson of a Stuart, and his cousin-consort Anne, the daughter of the self-deposed James. James II. had learnt his lesson from the errors of his brother Charles, but was not wise enough to fully profit by it. He realised that misrule had stretched his subjects' patience to the breaking-point, and during his short reign there was a certain amount of surface calm. But beneath was the continual struggle for absolutism on the part of the monarch and emancipation on the part of the people. The subject is familiar to students of history. With the advent of the Orange _régime_ we find a distinct revolution in English furniture. There is no evidence of a sudden change. We find comparatively severe examples during James II.'s reign and flamboyant patterns dating from the days of William. The transitional period was shorter than usual, and once the tide had gathered strength in its flow there was very little ebb. The Civil troubles in the country had given a severe check to the arts: the influence of the Renaissance upon furniture was upon the wane, and the ground was lying fallow and hungry for the new styles which may be said to have landed with William of Orange in Torbay in 1688. The main influence in the furniture was Dutch, and the Dutch had been to a large extent influenced by a wave of Orientalism. Twenty-five years before this, England's most renowned, if not greatest, architect had designed his first ecclesiastical building--the Chapel of Pembroke Hall, Cambridge--in the classical style which he made famous in England. Christopher Wren was born in 1631 or 1632. He was son of Dr. Christopher Wren, Dean of Windsor, and nephew of Matthew Wren, Bishop of Ely, who, to celebrate his release from the Tower, built Pembroke Hall Chapel in 1663, employing his nephew as architect. In 1664, when Christopher Wren was about thirty-two years of age, he came in contact with John Evelyn, the diarist, who in his journal, under date July 13, writes of him as that "miracle of a youth." The acquaintanceship ripened into a friendship, only broken by Evelyn's death in 1706. From Evelyn's diary we are able to glean many things concerning the then rising young architect. The idea of the Royal Society was the outcome of a meeting in 1660 of several scientists in Wren's room after one of the lectures at Gresham College. On being approached on the desirability of forming the Society, Charles II. gave his assent and encouragement to the project, and we learn that one of the first transactions of the Society was an account of Wren's pendulum experiment. The Society was incorporated by Royal Charter in 1663. It would appear that Wren had no world-wide reputation as an architect at the time, but, probably through the instrumentality of his friend Evelyn, he was appointed by the King as assistant to Sir John Denham, the Surveyor-General of Works, and in the opinion of one of his biographers, Lucy Phillimore, "the practical experience learned in the details of the assistant-surveyor's work was afterwards very serviceable to him." We find him occupied in 1664 in plans for repairing old St. Paul's and in building the Sheldonian Theatre at Oxford, which was finished in 1669. During the plague of 1665 Wren made a tour of the Continent, and there absorbed ideas which fructified in the new style of classical architecture which has made his name famous. During further discussions concerning the much-needed repairs to St. Paul's came the fire of London in 1666. This solved the difficulty, for St. Paul's was left a gaunt skeleton in the City of Desolation. Wren's plans for the rebuilding of the City were accepted by the King, but were never carried out in anything like their entirety. All attempts to patch up the cathedral were abandoned in 1673, and the ground was cleared for the new foundations. The architect and his master mason laid the first stone on June 21, 1675. The cathedral and the story of its building is familiar to us all. The great architect, having drawn the circle for the dome, called to a workman to bring him a piece of stone to mark the centre. The man brought a fragment of an old tombstone on which was the single word "Resurgam." All present took it as a good omen. We all know how the last stone of the lantern was laid thirty-five years afterwards by the architect's own son in the presence of his father. During those thirty-five years the great freemason's hands had been full, and in the City which rose from the ashes of the fire of 1666 no less than fifty-four churches were either built or restored by him. In addition, we find that the rebuilding or restoration of thirty-six halls of the City guilds, as well as upwards of fifty notable buildings--hospitals, colleges, palaces, cathedrals and churches--in London and the provinces, is laid to his credit. St. Paul's Cathedral, Wren's City churches, and the Monument, would in themselves make London famous amongst the cities of the world. The Monument was erected to commemorate the rebuilding of the City. The inscription thereon absurdly attributes the origin of the fire to the Papists. Pope satirises it in his "Moral Essays": London's Column pointing to the skies Like a tall bully lifts the head and lies. Chief, for beauty, amongst the churches is St. Stephen's, Walbrook. Canova, the great sculptor, after paying a visit to England for the purpose of seeing the Elgin marbles, was asked if he would like to return to the country. "Yes," he replied, "that I might again see St. Paul's Cathedral, Somerset House, and St. Stephen's, Walbrook." A dozen or more of Wren's churches have been swept off the map of London, in many cases with a wantonness amounting to sacrilege; but we can still rejoice in the possession of such gems as St. Stephen's, Walbrook; St. Nicholas, Cole Abbey; and St. Mary Abchurch, with its flat roof and cupola supported on eight arches. St. Dunstan's in the East, near the Custom House, still stands testifying to the fact that Wren could restore a church without spoiling it. St. Dunstan's, built in the latest style of perpendicular Gothic, was left a mere shell after the fire. Wren added the fine tower, and capped it with the curious and graceful spire supported on flying buttresses. It is said that the architect stood on London Bridge with a telescope anxiously watching the removal of the scaffolding from the spire. It is scarcely credible, however, that such a man should doubt his own powers of building. This legend recalls the story of the building of the Town Hall at Windsor in 1686. The spacious chamber on the street level is used as a corn exchange and above is the great hall. The anxious town councillors declared that the great room above would collapse. Wren knew exactly how much his four walls and great beams could bear, but, to appease the burghers, he promised to place four columns at the intersections of the beams. He purposely built them about two inches short, and, to this day, after the lapse of two hundred and twenty-five years, there is still a two-inch space between the top of each column and the ceiling it is supposed to support. On the exterior of the building are two statues given by Wren in 1707: one of Queen Anne and the other of her Danish consort, Prince George. Our good Christopher could flatter on occasion. The inscription to Prince George in his Roman costume reads, _inter alia_: Heroi omni saeculo venerando. Underneath the figure of Queen Anne is the legend: Arte tua sculptor non est imitabilis Anna Annae vis similem sculpere sculpe Deam. The local rhyming and free translation runs: Artist, thy skill is vain! Thou can'st not trace The semblance of the matchless Anna's face! Thou might'st as well to high Olympus fly And carve the model of some Deity! We admit this is a very free and extended translation, but it passes current locally. To say the least, it is high praise; but Wren had a staunch friend in Queen Anne, and every eye makes its own beauty. The exigencies of the time called for a great architect, and he appeared in the person of Christopher Wren: they called for a great artist to adorn the master's buildings, and he appeared in the guise of Grinling Gibbon. The discovery of Gibbon in an obscure house at Deptford goes to the credit of gossipy John Evelyn, who on January 18, 1671, writes: "This day, I first acquainted his Majesty (Charles II.) with that incomparable young man Gibbon, whom I had lately met with in an obscure place by mere accident, in a field in our parish, near Sayes Court. I found him shut in; but looking in at the window, I perceived him carving that large cartoon or crucifix of Tintoretto, a copy of which I had brought myself from Venice, where the original painting remains. I asked if I might enter; he opened the door civilly to me, and I saw him about such a work as for the curiosity of handling, drawing and studious exactness, I never had before seen in all my travels. I questioned why he worked in such an obscure and lonesome place; it was that he might apply himself to his profession without interruption, and wondered not a little how I found him out. I asked him if he were unwilling to be known to some great man, for that I believed it might turn to his profit, he answered, he was yet but a beginner, but would not be sorry to sell off that piece; on demanding the price he said £100. In good earnest, the very frame was worth the money, there being nothing in nature so tender and delicate as the flowers and festoons about it, and yet the work was very strong; in the piece was more than one hundred figures of men, &c.... Of this young artist, together with my manner of finding him out, I acquainted the King, and begged that he would give me leave to bring him and his work to Whitehall, for that I would venture my reputation with his Majesty that he had never seen anything approach it, and that he would be exceedingly pleased, and employ him. The King said he would himself go see him. This was the first notice his Majesty ever had of Mr. Gibbon." The King evidently did not "go see him," for under date March 1 we read: "I caused Mr. Gibbon to bring to Whitehall his excellent piece of carving, where being come, I advertised his Majesty.... No sooner was he entered and cast his eye on the work, but he was astonished at the curiosity of it, and having considered it a long time and discoursed with Mr. Gibbon whom I brought to kiss his hand, he commanded it should be immediately carried to the Queen's side to show her. It was carried up into her bedchamber, where she and the King looked on and admired it again; the King being called away, left us with the Queen, believing she would have bought it, it being a crucifix; but when his Majesty was gone, a French peddling woman, one Madame de Boord, who used to bring petticoats and fans and baubles, out of France to the ladies, began to find fault with several things in the work, which she understood no more than an ass, or a monkey, so as in a kind of indignation, I caused the person who brought it to carry it back to the Chamber, finding the Queen so much governed by an ignorant French woman, and this incomparable artist had his labour only for his pains, which not a little displeased me; he not long after sold it for £80, though well worth £100, without the frame, to Sir George Viner. His Majesty's Surveyor, Mr. Wren, faithfully promised to employ him. I having also bespoke his Majesty for his work at Windsor, which my friend Mr. May, the architect there, was going to alter and repair universally." Grinling Gibbon was born in 1648, and so the "incomparable young man" would have been about twenty-three years of age when he sailed into Royal favour. We do not know the whereabouts of the carved cartoon after Tintoretto; but we shall find at the Victoria and Albert Museum a carving by Gibbon, measuring 6 ft. in height by 4 ft. 4 in. in width, of the "Stoning of St. Stephen." It is executed in limewood and lance-wood. Walpole, in his "Catalogue of Painters," writes of the "Stoning of St. Stephen," which was purchased and placed by the Duke of Chandos at Canons,[2] as the carving which had "struck so good a judge" as Evelyn. It is palpably not identical with the Tintoret subject which Evelyn describes as "being a crucifix." Fig. 10 in Chapter III. is a remarkable example of Gibbon's carving of fruits, flowers, and foliage. [2] James Brydges, Duke of Chandos, who as Paymaster of the Forces during the wars in the reign of Queen Anne amassed a large fortune, built Canons, near Edgware, in 1715. The building and furnishing is said to have cost between £200,000 and £250,000. It was in the classical or Palladian style of architecture, and was adorned with costly pillars and statuary. The great _salon_ was painted by the Paolucci and the ceiling of the staircase by Thornhill. Although the building was designed to stand for ages, under the second Duke the estate became so encumbered that it was put up to auction, and as no buyer could be found the house was pulled down in 1747. The materials of "Princely Canons" realised only £11,000. The marble staircase and pillars were bought by Lord Chesterfield for his house in Mayfair. The witty Earl used to speak of the columns as "the Canonical pillars of his house." The Grinling Gibbon carving of the "Stoning of St. Stephen" was transferred to Bush Hill Park, near Enfield, and finally acquired in 1898 by the Victoria and Albert Museum at a cost of £300. Readers who are familiar with the Belgian churches will remember the wonderful carvings at Brussels and Mecklin by Drevot and Laurens, who were pupils of Gibbon. They out-Gibbon Gibbon in their realism. In Fig. 4, photographed for this book by the South Kensington authorities, we give an illustration of a carving in pinewood of a pendant of flowers attributed to Gibbon. It originally decorated the Church of St. Mary Somerset, Thames Street, E.C., built 1695--one of Wren's City churches so wantonly destroyed. To see Gibbon's wood carving at its best we must go to St. Paul's Cathedral, Windsor Castle, and Hampton Court Palace. At Windsor we shall also see carved marble panels of trophies, emblems and realistic fruits, flowers and shell-fish on the pedestal of the statue of Charles II. At Charing Cross we have another example of his stone carving on the pedestal of the statue of Charles the Martyr. We have already referred to the Church of St. Mary Abchurch in Abchurch Lane, between King William Street and Cannon Street, City. It was built in 1686, eleven years after the first stone of St. Paul's was laid. It also serves for the parish of St. Laurence Pountney. It lies in a quiet backwater off the busy stream, and the flagged courtyard is still surrounded by a few contemporary houses. Externally it is not beautiful, but Wren and Gibbon expended loving care on the really beautiful interior. The soft light from the quaint circular and round-headed windows casts a gentle radiance over the carved festoons of fruit, palm-leaves and the "pelican in her piety." Just across, on the other side of Cannon Street, is another backwater, Laurence Pountney Hill. Two of the old Queen Anne houses remain, No. 1 and No. 2, with beautiful old hooded doorways dated 1703. The circular hoods are supported by carved lion-headed brackets. The jambs are ornamented with delicate interlaced carving. No. 2 has been mutilated as to its windows, and a modern excrescence has been built on to the ground floor; but No. 1 appears to be much as it left the builders' hands in 1703, and still possesses the old wide staircase with twisted "barley-sugar" balusters and carved rose newel pendants. These houses may or may not have been designed by Wren. They seem to bear the impress of his genius, and in any case they give us a glimpse--and such glimpses are all too rare--of the homes of the City fathers, just as the little church across Cannon Street brings us in touch with their religious life in the early days of Queen Anne. Fig. 5 represents an interesting series of turned balusters taken from old houses of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. They are executed in oak, lime, ash and pinewood--mostly the latter; and many of the details will be found repeated in the furniture legs of the Queen Anne period. The photograph was specially taken for this volume by the courtesy of the Director and Secretary of the Victoria and Albert Museum. Fig. 6 represents a contemporary doorway of a room formerly at No. 3 Clifford's Inn. It is of oak, with applied carvings in cedar of acanthus-leaf work, enclosing a cherub's head and a broken pediment terminating in volutes. We shall find members of the same cherub family on the exterior of St. Mary Abchurch. Fig. 7 is the overmantel of the same room with a marble mantelpiece of somewhat later date. This room, now at the Victoria and Albert Museum, was erected in 1686 by John Penhallow, who resided there till 1716. Fig. 8 is a beautiful doorway carved in yellow pine, with Corinthian columns and pediment. We shall find similar pediments in the tower of Wren's church, St. Andrew's, Holborn. This doorway with the carved mantelpiece (Fig. 9) came from an old house in Carey Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields. These belong to the early part of the eighteenth century. These are but a few isolated examples of beautiful settings to the furniture of the period of the revival of classical architecture in England. Such things are not for the modest collector, who will content himself with the chairs, tables, and bureaux of the period--articles, in the main, of severe outline devoid of carving, and relying for effect much upon the rich tones of the wood employed, but withal eminently beautiful, inasmuch as they were and are eminently useful. CHAPTER III: MIRRORS, STOOLS, AND SOME NOTES ON A QUEEN ANNE BEDROOM The mirror, at the present time, is so generally an accepted necessary of life, and so indispensable in many of its situations, that it may seem remarkable that not until the sixteenth century was it in anything like general use in England. The pleasure and interest of reflection must have been felt from the time when "the reindeer roared where Paris roars to-night." Still water must have been the first mirror of the first man and woman in which they discovered their astonished faces, and where it is possible that, like Narcissus, they fell in love with their own reflections. Thus we find Eve saying in "Paradise Lost": I thither went And with unexperienced thought, and laid me down On the green bank; to look into the clear Smooth lake, that to me seem'd a second sky. As I bent down to look, just opposite, A shape within the wat'ry gleam appear'd, Bending to look on me. No doubt a reflecting surface was one of the first things that human ingenuity concerned itself about. Brass mirrors were used by the Hebrews, and mirrors of bronze by the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans; surviving specimens may be seen in the museums. Silver mirrors were also used in very early times. Glass mirrors are also of ancient origin. Sauzay, in his work on "Glass-making," quotes from Aristotle as follows: "If metals and stones are to be polished to serve as mirrors, glass and crystal have to be lined with a sheet of metal to give back the image presented to them." And here we have the foreshadowing of the mercury-backed sheet of glass of modern times. In England mirrors of polished metal were well known in Anglo-Saxon times, and from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries the ladies carried mirrors at their girdles or in their pockets. Venice has always been the home of glass-work, and it was there, in the early fourteenth century, that the immediate prototypes of our modern glass mirrors were made. For something like a century and a half the Venetians had the monopoly of the making of the best mirrors. Their secrets were carefully guarded, and any workman emigrating had his nearest relative imprisoned. It is interesting to note in passing that in Jan van Eyck's picture in the National Gallery, London, painted in 1434, there is a framed convex wall mirror which has an astonishingly modern look. It is difficult to say whether or not this is made of glass, but it shows, of course, that mirrors were used for wall decoration at that time. This picture, by the way, is very interesting, as providing undeniable evidence as to the nature of the Dutch furniture of the early fifteenth century. As regards the early history of the mirror in Britain, there is a glass mirror in Holyrood Palace in the apartments used by Queen Mary the First and said to have belonged to her. At Hampton Court there are mirrors belonging to the period of William III. and later, some of which have bevelled edges and borders of blue glass in the form of rosettes. Glass mirrors were made in England by Italian workmen early in the seventeenth century, but not extensively until about 1670, when the Duke of Buckingham established works in Lambeth, where mirrors were made. The edges were bevelled in Venetian fashion. We find Evelyn writing in his diary under date of September 19, 1676: "To Lambeth to that rare magazine of marble, to take order for chimney pieces, &c, for Mr. Godolphin's house. The owner of the workes had built for himselfe a pretty dwelling house; this Dutchman had contracted with the Genoese for all their marble. We also saw the Duke of Buckingham's Glass Worke, where they made high vases of metal as cleare, ponderous and thick as chrystal; also looking-glasses far larger and better than any that come from Venice." As will be seen at Hampton Court, the glass in each of the large mirrors of this time is in two pieces, for the reason that, by the methods then in use, it was not possible to make larger sheets. This method of making mirrors in two pieces is followed even in the present day in modern copies of old mirrors. It was, no doubt, a cause of regret to the old makers that they could not turn out a large glass in one sheet, and they would no doubt have been astonished to think that succeeding ages would deliberately copy their defect. A collector will not, probably, come across a mirror earlier than William and Mary, and he should have little difficulty in finding genuine mirrors of the next reign--Queen Anne--which are at once interesting and inexpensive. Mr. Clouston thinks that "the wall mirrors of the Queen Anne period may very well rank with the best furniture of their time. They are simple yet satisfying, and rich without extravagance." A mirror is not a mere looking-glass, although in this connection it has always been greatly appreciated. Mirrors bring a sense of space to a small room, and make a larger room appear more spacious. In the King's writing-closet at Hampton Court there is a mirror over the chimney-piece which provides a vista of all the rooms on the south side of the state apartments. Great furniture-designers from the time of Grinling Gibbon to that of Chippendale have appreciated the opportunities offered by mirrors for the purposes of decoration. Fig. 10 is a mirror-frame of carved limewood by Grinling Gibbon to be seen in the Victoria and Albert Museum. It is a rich and wonderful example of chisel play, but, like his work in general, does not satisfy a taste which inclines to less resplendent decoration. Such a mirror is probably not within the reach of any collector, great or small; and it is even probable--at least as regards the small collector--that, if by a stroke of fortune such a piece descended to him, he would find that it would scarcely harmonise with any ordinary scheme of decoration. Its presence would be as embarrassing as the entertainment of Royalty in a suburban home. The ordinary types--and they are many--of Queen Anne mirrors can with perfect propriety find places in almost any room in any house of taste, and on the walls of hall or staircase they are at once interesting and decorative. Particularly are they in harmony with the surroundings of a "Queen Anne" bedroom. In this connection, however, a word of warning is in place regarding the old glass. This is very well on the wall mirrors, but in the mirror for the toilet-table it should be replaced by new glass. Nothing lasts for ever, and it is rare that the old glasses fully retain their reflecting powers. Old mirrors are bad to shave by, and are, moreover, extremely unpopular with ladies. The art of furnishing consists of a tactful combination of whatever is best in the old and the new. Figs. 11 and 12 are simple mirrors of the Queen Anne period. Fig. 11 is a wall glass with a pleasing scroll outline, and Fig. 12 is a toilet-table glass characteristic of the period, the gilt inner moulding or "embroidery" being an interesting feature. We find similar decorative devices to the above on many of the mirrors of this time, and such examples should be purchasable at about two guineas each. Figs. 13 and 14 are more elaborate and expensive mirrors, the broken pediments in each case suggesting the influence of Sir Christopher Wren. Although the architectural inspiration, which was absolute in the Gothic periods and strong in the Elizabethan, was very much less marked in the time of Queen Anne, still the classical influence of Wren's Renaissance style is shown in many ways, and particularly in the many varieties of the broken pediment which are favourite forms of decoration for the tops of mirror frames. Fig. 13, in addition to the broken pediment, is decorated on the frame with egg-and-tongue mouldings, and on the base with a bust of a cherub in high relief. Fig. 14 is surmounted by a boldly carved figure of an eagle enclosed by the broken pediment. On either side are carved festoons of fruit and flowers, possibly suggested by the work of Grinling Gibbon. These important mirrors, interesting and effective as they are, require large rooms to set them off. Simple mirrors, as in Figs. 11 and 12, present no difficulties regarding their disposal. The more elaborate ones, however, apart from their expensiveness, should not be purchased unless there is a suitable place in which to hang them. This suggests a maxim which applies to the collection of any sort of furniture, viz. not to purchase any piece until you have decided what to do with it. Adherence to this rule may involve the occasional loss of a bargain, but it avoids confusion and possible domestic complications. We knew an enthusiastic collector who resisted the purchase of old examples with the greatest difficulty. His wife, on the other hand, whilst appreciating possibly as keenly as her husband the attractions of the antique, was also fastidious regarding the prompt settlement of tradesmen's bills. The climax was reached one day when the husband, instead of settling certain pressing accounts, attended a sale and purchased an enormous Dutch wardrobe which was found to be at least eighteen inches too tall for any room in the house. Another form of decoration applied to mirror-frames of the Queen Anne period was that known as "Gesso" work, whereby a design was built into relief with layers of size and plaster applied with a brush. It gives scope for delicate line work, and is often softer than carving. Figs. 15 and 16 are mirrors decorated with Gesso ornament, to which, however, little justice can be done in a photograph. Fig. 17 is a fine mirror of pinewood with Gesso ornamentation, in which the broken pediment form has taken a somewhat fanciful shape. In Fig. 18 the broken pediment appears in a more strictly architectural form. This mirror, which is of painted pine, was formerly in the "Flask" Tavern, Ebury Square, Pimlico. Although its date would be about 1700, it is clearly in its mouldings reminiscent of the Jacobean period, which style no doubt continued in popularity amongst the poorer classes. This mirror is an interesting instance of the merging of the two styles. Marquetry was also used on the mirror-frames of this period, an example in a broad frame inlaid with a floral pattern being shown in Fig. 19. This mirror was sold for seventeen guineas. Fig. 20 is an example of a toilet mirror of the Queen Anne period, the front of which lets down with a flap, after the manner of a bureau, revealing a nest of drawers. This form of mirror is not often met with, and an opportunity of acquiring one at a reasonable price should not be neglected. Fig. 21 is of similar construction mounted on a stand, an architectural touch being given by the pilasters on either side of the mirror. This pattern is singularly simple and charming. * * * * * Stools of the period under review are generally difficult and somewhat expensive to acquire, but these are not reasons for giving up hope. A type of the William and Mary stool is shown in Fig. 22. The scrolled feet and X-shaped stretcher are characteristic. Stools were very popular articles of furniture at this time. We find them in numbers in contemporary prints, and they continued to be used as seats at meal-times, as no doubt (providing the table were low enough) they were more comfortable than the stiff-backed chairs of the time. In the face of decided evidence of their prevalence in the Queen Anne period, their scarcity to-day is somewhat remarkable. In the coloured frontispiece is shown a simple stool of the time of the early Queen Anne period covered with Petit-point needlework, with which the ladies of that period delighted to occupy themselves. This needlework--which, in addition to being used as a covering for furniture, was also framed to hang on the walls--is often patterned with quaint trees, people, goats, dogs, and a sprinkling of lovers and birds. A stool such as is shown in the frontispiece makes an admirable seat for a knee-hole writing-table. Fig. 23 is a large stool of the Queen Anne period with escallop-shell decoration, cabriole legs and an early form of the claw-and-ball feet. It is covered with contemporary needlework. * * * * * A Queen Anne bedroom conjures up the possibility of composing a charming scheme of interior decoration. First it is necessary to face the inevitable and accept the position that a modern bedstead is essential. This should be made of walnut-wood, and the ends shaped after the manner of the solid splats in the simple chairs of the period. Such bedsteads are made by several of the good modern furniture firms. They are not, of course, literal reproductions of the bedsteads of the period, which were of the four-poster order, but they will be found to be in good taste. Upon this bed should lie a reproduction of the bed-covers of the period in a pattern boldly coloured and Oriental in design. The floor should be covered by antique Persian rugs (or modern reproductions). A walnut toilet-table should stand in the window (_see_ Fig. 64). Upon it should rest a toilet-glass (_see_ Fig. 12), and in front of it, if possible, a stool covered with the needlework of the period (_see_ Frontispiece). This stool will, however, be difficult to obtain, and its place could be taken by a simple chair of the period (_see_ Figs. 32 and 34). Two other simple chairs should find places around the room, upon one side of which should be placed a walnut tallboy (_see_ Fig. 56) surmounted by a piece of Chinese blue-and-white. We cannot too strongly emphasise the desirability of associating old Chinese blue-and-white pottery with eighteenth-century furniture. The washstand of the period (too small to be efficient) should be replaced by an unobtrusive wooden table painted white, the top of which should be covered with tiles in a shade which does not disagree with a reproduction of an old "Spode" or "Mason's Ironstone" toilet set. Toilet sets, as we understand the term to-day, were unknown in the days of Queen Anne. Common earthenware pitchers and basins, or at best English and Dutch Delft, did duty until the rise of the great Staffordshire factories late in the eighteenth century. Orignal "Spode" or "Mason" ware would not be of earlier dates than 1770 and 1804 respectively, and so quite out of the Queen Anne period. We merely mention these two styles of so-called "Indian" decorations as being most suitable for the purpose in hand. We might, indeed, happen upon an eighteenth-century blue-and-white service; but all these early ewers and basins, like the early washstands, are altogether too diminutive for modern requirements. The reproductions, whilst retaining the old decoration, are built in more generous proportions. For wall covering a plain white-or champagne-coloured paper might be adopted, and for wall decoration one or two old mirrors (_see_ Figs. 11 and 15) and some reproductions of Dutch interiors by the old masters, framed in broad black frames, would be in harmony with the surroundings. A difficulty in composing a Queen Anne bedroom is to find a suitable hanging wardrobe. The marquetry hanging-press or wardrobe of the period, with its bombé-shaped lower section, is somewhat heavy in appearance, except in a large room, and is, moreover, expensive to acquire. Failing a hanging cupboard in the wall, a simple plain cupboard should be built and painted white. Such a cupboard at least strikes no false note, and is greatly to be preferred to a modern wardrobe or one of another period. In this connection a schedule of the cost to the authors of furnishing a similar bedroom may be of interest. £ s. d. Walnut tallboy 10 10 0 3 simple Queen Anne chairs 9 0 0 1 " " toilet-table 5 0 0 1 " " toilet mirror 2 2 0 1 " " wall mirror 2 2 0 ------------- £28 14 0 The cost of such details as carpets, curtains, bed-covering, china, &c, is not included. To this, therefore, must be added the various modern reproductions, including the bedstead: the total cost of the room would be about fifty pounds. The result is, of course, a combination of the old and the new--the best points of each being preserved--and the effect will be found harmonious. CHAPTER IV: CHAIRS AND TABLES In volume one we left the chair at the time of King James II. when it was composed of tall and straight lines, generally cane-backed and cane-seated, with a carved stretcher fixed rather higher than midway between the two front legs. Such pieces would not, of course, have been found in the homes of the poor. Historical books, for the most part, concern themselves very much with the affairs of courts and the practice of battles, but very little with the habits and surroundings of the bulk of the people. We know that the amount of poverty and crime at the beginning of the eighteenth century was enormous, and the social condition of the people being such, it is unlikely that their homes could have been either comfortable or decently furnished. Very little of the wealth of the country percolated through the middle class to the poor; but there is no doubt that as regards the middle-class homes, they had by the beginning of the eighteenth century reached a very tolerable standard of social comfort and convenience. It is probable that a good deal of this standard of comfort was attributable to Dutch influence. The sense of home comfort seems to have been developed in Holland in early times. In the picture of John Arnolfini and his wife in the National Gallery, London, painted by Jan van Eyck, who lived between 1390 and 1440, there is a vivid and interesting glimpse of the furniture of this period. This picture should be studied by all interested in furniture. In the bedroom shown in the picture we find, in addition to the bed with its heavy red stuff hangings, a coffer, probably for clothes; a tall chair with a Gothic traceried top and a red cushion; a smaller chair with a red cushion; a carpet of Persian pattern; a brass chandelier; and a mirror reflecting the room and its two occupants. The mirror is in a round wooden frame decorated with small medallion panels, with paintings illustrative of the Passion of our Lord. The room is lighted by casement windows, and the whole effect suggests a degree of comfort creditable to the taste of the fifteenth century. A very notable feature in the male costume of the time of William and Mary was the enormous periwig, which was considered a sign of social importance. A man would not wear his hat (a _chapeau-bras_), but in order that his wig might not be disarranged would carry his hat under his arm. It is rather strange that a hard-headed business man like William should have countenanced such a fashion by wearing a great periwig himself. It appears to have been a custom to comb these wigs in the coffee-houses, for which purpose each gallant carried an elegant comb. The men's hats were adorned with feathers, and they also wore full-skirted coats decorated with lace and embroidery, stockings, breeches, buckled shoes, and huge cuffs garnished with lace. The ladies also wore a heavy head-gear, the hair being brushed away from the forehead and surmounted by ribbons and rows of lace, over which was thrown a lace scarf which hung nearly to the waist, giving the general impression of a great mob-cap. "Stiff stays," writes Mr. Dillon, "tightly laced over the stomacher and very long in the waist, became fashionable; and to so great an extent was this pernicious fashion carried that a lady's body from the shoulders to the hip looked like the letter V." There was another fashion among the ladies of building several tiers of lace to a great height upon the hair. These structures, in the prints of the period, have the appearance of enormous combs. As regards the dress of this period, "the general tendency," Mr. Calthrop writes, "was to look Dutch, stiff, prim, but very prosperous." Costume and furniture have always had a close relationship, and we find Mr. Percy Macquoid writing in his "Age of Walnut": "The settles and chairs of the latter part of the seventeenth century were evidently constructed with a view of forming backgrounds to the prevailing fashions in costume; the strongest characteristic at this time being an extremely high-backed seat to suit the voluminous periwigs and tall head-dresses of the women." It will also be noticed that the arms of the chairs were set back from the front of the seat to allow room for the ample skirts of the women. Figs. 24, 25, and 26 are three chairs of carved walnut with seats covered with figured red velvet. These chairs, from the Old Palace, Richmond, at first glance appear to be of the same pattern, but a closer examination will show that no two are quite alike. Two of them certainly have similar backs, but a difference appears in the legs. In shape there is little difference between these chairs and those of the preceding reign except that the stretcher is lower. The backs, however, differ considerably from the Stuart chairs, the cane having disappeared and its place being taken by pierced and elaborate carvings. Fig. 27 is another and probably a later specimen of a fine William and Mary chair. Although the back is less elaborate, the legs have now assumed the cabriole form and the feet are extremely realistic. The stretcher in the front has, it will be noted, disappeared. These chairs were, of course, made for the wealthy classes, and were comparatively few in number as the fashion was a brief one; but they show the prevailing ideas which in turn expressed themselves on the simpler chairs. An example of the latter is shown in Fig. 28, which, purely as a matter of taste, is possibly as pleasing as some of the more elaborate chairs of this period. This example cost five pounds. Figs. 29 and 31 are rush-seated chairs of the Queen Anne period and are made of oak, probably in a country place where the prevailing walnut fashion had not reached. They are exceedingly simple and pleasing in shape and were sold at one pound each. The centre chair (Fig. 30) is a child's chair of the same period--a type which, in our experience, is not often met with. There is no example in the Victoria and Albert Museum, a fact we mention in case any reader would like to offer such a specimen. Here the splat is slightly different from those of its companions. The present piece lacks a front rail to prevent the child from falling. Queen Anne chairs of simple character should not be very difficult to obtain, nor should they make extravagant incursions upon the purse. To purchase a number of chairs of identical form sufficient to compose a set is a far more expensive method than to collect more or less odd chairs, singly or in pairs, and to make up a set for oneself. Each may not be exactly similar to the other, but the family likeness is amply sufficient to satisfy any reasonable taste. Indeed such little differences as are expressed, say, in the splats and the legs may be said to break the line of uniformity and to produce an effect which is permanently pleasing and interesting. Such a set of chairs would be admirable in a dining-room; and single chairs of this period and type would be scarcely out of place in any room in the house. Elaborately carved and marquetried chairs of this time are expensive, but it is a question whether the plain chairs are not as pleasing. At present the taste for old furniture runs to pieces which are highly carved and decorated, but this is often for the simple reason that such pieces are more uncommon, and therefore more expensive, than the plain ones. It is possible, however, that in a succeeding age, when all old furniture, both carved and plain, will be rare, that the latter may be as highly favoured as the former. In many of the plain old chairs the lines are charming and the woods rich and interesting, and possessing these, we need scarcely envy those whose means enable them to prefer the richer sorts. We now approach a departure in the designs of furniture which had a far-reaching and lasting effect upon style in England. We refer to the cabriole leg and the shaped foot, which ultimately developed into the claw-and-ball. The first movement appears to have occurred when the straight lines of the Stuart furniture were superseded by the curved lines of the Dutch style; and occasionally we find the cabriole leg on a William and Mary chair, as in Fig. 27. The cabriole leg has been traced back to China and Egypt, but was introduced into England through Holland and France. It may be called the leading characteristic of the domestic woodwork of the Queen Anne period. It made its appearance on chairs, tables, sofas, and chests--in fact, upon every form of furniture which is lifted from the ground. The word is adopted from the French _cabriole_, a goat-leap, although it must be admitted that this is scarcely a literal description of the form the carving takes. At first the shaping was of the simplest description and showed but the faintest resemblance to the leaping leg of an animal, but later forms took a more realistic turn. The term cabriole has become generic, and is now applied to almost any furniture leg built with a knee. Fig. 32 is a simple type of Queen Anne chair with cabriole legs, carved with an escallop-shell, a form of decoration which finds its way upon very many forms of furniture of this time, and is as popular as the crown and cherub decoration of the departed Stuarts. The claw-and-ball foot, which, like the cabriole leg, is traceable to the East, we find on the more elaborate chairs of the Queen Anne period, and is generally accepted to represent the three-toed claw of the Chinese dragon holding the mystic Buddhistic jewel. The development of the claw-and-ball is traceable through the feet of the furniture of this period, and commenced by the base of the chair legs being slightly shaped into a foot, which will be remarked in Figs. 29 and 31. Such form is generally known as the club foot. Then the toe assumed the shape of an animal's foot, out of which a claw was evolved, and, having to clutch something to make a base, a ball was added, and we have the familiar claw-and-ball foot which has remained a favourite decoration to the present time. The good examples are full of spirit and significance, entirely different from the machine-made inanimate examples on modern furniture. Figs. 33, 34, 35 are simple examples of Queen Anne chairs. Those with arms should be purchasable for about five guineas and the single chairs for about three guineas. Fig. 36 is an example of an inlaid chair[3] of this period, the tall graceful back being particularly pleasing. The earlier chairs of this period (Figs. 33 and 35) were provided with strengthening rails between the legs, but later the knee was made stronger and the cross rails dispensed with (Fig. 34), which had the effect of lightening the appearance of the chair but not of increasing its durability. The disappearance of these leg rails marks the later Queen Anne chairs, so that it is a fair guide as to date of production. Thus disappears the last link with the good old times, when the floors were so dirty that rests were provided for the feet. Fig. 37, in addition to its cabriole legs and embryo claw-and-ball feet, is especially interesting as foreshadowing the familiar ladder-backed chairs of the Chippendale school. In this chair the rail connecting the back legs has been retained. [3] The splat of the original is nicely inlaid, but it is impossible to adequately reproduce this in a photograph. In this period the "knee" was either plain or ornamented with an escallop-shell; it rarely had any other form of decoration: but it developed many forms under the influence of Chippendale and his school. It is well to remember, however, that in England the cabriole leg in its original and simpler form belongs to the reign of Queen Anne. An essential and highly important development is at this period particularly noticeable in the chair, which is now adapted to the human frame instead of, as heretofore, the human frame having to adapt itself to the chair. It is probable that the greater pliability of walnut over oak made this departure feasible, but one has only to sit in the tall straight-backed Stuart chair and the shaped chairs of the Queen Anne reign to see in which direction the advantage in comfort lies. It will be found that in the latter the top of the back is curved so as to fit the nape of the sitter's neck, and that the splat is shaped to suit itself to the back and shoulders. Examples of this shaping are shewn in the chairs, Figs. 32 and 36, which also have the simple cabriole legs. Figs. 38 and 39 are arm-chairs of this period. Fig. 38 has a central vase-shaped panel with a volute and leaves on either side. The arms have flattened elbow-rests. Fig. 39 has curiously twisted arms. It has suffered in the splat very much from the worms. In this chair it will be noticed the side rail connecting the legs is missing. The seat is stuffed and covered with canvas, which is decorated with needlework ("petit-point") in coloured wools and silks. These are arm-chairs for respectable people, but there were also broad-seated arm-chairs at this time known as "drunkards' chairs." The width of the seat in front was nearly three feet, which gave ample room for a man to comfortably collapse. Figs. 40 and 41 are two fine chairs of the late Queen Anne period, showing finely developed cabriole legs and claw-and-ball feet. In both specimens the connecting leg-rails have disappeared and the back feet are shaped. Fig. 40 is covered with gilt and embossed leather over a stuffed back and seat. In Fig. 41 the back has almost lost its Queen Anne character and is merging into what we know as the Chippendale style. The seat of this chair is covered with silk. The Huguenot refugee silk-workers had settled in Spitalfields, and in the reigns of William and Mary and Anne large quantities of silks and velvets were produced, which were frequently used to cover the chairs of the bedroom furniture of the time. Stuffed and upholstered arm-chairs were also favoured at this period, which was distinctly one for the appreciation of comfort. Fig. 42 is a partly veneered corner or round-about chair of this time; a type of chair largely made in mahogany during the Chippendale period. The double chair, or settee, remains to be noticed. This, by a process of refinement and elimination, had no doubt been evolved from the old-time settle. It was also called a love-seat, and was constructed in such form as to allow for the pose of social gallantry, simpering, and the plying of the snuff-box and fan, inseparable from the manners of the period. These double seats were usually found in the drawing-rooms of the rich, and simple ones are not as a rule met with. Fig. 43 is a settee of the type of William and Mary; the tied stretchers beneath and the inverted bowl turnery on the legs are characteristic features. Fig. 44 is a fine late Queen Anne specimen with a marquetried back, claw-and-ball feet, and an insistent decoration of the escallop-shell. Fig. 45 is another fine settee of the same period with a full back and claw-and-ball feet. Both these specimens have beautifully shaped arms and feet, and the back feet being also slightly shaped at the base, suggest the latter part of the period. In the beginning of the eighteenth century, tapestries, as forms of wall decoration, had been replaced either by wainscoting or, more generally, by wall-papers. Needlework was a popular occupation amongst the women, who made hangings for their bedsteads and windows and covers for their chairs, stools and couches. Mary, the Queen of William III., set an example as an industrious needlewoman. It was at this time that the gay chintzes and printed cottons, of which so many admirable and inexpensive reproductions can be purchased at the present day, came into vogue. Like so many of the decorative ideas of the time, they were introduced into England by the Dutch, who in their turn borrowed them from the East. They were extremely Oriental in design, depicting trees, birds and flowers, all more or less related to nature. This was, of course, the period when everything Oriental was the fashion,[4] when Chinese porcelain and red and black lacquer were desired by many and acquired by some; and the gay Oriental chintzes contributed fittingly to the scheme of decoration, as well as affording a protection for the cherished needlework coverings of the furniture. The modern reproductions are no less indispensable in any house in which the old furniture of this period has a place. Some firms print them by hand from the old blocks, and from such firms they should be purchased. Chintzes appear to have been first produced in England by a foreign settlement in Richmond, Surrey, early in the eighteenth century. The English workmen afterwards greatly simplified the designs, and in Queen Anne's time they were largely the fashion. [4] Addison wrote that "an old lady of fourscore shall be so busy in cleaning an Indian mandarin as her great-granddaughter is in dressing her baby." The Queen Anne home of the middle class would not have startled a visitor from the present century who had elected to inspect it by means of Mr. Wells's Time Machine. Its exterior was square, unpretentious and a trifle heavy, and the interior comfortable and efficiently furnished. In fact, it is at this period that we find the first tangible approach to our own idea of a home. The bathroom was still a luxury even in the great houses, but in most other respects the standard of comfort approached the modern idea. * * * * * The first tables made of walnut-wood seem to have followed very much the designs of the Jacobean oaken tables, and have the square sturdy look which we associate with oak furniture. One of the first changes to be noticed is in the appearance, on the legs, of an inverted bowl decoration as in Fig. 46. Then we find a change in the stretchers or bars connecting the legs; these instead of being straight rails between the four corners, now assume the X or tied-stretcher pattern as shown in Fig. 47. This table is inlaid with cedar and boxwood, and is valued at twelve guineas. Fig. 48 is a Museum piece of the same period, the marquetry work on which is very fine--the top being most elaborately inlaid. The inlaid work of this period reached great perfection, blossoms and birds, as well as geometrical designs, being worked out in various woods with great taste and dexterity. It will be noticed that there is a strong family likeness between the two tables, although the latter is a much finer one.[5] Chinese pottery was (as has been pointed out) the rage at this time, and the flat space in the centre of the tied stretcher was very likely intended to hold a Chinese bowl. [5] Fine tables of this type are very expensive. One such was sold at Christie's in June 1911 for fifty-eight guineas. It was thus described: "A William and Mary walnut-wood table, with one drawer, the top inlaid with a chariot, flowers and birds, in marqueterie of various woods, on turned legs with X-shaped stretcher--38 in. wide." William and Mary tables have turned legs, which were so popular on the furniture of the preceding period but which were soon to disappear in favour of the cabriole leg. In fact, the tables in a few years underwent a great transformation, as will be seen in the next example, Fig. 49. The Queen Anne period was a drinking, gambling, duelling, dice-throwing age. In fact, it is said that loaded dice could be purchased at the toy shops in Fleet Street. The spirit of speculation was about. The nation had accumulated wealth a trifle too quickly, and trustee securities, as we now understand them, had small attraction for any one. Every one wanted to grow rich at once. The wildest schemes were launched. These culminated in 1720 in the South Sea Bubble. Companies, as is well known, were formed with the most extraordinary objects, such as "for the invention of melting down sawdust and chips and casting them into clean deal boards without cracks or flaws"; "for the importing of a number of large jackasses from Spain"; and "for an undertaking which shall in due time be revealed." All classes were affected; and the Prince of Wales became governor of a copper company which had an unfortunate end. The gambling spirit was continued in private, and to this fact we probably owe the existence of the many interesting card-tables of the late Queen Anne period. These were, of course, only found in the houses of the richer classes, and are often beautiful pieces of furniture. Table legs developed similarly to chair legs. The ubiquitous cabriole, which has already been dealt with at length, was applied generally to tables, with, later, the escallop-shell decoration and the claw-and-ball foot. The fine example, Fig. 49, possesses all these decorations, together with a pendant under the shell. This specimen was purchased by the Victoria and Albert Museum in 1904 for the sum of twelve pounds, which figure has, of course, little relation to its present value. These tables are generally built with a flap and covered with cloth, except at the four corners, where round or square places are left to take candlesticks or glasses; cups are also shaped in the tables to hold money, and they are sometimes provided with secret drawers. We have read extraordinary stories of great sums being discovered in these drawers--the proceeds of a night when "the old home was gambled away"; but personally we have not chanced on such a find. Tables with two flaps were also used as breakfast-and small dining-tables. They were generally oval, but sometimes round, and occasionally square. These types were repeated later in mahogany with added decorative details, and later still Sheraton adopted the folding-table, converting it to his own style. Tables in great variety were made in this period, but the heavy type of table of the previous century went out with the banqueting-hall and has never returned. The gate-leg table, which originated in the oaken period, is dealt with in Volume I.; and no doubt in many parts of the country it continued to be made in oak, but it does not appear ever to have become popular in walnut, which, after all, was never a wood in general use in country districts. Fashion has a strong controlling influence over furniture, as it has over so many other matters of taste. The table with cabriole legs came into fashion, and immediately cabriole legs in some form or other became _de rigueur_. The slender-legged gate-leg table did not offer sufficient opportunity to the wood-carver, and was also rather unsuitable for card-playing. Its perfect plainness, moreover, was not to the taste of an age which inclined towards richness and colour in its household surroundings. CHAPTER V: CHESTS OF DRAWERS, TALLBOYS, CABINETS AND CHINA CABINETS In Volume I., dealing with the oak period, we traced the evolution of the chest of drawers from the simple chest or coffer, first by the addition of an under-drawer to the coffer; then, the main body of the chest being subdivided into convenient drawers (with the consequent disappearance of the lid), we had the primitive form of the chest of drawers, the term "chest" still clinging--apparently for all time--to the structure. The earlier chests of drawers, dating from about the middle of the seventeenth century, were comparatively small, usually with raised panels or mouldings; occasionally we find them with decorations of simple carved scroll-work and guilloche banding. The prolongation of the stiles to form feet, as in the simple chest, had disappeared in favour of bracketed corners or ball feet, as in Figs. 50 and 51. Fig. 50 represents an interesting chest of drawers, simple in outline but elaborately decorated. The top is inlaid _en parterre_ with four corner scroll designs and a centre design of birds, flowers, and fruit, in ebony and laburnum wood on a ground of holly. A delicately cut laurel-leaf band of inlay (shaded with hot sand) frames the top, sides, and drawer fronts. It belongs approximately to about 1680. The dimensions are fairly typical for the period, being 36 in. high, 39 in. wide, and 23 in. deep. Fig. 51 is of rather unusual form, having three large drawers in the upper portion and one long drawer under, which is capped by a bold moulding. The oblong panel decorations consist of marquetry designs of conventional flowers in ebony, holly, rose, and laburnum woods. This also belongs to the year 1680; 41 in. high, 40 in. wide, and 23 in. deep. It has a value of about eighteen guineas. Marquetry began to come into favour in this country about 1675-1680. We quote Mr. Pollen, who says: "At first the chief motives in design appear to have been acanthus leaves, figures, and arabesques, under Italian and French influence: a little later, designs of flowers and birds, treated in a more realistic fashion, were introduced by the Dutch. Finally, about 1700, these two styles passed into an English style of very delicate leaf-work of conventional form, often intricately mingled with scrolls and strap-work; and geometrical designs were used." Mr. Macquoid remarks that "investigation proves that, compared with the English manufacture, Dutch marquetrie is always duller in colour and more disconnected in design." Late in the seventeenth and early in the eighteenth centuries we find the chests of drawers raised on twisted or turned legs, which are fixed to a shallow plinth or joined near the ground by shaped stretchers. For the first-named type we refer readers to Fig. 52, a specimen at the Victoria and Albert Museum. It is built of pinewood overlaid with lignum vitæ, sycamore and walnut, in small roundish pieces cut across the grain. The top is further decorated with sycamore bands arranged in two concentric circles in the centre, surrounded by intersecting segments. In the corners are quadrants. Each side has a large circle of similar materials. The structure is 3 ft. 8 in. high and 3 ft. 4 in. wide. It cost the museum £10 in 1898. Fig. 53, another dwarf chest of drawers of the same period, also at the museum, is of oak and pine veneered with various woods. This is an excellent example illustrating the amount of labour expended by the craftsmen of the day on the early examples of veneering. On the face of the top drawer alone there are no less than twenty large and thirty-three small pieces of veneer, exclusive of the bordering. The feet are very unusual, having a curiously booted appearance, with the soles clearly indicated. This and the previous example bear the brass drop handles and fretted escutcheons of the period. Great variety is displayed in these brass fitments. The handles more often are of elongated pear shape, but occasionally resemble a flattened flower-bud. The ring handles appeared somewhat later. As types of the chests of drawers on legs we give two illustrations. Fig. 54, from a photograph supplied by Messrs. Hampton and Sons Ltd., Pall Mall, represents a fine specimen of veneered work of the William and Mary period. The figuring in the walnut veneer is very good and finely matched. The stand is tall, with but one long shallow drawer. The turned legs are particularly graceful in outline. It will be noticed that the inverted cup detail is repeated in the china cabinet (Fig. 69), amongst the illustrations of lacquered furniture. Fig. 55 possesses twisted legs, a survival of the Stuart period proper. During the reign of William and Mary and that of Anne, we are, strictly, still in the Stuart period--the two queens being wholly and William half Stuart. With the abdication of James II. there was a change in the temper of the people and a comparatively abrupt change in the furniture. In the chest under discussion the upper portion is severely plain, whilst the lower half or stand is of particularly graceful outline. We see how the stand is gradually being brought into requisition, not only as a stand, but to hold extra drawers--quite small drawers at first. The lifting of the central arch and consequent shallowing of the corresponding small drawer give a pleasing diversity of line. This structure is scarcely a "tallboy," being rather a chest of drawers on a stand; and the stand, more than anything (as in the previous illustration), points to the reign of William and Mary. This piece is in the possession of Mr. F. W. Phillips, of the Manor House, Hitchin. The owner values it at ten guineas. Something more nearly approaching the genuine "tallboy" is shown in the coloured frontispiece. Here we have the stand growing deeper and containing five small drawers. The angular-kneed cabriole legs denote the period--about 1710, the middle of Queen Anne's reign. The veneer is of richly figured walnut banded with herring-bone inlay. It is furnished with brass handles and engraved escutcheons. We begin to see how increasing wealth in clothes called for more commodious furniture. This piece has six drawers in the upper carcase in addition to the five small ones in the stand: altogether a very considerable storage capacity as compared with the dumpy chests of drawers of earlier make. By easy stages we arrive at the tallboy pure and simple, sometimes called "double chest" or "chest on chest." The term "tall" is obvious, but "boy" is not so clear. The tallboy was purely the outcome of a demand for something more commodious than the early form. It was made in two sections, mainly for convenience in moving, and partly, by breaking up the lines, to lighten the appearance of what would otherwise be a somewhat ungainly structure. There is scarcely room for much variation in form, and the tallboys of the Queen Anne and early Georgian period are very much of one family. Fig. 56 is of walnut-wood bordered with a herring-bone banding of yew-wood. A lightness is given to the upper portion by the corners being canted and fluted. The oval ring plates are a pleasing feature. This double chest of nine drawers stands 69 in. high. A well-preserved specimen of this calibre would have a value of from ten to fifteen guineas. Fig. 57 is a less pretentious tallboy chest of six drawers, valued at ten guineas, in the possession of Mr. J. H. Springett, of High Street, Rochester. Like the majority of these old veneered walnut chests, the drawer fronts and sides of the main structure are veneered on pine, whilst the bodies of the drawers are of oak. The fretted escutcheons and cusped handles (unfortunately not quite uniform) are exceptionally good. There is interesting documentary evidence connected with this old piece of furniture. Pasted on the back of the bottom drawer is the maker's label, yellow with age. At the top of the label are engraved designs of an elaborate cabinet and four coffins; underneath is printed the following legend: "John Knowles Cabinet Maker and Sworn Appraiser, at the Cabinet and four Coffins in Tooley Street Southwark maketh and selleth all sorts of Cabinets and joiners goods, Viz Cabinets scruetores, desk and book cases, bewrowes, chests of draws and all sorts of tables as wallnut tree mehogny, wainscot and Japan'd. All sorts of corner Cubbords looking glasses and sconces and all other joiner's goods made and sold both wholesale and retail at reasonable rates. Likewise funerals decently furnished." We have not been able to unearth any other record of John Knowles. His name does not appear in the first edition of the London Directory, a very small volume published in 1731, nor in any subsequent edition up to 1771. The style of printing and archaic spelling, however, would point to a date fairly early in the eighteenth century, probably during the reign of George I. The mention of "mehogny" practically precludes an earlier date than 1715-20. In the earlier days--away back in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries--the wardrobe was a special room, fitted with closets set apart for the storage of clothes. All through Tudor times the coffer was in use, and was all-sufficient to hold the clothes and household linen. We find in Jacobean times the coffer growing into the chest of drawers, and, in addition, tall hanging-cupboards were coming into use. But it is not till the reign of Queen Anne--the walnut period--that we find the prototype of the present-day wardrobe, with its roomy drawers, hanging-cupboards, and numerous shelves. The inspiration of this eminently useful article came from Holland. It is made usually of oak and pine veneered with walnut and, as often as not, inlaid with marquetry. The upper storey consists of small drawers and shelves enclosed by two doors and surmounted by a curved cornice, the lower portion being a chest of three or four long drawers. Even the admittedly English-made specimens are so extremely Dutch in appearance, that it is probable the majority were designed and made by the Dutchmen who came over in the train of William III. We give an example in Fig. 58 of an inlaid hanging-press or wardrobe, showing decidedly Dutch influence in the lower portion, particularly noticeable in the protruding knees set at an angle of forty-five degrees. The marquetry designs of vases and flowers are also of Dutch type. It is of average size, being 91 in. high, 66 in. wide, and 22 in. deep. As with the other furniture of the walnut period, the early wardrobes were extremely solid and dignified in appearance. The modern maker has made improvements as to interior fittings, but on general principles the old pieces leave little or nothing to be desired. The old-time craftsman was conscientious in his work. We do not find the doors flying open unasked; the drawers have no nasty habits of refusing to open or close. The Queen Anne or early Georgian wardrobe, which is sound to-day, bids fair to outlive our great-grandchildren, and should be cheap at its average selling-price--say, twenty to thirty pounds. The china cabinet came in with the craze for Oriental porcelain. We shall have more to say upon this subject in the chapter on lacquer. Fulham stoneware, Bristol and Lambeth "Delft" and other early English "Clome" had no claim on cabinet space. The more pretentious pieces, when not in actual use, adorned the court cupboard and sideboard cheek by jowl with the family silver or pewter. In the main, all pottery was for use rather than ornament until the blue-and-white and _famille verte_ arrived from China, and we shall scarcely find a glazed china cabinet earlier than the Orange accession. Many of the William and Anne bureaux were surmounted by cabinets, the doors glazed with panes of glass set in designs consisting of small squares or oblongs with larger sexagonals or octagonals. This form was used either as a bookcase or a china cabinet. Unglazed corner cupboards, often bow-fronted and lacquered, made to hang in the angle of the wall, were for storage, rather than display, of china. Another variety of corner cupboard made to stand on the floor has a glazed upper storey. These belong to the varieties of furniture used by the middle classes, whilst the cabinet of the china collector would be an imposing structure of more elegant design surmounted on legs joined by shaped stretchers. We give an example in the chapter on lacquer. Fig. 59 is an example of a china cabinet in marquetry work, with scrolled cornice, two glazed doors, two cupboards, bracketed base, and shaped under-framing. This piece has a value of about £30. The walnut period is rich in cabinets, which were used for the storage of papers and valuables--structures quite distinct from the writing-desks of the period. Some types will be found in the illustrations to the chapter on lacquered furniture. It must be borne in mind that the lacquering was often but an afterthought decoration. Scrape away the pseudo-Chinese decoration and we shall probably find the beautiful old walnut veneer. CHAPTER VI: SECRETAIRES, BUREAUX, AND WRITING-TABLES One would naturally suppose that the writing-desk is as old as the art of writing. So far as this country is concerned, the writing-desk of a sort was known in very early times. In the art library of the Victoria and Albert Museum are illuminated MSS. of about 1440-1450 showing scribes working at sloping desks of simple construction. Coming to Elizabethan and early Jacobean times, we find desks of small dimensions mounted on table-stands, but it is fairly certain that the ordinary tables of the house were more often used for writing purposes. The composite article--secretaire, escritoire, or bureau (interchangeable terms)--for writing and storage of writing materials is the product of the end of the seventeenth century. The connection between the writer or secretary (_secretus_, early Latin; _secretarius_, late Latin) and his desk, the secretaire, is obvious. Escritoire is but another form of the word; sometimes scrutoire or scruetoire in corrupt English. Bureau in the French was originally a russet cloth which covered the desk (from the Latin _burrus_, red), but came to mean the desk itself, and also the office in which the business was transacted. We look back upon the Elizabethan times as the Renaissance period of English literature, but even then the lettered were in the minority. By the end of the seventeenth century literature had spread to the middle classes, and we find the Press pouring out countless ponderous volumes on every imaginable subject. It is the age of the diarists, conspicuous amongst whom were Samuel Pepys and John Evelyn, whose gossipy daily journals bring us so intimately in touch with the political and social life of the times. It is the age of the pamphleteers and essayists whose effusions led up to the semi-satirical periodicals of the early eighteenth century--chief amongst them being the _Spectator_, started by Joseph Addison and Richard Steele in 1710. This vast outpouring of literature called for more commodious writing-desks, and the escritoire or bureau is the natural result. Like the other furniture of the period, the desks were solid and dignified. In the main they were severe in outline, but generally reflected the prevailing architecture of the period, which was derived from the Italian Renaissance. We find the desks often surmounted by finely moulded, boldly carved cornices and broken pediments. As the Dutch influence grew we find the lower portions, containing commodious long drawers, with rounded or _bombé_ fronts. The principal wood used was walnut, sometimes solid and sometimes veneered on oak and pine. We also find the same schemes in marquetry work, as in the chests of drawers, cabinets, and clock-cases showing Continental influences. Fig. 60 represents a William and Mary period bureau of simple outline surmounted by a panelled cupboard with bookshelves. The raised panels are of the late Jacobean type. It is built of solid walnut, oak and limewood. Behind the visible stationery cases are concealed a number of secret recesses; the two pillars flanking the small central cupboard are the fronts of two narrow upright sliding receptacles; on removing these, springs are released which secure inner secret drawers. This bureau, valued at sixteen guineas, is in the possession of Mr. J. H. Springett, of Rochester. Fig. 61, dating from early eighteenth century, is a bureau with four serpentine drawers below decorated with sprigs of flowers. It stands on depressed ball feet much like "China oranges." The knees set at an angle denote the Dutch influence, if it were not actually made in Holland. The piece, standing 43 in. high and 40 in. wide, is valued at eighteen guineas. Fig. 62, a walnut-wood small bureau with sloping lid and knee-hole recess, belongs to Queen Anne's reign. Beneath the lid are numerous useful small drawers and stationery cases. It bears the charming original brass drop handles in form of flattened flower-buds. This type was very popular all through the eighteenth century. In general outline it is of the pattern adopted by modern makers of small bureaux. Fig. 63 represents a charming type of Queen Anne period pedestal writing-table with knee-hole recess. It is a beautiful example of figured walnut veneered on oak; all the drawers are oak-lined. It was recently purchased in London for ten pounds. The knee-hole writing table--of which the present is an example--is a type of Queen Anne furniture of the greatest utility. It has many drawers as well as a cupboard underneath, and, for its size, may be said to represent the maximum of usefulness. Whilst seated at it you may be said to have the whole of its resources to your hand, which can scarcely be said of the bureau, as, when the writing-flap falls, it is difficult to get to the drawers beneath. The Queen Anne knee-hole table is becoming rarer, and the writers would certainly recommend its purchase should opportunity arise. Its pleasing lines and frequently beautiful arrangement of veneers make it a desirable addition to almost any room. Its dimensions are slender, usually measuring at the top about 30 by 21 ins. Fig. 64 represents a still simpler form of Queen Anne writing-table on solid walnut cabriole legs. The drawer fronts and top are veneered and inlaid with simple bands. This specimen has a value of about £5. The photograph was supplied by Mr. Springett, of Rochester. This form of table and the one previously illustrated are sometimes described as dressing-tables. They were probably used for both purposes, and they certainly lend themselves to either use. One of the most useful forms of the escritoire, or bureau, is of the type given in Figs. 65 and 66. It was bought recently in Mid-Somerset at a cost of thirty pounds. This type is made in two sections, sometimes with bracketed feet and sometimes with ball feet. The bureau under consideration is of an average size, being 5 ft. 3 in. high, 3 ft. 7 in. wide, and 19 in. deep. It is of rectangular form and the falling front, which serves as a writing-table, is supported by jointed steel rods. The opened front discloses an assemblage of drawers and pigeon-holes. The pigeon-holes at the top pull out in four sections, and behind are hidden numerous small drawers. Other secret drawers are so ingeniously contrived that they can only be discovered on pulling out the visible drawers and the dividing pieces on which the drawers run. The middle member of the cornice details forms the front of a shallow drawer running the whole length and depth of the bureau top. This bureau, which contains in all about thirty drawers and recesses, is built of red deal overlaid with thick veneers of walnut and fine knotted pollard oak of dark hue, with cross-banded edges of walnut in various shades. The visible drawers are of oak throughout, whilst the hidden ones are oak-bodied with red deal fronts to match the lining of the main structure--thus ingeniously disguising their presence. We have seen specimens of the same type entirely veneered with walnut and others inlaid with marquetry. These bureaux, dating from about 1690 well into Queen Anne's reign, have selling values of from £25 to £35. There must be an added sentimental pleasure in sitting at an escritoire which was possibly the treasured possession of a pamphleteer or diarist of the last years of the rebellion: an æsthetic joy in rummaging amongst the secret drawers which contained the journals in cypher of the wire-pullers of the new monarchy. CHAPTER VII: CLOCKS AND CLOCK-CASES A learned dissertation on clocks and the theory of time would be out of place in a volume of this description, and anything we have to say concerning the clocks of the "walnut period" will, of necessity, be of a popular nature. In England the chamber clocks, as distinguished from the costly and elaborate timepieces which adorned public buildings, appear to have been introduced about the year 1600.[6] The type is fairly familiar, and is known as the "lantern," "bird-cage," or "bedpost." Amongst dealers such clocks are usually styled "lantern" or "Cromwell." They usually stood on a wall-bracket, but sometimes were suspended from a nail. The clocks are built of brass surmounted by a bell, sometimes used for striking the hours and sometimes only for an alarm. The clocks were often housed in hooded oak cases, which protected them from the dust. [6] Strictly speaking, De Vyck's clock, invented about 1370, is the earliest known type of the domestic clock. Made for the wealthy few in days when the generality of people did not look upon clocks as necessities, they only exist to-day as rare museum specimens. These original cases are sometimes met with and are interesting in themselves, but the brass clocks are more ornamental when minus the cases. These clocks were made to run for thirty hours, the motive power being a heavy weight with a cord or chain. At first the vertical verge movement was used, but about 1658 the pendulum was introduced. The alternate bobbing in and out of the short pendulum through slits in either side of the clock accounts for the term "bob" pendulum. It has been noticed that the doors of these early clocks were often constructed from old sundial plates, the engraved figures of the sundial still showing on the insides. Doubtless the sundial makers, finding their trade falling off, used the materials in hand for the new-fangled clocks. The dial-plate of the early lantern clock is circular, with a band of metal (sometimes silvered) for the numerals, which at first were rather short. About 1640 the hour-hands were made wider and the numerals longer. After about 1660, we find the circular dial growing larger in relation to the body of the clock and protruding slightly on either side. During the latter years of Queen Anne's reign the dial-plates often protruded as much as two or three inches on either side. This did not improve the general appearance. Clocks of this pattern are known as the "sheep's head." With such slight variations the lantern clock was made from Elizabeth's to George III.'s reigns. The late ones, probably made by provincial clock-makers, have square dials with arched tops. The tops of the square cases of the lantern clocks are often surrounded by fretted galleries. As a rule the four fretted pieces are all of one pattern, but generally the front one only is engraved. A favourite form of fret is that in which the crossed dolphins appear; this pattern came in between 1660 and 1670. These lantern clocks with ornamental galleries are furnished with bells as wide as the clock-case suspended from two intersecting arched bands stretching from corner to corner. They are finished off by the addition of a turned pinnacle at each corner and a fifth one on the apex of the bell. Such clocks were apparently not intended to be covered by an outer wooden case. They would not be greatly harmed by dust, as they contain no delicate mechanism. These old-world lantern clocks were practically indestructible, and until a few years ago they could be found in plenty in the old farm-houses, and would fetch but a pound or two at auction. Of recent years, with the growth of the collecting habit, the dealers have found a ready market, and to-day a well-made lantern clock in original condition has an appreciable value of from five to ten pounds. They have but a single hand, like the old clock on Westminster Abbey, and consequently to tell the exact time of day is a matter of guess-work, as only the quarters are marked. To tell the time within a quarter of an hour would have been sufficient for the original owners, who had no trains to catch. The usual process to-day is to substitute a modern eight-day "fuzee" movement for the old thirty-hour "verge." Thus, by eliminating the chain and weight, the clock is adapted for a place on the mantelshelf. From a decorative point of view it is difficult to conceive anything more charming as a finish to a "walnut period" room. Fig. 67 is a "bird-cage" clock at the Victoria and Albert Museum. The dial, which is very nicely engraved with a flower design, is signed "Andrew Prime Londini Fecit." It has dolphin-pattern frets on three sides. The side frets are engraved to match the front one. This clock cost the museum £4 4s. in 1892. Andrew Prime was admitted to the Clockmakers' Company in 1647, and we shall be within the mark in assuming that the clock was made some time between that date and 1680. The dolphin decoration would, indeed, point to a date not earlier than 1660, and, furthermore, the length of the pendulum would suggest not earlier than 1675. In Fig. 68 we give an illustration of a small lantern clock by Anthony Marsh, of London, with its original hooded oak case. Fig. 69 is the same clock shown without the hood. This subject was kindly lent for illustration by Mr. Whittaker, of 46 Wilton Road, London, S.W., one of the comparatively few remaining clock-makers following the old-time traditions. A talk with Mr. Whittaker in his workshop takes us back to the old days of individual work at the lathe and bench, when each clock-maker was an artist with ideas of his own--a clock-maker in every sense of the word, making his own parts by hand instead of, as in these days, buying them by the gross from the factory. Anthony Marsh, the maker of the clock illustrated, was a member of the Clockmakers' Company in 1724, and worked "at ye dial opposite Bank of England." Marsh is a well-known name amongst the clock-making fraternity, no less than fifteen of the name following the trade between 1691 and 1842. Contemporary with the lantern clocks of the middle period (about 1660) we find the "bracket" or "pedestal" clocks enclosed by wooden cases, as distinguished from the brass-cased chamber clocks. The earlier patterns had flat tops with brass handles for carrying. Sometimes they were surmounted by perforated metal domes, resembling inverted baskets, to which the handles were fixed. As time went on the tops of the clock-cases were made more dome-shaped and the baskets and handles were elaborately chased. The cases, often of exquisite workmanship, were generally constructed of oak or ebony, and as timepieces these clocks, by skilled makers, were far superior to the generality of lantern clocks of the country-side. We associate these bracket-clocks with such names as Tompion, Graham, and Quare. Thomas Tompion, "the father of English watchmaking," was born at Northill, in Bedfordshire, in 1638, and died in London in 1713. He was the leading watchmaker at the Court of Charles II. George Graham, Tompion's favourite pupil, was born in Cumberland in 1673, and died in London in 1751. He was known as "Honest George Graham," and was probably the most accomplished British horologist of his own or any age. He was admitted a freeman of the Clockmakers' Company on completion of his apprenticeship in 1695, when he entered the service of Tompion. A lifelong friendship was only severed by the death of Tompion in 1713. Graham was elected a fellow of the Royal Society in 1720, and made a member of the Society's council in 1732. Even to-day Graham's "dead-beat escapement" is used in most pendulum clocks constructed for really accurate time-keeping. The site of Graham's shop in Fleet Street is now occupied by the offices of _The Sporting Life_. Tompion and Graham lie in one grave in the nave of Westminster Abbey, near the grave of David Livingstone. Daniel Quare, a contemporary maker of first rank, was born in 1648 and died in 1734. He was Clockmaker to William III. There is a fine example of a tall clock by Quare at Hampton Court Palace. Quare was the inventor of the repeating watch. Fig. 70 is a bracket clock in marquetry case made by John Martin, of London, in the seventeenth century. It is fitted with "rack striking work" invented by Edward Barlow (born 1636, died 1716). It will be noticed that the corners of the dial-plate are ornamented with the winged cherubs' heads which we find so often in the scheme of decoration of Sir Christopher Wren's churches. This clock, lent by Lieut.-Col. G. B. C. Lyons, may be seen at the Victoria and Albert Museum. The "bracket" clocks were the favourite household timepieces before the introduction of the long-cased or grandfather clocks, which came in some time between 1660 and 1670. The earliest long-cased clocks were furnished with the "bob" pendulum. The long or "royal" pendulum was introduced about 1676. The "bob" pendulum clock-cases were very narrow--just wide enough to comfortably accommodate the chain and weights, the primal idea of the case being merely to hide the chains and weights. The wide swing of the long pendulum necessitated more room in the case, and examples are found with added wings, showing that long pendulums have been added to the old movements. As with the lantern clocks, the early long clocks had thirty-hour movements; but the great makers, such as Tompion, Graham, and Quare, constructed clocks to run for eight days, a month, three months, and even a year. The introduction of the eight-day movement appears to have been coincident with the long pendulum. The cases of the grandfather clocks, in the main, harmonised with the other furniture of the period. The majority of them were built of oak, and those of country make were generally plain. Many were veneered with walnut, and others (more rarely) with ebony. With the advent of William III. came the taste for marquetry work, and the long-cased clocks received their due share of this form of ornamentation. The fronts were often pierced with an oval or circular hole filled with greenish bull's-eye glass, through which the swinging pendulum bob could be seen. About 1710 the taste for marquetry began to wane. The lacquering craze was at its height. Clock-cases were sent out to China to receive treatment at the hands of the Chinese lacquerers. It was a lengthy and expensive process: it probably would take a year or so with the slow travelling and slow drying of the various coats of lacquer. We show, in the chapter on lacquered furniture, how the growing demand was met by the English and Dutch lacquerers, who adopted less expensive and more expeditious, if less satisfactory, methods. It is in the nature of things that the old long-cased clocks were gently treated, and, consequently, genuine old specimens are still fairly plentiful. Old thirty-hour clocks in plain oak cases with painted dials may still be bought for four or five pounds apiece, whilst reliable eight-day clocks of fair make will fetch anything from five to ten pounds. We cannot expect to get a Tompion or Graham clock for anything like these prices. We had the opportunity five years ago of buying a magnificent Graham clock in a mahogany case of fine proportions for £20. It was the chance of a lifetime, and--the chance was missed. The three illustrations we give (Figs. 71, 72, and 73) represent fine examples of marquetry-decorated clocks at the Victoria and Albert Museum. The simple naturalesque style of marquetry, showing direct Dutch influence, is shown in Fig. 71. The carnations are exceedingly lifelike. The dial-plate of this clock, which is still in good going order, bears the inscription "Mansell Bennett at Charing Cross." It was probably made about 1690. Figs. 72 and 73 represent the more typically English style of delicate geometrical marquetry work, dating from about 1700. In both of these clocks the fretted bands of wood beneath the cornices, as well as the nature of the marquetry, would point to a later period than that of the Mansell Bennett clock. They belong to the Queen Anne period. Fig. 72 was made by Henry Poisson, who worked in London from 1695 to 1720. Fig. 73, unfortunately a clock-case only, has the original green bull's-eye glass in the door. A word of warning may be in place in regard to grandfather clocks with carved oak cases. Such things purporting to be "200 years old" are often advertised for sale, but are scarcely likely to be genuine. Speaking for ourselves, we have never seen one which bore the impress of genuineness. We must bear in mind that at the date of the introduction of the long case--say 1660-1670--the practice of carving furniture was rapidly on the wane, and by the end of the century had practically ceased. In this connection we quote that great authority on old clocks, Mr. F. J. Britten, who says: "Dark oak cases carved in high relief do not seem to have been the fashion of any particular period, but the result rather of occasional efforts by enthusiastic artists in wood, and then in most instances they appear to have been made to enclose existing clocks in substitution of inferior or worn-out coverings." In regard to the wonderful time-keeping qualities of old grandfather clocks, Mr. H. H. Cunyngham, in his useful little book, "Time and Clocks," expresses the opinion that the secret lies in the length of the pendulum. "This," he writes, "renders it possible to have but a small arc of oscillation, and therefore the motion is kept very nearly harmonious. For practical purposes nothing will even now beat these old clocks, of which one should be in every house. At present the tendency is to abolish them and substitute American clocks with very short pendulums, which never can keep good time. They are made of stamped metal and, when they get out of order, no one thinks of having them mended. They are thrown into the ashpit and a new one bought. In reality this is not economy." Mr. Cunyngham's remarks point the moral as to the economy of the long clock. But we should say, more strictly speaking, that German and Austrian wall and bracket clocks have to a large extent taken the place of the old English long-cased clocks. The shortness of the pendulum is not of necessity the weak point. The bracket clocks of the best English makers since the seventeenth century, with short pendulums, have been noted for their reliability as timekeepers. Efficiency from a badly constructed clock, be it American, German or English, can scarcely be expected. As we have already suggested, fine clocks by the great masters are now beyond the means of the modest collector; but serviceable and decorative grandfather clocks of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries are still obtainable at moderate prices. In many cases the dials show great taste in the art of engraving. We must bear in mind that the majority of these clocks--particularly those with the painted dials and plain oak cases--were the joint productions of the country clock-maker and the country joiner, and numbers of them have the very smallest pretentions to correctness of design. We find clock-cases which have the appearance of being "all plinth"; others are too long or too short or too wide in the body; others are overweighted in the head; and, again, others are too shallow and have an unhappy appearance of being flattened out against the wall. The old oak clock-case of perfect proportions is comparatively rare. The collector must studiously avoid any clock-case which is "obviously out of drawing," and in the main his eye will guide him in the selection. We are indebted to Mr. Stuart Parker, an experienced amateur collector of clocks, for a carefully thought-out opinion as to the ideal dimensions of a clock-case. Supposing a full-sized clock-case 7 ft. 6 in. high: the three main sections should measure as follows: The plinth: 2 ft. high and 1 ft. 10 in. wide. The body: 3 ft. high and 1 ft. 4½ in. wide. The head: 2 ft. 6 in. high and 1 ft. 10 in. wide. The width is taken at the middle of each of the three sections. The base of the plinth and the cornices of the head section should each measure 2 ft. 1 in. in width. CHAPTER VIII: LACQUERED FURNITURE English lacquered furniture "in the Oriental taste" belongs to the last quarter of the seventeenth and the first half of the eighteenth centuries. It is not surprising that when the rage for everything Chinese and Japanese--at the time indiscriminately called "Indian"--was prevalent, a school of Anglo-Oriental craftsmen should have sprung up. The taste was at its height about 1710, and continued for many years. The art of lacquering is said by the Japanese themselves to have been practised in Japan as early as the third century, when the Empress Jingo conquered Corea. In the ninth century the Kioto artists inlaid their lacquer with mother-of-pearl. In the fifteenth century landscape decorations were used, and by the end of the seventeenth century the art had reached its zenith. The material used in Japan is resin-lac, an exudation from the lacquer-tree (_Rhus vernicifera_). Without going into the details of the art, it is well to bear in mind that the brilliant surface of Japanese lacquer is not obtained by varnishing, but by the actual polishing of the lacquer itself. It is treated as a solid body, built up stage by stage and polished at every stage. For an exposition of the art one cannot do better than read Mr. Marcus B. Huish's chapter on lacquer in "Japan and Its Art." It was probably not till late Tudor times that any specimens of Japanese or Chinese lacquer found their way to this country, and then principally in the shape of small cups, bowls, and trays. "Indian Cabinets" are mentioned occasionally in inventories at the end of Elizabeth's reign, and in the household accounts of Charles II. there is an item of £100 for "two Jappan Cabinets." The English and Portuguese traded with Japan in Elizabeth's reign, but were expelled in 1637. The Dutch were more tenacious, and from the commencement of their trading operations with Japan, in 1600, managed, at intervals, to keep in touch with their new market. Even the Dutch were regarded unfavourably by the Japanese authorities, and traded under considerable disabilities. The majority of the lacquered ware which came to England filtered through Holland. It was brought to Europe round the Cape in the armed Dutch merchantmen which, at the same time, were bringing home the beautiful old Imari vases and dishes with _kinrande_ (brocade) decorations, which served later on as the models for the early Crown Derby "Old Japan" wares and the simple Kakiyemon specimens copied at Chelsea, Bow, and Dresden. One of these old ships, the _Middleburg_, trading from the China Seas, homeward bound and laden with bullion and curios, went down in Soldanha Bay, off the South African coast, on October 18, 1714. In August 1907 the divers salvaged some of the cargo. Needless to say, the "Jappan Cabinets" had long since perished, but the little Chinese blue-and-white cups and saucers came to the surface none the worse for nearly two hundred years' immersion in salt water. We are fortunate in still possessing at Hampton Court Palace a goodly number of Kakiyemon hexagonal covered jars and bottle-shaped vases, and tall cylindrical Chinese blue-and-white vases of the Khang Hi reign, placed there by William and Mary; but the scarcity of contemporary English furniture there is deplorable. The real beauty of old Oriental porcelain is never so apparent as when displayed on the old "Jappan Cabinets" or the sombre furniture of the Orange-Nassau dynasty. It was fashionable to decry the craze for things Chinese, and early eighteenth-century literature teems with gibes at the china maniacs of the day. We have referred in the first chapter of the volume to Macaulay's small opinion of the merits of old Chinese porcelain. The _Spectator_ for February 12, 1712, contains a letter from an imaginary Jack Anvil who had made a fortune, married a lady of quality, and grown into Sir John Enville. He tells how my Lady Mary Enville "next set herself to reform every room in my house, having glazed all my chimney-pieces with looking glasses, and planted every corner with such heaps of China, that I am obliged to move about my own house with the greatest caution and circumspection for fear of hurting some of our brittle furniture." Daniel Defoe, in his "Tour of Great Britain," says: "The Queen (Mary) brought in the custom or humour, as I may call it, of furnishing houses with China ware which increased to a strange degree afterwards, piling their China upon the tops of Cabinets, scrutores and every Chymney Piece to the top of the ceilings and even setting up shelves for their China ware where they wanted such places, till it became a grivance in the expence of it and even injurious to their Families and Estates." At Hampton Court to-day we can see the chimney-pieces in the corners of the smaller closets with the tiers of diminishing shelves reaching almost to the ceilings, and displayed thereon are the "flymy little bits of Blue" which Mr. Henley laughs at in his _Villanelle_. Perhaps some day our National Museum will overflow and refurnish Hampton Court Palace, which to-day in its furnishing, apart from the pictures and tapestries, is but a shadow of its old self. Although germane to the matter, the foregoing is somewhat in the nature of a digression from the subject of the "japanned" furniture, which took such a hold of the popular fancy that the making of such things was practised as a hobby by the amateurs of the period. "A Treatise on Japanning and Varnishing" was issued by John Stalker in 1688, and, just as "painting and the use of the backboard" were essentials in the curriculum of the early Victorian seminary, so were the young ladies of the reign of William III. taught the gentle art of "Japanning." In the Verney Memoirs we find Edmund Verney, son of Sir John Verney, the Squire of East Claydon, writing to his little daughter Molly (aged about eight years) in 1682 or 1683, at Mrs. Priest's school at Great Chelsey: "I find you have a desire to learn to Jappan, as you call it, and I approve of it, and so I shall of anything that is Good and Virtuous, Therefore learn in God's name all Good Things, and I will willingly be at the Charge so farr as I am able--tho' They come from Japan and from never so farr and Look of an Indian Hue and Odour, for I admire all accomplishments that will render you considerable and Lovely in the sight of God and Man.... To learn this art costs a Guiney entrance and some 40's more to buy materials to work upon." John Stalker's treatise is probably the earliest printed work in connection with furniture-making. We never hear of any individual name connected with the manufacture of furniture during the oak period, although there had been a guild of cofferers. The names of the makers of the superb Charles chairs are lost in oblivion, and we have to wait till the eighteenth century before any artist-craftsman or designer gives his name to a style. Stalker's treatise is contained in a folio volume of eighty-four pages of letterpress and twenty-four pages of copper-plate engravings. The title-page reads: "A Treatise of Japanning and Varnishing, Being a compleat discovery of those Arts. With the best way of making all sorts of Varnish for Japan, Woods, Prints, Plate or Pictures. The method of Guilding, Burnishing and Lackering with the art of Guilding, Separateing and Refining metals, and the most curios ways of painting on Glass or otherwise. Also rules for counterfeiting Tortoise Shell, and Marble and for staining or Dying Wood, Ivory, etc. Together with above an hundred distinct patterns of Japan Work, for Tables, Stands, Frames, Cabinets, Boxes &c. Curiously engraven on 24 large Copper Plates. By John Stalker September the 7th 1688. Licenced R. Midgley and entered according to order. Oxford Printed for and sold by the Author, living at the Golden Ball in St. James Market London in the year MDCLXXXVIII." This comprehensive work is "Dedicated to the RIGHT Honourable The Countess of Darby a lady no less eminent for her quality, Beauty and Vertue, then for her incomparable Skill and Experience in the Arts that those Experiments belong to, as well as in several others." In a page and a half of the preface the author takes us through the history of painting from early Grecian times, particularly pointing out that the art of portrait-painting alone can keep our memories green. He goes on to say: "Well then as painting has made an honourable provision for our bodies so Japanning has taught us a method, no way inferior to it, for the splendour and preservation of our Furniture and Houses. These Buildings, like our bodies, continually tending to ruin and dissolution are still in want of fresh supplies and reparations. On the one hand they are assaulted with unexpected mischances, on the other with the injuries of time and weather; but the art of Japanning has made them almost impregnable against both; no damp air, no mouldring worm, or corroding time, can possibly deface it; and, which is more wonderful, although its ingredients the Gums, which are in their own nature inflamable yet this most vigorously resists the fire, and is itself found to be incombustible. True, genuine Japan, like the Salamander, lives in the flames, and stands unalterable, when the wood which was imprison'd in it, is utterly consumed.... What can be more surprising then to have our chambers overlaid with varnish more glassy and reflecting than polisht Marble? No Amorous Nymph need entertain a Dialogue with her Glass, or Narcissus retire to a Fountain, to survey his charming countenance, when the house is one entire speculum. To this we subjoin the Golden Draught, with which Japan is so exquisitively adorned, than which nothing can be more beautiful, more rich or majestick." In John Stalker's opinion Europe, both Ancient and Modern, must in the adornments of cities give pride of place to Japan, for "surely this Province was Nature's Darling and the Favourite of the Gods, for Jupiter has vouchsaft it a visit as formally to Danae in a Golden shower." In an epistle to "the Reader and Practitioner" he severely censures inferior artificers who "without modesty or blush impose upon the gentry such Stuff and Trash, for Japan work, that whether it is a greater scandal to the name or artifice, I cannot determine. Might we advise such foolish pretenders, their time would be better imployed in drawing Whistles and Puppets for the Toyshops to please Children, than contriving ornaments for a room of State." He cautions the reader against the common error of mistaking Bantam work for real Japan. "This must be alledged for the Bantam work that it is very pretty," &c. &c.; but the Japan is "more grave and majestick ... the Japan artist works most of all in Gold and other metals, and Bantam for the generality in colours with a small sprinkling of Gold here and there, like the patches on a Ladie's countenance." He professes, in the "Cutts or Patterns," to have exactly imitated the towers, steeples, figures and rocks of Japan according to designs of such found on imported specimens. "Perhaps we have helped them a little in their proportions where they were lame or defective, and made them more pleasant, yet altogether as Antick. Had we industriously contrived the prospective, or shadowed them otherwise than they are: we should have wandered from the Design, which is only to imitate the true genuine Indian work, and perhaps in a great measure might puzzle and confound the unexperienced Practitioner." It may interest readers to know the market prices of some of the materials used in 1688. Seed-lac, 14s. to 18s. per lb.; gum sandrack, 1s. to 1s. 2d. per lb.; gum animæ, 3s. to 5s. per lb.; Venice turpentine, 1s. 6d. to 1s. 8d. per lb.; white rosin, 4d. to 6d. per lb.; shell-lac, 1s. 6d. to 2s. per lb.; gum arabic, 1s. per lb.; gum copall, 1s. to 1s. 6d. per lb.; gum elemni, 4d. to 5d. per oz.; benjamin or benzoine, 4d. to 8d. per oz.; dragon's blood, 8d. to 1s. per oz. "Brass dust," Stalker says, cannot be made in England, though it has often been tried. The best, we learn, comes from Germany! He goes on to describe various metal-dusts, such as "Silver dust," "Green Gold," "Dirty Gold," "Powder tinn," and "Copper." Of the makers of "speckles" of divers sorts--gold, silver, copper--"I shall only mention two, viz. a Goldbeater, at the hand and hammer in Long Acre; and another of the same trade over against Mercers Chappel in Cheapside." The twenty-four pages of "Cutts" include designs for "Powder Boxes," "Looking glass frames," "For Drauers for Cabbinets to be placed according to your fancy," and "For a Standish for Pen Inke and paper which may also serve for a comb box." The drawings include "An Embassy," "A Pagod Worshipp in ye Indies," and another sketch in which the central figure would appear to be a hybrid Red Indian before whom several devotees are grovelling. We have quoted John Stalker at some length as giving interesting sidelights on an industry occupying the attentions of a numerous class in his own day. For the actual carrying out of the methods employed we must refer the reader to the book itself--a book which is invaluable to any one who has a piece of Old English lac in want of repair. There is an old-world charm about the work of the Stalker and contemporary schools, but in point of real beauty it is as far removed from the Japanese lacquer as the "Oriental" porcelain of the eighteenth-century European factories is from its Chinese or Japanese prototype. The complaint has often been made of the lack of perspective in the Oriental decorations. This may be said, to use a hackneyed phrase, to be the defect of its qualities. We have by this time come to see things to a certain extent through Japanese eyes, and have learnt to love the defect. The artist of Old Japan--be he painter, potter, metal-worker, or lacquerer--was an artist to his finger-tips, and his work was full of a symbolism utterly incomprehensible to the Western mind. Those in Japan who know will tell you that a master lacquerer of the seventeenth century would spend many years on the decoration of a simple, small box. In the initial stage--the preparation of the background--it has been calculated that 530 hours are required in the aggregate for drying the various layers; but the young ladies at Mrs. Priest's school at Great Chelsey in the seventeenth century expect, by the aid of Stalker's instructions, to learn the art in twelve lessons! Honest John Stalker thinks he can improve upon his Japanese models, with the result that, whilst we may have a little less of the "defect," we have scarcely any of the "qualities." It is ever thus when West attempts to copy East. We may mention in passing that the French furniture-makers of the eighteenth century utilised, in the production of some of their finest commodes, drawer-fronts and panels of genuine Japanese lacquer which must have been manufactured specially for the French market, exhibiting, as they do, shapes quite foreign to anything in use in Japan. It is highly probable that these serpentine and bow-shaped drawer-fronts were sent out to Japan to receive their decoration. In the "Jones Bequest" at the Victoria and Albert Museum, we can see superb examples of such belonging to the period of Louis XV. It is said that Madame Pompadour expended 110,000 livres on Japanese lacquer. Marie Antoinette's collection in the Louvre is considerable; but it is quite certain that the finest examples of the art never left Japan. Mr. Huish, to whose book we have above referred, gives some interesting statistics pointing to the scarcity of fine old lacquer in this country during the early days of trade with the East. In one year during the eighteenth century eleven ships sailed, and, whilst carrying 16,580 pieces of porcelain, they brought only twelve pieces of lac. To-day Old English lacquered furniture is much sought after, and prices are advancing rapidly. The coloured varieties include red, blue, green, violet, and occasionally buff. The red in particular is highly prized. Black lac, which was made in great quantities in every shape of furniture, is still comparatively plentiful. An early eighteenth-century grandfather's clock, which might fetch anything from five to ten pounds if the case were of plain oak, would have a selling value of from ten to twenty pounds if lacquered. Evidence points to the fact that, in the majority of cases, the lacquer was an afterthought. The furniture of the day was turned out, in the ordinary course of trade, quite innocent of lacquer, and afterwards treated by professional japanners--sometimes maltreated by amateurs. Not long since, in our own day, there was a similar craze for covering furniture with enamel paints. Fig. 74 is an interesting china cabinet in black lacquer of William and Mary period, 7 ft. 5 in. high and 5 ft. wide, priced at £30. A first-class modern mahogany or walnut-wood cabinet of the size could scarcely be made for the money, whilst the old lac, apart from its intrinsic charm, has an additional sentimental value as marking a phase in the history of furniture--a phase in decoration. In this cabinet we have also a development in form; it is palpably the product of a period when the rage for collecting porcelain was prevalent, and in the same connection it is no less useful to-day. The modern designer scarcely invents anything more appropriate. It is interesting to note this cabinet as an example of the afterthought in decoration. The owners--Messrs. Story and Triggs Ltd., of Queen Victoria Street, London--have discovered that the lacquer is superimposed on walnut veneer! It tells its own tale. Fig. 75 is an early example of red lacquer, a cabinet with boldly arched cornice; the repetition of the arch at either end gives a fine architectural finish to the top. The upper part encloses shelves, and there are four drawers in the base. The decoration consists of various Chinese views of ladies in a garden, a temple with a man and children, trees, rocks and lakes. It was probably made about 1690; 75 in. high, 31 in. wide, and 23 in. deep. Fig. 76 is somewhat later--about 1710--with typical Queen Anne period cabriole legs and claw-and-ball feet. The doors, which enclose five drawers, are decorated with figures, buildings, birds and flowers, and are furnished with finely chased ormolu lock-plates and hinges. It is of black lacquer with red and gold reliefs, measures 67 in. by 39 in. by 19 in, and is valued at about £45. Fig. 77 is still later--about 1730--a cabinet surmounted on plain cabriole legs. On the front is a view of a lake with Oriental figures, cocks, and vegetation. Inside the doors are studies of the lotus-flower in vases. The hinges and lock-plates are fine examples of English metal-work in the Chinese taste. This piece is 56 in. high and 36 in. wide, and is valued at £35. For comparison we give an example (Fig. 78) of a piece of lacquered furniture made in China about 1740. This dressing-table, built of camphor-wood, and still exhaling a delicate fragrance, was evidently made for England and copied, as to shape, from an English table. It is inlaid with mother-of-pearl designs of landscape, birds, and flowers; and the interior is fitted with a mirror, writing-desk, and numerous boxes. During the English "japanning" period, every imaginable shape of furniture received this Oriental treatment. Besides the various forms of cabinet, we find lacquered mirror-frames, dressing-tables, corner cupboards, hanging cupboards, chests and chests of drawers, chairs, work-boxes, writing-desks, coffee-tables, card-tables, pole-screens, trays, barometer-cases, and even bellows-cases. We give an example of a simple mirror in red lacquered frame with arched top (Fig. 79). It measures 39 in. by 19 in. This and the three preceding examples are the property of Mr. F. W. Phillips, of The Manor House, Hitchin. Fig. 80 is a barometer in lacquered case of about 1700. Fig. 81, at the Victoria and Albert Museum, is of Dutch make of the early eighteenth century--a dressing-glass suspended between two uprights, which are supported on a cabinet with sloping front. Inside the cabinet is a compartment with a hinged door, flanked on either side by an open compartment, one long and two short drawers. The lower part has seventeen compartments fitted with boxes, brushes, and various toilet requisites. The lacquer is raised and gilt on a red ground, showing groups of figures in Chinese costumes, buildings, landscapes and floral designs with birds. Fig. 82 is a somewhat similar glass but of English make. The woods composing it are poplar, pine and oak, and it is decorated with blue and gold lacquer, the effect of which is the reverse of pleasing. We have said that the European lacquer will not bear close comparison with the Old Japanese. The methods of the Chinese were simpler, and the English "japanner" (it is, of course, a misleading term) was more successful in his attempts to copy the Chinese cabinets. His best examples, if indeed they fell far short in technique, did in method to a large-extent approximate to the work of the Celestial. English lacquer as a mere investment is worth buying at reasonable prices, and in choosing pieces the collector will do well to look, as much as possible, for the real Oriental feeling. [Illustration: FIG. 1. MANTELPIECE IN HAMPTON COURT PALACE] [Illustration: FIG. 2. BEDSTEADS AT HAMPTON COURT PALACE] [Illustration: FIG. 3. ROOM IN CLIFFORD'S INN (PERIOD WILLIAM AND MARY)] [Illustration: FIG. 4. CARVING IN PINEWOOD ATTRIBUTED TO GRINLING GIBBON] [Illustration: FIG. 5. TURNED BALUSTERS (LATE SEVENTEENTH AND EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES)] [Illustration: FIG. 6. DOORWAY (LATE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY)] [Illustration: FIG. 7. OVERMANTEL (LATE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY)] [Illustration: FIG. 8. DOORWAY (EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY)] [Illustration: FIG. 9. MANTELPIECE (EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY)] [Illustration: FIG. 10. MIRROR FRAME ATTRIBUTED TO GRINLING GIBBON] [Illustration: FIG. 11. SIMPLE WALL MIRROR (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD) (The property of Mr. F. W. Phillips, The Manor House, Hitchin)] [Illustration: FIG. 12. SIMPLE TOILET MIRROR (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD) (The property of Mr. F. W. Phillips, The Manor House, Hitchin)] [Illustration: FIG. 13. WALL MIRROR (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 14. WALL MIRROR (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 15. "GESSO" MIRROR (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 16. "GESSO" MIRROR (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 17. FINE "GESSO" MIRROR (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 18. MIRROR FROM "FLASK" TAVERN PIMLICO, DATE ABOUT 1700] [Illustration: FIG. 19. MARQUETRY MIRROR (EARLY EIGHTEENTH CENTURY)] [Illustration: FIG. 20. TOILET MIRROR WITH DRAWERS (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 21. TOILET MIRROR ON STAND (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 22. STOOL (PERIOD OF WILLIAM AND MARY)] [Illustration: FIG. 23. FINE STOOL (PERIOD QUEEN ANNE)] [Illustration: FIG. 24 FIG. 25 FIG. 26 FINE CHAIRS (PERIOD WILLIAM AND MARY)] [Illustration: FIG. 27. FINE CHAIR (PERIOD WILLIAM AND MARY)] [Illustration: FIG. 28. SIMPLE CHAIR (PERIOD WILLIAM AND MARY) (The property of F. W. Phillips, The Manor House, Hitchin, Herts)] [Illustration: FIG. 29 FIG. 30 FIG. 31 SIMPLE CHAIRS (PERIOD QUEEN ANNE) (The property of Mr. J. H. Springett, High Street, Rochester)] [Illustration: FIG. 32 SIMPLE CHAIR WITH CABRIOLE LEGS (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 33 FIG. 34 FIG. 35 SIMPLE CHAIRS WITH CABRIOLE LEGS (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD) (The property of Mr. J. H. Springett, High Street, Rochester)] [Illustration: FIG. 36. QUEEN ANNE CHAIR WITH INLAID SPLAT] [Illustration: FIG. 37. LATE QUEEN ANNE CHAIR] [Illustration: FIG. 38. FINE ARM CHAIR (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 39. ARM CHAIR (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD) COVERED WITH "PETIT POINT" NEEDLEWORK] [Illustration: FIG. 40 FINE CHAIR (LATE QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 41 FINE CHAIR (LATE QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 42 CORNER OR ROUNDABOUT CHAIR (LATE QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 43. SETTEE (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 44. FINE SETTEE (LATE QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 45. FINE SETTEE (LATE QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 46 TABLE (PERIOD WILLIAM AND MARY) (The property of Mr. F. W. Phillips, The Manor House, Hitchin)] [Illustration: FIG. 47 TABLE (PERIOD WILLIAM AND MARY)] [Illustration: FIG. 48. TABLE (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 49. TABLE (LATE QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 50. CHEST OF DRAWERS (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 51. CHEST OF DRAWERS (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 52 CHEST OF DRAWERS ON TWISTED LEGS (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 53. DWARF CHEST OF DRAWERS ON FEET (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 54 FINE CHEST ON STAND (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 55 SIMPLE CHEST ON STAND (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 56. TALLBOY (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 57. TALLBOY (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 58. WARDROBE IN MARQUETRY (The property of Mr. F. W. Phillips, The Manor House, Hitchin, Herts)] [Illustration: FIG. 59. CHINA CABINET IN MARQUETRY] [Illustration: FIG. 60. SIMPLE BUREAU (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 61. BUREAU (WILLIAM AND MARY PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 62. BUREAU (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 63. WRITING TABLE (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 64 WRITING OR DRESSING TABLE (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 65. FIG. 66 ESCRITOIRE (QUEEN ANNE PERIOD)] [Illustration: FIG. 67. "BIRDCAGE" CLOCK (SECOND HALF SEVENTEENTH CENTURY)] [Illustration: FIG. 68 LANTERN CLOCK IN HOODED CASE (FIRST HALF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY)] [Illustration: FIG. 69 LANTERN CLOCK WITHOUT CASE (FIRST HALF EIGHTEENTH CENTURY)] [Illustration: FIG. 70. BRACKET CLOCK (SEVENTEENTH CENTURY)] [Illustration: FIG. 73 FIG. 72 FIG. 71 MARQUETRY CLOCKS AND CLOCK CASES] [Illustration: FIG. 74. LACQUERED CHINA CABINET] [Illustration: FIG. 75. LACQUERED CABINET WITH DRAWERS] [Illustration: FIG. 76. LACQUERED CABINET] [Illustration: FIG. 77. LACQUERED CABINET] [Illustration: FIG. 78. LACQUERED DRESSING-TABLE] [Illustration: FIG. 79 LACQUERED MIRROR] [Illustration: FIG. 80 BAROMETER IN LACQUERED CASE] [Illustration: FIG. 81 LACQUERED TOILET MIRROR] [Illustration: FIG. 82 LACQUERED TOILET MIRROR] INDEX Architectural inspiration less marked, 39 Ashton on Queen Anne period, 13 Balusters, examples of, 31 Baths at Hampton Court, 5 in early times, 5 Bedroom, Queen Anne, 43-46 Bedsteads at Court, 7 modern Queen Anne, 43-44 Buckingham's, Duke of, glass works, 37 Bureaux, Queen Anne period, 79 William and Mary period, 78 with secret drawers, 80-81 Cabriole legs, 53 Chairs (_see_ Chapter IV.) claw-and-ball decoration, 54 double, 58 drunkards', 57 fine, 57 ladder-backed, 55 period of James II., 47 Queen Anne, 51-57 shaped, 56 William and Mary, 50-51 with cabriole legs, 53-54 with rigid lines, 8, 50 Chests of drawers (_see_ Chapter V.) history of, 65 the tallboy, 70-71 veneered, 67-68 with cabriole legs, 69 with marquetry, 66 with turned legs, 67-69 China cabinets first introduced, 13 varieties of, 74-75 Chinese porcelain, Defoe on, 98 Evelyn on, 4 first introduced into England, 3 Chinese porcelain, Macaulay on, 4 popularity of, 13 _Spectator_ on, 59, 98 Chintzes, 59-60 Coffee-houses, 11, 12 Claw and ball, 54 Clocks (_see_ Chapter VII.) "Bob" pendulum, 83 bracket or pedestal, 86-89 Cromwell or lantern, 82-86 Cunyngham on, 92-93 Daniel Quare, 88 George Graham, 87 grandfather, 89-94 in lacquer, 90 in marquetry, 88, 91 "sheep's head," 83 Thomas Tompion, 87 Clouston on Queen Anne mirrors, 37 Cunyngham on clocks, 92-93 Defoe, Daniel, on Chinese porcelain, 98 Doorways, carved, 32 Dutch influence, 1, 20, 47, 96 Dwelling-room, Clifford's Inn, 7 Escallop-shell decoration, 54 Evelyn on Sir Christopher Wren, 21 Evelyn's Dairy, 4, 36 "Gesso" work, 41 Gibbon, Grinling, and Charles II., 26-27 examples at Hampton Court, 6 his life and work, 25-30 mirror frame, 38 Graham, George (clock-maker), 87 Hampton Court Palace (_see_ Chapter I.), 97, 98-99 Homes of the poor, 11, 47 Houses of the wealthy, 10 Huguenot silk-workers, 57 Huish, M. B., on "Japan and its Art," 96, 107 Inlay, 14 Japanning or varnishing by John Stalker, 99-105 Lacquer (_see_ Chapter VIII.) cabinets, 109 China cabinet, 108 clock, 108 dressing-glasses, 111 dressing-table, 110 French, 106-107 history of, 95-97 Japanese, 106 mirror, 110 Law, Ernest, on Queen Anne period, 2, 3, 8 Macaulay, on Verrio, 9 views on collecting porcelain, 4 Macquoid, Percy, "Age of Walnut," 50 on marquetry, 67 Mahogany introduced, 8, 72 Marquetry defined, 16 Macquoid on, 67 Pollen on, 66 used on clock, 88 mirror frames, 42 tables, 61 wardrobes, 73 Marsh, Anthony (clock-maker), 86 Martin, John (clock-maker), 88 McCarthy, Justin, on Queen Anne period, 11 Mirrors (_see_ Chapter III.) by Grinling Gibbon, 38 Clouston on, 37 early examples, 35 "Gesso" work, 41 in Hampton Court, 36-37 in Holyrood Palace, 36 Mirrors, in marquetry, 42 in Van Eyck's picture in National Gallery, 35 influence of Wren, 40 mentioned in Evelyn's Diary, 36 mentioned in "Paradise Lost," 34 notes on purchasing, 40 simple, 38-39 toilet, 42 Needlework, "petit point," 57 popular with women, 59 Queen Mary's, 3 Pollen, J. H., on marquetry, 66 on Queen Anne period, 10 Quare, Daniel (clock-maker), 88 Queen Anne period, a gambling age, 62 Anne's influence, 10 Ashton quoted, 12 bedroom, 43-46 chairs and tables, &c. (_see_ Chapter IV.) definition, 8-9 houses of middle class, 60 Justin McCarthy on, 11 old city houses, 31 ordinary types of mirrors, 38, 39 simple furniture, 9, 10 Thackeray on, 12 writing-table, 79 Queen Mary, her needlework, 3 Settee, 58 Stalker, John, on japanning and varnishing, 99-105 Stools, William and Mary, 42 Queen Anne, 43 Tables (_see_ Chapter IV.) card, 62-63 gate leg, 64 Tables, inverted bowl decoration, 60 William and Mary, 61 with cabriole legs, 63 with claw-and-ball feet, 63 with escallop-shell decoration, 63 with flaps, 63 with marquetry work, 61 with tied stretchers, 61 Tallboys, 70-71 Tea-drinking, 12 Thackeray on Queen Anne period, 12 Toilet sets, 45 Tompion, Thomas (clock-maker), 87 Van Eyck, picture by, 48 Veneering, 14-15 Verney Memoirs, 99 Verrio, his work at Hampton Court, 9 Wardrobe (or hanging cupboard) in early days, 72 in marquetry, 73 of Dutch origin, 72 William and Mary at Hampton Court, 1 costume, 48-49 Woodcraft, ancient, 16 Wren, Sir Christopher, 2-3 builds St. Paul's Cathedral, 22 Evelyn on, 21 his life and work, 20-25 Writing-desks, history of, 76-78 Queen Anne knee-hole, 79-80 Transcriber's Note: The italics markup surrounding currency has been removed. The hyphenation of some words has been standardised. 
49559	----	MODERN DESIGN IN JEWELLERY AND FANS EDITED BY CHARLES HOLME OFFICES OF 'THE STUDIO,' LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK MCMII PRELIMINARY NOTE JOHN RUSKIN has laid down some broad and simple rules which are especially applicable to DESIGN IN JEWELLERY AND FANS. He says, "Never encourage the manufacture of any article not absolutely necessary, in the production of which invention has no share." And, again, "Never encourage imitation, or copying of any kind, except for the sake of preserving records of great works." It is in the thorough belief of the soundness or these principles that the Editor has selected a number of representative modern examples of design by British and Continental workers, which, from their beauty and freshness of treatment, bear testimony to the great advance that has recently been made in the right understanding and rendering of the jeweller's and fan-maker's arts. If articles of good taste are to be produced, there must be a demand for them. So long as a public is to be found that will purchase trinketry in imitation of wheel-barrows, cocks and hens, flower-pots, and moons and stars, so long will the advance in art be retarded. The Editor has pleasure in acknowledging the courtesy of the owners of copyrights for their kindness in sanctioning the reproduction of important work; and his best thanks are due to all the artist-contributors, and especially to those who have made designs expressly for this publication. Table of Literary Contents MODERN FRENCH JEWELLERY AND FANS By Gabriel Mourey MODERN BRITISH JEWELLERY AND FANS By Aymer Vallance MODERN AUSTRIAN JEWELLERY By W. Fred MODERN GERMAN JEWELLERY By Chr. Ferdinand Morawe MODERN BELGIAN JEWELLERY AND FANS By F. Khnopff MODERN DANISH JEWELLERY By Georg Brochner LIST OF CRAFTSMEN AND DESIGNERS FRENCH SECTION Aubert, Félix plate 35 Bécker, E. plate 15 Bing, Marcel plates 25, 26 Boucheron plates 12, 13, 14 Cauvin plate 12 Colonna plates 25, 26 Desbois, Jules " 16, 17, 18 Dufrène " 28, 33 Feure, Georges de " 1, 35 Follot, Paul " 19, 28 Fouquet, G. plates 7, 8, 9, 11 Grasset, E. plate 10 Hirtz, L. plates 12, 13, 14 "L'Art Nouveau" plates 25, 26 Lalique, René plates 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 Lambert, Th. " 32, 33, 34 "La Maison Moderne" plates 19, 27, 28, 29, 30, 33, 35 Mangeant, E. plates 23, 24 Monvel, de, Ch. Boutet " 21, 22 Mucha plate 7 Orazzi plates 27, 28, 29, 30 Richard, Paul plates 14, 15 Rivaud, Charles plate 31 Templier, P. plates 32, 33, 34 Verger, Ferdinand (_Editeur_) plates 14, 15 Vever plates 13, 19, 20 BRITISH SECTION Alabaster, Annie plate 48 Alabaster, M. " 34 Allen, Kate plates 19, 29, 31, 33, 38 Angus, Christine plate 12 Arscott, A. E. " 29 Ashbee, C. R. plates 17, 18, 20, 21 Baker, Oliver " 35, 36 Barrie, B. J. " 19, 31, 34 Brangwyn, Frank plate 8 Brown, E. May " 29 Cook, Thomas A. plates 15, 24 Conder, Frank plates 2, 5, 6, 7 Dawson, Nelson plate 14 Dawson, Edith " 14 Dick, Reginald T. plate 1 Evers-Swindell, Nora plates 34, 50, 52 Fell, H. Granville plate 11 Fisher, Kate plates 25, 37 Gaskin, Arthur J. " 44, 45 Guild of Handicraft plates 17, 18, 20, 21 Hammett, Lydia C. plate 9 Hart, Dorothy " 34 Hodgkinson, Ethel M. plates 39, 50, 52 Hodgkinson, Winifred plates 29, 30, 39, 52 King, Jessie M. plate 16 Larcombe, Ethel plates 10, 34 McBean, Isabel " 29, 47 Mackintosh, C. R. plate 43 Mackintosh, Margaret Macdonald plate 43 McLeish, Annie plates 28, 29, 32, 34, 39, 50 McLeish, Minnie plates 34, 47 McNair, Frances " 21, 22, 42 McNair, J. H. " 22, 23 Morris, Talwin " 40, 41, 42 Naylor, Myra " 3, 4 Pickett, Edith " 25, 49 Rankin, Arabella " 51 Robinson, F. S. " 46 Simpson, Edgar " 26, 27, 36 Syrett, Nellie " 13, 15 Talbot, J. M. plate 51 Veazey, David plates 19, 34, 39, 48, 50 AUSTRIAN SECTION Fischmeister, Herr plates 2, 3 Gringold, Emil plate 7 Hauptmann, Franz " 4 Hofstetter, Josef plates 1, 5 Holzinger, E. plate 8 Mesmer, F. plates 1, 8 Prutscher, Otto plates 1, 5, 6 Roset, Herr " 2, 3 Schönthoner, V. plate 1 Schwartz, Prof. " 5 Unger, Elsa plates 7, 8 Wagner, Anna plate 8 GERMAN SECTION Fahrner, Theodor plates 3, 8 Gosen, Theodor von plate 5 Hirzel, H. R. C. " 4 Koch, Robert " 1 Loewenthal, D. and M. plates 2, 3, 8 Möhring, Bruno plate 6 Morawe, C. Ferdinand plate 7 Olbrich, Joseph M. plates 2, 3, 8 "Vereingte Werkstaetten, Munich," plate 5 Werner, F. H. " 6 Werner, Louis " 4 BELGIAN SECTION Cassiers, H. plate 1 Dubois, Paul " 9 Van Strydonck, L. plate 2 Wolfers, Ph. plates 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 DANISH SECTION Bindesböll, Th. plate 8 Bollin, Moyens plates 6, 7, 8 Magnussen, Erick plates 2, 5, 6 Slott-Möller, H. plates 1, 2, 3, 4 MODERN FRENCH JEWELLERY & FANS. BY GABRIEL MOUREY. [Illustration] French superiority in the art of jewellery seems to be incontestable to-day. No unbiased observer will deny the fact that with us there is more richness, more variety, more originality than can be found elsewhere; and the jewellery section in the Esplanade des Invalides at the Exhibition of 1900 showed to the whole world the progress made in this special branch of applied art by our craftsmen and our artists; showed, too, the verve, the imagination, the fancifulness, which are the special property of the French race in all that relates to articles of luxury, to those things which are essentially "useless," if so we may term a woman's adornments; if so we may regard the beauty of precious stones, of enamels skilfully and subtly formed--of all that, in a word, which, taken from Nature's infinite treasure-house, serves to constitute that adorably vain, that exquisitely superfluous thing--the jewel. Ruskin once remarked, in his strange, penetrating way, that the loveliest things are those which are the least useful--lilies and peacocks' feathers, for instance. Furthermore, to depreciate the part played by jewellery in relation to decorative art would be equivalent to minimising the rôle of womankind in civilisation. Then, again, as regards decoration or adornment, has not the highest mission devolved on woman? Has she not had to assume the most active part in it all? The modern jewellery vogue has, I am convinced, done more in France to propagate new ideas in the way of decorative art than all the æsthetic theories ever evolved, however sound. One might say much, might make many reflections on this renascence of the jeweller's art, as manifested at the present moment in Paris. This revival reveals itself rich and abundant--perhaps too rich and abundant; but what of the future? What fruit will it bear when the glamour of that which it has already borne has passed away? Is there no danger of seeing good intentions miscarry--high gifts falling into excesses injurious to the prosperity of the movement? Is not the new fashion--if it be merely a fashion--being adopted with too much enthusiasm, followed with too much ardour, to last? Is there no fear of a reaction? Here are several questions to which we cannot reply with any certainty. Yet, what matter? Among the works produced during the past five years or so--that is, since the full expansion of the movement--there are many which, by their originality, their technical perfection, deserve to remain. And remain they certainly will, to bear witness to the audacious fancy, the creative faculty of our artists, and as a sort of passionate homage laid by the men of to-day at the feet of the Eternal Feminine. * * * * * The name of M. René Lalique arises instinctively as soon as one begins to discuss the modern jewel. He is the renovator, or, preferably, the creator, of the art as we know it nowadays, and one can easily understand the enthusiasm and the admiration aroused by his work. M. Lalique is almost as celebrated as M. Edmond Rostand; and he at least deserves his celebrity, for he is a real, a very great, artist. And such he must indeed be to be able to make one forget his imitators, many of whose productions are as detestable as copies can be. At times even--most unjustly, I admit--one almost comes to hate the art of M. Lalique himself, so persistently is it badly imitated. One has been constrained before now to hate Raphael, on seeing a Cabanel or a Bouguereau! But enough of that! The jewels by M. Lalique now reproduced are rather different, both in conception and in treatment, from his usual manner. Here he appears as a more direct observer of Nature, more devoted to simplicity and breadth. His new combs, with pansy and sycamore-leaf _motifs_, in horn and silver--especially the exquisite one with sycamore seeds in horn, silex, black enamel, and obsidian, with golden insects here and there--show him still anxious to extend the field of his experiments, never tired of seeking fresh subjects and testing new materials. Instead of remaining stationary and falling asleep at his post, he is spurred by a desire for conquest, and shows himself ever fertile in imagination, of infinite fancy, constantly advancing, with undiminished freedom and originality. At the Universal Exhibition the works executed by M. Vever, in collaboration with M. Eugène Grasset, obtained the success that was their due. But the most important piece of work achieved by these two artists was not finished at that time. I refer to the sumptuous and heroic pendant of Hercules, which we are fortunate enough to be able to reproduce here from the original water-colour by M. Grasset. It is truly an admirable work, one in which all the imaginative and technical qualities possessed by the illustrator of the "Quatre Fils Aymon" are to be seen in profusion. What richness, what distinction in the details; what perfection of balance, both in design and in colouring! As for the execution by the firm of Vever, they deserve as much credit for it as if they had produced an original work. This is a jewel worthy to find a permanent place in one of the great European galleries, to rank side by side with the wonderful productions of the past. M. Georges Fouquet is a most daring _fantaisiste_, and his creations impress one by qualities altogether different from those of the MM. Vever. He might perhaps be said to belong to the Lalique school, not that he imitates him, but by reason of his imaginative gifts. He is generally complicated, somewhat Byzantine, and thoroughly modern in any case. Some of his jewels would, I think, gain by being less rich; nevertheless, they are very interesting, and they deserve all the success they have won. The chief objection that can be urged against them is their lack of spontaneity. M. Georges Fouquet certainly holds a foremost place in the new movement. Already his production is considerable. Altogether an artist of rare gifts and splendid audacity. I have always had a liking for the jewellery of M. Colonna--for some of it, at any rate, that which is most simple, most original, and most wearable. His works have this great charm in my eyes, that they are neither show-case jewels nor mere _bijoux de parade_, things intended solely for display. As a rule, they are quiet and practical. In most cases they have no "subject," being simply happy combinations of lines and curves and reliefs, the _imprévu_ of which has a particular charm. M. Marcel Bing, all of whose productions, like those of M. Colonna, are the monopoly of the "Art Nouveau Bing," has done some delightful things. One can see that he is still somewhat timid and hesitating, but his taste is sure, and he has an imagination which, if not specially abundant, is at least delicate and fine. He has a sense of colour too, and his pretty fancies are carried out with evident delight. "La Maison Moderne," so actively directed by M. Meier-Graefe, has produced a large number of jewels. Ordinarily the designs are supplied by MM. Maurice Dufrène, Paul Follot, and Orazzi. Of course, they are not of uniform merit, but this in no way diminishes the interest attaching to their efforts. They are marred to some extent, it must be admitted, by certain extravagances, but even that is better than a relapse into the old _formulæ_, or the profitless reproduction of the bad models which were the rage some thirty years since. Moreover, "La Maison Moderne"--all praise to it!--has brought within the reach of the public quantities of jewellery which, without being masterpieces of conception or execution, are yet thoroughly good work based on excellent principles of novelty and freshness. They are what may be termed "popular" jewels. The works designed by M. Théodore Lambert, and executed by M. Paul Templier, are of altogether different character. In these days, when excessive complications in jewel-work are so general and so much esteemed, these rings, necklaces and _plaques_, with their symmetrical linear designs in monochrome or reddish or greenish metal, relieved at times by pearls only, and with their formal _ajourements_, will doubtless seem to many people too simple or too commonplace. It will be justly urged against them that they are not sufficiently symbolic, that they take no account of the human form. No nymph disports herself amid the fall of the leaves in a lake of enamel bordered by water-lilies and iris blooms; no serpent nor devil-fish winds about in spasmodic contortions: yet these are charming works of art, beautifully and harmoniously designed, and with lines balanced to perfection. They are, in fact, jewels meant to be worn, _bijoux de ville_, which, while attracting no special notice, form nevertheless most exquisite objects of female adornment. M. René Foy is a strange artist, rather restless, never altogether satisfied with himself, and haunted by a perpetual desire for something novel. Is he completely himself, that which he wishes or strives to be? This is the question those who have closely watched his career are asking themselves. For my part, I know some delightful things of his, extraordinarily delicate and graceful; but I also remember some of his work in which his exaggerations are such that one despairs of understanding his meaning. Unless I greatly mistake him, he wants the jewel to express more than it is possible for the jewel to express, and therefore is continually restless in his attempts to achieve the unachievable. He loses himself in a maze of "refinements" which, in my opinion, are outside the limits of the art he practises. He has created lovely things, things so novel as to be almost too novel, but I do not think he has said his final word yet. He is a young man who may have many surprises in store for us. The jewels of M. Jules Desbois are works of pure sculpture. His vision, at once broad and delicate, takes the form of beautiful female forms in dreamy or voluptuous attitude, sleeping amid the masses of their abundant hair, against a background of gold, or shell, or whatever the material may be. Any womanly gesture suffices; and, in truth, what more is needed to make a real work of art in the form of a brooch or a button? No conventional flowers, no complicated interlacements, nothing "decorative" in the bad sense of the word; yet his work is powerfully and delicately modern. M. Desbois' jewels are perfect pieces of sculpture. Victor Prouvé, the painter, has been influenced in a similar way, but, not being a regular sculptor, he is more complicated without being any more original on that account. There is more "composition" in his jewels than in those of M. Desbois, more real, more visible, intention. His waistbelts, his brooches, &c., are admirably suited to the purpose for which they are intended, their modelling being full, supple, and keen. The jewels, executed with scrupulous care and irreproachable _technique_ by M. Rivaud, are real works of art. M. Bécker and M. Paul Richard, who are both working almost exclusively for M. Ferdinand Verger ("F. V." is the trademark of the firm), incline to that type of jewellery which might be termed "sculptured." They are very conscientious artists, but in my opinion, at any rate, the originality there may be within them has not yet made itself fully apparent. M. Louis Bonny's jewels deserve special attention. Like M. Vever, M. Bonny shows a predilection for precious stones, which he has the art of using with rare originality. At the last _salon_ of the Société des Artistes Français he exhibited a series of jewels which attracted much attention, among them--in addition to a beautiful necklace of wild grape in enamel, diamonds, and emerald, in addition to various floral pendants and neck ornaments in enamel and diamonds--a curious diadem, representing cocks in gold and enamel fighting for possession of a superb topaz. This was a real _tour de force_ in the way of execution. Other beautiful things of his I know, particularly his _plaque de cou_ of geraniums, with the leaves in diamonds, the flowers in rubies, the stems and buds in dark green enamel, the whole being at once rich and sober in colouring and most harmoniously and flexibly composed. M. Joé Descomps is a sound artist, whose efforts, laudable as they may be, nevertheless lack boldness. He has imagination enough, but it looks as though he feared to give it rein. With a little less timidity M. Descomps would doubtless produce something more piquant and more fresh. I greatly like the work of M. Charles Rivaud. It displays a love of simplicity too often wanting in the productions of many of his fellow artists. If his jewels recall--without imitating--the ornamental jewellery of Egypt or Greece, those of primitive civilisations or those sorts popular in Russia, I can see no harm in the fact. Better for him and for us that he should turn to these inexhaustible springs than become a mere imitator of other imitators of successful jewellers. His rings and his necklaces, in which he is always careful to leave to the materials employed all the natural charm they possess, are productions which will please the artist rather than the _bourgeois_ and the "snob." They are discreet and honest, never loud or eccentric. No less interesting, in another way, are the jewels by M. Mangeant and M. Jacquin. It is urged against them that they are crude, incomplete and imperfect in execution. The truth is, these two artists--whom I bring into conjunction, although their work is dissimilar, save from their common regard for freedom in the use of materials--have, above all, a love for natural forms. Out of a flower, a piece of seaweed, or any humble _motif_, vegetable or animal, they construct jewels in gold or oxidised silver, discreetly relieved by stones, which, if of no great intrinsic value, are nevertheless highly decorative. M. Mangeant, with mother-of-pearl and hammered _repoussé_ silver, has created charming jewels, in which all the constructive parts have been intentionally left visible. Professional jewellers shrug their shoulders at the sight of these jewels, which bear so plainly the stamp of the hand that fashioned them. Yet, in their _naïve_ rudeness, they appeal to me far more forcibly than does the polychromatic tin-ware of so many highly-esteemed producers. M. Charles Boutet de Monvel, although gifted with a richer and subtler imagination, may be included in this little group. In certain of his jewels there is, as it were, a reminiscence of Byzantine art--in this owl-comb, for instance, which I regard as one of his best works. His swan hair-pin, his seaweed buttons in gold and silver on greenish enamel with a pearl in the centre, his _plaque de cou_ in translucid enamel, are also strong and captivating. His sunshade handles too, and his scarf-pins, are full of delicate fancy. It is impossible, within the space at my disposal, to describe in detail the productions of many other workers well worthy of extended mention. Let it suffice, therefore, to cite the names of M. Henri Nocq, that fresh and bold artist; of M. and Mme. Pierre Selmersheim; M. Feuillâtre; Mme. Annie Noufflard; MM. Haas, Cherrier, Chalon, Falguières, Dabault, G. Laffitte, Houillon, Archambault, L. H. Ruffe, Quénard, Blanchot, Muret, Desrosiers, Le Couteux, Marioton, Lucien Hirtz, and Nau--artists who work, some on their own account, some for the big jewellery firms. Of the firms in question one must in justice name in the first place those of Boucheron and Falize frères, not forgetting L. Aucoc, Vever, Sandoz, Lucien Gaillard, Fouquet, Després, Teterger, Chaumet, Templier, Ferdinand Verger, J. Duval, Coulon, and Piel frères. Such, briefly, is the modern art-jewellery movement in France. Its intensity, as one sees, is so great as to be almost alarming. Whither is it tending? Some of its excesses are dangerous; what will be the result? M. Emile Molinier, in a recent article on "Objects of Art in the Salons of 1901," expresses certain fears which I share. He dreads a reaction due to the eccentricities of certain artists, to their love of the outrageous and the _bizarre_, to their lack of proportion, both in form and in choice of material. "It would really be a pity," he says, "if so promising a revival of the true artistic jewellery should come to a bad end. Happily we have not reached that point yet, but it is a result which may soon be reached if artists continue to foist these weird things on the public. A fashion in jewellery should last longer than a fashion in dresses or in hats; but it should not be forgotten that it must rely in the long run on its appropriateness and adaptability." My sincere hope is that these fears may prove to be groundless. GABRIEL MOUREY. [Illustration] (_French_) DESIGN FOR A FAN BY GEORGES DE FEURE. [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 1 ] [Illustration: _Comb in Horn, Silex, Black Enamel and Obsidian. Insects in Gold_ RENÉ LALIQUE PLATE 2] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Pendant in Gold, Ivory, Enamel and Pearl_ _B. Pendant in Gold, Enamel and Pearl_ RENÉ LALIQUE PLATE 3 ] [Illustration: _Watch in Ivory, Gold and Enamel_ _Clasp, Leaves of Plane Tree, in Silver_ RENÉ LALIQUE PLATE 4 ] [Illustration: _Comb, Leaves of Sycamore Horn and Silver_ RENÉ LALIQUE PLATE 5 ] [Illustration: _Combs in Horn and Silver_ RENÉ LALIQUE PLATE 6 ] [Illustration: _Parure de Corsage, in Gold and Enamels_ MUCHA and G. FOUQUET PLATE 7 ] [Illustration: _Girdle with Pendants in Gold, Pearls and Brilliants_ G. FOUQUET PLATE 8 ] [Illustration: _Necklet with Pendant, Gold and Enamel_ G. FOUQUET PLATE 9 ] PENDANT AND NECKLET BY E. GRASSET. [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 10 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Pendant in Gold, Enamel and Stones_ _B. Pendant in Gold, Enamel and Pearls_ G. FOUQUET PLATE 11 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Lorgnon in Chased Gold and Chrysoprase_ } Designed by CAUVIN } } Executed by BOUCHERON _B. Lorgnon in Chased Gold_ } Designed by L. HIRTZ } PLATE 12 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C { _A. Devant de Corsage, Brilliants upon green { with Emeralds "en cabochon"_ Executed by BOUCHERON { { _B. Necklet in Chased Gold, with a large Topaz_ Both designed by L. HIRTZ _C. Pendant in Gold, Diamonds, Pearl, Opal and Enamel_ VEVER PLATE 13 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Waist-band Buckle in Silver_ Designed by PAUL RICHARD. Executed by F. V. ÉDITEUR _B. Brooches in Chased Gold_ Designed by L. HIRTZ. Executed by BOUCHERON PLATE 14 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C FIG. D _Chatelaines and Watches_ F. V. ÉDITEUR and PAUL RICHARD _B_ and _C_ designed by E. BÉCKER PLATE 15 ] [Illustration: _Brooches in Chased Gold_ JULES DESBOIS PLATE 16 ] [Illustration: _Buttons and Brooches in Chased Gold_ JULES DESBOIS PLATE 17 ] [Illustration: _Brooch in Chased Gold and two Waist-band Buckles in Silver_ JULES DESBOIS PLATE 18 ] (=French=) _Design for a Comb in Enamel Shell, and incrusted Gold_ From an original drawing by HENRI VEVER _Comb in Enamel, Shell, and Precious Stones_ Designed by PAUL FOLLOT Executed by LA MAISON MODERNE _Comb in Enamel, Gold, Shell, and Precious Stones_ Designed by PAUL FOLLOT Executed by LA MAISON MODERNE [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 19 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Comb in Gold and Horn. Leaves in green translucent Enamel, set with Siberian Amethysts_ _B. Horn Fan Handle, incrusted with Gold, Brilliants, and Enamel_ VEVER PLATE 20 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Hat Pins in Gold, Enamel, and Pearl_ _B. Umbrella Handle, Silver Gilt and Stones_ CH. BOUTET DE MONVEL PLATE 21 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Comb in Horn and Gold with Turquoises_ _B. Comb in Ivory, Silver and Mother-o'-pearl_ CH. BOUTET DE MONVEL PLATE 22 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Hammered and Chased Silver Brooches_ _B. Comb in Silver and Mother-o'-pearl_ E. MANGEANT PLATE 23 ] [Illustration: _Clasps in Hammered and Chased Silver_ E. MANGEANT PLATE 24 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. C FIG. B { _A. Pendant in Gold and Enamel_ { _B. Hanging Mirror in Gold and Enamel_ Executed by L'ART NOUVEAU { Designed by MARCEL BING { _C. Pendant in Gold and Pearls_ Designed by COLONNA PLATE 25 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C { _A. Brooch in Gold, Enamel and Ivory_ Executed by { _B. Pendant in Gold and Enamel_ L'ART NOUVEAU { MARCEL BING { _C. Belt Clasp in Gold_ { COLONNA PLATE 26 ] [Illustration: _Combs in various materials_ Designed by ORAZZI Executed by LA MAISON MODERNE PLATE 27 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. C FIG. D FIG. B { _A. & B. Brooches in Gold with_ { _Precious Stones_ { Designed by M. DUFRÊNE Executed by { _C. Comb_ LA MAISON MODERNE { Designed by ORAZZI { D. _Gold Pendant with Enamels { and Precious Stones_ { Designed by P. FOLLOT PLATE 28 ] [Illustration: _Combs_ Designed by ORAZZI Executed by LA MAISON MODERNE PLATE 29 ] [Illustration: _Hat and Hair Pins_ Designed by ORAZZI Executed by LA MAISON MODERNE PLATE 30 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Plaque de Corsage in Gold, Enamel and Precious Stones_ _B. Rings_ CHARLES RIVAUD PLATE 31 ] [Illustration: _Silver Waist-band Buckles_ Designed by TH. LAMBERT Executed by P. TEMPLIER PLATE 32 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C FIG. E FIG. C FIG. D _A, B, C & D. Silver Brooches_ Designed by TH. LAMBERT Executed by P. TEMPLIER _E. Chatelaine and Watch_ Designed by M. DUFRÈNE Executed by LA MAISON MODERNE PLATE 33 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C _A & B. Silver Brooches_ _C. Silver Necklet with Pendant_ Designed by TH. LAMBERT Executed by P. TEMPLIER PLATE 34 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Painted Fan_ GEORGES DE FEURE _B. Lace Fan_ Designed by FÉLIX AUBERT Executed by LA MAISON MODERNE PLATE 35 ] (_British_) DESIGN FOR A STENCILLED FAN BY REGINALD T. DICK. [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 1 ] MODERN BRITISH JEWELLERY & FANS. BY AYMER VALLANCE. [Illustration] None but the most superficial observers can have failed to note the immense advance that has been attained in British jewellery; though how or at what precise point of time the improvement originated may not be determined with too rash precision. It began not more than fifteen or twenty, nor perhaps later than ten years ago. Somewhere between these two limits is about the approximate date. At any rate, it is certain that, thirty years since, it was quite impossible to procure jewellery in the design and composition of which there entered any artistic taste whatever. Such simply did not exist. Whereas now there is a widespread, though unhappily not a universal, movement amongst us for the design and production of jewellery on true æsthetic principles. The movement may even be described as in a measure concerted, that is, in so far as it presents certain main characteristics common to the work of the various individual artists or schools of artists who are concerned with this branch of decoration. And, firstly, must be noted the development of the goldsmith's and silversmith's craft as an important artistic factor entirely distinct and apart from the subsidiary task of stone-setting. The recognition of the art of the metal-worker, as worthy and capable in itself of providing beautiful ornaments, without their serving any such ulterior purpose as sporting trophies or eccentric badges of buffoonery; and also without the adventitious attraction of costly gems, is a decided point gained. And, secondly, where stones do happen to be employed, there is an increasing practice of introducing them for the sake of their decorative properties, not, as formerly, for the commercial value they represent in pounds sterling. Mere glitter and the vulgar display of affluence are gradually yielding before the higher considerations of beauty of form and colour. Nor is it any longer deemed improper, should the æsthetic effect of the juxtaposition demand, to set diamonds or other valuable gems side by side with common and inexpensive stones. In these colour combinations, since flash and transparence are become of minor esteem, jewels, instead of being cut in facets, are not infrequently polished in their natural shape, _en cabochon_, or "tallow-cut," as it is called, their irregularities of formation imparting not a little to the barbaric richness of the ornaments in which they occur. Moreover, out of the taste for colour effects in jewellery has arisen an enthusiastic study of the special peculiarities of many gems not hitherto much sought after; a study resulting in the adoption of certain gems not very precious, yet sufficiently rare, and such that, like Mexican or fire opals, for example, possess peculiar qualities of chameleon-like iridescence or depth or lustre that render them admirably appropriate for quaint and picturesque settings. Among other stones thus employed may be mentioned lapis lazuli; malachite and its corresponding blue mineral, azurite; Connemara marble, or serpentine; amazonite, a light green spar; chrysoprase; and lumachella, Hungarian both in name and origin. The last named consists of fossilised shells imbedded in a black matrix, the shells of wonderful iridescence, or flecked with streaks of vivid colour, and possessing, in short, such ornamental qualities as amply compensate the difficulty of obtaining it and of working when obtained. Another material included in the same category is river pearl, or mother-of-pearl, in the form technically known as pearl "blisters," that is, pearls undeveloped in the shell and misshapen, which nevertheless are peculiarly useful for decorative jewellery. One advantage of these substances is that, on account of their comparative cheapness, one does not scruple to diminish and divide and fashion them as may best serve the purpose in hand; whereas in the case of the more precious stones, like diamonds, whose cost, _ceteris paribus_, increases proportionately with their size and weight, one shrinks from impairing their commercial value, and consequently is apt to preserve them whole, very often at the sacrifice of decorative effect. The craftsman is unhampered in the use of those jewels only which he knows he is at liberty to treat as adjuncts subordinated to his art. There has, moreover, taken place an extended revival of enamelling, an art which offers abundant opportunities for the exercise of the decorator's skill and fancy. It is worthy of remark that our artists' imagination in jewellery seldom degenerates into any great extravagance. For the most part the designs, even among beginners and students in art schools, a number of whom have taken up this branch of ornament, are strictly restrained within bounds, in accord, may be, with our national character of reserve. Few drawings comparatively have been executed, but there is no reason why a large proportion should not be translated from paper into actual existence; for they are in general fairly simple, straightforward, and practicable, or such that, with but slight modifications, could be rendered quite practicable for working purposes. It is often stated that art can only flourish through the patronage of the wealthy, to whose comfort and luxury it ministers. If this be true at all, then surely of all things in the world the jeweller's craft should be a case in point, whereas it is conspicuously the reverse. The artistic jewellery produced in this country has not, from its very nature, appealed chiefly to the richest classes of the community, but rather to those of quite moderate means. And while, on the one hand, it is encouraging to observe how much of good work has been and is being done towards raising the standard of jewellery design amongst us, it is nevertheless disappointing to have to record how little support it has found in influential and official quarters. One notable exception is the commission Mr. Alfred Gilbert received to design a mayoral collar, chain and badge for the Corporation of Preston. The sketch model for the same was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1888, and, for bold originality of outline, as well as for the crisp curling treatment of the parts executed in sheet metal, must have been, as was remarked at the time, a revelation to the ordinary trade jeweller. Among pioneers of the artistic jewellery movement, Mr. C. R. Ashbee holds an honourable place. He stood almost alone at the beginning, when he first made known the jewellery designed by him, and produced under his personal direction by the Guild and School of Handicraft in the East End. It was immediately apparent that here was no tentative nor half-hearted caprice, but that a genuine and earnest phase of an ancient craft had been re-established. Every design was carefully thought out, and the work executed with not less careful and consistent technique. In fact, its high merits were far in advance of anything else in contemporary jewellery or goldsmith's work. The patterns were based on conventionalised forms of nature, favourite among them being the carnation, the rose, and the heartsease, or on abstract forms invited by the requirements and conditions of the material--the ductility and lustre of the metal itself. Most of the ornaments were of silver, the surface of which was not worked up to a brilliantly shining burnish, in the prevalent fashion of the day, but dull polished in such wise as to give the charming richness and tone of old silverwork. Mr. Ashbee also adopted the use of jewels, not lavishly nor ostentatiously, but just wherever a note of colour would convey the most telling effect, the stones in themselves, _e.g._ amethysts, amber, and rough pearl, being of no particular value, save purely from the point of view of decoration. Novel and revolutionary as were, at its first appearance, the principles underlying Mr. Ashbee's jewellery work--viz. that the value of a personal ornament consists not in the commercial cost of the materials so much as in the artistic quality of its design and treatment--they became the standard which no artist thenceforward could wisely afford to ignore, and such furthermore that have even in certain quarters become appropriated by the trade in recent times. Mr. Ashbee himself is an enthusiastic student of Benvenuto Cellini, whose treatises he translated, edited, and printed in 1898. But fortunately the influence of Italian style is by no means paramount in Mr. Ashbee's own designs for jewellery, unless indeed the fine and dainty grace which particularly characterises some of his later work is to be attributed to this source. One or two of the necklaces here reproduced are examples of this lighter manner of Mr. Ashbee's, as the two handsome peacock pattern brooches are of his more solid and substantial jewellery; while, again, the necklace of green malachite, turquoise, and silver, with pendants of grape bunches alternating with vine-leaf and tendril ornaments, occupies an intermediate position midway between the two former classes of his work. One is always glad to welcome an artist who is courageous and firm enough to grapple with the practical difficulties that surround him, and who sets about to reform, where need requires, the native industry of his own neighbourhood. Such is the aim of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Gaskin. Their home is in a locality where a large amount of very deplorable jewellery is produced; so deplorable that they determined, if possible, to provide an antidote to the prevailing degradation. And the reason why the vast mass of the trade jewellery manufactured in Birmingham is bad is that in style and outline it is utterly devoid of artistic inspiration, while at the same time it is perfect as concerns mere technique. The pity of it is that such excellent workmanship should be wasted on such contemptible design. Mr. Gaskin, therefore, saw no alternative but to start afresh, reversing the accepted order of things. His plan is to give the foremost care to the design, and only secondly to regard technique; and so, by keeping design well in advance, executive skill following after, to raise the former to its proper level. Absence of mathematical uniformity is no doubt held to be a blemish in the opinion of the tradesman, but it gives a living and human interest to the work, and a decorative quality which machine-made articles cannot claim to possess. Mr. Gaskin came to the conclusion that it was of little benefit for a draughtsman to make drawings on paper to be carried out by someone else; studio and workshop must be one, designer identical with craftsman. It is not very many years since Mr. Gaskin, ably seconded by his wife, started with humble, nay, almost rudimentary apparatus, to make jewellery with his own hands; but the result has proved how much taste and steadfast endurance can accomplish. Their designs are so numerous and so varied--rarely is any single one repeated, except to order--that it is hardly possible to find any description to apply to all. But it may be noted that, whereas a large number have been characterised by a light and graceful treatment of twisted wire, almost like filigree, the two pendants here illustrated seem to indicate rather a new departure on the part of Mr. Gaskin, with their plates of chased metal, and pendants attached by rings, a method not in any sense copied from, yet in some sort recalling the beautiful fashion with which connoisseurs are familiar in Norwegian and Swedish peasant jewellery. Next in order may be mentioned Mr. Fred Robinson. This artist is actuated by similar ideals as Mr. and Mrs. Gaskin, as is evidenced more especially by his necklace with bent wire pendants of open-work arabesque. Another artist of distinction is Miss Annie McLeish, of Liverpool, whose jewellery design, particularly in the way in which the several parts are connected together--an ornamental feature being made out of the structural requirement of strengthening and tying together the portions pierced _à jour_--is curiously suggestive of the perforated iron guards of Japanese sword-handles. At the same time, it is not to be implied that Miss McLeish is at all an imitator of Japanese work. Another point to be noticed is her decorative use of the human figure, in which regard two more lady designers, Miss Larcombe and Miss Winifred Hodgkinson, also excel. The latter, to whose work black-and-white reproduction scarcely does adequate justice, is stronger in her figure work than in that which comes easiest to most people--to wit, the treatment of floral forms that constitute the subordinate portions of the design. The number of ladies who have achieved success in jewellery design proves this, indeed, to be a craft to which a woman's light and dainty manipulation is peculiarly adapted. Besides those already mentioned one has only to instance Miss Ethel Hodgkinson and Miss Swindell, who both contribute graceful designs for hat-pins and other small articles; Miss Dorothy Hart, whose charming _pentacol_ is executed by herself; Miss Kate Fisher and Miss McBean, in whose designs for clasps, etc., enamel is a prominent item; Miss Alabaster, whose beautiful gold brooch, adorned with blue and green enamel, is based on a _motif_ of trees with intertwining stems and roots; and Miss Rankin, whose four silver hat-pins of handsome design, representing a peacock, thistles, and Celtic beasts respectively, are executed by Mr. Talbot, of Edinburgh, himself a designer as well as artificer. Miss Edith Pickert, in her designs for various articles of jewellery, usually employs a fairly thick outline of metal to enclose a coloured enamel surface. How diversely one and the same _motif_ may be rendered in different hands is illustrated by a comparison of Miss Pickert's belt design and Mr. Nelson Dawson's belt-clasps, both in enamel and both founded on the flower "love in a mist." Mr. Nelson Dawson, well known as an eminent metal-worker and active member of the Society of Arts and Crafts, is also Director of the Artificers' Guild. Another belt-clasp from his design represents the delicate form of the harebell plant. Mr. Edgar Simpson, of Nottingham, is an artist of great gifts, as his drawings and, still more, the specimens of his actual handiwork here illustrated fully testify. Many excellent designs lose vigour and character in the process of execution from the original sketch; but Mr. Simpson, on the contrary, manages to give his designs additional charm by the exquisite finish with which he works them out in metal. Particularly happy is this artist's rendering of dolphins and other marine creatures; as in the circular pendant where the swirling motion of water is conveyed by elegant curving lines of silver, with a pearl, to represent an air-bubble, issuing from the fish's mouth. Mr. David Veazey's work, including, among other things, a hair comb decorated with enamel, has a variegated opal-tinted quality of colour; while Miss Barrie obtains admirable effects in translucent enamel without backing, after the Russian method. Her design for a belt-clasp with interlaced ornament and stones is excellent. Other belt-clasps and buckles are from designs by Mr. Oliver Baker. Some of this strap-work ornament looks as though it might have been produced by casting from a model; but, as a matter of fact, it is entirely wrought and folded by hand. Mr. and Mrs. McNair's jewellery, as well as that of Mr. and Mrs. Mackintosh, has that quaint mannerism which one instinctively associates with the Glasgow school of decorators, as also, in a still more marked degree, that of Mr. Talwyn Morris, whose characteristic book-covers are well known. For jewellery, he frequently elects to work in aluminium. His design is strikingly original in effect, though on analysis it is found to consist of very simple units, such as various-sized rectangles overlaid, their boundary lines interpenetrating; with the occasional apparition of a peacock's eye-feather or the bird's neck and head in the midst. In these cases a completer sense of organic unity might be obtained if, instead of a detached limb, the whole bird were represented, or some other logical coherence established between the incidents of the composition. Mr. Thomas Cook, of West Ham, inserts small slabs of mosaic, after the Italian mode, only he frankly adopts a purely conventional treatment, wisely refraining from any approach to pictorial realism. It is a hopeful sign that in many of the technical art schools throughout the land students are taking up jewellery design, and not only that, but in some cases carrying out the actual work themselves. It is largely due to the same fostering influence that the beautiful art of enamelling, frequently referred to above, has been developed amongst us, notably at the Central School of Arts and Crafts, where classes for this department were inaugurated under the able guidance of Mr. Alexander Fisher. But if the improvement in jewellery is to be general and permanent, in order to set it on a secure basis the motive power must come from within. Much good, therefore, may be expected to result from the official sanction afforded by the Goldsmiths' Company to the jewellery work of their Technical Institute, to which a number of very creditable designs owe their existence. Among others may be singled out some decorations for watch-backs, a branch of the craft as useful as it is neglected; those who have taken it up, like Miss Kate Allen, for instance, being unfortunately but rare exceptions. There is no reason, however, why everyone who carries a watch should not enjoy in it the constant companionship of a thing of beauty. To sum up, then, if our modern art jewellery cannot boast any conspicuously brilliant features, at any rate it is of a high average standard. And though, as is the case of all good work, it must needs share many qualities in common with the noble treasures of the past, it yet does not assimilate to any historic style. In fine, it is original; and, withal, there may be traced in most of it a certain family likeness. It seems almost as if some new-born idea were really beginning to dominate it with the impress of a distinct nationality, destined to develop some day into a tradition which future generations may justly feel it a privilege to follow. The case of fans is the exact opposite to that of jewellery. In the former department, it cannot be said that there exists any sort of consensus of ideals, nor any paramount type of ornament. And, notwithstanding the existence amongst us of some few fan-painters of very considerable repute, their operations remain as yet quite personal and individualistic. They have no regular following; have founded no school of decoration. It is, therefore, a subject still open to determine by what principles the ornament of fans should be guided. Firstly should be taken into account the peculiar shape of the surface available for decoration; and, secondly, the fact that this surface is not a flat plane, but such that must in practice infallibly be broken into so many set divisions or folds. The latter circumstance is the real crux of the question, many decorations, otherwise beautiful enough in the flat, being utterly ruined in effect as soon as they undergo the ordeal of mounting. Thus it may perhaps seem an ingenious plan to subdivide the space horizontally, but it must be remembered that every horizontal line will lose its value when converted, as it must be, into a series of irregular zigzags. The folding is an essential factor, without taking which into account no fan decoration can be satisfactory. In setting out the design, then, it should always be borne in mind that no sharply defined straight lines are admissible, except those that radiate from the centre; and that, of curves, concentric ones are the best, such, that is, as are parallel with the arc shape. If the ornament is floral, it may take the form either of a powdering, or of an all-over pattern of moderately small scrolls. Those on a large scale would run counter to the folds in too emphatic a manner to be agreeable. In figure subjects, of course, care should be taken so to dispose them that no important feature like an eye or a nose be split asunder by the lines of the folds. The larger and more pronounced the pattern, the more necessary it is to observe these conditions. On the other hand, where the colouring is of fairly even tone, and without strongly contrasted masses, or where the design is on a small scale, the surface can the more safely be spaced out by lines or medallions or cartouches, or other devices that may commend themselves. As regards material, there is no question that a silk ground, prepared with rice-size and stretched, until the decoration is completed, on a stretcher, offers as suitable a texture as one could desire for delicate and softly-blended harmonies in water-colour; as the fans of Mr. Conder, a prolific fan-painter, whose work appeals to a large circle of admirers, amply testify. The detail is all Mr. Conder's own, though the influence of French XVIIIth century ornament is unmistakable. Miss Syrett again is a clever artist working on somewhat similar lines. No one, however, who knew her figure compositions in her Slade School days, productions full of promise, if marred by the attenuated model with prim, smooth-drawn hair, the type of Carlos Schwabe's illustrations to "Le Rêve" and "l'Évangile," could have foreseen that Miss Syrett would develop in the direction of her present work. The reduced black-and-white illustrations convey no idea of the tender beauty of the colouring, nor of the exquisite pen-work in brown with which such features as the faces, hair, and hands are executed. Another gifted artist is Mr. Brangwyn, who now makes his _début_ as a fan decorator, with a finished painting on silk, and also a crayon study for the same purpose. His design shows how much individuality an artist may impart even to work consciously founded on that of a past style. Here, for example, in the drawing of Cupids shooting their darts at a pair of lovers, may be recognised the very figures of the Trianon period, but happily without any of their doll-like affectation and effeminacy. Those who recollect Miss Jessie King's drawing in the last winter's special number of THE STUDIO--her _Pelleas and Mélisande_--in which the lank forms of Schwabe or Torop were combined with a wealth of accessory ornament of the artist's own, will scarcely recognise her hand in the present fan. She seems to be able to pass with marvellous facility from one fully matured style to another. The elaborate, nay, luxuriant finish of the whole, to say nothing of separate details such as the butterflies, the festoons, knots, etc., vividly recall the work of the late Aubrey Beardsley. It is no derogation of Miss King's remarkable powers to assert that, but for the existence of Mr. Beardsley, this drawing of hers would certainly not have been what it is. One could wish that, for the sake of support to the leaf, more room had been allowed to the sticks. But, apart from this defect, the dainty care with which every minute detail is consistently carried out merits little else than praise. Miss Christine Angus contributes two designs--one, in a pictorial style, for a paper fan, not nearly so decorative as the other, of nude boys and sweet peas, for painting on silk. Miss Ethel Larcombe's gauze fans are attractive compositions, which bear tokens of a diligent appreciation of Granville Fell. Another kind of fan ornamentation is exemplified by the stencil work of Mr. Reginald Dick and Mr. Thomas Cook. It is true these decorations are in a degree, but only in a slight degree, mechanical. The one unchangeable element is the white tie-lines of the pattern. For the rest, no little skill is required of the artist in devising and cutting his stencil. The number of plates is limited, but the mode adopted of colouring by hand admits of such variations that no two specimens from the identical stencil plates would ever be alike. Mr. Dick's fan is provided with enamelled sticks in keeping with the other parts of the decoration. Mr. Cook's design is the less characteristic of this particular method. Indeed, though finished off at either end with a certain plausibility, the pattern is an obvious repeat, and such that might very well be the section of a circular dish border. Less ambitious are the designs for different sorts of lacework by Miss Hammett and Miss Naylor. Each of these patterns, while keeping strictly within the limits of the special technique proposed, shows yet much freshness and fertility of resource. In the one case the design is floral, in the other the theme is relieved by the introduction of bird forms into the composition. To conclude, the scope for decoration that fans afford is so great, and the possible methods so manifold, that the wonder is there are not many more artists employed in this industry. It is one well worthy of their attention; and it is to be hoped that no long time may elapse before the joint efforts of designers may, in this, as already in other branches of arts and crafts, result in something like a native style of ornamentation being evolved. AYMER VALLANCE. (_British_) A FAN PAINTED ON SILK BY FRANK CONDER. (_In the possession of Thomas Greg, Esq._) [Illustration] [Illustration PLATE 2 ] [Illustration: _Design for a Lace Fan_ MYRA NAYLOR PLATE 3 ] [Illustration: _Design for a Lace Fan_ MYRA NAYLOR PLATE 4 ] (_British_) A FAN PAINTED ON SILK BY FRANK CONDER. (_In the possession of Dalhousie Young, Esq._) [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 5 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. "The Medallion" Fan_ _B. "A Travesty" Fan_ FRANK CONDER (_By permission of Messrs. Carfax & Co._) PLATE 6 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. "The Empire" Fan_ _B. "L'Anglaise" Fan_ FRANK CONDER (_By permission of Messrs. Carfax & Co._) PLATE 7 ] (_British_) A PAINTED SILK FAN BY FRANK BRANGWYN. [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 8] [Illustration: _Designs for Lace Fans_ LYDIA C. HAMMETT PLATE 9] [Illustration: _Designs for Painted Gauze Fans_ ETHEL LARCOMBE PLATE 10] (_British_) "THE COURT OF LOVE" DESIGN FOR A PAINTED FAN BY H. GRANVILLE FELL. [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 11] [Illustration: _Designs for Painted Silk Fans_ CHRISTINE ANGUS PLATE 12] [Illustration: _Painted Silk Fans_ NELLIE SYRETT PLATE 13] (_British_) BUCKLE IN WROUGHT SILVER AND ENAMEL BY NELSON AND EDITH DAWSON. [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 14] [Illustration: FIG. A _A. Painted Silk Fan_ THOMAS A. COOK FIG. B _B. Painted Silk Fan_ NELLIE SYRETT PLATE 15] [Illustration: _Design for a Fan_ JESSIE M. KING PLATE 16] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Necklet in Gold and Silver, with Amethysts and Enamels_ _B. Necklet in Silver and Gold, green Malachite and Turquoise_ Designed by C. R. ASHBEE Executed by THE GUILD OF HANDICRAFT PLATE 17 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Necklet in Gold, Pearls and Enamels_ _B. Silver Muff-Chain with Pearl Blisters_ Designed by C. R. ASHBEE Executed by THE GUILD OF HANDICRAFT PLATE 18 ] (_British_) _Comb in Mother-of-pearl and Enamel_ B. J. BARRIE _Comb in Beaten Silver with Ivory Prongs_ DAVID VEAZEY _Hair Comb in Silver and Transparent Enamels_ KATE ALLEN [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 19 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C _A. Peacock Brooch with Pearls, White Enamel and Turquoises_ _B. Silver Brooch, with Green and Blue Enamels_ _C. Peacock Brooch, in Gold, with Pearls and Diamonds, a Ruby in the Peacock's eye_ Designed by C. R. ASHBEE Executed by THE GUILD OF HANDICRAFT PLATE 20 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Silver Clasp, enriched with Amethysts, Pearls and pale violet Enamel_ Designed by C. R. ASHBEE Executed by THE GUILD OF HANDICRAFT _B. Hair Comb, in Silver and Enamels_ FRANCES McNAIR PLATE 21 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Vinaigrette and Chain_ J. HERBERT McNAIR _B. Pendant in beaten Silver, pierced and enamelled to hold a Crystal Locket_ FRANCES McNAIR PLATE 22 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Belt-buckle and two Brooches in beaten Silver and Wire_ _B. Brooches and Earrings_ J. HERBERT McNAIR PLATE 23 ] (_British_) DESIGNS FOR JEWELLERY IN GOLD, SILVER, ENAMELS, MOSAIC AND PRECIOUS STONES BY THOMAS A. COOK. [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 24] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Necklace in Gold and Enamel_ KATE FISHER _B. Belt in Silver and Enamel_ EDITH PICKETT PLATE 25 ] [Illustration: _Silver Clasps and Gold Pendants set with Opals and Amethysts_ EDGAR SIMPSON PLATE 26] [Illustration: _A Pendant, Two Buttons, a Brooch and a Cloak Clasp in Silver_ EDGAR SIMPSON PLATE 27] [Illustration: _Silver Pendant, Brooch and Clasp_ ANNIE McLEISH PLATE 28] (_British_) _Enamelled Silver Brooch_ A. E. ARSCOTT _Silver Pendant touched with Enamel_ E. MAY BROWN _Enamelled Silver Brooch_ W. HODGKINSON _Silver Brooch with Beads of Enamel_ ANNIE McLEISH _Brooch in Silver and Enamel_ KATE ALLEN _Silver Brooch set with Red Coral_ ISABEL McBEAN _Silver Locket Enamelled_ W. HODGKINSON _Brooch in Gold and Enamel with Pearl Centre_ KATE ALLEN _Brooch, Silver and Enamel_ A. E. ARSCOTT _Silver Brooch enriched with Enamel_ ANNIE McLEISH _Enamelled Silver Brooch_ W. HODGKINSON [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 29] [Illustration: _Belt Buckles in Silver, Niello and Enamels_ WINIFRED HODGKINSON PLATE 30] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Enamelled Silver Belt-Clasp_ KATE ALLEN _B. Silver Clasp set with Stones_ B. J. BARRIE PLATE 31 ] [Illustration: _Clasps in Silver and Enamel_ ANNIE McLEISH PLATE 32] [Illustration: _Watch Backs in Silver and Enamels_ KATE ALLEN PLATE 33] (_British_) _Brooch in Silver and Enamel_ DAVID VEAZEY _Brooch in Silver, Enamel, and Precious Stones_ B. J. BARRIE _Gold Pendant with Pearls, and Turquoise, and Champlevé Enamel_ DOROTHY HART _Gold Pendant enriched with Enamel_ E. LARCOMBE _Silver Pendant with Enamel_ MINNIE MCLEISH _Brooch in Silver and Enamel_ ANNIE MCLEISH _Enamelled Silver Brooch_ MINNIE MCLEISH _Enamelled Brooch in Silver_ N. EVERS-SWINDELL _Brooch in Gold and Enamel_ M. ALABASTER [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 34] [Illustration: _Silver Clasps set with Stones_ OLIVER BAKER PLATE 35] [Illustration: British FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C _A. Silver Pendant set with Opal in matrix_ EDGAR SIMPSON _B and C. Silver Buckles_ OLIVER BAKER PLATE 36 ] [Illustration: _Clasps in Silver and Enamels_ KATE FISHER PLATE 37] [Illustration: _Clasps in Silver and Enamels_ KATE ALLEN PLATE 38] _Pin in Beaten Silver and Enamel_ D. VEAZEY _Hair Pin in Silver and Enamel_ E. M. HODGKINSON _Pin in Silver and Enamel_ E. M. HODGKINSON _Pin in Beaten Silver and Enamel_ D. VEAZEY _Pin in Beaten Silver and Enamel_ D. VEAZEY _Silver Hair Pin touched with Enamel_ ANNIE MCLEISH _Hair Pin of Gold decorated with Enamel and Mother-of-pearl_ W. HODGKINSON _Hair Pin in Silver and Enamel_ E. M. HODGKINSON [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 39] [Illustration: FIG. C FIG. A FIG. B FIG. D _A and B. Jewelled Brooches in beaten Copper_ _C and D. Jewelled Buckles in beaten Aluminium_ TALWIN MORRIS PLATE 40 ] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C _A Jewelled Shoe-Buckle in beaten Copper_ _B. Cloak Clasp in beaten Silver_ _C. Waist-band Clasp in beaten Silver_ TALWIN MORRIS PLATE 41] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C _A and B. Buckles in beaten Aluminium_ TALWIN MORRIS _C. Pendants in Silver; the upper one with Enamels, the lower with Turquoises_ FRANCES MCNAIR PLATE 42] [Illustration: _Silver Finger Ring set with Pearls, Amethysts, and Rubies_ CHARLES R. MACINTOSH _Silver Brooch and Pendant Heart set with Rubies, Pearls, and Turquoises_ M. MACDONALD MACKINTOSH PLATE 43] [Illustration: _Necklet of beaten Silver, chased, and set with Fire Opals_ ARTHUR J. GASKIN PLATE 44] [Illustration: _Silver Pendant and Chain set with Turquoises and Chrysoprase_ ARTHUR J. GASKIN PLATE 45] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Silver Belt_ _B. Silver Necklet, set with Pearl Blisters, Coral and Aquamarine_ FRED S. ROBINSON PLATE 46] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Silver Chain and Pendants set with Stones_ ISABEL McBEAN _B. Enamelled Silver Pendant_ MINNIE McLEISH PLATE 47] _Silver Clasp enriched with Enamel_ ANNIE ALABASTER _Silver Clasp inset with Enamel_ DAVID VEAZEY [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 48] [Illustration: _Silver and Enamel Clasps, Pins and Brooches_ EDITH PICKETT PLATE 49] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C FIG. E FIG. D FIG. F FIG. G _A, D, G. Brooches and a Cross in Gold, set with Stones_ ANNIE McLEISH _B. Brooch in Silver and Enamels_ DAVID VEAZEY _C. Silver Brooch with Opals_ ETHEL M. HODGKINSON _F. Brooch in Silver, Enamel and Pearls_ NORA EVERS-SWINDELL PLATE 50] [Illustration: _Four Silver Hat Pins_ Designed by ARABELLA RANKIN Executed by J. M. TALBOT PLATE 51] [Illustration: _A. Six Pins in Silver and Enamel_ NORA EVERS-SWINDELL _B. Two Pins in Silver and Enamel_ WINIFRED HODGKINSON _C. Two Silver Pins set with Enamel_ ETHEL M. HODGKINSON PLATE 52] MODERN AUSTRIAN JEWELLERY. By W. FRED. [Illustration] Critical examination of the jewellery of any particular period cannot fail to be practically a chapter of the history of culture. The popular saying: "Every time has the poet it deserves," is superficially true, yet holds within itself a certain element of falsehood, as does pretty well every commonplace proverb of the same kind. However, if the sentence be slightly modified, as it very well may be, so that it reads, "Every time has the jewellery it deserves," there will be absolutely nothing untrue about it, for the ornaments worn, whether on the dress, the hair, or the person of the wearer, have always reflected in a marked degree the taste of their period, and are very distinctly differentiated from those of any other time, so that changes in fashion imply changes of a more radical description in popular feeling. A history of personal ornament is open to many side issues, and unfolds itself in two different--indeed, opposite--directions. Primitive savages, as is well known, wear ornaments before they take to clothes. The Fiji islanders sport gold chains round their necks, and the African negroes in their untamed state load themselves with every glittering object they can get hold of, looking upon the multiplication of ornaments as a sign of wealth. Very different, of course, is the state of civilisation of those who look upon decoration as an evidence of art culture, and care only for such ornaments as require the exercise of technical skill in their production, valuing them in proportion to the amount of that skill displayed by their craftsmen, rather than the intrinsic value of their material. The time of the Italian Renaissance is an instance of the truth of this. As has so often before been the case in the times of transition which are of inevitable recurrence, our own modern epoch is characterised by a certain unrest and confusion, in which many tendencies are contending with each other side by side, and neutralising, to a great extent, each other's effects. In America, the Tiffany company seems to aim at producing masses of precious stones, which will give primarily the impression of the great wealth of their owner and producer; whereas, in France, Lalique the jeweller endeavours rather to throw into the background the actual value of the jewels, their artistic setting being the first thing to strike the observer. We in Austria have greater leanings to France than to America, and precious stones, however great their intrinsic value, are looked upon as of quite secondary value in modern art-work to beauty of line and of colour. French influence on Austrian work cannot fail to be recognised. Its germs fell indeed on a soil of exceptional fertility, with the result that they have taken root and borne abundant fruit. It should perhaps, however, be remarked that those races who are the heirs of a strong art tradition do not need, as do others less fortunate, to prove the wealth of their inheritance by the use of lavish ornament. Their inherent artistic culture is indeed evidenced by the fact that they expect their artists to exercise their skill on materials less costly than do those who, to a certain extent, have their reputations still to make. Benvenuto Cellini had to be content to work in silver, the Americans want to have every stick or umbrella-handle to be of gold. If we cast a glance, however hasty and cursory it may be, over the development of jewellery in Vienna, noting the forms most popular in that city in past times, it is impossible not to be struck with the way in which every historical phase of art is reflected in these forms. The favourite style with Viennese jewellers, and that in which the most effective, and at the same time the most characteristic, results have been achieved was undoubtedly the so-called _baroque_, a term originally restricted to a precise architecture or art-style alone, but now loosely applied to characterise any ornamental design of an unusual kind. It is in this half-serious, half-sportive style, with its grotesque yet bold effects and its complete freedom from convention, that the finest pieces of Austrian jewellery have been produced. At the time of the great Congress of Vienna, when the representatives of the Powers met in that city to settle the affairs of Europe after the fall of Napoleon--that is to say, about one hundred years later than the first introduction of the _baroque_ style from Italy, French work, though it was of a crude description, exercised an influence over Austrian jewellers, and what seemed like a second renaissance of the art of ornament began in Austria. The art of jewellery in Austria remained under French influence almost until the present day--in fact, throughout the whole of the 19th century--and it has only been in the last year that Austrian art-industries have been set free from the foreign yoke which so long oppressed them, so that the true Viennese style of jewellery has but rarely come to the fore. Now at last, however, the liberating influence of the modern spirit is making itself felt in the art of jewellery, as in everything else; and every ornament produced, whether in precious stones or in enamel, bears the unmistakable impress of the distinctive psychic character of our capital city, which even foreigners do not fail to recognise. The result of this individuality is that a work of art is indissolubly bound up with the personality of its creator, and with the idiosyncrasies of the town which was its birthplace. In Austria men wear very little jewellery, and the only noteworthy examples of ornaments made for them which can be quoted are a few rings and charms, the former perhaps adorned with designs in low-relief. The flat gold circle of the wedding-ring, which can be easily carried in the waistcoat pocket, and the engagement-ring, the psychic meaning of which is clear enough, the latter generally bearing one large diamond or other precious stone, do not afford much scope for the æsthetic feeling of their makers. A man who ventures to wear much jewellery is called old-fashioned, but there are still people who dare to sport a single great diamond or some other simple ornament on their shirt fronts. A pearl without setting, an emerald, or so-called sapphire _en cabochon_, are still frequently seen. The present fashion allowing men to tie their cravats in all manner of different styles to suit their own particular fancy, has led to the manufacture of a few varieties of scarf rings which admit of a certain amount of artistic intertwining of the gold, if it be gold of which they are made. When the making of jewellery for men is left to the unfettered imagination of the artist, he generally produces something quaintly original and fantastic, such as queer figurals, grotesque masks, comic caricatures of human or half-human figures or faces, etc. On the other hand, there is no doubt that there is far more activity in the production of jewellery for women in Vienna than in almost any other city. The culture of our town is, indeed, essentially feminine. The graceful and witty, yet dreamy and passionate, girls and women of Vienna give to it its distinctive character. A foreigner who once spent two days only in our capital was yet able to say of it, that all through his wanderings in its streets and alleys the rhythm of female culture was sounding in his ears. The men of Vienna pride themselves more than the French, more even than the people of Northern Europe, on their women, and as a result of this pride there is sure to be plenty of beautiful jewellery of varied design to be met with in the town in which they live. Amongst jewels and precious stones the spotless white pearl is perhaps the favourite, but, as proved at the last great Exhibition in Paris, the pale rose-coloured coral from the East runs it very close. Diamonds are still set in the old-fashioned way--that is to say, after simple designs, the best of which are copies from Renaissance or _baroque_ models. Only now and then is any attempt made to produce lightly incised representations direct from Nature of flowers, birds, or leaves. Of course, bouquets of brilliants and leaves consisting entirely of diamonds have always been easily made at any period; but what is now aimed at for that very reason is the evolution of designs which shall be essentially true to Nature, but at the same time really artistic. Crude masses of naturalistic flowers are really of no account whatever, for a bouquet of diamonds can never have the exquisite charm of a fresh, sweet-smelling bunch of real blossoms. Only a fairly good design, founded on some flower or leaf which can be satisfactorily reproduced in, and is, so to speak, _en rapport_ with, the jewels to be used, can succeed in pleasing through beauty of form alone, independently of any association. Good examples of the best style of ornament in which precious stones are used are the necklace, figured herewith, with the earrings to match, by Roset and Fischmeister. In them the natural form, which has been the motive from which the design was evolved, was the fruit and leaf of the rare plant known in Germany as the Gingopflanze. The delicate separate stems are worked in dull gold, and the way the joining is managed cannot fail to be admired, whilst the single stems are in platinum. The charm and distinction of this piece of jewellery is due above all to its beauty of form, in other words it is not the gross value of the precious stones with which it is set which makes it a worthy possession, but the skill with which the motive has been worked out. Viennese jewellers do not use the colourless precious stones much. They generally combine jewels with enamel, and also with what they themselves call the coloured Halbedelsteine, or half-jewels, such as the agate, onyx, cornelian, and other less valuable precious stones. The modern tendency is in every case to rely upon colour and line for effect rather than upon massive form, so that the greater number of new designs, or of revived designs of the past, require for their satisfactory treatment what may be almost characterised as a new technique. First of all, the modern buckle for the belt or girdle claims attention. The lately revived custom of wearing the blouse led, as a matter of course, to the use of the belt with a more or less ornate buckle, just as, a few years ago, the long necklace came into general use again. The young women of the present day found both all ready for use in the jewel-chests of their grandmothers. It seems likely, too, that there will presently be a revival of the costly shoulder-clasps which used to be the fashion in the time of the Empire, and if this be the case, the new fancy will probably, to some extent, oust the belt buckle from popular favour. In the designing of ornaments for the neck, art jewellers have far more scope than formerly for the exercise of their imagination, and they are disposed, to some extent, to follow the French mode, that is to say, they make necklaces flat and broad, so as to give an effect of slenderness to the throat of the wearer. It is a matter of course that combs and pins for the hair are often of very fine workmanship, showing much skill and taste on the part of their designers. Strange to say, however, even in Vienna, few rings for women of real art value are produced. In certain cases, however, the pendants in gold relief, in crystal, or in enamel, are of pleasing, though not particularly original design. Working in enamel is of course an independent art in itself, and to begin with, I must remark that, as a general rule, beautiful as are the colour effects produced by Viennese craftsmen, it is impossible to reproduce exactly the delicate charm of the original sketches from which the designs are worked out. Very good results can, however, be obtained in what the French call _émail à jour_, or _émail translucide_, as well as in the old-fashioned opaque enamel. It would, however, be out of place here to attempt to describe the various modifications of what may now be called an international art. Gustav Gurschner is a sculptor _par excellence_. His fingers are accustomed to moulding clay or plaster designs in such a manner as to be readily reproduced in bronze. His slim and graceful statuettes holding candles or gongs, and other artistically designed objects for household use, have all a distinctly Viennese character. His charming nude figures are full alike of childlike innocence and nervous strength, and are moreover instinct with the spiritual expression which naturally belonged to their originals. Gurschner's designs for jewellery have very much the same effect upon a true judge. The great thing distinguishing his work from that of his contemporaries is the fact that it is modelled from the living figure, not as is generally the case, from mere water-colour sketches. The difference cannot fail to strike the most superficial observer. Elsewhere, colour is often the chief consideration; with Gurschner it is form. In modern decorative work, silver is now very largely used and appreciated. It is her skilful use of this material which has won so high a position for Elsa Unger, a daughter of the wonderfully successful etcher, Professor William Unger. Elsa Unger has a very great predilection for silver, and has attained to rare skill in expressing herself in that material. She herself knows perfectly well how to deal with it at every stage of its progress as art material. She can hammer it out and chisel it; she can engrave it, and combine with it beautiful _émail à jour_ of soft, harmonious colouring. One of the most noteworthy peculiarities of Elsa Unger's work is, indeed, her mastery of her material. She is not content, as are unfortunately most of her contemporaries, with delegating to others the working out of her designs, but she herself sees to every detail, doing all the work with her own hands. Some of her articles, such as gentlemen's studs and sleeve-links, in beaten silver, relieved with blue enamel, are alike simple and elegant, and have the rare advantage of being also cheap. With Elsa Unger may be classed another woman worker in silver, Anna Wagner, who has produced amongst other tasteful work a beautiful silver buckle, relieved with enamel. Amongst men who have won a reputation as skilful workers in silver maybe named E. Holzinger and Franz Mesmer, who were trained in the same institution as Elsa Unger and Anna Wagner, the School of Art Craftsmanship connected with the Museum of Vienna, well known for the thoroughness of the instruction given in it. In this academy, which was thoroughly reformed a few years ago, and is now under the able direction of Baron Myrbach, the students learn to esteem skill in art craftsmanship as it deserves, and become thoroughly familiar with the materials employed in it. In the course of their training, feeling for true beauty and elegance is mixed, so to speak, with their very blood, becoming part of their natures, so that they cannot go far wrong. Look, for instance, at some of the combs made by Elsa Unger. How delicately harmonised are the beaten silver and the pale lilac-coloured enamel, and how well the gracefully curving lines of the two materials blend with and melt into each other! How chastely effective, moreover, is the way in which the leaf-motive is worked out in the pins for the hair designed by Mesmer, and what a happy thought it was to make the many-coloured half-jewels, or jewels of minor value, emerge as they do from the beaten silver. These works are, moreover, a very striking example of how necessity may sometimes become a virtue. The cheapness of material, so essential in an educational establishment, has not been allowed to detract in the very slightest degree from the beauty of the work produced; so that it is possible to have a real work of art, of which but few examples are produced, at a very low price--say from about thirty-five shillings; and that work is not a machine-made article, but one the production of which, by his or her own hand, has been a true labour of love to the designer, marking a real progress in art culture. To the Technical Academy of Vienna the architect, Otto Prutscher, and the painter, V. Schoenthoner, also owe much, but the charm of their work consists rather in its colour than in its form. Much is to be hoped in the future from both of these talented artists, and what they have already produced proves that there has been no sacrifice of individuality, no cramping of special tendencies, such as is so much to be deprecated elsewhere, in the training they have received. Otto Prutscher's necklaces and rings are remarkable alike for the beauty and harmonious variety of their colouring. He uses enamel to a great extent, and also quite small precious stones. Very uncommon, too, is the way in which he employs metal, though only enough of it to hold the enamel in its place. It would appear as if the artist had in his mind a vision of the women who are to wear his work, who are too tender and frail to carry any weight, so that the use of much metal in ornaments for them would be quite unsuitable. For a Salome or a Queen of Sheba that sort of thing is scarcely appropriate--but it is done for the softly nurtured Mignonne of the present day. The little coloured pins designed by F. Schoenthoner are also noticeable for their elegance and suitability for the purpose for which they are intended. A word of unstinted praise must be accorded to the graceful designs of the talented Fräulein Eugenie Munk, whose skill and good taste have been devoted to the production of a great deal of very beautiful and refined jewellery. I have already spoken of the work in diamonds of Roset and Fischmeister, and I should like to refer to those two master craftsmen again in connection with some of their figural ornaments, such as buckles for belts, rings, studs for shirt fronts and cuffs, etc., worked in dull or bright gold, all of which I consider worthy to be spoken of as Viennese works of art. The different masks on the studs, each with its own individual expression, really display quite remarkable talent in their designer, for they are not only thoroughly artistic but most amusing studies in physiognomy. Unfortunately it is impossible to give in reproductions of such work any true idea of the subtle manner in which the blue-green colours of the enamels, the gleaming white of the diamonds, and the pearly opaline tints of the moonstones, harmonize with each other and with the gold of their setting in the beautiful necklaces of Messrs. Roset and Fischmeister. The watch-chains for men, with their finely-modelled and characteristic ornaments, manufactured by the firm of F. Hofstetter, must also be mentioned on account of the skill with which the links are interwoven. The pendant is designed from a sketch made by Professor Stephan Schwartz. Two other designs from the same firm show very considerable skill. Very interesting is the way in which the materials are combined in the belt-buckles by Franz Hauptmann. The water-lily buckle is of greenish gold, and the enamel, which is of the translucid variety, is also of a green hue, as are the onyx stones worked into the design. The motive is the flower and seed of the water-lily, and from the water, represented in enamel, rise up the delicate flowers in the same material of a snowy whiteness. An examination of the sketches of designs for jewellery, reproduced here, cannot fail to bring one fact forcibly before the mind. Mechanical repetition is most carefully avoided, and as a result every example retains its own unique charm--the mark of the artist's hand. W. FRED. _Scarf Pin_ V. SCHÖNTHONER _Scarf Pin_ V. SCHÖNTHONER _Scarf Pin_ V. SCHÖNTHONER _Silver Brooch with Enamel_ F. MESMER _Pendant in Gold, Enamel and Pearls_ OTTO PRUTSCHER _Silver Brooch with Enamel_ JOSEF HOFSTETTER _Scarf Pin_ V. SCHÖNTHONER _Head of Scarf Pin_ V. SCHÖNTHONER _Head of Scarf Pin_ OTTO PRUTSCHER _Silver Brooch with Enamel_ F. MESMER _Gold Brooch with Enamel_ OTTO PRUTSCHER [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 1.] [Illustration: _Necklace of Brilliants_ ROSET & FISCHMEISTER PLATE 2] [Illustration: _Jewellery_ ROSET & FISCHMEISTER PLATE 3] [Illustration: _Belt-Buckles in greenish Gold, enriched with Onyx Stones and Enamel_ FRANZ HAUPTMANN PLATE 4] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIGS. C & D _A. Silver Pendant and Chain_ The Chain by J. HOFSTETTER The Pendant by PROF. SCHWARTZ _B. A Comb in Silver and Horn_ J. HOFSTETTER _C and D. Gold Pendants set with Precious Stones_ OTTO PRUTSCHER PLATE 5 ] [Illustration: _Jewellery_ OTTO PRUTSCHER PLATE 6] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C _A. Belt and Silver Clasp_ EMIL GRINGOLD _B and C. Silver-mounted Combs_ ELSA UNGER PLATE 7 ] [Illustration: _Necklace_ E. HOLZINGER & ELSA UNGER _Threefold Clasp, Upper Central Clasp_ E. HOLZINGER & F. MESMER _Large Twofold Silver Clasp_ ANNA WAGNER _Brooches and Links_ E. HOLZINGER, E. UNGER & A. WAGNER PLATE 8] MODERN GERMAN JEWELLERY. BY CHR. FERDINAND MORAWE. [Illustration] My opportunities of surveying the German jewellery market, and of making acquaintance with the ins and outs of the jewellers' business, have been limited; but it is certain that both are flourishing; at least, the German jewellers do not look as if they starved! Moreover, the demand for precious ornaments seems to increase year by year, and the display in the jewellers' windows grows more and more luxurious, as is the case with most other businesses. Nobody will store superfluous and unmarketable goods, least of all the jeweller, who is always a business man. You will be thoroughly aware of this fact if you start discussing art with him. He is cautious and suspicious of anything in the shape of novelty. He seems to say to himself: "This artist has ideas; he wants to show something new; but we cannot agree with these ideas, for we do not know if we shall be able to do business." This is a great pity, for the trade in women's ornaments offers more artistic scope than almost any other. It is not enough nowadays just to set some nicely polished stones neatly, or to be so lavish of material that the ornament produced represents an immense value; for the result will probably be something not at all artistic. Indeed, this generally occurs. The lot of the artist who designs women's ornaments is not a happy one, and it is almost like a message from heaven when a jeweller tells him that he will really condescend to carry out an original design. Even then he must sometimes put up with the fact that his design, which was intended for one person or purpose only, is repeated, like a manufactured article, a hundred and a thousand times again. Happily there are some artists in Germany, as in England, France, and Belgium, who are above the fashion, and whose artistic individuality is so strong that they are bound to succeed in other spheres of art as well as in that of women's jewellery. Two of the first to show activity in this direction were the Berlin artists, Hirzel and Möhring. Both chose for their ornaments the same manner and methods which Eckmann and his fellow-workers had previously employed in decorative art; they adhered as closely as possible to simple natural plant-forms, especially Hirzel. Thallmayr, of Munich, is still working in the same style, but with more individuality than Hirzel. Thallmayr will certainly spend his life studying the leaves and blossoms of the trees and the flowers in his garden, while the other will doubtless produce new results, departing somewhat from the real forms of nature. Möhring's works already showed this tendency when he produced them nearly at the same time as Hirzel his. Subsequently these artists were occupied less with women's ornaments than with other things coming within the category of decorative art,--this owing to lack of intelligence and enterprise on the part of the jewellers and manufacturers. Tables, chairs, and other necessary household articles found a much wider market. But we are now dealing exclusively with women's ornaments. Two circumstances in this connection are very strange. In the first place, it seems that the artists of the present time (I speak of Germany) are not successful in designing finger-rings. Here and there one sees an attempt made to design characteristic shapes, but the sphere of the ring is so confined that nobody has succeeded in producing anything really elegant and novel. Mostly one sees extravagant examples, of confused design. The second peculiar fact is, that one very seldom finds an artist devoting himself to designing earrings. The whole artistic movement in relation to women's ornaments is still somewhat puerile. This may be recognised by the absence of the ear-ring, that most superior ornament, which, unlike all others, has an independent language of its own. Although in the list of female ornaments the clasp and the brooch occupy the foremost place, the pendant for the breast should not be forgotten. The mission of the pendant is to show by its fancy and its tastefulness how and in what degree the German is distinguished from the Englishman and from the Frenchman. I will mention in this connection two artists living in Germany who are not Germans, but by their manner of life and work might be such. Both these artists, in their several ways, will exercise great influence on the development of our ornaments. I refer to Van der Velde and Olbrich. It is well known that the first is a Belgian, while the other is a foreigner, inasmuch as he comes from Austria. Olbrich's pendants and pins are very characteristic. He takes a hammered gold-plate, enriches it with precious stones and enamel, and adds a rim set with long pearls. It is easy to see that he is fond of rummaging among the treasures of the old cathedrals and convents; he knows the secret of their effect, and, besides this, he has an extraordinary talent for inventing new things himself. His jewellery is the best we have now in Germany, because it is superior to fashions and periods. His jewels are pure, thoughtful works of art. When worn, they produce a most sumptuous effect; but their richness has nothing tawdry about it. These jewels show us how we ought to deck our wives, both at home and at the theatre; moreover, they suggest things fit for the lady superiors of religious orders, for abbesses, even for our queens. They show us too how our burgomasters' chains, with their insignificant crosses and stars, might be improved. These ideas are perhaps at present as intangible as a beautiful dream, but that is no reason why we should not indulge our fancy in this direction. For the moment, however, we must be satisfied if the jeweller is inclined to carry out our designs. Looking further among our artists, we find Karl Gross, of Dresden. Mr. Gross, who formerly lived in Munich, delighted us while there with a good many beautiful designs for jewellery. He produced not only female ornaments, but also paper-cutters, seals, and so on. He always displayed good taste and a fine sense of form, having, like Olbrich, the capacity to carry out his designs quite independently, without consideration of his predecessors' effects. A hair-pin of Gross's may be regarded as quite an independent work, although it relies on an old tradition. Those artists, indeed, show the most freedom who have adapted the beautiful examples of past generations. Examining our new jewellery, we find very little work which has the appearance of having been done by a strong hand. Most of it in time becomes unbearably monotonous. Still, it is something that we in Germany have at least two artists who design in so fresh and characteristic a manner that their works are always looked at with the greatest interest. I already have mentioned them--Olbrich and Van der Velde--and I fall back again upon them, though I have already taken them in consideration. We have other artists, too, who follow sound principles in other branches of decorative art. One of the most individual of these is Riemerschmid, of Munich. Others there are who are nearly on the right way, but whose personal artistic sense is not broad enough to make them produce something really good. This general mention is, therefore, all their work demands. In addition to finger and earrings our jewellery artists are responsible for other objects, such as the bracelet, the watch, and the fan. I think it is very difficult to rescue the bracelet from conventionality. We must hope the best for the future. But what about watch-cases, especially those of ladies' watches? This art is quite neglected, not so much by the manufacturers as by the artists. At this year's Darmstadt Exhibition there were two watches displayed. One of them had the case enamelled, if I mistake not, in the form of a chrysanthemum, and on the other was modelled the figure of one of the "Fates." The effect of the chrysanthemum watch was fairly good, but the less said about the "Fate" the better. Why is it not possible to design an ornament with taste and furnish it with precious stones and enamel? It is the greatest pity that our sculptors have no imagination. Having arrived at the determination to think of a watch, the artist has no idea beyond depicting one of the "Fates" with the thread and the scissors. I said just now that the watch was neglected less by the manufacturers than by the artists. Nowadays you may find watches indeed with gaily-coloured cases, but the decorations are miserable, like everything else that is invented by the manufacturers. They don't want to pay a good price for the artist's sketch, and they are proud of the inspiration of their own Muse. In this case one cannot avoid the conclusion that the artists are themselves to blame for their neglect of this branch of the jeweller's art. THE condition of affairs with regard to the fan is also very astonishing. Why do our artists not supply our ladies with nice fans? Please do not confound "nice" with "precious." The fan as we know it now is so utterly "played out" that scarcely anything can be done with it. New arrangements of the feathers are invented; the handle is trimmed in different ways; new materials are used, but a really new and artistic idea cannot be devised. Titian's "Lady with the Fan" is admired; the fan is known very well, but nobody thinks of making use of it. Meanwhile another kind of fan is being more and more extensively employed. I refer to the palm-leaf of the Japanese and the Chinese. People are very fond of being fanned by these leaves, but nobody observes their artistic possibilities. An artist who can afford to be independent of mere fashion is therefore wanted to give new life to the fan. Such an artist will win lasting success. [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Collar Ornament in Gold, Enamel, Onyx, and Brilliants_ _B. Collar Ornament in Gold, Enamel, and Brilliants_ ROBERT KOCH PLATE 1] [Illustration: _Gold Pendant, set with Lapis Lazuli, Pearls, and Rubies_ Designed by JOSEPH M. OLBRICH _Silver Pendant, set with Bloodstones and a large Pearl_ Executed by D. & M. LOEWENTHAL PLATE 2] [Illustration: _Pendant in Gold, Silver, Enamel, and Pearl_ Executed by THEODOR FAHRNER _Gold Pendant set with Amethysts and Pearls_ Executed by D. & M. LOEWENTHAL Both designed by J. M. OLBRICH PLATE 3] [Illustration: _Gold Brooches_ Designed by HERMANN R. C. HIRZEL Executed by LOUIS WERNER PLATE 4] [Illustration: _Gold Brooches_ Designed by THEODOR VON GOSEN Executed by "VEREINIGTE WERKSTAETTEN," MUNICH PLATE 5] [Illustration: _Gold Brooches_ Designed by BRUNO MÖHRING Executed by F. H. WERNER PLATE 6] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C _A and C. Gold Pendants set with a Turquoise_ _B. Gold Pendant set with Turquoises and Moss-Agates_ CHR. FERDINAND MORAWE PLATE 7] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Silver Brooch set with Turquoise and Enamel_ Executed by THEODOR FAHRNER _B. Gold Pendant set with Pearls and Sapphires_ Executed by D. & M. LOEWENTHAL Both designed by JOSEPH M. OLBRICH PLATE 8] MODERN BELGIAN JEWELLERY AND FANS. By F. KHNOPFF. [Illustration] Recent _Salons_ in Belgium have been notoriously unsuccessful, and it cannot be disputed that the public is becoming less and less interested in the large exhibitions of Fine Arts. Notable artists have been conspicuously absent; new works have been as scarce as old ones have been abundant; and, lastly, the general arrangements have been altogether lacking in attractiveness. Despite the violent opposition of interested persons, official and otherwise, the type of display started some time ago in Brussels by the "XX" club, and continued by the "Libre Esthétique" and "Pour L'Art" societies, has succeeded in attracting the attention of _connoisseurs_ and art lovers generally, with, apparently, every prospect of retaining it. The combination of works of painting and sculpture with the most exquisite productions of ceramic art, glass-ware, and all that is most delicate in jewellery and goldsmith's work, adds a special attraction to these exhibitions, which are always looked for with the utmost interest. It is, indeed, the jewellers, who, among all our Belgian art workers, have succeeded in making themselves and their productions the best known and most widely appreciated; the more so as in their case one was able to compare their works closely and determine their relative merits. It may truly be said that their most notable characteristic is diversity--a diversity which is shown, not only by the amateurs, so to speak, but also among the professionals. No remarks on Belgian sculpture--particularly in its decorative sense--are complete without mention being made of Charles Van der Stappen. True, he has executed but a small number of detached ornaments, but in the arrangement of the hair in his exquisitely fanciful busts he has lavished a wealth of fine modelling, the influence of which is still widely felt. In the works of M. Paul Dubois we discover the sculptor modelling the details of his buckles and clasps as he would so many powerful muscles. M. Fernand Dubois seems to be a _chercheur_ of a more subtle kind; but this very excess of ingenuity sometimes mars the plastic effect of his jewels. From Victor Rousseau we have had so far nothing more than a gold bracelet. The subject is quite simple--two hands holding a pearl; but the work is in every way worthy of the young Brussels artist, whom I regard as one of the most remarkable personalities in the domain of contemporary Belgian sculpture. The decorator Van de Velde, who has left Brussels, and is now settled in Berlin, exhibited at some of the "Libre Esthétique" _salons_ a series of jewels remarkable for their firm and consistent construction. The jewels displayed recently by M. Feys are distinguished by grace and felicitous appropriateness; but even more striking is the perfection of their execution, which is really extraordinary in its suggestion of suppleness. Other jewels displayed recently at the "Libre Esthétique" by M. Morren and Mlle. de Bronckère also deserve notice. In the course of a very interesting study on M. Ph. Wolfers, M. Sander Pièrron, the sagacious Brussels critic, thus described the work of this remarkable specialist in the "Revue des Arts Décoratifs":-- "M. Wolfers seeks his inspiration in the study of the nature and the forms of his marvellous domain, and his vision of things is specially defined in his jewels. The detail therein contributes largely to the spirit of the entire work, which borrows its character from the decoration itself or from the subject of that decoration. He never allows himself to stray into the regions of fancy; at most, he permits his imagination to approach the confines of ornamental abstraction. Nevertheless, he interprets Nature, but is never dominated by it. He has too true, too exact a sense of the decorative principle to conform to the absolute reality of the things he admires and reproduces. His art, by virtue of this rule, is thus a modified translation of real forms. He has too much taste to introduce into the composition of one and the same jewel flowers or animals which have no parallel symbol or, at least, some family likeness or significance. He will associate swans with water-lilies--the flowers which frame, as it were, the life of those grand poetic birds; or he will put the owl or the bat with the poppy--that triple evocation of Night and Mystery; or the heron with the eel--symbols of distant, melancholy streams. He rightly judges that in art one must endeavour to reconcile everything, both the idea and the materials whereby one tries to make that idea live and speak. Inspired, doubtless, by the fact that the ancients chose black stones for the carving of the infernal or fatal deities, M. Wolfers uses a dark amethyst for his owls, which gives them a special significance. The Grecians used the aqua-marina exclusively for the engraving of their marine gods, by reason of its similarity to the colour of the sea, just as they never carved the features of Bacchus in anything but amethyst--that stone whose essence suggests the purple flow of wine." M. van Strydonck expresses himself to me in the following terms on the subject of his art:-- "I am of opinion that the jewel can be produced without the aid of stones, enamels, etc. I do not exclude them entirely, but they should not be used unless it be to give the finishing touch, or occasionally to relieve an _ensemble_ lacking in vigour of colour. My preference is for oxydations, for in general effect they are more harmonious to the eye, and by careful seeking one can find all the tones required. I think you will share my opinion that it is much easier to use enamels, by means of which one's object is instantly attained. Yet it is seldom one produces a beautiful symphony of colour. Enamel can only be employed in small quantities. Why? Because, in the first place, he who uses it must have a profound knowledge of colours and a special colourist's eye; he must remember, moreover, that he is appealing to a _clientèle_ composed principally of ladies, who in most cases regard the jewel simply as a means to complete such and such a toilette. "It seems to me, indeed," continues M. van Strydonck, "that translucent enamel is the most suitable because it simply serves as an auxiliary--a basis necessary to the completion of the _ensemble_--and adds value to workmanship and design; and there is nothing to prevent its alliance with the beautiful oxydations which come almost naturally from gold." Note how, little by little, enamel is being abandoned in favour of stones, such as onyx, agate, and malachite, materials of no special value, which can be cut in different ways, and whose colour gives fine effects infinitely preferable to those of inferior enamels. Of course, I do not despise the fine stone, which, by its bold colour, often relieves the work, but this is not altogether the object of the jewel, unless profit be the sole object of the maker; and I ought to add that the revival of the jewel in recent years has not been favourably regarded by certain firms, who saw therein a distinct diminution of gain, the fact being that their large stock of fine stones--beautiful in themselves, but out of place in works such as I have mentioned--threatens to remain on their hands. One cannot truly say that Belgian _eventaillistes_ exist, for it is only very occasionally that such water-colour painters as MM. Cassiers, Stacquet, and Uytterschaut carry out their delightful landscapes and seascapes in the shape required for a fan. Something has been done in lacework in connection with the fan, and on this point I should mention in terms of praise M. Van Cutsem, a Brussels designer, who has made numerous models for M. Bart and M. Sacré, amongst which may be noted several happy experiments in the direction of the "modern style." To conclude, let me refer to the lace by Mlle. Bienaimé, admirably mounted by M. Goosens, of Brussels. (_Belgian_) A FAN PAINTED ON SILK BY H. CASSIERS. [Illustration] [Illustration: PLATE 1] [Illustration: _Design for a Necklet in Silver and Enamel_ L. VAN STRYDONCK PLATE 2] [Illustration: _Pendant with Chain. The masque is an Iris with red Enamel for the hair. The Orchid's petals are in translucent Enamel of opalescent tones_ PH. WOLFERS PLATE 3] [Illustration: _Pendant and Chain set with Brilliants and Pearls. The Figure in Gold, the Serpent in black and brown Enamel_ PH. WOLFERS PLATE 4] [Illustration: _Necklet, with Ornaments of transparent Enamel_ PH. WOLFERS PLATE 5] [Illustration: _Parure de Corsage, set with Emeralds, Brilliants and transparent Pearls_ PH. WOLFERS PLATE 6] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Waist-band Buckle. The Serpent in green Bronze, the Crab in Silver-gilt_ _B. Pendant. The Pheasants in green and yellow-brown Enamel, the centre Stone a pale-green Ceylon Sapphire_ PH. WOLFERS PLATE 7] [Illustration: _Coiffure, set with Brilliants; the petals in Opal, the Serpent in Gold touched with a slight patina_ PH. WOLFERS PLATE 8] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B FIG. C FIG. D _A, B, and D. Silver Belt-Clasps_ _C. Silver Buckles_ PAUL DUBOIS PLATE 9] MODERN DANISH JEWELLERY. BY GEORG BROCHNER. [Illustration] Emanating from England--and, I am tempted to add, with THE STUDIO for its pioneer--the new movement, the rejuvenation, the second Renaissance, or whatever one may be pleased to call it, in matters of Fine, and more especially Applied Art, is like a mighty wave making its way over many lands. But, as with the waves of the ocean, its movements are often fitful and impulsive, its progress irregular and spasmodic. Why this is so it is often futile to speculate upon, and even where a plausible explanation is apparently near at hand, it may on closer investigation prove more or less of a fallacy. Thus it may appear natural enough that a small country should be unable to vie with large and rich empires in the matter of jewellery, for the making of such is likely to entail expenditure out of proportion to the buying capacity of smaller nations. Yet this argument really does not hold good, for inasmuch as in modern jewellery it is more the design and conception, more the intrinsic artistic value and the proper choice and handling of the material which are the main things (and not the quantity of precious stones used), the cost need by no means be excessive. For day wear, at least, delightful jewellery is now made entirely from gold and silver, and enamel, and even bronze, possessing decorative properties immeasurably beyond those of the far more costly articles produced up to only a few years ago. Be this as it may, the fructifying effects of these new ideas have, on the whole, been somewhat slow in making themselves felt within the craft of the gold and the silver-smith, or, rather, within that branch of it which embraces articles for personal adornment. Some countries have so far ignored them altogether; in others they are only just beginning to take root. In Denmark, for instance, which in other fields of applied art holds such an honourably prominent position, comparatively little attention has hitherto been given to jewellery by those distinguished artists who have for years brought their talent to bear upon other crafts. But, if I mistake not, a change is beginning to manifest itself in this respect, and I have very little doubt that the material for an article on modern Danish jewellery will be vastly augmented within a span of but a few years, although it is unfortunately a little scanty at the time of writing. Bindesböll, whose characteristic style is so easily recognised, has some good clasps and brooches to his credit. They are distinguished by that unconventional boldness and freedom which one always hails with unmixed pleasure wherever one finds them, whether it be on a book-cover, on a sofa cushion, on a metal vessel, or in some architectural decoration. It is only very rarely Bindesböll deigns to employ a distinct figure or motif in his designs, but, in spite of a capriciousness in his lines--a capriciousness which at times borders upon recklessness--the effect is almost invariably harmonious and decorative. Of a totally different stamp is Harald Slott-Möller, to whom is due the place of honour when dealing with modern Danish jewellery. His designs are carefully conceived and they almost invariably illustrate a fine poetic idea or allegory, always happily chosen. They are somewhat elaborate, both in details and drawing, and in the choice of material, with regard to which he is rather extravagant than otherwise. His jewellery is possessed of a distinguished decorative beauty, and although he is entirely original, both in his choice of motifs and in his way of dealing with them, it might perhaps not be very difficult to trace certain English influences in his work. He is himself a skilful craftsman, whilst some of his designs have been executed at the famous establishment of Mr. Michelsen, Danish Court jeweller. For one of Mr. Michelsen's daughters, Slott-Möller designed the exceedingly beautiful brooch of which we give an illustration (Plate 4). It is made of silver, which is strongly oxidised, with blue, white, and green enamel. The stars are set in diamonds, and the pendants at the side are pearls. The comb with the butterflies on the lyre is the property of another sister, and is made of tortoise-shell and gold, with enamel, set with pearls, diamonds, and sapphires. A second comb, likewise made of tortoise-shell, has for its decorative motif a mermaid, gold, enamel, and coral being used with no mean skill. In the necklace the myth of Helen is represented. The central portion is of dark oxidised silver, with flames and sparks in gold, the walls of burning Troy and the grass are enamel, and the figure of Helen is carved in ivory. On the side plates men fight and die, illustrating the inscription, in Greek: "She brought devastation, she gave fame." Slott-Möller has himself made the whole of this elaborate and charming necklace. The hand-mirror is made in silver, with an ivory handle, in the likeness of a candle, round the flame of which a number of luckless moths flutter; the moths and the ooze from the candle are oxidised. Moyens Bollin, who has lately gone in for the making of artistic metal objects, has also designed several pretty combs, clasps, etc., made in silver or bronze. In the former material is a clasp, of which we give an illustration, with flowers in blossom and bud, admirably drawn so as to fill their allotted space. Another clasp, a butterfly, is in bronze. Erick Magnussen is a very young artist, who seems to give promise. The "1901" in the pendant mirror is very deftly drawn, covering its space evenly and well, as does also the design of the "Fish" clasp illustrated. The other, with the mermaids, shows that he can also successfully employ the female form for decorative purposes. A silver clasp and brooch by Niels Dyrlund are distinguished by a quaint but well balanced intertwining of lines, the effect produced being pleasing and decorative, and Einar Nielsen, the talented painter, Axel Hou, and Georg Jensen have also recently taken to the designing of clasps and such like objects. [Illustration] [Illustration: _Necklace representing the story of Helen of Troy. The central part in dark oxidised Silver, with flames and sparks in Gold; the walls of burning Troy and the grass in Enamel; the figure of Helen is carved in Ivory_ HARALD SLOTT-MÖLLER PLATE 1] [Illustration: _A. Belt-Mirror in chased Silver_ ERICK MAGNUSSEN _B. Silver Hand-Mirror with an Ivory handle. The moths are oxidised_ HARALD SLOTT-MÖLLER PLATE 2] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. "Butterfly" Comb in Tortoiseshell and Gold, with Enamel, and set with Pearls, Diamonds, and Sapphires_ _B. "Mermaid" Comb in Tortoiseshell and Gold, with Coral and Enamel_ HARALD SLOTT-MÖLLER PLATE 3] [Illustration: _Enamelled Brooches in oxidised Silver_ HARALD SLOTT-MÖLLER PLATE 4] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Silver Clasp_ _B. Enamelled Silver Clasp_ ERICK MAGNUSSEN PLATE 5] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Twofold Silver Clasp_ MOYENS BOLLIN _B. Silver Belt-Clasp_ ERICK MAGNUSSEN PLATE 6] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. "Butterfly" Clasp in Bronze_ _B. Silver Clasp_ MOYENS BOLLIN PLATE 7] [Illustration: FIG. A FIG. B _A. Silver Clasp in three pieces_ MOYENS BOLLIN _B. Silver Buckles and Brooches_ TH. BINDESBÖLL PLATE 8] * * * * * +----------------------------------------------------------+ | | | Transcriber's notes: | | | | P.1. 'unbiassed' changed to 'unbiased'. | | P.4.(French) no devil-fish, 'no' changed to 'nor'. | | P.7. 'themelves' changed to 'themselves'. | | Plate 43. 'Pendent' changed to 'Pendant'. | | Corrected various punctuation. | | | | '=' around words mean bold as in =French=. | | '_' around words mean italic as in _French_. | | | +----------------------------------------------------------+ 
39749	----	Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). [Illustration: Decorative Design] PRINCIPLES OF Decorative Design. by CHRISTOPHER DRESSER, PH.D., F.L.S., F.E.B.S., ETC.; Author of "The Art of Decorative Design," "Unity in Variety," etc. FOURTH EDITION. Cassell, Petter, Galpin & Co.: London, Paris & New York. PREFACE. My object in writing this work has been that of aiding in the art-education of those who seek a knowledge of ornament as applied to our industrial manufactures. I have not attempted the production of a pretty book, but have aimed at giving what knowledge I possess upon the subjects treated of, in a simple and intelligible manner. I have attempted simply to instruct. The substance of the present work was first published as a series of lessons in the _Technical Educator_. These lessons are now collected into a work, and have been carefully revised; a few new illustrations have been inserted, and a final chapter added. As the substance of this work was written as a series of lessons for the _Technical Educator_, I need not say that the book is addressed to working men, for the whole of the lessons in that publication have been prepared especially for those noble fellows who, through want of early opportunity, have been without the advantages of education, but who have the praiseworthy courage to educate themselves in later life, when the value of knowledge has become apparent to them. That the lessons as given in the _Technical Educator_ have not been written wholly in vain I already know, for shortly before I had completed this revision of them, I had the opportunity of visiting a provincial town hall which I had heard was being decorated, and was pleasingly surprised to see decoration of considerable merit, and evidences that much of what I saw had resulted from a consideration of my articles in the _Technical Educator_. The artist engaged upon the work, although having suffered the disadvantage of apprenticeship to a butcher, has established himself as a decorator while still a young man; and from the manifestation of ability which he has already given, I hope for a brighter future for one who, as a working man, must have studied hard. If these lessons as now collected into a work should lead to the development of the art-germs which doubtless lie dormant in other working men, the object which I have sought to attain in writing and collecting these together will have been accomplished. TOWER CRESSY, NOTTING HILL, LONDON, W. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE INTRODUCTORY DIVISION I. ART-KNOWLEDGE; HISTORIC STYLES " II. TRUTH, BEAUTY, POWER, ETC. " III. HUMOUR IN ORNAMENT CHAPTER II. COLOUR CHAPTER III. FURNITURE CHAPTER IV. DECORATION OF BUILDINGS DIVISION I. GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS--CEILINGS " II. DECORATIONS OF WALLS CHAPTER V. CARPETS CHAPTER VI. CURTAIN MATERIALS, HANGINGS, AND WOVEN FABRICS GENERALLY CHAPTER VII. HOLLOW VESSELS DIVISION I. POTTERY " II. GLASS VESSELS " III. METAL-WORK CHAPTER VIII. HARDWARE CHAPTER IX. STAINED GLASS CHAPTER X. CONCLUSION PRINCIPLES OF DESIGN. CHAPTER I. DIVISION I. There are many handicrafts in which a knowledge of the true principles of ornamentation is almost essential to success, and there are few in which a knowledge of decorative laws cannot be utilised. The man who can form a bowl or a vase well is an artist, and so is the man who can make a beautiful chair or table. These are truths; but the converse of these facts is also true; for if a man be not an artist he cannot form an elegant bowl, nor make a beautiful chair. At the very outset we must recognise the fact that the beautiful has a commercial or money value. We may even say that art can lend to an object a value greater than that of the material of which it consists, even when the object be formed of precious matter, as of rare marbles, scarce woods, or silver or gold. This being the case, it follows that the workman who can endow his productions with those qualities or beauties which give value to his works, must be more useful to his employer than the man who produces objects devoid of such beauty, and his time must be of higher value than that of his less skilful companion. If a man, who has been born and brought up as a "son of toil," has that laudable ambition which causes him to seek to rise above his fellows by fairly becoming their superior, I would say to him that I know of no means of his so readily doing so, as by his acquainting himself with the laws of beauty, and studying till he learns to perceive the difference between the beautiful and the ugly, the graceful and the deformed, the refined and the coarse. To perceive delicate beauties is not by any means an easy task to those who have not devoted themselves to the consideration of the beautiful for a long period of time, and of this be assured, that what now appears to you to be beautiful, you may shortly regard as less so, and what now fails to attract you, may ultimately become charming to your eye. In your study of the beautiful, do not be led away by the false judgment of ignorant persons who may suppose themselves possessed of good taste. It is common to assume that women have better taste than men, and some women seem to consider themselves the possessors of even authoritative taste from which there can be no appeal. They may be right, only we must be pardoned for not accepting such authority, for should there be any over-estimation of the accuracy of this good taste, serious loss of progress in art-judgment might result. It may be taken as an invariable truth that knowledge, and knowledge alone, can enable us to form an accurate judgment respecting the beauty or want of beauty of an object, and he who has the greater knowledge of art can judge best of the ornamental qualities of an object. He who would judge rightly of art-works must have knowledge. Let him who would judge of beauty apply himself, then, to earnest study, for thereby he shall have wisdom, and by his wise reasonings he will be led to perceive beauty, and thus have opened to him a new source of pleasure. Art-knowledge is of value to the individual and to the country at large. To the individual it is riches and wealth, and to the nation it saves impoverishment. Take, for example, clay as a natural material: in the hands of one man this material becomes flower-pots, worth eighteen-pence a "cast" (a number varying from sixty to twelve according to size); in the hands of another it becomes a tazza, or a vase, worth five pounds, or perhaps fifty. It is the art which gives the value, and not the material. To the nation it saves impoverishment. A wise policy induces a country to draw to itself all the wealth that it can, without parting with more of its natural material than is absolutely necessary. If for every pound of clay that a nation parts with, it can draw to itself that amount of gold which we value at five pounds sterling, it is obviously better thus to part with but little material and yet secure wealth, than it is to part with the material at a low rate either in its native condition, or worked into coarse vessels, thereby rendering a great impoverishment of the native resources of the country necessary in order to its wealth. Men of the lowest degree of intelligence can dig clay, iron, or copper, or quarry stone; but these materials, if bearing the impress of mind, are ennobled and rendered valuable, and the more strongly the material is marked with this ennobling impress the more valuable it becomes. I must qualify my last statement, for there are possible cases in which the impress of mind may degrade rather than exalt, and take from rather than enhance, the value of a material. To ennoble, the mind must be noble; if debased, it can only debase. Let the mind be refined and pure, and the more fully it impresses itself upon a material, the more lovely does the material become, for thereby it has received the impress of refinement and purity; but if the mind be debased and impure, the more does the matter to which its nature is transmitted become degraded. Let me have a simple mass of clay as a candle-holder rather than the earthen candlestick which only presents such a form as is the natural outgoing of a degraded mind. There is another reason why the material of which beautiful objects are formed should be of little intrinsic value besides that arising out of a consideration of the exhaustion of the country, and this will lead us to see that it is desirable in all cases to form beautiful objects as far as possible of an inexpensive material. Clay, wood, iron, stone, are materials which may be fashioned into beautiful forms, but beware of silver, and of gold, and of precious stones. The most fragile material often endures for a long period of time, while the almost incorrosible silver and gold rarely escape the ruthless hand of the destroyer. "Beautiful though gold and silver are, and worthy, even though they were the commonest of things, to be fashioned into the most exquisite devices, their money value makes them a perilous material for works of art. How many of the choicest relics of antiquity are lost to us, because they tempted the thief to steal them, and then to hide his theft by melting them! How many unique designs in gold and silver have the vicissitudes of war reduced in fierce haste into money-changers' nuggets! Where are Benvenuto Cellini's vases, Lorenzo Ghiberti's cups, or the silver lamps of Ghirlandajo? Gone almost as completely as Aaron's golden pot of manna, of which, for another reason than that which kept St. Paul silent, 'we cannot now speak particularly.' Nor is it only because this is a world 'where thieves break through and steal' that the fine gold becomes dim and the silver perishes. This, too, is a world where 'love is strong as death;' and what has not love--love of family, love of brother, love of child, love of lover--prompted man and woman to do with the costliest things, when they could be exchanged as mere bullion for the lives of those who were beloved?"[1] Workmen! it is fortunate for us that the best vehicles for art are the least costly materials. [1] From a lecture by the late Professor George Wilson, of Edinburgh. * * * * * Having made these general remarks, I may explain to my readers what I am about to attempt in the little work which I have now commenced. My primary aim will be to bring about refinement of mind in all who may accompany me through my studies, so that they may individually be enabled to judge correctly of the nature of any decorated object, and enjoy its beauties--should it present any--and detect its faults, if such be present. This refinement I shall attempt to bring about by presenting to the mind considerations which it must digest and assimilate, so that its new formations, if I may thus speak, may be of knowledge. We shall carefully consider certain general principles, which are either common to all fine arts or govern the production or arrangement of ornamental forms: then we shall notice the laws which regulate the combination of colours, and the application of colours to objects; after which we shall review our various art-manufactures, and consider art as associated with the manufacturing industries. We shall thus be led to consider furniture, earthenware, table and window glass, wall decorations, carpets, floor cloths, window-hangings, dress fabrics, works in silver and gold, hardware, and whatever is a combination of art and manufacture. I shall address myself, then, to the carpenter, the cabinet-maker, potter, glass-blower, paper-stainer, weaver and dyer, silversmith, blacksmith, gas-finisher, designer, and all who are in any way engaged in the production of art-objects. But before we commence our regular work, let me say that without laborious study no satisfactory progress can be made. Labour is the means whereby we raise ourselves above our fellows; labour is the means by which we arrive at affluence. Think not that there is a royal road to success--the road is through toil. Deceive not yourself with the idea that you were born a genius--that you were born an artist. If you are endowed with a love for art, remember that it is by labour alone that you can get such knowledge as will enable you to present your art-ideas in a manner acceptable to refined and educated people. Be content, then, to labour. In the case of an individual, success appears to me to depend upon the time which he devotes to the study of that which he desires to master. One man works six hours a day; another works eighteen. One has three days in one; and what is the natural result? Simply this--that the one who works the eighteen hours progresses with three times the rapidity of the one who only works six hours. It is true that individuals differ in mental capacity, but my experience has led me to believe that those who work the hardest almost invariably succeed the best. While I write, I have in my mind's eye one or two on whom Nature appeared to have lavishly bestowed art-gifts; yet these have made but little progress in life. I see, as it were, before me others who were less gifted by Nature, but who industriously persevered in their studies, and were content to labour for success; and these have achieved positions which the natural genius has failed even to approach. Workmen! I am a worker, and a believer in the efficacy of work. * * * * * We will commence our systematic course by observing that good ornament--good decorations of any character, have qualities which appeal to the educated, but are silent to the ignorant, and that these qualities make utterance of interesting facts; but before we can rightly understand what I may term the hidden utterance of ornament, we must inquire into the general revelation which the ornament of any particular people, or of any historic age, makes to us, and also the utterances of individual forms. As an illustration of my meaning, let us take the ornament produced by the Egyptians. In order to see this it may be necessary that we visit a museum--say the British Museum--where we search out the mummy-cases; but as most provincial museums boast one or more mummy-cases, we are almost certain to find in the leading country towns illustrations that will serve our present purpose. On a mummy-case you may find a singular ornament, which is a conventional drawing of the Egyptian lotus, or blue water-lily[2] (see Figs. 1, 2, 3), and in all probability you will find this ornamental device repeated over and over again on the one mummy-case. Notice this peculiarity of the drawing of the lotus--a peculiarity common to Egyptian ornaments--that there is a severity, a rigidity of line, a sort of sternness about it. This rigidity or severity of drawing is a great peculiarity or characteristic of Egyptian drawing. But mark! with this severity there is always coupled an amount of dignity, and in some cases this dignity is very apparent. Length of line, firmness of drawing, severity of form, and subtlety of curve are the great characteristics of Egyptian ornamentation. [2] This can be seen growing in the water-tanks in the Kew Gardens conservatories, and in the Crystal Palace at Sydenham. [Illustration: Fig. 1.] [Illustration: Fig. 2.] [Illustration: Fig. 3.] What does all this express? It expresses the character of the people who created the ornaments. The ornaments of the ancient Egyptians were all ordered by the priesthood, amongst whom the learning of this people was stored. The priests were the dictators to the people not only of religion, but of the forms which their ornaments were to assume. Mark, then, the expression of the severity of character and dignified bearing of the priesthood: in the very drawing of a simple flower we have presented to us the character of the men who brought about its production. But this is only what we are in the constant habit of witnessing. A man of knowledge writes with power and force; while the man of wavering opinions writes timidly and with feebleness. The force of the one character (which character has been made forcible by knowledge) and the weakness of the other is manifested by his written words. So it is with ornaments: power or feebleness of character is manifest by the forms produced. The Egyptians were a severe people; they were hard task-masters. When a great work had to be performed, a number of slaves were selected for the work, and a portion of food allotted to each, which was to last till the work was completed; and if the work was not finished when the food was consumed, the slaves perished. We do not wonder at the severity of Egyptian drawing. But the Egyptians were a noble people--noble in knowledge of the arts, noble in the erection of vast and massive buildings, noble in the greatness of their power. Hence we have nobility of drawing--power and dignity mingled with severity in every ornamental form which they produced. We have thus noticed the general utterance or expression of Egyptian drawing; but what specific communication does this particular lotus make? Most of the ornaments of the Egyptians--whether the adornments of sarcophagi, of water-vessels, or mere charms to be worn pendent from the neck--were symbols of some truth or dogma inculcated by the priests. Hence Egyptian ornament is said to be symbolic. The fertility of the Nile valley was chiefly due to the river annually overflowing its banks. In spreading over the land, the water carried with it a quantity of rich alluvial earth, which gave fecundity to the country on which it was deposited. When the water which had overspread the surrounding land had nearly subsided, the corn which was to produce the harvest was set by being cast upon the retiring water, through which it sank into the rich alluvial earth. The water being now well-nigh within the river-banks, the first flower that sprang up was the lotus. This flower was to the Egyptians the harbinger of coming plenty, for it symbolised the springing forth of the wheat. It was the first flower of spring, or their primrose (first rose). The priesthood, perceiving the interest with which this flower was viewed, and the watchfulness manifested for its appearance, taught that in it abode a god, and that it must be worshipped. The acknowledgment of this flower as a fit and primary object of worship caused it to be delineated on the mummy-cases, and sarcophagi, and on all sacred edifices. We shall have frequent occasion, while considering decorative art, to notice symbolic forms; but we must not forget the fact that all good ornaments make utterance. Let us in all cases, when beholding them, give ear to their teachings! Egyptian ornament is so full of forms which have interesting significance that I cannot forbear giving one other illustration; and of this I am sure, that not only does a knowledge of the intention of each form employed in a decorative scheme cause the beholder to receive a special amount of pleasure when viewing it, but also that without such knowledge no one can rightly judge of the nature of any ornamental work. There is a device in Egyptian ornament which the most casual observer cannot have failed to notice; it is what is termed the "winged globe," and consists of a small ball or globe, immediately at the sides of which are two asps, and from which extend two wings, each wing being in length about five to eight times that of the diameter of the ball (Fig. 4). The drawing of this device is very grand. The force with which the wings are delineated well represents the powerful character of the protection which the kingdom of Egypt afforded, and which was symbolised by the extended and overshadowing pinions. [Illustration: Fig. 4.] I know of few instances where forms of an ornamental character have been combined in a manner either more quaint or more interesting than in the example before us. The composition presents a charm that few ornaments do, and is worthy of careful consideration. But this ornament derives a very special and unusual interest when we consider its purpose, the blow which was once aimed at it, and the shock which its producers must have received, upon finding it powerless to act as they had taught, if not believed, it would. The priesthood instructed the people that this was the symbol of protection, and that it so effectually appealed to the preserving spirits that no evil could enter where it was portrayed. With the view of giving a secure protection to the inmates of Egyptian dwellings, this device, or symbol of protection, was ordered to be placed on the lintel (the post over the door) of every building of the Egyptians, whether residence or temple. It was to nullify this symbol, and to show the vain character of the Egyptian gods, that Moses was commanded to have the blood of the lamb slain at the passover placed upon the lintel, in the very position of this winged globe. It was also enjoined as a further duty that the blood be sprinkled on the door-post; but this was merely a new duty, tending further to show that even in position, as well as in nature, this winged globe was powerless to secure protection. This device, then, is of special interest, both as a symbolic ornament and as throwing light on Scripture history. Besides the two ornamental forms mentioned--_i.e._, the lotus and the winged globe--we might notice many others also of great interest, but our space will not enable us to do so; further information may, however, be got from the South Kensington Museum library,[3] where several interesting works on Egyptian ornament may be seen;--from the "Grammar of Ornament" by Mr. Owen Jones,--the works on Egypt by Sir Gardiner Wilkinson; and, especially,--by a visit to the Egyptian Court of the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, and by a careful perusal of the hand-book to that court.[4] Much might also be said respecting Egyptian architecture, but on this we can say little here; yet, as the columns of the temples are of a very ornamental character, we may notice that in most cases they were formed of a bundle of papyrus[5] stems bound together by thongs or straps--the heads of the plant forming the capital of the column, and the stems the shaft (Fig. 5). In some cases the lotus was substituted for the papyrus; and in other instances the palm-leaf was used in a similar way; these modifications can be seen in the Egyptian Court at Sydenham with great advantage, and many varieties of form resulting from the use of the one plant, as of the papyrus, may also there be observed. [3] Any person can have admission to the South Kensington Museum Art library and its Educational library, for a week, by payment of sixpence. [4] A hand-book to each of the historic courts erected in the Sydenham Palace was prepared at the time the courts were built. These are still to be got in the Literary department, in the north-east gallery of the building. They are all worthy of careful study. [5] The papyrus was the plant from which Egyptian paper was made. It was also the bulrush of the Scriptures, in which the infant Moses was found. [Illustration: Fig. 5.] We have here an opportunity of noticing how the mode of building, however simple or primitive in character, first employed by a nation may become embodied in its ultimate architecture; for, undoubtedly, the rude houses first erected in Egypt were formed largely of bundles of the papyrus, which were gathered from the river-side--for wood was rare in Egypt--and, ultimately, when buildings were formed of stone, an attempt was made at imitating in the new material the form which the old reeds presented. But mark, the imitation was no gross copy of the original work, but a well-considered and perfectly idealised work, substituting for the bundle of reeds a work having the true architectural qualities of a noble-looking and useful column. We must now pass from the ornament of the Egyptians to that of the Greeks, and here we meet with decorative forms having a different object and different aim from those already considered. Egyptian ornament was symbolical in character. Its individual forms had specific meanings--the purport of each shape being taught by the priests--but we find no such thing as symbolism in Greek decoration. The Greeks were a refined people, who sought not to express their power by their art-works so much as their refinement. Before the mental eye they always had a perfect ideal, and their most earnest efforts were made at the realisation of the perfections of the mental conception of absolute refinement. In one respect the Greeks resembled the Egyptians, for they rarely created new forms. When once a form became sacred to the Egyptians, it could not be altered; but with the Greeks, while bound by no such law, the love of old forms was great; yet the Greeks did not seek simply to reproduce what they had before created, but laboured hard to improve and refine what they had before done; and even through succeeding centuries they worked at the refinement of simple forms and ornamental compositions, which have become characteristic of them as a people. The general expression of Greek art is that of refinement, and the manner in which the delicately cultivated taste of some of the Greeks is expressed by their ornaments is astonishing. One decorative device, which we term the Greek Anthemion, may be regarded as their principal ornament--(the original ornamental composition by one of my pupils, Fig. 6, consists primarily of three anthemions)--and the variety of refined forms in which it appears is most interesting. But it must not be thought that the Greek ornaments and architectural forms present nothing but refinement made manifest in form, for this is not the case. Great as is the refinement of some of these forms, we yet notice that they speak of more than the perfected taste of their producers, for they reveal to us this fact--that their creators had great knowledge of natural forces and the laws by which natural forces are governed. This becomes apparent in a marked degree when we inquire into the manner in which they arranged the proportion of the various parts of their works to the whole, and especially by a consideration of the subtle nature of the curves which they employed both in architectural members and in decorative forms; but into this we must not now inquire. Yet, by way of throwing some faint light upon the manner in which knowledge is embodied in Greek forms, I may refer to the Doric column, such as was employed in the Parthenon at Athens[6] (Fig. 7). The idea presented by this column is that of energetic upward growth which has come in contact with some superposed mass, the weight of which presses upon the column from above, while the energy of the upward growth causes the column to appear fully equal to the task of supporting the superincumbent structure. Mark this--that by pressure from above, or weight, the shaft of the column is distended, or bent out, about one-third of the distance from its base to its apex (just where this distension would occur, were the column formed of a slightly plastic material), and yet this distension of the shaft is not such as to give any idea of weakness, for the column appears to rise with the energy of such vigorous life as to be more than able to bear the weight which it has to sustain. [6] A capital, and portion of the shaft, of one of these columns are to be seen in the British Museum Sculpture room, and a cast of the same at the Crystal Palace, Sydenham. This Doric column is employed in the Greek Court of the Crystal Palace. [Illustration: Fig. 6.] [Illustration: Fig. 7.] Mark also the singularly delicate curve of the capital of the column, which appears as a slightly plastic cushion intervening between the shaft and the superincumbent mass which it has to support. The delicacy and refinement of form presented by this capital is perhaps greater than that of any other with which we are acquainted. The same principle of life and energy coming in contact with resistance or pressure from above is constantly met with in the enrichments of Greek cornices and mouldings; but having called attention to the fact, I must leave the student to observe, and think upon, these interesting subjects for himself. Let me, however, say that there are few classic buildings in England which will aid the learner in his researches; there is but little poetry in our architectural buildings, and but little refinement in the forms of the parts, especially in our classic buildings; and, added to this, Greek art without Greek colouring is dead, being almost as the marble statue to the living form. For the purposes of my readers, the Greek Court at the Crystal Palace will be the best example for study. I might now review Roman ornament, and show that in the hour of pride the materials of which the Roman works were formed were considered, rather than the shapes which they assumed; and how we thus get little worthy of praise from the all-conquering Romans--how the sunny climate and religious superstitions of the East called forth the gorgeous and beautiful developments of art which have existed, or still exist, with the Persians, Indians, Turks, Moors, Chinese, and Japanese; but I have not space to do so; yet all the forms of ornament which these people have created are worthy of the most careful and exhaustive consideration, as they present art-qualities of the highest kind. I know of no ornament more intricately beautiful and mingled than the Persian--no geometrical strapwork, or systems of interlacing lines, so rich as those of the Moors (the Alhambraic)--no fabrics so gorgeous as those of India--none so quaintly harmonious as those of China; and Japan can supply the world with the most beautiful domestic articles that we can anywhere procure. We must pass on, however, to what we may term Christian art, or that development of ornament which had its rise with the Christian religion, and has associated itself in a special manner with Christianity. Neither the Egyptians nor early Greeks appear to have used the arch structurally in their buildings; the Romans, however, had the round arch as a primary structural element. This round arch was also used by the Byzantines, and amongst their ornaments we find those combinations of circles, or parts of circles, which so constantly recur in later times in Gothic architecture and Gothic ornament. Norman buildings, again, show us the round arch, and present us with such intersected arcs as would naturally suggest the pointed arch of later times, with which came the full development of Gothic or Christian architecture and ornamentation. There was a very fine and marvellously clever development of decorative art, enthusiastically worked at by the Christian monks of the seventh and eighth centuries, called Celtic, of which we have many beautiful examples in Professor Westwood's great work on early illuminated manuscripts; but what is generally understood by Christian or Gothic art had its finest development about the thirteenth century. Gothic ornament, like the Egyptian, is essentially symbolic. Its forms have in many instances specific significance. Thus the common equilateral triangle is in some cases used to symbolise the Holy Trinity; so are the two entwined triangles. But there are many other symbols employed in Gothic ornament which set forth the mystery of the Unity of the Trinity. Thus in Fig. 8 we have three interlaced circles, which beautifully express the eternal Unity of the Holy Trinity, for the circle alone symbolises eternity, being without beginning and without end, and the three parts point to the Three Persons of the Godhead. A very curious and clever symbol of the Trinity is portrayed in Fig. 9, where three faces are so combined as to form an ornamental figure. [Illustration: Fig. 8.] [Illustration: Fig. 9.] [Illustration: Fig. 10.] Baptism under the immediate sanction of the Divine Trinity was represented by three fishes placed together in the manner of a triangle (Fig. 10); but so numerous were Christian symbols after the ninth century, that to enumerate them merely would occupy much space. Every trefoil symbolised the Holy Trinity, every quatrefoil the four evangelists, every cross the Crucifixion, or the martyrdom of some saint. And into Gothic ornamentation the chalice, the crown of thorns, the dice, the sop, the hammer and nails, the flagellum, and other symbols of our Lord's passion have entered. But, besides these, we have more purely architectural forms making gentle utterance: the church spire points heavenwards, and the long lines of the clustered columns of the cathedral direct the thoughts upwards to heaven and to God. Gothic ornament, having passed from its purity towards undue elaboration, began to lose its hold on the people for whom it was created, and the form of religion with which it had long been associated had become old, when the great overthrow of old traditions and usages occurred, commonly called the Reformation. With the reformation of religion came a revival of classic learning, and a general diffusion of knowledge, and thus the immediate necessity for art-symbols was passing away, it being especially to an unlettered people that an extended system of symbolism appeals. With this revival of classic learning came the investigation of classic remains--the exploration of Greek and Roman ruins; and while this was going on, a dislike to whatever had been associated with the old form of religion had sprung up, which dislike turned to hate as the struggle advanced, till the feeling against Gothic architecture and ornament became so strong that anything was preferred to it. Now arose Renaissance architecture and ornament (revival work), which was based on the Roman remains, but was yet remoulded, or formed anew; so that the ornament of the Renaissance is not Roman ornament, but a new decorative scheme, of the same genus as that of the Roman. Here, however, all my sympathies end. I confess that all Renaissance ornament, whether developed under the soft sky of Italy (Italian ornament), in more northerly France (French Renaissance), or on our own soil (Elizabethan, or English Renaissance), fails to awaken any feeling of sympathy in my breast; and that it, on the contrary, chills and repels me. I enjoy the power and vigour of Egyptian ornament, the refinement of the Greek, the gorgeousness of the Alhambraic, the richness of the Persian and Indian, the quaintness of the Chinese and Japanese, the simple honesty and boldness of the Gothic; but with the coarse Assyrian, the haughty Roman, and the cold Renaissance, I have no kindred feeling--no sympathy. They strike notes which have no chords in my nature: hence from them I instinctively fly. I must be pardoned for this my feeling by those who differ from me in judgment, but my continued studies of these styles only separate me further from them in feeling. It will be said that in my writings I mingle together ornament and architecture, and that my sphere is ornament, and not building. I cannot separate the two. The material at command, the religion of the people, and the climate have, to a great extent, determined the character of the architecture of all ages and nations; but they have, to the same extent, determined the nature of the ornamentation of the edifices raised. Ornament always has arisen out of architecture, or been a mere reflex of the art-principles of the building decorated. We cannot rightly consider ornament without architecture; but I will promise to take no further notice of architecture than is absolutely necessary to the proper understanding of our subject. DIVISION II. In my previous remarks I have attempted to set forth some of the first principles of ornament, and to call attention to the purport or intention of certain of the leading historic styles, and the manner in which they make utterance to us of the faith or sentiments of their producers. [Illustration: Fig. 11.] But there are other utterances of ornament, and other general expressions which decorative forms convey to the mind. Thus sharp, angular, or spiny forms are more or less exciting (Fig. 11); while bold and broad forms are soothing, or tend to give repose. Sharp or angular forms, where combined in ornament, act upon the senses much as racy and pointed sayings do. Thus "cut" or angular glass, spinose metal-work, as the pointed foliage of some wrought-iron gates, and other works in which there is a prevalence of angles and points, so act upon the mind as to stimulate it, and thus produce an effect opposite to repose; while "breadth" of form and "largeness" of treatment induce tranquillity and meditation. Nothing can be more important to the ornamentist than the scientific study of art. The metaphysical inquiry into cause and effect, as relating to decorative ideas, is very important--indeed, all-important--to the true decorator. He must constantly ask himself what effect such and such forms have upon the mind--which effects are soothing, which cheerful, which melancholy, which rich, which ethereal, which gorgeous, which solid, which graceful, which lovable, and so on; and in order to do this he must separate the various elements of ornamental composition, and consider these apart, so as to be sure that he is not mistaken as to what affects the mind in any particular manner, and he must then combine these elements in various proportions, and consider the effects of the various combinations on his own mind and that of others, and thus he will discover what will enable him to so act on the senses as to induce effects such as he may desire to produce. Are we to decorate a dining-room, let the decoration give the sense of richness; a drawing-room, let it give cheerfulness; a library, let it give worth; a bed-room, repose; but glitter must never occur in large quantities, for that which excites can only be sparingly indulged in--if too freely employed, it gives the sense of vulgarity. In this chapter I have to speak primarily of _Truth_, _Beauty_, and _Power_. Long since I was so fully impressed with the idea that true art-principles are so perfectly manifested by these three words, that I embodied them in an ornamental device which I painted on my study door, so that all who entered might learn the principles which I sought to manifest in my works. There can be morality or immorality in art, the utterance of truth or of falsehood; and by his art the ornamentist may exalt or debase a nation. _Truth._--How noble, how beautiful; how righteous to utter it; and how debasing is falsehood; yet we see falsehood preferred to truth--that which debases to that which exalts, in art as well as morals; and I fear that there is almost as much that is false, degrading, and untrue in my beautiful art as there is of the noble, righteous, and exalting, although art should only be practised by ennobling hands. It is this grovelling art, this so-called ornamentation, which tends to debase rather than exalt, to degrade rather than make noble, to foster a lie rather than utter truth, which brings about the abasement of our calling, and causes our art to fail in many instances in laying hold of, and clinging to, the affections of the noble and the great. Ornamentation is in the highest sense of the word a Fine Art; there is no art more noble, none more exalted. It can cheer the sorrowing; it can soothe the troubled; it can enhance the joys of those who make merry; it can inculcate the doctrine of truth; it can refine, elevate, purify, and point onward and upward to heaven and to God. It is a fine art, for it embodies and expresses the feelings of the soul of man--that inward spirit which was breathed by the Creator into the lifeless clay as the image of his life--however noble, pure, or holy. This being the case, those who ignore decoration cast aside a source of refinement, and deprive themselves of what may induce their elevation in virtue and morals. Such a neglect on the part of those who can afford luxuries would be highly censurable, were it not that the professors of the art are for the most part false pretenders, knowing not what they practise, and men ignorant of the power which they hold in their hands. The true artist is a rare creature; he is often unknown, frequently misunderstood, or not understood at all, and is not unfrequently lost to a people that prefer shallowness to deep meaning, falsehood to truth, and glitter to repose. We now see the utter folly of appealing simply to what is called "taste" in matters of art, and the uselessness of yielding to the caprice (falsely called taste) of the uneducated in such matters, especially as this so-called taste is often of the most vulgar and debased order. We also see the absurdity of persons who employ a true artist interfering with his judgment and ideas. The true artist is a noble teacher; shall he be told, then, what morals he shall inculcate, and what lofty truths he shall embody in his works, or omit from them? Do we tell the preacher what he shall say, and ask him to withhold whatever is refining and elevating? We do not, and in art we must leave the professors free to teach, and hold them responsible for their teachings. If I thought that I had now convinced my reader that decorative art does not consist merely in the placing together of forms, however beautiful they may be individually or collectively; nor in rendering objects simply what is called pretty; but that it is a power for good or evil; that it is what will elevate or debase--that which cannot be neutral in its tendency--I would advance to consider its principles; but I cannot teach, nor can I be understood, unless the reader _feels_ that he who practises art wields a vast power, for the rightful use of which he must be held responsible. All graining of wood is false, inasmuch as it attempts to deceive; the effort being made at causing one material to look like another which it is not. All "marbling" is false also: a floor-cloth made in imitation of carpet or matting is false; a Brussels carpet that imitates a Turkey carpet is false; so is a jug that imitates wicker-work, a printed fabric that imitates one which is woven, a gas-lamp that imitates an oil-lamp. These are all untruths in expression, and are, besides, vulgar absurdities which are the more lamentable, as the imitation is always less beautiful than the thing imitated; and as each material has the power of expressing beauty truthfully, thus the want of truth brings its own punishment. A deal door is beautiful, but it will not keep clean; let it then be varnished. It is now preserved, and its own characteristic features are enhanced by the varnish, so that its individuality is emphasised, and no untruth told. A floor-cloth can present a pattern with true and beautiful curves--how absurd, then, to try and imitate the dotty effect of a carpet; and the Brussels carpet can express truer curves than the Turkey carpet, then why imitate the latter in the finer material? But perhaps the most senseless of all these absurdities is the making an earthen jug in imitation of wicker-work when if so formed it would be useless as a water-vessel. I can imagine a fool in his simplicity priding himself on such a bright thought as the production of a vessel of this kind, but I cannot imagine any rightly constituted mind producing or commending such an idea. Let the expression of our art ever be truthful. _Beauty._--I will say little on this head, for decorative forms must be beautiful. Shapes which are not beautiful are rarely decorative. I will not now attempt to express what character forms should have in order that they be considered beautiful, but will content myself by saying that they must be truthful in expression, and graceful, delicate, and refined in contour, manifesting no coarseness, vulgarity, or obtrusiveness. My views of the beautiful must be gathered from the series of chapters which will follow, but this I may here say, that the beautiful manifests no want, no shortcoming. A composition that is beautiful must have no parts which could be taken from it and yet leave the remainder equally good or better. The perfectly beautiful is that which admits of no improvement. The beautiful is lovable, and, as that which is lovable, takes hold of the affections and clings to them, binding itself firmer and firmer to them as time rolls on. If an object is really beautiful we do not tire of it; fashion does not induce us to change it; the merely new does not displace it. It becomes as an old friend, more loved as its good qualities are better understood. _Power._--We now come to consider an art-element or principle of great importance, for if absent from any composition, feebleness or weakness is the result, the manifestation of which is not pleasant. With what power do the plants burst from the earth in spring! With what power do the buds develop into branches! The powerful orator is a man to be admired, the powerful thinker a man we esteem. Even the simple power, or brute force, of animals we involuntarily approve--the powerful tiger and the powerful horse call forth our commendation, for power is antagonistic to weakness. Power also manifests earnestness; power means energy; power implies a conqueror. Our compositions, then, must be powerful. But besides all this, we, the professors of decorative art, must manifest power in our works, for we are teachers sent forth to instruct, and ennoble, and elevate our fellow-creatures. We shall not be believed if we do not utter our truths with power; let truth, then, be uttered with power, and in the form of beauty.[7] [7] I have given in this chapter an original sketch (Fig. 12), in which I have sought to embody chiefly the one idea of power, energy, force, or vigour; and in order to do this, I have employed such lines as we see in the bursting buds of spring, when the energy of growth is at its maximum, and especially such as are to be seen in the spring growth of a luxuriant tropical vegetation; I have also availed myself of those forms to be seen in certain bones of birds which are associated with the organs of flight, and which give us an impression of great strength, as well as those observable in the powerful propelling fins of certain species of fish. * * * * * There are other principles governing the production and application of ornament which we must now notice, the first of which is _utility_, for the first aim of the designer of any article must be to render the object which he produces useful. I may go further, and say that an article must be made not only useful, but as perfectly suited to the purpose for which it is intended as it can be. It matters not how beautiful the object is intended to be, it must first be formed as though it were a mere work of utility, and after it has been carefully created with this end in view it may then be rendered as beautiful as you please. There are special reasons why our works should be useful as well as beautiful, for if an object, however beautiful it may be in shape, however richly covered with beautiful ornaments, or however harmoniously coloured, be unpleasant to use, it will ultimately be set aside, and that which is more convenient for use will replace it, even if the latter be without beauty. As an illustration of this fact, let us suppose the balustrade railings of a staircase very beautiful, and yet furnished with such projections as render it almost impossible that we walk up or down the stairs without tearing the dress, or injuring the person, and how soon will our admiration of the beautiful railing disappear, and even be replaced by hate! In like manner let the handle of a door, or the head of a poker, be so formed as to hurt the hand, and the simple round knob, or round head, will be preferred to it, however ornamentally or beautifully formed. [Illustration: Fig. 12.] In relation to this subject, Professor George Wilson has said: "The conviction seems ineradicable from some minds, that a beautiful thing cannot be a useful thing, and that the more you increase the beauty of the necessary furniture or the implements of every-day life the more you lessen their utility. Make the Queen's sceptre as beautiful as you please, but don't try to beautify a poker, especially in cold weather. My lady's vinaigrette carve and gild as you will, but leave untouched my pewter ink-bottle. Put fine furniture, if you choose, into my drawing-room; but I am a plain man, and like useful things in my parlour, and so on. Good folks of this sort seem to labour under the impression that the secret desire of art is to rob them of all comfort. Its unconfessed but actual aim, they believe, is to realise the faith of their childhood, when it was understood that a monarch always wore his crown, held an orb in one hand and a sceptre in the other, and a literal interpretation was put upon Shakespeare's words, 'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.' Were art to prosper, farewell to fire-proof, shapeless slippers, which bask like salamanders unharmed in the hottest blaze. An æsthetic pair, modelled upon Cinderella's foot, and covered with snow-white embroidery, must take their place, and dispense chilblains and frost-bite to miserable toes. Farewell to shooting-coats out a little at the elbows, to patched dressing-gowns, and hair-cloth sofas. Nothing but full-dress, varnished boots, spider-legged chairs, white satin chair-covers, alabaster ink-bottles, velvet door-mats, and scrapers of silver or gold. It is astonishing how many people think that a thing cannot be comfortable if it is beautiful. . . . If there be one truth which the Author of all has taught us in his works more clearly than another, it is the perfect compatibility of the highest utility with the greatest beauty. I offer you one example. All are familiar with the beautiful shell of the nautilus. Give the nautilus itself to a mathematician, and he will show you that one secret of its gracefulness lies in its following in its volute or whorl a particular geometrical curve with rigid precision. Pass it from the mathematician to the natural philosopher, and he will show you how the simple superposition of a great number of very thin transparent plates, and the close approximation of a multitude of very fine engraved lines, are the cause of its exquisite pearly lustre. Pass it from the natural philosopher to the engineer, and he will show you that this fairy shell is a most perfect practical machine, at once a sailing vessel and a diving-bell, in which its living possessor had, centuries before Archimedes, applied to utilitarian ends the law of specific gravity, and centuries before Halley had dived in his bell to the bottom of the sea. Pass it from the engineer to the anatomist, and he will show you how, without marring its beauty, it is occupied during its lifetime with a most orderly system of rowing and sailing tackle, chambers for food, pumps to keep blood circulating, ventilating apparatus, and hands to control all, so that it is a model ship with a model mariner on board. Pass it lastly from the anatomist to the chemist, and he will show you that every part of the shell and the creature is compounded of elements, the relative weights of which follow in each individual nautilus the same numerically identical ratio. "Such is the nautilus, a thing so graceful, that when we look at it we are content to say with Keats-- 'A thing of beauty is a joy for ever;' and yet a thing so thoroughly utilitarian, and fulfilling with the utmost perfection the purely practical aim of its construction, that our shipbuilders would be only too thankful if, though sacrificing all beauty, they could make their vessels fulfil their business ends half so well." Viewing our subject in another light, and with special reference to architecture, we notice that unless a building is fitted for the purpose intended, or, in other words, answers utilitarian ends, it cannot be esteemed as it otherwise might be, even though it be of great æsthetic beauty. In respect to this subject, Mr. Owen Jones has said: "The nave and aisles of a Gothic church become absurd when filled with pews for Protestant worship, where all are required to see and hear. The columns of the nave which impede sight and sound, the aisles for processions which no longer exist, rood screens, and deep chancels for the concealment of mysteries, now no longer such, are all so many useless reproductions which must be thrown aside." Further, "As architecture, so all works of the decorative arts, _should possess fitness_, proportion, harmony; the result of all which is repose." Sir M. Digby Wyatt has said: "Infinite variety and unerring fitness govern all forms in Nature." Vitruvius, that "The perfection of all works depends on their fitness to answer the end proposed, and on principles resulting from a consideration of Nature itself." Sir Charles L. Eastlake, that "In every case in Nature where fitness or utility can be traced, the characteristic quality, or _relative_ beauty, is found to be identical with that of fitness." A. W. Pugin (the father): "How many objects of ordinary use are rendered monstrous and ridiculous simply because the artist, instead of seeking the most convenient form, and then decorating it, has embodied some extravagance to conceal the real purpose for which the article has been made." And with the view of pointing out how fitness for, or adaptation to, the end proposed is manifested in the structure and disposition upon the earth of plants, I have written in a little work now out of print: "The trees which grow highest upon the mountains, and the plants which grow upon the unsheltered plain, have usually long, narrow, and rigid leaves, which, owing to their form, are enabled to bear the fury of the tempest, to which they are exposed, without injury. This is seen in the ease of the species of fir which grow at great altitudes, where the leaves are more like needles than leaves such as commonly occur; and also in the species of heath which grow upon exposed moors: in both cases the plants are, owing to the form of the leaf, enabled to defy the blast, while those with broad leaves would be shattered and destroyed. "Not only is the form of leaf such as fits these plants to dwell in such inhospitable regions, but other circumstances also tend to this result. The stems are in both cases woody and flexible, so that while they bend to the wind they resist its destroying influence by their strength and elasticity. In relation to the stem of the papyrus," which is a plant constantly met with in Egyptian ornaments, "the late Sir W. J. Hooker mentions an interesting fact which manifests adaptation to its position. This plant grows in water, and attaches itself to the margins of rivers and streams, by sending forth roots and evolving long underground stems in the alluvium of the sides of the waters. Owing to its position it is exposed to the influences of the current, which it has to withstand, and this it does, not only by having its stems of a triangular form--a shape well adapted for withstanding pressure--but also by having them so placed in relation to the direction of the stream, that one angle always meets the current, and thus separates the waters as does the bow of a modern steam-ship." I might multiply illustrations of this principle of _fitness_, or _adaptation to purpose_, as manifested in plants, to an almost indefinite extent; but when all had been said we should yet have but the simple truth before us, that the chief end which we should have in creating any object, is that of rendering it perfectly fitted to answer the proposed end. If those works which are beautiful were but invariably useful, as they should be; if those objects which are most beautiful were also the most convenient--and there is no reason why they should not be so--how the beautiful would become loved and sought after! Cost would be of little moment, the price would not be complained of, if beautiful objects were works of perfect utility. But, alas! it is far otherwise: that which is useful is often ugly, and that which is beautiful is often inconvenient to use. This very fact has given rise to the highly absurd fashion of having a second poker in a drawing-room set of fire-irons. The one poker is ornamental, possibly, but it is to be looked at; the other is for use, and as it is not to be looked at, it is hidden away in some corner, or close within the fender. I do not wonder at the second poker being required; for nineteen out of every twenty pokers of an ornamental (?) character which I have seen during the last few years would hurt the hand so insufferably if they were used to break a lump of coal with, that it would be almost impossible to employ them constantly for such a purpose. But why not abolish the detestable thing altogether? If the poker is to be retained as an ornament, place it on the table or chimney-piece of your drawing-room, and not down on the hearth, where it is at such a distance from the eye that its beauties cannot be discovered. It is no use saying it would be out of place in such a position. If to poke the fire with, its place is within the fender; if it is an ornament, it should be placed where it can be best seen--in a glass case, if worthy of protection. I hope that sufficient has now been said upon this all-important necessity, that, if an object is to be beautiful it should also be useful, to cause us to consider it as a primary principle of design that all objects which we create _must_ be useful. To this as a first law we shall constantly have to refer. When we construct a chair we shall ask, is it useful? is it strong? is it properly put together? could it be stronger without using more, or another, material? and then we should consider whether it is beautiful. When we design a bottle we shall inquire, is it useful? is it all that a bottle should be? could it be more useful? and then, is it beautiful? When we create a gas-branch we shall ask, does it fulfil all requirements, and perfectly answer the end for which it is intended? and then, is it beautiful? And in relation to patterns merely we shall also have to make similar inquiries. Thus, if drawing a carpet design, we shall inquire, is this form of ornament suitable to a woven fabric? is it suitable to the particular fabric for which it is intended? is the particular treatment of the ornament which we have adopted the best possible when we bear in mind that the carpet has to be walked over, as it is to act in relation to our furniture as a background does to a picture, and is to be viewed at some distance from the eye? and then, is it beautiful? Such inquiries we shall put respecting any object the formation of which we may suggest: hence, in all our inquiries, I shall, as I love art, consider utility before beauty, in order that my art may be fostered and not despised. There are many subjects yet not named in these pages which we ought to consider, but I must content myself by merely mentioning them, and you must be willing to think of them, and consider them with such care as their importance may demand. Some of them, however, we shall refer to when considering the various manufactures. A principle of great importance in respect to design is, that _the material of which an object is formed should be used in a manner consistent with its own nature, and in that particular way in which it can be most easily "worked."_ Another principle of equal importance with that just set forth, is this: that _when an object is about to be formed, that material (or those materials) which is (or are) most appropriate to its formation should be sought and employed_. These two propositions are of very great importance, and the principles which they set forth should never be lost sight of by the designer. They involve the first principles of successful designing, for if ignored the work produced cannot be satisfactory. _Curves will be found to be beautiful just as they are subtle in character; those which are most subtle in character being most beautiful._ The arc is the least beautiful of curves (I do not here speak of a circle, but of the line, as a line, which bounds the circle); being struck from one centre its origin is instantly detected, while the mind requires that a line, the contemplation of which shall be pleasurable, must be in advance of its knowledge, and call into activity its powers of inquiry. The elliptic curve, or curve bounding the ellipse, is more beautiful than the arc, for its origin is not so strikingly apparent, being formed from two centres. The curve of the egg is more beautiful still, being formed from three centres.[8] As the number of centres necessary to the formation of a curve increases, the difficulty of detecting its origin also becomes greater, and the variety which the curve presents is also proportionally great; the variety being obviously greater as the number of the centres from which it is struck is increased. [8] The ellipse and egg-shape here spoken of are not those which are struck by compasses in any way, for the curves of such figures are merely combined arcs, but such as are struck with string, or a "tramel." _Proportion, like the curve, must be of a subtle nature._ A surface must never be divided for the purpose of decoration into halves. The proportion of 1 to 1 is bad. As proportion increases in subtlety it also increases in beauty. The proportion of 2 to 1 is little better; the proportion of 3 to 8, or of 5 to 8, or of 5 to 13, is, however, good, the last named being the best of those which I have adduced; for the pleasure derived from the contemplation of proportion increases with the difficulty of detecting it. This principle is true in relation to the division of a mass into primary segments, and of primary segments into secondary forms, as well as in relation to the grouping together of parts of various sizes; hence it is worthy of special note. _A principle of order must prevail in every ornamental composition._ Confusion is the result of accident, while order results from thought and care. The operation of mind cannot well be set forth in the absence of this principle; at least, the presence of a principle of order renders the operation of mind at once manifest. _The orderly repetition of parts frequently aids in the production of ornamental effects._ The kaleidoscope affords a wonderful example of what repetition will do. The mere fragments of glass which we view in this instrument would altogether fail to please were they not repeated with regularity. Of themselves repetition and order can do much. (Figs. 13 and 14.) _Alternation is a principle of primary importance in certain ornamental compositions._ In the case of a flower (as the buttercup, or chickweed, for example) the coloured leaves do not fall over the green leaves (the petals do not fall over the sepals), but between them--they alternate with them. This principle is not only manifested in plants, but also in many ornaments produced in the best periods of art (Fig. 15). [Illustration: Fig. 13.] [Illustration: Fig. 14.] [Illustration: Fig. 15.] [Illustration: Fig. 16.] _If plants are employed as ornaments they must not be treated imitatively, but must be conventionally treated, or rendered into ornaments_ (Fig. 16). A monkey can imitate, man can create. These are the chief principles which we shall have to notice, as involved in the production of ornamental designs. DIVISION III. Some other principles of a less noble character than those which we have already noticed as entering into ornament yet remain to be mentioned. Man will be amused as well as instructed; he must be pleased as well as ennobled by what he sees. I hold it as a first principle that ornamentation, as a true fine art, can administer to man in all his varying moods, and under all phases of feeling. Decoration, if properly understood, would at once be seen to be a high art in the truest sense of the word, as it can teach, elevate, refine, induce lofty aspirations, and allay sorrows; but we have now to notice it as a fine art, administering to man in his various moods, rather than as the handmaid to religion or morals. Humour seems to be as much an attribute of our nature as love, and, like it, varies in intensity with different individuals. There are few in whom there is not a certain amount of humour, and in some this one quality predominates over all others. It not unfrequently happens that men who are great thinkers are also great humorists--great talent and great humour being often combined in the one individual. The feeling for humour is ministered to in ornament by the grotesque, and the grotesque occurs in the works of almost all ages and all peoples. The ancient Egyptians employed it, so did the Assyrians, the Greeks, and the Romans; but none of these nations used it to the extent of the artists of the Celtic, Byzantine, and "Gothic" periods. Hideous "evil spirits" were portrayed on the outside of almost every Christian edifice at one time, and much of the Celtic ornament produced by the early monks consisted of an anastomosis, or network, of grotesque creatures. The old Irish crosses were enriched with this kind of ornamentation,[9] and some of the decorative embellishments of these works are of extraordinary interest; but those who have access to the beautiful work of Professor Westwood on Celtic manuscripts will there see this grotesque form of ornament to perfection. As regards the Eastern nations, while nearly all have employed the grotesque as an element of decorative art, the Chinese and Japanese have employed it most largely, and for it they manifest a most decided partiality. The drawings of dragons, celestial lions (always spotted), mythical birds, beasts, fishes, insects, and other supposed inhabitants of the Elysian plains, which these people produce, are most interesting and extraordinary. [9] Casts of one or two of these can be seen in the central transept of the Crystal Palace at Sydenham. Without in any way going into a history of the grotesque, let us look at the characteristic forms which it has assumed, and what is necessary to its successful production. We have said that the grotesque in ornament is the analogue of humour in literature. This is the case; but the grotesque may represent the truly horrible or repellent, and be simply repulsive. This form is so seldom required in ornamentation that I shall not dwell upon it, and when required it should always be associated with power; for if the horrible is feeble it cannot be corrective, but only revolting, like a miserable deformed animal. I think it may be taken as a principle, that the further the grotesque is removed from an imitation of a natural object the better it is, provided that it be energetic and vigorous--lifelike. Nothing is worse than a feeble joke, unless it be a feeble grotesque. The amusing must appear to be earnest. [Illustration: Fig. 17.] [Illustration: Fig. 18.] In connection with this subject I give here a series of grotesques, with the view of illustrating my meaning, and I would fain give more, but space will not permit me to do so. The initial letter S, formed of a bird, is a characteristic Celtic grotesque (Fig. 17). It is quaint and interesting, and is sufficiently unlike a living creature to avoid giving any sense of pain to the beholder, while it is yet in a most unnatural position. It is, in truth, rather an ornament than a copy of a living creature, yet it is so suggestive as to call forth the thought of a bird. It should be noticed, in connection with this figure, that the interstices between certain portions of the creature are filled by a knot. This is well--the whole thing; being an ornament, and not a naturalistic representation. Fig. 18 is a Siamese grotesque head, and a fine sample it is of the curious form of ornament which it represents. Mark, it is in no way a copy of a human head, but is a true ornament, with its parts so arranged as to call up the idea of a face, and nothing more. Notice the volutes forming the chin; the grotesque, yet highly ornamental, lines forming the mouth and the upper boundary of the forehead, and the flambeauant ears; the whole thing is worthy of the most careful study. [Illustration: Fig. 19.] Fig. 19 is a Gothic foliated face; but here we have features which are much too naturalistic. We have, indeed, only a hideous human face with a marginal excrescence of leafage. This is a type to be avoided; it is not droll, nor quaint; but is simply unpleasant to look upon. [Illustration: Fig. 20.] Fig. 20 is a fish, with the feeling of the grotesques of the Middle Ages. It is a good type, being truly ornamental, and yet sufficiently suggestive. In order that I convey to the reader a fuller idea of my views respecting the grotesque than I otherwise could, I have sketched one or two original illustrations--Fig. 21 being suggestive of a face, Fig. 22 of a skeleton (old bogey), and Fig. 23 of an impossible animal. They are intentionally far from imitative. If naturalistic some would awaken a sense of pain, as they are contorted into curious positions, whereas that which induces no thought of feeling induces no sense of pain. [Illustration: Fig. 21.] [Illustration: Fig. 22.] Of all grotesques with which I am acquainted, the dragons of the Chinese and Japanese are those which represent a combination of power, vigour, energy, and passion most fully. This is to be accounted for by the fact that these peoples are believers in dragons. When the sun or moon is eclipsed they believe that the luminous orb has been swallowed by some fierce monster, which they give form to in the dragon, and upon the occurrence of such a phenomenon they, with cans and kettles, make rough music, and thus cause the monster to disgorge the luminary, the brilliancy of which it would otherwise have for ever extinguished. I can understand a believer in dragons drawing these monsters with the power and spirit that the Chinese and Japanese do; but I can scarcely imagine that a disbeliever could do so--a man's very nature must be saturated with a belief in their existence and mischievous power, in order that he embody in his delineation such expression of the assumed character of this imaginary creature as do the Chinese and Japanese. Although I am not now considering the structure of objects, I may say that the grotesque should frequently be used where we meet with naturalistic imitations. We not unfrequently see a figure, naturally imitated, placed as a support to a superincumbent weight--a female figure as an architectural pillar bearing the weight of the entablature above, men crouched in the most painful positions supporting the bowl of some colossal fountain. Naturalistic figures in such positions are simply revolting, however perfect as works of sculpture. If weight has to be supported by that which has a resemblance to a living creature of any kind, the semblance should only be suggested; and the more unreal and woodeny (if I may make such a word) the support, if possessing the quaintness and humour of a true grotesque, the better. [Illustration: Fig. 23.] It is not the business of the ornamentist to produce that which shall induce the feeling of continued pain, unless there is some exceptional reason for his so doing, and such a reason is of rare occurrence. CHAPTER II. COLOUR. Having considered some of the chief principles involved in the production of decorative design so far as "expression" goes, we come to notice that constant adjunct of form which has ever played an important part in all decorative schemes--namely, colour. Form can exist independently of colour, but it never has had any important development without the chromatic adjunct. From a consideration of history, we should be led to conclude that form alone is incapable of yielding such enrichments as satisfy; for no national system of decoration has ever existed in the absence of colour. Mere outline-form may be good, but it is not satisfying; mere light and shade may be pleasing, but it is not all that we require. With form our very nature seems to demand colour; and it is only when we get well-proportioned forms which are graceful, or noble, or vigorous, in combination with colours harmoniously arranged, that we are satisfied. Possibly this feeling results from our contact with nature. The flowers appear in a thousand hues, and the hills are of ever-varying tints. What a barren world ours would appear, were the ground, the hills, the trees and the flowers, the sky and the waters all of one colour! Form we should have, and that in its richest variety; light and shade we should have, with ever-varying intensity and change; but colour would be gone. There would be no green to cheer, no blue to soothe, no red to excite; and, indeed, there would be a deadness, although the world be full of life, so appalling that we can scarcely conceive of it, and cannot _feel_ it. Colour alone seems to have greater charms than form alone. A sunset is entrancing when the sky glows with radiant hues; the blue is almost lost in red, the yellow is as a sea of transparent gold, and the whole presents a variety and blending of tints which charm, and soothe, and lull to reverie; and yet all form is indistinct and obscure. If so charming when separate from form, what is colour when properly combined with beautiful shapes? It is difficult, indeed, for many of those for whom I write to answer this question, even by a mental conception, save by reference to nature; for I could scarcely point to a single building in England which would be in any way a satisfactory illustration of what may be done by the combination of forms and colours. There is a beauty in Art which we in England do not even know of: it does not exist around us, it is little talked of, rarely thought about, and never seen. A decorator is called in to beautify a house, and yet not one in fifty of the so-called decorators know even the first principles of their art, and would not believe were they told of the power of the art which they employ. They place on the walls a few sickly tints--so pale that their want of harmony is not very apparent. The colours of the wall become the colours of the cornice and of the doors, because they know not how to produce a harmony of hues; and the result is a house which may be clean, but which is in every other respect an offence against good taste. I do not wonder that persons here in England do not care to have their houses "decorated," nor do I wonder at their not appreciating the "decorations" when they are done. Colour, lovely colour, of itself would make our rooms charming. There are few objects to which colour may not be applied, and many articles which are now colourless might be coloured with advantage. Our reasons for applying colour to objects are twofold, and here, in fact, we see its true use. 1st. Colour lends to objects a new charm--a charm which they would not possess if without it; and, 2nd, Colour assists in the separation of objects and parts of objects, and thus gives assistance to form. These, then, are the two objects of colour. Mark, first, it is to bestow on objects a charm, such as they could not have in its absence. In the hands of the man of knowledge it will do so--it will make an object lovely or lovable, but the mere application of colour will not do this. Colour may be so applied to objects as to render them infinitely more ugly than they were without it. I have seen many a bowl so coloured at our potteries as to be much less satisfactory when coloured than when white--the colouring having marred, rather than improved, its general effect. Here, again, it is knowledge that we want. Knowledge will enable us to transmute base materials into works of marvellous beauty, worth their weight in gold. Knowledge, then, is the true philosopher's stone; for, we may almost say, if possessed by the artist it does enable him to transmute the baser metals into gold. But a little knowledge will not do this. In order that we produce true beauty, we require much knowledge, and this can only be got by constant and diligent labour, as I have before said; but the end to be gained is worth the plodding toil. Believe me, there is a pleasure in seeing your works develop as things of beauty, delighting all who see them--not the illiterate only, but also the educated thinker--such as words fail to express. Although there is no royal road to art-power, and although the road is long, and lies through much toil and many difficulties, yet as you proceed there is pleasure in feeling that one obstacle after another is cleared from your path, and at the end there is inexpressible satisfaction. The second object of colour is that of assisting in the separation of form. If objects are placed near to one another, and these objects are all of the same colour, the beholder will have much more difficulty in seeing the boundaries or terminations of each than he would were they variously coloured; he would have to come nearer to them in order to see the limits of each, were all coloured in the same manner, than he would were they variously coloured; thus colour assists in the separation of form. This quality which colour has of separating forms is often lost sight of, and much confusion thereby results. If it is worth while to produce a decorative form, it is worth while to render it visible; and yet, how much ornament, and even good ornament, is lost to the eye through not being rendered manifest by colour! Colour is the means by which we render form apparent. Colours, when placed together, can only please and satisfy the educated when combined harmoniously, or according to the laws of harmony. What, then, are the laws which govern the arrangement of colours? and how are they to be applied? We shall endeavour to answer these questions by making a series of statements in axiomatic form, and then we shall enlarge upon these propositions. GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS. 1. Regarded from an art point of view, there are but three colours--_i.e._, blue, red, and yellow. 2. Blue, red, and yellow have been termed _primary_ colours; they cannot be formed by the admixture of any other colours. 3. All colours, other than blue, red, and yellow, result from the admixture of the primary colours. 4. By the admixture of blue and red, purple is formed; by the admixture of red and yellow, orange is formed; and by the admixture of yellow and blue, green is formed. 5. Colours resulting from the admixture of two primary colours are termed _secondary_: hence purple, orange, and green are secondary colours. 6. By the admixture of two secondary colours a _tertiary_ colour is formed: thus, purple and orange produce russet (the red tertiary); orange and green produce citrine (the yellow tertiary); and green and purple, olive (the blue tertiary); russet, citrine, and olive are the three tertiary colours. CONTRAST. 7. When a light colour is juxtaposed to a dark colour, the light colour appears lighter than it is, and the dark colour darker.[10] [10] If a dark grey tint be mixed upon a white slab it will appear dark in contrast with the white, but if a small portion of this same grey is applied to black paper it will appear almost white. 8. When colours are juxtaposed, they become influenced as to their hue. Thus, when red and green are placed side by side, the red appears redder than it actually is, and the green greener; and when blue and black are juxtaposed, the blue manifests but little alteration, while the black assumes an orange tint or becomes "rusty." 9. No one colour can be viewed by the eye without another being created. Thus, if red is viewed, the eye creates for itself green, and this green is cast upon whatever is near. If it views green, red is in like manner created and cast upon adjacent objects; thus, if red and green are juxtaposed, each creates the other in the eye, and the red created by the green is cast upon the red, and the green created by the red is cast upon the green; and the red and the green become improved by being juxtaposed. The eye also demands the presence of the three primary colours, either in their purity or in combination and if these are not present, whatever is deficient will be created in the eye, and this induced colour will be cast upon whatever is near. Thus, when we view blue, orange, which is a mixture of red and yellow, is created in the eye, and this colour is cast upon whatever is near; if black is in juxtaposition with the blue, this orange is cast upon it, and gives to it an orange tint, thus causing it to look "rusty." 10. In like manner, if we look upon red, green is formed in the eye, and is cast upon adjacent colours; or, if we look upon yellow, purple is formed. HARMONY. 11. Harmony results from an agreeable contrast. 12. Colours which perfectly harmonise improve one another to the utmost. 13. In order to perfect harmony, the three colours are necessary, either in their purity or in combination. 14. Red and green combine to yield a harmony. Red is a primary colour, and green, which is a secondary colour, consists of blue and yellow--the other two primary colours. Blue and orange also produce a harmony, and yellow and purple, for in each ease the three primary colours are present. 15. It has been found that the primary colours in perfect purity produce exact harmonies in the proportions of eight parts of blue, 5 of red, and 3 of yellow; that the secondary colours harmonise in the proportions of 13 of purple, 11 of green, and 8 of orange; and that the tertiary colours harmonise in the proportions of olive 24, russet 21, and citrine 19. 16. There are, however, subtleties of harmony which it is difficult to understand. 17. The rarest harmonies frequently lie close on the verge of discord. 18. Harmony of colour is, in many respects, analogous to harmony of musical sounds. QUALITIES OF COLOURS. 19. Blue is a cold colour, and appears to recede from the eye. 20. Red is a warm colour, and is exciting; it remains stationary as to distance. 21. Yellow is the colour most nearly allied to light; it appears to advance towards the spectator. 22. At twilight blue appears much lighter than it is, red much darker, and yellow slightly darker. By ordinary gaslight blue becomes darker, red brighter, and yellow lighter. By this artificial light a pure yellow appears lighter than white itself, when viewed in contrast with certain other colours. 23. By certain combinations colour may make glad or depress, convey the idea of purity, richness, or poverty, or may affect the mind in any desired manner, as does music. TEACHINGS OF EXPERIENCE. 24. When a colour is placed on a gold ground, it should be outlined with a darker shade of its own colour. 25. When a gold ornament falls on a coloured ground, it should be outlined with black. 26. When an ornament falls on a ground which is in direct harmony with it, it must be outlined with a lighter tint of its own colour. Thus, when a red ornament falls on a green ground, the ornament must be outlined with a lighter red. 27. When the ornament and the ground are in two tints of the same colour, if the ornament is darker than the ground, it will require outlining with a still darker tint of the same colour; but if lighter than the ground no outline will be required. ANALYTICAL TABLES OF COLOUR. When commencing my studies both in science and art, I found great advantage from reducing all facts to a tabular form so far as possible, and this mode of study I would recommend to others. To me this method appears to have great advantages, for by it we see at a glance what otherwise is difficult to understand; if carefully done, it becomes an analysis of work; and by preparing these tabular arrangements of facts the subject becomes impressed on the mind, and the relation of one fact to another, or of one part of a scheme to another, is seen. The following analytical tables will illustrate many of the facts stated in our propositions. The figures which follow the colours represent the proportions in which they harmonise:-- _Primary Colours._ _Secondary Colours._ _Tertiary Colours._ Blue 8 Purple 13 Olive 24 Red 5 Green 11 Russet 21 Yellow 3 Orange 8 Citrine 19 _Primary Colours._ _Secondary Colours._ _Tertiary Colours._ Red 5 } } Orange 8 } Yellow 3 } } } Citrine, or Yellow Tertiary 19 Blue 8 } } } Green 11 } Yellow 3 } Blue 8 } } Purple 13 } Red 5 } } } Russet, or Red Tertiary 21 Red 5 } } } Orange 8 } Yellow 3 } Blue 8 } } Green 11 } Yellow 3 } } } Olive, or Blue Tertiary 24 Blue 8 } } } Purple 13 } Red 5 } This latter table shows at a glance how each of the secondary and tertiary colours is formed, and the proportions in which they harmonise. It also shows why the three tertiary colours are called respectively the yellow tertiary, the red tertiary, and the blue tertiary, for into each tertiary two equivalents[11] of one primary enter, and one equivalent of each of the other primaries. Thus, in citrine we find two equivalents of yellow, and one each of red and blue; hence it is the yellow tertiary. In russet we find two equivalents of red, and one each of blue and of yellow; and in olive two of blue, and one each of red and yellow. Hence they are respectively the red and blue tertiaries. [11] An equivalent of blue is 8, of red 5, of yellow 3. [Illustration: Fig. 24.] [Illustration: Fig. 25.] Figs 24 and 25 are diagrams of harmony. I have connected in the centre, by three similar lines, the colours which form a harmony; thus, blue, red, and yellow harmonise when placed together. Purple, green, and orange also harmonise (I have connected them by dotted lines in the first of the two diagrams). But when two colours are to produce a harmony, the one will be a primary colour, and the other a secondary formed of the other two primary colours (for the presence of the three primary colours is necessary to a harmony), or the one will be a secondary, and the other a tertiary colour formed of the two remaining secondary colours. Such harmonies I have placed opposite to each other; thus blue, a primary, harmonises with orange, a secondary; yellow with purple; and red with green; and the secondary colour is placed between the two primary colours of which it is formed; thus, orange is formed of red and yellow, between which it stands; green, of blue and yellow; and purple, of blue and red. In the second of the two diagrams we see that purple, green, and orange produce a harmony, so do olive, russet, and citrine. We also see that purple and citrine harmonise, and green and russet, and orange and olive. Continuing this diagrammatic form of illustration, we may set forth the quantities in which the various colours harmonise: thus:-- _Blue._ _Red._ _Yellow._ O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O _Blue._ _Orange._ O O O O harmonises with O O O O O O O O O O O O _Red._ _Green._ O O O O harmonises with O O O O O O O O O O O O _Yellow._ _Purple._ O O O harmonises with O O O O O O O O O O O O O _Purple._ _Citrine._ O O O O harmonises with O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O _Green._ _Russet._ O O O O harmonises with O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O _Orange._ _Olive._ O O O O harmonises with O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O O To those who are about to practise ornamentation, it is very important that they have in the mind's eye a tolerably accurate idea of the relative quantities of the various colours necessary to harmony, even where the colours are considered as existing in a state of absolute purity. We have rarely, however, to use the brightest blues, reds, and yellows which pigments furnish, and even these are but poor representatives of the potent colours of light as seen in the rainbow, and with the agency of the prism; nevertheless, a knowledge of the quantities in which these pure colours harmonise is very desirable. The proportions in which we have stated that colours perfectly harmonise, and in which the primary colours combine to form the secondaries, and the secondaries the tertiaries, are given in respect to the colours of light, and not of pigments or paints, which, as we have just said, are more or less base representatives of the pure colours of light. Yet certain pigments may, for our purpose, be regarded as representing pure colours. Thus, the purest real ultramarine we will regard as blue (cobalt is rather green, that is, it has a little yellow in it, and the French and German ultramarines are generally rather purple, or have a little red in them, yet the best of these latter is a tolerably pure colour), the purest French carmine as red (common carmine is frequently rather crimson, that is, has blue in it; vermilion is much too yellow), and lemon-chrome as yellow (the chrome selected must be without any green shade, and without any orange shade, however slight); and these pigments will be found to represent the colours of the prism as nearly as any that can be found. I would recommend the learner to get a small quantity of these colours in their powder form, substituting the best pale German ultramarine for real ultramarine, as the latter is of high price,[12] and to fill the various circles of our diagrams, which represent the primary colours, with these pigments, mixing them with a little dissolved gum arabic and water--just ufficient to prevent the colours from rubbing off the paper. The secondary colours will be fairly represented by pale-green lake, often called drop-green, by orange-chrome--that of about the colour of a ripe, rather deep-coloured, orange-rind--and the purple by the admixture of pale German ultramarine and crimson-lake, in about equal proportions, with a little white to bring it to the same depth as the green. I cannot name any pigments which would well represent the tertiary colours. Citrine is about the colour of candied _lemon_-peel; olive about the colour of candied citron-peel, and russet is often seen on the skin of certain apples called "russet apples," in the form of a slight roughness; but this russet is in many cases not quite sufficiently red to represent the colour bearing the same name. Iron rust is rather too yellow. This colour should bear the same relation to red that the candied lemon-peel does to yellow. [12] Real ultramarine is sold at £8 per ounce. The best imitation, or German ultramarine, is procurable at any oil-shop at about 3s. to 4s. per pound. The best carmine should be procurable at 6s. per ounce, but artists' colourmen often charge £1 1s., owing to the small demand for this pigment. The best chrome yellow (chrome yellow is kept in many shades) is about 1s. 6d. per pound. If the student will try carefully to realise these colours, and will fill up the circles in our diagrams with them, he will thereby be much assisted in his studies; but it will be still better if he prepare fresh diagrams on a larger scale, and use squares instead of circles. I should recommend, and that I do strongly, that the student work out all the diagrams which I have suggested on a tolerably large scale, using the colours where I have used words. I should also advise him to do an ornament, say in red on a gold ground, and outline this red ornament with a deeper red; to do a gold ornament on a coloured ground, and outline it with black; and indeed to carefully work out an ornamental illustration of our propositions, Nos. 24, 25, 26, and 27, and to keep these before him till he is so impressed by them as to _feel_ the principle which they set forth. This should be done on a large scale in all our designing-rooms and art-workshops. As we shall have to refer to colours by naming pigments, and as I am constantly asked what pigments I employ, I shall enumerate the paints in my colour-box; but I shall place a dagger against those which I have in my private box, and which I do not supply in my offices; but these I seldom use. Of yellows I have [14]king's yellow (not a permanent colour), [14]very pale chrome, lemon-chrome (about the colour of a ripe lemon), middle-chrome (half-way between the lemon and orange-chrome), orange-chrome (about the colour of the rind of a ripe orange), [14]yellow-lake, [14]Indian yellow. Of reds--vermilion, carmine, crimson-lake. Of blues--[14]cobalt, German ultramarine, both deep and pale, Antwerp blue, indigo. Of greens--emerald, green-lake, pale and deep. Of browns--raw Turkey umber, vandyke, Venetian red, purple-brown, brown-lake. Besides these I have what is called celestial blue, which is a very pure and intense turquoise, vegetable black, flake white, and gold bronze.[13] [13] Some of these colours are not of a permanent character and could not be used in work intended to be lasting. I use them for patterns for our manufactures, where when the drawing is once copied in a fabric it is destroyed. Some of the brightest colours are unfortunately the most fleeting. There are certain facts connected with the mixing of colours which must never be lost sight of; thus, while the colours of light co-mingle without any deterioration, or loss of brilliancy, pigments or paints will not do so, but by admixture tend to destroy one another. This takes place only to a small extent when but two primary colours are combined; but if any of the third primary enters into the composition of a tint, a decided deterioration, or loss of intensity, occurs. For this reason we employ many pigments, so as to avoid as far as possible the mixing of colours. But there is another reason why the great admixture of colours is undesirable. Colours are chemical agents, and in some cases the various pigments act chemically on one another. Of all colours yellows suffer most by admixture with other colours: but this is accounted for by their delicacy and purity. For this reason I use a greater variety of yellow pigments than of red or blue.[14] [14] Of all mediums in which colours can be mixed, paraffine is the safest; it is without chemical affinities, and is therefore well calculated to preserve pigments in their original condition. Were it possible to procure three pigments devoid of chemical affinities, and each of the same physical constitution, as of equal degrees of transparency or opacity, one truly representing the blue of light, another the red, and another the yellow, we should need no others, for of these we could form all other colours; but as no pigments come even near to the fulfilment of these conditions, we have to employ roundabout and clumsy methods of arriving at desired results. There is one statement which I have made that, perhaps, needs a little elucidation, although the careful student may have seen the reason of my assertion. I said that purple harmonised with citrine, green with russet, and orange with olive. I might have expressed it (and many would have done so) thus:--The complement of citrine is purple, the complement of russet is green, and the complement of olive is orange. A colour which is complementary to any other is that which, with it, completes the presence of the three primary colours: thus green is the complement of red, and red of green, for each, together with the colour to which it is the complement, completes the presence of the three colours. But in order to a harmony, the complement must be made up in certain proportions. Let us now refer to our second diagrammatic table, and we there see that citrine is formed of two equivalents of yellow and only one equivalent of red and of blue. Now, in order to a harmony, each primary should be present in two equivalents, as one is present in this quantity--_i.e._, the yellow. One equivalent of blue and one of red (both of which are wanting in the citrine) form purple; hence purple is the complement of citrine, or the colour that with it produces a harmony. In russet one equivalent of blue and one of yellow are wanting, and these in combination are green--green, then, is the complement of russet. And in olive one equivalent of red and one of yellow are wanting--red and yellow form orange, hence orange is the complement of olive. I have spoken of all colours as of full intensity and purity, but we have to deal also with other conditions. All colours may be darkened by black, when _shades_ are produced; or reduced by white, when _tints_ are produced. Besides these alterations in intensity, a portion of one colour may be added to another. Thus, if a small portion of blue be mingled with red, the red becomes a crimson or blue-red; or if a small portion of yellow be added to the red, the latter becomes a scarlet or yellow-red. In like manner, when yellow is in excess in a green, we have a yellow-green; or when blue is in excess, a blue-green; and so with the other colours. Such alterations produce _hues_ of colour. We now come to the subtleties of harmony. Thus, if we have a yellow-red or scarlet--a red with yellow in it--the green that will harmonise with it will be a blue-green; or if we have a blue-red or crimson--a red with blue in it--the green that will harmonise with it will be a yellow-green. This is obvious, for the following reasons:--Let us suppose a red represented by the equivalent number, five, with one part of blue added to it, thus causing it to be a blue-red or crimson. Were the red pure, there should be eleven parts of green as a complement to the five of red, of which green eight parts would be blue and three yellow; but the blue-red occurs in six parts, one of which is blue--there are, then, but seven parts of blue remaining in the equivalent quantity to combine with the three of yellow, one being already used; hence the green formed is a yellow-green, one of the equivalents of blue necessary to the formation of a true green being already in combination with the red, and thus absent from the green. The same reasoning will apply to the scarlet-red and blue-green, and, indeed, to all similar cases; but to take the case of the crimson-red and yellow-green, as just given, and carry it a stage further, we might add two parts (out of the eight) of blue to the red, and make it more blue, and then form the complementary green of six parts of blue and three of yellow, and thus make it more yellow. Or we may go further still, and add to the red six of the eight parts of blue, when the admixture would appear as a red-purple rather than as a blue-red, in which case the complementary green--or, rather, green-yellow--would consist of two parts of blue and three of yellow. These facts are diagrammatically expressed in the following:-- Red O O O O O } Yellow { O O O Yellow } Crimson harmonises with { Blue O } Green { O O O O O O O Blue Or, Red O O O O O } Blue Very { O O O Yellow } harmonises with Yellow { Blue O O } Crimson Green { O O O O O O Blue Or, Red. O O O O O } Red Green { O O O Yellow } harmonises with { Blue. O O O O O O } Purple Yellow { O O Blue In all these cases it will be seen that we have eight parts of blue, five of red, and three of yellow, only the mode of combination varies. This variation may occur to any extent, provided the totals of each be always the equivalent proportions. These remarks will apply equally to hues of colour, shades, and tints, and to shades and tints of hues. Care, and a little practice, will enable the learner to arrange colours into a number of degrees of depth, or shades, as they are generally called. (We do not here use the term as signifying pure colours darkened with black.) Ten shades of each colour differing obviously in degree of depth can readily be arranged by the experienced, the ten shades being equidistant from each other as regards depth--that is, shade 3 will be as much darker than shade 2 as shade 2 is darker than shade 1, and so on throughout the whole. Purple is a colour intermediate between blue and red. Imagine ten hues between the purple and the red, and ten more between the purple and the blue: thus we should have purple, then a slightly red purple, then a rather redder purple, then a purple still redder, and so on till we get purple-reds, and finally the pure red; and the same variations of hue at the blue side also. Imagine, further, the green having ten hues extending towards the blue, and ten more stretching towards the yellow; and the orange having ten hues towards the red, and ten towards the yellow--in all cases I count the colour from which we start as one of the ten, thus:-- Blue Purple Red 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 --and we shall have 54 colours and hues of colour. Of each of these 54 colours and hues imagine 10 degrees of depth, and we get 540 colours, hues, tints, and shades, all differing from one another to an obvious degree. Mark this fact, that any colour, tint, hue, or shade of such a diagram has its complement in one other of the colours, tints, hues, or shades of the diagram, and that only two of this series of 540 are complementary to each other; thus, if you fix on any one colour of the 540, there is but one colour in the whole that is complementary to it, and it is complementary to but this one other colour. The student will do well to try and make a colour-diagram of this kind, of a simple character, say such as the following, only using pigments for my numbers; but in doing so he must exercise the utmost care, in order that he secure some degree of accuracy of tint or shade, and if he can call to his aid an experienced colourist it will be of great assistance to him. [Illustration] This table is highly valuable, as it gives ninety harmonies, if carefully prepared in colour; and the preparation of such a table is the very best practice that a student can possibly have. Let us for a moment consider this table, and suppose that we want to find the complement to some particular colour, as the third shade of red. We find the complement of this in the third shade of green opposite. If we want the complement of the second shade of orange-yellow, we find it in the second shade of blue-purple opposite, and so on. Thus we have a means of at once judging of the harmony of colours. It must ever be borne in mind that pigments mixed in the proportions given will not yield results such as would occur when the coloured rays of light are combined; thus three parts, either by weight or measure, of chrome yellow when combined with eight parts of ultramarine would not form a colour representing the secondary green, nor would the result be more satisfactory were other pigments combined in the proportions given. What we have said in respect to the proportions in which colours combine to form new colours applies only to the coloured rays of light. It must now be noticed that while colours harmonise in the proportions stated, the areas occupied by the different colours may vary if there be a corresponding alteration in intensity. Thus eight of blue and eight of orange form a perfect harmony when both colours are of prismatic intensity; but we shall still have a perfect harmony if the orange is diluted to one-half its strength with white, and thus formed into a tint, provided there be sixteen parts of this orange of half strength to the eight parts of blue of full strength. The orange might be further diluted to one-third of its full power, but then twenty-four parts would be necessary to a perfect harmony with eight parts of prismatic blue; or to one-fourth of its strength, when thirty-two parts would be necessary to the harmony. It is not desirable that I occupy space with diagrams of these quantities, but the industrious student will prepare them for himself, and will strive to realise a true half-tint, quarter-tint, etc., which is not a very easy thing to do. By practice, however, it will readily be accomplished, and anything achieved is a new power gained. What I have said respecting the harmony of blue with tints of orange will apply in all similar cases. Thus red will harmonise with tints of green, provided the area of the tint be increased as the intensity is decreased; and so will yellow harmonise with tints of purple under similar conditions. But we may reverse the conditions, and lower the primary to a tint retaining the secondary in its intensity. Thus blue, if reduced to a half-tint, will harmonise with orange of prismatic intensity in the proportion of sixteen of blue to eight of orange; or, if reduced to a quarter-tint, in the proportion o£ thirty-two of blue to eight of orange. Red, if reduced to a half-tint, will harmonise in the proportion of ten red to eleven of green; and yellow as a half-tint in the proportion of six yellow to thirteen of purple. The same remarks might be made respecting the harmony of shades of colour with colours of prismatic intensity. Thus, if orange is diluted to a shade of half intensity with black, it will harmonise with pure blue in the proportion of sixteen of orange to eight of blue, and so on, just as in the case of tints; and this principle applies to the harmony of all hues of colour also. To go one step further: we scarcely ever deal with pure colours or their shades or tints, or even come as near them as we can. With great intensity of colour we seem to require an ethereal character, such as we have in those of light; but our pigments are coarse and earthy--they are too real-looking, and are not ethereal--they may be said to be corporeal rather than spiritual in character. For this reason we have to avoid the use of our purest pigments in such quantities as render their poverty of nature manifest, and to use for large surfaces such tints as, through their subtlety of composition, interest and please. A tint the composition of which is not apparent is always preferable to one of more obvious formation. Thus we are led to use tints which are subtly formed, and such as please by their newness and bewilder by the intricacy of formation. To do what I here mean it is not necessary that many pigments be mixed together in order to the formation of a tint. The effect of which I speak can frequently be got by two well-chosen pigments. Thus a fine series of low-toned shades can be produced by mixing together middle-chrome and brown-lake in various proportions, and in all of the shades thus formed the three primary colours will be represented, but in some yellow will predominate, and in others red; while in many it will not be easy to discover to what proportionate extent the three primary colours are present. Let us suppose that we make a tint by adding white to cobalt blue. This blue contains a small amount of yellow, and is a slightly green blue. But to this tint we add a small amount of raw umber with the view of imparting a greyness[15] or atmospheric character. Raw umber is a neutral colour, leaning slightly to yellow--that is, it consists of red, blue, and yellow, with a slight excess of the latter. In order that an orange harmonise with this grey-blue of a slightly yellow tone, the orange must be slightly inclined to red, so as to form the complement of the little green formed by the yellow in the blue. It may harmonise with the grey-blue as a pure tint if the area of the diluted and neutralised primary is sufficiently extended, or may itself be likewise reduced to a tint of the same depth, when both tints would have the same area. [15] Cobalt, raw umber, and white make a magnificent grey, both in oil-colours, in tempera (powder-colours mixed with gum-water), and in distemper (powder-colours mixed with size). I might go on multiplying cases of this character to almost any extent, but these I leave the student to work out for himself, and pass to notice that while it is desirable to use subtle tints (often called "broken tints") it is rarely expedient to make up the full harmony by a large area of a tertiary tone and a single positive colour. Thus, we might have a shade or a tint of citrine spreading over a large surface as a ground on which we wished to place a figure. This figure would harmonise in pure purple were it of a certain size, and yet if thus coloured it would give a somewhat common-place effect when finished, for the harmony would be too simple and obvious. It would be much better to have the nineteen parts of citrine reduced, say, to half intensity, when the area would be increased to thirty-eight, with the figure of eight parts of blue and five of red, than of thirteen parts of purple. But it would be better still if there were the thirty-eight parts of reduced citrine, three parts of pure yellow, thirteen of purple, five of red, and eight of blue, together with white, black, or gold, or all three (these may be added without altering the conditions, as all act as neutrals), for here the harmony is of a more subtle character. If we count up the equivalents of the colours employed in this scheme of harmony, we shall see that we have, in the citrine-- Yellow 6 (two equivalents). Blue 8 (one equivalent). Red 5 (one equivalent). In the purple-- Blue 8 (one equivalent). Red 5 (one equivalent). Of the pure colours-- Yellow 3 (one equivalent). Red 5 (one equivalent). Blue 8 (one equivalent). Thus we have three equivalents of each primary, which give a perfect harmony. I must not say more respecting the laws of harmony, for in the space of a small work it is impossible to do so, but proceed to notice certain effects or properties of colours, which I have as yet only alluded to, or have passed altogether unnoticed. I have said that black, white, and gold are neutral as regards colour. This is the case, although many would suppose that gold was a yellow. Gold will act as a yellow, but it is generally employed as a neutral in decorative work, and it is more of a neutral than a yellow, for both red and blue exist largely in it. The pictorial artist frames his picture with gold because it, being a neutral, does not interfere with the tints of his work. It has the further advantage of being rich and costly in appearance, and thus of giving an impression of worth where it exists. Black, white, and gold, being neutral, may be advantageously employed to separate colours where separation is necessary or desirable. Yellow and purple harmonise, but yellow is a light colour and purple is dark. These colours not only harmonise, but also contrast as to depth, the one being light and the other dark. The limit of each colour, wherever these are used in juxtaposition, is therefore obvious. It is not so with red and green, for these harmonise when of the same depth. This being the case, and red being a glowing colour, if a red object is placed on a green ground, or a green object on a red ground, the "figure" and ground will appear to "swim" together, and will produce a dazzling effect. Colour must assist form, and not confuse it. It will do this in the instance just named if the figure is outlined with black, white, or gold, and there will be no loss of harmony. But experience has shown that this effect can also be averted by outlining the figure with a lighter tint of its own colour. Thus, if the figure is red and the ground green, an outline of lighter red (pink) may be employed. (See Proposition 26, page 34.) A blue figure on a red ground (as ultramarine on carmine), or a red figure on a blue ground, will also produce this swimming and unsatisfactory effect, but this is again obviated by an outline of black, white, or gold. Employing the outline thus must not be regarded as a means of merely rendering what was actually unpleasant endurable, for it does much more--it affords one of the richest means of effect. A carmine ground well covered with bold green ornament having a gold outline is, if well managed, truly gorgeous; and were the figure blue on the red ground, the lavish use of gold would render the employment of yellow unnecessary as the yellow formed in the eye and cast upon the gold would satisfy all requirements. It is a curious fact that the eye will create any colour of which there is a deficiency. This it will do, but the colour so created is of little use to the composition unless white or gold is present; if, however, there be white or gold in the composition, the colour which is absent, or is insufficiently represented, will be formed in the eye and cast upon these neutrals, and the white or the gold, as the case may be, will assume the tint of the deficient or absent colour. (See Propositions 8 and 9, page 32.) While this occurs (and sometimes it occurs to a marked degree, as can be shown by experiment), it must not be supposed that a composition in which any element is wanting is as perfect as one which reveals no want. It is far otherwise; only Nature here comes to our assistance, and is content to help herself rather than endure our short-comings; but in the one case we give Nature the labour of completing the harmony; while in the other, all being prepared, we receive a sense of satisfaction and repose. In Proposition 8 we showed that when blue and black are juxtaposed, the black becomes "rusty," or assumes an orange tint; and in Proposition 9 we gave the cause of this effect. Let a blue spot be placed on a black silk necktie, and however black the silk, it will yet appear rusty. This is a fact; but we sometimes desire to employ blue on black, and wish the black to look black, and not an orange-black. How can we do this? Obviously by substituting for the black a very dark blue, as indigo. The bright blue spot induces orange (the complement of blue) in the eye. This orange, when cast upon black, causes the latter to look "rusty;" but if we place in the black an amount of blue sufficient to neutralise the orange cast upon it, the effect will be that of a jet-black. We have now considered those qualities of colour, and those laws of contrast and harmony, which may be said to be of the grosser sort; but we have scarcely touched on those considerations which pertain to special refinement or tenderness of effect. But let me close the part of my subject of which I have treated, by repeating a statement already made--a statement, let me say, which first led me to perceive really harmony of colour--that _those colours, and those particular hues of colour, which improve each other to the utmost, are those which perfectly harmonise_. (Consider this statement in connection with Propositions 8, 9, 10, and 14, pages 32 and 33.) * * * * * We come now to consider delicacies and refinements in colour effects, which, although dependent upon the skilful exercise of the laws enunciated, are yet of a character, the power to produce which only results from the consideration of the works of the masters of great art-nations; but of these effects I can say little beyond pointing out what should be studied. This principle however I cannot pass without notice--namely, that the finest colour effects are those of a rich, mingled, bloomy character. Imagine a luxuriant garden, the beds in which are filled with a thousand flowers, having all the colours of the rainbow, and imagine these arranged as closely together as will permit of their growth. When viewed from a distance the effect is soft and rich, and full and varied, and is all that is pleasant. This is Nature's colouring. It is our work humbly to strive at producing like beauty with her. This leads me to notice that primary colours (and secondary colours, also, when of great intensity) should be used chiefly in small masses, together with gold, white, or black. Visit the Indian Museum at Whitehall,[16] and consider the beautiful Indian shawls and scarves and table-covers; or, if unable to do so, look in the windows of our large drapers in the chief towns, and see the true Indian fabrics,[17] and observe the manner in which small portions of intense reds, blues, yellows, greens, and a score of tertiary tints, are combined with white and black and gold to produce a very miracle of bloom. I know of nothing in the way of colour combination so rich, so beautiful, so gorgeous, and yet so soft, as some of these Indian shawls. [16] This museum is open free to the public. [17] These will only be seen in very first-class shops. It is curious that we never find a purely Indian work otherwise than in good taste as regards colour harmony. Indian works, in this respect--whether carpets, or shawls, or dress materials, or lacquered boxes, or enamelled weapons--are almost perfect--perfect in harmony, perfect in richness, perfect in the softness of their general effect. How strangely these works contrast with ours, where an harmonious work in colours is scarcely ever seen. By the co-mingling (not co-mixing) of colours in the manner just described, a rich and bloomy effect can be got, having the general tone of a tertiary colour of any desired hue. Thus, if a wall be covered with little ornamental flowerets, by colouring all alike, and letting each contain two parts of yellow and one part of blue and one of red, as separate and pure colours, the distant hue will be that of citrine: the same effect will result if the flowers are coloured variously, while the same proportions of the primaries are preserved throughout. I can conceive of no decorative effects more subtle, rich, and lovely than those of which I now speak. Imagine three rooms, all connected by open archways, and all decorated with a thousand flower-like ornaments, and these so coloured, in this mingled manner, that in one room blue predominates, in another red, and in another yellow; we should then have a beautiful tertiary bloom in each--a subtle mingling of colour, an exquisite delicacy and refinement of treatment, a fulness such as always results from a rich mingling of hues, and an amount of detail which would interest when closely inspected; besides which, we should have the harmony of the general effect of the three rooms, the one appearing as olive, another as citrine, and the other as russet. This mode of decoration has this advantage, that it not only gives richness and beauty, but it also gives purity. If pigments are mixed together they are thereby reduced in intensity, as we have already seen; but if placed side by side, when viewed from a distance the eye will mix them, but they will suffer no diminution of brilliancy. With the view of cultivating the eye, Eastern works cannot be too carefully studied. The Indian Museum should be the home of all who can avail themselves of the opportunity of study which it affords; and the small Indian department of the South Kensington Museum should not be neglected, small though it is.[18] Chinese works must also be considered, for they likewise supply most valuable examples of colour harmony; and although they do not present such a perfect colour bloom as do the works of India, yet they are never inharmonious, and give clearness and sharpness, together with great brilliancy, in a manner not attempted by the Indians. [18] It may not be generally known, but nearly all our large manufacturing towns have, in connection with the Chamber of Commerce, a collection of Indian fabrics, filling several large volumes, which were prepared, at the expense of Government, under the superintendence of Dr. Forbes Watson, and which were given to the various towns on the condition that they be accessible to all persons who are trustworthy. Although these collections do not embrace the costly decorated fabrics, yet much can be learned from them, and the combinations of colour are always harmonious. A much larger collection is now in course of formation. The best works of Chinese embroidery are rarely seen in this country; but these are unsurpassed by the productions of any other people. For richness, splendour, and purity of colour, together with a delicious coolness, I know of nothing to equal them. The works of the Japanese are not to be overlooked, for in certain branches of art they are inimitable, and as colourists they are almost perfect. On the commonest of their lacquer trays we generally have a bit of good colouring, and their coloured pictures are sometimes marvels of harmony. As to the styles of colouring adopted by the nations referred to, I should say that the Indians produce rich, mingled, bloomy, _warm_ effects--that is, effects in which red and yellow prevail; that the Chinese achieve clearness, repose, and _coolness_--a form of colouring in which blue and white prevail; and that the Japanese effects are _warm_, simple, and quiet. Besides studying the works of India, China, and Japan, study those also of Turkey and Morocco, and even those of Algeria, for here the colouring is much better than with us, although not so good as in the countries first named. No aid to progress must be neglected, and no help must be despised.[19] [19] The South Kensington Museum has a very interesting collection of art-works from China and Japan; but the latter are chiefly lent. It is a strange thing that the perfect works of the East are so poorly illustrated in this national collection, while costly, yea, very costly works of inferior character, illustrative of Renaissance art, swarm as thickly as flies in August. This can only be accounted for by the fact that the heads of the institution have a feeling for pictorial rather than decorative art, and the Renaissance ornament is that which has most of the pictorial element. To me, the style appears to owe its very weakness to this fact, for decorative art should be wholly ideal. Pictorial art is of necessity more or less imitative. With the view of refining the judgment further in respect to colour, get a good colour-top,[20] and study its beautiful effects. See also the "gas tubes" illuminated by electricity, as sold by opticians, and let the prism yield you daily instruction. Soap-bubbles may also be blown, and the beautiful colours seen in them carefully noted. These and any other available means of cultivating the eye should constantly be resorted to, as by such means only can we become great colourists. [20] Not the so-called colour or "chameleon" top sold in the toy-shops, but the more scientific toy procurable of opticians, together with the perforated discs of Mr. John Graham, M.R.C.S., of Tunbridge, Kent. As to works on colour, we have the writings of Field, to whom we are indebted for valuable discoveries; of Hay, the decorator, and friend of the late David Roberts, but some of his ideas are wild and Utopian; of Chevreul, whose work will be most useful to the student; and the small catechism of colour by Mr. Redgrave, of the South Kensington Museum, which is excellent. The student will also do well to carefully study the excellent manual of "Colour" by Professor Church, of Cirencester College. CHAPTER III. FURNITURE. Having considered those principles which are of primary importance to the ornamentist, we may commence our notice of the various manufactures, and try to discover what particular form of art should be applied to each, and the special manner in which decorative principles should be considered as applicable to various materials and modes of working. We shall first consider furniture, or cabinet-work, because articles of furniture occupy a place of greater importance in a room than carpets, wall-papers, or, perhaps, any other decorative works; and, also, because we shall learn from a consideration of furniture those structural principles which will be of value to us in considering the manner in which all art-objects should be formed if they have solid, and not simply superficial, dimensions. In the present chapter, I shall strive to impress the fact that design and ornamentation may be essentially different things, and that in considering the formation of works of furniture these should be regarded as separate and distinct. "Design," says Redgrave, "has reference to the construction of any work both for use and beauty, and therefore includes its ornamentation also. Ornament is merely the decoration of a thing constructed." The construction of furniture will form the chief theme of this chapter, for unless such works are properly constructed they cannot possibly be useful, and if not useful they would fail to answer the end for which they were contrived. But before commencing a consideration of the principles involved in the construction of works of furniture, let me summarise what is required in such works if they are to assume the character of art-objects. 1. The general form, or mass form, of all constructed works must be carefully considered. The aspect of the "sky-blotch" of an architectural edifice is very important, for as the day wanes the detail fades and parts become blended, till the members compose but one whole, which, when seen from the east, appears as a solid mass drawn in darkness on the glowing sky; this is the sky-blotch. If the edifice _en masse_ is pleasing, a great point is gained. Indeed, the general contour should have primary consideration. In like manner, the general form of all works of furniture should first be cared for, and every effort should be made at securing to the general mass beauty of shape. 2. After having cared for the general form, the manner in which the work shall be divided into primary and secondary parts must be considered with reference to the laws of proportion, as stated in a former chapter. 3. Detail and enrichment may now be considered; but while these cannot be too excellent, they must still be subordinate in obtrusiveness to the general mass, or to the aspect of the work as a whole. 4. The material of which the object is formed must always be worked in the most natural and appropriate manner. 5. The most convenient or appropriate form for an object should always be chosen, for unless this has been done, no reasonable hope can be entertained that the work will be satisfactory; for the consideration of utility must in all cases precede the consideration of beauty, as we saw in our first chapter. Having made these few general remarks, we must consider the structure of works of furniture. The material of which we form our furniture is wood. Wood has a "grain," and the strength of any particular piece largely depends upon the direction of its grain. It may be strong if its grain runs parallel with its length, or weak if the grain crosses diagonally, or very weak if the grain crosses transversely. However strong the wood, it becomes comparatively much weaker if the grain crosses the piece; and however weak the wood, it becomes yet weaker if the grain is transverse or diagonal. These considerations lead us to see that _the grain of the wood must always be parallel with its length whenever strength is required_. For our guidance in the formation of works of furniture, I give the following short table of woods arranged as to their strength:-- _Iron-wood_, from Jamaica--very strong, bearing great lateral pressure. _Box_ of Illawarry, New South Wales--very strong, but not so strong as iron-wood. _Mountain ash_, New South Wales--about two-thirds the strength of iron-wood. _Beech_--nearly as strong as mountain ash. _Mahogany_, from New South Wales--not quite so strong as last. _Black dog-wood_ of Jamaica--three-fourths as strong as the mahogany just named. _Box-wood_, Jamaica--not half as strong as the box of New South Wales. _Cedar_ of Jamaica--half as strong as the mahogany of New South Wales.[21] [21] For full particulars on this subject see "Catalogue of the Collection illustrating Construction and Building Material," in the South Kensington Museum, and the manual of "Technical Drawing for Cabinetmakers," by E. A. Davidson. Wood can be got of sufficient length to meet all the requirements of furniture-making, yet we not unfrequently find the arch structurally introduced into furniture, while it is absurd to employ it in wooden construction of any kind. The arch is a most ingenious invention, as it affords a means of spanning a large space with small portions of material, as with small stones, and at the same time gives great strength. It is, therefore, of the utmost utility in constructing stone buildings; but in works of furniture, where we have no large spaces to span, and where wood is of the utmost length required, and is stronger than our requirements demand, the use of the arch becomes structurally foolish and absurd. The folly of this mode of structure becomes more apparent when we notice that a wooden arch is always formed of one or two pieces, and not of very small portions, and when we further consider that, in order to the formation of an arch, the wood must be cut across its grain throughout the greater portion of its length, whereby its strength is materially decreased; while if the arch were formed of small pieces of stone great strength would be secured. Nothing can be more absurd than the practice of imitating in one material a mode of construction which is only legitimate in the case of another, and of failing to avail ourselves of the particular mode of utilising a material which secures a maximum of desirable results. While I protest against the arch when structurally used in furniture, I see no objection to it if used only as a source of beauty, and when so situated as to be free from strain or pressure. One of the objects which we are frequently called upon to construct is a chair. The chair is, throughout Europe and America, considered as a necessity of every house. So largely used are chairs, that one firm at High Wycombe employs 5,000 hands in making common cane-bottomed chairs alone; and yet we see but few chairs in the market which are well constructed. All chairs having curved frames--whether the curve is in the wood of the back, in the sides of the seat, or in the legs--are constructed on false principles. They are of necessity weak, and being weak are not useful. As they are formed by using wood in a manner which fails to utilise its qualities of strength, these chairs are offensive and absurd. It is true that, through being surrounded by such ill-formed objects from our earliest infancy, the eye often fails to be offended with such works as would offend it were they new to it; but this does not show that they are the less offensive, nor that they are not constructively wrong. Besides, whenever wood is cut across the grain, in order that we get anything approaching the requisite strength, it has to be much thicker and more bulky than would be required were the wood cut with the grain; hence such furniture is unnecessarily heavy and clumsy. Fig. 26 represents a chair which I have taken the liberty of borrowing from Mr. Eastlake's work on household art.[22] This chair Mr. Eastlake gives as an illustration of good taste in the construction of furniture; but I give it as an illustration of that which is essentially bad and wrong. The legs are weak, being cross-grained throughout, and the mode of uniting the upper and lower portions of the legs (the two semicircles) by a circular boss is defective in the highest degree. Were I sitting in such a chair, I should be afraid to lean to the right or the left, for fear of the chair giving way. Give me a Yorkshire rocking-chair, in preference to one of these, where I know of my insecurity, much as I hate such. [22] The title of the work is "Hints on Household Taste." It is well worth reading, as much may be learned from it. I think Mr. Eastlake right in many views, yet wrong in others, but I cannot help regarding him somewhat as an apostle of ugliness, as he appears to me to despise finish and refinement. A chair is a stool with a back-rest, and a stool is a board elevated from the ground or floor by supports, the degree of elevation being determined by the length of the legs of the person for whom the seat is made, or by the degree of obliquity which the body and legs are desired to take when the seat is in use. If the seat is to support the body when in an erect sitting posture, about seventeen to eighteen inches will be found a convenient height for the average of persons; but if the legs of the sitter are to take an oblique forward direction, then the seat may be lower. [Illustration: Fig. 26.] [Illustration: Fig. 27.] A stool may consist of a thick piece of wood and of three legs inserted into holes bored in this thick top. If these legs pass to the upper surface of the seat, and are properly wedged in, a useful yet clumsy seat results. In order that the top of the stool be thin and light, it will be necessary that the legs be connected by frames, and it will be well that they be connected twice, once at the top of each leg, so that the seat may rest upon this frame, and once at least two-thirds of the distance from the top. The frame would now stand alone, and although the seat is formed of thin wood it will not crack, as it is supported all round on the upper frame. [Illustration: Fig. 28.] A chair, I have said, is a stool with a back. There is not one chair out of fifty that we find with the back so attached to the seat as to give a maximum of strength. It is usual to make a back leg and one side of the chair-back out of one piece of wood--that is, to continue the back legs up above the seat, and cause them to become the sides of the chair-back. When this is done the wood is almost invariably curved so that the back legs and the chair-back both incline outwards from the seat. There is no objection whatever to the sides of the back and the legs being formed of the one piece, but there is a great objection to either the supports of the back or the legs being formed of cross-grained wood, as much of their strength is thereby sacrificed. Our illustrations (Figs. 27 to 32) will give several modes of constructing chairs such as I think legitimate; but I will ask the reader to think for himself upon the construction of a chair, and especially upon the proper means of giving due support to the back. I have given, in an axiomatic form, those principles which should guide us in the construction of works of furniture, and endeavoured to impress the necessity of using wood in that manner which is most natural--that is, "working" it with the grain (the manner in which we can most easily work it), and in that way which shall secure the greatest amount of strength with the least expenditure of material. I wish to impress my readers with the importance of these considerations, for they lie at the very root of the successful construction of furniture. If the legs of chairs, or their seat-frames, or the ends or backs of couches, are formed of wood cut across the grain, they must either be thick and clumsy, or weak; but, besides this, the rightly constituted mind can only receive pleasure from the contemplation of works which are wisely formed. Daily contact, as we have before said, with ill-shaped objects may have more or less deadened our senses, so that we are not so readily offended by deformity and error as we might be; yet, happily for us, directly we seek to separate truth from error, the beautiful from the deformed, reason assists the judgment, and we learn to feel when we are in the presence of the beautiful or in contact with the degraded. My illustrations will show how I think chairs should be constructed. Fig. 26 is essentially bad, although it has traditional sanction, hence I pass it over without further comment. Fig. 27 is in the manner of an Egyptian chair. It serves to show the careful way in which the Egyptians constructed their works. The curved rails against which the back would rest are the only parts which are not thoroughly correct and satisfactory in a wood structure. Were the curved back members metal, the curvature would be desirable and legitimate. The back of this chair, if the side members were connected by a straight rail, would have immense strength (the backs of some of _our_ chairs are of the very weakest), and if well made it is a seat which would endure for centuries. Fig. 28 is a chair of my own designing, in which I have sought to give strength to the back by connecting its upper portion with a strong cross-rail of the frame. [Illustration: Fig. 29.] [Illustration: Fig. 30.] Fig. 29 is a chair slightly altered from one in Mr. Eastlake's work on "Household Taste;" as shown in our illustration, it is a correctly formed work. Fig. 30 is an arm-chair in the Greek style, which I have designed. Fig. 31 is a Lady's chair in the Gothic style; Fig. 32, a lady's chair in early Greek. These I have prepared to show different modes of structure; if the legs are fitted to a frame (the seat-frame), as in the early Greek chair just alluded to, they should be very short, as in this instance, or they must be connected by a frame below the seat, as in Figs. 33 and 34. The best general structure is that in which the front legs pass to the level of the upper surface of the seat. [Illustration: Fig. 31.] [Illustration: Fig. 32.] Fig. 33 is a copy of a chair shown by Messrs. Gillow and Co., of Oxford Street, in the last Paris International Exhibition. In many respects it is admirably constructed. The skeleton brackets holding the back to the seat are very desirable adjuncts to light chairs; so are the brackets connecting the legs with the seat-frame, as these strengthen the entire chair. The manner in which the upper rail of the back passes through the side uprights and is "pinned" is good. The chief, and only important, fault in this chair is the bending of the back legs, involving their being cut against the grain of the wood. Fig. 31 is a chair from Mr. Talbert's very excellent work on "Gothic Furniture." It shows an admirable method of supporting the back. Fig. 35 I have designed as a high-backed lounging chair. With the view of giving strength to the back, I have extended the seat, and arranged a support from this extension to the upper back-rail, and this extension of the seat I have supported by a fifth leg. There is no reason whatever why a chair should have four legs. If three would be better, or five, or any other number, let us use what would be best.[23] [23] In my drawing, the stuffing of the back has been accidentally shown too much rounded. I have now given several illustrations of modes of forming chairs. I might have given many more, but it is not my duty to try and exhaust a subject. What I have to do is simply point out principles, and call attention to facts. It is the reader who must think for himself--first, of the principles and facts which I adduce; secondly, of the illustrations which I give; thirdly, of other works which he may meet with; and fourthly, of further means of producing desirable and satisfactory results than those set forth in my illustrations. [Illustration: Fig. 33.] [Illustration: Fig. 34.] As it cannot be doubted that a well-constructed work, however plain or simple it may be, gives satisfaction to those who behold it--while a work of the most elaborate character fails to satisfy if badly constructed--we shall give a few further illustrations of structure for other articles of furniture, besides chairs, which have become necessary to our mode of life. Fig. 36 is one of my sketches for Greek furniture, designed for a wealthy client. It was formed of black wood. Here the frame of the seat is first formed, and the legs are inserted beneath it, and let into it, while the wood-work of the end of the couch stands upon it, being inserted into it. This appears to have been the general method with the Greeks of forming their furniture, yet it is not so correct structurally as Fig. 37, another of my sketches, where the end and the leg are formed of one piece of wood. The first formation (that of Fig. 36) would bear any amount of pressure from above, but it is not well calculated for resisting lateral pressure; while the latter would resist this lateral pressure, but would not bear quite the same amount of pressure from above. The latter, however, could bear more weight than would ever be required of it, and would be the more durable piece of furniture. [Illustration: Fig. 35.] Fig. 38 gives a legitimate formation for a settee; the cutting-out, or hollowing, of the sides of the legs is not carried to an extreme, but leaves a sufficiency of strong wood with an upright grain to resist all the pressure that would be placed on the seat, and the lower and upper thickened portions of the legs act as the brackets beneath the seat in Fig. 33. The arch here introduced is not used structurally, but for the sake of a curved line, and acts simply as a pair of brackets. This illustration is also from Mr. Talbert's work. Fig. 39 is a table such as we occasionally meet with. I see no objection to the legs leaning inwards at the top; indeed, we have here a picturesque and useful table of legitimate formation. Fig. 40 is the end elevation of a sideboard from Mr. Talbert's work. Mark the simplicity of the structure. The leading or structural lines are straight and obvious. Although Mr. Talbert is not always right, yet his book is well worthy of the most careful consideration and study; and this I can truly say, that it compares favourably with all other works on furniture with which I am acquainted. The general want which we perceive in modern furniture is simplicity of structure and truthfulness of construction. If persons would but think out the easiest mode of constructing a work before they commence to design it, and would be content with this simplicity of structure, we should have very different furniture from what we have. Think first of what is wanted, then of the material at command. I fear that I have very feebly enforced and very inefficiently illustrated the true principles on which works of furniture should be constructed; and yet I feel that the structure of such works is of importance beyond all other considerations. Space is limited, however, and I must pass on; hence I only hope that I have induced the reader to think for himself, and if I have done so I shall have fulfilled my desire, for his progress will then be sure. [Illustration: Fig. 36.] [Illustration: Fig. 37.] Respecting structure I have but a few general remarks further to make, and all these are fairly embraced in the one expression, "Be truthful." An obvious and true structure is always pleasant. Let, then, the "tenon" and the "mortise" pass through the various members, and let the parts be "pinned" together by obvious wooden pins. Thus, if the frame of a chair-seat is tenoned into the legs, let the tenon pass through the leg and be visible on the outer side, and let it be held in its place by glue and wooden pins--the pins being visible. Yet they need not protrude beyond the surface; but why hide them? In this way that old furniture was made which has endured while piece after piece of modern furniture, made with invisible joints and concealed nails and screws, has perished. This is a true structural treatment, and is honest in expression also. [Illustration: Fig. 38.] I do not give this as a principle applicable to one class of furniture only, but to all. When we have "pinned" furniture with an open structure (see the back of chair, Fig. 33), the mode of putting together must of necessity be manifest; but in all other cases the tenons should also go through, and the pins by which they are held in their place be driven from one surface to the other side right through the member. In the commencement of this chapter on furniture, I said that after the most convenient form has been chosen for an object, and after it has been arranged that the material of which it is to be formed shall be worked in the most natural or befitting way, that then the block-form must be looked to, after which comes the division of the mass into primary parts, and lastly, the consideration of detail. [Illustration: Fig. 39.] As to the block-form, let it be simple, and have the appearance of appropriateness and consistency. Its character must be regulated, to an extent, by the nature of the house for which the furniture is intended, and by the character of the room in which it is to be placed. All I can say to the student on this part of the subject is this: Carefully consider good works of furniture whenever opportunity occurs, and note their general conformation. A fine work will never have strong architectural qualities--that is, it will not look like part of a building formed of wood instead of stone. There is but small danger of committing any great error in the block-form, if it be kept simple, and to look like a work in wood, provided that the proportions of height to width and of width and height to thickness are duly cared for (see page 23). After the general form has been considered, the mass may be broken into primary and secondary parts. Thus, if we have to construct a cabinet, the upper part of which consists of a cupboard, and the lower portion of drawers, we should have to determine the proportion which the one part should bear to the other. This is an invariable rule--that the work must not consist of equal parts; thus, if the whole cabinet be six feet in height, the cupboards could not be three feet while the drawers occupied three feet also. The division would have to be of a subtle character--of a character which could not be readily detected. Thus the cupboard might be three feet five inches, and the drawers collectively two feet seven inches. If the drawers are not all to be of the same depth, then the relation of one drawer, as regards its size, to that of another must be considered, and of each to the cupboard above. In like manner the proportion of the panels of the doors to the styles must be thought out; and until all this has been done no work should ever be constructed. [Illustration: Fig. 40.] Next comes the enrichment of parts. Carving should be sparingly used, and is best confined to mouldings, or projecting or terminal ends. If employed in mouldings, those members should be enriched which are more or less completely guarded from dust and injury by some overhanging member. If more carving is used, it should certainly be a mere enrichment of necessary structure--as we see on the legs and other uprights of Mr. Crace's sideboard, by Pugin (Fig. 41). I am not fond of carved panels, but should these be employed the carving should never project beyond the styles surrounding them, and in all cases of carving no pointed members must protrude so as to injure the person or destroy the dress of those who use the piece of furniture. If carving is used sparingly, it gives us the impression that it is valuable; if it is lavishly employed, it appears to be comparatively worthless. The aim of art is the production of repose. A large work of furniture which is carved all over cannot produce the necessary sense of repose, and is therefore objectionable. [Illustration: Fig. 41.] There may be an excess of finish in works of carving connected with cabinet-work; for if the finish is too delicate there is a lack of effect in the result. A piece of furniture is not a miniature work, which is to be investigated in every detail. It is an object of utility, which is to appear beautiful in a room, and is not to command undivided attention; it is a work which is to combine with other works in rendering an apartment beautiful. The South Kensington Museum purchased in the last Paris International Exhibition, at great cost, a cabinet from Fourdonois; but it is a very unsatisfactory specimen, as it is too delicate, too tender, and too fine for a work of utility--it is an example of what should be avoided rather than of what should be followed. The delicately carved and beautiful panels of the doors, if cut in marble and used as mere pieces of sculpture, would have been worthy of the highest commendation; but works of this kind wrought in a material that has a "grain," however little the grain may show, are absurd. Besides, the subjects are of too pictorial a character for "applied work"--that is, they are treated in too pictorial or naturalistic a manner. A broad, simple, idealised treatment of the figure is that which is alone legitimate in cabinet work. Supports or columns carved into the form of human figures are always objectionable. Besides carving, as a means of enrichment, we have inlaying, painting, and the applying of plaques of stone or earthenware, and of brass or ormolu enrichments, and we have the inserting of brass into the material when buhl-work is formed. Inlaying is a very natural and beautiful means of enriching works of furniture, for it leaves the flatness of the surface undisturbed. A great deal may be done in this way by the employment of simple means. A mere row of circular dots of black wood inlaid in oak will often give a remarkably good effect; and the dots can be "worked" with the utmost ease. Three dots form a trefoil, four dots a quatrefoil, six dots a hexafoil, and so on, and desirable effects can often be produced by such simple inlays. Panels of cabinets may be painted, and enriched with ornament or flatly-treated figure subjects. This is a beautiful mode of decoration very much neglected. The couch (Fig. 37) I intended for enrichment of this kind. If this form is employed, care should be exercised in order that the painted work be in all cases so situated that it cannot be rubbed. It should fill sunk panels and hollows and never appear on advancing members. I am not fond of the application of plaques of stone or earthenware to works of furniture. Anything that is brittle is not suitable as an enrichment of wood-work, unless it can be so placed as to be out of danger. Ormolu ornaments, when applied to cabinets and other works in wood, are also never satisfactory. They look too separate from the wood of which the work is formed--too obviously applied; and whatever is obviously _applied_ to the work, and is not a portion of its general fabric, whether a mass of flowers even if carved in wood or an ormolu ornament, is not pleasant. Buhl-work is often very clever in character and skilfully wrought, but I do not care for it. It is of too laborious a nature, and thus intrudes upon us the sense of labour as well as that of skill. As a means of enrichment, I approve of carving, sparingly used, of inlays, and of painted ornament in certain cases; and by the just employment of these means the utmost beauty in cabinet-work can be achieved. Ebony inlaid with ivory is very beautiful. In order to illustrate my remarks respecting cabinets, sideboards, and similar pieces of furniture, I give an engraving of a sideboard executed by Mr. Crace, from the design of Mr. A. Welby Pugin (the father), to which I have before alluded (Fig. 41), and a painted cabinet by Mr. Burgess (Fig. 42), the well-known Gothic architect, whose architecture must be admired. Both of these works are worthy of study of a very careful kind. [Illustration: Fig. 42.] In the sideboard, notice first the general structure or construction of the work, then the manner in which it is broken into parts, and lastly, that it is the structural members which are carved. If this work has faults, they are these: first, the carving is in excess--thus, the panels would have been better plain; and, second, in some parts there is a slight indication of a stone structure, as in the buttress character of the ends of the sideboard. To the cabinet much more serious objections may be taken. 1st. A roof is a means whereby the weather is kept out of a dwelling, and tiles afford a means whereby small pieces of material enable us to form a perfect covering to our houses of a weather-proof character. It is very absurd, then, to treat the roof of a cabinet, which is to stand in a room, as if it were an entire house, or an object which were to stand in a garden. 2nd. The windows in the roof, which in the case of a house let light into those rooms which are placed in this part of the building, and are formed in a particular manner so as the more perfectly to exclude rain, become simply stupid when placed in the roof of a cabinet. These, together with the imitation tiled roof, degrade the work to a mere doll's house in appearance. 3rd. A panelled structure, which is the strongest and best structure, is ignored; hence strong metal bindings are necessary. The painting of the work is highly interesting, and had it been more flatly treated, would then have been truthful, and would yet have lent the same interest to the cabinet that it now does, even if we consider the matter from a purely pictorial point of view. Before we pass from a consideration of furniture and cabinet-work generally, we must notice a few points to which we have as yet merely referred, or which we have left altogether unnoticed. Thus we have to consider upholstery as applied to works of furniture, the materials employed as coverings for seats, and the nature of picture-frames and curtain-poles; we must also notice general errors in furniture, strictly so called. When examining certain wardrobes and cabinets in the International Exhibition of 1862, I was forcibly impressed with the structural truth of one or two of these works. One especially commended itself to me as a fine structural work of classic character. Just as I was expressing my admiration, the exhibitor threw open the doors of this well-formed wardrobe to show me its internal fittings, when, fancy my feelings at beholding the first door bearing with it, as it opened, the two pilasters that I conceived to be the supports of the somewhat heavy cornice above, and the other door bearing away the third support, and thus leaving the superincumbent mass resting on the thin sides of the structure only, while they appeared altogether unable to perform the duty imposed upon them. "Horrible! horrible!" was all I could exclaim. Some of the most costly works of furniture shown by the French in the last Paris International Exhibition were not free from this defect; and this is strange, for to the rightly constituted mind this one defect is of such a grave character as to neutralise whatever pleasure might otherwise be derived from contemplating the work. We see a man, a genius perhaps--a man having qualities that all must admire; but he has one great vice--one sin which easily besets him. While the man has excellent and estimable qualities, we yet avoid him, for we see not the excellences but the vice. It is so with such works of furniture as those of which we have been speaking, for their defects are such as impress us more powerfully than their excellences. Respecting these works of furniture, this should be said: they are more or less imitative of works of a debased art-period--of a period in which structural truth was utterly disregarded--yet this is no reason why we should copy the defects of our ancestors. Infinitely worse than the works just spoken of, is falsely constructed Gothic furniture, where the very truthfulness of structure is openly set before us. Not long since I was staying with a client whose house is of Gothic style. Being about to furnish drawings for the decorations of this mansion, I was carefully noting the character of the architecture and of the furniture, which latter had been designed and manufactured expressly for the house by a large Yorkshire firm of cabinet-makers. The structure of the furniture appeared just, the proportions tolerably good, the wood honest, and the inlays judicious; but, can it be imagined, the whole was a mere series of frauds and shams--the cross-grain ends of what should be supports were attached to the fronts of drawers, pillars came away, and such falsity became apparent as I never before saw. How any person could possibly produce such furniture, be he ever so degraded, I cannot think. I have seen works that are bad, I have seen falsities in art, but I never before saw such falsity of structure and such uncalled-for deception as these works presented. The untrue is always offensive; but when a special effort is made at causing a lie to appear as truth, a double sense of disappointment is experienced when the untruthfulness is discovered. In his work on "Household Taste," to which I have before alluded, Mr. Eastlake objects, and I think very justly, to the character of an ordinary telescopic dining-table. He says: "Among the dining-room appointments, the table is an article of furniture which stands greatly in need of reform. It is generally made of planks of polished oak or mahogany laid upon an insecure framework of the same material, and supported by four gouty legs, ornamented by the turner with mouldings which look like inverted cups and saucers piled upon an attic baluster. I call the framework insecure, because I am describing what is commonly called a 'telescope' table, or one which can be pulled out to twice its usual length, and, by the addition of extra leaves in its middle, accommodate twice the usual number of diners. Such a table cannot be soundly made in the same sense that ordinary furniture is sound; it must depend for its support on some contrivance which is not consistent with the material of which it is made. Few people would like to sit on a chair the legs of which slid in and out, and were fastened at the required height by a pin; there would be a sense of insecurity in the notion eminently unpleasant. You might put up with such an invention in camp, or on a sketching expedition, but to have it and use it under your own roof, instead of a strong and serviceable chair, would be absurd. Yet this is very much what we do in the case of the modern dining-room table. When it is extended it looks weak and untidy at the sides; when it is reduced to its shortest length the legs appear heavy and ill-proportioned. It is always liable to get out of order, and from the very nature of its construction must be an inartistic object. Why should such a table be made at all? A dining-room is a room to dine in. Whether there are few or many people seated for that purpose, the table might well be kept of a uniform length, and if space is an object it is always possible to use in its stead two small tables, each on four legs. These might be placed end to end when dinner parties are given, and one of them would suffice for family use. A table of this kind might be solidly and stoutly framed, so as to last for ages, and become, as all furniture ought to become, an heirloom in the family. When a man builds himself a house on freehold land, he does not intend that it shall only last his lifetime; he bequeaths it in sound condition to posterity. We ought to be ashamed of furniture which is continually being replaced; at all events, we cannot possibly take any interest in such furniture. In former days, when the principles of good joinery were really understood, the legs of such a large table as that of the dining-room would have been made of a very different form from the lumpy, pear-shaped things of modern use." In nearly all these remarks I agree with Mr. Eastlake, and especially in his remark that, owing to the very nature of its construction, a modern dining-table must be an inartistic object. No work can be satisfactory in which any portions of the true supporting structure or frame are drawn apart; and this occurs to a marked degree in this table, as is shown in Mr. Eastlake's illustration, which we here copy (Fig. 43). [Illustration: Fig. 43.] Falsities of structure, although not so glaring as that of the telescopic dining-table, are everywhere met with in our shops, and, curious as it may appear, the great majority of the works offered to the public are not only false in structure, but are utterly offensive to good taste in every way, and are formed almost exclusively of wood cut across the grain, which secures to the article the maximum amount of weakness. Figs. 44, 45, 46, and 47 are examples of utterly bad furniture. [Illustration: Fig. 44.] [Illustration: Fig. 45.] [Illustration: Fig. 46.] [Illustration: Fig. 47.] Another falsity in furniture is veneering--a practice which should be wholly abandoned. Simple honesty is preferable to false show in all cases; truthfulness in utterance is always to be desired. It was customary at one time to veneer almost every work of furniture, and even to place the grain of the veneer in a manner totally at variance with the true structure of the framework which it covered. This was a method of making works, which might in their unfinished state be satisfactory, appear when finished as most unsatisfactory objects. Since this time much progress has been made in a knowledge of truthful structure and of truthful expression, yet this method of giving a false surface by means of veneer is not wholly abandoned as despicable and false. A few months back I had occasion to visit a cabinet warehouse in Lancashire, and the owner called my attention to the fine grain of some old English oak, and remarked that certain pieces of furniture were of solid wood. Upon investigation, however, I discovered that while the furniture in question was made throughout of oak, the bulk of the structure was of common wainscoting, and the surface was veneered with English oak. I confess that I would much rather have had the furniture without its false exterior, and daily my love for fine grain in wood gets less. I think that this arises from the fact that strong grain in wood takes from the "unity" of the work into which it is formed, and tends to break it up into parts, by rendering every member conspicuous. What is wanted in a work of furniture, before all other considerations, is a fine general form--a harmony of all parts--so that no one member usurps a primary place--and this it is almost impossible to achieve if a wood is employed having a strongly marked grain. With us a room is considered as almost unfurnished if the windows are not hung with some kind of drapery. The original object of this drapery was that of keeping out a draught of air, which found its way through the imperfectly fitting windows; and the antitype of our window-hangings was a simple curtain, formed of a material suitable to achieve the purpose sought. Such a curtain was legitimate and desirable, and would contrast strangely with the elaborate festooning and quadrupled curtains of our present windows. We daily see yards of valuable material, arranged in massive and absurd folds, shutting out that light which is necessary to our health and well-being; a pair of heavy stuff curtains and a pair of lace curtains being hung at each window, each curtain consisting of a sufficient amount of material to more than cover the window of itself. An excess of drapery is always vulgar, while a little drapery usefully and judiciously employed is pleasant. Many windows that are well made, and thus keep out all currents of air, need no curtains. If the window mouldings are of an architectural character, and are coloured much darker than the wall, so as to become an obvious frame to the window, and thus do for the window what a picture-frame does for a picture, no curtains will be required. I have recently had a wonderfully striking illustration of this. Two adjoining rooms are alike in their architecture; one is decorated, and has the window casement of such colours as strongly contrast, while they are yet harmonious, with the wall. Before the room was decorated, and the windows were thus treated, a general light colour prevailed, both on the wood-work and on the walls of the room, and curtains were hung at the windows in the usual way. With the altered decorations, the windows became so effective that I at once saw the undesirability of re-hanging the curtains, and yet not one of all my friends has observed that there are no curtains to the windows; while if the curtains are removed from the adjoining room, where the window-frames are as light as the walls, the first question asked is, "Where are your curtains?" [Illustration: Fig. 48.] [Illustration: Fig. 49.] Curtains should be hung on a simple and obvious pole (Fig. 48). All means of hiding this pole are foolish and useless. This pole need not be very thick, and is better formed of wood than of metal, for then the rings to which the curtains are attached pass along almost noiselessly. The ends of the pole may be of metal, but I prefer simple balls of wood. The pole may be grooved, and any little enrichments may be introduced into these grooves, providing the carving does not come to the surface, and thus touch the rings, which by their motion would injure it. Whatever is used in the way of enrichment should be of simple character, for the height at which the curtain pole is placed would render fine work altogether ineffective. As to upholstery, I would say, never indulge in an excess. A wood frame should appear in every work of furniture, as in the examples we have given. Sofas are now made as though they were feather beds; they are so soft that you sink into them, and become uncomfortably warm by merely resting upon them, and their gouty forms are relieved only by a few inches of wood, which appear as legs. Stuffing should be employed only as a means of rendering a properly constructed seat comfortably soft. If it goes beyond this it is vulgar and objectionable. Spring stuffing is not to be altogether commended; a good old-fashioned hair-stuffed seat is more desirable, as it will endure when springs have perished. As to the materials with which seats may be covered I can say little, for they are many. Hair cloth, although very durable, is altogether inartistic in its effect. Nothing is better than leather for dining-room chairs; Utrecht velvet, either plain or embossed, looks well on library chairs; silk and satin damasks, rep, plain cloth, and many other fabrics are appropriate to drawing-room furniture. Chintz I am not fond of as a chair covering, and in a bed-room I would rather have chairs with plain wooden seats than with cushions covered with this glazed material. [Illustration: Fig. 50.] With a mere remark upon picture-frames I will finish this chapter. Picture-frames are generally elaborately carved mouldings, or are simple mouldings covered with ornaments, which, whether carved or formed of putty, are overlaid with gold leaf; they are, indeed, highly ornamented gilt mouldings. I much prefer a well-formed, yet somewhat simple, black polished moulding, on the interior of which runs a gold bead (Fig. 49). A fanciful yet good picture-frame was figured in the _Building News_ of September 7th, 1866, which we now repeat (Fig. 50). CHAPTER IV. DECORATION OF BUILDINGS. DIVISION I.--GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS--CEILINGS. Having considered furniture, the formation of which requires a knowledge of construction, or of what we may term structural art, we pass on to notice principles involved in the decoration of surfaces, or in "surface decoration," as it is usually called. We commence by considering how rooms should be decorated; yet, in so doing, we are met at the very outset with a great difficulty, as the nature of the decoration of a room should be determined by the character of its architecture. My difficulty rests here. How am I to tell you what is the just decoration for a room, when the suitability of the decoration is often dependent upon even structural and ornamental details; and when, in all cases, the character of the decoration should be in harmony with the character of the architecture? Broadly, if a building is in the Gothic style, all that it contains in the way of decoration, and of furniture also, should be Gothic. If the building is Greek, the decorations and furniture should be Greek. If the building is Italian, all its decorations and furniture should be Italian, and so on. But there are further requirements. Each term that I have now employed, as expressive of a style of architecture, is more or less generic in character, and is therefore too broad for general use. What is usually termed Gothic architecture, is a group of styles having common origin and resemblances, known to the architect as the Semi-Norman or Transition style, which occurred in the twelfth century under Henry II. (it was at this time that the pointed arch was first employed). The Early English, which was developed in the end of the twelfth and early part of the thirteenth century, under Richard I., John, and Henry III.; the Decorated, which occurred at the end of the thirteenth, and early portion of the fourteenth century, under Edward I., Edward II., and Edward III.; the Perpendicular, which occurred at the latter part of the fourteenth, and through the greater portion of the fifteenth century, under Richard II., Henry IV., V., and VI., Edward IV. and V., and Richard III.; and, lastly, the Tudor, which occurred at the end of the fifteenth, and the beginning of the sixteenth century, under Henry VII. and Henry VIII. All these styles are popularly spoken of as one, and are expressed by the one term--Gothic. It is so also, to an extent, with the Greek, Roman, and Italian styles, for each of these appears in various modifications of character, but into such details we will not enter: it must suffice to notice that the character of the decoration must be not only broadly in the style of the architecture of the building which it is intended to beautify, but it must be similar in nature to the ornament produced at precisely the same date as the architecture which has been employed for the building. It must not be supposed that I am an advocate of reproducing works, or even styles of architecture, such as were created in times gone by, for I am not. The peoples of past ages carefully sought to ascertain their wants--the wants resulting from climate--the wants resulting from the nature of their religion--the wants resulting from social arrangements--the wants imposed by the building material at command. We, on the contrary, look at a hundred old buildings, and without considering our wants, as differing from those of our forefathers, take a bit from one and a bit from another, or we reproduce one almost as it stands, and thus we bungle on, instead of seeking to raise such buildings as are in all respects suited to our modern requirements. Things are, however, much better in this respect than they were. Bold men are dealing with the Gothic style in its various forms. Scott, Burgess, Street, and many others are venturing to alter it; and thus, while it is losing old characteristics, and is acquiring new elements, it is already assuming a character which has nobility of expression, truthfulness of structure, and suitability to our special requirements. In time to come, further changes will doubtless be made; and thus the style which arose as an imitation of the past will have become new, through constantly departing from the original type, and as constantly adopting new elements. I have said that the decoration of a building should be brought about by the employment of such ornament as was, in time past, associated with the particular form of architecture employed in the building to be decorated, if a precisely similar form of architecture previously existed. Let not the ornament, however, be a mere servile imitation of what has gone before, but let the designer study the ornament of bygone ages till he understands and _feels_ its spirit, and then let him strive to produce new forms and new combinations in the spirit of the ornament of the past. This must also be carefully noted--that the ornament of a particular period does not consist merely of the forms employed in the architecture, drawn in colour on the wall, or the ceiling, as the case may be. The particular form of ornament used in association with some forms of Gothic architecture was very different in character from what we might expect from the nature of the architecture itself, and did not to any extent consist of flatly-treated crockets, gable ends, trefoils, cinque-foils, etc. The ornament of the past must be studied in its purity, and not from those wretched attempts at the production of Gothic decoration which we often see. In what we may call the typical English house of the present day there is really no architecture, and if such a building is to be decorated it is almost legitimate to employ any style of ornamentation. In such a case I should choose a style which has no very marked features--which is not strongly Greek, or strongly Gothic, or strongly Italian; and if there is the necessary ability, I should say try and produce ornaments having novelty of character, and yet showing your knowledge of the good qualities of all styles that are past. If this is attempted, care must be exercised in order to avoid getting a mere combination of elements from various styles as one ornament. Nothing can be worse than to see a bit of Greek, a fragment of Egyptian, an Alhambraic scroll, a Gothic flower, and an Italian husk associated together as one ornament; unless this were done advisedly and in order to meet a very special want, such an ornamental composition would be detestable. What I recommend is the production of new forms; but the new composition may have the vigour of the best Gothic ornament, the severity of Egyptian, the intricacy of the Persian, the gorgeousness of the Alhambra, and so on, only it must not imitate in detail the various styles of the past. Now as to the decoration of a room. If one part only can be decorated, let that one part be the ceiling. Nothing appears to me more strange than that our ceilings, which can be properly seen, are usually white in middle-class houses, while the walls, which are always in part hidden, and even the floor, on which we tread, should have colour and pattern applied to them; and of this I am certain, that, considered from a decorative point of view, our ordinary treatment is wrong. We glory in a clear blue sky overhead, and we speak of the sky as increasing in beauty as it becomes deeper and deeper in tint. Thus the depth of the tint of the Italian sky is familiar to us all. Why, then, make our ceilings white? I often ask this question, and am told that the whiteness renders the ceiling almost invisible; hence it is preferred. This idea is very absurd; first, because blue is the most ethereal and most distant of all colours (see Chap. II., page 33); and, second, do we not build a house with the view of procuring shelter? hence why do we seek to realise the feeling that we are without a covering over our heads? We only like a white ceiling because we have been accustomed to such from infancy, and because we have been taught to regard a clean white ceiling as all that is to be desired. I knew a Yorkshire lady who, upon being asked by her husband whether she would like the drawing-room ceiling decorated, replied that she thought not, as she could not then have it re-whitewashed every year. The idea was clean certainly. Blue, I have said, is ethereal in character; it is so, and may become exceedingly so if of medium depth and of a grey hue; hence, if a mere atmospheric effect was sought, it would be desirable that this colour be used on the ceiling rather than white. But, as we have just said, invisibility of the ceiling is absurd, as it is our protection from the weather. Further, the ceiling may become an object of great beauty, and it can be seen as a whole. Why then neglect the opportunity of arranging a beautiful object when there is no reason to the contrary? We like a beautiful coloured vase, or, if we do not, we can have it whitewashed, or even dispense with it altogether. We like beautiful walls, or we would have them whitewashed also; indeed, we like our surroundings generally beautiful. Why not, then, have beautiful ceilings, especially as they can be seen complete, while the wall is in part hidden by furniture and pictures? [Illustration: Fig. 51.] I will suppose that we have an ordinary room to deal with. First, take away the wretched plaster ornament in the centre of the ceiling, for it is sure to be bad. There is not one such ornament out of a thousand that can be so treated as to make the ceiling look as well as it would do without it. Now place all over the ceiling a flat painted or stencilled pattern, a pattern which repeats equally in all directions (as Fig. 51), and let this pattern be in blue (of any depth) and white, or in blue (of any depth) and cream-colour, and it is sure to look well (the blue being the ground, and the cream-colour or white the ornament). Simple patterns in cream-colour on blue ground, but having a black outline, also look well (Fig. 52); and these might be prepared in paper, and hung on the ceiling as common paper-hangings, if cheapness is essential. Gold ornaments on a deep blue ground, with black outline, also look rich and effective. These are all, however, simple treatments, for any amount of colour may be used on a ceiling, provided the colours are employed in very small masses, and perfectly mingled, so that the effect produced is that of a rich coloured bloom (see Chap. II., page 46). A ceiling should be beautiful, and should also be manifest; but if it must be somewhat indistinct, in order that the caprices of the ignorant be humoured, let the pattern be in middle-tint or pale blue and white only. [Illustration: Fig. 52.] I like to see the ceiling of a room covered all over with a suitable pattern, but I do not at all object to a large central ornament only, or to a centre ornament and corners; especially if the cornice is heavy, so as to give compensating weight to the margin. I have recently designed and seen carried out one or two centre ornaments for drawing-rooms, which ornaments were twenty-one feet in diameter. A centre ornament, if properly treated, may be very large without looking heavy; it may, indeed, extend at least two-thirds of the way from the centre to the margin of the ceiling. I do not speak of plaster ornaments, but of flat decorations. If the ceiling is flat all ornament placed upon it must not only be flat also, but must not fictitiously represent relief, for no shaded ornament can be pleasant when placed as the decoration of a flat architectural surface. I have already noticed that the decoration of a room should be in character with its architecture, but that while this should be so, the ornament applied by way of enrichment should not be a servile copy of the decorative forms employed in ages gone by, but should be such as is new in character, while yet of the spirit of the past. [Illustration: Fig. 53.] Many circumstances tend to determine the nature of the decoration which should be applied to a ceiling: thus, if a ceiling is structurally divided into square panels, the character of the ornament is thereby restricted, and should these panels be large it will probably be desirable that each be fitted with the same ornament; while if they are small three or four different patterns may be employed, if arranged in some orderly or methodical manner. [Illustration: Fig. 54.] A ceiling may also have the joists or beams visible upon it: in this case the decoration would have to be of a very special character. The bottoms of the joists might have a string pattern upon them (a running pattern), as the "Greek key," or guilloche; whilst the sides might have either a running pattern, or a pattern with an upward tendency, as the "Greek honeysuckle;" and the ceiling intervening between the joists might have a running pattern, or better, a star, or diaper pattern, or it might have bands running in the opposite direction to the joists, so as, with them, to form squares, which squares might be filled with ornament. [Illustration: Fig. 55.] If, however, the ceiling is flat, and is not divided into sections structurally, almost any "setting out" of the surface may be employed, as Fig. 53; or a large centre ornament, as Figs. 54 and 55; or a rosette distributed over the entire surface, as Fig. 56. In any case it is not necessary or even desirable that the ornament be in relief upon the ceiling. Flatly treated ornaments may be employed with advantage, and all fictitious appearance of relief, as we have already said, must be avoided. There are so many different ways of setting out ceilings, that I cannot attempt even to make any suggestions. I would simply say, however, Avoid an architectural setting out, if there are no structural members; for ornament which is flat may spread in any manner over a surface without even appearing to need structural supports. As to the colour of a ceiling if there is to be no ornament upon it, let it be a cream-colour (formed of white with a little middle-chrome) rather than white. Cream-colour always looks well upon a ceiling, and gives the idea of purity. A grey-blue is also a very desirable colour for a ceiling, such as is formed of pale ultramarine, white, and a little raw umber, just sufficient to make the blue slightly grey (or atmospheric). In depth this blue should be about half-way between the ultramarine and white. Another effect which I like is produced by the full colour of pure (or almost pure) ultramarine. In this case the cornice should be carefully coloured, and pale blue and white should prevail in it, but a little pure red must be present. [Illustration: Fig. 56.] A further and very desirable effect is produced by placing pale cream-coloured stars irregularly over the pale blue, or even the deep blue ceiling, or by placing pale blue stars upon the cream-coloured ceiling. The stars should vary for an ordinary room ceiling (say a room sixteen feet square by ten feet high) from about three inches from point to point down to one inch; the larger stars having six points; others being smaller and with five points; and the small ones having, some four points, and some three. If such stars are irregularly (without order) intermixed over the ceiling, and yet are somewhat equally dispersed, a very pleasing and interesting effect will thereby be produced. This effect is in much favour with the Japanese. The stars, however, should be smaller if placed on a deep, than on a pale, blue ground. Another good effect is produced by giving the ceiling the colour of Bath, or Portland, stone, and starring it with a deeper tint of the same colour. This effect is improved by each star having a very fine outline of a yet darker tint of the same colour. I should recommend those interested in the decoration of ceilings to study carefully the Egyptian, Alhambra, and Greek Courts at the Crystal Palace, Sydenham, especially the two last named; also to notice the ceiling in St. James's Great Hall, Piccadilly, London, and the ceiling of Ushaw College chapel near Durham. The ceilings in the Oriental Courts, by Mr. Owen Jones, at the South Kensington Museum are worthy of careful notice; but the Renaissance ceilings in other parts of the Museum are both wrong in principle and are bad examples of their style. The structurally formed glass ceiling of the Crystal Palace Bazaar in Oxford Street, London, and still better, the ceiling of Mr. Osler's glass warehouse in Oxford Street, are well worthy of note. On the Continent we very frequently meet with ceilings on which large pictures have been painted, as in the Louvre and the Luxembourg in Paris; and the authorities of the South Kensington Museum are making efforts to introduce this style into England, but such pictorial ceilings are in every way wrong. 1st. A ceiling is a flat surface, hence all decoration placed upon it should be flat also. 2nd. A picture can only be correctly seen from one point, whereas the decoration of a ceiling should be of such a character that it can be properly seen from any part of the room. 3rd. Pictures have almost invariably a right and wrong way upwards. A picture placed on a ceiling is thus wrong way upwards to almost all the guests in the room. 4th. In order to the proper understanding of a picture, you must see the whole of its surface at one time; this is very difficult to do without almost breaking your neck, or being on your back on the floor, if the picture is on the ceiling; whereas an ornament which consists of repeated parts may render a ceiling beautiful without requiring that the whole ceiling be seen at the one glance. Most of the French pictorial ceilings are so painted that they are properly seen when the spectator stands with his back close to the fire. This is very awkward, as the rules of society do not allow us to stand in this position before company. Pictorial works are altogether out of place on a ceiling; they ought to be framed and hung right way upwards upon walls where they can be seen. We have a well-known painted ceiling at the Greenwich Hospital. Arabesque ceilings, such as that of the Roman Court at the Crystal Palace, are also very objectionable. What can be worse than festoons of leafage, like so many sausages, painted upon a ceiling, with griffins, small framed pictures, impossible flowers, and feeble ornament, all with fictitious light and shade? But not content with such absurdities and incongruities, the festoons often hang upwards on vaulted or domed ceilings, rather than downwards. Such ornaments arose when Rome, intoxicated with its conquests, yielded itself up to luxury and vice rather than to a consideration of beauty and truth. Decorations like these were to an extent again revived by the great painter Raphael; but it must ever be remembered that Raphael, while one of the greatest of painters, was no ornamentist. It requires all the energy of a life to become a great painter; and it requires all the energy of a life to become a great ornamentist; hence it is not expected that the one man should be great at the two arts. In all ages when decorative art has flourished, ceilings have been decorated. The Egyptians decorated their ceilings, so did the Greeks, the Byzantines, the Moors, and the people of our Middle Ages, and a light ceiling appears not to have been esteemed as essential, or as in many cases desirable. It is strange that so few of our houses and public buildings contain rooms with decorated ceilings; but the want is already felt, the fashion has set in, and many are at this present moment being prepared. We must get simple modes of enrichment for general rooms--modes of treatment which shall be effective, and yet not expensive--and then we may hope that they will become general. DIVISION II.--DECORATIONS OF WALLS. We must now devote ourselves to the consideration of wall decoration, or to the manner in which ornament should be applied to walls with the view of rendering them decorative. It will appear absurd to say that all ornament that is applied to a wall should be such as will render the wall more beautiful than it would be without it; but this statement is needed, for I have seen many walls ornamented in such a manner, that they would have looked much better if they had been perfectly plain, and simply washed over with a tint of colour. To ornament is to beautify. To decorate is to ornament. But a surface cannot be beautified unless the forms which are drawn upon it are graceful, or bold, or vigorous, or true, and unless the colours applied to it are harmonious. Yet how many walls do we meet with even in good houses--walls of corridors, walls of staircases, walls of dining-rooms, walls of libraries, and, indeed, walls of every kind of room--which are rendered offensive, rather than pleasing, by the decorations they bear. A wall may look well without decoration strictly so called, and this statement leads me to notice the various ways in which walls may be treated with the view of rendering them beautiful. A wall may be simply tinted either with "distemper" colour, or oil colour "flatted." Distemper colour gives the best effect, and is much the cheapest, but it is not durable, and cannot be washed. Oil colour when flatted makes a nice wall, whether "stippled" or plain, and is both durable and washable. An entire wall should never be varnished. I say that a wall can look well even if not decorated. Let me give one or two instances; but, perhaps, I had better give treatments for the entire room, including the ceiling, and not for the wall simply. [Illustration: Fig. 57.] [Illustration: Fig. 58.] [Illustration: Fig. 59.] A good effect of a very plain and inexpensive character would be produced by having a black skirting, a cream-colour wall (this colour to be made of the colour called middle-chrome and white, and to resemble in depth the best pure cream), a cornice coloured with pale blue of greyish tint, with deep blue, white, and a slight line of red, and a ceiling of blue of almost any depth. The ceiling colour to be pure French ultramarine, or this ultramarine mixed with white and a touch of raw umber (the cornice blues to be made in the same way). The red in the cornice to be deep vermilion if very narrow (one-sixteenth of an inch), or carmine if broad.[24] [24] In some parts of the country it is customary to wash the cornice over with quick-lime. If this has been done the lime must be carefully removed, for lime will turn carmine black. [Illustration: DECORATIVE DESIGN. _Illustrating Cornice, Ceiling & Wall Colouring._] A room of a slightly more decorative character would be produced by making the lower three feet of the wall of a different colour (by forming a dado) from the upper part of the wall: thus, if the other parts of the room were coloured as in the example just given, the lower three feet might be red (vermilion toned to a rich Indian red with ultramarine blue) or chocolate (purple-brown and white, with a little orange-chrome); this lower portion of the wall being separated from the upper cream-coloured portion by a line of black an inch broad, or better by a double line, the upper line being an inch broad, and the lower line three-eighths of an inch, the lines being separated from each other by five-eighths of the red or chocolate. I like the formation of a dado, for it affords an opportunity of giving apparent stability to the wall by making its lower portion dark; and furniture is invariably much improved by being seen against a dark background. The occupants of a room always look better when viewed in conjunction with a dark background, and ladies' dresses certainly do. The dark dado gives the desired background without rendering it necessary that the entire wall be dark. If the furniture be mahogany, it will be wonderfully improved by being placed against a chocolate wall. [Illustration: Fig. 60.] The dado of a room need not be plain; indeed, it may be enriched to any extent. It may be plain with a bordering separating it from the wall, such as Figs. 57, 58, and 59, or the coloured border on Plate I. (frontispiece); or it may have a simple flower regularly dispersed over it; or it may be covered with a geometrical repeating pattern, in either of which cases it would have a border; or it may be enriched with a specially designed piece of ornament, as Fig. 60. This particular pattern should not, however, be enlarged to a height of more than twenty to twenty-four inches; but if of this width, and above a skirting of twelve or fifteen inches, it would look well. I have designed two or three narrow dado papers for Messrs. Wylie and Lockhead, of Glasgow, which are about eighteen inches broad, and are printed in the direction of the length of the paper, so as to save unnecessary joins; and Messrs. Jeffrey and Co., of Essex Road, Islington, are issuing a complete series of my decorations for walls, dados, and ceilings. If the dado is enriched with ornament, and the cornice is coloured, and a pattern spreads all over the ceiling, the walls can well be plain, but they may be covered with a simple "powdering" as the patterns in Fig. 6l, if these are in soft colours, or with patterns such as those set forth in colours on Plate I.; but these, especially that on the blue ground, would only be used where a very rich effect is desired. [Illustration: Fig. 61.] A good room would be produced by pattern Fig. 52 being on the ceiling in dark blue and cream-colour, by the cornice being coloured with a prevalence of dark blue, the walls being cream-colour down to the dado; the border separating the dado from the wall being black ornament on a dull orange-colour; and by the dado being chocolate with a black rosette upon it; the skirting boards being bright black. The dado may or may not be varnished; the upper part of the wall can only be "dead" (not varnished--dull). If the room is high a bordering may run round the upper portion of the wall, about three to four inches below the cornice; such a border as Fig. 62 may he employed in dull orange and chocolate. A citrine wall comes well with a deep blue, or blue and white ceiling, if blue prevails in the cornice, and this wall may have a dark blue (ultramarine and black with a little white) dado, or a rich maroon dado (brown-lake). If the blue dado is employed the skirting should be indigo, which, when varnished and seen in conjunction with the blue, will appear as black as jet. (See the coloured examples on Plate II., and remarks on colour on pages 45 and 46.) Walls are usually papered in middle-class houses. I must not object to this universal custom; but I do say, try to avoid showing the joinings of the various strips. In all cases where possible cut the paper to the pattern, and not in straight lines, for straight joinings are very objectionable. If you use paper for walls, use it artistically, and not as so much paper. Let a dado be formed of one paper, the dado bordering (dado rail) of a suitable paper bordering; the upper part of the wall being covered by another paper of simple and just design, and of such colour as shall harmonise with the dado. Proceed as an artist, and not as a mere workman. Think out an ornamental scheme, and then try to realise the desired effect. Avoid all papers in which huge bunches of flowers and animals or the human figure are depicted. The best for all purposes are those of a simple geometrical character, or in which designs similar to those in Fig. 6l are "powdered" or placed at regular intervals over a plain ground. [Illustration: Fig. 62.] Just as the ceiling ornament must accord in character with the architecture of the room in which it is placed, so must the wall decoration be of the same style as the architecture of the room. Indeed, whatever we have said respecting the harmony of the ceiling decoration with the architecture of the building, applies equally to the ornamentation of the wall. It has been customary to arrange walls into panels when decorating them, and of this mode of treatment we give one illustration (Fig. 63); yet nothing can be more absurd than such a treatment, unless the wall is architecturally (structurally) arched. A wall may be so formed that some parts are thick, so as to give the required strength, while other portions are thin. In such a case the wall would be formed of arched recesses and thickened piers alternately. This being the case, the decoration should be so applied as to emphasise, or render apparent, this arched structure; but if the wall is of one thickness throughout, its division into arches is absurd and foolish. [Illustration: Fig. 63.] We sometimes see great follies, and even gross untruths, perpetrated with the view of bringing about the so-called decoration of a room. Thus it is not unfrequently that we meet with imitation pillars, recesses, and arches as the so-called ornamentation of a room. In low music halls we are not surprised by such decorations, for we do not look for truth or any manifestation of delicacy of feeling in such places. Falsity and the untrue appear in natural juxtaposition with the debased and the vulgar. Sham marble pillars, a fictitious and merely imitative architecture, an assumed and unreal, yet coarse and vulgar, gorgeousness, are the natural adjuncts of immorality and vice; but such falsities cannot be tolerated in the abodes of those who pretend to purity and truth, nor in the buildings which they frequent; yet even the new Albert Hall has sham marble pillars (I say this to our shame), and but recently I visited a church near Edgware, in which there is a display of false decoration such as I never before saw. Here we find sham pillars, giving a false architecture; sham niches, containing sham statues; sham clouds, forming an absurd ceiling; and almost every falsity which a falsely constituted mind could perpetrate. How strange it is that in a church, where purity and truth are taught, the whole of the decorations should be a sham! It is said that if you want to hear a fierce quarrel, and to see true hatred, you must seek it in religious sects and among theological discussionists. On the same principle, I suppose, we must prepare ourselves for a display of the worst art-falsity in the sacred edifice. Perhaps the idea is that of contrast. As the teetotal lecturer had a drunken man by him as a frightful example of what was to be avoided, so the decorations of this church may be intended as a warning, rather than as an example of what should be followed. Happily such churches as this are rare, and it can be truly said that ecclesiastical architecture and decoration has made great strides with us in recent years, and that in very many instances it is rigidly truthful as well as beautiful. Before leaving the consideration of wall decorations, I must object to all imitations, as sham marbles, granites, etc., for no wall can be satisfactory which is to any extent a display of false grandeur; and this is curious, that in many cases it costs more to produce an imitation marble staircase than it would to line the same walls with the marbles imitated. I have known a case in which the imitation has cost double what the genuine stone would have cost, and such a case is not exceptional, for hand-polished work is always expensive. To imitations of marbles and granites, as I have already said, I strongly object, and of the genuine stone I am not fond, unless sparingly and judiciously used. My objections to its free use are these:--1st. Harmony of colour depends upon great exactness of tint. This exactness is rarely attainable in the case of two marbles. One stone may, however, be brought into direct and perfect harmony with a coloured wall, by the tint of the wall being carefully suited to the marble. 2nd. The true artist thinks less of the costliness of the material of which he forms his works than of the art-effect produced. Thus the old Greeks, who were full of art-feeling and refinement, coloured the buildings which they constructed of white marble, and they certainly thereby improved them; for colour, if harmoniously employed, lends to objects a new charm--a charm which they would not without it possess. I must further say, before leaving our present subject, that all walls, however decorated, should serve as a background to whatever stands in front of them. Thus they must retire even behind the furniture by their unobtrusiveness. The order of arrangement in furnishing must be this. The living beings in a room should be most attractive and conspicuous, and the dress of man should be of such a character as to secure this. Ladies can now employ any amount of colour in their attire; but poor man, however noble, cannot by his dress be distinguished from his butler; and, worst of all, both are dressed in an unbecoming and inartistic manner. Next come the furniture and draperies--the one or the other having prominence according to circumstances; then come the wall and floor, both of which are to serve as backgrounds to all that stands in front of them. In decorating walls, or in judging of the merit or suitability of wall decorations, this must always be taken into consideration, that they are but enriched backgrounds; and it should also be remembered that the nature of the enrichment applied is determined, to a great extent, by the character of the architecture of the building of which the wall forms a part. We come now to consider wall-papers, which are hangings prepared with the view of enabling us to decorate our walls at comparatively small cost. I may confess that I am not very fond of wall-papers under any circumstances. I prefer a tinted or painted wall. Yet they are largely used, and will be for a long time to come. I have already said that if wall-papers are used they should not be joined together with straight lines, and that we ought to consider them as so much art-material which should be used artistically. As to the nature of the pattern which a wall-paper should have, it is almost impossible to speak, as there are endless varieties; but as a rule it may be said that those consisting of small, simple, repeated parts, which are low-toned or neutral in colour, are the best. Most wall-paper patterns are larger than is desirable. The pattern can scarcely be too simple, and it should in all cases consist of flat ornament. If the ornament is very good, and the pattern is the work of a true artist, it may be larger, for then the parts will be balanced and harmonised in a manner that could not be expected from a less skilful hand; but even if by the most talented designer, it must ever be remembered that he has designed it at random, and not as a suitable decoration for any particular room. The man who selects the pattern for a particular wall must choose that which is suitable to the special case. The effect of a wall-paper is materially affected by many circumstances. Thus, by the quantity of light admitted to the room--whether the room is dark or light; by the aspect, whether it receives the sun's rays direct or does not; by the character of the light, as whether direct from the sky, or reflected from a green lawn, or red-brick wall. All these things must be considered, and what looks well in the pattern-book may look bad on a wall. [Illustration: Fig. 64.] [Illustration: Fig. 65.] [Illustration: Fig. 66.] [Illustration: Fig. 67.] As to colour, the best wall-paper patterns are those which consist of somewhat strong colours in very small masses--masses so small that the general effect of the paper is rich, low-toned, and neutral, and yet has a glowing colour-bloom; but these are rarely to be met with. It was a fashion some time since to make wall-papers in imitation of woven fabrics, and this fashion has not wholly disappeared yet, absurd though it be. It arose through the accident of a designer of wall-paper patterns having been a shawl pattern designer, and having a number of small shawl patterns on hand, which he disposed of as wall-paper patterns. A pattern which is suitable for a woven fabric is rarely suitable to a printed fabric, and especially when the one pattern is to be seen in folds on a moving object, and the other flat on a fixed surface. And at all times imitation by one material of another is untruthful, and it becomes specially absurd when we think that almost every material is capable of producing some good art-effect which no other material can. We should always seek to make each material as distinctive in its art-character as we can, and to cause each to appear as beautiful as possible in that particular manner in which it can most naturally be worked. [Illustration: Fig. 68.] A word should be said about the particular character which a wall-paper pattern should have, but the remarks which I am now about to make will apply equally to all patterns employed as wall decorations. If we view trees or plants, as we see them against the sky as a background, they are objects which point upwards and have a bilateral symmetry--their halves are alike (Figs. 64 and 65)--or are more or less irregular in form, and when seen in this view we may regard them as natural wall decorations. Our wall patterns, then, may point upwards, as in Fig. 61, and be bilateral or otherwise; but it must be remembered that when the flowers of a primrose protrude from a bank they are regular radiating, or star, ornaments. I think that it is legitimate for us to use on a wall star, or regular radiating ornaments, as well as those having an upward tendency. [Illustration: Fig. 69.] I have said that when seen from the side plants are bilateral, or are more or less irregular. As I have referred to plants as furnishing us with types of ornament, I should not be doing rightly were I to leave this statement in its present form; for the tendency of the vital force of all plants is to produce structures of rigidly symmetrical character; but insects, which eat buds and leaves, and blights, winds, and frosts, so act upon plants as to destroy their normal symmetry, hence we find an apparent want of symmetry in the arrangement of the parts of plants. Respecting the colouring of cornices, a few words should be said. 1st. Bright colours may here be employed. 2nd. As a rule, get red in shadow or in shade, blue on flat or hollow surfaces, especially those that recede from the eye, and yellow on rounded advancing members. 3rd. Use for red either vermilion or carmine; for blue, ultramarine either pure or with white; for yellow, middle chrome much diluted with white. 4th. Use red very sparingly, blue abundantly, the pale yellow in medium quantity. Besides primary colours, none others need be used on the cornice. It is a mistake to use many, or dull, colours, here, but gold may be used instead of yellow. With the view of explaining the principles which we have just enunciated by diagrams, we give four illustrations (Figs. 66, 67, 68, 69), which I advise the student to try and colour in accordance with the principles just set forth. CHAPTER V. CARPETS. It is not my intention in this chapter to consider in detail the various kinds of carpet which are common in our market, nor even to review the history of their manufacture, interesting as it would be to do so; for we must confine ourselves more particularly to an examination of the art-qualities which they present, and to the particular form of pattern which may be applied to them with advantage. Although we cannot here enter into a consideration of the manufacture of carpets, I cannot too strongly recommend all who intend preparing designs for them to consider minutely the powers of the carpet loom; for the nature of the effect produced will depend to a large extent upon the knowledge which the designer possesses of the capabilities of the manufacture for which he designs patterns. In the case of any manufacture it is highly desirable, if not absolutely essential, that the designer of the patterns to be wrought should be acquainted with the process by which his design is to be converted into the particular material for which the pattern has been prepared; for this knowledge, even when not absolutely essential, gives an amount of freedom and power which nothing else can supply. The carpets most extensively in use are "Brussels;" but there are many other kinds both of better and inferior qualities. "Kidderminster carpet" (a carpet not now made by even one Kidderminster manufacturer) is a common fabric suited to the bedrooms of middle-class houses; but the art-capabilities of this material are very small, as it can only have two colours in any line running throughout its length. This carpet consists of two thicknesses, which are imperfectly united, and is not durable. "Brussels carpeting," now made chiefly in Great Britain, is a good carpet for general purposes. Its surface consists of loops, and it may have five, or, if made of extra quality, six colours in any line running throughout its length. If with five colours in the same line the carpet will, in a sense, consist of five thicknesses of worsted; yet these are united into one fabric. In some cases a "Brussels carpet" is woven of very close texture, with the loops cut through; thus we have a "velvet pile" or "Wilton carpet"--a fabric which is very rich-looking, and durable. Those called real "Axminster" carpets are, perhaps, the best made. They are formed by the knotting together of threads by hand, consequently any number of colours may be used in their formation; but such are necessarily most costly. A "patent Axminster" carpet is made by a double process of hand-weaving, by which fine results are achieved, and any number of colours used. In the first weaving a rough "cloth" is formed, which is cut into strips called "chenille threads," and these are again woven into the carpet. This process is most ingenious, and the carpets produced by it are very good; but they are costly. Some few years since a most ingenious process of manufacturing what are known as "tapestry" carpets was patented--a process resembling in its nature that of the patent Axminster manufacture, but differing in this particular, that the "warp" threads are coloured by printing, and thus the first process of weaving is dispensed with. These carpets are, like Brussels, made with a looped surface, and also with a pile. They cannot be said to compare in any way with the patent Axminster carpets, which are of a pretentious and costly character, nor even with a good "Brussels;" but they are low in price, and meet a want, as is proved by their enormous sale. Besides these varieties of carpet there are a number of kinds of foreign production, most of which are hand-made, and are very beautiful. By far the greater number of these have a "pile," although this is sometimes rough and uneven, yet rarely, if ever, inartistic; but a few are without pile; still these are not without that indescribable something which renders them estimable in the eye of an artist. Having hastily noticed the chief kinds of carpet in use in this country, and we might say in almost all countries, we come to the question--what form of pattern, or what character of ornament, should form the "enrichment" of such a fabric? When speaking in a previous chapter (see page 92) of wall decorations, we noticed that a wall-paper pattern, or, indeed, a wall pattern of any kind, might desirably have an upward direction and a bilateral symmetry. This can never be the case, however, with a carpet pattern, which must be equally extended all over the surface, or have a simple radiating symmetry, as Fig. 56; and this rule will apply whether the pattern be simple or complicated. It is not wrong, as we have said before, to have a radiating pattern on a wall, but it is wrong to have a bilateral pattern on a floor. The reason of this is obvious. If such an object as we have indicated is placed on a wall, from whatever point the occupants of the room may view it, it is yet right way upwards to them; but if such an object were placed on a floor it would be wrong way upwards, or sideways, or oblique to most of those who viewed it; and to employ a pattern of this character in such a position is highly absurd, when a pattern can as readily be formed which will avoid this unpleasantness. What would we think were we asked to view a picture, or even to visit an apartment containing such, were this work of art presented to our view in an inverted manner? We should feel astonished at the absurdity; yet this would be no worse than expecting us to view a carpet while the pattern is to us in an inverted position. And the principle which we have just set forth is one taught by a consideration of plants. If we wander over the moor, where we tread on Nature's carpet, we find that all the little plants which nestle in the short mossy grass are "radiating ornaments"--that is, they are pretty objects which consist of parts spreading regularly from a centre. [Illustration: Fig. 70.] [Illustration: Fig. 71.] [Illustration: Fig. 72.] [Illustration: Fig. 73.] I cannot too strongly advise the young ornamentist to study the principles on which Nature works. Knowledge of the laws which govern the development of plant-growth is very desirable; but it is not our place to _imitate_ even the most beautiful of plant-forms--this being the work of the pictorial artists. Yet it is ours to study Nature's laws, and to observe all her beauty, even to her most subtle effects, and then we may safely pillage from her all that we can _consistently_ adapt to our own purposes. But in order that we produce ornament, we must infuse mind or soul into whatever we borrow from her. (See page 2.) With the view of more fully impressing the manner in which Nature teaches us principles which we may apply in art, and of aiding the student in his inquiries, we will give one or two illustrations. Thus Fig. 64 is a drawing of a spray of the guelder rose (_Viburnum opulus_) when seen from the side, or, as I might express it, when viewed as a wall decoration; and Fig. 70 is the same spray as seen from above, or, to use the same manner of expression, when seen as a floor pattern. Further, Fig. 71 represents a young plant of a species of speedwell (_Veronica_) as a wall ornament, and Fig. 72, the same plant when seen as a floor ornament; and Figs. 65 and 73 represent a portion of the goosegrass (_Galium Aparine_) as seen in the same two views. [Illustration: Fig. 74.] [Illustration: Fig. 75.] [Illustration: Fig. 76.] From these illustrations we see that plants furnish us with types of two essentially different ornaments, which are adapted to the decoration of the two positions of wall and floor, and may be introduced with truthful expression and effect into wall-paper or carpet. [Illustration: Fig. 77.] [Illustration: Fig. 78.] [Illustration: Fig. 79.] Even when the leaves appear somewhat dispersed upon the stem, a principle of order can yet be distinctly traced in the manner of their arrangement, as is diagrammatically expressed in Figs. 74, 75, 76; and here, also, the top view gives us a regular radiating ornament.[25] [25] The spray here represented is that of the oak, and the diagram (Fig. 74) shows the orderly spiral manner in which the leaves spring from the stem. The same law prevails in the flower that we have traced as existing in the arrangement of leaves upon the stem: thus Fig. 77, which represents the London pride (_Saxifraga umbrosa_), affords an example of a regular radiating flower, which we find so placed, in different examples, as to appear as a floor or wall ornament; and Figs. 78 and 79, the former being the flower of the speedwell (Veronica), and the latter that of the common pansy (_Viola tricolor_), furnish us with illustrations of bilateral flowers intended only as wall ornaments. In order to secure our seeing the pansy only laterally, it is furnished with a bent stalk; hence it never rests horizontally upon the summit of its stem, but always hangs so that it is perfectly seen only from the side. There are cases, however, in which bilateral flowers are placed horizontally; but it is very interesting to notice that when this occurs the disposition or arrangement of the flowers is such as to restore the radiating symmetry. Thus, if we take the candytuft (_Iberis_) or the common hemlock (_Conium_), we find that while each flower is bilateral in character, the flowers are yet arranged around a centre in such a manner that the smaller portion of each flower points to the centre of the flower-head, while the larger parts point outwards from the centre of the group. These, then, are the teachings of plants, to which we are called upon to hearken. The above illustrations are not only useful examples of the suggestions of plant-forms to the ornamentist, but form excellent material to the art-student for the conventional treatment of leaves and sprays, buds and blossoms. They will also serve to indicate the kind of plant-forms that should be chosen for decorative purposes. Students of this branch of art would find it a useful practice to make a collection of flowers and plants or parts of plants that appear to offer features similar to those of which we have been writing, and test their capabilities for decorative purposes, by endeavouring to arrange them for the ornamentation of wall and floor, as we have treated the plant-forms indicated in this chapter. We have now seen the principle on which all carpet patterns should be constructed as distinctive from wall patterns, and in order to impress the necessity of giving a radiating basis to the ornaments placed upon carpets, and not a bilateral structure, we have referred to the principle of plant growth, where we noticed that all plants, when viewed as floor ornaments (when viewed from above), are of a radiating character; whereas if they are seen as wall or vertical ornaments, they are either radiating or bilateral. This is a necessity of a carpet pattern, that it have a radiating structure, or, in other words, that it point in more than two directions. Man naturally accustomed to tread on grass, when brought into a state of civilisation, seeks some covering for his floor which shall be softer to the tread and richer in colour than stone or brick. And in our northern climate he seeks also warmth; hence he chooses not a mere matting, or lattice of reeds, but a covering such as shall satisfy his requirements. In early times our floors appear to have been strewn with sand--a custom still lingering in some country districts; then came the habit of strewing reeds over the floor, and on the part of the opulent, sweet-scented reeds (_Acorus calamus_). And it is curious to notice, in connection with this subject, that one of the charges brought by Henry VIII. against Cardinal Wolsey was that of extravagance in the use of sweet reeds. This use of reeds was succeeded by the employment of mats of simple appearance, formed of a kind of grass, and these by the introduction of wool mats, which, at first, were chiefly imported, but afterwards manufactured in our own country. The wool mats were in their turn replaced by carpets, which gradually increased in size till their proportions became such as to cover the entire floor on which they were placed. This brief history brings us to notice what is required of a carpet:--it should be soft in texture, rich in appearance, and of "bloomy" effect. We may add to these requirements by saying that a carpet should also be a suitable background to all works of furniture or other objects placed upon it, and that in character it should accord with the objects with which it is associated in any particular apartment. Considering more fully these requirements, we notice that a carpet should be soft. This is very desirable, for softness gives a sense of comfort, and with softness is generally combined durability of the fabric; but softness can scarcely be regarded as an art-quality. Yet as the art which an object bears is more leniently viewed when the fitness of the object to the purpose for which it is intended is apparent, we may safely regard softness as a very desirable quality of a carpet. The Eastern carpets are pre-eminent in this quality of softness, and of English-made carpets "Brussels" and tapestry are the least satisfactory in this way; as usually made, they have a hard "backing." A kind of Brussels carpeting with a soft back has recently been brought out, but at present it is not general in the trade. If the carpet employed in any apartment as a floor covering is harsh in character, it is desirable to place soft felt under it (felt for this purpose can be got at carpet warehouses), or evenly spread soft hay, for by so doing the wear of the fabric will be greatly increased, and the pleasure of walking on it will also be correspondingly greater. The next quality of a carpet is richness. No carpet is satisfactory which is "washy" or faded in appearance. There must be "depth" of effect, a "fulness" of art-quality. Hangings may be delicate, wall-decorations soft in tint, but a carpet must be rich and "full" in effect, yet a general softness of tone is desirable. But this richness must be of singular character, for the most desirable effect which a carpet can present is that of a glowing neutral bloom. I hope that my language does not appear mystical to the general reader or young student. To the ornamentist I think it will be intelligible. What I wish to say is that the effect should be glowing, or radiant, or bright, as opposed to dull, quiet, or heavy; that it should be such as results from the use of a predominance of bright and warm colours, rather than of cold and neutral hues; that it should be neutral, inasmuch as it should not present large masses of positive colour, hut should have an equality of rich harmonious colours throughout; that it should be "bloomy," or have the effect of a garden full of flowers, or better, of the slope of a Swiss alp, where the flowers combine to form one vast harmonious "glow" of colour. This is the effect which a carpet should present, yet it should never present flowers, imitatively rendered, as its ornamentation. Such imitative renderings are not to be produced by the ornamentist; they must come from the pictorial artist, for they are pictures. They cannot form suitable backgrounds to furniture and living objects, for they are positive, and not neutral, in their general effect. A picture, also, will not bear repetition: whoever heard of one person having two copies of the same picture in one room? Yet a pictorial group of flowers may be seen repeated many times over a floor, which is very objectionable. The effect to be produced is that of a rich "colour-bloom;" but the skilled ornamentist will achieve this without violating any laws of fitness, and will gently and delicately hint at the beauty of a profusion of blossom through his tenderly formed pattern. [Illustration: Fig. 80.] Yet a carpet must be neutral in its general effect, as it is the background on which objects rest. Neutrality of effect is of two kinds. Large masses of tertiary or neutral colours will achieve its production, so also will the juxtaposition of the primary colours in small quantities, either alone or with the secondary colours, and black or white; but there will be this difference between the two effects--that produced by low-toned colours will be simply neutral, while that produced by the primary colours will be "bloomy" as well as neutral, and if yellows and reds slightly predominate in the intermingling of colours, the effect will be glowing or radiant. The radiant, or glowing, bloomy neutrality of effect is that which it is most desirable that a carpet should present. [Illustration: Fig. 81.] This effect is rarely produced in English carpets, owing either to the want of skill on the part of the ornamentist, who is unable to produce such works; the want of judgment on the part of the manufacturer, whereby he fails to produce such patterns; or the want of taste on the part of the consumer, owing to which he buys works of a more vulgar character. I have designed carpets in which I have sought to realise as much of this effect as I could with six colours--the number to which I have been limited by the conditions of manufacture, and fortunately these appear to be commanding a large sale, and to be setting a fashion in carpets; but those who wish to study these bloomy effects in their more perfect forms, must do so in the carpets of India, Persia, Smyrna, and Morocco, but especially in the Indian rugs. Some of the carpets from India are perfect marvels of colour-harmony, and of radiant bloom. They appear to glow as a bed of flowers in the sunshine, and yet they are neutral in their general effect, and when placed in an apartment do not usurp a primary place, as does any pictorially treated pattern. This "bloom" was seen to perfection in one or two silk rugs which were shown at the International Exhibition of 1862 in London, and it was not much less apparent in some of the carpets from India shown in the Paris Exhibition of 1867. Most Indian carpets have this colour-bloom to some extent, and few are unworthy of careful study. Persian carpets (Fig. 80) are also models of what carpets should be; they are less radiant than many of the Indian works, but are almost more mingled in colour-effect. In pattern many of the Indian and Persian carpets are identical, being traditional, yet in colour they differ, and both are worthy of much consideration. The Morocco carpets (Fig. 81) differ again from both those of India and Persia, and even to a greater degree than the Persian carpet differs from the Indian. In these there is often a prevalence of soft yellows and juicy yellow-greens, intermingled with reds, blues, and grey-whites, in such a manner as to produce a most harmonious and artistic effect. To the young student, and to any who may desire to cultivate his taste in respect to such matters, I say, Study the carpets of the East most carefully, especially those of India, Persia, and Morocco. [Illustration: Fig. 82.] Indian carpets, such as we have just referred to, may be seen at the museum in the building of the new India Office at Whitehall, which museum is open free to the public (for examples, see Figs. 82, 83, 84). As to the nature of the pattern which may be applied to a carpet, we have "all-over" patterns, or patterns spreading regularly all over the surface; "geometrical" patterns, or those which have an apparent regularity of structure; and panel patterns, or those in which particular parts are, as it were, framed off from other parts. First, as to "all-over" patterns. These are what we almost always find in both Indian and Persian carpets, and are, undoubtedly, the true form of decoration for a woven floor covering. What is desirable is an evenly spread pattern, such as will give richness without destroying the unity of the entire effect. The pattern may have parts slightly accentuated or emphasised beyond other parts, but not strongly so, and this emphasising of parts must be arranged with the view of securing to the pattern special interest. Thus, if a carpet is viewed at a distance it should not appear as devoid of all pattern, but through the slight predominance of certain leading features (in Indian carpets, generally of ornamental flowers) the plan of the design should be indicated. More detail should be apparent when the work is seen from a nearer point of view, and still more upon close inspection; but in no case should any parts appear strongly pronounced, or otherwise than refined and beautiful, and in no case should there be a want of interest manifested by the pattern. [Illustration: Fig. 83.] Carpet patterns are generally better if founded on a geometrical plan. In this way most of the Indian and Persian patterns are constructed. A geometrical plan secures to the design a manifestation of order and thought in its formation. Panel patterns, unless very carefully managed, become coarse. In some Indian carpets we find a sort of panel in which the colour of the ground is changed from that of the general ground of the carpet, but here the panel has usually a truly ornamental form, and is, indeed, rather a large ornament than a sort of frame enclosing a distinct space. Whenever a panel occurs in an Indian, Persian, or Moorish carpet, it is so managed, and its surroundings are such, as to cause it to appear as a part natural to the general design; but it is far otherwise with the panel patterns which we occasionally see in our shop-windows as the produce of native industry, and it is far otherwise with those which are used in vast quantities by the Americans. Judging from the carpets which they order, I imagine that nowhere on earth is taste in matters of decorative art so depraved as it is in America. It is true that the great floral patterns have ceased to be demanded by them, but they are only replaced by coarse, raw-looking panel patterns, coloured in the most vulgar manner, and without even a hint at refinement or harmony of colour. Let the pattern be "loud" and inharmoniously coloured, and the chances of its sale in the American market are great. [Illustration: Fig. 84.] But we must not forget that even in our own country bad patterns sell equally as well as good, inartistic patterns as well as those which are of a more refined character, and that even here in Great Britain more of the indifferent, if not of the very bad, sells than of the good. Let us cast the beam, then, from our own eye, before we try to extract it from that of another. The ground colour of a carpet may vary much, as we all know; it may be black, blue, red, green, or white, or any other colour. If the ground of a carpet is pure white, it is almost impossible that it look well. When I make this assertion I am often told that some of the Indian carpets which I so much admire have white grounds. This is a mistake. Some of them have light grounds, but not pure white. They have light cream-grey, or green-white grounds, but not pure white, and this variety of tone altogether alters the case. Yet even with a light-toned ground it is not an easy matter to make a carpet which shall appear as a suitable background to the furniture of a room; it can be done, but it is a thing difficult to achieve. The safest and best ground for a carpet is black or indigo blue. If on this a closely fitting, well-studied pattern be arranged, drawn in small masses of bright colour, a beautiful bloomy effect may be achieved, and a glance at our best shop-windows will show that the most satisfactory carpets are coloured in this way. As to the size of the pattern we can say but little, as this will be determined by the coarseness or fineness of the fabric. In a Brussels carpet each stitch is about the one-tenth of an inch square. In some Turkey carpets each stitch is a quarter of an inch square. It is obvious that a much smaller and finer pattern can be produced in Brussels than in Turkey carpet. A carpet pattern is best small, or at least small in detail if not in the extent of the design. A pattern may repeat three or four times in the width of the fabric (twenty-seven inches if Brussels), or but one figure may be shown, yet in this latter case the detail of the pattern may be as great as in the former. That degree of smallness which is compatible with tolerable distinctness of detail is desirable. For this reason Turkey carpets are not altogether satisfactory; no fine pattern can be worked in them, and besides this they have no colour-bloom and little colour-harmony. In some respects they are good, but altogether they are not satisfying. Before I close these remarks upon carpets, let me say that, as designers, manufacturers, and consumers, we are one and all timid of new things. We want daring--the energy to produce new things, to manufacture them, to use them. What if the pattern is "extreme," if it is better than others? what if Mrs. Grundy should think us eccentric?--better be eccentric than ever harping on one monotony. If we could but bear calmly the derisive smiles of the ignorant, art-progress would be easy. With us carpets cover the entire floor. In London these carpets are nailed to the boards, and but seldom taken up. In some parts of England we find rings sewn around the under edge of the carpet, which rings are looped to the heads of nails. Carpets so furnished can be more readily removed for cleaning than those which are nailed to the floor. Square carpets, such as the Turkey, Indian, and Persian, are spread loosely on the boards, and can be taken up and shaken without difficulty. This is unquestionably the most healthy plan of using a carpet, and it is also an artistic plan. If the outer portion of the room floor is formed of inlaid wood of simple and suitable pattern, and a loose square carpet is spread in the centre, we have an artistic effect, and the desirable knowledge that cleanliness is also attainable with a reasonable expenditure of labour. Before we leave the consideration of carpets we will state in axiomatic form the conditions which govern the application of ornament to them, as reference can more easily be made to short concise sentences than to more extended remarks. 1st. Carpet patterns may with advantage have a geometrical formation, for this gives to the mind an idea of order or arrangement. 2nd. When the pattern has not a geometrical basis, a general evenness of surface should be preserved. 3rd. Carpets are better not formed into "panels," as though they were works of wood or stone; on the contrary, they should have a general "all-over" effect without any great accentuation of particular parts. The Indian and Persian carpets meet this requirement. 4th. While a carpet should present a general appearance of evenness, parts may yet be slightly "pronounced" or emphasised, so as to give to the mind the idea of centres from which the pattern radiates. 5th. A carpet should, in some respects, resemble a bank richly covered with flowers; thus, when seen from a distance the effect should be that of a general "bloom" of colour; when viewed from a nearer point it should present certain features of somewhat special interest; and when looked at closely new beauties should make their appearance. 6th. As a floor is a flat surface, no ornamental covering placed on it should make it appear otherwise. 7th. A carpet, having to serve as a background to furniture, should be of a somewhat neutral character. 8th. Every carpet, however small, should have a border, which is as necessary to it as a frame is to a picture. Having thus summarised the principles that govern the application of ornament to carpets, we may proceed to notice the conditions governing the decoration of other woven fabrics. CHAPTER VI. CURTAIN MATERIALS, HANGINGS, AND WOVEN FABRICS GENERALLY. In the consideration of hangings of various kinds, we have first to notice the nature of the cloth on which the pattern is to be worked--whether it is of open or close texture. Fabrics of an open character should bear upon them a larger pattern than those which are thicker or closer. The openness or closeness of the fabric will thus determine, to an extent, the nature of the ornament which is to be placed upon it. Muslins, being open in character, should have larger patterns than calicoes, which are closer in texture, or the pattern will be indistinct in the one case or coarse in the other. But not only does texture influence the pattern when considered as to coarseness or fineness, but also the nature of the cloth as regards material. Thus silk will bear greater fulness of colour than muslins or calico-prints, owing to the fact that the lustre of the material, by reflecting light to the eye of the observer, destroys a certain portion of the intensity of the effect of colour which a less reflective material would exhibit. Silk, as a material, also conveys to the mind an idea of costliness or worth, and wherever the material does so the pattern may be richer in colour than it should be in cheaper and commoner fabrics. If a pattern is in two tints of the same colour only, as in the case of those woven silks where the pattern is formed by the contrast of "tabby" and satin, it may be considerably larger than in those cases where it is rendered conspicuous by colours. This latter remark will apply also to damask table-linen, and to all similar materials, as well as to dress fabrics, and draperies such as window hangings; but of these we shall say a word shortly. The closeness or openness of a fabric should, then, be considered when we design patterns for its enrichment, and so should the nature of the material, as this will influence its deadness or lustre. But there are also other considerations which must not be lost sight of. If the pattern is to be wrought by printing, then one class of conditions must be complied with; if by weaving, then another class of requirements call for consideration. The requirements of manufacture are much more numerous than might be supposed, and are in some cases very restrictive. The size of the repeat, the manner in which colour can be applied, the character of surface attainable, and many other considerations have to be carefully complied with before a pattern can appear as a manufactured article. The chief fault of patterns, as applied to fabrics generally, is their want of simplicity--want of simple structure, want of simple treatment, want of simplicity of effect; and together with this we generally find largeness and coarseness of parts. These errors arise chiefly out of a want of consideration of the capabilities of the material. What can be done with this or that particular fabric, is a question that we should carefully ask ourselves before we think of preparing a design. Have we colour at our disposal, or texture merely? and if colour, can it be employed freely or only sparingly? and can any desired colours be placed in juxtaposition or only certain tints? These are questions of great importance, and they should be asked and carefully considered before the first step is taken towards the formation of a pattern. Having ascertained what can be done with the material at command, let us ever remember that we should always endeavour to so employ the capabilities of a material as to conceal its weakness and emphasise its more desirable effects. If this consideration were always given by designers to the power which the material has of yielding effects, we should see, in very many instances, effects strangely different from those which we often encounter; and this remark applies to no class of fabrics more fully than to damask table-linen and coloured damask window hangings. No satisfactory effect can be got in light and shade upon any woven or printed fabric; besides, to attempt such a mode of treatment is absurd. Light and shade belong only to pictorial art. The ornamentist when enriching a fabric deals only with a surface, and has no thought of placing pictures thereon; he has simply to enrich or beautify that which without his art would be plain and unornamental. A picture will never bear repetition. Who ever heard of a man having two copies of one picture in a room? Yet how much more absurd is it to repeat a little picture--perhaps a pictorially rendered flower--a hundred times over one surface! Besides this, a surface must always be treated, for decorative purposes, as a surface, and not in a manner calculated to deceive by giving apparent relief, or thickness, to that which is essentially without thickness. Take a common damask table-cover. This is by custom almost always white, although it would be better if of a deep cream-colour, or soft buff; and the pattern which it bears results from a change of surface only (why a margin of "ingrain" colour is not added, I could never see); yet in nine cases out of ten the pattern which is presented by such a fabric is a miserable shaded attempt at a pictorial treatment, and is also a thorough failure. Simplicity of pattern naturally accords with a simple mode of production, and the means of producing pattern in damasks is certainly most simple. That there is a natural harmony between simplicity of pattern and simple means of producing an art-effect is obvious, for of all patterns that I have ever seen upon damask table-linen the simple spot, or dot, is the most satisfactory. If, combined with this spot, we have a border formed of a simple Greek "key-pattern," or of mere lines (a very usual border to good cloths), the effect is perfectly satisfying, and, as far as it goes, is highly to be commended. It is curious that this spot is only sold in the better quality of table-linen (at least so they tell me in the City), and this shows that the wealthy, or, in other words, the educated, buy such patterns, as they prefer the true to the meretricious, while the false and showy devices which we see on the common cloths please only the common people of vulgar taste. I am not sure, however, that many persons, whose means are limited, would not buy spots and other simple, but correctly treated, patterns, if such were to be got in common qualities of damask; but when the pocket must govern the purchase, it is hard to say that the false is preferred to the true, if the true is not procurable with the means at command. While I cannot withhold praise from this little spot, it must not be thought that I thereby give to it a high place as an art-work. Little is here attempted, and that little is done well. But let us analyse this pattern. First, the spots are of one tint throughout, if I may thus express myself--a tint, shall we say, which is the reverse of that of the ground. It is not shaded so that it may appear as a ball or globe, and is not graduated in "colour" in any way (were it graduated or shaded, feebleness of effect must inevitably accrue), but is a simple, honest spot, treated as a surface ornament. Secondly, this spot is geometrically arranged, or, in other words, has an orderly arrangement. If an attempt is made at rendering a pictorial, or light-and-shade effect, in damask, an absurd failure can alone result, for depth of shade is not obtainable in the material; and, besides this, what appears as shade, when the cloth is seen from one point of view, appears as light if seen from another point of view. Nothing could be more absurd, then, than seeking to produce shaded effects with such means as are here at our disposal. But were the fabric capable of rendering such effects, it would still be wrong to employ them, as we deal only with the surface, and are seeking to enhance the value of, or beautify, a fabric, and not to cover it with pictures. In our simple spot we have those elements which may be extended into the richest and most artistic damask patterns. We have order--as indicated by the geometrical plan of the pattern--and an honest and simple expression, or application, of the capabilities of the material. All table-covers should certainly have a border. Any object which is to be used as a whole looks unsatisfactory if it appears as though it were part of a whole. If a cloth is without border it is impossible to avoid the impression that it is a part of a larger cloth, and in every respect the general effect is decidedly unsatisfactory. It is perhaps well that we notice one peculiarity of a table-cover before we dismiss the consideration of such fabrics, which is this, that while the central portion is seen flat, the border portion is viewed in folds; and here we come to one of the great peculiarities of most draperies, that of their being viewed not as flat surfaces, but in waves or folds. One portion of a table-cloth is, however, seen flat, but this is almost an exception in the case of draperies. Another exception to this rule of hangings appearing in folds, and that of a very complete character, occurs in silk damasks which are used as a rich lining to the walls of palaces and some mansions; but of table-cloths we will speak for the present. [Illustration: Fig. 85.] [Illustration: Fig. 86.] [Illustration: Fig. 87.] [Illustration: Fig. 88.] [Illustration: Fig. 89.] [Illustration: Fig. 90.] The central part of a table-cloth, that portion which is always to be viewed as a flat surface, may be enriched with any diaper pattern that is simply treated, and this diaper pattern may be full of design, provided the parts are not too large or too small. It may also be formed of gracefully curved parts, or of straight lines or circles, or of any combination of these elements; but, preferably, not wholly of straight lines. Were it not for the fact that much of this central portion of the cloth is to be covered by articles of the dinner-table, it might well be furnished with a central ornament, repeating only in quarters; but as such an ornament, in order that it be satisfying, requires to be seen as a whole, it is not desirable that such be here employed. A diaper pattern that repeats many times in the centre is preferable, as the pattern can then be seen in a satisfactory manner. [Illustration: Fig. 91.] The border of a table-cloth, like all fabrics that are to be seen in folds, requires special treatment, for what looks well when seen as a flat surface may not look well when seen on a waved surface. Tender and graceful curves are lost when viewed upon folds, for they here appear as mere wormy lines. On the contrary, right lines, whether horizontal or diagonal, and circles, all look well when seen upon waved grounds. These lines become, owing to the folds of the fabric, curves of a subtle character. The manner in which lines become influenced by falling on a curved surface can be readily illustrated by forming semicircles of paper, and folding them into cones, after having drawn upon them a series of circles (Fig. 85) or straight lines (Fig. 86). If these cones (Figs. 87 and 88) are now viewed from above, or in such a manner that the eye rests over the apices, it will be seen that the circles have now become richly varied curves, each having somewhat the form of a blunt heart or cardioid (Fig. 89), and that the straight lines become horse-shoe-shaped (Fig. 90). These illustrations will be sufficient to show that what is plain when seen upon a flat surface may be delicate and satisfying if seen upon a curved surface; and will also lead us to understand that what may be delicate and refined when seen upon a flat surface may become feeble and unsatisfactory if falling upon a waved ground. I have said that stripes or straight lines, if _crossing_ a folded fabric, are satisfactory. This is so in almost all cases, the only exception being in ladies' dresses. Here lines crossing the fabric are not satisfactory, as they become rings around the body, which appear to divide it into hoop-like strata. The patterns of dresses _may_ consist of narrow, vertical stripes, as these are collected together at the waist of the figure, and fall into graceful curves with any motion of the body, but the very opposite is the case with window-hangings. All vertical stripes are here highly offensive, while horizontal stripes are thoroughly satisfactory. A consideration of the window-hanging materials made in Spain, Algeria, and on the Morocco coast, will show us the beauty of horizontal stripes; and in some of the little Algerian warehouses, such as we have in Regent Street, London, and in the Rue de Rivoli in Paris, we see some of these fabrics of a most interesting character. [Illustration: Fig. 92.] To state in a concise form the laws which should govern the application of ornament to certain fabrics which are to be seen in folds, I should say-- 1st. Great simplicity of pattern is necessary. 2nd. Circles, straight lines crossing the fabric, and diagonal lines are all correct in such a case, and are improved by the folds, which form them into subtle and beautiful curves (Fig. 91). 3rd. If curves are tender and graceful, they become commonplace on a waved or folded ground. 4th. The size of the pattern should be considered in relation to the size of the folds of the material. [Illustration: Fig. 93.] In Germany a kind of ornament is applied to rich stiff fabrics which is almost peculiar to the country. This ornament is rich, bold, hard or stiff in its lines, and in every way adapted for the decoration of a costly fabric which falls in large folds, the folds changing the hard and stiff lines into graceful curves. This should also be noted respecting these curious yet beautiful patterns, that they are always simple in plan, however rich in detail, and are invariably founded on a geometrical basis. "German Gothic" is a name by which such ornament may be distinguished (flat Gothic ornament has always been quite distinct from the stone and metal ornaments of Gothic buildings, which have solid and not merely superficial form), see Figs. 92 and 93. This particular class of ornament forms the background to many old pictures, a most interesting collection of which exists in the museum of Cologne, and is certainly worthy of the most careful study. As to flat silk wall-damasks, which are used in some of the upper-class houses as wall-papers are used in the middle-class houses, all that need be said is that they should be treated as wall decorations, and not as fabrics which are to be seen folded. Were I asked whether I approve of these damasks as wall coverings, I should say, "Certainly not." A wall is better treated as a wall, and not so covered with drapery as to leave space for vermin between the wall and its enrichment. There is also the further objection that the lines where the fabric is joined are visible, and these are most certainly objectionable. [Illustration: Fig. 94.] Besides the illustrations of German ornament just given, we figure also a specimen of Indian embroidery on cotton (Fig. 94). I cannot too strongly recommend the designer of patterns for woven goods to study the native fabrics of India, exhibited at the Indian Museum, Whitehall. [Illustration: Fig. 95.] [Illustration: Fig. 96.] Besides the collection here brought together, there is also in most of our manufacturing towns a large series of specimens of these cloths deposited with the Chamber of Commerce, and these can be consulted by all respectable members of the community. Speaking of these Indian fabrics, Mr. Redgrave says, in his Report on Design prepared for the Commissioners of the International Exhibition of 1851:--"These are almost wholly designed on the principles here presumed to be just ones--the ornament is always flat, and without shadow; natural flowers are never used imitatively or perspectively, but are conventionalised by being displayed flat and according to a symmetrical arrangement; and all other objects, even animals and birds, when used as ornament, are reduced to their simplest flat form. When colour is added, it is usually rendered by the simplest local hue, often bordered with a darker shade of the colour, to give it a clearer expression; but the shades of the flowers are rarely introduced. The cloth of gold figured in the loom (Fig. 95), and part of an Indian scarf (Fig. 96), illustrate fully these remarks. The ornament is geometrically and symmetrically arranged, flat, in simple tints, and bordered, as above described, with darker shades of the local colour. The principle of colour adopted is a balance of the complementaries red and green, in both cases with white introduced to give points of expression, and to lead the eye to the symmetrical arrangement of the ornament. In Fig. 95 purple is introduced to harmonise with the gold ground, a harmony very frequently used in the rich tissues of India. In Fig. 96 variety has been obtained by introducing two reds, giving an interchange of a lighter tint in every other flower in the border. The borders of these scarves are beautifully illustrative of the simple and graceful flowing lines which characterise Indian ornament; and in Fig. 96 we can observe the difference between the Eastern and the mediæval patterns--while the same principles are acknowledged in both, the latter are often stiffer and more angular than the graceful sprigs of this border. Both these works show how much beauty may be obtained by simple means, when regulated by just principles, and how perfectly unnecessary are the multiplied tints by which modern designers think to give value to their works, but which increase the difficulties of production out of all proportion to any effect resulting from them--nay, often even to the absolute disadvantage of the fabric. If we look at the details of the Indian patterns, we shall be surprised at their extreme simplicity, and be led to wonder at their rich and satisfactory effect; it will soon be evident, however, that their beauty results entirely from adherence to the principles above described. The parts themselves are often poor, ill-drawn, and common-place; yet, from the knowledge of the designer, due attention to the just ornamentation of the fabric, and the refined delicacy evident in the selection of _quantity_ and the choice of tints, both for the ground, where gold is not used as a ground, and for the ornamental forms, the fabrics, individually and as a whole, are a lesson to our designers and manufacturers, given by those from whom we least expected it." Much that Mr. Redgrave here says is worthy of careful consideration, and I can do no more than recommend the student to study these beautiful Indian fabrics, and consider them in conjunction with the remarks which we have made respecting them and fabrics in general. CHAPTER VII. DIVISION I. In this chapter I have to commence our consideration of pottery, and of hollow vessels especially; and this I do with considerable pleasure, as works in pottery enjoy a longer existence, though through the character of the material of which they are made they are more fragile, than those formed of almost any other substance. Many works of Greek pottery are known to us, and not a few such works by the ancient Egyptians, and these are preserved not as fragments merely, but as works in their entirety, and with the same beauty that they possessed when first they left the hands of the workman. Clay is a most desirable material with which to form works of utility and of beauty, and this for many reasons. First, it is so inexpensive as to be almost valueless; secondly, it is easily formed into vessels of almost any required shape; thirdly, it is capable of being "worked" into shapes of great beauty by a momentary exercise of skill; fourthly, clay is naturally of many beautiful colours; fifthly, it is capable of receiving by application to its surface any amount of colour, and of preserving such colours as are applied to it in an unimpaired state for ages; and sixthly, it is susceptible of the highest art-finish, or the bold sketchy touch of the modeller's hand. I say that clay is a very desirable material for formation into vessels of various kinds, because of its inexpensive character. This quality of cheapness gives to the material an advantage over many other substances of a much more costly character, such as should not be overlooked, for the long existence which so many works of earthenware have had is mainly due to the worthlessness of the material of which they are composed. In my first chapter I gave an extract from the writings of Professor George Wilson, showing that gold and silver, while beautiful in themselves, and worthy to be fashioned into exquisite devices, are yet too tempting to the thief, and to all who are pressed for means, to remain long in the form of art-works. Families who have been reduced in circumstances, and have thereby been constrained to part with their old plate, have melted it, so as to hide their shame. To illustrate this, let me quote from the "Handbook of the Arts of the Middle Ages and Renaissance, as applied to the Decoration of Furniture, Arms, Jewels, etc., translated from the French of M. Jules Labarte, 1856." After giving the names of many workers in the precious metals, the author says:--"We may form some idea of what artists these Italian goldsmiths were of the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries, and what admirable works they must have produced. But, alas! these noble works have almost all perished; their artistic worth proving no safeguard against cupidity or necessity, the fear of pillage, or the love of change. But a very few names even of those skilled artists have descended to us, and in making known those preserved to us in the writings of Vasari, Benvenuto, Cellini, and others, we can rarely point out any of their works as being still in existence. "Cellini tells us that while Pope Clement VII. was besieged in the castle of St. Angelo, he received orders to unset all the precious stones that were upon the tiaras, the sacred vessels, and the jewels of the sovereign pontiff; and to melt down the gold, of which he obtained 200 pounds. How many artistic treasures must have perished in the crucible of Cellini." We now see clearly that while clay is a much more fragile material than either silver or gold, its very worthlessness, despite its fragility, gives to it length of years. We have said that clay is easily formed into vessels of almost any required shape. This is so within certain limits. Throughout these chapters I have lost no opportunity of insisting upon the importance of working every material in a befitting manner, and in the most simple and easy way in which the material can be wrought. Almost every material can be simply "worked" in some way, or while in some particular condition. Glass has a molten state in which it can be "blown" into the most beautiful of shapes, and this process of blowing is the work of but a few seconds. Glass has also a solid condition, yet as it can be formed into works of great beauty by the exercise of momentary skill, it would be extremely foolish to take a mass of the solid glass, and by laborious grinding form it into a bottle or a bowl. It fortunately happens that if a material is worked in its most simple and befitting manner, the results obtained are more beautiful and satisfying than those which are arrived at by any roundabout method of production. Glass should be formed into hollow vessels only when in its plastic condition, for it cannot be shaped into the form of such vessels as we require when in its solid state without the expenditure of much unnecessary, therefore wasteful, labour. But if a mass of crystal or marble is required to assume the form of a bowl or font, then the laborious process of grinding must be resorted to, for these substances have no plastic state. The potter's wheel has been known from the earliest historic time, and this has at all times been the instrument with which the best earthen vessels have been formed. A mass of clay of suitable size is placed on a horizontal disc of wood, to which a rotary motion is imparted. The operator presses his thumbs into the centre of the clay, and then, by causing his fingers to approach his thumbs, manipulates the clay into a cup, a bowl, a vase, an earthen bottle, or whatever form he may please; and if skilful, the operator can form objects of marvellous beauty with a rapidity that astonishes all who see for the first time his mode of working. If potters would but content themselves, in order to the production of such articles as we require in common life, with the "potter's wheel," we should be almost sure of a certain amount of beauty in domestic earthenware, but such is not the case. They make fancy moulds of plaster of Paris and of wire gauze, and roll out clay as the pastrycook does dough, and manipulate it as so much pie-crust, instead of applying to it simple skill. Neither a bowl nor a plate need have a scalloped edge, indeed they are much better without it; and if unnecessary, and even undesirable, absurdities were avoided, and a simple and natural method of working each material alone employed, a great improvement in art would speedily take place. It is strange but true, that the worker in one material seems rarely to be satisfied with making his works look as well and as consistent as possible; he desires rather to form poor imitations of something else. We have all seen earthen jugs made in imitation of wicker-work, although to do so is obviously foolish, as no wicker vessel could hold water, and the thing imitated is much less beautiful than a thousand forms which clay is capable of assuming. Men's heads without brains are, or were at least, favourite jugs. Well, that there are many models for this idea in Nature, I doubt not; yet why we should copy them by making a jug in the form of a hollow head, I know not. I have in my possession a milk-jug, such as is common in the district of Swansea in South Wales, in the likeness of a cow. The tail is twisted into a handle; by a hole in the back the milk is admitted, and through the mouth it is ejected. A more wretched and coarse idea it is scarcely possible to conceive of, yet the vulgar admire this jug. Let us work the material in a simple and befitting manner, and satisfactory results are almost sure to accrue. I have said that clay, as such, has many beautiful colours. Naturally clay is black, grey-white, red, brown, and yellow, and it is capable of assuming many desirable tints by the agency of chemical means. We do not use coloured clays as we should do. We want so much white--everything to look so clean. All ornamental ware, at least, should be artistic, and the art-effect should supersede that cold whiteness which the Dutch and the English mistake for cleanliness. A clay of good natural colour is not a thing to be hidden, or ashamed of. Clay is capable, when glazed, of receiving any amount of colour, and of preserving these colours in their beauty for almost any length of time. These qualities are invaluable to the ornamentist. Colour is not always at his disposal. The goldsmith has difficulty in getting it, but to the potter it is very accessible. Colour is capable of giving to objects a charm which they could not possibly have without it. Let us use the power thus placed at our disposal rightly and well, and then the enduring character of the colour-harmonies which we produce may gladden posterity in ages yet to come. Clay is susceptible of the highest art-finish, or of a bold sketchy treatment. Finish is very desirable in some cases. The cup which my lady uses in her boudoir should be delicate and fine, for what is worthy to approach the sacred lips of the occupant of a fair apartment but such a work as is tender and refined? As a rule, however, we over-estimate the value of finish, and under-value bold art-effects. Excessive finish often (but by no means always) destroys art-effect. I have before me some specimens of Japanese earthenware, which are formed of a coarse dark brown clay, and are to a great extent without that finish which most Europeans appear so much to value, yet these are artistic and beautiful. In the case of cheap goods we spend time in getting smoothness of surface, while the Japanese devote it to the production of an art-effect. We get finish without art, they prefer art without finish. [Illustration: Fig. 97.] [Illustration: Fig. 98.] [Illustration: Fig. 99.] [Illustration: Fig. 100.] We must now devote ourselves to a special consideration of the shapes of earthen vessels, and to the manner in which ornament should be applied to them. In his primitive condition man appears to have used the shells of certain fruits as drinking vessels and bottles; and to this day we find many tribes of uncivilised or half-civilised men using the same class of vessels. "Monkey-pots" (the hard shells of the _Lecythis allaria_), the coverings of the Brazil nut (_Bertholetia excelsa_), and especially the rinds of the calabash and many species of gourd (Figs. 97 and 98), have been used in this way.[26] The first efforts made at the production of earthen vessels were mere attempts at copying in clay the forms of the fruit-shells which were in use as drinking vessels. After a power of forming earthen vessels, having a certain amount of perfection of manufacture, was gained, we still find the origin of the potter's art manifested by certain works. Thus in China, where the potter's art has so long been understood, we still find vessels made in the form of the bottle-gourd, just as was their custom in the days of their first manufacturing efforts (Fig. 99). Before considering the shapes of vessels from a utilitarian point of view, I should tell the student that certain shapes are characteristic of different nations and of different periods of time. [26] All who are interested in this subject are referred to a paper published in the "Transactions of the Edinburgh Botanical Society," for 1859, by Professor George Wilson, on the "Fruits of the Cucurbitaceæ." The Greek shapes, as we may call them--that is, the forms of those vessels which the Greeks produced--are of a particular class, and the vessels produced by the Egyptians are of a different type; while those of the Chinese, Indians, Japanese, and Mexicans again differ from each other, and from those of both the Greeks and the Egyptians. For grace of form the vessels of the old Greeks stand pre-eminent (Figs. 101 and 102); for simple dignified severity, those of the Egyptians (Fig. 100); for quaintness, those of the Mexicans (Fig. 103); for a combination of grace with dignity, those of the Chinese (Figs. 104 and 105); and for a combination of beauty with quaintness, those of the Japanese (Fig. 106); while in many respects the Indian shapes (Figs. 107 and 108) resemble those of the Japanese. Fig. 109 is a water vessel from Ha, and Figs. 110 and 111 are jugs from Morocco. I cannot enter into any details respecting the characteristic forms of vessels produced by these various nations, but must content myself by giving a few illustrations of the various shapes, and leaving the matter with the learner for study. The British Museum, the South Kensington Museum, and the Indian Museum will aid him in his researches. It has been said that the character of a people can be told by their water-vessels. As the consideration of this statement will lead us to see how perfectly a domestic utensil may answer the end which it should serve, I will extract from my "Art of Decorative Design" a few remarks on this subject. This statement can well "be illustrated by the Egyptian and Greek water-vessels, the former of which has sides tapering to the top and slanting inwards, a small orifice, and a rounded base, and the mouth of the vessel bridged by an arched handle, the whole being constructed of bronze (Fig. 112); the latter consists of an egg-shaped body (the broad end being above) resting upon a secure foot, which is surmounted by a large, divergent, funnel-shaped member (Fig. 113). It has no handle over the orifice, but has one at either side. "Not only do these vessels differ in form, but associated circumstances differ also; and it is this variation in circumstances which brought about the difference in form of the two water-vessels. "The peculiarities of the Egyptian water-vessel are its formation of bronze, the roundness of its base, which renders it unfitted for standing, the narrowness of its mouth, and the handle arching the orifice; and of the Greek, its being wrought in clay, the secure base, the wide mouth, the contraction in the centre, and the handle at either side. We should judge from these vessels that the Egyptians drew water from a river, or some position which required that the vessel be attached to a cord and cast into the source of supply, for the roundness of the base at once points to this, it being a provision for enabling the vessel to fill by turning upon its side (were its base flat it would float on the water); it is also formed out of metal so as to facilitate this end. The arched handle not only points to the attachment of the vessel to a string in order that it be cast into the water, but also to the carrying the vessel pendent from the hand in the manner that pails are at present carried, and the contracted mouth restrains the splashing over of the water: and what this simple water-vessel points to we find to have been the case, for the Egyptians derived water from the Nile in the very manner that the vessel would indicate; but with the Greeks circumstances were different, and the shape of the vessel varies accordingly. The base is here flat, in order that the vessel may stand; the mouth is large, in order to collect the water which fell from above,--from the dripping-rocks and water-spouts. This being the manner in which water was gathered, a vessel formed of heavy metal was unnecessary; the contraction prevented the water from splashing over when carried, and up to this point the vessel was filled, and no higher; and the handles at the side show that it was carried on the head. But, in conjunction with this mode of carrying, there is another consideration of interest, which is, the centre of gravity is high. If we attempt to balance a stick, having one enlarged end, on the finger, it will be found necessary that the weight be at the top; and in balancing anything, it will be found that the object, in order that it ride steadily, have its point of greatest weight considerably elevated above its base. In the Greek water-vessel, which was carried balanced on the head, we find this condition fully complied with, the centre of gravity occupying a high position, while in the Egyptian vessel the centre of gravity was low; but where the vessel is to be carried underhand, it is as great an advantage to have the centre of gravity low as it is in the case of a coach, where security is thus gained just as the centre of gravity is lowered. The Greek water-vessel, then, consists of a cavity for holding water, a funnel to collect and guide the water, a base for the vessel to rest upon, and handles to enable it to be raised to the head, and the centre of gravity is high in order that it be readily balanced; and we should judge from this vessel that the Greeks procured water from dripping-rocks and water-spouts, and this is exactly what did occur. These are the direct teachings of the Egyptian and Greek water-vessels; yet how many circumstances and incidents of common life can be conceived as associated with these different forms of vessel. There is the gossip round the well, and the lingering by the river-side where the image of the date-palm is mirrored by the glassy surface of the waters. The effect of the noise of the splashing water upon the mind in the one case, combined with the comparatively loud and energetic speaking which would be necessary in order that the voice be not drowned by the noise, and of the calm tranquillity of the river-bank in the other, where the limpid water is ever flowing on in silent majesty, must be considerable. Then we have the potter's art essential to the production of the vessel in the one case, and the metal-worker's in the other--the digging of clay, the mining of metal, the kilns and smelting furnaces. We will not continue this portion of the subject further, and have brought forward this illustration in order to show how well-considered objects reveal to us the habits and customs of the peoples and nations in which they originated." [Illustration: Fig. 101.] [Illustration: Fig. 102.] [Illustration: Fig. 103.] [Illustration: Fig. 104.] [Illustration: Fig. 105.] [Illustration: Fig. 106.] [Illustration: Fig. 107.] [Illustration: Fig. 108.] [Illustration: Fig. 109.] [Illustration: Fig. 110.] [Illustration: Fig. 111.] [Illustration: Fig. 112.] [Illustration: Fig. 113.] It will now be apparent that even a common object may result from such careful consideration that its form will at once suggest its use; but the object will only reveal the purpose for which it was created with definiteness of expression when it perfectly answers the end proposed by its formation. The advice which I must give to every designer is to study carefully exactly what is required, before he proceeds to form his ideas of what the object proposed to be created should be like, and then to diligently strive to arrange such a form for it as shall cause it to be perfectly suited to the want which it is intended to meet. More will be said upon the subject of form when speaking of glass vessels and of silversmiths' work; and when considering these subjects we shall also give the law which governs the application of handles and spouts to vessels; and it is of the utmost importance that they be correctly placed in order that the vessel may be used with convenience (see page 140). A word must now be said respecting the decoration of earthen vessels, but on this subject our remarks must be brief. [Illustration: Fig. 114.] [Illustration: Fig. 115.] [Illustration: Fig. 116.] [Illustration: Fig. 117.] The object to which the decoration is applied must determine the nature of the ornament to be employed. In the case of a vessel which is to be in part hidden when in use, great simplicity of treatment should be adopted, and the ornament may with advantage consist of repeated parts. In the case of a plate, little or no ornament should be placed in the centre; but if there is a central ornament it should be a small, regular, radiating figure, consisting of like parts (Figs. 114 and 115). The border should also consist of simple members repeated, for it will then look well if portions are covered; and these remarks will apply equally to all kinds of plates, whether intended for use at dinner or dessert. No plate should have a landscape painted upon it, nor a figure, nor a group of flowers. Whatever has a right and wrong way upwards is inappropriate in such a position, as whatever ornament a plate bears should be in all positions as fully right way upwards to the beholder as it can be. Besides, landscapes, groups of flowers, and figures are spoiled if in part hidden, provided they are satisfactory when the whole is seen. [Illustration: Fig. 118.] Plates may have a white ground, for it is desirable that those articles on which food is presented should manifest the utmost cleanliness, yet to a cream tint there can be no objection. I should, however, prefer white plates, with a rather deep blue, Indian red, maroon, or brown pattern upon them, and a pale buff table-cloth for them to rest upon. In the case of cups and saucers the treatment should be similar to that of the plate. The saucer may have a simple border ornament, consisting of parts repeated, and little or no ornament in the central portion on which the cup rests. The cup may have an external border ornament, and a double narrow line of colour around the upper portion of the interior, but no other ornament is here required. Whatever ornament is placed around a cup, or vase, or any tall object must be such as will not suffer by perspective, for there is scarcely any portion of the ornament that can be seen otherwise than foreshortened (Figs. 103 and 111). Let simplicity be the ruling principle in the decoration of all rounded objects, and ever remember that a line which is straight on a flat surface becomes a curve on a round surface (see page 110). I have given what is a correct decoration for a plate and cup and saucer, but there are other methods of treatment than those just named. The Japanese are very fond of placing little circular groups of flowers on plates, saucers, and bowls (Figs. 116 and 117). The Greeks had various methods of enriching their tazzas and vases with ornament, and the Egyptians were partial to the plan of rendering a cup as a lotus-flower (Fig. 100). But when they formed a cup thus, they were careful to draw the flower conventionally and ornamentally, and never produced an imitative work (see page 24). The Chinese treat the flower of the sacred bean in the same way (Fig. 118). What I have said has been addressed to the student. The remarks, however, made respecting the form chosen being that which is most suitable to the end proposed, and the conditions to which I shall make reference as governing the application of handle and spout to any object, are binding upon all who would produce satisfactory works; but to the genius who has power to produce beautiful and vigorous ornament, and whose taste has, by years of study and cultivation, become refined and judicious, I can give no rules, his own taste being his best guide. DIVISION II. When speaking of earthenware, I insisted upon the desirability of using every material in the easiest and most natural manner, and I illustrated my meaning by saying that glass has a molten condition as well as a solid state, and that while in the molten condition it can be "blown" into forms of exquisite beauty. Glass-blowing is an operation of skill, and an operation in which natural laws come to our aid, and I cannot too strongly repeat my statement that every material should be "worked" in the most simple and befitting manner; and I think that our consideration of the formation of glass vessels will render the reasonableness of my demand apparent. Let a portion of molten glass be gathered upon the end of a metal pipe, and blown into a bubble while the pipe drops vertically from the mouth of the operator, and a flask is formed such as is used for the conveyance of olive oil (Fig. 119); and what vessel could be more beautiful than such a flask? Its grace of form is obvious; the delicate curvature of its sides, the gentle swelling of the bulb, and the exquisitely rounded base, all manifest beauty. Here we get a vessel formed for us almost wholly by Nature. It is the attraction of gravitation which converts what would be a mere bubble, or hollow sphere of glass, into a gracefully elongated and delicately-shaped flask. This may be taken as a principle, that whenever a material is capable of being "worked" in a manner which will so secure the operation of natural laws as to modify the shapes of the objects into which it is formed, it is very desirable that we avail ourselves of such a means of formation, for the operation of gravitation and similar forces upon plastic matter is calculated to give beauty of form. When clay is worked upon the potter's wheel, it is shaped by the operator's skill, and is sufficiently stiff to retain the shape given to it to a very considerable extent; yet the operation of gravitation upon it, so long as it has any plasticity whatever, is calculated to secure delicacy of form. This rule should ever be remembered by the art-student--that a curve is beautiful just as its origin is difficult to detect (see Chap. I., page 23). In the formation of vases, bottles, etc., knowledge of this law is very important, and the operation of gravity upon hollow plastic vessels is calculated to give to their curves subtlety (intricate beauty) of character. Having arranged that the material shall be worked in the manner most befitting its nature, we must next consider what purpose the object to be formed is intended to serve. Take a common hock-bottle (Fig. 120) and consider it. What is wanted is a vessel such as will stand, in which wine can be stored. It must have a strong neck, so that a cork may be driven in without splitting it, and must be formed of a material that is not absorbent. Glass, as a material, admirably answers the want, and this bottle is capable of storing wine; it will stand, and has a rim around the neck such as gives to it strength. But, besides serving the requirements named, it is both easily formed and is beautiful. The designer must be a utilitarian, but he must be an artist also. We must have useful vessels, but the objects with which we are to surround ourselves must likewise be beautiful; and unless they are beautiful, our delicacy of feeling and power to appreciate Nature, which is full of beauties, will be impaired. A hock-bottle is a mere elongated bubble, with the bottom portion pressed in so that it may stand, and the neck thickened by a rim of glass being placed around it. [Illustration: Fig. 119.] [Illustration: Fig. 120.] Here we have a bottle shaped by natural agency; it is formed of heavy glass, and the bubble was thick at its lower part, hence its elongated form; but if length is required in any bubble, and the glass is even light, it can always be given by swinging the bubble round from the centre, so that centrifugal force may be brought into play in the direction of its length; or if it has to be widened, this can as easily be done by giving to it a rotatory motion, whereby the centrifugal force is caused to act from the axis of the vessel outwards, and not from the apex to the base, as in the former instance. In either case a certain amount of beauty would appear in the shape produced, for Nature here works for us. (Compare the short, dumpy, yet beautiful bottle, in which we receive curaçao, with the hock-bottle, when the two natural modes of forming bottles will be illustrated.) Our wine-bottles are moulded, hence their ugliness. We work without Nature's assistance, and we reap ugliness as the reward. Let us now consider what a decanter should be. In many respects, the wants which a decanter is intended to meet are similar to those which are met by the bottle, as just enumerated, but here is a great difference--a bottle is only _intended_ to be filled once, whereas a decanter will have to be filled many times; and a bottle is made so that it can travel, while a decanter is not meant to be the subject of long journeys. It is true that a bottle may be refilled many times, but it is not intended that it should, as the fact that we use a funnel when we wish to fill it clearly shows, and without a funnel the vessel is not complete. All objects which are meant to be refilled many times should have a funnel-shaped mouth (see my remarks on the Greek water-vessel, page 121), but if a bottle had a distended orifice it would not be well adapted for transport. A decanter should have capacity for containing liquid; it should stand securely, and have a double funnel--a funnel to collect the fluid and conduct it into the bottle, and a funnel to collect it and conduct it out of the bottle. It must also be convenient to use and hold, and the upper funnel should be of such a character that it will guide the liquid in a proper direction when poured from the decanter. [Illustration: Fig. 121.] [Illustration: Fig. 122.] [Illustration: Fig. 123.] If we take a flask and flatten its base, and extend the upper portion of the neck slightly into the form of a funnel, we have all that is required of a decanter, with the exception of a permanent cork, which is a stopper (Fig. 121). But as most decanters are intended to hold wine, the brilliancy of which is not readily apparent when that portion of the vessel which contains the liquid rests immediately upon the table, it is desirable to give to the vessel a foot, or, in other words, raise the body of the decanter so that light may surround it as fully as possible (Figs. 122 and 123). In Figs. 124 to 135 I give a number of shapes of decanters and jugs, such as may be seen in our best shop-windows, and such as I consider desirable forms for such vessels; and in considering-the shape of such vessels, the character of the upper portion of the neck (the lip) must be regarded, as well as that of the body and base. Notice also whether the centre of gravity is high or low, and the position and character of the handle; but respecting the application of handles to vessels I will speak when considering silversmiths' work (see page 140). [Illustration: Fig. 124.] [Illustration: Fig. 125.] [Illustration: Fig. 126.] [Illustration: Fig. 127.] [Illustration: Fig. 128.] [Illustration: Fig. 129.] [Illustration: Fig. 130.] [Illustration: Fig. 131.] [Illustration: Fig. 132.] [Illustration: Fig. 133.] [Illustration: Fig. 134.] [Illustration: Fig. 135.] Besides decanters and bottles, glass is formed into tumblers, wine-glasses, flower-holders, and many other things; but the principles which we have already laid down will apply equally to all, for if the objects formed result from the easiest mode of working the material, and are such as perfectly answer the end proposed by their formation, and are beautiful, nothing more can be expected of them. Many objects of fancy shape have been produced as mere feats of glass-blowing, and with some of these efforts I sympathise. Wherever the work produced is truly adapted to use, or where an artistic effect is achieved, the glass-blower has my warm sympathy; but if the effort is made at the production of novelty merely, the result gained is sure to be unsatisfactory. Much of the Venetian glass will illustrate these last remarks. Fig. 136 is a very excellent and picturesque spirit-bottle; it is easy to hold, and quaint in appearance.[27] Figs. 137, 138, and 139 are Venetian glass vessels, wrought entirely at the furnace-mouth, and neither cut nor engraved--they are artistic, and of interesting appearance; while Fig. 140 is a work of Roman glass, in which the upper distension is useful if the liquid contains a sediment which it is not desirable to pour out with the liquid. [27] In order that the nature of this bottle be better understood, I give a section of it at A as seen when cut through the central part. [Illustration: Fig. 136.] [Illustration: Section of Fig. 136 at A.] [Illustration: Fig. 137.] [Illustration: Fig. 138.] [Illustration: Fig. 139.] [Illustration: Fig. 140.] There is one thing pertaining to table-glass that we do not now sufficiently consider, which is its capacity for colour. Our one idea in the formation of glass vessels is the imitation of crystal, unless we happen to produce a vessel of the strongest tint. With the exception of hock-glasses, which are generally either ruby-colour, dark green, or intense yellow-green, we rarely employ tinted glass on our tables. These three colours, which we usually employ in hock-glasses, are all too strong in tint for ordinary purposes, and they are coarse and vulgar. It is curious that we should confine ourselves to these colours when glass is capable of assuming the most delicate of shades, of appearing as a soft, subtle, golden hue of the most beautiful light tertiary green, lilac, and blue, and, indeed, of almost any colour. Why, then, should we employ only two or three colours, and those of the most crude character? If the Roman and Greek glass of the British Museum be inspected, it will be seen that the Romans employed various soft and delicate tints, and why we should not do so I cannot see. For many reasons the colours of our hock-glasses are highly objectionable, but especially for two. First, as already stated, the colour is so strong that they appear as mere dark spots on the cloth, and altogether fail in imparting to the table a pleasant colour-effect; and, secondly, they utterly destroy the beauty of appearance which the wine would otherwise present. [Illustration: Fig. 141.] [Illustration: Fig. 142.] No glass which is to contain a liquid of pleasant colour should be so strong in tint as to mar the beauty of the contained fluid, and especially is this true when the colour of the glass is of an opposite character to that of the liquid: thus a red liquid placed in a strongly-coloured green glass becomes highly offensive in appearance, and yet we often see claret served in green hock-glasses. A dinner-table requires colour. Let the cloth be pale buff, or cream-colour, instead of white; and the glass water-vessels of very pale, but refined and various, tints; and the salt-cellars, if of glass, also coloured, in a tender and befitting manner, and a most harmonious effect will be produced. The flowers with which the table is adorned would then harmonise with the other things, and much beauty might be produced. Respecting the ornamentation of glass, two methods of treatment are resorted to, which are "cutting" and "engraving." Both modes deal with glass as a hard, crystal-like substance; and consist in grinding the surface, and either leaving it "dead" or repolishing it. In the case of "cutting" a considerable portion of the substance of the glass is generally removed, and the surface is repolished; but in the case of "engraving" little more than the surface is generally acted upon, and the engraved portion remains dead. Cutting may be employed in bringing about ornamental effects in glass, but it is rarely to be commended when so lavishly used as to be the chief means of giving form to the vessel; indeed, cutting should be sparingly and judiciously used. A vessel formed of glass should never be wholly shaped by cutting, as though it were a work of stone. If the neck of a decanter can be made more convenient by being slightly cut--if it can be so treated that it can be held more securely--then let it be cut; but in all cases avoid falling into the error of too much cutting which causes the work to appear laboured, for any work which presents the appearance of having been the result of much labour is as unpleasant to look upon as that work is pleasing which results from the exercise of momentary skill. There is a great art-principle manifested in the expression "Let there be light, and there was light." [Illustration: Fig. 143.] [Illustration: Fig. 144.] Engraving is also laborious, and while it is capable of yielding most delicate and beautiful effects, it should yet be somewhat sparingly used, for extravagance in labour is never desirable, and there is such a thing as extravagance of beauty. However delicate ornament may be, and however well composed, yet if it covers the whole of the walls of an apartment and of the objects which it contains, it fails to please. There must be the contrast of plain surfaces with ornamented--plain for the eye to rest upon, ornament for the mind to enjoy. In the enrichment of glass these remarks fully apply. Let there be plain surfaces as well as ornamented parts, and the effect will be more satisfying than if all be covered with ornament. All that I said respecting the decoration of damask table-linen will apply equally to glass, considering only the different way in which the effect is produced (see Chap. VI., page 108). Thus we have ornament produced only by a variation of surface. Such simple means of producing an art-effect are capable of rendering in a satisfactory manner simple treatments only, but simple patterns are capable of yielding the highest pleasure, and such patterns can be almost perfectly rendered by engraving, as shown in Figs. 141, 142, 143.[28] [28] Fig. 143 represents a decanter made for the Prince of Wales by Messrs. Pellatt and Co., which is in good taste. Fig. 141 is a goblet from Austria: it was shown in the International Exhibition of Paris in 1867. Somewhat elaborate effects can be rendered in glass by very laborious engraving, whereby different depths of cutting are attained; but such work is the result of great labour, and rarely produces an effect proportionate to the toil expended upon it; and if a bottle so engraved is filled with a coloured wine, the entire beauty of its engraving is destroyed. Fig. 144 is a drawing of a most elaborately engraved bottle, which was shown in the Exhibition of 1862. It represents, to a great extent, wasted labour. [Illustration: Fig. 145.] It must be borne in mind that any ornament placed on a decanter, wine-glass, or tumbler, is to be seen almost wholly in perspective; and the remarks made respecting the effects of folded or waved surfaces on ornament (Chap. VI., page 110), and those made in reference to the application of ornament to earthen vases (Chap. VII., page 126), apply equally here. It is not my province to enter into the various methods of manipulating glass, nor into all the classes of art-effect which glass is capable of yielding: I can only call attention to general principles, and leave the art-student to think for himself what should be the treatment of any particular object. There is a sort of crackle glass which has come into use during the last few years, and is an imitation of old Venetian work; this is in some respects pleasant in appearance, but it is somewhat uncomfortable to handle, and difficult to keep clean; its use must therefore be limited. The Romans were in the habit of forming glass which was opaque, dark, and of many colours. Fig. 145 is an illustration of this kind of glass, the pattern being formed by portions of various coloured glass being imbedded in the substance of the vessel. In another chapter I shall have a few remarks to make upon stained glass; but as our present remarks pertain to hollow vessels chiefly, and as general principles regulate the formation of all such, whether they are formed of earthenware, glass, or metal, I think it better to proceed to the consideration of silversmiths' ware, and thus continue a notice of hollow vessels, than to pass to glass windows, although they are formed of the material now under review. What we are specially considering at present are vessels of capacity, or hollow wares. [Illustration: Fig. 146.] [Illustration: Fig. 147.] DIVISION III. Continuing our remarks upon hollow vessels, we have now to notice silversmiths' work, and here we may observe that while the material with which we have now to deal differs in character widely from that of which those vessels already noticed have been formed, yet that many principles which have been enunciated are equally applicable to the objects now under consideration. Silver objects, like those formed of clay or glass, should perfectly serve the end for which they have been formed; also, the fact that ornament applied to rounded surfaces should be adapted for being viewed in perspective remains as binding on us as before; but herein the works of the silversmith differ from those already discussed--they are formed of a material of intrinsic value, which is not the case with articles of earthenware or glass. Silver and gold being materials of considerable worth, it is necessary that the utmost economy be observed in using them, and in order to effect this a special mode of construction must be resorted to. If we propose to ourselves the formation of a sugar-basin of semi-circular shape, of what thickness must the metal be in order that it may not bend when lifted? It is obvious that the vessel must not yield its shape to ordinary pressure, nor be subject to alterations of form when in ordinary use; but if it is to be formed throughout of metal of such thickness as will secure its retaining its shape, it will be costly and heavy, and an amount of metal will be used in its formation sufficient for the manufacture of two or three such articles. Instead of forming the vessel throughout of thick metal, we may construct it from a thin sheet of silver; but in order that it possess sufficient strength we must indent one or more beads in its side (see Fig. 146); or we can form an angle by having a rim projecting into the basin (Fig. 147), or extending from it, and thus give strength; but the two beads are the more desirable, as the one gives strength at the top and the other at a lower portion of the vessel. Modes of economising material, when we are forming vessels of costly substances, are of the utmost importance, and should be carefully thought out. If the designer forms works which are expensive, he places them beyond the reach of those who might otherwise enjoy them, and if heavy they appear clumsy in the hands of those accustomed to delicate and light objects. Besides this, works in silver and in gold are always in danger of being destroyed, owing to the intrinsic value of these metals; for if stolen, the theft is promptly hidden in the melting-pot. Now if we form the vessels of thin metal, we render the money value of the material less, and thus our works are to a smaller degree tempting to the avaricious, and their chance of long existence is greater. The precious metals are at all times perilous materials for the formation of works of art; but while we use them, let us take care so to employ them as to give to our works every possible opportunity for long existence. If a work is to be so formed that it may exist for many years, it becomes of the highest importance that those objects which we create be well considered as to their utility, and at the same time be beautiful in form. Long existence is an evil in the case of an ugly object, or an ill-considered vessel; that which is not refining in its influence is better blotted out. Let that man who will not seek to embody beauty in his works make them heavy with metal, so that they may tempt the thief, and thus sooner blot out his works from existence, as they tend only to debase and degrade; but he who loves refinement, and seeks to give chasteness of character to the objects which he creates, may well strive to secure to them length of duration. There are various modes of working metal. It may be cast, hammered, cut, engraved, and manipulated in various ways. Little that is satisfactory can result from casting. Casting is a rough means of producing a result, and at best achieves the formation of a mass which may be less troublesome to cut into shape than a more solid piece of metal; but casting without the application of other means of working-metal achieves little of an art nature. Some of the fine iron castings of Berlin are wonderfully good in their way, and are to an extent artistic; and certainly they contrast strangely with the cast handles and knobs which we often see applied to vegetable-dishes, and similar silver objects here in England; yet even these will not compare with works wrought by the hammer and the chisel. Thin metal hammered into form, and touched where necessary with the chisel, the graver, and the chasing-tool, is capable of the very finest effects which can be achieved in metal-work. Let the reader consider the beautiful vessels with which Arabian metal-work presents us: these are all formed by the hammer and chisel, with the assistance of the graver and chasing-tool, and how marvellously delicate and beautiful are the results! We have in these vessels beauty and dignity of form, richness of design, great intricacy and delicacy of detail, and altogether a refinement of effect which may long be considered and repeatedly enjoyed (Fig. 148). [Illustration: Fig. 148.] Several, I may almost say many, of these beautiful objects are to be found in the South Kensington Museum, and it should be generally known that fac-similes of these lovely works, in the form of electrotype copies, have been prepared by Messrs. Elkington and Co., under the sanction of the authorities of the Department of Science and Art, and that these are procurable at small cost. For purposes of study these copies are of almost equal value with the originals, and for the adornment of a sideboard they are hardly inferior. I strongly advise those who can afford to purchase these beautiful copies to garnish their sideboards with plate of this description, rather than with the meretricious electro-plate which we often see in our shop-windows. Having determined on the best mode of working the material, consider carefully the requirements which the work to be produced is intended to meet, and then strive to form the object so that it may perfectly answer the end proposed by its creation. Let us take a sugar-basin. What form should it have? After much consideration, I have arrived at the conclusion that the two shapes engraved in Figs. 149 and 150 are those which best fulfil the requirements of such a vessel, for in them the sugar is always collected together, and the dust sugar separates itself from the lumps. The handles of a sugar-basin are often so small as to be partially or wholly useless. It not unfrequently happens that only one or two fingers can rest on the handle, owing to its smallness, while the thumb has to be placed within the orifice of the basin when it is desired to move it. This should not be so; if a handle is to exist at all, it should be so formed as to be useful, and afford a means of moving the object with ease and comfort. To form a handle as a mere ornament is an absurdity, for the handle is part of the vessel structurally, while the ornamentation is an after and separate consideration. In order to its existence a vessel must be constructed, but when formed it need not of necessity be ornamented; ornamentation must ever be regarded as separate from construction. Such a sugar-basin as I have suggested would not stand without legs: it must therefore have them; but I see no reason why the legs and handles should not be combined; hence I propose three feet so formed as to serve as handles throughout their upper parts (Figs. 149, 150), they being convenient to hold. Modern European silversmiths have fallen into the error (an error now prevailing wherever art can be applied to any object) of making their works of a pictorial, rather than an ornamental, character--an error which the Arabians, Indians, and Japanese never perpetrate, whose works in metal are unsurpassed by any, and equalled by indeed few. It is a mistake to cover an entire vase with figures in high relief; but wherever anything of the kind is attempted, care must be exercised in causing the groups to follow the line of the vase, and not to appear as irregular projections from it. As to the modes of decorating works in silver and in gold, they are many; of ornamentation by _repoussé_ work we have already spoken, and of chasing and engraving. But besides these there are other methods, and some of great interest, for there is damascene work, or inlaying; and applying colour, or enamelling; and niello work; jewels may also be added. Damascene work is of great interest. Metal of one colour is inlaid into metal of another colour. India produces, perhaps, the rarest examples of this kind of work, the Indians being experts at this manufacture; but the Indian work consists chiefly of silver inlaid in iron. This mode of work seems to be capable of producing many beautiful effects, as all who have examined the large inlaid hookahs of India will admit. Having chosen a form for a vessel, the next question with which we have to deal is, will it require a handle and spout? It is curious that while the position of a spout and handle in relation to a vessel is governed by a simple natural law, we yet rarely find them placed as they should be. This is the more curious, as a vessel may become practically of great weight, owing to the handle being misplaced. [Illustration: Fig. 149.] [Illustration: Fig. 150.] A pound weight is easily lifted, but when applied to the shorter end of the steel-yard it will balance a hundredweight. If this principle is applied to a tea-pot which actually weighs but little, it may yet be very heavy to lift. In nineteen cases out of twenty, handles are so placed on tea-pots and similar vessels that they are in use lifted only by a force capable of raising two or three such vessels, if the principle of the steel-yard was not acting against the person who uses the vessel. Take our ordinary forms of tea-pot, and see how far the centre of the weight (the centre of gravity) is from the handle in a horizontal direction, and you will be able to judge of the leverage acting disadvantageously to the person who may pour tea from such pots. Now if the part which is grasped is to the right or left of a right line passing through the centre of gravity of any vessel, there is leverage acting to the disadvantage of the person desiring to pour from that vessel, and this leverage increases just as the point held is removed from the central line spoken of. Fig. 151 would pour when in the position shown in Fig. 152, but see how far the hand that holds it would be to the right of the centre of gravity (_a_), which distance is of great disadvantage, as it causes the vessel to appear much heavier than it actually is, and requires a much greater expenditure of force in order that the tea-pot be put to its use than is necessary were it properly formed. [Illustration: Fig. 151.] [Illustration: Fig. 152.] [Illustration: Fig. 153.] [Illustration: Fig. 154.] [Illustration: Fig. 155.] The law governing the application of handle and spout to vessels is this, and the same principle applies whether the vessel be formed of metal, glass, or earthenware:--Find the centre of gravity of the vessel, which can easily be done by letting a vertical line drop over it when placed in two different positions, as in Figs. 153, 154, and where the two vertical lines intersect, as in _a_ in Fig. 155, is the centre of gravity. The position of the handle being fixed on, draw a line through the centre of the handle, and continue it through the centre of gravity of the vessel. The spout must now be at right angles to this line. If this be the case the vessel will pour freely while the handle is just hung upon the thumb or finger of the person desiring to pour from it, as may be seen from Figs. 156, 157, in which the straight line A, passing through the centre of gravity _a_, is at right angles, as it should be, with the straight line passing through the spout. This law, if obeyed, will always enable liquid to be poured from a vessel without its appearing heavier than it actually is, but it will be seen that the shape of the vessel must be considered so that the spout and handle can bear this relation to each other, as in Figs. 156, 157, 158, 159, and 160. Some shapes will not admit of it, so they must be avoided, as may be seen by examining Figs. 151 and 152, which show a tea-pot of faulty shape in this respect. [Illustration: Fig. 156.] [Illustration: Fig. 157.] [Illustration: Fig. 158.] [Illustration: Fig. 159.] A consideration of this law shows that the handles of jugs--those formed of silver, of glass, and of earthenware alike--are usually placed too high; but in this respect things are much better than they were a few years back. Now we somewhat frequently see a jug with the handle in the right place, while some years back we never did. Silver jugs are now the most generally faulty in this respect, and such mistakes as the wrong placing of the handle or spout of a vessel result only from ignorance, for no man knowing the law would violate it. Fig. 161 shows a common form of jug with its handle, but the handle is too high; the position which it should occupy is shown by the dotted line. A very excellent handle is applied to many of the French water-pots, as shown in Fig. 162. It is unnecessary that I say more respecting the shape and general construction of silver and gold vessels, except to remark that if figures or other ornaments are beaten up on their surfaces, they must not destroy or mar their general contour. Iron is not used with us as it should be. Not only is the effect produced when it is inlaid with silver and other metals excellent, but by this mode of work our art-creations are greatly preserved, for the iron is valueless, and the labour of removing the small quantity of precious metal inlaid would be so great as to render the gain inadequate remuneration for the time consumed in collecting it. [Illustration: Fig. 160.] [Illustration: Fig. 161.] [Illustration: Fig. 162.] M. Christophle, of Paris, and also M. Barbedien in a lesser degree, have commenced to inlay copper vessels with silver, and some of their works are very beautiful. The Japanese have from an early time inlaid silver in bronze. This inlaying of silver into copper is a step in the right direction, and should be encouraged by all lovers of art. The Indians not only inlay silver in iron, but also gold in silver and in iron; and the Italians and other peoples have inlaid metals in a similar way; and the firmness and intricacy of some specimens of this inlaying are truly marvellous. By the process of enamelling, colour can be applied to metal, and of all arts this art of enamelling produces works which are most lovely; at least, if the best works of enamel do not surpass those produced by any other manufacture, they are equal in beauty to the works of the highest excellence. Transparent enamels are in some cases very beautiful, but they do not generally compare with the opaque enamels, such as were largely used by the Chinese about a hundred and fifty years back, and by the Japanese, or those now so skilfully produced by Barbedien, the Algerian Onyx Company, and Christophle, all of Paris. Chinese _cloisonné_ enamel vases may be seen at the South Kensington Museum, and here you may also find one or two small pieces of Japanese enamel, as well as one or two grand specimens by Barbedien, of Paris. The Chinese enamels have most frequently a light blue (sort of turquoise) ground, but they occur with both red, white, green, and yellow grounds; while the ornament is of mixed colours, but generally with light yellow-green, deeper blue-green, or dark blue prevailing in it. The Japanese enamels have a lower tone of colour-effect than the Chinese, and the work is finer and the colours more mingled, while the modern French enamels are full in colour, and are yet rich and subdued in general effect--some of them, indeed, are most beautiful works. The Elkingtons, of Birmingham and London, have also produced some beautiful things in this way, but not in the quantities that Barbedien has. I most strongly advise the art-student to study these works in enamel. Niello-work is a form of enrichment applied to metal, but is not in general use; it is a difficult process. Silver snuff-boxes and pendants for watch-chains with a niello pattern upon them are not uncommon, however, in Belgium and Russia, the niello pattern appearing as dark lead-pencil work upon the silver. Some niello-work is very quiet and beautiful, but much need not be said respecting it. Jewels may be inserted in metal, but if this is done they should be somewhat sparingly used, even in the most costly of works, for if they are abundant they produce mere glitter, and the aim of the ornamentist must in all cases be the production of repose. CHAPTER VIII. HARDWARE. Having considered metal-work in its more costly branches, we come to the consideration of hardware, and I am glad that we have now to deal with such metal-work as results from the use of inexpensive materials, for it is such that must be generally employed, while works formed of the precious metals can be used only by comparatively few persons. The object of art is the giving of pleasure; the mission of the artist is that of giving ennobling pleasure. If as an artist I give pleasure, I to an extent fulfil my mission; but I do so, perfectly, only when I give the greatest amount of the most refined pleasure by my art that it is possible for me to give. If by producing works which can be procured by many I give pleasure, it is well that I do so; but if the many fail to derive pleasure from my works, then I must address myself to the few, and be content with my lesser mission. Education appears to be necessary to the appreciation of all art; the artist, then, is a man who appeals to the educated. If some persons, by their superior education, are enabled to appreciate art more fully than those who are ignorant, and can consequently derive more pleasure from it than the less cultured person, it might then be desirable that the artist should address himself, through costly materials, to the few, for thereby he might be giving the greatest amount of pleasure. I always, however, like to produce works in cheap materials, for then I know that I form what is capable of giving pleasure to the poor man--if appreciative--who may possess it, as well as the rich. In hardware we find two classes of work in the market which appear to have little in common--the one class being characterised by a preponderance of excellence, and the other by the dominance of what is coarse and inartistic. The first class of work is that which is produced by what are termed ecclesiastical metal-workers; the second consists of what is generally known as Birmingham ware. It is an error to suppose that these so-called ecclesiastical--or mediæval, as they are sometimes called--metal-workers produce only ecclesiastical and mediæval work. On the contrary, some of these men--and they are now many in number--devote themselves almost exclusively to domestic work, and most of them fabricate articles in all styles of art. If I wanted an artistic set of fire-irons, I should go to one of the ecclesiastical warehouses, for there I have seen many sets that my reason commends and my judgment approves; but I never saw a set produced for the general market that I liked; and the most artistic fenders, grates, and gas-fittings, in almost any style, are to be got at these shops. I do not mean to convey the impression that all things made at these ecclesiastical warehouses are good, and that all things of Birmingham (or Sheffield) manufacture are bad, for I have seen indifferent works in these mediæval shops, and I have seen excellent things from Birmingham--especially I might mention as good certain gaseliers produced by two of the smaller Birmingham houses--but as a rule the works found in the mediæval warehouses are good, and as a rule the works in hardware produced by Birmingham and Sheffield are bad, in point of art. [Illustration: Fig. 163.] [Illustration: Fig. 164.] It will appear a mere repetition if I insist that the materials of which works of hardware are formed be used in the easiest manner in which they can be worked, and that every article be so formed as perfectly to answer the end of its formation. Yet I must do so. Let us look for a common set of fire-irons, and we shall find that nine pokers out of ten have a handle terminating in a pointed knob. Now, as the object of this knob is that of enabling us to exercise force wherewith to break large pieces of coal, the folly of terminating this knob with a point is obvious. A poker is, essentially, an object of utility; it should therefore be useful. It is ridiculous to talk of a poker as an ornament; yet we find it fashionable now to have a bright poker as an ornament, which is obtrusively displayed to the visitor, and a little black poker, which is carefully concealed from view, reserved for use. I cannot imagine what people will not do for show and fashion, but to the thinking mind such littleness as that which induces women to keep a poker as an ornament must be distressing; and until persons who desire to be regarded as educated learn to discriminate between an ornament and an article of utility, little progress in art can be made. If a poker is simply a thing to be looked at, then it may be as inconvenient as you please, for if it has no purpose to fulfil by its creation it cannot be unfitted to its purpose. The same remarks will apply to shovel and tongs. If they are intended as works of utility, then their form must be carefully considered; but if they are to be mere ornaments I have nothing to say respecting them. [Illustration: Fig. 165.] [Illustration: Fig. 166.] Utility and beauty are not inseparable; but if an article of any kind is intended to answer any particular end, it should be fitted to answer the end proposed by its formation; but after it is created as a work of utility, care must be exercised in order that it be also a work of beauty. With due consideration, almost every work may be rendered both useful and beautiful, and it must ever be the aim of the intelligent ornamentist to render them so. [Illustration: Fig. 167.] [Illustration: Fig. 168.] Iron is capable of being wrought in various ways; it maybe cast, or hammered, or cut, or filed. Casting is the least artistic mode of treating iron; but if iron is to be cast, the patterns formed should be so fully adapted to this method of manufacture that the mode of working may be readily apparent. It is foolish to seek to make cast-iron appear as wrought-iron: cast-iron should appear as cast-iron, and wrought-iron as wrought-iron. Cast-iron is brittle, and must not be relied upon as of great strength; while wrought-iron is tough, and will bend under great pressure rather than break. Wrought-iron can be readily bent into scrolls, or the end of a rod of metal can be hammered flat and shaped into the form of a leaf, and parts can either be welded together or fastened by small collars, pins, or screws. One or two illustrations of good wrought-iron work by Skidmore, Benham, and Hart, are given in the engravings. As an illustration of a simple railing, is figured one shown in the International Exhibition of 1862 (Fig. 163), which is in every respect excellent. Its strength is very great, yet it is quaint and beautiful. As it was shown it was coloured, and the colours were so applied as to increase its effect and beauty. If the student will carefully devote himself to the consideration of excellent works in metal, he will learn more than by much reading. Let him procure, if possible, the illustrated catalogues of such men as Hart of London, Hardman of Birmingham, and Dovey of Manchester, and study the sketches which he will there see, and he will certainly discover the principles of a true art, such as he must seek to apply in a manner concordant with his own original feelings. [Illustration: Fig. 169.] Of our illustrations, the example by Skidmore (Fig. 161) furnishes us with an excellent mode of treatment. Iron bands are readily bent into volutes, or curves of various descriptions, and the parts so formed can be united by welding, screws, or bolts. Hardman's gate (Fig. 165) is in every respect excellent; it is quaint, vigorous, and illustrative of a true mode of working metal. The two foliated railings (Figs. 166, 167) are also very meritorious. They are simple in design, and their parts are well fastened together. I advise very strongly that the student carefully consider the illustrations which accompany this chapter. In iron-work the manifestation of a true constructive principle is beyond all things desirable. Iron, being a strong material, should not be formed into heavy masses unless immense weight has to be sustained, or very great strength is required. If we form lamps, candelabra, and such works of iron, it is obvious that the portions of metal employed in their construction may be thin, as the material is of great strength. Were we to form such works of wood, then a greatly increased thickness of material would be necessary, in order that the same strength be secured, as wood is not nearly so strong as iron. My remarks will have special reference to wrought-iron, as cast-iron cannot so fully be said to have a constructive character. The small railing (Fig. 163) is an admirable illustration of a true constructive formation, as the parts are all held together, and strengthened to a wonderful degree, by the introduction of a horseshoe-shaped member. This railing is worthy of the most careful study, for its strength is great. Besides strength we have also beauty. The horseshoe form, especially when judiciously applied, is far from being offensive. Utility must come first, and then beauty, and so it does in this particular railing; but here we have great simplicity, and a correct structural character has been arrived at in its production rather than any elaboration of the principles of beauty. From the catalogue of J. W. Dovey, of Manchester, I select an illustration of structure in the form of a candelabrum which is highly satisfactory in character as a simple work (Fig. 168). There is a solidly-formed heavy base, an upright stem terminating in a candle-holder. There is an arrangement for catching waste grease, and extra strength is given to the stem by four slender buttress-like brackets, which are securely and well attached to the base and to the stem above; and these are strengthened by two hoops, which prevent their bending under pressure. [Illustration: Fig. 170.] Figs. 169 and 170, the former being a ridge or wall cresting, and the latter a stair railing, are each illustrations of a correct treatment, inasmuch as strength (a structural quality) and beauty (an art quality) are secured at the same time. Fig. 169 is admirably constructed, only it is a little slender above the middle horizontal line. These two illustrations are also from Mr. Dovey's catalogue. In the catalogue just named, and in those previously named also, many good examples may be found illustrative of the successful combination of true structural qualities with a considerable amount of beauty, and also acknowledging the strength of the material by the lightness of the parts. [Illustration: Fig. 171.] Those who reside in, or visit, London, will do well to go to the South Kensington Museum, and study a large and splendid, candelabrum of Messrs. Hurt, Son, and Peard, which is well worthy of consideration. It is rather heavy, and is of enormous strength, but in most other respects it is highly commendable. It, is beautiful, well proportioned, and illustrative of a correct treatment of metal. Besides this, it exemplifies the manner in which stones or jewels may be applied to works in hardware with advantage. As a further illustration of a correct and very beautiful treatment of metal, we give one segment of the Hereford Cathedral Screen (Fig. 171), the work of that most intelligent of metal-workers, Mr. Skidmore of Coventry. This screen was shown in the International Exhibition of 1862, in London, and was from there removed to its place in the cathedral. All who can will do well to view this beautiful work, which is one of the finest examples of artistic metal-work with which we are acquainted. Notice the ease with which iron may be treated if a correct mode of working be employed. Let a bar of iron be taken which is about half an inch in thickness, by 1¼ broad. This can be rolled into a volute (the filigree mode of treatment), or its end can be hammered out into stems and leaves, and to it can be attached other leaves by rivets, screws, or ties, or it can be bent into any structural form. To the student I say, study the shapes into which simple bars of iron can be beaten, both mentally and by observing well-formed works. [Illustration: Fig. 172.] Brass, copper, and other metals may be associated with iron in the formation of any works. If well managed, brass and other bright metals may act as gems--that is, they may give bright spots; but where the bright metals are used with this view, care must be exercised in order that the bright spots be formed by beautiful parts, and that their distribution be just, for that which is bright will attract first attention. Before leaving this part of our subject, I must call attention to a hinge by Hardman, of Birmingham, which was shown in the International Exhibition of 1862, as it is both quaint and beautiful (Fig. 172). The door to which this hinge was applied opened twice; the first half opened and folded back on the second half, and then the two halves opened as one door, as will be seen from the illustration. It is very desirable that we have a little novelty of arrangement in our works. We are too apt to repeat ourselves, hence it is a sort of relief to meet with a new idea. It is impossible that I take up each article of hardware and consider it separately. All I can do is to point out principles, and leave the learner to consider and apply them for himself--principles which, once understood, may result in the construction of many excellent works, and may lead to the formation of a correct judgment respecting such objects as may be brought forward for criticism. I will, however, just call attention to gas-branches, as they are often wrongly constructed. A gas-branch is a duct through which gas is to be conveyed. It must be strong if it is to be exposed to pressure, or if it runs the chance of coming in collision with the person, as do standard lights in public buildings. The main part of a gas-branch is the tube or pipe which is to convey the gas, but this may be supported in many ways, as by such buttress-like brackets as in the candelabrum shown in Fig. 168; and if there are branch tubes for several lights, these may well be connected with the central tube, not only by their own attachment, but by brackets of some sort, or with one another by some connecting parts. Whether the gas-branch be pendent or standard, this mode of strengthening the tube-work should be employed, for the tubes themselves are but slightly held together, and by pressure being brought to bear upon them, a dangerous and expensive escape of gas may result. In the manufacture of gaseliers one or two of the smaller Birmingham houses have certainly distinguished themselves by the production of works both beautiful and true; and these lead me to think that a better day is dawning for Birmingham, in which its art shall be exalted rather than degraded, and shall be such as will win to it the esteem of the world rather than call forth the execrations of art-loving people. As to the colouring of iron I can say little. In my judgment the best modes of colouring metals were originated by Mr. Skidmore of Coventry, of whom I have before spoken. His theory is this, that metals are best coloured by the tints of their oxides. When a metal, especially brass, is seen in a furnace in a molten condition, the flames, where the oxygen of the atmosphere is uniting with the vapour of the metal, present the most resplendent tints. The same thing in a lesser degree occurs in the case of iron, but here the colours are less brilliant, and are more tertiary in character. Mr. Skidmore applies to a metal the colours seen in the flames of the furnace where it melts. Without attempting to limit the colourist to any theory whereby his ideas might be restricted, I must say that Skidmore's colouring of the metals is very good. CHAPTER IX. STAINED GLASS. From early times it has been customary to colour glass. To the ancient Egyptians a method of forming glass of various tints was known, and by producing a mass of glass consisting of variously coloured pieces vitreously united, and cutting this into slices, they, in a costly and laborious manner, produced a sort of stained glass which might have been employed for the sides of lanterns or other purposes. The Greeks were acquainted with a similar process, and bowls formed in this manner by them are common in our museums. Soon after the re-discovery of glass in our own country, methods of colouring it were sought, and cathedral windows were formed, which were of such beauty, and were so thoroughly fitted to answer the end of their creation, that little or no improvement upon these early works has even yet been made, and much of the decorative glass which we now produce is far inferior to them as regards design, colour, and mode of treatment. A window must fulfil two purposes--it must keep out rain, wind, and cold, and must admit light; having fulfilled these ends, it may be beautiful. If a window commands a lovely view let it, if possible, be formed of but few sheets (if not very large, of one sheet) of plate-glass; for the works of God are more worthy of contemplation, with their ever-changing beauty, than the works of man; but if the window commands only a mass of bricks and mortar inartistically arranged, let it, if possible, be formed of coloured glass having beauty of design manifested by the arrangement of its parts. A window should never appear as a picture with parts treated in light and shade. The foreshortening of the parts, and all perspective treatments, are best avoided, as far as possible. I do not say that the human figure, the lower animals, and plants must not be delineated upon window glass, for, on the contrary, they may be so treated as not only to be beautiful, but also to be a consistent decoration of glass; but this I do say, that many stained windows are utterly spoiled through the window being treated as a picture, and not as a protection from the weather and as a source of light. If pictorially treated subjects are employed upon window glass, they should be treated very simply, and drawn in bold outline without shading, and the parts should be separated from each other by varying their colours. Thus, the flesh of a figure may be formed of glass having a pink tone; the robe of the figure of glass which is green, purple, or any other colour; a flower may be formed of white glass, or of glass of any colour; the leaves of green glass; and the sky background of blue glass. All the parts will thus be distinguished from each other by colour, and the distinction of part from part will be further enhanced by the strong black outline which bounds the parts and furnishes the drawing of the picture. [Illustration: Fig. 173.] [Illustration: Fig. 174.] Strong colours should rarely be used in windows, as they retard the admission of light. Light is essential to our well-being; our health of body depends in a large measure upon the amount of light which falls upon the skin. Those wonderful chemical changes, in the absence of which there can be no life, in part, at least, depend upon the exposure of our bodies to light; let our windows, then, admit these life-giving rays. It must also be remembered that if light is not freely admitted to an apartment the colours of all the objects which it contains, and of its own decorations if it has any, are sacrificed, for in the absence of light there is no colour. [Illustration: Fig. 175.] [Illustration: Fig. 176.] [Illustration: Fig. 177.] [Illustration: Fig. 178.] [Illustration: Fig. 179.] [Illustration: Fig. 180.] It is not necessary, in order to the production of a beautiful window, that much strong colour be used; tints of creamy yellow, pale amber, light tints of tertiary blue, blue-grey, olive, russet, and other sombre or delicate hues, if enlivened with small portions of ruby or other full colours, produce the most charming effects, and by their use we have consistent windows. A good domestic window is often produced by armorial bearings in colour being placed on geometrically arranged tesseræ of slightly tinted glass. In some cases such an arrangement as this is highly desirable, for the room may thus get the benefit which a bit of colour will sometimes afford, and at the same time a pleasant view may be had through the uncoloured portion of the window. As an illustration of this class of window, we extract one from the catalogue of those excellent artists in stained glass, Messrs. Heaton, Butler, and Bayne, of Garrick Street (Fig. 173). A good window may also be formed by bordering a plain window with colour, (Fig. 174), or in place of the plain centre squares of glass may be used, each bearing a diaper pattern, as Figs. 175 to 182. [Illustration: Fig. 181.] [Illustration: Fig. 182.] No architectural constructive feature should be introduced into a window--thus, an elaborate architectural canopy overshadowing a figure is not at all desirable. If a figure is formed of a perishable material, and stands on the outside of a building, it is well that it be protected from the rain by a canopy; but such a contrivance when introduced over a figure drawn on a flat window is absurd, being useless. Let us always consider what we have to do before we commence the formation of any ornamental article, and then seek to do it in the most simple, consistent, and beautiful manner. Figs. 183 and 184 represent my views of what stained glass may advantageously be. [Illustration: Fig. 183.] More than once in the course of these chapters I have protested in strong terms against pretence in art and art-decoration--the desire to make things appear to be made of better material or more costly substances than what they have in reality been wrought from--that leads men to paint and varnish a plain freestone mantelpiece in imitation of some expensive marble, or to make doors and window-shutters, skirting and panelling that the carpenter has fashioned out of red or yellow deal, assume the appearance of oak, or maple, or satinwood, by the deceptive skill of the grainer. In no case can the imitation ever approach a fair resemblance to the reality it is proposed to imitate. The coarse, rough grain of the soft freestone, which is incapable of receiving a polish, or rather of being polished until it becomes as smooth, and even, and lustrous as good glass, can never be made by successive coatings of paint and varnish to afford a satisfactory resemblance to the marble that it is supposed to represent, however carefully the cunning hand of the painter may have imitated the veins, and spots, and curious diversities of colour with which Nature has variegated the surface of the substance that he is endeavouring to copy. Nor, again, can a coarse-grained, soft wood, however skilled may be the hand that manipulates it, be treated so as to resemble the texture and smoothness of hard, close-grained wood, which from its very nature is capable of receiving the high polish that the softer material can never take if treated by the same process--that is, unless the expense of producing the imitation greatly exceeds the cost of the thing imitated. And what is applicable to the treatment of wood and stone is applicable also to the treatment of glass: for as a freestone mantelpiece, or deal door, however suitable and pleasing to the eye either may be when simply painted in the one case and varnished in the other to preserve the surface from the deteriorating influences of dirt of any kind, can never be made by the exercise of reasonable time and skill to present the appearance of marble or oak; so glass, by the application of colour rendered transparent by varnish, can never be brought to resemble glass stained or painted by the legitimate method, either in delicacy of tint, or depth, and richness, and brilliancy of colour. The greater part of the imitative stained glass, or "diaphanie" as it is styled, fails not only in colour, but in design; and in this indeed it may perhaps be said to be especially faulty. The designs, which are printed on paper, with the view of imitating glass patterns, err principally in being too elaborate, and in representing figures and scenery which are not in character or keeping with the designs that are usually represented in painted glass. If confined to simple diaper work, or borderings and heraldic emblems, as shown in Figs. 173 and 174, or patterns similar to that shown in Fig. 183, the artistic effect produced would be more satisfactory, although it can never equal genuine stained glass in depth of colour or purity of tone. [Illustration: Fig. 184.] CHAPTER X. CONCLUSION. I have now treated of art as applied to our industrial manufactures, and have pointed out principles which must be recognisable in all art-works which pretend to merit. We have seen that material must in all cases be used in the simplest and most natural manner; that, wherever possible, we must avail ourselves of the friendly aid of natural forces;[29] that the most convenient shape must always be selected for a vessel or art-object of any kind; and that beauty must then be added to that which is useful. All art-objects must be useful and then beautiful; they must be utilitarian, and yet so graceful, so comely, that they shall be loved for their beauty as well as valued for their usefulness. While I have set forth those principles which must ever govern the application of ornament to useful articles, I cannot show the student any royal road to the attainment of art-knowledge. There is something in a true art-work which is too subtle for expression by words; there is a "quality" about an art-work, or the expression of an amount of "feeling," which cannot be described, yet which is so obvious as to be at once apparent to the trained eye. [29] See chapters on glass and earthenware. The only way in which the power of appreciating art-qualities can be gained, especially if these qualities are of a subtle nature, is by the careful study of works of known excellence. Could the student visit our museums in company with a trained ornamentist, who would point out what was good and what was bad in art, he would soon learn, by studying the beautiful works, to perceive art-qualities; but as this is not possible to most, the learner must be content to consider each art-work with which he comes in contact in conjunction with the principles I have set forward. Let him take a work--say a tea-pot. He will now ask himself--has the material of which it is formed been judiciously and simply used?--is the shape convenient?--is the handle properly applied, and does the spout bear a proper relation to the handle?--is the form graceful or vigorous?--is the curve which bounds the form of a subtle nature?--is the engraving applied in judicious quantities and in just proportions?--are the engraved forms beautiful, and such as do not suffer by being seen in perspective on a rounded surface? By such questions the student will inquire into the nature of whatever is presented to his consideration, and only by constantly making such inquiries, and seeking to answer them correctly, can he gain the knowledge which will enable him rightly to judge of the nature of art-works. Some of these inquiries the young student will readily answer, with others he will have difficulty; for, his taste being yet uncultivated, he will not know whether a form is beautiful or not. Nevertheless, I say to the learner, try to answer these various inquiries as well as you can, and then note the shape of the object in a memorandum-book, and write your opinion respecting it in brief terms, and your reasons for your opinion. By thus noting your studies you gain many advantages; thus, you must frame your ideas with some degree of exactness when you have to put them into words, and exactness of idea is essential to your success. You can also refer to previous thoughts, and thus impress them upon the memory; and you can observe your progress, which is important, and should be encouraging. In order that you acquire the power of perceiving art-merit as quickly as possible, you must study those works in which examples of bad taste are rarely met with, you must at first consider art-objects from India, Persia, China, and Japan, as well as examples of ancient art from Egypt and Greece. But in selecting modern works from the East, choose those which are not altogether new if possible. During the last ten years the art-works of Japan have deteriorated to a lamentable extent. Contact with Europeans unfortunately brings about the deterioration of Eastern art: in order that the European demand be met, quantity is produced and quality disregarded, for we cavil respecting price, and yet by thus creating a demand for inferior work we raise the price even of that which is comparatively bad, and soon have to pay for the coarser wares a price for which superior articles could at first be procured. But this should be noted: that the commonest wares which we receive from Japan and India are never utterly bad in art. Inharmonious colouring does not appear to be produced by these nations, and the same may be said of Persia and China, and, to an extent, of Morocco and Algeria, the only exceptions being where European influence has been long continued. In selecting examples for study you may almost rely upon the beauty of all works from China, Japan, Persia, and India, which have not been produced under European influence. A notable example of the deteriorating influence of European taste (perhaps chiefly English taste) upon Eastern art is apparent if we examine old carved sandalwood boxes from India, and those which are now sent to us from the same country; the quiet, unobtrusive consistency of the ornament by which it was sought only to enrich a properly constructed box was not sufficiently attractive to suit European (or English?) taste. The ornament must be more pronounced and in higher relief, and the entire work must be more attractive--more vulgarly attractive I might say, and thus the exquisite refinement of the older works is sacrificed to the wants of a rich but vulgar people, whose taste for art is infinitely below that of their conquered brethren, from whom they learn the principles of a beautiful art but slowly, while they do much to destroy the refinement of art-taste which the workmen of our Eastern empire appear to inherit. Study the works of the Eastern nations in conjunction with the remarks which I made in my first chapter (see pages 6, 9, and 48), and then consider the numerous objects left to us by the early Egyptians and Greeks, and bear in mind while viewing them what we have said on Egyptian and Greek art (see pages 6, 8, and 10), and after having learned to understand the merits of Persian, Japanese, Indian, and Chinese art, and of that of the ancient Egyptians and Greeks, you may commence to consider other styles, taking up the study of Italian and Renaissance art in its various forms last of all; for in these styles, or dialects of a style if I may thus speak, there is so much that is false in structure, false in representation, untruthful in expression, and pictorial rather than ornamental in effect, that a very complete acquaintance with ornamental art is necessary in order that all the defects of these styles be apparent, and in order that the student avoid falling into the error of regarding a pictorial effect as the result of a true style of ornamental art. Study, when accompanied by individual thought, is the means whereby art-knowledge will be gained. No mere looking at works which are beautiful and true will make a great ornamentist. He who would attain to great knowledge must _study_ whatever commends itself to him as worthy of his attention, and, above all, must think much upon the works which he contemplates; it is the evidence of mind--not of degraded but of noble mind, of refined mind, of cultivated mind, of well-informed mind, of mind which has knowledge, of mind which has vigour, of mind which is fresh and new--that we find impressed upon a work and giving to it value. While we, as art-students, have, above all things, to attain to cultivation of the mind, we cannot give expression to refined feelings manifested in form unless we can draw, and draw almost faultlessly; and the ability to draw with accuracy, power, and feeling can only result from much practice. Let every spare moment, then, find the sketch-book in your hand, and be constantly trying to draw both carefully, neatly, and with exactness and finish, such objects as you see around you, even if examples of good art-works are not at hand; for by constant and careful practice you can alone acquire the necessary power of expressing refined thought in refined form. Avoid making hasty sketches. When a finished artist, you can afford to make sketch memoranda; but till you can draw with great power, energy, truthfulness, and refinement, let your every drawing be as careful and as finished in character, however simple the object portrayed, as though your welfare in life depended upon its character, for upon every sketch your future position does, to a great extent, depend. The habit of careful painstaking should sedulously be cultivated; and with every drawing thus made an amount of power is gained which the making of a hundred careless sketches would not afford. Let painstaking, then, be characteristic of your working. Ornament of some kind is applied to almost every article that we see around us. The papers on our walls, the carpets on our floors, the hangings at our windows, the plates from which we eat, are all covered by patterns of some kind; yet it is rare, even now when ornamentation has become general, to find anything original in ornament; and if we do meet with something new in kind it is often feeble or timid-looking, if it does not altogether fail to impress us with the idea that the producer was a man of knowledge. Let the reader be assured that if the designer is a man of knowledge, his ornamental compositions will never fail to reveal his learning; that if he is a man of power, his works will reveal his strength of character; if he is a man of refined feelings, that his designs will manifest his tenderness of perception. In like manner, if a man is ignorant he cannot withhold from his patterns the manifestation of his ignorance. Did not the Egyptians express their power of character in their ornaments? did not the Greeks manifest their refinement in the forms which they drew? do we not even find an expression of religious feeling strongly, yea, impressively, set forth by some art-works, as by the illuminated manuscripts of the early Middle Ages? and do we not every day see the impress of the ignorant upon certain wall-papers, carpets, and other things? It is a fact, and it is necessary that we fully recognise it, that the knowledge of the producer is manifested by his works; and that the ignorance of the ignorant is also manifested in his works. If ornament is produced having new characters, it is often feeble, and is generally without grace; while power is the expression of manliness, and grace of refinement. Without claiming to have made a successful effort, I put forth, in the frontispiece to this volume (Plate I.), four of my studies in original ornament, all of which are to me more or less satisfactory as studies in composition. I have endeavoured to secure in each an amount of energy, vigour--the power of life, yet at the same time to avoid coarseness, or any glaring want of refinement. I have sought to combine right lines, which are expressive of power, with such curved shapes as shall, with them, produce a pleasing contrast of form, and express a certain amount of grace. In the light ornament on the citrine ground (that at the lower left-hand corner of our plate) I have endeavoured especially to secure an expression of grace in combination with that amount of energy which avoids any expression of feebleness. In the border ornament I have introduced the arch form, as it hints at a structural "setting out" which is pleasant; and I have endeavoured to cause the composition to appear as though it rested on the lower dotted band, as this gives a feeling of security. I do not say that it is necessary that this be so: all I assert is that in some cases it gives a feeling of satisfaction. So far as I know, the colouring is also original. The colours employed are chiefly of a tertiary character, but small masses of primary or secondary colours are employed in order to impart "life" to the composition. I do not set these studies before my readers with the idea of showing them what original ornament should be: I only set them forth as examples of new compositions, and must leave each to clothe his own thoughts with a befitting expression of his individual original ideas. As I am writing for the working man, as well as for others, will he pardon me reminding him that we are called to exercise an art, yet at the same time our art is associated with the scientific professions--a knowledge of natural sciences, of botany, zoology, natural philosophy, and chemistry can be very fully utilised in our art--and that we should, therefore, act as professional men and as artists of the highest rank; for thereby only can we hope to place our calling in that position of esteem in which it should be held, and must be held, by the people at large, if we are to administer to their pleasure as we ought. In taking leave of my reader, let me say that if I personally can aid him in any way, I shall be glad to do so. If any who really seek knowledge of decorative design, and are hard workers, choose to send me designs for criticism or comment, or desire any other aid that I can give them, I shall be happy to do what little I can for them. My address will be found at the end of the Preface. INDEX. Alternation in Ornament, 24. America, Depraved Artistic Taste in, 104. Anthemion; a Greek Decorative Device, 9. Arabian Metal-work, 137. Arch used in Furniture, 51, 52. Art may be Degrading, 2; aims at producing Repose, 63; the Object of, 144. Art-knowledge, The Value of, 2. Baptism, Symbol of, in Gothic Art, 12. Beauty in Decoration, 16, 17. Bed-room, Decoration for a, 15. Birmingham Ware, 144, 145, 152. Black, a Neutral in Decorative Work, 45. Buhl-work, 64. Buildings, Decoration of, 73, _et seq._ Byzantine Ornament, 11. Cabinet, Construction of a, 61. Calico, Patterns on, 107. Carpets, Art-qualities and Patterns of, 94, _et seq._; Different Sorts of, 94, 95; Foreign-made, 102, 103; how they should be laid down, 105; the Conditions which Govern the Application of Ornament to, 106. Carving, when to be used, 61, 62. Casting in Metal, 136. Casting, the least Artistic Mode of Treating Iron, 147. Ceilings, Decoration of, 75, _et seq._; Various, worthy of Study, 82; with Painted Pictures Objectionable, 82. Celtic Ornament, 25. Chair-coverings, 72. Chairs, Construction of, 52-57. Character of the Designer shown by his Work, 163. Chinese Enamels, 143. Chinese Harmony of Colour, 48. Chinese Ornament, 11. Christian Art, 11, 12. Clay as a Material for Art-purposes, 117, _et seq._ Colour--in Decoration, 30, _et seq._; Contrast in, 32, 33; Primary, Secondary, and Tertiary, 32; Harmony in, 33, 39, _et seq._; Qualities of, 33, 34; Analytical Tables of, 34; Teachings of Experience in regard to, 34, 45; Proportions in which Colours Harmonise, 34, 35, 36; Pure, and Pigments, 37, 38; Permanence of, 38, _note_; Shades, Tints, and Hues, 39; Works on, referred to, 49; for Stained Windows, 154, _et seq._ Colouring Metals. _See_ Skidmore, Mr. Colour-top, the, 48, and _note_. Copper Vessels Inlaid with Silver, 142. Cornices, Colouring of, 93. Couches, 57, _et seq._ Curtain Materials, 107, _et seq._ Curves, most Beautiful when most Subtle, 23. Damascene Work, 139. Damask Table-linen, Patterns on, 107, 108, 109. Damask Wall-coverings. _See_ Silk Wall Damasks. Decanters, what they should be, 129. Decoration should be in keeping with Architecture, 73, 74, 75. Design and Ornament, Redgrave on, 50. Dining-room, Decoration for a, 14. Dining-tables, Mr. Eastlake on Telescopic, 66, 67. Distemper Colours for Wall Decoration, 83. Doric Column, The, 9. Drawing-room, Decoration for a, 15. Dress, Ladies' and Gentlemen's, 90. Patterns for Ladies', 112. Earthen Vessels, Decoration of, 125, 126, 127. Eastlake, Mr., on Household Art, referred to, 52, and _note_. Ecclesiastical Metal-workers, 144, 145. Egyptian Architecture, 8. Egyptian Coloured Glass, 153. Egyptian Drawing, Peculiarity of, 5. Egyptian Ornament, 4-8. Embroidery on Cotton, Indian, 114. Enamelling in Metal-work, 143. England, Architectural Buildings in, 11; House Decoration in, 30, 31. European Influence Injurious to Eastern Art, 161. Excess in Upholstery, 70. Fabrics, Patterns Suitable for Woven, 107, _et seq._ Finish, its Value Over-estimated, 120. Folds, Ornamentation of Fabrics to be seen in, 112, _et seq._ French Errors of Taste in Furniture, 65. Furniture, Decorative Principles applied to, 50, _et seq._; What is Required to make it an Object of Art, 50; Material used for, 51; Truthful Construction of, 59, 65, _et seq._; Proportion and Enrichment of, 61, 63. Glass, as a Material for Art-purposes, 118, 127, _et seq._; Vessels, Various, 130, _et seq._; Vessels, Coloured, 131, 132; Cutting of, 132; Engraving of, 133; Ornamentation of, 133; Stained, 153, _et seq._ Gold, a Neutral in Decorative Work, 44, 45. Gold and Silver, Works in, 136. Gothic Architecture, Modern, 74. Gothic Furniture, Falsely Constructed, 66. Gothic Ornament, 12. Granite Imitated, Objected to, 89. Greek Coloured Glass, 153. Greek Ornament, 9, 10, 11. Greek Vessels, 121. Grotesque. _See_ Humour. Handles of Vessels, 138, 139, 140. Hardware, Art in Connection with, 144, _et seq._ Harmony of Colour. _See_ Colour. Historical Inquiry Necessary to the Understanding of Decoration, 4, Humour in Ornament, 24-29; Chinese and Japanese, 25, 27, 28. Imitations of Marbles and Granites, 89. Indian Art Injured by European Influence, 161. Indian Fabrics, 48, _note_. Indian Fabrics, Mr. Redgrave on, 115, 116. Indian Metal-work, 142. Indian Work in regard to Colouring, 47. Inlaying as a means of Enriching Works of Furniture, 63. Irish Crosses, Numerous Ornaments on, 25. Iron, as an Art-material, 142. Iron, how Wrought, 147. Iron, Metals that may be Associated with, 151. Iron-castings of Berlin, 136. Iron-work, Ornamental, 147, _et seq._; must Manifest a True Constructive Principle, 148; Colouring of, 152. Italian Metal-work, 142. Japan, Deterioration in the Art-works of, 161. Japanese Art, 11. Japanese Colouring, 48. Japanese Earthenware, 120. Japanese Enamels, 142, 143. Japanese Metal-work, 142. Jewels in Metal-work, 143. Joists in Ceilings, how they should be Treated, 79. Labour Necessary to Success in Art, 4, 31. Library, Decoration for a, 15. Lotus in Egyptian Design, 5, 6. Marble Imitated, Objected to, 89. Mediæval Metal-workers, 144, 145. Mental Effects produced by Decorative Forms, 14. Moorish Ornament, 11. Muslin, Patterns on, 107. Natural Forms in Carpet Patterns, 96, 97, 98. Niello-work applied to Metals, 143. Norman Architecture, 11. Novelty Wanted in Carpet Patterns, 105. Oil-colour "Flatted" for Wall Decoration, 83. Order, a Principle in Ornament, 23. Ormolu Ornaments, 64. Ornament and Architecture Inseparable, 13. Papered Walls. _See_ Wall Papers. Papyrus in Egyptian Architecture, 8. Persian Ornament, 11. Picture Frames, 72. Pigments. _See_ Colour. Plants as Ornaments, How to Treat, 24. Plaques of Stone or Earthenware applied to Works of Furniture, 63, 64. Pottery, Art in, 117, _et seq._ Power an Art-principle, 17. Precious Materials in the Form of Art-works, 117, 118. Preface, v., vi. Pretence in Art-decoration, 157-159. Proportion must be Subtle, 23. Purpose, Adaptation to, Taught by Plants, 21. Renaissance Ornament, 13. Repetition of Parts in Ornament, 23. Roman Ornament, 11. Shams in Decoration, 89. Silk, Patterns on, 107. Silk Wall Damasks, 114. Silversmiths' Work, 135, _et seq._ Skidmore, Mr., and his Theory of Colouring Metals, 152. Sofa-coverings, 70, 72. South Kensington Museum, 48, _note_. Spouts of Vessels, 139, _et seq._ Stools, 53. Study of Art-decoration, how it should be carried on, 14, 160, 161, 162. Styles of Architecture, 73. Sugar-basin, its Form, 138. Surface Decoration, 73, _et seq._ Symbols in Christian Art, 12. Table-covers, The Borders of, 109, 111. Taste of the Uneducated, 15. Trinity, Symbols of the, in Gothic Art, 12. Truth an Art-principle, 15, 16, 89, 158, 159. Utility must Govern the Production and Application of Ornament, 17-22, 145. Utility in Architecture, 20. Utility Professor George Wilson on, 19, 20. Utility Various Writers on, 20. Vehicles for Art, The Best, the least Costly, 3. Veneering, 69. Venetian Glass, 130, 131. Vessels, Primitive, 120. Wall Decorations, 83, _et seq._ Wall Papers, 87, 90, _et seq._ Walls should be Unobtrusive, 90. Water-vessels, Egyptian and Greek, 121-124. White a Neutral in Decorative Work, 45. Window-hangings, 69, 70, 108. Windows, 69, 70; the Object of, 153; how they should be Treated, 153. Wine-bottles, Forms of, 128. "Winged Globe," in Egyptian Design, 7. Woods and their Relative Strength, 51. Workmen; their Study of Decorative Laws, 1. " Advice to, 164. Wrought-iron, its Qualities, 147, 148. CASSELL, PETTER, & GALPIN, BELLE SAUVAGE WORKS, LONDON, E.C. * * * * * MANUALS OF TECHNOLOGY. EDITED BY PROFESSOR AYRTON, F.R.S. (_Finsbury Technical College, City and Guilds of London Institute_), AND RICHARD WORMELL, D.Sc., M.A. During the last two years a very great impetus has been given to the advancement of Technical Education, so that at the present time there is a widespread demand on the part of technical students for text-books. The object of this series is to meet this demand by furnishing books which describe _the application of science to industry_, which translate the language and results of science into the language of the workshop, and will thus bring to the benefit of the English Industries the workman's acquaintance with the scientific principles which underlie his daily work. These manuals of Technology are not intended to teach _pure_ science. Nor are they intended to enable the reader to dispense with learning, by actual practice in the workshop, the handicraft of the various trades. They will form a link between these two designs. They will give the reader an intelligent grasp of the complicated machinery of the factory. They are designed to make workmen thinkers, and not merely human tools. No special knowledge of mathematics or of science is necessary to the student of this series, but it is expected that he will have been observant of the processes carried on in his workshop, which will be here scientifically explained. The subjects will be treated analytically rather than synthetically; that is to say, the machine, as the workman knows it, will be taken as a whole and analysed, and special care will be taken to avoid the method too common in scientific books, according to which a number of abstract principles are first developed, while their practical application is deferred to the end of the book, which, probably, the practical man never reaches. As text-books for the large and increasing number of candidates at the Technological Examinations of the City and Guilds of London Institute, with which many of the authors are connected, these Manuals of Technology will be especially valuable. An author in each case has been selected who was able to comprise a well-grounded scientific knowledge with a practical familiarity with the minute details of the trade treated of in his book. Consequently, while the latest and most approved processes of manufacture will be found described, the exact scientific reasons for the superiority of these modern methods over the older ones will be given in full, as well as such indications as science would suggest for improving the present processes. The following books are already in preparation, and others will be added:-- ELECTRIC LIGHTING AND TRANSMISSION OF POWER Professor Ayrton, F.R.S. APPLIED MECHANICS Professor Perry, M.E. CUTTING TOOLS WORKED BY HAND AND MACHINE Professor Smith. 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7291	----	Michelle Shephard, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team THE TWO PATHS By John Ruskin, M.A. CONTENTS. THE TWO PATHS. LECTURE I. THE DETERIORATIVE POWER OF CONVENTIONAL ART OVER NATIONS LECTURE II. THE UNITY OF ART LECTURE III. MODERN MANUFACTURE AND DESIGN LECTURE IV. THE INFLUENCE OF IMAGINATION IN ARCHITECTURE LECTURE V. THE WORK OF IRON, IN NATURE, ART, AND POLICY APPENDICES LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. THE TWO PATHS. THE IDEAL OF AN ANGEL THE SERPENT BEGUILING EVE CONTRAST SYMMETRY ORNAMENT CLASSICAL ARCHITECTURE CENTREPIECE OF BALCONY GENERAL EFFECT OF MASSES PROFILE TEETH OF THE BORDER BORDER AT THE SIDE OF BALCONY OUTLINE OF RETRACTED LEAVES PREFACE. The following addresses, though spoken at different times, are intentionally connected in subject; their aim being to set one or two main principles of art in simple light before the general student, and to indicate their practical bearing on modern design. The law which it has been my effort chiefly to illustrate is the dependence of all noble design, in any kind, on the sculpture or painting of Organic Form. This is the vital law; lying at the root of all that I have ever tried to teach respecting architecture or any other art. It is also the law most generally disallowed. I believe this must be so in every subject. We are all of us willing enough to accept dead truths or blunt ones; which can be fitted harmlessly into spare niches, or shrouded and coffined at once out of the way, we holding complacently the cemetery keys, and supposing we have learned something. But a sapling truth, with earth at its root and blossom on its branches; or a trenchant truth, that can cut its way through bars and sods; most men, it seems to me, dislike the sight or entertainment of, if by any means such guest or vision may be avoided. And, indeed, this is no wonder; for one such truth, thoroughly accepted, connects itself strangely with others, and there is no saying what it may lead us to. And thus the gist of what I have tried to teach about architecture has been throughout denied by my architect readers, even when they thought what I said suggestive in other particulars. "Anything but that. Study Italian Gothic?--perhaps it would be as well: build with pointed arches?--there is no objection: use solid stone and well-burnt brick?-- by all means: but--learn to carve or paint organic form ourselves! How can such a thing be asked? We are above all that. The carvers and painters are our servants--quite subordinate people. They ought to be glad if we leave room for them." Well: on that it all turns. For those who will not learn to carve or paint, and think themselves greater men because they cannot, it is wholly wasted time to read any words of mine; in the truest and sternest sense they can read no words of mine; for the most familiar I can use--"form," "proportion," "beauty," "curvature," "colour"--are used in a sense which by no effort I can communicate to such readers; and in no building that I praise, is the thing that I praise it for, visible to them. And it is the more necessary for me to state this fully; because so- called Gothic or Romanesque buildings are now rising every day around us, which might be supposed by the public more or less to embody the principles of those styles, but which embody not one of them, nor any shadow or fragment of them; but merely serve to caricature the noble buildings of past ages, and to bring their form into dishonour by leaving out their soul. The following addresses are therefore arranged, as I have just stated, to put this great law, and one or two collateral ones, in less mistakeable light, securing even in this irregular form at least clearness of assertion. For the rest, the question at issue is not one to be decided by argument, but by experiment, which if the reader is disinclined to make, all demonstration must be useless to him. The lectures are for the most part printed as they were read, mending only obscure sentences here and there. The parts which were trusted to extempore speaking are supplied, as well as I can remember (only with an addition here and there of things I forgot to say), in the words, or at least the kind of words, used at the time; and they contain, at all events, the substance of what I said more accurately than hurried journal reports. I must beg my readers not in general to trust to such, for even in fast speaking I try to use words carefully; and any alteration of expression will sometimes involve a great alteration in meaning. A little while ago I had to speak of an architectural design, and called it "elegant," meaning, founded on good and well "elected" models; the printed report gave "excellent" design (that is to say, design _excellingly_ good), which I did not mean, and should, even in the most hurried speaking, never have said. The illustrations of the lecture on iron were sketches made too roughly to be engraved, and yet of too elaborate subjects to allow of my drawing them completely. Those now substituted will, however, answer the purpose nearly as well, and are more directly connected with the subjects of the preceding lectures; so that I hope throughout the volume the student will perceive an insistance upon one main truth, nor lose in any minor direction of inquiry the sense of the responsibility which the acceptance of that truth fastens upon him; responsibility for choice, decisive and conclusive, between two modes of study, which involve ultimately the development, or deadening, of every power he possesses. I have tried to hold that choice clearly out to him, and to unveil for him to its farthest the issue of his turning to the right hand or the left. Guides he may find many, and aids many; but all these will be in vain unless he has first recognised the hour and the point of life when the way divides itself, one way leading to the Olive mountains--one to the vale of the Salt Sea. There are few cross roads, that I know of, from one to the other. Let him pause at the parting of THE TWO PATHS. THE TWO PATHS _BEING_ LECTURES ON ART, AND ITS APPLICATION TO DECORATION AND MANUFACTURE DELIVERED IN 1858-9. LECTURE I. THE DETERIORATIVE POWER OF CONVENTIONAL ART OVER NATIONS. _An Inaugural Lecture, Delivered at the Kensington Museum, January, 1858._ [Footnote: A few introductory words, in which, at the opening of this lecture, I thanked the Chairman (Mr. Cockerell), for his support on the occasion, and asked his pardon for any hasty expressions in my writings, which might have seemed discourteous towards him, or other architects whose general opinions were opposed to mine, may be found by those who care for preambles, not much misreported, in the _Building Chronicle;_ with such comments as the genius of that journal was likely to suggest to it.] As I passed, last summer, for the first time, through the north of Scotland, it seemed to me that there was a peculiar painfulness in its scenery, caused by the non-manifestation of the powers of human art. I had never travelled in, nor even heard or conceived of such a country before; nor, though I had passed much of my life amidst mountain scenery in the south, was I before aware how much of its charm depended on the little gracefulnesses and tendernesses of human work, which are mingled with the beauty of the Alps, or spared by their desolation. It is true that the art which carves and colours the front of a Swiss cottage is not of any very exalted kind; yet it testifies to the completeness and the delicacy of the faculties of the mountaineer; it is true that the remnants of tower and battlement, which afford footing to the wild vine on the Alpine promontory, form but a small part of the great serration of its rocks; and yet it is just that fragment of their broken outline which gives them their pathetic power, and historical majesty. And this element among the wilds of our own country I found wholly wanting. The Highland cottage is literally a heap of gray stones, choked up, rather than roofed over, with black peat and withered heather; the only approach to an effort at decoration consists in the placing of the clods of protective peat obliquely on its roof, so as to give a diagonal arrangement of lines, looking somewhat as if the surface had been scored over by a gigantic claymore. And, at least among the northern hills of Scotland, elements of more ancient architectural interest are equally absent. The solitary peel- house is hardly discernible by the windings of the stream; the roofless aisle of the priory is lost among the enclosures of the village; and the capital city of the Highlands, Inverness, placed where it might ennoble one of the sweetest landscapes, and by the shore of one of the loveliest estuaries in the world;--placed between the crests of the Grampians and the flowing of the Moray Firth, as if it were a jewel clasping the folds of the mountains to the blue zone of the sea,--is only distinguishable from a distance by one architectural feature, and exalts all the surrounding landscape by no other associations than those which can be connected with its modern castellated gaol. While these conditions of Scottish scenery affected me very painfully, it being the first time in my life that I had been in any country possessing no valuable monuments or examples of art, they also forced me into the consideration of one or two difficult questions respecting the effect of art on the human mind; and they forced these questions upon me eminently for this reason, that while I was wandering disconsolately among the moors of the Grampians, where there was no art to be found, news of peculiar interest was every day arriving from a country where there was a great deal of art, and art of a delicate kind, to be found. Among the models set before you in this institution, and in the others established throughout the kingdom for the teaching of design, there are, I suppose, none in their kind more admirable than the decorated works of India. They are, indeed, in all materials capable of colour, wool, marble, or metal, almost inimitable in their delicate application of divided hue, and fine arrangement of fantastic line. Nor is this power of theirs exerted by the people rarely, or without enjoyment; the love of subtle design seems universal in the race, and is developed in every implement that they shape, and every building that they raise; it attaches itself with the same intensity, and with the same success, to the service of superstition, of pleasure or of cruelty; and enriches alike, with one profusion on enchanted iridescence, the dome of the pagoda, the fringe of the girdle and the edge of the sword. So then you have, in these two great populations, Indian and Highland-- in the races of the jungle and of the moor--two national capacities distinctly and accurately opposed. On the one side you have a race rejoicing in art, and eminently and universally endowed with the gift of it; on the other you have a people careless of art, and apparently incapable of it, their utmost effort hitherto reaching no farther than to the variation of the positions of the bars of colour in square chequers. And we are thus urged naturally to enquire what is the effect on the moral character, in each nation, of this vast difference in their pursuits and apparent capacities? and whether those rude chequers of the tartan, or the exquisitely fancied involutions of the Cashmere, fold habitually over the noblest hearts? We have had our answer. Since the race of man began its course of sin on this earth, nothing has ever been done by it so significative of all bestial, and lower than bestial degradation, as the acts the Indian race in the year that has just passed by. Cruelty as fierce may indeed have been wreaked, and brutality as abominable been practised before, but never under like circumstances; rage of prolonged war, and resentment of prolonged oppression, have made men as cruel before now; and gradual decline into barbarism, where no examples of decency or civilization existed around them, has sunk, before now, isolated populations to the lowest level of possible humanity. But cruelty stretched to its fiercest against the gentle and unoffending, and corruption festered to its loathsomest in the midst of the witnessing presence of a disciplined civilization,-- these we could not have known to be within the practicable compass of human guilt, but for the acts of the Indian mutineer. And, as thus, on the one hand, you have an extreme energy of baseness displayed by these lovers of art; on the other,--as if to put the question into the narrowest compass--you have had an extreme energy of virtue displayed by the despisers of art. Among all the soldiers to whom you owe your victories in the Crimea, and your avenging in the Indies, to none are you bound by closer bonds of gratitude than to the men who have been born and bred among those desolate Highland moors. And thus you have the differences in capacity and circumstance between the two nations, and the differences in result on the moral habits of two nations, put into the most significant--the most palpable--the most brief opposition. Out of the peat cottage come faith, courage, self- sacrifice, purity, and piety, and whatever else is fruitful in the work of Heaven; out of the ivory palace come treachery, cruelty, cowardice, idolatry, bestiality,--whatever else is fruitful in the work of Hell. But the difficulty does not close here. From one instance, of however great apparent force, it would be wholly unfair to gather any general conclusion--wholly illogical to assert that because we had once found love of art connected with moral baseness, the love of art must be the general root of moral baseness; and equally unfair to assert that, because we had once found neglect of art coincident with nobleness of disposition, neglect of art must be always the source or sign of that nobleness. But if we pass from the Indian peninsula into other countries of the globe; and from our own recent experience, to the records of history, we shall still find one great fact fronting us, in stern universality--namely, the apparent connection of great success in art with subsequent national degradation. You find, in the first place, that the nations which possessed a refined art were always subdued by those who possessed none: you find the Lydian subdued by the Mede; the Athenian by the Spartan; the Greek by the Roman; the Roman by the Goth; the Burgundian by the Switzer: but you find, beyond this--that even where no attack by any external power has accelerated the catastrophe of the state, the period in which any given people reach their highest power in art is precisely that in which they appear to sign the warrant of their own ruin; and that, from the moment in which a perfect statue appears in Florence, a perfect picture in Venice, or a perfect fresco in Rome, from that hour forward, probity, industry, and courage seem to be exiled from their walls, and they perish in a sculpturesque paralysis, or a many-coloured corruption. But even this is not all. As art seems thus, in its delicate form, to be one of the chief promoters of indolence and sensuality,--so, I need hardly remind you, it hitherto has appeared only in energetic manifestation when it was in the service of superstition. The four greatest manifestations of human intellect which founded the four principal kingdoms of art, Egyptian, Babylonian, Greek, and Italian, were developed by the strong excitement of active superstition in the worship of Osiris, Belus, Minerva, and the Queen of Heaven. Therefore, to speak briefly, it may appear very difficult to show that art has ever yet existed in a consistent and thoroughly energetic school, unless it was engaged in the propagation of falsehood, or the encouragement of vice. And finally, while art has thus shown itself always active in the service of luxury and idolatry, it has also been strongly directed to the exaltation of cruelty. A nation which lives a pastoral and innocent life never decorates the shepherd's staff or the plough-handle, but races who live by depredation and slaughter nearly always bestow exquisite ornaments on the quiver, the helmet, and the spear. Does it not seem to you, then, on all these three counts, more than questionable whether we are assembled here in Kensington Museum to any good purpose? Might we not justly be looked upon with suspicion and fear, rather than with sympathy, by the innocent and unartistical public? Are we even sure of ourselves? Do we know what we are about? Are we met here as honest people? or are we not rather so many Catilines assembled to devise the hasty degradation of our country, or, like a conclave of midnight witches, to summon and send forth, on new and unexpected missions, the demons of luxury, cruelty, and superstition? I trust, upon the whole, that it is not so: I am sure that Mr. Redgrave and Mr. Cole do not at all include results of this kind in their conception of the ultimate objects of the institution which owes so much to their strenuous and well-directed exertions. And I have put this painful question before you, only that we may face it thoroughly, and, as I hope, out-face it. If you will give it a little sincere attention this evening, I trust we may find sufficiently good reasons for our work, and proceed to it hereafter, as all good workmen should do, with clear heads, and calm consciences. To return, then, to the first point of difficulty, the relations between art and mental disposition in India and Scotland. It is quite true that the art of India is delicate and refined. But it has one curious character distinguishing it from all other art of equal merit in design--_it never represents a natural fact_. It either forms its compositions out of meaningless fragments of colour and flowings of line; or if it represents any living creature, it represents that creature under some distorted and monstrous form. To all the facts and forms of nature it wilfully and resolutely opposes itself; it will not draw a man, but an eight-armed monster; it will not draw a flower, but only a spiral or a zigzag. It thus indicates that the people who practise it are cut off from all possible sources of healthy knowledge or natural delight; that they have wilfully sealed up and put aside the entire volume of the world, and have got nothing to read, nothing to dwell upon, but that imagination of the thoughts of their hearts, of which we are told that "it is only evil continually." Over the whole spectacle of creation they have thrown a veil in which there is no rent. For them no star peeps through the blanket of the dark--for them neither their heaven shines nor their mountains rise--for them the flowers do not blossom-- for them the creatures of field and forest do not live. They lie bound in the dungeon of their own corruption, encompassed only by doleful phantoms, or by spectral vacancy. Need I remind you what an exact reverse of this condition of mind, as respects the observance of nature, is presented by the people whom we have just been led to contemplate in contrast with the Indian race? You will find upon reflection, that all the highest points of the Scottish character are connected with impressions derived straight from the natural scenery of their country. No nation has ever before shown, in the general tone of its language--in the general current of its literature--so constant a habit of hallowing its passions and confirming its principles by direct association with the charm, or power, of nature. The writings of Scott and Burns--and yet more, of the far greater poets than Burns who gave Scotland her traditional ballads,--furnish you in every stanza--almost in every line--with examples of this association of natural scenery with the passions; [Footnote: The great poets of Scotland, like the great poets of all other countries, never write dissolutely, either in matter or method; but with stern and measured meaning in every syllable. Here's a bit of first-rate work for example: "Tweed said to Till, 'What gars ye rin sae still?' Till said to Tweed, 'Though ye rin wi' speed, And I rin slaw, Whar ye droon ae man, I droon twa.'"] but an instance of its farther connection with moral principle struck me forcibly just at the time when I was most lamenting the absence of art among the people. In one of the loneliest districts of Scotland, where the peat cottages are darkest, just at the western foot of that great mass of the Grampians which encircles the sources of the Spey and the Dee, the main road which traverses the chain winds round the foot of a broken rock called Crag, or Craig Ellachie. There is nothing remarkable in either its height or form; it is darkened with a few scattered pines, and touched along its summit with a flush of heather; but it constitutes a kind of headland, or leading promontory, in the group of hills to which it belongs--a sort of initial letter of the mountains; and thus stands in the mind of the inhabitants of the district, the Clan Grant, for a type of their country, and of the influence of that country upon themselves. Their sense of this is beautifully indicated in the war-cry of the clan, "Stand fast, Craig Ellachie." You may think long over those few words without exhausting the deep wells of feeling and thought contained in them--the love of the native land, the assurance of their faithfulness to it; the subdued and gentle assertion of indomitable courage--I _may_ need to be told to stand, but, if I do, Craig Ellachie does. You could not but have felt, had you passed beneath it at the time when so many of England's dearest children were being defended by the strength of heart of men born at its foot, how often among the delicate Indian palaces, whose marble was pallid with horror, and whose vermilion was darkened with blood, the remembrance of its rough grey rocks and purple heaths must have risen before the sight of the Highland soldier; how often the hailing of the shot and the shriek of battle would pass away from his hearing, and leave only the whisper of the old pine branches--"Stand fast, Craig Ellachie!" You have, in these two nations, seen in direct opposition the effects on moral sentiment of art without nature, and of nature without art. And you see enough to justify you in suspecting--while, if you choose to investigate the subject more deeply and with other examples, you will find enough to justify you in _concluding_--that art, followed as such, and for its own sake, irrespective of the interpretation of nature by it, is destructive of whatever is best and noblest in humanity; but that nature, however simply observed, or imperfectly known, is, in the degree of the affection felt for it, protective and helpful to all that is noblest in humanity. You might then conclude farther, that art, so far as it was devoted to the record or the interpretation of nature, would be helpful and ennobling also. And you would conclude this with perfect truth. Let me repeat the assertion distinctly and solemnly, as the first that I am permitted to make in this building, devoted in a way so new and so admirable to the service of the art-students of England--Wherever art is practised for its own sake, and the delight of the workman is in what he _does_ and _produces_, instead of what he _interprets_ or _exhibits_, --there art has an influence of the most fatal kind on brain and heart, and it issues, if long so pursued, in the _destruction both of intellectual power_ and _moral principal_; whereas art, devoted humbly and self- forgetfully to the clear statement and record of the facts of the universe, is always helpful and beneficent to mankind, full of comfort, strength, and salvation. Now, when you were once well assured of this, you might logically infer another thing, namely, that when Art was occupied in the function in which she was serviceable, she would herself be strengthened by the service, and when she was doing what Providence without doubt intended her to do, she would gain in vitality and dignity just as she advanced in usefulness. On the other hand, you might gather, that when her agency was distorted to the deception or degradation of mankind, she would herself be equally misled and degraded--that she would be checked in advance, or precipitated in decline. And this is the truth also; and holding this clue you will easily and justly interpret the phenomena of history. So long as Art is steady in the contemplation and exhibition of natural facts, so long she herself lives and grows; and in her own life and growth partly implies, partly secures, that of the nation in the midst of which she is practised. But a time has always hitherto come, in which, having thus reached a singular perfection, she begins to contemplate that perfection, and to imitate it, and deduce rules and forms from it; and thus to forget her duty and ministry as the interpreter and discoverer of Truth. And in the very instant when this diversion of her purpose and forgetfulness of her function take place--forgetfulness generally coincident with her apparent perfection--in that instant, I say, begins her actual catastrophe; and by her own fall--so far as she has influence--she accelerates the ruin of the nation by which she is practised. The study, however, of the effect of art on the mind of nations is one rather for the historian than for us; at all events it is one for the discussion of which we have no more time this evening. But I will ask your patience with me while I try to illustrate, in some further particulars, the dependence of the healthy state and power of art itself upon the exercise of its appointed function in the interpretation of fact. You observe that I always say _interpretation_, never _imitation_. My reason for so doing is, first, that good art rarely imitates; it usually only describes or explains. But my second and chief reason is that good art always consists of two things: First, the observation of fact; secondly, the manifesting of human design and authority in the way that fact is told. Great and good art must unite the two; it cannot exist for a moment but in their unity; it consists of the two as essentially as water consists of oxygen and hydrogen, or marble of lime and carbonic acid. Let us inquire a little into the nature of each of the elements. The first element, we say, is the love of Nature, leading to the effort to observe and report her truly. And this is the first and leading element. Review for yourselves the history of art, and you will find this to be a manifest certainty, that _no great school ever yet existed which had not for primal aim the representation of some natural fact as truly as possible_. There have only yet appeared in the world three schools of perfect art--schools, that is to say, that did their work as well as it seems possible to do it. These are the Athenian, [Footnote: See below, the farther notice of the real spirit of Greek work, in the address at Bradford.] Florentine, and Venetian. The Athenian proposed to itself the perfect representation of the form of the human body. It strove to do that as well as it could; it did that as well as it can be done; and all its greatness was founded upon and involved in that single and honest effort. The Florentine school proposed to itself the perfect expression of human emotion--the showing of the effects of passion in the human face and gesture. I call this the Florentine school, because, whether you take Raphael for the culminating master of expressional art in Italy, or Leonardo, or Michael Angelo, you will find that the whole energy of the national effort which produced those masters had its root in Florence; not at Urbino or Milan. I say, then, this Florentine or leading Italian school proposed to itself human expression for its aim in natural truth; it strove to do that as well as it could--did it as well as it can be done--and all its greatness is rooted in that single and honest effort. Thirdly, the Venetian school propose the representation of the effect of colour and shade on all things; chiefly on the human form. It tried to do that as well as it could--did it as well as it can be done--and all its greatness is founded on that single and honest effort. Pray, do not leave this room without a perfectly clear holding of these three ideas. You may try them, and toss them about afterwards, as much as you like, to see if they'll bear shaking; but do let me put them well and plainly into your possession. Attach them to three works of art which you all have either seen or continually heard of. There's the (so-called) "Theseus" of the Elgin marbles. That represents the whole end and aim of the Athenian school--the natural form of the human body. All their conventional architecture--their graceful shaping and painting of pottery--whatsoever other art they practised--was dependent for its greatness on this sheet-anchor of central aim: true shape of living man. Then take, for your type of the Italian school, Raphael's "Disputa del Sacramento;" that will be an accepted type by everybody, and will involve no possibly questionable points: the Germans will admit it; the English academicians will admit it; and the English purists and pre-Raphaelites will admit it. Well, there you have the truth of human expression proposed as an aim. That is the way people look when they feel this or that--when they have this or that other mental character: are they devotional, thoughtful, affectionate, indignant, or inspired? are they prophets, saints, priests, or kings? then--whatsoever is truly thoughtful, affectionate, prophetic, priestly, kingly--_that_ the Florentine school tried to discern, and show; _that_ they have discerned and shown; and all their greatness is first fastened in their aim at this central truth--the open expression of the living human soul. Lastly, take Veronese's "Marriage in Cana" in the Louvre. There you have the most perfect representation possible of colour, and light, and shade, as they affect the external aspect of the human form, and its immediate accessories, architecture, furniture, and dress. This external aspect of noblest nature was the first aim of the Venetians, and all their greatness depended on their resolution to achieve, and their patience in achieving it. Here, then, are the three greatest schools of the former world exemplified for you in three well-known works. The Phidian "Theseus" represents the Greek school pursuing truth of form; the "Disputa" of Raphael, the Florentine school pursuing truth of mental expression; the "Marriage in Cana," the Venetian school pursuing truth of colour and light. But do not suppose that the law which I am stating to you--the great law of art-life--can only be seen in these, the most powerful of all art schools. It is just as manifest in each and every school that ever has had life in it at all. Wheresoever the search after truth begins, there life begins; wheresoever that search ceases, there life ceases. As long as a school of art holds any chain of natural facts, trying to discover more of them and express them better daily, it may play hither and thither as it likes on this side of the chain or that; it may design grotesques and conventionalisms, build the simplest buildings, serve the most practical utilities, yet all it does will be gloriously designed and gloriously done; but let it once quit hold of the chain of natural fact, cease to pursue that as the clue to its work; let it propose to itself any other end than preaching this living word, and think first of showing its own skill or its own fancy, and from that hour its fall is precipitate--its destruction sure; nothing that it does or designs will ever have life or loveliness in it more; its hour has come, and there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave whither it goeth. Let us take for example that school of art over which many of you would perhaps think this law had but little power--the school of Gothic architecture. Many of us may have been in the habit of thinking of that school rather as of one of forms than of facts--a school of pinnacles, and buttresses, and conventional mouldings, and disguise of nature by monstrous imaginings--not a school of truth at all. I think I shall be able, even in the little time we have to-night, to show that this is not so; and that our great law holds just as good at Amiens and Salisbury, as it does at Athens and Florence. I will go back then first to the very beginnings of Gothic art, and before you, the students of Kensington, as an impanelled jury, I will bring two examples of the barbarism out of which Gothic art emerges, approximately contemporary in date and parallel in executive skill; but, the one, a barbarism that did not get on, and could not get on; the other, a barbarism that could get on, and did get on; and you, the impanelled jury, shall judge what is the essential difference between the two barbarisms, and decide for yourselves what is the seed of life in the one, and the sign of death in the other. The first,--that which has in it the sign of death,--furnishes us at the same time with an illustration far too interesting to be passed by, of certain principles much depended on by our common modern designers. Taking up one of our architectural publications the other day, and opening it at random, I chanced upon this piece of information, put in rather curious English; but you shall have it as it stands-- "Aristotle asserts, that the greatest species of the beautiful are Order, Symmetry, and the Definite." I should tell you, however, that this statement is not given as authoritative; it is one example of various Architectural teachings, given in a report in the _Building Chronicle_ for May, 1857, of a lecture on Proportion; in which the only thing the lecturer appears to have proved was that,-- The system of dividing the diameter of the shaft of a column into parts for copying the ancient architectural remains of Greece and Rome, adopted by architects from Vitruvius (circa B.C. 25) to the present period, as a method for producing ancient architecture, _is entirely useless_, for the several parts of Grecian architecture cannot be reduced or subdivided by this system; neither does it apply to the architecture of Rome. Still, as far as I can make it out, the lecture appears to have been one of those of which you will just at present hear so many, the protests of architects who have no knowledge of sculpture--or of any other mode of expressing natural beauty--_against_ natural beauty; and their endeavour to substitute mathematical proportions for the knowledge of life they do not possess, and the representation of life of which they are incapable.[Illustration] Now, this substitution of obedience to mathematical law for sympathy with observed life, is the first characteristic of the hopeless work of all ages; as such, you will find it eminently manifested in the specimen I have to give you of the hopeless Gothic barbarism; the barbarism from which nothing could emerge--for which no future was possible but extinction. The Aristotelian principles of the Beautiful are, you remember, Order, Symmetry, and the Definite. Here you have the three, in perfection, applied to the ideal of an angel, in a psalter of the eighth century, existing in the library of St. John's College, Cambridge.[Footnote: I copy this woodcut from Westwood's "Palaeographia Sacra."] Now, you see the characteristics of this utterly dead school are, first the wilful closing of its eyes to natural facts;--for, however ignorant a person may be, he need only look at a human being to see that it has a mouth as well as eyes; and secondly, the endeavour to adorn or idealize natural fact according to its own notions: it puts red spots in the middle of the hands, and sharpens the thumbs, thinking to improve them. Here you have the most pure type possible of the principles of idealism in all ages: whenever people don't look at Nature, they always think they can improve her. You will also admire, doubtless, the exquisite result of the application of our great modern architectural principle of beauty--symmetry, or equal balance of part by part; you see even the eyes are made symmetrical--entirely round, instead of irregular, oval; and the iris is set properly in the middle, instead of--as nature has absurdly put it--rather under the upper lid. You will also observe the "principle of the pyramid" in the general arrangement of the figure, and the value of "series" in the placing of dots. From this dead barbarism we pass to living barbarism--to work done by hands quite as rude, if not ruder, and by minds as uninformed; and yet work which in every line of it is prophetic of power, and has in it the sure dawn of day. You have often heard it said that Giotto was the founder of art in Italy. He was not: neither he, nor Giunta Pisano, nor Niccolo Pisano. They all laid strong hands to the work, and brought it first into aspect above ground; but the foundation had been laid for them by the builders of the Lombardic churches in the valleys of the Adda and the Arno. It is in the sculpture of the round arched churches of North Italy, bearing disputable dates, ranging from the eighth to the twelfth century, that you will find the lowest struck roots of the art of Titian and Raphael. [Footnote: I have said elsewhere, "the root of _all_ art is struck in the thirteenth century." This is quite true: but of course some of the smallest fibres run lower, as in this instance.] I go, therefore, to the church which is certainly the earliest of these, St. Ambrogio, of Milan, said still to retain some portions of the actual structure from which St. Ambrose excluded Theodosius, and at all events furnishing the most archaic examples of Lombardic sculpture in North Italy. I do not venture to guess their date; they are barbarous enough for any date. We find the pulpit of this church covered with interlacing patterns, closely resembling those of the manuscript at Cambridge, but among them is figure sculpture of a very different kind. It is wrought with mere incisions in the stone, of which the effect may be tolerably given by single lines in a drawing. Remember, therefore, for a moment--as characteristic of culminating Italian art--Michael Angelo's fresco of the "Temptation of Eve," in the Sistine chapel, and you will be more interested in seeing the birth of Italian art, illustrated by the same subject, from St. Ambrogio, of Milan, the "Serpent beguiling Eve." [Footnote: This cut is ruder than it should be: the incisions in the marble have a lighter effect than these rough black lines; but it is not worth while to do it better.] Yet, in that sketch, rude and ludicrous as it is, you have the elements of life in their first form. The people who could do that were sure to get on. For, observe, the workman's whole aim is straight at the facts, as well as he can get them; and not merely at the facts, but at the very heart of the facts. A common workman might have looked at nature for his serpent, but he would have thought only of its scales. But this fellow does not want scales, nor coils; he can do without them; he wants the serpent's heart--malice and insinuation;--and he has actually got them to some extent. So also a common workman, even in this barbarous stage of art, might have carved Eve's arms and body a good deal better; but this man does not care about arms and body, if he can only get at Eve's mind--show that she is pleased at being flattered, and yet in a state of uncomfortable hesitation. And some look of listening, of complacency, and of embarrassment he has verily got:-- note the eyes slightly askance, the lips compressed, and the right hand nervously grasping the left arm: nothing can be declared impossible to the people who could begin thus--the world is open to them, and all that is in it; while, on the contrary, nothing is possible to the man who did the symmetrical angel--the world is keyless to him; he has built a cell for himself in which he must abide, barred up for ever-- there is no more hope for him than for a sponge or a madrepore. I shall not trace from this embryo the progress of Gothic art in Italy, because it is much complicated and involved with traditions of other schools, and because most of the students will be less familiar with its results than with their own northern buildings. So, these two designs indicating Death and Life in the beginnings of mediaeval art, we will take an example of the _progress_ of that art from our northern work. Now, many of you, doubtless, have been interested by the mass, grandeur, and gloom of Norman architecture, as much as by Gothic traceries; and when you hear me say that the root of all good work lies in natural facts, you doubtless think instantly of your round arches, with their rude cushion capitals, and of the billet or zigzag work by which they are surrounded, and you cannot see what the knowledge of nature has to do with either the simple plan or the rude mouldings. But all those simple conditions of Norman art are merely the expiring of it towards the extreme north. Do not study Norman architecture in Northumberland, but in Normandy, and then you will find that it is just a peculiarly manly, and practically useful, form of the whole great French school of rounded architecture. And where has that French school its origin? Wholly in the rich conditions of sculpture, which, rising first out of imitations of the Roman bas-reliefs, covered all the façades of the French early churches with one continuous arabesque of floral or animal life. If you want to study round-arched buildings, do not go to Durham, but go to Poictiers, and there you will see how all the simple decorations which give you so much pleasure even in their isolated application were invented by persons practised in carving men, monsters, wild animals, birds, and flowers, in overwhelming redundance; and then trace this architecture forward in central France, and you will find it loses nothing of its richness--it only gains in truth, and therefore in grace, until just at the moment of transition into the pointed style, you have the consummate type of the sculpture of the school given you in the west front of the Cathedral of Chartres. From that front I have chosen two fragments to illustrate it. [Footnote: This part of the lecture was illustrated by two drawings, made admirably by Mr. J. T. Laing, with the help of photographs from statues at Chartres. The drawings may be seen at present at the Kensington Museum: but any large photograph of the west front of Chartres will enable the reader to follow what is stated in the lecture, as far as is needful.] These statues have been long, and justly, considered as representative of the highest skill of the twelfth or earliest part of the thirteenth century in France; and they indeed possess a dignity and delicate charm, which are for the most part wanting in later works. It is owing partly to real nobleness of feature, but chiefly to the grace, mingled with severity, of the falling lines of excessively _thin_ drapery; as well as to a most studied finish in composition, every part of the ornamentation tenderly harmonizing with the rest. So far as their power over certain tones of religious mind is owing to a palpable degree of non-naturalism in them, I do not praise it--the exaggerated thinness of body and stiffness of attitude are faults; but they are noble faults, and give the statues a strange look of forming part of the very building itself, and sustaining it--not like the Greek caryatid, without effort--nor like the Renaissance caryatid, by painful or impossible effort--but as if all that was silent and stern, and withdrawn apart, and stiffened in chill of heart against the terror of earth, had passed into a shape of eternal marble; and thus the Ghost had given, to bear up the pillars of the church on earth, all the patient and expectant nature that it needed no more in heaven. This is the transcendental view of the meaning of those sculptures. I do not dwell upon it. What I do lean upon is their purely naturalistic and vital power. They are all portraits--unknown, most of them, I believe, --but palpably and unmistakeably portraits, if not taken from the actual person for whom the statue stands, at all events studied from some living person whose features might fairly represent those of the king or saint intended. Several of them I suppose to be authentic: there is one of a queen, who has evidently, while she lived, been notable for her bright black eyes. The sculptor has cut the iris deep into the stone, and her dark eyes are still suggested with her smile. There is another thing I wish you to notice specially in these statues --the way in which the floral moulding is associated with the vertical lines of the figure. You have thus the utmost complexity and richness of curvature set side by side with the pure and delicate parallel lines, and both the characters gain in interest and beauty; but there is deeper significance in the thing than that of mere effect in composition; significance not intended on the part of the sculptor, but all the more valuable because unintentional. I mean the close association of the beauty of lower nature in animals and flowers, with the beauty of higher nature in human form. You never get this in Greek work. Greek statues are always isolated; blank fields of stone, or depths of shadow, relieving the form of the statue, as the world of lower nature which they despised retired in darkness from their hearts. Here, the clothed figure seems the type of the Christian spirit--in many respects feebler and more contracted--but purer; clothed in its white robes and crown, and with the riches of all creation at its side. The next step in the change will be set before you in a moment, merely by comparing this statue from the west front of Chartres with that of the Madonna, from the south transept door of Amiens. [Footnote: There are many photographs of this door and of its central statue. Its sculpture in the tympanum is farther described in the Fourth Lecture.] This Madonna, with the sculpture round her, represents the culminating power of Gothic art in the thirteenth century. Sculpture has been gaining continually in the interval; gaining, simply because becoming every day more truthful, more tender, and more suggestive. By the way, the old Douglas motto, "Tender and true," may wisely be taken up again by all of us, for our own, in art no less than in other things. Depend upon it, the first universal characteristic of all great art is Tenderness, as the second is Truth. I find this more and more every day: an infinitude of tenderness is the chief gift and inheritance of all the truly great men. It is sure to involve a relative intensity of disdain towards base things, and an appearance of sternness and arrogance in the eyes of all hard, stupid, and vulgar people--quite terrific to such, if they are capable of terror, and hateful to them, if they are capable of nothing higher than hatred. Dante's is the great type of this class of mind. I say the first inheritance is Tenderness-- the second Truth, because the Tenderness is in the make of the creature, the Truth in his acquired habits and knowledge; besides, the love comes first in dignity as well as in time, and that is always pure and complete: the truth, at best, imperfect. To come back to our statue. You will observe that the arrangement of this sculpture is exactly the same as at Chartres--severe falling drapery, set off by rich floral ornament at the side; but the statue is now completely animated: it is no longer fixed as an upright pillar, but bends aside out of its niche, and the floral ornament, instead of being a conventional wreath, is of exquisitely arranged hawthorn. The work, however, as a whole, though perfectly characteristic of the advance of the age in style and purpose, is in some subtler qualities inferior to that of Chartres. The individual sculptor, though trained in a more advanced school, has been himself a man of inferior order of mind compared to the one who worked at Chartres. But I have not time to point out to you the subtler characters by which I know this. This statue, then, marks the culminating point of Gothic art, because, up to this time, the eyes of its designers had been steadily fixed on natural truth--they had been advancing from flower to flower, from form to form, from face to face,--gaining perpetually in knowledge and veracity--therefore, perpetually in power and in grace. But at this point a fatal change came over their aim. From the statue they now began to turn the attention chiefly to the niche of the statue, and from the floral ornament to the mouldings that enclosed the floral ornament. The first result of this was, however, though not the grandest, yet the most finished of northern genius. You have, in the earlier Gothic, less wonderful construction, less careful masonry, far less expression of harmony of parts in the balance of the building. Earlier work always has more or less of the character of a good solid wall with irregular holes in it, well carved wherever there is room. But the last phase of good Gothic has no room to spare; it rises as high as it can on narrowest foundation, stands in perfect strength with the least possible substance in its bars; connects niche with niche, and line with line, in an exquisite harmony, from which no stone can be removed, and to which you can add not a pinnacle; and yet introduces in rich, though now more calculated profusion, the living element of its sculpture: sculpture in the quatrefoils--sculpture in the brackets-- sculpture in the gargoyles--sculpture in the niches--sculpture in the ridges and hollows of its mouldings,--not a shadow without meaning, and not a light without life. [Footnote: The two _transepts_ of Rouen Cathedral illustrate this style. There are plenty of photographs of them. I take this opportunity of repeating what I have several times before stated, for the sake of travellers, that St. Ouen, impressive as it is, is entirely inferior to the transepts of Rouen Cathedral.] But with this very perfection of his work came the unhappy pride of the builder in what he had done. As long as he had been merely raising clumsy walls and carving them like a child, in waywardness of fancy, his delight was in the things he thought of as he carved; but when he had once reached this pitch of constructive science, he began to think only how cleverly he could put the stones together. The question was not now with him, What can I represent? but, How high can I build--how wonderfully can I hang this arch in air, or weave this tracery across the clouds? And the catastrophe was instant and irrevocable. Architecture became in France a mere web of waving lines,--in England a mere grating of perpendicular ones. Redundance was substituted for invention, and geometry for passion; tho Gothic art became a mere expression of wanton expenditure, and vulgar mathematics; and was swept away, as it then deserved to be swept away, by the severer pride, and purer learning, of the schools founded on classical traditions. You cannot now fail to see, how, throughout the history of this wonderful art--from its earliest dawn in Lombardy to its last catastrophe in France and England--sculpture, founded on love of nature, was the talisman of its existence; wherever sculpture was practised, architecture arose--wherever that was neglected, architecture expired; and, believe me, all you students who love this mediaeval art, there is no hope of your ever doing any good with it, but on this everlasting principle. Your patriotic associations with it are of no use; your romantic associations with it--either of chivalry or religion--are of no use; they are worse than useless, they are false. Gothic is not an art for knights and nobles; it is an art for the people: it is not an art for churches or sanctuaries; it is an art for houses and homes: it is not an art for England only, but an art for the world: above all, it is not an art of form or tradition only, but an art of vital practice and perpetual renewal. And whosoever pleads for it as an ancient or a formal thing, and tries to teach it you as an ecclesiastical tradition or a geometrical science, knows nothing of its essence, less than nothing of its power. Leave, therefore, boldly, though not irreverently, mysticism and symbolism on the one side; cast away with utter scorn geometry and legalism on the other; seize hold of God's hand and look full in the face of His creation, and there is nothing He will not enable you to achieve. Thus, then, you will find--and the more profound and accurate your knowledge of the history of art the more assuredly you will find--that the living power in all the real schools, be they great or small, is love of nature. But do not mistake me by supposing that I mean this law to be all that is necessary to form a school. There needs to be much superadded to it, though there never must be anything superseding it. The main thing which needs to be superadded is the gift of design. It is always dangerous, and liable to diminish the clearness of impression, to go over much ground in the course of one lecture. But I dare not present you with a maimed view of this important subject: I dare not put off to another time, when the same persons would not be again assembled, the statement of the great collateral necessity which, as well as the necessity of truth, governs all noble art. That collateral necessity is _the visible operation of human intellect in the presentation of truth, _the evidence of what is properly called design or plan in the work, no less than of veracity. A looking-glass does not design--it receives and communicates indiscriminately all that passes before it; a painter designs when he chooses some things, refuses others, and arranges all. This selection and arrangement must have influence over everything that the art is concerned with, great or small--over lines, over colours, and over ideas. Given a certain group of colours, by adding another colour at the side of them, you will either improve the group and render it more delightful, or injure it, and render it discordant and unintelligible. "Design" is the choosing and placing the colour so as to help and enhance all the other colours it is set beside. So of thoughts: in a good composition, every idea is presented in just that order, and with just that force, which will perfectly connect it with all the other thoughts in the work, and will illustrate the others as well as receive illustration from them; so that the entire chain of thoughts offered to the beholder's mind shall be received by him with as much delight and with as little effort as is possible. And thus you see design, properly so called, is human invention, consulting human capacity. Out of the infinite heap of things around us in the world, it chooses a certain number which it can thoroughly grasp, and presents this group to the spectator in the form best calculated to enable him to grasp it also, and to grasp it with delight. And accordingly, the capacities of both gatherer and receiver being limited, the object is to make _everything that you offer helpful_ and precious. If you give one grain of weight too much, so as to increase fatigue without profit, or bulk without value--that added grain is hurtful; if you put one spot or one syllable out of its proper place, that spot or syllable will be destructive--how far destructive it is almost impossible to tell: a misplaced touch may sometimes annihilate the labour of hours. Nor are any of us prepared to understand the work of any great master, till we feel this, and feel it as distinctly as we do the value of arrangement in the notes of music. Take any noble musical air, and you find, on examining it, that not one even of the faintest or shortest notes can be removed without destruction to the whole passage in which it occurs; and that every note in the passage is twenty times more beautiful so introduced, than it would have been if played singly on the instrument. Precisely this degree of arrangement and relation must exist between every touch [Footnote: Literally. I know how exaggerated this statement sounds; but I mean it,--every syllable of it.--See Appendix IV.] and line in a great picture. You may consider the whole as a prolonged musical composition: its parts, as separate airs connected in the story; its little bits and fragments of colour and line, as separate passages or bars in melodies; and down to the minutest note of the whole--down to the minutest _touch_,--if there is one that can be spared--that one is doing mischief. Remember therefore always, you have two characters in which all greatness of art consists:--First, the earnest and intense seizing of natural facts; then the ordering those facts by strength of human intellect, so as to make them, for all who look upon them, to the utmost serviceable, memorable, and beautiful. And thus great art is nothing else than the type of strong and noble life; for, as the ignoble person, in his dealings with all that occurs in the world about him, first sees nothing clearly,--looks nothing fairly in the face, and then allows himself to be swept away by the trampling torrent, and unescapable force, of the things that he would not foresee, and could not understand: so the noble person, looking the facts of the world full in the face, and fathoming them with deep faculty, then deals with them in unalarmed intelligence and unhurried strength, and becomes, with his human intellect and will, no unconscious nor insignificant agent, in consummating their good, and restraining their evil. Thus in human life you have the two fields of rightful toil for ever distinguished, yet for ever associated; Truth first--plan or design, founded thereon; so in art, you have the same two fields for ever distinguished, for ever associated; Truth first--plan, or design, founded thereon. Now hitherto there is not the least difficulty in the subject; none of you can look for a moment at any great sculptor or painter without seeing the full bearing of these principles. But a difficulty arises when you come to examine the art of a lower order, concerned with furniture and manufacture, for in that art the element of design enters without, apparently, the element of truth. You have often to obtain beauty and display invention without direct representation of nature. Yet, respecting all these things also, the principle is perfectly simple. If the designer of furniture, of cups and vases, of dress patterns, and the like, exercises himself continually in the imitation of natural form in some leading division of his work; then, holding by this stem of life, he may pass down into all kinds of merely geometrical or formal design with perfect safety, and with noble results.[Footnote: This principle, here cursorily stated, is one of the chief subjects of inquiry in the following Lectures.] Thus Giotto, being primarily a figure painter and sculptor, is, secondarily, the richest of all designers in mere mosaic of coloured bars and triangles; thus Benvenuto Cellini, being in all the higher branches of metal work a perfect imitator of nature, is in all its lower branches the best designer of curve for lips of cups and handles of vases; thus Holbein, exercised primarily in the noble art of truthful portraiture, becomes, secondarily, the most exquisite designer of embroideries of robe, and blazonries on wall; and thus Michael Angelo, exercised primarily in the drawing of body and limb, distributes in the mightiest masses the order of his pillars, and in the loftiest shadow the hollows of his dome. But once quit hold of this living stem, and set yourself to the designing of ornamentation, either in the ignorant play of your own heartless fancy, as the Indian does, or according to received application of heartless laws, as the modern European does, and there is but one word for you--Death:--death of every healthy faculty, and of every noble intelligence, incapacity of understanding one great work that man has ever done, or of doing anything that it shall be helpful for him to behold. You have cut yourselves off voluntarily, presumptuously, insolently, from the whole teaching of your Maker in His Universe; you have cut yourselves off from it, not because you were forced to mechanical labour for your bread--not because your fate had appointed you to wear away your life in walled chambers, or dig your life out of dusty furrows; but, when your whole profession, your whole occupation-- all the necessities and chances of your existence, led you straight to the feet of the great Teacher, and thrust you into the treasury of His works; where you have nothing to do but to live by gazing, and to grow by wondering;--wilfully you bind up your eyes from the splendour-- wilfully bind up your life-blood from its beating--wilfully turn your backs upon all the majesties of Omnipotence--wilfully snatch your hands from all the aids of love, and what can remain for you, but helplessness and blindness,--except the worse fate than the being blind yourselves--that of becoming Leaders of the blind? Do not think that I am speaking under excited feeling, or in any exaggerated terms. I have written the words I use, that I may know what I say, and that you, if you choose, may see what I have said. For, indeed, I have set before you tonight, to the best of my power, the sum and substance of the system of art to the promulgation of which I have devoted my life hitherto, and intend to devote what of life may still be spared to me. I have had but one steady aim in all that I have ever tried to teach, namely--to declare that whatever was great in human art was the expression of man's delight in God's work. And at this time I have endeavoured to prove to you--if you investigate the subject you may more entirely prove to yourselves--that no school ever advanced far which had not the love of natural fact as a primal energy. But it is still more important for you to be assured that the conditions of life and death in the art of nations are also the conditions of life and death in your own; and that you have it, each in his power at this very instant, to determine in which direction his steps are turning. It seems almost a terrible thing to tell you, that all here have all the power of knowing at once what hope there is for them as artists; you would, perhaps, like better that there was some unremovable doubt about the chances of the future--some possibility that you might be advancing, in unconscious ways, towards unexpected successes--some excuse or reason for going about, as students do so often, to this master or the other, asking him if they have genius, and whether they are doing right, and gathering, from his careless or formal replies, vague flashes of encouragement, or fitfulnesses of despair. There is no need for this--no excuse for it. All of you have the trial of yourselves in your own power; each may undergo at this instant, before his own judgment seat, the ordeal by fire. Ask yourselves what is the leading motive which actuates you while you are at work. I do not ask you what your leading motive is for working--that is a different thing; you may have families to support--parents to help--brides to win; you may have all these, or other such sacred and pre-eminent motives, to press the morning's labour and prompt the twilight thought. But when you are fairly _at_ the work, what is the motive then which tells upon every touch of it? If it is the love of that which your work represents--if, being a landscape painter, it is love of hills and trees that moves you--if, being a figure painter, it is love of human beauty and human soul that moves you--if, being a flower or animal painter, it is love, and wonder, and delight in petal and in limb that move you, then the Spirit is upon you, and the earth is yours, and the fulness thereof. But if, on the other hand, it is petty self-complacency in your own skill, trust in precepts and laws, hope for academical or popular approbation, or avarice of wealth,--it is quite possible that by steady industry, or even by fortunate chance, you may win the applause, the position, the fortune, that you desire;-- but one touch of true art you will never lay on canvas or on stone as long as you live. Make, then, your choice, boldly and consciously, for one way or other it _must_ be made. On the dark and dangerous side are set, the pride which delights in self-contemplation--the indolence which rests in unquestioned forms--the ignorance that despises what is fairest among God's creatures, and the dulness that denies what is marvellous in His working: there is a life of monotony for your own souls, and of misguiding for those of others. And, on the other side, is open to your choice the life of the crowned spirit, moving as a light in creation-- discovering always--illuminating always, gaining every hour in strength, yet bowed down every hour into deeper humility; sure of being right in its aim, sure of being irresistible in its progress; happy in what it has securely done--happier in what, day by day, it may as securely hope; happiest at the close of life, when the right hand begins to forget its cunning, to remember, that there never was a touch of the chisel or the pencil it wielded, but has added to the knowledge and quickened the happiness of mankind. LECTURE II. THE UNITY OF ART. _Part of an Address delivered at Manchester, 14th March, 1859._ [Footnote: I was prevented, by press of other engagements, from preparing this address with the care I wished; and forced to trust to such expression as I could give at the moment to the points of principal importance; reading, however, the close of the preceding lecture, which I thought contained some truths that would bear repetition. The whole was reported, better than it deserved, by Mr. Pitman, of the _Manchester Courier_, and published nearly verbatim. I have here extracted, from the published report, the facts which I wish especially to enforce; and have a little cleared their expression; its loose and colloquial character I cannot now help, unless by re-writing the whole, which it seems not worth while to do.] It is sometimes my pleasant duty to visit other cities, in the hope of being able to encourage their art students; but here it is my pleasanter privilege to come for encouragement myself. I do not know when I have received so much as from the report read this evening by Mr. Hammersley, bearing upon a subject which has caused me great anxiety. For I have always felt in my own pursuit of art, and in my endeavors to urge the pursuit of art on others, that while there are many advantages now that never existed before, there are certain grievous difficulties existing, just in the very cause that is giving the stimulus to art--in the immense spread of the manufactures of every country which is now attending vigorously to art. We find that manufacture and art are now going on always together; that where there is no manufacture there is no art. I know how much there is of pretended art where there is no manufacture: there is much in Italy, for instance; no country makes so bold pretence to the production of new art as Italy at this moment; yet no country produces so little. If you glance over the map of Europe, you will find that where the manufactures are strongest, there art also is strongest. And yet I always felt that there was an immense difficulty to be encountered by the students who were in these centres of modern movement. They had to avoid the notion that art and manufacture were in any respect one. Art may be healthily associated with manufacture, and probably in future will always be so; but the student must be strenuously warned against supposing that they can ever be one and the same thing, that art can ever be followed on the principles of manufacture. Each must be followed separately; the one must influence the other, but each must be kept distinctly separate from the other. It would be well if all students would keep clearly in their mind the real distinction between those words which we use so often, "Manufacture," "Art," and "Fine Art." "MANUFACTURE" is, according to the etymology and right use of the word, "the making of anything by hands,"--directly or indirectly, with or without the help of instruments or machines. Anything proceeding from the hand of man is manufacture; but it must have proceeded from his hand only, acting mechanically, and uninfluenced at the moment by direct intelligence. Then, secondly, ART is the operation of the hand and the intelligence of man together; there is an art of making machinery; there is an art of building ships; an art of making carriages; and so on. All these, properly called Arts, but not Fine Arts, are pursuits in which the hand of man and his head go together, working at the same instant. Then FINE ART is that in which the hand, the head, and the _heart_ of man go together. Recollect this triple group; it will help you to solve many difficult problems. And remember that though the hand must be at the bottom of everything, it must also go to the top of everything; for Fine Art must be produced by the hand of man in a much greater and clearer sense than manufacture is. Fine Art must always be produced by the subtlest of all machines, which is the human hand. No machine yet contrived, or hereafter contrivable, will ever equal the fine machinery of the human fingers. Thoroughly perfect art is that which proceeds from the heart, which involves all the noble emotions;--associates with these the head, yet as inferior to the heart; and the hand, yet as inferior to the heart and head; and thus brings out the whole man. Hence it follows that since Manufacture is simply the operation of the hand of man in producing that which is useful to him, it essentially separates itself from the emotions; when emotions interfere with machinery they spoil it: machinery must go evenly, without emotion. But the Fine Arts cannot go evenly; they always must have emotion ruling their mechanism, and until the pupil begins to feel, and until all he does associates itself with the current of his feeling, he is not an artist. But pupils in all the schools in this country are now exposed to all kinds of temptations which blunt their feelings. I constantly feel discouraged in addressing them because I know not how to tell them boldly what they ought to do, when I feel how practically difficult it is for them to do it. There are all sorts of demands made upon them in every direction, and money is to be made in every conceivable way but the right way. If you paint as you ought, and study as you ought, depend upon it the public will take no notice of you for a long while. If you study wrongly, and try to draw the attention of the public upon you,--supposing you to be clever students--you will get swift reward; but the reward does not come fast when it is sought wisely; it is always held aloof for a little while; the right roads of early life are very quiet ones, hedged in from nearly all help or praise. But the wrong roads are noisy,--vociferous everywhere with all kinds of demand upon you for art which is not properly art at all; and in the various meetings of modern interests, money is to be made in every way; but art is to be followed only in _one_ way. That is what I want mainly to say to you, or if not to you yourselves (for, from what I have heard from your excellent master to-night, I know you are going on all rightly), you must let me say it through you to others. Our Schools of Art are confused by the various teaching and various interests that are now abroad among us. Everybody is talking about art, and writing about it, and more or less interested in it; everybody wants art, and there is not art for everybody, and few who talk know what they are talking about; thus students are led in all variable ways, while there is only one way in which they can make steady progress, for true art is always and will be always one. Whatever changes may be made in the customs of society, whatever new machines we may invent, whatever new manufactures we may supply, Fine Art must remain what it was two thousand years ago, in the days of Phidias; two thousand years hence, it will be, in all its principles, and in all its great effects upon the mind of man, just the same. Observe this that I say, please, carefully, for I mean it to the very utmost. _There is but one right way of doing any given thing required of an artist_; there may be a hundred wrong, deficient, or mannered ways, but there is only one complete and right way. Whenever two artists are trying to do the same thing with the same materials, and do it in different ways, one of them is wrong; he may be charmingly wrong, or impressively wrong--various circumstances in his temper may make his wrong pleasanter than any person's right; it may for him, under his given limitations of knowledge or temper, be better perhaps that he should err in his own way than try for anybody else's--but for all that his way is wrong, and it is essential for all masters of schools to know what the right way is, and what right art is, and to see how simple and how single all right art has been, since the beginning of it. But farther, not only is there but one way of _doing_ things rightly, but there is only one way of _seeing_ them, and that is, seeing the whole of them, without any choice, or more intense perception of one point than another, owing to our special idiosyncrasies. Thus, when Titian or Tintoret look at a human being, they see at a glance the whole of its nature, outside and in; all that it has of form, of colour, of passion, or of thought; saintliness, and loveliness; fleshly body, and spiritual power; grace, or strength, or softness, or whatsoever other quality, those men will see to the full, and so paint, that, when narrower people come to look at what they have done, every one may, if he chooses, find his own special pleasure in the work. The sensualist will find sensuality in Titian; the thinker will find thought; the saint, sanctity; the colourist, colour; the anatomist, form; and yet the picture will never be a popular one in the full sense, for none of these narrower people will find their special taste so alone consulted, as that the qualities which would ensure their gratification shall be sifted or separated from others; they are checked by the presence of the other qualities which ensure the gratification of other men. Thus, Titian is not soft enough for the sensualist, Correggio suits him better; Titian is not defined enough for the formalist,--Leonardo suits him better; Titian is not pure enough for the religionist,--Raphael suits him better; Titian is not polite enough for the man of the world,--Vandyke suits him better; Titian is not forcible enough for the lovers of the picturesque,-- Rembrandt suits him better. So Correggio is popular with a certain set, and Vandyke with a certain set, and Rembrandt with a certain set. All are great men, but of inferior stamp, and therefore Vandyke is popular, and Rembrandt is popular, [Footnote: And Murillo, of all true painters the narrowest, feeblest, and most superficial, for those reasons the most popular.] but nobody cares much at heart about Titian; only there is a strange under-current of everlasting murmur about his name, which means the deep consent of all great men that he is greater than they-- the consent of those who, having sat long enough at his feet, have found in that restrained harmony of his strength there are indeed depths of each balanced power more wonderful than all those separate manifestations in inferior painters: that there is a softness more exquisite than Correggio's, a purity loftier than Leonardo's, a force mightier than Rembrandt's, a sanctity more solemn even than Raffaelle's. Do not suppose that in saying this of Titian, I am returning to the old eclectic theories of Bologna; for all those eclectic theories, observe, were based, not upon an endeavour to unite the various characters of nature (which it is possible to do), but the various narrownesses of taste, which it is impossible to do. Rubens is not more vigorous than Titian, but less vigorous; but because he is so narrow-minded as to enjoy vigour only, he refuses to give the other qualities of nature, which would interfere with that vigour and with our perception of it. Again, Rembrandt is not a greater master of chiaroscuro than Titian;-- he is a less master, but because he is so narrow-minded as to enjoy chiaroscuro only, he withdraws from you the splendour of hue which would interfere with this, and gives you only the shadow in which you can at once feel it. Now all these specialties have their own charm in their own way: and there are times when the particular humour of each man is refreshing to us from its very distinctness; but the effort to add any other qualities to this refreshing one instantly takes away the distinctiveness, and therefore the exact character to be enjoyed in its appeal to a particular humour in us. Our enjoyment arose from a weakness meeting a weakness, from a partiality in the painter fitting to a partiality in us, and giving us sugar when we wanted sugar, and myrrh when we wanted myrrh; but sugar and myrrh are not meat: and when we want meat and bread, we must go to better men. The eclectic schools endeavoured to unite these opposite partialities and weaknesses. They trained themselves under masters of exaggeration, and tried to unite opposite exaggerations. That was impossible. They did not see that the only possible eclecticism had been already accomplished;--the eclecticism of temperance, which, by the restraint of force, gains higher force; and by the self-denial of delight, gains higher delight. This you will find is ultimately the case with every true and right master; at first, while we are tyros in art, or before we have earnestly studied the man in question, we shall see little in him; or perhaps see, as we think, deficiencies; we shall fancy he is inferior to this man in that, and to the other man in the other; but as we go on studying him we shall find that he has got both that and the other; and both in a far higher sense than the man who seemed to possess those qualities in excess. Thus in Turner's lifetime, when people first looked at him, those who liked rainy, weather, said he was not equal to Copley Fielding; but those who looked at Turner long enough found that he could be much more wet than Copley Fielding, when he chose. The people who liked force, said that "Turner was not strong enough for them; he was effeminate; they liked De Wint,--nice strong tone;--or Cox--great, greeny, dark masses of colour--solemn feeling of the freshness and depth of nature;--they liked Cox--Turner was too hot for them." Had they looked long enough they would have found that he had far more force than De Wint, far more freshness than Cox when he chose,--only united with other elements; and that he didn't choose to be cool, if nature had appointed the weather to be hot. The people who liked Prout said "Turner had not firmness of hand--he did not know enough about architecture--he was not picturesque enough." Had they looked at his architecture long, they would have found that it contained subtle picturesquenesses, infinitely more picturesque than anything of Prout's. People who liked Callcott said that "Turner was not correct or pure enough--had no classical taste." Had they looked at Turner long enough they would have found him as severe, when he chose, as the greater Poussin;--Callcott, a mere vulgar imitator of other men's high breeding. And so throughout with all thoroughly great men, their strength is not seen at first, precisely because they unite, in due place and measure, every great quality. Now the question is, whether, as students, we are to study only these mightiest men, who unite all greatness, or whether we are to study the works of inferior men, who present us with the greatness which we particularly like? That question often comes before me when I see a strong idiosyncrasy in a student, and he asks me what he should study. Shall I send him to a true master, who does not present the quality in a prominent way in which that student delights, or send him to a man with whom he has direct sympathy? It is a hard question. For very curious results have sometimes been brought out, especially in late years, not only by students following their own bent, but by their being withdrawn from teaching altogether. I have just named a very great man in his own field--Prout. We all know his drawings, and love them: they have a peculiar character which no other architectural drawings ever possessed, and which no others can possess, because all Prout's subjects are being knocked down or restored. (Prout did not like restored buildings any more than I do.) There will never be any more Prout drawings. Nor could he have been what he was, or expressed with that mysteriously effective touch that peculiar delight in broken and old buildings, unless he had been withdrawn from all high art influence. You know that Prout was born of poor parents--that he was educated down in Cornwall;--and that, for many years, all the art- teaching he had was his own, or the fishermen's. Under the keels of the fishing-boats, on the sands of our southern coasts, Prout learned all that he needed to learn about art. Entirely by himself, he felt his way to this particular style, and became the painter of pictures which I think we should all regret to lose. It becomes a very difficult question what that man would have been, had he been brought under some entirely wholesome artistic influence, He had immense gifts of composition. I do not know any man who had more power of invention than Prout, or who had a sublimer instinct in his treatment of things; but being entirely withdrawn from all artistical help, he blunders his way to that short-coming representation, which, by the very reason of its short-coming, has a certain charm we should all be sorry to lose. And therefore I feel embarrassed when a student comes to me, in whom I see a strong instinct of that kind: and cannot tell whether I ought to say to him, "Give up all your studies of old boats, and keep away from the sea-shore, and come up to the Royal Academy in London, and look at nothing but Titian." It is a difficult thing to make up one's mind to say that. However, I believe, on the whole, we may wisely leave such matters in the hands of Providence; that if we have the power of teaching the right to anybody, we should teach them the right; if we have the power of showing them the best thing, we should show them the best thing; there will always, I fear, be enough want of teaching, and enough bad teaching, to bring out very curious erratical results if we want them. So, if we are to teach at all, let us teach the right thing, and ever the right thing. There are many attractive qualities inconsistent with rightness;--do not let us teach them,--let us be content to waive them. There are attractive qualities in Burns, and attractive qualities in Dickens, which neither of those writers would have possessed if the one had been educated, and the other had been studying higher nature than that of cockney London; but those attractive qualities are not such as we should seek in a school of literature. If we want to teach young men a good manner of writing, we should teach it from Shakspeare,--not from Burns; from Walter Scott,-- and not from Dickens. And I believe that our schools of painting are at present inefficient in their action, because they have not fixed on this high principle what are the painters to whom to point; nor boldly resolved to point to the best, if determinable. It is becoming a matter of stern necessity that they should give a simple direction to the attention of the student, and that they should say, "This is the mark you are to aim at; and you are not to go about to the print-shops, and peep in, to see how this engraver does that, and the other engraver does the other, and how a nice bit of character has been caught by a new man, and why this odd picture has caught the popular attention. You are to have nothing to do with all that; you are not to mind about popular attention just now; but here is a thing which is eternally right and good: you are to look at that, and see if you cannot do something eternally right and good too." But suppose you accept this principle: and resolve to look to some great man, Titian, or Turner, or whomsoever it may be, as the model of perfection in art;--then the question is, since this great man pursued his art in Venice, or in the fields of England, under totally different conditions from those possible to us now--how are you to make your study of him effective here in Manchester? how bring it down into patterns, and all that you are called upon as operatives to produce? how make it the means of your livelihood, and associate inferior branches of art with this great art? That may become a serious doubt to you. You may think there is some other way of producing clever, and pretty, and saleable patterns than going to look at Titian, or any other great man. And that brings me to the question, perhaps the most vexed question of all amongst us just now, between conventional and perfect art. You know that among architects and artists there are, and have been almost always, since art became a subject of much discussion, two parties, one maintaining that nature should be always altered and modified, and that the artist is greater than nature; they do not maintain, indeed, in words, but they maintain in idea, that the artist is greater than the Divine Maker of these things, and can improve them; while the other party say that he cannot improve nature, and that nature on the whole should improve him. That is the real meaning of the two parties, the essence of them; the practical result of their several theories being that the Idealists are always producing more or less formal conditions of art, and the Realists striving to produce in all their art either some image of nature, or record of nature; these, observe, being quite different things, the image being a resemblance, and the record, something which will give information about nature, but not necessarily imitate it. [Footnote: The portion of the lecture here omitted was a recapitulation of that part of the previous one which opposed conventional art to natural art.] * * * * * You may separate these two groups of artists more distinctly in your mind as those who seek for the pleasure of art, in the relations of its colours and lines, without caring to convey any truth with it; and those who seek for the truth first, and then go down from the truth to the pleasure of colour and line. Marking those two bodies distinctly as separate, and thinking over them, you may come to some rather notable conclusions respecting the mental dispositions which are involved in each mode of study. You will find that large masses of the art of the world fall definitely under one or the other of these heads. Observe, pleasure first and truth afterwards, (or not at all,) as with the Arabians and Indians; or, truth first and pleasure afterwards, as with Angelico and all other great European painters. You will find that the art whose end is pleasure only is pre-eminently the gift of cruel and savage nations, cruel in temper, savage in habits and conception; but that the art which is especially dedicated to natural fact always indicates a peculiar gentleness and tenderness of mind, and that all great and successful work of that kind will assuredly be the production of thoughtful, sensitive, earnest, kind men, large in their views of life, and full of various intellectual power. And farther, when you examine the men in whom the gifts of art are variously mingled, or universally mingled, you will discern that the ornamental, or pleasurable power, though it may be possessed by good men, is not in itself an indication of their goodness, but is rather, unless balanced by other faculties, indicative of violence of temper, inclining to cruelty and to irreligion. On the other hand, so sure as you find any man endowed with a keen and separate faculty of representing natural fact, so surely you will find that man gentle and upright, full of nobleness and breadth of thought. I will give you two instances, the first peculiarly English, and another peculiarly interesting because it occurs among a nation not generally very kind or gentle. I am inclined to think that, considering all the disadvantages of circumstances and education under which his genius was developed, there was perhaps hardly ever born a man with a more intense and innate gift of insight into nature than our own Sir Joshua Reynolds. Considered as a painter of individuality in the human form and mind, I think him, even as it is, the prince of portrait painters. Titian paints nobler pictures, and Vandyke had nobler subjects, but neither of them entered so subtly as Sir Joshua did into the minor varieties of human heart and temper; arid when you consider that, with a frightful conventionality of social habitude all around him, he yet conceived the simplest types of all feminine and childish loveliness;--that in a northern climate, and with gray, and white, and black, as the principal colours around him, he yet became a colourist who can be crushed by none, even of the Venetians;--and that with Dutch painting and Dresden china for the prevailing types of art in the saloons of his day, he threw himself at once at the feet of the great masters of Italy, and arose from their feet to share their throne--I know not that in the whole history of art you can produce another instance of so strong, so unaided, so unerring an instinct for all that was true, pure, and noble. Now, do you recollect the evidence respecting the character of this man,--the two points of bright peculiar evidence given by the sayings of the two greatest literary men of his day, Johnson and Goldsmith? Johnson, who, as you know, was always Reynolds' attached friend, had but one complaint to make against him, that he hated nobody:-- "Reynolds," he said, "you hate no one living; I like a good hater!" Still more significant is the little touch in Goldsmith's "Retaliation." You recollect how in that poem he describes the various persons who met at one of their dinners at St. James's Coffee-house, each person being described under the name of some appropriate dish. You will often hear the concluding lines about Reynolds Quoted-- "He shifted his trumpet," &c;-- less often, or at least less attentively, the preceding ones, far more important-- "Still born to improve us in every part-- His pencil our faces, his _manners our heart;_" and never, the most characteristic touch of all, near the beginning:-- "Our dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains; Our Burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains. To make out the dinner, full certain I am, That Rich is anchovy, and Reynolds is _lamb_." The other painter whom I would give you as an instance of this gentleness is a man of another nation, on the whole I suppose one of the most cruel civilized nations in the world--the Spaniards. They produced but one great painter, only one; but he among the very greatest of painters, Velasquez. You would not suppose, from looking at Velasquez' portraits generally, that he was an especially kind or good man; you perceive a peculiar sternness about them; for they were as true as steel, and the persons whom he had to paint being not generally kind or good people, they were stern in expression, and Velasquez gave the sternness; but he had precisely the same intense perception of truth, the same marvellous instinct for the rendering of all natural soul and all natural form that our Reynolds had. Let me, then, read you his character as it is given by Mr. Stirling, of Kier:-- "Certain charges, of what nature we are not informed, brought against him after his death, made it necessary for his executor, Fuensalida, to refute them at a private audience granted to him by the king for that purpose. After listening to the defence of his friend, Philip immediately made answer: 'I can believe all you say of the excellent disposition of Diego Velasquez.' Having lived for half his life in courts, he was yet capable both of gratitude and generosity, and in the misfortunes, he could remember the early kindness of Olivares. The friend of the exile of Loeches, it is just to believe that he was also the friend of the all-powerful favourite at Buenretiro. No mean jealousy ever influenced his conduct to his brother artists; he could afford not only to acknowledge the merits, but to forgive the malice, of his rivals. His character was of that _rare and happy kind, in which high intellectual power is combined with indomitable strength of will, and a winning sweetness of temper_, and which seldom fails to raise the possessor above his fellow-men, making his life a 'laurelled victory, and smooth success Be strewed before his feet.'" I am sometimes accused of trying to make art too moral; yet, observe, I do not say in the least that in order to be a good painter you must be a good man; but I do say that in order to be a good natural painter there must be strong elements of good in the mind, however warped by other parts of the character. There are hundreds of other gifts of painting which are not at all involved with moral conditions, but this one, the perception of nature, is never given but under certain moral conditions. Therefore, now you have it in your choice; here are your two paths for you: it is required of you to produce conventional ornament, and you may approach the task as the Hindoo does, and as the Arab did,--without nature at all, with the chance of approximating your disposition somewhat to that of the Hindoos and Arabs; or as Sir Joshua and Velasquez did, with, not the chance, but the certainty, of approximating your disposition, according to the sincerity of your effort--to the disposition of those great and good men. And do you suppose you will lose anything by approaching your conventional art from this higher side? Not so. I called, with deliberate measurement of my expression, long ago, the decoration of the Alhambra "detestable," not merely because indicative of base conditions of moral being, but because merely as decorative work, however captivating in some respects, it is wholly wanting in the real, deep, and intense qualities of ornamental art. Noble conventional decoration belongs only to three periods. First, there is the conventional decoration of the Greeks, used in subordination to their sculpture. There are then the noble conventional decoration of the early Gothic schools, and the noble conventional arabesque of the great Italian schools. All these were reached from above, all reached by stooping from a knowledge of the human form. Depend upon it you will find, as you look more and more into the matter, that good subordinate ornament has ever been rooted in a higher knowledge; and if you are again to produce anything that is noble, you must have the higher knowledge first, and descend to all lower service; condescend as much as you like,--condescension never does any man any harm,--but get your noble standing first. So, then, without any scruple, whatever branch of art you may be inclined as a student here to follow,--whatever you are to make your bread by, I say, so far as you have time and power, make yourself first a noble and accomplished artist; understand at least what noble and accomplished art is, and then you will be able to apply your knowledge to all service whatsoever. I am now going to ask your permission to name the masters whom I think it would be well if we could agree, in our Schools of Art in England, to consider our leaders. The first and chief I will not myself presume to name; he shall be distinguished for you by the authority of those two great painters of whom we have just been speaking--Reynolds and Velasquez. You may remember that in your Manchester Art Treasures Exhibition the most impressive things were the works of those two men-- nothing told upon the eye so much; no other pictures retained it with such a persistent power. Now, I have the testimony, first of Reynolds to Velasquez, and then of Velasquez to the man whom I want you to take as the master of all your English schools. The testimony of Reynolds to Velasquez is very striking. I take it from some fragments which have just been published by Mr. William Cotton--precious fragments--of Reynolds' diaries, which I chanced upon luckily as I was coming down here: for I was going to take Velasquez' testimony alone, and then fell upon this testimony of Reynolds to Velasquez, written most fortunately in Reynolds' own hand-you may see the manuscript. "What _we_ are all," said Reynolds, "attempting to do with great labor, Velasquez does at once." Just think what is implied when a man of the enormous power and facility that Reynolds had, says he was "trying to do with great labor" what Velasquez "did at once." Having thus Reynolds' testimony to Velasquez, I will take Velasquez' testimony to somebody else. You know that Velasquez was sent by Philip of Spain to Italy, to buy pictures for him. He went all over Italy, saw the living artists there, and all their best pictures when freshly painted, so that he had every opportunity of judging; and never was a man so capable of judging. He went to Rome and ordered various works of living artists; and while there, he was one day asked by Salvator Rosa what he thought of Raphael. His reply, and the ensuing conversation, are thus reported by Boschini, in curious Italian verse, which, thus translated by Dr. Donaldson, is quoted in Mr. Stirling's Life of Velasquez:-- "The master" [Velasquez] "stiffly bowed his figure tall And said, 'For Rafael, to speak the truth-- I always was plain-spoken from my youth-- I cannot say I like his works at all.' "'Well,' said the other" [Salvator], 'if you can run down So great a man, I really cannot see What you can find to like in Italy; To him we all agree to give the crown.' "Diego answered thus: 'I saw in Venice The true test of the good and beautiful; First in my judgment, ever stands that school, And Titian first of all Italian men is.'" "_Tizian ze quel die porta la bandiera_" Learn that line by heart and act, at all events for some time to come, upon Velasquez' opinion in that matter. Titian is much the safest master for you. Raphael's power, such as it characters in his mind; it is "Raphaelesque," properly so called; but Titian's power is simply the power of doing right. Whatever came before Titian, he did wholly as it _ought_ to be done. Do not suppose that now in recommending Titian to you so strongly, and speaking of nobody else to-night, I am retreating in anywise from what some of you may perhaps recollect in my works, the enthusiasm with which I have always spoken of another Venetian painter. There are three Venetians who are never separated in my mind--Titian, Veronese, and Tintoret. They all have their own unequalled gifts, and Tintoret especially has imagination and depth of soul which I think renders him indisputably the greatest man; but, equally indisputably, Titian is the greatest painter; and therefore the greatest painter who ever lived. You may be led wrong by Tintoret [Footnote: See Appendix I.--"Right and Wrong."] in many respects, wrong by Raphael in more; all that you learn from Titian will be right. Then, with Titian, take Leonardo, Rembrandt, and Albert Dürer. I name those three masters for this reason: Leonardo has powers of subtle drawing which are peculiarly applicable in many ways to the drawing of fine ornament, and are very useful for all students. Rembrandt and Dürer are the only men whose actual work of hand you can have to look at; you can have Rembrandt's etchings, or Dürer's engravings actually hung in your schools; and it is a main point for the student to see the real thing, and avoid judging of masters at second-hand. As, however, in obeying this principle, you cannot often have opportunities of studying Venetian painting, it is desirable that you should have a useful standard of colour, and I think it is possible for you to obtain this. I cannot, indeed, without entering upon ground which might involve the hurting the feelings of living artists, state exactly what I believe to be the relative position of various painters in England at present with respect to power of colour. But I may say this, that in the peculiar gifts of colour which will be useful to you as students, there are only one or two of the pre-Raphaelites, and William Hunt, of the old Water Colour Society, who would be safe guides for you: and as quite a safe guide, there is nobody but William Hunt, because the pre-Raphaelites are all more or less affected by enthusiasm and by various morbid conditions of intellect and temper; but old William Hunt--I am sorry to say "old," but I say it in a loving way, for every year that has added to his life has added also to his skill--William Hunt is as right as the Venetians, as far as he goes, and what is more, nearly as inimitable as they. And I think if we manage to put in the principal schools of England a little bit of Hunt's work, and make that somewhat of a standard of colour, that we can apply his principles of colouring to subjects of all kinds. Until you have had a work of his long near you; nay, unless you have been labouring at it, and trying to copy it, you do not know the thoroughly grand qualities that are concentrated in it. Simplicity, and intensity, both of the highest character;-- simplicity of aim, and intensity of power and success, are involved in that man's unpretending labour. Finally, you cannot believe that I would omit my own favourite, Turner. I fear from the very number of his works left to the nation, that there is a disposition now rising to look upon his vast bequest with some contempt. I beg of you, if in nothing else, to believe me in this, that you cannot further the art of England in any way more distinctly than by giving attention to every fragment that has been left by that man. The time will come when his full power and right place will be acknowledged; that time will not be for many a day yet: nevertheless, be assured--as far as you are inclined to give the least faith to anything I may say to you, be assured--that you can act for the good of art in England in no better way than by using whatever influence any of you have in any direction to urge the reverent study and yet more reverent preservation of the works of Turner. I do not say "the exhibition" of his works, for we are not altogether ripe for it: they are still too far above us; uniting, as I was telling you, too many qualities for us yet to feel fully their range and their influence;-- but let us only try to keep them safe from harm, and show thoroughly and conveniently what we show of them at all, and day by day their greatness will dawn upon us more and more, and be the root of a school of art in England, which I do not doubt may be as bright, as just, and as refined as even that of Venice herself. The dominion of the sea seems to have been associated, in past time, with dominion in the arts also: Athens had them together; Venice had them together; but by so much as our authority over the ocean is wider than theirs over the �gean or Adriatic, let us strive to make our art more widely beneficent than theirs, though it cannot be more exalted; so working out the fulfilment, in their wakening as well as their warning sense, of those great words of the aged Tintoret: "Sempre si fa il mare maggiore." LECTURE III. MODERN MANUFACTURE AND DESIGN. _A Lecture delivered at Bradford, March, 1859_. It is with a deep sense of necessity for your indulgence that I venture to address you to-night, or that I venture at any time to address the pupils of schools of design intended for the advancement of taste in special branches of manufacture. No person is able to give useful and definite help towards such special applications of art, unless he is entirely familiar with the conditions of labour and natures of material involved in the work; and indefinite help is little better than no help at all. Nay, the few remarks which I propose to lay before you this evening will, I fear, be rather suggestive of difficulties than helpful in conquering them: nevertheless, it may not be altogether unserviceable to define clearly for you (and this, at least, I am able to do) one or two of the more stern general obstacles which stand at present in the way of our success in design; and to warn you against exertion of effort in any vain or wasteful way, till these main obstacles are removed. The first of these is our not understanding the scope and dignity of Decorative design. With all our talk about it, the very meaning of the words "Decorative art" remains confused and undecided. I want, if possible, to settle this question for you to-night, and to show you that the principles on which you must work are likely to be false, in proportion as they are narrow; true, only as they are founded on a perception of the connection of all branches of art with each other. Observe, then, first--the only essential distinction between Decorative and other art is the being fitted for a fixed place; and in that place, related, either in subordination or command, to the effect of other pieces of art. And all the greatest art which the world has produced is thus fitted for a place, and subordinated to a purpose. There is no existing highest-order art but is decorative. The best sculpture yet produced has been the decoration of a temple front--the best painting, the decoration of a room. Raphael's best doing is merely the wall- colouring of a suite of apartments in the Vatican, and his cartoons were made for tapestries. Correggio's best doing is the decoration of two small church cupolas at Parma; Michael Angelo's of a ceiling in the Pope's private chapel; Tintoret's, of a ceiling and side wall belonging to a charitable society at Venice; while Titian and Veronese threw out their noblest thoughts, not even on the inside, but on the outside of the common brick and plaster walls of Venice. Get rid, then, at once of any idea of Decorative art being a degraded or a separate kind of art. Its nature or essence is simply its being fitted for a definite place; and, in that place, forming part of a great and harmonious whole, in companionship with other art; and so far from this being a degradation to it--so far from Decorative art being inferior to other art because it is fixed to a spot--on the whole it may be considered as rather a piece of degradation that it should be portable. Portable art--independent of all place--is for the most part ignoble art. Your little Dutch landscape, which you put over your sideboard to-day, and between the windows tomorrow, is a far more contemptible piece of work than the extents of field and forest with which Benozzo has made green and beautiful the once melancholy arcade of the Campo Santo at Pisa; and the wild boar of silver which you use for a seal, or lock into a velvet case, is little likely to be so noble a beast as the bronze boar who foams forth the fountain from under his tusks in the market-place of Florence. It is, indeed, possible that the portable picture or image may be first-rate of its kind, but it is not first-rate because it is portable; nor are Titian's frescoes less than first-rate because they are fixed; nay, very frequently the highest compliment you can pay to a cabinet picture is to say--"It is as grand as a fresco." Keeping, then, this fact fixed in our minds,--that all art _may_ be decorative, and that the greatest art yet produced has been decorative,--we may proceed to distinguish the orders and dignities of decorative art, thus:-- I. The first order of it is that which is meant for places where it cannot be disturbed or injured, and where it can be perfectly seen; and then the main parts of it should be, and have always been made, by the great masters, as perfect, and as full of nature as possible. You will every day hear it absurdly said that room decoration should be by flat patterns--by dead colours--by conventional monotonies, and I know not what. Now, just be assured of this--nobody ever yet used conventional art to decorate with, when he could do anything better, and knew that what he did would be safe. Nay, a great painter will always give you the natural art, safe or not. Correggio gets a commission to paint a room on the ground floor of a palace at Parma: any of our people--bred on our fine modern principles--would have covered it with a diaper, or with stripes or flourishes, or mosaic patterns. Not so Correggio: he paints a thick trellis of vine-leaves, with oval openings, and lovely children leaping through them into the room; and lovely children, depend upon it, are rather more desirable decorations than diaper, if you can do them--but they are not quite so easily done. In like manner Tintoret has to paint the whole end of the Council Hall at Venice. An orthodox decorator would have set himself to make the wall look like a wall--Tintoret thinks it would be rather better, if he can manage it, to make it look a little like Paradise;-- stretches his canvas right over the wall, and his clouds right over his canvas; brings the light through his clouds--all blue and clear--zodiac beyond zodiac; rolls away the vaporous flood from under the feet of saints, leaving them at last in infinitudes of light--unorthodox in the last degree, but, on the whole, pleasant. And so in all other cases whatever, the greatest decorative art is wholly unconventional--downright, pure, good painting and sculpture, but always fitted for its place; and subordinated to the purpose it has to serve in that place. II. But if art is to be placed where it is liable to injury--to wear and tear; or to alteration of its form; as, for instance, on domestic utensils, and armour, and weapons, and dress; in which either the ornament will be worn out by the usage of the thing, or will be cast into altered shape by the play of its folds; then it is wrong to put beautiful and perfect art to such uses, and you want forms of inferior art, such as will be by their simplicity less liable to injury; or, by reason of their complexity and continuousness, may show to advantage, however distorted by the folds they are cast into. And thus arise the various forms of inferior decorative art, respecting which the general law is, that the lower the place and office of the thing, the less of natural or perfect form you should have in it; a zigzag or a chequer is thus a better, because a more consistent ornament for a cup or platter than a landscape or portrait is: hence the general definition of the true forms of conventional ornament is, that they consist in the bestowal of as much beauty on the object as shall be consistent with its Material, its Place, and its Office. Let us consider these three modes of consistency a little. (A.) Conventionalism by cause of inefficiency of material. If, for instance, we are required to represent a human figure with stone only, we cannot represent its colour; we reduce its colour to whiteness. That is not elevating the human body, but degrading it; only it would be a much greater degradation to give its colour falsely. Diminish beauty as much as you will, but do not misrepresent it. So again, when we are sculpturing a face, we can't carve its eyelashes. The face is none the better for wanting its eyelashes--it is injured by the want; but would be much more injured by a clumsy representation of them. Neither can we carve the hair. We must be content with the conventionalism of vile solid knots and lumps of marble, instead of the golden cloud that encompasses the fair human face with its waving mystery. The lumps of marble are not an elevated representation of hair--they are a degraded one; yet better than any attempt to imitate hair with the incapable material. In all cases in which such imitation is attempted, instant degradation to a still lower level is the result. For the effort to imitate shows that the workman has only a base and poor conception of the beauty of the reality--else he would know his task to be hopeless, and give it up at once; so that all endeavours to avoid conventionalism, when the material demands it, result from insensibility to truth, and are among the worst forms of vulgarity. Hence, in the greatest Greek statues, the hair is very slightly indicated--not because the sculptor disdained hair, but because he knew what it was too well to touch it insolently. I do not doubt but that the Greek painters drew hair exactly as Titian does. Modern attempts to produce finished pictures on glass result from the same base vulgarism. No man who knows what painting means, can endure a painted glass window which emulates painter's work. But he rejoices in a glowing mosaic of broken colour: for that is what the glass has the special gift and right of producing. [Footnote: See Appendix II., Sir Joshua Reynolds's disappointment.] (B.) Conventionalism by cause of inferiority of place. When work is to be seen at a great distance, or in dark places, or in some other imperfect way, it constantly becomes necessary to treat it coarsely or severely, in order to make it effective. The statues on cathedral fronts, in good times of design, are variously treated according to their distances: no fine execution is put into the features of the Madonna who rules the group of figures above the south transept of Rouen at 150 feet above the ground; but in base modern work, as Milan Cathedral, the sculpture is finished without any reference to distance; and the merit of every statue is supposed to consist in the visitor's being obliged to ascend three hundred steps before he can see it. (C.) Conventionalism by cause of inferiority of office. When one piece of ornament is to be subordinated to another (as the moulding is to the sculpture it encloses, or the fringe of a drapery to the statue it veils), this inferior ornament needs to be degraded in order to mark its lower office; and this is best done by refusing, more or less, the introduction of natural form. The less of nature it contains, the more degraded is the ornament, and the fitter for a humble place; but, however far a great workman may go in refusing the higher organisms of nature, he always takes care to retain the magnificence of natural lines; that is to say, of the infinite curves, such as I have analyzed in the fourth volume of "Modern Painters." His copyists, fancying that they can follow him without nature, miss precisely the essence of all the work; so that even the simplest piece of Greek conventional ornament loses the whole of its value in any modern imitation of it, the finer curves being always missed. Perhaps one of the dullest and least justifiable mistakes which have yet been made about my writing, is the supposition that I have attacked or despised Greek work. I have attacked Palladian work, and modern imitation of Greek work. Of Greek work itself I have never spoken but with a reverence quite infinite: I name Phidias always in exactly the same tone with which I speak of Michael Angelo, Titian, and Dante. My first statement of this faith, now thirteen years ago, was surely clear enough. "We shall see by this light three colossal images standing up side by side, looming in their great rest of spirituality above the whole world horizon. Phidias, Michael Angelo, and Dante,--from these we may go down step by step among the mighty men of every age, securely and certainly observant of diminished lustre in every appearance of restlessness and effort, until the last trace of inspiration vanishes in the tottering affectation or tortured insanities of modern times." ("Modern Painters," vol. ii., p. 253.) This was surely plain speaking enough, and from that day to this my effort has been not less continually to make the heart of Greek work known than the heart of Gothic: namely, the nobleness of conception of form derived from perpetual study of the figure; and my complaint of the modern architect has been not that he followed the Greeks, but that he denied the first laws of life in theirs as in all other art. The fact is, that all good subordinate forms of ornamentation ever yet existent in the world have been invented, and others as beautiful can only be invented, by men primarily exercised in drawing or carving the human figure. I will not repeat here what I have already twice insisted upon, to the students of London and Manchester, respecting the degradation of temper and intellect which follows the pursuit of art without reference to natural form, as among the Asiatics: here, I will only trespass on your patience so far as to mark the inseparable connection between figure-drawing and good ornamental work, in the great European schools, and all that are connected with them. Tell me, then, first of all, what ornamental work is usually put before our students as the type of decorative perfection? Raphael's arabesques; are they not? Well, Raphael knew a little about the figure, I suppose, before he drew them. I do not say that I like those arabesques; but there are certain qualities in them which are inimitable by modern designers; and those qualities are just the fruit of the master's figure study. What is given the student as next to Raphael's work? Cinquecento ornament generally. Well, cinquecento generally, with its birds, and cherubs, and wreathed foliage, and clustered fruit, was the amusement of men who habitually and easily carved the figure, or painted it. All the truly fine specimens of it have figures or animals as main parts of the design. "Nay, but," some anciently or mediævally minded person will exclaim, "we don't want to study cinquecento. We want severer, purer conventionalism." What will you have? Egyptian ornament? Why, the whole mass of it is made up of multitudinous human figures in every kind of action--and magnificent action; their kings drawing their bows in their chariots, their sheaves of arrows rattling at their shoulders; the slain falling under them as before a pestilence; their captors driven before them in astonied troops; and do you expect to imitate Egyptian ornament without knowing how to draw the human figure? Nay, but you will take Christian ornament--purest mediaeval Christian--thirteenth century! Yes: and do you suppose you will find the Christian less human? The least natural and most purely conventional ornament of the Gothic schools is that of their painted glass; and do you suppose painted glass, in the fine times, was ever wrought without figures? We have got into the way, among our other modern wretchednesses, of trying to make windows of leaf diapers, and of strips of twisted red and yellow bands, looking like the patterns of currant jelly on the top of Christmas cakes; but every casement of old glass contained a saint's history. The windows of Bourges, Chartres, or Rouen have ten, fifteen, or twenty medallions in each, and each medallion contains two figures at least, often six or seven, representing every event of interest in the history of the saint whose life is in question. Nay, but, you say those figures are rude and quaint, and ought not to be imitated. Why, so is the leafage rude and quaint, yet you imitate that. The coloured border pattern of geranium or ivy leaf is not one whit better drawn, or more like geraniums and ivy, than the figures are like figures; but you call the geranium leaf idealized--why don't you call the figures so? The fact is, neither are idealized, but both are conventionalized on the same principles, and in the same way; and if you want to learn how to treat the leafage, the only way is to learn first how to treat the figure. And you may soon test your powers in this respect. Those old workmen were not afraid of the most familiar subjects. The windows of Chartres were presented by the trades of the town, and at the bottom of each window is a representation of the proceedings of the tradesmen at the business which enabled them to pay for the window. There are smiths at the forge, curriers at their hides, tanners looking into their pits, mercers selling goods over the counter--all made into beautiful medallions. Therefore, whenever you want to know whether you have got any real power of composition or adaptation in ornament, don't be content with sticking leaves together by the ends,--anybody can do that; but try to conventionalize a butcher's or a greengrocer's, with Saturday night customers buying cabbage and beef. That will tell you if you can design or not. I can fancy your losing patience with me altogether just now. "We asked this fellow down to tell our workmen how to make shawls, and he is only trying to teach them how to caricature." But have a little patience with me, and examine, after I have done, a little for yourselves into the history of ornamental art, and you will discover why I do this. You will discover, I repeat, that all great ornamental art whatever is founded on the effort of the workman to draw the figure, and, in the best schools, to draw all that he saw about him in living nature. The best art of pottery is acknowledged to be that of Greece, and all the power of design exhibited in it, down to the merest zigzag, arises primarily from the workman having been forced to outline nymphs and knights; from those helmed and draped figures he holds his power. Of Egyptian ornament I have just spoken. You have everything given there that the workman saw; people of his nation employed in hunting, fighting, fishing, visiting, making love, building, cooking--everything they did is drawn, magnificently or familiarly, as was needed. In Byzantine ornament, saints, or animals which are types of various spiritual power, are the main subjects; and from the church down to the piece of enamelled metal, figure,--figure,--figure, always principal. In Norman and Gothic work you have, with all their quiet saints, also other much disquieted persons, hunting, feasting, fighting, and so on; or whole hordes of animals racing after each other. In the Bayeux tapestry, Queen Matilda gave, as well as she could,--in many respects graphically enough,--the whole history of the conquest of England. Thence, as you increase in power of art, you have more and more finished figures, up to the solemn sculptures of Wells Cathedral, or the cherubic enrichments of the Venetian Madonna dei Miracoli. Therefore, I will tell you fearlessly, for I know it is true, you must raise your workman up to life, or you will never get from him one line of well-imagined conventionalism. We have at present no good ornamental design. We can't have it yet, and we must be patient if we want to have it. Do not hope to feel the effect of your schools at once, but raise the men as high as you can, and then let them stoop as low as you need; no great man ever minds stooping. Encourage the students, in sketching accurately and continually from nature anything that comes in their way--still life, flowers, animals; but, above all, figures; and so far as you allow of any difference between an artist's training and theirs, let it be, not in what they draw, but in the degree of conventionalism you require in the sketch. For my own part, I should always endeavour to give thorough artistical training first; but I am not certain (the experiment being yet untried) what results may be obtained by a truly intelligent practice of conventional drawing, such as that of the Egyptians, Greeks, or thirteenth century French, which consists in the utmost possible rendering of natural form by the fewest possible lines. The animal and bird drawing of the Egyptians is, in their fine age, quite magnificent under its conditions; magnificent in two ways--first, in keenest perception of the main forms and facts in the creature; and, secondly, in the grandeur of line by which their forms are abstracted and insisted on, making every asp, ibis, and vulture a sublime spectre of asp or ibis or vulture power. The way for students to get some of this gift again (_some_ only, for I believe the fulness of the gift itself to be connected with vital superstition, and with resulting intensity of reverence; people were likely to know something about hawks and ibises, when to kill one was to be irrevocably judged to death) is never to pass a day without drawing some animal from the life, allowing themselves the fewest possible lines and colours to do it with, but resolving that whatever is characteristic of the animal shall in some way or other be shown. [Footnote: Plate 75 in Vol. V. of Wilkinson's "Ancient Egypt" will give the student an idea of how to set to work.] I repeat, it cannot yet be judged what results might be obtained by a nobly practised conventionalism of this kind; but, however that may be, the first fact,--the necessity of animal and figure drawing, is absolutely certain, and no person who shrinks from it will ever become a great designer. One great good arises even from the first step in figure drawing, that it gets the student quit at once of the notion of formal symmetry. If you learn only to draw a leaf well, you are taught in some of our schools to turn it the other way, opposite to itself; and the two leaves set opposite ways are called "a design:" and thus it is supposed possible to produce ornamentation, though you have no more brains than a looking-glass or a kaleidoscope has. But if you once learn to draw the human figure, you will find that knocking two men's heads together does not necessarily constitute a good design; nay, that it makes a very bad design, or no design at all; and you will see at once that to arrange a group of two or more figures, you must, though perhaps it may be desirable to balance, or oppose them, at the same time vary their attitudes, and make one, not the reverse of the other, but the companion of the other. I had a somewhat amusing discussion on this subject with a friend, only the other day; and one of his retorts upon me was so neatly put, and expresses so completely all that can either be said or shown on the opposite side, that it is well worth while giving it you exactly in the form it was sent to me. My friend had been maintaining that the essence of ornament consisted in three things:--contrast, series, and symmetry. I replied (by letter) that "none of them, nor all of them together, would produce ornament. Here"--(making a ragged blot with the back of my pen on the paper)--"you have contrast; but it isn't ornament: here, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,"--(writing the numerals)--"You have series; but it isn't ornament: and here,"--(sketching a rough but symmetrical "stick- figure" sketch of a human body at the side)--"you have symmetry; but it isn't ornament." My friend replied:-- "Your materials were not ornament, because you did not apply them. I send them to you back, made up into a choice sporting neckerchief:" [Illustration: Sketch of a square of cloth decorated with a diagonal grid pattern of stick-figure human forms, with repeated and reflected ink-blot shapes at the corners and the digits 1 through 6 arranged into simple symmetrical shapes and repeated around the border.] Symmetrical figure Unit of diaper. Contrast Corner ornaments. Series Border ornaments. "Each figure is converted into a harmony by being revolved on its two axes, the whole opposed in contrasting series." My answer was--or rather was to the effect (for I must expand it a little, here)--that his words, "because you did not apply them," contained the gist of the whole matter;--that the application of them, or any other things, was precisely the essence of design; the non- application, or wrong application, the negation of design: that his use of the poor materials was in this case admirable; and that if he could explain to me, in clear words, the principles on which he had so used them, he would be doing a very great service to all students of art. "Tell me, therefore (I asked), these main points: "1. How did you determine the number of figures you would put into the neckerchief? Had there been more, it would have been mean and ineffective,--a pepper-and-salt sprinkling of figures. Had there been fewer, it would have been monstrous. How did you fix the number? "2. How did you determine the breadth of the border and relative size of the numerals? "3. Why are there two lines outside of the border, and one only inside? Why are there no more lines? Why not three and two, or three and five? Why lines at all to separate the barbarous figures; and why, if lines at all, not double or treble instead of single? "4. Why did you put the double blots at the corners? Why not at the angles of the chequers,--or in the middle of the border? "It is precisely your knowing why _not_ to do these things, and why to do just what you have done, which constituted your power of design; and like all the people I have ever known who had that power, you are entirely unconscious of the essential laws by which you work, and confuse other people by telling them that the design depends on symmetry and series, when, in fact, it depends entirely on your own sense and judgment." This was the substance of my last answer--to which (as I knew beforehand would be the case) I got no reply; but it still remains to be observed that with all the skill and taste (especially involving the architect's great trust, harmony of proportion), which my friend could bring to bear on the materials given him, the result is still only--a sporting neckerchief--that is to say, the materials addressed, first, to recklessness, in the shape of a mere blot; then to computativeness in a series of figures; and then to absurdity and ignorance, in the shape of an ill-drawn caricature--such materials, however treated, can only work up into what will please reckless, computative, and vulgar persons,--that is to say, into a sporting neckerchief. The difference between this piece of ornamentation and Correggio's painting at Parma lies simply and wholly in the additions (somewhat large ones), of truth and of tenderness: in the drawing being lovely as well as symmetrical-- and representative of realities as well as agreeably disposed. And truth, tenderness, and inventive application or disposition are indeed the roots of ornament--not contrast, nor symmetry. It ought yet farther to be observed, that _the nobler the materials, the less their symmetry is endurable_. In the present case, the sense of fitness and order, produced by the repetition of the figures, neutralizes, in some degree, their reckless vulgarity; and is wholly, therefore, beneficent to them. But draw the figures better, and their repetition will become painful. You may harmlessly balance a mere geometrical form, and oppose one quatrefoil or cusp by another exactly like it. But put two Apollo Belvideres back to back, and you will not think the symmetry improves them. _Whenever the materials of ornament are noble, they must be various_; and repetition of parts is either the sign of utterly bad, hopeless, and base work; or of the intended degradation of the parts in which such repetition is allowed, in order to foil others more noble. Such, then, are a few of the great principles, by the enforcement of which you may hope to promote the success of the modern student of design; but remember, none of these principles will be useful at all, unless you understand them to be, in one profound and stern sense, useless. [Footnote: I shall endeavour for the future to put my self- contradictions in short sentences and direct terms, in order to save sagacious persons the trouble of looking for them.] That is to say, unless you feel that neither you nor I, nor any one, can, in the great ultimate sense, teach anybody how to make a good design. If designing _could_ be taught, all the world would learn: as all the world reads--or calculates. But designing is not to be spelled, nor summed. My men continually come to me, in my drawing class in London, thinking I am to teach them what is instantly to enable them to gain their bread. "Please, sir, show us how to design." "Make designers of us." And you, I doubt not, partly expect me to tell you to-night how to make designers of your Bradford youths. Alas! I could as soon tell you how to make or manufacture an ear of wheat, as to make a good artist of any kind. I can analyze the wheat very learnedly for you--tell you there is starch in it, and carbon, and silex. I can give you starch, and charcoal, and flint; but you are as far from your ear of wheat as you were before. All that can possibly be done for any one who wants ears of wheat is to show them where to find grains of wheat, and how to sow them, and then, with patience, in Heaven's time, the ears will come--or will perhaps come--ground and weather permitting. So in this matter of making artists--first you must find your artist in the grain; then you must plant him; fence and weed the field about him; and with patience, ground and weather permitting, you may get an artist out of him--not otherwise. And what I have to speak to you about, tonight, is mainly the ground and the weather, it being the first and quite most material question in this matter, whether the ground and weather of Bradford, or the ground and weather of England in general,--suit wheat. And observe in the outset, it is not so much what the present circumstances of England are, as what we wish to make them, that we have to consider. If you will tell me what you ultimately intend Bradford to be, perhaps I can tell you what Bradford can ultimately produce. But you must have your minds clearly made up, and be distinct in telling me what you do want. At present I don't know what you are aiming at, and possibly on consideration you may feel some doubt whether you know yourselves. As matters stand, all over England, as soon as one mill is at work, occupying two hundred hands, we try, by means of it, to set another mill at work, occupying four hundred. That is all simple and comprehensive enough--but what is it to come to? How many mills do we want? or do we indeed want no end of mills? Let us entirely understand each other on this point before we go any farther. Last week, I drove from Rochdale to Bolton Abbey; quietly, in order to see the country, and certainly it was well worth while. I never went over a more interesting twenty miles than those between Rochdale and Burnley. Naturally, the valley has been one of the most beautiful in the Lancashire hills; one of the far away solitudes, full of old shepherd ways of life. At this time there are not,--I speak deliberately, and I believe quite literally,--there are not, I think, more than a thousand yards of road to be traversed anywhere, without passing a furnace or mill. Now, is that the kind of thing you want to come to everywhere? Because, if it be, and you tell me so distinctly, I think I can make several suggestions to-night, and could make more if you give me time, which would materially advance your object. The extent of our operations at present is more or less limited by the extent of coal and ironstone, but we have not yet learned to make proper use of our clay. Over the greater part of England, south of the manufacturing districts, there are magnificent beds of various kinds of useful clay; and I believe that it would not be difficult to point out modes of employing it which might enable us to turn nearly the whole of the south of England into a brickfield, as we have already turned nearly the whole of the north into a coal-pit. I say "nearly" the whole, because, as you are doubtless aware, there are considerable districts in the south composed of chalk renowned up to the present time for their downs and mutton. But, I think, by examining carefully into the conceivable uses of chalk, we might discover a quite feasible probability of turning all the chalk districts into a limekiln, as we turn the clay districts into a brickfield. There would then remain nothing but the mountain districts to be dealt with; but, as we have not yet ascertained all the uses of clay and chalk, still less have we ascertained those of stone; and I think, by draining the useless inlets of the Cumberland, Welsh, and Scotch lakes, and turning them, with their rivers, into navigable reservoirs and canals, there would be no difficulty in working the whole of our mountain districts as a gigantic quarry of slate and granite, from which all the rest of the world might be supplied with roofing and building stone. Is this, then, what you want? You are going straight at it at present; and I have only to ask under what limitations I am to conceive or describe your final success? Or shall there be no limitations? There are none to your powers; every day puts new machinery at your disposal, and increases, with your capital, the vastness of your undertakings. The changes in the state of this country are now so rapid, that it would be wholly absurd to endeavour to lay down laws of art education for it under its present aspect and circumstances; and therefore I must necessarily ask, how much of it do you seriously intend within the next fifty years to be coal-pit, brickfield, or quarry? For the sake of distinctness of conclusion, I will suppose your success absolute: that from shore to shore the whole of the island is to be set as thick with chimneys as the masts stand in the docks of Liverpool: and there shall be no meadows in it; no trees; no gardens; only a little corn grown upon the housetops, reaped and threshed by steam: that you do not leave even room for roads, but travel either over the roofs of your mills, on viaducts; or under their floors, in tunnels: that, the smoke having rendered the light of the sun unserviceable, you work always by the light of your own gas: that no acre of English ground shall be without its shaft and its engine; and therefore, no spot of English ground left, on which it shall be possible to stand, without a definite and calculable chance of being blown off it, at any moment, into small pieces. Under these circumstances, (if this is to be the future of England,) no designing or any other development of beautiful art will be possible. Do not vex your minds, nor waste your money with any thought or effort in the matter. Beautiful art can only be produced by people who have beautiful things about them, and leisure to look at them; and unless you provide some elements of beauty for your workmen to be surrounded by, you will find that no elements of beauty can be invented by them. I was struck forcibly by the bearing of this great fact upon our modern efforts at ornamentation in an afternoon walk, last week, in the suburbs of one of our large manufacturing towns. I was thinking of the difference in the effect upon the designer's mind, between the scene which I then came upon, and the scene which would have presented itself to the eyes of any designer of the middle ages, when he left his workshop. Just outside the town I came upon an old English cottage, or mansion, I hardly know which to call it, set close under the hill, and beside the river, perhaps built somewhere in the Charles's time, with mullioned windows and a low arched porch; round which, in the little triangular garden, one can imagine the family as they used to sit in old summer times, the ripple of the river heard faintly through the sweetbrier hedge, and the sheep on the far-off wolds shining in the evening sunlight. There, uninhabited for many and many a year, it had been left in unregarded havoc of ruin; the garden-gate still swung loose to its latch; the garden, blighted utterly into a field of ashes, not even a weed taking root there; the roof torn into shapeless rents; the shutters hanging about the windows in rags of rotten wood; before its gate, the stream which had gladdened it now soaking slowly by, black as ebony, and thick with curdling scum; the bank above it trodden into unctuous, sooty slime: far in front of it, between it and the old hills, the furnaces of the city foaming forth perpetual plague of sulphurous darkness; the volumes of their storm clouds coiling low over a waste of grassless fields, fenced from each other, not by hedges, but by slabs of square stone, like gravestones, riveted together with iron. That was your scene for the designer's contemplation in his afternoon walk at Rochdale. Now fancy what was the scene which presented itself, in his afternoon walk, to a designer of the Gothic school of Pisa--Nino Pisano, or any of his men. On each side of a bright river he saw rise a line of brighter palaces, arched and pillared, and inlaid with deep red porphyry, and with serpentine; along the quays before their gates were riding troops of knights, noble in face and form, dazzling in crest and shield; horse and man one labyrinth of quaint colour and gleaming light--the purple, and silver, and scarlet fringes flowing over the strong limbs and clashing mail, like sea-waves over rocks at sunset. Opening on each side from the river were gardens, courts, and cloisters; long successions of white pillars among wreaths of vine; leaping of fountains through buds of pomegranate and orange: and still along the garden-paths, and under and through the crimson of the pomegranate shadows, moving slowly, groups of the fairest women that Italy ever saw--fairest, because purest and thoughtfullest; trained in all high knowledge, as in all courteous art--in dance, in song, in sweet wit, in lofty learning, in loftier courage, in loftiest love--able alike to cheer, to enchant, or save, the souls of men. Above all this scenery of perfect human life, rose dome and bell-tower, burning with white alabaster and gold; beyond dome and bell-tower the slopes of mighty hills, hoary with olive; far in the north, above a purple sea of peaks of solemn Apennine, the clear, sharp-cloven Carrara mountains sent up their steadfast flames of marble summit into amber sky; the great sea itself, scorching with expanse of light, stretching from their feet to the Gorgonian isles; and over all these, ever present, near or far-- seen through the leaves of vine, or imaged with all its march of clouds in the Arno's stream, or set with its depth of blue close against the golden hair and burning cheek of lady and knight,--that untroubled and sacred sky, which was to all men, in those days of innocent faith, indeed the unquestioned abode of spirits, as the earth was of men; and which opened straight through its gates of cloud and veils of dew into the awfulness of the eternal world;--a heaven in which every cloud that passed was literally the chariot of an angel, and every ray of its Evening and Morning streamed from the throne of God. What think you of that for a school of design? I do not bring this contrast before you as a ground of hopelessness in our task; neither do I look for any possible renovation of the Republic of Pisa, at Bradford, in the nineteenth century; but I put it before you in order that you may be aware precisely of the kind of difficulty you have to meet, and may then consider with yourselves how far you can meet it. To men surrounded by the depressing and monotonous circumstances of English manufacturing life, depend upon it, design is simply impossible. This is the most distinct of all the experiences I have had in dealing with the modern workman. He is intelligent and ingenious in the highest degree--subtle in touch and keen in sight: but he is, generally speaking, wholly destitute of designing power. And if you want to give him the power, you must give him the materials, and put him in the circumstances for it. Design is not the offspring of idle fancy: it is the studied result of accumulative observation and delightful habit. Without observation and experience, no design-- without peace and pleasurableness in occupation, no design--and all the lecturings, and teachings, and prizes, and principles of art, in the world, are of no use, so long as you don't surround your men with happy influences and beautiful things. It is impossible for them to have right ideas about colour, unless they see the lovely colours of nature unspoiled; impossible for them to supply beautiful incident and action in their ornament, unless they see beautiful incident and action in the world about them. Inform their minds, refine their habits, and you form and refine their designs; but keep them illiterate, uncomfortable, and in the midst of unbeautiful things, and whatever they do will still be spurious, vulgar, and valueless. I repeat, that I do not ask you nor wish you to build a new Pisa for them. We don't want either the life or the decorations of the thirteenth century back again; and the circumstances with which you must surround your workmen are those simply of happy modern English life, because the designs you have now to ask for from your workmen are such as will make modern English life beautiful. All that gorgeousness of the middle ages, beautiful as it sounds in description, noble as in many respects it was in reality, had, nevertheless, for foundation and for end, nothing but the pride of life--the pride of the so-called superior classes; a pride which supported itself by violence and robbery, and led in the end to the destruction both of the arts themselves and the States in which they nourished. The great lesson of history is, that all the fine arts hitherto--having been supported by the selfish power of the noblesse, and never having extended their range to the comfort or the relief of the mass of the people--the arts, I say, thus practised, and thus matured, have only accelerated the ruin of the States they adorned; and at the moment when, in any kingdom, you point to the triumphs of its greatest artists, you point also to the determined hour of the kingdom's decline. The names of great painters are like passing bells: in the name of Velasquez, you hear sounded the fall of Spain; in the name of Titian, that of Venice; in the name of Leonardo, that of Milan; in the name of Raphael, that of Rome. And there is profound justice in this; for in proportion to the nobleness of the power is the guilt of its use for purposes vain or vile; and hitherto the greater the art, the more surely has it been used, and used solely, for the decoration of pride, [Footnote: Whether religious or profane pride,--chapel or banqueting room,--is no matter.] or the provoking of sensuality. Another course lies open to us. We may abandon the hope--or if you like the words better--we may disdain the temptation, of the pomp and grace of Italy in her youth. For us there can be no more the throne of marble--for us no more the vault of gold--but for us there is the loftier and lovelier privilege of bringing the power and charm of art within the reach of the humble and the poor; and as the magnificence of past ages failed by its narrowness and its pride, ours may prevail and continue, by its universality and its lowliness. And thus, between the picture of too laborious England, which we imagined as future, and the picture of too luxurious Italy, which we remember in the past, there may exist--there will exist, if we do our duty--an intermediate condition, neither oppressed by labour nor wasted in vanity--the condition of a peaceful and thoughtful temperance in aims, and acts, and arts. We are about to enter upon a period of our world's history in which domestic life, aided by the arts of peace, will slowly, but at last entirely, supersede public life and the arts of war. For our own England, she will not, I believe, be blasted throughout with furnaces; nor will she be encumbered with palaces. I trust she will keep her green fields, her cottages, and her homes of middle life; but these ought to be, and I trust will be enriched with a useful, truthful, substantial form of art. We want now no more feasts of the gods, nor martyrdoms of the saints; we have no need of sensuality, no place for superstition, or for costly insolence. Let us have learned and faithful historical painting--touching and thoughtful representations of human nature, in dramatic painting; poetical and familiar renderings of natural objects and of landscape; and rational, deeply-felt realizations of the events which are the subjects of our religious faith. And let these things we want, as far as possible, be scattered abroad and made accessible to all men. So also, in manufacture: we require work substantial rather than rich in make; and refined, rather than splendid in design. Your stuffs need not be such as would catch the eye of a duchess; but they should be such as may at once serve the need, and refine the taste, of a cottager. The prevailing error in English dress, especially among the lower orders, is a tendency to flimsiness and gaudiness, arising mainly from the awkward imitation of their superiors. [Footnote: If their superiors would give them simplicity and economy to imitate, it would, in the issue, be well for themselves, as well as for those whom they guide. The typhoid fever of passion for dress, and all other display, which has struck the upper classes of Europe at this time, is one of the most dangerous political elements we have to deal with. Its wickedness I have shown elsewhere (Polit. Economy of Art, p. 62, _et seq._); but its wickedness is, in the minds of most persons, a matter of no importance. I wish I had time also to show them its danger. I cannot enter here into political investigation; but this is a certain fact, that the wasteful and vain expenses at present indulged in by the upper classes are hastening the advance of republicanism more than any other element of modern change. No agitators, no clubs, no epidemical errors, ever were, or will be, fatal to social order in any nation. Nothing but the guilt of the upper classes, wanton, accumulated, reckless, and merciless, ever overthrows them Of such guilt they have now much to answer for--let them look to it in time.] It should be one of the first objects of all manufacturers to produce stuffs not only beautiful and quaint in design, but also adapted for every-day service, and decorous in humble and secluded life. And you must remember always that your business, as manufacturers, is to form the market, as much as to supply it. If, in shortsighted and reckless eagerness for wealth, you catch at every humour of the populace as it shapes itself into momentary demand--if, in jealous rivalry with neighbouring States, or with other producers, you try to attract attention by singularities, novelties, and gaudinesses--to make every design an advertisement, and pilfer every idea of a successful neighbour's, that you may insidiously imitate it, or pompously eclipse --no good design will ever be possible to you, or perceived by you. You may, by accident, snatch the market; or, by energy, command it; you may obtain the confidence of the public, and cause the ruin of opponent houses; or you may, with equal justice of fortune, be ruined by them. But whatever happens to you, this, at least, is certain, that the whole of your life will have been spent in corrupting public taste and encouraging public extravagance. Every preference you have won by gaudiness must have been based on the purchaser's vanity; every demand you have created by novelty has fostered in the consumer a habit of discontent; and when you retire into inactive life, you may, as a subject of consolation for your declining years, reflect that precisely according to the extent of your past operations, your life has been successful in retarding the arts,--tarnishing the virtues, and confusing the manners of your country. But, on the other hand, if you resolve from the first that, so far as you can ascertain or discern what is best, you will produce what is best, on an intelligent consideration of the probable tendencies and possible tastes of the people whom you supply, you may literally become more influential for all kinds of good than many lecturers on art, or many treatise-writers on morality. Considering the materials dealt with, and the crude state of art knowledge at the time, I do not know that any more wide or effective influence in public taste was ever exercised than that of the Staffordshire manufacture of pottery under William Wedgwood, and it only rests with the manufacturer in every other business to determine whether he will, in like manner, make his wares educational instruments, or mere drugs of the market. You all should, be, in a certain sense, authors: you must, indeed, first catch the public eye, as an author must the public ear; but once gain your audience, or observance, and as it is in the writer's power thenceforward to publish what will educate as it amuses--so it is in yours to publish what will educate as it adorns. Nor is this surely a subject of poor ambition. I hear it said continually that men are too ambitious: alas! to me, it seems they are never enough ambitious. How many are content to be merely the thriving merchants of a state, when they might be its guides, counsellors, and rulers--wielding powers of subtle but gigantic beneficence, in restraining its follies while they supplied its wants. Let such duty, such ambition, be once accepted in their fulness, and the best glory of European art and of European manufacture may yet be to come. The paintings of Raphael and of Buonaroti gave force to the falsehoods of superstition, and majesty to the imaginations of sin; but the arts of England may have, for their task, to inform the soul with truth, and touch the heart with compassion. The steel of Toledo and the silk of Genoa did but give strength to oppression and lustre to pride: let it be for the furnace and for the loom of England, as they have already richly earned, still more abundantly to bestow, comfort on the indigent, civilization on the rude, and to dispense, through the peaceful homes of nations, the grace and the preciousness of simple adornment, and useful possession. LECTURE IV. INFLUENCE OF IMAGINATION IN ARCHITECTURE _An Address Delivered to the Members of the Architectural Association, in Lyon's Inn Hall, 1857._ If we were to be asked abruptly, and required to answer briefly, what qualities chiefly distinguish great artists from feeble artists, we should answer, I suppose, first, their sensibility and tenderness; secondly, their imagination; and thirdly, their industry. Some of us might, perhaps, doubt the justice of attaching so much importance to this last character, because we have all known clever men who were indolent, and dull men who were industrious. But though you may have known clever men who were indolent, you never knew a great man who was so; and, during such investigation as I have been able to give to the lives of the artists whose works are in all points noblest, no fact ever looms so large upon me--no law remains so steadfast in the universality of its application, as the fact and law that they are all great workers: nothing concerning them is matter of more astonishment than the quantity they have accomplished in the given length of their life; and when I hear a young man spoken of, as giving promise of high genius, the first question I ask about him is always-- Does he work? But though this quality of industry is essential to an artist, it does not in anywise make an artist; many people are busy, whose doings are little worth. Neither does sensibility make an artist; since, as I hope, many can feel both strongly and nobly, who yet care nothing about art. But the gifts which distinctively mark the artist--_without_ which he must be feeble in life, forgotten in death--_with_ which he may become one of the shakers of the earth, and one of the signal lights in heaven--are those of sympathy and imagination. I will not occupy your time, nor incur the risk of your dissent, by endeavouring to give any close definition of this last word. We all have a general and sufficient idea of imagination, and of its work with our hands and in our hearts: we understand it, I suppose, as the imaging or picturing of new things in our thoughts; and we always show an involuntary respect for this power, wherever we can recognize it, acknowledging it to be a greater power than manipulation, or calculation, or observation, or any other human faculty. If we see an old woman spinning at the fireside, and distributing her thread dexterously from the distaff, we respect her for her manipulation--if we ask her how much she expects to make in a year, and she answers quickly, we respect her for her calculation--if she is watching at the same time that none of her grandchildren fall into the fire, we respect her for her observation--yet for all this she may still be a commonplace old woman enough. But if she is all the time telling her grandchildren a fairy tale out of her head, we praise her for her imagination, and say, she must be a rather remarkable old woman. Precisely in like manner, if an architect does his working-drawing well, we praise him for his manipulation--if he keeps closely within his contract, we praise him for his honest arithmetic--if he looks well to the laying of his beams, so that nobody shall drop through the floor, we praise him for his observation. But he must, somehow, tell us a fairy tale out of his head beside all this, else we cannot praise him for his imagination, nor speak of him as we did of the old woman, as being in any wise out of the common way, a rather remarkable architect. It seemed to me, therefore, as if it might interest you to-night, if we were to consider together what fairy tales are, in and by architecture, to be told--what there is for you to do in this severe art of yours "out of your heads," as well as by your hands. Perhaps the first idea which a young architect is apt to be allured by, as a head-problem in these experimental days, is its being incumbent upon him to invent a "new style" worthy of modern civilization in general, and of England in particular; a style worthy of our engines and telegraphs; as expansive as steam, and as sparkling as electricity. But, if there are any of my hearers who have been impressed with this sense of inventive duty, may I ask them first, whether their plan is that every inventive architect among us shall invent a new style for himself, and have a county set aside for his conceptions, or a province for his practice? Or, must every architect invent a little piece of the new style, and all put it together at last like a dissected map? And if so, when the new style is invented, what is to be done next? I will grant you this Eldorado of imagination--but can you have more than one Columbus? Or, if you sail in company, and divide the prize of your discovery and the honour thereof, who is to come after you clustered Columbuses? to what fortunate islands of style are your architectural descendants to sail, avaricious of new lands? When our desired style is invented, will not the best we can all do be simply--to build in it?-- and cannot you now do that in styles that are known? Observe, I grant, for the sake of your argument, what perhaps many of you know that I would not grant otherwise--that a new style _can_ be invented. I grant you not only this, but that it shall be wholly different from any that was ever practised before. We will suppose that capitals are to be at the bottom of pillars instead of the top; and that buttresses shall be on the tops of pinnacles instead of at the bottom; that you roof your apertures with stones which shall neither be arched nor horizontal; and that you compose your decoration of lines which shall neither be crooked nor straight. The furnace and the forge shall be at your service: you shall draw out your plates of glass and beat out your bars of iron till you have encompassed us all,--if your style is of the practical kind,--with endless perspective of black skeleton and blinding square,--or if your style is to be of the ideal kind--you shall wreathe your streets with ductile leafage, and roof them with variegated crystal--you shall put, if you will, all London under one blazing dome of many colours that shall light the clouds round it with its flashing, as far as to the sea. And still, I ask you, What after this? Do you suppose those imaginations of yours will ever lie down there asleep beneath the shade of your iron leafage, or within the coloured light of your enchanted dome? Not so. Those souls, and fancies, and ambitions of yours, are wholly infinite; and, whatever may be done by others, you will still want to do something for yourselves; if you cannot rest content with Palladio, neither will you with Paxton: all the metal and glass that ever were melted have not so much weight in them as will clog the wings of one human spirit's aspiration. If you will think over this quietly by yourselves, and can get the noise out of your ears of the perpetual, empty, idle, incomparably idiotic talk about the necessity of some novelty in architecture, you will soon see that the very essence of a Style, properly so called, is that it should be practised _for ages_, and applied to all purposes; and that so long as any given style is in practice, all that is left for individual imagination to accomplish must be within the scope of that style, not in the invention of a new one. If there are any here, therefore, who hope to obtain celebrity by the invention of some strange way of building which must convince all Europe into its adoption, to them, for the moment, I must not be understood to address myself, but only to those who would be content with that degree of celebrity which an artist may enjoy who works in the manner of his forefathers;--which the builder of Salisbury Cathedral might enjoy in England, though he did not invent Gothic; and which Titian might enjoy at Venice, though he did not invent oil painting. Addressing myself then to those humbler, but wiser, or rather, only wise students who are content to avail themselves of some system of building already understood, let us consider together what room for the exercise of the imagination may be left to us under such conditions. And, first, I suppose it will be said, or thought, that the architect's principal field for exercise of his invention must be in the disposition of lines, mouldings, and masses, in agreeable proportions. Indeed, if you adopt some styles of architecture, you cannot exercise invention in any other way. And I admit that it requires genius and special gift to do this rightly. Not by rule, nor by study, can the gift of graceful proportionate design be obtained; only by the intuition of genius can so much as a single tier of façade be beautifully arranged; and the man has just cause for pride, as far as our gifts can ever be a cause for pride, who finds himself able, in a design of his own, to rival even the simplest arrangement of parts in one by Sanmicheli, Inigo Jones, or Christopher Wren. Invention, then, and genius being granted, as necessary to accomplish this, let me ask you, What, after all, with this special gift and genius, you _have_ accomplished, when you have arranged the lines of a building beautifully? In the first place you will not, I think, tell me that the beauty there attained is of a touching or pathetic kind. A well-disposed group of notes in music will make you sometimes weep and sometimes laugh. You can express the depth of all affections by those dispositions of sound: you can give courage to the soldier, language to the lover, consolation to the mourner, more joy to the joyful, more humility to the devout. Can you do as much by your group of lines? Do you suppose the front of Whitehall, a singularly beautiful one ever inspires the two Horse Guards, during the hour they sit opposite to it, with military ardour? Do you think that the lovers in our London walk down to the front of Whitehall for consolation when mistresses are unkind; or that any person wavering in duty, or feeble in faith, was ever confirmed in purpose or in creed by the pathetic appeal of those harmonious architraves? You will not say so. Then, if they cannot touch, or inspire, or comfort any one, can your architectural proportions amuse any one? Christmas is just over; you have doubtless been at many merry parties during the period. Can you remember any in which architectural proportions contributed to the entertainment of the evening? Proportions of notes in music were, I am sure, essential to your amusement; the setting of flowers in hair, and of ribands on dresses, were also subjects of frequent admiration with you, not inessential to your happiness. Among the juvenile members of your society the proportion of currants in cake, and of sugar in comfits, became subjects of acute interest; and, when such proportions were harmonious, motives also of gratitude to cook and to confectioner. But did you ever see either young or old amused by the architrave of the door? Or otherwise interested in the proportions of the room than as they admitted more or fewer friendly faces? Nay, if all the amusement that there is in the best proportioned architecture of London could be concentrated into one evening, and you were to issue tickets for nothing to this great proportional entertainment;--how do you think it would stand between you and the Drury pantomine? You are, then, remember, granted to be people of genius--great and admirable; and you devote your lives to your art, but you admit that you cannot comfort anybody, you cannot encourage anybody, you cannot improve anybody, and you cannot amuse anybody. I proceed then farther to ask, Can you inform anybody? Many sciences cannot be considered as highly touching or emotional; nay, perhaps not specially amusing; scientific men may sometimes, in these respects, stand on the same ground with you. As far as we can judge by the results of the late war, science helps our soldiers about as much as the front of Whitehall; and at the Christmas parties, the children wanted no geologists to tell them about the behaviour of bears and dragons in Queen Elizabeth's time. Still, your man of science teaches you something; he may be dull at a party, or helpless in a battle, he is not always that; but he can give you, at all events, knowledge of noble facts, and open to you the secrets of the earth and air. Will your architectural proportions do as much? Your genius is granted, and your life is given, and what do you teach us?--Nothing, I believe, from one end of that life to the other, but that two and two make four, and that one is to two as three is to six. You cannot, then, it is admitted, comfort any one, serve or amuse any one, nor teach any one. Finally, I ask, Can you be of _Use_ to any one? "Yes," you reply; "certainly we are of some use--we architects--in a climate like this, where it always rains." You are of use certainly; but, pardon me, only as builders--not as proportionalists. We are not talking of building as a protection, but only of that special work which your genius is to do; not of building substantial and comfortable houses like Mr. Cubitt, but of putting beautiful façades on them like Inigo Jones. And, again, I ask--Are you of use to any one? Will your proportions of the façade heal the sick, or clothe the naked? Supposing you devoted your lives to be merchants, you might reflect at the close of them, how many, fainting for want, you had brought corn to sustain; how many, infected with disease, you had brought balms to heal; how widely, among multitudes of far-away nations, you had scattered the first seeds of national power, and guided the first rays of sacred light. Had you been, in fine, _anything_ else in the world _but_ architectural designers, you might have been of some use or good to people. Content to be petty tradesmen, you would have saved the time of mankind;--rough-handed daily labourers, you would have added to their stock of food or of clothing. But, being men of genius, and devoting your lives to the exquisite exposition of this genius, on what achievements do you think the memories of your old age are to fasten? Whose gratitude will surround you with its glow, or on what accomplished good, of that greatest kind for which men show _no_ gratitude, will your life rest the contentment of its close? Truly, I fear that the ghosts of proportionate lines will be thin phantoms at your bedsides--very speechless to you; and that on all the emanations of your high genius you will look back with less delight than you might have done on a cup of cold water given to him who was thirsty, or to a single moment when you had "prevented with your bread him that fled." Do not answer, nor think to answer, that with your great works and great payments of workmen in them, you would do this; I know you would, and will, as Builders; but, I repeat, it is not your _building_ that I am talking about, but your _brains_; it is your invention and imagination of whose profit I am speaking. The good done through the building, observe, is done by your employers, not by you--you share in the benefit of it. The good that _you_ personally must do is by your designing; and I compare you with musicians who do good by their pathetic composing, not as they do good by employing fiddlers in the orchestra; for it is the public who in reality do that, not the musicians. So clearly keeping to this one question, what good we architects are to do by our genius; and having found that on our proportionate system we can do no good to others, will you tell me, lastly, what good we can do to _ourselves_? Observe, nearly every other liberal art or profession has some intense pleasure connected with it, irrespective of any good to others. As lawyers, or physicians, or clergymen, you would have the pleasure of investigation, and of historical reading, as part of your work: as men of science you would be rejoicing in curiosity perpetually gratified respecting the laws and facts of nature: as artists you would have delight in watching the external forms of nature: as day labourers or petty tradesmen, supposing you to undertake such work with as much intellect as you are going to devote to your designing, you would find continued subjects of interest in the manufacture or the agriculture which you helped to improve; or in the problems of commerce which bore on your business. But your architectural designing leads you into no pleasant journeys,--into no seeing of lovely things,--no discerning of just laws,--no warmths of compassion, no humilities of veneration, no progressive state of sight or soul. Our conclusion is--must be--that you will not amuse, nor inform, nor help anybody; you will not amuse, nor better, nor inform yourselves; you will sink into a state in which you can neither show, nor feel, nor see, anything, but that one is to two as three is to six. And in that state what should we call ourselves? Men? I think not. The right name for us would be--numerators and denominators. Vulgar Fractions. Shall we, then, abandon this theory of the soul of architecture being in proportional lines, and look whether we can find anything better to exert our fancies upon? May we not, to begin with, accept this great principle--that, as our bodies, to be in health, must be _generally_ exercised, so our minds, to be in health, must be _generally_ cultivated? You would not call a man healthy who had strong arms but was paralytic in his feet; nor one who could walk well, but had no use of his hands; nor one who could see well, if he could not hear. You would not voluntarily reduce your bodies to any such partially developed state. Much more, then, you would not, if you could help it, reduce your minds to it. Now, your minds are endowed with a vast number of gifts of totally different uses--limbs of mind as it were, which, if you don't exercise, you cripple. One is curiosity; that is a gift, a capacity of pleasure in knowing; which if you destroy, you make yourselves cold and dull. Another is sympathy; the power of sharing in the feelings of living creatures, which if you destroy, you make yourselves hard and cruel. Another of your limbs of mind is admiration; the power of enjoying beauty or ingenuity, which, if you destroy, you make yourselves base and irreverent. Another is wit; or the power of playing with the lights on the many sides of truth; which if you destroy, you make yourselves gloomy, and less useful and cheering to others than you might be. So that in choosing your way of work it should be your aim, as far as possible, to bring out all these faculties, as far as they exist in you; not one merely, nor another, but all of them. And the way to bring them out, is simply to concern yourselves attentively with the subjects of each faculty. To cultivate sympathy you must be among living creatures, and thinking about them; and to cultivate admiration, you must be among beautiful things and looking at them. All this sounds much like truism, at least I hope it does, for then you will surely not refuse to act upon it; and to consider farther, how, as architects, you are to keep yourselves in contemplation of living creatures and lovely things. You all probably know the beautiful photographs which have been published within the last year or two of the porches of the Cathedral of Amiens. I hold one of these up to you, (merely that you may know what I am talking about, as of course you cannot see the detail at this distance, but you will recognise the subject.) Have you ever considered how much sympathy, and how much humour, are developed in filling this single doorway [Footnote: The tympanum of the south transcept door; it is to be found generally among all collections of architectural photographs] with these sculptures of the history of St. Honoré (and, by the way, considering how often we English are now driving up and down the Rue St. Honoré, we may as well know as much of the saint as the old architect cared to tell us). You know in all legends of saints who ever were bishops, the first thing you are told of them is that they didn't want to be bishops. So here is St. Honoré, who doesn't want to be a bishop, sitting sulkily in the corner; he hugs his book with both hands, and won't get up to take his crosier; and here are all the city aldermen of Amiens come to _poke_ him up; and all the monks in the town in a great puzzle what they shall do for a bishop if St. Honoré won't be; and here's one of the monks in the opposite corner who is quite cool about it, and thinks they'll get on well enough without St Honoré,--you see that in his face perfectly. At last St. Honoré consents to be bishop, and here he sits in a throne, and has his book now grandly on his desk instead of his knees, and he directs one of his village curates how to find relics in a wood; here is the wood, and here is the village curate, and here are the tombs, with the bones of St. Victorien and Gentien in them. After this, St. Honoré performs grand mass, and the miracle occurs of the appearance of a hand blessing the wafer, which occurrence afterwards was painted for the arms of the abbey. Then St. Honoré dies; and here is his tomb with his statue on the top; and miracles are being performed at it--a deaf man having his ear touched, and a blind man groping his way up to the tomb with his dog. Then here is a great procession in honour of the relics of St. Honoré; and under his coffin are some cripples being healed; and the coffin itself is put above the bar which separates the cross from the lower subjects, because the tradition is that the figure on the crucifix of the Church of St. Firmin bowed its head in token of acceptance, as the relics of St. Honoré passed beneath. Now just consider the amount of sympathy with human nature, and observance of it, shown in this one bas-relief; the sympathy with disputing monks, with puzzled aldermen, with melancholy recluse, with triumphant prelate, with palsy-stricken poverty, with ecclesiastical magnificence, or miracle-working faith. Consider how much intellect was needed in the architect, and how much observance of nature before he could give the expression to these various figures--cast these multitudinous draperies--design these rich and quaint fragments of tombs and altars--weave with perfect animation the entangled branches of the forest. But you will answer me, all this is not architecture at all--it is sculpture. Will you then tell me precisely where the separation exists between one and the other? We will begin at the very beginning. I will show you a piece of what you will certainly admit to be a piece of pure architecture; [Footnote: See Appendix III., "Classical Architecture."] it is drawn on the back of another photograph, another of these marvellous tympana from Notre Dame, which you call, I suppose, impure. Well, look on this picture, and on this. Don't laugh; you must not laugh, that's very improper of you, this is classical architecture. I have taken it out of the essay on that subject in the "Encyclopædia Britannica." Yet I suppose none of you would think yourselves particularly ingenious architects if you had designed nothing more than this; nay, I will even let you improve it into any grand proportion you choose, and add to it as many windows as you choose; the only thing I insist upon in our specimen of pure architecture is, that there shall be no mouldings nor ornaments upon it. And I suspect you don't quite like your architecture so "pure" as this. We want a few mouldings, you will say--just a few. Those who want mouldings, hold up their hands. We are unanimous, I think. Will, you, then, design the profiles of these mouldings yourselves, or will you copy them? If you wish to copy them, and to copy them always, of course I leave you at once to your authorities, and your imaginations to their repose. But if you wish to design them yourselves, how do you do it? You draw the profile according to your taste, and you order your mason to cut it. Now, will you tell me the logical difference between drawing the profile of a moulding and giving _that_ to be cut, and drawing the folds of the drapery of a statue and giving _those_ to be cut. The last is much more difficult to do than the first; but degrees of difficulty constitute no specific difference, and you will not accept it, surely, as a definition of the difference between architecture and sculpture, that "architecture is doing anything that is easy, and sculpture anything that is difficult." It is true, also, that the carved moulding represents nothing, and the carved drapery represents something; but you will not, I should think, accept, as an explanation of the difference between architecture and sculpture, this any more than the other, that "sculpture is art which has meaning, and architecture art which has none." Where, then, is your difference? In this, perhaps, you will say; that whatever ornaments we can direct ourselves, and get accurately cut to order, we consider architectural. The ornaments that we are obliged to leave to the pleasure of the workman, or the superintendence of some other designer, we consider sculptural, especially if they are more or less extraneous and incrusted--not an essential part of the building. Accepting this definition, I am compelled to reply, that it is in effect nothing more than an amplification of my first one--that whatever is easy you call architecture, whatever is difficult you call sculpture. For you cannot suppose the arrangement of the place in which the sculpture is to be put is so difficult or so great a part of the design as the sculpture itself. For instance: you all know the pulpit of Niccolo Pisano, in the baptistry at Pisa. It is composed of seven rich _relievi_, surrounded by panel mouldings, and sustained on marble shafts. Do you suppose Niccolo Pisano's reputation--such part of it at least as rests on this pulpit (and much does)--depends on the panel mouldings, or on the relievi? The panel mouldings are by his hand; he would have disdained to leave even them to a common workman; but do you think he found any difficulty in them, or thought there was any credit in them? Having once done the sculpture, those enclosing lines were mere child's play to him; the determination of the diameter of shafts and height of capitals was an affair of minutes; his _work_ was in carving the Crucifixion and the Baptism. Or, again, do you recollect Orcagna's tabernacle in the church of San Michele, at Florence? That, also, consists of rich and multitudinous bas-reliefs, enclosed in panel mouldings, with shafts of mosaic, and foliated arches sustaining the canopy. Do you think Orcagna, any more than Pisano, if his spirit could rise in the midst of us at this moment, would tell us that he had trusted his fame to the foliation, or had put his soul's pride into the panelling? Not so; he would tell you that his spirit was in the stooping figures that stand round the couch of the dying Virgin. Or, lastly, do you think the man who designed the procession on the portal of Amiens was the subordinate workman? that there was an architect over _him_, restraining him within certain limits, and ordering of him his bishops at so much a mitre, and his cripples at so much a crutch? Not so. _Here_, on this sculptured shield, rests the Master's hand; _this_ is the centre of the Master's thought; from this, and in subordination to this, waved the arch and sprang the pinnacle. Having done this, and being able to give human expression and action to the stone, all the rest--the rib, the niche, the foil, the shaft--were mere toys to his hand and accessories to his conception: and if once you also gain the gift of doing this, if once you can carve one fronton such as you have here, I tell you, you would be able--so far as it depended on your invention--to scatter cathedrals over England as fast as clouds rise from its streams after summer rain. Nay, but perhaps you answer again, our sculptors at present do not design cathedrals, and could not. No, they could not; but that is merely because we have made architecture so dull that they cannot take any interest in it, and, therefore, do not care to add to their higher knowledge the poor and common knowledge of principles of building. You have thus separated building from sculpture, and you have taken away the power of both; for the sculptor loses nearly as much by never having room for the development of a continuous work, as you do from having reduced your work to a continuity of mechanism. You are essentially, and should always be, the same body of men, admitting only such difference in operation as there is between the work of a painter at different times, who sometimes labours on a small picture, and sometimes on the frescoes of a palace gallery. This conclusion, then, we arrive at, _must_ arrive at; the fact being irrevocably so:--that in order to give your imagination and the other powers of your souls full play, you must do as all the great architects of old time did--you must yourselves be your sculptors. Phidias, Michael Angelo, Orcagna, Pisano, Giotto,--which of these men, do you think, could not use his chisel? You say, "It is difficult; quite out of your way." I know it is; nothing that is great is easy; and nothing that is great, so long as you study building without sculpture, can be _in_ your way. I want to put it in your way, and you to find your way to it. But, on the other hand, do not shrink from the task as if the refined art of perfect sculpture were always required from you. For, though architecture and sculpture are not separate arts, there is an architectural _manner_ of sculpture; and it is, in the majority of its applications, a comparatively easy one. Our great mistake at present, in dealing with stone at all, is requiring to have all our work too refined; it is just the same mistake as if we were to require all our book illustrations to be as fine work as Raphael's. John Leech does not sketch so well as Leonardo da Vinci; but do you think that the public could easily spare him; or that he is wrong in bringing out his talent in the way in which it is most effective? Would you advise him, if he asked your advice, to give up his wood-blocks and take to canvas? I know you would not; neither would you tell him, I believe, on the other hand, that because he could not draw as well as Leonardo, therefore he ought to draw nothing but straight lines with a ruler, and circles with compasses, and no figure- subjects at all. That would be some loss to you; would it not? You would all be vexed if next week's _Punch_ had nothing in it but proportionate lines. And yet, do not you see that you are doing precisely the same thing with _your_ powers of sculptural design that he would be doing with his powers of pictorial design, if he gave you nothing but such lines. You feel that you cannot carve like Phidias; therefore you will not carve at all, but only draw mouldings; and thus all that intermediate power which is of especial value in modern days,--that popular power of expression which is within the attainment of thousands,--and would address itself to tens of thousands,--is utterly lost to us in stone, though in ink and paper it has become one of the most desired luxuries of modern civilization. Here, then, is one part of the subject to which I would especially invite your attention, namely, the distinctive character which may be wisely permitted to belong to architectural sculpture, as distinguished from perfect sculpture on one side, and from mere geometrical decoration on the other. And first, observe what an indulgence we have in the distance at which most work is to be seen. Supposing we were able to carve eyes and lips with the most exquisite precision, it would all be of no use as soon as the work was put far above the eye; but, on the other hand, as beauties disappear by being far withdrawn, so will faults; and the mystery and confusion which are the natural consequence of distance, while they would often render your best skill but vain, will as often render your worst errors of little consequence; nay, more than this, often a deep cut, or a rude angle, will produce in certain positions an effect of expression both startling and true, which you never hoped for. Not that mere distance will give animation to the work, if it has none in itself; but if it has life at all, the distance will make that life more perceptible and powerful by softening the defects of execution. So that you are placed, as workmen, in this position of singular advantage, that you may give your fancies free play, and strike hard for the expression that you want, knowing that, if you miss it, no one will detect you; if you at all touch it, nature herself will help you, and with every changing shadow and basking sunbeam bring forth new phases of your fancy. But it is not merely this privilege of being imperfect which belongs to architectural sculpture. It has a true privilege of imagination, far excelling all that can be granted to the more finished work, which, for the sake of distinction, I will call,--and I don't think we can have a much better term--"furniture sculpture;" sculpture, that is, which can be moved from place to furnish rooms. For observe, to that sculpture the spectator is usually brought in a tranquil or prosaic state of mind; he sees it associated rather with what is sumptuous than sublime, and under circumstances which address themselves more to his comfort than his curiosity. The statue which is to be pathetic, seen between the flashes of footmen's livery round the dining-table, must have strong elements of pathos in itself; and the statue which is to be awful, in the midst of the gossip of the drawing- room, must have the elements of awe wholly in itself. But the spectator is brought to _your_ work already in an excited and imaginative mood. He has been impressed by the cathedral wall as it loomed over the low streets, before he looks up to the carving of its porch--and his love of mystery has been touched by the silence and the shadows of the cloister, before he can set himself to decipher the bosses on its vaulting. So that when once he begins to observe your doings, he will ask nothing better from you, nothing kinder from you, than that you would meet this imaginative temper of his half way;--that you would farther touch the sense of terror, or satisfy the expectation of things strange, which have been prompted by the mystery or the majesty of the surrounding scene. And thus, your leaving forms more or less undefined, or carrying out your fancies, however extravagant, in grotesqueness of shadow or shape, will be for the most part in accordance with the temper of the observer; and he is likely, therefore, much more willingly to use his fancy to help your meanings, than his judgment to detect your faults. Again. Remember that when the imagination and feelings are strongly excited, they will not only bear with strange things, but they will _look_ into _minute_ things with a delight quite unknown in hours of tranquillity. You surely must remember moments of your lives in which, under some strong excitement of feeling, all the details of visible objects presented themselves with a strange intensity and insistance, whether you would or no; urging themselves upon the mind, and thrust upon the eye, with a force of fascination which you could not refuse. Now, to a certain extent, the senses get into this state whenever the imagination is strongly excited. Things trivial at other times assume a dignity or significance which we cannot explain; but which is only the more attractive because inexplicable: and the powers of attention, quickened by the feverish excitement, fasten and feed upon the minutest circumstances of detail, and remotest traces of intention. So that what would at other times be felt as more or less mean or extraneous in a work of sculpture, and which would assuredly be offensive to the perfect taste in its moments of languor, or of critical judgment, will be grateful, and even sublime, when it meets this frightened inquisitiveness, this fascinated watchfulness, of the roused imagination. And this is all for your advantage; for, in the beginnings of your sculpture, you will assuredly find it easier to imitate minute circumstances of costume or character, than to perfect the anatomy of simple forms or the flow of noble masses; and it will be encouraging to remember that the grace you cannot perfect, and the simplicity you cannot achieve, would be in great part vain, even if you could achieve them, in their appeal to the hasty curiosity of passionate fancy; but that the sympathy which would be refused to your science will be granted to your innocence: and that the mind of the general observer, though wholly unaffected by the correctness of anatomy or propriety of gesture, will follow you with fond and pleased concurrence, as you carve the knots of the hair, and the patterns of the vesture. Farther yet. We are to remember that not only do the associated features of the larger architecture tend to excite the strength of fancy, but the architectural laws to which you are obliged to submit your decoration stimulate its _ingenuity_. Every crocket which you are to crest with sculpture,--every foliation which you have to fill, presents itself to the spectator's fancy, not only as a pretty thing, but as a _problematic_ thing. It contained, he perceives immediately, not only a beauty which you wished to display, but a necessity which you were forced to meet; and the problem, how to occupy such and such a space with organic form in any probable way, or how to turn such a boss or ridge into a conceivable image of life, becomes at once, to him as to you, a matter of amusement as much as of admiration. The ordinary conditions of perfection in form, gesture, or feature, are willingly dispensed with, when the ugly dwarf and ungainly goblin have only to gather themselves into angles, or crouch to carry corbels; and the want of skill which, in other kinds of work would have been required for the finishing of the parts, will at once be forgiven here, if you have only disposed ingeniously what you have executed roughly, and atoned for the rudeness of your hands by the quickness of your wits. Hitherto, however, we have been considering only the circumstances in architecture favourable to the development of the _powers_ of imagination. A yet more important point for us seems, to me, the place which it gives to all the _objects_ of imagination. For, I suppose, you will not wish me to spend any time in proving, that imagination must be vigorous in proportion to the quantity of material which it has to handle; and that, just as we increase the range of what we see, we increase the richness of what we can imagine. Granting this, consider what a field is opened to your fancy merely in the subject matter which architecture admits. Nearly every other art is severely limited in its subjects--the landscape painter, for instance, gets little help from the aspects of beautiful humanity; the historical painter, less, perhaps, than he ought, from the accidents of wild nature; and the pure sculptor, still less, from the minor details of common life. But is there anything within range of sight, or conception, which may not be of use to _you_, or in which your interest may not be excited with advantage to your art? From visions of angels, down to the least important gesture of a child at play, whatever may be conceived of Divine, or beheld of Human, may be dared or adopted by you: throughout the kingdom of animal life, no creature is so vast, or so minute, that you cannot deal with it, or bring it into service; the lion and the crocodile will couch about your shafts; the moth and the bee will sun themselves upon your flowers; for you, the fawn will leap; for you, the snail be slow; for you, the dove smooth her bosom; and the hawk spread her wings toward the south. All the wide world of vegetation blooms and bends for you; the leaves tremble that you may bid them be still under the marble snow; the thorn and the thistle, which the earth casts forth as evil, are to you the kindliest servants; no dying petal, nor drooping tendril, is so feeble as to have no more help for you; no robed pride of blossom so kingly, but it will lay aside its purple to receive at your hands the pale immortality. Is there anything in common life too mean,--in common too trivial,--to be ennobled by your touch? As there is nothing in life, so there is nothing in lifelessness which has not its lesson for you, or its gift; and when you are tired of watching the strength of the plume, and the tenderness of the leaf, you may walk down to your rough river shore, or into the thickest markets of your thoroughfares, and there is not a piece of torn cable that will not twine into a perfect moulding; there is not a fragment of cast-away matting, or shattered basket-work, that will not work into a chequer or capital. Yes: and if you gather up the very sand, and break the stone on which you tread, among its fragments of all but invisible shells you will find forms that will take their place, and that proudly, among the starred traceries of your vaulting; and you, who can crown the mountain with its fortress, and the city with its towers, are thus able also to give beauty to ashes, and worthiness to dust. Now, in that your art presents all this material to you, you have already much to rejoice in. But you have more to rejoice in, because all this is submitted to you, not to be dissected or analyzed, but to be sympathized with, and to bring out, therefore, what may be accurately called the moral part of imagination. We saw that, if we kept ourselves among lines only, we should have cause to envy the naturalist, because he was conversant with facts; but you will have little to envy now, if you make yourselves conversant with the feelings that arise out of his facts. For instance, the naturalist coming upon a block of marble, has to begin considering immediately how far its purple is owing to iron, or its whiteness to magnesia; he breaks his piece of marble, and at the close of his day, has nothing but a little sand in his crucible and some data added to the theory of the elements. But _you_ approach your marble to sympathize with it, and rejoice over its beauty. You cut it a little indeed; but only to bring out its veins more perfectly; and at the end of your day's work you leave your marble shaft with joy and complacency in its perfectness, as marble. When you have to watch an animal instead of a stone, you differ from the naturalist in the same way. He may, perhaps, if he be an amiable naturalist, take delight in having living creatures round him;--still, the major part of his work is, or has been, in counting feathers, separating fibres, and analyzing structures. But _your_ work is always with the living creature; the thing you have to get at in him is his life, and ways of going about things. It does not matter to you how many cells there are in his bones, or how many filaments in his feathers; what you want is his moral character and way of behaving himself; it is just that which your imagination, if healthy, will first seize--just that which your chisel, if vigorous, will first cut. You must get the storm spirit into your eagles, and the lordliness into your lions, and the tripping fear into your fawns; and in order to do this, you must be in continual sympathy with every fawn of them; and be hand-in-glove with all the lions, and hand-in-claw with all the hawks. And don't fancy that you will lower yourselves by sympathy with the lower creatures; you cannot sympathize rightly with the higher, unless you do with those: but you have to sympathize with the higher, too-- with queens, and kings, and martyrs, and angels. Yes, and above all, and more than all, with simple humanity in all its needs and ways, for there is not one hurried face that passes you in the street that will not be impressive, if you can only fathom it. All history is open to you, all high thoughts and dreams that the past fortunes of men can suggest, all fairy land is open to you--no vision that ever haunted forest, or gleamed over hill-side, but calls you to understand how it came into men's hearts, and may still touch them; and all Paradise is open to you--yes, and the work of Paradise; for in bringing all this, in perpetual and attractive truth, before the eyes of your fellow-men, you have to join in the employment of the angels, as well as to imagine their companies. And observe, in this last respect, what a peculiar importance, and responsibility, are attached to your work, when you consider its permanence, and the multitudes to whom it is addressed. We frequently are led, by wise people, to consider what responsibility may sometimes attach to words, which yet, the chance is, will be heard by few, and forgotten as soon as heard. But none of _your_ words will be heard by few, and none will be forgotten, for five or six hundred years, if you build well. You will talk to all who pass by; and all those little sympathies, those freaks of fancy, those jests in stone, those workings-out of problems in caprice, will occupy mind after mind of utterly countless multitudes, long after you are gone. You have not, like authors, to plead for a hearing, or to fear oblivion. Do but build large enough, and carve boldly enough, and all the world will hear you; they cannot choose but look. I do not mean to awe you by this thought; I do not mean that because you will have so many witnesses and watchers, you are never to jest, or do anything gaily or lightly; on the contrary, I have pleaded, from the beginning, for this art of yours, especially because it has room for the whole of your character--if jest is in you, let the jest be jested; if mathematical ingenuity is yours, let your problem be put, and your solution worked out, as quaintly as you choose; above all, see that your work is easily and happily done, else it will never make anybody else happy; but while you thus give the rein to all your impulses, see that those impulses be headed and centred by one noble impulse; and let that be Love--triple love--for the art which you practise, the creation in which you move, and the creatures to whom you minister. I. I say, first, Love for the art which you practise. Be assured that if ever any other motive becomes a leading one in your mind, as the principal one for exertion, except your love of art, that moment it is all over with your art. I do not say you are to desire money, nor to desire fame, nor to desire position; you cannot but desire all three; nay, you may--if you are willing that I should use the word Love in a desecrated sense--love all three; that is, passionately covet them, yet you must not covet or love them in the first place. Men of strong passions and imaginations must always care a great deal for anything they care for at all; but the whole question is one of first or second. Does your art lead you, or your gain lead you? You may like making money exceedingly; but if it come to a fair question, whether you are to make five hundred pounds less by this business, or to spoil your building, and you choose to spoil your building, there's an end of you. So you may be as thirsty for fame as a cricket is for cream; but, if it come to a fair question, whether you are to please the mob, or do the thing as you know it ought to be done; and you can't do both, and choose to please the mob, it's all over with you--there's no hope for you; nothing that you can do will ever be worth a man's glance as he passes by. The test is absolute, inevitable--Is your art first with you? Then you are artists; you may be, after you have made your money, misers and usurers; you may be, after you have got your fame, jealous, and proud, and wretched, and base: but yet, _as long as you won't spoil your work_, you are artists. On the other hand--Is your money first with you, and your fame first with you? Then, you may be very charitable with your money, and very magnificent with your money, and very graceful in the way you wear your reputation, and very courteous to those beneath you, and very acceptable to those above you; but you are _not artists_. You are mechanics, and drudges. II. You must love the creation you work in the midst of. For, wholly in proportion to the intensity of feeling which you bring to the subject you have chosen, will be the depth and justice of our perception of its character. And this depth of feeling is not to be gained on the instant, when you want to bring it to bear on this or that. It is the result of the general habit of striving to feel rightly; and, among thousands of various means of doing this, perhaps the one I ought specially to name to you, is the keeping yourselves clear of petty and mean cares. Whatever you do, don't be anxious, nor fill your heads with little chagrins and little desires. I have just said, that you may be great artists, and yet be miserly and jealous, and troubled about many things. So you may be; but I said also that the miserliness or trouble must not be in your hearts all day. It is possible that you may get a habit of saving money; or it is possible, at a time of great trial, you may yield to the temptation of speaking unjustly of a rival,--and you will shorten your powers arid dim your sight even by this;--but the thing that you have to dread far more than any such unconscious habit, or--any such momentary fall--is the _constancy of small emotions_;--the anxiety whether Mr. So-and-so will like your work; whether such and such a workman will do all that you want of him, and so on;--not wrong feelings or anxieties in themselves, but impertinent, and wholly incompatible with the full exercise of your imagination. Keep yourselves, therefore, quiet, peaceful, with your eyes open. It doesn't matter at all what Mr. So-and-so thinks of your work; but it matters a great deal what that bird is doing up there in its nest, or how that vagabond child at the street corner is managing his game of knuckle-down. And remember, you cannot turn aside from your own interests, to the birds' and the children's interests, unless you have long before got into the habit of loving and watching birds and children; so that it all comes at last to the forgetting yourselves, and the living out of yourselves, in the calm of the great world, or if you will, in its agitation; but always in a calm of your own bringing. Do not think it wasted time to submit yourselves to any influence which may bring upon you any noble feeling. Rise early, always watch the sunrise, and the way the clouds break from the dawn; you will cast your statue-draperies in quite another than your common way, when the remembrance of that cloud motion is with you, and of the scarlet vesture of the morning. Live always in the springtime in the country; you do not know what leaf-form means, unless you have seen the buds burst, and the young leaves breathing low in the sunshine, and wondering at the first shower of rain. But above all, accustom yourselves to look for, and to love, all nobleness of gesture and feature in the human form; and remember that the highest nobleness is usually among the aged, the poor, and the infirm; you will find, in the end, that it is not the strong arm of the soldier, nor the laugh of the young beauty, that are the best studies for you. Look at them, and look at them reverently; but be assured that endurance is nobler than strength, and patience than beauty; and that it is not in the high church pews, where the gay dresses are, but in the church free seats, where the widows' weeds are, that you may see the faces that will fit best between the angels' wings, in the church porch. III. And therefore, lastly, and chiefly, you must love the creatures to whom you minister, your fellow-men; for, if you do not love them, not only will you be little interested in the passing events of life, but in all your gazing at humanity, you will be apt to be struck only by outside form, and not by expression. It is only kindness and tenderness which will ever enable you to see what beauty there is in the dark eyes that are sunk with weeping, and in the paleness of those fixed faces which the earth's adversity has compassed about, till they shine in their patience like dying watchfires through twilight. But it is not this only which makes it needful for you, if you would be great, to be also kind; there is a most important and all-essential reason in the very nature of your own art. So soon as you desire to build largely, and with addition of noble sculpture, you will find that your work must be associative. You cannot carve a whole cathedral yourself--you can carve but few and simple parts of it. Either your own work must be disgraced in the mass of the collateral inferiority, or you must raise your fellow-designers to correspondence of power. If you have genius, you will yourselves take the lead in the building you design; you will carve its porch and direct its disposition. But for all subsequent advancement of its detail, you must trust to the agency and the invention of others; and it rests with you either to repress what faculties your workmen have, into cunning subordination to your own; or to rejoice in discovering even the powers that may rival you, and leading forth mind after mind into fellowship with your fancy, and association with your fame. I need not tell you that if you do the first--if you endeavour to depress or disguise the talents of your subordinates--you are lost; for nothing could imply more darkly and decisively than this, that your art and your work were not beloved by you; that it was your own prosperity that you were seeking, and your own skill only that you cared to contemplate. I do not say that you must not be jealous at all; it is rarely in human nature to be wholly without jealousy; and you may be forgiven for going some day sadly home, when you find some youth, unpractised and unapproved, giving the life-stroke to his work which you, after years of training, perhaps, cannot reach; but your jealousy must not conquer--your love of your building must conquer, helped by your kindness of heart. See--I set no high or difficult standard before you. I do not say that you are to surrender your pre-eminence in _mere_ unselfish generosity. But I do say that you must surrender your pre-eminence in your love of your building helped by your kindness; and that whomsoever you find better able to do what will adorn it than you,--that person you are to give place to; and to console yourselves for the humiliation, first, by your joy in seeing the edifice grow more beautiful under his chisel, and secondly, by your sense of having done kindly and justly. But if you are morally strong enough to make the kindness and justice the first motive, it will be better;--best of all, if you do not consider it as kindness at all, but bare and stern justice; for, truly, such help as we can give each other in this world is a _debt_ to each other; and the man who perceives a superiority or a capacity in a subordinate, and neither confesses, nor assists it, is not merely the withholder of kindness, but the committer of injury. But be the motive what you will, only see that you do the thing; and take the joy of the consciousness that, as your art embraces a wider field than all others--and addresses a vaster multitude than all others--and is surer of audience than all others--so it is profounder and holier in Fellowship than all others. The artist, when his pupil is perfect, must see him leave his side that he may declare his distinct, perhaps opponent, skill. Man of science wrestles with man of science for priority of discovery, and pursues in pangs of jealous haste his solitary inquiry. You alone are called by kindness,-- by necessity,--by equity, to fraternity of toil; and thus, in those misty and massive piles which rise above the domestic roofs of our ancient cities, there was--there may be again--a meaning more profound and true than any that fancy so commonly has attached to them. Men say their pinnacles point to heaven. Why, so does every tree that buds, and every bird that rises as it sings. Men say their aisles are good for worship. Why, so is every mountain glen, and rough sea-shore. But this they have of distinct and indisputable glory,--that their mighty walls were never raised, and never shall be, but by men who love and aid each other in their weakness;--that all their interlacing strength of vaulted stone has its foundation upon the stronger arches of manly fellowship, and all their changing grace of depressed or lifted pinnacle owes its cadence and completeness to sweeter symmetries of human soul. LECTURE V. THE WORK OP IRON, IN NATURE, ART, AND POLICY. _A Lecture Delivered at Tunbridge Wells, February, 1858._ When first I heard that you wished me to address you this evening, it was a matter of some doubt with me whether I could find any subject that would possess any sufficient interest for you to justify my bringing you out of your comfortable houses on a winter's night. When I venture to speak about my own special business of art, it is almost always before students of art, among whom I may sometimes permit myself to be dull, if I can feel that I am useful: but a mere talk about art, especially without examples to refer to (and I have been unable to prepare any careful illustrations for this lecture), is seldom of much interest to a general audience. As I was considering what you might best bear with me in speaking about, there came naturally into my mind a subject connected with the origin and present prosperity of the town you live in; and, it seemed to me, in the out-branchings of it, capable of a very general interest. When, long ago (I am afraid to think how long), Tunbridge Wells was my Switzerland, and I used to be brought down here in the summer, a sufficiently active child, rejoicing in the hope of clambering sandstone cliffs of stupendous height above the common, there used sometimes, as, I suppose, there are in the lives of all children at the Wells, to be dark days in my life--days of condemnation to the pantiles and band--under which calamities my only consolation used to be in watching, at every turn in my walk, the welling forth of the spring over the orange rim of its marble basin. The memory of the clear water, sparkling over its saffron stain, came back to me as the strongest image connected with the place; and it struck me that you might not be unwilling, to-night, to think a little over the full significance of that saffron stain, and of the power, in other ways and other functions, of the steelly element to which so many here owe returning strength and life;--chief as it has been always, and is yet more and more markedly so day by day, among the precious gifts of the earth. The subject is, of course, too wide to be more than suggestively treated; and even my suggestions must be few, and drawn chiefly from my own fields of work; nevertheless, I think I shall have time to indicate some courses of thought which you may afterwards follow out for yourselves if they interest you; and so I will not shrink from the full scope of the subject which I have announced to you--the functions of Iron, in Nature, Art, and Policy. Without more preface, I will take up the first head. I. IRON IN NATURE.--You all probably know that the ochreous stain, which, perhaps, is often thought to spoil the basin of your spring, is iron in a state of rust: and when you see rusty iron in other places you generally think, not only that it spoils the places it stains, but that it is spoiled itself--that rusty iron is spoiled iron. For most of our uses it generally is so; and because we cannot use a rusty knife or razor so well as a polished one, we suppose it to be a great defect in iron that it is subject to rust. But not at all. On the contrary, the most perfect and useful state of it is that ochreous stain; and therefore it is endowed with so ready a disposition to get itself into that state. It is not a fault in the iron, but a virtue, to be so fond of getting rusted, for in that condition it fulfils its most important functions in the universe, and most kindly duties to mankind. Nay, in a certain sense, and almost a literal one, we may say that iron rusted is Living; but when pure or polished, Dead. You all probably know that in the mixed air we breathe, the part of it essentially needful to us is called oxygen; and that this substance is to all animals, in the most accurate sense of the word, "breath of life." The nervous power of life is a different thing; but the supporting element of the breath, without which the blood, and therefore the life, cannot be nourished, is this oxygen. Now it is this very same air which the iron breathes when it gets rusty. It takes the oxygen from the atmosphere as eagerly as we do, though it uses it differently. The iron keeps all that it gets; we, and other animals, part with it again; but the metal absolutely keeps what it has once received of this aerial gift; and the ochreous dust which we so much despise is, in fact, just so much nobler than pure iron, in so far as it is _iron and the air._ Nobler, and more useful--for, indeed, as I shall be able to show you presently--the main service of this metal, and of all other metals, to us, is not in making knives, and scissors, and pokers, and pans, but in making the ground we feed from, and nearly all the substances first needful to our existence. For these are all nothing but metals and oxygen--metals with breath put into them. Sand, lime, clay, and the rest of the earths--potash and soda, and the rest of the alkalies--are all of them metals which have undergone this, so to speak, vital change, and have been rendered fit for the service of man by permanent unity with the purest air which he himself breathes. There is only one metal which does not rust readily; and that, in its influence on Man hitherto, has caused Death rather than Life; it will not be put to its right use till it is made a pavement of, and so trodden under foot. Is there not something striking in this fact, considered largely as one of the types, or lessons, furnished by the inanimate creation? Here you have your hard, bright, cold, lifeless metal--good enough for swords and scissors--but not for food. You think, perhaps, that your iron is wonderfully useful in a pure form, but how would you like the world, if all your meadows, instead of grass, grew nothing but iron wire--if all your arable ground, instead of being made of sand and clay, were suddenly turned into flat surfaces of steel--if the whole earth, instead of its green and glowing sphere, rich with forest and flower, showed nothing but the image of the vast furnace of a ghastly engine--a globe of black, lifeless, excoriated metal? It would be that,--probably it was once that; but assuredly it would be, were it not that all the substance of which it is made sucks and breathes the brilliancy of the atmosphere; and as it breathes, softening from its merciless hardness, it falls into fruitful and beneficent dust; gathering itself again into the earths from which we feed, and the stones with which we build;-- into the rocks that frame the mountains, and the sands that bind the sea. Hence, it is impossible for you to take up the most insignificant pebble at your feet, without being able to read, if you like, this curious lesson in it. You look upon it at first as if it were earth only. Nay, it answers, "I am not earth--I am earth and air in one; part of that blue heaven which you love, and long for, is already in me; it is all my life--without it I should be nothing, and able for nothing; I could not minister to you, nor nourish you--I should be a cruel and helpless thing; but, because there is, according to my need and place in creation, a kind of soul in me, I have become capable of good, and helpful in the circles of vitality." Thus far the same interest attaches to all the earths, and all the metals of which they are made; but a deeper interest, and larger beneficence belong to that ochreous earth of iron which stains the marble of your springs. It stains much besides that marble. It stains the great earth wheresoever you can see it, far and wide--it is the colouring substance appointed to colour the globe for the sight, as well as subdue it to the service of man. You have just seen your hills covered with snow, and, perhaps, have enjoyed, at first, the contrast of their fair white with the dark blocks of pine woods; but have you ever considered how you would like them always white--not pure white, but dirty white--the white of thaw, with all the chill of snow in it, but none of its brightness? That is what the colour of the earth would be without its iron; that would be its colour, not here or there only, but in all places, and at all times. Follow out that idea till you get it in some detail. Think first of your pretty gravel walks in your gardens, yellow and fine, like plots of sunshine between the flower- beds; fancy them all suddenly turned to the colour of ashes. That is what they would be without iron ochre. Think of your winding walks over the common, as warm to the eye as they are dry to the foot, and imagine them all laid down suddenly with gray cinders. Then pass beyond the common into the country, and pause at the first ploughed field that you see sweeping up the hill sides in the sun, with its deep brown furrows, and wealth of ridges all a-glow, heaved aside by the ploughshare, like deep folds of a mantle of russet velvet--fancy it all changed suddenly into grisly furrows in a field of mud. That is what it would be without iron. Pass on, in fancy, over hill and dale, till you reach the bending line of the sea shore; go down upon its breezy beach--watch the white foam flashing among the amber of it, and all the blue sea embayed in belts of gold: then fancy those circlets of far sweeping shore suddenly put into mounds of mourning--all those golden sands turned into gray slime, the fairies no more able to call to each other, "Come unto these yellow sands;" but, "Come unto these drab sands." That is what they would be, without iron. Iron is in some sort, therefore, the sunshine and light of landscape, so far as that light depends on the ground; but it is a source of another kind of sunshine, quite as important to us in the way we live at present--sunshine, not of landscape, but of dwelling-place. In these days of swift locomotion I may doubtless assume that most of my audience have been somewhere out of England--have been in Scotland, or France, or Switzerland. Whatever may have been their impression, on returning to their own country, of its superiority or inferiority in other respects, they cannot but have felt one thing about it--the comfortable look of its towns and villages. Foreign towns are often very picturesque, very beautiful, but they never have quite that look of warm self-sufficiency and wholesome quiet, with which our villages nestle themselves down among the green fields. If you will take the trouble to examine into the sources of this impression, you will find that by far the greater part of that warm and satisfactory appearance depends upon the rich scarlet colour of the bricks and tiles. It does not belong to the neat building--very neat building has an uncomfortable rather than a comfortable look--but it depends on the _warm_ building; our villages are dressed in red tiles as our old women are in red cloaks; and it does not matter how worn the cloaks, or how bent and bowed the roof may be, so long as there are no holes in either one or the other, and the sobered but unextinguishable colour still glows in the shadow of the hood, and burns among the green mosses of the gable. And what do you suppose dyes your tiles of cottage roof? You don't paint them. It is nature who puts all that lovely vermilion into the clay for you; and all that lovely vermilion is this oxide of iron. Think, therefore, what your streets of towns would become--ugly enough, indeed, already, some of them, but still comfortable-looking-- if instead of that warm brick red, the houses became all pepper-and- salt colour. Fancy your country villages changing from that homely scarlet of theirs which, in its sweet suggestion of laborious peace, is as honourable as the soldiers' scarlet of laborious battle--suppose all those cottage roofs, I say, turned at once into the colour of unbaked clay, the colour of street gutters in rainy weather. That's what they would be, without iron. There is, however, yet another effect of colour in our English country towns which, perhaps, you may not all yourselves have noticed, but for which you must take the word of a sketcher. They are not so often merely warm scarlet as they are warm purple;--a more beautiful colour still: and they owe this colour to a mingling with the vermilion of the deep grayish or purple hue of our fine Welsh slates on the more respectable roofs, made more blue still by the colour of intervening atmosphere. If you examine one of these Welsh slates freshly broken, you will find its purple colour clear and vivid; and although never strikingly so after it has been long exposed to weather, it always retains enough of the tint to give rich harmonies of distant purple in opposition to the green of our woods and fields. Whatever brightness or power there is in the hue is entirely owing to the oxide of iron. Without it the slates would either be pale stone colour, or cold gray, or black. Thus far we have only been considering the use and pleasantness of iron in the common earth of clay. But there are three kinds of earth which in mixed mass and prevalent quantity, form the world. Those are, in common language, the earths of clay, of lime, and of flint. Many other elements are mingled with these in sparing quantities; but the great frame and substance of the earth is made of these three, so that wherever you stand on solid ground, in any country of the globe, the thing that is mainly under your feet will be either clay, limestone, or some condition of the earth of flint, mingled with both. These being what we have usually to deal with, Nature seems to have set herself to make these three substances as interesting to us, and as beautiful for us, as she can. The clay, being a soft and changeable substance, she doesn't take much pains about, as we have seen, till it is baked; she brings the colour into it only when it receives a permanent form. But the limestone and flint she paints, in her own way, in their native state: and her object in painting them seems to be much the same as in her painting of flowers; to draw us, careless and idle human creatures, to watch her a little, and see what she is about--that being on the whole good for us,--her children. For Nature is always carrying on very strange work with this limestone and flint of hers: laying down beds of them at the bottom of the sea; building islands out of the sea; filling chinks and veins in mountains with curious treasures; petrifying mosses, and trees, and shells; in fact, carrying on all sorts of business, subterranean or submarine, which it would be highly desirable for us, who profit and live by it, to notice as it goes on. And apparently to lead us to do this, she makes picture-books for us of limestone and flint; and tempts us, like foolish children as we are, to read her books by the pretty colours in them. The pretty colours in her limestone-books form those variegated marbles which all mankind have taken delight to polish and build with from the beginning of time; and the pretty colours in her flint-books form those agates, jaspers, cornelians, bloodstones, onyxes, cairngorms, chrysoprases, which men have in like manner taken delight to cut, and polish, and make ornaments of, from the beginning of time; and yet, so much of babies are they, and so fond of looking at the pictures instead of reading the book, that I question whether, after six thousand years of cutting and polishing, there are above two or three people out of any given hundred, who know, or care to know, how a bit of agate or a bit of marble was made, or painted. How it was made, may not be always very easy to say; but with what it was painted there is no manner of question. All those beautiful violet veinings and variegations of the marbles of Sicily and Spain, the glowing orange and amber colours of those of Siena, the deep russet of the Rosso antico, and the blood-colour of all the precious jaspers that enrich the temples of Italy; and, finally, all the lovely transitions of tint in the pebbles of Scotland and the Rhine, which form, though not the most precious, by far the most interesting portion of our modern jewellers' work;--all these are painted by nature with this one material only, variously proportioned and applied--the oxide of iron that stains your Tunbridge springs. But this is not all, nor the best part of the work of iron. Its service in producing these beautiful stones is only rendered to rich people, who can afford to quarry and polish them. But Nature paints for all the world, poor and rich together: and while, therefore, she thus adorns the innermost rocks of her hills, to tempt your investigation, or indulge your luxury,--she paints, far more carefully, the outsides of the hills, which are for the eyes of the shepherd and the ploughman. I spoke just now of the effect in the roofs of our villages of their purple slates: but if the slates are beautiful even in their flat and formal rows on house-roofs, much more are they beautiful on the rugged crests and flanks of their native mountains. Have you ever considered, in speaking as we do so often of distant blue hills, what it is that makes them blue? To a certain extent it is distance; but distance alone will not do it. Many hills look white, however distant. That lovely dark purple colour of our Welsh and Highland hills is owing, not to their distance merely, but to their rocks. Some of their rocks are, indeed, too dark to be beautiful, being black or ashy gray; owing to imperfect and porous structure. But when you see this dark colour dashed with russet and blue, and coming out in masses among the green ferns, so purple that you can hardly tell at first whether it is rock or heather, then you must thank your old Tunbridge friend, the oxide of iron. But this is not all. It is necessary for the beauty of hill scenery that Nature should colour not only her soft rocks, but her hard ones; and she colours them with the same thing, only more beautifully. Perhaps you have wondered at my use of the word "purple," so often of stones; but the Greeks, and still more the Romans, who had profound respect for purple, used it of stone long ago. You have all heard of "porphyry" as among the most precious of the harder massive stones. The colour which gave it that noble name, as well as that which gives the flush to all the rosy granite of Egypt--yes, and to the rosiest summits of the Alps themselves--is still owing to the same substance--your humble oxide of iron. And last of all: A nobler colour than all these--the noblest colour ever seen on this earth--one which belongs to a strength greater than that of the Egyptian granite, and to a beauty greater than that of the sunset or the rose--is still mysteriously connected with the presence of this dark iron. I believe it is not ascertained on what the crimson of blood actually depends; but the colour is connected, of course, with its vitality, and that vitality with the existence of iron as one of its substantial elements. Is it not strange to find this stern and strong metal mingled so delicately in our human life, that we cannot even blush without its help? Think of it, my fair and gentle hearers; how terrible the alternative--sometimes you have actually no choice but to be brazen- faced, or iron-faced! In this slight review of some of the functions of the metal, you observe that I confine myself strictly to its operations as a colouring element. I should only confuse your conception of the facts, if I endeavoured to describe its uses as a substantial element, either in strengthening rocks, or influencing vegetation by the decomposition of rocks. I have not, therefore, even glanced at any of the more serious uses of the metal in the economy of nature. But what I wish you to carry clearly away with you is the remembrance that in all these uses the metal would be nothing without the air. The pure metal has no power, and never occurs in nature at all except in meteoric stones, whose fall no one can account for, and which are useless after they have fallen: in the necessary work of the world, the iron is invariably joined with the oxygen, and would be capable of no service or beauty whatever without it. II. IRON IN ART.--Passing, then, from the offices of the metal in the operations of nature to its uses in the hands of man, you must remember, in the outset, that the type which has been thus given you, by the lifeless metal, of the action of body and soul together, has noble antitype in the operation of all human power. All art worthy the name is the energy--neither of the human body alone, nor of the human soul alone, but of both united, one guiding the other: good craftsmanship and work of the fingers, joined with good emotion and work of the heart. There is no good art, nor possible judgment of art, when these two are not united; yet we are constantly trying to separate them. Our amateurs cannot be persuaded but that they may produce some kind of art by their fancy or sensibility, without going through the necessary manual toil. That is entirely hopeless. Without a certain number, and that a very great number, of steady acts of hand--a practice as careful and constant as would be necessary to learn any other manual business--no drawing is possible. On the other side, the workman, and those who employ him, are continually trying to produce art by trick or habit of fingers, without using their fancy or sensibility. That also is hopeless. Without mingling of heart-passion with hand-power, no art is possible. [Footnote: No fine art, that is. See the previous definition of fine art at p. 38.] The highest art unites both in their intensest degrees: the action of the hand at its finest, with that of the heart at its fullest. Hence it follows that the utmost power of art can only be given in a material capable of receiving and retaining the influence of the subtlest touch of the human hand. That hand is the most perfect agent of material power existing in the universe; and its full subtlety can only be shown when the material it works on, or with, is entirely yielding. The chords of a perfect instrument will receive it, but not of an imperfect one; the softly bending point of the hair pencil, and soft melting of colour, will receive it, but not even the chalk or pen point, still less the steel point, chisel, or marble. The hand of a sculptor may, indeed, be as subtle as that of a painter, but all its subtlety is not bestowable nor expressible: the touch of Titian, Correggio, or Turner, [Footnote: See Appendix IV., "Subtlety of Hand."] is a far more marvellous piece of nervous action than can be shown in anything but colour, or in the very highest conditions of executive expression in music. In proportion as the material worked upon is less delicate, the execution necessarily becomes lower, and the art with it. This is one main principle of all work. Another is, that whatever the material you choose to work with, your art is base if it does not bring out the distinctive qualities of that material. The reason of this second law is, that if you don't want the qualities of the substance you use, you ought to use some other substance: it can be only affectation, and desire to display your skill, that lead you to employ a refractory substance, and therefore your art will all be base. Glass, for instance, is eminently, in its nature, transparent. If you don't want transparency, let the glass alone. Do not try to make a window look like an opaque picture, but take an opaque ground to begin with. Again, marble is eminently a solid and massive substance. Unless you want mass and solidity, don't work in marble. If you wish for lightness, take wood; if for freedom, take stucco; if for ductility, take glass. Don't try to carve leathers, or trees, or nets, or foam, out of marble. Carve white limbs and broad breasts only out of that. So again, iron is eminently a ductile and tenacious substance-- tenacious above all things, ductile more than most. When you want tenacity, therefore, and involved form, take iron. It is eminently made for that. It is the material given to the sculptor as the companion of marble, with a message, as plain as it can well be spoken, from the lips of the earth-mother, "Here's for you to cut, and here's for you to hammer. Shape this, and twist that. What is solid and simple, carve out; what is thin and entangled, beat out. I give you all kinds of forms to be delighted in;--fluttering leaves as well as fair bodies; twisted branches as well as open brows. The leaf and the branch you may beat and drag into their imagery: the body and brow you shall reverently touch into their imagery. And if you choose rightly and work rightly, what you do shall be safe afterwards. Your slender leaves shall not break off in my tenacious iron, though they may be rusted a little with an iron autumn. Your broad surfaces shall not be unsmoothed in my pure crystalline marble--no decay shall touch them. But if you carve in the marble what will break with a touch, or mould in the metal what a stain of rust or verdigris will spoil, it is your fault--not mine." These are the main principles in this matter; which, like nearly all other right principles in art, we moderns delight in contradicting as directly and specially as may be. We continually look for, and praise, in our exhibitions the sculpture of veils, and lace, and thin leaves, and all kinds of impossible things pushed as far as possible in the fragile stone, for the sake of showing the sculptor's dexterity. [Footnote: I do not mean to attach any degree of blame to the effort to represent leafage in marble for certain expressive purposes. The later works of Mr. Munro have depended for some of their most tender thoughts on a delicate and skilful use of such accessories. And in general, leaf sculpture is good and admirable, if it renders, as in Gothic work, the grace and lightness of the leaf by the arrangement of light and shadow --supporting the masses well by strength of stone below; but all carving is base which proposes to itself _slightness_ as an aim, and tries to imitate the absolute thinness of thin or slight things, as much modern wood carving does, I saw in Italy, a year or two ago, a marble sculpture of birds' nests.] On the other hand, we _cast_ our iron into bars--brittle, though an inch thick--sharpen them at the ends, and consider fences, and other work, made of such materials, decorative! I do not believe it would be easy to calculate the amount of mischief done to our taste in England by that fence iron-work of ours alone. If it were asked of us by a single characteristic, to distinguish the dwellings of a country into two broad sections; and to set, on one side, the places where people were, for the most part, simple, happy, benevolent, and honest; and, on the other side, the places where at least a great number of the people were sophisticated, unkind, uncomfortable, and unprincipled, there is, I think, one feature that you could fix upon as a positive test: the uncomfortable and unprincipled parts of a country would be the parts where people lived among iron railings, and the comfortable and principled parts where they had none. A broad generalization, you will say! Perhaps a little too broad; yet, in all sobriety, it will come truer than you think. Consider every other kind of fence or defence, and you will find some virtue in it; but in the iron railing none. There is, first, your castle rampart of stone--somewhat too grand to be considered here among our types of fencing; next, your garden or park wall of brick, which has indeed often an unkind look on the outside, but there is more modesty in it than unkindness. It generally means, not that the builder of it wants to shut you out from the view of his garden, but from the view of himself: it is a frank statement that as he needs a certain portion of time to himself, so he needs a certain portion of ground to himself, and must not be stared at when he digs there in his shirt- sleeves, or plays at leapfrog with his boys from school, or talks over old times with his wife, walking up and down in the evening sunshine. Besides, the brick wall has good practical service in it, and shelters you from the east wind, and ripens your peaches and nectarines, and glows in autumn like a sunny bank. And, moreover, your brick wall, if you build it properly, so that it shall stand long enough, is a beautiful thing when it is old, and has assumed its grave purple red, touched with mossy green. Next to your lordly wall, in dignity of enclosure, comes your close-set wooden paling, which is more objectionable, because it commonly means enclosure on a larger scale than people want. Still it is significative of pleasant parks, and well-kept field walks, and herds of deer, and other such aristocratic pastoralisms, which have here and there their proper place in a country, and may be passed without any discredit. Next to your paling, comes your low stone dyke, your mountain fence, indicative at a glance either of wild hill country, or of beds of stone beneath the soil; the hedge of the mountains--delightful in all its associations, and yet more in the varied and craggy forms of the loose stones it is built of; and next to the low stone wall, your lowland hedge, either in trim line of massive green, suggested of the pleasances of old Elizabethan houses, and smooth alleys for aged feet, and quaint labyrinths for young ones, or else in fair entanglement of eglantine and virgin's bower, tossing its scented luxuriance along our country waysides;--how many such you have here among your pretty hills, fruitful with black clusters of the bramble for boys in autumn, and crimson hawthorn berries for birds in winter. And then last, and most difficult to class among fences, comes your handrail, expressive of all sorts of things; sometimes having a knowing and vicious look, which it learns at race-courses; sometimes an innocent and tender look, which it learns at rustic bridges over cressy brooks; and sometimes a prudent and protective look, which it learns on passes of the Alps, where it has posts of granite and bars of pine, and guards the brows of cliffs and the banks of torrents. So that in all these kinds of defence there is some good, pleasant, or noble meaning. But what meaning has the iron railing? Either, observe, that you are living in the midst of such bad characters that you must keep them out by main force of bar, or that you are yourself of a character requiring to be kept inside in the same manner. Your iron railing always means thieves outside, or Bedlam inside; it _can_ mean nothing else than that. If the people outside were good for anything, a hint in the way of fence would be enough for them; but because they are violent and at enmity with you, you are forced to put the close bars and the spikes at the top. Last summer I was lodging for a little while in a cottage in the country, and in front of my low window there were, first some beds of daisies, then a row of gooseberry and currant bushes, and then a low wall about three feet above the ground, covered with stone-cress. Outside, a corn-field, with its green ears glistening in the sun, and a field path through it, just past the garden gate. From my window I could see every peasant of the village who passed that way, with basket on arm for market, or spade on shoulder for field. When I was inclined for society, I could lean over my wall, and talk to anybody; when I was inclined for science, I could botanize all along the top of my wall-- there were four species of stone-cress alone growing on it; and when I was inclined for exercise, I could jump over my wall, backwards and forwards. That's the sort of fence to have in a Christian country; not a thing which you can't walk inside of without making yourself look like a wild beast, nor look at out of your window in the morning without expecting to see somebody impaled upon it in the night. And yet farther, observe that the iron railing is a useless fence--it can shelter nothing, and support nothing; you can't nail your peaches to it, nor protect your flowers with it, nor make anything whatever out of its costly tyranny; and besides being useless, it is an insolent fence;--it says plainly to everybody who passes--"You may be an honest person,--but, also, you may be a thief: honest or not, you shall not get in here, for I am a respectable person, and much above you; you shall only see what a grand place I have got to keep you out of--look here, and depart in humiliation." This, however, being in the present state of civilization a frequent manner of discourse, and there being unfortunately many districts where the iron railing is unavoidable, it yet remains a question whether you need absolutely make it ugly, no less than significative of evil. You must have railings round your squares in London, and at the sides of your areas; but need you therefore have railings so ugly that the constant sight of them is enough to neutralise the effect of all the schools of art in the kingdom? You need not. Far from such necessity, it is even in your power to turn all your police force of iron bars actually into drawing masters, and natural historians. Not, of course, without some trouble and some expense; you can do nothing much worth doing, in this world, without trouble, you can get nothing much worth having without expense. The main question is only--what is worth doing and having:--Consider, therefore, if this be not. Here is your iron railing, as yet, an uneducated monster; a sombre seneschal, incapable of any words, except his perpetual "Keep out!" and "Away with you!" Would it not be worth some trouble and cost to turn this ungainly ruffian porter into a well-educated servant; who, while he was severe as ever in forbidding entrance to evilly-disposed people, should yet have a kind word for well-disposed people, and a pleasant look, and a little useful information at his command, in case he should be asked a question by the passers-by? We have not time to-night to look at many examples of ironwork; and those I happen to have by me are not the best; ironwork is not one of my special subjects of study; so that I only have memoranda of bits that happened to come into picturesque subjects which I was drawing for other reasons. Besides, external ironwork is more difficult to find good than any other sort of ancient art; for when it gets rusty and broken, people are sure, if they can afford it, to send it to the old iron shop, and get a fine new grating instead; and in the great cities of Italy, the old iron is thus nearly all gone: the best bits I remember in the open air were at Brescia;--fantastic sprays of laurel- like foliage rising over the garden gates; and there are a few fine fragments at Verona, and some good trellis-work enclosing the Scala tombs; but on the whole, the most interesting pieces, though by no means the purest in style, are to be found in out-of-the-way provincial towns, where people do not care, or are unable, to make polite alterations. The little town of Bellinzona, for instance, on the south of the Alps, and that of Sion on the north, have both of them complete schools of ironwork in their balconies and vineyard gates. That of Bellinzona is the best, though not very old--I suppose most of it of the seventeenth century; still it is very quaint and beautiful. Here, for example, are two balconies, from two different houses; one has been a cardinal's, and the hat is the principal ornament of the balcony; its tassels being wrought with delightful delicacy and freedom; and catching the eye clearly even among the mass of rich wreathed leaves. These tassels and strings are precisely the kind of subject fit for ironwork--noble in ironwork, they would have been entirely ignoble in marble, on the grounds above stated. The real plant of oleander standing in the window enriches the whole group of lines very happily. The other balcony, from a very ordinary-looking house in the same street, is much more interesting in its details. It is shown in the plate as it appeared last summer, with convolvulus twined about the bars, the arrow-shaped living leaves mingled among the leaves of iron; but you may see in the centre of these real leaves a cluster of lighter ones, which are those of the ironwork itself. This cluster is worth giving a little larger to show its treatment. Fig. 2 (in Appendix V.) is the front view of it: Fig. 4, its profile. It is composed of a large tulip in the centre; then two turkscap lilies; then two pinks, a little conventionalized; then two narcissi; then two nondescripts, or, at least, flowers I do not know; and then two dark buds, and a few leaves. I say, dark buds, for all these flowers have been coloured in their original state. The plan of the group is exceedingly simple: it is all enclosed in a pointed arch (Fig. 3, Appendix V.): the large mass of the tulip forming the apex; a six-foiled star on each side; then a jagged star; then a five-foiled star; then an unjagged star or rose; finally a small bud, so as to establish relation and cadence through the whole group. The profile is very free and fine, and the upper bar of the balcony exceedingly beautiful in effect;--none the less so on account of the marvellously simple means employed. A thin strip of iron is bent over a square rod; out of the edge of this strip are cut a series of triangular openings--widest at top, leaving projecting teeth of iron (Appendix, Fig. 5); then each of these projecting pieces gets a little sharp tap with the hammer in front, which beaks its edge inwards, tearing it a little open at the same time, and the thing is done. The common forms of Swiss ironwork are less naturalistic than these Italian balconies, depending more on beautiful arrangements of various curve; nevertheless, there has been a rich naturalist school at Fribourg, where a few bell-handles are still left, consisting of rods branched into laurel and other leafage. At Geneva, modern improvements have left nothing; but at Annecy, a little good work remains; the balcony of its old hôtel de ville especially, with a trout of the lake --presumably the town arms--forming its central ornament. I might expatiate all night--if you would sit and hear me--on the treatment of such required subject, or introduction of pleasant caprice by the old workmen; but we have no more time to spare, and I must quit this part of our subject--the rather as I could not explain to you the intrinsic merit of such ironwork without going fully into the theory of curvilinear design; only let me leave with you this one distinct assertion--that the quaint beauty and character of many natural objects, such as intricate branches, grass, foliage (especially thorny branches and prickly foliage), as well as that of many animals, plumed, spined, or bristled, is sculpturally expressible in iron only, and in iron would be majestic and impressive in the highest degree; and that every piece of metal work you use might be, rightly treated, not only a superb decoration, but a most valuable abstract of portions of natural forms, holding in dignity precisely the same relation to the painted representation of plants, that a statue does to the painted form of man. It is difficult to give you an idea of the grace and interest which the simplest objects possess when their forms are thus abstracted from among the surrounding of rich circumstance which in nature disturbs the feebleness of our attention. In Plate 2, a few blades of common green grass, and a wild leaf or two--just as they were thrown by nature,--are thus abstracted from the associated redundance of the forms about them, and shown on a dark ground: every cluster of herbage would furnish fifty such groups, and every such group would work into iron (fitting it, of course, rightly to its service) with perfect ease, and endless grandeur of result. III. IRON in POLICY.--Having thus obtained some idea of the use of iron in art, as dependent on its ductility, I need not, certainly, say anything of its uses in manufacture and commerce; we all of us know enough,--perhaps a little too much--about _them_. So I pass lastly to consider its uses in policy; dependent chiefly upon its tenacity-- that is to say, on its power of bearing a pull, and receiving an edge. These powers, which enable it to pierce, to bind, and to smite, render it fit for the three great instruments, by which its political action may be simply typified; namely, the Plough, the Fetter, and the Sword. On our understanding the right use of these three instruments, depend, of course, all our power as a nation, and all our happiness as individuals. I. THE PLOUGH.--I say, first, on our understanding the right use of the plough, with which, in justice to the fairest of our labourers, we must always associate that feminine plough--the needle. The first requirement for the happiness of a nation is that it should understand the function in this world of these two great instruments: a happy nation may be defined as one in which the husband's hand is on the plough, and the housewife's on the needle; so in due time reaping its golden harvest, and shining in golden vesture: and an unhappy nation is one which, acknowledging no use of plough nor needle, will assuredly at last find its storehouse empty in the famine, and its breast naked to the cold. Perhaps you think this is a mere truism, which I am wasting your time in repeating. I wish it were. By far the greater part of the suffering and crime which exist at this moment in civilized Europe, arises simply from people not understanding this truism--not knowing that produce or wealth is eternally connected by the laws of heaven and earth with resolute labour; but hoping in some way to cheat or abrogate this everlasting law of life, and to feed where they have not furrowed, and be warm where they have not woven. I repeat, nearly all our misery and crime result from this one misapprehension. The law of nature is, that a certain quantity of work is necessary to produce a certain quantity of good, of any kind whatever. If you want knowledge, you must toil for it: if food, you must toil for it; and if pleasure, you must toil for it. But men do not acknowledge this law, or strive to evade it, hoping to get their knowledge, and food, and pleasure for nothing; and in this effort they either fail of getting them, and remain ignorant and miserable, or they obtain them by making other men work for their benefit; and then they are tyrants and robbers. Yes, and worse than robbers. I am not one who in the least doubts or disputes the progress of this century in many things useful to mankind; but it seems to me a very dark sign respecting us that we look with so much indifference upon dishonesty and cruelty in the pursuit of wealth. In the dream of Nebuchadnezzar it was only the _feet_ that were part of iron and part of clay; but many of us are now getting so cruel in our avarice, that it seems as if, in us, the _heart_ were part of iron, and part of clay. From what I have heard of the inhabitants of this town, I do not doubt but that I may be permitted to do here what I have found it usually thought elsewhere highly improper and absurd to do, namely, trace a few Bible sentences to their practical result. You cannot but have noticed how often in those parts of the Bible which are likely to be oftenest opened when people look for guidance, comfort, or help in the affairs of daily life, namely, the Psalms and Proverbs, mention is made of the guilt attaching to the _Oppression_ of the poor. Observe: not the neglect of them, but the _Oppression_ of them: the word is as frequent as it is strange. You can hardly open either of those books, but somewhere in their pages you will find a description of the wicked man's attempts against the poor: such as--"He doth ravish the poor when he getteth him into his net." "He sitteth in the lurking places of the villages; his eyes are privily set against the poor." "In his pride he doth persecute the poor, and blesseth the covetous, whom God abhorreth." "His mouth is full of deceit and fraud; in the secret places doth he murder the innocent. Have the workers of iniquity no knowledge, who eat up my people as they eat bread? They have drawn out the sword, and bent the bow, to cast down the poor and needy." "They are corrupt, and speak wickedly concerning oppression." "Pride compasseth them about as a chain, and violence as a garment." "Their poison is like the poison of a serpent. Ye weigh the violence of your hands in the earth." Yes: "Ye weigh the violence of your hands:"--weigh these words as well. The last things we ever usually think of weighing are Bible words. We like to dream and dispute over them; but to weigh them, and see what their true contents are--anything but that. Yet, weigh these; for I have purposely taken all these verses, perhaps more striking to you read in this connection, than separately in their places, out of the Psalms, because, for all people belonging to the Established Church of this country these Psalms are appointed lessons, portioned out to them by their clergy to be read once through every month. Presumably, therefore, whatever portions of Scripture we may pass by or forget, these at all events, must be brought continually to our observance as useful for direction of daily life. Now, do we ever ask ourselves what the real meaning of these passages may be, and who these wicked people are, who are "murdering the innocent?" You know it is rather singular language this!--rather strong language, we might, perhaps, call it-- hearing it for the first time. Murder! and murder of innocent people!-- nay, even a sort of cannibalism. Eating people,--yes, and God's people, too--eating _My_ people as if they were bread! swords drawn, bows bent, poison of serpents mixed! violence of hands weighed, measured, and trafficked with as so much coin! where is all this going on? Do you suppose it was only going on in the time of David, and that nobody but Jews ever murder the poor? If so, it would surely be wiser not to mutter and mumble for our daily lessons what does not concern us; but if there be any chance that it may concern us, and if this description, in the Psalms, of human guilt is at all generally applicable, as the descriptions in the Psalms of human sorrow are, may it not be advisable to know wherein this guilt is being committed round about us, or by ourselves? and when we take the words of the Bible into our mouths in a congregational way, to be sure whether we mean merely to chant a piece of melodious poetry relating to other people--(we know not exactly to whom)--or to assert our belief in facts bearing somewhat stringently on ourselves and our daily business. And if you make up your minds to do this no longer, and take pains to examine into the matter, you will find that these strange words, occurring as they do, not in a few places only, but almost in every alternate psalm and every alternate chapter of proverb, or prophecy, with tremendous reiteration, were not written for one nation or one time only; but for all nations and languages, for all places and all centuries; and it is as true of the wicked man now as ever it was of Nabal or Dives, that "his eyes are set against the poor." Set _against_ the poor, mind you. Not merely set _away_ from the poor, so as to neglect or lose sight of them, but set against, so as to afflict and destroy them. This is the main point I want to fix. your attention upon. You will often hear sermons about neglect or carelessness of the poor. But neglect and carelessness are not at all the points. The Bible hardly ever talks about neglect of the poor. It always talks of _oppression_ of the poor--a very different matter. It does not merely speak of passing by on the other side, and binding up no wounds, but of drawing the sword and ourselves smiting the men down. It does not charge us with being idle in the pest-house, and giving no medicine, but with being busy in the pest-house, and giving much poison. May we not advisedly look into this matter a little, even tonight, and ask first, Who are these poor? No country is, or ever will be, without them: that is to say, without the class which cannot, on the average, do more by its labour than provide for its subsistence, and which has no accumulations of property laid by on any considerable scale. Now there are a certain number of this class whom we cannot oppress with much severity. An able-bodied and intelligent workman--sober, honest, and industrious, will almost always command a fair price for his work, and lay by enough in a few years to enable him to hold his own in the labour market. But all men are not able-bodied, nor intelligent, nor industrious; and you cannot expect them to be. Nothing appears to me at once more ludicrous and more melancholy than the way the people of the present age usually talk about the morals of labourers. You hardly ever address a labouring man upon his prospects in life, without quietly assuming that he is to possess, at starting, as a small moral capital to begin with, the virtue of Socrates, the philosophy of Plato, and the heroism of Epaminondas. "Be assured, my good man,"--you say to him,--"that if you work steadily for ten hours a day all your life long, and if you drink nothing but water, or the very mildest beer, and live on very plain food, and never lose your temper, and go to church every Sunday, and always remain content in the position in which Providence has placed you, and never grumble nor swear; and always keep your clothes decent, and rise early, and use every opportunity of improving yourself, you will get on very well, and never come to the parish." All this is exceedingly true; but before giving the advice so confidently, it would be well if we sometimes tried it practically ourselves, and spent a year or so at some hard manual labour, not of an entertaining kind--ploughing or digging, for instance, with a very moderate allowance of beer; nothing hut bread and cheese for dinner; no papers nor muffins in the morning; no sofas nor magazines at night; one small room for parlour and kitchen; and a large family of children always in the middle of the floor. If we think we could, under these circumstances, enact Socrates or Epaminondas entirely to our own satisfaction, we shall be somewhat justified in requiring the same behaviour from our poorer neighbours; but if not, we should surely consider a little whether among the various forms of the oppression of the poor, we may not rank as one of the first and likeliest--the oppression of expecting too much from them. But let this pass; and let it be admitted that we can never be guilty of oppression towards the sober, industrious, intelligent, exemplary labourer. There will always be in the world some who are not altogether, intelligent and exemplary; we shall, I believe, to the end of time find the majority somewhat unintelligent, a little inclined to be idle, and occasionally, on Saturday night, drunk; we must even be prepared to hear of reprobates who like skittles on Sunday morning better than prayers; and of unnatural parents who send their children out to beg instead of to go to school. Now these are the kind of people whom you _can_ oppress, and whom you do oppress, and that to purpose,--and with all the more cruelty and the greater sting, because it is just their own fault that puts them into your power. You know the words about wicked people are, "He doth ravish the poor when he getteth him _into his net_." This getting into the net is constantly the fault or folly of the sufferer--his own heedlessness or his own indolence; but after he is once in the net, the oppression of him, and making the most of his distress, are ours. The nets which we use against the poor are just those worldly embarrassments which either their ignorance or their improvidence are almost certain at some time or other to bring them into: then, just at the time when we ought to hasten to help them, and disentangle them, and teach them how to manage better in future, we rush forward to _pillage_ them, and force all we can out of them in their adversity. For, to take one instance only, remember this is literally and simply what we do, whenever we buy, or try to buy, cheap goods-- goods offered at a price which we know cannot be remunerative for the labour involved in them. Whenever we buy such goods, remember we are stealing somebody's labour. Don't let us mince the matter. I say, in plain Saxon, STEALING--taking from him the proper reward of his work, and putting it into our own pocket. You know well enough that the thing could not have been offered you at that price, unless distress of some kind had forced the producer to part with it. You take advantage of this distress, and you force as much out of him as you can under the circumstances. The old barons of the middle ages used, in general, the thumbscrew to extort property; we moderns use, in preference, hunger or domestic affliction: but the fact of extortion remains precisely the same. Whether we force the man's property from him by pinching his stomach, or pinching his fingers, makes some difference anatomically;-- morally, none whatsoever: we use a form of torture of some sort in order to make him give up his property; we use, indeed, the man's own anxieties, instead of the rack; and his immediate peril of starvation, instead of the pistol at the head; but otherwise we differ from Front de B�uf, or Dick Turpin, merely in being less dexterous, more cowardly, and more cruel. More cruel, I say, because the fierce baron and the redoubted highwayman are reported to have robbed, at least by preference, only the rich; _we_ steal habitually from the poor. We buy our liveries, and gild our prayer-books, with pilfered pence out of children's and sick men's wages, and thus ingeniously dispose a given quantity of Theft, so that it may produce the largest possible measure of delicately distributed suffering. But this is only one form of common oppression of the poor--only one way of taking our hands off the plough handle, and binding another's upon it. This first way of doing it is the economical way--the way preferred by prudent and virtuous people. The bolder way is the acquisitive way:--the way of speculation. You know we are considering at present the various modes in which a nation corrupts itself, by not acknowledging the eternal connection between its plough and its pleasure;--by striving to get pleasure, without working for it. Well, I say the first and commonest way of doing so is to try to get the product of other people's work, and enjoy it ourselves, by cheapening their labour in times of distress: then the second way is that grand one of watching the chances of the market;--the way of speculation. Of course there are some speculations that are fair and honest-- speculations made with our own money, and which do not involve in their success the loss, by others, of what we gain. But generally modern speculation involves much risk to others, with chance of profit only to ourselves: even in its best conditions it is merely one of the forms of gambling or treasure hunting; it is either leaving the steady plough and the steady pilgrimage of life, to look for silver mines beside the way; or else it is the full stop beside the dice-tables in Vanity Fair --investing all the thoughts and passions of the soul in the fall of the cards, and choosing rather the wild accidents of idle fortune than the calm and accumulative rewards of toil. And this is destructive enough, at least to our peace and virtue. But is usually destructive of far more than _our_ peace, or _our_ virtue. Have you ever deliberately set yourselves to imagine and measure the suffering, the guilt, and the mortality caused necessarily by the failure of any large-dealing merchant, or largely-branched bank? Take it at the lowest possible supposition- count, at the fewest you choose, the families whose means of support have been involved in the catastrophe. Then, on the morning after the intelli- gence of ruin, let us go forth amongst them in earnest thought; let us use that imagination which we waste so often on fictitious sorrow, to measure the stern facts of that multitudinous distress; strike open the private doors of their chambers, and enter silently into the midst of the domestic misery; look upon the old men, who had reserved for their failing strength some remainder of rest in the evening-tide of life, cast helplessly back into its trouble and tumult; look upon the active strength of middle age suddenly blasted into incapacity--its hopes crushed, and its hardly earned rewards snatched away in the same instant--at once the heart withered, and the right arm snapped; look upon the piteous children, delicately nurtured, whose soft eyes, now large with wonder at their parents' grief, must soon be set in the dimness of famine; and, far more than all this, look forward to the length of sorrow beyond--to the hardest labour of life, now to be undergone either in all the severity of unexpected and inexperienced trial, or else, more bitter still, to be begun again, and endured for the second time, amidst the ruins of cherished hopes and the feebleness of advancing years, embittered by the continual sting and taunt of the inner feeling that it has all been brought about, not by the fair course of appointed circumstance, but by miserable chance and wanton treachery; and, last of all, look beyond this--to the shattered destinies of those who have faltered under the trial, and sunk past recovery to despair. And then consider whether the hand which has poured this poison into all the springs of life be one whit less guiltily red with human blood than that which literally pours the hemlock into the cup, or guides the dagger to the heart? We read with horror of the crimes of a Borgia or a Tophana; but there never lived Borgias such as live now in the midst of us. The cruel lady of Ferrara slew only in the strength of passion--she slew only a few, those who thwarted her purposes or who vexed her soul; she slew sharply and suddenly, embittering the fate of her victims with no foretastes of destruction, no prolongations of pain; and, finally and chiefly, she slew, not without remorse, nor without pity. But _we,_ in no storm of passion--in no blindness of wrath,--we, in calm and clear and untempted selfishness, pour our poison--not for a few only, but for multitudes;--not for those who have wronged us, or resisted,--but for those who have trusted us and aided:--we, not with sudden gift of merciful and unconscious death, but with slow waste of hunger and weary rack of disappointment and despair;--we, last and chiefly, do our murdering, not with any pauses of pity or scorching of conscience, but in facile and forgetful calm of mind--and so, forsooth, read day by day, complacently, as if they meant any one else than ourselves, the words that forever describe the wicked: "The _poison of asps_ is under their lips, and their _feet are swift to shed blood._" You may indeed, perhaps, think there is some excuse for many in this matter, just because the sin is so unconscious; that the guilt is not so great when it is unapprehended, and that it is much more pardonable to slay heedlessly than purposefully. I believe no feeling can be more mistaken, and that in reality, and in the sight of heaven; the callous indifference which pursues its own interests at any cost of life, though it does not definitely adopt the purpose of sin, is a state of mind at once more heinous and more hopeless than the wildest aberrations of ungoverned passion. There may be, in the last case, some elements of good and of redemption still mingled in the character; but, in the other, few or none. There may be hope for the man who has slain his enemy in anger; hope even for the man who has betrayed his friend in fear; but what hope for him who trades in unregarded blood, and builds his fortune on unrepented treason? But, however this may be, and wherever you may think yourselves bound in justice to impute the greater sin, be assured that the question is one of responsibilities only, not of facts. The definite result of all our modern haste to be rich is assuredly, and constantly, the murder of a certain number of persons by our hands every year. I have not time to go into the details of another--on the whole, the broadest and terriblest way in which we cause the destruction of the poor--namely, the way of luxury and waste, destroying, in improvidence, what might have been the support of thousands; [Footnote: The analysis of this error will be found completely carried out in my lectures on the political economy of art. And it is an error worth analyzing; for until it is finally trodden under foot, no healthy political, economical, or moral action is _possible_ in any state. I do not say this impetuously or suddenly, for I have investigated this subject as deeply; and as long, as my own special subject of art; and the principles of political economy which I have stated in those lectures are as sure as the principles of Euclid. Foolish readers doubted their certainty, because I told them I had "never read any books on Political Economy" Did they suppose I had got my knowledge of art by reading books?] but if you follow out the subject for yourselves at home--and what I have endeavoured to lay before you to-night will only be useful to you if you do--you will find that wherever and whenever men are endeavouring to _make money hastily_, and to avoid the labour which Providence has appointed to be tho only source of honourable profit;--and also wherever and whenever they permit themselves to _spend it luxuriously_, without reflecting how far they are misguiding the labour of others;--there and then, in either case, they are literally and infallibly causing, for their own benefit or their own pleasure, a certain annual number of human deaths; that, therefore, the choice given to every man born into this world is, simply, whether he will be a labourer, or an assassin; and that whosoever has not his hand on the Stilt of the plough, has it on the Hilt of the dagger. It would also be quite vain for me to endeavour to follow out this evening the lines of thought which would be suggested by the other two great political uses of iron in the Fetter and the Sword: a few words only I must permit myself respecting both. 2. THE FETTER.--As the plough is the typical instrument of industry, so the fetter is the typical instrument of the restraint or subjection necessary in a nation--either literally, for its evil-doers, or figuratively, in accepted laws, for its wise and good men. You have to choose between this figurative and literal use; for depend upon it, the more laws you accept, the fewer penalties you will have to endure, and the fewer punishments to enforce. For wise laws and just restraints are to a noble nation not chains, but chain mail--strength and defence, though something also of an incumbrance. And this necessity of restraint, remember, is just as honourable to man as the necessity of labour. You hear every day greater numbers of foolish people speaking about liberty, as if it were such an honourable thing: so far from being that, it is, on the whole, and in the broadest sense, dishonourable, and an attribute of the lower creatures. No human being, however great or powerful, was ever so free as a fish. There is always something that he must, or must not do; while the fish may do whatever he likes. All the kingdoms of the world put together are not half so large as the sea, and all the railroads and wheels that ever were, or will be, invented are not so easy as fins. You will find, on fairly thinking of it, that it is his Restraint which is honourable to man, not his Liberty; and, what is more, it is restraint which is honourable even in the lower animals. A butterfly is much more free than a bee; but you honour the bee more, just because it is subject to certain laws which fit it for orderly function in bee society And throughout the world, of the two abstract things, liberty and restraint, restraint is always the more honourable. It is true, indeed, that in these and all other matters you never can reason finally from the abstraction, for both liberty and restraint are good when they are nobly chosen, and both are bad when they are basely chosen; but of the two, I repeat, it is restraint which characterizes the higher creature, and betters the lower creature: and, from the ministering of the archangel to the labour of the insect,--from the poising of the planets to the gravitation of a grain of dust,--the power and glory of all creatures, and all matter, consist in their obedience, not in their freedom. The Sun has no liberty--a dead leaf has much. The dust of which you are formed has no liberty. Its liberty will come--with its corruption. And, therefore, I say boldly, though it seems a strange thing to say in England, that as the first power of a nation consists in knowing how to guide the Plough, its second power consists in knowing how to wear the Fetter:-- 3. THE SWORD.--And its third power, which perfects it as a nation, consist in knowing how to wield the sword, so that the three talismans of national existence are expressed in these three short words--Labour, Law, and Courage. This last virtue we at least possess; and all that is to be alleged against us is that we do not honour it enough. I do not mean honour by acknowledgment of service, though sometimes we are slow in doing even that. But we do not honour it enough in consistent regard to the lives and souls of our soldiers. How wantonly we have wasted their lives you have seen lately in the reports of their mortality by disease, which a little care and science might have prevented; but we regard their souls less than their lives, by keeping them in ignorance and idleness, and regarding them merely as instruments of battle. The argument brought forward for the maintenance of a standing army usually refers only to expediency in the case of unexpected war, whereas, one of the chief reasons for the maintenance of an army is the advantage of the military system as a method of education. The most fiery and headstrong, who are often also the most gifted and generous of your youths, have always a tendency both in the lower and upper classes to offer themselves for your soldiers: others, weak and unserviceable in a civil capacity, are tempted or entrapped into the army in a fortunate hour for them: out of this fiery or uncouth material, it is only a soldier's discipline which can bring the full value and power. Even at present, by mere force of order and authority, the army is the salvation of myriads; and men who, under other circumstances, would have sunk into lethargy or dissipation, are redeemed into noble life by a service which at once summons and directs their energies. How much more than this military education is capable of doing, you will find only when you make it education indeed. We have no excuse for leaving our private soldiers at their present level of ignorance and want of refinement, for we shall invariably find that, both among officers and men, the gentlest and best informed are the bravest; still less have we excuse for diminishing our army, either in the present state of political events, or, as I believe, in any other conjunction of them that for many a year will be possible in this world. You may, perhaps, be surprised at my saying this; perhaps surprised at my implying that war itself can be right, or necessary, or noble at all. Nor do I speak of all war as necessary, nor of all war as noble. Both peace and war are noble or ignoble according to their kind and occasion. No man has a profounder sense of the horror and guilt of ignoble war than I have: I have personally seen its effects, upon nations, of unmitigated evil, on soul and body, with perhaps as much pity, and as much bitterness of indignation, as any of those whom you will hear continually declaiming in the cause of peace. But peace may be sought in two ways. One way is as Gideon sought it, when he built his altar in Ophrah, naming it, "God send peace," yet sought this peace that he loved, as he was ordered to seek it, and the peace was sent, in God's way:--"the country was in quietness forty years in the days of Gideon." And the other way of seeking peace is as Menahem sought it when he gave the King of Assyria a thousand talents of silver, that "his hand might be with him." That is, you may either win your peace, or buy it:--win it, by resistance to evil;--buy it, by compromise with evil. You may buy your peace, with silenced consciences;--you may buy it, with broken vows,--buy it, with lying words,--buy it, with base connivances,--buy it, with the blood of the slain, and the cry of the captive, and the silence of lost souls--over hemispheres of the earth, while you sit smiling at your serene hearths, lisping comfortable prayers evening and morning, and counting your pretty Protestant beads (which are flat, and of gold, instead of round, and of ebony, as the monks' ones were), and so mutter continually to yourselves, "Peace, peace," when there is No peace; but only captivity and death, for you, as well as for those you leave unsaved;--and yours darker than theirs. I cannot utter to you what I would in this matter; we all see too dimly, as yet, what our great world-duties are, to allow any of us to try to outline their enlarging shadows. But think over what I have said, and as you return to your quiet homes to-night, reflect that their peace was not won for you by your own hands; but by theirs who long ago jeoparded their lives for you, their children; and remember that neither this inherited peace, nor any other, can be kept, but through the same jeopardy. No peace was ever won from Fate by subterfuge or agreement; no peace is ever in store for any of us, but that which we shall win by victory over shame or sin;--victory over the sin that oppresses, as well as over that which corrupts. For many a year to come, the sword of every righteous nation must be whetted to save or subdue; nor will it be by patience of others' suffering, but by the offering of your own, that you ever will draw nearer to the time when the great change shall pass upon the iron of the earth;--when men shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning-hooks; neither shall they learn war any more. APPENDICES. APPENDIX I. RIGHT AND WRONG. Readers who are using my _Elements of Drawing_ may be surprised by my saying here that Tintoret may lead them wrong; while in the _Elements_ he is one of the six men named as being "always right." I bring the apparent inconsistency forward at the beginning of this Appendix, because the illustration of it will be farther useful in showing the real nature of the self-contradiction which is often alleged against me by careless readers. It is not only possible, but a frequent condition of human action, to _do_ right and _be_ right--yet so as to mislead other people if they rashly imitate the thing done. For there are many rights which are not absolutely, but relatively right--right only for _that_ person to do under those circumstances,--not for _this_ person to do under other circumstances. Thus it stands between Titian and Tintoret. Titian is always absolutely Right. You may imitate him with entire security that you are doing the best thing that can possibly be done for the purpose in hand. Tintoret is always relatively Right--relatively to his own aims and peculiar powers. But you must quite understand Tintoret before you can be sure what his aim was, and why he was then right in doing what would not be right always. If, however, you take the pains thus to understand him, he becomes entirely instructive and exemplary, just as Titian is; and therefore I have placed him among those are "always right," and you can only study him rightly with that reverence for him. Then the artists who are named as "admitting question of right and wrong," are those who from some mischance of circumstance or short- coming in their education, do not always do right, even with relation to their own aims and powers. Take for example the quality of imperfection in drawing form. There are many pictures of Tintoret in which the trees are drawn with a few curved flourishes of the brush instead of leaves. That is (absolutely) wrong. If you copied the tree as a model, you would be going very wrong indeed. But it is relatively, and for Tintoret's purposes, right. In the nature of the superficial work you will find there must have been a cause for it. Somebody perhaps wanted the picture in a hurry to fill a dark corner. Tintoret good-naturedly did all he could--painted the figures tolerably--had five minutes left only for the trees, when the servant came. "Let him wait another five minutes." And this is the best foliage we can do in the time. Entirely, admirably, unsurpassably right, under the conditions. Titian would not have worked under them, but Tintoret was kinder and humbler; yet he may lead you wrong if you don't understand him. Or, perhaps, another day, somebody came in while Tintoret was at work, who tormented Tintoret. An ignoble person! Titian would have been polite to him, and gone on steadily with his trees. Tintoret cannot stand the ignobleness; it is unendurably repulsive and discomfiting to him. "The Black Plague take him--and the trees, too! Shall such a fellow see me paint!" And the trees go all to pieces. This, in you, would be mere ill-breeding and ill-temper. In Tintoret it was one of the necessary conditions of his intense sensibility; had he been capable, then, of keeping his temper, he could never have done his greatest works. Let the trees go to pieces, by all means; it is quite right they should; he is always right. But in a background of Gainsborough you would find the trees unjustifiably gone to pieces. The carelessness of form there is definitely purposed by him;--adopted as an advisable thing; and therefore it is both absolutely and relatively wrong;--it indicates his being imperfectly educated as a painter, and not having brought out all his powers. It may still happen that the man whose work thus partially erroneous is greater far, than others who have fewer faults. Gainsborough's and Reynolds' wrongs are more charming than almost anybody else's right. Still, they occasionally _are_ wrong--but the Venetians and Velasquez, [Footnote: At least after his style was formed; early pictures, like the Adoration of the Magi in our Gallery, are of little value.] never. I ought, perhaps, to have added in that Manchester address (only one does not like to say things that shock people) some words of warning against painters likely to mislead the student. For indeed, though here and there something may be gained by looking at inferior men, there is always more to be gained by looking at the best; and there is not time, with all the looking of human life, to exhaust even one great painter's instruction. How then shall we dare to waste our sight and thoughts on inferior ones, even if we could do so, which we rarely can, without danger of being led astray? Nay, strictly speaking, what people call inferior painters are in general no painters. Artists are divided by an impassable gulf into the men who can paint, and who cannot. The men who can paint often fall short of what they should have done;--are repressed, or defeated, or otherwise rendered inferior one to another: still there is an everlasting barrier between them and the men who cannot paint--who can only in various popular ways pretend to paint. And if once you know the difference, there is always some good to be got by looking at a real painter--seldom anything but mischief to be got out of a false one; but do not suppose real painters are common. I do not speak of living men; but among those who labour no more, in this England of ours, since it first had a school, we have had only five real painters;--Reynolds, Gainsborough, Hogarth, Richard Wilson, and Turner. The reader may, perhaps, think I have forgotten Wilkie. No. I once much overrated him as an expressional draughtsman, not having then studied the figure long enough to be able to detect superficial sentiment. But his colour I have never praised; it is entirely false and valueless. And it would tie unjust to English art if I did not here express my regret that the admiration of Constable, already harmful enough in England, is extending even into France. There was, perhaps, the making, in Constable, of a second or third-rate painter, if any careful discipline had developed in him the instincts which, though unparalleled for narrowness, were, as far as they went, true. But as it is, he is nothing more than an industrious and innocent amateur blundering his way to a superficial expression of one or two popular aspects of common nature. And my readers may depend upon it, that all blame which I express in this sweeping way is trustworthy. I have often had to repent of over- praise of inferior men; and continually to repent of insufficient praise of great men; but of broad condemnation, never. For I do not speak it but after the most searching examination of the matter, and under stern sense of need for it: so that whenever the reader is entirely shocked by what I say, he may be assured every word is true.[Footnote: He must, however, be careful to distinguish blame-- however strongly expressed, of some special fault or error in a true painter,--from these general statements of inferiority or worthlessness. Thus he will find me continually laughing at Wilson's tree-painting; not because Wilson could not paint, but because he had never looked at a tree.] It is just because it so much offends him, that it was necessary: and knowing that it must offend him, I should not have ventured to say it, without certainty of its truth. I say "certainty," for it is just as possible to be certain whether the drawing of a tree or a stone is true or false, as whether the drawing of a triangle is; and what I mean primarily by saying that a picture is in all respects worthless, is that it is in all respects False: which is not a matter of opinion at all, but a matter of ascertainable fact, such as I never assert till I have ascertained. And the thing so commonly said about my writings, that they are rather persuasive than just; and that though my "language" may be good, I am an unsafe guide in art criticism, is, like many other popular estimates in such matters, not merely untrue, but precisely the reverse of the truth; it is truth, like reflections in water, distorted much by the shaking receptive surface, and in every particular, upside down. For my "language," until within the last six or seven years, was loose, obscure, and more or less feeble; and still, though I have tried hard to mend it, the best I can do is inferior to much contemporary work. No description that I have ever given of anything is worth four lines of Tennyson; and in serious thought, my half-pages are generally only worth about as much as a single sentence either of his, or of Carlyle's. They are, I well trust, as true and necessary; but they are neither so concentrated nor so well put. But I am an entirely safe guide in art judgment: and that simply as the necessary result of my having given the labour of life to the determination of facts, rather than to the following of feelings or theories. Not, indeed, that my work is free from mistakes; it admits many, and always must admit many, from its scattered range; but, in the long run, it will be found to enter sternly and searchingly into the nature of what it deals with, and the kind of mistake it admits is never dangerous, consisting, usually, in pressing the truth too far. It is quite easy, for instance, to take an accidental irregularity in a piece of architecture, which less careful examination would never have detected at all, for an intentional irregularity; quite possible to misinterpret an obscure passage in a picture, which a less earnest observer would never have tried to interpret. But mistakes of this kind--honest, enthusiastic mistakes--are never harmful; because they are always made in a true direction,--falls forward on the road, not into the ditch beside it; and they are sure to be corrected by the next comer. But the blunt and dead mistakes made by too many other writers on art--the mistakes of sheer inattention, and want of sympathy--are mortal. The entire purpose of a great thinker may be difficult to fathom, and we may be over and over again more or less mistaken in guessing at his meaning; but the real, profound, nay, quite bottomless, and unredeemable mistake, is the fool's thought--that he had no meaning. I do not refer, in saying this, to any of my statements respecting subjects which it has been my main work to study: as far as I am aware, I have never yet misinterpreted any picture of Turner's, though often remaining blind to the half of what he had intended: neither have I as yet found anything to correct in my statements respecting Venetian architecture; [Footnote: The subtle portions of the Byzantine Palaces, given in precise measurements in the second volume of the "Stones of Venice," were alleged by architects to be accidental irregularities. They will be found, by every one who will take the pains to examine them, most assuredly and indisputably intentional,--and not only so, but one of the principal subjects of the designer's care.] but in _casual references_ to what has been quickly seen, it is impossible to guard wholly against error, without losing much valuable observation, true in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, and harmless even when erroneous. APPENDIX II. REYNOLDS' DISAPPOINTMENT. It is very fortunate that in the fragment of Mason's MSS., published lately by Mr. Cotton in his "Sir Joshua Reynolds' Notes," [Footnote: Smith, Soho Square, 1859.] record is preserved of Sir Joshua's feelings respecting the paintings in the window of New College, which might otherwise have been supposed to give his full sanction to this mode of painting on glass. Nothing can possibly be more curious, to my mind, than the great painter's expectations; or his having at all entertained the idea that the qualities of colour which are peculiar to opaque bodies could be obtained in a transparent medium; but so it is: and with the simplicity and humbleness of an entirely great man he hopes that Mr. Jervas on glass is to excel Sir Joshua on canvas. Happily, Mason tells us the result. "With the copy Jervas made of this picture he was grievously disappointed. 'I had frequently,' he said to me, 'pleased myself by reflecting, after I had produced what I thought a brilliant effect of light and shadow on my canvas, how greatly that effect would be heightened by the transparency which the painting on glass would be sure to produce. It turned out quite the reverse.'" APPENDIX III. CLASSICAL ARCHITECTURE. This passage in the lecture was illustrated by an enlargement of the woodcut, Fig. 1; but I did not choose to disfigure the middle of this book with it. It is copied from the 49th plate of the third edition of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_ (Edinburgh, 1797), and represents an English farmhouse arranged on classical principles. If the reader cares to consult the work itself, he will find in the same plate another composition of similar propriety, and dignified by the addition of a pediment, beneath the shadow of which "a private gentleman who has a small family may find conveniency." APPENDIX IV. SUBTLETY OF HAND. I had intended in one or other of these lectures to have spoken at some length of the quality of refinement in Colour, but found the subject would lead me too far. A few words are, however, necessary in order to explain some expressions in the text. "Refinement in colour" is indeed a tautological expression, for colour, in the true sense of the word, does not exist until it _is_ refined. Dirt exists,--stains exist,--and pigments exist, easily enough in all places; and are laid on easily enough by all hands; but colour exists only where there is tenderness, and can be laid on only by a hand which has strong life in it. The law concerning colour is very strange, very noble, in some sense almost awful. In every given touch laid on canvas, if one grain of the colour is inoperative, and does not take its full part in producing the hue, the hue will be imperfect. The grain of colour which does not work is dead. It infects all about it with its death. It must be got quit of, or the touch is spoiled. We acknowledge this instinctively in our use of the phrases "dead colour," "killed colour," "foul colour." Those words are, in some sort, literally true. If more colour is put on than is necessary, a heavy touch when a light one would have been enough, the quantity of colour that was not wanted, and is overlaid by the rest, is as dead, and it pollutes the rest. There will be no good in the touch. The art of painting, properly so called, consists in laying on the least possible colour that will produce the required result, and this measurement, in all the ultimate, that is to say, the principal, operations of colouring, is so delicate that not one human hand in a million has the required lightness. The final touch of any painter properly so named, of Correggio--Titian--Turner--or Reynolds--would be always quite invisible to any one watching the progress of the work, the films of hue being laid thinner than the depths of the grooves in mother-of-pearl. The work may be swift, apparently careless, nay, to the painter himself almost unconscious. Great painters are so organized that they do their best work without effort: but analyze the touches afterwards, and you will find the structure and depth of the colour laid mathematically demonstrable to be of literally infinite fineness, the last touches passing away at their edges by untraceable gradation. The very essence of a master's work may thus be removed by a picture- cleaner in ten minutes. Observe, however, this thinness exists only in portions of the ultimate touches, for which the preparation may often have been made with solid colours, commonly, and literally, called "dead colouring," but even that is always subtle if a master lays it--subtle at least in drawing, if simple in hue; and farther, observe that the refinement of work consists not in laying absolutely _little_ colour, but in always laying precisely the right quantity. To lay on little needs indeed the rare lightness of hand; but to lay much,--yet not one atom _too_ much, and obtain subtlety, not by withholding strength, but by precision of pause,--that is the master's final sign-manual--power, knowledge, and tenderness all united. A great deal of colour may often be wanted; perhaps quite a mass of it, such as shall project from the canvas; but the real painter lays this mass of its required thickness and shape with as much precision as if it were a bud of a flower which he had to touch into blossom; one of Turner's loaded fragments of white cloud is modelled and gradated in an instant, as if it alone were the subject of the picture, when the same quantity of colour, under another hand, would be a lifeless lump. The following extract from a letter in the _Literary Gazette_ of 13th November, 1858, which I was obliged to write to defend a questioned expression respecting Turner's subtlety of hand from a charge of hyperbole, contains some interesting and conclusive evidence on the point, though it refers to pencil and chalk drawing only:-- "I must ask you to allow me yet leave to reply to the objections you make to two statements in my catalogue, as those objections would otherwise diminish its usefulness. I have asserted that, in a given drawing (named as one of the chief in the series), Turner's pencil did not move over the thousandth of an inch without meaning; and you charge this expression with extravagant hyperbole. On the contrary, it is much within the truth, being merely a mathematically accurate description of fairly good execution in either drawing or engraving. It is only necessary to measure a piece of any ordinary good work to ascertain this. Take, for instance, Finden's engraving at the 180th page of Rogers' poems; in which the face of the figure, from the chin to the top of the brow, occupies just a quarter of an inch, and the space between the upper lip and chin as nearly as possible one-seventeenth of an inch. The whole mouth occupies one-third of this space, say one- fiftieth of an inch, and within that space both the lips and the much more difficult inner corner of the mouth are perfectly drawn and rounded, with quite successful and sufficiently subtle expression. Any artist will assure you that in order to draw a mouth as well as this, there must be more than twenty gradations of shade in the touches; that is to say, in this case, gradations changing, with meaning, within less than the thousandth of an inch. "But this is mere child's play compared to the refinement of a first- rate mechanical work--much more of brush or pencil drawing by a master's hand. In order at once to furnish you with authoritative evidence on this point, I wrote to Mr. Kingsley, tutor of Sidney-Sussex College, a friend to whom I always have recourse when I want to be precisely right in any matter; for his great knowledge both of mathematics and of natural science is joined, not only with singular powers of delicate experimental manipulation, but with a keen sensitiveness to beauty in art. His answer, in its final statement respecting Turner's work, is amazing even to me, and will, I should think, be more so to your readers. Observe the successions of measured and tested refinement: here is No. 1:-- "'The finest mechanical work that I know, which is not optical, is that done by Nobert in the way of ruling lines. I have a series ruled by him on glass, giving actual scales from .000024 and .000016 of an inch, perfectly correct to these places of decimals, and he has executed others as fine as .000012, though I do not know how far he could repeat these last with accuracy.' "This is No. 1 of precision. Mr. Kingsley proceeds to No. 2:-- "'But this is rude work compared to the accuracy necessary for the construction of the object-glass of a microscope such as Rosse turns out.' "I am sorry to omit the explanation which follows of the ten lenses composing such a glass, 'each of which must be exact in radius and in surface, and all have their axes coincident:' but it would not be intelligible without the figure by which it is illustrated; so I pass to Mr. Kingsley's No. 3:-- "'I am tolerably familiar,' he proceeds, 'with the actual grinding and polishing of lenses and specula, and have produced by my own hand some by no means bad optical work, and I have copied no small amount of Turner's work, and _I still look with awe at the combined delicacy and precision of his hand_; IT BEATS OPTICAL WORK OUT OF SIGHT. In optical work, as in refined drawing, the hand goes beyond the eye, and one has to depend upon the feel; and when one has once learned what a delicate affair touch is, one gets a horror of all coarse work, and is ready to forgive any amount of feebleness, sooner than that boldness which is akin to impudence. In optics the distinction is easily seen when the work is put to trial; but here too, as in drawing, it requires an educated eye to tell the difference when the work is only moderately bad; but with "bold" work, nothing can be seen but distortion and fog: and I heartily wish the same result would follow the same kind of handling in drawing; but here, the boldness cheats the unlearned by looking like the precision of the true man. It is very strange how much better our ears are than our eyes in this country: if an ignorant man were to be "bold" with a violin, he would not get many admirers, though his boldness was far below that of ninety-nine out of a hundred drawings one sees.' "The words which I have put in italics in the above extract are those which were surprising to me. I knew that Turner's was as refined as any optical work, but had no idea of its going beyond it. Mr. Kingsley's word 'awe' occurring just before, is, however, as I have often felt, precisely the right one. When once we begin at all to understand the handling of any truly great executor, such as that of any of the three great Venetians, of Correggio, or Turner, the awe of it is something greater than can be felt from the most stupendous natural scenery. For the creation of such a system as a high human intelligence, endowed with its ineffably perfect instruments of eye and hand, is a far more appalling manifestation of Infinite Power, than the making either of seas or mountains. "After this testimony to the completion of Turner's work, I need not at length defend myself from the charge of hyperbole in the statement that, 'as far as I know, the galleries of Europe may be challenged to produce one sketch [footnote: A sketch, observe,--not a finished drawing. Sketches are only proper subjects of comparison with each other when they contain about the same quantity of work: the test of their merit is the quantity of truth told with a given number of touches. The assertion in the Catalogue which this letter was written to defend, was made respecting the sketch of Rome, No. 101.] that shall equal the chalk study No. 45, or the feeblest of the memoranda in the 71st and following frames;' which memoranda, however, it should have been observed, are stated at the 44th page to be in some respects 'the grandest work in grey that he did in his life.' For I believe that, as manipulators, none but the four men whom I have just named (the three Venetians and Correggio) were equal to Turner; and, as far as I know, none of those four ever put their full strength into sketches. But whether they did or not, my statement in the catalogue is limited by my own knowledge: and, as far as I can trust that knowledge, it is not an enthusiastic statement, but an entirely calm and considered one. It may be a mistake but it is not a hyperbole." APPENDIX V. I can only give, to illustrate this balcony, fac-similes of rough memoranda made on a single leaf of my note-book, with a tired hand; but it may be useful to young students to see them, in order that they may know the difference between notes made to get at the gist and heart of a thing, and notes made merely to look neat. Only it must be observed that the best characters of free drawing are always lost even in the most careful facsimile; and I should not show even these slight notes in woodcut imitation, unless the reader had it in his power, by a glance at the 21st or 35th plates in _Modern Painters_ (and yet better, by trying to copy a piece of either of them), to ascertain how far I can draw or not. I refer to these plates, because, though I distinctly stated in the preface that they, together with the 12th, 20th, 34th, and 37th, were executed on the steel by my own hand, (the use of the dry point in the foregrounds of the 12th and 21st plates being moreover wholly different from the common processes of etching) I find it constantly assumed that they were engraved for me--as if direct lying in such matters were a thing of quite common usage. Fig. 2 is the centre-piece of the balcony, but a leaf-spray is omitted on the right-hand side, having been too much buried among the real leaves to be drawn. Fig. 3 shows the intended general effect of its masses, the five-leaved and six-leaved flowers being clearly distinguishable at any distance. Fig. 4 is its profile, rather carefully drawn at the top, to show the tulip and turkscap lily leaves. Underneath there is a plate of iron beaten into broad thin leaves, which gives the centre of the balcony a gradual sweep outwards, like the side of a ship of war. The central profile is of the greatest importance in ironwork, as the flow of it affects the curves of the whole design, not merely in surface, as in marble carving, but in their intersections, when the side is seen through the front. The lighter leaves, _b b_, are real bindweed. Fig. 5 shows two of the teeth of the border, illustrating their irregularity of form, which takes place quite to the extent indicated. Fig. 6 is the border at the side of the balcony, showing the most interesting circumstance in the treatment of the whole, namely, the enlargement and retraction of the teeth of the cornice, as it approaches the wall. This treatment of the whole cornice as a kind of wreath round the balcony, having its leaves flung loose at the back, and set close at the front, as a girl would throw a wreath of leaves round her hair, is precisely the most finished indication of a good workman's mind to be found in the whole thing. Fig. 7 shows the outline of the retracted leaves accurately. It was noted in the text that the whole of this ironwork had been coloured. The difficulty of colouring ironwork rightly, and the necessity of doing it in some way or other, have been the principal reasons for my never having entered heartily into this subject; for all the ironwork I have ever seen look beautiful was rusty, and rusty iron will not answer modern purposes. Nevertheless it may be painted, but it needs some one to do it who knows what painting means, and few of us do--certainly none, as yet, of our restorers of decoration or writers on colour. It is a marvellous thing to me that book after book should appear on this last subject, without apparently the slightest consciousness on the part of the writers that the first necessity of beauty in colour is gradation, as the first necessity of beauty in line is curvature,--or that the second necessity in colour is mystery or subtlety, as the second necessity in line is softness. Colour ungradated is wholly valueless; colour unmysterious is wholly barbarous. Unless it looses itself and melts away towards other colours, as a true line loses itself and melts away towards other lines, colour has no proper existence, in the noble sense of the word. What a cube, or tetrahedron, is to organic form, ungradated and unconfused colour is to organic colour; and a person who attempts to arrange colour harmonies without gradation of tint is in precisely the same category, as an artist who should try to compose a beautiful picture out of an accumulation of cubes and parallelepipeds. The value of hue in all illuminations on painted glass of fine periods depends primarily on the expedients used to make the colours palpitate and fluctuate; _inequality_ of brilliancy being the _condition_ of brilliancy, just as inequality of accent is the condition of power and loveliness in sound. The skill with which the thirteenth century illuminators in books, and the Indians in shawls and carpets, use the minutest atoms of colour to gradate other colours, and confuse the eye, is the first secret in their gift of splendour: associated, however, with so many other artifices which are quite instinctive and unteachable, that it is of little use to dwell upon them. Delicacy of organization in the designer given, you will soon have all, and without it, nothing. However, not to close my book with desponding words, let me set down, as many of us like such things, five Laws to which there is no exception whatever, and which, if they can enable no one to produce good colour, are at least, as far as they reach, accurately condemnatory of bad colour. 1. ALL GOOD COLOUR IS GRADATED. A blush rose (or, better still, a blush itself), is the type of rightness in arrangement of pure hue. 2. ALL HARMONIES OF COLOUR DEPEND FOR THEIR VITALITY ON THE ACTION AND HELPFUL OPERATION OF EVERY PARTICLE OF COLOUR THEY CONTAIN. 3. THE FINAL PARTICLES OF COLOUR NECESSARY TO THE COMPLETENESS OF A COLOUR HARMONY ARE ALWAYS INFINITELY SMALL; either laid by immeasurably subtle touches of the pencil, or produced by portions of the colouring substance, however distributed, which are so absolutely small as to become at the intended distance infinitely so to the eye. 4. NO COLOUR HARMONY IS OF HIGH ORDER UNLESS IT INVOLVES INDESCRIBABLE TINTS. It is the best possible sign of a colour when nobody who sees it knows what to call it, or how to give an idea of it to any one else. Even among simple hues the most valuable are those which cannot be defined; the most precious purples will look brown beside pure purple, and purple beside pure brown; and the most precious greens will be called blue if seen beside pure green, and green if seen beside pure blue. 5. THE FINER THE EYE FOR COLOUR, THE LESS IT WILL REQUIRE TO GRATIFY IT INTENSELY. But that little must be supremely good and pure, as the finest notes of a great singer, which are so near to silence. And a great colourist will make even the absence of colour lovely, as the fading of the perfect voice makes silence sacred. 
42317	----	[Illustration: Firing the Kiln _Courtesy of the Rookwood Potteries_] VOCATIONAL EDUCATION SERIES SUPERVISING EDITOR FRED D. CRAWSHAW, M.E. PROFESSOR OF MANUAL ARTS, THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN A TEXTBOOK OF PRACTICAL METHODS FOR STUDENTS, TEACHERS, AND CRAFTSMEN BY WILLIAM H. VARNUM ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF DRAWING AND DESIGN UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY CHICAGO NEW YORK Copyright 1916 by SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY PREFACE _Place for the Book._ As a textbook, INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN is a practical guide for designing in wood, clay, and base and precious metals. It is intended for individual student use in the High Schools, Normal Schools, and Colleges and as a reference book for elementary school teachers. Its more complex problems are intended as definite helps to the industrial arts designer or craftsman. The wood problems are treated with special reference to their adaptability to bench and cabinet work. _Need of the Book._ It has been written to fill a decided demand for a textbook that shall, without loss of time, directly apply well-recognized principles of general design to specific materials and problems encountered in the Industrial Arts. A brief description of the decorative processes adapted to the materials under discussion with the design principles directly applying to these processes, insures designs that may be worked out in the studio or shop. It is hoped that this provision will eliminate the large number of impractical designs that are frequently entirely unfitted to the technic of the craft. This lack of mutual technical understanding between the teacher of design and the shop work instructor is the cause of friction that it is hoped will be removed by the methods advocated in these pages. _The Author's Motive._ It has been the intention to reduce unrelated and abstract theories to a minimum and reach directly rules and conclusions that shall be applicable to typical materials in common use in the schools and industries. The original conception materialized in the publication of a series of articles upon Design in the _Industrial Arts Magazine_, in 1915. These articles were favorably received and their results in the schools proved highly satisfactory. Through this encouragement, the articles have been reprinted in book form, enriched by the addition of illustrations, review questions, and three chapters on color with its applications. INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN develops the principles of industrial design in a new and logical form which, it is believed, will simplify the teaching of craft design. Chapters I to V deal with the elementary problems confronting the designer as he begins the first steps on his working drawing; Chapters VI to VIII show the methods by which he may express his individuality through contour or outline enrichment, while Chapters IX to XVII explain the treatment of the most difficult form of decoration, that of surface enrichment. _The Appendix._ The appendix is added to show the manner in which the rules may be directly applied to a course of study in either pottery or art metal. The present work is not intended to include the chemistry of glaze mixing or other technical requirements to which reference is made in the appendix; consequently the reader is referred to "The Potter's Craft" by C.F. Binns and "Pottery" by George J. Cox for fuller explanations of the formulae and technicalities of the craft. _Source of Principles._ The principles herein advocated are directly related to architectural design which is to be regarded as the standard authority for the industrial arts designer. It was necessary to state these principles in the form of sufficiently flexible rules which would allow the student to use his own judgment, but at the same time, restrict him to the essential principles of good design. _Rules._ This presentation of the principles of design by means of flexible rules in concrete form, serves to vitalize design by virtue of their immediate application to the material. The rules likewise save time for both pupil and instructor. This is regarded as an important factor, inasmuch as the amount of time usually allotted to classroom teaching of design is limited. While these rules are applied to the specific materials, the designer may readily adjust them to other materials and find them equally applicable. Direct copying of designs from the illustrations is a dangerous expedient and is to be discouraged as a form of plagiarism which will eventually destroy the student's initiative, originality, and reputation for creative work. _Results_. From the tests so far observed, it has been seen that under design guidance, the projects become more noticeably individual in character, lighter and better in construction, and more fully adjusted to their environment. The student's interest and initiative in his work are strengthened, and he completes the truly valuable cycle of the educative process of evolving his own idea and crystallizing it in the completed work. It is hoped that this book will tend to develop higher standards of good design in schools, industrial establishments, and the home. In conclusion, the author expresses his thanks to the following for their valuable suggestions and assistance in contributed illustrations: Miss D.F. Wilson, Miss Edna Howard, Miss Elizabeth Upham, Miss A.M. Anderson, Mr. J.M. Dorrans, Mr. J.B. Robinson, author of "Architectural Composition," and others to whom reference is made in the text. WILLIAM HARRISON VARNUM. _Madison, Wisconsin. April, 1916._ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. DIVISIONS OF INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN 7 II. THE PRIMARY MASS AND ITS PROPORTIONS 13 III. HORIZONTAL MAJOR DIVISIONS OF THE PRIMARY MASS 19 IV. VERTICAL MAJOR DIVISIONS OF THE PRIMARY MASS 33 V. APPENDAGES AND THE RULES GOVERNING THEM 43 VI. ENRICHMENT OF THE CONTOURS OR OUTLINES OF DESIGNS IN WOOD 57 VII. ENRICHMENT OF THE CONTOURS OR OUTLINES OF DESIGNS IN CLAY 77 VIII. ENRICHMENT OF THE CONTOURS OR OUTLINES OF DESIGNS IN BASE AND PRECIOUS METALS 87 IX. SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD 99 X. SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD. (Continued) 117 XI. SURFACE ENRICHMENT WITH MINOR SUBDIVISIONS OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD 133 XII. SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF CLAY 145 XIII. SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF PRECIOUS METALS. SMALL FLAT PLANES 160 XIV. SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN BASE AND PRECIOUS METALS 179 XV. COLOR: HUE, VALUE, AND CHROMA; STAINS 194 XVI. COLOR AND ITS RELATION TO INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN. LARGE SURFACES OF WOOD; WALL AND CEILING AREAS 201 XVII. COLOR AND ITS RELATION TO INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN. SMALL SURFACES IN CLAY AND METAL 209 COMPLETE SUMMARY OF RULES 218 APPENDIX 223 (_a_) A Complete Course of Study for the Applied Arts in Thin Base and Precious Metals. Relation of the Rules to the Problems 224 (_b_) A Complete Course of Study for the Applied Arts in Pottery. Relation of the Rules to the Problems 237 INDEX 245 INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN CHAPTER I DIVISIONS OF INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN [Sidenote: Non-technical Criticism] This book has been written with the view of presenting design from the standpoint of the industrial arts. An instructor generally experiences difficulty in finding the exact word to use when criticizing a student's drawing. The student has equal difficulty in understanding the criticism. There is little wonder that he is confused, when the rather ambiguous terms "good-looking," "ugly," "squatty," and "stiff" are used to express qualities that can be expressed only in terms of design. [Sidenote: Intelligent Analysis] The lack of understanding between the pupil and the teacher may be compared to the attitude of the average individual "who knows what he likes." He is on an equally insecure footing regarding industrial design. His reason for liking or disliking a certain thing may depend upon some whim or fancy, the popular fashion of the times, or a desire to possess a duplicate of something he has seen. As a consumer with purchasing power, he should have the ability to _analyze intelligently_ the contents of catalogs and store windows with the thought of securing the best in industrial art--something that may be accepted as standard one hundred years from now. It is, therefore, the intention to present design of industrial character in its simplest form, freed from technicalities or ambiguous statements. It is intended to give the average individual not particularly interested in drawing or design a knowledge of the subject, based upon principles that have survived for hundreds of years in architectural monuments and history. [Sidenote: Results of Clear Criticism] [Illustration: THE FIRST MAJOR DIVISION OF INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN PLATE 1] It is possible that the presentation of these principles may enable the instructor in the public schools to guide his pupil away from the heavy and expensive stereotyped designs, and by clear and simple criticism, lead him to better forms of construction. He may also be helped to lead the pupil to design problems in harmony with his home surroundings and thus avoid the introduction of an inharmonious element into what may possibly be a harmonious setting. The teacher, pupil, or layman should use his knowledge of the subject as a basis for criticism or appreciation of the field of the industrial arts. [Sidenote: Requirements of an Industrial Problem] In order to start successfully upon a design, it is necessary to know what qualities a good industrial article should possess. Whether one is designing a bird-house, a chocolate set, or a gold pendant, the article must meet three needs: (1) It must be of service to the community or to the individual; (2) It must be made of some durable material; (3) It must possess beauty of proportion, outline, and color. Ruskin said that a line of beauty must also be a line of service. The "stream line body" in automobile construction is the result of the automobile maker's attempt to combine beauty with service. This is the attitude that should govern the union of beauty and service in all of the industrial arts. [Sidenote: Divisions in Design Evolution and Enrichment] There are three divisions or phases in the designing of a structure and its enrichment. These are: (1) Structural Design; (2) Contour Enrichment; (3) Surface Enrichment. Some objects are carried through only one of these divisions, while others are developed through all three of them. [Sidenote: First Major Division] Plate 1, illustrative of the first division, deals naturally enough with the planning of the constructive or utilitarian lines of an object and its parts. It may be termed Structural or Constructive Design. Questions of how high or how long an object should be, to harmonize with its width, the proper placing of rails, shelves, and brackets, the determination of the greatest and least diameter of vase forms have to be decided in this period of Proportions and Space Relations. The knowledge of tools and materials, and of the manner in which they may be used for constructive purposes, influences the solution of these questions and others which we shall shortly discuss. Strictly utilitarian objects are seldom carried past this stage of development. [Sidenote: Second Major Division] [Illustration: THE SECOND MAJOR DIVISION IN INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN PLATE 2] Plate 2 indicates the next logical division--Contour Enrichment--or the period of the enrichment of the structural outline or contour. The bounding lines, or contours, of the structure may be enriched in many ways, as, for example, curving certain portions to soften the severity of the plain structure. The garden urn and small stool have contours treated in this manner. Chippendale, Sheraton, and Hepplewhite furniture, simplified to the accepted range of shop technic, vary the straight lines of mission furniture and come within the possible developments of this division. [Sidenote: Effects of Second Division] The cement fence post at _C_, Plate 2, is a strict utilitarian problem without interest. The post at _D_, enriched by a bevel, has equal utilitarian and increased aesthetic interest and value. [Sidenote: Third Major Division] Plate 3 illustrates the last division of evolution and concerns itself with the application of design to the surface of the otherwise complete structure. This division is commonly called applied surface design or decorative design. It is readily seen that this division should be considered after the structure has been carefully planned. To separate this division from the period of structural or contour enrichment we will call it Surface Enrichment. [Sidenote: Steps in Design Evolution] It may be seen from the foregoing discussion that a design may be carried through the following steps: (1) Blocking in the enclosing lines of the design, as at Figure B, Plate 2, adding to this whatever may be needed for structural purposes, keeping the lines as nearly vertical and horizontal as possible; (2) Enriching and varying the outline or contour. It is well for elementary wood workers to use this step with extreme caution, while less reserve is necessary in clay and metal; (3) After careful consideration in determining the need of additional decoration, the last step, surface enrichment, should be used. The following chapters will take up these steps in the order stated above. [Sidenote: Ideal Correlation] The ideal method of developing the principles set forth in this chapter includes correlated activity in the shop by working out the project in the required material. As the technic of the individual improves, the larger range of design principles will be found to accompany and parallel his increasing skill. REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. What three requirements should be met in a well designed industrial article? 2. State three major divisions in industrial arts design. 3. State briefly the problems to be considered in each division. 4. What is the last and ideal step for the designer? [Illustration: THE THIRD MAJOR DIVISION IN INDUSTRIAL ART DESIGN PLATE 3] CHAPTER II THE PRIMARY MASS AND ITS PROPORTIONS [Sidenote: The Architectural Method] Upon first observing a building, one seldom notices details of structure. He sees the large mass as it is silhouetted against the sky. Nearer approach discloses mouldings, cornices, and doorways; while careful analytical study shows the technical points of construction. The architect, in his original planning, thinks in terms of masses, widths, and heights, disregarding at first the details and color. As architecture stands for parent design principles and represents some of the world's best examples of composition and design, industrial design should be based upon the best examples of architectural design. To a certain degree, also, the methods of the industrial arts designer should be those of the architect. [Sidenote: The Industrial Arts Method] It is necessary to think at first of our problem as a single mass or solid, bounded by enclosing dimensions of width, height, and thickness. Details like a mirror, handles, brackets, or knobs may project outside of this mass, but for the time being, they may be disregarded. Figure B, Plate 2, shows this manner of thinking, and will enable us to regard the problem as a big, simple mass so that the entire object, unobstructed by small details, may be seen. [Sidenote: The Primary Mass] This is the method of _thinking_ about the problem which should precede the drawing. To further describe this mass, which will be called the single or Primary Mass, it is necessary to think of the intended service of the project. A rather hazy idea of making a vase or a stool to be put to no particular use, may have been the original motive. Now the exact service should be defined as it will have a marked effect upon the shape of this primary mass. [Sidenote: Service] Rule 1a. _A primary mass must be either vertical or horizontal according to the intended service, unless prohibited by technical requirements._ Service is an important factor inasmuch as it limits the intended use of the mass. A mass is horizontal when its largest dimension is horizontal. When the horizontal dimension of this mass is reduced until the main vertical dimension is longer than the main horizontal one, it becomes a vertical mass. As an example, a davenport is generally a horizontal mass intended to hold a number of people. When the mass is narrowed to the point where the vertical dimension exceeds the horizontal, it becomes a chair for one person. A low bowl may be intended for pansies, but as soon as the service changes and we design it for goldenrod, it becomes a vertical mass. The fable of the fox who, upon being invited to dine with the stork, found the tall vases unfitted for his use illustrates the change of mass with the change of service. [Illustration: ANALYSIS OF THE PRIMARY MASS PLATE 4] [Sidenote: Horizontal and Vertical Primary Masses] Figures 1 and 4, Plate 4, are examples of horizontal masses with the dark lines indicating the dominance of the horizontal lines and planes. The shelter house contains a long bench, making necessary the long horizontal lines of the building. The calendar holder has to be a horizontal mass because of the restrictions imposed by the shape of the calendar pad. Figures 2 and 3 are vertical masses. The vase is intended for tall flowers, while the chair, as has already been mentioned, must meet the needs of a single person. Utility and service then have been found to give the primary mass a given direction or dominance. [Sidenote: Drawing the Primary Mass] The designer now represents this mass by drawing a rectangle similar to the block outline of Figure B, Plate 2. It is now necessary to see if the foundation stones of this rectangle have been laid correctly; in other words, to test the proportions of the primary vertical or horizontal mass. [Sidenote: Proportions of the Primary Masses] Rule 1b. _A primary mass should have the ratio of one to three, three to four, three to five, five to eight, seven to ten, or some similar proportion difficult for the eye to detect readily and analyze._ Proportions are generally expressed in terms of ratios. A surface of five by eight inches would give a ratio of five to eight; ten by sixteen feet is reducible to the same ratio. Certain ratios are monotonous and offend the eye by their lack of variety. Ratios such as one to one or one to two are of this class and should be avoided. If these ratios could speak they would resemble people talking in a low monotonous tone of voice. [Illustration: PROPORTIONATE RATIOS PROCESS OF DESIGNING PLATE 5] [Sidenote: Unsatisfactory Ratios] Certain other ratios are weak and indeterminate, showing a lack of clear thinking. They are like people with no definite or cleancut ideas upon a subject they discuss. Examples in this class show ratios of two to two and one-eighth, or three to three and one-fourth, neither positively square nor frankly rectangular. They hide around the corner, as it were, waiting to be anything. Figure 5, Plate 5, is an example of unsatisfactory proportionate ratios of the primary mass. The blotting tablet is nearly square, while the candlestick and sconce, which should have been designed with strongly vertical masses, lack the type of definite thinking that results in a decided vertical dimension. Disregarding the improvement in technic, Figure 6 shows problems designed with a definite knowledge of proportion. The metal objects are refined in their dimensions, and pleasing to the eye. Tests have been made with the idea of determining what the eye considers perfectly natural and agreeable proportion. This has been found to be the ratio of two to three. Consequently, it is clear why Figure 6 shows objects more pleasing than those in Figure 5. It may be felt that too much space is being given to this subject of proportion. It should be remembered, however, that the industrial arts are intimately associated with daily life and that unless proportions are pleasing to our aesthetic sense, many articles of common use shortly become intolerable. [Sidenote: Preliminary Thinking in Terms of Design] This preliminary portion of the designer's task has been given to thinking out the problem and drawing one rectangle. There is a tendency to start the design by pushing the pencil over the paper with a forlorn hope that a design may be evolved with little mental effort. This should be regarded as illogical and unworthy of the desired end. A rectangle of the most prominent surface of the problem, based upon the desired service of the project, and the best proportions which our knowledge of design and understanding of the limitations of construction will permit, should be the final result of the first study. From now on through the succeeding steps, the details of the problem will become more and more clear, as the technical limitations of the tools and materials governing the designer's ideas and controlling and shaping the work are better understood, until all governing factors become crystallized in the form of a working drawing or model. This is a strictly professional practice as illustrated in Figure 7, which shows the skilled Rookwood potter developing a vase form, the definite embodiment of correct thinking in terms of the material which is constantly before him. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 1a. _A primary mass must be either vertical or horizontal according to the intended service, unless prohibited by technical requirements._ Rule 1b. _A primary mass should have the ratio of one to three, three to four, three to five, five to eight, seven to ten, or some similar proportion difficult for the eye to readily detect and analyze._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. How does the architect first plan his elevations? 2. How should the designer first think of his problem? 3. Define a horizontal primary mass. 4. Define a vertical primary mass. 5. State some desirable ratios to be used in designing the proportions of the primary mass. Explain. CHAPTER III HORIZONTAL MAJOR DIVISIONS OF THE PRIMARY MASS In the second chapter we discussed the nature of the primary mass in its relation to the intended service or duty it has to perform. It was found that the demands of service usually cause the primary mass to be designed with either a strong vertical or horizontal tendency. [Sidenote: Divisions of the Primary Mass] It now becomes imperative to carry the designing processes still further and divide the vertical or horizontal primary mass into parts or divisions, demanded either by structural requirements or because the appearance of the object would be materially improved by their presence. This latter point is sometimes referred to as the aesthetic requirement of the problem. There are two simple types of divisions, those crossing the primary mass horizontally and those crossing the primary mass in a vertical direction. This chapter will be limited to the subject of horizontal divisions. [Sidenote: Nature and Need of Horizontal Space Divisions] If a city purchases a piece of land for park purposes, presumably a landscape architect is assigned the task of laying out the paths and drives. He does this by crossing his plan at intervals with lines to represent paths connecting important points. Under favorable conditions the architect is free to curve his path to suit his ideas. He has considerable freedom in selecting his design but the paths or roads must dip and curve in sympathy with the contour of the land and in accord with the aesthetic requirements. While the landscape designer has a broad latitude in his treatment of land divisions, the industrial designer or architect is restricted, on the other hand, by the structural requirements of the object and by his materials. He must cross his spaces or areas by horizontal shelves, or rails, or bands of metal that hold the structure together. As architecture is of fundamental importance in industrial design, let us see what the architect has in mind in designing a structure. [Illustration: STEPS ILLUSTRATING THE DEVELOPMENT OF HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS FROM PRIMARY MASS TO THE STRUCTURE PLATE 6] [Sidenote: Architectural Horizontal Divisions] The architect has the surface of the ground with which to start. This gives him a horizontal line as the base of his building. He considers it of major importance in his design. We find him crossing the front of his building with horizontal moulding or long bands of colored brick, paralleling the base line and otherwise interestingly dividing the vertical face of the front and sides. His guide is the bottom line of his primary mass or the line of the ground which binds the different parts of the building into a single unit. It can be readily seen that if he shifted the position of his mouldings up or down with the freedom of the landscape architect in locating his roads, he would not be planning his horizontal divisions in sympathy with the structural requirements of his primary mass. These horizontal divisions or lines have a tendency to give apparent added length to an object. Thus by their judicious use a designer may make a building or room look longer than it really is. Let us now turn to the simpler objects with which we may be more directly concerned. The piano bench has horizontal lines crossing it, giving an effect quite similar to that of horizontal mouldings crossing a building. There may also be ornamental inlaid lines crossing the bench and intended to beautify the design, but it is to be remembered that at present we are considering the _structural divisions_ only. [Sidenote: Designing Objects with Horizontal Divisions] Plate 6 represents a concrete example of the methods to be used in designing the horizontal divisions of a piano bench. The steps may be divided as follows: (_a_) The height of a piano bench may be determined either from measurement of a similar bench or from one of the books on furniture design now on the market. The scale of one inch or one and one-half inches to the foot may be adopted. Two horizontal lines should be drawn, one for the bottom and one for the top of the bench. The distance between these lines we will arbitrarily fix at twenty inches. (_b_) Many objects are designed within rectangles which enclose their main or over-all proportions. With this in view, and keeping in mind the width of the bench necessary to the accommodation of two players and the requirements of a well proportioned primary mass (Rule 1b), the lines are now drawn completing the rectangular boundaries of the primary mass. The limitations of service and the restrictions of good designing give the width of the primary mass so designed as three feet and two inches, with a ratio of height to length of five to eight and one-half. It is simpler to design first the most prominent face of the object to be followed by other views later in the designing process. [Illustration: APPLIED AND CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGN PRINCIPLE 1: A. PROPORTIONS OF THE SINGLE PRIMARY MASS WITH DOMINANCE OF THE HORIZONTAL DIVISION PRINCIPLE 2: A. RELATION OF HORIZONTAL SUBDIVISIONS PROBLEM: HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS CLASSES 1 2 3 PLATE 7] [Sidenote: Designing Objects with Horizontal Divisions--(_Continued_)] (_c_) By observing benches similar to the one being designed it will be seen that the horizontal divisions will take the form of a rail and a shelf, making two crossings of the primary mass dividing it into three horizontal spaces. Several trial arrangements of these structural elements are now made with the thought of making them conform to the rule governing three horizontal spaces. Rule 2b. We shall later discuss this rule and its applications fully. (_d_) By selecting the best sketch of many which the designer will make he has the basis for the application of Rule 2b for the structural elements. The project now begins to take on concrete form. The top board may project slightly beyond the primary mass without materially affecting the value of the designed proportions. [Sidenote: Value of a Full Size Drawing] (_e_) The last step is the designing of the side view in relation to the front view. This enables the designer to comprehend the project as a whole. It is strongly urged that the final or shop drawing be of full size. In more elaborate designs the finer proportions are lost in the process of enlargement from a small sketch, often hurriedly executed in the shop. Again much time is lost by necessary enlargement, whereas a full size curved detail may be quickly transferred to wood by carbon paper or by holes pricked in the paper. It is not expensive or difficult to execute full size drawings; it is in accord with shop practice and the custom should be encouraged and followed on all possible occasions. See Figure 102a. The process of designing round objects is identical to that just described as illustrated by the low round bowl in Plate 7. It should be designed in a rectangle of accepted proportions. Rule 1b. The primary mass may have excellent proportions and yet the vase or bowl may remain devoid of interest. It may be commonplace. [Illustration: HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS OF THE PRIMARY MASS IN WOOD PLATE 8] As will shortly be shown, the rules governing horizontal divisions serve as a check on the commonplace. A horizontal division generally marks the point where the outward swell of the vase contour reaches its maximum width. If this widest point in the primary mass (X-Plate 7) is pleasingly located between the top and bottom of a vase form the contour will be found satisfactory. [Sidenote: Architectural Precedent for Horizontal Divisions] It is possible to continue _ad infinitum_ with these illustrations but horizontal space divisions are nearly always present in some form, due to structural necessity or aesthetic requirements. It is an easy matter to say that these lines must divide the primary mass into "interesting" spaces, well related to each other, or "pleasingly located," but the designer must have some definite yet flexible rule to govern his work. From the analysis of many famous historic buildings and well designed industrial projects it has been found that all horizontal masses may be analyzed as dividing the primary mass into either _two_ or _three_ divisions or spaces, regardless of the complexity of the project. ANALYSIS OF HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS [Sidenote: Two Horizontal Space Divisions] Rule 2a. _If the primary mass is divided into two horizontal divisions, the dominance should be either in the upper or the lower section._ Plate 7 shows this division of the primary mass--the simplest division of the space. A space divided just half way from top to bottom would be monotonous and expressive of the ratio of one to one. This arrangement as we have already discovered in the second chapter is not conducive to good design. By the stated rule, 2a, the varied adjustment of this double horizontal division affords all possible latitude for constructive purposes. It is better to place the division in such a manner that the upper division (or lower) will not appear pinched or dwarfed by comparison with the remaining area. Thus a ratio of one to three, or three to five, or five to eight is better than a ratio of one to one or one to eighteen, but there is no exact or arbitrary ruling on this point. [Sidenote: Two Horizontal Divisions in Wood] Figure 8 illustrates two horizontal divisions in wood construction and also the freedom of choice as to exact proportions. The eye will be found a good judge of the proper spacings subject to the limitations already mentioned. [Illustration: HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS OF THE PRIMARY MASS IN CLAY PLATE 9] It is best to keep the design within the limits of two horizontal space divisions in designing cylindrical clay forms, particularly in the elementary exercises. Enough variety will be found to make pleasing arrangements, and the technical results obtained by two divisions are much better than those obtained from a greater number of divisions. [Sidenote: Two Horizontal Divisions in Clay] Figures 14, 15, and 16, Plate 9, are clay forms with the dominance placed in either the upper or lower portion of the primary mass. Figure 13 has been used to illustrate the fact that horizontal space division principles are applicable to any material. The horizontal divisions in Figure 13 are due to structural needs. A horizontal line carries this division across to Figure 14, a clay vase. The horizontal division line now becomes the one which marks the widest part of the vase. It gives the same relation between the top and bottom horizontal spaces as in Figure 13. It marks an aesthetic point in the design of the vase, or a variation of the contour, introduced by reason of its effect upon the beauty of the vase, not called for by the needs of actual service. A musical composition is often played in an orchestra first by the wood instruments, taken up and repeated by the brasses, then by the strings, and finally played as an harmonious whole by the entire orchestra. There is a close parallel in Figure 12, an adaptation of one of Gustav Stickley's designs. The two-division rule is used in the relations of the plaster and wainscoting; again in the plaster over, and the cement or tile around the fireplace. It is repeated in the arrangement of the copper and cement of the fireplace facing and hood and in the door panels. By repeating again and again similar space divisions the wall space becomes a unified and harmonious whole. Variety is secured by the introduction of three horizontal divisions in the details of the wainscoting. This method of repeating similar space divisions is called "echoing" and is one of the most effective means known for securing the effect of _unity_. [Sidenote: Two Horizontal Divisions in Metal] The horizontal subdivisions in metal are usually made for service. Figures 17, 18, and 19, Plate 10, are examples of such divisions. The location of the clock face in Figure 18 calls for the placing of its horizontal axis in accordance with Rule 2a. The lamp in Figure 19 shows an instance where the entire design once divided by Rule 2a, may be again subdivided into a similar series of divisions. This arrangement is quite similar to the system of repetitions seen in Figure 12 and termed "echoing" the original divisions. [Illustration: HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS IN METAL PLATE 10] [Sidenote: Three Horizontal Space Divisions] Rule 2b. _If the primary mass is divided into three horizontal divisions or sections, the dominance should be placed in the center section with varying widths in the upper and lower thirds._ When it becomes necessary to divide the primary mass into more than two sections the designer's problem becomes more difficult. With the addition of a greater number of horizontal divisions there is a manifest tendency for the design to become cut up into so many small sections that the simplicity of the whole mass is lost. Here, as elsewhere, that principle which we call _unity_ or the quality of "holding together" is necessary and should be the constant test of the design. The instant any part of the design seems to fly apart from the main mass it becomes the designer's duty to simplify the design or pull the parts together and thus restore the lost unity. As a restriction against loss of unity it is necessary to group all of the minor horizontal divisions into a system of two or three large horizontal divisions. Referring to Rule 2b, it is seen that when three divisions are used, it becomes the practice to accentuate the center section by making it larger. This arrangement is designed to give weight to the center portion and by this big stable division to hold the other subdivisions together and in unity. [Sidenote: Three Horizontal Divisions in Wood] Two horizontal masses and one vertical mass shown in Figures 9, 10, and 11, Plate 8, illustrate the application of this three-division rule to wood construction. It is seen that the construction of rails, doors, and shelves is responsible for the fixing of all of these divisions. It may also be seen that three divisions are applicable to either the vertical or the horizontal primary mass. Figure 10 illustrates the violation of this type of spacing at the point _A_, where the shelves are no more pleasingly arranged than the rounds of a ladder. Later on we shall be able to rearrange these shelves in a pleasing manner but at present it is better to relieve the monotony by omitting the center shelf. This applies the three division rule to the satisfactory appearance of the desk at _B_. Similar monotony in spacing is seen in the screen, Figure 11. The correction in _B_ appeals at once as a far more satisfactory arrangement than that secured by placing the cross bar half way up as in _A_. There are no infallible rules for this readjustment beyond those already stated. The eye must in part be depended upon to guide the artistic sense aright. [Sidenote: Three Horizontal Divisions in Clay] It is suggested that it is desirable to keep clay forms within the limitations of two divisions. Rectangular posts, pedestals, and other vertical forms in cement may be developed by the application of Rule 2a or 2b, if care is taken to group all minor divisions well within the limitations of these rules. [Sidenote: Three Horizontal Divisions in Metal] The statement just made in reference to simplified groupings is illustrated in the candlestick and cup in Figures 20 and 21, Plate 10. The construction based upon the three functions performed by the cup, the handle, and the base, suggests the use of these horizontal divisions. The minor curves have been subordinated to, and kept within, these three divisions. The final result gives a distinct feeling of unity impossible under a more complex grouping. The Greek column will afford an architectural illustration of a similar grouping system. The lathe bed of Figure 22 shows one of innumerable examples of space violations in the industrial arts. A slight lowering of the cross brace would add materially to the appearance and strength of the casting. Figure 23 is a copper box with the following more or less common faults of design: commonplace ratio of length and width (2:1) partially counteracted, however, by a more pleasing ratio of the vertical dimension, equal spacing in the width of cover of box and box body, and equal spacing of the hinges of the box from the ends of the box and from each other. By applying the two and three horizontal division rules these errors may be avoided. [Sidenote: Freehand Curves] Figure 24 shows a low bowl with a compass curve used in designing the contour. This has brought the widest part of the design in the exact center of the bowl which makes it commonplace. In addition to this the top and bottom are of the same width, lacking variety in this respect. Correction is readily made by applying a freehand curve to the contour, raising or lowering the widest point (_F_), at the same time designing the bottom either larger or smaller than the top. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plate 7 is a sheet suggestive of the application of Rules 1a, 1b, 2a, and 2b, with an indication of the type of problem to be required. The steps of the designing processes in either wood (class 1), clay (class 2), or metal (class 3), are summarized as follows: SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Construction of the rectangle representing the vertical or horizontal character of the primary mass with desirable proportions. It is better to select a typical view (Plate 6, _D_), preferably a front elevation. (_b_) Subdivide this rectangle into two or three structural sections; horizontal in character. Make two or three trial freehand sketches for varied proportions and select the most pleasing one in accordance with Rules 1a, 1b, 2a, and 2b. (_c_) Translate the selected sketch to a full size mechanical drawing or at least to a reasonably large scale drawing. The structural elements: _i.e._, legs, rails, posts, etc., should be added and other additional views made. (_d_) Dimension and otherwise prepare the drawing for shop purposes. (_e_) Construct the project. SUGGESTED PROBLEMS Design a nasturtium bowl, applying Rules 1a, 1b, 2a. Design a writing table 2 feet 6 inches high with three horizontal divisions. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 2a. _If the primary mass is divided into two horizontal divisions, the dominance should be either in the upper or the lower section._ Rule 2b. _If the primary mass is divided into three horizontal divisions or sections, the dominance should be placed in the center section with varying widths in the upper and lower thirds._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. State two methods of subdividing the primary mass. 2. Define the nature and need of horizontal space divisions. 3. Give five steps to be used in designing a foot stool or piano bench. 4. What point constitutes a horizontal division in the contour of a simple clay bowl? 5. State the rule governing two horizontal space divisions and furnish illustrations in wood, clay, and metal. 6. Give the rule governing three horizontal space divisions and supply illustrations in wood, clay, and metal. 7. State five steps in the designing of a project in the industrial arts involving the use of horizontal structural divisions. [Illustration: APPLIED AND CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGN PRINCIPLE 3: VERTICAL SPACE DIVISIONS OF THE SINGLE H OR V PRIMARY MASS. PROBLEM: VERTICAL SUB DIVISIONS IN CLASSES 1 2 3. THEY ARE USED TO BREAK OR VARY LARGE AREAS OF HORIZONTAL OR VERTICAL MASSES. PLATE 11] Chapter IV VERTICAL MAJOR DIVISIONS OF THE PRIMARY MASS [Sidenote: Nature and Need of Vertical Space Division] The design of the primary mass has now been considered under Rules 1a and 1b, and its horizontal divisions under Rules 2a and 2b. The next logical step is the consideration of the nature of the lines that cross the primary mass in a vertical direction. In the original planning of the primary mass it was found that the horizontal bounding lines and the horizontal divisions were parallel to the base line of an object and that the base line was necessary to ensure stability. Vertical lines are necessary and equally important to give the needed vertical support to an object. So accustomed is the eye to vertical lines in tree trunks, tall buildings, and thousands of other examples that the upward eye movement in viewing an object, having a predominance of vertical elements, seemingly adds to its height. The designer thus has a most useful device with which to increase the apparent height of an object that, for structural or other reasons, must in reality not have great height. Chapter III drew attention to the influence of horizontal lines on a project. Vertical lines on an object are found to produce an analogous effect vertically. [Sidenote: Architectural Precedent for Vertical Divisions] Gothic cathedral builders used the vertical line, repeated again and again in buttresses, pinnacles, and spires to give great apparent height to a building and to make it a unified vertical mass of great beauty. The modern church spire, together with the long, vertical interior columns, similarly affects our present day church edifices. [Illustration: EXAMPLES OF VERTICAL SPACE DIVISIONS IN CLASS 1 (WOOD). THE DIVISIONS OF THIS CLASS ARE GENERALLY BASED UPON THE STRUCTURAL REQUIREMENTS. PLATE 12] This idea of repeating the vertical bounding lines of the primary mass by cutting the mass into vertical spaces is also useful in breaking up or destroying the monotony of large unbroken surfaces. Pilasters may cut the front of a building into interesting spaces; piers may break up the regularity of a long fence; legs and panels may, each for the same purpose, cross a cabinet. While some of these may be structurally necessary and some not, they are all witnesses to the desire to produce beauty in design. As these examples are so numerous in the industrial arts, it is well to study in detail their proper adaptation to our needs. [Sidenote: One Vertical Space Division] Upon analyzing one vertical space division, it will be found to be a primary mass, vertical in character and governed by Rule 1a. Figure 25, Plate 12, illustrates one vertical division. The foot is an appendage to be considered in Chapter V. [Sidenote: Two Vertical Space Divisions] Rule 3a. _If the primary mass is divided into two vertical divisions, the divisions should be equal in area and similar in form._ Exception may be made in case of structural requirements. By imagining two adjacent doors of equal size, the design effect of two vertical divisions may be made clear. Plate 11 illustrates a rectangle (_A_) divided in this manner, preliminary to the development of a problem. Figure 27, Plate 12, represents the type of object to which the exception to the rule may be applied. In the design of this desk, the structure practically prohibits two equal vertical divisions, necessitating an unequal division in the section occupied by the drawers. In Plate 12, Figure 26, the designer had his vertical spacings dictated by service in the form of two doors. As service demands a tall vertical primary mass, it is but natural to design the doors to conform with the primary mass. This gives a monotonously long space for the glass panels and suggests structural weakness. To relieve this the designer applied Rule 2a and crossed the vertical panels by horizontal subdivisions, relieving the monotony and still retaining the unity of the primary mass. [Sidenote: Two Vertical Divisions in Wood] In Figure 27 his problem was a variation of that presented in Figure 26. Structural limitations called for unequal divisions of the vertical space arrangement. The left portion of the desk becomes dominant as demanded by service. The drawer or brace is necessary in this design as it acts as a sort of link, binding the two vertical legs together. The omission of the drawer would destroy the unity of the mass. [Illustration: EXAMPLES OF VERTICAL SPACE DIVISIONS IN CLASS 2. CLAY AND CEMENT. PLATE 13] [Sidenote: Two Vertical Divisions in Clay] As vertical space divisions are principally applicable to rectilinear or flat objects and moreover as it is in such forms only that they have structural value, they are not commonly met in cylindrical pottery ware. Vertical divisions are, however, occasionally used in architectural tiles and other flat wall objects. As three divisions are much more commonly used in clay and cement, this material will now be left for later consideration in this chapter. [Sidenote: Vertical Divisions in Metal] Vertical spacings in metal are quite similar to space divisions in wood. Wrought iron fences are, by reason of structural limitations composed of vertical and horizontal lines, varied by the introduction of piers and curved members. As they are typical of a certain branch of iron construction, two designs of the Anchor Post Iron Company have been introduced. Figure 32, Plate 14, represents two equal vertical divisions made so because of structural and aesthetic demands. The piers in this instance form a part of the general design of the entire gate and must be considered accordingly. The vertical subdivision in Figure 32, Plate 14, has been repeated or echoed by the long vertical bars, alternating with the shorter ones and producing pleasing variety. The horizontal divisions are designed according to Rule 2b. In designing the newel lantern in Figure 34 the designer was required to form a vertical primary mass to conform with the similar mass of the post. This he determined to subdivide vertically in practically the same manner as the cabinet in Figure 26. Threatened with the same monotony he met the situation by subdividing the vertical sections into three horizontal divisions in accordance with Rule 2b. The structural supports, however, rising up in the center of this mass, destroy its unity. They would have carried out the lines of the structure of the newel post and continued the lines of the lantern better, if they had been attached to the corners rather than to the sides of the newel post. [Sidenote: Three Vertical Space Divisions] Rule 3b. _If the primary mass is divided into three vertical divisions, the center division should be the larger, with the remaining divisions of equal size._ A large building with a wing on either side will give an idea of this form of spacing. The size of the main building holds the wings to it, thus preserving the unity of the structure, while equal divisions on either side give balance. Plate 11 (_B_) gives an example of a rectangle divided in this manner. This three-division motive is a very old one. In the middle ages painters and designers used three divisions or a triptych, as it is called, in their altar decorations. A painting of the Virgin was usually placed in the center division with a saint in each of the remaining panels to the right and left. Designers and mural decorators have been using the triptych ever since that period. [Illustration: EXAMPLES OF TWO AND THREE VERTICAL SUBDIVISIONS IN CLASS 3 (METAL). PLATE 14] [Sidenote: Three Vertical Divisions in Wood] The desk in Figure 28, Plate 12, is a good example of the three-vertical space rule. The drawer in the center forms the mid or dominant section and by its greater length holds the two smaller sections together. This design is better than Figure 27, which has a similar mass. The prominent vertical lines in Figure 27 counteract and destroy the effect of the long horizontal dominant lines of the table top, whereas in Figure 28, the vertical lines in the center of the design are so short that they do not interfere with the horizontal lines of the table top. Figure 28 supports the horizontal tendency of the primary mass while Figure 27 neutralizes or practically destroys its character. [Sidenote: Three Vertical Divisions in Clay and Cement] Figure 30, Plate 13, represents an overmantle by the Rookwood Potteries. It is typical of a class of overmantles which may be developed in tiles or in cement, forming an agreeable contrast with the brick of a large fireplace. The three divisions or triptych should be proportionately related to the opening of the fireplace and to the enclosing mass of brick or wood work. We will consider Figure 29 to show how this may be carried out. Figure 29 bears a strong resemblance to Figure 12, Plate 9, and is an elaboration of a simple three-division theme of spacing. The design seems to be complex until it is analyzed into two rules. The primary mass of the entire fireplace motive (including the surrounding panelling) has first been planned with strong and prominent horizontal lines. This was then divided vertically (_A_) to conform with Rule 3b, the three-division theme, giving the divisions for the bookcases and mantle. The horizontal divisions (_B_) were then constructed within the remaining space, affecting the distance from the picture moulding to the mantle and from the mantle to the floor line, in accordance with Rule 2a. That left the space of the width of the cement work (_C_) to be subdivided again by Rule 3b, while the top of the wainscoting panels re-echoed the previous horizontal divisions of Rule 2a. The fireplace opening merely carries out at _D_ the same proportionate relation that dominates all vertical divisions, Rule 3b, while the wainscoting follows the general horizontal divisions of Rule 2a. By this method we have variety in spacing and unity through repetition of similar proportions. [Illustration: THE EVOLUTION OF A DESIGN INVOLVING THE USE OF TWO HORIZONTAL AND THREE VERTICAL SUBDIVISIONS PLATE 15] The cement bench, Figure 31, has a three-division arrangement to break up the monotony of the long rail, and at the same time to repeat the characteristics of a horizontal primary mass. [Sidenote: Three Vertical Divisions in Metal] Figure 33, Plate 14, is a common example of three vertical divisions in metal suggested by the needs of service. Figures 35 and 36 are thin metal problems. The familiar pen tray is primarily a horizontal mass, so determined by its required service as a pen holder. The projecting handles form the outer divisions, and the spacing motive, Rule 3b, has been repeated in the raised projection, decorating the handles. The book rack in Figure 36 is an example of the manner in which a nearly square mass, so designed for structural reasons, may, by Rules 3b and 2a, be broken into a fairly pleasing arrangement of divisions. [Sidenote: More Than Three Divisions] Rule 3c. _In elementary problems, if more than three vertical divisions are required, they should be so grouped as to analyze into Rules 3a and 3b, or be exactly similar._ The eye becomes confused by a multitude of vertical divisions and it is much better designing to keep them within the number stated in this chapter. There are instances, however, when this is impossible. Under such conditions the following treatment should be adopted: Unless, as stated, a large number of vertical divisions may be grouped into two or three vertical divisions it is better to make all of the divisions of the same size. This does not fatigue the eye as much as would the introduction of a number of complex spacings. This solution enables the amateur designer to deal with complex problems with an assurance of securing a degree of unity. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plate 15 is practically self-explanatory and shows the order in which the various divisions, so far considered, are to be introduced into the design together with the grouping of details within those divisions. Figure D introduces the additional element termed the appendage to be considered in Chapter V. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Construction of the rectangle representing the vertical or horizontal character of the primary mass with desirable proportions. Select the most prominent surface for this rectangle, preferably the front elevation. (_b_) Subdivide this rectangle into two or three structural sections, horizontal and vertical in character. Make two or three trial freehand sketches on cross section paper for varied proportions and select the most pleasing in accordance with rules. (_c_) Translate the selected sketch into a scale or full size drawing and add additional views to complete the requirements of a working drawing. Add additional structural elements: legs, rails, etc. (_d_) For shop purposes, enlarge a scale drawing to full size, dimension and otherwise prepare it for actual use. See Figure 102a, page 68, for character of this change. (_e_) Construct the project. SUGGESTED PROBLEMS Design a fire screen with two horizontal and three vertical major subdivisions. Design a bookcase 4 feet 2 inches high with three horizontal and two vertical major subdivisions. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 3a. _If the primary mass is divided into two vertical divisions, the divisions should be equal in area and similar in form._ Rule 3b. _If the primary mass is divided into three vertical divisions, the center division should be the larger, with the remaining divisions of equal size._ Rule 3c. _In elementary problems, if more than three vertical divisions are required, they should be so grouped as to analyze into Rules 3a and 3b, or be exactly similar._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. What is the nature and need of vertical space divisions? 2. State the rule governing the use of two vertical space divisions and give illustrations in wood, clay, and metal. 3. Give the rule relating to the use of three vertical space divisions and furnish illustrations in wood, clay, and metal. 4. What is the treatment of more than three vertical divisions? Why? Chapter V APPENDAGES AND RULES GOVERNING THEM [Sidenote: Use of the Appendage] An appendage is a member added to the primary mass for utilitarian purposes. In the industrial arts, when an appendage is added merely for the purpose of decoration, it is as useless and functionless as the human appendix and, as a source of discord, should be removed. An appendage in industrial arts may be, among other things, a plate rail, bracket, spout, cover, or handle, all of which are capable of service either for or with the primary mass. In architecture it may be a wing or ell added to the mass of the building. Simple as its design may seem, it is often so placed in relation to the main or primary mass that it does not seem to "fit" or to be in unity with that mass. [Sidenote: Designing an Appendage] Rule 4a. _The appendage should be designed in unity with, and proportionately related to, the vertical or horizontal character of the primary mass, but subordinated to it._ Rule 4b. _The appendage should have the appearance of flowing smoothly and, if possible, tangentially from the primary mass._ Rule 4c. _The appendage should, if possible, echo or repeat some lines similar in character and direction to those of the primary mass._ [Sidenote: Violations of Appendage Design] All of the foregoing rules are intended to promote the sense of unity between the primary mass and its appendages. If a mirror on a dresser looks top-heavy it is generally due to the fact that it has not been subordinated in size to the primary mass. Rule 4a. If the handle projects from the primary mass of an object similar to the handle on a pump, it has not been designed in accordance with Rules 4b and 4c. Again, if the appendage projects from a primary mass like a tall chimney from a long flat building, it has violated Rule 4a and has not been proportionately related to the character of the vertical or horizontal proportions of the primary mass. [Illustration: EXAMPLES OF APPENDAGES IN CLASS 1 (WOOD) ADDED TO THE PRIMARY MASS FOR UTILITARIAN PURPOSES. THEY SHOULD ALWAYS BE RELATED TO THE PRIMARY MASS BY TANGENTS, PARALLELS OR BOTH. PLATE 16] It should be readily seen that if the primary mass has one dominant proportion while the appendage has another, there will be a serious clash and the final result will be the neutralization of both motives, resulting in either an insipid and characterless design or a downright lack of unity. [Sidenote: Appendages in Wood] The design of the small dressing table, Figure 37, Plate 16, with the mirror classing as an appendage, is an excellent illustration of Rule 4a. The main mass of the table is vertical in character and the mirror carries out or repeats the character of the primary mass by having a similar but subordinate vertical mass. In this instance it is so large that it has nearly the effect of a second primary mass. As tangential junctions are difficult to arrange in wood construction and particularly in furniture, the break between the table top and the mirror has been softened by the introduction of a bracket or connecting link. The curves of the link cause the eye to move freely from the primary mass to the appendage and thus there is a sense of oneness or unity between the two masses. The lantern in Figure 38 becomes an appendage and is subordinated to the large pedestal or support. The tangential junction has in this case been fully possible and the eye moves freely from the vertical lines of the base to the similar vertical mass of the lantern without noticeable break. [Sidenote: Unifying Appendage and Primary Mass] The service of the dressing table, Figure 39, with its three-division mirror makes the problem of adaptation of the appendage to the mass of the table, in accordance with the rules, much more difficult. Under the circumstances, about the best that can be done, at the same time keeping within the limitations of desired service, is to plan the mirrors in accordance with Rule 3b, with the dominant section in the center. To secure an approach to unity, each section of the mirror should echo the vertical proportion of the primary mass of the table. The top of the writing stand, in Figure 40, is an example of a horizontal appendage which repeats the horizontal character of the front or typical face of the primary mass of the table. The small drawers and divisions again take up and repeat the horizontal motive of the table, while the entire appendage may be subdivided under Rule 3b, giving the dominance to the center portion. The short curves in the appendage all tend to lead the eye in a satisfactory and smooth transition from one mass to the other or from the table top to the appendage. The proportions of the small drawers are similar to the proportions of the table drawers. Rule 4c. All of these points of similarity bring the masses into close unity or oneness of appearance. [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 41a] The table legs, in Figure 41, are more difficult to adjust satisfactorily. The idea of the designer is, however, apparent. The legs leave the column of the table with a tangential curve and, sweeping out with a strong curve, repeat the horizontal line of the table top in the horizontal lines of their bottom surfaces. [Sidenote: Industrial Applications] Figure 41a, a modification of Figure 39, shows close unity between the three divisions of the mirror due to the pleasing curve of the center section with its tendency to bind the other sections to it. Again, the echoing of the spacings of the three drawers in the similar spacings of the three mirrors, makes the bond of unity still closer to the ideal arrangement. Rule 4c. Figures 41b and 41c are, in a way, parallel to Figure 41. The eye moves freely from the feet (appendages) along the smooth and graceful curves to the tall shaft or column of the primary mass. The turned fillets, introduced at the junction of the appendage and the primary mass, in Figure 41c, have a tendency to check this smooth passage making the arrangement in Figure 41b preferable. The hardware for the costumers is well chosen and in sympathy with the vertical proportions of the design. [Sidenote: Appendages in Clay] With the word "clay" all difficulties in the treatment of appendages vanish. It is by far the easiest medium for the adaptation of the appendage to the primary mass. Covers, handles, and spouts are a few of the more prominent parts falling under this classification. The process of the designer is to create the primary rectangle, subdivide it into two horizontal subdivisions in accordance with Rule 2a, and proceed to add the desired number of appendages. The result may be suggested by the following illustrations. In Figure 43, Plate 17, the cover is a continuation of the curve of the top of the bowl, Rule 4a; the tops of the handles are continuations of the horizontal line in the top contour of the bowl, while the lower portions of the handles seem to spring or grow from the lower part of the bowl with a tangential curve. [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 41b FIGURE 41c] [Sidenote: Covers, Spouts, and Handles] Figure 44 is a horizontal primary mass with the horizontal subdivision in the upper section of that mass. The spout and handle spring naturally from the body and balance each other in proportion, while the cover handle rises smoothly from the primary mass. The horizontal character of the primary mass is consistently carried out in the appendages. The handle, in Figure 45, leaving the body at a tangent, rises with a long straight curve to turn suddenly and join the pitcher in harmony with its top. The apparent abruptness of the junction is softened by the rounded corners typical of clay construction. The Rookwood set, Figure 42, represents three similar primary masses. The proportionate ratios and the horizontal subdivisions are the same throughout. The handle for the teapot has been curved in the center to give variety to the handle. This variation is a difficult thing to manage without consequent loss of unity as by this variation Rule 4a is violated. One thing may be said in its favor. It brings the hand closer to the spout and thus supports the pouring weight. But the unusual in design is to be discouraged until sufficient skill in simple designing has been acquired. In designing handle appendages for clay, they should be so placed that they readily control the weight of the material in the container and afford room for the fingers. Thus, it is better to have the larger portion of the handle opening at the top of the primary mass. The spout in all instances should continue sufficiently high to allow the container to be filled to its full capacity without danger of the contents running out of the spout. The glaze runs into rounded corners much more freely than into square ones, hence it is preferable to use rounded corners wherever possible. [Sidenote: Requirements for Appendage Design] It is the unexpected curve that is welcome in all designing, provided it supports the structure and conforms to established rules. After completing a design involving appendages it should be checked from three points of view; (1) service, (2) unity between the primary mass and the appendages, and (3) variety of curvature. On this last point it is needless to say that compass curves are not desirable except in rounding small corners or in using fillets. It is well known that compass curves are difficult to assimilate into pleasing tangential effects. They are inclined to be monotonous and regular with a "made by the thousand" appearance to them. One should trust to freehand sweeps, drawn freely with a full arm movement when possible. All curves should spring naturally from the primary mass. Blackboard drawing is excellent practice for the muscles used in this type of designing. In a short time it will be found possible to produce the useful long, rather flat curve with its sudden turn (the curve of force) that will make the compass curve tame and commonplace by comparison. [Illustration: EXAMPLES OF APPENDAGES IN CLASS 2 (POTTERY) ADDED TO THE PRIMARY MASS FOR UTILITARIAN PURPOSES. THE PLASTICITY OF CLAY ALLOWS A PERFECT TANGENTIAL UNION WITH THE BODY PLATE 17] [Sidenote: Freehand Curves] [Sidenote: Appendages in Metal] Figures 55, 56, and 57, Plate 18, show the close bond between the appearance of the appendage in clay, and the one in metal. While it is technically more difficult to adapt metal to the rules governing appendages than is the case with clay, the final results are, in most instances, equally pleasing to the eye. In most of the figures showing examples in metal, the appendages have to be secured to the primary mass by screws, rivets, or solder, whereas in clay they may be moulded _into_ the primary mass. This tends to secure a more unified appearance; but in metal, the junction of the handle and the primary mass is often made a decorative feature of the design and gives added interest and variety to the project. The simple primary mass, Figure 58, has a horizontal space division in the lower portion of the mass. This point of variation of the contour has been used in the primary masses in Figures 55, 56, and 57, also as the starting point of that dominant appendage, the handle. Springing tangentially from the body, it rises in a straight line of extreme value in service, then with a slight turn it parallels and joins the top of the bowl, thus fulfilling the design functions of an appendage from both points of service and beauty. The spout and lid, Figure 55, may be likewise analyzed. [Sidenote: Tangential Junctions] The points of tangency, in Figure 54, become a decorative feature of the design. The handles in the parts of the fire set, Figures 48 and 49, offer different problems. It is difficult to analyze the latter figures to determine the appendages as they are in such thorough unity with the handles and are practically subdivisions of the primary mass. But referring to the rule stating the fact that the appendages are subordinated to and attached to the primary mass, it may justly be stated that the shovel portion of the design may legitimately be classed as an appendage. This will explain the need of a curve at the junction points and the feature of the decorative twists in Figure 49. Both designs may be analyzed into three horizontal divisions. [Illustration: EXAMPLES OF APPENDAGES IN CLASS 3. METAL ... SEE "A" ... NOTE THE TANGENTIAL RELATION BETWEEN THE APPENDAGE AND PRIMARY MASS AT "T" PLATE 18] [Sidenote: Andiron Design] The andirons, Figures 50 to 53, illustrate interesting transitions in wrought iron from the primary mass to the appendage. The vertical shaft of wrought iron has been treated as a primary mass while the feet may be classed as appendages. In Figure 50 we have an example of a frankly square junction point. Figure 51 discloses a weld with rounded corners, forming a more pleasing junction than does the abrupt angle of Figure 50. This conforms to Rule 4b. The appendage legs echo or repeat the vertical lines of the primary mass and there is consequently a sense of unity between them. In Figure 52 the appendage foot is curved, and the primary mass has a similar curve on the top of the vertical column to apply Rule 4c to repeat the curve. The small links at _X_ indicate an attempt to make the junction point more pleasing to the eye, but the link is too large to accomplish the desired result successfully. In Figure 53 the links have been materially reduced in size and in the amount of curvature. In this example the eye goes unhampered from appendage to primary or back again, without perceptible interruption and the unity of the mass, seriously threatened in Figure 52, is restored in Figure 53. In Figure 46 there is an example of a link becoming large enough to be classed as an appendage connecting two primary masses, _e.g._, the lantern and the wall. Under these conditions, one end of the appendage harmonizes with the lantern and the other end with the wall. Figure 47 shows a cast brass candlestick which is an excellent example, from the Studio, of tangential junction. [Sidenote: Influence of Tools and Materials] Clay may readily stand as the most adaptable material for appendages, with metal ranking second, and wood third. The grain of wood seems to interfere with the tangential junction of the appendage and primary mass. Appendages of wood are, however, quite necessary at times. Their use is merely a matter of lessening the contrast of conflicting lines in an addition of this nature. The band and bracket saws are required in many instances to construct the connecting link between opposing masses of wood. [Illustration: APPLIED AND CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGN PRINCIPLE 4. RELATION OF PRIMARY MASS TO APPENDAGES PROBLEM: APPLICATION TO CLASSES 2 AND 3 PLATE 19] [Sidenote: Influence of Tools and Materials (_Continued_)] Hand building or casting is the means used to construct the appendages in plastic materials. Appendages in cement are seen in the uprights for cement seats and are generally translated into the primary mass by means of mouldings or curves. Forging or thin and raised metal construction affords many examples of the adaptability of material in constructing appendages. Rivets form decorative features at the junction points and should be placed with great care and relation to the decoration and the point of tangency. INSTRUCTION SHEET FOR CLASS PRESENTATION The typical views to be used in classroom work, with the ordinary range of problems, are shown on Plate 19. These typical views should be supplemented by dimensions, cross sections, and other views whenever necessary. Wood construction has been omitted from this sheet, but its development in design is quite similar to the steps indicated in the summary. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Draw the primary rectangle. (_b_) Subdivide the rectangle into two or three horizontal and, if necessary, vertical divisions. (_c_) Estimate the dimensions of the appendage necessary to perform the desired service in the best manner. (_d_) If the appendage is a handle, place it in such a position that it not only appears to but actually does support the weight of the primary mass. (_e_) Complete the contour curves of the primary mass based upon the horizontal division which acts as a unit of measurement or a turning point. (_f_) Join the appendages to the primary mass by means of tangential curves. (_g_) Establish unity between the primary mass and the appendages by applying Rules 4a, 4b, and 4c. (_h_) Dimension and otherwise prepare the drawing for shop use. See Plate 26. SUGGESTED PROBLEMS Design a sugar bowl, cream pitcher, and teapot. Consider them as different members of one set. Design a sideboard 3 feet 3 inches high with plate rack, the design to contain two vertical and two horizontal divisions exclusive of the appendage. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 4a. _The appendage should be designed in unity with, and proportionately related to, the vertical or horizontal character of the primary mass, but subordinated to it._ Rule 4b. _The appendage should have the appearance of flowing smoothly and, if possible, tangentially from the primary mass._ Rule 4c. _The appendage should, if possible, echo or repeat some lines similar in character and direction to those of the primary mass._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. State the nature and use of the appendage. 2. What is the relation of the size of the appendage to the size of the primary mass? 3. How should the appendage be attached to the primary mass? 4. How does Rule 4c help to secure unity between the appendage and the primary mass? 5. Are compass curves permissible in appendage design? 6. State influence of tools and materials upon appendage design. CHAPTER VI ENRICHMENT OF THE CONTOURS OR OUTLINES OF DESIGNS IN WOOD With this chapter we introduce contour enrichment, the second major division of industrial arts design. [Sidenote: Need and Value of Enrichment] A critic of furniture designed by the average manual arts student has stated frankly that while it might have been honestly constructed it was, in the first place, too heavy for a woman to move about the house and, in the second place, it represented a decidedly uneconomical use of that valuable material, wood. That there is a basis in fact for this statement cannot be denied. Is it true, then, that furniture must of necessity be clumsy and heavy when it is sufficiently simplified in constructive processes for school work? We may say emphatically, "No!" One may correct the proportions of an object and reduce the size of the materials in it to a minimum but still fail to secure the desirable elements of lightness and interest. The object may still _look_ heavy and remain a box-like structure void of the grace synonymous with the best in design. It is, however, possible to correct the clumsy and heavy appearances by imparting to the design elements of grace and lightness. Two methods may be used, singly or together: (1) Enrichment of the Functional Outlines or Contours; (2) Surface Enrichment sometimes called Space Filling. These may be roughly classified respectively as three and two dimension enrichment. [Sidenote: Contour Enrichment] The first, or outline enrichment, concerns itself with the structural lines. As all designing processes should start with the structure, it will be our policy to do so. The present chapter will deal only with enrichment of outlines of wood projects. Rule 5a. _Outline enrichment should be subordinated to and support the structure._ Rule 5b. _Outline enrichment should add grace, lightness, and variety to the design._ [Illustration: COMMON ERRORS IN CONTOUR ENRICHMENT STAMP BOXES PLATE 19a] [Sidenote: Purpose of Contour Enrichment] [Sidenote: Requirements of Contour Enrichment] It is the purpose of enrichment to add to the problem (1) grace; (2) lightness; (3) variety; (4) unity. If it is applied in a proper manner it should likewise add to the apparent structural strength. We should carefully guard the design, therefore, against (1) enrichment that has a tendency to obscure or destroy the structural lines; in other words, enrichment that is not subordinated to the structure, and (2) enrichment that adds nothing to the structure by its application; that is, one which does not increase either the apparent strength or the beauty of the object. As an example of this first point, the turned candlestick with the candle supported by a stack of turned balls alternating with tauri or thin discs tends to obscure completely the sense of support. Again, the landscape gardener feels that he is violating a fundamental principle in design if by planting vines to grow around a building, he obscures the foundation, and the roof appears, consequently, to rest on and be supported by the stems and leaves of the vines. Thus it is seen that the eye registers a sense of structural weakness when the main supports of an object disappear and are no longer to be traced under the enrichment. Under the second point falls the indiscriminate placing of unrelated objects in the contour enrichment. Naturalistic objects similar to the claw foot and the human head, for example, should give way to natural curves that add to the appearance of total strength. Where are we to find these curves suited to our purpose? [Sidenote: Valuable Curves for Outline Enrichment] Up to this point emphasis has been placed upon straight and curved lines immediately connected with pure service. For grace and lightness it is necessary to depart at times from the rigidity of straight lines. To understand the character of this departure let us consider a simple bracket as a support for a shelf. This bracket acts as a link, connecting a vertical wall or leg with a horizontal member or shelf. A bracket shaped like a 45-degree triangle, Figure 10, page 24, gives one the sense of clumsiness. If the feeling of grace is to be imparted the eye must move smoothly along the outline of the bracket, giving one a sensation of aesthetic pleasure. A curved line will produce this effect more completely than will a straight line. One must likewise get the feeling that the curve of the bracket is designed to support the shelf. [Illustration: NATURAL AND GEOMETRIC CURVES WITH THEIR USE IN FUNCTIONAL OUTLINE ENRICHMENT PLATE 20] THE CURVE OF FORCE [Sidenote: Valuable Curves] Turning to Figure 70, Plate 20, we find that whenever nature desires to support a weight she is inclined to use a peculiar curve seen at _F_. Possibly through continued observation the eye has associated this curve with strength or supporting power. Figure 71 has detailed this curve. It is found to consist of a long, rather flat portion with a quick and sudden turn at its end. The curve is known to designers as the Curve of Force and is most valuable in all forms of enrichment. Designers even in early ages used it in some form as will be noted from the fragment of Greek sculpture in Figure 72. Its beauty rests in its variety. A circle has little interest due to its rather monotonous curvature. The eye desires variety and the curve of force administers to this need and gives a sense of satisfaction. As designers on wood, how are we to utilize this curve for purposes of outline enrichment? [Sidenote: An Approximate Curve of Force] For approximate similarity of curvature an ellipse constructed as shown in Figure 73 will be found convenient. By drawing several ellipses of varying sizes upon sheets of tin or zinc, a series of templates of utmost practical value may be formed and used as was done in securing the curves of force in Figures 74 and 75. If the rail or shelf is longer than the post, measured downward from the rail to the floor or to the next shelf, the ellipse should be used with its major axis placed in a horizontal position, Figure 75. If, on the contrary, the post is longer than the shelf the ellipse should have its major axis in a vertical position, Figure 74. Figures 76 and 77 show other instances of the use of the approximate curve of force. Many similar practical applications will occur to the designer. [Sidenote: Mouldings] We have classed the bracket as a link connecting a vertical and horizontal structure. Mouldings may likewise be considered as links connecting similar horizontal or vertical surfaces by bands of graded forms. Inasmuch as they effect the outline they are considered in this chapter. As the mouldings are to assist the eye to make the jump from one surface to another by easy steps, the position from which the mouldings are to be seen determines to some extent their design. [Illustration: ENRICHMENT OF THE CONTOUR OR OUTLINE BY MOULDINGS APPLIED TO WOOD ... TYPES OF MOULDING ... WOOD TURNING PROBLEMS PLATE 21] [Sidenote: Mouldings (_Continued_)] Figure 78 shows the relation of the spectator to three types of mouldings at _A_, _B_, and _C_. The top or _crown_ (_A_) is to be seen from below. On a large project the angle of the mouldings with the body of the object should be approximately 45 degrees. The _intermediate_ moulding (_B_) is lighter than the crown and forms a transitional link that may be seen from either above or below. The lower or _base_ moulding (_C_) is the widest member of the group as demanded by our sense of stability. It is seen from above. Both for sanitary and structural reasons it projects but slightly from the base. With this grouping in mind it is needless to say that a faulty moulding is one, some portion of which, hidden by intervening moulding, cannot be seen by the spectator. Architectural design and history have formulated a series of curves, geometric in character, that are regarded as standards in the Industrial Arts. Some of the more prominent curves with their constructions are shown in Figure 79. The horizontal divisions are analyzed in accordance with Rules 2a and 2b. It is noticed that the Scotia possesses a curve having the shape of the curve of force, while the two Cymas are saved from monotonous division by means of their reversed curves, illustrating the contrast of direction. The curves of Figure 80 are excellent lines for freehand practice in designing mouldings and will develop the principle of continuity of curvature or the smooth transition of one curve into the next. [Sidenote: Continuity and Contrast] To keep this continuity from the monotony of a Marcel Wave it is customary to break continuous curves by a fillet such as a straight line as shown at _D_, Figures 81, 82, and 83. When the desired outside diameter has been reached, contrast of direction is necessary and pleasing as a return, Figure 82. A glance at the curves so far considered will quickly determine whether they are fitted for the crown, intermediate or base mouldings. A curve should join a straight line with either a tangential or right angle junction, which makes for positiveness in contour expression. [Sidenote: Grouping of Curves] [Illustration: FIGURE 85.--Modern Candlesticks] [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 86.--Modern Book Trough] Application of these curves to outline enrichment for wood turning projects is to be governed by a strict adherence to Rules 2a or 2b, otherwise confusion and lack of unity will result. Figure 83 shows a major grouping under Rule 2b with the subdivisions and minor curves arranged under Rules 2a and 2b. Figure 84 shows a disregard for rules and the result is an undesirable monotony of contour. If smooth and even continuity of curvature is given considerable thought, together with that for systematic grouping and variety, a pleasing result from wood turning (a much abused but pleasing form of outline enrichment) may be secured. Figures 85 and 86 are illustrations from the industrial field with moulding curves grouped, following and supporting the structural lines of the object. The columns in Figure 86 might, however, be advantageously reversed. [Sidenote: Materials] Large objects designed to be seen from a distance require larger space divisions for their mouldings than do small objects seen from a nearer point. Material affects the curve somewhat. Smaller mouldings are more suited to the expensive woods like mahogany while larger curves may be used in pine or oak. [Sidenote: Evolution of Enriched Outline Design] We now have at our command a number of interesting and serviceable curves suited to the material. Plate 22 is a sheet of applications. Figures 87 to 94 deal with the book-rack end and in this, as in the initial chapter, architecture is referred to as the source for many laws of industrial design. It has seemed wise to illustrate some of these important parallels as follows: We will assume the type of joint construction of the book-rack end as settled and the question of enrichment to be under consideration. Figure 87 is a simple primary mass without enrichment. It is comparable to the plain box-like structure with monotonous outline and without interest. The eye follows the outline in the direction of the arrows, pausing at the square corners, which interrupt a free movement by a harsh right angle. The base (an appendage) repeats in each instance the lines of the primary mass. Figure 88. Round corners, by freeing the design from the right angles, accelerate the eye movement and give a sense of added interest and grace to the contour. Figure 89. The cornice of a building suggests a similar arrangement which may be added to the primary mass. It adds the element of contrast of direction and variety of widths. [Sidenote: Variations] Figure 90. The main primary mass of a building with two equal appendages will suggest the enrichment of the outline in sympathy with three vertical divisions. Rule 3b. The rounded corners again assist the eye to travel freely around the contours, thus giving a sense of unity to the entire form. [Illustration: ENRICHMENT OF THE FUNCTIONAL OUTLINES OR CONTOURS AS APPLIED TO WOOD THE EVOLUTION OF OUTLINE ENRICHMENT OF A BOOK RACK END WITH CROSS REFERENCES TO PARALLELS IN ARCHITECTURE PLATE 22] [Illustration: FIGURES 101 and 102] Figure 91. The pediment of a Greek temple with the interest centered at the top of the pediment (_x_) causes a similar concentration of interest in the book-rack end. The slight inclination of the sides supplies variety of widths. The architect considers an object with the interest centered in this manner in the upper portion, as possessing more individuality than a motive with purely horizontal lines across the top boundary. [Illustration: FOLDING SCREEN FIGURE 102a] [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 103.--A Modern Telephone Stand and Stool] [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 104.--Modern Chair] Figure 92. In this figure the curved inclination facilitates the upward movement of the eye, at the same time supplying variety of width. Figure 93. The addition of an appendage to the outline of the Greek temple suggests a slight drop or variation in the top edge of the book-rack end which gives increased interest and grace through variety. Figure 94. Contrast of direction is supplied in this suggestion but it is questionable whether we are adding much to the interest by the corner. [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 105.--A Modern Serving Table] Figures 95 to 98 are variations of one theme, the foot stool, and Figure 99 adds suggestive designs for rails. _D_ in Figure 99 shows the enrichment line cut to a depth which threatens the structural value of the rail. This is corrected in Figure 103. Figure 100 is an application of the curve of force to a chair leg _B_, with other possibilities at _A_ and _C_. Numerous applications of the varied curves under consideration are found throughout this sheet. [Illustration: FIGURE 105a] [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 106.--Sheraton Table] Before closing with enriched outlines it is well to consider flagrant violations of this enrichment now on the market. Figure 101 shows a typical example of complete lack of unity and simplicity. It is a type of design often associated with cheaply constructed furniture. It is an ornate parody on outline enrichment. The curves of extravagance are well shown in Figure 102 where large bulbous curves with no systematic grouping combine disastrous waste of material with lack of grace or lightness. It is excellent practice to redesign such examples as those shown in Figures 101 and 102 with special reference to Rule 5c. Rule 5c. _Outline enrichment, by its similarity, should give a sense of oneness or unity to the design, binding divergent members together._ [Illustration: INSTRUCTION SHEET CONTOUR ENRICHMENT OF WOOD DRAWN AND DESIGNED BY JEANNETTE E. FITCH U. OF W.] Illustrations 103 to 106 are typical forms of present day outline enrichment. Limitations of space will not permit reference to the use of Period furniture. Sheraton and Hepplewhite designs are most adaptable for school uses as may be seen by comparing the Sheraton desk (Figure 106) with the foot stool in Figure 96. INSTRUCTION SHEET Figure 83 and Plates 22 and 23 are indicative of what might be obtained from a class. The problem represented on Plate 23 is advantageously colored with the intended stain and with a small section of side wall and trim visible. See Chapter 16, Figures 458 to 463. Figure 102a shows the method of enlarging a design into a full size working drawing for shop purposes. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Draw the primary rectangle. (_b_) Subdivide the rectangle into vertical and horizontal divisions. (_c_) Determine parts to be treated by contour enrichment. (_d_) Determine method suited to the project: wood turning, moulding, etc. (_e_) Group the wood turning curves under a definite system included under Rules 2a and 2b. Group the mouldings under crown, intermediate, and base classifications. Add this enrichment to the primary mass or make other simple variations that will not destroy the unity of the project. (_f_) Dimension and otherwise prepare the drawing for shop use. (_g_) Construct the project. _Note_.--If the designer is not properly equipped to prepare his own mouldings, he should consult moulding catalogs or the stock of some local lumber company. ADDITIONAL SUGGESTED PROBLEMS Design a wood pedestal with the curves grouped into three horizontal divisions. Design a hall table 2 feet 10 inches high and add simple contour enrichment. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 5a. _Outline enrichment should be subordinated to and support the structure._ Rule 5b. _Outline enrichment should add grace, lightness, and variety to the design._ Rule 5c. _Outline enrichment, by its similarity, should give a sense of oneness or unity to the design, binding divergent members together._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. State nature and need of enrichment. 2. What two forms of enrichment are commonly used in industrial arts design? 3. What four qualities are added to industrial design by contour enrichment? 4. What disturbing elements should be guarded against in the application of contour enrichment? 5. Describe the curve of force and its function in the contour enrichment of wood. 6. What are mouldings? Name three types of mouldings, their positions with relation to the eye level, and some curves used in their design. 7. Give examples of curves of continuity and contrast. By what means should two contrasting curves be separated? 8. How should a curve join a straight line? 9. Explain the grouping of contour curves in wood turning projects similar to a round leg or candlestick. 10. Present five designs for book-racks, enriched by changes of the contour. Give architectural cross references for each design. 11. Present three well designed table or chair legs and top and bottom rails and assemble one of these in a design. CHAPTER VII ENRICHMENT OF THE CONTOURS OR OUTLINES OF DESIGNS IN CLAY [Sidenote: Need of Enrichment] In the medium we are now about to consider there is a tendency for the enthusiastic beginner to over-elaborate the outline into meaningless forms. This possibly is due to the ease with which clay is manipulated. It would be well then to ask two questions before starting with the work of enriching the simple structure. First, why should it be enriched--is there a positive gain by so doing? Second, (if the decision is favorable to enrichment) where should it be enriched? Let us co-ordinate the parts to assist in this process. [Sidenote: Parts Differing in Function] [Sidenote: Unity] Rule 5d. _Parts of one design differing in function should differ in appearance but be co-ordinated with the entire design._ As a suggestion to guide one in enriching an object it is necessary to consider that parts differing in function may differ in appearance, but as members of one family they should still be related to the whole. For example, a spout, handle, and lid may differ in design from that of the body of a pitcher because they differ from it in function. Again, the rim and foot of a vase may be slightly changed or individually accented because of their respective duties. The base and holder of a candlestick may vary in design from the central part or handle, as each has a special function to perform. This rule of the change of appearance with the change of functional service (Rule 5d), is found throughout architectural design. The variation in design in the base, shaft, and capital of a column is possibly one of the most common examples. While differing in function they still _must have unity and "hold together."_ These functional parts of one design, differing in service rendered, form centers of construction and may receive emphasis in outline enrichment. Corners and terminal points are likewise available for decoration and will be discussed at length later. [Illustration: FIGURE 107.--Clay Outline Enrichment in the Rookwood Potteries] Enrichment in clay and metal generally means a substitution of curved for straight lines in the enriched portions of the design. These curves have the ability to impart grace, lightness, and variety to an object provided they are based upon constructive features of the problem. They must have a unit of measurement and must likewise be appropriate to the material. It is therefore necessary to deal with clay in this chapter and follow with a consideration of metal in another chapter. In Figures 109 to 123, Plate 24, we have a number of examples of variation of practically the same primary enclosing rectangle. Figure 108 represents a "squarely" proportioned circular bowl lacking both refinement of proportion and enrichment. Figure 109 has added refinement of proportions. Figures 110 and 111 have introduced an outline enriched to the extent of a simple curve. The base is the dominant width in the first, and the top dominates in width in the second. The outline in Figure 112, while similar to 110 for a portion of its length, departs at a stated point and by curving in toward the base supplies more variety to the contour. We have already said that this outline curve should have a unit of measurement and by referring to Rules 2a and 2b we are able to formulate the following: [Sidenote: Unit of Measurement for Curves in Outline Enrichment] Rule 5e. _In cylindrical forms outline curves with a vertical tendency should have their turning points or units of measurement in accordance with the horizontal divisions of Rules 2a and 2b._ Figures 112 and 113 have as their unit of measurement two horizontal spaces formed in accordance with Rule 2a, while Figures 116 and 117 have still more variety by the addition of a compound curve with its turning points or unit of measurement based upon Rule 2b. Figures 114 and 115 with outlines similar to those in Figures 112 and 113, respectively, have an additional enrichment, the foot and rim accentuation. [Sidenote: Accentuation of Functional Parts in Clay] The new element of enrichment consists of accenting by adding to the design a modeled rim and a base or foot, as it is technically known. This not only strengthens the structure at these two functional points but, by adding a small section of shadow, it tends to break up the surface, Figure 127, and add to the variety of enrichment. Figures 124 to 127 show the building processes connected with this interesting and constructive addition. [Sidenote: Appendages] Figures 116 to 119 show variations of the preceding figures while Figures 120 to 123 introduce the appendages to preceding figures. As in the designing of all appendages, discussed in Chapter V, it is the designer's intention to balance spout and handle to avoid a one-sided or top-heavy appearance. One of the principal difficulties that confronts the amateur designer is the failure to secure variety while retaining unity. This is largely due to a lack of ideas upon the subject and a marked lack of systematic development of one theme. Attention is directed to the diagram in the lower portion of Plate 24. The idea is to start with some simple form in columns _A_, _B_, _C_, _D_, _E_, _F_, Figure 128. Figure 129 introduces _two_ horizontal divisions. Rule 2a. The _black_ portion is the dominant section. [Illustration: OUTLINE ENRICHMENT OF THE PRIMARY MASS IN CLAY GOOD CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGN IS "A FREE AND ADEQUATE EMBODIMENT OF AN IDEA IN A FORM PECULIARLY APPROPRIATE TO THE IDEA ITSELF" HEGEL PLATE 24] [Sidenote: Systematic Development of Outline Enrichment in Clay] Notice the change in outlines based upon this division. Figure 130 raises the division point of the two subdivisions into the upper half of the object. This brings out the need of an accented foot which is, however, not of sufficient prominence to be considered as a horizontal spacing. Figure 131 raises the horizontal division points, again causing the introduction of a larger foot and now qualifying it as a division of the whole mass. This then makes our design a three-division problem, Rule 2b, and places it under the restrictions of Rule 5e. The feet of all of the bowls have been systematically decreased in width by the converging lines _C-C_ while the tops have been maintained constant in width. By this simple diagram an infinite number of designs may be formed and the choice of selection from the series, thoughtfully exercised, will supply the ideal bowl, ready to be translated into a full size working drawing. It is not the idea, however, to guarantee a perfect design in each one of these divisions as that would be practically impossible, but we have systematically applied a method of determination for stimulating the imagination. A series of articles by F.H. Rhead in the Keramic Studio first suggested the system of development by means of graded rectangles. [Sidenote: Candlesticks] Plate 25 shows a further elaboration of the succeeding themes. The candlestick series, Figures 132 to 138, introduces two or three-space division problems with contour turning points at _A_, Rule 5e, and with accented or embryonic feet and rims. The change from the purely functional and unenriched member of Figure 132 through the series shows the enrichment changing slightly to meet the needs of the three functional parts: the base, the handle, and the candle socket. Rule 5d. [Sidenote: Containers] Figure 139 shows a series of illustrations representing variations for containers. The first figure is without enrichment, followed by variations of the outline in the manner already suggested. [Sidenote: Pourers] Figure 140 indicates a series of pourers with the least attractive design on the left end. This unsatisfactory design is found, upon analysis, to be due to centrally placed horizontal division violating Rule 2a. The design of the appendages in this series will again be found to conform with the rules in Chapter V. The units of measurement for the curves may be readily ascertained from observation. [Illustration: OUTLINE ENRICHMENT OF THE PRIMARY MASS IN CLAY WITH METHODS OF SECURING VARIETY PLATE 25] [Sidenote: Similarity with Varying Primary Masses] Figure 141 is useful for the following purpose. It is desirable at times to develop a number of similar forms for a set, with a gradually increasing ratio of proportions, either in height or width. Figure 141 shows how the _height_ may be increased while maintaining a common width. Notice the gradual proportionate increase of the height of the neck _A-B_ as well as that of the body. The line _X_ is of the utmost value in ascertaining the height of the intermediate bowls. The eye should now be so trained that the height of the neck _A-B_ on the last bowl can be readily proportioned by _eye measurement_ to that of the first bowl. A line similar to _X_ will give the intermediate points. Figure 142 varies the _width_ in a similar manner. Notice the gradually decreasing distances _C-D-E-F_, the spaces for which may be determined by the eye. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plate 26 suggests the sequential progression of steps leading to the potter's working drawing. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Draw the primary rectangle. (_b_) Add limits of functional parts: handle, spout, cover, etc. (_c_) Establish unit of measurement for primary rectangle contour curves. (_d_) Design contour of primary mass and add the appendages to it, observing the rules pertaining to appendages and unit of measurement. (_e_) Dimension and otherwise prepare the drawing for the potter's use. This includes the planning of a working drawing, one-eighth larger in all directions than the preliminary design, to allow for the shrinkage of the clay body. The working drawing should also be in partial sections to show the construction of the interior of the ware. SUGGESTED PROBLEM Design a teapot, tea caddy, and cup showing a common unity in contour design. (Plate 82.) SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 5d. _Parts of one design differing in function should differ in appearance but be co-ordinated with the entire design._ Rule 5e. _In cylindrical forms outline curves with a vertical tendency should have their turning points or units of measurement in accordance with the horizontal divisions of Rules 2a and 2b._ [Illustration: RULES 5D AND 5E CONTOUR OR OUTLINE ENRICHMENT. CLAY. INSTRUCTION SHEET PLATE 26] REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. Give and illustrate the rule governing the change in the appearance of the design with the change of functional service. 2. What is the aesthetic value of curves in outline enrichment? 3. Correlate the rule governing the unit of measurement for vertical contour curves with the rules controlling horizontal divisions. 4. Show, by a diagram, the method of systematically varying the contours of circular forms: (_a_) by changing the horizontal divisions; (_b_) by varying the proportion of the primary mass. 5. What is the value of accenting the functional parts in clay design? [Illustration: _Courtesy of James Milliken University_ FIGURE 142a.--Outline and Surface Enrichment in College Pottery] [Illustration: OUTLINE ENRICHMENT OF THE PRIMARY MASSES OF THE BASER METALS ENRICHMENT OF EDGES, CORNERS, INTERMEDIATE POINTS, APPENDAGES. SEE PLATE 28 FOR TERMINALS, LINKS, DETAILS. PLATE 27] CHAPTER VIII ENRICHMENT OF THE CONTOURS OR OUTLINES OF DESIGNS IN BASE AND PRECIOUS METALS [Sidenote: Enrichment of the Base Metals--Iron, Copper, Brass, Bronze] The contours of clay forms are generally free to follow the curves and take the direction dictated by the knowledge and taste of the designer. Metal outlines are more restricted in this respect. Metal is frequently associated with service and consequently its design is often governed by its intended use. For example, if we were to design a metal drawer pull for a buffet, it would have to be considered in relation to the character and shape of the buffet. Again, the screws with which it is attached to the buffet would influence its outline design. It is, in other words, a _dependent_ outline. [Sidenote: Free and Dependent Outlines] To distinguish between an unrestricted outline and one bound by other considerations we will term the restricted outline a _dependent outline_, for its enrichment must be related to other forms either within or without its surface. A _free outline_ on the other hand is one in which the designer is free to use his ideas unrestricted by any other outside consideration, except service and design consistent with the material. In order to emphasize the nature of a dependent outline we have Rule 5f. _Dependent outline enrichment should be related to essential parts of a design and influenced by their forms and functions; it must be consistent with the idea of the subject._ [Sidenote: Enrichment of Edges] We will start with the simplest form of outline enrichment of base metals, the decoration of an edge. It is contrary to the laws of service to leave sharp edges on articles intended for intimate household use, except where cutting edges are required. The rounding of sharp edges is likewise dictated by the laws of beauty. The transition from one plane surface to another is assisted by a rounded edge, as the eye takes kindly to the softened play of light and shade. This gives us the simplest form of enrichment--the beveled, chamfered, or rounded edge, Figures 143 and 144, Plate 27. The rim of a thin 18-gauge plate is likewise improved and strengthened by lapping the edge as shown in Figure 145, giving the rounded effect shown in Figure 144. [Sidenote: Enrichment of Functional Parts] There are six important functional parts with which we are brought into common contact in industrial design of base metals. There are many more, but these are the most common and consequently are of the utmost importance to the designer as design centers. These parts are itemized as follows: (1) Corners, (2) Appendages, (3) Intermediate Points, (4) Terminals, (5) Links, (6) Details. As the decorative treatment of each part varies with the functional duty, Rule 5d, separate treatment and consideration of each part will be necessary. [Sidenote: Enrichment of Corners] Corners, as extreme turning points of a design, are often found convenient for the location of screw holes, rivets, etc. These important construction elements become prominent functional parts of the design and by custom and the laws of design, Rule 5d, they are capable of receiving outline enrichment. But the contour of the corner must be related to the screws or rivets, particularly if they are near the edge, hence our outline becomes a _dependent outline_ and as such must be related to the rivets or screws by Rule 5f. Figures 146 to 149 show various arrangements of this type of design. The unity of the design is not lost, and the functional parts are enriched by contours related to the elements of service (rivets). Figure 153 shows another but slightly modified example of the same laws applied to hinge construction. The enriched outline in this case is closely associated with the holes in the hinge. The hinges in turn must be related to the object for which they are designed. Figure 150 gives a common example of corner enrichment by means of varying the edge at the corners, _i.e._, by rounding the tray corners. [Sidenote: Enrichment of Appendages] As appendages have distinct functional duties their design may vary as the design of the arm of the human figure differs from the head. Yet, as parts of the same body, they must fit the shape of the object to which they are attached. The candle holder and handle as appendages in Figure 150 are designed in sympathetic relation by means of tangential and similar curves sufficiently varied to give the eye a feeling of variety in the design. The novel single flower holders, Figures 151 and 152, with the glass test tube acting as a container show other possible forms of the appendage design. The first is informal while the second is formal, but both adhere to the first simple rules of appendage design. Rule 4a, etc. [Sidenote: Enrichment of Intermediate Points] [Illustration: FIGURE 156a.--Candlestick, Rendered by E.R.] The enrichment of center or intermediate points should be handled with great care and with a definite reason. Careless handling may cause the design to lack unity. Figures 154 and 155 show a simple twist as enrichment. The serviceable reason for this is to obtain a grip at the point of the twist. Again, it varies the character of the straight edges and adds interest without loss of compactness or unity. If one is desirous of widening a vertical or horizontal rod, the enrichment made by welding a number of small rods together with a spreading twist gives a pleasing and serviceable handle. Figure 156. [Sidenote: Enrichment of Terminals] [Sidenote: Free and Dependent Contour Enrichment] As the public demands a happy ending to a story or a play, so does the eye demand a well-designed ending to a design. The part that terminal enrichment plays in industrial design is, therefore, to say the least, important to us as designers. Figure 157 illustrates terminals in thin metal and is shown by courtesy of the _School Arts Magazine_ from one of the articles by Mr. Augustus Rose. The outlines are in part dependent in character, controlled by rivets. Notice the change of curve as the function changes from the _dependent curve_ of the rivet area to the _free outline_ of the handle and again from the handle to the cutting blade; a functional change of marked character, but in thorough unity with the entire design. It is again emphasized that whether the design possesses a free or a dependent outline, or a combination of both types, all parts of the design must be held together by entire _unity_. The rivets are occasionally placed toward the edge and a domed boss is used to accent the center as is shown in Figure 158. [Illustration: OUTLINE ENRICHMENT OF THE PRIMARY MASS IN THE BASER METALS. THE ENRICHMENT OF TERMINALS, LINKS, AND DETAILS. FREE OUTLINES PLATE 28] THE IONIC VOLUTE [Sidenote: Terminal Enrichment in Wrought Metal] As the Curve of Force was a valuable curve in wood construction, so we find it an equally valuable curve for wrought metal. Its recurrence again and again in industrial design leads us to appreciate its value in the arts. It is the Ionic volute handed down to us in its present form from the time of the Greeks, who developed it to a high state of perfection. [Sidenote: Curve of Beauty] While its geometric development is a tedious process, it may be easily constructed for practical purposes by the following method. In Figure 159, _P_ represents a small cylinder of wood, possibly a dowel. A strong piece of thread, or fine wire, is wrapped around the base of the dowel a number of times and a loop is formed in the free end. A pencil with a sharp point is inserted in the loop and the pencil and dowel are placed together on a sheet of paper. As the thread unwinds from the dowel the point of the pencil will describe a volute which may be developed indefinitely. It will be noticed that no corresponding parts of the curve are concentric and it thus has constant variety. It has been termed the CURVE OF BEAUTY and is found in nature in the wonderfully designed shell of the nautilus. It is advisable to form several templates for the volute out of bent wrought iron, of different sizes, and to practice drawing the curve many times to accustom the hand and the eye to its changes of direction. The "eye" or center portion is sometimes terminated by thinning and expanding in the manner shown in Figure 160. [Illustration: OUTLINE ENRICHMENT OF THE PRIMARY MASS IN PRECIOUS METALS. SILVER. A DEPENDENT OUTLINE RELATED TO AND ENCLOSING A SEMI-PRECIOUS STONE. PLATE 29] [Sidenote: Greek Scroll] One form of application of the volute is shown in the terminal points of the candlestick in Figure 161. It is here shown combined with the second volute in the form of a reverse curve. In Figure 162, it has been combined with a smaller but reversed volute at the upper end. The entire and combined curve is commonly known as a Greek Scroll. In Figure 163 the Greek Scroll has been combined with the reverse curve of Figure 161 to form a portion of the bracket. In this figure we find the familiar curve of force faithfully serving its function as a supporting member for the top portion of the bracket. [Sidenote: Enrichment of Links] A link is a convenient filler in connecting parts of a right angle. It likewise serves as a brace in connecting several disconnected parts and is useful in maintaining the unity of a design. Figure 164 shows a common form of link with its ends thinned and expanded as shown in Figure 160. This construction may, however, be disregarded as it is technically quite difficult to accomplish. [Sidenote: Enrichment of Details] Details are the smaller portions of a design and are similar to the trimmings and minor brackets of a building in relative importance. They enter to a considerable extent into wrought metal grille design, and are generally formed of the link, Greek scroll, or the Ionic volute, so as to be in harmony with the other parts of the design outline. Rule 5f. Their presence and use may be readily detected on Plate 28. Rule 5g. _A curve should join a straight line with either a tangential or right angle junction._ [Sidenote: Summary of Wrought Metal Free Outline Enrichment] As we are now familiar with continuity in wood moulding curves we should feel, in reviewing the figures in this chapter, the value of flowing continuity and tangential junction points (Rule 5g) necessary in wrought metal enrichment. The curves that we have considered are adapted to the materials and a comparatively large and new field of design is opened to the designer through a combination of curves mentioned. Plate 30 is self-explanatory and brings out the general application of the foregoing principles as applied to cast bronze hardware. It is interesting to notice the change of enrichment paralleling the change of function as outlined in Rule 5d. OUTLINE ENRICHMENT OF PRECIOUS METALS [Sidenote: Outline Enrichment of Silver] [Sidenote: Stones and Their Cuttings] [Illustration: _Courtesy of P. and F. Corbin_ PLATE 30] Little has been written regarding the designing of jewelry. As can be readily seen, a semi-precious stone is the controlling factor in the major portion of the designs with silver as a background. Any enrichment merely accentuates the beauty of the setting. This statement would lead us to consider the outline as _dependent_ in character and thoroughly related to the stone. It is necessary then to take the stone as a point of departure. The standard stone cuttings used in simple jewelry are shown in Figures 166 to 170. The first three and the last are cabochon cut, elliptical in contour with flat bottoms. The long axes have been drawn in each instance. [Sidenote: Relation of Stone to Contour] With Figures 171 to 174 we begin to see the close relation between the stone and its enclosing form. Rule 5f. A longer major axis in the stone calls for an increased length in the corresponding axis of the silver foundation or background. It is really a re-echo of the proportions of the primary mass of the stone in the mass of the silver. It is well for the beginner to make the axis of the stone and the silver blank coincide and to use this long axis as a basis for future enrichment. In a vertical primary mass, similar to the one shown in Figure 180, it is better design to place the stone a short distance above the geometric center of the mass as it insures a sense of stability and balance. A stone when placed toward the bottom of a design of this nature is inclined to give a feeling of "settling down" or lost balance. Figure 176 varies the design shown in Figure 171. The two circles related to the stone are connected by four silver grains or balls. Figure 177 shows an attempt to enrich the contour of the silver, but there is a resulting tendency to detract from the simplicity of the unbroken outline and, as a result, little is gained by its attempted enrichment. Figures 178 and 179 show a better form of enrichment by accentuating the outline. This may be accomplished either by engraving a single line paralleling the contour or by soldering a thin wire around the outline. [Sidenote: Need of Top and Side Views] While the top view of an article of jewelry may have been carefully designed the side view in most instances is totally neglected. The side view should show a steady graduation from the surface of the silver to the outline of the stone. This prevents the stone from bulging from the surface like a sudden and unusual growth. Doming, small wedges of silver, or a twist around the bezel may accomplish this as can be readily seen in Figures 181, 182, and 183. [Illustration: RULES 5D 5E 5F 5G. CONTOUR OR OUTLINE ENRICHMENT. CLAY. METAL. INSTRUCTION SHEET. PLATE 31] [Sidenote: Motives for Outline Enrichment in Silver] While emphasis should be placed upon simplicity of outline, certain well regulated forms of enrichment may be added to the contour and enhance the beauty of the stone. Such motives with constructive steps are shown in Figure 184 and their application in Figures 185 to 188. It will be noticed that the enrichment _invariably leads up to the stone_ which is the center of interest in the design. The ornament is likewise based upon the prominent axes of the stone. [Sidenote: Free Outline Enrichment in Silver] Figures 189, 190, and 191 are types of beaten and raised silver work and show characteristic forms in silver, with two examples of accented outline enrichment. As they are curvilinear forms, their design is similar in many ways to clay forms of similar proportions and uses. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plate 31 shows the design steps necessary to the evolution of a lamp in two materials. A full size working drawing should follow Figure D. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Draw the unenriched primary mass. (_b_) For dependent contours, locate the elements of service within the primary mass. This may be interpreted to mean rivets, screw holes, semi-precious stones, etc. (_c_) Determine upon the portion of the contours to be enriched, gauged by its need for grace, lightness, and variety. This enrichment is preferably concentrated at the following points: edges, corners, appendages, intermediate points, terminals, links, and details. These points may be combined provided the result does not violate the simplicity of the structural lines. (_d_) Draw the enrichment in the predetermined area, causing it to be in harmony with such interior functional parts as screw holes, rivets, semi-precious stones, etc. Utilize suggested curves. (_e_) Review all of the contour curves added to the design. Are they feeble compass curves or do they have the character of long sweeping curves with short "snappy" turns for variety? (_f_) Test the entire design for unity. Does the eye move smoothly through all parts of the contour? Does the design "hold together"? Are all links and appendages joined to the primary mass in a graceful tangential manner? (_g_) Dimension, add additional views, and details, if necessary, and otherwise prepare the drawing for shop use. SUGGESTED PROBLEMS Design an electric table lamp with square copper rod as a support, feet, and copper shade. Design a hinge for a cedar chest. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 5f. _Dependent outline enrichment should be related to essential parts of a design and influenced by their forms and functions; it must be consistent with the idea of the subject._ Rule 5g. _A curve should join a straight line with either a tangential or right angle junction._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. Contrast contour enrichment of wood, clay, and metal. 2. Define free and dependent outline in contour enrichment of base metal. 3. Describe and explain the use of the Ionic volute in contour enrichment of metal. 4. Define and present illustrations of contour enrichment designed for edges, corners, appendages, intermediate points, terminals, links, and other details in base metal. 5. Define and illustrate free and dependent contour enrichment of precious metal. [Illustration: FIGURE 190a.--Union of Outline Enrichment on Clay and Metal] CHAPTER IX SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD With this chapter we enter upon a consideration of the third and last major division of Industrial Arts Design, that of Surface Enrichment. [Sidenote: Nature and Need of Surface Enrichment] We have considered in previous chapters the subject of contour or outline enrichment. Now consider for a moment the fact that articles such as a square box, or tile, are not suited to outline enrichment, yet they have large, flat, and rather monotonous surfaces capable of decoration. It is readily seen that such surfaces will admit of further elaboration which we will distinguish from contour enrichment by using the term Surface Enrichment. As in contour enrichment, so in surface enrichment, the added element of design not only increases the beauty of the object but it likewise, if properly applied, gives apparent added strength to the structure. Rule 6a. _Surfaces to be enriched must admit of enrichment._ [Sidenote: When and Where to Enrich a Surface] Strictly utilitarian articles should not be ornamented by surface enrichment. As an example, a wooden mixing spoon, bowl, or wooden knife handle should not be enriched by carving, as the carving would interfere with the proper cleansing of the article. A surface exposed to considerable wear should not be enriched. Objects not strictly in the utilitarian class, such as a paper knife, book stall, envelope holder, or library table may be appropriately enriched in an unostentatious manner so that they will harmonize with their surroundings. But the enrichment should first be placed upon the surface in such a manner that it will not interfere with the functional use of the article for service. Large projections upon the back of a chair or upon the handle of a paper cutter are unpleasant and interfere with intended uses. [Illustration: FIGURE 191a.--Structure Obscured by Surface and Contour Enrichment] Rule 6b. _Surface enrichment must be related to the structural contours but must not obscure the actual structure._ Careful consideration should be given to the often-mentioned law that the surface enrichment must be thoroughly related to structure and contour but not so as to obscure either. We must keep in mind the fact that it is necessary to support the structure, not to cover it up by related ornament, as in Figure 191a. [Sidenote: Conservative Use of Ornament] Most critics of industrial design complain of an overwhelming desire upon the part of the designer to over-decorate the structure. Surface enrichment runs wild over steam radiators, stoves, and wooden rocking chairs. Reserve is the watchword recommended as of extreme importance. The illustrations in this chapter are restricted to a limited range of design motives for the express purpose of simplifying the number of recommended methods. Rule 6c. _The treatment must be appropriate to the material._ [Sidenote: Relation of Enrichment to Material] The close-fibered woods with smooth, even textures are capable of more delicate enrichment than woods of coarser grain. Small articles are generally seen from a close range and should, therefore, be ornamented with finer decoration than large articles, such as a piece of furniture that is to be seen from a distance. The latter should have surface enrichment of sufficient boldness to "carry" or to be distinct from a distant point. Furthermore the enrichment should not have a "stuck on" appearance, but be an integral part of the original mass. [Sidenote: Appropriate Methods of Surface Enrichment for Wood] There are three distinct means of ornamenting wood: (1) inlaying, depending for interest upon the difference in value and hue of the different inlaying woods used; (2) carved enrichment, depending upon line and mass for its beauty and made visible by contrasts of light and shade; (3) painting or staining of the surface with the interest dependent upon the colors or stains and their relation to each other and to the hue of the wood. It has been deemed wise to consider the first two types in the present chapter, and leave the last type for later consideration. In Chapters XV, XVI, and XVII, accentuation has been placed on wood coloring. The designer is advised to read those chapters before attempting to stain or color his problem. [Sidenote: Inlaying] Treating surface enrichment in its listed order we find that inlaying is one of the most common and best forms of enrichment for wood work. As inlaying readily adapts itself to bands and borders, emphasis is placed upon them. [Illustration: STRAIGHT LINE SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF A SMALL PRIMARY MASS IN WOOD BANDS AND BORDERS FOR INLAYING, CARVING, STAINING PLATE 32] Rule 6i. _Inlayed enrichment should never form strong or glaring contrasts with the parent surface._ [Sidenote: Errors in Wood Inlay] Two conspicuous errors are often associated with inlaid designs. The first is the use of woods affording a glaring contrast with that of the project. Figure 209, Page 106. The right contrast of value is established when the inlay seems neither to rise from the surface nor sink through it. It should remain _on the surface_ of the plane to be enriched, for it is surface enrichment. Figures 210, 211, and 212 are illustrative of pleasing contrasts. The second specific glaring error is the use of unrelated inlay. As an example, an Indian club is created by gluing many varicolored woods around a central core. The result of the pattern so formed has little relation to the structural lines, fails entirely to support them; and, as a result, should be discarded. [Sidenote: Carving] Carving is difficult for the average beginner in wood working design, therefore merely the simplest forms of the craft are suggested as advisable. Figure 205a. If an elaborate design is desired (Figure 205c), it should be first drawn in outline and finally modeled in relief by Plastelene. This model is then an effective guide for the carver, supplementing the original outline drawing. [Sidenote: Divisions of Carving] Carving may be roughly divided into the following groups: (1) high relief carving similar to heads, human figures, and capitals; (2) low relief carving in which the planes have been flattened to a comparatively short distance above the original block of wood, such as panels, which are good examples of this group; (3) pierced carving where the background has been entirely cut away in places, such as screens, which illustrate this type; (4) incised carving in which the design has been depressed _below_ the surface of the wood. Geometric chip carving is a representative type of this group. There are possible variations and combinations of these groups. Rule 6j. _Carved surface enrichment should have the appearance of belonging to the parent mass._ _The central governing thought_ in all carved designs is to show an interesting proportion of light and shade coupled with a unity between the raised portion of the design and the background. If the carving has a glued on appearance it becomes mechanical and resembles a stamped or machine-produced ornament. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD WITH BORDERS OF CURVED AND STRAIGHT LINES FOR INLAYING, CARVING, STAINING PLATE 33] [Sidenote: Steps Taken in Carving] A typical carved enrichment is carried through four steps: (1) the design is transferred to the wood surface by means of carbon paper; (2) the design is "set in" or separated from the ground by means of a grooved chisel; (3) the wood is cut away from the back of the design by a process of grounding; (4) the leaves and flowers or other elements of the design are modeled. The designer should keep these processes in mind when developing his design. [Sidenote: The Designer's Vocabulary] It is now essential to find the extent of the vocabulary possible for the designer of surface enrichment. He has three large sources of information: first, geometric forms and abstract spots; second, natural organic objects such as flowers, leaves, animals, etc.; third, artificial objects, pots, jars, ink bottles, and other similar objects. He may assemble or group these objects or elements for future designs into four typical systems: first, bands or borders; second, panels; third, free ornament; and fourth, the diaper or all-over patterns. DESIGNING BANDS ON BORDERS Rule 6d. _Bands and borders should have a consistent lateral, that is, onward movement._ Rule 6e. _Bands and borders should never have a prominent contrary motion, opposed to the main forward movement._ [Sidenote: Bands] Bands are particularly suitable for inlaying. They are composed of straight lines arranged in some orderly and structurally related manner. They are used for bordering, framing, enclosing, or connecting. They give a decided _onward_ motion which tends to increase the apparent length of the surface to which they are applied. Referring to Plate 32, Figure 192, we find three typical bands, _A_, _B_, and _C_. It is often the custom to limit the width of the inlayed bands to the width of the circular saw cut. To secure unity, the center band in _C_ is wider than the outside sections. [Sidenote: Accenting] A possible variation of motive in band designing may be secured by accenting. The single band has been broken up at _D_ into geometric sections of pleasing length. But while this design gives variety, it also destroys the unity of a single straight line. Unity may, however, be restored by the addition of the top and bottom bands at _E_. This method of restoring unity is of extreme value in all border arrangements and is constantly used by the designer. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD APPLICATION OF BANDS AND BORDERS PLATE 34] Rule 6f. _All component parts of a border should move in unison with the main movement of the border._ [Sidenote: Borders] Bands, as has just been stated, give distinctly "onward" movement. Borders are merely bands combined with other motives from the designer's vocabulary. As will be seen, bands, by their onward movement, tend to hold the other elements of the border together. Figure 193 is a border design without variety, unity, or interest. Figure 194 has added unity to a similar border by the addition of the double bands, but monotony is still present. Figure 195 suggests a method of relieving the monotony by accentuating every other repeat, thus supplying variety and creating an analogy to march-time music. Figure 196 has accentuated the monotonous border in Figure 194 by omitting every other square. This makes a simple and effective inlay pattern and suggests a large number of possible variations that could be applied to accented band motives. [Sidenote: Moorish Ornament] Figures 197 and 198 are border motives of geometric derivation taken from the historic schools of ornament. Figure 198 illustrates the "strap ornament" of the Moorish school. The simple underlying geometric net upon which these designs are based may be found in Meyer's Handbook of Ornament. INCEPTIVE AXES Rule 6h. _Borders intended for vertical surfaces may have a strongly upward movement in addition to the lateral movement, provided the lateral movement dominates._ [Sidenote: Upward and Onward Borders] In addition to the purely onward borders we now come to a variety with a distinctly _upward_ movement as well. While this new feature adds materially to the interest of the border, it also adds to the difficulty of designing. The upward movement is often centered about an axis termed the Axis of Symmetry or Inceptive Axis, about which are grouped and balanced the different elements from the designer's vocabulary. When both sides are alike, the unit so formed is called a _bilateral unit_. Figure 199 shows the formation of a bilateral unit by means of grouping, accenting, and balancing straight lines over an inceptive axis. By adding bands above and below and doubling these vertical lines to gain width, we form at _A_ and _B_, Figure 199, inlaid designs with an upward and onward tendency or movement. [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 215.--Inlaid Band Border] [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 216.--Single and Double Band Inlaid Border] The introduction of curved lines and natural units allows us to add more grace to these combined movements. The leading lines of a small border, designed to be seen at close range, are planned in Figure 200. The central line or inceptive axis is repeated at regular intervals and the leading or skeleton lines are balanced to the right and left of this axis. These leading lines, as can be readily seen, have an upward and onward movement. To insure continuity, a small link and the top and bottom bands have been added to complete the onward movement. [Illustration: _Courtesy of C.E. Partch_ FIGURE 216a.--Work of High School Students] Material for straight borders may be derived from geometry, nature, or artificial forms, but for borders designed in curves, nature is generally selected as a source. Figure 201 illustrates a crude and uninteresting form, unsuited to outline enrichment. Figure 202 has brought Figure 201 into some semblance of order, but as can be readily seen by the primary outline which encloses it, the widest point occurs exactly midway from top to bottom, which makes the form monotonous. This defect has been remedied in Figure 203 and an interesting and varied area appears for the first time. What Dr. Haney calls "the feebly flapping curve" of Figure 202 has been replaced by the vigorous and "snappy" curve of Figure 203, which gives what is termed a dynamic or rhythmic value in surface enrichment. [Illustration: _Courtesy of C.E. Partch_ FIGURE 216b.--Work of High School Students] Rule 6g. _Each component part of a border should be strongly dynamic and, if possible, partake of the main movements of the border._ Any form which causes the eye to move in a given direction is strongly _dynamic_, and is opposed to the _static_ form which does not cause a marked eye movement. A circle is symbolic of the static form, while a triangle is dynamic. In the designer's nomenclature, the term "rhythmic" may be used synonymously with "dynamic." Dynamic areas or forms should carry out the upward and onward movement of the leading lines. Figure 204 shows how closely dynamic areas are connected with nature's units for design motives. A slight change in the contour may transform a leaf into excellent material with which to clothe the leading lines. The curve of force, the cyma, and other curves described in previous chapters should be recognized by the designer and utilized in the contours of dynamic forms. [Illustration: _Courtesy of C.E. Partch_ FIGURE 216c.--Instruction Sheet Problem] The leading lines of the border in Figure 200 are shown clothed or enriched in Figure 205. Vigorous dynamic spots, conventionalized from natural units, continue the upward and onward movement of the original leading lines. As will be noted, the background has been treated to allow the spots to appear in relief. Small "fussy" spots or areas have been omitted and the units, varied in size and strongly dynamic in form, balance over an inceptive axis. The small link reaches out its helping hand to complete the onward movement without loss of unity, while the bands above and below bind the design together and assist in the lateral movement. Figure 205 shows three methods of treatment: simple spots without modeling, from _A_ to _B_; slight indications of modeling, from _B_ to _C_; full modeling of the entire unit at _C_. The choice of treatment depends, of course, upon the skill of the craftsman. [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 217.--Carved and Accented Border and Triple Carved Band] Figure 206 shows a design varied from formal balance over a central axis of symmetry or an inceptive axis. It has a decided onward movement with the leaves balanced above and below the stem which is the axis. The "repeat" has been reversed at _B_ and is more pleasing than the portion at _A_. The area of the background, in its relation to that used for ornamentation or "filling," cannot be predetermined with exactness. There should be no blank spaces for the eye to bridge. Some designers allow about one-third ground for two-thirds filling or enrichment. This proportion gives a full and rich effect and may be adopted in most instances as satisfactory. [Illustration: _Courtesy of C.E. Partch_ PLATE 35.--Instruction Sheet] [Sidenote: Point of Concentration--Effect upon Structure] When a border is used to parallel a rectangle it is customary to strengthen the border at the corners for two reasons: first, to strengthen, apparently, the structure at these points; second, to assist the eye in making the sudden turn at the corner. The corner enforcement affords momentary resting points for the eye, and adds pleasing variety to the long line of border. The strengthened point is called the _point of concentration_ or point of force. Its presence and effect may be noted by the symbol P.C. in Figures 207, 208, 213, and 214. [Sidenote: Chip Carving] Figure 213 represents the rather angular and monotonous chip carving motive. It is, however, a simple form of carved enrichment for wood construction. Figure 214 shows the more rhythmic flow of a carved and modeled enrichment. Two methods of leaf treatment are given at _A_ and _B_. Figures 215, 216, and 217 are industrial and public school examples of the forms of surface enrichment treated in this chapter. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plate 35 shows the necessary working drawings for wood inlay and is supplied as a typical high school problem by Mr. C.E. Partch of Des Moines, Iowa. See Figure 216c. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Draw the primary rectangle, appendage, etc. (_b_) Subdivide the rectangle into its horizontal and vertical subdivisions. (_c_) Design very simple contour enrichment. (_d_) Determine the location of zone of enrichment, and the amount and method of enriching the surface. (_e_) Make several preliminary sketches to determine the best design and add the one finally selected to the structure. Correlate with contour enrichment. (_f_) Add additional views, dimension, and otherwise prepare the drawing for shop use. SUGGESTED PROBLEM Design a walnut side table 3 feet high and enrich with a double band inlay of ebony. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 6a. _Surfaces to be enriched must admit of enrichment._ Rule 6b. _Surface enrichment must be related to the structural contours but must not obscure the actual structure._ Rule 6c. _The treatment must be appropriate to the material._ Rule 6d. _Bands and borders should have a consistent lateral, that is, onward movement._ Rule 6e. _Bands and borders should never have a prominent contrary motion, opposed to the main forward movement._ Rule 6f. _All component parts of a border should move in unison with the main movement of the border._ Rule 6g. _Each component part of a border should be strongly dynamic and, if possible, partake of the main movement of the border._ Rule 6h. _Borders intended for vertical surfaces may have a strongly upward movement in addition to the lateral movement, provided the lateral movement dominates._ Rule 6i. _Inlayed enrichment should never form strong or glaring contrasts with the parent surface._ Rule 6j. _Carved surface enrichment should have the appearance of belonging to the parent mass._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. Give the reasons why surface enrichment may be used as decoration. 2. State an original example illustrating when and where to use surface enrichment. 3. Name an object from the industrial arts in which the structure has been weakened or obscured by the application of surface enrichment. Name an example of the correct use of surface enrichment and state wherein it has been correctly applied. 4. How should surface enrichment of small masses differ from that applied to larger masses; in what manner does the fiber of the wood affect the design? 5. Name three means of enriching the surface of wood. Briefly describe the processes of inlaying and carving, with the design restrictions governing each. 6. Give three sources of ornament open to the designer of surface enrichment. 7. Draw an accented triple band motive for inlay. 8. What is the inceptive axis; a bilateral unit? What are leading lines; dynamic forms; points of concentration? 9. Design an upward and onward continuous carved border for wood and base it upon a vertical inceptive axis. Treat as in A, Figure 205. 10. Illustrate the manner in which structure may be apparently strengthened by a band or border. CHAPTER X SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD--Continued ENCLOSED AND FREE ORNAMENT [Sidenote: Enclosed Ornament (Panels)] Chapter IX dealt with methods of developing continuous or repeating ornament (bands or borders). This leaves enclosed and free forms of surface enrichment to be considered in this chapter. As an enclosed form, a panel may be enriched by geometric, natural, or artificial ornament. It is enclosed in a definite boundary of bands or lines and may be a square or other polygon, circle, ellipse, lunette, spandrel, lozenge, or triangle. As the decoration does not have the continuous repeating movement of the border and as it covers an enclosed area, it is necessarily treated in a different manner from either band or border. Its object is to decorate a plane surface. The enrichment may be made by means of carving, inlaying, or painting. [Sidenote: Free Ornament] Free ornament means the use of motives not severely enclosed by bands or panels. Free ornament is generally applied to centers or upper portions of surfaces to relieve a monotonous area not suited to either panel or border treatment. It may have an upward or a radial movement dependent upon the character of the member to be enriched. [Sidenote: Summary] We then have three forms of possible surface enrichment: repeating or continuous motives, enclosed motives, and free motives. Our next point is to consider where the last two may be used appropriately in surface enrichment. [Sidenote: Zone of Enrichment] The panel of a small primary mass of wood may be enriched at any one of three places: first, at the margins; second, at the center; third, over the entire surface. The exact position is a matter to be determined by the structural design and the utilitarian requirements of the problem. For example, a bread board or taboret top would require the enrichment in the margin with the center left free. A table leg might require an enrichment in the center of the upper portion of the leg, while a square panel to be inserted in a door, Figure 233, Page 124, might require full surface treatment. [Sidenote: Structural Reinforcement] Each area of panel enrichment should have one or more accented points known as points of concentration. The design should become more prominent at these places and cause the eye to rest for a moment before passing to the next point of prominence. The accented portion of the design at these points should be so related to the structure that it apparently reinforces the structure as a whole. Corners, centers of edges, and geometric centers are salient parts of a structure; we shall therefore be likely to find our points of concentration coinciding with them. Let us then consider the first of these arrangements as applied to enclosed enrichment. MARGINAL PANEL ENRICHMENT ENCLOSED ENRICHMENT FOR PARTLY ENRICHED SURFACES Rule 7a. _Marginal panel enrichment should parallel or be related to the outlines of the primary mass and to the panel it is to enrich._ Rule 7b. _Marginal points of concentration in panels should be placed (1) preferably at the corner or (2) in the center of each margin._ Rule 7c. _To insure unity of design in panels, the elements composing the points of concentration and the links connecting them must be related to the panel contour and to each other._ [Sidenote: Marginal Zone Enrichment] The marginal method of enrichment may be used when it is impossible to enrich the entire surface because the center is to be used for utilitarian purposes or because it would be aesthetically unwise to enrich the entire surface. The marginal zone is adapted to enriching box tops, stands, table tops, and similar surfaces designed preferably with the thought of being seen from above. We shall call such surfaces horizontal planes. As the design is to be limited to the margin, the panel outline is bound to parallel the contours, or outlines, of the surface to be enriched. It is well to begin the design by creating a panel parallel to the outlines of the enriched surface. Figure 218. The next step is to place the point of concentration in the marginal zone and within this figure. Common usage dictates the _corners_ as the proper points. [Sidenote: Points of Concentration] [Sidenote: Points of Concentration in the Corner of Margin] It may be the designer's practice to use the single or double bands, Figures 218, 219, 220, with a single accentuation at the corners. The spots composing the point of concentration must have unity with the enclosing contours and with the remainder of the enrichment. Figure 220 is, in this respect, an improvement over Figure 219. But these examples are not _true_ enclosed panel enrichment. They are the borders of Chapter IX acting as marginal enrichment. It is not until we reach Figure 221 that the true enclosed enrichment appears, when the panel motive is clearly evident. In this figure a single incised band parallels the contours of the figure until the corner is reached. Here we find it turning, gracefully widening to give variety, and supporting the structure by its own increased strength. The single band in Figure 221 acts as a bridge, leads the eye from one point of concentration to the next similar point, forms a compact mass with the point of concentration, and parallels the enclosing contours of the enriched surface. [Sidenote: Points of Concentration in the Center of Margin] In Figure 222 the point of concentration is to be found in the _center_ of each margin. This bilateral unit is clearly designed on and about the center lines of the square panel. These points of concentration take the place of previous concentrations at the _corners_ which were based upon the square's diagonals. While accenting based upon the center lines is acceptable, this means of concentration does not seem so successfully to relate the accented part to the structural outlines as that of concentration based upon the diagonals. The latter, therefore, is recommended for beginners. The corners of Figure 222 are, however, slightly accented by means of the bridging spots _x-x_. [Sidenote: Inceptive Axes or Balancing Lines] The diagonals and center lines of the surface enriched squares of Figures 221 and 222 and similar structural lines are _inceptive axes_, as they are center lines for new design groups. It may then be said that a strong basic axis or similar line depending upon the structure, may become the center line or inceptive axis upon which to construct a bilateral design. It is only necessary to have this inceptive axis pass through the enrichment zone of the panel. Hereafter in the drawings, inceptive axes will be designated by the abbreviation I.A. while the point of concentration will be indicated by the abbreviation P.C. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD MARGINAL ENRICHMENT OF SQUARE AREAS SYMBOLS: {PC} POINT OF CONCENTRATION; {IA} INCEPTIVE AXIS TOOL PROCESSES. INLAYING AND CARVING PLATE 36] [Sidenote: Inceptive Axis] The strongest plea for the inceptive axis is the fact that it interlocks surface enrichment with the structure, insuring a degree of unity that might otherwise be unattainable. The carved enrichment of Figure 223 fully illustrates this point. The analytical study of Figure 224 shows the diagonal used as an inceptive axis, with the leading lines grouped about it at the corner point of concentration. FREE ENRICHMENT Rule 8a. _Free ornament for partly or fully enriched surfaces should be based and centered upon an inceptive axis of the structure._ Rule 8b. _Free ornament should be related and subordinated to the structural surfaces._ Rule 8c. _Points of concentration in free enrichment of vertically placed masses are usually located in and around the inceptive axis and above or below the geometric center of the design._ [Sidenote: Center Zone Enrichment] This method of surface enrichment is used to relieve the design of heavy members in the structure or to distribute ornament over the surface of lighter parts in a piece of furniture. An example is noted in Figure 246, Page 128, where the upper portion of the legs has center enrichment. As can be readily seen, the enrichment is generally free in character with little or no indication of enclosure. Figure 225 shows the application of free enrichment to a paneled screen or hinged door. The P.C. is in the upper portion of the door and is re-echoed in the door frames, while the ornament itself is strongly dynamic in movement with a decided upward tendency in sympathy with the proportions of the door. This motive might be developed by inlay, carving, or paint. Figure 226 is a carved Gothic leaf, appropriately used as enrichment of heavy furniture. The unit may be raised above the surface or, even more easily, depressed or incised into the surface. The small corner spot is added with the intention of bringing the leaf into sympathetic conformity with the contours. Note how the center line of both units in Figures 225 and 226 coincides with the inceptive axis of the structure. Let it again be reiterated that this binding of the surface enrichment to the structure by means of the coincidence of the axes of symmetry and the inceptive axes causes the most positive kind of unity. No part of this form of enrichment should be carved sufficiently high to give it the appearance of being separated from the main surface. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD FREE CENTER ENRICHMENT FOR VERTICAL AREAS TOOL PROCESSES: INLAYING, LOW RELIEF CARVING PLATE 37] [Sidenote: Examples of Free Enrichment] Figures 227 and 228 are additional examples of free enrichment. Figure 228 has introduced by its monogram the individual touch of ownership so essential to the success of school designing. The monogram represents free enrichment while the border is marginal decoration with the point of concentration in the center of the top edge. Both types of enrichment are related to each other and to the structural contours. [Sidenote: Pierced Free Enrichment] [Sidenote: Errors in the Use of Pierced Enrichment] Figure 229 is typical free _pierced_ enrichment. The wood in the enriched portion is removed and the resulting figure supplies added lightness of construction and variety to the surface. One encounters this form of enrichment in the average school project with greater frequency than either inlaying or carving. It is with the thought of adding to the possibilities of school project decoration that the latter forms have been introduced. A word regarding the errors often encountered in pierced enrichment of the character of Figure 229 may not be amiss. Pupils, believing the square to be the last word in this form of enrichment, place the figure on the member to be enriched with little thought of its possible relation to the structural contours; the result is the un-unified design illustrated in Figure 230. To correct this, reference should be made to Rule 8b. FULL PANEL ENRICHMENT Rule 7d. _The contours of fully enriched panels should parallel the outlines of the primary mass and repeat its proportions._ [Sidenote: Full Surface Enrichment] This is the richest and most elaborate form of enrichment when carried to its full perfection. It generally takes the form of a panel filled with appropriate design material. This panel may be used to enrich the plain end of a project such as a book stall and thus cover the entire surface, or it may be inserted into a large primary mass and accentuate its center as in a door, in a manner similar to Figure 233. Its use, whatever its position, leads us to the consideration of methods of designing full panels. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD ENCLOSED ENRICHMENT: SQUARE AND RECTANGULAR PANELS--TOOL PROCESSES CARVING, INLAYING PLATE 38] Rule 7e. _The points of concentration for a fully enriched square panel may be in its center or in its outer margin._ [Sidenote: Square Panels] In planning designs for full panels, it would be well to consider: first, square panels; second, rectangular panels; third, varied panels. The point of concentration may be kept in the _corners_ of a square panel, as designed in Figure 231, or it may be placed in the _center_, as shown in Figure 232. The effects, when assembled, are indicated in Figure 233. To secure these effects, a square panel is commonly divided into quarter sections by center lines. The diagonals of each quarter should be drawn before proceeding with the details of the design. These diagonals and center lines are the building lines or leading _axes_ of the pattern. The _leading lines and details_ are then grouped around these center and diagonal axes in a manner quite similar to the method used in Figures 223 and 224. These leading lines are then _clothed with enrichment_ by applying the processes indicated in Chapter IX. [Sidenote: Steps in Panel Designing] Without going into detail we may say that it is good practice: first, to draw the square panel; second, to draw the center lines and diagonals; third, to locate points of concentration; fourth, to make the leading lines move inwardly to center concentration or outwardly to corner concentration; fifth, to clothe these lines with ornament having strongly dynamic movement corresponding to the leading lines; sixth, to fill in remaining space with ornament, supporting the movement toward points of concentration, even though slight and minor contrasts of direction are added to give variety. When the entire design is completed one should ask the following questions: Does the design have unity? Does it seem too thin and spindling? And most of all, do the points of concentration and shape of the panel fit the structural outlines and proportions? We cannot fit a square peg into a round hole; neither can we fit a square panel into a circular or rectangular mass without considerable change to the panel. Figures 234 and 235 have been drawn with the idea of suggesting a simple and modified form of panel enrichment which may be readily handled by the beginner. The tree as a decorative symbol is appropriate to wood, and its adaption to a square panel is drawn at Figure 235. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD ENCLOSED PANEL ENRICHMENT--FORMAL AND FREE BALANCE APPLICATION OF NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL MOTIVES PLATE 39] [Sidenote: Rectangular Panels] While a rectangular panel may be divided into sections by a number of different methods, it is well for the beginner in design to treat it as a vertical mass, designed to enrich a vertical surface. This vertical panel may then be divided into halves by the axis of symmetry, which should coincide with an inceptive axis, but it is not essential to balance the enrichment exactly in each half. Small deviations from exact symmetry sometimes give added variety to the design. Figure 235. Rule 7f. _The points of concentration for a fully enriched vertical panel should be in the upper portion of the panel._ [Sidenote: Vertical Panels] The point of concentration in vertical panels should be in the upper portion, and all parts of the design, both leading lines and clothing, should have a strong upward tendency. Figure 236 is a vertical panel from historic ornament. The heavier parts have been designed at the bottom for stability and the lighter and more intricate members have been placed at the top. Rule 7g. _The fully enriched panel and its contents should be designed in unified relation to the structural outlines, with the center line of the panel coinciding with the inceptive axis of the structure._ To see how to apply rectangular panels to wood surfaces, let us look at Figure 240. This is a simple design with an incised background and might be used for enriching a narrow paneled door, newel post, or frame. The large areas are at the bottom; the point of concentration is at the top, and the entire design balances over the inceptive axis. The point of concentration consists of the geometrically treated small flower form, with its original lines modified to simplify the carving processes. The stem coincides with the inceptive axis, while narrow and sympathetically related minor panels fill in the background and keep the design from appearing weak and thin. [Sidenote: Adapting Data to Material] Figure 237 is an accurate rendering of the flower form and is the _data or record of facts_ for Figure 240. Figure 238 introduces the method of plotting the areas from these facts. Variety of form and area is, at this stage, desirable. Figure 239 has assembled these areas into orderly balance over the axis of symmetry. Figure 240 has again slightly modified them to apply to the vertical panel in wood. [Illustration: _Courtesy of Berkey and Gay_ FIGURE 246.--Example of Free and Marginal Enrichment] VARIED PANELS [Sidenote: Panels of Varied Shapes] The panels under consideration up to this time have been designed to harmonize with square and rectangular contours. The panel may, however, become a most flexible and sympathetic element, changing its form to suit the ever-changing contours. But though change of shape affects the contents of the panel to a certain extent the points of concentration and the inceptive axes still act as our guide. Objects are arranged formally on each side of the inceptive axes and the space filling is approximately the same as in former examples. [Sidenote: Use of Artificial Objects] The still life sketches of the art class may be conventionalized into appropriate motives for utilitarian objects as shown in Figure 241. This use of still life suggests a most desirable correlation and a welcome one to many drawing teachers. Three points should be kept in mind: first, adaptability of the object, its decorative possibilities, and appropriateness to service; second, adjustment of the panel to contours; third, adjustment of the object to the wood panel. Some portion of the object should be designed to parallel the panel. Small additional spots may assist in promoting harmony between the object and the panel boundary. These three considerations are essentially necessary factors in the design of enclosed enrichment. Figures 242 and 243 are other adaptations of panel design to varied contours. [Sidenote: Free Balance] In the foregoing examples the designs are more or less rigidly balanced over the inceptive axis or axis of symmetry. Imaginary axis it is, but, acting with the panel, it nevertheless arbitrarily limits the position of all parts within the panel. By removing this semblance of formal balance, we approach what is termed _free balance_. In this we find that the designer attempts to balance objects informally over the geometric center of the panel or combined panels. As the arrow points in Figure 244 indicate, the problem is to balance the trees in an informal and irregular manner, avoiding "picket fence" regularity. In all of this freedom there is a sense of order, since a mass of trees on one side of the geometric center is balanced by a similar mass on the other side. Indeed, in Figure 244 this may be carried even to the point of duplicating in reverse order the outside panels of the Triptych. [Illustration: RULES 7D TO 7E--ENCLOSED SURFACE ENRICHMENT WITH APPLICATION OF STILL LIFE TO A FULLY ENRICHED SURFACE PLATE 40] Figure 245 again reverts to artificial motives, illustrated in free balance. The jet of steam is the unifying factor which brings the cup into harmony with the enclosing space. Figure 246 shows illustrations of free balance and border enrichment from the industrial market. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plate 40 indicates the necessary design steps for a panel surface enrichment correlating with still life drawing. Note the connection between the ink bottle, pen, and book as used to decorate a book stall. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS FOR SQUARE PANEL SURFACE ENRICHMENT (_a_) Draw the primary rectangle of the principal surface, appendages, etc. (_b_) Subdivide into major vertical and horizontal divisions. (_c_) Design simple contour enrichment. Determine location of zone of enrichment (the panel), the amount and method of enriching the surface. (_d_) Draw outline of the panel which should be sympathetically related to the contours. (_e_) Draw diameters, diagonals, or center lines of the panel. Regard these as possible inceptive axes. (_f_) Locate points of concentration on either diameters, diagonals, or center lines. (_g_) Draw leading lines in sympathy with the contours of the panel, the inceptive axis, and the point of concentration. (_h_) Clothe the leading lines with enrichment that shall be appropriate to the structure, the material, and the intended service. Note the result. Is the panel agreeably filled without appearing overcrowded or meager? Several preliminary sketches should be made. (_i_) Add additional views, dimension, and otherwise prepare the drawing for shop use. SUGGESTED PROBLEM Design a glove box and enrich the cover with a simple carved panel with marginal panel enrichment. SUMMARY OF RULES ENCLOSED SURFACE ENRICHMENT FOR PARTLY ENRICHED PANELS Rule 7a. _Marginal panel enrichment should parallel or be related to the outlines of the primary mass, and to the panel it is to enrich._ Rule 7b. _Marginal points of concentration in panels should be placed (1) preferably at the corners or (2) in the center of each margin._ Rule 7c. _To insure unity of design in panels, the elements composing the points of concentration and the links connecting them must be related to the panel contour and to each other._ ENCLOSED SURFACE ENRICHMENT FOR FULLY ENRICHED PANELS Rule 7d. _The contours of fully enriched panels should parallel the outlines of the primary mass and repeat its proportions._ Rule 7e. _The points of concentration for a fully enriched square panel may be in its center or in its outer margin._ Rule 7f. _The points of concentration for a fully enriched vertical panel should be in the upper portion of the panel._ Rule 7g. _The fully enriched panel and its contents should be designed in unified relation to the structural outlines, with the center line of the panel coinciding with the inceptive axis of the structure._ FREE SURFACE ENRICHMENT Rule 8a. _Free ornament for partly or fully enriched surfaces should be based and centered upon an inceptive axis of the structure._ Rule 8b. _Free ornament should be related and subordinated to the structural surfaces._ Rule 8c. _Points of concentration in free enrichment of vertically placed masses are usually located in and around the inceptive axis and above or below the geometric center of the design._ Postulate: _Surface enrichment should be inseparably linked to the surface and to the outlines or contours_. REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. What is a panel? 2. State three sections or areas at which a panel may be enriched. Give reasons for selecting a given area. 3. Explain relation of point of concentration to each section. 4. In marginal enrichment, is it preferable to locate the point of concentration in the center or corner of the margin? Why? 5. What is the value of an inceptive axis with relation to the unity of a design? What is its relation to the structure? 6. Give the characteristics and use of free enrichment. 7. State the use of full panel enrichment. 8. Where may the point of concentration be located in full square panel enrichment? 9. Name six steps essential to the designing of a square panel. 10. For what specific purpose is a vertical rectangular panel adapted? 11. Where should the point of concentration be located in a vertical rectangular panel? 12. Draw a flower form and adapt it to a carved enrichment in wood. 13. To what uses are panels of varied shapes adapted? 14. How may artificial objects be adapted to surface enrichment? 15. Explain the term "free balance." CHAPTER XI SURFACE ENRICHMENT WITH MINOR SUBDIVISIONS OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD [Sidenote: Minor Subdivisions] This article is, in part, a brief summary and review of Rules 2a, 2b, 3a, 3b, 3c (vertical and horizontal major divisions) with application to minor subdivisions. By minor spacings or subdivisions in wood work we refer to the areas occupied by drawers, doors, shelves, and other small parts subordinated in size to the large or major divisions such as large front or side panels, etc. These smaller or minor subdivisions in wood work are bounded by runners, rails, guides, and stiles depending upon the form of construction and character of the minor subdivision. Major divisions are often bounded by legs, table tops, and principal rails. It is an interesting and useful fact that rules governing major divisions generally apply equally well to minor ones. There are a few exceptions and additions to be noted in their appropriate places. When minor subdivisions are well planned they supply one of the most interesting forms of surface enrichment or treatment, for if we consider paneling an appropriate form of decoration, we are equally privileged to feel that each small drawer or door adds its quota of interest to the sum total of the entire mass. We are equally justified in accenting these drawers or doors with panel decoration or other forms of surface enrichment provided that harmony is maintained. These minor subdivisions, properly enriched, may become equalizers, or elements which adjust the design to the character of the surroundings destined to receive the project of which they are a part. [Sidenote: Vertical Sections and Their Divisions] With reference to the illustrations, Figure 247, Plate 41, shows a simple minor panel treatment falling under Rule 3a. Single or preferably double band inlay might have been suitably substituted for the sunken panels. As many craftsmen are not properly equipped to produce inlays, it is practicable to use stock inlays, thus simplifying the process. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT AND MINOR SPACE DIVISIONS FOR LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD. ACCENTUATION OF MINOR VERTICAL DIVISIONS PLATE 41] [Sidenote: Minor Subdivisions of Three Vertical Major Parts or Divisions] In a three-part design it is the designer's desire to gain the effect of lightness and height by the use of Rule 3b. As a simple treatment of a three-part design, Figure 248 needs little comment. Figures 249 and 250 are examples of dividing, by means of minor divisions, the outer sections of a three-part design. The small drawers in the right and left sections of Figure 250 might have been improved in proportion by again applying Rule 2a to their design, thereby varying the measure of their heights. The enclosed panel enrichment affords pleasing variety to the otherwise unvaried front panels. Rule 7g. [Sidenote: Unbroken Vertical Divisions] Figures 251 and 252 show unbroken drawer runners continuing through all three vertical sections, thus definitely binding these sections together. It is seen that this device is conducive to unity, whenever two or three vertical divisions have been used. Figure 252 is a repetition of Figure 251, but shows the echo or continuation of the three divisions of the primary mass into the appendage. The use of the single or double band enrichment still further binds the minor subdivisions of the primary mass into ideal unity with the appendage. SEQUENTIAL PROGRESSION OF MINOR HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS Rule 2c. _A primary mass may be divided into three or more smaller horizontal masses or sections by placing the larger mass or masses at the bottom and by sequentially reducing the height measure of each mass toward the smaller division or divisions to be located at the top of the mass._ [Sidenote: Sequential Arrangement of Minor Horizontal Divisions] Rule 2c. Let us now imagine the center section of a three-part design to be removed and extended upward. Its transformation by this process into a cabinet or chiffonier similar to Figure 253, Plate 42, introduces the new principle of _sequential progression_. Instead of adhering to the limitation of Rules 2a and 2b, this arrangement shows that the horizontal divisions may be gradually decreased in height from the bottom toward the top of the primary mass. By this rhythmic decrease in the measure of the height, the eye is led through an orderly gradation through lesser areas to the top, thus giving a pleasing sensation of lightness and variety to the structure. By this method, also, the large areas are retained at the bottom to give stability and solidity to the structure. A quick test of these conditions may be made by reversing Figure 254, thus producing a more decidedly pleasing effect. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT AND MINOR SPACE DIVISIONS FOR LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD SEQUENTIAL ARRANGEMENT OF MINOR HORIZONTAL DIVISIONS IN ONE OR THREE VERTICAL DIVISIONS PLATE 42] [Sidenote: Sequential Arrangements--(_Continued_)] This orderly gradation or sequence of heights need not be carried out with absolute mathematical precision such as 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1. Arrangements similar to the following progression make for equally pleasing and more varied effect: 9-1/4 - 8 - 6-3/4 - 6 - 5 - 4-3/4. Many designers repeat similar heights for two neighboring horizontal spaces as, 6 - 5 - 5 - 4-3/4, but the upward gradation should be apparent. Figure 255, an Austrian motive, shows a strongly marked sequence with the top division broken by Rule 3b. It is better practice to keep such attempts confined to the bottom or top members of the sequence or loss of unity may be the final result. By applying this principle to the center section of a three-part design, we now have illustrated in Figure 256 the new sequence in its application, and Figures 257 and 258 are variations of the same idea. [Sidenote: Two Horizontal and Three Vertical Divisions] We now come to the transitional type of design where three _vertical_ sections begin to lose their dominance as major divisions, but still retain their places in the design as minor sections. Replacing these in prominence is the _horizontal_ major section or division. The first immediate result of this change as shown in Plate 43 is to produce a more compact surface with a greater impression of length because of the presence of strongly accented horizontal lines which are always associated with horizontal divisions. This transitional style with its minor but dominant horizontal divisions would harmonize with the long horizontal lines of a room or similar lines in the furniture. The full expression of this style or type will be readily seen by comparing Plates 43 and Figures 251 and 252, Plate 41. Several styles of period furniture have been introduced in Plate 43 to prove the universality of these principles of space divisions. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT AND MINOR SUB DIVISIONS FOR LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD THREE VERTICAL DIVISIONS CROSSED BY TWO HORIZONTAL DIVISIONS PLATE 43] [Sidenote: Dominance of Lower or Upper Sections] Figures 259, 260, and 262, Plate 43, are divided by three minor vertical sections cut by two minor horizontal divisions with the dominance in the _lower section_. Rule 2a. The arrangement of the small central drawers could have been more varied by the application of the principle of sequential progression. Figures 261 and 263 show similar vertical spacings with a difference in the arrangements of the horizontal divisions. In these figures the dominance has been placed in the _upper section_ of the primary mass by the division created by the runner above the lower drawer. It is likewise seen that Figure 263 needs a top appendage to bind the top into closer unity with minor spacings. [Sidenote: Transitional Types] In carrying the transitional type to which we have referred in the previous paragraphs from the vertical space influence toward the horizontal, we are gradually approaching _three minor horizontal divisions_, still maintaining three minor vertical divisions in a modified and less prominent form. Figure 264 is an approach toward three horizontal divisions. As only one clear-cut horizontal space division is visible, this figure is not a pure example. The upper horizontal space division is broken up into a three-part design by the drawer guides. It is not until we reach Figure 266 that three horizontal divisions are clearly evident. HORIZONTAL DIVISIONS [Sidenote: Three Minor Horizontal Divisions Cut by Varying Numbers of Vertical Divisions] The horizontal minor divisions in furniture are generally drawer runners and the vertical minor divisions are often drawer guides. The horizontal divisions may be arranged in either one of two ways: first, by the application of Rule 2b; or second, by applying Rule 2c, the rule of sequential progression. Figures 266, 267, and 268, Plate 44, are representative of the former while Figures 269 and 270 are typical of the latter. The result in either case is a compactly designed and solid mass of simple structural lines. On some occasions we find the three-part rule used for minor divisions within the horizontal sections, while again the two-part rule is used. The method depends upon the desired use and appearance. In either case the long areas and large masses are to be retained as far as possible near the bottom of each primary mass, as this custom tends to give a sense of solidity to the design. [Sidenote: Four Vertical Divisions] Figure 271 is a rare reversion to more than three vertical divisions. In this case, Rule 3c has been observed and we find all of the panels are of equal size. Variety has been secured by means of the horizontal spacings. FREE BALANCE [Sidenote: Free Minor Space Treatment] [Sidenote: Free Balance] This form of design is inherent in the Japanese system. It consists in the planning and balancing of unequal areas over a geometric center. It is not subject to definite rules as is the more formal balancing. The reader is referred to Mr. Arthur Dow's excellent book on Composition for further discussion of the subject. Figure 272, Plate 45, is an example of partly formal and partly free balance and its method of treatment. [Sidenote: Carving and Piercing as Applied to Large Masses] Figures 273 and 274 are pierced designs, thoroughly related to the structure and in no way weakening it. Figure 273 is representative of a type which, if carried to extremes, will cause the structure to become too weak for service; it is, therefore, necessary to guard and restrict this form of enrichment. The carving of Figure 275, combined with the contour enrichment, forms a pleasing variation to this common type of furniture design. Small minor details in furniture construction should be designed with as much care as the larger major or minor parts. The larger areas or spaces in small details similar to stationery shelves and pigeon holes must harmonize in proportion with the space in which they are placed and of which they are a part. [Sidenote: Small Minor Details of Large Primary Masses] The three-part or three-vertical division system, Rule 3b, is generally used to design the small details in furniture as may be seen in Figures 276, 277, 278, and 279; while the rule of sequence, Rule 2c, may be employed again to subdivide these small details in a horizontal direction with as much variety as is consistent with unity. Figure 280 is a leaded glass surface enrichment for doors. Note the leading lines of the enrichment as they parallel the dominant proportions of the panel opening. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plate 46 is a typical high school sheet of design problems, with the masses accentuated by pen shading. See Plate 15. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) to (_e_). See similar steps in Chapter IV. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT AND MINOR SUB DIVISIONS FOR LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN WOOD FREE MINOR SPACINGS. APPENDAGES. PIERCED AND CARVED ENRICHMENT. PLATE 45] SUGGESTED PROBLEM Design a sideboard 3 feet 3 inches high with plate rack. The primary mass should have three minor horizontal divisions and three minor vertical divisions, with the horizontal divisions accented. SUMMARY OF RULES SEQUENTIAL PROGRESSION OF MINOR HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS Rule 2c. _A primary mass may be divided into three or more smaller horizontal masses or sections by placing the larger mass or masses at the bottom and by sequentially reducing the height measure of each mass toward the smaller division or divisions to be located at the top of the mass._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. What are minor subdivisions in wood construction? 2. What is the effect of a design with dominant vertical major divisions? State its use. 3. Show some customary methods of dividing three vertical major divisions into minor subdivisions. 4. State the rule of sequential progression. Give illustrations from the industrial arts. 5. Describe the transitional stage between the point where the dominance of the vertical motive ceases and the horizontal influence begins. 6. What is the effect of a design with dominant horizontal major divisions? State its use. 7. Show some customary methods of subdividing horizontal major divisions into minor subdivisions. 8. What should be the relation in a design between the details of a project and the divisions of the primary mass? [Illustration: INSTRUCTION SHEET SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE MASSES IN WOOD DRAWING AND DESIGN BY A. J. FOX. U. OF W. PLATE 46] CHAPTER XII SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF CLAY [Sidenote: Limitations for Surface Enrichment] In some respects the surface enrichment of clay is similar to that of wood as, for example, the similarity produced by inlays in clay and in wood. On the other hand the enrichment of clay is unhampered by the restricting effects of unequal resistance of the material, such as the grain of wood. Again it _is_ limited to those effects or forms of enrichment that are capable of withstanding the intense heat to which ceramic decoration is subjected. See Frontispiece. [Illustration: _Courtesy of the Rookwood Potteries_ FIGURE 281.--Filling the Saggars before Firing] [Sidenote: Decorative Processes of Surface Enrichment] Before proceeding with a design it is well for one to understand clearly the possibilities of clay enrichment. He must know what kind of designs are best suited to clay as a medium, to the intended service, and to the ultimate application of the heat of the pottery kiln. Without entering into technicalities let us briefly discuss the following processes. The first three deal with finger and tool manipulation of the clay body and are consequently the simpler of the processes. The last five are concerned chiefly with the addition of coloring pigments either to the clay or to the glaze and are, therefore, more complex in character. [Illustration: _Courtesy of The Rookwood Potteries_ FIGURE 282.--Stacking the Kiln] [Sidenote: Forms of Manipulation] PROCESSES Rule 9a. _Surface enrichment of clay must be so designed as to be able to withstand the action of heat to which all ware must be submitted._ Rule 9b. _Incised, pierced, and modeled decoration in clay should be simple and bold and thus adapted to the character of the material._ [Sidenote: Incising] 1. This is the simplest form of enrichment, a process familiar to the earliest primitive potters and appropriate now for beginners. It consists of the process of lowering lines or planes into the clay body to the depth of from one-sixteenth to one-eighth of an inch. These lines or planes should be bold and broad. They may be made with a blunt pencil or a flat pointed stick. A square, rectangular, or round stick may be used as a stamp with which to form a pattern for incising. Illustrations of simple incising may be found in Figures 283, 284, 295, 319, 330. The tiles shown are about six inches square. [Sidenote: Piercing] 2. This process is less common and, as its name implies, is carried out by cutting through the clay. It may be done with a fine wire. Either the background or the design itself may be thus removed. The effect produced is that of lightening an object such as the top of a hanging flower holder, a window flower box, or a lantern shade. [Sidenote: Modeling] 3. By adding clay to the main body, and by working this clay into low relief flower or geometric forms, one has the basic process of modeling. The slightly raised areas of clay form a pleasing play of light and shade that varies the otherwise plain surface of the ware. The process should be used with caution, for over-modeling, Figure 325, will obstruct the structural outlines and, because of its over prominence as decoration, will cease to be _surface enrichment_. In the technical language of the designer over-modeling is an enrichment which is not subordinated to the surface. In articles intended for service this high relief modeling is unsanitary and unsatisfactory. Figures 286 and 287 show incising with slight modeling, while 324, 328, and 329 are examples of more complex enrichment. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF CLAY RECTANGULAR AND SQUARE AREAS PLATE 47] [Sidenote: Introduction of Coloring Pigments] With the introduction of the second group comes an added interest and difficulty, that of the introduction of color. Pigments that will withstand the application of heat are suggested at different points. [Sidenote: Inlay] 4. This process consists of removing certain areas from the clay body to the depth of one-eighth inch and filling in the depression with tinted clay. Tints formed by the addition of ten per cent or less of burnt umber or yellow ochre to the modeling clay will give interesting effects. Figures 284, 285, 320, and 321 show forms which may be developed by this process. Sgraffito, an Italian process, is more difficult than inlaying, but the effect is similar. A thin layer of colored clay is placed over the natural clay body, and the design is developed by cutting away this colored coating in places, thus exposing the natural clay body. Figure 306. There are variations of this plan that may be attempted by the advanced designer. [Sidenote: Slip Painting] 5. Slip is clay mixed with water to the consistency of cream. For slip painting this mixture is thoroughly mixed with not more than ten per cent of coloring pigment as represented by the underglaze colors of the ceramist. This thick, creamy, colored slip is then painted on the surface of the clay body while damp, much as the artist would apply oil colors. The ware, when thoroughly dried, is glazed and fired, which produces the effect shown in Figures 290, 291, and 327. The color range is large; almost any color may be used with the exception of reds and strong yellows. A colorless transparent glaze should be used over beginner's slip painting. [Sidenote: Colored Glazes] 6. This process refers to the direct introduction of the colored pigment into the glaze. By varying the glaze formula we may have a clear, transparent, or glossy glaze similar to Figure 317, a dull surfaced opaque effect, termed a matt glaze, Figure 332; or a glossy but opaque faience glaze similar to the blue and white Dutch tiles. There are other forms such as the crystalline and "reduced" glazes, but these as a rule are far beyond the ability of the beginning craftsman in ceramics. [Sidenote: Combinations] It is possible to use these three types of glazed surface in various ways. For example, a vase form with an interesting contour may be left without further surface enrichment except that supplied by clear glaze or by a colored matt similar to certain types of Teco Ware. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF CLAY SHALLOW CIRCULAR FORMS: PLATES, ETC PLATE 48] It is likewise possible to apply transparent glazes over incised designs, inlay or slip painting, increasing their beauty and the serviceability of the ware. A semi-transparent glaze is sometimes placed over slip painting giving the charm inherent to the Vellum Ware of the Rookwood Potteries. Figure 332. Greens, blues, yellows, and browns, with their admixtures, are the safest combinations for the craftsman who desires to mix his own glazes. [Sidenote: Underglaze Painting] 7. This process may be seen in the examples of Newcomb Pottery illustrated particularly in Figure 314 or 326. The underglaze pigment is thinly painted upon the fired "biscuit," or unglazed ware. A thin, transparent glaze is then placed _over_ the color, and in the final firing the underneath color shows through this transparent coating, thus illustrating the origin of the name underglaze or under-the-glaze painting. Sage-green and cobalt-blue underglaze colors are frequently used in Newcomb designs with harmonious results. The outline of the design is often incised and the underglaze color, settling into these channels, helps to accentuate the design. Figure 314. [Sidenote: Porcelain or Overglaze Painting] 8. This is popularly known as china painting and consists of painting directly upon the glazed surface of the ware and placing it in a china kiln where a temperature between 600 degrees and 900 degrees C. is developed. At this point the coloring pigment melts or is fused into the porcelain glaze, thus insuring its reasonable permanence. Figure 302. The eight processes briefly described may be readily identified on the plates by referring to the figures corresponding to those which number the processes and are added to each figure number. Two processes are sometimes suggested as possible for one problem. [Sidenote: Classification of Structural Clay Forms] Different clay forms require different modes of treatment. To simplify these treatments will now be our problem. It has been found convenient to form four divisions based upon the general geometric shape of the ware. The first, Plate 47, includes rectangular and square areas; the second, Plate 48, shallow and circular forms; the third, Plate 49, low cylindrical forms; and the fourth, Plate 50, high cylindrical forms. The first three divisions have distinct modes of design treatment, while the fourth interlocks to a considerable extent with the third method. We shall now consider each plate with reference to its use and possible forms of enrichment. For the sake of brevity, the results have been condensed into tabulated forms. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF CLAY LOW CYLINDRICAL FORMS PLATE 49] Each geometric form or type on these plates has not only distinctive methods of design treatment but characteristic locations for placing the design as well. These places or zones of enrichment have been indicated in the following tabulated forms by the letters in parentheses. There are a number of zones for each plate. For example, Plate 47 has its distinctive problems as tiles, weights, etc., and five characteristic zones of enrichment described on pages 153-155 and indicated by the letters A, B, C, D, E, followed by a brief description of that zone. Each zone is still further analyzed into its accompanying type of design, inceptive axis, point of concentration, and illustrations. Each plate has the proper zone of enrichment immediately following the figure number and in turn followed by the process number. * * * * * [Sidenote: Square and Rectangular Areas, Plate 47] _Problems_: Tiles for tea and coffee pots, paper weights, window boxes; architectural tiles for floors, and fire places. * * * * * (_A_) _Zone of Enrichment_: In the margin. _Reason for Choice_: Central area to be devoted to zone of service requiring simplicity in design. [Sidenote: Marginal Enrichment] _Type of Design_: Bands or borders. _Inceptive Axis_: For corners; the bisector of the angle. _Points of Concentration_: The corners and, if desired, at equal intervals between the corners. _Illustrations_: Figures 283, 284, 286, 287, 288. * * * * * (_B_) _Zone of Enrichment_: center of surface, free ornament. [Sidenote: Center Enrichment] _Type of Design_: Initials, monograms, street numbers, geometric patterns, and other examples for free ornament. A star or diamond is _not_ appropriate enrichment for a square area unless properly related to the contour by connecting areas. _Inceptive Axes_: Vertical or horizontal diameters or diagonals. _Points of Concentration_: Center of embellishment. _Illustrations_: Figure 285. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF CLAY HIGH CYLINDRICAL FORMS. VASES, PITCHERS, ETC PLATE 50] (_C_) _Zone of Enrichment_: full surface enrichment in a horizontal position. _Type of Design_: A symmetrical pattern generally radiating from the geometric center of the surface and covering at least two-thirds of the surface. [Sidenote: Full Vertical Surface Enrichment] _Inceptive Axes_: Diameters or diagonals of the area. _Points of Concentration_: At the corners or the center of the outer margin; at geometric center, as in a rosette. _Illustrations_: Figures 283, 289, and 291. * * * * * [Sidenote: Full Horizontal Surface Enrichment] (_D_) _Zone of Enrichment_: full surface enrichment in a vertical position. _Type of Design_: A symmetrical pattern with a strong upward movement and covering more than one-half of the surface. _Inceptive Axis_: The vertical center line. _Point of Concentration_: Upper section of the surface. _Illustrations_: Figures 290 and 292. * * * * * [Sidenote: Free Balance] (_E_) _Zone of Enrichment_: free balance over full surface. _Type of Design_: Semi-decorative motive preferably covering the entire surface. _Inceptive Axis_: Masses freely balanced over the geometric center of the area. _Point of Concentration_: Near, but not in the exact center. _Illustrations_: Figures 293, 294, 295, 296, 297, 298. _Note_: The points of concentration should be accented by slight contrast of value and hue. See chapters on color. * * * * * [Sidenote: Shallow Circular Forms, Plate 48] _Problems_: Plates, saucers, ash trays, card receivers, almond and candy bowls. * * * * * (_A_) _Zone of Enrichment_: margin of interior surface; margin of exterior surface. _Type of Design_: Bands or borders thoroughly related to the structural contours. Bands for exterior enrichment may be placed directly on the contour, Figures 299 and 301, thus forming an [Illustration: APPLIED AND CONSTRUCTIVE DESIGN RULE 9: ENRICHMENT OF THE PRIMARY MASS BY A BORDER PROBLEM: ENRICHMENT OF CLASS 2 (POTTERY) PLATE 51.--Instruction Sheet] [Sidenote: Marginal Enrichment] accented contour (_F_) or slightly removed from it, as in Figure 300. _Inceptive Axes_: For interior surfaces, the radii of the contour circle generally supply the axes of symmetry. _Points of Concentration_: For interior surfaces, the points of concentration may be placed in or near the radii of the area. _Illustrations_: Figures 302, 303, 304, 305, 306. * * * * * _Problems_: Cups, pitchers, steins, nut and rose bowls, low vase forms. * * * * * [Sidenote: Low Cylindrical Forms, Plate 49] (_A_) _Zone of Enrichment_: upper margin of exterior. [Sidenote: Marginal Enrichment] _Type of Design_: Borders of units joining each other or connected by bands or spots acting as connecting links. Rule 9c. _Inceptive Axes_: Vertical elements of the exterior surface. Elements are imaginary lines dividing the exterior surface into any given number of vertical sections. Elements used as center lines form the axes of symmetry about which the butterfly of Figure 308 and similar designs are constructed. _Points of Concentration_: On each vertical element. _Illustrations_: Figures 308, 309, 310, 311, 312, 316. * * * * * [Sidenote: Full Vertical Surface Enrichment] (_D_) _Zone of Enrichment_: full vertical surface. _Type of Design_: Extended borders with strongly developed vertical lines or forms. Less than one-half of the surface may be covered. _Inceptive Axes_: Vertical elements. _Points of Concentration_: In upper portion of vertical elements, hence in upper portion of area. _Illustrations_: Figures 307, 314, 317, 318. * * * * * [Sidenote: High Cylindrical Forms, Plate 50] (_E_) _Zone of Enrichment_: free balance of full surface. (See _D_, above). _Illustration_: Figure 315. * * * * * _Problems_: Vases, jars, pitchers, tall flower holders, covered jars for tea, crackers, or tobacco. [Sidenote: Marginal Enrichment] (_A_) _Zone of Enrichment_: margin of exterior. _Type of Design_: Borders of geometric units, freely balanced floral units, and other natural motives placed in upper margin of mass. _Inceptive Axes_: Vertical elements of cylinder. _Points of Concentration_: In upper portion of vertical elements. _Illustrations_: Figures 319, 320, 321, 327, 331, 332. * * * * * [Sidenote: Full Surface Enrichment] (_D_) _Zone of Enrichment_: full surface of exterior. _Type of Design_: Free of formal conventionalized unit repeated on each vertical element. The units may be juxtaposed or may be connected by bands or similar links. _Inceptive Axes_: Vertical elements of cylinder. _Point of concentration_: In upper portion of vertical elements. _Illustrations_: Figures 322, 323, 324, 326, 328, 329. * * * * * [Sidenote: Types of Commercial Pottery] The reader should carefully consider the postulate and various divisions of Rule 7 and try to apply them to the material now under consideration. Acknowledgment is made for material supplied by the Rookwood Potteries for Figures 288, 289, 292, 293, 294, 297, 298, 315; 327 and 332; Newcomb Potteries, Figures 314, 316, 317, 318, 326; Teco Potteries, 329; Keramic Studio Publishing Company, 302, 307, 308, 310, 312. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plate 51 illustrates the marginal surface enrichment of low cylindrical forms, with part surface enrichment of two higher forms. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Draw primary mass: For square or rectangular areas draw square rectangle, etc. For shallow circular forms draw a circle. For low cylindrical forms draw a rectangle; subdivide this if desired by a unit of measurement into two horizontal divisions. For high cylindrical forms draw a rectangle; subdivide this if desired by a unit of measurement into two or three horizontal divisions. Rule 5e. (_b_) Design simple contour enrichment based upon these units of measurement. (_c_) Locate zone of enrichment. (_d_) Draw inceptive axes: For square or rectangular areas draw diameters, diagonals, or both. For shallow circular forms draw radii of the primary circle; concentric circles for bands. For low cylindrical forms draw the elements of the underlying cylindrical form for extended borders or lines paralleling the top or bottom of the primary mass for bands. For high cylindrical forms draw inceptive axes similar to low cylindrical forms. (_e_) Locate points of concentration in these inceptive axes. (_f_) Determine manner and amount of surface enrichment. (_g_) Add leading lines and develop these into surface enrichment. (_h_) Make potter's working drawing, full size (See Plate 26). Add the necessary amount for shrinkage and otherwise prepare the drawing for potter's use. (_i_) Make a paper tracing of the surface enrichment for transfer to clay body and cut a zinc or tin template as a contour guide in building the form. SUGGESTED PROBLEMS Design a cider or chocolate set with appropriate surface enrichment. Design an architectural tile 6 in. by 9 in. for accenting a brick fireplace in the home. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 9a. _Surface enrichment of clay must be so designed as to be able to withstand the action of heat to which all ware must be submitted._ Rule 9b. _Incised, pierced, and modeled decoration in clay should be simple and bold and thus adapted to the character of the material._ Rule 9c. _A border should not be located at the point of greatest curvature in the contour of a cylindrical form. The contour curve is of sufficient interest in itself at that point._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. Compare the surface enrichment of clay with that of wood. 2. State a major requirement of a good pottery design. 3. Give the broad divisions into which it is possible to divide the decorative processes of clay surface enrichment. 4. Name and briefly describe eight methods of enriching the surface of clay. 5. What precautions should be exercised with regard to the use of incised, pierced, and modeled decoration? 6. Should a border be placed at the point of greatest curvature of the contour? Give reasons. 7. Name method of classifying structural forms in clay into four groups. 8. State problems and possible zones of enrichment in each group. Give reasons for choice. 9. State type of design unit, conventionalized, natural or artificial forms, location of inceptive axis, points of concentration, and process for each zone of enrichment. 10. What is an element of a cylindrical surface? CHAPTER XIII SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF PRECIOUS METALS SMALL FLAT PLANES [Sidenote: Base and Precious Metals] Chapter XII referred to clay as a free and plastic material adapted to a wide range of surface enrichment processes. Metal as a more refractory material offers greater resistance to the craftsman and is relatively more limited in its capacity for surface enrichment. As was the case in the consideration of contour enrichment for designing purposes, it is necessary in the consideration of surface enrichment to divide metal into two groups: precious and base metals. As the field of design in both base and precious metals is large, we shall consider the surface enrichment of _precious metals only_ in this chapter. [Sidenote: Divisions for Enrichment] Following an order similar in character to that used in clay designing, problems in both base and precious metals may be divided into four classified groups as follows: flat, square, rectangular, or irregular planes; shallow circular forms; low cylindrical forms; high cylindrical forms. Designs included in the first group, flat planes, comprise such problems as are typically represented by tie pins, fobs, rings, and pendants. The design problems presented by these examples are so important that it is wise to restrict this chapter to _flat planes_. Rule 10g. _The inceptive axis should pass through and coincide with one axis of a stone, and at the same time be sympathetically related to the structure._ Rule 10h. _The position of the inceptive axis should be determined by: (1) use of the project as ring, pendant, or bar pin, (2) character of the primary mass as either vertical or horizontal in proportion._ [Sidenote: Inceptive Axes and Points of Concentration] The semi-precious or precious stone is commonly found to be the point of concentration of these designs. The inceptive axes of tie pins, pendants, and fobs are generally vertical center lines because of the vertical positions of the objects when worn. The inceptive axes, moreover, should pass through the point of concentration and, at the same time, be sympathetically related to the structure. Rings and bar pins are frequently designed with horizontal inceptive axes, so determined by their horizontal characteristics and positions. The point of concentration for tie pins, pendants, and fobs in formal balance, in addition to coinciding with the inceptive axis, is generally located above or below the geometric center of the primary mass. The point of concentration for rings and bar pins is placed in the horizontal inceptive axis and centrally located from left to right. [Sidenote: Typical Processes of Enrichment] [Sidenote: Economy of Material] As a step preliminary to designing, and in order that the enrichment may be conventionalized or adapted to conform to the requirements of tools, processes, and materials, it is now imperative to become familiar with a number of common forms of surface enrichment in metal. There are eight processes frequently encountered in the decoration of silver and gold: piercing, etching, chasing or repousséing, enameling, inlaying, stone setting, building, carving. To these may be added planishing, frosting or matting, and oxidizing as methods employed to enrich the entire surface. Economy of material is of prime importance in the designing of precious metal and, particularly in gold projects, conservation of the metals should be an urgent consideration in all designs. Rule 10a. _Designs in precious metals should call for the minimum amount of metal necessary to express the idea of the designer for two reasons: (1) good taste; (2) economy of material._ [Sidenote: Evolution and Technical Rendering of Processes] A non-technical and brief description of each process follows. All designs in this chapter may be identified by referring to the process numbers after the figure description as 1, 3, 5; 2, 4, 6, corresponding to the key numbers on Plate 52. A design to be submitted to the craftsman should be a graphic _record of technical facts_ in addition to good design, which requires that we should have an expressive _technical means of rendering each process_. The last column, on Plate 52, indicates this rendering. In addition to this rendering each one of the eight technical processes has been carried through three design steps. 1. (first column, Plate 52) Planning the original primary mass, with its inceptive axis suggested by the structure and intended use. It passes through the point of concentration. 2. (second column, Plate 52). The division of the primary mass into zones of service and enrichment with the suggestion of the leading lines which, at some points, are parallel to the contours and lead up to the point of concentration. The contours in this column have, in several instances, been changed to add lightness and variety to the problem. 3. The last step (column three, Plate 52) shows the design with graphic rendering suggestive of the completed process. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN METAL WITH EVOLUTION AND RENDERING OF EIGHT PROCESSES OF ENRICHMENT PLATE 52] TECHNICAL PROCESSES AND METHODS OF ILLUSTRATING SAME IN A DESIGN [Sidenote: Piercing] 1. Removal of design unit or background by means of the jeweler's saw. Bridges of metal should be left to support firmly all portions of the design. Test this by careful study of the design. Rendering--shade all pierced portions of the design in solid black. Slightly tint portions of the design passing under other parts. Illustration, Figure 336. Rule 10j. _All surface enrichment should have an appearance of compactness or unity. Pierced spots or areas should be so used as to avoid the appearance of having been scattered on the surface without thought to their coherence._ [Sidenote: Etching] 2. Coating either design or background with an acid resistant, to be followed by immersion of the article in an acid bath. Allow the unprotected portion to be attacked and eaten by the acid to a slight depth. Rendering--slightly tint all depressed or etched parts of the design. Illustration, Figure 339. [Sidenote: Chasing or Repousséing] 3. The embossing and fine embellishment of a metal surface by the application of the hammer and punches. The work is conducted mainly from the top surface. Rendering--stipple all parts of the background not raised by the process. Chasing should seem an integral part of the background and not appear stuck upon it. Illustration, Figure 342. Rule 10k. [Sidenote: Enameling (Champleve)] 4. A process of enameling over metal in which the ground is cut away into a series of shallow troughs into which the enamel is melted. Exercise reserve in the use of enamel. Over-decoration tends to cheapen this valuable form of decoration. Rendering--shade the lower and right-hand sides of all enameled areas to suggest relief. Illustration, Figure 345. If possible render in tempera color. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN PRECIOUS METAL CONTOUR AND SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF FLAT PLANES PINS AND BROOCHES PLATE 53] Rule 10i. _Caution should be exercised with regard to the use of enamel. Over-decoration by this material tends to cheapen both process and design._ Rule 10l. _The lanes or margins between enameled spots should be narrower than the lane or margin between the enamel and the contour of the primary mass._ [Sidenote: Inlaying] 5. The process of applying wire, etc., to an incision on metal either by burnishing or fusing the metal into the cavities. Rendering--tint the darker metal or, if possible, render in color. Illustration, Figure 348. [Sidenote: Stone Cutting] 6. An enrichment of the surface by the addition of semi-precious or precious stones. Other enrichment is generally subordinated to the stone which then becomes the point of concentration. All enrichment should lead toward the stone. Small stones may, however, be used to accentuate other points of concentration in surface enrichment. Rendering--shade the lower and right-side of the stone to suggest relief. Pierced subordinate enrichment should be shaded in solid black. A concentric line should be drawn outside of the contour of the stone to designate the thin holding band, or bezel, enclosing the stone on all sides. Illustration, Figure 351. Rule 10d. _Surface enrichment should at some point parallel the contours of both primary mass and point of concentration, especially whenever the latter is a stone or enamel._ Rule 10e. _In the presence of either stone or enamel as a point of concentration, surface enrichment should be regarded as an unobtrusive setting, or background._ Rule 10f. _Stone or enamel used as a point of concentration should form contrast with the metal, either in color, brilliancy, or value, or all three combined._ [Sidenote: Building] 7. The process of applying leaves, wire, grains, and other forms of surface enrichment to the plane of the metal. These may afterwards be carved or chased. Rendering--shade the lower and right-hand lines; slightly tint the lower planes of the metal. Illustration, Figure 354. [Illustration: _Courtesy of the Elverhoj Colony_ Figure 372a.--Tie Pins] 8. The process of depressing or raising certain portions of the metal surface by means of chisels and gravers. By the use of these tools the surface is modeled into planes of light and shade, to which interest is added if the unaggressive tool marks are permitted to remain on the surface. Rendering--shade the raised and depressed portions to express the modeling planes. As this is a difficult technical process the designer is advised to model the design in plastelene or jewelers' wax first. Illustration, Figure 357. [Illustration: _Courtesy of the Elverhoj Colony_ FIGURE 372b.--Tie Pins] [Sidenote: Carving] Rule 10k. _Built, carved, and chased enrichment should have the higher planes near the point of concentration. It is well to have the stone as the highest point above the primary mass. When using this form of enrichment, the stone should never appear to rise abruptly from the primary mass, but should be approached by a series of rising planes._ [Sidenote: Planishing] 9. The process of smoothing and, at the same time, hardening the surface of the metal with a steel planishing hammer. The hammer strokes give an interesting texture to the surface which may be varied, from the heavily indented to the smooth surface, at the will of the craftsman. The more obvious hammer strokes are not to be desired as they bring a tool process into too much prominence for good taste. Rendering--print desired finish on the drawing. [Sidenote: Frosting] 10. A process of sand blasting or scratch brushing a metal surface to produce an opaque or "satin" finish. Rendering--similar to planishing. [Sidenote: Oxidizing] 11. A process of darkening the surface of metal by the application of chemicals. Potassium sulphite will supply a deep, rich black to silver and copper. Rendering--see Planishing. [Sidenote: Design of Pins and Brooches] The eleven processes mentioned above are among those which, by recent common practice, have become familiar to the craftsman in precious metals. While they do not cover the entire field, they at least give the beginner an opportunity to design intelligently in terms of the material. [Sidenote: Dependent Surface Enrichment for Pins] Plate 53 is mainly the enrichment of the flat plane by the addition of semi-precious stones (process six). Whatever surface enrichment is added to this design becomes _dependent_ enrichment and quite analogous to _dependent_ contour enrichment, Plate 29, inasmuch as it has to be designed with special reference to the shape and character of the stone. Figures 358 to 363 are examples of _dependent contour_ enrichment; Figures 364 to 371 are examples of _dependent surface_ enrichment. Figures 358 to 367 are based upon _vertical_ inceptive axes as appropriate to their intended service. The point of concentration may be located at practically any point on this inceptive axis, provided the major axis of the stone coincides with the inceptive axis. The best results are obtained by placing the stone a little above or below the exact geometrical center of the primary mass. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN PRECIOUS METALS CONTOUR AND SURFACE ENRICHMENT APPLIED TO FOBS MAINLY FULL SURFACE ENRICHMENT BASED UPON VERTICAL INCEPTIVE AXES PLATE 54] [Sidenote: Inceptive Axes for Pins] Figures 368 to 372 show articles based upon a horizontal inceptive axis. The stone, in accordance with formal balance, is in the geometric center from left to right. One notices the important fact that the surface enrichment must bring the stone and contour together in sympathetic relation and, at the same time, be related to both stone and contour. This again brings out the meaning of _dependent_ surface enrichment. The contour enrichment is to be kept as simple as possible and the interest concentrated upon the surface enrichment. The _accentuation of both surface and contour enrichment_ in a single design marks the height of bad taste in design. Rule 10b. _Contour and surface enrichment should never appear to compete for attention in the same design._ [Sidenote: Fobs] Plate 54 shows flat planes, the service of which suggests vertical inceptive axes. Figure 380 is noted as an exception to this vertical inceptive axis as it possesses a vertical primary mass but with radial inceptive axes. The interesting manner by which the dynamic leaves of the outer border transmit their movement to the inner border, which in turn leads toward the point of concentration, is worthy of attention. The points of concentration in other designs on this plate are all contained in the vertical inceptive axes. [Sidenote: Rings] Plate 55, at first thought, would seem to fall under the classification of low cylindrical forms but when reference is made to Figure 385 it is readily seen that the ring has to be first developed as a flat plane, to be afterwards bent into the required form. Care should be taken to keep the design narrow enough to be visible when the ring is in position on the finger. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN PRECIOUS METAL ENRICHMENT OF FLAT PLANES RINGS PLATE 55] The long horizontal band of the ring supplies the motive for the horizontal inceptive axis as a common basis or starting point for a large number of designs. If the designer so desires, the vertical axis of the finger is authority for an elliptical stone to be placed with its major axis as a vertical line in harmony with the finger axis. In any instance the designer seeks to lead the eye from the horizontal portion of the ring (the finger band) toward the point of concentration (the stone), by means of surface enrichment. A long sloping contour curve helps, as a transition line in the boundary, to carry the attention from the stone to the finger band. A great number of devices are used to complete a similar transition in the surface enrichment. Figure 390a. Too much piercing weakens the structure, and it is therefore to be avoided. [Illustration: _Courtesy of the Elverhoj Colony_ FIGURE 390a.--Rings] Plate 56 suggests some vertical flat planes for pendants. While no definite rule can be stated for the location of the stone, from past experience, it is easier for beginners to place the stone on the vertical inceptive axis slightly above the geometric center of the primary mass. Figures 391 to 395. A design thus formed is less likely to appear heavy, although there is nothing arbitrary about the suggestion. Rule 10c. _Parts of a design differing in function should differ in appearance but be co-ordinated with the entire design._ [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL PRIMARY MASSES IN PRECIOUS METAL ENRICHMENT OF FLAT PLANES OF PENDANTS, CHAINS, LOCKETS PLATE 56] [Sidenote: Pendants and Chains] In pendant design the surface enrichment generally carries the attention from the contour of the pendant to the stone, thus insuring unity at this point, while the contour lines often lead the attention from the pendant to the chain. The eye should move in unbroken dynamic movement from pendant to chain. The chain may have points of accent designed to vary the even distribution of the links. These accents are frequently composed of small stones with surface enrichment sympathetically designed in unity with pendant, chain, and stone. Figure 401 shows examples of this arrangement and similarly the need of a horizontal inceptive axis to harmonize with the length of the chain. These small accents are quite similar in design to bar pin motives. Rule 10m. _Transparent and opaque stones or enamel should not be used in the same design._ [Sidenote: Relation of Stones to Metal] For the designer's purposes we may consider two kinds of stones, the transparent and the opaque. These should not be mixed in one design. The most favorable stones are those forming contrasts of value or brilliancy with the metal as, for example, the amethyst, lapis lazuli, or New Zealand jade, with silver; or the dark topaz, or New Zealand jade, with gold. Lack of these contrasts gives dull, monotonous effects that fail to make the stone the point of concentration. Figure 467. These effects may be partially overcome by frosting, plating, or oxidizing the metal, thus forming stronger contrasts of value. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plates 52 and 57 are representative of the steps, processes, and problems for school use. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Draw the primary mass. (_b_) Locate the inceptive axis in this primary mass with its direction determined by the ultimate use or position of the primary mass and its general shape. (_c_) Locate zone of enrichment. (_d_) Locate point of concentration in the zone of enrichment and in the inceptive axis. (_e_) Design simple contour enrichment. (_f_) Design leading lines in sympathy with the contour and leading toward the point of concentration. (_g_) Elaborate the leading lines in sympathy with the material, the type of enrichment, the contours, and the inceptive axis. (_h_) Render in the technical manner suggested by Plate 52, dimension the primary mass, and otherwise prepare the drawing for shop use. [Illustration: _Courtesy of the Elverhoj Colony_ FIGURE 401a.--Pendants] [Illustration: _Courtesy of the Elverhoj Colony_ FIGURE 402.--Pendants] SUGGESTED PROBLEM Design a built-up ring using an elliptical cabochon cut stone as the point of concentration. The inceptive axis is vertical. SUMMARY OF RULES SMALL FLAT PLANES Rule 10a. _Designs in precious metals should call for the minimum amount of metal necessary to express the idea of the designer for two reasons: (1) good taste; (2) economy of material._ Rule 10b. _Contour and surface enrichment should never appear to compete for attention in the same design._ Rule 10c. _Parts of a design differing in function should differ in appearance but be co-ordinated with the entire design._ Rule 10d. _Surface enrichment should at some point parallel the contours of both primary mass and point of concentration, especially whenever the latter is a stone or enamel._ Rule 10e. _In the presence of either stone or enamel as a point of concentration, surface enrichment should be regarded as an unobtrusive setting, or background._ Rule 10f. _Stone or enamel used as a point of concentration should form contrast with the metal, either in color, brilliancy, or value, or all three combined._ Rule 10g. _The inceptive axis should pass through and coincide with one axis of a stone, and at the same time be sympathetically related to the structure._ Rule 10h. _The position of the inceptive axis should be determined by (1) use of the project as ring, pendant, or bar pin, (2) character of the primary mass as either vertical or horizontal in proportion._ Rule 10i. _Caution should be exercised with regard to the use of enamel. Over-decoration by this material tends to cheapen both process and design._ [Illustration: RULES 10 A TO M: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF SMALL FLAT PLANES OF PRECIOUS METAL {IA} INCEPTIVE AXIS INSTRUCTION SHEET PENDANTS, RINGS AND FOBS IN SLIVER DESIGNED BY MISS GERTRUDE EVANS U. OF W. PLATE 57] Rule 10j. _All surface enrichment should have an appearance of compactness or unity. Pierced spots or areas should be so used as to avoid the appearance of having been scattered on the surface without thought to their coherence._ Rule 10k. _Built, carved, and chased enrichment should have the higher planes near the point of concentration. It is well to have the stone as the highest point above the primary mass. When using this form of enrichment the stone should never appear to rise abruptly from the primary mass, but should be approached by a series of rising planes._ Rule 10l. _The lanes or margins between enameled spots should be narrower than the lane or margin between the enamel and the contour of the primary mass._ Rule 10m. _Transparent and opaque stones or enamel should not be used in the same design._ Postulate.--_The design should conform to the limitations and requirements of tools, processes, and materials, and should be durable and suitable for service._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. What is often used as a point of concentration in the surface enrichment of precious metals? Why? 2. State direction of the inceptive axis for problems similar to: (_a_) tie pins, (_b_) pendants, (_c_) fobs, (_d_) rings, (_e_) bar pins? Why? Under what grouping of planes may they be placed? 3. State the relation between the point of concentration and the inceptive axis. 4. Give three steps in the design evolution of surface enrichment for small flat planes. 5. Describe briefly eleven decorative processes for the surface enrichment of precious metals with the technical rendering of each. 6. Illustrate examples of dependent contour and dependent surface enrichment of precious metals. 7. Where should a stone in a design similar to a pin or brooch be placed with reference to the inceptive axis and the geometric center of the primary mass? 8. Illustrate manner of planning primary mass, inceptive axis, point of concentration, contour, and surface enrichment of: (_a_) pins, (_b_) fobs, (_c_) rings, (_d_) pendants and chains. 9. State the relation of stone or enamel to metal. 10. What rule should govern the amount of metal used in a design? 11. State the objection to a design with contour and surface enrichment equally elaborated. 12. Is it possible to vary the design motive of a chain from that of a pendant? Why and how? 13. Give illustration and requirements of a good design in champleve enamel. 14. What precautions should be exercised in designing pierced enrichment? 15. What rules should be observed in designing a built-up or carved design? [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN PRECIOUS METALS TREATMENT OF FLAT AND SEMI-FLAT SURFACES WORK OF STUDENTS OF MILWAUKEE-DOWNER COLLEGE PLATE 58] CHAPTER XIV SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN BASE AND PRECIOUS METALS [Sidenote: Enrichment for Small Areas] The surface enrichment of small, flat primary masses treated in Chapter XIII emphasized the designer's tendency for _full_ surface enrichment of small areas. Such treatment has proved satisfactory because the eye can readily and immediately observe and comprehend or assimilate an enrichment upon a small area. For larger enriched areas considered in this chapter, full surface enrichment becomes a questionable policy for the following reasons. [Sidenote: Enrichment for Large Areas] It is true that the old time craftsman with consummate skill fully enriched large surfaces, but two factors interfere with this mode of treatment today. The first factor is the decidedly practical nature of the problem. The service to which the modern industrial project is put interferes with the use of full surface enrichment. The second is the lack of skill on the part of the modern amateur designer. It is a sound policy to avoid the ornateness that frequently accompanies a large and unskillfully planned area. In place of this, we should limit the enrichment of large masses to a few salient areas which are well related to the structural lines. Rule 11b. _Conservative application should mark the use of surface enrichment of large masses. Its use should:_ (1) _lighten or soften necessarily heavy construction;_ (2) _support or apparently strengthen good structure;_ (3) _add interest to large unbroken and uninteresting surfaces._ [Sidenote: Essentials of Good Surface Enrichment] These salient areas should determine the surface enrichment appropriate to the structure, so that the enrichment: (1) will lighten or soften necessarily heavy construction as in Figure 403; (2) support or apparently strengthen good structure, Figure 413; (3) add interest to large unbroken or otherwise uninteresting surfaces as illustrated in Figure 405. To aid in producing the desired results, we have the technical processes mentioned in Chapter XIII as follows: (1) Piercing; (2) Etching; (3) Chasing; (4) Enameling; (5) Inlaying; (6) Stone setting; (7) Building; (8) Carving; (9) Planishing; (10) Frosting; (11) Oxidizing. On the plates for this chapter, the figure generally following the cut number refers to the process, as: Figure 446, 3. [Illustration: Figure 406a.--Mainly Objects Designed to be Seen from Above] SURFACE DESIGN EVOLUTION Rule 11a. _The preliminary steps toward surface enrichment should be thought out before they are drawn._ A designer will be materially helped if he devotes a few moments of thought to his design problem before he applies the pencil to the paper. In the end the time given to thinking out his problem will gain for him both increased excellence of design and rapidity of execution, provided his thinking is systematic. A sequential order of points to be observed is given below. The object of systematic thought is to form a mental picture of the enrichment to be in full accord with the materials and construction and to be sympathetically related to the structural axes and to the contours. The unenriched mass has been designed and we are now ready for the consideration of surface enrichment in the following order. [Sidenote: Summary of Steps in Surface Enrichment] (_a_) _Placing the Zone of Service._ 1. Where is the zone of service? * * * * * (_b_) _Classification of Form_. 1. Is the object flat, shallow and circular, low and cylindrical, high and cylindrical? * * * * * (_c_) _Placing the Zone of Enrichment._ 1. Is the enrichment to be seen from above or from the side? See Figure 406a. 2. What point of the structure suggested by the form needs surface enrichment? Is it the primary mass, appendages, terminals, links, or details? Let the area selected become the zone of enrichment. (_d_) _Amount of Enrichment._ 1. Will the enrichment cover the full surface, part surface (center or margin), or accented outline? (_e_) _Location of Inceptive Axis._ 1. Is the zone of enrichment associated with a square, rectangle, hexagon, or irregularly shaped flat plane, circular or cylindrical surface? Figure 470. 2. How should the inceptive axis be placed in the zone of enrichment to harmonize with the structural forms suggested by 1 (e) and the point from which it is viewed 1 (c)? See the violation of this latter point in Figure 439. Presumably this inceptive axis will be a vertical center line, horizontal center line, diagonal, diameter, radius, the element of a cylinder, or a dynamic curve for a free border. (_f_) _Point of Concentration._ [Sidenote: Surface Enrichment] 1. Where should the point of concentration be located upon the inceptive axis? (_g_) _Unison of Enrichment and Materials._ 1. What decorative process will be adaptable to service, the material, and the contemplated design? [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN BASE METALS TREATMENT OF FLAT AND SEMI-FLAT SURFACES _Courtesy of P. and F. Corbin_ PLATE 59] [Sidenote: Summary of Steps in Surface Enrichment] (_h_) _Type of Units_. 1. What design units are suited to the process selected in (_g_), appropriate to the texture and structural lines of the form to be enriched and to its ultimate service? Choice may be made from nature, geometric pattern, or historic ornament. The above points may all be _thought out_. Now, with some assurance, the designer may take his pencil and begin to _draw_ the units in their proper position upon or about the inceptive axis with the point of concentration correctly placed in position in the inceptive axis. Rules and suggestions for this execution have been previously given. * * * * * (_i_) _Designing of the Units_. 1. How should the units be drawn to be in harmony with the inceptive axis, the contours, and to each other? The above points of approach to surface enrichment represent a logical reasoning process which supplies a line of sequential and developmental pictures that will reduce to a minimum the element of doubt and fog through which the average designer approaches his problem. The steps will, in time, become practically automatic and may be thought out in a surprisingly short period of time. Rule 11c. _The type of design unit for large masses should be bolder than similar designs for small primary masses._ [Sidenote: Large Masses and Their Treatment] As may be expected from briefly considering the illustrations for this chapter as compared with those for small primary masses, Chapter XIII, it is seen that the units for base and precious metals are larger and bolder than those used for smaller masses. The more effective designs are those whose appropriateness, simplicity, and correct structural proportions and relations appeal to our sense of fitness and beauty. Figures 403, 404, and 406 are composed of projects designed mainly on vertical inceptive axes or center lines. The freely balanced natural units in Figure 403 have the zone of enrichment in the upper portion of the appendage (handles), and the point of concentration in the upper portion of the zone of enrichment. Formal symmetrical balance controls the placing of enrichment in Figure 404. Initial letters, through lack of consideration of design principles, are frequently misplaced on masses with little or no consideration given to their mass relations with the structural contours. As a contrast to this, notice the carefully considered relations between the letter _W_ on the tea strainer in Figure 404 and its adaptation to the contours of the appendage. The stone enrichment on the handle of the paper cutter in Figure 404 in no way interferes with its use as a cutter and is therefore appropriate as surface enrichment. [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN BASE METAL TREATMENT OF FLAT PLANES IN CAST BRONZE _Door Plates, Courtesy of P. and F. Corbin_ PLATE 60] [Sidenote: Large Flat and Semi-flat Surfaces in Precious Metal, Plate 58] The pierced enrichment of the silver box in Figure 405 contains vertical and horizontal lines which bring the decorative human figures into harmonious relation with the structural contours. Figure 406 shows both formal and free balance with center and full surface zones of enrichment. _C_ and _D_ could have been improved by a more strongly marked point of concentration which would have added more character to the designs. [Sidenote: Flat and Semi-flat Surfaces in Base Metal, Plate 59] In Chapter VIII, the contour terminal enrichment problem was described at some length. Many illustrations on Plates 58, 59, and 60 are, in a way, similar in their type of surface decoration, which is termed _surface terminal enrichment_. The "happy ending" mentioned in Chapter VIII as a suitable means of terminating the contour of a long primary mass or appendage may be similarly treated by suitable surface enrichment, particularly shown in Figures 403, 404, 407, 408, 409, and 410. The terminal is quite common as a zone of enrichment. [Sidenote: Contour _Versus_ Surface Enrichment] It is readily seen that when surface enrichment is the prevailing decorative theme it becomes necessary to subordinate contour enrichment to it, Rule 10b, otherwise the strife for dominance arising between these two forms of enrichment will lead to poor and ornate design, Figure 417. Whatever contour enrichment is used must be chosen to accord with the surface enrichment, Rule 10d, as noted in the preceding figures and in Figure 411. Here we find the closest connection, as the chased forms of the surface at many points merge into the contour. Thus surface and contour are bound together in unity with the surface enrichment, which maintains its dominance throughout. The simple and dignified treatment of the fire set in Figure 413 is synonymous with the finest type of enrichment for service and beauty, Rule 11b. The peacock motives of Figures 414 and 415 are applied to the desk set. The motives as used in this case are generally well adapted to their respective areas and inceptive axes. [Sidenote: Surface Enrichment of Hardware, Plate 60] Rule 11f. _Repulsive forms should not be introduced into surface enrichment._ Figure 417 is a typical example of over-ornamentation with the surface and contour enrichment struggling in deadly conflict for prominence. In the combat, the natural structural axis has been totally neglected for irrelevant and disconnected ornament. Figure 418 illustrates correctly related surface ornament, with a dominance of the latter form, Rule 10b. Figure 419 represents a type of decoration presumably roughened to meet the needs of service. It proves, however, to be unpleasant to the touch and unnecessary as the plain knob is preferable in every way. The naturalistic snake motive of Figure 421 is repulsive to many people; this and similar decorative motives should be avoided in preference to the more conventionalized pattern of Figure 422, Rule 11f. Rule 11e. _Two periods of historic ornament should not be introduced into the same design._ [Sidenote: Historic Ornament Applied to Period Hardware Design Door Plates] It is impossible to close these chapters without reference to the influence of the great schools of architectural history upon contemporary design. There is a growing tendency for manufacturers to use period patterns in house decorations which correspond to the design of the building. A Colonial building frequently calls for Colonial hardware, a Gothic church for corresponding surface enrichment of that period. As introductory illustrations, Figure 423 stands as a simple example of accented (beveled) contour while Figure 424 has been accented with reminiscent moulding appropriate to Colonial architecture. They might, however, be used with many simply designed articles of furniture. From this slight indication or portion of a style, we have a more pronounced beginning in Figure 425 with its clearly marked Greek egg and dart ornamental border. The acanthus leaf of the Byzantine school, Figure 426, changes to the geometric arabesques of the Moorish school in Figure 427. The Gothic arch, cusps, and quatrefoil of Figure 428 are changed to the classic acanthus foliage of the French Renaissance period. Figure 429. Figures 430 and 431 are later developments of the Renaissance. The heavily enriched Flemish pattern completes our illustrations of the use of past forms of ornamentation applied to modern designs. Only a small number from a rapidly enlarging field of period design are shown. [Sidenote: Shallow Circular Forms, Plate 61] With circular plates and trays, the enrichment normally takes the form of a border (marginal enrichment), with the inceptive axes or center lines of the repeated units radiating from the center of the circle. Figures 433, 435, 436, 437, 438, and 439. An elliptical form frequently calls for handles and terminal enrichment as shown by Figure 434. Both Figures 437 and 438 have divided points of concentration and would be materially improved by the omission of the center unit _A_. The small tree used as a connecting link in the border of Figure 437 should be reversed, as it now possesses a motion or growth contrary to the larger tree units. The contour enrichment in Figure 438 could well be omitted or moved around to support the surface enrichment. The pierced enrichment _A_, Figure 439, is incorrectly used as it is not designed to be seen from above, the normal viewpoint of the tray. The design should have been based upon the horizontal axis of the project similar to Figure 439 at _B_. [Sidenote: Low Cylindrical Forms, Plate 62] Differing from the shallow plate, with the increased height of the low cylindrical forms of Plate 62, there now develops the possibility of enriching the sides of this class of project: a zone of enrichment not readily accessible in the shallow plate form. In addition to the sides there remain the appendages, quite capable of carrying enrichment to advantage. One should control the zone of enrichment in such a manner that the attention will not be equally drawn to both appendage and primary mass. Two points of enrichment, both calling for equal attention, divide the interest in the problem, and cause a lack of unity or oneness. Rule 11d. _The eye should be attracted to one principal zone of enrichment, whether located upon the primary mass, appendage, terminals, links, or details. All other zones should be subordinate to this area._ [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN BASE AND PRECIOUS METAL TREATMENT OF SHALLOW CIRCULAR FORMS PLATE 61] [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN BASE AND PRECIOUS METAL TREATMENT OF LOW CIRCULAR FORMS PLATE 62] [Illustration: SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES IN BASE AND PRECIOUS METALS TREATMENT OF HIGH CYLINDRICAL FORMS PLATE 63] Enrichment upon the appendages may be found in Figures 440, 441, 442, 445, and on the upper portion of the straight sides of the primary mass in Figures 443 and 444. The decorative units composing the border on these straight sides are designed upon the vertical element of the underlying cylindrical form as the inceptive axis. The enrichment for the appendage is well related to the contour of that member and is commonly based upon the center line of the appendage. [Sidenote: Cylindrical Forms, Plate 63] The principles of enriching these higher cylindrical forms in many ways closely parallel those which govern the lower cylindrical forms. The inceptive axes of the decoration on the two vases of Figures 446 and 447 may be readily analyzed as vertical elements of the cylinder. Figures 448 and 449 are quite rare exceptions of the accentuation of the _vertical_ lines of the cylinder. Horizontal bands similar to Figures 444 and 447 are more common interpretations of cylinder enrichment. Figure 450 marks a successful combination of two dissimilar materials with the shade (appendage) as the dominating enriched member. Rule 10c. The small chased bosses used as enrichment in Figure 452 are re-echoed on the several pieces of the set which binds them into collective unity. The top portion of the primary mass seems to need some form of enrichment, as the contour adds little to the beauty of that part. The symbol _X_ could have been better located by being moved to that place. The point of concentration should be placed in the upper portion of a large mass whenever that arrangement is possible. It is in every way desirable that all designs should be executed full size and in full accord with the requirements of a shop working drawing. In addition the technical rendering suggested in Chapter XIII should be carefully used in each drawing. INSTRUCTION SHEET Plates 68 and 72 show problems suitable for class presentation. The method of development is similar to that presented on Plate 52. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Draw a primary mass with reference to its proper grouping as follows: For flat areas draw square, rectangle, etc. For shallow circular forms draw a circle. For low cylindrical forms draw a rectangle with horizontal proportions. For high cylindrical forms draw a rectangle with vertical proportions. (_b_) Locate zone of service. (_c_) Locate zone of enrichment: appendages, terminals, margins, full surface, etc. (_d_) Determine amount of enrichment. (_e_) Locate inceptive axes. (_f_) Place point of concentration in the inceptive axis where it traverses the zone of enrichment. (_g_) Select the decorative process suited to the material and contemplated motive. (_h_) Draw leading lines toward the point of concentration. (_i_) Draw conventionalized design motives based upon the leading lines, converging toward the point of concentration. Vary the contours to be sympathetically related to these design motives, provided such variation of the original primary mass is necessary to complete unity. (_j_) Add additional views, dimension, and otherwise prepare the drawing for shop use. SUGGESTED PROBLEM Design a copper nut bowl and spoon. Enrich with a chased border appropriate to the subject. Enrich spoon, using fitting method of enrichment. The bowl and spoon should have a harmonious relation. SUMMARY OF RULES SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF LARGE PRIMARY MASSES Rule 11a. _The preliminary steps toward surface enrichment should be thought out before they are drawn._ Rule 11b. _Conservative application should mark the use of surface enrichment of large masses. Its use should: (1) lighten or soften necessarily heavy construction; (2) support or apparently strengthen good structure; (3) add interest to large unbroken and uninteresting surfaces._ Rule 11c. _The type of design unit for large masses should be bolder than similar designs for small primary masses._ Rule 11d. _The eye should be attracted to one principal zone of enrichment, whether located upon the primary mass, appendage, terminal, links, or details. All other zones should be subordinate to this area._ Rule 11e. _Two periods of historic ornament should not be introduced into the same design._ Rule 11f. _Repulsive forms should not be introduced into surface enrichment._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. Contrast the method of enriching large and small areas of base and precious metals. Illustrate. What is the character of surface enrichment for large areas? 2. Name three essentials to good surface design for base and precious metals. Illustrate each. 3. Give nine steps necessary for the complete evolution of surface enrichment. 4. Name method of classifying the structural forms of metal into four groups. How does this compare with the classification of clay forms? 5. Between which two groups does the transition from a horizontal to a vertical primary mass occur? 6. Is there a perceptible change in the surface enrichment paralleling this change in proportions of the primary mass? 7. In which group or groups is the relation between surface and contour enrichment closest? 8. Give the characteristics of surface enrichment designed for flat or semi-flat planes. 9. State the value of the terminal as an enrichment zone. 10. Discuss common errors in the surface enrichment of hardware and their correction. 11. In what manner does historic ornament influence industrial design? Why? 12. Give characteristics of surface enrichment designed for, (_a_) large, shallow circular forms; (_b_) large, low cylindrical forms; (_c_) large, high cylindrical forms. 13. How does the point from which the article is to be seen affect the character of the design? CHAPTER XV COLOR: HUE, VALUE, AND CHROMA; STAINS [Sidenote: Need of Harmonious Color] In the previous chapters we have developed problems dealing with proportions, contours, and surface enrichment. The use of color, particularly in surface enrichment, is equally important inasmuch as its use is often necessary to bring the project, as for example a piece of furniture, into harmony with the surroundings which furnish its final color environment. The incorrect use of color may seriously mar a project otherwise correctly designed in line and form, and may also weaken its influence in a particular setting. [Sidenote: Use of Color Systems] While there are a number of excellent systems of color notation, it is well to bear in mind that a color system, however excellent, is a good servant but a poor master. It is nevertheless considered as essential to have a definite knowledge of some systematically developed color system in order that we may methodically apply color to the structural form with some degree of certainty. [Sidenote: Color Pigments for Design Rendering] For rendering drawings of problems involving the use of color it is suggested that the beginner use the tempera, or opaque colors now on the market. These colors readily adapt themselves to the average problem, while their rich hues are more successful than those produced from the ordinary water colors. Tubes of cobalt blue, ultramarine, light chrome yellow, vermilion, emerald green, crimson madder, black, and white will serve to solve the problems demanded by this chapter. [Sidenote: Application of Pigment] White is used to lighten and black to darken the pigments, which should be mixed with water to the consistency of cream, and applied to cover well the surface of the paper. One should guard against a thin, transparent wash, as the desired effect is a velvety opaque and evenly tinted surface only possible with the thick application of color. The pigment will dry out about one-quarter lighter than when first applied. The usual school color box of three pigments is useful for rendering wood stains. These pigments may be used in thin flat washes and will exhibit a transparent effect analogous to the effect of a wood stain. The natural color of wood may be first represented and, when dry, followed by a second thin wash of the hue of the wood stain. [Sidenote: Rendering of Wood Stains] Lacking as we are in a definite color nomenclature or standards, it now becomes necessary to describe the processes and define the terms necessary to the designer. [Sidenote: Hue and Hue Rectangles] _Hue_ is the technical name for color; a change of color means a change of hue. For the designer's purposes we will select twelve equally graded colors or hues from the spectrum and term them standard hues. Each hue will have twenty-seven modifications or gradations, which is a sufficient number for our purpose. These gradations are to be graphically recorded by and contained in a diagram to be known as a _hue rectangle_. There are twelve of these rectangles, one for each of the selected hues, and they are found arranged in sequence in Figure 454. [Sidenote: Standard Hues] [Sidenote: Full Chromatic Intensity] By referring to Figure 455, it is seen that the twelve selected standard hues are represented at what is termed _full chromatic intensity_, which, to the designer, means hues of the full strength of his color pigment. This is far short of the true color intensity of the spectrum, but for industrial arts purposes these hues are strong enough to serve as standards for comparison and classification. The hues should be evenly graded from red at the left to red violet at the right without noticeable unevenness in the gradations. Red violet is the link which connects the right end with the left, thus completing the circuit of the twelve hues. The following pigment table gives name and symbol of various hues. [Sidenote: Approximate Related Standard Hues] --------------+-----------------------------------+------------+------- HUES | PIGMENTS | VALUES |SYMBOLS --------------+-----------------------------------+------------+------- Red | Pure crimson madder | High dark | R-HD Orange | Crimson madder and vermilion | Middle | OR-M Orange | Vermilion and light chrome yellow | Low light | O-LL Orange yellow | Vermilion and light chrome yellow | Light | OY-L Yellow | Pure light chrome yellow | High light | Y-HL Yellow green | Light chrome yellow and | | | emerald green | Light | YG-L Green | Pure emerald green | Low light | G-LL Green blue | Emerald green and cobalt blue | Middle | GB-M Blue | Pure cobalt blue | High dark | B-HD Blue violet | Ultramarine and crimson madder | Dark | BV-D Violet | Ultramarine and crimson madder | Low dark | V-LD Red violet | Ultramarine and crimson madder | Dark | RV-D --------------+-----------------------------------+------------+------- [Sidenote: Locating Standard Hues] It now becomes imperative to locate each standard hue at its definite place in each rectangle. This invariably occurs at a predetermined point in the left vertical boundary of the rectangle of that hue. From inspection of Figure 455, it is quickly seen that violet seems to be the darkest hue; yellow the lightest, with the others between these hues. This variation of what is termed their value gives us a guide to their proper placing in the hue rectangle. [Sidenote: Values and Horizontal Value Lines] _Value_ is that quality by which we may distinguish a dark hue from a light one. For design purposes we will imagine the hue rectangle to grade from white at the top to black at the bottom. We will draw horizontal lines or steps across the rectangle, marking nine even value steps from white to black; the top one to be termed White (W), followed by High Light (HL); Light (L); Low Light (LL); Middle (M); High Dark (HD); Dark (D); Low Dark (LD); and Black (B). These value steps may be thought of as a scale of gray or neutral values descending the _right boundary_ of the hue rectangle. They have been roughly indicated in the hue rectangle at the left of Figure 454. [Sidenote: Relation of the Standard Hue to the Hue Rectangle] Each standard hue may now be located in the _left boundary_ of its hue rectangle and opposite its neutral gray equivalent in the right boundary. If the standard hue is accurately determined by the designer, it will be of exactly the same value as its gray equivalent given in the "value" column of the pigment table. The small arrows leading from Figure 455 to 454 show where four standard hues are located; the remaining hues are located in the left circle of each successive row in the remaining rectangles, and upon their respective value lines. Standard hues are expressed by the symbols in the _right column_ of the pigment table. [Sidenote: Tints] Each standard pigment or hue may be thinned with opaque white to lighten it, forming what is known as a tint of that hue. Red, in Figure 454, reaching its full chromatic intensity at the value High Dark, may be lightened four times before it ultimately arrives at white. Each step is to be considered as occurring in the left hand boundary of the rectangle above the standard hue, and is to be recorded by the symbols, R-M: R-LL: R-L: R-HL. Orange yellow has only one possible tint. Strawberry, light lavender, rose, etc., are merely nicknames for various tints. [Sidenote: Shades] Each standard hue may be darkened by the application of black, thus forming shades of that hue. Red is capable of producing two shades, R-D and R-LD, which are placed in the left boundary of the hue rectangle below the standard hue. Browns, russets, and dark tans are shades of different hues. These modifications of the standard hues into tints and shades give to the designer simple variations of his too brilliant standards. But even these modifications are not sufficiently grayed for staining or painting large wood or wall surfaces. There is a brilliancy and glare about certain tints which require modification. The shades are safer for use on large areas. The remaining space in the interior of the hue rectangle is to be devoted to the last gradation of the standard hue. [Sidenote: Chroma] _Chroma_ is the strength of a color. It is the quality by which we distinguish a strong color from a weak one. The standard hue is approximately full chromatic intensity. Likewise each tint and shade is considered to be of its full chromatic intensity, making the left-hand boundary of the rectangle the area of full chroma. From this boundary, each tint, standard, and shade _fades out or loses chroma_ until the right boundary of the rectangle is reached. In this boundary each tint, standard, and shade has faded out of its gray equivalent, but without changing its original value; in other words it has traveled along its horizontal value line to a complete grayness. The right-hand boundary of the rectangle may then be represented by a gray value scale of nine steps, including white and black. [Sidenote: Vertical Chroma Lines] It becomes necessary to record at regular intervals, this loss of chroma. For this purpose, we have cut the hue rectangle by three vertical lines. The first vertical line from the left boundary of the rectangle marks the position where the standard with its tints and shades have been grayed to the point where only three-fourths of the original of hue remains. Similarly, the center and right vertical lines mark the points where one-half and one-fourth, respectively, of the color have been retained. These losses of chroma are recorded by similar fractions. With possible modifications of value and chroma each hue now has twenty-seven possible changes. The full hue title or symbol may now be written as follows: (1) hue name, (2) amount of chroma, (3) value. Examples: GB [Sidenote: Full Hue Symbols] 3/4D-V1/2HL. We are now in a position to write whatever color we may have in mind and another person will understand it, provided the other person adopts our standard. Through the teachings of Dr. D.W. Ross, Mr. A.H. Munsell, and others, the symbols and standards are now quite generally understood and have, in a slightly modified form been accepted in several standard color industries. [Sidenote: Technical Practice] [Sidenote: Warm and Cold Colors] To familiarize oneself with the mixing of the various hues, it is excellent practice to form a vertical gray scale of the three-quarter-inch squares. There should be nine steps from white to black; an enlarged duplication of the right boundary of the hue rectangle. The warm standard hues at their full standard intensities; RV-R-OR-O-OY-Y, may be formed and placed opposite their gray equivalents on the left side of the gray scale, while the remaining or cold colors may be similarly placed with relation to the gray scale but upon the right of it. [Sidenote: Scales of Color] A vertical scale of tints and shades of one of the hues, duplicating the left side of the rectangle gives the character of the tints and shades. One shade and one tint should then be carried along a horizontal value line through three steps of loss of chroma to complete grayness, but without change of the original value. Yellow, by the addition of black becomes a false greenish shade which may be corrected by the addition of a small amount of vermilion. [Sidenote: Wood Stains] A large percentage of natural wood hues are to be found between the hue rectangles, Red-Orange, Yellow and Green, or in the warm portion of the spectrum. As a wood stain must blend harmoniously with the natural wood color, it is reasonable to expect the best results from stains with a predominance of warm hues or warm grays in their composition. [Sidenote: Basic Primary Hues] It is possible to duplicate _nearly all_ the twelve standard hues of Figure 455 with mixtures of the three so-called primary hues of red, yellow, and blue. It makes a fairly approximate scale which is, however, not sufficiently accurate for standardizing purposes. The scale is formed by mixing red and yellow in varying proportions for the intermediate hues of orange, yellow, and blue for the greens, and blue and red for the violets. This practice of mixing three primary colors together serves as an important step, governing wood stain mixing for beginners. [Sidenote: Three Basic Aniline Wood Dyes] Developing this idea further, we may select aniline brilliant scarlet as approximating red; metanil yellow, approximating yellow; and acid green as a substitute for blue. These stains are shown in the top portion of Figure 456. By comparison with Figure 455, scarlet is found to be orange red; metanil yellow, orange, and acid green to be true standard green. These basic stains have been located in their proper positions with regard to their hue, value, and chroma. Their positions are located by the large circles in the hue diagrams of Figure 456. [Sidenote: Wood Stain Mixing] These stains are modified and reduced in chroma and value by mixing them with nigrosene black, an aniline dye of blue black appearance, which fills all the needs of an ivory black in water or oil color pigment. With these four stains, almost any commercial stain may be duplicated. Aniline dye for water stains readily dissolves in water while a special aniline for oil staining is first cut with naphtha. [Sidenote: Dark Mahogany Stain] Dark mahogany stain in Figure 456 is orange red, ¾HD, and is indicated by the circle _A_ in the same figure. To duplicate this stain we have as the nearest base stain, brilliant scarlet, which corresponds to orange red. This is placed at its full intensity in the circle OR on the middle horizontal value line. To duplicate dark mahogany stain it will be necessary to reduce in value a strong solution of brilliant scarlet, slightly more than one horizontal value step, by the addition of nigrosene. We shall then add a small amount of some thinning medium, oil or water, to reduce slightly the stain in chroma. [Sidenote: Flemish Oak Stain] Flemish oak stain is orange ¾D. This calls for a mixture of metanil yellow and brilliant scarlet aniline to form the orange hue. We must then add nigrosene to reduce the value to D, and add a small amount of thinner to produce the necessary reduction in chroma. [Sidenote: Fumed Oak Stain] This is commonly produced by fuming the wood with ammonia. The hue may however be closely duplicated by a mixture of brilliant scarlet, metanil yellow, and nigrosene. It is practically the same as Flemish oak, but possesses one-quarter more color as can be seen on the orange hue rectangle. [Sidenote: Olive Green Stain] The circle _D_ shows this stain to be slightly below yellow green, ¾M, in value and chroma. The hue rectangle containing it is nearer the green than the orange yellow rectangle; hence in mixing the stain we should keep the green hue dominant by adding more of it than of metanil yellow. As in other stains, nigrosene is added to reduce the full chromatic intensities of the aniline to the proper value and chroma of olive green stain. [Sidenote: Light Weathered Oak Stain] This stain is practically blue, 1/4M, and is formed by thinning nigrosene to the proper value. [Sidenote: Color Changes of the Stain] Aniline dyes are apt to fade if exposed to full sunlight. There are, however, certain preventives that are beyond the scope of this book to treat in detail. The natural color of the wood is inclined to make a stain warmer than when originally mixed. This should be allowed for. Wood filler, the wood grain, porosity, qualities, and hue of the wood, all influence the final value of the stain. It frequently becomes darker in value as may be seen by comparing Figure 456 and Figures 458 to 461. It is good policy to test the stain upon different woods to observe the final effect. The tests may be kept for future reference. It is readily seen from the few examples in Figure 456 that, with the three basic stains, almost any other stains may be produced, thus affording a broad field for harmonious selection and adaptation to the environment. The next chapters will take up the question of color harmony and its application to wood, wall surfaces, clay, and metal. SUGGESTED PROBLEMS See paragraph upon "Technical Practice" in this chapter, page 198. REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. What pigments are best adapted to rendering design problems? What pigments are particularly adapted to the rendering of wood stains? How should each be applied? 2. What are standard hues? Why do we need standards of hue? 3. Define the term _values_. 4. What are tints and shades? 5. Define fully the term _chroma_. 6. Bound the hue rectangle and trace the value and chroma changes occurring on its vertical and horizontal lines. 7. Locate in its proper hue rectangle (Figure 455) the following hues: OY 3/4HD; YG 1/2LL; RV 3/4M; YL. 8. Name the three primary hues. How may an approximate scale of twelve hues be prepared from them? 9. Name the three basic aniline wood dyes and give their relation to the three primary hues. What is the practical use of nigrosene in stain mixing? 10. Give the symbol and explain the method of mixing Flemish oak wood stain. Name and explain the method of mixing two others. 11. How does its application to wood effect the color and value of aniline stain? [Illustration: PLATE 64] CHAPTER XVI COLOR AND ITS RELATION TO INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN LARGE SURFACES OF WOOD; WALL AND CEILING AREAS [Sidenote: Color Harmony] In the preceding chapter, the classification and standardization of color were emphasized as preliminary to the study of color harmony. Color harmony is obtained by the proper balancing of value, hue, and chroma upon a surface or surfaces to give a pleasing reaction to the eye, and through the eye to the intellect. We are now ready to familiarize ourselves with the specific applications of these factors to practical design problems. Too many pieces of furniture are stained with no thought as to the final adaptation in the school or home. This is not wise, either from the standpoint of a complete educative process or of good taste. Figures 458, 459, 460, 461, show stains of Plate 64 applied to wood. Two new stains have been added, sage green and silver gray. These six stains are representative ones and act as a typical data for study of color harmony. FURNITURE--TRIM--SIDE WALLS--CEILINGS [Sidenote: Backgrounds] The side walls of a room form the background for furniture; trim, wall brackets, and similarly related objects; therefore the _closest relation and harmony_ should be maintained between them. [Sidenote: Value Range of Wood Stains] The wood stains 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, and 18, Plate 65, as they appear on various kinds of wood are, in part, duplicates of the unapplied stains of Plate 64, Figure 456. The effect of the wood has changed their values and in some instances their color as can be seen by comparing the two plates. Their _new relations_ have been plotted on the hue rectangles of Figure 457, Plate 65, and the results joined by a dotted line. The circles in the diagrams contain cross reference figures in order that the stains may be traced without difficulty. The highest value is near middle (18), and the lowest is low dark (6), showing a value range of four steps. [Sidenote: Value Range of Side Walls] The side walls, taken from well-known wall tint catalogs have been similarly plotted in Figure 457, and the results joined together by a heavy black line. The lightest value is light (11), and the darkest is middle value (14), an average range of three steps slightly above middle value. [Sidenote: Value Range of Ceilings] Ceilings are the lightest of the surfaces considered. Their range is from slightly below white (10), to light (16), a range of two values. From the results, as plotted in Figure 457, it is seen that there is a tendency to keep the ceilings within a close range of values. The results have been joined together by means of a double black line. There are exceptions to these results, but it is quite safe to keep well within the suggested range for harmonious results. We may now draw the following rules as a result of an empirical method of deduction. Rule 12a. _An average wood stain is to be retained between the values middle and low dark._ Rule 12b. _An average wall hue is to be retained between the values light and middle._ Rule 12c. _An average ceiling hue is to be retained between the values white (minus) and light._ [Sidenote: Value Range of Side Walls and Wood Work] Averaging the value range between the wood work which includes the furniture, trim, and the side walls of Figures 458, 459, 460, 461, 462, and 463, we find that the range varies from five values in Figures 459 to slightly more than one in Figure 463. As the side walls and furniture are to be regarded as unobtrusive settings for pictures and people it is well to be very conservative with the use of values. A wide range of values will cause a lack of unity. In this respect Figure 459 may be regarded as approaching the extreme limit of contrasts of value compatible with good taste. Let us, therefore, limit the value range to four values, as, for example: low light for side walls and dark for stain. Rule 12d. _The relation between the side walls and furniture, trim, etc., should be retained within the range of four values or less, as low light and dark._ [Sidenote: Value Range of Side Walls and Ceilings] The ceiling and side walls in Figure 459 are four values apart and in Figure 463 this has been reduced to a one-value step. There seems to be a common average of three values as an acceptable and agreeable contrast. For dark rooms this would well be increased. For rooms with light side walls the contrast would be considerably lessened. Rule 12e. _The relation between side walls and ceiling should be within the range of three values or less, as high light and low light._ HUE GROUPINGS [Sidenote: Hue Range for Wood Work and Walls] A wood stain should be closely related to the natural color of the wood. As this is usually a warm color we naturally find most of the wood stains included between the red and the yellow hue rectangles, inclusive of red and yellow green. Walnut then may be stained a deep shade of orange or red, but would not be adapted to a blue green stain. This arbitrary but wide range of hues of stained wood naturally affects the hue of the side walls. The plotting of the hues for the side walls, Figure 457, shows a close relation to the hues of the stain to the wall. In no instance do we find the hue rectangle of the wood work more than three hues away from that of the walls. In four instances they are within two hue rectangles of each other and in one instance they are both within the same rectangle. This develops the fact that _analogous_ or neighboring groupings of hues prevail in relating the hues of wood work and side walls. [Sidenote: Analogous Hues] An _analogous_ group of hues is an arrangement based upon a selection of tints and shades within three rectangles of each other, as orange and yellow. These harmonize because yellow is mixed with and becomes a hue common to both. While the analogous arrangement of hues seems to be most commonly used, and with a result that seems to justify its adoption into general practice, there are other arrangements that are pleasing to the eye. [Sidenote: Contrasted Hues] Figure 458 illustrates what is commonly known as a _contrasted_ grouping or arrangement of hues. It consists of the tints or shades of one or more hues and gray. It is the basis of color harmony between silver and semi-precious stones. If two hues are used, one of them should be reduced in chroma to nearly gray. [Sidenote: Dominant Hue] Figure 463 is typical of still another form of positive hue grouping. By consulting the yellow hue rectangle of Figure 457 it is noted that the wood work, side walls, and ceiling of Figure 463 _are all contained in one rectangle_. This classes this color scheme as an example of _dominant_ arrangement which may be simply defined as the _tints and shades of one hue_. The arrangement does not have the variety supplied by analogous grouping, introducing as it does, two hues from different rectangles, but for large surfaces dominant grouping is a conservative and safe arrangement. Its tendency toward monotony should be guarded against by the introduction of some object high in chroma in the room decorative scheme. A bright colored vase will accomplish this successfully. Rule 12o, Chapter XVII. Rule 12f. _Color schemes for wood work and side walls should preferably be selected from one of the following groupings: analogous, contrasted, or dominant arrangements of hues. Analogous grouping is preferable where variety of hue is desirable._ [Sidenote: Special Arrangements] The above rule is not to be taken as arbitrary. In the hands of competent designers attractive color schemes are developed that differ materially from the above suggestions. But, for the usual home setting, the above arrangement may be regarded as satisfactory, and is given with the idea of bringing the school shop work and the home environment into closer color harmony. A specimen of special arrangement is given by the Circle 3A. This is delft blue, which harmonizes with dark mahogany in a satisfactory manner. [Sidenote: Hue Range for Side Walls and Ceilings] In adjusting the hues for side walls and ceilings, the relations should be of the closest. The plotting of ceiling hues in Figure 457 shows a strong tendency for the ceiling to be colored with a tint of the side walls (dominant arrangement), or by a tint selected from the next rectangle (analogous arrangement). Yellow or yellow-green, very light and much reduced in chroma, seems to be the almost universal custom. This is due to the strongly _light reflecting_ qualities of yellow. Rule 12g. _Ceilings should be colored by a lighter tint of the side walls or by a lighter tint of an analogous hue._ [Sidenote: Range of Chroma for Stains] Stains, as they occupy a comparatively limited area in the room color scheme, are of their full chroma value or reduced to three-fourths chroma. In only one instance (18), Figure 463, do we find a reduction to one-fourth chroma, demanded by the nearly gray color scheme of the walls. We find it to be an established fact that small areas are capable of enrichment by colors of greater purity and higher chroma than larger surfaces. A silver pin may be designed to contain a stone of high brilliancy, but a wall surface has to be materially reduced in chroma to possess color harmony. [Illustration: PLATE 65] [Sidenote: Range of Chroma for Stain] Rule 12h. _Stains are usually not reduced to below three-fourths chromatic intensity. Nearly gray side walls, however, call for a reduction to one-fourth intensity._ [Sidenote: Range of Chroma for Walls] As the walls occupy a large proportionate area of the color scheme of the room we find it necessary to reduce them in chroma in order to soften the glare of too brilliant colors. Figure 457 shows only one instance (14) of a hue unreduced in chroma. It is retained at the full chroma for that value on account of the brightness of the sage green wood stain. The other hues represented in the diagram are grayed or reduced in chroma from three-fourths to less than one-fourth, or to nearly neutral gray. Rule 12i. _Wall colors are usually reduced to three-fourths chroma to a minimum reduction of slightly less than one-fourth chroma._ [Sidenote: Range of Chroma for Ceilings] The same tendency toward chromatic reduction is to be seen in ceilings, although we have two examples in Figure 457 (10 and 13) of nearly white and high light ceilings that have not been reduced. To avoid crudity a reduction in chroma by the addition of gray is to be desired. Rule 12j. _Ceilings should usually be reduced in chroma to three-fourths intensity with slightly less than one-fourth chroma as a minimum reduction._ [Sidenote: Summary] With a single exception (3A), the stains and wall tints have been selected between and including the red and green rectangles. This is customary and gives safe hue range as it insures the retention of wall and ceiling hues in unified conformity with the warm tints of the natural wood and its equally dark hued stains. [Sidenote: Wall and Ceiling Pigments] The following is a list of dry colors which may be purchased at a paint or hardware store for a few cents a pound. It is suggested for the designer or craftsman who desires to tint his own wall or ceiling. While oil paint is to be preferred, these colors are readily and quickly applied and form serviceable backgrounds. [Sidenote: Calcimine] The pigments are white, yellow ochre, chrome yellow light, chrome yellow medium, and chrome yellow dark, burnt and raw sienna, turkey and raw umber, ultramarine and ivory black. The greens are preferably mixed by adding ultramarine to one of the chromes. Shades are formed by the addition of the siennas, umbers, or black. Black and white, mixed to a gray, are useful in reducing the chroma of a hue. The stains should be mixed with hot water and a small amount of glue for a binder. White occasionally comes prepared with glue in its composition. [Sidenote: Opaque Wood Finishes] While this chapter has emphasized the transparent finish for wood treatment, as a method best fitted for woods with a distinct grain, it is realized that oil painting of wood surfaces has a distinct and important part to play in the interior decorative scheme of a room. This latter method is adapted to soft woods without a strongly marked grained surface. The warm hued rectangle of the spectrum: red, orange, and yellow with their associated hues, which are so intimately connected with the natural wood colors and their stains, no longer stand as a limiting factor in controlling the color of the wood or the side walls. The opaque nature of oil paints allows us to disregard the color of the wood, and thus select any hue of oil paint which harmonizes with the walls and decorative scheme of the room. The rules stated herein are equally applicable to opaque colors. It may be necessary to reduce oil paints in chroma beyond the point indicated in Rule 12h. While it is not within the scope of this chapter to enter into a complete discussion of the subject of interior decoration, the following suggestions are considered as applying to our subject: viz., the surface enrichment of large areas. Complete color harmony in interior decoration generally demands the presence of the three so-called primary hues: red, yellow, and blue, in some form in the wall color scheme. While this is not always possible, two may be introduced as follows. [Sidenote: Northern Exposure] The light from the north, northeast, or northwest is cold blue, supplying blue in the decorative scheme of three primary colors: blue, red, and yellow. The wall tints should then be composed of combinations of red and yellow, the remaining primaries. These may be applied to the walls by means of tints of yellow and orange reduced in chroma, or shades of orange and orange-red. No greens or blues should be used. [Sidenote: Southern Exposure] The light from the south, southeast, and southwest supplies plenty of yellow. It is, then, necessary to add the remaining primaries or at least one of them in the form of gray-blue, orange, or orange-yellow, reduced to one-fourth chroma and practically to neutrality or grayish-reds and greens, well reduced in chroma. Any hue strongly yellow should be avoided. [Sidenote: Effects of Hue upon Apparent Size] Certain hues materially affect the apparent size of a room. If the room is small certain values and hues will make it appear much smaller. Dark values, as a rule, make the room look smaller by seemingly drawing the walls closer together. Red contracts the apparent size of a room, while yellow and blue expand it. Green and shades of yellow and red-orange, if not too dark, have little effect upon the apparent size of a room. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS (_a_) Determine, by its exposure, the kind of light the room receives. (_b_) Choose a hue for the walls embodying one or both of the primary hues not represented by this daylight. (_c_) Select a value and chroma for this hue in accordance with Rules 12b and 12i. (_d_) Select a hue, value, and chroma for the ceiling in accordance with Rules 12g, 12e, and 12j. (_e_) Select the correct hue, value, and chroma for paint or stain for the wood work in accordance with Rules 12f, 12a, and 12h. SUGGESTED PROBLEMS Develop the color scheme for the walls, ceiling, and wood work of a room with a northern exposure; southern exposure. Mix the stain for a piece of oak to harmonize with the wood work and walls of the living room of your home. Determine the wall tints to harmonize with dark weathered oak. Mix them from dry colors. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 12a. _An average wood stain is to be retained between the values middle and low dark._ Rule 12b. _An average wall hue is to be retained between the values light and middle._ Rule 12c. _An average ceiling hue is to be retained between the values white (minus) and light._ Rule 12d. _The relation between the side walls and furniture, trim, etc., should be retained within the range of four values or less, as low light and dark._ Rule 12e. _The relation between the side walls and ceiling should be within the range of three values or less, as high light and low light._ Rule 12f. _Color schemes for wood work and side walls should preferably be selected from one of the following groupings: analogous, contrasted, or dominant arrangements of hues. Analogous grouping is preferable where variety of hue is desirable._ Rule 12g. _Ceilings should be colored by a lighter tint of the side walls or by a lighter tint of an analogous hue._ Rule 12h. _Stains are usually not reduced to below three-fourths chromatic intensity. Nearly gray side walls, however, call for a reduction to one-fourth intensity._ Rule 12i. _Wall colors are usually reduced to three-fourths chroma to a minimum reduction of slightly less than one-fourth chroma._ Rule 12j. _Ceilings should usually be reduced in chroma to three-fourths intensity, with slightly less than one-fourth chroma as a minimum reduction._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. What should we have in mind when staining furniture for the home? 2. Why are the side walls important when considering the color scheme of a room? 3. Give the value range for the average wood stains, side walls, and ceiling. 4. State the value range to include wood work, furniture, trim, and side walls. 5. State the value range that includes side walls and ceilings. 6. Give the hue range for wood work and side walls. 7. Explain the analogous, contrasted, and dominant groupings of hues and name two examples of each. 8. Give the hue range for side walls and ceilings. Name several good combinations. 9. Give range of chroma for wood work, side walls, and ceiling. Explain the reasons for each change of chroma. 10. What experience have you had in mixing calcimine for wall decoration? 11. Discuss opaque finishes for wood. 12. Give the hues for rooms with northern and southern exposures. Why? 13. State the effect of hues upon the apparent size of a room. CHAPTER XVII COLOR AND ITS RELATION TO INDUSTRIAL ARTS DESIGN SMALL SURFACES IN CLAY AND METAL Before proceeding to the discussion of the application of color to clay it becomes necessary to determine what technical possibilities are presented. [Sidenote: Color Applied to the Surface Enrichment of Clay] Plain glazing of the entire surface is a common form of pottery enrichment. A piece of ware, thus glazed, may become a point of concentration in the color arrangement of a room, and should be definitely located in that arrangement. The ware may harmonize with the background (side wall) by analogy, dominance, or contrast or through complementary coloring. Rule 12o. A glaze from the diagram in Figure 464 should be selected as forming a part in the selected arrangement. Side wall (11), Figure 457, would harmonize with glaze C9 by virtue of its dominant relation or with M7 through analogy. The glaze selected should be higher in chroma than the side wall and will be found to form a cheerful and brilliant element in the room color scheme. The definite linking of these different factors of interior decoration into unity has been earnestly advocated in these chapters. Figures 457 and 464 show the possibilities of cross references. [Sidenote: Stains for Glazes] It soon becomes apparent because of the coloring of clay ware that the designer must know something of the color possibilities of glazed pottery forms. The decorative processes were explained at some length in Chapter XII, wherein we described the common types of surface enrichment. As we are now primarily considering the question of color, we first regard the ware as uniformly glazed with either clear or matt glaze. The former is brilliant, of high chroma, and has a highly polished surface, while the latter is dull surfaced glaze of lower chroma. [Sidenote: Metallic Oxides] Metallic oxides are used to stain or color clear glazes, while underglaze colors are ordinarily used for matts. The percentage of stains to be added to the dry glazes is stated in Figure 464 where they can be readily traced to their approximate locations in the hue rectangles by the reference letters M1, C1, etc. Certain oxides are weak coloring agents and require larger amounts of oxide to color the glaze perceptibly. Iron and copper oxide may be mixed to produce a large variety of yellow greens; other combinations will suggest themselves. It is possible to use oxides as well as underglaze colors for staining matt glazes. [Sidenote: Harmony of Color] We have, to this point, considered the enrichment of large surfaces whose areas were arbitrarily determined by construction, as, for example, the extent of wall surface, ceiling, or wood trim and furniture. The essential element in this type of problem is the selection of a one, two, or three-hued color arrangement that would harmoniously link ceiling, wall, and wood together. If we had introduced stencilling or figured wall paper it would have immediately called for the solution of another problem, the factor of _how much_ strong color to use. In other words, it would have introduced the question of _proportionate distribution_ of color upon a given area. It was thought best to limit the subject of proportionate distribution to small areas, where the designer is often forced to make decisions and to divide surfaces into proportionate color parts for his surface enrichment. We may now repeat the definition of harmony with the accentuation placed upon a certain wording directly applicable to small surfaces. Harmony is obtained by the proper balancing and _proportionate distribution_ of value, hue, and chroma upon a surface to give a unified and pleasing reaction to the eye and intellect. [Sidenote: Proportionate Distribution of Color for Small Areas] Rule 12k. _Proportionate distribution of hue, value, and chroma in surface enrichment calls for a small area, high in chroma, and contrasting in value to the rest of the surface but harmonizing with it. This is usually located in the area of concentration. The larger areas are to be sufficiently reduced in chroma and value to form a slight contrast with the background._ [Sidenote: Examples of Proportionate Distribution] Figure 465 illustrates some of the salient factors of distribution of values and hues. Hues of or near standard chromatic intensity should be used in _small quantities_ and should accentuate the point of concentration. These small areas are to be regarded as giving brilliancy and life to the surface and to hold the eye at the point of concentration. Very small surfaces are capable of sustaining spots of high chroma, as is shown in the silver pin of Figure 468. The remaining portions of the surface enrichment should be kept subordinated in hue and value to the point of concentration, _but related to it_. The bands of Figure 465 are well reduced in value and make little contrast with the background, thus forming true surface enrichment or that which neither rises above or apparently falls through the surface. The point of concentration is higher in chroma than the surrounding areas. Rule 12l. _One hue, or a group of analogous hues should dominate all color schemes. The point of concentration may be emphasized by one hue related to the other hues by (1) contrasted, (2) dominant, (3) analogous, (4) complementary relations. This hue should make slightly stronger value and chroma contrast than the remaining hues._ Rule 12m. _An extreme range of five values is generally sufficient to supply contrast to a design but still retain its value unity. Restraint in the use of values is essential._ Rule 12n. _The amount of chroma may be increased in proportion to the decrease in the decorated area. Exceptions may be made to this under Rule 12o._ [Sidenote: Value and Hue and Chroma Range for Small Areas] In the vase, Figure 464A, the designer selected hues from neighboring or analogous rectangles green and blue-green. The value range is restricted to four steps and the areas of concentration are placed at the top of the vase by the stronger value and hue contrasts of the foliage of the trees and dark blue rim. In both Figures, 464A and 465, the designer has used analogous hue arrangements. This is suggested to the beginner as serviceable for objects exceeding the dimensions of jewelry and includes such problems as vase forms, book stalls, and brackets. Contrasted and dominant arrangements are also good, safe, and sound arrangements, but fail to give the variety of color to small objects afforded by analogous grouping. At a later point in this chapter the subject of complementary coloring will suggest a new arrangement to the reader, but this scheme is to be left until he has sufficiently mastered the possibilities of the arrangements just indicated. Five values form a safe value range for small objects. It is good practice to keep the larger areas, including the background, within three steps of each other and to allow the point of concentration to form the strongest value contrast. [Sidenote: Over Reduction in Chroma] The chroma may range from full to three-quarters intensity. Reduction to one-half or one-fourth intensity is inclined to make a small object appear washed out or chalky. Shades, at their full intensity, are good colors to use for small surfaces in wood. Small enameled objects may be developed in full chroma, while pottery forms range from full chroma to one-half chroma in forms of slip and underglaze painting. [Sidenote: Color Applied to the Surface Enrichment of Metal] It is interesting to note the gradually increasing chroma percentage of the different coloring media in direct proportion to the reduction of the area of the surface to be enriched. By comparing the diagrams of Figures 464 and 457 it will be seen that there is a steady movement toward the left sides of the hue rectangles or toward stronger intensity. The wall areas are shown to be lowest in chroma, followed by the increasing intensity of wood stains, glazes, and enamels. [Sidenote: Enamels] Enamels, commonly used to enrich metal surfaces, are highest in chroma of the decorative materials under discussion and are to be treated with nearly as much restraint as one would use in enriching a surface with semi-precious stones, for strong hues are cheapened by excessive use. The plate in Figure 436 has small circles filled with enamel and a large field of chased or uncolored design. [Sidenote: Transparent Enamels] Transparent enamels are comparable to clear glazes and the coloring medium is the same. Their preparation is difficult and therefore trade names have been given in the table of Figure 464. As will be seen by consulting the diagram of Figure 464, T1, T2, T3, etc., they are all at their full value intensity. Enamels, as supplied by the trade, are much too intense for use in enrichment and consequently are applied over a coating of colorless clear enamel, technically named flux or fondant. As the thickness of coating of enamel may vary, the hue classification is to be regarded as approximate. [Illustration: PLATE 66] [Sidenote: Opaque Enamels] Opaque enamels may be compared with matt glazes, for, while the texture of the surface has a distinct gloss, the enamels themselves are not so strong in hue as the transparent enamels. By referring to the diagram of Figure 464, it may be seen that many of the opaque enamels are reduced in chroma, thus accounting for their softened hue. [Sidenote: Oxidation] Metals are capable of considerable change of color by the application of chemicals to the surface. Potassium sulphuret will lower the surface value of silver or copper to a rich velvety black associated with antiques. This may be removed in places naturally subjected to wear, thus varying the dead black appearance. Copper and brass may be coated with salt and vinegar or verdigris to give the surface a corroded and greenish appearance. Heating is a fugitive method of coloring and is, therefore, not considered. [Sidenote: Harmony through Oxidation] These surface changes may be utilized to harmonize metal and its environment, as, for example, copper trimmings and a shade for a pottery lamp; or it may be used to reduce the brightness of the natural copper surface. The surfaces of metals may be changed with actual manipulation of the surface by frosting or sanding and plating. Gold may be readily plated with gold to bring it into closer harmony with the stone. Plating, applied to base metals, merely to give the impression of a more expensive metal, is to be discouraged. [Sidenote: Metal Backgrounds] One has to consider metal as a background in much the same manner as we considered wall surfaces as a background for stained furniture. Whatever color is applied to the surface must harmonize in proportionate distribution as well as hue, value, and chroma. We have a small amount of leeway for varying the background by the different processes of oxidation and plating. [Sidenote: Enamel on a Copper Background] As one of the more common processes, let us consider the application of enamel to copper in the form of champleve enrichment. Our first thought would be the analysis of the natural copper color. It is found to be a shade of orange-red and will, therefore, readily harmonize with the _analogous_ oranges and reds, as they both have the common hue of red. There should be a slight contrast of value between these enamels and the background. If this contrast is not present, it is well to oxidize slightly the copper to lower its value and thus produce the contrast. [Sidenote: Complementary Arrangement] The fourth harmonious hue combination, that of complementary arrangement or grouping, has been left to the last as its use is more closely associated with small multi-colored projects and small areas. A hue approximately complementary to the initial hue is found by counting seven rectangles to the right or left of that hue; this will give the hue complementary to the initial hue. Thus, starting with red and moving through seven rectangles toward the right, we find the complement to be green. Any two hues so selected will be found to enhance the brilliancy of each other. The best results are secured when one hue dominates the color scheme by its increased area. Pottery may be adapted to a complementary color scheme by Rule 12i. Rule 12o. _Small one or two-hued projects in clay, designed to be used as a part of the decorative color scheme for a room should bear a contrasted, dominant, analogous, or complementary relation to the side walls of the room. The project may be much higher in chroma than the side walls._ [Sidenote: The Relation of Colored Glazes to Interior Decoration of a Room] To find a glaze that will harmonize with the side walls of a room by complementary arrangement of hues, select the desired wall tint from the diagram in Figure 457. Find the similar hue rectangle in the diagram of Figure 464 and, starting with this rectangle as one, count seven hues from the side wall rectangle in either direction. In the seventh rectangle or in a neighboring one will usually be found a number of glazes answering the requirements and bearing a complementary relation to the side walls. Select a glaze from these that will make a contrast of chroma or value with the side wall. Example: background or side wall, Figure 457, No. 8, is in the orange yellow rectangle. Counting seven from this in Figure 464 we find the complement to be blue violet. As there is no glaze in this rectangle we will move to its neighbor on the left. This gives us clear glaze, C1, containing one and one-half per cent black oxide of cobalt, or a matt glaze containing seven per cent mazarine blue. Glazes that will harmonize with side wall 8 through dominant arrangements are found in the same rectangle, O Y, and are numbered M5, M6, C7, C8. Glazes that will harmonize by analogy are C9 and M7, and are found in the left and right neighboring rectangles. In Figure 466, the copper fob, R O, is combined with its complementary blue-green. Let us look at Figure 464. Counting seven intervals or hue rectangles to the right of the orange red rectangle we find T4 which is transparent blue green enamel. We may associate with this an analogous enamel from the green rectangle; this proves to be T5 medium green transparent enamel. [Sidenote: Development of Design for Enamel on Metal] The point of concentration may now be emphasized by an enamel complementary to the blue green hue. Counting seven rectangles to the _left_ we again encounter the red orange rectangle. Here there are no enamels but in the red hue rectangle we find T7 which is slightly orange-red. A small portion of this, Rule 12k, is applied and is found to center the design at the point of concentration in a satisfactory manner. Slight oxidation brings out the colors of the enamels. Upon attempting to develop the same figure in opaque enamels it is soon seen that there are no pleasing complementary enamels of this type, but many analogous combinations. Autumn brown with the point of concentration developed in orange (O5) would be an excellent compromise. Rule 12p. _Correct color for surface enrichment should neither apparently rise above nor drop below the surface to which it is applied, but should stay upon the plane of that surface. Correct value and chroma range will accomplish this._ [Sidenote: Color for Silver Enrichment] The gray-blue color of silver lends itself to a great number of gem stones, forming examples of contrasted arrangements. Care should be taken to form contrasts of _value_. Figure 467 is an example of a weak and insipid combination, lacking in value and hue contrast. The amethyst of Figure 468 corrects this error, while the oxidation of Figure 469 has partially corrected the lack of contrast shown in Figure 467. These illustrations tend to show that even stronger contrasts may be attempted with small gems and semi-precious stones than with enamels. This again proves the rule that the smaller areas are capable of sustaining stronger contrasts of hue, value, and chroma than are large ones. SUMMARY OF DESIGN STEPS The outline of the surface enrichment is considered as complete. (_a_) METAL OR WOOD. Analyze the background into its hue, value, and chroma. CLAY. Select a background that will harmonize with the controlling hue or hues of the proposed color scheme. Rule 12o. If this is a one hued color scheme without gradation or surface enrichment the design steps may terminate at this point. (_b_) METAL, WOOD, AND CLAY. Select the extreme value range of the color scheme, considering, if possible, the background as a balancing or pivotal value point upon which the values may balance above and below. As the side walls formed a balancing point for the ceiling and furniture or wood work, so may the background of metal, wood, or colored clay become a similar balancing factor for small surfaces. Rule 12m. (_c_) METAL, WOOD, AND CLAY. Select a hue or hues which will harmonize with the background through dominant, contrasting, or analogous relations. Rule 12l. In selecting the hues consider the final placing of the object. (_d_) METAL, WOOD, AND CLAY. Select a chroma range. Allow the point or area of concentration to have a slightly higher chromatic relation than the other hues. The point of concentration may be one of the hues already selected or it may bear a _complementary_ relation to them. The hues may be averaged and a complementary to the average selected. Rule 12n. (_e_) METAL, WOOD, AND CLAY. Apply the rule of proportionate distribution, Rule 12k. (_f_) METAL AND WOOD. Using the pigments suggested in Chapter XV, design the problem. Test the result by applying Rule 12p. (_g_) CLAY. If the design has been developed in slip or underglaze painting, select a glaze for an overglaze coating that will harmonize with the prevailing hues by _dominance or analogy_. Other arrangements may destroy the hues of the original color scheme. (_h_) Develop the problem in its material. SUGGESTED PROBLEMS Design a bowl for nasturtiums; make the color arrangement harmonize through analogy with the hues of the flowers. Design a vase for chrysanthemums; make the surface enrichment and the color arrangement harmonize through dominance with the hues of the flowers. Design a hat pin for a blue hat; materials, copper, and transparent enamels. Design a brooch to be worn with a gray dress. Design a pottery and copper lamp with amber art glass in the shade. Through oxidation and glazing, bring the lamp into color unity. SUMMARY OF RULES Rule 12k. _Proportionate distribution of hue, value, and chroma in surface enrichment calls for a small area high in chroma and contrasting in value to the rest of the surface, but harmonizing with it. This is usually located in the area of concentration. The larger areas are to be sufficiently reduced in chroma and value to form a slight contrast with the background._ HUES FOR SMALL OBJECTS Rule 12l. _One hue, or a group of analogous hues should dominate all color schemes. The point of concentration may be emphasized by one hue related to the other hues by (1) contrasted, (2) dominant, (3) analogous, or (4) complementary relations. This hue should make slightly stronger value and chroma contrast than the remaining hues._ VALUES FOR SMALL OBJECTS Rule 12m. _An extreme range of five values is generally sufficient to supply contrast to a design but still retain its value unity. Restraint in the use of values is essential._ CHROMA FOR SMALL OBJECTS Rule 12n. _The amount of chroma may be increased in proportion to the decrease in the decorated area. Exceptions may be made to this under Rule 12o._ Rule 12o. _Small one or two-hued projects in clay, designed to be used as a part of the decorative color scheme for a room should bear a contrasted, dominant, analogous, or complementary relation to the side walls of the room. The project may be much higher in chroma than the side walls._ Rule 12p. _Correct color for surface enrichment should neither apparently rise above nor drop below the surface to which it is applied, but should stay upon the plane of that surface. Correct value and chroma range will accomplish this._ REVIEW QUESTIONS 1. State the value of mono-hued pottery in the decorative scheme of a room. 2. What are generally used as stains for clear glazes; matt glazes? 3. What is highest in chroma--matt, or clear glaze? 4. Make a table of metallic oxides and the hues produced by them. 5. Why will iron and copper oxides produce a yellow green stain? What stains will be produced by cobalt and copper oxides; cobalt and manganese oxides; cobalt and nickel oxides? 6. Describe the type of room which you regard as best fitted for clear glazed pottery forms; matt glazed pottery forms. 7. Define harmony of color. 8. What is meant by proportionate distribution? Describe proportionate distribution. 9. Give the value, hue, and chroma range for small areas. See Rules 12l, 12m, and 12n. 10. How does the size of the area to be enriched by color affect the color medium, _i.e._, stains, glazes, enamels, etc.? 11. Describe enamels, their types, characteristics, and range of hues. Consult catalogs for fuller possibilities. 12. What is the effect of oxidation; what is its value? 13. Describe fully complementary arrangements and give illustrations for enamel on silver or copper. 14. State the color scheme for a fob to be worn with a blue-green dress; with a gray suit for a man. 15. Select a stone for a silver brooch that would harmonize with a light blue dress; for a dress of orange dark hue and value. See catalogs of dealers in semi-precious stones for color of stones. 16. What problems of hue, value, and chroma would arise in Question 15? SUMMARY OF THE GENERAL AND SPECIAL RULES IN THE PRECEEDING CHAPTERS HORIZONTAL AND VERTICAL PRIMARY MASSES Rule 1a. _A primary mass must be either vertical or horizontal according to the intended service, unless prohibited by technical requirements._ PROPORTIONS OF THE PRIMARY MASS Rule 1b. _The primary mass should have the ratio of one to three, three to four, three to five, five to eight, seven to ten, or some similar proportion difficult for the eye to detect readily and analyze._ HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS Rule 2a. _If the primary mass is divided into two horizontal divisions, the dominance should be either in the upper or the lower section._ Rule 2b. _If the primary mass is divided into three horizontal divisions or sections, the dominance should be placed in the center section with varying widths in the upper and lower thirds._ SEQUENTIAL PROGRESSION OF MINOR HORIZONTAL SPACE DIVISIONS Rule 2c. _A primary mass may be divided into three or more smaller horizontal masses or sections by placing the larger mass or masses at the bottom and by sequentially reducing the height measure of each mass toward the smaller division or divisions to be located at the top of the mass._ VERTICAL SPACE DIVISIONS Rule 3a. _If the primary mass is divided into two vertical divisions, the divisions should be equal in area and similar in form._ Rule 3b. _If the primary mass is divided into three vertical divisions, the center division should be the larger, with the remaining divisions of equal size._ Rule 3c. _In elementary problems, if more than three vertical divisions are required, they should be so grouped as to analyze into Rules 3a, and 3b, or be exactly similar._ APPENDAGES Rule 4a. _The appendage should be designed in unity with, and proportionately related to, the vertical or horizontal character of the primary mass, but subordinated to it._ Rule 4b. _The appendage should have the appearance of flowing smoothly and, if possible, tangentially from the primary mass._ Rule 4c. _The appendage should, if possible, echo or repeat some lines similar in character and direction to those of the primary mass._ OUTLINE OR CONTOUR ENRICHMENT Rule 5a. _Outline enrichment should be subordinated to and support the structure._ Rule 5b. _Outline enrichment should add grace, lightness, and variety to the design._ Rule 5c. _Outline enrichment, by its similarity, should give a sense of oneness or unity to the design, binding divergent members together._ Rule 5d. _Parts of one design differing in function should differ in appearance but be co-ordinated with the entire design._ Rule 5e. _In cylindrical forms outline curves with a vertical tendency should have their turning points or units of measurement in accordance with the horizontal divisions of Rules 2a and 2b._ Rule 5f. _Dependent outline enrichment should be related to essential parts of a design and influenced by their forms and functions; it must be consistent with the idea of the subject._ Rule 5g. _A curve should join a straight line with either a tangential or right angle junction._ SURFACE ENRICHMENT Postulate. _The design should conform to the limitations and requirements of tools, processes, and materials, and should be durable and suitable for service._ Rule 6a. _Surfaces to be enriched must admit of enrichment._ Rule 6b. _Surface enrichment must be related to the structural contours but must not obscure the actual structure._ Rule 6c. _The treatment must be appropriate to the material._ CONTINUOUS BANDS AND BORDERS FOR PARTLY ENRICHED SURFACES Rule 6d. _Bands and borders should have a consistent lateral, that is, onward movement._ Rule 6e. _Bands and borders should never have a prominent contrary motion, opposed to the main forward movement._ Rule 6f. _All component parts of a border should move in unison with the main movement of the border._ Rule 6g. _Each component part of a border should be strongly dynamic and, if possible, partake of the main movements of the border._ Rule 6h. _Borders intended for vertical surfaces may have a strongly upward movement in addition to the lateral movement, provided the lateral movement dominates._ Rule 6i. _Inlayed enrichment should never form strong or glaring contrasts with the parent surface._ Rule 6j. _Carved surface enrichment should have the appearance of belonging to the parent mass._ ENCLOSED ENRICHMENT--PARTLY ENRICHED PANELS FOR SURFACE ENRICHMENT Rule 7a. _Marginal panel enrichment should parallel or be related to the outlines of the primary mass and to the panel it is to enrich._ Rule 7b. _Marginal points of concentration in panels should be placed (1) preferably at the corners or (2) in the center of each margin._ Rule 7c. _To insure unity of design in panels, the elements composing the point of concentration and links connecting them must be related to the panel contour and to each other._ ENCLOSED ENRICHMENT--FULLY ENRICHED PANELS FOR SURFACE ENRICHMENT Rule 7d. _The contours of fully enriched panels should parallel the outlines of the primary mass and repeat its proportions._ Rule 7e. _The points of concentration for a fully enriched square panel may be in its center or in its outer margin._ Rule 7f. _The points of concentration for a fully enriched vertical panel should be in the upper portion of the panel._ Rule 7g. _The fully enriched panel and its contents should be designed in unified relation to the structural outlines, with the center line of the panel coinciding with the inceptive axis of the structure._ FREE ORNAMENT FOR PARTLY ENRICHED SURFACES Rule 8a. _Free ornament for partly or fully enriched surfaces should be based and centered upon an inceptive axis of the structure._ Rule 8b. _Free ornament should be related and subordinated to the structural surfaces._ Rule 8c. _Points of concentration in free enrichment of vertically placed masses are usually located in and around the inceptive axis and above or below the geometric center of the design._ SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF CLAY Rule 9a. _Surface enrichment of clay must be so designed as to be able to withstand the action of heat to which all ware must be submitted._ Rule 9b. _Incised, pierced, and modeled decoration in clay should be simple and bold and thus adapted to the character of the material._ Rule 9c. _A border should not be located at the point of greatest curvature in the contour of a cylindrical form. The contour curve is of sufficient interest in itself at that point._ SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF BASE AND PRECIOUS METALS FOR SMALL MASSES Rule 10a. _Designs in precious metals should call for the minimum amount of metal necessary to express the idea of the designer for two reasons: (1) good taste; (2) economy of material._ Rule 10b. _Contour and surface enrichment should never appear to compete for attention in the same design._ Rule 10c. _Parts of a design differing in function should differ in appearance but be co-ordinated with the entire design._ Rule 10d. _Surface enrichment should at some point parallel the contours of both primary mass and point of concentration especially whenever the latter is a stone or enamel._ Rule 10e. _In the presence of either stone or enamel as a point of concentration, surface enrichment should be regarded as an unobtrusive setting, or background._ Rule 10f. _Stone or enamel used as a point of concentration should form contrast with the metal, either in color, brilliancy, or value, or all three combined._ Rule 10g. _The inceptive axis should pass through and coincide with one axis of a stone and at the same time be sympathetically related to the structure._ Rule 10h. _The position of the inceptive axis should be determined by: (1) use of the project as ring, pendant, or bar pin, (2) character of the primary mass as either vertical or horizontal in proportion._ Rule 10i. _Caution should be exercised with regard to the use of enamel. Over-decoration by this material tends to cheapen both process and design._ Rule 10j. _All surface enrichment should have an appearance of compactness or unity. Pierced spots or areas should be so used as to avoid the appearance of having been scattered on the surface without thought to their coherence._ Rule 10k. _Built, carved, and chased enrichment should have the higher planes near the point of concentration. It is well to have the stone as the highest point above the primary mass. When using this form of enrichment, the stone should never appear to rise abruptly from the primary mass, but should be approached by a series of rising planes._ Rule 10l. _The lanes or margins between enameled spots should be narrower than the lane or margin between the enamel and the contour of the primary mass._ Rule 10m. _Transparent and opaque stones or enamel should not be used in the same design._ SURFACE ENRICHMENT OF BASE AND PRECIOUS METALS FOR LARGE PRIMARY MASSES Rule 11a. _The preliminary steps toward surface enrichment should be thought out before they are drawn._ Rule 11b. _Conservative application should mark the use of surface enrichment of large masses. Its use should: (1) lighten or soften necessarily heavy construction; (2) support or apparently strengthen good structure; (3) add interest to large unbroken and uninteresting surfaces._ Rule 11c. _The type of design unit for large masses should be bolder than similar designs for small primary masses._ Rule 11d. _The eye should be attracted to one principal zone of enrichment, whether located upon the primary mass, appendage, terminal, links, or details. All other zones should be subordinate to this area._ Rule 11e. _Two periods of historic ornament should not be introduced into the same design._ Rule 11f. _Repulsive forms should not be introduced into surface enrichment._ APPLICATION OF COLOR TO LARGE AREAS VALUES Rule 12a. _An average wood stain is to be retained between the values middle and low dark._ Rule 12b. _An average wall hue is to be retained between the values light and middle._ Rule 12c. _An average ceiling hue is to be retained between the values white (minus) and light._ Rule 12d. _The relation between the side walls and furniture, trim, etc., should be retained within the range of four values or less, as low light and dark._ Rule 12e. _The relation between the side walls and ceiling should be within the range of three values or less, as high light and low light._ HUES Rule 12f. _Color schemes for wood work and side walls should preferably be selected from one of the following groupings: analogous, contrasted, or dominant arrangements of hues. Analogous grouping is preferable where variety of hue is desirable._ Rule 12g. _Ceilings should be colored by a lighter tint of the side walls or by a lighter tint of an analogous hue._ CHROMA Rule 12h. _Stains are usually not reduced to below three-fourths chromatic intensity. Nearly gray side walls, however, call for a reduction to one-fourth intensity._ Rule 12i. _Wall colors are usually reduced to three-fourths chroma to a minimum reduction of slightly less than one-fourth chroma._ Rule 12j. _Ceilings should usually be reduced in chroma to three-fourths intensity, with slightly less than one-fourth chroma as a minimum reduction._ DISTRIBUTION Rule 12k. _Proportionate distribution of hue, value, and chroma in surface enrichment calls for a small area, high in chroma, and contrasting in value to the rest of the surface, but harmonizing with it. This is usually located in the area of concentration. The larger areas are to be sufficiently reduced in chroma and value to form slight contrast with the background._ HUES FOR SMALL OBJECTS Rule 12l. _One hue, or a group of analogous hues should dominate all color schemes. The point of concentration may be emphasized by one hue related to the other hues by (1) contrasted, (2) dominant, (3) analogous, (4) complementary relations. This hue should make slightly stronger value and chroma contrast than the remaining hues._ VALUES FOR SMALL OBJECTS Rule 12m. _An extreme range of five values is generally sufficient to supply contrast to a design but still retain its value unity. Restraint in the use of values is essential._ CHROMA FOR SMALL OBJECTS Rule 12n. _The amount of chroma may be increased in proportion to the decrease in the decorated area. Exceptions may be made to this under Rule 12o._ Rule 12o. _Small one or two-hued projects in clay, designed to be used as a part of the decorative color scheme for a room should bear a contrasted, dominant, analogous, or complementary relation to the side walls of the room. The project may be much higher in chroma than the side walls._ Rule 12p. _Correct color for surface enrichment should neither apparently rise above nor drop below the surface to which it is applied, but should stay upon the plane of that surface. Correct value and chroma range will accomplish this._ APPENDIX The following plates comprise complete courses for applied art problems in thin metal (copper and silver), and clay. The problems are based upon what is known as the "group system." The process forms the basis for each group in each course. The stated problem in each group is merely one of many that might be selected which involves the process of the group. The design rule that should be applied to each problem has been indicated by its proper figure and letter on each plate, as 10a, etc. The plates are sequentially arranged in order of the difficulty of the process and may be summarized as follows. THIN METAL Plate 67: Bending. Sawing. Riveting. Plate 68: Bending. Soft Soldering. Plate 69: Raising. Piercing. Etching. Plate 70: Raising and Planishing. Plate 71: Bending. Piercing. Etching. Hard Soldering. Plate 72: Hinge Construction. Plate 73: Raising. Planishing. Hard Soldering. Plate 74: Raising. Planishing. Plate 75: Champleve Enamelling. Plate 76: Precious Stone Mounting; Pins. Plate 77: Precious Stone Mounting; Rings. Plate 78: Precious Stone Mounting; Pendants. POTTERY Plate 79: Hand Built Tile. Plate 80: Hand Built Bowl, Coil and Strip Method. Plate 81: Same with Appendage Added. Plate 82: Hand Building; Spouts, Lids, Handles. Plate 83: Poured Forms and Mould Making. Plate 84: Slip Painting. Plate 85: Glaze Testing. [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 1. BENDING, SAWING, RIVETING PLATE 67] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 2: BENDING AND SOFT SOLDERING PLATE 68] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 3: RAISING, PIERCING, ETCHING PLATE 69] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 3: RAISING, PLANISHING: TRAYS PLATE 70] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 4: BENDING, PIERCING, ETCHING, HARD SOLDERING PLATE 71] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 5: HINGE CONSTRUCTION PLATE 72] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 6: RAISING, PLANISHING, SOLDERING PLATE 73] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 7: RAISING, PLANISHING PLATE 74] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 8: CHAMPLEVE ENAMELLING. PLATE 75] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 9: SEMI-PRECIOUS STONE MOUNTING PLATE 76] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS: 10: SOLDERING, CARVING, STONE MOUNTING PLATE 77] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: THIN METAL PROCESS 11: PENDANT CONSTRUCTION, CHAIN MAKING PLATE 78] [Illustration: FIGURE 470.--Inceptive Axes. Partial Illustration of the Metal Course] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: CLAY. POTTERY PROCESS 1: HAND BUILT TILE. CUT FROM FLAT PIECE PLATE 79] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: CLAY. POTTERY PROCESS 2: HAND BUILDING. COIL AND STRIP PLATE 80] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: POTTERY PROCESS 3: HAND BUILDING, SPOUT, HANDLE, LID PLATE 81] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: CLAY. POTTERY PROCESS 3: HAND BUILDING: SPOUT, HANDLE, LID PLATE 82] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: POTTERY PROCESS 4: POURED FORMS. TWO AND THREE PIECE MOULDS PLATE 83] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: POTTERY PROCESS 5: SLIP PAINTING (UNDER GLAZE DECORATION) PLATE 84] [Illustration: APPLIED ARTS: POTTERY PROCESS 6: GLAZE TESTING PLATE 85] [Illustration: FIGURE 471.--Results of the Pottery Course] Figure 471 shows the actual results produced by the preceding course. The process to which the individual pieces belong is indicated by the small figure placed on the table and in front of the ware. The preceding sheets should be regarded in the light of suggestions for original thinking on the part of the student. They merely suggest technical guidance, in order that his progress may be sequential and fitted to his increasing skill. The glazes are stated in the terms of the ceramist with the proportions of base, alumina, and acid content of each glaze clearly stated. By referring to the textbooks mentioned in the preface, these glazes may be developed into the potter's formulae. In both metal and pottery courses, two or more types are frequently represented upon one plate. These types will allow the teacher to assign a more difficult problem to the student with some previous experience. INDEX PAGE Accenting bands in wood, 105 Accentuation of functional parts, 79 Adapting data to material, 127 Analogous hues, 203 Analysis, intelligent, 7 Andiron design, 53 Aniline wood dyes, 199 Appendage design, 43-49 Appendage, use of, 43 Appendages, 43 Appendages and primary mass, 45 Appendages, contour enrichment of, 88 Appendages, design violations, 43 Appendages in clay, 47 Appendages, industrial applications, 47 Appendages, influence of tools and materials, 53 Appendages in metal, 51 Appendages in wood, 45 Artificial objects, 129 Architectural, horizontal divisions for, 21 Bands, wood inlay, 105 Backgrounds, 113, 201 Base metals, enrichment of, 87 Base and precious metals, surface enrichment of, 160, 163, 165, 167 Borders for wood, 107 Building, 165 Candlesticks, 81 Carving, 103 Carving and piercing, 141 Carving, design steps for, 105 Ceilings, 202-205 Center zone enrichment, 121 Chasing, 163 Chip carving, 115 Chroma, 197 Chromatic intensity, full, 195 Clay, coloring for underglaze, 151 Clay, decorative processes, 145 Clay, incising, 147 Clay, inlay, 149 Clay, introduction of pigments, 149 Clay, modeling, 147 Clay, piercing, 147 Clay, slip painting, 149 Clay, surface enrichment for, 145 Clay, surface enrichment, structural classification for, 151 Clay, underglaze painting, 151 Color for clay enrichment, 209 Color for small areas, 210 Color harmony, 201 Color pigments, 194 Color pigments, application of, 194 Color symbols, 198 Color systems, 194 Commercial pottery, 158 Complementary hues, 214 Conservative use of ornament, 101 Contrasted hues, 203 Containers, 81 Continuity and contrast, 63 Contour enrichment, influence of materials, 65 Contour enrichment, methods of varying, 70 Contour enrichment of clay, need of, 77 Contour enrichment, evolution of, 65 Contour enrichment, purpose of, 59 Contour enrichment, requirements of, 59 Contour enrichment, systematic development of, 81 Contour versus surface enrichment, 185 Corners, contour enrichment of, 88 Correlation, ideal, 11 Covers, design for, 49 Criticism, clear, 7 Criticism, non-technical, 7 Curve of beauty, 91 Curve of force, 61 Curve of force, approximate, 61 Curves for contour enrichment, 59 Curves, grouping of, 63 Curves of extravagance, 73 Dependent surface enrichment, 167 Details, contour enrichment of, 93 Design evolution, major divisions, 9 Design evolution, steps in, 11 Design, preliminary thought, 17 Dominant hue, 204 Dynamic curves and areas, 111 Edges, contour enrichment of, 87 Elements, 157 Enameling, 163, 212, 213, 215 Enrichment for small metal areas, 179 Enrichment, need and value of, 57 Enrichment of large metal areas, 179, 183 Enrichment, types of, 57 Essentials of good surface enrichment, 179 Exposures, 206, 207 Flat surfaces in base and precious metal, 185 Fobs, design of, 169 Four vertical minor divisions, 139 Free balance, 129 Free enrichment, 121 Free minor division treatment, 141 Free ornament, 117 Freehand curves, 30, 51, 63 Full size drawing, value of, 23 Functional parts, enrichment of, 88 Glazes for pottery, 149 Glazes related to interior decoration, 214 Glazes, stains for, 209 Greek scroll, 93 Handles, design for, 49 Harmonious color, need of, 194 Harmony of color, 210 High cylindrical forms in clay, 157 High cylindrical forms in metal, 191 Historic ornament in hardware, 186 Horizontal and vertical minor divisions, 137 Horizontal divisions, architectural precedent, 25 Horizontal divisions, nature and need of, 19 Horizontal divisions, steps in designing, 21 Horizontal minor divisions, 139 Hue and hue rectangles, 195 Hue groupings, 203 Industrial problems, requirements of, 9 Inceptive axes, 107, 121, 161 Inceptive axes for marginal enrichment, 119 Inlaying, 101-103 Intermediate points, contour enrichment of, 89 Ionic volute, 91 Leading lines, curved, 108 Links, 45 Links, contour enrichment of, 93 Low cylindrical forms in clay, 157 Low cylindrical forms in metal, 187 Major design division, first, 9 Major design division, second, 9 Major design division, third, 11 Marginal zone enrichment, 118 Material, adapting data to, 127 Material, economy of, 161 Material, relation to surface enrichment, 101 Metallic oxides, 210 Methods, architectural design, 13 Methods, industrial design, 13 Minor details, 141 Minor subdivisions in wood, 133 Moorish ornament, 107 Mouldings, 61 One vertical division, 35 Outlines, free and dependent, 87, 91 (See Contours.) Oxidation, 213 Panels, 117, 123, 125, 127, 129 Panel design, steps in, 125 Parts differing in function, 77 Pendants and chains, design of, 173 Pierced enrichment, 123 Pigment table, 195 Pigments, wall and ceiling, 205 Pins and brooches, design of, 167 Point of concentration, 115, 161 Point of concentration for marginal enrichment, 119 Porcelain painting, 151 Pourers, 81 Precious metals, processes of enrichment, 161, 163, 165, 169 Primary hues, 198 Primary masses, 13 Primary mass, drawing of, 15 Primary mass, divisions of, 19 Primary masses, vertical and horizontal, 15 Primary masses, proportions of, 15 Proportionate distribution, 210 Ratios, unsatisfactory, 17 Rectangular panels, 127 Rings, design of, 169 Sequential progression, 135 Service, influence of, 9, 13, 15 Sets, designing of, 83 Shades, 197 Shallow circular forms in clay, 155 Shallow circular forms in metal, 187 Side walls, 202-205 Silver, color for, 215 Silver, contour enrichment of, 93 Silver, free outline enrichment, 97 Silver, motives for contour enrichment, 97 Spouts, design of, 49 Square and rectangular areas in clay, 153 Square panels, 125 Standard hues, 195 Standard hues, locating, 196 Stones, cutting, 95 Stones, relation to contour, 95 Stones, relation to metal, 173 Structural forms, classification, 160 Structural forms, classification for clay surface enrichment, 151 Structural reinforcement, 118 Surface design evolution, 180 Surface enrichment, nature and need of, 99 Surfaces, when and where to enrich, 99 Tangential junctions, 51, 93 Technical processes for metal, 163 Technical rendering, 161 Terminals, contour enrichment of, 89-91 Three horizontal divisions, 29 Three horizontal divisions in clay, 30 Three horizontal divisions in metal, 30 Three horizontal divisions in wood, 29 Three vertical divisions, 37 Three vertical divisions in clay, 39 Three vertical divisions in metal, 41 Three vertical divisions in wood, 39 Tints, 196 Transitional types in furniture, 139 Two horizontal divisions, 25 Two horizontal divisions in clay, 27 Two horizontal divisions in metal, 27 Two horizontal divisions in wood, 25 Two vertical divisions, 35 Two vertical divisions in clay, 37 Two vertical divisions in metal, 37 Two vertical divisions in wood, 35 Unit of measurement for vertical curves, 79 Unity, 29 Unity in clay design curves, 77 Value lines, 196 Varied panels, 129 Vertical divisions, architectural precedent, 33 Vertical divisions, more than three, 41 Vertical divisions, nature and need, 33 Vertical and horizontal division evolution, 40 Vertical sections and their minor divisions, 133-135 Vocabulary, designer's, 105 Walls and ceilings, 203-204 Walls and wood work, 202-203 Warm and cold colors, 198 Wood finishes, opaque, 206 Wood, methods of surface enrichment, 101 Wood stains, 198 Wood stains, chroma range, 205 Wood stain mixing, 199, 200 Wood stain rendering, 195 Wood stains, value range, 201 Wrought iron enrichment, 91 Zones of enrichment, 118 * * * * * Transcriber's Notes Inconsistent hyphenation and obvious punctuation and spelling errors have been corrected. {PC} and {IA} have been used to represent the letters P and C or I and A overlaid on one another to label the "Point of Concentration" and "Inceptive Axis" respectively. Although referred to on page 75, no illustration is captioned as "Plate 23" in the original text.