LIBRARY UNi^E-SITY OF CALIfCHNlA ■^ SAN DIEGO V^V -y BEYOND ARCHITECTURE Church at Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania Drawing by E. Donald Robb BEYOND ARCHITECTURE By A. KINGSLEY PORTER BOSTON MARSHALL JONES COMPANY MDCCCCXVIII Copyright, 1918 By Marshall Jones Company All rights reserved PRINTED BY THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. CONTENTS Paoe Prescript ix Against Roman Architecture i Art of the Middle Age i6 Gothic Art, the War and After ... 56 The Gothic Way 66 French Gothic and the Italian Renais- sance lOI The Art of Giotto 120 Paper Architecture 151 Art and the General 167 ILLUSTRATIONS Church at Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania. Draw- pace ing by E. Donald Robb Frontispiece Flight into Egypt, by Benedetto. Baptistery of Parma i6 Cathedral at Bourges 30 Portal of the Cathedral at Senlis 43 Flying Buttresses of the Cathedral at Reims 56 Sassetta, Mystic Marriage of St. Francis, Chantilly 67 Portal of the Cathedral at Le Mans 80 Bernardo Daddi, Vision of St. Dominic, New Haven 142 Atrium of S. Ambrogio at Milan 162 PRESCRIPT MISBORN in a time of cosmic up- heaval, this volume appears an in- conspicuous baby of peace, whose feeble wail, notwithstanding the unreasoning vastness of parental ambitions, is likely to sound more than ever unavailingly amid the shrapnel and groans of a great war. Before abandoning it upon the door-step of that public opinion, which is so largely responsible for its exist- ence, I feel impelled to fasten about its neck something in the nature of a birth certificate, unnecessary and odious as I hold in general such documents to be. I hence make formal avowal that it was conceived in the most re- spectable possible manner, that is to say, in the lecture-hall, than which, as is well known, nothing is more restrained, more chaste, more completely free from all suspicion, not only of scandal but even of legitimate pleasure. The material was subsequently worked over into a series of articles which eminently respect- able periodicals were induced to publish — The Architectural Record took " Against Roman Architecture " and ^' Art of the [ix] PRESCRIPT Middle Age " ; the Journal of the American Institute of Architects, " Gothic Art, the War and After " and " Paper Architecture " ; Architecture, "The Gothic Way"; Art and Archaeology, " French Gothic and the Italian Renaissance"; The American Maga- zine of Art, " The Art of Giotto " and the Yale Review (God help the editor!), "Art and the General." I roll with unction the names of these orthodox sponsors in bap- tism, for I have a presentiment that this way- ward and unconventional infant may have sad need of all the backing it can muster against the powers of banality and Philistinism. In common honesty, however, I must add a con- fession. One day I became aware, quite to my own surprise, that these articles were something more than a series of detached essays, that collectively they formed an out- line — fragmentary it is true, but still not en- tirely without coherence — of a new system of architectural criticism. I consequently determined to gather them together to form a little book. This gave me the opportunity — and I come now to the point — of making many changes in the original versions. As the copy at present stands, there is no telling whether anyone would print it, except Mr. Jones, who, as everyone knows, through having PRESCRIPT served the public in Mr. Cram's Gothic Sub- stance, delicious but forbidden fruit, has no longer left to lose even the shred of an ortho- dox architectural reputation. [xi] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE AGAINST ROMAN ARCHITECTURE IN the course of an article published in the Architectural Record some months ago, my old teacher, Professor Hamlin, quoted with disapproval certain criticisms of Roman art from my youthful work on Medi^Bval Architecture. That the ideas in question are such as might readily find no favour with Professor Hamlin does not surprise me. It is entirely orthodox to admire Roman archi- tecture. Of all historic styles it presents the closest analogies with the architecture of the nineteenth century in America. It is the style upon which our modern architectural educa- tion is based. It is also, of all historic styles, evidently the least illustrative, the most ma- terial. Something over a decade ago, I came to the rather impulsive conclusion that the thoughtless admiration and imitation of the Roman style was producing a deleterious effect upon contemporary American art. In [I] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE writing my Mediceval Architecture I felt it almost a duty to do what I could to call at- tention to the prosaic character of the Roman style. The difference of opinion between Pro- fessor Hamlin and myself is, therefore, deep- seated. De gustibus non est disputandum. In matters of this sort there is no absolute proof to which one can have recourse. It is a ques- tion of feeling — really of creed — and as differences of religion are commonly the ones to which men cling most tenaciously, for which they are ready to sacrifice themselves and wrong others, so for the lover of art his esthetic creed is, perhaps, the most deeply rooted part of his inner being, that which touches him most nearly when questioned by another. The years that have passed since I wrote Mediceval Architecture have brought changes in my point of view. Further study has proved to me that the deficiencies of con- temporary art cannot altogether be laid at the door of Rome. I have remarked that, inspired by the same models, Palladio produced an architecture highly intellectual and Mclntire an art infinitely refined. Very poor indeed, has been much of the architecture imitated from the most exalted models of Greece and [2] AGAINST ROMAN ARCHITECTURE of the Middle Ages. The conclusion seems to be forced that for the production of good architecture it matters little what one copies, but it matters very vitally how. As for Roman architecture itself, I have come to know it much better since the days when my first book was written. At that time my lips had barely touched the golden cup of Italian beauty. Since, the opportunity has come to linger long in Rome; to draw and photograph among the ruins of the Agro, to poetize with Carducci on the Aventine or in the Baths of Caracalla. Often as I have stood in the august presence of the Roman Forum, it has never been without emotion. I have studied, with a feeling almost of home- sickness, the engravings of the eighteenth century, stimulating my imagination to con- ceive of the City enhanced by the solitude and silence the modern age so discordantly breaks. Yet I cannot with intellectual integrity say that my feelings towards Roman architecture have essentially changed in these twelve years. Visions of the magic of Rome, the cypresses of Tivoli, the sweeping lines of the Campagna, the snow-capped encircling mountains, the glorious colour of the weathered brickwork haunt my memory; yet I still see in Roman [3] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE architecture, as I did a decade ago, emptiness, pomposity, vulgarity. But very little of ancient Rome has come down to us intact. The charm which invests the Baths of Caracalla or the ruins of the Palatine to-day was assuredly never dreamed of by the builders. The picturesque masses, the colours, are the work of time — the most clever of artists. To conceive of these Roman buildings as they were, we must have recourse to archeology and modern restorations on paper. But do these imaginary reconstruc- tions give an accurate idea of the aesthetic effect of the architecture as it really was? May we not have missed some touch which possibly redeemed the lack of refinement? Imagine that all the scores of Wagner's Niebelungen Trilogy had been lost, and that some inferior musician should try to rewrite the work on the basis merely of the plot and a few snatches of melody. The result might easily be as meretricious as the restorations of Roman ruins. How can we prove that some- thing like this may not have happened in the case of Rome? When we contrast the actual beauty of the ruins of the Forum with the monotony of the paper restorations, when we note in the latter the lack of balance in the mass and the excessive symmetry in the de- [4] AGAINST ROMAN ARCHITECTURE tails, how can we be certain that the ancient buildings may not have possessed some secret of beauty, some use of colour or of asymmetry unknown to modern archaeologists but which redeemed a design that, only because of our lack of knowledge, seems lifeless and banal? Future investigations may possibly show that Roman architecture was not as dull as it now appears. I fear, however, that this is ex- ceedingly unlikely. The frescos of Pompeii quickly dispel any illusion that the Romans possessed a sense of colour. An abundance of Roman architectural detail has come down to us in good condition; and this, with very rare exceptions, is not such as to lead us to suppose that the Romans possessed sensitive aesthetic perceptions in architectural art. Poor detail is not necessarily incompatible with good architecture (although the modern idea that good architecture must necessarily have bad detail is obviously false) ; nevertheless, the de- tail is apt to be eloquent of the spirit of the whole. When we find detail that is made commercially, mechanically, thoughtlessly, perfunctorily, we have the work, not of an artist but of a materialist, and the larger features of the design are nearly certain to be permeated by the same qualities. The true artist may delight in the broad efifect; he [5] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE may take pleasure in producing that efifect in simple materials, but he can never be satisfied with commercial detail. It is this lack of sensitiveness in Roman architecture, the ab- sense of an artistic conscience, the readiness to subordinate all means to the end of an im- mediate efifect, the obviousness, the lack of depth, with which I quarrel. There are two kinds of architecture, as there are two kinds of painting, of sculpture, and of literature. One is artistic, created for the joy of bringing into the world a beautiful thing — material compensation may or may not be given, but is secondary; the other is commercial, made primarily for expediency, for money, for fame. Roman art is of the commercial variety. Of that poetry which breathes so potently from the existing ruins, the same monuments, when new, must have been singu- larly deprived. They were opportunist struc- tures, lacking in intellectual and emotional content. There is a curious parallelism between the art, the literature and the life of Imperial Rome. I experience the same sensation of in- expressible weariness in studying Roman architecture and in reading of Roman ban- quets, as, to cite one example among many, in the Satyricon of Petronius. What a bore these [6] AGAINST ROMAN ARCHITECTURE feasts, this endless over-eating and over-drink- ing must have been! How useless the mag- nificence, the throngs of slaves, the expert cooks able to prepare pork so that the entire company mistook it for duck! As Mr. Clapp renders Palazzeschi: With luxury's glamour the table is spread. Exuberant flowers, gold vases and silver. . . . The dishes before them Change hurriedly ever; soups steaming and purees delicious and pates most tasty by thousands: . . . From gardens forbidden herbs skilfully seasoned, w^oodcock and pheasant pass by in the dishes of these the unhappy ; most tender of green things and sweetmeats the rarest, incredible sweetmeats, fruits red as a ruby, wines too of all colours. . . . All this effort, this expense of energy, failed of its purpose because there was lacking the spirit of joy. I suspect that the modern con- tadino takes far greater delight in his pasta and wine in the osteria that nestles among the ruins of the Palatine, perhaps on the very site of the golden house where Trimalchio gloried and drank deep. It is evident that the Ro- mans themselves grew tired of the unending [7] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE series of gluttonous revels. Petronius doubt- less exaggerates the grossness and stupidity of Roman society; he, nevertheless, was an eye- vi^itness to its excesses, and his testimony carries weight. This is how he describes an episode at a banquet, when the fatuous Tri- malchio calls his architect (lapidarius) Ha- binnas and orders his tomb: "Trimalchio then ordered a copy of his wall to be brought, and this he read from end to end, while the whole company heaved sighs. Then looking at Habinnas, he said, ' How about it, my friend ? Have you built my tomb as I ordered? I ask you particularly to put at the foot of my statue my little dog, crowns and a box of perfumery. . . . Moreover let the tomb measure one hundred by two hun- dred feet; and let there be planted about it all sorts of fruit-trees and many vines, for it would be absurd that I should be said to have cultivated my lands while I lived ; but neg- lected those where I must inhabit so long. Therefore I should like to have this inscrip- tion placed on the tomb: This Monument does not belong to my Heirs. ' Furthermore, I shall take care in my will that no one injures me after my death; for I [8] AGAINST ROMAN ARCHITECTURE shall appoint one of my freedmen to guard my tomb, to see that no one commits there any nuisance. I charge you also, Habinnas, to sculpture on my tomb ships under full sail [this in reference to the source of Trimal- chio's wealth], and my portrait is to show me sitting on a tribunal with five golden rings on my fingers, giving silver coins to the populace out of a sack; for you know well I have given a public banquet and two pieces of money to all who came. You may therefore also repre- sent, if you please, the dining-hall and all the people eating with pleasure. At my right you will place a statue of my wife, Fortunata, holding a dove in one hand and leading a dog on a leasb with the other, and you will put there also my dear Cicaron and great jars of wine well corked up. One only of these shall be broken, and a child shall be weeping over it. In the middle of the sun- dial shall be an inscription so placed that any one reading the hour must perforce see my name. As for the epitaph, see if you think this is suitable: Caius Pompeius Trimalchio, the Patron of Art rests here. He never wished to hear the Discourse of Philosophers. May thou do the same. . . . [9] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE 'Thanks to Mercury, I have built this palace of mine in which we now are; as you know, it was a house, but now it is imposing as a temple; it has four drawing-rooms, twenty bed-chambers, two marble porticoes, a tower above in which I myself sleep, apartments for my wife, an excellent porter's lodge and slave quarters able to accommodate a thousand persons.' " The satirist has painted for us most admir- ably the spirit, not only of Imperial Roman society but of Imperial Roman art. Indeed, of the inferiority of that art Petronius himself is well aware. Farther on in the same satire he explicitly complains: " The fine arts have perished, and espe- cially painting has left of itself only the least traces. We do not create art, but only criticize that of antiquity {i.e., Greece)." It would obviously be untrue to maintain that all Roman architecture lacks artistic vi- tality. Probably no generality is ever strictly true. The stucco reliefs of certain tombs on the Via Latina were modelled by a man or men who felt beauty, and who were singularly successful in transmitting that impression by a few powerful strokes on the wet plaster. Occasionally, in the carved ornament, as in the arch of St.-Remi, a real artist showed [lo] AGAINST ROMAN ARCHITECTURE what life could be given to a traditional motive. Such flashes, however, only deepen the general impression of perfunctoriness in Roman work. Notwithstanding the variety of type, the skill in planning and engineering, the varied materials, the colossal scale (per- haps even because of the latter), the art as a whole is joyless, like a painful task performed more or less conscientiously, without enthusi- asm. One feels intuitively that the builders cared little for the selfish Caesars in w^hose honour they erected triumphal arches and palaces; that they cared little for the popu- lace to shelter whom they built unending colonnades on the streets and forums, and least of all for the temples to strange, cold gods. The yoke of the taskmaster lies heavy upon their arm, as it lies upon the arm of a worker in the modern factory. It is by this token, perhaps, that the failure of Roman architecture is most clearly proved. For the essence of all great art is joy: the joy of grandeur, the joy of poetry, the joy of gloom, the joy of tears perhaps, but always joy. The genius imbues the object of his art with a spark of this divine joy, so that it may awaken in others the same, or a kindred, emotion. Many may feel such emotion with- out the ability to express it; many may have [II] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE the ability for expression without feeling the joy to communicate. Such will endeavour in vain to simulate or force an emotion which is not genuine. They may succeed in deluding even the keenest critics for a while, but the eternal difference in value abides unchanged, unchangeable. If there be not joy in creation, all is in vain. The truth of this may be illustrated in a sister art. If the Virgin of the Rocks at London were an original by Leonardo da Vinci, its importance would be incalculable. If it is a copy of Leonardo's painting by his pupil, Ambrogio da Predis, all the world will esteem it much less. In either case the picture is intrinsically the same. The keenest critics have been proved quite capable of mistaking the copy for the original. Is the original prized and the copy depreciated because we are such fools as to be guided in our artistic preferences by a name? I think not. The Paris original possesses an intrinsic value which the London copy lacks. The absolute- ness of this value continues none the less to ex- ist, even if it be mistaken by critics who happen to have gone astray. The value of an original lies in the fact that it communicates to us directly the conception — the impression of joy — of the creator; whereas in a copy the [12] AGAINST ROMAN ARCHITECTURE impression is almost necessarily blunted by transmission through another hand. I have often heard architects, in speaking of some projet, use the phrase, " great fun." In fact, the words have almost become current architectural slang. They are vastly signifi- cant. They express simply, and without pre- tention, that joy which is equalled by no other, the joy of creative work. The element of joyousness is thus not altogether lacking in our modern architecture. It is to be regretted that it does not more often extend downward from the architect to his office force, and that it is frequently crushed out entirely by the combined forces of steam heat, plumbing and labour unions. There remains, it is true, a deep mystery in Roman architecture. If we grant that it is lacking in the spirit of joyousness, and that joy is the essence of great art, how are we to explain the admiration, the adulation, that for centuries have been heaped upon the Ro- man style? It is necessary, first of all, to con- cede that it is no new thing for artists, and even for critics, to mistake a crow for a swan. The vogue of the eclectic painters, whose art is so closely akin to that of ancient Rome, lasted until yesterday. Perhaps we have already touched upon the inner essence of the matter [13] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE in discussing the relative values of original and copy, and the necessary inferiority of the latter. Roman art is a copy, a free copy with variations, but still a copy. For long centuries, the original remained un- known. It was unsuspected that Roman architecture was a copy. Men praised it for a beauty it possessed only at second hand. Winckelmann set the modern world upon the track of discovering the original. When Greek architecture had once been brought to light, the inferiority of the Roman replica became manifest. It was at once clear, and recognized by architects, critics and public alike (at least in America), that the spirit of joy, of enthusiasm, of poetry, was present in Greek work, and that Roman architecture possessed these qualities only by reflection. There ensued the Greek revival. However, a little knowledge proved a danger- ous thing; modern architecture imitated from the imperfectly comprehended Greek was seen to be less successful than that inspired by the more tangible Roman style. Hence the profession sought to reinstate the sadly shat- tered idol on her paper throne. Furthermore, in accounting for the popu- larity of Roman architecture, we must con- stantly bear in mind that the art exists only in [14] AGAINST ROMAN ARCHITECTURE imagination. Each person has had to. recon- struct his own visual image of the appearance of the buildings. Former centuries did not possess our prosaic archaeological informa- tion. Inspired by the beauty of the ruins, a Piranesi might imagine Roman art fired with an originality, a joyousness, which the Ro- mans never knew. Many architects, notably our own Thomas Jefiferson, have done pre- cisely this. Thus the shade of Rome was shrouded with phantom glory. From what has been said, I think, it will be evident that I must continue to differ from Professor Hamlin on the question of Roman art. What I felt instinctively, intuitively, as a boy, has been confirmed by the most careful study and thought of which I am capable. I believe, and I believe deeply, in Greek, Romanesque and Gothic. I believe in the Italian Quattrocento, and the American Co- lonial, even in the Barocco, if you will, but I refuse to bow down before the Goddess Rome. [15] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE THE touchstone of art is intellectuality. If we consider the evolution of man from the savage beast, we shall see that the art which he produces possesses permanent ar- tistic value in measure as, in the progress from brutality, man achieves intellectuality and re- flects this in his handicraft. Animals have no art. As man has evolved, he has gradually attained the mentality necessary for artistic production. It is true that the quality of intellect required for attaining success in art is very different from that required for attaining success in other lines of human activity. Thus it has come about that primi- tive peoples have at times produced greater art than races commonly accounted more civilized — a fact which in no wise disproves the general truth that art can only be created by brains, brains of a special type, but still brains. The collective mentality of a tribe may enter into the creation of folk art and may prove itself the equal or superior of any single intellect of a later stage of develop- ment. It is none the less intellect. If the progress of the artistic sense has not been [16] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE steady, if it has advanced rapidly to recede subsequently, it is only displaying a phenom- enon constant in all evolution. Many forms of art require in addition to mentality techni- cal dexterity, but the latter is in reality merely a means of expression for the former, bearing to it the same relationship that printing does to a book. Unless there be the conception, the emotion of beauty, dexterity of hand is of no avail. If we seek to-day the primary difference between a symphony by Beethoven and a "coon song," between a drama by Shakespeare and a play by Cohen, between a painting by Botticelli and an illustration in one of our comic weeklies, we shall find that, in each case, what is great and what is enduring differs from what is perishable and of no account by the element of intellectuality. It is, therefore, in the scale of intellectuality that the value of any work of art must be weighed. By modern architects one not infrequently hears the sentiment expressed that intellectu- ality in a building is a comparatively minor consideration, and that the really important matter is beauty (by which they mean what I mean by joy) as expressed in line, rhythm, proportion, mass, colour and so forth. That is to say, beauty and intellectuality are con- [17] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE sidered divisible and even antagonistic. A strange misconception! The sense for beaut}' is obviously an attribute of the human mind, merely one phase of intellectuality, nothing less, nothing more. It requires an intellectual effort and intellectual training to achieve, as to appreciate, proportion or mass or line or rhythm or colour, and it is precisely accord- ing to whether a modern building achieves or fails to achieve these elements of intellec- tuality that is is judged good or bad. Of such formal beauty I shall say little, because being common to the best architectural achieve- ments of all ages, it is generally recognized. No one will, I think, claim that formal beauty is lacking in mediaeval architecture. In classic art we shall hardly find a facade as happily proportioned as that of Paris; we shall hardly find more effective massing than in the spires of Normandy; we shall hardly find line used to greater advantage than in the portals of Reims; we shall hardly find finer rhythm than in the interior of Amiens; and we shall certainly not find colour as impres- sive as that of the glass of Chartres. It is not at the expense of, but in addition to, these formal elements of beauty or intellectuality that Gothic architecture achieves also others of an even higher order. [i8] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE There are many kinds of intellectuality. Although most modern and Renaissance struc- tures — in fact, it is not too much to say all — lack the great intellectual qualities of the buildings of the Middle Ages, they obviously may, nevertheless, be of high merit. A design which, from many points of view, is utterly illogical and absurd, violating many canons, not only of intellectuality but of common sense, like the Palazzo del Consiglio at Verona, may still possess other intellectual qualities — such as delicacy, rhythm and colour — that justly entitle it to admiration. Similarly (although I should not wish to be understood as ranking the two buildings together) the Old Library in New Haven, notwithstanding very evident offenses against reason, still manages to achieve by means of its proportions and rhythm, the softening of age and vines, a beauty which entitles it to rank among the best buildings of the Gothic revival in America. Such edifices amply demonstrate that it is possible for architecture to rise considerably with the aid of a limited intellectuality — flying on one wing, as it were. It is only, however, when all her feathers of intellectuality are fully grown that architecture can reach the greatest heights. A little intellectuality is better than none, but [19] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE the greater the intellectuality the greater the architecture. Gothic is incomparably the most intellectual of all architectures. Works of art are great in measure as they possess the quality of inexhaustibility. The obvious may captivate at first glance, but is incapable of bestowing an abiding satisfaction. Close and continued familiarity will, except with shallow natures, inevitably breed con- tempt for the meretricious. In art, as in all else, we take out as we put in. That which forces itself upon us, the pleasure which we acquire without expense of effort, will not endure. Here perhaps lies the final proof of the worth of mediaeval art. For no other style requires as great preparation on the part of him who would enjoy; nor is there any which extends such rich rewards to the happy initiate. Together with the fundamental fact of criticism that architecture is good or bad according as it is intellectual, we must take into consideration two facts of actuality, which, at first glance, seem so opposed to the usual twentieth-century way of looking at things that they appear paradoxical, but which, nevertheless, if we stop to consider a moment, are both evidently true. The first of these facts is, that the thirteenth century [20] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE was a time of extraordinary intellectual de- velopment, and the second fact is, that the modern age, from certain points of view, is a time of intellectual degeneration. We are so in the habit of dwelling complacently upon the railroads, electric apparatus, machines, plumbing and other similar physical luxuries which we possess, and which obviously the Middle Ages did not possess, that we have blinded ourselves to the equally evident fact that this material progress has been accom- panied by, and in a sense bought at the price of, the deterioration of several mental facul- ties. In the last few years, modern thought has made a great advance in returning to the Middle Ages. By certain scholars the thirteenth has been pronounced the greatest of centuries. Superlatives are dangerous; but it is an undoubted fact that the result of recent research has been to increase more and more our admiration for the achievements of the Gothic period, not only in the realm of art but also in the realm of pure thought. The very intellectual superiority of the Middle Ages was, in a way, the reason which led the Renaissance centuries to despise not only mediaeval art but mediaeval philosophy. We moderns are eminently lazy, and our specula- tion always has primarily a practical or util- [21] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE itarian scope. We seldom think anything out simply for the joy of the thinking. If we wrestle with an intellectual problem, it is in order that we may attain thereby some ma- terial end. The Middle Ages, on the other hand, loved thought for its own sake. They wrestled with intellectual problems for the mere delight of overcoming them. It hence came about that the mediaeval thinkers arrived at results often of great aesthetic beauty, but which seldom were of practical value. Mod- ern speculators, who cared entirely for the material, set aside mediaeval thought because they found that it was not useful in enabling them to improve the mechanical arts, or to make new discoveries along practical lines. Being entirely absorbed in the solution of pragmatic problems, they chose to devote no energy to comprehending the purely specula- tive turns of mediaeval thought. In the last few years, however, we have begun to realize that this scorn of the modern for mediaeval philosophy was very largely the scorn of the barbarian who stood before the Greek marble, and considered it valuable only for burning in the kiln to produce lime. It has begun to be perceived that mediaeval thought was ex- ceedingly beautiful, exceedingly subtle, ex- ceedingly profound; that, in short, modern [22] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE thinkers, in rejecting this immaterial and absolute speculation, have rejected something that the world is very much the worse off for not having. Mediaeval thought may be compared to pure mathematics. The mathe- matician who follows his speculation in the solution of problems which can have no prac- tical or utilitarian result — at least directly — and is yet so carried away by his intellectual curiosity that he gives his time and his genius lavishly to their solution, is the nearest ap- proach in our age to the mediaeval thinker. It is almost inconceivable to us that mental gymnastics could have been enjoyed to such an extent and for their own sake. We, who shrink from every mental exertion, and can be spurred to mental activity only by the prods of our comfort or our pocket-books, cannot understand the overflowing energy of the medieval genius, its delight in intellectuality for its own sake, its scorn of the easy and the obvious, its love for the subtle. Yet the . mediaeval mind, in a way, is as superior to ours as a spirited stallion is to a dray horse. By means of its exuberant, almost wasteful energy, it achieved results of which we are incapable. Mediaeval art is the faithful reflection of the mediaeval mind in its intellectuality, in [23] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE its subtlety, in its avoidance of the obvious. Like mediaeval thought, it was long held in scorn and derision by later ages which were unable to fathom its profundity. Not\vith- standing the increased appreciation of mod- ern times, the vital beauties of the Gothic cathedral still roll by far above the head, not only of the average layman, but also of the average architect. A curious example of the modern lack of comprehension of the Middle Ages, and of the modern tendency to scorn everything which it cannot understand, is afforded by the history of the researches of Mr. Goodyear. This archaeologist stated that mediaeval buildings were not built upon straight lines as modern buildings are. It was a question of a fact found in practically all mediaeval buildings, to be easily demonstrated and tested, even by a casual inspection. Mr. Goodyear's announcement was at first greeted with incredulity, and no one was more in- credulous than the archaeologists and the architects. In modern buildings the T-square and triangle rule supreme, all lines are straight, hard and metallic. It was therefore unthinkable to the modern architect that there could be any other way of building. Yet the mediaeval method of construction was in- [24] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE finitely more subtle, infinitely more intel- lectual. For the obviousness of regular spac- ing, it introduced the subtlety of spacing which was not quite regular. For the ob- viousness of straight hard lines, it substi- tuted the refinement of lines which were not straight and not hard. For the obvious- ness of something taken in and comprehended at a glance, it introduced something so subtle and illusive that its very existence was lost sight of for long centuries. The same principle of variation is carried out in every detail of the Gothic structure. In a classical building, all the capitals of an order are precisely the same. One model serves for the lot. It is impossible to dis- tinguish one from the other. Gothic builders would never do anything so banal. They made each capital different. Each has some- thing new to say. The attentive observer will find in each a new design, a fresh beauty. Take a large building such as a cathedral, which undoubtedly contains hundreds and probably thousands of capitals. The intel- lectual appeal afforded by mediaeval art, where each of these capitals was a source of an intellectual demand upon its creator, and where each one affords an intellectual delight to the observer, is infinitely greater than in a [25] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE classical building, where every capital Is like every other, and where all are designed ac- cording to a well established and immovable norm. Yet I do not think that the classic order, repeated thoughtlessly, almost me- chanically, so many thousands and millions of times, at its very best was absolutely more beautiful, better studied, more thoughtfully worked out, than a French capital of the twelfth century, which was a new and original creation forever unique. It is not only in the capitals that the mediaeval building possesses this greater wealth of creative imagination. The same details are never repeated. Each moulding is varied. The mediaeval cathedral is never obvious. Its choicest delights are reserved for those who study it patiently and long. Even the grotesques, which at first sight seem so naive and simple that the word intellectu- ality can hardly be applied to anything so immediately appealing, are, in reality, ex- tremely subtle. These strange creatures are infinitely varied among themselves, unlike the grotesques on a classical building, where, for example, the same lion-head is repeated many times. The mediaeval grotesques, as wild and elusive as the bats and rooks in whose company they spend their existence, [26] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE are endowed with the fascination and mystery of untamed things. They are finer grained, more sensitive than classic grotesques, just as the wild flower possesses a poetry lacking in cultivated blossoms. They reveal the intel- lectual thirst of the Middle Ages, the insati- able longing of the men of that time to know what might be contained in unexplored por- tions of the universe. For in those days men lusted feverishly, unreasoningly after knowl- edge. Where means of accurate information were lacking, they, just as we to-day, resorted to conjecture and imagination, with, however, the difference that their imagination was in- finitely finer and more poetic than ours. The intense interest excited by the bestiaries is to be explained on this ground. The strange and romantic animals there described are largely those which are not found in Europe, and the Middle Age brooded long and thoughtfully over the marvellous character- istics of these fabulous beings of distant con- tinents. The grotesques seem to be merely another flight of the mediaeval imagination in its efforts to conjecture what the fauna of unknown countries might be like. The Gothic artists set themselves no meaner task than to represent in the cathedral everything which exists in the universe. The Church was the [27] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE reflection of the supreme goodness of God, as shown in the work of His hands. As such, it was fitting that the animals of the world should be represented alongside the other manifestations of divine wisdom. From an artistic point of view, these lighter and more fanciful figures serve as a contrast to the profound and mysterious imagery which elsewhere adorns the cathedral. Like a burst of childish laughter they relieve the gravity of the long lines of saints, the sober- ness of the symbols of man's sin and re- demption. A classical building (unless it chance to be Greek) is understood at a glance. We may take the Pantheon as an example. There is one great dome, the portico before it, niches, and a certain amount of stereotyped decora- tion repeated with variations. One look at this building reveals to the educated eye all there is. The proportions, the rhythm, the grandiose conception, the simplicity, the un- deniable greatness and beauty are at once comprehended. They are so evident that one would have to be stupid indeed to miss them. The consequence is that the Pantheon always has, and always will, appeal to the superficial. Gothic architecture, on the other hand, is in- finitely more subtle. The very fact that the [28] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE Pantheon contains one large vault, whereas the Gothic church contains ten or twelve or more, makes the classical building much easier to comprehend. The mind catches at a glance the outline and shape of the structure. It is impossible to forget that there is just one dome in the Pantheon, whereas even one who knows Amiens intimately would be unable to tell ofif-hand how many vaults there are or how many bays the nave is long. The me- diaeval conception is more subtle, less obvious. Also the details of a classical building, how- ever exquisite, are easily comprehended ; those of a mediaeval building cannot be completely understood after years of study. Nothing is placed in a Roman or modern building where it does not immediately catch the eye and show. The Gothic building, on the other hand, is full of exquisite detail lavished upon the roofs and cornices, in places where it is necessary to seek with the greatest persever- ance to find it. It is natural that the intel- lectually degenerate modern age should pre- fer the classical building, and that modern architecture should be modelled upon it. We who are too lazy — as the existence of adver- tising proves — even to make the intellectual effort necessary to decide which kind of breakfast food it is best for us to use, but [29] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE have to have the poorer kind thrust down our throats by means of electric signs and glaring bill-boards, which we, the consumers, cheer- fully pay for rather than make the mental effort necessary to decide what we want — we naturally prefer architecture that is built upon the principle of advertising, and that proclaims any merits it may have with such insistence that they cannot be missed. In fact, in modern American buildings, one will gen- erally seek in vain for subtlety of thought or detail. Everything is obvious, pounded forth with a brass band, brandished in our faces. Our style is actually, as well as historically, exhibition architecture, with all of vulgarity that the word implies. The Gothic architects, for all their interest in detail, were too wise to confuse their gen- eral design. In the facade of Reims, for example, there was absolute unity of com- position. The broad masses of the buttresses, the form of the towers, the stories were marked as clearly as in a modern construction. The big divisions were not obscured by the profusion of detail. Yet the quantity and quality of the detail was incredible. Each capital, each statue, each bit of tracery, each moulding, was a masterpiece. The delight which this fagade gave was therefore much [30] Cathedral at Rourgfs ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE greater than that which a modern building is capable of bestowing. We had not only the first joy in the main lines of the composition (such as we might conceivably receive from a modern structure), but the longer we re- mained the greater became our delight in the details, the existence of which was at first hardly perceived. The Gothic builders applied the same prin- ciple to stained glass, which offers a striking example of the difference in spirit between medieval and modern art. The mediaeval artists made of their glass primarily an archi- tectural accessory. When we first enter a Gothic church, we see in the windows merely a mass of colour, the most exquisite imagin- able colour. We distinguish no figures, we see no pictures. It is only when we approach closer that we see each of these windows forms an ornamental pattern of small medallions, and that each of these medallions contains a number of small figures. We have to look with attention to perceive them. When v/e do give this attention, however, we find that the pictorial design is worthy of the most care- ful study. Not only are the subjects repre- sented full of profound philosophical and theological meaning, but the flow of line, the rhythm, the composition, and, above all, the [31] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE colouring, are sources of unending delight. I have heard modern critics reproach me- diaeval glass for not being naturalistic. They find fault with the figures because they are not lifelike. Nothing could be more charac- teristic of the nineteenth century attitude towards art. Some wit has defined modern architecture as that art which makes some- thing constructed of one material look as though it were constructed of another, which, were it genuine, would be objectionable. Modern architects, consequently, instead of being content to let stained glass look like stained glass, have sought to make it look first like a painting and then like the actual object represented. According to this point of view, the perverted genius who, in the Borghese Palace at Rome I think it was, painted upon tables, papers and books so realistically that almost all visitors attempt to pick them up, would be an artist of the highest order. The truth appears to be that realism in itself is not a highly desirable quality, even in pictorial art. The modern schools of painting are re- volting from it, and the best critics are pre- ferring more and more the unrealistic Italian painters of the fourteenth and fifteenth cen- turies to the realistic artists of later ages. If a painting have beauty of content, line, colour [32] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE and composition, the realism is an entirely minor consideration; and how much more is this the case with stained glass, which because of technical limitations should never attempt illusion! The modern glass-painter who puts in his windows a great glaring figure of realistic character achieves obviousness at the expense of intellectual value. Such figures we take in at a glance or at half a glance. They are eminently unarchitectural, break the struc- tural contours, and call the attention immedi- ately from the large divisions. Like an advertisement, they catch our eye, but like an advertisement also, they give us little in return for our attention. The carefully thought-out detail, the content of subject, the deep strong virile colour, in short the intel- lectuality of ancient glass, are painfully lack- ing in the great majority of these modern creations. In regard to the colouring of mediaeval glass, it should be noticed that its effect is never obtained by the use of large fields. Small pieces of blue and red and other colours of primary hue are placed next to each other. From a distance these colours combine to form one tone of entrancing brilliancy. As Dr. Durham has called to my attention, mod- [33] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE ern art made the discovery that the finest colour effects are produced, not by mixing the paint before it is put on the palette, but by placing bits of the elementary hues alongside of each other on the canvas and leaving the e3^e to fuse them. For example, if we want to produce a purple there are two methods of doing so. We may mix the blue and red paint together, and then colour our glass or our canvas, and this is the usual manner of procedure. The more effective way, however, and the Gothic way, is to place very small bits of blue and red beside each other and let the eye blend them to form purple. By this means the Gothic glass painters not only achieved a richer and more vibrant tone, but they avoided running into obviousness by the use of broad fields of colour. A window made on this mosaic system does not strike the eye to the same extent as would a window in which are used the same colours and in the same amount, but in broader fields. Another indication of the intellectual cali- bre of the Middle Ages, of their passion for learning, is to be found in the representations of the Liberal Arts in iconography. These seven disciplines — Grammar, Dialectic, Rhetoric and Arithmetic, Geometry, Music and Astronomy, were merely the subjects [34] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE Included in the curricula of the mediaeval universities. Few graduates of American colleges would be inclined to set up a statue to Latin, Greek or Trigonometry. And yet this was precisely what the Middle Ages did, and did repeatedly. For there is hardly a cathedral or an important building of the period that does not, or did not, contain somewhere a representation of the disciples. With the seven Liberal Arts was generally associated the figure of Philosophy. In the mediaeval conception, Philosophy included infinitely more than religion. It was the love of learning in the deepest sense of the word, and this learning included naturally the study of that eschatology which was so vital and living in the thirteenth century. To the me- diaeval mind. Philosophy Vv^as at once the end and the consummation of all learning. It was through knowledge of the tangible that man rose to grasp the intangible. His finest mental endeavour, the best training, were necessary to fit him for the contemplation of the divine. Accordingly, Philosophy is always repre- sented as the queen of the other arts. In the Ivrea mosaic she is seated in the centre — the position of honour — and wears a crown. This mediaeval conception of religion differs significantly from that of the present day. [35] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE Instead of lifting man up to appreciate an intellectual religion, we have debased re- ligion to bring it down to the level of the meanest understanding. In a mosaic at Ivrea it is also notable that Dialectic occupies the second most important position to the left of Philosophy (for in north- ern Italy, the usual law of hierarchical pre- cedence is often reversed so that left, instead of right, is the side of honour). Dialectic is not taught in our American universities, and for an excellent reason. There are probably to- day very few students capable of studying such a course, and it is certain that there are no professors who could teach them. Our near- est substitute is Logic, but an inspection of a mediaeval text-book on Dialectic will suffice to show how infinitely more subtle, difficult and intellectual was the mediaeval subject. It is very significant that in the Ivrea mosaic the highest places should be given to Philos- ophy and Dialectic. The two great char- acteristics of the Middle Ages that we find reflected in all mediaeval thought and in all mediaeval art are the love of Philosphy and the love of Logic. It will be well to note 'how these passions are expressed in the Gothic cathedral, that consummate product of the mediaeval genius, for whose perfection [36] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE the philosopher collaborated with the sculptor and the glass-painter, the dialectician with the architect. The logical structure of the Gothic church has long been recognized. Every stone fol- lows as a dialectic necessity. The founda- tions, with the buttress spurs, proclaim the rib vault of the soaring nave. Given the buttresses, the design of the entire church is in a measure determined. Contrast with this logic of the Gothic construction the dome of St. Peter's at Rome where (as Professor Moore has shown) we see buttresses formed of coupled columns vigorously applied to the drum where there is no thrust, and where we see ribs appliqued on the surface of the cupola itself, in such a manner that, far from gather- ing or relieving the structural strain, they merely increase it by so much added weight. In the Gothic church, the ground plan an- nounces that the weight of the structure is carried on a skeleton frame, that the wall sur- face has been removed and replaced by glass, adding little extra weight to the points of support, and requiring but a thin screen of masonry beneath. The section of the piers is determined by the archivolts and ribs. The size of the buttresses even gives the height of the church. For the m.ediaeval masons [37] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE did not waste stone. They experimented until they discovered how much was neces- sary to support the weight of the vaults; and they would have considered it a viola- tion of that strict principle of logic to which they were so bound to employ more than was needed. If the plan of a modern build- ing, say the Boston Public Library, be com- pared with that of Amiens, it will be seen what the study of logic did for mediaeval art. From the plan of the modern edifice, it would be impossible to determine what system of roofing was to be employed, what were the dispositions of the interior, how many stories there were to be, where the w^indows were to be placed, or even the pur- pose of the edifice. The mediaeval building shows a strictly unified conception growing out of a mind trained by the practice of dia- lectic. The modern structure shows the aim- less rambling of an untutored intellect. Yet planning is considered the forte of modern architects. The central fact, the postulate of a Gothic church, is the rib vault. As a necessary con- clusion follow not only the peculiar type of plan, but the entire edifice with its forests of columns and pinnacles, its varied and rich or- nament. From the rib vault were derived by a [38] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE logical necessity the pointed arches which lead us, as Suger remarked in the twelfth century, " into a region which, if not heaven, is neither yet entirely of this world." From the rib vault followed the long vertical lines of the system, shooting upwards like sky-rockets, carrying the eye and the emotions towards the serenity of the aether. From the rib vault came the blazing windows of stained glass, filled with harmonies of purple and red and blue. From the rib vault came the tracery of ever-varied design, vining the windows and even the arches. From the rib vault came the buttresses which give strong, powerful lines to the exterior design, and introduce an ever-changing play of light and shadow. From the rib vault came too the mighty fly- ing buttresses with their rugged power and grandeur, their Alpine majesty. From the rib vault, in short, came the entire Gothic cathedral. And there was nothing adven- titious about this development. Step by step, the evolution was accomplished, necessarily, logically, dialectically. Given the rib vault, everything else followed because it was logi- cal that it should follow. It was to training in dialectic, in reasonableness, in rational- ness, that the Middle Ages owed Gothic architecture. [39] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE This spirit of logic did not stop with the main lines of the edifice. It was carried intO' the most minute details. The gargoyles, of such charming decorative effect that they have been frequently copied in modern buildings in a perfectly meaningless way, were evolved in the Gothic structure for a definite and specific end, that is, to throw the water of the gutters far from the walls, so that it might not corrode the stone. The pinnacles which crowned the buttresses, and which modern architects (at St. Patrick's in New York, for instance) have reproduced for purely decora- tive reasons, were invented by the Gothic builders as a means of stiffening the outer buttresses by the addition of extra weight. Even the mouldings, far from being purely ornamental, were so profiled as to prevent the water from trickling down the exterior walls. A Gothic capital is a very different thing from a classical capital. The architrave that rests on the latter would be quite as secure if placed directly on the shaft. The Gothic builders, however, gave the capital a structural function, which was that of ad- justing a larger load to a more slender sup- port. If we remove the capital, the entire building comes crashing about our heads. This feeling for logic and unity led the Gothic [40] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE architects of the best period strictly to sub- ordinate all detail to the demands of archi- tecture. The sculptures, far from disturbing, are an integral and essential part of the archi- tectural composition. The figures are in- trinsically beautiful and full of content. Indeed, in such a work as the western portal of Chartres, the Gothic artist produced sculpture, which, considered for itself alone, is unexcelled, I do not hesitate to say, by any ever executed by the hand of man. These statues combine the " singing line " of Botti- celli, the tenderness of the Sienese, with a certain sincerity that is purely Gothic. Yet such beauty and significance are never at- tained at the expense of the repose of the entire edifice. In the sculpture as in the glass the Gothic artist expressed ideas, ideas so big that they are not infrequently beyond the grasp of us degenerates of the twentieth cen- tury, but, notwithstanding, he has never for an instant sacrificed to his detail the unity of the building as a whole. A modern artist, having infinitely less to convey, would still have been unable to say it without ruining the archi- tecture. The mediaeval artist, on the other hand, contrived to give to his glass and to his sculpture just that decorative character which was required to lend the past perfection to the Gothic building. [41] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE Althoug'h Logic was the favourite art of the Middle Ages, it was still only the hand- maiden to the super-art, Philosophy. It was in the service of Philosophy that the cathedral was primarily built and it is of Philosophy that it is primarily an expression. This philosophical content was conveyed largely by means of symbolism. It is neces- sary to draw a sharp distinction between allegory and symbolism. By allegory I mean the use of figures which in themselves have no reality, but are merely personifications of abstractions. By symbolism, on the other hand, I mean that infinitely more subtle and intellectual system by which figures that in themselves have a perfectly definite and tangible reality still are made to shadow forth or suggest some other idea. Allegory of the most bald and obvious kind is the plague of modern art. Everywhere, for example, we see dry and uninspired figures of Electricity, Progress, Autumn, Industry, and the like. Symbolism, on the other hand, we find in the plays of Ibsen, where a character in the drama is perfectly real and logical and self- consistent in itself, but also suggests to our minds another reality. Now mediaeval phi- losophy is expressed in the cathedral by means of a peculiarly subtle system of [42] Portal of the Cathedral at Senlis ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE symbolism. Allegory is rarely used. The example of the Liberal Arts, cited above, is one of the few I recollect, and even that is by a variety of expedients given a subtlety and intellectual character quite at variance with modern allegorical conceptions. It was the profound conviction of the Middle Ages that the Bible was a book of double meaning, that, in addition to the actualities narrated, each event foreshadowed or reflected another greater event connected with the Life and Passion of Christ/ This same system was applied not only to the Bible but to the entire visible and material universe. Thus, to the mediaeval mind, reality was but a symbol of unreality, matter but a reflection of the immaterial. Our earth became only a shadow of heaven. Ever3rwhere in the things and objects about us God has implanted the image of eternal truth. It is a thought of singular beauty that grips one more deeply the longer one dwells upon it. But the mediaeval philosophers did not stop there. They were tempted to read in this book of double mean- ing, the world, and to interpret its symbolism and significance. Studying nature with the ' This aspect of mediaeval art has been made comprehensible to the modern age by Emil Male in his immortal work — I almost wrote poem — UArt Religieux du XII P Steele en France, a book now happily available also in an English translation. [43] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE aid of the Bible and their own poetic imagi- nation, the mediaeval sages arrived at results strange, but hauntingly beautiful. By their musing every least object in the world was vested with meaning. Profound mysteries were concealed in every flower, in every tree, in every cloud that chanced to float across the sky. Especially was this mystic interpretation ap- plied to the most profound of books, the Bible. If God had implanted symbolism in every form of the material world, how much more must he have imparted it to His revelation, to the book in which was written all that man need know for his enlightenment and salva- tion. And so, for the Middle Ages, the Bible became the mystery of mysteries. In every word lurked a hidden meaning, in every phrase a double significance. And this mysti- cal interpretation was carried over into the imagery of the cathedral. Thus when we see represented in the stained glass or in the sculpture some personage or scene from the Old Testament, we may be very sure the artist intended to suggest to our minds also another idea of which this scene was but the symbol. When on a capital of the cathedral of Verona, we see Jonah vomited forth by the whale, we are to think of Christ who descended into [44] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE Limbo, and on the third day arose from the dead. When we see Melchisedech, we must think of another priest and another king who offered bread and wine to His disciples. When we see Adam, we must recall that Christ is the new Adam, who redeemed the world as the first Adam had lost it. When, in the scenes of the Crucifixion, we see Mary and John standing at either side of the cross, we are to think, not only of the "Mother of God and the beloved Apostle, but of the Church, which, by means of the Crucifixion of Christ, supplanted the Synagogue. In the exquisite relief of the Deposition by Benedetto, the figures of the Church and the Synagogue are actually introduced, like persons living and present at the scene. The Synagogue, with shattered lance, is pushed down into the dust by an archangel. The Church holds a chalice in her hand. In this relief, there are introduced on either side of the cross also figures of the sun and moon, other symbols of the Church and the Synagogue. In Gothic representations of the Crucifixion, Mary and the Church are commonly identified, and the Virgin holds a chalice in which she catches the blood that flows from the side of Christ. In the prophet of Carpi, who holds his head in his hand, and whose features express [45] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE so eloquently the strength and power of his prophetic vision — a vision of hope and ulti- mate salvation not untinged by a compre- hension of the sadness and tragedy of the world — we are to see not only that Isaiah who had proclaimed Ecce Virgo concipiet, but we may recognize the features of the Apostle to the Gentiles. In a window of the cathedral of Chartres, the four Evangelists are represented standing on the shoulders of the four major prophets. The glass-painter clearly wished to indicate that the Evangel- ists found their points of support in the prophets, but saw farther and more clearly. The mediaeval artists never vvearied of plac- ing in parallel the four Evangelists, the four rivers of Paradise and the four cardinal Vir- tues ; the twelve Apostles and twelve Prophets. In the archivolt of a lunette in the baptistery of Parma, we see seated the twelve Apostles, each bearing a medallion with the figure of a Prophet. One of the conceptions which most power- fully weighed upon the spirit of the Middle Ages was the mysterious property of numbers. The Greek philosophers had long meditated upon the subject, and Pythagoras had sought to find in numbers the explanation of the en- tire universe. The Middle Ages adopted the [46] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE idea with passion. The great Isidore of Seville wrote a long treatise on the subject. Of all numbers the most mystic were four and three, their sum, seven, and their multiple twelve. Throughout the mediaeval cathedral, as throughout mediaeval philosophy, these numbers and their mystic significance echo back and forth like a returning cadence in a piece of music. In all mediaeval imagery, the law of hier- archical precedence plays an important part. The centre is the place of honour, right has precedence over left, the upper over the lower. It is, therefore, never by chance that a par- ticular subject is represented in a particular place in the cathedral. If the story of St. John is depicted in one window, the story of St. Peter in another, we may be certain that there is a definite reason why one is placed here and the other there. The centre of the principal portal, the post of greatest honour, was generally given to the figure of the Redeemer. To illustrate the wealth of thought bestowed upon every detail in Gothic art, let us study the two little animals which are placed under the feet of the Beau Dieu at Amiens. A careful ex- amination will reveal that these figures, which at first sight might be taken to be purely [47] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE decorative, are, in reality, the aspic and basi- lisk. Now, in the bestiaries — those strange, unnatural histories composed by the united imaginations of antiquity and of the Middle Ages, and which combined a complete igno- rance of scientific truth almost as profound as that displayed in some of the books on natural history until recently in use in our public schools, with a poetry such as only the Middle Ages could have read into such a subject — there is a great deal about the aspic and the basilisk. The aspic is a kind of dragon that one can charm with songs, but who is on his guard against the charmers, and when he hears them, places one ear against the ground and closes the other with his tail so that he can hear nothing. Thus he escapes being taken. The Middle Ages found no diffi- culty in understanding this singular animal. For them, the aspic was the image of the sinner who shuts his ears to the words of life — that is, the Gospel. The basilisk, on the other hand, has such a nature that when he has passed the seventh year of his age, he feels an egg grow in his stomach. Thereupon he is amazed at himself and suffers the great- est pain that a beast can sufifer. The toad, another bestiary animal, has such a nature that he smells the egg which the basilisk carries, [48] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE and as soon as it is laid he goes to cover it. The young basilisk hatches out with the head, neck and breast of a cock and the tail of a serpent. He then goes to live in a crack in a cistern. He is of such a nature that if a man see him first he dies, but if he see the man first the man dies. He has, moreover, such a nature that he throws his venom and kills birds. He who wants to kill the basilisk must cover himself with a vessel of glass; for the beast throws his poison with his eyes, and if it strikes against the glass it rebounds on the beast himself and kills him. The basilisk is a symbol of the Devil and is the very one who tempted Adam and Eve, for which he was banished from Paradise into the cistern of Hell. The vessel of glass is the Virgin, in whose womb Christ enclosed himself. There- fore when we see the Beau Dieu of Amiens standing upon the aspic and the basilisk, it is evident that we have represented in reality the triumph of Christ over Sin and Satan. If you will turn, not to your Revised Version, but to the Vulgate, you will find that the Psalmist says: "Thou shalt trample on the aspic and the basilisk, and the dragon and adder shalt thou cast under foot." Indeed, a close ex- amination of the Amiens pillar will reveal the adder and the dragon, carved not far from [49] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE the aspic and the basilisk. The mediaeval artist has represented the profound dogma of primary sin and redemption. It is pe- culiarly fitting that this fundamental concep- tion of the Church should be placed in the most important position of the cathedral. Such is the meaning of the two little animals, one of the smallest of the myriad details with which the Gothic church is covered. The same sense of propriety, the same sense of order and of unity pervades the iconog- raphy of the entire cathedral. M. Male has proved that the mediaeval church in its imagery is as essentially and as vitally unified as in its structure. The four great mirrors of Nature, of Science, of Morals and of History into which Vincent de Beauvais divides his work upon human knowledge and which in the mediaeval conception reflected the mani- festation of the glory of God on earth — each finds in the cathedral imagery its appropriate, logical and fitting place. At Chartres, for example, on the north side (the region of darkness and cold), were displayed subjects drawn from the Old Testament, from those ages which awaited the coming of the Sun of Christ. On the south (the region of sunshine and warmth), were told the solemn stories of the life of Christ and the Christian saints. [50] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE Over the western portal was enrolled the dreadful drama of the Last Judgment, so placed that the setting sun might illumine this terrible scene of the final evening of the world. I am sensible how inadequate are my few pages to convey an impression of the beauty and poetry of mediaeval iconography. Hap- pily M. Male's admirable study is within the reach of all. What I have said may be suf- ficient to indicate in some measure the type of symbolism used by the Gothic artists. It is through the imagery that in Gothic archi- tecture Philosophy is made to sit crowned, a queen over all the arts, harmonizing and com- bining them into a mighty unity. It is through the imagery that Gothic architecture acquires its supreme intellectuality, that it becomes not only decorative, but illustrative. As I use these two words " decorative " and " illustrative " in a special sense, it will be well to define the meaning I seek to convey by them. Mr. Berenson has already acclimated them to painting. By " decoration " I mean to indicate all the intrinsic merits of a work of art, all the intellectual qualities that make it in itself pleasing to us. These would include in painting and sculpture, form, colour, line, movement; in architecture, proportion, scale, massing; in literature, style, the choice of [51] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE words, verse; in music, harmony, rhythm, modulations. " Illustration " on the other hand indicates all the extrinsic merits of a work of art, those intellectual qualities that make it pleasing to us by outside suggestion. Character drawing is an example of illustra- tion applicable to the three arts of painting, sculpture and literature. By means of the sculpture and glass, Gothic architecture be- came highly illustrative; it conveys to us ideas and pleasurable emotions quite outside of the material building itself. I think there can be no doubt that an art depends more than is commonly recognized upon its illustrative quality. Over-emphasis of decoration has been a disastrous mistake of the modern age. What one says matters far more than how one says it. The ability for expression, technique — in the last analy- sis decoration is hardly more — is indeed a necessary prerequisite; but if art stops here it has essentially failed. Decoration is merely a means to the supreme end — illustration. This is the whole gospel of art. Modern criticism is beginning to perceive at last the value of illustration. Mr. Berenson after having seen importance only in decora- tion, has now reversed his opinion. Knowl- edge of oriental art has opened our eyes to [52] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE the fact that the artist who sets himself illus- tration as his ultimate aim is alone capable of reaching the greatest heights. The decadence of modern art appears to be largely due to the abandonment of all ideals of illustration. Nothing contributes so largely to the feeling of depression caused by an academy exhibi- tion as the fact that most of these painters, for all their technique, have nothing — no joy — to express. It is only illustration that can lift art to the highest level. That this statement be not misunderstood, I hasten to add that I attach to the word " illustration " an even broader meaning than that given it by Mr. Berenson. I should make it include not only the conveying of a concrete idea but also the expression of an emotion. It was this that Cezanne meant when he spoke of the petite sensation he tried to fix upon his canvas. Thus an andante of Beethoven or Brahms would be as completely illustrative as a piece of program music by Strauss or Debussy. An Asia Minor rug may have a strong illustrative element — the good ones in fact do even when the forms are least real- istic. Mr. Berenson would doubtless judge Giotto a very poor illustrator because he is not successful in interpreting the finer and more subtle aspects of the legends he paints; [53] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE I should call him a great illustrator because he conveys to me a very definite mood — not the same mood evoked by the Legends of St. Francis or of Christ or of the Virgin which he paints, but an emotion of poetry, of joy. Thus all architecture that is of significance is in a manner illustrative. Surely none con- veys an emotion more pow^erf ully than Gothic. But mediaeval art is illustrative also in the Berensonian sense. It unites the qualities of a Sassetta with those of a Giotto. It is a curious though by no means incom- prehensible fact, that a race of men is capable of producing more finely artistic thought than an individual. Folk art has almost invariably possessed greater vitality than the produc- tions of any genius. This is, perhaps, another direction in which the highly individualistic modern age has gone astray. It can hardly be doubted that the use of traditional material was a great source of strength to Homer and the tragic poets of Greece. Shakespeare drew his plots from what really was the equivalent of folk tradition. The Renaissance painters found in subjects of a traditional character (although the conventions were al- ready in precipitate decline) an inspiration which is lacking to our modern painters, free to paint what they will. Now of all legends [54] ART OF THE MIDDLE AGE none was so refined by passing through count- less hands, none so full of life, none so imbued with intellectuality of the highest type as the religious legend of the Middle Ages. The world for twelve centuries had brought its best to the elaboration and perfection of the scholastic system. The straightforwardness and human sympathy of the people, the im- agination of the poets, the deepest thought of the philosophers were there blended and com- bined. By comparison the myths of the Hebrews seem crude, even those of Greece appear lacking in subtlety. It is the posses- sion of this supreme legend that raises the Divina Commedia above all other epics. It is the possession of this supreme legend that places on the brow of Gothic art its highest intellectual crown. [55] GOTHIC ART, THE WAR AND AFTER THE cathedral of Reims is in ruins. We all know it. We have grown ac- customed — almost callous — to the fact. The cathedral of Reims, unequalled for its facade and for its wealth of sculpture, is destroyed. We shall never more study the wonderful glass of the clearstory with its blazing scarlets and reds, the warmest, the most pulsating, the most daring glass-work in all France. The grave saints that lined the portals with faces so full of dignity and Christian fortitude are broken into bits. Even the wonderful angel of never-to-be-forgotten gentleness, so solicitous, so tender, was not spared. What two fires and the wars of six hundred years had left uninjured our age has reduced to ruin. German cannonading was able to destroy a monument the equal of which fifteen centuries of boasted German culture have been unable to produce. Nor has the destruction been limited to the cathedral of Reims. The region through which the German armies have swept, level- ling all to the ground before them, was the Flying Buttresses of the Cathedral at Reims GOTHIC ART, THE WAR AND AFTER classic region, the Tuscany, the Attica of France. Gothic art, the most perfect of all expres- sions of beauty, reached its complete culmina- tion only in a small district. It was in the Ile-de-France and especially in the region to the east of Paris that it was born and that it attained its flower. It was copied from one end of Europe to the other, but in its pure essence, at its absolute best, it is to be found only here. Complete statistics are yet lacking, but it is certain that in addition to the ca- thedral of Reims, the cathedral of Soissons, with its fairy-like south transept, its noble nave; Saint-Leger and Saint-Medard of Sois- sons; glorious Saint-Remi; Acy-en-Multien, with the earliest rib vault in the Ile-de- France; Rhuis, where ribs were first given a profile; Vailly, with the finest parish fagade of the Soissonnais; Fontenoy, Roye-sur-Matz, Les Hurtus, Marquivilliers, many other abbeys and parishes lie in more or less complete ruin. Since the barbarian invasions art has suffered no such loss. It is the study of these early buildings that has opened our eyes to the true character and true beauty of mediaeval work. Each of the country churches of the Soisson- nais was a master-work in its way, each un- rivalled. [57] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE It may be that in the centuries to come the other wrongs of this war will be forgotten. We no longer ask whether the Huns did or did not have a justifiable pretext for over- running Italy. To-day we care very little whether Alaric took or did not take Rome, or how long he held it. We have forgotten about the sufferings of the vanquished, the wrongs of the women, the death agony of in- dividuals and peoples. We hardly know even the name of the barbarians who overran Greece. Their conquests, their gains and losses, are recorded only in the obscure pages of dusty histories. What we are acutely conscious of is the fact that Greek art was in great part destroyed, that not a single Greek painting has come down to us, that the works of Menander and Sappho are lost, that the Greek temples are in ruins, that masterpieces of Greek sculpture ended in the lime-kiln. And so it shall be with this war. Other things, however atrocious, time, which heals almost everything, may cure. But the wanton destruction of Gothic art must always remain to the end of time an act which the civilized world can never forgive, a wrong which the Germans have committed not only against France, but against all humanity, against themselves. For centuries still to come Ger- [58] GOTHIC ART, THE WAR AND AFTKR man children must learn that their fore- fathers in wantonness and cold blood de- stroyed the most beautiful of arts, and they must realize that their own lives have by this act been deprived of a source of happiness which they might otherwise enjoy. The bar- barians who sacked Rome might plead one excuse — they knew not what they did. They had no conception of art nor of its value. The Germans can plead no such excuse. The Germans knew what they did. They knew the value of what they destroyed. When the war ends, the question must in- evitably arise, what is to be done with the partially ruined monuments left by the Ger- mans. There is grave reason to fear that the mistake of a century ago may be repeated. French Gothic architecture, it will be re- membered, suffered terrible damage in the Revolution, but worse than this were the ill- advised restorations which followed. The question of restoration is an exceedingly delicate one. It is the friends, and the very sincere friends of the monuments, who pro- mote it, frequently at great sacrifices. Their zeal and good intentions are undoubted. It therefore seems ungrateful to point to them as dangers. Since, however, an agitation is already being started to restore the ruined [59] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE Gothic monuments, it is very necessary to come to a realization of what may only too probably result from misguided enthusiasm. Gothic monuments are valuable from two distinct points of view. In the first place they are historical documents giving us informa- tion about past ages, the philosophy, the building methods, the character of the Middle Ages. This may be called their archaeological value. Even more important is their purely artistic value, the joy they are capable of communicating as a thing of beauty. Both these values are liable to, nay almost certain of, destruction by restoration. From the point of view of the archaeologist a restoration puts in his hand a falsified docu- ment. It is impossible to be certain what is old, what is restored upon reliable authority and what is merely conjecture liable to be entirely misleading. The very fact that restorations are generally cleverly done makes it impossible to disentangle the old from the new. Only one who has worked for years upon mediaeval monuments can realize the extent of the mischief wrought by modern renovations. Paradoxical as the statement may seem, the better these restorations are, the more deplorable is the archaeological result. [60] GOTHIC ART, THE WAR AND AFTER A few instances of the way in which the modern restorer has led astray the learned may give some idea of this evil. In the ninth decade of the nineteenth century the church of S. Vincenzo in Prato at Milan was re- stored. It was rescued from almost certain destruction in being used as a chemical factory and reopened to the Christian cult. At that time it was believed that arched corbel-tables were characteristic of all Lom- bard monuments, and the cornice of the fagade was rebuilt with arched corbel-tables. As a matter of fact this motive was not used in Lombardy until the eleventh century, while S. Vincenzo dates from the ninth century. It was forgotten that the corbel-tables had been added by restorers, and archaeologists con- cluded that those of S. Vincenzo were of the ninth century. The entire history of Lombard architecture was consequently con- fused. Because of the corbel-tables of S. Vincenzo a whole group of monuments of later date was ascribed to the Carlovingian epoch. Nothing would be easier than to multiply similar instances. The statues of the S. Zeno pontile at Verona are modern, added in the nineteenth century restoration. Yet they have been discussed as ancient by almost all critics of [6i] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE Italian mediaeval sculpture, and whole theories of attribution have been based upon them. The best and most conscientious archaeologists have been frequently deceived by restora- tions. Cattaneo published a modern capital of S. Vincenzo as an example of the Lombard style of the ninth century. Professor Moore w^as deceived by the modern statues of the facade of Paris. An archaeologist of the pres- ent day, when he studies a mediaeval monu- ment, is obliged to spend weeks in tracing the changes wrought in the nineteenth century. Only so can he be certain what is genuine and what is restoration. And in many monuments even of the greatest importance it is already impossible to prove what is new and what is old. Such buildings are without archaeological value, although they may be nine-tenths au- thentic. It is impossible to be certain that the particular point in question may not be in- cluded in the one-tenth conjecture. The usual plea for restoration is founded upon the aesthetic appeal of a work of art. It is generally felt that the total eflect is marred by damaged portions and that the building can be better enjoyed if these are put in harmony with the rest so as not to distract the attention. Yet in point of fact I think even the most tactful modern restoration is [62] GOTHIC ART, THE WAR AND AFTER quite as pernicious from an artistic as from an archaeological point of view. Modern work- men cannot reproduce nor copy Gothic work. The hardness of modern machine-made meth- ods completely ruins that verve and feeling which is the vital force in mediaeval art. Here again the restoration is so much the more mischievous that it is not easy to dis- entangle the new portions from the ancient. Better a thousand times, from an artistic standpoint, a ruin than a restored building. The ruin may have a certain picturesqueness of its own; at any rate it tells no lies. What is there is genuine, is mediaeval. The practised eye may imagine missing portions, recon- structing mentally the building as it was. In the restored building, however, the origi- nal beauty is hopelessly and forever lost. Not even the most experienced eye can reconstitute the edifice as it was, strip it of the modern metallic hardness, re-invest it with its ancient poetry. It cannot be emphasized too solemnly that restoration of mediaeval work is destruc- tion of mediaeval art. It would be as vain to attempt to restore the ruined Gothic churches as to repaint the lost pictures of Apelles. A Shelley, it is true, might give us, not a lost tragedy of i^schy- lus (that would, indeed, be impossible), but [63] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE another poem conceivably as beautiful; but there are no Shelleys among modern archi- tects. The touch of the modern on mediaeval monuments is a profanation and a destruction. During the last half century the mediaeval monuments of all Europe have been gradu- ally, little by little, replaced by modern copies under the name of restoration. The inferi- ority of the copies is so great, that I have often felt that it would be better to tear a building down absolutely than to make an unbeautiful misleading copy for the misinformation of posterity. No one — least of all an art critic — suggested, when the Mona Lisa v/as stolen from the Louvre, that the loss could be made good by having a copy painted and replaced in the frame. Yet hov/ much more nearly would a copy of the Mona Lisa approach the value of the original than a copy of the ca- thedral of Reims could approach the building which has been destroyed! We must realize frankly, therefore, that the destroyed churches of France are in danger of a fate even worse than that which has al- ready befallen them. Ill-advised enthusiasm among people whose perceptions are not specially trained is very liable to result in crowding the competent authority — which is the official Commission des Monuments His- [64] GOTHIC ART, THE WAR AND AFTER toriques — into sanctioning or even promot- ing the restoration of these buildings. Gothic churches cannot and must not be restored. What is done cannot be undone. The losses caused by the Revolution in igno- rance were great. Of an important part of the heritage which earlier centuries had already in ignorance depleted, the Germans have in knowledge deprived all humanity. Let us not make the matter worse and still further reduce the patrimony by restoration. Works of restoration should be undertaken only when necessary to prevent further disintegra- tion. Let the destroyed monuments of France stand as ruins, but poetic, beautiful ruins, not machine-made modern churches. Let them stand a sempiternal reproach and source of shame to the Germans; but let it never be said that what their enemies had spared their friends destroyed. [65] THE GOTHIC WAY THE modern schoolboy reads in his his- tory of the three monastic vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. He shrugs his shoulders in contemptuous amusement and passes on. The modern architect sees the Gothic ca- thedral. He wonders a moment, shrugs his shoulders in bewilderment, and he passes on. That the modern world has often failed to appreciate the art of the thirteenth century is, I think, very largely due, paradoxical as the statement may seem, to the very greatness of Gothic. The mediaeval cathedral is com- posed with an intellectual power that baffles the twentieth century observer. It is, indeed, the same poetic content that makes the mo- nastic vows incomprehensible to the schoolboy and the Gothic church incomprehensible to the architect. The mediaeval mind was es- sentially different from ours. It is difficult for us of the twentieth century whose ideals are wealth, self-indulgence and individualism, to understand how for cen- turies poverty, chastity and obedience were [66] Sassetta, iMysric- Alariiagc of St Francis, Chantllly THE GOTHIC WAY the enthusiasms for which men sacrificed and laboured. A gulf which is not to be bridged separates the Gothic point of view from the pragmatic modern age. The mediaeval con- ception seems to us out-lived, as austere and morose as Puritanism. The thought of re- nunciation chills us. Yet in the Middle Ages the ideal of re- nunciation was never associated with gloom. In the painting of Sassetta representing the mystic marriage of St. Francis with his be- loved Lady Poverty, there is, as Mr. Berenson has pointed out, no note of austerity. And in this the picture, although painted in the Renaissance, is thoroughly mediaeval. The wedding with Poverty, which we of the twentieth century so keenly dread, is here represented without horror or repulsion. On the contrary, the face of the bridegroom breathes serenity and joy; Lady Poverty her- self is calm and beautiful; an ineffable tran- quillity surrounds her as, accompanied by her ever faithful sisters, Chastity and Obedience, she floats away so softly, so lightly amid the radiant beauty of the Sienese landscape. Thus for the Middle Ages poverty was not as for us a curse, but a blessing. Into the writings of the poets and sages who meditated upon the mystic mistress of St. Francis, there [67] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE enters no note of despair. Dante alone touches the subject with a gentle sadness. St. Francis, he says, married such a woman, that she mounted with Christ upon the cross, while Mary stayed below : Che per tal donna glovinetto in guerra Del padre corse, a cui, com' alia morte La porta del piacer nessun disserra; E dinanzi alia sua spirital corte Et coram patre le si fece unito. Poscia di di in di I'amo piu forte, Questa, privata del primo marito Mille e cent' anni e piu dispetta e scura Fino a costui si stette senza invito; Ne valse udir che la trovo sicura Con Amiclate al suon della sua voce, Colui ch'a tutto il mondo fe' paura; Ne valse esser costante ne feroce. Si che dove Maria rimase giuso, Ella con Cristo salse in su la croce. But elsewhere poverty is greeted with joy, with ecstatic rapture. The spirit is the same as that in which Plato, the most poetic of Greek philosophers, greeted the sister virtue of Chastity, when he makes Socrates say that a man who has escaped from love is freed from the most tyrannous, the most cruel of masters. Thus the Middle Ages felt that the man who broke the bondage of wealth had acquired a new freedom, a new power to rise to heights of idealism and spirituality. Poverty meant renunciation of the non-essen- [68] THE GOTHIC WAY tial, of the vanities, for an idea and an ideal. Alain de Lille says of poverty that she knows no fear and therefore is the leader in the battle of life. Only the man who is unburdened by selfish cares can devote himself heart and soul to some greater interest outside of himself. And as by poverty man rose to the heights of achievement, so, in the conception of the Middle Ages, it was wealth which chiefly impeded his progress. The scholastic philos- ophers are unanimous in denouncing avarice as the most hideous of sins. Even antiquity had realized that artistic achievement was fostered by poverty. Pov- erty, says Petronius, is the sister of intellectual attainment, bonae mentis soror est paupertas. He blames the decadence of Roman art upon the spread of wealth and the consequent lux- ury and debauchery. He recalls that Lysippus died of want through seeking to give the utmost perfection to one statue; and that Myron was so poor that at his death no heir appeared to claim what he had left. It is easy to read the ideal of poverty in the Gothic church. The mediaeval artist was poor. The present-day architect de- spises him as hardly better than a labourer. He lacked entirely the education which wealth gives to his modern brother. There [69] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE were no architectural schools, endowed with untold millions, such as we have, where there is lacking for an architectural education nothing save the sense of the beautiful. No railroads made it possible for the me- diaeval master-builder to journey from one part of the country to the other, so he was unable to direct the construction of more than a single building at a time. Thus he earned little, but was able to put into the one piece of work which he did do, the energy the modern architect divides between many. The poverty of the mediaeval master-builder obliged him to superintend the actual con- struction in person, instead of leaving a corps of workers to interpret his drawings. This was his greatest gain. For a true work of art must be executed by the man who designs it. On paper or in the imagination, those essen- tial lines upon which the artistic effect prima- rily depends can never be studied to as great advantage as when the artist actually sees the object created taking form beneath his hands. The very tediousness of the execution gives opportunity for more mature thought, for more careful study. This is the reason that machine work is so invariably bad. It is made from drawings, and the man who executes works thoughtlessly. Nor is the artist able [70] THE GOTHIC WAY to study the object as it grows. Ever since the time of the Renaissance, architecture has been erected on the machine principle. It has be- come an industry, a business, and has ceased to be an art. The Gothic cathedral, on the other hand, was constructed by hand. It received without stint all the energy, all the genius of the master-builder. Obviously wealth could never be accumulated by such Quixotic generosity. Gothic architecture was born in poverty. The story of its birth is as exciting as that im- mortal passage at the beginning of the " Aga- memnon," in which iEschylus describes the beacon fires by means of which the news of the fall of Troy was signalled from mountain top to mountain top around the ^gean Sea to much-golden Mycense. The spark was kindled in poverty, at a modest hamlet on the marshy banks of the river Sesia in the Lombard plain. A small monastery was founded, and the good monks in the year 1040 set about build- ing their church. Funds were scarce, and, in that flat plain, there were no trees to be found within many miles. On the other hand, good building brick was abundant. Therefore, the builders of Sannazzaro Sesia determined to find a method of erecting a church of brick [71] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE and roofing it over without using timber. A simple device was hit upon. Instead of the scaffoldings of wood, which, for centuries and centuries had been employed in building vaults, they erected a scaffolding of brick. The rib vault had been discovered. From that moment Gothic architecture became inevitable. Mark how the fire runs. Immediately afterwards we find it smouldering in a chapter-house of the cathedral of Novara, a few miles away; then, gaining headway, little tongues of flame appear here and there throughout Lombardy. Then, flashing up, the beacon fire bursts forth in all its glory from the great vaults of S. Ambrogio of Milan. It is echoed in far-off Dalmatia, at Zara. Answering fires are kindled in southern Italy; Montefiascone, S. Robano, and Corneto Tarquinia blaze from their mountain tops. Even the lowlands are kindled at Aversa. To the westward, fire after fire is lighted, carrying the news to France. Frejus passes the word to Marseilles; Marseilles transmits it to Moissac, Moissac to Saintes. We are now on the shores of the great western ocean. From Saintes the signal is flashed to Quim- perle in Brittany. From Quimperle it at last reaches the Ile-de-France at Acy-en-Multien. [72] THE GOTHIC WAY At Rhuis, now destroyed, the French archi- tects first began to apply their genius to the great principle discovered in Lombardy. The possibilities of the new construction became known and appreciated. The archi- tects advanced step by step, slowly, logically, sanely, thoughtfully, economically, always in poverty. A new architecture came into being. Pointed arches, soaring spires, mighty flying buttresses were flung towards the skies, first in France, then throughout the length and breadth of Europe. Not only Umbria but a whole continent was stretching arms of stone to heaven in prayer. At each step of this evolution, the most dramatic and tremendous in the history of art, the same goddess, Poverty, presided over each development. There is no waste in a Gothic church. Stained glass, the most sumptu- ous, the most decorative of accessories, was adapted, why? Because by means of its use, the cost of the building could be reduced. It is less expensive, as well as infinitely more beautiful, to construct a wall of glass which is light, than to build one of solid masonry which is heavy and requires an enormous mass of masonry below it. There is never a buttress nor a pinnacle, nor a gargoyle, nor a bit of tracery, introduced into the Gothic church, [73] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE which does not have its strict justification from an economic and structural standpoint. The most decorative of all arts makes the least effort to be decorative. This art depended for its effect not upon costly materials, not upon multitudes of w^ork- men, not upon vast material resources. The Gothic builders did not possess the rare marbles which make gorgeous the monuments of Byzantium and vulgar those of New York. Restricted resources caused the work to pro- ceed with extreme slowness. More is built upon an American skyscraper in a year than was built upon a Gothic cathedral in a century. The Middle Ages lacked com- pletely that wealth upon which our modern architecture is dependent. By means of its poverty, mediaeval art attained a fine calibre of which ours, because of its wealth, is utterly incapable. In buildings of small dimensions and by workmen untravelled and unlettered was evolved the most intellectual architecture the world has seen. Distasteful as is the ideal of poverty to us moderns, that of chastity is even more re- pellant to our way of looking at things. We feel that the celibacy upon which the Middle Ages insisted so strongly is ascetic, contrary to natural laws. Especially do we feel that [74] THE GOTHIC WAY this is so in art. The study of the nude is the most emphasized task set the young student. Ever since the days of Masaccio and Signorelli and Michel Angelo, the rendering of the nude has been believed to be the highest function of the mature artist. Certainly to this conception of art we owe masterpieces which the world is infinitely richer for possessing. From the " Theseus " of Phidias, the " Hermes " of Praxitiles, the " Baptism " of Masolino, the " Danae " of Correggio to the " Age of Bronze " by Rodin, what a series of forms of inexpressible beauty has this conception called forth! Indeed, in the last analysis, sex is the illus- trative idea which vitalizes that art which more than any other has won the universal homage of mankind. The early nineteenth century profoundly misunderstood the nature of the Greek spirit. Keats, David, Canova conceived it as self-restrained, metallic and icy, colourless as the moonlight on the snow. Something of this old misinterpretation still lives on among us. The Parthenon, Greek statues, subconsciously float in our memories as images of marble, white, ghostly as plaster casts. It requires a real efifort to grasp the meaning of the archaeological evidence, to realize that Greek art was not anaemic, but [75] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE red-blooded, not pale, but full of strong colours, not neurotic, but pulsating with life. Indeed, in this very vitality lies the secret of its illustrative power. It is full of sex. The emotion it conveys is the emotion of sex, the beauty it interprets is the beauty of sex! This fact has very largely been mis- understood or ignored because the type of sex which appealed with especial power to the Greeks is considered perverse and re- pulsive by the modern age. Not being will- ing to grant that an art obviously of the highest type could have been inspired by ideals which seem to us depraved, we have willed not to understand. Yet delight in the nude, and especially in the nude male, is the key-note of Greek art. Where else has the vigour of youth, the play of muscles, the glory of manhood found a like expression? It is the ideal of masculine sex which the Greeks eternally glorified; this is the beauty they never wearied of interpreting. It is this which is illustrated by Greek sculpture. Greek architecture, like Gothic, was highly illustrative in character. It was merely a frame for the sculptures — the apotheosis of a frame, but still a frame. In a manner the Greek temple was the converse of the Gothic cathedral. Unity was achieved in the latter [76] THE GOTHIC WAY by subordinating the sculptures to the archi- tecture: in the former by subordinating the architecture to the sculpture. Without the sculpture the Greek temple is as unmeaning as the music of a song without the words. And the sculptures were the idealization of male sex, that and that only. Thus the entire Greek temple was made a glorious hymn in praise of sex. At the opposite pole is the mediaeval ideal of chastity. The philosophy of the Middle Ages was, of course, primarily Christian, and in this fact lies one of the reasons that it is so seldom understood by moderns. There can be no doubt that chastity was a very funda- mental part of the teaching of Christ, and that until the sixteenth century the idea was ac- cepted by the Christian church. Now the problem that was proposed to the medieval builders — and it was the same problem that was proposed to the Renaissance painters — was to produce an art which should embody the ideals of the Christian religion. Let us see how the solutions ofifered by the Gothic and by the Renaissance artists compare in regard to this doctrine of chastity. From the earliest times at Rome, the Chris- tian artists had perceived that too great naturalism in the rendering of the human [77] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE figure was fraught with danger to this cardi- nal point of Christian ethics. The old Roman art, full of what we have been taught to call tactile values, and their necessary accom- paniment, sensuality, was adopted in the earliest churches, but was immediately after- wards discarded. In an incredibly short time art underwent a complete transforma- tion. The nude youths and maidens of classical times were supplanted by long rows of prophets and veiled matrons, full of hier- atic dignity. Naturalistic positions and at- titudes were avoided. For tactile values were substituted new but not less beautiful prin- ciples of art, line and colour. The old beauty was discarded and a new beauty, no less com- pelling but completely adapted to the ex- pression of the Christian dogma, was dis- covered. Modern critics, following the worn-out pathway of Vasari, have repeated, one after the other, that this change in the character of art was merely a decline, due to the barbarian invasions. It was nothing of the kind. A decline did subsequently take place, but the earliest works of the Christians, compared with the works of the pagans they supplanted, mark, not a step backward, but a notable step in advance. The Christian artists accomplished the astounding achieve- [78] THE GOTHIC WAY ment of creating out of their imaginations a new art adapted to the new conditions, and an art which was singularly beautiful and thoughtful. This was the tradition which the Gothic artists inherited. It was their problem to create figures which should be beautiful enough to suggest the delights of Paradise and yet from which any taint of the sensual, any smack of the houris of Mahomet, should be absent. It was necessary for them to avoid the earthly, the materialistic, the mundane. When forced by the nature of their sub- ject to depict the nude, as in the cycles of Adam and Eve and the Last Judgment, the mediaeval sculptors invariably contrived to deprive their figures of all sensual suggestion. Elsewhere they generally confined themselves strictly to draped forms, and in order that the taint of sex might be still further elimi- nated, they represented the figures in an unnaturalistic manner, usually with distorted proportions. In the western portal of Chartres, the artists by elongating the proportions have given their figures precisely that other- worldliness which was required. Nothing could be less sensual than this grave row of prophets and prophetesses. Yet he would be a bold critic who would dare pronounce that [79] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE any naturalistic figure ever produced in the golden age of the Renaissance was absolutely- less lovel}^ possessed more grace or sweep of line, more charm, greater dignity, higher decorative significance. I smile when I read it soberly stated that the Gothic artists did not understand the proportions and anatomy of the human figure. In the capitals of this same portal of Chartres, just above the ex- cessively elongated figures of the jambs and worked by the hand of the sam.e master, are placed, where the exigency of the treatment demanded it, figures as perfectly proportioned as any produced by a Renaissance master. The sculptures of Chartres are probably de- rived, at least indirectly, from the sculptures of Languedoc. This province in the early twelfth century possessed the most vital and pregnant plastic art of Europe. In the un- forgettable " Annunciation " of the porch at Moissac, we find the proof that the elongation of the figure in twelfth century art originated in the desire for chastity. Here the sculptures are placed, not on the jambs as at Chartres, but in panels. Nevertheless, the elongation is equally extreme. The sculptor of Moissac has undoubtedly created a plastic work of surpassing loveliness, and he has turned the restraint imposed by his ideal into a source [80] Portal of the Cathedral at Le Mans THE GOTHIC WAY of additional beauty. Without the distorted proportions, he could never have attained the grace, the sentiment, the refinement with which he has actually succeeded in embuing his work. At Chartres the same elongation, doubtless introduced for the same idealistic reason, has resulted in the same decorative beauty, and, in addition, has lent to the sculptures an architectural character, a harmony with the vertical lines of the jambs which could not have otherwise been attained. In the drawing of stained-glass windows the ideal of chastity led the Gothic artists to a similar elongation of the figure, and resulted in a similar enhancement of the grace and beauty of line. As the Renaissance ap- proached and the ideal of chastity weakened, the proportions become naturalistic. Simul- taneously, mastery of line was lost, so that the figures became not only less intellectual but also less decorative. The ideal of chastity reigns throughout Gothic art. The realistic representation of the human form, and especially of the nude, was carefully and purposely avoided, in stained glass, frescos, miniatures and ivory- carvings as in sculpture. This lack, with which the Gothic artists have been especially [8i] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE reproached, is in reality one of their greatest claims to glory. They produced a beauty no less vital, no less great, than that conferred by tactile values, and they still preserved their art entirely untainted by sensuality; they still offered a complete and perfect solution to the problem proposed them by the Christian Church. Let us now compare a little and see how the Renaissance artists solved this same problem. It will be remembered that in his " Northern Painters," Mr. Berenson remarks that the eclectic artists frequently coquetted in unseemly manner with the flesh and the devil while crucifying Christ or torturing a martyr. As a matter of fact, the practice far antedates the times of the eclectics and begins with even the earliest masters of the Renais- sance. The study of the nude was one of the great aims which the Renaissance artists set themselves. The distinctly sensual suggestion in such pictures as Pier della Francesca's " Burial of Adam," Masaccio's " Baptism " of the Brancacci chapel, the paintings of Signor- elli at Orvieto, and others of like kind is indis- putable. Now I should not wish to be under- stood as disapproving of the use of the nude in art. Sex may be a beautiful thing, an inspiring thing, and it may very well be the [82] THE GOTHIC WAY mission of the artist to point out to us its nobler aspects. Just as the modern novelist finds in the love story his favourite and almost only theme, so the plastic artist, in treating of secular subjects, may w^ell find his chief interest in the study of the human body in its most beautiful phases. Only, let us be frank about it, as the Greeks were. Let us enjoy the nude human form as such. Let us not mix it up with Christianity with which it has nothing to do, and, above all, when our sensual instincts are appealed to by a picture of the Renaissance, let us not imagine that we are receiving Christian emotions. The art of the Renaissance, like that of ancient Greece, is very largely the glorification of sex. Sensuality is inseparable from the ele- ment of tactile values which is the keynote of the Renaissance art of Florence and more or less of all Italy with the notable exception of Siena. At Siena alone, we have really religious art, and at Siena alone the mediaeval tradition is preserved. The other schools of Renaissance art, one and all, whatever secular and incidental beauty they attained, never- theless all failed to answer the primary problem which had been proposed to them; they failed to give a satisfactory illustration of the Christian spirit, because they depended [83] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE for effect upon elements diametrically op- posed to their theme. Let us take a few examples. There can be little doubt that the popularity of St. Sebastian in the fifteenth and sixteenth cen- turies was due very largely to the fact that he was represented nude. Vasari's life of Fra Bartolomeo contains an anecdote which shows how profoundly this was true. Fra Barto- lomeo was, of course, the most religious of all Renaissance painters, with the possible ex- ception of Fra Angelico, a pious monk of S. Marco and a devoted adherent of Savona- rola. Moved by the exhortations of the latter he brought to the famous bonfire of vanities all the drawings of nudes which he had made in his youth. This did not prevent him, however, from painting for the church of S. Marco a picture of St. Sebastian, accord- ing to Vasari, wholly undraped. This was set up in the church, where it caused, says Vasari, so many evil and light thoughts among the congregation that the monks were obliged to remove it to the chapter-house. Even more shocking, to me, are the famous frescos of Michel Angelo in the Sistine chapel. Let us stop for a moment to think where we are. This is the private chapel of the pope, Christ's Vicar upon earth, the visible head of [84] THE GOTHIC WAY that Christian religion, one of the fundamental tenets of which was the doctrine of chastity. In this place, which should be the fountain- head of Christian inspiration, Michel Angelo painted upon the ceiling and west wall frescos with which everyone is familiar. In these paintings, I see, and we all see, many things, but among them there is no Christianity. Re- ligion, perhaps, there may be, the religion that inspires the Theseus of Phidias or the ninth symphony of Beethoven, but of Chris- tianity there is not a trace. We are in the presence of the glorification of the physical, of the body in its utmost grace and perfection. The mysterious sibyls, the grand prophets, the nude demigods and heroes recall the grandeur of Prometheus, the struggle of Titans, even the classic grace of the Elysian Fields, but never for a moment the Christian Paradise. The works of Michel Angelo are no answer to the problem proposed to the master. They are in no sense an illustration by means of art of the Christian spirit. Hadrian VI, in a fit of conscientiousness, rare indeed among priests in that profligate age, caused the " Last Judgment " to be expurgated of its most flagrant departures from the path of chastity. And greatly as this mutilation is to be re- gretted, the very fact that it was perpetrated [85] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE is an eloquent testimony to the lack of religious feeling in the paintings. There is nothing more profoundly touch- ing nor more sincere than the adoration of the Virgin in the Middle Ages. Mediaeval literature is full of the glorifications of the Mother of Christ, written at once with an enthusiasm and a purity that give them high rank as works of art. This same feeling is also expressed in architecture. Hardly one of the great cathedrals of France but was dedicated to Notre-Dame. Moreover, throughout these cathedrals the imagery is constantly singing the praises of Mary. Not that we find so many of her images; for the Middle Ages were far too subtle and too intellectual to honour the Virgin with endlessly repeated renderings of the same subject — the Mother and Child, such as we find in Renaissance art. They celebrated her glory in a much more intellectual way, by great stained-glass windows, or sculptures, in which were told with a thousand variations the story of her life, her lineage, her joys and her sorrows. The miracles believed to have been per- formed in her name — and they were legion in number — were constantly commemorated. But her glory was sung in another even more subtle way and one that is peculiarly [86] THE GOTHIC WAY mediaeval. When, for example, in a window of Laon, we see the fleece of Gideon, the artist wishes us to understand that he is really think- ing of the Virgin, who, according to the church-fathers, was the fleece upon which fell the dew from on high. When the me- diaeval artists represent Moses and the burn- ing bush, they have in mind the Virgin, of which that bush was a symbol. For, just as the bush burned without being consumed, and as God appeared in it, so, according to the mystics, Mary carried in herself the flame of the Holy Spirit without being burned by sensuality. When we see Eve, we are to think not only of the sinful woman by v^ much more effective photographs of modern buildings are than the structures themselves. It is undoubtedly because the design was itself inspired by photographs. The architect has selected those effects which appear best, not in the actual building, but in reproduction, and these he has copied or enlarged upon. [i6o] PAPER ARCHITECTURE Indeed, it is from reproductions in books that fashions in architecture are set and reputations made. The role played in the history of English architecture by Campbell's " Vitruvius Britannicus," is well known. Yet this work was composed with no higher motive than that of self-advertisement in which the author so admirably succeeded. It may well be doubted whether the Adam Brothers would enjoy half the reputation they actually possess, had they not advertised themselves by a book useful to architects. There is hardly a modern architect who does not know and admire the finely pictorial works of Mr. Charles Piatt, yet it has been my experience that those who are most in- fluenced by them have seldom seen them in the beautiful originals, but are acquainted only with the reproductions in Mr. Piatt's book. All told, it appears that evolution in archi- tecture has not been in the direction of un- qualified advance. The obvious advantages gained have been counterbalanced by serious losses. A realization of this fact has produced in recent years a considerable dissatisfaction with the state of things as they are, and more than one attempt has been made to overthrow our existing system. It has been believed that at all costs ancient conditions must be revived. [ i6i ] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE A little thought, however, will, I think, be sufficient to show that this can never be done on a large scale. We cannot go back to the Middle Ages. The ancient guilds are dead. The architect has come to stay, and there is no possibility, even were it desirable, that he should be replaced by a master-builder. Craftsmanship and the conditions of labour we may not too unreasonably (if we be of opti- mistic temperament) hope to improve ; but the fundamental technique of the art cannot be rolled backward. We must produce paper architecture as we produce paper books. It would be as unthinkable to revert to mediaeval methods of building design as it would be unthinkable to issue a great poem in manu- script on parchment. Moreover, after all, in the last analysis, the faults of modern architecture are not so es- sentially those of the technique. The dis- advantages of paper architecture might, for example, be overcome by the use of tri- dimensional models, employed with such effect at Bryn Athyn. Certain it is that new methods should be devised to meet new con- ditions, and if the new conditions have pro- duced difficulties that have not been solved, the fault lies not so much with the conditions themselves as with us who have failed to meet [162] Atrium of S. Ambrouio at Milan PAPER ARCHITECTURE them. It is distinctly the public, not the archi- tects, who are to blame. Many modern archi- tects are conscientious artists, but they are too often helpless in the hands of the spirit of the time. America of the nineteenth century was not a land sympathetic to art. Artists were born, but we gave those of them that were true artists no encouragement. We produced one great novelist, Henry James. He expatriated himself. We pro- duced one great painter, Whistler. He also expatriated himself. We produced one great musician, MacDowell. He was harassed to insanity, and among his chief persecutors was an institution which passes as a centre of culture. James, Whistler and MacDowell, although unsympathetic with the American environment, still produced work of high calibre. Less strong men, however, were doubtless sucked into the mediocrity which surrounded them by the Great Boyg, that most uncompromising spirit of compromise. But if some painters, musicians and poets have produced in America great art in spite of their environment, an architect can hardly hope to do so. The chance of the architect depends upon immediate recognition. He cannot wait for vindication by time. If he is not given his chance, he can leave nothing for posterity to judge. [ 1 63 ] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE Also in a more subtle way the architect is the child of his age. He must build in the manner in which men about him build. No individual, however great a genius, could have produced the cathedral of Reims in the fifteenth century at Florence. The modern architect must build in the modern manner. He must, moreover, contend with modern conditions, and these conditions have been very adverse to the perfection of his art. No influence has been more pernicious than that of machinery. Nothing has played such havoc with the aesthetic sense of the race, or with craftsmanship. We are all familiar with what machinery did to furniture. We are also familiar with the gingerbread carved v/oodwork introduced by its gentle ministra- tions into the Victorian House. We do not, perhaps, often stop to consider the deadening effect upon the ssthetic sense of the people produced not only by the habitual contempla- tion of such abortions of art, but by long days passed in the presence of machinery and far removed from everything beautiful. The machine also supplemented the T-square in producing that rigid regularity which is the curse of modern buildings. In addition to the machine, architecture has had to contend with other enemies no less [164] PAPER ARCHITECTURE dangerous, more insidious. A people in- tensely interested in the latest inventions in plumbing, steam-heating and electricity, but indifferent to the expression of the beautiful, has pushed the artist downward on the prim- rose path. He who sold his birthright was re- warded with flesh-pots fatter and greasier perhaps than any ever before offered; he who was obdurate was crushed. The power of vicious folkways, the tyranny of the majority has been victoriously asserted. Architecture has been engulfed by the commercialism of the age; and in so far as it has become a business, it has ceased to be an art. In such conditions it would be most danger- ous, even were it practicable, to revert to the mediaeval system. The architect is at present the only safeguard for art against the degen- eracy of craftsmanship and the ignorance and vulgarity of the people. Hope for the future lies, not in stopping the education of the architects, but in beginning the education of the general. When our public possesses some- thing of the appreciation of beauty felt by the people of Greece in the fifth century B. C, by the people of France in the thirteenth century A. D., or by the people of Italy in the fifteenth century, then we shall produce great art. The seeds of genius are sown [165] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE among us, as thick, perhaps, as they ever have been; but unless they fall on soil that has been worked and fertilized, they can never reach their full fruition; they must continue to be choked by vs^eeds, starved between rocks and unbroken clods, perverted by the irresistible force of environment. [i66] ART AND THE GENERAL HOMERIC laughter I fancy ripples through the halls of Olympos when- ever a mortal — be he philosopher or the latest military critic — presumes to prognos- ticate the future. Nevertheless, I dare to prophesy that when the art of the end of the nineteenth century comes to be studied as an historical epoch of the past, it will appear that its character is at present undergoing a gradual, but none the less radical, transforma- tion, of which we, because of too great familiarity, are hardly conscious. The change which began some time ago and promises to continue in the future, is not superficial, affecting merely the externals of art, as post- impressionism, cubism and futurism have affected painting, rufRing the surface and distracting attention for a moment without stemming the force of the current beneath. It is, on the contrary, an alteration in the very nature of art, an artificial dam unexpectedly flung across the downward flowing stream. So slowly has the retaining wall been built, that its usefulness, even its necessity, has [167] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE hardly been questioned. The few petulant voices that in recent years have been raised in denunciation are already forgotten. And for once the judgment of the majority has been right — clearly, indubitably right. It is better, far better, to go backwards than downwards. The dam is necessary, vital for the salvation of art; for it is the only possible means of preventing the trickling stream from drying up. It is therefore well that work upon the masonry has proceeded. The only serious divergence of opinion has been as to how high the cross-wall should be raised. Some, building consciously or un- consciously upon the postulate that " the history of art is the history of a decline which begins with Duccio," have tried to place their petite sensation at the level of the pre-Giot- teschi sources; others have tried to back up the stream as far as the Quattrocento, the Cinquecento, the French Renaissance. But it is only a question of degree. On the funda- mental issue of backing up there is universal agreement. And in the placid and serene, if also slightly stagnant, waters of academicism our artists swim about, revelling in the nude, or plume themselves upon the banks in the sunshine of a romantic landscape. The dam is the systematic training of artists. [i68] ART AND THE GENERAL As the force of the waters has gathered, it has been found necessary to reinforce this first with a second wall, systematic training of the public to appreciate. Work, especially upon this newer part, is far from completed; indeed, has only been well begun. Neverthe- less it has already produced a perceptible effect upon the art of our time, quite enough to supply data for an estimate of the probable result when, and if, the wall be carried higher. The question is one of no light moment. We are dealing with a matter basic and funda- mental, liable to affect radically the sensi- bilities, indeed the happiness, of our children and our children's children. It is therefore not merely a matter of academic interest to inquire whether or not there be hope that, by means of training the public to enjoy, art may be turned from its perverse channel into the unobstructed and natural course from which, unhappily, it was long ago diverted. The newer part of the dam may best be studied in connection with the older portion, to which it is closely related. That artists should be trained, fortunately no longer requires demonstration. Technical schools are no experiment. They have been tried and tested, their utility proved. It must [169] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE not be forgotten that the systematic train- ing of artists is a modern idea. In the good old days, painters, sculptors and architects served a period of apprenticeship under masters, after which they became themselves masters. There were no regular courses, no ex- aminations, no degrees. Their education was hand-made, variable, not standardized. In modern times, the curriculum and prescribed course of study have supplanted the old method. This is to some extent true in all the arts, but has been carried to the greatest ex- treme in architecture. The trained — I almost said machine-made — architect, armed with his diploma and carefully planned education, is a product of themodernage. His beginnings cannot be traced further back than the seven- teenth century in France, and only about the middle of the nineteenth century did his right to existence come to be generally recognized. The utility of the school for training the architect has now, however, been acknowl- edged as a necessity both by the profession and by the public. The fact remains that our present-day art created by men with special training is in many respects by no means superior to the art of bygone ages created by men who enjoyed no such advantages. The statement may not [170] ART AND THE GENERAL pass unchallenged, but is, I believe, true. Tn fact, one finds it tacitly admitted on all sides. Mr. Cram contributed to a recent number of the "Atlantic" an article of extraordinary sig- nificance. This illuminating piece of criticism proves a fact of which the author himself was probably unconscious — that the creative artist of to-day is mistrustful of contemporary art. Despite the restraint necessarily imposed when speaking of other artists who are doubt- less also his personal friends, it is only too evident that Mr. Cram looks upon the general course of American architecture with some- thing very like despair in his heart, relieved only by a forced optimism for the future. We have, therefore, admittedly one of the greatest of our living artists feeling that his times are sadly out of joint, looking upon the great mass of work by his contemporaries as stale, flat and unprofitable. Nor is this attitude con- fined to Mr. Cram. Few practising archi- tects would seriously maintain that their modern constructions rival the ancient master- pieces they attempt to reproduce. The new movements in painting originated because of well grounded dissatisfaction with cur- rent pictorial standards. The reactionary magazine, " The Art World," has been the most powerful agency in America for [171] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE gaining converts to the extreme forms of futurism. Never before have artists been so openly dissatisfied with the tendencies of their own time. We can hardly imagine Leonardo de- nouncing the art of the Cinquecento, Villard de Honnecourt exalting the Romanesque at the expense of the Gothic, nor Bernini scold- ing at the Barocco. One age has frequently pointed the finger of scorn — usually quite without justification — at earlier periods. Vasari never wearied of patronizing the Tre- and even the Quattrocento, but to him his own age was always sacred, whatever it may seem to us. The Renaissance centuries derided the mediaeval, but never doubted that they themselves had rediscovered the true secrets of classic beauty. In fact, I fancy the instinct is deeply rooted in every man to con- sider all things good or bad, estimable or despicable, in measure as they resemble or fail to resemble himself. That modern artists should actually show symptoms of being dis- satisfied with their own art, gives grave reason to fear that it has indeed fallen into a parlous state. It is not difficult to see that, in fact, the evolution of the trained artist has but barely counterbalanced a tendency towards degen- [ 172] ART AND THE GENERAL eration inherent in the nineteenth century. It is particularly evident in the case of archi- tecture that the art would have undergone a precipitate and alarming decline, had it not been, by a happy chance, that the appearance of the trained architect in some measure com- pensated for the falling ofif in general taste which took place in that unhappy time. Scientists have, 1 am told, pointed out that in the doctrines of evolution and of the survival of the fittest, there is no explanation to be found why appreciation of the beautiful should continue to exist in the race. The aesthetic sense cannot be accounted for by the material needs of the struggle for existence. That during the materialistic nineteenth cen- tury this god-given quality was not evolved out of existence, that something was saved of the artistic sense with which humanity was once endowed, was due to the schools of art. In architecture, immediately technical schools were created, although it was the darkest hour of the Victorian age, conditions im- proved. Effect never followed cause more swiftly, more unmistakably. The same thing happened, somewhat less obviously, in the other arts. We too seldom, I think, stop to consider the strength of the forces arrayed against art in [ 173 ] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE our modern America. The wonder is, not that feeling for the beautiful has languished, but that it survives at all. There is a crush- ing strength in the tyranny of the majority, a force which withers and kills him who will not conform to current standards. We have witnessed in recent years the slang catch- word '' high-brow " do incalculable harm to the cause of sweetness and light, turn from their convictions, by fear of ridicule, even those who should have fought in the front ranks against the powers of darkness. For me, Washington is the most deeply tragic spot in America. This city of magnificent vulgarity is the cemetery of genius. Build- ings, sculptures and paintings bear witness to the battle which has been waged between ideals on the one side and commercialism, materialism, opportunism on the other; and how many, how pathetically many, show art crushed by the v/eight of flesh-pots ; how many shov/ the man of fine perceptions vanquished by the tobacco-spitting politician; how many bear branded on their face a dreadful record of the Great Refusal! The word " Copy- right " placarded on the mural decorations of the Congressional Library is the epitaph of American art. It is strangely refreshing to escape to the pre-commercial atmosphere [174] ART AND THE GENERAL of Mount Vernon after having breathed the suffocating air of the capital. Yet the sad fact must be faced that the city of Washington is typical of our country and of our age. The campaign against refinement, against intel- lectuality, against beauty, which has there been waged, has been carried on throughout the land. This is the spirit with which art has had to contend. It must also, I think, be recognized that the cosmopolitanism so characteristic of the mod- ern age is curiously fatal to art. It almost inevitably deprives the artist of that leisure, of that opportunity for introspection and thought, of that seclusion from practical afifairs which most temperaments impera- tively need in order to achieve their fullest intellectual development. Nulle nature ne pent produire son fruit sans extreme travail, voire douleur. The bitter epigram of Pa- lissy is not without its grain of eternal truth. Cosmopolitanism which always tends to force the artist into the excitement of social inter- course and of active afifairs, may make his life more pleasant, but inevitably distracts his energies from what should be not only the supreme, but the single purpose. Henry James's '' The Lesson of the Master " is vastlv significant, because written by a man [ 175 ] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE who knew thoroughly both the great world and artistic creativeness. Art has, indeed, generally flourished best in provincial cities. In the time of the Ren- aissance, Rome, the cosmopolitan city of Italy, exerted a very unhappy influence upon artists. She called to herself the greatest that the smaller towns produced, but she gave birth to almost none. It is precisely this that our cosmopolitan American cities have done, especially in the case of musicians. With the hope of gain, we entice to ourselves from all over the world the most celebrated virtuosi, but we ourselves produce very few. Moreover, Rome seldom failed to exert a bane- ful influence upon the artists who came to her. Michel Angelo produced the Sistine ceiling when he was fresh from Florence, but as he lived in Rome his powers steadily declined. Raphael's art deteriorated so rapidly in the capital, that it is happy indeed for his rep- utation he was cut off by an early death. Neither Signorelli nor Ghirlandaio nor Bot- ticelli nor even Bartolommeo della Gatta was able to give of his best in the Roman environment. It seems that our American cosmopolitanism exercises something of the same withering power. The forces drawn up against art in the [176] ART AND THE GENERAL nineteenth century were therefore no mean ones. Had her existence depended, as in the past, upon untrained individuals, she must necessarily have succumbed. It was the trained artist who kept the divine spark afire, it is in the conscience of the trained artist that hope for the future lies. But that his victory may be complete he needs reinforce- ment; he needs the help of a public trained to appreciate the best in art. In olden times the race got along very well without instruction in the appreciation of art. Ancient Greece was not absolutely with- out its critics, but it is hardly open to doubt that the Athenians studied their masterpieces with much less assiduity than we of to-day bring to the same works. Yet their instinctive enjoyment was more valuable than our con- scious and somewhat laboured appreciation. The people of the thirteenth century in France must have brought to the Gothic cathedral, without any instruction, a feeling for its beauty and an intelligent comprehension of its content which a two-hour course would be quite inadequate to give even the most intel- ligent modern collegian. The appreciation of art, which was a natural heritage in the past, the present generation can acquire only by conscious efifort. [ 177] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE The same thing has happened with litera- ture. The English of the time of Elizabeth doubtless enjoyed and to a certain extent ap- preciated Shakespeare's plays without being taught them. To-day in our schools and colleges we find it necessary to teach Shake- speare. If we did not, the great majority of our students would never rise to sufficient intellectual heights to appreciate the plays, and the literary culture of the race would thereby be impaired. It is equally necessary that the public should be instructed in art, or it will no longer be able to enjoy the great masterpieces which were formerly enjoyed without instruction. Moreover, it is evident that the character of an art depends primarily and fundamen- tally upon the character of the people who produce that art. No genius, however ex- alted, could have built the cathedral of Reims in the Florence of the fifteenth century. Had Michel Angelo lived in the age of Giotto he would undoubtedly have painted great things, but not the works he did actually create. No man can avoid the spirit of his time. It is necessarily the environment which creates art. To educate artists therefore is not suf- ficient. It is even more vital to create sym- pathetic and stimulating surroundings for the [178] ART AND THE GENERAL artist. Failure to perceive this fact, it cannot be too solemnly emphasized, is the fundamental fault with existing conditions in America. The influence of environment upon the artist is exerted in two ways. The first is by the economic law of supply and demand. The artist must place his wares. More than that, he must be stimulated by demand and appreciation to produce the best of which he is capable. He must have an audience able to understand. The super-artist can never be until there is created a super-public to com- prehend. The public also affects that artist in a more subtle, intangible manner. In art, as in all things else, heredity and environment exert a vital influence upon character. In the Middle Ages and the Renaissance son generally suc- ceeded father in the calling of artist, and thus might both inherit and absorb from his environment the influence so necessary for his development. With us, the future artist has too often already been coarsened by adverse heredity and adverse environment before his professional training begins. We can hardly return to the mediaeval system of guilds and apprenticeship, but by educating the public we may enormously improve both the hered- ity and environment of our artists to come. [ 179 ] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE If the desirability of raising the taste of the general be, then, granted, some doubt may not unreasonably be entertained as to how, and whether, this end can be attained. Any idea of a single and universal panacea must be at once discarded. The submarine cannot be worsted in a day nor by one weapon. Courses on art in schools and colleges form the most obvious and doubtless also the most effective method of attack. It must never be forgotten, however, that such courses have their distinct limitations. If the history of art were a required study in every school and every college of the country, as I should like to see it, if it were made a subject of equal importance with spelling, reading and arith- metic, the battle would still not be entirely won. We should have to be on our guard lest the study of art should become too aca- demic, should lose its freshness, that art should in fact become a sort of dead language, such as teaching of the wrong sort has made of that most living of tongues, the Greek. It is not enough that the people should know art, they must love art, they must absorb art. It must enter into their daily lives as vitally as the language which they speak. Moreover there has been, I admit it, a great tendency in America to overestimate the [i8o] ART AND THE GENERAL value of instruction. Courses have become a sort of fetish; people who ought to have been doing have been studying, and when they have finished studying they have been found incapable of doing. He who really tries, as a general thing, does. The value of experi- ence as a teacher can hardly be overestimated, and it may be doubted whether the pupil does not as a rule learn more by an actual attempt than by any quantity of theory. When all is said and done, however, we must acknowledge it is vitally important that art should be taught in schools and colleges. The same arguments are equally cogent against the teaching of any subject — history, geography, grammar — as against the teach- ing of art. Yet it would be manifestly absurd to abolish all schooling. That we are obliged to acquire the ability to read by being taught, does not prevent that ability from being highly useful and even pleasurable. When the race learns the alphabet of art as an essential part of its education along with the alphabet of letters, when the existence of art is called to the attention of our youth (instead of being concealed from them as is too often the case at present), it is almost certain that there will result a radical change in the attitude of the public. [i8i] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE The work of education in art has already been taken up in scholastic institutions. Fash- ionable girls' schools have for some time been teaching the history of art, probably not more incompetently than other subjects. In the public schools, where standards are higher, much still remains to be done, but the enter- ing wedge has been driven. Finally, at our universities the study of art has at last been put nearly on a plane with that of machinery, journalism and law. The first department of art in an American college was established at Harvard by Charles Eliot Norton nearly a half century ago; one by one the other great universities and even the fresh-water colleges have followed this example. The importance of such educative work is exceedingly great. The college-men are on the whole, perhaps, the most influential class in the country. If they can be reached, and reached vitally, in their formative years, there is good hope that the back of Philistinism may be broken. It is, therefore, of the deepest importance that the system of instruction in art already in- itiated in our colleges be extended and de- veloped to the utmost. It is lamentable that at present the great majority even of college graduates goes out into the world completely ignorant of art. In the seventeen and more [182] ART AND THE GENERAL years devoted to the education of our children, too often not a single moment is found for the subject which is capable of adding more than any other to their happiness. This neg- lect is especially to be deplored in America, where artistic influences can less readily than elsewhere be absorbed from environment. Even the minority of students reached is (barring a few exceptionally enlightened in- stitutions like Harvard) allowed to elect art only in junior and senior years, that is to say, too late. Thus do we deprive our youth of the heritage of joy that is their inalienable right. We send them out into the world aesthetically castrated. It is absurd to restrict knowledge of art, as it would be knowledge of reading, to the few who capriciously may choose to take up the subject in the last years of their education. Courses in art must be brought down from junior into sophomore year; from sophomore into freshman year; from the col- leges into the preparatory and high schools; from the high schools into the elementary schools; and from the elementary schools into the kindergartens. Indeed, the appreciation of art, like spoken languages, can often be acquired only, and always be acquired best, if the foundations are laid in infancy. Foreign tongues and the more thoughtful study of [183] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE art are subjects that might to advantage be substituted for the vapid sentimentality that absorbs so large a place in the system of Froebel. A second method of afifecting the public is through criticism. There is, unfortunately, considerable disposition to look askance at this most useful weapon, even on the part of those who should most benefit by its use. Mr. Cram, in the article to which I have already referred, has cleared up the reasons for this. He has pointed out that the present- day artists, or at least those of them who possess great reputation, wield an almost un- precedented authority over their clients. The artists are able to force upon the public their own standards of what is good and what is not good, to bully their clients into accepting what pleases them, the artists. This state of affairs is in some ways hopeful, in some ways discouraging. It is hopeful in so far as the artists are probably better judges of their own work than are clients. It is discouraging in that the docility of the public argues an igno- rance upon which the charlatan is often able to impose. Besides, it is obvious that a man who really loves art must have his own taste. Not content with wielding this despotic and unprecedented power over their clients, [184] ART AND THE GENERAL modern artists have even reached farther and frequently claimed the right to exemption from criticism except by one of their own number. They maintain that no one who is not an artist can possibly understand the work of an artist. There has thus arisen a sort of freemasonry of artistic appreciation. The initiated hold zealously the secrets, to which no profane person may be admitted. Art is not for the public, but for the artist. The layman is to enjoy that which the artists tell him is right. Great scorn is heaped upon any adventurous spirit who dares lift his head, not being of the inner circle. The position would scarcely be worth serious discussion, were it not that by force of banality it has acquired a sort of authority. If we except Vasari, Berenson has certainly done more to clarify our ideas of Italian art than all the painter-critics put together. So far as I know, Ruskin never erected a build- ing; yet notwithstanding obvious deficiencies, I suppose him to have been the greatest archi- tectural critic who has lived. If the reader takes exception to the statement, let him try to name another book which has exerted as great, and on the whole as beneficent, an influence as the " Seven Lamps." But very few of the scholars and critics of Homer [185] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE have been poets. Yet I never heard anyone claim that they were for this reason disquali- fied as interpreters. Indeed, it may fairly be doubted whether the creative artist be not by that very fact at a certain disadvantage as a critic. If he be a real artist, if he be sincere, he must believe intensely in his own vision, in his own manner of doing things. This many times precludes sympathy with, and understanding of, another vision, another method, which, nevertheless, may be capable of yielding equal delight to the public. The critic who is not an artist may frequently possess greater breadth of view. To cite obvious examples, I have seen few creative painters who comprehended the primitive painting of Italy, and still fewer creative architects (Mr. Cram is a notable exception) who understood Gothic architecture. These archaic arts must almost necessarily remain sealed to a person creating in the present styles. It may be granted that the critic occupies an office lower than that of the artist. Bernard Shaw's epigram might be amended to read " he who can, does ; he who can't, criticizes." None the less, he who can't may peradventure criticize better than the man who can. The professional critic is apt to possess greater competence than the [i86] ART AND THE GENERAL artist who takes up criticism in an amateur capacity. The present education of the public by- artists is a proven failure. The great majority of men never comes in contact with artists at all, and for those that do, habits of bad taste have already become too inveterate for real education to be possible. The proverbial tired business man may feel his own insuf- ficiency, may submit to being bullied and cowed by his architect or sculptor, but he can rarely give the latter that intuitive sympathy which is essential. We can only teach our people to love art by reaching them before they are too old to learn. At present, our criticism of contemporary art is deplorably weak. Indeed, as far as regards architecture, it is practically non- existent. Neither our public nor our archi- tects have the advantage of seeing buildings through others' eyes. The trade journals are discreetly laudatory of all they publish. The lay newspapers and magazines avoid all mention of architectural art, as carefully as a cat avoids wet feet. A vital and important method of education is thus lost. There can be little doubt that the criticisms in our news- papers have played an important, and on the whole very beneficial, role in forming popular [187] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE taste in music. The same result might readily be attained in the other arts. Exhibitions of painting and sculpture do, it is true, receive considerable notice, but our public monu- ments are usually passed by in silence. We owe to Mr. Barnard's " Lincoln " a deep debt of gratitude for having roused the public for once from its habitual apathy into heated discussion. One clever cartoonist caricatured the supercilious lions of the New York Public Library with the lorgnettes they so clearly lack; but it is unfortunately rare for humorists to seek inspiration in art which might be for them so fertile a field. The educational value of such witticism is incalculable, for it has the power of impressing the lay mind more than columns of prose. In its absence our public is too often lethargic. The pediment statues of the same library would still have been meekly accepted, had not the indignant sculptor disclosed their real value in a law- suit. America could not be so gullible if there were criticism. Not a protest is raised when our cities are disfigured by inexcusable monuments, like that not so long ago erected to Verdi in Sherman Square, New York, or the Soldiers' and Sailors' Memorial in New Haven (I almost wrote the Soldiers' and Sailors' Memorial in any city). Where large [i88] ART AND THE GENERAL prices tempt to politics and corruption, with us the intriguer is too apt to succeed in crowd- ing out the genuine artist. Were there free and general discussion, it would hardly be possible for Boston to ruin her State House by sacrilegious additions in which the real marble and poor architecture contrast so strangely with the poor materials and real architecture of the original building; or to place a subway kiosk on axis with the false entrance in the north elevation of the Public Library, so that this entire monumental com- position leads up impressively to a hole in the ground. A few writers of wit might soon suc- ceed in casting into discredit some of the most glaring faults in our contemporary archi- tecture and decoration. Thus the pen of the critic, which is denounced only by those who find profit in the ignorance of the public, should be of inestimable value to the cause of art. Criticism has even greater possibilities for service in interpreting the meaning of the artist, and awakening interest in his more subtle productions. It may exert a most bene- ficial power in leading the public away from the meretricious by making comprehensible that which is of finer grain. The poetic and deeply illustrative statue of Nathan Hale on [189] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE the Yale campus is highly esteemed by a small circle particularly interested in art; but the great majority of an exceptionally enlightened community is probably still unaware that this is a work of extraordinary merit. Miss Hyatt's " Jeanne d'Arc " triumphs gloriously even over her Victorian Gothic pedestal, but her victory is unacclaimed. The days when the Sienese populace carried the Duccio '' Maiesta " in procession through the streets are evidently long past. The church at Bryn Athyn is an epoch-making masterwork of architectural art, created with joy, full of artistic conscience. Less important certainly, but to my way of thinking almost as far in advance of its age, is the quadrangle built for Mr. Miller in New Haven and recently acquired by Yale. These two together raise our national architecture to a new level of intellectual and artistic attainment. Yet the New Haven structure, and even the Bryn Athyn church, if not entirely unknown, are certainly far less spoken of than many quite commonplace buildings. If we had adequate criticism, the value of such works would be at once recognized, and encouragement thereby given for the production of others inspired by equally high ideals. In addition to formal teaching and criti- [ 190] ART AND THE GENERAL cism, the cause of popular education in art may be advanced by the influence of museums. Such institutions, indeed, offer the most direct method of calling to the attention of the public the best in art. Nothing in America is to me more inspiring, nor fills me with such great optimism for the future, as the rapid development of our museums in recent years. Two decades ago the Metropolitan in New York, as an artistic force, was negligible. To-day, both by the intrinsic merit of the objects it possesses and the hold it has obtained upon the people, it is the greatest single power making for artistic culture in our land. The Boston Museum in only less important. Many similar institutions in other cities — Chicago, Worcester, Cambridge, New Haven, Brooklyn, Minneapolis, Cleveland — are carrying forward on a more modest scale the same admirable work. Mistakes have inevitably been made. The collections are weak in many directions where they might and should be strong. Nervous prosperity fre- quently appears in the accumulation of great numbers of objects of minor importance. Even more discouraging is the tendency to divert funds from the purchase of works of real art to the construction of showy and unnecessary buildings. All told, nevertheless, the advance [191] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE of our museums has been thrilling, and is full of good omen for the future. An educative influence may also be exerted through books on art considered from an archaeological or historical standpoint. Such literature supplements formal teaching, but has a more restricted scope. It presupposes an intellectual training seldom found in the general public or even among creative artists. Those unable to understand archaeology are apt to think it dry and uninteresting, little perceiving it is the most intensely alive of modern sciences. It is distinctly gratifying that there is now a much wider public reading books on the history of art, even those of real merit, than formerly. This can only mean that the highly intellectual pursuit of archae- ology is making progress. It would be Utopian to imagine it could ever appeal to the crowd. The wider the circle of intel- lectuals interested in such a subject, however, the greater will be the influence it exerts. Ideas will filter through in time, although often in perverted form, to the general public. The influence of archaeology upon creative art in the past has been very powerful. Great movements like the Greek and Gothic Re- vivals must be laid to^its credit or discredit. At the present time architects are adopting [ 192] ART AND THE GENERAL construction in lines which are not straight in consequence of the archaeological discovery made nearly a half a century ago by Mr. Goodyear that mediaeval buildings were so erected. The influence of archaeology upon architecture cannot now, even w^re it desir- able, be eliminated. It is, therefore, w^ell that this influence should be exerted as finely and thoughtfully as possible. Happily not only is the quantity of our American archaeology increasing, but its quality is being raised. The extent of this improvement may be illus- trated by the fact that a very few years ago a director of the Metropolitan Museum in New York, for reasons apparently of pure caprice, consistently falsified the provenance of his archaeological finds. The same direc- tor, for convenience in shipping, habitually cut ofi the heads of ancient statues, throwing the torsi away. Such things would to-day obviously be unthinkable. The progress scored in the science of archaeology cannot fail in the long run to exert a favourable influence upon art. Much efifort has been expended in attempts to instruct the public in art by means of illus- trated lectures. It is my impression that the educative value of this particular form of amusement, like that of moving pictures, has [ 193 ] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE been exaggerated. The prejudice of the Anglo-Saxon against pedantry has wrought irreparable harm to our scholarship and our intellectual life, and I fancy we have here a by-product of its pernicious workings. Lec- turers, through striving to be unintellectual, have become merely dull. However this may be, the fact remains that lectures, as a rule, do not appeal to the intellectually alert. The audiences are apt to be exceedingly poor in spirit. This is the more unfortunate, because it is extremely difficult even for a person trained to close application to retain without notes for any length of time a clear impression of an hour's talk. On the other hand, lectures at least do no harm, and reach many people whom it would be impossible otherwise to touch. Any crumbs of information or enthu- siasm the lecture-going public may pick up, must be considered pure and unexpected gain. A vitalizing of the technique of lecturing and the maintenance of a higher standard in the personnel of the lecturers might make the weapon more effective. The education of the public should be carried out not only along positive, but also along negative, lines. Certain subtle, insidious conditions must be eradicated. The mania for advertisements is deeply rooted and [ 194] ART AND THE GENERAL backed by powerful interests. I believe it is among the most serious of all existing evils. The deleterious effects of the dreadful letter- ing, the God-awful colours, the vulgar draw- ing of the display signs, can hardly be over- estimated. Even worse are the electric puerilities that make night hideous in our cities. The control of all this lies in the hands of the public. If there could be founded a league of sufficiently powerful numbers, which would agree to patronize such firms or goods of which the display signs are artis- tic, it might be possible to substitute very quickly for the competition in vulgarity which at present exists a competition in loveliness. A beginning in this direction has already been made; certain posters produced in recent years are distinctly works of art. The Italian Renaissance gives a hint of what might be possible. In those days the state felt it necessary to advertise the fate which awaited conspirators and malefactors by hang- ing up in public places the bodies of those who had been executed. Pisanello's fresco at S. Anastasia gives a vivid idea of the practical workings of this custom, which must have been almost as unpleasant as our modern com- mercial advertisements. Art, however, was [195] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE soon called to the rescue; the disintegrating and putrefying bodies were supplanted by paintings of corpses by artists. Castagno, Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci through their genius raised the motive of the impiccati to the highest artistic level. It was found that their masterpieces attracted more attention than rotting bodies had ever done, and thus was served not only the cause of art, but also the practical one of publicity. At all events, as the public becomes edu- cated in art, the present style of advertisement must come to an automatic end. It depends for its existence upon the power of the ugly to strike the untrained eye and attention. It is not the sight of ugliness but of beauty which haunts the memory of a person whose eyes have been opened. No one would be quicker to realize this psychological fact than the advertisers. Imagine the difference in our cities, in our lives, if each advertisement were a work of art. What an outlet for decoration and artistic expression might be found! The mass of the people must no longer be divorced from art. The fact that the majority has no comprehension of beauty is the reason that ugliness surrounds us on all sides. And this ugliness in turn degrades the people still further. It is because art is patronized [196] ART AND THE GENERAL chiefly by the wealthy that it has lost both its intellectual character and its sincerity. Like Christian Science, it is often made merely a sauce of spirituality, served at the table of the idle rich, to whet jaded appetites for the feast of materialism. Thus has come about the undue influence wielded by dealers. Our ignorant rich often learn the little^they know from this usually uncultivated class whose interests are apt to lie more in the direction of mystification and obscuritanism than of instruction and truth. The most elaborate hocus-pocus is practised, especially in the more costly Fifth Avenue shops, to impress customers with their own ignorance and foster a belief in the importance and pretended eru- dition of the dealer. The ritual of certain of these establishments is delightfully reminis- cent of that of the medical profession in the seventeenth century as satirized by Moliere or Le Sage. By lackies in gold braid, cere- monial worthy of a court, elaborate fittings, an impressive manner, technical terms, the names of great clients skilfully dropped, the dealer browbeats our millionaires into paying many times what an article of the same merit would fetch elsewhere. That the purchaser is cheated, is less a matter for regret than that the unintellectual and commercial dealer should [197] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE play this large part in forming the taste of the nation. He sets the fashion in antiques ac- cording to the supply and prospects of profit, just as the Paris dressmaker sets the styles in women's clothing. Even objects of great intrinsic beauty lose their power to inspire when dragged through this slough of com- mercialism and fashion. The fact that art has been the prerogative of the wealthy has also been responsible for the importance assumed by the hotel in mod- ern decoration. The opening of each im- portant new caravansary in New York has marked a period of architectural style. After the Ritz we had an epoch of Adam; after the Biltmore, an era of Sloane. Nothing to as great an extent as the hotel has fostered the American love of new paint and varnish. In this the architecture of the twentieth century has sunk even lower than that of the nine- teenth. Compared with our modern hotels, the mediaeval exteriors and wholly evil in- teriors of Richardson appear models of refine- ment and even of intellectuality, and the influence of the psuedo-Romanesque was cer- tainly less baneful. The art of appreciating art is, therefore, not merely the passive occupation which it seems. It is in a very large measure creative [198] ART AND THE GENERAL also. He who appreciates art, creates art by causing a demand which inevitably by some means or other will be satisfied. If the public appreciates the best in art, the best will be produced by the artists. The task of the teacher and the critic is after all not so mean a one. To teach our people to enjoy art will be a long task, a difficult task. Many battles will have to be fought and many enemies — enemies powerful and entrenched behind earthworks of social position and wealth — overcome. The final result, however, I firmly believe is not open to doubt. The great forces in human destiny are above the individual, above accident. The Renaissance would in- evitably have blossomed in Italy, even had Brunelleschi never been born. The Renais- sance would inevitably have swept into France, even had no French king ever set foot south of the Alps. The war of 1914 may be the spark which will kindle the art- hating Kultur of the nineteenth century, but the structure was already doomed. There had come a tide in the affairs of men, and waters which had been receding for long cen- turies had even before the war turned and begun to advance. It seems certain that they must continue to rise with ever-increasing force until the hated materialism, individual- [ 199] BEYOND ARCHITECTURE ism and Philistinism of the nineteenth cen- tury are forever washed away by a new art which shall be at once nation-wide and — ■ intellectual! [ 200 ] A 000 752 235 BRENTANO'S