Part 5

The art of painting glass was unknown to the ancients, and also to the early periods of the middle ages. “It is a fact,” says M. Labarte, “acknowledged by all archæologists, that we do not now know any painted glass to which an earlier date than the eleventh century can be assigned with certainty.” Two specimens, and no more, of this century, are figured by _M. Lasteyrie_. The painted windows of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are nearly of the same character. They consist of little historical medallions, distributed over mosaic grounds composed of coloured (not painted) glass, borrowed from preceding centuries. Fine examples from the church of St Denys and La Sainte Chapelle at Paris, of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, are figured by M. Lasteyrie, and also by M. Labarte, who has many beautiful remarks on their harmony with the buildings to which they belong, on the elegance of their form, the richness of their details, and the brilliancy of their colours. In the fourteenth century, when examples become common, the glass-painters copied nature with more fidelity, and exchanged the violet-tinted masses, by which the flesh-tints had been rendered, for a reddish gray colour, painted upon white glass, which approached more nearly to nature. Large single figures now often occupy an entire window. The improvement in drawing and colouring is a compensation for the more striking effects of the brilliant yet mysterious examples of the preceding centuries; and the end of the fourteenth century is one of the finest epochs in the history of painted glass. Painting on glass followed the progress of painting in oils in the age which followed; and artists more and more aimed at producing individual works; and in the latter half of the fifteenth century buildings and landscapes in perspective were first introduced. The decorations which surround the figures being borrowed from the architecture of the time have often a very beautiful effect. But the large introduction of _grisailles_ deprives the windows of this period of the transparent brilliancy of the coloured mosaics of the earlier glass-painting. In the sixteenth century, however, glass was nothing more than the material subservient to the glass-painter, like canvas to the oil-painter. Small pictures very highly finished were executed after the designs of Michael Angelo, Raffaelle, and the other great painters of the Renaissance. “But,” as M. Labarte truly says, “the era of glass-painting was at an end. From the moment that it was attempted to transform an art of purely monumental decoration into an art of expression, its intention was perverted, and this led of necessity to its ruin. The resources of glass-painting were more limited than those of oil, with which it was unable to compete. From the end of the sixteenth century the art was in its decline, and towards the middle of the seventeenth was” almost “entirely given up.” Our own age has seen its revival, and though the success has been indeed great, we may hope that the zenith has not yet been reached. “It is,” says Mr Winston, “a distinct and complete branch of art, which, like many other medieval inventions, is of universal applicability, and susceptible of great improvement.” I have been a little more diffuse on glass-painting than on some other subjects, as it is a purely medieval art, and one which has now acquired a living interest. Various examples of the different styles will easily suggest themselves to many, or, if not, they may be studied in the splendid work of M. Lasteyrie, entitled _Histoire de la Peinture sur Verre d’après ses monuments en France_, and on a smaller scale in Mr Winston’s valuable _Hints on Glass-painting_.

With regard to the architectural monuments of the medieval world, I may, in addressing such an audience, consider them to be sufficiently well known for my present purpose, which is to give an indication, and little more, of the archæological remains which have come down to our own days. Medieval architecture is in itself a boundless subject; and as I have not specially studied it, I could not, if I would, successfully attempt an epitome of its various forms of Byzantine, Saracenic, Romanesque, Lombardic, and of infinitely diversified Gothic. For a succinct yet comprehensive view of all these and more, I must refer you to Mr Fergusson’s _Handbook of Architecture_. Yet when we let our imagination idly roam over Europe, and the adjoining regions of Asia and Africa, what a host of architectural objects flits before it in endless successions of variety and beauty! Think of Justinian’s Church of St Sophia, which he boasted had vanquished Solomon’s temple, and again of St Mark’s at Venice, as Byzantine examples. Think next of the mosque of the Sultan Hassan, and of the tombs of the Memlooks mingled with lovely minarets and domes at Cairo; of the Dome of the Rock at Jerusalem; of the Alhambra in Spain, with all the witchery of its gold and azure decorations. Float, if you will, along the banks of the Rhine or the Danube (as many of us have actually done), and conjure up the majestic cathedrals, the spacious monasteries and the ruined castles, telling of other days, with which they are fringed. Let the bare mention of the names of Milan, Venice, Rome; again of Paris, Rheims, Chartres, Amiens, Troyes, Rouen, Avignon; and in fine those of Antwerp, Louvain, and Brussels, suggest their own stories. Yet the magnificent structures, secular and ecclesiastical, which I have either named or hinted at, need not make us ashamed of our own country. We are surrounded on all sides by an archæology which is emphatically an archæology of progress, and we may justly be proud of it as Englishmen. In this University and its immediate neighbourhood we have fine specimens of Saxon, Norman, Early English, Decorated, and Perpendicular styles of Gothic architecture; and as regards the last of them, one of the most splendid examples in the world. In the opinion of competent judges the English cathedrals, while surpassed in size by many on the Continent, are in excellence of art superior to those of France or of any country in Europe. “Nothing can exceed the beauty of the crosses which Edward I. erected on the spots where the body of Queen Eleanor rested on its way to London.” Some of these, Waltham for example, are quite equal to anything of their class found on the Continent. “The vault of Westminster Abbey” (says Mr Fergusson, on whose authority I make almost every statement relating to medieval architecture) “is richer and more beautiful in form than any ever constructed in France;” the triforium is as beautiful as any in existence; and its appropriateness of detail and sobriety of design render it one of the most beautiful Gothic edifices in Europe.

I thus conclude my sketch, such as it is, of the archæology of the world. Its aim has been to bring under review the rude implements and weapons of primeval man; the colossal structures of civilised man in Egypt and India; the strangely-compounded palace-sculptures of Assyria and Babylonia; the exquisitely ornamented columns of Persian halls; the massive architecture of Phœnicia; the Gothic-like rock-tombs of Lycia; the lovely temples, and incomparable works of art of every kind, great and small, of Greece; the military impress of Roman conquest; the medieval works of art in ivory, in enamel, in glass-painting, as well as its glorious architectural remains, connecting the middle ages with our own times. It has been drawn, as I observed at the outset, under very adverse circumstances, and must on that account venture to sue for much indulgence. It is open, no doubt, to many criticisms: I expect to be charged with grievous sins of omission, and perhaps of commission also: nor do I suppose that I could entirely vindicate myself from such charges. Worse than all perhaps, I have exposed myself to the unanswerable sarcasm that I have talked about many subjects of which I know but little. If, however, I have been able to compile from trustworthy sources or manuals so much respecting those particular branches of archæology which I have not studied, as to bring before you their salient features in an intelligible manner, that is enough for my purpose. I want no more, and I pretend to no more; and I am conscious enough that even this purpose has been but feebly accomplished. Tediousness, indeed, in dealing with numerous details could hardly be altogether avoided; but this is so much lighter a fault than an indulgence in mere platitudes, running smoothly and amusingly, but emptily withal, that I shall hear your verdict of _guilty_ with composure.

It now only remains that I should very briefly point out what qualifications are necessary for an archæologist, and also the pleasure and advantage which result from his pursuits.

With regard to the first of these matters, the qualifications necessary for an archæologist, they are to some considerable extent the same as are necessary for a naturalist.

Like the naturalist, the antiquary must in the first place bring together a large number of facts and objects. This is, no doubt, a matter of great labour, but believe me, ‘_labor ipse voluptas_.’ The labour is its own ample reward. The hunting out, the securing, and the amassing facts and objects of antiquity, or of natural history, are the field-sports of the learned or scientific Nimrod. In a certain sense every archæologist _must_ be a collector; he must be mentally in possession of a mass of facts and objects, brought together either by himself or by others. It is not absolutely necessary that he should be a collector, in the sense of being owner of a collection of his objects of study; in some departments indeed of archæology to amass the objects themselves is impossible: who, for instance, can collect Roman roads or Gothic cathedrals? models, plans, and drawings, are the only substitutes possible. But, with the facts relating to his favourite objects, and also as much as possible with the objects themselves, he must be familiar.

Yet this familiarity will not be enough to make him an archæologist. Such knowledge may be possessed, and very often is possessed, by a mere dealer in antiquities. The true antiquary must not only be well acquainted with his facts, but he must also, when there are sufficient data, proceed to reason upon them. He puts them together, and considers what story they have to render up. We saw a beautiful illustration of this in the joint labours of the Scandinavian antiquaries and naturalists. The order and sequence of the stone, bronze, and iron ages, were distinctly made out; and even their chronology may one day be discovered. The antiquary is enabled to form some judgment of the civilisation, the arts, and the religion of the nations whose remains he studies. Very often, as in the Roman series of coins, he makes out political events in their history, and assigns their dates. He determines the place of things in the historical series, much as the naturalist does in the natural series.

Like the naturalist also he must be a man of learning, _i.e._ he must be acquainted with what has been written by his fellow-labourers in the same branch of study. Few know, prior to experience, what a serious business this is. The bibliography of every department of archæology, as well as of natural history, is now becoming immense.

But besides a knowledge of facts, and objects, and books, there are one or two other qualifications necessary for many departments of archæology, the want of which has been very prejudicial to some distinguished writers. Exact scholarship is one of these qualifications. I do not merely mean that if a man be engaged in Greek archæology, he must be aware of the passages of Greek authors, in which the vases or the coins he is talking about are alluded to, though he must certainly be acquainted with these, and possess sufficient scholarship to construe them correctly; but he must also be able to interpret his written archæological monuments, such as his inscriptions and the legends of his coins. This is oftentimes no easy matter, and it requires a knowledge of strange words and dialects. Moreover, if an inscription or a legend be mutilated (and this is very frequently the case), unless the archæologist has an accurate knowledge of the language in which it is written, whatever that may be, Greek, Latin, Norman-French, or any other, what hope is there that he will ordinarily be able to restore it, and having so done interpret it with security or satisfaction? As one illustration of many, I will cite Prof. Ramsay’s remark on Nibby’s dissertation _Delle vie degli Antichi_: “In the first part of this article (on Roman roads) his essay has been closely followed. _Considerable caution, however, is necessary in using the works of this author_, who, although a profound local antiquary is by no means an accurate scholar[20].” Mr Bunbury, while pointing out the advantages which scholars would derive from some acquaintance with archæology, points out by implication the advantage which archæologists would derive from scholarship. “In this country,” says he, “the study of archæology is but too much neglected; it forms no part of the ordinary training of our classical scholars at the Universities, and is rarely taken up by them in after life. It is generally considered as the exclusive province of the professed antiquarian, who has seldom undergone that early training in accurate scholarship, which is regarded, and we think with perfect justice, by the student from Oxford or Cambridge, as the indispensable foundation of sound classical knowledge[21].” I think he is a little over-severe on us; living men like Mr C. T. Newton, Mr Waddington, Mr Vaux, Mr C. W. King, Mr C. K. Watson, and, last, but not least, like himself, to whom others might be added, prove that his assertions must be taken _cum grano_; even if it be true that this country has produced no work connected with ancient art which can be compared with the writings of Gerhard, or Welcker; of Thiersch, or Karl Otfried Müller[22].

Footnote 20:

See Smith’s _Dict. Gr. and Rom. Antiq._ s. v. Viæ.

Footnote 21:

_Edinburgh Review_, u. s.

Footnote 22:

I feel a little inclined to dispute this: Stuart, one of the authors of the _Antiquities of Athens_, which have been continued by other very able hands, and have also been translated into German, may, perhaps, take rank with the authors named in the text. K. O. Müller himself calls Millingen’s _Ancient Unedited Monuments_ (London, 1822) “a model of a work;” and though without doubt Millingen is inferior to Müller in scholarship and in acquaintance with books, he is probably at least his equal as a practical archæologist. Colonel Leake’s _Numismata Hellenica_ (London, 1856) may also be cited as an admirable combination of learning with practical archæology.

Another thing very desirable for the successful prosecution of some branches of archæology is an appreciation of art. Without it we cannot judge of the value of many antiques, or enter into their spirit or feeling; we neither discern their excellencies nor their deficiencies. Mr King, who has made the province of ancient gems peculiarly his own, justly calls them “little monuments of perfect taste, ... only to be appreciated by the educated and practised eye[23].” Moreover, this is the very knowledge often so requisite for distinguishing genuine antiquities from modern counterfeits. The modern forgers, who fabricate Greek coins from false dies, do not often reach the freedom and beauty of the originals; though it must be confessed that some of them, as Becker, have carried their execrable art to a very high perfection. It is but rarely that these men meet with the punishment they deserve; yet it is satisfactory to know that Charles Patin, great scholar and great antiquary as he was, was banished by Lewis XIV. from his court for ever, for selling him a false coin of Otho; and that a manufacturer of antiques in the East, near Bagdad I believe, lately received by order of the Turkish governor a sound bastinado on the soles of his feet for reproducing the idols of misbelievers of old time.

Footnote 23:

_Antique Gems_, Introd. p. xxiii. London, 1860.

A knowledge of natural history in fine is occasionally very useful to an antiquary. I will give two instances, not at all generally known, one taken from zoology, one from botany. On the reverse of the splendid Greek coins of Agrigentum a crab is commonly represented. To an ignorant eye the crab looks much like the crab in our shops here in Cambridge; the zoologist recognises in it the fresh-water crab of the regions of the Mediterranean; the numismatist, profiting by this knowledge, sees at once that the type of the coin symbolizes not the harbour of Agrigentum, as he had supposed, but its river. Again, on the reverse of the beautiful Greek coins of Rhodes occurs a flower, about which numismatists have disputed since the time of Spanheim, whether it was the flower of the rose or of the pomegranate. Even Col. Leake has here taken the wrong side, and decided in favour of the pomegranate; the divided calyx at once shews every botanist that the representation is intended for the rose, conventional as that representation may be, from which flower the island derives its name.

These are, I think, the principal qualifications which are necessary or desirable for the archæologist. It only remains that I should point out briefly some of the pleasures and advantages that result from his pursuits. For I shall not so insult any one of you, who are here present, as to suppose that this question is lurking secretly in your mind, “Is there any good in archæology at all? To what practical end do your researches tend?” My learned predecessor well says that “this question is sometimes put to the lover of science or letters by those from whom nature has withheld the faculty of deriving pleasure from the exercise of the intellect, and he feels for the moment degraded to the level of such.” It is not so clear however that the fault must be put to the account of nature. Rather, we may say,

Homine _imperito_ nunquam quidquam injustius, Qui nisi quod ipse facit, nihil rectum putat.

“No one,” says a Swedish scholar of the seventeenth century, “blames the study of antiquity without evidencing his own ignorance; as they that esteem it do credit to their own judgment; so that to sum up its advantages we may assert, there is nothing useful in literature, if the knowledge of antiquity be judged unprofitable[24].” It is doubtless one of the many charms of archæology that it illustrates and is illustrated by literature; indeed, some knowledge of antiquity is little less than necessary for every man of letters. Unless we have some knowledge of the objects whose names occur in ancient literature, we lose half the pleasure of reading it. In reading the New Testament, I can certainly say for myself, that I derive more pleasure from the narrative of the woman who poured the contents of the alabaster box over the head of Jesus, now that I know what an _alabastron_ is, and how its contents would be extracted; and in the same way I appreciate the remark made by the silversmith in the Acts, that all Asia and the world worshipped the Ephesian Diana, now that I know her image to be stamped not on the coins of Ephesus only, but on many other cities throughout Asia also. Here, I think, we have pleasure and profit combined in one. Instances are abundant where monuments illustrate profane authors. The reader of Aristophanes will be pleased to recognise among the earliest figures on vases that of the ἱππαλεκτρυών, the cock-horse, or horse-cock, which cost Bacchus a sleepless night to conceive what manner of fowl it might be. “The Homeric scholar again,” it has been said, “must contemplate with interest the ancient pictures of Trojan scenes on the vases, and can hardly fail to derive some assistance in picturing them to his own imagination, by seeing how they were reproduced in that of the Greeks themselves in the days of Æschylus and Pindar[25].”

Footnote 24:

Figrelius, quoted in the _Museum of Classical Antiquities_, Vol. I. p. 4.

Footnote 25:

_Edinburgh Review_, u. s.

Further, not only is ancient literature, but also modern art, aided by archæology. It is well known how, in the early part of the thirteenth century, Niccola Pisano was so attracted by a bas-relief of Meleager, which had been lying in Pisa for ages unheeded, “that it became the basis of his studies and the germ of true taste in Italy.” In the Academy of St Luke at Rome, and in the schools established shortly afterwards at Florence by Lorenzo de’ Medici, the professors were required to point out to the students the beauty and excellence of the works of ancient art, before they were allowed to exercise their own skill and imagination. Under the fostering patronage of this illustrious man and of his not less illustrious son a galaxy of great artists lighted up all Europe with their splendour. Leon Batista Alberti, one of the greatest men of his age, and especially great in architecture, was most influential in bringing back his countrymen to the study of the monuments of antiquity. He travelled to explore such as were then known, and tells us that he shed tears on beholding the state of desolation in which many of them lay. The prince of painters, Raffaelle,

timuit quo sospite vinci Rerum magna parens et moriente mori,

and the prince of sculptors, Michael Angelo, both drew their inspiration from the contemplation of the art-works of antiquity. The former was led to improve the art of painting by the frescoes of the baths of Titus, the latter by the sight of a mere torso imbibed the principles of proportion and effect which were so admirably developed in that fragment[26]. And not only the arts of sculpture and painting, but those which enter into our daily life, are furthered by the wise consideration of the past. Who can have witnessed the noble exhibitions in Hyde Park or at Kensington without feeling how much the objects displayed were indebted to Hellenic art? In reference to the former of these Mr Wornum says: “Repudiate the idea of copying as we will, all our vagaries end in a recurrence to Greek shapes; all the most beautiful forms in the Exhibition, (whether in silver, in bronze, in earthenware, or in glass,) are Greek shapes; it is true often disfigured by the accessory decorations of the modern styles, but still Greek in their essential form[27].”

Footnote 26: