Part 7

The English--though it would appear likely, from their adherence to open timber roofs, that they would have felt the want of the pointed arch less than the Germans, who more usually vaulted their naves,--nevertheless outstripped their more phlegmatic kinsmen in its adoption. This may have arisen from two causes--the constant use in England of central towers, the frequent failures of which, when supported by round arches, would have given them another reason to desire one of greater strength; and also their intimate connection with France and the vast domains in that country which came under the rule of our kings.

It is true that (with the exception of Anjou and Maine) the provinces held by Henry II. were those in which the Romanesque style held out the longest; yet the fact that the two countries were at the time almost as one--the English provinces of France being larger than, perhaps, either England itself or the independent domain of the French king--their ecclesiastical systems intimately united--the French language spoken by all the higher orders in England, who held possessions perhaps of almost equal extent in both countries--it is hardly probable that the state of architecture should be greatly different in England and in France.

The Normans, however, and the Aquitainians had both a strong affection for their own Romanesque styles, which had in each country more strongly marked characteristics than that of the royal domain of France; and this predilection seems to have kept back their strivings for a short time, and to have produced a similar effect in England--which, nevertheless, was the next country to royal France--and the parts immediately around it, to make the change towards the Pointed style, leaving Germany to come on at the close of the century, when we had already matured our Early Pointed or Early English style, and Italy to adopt it still later, and through the medium of the Germans, as a return for the Lombardic Romanesque which three centuries earlier she had imparted to Germany; “As if,” to use the eloquent words of Mr. Petit, “that mighty river, that bore the tide of Roman civilisation into the heart of Europe, had infused into the nations through which it flowed a veneration for Roman memorials; with a wish to preserve and perpetuate them, by establishing, according to the principles of their construction, a kindred and lasting style of their own:” but, as I may add, on finding at length those principles to be imperfect, desired to send back to the source of this early civilisation those more advanced developments and increased beauties which these nations had generated from them.

Having thus roughly indicated the national order in which the transition showed itself, I will proceed to describe its characteristics and its productions in these different countries, beginning with France.

I have before mentioned that in the south of France there is reason to believe that the pointed arch was used for barrel vaults from an early date; and in the celebrated domical churches of Perigord and Angoumois it is used below the pendentives of the domes, as well as in the section of the domes themselves: this, if the usually adopted opinion be correct, would bring it into the centre of France early in the eleventh century. It is certainly found in the royal domain from the commencement of the next century, but it is from about 1140 that we must date its systematic introduction as a fully acknowledged architectural element.

I will not pretend to say what is the earliest work in which it is thus admitted, nor attempt to investigate the commonly received opinion which attributes the launching of the new style (if such it should be called) to Suger, the celebrated Abbot of St. Denis. As, however, the architectural progress at this period was clearly most active within the influence of the court of Paris, and as Suger was not only one of the wisest and greatest men in the kingdom, but was a great minister of state, it is not unnatural that his personal influence upon art should be powerful. In the year 1140 he had rebuilt the nave of his church, and also the west front, as it existed previously to the wretched restorations which have rendered nearly worthless the most valuable landmark in the history of the transition. So far as we can now judge of it, it presents a very early transitional character, the round and pointed arch being almost indiscriminately used. Of the three portals, the central one has a round arch; the others are very slightly pointed. Their character is gorgeously rich, the shafts being either elaborately carved with surface ornamentation, or having full-length figures attached to them, and the arches replete with sculpture, agreeing, indeed, precisely in character with those of the west front of Chartres and some others. The parts which are original are beautifully executed, and the capitals are of that perfectly Byzantine variety of the Corinthianesque type which I shall shortly have to describe more in detail. In the interior, the arches of the vaulting, and those carrying the towers, are all pointed, but contain some strictly Romanesque features. On the whole, the work has a decidedly Romanesque appearance, but, nevertheless, has the pointed arch so freely used in it as to show that it was anything but the first essay.

In the same year (1140) Suger laid the foundations of the eastern end of the church, which, as it is said, “with stupendous celerity” he had so far completed by the year 1144, as to permit of its consecration; the king, with his capricious queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and a multitude of the great men of the country, being present at the ceremony.

Of the church of Suger the two ends with portions of the transepts are all that now remain; the whole of the intermediate portion, forming little less than the entire church, were rebuilt from the ground in the succeeding century, including even the pillars of the apse; so that we are not able to ascertain the design of an internal bay of his church. What remains of the eastern part embraces the pillars round the ambulatory of the apse, with all the apsidal chapels, including also their crypts. Of one of these chapels I exhibit an internal (Fig. 15) and external (Fig. 16) sketch. From these it will be seen that though the crypt--from want of height as much as from any other cause--has round arches, the upper chapels are purely pointed, and are very elegant in their design. The pillars are cylindrical, with Corinthianesque capitals (Fig. 17), the windows and vaulting pointed, and the whole, though obviously early, has very little of a Romanesque air, much less so than our own transitional specimens of a much later date, and, what is more remarkable, less than many French churches of twenty years later. The chapels, however, in the crypt are much more Romanesque, all their arches being round, and their vaulting without ribs, though the details agree with those of the chapels above.

The principal remnant beyond what I have here mentioned is the doorway of the north transept. This is pointed, and generally has a more advanced air than those in the west façade, though on examination the details differ but little. There are full-length figures attached to the shafts, and angels carved in the arch mouldings, as those of the western portals and as those at Chartres; and such parts of the foliage as have not been renewed are most beautifully carved in the same Byzantine style. Of the same character also are a number of capitals from the monastic buildings preserved in a neighbouring shed.[12]

I will now crave your indulgence while I make a digression on the subject of the carving in French churches of this period. No one can have failed to notice the Corinthianesque outline of the capitals which prevail in France from early in the twelfth to the end of the thirteenth century. It has, indeed, been remarked by writers on the subject, that this Corinthian character greatly increased _just before_ the period of the transition. Though the effects of importations of Byzantine taste are evinced in the Romanesque ornamentation throughout the whole period of its duration, it seems generally to have come in the form of manufactured goods, woven fabrics, jewellery, etc., etc.; and though the patterns, both of Byzantine and other

Oriental manufactures, are to be traced in the Romanesque ornaments, and were the origin of many of those most familiar to us, actual architectural features of Classic form, such as capitals, do not seem to have been very directly copied, excepting where the remains of antique buildings were at hand to offer models. The Romanesque capitals of earlier date are, in many cases, of types belonging to no other style, though in others they betray a distant descent from the Roman; and the cushion capital, and perhaps others, seem derived from Byzantium; but generally their forms differ much from the original, till we approach the period of which I am treating, when suddenly they assume an almost Classic form--the acanthus being freely used, and that of a variety resembling that of ancient Greece (Fig. 18), as distinguished from Rome (Fig. 19); and the same Greek leafage being found in cornices (Fig. 21), scroll-work (Fig. 20), and almost every other position in which it could be used. Not having travelled in the south of France, I will not venture to be very dogmatic as to the cause of this sudden change. I fancy, from such drawings as I have seen, that this Byzantine capital prevails a good deal in the south of France, but I am not able with certainty to distinguish it from the capitals directly imitated from Classic remains around.[13] M. Viollet de Duc views them all as being of this origin, calling them Gallo-Romaine, as distinguished from the Romanesque capitals found side by side with them. I view those, however, I am treating of as _distinctly Byzantine_, and the following facts suggest a route by which the purely Byzantine foliage may have reached the north of France.

The Church of St. Mark, at Venice, was erected between the years 977 and 1071, and its capitals are, many of them, precisely of the kind I am naming (Fig. 22), and are also identical with many at Constantinople (Fig. 23). No one who has had a training in drawing the Corinthian capital will fail to recognise at Venice that variety of the acanthus by which he has been accustomed to distinguish the Greek from the Roman Corinthian. According to M. de Verneill, the Church of St. Frond, at

Perigueux, was built at nearly the same time, in the centre of France, but under the influence of Venetian merchants. This church is a direct imitation of St. Mark’s at Venice; but besides the distinctly Byzantine forms which characterise this and the numerous family of churches which imitate it, it contains capitals of exactly the same kind as those at Venice (Figs. 24, 25); and from shortly after this time we find them becoming prevalent in districts

the other Byzantine features of the Perigordian churches are not followed. I give a series of capitals from Constantinople (Figs. 23, 26), Venice (Fig. 22), and Perigueux (Figs. 24, 25), which can be compared with those I exhibit from St. Denis (Figs. 20, 21), St. Germain des Pres (Fig. 27), etc., etc., to show how indisputable and how direct is the importation, though, unlike the works of Classic architects, we find no two capitals alike. They have other points of resemblance to the Corinthian capital, as the cauliculi, and a rudimental relic of the concave-planned abacus. This we find also in Pisan architecture, and in that of the Moors in Sicily, and probably in all styles which were influenced by the Byzantine; and it was, no doubt, derived from the practice, which arose when the Corinthian capital began to be used directly to bear an arch (and that _overhanging_ the column), of placing a strong square block over the more delicate abacus, to defend it against the fracture to which it would otherwise have been subject. These features will be found in nearly every church of the transitional period in the part of France of which I am speaking, and probably in nearly all parts.[14]

The Corinthianesque foliage became the originator of the magnificent capitals which pervade the finest French works of the thirteenth century, though the foliage became entirely altered; and in our own country, though the Byzantine original is seen, I believe, only in the work of William of Sens, at Canterbury,[15] the _effects_ of it are visible in the outline of many of our finest Early English capitals, though these are so distinctly national, and differ so much in treatment from those in France.

Nearly contemporaneous with Suger’s work is the west front of the Cathedral of Chartres, one of the very noblest productions of the style. It is not, I believe, exactly known when this façade was either commenced or completed, but the towers were actively progressing in 1145. The three central portals are of peculiar magnificence (Figs. 29, 30, 31, 32, 33); they are too elaborate for me to venture upon illustrating them by drawings.

The figures in the jambs are, as was usual at the period, in the same block with the shafts themselves, and their extraordinary elongation, and the long upright folds of their draperies were, no doubt, intended to harmonise with their position as parts of columns. The heads are of peculiar dignity and grace. These doorways are probably the finest remaining of the transitional period. Their excessive richness contrasts strikingly with the severe though noble simplicity of the remainder of the façade, and displays not only that tendency to lavish all the resources of art upon the doorways, which so especially characterises French art, but also illustrates, in the most striking manner, the absolute independence of the architecture of mere ornamentation, and, at the same time, the freedom with which it avails itself of it; the rich doorways and the severely plain towers being equally glorious specimens of the style, and neither suffering in the least by juxtaposition with the other.

I will just call attention to the singular ornamentation of the pedestal or basement of the doorways, by means of fluting, etc. This was common in France at that period, though I am not able to trace it to its source. It is almost identical with that of the western doorway of St. Germain des Pres,[16] and we find it carried out with still greater richness in the somewhat later doorways which flank the western façade at Rouen.

The capitals in this façade (at Chartres) are of the kind I have above described. The southern tower and spire are most noble in their composition, and are hardly exceeded in beauty by those of any subsequent period.

The next example I will allude to is the Cathedral of Noyon. The date of this cathedral is unknown; but the old church having been destroyed by fire in 1131, and the Bishop (Beaudoin), who shortly after succeeded to the see, being an intimate friend of Abbot Suger, it has been put down almost as an historical certainty that he commenced rebuilding the church not long after the erection of that of St. Denis, and that the designs were made under the advice of Suger. I am not prepared either to subscribe to this implicitly or to dispute it. On first examining the church, my impression was adverse to this theory; but St. Denis itself looks so much later than it is, and the apparent anomalies in the dates of this period are so perplexing, that one is disposed to hesitate before disputing a theory supported by such men as Viollet le Duc. If, however, the idea be correct, I should limit the early date to the _lower portion_ of the choir. The same intermixture of the round arch with the pointed obtains throughout the cathedral; but not only are the mouldings of later section in the western parts (as M. le Duc points out), but the capitals which prevail in the upper storeys of the choir itself are of a kind which I cannot think so early as the date assigned.

The capitals of the lower storey (or the aisles and apsidal chapels), are of the Corinthianesque description, intermixed with others of interwoven stalks, etc., and are eminently beautiful.

I give a sketch of one of the apsidal chapels, both within (Fig. 34) and without (Figs. 35, 36), as a parallel to those at St. Denis. The comparison will certainly tend to confirm the theory as to its date, as the prevalence of the round arch gives it an appearance of even earlier age; but we shall see from other examples that this evidence is not wholly to be relied on.

The plan of this church is exceedingly beautiful, having apsidal terminations, not only to the choir (Fig. 36), but to each transept. In this it is supposed to have been imitated from the noble transepts at Tournay, with which see Noyon was connected till the year 1153, almost the very year to which both of these works have been attributed, though the transepts at Tournay are still purely Romanesque, and that of the very grandest and boldest kind, excepting only the pointed vaulting; while those at Noyon (which, however, are somewhat later than the choir) are of very light and almost flimsy construction, and though containing many round arches, are, in their whole aspect, of the Pointed style.

The church at Noyon is of a construction to which I barely alluded in my former lecture--that in which the aisles are of two storeys, both of which are vaulted.

It is customary to call this second storey a triforium, but I should rather term it a _gallery_, for the triforium proper occupies the interval between the roof and the vaulting of the aisles, a space which occurs _over_ these galleries; so that a church of this construction has _four_ storeys--the aisle, the gallery, the triforium, and the clerestory; the triforium being, as its name seems to import, the _third_ storey, though in churches of the more customary type it is only the _second_. This construction was very common at this period in France and Germany, though in England I recollect only one instance--the choir of Gloucester--which, however, is so altered as almost to conceal its construction.[17] The vaulting at Noyon is pointed, but its side cells are, I think, in every case round. The exterior of the apsidal chapels at Noyon is not unlike those at St. Denis, though without its crypt. Like it, it has columns used for buttresses, an idea inherited from those of earlier date--as those at Nôtre Dame du Pont at Clermont, at Issoire, and many others.

There are noble portals on the east sides of the transepts in which the carved foliage is of the most gorgeous description, and which were formerly replete with sculpture, every vestige of which is now gone, having been most carefully cut out at the Revolution.

On the whole, this church is one of the best studies of the transition, though defective in one important element--a _date_.

The next example I will notice is the Church of St. Germain des Pres at Paris, an example of special value from its possessing the element which we lack at Noyon. It was dedicated in 1163, or nineteen years after St. Denis.

The comparison of St. Germain with St. Denis leads to one of the most curious questions connected with this part of architectural history; for during this interval of nearly twenty years _no progress whatever_ would appear to have been made; indeed, to judge from the buildings, one would be disposed to transpose their dates; for while the eastern part of St. Denis, in 1144, is purely pointed (the crypt alone excepted), St. Germain, in 1163, has round arches used in most prominent positions, though in other respects exactly agreeing in detail; and this in a most important church in the royal city itself.

How is this long stagnation to be explained?

I will not pretend to answer it positively, but I would suggest the following solution:--Two years after Louis VII. and Queen Eleanor attended the consecration of St. Denis, they set out on a great Crusade--the one at the head of 10,000 warriors, the other of a troop of Amazons she had levied from among the ladies of her court. The Amazons and their inordinate amount of baggage led to the destruction of the army at the battle of Laodicea. The king returned to his dominions impoverished and humbled, shortly after which his Amazonian consort, obtaining a divorce, deprived him at one stroke of half of his dominions, and transferred the rich Provençal dower to Henry II., the English king. I would suggest, then, whether this sudden stoppage in the development of architecture may not be accounted for by the equally sudden exhaustion of the resources of the French kingdom, as the early commencement of the improved style has been in a measure attributed to its previous increase in prosperity?

The sculptural art at St. Germain des Pres seems exactly on a par with that at St. Denis and Chartres. The capitals are either of the Byzantine Corinthianesque, or are filled with animals (natural and grotesque), or consist of a union of both. They are exceedingly fine examples of their style, and I have selected one[18] of them as a type of the style. The design of the interior of the choir, though severely simple, is exceedingly fine, and in some degree original. I exhibit a sketch of two of its bays (Fig. 37).

The western doorway (Fig. 38) seems to have very closely resembled those at Chartres; but the whole of the sculpture has been removed, excepting from the tympanum, which still bears the representation of the Last Supper; and the shafts, which, we are informed, bore full-length figures--alternating, in all probability, with smaller ones richly diapered, as at St. Denis, Chartres, and Bourges--have been exchanged for plain ones. The capitals are of rich Corinthianesque foliage, amongst which are represented grotesque birds, harpies, etc. The basement or pedestal is fluted exactly as at Chartres. On the whole, this church deserves much more attention than it seems generally to have received.