Part 7

The _naos_, or _cella_, as it is more usually called, or temple itself, was comparatively small, even where the entire mass was of considerable size, gradual extension of plan being produced not so much by any great enlargement of the interior as by external columniation and its gradual development. It is probable that the earliest Greek temples consisted of the _naos_ only, and were accordingly plain ASTYLAR buildings, or without columns, except in front or at the entrance end, where an enclosed porch was formed by introducing columns, by continuing the side walls, and placing columns between them _in antis_, that is, between the two _antæ_ or pilasters forming the ends of those walls. The next step seems to have been to advance the porch before the main building, instead of keeping it recessed within the side walls, thereby converting it from a portico in antis, into a _prostyle_, or projecting line of columns: thus a _distyle in antis_, or a portico consisting of two columns between antæ, consequently of three _intercolumns_, or open spaces between the antæ and columns, would become a _tetrastyle_, or projecting portico of four columns and three intercolumns. By the other end of the building being similarly treated, the temple became _amphiprostyle_, or prostyle at both ends, in rear as well as in front, the sides still remaining _astylar_. The next and last style of advancement was to continue columniation all round, enclosing the _cella_ within colonnades along its sides as well as at its ends, which disposition of plan is expressed by the terms _peristyle_, or _peristylar_, and _peripteral_, which of necessity produces two columns and two intercolumns more in front; for what would otherwise be merely a tetrastyle prostyle, with four columns and three intercolumns (the number of the latter being always one less than that of the others), becomes by the colonnades being continued along the side, a _hexastyle_ (_six_ columns and _five_ intercolumns); or if originally a prostyle hexastyle, it would be rendered an _octastyle_ (_eight_ columns and _seven_ intercolumns), and so on.[5] It should be observed, too, that a building cannot at the same time be _peristylar_ and have a _prostyle_ portico, the latter being merged in the general columniation, instead of projecting from the rest of the edifice as a distinct feature. Of peristylar temples there were two sorts, viz. those with a single row of columns on each side, and those which have two, which last are distinguished by the term _dipteral_, i. e. having two wings or _aisles_ on each side. Although it did not at all affect the general external appearance, notwithstanding that it extended the plan by adding two more columns and intercolumns to the front, this last-mentioned mode was attended with greater richness of columniation, and the inner columns contributed not a little to variety of effect and play of perspective; besides which, greater sheltered space was gained for ambulatories; whereas in the usual simple peristyle, where the space between the outer columns and the walls of the cella was limited to the width of a single intercolumn, the side colonnades were mere narrow passages, very little wider—at least in Doric temples—than the diameter of the columns themselves, consequently of very little actual service. In what is called the _pseudo-dipteral_ mode, more of clear space within the colonnades was provided by omitting the inner columns, which mode reduced the plan to that of a simple peristyle, the only difference being, that instead of the width of a single intercolumn, a clear space, equal to two intercolumns and one column, was gained for the ambulatories. The Temple of Jupiter at Selinus was of this description, and being only octastyle in front,—the least possible width for a dipteral or pseudo-dipteral plan,—of the seven front intercolumns, four (_i. e._ two on each side) were given to the lateral colonnades, and only three left for the breadth of the _cella_, which must have looked like a smaller edifice standing within a colonnaded and covered enclosure.

[5] By way of illustrating these terms more directly by instances taken from well-known modern porticoes which answer to the respective denominations and distinctions above noted, we here give a classified list of some of them:

Distyle { Two columns } St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. in antis. { & two antæ. } Three } inter- { Hanover Chapel, Regent Street. Tetrastyle. Four columns. } columns. { *Covent Garden Theatre.

{ St. George’s Church, { Bloomsbury. { *St. George’s, Hanover Square. { St. Martin’s Church. { Five { *St. Pancras’ Church. Hexastyle. Six columns. { inter- { India House. { columns. { Post Office. { *College of Surgeons. { *College of Physicians. { *Colosseum.

{ Seven { National Gallery. Octastyle. Eight columns. { inter- { Royal Exchange. { columns. { British Museum.

{ Nine } Decastyle. Ten columns. { inter- } London University College. { columns. }

The porticoes marked with the * are simple prostyles, or _monoprostyle_, advancing only a single intercolumn forwarder than the rest of the building; while the others are _diprostyle_, or show two open intercolumns on their flanks; except Hanover Chapel, whose portico is partly prostyle and partly recessed, and that of the India House, which is entirely recessed, although its elevation is not a composition _in antis_; had it been such, it would have been a _tetrastyle in antis_, that and a hexastyle having the same number of intercolumns, viz. five.

The above few and simple arrangements of plan are nearly all the varieties that the Greek temple style offers; and some of them are little better than distinctions without differences, inasmuch as the differences do not affect general external appearance. Peripteral, dipteral, and pseudo-dipteral, all agree in the main point, and the two latter answer to the name of peripteral as well as the first, being merely modifications of it. Great as were its æsthetic beauties, Greek Architecture was—why should we scruple to confess it?—exceedingly limited in its compass and power of expression: what it did, it did admirably, but it confined itself too much to one idea. “When you have seen one green field,” says Johnson, “you have seen all green fields;” and so we may say of Greek temples,—when you have seen one or two of them, you have seen all of them. However they may differ from one another as to the treatment of the Order adopted for them, the number of their columns, and mere particulars of that kind, they resemble each other very nearly in all leading points. Not only were their plans invariably parallelograms, but alike also as to proportion, forming a double square, or being about twice as much in length as in breadth; for so exceedingly _methodical_ was the Greek system, that the number of columns on the flanks or sides of a peripteral temple was regulated and determined by the number of those in front. The number of the columns in front was invariably an even one, as otherwise there would be no middle intercolumn; but on the flanks of the edifice, where there was no entrance, the number of the intercolumns was an even, and that of the columns an uneven one, so that a column came in the centre of these side elevations.

As to the mode in which the front influenced the sides by determining the number of columns for them, the established rule seems to have been to give the flanks twice as many intercolumns as there were columns at each end: thus the Parthenon, which is octastyle, has _sixteen_ intercolumns, consequently seventeen columns, on each flank. In like manner, a hexastyle temple would have _twelve_ intercolumns and thirteen columns on its sides. There are, however, exceptions; for instance, the temple at Selinus, which has been mentioned as an example of the pseudo-dipteral mode of columniation, is an octastyle, with sixteen, or just twice as many columns on its sides as in front; consequently the intercolumns are only fifteen, and being uneven in number, there is a middle one, as in the front itself. After all, the difference caused by there being an intercolumn more or less than usual is but a very slight one, such as is to be ascertained only by counting the columns, and such as not to occasion any perceptible difference in the general physiognomy of the building.[6]

[6] Should the reader be quite fresh to the subject, he is recommended to draw out for himself,—merely roughly mark down,—the several dispositions of columns which have been spoken of; for by compelling him to consider them carefully, he will be better able to understand them, and have them distinctly impressed upon his memory. The annexed may serve as a specimen of such short-hand architectural notation, in asterisks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * Peripteral Hexastyle, * * 12 intercolumns * * on sides. * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Besides the restriction as to general proportion of plan, namely, the fixed relationship between the length and the breadth of the building, proportion with regard to height was limited in a different way, and in such a manner that the character of increased richness and importance derived from a greater number of columns was attended, not indeed by decreased height, but by _decreased loftiness_, or proportional height, that is, height as measured by either breadth or length. Paradoxical as this may sound at first, nothing can be more clear when once explained. Discarding nicety of measurement, we will call a _tetrastyle_ portico about a square in height, that is, about as high as wide; but add four more columns, extend it from a tetrastyle to an octastyle, so that it becomes about a double square in breadth, or twice as wide again, and the inevitable consequence is, that it is then only half as high as wide; that is, as to proportion, only half as _lofty_ as it was before. The expression of _loftiness_, in which altitude greatly predominates over breadth, was quite beyond the reach of the Greek system. Their temples might be planted on lofty eminences, but the structures themselves never towered upwards. As far as it went, their system was perfect,—so complete indeed in itself as to be unfit for almost any other purposes than that for which it was expressly framed.

If the Romans corrupted the Greek Orders, the Doric and Ionic, they developed and matured the Corinthian Order, and also worked out a freer and more complex and comprehensive system of Architecture. To say nothing of their introduction and application of those important elements of both construction and design, the arch and vault—which hardly belong to a mere treatise on the Orders—it is to the Romans that we are indebted for varieties and combinations of plan that will be sought for in vain among Grecian structures.

Of the Romans it may be said, “Mutant quadrata _rotundis_,”—circular forms and curves displaying themselves not only in elevation and section, but in plan; and while, among the Greeks, Architecture was confined almost exclusively to external appearance and effect, in the hands of the Romans it was made to minister to internal display of the most enchantingly picturesque kind, as would be amply attested by the Pantheon alone. In that edifice, and Hadrian’s Mausoleum (now barbarized into the Castello di S. Angelo), the cylindrical form was exhibited upon an imposing scale; in the Temple at Tivoli, in far lesser dimensions, but with most captivating taste; and again in the Tomb of Cæcilia Metella, we have a fine example of an unbroken _astylar_ circular mass. In such structures as the Colosseum and other Roman Amphitheatres, a different form of curvature, namely, the ellipsis, was employed with admirable propriety and effect. In interiors, again, we find the hemicycle or concave semicircular form both frequently and variously applied by the Romans in such edifices as their Baths, which afford many excellent studies for combinations of _plan_.

To enter into the system of Roman Architecture as the subject itself would require, would very far exceed our present purpose and limits; much less can we pretend to treat here of the still more varied and complex Italian or Modern-European system, into which _fenestration_ so largely enters, _columniation_ being, more frequently than not, subordinate. Were we to touch upon the last-mentioned style and its various elements, it could be only so superficially as to be more disappointing than instructive. Better that the reader should admire our forbearance than complain of our unsatisfactory jejuneness. We may, however, permit ourselves to throw out one or two general remarks; the first of which is, that it is a great error to confound with the Italian the two Ancient Classical styles, applying to them alike the epithet ‘Grecian,’ merely in contradistinction to Gothic or Mediæval Architecture. It is absurd, too, to pretend to test by the Greek style, one so totally differently constituted as the Italian; an error that could hardly have been fallen into but for the practice of applying the same names to very different things. The term ‘Order’ has quite a different meaning, as applied to the original classical mode of the Art, from what it has in the other. In Italian composition, an Order is more frequently than not, mere decoration in the shape of columns and entablatures, fashioned _secundum artem_ (a very different thing from _artistically_), so as to resemble in detail and certain conventional distinctions those of the Ancients. Infinitely better would it have been, if, instead of allowing themselves to be misled by the pedantry of Vitruvius, the Architects of the so-called Revival, who showed much happiness of invention in other respects, had treated the Orders freely; or perhaps still better, had they worked out ideas of their own for columns and entablatures, whenever they had occasion for them either as matters of necessity, or as mere decoration. Had the Italians allowed themselves greater latitude in that respect, they would, in all probability, have been far less licentious upon the whole than they frequently were, and their buildings would have been more homogeneous—more of a piece. But they must, forsooth, be Doric, Ionic, or Corinthian, ofttimes all the three at once, and a very great deal else into the bargain. Therefore the affecting to retain the ancient Orders in their purity served no other purpose than that of making all the more evident how completely their first intention and character had been lost sight of.

The clinging with scrupulous punctilio to what had become dead-letter forms after the system which had produced them had been abandoned and exchanged for another and widely different one, was merely superstition and pedantry. It might show acquaintance with traditional learning and the writings of Vitruvius; but it also showed dulness of æsthetic feeling, or, what is not much better, deficiency of æsthetic power. There was, however, one mode of applying columns, which, although generally regarded as the most licentious and unorthodox,—nay, even preposterous, because quite contrary to all classical practice and precedent,—has at least one propriety, that of being rational, since columns there officiate as columns—as real supports; whereas in a great deal of Modern Architecture that is admired for the correct taste it displays, columns and their entablatures are mere expletives, instead of actual component parts of the fabric, and simulate a mode of construction neither required for nor practised in the fabric itself. The particular mode here alluded to is that in which arches are not only introduced together with columns, but the arches and columns are so indissolubly married together that they cannot be divorced, inasmuch as the arches are supported by the columns themselves, the former springing immediately from the capitals of the latter.[7] Such combination, it might be supposed, would be gladly admitted as sufficiently legitimate, both because in accordance with rational architectonic principles, and because it greatly extends the resources of the Art; nevertheless, such is the omnipotence of prejudice, that instead of being welcomed and adopted by us, it has been decried as a barbarism. As an irresistible and crushing argument against it, we are told that columns were not _originally_ intended to be so applied;—admirable logic, truly! There are a great many other things besides columns which have in course of time come to be applied to uses not originally contemplated. In regard to that combination of columns and arches according to which the latter spring immediately from the others, and are supported by them, there are two questions: the first and practical one is; Do the columns afford sufficient support?—the second and æsthetic one is; Is there also appearance of sufficient support; or, is there any thing contradictory to principle, to judgment, and good taste? The first question needs no answer, since it answers itself, it being an indisputable fact that columns so employed do answer the purpose to which they are turned. The other question is not so easily answered: the prejudiced will of course answer it according to their own contracted taste and narrow notions, condemning the mode alluded to, without any inquiry into its merits and advantages, merely on the ground of its being quite at variance with the classical system of _trabeated_ columniation, that is, with columns supporting a horizontal architrave and entablature, or general horizontal _trabeation_. That by the substitution of arches for architraves, the character of the Greek system is forfeited, cannot be denied; but then another character is established, whose difference from the original one ought not to be made its condemnation. To demand of a different mode that it should resemble and conform to the laws of that from which it differs, is absurdity in the extreme, for it is requiring that it should be at once a different one and the same. To compare different styles is a very useful sort of study; but to make any one style the criterion or standard by which others are to be judged, is preposterous.

[7] This mode of uniting together columns and arches is perfectly legitimate, whereas that in which a fragment of the usual entablature is left sticking or added to each column, (as, for instance, in the interior of St. Martin’s Church,) is decidedly solecistical, since it is injuriously reminiscent of _epistylar_ construction or trabeation,—is in itself unmeaning, and causes the columns to appear to have been too short, and therefore to have been eked out in height by blocks upon them, fashioned to resemble so many detached bits of an entablature.

The style in which the arch and column enter into direct combination with each other, and for which there is no specific name, has at all events some economical recommendations, inasmuch as shorter columns, and fewer of them, are required, than would be necessary for the same height and length according to the trabeated mode. In itself, too, it possesses much ‘capability;’ yet, as is the case with every other style, the merit of the works produced in it depends upon the manner in which it is treated, and the talent brought to it. There is no style of the Art so poetical that the flattest prose may not be made out of it; and hardly any so utterly prosaic as to be incapable of being kindled into poetry by the Promethean torch of geniality—artistic treatment, and, _con amore_, æsthetic feeling.

INTERCOLUMNIATION.

Although Intercolumniation consists only in regulating and determining the spaces between the columns, and consequently does not affect the nature of the composition,—for a tetrastyle, hexastyle, &c., would still be such, no matter how narrow or wide the _intercolumns_ or intervals between the columns may be,—very much depends upon it, with regard to expression and effect. How intercolumniation is regulated in the Doric Order has been already explained at page 20: in that, the distances between the columns is governed entirely by the triglyphs of the frieze, so that there can be no medium between _monotriglyphic and ditriglyphic_ intercolumniation, accordingly as there is either one or two triglyphs over each intercolumn. But in the other Orders there is no such restriction; in them the intercolumns may be made wider or narrower, as circumstances require, but of course under the guidance of judgment and good taste; for what is left _à discrétion_ is not always very discreetly used. Vitruvius and his followers, however, have not cared to trust to individual discretion or indiscretion, but have fixed certain positive and distinct modes of intercolumniation, viz. five,—perhaps out of compliment to the _five_ Orders, to wit:

Pycnostyle, or _closely set_, in which the intercolumns are one diameter and a quarter, or a half, in width. Systyle, in which they are two diameters wide. Eustyle, or _well spaced_, in which they are two diameters and a half. Diastyle, in which they are three diameters. Aræostyle, or _thinly set_, in which they are four diameters.

Let us repudiate for Architecture all such formal act-of-parliament legislation, and take pycnostyle and aræostyle as the greatest allowable degree of closeness or of distance at which the columns can be placed; and it follows that between such maximum and minimum any intermediate measure is admissible, and that there is no occasion to fix it positively and arithmetically, and make distinctions which are, after all, only arbitrary. There are a great many matters in design which must be left to the Architect, and intercolumniation is one of them. It is not possible to have precise rules for every thing, neither is it desirable; for if every thing in it could be done by rule, Architecture would forfeit its nature as one of the Fine Arts, and be reduced to a merely mechanical one. What is done by rule can be done by one man just as well as by another.