Part 3

Enthusiast is an architect! Upon my word, some one will exclaim, what is coming to us now-a-days?—architects and architecture are obtruded upon us at every turn; and a certain lady of a certain age (which means, as everybody knows, no very large portion of a century) indignantly expostulates against this attempt to engross the public mind and attention with these “new fanglements” of a profession and an art which her father and grandfather’s days could very well do without. “Formerly,” she says (which means about the ancient period of her youth), “we hardly heard the mention of such things. Architects, indeed! formerly the word even was scarcely so much as known among us. I recollect,” says she, “having my attention forced upon it somewhere in my school readings, in some out of the way chapter or exercise, which poor Mrs. Cross-stitch imposed on me at the ‘finishing’ of my education. I recollect reading something about architecture, and how I mispronounced the word, and how Mrs. Letterhead, our class mistress, told me to pronounce the ch like k; and how she gave us a spelling task with that and several other hard words to learn at home in the evening, and how my poor father, when he _heard me_ my task at my bed-time, had a dispute with our neighbour, Percy Fullpurse, as to which was the greater personage, the archdeacon or the architect; for they both insisted that Miss Letterhead was wrong in her _pronounciation_, as Percy had it; and how Percy, who was a great authority with us, for we thought riches and wisdom went very much together, decided that the archdeacon and the architect had nothing to do with each other, but that the architect was something he could not exactly tell what or how, but he believed had something to do with the quarter of the Archipelago, with which also he had nothing to do. All this I recollect, and certainly, though I may now smile at the ignorance of my poor father and neighbour Percy, yet I am not bound to hold with all that we are hearing and having dinned into our ears every day. Almost every third person I meet with has some friend or friend’s friend who is an architect, or is acquainted with an architect—and I meet with them at parties; and there is Cousin Symmetry has placed his son by his first wife as pupil to an architect; but what call can there be, or what to do for so many architects? Architects, like Proctors, should keep their places, and some two or three of them inhabit a cathedral town, to take care of those fine old buildings and the churches, for the churchwardens, they say, do not look to those things properly; but, Lord bless us, do not let us be bored with architecture at every turn. Let them have a bookseller specially to themselves, if they will—and now I think of it, I recollect something of an old established shop in that way somewhere in Holborn; but here I see Messrs. Longman are publishing works on architecture, and Mr. Tilt pushing them before one’s noses, and Bell & Wood, and others, as the advertisements tell us. Nay, to crown all! there is that very Boz, in his new work, _Martin Chuzzlewit_, beginning with an architect, which, by the way, proves what I have always said, that he is wearing out his subjects—and mind what I say again, it will break down! He should take popular characters and popular subjects; but an architect! Why, not one in a thousand knows or cares any thing about architects. Trash! and now just do look at this—a weekly paper, called THE BUILDER! and another character to be drawn out—an Enthusiast, who is also an architect! Well, upon my word, that is good! We have heard of castles in the air; I suppose we are going to have a builder of them, and that this Enthusiast is to be the architect. Well, that is as it should be—the clouds for the architects, and the architects for the clouds.”

But when shall we sit down to our business?—Miss Fatima Five-and-forty has had the turn of our pencil, and Enthusiast still awaits its return.

Enthusiast is an architect; that is, he is so for this limning; for Enthusiast enters into most things, and is the life and soul of them. We cannot go into his parentage, to shew how he is allied to, or of the family of, the Geniuses; but really it is a difficult task this sketching that we have undertaken, and reminds us of one of George Cruikshank’s humours, under the head of “Ugly Customers;” not that we are so much out of love with our subject as with the task we have undertaken.

Do excuse us, good readers, for a while longer, and we will tell you a story about this same Enthusiast. It is a trick of some of our contemporary painters, to beguile the sitter by a conversation on some topic which throws him from the restraint of posture-making; perhaps if we try it, Enthusiast may be caught in a more favourable attitude, and we may close the day with some success for our hitherto failing and disappointed pencil.

Enthusiast was one day engaged in a discussion with a lady friend, and had, in the usual warmth of his manner, been descanting on the beauties and properties of Church Architecture in connection with the proposed erection of a suitable structure of this class in a wealthy manufacturing town. “It should be a cathedral,” said he, “at least in dimension, in aspect, in decorations and appointments.” He had dwelt on the peculiar features it should possess, on the facilities that could be commanded, on the energies that ought to be exerted, and so on, when he was cut short in his rhapsody by the cruel observation of the lady,—and a common one it is,—“There is no money for such things now-a-days.”

Casting his eyes around, as if in a reverie of thought, he scanned the character of the various luxuries of the well-appointed drawing-room in which they sat. Glancing from the broad mirror boldly superposed on the massive carved chimney-piece of Carrara marble, which in its turn enclosed the highly-polished steel and burnishings of a costly Sheffield grate and its furniture, to the rich silk hangings of the windows—their gilded cornices and single sheets of plate-glass—thence to the chairs of rosewood and ivory inlaid, the seats of silken suit—the companion couch and ottoman of most ample dress—the curious and costly cabinet, the screens, the gold-mounted harp, the “grand piano.”—Pacing once the length of the room on the gay velvet of the carpet, he turned again and rested his view on the table, choicely decked with books, most expensive in all the appliances of paper, type, illustration, and binding—having done all this, with breath suppressed and stiflings of emotion, which fain had broken out with a scornful repetition of the lady’s words, “there is no money for such things now-a-days,” he quietly disengaged himself of his passion, and by an apparently easy transition ran on thus:

“I have been calling to mind some of my early readings, and most prominent just now is the recollection of the observations of Hope when treating the subject of Egyptian Architecture and commenting on the vastness of the Pyramids; he enters into a speculation as to the means by which the people of that country under the Pharaohs were enabled to find the leisure, or the time necessary for the construction of such stupendous works, and he ventures to ascribe it to the natural fertility of the soil caused by the annual over-flowings of the Nile, thus demanding less from the Egyptians of the labour and care of agriculture; and hence the drift of their exertions in the direction of architecture. True, the bounty of nature would go a long way in supplying to the cravings of art the leisure and opportunity for gratification. True, those pyramids are evidence of the direction of great means and great powers to an end which astounds more than it edifies us, but what were the bounties of Egypt’s irrigating water, what the greatness of their pyramids compared with that bounty which Providence has given us in the mineral and the out-growing mechanical characteristics of this favoured country, and the pyramids which we erect as if in emulation of Egyptian vanity and inutility?” “Pyramids!” interrupted the lady, “Ah, it is always so with you, to propound to us first some extravagant project, and when driven from your ground by a common sense and practical answer, to take shelter in some ambiguity or paradox. Pyramids, Sir,—what is your meaning?” “Here,” said the Enthusiast, “here, madam, are stones from some of the English pyramids, of which your Scotts, and Byrons, and Bulwers, and Marryatts have been the architects. Compare the labours, and the end of the labours of these ingenious minds with those of the architects of the Egyptian pyramids, and tell me then the difference in amount. See the glories and untiring industry of him of Abbotsford, devoted to an incessant wearing out of the energies of his mind in designing pyramids of fiction—look on the ant-like bustle and activity of the thousands whom he brought into requisition to be engaged in the building—look at the millions of devotees who have prostrated and continue to prostrate themselves at these great entombments of his genius.—The paper-makers—the printers—the artists employed in illustration—the binders—the booksellers—the advertizing—the correspondence—the carrying—volumes, pyramids of volumes to advertize alone—an endless train of carriages and lines of road for the conveyance—the Builders and makers employed on all these—and on the establishments of printers, booksellers, &c.—and then the excited million of expectants, the absorbed and half-entranced readers—the hours, days, weeks, months, and years of reading—the impatience of interruption till the whole delusion is swallowed—the readings again and again—the contagion from the elders to the younger—children even bewildered with the passion to peep into, to pore over, and last, to read as rote-books these little better than idle fables—bootless in their aim and object, and pointless in all but their rival obtuseness of the mountain-mocking pyramids. The fertility, the leisure, and the vanities of Egypt!—oh, madam, their country was sterility—their leisure, incessant bustle compared with what we enjoy; and their vain direction of labour and thought not to be named after this enumeration of vanities. Pyramids!—where they had one we have ten. Where ages were required by the Egyptians, we in as many years outvie them, and yet your answer to my aspirations is, “We have no money for such things as these!”

Reader, we have beguiled ourselves and you, and not the Enthusiast, into a sitting; and one feature is sketched of his likeness and his character.

STREET SWEEPING MACHINE.

We give the following notice in connexion with the subject of Wood Pavements, believing, as we do, that the efficiency of that mode of paving greatly depends upon its being kept clean; an object which this invention will materially facilitate.

_Patent Self-Loading Cart, or Street-Sweeping Machine._

The Self-loading Cart has been lately brought into operation in the town of Manchester, where it has excited a considerable degree of public attention. It is the invention of Mr. Whitworth, of the firm of Messrs. Joseph Whitworth & Co., engineers, by whom it has been patented, and is now in process of manufacture. The principle of the invention consists in employing the rotatory motion of locomotive wheels, moved by horse or other power, to raise the loose soil from the surface of the ground, and deposit it in a vehicle attached.

It will be evident that the self-loading principle is applicable to a variety of purposes. Its most important application, however, is to the cleaning of streets and roads. The apparatus for this purpose consists of a series of brooms suspended from a light frame of wrought iron, hung behind a common cart, the body of which is placed as near the ground as possible, for the greater facility of loading. As the cart-wheels revolve, the brooms successively sweep the surface of the ground, and carry the soil up an inclined plane, at the top of which it falls into the body of the cart.

The apparatus is extremely simple in construction, and will have no tendency to get out of order, nor will it be liable to material injury from accident. The draught is not severe on the horse. Throughout the process of filling, a larger amount of force is not required that would be necessary to draw the full cart an equal distance.

The success of the operation is no less remarkable than its novelty. Proceeding at a moderate speed through the public streets, the cart leaves behind it a well-swept track, which forms a striking contrast with the adjacent ground. Though of the full size of a common cart, it has repeatedly filled itself in the space of six minutes from the principal thoroughfares of the town before mentioned.

The state of the streets in our large towns, and particularly in the metropolis, it must be admitted, is far from satisfactory. It is productive of serious hindrance to traffic, and a vast amount of public inconvenience. The evil does not arise from the want of a liberal expenditure on the part of the local authorities. In the township of Manchester, the annual outlay for scavenging is upwards of 5,000_l_. This amount is expended in the township alone. In the remaining districts of the town, the expense is considerable. Other towns are burdened in an equal or still greater proportion. Yet, notwithstanding the amount of outlay, the effective work done is barely one-sixth part of what would be necessary to keep the public streets in proper order. In the district before referred to, they were a short time ago distributed into the following classes, according to the frequency of cleaning them:—Class A,—once a week; B,—once a fortnight; C,—once a month. It may be safely asserted, that all these streets should be swept, at least, six times oftener. The main thoroughfares, as well as the back streets and confined courts, crowded with the poorer part of the population, absolutely require cleaning out daily. But the expense already incurred effectually prevents a more frequent repetition of the process. The expensiveness of the present system, in fact, renders it altogether inefficient; nor is there any chance of material improvement in this important department of public police, unaccompanied by a corresponding reduction in the rate of expenditure.

* * * * *

According to the _Kunctsblatt_, a German painter, Edward Hansen, of Basle, has been commissioned to prepare cartoons for the oil paintings intended to decorate the church at Oscott, which Mr. Pugin is about to build at the Earl of Shrewsbury’s expense. One of the designs, “The Last Judgment,” is spoken of as exceedingly beautiful. On the same authority, we learn that Thorwalsden has sustained a loss by the wreck of a ship, bound from Leghorn to Hamburg. On board were several of his works, most of which were saved, but were completely spoiled by the sea-water; from which we infer that they were plaster casts.

Gothic Architecture.

CHAPTER I.

We now beg to draw attention to what we consider will be found the most important feature in this number, inasmuch as it is the commencement of the task with which we have charged ourselves to enter upon the investigation and elucidation of the character and principles of Gothic Architecture.

We use this unhappy term, Gothic, for no other reason than that as we address ourselves mainly to the workmen, and as the style of architecture so designated (originally in opprobrium) has now and for long obtained the appellation in a popular sense, we feel unwilling to depart from it until a thoroughly correct epithet shall have been devised and accepted amongst us; that we are justified in this decision, or rather indecision, we think may be shewn by the various opinions of parties who may be said to rank as the authorities on such points. Mr. Pugin is anxious that it should be called “Pointed, or Christian Architecture.” Mr. Whewell and others have lately been pleading for a title which the prevalence of vertical lines and principles of construction, as in contradistinction to the horizontal character of Greek architecture, appear to them to justify; others again have contended for the term “English Architecture.” Now, without committing ourselves to an opinion of our own, we think there is sufficient ground for hesitating as to the adoption of this or that novelty, notwithstanding our strong objection to the inapt and absurd term “Gothic.”

Our task will be formidable, as to the length of time it will occupy, the pains-taking it will require, the expense it will entail upon us, and, above all, the system with which it must be conducted. But what good thing is to be accomplished without some one or more of all these? We only hope to be cheered on by the approving smiles and the patient co-operation of those for whom we undertake it.

And how do we commence this task, so as to give promise that a system may be observed, without which the best efforts in other respects are likely to fail? It will not do to enter upon it at random, or without due preparation, both on our own part and that of our readers. We shall, therefore, proceed to state our object in selecting the illustration we have done as the heading of this paper.

Let the carpenters look to it, and let them look on it with pride—nay, let them look on it as we have done, with reverence. Let them remember that this was the work of great spirits of their department. It is a master-piece, and we have chosen it on this account, as we shall continue, for some weeks to come, to make choice of similar master-pieces, in the masons’ department. Oh! we have such glorious examples at our hands. And then, again, as to ornamental brickwork, and brass and latten work, and that gorgeous coloured glazing, and such mastery in the carvers’ and sculptors’ art; these we choose, to fire the breasts of our readers. We would excite them by such glowing description of the land of promise into which we propose to lead them, that the future steps, however irksome or laborious, may be trodden with a light and gladsome foot. For the present, then, and as we have said, for weeks to come, we shall select the instances of varied excellence in roofs, vaults, arching, in traceried windows, doorways, screens, in elaborate specimens of “bench carpentry,” such as stalls, pulpits, railings, tabernacle and screen work, in monumental brasses and other memorials of sepulture, in moulded and enriched brickwork; the encaustic and coloured pavements, the staining in glass, and generally all such matter in the province of the artificer as may be regarded with the admiring eye of the discerning practitioner.

Borrowing a similitude from what we are otherwise bound to deprecate, we would speak of these as the trophies of our predecessors in campaigns of glory, bidding every good soldier in this day of later, though of similar service, to burn with ardour until he may have successfully emulated the doings of his ancestry.

Yes, every carpenter should feel proud of a calling which enrols him in the ranks of a craft whose arms are emblazoned and charged with insignia such as these; but we promise the same evidences of distinction to every department of the building fraternity.

This Westminster-Hall roof, spanning over an area of 74 feet wide and 270 feet in length, rearing its ridge to the height of 90 feet, exhibits in its application a proof of the progress of working upon a principle which is, in the present day, somewhat too much decried. Originally that Hall was otherwise covered in; doubtless, in the same manner as the halls at Norwich and York; that is, with a roof supported by pillars; but the decay, or perhaps destruction by fire, of the original roof, gave scope to the genius of advanced science, which, disdaining to merely restore, applied this noble emendation,—with such happy effect, however, as not only to reconcile us to a departure from the original models, but to lead us to applaud the “_innovator_.”

The illustration we have given has been made pictorial rather than simply geometrical; because, as we have already observed, our object now is not to enter into a critical examination, which would with such a subject be beginning at the wrong end, but to give a comprehensive glimpse of that end to which we must by another process patiently steer. This plan will enable us, too, to give much more effect to our future instruction, inasmuch as it will enable a greater number of readers to become our companions in the paths of study and research. After we have occupied what appears on all hands to be a sufficient number of our series in illustrations of this class, we shall commence with the simple rudiments of Gothic art, citing first from the most ancient specimens the various features of the edifices of the period, and accompanying it by a glossary of terms and such matter of description as will give the series the character of a workman’s hand-book or manual.

Take, for instance, the subject of Roofs as now brought before us. We have in this draught or picture, a kind of summing up of that which it will be our duty to go through in detail, as to style, construction, and workmanship. In Masonry, though the end may be one of those embodied marvels of the imagination, the almost over-wrought canopy of a stone ceiling or roof; and which end, as in the case of this week’s carpentry, we may present to view; yet the beginning of our studies will be some rude effort of a Saxon chisel, and their continuation, to trace through the various eras the change and progress, until we arrive, skilled as masters, to analyze and fully understand the intricacies of science and art involved in these objects of our setting out.

By this we hope to give a thoroughly practical character and value to our pages, and that this will be in nowise diminished, if we shew ourselves now and then susceptible of emotions of almost ecstatic delight, while we contemplate those almost superhuman efforts of the skill of the mid-æval architects and workmen.

In concluding the present chapter, we beg to state that we have copied the drawing at its head from the beautiful work known as Britton and Brayley’s Westminster.

Reviews.

_First Additional Supplement to the Encyclopædia of Cottage, Farm, and Villa Architecture and Furniture._ By J. C. LOUDON, F.L.S., &c. London: Longman and Co.

It was said by the _Times_, of the Encyclopædia to which this is a supplement, that “no single work had ever effected so much in improving the arrangement and the external appearance of country dwellings, generally,” and nothing that was ever said by that influential journal had in it greater truth. We scruple not to go out of our way to subscribe in full to this opinion. And we say more, that no man living has ever laboured more assiduously, generously, and usefully, to effect every practical improvement in the building art, than our good and worthy friend Mr. Loudon.

And why should we scruple or be ashamed to confess the strength of our partialities for one of whom we entertain such an opinion? It may be said,—but no! we will not do any man the injustice to suppose that he will say any thing in disparagement of our motives, and certainly none will be so ungrateful as to undervalue the honest disinterestedness of our friend. See him, read his works, and if any one after that retires with a feeling of less reverential respect than our own, we will give him license to bate us for a partiality of an over-measured and unfair amount.