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SIX ESSAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN T. EMMETT. 
 
SIX ESSAYS 
 
 ON 
 
 I. 
 
 THE STATE OF ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE . 
 
 The Quarterly Review, April, 1872. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE HOPE OF ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE, 
 
 The Quarterly Review, Oct., 1874. 
 
 III. 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF AN ARCHITECT . 
 
 The British Quarterly Review, April, 1880. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE BANE OF ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 The British Quarterly Review, April, 1881. 
 
 V. 
 
 THE ETHICS OF URBAN LEASEHOLDS . 
 
 The British Quarterly Review, April, 1879. 
 
 VI. 
 
 RELIGIOUS ART. 
 
 The British Quarterly Review, October, 1875. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN T. EMMETT 
 
 gxmfcron ; 
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, 
 
 27, PILGRIM STREET, LUDGATE HILL. 
 
 M.D.CCC. XCI. 
 
THE STATE 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN T. EMMETT. 
 
 Reprinted from 
 
 THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, APRIL, 1872. 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, 
 
 JCcmbcw. 
 
“ All degrees 
 
 And shapes of spurious fame and shortlived praise 
 Sere sat in state , and fed with daily alms 
 Retainers won away from solid good ; 
 
 And here ivas Labour , his oivn bondslave ; Sope 
 That never set the pains against the prize ; 
 
 Eonour misplaced and Dignity astray, 
 
 ( The idol weak as the idolater), 
 
 And Decency and Custom starving Truth, 
 
 And blind Authority beating with his staff 
 The child that might have led him ; Emptiness 
 Followed as of good omen , and meek Worth 
 Left to herself unheard of and unknown." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 “ Let a man forsake a decent craft that he may pursue the gentilities 
 of aprofession to which nature never called him , and his religion will 
 infallibly be the worship of blessed chance, which he will believe in as 
 the mighty creator of success. The evil principle deprecated in that 
 religion is the orderly sequence by which the seed brings forth a crop 
 after its kind." Silas Marner. 
 
THE STATE 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 F OR several years past tlie public mind has been prepared for 
 an earnest endeavour to obtain a decent building for our 
 courts of law. The attempt lias now been strenuously made ; 
 dime, money, abundant zeal, and superabundant counsel, 
 have been lavishly expended. Never, perhaps, in the history 
 of art has so much general intelligence been brought to the 
 preparation for a single work ; never has there been a more 
 unanimous desire that the best thing possible, or even im- 
 possible, should be discovered and achieved; and yet the 
 main result has been dissatisfaction and elaborate failure. Our 
 most conspicuous Gothic architects sent in designs, whose 
 exhibition served as a severe but salutary lesson to the art- 
 loving public. Their unreasoning confidence in names of 
 notoriety was rudely shaken; it became evident that this 
 notoriety bad its foundation in anything rather than good 
 work, and that a dozen architects could not only make the 
 competition one of mere extravagance, but had openly as- 
 sumed the incapacity of their judges. The exhibition was 
 melancholy and hopeless, almost without exception — an 
 artistic inferno and a national disgrace. 
 
 In Mr. Street’s design, which has been finally selected, the 
 facade or elevation on the frontage towards the Strand is 
 some five hundred feet long, which is about the length of 
 
4 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 St. Paul’s, and other of our large cathedrals, there is,, 
 consequently, no difficulty on the score of dimensions ;; 
 the rooms are not of any special importance, and there is 
 no apparent reason why the front should not have been 
 treated in a simple and dignified manner. The roof, how- 
 ever, is broken into fourteen distinct compartments, with as 
 many angles in the line of wall; producing an infirmity of 
 outline that has given the front a feeble, dislocated look. 
 The windows also are pretentious, mean, and ugly, the large^ 
 pinnacles are useless and absurd, and the tower is not worth 
 the cost of its foundations. 
 
 Here, then, there is obvious failure ; hut although simplicity 
 and dignity and power have thus been diligently wasted, they 
 would be regained if all the lines of roof and wall were made 
 continuous except where they are interrupted by the gable of 
 the central hall, which might he brought well forward to the 
 front, and by the angle tower. The octagon staircases could 
 be changed in form with no loss of convenience ; a range of 
 dormer windows might decorate the roof, and an arcade of 
 shops would enliven the ground-floor frontage abutting on the 
 Strand; the pinnacles and carved bands might be omitted 
 with advantage in every way; and if Mr. Street is unable 
 to design windows and tracery in the graceful manner of the 
 fourteenth century, an advertisement in ‘ The Builder ’ will 
 discover plenty of help for him in this rather important 
 branch of Gothic art. Many a professional reputation has 
 been made by the assistance of some clever drawing clerk, 
 whose name, however, does not transpire beyond the narrow 
 range of ‘ office ’ notoriety. A successful railway jobber of 
 pushing habits, or a bankrupt builder with efficient r>atronage, 
 may do wonders as an architect by a judicious expenditure in 
 office salaries. 
 
 Now, what we have proposed for Mr. Street’s design is, in 
 fact, extinction ; but there is small blame to Mr. Street for 
 this necessity. He, like the rest of his class, has to please 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 5 
 
 or satisfy a public who concerning building art are lamentably 
 ignorant. Accustomed throughout life to the most hideous 
 extent of building that the world ever saw, regarding any 
 knowledge of the house in which he lives as vulgar, fit only 
 for low builders and for fellows of the baser sort, the average 
 Londoner, in presence of the art that most affects his com- 
 fort and his life, is supercilious, conceited, and debased. Of 
 the architectural aspect of the streets he has no intelligent 
 opinion, nor even any clear perception ; but with Wigmore- 
 street he feels at home : the Regent’s-park and Grosvenor- 
 place he thinks are ‘fine,’ and the Museum in Great Russell- 
 street, he is instructed, ‘is a masterpiece.’ 
 
 This, then, is the quality of mind that an architect who 
 would be successful must attempt to satisfy ; and, if he has 
 -experience and knowledge of the world, he naturally adopts 
 the most direct and easiest method to command success. 
 Prettiness is, of course, essential ; what else is architecture 
 for, if not to be pretty ? Of the shortcoming and offensive- 
 ness of his design he maybe perfectly, or possibly imperfectly, 
 •aware ; but he overlays it with ornament, and encrusts it 
 with carving, until the whole is pronounced to be beautiful. 
 In this great requisite of modern architecture Mr. Street 
 fails ; he has no sense of prettiness, and he substitutes con- 
 fusion ; he was afraid of simple expressiveness, and he has 
 become incoherent. He has grievously erred, not, however, 
 from negligence or want of will, but merely from natural 
 incapacity. Every man is not a born confectioner ; and if 
 his work fails through subjection to the influence of a 
 depraved and vulgar ‘ public taste,’ which yet he is unable 
 to satisfy, Mr. Street can hardly be reproached for this 
 unfortunate result. 
 
 But there is also the class of dilettanti who have to be 
 appeased. These are the people that know all about styles 
 and dates; travelled men, sketchers, ecclesiologists, and the 
 like. Among these Mr. Street appears to have fallen, and to 
 
6 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 have found their patronage to be as damaging by its prig- 
 gishness, as the demands of the public are from their 
 ignorance. The influence of this class is occasionally useful, 
 but many a well-meaning architect must have found himself 
 grievously burdened by their equivocal patronage, which 
 becomes a weight quite as often as a support ; and Mr. Street 
 has been much injured by their awkward advocacy. The 
 knowing talk about ‘ skylines ’ and ‘ fenestration,’ and all the 
 cant of the literary amateur, is the adopted language of a 
 certain class of newspapers and magazines. Such ‘ knowing- 
 ness ’ is, however, only that half-knowledge ‘ that puffeth up ’ ; 
 and its effect is evident in Mr. Street’s more public buildings,, 
 which seem either to be paralysed by some intrusive clerical 
 infirmity, or to be designed expressly for some sacerdotal 
 epicene. Mr. Street is not the only sufferer from this cause ; 
 a large number of our recent churches evince the pernicious 
 influence of this emasculated tone of criticism, and are made 
 mere specimens of the transient ecclesiastical fashion, instead 
 of permanent monuments of art. 
 
 The true artist, however, rejects all these influences, and 
 works to please or satisfy himself, regardless of the public or 
 of patrons. That such is the only sound method of practice 
 may be clearly shown by multiplied examples oLsuccess and 
 failure due to the observance or neglect of this distinctly 
 fundamental law of good design. 
 
 In the remarks which we think it our duty to make on the 
 qDresent state of English architecture, we are influenced by 
 no personal or professional prejudice or feeling; and, to 
 avoid at first all questions about styles *and schools, we will 
 begin by noticing the works of modern engineers. Rennie 
 and Telford had little or no need to regard the opinion of the 
 public ; they had the intelligent support and generous con- 
 fidence of a few men of influence and good sense ; and, as the 
 result, the Menai and London bridges are two of the most 
 simple, dignified, and noble buildings in the world. Times 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUKE. 
 
 and methods have, however, changed : now we have com- 
 petitive designs for bridges; and our engineers, as men of 
 business, being careful to keep safely on the highway to pro- 
 fessional success, most readily abandon all reserve, and start 
 on a career of extravagance and pretence. 
 
 Their success may be held to be their justification ; with 
 Blackfriars Bridge, for instance, we find the public thoroughly 
 well pleased, though the design is really a wonder of depravity. 
 Polished granite columns of amazing thickness, with carved 
 capitals of stupendous weight, all made to give shop-room to 
 an apple-woman, or a convenient platform for a suicide ; the 
 parapet, a fiddle-faddle of pretty cast-iron arcading, out of 
 scale with the columns, incongruous with the capitals, and 
 quite unsuited for a work that should he simply grand in its 
 usefulness ; and, at each corner of the bridge, a huge block 
 of masonry a propos of nothing, a w T ell known evidence of 
 desperate imbecility. 
 
 On the Embankment, these big blocks, which were perhaps 
 suggested by the late John Martin’s ‘ architectural ’ vagaries, 
 have been freely used ; so that, from the river, it would seem 
 that they were the chief object for which the embankment 
 wall was made. The lamp-posts, also, are a senseless jumble 
 of £ objects,’ from colossal and very ugly fishes to miniature 
 and meaningless faces, thrown together without reference to 
 scale or order of any kind. The garden railing is little better 
 than the lamp-posts, and is even more vexatious from its 
 greater quantity. The comparatively simple railing round 
 Hyde Park is far preferable to this pretty panelling, which 
 will completely hide the flowers when they grow, and which 
 is in curious contrast with the heavy granite parapet and 
 piers along the front retaining wall. If this parapet, with 
 its huge pedestals, a waste of space and money, were all 
 cleared aw r ay, and replaced by a simple, stout iron railing 
 and a narrow sloping hank of grass, the true effect of an 
 embankment would he gained; both road and river would 
 
8 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 appear considerably wider, and the view along the curve of 
 the embankment would be unobstructed ; the Thames would 
 then be visible to those who, walking on the quay, can now see 
 little but the smoke of passing steamboats, and the view on 
 each side from the river might become more cheerful, less 
 suggestive of canal locks where ‘ drags are in constant readi- 
 4 ness ; ’ the river would look beautiful instead of ghastly, 
 and the saving in hewn granite would be sufficient to provide 
 for every care and protection that could be required. On the 
 outer face of these obstructive piers there are large metal 
 lions’ heads and rings ; they look like door-knockers ; but, 
 supposing they are meant for mooring-rings, they should be 
 solidly fixed down in the wall, below high-water line, instead 
 of being hung high up in the light parapet, and out of reach. 
 As mere ornaments they are childish ; their large size dimi- 
 nishes the apparent scale of the work to which they are 
 attached, and their unmeaning repetition every thirty yards 
 for some six miles will be a weary monument of the dulness 
 of the engineer who designed them. 
 
 At Westminster Bridge, the engineer has spent his energy 
 upon another gimcrack pattern of a lamp-post, and on an 
 imitation in cast-iron of Gothic masonry. While so distracted 
 from his special engineering duty, he has committed a very 
 unworkmanlike blunder. The fascia of each arch is broader 
 than the fascia of the bridge, which stretches over all the 
 arches. As these two fascias intersect along the upper 
 portion of each arch, the greater width is made to stop 
 abruptly, and the narrower width continues. Thus the 
 arches all appear to be shorn off and crippled, a suggestion 
 of constructive instability and weakness, which the remark- 
 able vibration of the roadway seems to justify. Such are the 
 absurdities that our proverbially 4 practical ’ engineers com- 
 mit when they pretend to gratify the public 4 taste.’ Let us 
 now turn to the architects. 
 
 In the immediate neighbourhood is the railing round the 
 
ENGLISH AKCHITECTUPvE. 
 
 9 
 
 grass-plats in Palace Yard ; bad in every possible way, and 
 very manifestly so in the extravagance of such an expenditure 
 for the preservation of a few Tom Thumb geraniums. Archi- 
 tects and engineers, it seems, have yet to learn that the object 
 of a fence is not to distract attention from, but to be subor- 
 dinate, as a protection, to that which it encloses. The new 
 arcade or cloister is a similar mistake, with a terrible look of 
 permanence about it. The railings we may hope to clear 
 away, but this deformity in stone is too substantial to be easily 
 removed. It happened that the base for a tall building was 
 remarkably high ; and in making the addition of a very short 
 building, this very high and heavy base was continued as part 
 of the new design. Perhaps ineptitude could do no worse ; 
 and if our readers will take a few dimensions, showing the 
 proportion of area to pier, and will compare these with the 
 cloisters at Westminster Abbey close by, they will be able 
 to understand the value of names and things in the archi- 
 tectural profession. 
 
 Of St. Thomas’s Hospital it is scarcely fair to speak in this 
 category of public favourites, or candidates for public approval. 
 Public opinion is divided on its merits ; and probably its de- 
 signer, now that he discovers what his drawings really meant, 
 may in this respect agree with the public. About the Midland 
 Railway Terminus, however, there are not two opinions ; here 
 the ‘ public taste ’ has been exactly suited, and every kind of 
 architectural decoration has been made thoroughly common 
 and unclean; the building, inside and out, is covered with 
 ornament, and there is polished marble enough to furnish a 
 Cathedral ; the very parapet of the cab road is panelled and 
 perforated, at a cost that would have supplied foot-warmers 
 to all trains for years to come. This monument of confec- 
 tionery is a fair specimen of the result of competition among 
 architects for the approval of judges whom they know to be 
 incompetent. The ‘ Midland ’ directors are able administra- 
 tors of the railway business, and probably of their own ; but 
 
10 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 there is little evidence that they were qualified in any way to 
 decide upon the respective merits of the competitors, or to 
 select a design to be built in an important Metropolitan 
 thoroughfare. Were any of these gentlemen completely 
 furnished with the necessary knowledge ? and if not, how 
 could their ignorance become efficient in its stead ? — are 
 questions that, in the interests of the 4 art,’ about which they 
 are so very careful when their own interests are specially 
 involved, the competing architects ought, as a condition pre- 
 cedent, to have had satisfactorily answered. .Judging by the 
 building, however, we imagine that a very different course 
 was taken ; and, in the successful design at any rate, the 
 noble art of building has been treated as a mere trade adver- 
 tisement ; showy and expensive, it will, for the present, be a. 
 striking contrast with its adjoining neighbour. The Great 
 Northern Terminus is not graceful, but it is simple, charac- 
 teristic, and true, no one would mistake its nature or its use. 
 The Midland front is inconsistent in its style, and meretricious 
 in detail, a piece of common art manufacture, that makes the 
 Great Northern front appear by contrast almost charming. 
 There is no relief or quiet in any part of the work ; the eye 
 is constantly troubled and tormented, and the mechanical 
 patterns follow one another with such rapidity and perseve- 
 rance, that the mind becomes irritated where it ought to be 
 gratified, and goaded to criticism where it should be led 
 calmly to approve. There is here a complete travesty of noble 
 associations, and not the slightest care to save these from a 
 sordid contact ; an elaboration that might be suitable for a 
 Chapter-house, or a Cathedral choir, is used as an ‘ advertis- 
 ing medium ’ for bagmen’s bedrooms and the costly discom- 
 forts of a terminus hotel ; and the architect is thus a mere 
 expensive rival of the company’s head cook in catering for the 
 low enjoyments of the travelling crowd. To be consistent, the 
 directors should not confine their expression of artistic feeling 
 to their station buildings only; all their porters might be 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 11 
 
 dressed as javelin men, their guards as beefeaters, and their 
 station - masters might assume the picturesque attire of 
 Garter-king-at-arms ; their carriages might he copied from 
 the Lord Mayor’s show, and even their large locomotive 
 wheels might imitate the Gothic window near their terminus 
 at York. These things, however, will eventually come ; the 
 water tank is moulded in the Gothic style. 
 
 Yet who is to blame for all this ? In all this demonstra- 
 tion the directors meant, no doubt, extremely well ; they were 
 hut in a state of childish and presumptuous ignorance ; and 
 if the architect were held responsible, he would most probably 
 refer to the accepted system. Of course the work is mechani- 
 cal and unimaginative ; but is anything superior to this 
 required? How many of the public are there who can 
 judge efficiently of work, or who could with discerning sym- 
 pathy appreciate artistic workmen ? We, indeed, have now 
 no cultivated working men as ‘masters,’ such as Fischer 
 was at Nuremberg and Anton at Vienna ; enterprising railway 
 speculators, therefore, must put up with what ‘ the genius of 
 the age’ supplies — an eminent architect, ‘art manufacture,’ 
 and sufficient money. 
 
 Here, then, has been Mr. Street’s instructive lesson and 
 example ; we are not dealing with an art that ennobles, but 
 with a profession that pleases, or is supposed to please. And 
 now that so much nonsense has been written about ‘ Temples 
 ‘of Themis’ and ‘Palaces of Justice,’ architects of common 
 sense may hardly find the courage to assert that Courts of 
 Law should be quite plain and simple in their architectural 
 appearance. Law personified is of majestic presence, and 
 were we engaged in preparing a palace for an ideal repre- 
 sentative of justice, perhaps our highest efforts would fail 
 to produce a fit abode for so august a sovereignty. But we 
 are now concerned with no ideal, but with a very homely 
 common law, and with precarious Chancery practice ; we 
 are providing a place for the settlement of miserable disputes. 
 
12 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 originating in folly or in knavery, or in the very imperfection 
 of the law, or it may be in all three combined. It requires 
 but a glance around a Court to see that a grave, not to say 
 a sad simplicity of style, will best reflect the mental, moral, 
 and material condition of those whose interests compel their 
 unwilling attendance. Comfort/ cleanliness, tranquility, and 
 air, are of course essential ; but what is called grandeur or 
 magnificence is merely impertinent. It might serve to gape 
 at for a day or two, and then it would be either forgotten or 
 offensive ; the Court would not be ennobled, but the gran- 
 deur, or its imitation, would be thrown away or brought into 
 contempt. In fact, the association of Courts of Law seems to 
 be rather with lunatic asylums and debtors’ prisons, than 
 with palaces and temples ; and, taking a middle position 
 between the two groups, a style neither grandiose nor mean, 
 splendid nor sad, but a happy medium of decent-plainness, 
 seems to be the most satisfactory and appropriate. 
 
 The Strand front of the building, seventy feet high to the 
 caves, besides the roofs and gables and a lofty angle tower, 
 would be effective if designed with simplicity of outline, 
 variety of detail, and rhythm of parts, and with such abun- 
 dant diversity and appropriate distinction in the windows 
 and their tracery as may be necessary to give character- 
 istic expression to the several rooms. The lower part of 
 the front along the Strand should be constructed to con- 
 tinue the street line of shops, since the intrusion of an 
 isolated building would destroy or injure the commercial 
 aspect of a main, business street, and would depreciate 
 the neighbouring property. The slightest observation will 
 suffice to show that if the lower arches of Somerset House 
 were treated in the same way as those round the Eoyal 
 Exchange, the Strand would gain exceedingly in picturesque 
 effect and business value ; and the building, though remain- 
 ing a dark cloud above the street, would have a golden 
 lining. Besides, it should be borne in mind that the Strand 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 13 
 
 frontage of Somerset House is only one-fifth of the entire 
 length of the building, or of these new Courts of Law. 
 
 The design for the Law Courts is, however, but of transient 
 interest in comparison with the popular ignorance of building 
 art which the competition has brought to light ; and the 
 cause of this ignorance we shall now endeavour to explain. 
 
 The fact is that we have at present no true building art ; it 
 is entirely lost ; but in its stead we have what is absurdly 
 called the profession of architecture, which, as it pretends to 
 the practice of art, is in the nature of an imposture. The 
 essence of art is handiwork ; not the preparations for work, 
 such as the 4 designs ’ and drawings compiled by the archi- 
 tect, his 4 assistant,’ or his numerous 4 staff,’ any more than 
 is the scaffolding erected by the Irish labourer. It is not 
 the painstaking of an imitator, the dull labour of a draughts- 
 man, nor the drudgery of an artisan; but, wholly different, it is 
 the grateful practice of instructed, free, self-guided working 
 men: the conjoint operation of both head and hand. There 
 is no neglect of due subordination or of proper leadership, 
 nor a refusal of mechanical assistance or of any worthy tools, 
 but there is constant play and freedom for the intellect and the 
 imagination, for the well-trained hand and thoroughly in- 
 structed mind. The best buildings of all ages have been made, 
 not by professional 4 designers ’ and their drawing clerks, but 
 . by the labouring handicraftsmen. The chief buildings of the 
 last three centuries in Europe have been designed by pseudo- 
 architects. They are sometimes scholarly, imposing, and 
 expensive ; and of late they have been pretty, vulgar, childish, 
 or grim, as the prevailing fashion, and as individual fancy 
 have required. 
 
 At present there is no help for this substitution of the 
 imposture for the reality. In old times, people built on 
 their own freeholds, modestly, with honest intention, and 
 with the prospect of endurance ; they employed free workmen 
 whose delight was in the product of their own skill, and 
 
14 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 with whom the employer was in constant and familiar 
 intercourse. The style of work was national, and as well 
 understood by the people as their own language ; people no 
 more thought of building in ‘ styles ’ than of talking in 
 ‘ tongues.’ The master - mason could build simply for a 
 cottage, or gloriously for a cathedral ; his perfect familiarity 
 with his work, his good sense and cultivated imagination, 
 were his only guides, his sole assistants were his perfectly 
 instructed fellow craftsmen ; and to these plain workmen, 
 whom our modern architects are very proud to imitate, we are 
 indebted for the chief remaining glories of the middle ages. 
 The system was universal until the classic revival ; the Art 
 of Egypt, of Greece, of Nineveh, and of Hindustan, was evi- 
 dently in each case genuine, the product of the working men. 
 No architect, as we now understand the word, would have 
 designed the Parthenon, with its variety of sculpture and its 
 subtlety of curve ; indeed, the need and value of these curves 
 would never have been discovered by an office draughtsman ; 
 and their invention and adoption show that the Athenian 
 builder was a labouring artisan. Ictinus, the so-called 
 architect, was a cunning master-builder (cro^o? obcoSo/xo?), 
 the working head of a band of working men. The same 
 is unquestionably true of Phidias and his helpers ; their 
 carvings are clearly spontaneous, not imitative, second-hand 
 work. The metopes, some of them archaic in style, prove 
 that, even under the prince of sculptors, the old carvers held 
 their own ; the individuality of the workman was maintained 
 and was distinctly manifested in his work, and the Pan- 
 athenaic frieze appears to be the direct expression of the 
 chisel, without even previous modelling ; the very failings and 
 imperfections of the buildings on the Acropolis revealing the 
 habitual independence of the working men. Of course there 
 was subordination, but the subordination was all within the 
 workman class ; and in our own old churches and cathedrals 
 the designs were all set out by master-workmen. There is, in 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 15 
 
 fact, but little record of design at all ; the work, as we arc 
 told, was ‘ built,’ and that included what is now called the 
 design. The constant activity of thought, indicated in slight 
 modifications of plan or detail, the quaint and often exquisite 
 winding up of portions of the work, the natural and spon- 
 taneous outgrowth of the carving, the boldness and even 
 coarseness of idea and treatment, in conjunction with surpris- 
 ing delicacy and tenderness of feeling, reveal the artist and 
 the workman in a single mind. 
 
 But now instead of a class of noble working-men, we 
 have the 4 architectural profession,’ a number of soft-handed 
 4 gentlemen ’ who may or may not be able to make sketches, 
 or 4 plans and elevations,’ but who at any rate can get them 
 made — who prepare what are called 4 designs ’ in any 4 style,’ 
 and submit them to people ignorant of every style for their 
 approval and acceptance. Certainly this popular approval is 
 not gained by real merit, as members of many a building 
 committee can testify ; and it argues little for the business 
 sagacity, with 'which professional men are sufficiently en- 
 dowed, if the design is not made carefully bad, should the 
 employers’ whim demand the effort. We remember to have 
 seen this method exemplified in a certain competition with 
 very marked success. Nor is this designing to order the only 
 evil of the system ; the profession is, in fact, a mere trade. 
 Designs are made and sent to any distance, to be contracted 
 for by any speculator, who will make money of them if 
 nothing else, and to be built by mere slaves of workmen, who 
 will make sad work of them if they can. The architect’s 
 superintendence, instead of being constant and careful, and in 
 a sense almost affectionate and paternal, is scanty, heartless, 
 perfunctory, or almost wanting. How, then, will the building 
 fare ? The only hope would be in the 4 clerk of the works ; * 
 but he is a sort of stepfather or trustee, who has to adhere 
 strictly to the drawings. There is, consequently, no motive 
 for expression in the work, and none of that 4 handling,’ the 
 
16 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 evidence of the artist’s presence and effort, which is as valu- 
 able in building as it is admitted to be in painting or in 
 sculpture. Nothing is more to be regretted in the so-called 
 restorations at our ecclesiastical buildings than the total loss 
 of this pervading evidence of the workman’s mind. 
 
 This customary trading in designs has now become absurd. 
 Architects are so little like ‘ chief builders,’ that they almost 
 cease to be builders at all; and there are ludicrous but 
 authenticated tales of their ignorance of their own nominal 
 works. One large building, on which the ‘ commission * 
 amounted to some thousands of pounds, is said to have been 
 visited by the architect for less than half an hour during its 
 entire construction. We have recently seen the statement, 
 that nearly sixty ‘ restorations ’ have been superintended for 
 an ‘ eminent architect ’ by one clerk of works. Let our 
 readers translate this fact into the sphere of any other pro- 
 fession, arid imagine the Attorney - General, for instance, 
 composing speeches for every circuit in the calendar, and 
 employing law stationers to recite them ; or an archbishop 
 ‘ designing ’ sermons on commission, with an additional 
 allowance for ‘ pulpit clerks ’ to deliver them ; or a surgeon 
 receiving heavy fees for operations to be performed, and 
 handing over the necessary 4 drawings and specifications ’ to 
 various country chemists and druggists, and they will be 
 enabled to understand something of the present practice of 
 the architectural profession. It is quite time that the system 
 should be exposed, condemned, and thoroughly exploded. 
 The public should be taught to understand that the names of 
 ‘eminent persons’ in the profession are delusions, and that 
 they are themselves the sufferers by the continuance of a 
 deceptive custom, and are deeply interested in its abolition. 
 
 There is another remarkable contrast between the old 
 method and the new. On examining any of our ancient 
 buildings, it soon becomes evident that, however commanding 
 and impressive the work may be to the beholder, it was 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 17 
 
 not so to the builder. His power of intellect and imagina- 
 tion could demonstrate itself in stone, and overcome those 
 minds that had less discernment of artistic masonry and less 
 comprehensiveness of architectural thought. But his own 
 mind was in no subjective condition. He had no awe of, and 
 little reverence for, his work ; he was a 4 master-worker ’ and 
 a creator, or an associated 4 chief master ’ and superintendent 
 of 4 creators ; ’ and his workman’s art was a delight to him, 
 the outward form and expression of an active and imaginative 
 mind that might he strongly sympathetic, full of joy, and 
 nobly serious, hut never weak or selfish, superstitious or de- 
 based. Nothing can he more in contrast with all this than its 
 delusive modern counterpart ; in which there is no evidence 
 of delight or power, but only that the architect was eager for 
 applause, and careful for increased employment ; or else that 
 his mind being weakened by subordination to a vain imagina- 
 tion, he became a feeble worshipper of his own poor work. 
 
 The interiors of most of the high ritual churches are 
 marked by the latter peculiarity, and some clear evidence of 
 mental weakness is, in these 4 impressive ’ places, seldom 
 wanting. The font at St. Alban’s, Holborn, for instance, 
 which has been 4 designed ’ with much care, would be beneath 
 the genius of a manufacturer of Tonbridge ware ; and the 
 speckled and spotted coloured brick patterns on the walls, 
 here and at All-Saints’, Margaret Street, are precise reminis- 
 cences of a favourite nursery toy. The degradation is, 
 however, more particularly manifested in the 4 reredos,’ not 
 the old eastern choir-screens, which are sometimes so called, 
 but a comparatively recent importation from abroad, an 
 un-English innovation, favoured as giving an opportunity for 
 a much-desired patch of prettiness, or the exhibition of 
 such superfluous folly as is not entirely used up in other 
 details of the church, and which gives the communion table 
 the appearance of a quasi-medieval sideboard. 
 
 The old builder had not heard anything about the 4 pro- 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 ‘fession’ of art; he was a simple master workman, and 
 would make the plan, arrange the elevations, and he in fact 
 the foreman of the work. The general requirements might 
 of course he suggested to him, hut he and his fellow working- 
 men alone contrived the building and wrought out its various 
 details. In those times, when handicraftsmen were acknow- 
 ledged to have brains, and always used them, building was 
 not recognised as a u line art,” hut only as a common and 
 very noble work. These mere handicraftsmen were, how- 
 ever, far above the level of our modern architects ; they were 
 true artists of the highest culture and of powerful mind, with 
 perfect faculty of architectural expression in their workman’s 
 tongue — a language that for purity, variety, and dignity, has 
 never been excelled, and which all men, in those days, under- 
 stood. The enormous quantity of building during the four- 
 teenth century, compared with the then small population of 
 the country, shows that the Englishman of that day must 
 have been at least as well informed on the merits of a house 
 as his posterity pretend to be about the favourites for the 
 coming Derby. In those days the working men would make 
 the building of a parish church, or the more gradual pro- 
 gress of a great cathedral, their delight and glory; in our 
 time we have those most superior persons of * the valuable 
 middle class,’ who are ‘ not working people,’ and whose crown 
 of rejoicing is the Goodwood or the Ascot Cup, but who are 
 utterly ignorant about the construction and architecture of 
 their own dwellings, and even have a pitiful conceit of their 
 gregarious ignorance. 
 
 In the days of art the mason did not work in mental solitude, 
 under a greedy contractor and a driving foreman, nor was he 
 guided by a 4 graphic ’ architect, half ignorant and wholly 
 incapable, nor superintended ( overlooked would be the better 
 word) by a committee destitute alike of knowledge and dis- 
 cernment. He worked in regulated freedom and intelligent 
 association with his fellow-workmen, who at once would com- 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 19 
 
 prehend and properly appreciate each thought and fancy as 
 the chisel rapidly expressed it. The man’s circumstances 
 were entirely sympathetic; he had not to submit mendacious 
 competition drawings to be gazed at by a dozen dolts in archi- 
 tecture, who unfortunately happened to be wealthy or well 
 placed ; but he was judged entirely by his works, and his 
 efficient judges were his peers. His work was social, the 
 expression of the sentiments and habits of the people. 
 Having to adopt no ‘ style, ’ his own homely language was 
 sufficient to insure the perfect ease and wonderful variety 
 which charm us in old work ; and though the form of utterance 
 is always changing, there is nothing ‘incoherent or obscure. 
 There is, moreover, no vanity in the work ; and though 
 the workman is direct and simple in the expression of his 
 active mind, he does not think about himself, nor yet 
 at all about the ‘ public taste ; ’ he has no dull care to be 
 correct ; but on the contrary, he gives such new and vigorous 
 development of thought and detail that the buildings seem 
 to live ; and, in an often undetected way, we find our 
 •sympathies engaged and our interest excited even by the 
 waywardness and seeming errors of the workman. There 
 is no endeavour after ornament or architectural show : 
 nothing is more remarkable than the way in which oppor- 
 tunities for decoration are neglected ; the builder goes on 
 ■working in the quietest way until he has a worthy idea to 
 express, and then he does it in a simple and unconscious 
 manner. The most graceful thoughts are often thrown into the 
 work as if they were mere common-places; there is no painful 
 striving to make the greatest possible display with the money 
 and material : the man and his associations are the real stamp 
 and the informing spirit of the work. How many a village 
 church can be remembered, without even an external plinth 
 to its rude, unsophisticated walling, with a stumpy and ‘ un- 
 ‘ graceful ’ though most sensible and useful tower, but with 
 .scarcely any ornament about the building, until in some un- 
 
20 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 obtrusive doorway or aisle window w T e find the gem of thought 
 that gives dignity and refinement to the entire work. It is 
 true that in some buildings this simplicity of method partly 
 fails : but as a rule, the ornament with wdiich, in later times, 
 the work became mechanically overlaid is evidence that some- 
 thing in the nature of a modern architect is causing the 
 artistic aberration. William of Wykeham seems to have been 
 a great transgressor in this way. 
 
 In total contrast with what we have thus described is a, 
 very marked and nearly universal characteristic of our modern 
 churches. Whether they are ‘high’ or ‘low,’ correct or 
 impure, ‘ original ’ or eclectic, there is in them a constant, 
 straining for effect ; it seems as if each architect thought- 
 that he would have no other opportunity, and must seize the 
 present chance to make his mark, and light his pound of 
 candles all at once. There is a want of dignity and repose 
 about the work, a consciousness that it will be looked at, 
 and a vain hope that it will be admired, leading to a sort of 
 architectural posture-making and display, that no affectation 
 of propriety, and even of asceticism, will save from a charge- 
 of meretricious vanity. Nowall this is very unbecoming and 
 inconsistent ; a church requires nothing of the kind ; it is in 
 fact a very ordinary, common-place building, and only par- 
 ticularly remarkable now because domestic architecture is so 
 excessively debased. In olden times, the church was as a 
 rule rather plain in comparison with the surrounding houses. 
 Little of the old domestic urban architecture remains; but 
 careful search and examination will show that in most cities 
 there w 7 as in proportion more expenditure on house than on 
 church decoration. Crosby Hall, and the adjacent churches of 
 St. Etlielburga and St. Helen’s, may serve as a convenient, 
 though perhaps not quite a fair illustration ; and at Canter- 
 bury and Chester, Lincoln and Exeter, examples might be 
 multiplied. Churches were then known of all men as houses 
 of prayer, and were appropriately humble and unpretending. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 21 
 
 and even almost obscure. Of public buildings, churches are 
 the most numerous, unless indeed public-houses are included 
 in the category ; and as there is so little necessary difference 
 in their plans, there need be none of that agonizing super- 
 fluity of contrivance and detail that we are compelled to 
 -observe and painfully to regret. We know all about the 
 sacred character of the building, the superlativeness of its 
 .requirements, and the ‘ Lamp of Sacrifice ; ’ but we say that 
 the sanctity of its dedication, and the dignity of its character, 
 would be best demonstrated and maintained by the abandon- 
 ment of all the frippery and excess of detail that architects 
 find it to be their business to display. There is no ‘ sacrifice * 
 in this elaboration ; its removal would in fact be a purifi- 
 cation ; the real sacrifice is the offering, genuine, hearty, 
 intelligent, and refined, of the simple working man. The 
 artistic mason, being serious and unselfish in his work, is 
 generally satisfied with the mild excitement of his ordinary 
 care, and, working in his homely, modest way, gains all tire 
 variety and change he needs in those occasional hours of 
 imaginative and ornamental w T ork which give the needful and 
 appropriate enrichment to his simple building. 
 
 This method is impossible for architects ; they have none of 
 this healthy mechanical plodding ; their business is not to 
 build but to make drawings ; the work that would occupy a 
 mason several weeks or months is indicated by perhaps a 
 single line, or at most a few hours’ labour at the drawing- 
 board. As the designer feels and knows, his help for sound 
 and simple work is not required, and so to give the public 
 some excuse for his professional existence, he must needs 
 employ his pencil and bow-pencil pretty freely, until at last 
 it becomes impossible to get the architect and his cleverness, 
 or want of it, out of one’s mind, and the building is perma- 
 nently desecrated. 
 
 The church of St. James the Less, at Westminster, has 
 been greatly praised for its decorative work, though it really 
 
22 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 is but a baby-house. Its particoloured tower is built with- 
 polished marbles up amongst the clouds, and of ungainly 
 brickwork level with the eye. Its preposterous ironwork, de- 
 signed by an architect and manufactured by a mechanic, is so- 
 disproportioned as to be absurd, and is quite incongruous 
 with the mean walling that it screens. The interior, 
 chequered all over with bits of colour, is not the serious 
 effort of a man, but mere effeminacy and child's play, giving- 
 the same wide-mouthed pleasure as a trick of sleight of hand. 
 The decorations of the roof are for the most part invisible. 
 The mental debasement which we have already referred to- 
 has in this and many other churches shown itself by making 
 them what children call ‘ a place for bogies.’ There is a. 
 great deal of nonsensical scorn of those who object to Gothic- 
 work that it is dark and gloomy ; but these childish church 
 architects are the cause, and their works are a justification of 
 this at first sight very reasonable objection. At St. James’s 
 the aisle windows are mere slits in the wall, not to admit 
 daylight, evidently, but to show small panels of indifferent 
 stained glass, which cause this dismal darkness and which 
 serve to mystify the weakheaded persons for whom such work 
 is sympathetically designed. At St. Michael’s, Cornhill, is 
 another of these follies, but there the nonsense was carried so- 
 far, that some glazed coal plates have been inserted in the 
 aisle ceilings to light the people, the windows having been? 
 given over to the glass painter. 
 
 There is no objection to coloured decoration when properly 
 done, and judiciously applied, the work of an intelligent and 
 skilful workman. But this spurious work, designed by 
 draughtsmen, and worked in or stencilled on by drudges, is 
 wholly inartistic, and no assumed correctness or consistency 
 of style can justify its character. The same remark applies 
 to decorative mason’s work and carving ; these may be per- 
 fectly correct in style, and accurate in finish, and still be 
 so mechanical and lifeless as to be repulsive, and a mere de- 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 23 
 
 facement of the building ; or they may be rude in workman- 
 ship, coarse in material and detail, and even incorrect in 
 style, and yet be found unspeakably delightful. The old 
 builders were true working men, of simple and original 
 ideas, which they expressed abundantly in work ; and by their 
 combination of artistic habit and intelligence they constantly 
 developed novelty while still maintaining purity of style. 
 Now we have men who imitate the old details, but being destitute 
 of true creative workman’s thought, have nothing to express. 
 
 In carvers’ work there has been, on the whole, less degrada- 
 tion of the workmen ; hence the value of the monuments at 
 Westminster, in which we have a perfect history of our modern 
 sculpture. Frequent proposals have been made by architects 
 and connoisseurs to have the recent modern works removed, 
 so that the church might be entirely £ restored but many 
 of these sculpturesque intruders are of genuine and noble 
 workmanship, and so become in character and fact con- 
 sistent and appropriate additions to the building, which is 
 itself of gradual construction, and in varied and successive 
 dialects of art. Among such valuable works the choir- 
 screen, reredos, pulpit, and communion table are not to be 
 included ; these are particularly weak and jejune specimens 
 of the dull clerkmanship that architects of eminence live to 
 supply, and thus are mere expensive lumber. When com- 
 pared with the old gateway to the Chapter-house or the 
 De Yalence tomb, their worthlessness is very clear. We 
 therefore cannot yet presume to touch our monumental 
 buildings, except most carefully to uphold them. When we 
 have men again to do the work as well as to design it, we 
 may venture, but till then it would be safe to wait. 
 
 It is quite time that the public should understand what has 
 been going on under the name of church and cathedral resto- 
 ration. The architects of the present day are not at all 
 reticent about the ‘ improvements ’ done by their equally 
 eminent predecessors, and the ghosts of Wyatt and Nash 
 
24 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 must have a sad time of it ; but never has there been such 
 wanton destruction of the historic associations and genuine 
 artistic character and expression of our ancient buildings as 
 they have suffered during the last thirty years. The game 
 began with the Temple Church ; and, as an historical and 
 venerable relic, the building is destroyed. The exterior is 
 new, the interior is scraped, and polished, and painted, and 
 glazed, until it would puzzle an archaeologist to put his finger 
 on anything that the Knights Templar actually saw. Then 
 there came the inevitable 4 reredos,’ and the 4 consistently 
 4 designed ’ pewing, which we were told was in 4 good taste ’ ; and 
 thus an interesting monument is turned into a fashionable 
 church. If the Benchers wanted a luxurious and showy chapel, 
 they could very well have built one for themselves, and have 
 left the old Templars and their historic chapel quietly alone. 
 
 The barbarous propensity to scrape and daub spread like 
 a disease among the clergy, who in their delusion studied 
 Bickman and Pugin, Whewell and Britton, and intended to be 
 learned in 4 the styles.’ Their desire was partly good, and 
 manifestly they had no want of zeal ; but from the influence 
 of their bookish education, and of the common ignorant con- 
 tempt of handicraft, they failed to see that the mere literary 
 study of an art must of necessity be defective, and that, to 
 avoid the dangers of a little knowledge, they should have 
 sought the necessary aid, not of an architect, who was in art 
 no better than themselves, but of the village mason, carpenter, 
 and smith. Had this been generally done, and had the work- 
 ing men been cordially led to join in careful study of the neigh- 
 bouring relics of the olden time, they would have soon become 
 the 4 masters ’ of their work ; and thus, instead of the delusive 
 system or 4 profession,’ under which we suffer without hope, 
 there would have been revived a genuine and noble 4 practice ’ 
 of the building arts by a great class or school of cultivated 
 workmen. 
 
 Nor would architecture alone have been the gainer. The 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 25 
 
 spread of intelligence among the workmen would have had 
 other great results. There would have been no need then for 
 ‘ celebrated ’ engineers or ‘ eminent ’ contractors. Our rail- 
 ways, though they look so big, and are, like other things, im- 
 pressive from their length, when quietly considered mile by 
 mile are for the most part very commonplace affairs, little 
 above hedging and ditching ; they seldom require more con- 
 structive ability than a ten-roomed house or than a parish 
 church arcade, and so they might have well been undertaken 
 in detail by local working men. By this method hundreds of 
 millions of railway capital would have been saved, and the 
 country would have had a perfectly developed system of 
 judiciously-constructed lines. George Stephenson was a 
 working man, and it was not he that made the costly blunder 
 of the Britannia Bridge, or the lavish experimental waste of 
 the Great ‘Western Bailway. 
 
 The Gothic movement soon became involved in the low 
 rivalries and struggles of contending parties in the Church ; 
 and, without sturdy power of its own, founded on the broad 
 influence of common knowledge and popular opinion, it sank 
 into subserviency, and became for many years a means or cause 
 of grievous injury and evil. It conduced far more to clerical 
 conceit than to artistic architectural improvement, and became 
 the special opportunity for social and professional vanity and 
 display. Ecclesiastics pretended to be ecclesiologists, be- 
 came knowing about metal-work, that it should be wrought 
 and not cash, and wood- work, that it should be ‘ stopped * 
 rather than ‘ mitred ; ’ not discerning that of all metal- work 
 none is so debased as the modern trade specimens of wrought 
 iron and brass. They fell then into the hands of ecclesiastical 
 decorators and furniture dealers; and, having been plundered 
 and imposed upon in every way, they are still blind to their 
 losses, and proud of their work, and have yet to make the 
 unpleasant discovery that they have spent their substance on 
 mere ecclesiastical toy- shops. 
 
26 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 Of course there have been architects employed ; hut this, 
 as the reader is aware, is not an assurance of hope. We have 
 already endeavoured to describe the class, and we now venture 
 to say that drawing- masters and composers have for the last 
 three hundred years been hindrances to architectural art. 
 They are, as we have shown, a mere delusive fashion ; and 
 their works are like them. Medieval buildings are fit subjects, 
 for our artists’ most elaborate drawings : modern buildings- 
 are but imitations of the drawing-masters’ imitative draughts- 
 manship. If we examine a great work of medieval times, 
 the Abbey Church at Westminster for instance, we shall find 
 the workmanship entirely genuine, free from sham, and every 
 stone alive with energy of power or beauty of enrichment. 
 Such a building is in its construction and detail distinctly the 
 expression and result of human thought and feeling ; so that 
 even when in ruin it is charming. Its Renaissance rivals can 
 have no such hope in dissolution ; being a mere manufacture, 
 they are in the same category with machine-made lace and 
 cotton prints, and often vastly their inferiors in design. 
 There is, possibly, no better, as there can be no more 
 melancholy test of the value of artistic work, than this of 
 architectural ruin and decay ; and if, without destruction, 
 we mentally apply the idea, w T e shall find that buildings, and 
 other works, begin to arrange themselves in an order of merit 
 far different from what has lately been accepted. The 
 details of the new India Office, for example, never would be 
 treasured in an architectural museum; the ‘Vulcanian’’ 
 style of our iron age would suffer grievous degradation, and 
 the Crystal Palace itself might find its precedence disputed 
 by an old piece of ordnance or the dilapidated framework of 
 a worn-out parasol. 
 
 Architecture has throughout our history been a favourite 
 work and demonstration of the common people ; and the 
 lavish richness, chastened fancy, and perfect form of the 
 details, moulded and carved, of Early English work, are per- 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 27 
 
 Laps the most beautiful memorial of the spirit and happiness 
 of a nation that the history of art can show. Under the 
 Edwards the genius of the people became completely mani- 
 fested, and the England of that time reached the climax of 
 vernacular and homely and majestic architecture in the his- 
 tory of the w’orld. Egypt, Greece, and Eome, each had its 
 peculiar glory, but they had neither a climate that compelled, 
 nor a building material that readily lent itself to, the develop- 
 ment of a domestic architecture such as ours, which was, in 
 fact, the ’prentice work for all the noble monuments that once 
 adorned the land. These had a character remarkably distinct 
 from the coeval works of art in France and Germany and 
 Italy and Spain, a character most evidently due to the greater 
 influence of our domestic buildings. 
 
 The working men were then quite free ; they lived and 
 worked among intelligent and sympathising friends. The 
 clergy, who were the main dispensers of the surplus income 
 of the nation in the arts of peace, were men of the people, 
 and they built as homely Englishmen, in a most dignified 
 gnd manly way. Even when, in the course of the fifteenth 
 century, commercial w r ealth became a more predominating 
 influence, and the artisan was gradually sinking as the man 
 of trade rose higher in the financial world, the workman’s 
 style was still maintained ; until at last the tide of luxury 
 swept art away, and the Italian fashion took its place. Yet 
 Castle Howard, Whitehall Chapel, Greenwich Hospital, and 
 more recently the Travellers’ Club and the Sun Fire Office, 
 show that although the genius of the people has been 
 grievously neglected, there has been a picturesque artistic 
 spirit still among us capable of bringing architectural good 
 out of so much evil. But now we have sunk down so low’ 
 that a work of such painful incapacity as the London Univer- 
 sity building has been commended by the leaders of the 
 profession; and the Government have presented to us, on 
 the Piccadilly side of Burlington House, the most contemp- 
 
28 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 tible public building that the architectural profession has 
 achieved. 
 
 It is necessary to bear in mind that medieval building 
 and modern architecture are two essentially and practically 
 different things. The one was wholly workmen’s work, the 
 other is but a fine name adopted by a spurious — we had 
 almost said — a quack profession. The modern 4 chief builder ’ 
 is, in fact, no builder at all, but only a drawing-master : the 
 ancient Egyptians and Greeks, and the Italian and Western 
 4 Goths ’ were cultivated workmen, who invented or designed 
 their work. Old Roman architecture was in great part imi- 
 tation work, and often bad ; but the Renaissance Italian is 
 the professional style ; with it the profession of architecture 
 became established ; its foundation was a knowledge of the 
 ‘ orders,’ and its practice was that of composing these orders 
 in various fanciful displays ; in fact, it might be called a 
 school of architectural posture-making and deportment. Any 
 draughtsman, with a reasonable knowledge of these orders, 
 might become an architect ; and with an eye for outline, and 
 some cleverness in arrangement, he might produce on paper 
 an endless variety of 4 classical ’ combinations. The style was 
 expensive, but when it arose questions of expense were of 
 secondary importance : it was, somehow, seldom the pro- 
 prietor that had to pay the bill. But the great success of the 
 style was due neither to its novelty nor its variety, but to the 
 facility with which the architect could prepare, at any dis- 
 tance from the work, the drawings for an entire building ; and 
 to the very little personal superintendence by the draughts- 
 man that the work required. Instead of giving his entire 
 attention to one building, the accomplished drawing-master 
 found that he could take commissions for a dozen or a score. 
 The amount of drawing in each case was comparatively 
 small ; a little shuffling of columns and windows revealed some 
 new accident of combination that passed for design ; and as 
 for detail, the classic orders served for all. Thus then all 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 29 
 
 parties were well pleased ; tlie employer was in the fashion, 
 and piqued himself on his classic refinement and exceptional 
 < good taste ’ : the architect had large practice in a gentle- 
 manly profession : and both, with the vanity and self-gratula- 
 tion of ignorant conceit, could despise the Duomo of Pisa or 
 the Choir of Westminster, as the rude relics of a barbarous 
 and unenlightened age. 
 
 In England Vanbrugh and Lord Burlington have made us 
 see how quickly men of literary culture, and of noble rank, 
 could master the designing knack, and then provide new 
 luxuries of architectural magnificence to put their wondering 
 and confiding friends on the high road to ruin. Blenheim 
 House is critically known as 4 picturesque,’ but it is a scene 
 rather than a dwelling ; there may he a house imbedded in 
 the stonework, but the real effect, which is geological rather 
 than architectural, more suggestive of a quarry than of a 
 palace or a home, is due entirely to non-essentials, to the 
 mass of superfluous material symmetrically disposed, and 
 yet altogether hideous and unseemly ; in fact a sort of archi- 
 tectural elephantiasis. Burlington House, though exotic in 
 style, was a very respectable and praiseworthy effort ; and the 
 colonnade was no doubt a grateful memento of the Italian 
 tour. Both the houses have been much admired, and may he 
 acknowledged to reflect great credit on the professional skill 
 of their respective designers. 
 
 Gradually, however, the ‘ classic ’ enthusiasm wore away ; 
 the style ceased to be new, and it was found to he costly ; and 
 when what is called the Grecian style had passed through its 
 brief period of public favour, and urgent want arose for some 
 new thing, it happened that a few careful publications about 
 Gothic work appeared, and gained the attention of the 
 ‘ artistic ’ world. Here, then, was another chance for the 
 profession ; the style was not new, hut it was practically Un- 
 familiar ; and though it was made or developed by working 
 masons at a time when there was no classical artistic 
 
30 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 knowledge, and so was merely the picturesque effort of semi- 
 barbarous artisans, it would bring business to the profession. 
 The public thought it pretty, the clergy sympathized, as 
 it was quite in their line; and it became, curiously enough, 
 the fashion to be very proud of any weak imitation of the 
 poor rude, working man who heretofore had been so very 
 much despised. The imitation was of course conventional, 
 for the 4 profession ’ had no intention of giving up their 
 gentlemanly position, and becoming real builders, carpenters, 
 and stone-masons. A class of quick-fingered draughtsmen 
 soon prepared 4 examples,’ gathered from the old masons’ 
 work, which their professional customers might mix and 
 mingle with almost as much facility as they could 4 compose ’ 
 the classic orders ; and it was really found that designs in the 
 various styles of English and Continental Gothic might be 
 manufactured with such correctness of detail, and so much 
 promptitude and rapidity, that the dilettanti could be satisfied, 
 the public hoodwinked, and clients thoroughly pleased, while 
 the trading element of the profession was profitably extended,, 
 and its returns increased to an amount that was never dreamt 
 of by the half-experienced professional surveyor of the Georgian 
 age. We had exchanged handicraft long since for finger-work, 
 and the new method is neither an advance nor a reform. We 
 have taken no step towards the necessary and essential change 
 of system, but only made a prudent and remunerative change 
 of face. We have 4 instruments,’ as formerly in place of tools, 
 fingers instead of hands, and 4 examples ’ to serve for brains, just 
 as in the Italian or classic work. We are only moving with the 
 times, and as customers increase in numbers, and correspond- 
 ingly decrease in average wealth, Gothic, which may be made 
 both cheap and pretty where required, brings more and easier 
 business to the trade. We have, as in the classic revival, 
 compilers instead of artists, and machines instead of workmen, 
 and, w T orst of all, a public that is quite unable to distinguish 
 noble building work and true imaginative art from copying and 
 pretence. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 31 
 
 The new Gothic fashion soon became popular; and firms of 
 competition speculators flooded the market with their illusory 
 but attractive wares. The 'business ’ had its risks, and for a 
 time expenditure might bring but little prompt return ; but 
 names became known, the constant use of pretty details in- 
 sured extended popularity ; and thus, instead of the quiet, 
 local development of true Gothic work, a fashionable impos- 
 ture spread throughout the land. ‘Art manufacture,’ a false- 
 hood in its very name, became established, and fittings and 
 furniture, carving and stained glass, embroidery, painting, 
 metal work and encaustic tiles are turned out wholesale, at 
 trade prices — with ‘commissions’ — by the manufacturing 
 firms. The working-man is nowhere seen ; he is not even 
 heard of. He is at the ‘ factory ’ when the bell rings, and he 
 files and polishes the bit of work that he is set to do ; but 
 fancy, and volition, and artistic thought are wanting ; he is 
 but a slave, an incorrect machine, whom we may hope eventu- 
 ally to supplant by some new patented contrivance that will 
 have no brains, and so be safe from all mistakes, and auto- 
 matically true. The workman, who is the very spring and 
 source of art, sinks to a mere tool ; and instead of thousands 
 of real artists, handicraftsmen, whose mental energies and 
 poetic fancy would by this time have gone far to elevate and 
 refine the whole community of our working-class, we have our 
 parish churches and cathedrals, college chapels and town- 
 halls, our country mansions and our suburban houses, laden 
 and encumbered with a profusion of art-manufactured gew- 
 gaws, which are thoroughly debasing to the buildings and to 
 the artistic workmen, but which bring enormous profit to the 
 manufacturing firms, give fame and fortune to the successful 
 drawing-master, and enable him to pander with a facility 
 that has never before been equalled, to the childish sensuality 
 of the public, the professional vanity of the clergy, and the 
 vulgar luxury of the rich. 
 
 We have not far to go for an example of the spirit and 
 
32 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 method that we have endeavoured to describe. That St. 
 Stephen’s Chapel was sacrificed in order that the Lord 
 Chancellor and Mr. Speaker might sit face to face, at the dis- 
 tance of a furlong more or less, is an old grievance. There 
 w r as no necessity for this mutual gaze, nor for the arrange- 
 ment that provided for it ; hut it was just one of those 
 simple yet adroit and claptrap artifices by which a clever 
 schemer will astonish and charm a wandering Committee 
 and secure the approval of a discriminating public. Beneath 
 the chapel was a crypt of unexampled beauty, and this was 
 not destroyed ; it was a quiet, unobtrusive place, and there 
 was hope that by a fortunate neglect it might escape until 
 this Gothic reign of terror had entirely passed away. Par- 
 liament, however, w T as instructed that it ought to ‘have a 
 ‘ taste/ and that this could w r ell be shown by lavish votes of 
 money to he spent in bedizening the ‘vault.’ So this ines- 
 timable relic has now been ‘ restored ’ and painted, polished 
 and gilded, glazed, burnished and tiled, and furnished with a 
 toy table and some correctly fashionable chairs, so that the 
 memory of the place is entirely gone, and it might pass for 
 an expensive camera obscura, or a mere show place for the 
 vile rubbish of the decorator’s trade. This too is popular, 
 and has the zealous patronage of the sanctimonious connois- 
 seurship of the House of Commons, and the stupid admiration 
 of the gaping crowd. 
 
 The neighbouring Chapter House has been restored, and 
 so far as the work has gone there is little cause for complaint, 
 and happily much to approve. The upper details of the work, 
 indeed, are lamentably feeble, and for the central cross we 
 have a small edition of our uncouth acquaintance on the 
 summit of the Hyde Park trophy ; but these are minor fail- 
 ings, and if the restoration is arrested, and the masonry is 
 saved from the defilement of the decorative artists, there v T ill 
 be a certain satisfaction gained by the completion of the 
 structure. But let Salisbury be a warning, not an example ; 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 33 
 
 the reredos at Ely, and the screens at Lichfield and Hereford, 
 are sufficient monumental records of the audacity of an archi- 
 tect and of the simplicity of his employers ; the Munich glass 
 at Glasgow Cathedral shows how easily people are led to 
 waste their substance on a vain show. Abundant errors such 
 as these have made the prospect of continued outlay on the 
 Chapter House a matter of anxiety rather than of hope. 
 
 Near the west end of the Abbey is a specimen of the 
 domestic architecture of the new revival. The street elevation 
 of this row of houses is a crowded and unnecessary medley of 
 breaks and buttresses, bay windows and stone gables ; and in 
 the centre is a weak imitation of an abbey gateway, with two 
 incongruous and false projecting turrets. We enter underneath 
 the arch, and find that the whole affair is a mere frontispiece 
 of the speculating builder stamp, and that in elevation 
 towards the quadrangle the houses are mere bald brickwork 
 which, had the frontages been reversed, would have been a 
 very suitable extension of the picturesque effect of Victoria 
 Street adjoining. The obscure medieval workman would not 
 have been nearly so clever as this : it would not have 
 occurred to him to design an elaborate imposture, to make a 
 brave show in front of all the stock properties of the draughts- 
 man’s trade, and leave the back all beggarly and bare ; there 
 would have been some decent reticence, if only in recognition 
 of the adjacent venerable pile. The Jerusalem Chamber is 
 a pattern of modesty in building; and though forward in 
 position, it is humble in character, and adds greatly to the 
 apparent height, and to the picturesque effect of the Minster 
 tow r ers. In the new buildings this subordination is, in senti- 
 ment, reversed ; and the contrasted qualities of ‘ dignity and 
 ‘ impudence ’ are again illustrated by new examples, and on 
 an unusual and inverted scale. 
 
 The choir of Chichester Cathedral also is restored, and 
 additions have been made to the oaken stalls and canopies. 
 The old wood-work is not in the best style, but it is simple, 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 and is not inconsistent with the plain Norman piers. The 
 new work is after quite another manner, and everything that 
 ihe how-pencil could do for the money has been attempted. 
 The paved floor for such a building should be plain, and 
 perhaps a little rude; but here we have costly, polished, 
 parti-coloured marble-work that makes the old piers and 
 mouldings look coarse by contrast, and itself gives the idea 
 of plate-glass with a pattern under it, a sort of horizontal 
 potichomanie. The metal furniture was ‘ manufactured by 
 * the Skidmore Company.’ Such a statement would have 
 taken Quentin Matsys some short time to comprehend ; and 
 he would doubtless have inquired whether pictures also could 
 be manufactured in this way. Here again is a reredos, a big- 
 arch and gable, intercepting the view of the eastern triforium 
 and the Lady Chapel arch, and by its size and that of the 
 carved figures, greatly reducing the apparent scale of the 
 Cathedral. All the work is finely polished, sharply cut, and 
 is a creditable piece of modern furniture ; it is said to have 
 cost two thousand x^ounds, and if the subscribers would 
 kindly remove it, the Chapter might congratulate themselves 
 on an architectural benefit worth quite double the amount to 
 their cathedral choir. If carving is required, there are in the 
 south aisle wall two of the finest works remaining of their 
 period, that might be promoted to the place of honour in the 
 church instead of this trade specimen of statuary. Flaxman’s 
 figure of Besignation, in fortunate proximity, might helx) us 
 to endure this wanton mischief ; but restoration is again 
 offensive, and the most charming memorial carving in the 
 county is to be entirely obscured by worthless coloured glass. 
 And this, it should be said, is a fair specimen of our 
 Cathedral restoration. 
 
 The buildings we have quoted are public property, or 
 ecclesiastical, and are therefore under very suxoerior control. 
 As we go further from the central government in Church and 
 State we may fare worse. The architectural gibberish of 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE . 
 
 35 
 
 13t. James’s Club is cognate with similar discordant and inco- 
 herent utterances at Manchester. Then there is the whimsical 
 variety at the Gaiety theatre in the Strand and at Keble 
 College ; and the childish, half exotic work at the new Museum 
 buildings at Oxford, all which show how desperate are the 
 designers’ fears lest they should not be personally recognized 
 and professionally distinguishable: the architect being, in 
 fact, the chief end of the building. In churches we have 
 endless variety of affectation and conceit, from the ritual and 
 grim, and the high and correct, to the Evangelical and dull. 
 And the neo-Gothic Renaissance is at last developed into the 
 elaborate meanness of the Dissenting chapel, and the staring 
 vulgarity of the Marine Hotel. 
 
 The reason of all this aberration and decline is easily 
 explained. The work of design, as it is called, being in com- 
 paratively few hands, there is a great loss of artistic power 
 which would be saved and properly employed were each building 
 designed by its own working men. Builders are of the nature 
 •of poets : they are born, not made ; and it is therefore true 
 policy to secure and utilize as large a number of artistic and 
 poetic minds as can be possibly employed. To ignore these, 
 .and to concentrate the work in the hands of a comparatively 
 few, is an abandoned folly, manifest on its mere statement ; 
 it prevents the spread of intelligence and cultivation among 
 the working builders, and from them among the masses of 
 the people ; and it breeds a class of ‘ architects,’ gamblers 
 in competitions, draughtsmen and surveyors, whose produc- 
 tions are a curse to the nation, and, in various degrees of 
 vileness, a travesty of art. 
 
 For three hundred years we have been trying to build from 
 above downwards ; we have been endeavouring, in fact, to 
 pdant the pyramid on its apex, and, having so completely 
 failed, might we not now set to work to build it from its base ? 
 The connoisseurs have pretended to teach the public how to 
 build, and the public fail to learn ; can we not ask the working 
 
36 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 men to show us what to do ? We have spent hundreds of 
 millions sterling with presumptuous intention, and we have 
 succeeded — to the extent of the Law Courts’ competition, and 
 Mr. Street’s design. Might we not consider whether the pro- 
 fession is quite worth this sacrifice, and also seek to learn 
 how our forefathers managed ? The difference is extreme ^ 
 we build no decent buildings, they built no bad ones. 
 
 Their method is well known : it is very ancient, and of 
 most honourable usage. Tubal Cain, to begin with, ‘ was an. 
 ‘instructor of every artificer in brass and iron.’ How he 
 could get on without drawing at South Kensington it is hard 
 to conceive. Still here is nothing about drawings, but only 
 about *' artificers ; ’ and these were * instructed,’ they had not 
 risen to the level of machines. But in Egypt we do get some 
 notion of the primitive ‘ surveyor.’ ‘ Therefore they did set, 
 ‘ over them taskmasters to afflict them with their burdens, and 
 ‘ they made their lives bitter with hard bondage, in morter 
 * and in brick.’ So there is nothing new under the sun. Let. 
 us hope then that some providence may arise to rescue our 
 people from their ‘hard bondage, in morter and in brick,’ 
 and from the ‘taskmasters’ that do so grievously ‘afflict 
 ‘ them.’ 
 
 Then about a hundred and fifty years later we read of 
 ‘Bezaleel, the son of Uri, of the tribe of Judah,’ that he was 
 ‘ filled with the spirit of God to devise curious w T orks, to ivovh- 
 ‘ in gold, and in silver, and in brass, and in the cutting of 
 ‘ stones, to set them, and in carving of wood, to make any 
 ‘ manner of cunning work.’ Precisely so ; and thus it was. 
 with our own forefathers ; if they had not ‘ the spirit of God 
 ‘ to devise curious work, and to work,’ wherever was such a 
 spirit shown ? ‘ And He hath put in his heart that he may 
 
 ‘ teach, both he and Alioliab. Them hath He filled with 
 ‘ wisdom of heart, to work all manner of work, of the engraver, 
 
 ‘ and of the cunning workman, and of the embroiderer, and of 
 ‘ the weaver, even of them that do any work, and of those that 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 37 
 
 * devise cunning work. Then wrought Bezaleel and Alioliab.’ 
 Bo did our forefathers ; but will any one say that either our 
 modern architects or our mechanics are 4 wise-hearted men to 
 4 devise and to make any manner of cunning work ’ ? 
 
 Again, 4 King Solomon sent and fetched Hiram out of 
 ' 4 Tyre ’ — Solomon did not, it appears, send to Hiram for 
 ■designs for choice, or proclaim a competition with leave for 
 Hiram to take his chance with the rest — 4 And he was filled 
 4 with wisdom and understanding, and cunning to work all 
 4 works in brass ; ’ — and from the long list of his works, his 
 4 wisdom and understanding ’ were considerable — 4 and skilful 
 4 to work in gold and in silver, in brass, in iron, in stone, and 
 4 in timber, in purple, in blue, and in fine linen, and in crirn- 
 4 son, and to grave any manner of graving, and to find out any 
 4 device which shall be put to him.’ Hiram had evidently not 
 wasted his time on orders or examples ; he was skilled to 
 4 find out,’ not to copy; but how he could get on without an 
 •eminent ecclesiastical architect and proper detailed working 
 •drawings is a wonder, doubtless, to the profession. 
 
 We can proceed again; and some four hundred years later 
 the method seems to be unchanged : 4 And they put the 
 4 money in the hand of the workmen that had the oversight of 
 4 the house of the Lord, and they gave it to the workmen that 
 4 wrought, even to the artificers and builders they gave it. 
 
 4 And the king and Jehoiada gave it to such as did the work of 
 4 the service of the house of the Lord, and hired masons and 
 4 carpenters to repair the house of the Lord, and also such 
 4 as wrought iron and brass to mend the house of the Lord. 
 4 And they gave the money, being told, into the hands of them 
 4 that did the work. Moreover, they reckoned not with the men 
 4 into whose hand they delivered the money to be bestowed on 
 4 the workmen, for they dealt faithfully.’ And these men 
 were Jews, and not Christians at all, that did the work, and 
 •dealt faithfully. Beally, as one reads, there is a giddy 
 -sense as of complete inversion. A metropolitan ecclesiastical 
 
38 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 building, built and repaired without an architect ; no hint of" 
 such an intermediate Providence ! but ‘ workmen ’ that had 
 the oversight ; and no reckoning, ‘ for they dealt faithfully.’ 
 Could anything be a greater contrast to our actual system?' 
 We have had a dozen architects, and have to admire the Law 
 Courts’ design ; Solomon had a clever workman, and he built, 
 the Temple. We have very tight contracts, and sufficiently 
 sharp practice, occasionally, about extras and omissions, and 
 we are Christians of the nineteenth century of grace ; the 
 Jews, twenty-five centuries ago, that had the law , were 
 implicitly trusted, for they dealt faithfully. Surely ice our- 
 selves are not so far inferior as this ; it must be our method 
 that is wrong. 
 
 But let us make another imaginary step through eighteen 
 centuries of time, and to the other end of the Mediterranean, 
 and refer our readers to the twenty-first chapter of Mr. 
 Street’s most interesting and accurate ‘ Account of Gothic 
 4 Architecture in Spain,’ — a w T ork that does him more credit 
 than any of his buildings or designs ; and there we have a 
 full revelation of the practice that achieved the noble works 
 which Mr. Street has illustrated for us with his ready pencil 
 and discriminating pen. Nothing can be clearer than the 
 rule that the master of the works, or architect, as now he 
 would be called, made the * device ’ and also was the builder; 
 and again we find that the chief lapicide, or master of the 
 works, was in fact, like Hiram or Aholiab, a working man. 
 There is some symptom of an occasional change of builder, 
 and it appears probable that different men were employed, 
 according to their several ability, at different parts or stages 
 of the work. One man might be entrusted with the main 
 walls, and another might undertake a noble entrance porch, 
 or an elaborate storey of tabernacle work ; and this surmise 
 is somewhat justified by the sharpness of the junctions, and 
 the abruptness of the changes in the style of work. 
 
 It is quite clear, then, that the builder was a handicrafts- 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 39 
 
 man, not a maker of drawings ; that he devoted his attention 
 to one work ; that he lived at it, and in many cases spent the 
 best part of his life upon it ; and, in remarkable contrast to 
 the mode of his modern successors, his work was always 
 honourable, and his name was little known, and never 
 advertised or trumpeted abroad. lie did ‘not go up and 
 ‘down; and all his desire was in the work of his craft.’ 
 There is in him nothing like our picture-making and com- 
 mission-hunting modern architects, of whom truly we could 
 not continue the quotation : ‘ All these trust to their hands, 
 
 ‘ and every one is wise in his work ; ’ and ‘ without these 
 ‘ cannot a city he inhabited. ’ 
 
 The evidence, direct and inferential, might he accumulated 
 overwhelmingly. Fabric- rolls, history, tradition, muniments 
 and records, and even the building art itself give evidence. 
 In more than one Continental cathedral the effigy of the 
 architect is seen, and nearly always in his working dress ; 
 and those conversant with ancient work, not as mere sketchers, 
 hut using practised and discerning eyes, will he able to decide 
 almost as easily as if they saw the work in progress, whether it 
 is the labour of a copyist or the expression of an original mind. 
 And for the future when our workmen are restored to free in- 
 telligence and thought, and rescued from the bondage that 
 professionalism inflicts upon them, we may reasonably expect 
 and hope that they will again be filled with the ‘ spirit of 
 ‘ God ’ to devise curious works ; and that these works being 
 well understood and intelligently appreciated by their neigh- 
 bours and associates, the noble art of building will gradually 
 be recovered, and its gentle, beneficent, and persuasive in- 
 fluence will quickly spread, until all the handicraftsmen of 
 the land ‘ deal faithfully,’ and become ‘ wise hearted to 
 ‘ devise and to make any manner of cunning work.’ 
 
 But architects are not the only plague that desolates our 
 buildings ; the lawyers also have smitten them with a para- 
 lysing stroke. The visitor to London will remember that in 
 
40 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 several parts of the town there are groups of streets most 
 regularly planned, and lined with houses very similar to one 
 another in their feeble; outlines. They are the ‘ estates ’ of 
 noblemen and others, which have been covered with houses 
 under agreements for building leases, generally for a ninety- 
 nine years’ term. These are the more obvious instances of 
 the practice ; but throughout London and its suburbs not one 
 house in a thousand is absolutely freehold. The average term 
 of the leases also is so reduced by lapse of time and by short 
 renewals, that the houses in London will, on an average, be 
 all lost to their present owners within forty years. When 
 this system began is not very accurately known, but the 
 nomenclature of the streets and the style of building show 
 that it was considerably developed during the last century ; 
 and such has been its recent increase that the buildings of 
 one year would occupy an extent of frontage of something 
 more than fifty miles. This sounds like a careful provision 
 for the increasing population — a business-like anticipation of 
 a public want. Nothing can be further from the fact ; the 
 error is one of common sense, but we are far too clever for 
 any such simplicity of method; the houses are built, not 
 primarily as a comfort for the occupant, but as a security for 
 the freeholder. The expression that ‘ London is a province 
 ‘ covered with houses,’ has an esoteric significance that the 
 inventor of the phrase w 7 as not aware of. London houses 
 and the people of London are merely in accidental contact ; 
 there is no community of interest or mutual beneficence 
 between them. 
 
 There is nothing that a Londoner will so strenuously con- 
 demn as his abode ; and this is an excusable result of all 
 the troubles and inconveniences that his house inflicts on 
 him. The house in question is generally a wooden booth, 
 covered at the top with slates, enclosed around with a thin 
 film of brickwork, and daubed about with plaster. It can 
 hardly, in fact, be called a building, and for its size it has far 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 41 
 
 less strength and stability than the furniture it holds. The 
 •occupant knows nothing about his house ; he is in it to-day, 
 but in a twelvemonth he may have forgotten it in the anguish 
 of another equally afflicting domicile. Of the most simple 
 arrangements and details of the building he is utterly igno- 
 rant, and he is childishly helpless if anything goes wrong. 
 All that is necessary for the health and cleanliness of the 
 inmates and the preservation and security of the house, is a 
 •deep, inexplicable, hidden mystery, that tends to derange the 
 ■stomach and irritate the brain. There is the constant appal- 
 ling fear of the unknown, worse than a skeleton, in every 
 house ; and all this torment, ignorance, discomfort, and bit- 
 terness of life, with very much besides, is due to the perni- 
 cious influence of leasehold tenure. Yet there still is hope ; 
 though we must look for it, as usual, * at the bottom.’ The 
 working man must be invoked to raise us all, when he him- 
 self obtains sufficient motive. Moses was well conversant with 
 human nature, and first in his detail of prohibited desires 
 was, not the wife, but ‘ thy neighbour’s house ; ’ and yet we 
 systematically ignore the healthy social and domestic instinct 
 that urges every man to absolute possession of his home. The 
 working man, for whom, as we are told, so much must be 
 provided, is practically forbidden to provide a dwelling for 
 himself ; he is debarred from practising his handicraftsman’s 
 skill in the construction and arrangements of his home. 
 
 This leasehold tenure, with its gambling speculation, exten- 
 sive and often fraudulent building agreements, its heavy law 
 •costs, complicated mortgages, releases, re-mortgages, and 
 second charges, its doubtful titles and dreary waste of title- 
 deeds, the risks of forfeiture, and the shortening term, for- 
 bids prudent men of business to erect substantial, well-built 
 houses. Small plots of freehold land, except on the estates 
 of building societies, are seldom in the market, and these 
 estates almost invariably become traps for the inexperienced, 
 >and opportunities for the scamp ; since, while this system 
 
42 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 lasts, they will, by the mere force of custom, fall very much 
 into the hands of speculating builders. There can conse- 
 quently be no hope that working men or their employers will 
 be well and comfortably housed until this insecurity of tenure 
 is removed. The enfranchisement of leaseholds and their 
 absolute prevention would do more than anything whatever 
 to improve the dwellings of the whole community. The archi- 
 tectural, social, and political effect of such enfranchisement, 
 would be immense. Workmen would build for themselves, and 
 interchangeably for one another ; and those who are not work- 
 men, seeing the superiority of the work done by the brick- 
 layer or mason, smith or wright, for himself or for his fellow- 
 workmen, over the ordinary task or day work of the drudging 
 mechanic, would dispense with architects, surveyors, and 
 builders, and all the class of middlemen, and would have their 
 houses planned and built exclusively by local working men,, 
 with whom, as well-informed and interested artisans, they 
 could directly and conveniently confer. Art and its em- 
 ployer would go hand in hand, equal, mutually respectful, 
 and confiding, giving no place or opportunity for unions or 
 strikes, or international societies. The great class of work- 
 ing men would he freeholders, having an interest in the 
 capital and the soil, as well as in the labour of the country.. 
 Nothing has so much tended to demoralize our urban popu- 
 lation as their severance from all local and territorial interest 
 in the towns in which they dwell. This is the real cause of 
 the dilapidation and habitual squalor of the dwellings of the 
 poor ; the working men have no domestic local interest, and 
 they therefore seek no status in society; they lose all serious- 
 ness and self-respect, and become dirty, dissolute, and improvi- 
 dent. Among the younger men there is a very general desire 
 to improve their homes ; hut the respectful, wholesome pride 
 that would maintain and multiply the decencies and comforts 
 of a well-built freehold house is now depraved, and work- 
 men’s means are wasted on the cumbersome profusion of bad. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTUBE. 
 
 4G 
 
 furniture and trashy vanities that go to form that dreadful- 
 institution, the ‘ best front parlour.’ 
 
 The greater part of the house property of London and our 
 large towns belongs to no one in particular ; there is great 
 division of property, hut in the worst possible way, horizon- 
 tally, w T e may say, instead of vertically. First, there is the 
 freeholder, who has a ground rent ; then, secondly, a lease- 
 holder, with an improved ground rent ; and third, the nominal 
 proprietor, with the rack-rent ; fourth, the first mortgagee ; 
 and probably, fifth, the second mortgagee ; and sixth, the 
 tenant, or leaseholder, with, perhaps, a sub-tenant, yearly, 
 and probably some lodgers by the week or month. Besides- 
 these ‘ interests’ there are the lawyers, with their hills of 
 costs, collecting agents, repairing builders, water rates, and 
 insurance charges. This, or something like this, may be 
 taken as the probable condition of three-quarters of the house 
 property of London ; the whole metropolis is, in fact, under 
 a curse of law, which has in our great towns destroyed 
 domestic building as an art. Its decadence can be historically 
 traced in proportion to the extension of leasehold tenure.. 
 This tenure breeds the class of ‘surveyors,’ who gradually 
 engross all power, and simultaneously abandon all care, except, 
 for the freeholder. These men are, in fact, the spurious suc- 
 cessors of the old builders, the ruck of the profession, a mass 
 of struggling impotence, to whom we owe the travesties of 
 Grecian, Gothic, and Venetian ‘ styles ’ that speculating; 
 builders use to decorate their ill-conditioned works and satisfy 
 the ‘public taste’ fox ornament and ‘art.’ Their patrons 
 are the lawyers, the solicitors of the ‘ estates,’ who are the 
 chief contrivers and manipulators of this inartistic and 
 demoralizing system ; and to whose ‘ deeds ’ the degradation, 
 of domestic building work is principally due. 
 
 It is a remarkable instance of the ‘Chinese’ endurance of 
 Englishmen, that the people of London have not unanimously 
 struck against this evil tenure. They have so small an interest. 
 
44 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 in the houses, that they might, with proper independence and 
 moderation, urge the cessation, by legislative means if neces- 
 sary, of a custom which although injurious to all, is more 
 particularly so to those large classes that are now the 
 objects of chief national and social care. Much that is 
 meant to he severe is sometimes said about the manners 
 of the working classes, but a few who know them in their 
 homes can testify that their unfortunate condition and their 
 mode of life is greatly due to the pernicious customs, the 
 injurious greed, and the defective or bad legislation of their 
 territorial superiors. Peabody Buildings, and others of the 
 kind, are useful, and, in part, exemplary ; but the good that 
 they can do is hardly visible in presence of the enormous 
 ■evil that remains. The real duty of the upper classes is, not to 
 provide new dwellings for the poor, hut to remove every hin- 
 drance to their making proper houses for themselves. Of 
 these hindrances the greatest evidently are, our almost uni- 
 versal leasehold tenure, complexity of title, and litigious 
 transfers ; and w T hile these obstacles exist, the power of im- 
 mediate self-interest, the only power that naturally seeks the 
 universal national improvement of the dwellings of the poor, 
 and has no free exercise. At present legislation can do little 
 positively good, except to stigmatise and possibly prevent these 
 foolish and pernicious customs. If the working man should 
 rise in self-respect, and free himself from one profession, he 
 would still in all things that affect his home remain oppressed 
 and fettered by these legal bonds, and Parliament alone can 
 utter the command to loose him and let him go. He now is, 
 like another Issachar, ‘a strong ass crouching down between 
 4 two burdens ’ ; but if he could be relieved of the oppressive 
 twofold incubus of architects and law he would begin to have 
 his own again. His social status then would be restored, his 
 mental energy developed, his self-respect enhanced, and his 
 address and manners softened ; nothing would be more con- 
 ducive to our social progress than such elevation of the men 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 45 * 
 
 whose works continually affect our daily life. There then 
 would be no need of ‘ the profession ; ’ and our drawing-master 
 architects subsiding into their appropriate spheres as book- 
 makers, graphic artists, business men, students of symbolism 
 and arcliEeology, and, in fact, pupils and illustrators of those- 
 very workmen whom they now profess to direct and to 
 control, it will again be recognized that the glory of a nation 
 is in its men, and not, as lately we have been taught to 
 believe, in its machines. 
 
 Leaseholds, then, like copyholds, should, at least in urban 
 districts, be enfranchised ; the freeholder receiving the full 
 value of his property in fee. The thing might easily be tried 
 without any interference with private interests. A score or 
 two of civic, ecclesiastical, and charitable corporations hold a 
 large proportion of the London freehold land and ground- 
 rents, the development and care of which must grievously divert 
 the limited attention of trustees from their administrative 
 duties. Were each ground-rent separately sold, with proper 
 preference to the leaseholder, and the proceeds invested in 
 Government securities, the corporate incomes would be in- 
 creased, the care and expense of management would be saved, 
 and the enfranchisement of many thousand leaseholds would 
 be an honour and a blessing to the metropolitan community. 
 But charitable corporations are, by law, forbidden to buy up, 
 and so enfranchise, urban leaseholds which they have, by law, 
 created on their own estates. For lawyers understand the 
 tenure much too well to let substantial clients sink their 
 funds in leaseholds ; they create the plague, and then they 
 shrewdly institute a selfish quarantine. 
 
 The tenure being purged, all titles should be certified and 
 registered, so that every transfer may be prompt and cheap,, 
 enhancing greatly the commercial value of all urban property, 
 and resulting in the general improvement of house-building. It 
 may be objected that London freeholds are still in the market ; 
 we are not discussing accidents, but an almost universal rule,. 
 
46 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 which causes needless injury to fixed and life-long residents, 
 and to the poor enormous suffering, from which, unlike those 
 who thus afflict them, they can never possibly escape. We have 
 in urban leaseholds a pernicious and expensive, very foolish 
 custom, and a had example ; their entire abolition would he a 
 real conservative reform, and it ought at once to he undertaken. 
 
 We might then begin to learn some valuable lessons from 
 the working man. He would practically teach us that before 
 hoping to build grandly we must learn to build simply and 
 modestly, and that before setting to work on Temples of 
 Themis and Palaces of Justice, we had better see that the 
 national ability and discernment is up to the level of a 
 cottage or a barn, We should learn that architecture is not 
 to be a luxury, but a constant, common, daily work ; that all 
 houses should be architectural, and that the architecture of 
 London should not be sought in a few results of competition 
 designs that a stranger, in his ignorance, might take a cab to 
 see, but that every street and house should be as characteristic 
 and expressive as a temple or a palace; that, because a build- 
 ing is public, there is no reason why it should be prominent, 
 nor that it should be showy because it happens to be big ; 
 that a nobleman’s mansion, the abode of luxury, refinement, 
 and hereditary rank, should be distinguished by architectural 
 grace far more than the chief office for the settlement or 
 aggravation of the vain disputes that sordid rivalry con- 
 tinually breeds ; and that courts of law should be quiet and 
 unobtrusive buildings, in the use of which publicity is perhaps 
 necessary, but, to those most interested, grievously undesir- 
 able. Nothing could be more painful to a quondam, actual, 
 or possible client, than a noticeable building for these courts 
 of law. Our judges, in their way, are men of culture ; and 
 if those who build the courts would make the reticent 
 and serious judgments from the bench their models and 
 exemplars, they would achieve all that is possible for justice 
 to demand. But here is the contrast : the judges are content 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 47 
 
 to speak in the vernacular ; the architects are working in a 
 dead language. We must have a building language also of our 
 own, by which we may have natural and prompt expression of 
 ideas, and for this we must re-learn our national speech, so that 
 every child may understand the house in which he dwells as 
 ■clearly as the book he reads. No other way is possible ; the 
 hand, like the tongue, can be eloquent only in its own idiom. 
 
 But, it may be said, are we to go back to the fourteenth 
 century, and ignore all the advancement that mankind has 
 made for the last five hundred years ? Nothing of the kind. 
 We would interfere with no advancement ; but we surely 
 have advanced enough in luxury of building since the choir 
 •of Westminster was planned, and certainly in building art 
 we have as obviously retrograded. We may trace the artistic 
 history of the nation back for, if possible, a thousand years, 
 before we find a pair of public buildings such as has been 
 planted on the Burlington estate. No ! what we have now to 
 do is to press forward to the fourteenth century and endea- 
 vour to recover something of the noble, labour-loving spirit of 
 -our great ancestors ; when this is done, we may again begin 
 to talk about advancement. 
 
 When art becomes securely and intelligently founded in 
 -our common practice and experience, it will grow and 
 fructify as in the middle ages, when the workmen ruled ; in 
 perfect contrast to its moribund condition while oppressed 
 by Connoisseurs. For the last three hundred years these 
 leaders of opinion have directed public ignorance. They 
 began with the extinction of the pointed style, and they 
 have brought us down to the new buildings at the Kensington 
 Museum, where the eye is pained, and all artistic judgment 
 is offended by the obtrusive colour, uncouth outline, and 
 •abundant ugliness of the new buildings; the nursery, home, 
 and illustration, of what is called ‘ art manufacture.’ It 
 is, in fact, neither ‘art’ nor in any sense true handicrafts- 
 man’s work, but mere machine and copy work, heartless. 
 
48 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 senseless, and absurd, false in principle, and paralysing- 
 eventually to the artistic skill of any working man who prac- 
 tises it. The decorations on the columns are expensive; 
 but they have neither ideal beauty nor practical fitness. 
 Were one column placed like the central pier of a chapter- 
 house, there might be some excuse for the design; the* 
 Trajan column, and the 4 apprentice pier,’ also, have some- 
 similar justification ; but these foolish things, placed so high 
 that their enrichment cannot be seen from a distance, and on. 
 the edge of a platform, so that they can only be seen on one- 
 side, the enrichment being continuous and varied round the 
 column, are to be taken not merely as a specimen of ‘ art 
 4 manufacture,’ but of the imbecility to which such practice 
 inevitably leads. 
 
 In the Museum are some large wrought-iron gates that, 
 have been removed from Hampton Court, with a very proper 
 sense of their value, and of the impossibility of making good 
 the loss should they unhappily be damaged or destroyed. 
 They are not exquisite, but very bold, manly, and effective 
 works, made, and certainly designed, by a thorough work- 
 man ; and are as good and gratifying a specimen of out-of- 
 door hand-wrought iron-work as can easily be met with. Close 
 by is a gate from Berlin, the smooth and lifeless composition 
 of a draughtsman, whose design was handed over to a manu- 
 facturing metal-worker to be carried out. Nothing can be baser 
 than this work, which is thought worthy of a distinguished 
 place in the Kensington Museum. The cost must have been 
 great, and as the work is done with perfect care and nicety 
 the labour was no doubt far greater here than on tlm 
 older gates ; but in all the genius of handicraft, it is the brain 
 of a caterpillar against the intellect of a man; mechanical 
 tool-work, dead as a door-nail or a screw; a piece of stupid 
 luxury of expense ; in fact, 4 art manufacture.’ 
 
 Forty years ago Trafalgar Square became the field for dilet- 
 tante architectural diversions. The National Gallery had been 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 49 
 
 declared a failure ; and although it would be difficult to find any 
 work of this century that shows more refinement of feeling — 
 the two four-column porticos are delightful in their way — still 
 it may he conceded that the unfortunate conditions imposed 
 on the architect had compelled an unsatisfactory result. A 
 committee was ' then appointed to decide upon the arrange- 
 ments of the Square; and, the Gallery being. low in elevation, 
 it was sagaciously determined to deprive it of the rising- 
 ground above which it was fortunately placed, to sink a large 
 pit, and build a high retaining wall, with a balustrade above, 
 which most effectively reduces the apparent height of the 
 facade. At each end of the balustrade an enormous block of 
 masonry completely dwarfs the building, and on one of these is 
 a colossal statue of a man and horse, that in a general view 
 reaches to the cornice of the Gallery. Two large water-pans 
 were placed in the pit, and lest the water should be too 
 plainly seen, these pans were kept a foot or two above the 
 level of the ground. To continue the gradation of increasing 
 scale, the lamps and their pedestals have been considerately 
 made fit for a lighthouse ; then came the Nelson Column, with 
 gigantic steps ; the big bas-reliefs in turn made these look 
 dwarfish ; and then the lions minimized the whole. This 
 is the result of years of consideration by the combined talent 
 and connoisseursliip of the nation. It would be hard to find 
 a more impressive combination of absurdity, and ignorance, 
 and want of art.* This was all done by ‘ architects of emi- 
 nence ’ and by our most distinguished connoisseurs. The 
 
 # We venture to suggest tliat the ‘pit’ of the square should he raised, 
 with a slope to the upper edge of the water-pans ; that the balustrade, 
 pedestal and colossal statue, and lamp-posts should be cleared away ; 
 that a bank of grass and flowering shrubs should be formed on the north 
 side of the square, and that the square itself should be planted with good 
 forest trees. If the great fountains were removed, and a raised garden 
 made in the centre of each basin, four small jets among the verdure 
 would be more effective than the present fountains with a background of 
 mean buildings or of dirty sky. The great steps of the column also might 
 be banked with grass or clothed with evergreens. 
 
 4 
 
50 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 working men designed and built the Abbey choir and tran- 
 septs ; unknown men, not eminent, but able at their work. 
 Are, then, the workmen, or the drawing- masters and the con- 
 noisseurs, the real men of art ? 
 
 The late Sir Robert Peel, a patron of the arts, and a reputed 
 connoisseur, assured the House of Commons that the new 
 front of the British Museum was to be 4 a masterpiece/ 
 Instead of this we have a huge, ill-fitting range of useless- 
 columns, with a bald and harsh entablature ; a mere dull 
 stoneyard. Were the front court enclosed with a compara- 
 tively plain stone wall, and useful entrances and corridors,, 
 these cumbrous columns might be utilized within a spacious 
 hall, in area equal to the central dome with all its adjuncts 
 and annexes, and the building would be visible above the 
 gilded iron screen. 
 
 TV T e have endeavoured to describe the forlorn condition in 
 which we are left in all that concerns our public as well as 
 private building- works. Having neither artists to build, nor 
 critics to discuss, nor a public worthy to approve of any 
 work, it is time to institute an architectural reform, to 
 start again in the old genuine practice of artistic work. But 
 for this end the master workman, who devotes his time 
 entirely to one work, must absolutely rule in architectural 
 affairs ; so that in every case he may entirely supersede the- 
 manufacturers of designs and competition speculators, with 
 their following of drawing-clerks and decorators, whose con- 
 ceits. and meddling have degraded nearly every building, 
 ancient or modern, in the land. 
 
 We have referred to the class of drawing-clerks without a 
 compliment, but not without feelings of compassionate solici- 
 tude. These gentlemen, who are the architectural expecta- 
 tion, not to say hope, of the next generation, are in a 
 desperately false position ; they are, in fact, the real archi- 
 tects of the present. That the more fashionable members of 
 the profession can properly consider, devise, and superintend 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE . 
 
 51 
 
 tbe widely-scattered works on which they are engaged, is a 
 perfectly inadmissible idea, and its adoption demonstrates 
 how worthless the profession is. By far the greater portion 
 of the work is designed as well as drawn by these poor 
 clerks. It has been said that an eminent architect allows 
 no drawing to leave his office without his inspection first 
 received ; but this places him just on a level with a reader 
 for the press. He is not a poet or creator, but a mere check- 
 taker or turnpike man. The roles are, in fact, exchanged. 
 The clerk is the architect, and the architect is the * clerk of 
 the cheque.’ Nothing, then, could be of more advantage to. 
 the great body of architectural assistants than a complete 
 change in the method of our building- work. Instead of 
 spending their lives in miserable drudgery and vain expecta- 
 tions, with minds enervated by dull routine, alternating with 
 the excitement of the paltry jealousies of a precarious and 
 speculating profession, they might themselves become the 
 true successors of the ancient builders ; and passing from 
 a chronic state of anxiety, and disappointment, and despair, 
 they would attain to a life of real work, true, grateful, en- 
 nobling, and refined. 
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON. 
 
THE HOPE 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN T. EMMETT. 
 
 Reprinted from 
 
 THE QUARTERLY REVIEW, OCTOBER, 1874. 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, 
 Jfonbcn. 
 
J~N the sciences the philosopher leads ; the rest of us take on trust what 
 he tells us. The spiritual progress of mankind has followed the 
 opposite course; each forward step has been made first among the 
 people , and the last converts have been among the learned. The interests 
 and prejudices of the cultivated classes are enlisted on the side of the 
 existing order of things. Simpler men have less to lose; they come more 
 in contact with the realities of life, and they learn wisdom in the 
 experience of suffering. Thus , when the learned and wise turned 
 away from Christianity, the fishermen of the Galilean lake listened, 
 and a new life began for mankind. A miner's son converted 
 Germany to the Reformation. The London artisans and the 
 peasants of Buckinghamshire went to the stake for doctrines which 
 were accepted afterwards as a sacred revelation. When a great teacher 
 comes again upon the earth, he will find his disciples where Christ 
 found them and Luther found them . — John Anthony Froude. 
 
THE HOPE 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 OST cultivated men profess to have some knowledge of the 
 
 building art. The knowledge is avowedly but superficial, 
 just a refinement ; not a serious acquaintance with the work of 
 men, hut a genteel and delicate appreciation of what they call 
 ‘ the beautiful.’ In other words, they know what pleases them, 
 and yet they know not why, nor have they any thought or 
 ■care about the worthiness, or otherwise, of their enjoyment. 
 They possibly have learnt some names of styles, and can, 
 perhaps, distinguish more or less correctly what these mean. 
 Their judgment is in favour of some style as ‘ preferable; ’ and 
 they pique themselves upon their keen discernment of the 
 special merits and peculiar knack of certain living architects 
 This is the class and character of those w 7 lio pass for men of 
 * taste,’ who take the lead in Boards, in Church Committees, 
 and in Government Commissions, and to them is very greatly 
 due the constantly declining state of English art. Our buildings 
 fully justify the estimate that not one cultivated man among 
 ten thousand has sound knowledge and discriminating power 
 in architectural affairs, or an opinion that is worth a moment’s 
 confidence. The small minority will testify that this is true, 
 and that the talk concerning art and artists prevalent in good 
 society is generally make-believe and empty prattle. 
 
4 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 Sucli ignorance should be abated. To obtain a thorough 
 knowledge of the methods and the merits of true art would 
 need much time as well as patient industry ; but, thanks 
 to Mr. Fergusson’s illustrated ‘ History of Architecture,’ an 
 amateur may gain a large comparative, albeit second-hand, 
 acquaintance with the noble works of ancient builders as well as 
 with the feeble efforts of our modern men. His later ‘ History * 
 is, besides, a pungent and continuous satire on the royal, reve- 
 rend, and noble victims of the modern architectural system; 
 an exhibition of the monumental follies of the vaunted culture 
 of the West, and of the petrified delusions of three hundred 
 years. The climax of the work is in the Preface and the In- 
 troduction ; here Mr. Fergusson has concentrated the result 
 Qf his long study of the modern styles, and he proclaims them 
 all to be mere pomp and semblance, 4 vanity and lies ’ : — 
 
 ‘ The Styles of Architecture which have been described in 
 4 the previous parts of this work,’ those on Ancient Architec- 
 ture, ‘ may be called the True Styles. Those that remain to 
 ‘ be examined may in like manner be designated the Copying 
 ‘ or Imitative Styles of Architectural Art. It is perhaps not 
 ‘too much to say that no perfectly truthful architectural 
 ‘ building has been erected in Europe since the Keformation. 
 
 * In modern designs there is always an effort either to repro- 
 ‘ duce the style of some foreign country or that of some bygone 
 ‘ age ; frequently both. St. Peter’s and St. Paul’s are not 
 4 Boman buildings, though affecting a classical style of orna- 
 ‘ mentation; and even the Walhalla and the Madeleine are only. 
 ‘ servile copies. So, too, with our Gothic fashions. Our best 
 ‘ modern churches attain to no greater truthfulness or origin- 
 ‘ ality of design than exists in the Walhalla, or in buildings 
 ‘ of that class. All this degrades Architecture from its high 
 
 * position as a quasi-natural production to that of a mere 
 ‘ imitative art. In this form it may be quite competent to 
 ‘ gratify our tastes and feelings, but can never appeal to our 
 ‘ higher intellectual faculties. Besides this loss of intellectual 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 value, the art lias lost all ethnographic signification. So 
 '* completely is this the case, that few are aware that such a 
 4 science exists as the Ethnography of Art, and that the same 
 
 * ever shifting fashions have not always prevailed.’ 
 
 Truth and simplicity, and ethnographic value being lost, 
 the charge of wastefulness and vandalism follows : — * While 
 
 * admiring the true Mediaeval Art with the intensest enthusiasm, 
 4 1 cannot without regret see so much talent employed and so 
 4 much money wasted in producing imitations of it, which are 
 4 erected in defiance of every principle of Gothic Art. Neither 
 4 can I look without extreme sorrow on the obliteration of 
 4 everything that is truthful or worthy of study in our noble 
 m4 cathedrals or beautiful parish churches ; nor do I care to 
 ‘ refrain from expressing my dissent from the system which 
 ■* is producing these deplorable results.’ 
 
 After a sarcastic reference to the destruction and deface- 
 ment that in thirty years have made our churches, abbeys, 
 and cathedrals in a second sense memorials of the past, Mr. 
 Fergusson declares that — ‘ All our grand old buildings are now 
 4 clothed in falsehood, and all our new buildings aim only at 
 4 deceiving. If this is to continue, architecture in England 
 < is not worth writing about ; but this work has been written 
 4 that those who read it may be led to perceive how 7 false and 
 x mistaken the principles are on which modern architecture is 
 4 based, and how easy it would be to succeed, if we would only 
 4 follow in the same path which has led to perfection in all 
 4 countries of the world, and in all ages preceding that to 
 4 which the history contained in this volume extends.’ 
 
 This volume, and the two which have preceded it, are an 
 index to the various schools and styles of architectural work ; 
 and if the student will accept them as a warning and a 
 guide, and, rejecting modern buildings as ‘ deceptions,’ will 
 select some £ true ’ old work to draw and measure parts of it 
 full-size, and stone by stone, an unexpected interest will pro- 
 bably arise. A new 7 companionship will be discovered, and 
 
0 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 where all might have seemed mechanical and tame, the stones 
 will soon be felt to be alive. The spirit of the Master-Workman 
 will be manifested in each curve and joint, and even in the 
 very setting of the work ; his mental and artistic growth will 
 be revealed ; a sympathetic art association will be gained with 
 a true, manly, simple workman, and with a mind and method 
 utterly removed from the 4 refined ’ impostures that delude our 
 much enlightened, cultivated age. 
 
 To those but little educated in the ways of art, the Master- 
 Workman is a mystery ; his influence and existence are half 
 doubted, half denied, or wholly misconceived. But history tells 
 us that in every scene, or kind, or period of art, whenever it 
 was true, original, and great, the workman was the master. 
 His often questionable social status did not in the least affect his 
 dominant position in the world of art ; and if we go to Athens, 
 where art reached its ancient climax, and inquire what were 
 the value and condition of an architect in Greece, Plato has 
 furnished us with a complete reply. He says that 4 you could 
 
 * buy ’ (7 Tpiato) 4 a common builder ’ (jeKTova) 4 for five or six 
 
 * minse at most, but a master-workman’ (ap^creKrova) ‘not even 
 4 for ten thousand drachmae, for there are few of them even 
 
 * among all the Greeks.’* Thus in Plato’s time — and he was 
 born but three years after Phidias had died — the master- work- 
 man might in common conversation be referred to as a slave. 
 He was a rare luxury, and so was worth above four hundred 
 pounds, or twenty times the price of a mere labourer. This 
 startling sum is quoted, not for some neophyte or unknown 
 article, but for the very few selected 4 among all the Greeks.’ 
 
 The Greek 4 architect ’ then was not a workman only, or 
 even a chief workman ; he was the master-workman, or chief 
 of the workmen. He was a simple workman in his origin, 
 and probably by family descent, hut, advanced to superinten- 
 dence, he would 4 make the plan, arrange the elevations, and 
 4 be, in fact, the foreman of the work.’ However, let us again 
 
 * ’E/)ocrra», p. 135. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 7 
 
 hear Plato. ‘ Eleatic Stranger. — The master-workman does not 
 ‘ work himself, hut is the ruler of workmen .’ ‘ He contributes 
 
 ‘ knowledge, hut not manual labour, and may, therefore, he 
 ‘justly said to share in theoretical science. But he ought not, 
 ‘ when he has formed a judgment, to regard his functions as at 
 ‘ an end, like the calculator; he must assignto the individual work- 
 ‘ men their appropriate task until they have completed the work .’ 
 The architect was, in fact, the foreman of the works. He 
 ‘ formed a judgment,’ that is, he decided on the plan or detail, 
 and thus ‘contributed knowledge and theoretical science.’ He 
 was ‘ the ruler of the workmen,’ and so must always have been 
 upon the ivorks ; and ‘ he assigned to the individual workmen 
 ‘ their appropriate task,’ and to do this he must himself have 
 been a workman, as any jury of twelve working carpenters and 
 masons would immediately declare. Thus, with the help of 
 another ‘ chief ’ or two, Ictinus built the Parthenon ; and four 
 master- workmen were engaged on the foundations of the 
 Temple of the Olympian Jove at Athens. If we imagine, then, 
 a dozen architects employed on the foundations of the Law 
 Courts, we shall recognize the difference between the ancient 
 working foreman and the modern ‘ architect.’ 
 
 It is further remarkable that we seldom read of a Greek 
 architect who built more than one temple, and never do we 
 find him engaged on more than one building at a time. We 
 never hear of him as a draughtsman ; but so frequently are 
 architects called also carvers, that many must have been pro- 
 ficient in the plastic art. Theodoras, architect at Samos, was 
 a modeller and carver ; Callimachus, the inventor of the 
 Corinthian capital, was of course a carver, and besides he was 
 a goldsmith, an embosser and engraver, a maker of lamps, 
 and, in fact, a very accomplished workman. Phidias was 
 himself a carver, and his influence is visible in the refinement 
 that distinguishes the Propylsea and the Parthenon ; he was 
 not, like a modern carver, a mere sub-contractor for the carver’s 
 work ; but, as the noblest of the workmen, he was made by 
 
THE HOPE OF 
 
 8 
 
 Pericles the chief superintendent of the works, the architects 
 or master-workmen being under him. Plutarch tells us that 
 ‘ Phidias directed all, and was the overseer of all for Pericles. 
 4 And yet the buildings had great architects and artists of the 
 4 works ; for the Parthenon was the work of Callicrates and 
 4 Ictinus ; and almost all things were in his hands, and, as we 
 4 have said, he superintended all the artists.’ 
 
 For three centuries there had been a gradual and moderate 
 improvement in the architecture of Greek temples ; hut under 
 fhe influence of Phidias this at once rose to perfection, and the 
 absolute refinement of the outlines, curvatures, and mouldings, 
 is the evident result of his more accurate perception, cultivated 
 by his constant study of the human form. Phidias was not 
 regarded as a draughtsman ; his inscription on the colossal- 
 •clirsyo* elephantine statue at Elis was not ‘ Phidias designed,’ 
 but ‘Phidias made me.’ We hear nothing of his drawings, 
 but only that he worked in marble, ivory, and gold, and this 
 not in a * study,’ as we have somewhere seen, but in a workshop 
 (epyaarrjpLov) ; and, though in artistic and imaginative power 
 lie was supreme, he did not fail to fully utilize the special skill 
 of each less able workman ; for ‘ in Greece especial excellence 
 ‘ in art and handiwork of every kind was greatly prized ; the 
 4 best workman in the most humble craft might succeed in 
 ‘rendering his name immortal. Superior artists were dis- 
 4 tinguished by the surname godlike ; and we are told that the 
 4 Greeks were accustomed to pray the gods that their memories 
 4 might never die.’ * 
 
 It is abundantly evident, then, that Greek art of all kinds 
 w r as entirely and exclusively the product and expression of the 
 workman ; there is nothing in the slightest degree professional 
 about it, nor have we evidence of any class of draughtsmen 
 who prepared designs. Artists of the highest rank and greatest 
 power lived at their work ; Phidias was ‘ borrowed ’ by the 
 Eleians to ‘ make ’ their statue of Olympian Jove, and Ictinus 
 
 * Winckelmann. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE . 
 
 9 
 
 and Callicrates ‘built’ the Parthenon; that was their ‘work.’ 
 The design, exquisite as it is, would have been a small affair 
 for any draughtsman; all the special merits of the work are 
 quite beyond the draughtsman’s sphere : they are the practi- 
 cal perfection of the improvements gradually made in former 
 temples. The imagination and perception of the workmen 
 had been trained by constant and hereditary use, and their effect 
 was manifest in architectural as well as sculptured forms. 
 
 Let us now pass from Greece to Eome, and leave philo- 
 sophers, and carvers, and the master-workman, for an author 
 who is often quoted as the earliest advocate and representative 
 of the architectural profession. Vitruvius was for centuries a 
 classic among ‘ imitative ’ architects, who made believe that 
 he was really an authority of weight in architectural affairs ; 
 and so the laity have been persistently misled by the ficti- 
 tious use of this man’s worthy name. For instance, we are 
 told that Vitruvius called architecture a fine art ; but he 
 said nothing of the kind. In the first line of his treatise he 
 declares that architecture is a ‘ science arising out of many 
 ‘ other sciences, and adorned with much and varied learning.’ 
 Architecture is in practice thus transmuted, science takes the 
 place of art, and instead of masters we shall now find only 
 scholars. Vitruvius declares that he ‘will lay down rules 
 ‘ which may serve as an authority to those who build, as well 
 ‘ as to those who are already somewhat acquainted with the 
 ‘ science.’ And so the good man’s ‘ rules ’ have ‘ served as an 
 ‘authority,’ and for nothing else; they were, in fact, the law 
 of the profession that was added because of transgression ; 
 the inspiration of the workman had been lost, and the regula- 
 tions of the schoolmaster were the necessary substitute. But 
 wherever work that may be called Vitruvian has been done 
 with demonstration of imaginative power, the good has been 
 in spite of all Vitruvius has ruled, and by an inspiration such 
 as he had not experienced or foreseen. The inspired work- 
 man feels the necessary, and for ever varying, rules of art ; 
 
10 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 lie does not learn them from a treatise, nor accept them as 
 unchangeable and inexpansive. 
 
 Vitruvius also shows most clearly that among the Greeks 
 the architect was the chief of the workmen, and personally 
 superintended the work. Ctesiphon, for instance, contrived 
 the apparatus for conveying the shafts of the columns which 
 he had prepared for the Temple of Diana at Ephesus ; the 
 man was evidently the master-workman. Pteonius attempted 
 the same method, but was unable to complete his contract. 
 
 Thus we have shown from Greek philosophy and Roman 
 story that in building-work the first adviser was the master- 
 workman, that he was the result of selection and culture ; that 
 he was a workman though a master ; that he had coadjutors 
 if not partners ; that they personally superintended the build- 
 ings and the individual workmen, and were sometimes, if not 
 always, contractors for the work. This was precisely the state 
 and position of the medieval master-workman; the Greek 
 method and the ‘ Gothic,’ and, in fact, all true building 
 methods, are essentially the same. The subtle curvatures in 
 the lines of a Greek temple and the ornamentation, not casual 
 or fortuitous, of a Gothic church, are the direct expression of 
 the working men of various grades, but always present at the 
 building ; so that when building-work was true, excellent, and 
 dignified, there were master- workmen, and now that it is 
 ‘clothed in falsehood,’ ‘ aiming only at deceiving,’ ‘worthless,’ 
 and ‘ debased,’ we have no chief of the builders, but only a 
 chief of the clerks, whose aim and occupation is not about 
 art, but only concerning luxury. The modern method is ‘ like 
 ‘ cookery, wholly in the service of pleasure without regarding 
 ‘either the nature or the reason of the pleasure,’ but the 
 ancient practice ‘ has to do with the soul, the processes of art 
 ‘ making a provision for the soul’s highest interest.’ 
 
 Nothing can be worse for the soul than a constant appeal 
 to the low instincts and ignorant prejudices of a public greedy 
 for luxuries and worshipping display ; and yet, after centuries 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 11 
 
 of neglect and of admitted failure, we still continue to despise 
 the workman, and vainly trust in the imposture that would 
 fain imitate his works and thus pretend to take his place. It 
 is the workman only that can efficiently perceive and feelingly 
 originate the more subtle elements of good architectural design. 
 Our dilettanti and composers talk of the Greek workman’s 
 work as if some special, superhuman power had wrought it, and 
 to rival it were hopeless ; hut if the modern workman would 
 repudiate the foolish products of our modern ‘ civilizing arts/ 
 and would work simply, with a pleasureable study of his work, 
 he would in due time rival, and in some respects he might sur- 
 pass, the Parthenon itself. But good imaginative work can never 
 come of vanity and greed ; nor is there any hope for art in Eng- 
 land while the public mind is subject to artistic superstitions. 
 Until we get entirely rid of the fine words that have imposed 
 upon the public, we shall not have sound knowledge and intel- 
 ligent ideas. 4 Fine art,’ for instance, is a term of fashion, and 
 the fine gentlemen who got themselves dubbed ‘ dilettanti,’ 
 ‘ connoisseurs,’ and ‘ men of taste,’ used this superior epithet 
 to scare the uninitiated and exclude ‘ the vulgar.’ 
 
 ‘ Art ’ used formerly to mean imaginative work, hut now it 
 means a trade. If art he now our aim and hope, we should 
 abandon all this verbal folly ; art should he known as work, 
 and not as the mere prefigurement of work : we should talk 
 no more of sculptors and professors, architects and artists, but 
 of carvers and master-masons, painters and braziers, carpenters 
 and smiths. Instead of studios and offices we should get back 
 to the prosaic workshop, the ipyacrTrjpiov of Phidias, the 
 ‘ bottega ’ of Michael Angelo ; and we should recognize with 
 due respect, and even with affectionate familiarity, such poor 
 implements as the plain workman’s bench and stool, the ban- 
 quer and the forge. We should learn that the imagination of 
 a man is to be used, not for the glorification of another’s 
 work, but that he may have pleasure in his own ; that his first 
 duty is sound work, and that in this his highest object and 
 
12 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 chief end should be the culture of the soul that has been given 
 him for his particular development and constant care. When 
 these are all admitted as the rights of man, we may begin to 
 hope ; and soon, instead of fashionable vanities which ‘ fine 
 art ’ now produces, we shall see again the genuine workman’s 
 work, all good and true, and in its excellence as fine as any 
 relic of the Athenian school, or of the unrestored chief mason’s 
 work of Lincoln or of Wells. 
 
 Vitruvius and the Romans were but dilettanti in their patron- 
 age and practice of Greek art. The plain, coarse-minded, 
 practical, and semi- scientific Roman workman, whether brick- 
 layer or mason, was essentially a constructor, and the arch 
 was with him worth all the orders. These he retained just as 
 a fashion ; and in using them he treated poor Vitruvius and 
 his 4 rules ’ with scant respect. The workman first concerned 
 himself with his arcades and domes, and lines and curvatures 
 of plan, and used the orders as mere surface decorations, an 
 artistic sop to gratify the Roman connoisseurs. 
 
 During the semi-classic period of the earlier Romanesque, 
 the workman’s more imaginative art was little used ; the plans 
 of the basilicas were stereotyped, and very simple; and the 
 workmen had the slight amusement of assorting various 
 capitals and columns for the nave and aisles, with some occa- 
 sional and interesting efforts of design in capitals of sub- 
 Corinthian form. But in the Lombard and Byzantine build- 
 ings there is ample evidence of the individual thought and 
 handicraft of the inspired workmen and their chief; the work 
 is practical, and thoroughly artistic, the expression of direct 
 thought acting on present material. The workman’s mind 
 and hand are seen throughout ; his thoughts are manifested 
 as they rise. Changes of detail or of plan are prompt, open, 
 and decided ; and at once, without the painful preparation of 
 the schoolman or the office clerk, the utterance is given, and 
 a new line of poetry is in a moment added to the refined, 
 beneficent enjoyments of the world. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 13 
 
 In looking at the east front of the Louvre, or at the western 
 elevation of St. Paul’s, we soon appreciate the harmony of 
 studied composition and admire the grace of outline ; hut no 
 sympathy arises. The design, we know, was drawn by a 
 magnificent composer, who prepared his classical and pic- 
 turesque effects away in some dull room ; and of the men that 
 did the work we never think at all. But when, after a long 
 day’s study of the Duomo that Buschetto built at Pisa, we 
 retire to the shadow of the Baptistery to see the glorious front 
 illumined by the summer’s setting sun, no thought arises off 
 the bigness of the church, or of its cost, or even of its archi- 
 tectural effect as an imposing structure, but only of the work- 
 men that so many centuries ago had made it ; we converse 
 and sympathize directly with the master-workman and with 
 all his men.* In no one view perhaps is there so clear and 
 multitudinous a sense of the true working artist’s presence, 
 where the stones seem cut and fixed in some instinctively 
 harmonious way, each by a separate workman yet in perfect 
 and spontaneous concert with a general design. 
 
 This is the climax of Italian medieval art ; the Parthenon at 
 Athens also marked the final step of centuries of progress. 
 Here the building-work was perfeet in refinement, and the 
 ideal forms of gods and heroes were conceived and worked in 
 studious contemplation of supreme humanity. At Pisa there - 
 is varied work instead of perfect form, and with all reverence 
 for the majesty of Attic art, perhaps we sympathize more 
 quickly with the prompt and individual fancy of the homely 
 Lombards. Much of the difference of the two styles was 
 naturally due to the dimensions of the building stone. In 
 Greece the massive blocks of stone and marble would induce 
 severity of outline and colossal forms, but the work of Italy, 
 at all times conscious of the arch, preferred small stones, 
 and. so gave greater liberty to all the workmen. 
 
 The building-work at Venice has been so well described 
 * a.d. 1846. The front is now ‘ restored.’ 
 
14 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 that it is perfectly familiar even to the untravelled reader ; 
 so we pass on to England, where the influence of the indi- 
 vidual workman is as clear as at the Pisan Duomo. Thus, 
 ‘ Benedict, the Abbot of Wearmouth (a.d. 676), crossed the 
 
 < ocean to Gaul, and brought hack with him stone-masons to 
 4 make a church after the Roman fashion.’ Benedict also 
 
 < sent to Gaul to bring over glass-makers, a kind of artificers 
 
 * hitherto unknown in Britain, to close ’ (i.c. with glass) * the 
 4 windows of the church. And they came and taught the 
 
 * English nation thenceforth to know and learn an art so 
 ‘ well suited to the lanterns of the church and the vessels 
 
 * for various uses.’ These working-men were leaders in the 
 arts, and ‘ taught the English nation ; ’ the Newcastle glass- 
 workers may claim descent from the few immigrants who 
 twelve hundred years ago were settled by the Wear. 
 
 Again, Naitan, king of the Piets, sent to Abbot Ceolfrid, 
 of Jarrow, asking him to send him ‘ master-workmen (“ archi- 
 ‘ tectos ”) who might build among his own people a stone 
 
 * church after the manner of the Romans ; and the most 
 ‘ reverend Ceolfrid sent him the master builders whom he re- 
 
 * quired.’ Naitan asked not for ‘ an architect ’ to build many 
 churches, but for plural ‘ architectos ’ to build one church ; 
 working foremen, in fact, or ‘ master- workmen who should 
 
 * assign to the individual workmen their appropriate tasks.’ 
 
 The same method continues. In the reign of Edgar, the 
 isle of Ramsey, in Huntingdonshire, belonged to a nobleman 
 named Aylwine, * who was attracted to Oswald, Bishop of 
 ‘ Worcester, by the sanctity of his deportment ; ’ and during 
 a long and holy conversation with the Bishop, it came out 
 that Aylwine, having been long ill, was cured by St. Benedict, 
 and received a mission to erect a monastery in the island. 
 Oswald having in his diocese ‘ twelve brethren in one village 
 ‘ who had cast behind their backs the lusts of the flesh, and 
 4 were only warmed with divine love,’ and who would willingly 
 undertake the charge, proposed, like the famous man of 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 15 
 
 business that lie was, at once to go with Aylwine and inspect 
 the place. And then, explaining to his companion that, 
 
 4 while erecting there a temporary mansion, we shall also 
 4 be erecting, if our faith fail not, a mansion eternal in the 
 4 heavens ; let us, said he, commence at once, lest the devil 
 4 should take occasion of any delay to breathe a colder spirit 
 4 upon us. Let me, therefore, send hither a certain man 
 4 faithful and approved in such works, under whose manage- 
 4 ment a little refectory and dormitory may be prepared.’ 
 iEdnotlius was sent, who laid out the ground, enlarged the 
 chapel, and added other buildings, according to Oswald’s 
 plan; and, having the care of all the out-door works, he 
 during the winter provided the masons’ tools of wood and 
 and iron, and in the spring set out the plan of the foundations 
 and dug out the ground ; he was, in fact, the chief of the 
 workmen ; and he made a fine building of it. The age, 
 however, was pre-scientific, uninstructed in geology, and, from 
 want of good foundation probably, the central tower of the 
 church began to crack. iEdnotlius had to report this failure 
 to Aylwine, who agreed to find the money for the restoration. 
 The labourers then approached the tower by the roof, and, 
 going stoutly to work, rased it to the very ground, dug out the 
 treacherous earth, made the foundation sure, and again 
 4 rejoiced to see the daily progress of the work.’ What a 
 contrast all this is to our present condition and practice ! 
 The nobleman ‘ attracted to the bishop by the sanctity of his 
 4 deportment ; ’ the memory of the vow after recovery ; the 
 4 twelve brethren in one village who have cast behind their 
 4 backs the lusts of the flesh ; ’ the fear of the 4 cold breath of 
 4 the devil ; ’ a bishop who could make a plan, and the 4 man 
 4 faithful in works ’ the cleverness and alacrity of the 
 labourers, and their 4 rejoicing in the progress of their 
 4 work,’ are such a beatific vision that our retrospective view 
 confirms the holy Oswald’s prescient declaration, 4 Verily, 
 4 this is another Eden, preordained for men destined for the 
 
16 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 ‘ highest heaven ; ’ a remark that has not reached our ears 
 respecting any recent architectural effort. 
 
 Such was the system of artistic practice that for six 
 centuries served to make England the finest scene of archi- 
 tectural display that the world ever saw. The workmen 
 worked ‘ after their manner ; ’ they were totally without 
 extraneous artistic tutelage, and the people understood and 
 appreciated the work, with no more consciousness or study 
 than would he required for ordinary speech and conversation. 
 The masons were, of course, largely employed on ecclesiastical . 
 buildings ; not under the patronage of the clergy, however, • 
 hut on the contrary rather patronizing them, as we find in a 
 very interesting episode of ecclesiastical and architectural, 
 history : — 
 
 4 In the year of Grace one thousand one hundred and 
 ‘seventy-four, by the just but occult judgment of God, the 
 ‘ Church of Christ at Canterbury was consumed by fire.* 
 The monks with due deliberation took good counsel how 
 they might repair the church, hut the masons, English and 
 French, whom they consulted, varied in their advice. ‘ How- 
 ‘ ever, there had come a certain William of Sens, a man 
 ‘ active and ready, and, as a icorlcman, most skilful both in 
 
 * wood and stone. Him, therefore, the monks retained, on 
 
 * account of his lively genius and good reputation. And to 
 ‘ him, and to the providence of God, was the execution of the 
 ‘work committed. And he, residing many days with the 
 ‘ monks, and carefully surveying the burnt walls in then* 
 
 ‘ upper and lower parts, within and without, did yet for some 
 ‘ time conceal what he found necessary to be done, lest the 
 ‘ truth should kill them in their present state of pusillanimity. 
 
 ‘ But he went on preparing all things that were needful 
 ‘ for the work, either of himself or by the agency of others. 
 
 ‘ And when the monks began to he somewhat comforted, he ' 
 ‘ventured tp confess that the pillars rent with the fire, and 
 ‘all that they supported, must be destroyed, if the monks' 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 17 
 
 ‘ wished to have a safe and excellent building. At length 
 ‘ they agreed, being convinced by reason, and wishing, above 
 ‘ all things, to live in security. 
 
 ‘ And now he addressed himself to the procuring of stone 
 ‘ from beyond the sea. He constructed ingenious machines 
 
 * for loading and unloading ships, and for drawing cement and 
 £ stones. He delivered moulds for shaping the stones to the 
 ‘ sculptors who were assembled, and diligently prepared other 
 
 * things of the same kind.’ 
 
 William of Sens, the master-workman, thus continued the 
 old Athenian method, and ‘ assigned to the individual work- 
 ‘ men their appropriate task.’ In the third year William had 
 a bad fall with the scaffolding ; and being ‘ sorely bruised gave 
 ‘ up the work, and, crossing the sea, returned to his home in 
 6 France. And another succeeded him in the charge of his 
 
 * works, William by name, English by nation, small in body, 
 ‘ but in workmanship of many kinds acute and honest.’ We 
 quote two more lines for the sake of the italics : 
 
 ‘ Now let us carefully examine what were the works of our 
 ‘ mason in this seventh year from the fire.’ 
 
 £ In this eighth year the master erected eight interior pillars.’ 
 
 Our readers will probably accept the above as conclusive 
 evidence that the master- workman was a fact in English 
 architectural history. William of Sens was no compiling 
 copyist ; he was a man of thoughtful, independent mind, and 
 was one of the earliest to adopt the pointed arch. We hear 
 nothing of his drawings, but only of his moulds, for shaping 
 the stones, which he himself delivered to the workmen. 
 
 Proceeding a step further, to the reign of Henry III., the 
 culminating period of Early Pointed art, the famous Bishop, 
 Piobert Grosseteste, said that ‘ In all kinds of workmanship 
 ‘ the master of the work and workmen has the full power, as 
 ‘ indeed it is his duty, to investigate and examine, with the 
 ‘ utmost diligence, the properties, the different qualities, and 
 
 * the suitability alike of his materials and of the implements 
 
 . 2 
 
18 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 ‘ necessary for the work ; and to make trial of the skill, dili- 
 4 gence, and trustworthiness of those that serve under him, so 
 4 that he may correct whatever is wrong or faulty. And this 
 4 he should do, not only through others, hut, when it is needfid, 
 4 with h is omi hand. 1 This 4 master of the work and workmen ’ 
 is the kind of man that built the choir at Westminster. 
 
 In France, at the same period, a master mason, Hues 
 LibergierS, was architect of the, lamented, Abbey Church of St. 
 Nicaise, at Eheims. He died in 1263 ; and in the cathedral is 
 his tomb or monument, a sculptured stone. In the left hand 
 of his effigy is a working builder’s measuring rod, and in 
 the right hand, not a drawing, but a model of the church. 
 On either side are carved a mason’s compasses and square. 
 Libergiers’ dress is that of people of the lower middle-class, 
 with a close working-mason’s cap completely covering the hair. 
 A similar carved tomb and effigy, with tools, was placed above 
 the grave of Pierre de Montereau, who, after building the 
 Sainte Chapelle at Paris, and enjoying throughout life the con- 
 fidence and friendship of the king, St. Louis, died in 1263. 
 
 Again, turning to the north, two centuries later, in the old 
 burgh records of Aberdeen, there is a memorandum, dated 
 'May 4, 1484, relating how 4 Master John Gray, mason, was 
 4 received by the alderman, baillies, council, and community 
 4 of Aberdeen as master of the work in the building of St. 
 
 4 Nicolas Church ; who has taken upon him to be continually 
 4 labouring and diligent for the upbringing of the said work, 
 
 4 both in labouring of his own person, devysing, beseeing and 
 4 overseeing of other masons and workmen that shall be 
 4 under him, for all the days of his life. For the which thing 
 4 to be done he has given the great bodily oath. And the 
 4 said master of work shall labour himself and see that other 
 4 workmen under him labour daily and continually ; and for 
 4 the which labours and service to be clone by the said master 
 4 of work, the said alderman, baillies, council, and community 
 4 have promised to give yearly to the said master of work for 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE . 
 
 19 
 
 4 his fee twenty pounds, and five marks as a present, for all ex- 
 4 penses, and during all the days he has to live, until the said 
 e work be complete, to be paid to him at four terms of the year, 
 
 4 proportionally, as he and they shall accord best thereupon.’ 
 
 John Gray was, then, a labouring man, a chief director of 
 the workmen, a. resident devysor, known to .the whole com- 
 munity, a trusty man on his own oath, with whom they could 
 undoubtingly 4 accord.’ 
 
 In medieval times, when travelling was difficult and 4 good 
 4 society ’ was rare, the high-placed, well-born churchmen 
 would require some gentle, pleasant recreation to. enjoy in 
 concert with their neighbours and subordinates, both clerical 
 and lay. Building just served this purpose ; and .the amount 
 of noble work that these men left as records of their 4 piety ’ 
 makes it clear that art lost nothing by the absence of the 
 drawing-master and his staff. In course of time* a guild or 
 craft arose, called the Freemasons, who were much employed 
 on sacred buildings. These men were families of masons ; 
 and the secrets or the technicalities of building craft were, 
 just as in ancient Greece, transmitted by inheritance ; a true 
 vernacular that never became taught, or formed itself into a 
 science, but was a simple living art that constantly advanoed. 
 Hope tells us that 4 Many ecclesiastics of the highest rank, 
 4 abbots, prelates, and bishops, conferred additional weight 
 4 on the order of freemasons by becoming its members ; 
 4 themselves superintending the construction of their churches. 
 4 The masons, when they sought employment, had a chief 
 4 surveyor who governed the whole troop, and appointed one 
 4 man as warden over nine others. They built temporary 
 4 huts round the site of their work, regularly organised their 
 4 different departments, and sent for fresh supplies of men 
 4 as they were required.’ 
 
 Thus the surveyors and the wardens were again the 4 master- 
 4 workmen who assigned to each workman his appropriate 
 4 task.’ In 1442 King Henry VI. became a mason, and spared 
 
20 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 no pains to be a master of the art. The good example of the 
 King was followed, very sensibly, by many of the nobility ; 
 and we subsequently find that the King had perfect aptitude 
 and thorough knowledge of the craft. 4 About twelve years- 
 •'before his death, the King, being at his palace of West- 
 minster, went into the monastery church, and so forth to St. 
 4 Edward's shrine within the same ; where he pointed with his 
 4 staff the length and breadth of his sepulture, and commanded 
 4 a mason to be called, named Thirske, at that time master 
 4 mason of the chapel of King Henry V., who, by the command- 
 4 ment of the King and in his presence, marked out the length 
 4 and breadth of the said sepulture with an iron pickis which 
 4 he had brought with him.' 
 
 Thirske, the. master mason, was thus, evidently, a working 
 man. A document was then prepared, 4 containing the will 
 4 and mind of the King in the devising of his sepulture,’ and 
 two messengers being sent to John Essex, head marbeller, in 
 4 Powlys Chirchard,’ he and Thomas Stevyns, coppersmith, of 
 Gutter Lane, went to the King at Westminster, 4 and bargained 
 4 with him for his tomb to be made, and received of the King 
 4 in part payment xi s in grotes.’ The association for a king was 
 doubtless very low, but kings and people in those times could 
 find their common interest and delight in noble works of art.. 
 
 Again, at Winchester, Walkelyn, the Bishop, began to 
 rebuild the cathedral in a.d. 1079, and he built most nobly. 
 His transepts are for impressiveness quite unsurpassed, but 
 liis name is little known compared with that of William of 
 Wykeham, who was Bishop some three centuries later, and 
 who is held to be the architectural hero of the Winton church. 
 He was a man of business, clerk of the King’s works, clever 
 at accounts, princely in his munificence, and a friend of learn- 
 ing, great in liis designs, but an abominable builder. The 
 work at Winchester that he directed is but a desperate 
 collapse of art ; he touched nothing that he did not deface. 
 The interior of the nave is a distinguished specimen of that 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 21 
 
 mechanical and costly commonplace 'which quickly charms 
 the vulgar. If our readers will compare this fashionable work 
 with the grand and simple Norman transepts, or with the 
 noble nave of Romsey Abbey, they will begin perhaps to 
 question whether New College is a sufficient expiation for such 
 wholesale and irreparable vandalism. Wykeham, however, 
 was not the architect who designed the work, as is so generally 
 supposed, nor yet, of course, the master mason; he had 
 merely been the intelligent but inartistic c operarius ’ or chief 
 director of the King’s masons, 4 whose special duty it was to 
 4 make arrangements with the master of the works.’ 
 
 In art is no exclusiveness or servitude ; the interest and 
 delight are common to the king, the public, and the handi- 
 craftsman. Like poetry and science, art must be free, and 
 in its own sphere supreme, or otherwise its spirit fades, and 
 energy and life are lost. Rank, royalty, and riches may 
 become the deferential, sympathizing friends of art, but not its 
 masters or its fashionable guides. So, when the evil influence 
 of which Wykeham was a representative became paramount, 
 and ostentation was promoted above excellence, art retired, 
 and the masons soon adopted the mechanical and hasty 
 method of design now called the Perpendicular and Tudor 
 styles! In these there is abundance of idea and of able work- 
 manship, but the ideas are superficial, and the work, though 
 neat and scientific, has but little individuality or true poetic 
 feeling. All that the courtiers and the men of trade required 
 was prompt achievement and vainglorious display, regardless 
 of the dignity or degradation of the workmen. 
 
 But, not to limit our inquiry to England, let us hear what 
 Mr. Street can tell us from beyond the sea, of medieval 
 architects. In chapter xxi. of his work on Gothic Architecture 
 in Spain, he Says, 4 Almost all the architects or masters of the 
 ‘ works referred to in all the books I have examined seem to 
 4 have been laymen, and just as much a distinct class as 
 4 architects are at the present day.’ This is, unfortunately, 
 
THE HOPE OF 
 
 22 
 
 their only similarity; they are 4 distinct/ but in a. totally 
 opposite way. Eaymundo of Monforte, for instance, when 
 employed by the Chapter of Lugo, a.d. 1129, 4 was retained 
 4 solely for the work there.' His salary was annual ; his engage- 
 ment was for life. He is called in the contract not 4 architect,’ 
 but 'master of the works, the title which, in course of 
 • time, was usually given to the architect ; though I am not 
 4 inclined to think that it makes it impossible that he should 
 4 also have worked with his own hands. Indeed, the very 
 4 next notice of an architect is of one who certainly did act as 
 4 sculptor on his own works. This was Mattheus, master of 
 4 the works at Santiago Cathedral. Ferdinand II., a.d. 1168, 
 
 4 granted him a pension of a hundred maravedis annually for 
 4 the rest of his life ; and the fact proves, I think, the king’s 
 4 sense of the value of a fine church, and also somewhat as 
 4 to the degree of importance which its designer may have 
 4 attained to when he was recognized at all by the king. 
 4 There can be no doubt that he had been acting there both as 
 4 sculptor and architect ; and if from a modern point of view he 
 4 lost caste as an architect, he, no doubt, gained it as an artist. 
 
 4 Here, as at Lugo, the master of the works was appointed at 
 4 a salary for his lifetime, and held his office precisely in the 
 4 same way as do the surveyors of our own cathedrals at the 
 4 present day,’ 
 
 Mr. Street gets very much misled by his nomenclature. The 
 king gave the pension not to the designer, but to the carver 
 of the doorways. Fie would certainly have been perplexed if 
 some draughtsman had been presented to him as the 'designer * 
 of the work. The carver was, of course, the designer ; and 
 Matthew wrote his name upon the lintels because he 4 did the 
 4 work.’ Ferdinand appreciated well the relative importance 
 of himself and Matthew, and he paid a proper tribute to the 
 mason’s great superiority. He saw that Heaven itself had 
 recognized the master, and that the workman who conceived 
 and wrought the Glorv of St. James was a creator, and in 
 
ENGLISH ABCHITECTUEE. 23 
 
 mental rank, in permanence of power and influence, and in 
 nobility of work, above the patronizing recognition of a king. 
 We do not hear that Phidias ‘ attained to importance ’ when 
 ‘ he was recognized ’ by Pericles ; but Titian is said to have 
 been ‘ recognized ’ by Charles Y. in a becoming way. 
 
 ‘ In a.d. 1175, Piaymundo, a “ Lambardo,” contracted to 
 ‘ complete in seven years certain works in the Cathedral at 
 ‘ Urgel, and was to be paid by a canon’s portion for the rest 
 of his life. The mode of payment, the engagement for life, 
 ‘ and the absence of any reference to a master of works, lead, 
 ‘ I think, to the conclusion that he was, in truth, the architect, 
 ‘ but ’ — this ‘ but ’ is very amusing— ‘ but that he also superin- 
 ‘ tended the execution of the works, and contracted for the 
 ‘ labour.’ 
 
 ‘In a.d. 1208, one Pedro de Cumba is “Magister et 
 
 * fabricator,” and there can be no doubt, therefore, that he 
 ‘ not only, designed but executed the work, which, as we go on, 
 
 * we shall find to have been a not very uncommon custom.' 
 (0 sancta simplicitas !) 
 
 Jacobo de Favariis, one of the architects employed at the 
 rebuilding of. the Cathedral of Gerona, ‘ was appointed in 
 ‘ a.d. 1320-22, at a salary of two hundred and fifty sueldos a 
 ‘ quarter, and under an agreement to come from Narbonne six 
 ‘times a year. PI ere we seem to have a distinct recognition 
 ‘ of a class of men who were not workmen, but really and only 
 ‘ superintendents of buildings ; in fact, architects in the 
 ‘ modern sense of the word.’ 
 
 The word architect, then, has an ancient sense to contrast 
 with its modern meaning ; and, with Mr. Street’s assistance 
 we shall find that the old architects were persons of entirely 
 different character and functions from their modern name- 
 sakes. 
 
 ‘ About the same time Jayme Fabre appears to have been 
 ‘‘ one of the greatest architects of his day. It is impossible to 
 ‘ read the account of the completion of the shrine of Sta. 
 
24 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 4 Eulalia at Barcelona without feeling that Fabre superintended 
 4 a number of masons, and acted, in fact, as their foreman ; 
 * though this is no reason why he should not also have designed 
 ‘ the work they executed. In the same year, at San F.eliu 
 4 Gerona, Pedro Zacoma, master of the works of the steeple, 
 4 was not to undertake any other works without permission. He 
 4 was to be paid by the day, with a yearly salary in addition. 
 4 He must have been employed constantly at the church, and 
 4 in such a building a man could hardly have been constantly 
 4 employed without absolutely working as a mason' 
 
 This is conclusive. We have seen that the old architect 
 and master-builder was a workman, that he designed the 
 work, that he personally superintended it, and that he was 
 constantly employed upon it ; and now Mr. Street adds that 
 this could hardly have been the case without his actually 
 working as a mason. 
 
 In a.d. 1416, Guillermo Boffiy, master of the works of the 
 Cathedral at Gerona, proposed to build a single nave of the 
 same width as the choir and its aisles. The Chapter very 
 prudently sought the advice of practical and able men on this 
 bold, daring project ; and a dozen architects were asked for 
 their opinions upon oath. Of these, 4 all but two called 
 4 themselves 44 Lapicidae.” One was 44 Magister sive sculptor 
 4 imaginum ; ” and two only call themselves masters of the 
 4 works. Their answers seem to prove that they were all 
 4 men of considerable intelligence. 
 
 4 There cannot be a shadow of doubt that at the beginning 
 4 of the fifteenth century most of the superintendents of buildings, 
 4 in Cataluiia at any rate, were sculptors or masons also. Their 
 4 own description of themselves is conclusive on this point ; at 
 4 the same time their answers are all given in the tone and 
 4 style of architects ; and it is quite certain that had there 
 4 been a superior class of men — architects only, in the modern 
 4 sense of the word — the Dean and Chapter would have applied 
 4 first of all to them.’ 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 25 
 
 And thus we learn how ‘ architecture in the modern sense ’ 
 does so impress itself on all mankind as ‘ certainly superior ’ 
 io the medieval work of which it is, as our Historian an- 
 nounces,' hut a ‘ Copying or Imitative Style.’ Mr. Street’s 
 notions of superiority and his opinions about medieval Deans 
 and Chapters appear, however, hardly to be justified by modern 
 architectural evidence ; but on the other hand his testimony is 
 so frank and candid, so valuable and copious, that there is 
 some difficulty in knowing how to select and when to make 
 an end. We venture one. or two quotations more. 
 
 4 In a.d. 1518, Domingo Urteaga contracted for the erection 
 
 * of a church at Cocentaina in Valencia. He bound himself to 
 ‘go with his wife and family to Cocentaina. He was to be every 
 
 * day at the work, having half an hour for breakfast and an hour 
 ‘for dinner in winter, and an hour and a half in summer.’ 
 Clearly arrangements for a working man ; and though Urteaga 
 4 was evidently only a foreman of the works , there is no reference 
 4 to any superintendent or architect, and nothing is said about 
 4 any plans which are to he followed. I conclude, therefore, 
 
 ‘ that in this case the foreman of works ivas really the architect . 
 4 Urteaga was to do all that a “ master ” ought in the manage- 
 ment -of such a work, and was to receive each day for him- 
 4 self five sueldos, and was to provide two assistants and two 
 4 apprentices, the former to have three sueldos each, and the 
 
 * latter one and a half.’ 
 
 Of Guillermo Sagrera, who was both builder and architect 
 of the Exchange at Palma, Mr. Street remarks that ‘ He pre- 
 ‘ seated the plans himself , and that there is no trace whatever 
 4 of any architect or superintendent over him. It is doubted 
 ‘ by some whether this mixture of the two offices of builder 
 4 and architect was ever allowed in the middle ages, but 
 ‘ Sagrera’s agreement is conclusive as regards this particular 
 ‘ case ; and we may be tolerably sure that such a practice must 
 ‘ have been a usual one, or it would hardly have been adopted 
 ‘ in the case of so important a building. 
 
26 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 ‘ The result that y r e arrive at after this resume of the 
 ‘ practice of Spanish architects is certainly that it ivas utterbj 
 ‘ unlike the 'practice of our own clay .’ And its productions also. 
 
 After this long excursion — and thanks to Mr. Street for lii& 
 instructive guidance — let us return to England. In his valuable 
 contribution to ‘ Gleanings from Westminster Abbey,’ Mr. J. H. 
 Parker says : ‘ This point of the necessity of a gang of skilled 
 ‘ workmen accustomed to work together for the production of 
 ‘ the great works of medieval art has not been sufficiently 
 ‘ attended to. The fables of the Freemasons have 'produced a 
 ‘ natural reaction, and the degree of truth which is in their 
 ‘ traditions has consequently been overlooked. We know that 
 ‘ each of our cathedrals had a gang of workmen attached to it 
 ‘ in regular pay, almost as a part of the foundation, for the 
 ‘ fabric fund could not be lawfully devoted to any other pur- 
 ‘ pose ; and these workmen became by long practice very 
 ‘ skilful, more especially the workers in, and the carvers of,. 
 ‘ free-stone, as distinct from the labourers, who merely laid the 
 4 rubble- work for the foundations and rough part of the fabric. 
 
 ‘ From various indications it would seem that there was a 
 ‘ royal gang of workmen in the king’s pay by whom the great 
 
 * works ordered, and perhaps designed by the king himself 
 ‘ ( such being the complete diffusion of architectural taste and 
 6 knoivledge), were constructed. The walls of Henry YI. and 
 
 * Henry VII. seem to show that these monarchs w T ere at least, 
 
 ‘ to some extent, architects themselves ; they give the most 
 ‘ minute directions for the works to be done, just as any 
 
 * architect might have done. St. George’s, King’s College,. 
 
 * and Henry the Seventh’s Chapel, were all probably built by 
 ‘ the royal gang of masons.’ 
 
 With this we close our English evidence from medieval work 
 and records. We have continuous proof that in the w r est of 
 Europe and throughout the middle ages the master-w'orkman 
 was the designer of the buildings. Even so late as the seven- 
 teenth century, when the Kenaissance w’as developed nearly to 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 27 
 
 the full, 'we find that Wadham College Chapel was designed and 
 built by a small gang of working masons brought from Somer- 
 setshire. But in Italy, three hundred years before, a draughts- 
 man was employed to make a fine design for foolish work, and 
 then the decadence of architecture had begun. Giotto, the 
 most inspired as well as most extensive painter of his age, was 
 a wall decorator, a master-workman, full of fancy, and with 
 visions of human sentiment and beauty constantly before him. 
 These he depicted on the new, wet plaster, and as fresco pic- 
 tures they remain his nobler kind of workmanship. But in a 
 conventional and decorative painter’s way he also imitated 
 wooden panelling, and marbles, and mosaic-work; and when the 
 Florentines, smitten with vanity and pride of purse, resolved 
 to make a tower, not simply as a thing of beauty, but 4 to 
 4 exceed in magnificence, height, and excellence of workman - 
 4 ship, whatever of the kind had been achieved by Greeks and 
 ‘ Komans,’ Giotto was engaged as the 4 Capo Maestro,’ at a 
 yearly salary of one hundred florins in gold ; and lie was not 
 to leave Florence. His commission and his business object 
 were to satisfy vain people with a vain display. Unlike the 
 Athenians, who, when they undertook to build the Parthenon, 
 had no idea of rivalling the Bameseum, or the Pyramids ; 
 they sought to exceed, not others, but themselves : 4 and, as. 
 4 the works arose, inimitable in form and grace, the makers 
 4 vied to excel the handiwork itself by the beauty of their art.’ 
 Giotto, therefore, having made a superficial pattern- in the 
 manner of a wall decorator, and not of a chief builder or a 
 master mason, carefully prepared a model of the tower, marking- 
 in the joints and colour of the marble work. The panelling and 
 inlaid work are an elaborate and costly copy of the cheap, facile 
 painter’s work, itself an imitation, that Giotto used to cover his 
 inferior wall surfaces and enframe his fresco pictures. It is 
 4 exquisite,’ b.ut it is not architecture ; it is, in fact, an early 
 exhibition of the 4 Imitative Style.’ The enrichment which should 
 be a developed grace and an occasional efflorescence on a huge 
 
28 
 
 THE STATE OF 
 
 tible public building that the architectural profession has 
 achieved. 
 
 It is necessary to bear in mind that medieval building 
 and modern architecture are two essentially and practically 
 different things. The one was wholly workmen’s work, the 
 other is but a fine name adopted by a spurious — we had 
 almost said — a quack profession. The modern 4 chief builder ’ 
 is, in fact, no builder at all, but only a drawing-master : the 
 ancient Egyptians and Greeks, and the Italian and Western 
 ‘ Goths ’ were cultivated workmen, who invented or designed 
 their work. Old Roman architecture was in great part imi- 
 tation work, and often bad ; but the Renaissance Italian is 
 the professional style ; with it the profession of architecture 
 became established ; its foundation was a knowledge of the 
 4 orders,’ and its practice was that of composing these orders 
 in various fanciful displays ; in fact, it might be called a 
 school of architectural posture-making and deportment. Any 
 draughtsman, with a reasonable knowledge of these orders, 
 might become an architect ; and with an eye for outline, and 
 some cleverness in arrangement, he might produce on paper 
 an endless variety of ‘ classical ’ combinations. The style was 
 expensive, but when it arose questions of expense were of 
 secondary importance : it was, somehow, seldom the pro- 
 prietor that had to pay the bill. But the great success of the 
 style was due neither to its novelty nor its variety, but to the 
 facility with which the architect could prepare, at any dis- 
 tance from the work, the drawings for an entire building ; and 
 to the very little personal superintendence by the draughts- 
 man that the w T ork required. Instead of giving his entire 
 attention to one building, the accomplished drawing-master 
 found that he could take commissions for a dozen or a score. 
 The amount of drawing in each case was comparatively 
 small ; a little shuffling of columns and wundows revealed some 
 new accident of combination that passed for design ; and as 
 for detail, the classic orders served for all. Thus then all 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 29 
 
 parties were well pleased ; tlie employer was in the fashion, 
 and piqued himself on his classic refinement and exceptional 
 * good taste ’ : the architect had large practice in a gentle- 
 manly profession : and both, w T ith the vanity and self-gratula- 
 tion of ignorant conceit, could despise the Duomo of Pisa or 
 the Choir of Westminster, as the rude relics of a barbarous 
 and unenlightened age. 
 
 In England Vanbrugh and Lord Burlington have made us 
 see how quickly men of literary culture, and of noble rank, 
 could master the designing knack, and then provide new 
 luxuries of architectural magnificence to put their wondering 
 and confiding friends on the high road to ruin. Blenheim 
 House is critically known as ‘picturesque,’ but it is a scene 
 rather than a dwelling ; there may be a house imbedded in 
 the stonework, but the real effect, which is geological rather 
 than architectural, more suggestive of a quarry than of a 
 palace or a home, is due entirely to non-essentials, to the 
 mass of superfluous material symmetrically disposed, and 
 yet altogether hideous and unseemly ; in fact a sort of archi- 
 tectural elephantiasis. Burlington House, though exotic in 
 style, was a very respectable and praiseworthy effort ; and the 
 colonnade was no doubt a grateful memento of the Italian 
 tour. Both the houses have been much admired, and may be 
 acknowledged to reflect great credit on the professional skill 
 of their respective designers. 
 
 Gradually, however, the ‘ classic ’ enthusiasm wore away ; 
 the style ceased to be new, and it was found to be costly ; and 
 when what is called the Grecian style had passed through its 
 brief period of public favour, and urgent want arose for some 
 new thing, it happened that a few careful publications about 
 Gothic work appeared, and gained the attention of the 
 ‘ artistic ’ world. Here, then, was another chance for the 
 profession ; the style was not new, but it was practically r\n- 
 familiar ; and though it was made or developed by working 
 masons at a time when there was no classical artistic 
 
so 
 
 THE HOPE OP 
 
 nor did he make his work, subordinate to ecclesiastical pre- 
 tension ; but at St. Mark’s he used his monolithic marble- 
 shafts, his brightest colours, and his* choicest pictures of 
 mosaic-work and gold upon the front, the portals, and most 
 public portions of the church ; and thus his workman’s inspira- 
 tion has become a permanent ennobling charm for all men. 
 
 Most people suffer somewhat from magnificence upon the 
 brain, and hence the safety of society is greatly due to the 
 incompetence of men to carry out their vast designs. The 
 Florentines were sadly subject to this overleaping impulse ; 
 and in consequence their buildings seldom reached comple- 
 tion. But for the Duomo they resolved ‘ to raise the loftiest, 
 most sumptuous, and most magnificent pile that human 
 4 invention could devise or human labour execute.’ The 
 ■ result of all this sumptuous determination is Arnolfo’s ghastly 
 nave, in which it seems Giotto had some hand, and, as a 
 suitable climacteric, the dismal cupola that, four generations 
 later, Brunelleschi raised. And so throughout the Benais- 
 sance we find that, in architecture, sumptuousness and 
 engineering, domes and marbles, entirely superseded noble 
 work. Italian medieval architecture was in. fact ruined by 
 marble- work ; stone and the artistic mason were neglected, 
 and costliness and polished .smoothness were esteemed the 
 elements of art. In carving, however, and in tombs and 
 monuments, the workman still for centuries maintained his 
 masterful condition. 
 
 We know that Michael Angelo declared and signed himself 
 a . 4 carver,’ but at clerical suggestion he sometimes, like 
 Giotto, left his special work and aptitude to make designs for 
 buildings* The Farnese Palace has no doubt a handsome 
 elevation* that ' is to say, it is agreeable to look at for a 
 moment, and then to be well rid of. Who can help pitying 
 the owner of that dismal cube of stone-work when he came in 
 sight of it as liis domestic home ? The general design is 
 worth some admiration upon paper ; the architect who com- 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 31 
 
 pleted the exterior had consummate knowledge of the in- 
 fluence of proportion, boundless wealth to work with, and the 
 Colosseum for a quarry. Moreover he ivas present at the 
 work, and so careful of the details that he had them formed 
 in wood full size, and tested on the building. Still the 
 palace is but a domestic misery, cheerless as a prison, and, 
 incapable of human sympathy or popular delight ; the stones 
 are evidently dead, they had no inspiration from the work- 
 men. 
 
 Michael Angelo, much against his will, was ordered by the 
 Pope to decorate the Sistine chapel ceiling. The idea of such 
 decoration is of course absurd; Giotto, the working plaster 
 painter, knew much better than to perpetrate such waste, 
 and at the Arena chapel he made the ceiling a plain azure, 
 that would serve by contrast to increase the effect of colour 
 in his paintings on the walls. Michael Angelo’s commission 
 was not given from any love of art, but as a means of per- 
 sonal distinction and of hierarchical display. Julius had no 
 wish to patronize the arts, but only to make use of them to 
 glorify himself, and he impressed poor Michael Angelo just as 
 he might enlist a leader of trained bands. This was the true 
 spirit of the Revival ; art was to be no longer an unobtrusive 
 quiet ordinary work, but must be treated as a slavish luxury, 
 and be compelled to illustrate the wayward whimsies of the 
 Papal churchmen. But Michael Angelo actually worked at 
 the Sistine chapel ceiling ; not merely furnishing the plan 
 and drawings, but himself ‘ fresh painting’ all the plaster. 
 He was the inspired workman ; but as he was a carver and 
 not a practised decorator, he designed the ceiling in a tech- 
 nically unskilful way. He could draw and mould the human 
 form with masterly precision, but when he ventured into 
 architectural details, he, pardonably, missed the true artist 
 method ; and so his pictures on the ceiling are surrounded by 
 a barbarous medley of Renaissance forms, a lialf-pretence of 
 solid architecture, absurd in principle, and clumsy in effect. 
 
32 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 How the medieval and the ancient decorative painters 
 could conventionalise* the forms of building-work,, and sub- 
 ordinate them to the requirements of art, is shown in Giotto’s 
 pictures and the Pompeian frescoes; but the ‘architectural’ 
 painting on the Loggie ceilings in the Vatican shows how 
 little Eaphael had discovered of the sense and scope of 
 decorative art. 
 
 Both Michael Angelo and Raphael were in some things 
 servants to the fashion of the day ; their buildings were 
 designed, as of necessity when power of wealth and power of 
 mind were ample, with much dignity and grace ; but in the 
 details their unworkmanlike contrivances proclaim the whole 
 to be a fiction, a mere imitative art. To Michael Angelo the 
 Renaissance Italian style was a dead language, and to his 
 workmen it was but an unknown tongue ; the master and his 
 men were equally unable to express themselves artistically 
 in such a fabricated dialect ; and from St. Peter’s to the 
 latest building of ‘ New Rome,’ Italian architecture is but 
 a dreary evidence of luxury, a record of expenditure and folly. 
 True, there is art in Italy, and of the best ; but Italy is still 
 the great world’s show of architectural rubbish, and this 
 rubbish is exactly what our travelled people most extol, and 
 feebly seek to imitate. 
 
 In Germany, some sixty years ago, an ancient vellum draw- 
 ing of Cologne Cathedral was discovered; this was, perhaps, 
 the original design, or a contemporary copy, and its elabo- 
 ration and completeness well account for the demerits of the 
 building. It is a student’s effort, the result of knowledge 
 and selection ; and its evident intention was to make a 
 church supreme in size, and height, and symmetry of form. 
 All this has been attained, but in human sympathy and true 
 poetic art the building is a failure ; it is, perhaps, the largest 
 church of Gothic commonplace that ever was constructed, 
 and for artistic worth is not to be compared with St. Stephen’s 
 at Vienna, the choir at Westminster, or a hundred still exist- 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 33 
 
 ing abbeys and cathedrals. The design was made when 
 Amiens, Eonen, Kheims, and Notre Dame Cathedrals were 
 still new. These were all built by masons who made draw- 
 ings quite subservient to their work of art ; but at Cologne 
 the draughtsman spirit ruled, and so the masons used their 
 common knack without a thought of poetry or touch of life. 
 Cologne Minster is, again, a previous example of what 
 Mr. Fergusson has called the Imitative Styles. On the pro- 
 jected spires the details are extravagant in size, the crowning 
 finials are much larger than the open archway of the 
 Minster doors. This is not mason’s work or architecture, 
 but a clear evidence of draughtsmanship, and of imaginative 
 incapacity. 
 
 On the resumption of the Minster works there was a festal 
 gathering; and there, most prominently placed, was every 
 workman then employed upon the church, from the chief- 
 master to the quarryman’s apprentice. e And, turning to the 
 4 artizans, the Dom-Baumeister bade them prove their skill, 
 4 concluding a manly, honest address with the sentiment of 
 * Schiller’s “ Song of the Bell” — 
 
 “Let praise be to the workman given, 
 
 But the blessing comes from Heaven.’” 
 
 With us the drawing-master, not the workman, gets the 
 praise; and so, it seems, the blessing does not come. 
 
 The public hear Cologne Cathedral called the culminating 
 effort and display of medieval art ; and, knowing and mis- 
 trusting their own ignorance, they accept the dicta of the 
 connoisseurs, and strenuously endeavour to be pleased. Of 
 course they fail ; and, finding nothing lovely or of interest, 
 they leave the church in blank amazement at its height and 
 bigness, and perplexed at what they modestly assume to be 
 their own deficiency in architectural discernment. The work is 
 a gigantic folly, and a total waste, unless it proves a warning. 
 
 Let us contrast with this our own old English building 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 method which but sixty years ago was not extinct. About 
 that time the exterior of Henry VII. ’s chapel was restored, 
 and there we find the master mason still a power. ‘ There 
 ‘ was but little occasion for the interference of the archi- 
 ‘ tect ; all the labour of arranging the work, tracing out 
 ‘ the details and ornaments, and supplying the defects from 
 ‘ corresponding parts, being left to the discretion and industry 
 ‘ of the mason. The task was an important one ; and required 
 ‘ professional skill, a practised eye, and sound judgment. It 
 ‘ is no eulogium to say that the execution of this work could 
 ‘ not have been entrusted to a more careful artizan than 
 ‘ Mr. Gayfere.’ This was Thomas Gay fere, mason of the 
 Abbey. The Abbey, then, was built by masons, its noble 
 tombs were made and were designed by working men, and 
 the most lavish work was capably restored by a discreet 
 industrious mason. 
 
 The habitual notion of the middle and superior classes that 
 the workmen are inferior in natural ability, or in the higher 
 qualities of lively genius and imaginative mind, is very 
 English. In fact, these men are frequently above ‘ their 
 ‘ betters ’ in power of mental application and endurance. The 
 man that makes a table or a chair requires more nervous 
 energy than the glib shopman offering it for sale ; a banquer 
 mason or a leading joiner is, by profession, greatly more 
 accomplished than a small tradesman or a banker’s clerk. 
 The workman’s only want is to regain his old and natural 
 position, and secure the opportunity to make his capabilities 
 and acquirements felt and known. Where this is given, even 
 to a mill-hand, or machinist, or a manufacturing engineer, 
 his mental power becomes magnificent. Of the seven hundred 
 patents for our hosiery and lace machines, every inventor 
 except two has been recorded as a working handicraftsman. 
 Or if we rise above mechanics, and proceed from manu- 
 facturing England to the land of poetry and song, these 
 arts are the acknowledged birthright of the people ; not only 
 
 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 35 
 
 of a Dante, a Manzoni, a Palestrina, or a Mario, but of the 
 vinedressers of Bronte, and the peasantry of Viaggiano ; of 
 the plaintive cantatore of the Bay of Naples, and of the 
 wandering herdsman on the Tuscan Apennines. 
 
 Bemaining still in Italy, and studying Baron Hiibner’s 
 general view of Borne three hundred years ago, we find that 
 when Pope Sixtus, the last man of great commanding power 
 on the Papal throne, proposed to build, he did not choose an 
 architect or draughtsman, but engaged a young Comascho 
 mason as his master builder. ‘ He and the young Fontana 
 ‘ together formed plans, discussed and settled them.’ When 
 it had been proposed to raise the obelisk of Nero in the centre 
 of the piazza of St. Peter, ‘ Michael Angelo and San Gallo, 
 ‘ who were the first architects of the day, were unanimous 
 4 in declaring the undertaking to be impracticable. Their 
 4 opinion being law,’ the idea was given up. Fontana after- 
 wards designed a plan which was accepted; but, as the 
 mason was still young, two ‘architects of eminence’ were 
 ordered by the Commission to carry out the work. Fontana 
 appealing to the Pope, declared 4 that no man can better carry 
 * out a plan than the man ivho has conceived it, for no one can 
 ‘perfectly master the thoughts of another.' Struck by the justice 
 •of this remark, Sixtus intrusted the whole business to his 
 former mason. Not only Borne, but the whole of Europe, 
 watched the works with anxious curiosity, and on September 
 10, 1586, the obelisk was erected on its pedestal with perfect 
 .success. 
 
 Going with Mr. Fergusson still further south, to work 
 •entirely recent, we discover in the 4 parish church of Mousta, 
 ‘ in the island of Malta, a remarkable instance of a building 
 4 erected in the same manner, and according to the exact 
 4 principles which covered Europe with beautiful edifices during 
 4 the middle ages. The real architect of the building was 
 £ the village mason, Angelo Gatt. Like a master mason in 
 4 the middle ages, or those men who build the most exquisite 
 
36 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 ‘ tombs or temples in India at the present day, he can neither 
 ‘ read nor write nor draw ; but, following his own constructive 
 ‘ instincts, and the dictates of common sense, he has success- 
 ‘ fully carried out every part of this building. It was he who 
 ‘ insisted on erecting the dome without scaffolding, and showed 
 ‘ how it could be done by simply notching each course on to 
 4 the one below it. With true medieval enthusiasm, he was 
 ‘ content to devote his wdiole time to the erection of this great 
 ‘ edifice, receiving only fifteen pence a day for twenty years.’ 
 
 The area of this master mason’s self-supporting dome is 
 one-third larger than that of our architectural sham and 
 wonder at St. Paul’s, and the height is greater than that of 
 the Pantheon at Pome. The total cost was one-and-twenty 
 thousand pounds, ‘besides the gratuitous labour of the villagers 
 ‘and others, estimated at half that amount.’ But in the 
 decorative details Gatt received some painful help ; and so, in 
 this respect, the building is in superficial character a specimen 
 of ‘Imitative Architecture.’ 
 
 George Kemp, the architect of the Scott monument at Edin- 
 burgh, w r as but a village carpenter, and so was much objected 
 to by his superiors ; who desired that some ‘ professional ’ of 
 eminence should be employed, and not a common man of great 
 ability, whose work and powers were much above their mental 
 range. Kemp was a composer only of the ‘ inferior class,’ and 
 yet his composition is superior in every quality, except expen- 
 siveness, to the memorial in Hyde Park. 
 
 The late Augustus Welby Pugin was a noted ‘ architect/ 
 and able as a draughtsman, and so to some might seem to be 
 an illustration adverse to our theory. But Pugin was much 
 more than a draughtsman. ‘ The most careful discipline and 
 ‘ training after academic methods will fail in making an artist, 
 
 ‘ unless he himself take an active part in the work. Like 
 ‘ every highly cultivated man, he must be self-educated. When 
 ‘ Pugin, who was brought up in his father’s office, had learnt 
 ‘ all that he could of architecture, according to the usual 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 37 
 
 4 formulas, he still found that he had learnt hut little, and that 
 * he must begin at the beginning and pass through the discipline 
 4 of labour . He hired himself out as a common carpenter at 
 4 Covent Garden Theatre, and thus acquired a familiarity with 
 4 work.’ (Smiles, 4 Self-Help.’) 
 
 Pugin was apparently an artist spoilt. Had he discarded 
 instruments and kept to tools, he might have reached his 
 natural position, and become a famous master- workman. His 
 architectural and decorative works all show exceptional ability 
 in their inferior way ; hut none are really good. His church 
 at Ramsgate, where he was, in fact, the master, is by far the 
 best, and is his worthiest monument. Who can tell how 
 different his fate might possibly have been had he secured the 
 quiet, soothing influence of true artist life, instead of suffering 
 the vexation and excitement of a pluralist and quack profession? 
 
 We may now quote the latest instance of true building 
 master-workmanship. The Portcullis Club, 93, Regent Street, 
 Westminster, 4 is a working-man’s club in the strictest sense 
 4 of the word. The ground upon which it stands has been 
 4 purchased, the materials of which it is built have been paid 
 4 for, and the labour has been found by the working men them- 
 4 selves, many of them working until twelve o’clock at night. 
 
 4 Not only so; they have been their own architects. The whole 
 4 of the plans and elevations have been beautifully drawn by 
 4 one of the members ; ’ and thus the little front is much more 
 satisfactory and respectable than the Charing Cross Hotel or 
 the Royal Academy facade. 
 
 These are examples of mere accidental gleams of truth in 
 modern practice, and they show that the return to sanity in 
 art is by a very short and easy way. And now, continuing 
 the method of historical comparison, that discovers art to be 
 in every age the exclusive trust and treasure of the workman, 
 let us go back four thousand years to the Egyptian tombs, and 
 hear 4 the dead lift up his voice to tell us of his life.’ Thus 
 Menter-Hotep, chief architect of King Usurtasen I., of the 
 
38 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 Xlltli dynasty, an epoch in Egyptian art, tells ns that he was 
 4 very skilful in artistic work with his own hands; he carried out 
 4 his designs as they ought to he done.' Amend, ; a great func- 
 tionary, has inscribed upon his tomb the record of his own 
 administration, and therein reveals the generous influence of 
 the master- workman in a wider sphere. 4 All the lands under 
 4 me were ploughed and sown from north to south. Thanks 
 4 were given to me on behalf of the royal house for the fat 
 4 cattle which I collected. Nothing was ever stolen out of my 
 4 workshops. I worked my self, and kept the icliole province at 
 4 ivork. Famine never occurred in my time, nor did I let any 
 4 one hunger in years of short produce ; never did I disturb the 
 4 fisherman or molest the shepherd. Never was a child afflicted, 
 4 never a widow ill-treated by me; and I have not preferred 
 4 the great to the small in the judgments I have given.’ And 
 on the wall are'durably depicted illustrations of Ameni’s works : 
 the building and lading of large ships, the fashioning of furni- 
 ture from costly woods, the preparation of garments, and the 
 various scenes of husbandry and handicraft. Of the compara- 
 tive value and intelligence of the Egyptian workmen, the three 
 great Memphian Pyramids, the oldest monuments extant of 
 building art, give curious and simple evidence. 4 The slope of 
 4 the entrance-passages is just the angle of rest for such 
 4 material as the stone of the Pyramids, and, therefore, the 
 4 proper inclination for the sarcophagus to be easily moved 
 4 without letting it descend of itself.’ Our readers, possibly, 
 may recollect 4 the launch ’ of the Great Eastern, and 4 the 
 4 angle of rest ’ and immobility that our engineer of eminence 
 4 designed.’ Had common workmen used their own responsible 
 intelligence about the work, the recent 4 builders of large ships ’ 
 upon the foreshore of the Thames might not have proved in- 
 ferior to the working engineers and architects who built the 
 wondrous mausoleums in the valley of the Nile. 
 
 The failure and the remedy have been at length discovered. 
 At the Engineering College, Cooper’s Hill, Lord Salisbury, in 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 39 
 
 the true spirit of an Operarius, and of the Master Workman, 
 advised the students ‘ not to he afraid, but to cultivate a 
 ‘ knowledge of the smaller, and what he might call the more 
 ‘repulsive (?), details of their profession. He was very glad 
 ‘ to see that the attendance in the workshops was spoken of in 
 ‘ the very highest terms by the examiners. There has been 
 ‘ hitherto no lack of the most distinguished theoretical lmow- 
 ‘ ledge, but the deficiencies have been in those small practical 
 ‘ matters on which the success of the work often depends.’ 
 
 Our history of the Master-Workman is complete. His 
 method and position have been traced throughout the course 
 of European culture. To him we are indebted for the glories 
 of the Athenian Acropolis, the splendour of the Venetian 
 Basilica, the dignity of the Lombard Duomo, and the infinite 
 variety and charm of medieval building-work. The old method 
 still survives in Oriental manufacture, and here again we find 
 the modern workman painfully surpassed by his more 
 ‘ educated ’ Indian rival. In the International Exhibition at 
 South Kensington, ‘it was humiliating to our national pride 
 ‘ to perceive in the specimens of Indian art workmanship a 
 ‘ grace and finish to which w T e cannot attain in spite of all our 
 ‘ modern discoveries and appliances of mechanism daily be- 
 ‘ coming more delicate in their operation. The Indian worker 
 ‘ in gold or silver produces the most elaborate and beautiful 
 ‘ objects with the rudest tools, and as long as we leave him to 
 ‘ himself his models are purely artistic , hut as soon as he attempts 
 ‘ to produce European articles from our designs the individuality 
 ‘ of the artist is lost, and his work is vulgarised.'’ — Companion 
 to the British Almanack, 1872. 
 
 Those who, as votaries of art, explored the World’s Show at 
 Vienna in 1873, will admit the general truth of these remarks; 
 the Japanese display of art made ours look pitiful. In Japan 
 the true style and method of art decoration are maintained ; 
 the porcelain and the painting are, in artistic combination, 
 but one work. In our Bond Street china, the fine paintings 
 
40 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 on the plates and vases are mere pictures, quite distinct from 
 pottery, and only gain some prettiness and polish from the 
 soft glaze and texture of the ware ; hut they are no more to be 
 styled ceramic art than any portrait on a panel or on copper 
 can be classed with the productions of the joiner or the 
 smith. It is painful to observe that in Japan, just as in 
 India, the attempt to manufacture for the European market 
 is corrupting the artistic workmen. At Vienna in the Oriental 
 courts there was sad evidence of the debasing influence of 
 ‘ Western culture.’ 
 
 Much wonderment and admiration have been frequently 
 expressed at what we in a patronizing way are pleased to call 
 the almost Occidental cleverness of our new friends the 
 Japanese. The cause of their ability is obvious. The people 
 of Japan for many hundred years ‘ have placed the handi- 
 ‘ craftsman, down to the humblest, above the merchant and 
 ‘ the trader in the social scale ; ’ they have steadily maintained 
 the artistic and imaginative training of their workmen, and 
 as a consequence, or a concurrent influence and result, the 
 population has retained its natural intelligence, and is apt to 
 think quick in fancy and imagination, and therefore prompt 
 to adopt and to improve ; and at Vienna their artistic workmen 
 made the most refined display of decorative workmanship that 
 Europe ever saw. The works of Luca della Robbia and of Palissy 
 will show, however, that Japan has no exclusive artist power. 
 4 The metal jugs of all sizes which abound on the Continent 
 ‘ are models of undesigned art. Equally good, though a little 
 ‘ less simple, is the rough blue and white stone ware of the 
 ‘ South of France.’ But we in England make the able potter 
 a neglected underling of some great manufacturing firm, whose 
 customers and show-rooms are a hundred miles away. With 
 such a system no designs by Flaxman will make ‘ works of 
 ‘ art,’ nor raise our pottery above mere toy-work and a trade. 
 
 Perhaps it may be said that to employ an ordinary workman 
 would imply the loss of all the luxury, the elegance, and the 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 41 
 
 refinement of onr modern civilizing arts. This is the current 
 talk, and really merits a reply like Hotspur’s to the popinjay. 
 Of course the trash that fills the Bond Street shops would 
 disappear; and houses, churches, dress, and furniture would 
 .all he changed from foppish finery to dignified imaginative 
 art. The 4 charming ’ luxuries that the fashionable world 
 demands have almost always been the work and the contrivance 
 of the common and perverted artisan ; the tradesman only 
 sells the goods, the workman finds the brains. 
 
 The remedy is obvious, and involves no suffering or abne- 
 gation. The public, of whatever sort or grade, should, like 
 the medieval aristocracy and kings, aspire to cultivate the 
 social and artistic friendship of the master-workman. This is 
 already done in other arts, and barber surgeons, and the 
 quacks of former days, have given place to those who 4 do the 
 work ’ of healing. In some respects, however, the condition 
 and the progress of the world have been most curiously in- 
 verted since the middle ages. In those times the public mind 
 was greatly conversant with building art, and, being free and 
 bright in thought, the natural result was excellence in work ; 
 but in theology it was comparatively dark, and subject to 
 the superstition of the Papacy. Now, on the contrary, the 
 English mind asserts its liberty in theological affairs, but in 
 respect of art it is benighted. The present period of artistic 
 imbecility would merit the contempt of those great working- 
 men who lived in ages that the vulgar have assumed to be 
 uncivilized and 4 dark.’ 
 
 Our working men have no respect or sympathy for those 
 who call themselves their 4 chiefs ; ’ and as a serious, direct 
 result of want of interest in their work, we find that workmen 
 do considerably less per hour, in quantity and quality, than 
 they accomplished thirty years ago. An independent 4 master/ 
 with associated workmen, would do much more and better 
 work than a commercial builder, dealing with hirelings, and 
 habitually subject to trade jealousies and strikes. The saving 
 
42 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 to society would be immense; the money that is wasted on 
 our buildings, public and private, would suffice to lodge us> 
 all like princes. ‘ The directors of the Improved Industrial 
 ‘ Dwellings Company Limited have been erecting some dwel- 
 ‘ lings by the employment of their own work-people, under a 
 ‘ competent foreman, and thus far the experiment has worked 
 ‘ satisfactorily. Greater care and attention being bestowed 
 * upon the details of the work, the expenses of repairs will, it 
 4 is believed, be much less in these buildings.’ Lord Shaftes- 
 bury and some other gentlemen have, in a way of business, 
 helped to build a little town of houses near the Wandsworth 
 Eoad. 4 The architect has been a working foreman, and, to a 
 4 great extent, the builders are the occupiers of the houses. 
 4 Men of each trade were 44 pressed for their ideas,” and the 
 4 result has shown the amount of practical ingenuity that can 
 4 be brought by an intelligent community of working men into* 
 4 a work on which their hearts are set.’ Each man, however, 
 should possess and care for his own freehold. The occasional 
 correspondence in the daily papers makes us see that in their 
 architectural affairs our modern Englishmen are 4 mostly fools,’ 
 and this especially in their consent to live in leasehold 
 houses. Art never can exist on such a tenure. We could 
 distinctly show its bad effect, not on architecture only, but on 
 the sister arts of sculpture, metal work, and painting; each 
 has sunk, is sinking, and will sink, unless the firm and stable- 
 freehold tenure is restored. No one can think of any of our 
 fine old buildings, sacred or secular, as leaseholds, nor will 
 substantial houses be constructed upon leasehold ground ; and 
 when the public understand that individual benefit and the- 
 general good are equally involved in freehold tenure, all pro- 
 prietors will join in a demand for such legislation, essentially 
 conservative, as would allow, and, if required, compel urban 
 enfranchisement. The project has its precedents ; and tithe 
 commutation, copyhold enfranchisement, and canal and rail- 
 way Acts, have made the public and the lawyers understand 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 43 
 
 that the proprietors of land encumbrances, and ground rents, 
 may be forced to sell, and yet be very willing vendors. 
 
 Thus we have sought to teach the student how to recognize 
 the only path that leads to excellence in art ; to explain the 
 reason why the old building-work, so often glorious, is always, 
 good, and why our modern work, though clever and correct in 
 imitation or design, is everywhere, and must be, radically bad ; 
 and so to prove and illustrate the doctrine of the workman’s, 
 mastery. 
 
 Our plea is naturally made with special reference to the 
 interest of cultivated men in human progress ; and, most 
 obviously, in the building art. This seems to justify a strong- 
 deliverance ; and is our great encouragement to speak aloud. 
 And so, by friendly frankness, we have hoped to arouse the 
 attention of the thoughtful public, and to lead them to perceive* 
 how greatly the advancement of the intellectual and moral 
 state of man, and the true dignity and influence of art, must 
 be affected by the full development of the abundant * lively 
 ‘genius of the workman.’ As this appeal is not perfunctory, 
 but earnest, it may be made with little reticence, and yet with 
 much respect for those whose audience and help are claimed. 
 This freedom we have used with generous confidence and can- 
 dour ; not seeking to reveal some undiscovered fault, but only 
 to describe the cause and nature of an error that is great and 
 obvious ; and then, with firm assurance modestly expressed, 
 to indicate and justify the remedy. 
 
 And now w r e venture to assume that all our readers recognize 
 the historic status, and the artistic value, of the Master-Work- 
 man, and perceive that to ignore him and to restrict the exer- 
 cise of his imagination in his work is a fraud on human nature, 
 and injurious to all men. The fact is evident ; unhappily our 
 present working classes are profoundly vulgar ; the increase 
 of wages and of general comfort does not much improve them, 
 and instruction only serves to give them larger means to 
 demonstrate their coarseness. Those who know them in their 
 
44 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 houses tell us that as wages rise they revel in expensive 
 luxury and display. In this they imitate their betters ; the 
 debasement of imagination is a striking characteristic of 
 society, and may be traced from the mean finery of a mechanic’s 
 parlour straight to the pompous rubbish that surrounds a 
 duke. Learning is no efficient substitute or supplement, for 
 without imagination ‘ every man is brutish in his knowledge.’ 
 We do not undervalue what is now called education, but we 
 object entirely to the misuse of the word. The result of all 
 our Education Acts is not education, but mere teaching and 
 the gift of knowledge; there is something imparted, not educed. 
 But it is not that which goeth into a man, but that which 
 cometli out of him, that defiles or purifies, ennobles or degrades 
 him ; and while we merely give him knowledge, and prohibit 
 individual interest and expression in his work, the operative 
 still remains but a degraded though intelligent machine, and 
 the agricultural labourer is in every sense made only to follow 
 the plough. 
 
 The object of all education is the improvement of the moral 
 of the man. Instruction in literature and science sharpens 
 his intellect, and technical instruction, now required by 
 middle-class employers for economic reasons, good in them- 
 selves, but socially and philosophically selfish, may increase 
 the workman’s value as a tool ; but true art workmanship is 
 generous in every way, and in its nature is like mercy, blessing 
 him that gives as well as him that takes. It gives a constant 
 opportunity and wholesome exercise for their imagination to 
 the great fundamental class of working men ; and, elevating 
 these, it raises all humanity. Much of the congratulation 
 that we hear about advancing wealth and science, and 
 mechanical improvement, is truly relevant to nothing but 
 advance. The progress is in most cases grovelling and low 7 . 
 Men are not better for it all, but only better off. Will any 
 who have known our Universities these twenty, thirty, forty 
 years, tell us that the more recent men have been of a dis- 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 45 
 
 tinctly higher stamp than those who had preceded them ? Is 
 not the proportion of self-culture for its own sake greatly re- 
 duced, and the pursuit of learning very much become a hunt 
 for fellowships, or, as upon the turf, to get well placed ? This 
 all requires abatement and correction, and the change, as in 
 most moral revolutions, must he made not in the upper but 
 among the lower orders of society. Morals do not descend ; and 
 Christianity was proclaimed, and first received, among the poor. 
 
 The workmen are our masters, and, we hear, should be 
 instructed ; what if this instruction should hut lead them to 
 increasing aptitude for selfishness and base enjoyment, and 
 the whole political machine should be a means of levelling 
 the people down to a low state of rude or polished luxury ? 
 Nothing can he more dangerous and prejudicial to the State 
 than the neglect of the imaginative power among men. For 
 many years greed has been blessed, and honoured, and exalted 
 to the position of a peace-maker ; but greed never has main- 
 tained a nation’s self-respect and dignity ; and it is only by 
 the cultivation of the noble qualities of imagination, which 
 rise greatly above greed, and, seeking true nobility, find it in 
 work and sacrifice, that the position of England as a leader 
 among the nations can he secured and made a blessing. If 
 their imagination is not thus developed, working men, the 
 more they are instructed, will become increasingly abnoxious 
 and depraved ; and vulgar knowingness, and vain, impatient 
 levity will, as in other regions, he the ruling characteristics 
 of the people. 
 
 Modern working men are impotent in all that most con- 
 cerns nobility of work. They are acute and clever to a folly 
 about pay, but for all else their minds have been crushed 
 out of them ; and in the great and many-sided building trade, 
 ubiquitous and constant in its movement, the whole class of 
 artizans is sunk into the lowest state of mental and imagina- 
 tive feebleness. We have given to the workman power in 
 political affairs, hut we entirely deny his right and special fit- 
 
46 
 
 THE HOPE OF 
 
 ness to direct his own. He obtains his share numerically in 
 the election of the Government that rules us all, but he is 
 counted quite incapable to manage his own work ; and, like a 
 beast of burden or a child, is put in harness or in leading- 
 strings, and reined and guided, blinkered and controlled. 
 
 There is no question how the working man must be im- 
 proved; he must first be recognized. Let us suppose that 
 some successful picture-dealer were to quote the various 
 paintings in his gallery as his own productions, the respective 
 names and individuality of all the painters being dis- 
 regarded, and we shall understand at once the unnatural con- 
 dition of our builders, and perceive how certainly the deca- 
 dence of painting would result from such oblivious folly. 
 This, notwithstanding, is our almost universal custom in 
 regard to every art that we have not dubbed ‘ fine,’ and so the 
 working man becomes an alien and outcast from society. 
 
 But we may hear that the upraising of the workman is a 
 revolutionary project, and that its tendency would be to shatter 
 the foundations of society. The truth, however, is entirely 
 otherwise, and we appeal to feelings perfectly conservative 
 when we declare that the great want of England is a wide- 
 spread class of true imaginative workmen ; men who, free from 
 jealousy of other ranks, because they feel the dignity and 
 comfort of their own, would never favour violent or revolu- 
 tionary change, and yet would be most prompt to see and 
 indicate whatever change is needed. These true gentle men 
 would soon become the efficient balance-weight of all society ; 
 and from their business contact with all classes, and their 
 sympathy with each, would bring them into harmony through- 
 out the social scale. 4 They would maintain the state of the 
 4 world ; * and, their works and ways being entirely public, 
 they would give no opportunity for suspicion or occasion for 
 distrust. None would readily resent their interference or 
 advice ; they could speak with the vulgar as well as think with 
 the wise, and without effort would obtain the confidence of the 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 47 
 
 proprietary as well as of tlie operative classes in a way that 
 what is called the middle class could never hope to emulate. 
 
 Having commenced by quoting our Historian’s opinion of 
 the method and results of modern architectural practice, let us 
 now collect, and hear, what Goethe has to say about artistic 
 Dilettanteism. 4 The Dilettants,’ who still maintain their 
 social and professional influence in architectural affairs, he 
 has described as 4 those who, without any particular talent 
 4 for art, only give way to the natural imitative tendency 
 4 in them, and among other things to the imitation of Gothic 
 4 Architecture. Their passion for imitation lias no con- 
 4 nection with inborn genius for art. They do little good 
 4 to artists or to art ; but, on the contrary, much harm, by 
 4 bringing artists down to their level. The Dilettante is 
 4 honoured , and the artist is neglected. In Dilettanteism the 
 4 loss is always greater than the gain. It takes from art 
 4 its essence, and spoils the public by depriving it of its 
 4 artistic earnestness and sense of right. It follows the lead 
 4 of the time ; whereas true art gives laws and commands 
 4 the time. Dilettanteism presupposes art as botchwork does 
 4 handicraft ; and the Dilettante holds the same relation to the 
 4 artist that the botcher does to the craftsman. From handi- 
 4 craft the way is open to rise in art but not from botchwork. 
 4 The best of all preparation is to have even the lowest scholar 
 4 take part in the work of the master. The Dilettante has 
 4 never more than a half-interest in art, but the artist, who is 
 4 the true connoisseur, has an unconditional and entire interest 
 4 in art and devotion to it. The true artist rests firmly and 
 4 securely on himself, and so incurs the less danger in depart- 
 4 ing from rules ; and may even, by that means, enlarge the 
 4 province of art itself. Dilettanti, or rather botchers, seem 
 4 not to strive like the true artist towards the highest possible 
 4 aim of art, nor to see what is beyond, but only what is 
 4 beside them ; on this account they are always comparing. 
 4 All Dilettanti are plagiarists. They enervate and pull to 
 
48 
 
 THE HOPE OF ENGLISH AKCHITECTUKE. 
 
 ‘ pieces all that is original in manner or matter ; and at the 
 4 same time imitate, copy, and piece out their own emptiness 
 4 with it. 
 
 ‘ The publicity and permanence of architectural works 
 ‘ renders the injurious effect of Dilettanteism in this depart- 
 ‘ ment more universal and enduring, and perpetuates false 
 ‘ taste ; because in art the things that are conspicuous and 
 4 widely known are generally made to serve again for models. 
 4 The earnest aim of a true architectural work gives it a 
 4 harmony with the most important and exalted moments of 
 4 man ; and botchwork in this case does him an injury in the 
 4 very point where he might be most capable of perfection .’ 
 
 Thus Art is not to be attained by Dilettante schemes or 
 fanciful designs ; or by a vain expenditure of wealth ; or even 
 by some recondite researches in the path of knowledge. Art 
 is the noble end of steady and laborious work ; the glory and 
 reward of honest, thoughtful, self-devoted handicraft. Art, 
 
 4 when a reality, indicates something impressive and sublime ; 
 
 4 it stamps a man with the divine seal ; setting him before us 
 4 as invariably impelled to do a divine thing. Work is not to 
 4 him a profession, but a vocation ; it is not something which 
 4 he chooses for himself, but for which he is chosen ; which he 
 4 does not advance to because he will, but because he must ; 
 
 4 the man is not at liberty to decline the call.’ Such was the 
 Master-Workman of the past, whose free imaginative power 
 has ever been the life of Art ; and, in like manner, the eman- 
 cipated Workman, 4 called ’ to Art and gloriously 4 impelled,’ 
 must always be, and is, the only real hope of English 
 Architecture. 
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON. 
 
THE PROFESSION 
 
 OF 
 
 AN ‘architect: 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN T. EMMETT. 
 
 Reprinted from 
 
 THE BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW, APRIL, 1880. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 HODDEE AND STOUGHTON, 
 
 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
J always felt that the most advantageous condition that a man can be 
 
 placed in is the original standing of a workman , with such means of 
 intelligent cultivation as may open to him the life of art ; to be one of 
 the hard-handed order , privileged to know the realities of practical life ; 
 while also a man of culture and a poet. — Harriet Martineau. 
 
 Diderot often told us that he never found the hours pass slotvly in the 
 company of a peasant or a cobbler , or any handicraftsman ; but that he 
 had many a time found them pass slowly enough in the society of a 
 courtier. ‘ For of the one he said , ‘ one can always ask about useful and 
 necessary things , but the other is mostly , so far as anything useful is 
 concerned , empty and void.’ 
 
THE PROFESSION 
 
 OF 
 
 AN ‘ARCHITECT..’ 
 
 I N the first Preface to his History of Modern Architecture, 
 Mr. Fergusson asserts his own ‘ conviction that the archi- 
 tects of the present day have shown themselves thoroughly 
 competent to the task they have undertaken; ’ an announcement 
 which appears to be particularly re-assuring. Yet, proceed- 
 ing, the historian declares that 4 modern architects are not 
 allowed to use their intellects, hut are forced to trust to their 
 memories ; they are working on a wrong system, and from 
 false premises, so that success seems do be impossible.’ The 
 architects of the present day are thus oracularly said to 
 be entirely competent to an impossible success; and, Mr. 
 Fergusson encouragingly adds, ‘ they would be equally com- 
 petent to any task that can be proposed to them ; and if they 
 were allowed to use their intellects they might do something 
 of which we should have cause to be proud.’ Accepting this 
 authoritative dictum about modern architects as our con- 
 tinuous theme, we venture now to illustrate, and to explain in 
 practical detail, the system and condition of professional affairs 
 which Mr. Fergusson has so ingenuously, but with prudent 
 brevity described. 
 
 This strange and paradoxical Profession of an ‘ Architect ’ 
 is but a modern growth ; the ancient builders and the medieval 
 masters had no knowledge of it. They were simple workmen, 
 
4 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 paid in wages ; and more recently the king’s surveyors, down 
 to the present century, were salaried. Wren, for St. Paul’s, 
 received two hundred pounds a year, but the Profession claims 
 a five per cent, commission on the value of the building works ; 
 and this peculiar claim and its receipt, apart from any esti- 
 mate or grade of architectural ability or of artistic merit, is 
 the modern test of architectural fellowship. 
 
 Success in the Profession is most commonly obtained 
 by speculating in the lottery of ‘ competitions,’ for which 
 drawings are prepared, perhaps by architects themselves, 
 more frequently perhaps by architects’ assistants, and too 
 often with no interference of discoverable value from the 
 reputed architect. Perspective views are made, to he tricked 
 out with colours by some water-colour artist, who adds clouds 
 and sky and trees and water, with appropriate ducks and 
 swans ; all which has been set forth with perfect accuracy on 
 page 304 of Mr. Fergusson’s too faithful History. The draw- 
 ings are then solemnly produced ‘ from his portfolio ’ by each 
 ‘ architect of eminence ; ’ and wondering committeemen are 
 thus beguiled by arts entirely meretricious, while connoisseurs 
 are caught by some delusive show of classical or medieval 
 archaeology. 
 
 Such is the common method, varying of course with cir- 
 cumstances. Those architects who have been most successful 
 and employ many clerks, get most of their ‘ designing ’ done 
 at home ; others depend upon extraneous help, of which there 
 is, it seems, a very plentiful supply. Thus, in ‘The Builder:’ 
 
 ‘ A First-class Architectural Draughtsman and Designer 
 offers his Services. Artistic, Perspective, Competition, Work- 
 ing, and Detail Drawings.’ 
 
 ‘ A. B. prepares Designs from Bough Sketches and renders 
 every kind of assistance to the Profession, in town or country, 
 on moderate and mutual terms.’ 
 
 The ‘mutual terms’ implies a share in the professional per- 
 centage, a partnership in the ‘ artistic ’ speculation ; the re- 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 5 
 
 puted architect being a mere man of business, or perhaps 
 of ‘taste,’ and the ‘assistant,’ as above, the ‘first-class 
 architectural designer ’ of the competition drawings. 
 
 ‘ Perspective and other drawings coloured and etched with 
 expedition on very moderate terms.’ 
 
 This etching is a style of drawing much in vogue among 
 the younger men. It supersedes the colourist, and so is ‘ very 
 moderate ’ in cost of clerkmansliip. It has a character like 
 that of the M.B. dress, the chief distinction of so many of the 
 clergy. There is a grim, ascetic look in the two products that 
 attracts notice, and is thus useful in preventing further 
 scrutiny. 
 
 The speculator wdiose designs have been successful then 
 hires special clerkmanship to make the contract drawings ; 
 and the clerks perform their work in dull seclusion and rou- 
 tine. The builder cuts his contract down, and hopes by ‘extra 
 w'orks ’ to realize a comfortable surplus. Of the architect, 
 and even of the builder probably, the public have some 
 knowledge ; but the head workmen, who should really he the 
 architects, are wholly out of observation ; they are barbarously 
 included with the bricks and mortar as one item in the 
 builder’s contract. 
 
 As the ‘ artistic ’ work thus hopefully proceeds, the archi- 
 tect, especially if ‘ eminent,’ cannot afford to give it much of 
 his direct and personal attention, for his time is precious to 
 him, and he has to oversee the fabrication of more competition 
 drawings, and to attend to office business. Thus a tale is 
 current that a nobleman, whose house had been remodelled by 
 a fashionable architect, discovered that the stairs had been 
 omitted. The professional designer naively declared that 
 they had ‘quite escaped him.’ Possibly the Earl was mysti- 
 fied by the absurdity of the neglect and by the frank avowal ; 
 but such failings are, in smaller matters of artistic and utili- 
 tarian detail, by no means strange in modern ‘ architecture ; ’ 
 and this one delinquency w r as only notable because, like the 
 
6 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 excess of staircase in the new Government Offices at White- 
 hall, it w T as so very obvious even to the uninstructed. 
 
 The decoration, furniture,, and fittings are, as a rule, be- 
 yond the architect’s capacity. The sub-contractor’s clerks 
 prepare designs for stained-glass windows and mosaic-work, 
 and wall and ceiling decorations, brass and iron work, and 
 all the fancy furniture that make a modern building look so 
 smart. The public are enchanted with the glitter and the 
 show of costliness, but never think that all this finery is 
 worth no more, artistically, than a kitchen fender or the cast- 
 iron railing on an area wall. Yet architects receive their five 
 per cent, commission on these goods, the price of which in- 
 cludes the clerkmansliip which they themselves profess as 
 artists to supply. The architect in fact is not an artist, an 
 imaginative workman, an accomplished artisan, hut a com- 
 mission merchant, a compiling draughtsman ; in the sphere 
 of building art no architect at all.. He is a professor, not a 
 poet, and is called a gentleman because he cannot work ; he 
 supervises. Therefore, to be typographically accurate, the 
 expressions ‘ architect ’ and ‘ architecture ’ in the modern 
 sense should he restricted by turned commas ; hut, to avoid 
 offence in a discussion which though arduous is considerate 
 and friendly, these will be omitted in the text, and must he 
 kindly understood. 
 
 Considering these incidents of the profession, modern 
 architecture is regarded by most men of sense with merited 
 aversion. Other men, especially the clergy, seem to have 
 assumed that ‘ ornament,’ which they call * art,’ has been 
 contrived by Providence for their peculiar delight and enter- 
 tainment ;. and they therefore willingly accept the architec- 
 tural profession and what Mr. Fergusson has called its 
 ‘ Imitative Styles.’ But art was never meant to be a merely 
 fashionable toy for people of artistic incapacity ; it is pro- 
 vided most expressly as a solace for the working men who 
 patiently produce it. That which the modern ‘patrons of 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 7 
 
 the arts’ obtain is but a meretricious substitute. Their real 
 aim, indeed, is not artistic excellence, but the socially supe- 
 rior, the factitious culture and refinement of habitual luxury, 
 and an impressive demonstration of the sacred money 
 power. 
 
 In his instructive work on Spanish architecture, Mr. Street 
 relates how, in the fifteenth century, a committee of free- 
 masons, workmen, lapicidae, were consulted by the Chapter of 
 Gerona on a very serious project of constructive masonry; 
 ‘ but,’ he continues in a strain entirely professional, ‘ it is 
 quite certain that had there been a superior class of men — 
 architects only in the modern sense of the word — the Dean 
 and Chapter would have applied first of all to them.’ 
 
 Doubtless Mr. Street has ample means for forming a sound 
 judgment about Deans and Chapters ; and, confining our 
 remark to modern architectural affairs, our abbeys and cathe- 
 drals furnish grievous evidence of their weak trust in that 
 £ superior class of men,’ whom Mr. Street calls £ architects 
 only.’ But his £ architect only ’ is, in fact, no genuine archi- 
 tect ; he neither works nor rules the workmen. He is neither 
 mason, lapicide, nor carver ; nor has he power of utterance in 
 any kind of building art. His recognized distinction is his 
 comprehensive incapacity ; he is only £ in the modern sense ’ 
 an architect, a draughtsman of the £ Imitative Styles.’ Now 
 it is obvious that a class of men so much superior to handi- 
 craft would be preferred by our superior modern clergy, who 
 are gentlemen and, sometimes, scholars. But in the Middle 
 Ages, when art flourished, clerics were at home with working 
 men, and had capacity to understand and thoroughly appre- 
 ciate their workman’s inspiration. Thus, the Chapter of 
 Gerona, very sensibly, referred to masons for advice on 
 masons’ work. A class of men who solemnly produced 
 designs from their portfolios would have been listened to with 
 a half comic curiosity, and then dismissed with a grim smile, 
 as drawing masters only. 
 
8 
 
 THE PBOFESSION OF 
 
 The substitution of mere social uppishness for the accom- 
 plished workman’s culture and artistic skill is nearly universal. 
 In a letter to ‘The Builder’ on ‘ The Hope of English Architec- 
 ture,’ Mr. Fergusson, admitting truthfully that ‘ architecture 
 has in Europe since the Reformation been practised on different 
 principles from those which governed its use before that time, 
 and in all ancient and some modern countries till the present 
 day,’ asserts with seeming satisfaction that ‘ since the Re- 
 formation the architect, as we now understand the term, has 
 played a much more important part than he did before.’ 
 But, on the other hand, M. Viollet-le-Duc declares that ‘ at 
 the end of the fourteenth century the architect had lost the 
 elevated position he held during the previous two hundred 
 years.’ M. Yiollet-le-Duc, however, quite agrees with our 
 historian, that ‘ although the hands of the artists had not 
 lost their cunning, the intellect which had formerly directed 
 them was gone.’ 
 
 The ‘ difference ’ that Mr. Fergusson has found in architec- 
 tural practice previous to the Reformation lay in the im- 
 portant fact that there was then no ‘ architect, as we now 
 understand the term.’ The medieval master and the modern 
 architect are wholly different, as are their works ; and this 
 distinction should in architectural discussions be kept con- 
 stantly in mind. The one was an artistic and creative work- 
 ing man ; the other is a draughtsman who designs and does 
 not work. The one was constantly engaged upon one work as 
 a superior artisan ; the other is a man of business and a 
 pluralist. It is quite true that, in the modern sense, the 
 draughtsman - pluralist is more important than the old 
 artistic workman ; but in the interest of art it would have 
 been far better if the architect had kept in the position of 
 the master mason, had continued his artistic, unpretending 
 method, and had never played a part, however socially 
 important it might seem. The sad result of this importance 
 is becoming understood, and even at the ‘ Institute of British 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 9 
 
 Architects ’ it has been openly declared, without a whisper of 
 denial, that ‘ a great many of the buildings of the present 
 day w r ere built only to be admired for a short period ’ — that 
 is, until their worthlessness is generally evident. ‘We hear of 
 people going to visit old buildings, but we never see them visit 
 modern ones. The only test was, Did modern buildings give 
 satisfaction ? Certainly not ; and means should be taken to 
 make it difficult for the public to employ a man who set up 
 for a practical architect, and who was not fully alive to his 
 profession’ (Sir Edmund Beckett). 
 
 Now, this ignorant employment of unpractised architects 
 is just the reason why our modern buildings are ‘ unsatis- 
 factory, and no one goes to see them.’ The epoch of the 
 Deformation, quoted by Mr. Fergusson, roughly separates 
 the former times of public knowledge from the present period 
 of public ignorance of building art ; and the true meaning of 
 his thesis is, that in the time of public ignorance a counter- 
 feit of art, in ‘Imitative Styles,’ is said to flourish, and be- 
 comes important. Mr. Fergusson is precisely accurate in this 
 historic fact ; and its announcement is a valuable warning to 
 the modern world. 
 
 In classic and in medieval times, and even now where 
 architectural beauty most abounds, the builders always have 
 been workmen, paid in wages or by salary, living at their work, 
 and taking constant interest in it ; knowing little else perhaps, 
 but knowing their own workman’s practice well. They used 
 a popular artistic language, and expressed their thoughts and 
 feelings with the habitual amplitude and ease of perfect cul- 
 ture. Such artistic skill was universal. Workmen of all 
 trades were from their childhood educated by their work; 
 their thoughts were always passing into handicraft, and so 
 expression came unconsciously. The upper classes naturally 
 learnt the language of the populace, the universal rule. Ex- 
 pression, verbal or artistic, has its origin in individual re- 
 quirement, and custom formulates it ; general use begets 
 
10 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 facility of utterance, and then felicity of thought ; and thus, 
 alike in literature and art, creative poetry proceeds. 
 
 Then, ‘ In the middle ages the building art being in only one 
 style, and being based on such simple common-sense prin- 
 ciples that it could be understood by all, was one great cause 
 of the perfection it attained.’ As Mr. Fergusson proceeds, 
 however, his corollary is erroneous in fact and inconsequent 
 in deduction. ‘ The practice of art ’ did not ‘ practically fall 
 into the hands of the most refined and intellectual of the 
 upper classes.’ These classes were engaged during the last 
 periods of medieval art in very different work. They under- 
 stood the art, and often they could practise it ; but though 
 they all, both clerical and lay, built largely, building work 
 was practically in the hands of the chiefs of the masons. 
 Even the keeper of the works, or oper arias , was but a super- 
 visor, to control and check the mason in all matters of ar- 
 rangement and expense, but not in any way to interfere with 
 or direct the details of the work. 
 
 Mr. Fergusson continues hypothetically: ‘ If we could again 
 revert to one style suited to our wants, and up to the highest 
 standard of our tastes, we could again enlist the sympathy 
 and co-operation of the highest classes in the art. Or if the 
 most intellectual and most refined of the upper classes could 
 be induced earnestly to interest themselves in the art, they 
 would soon sweep away the trammels that now encumber its 
 practice. It is only by the best and most refined intellects 
 that the reform can be effected.’ 
 
 4 Taste ’ is a sensual word, irrevelant to art, and only fit for 
 luxury, its modern substitute. The word is used by those 
 who are esteemed superior people, and by ‘good society,’ 
 who think it means a species of refinement. On the con- 
 trary, it is a coarse, indefinite expression, indicating sym- 
 pathy with lust of eye and pride of life. If Mr. Fergusson 
 had said we want a style down to the common level of our 
 sensuality, there would have been much truth in the remark. 
 
AN ‘ ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 11 
 
 ‘ Our tastes ’ are sensual, not artistic, and among the upper 
 classes ‘ taste ’ is studiously developed ; Mr. Fergusson’s pro- 
 posal, therefore, cannot lead to good. Had he suggested gene- 
 ral sympathy with workmen, quite apart from ‘ taste,’ there 
 might have been some hope. Of course the highest classes 
 and their sympathy should generously be recognised, and wel- 
 comed with encouragement and kindness ; but in art, which is 
 to say in work, the energetic sympathy of those who do it is 
 the first necessity. Besides, these intellects, the best and 
 most refined, must be discovered ; and, unfortunately, Mr. 
 Fergusson has failed to tell us how, and by what unquestioned, 
 absolute authority, this great discovery can be made. Poetic 
 power in artistic or in verbal language never was the special 
 gift of social aristocracy. The wise are seldom wealthy; 
 Socrates was but a needy lapicide, and the great poets of the 
 world have mostly been of humble origin. Bank is the dis- 
 tinction of the few, but excellence is the result of multitude ; 
 and to obtain abundant excellence the area of production 
 should be wide, the artistic power of men of every rank 
 should be developed, the most ample opportunity should be 
 secured for natural selection, and the broadest base for 
 eminent superiority. Thus in all ages art has been the 
 heritage and honour of the working men before all ranks and 
 classes of society and when these men again are free to 
 work with artisan intelligence their best and most refined 
 intellects will rise to observation, and be recognised by all 
 men. 
 
 Art is essentially democratic. The Athenian demos, the 
 Italian decorators of the thirteenth century, and the medieval 
 masons were its special friends and representatives. Its 
 chief enemies have been, and are, the socially distinguished, 
 those whom Mr. Fergusson alludes to as ‘ the best and most re- 
 fined.’ These never of themselves produced a genuine archi- 
 tectural art. All they could do when they neglected the 
 great source of art was to invent and patronize the ‘ Imitative 
 
12 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 Styles.’ At the Revival, the superior classes thought, when they 
 developed luxury in building, and indulged in pseudo-classic 
 pedantry, that they were patronizing art. The error was egre- 
 gious ; they were only self-deluded architectural barbarians, 
 anxious for a reputation for ‘ good taste,’ jealous of social 
 rivalry, and spending more of other people’s money than their 
 own on the displays of splendour and magnificence which 
 fashionable people, then and since, have called ‘fine art.’ 
 True building art was neglected, overlaid, and utterly stamped 
 out by these most intellectual and most refined. 
 
 For three hundred years the upper classes have thus pros- 
 tituted art to showiness and pomp, to false refinement and 
 extravagance of luxury. Hence their fine Mansions, Castles, 
 Halls, and Palaces are principally sumptuous and dreary ; 
 pride and its penalty combined. These are their personal, 
 peculiar displays of art ; their general patronage is shown in 
 their own labourers’ cottages, and in the leasehold houses on 
 their urban property. The Portland, Bedford, Portman, 
 Grosvenor, and the ecclesiastical estates in London, are ex- 
 tensive areas of systematic calculating greed and ignorant 
 contempt of art. Yet their proprietors, by purchasing a picture 
 or commanding a new statue as a mere profusion, would of 
 course be designated and described as ‘ men of taste,’ refined 
 and intellectual, and patrons of the arts. The common people 
 and the speculating builders have, on leasehold tenure, fol- 
 lowed all the fashions of their intellectual superiors ; and 
 thus, owing to the blighting interest of the highest classes, 
 London has become an architectural, artistic desolation. 
 
 About forty years ago there was in England the commence- 
 ment of a second quasi-architectural revival. Those who 
 were foremost in the architectural profession were well 
 watched by men of culture of a certain sort ; not, as they 
 thought, artistic, but scholastic, technical, and antiquarian. 
 The draughtsmen most in fashion, and their patrons, were not 
 artists but grammarians ; and the early Pall Mall Clubs, St. 
 
AN ‘ ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 13 
 
 Giles’s Church at Camberwell, the National Gallery facade, and 
 the Houses of Parliament, were but reminiscences of foreign 
 travel or of English archaeology ; attempts to imitate, and thus, 
 as was supposed, to utilize, the work of former ages. This 
 looked scholarly, and the connoisseurs approved; the public too 
 were interested in the novel style and in the striking cleanness 
 of the new buildings, which they ‘ for a little time’ admired. 
 
 Such clever adaptations having thus gained public favour, 
 architects of eminence soon found that notoriety would, in 
 more ways than one, bring money in. Parents, and promis- 
 ing young persons who were thought to have * a taste for 
 drawing,’ sought the artistic sponsorship of these distinguished 
 men; and premiums for pupils, who were seldom taught, 
 became the welcome tribute to success. Thus the profession 
 multiplied, and hooks of illustrations and examples multiplied 
 in due proportion ; all the world indeed was ransacked for new 
 styles and sketches and details. The public, wholly ignorant 
 of art, but constantly appealed to for its patronage and interest, 
 assumed that its decision must he valuable, and that by com- 
 petition ‘ taste ’ would be developed and the arts encouraged. 
 Art was of course degraded, and its nominal professors lived 
 by pandering, as Mr. FerguSson so greatly fears the working 
 men might do, to ignorance and vulgarity. 
 
 Still, we admit that the profession is not the chief culprit, 
 nor are our present architects especially to blame. They were 
 all born and bred to the had system, which they are now almost 
 compelled by public exigence to carry on. The public is in- 
 deed the great, unconscious enemy of art. Perhaps one man in 
 twenty thousand has sufficient cultured sensibility and knov - 
 ledge for a passable opinion on an architectural work, but of 
 the rest the greater part have even failed to learn that they are 
 ignorant. The candid reader will consider for a moment, and 
 he then will acquiesce. No person of respectability is too 
 incapable to be promoted to an architectural committee, and 
 none see the folly of deferring to a group of architectural 
 
14 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 ignoramuses ; except, indeed, the architects themselves, who, 
 business-like, soon learn that if they would commercially suc- 
 ceed, they must not fail to please their uninstructed patrons. 
 Yet an independent man of art-discernment, with a sense of 
 the ridiculous, would lightly weigh the approbation of a * mis- 
 cellaneous multitude.’ An architect, apparently a modest 
 man, is said to have admitted that in business his chief 
 care was how to frame acknowledgments at once polite and 
 truthful of such 'laudatory but erroneous criticisms as good- 
 natured, undiscerning people frequently thought fit to offer. 
 
 To take a very simple illustration of contemporary 
 connoisseurship and inventive power : 
 certain lamps, tlie>thin, transparent shelter 
 for a totally imponder- 
 able body, were required 
 at Trafalgar Square, and 
 medieval workmen would 
 have furnished metal 
 holders, light and grace- 
 ful, fitting for so light an 
 object. This would be 
 too rational for modern 
 ‘ art ; ’ and so we have 
 two structures built of 
 workman’s ART. stone, thick as the piers an ^™is- 
 of an old Norman abbey, 
 
 with a proper architectural base and moulded cornice, and 
 two lamps superfluously solid for the Eddystone; each a 
 burlesque construction to support a jet of gas. 
 
 These monuments have stood for years by the highway, 
 and in the centre of our ‘art’ metropolis, but no one has re- 
 marked on their absurdity ; they seem, indeed, to be admired, 
 for in Cannon Street, in front of the South-Eastern railway 
 station, have been placed a dozen similar constructions, 
 made of polished granite, to express so bright a fancy. 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 15 
 
 ITS DESCENDANTS. 
 
 Such absurd contrivances are the public occupation and the 
 reason for existence of the archi- 
 tectural profession ; the majority 
 of modem buildings have been de- 
 corated 4 tastefully ’ with such dis- 
 plays. The public see the things 
 but cannot understand them, take 
 them for magnificent, and so pass 
 by ; and thu-s by constant habit of 
 neglect they have entirely lost the 
 faculty of reasonable observation ; 
 sound discriminating criticism 
 being scarcely known. This want 
 of systematic public architectural discussion is in many ways 
 injurious. Those who are capable of trenchant and judicious 
 criticism are restrained by senseless custom, and by fear of 
 what is called society; and so, instead of uttering serious, 
 discerning judgments, they supply weak platitudes, habitually 
 laudatory. Where an occasional objection is declared, the 
 dispraise is empirical, unsystematic, hesitating and incapable 
 of good. The public are thus hoodwinked and deluded ; things 
 are made smooth for all, and names of eminence are treated 
 with a show of deference, as if they were of value. 
 
 Thus the bewildered public, recognizing only fashionable 
 names, yield prominence and notoriety to very mediocre and 
 inferior men ; and, as they grievously complain, are badly 
 served. Moreover, architects themselves are sufferers by 
 the euphemistic system ; they lose manliness of mind, and 
 sometimes sink into a state of hypersensibility that seems 
 unnatural, and is undoubtedly ridiculous. A short time since 
 some observations not quite laudatory on the style of manufac- 
 ture of an architect of eminence, and on the occasionally 
 defective accuracy of his statements and discernment, were 
 so shocking and unprecedented that he became spontaneously 
 inarticulate, and could only point to what, ‘ on better thoughts,’ 
 
16 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 he would not say. This is sheer nonsense ; architects of 
 eminence are not so sensitive about the substance or the 
 cooking of their pabulum of praise ; and if a dash of bitter 
 mingles with the sweet a healthy appetite should find delight 
 in the astringent. We would deprecate all needless reference 
 to merely social individualities, but architects who have, or 
 are supposed to have, directly individual claims, and a position 
 strictly individual before the public, are as open as our poli- 
 ticians to the criticisms of the world. They seek the breath 
 of praise ; and if they spread their sails to catch the wind, 
 they should remember that ‘ it bloweth where it listeth,’ and 
 beware. 
 
 Such needful, vigorous criticism being almost wanting, we 
 have lost the help of what might loyally be called Her Majesty’s 
 artistic Opposition. Under the present semi-silent system 
 only one great party in the House is heard, and that of course 
 is thoroughly ‘ protectionist.’ We leave our readers to imagine 
 the result in national affairs if we were ruled and guided by an 
 oligarchy founded on public ignorance, incapable of good, and 
 systematically free from all political, because it would be per- 
 sonal, attack ; the principle alone of oligarchy being open for 
 discussion. No such incongruity is possible in art ; 4 1 know 
 only one way of flattering an artist, and this consists in pre- 
 supposing that he is above all petty sensibility, that art is every- 
 thing in his eyes, that he wishes to be criticised, even preferring 
 to be judged amiss than not judged at all ’ (G. E. Lessing). 
 
 But criticism is not merely wanting, it is constantly travestied 
 and its name is made a snare. With few exceptions, archi- 
 tectural notices in the newspapers are excessively misleading. 
 They are written by men evidently ignorant of art, who trade 
 in eulogy ; and they are frequently ‘ inspired.’ The monu- 
 ment to the late Prince Consort, in Hyde Park, has had as much 
 explanatory notice as would fill a ‘ Times ’ newspaper, and 
 the unenlightened public has been left to wonder why a work 
 so perseveringly and highly praised should seem so unimpres- 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 17 
 
 sive and ungainly. The erection is, however, so well known 
 by sight and by statistical details of lengths and breadths and 
 cubical contents and weight of the material, and the ‘ ideas of 
 the architect ’ have been so carefully expounded, that it invites 
 artistic, critical discussion. Moreover, it was by an architect 
 of eminence ; to select the works of what are called inferior 
 men might seem unfair to the profession, and we therefore 
 make no choice, but take the most ‘ superior ’ as a subject for 
 a few contemplative remarks. 
 
 A visitor approaching this extensive shrine will understand 
 that Mr. Fergusson’s requirements are here fully met ; the 
 work has 1 practically fallen into the hands of the most re- 
 fined and most intellectual of the upper classes.’ Social posi- 
 tion, professional eminence, commercial and administrative 
 capacity, mechanical skill, the quality and costliness of every 
 material, have all been excellent, in fact supreme, and the 
 result is perfectly consistent, a most superior affair. The 
 
 AN ‘ARCHITECTURAL’ MONUMENT. 
 2 
 
18 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 monument, above the ground, commences with a large inflation 
 of brick piers and arches, which support long flights of steps 
 and landings, with abutting piers ; and when an architectural 
 student totally without ideas starts in design, such piles of 
 steps and piers are his immediate resource. The monument 
 is thus founded, in a way quite ^monumental, on a vast 
 conglomerate of coal cellars and street kerbs. 
 
 As ‘ steps ’ are the first refuge for the architectural destitute, 
 so the ‘ Four Quarters of the Globe ’ assist the monumental 
 sculptor. They admit of any nonsense ; no one can tell 
 assuredly what all the figures mean, or why they came together. 
 Thus they are used unmeaningly, to make a show and catch 
 the eye, with no attempt to satisfy the understanding. Next is 
 the podium, covered with figures just as irrelevant as the ‘Four 
 
 Quarters of 
 
 theGlobe.’ In 
 one corner is 
 a group of 
 fancy por- 
 traits, named 
 after cele- 
 brated an- 
 cient master 
 workmen; 
 somewhat in- 
 teresting, as 
 theyrepresent 
 1 the carvers, 
 and thus prob- 
 ably the best 
 ^L. and most re- 
 fined idea of 
 
 IDEAL * ARCHITECl S.’ the gtyjg an( J 
 
 manner of the classic architect. These figures are not shown 
 in workmen’s dress, nor in heroic fashion without clothes, nor 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 19 
 
 are they actively engaged in handicraft, nor yet ‘ assigning to 
 the individual workmen their appropriate tasks ; ’ they are 
 a set of weak-limbed, semi-idiotic and half-naked loungers, 
 wrapped in sheets, engaged and much perplexed in watch- 
 ing one who, specially insane, is busy in a bungling way 
 with compasses and paper and will surely make a painful 
 puncture in his knee. These ideal architects have nothing 
 of the workman in their figure, muscle, implements, or 
 swaddling clothes. The carver evidently thought, with most 
 of his contemporaries, that Greek master workmen were in 
 some way superhuman, beings of pure thought, not working 
 men at all, but absolute creators, who evoked the Parthenon 
 complete from their superior intellects, just as Minerva sprang, 
 all armoured, from the brain of Jove. 
 
 Another corner has a 
 group of modern ‘archi- 
 tects of eminence.’ The 
 shrewd, successful, spe- 
 culating draughtsman, 
 
 ‘clever at apian,’ and the 
 pedantic scholar are ap- 
 propriately distinguished, 
 while the enthusiastic ar- 
 chitectural reformer turns 
 his back upon the pair. 
 
 On the west front, Vischer 
 of Nuremberg, a real ar- 
 tist, stands, a noble con- 
 trast to the carver’s queer 
 ideal of the Greek master 
 workmen, and also to the architects’ in the modern sense. 
 comical presentment of our modern men. 
 
 Above the podium, the groups of odds and ends called 
 ‘Agriculture,’ ‘Commerce,’ ‘Manufacture’ and ‘ Engineering’ 
 serve, very needfully, to make up something of an outline 
 
20 
 
 THE PEOFESSION OF 
 
 for the monument. Then the large granite columns, polished 
 by machinery, support a canopy with arches, and an elaborate 
 deformity of spire which, by some occult contrivance in the 
 nature of a juggler’s trick, is hung up in mid air. The or- 
 namental work is a dull manufacture ; the coarse jewellery 
 merely serves to give a sense of costliness and of extrava- 
 gant, unlimited expense, and the small bantam angels that, 
 below the cross, are clawing upwards to the sky, supply 
 the fashionable, sanctimonious element. The shrine, con- 
 structively, is but a four-legged table ; and the real archi- 
 tect or master was the man who wrought the heavy girders 
 that tie in the columns and support the spire. 
 
 In the whole structure art is wanting, 
 and instead we have a ‘ trophy ’ or ad- 
 vertisement composed of manufactured 
 goods, a model for a pastrycook’s pagoda. 
 But this is no discredit to the nominal 
 designer of the work ; small blame is 
 due to him, if little praise. He was an 
 4 architect as we now understand the 
 term,’ and his production is, according 
 to the present system, in the ‘ Imitation 
 Style ; ’ he was playing, as we know, a 
 more important part than that of the old 
 master workmen . Had be been a Phidias 
 or a Yischer and had done his best, he 
 would, among the most refined, have had 
 but little chance of proper recognition. 
 
 Those most ‘ tasteful ’ persons did not seek 
 
 **" — • . ~- - E * an artist to design and make the monu- 
 
 a master-workman. men ^ but only a distinguished draughts- 
 man to compose it in an imitative way. Were a true architect 
 or master to produce a work of inspiration the superior world 
 would be astonished and perplexed. The idea of any good 
 thing coming from a common working - man, like Adam 
 
AN ‘ ARCHITECT. 
 
 21 
 
 Kafft of Nuremberg, Jacobo of Assisi, Mateo of Compostella, 
 or William of Sens, would trouble people ; and their first 
 inquiry would be, 4 Have any of the rulers or of the Pharisees 
 believed ? ’ 
 
 This being so, the public may perhaps concur with Mr. 
 Fergusson when he proceeds to say 4 that any step towards 
 employing persons of a lower educational or social status than 
 the profession of architects as now constituted would be a step 
 in the wrong direction.’ To read this it would seem that 
 artist’s work does not require a workman’s, but a classical and 
 scientific education ; that a scribe of Latin verses or a regis- 
 trar of stars, a courteous dilettante or a knowing connoisseur , 
 a fortune in the funds, or a patent of nobility, would be more 
 likely to produce the Parthenon, the Pisan duomo, or the 
 choir at Westminster, than the 4 low ’ and, in the modern 
 sense, uneducated working men who actually made these 
 monuments of art ; that when the drawing-master who 4 de- 
 signed ’ St. Stephen’s Hall destroyed St. Stephen’s Chapel, 
 that was a step in the right direction, since the draughts- 
 man was in educational and social status higher than the 
 workmen who directly built the chapel. But in times of art 
 the workmen gained their social status by their work. The 
 men whom we have named were by their birth of low degree, 
 and Turner, Flaxman, Stephenson, and Watt must, it appears, 
 have risen from the wrong direction. Yet, perhaps unfor- 
 tunately, Heaven, when providing creative imagination as the 
 noblest education for mankind, has no particular respect for 
 rank ; and the diffusion of the sacred gift of poetry in words 
 or works is quite uninfluenced by the educational or social 
 status of its various recipients. Imagination is the portion 
 equally of beggars and of princes ; it is the solace of the human 
 intellect, the help-meet for the busy, working mind of man ; 
 and when the workmen ruled and their imagination had full 
 play, the natural result was art. If mental culture is the duty 
 of society, imaginative education should be made a public 
 
22 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 eare. But in our schools imagination is repudiated and 
 repressed, and everywhere the true artistic culture of our 
 working people, is neglected. Since the revival, and the intro- 
 duction of exotic styles of architecture, there has been a 
 constantly increasing degradation of our building workmen. 
 They, like the profession who have superseded them, are ‘ not 
 allowed to use their intellects,’ and the effect upon their 
 class, on art, and on society is lamentable. Now, instead of 
 homely sympathy with the imaginative work of artisans, we 
 have the transient admiration of the multitude for draughts- 
 men’s compilations ; foolish efforts, which the public never 
 care to understand, and which are not, artistically, worth 
 their comprehension. When, in a few years’ time, our work- 
 ing men become instructed, on a par with those who now are 
 called * their betters,’ they will reassert their true position in 
 society, and will again be welcomed to ‘their place’ as 
 ‘masters,’ real architects. Then building art of every kind 
 will flourish as of old, when workmen, being always free, 
 habitually used their intellects and their imagination. For 
 the present ‘ good society,’ whose ‘ most refined and intel- 
 lectual ’ works are altogether sordid, sets the fashion of the 
 ‘ Imitative Styles,’ and banishes intelligence from the domain 
 of art. The new Parisian opera-house and the Prince Con- 
 sort’s shrine are the most prominent direct results of super- 
 social and fictitious architectural culture. 
 
 Thus, then, the highest educational and social status having 
 failed to give us art, we may perhaps dispense with such 
 superiority, and, guided by historic testimony and the evidence 
 of nature, seek to cultivate the lively genius and imaginative 
 power of every class, so that the area for improvement may 
 be infinitely wide and excellence abundant. The great poets 
 of old time did not recite their verses in a recondite, a foreign 
 or an unknown tongue ; their utterance w T as always in the 
 language of the people, homely or polished, the dignified or 
 the vernacular. And so again, when all men understand and 
 
AN e ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 23 
 
 all our artisans habitually practise national or territorial, 
 spontaneous art, each working man will grow artistically to 
 his full development, and those poetically great among them 
 will become their chiefs, the real architects. Thus art will be 
 recovered, and again will be illustrious and refined. When 
 we have found the diamond to polish it is easy. 
 
 Throughout the history of art in every age its greatest 
 workmen have, with very few exceptions, not been highly 
 educated, but, according to our modern standard, ignorant, 
 uncultivated men. The special excellence by which each 
 working man was individually known was art in workmanship ; 
 and thus in ancient Greece the very names of architects and 
 artists indicate their artisan ability. The mythic centaur- 
 artist Chiron was, in English, ‘Mr. Handy ; ’ Cheirisophus, a 
 carver of repute, was ‘ clever-handed.’ Then there were 
 Eucheir and Eupalamus, each ‘ good - handed ; ’ and our 
 bungling friend upon the Albert monument is labelled as the 
 artist Chersiphron, the ‘ handy-minded,’ one of the master 
 workmen at the Ephesian temple of Artemis. These Greek 
 names derived from handicraft are interesting in tlieir dif- 
 ference from our own, which are all simple names, like Mason, 
 Carpenter, and Smith, Paynter and Wright, and in the second 
 generation, like Benhadad, Mr. Smithson. There is no quality 
 or excellence denoted ; but in Greece the quality is most con- 
 sidered, not the trade. 
 
 In contrast with the status and profession of the modern 
 architect we give an illustration of the architectural prac- 
 tice and the simple status of the workman in the middle 
 ages. In an interesting paper read some years ago at the 
 ‘ Institute of British Architects,’ Mr. Wyatt Papworth says : 
 ‘ The result of my research leads me to believe that the 
 master masons were generally the architects in the medieval 
 period in England. In the stained glass of the college of 
 Winchester may be seen the representations of three person- 
 ages : the carpenter ; Willielmus Wynfor, lathomus or mason ; 
 
24 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 and the paymaster of the cathedral works. I conceive that 
 in William Wynfor we thus obtain the architect of the college 
 at Winchester, as well as of the works at Winchester cathe- 
 dral.* And again : 4 At Salisbury the master of the works, 
 the keeper of the works, and the master mason are all men- 
 tioned together in one document of 1367 ; so there is no 
 chance of confusing them one with another. At the building 
 of Salisbury cathedral, “ Robertus, cementarius ” — mason — 
 “ rexit per viginti-quinque annos.” ’ The mason was, in fact, 
 the devisor of the works ; and in a postscript Mr. Papworth 
 adds, from ‘ Hunt’s Tudor Architecture,’ 4 It appears that in 
 those times the devisor of the works acted invariably under a 
 supervising officer, who, leaving the artist’s genius and fancy 
 unshackled, controlled and restrained the expenditure of 
 money.’ A very perfect method of architectural procedure. 
 
 Another medieval incident is, in connection with our subject, 
 worth quotation. When, in the fourteenth century, the choir of 
 the Cathedral of Gerona was in progress the chief mason died, 
 and one Jacobo de Favariis was hired, at about sixty modern 
 English pounds a quarter, to come occasionally from Narbonne 
 to Gerona to direct the works. This lasted for about four 
 years ; and then another mason went in charge, and worked 
 as master for some one-and-twenty years, until the choir was 
 finished. But Jacobo’s brief and inconvenient engagement 
 has been held to show that in those times there was 4 a class 
 of men, not workmen, who were really and only superinten- 
 dents of buildings, architects in the modern sense.’ 5 " It shows, 
 in fact, precisely the reverse. The case was notably excep- 
 tional ; and as the choir took twenty-five or thirty years to 
 build, Jacobo’s four years’ work would probably not reach 
 above the sills of the aisle windows. He had thus to see that 
 the plain walls were sound in work and true in plan. When 
 more than this was needed he retired, and another mason 
 was engaged to live upon the spot and do the work. 
 
 * Street’s * Gothic Architecture in Spain.’ 
 
AN '* AECHITECT.’ 
 
 25 
 
 Jacobo bad, it seems, to go from Narbonne to Gerona, and 
 return, six times a year. The distance was about a hundred 
 miles each way, the road a mule path, and the double journey 
 probably a fortnight’s work, with risks of weather and of 
 torrent streams ; and then a fortnight more would probably 
 be needful to inspect the work and to arrange for the supply 
 of various materials. Is this the way of architectural practice 
 ‘ in the modern sense ’ ? Would any modern architect of 
 eminence spend half his time about the superintendence of 
 one work, and for his salary and charges be entirely satisfied 
 with twenty pounds a month ? Or, as Jacobo was * an archi- 
 tect in the modern sense,’ is there in the ‘ Institute ’ a class 
 of master masons paid by salary or wages at some thirteen 
 shillings daily ? 
 
 It is further said to be ‘ of comparatively little importance 
 whether the architect is paid as of old by the year or by a 
 commission on the cost of the works ; probably the difference 
 in amount is seldom serious.’ In olden time the master 
 received wages as a working man; the modern architect 
 is not a workman but a broker, and he claims his five 
 per cent, not as a payment made according to his w r orth, 
 but as a commission on his employer’s outlay ; and besides, 
 there are his travelling expenses and the salary of a clerk 
 of works, who is the real architect, itself as much as the 
 whole payment to the medieval master. Thus the profes- 
 sing architect can job inimitably ; he can neglect and dele- 
 gate and overlook all things except his pay, and so by 
 energetic trading he becomes perhaps a man of fortune. 
 But the medieval masters of the works were men of art ; 
 that was their fortune, and their pay was moderate. At St. 
 Stephen’s chapel, Westminster, the gem of English art, the 
 fabric rolls say nothing of an architect ; but there is suffi- 
 cient evidence that the master mason made his own design ; 
 and he was paid, for all, about ten shillings of our modern 
 currency per day. 
 
26 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 Wren’s salary at St. Paul’s was equal to about thirteen 
 shillings per day ; ‘ out of which he had to pay for the models 
 and drawings of every part, as well as to audit the accounts, 
 and to visit the building daily, and to afford it his constant 
 superintendence.’ This lasted for thirty-five years ; and he 
 received in all about seven thousand pounds, or less than one 
 per cent, on the whole outlay on the building. Possibly our 
 readers may have seen the plans and views of the proposed 
 Museum at South Kensington. The expenditure was esti- 
 mated at four hundred thousand pounds ; and at the usual 
 five per cent., exclusive of the salary of the clerk of works, the 
 architects’ commission for a few years’ occasional attendance 
 would be twenty thousand pounds ; a professional percentage 
 six times as great as that which Wren received for five and 
 thirty years of constant daily care. Or if the terms were mo- 
 dified, for Government is not utterly deluded," several thou- 
 sand pounus would be the monstrous pay. We need not now 
 discuss the actual worth of the design, but merely say that as 
 the building is as monotonous as a wall paper in the repeti- 
 tion of its architectural forms, the commission might be equit- 
 ably calculated on the cost of one compartment only. But, 
 however paid, the architect is free. He may occasionally see 
 the work, but he can, quite professionally, delegate its daily, 
 present care, and have his time engaged in making money 
 in a corresponding way out of a score of other buildings. 
 
 Modern professionalism is an organized contrivance to im- 
 press the public with a notion that ‘ professors,’ a self- 
 constituted class, have a mysterious claim for pay immensely 
 greater than the simple workman’s wages. Becently Sir 
 Edward Watkin has suggestively compared a common work- 
 man in his work and pay with a most eminent professor 
 among civil engineers. ‘ “ Old Edward Pease,” as his friends 
 
 * Yet it is said that recently an architect received from Government £5,000 
 because he did not build his elegant design, which was not worth commercially 
 £500, nor yet artistically £50. 
 
AN 'ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 27 
 
 familiarly called him, told me the story of his bargain with 
 George Stephenson for the engineering of the Stockton and 
 Darlington railway. He said he had many interviews with 
 44 George,” and had said, 44 4 Now, George, do thee think it 
 well over, and let me know what thee can oversee and com- 
 plete this work for Parliament for. We do not want thee to 
 lose by it, remember ; hut thou must not forget that if thou 
 succeed it will he the making of thee, George, and thou must 
 be moderate.’ Thus one night George came to my house, and 
 I sent him out some bread and cheese and beer into the 
 kitchen ; and then we had our conversation. George said he 
 thought he could do it for about ^£80 and day-wages, and I 
 accepted his proposal ; and thee cannot fail to observe, Edward 
 Watkin, that no such work has been done since ” (the line and 
 branches were, I think, twenty-five miles long) 44 for a hundred 
 times the money.” This chance conversation came often 
 into my mind when I had, as a trustee for a suffering — I will 
 not say deluded — body of shareholders, to deal in 1872 with 
 the 44 professional ” (save the mark!) hills of a modern 
 engineer, and found that the engineering, surveying, and par- 
 liamentary charges for about five-and-twenty miles of metro- 
 politan railways, including construction, were something ap- 
 proaching half a million sterling.’ A heavy tribute to superior 
 social status, as the reader cannot fail to observe. 
 
 We request our readers constantly to hear in mind that 
 our objection is directed specially to a delusive architectural 
 system, and it only incidentally refers to those who may, in 
 error, often unperceived, adopt this evil system as a business- 
 like career. The votaries of the profession are fit objects for 
 compassionate regard, and not for hostile or for inconsiderate 
 criticism. They are gentlemen in all respects as good as 
 other men, and so are worthy of due honour. They are suf- 
 ferers rather than offenders, and may therefore claim our 
 sympathy. Although their works are hut a substitute for 
 art, their good professional intention maybe fairly recognized. 
 
28 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 Their chief desire is, as appears, to do much business, and to 
 get abundantly both money and applause; which motives are 
 extremely honoured by the world. And if they err in judg- 
 ment as regards their * business,’ they should be excused ; for 
 architects must, mentally, become perverted and obscured 
 by constant interest in a seeming truth essentially untrue. 
 Though they may feel that their profession is a sham, they 
 cannot realize the fact because they do not think; their 
 business, Mr. Fergusson has told them, does not cultivate 
 intelligence. Yet, though they may be stolid, they must 
 have at least instinctive disrespect for what they deal in ; and 
 this certainly conduces to diminished self-respect. Thus then, 
 in contrast with true work of art, this vain profession of an 
 architect becomes an injury to those who follow it.; it dese- 
 crates and w T astes their lives, and consequently architects 
 who have discernment suffer a corroding consciousness of 
 failure. Such sad consciousness was recently acknowledged, 
 with much laudable emotion, in a public, frank confession of 
 dissatisfaction and despair. 
 
 The reader’s most respectful sympathy for these unhappy 
 gentlemen is therefore perfectly assured ; and we may freely 
 instance some effects of their pernicious system on their own 
 professional discourse. In the Transactions of the Eoyal 
 Institute of British Architects there has been published an in- 
 structive paper about medieval and Benaissance architectural 
 drawing, with a discussion thereupon, which shows us some- 
 thing of the intellectual status and condition of the archi- 
 tectural profession. Possibly a note or two of the debate may 
 be found interesting ; it may assist us to test Mr. Fergusson’s 
 assertion that our ‘ modern architects are not allowed to use 
 their intellects.’ We must, of course, condense, and, with a 
 delicate regard for modest sensibility, omit the names. 
 
 A, the author of the paper, which was well worth publishing, 
 declared his preference for * a thick line ’ in architectural 
 drawing. B could not adhere to the thick line, but had much 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 29 
 
 to say on pens and brushes, points and pencils, styles and 
 touches, outlines and shadows. C, Fellow, thought that 
 4 the object of an architect’s drawing was to explain his 
 thoughts.’ D 4 wished for a specimen of A’s thick line.’ At 
 this practical suggestion the debate appeared to brighten. 
 E, Fellow, ‘thought that the discussion was likely to bring 
 architects and their work into disrepute when they were found 
 quarrelling about the thickness of lines. Modern architectural 
 exhibitions would almost lead to the supposition that the 
 drawings were to take the place of the buildings themselves;’ 
 a vain and hopeless supposition. F, Fellow, ‘agreed that 
 the style of drawing was part of the intellect of the designer ; 
 he agreed with A, that a forcible, nervous style was to be en- 
 couraged.’ G, Fellow, observed 4 that black lines prevailed 
 considerably in France.’ H said 4 that, in naming sixty-four 
 lines to an inch as moderately thick, he was stating a fact, 
 and not a sentiment.’ K said 4 that the intention of a drawing 
 was to represent what would be its appearance when executed.’ 
 And D, again, ‘thought a drawing was a conventional mode of 
 representing a building on paper.’ 
 
 Now here is evident unconsciousness. The system speaks ; 
 the men have merely lost themselves, and are not properly 
 accountable. These gentlemen were doubtless highly gifted 
 both by nature and by education; they were eminent in 
 business, and, of course, commercially, intelligent and ener- 
 getic men ; but when they talk of what they call their art 
 and their profession the discourse most naturally sinks into 
 absurdity. Even Sir Christopher would have appeared gro- 
 tesque if he had made his 4 style of drawing part of his intel- 
 lect ; ’ and 4 sixty-four lines to an inch ’ seems hardly likely 
 to develope into the western elevation of St. Paul’s. 
 
 When speaking at another meeting and discussion at the 
 4 Institute,’ * F, Fellow, who appears to run excessively to 
 words, said that 4 The human mind never worked without 
 
 * ‘ On the Dark Ages of Architecture.’ 
 
30 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 materials. . . . The human mind, turning to the remains of 
 classic Rome, found a system, &c. ... It found in the re- 
 mains of Roman architecture, sculpture, poetry, philosophy, 
 and history, examples upon which it could, with great credit 
 to itself, rely under the circumstances in which it was placed. 
 . . . Nothing could have been more applicable to the cravings 
 of the human mind when the Gothic had died away and left 
 mankind in the lurch. How could the human mind have 
 better formed a new style than by referring to these struc- 
 tures ? History had its tale to tell, and it was predestinated. 
 Instead of sneering at those who have gone before, let us 
 endeavour to trace where the human mind was true to itself, 
 and let us see where we in our turn can be true to ourselves.’ 
 Here, then, we have a new philosophy, that ‘ of the Insti- 
 tute.’ The reference to sneering was addressed to K, Fellow, 
 who, forgetting where he was, had said that ‘ architects 
 hedged themselves about with a set of rules, the observance 
 of which could only be appreciated by the initiated, in oblivion 
 that Art should pierce directly to the simple and the true.’ 
 The chairman, B, Y. P., thereupon administered a sharp 
 rebuke to K, who w T as told that he ‘wanted a reverent 
 spirit. It was not originality, or desire to excel that he,’ K, 
 ‘ required, but breadth and strength, flexibility, and the power 
 of eliminating ’ (sic) ‘ beauty, wherever it might exist, with- 
 out prejudice or bias ; and it was alone by turning their 
 attention to developing these catholic elements that he or 
 any other artist of the present day might hope to become 
 great masters.’ At an annual dinner of the £ Institute,’ 
 F, Fellow, further mentioned that ‘In his opinion, be- 
 fore many years w r ere over, we should see Greek archi- 
 tecture revived in this country. This he said not in dispa- 
 ragement of any other order of architecture, but everything 
 must have its turn, and when it came to their turn to revive 
 Greek architecture they would do it with the same credit to 
 themselves as they had revived the Gothic.’ We have ccn- 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 31 
 
 sequently something to look forward to, with Mr. Fergusson’s 
 encouraging assurance still in mind. 
 
 At the same gathering the President ‘ observed that archi- 
 tects claimed to he artists because they had to deal with 
 beauty in composition ; ’ which entirely begs the question. 
 But this ‘ dealing with beauty ’ has a strikingly commercial, 
 inartistic sound ; indeed a quondam ‘ President ’ immediately 
 said, ‘they had to look on architecture as a business.’ 
 Furthermore, with friendly candour, Mr. Fergusson declares 
 that architecture is now ‘ handed over too exclusively to pro- 
 fessional men, who live by it, and generally succeed more 
 from their business habits than from their artistic powers.’ 
 The elevating influence of art is, therefore, wanting in the 
 architectural profession, which is too exclusively a thing 
 of common and imelevating trade ; and in the sphere of art 
 is, we are told, a senseless sham. 
 
 And now, by way of modest, 
 merely curious comparison, let 
 us refer to some recorded 
 ‘ Architectural Transactions ’ 
 of six hundred years ago ; 
 and hear what an old workman 
 of the thirteenth century, an c. 
 architect of eminence, though 
 of the workman class, ad- 
 dressed to his compeers. 
 
 Wilars de Honecort was a 
 mason of Cambray ; the archi- 
 tect, as it appears, of the 
 cathedral there. His sketch- 
 book has been found and pub- Sifarx# 
 
 lished, and his sketches are * This is a square church which was 
 quite different from those of designed for the Cistercian Order .* 
 modern architects. The lines, made probably with the black 
 stone that masons use to mark their work, would shock our 
 
32 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 ‘ Institute ; * ‘ sixty-four lines to an inch ’ was quite beyond 
 De Honecort’s reach of 4 sentiment.’ Scale and proportion 
 were apparently unthought of; these old sketches were rough 
 memoranda, such as any person who could hold a pen might 
 do, and indicated nothing of the actual appearance of the 
 architectural work referred to. Wilars’ thick lines were not 
 ‘ to represent a building ’ but to help to build it. In his notes 
 or legends we hear nothing of the * human mind,’ or of its 
 
 
 
 I rs 
 
 ~~n 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 > 
 
 W jo- 
 
 f * s 
 
 • a. 
 
 L V 
 
 !/ . 
 
 — ■ •— o— 
 
 il 
 
 - (T 
 
 j 
 
 L < 
 
 ) 
 
 T 
 
 i 
 
 . J 
 
 X 
 
 ._T 
 
 l~b~ 
 
 ! * 
 
 * This is a plan of the apse of “ Madame Saint Mary,” 
 of Cambray, as it is now rising from the ground. Further 
 on in this book you will find the inside and outside eleva- 
 tions, the arrangements of the chapels and lateral walls 
 and of the flying buttresses 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 33 
 
 having 4 found a system ; nothing of 4 want of reverence,’ nor 
 — we blush to write it — of 4 eliminating beauty without pre- 
 judice or bias,’ and no fine talk about 4 becoming great 
 masters.’ There is no hint of a 4 desire to excel, or to be 
 esteemed 4 original.’ Wilars was thinking simply of his work, 
 humbly of his own need for pitiful compassion, and very con- 
 fidently of his claim on the goodwill and kind remembrance 
 of his various fellow workmen. 4 Wilars de Honecort salutes 
 you, and implores all who labour at the different kinds of 
 work contained in this book to pray for his soul and to 
 hold him in remembrance’ — Labour and prayer and social 
 sympathy, all from a 4 common, unrefined, inferior ’ artisan, 
 — 4 for in this book may be found good help to the knowledge 
 of the great power of masonry and of devices in carpentry ; ’ 
 things much beneath our 4 artists ’ of the present day, who 
 find their 4 force ’ in lines, their 4 intellect ’ in style of draughts- 
 manship. 
 
 Throughout, the book is perfectly unselfish in its tone ; 4 the 
 principle of competition ’ is entirely wanting ; nor is there any 
 exhortation to the craftsmen to 4 be true to themselves.’ On 
 the contrary, the book is dedicated for the benefit of others ; 
 every inscription is benevolent, and some are almost paternal. 
 f I have been in many countries, as you may see by this 
 book, but in no place have I seen a tower equal to that of 
 Laon. Here is the plan of the first-floor. Look forward and 
 you will see the arrangement and all the elevation, and how 
 the turrets change their forms,’ i.e,, from square to octagon, as 
 they rise. 4 Meditate upon these, for if you desire to build 
 similar great angle turrets you must choose a form of sufficient 
 projection. Proceed carefully, and you will do as a wise and 
 skilful man ought to do.’ 
 
 Notice, besides the kind encouragement and good advice of 
 the last sentence, that the instruction is not as with us to copy, 
 but to 4 choose a form ’ to be worked out. His sketch is not 
 intended for a copy, but to be a memorandum ; the details 
 
 3 
 
pgiiiiip’r 
 
DE HONECORT’S SKETCH. 
 
36 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 are very negligently incorrect. Wilars, like Baphael and 
 Shakespeare, and all true craftsmen, was no servile copyist, 
 though he would adopt a good idea, and mature or modify it 
 in his own artistic way. But it is notable how little reference 
 he makes to his own work ; there is but one small plan dis- 
 tinctly claimed by Wilars as his own, and of this scheme he 
 scrupulously shares the merit with a fellow-workman. This 
 was six centuries before the Pugin-Barry controversy. It is 
 inscribed, 4 Wilars de Honecort and Peter de Corbie contrived 
 this presbyterium in a discussion together.’ Confidence and 
 co-operation, not rivalry and competition ; certainly unbusi- 
 nesslike, inferior men; 4 workmen in the sense in which that 
 word is generally understood ; ’ persons without the 4 best and 
 most refined intellects,’ but 4 ignorant and vulgar.’ 
 
 Of Be Honecort’s sketch-book the late Professor Willis said : 
 4 It is evident that the methods of drawing which it has pre- 
 sented to us are wholly insufficient to convey any idea of the 
 exact proportions or artistic character of an edifice ; but we 
 see that in those days there could have been none of the 
 mechanical copying which is the reproach and misfortune of 
 our own. There was no sufficient power of delineation to 
 enable a travelling architect to transfer a building or a detail 
 to his sketch-book so completely as to admit of its being re- 
 produced when its effect upon his eyes had been forgotten. 
 He might have caught inspiration from the sight of great 
 works, but unless he possessed a genius of the same order as 
 that which originated them, he would have been unable to 
 give the imitations the beauty and spirit of the originals, and 
 he must have supplied so many details of his own that the 
 building would necessarily acquire an individual character; 
 neither can his series of geometrical devices relating to 
 masonry and construction claim to represent the ordinary 
 practice of his period ; for a regularly educated architect 
 would not make notes of matters familiar to himself and his 
 fellow workmen.’ Not, observe, his fellow draughtsmen. Also 
 
AN £ ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 37 
 
 notice that Wilars, who most evidently could not draw, was 
 still ‘ a regularly educated architect.’ 
 
 Thus in the times of real art there could have been no 
 drawing-master architects. The working masons were the 
 architects or masters, and themselves worked out their 
 glorious designs. Wilars, for instance, being called to Hun- 
 gary to build a church, did not, like modern architects, send 
 pretty drawings to beguile the clergy and secure the job. The 
 man himself, and not a set of drawings was required ; and so 
 he went to Hungary and did the work. 
 
 No comment need be made on this comparison between the 
 medieval workmen and our modern architects ; but worse 
 remains behind. By far the most important members of 
 the architectural profession are entirely unseen and never 
 heard of by the outside world. These are the drawing 
 clerks, who to their superiors are what the clever artisan 
 or skilled mechanic is to the salesman, or the man that 
 keeps the shop. They are the men who can be hired ac- 
 cording to the nature of the order, and who prepare designs 
 and drawings without any personal or public recognition, 
 and, by comparison, at a beggarly amount of pay. Why 
 these poor clerks submit to be the fuel to inflate a monstrous 
 windbag, and to drudge for a profession that exhausts their 
 energies and lives, and quite forbids them the delights and 
 honours and rewards of recognized art-work, appears perhaps 
 a mystery. Each year, as they advance in age, their case 
 becomes more hard and hopeless, their position more pre- 
 carious, and their work more weary and revolting ; while 
 their social independence and artistic rights are sacrificed to 
 aggrandize the so-called heads of an unintelligent profession, 
 and to please a public that is quite unconscious of the cost by 
 which its transitory and ignoble pleasure is obtained. 
 
 The reason for it is that architects’ assistants choose to 
 pique themselves upon their pitiful gentility ; and, clinging to 
 the uncertain fortunes of their gambling trade, they make 
 
38 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 themselves habitually followers of chance, and then its slaves. 
 They know too well that those called eminent in the pro- 
 fession are mostly evil accidents, that many of the most 
 ‘ important ’ are, even in their imitative way, incompetent, 
 while many of the ablest are obscure ; and so, forgetting 
 that the whole profession is a sham, they miserably wait, 
 expecting Fortune’s wheel to turn for them, while they still 
 grind along in hopeless hope. Were they to make a friendly 
 compact with the leading workmen, and, inviting them to 
 their 4 Association ’ or their 4 Institute/ obtain from them 
 good teaching in a handicraft, they might completely qualify 
 themselves for architectural work. Then, cautiously combining 
 with the workmen, they might form free companies or guilds of 
 perfectly instructed, practical, artistic craftsmen. This we 
 exhort the younger men to do ; that thus, instead of wasting 
 their best years in fruitless expectation and corroding jealousy 
 and grim despair, they may become the independent masters 
 of their destiny, and all be started fairly, with assurance 
 of success, in a joyful and a dignified career. 
 
 Under such new conditions let us see what would be the 
 probable proportions, not the amounts, of the respective 
 wages of the masters and their fellow workmen. In his work 
 on 4 Gothic Architecture in Spain,’ Mr. Street mentions one 
 Domingo Urteaga, who, in the middle ages, was a 4 foreman 
 of the works, and really the architect.’ Domingo’s salary 
 was five sueldos a day ; his assistants received three sueldos, 
 and his apprentices one and a half each. Our modern archi- 
 tects, being a superior class of men, will doubtless seek to 
 imitate not only the peculiar style of ancient work, but the 
 becoming, fair allotment of the ancient pay. 
 
 From time to time, when very virtuous, the public or the 
 newspapers become intensely interested in the subject of 
 4 commissions ; ’ and the architectural profession is most 
 strictly questioned. In reply, the President and Secretary 
 of the 4 Institute ’ assure the world that they are ignorant of 
 
an Architect.’ 
 
 39 
 
 such a practice among ‘ architects of known respectability.’ 
 We leave this answer for the reader’s critical amusement ; 
 and we venture to propose another question. If it should be 
 true that there are architects who take commissions, and 
 are neither scrupulous nor candid, are they worse than those 
 who judge and cheerfully condemn them ? Is it safe to trust 
 most men ? Are the goods of manufacturers, commercial 
 customs and the practices of trade habitually honest ? 
 Architects are much like other men, and if they are not 
 everywhere trustworthy Nature pleads for them : ‘ to step 
 aside is human.’ They believe, no doubt, that their profession 
 is as good as what the rest of men are doing ; but it is, as a 
 late * President ’ so frankly said, 4 a business,’ and what busi- 
 ness is our business men can tell. 
 
 In art, which simply acts upon material, a state of innocence 
 is possible, and hence the value of true art as an abundant 
 element in social polity. But business deals with men, and 
 therefore virtue, in society a limited commodity, is needed. 
 At the present epoch probably no group of men would claim 
 this quality as their complete endowment; even members of 
 the ‘ Institute ’ are not yet recognized exceptions in morality. 
 A draughtsman is not born again when he is called an 
 ‘ architect ; ’ and the deluding prefix of ‘ profession ’ is a 
 mere vulgarity, intended by this class of business agents to 
 assert some vain superiority to trade. A barrister or surgeon 
 takes no commission, but his fee, for his professional advice. 
 Artistic workmen would receive their wages, or their stipulated 
 pay, according to the value of their art ; and business men gain 
 profit, or experience loss in trade. But architects pretend to be 
 a sort of trinity in unity, professional, artistic, and commercial, 
 all in one ; and such pretence is very business-like. 
 
 We bring no accusation against architects. In the profes- 
 sion there is certainly a full proportion of the current 
 modicum of honesty, of men above suspicion or reproach. 
 But the profession deals with contracts and trade bids ; and 
 
40 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 those who very much pretend to know, contractors, mutter 
 that there have been 4 architects of known respectability,’ or 
 otherwise unknown, who did not carefully announce at the 
 * Association,’ or the 4 Institute,’ the fact or the amount of 4 cus- 
 tomary trade commissions ’ that they quietly received. More- 
 over, as commissions are, on high authority, declared to be 
 the rule in business, architects who take them, and whose 
 curious profession is admittedly * a business,’ may be said to 
 act with merely business-like adroitness. In most architec- 
 tural buildings there has been of late a marked increase in 
 polished marble, carving, coloured glass, and costly metal 
 work, which have, at times, afforded opportunity for sly per- 
 centages. But here again, it may be said, there is a plausible 
 excuse. A five per cent, commission is the general rule for 
 every kind of work; and either garden walls and factories 
 and prisons must be overpaid for at this rate, or architects 
 must build elaborate churches and luxurious houses in a very 
 4 business ’ way, or for a desperately small net payment. The 
 fact is that, without jobbing of some sort, involving pluralism, 
 open or concealed — the difference is comparatively immaterial, 
 for the whole system is unsound, unnatural and therefore 
 vicious — the 4 Profession ’ cannot stand. The public there- 
 fore might judiciously consider whether it is well to patronize 
 a system that so tends to immorality, and which, moreover, 
 causes them continual disappointment, with a painful sense 
 of being mystified and duped. They can gain nothing by 
 their feeble, intermittent murmurs ; these the architects 
 can fairly ridicule. They probably would say that the pro- 
 testing public are themselves quite ready to obtain undue 
 advantage when the chance occurs. For instance, archi- 
 tectural competitions are a scheme whereby a score of inex- 
 perienced persons* play upon the eager hopes, ambition, and 
 
 * Sir Edmund Beckett, in liis published ‘Lecture on the Parish Church at 
 Doncaster,’ says : ‘ When I found myself appointed a member of the building 
 committee, I saw that there was no other person on it who would not disclaim 
 any but a very general knowledge of architecture, or taste for that kind of study.’ 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT/ 
 
 41 
 
 cupidity of the profession to get drawings made for nothing, 
 or for possibly a tithe of what they cost, that they may 
 gratify their 4 taste ’ and vanity, and use what they are pleased 
 to call an opportunity for patronizing art. Of course the 
 architects know how to treat the matter ; as a late 4 Presi- 
 dent ’ once said they 4 are obliged! And so their competition 
 works are stamped with the prevailing character of English 
 general society. Why should the public, then, complain ? 
 
 The system of commissions is not limited to England : 4 The 
 rebuilding of my boat has cost £260, and Omar got back £10 
 by the sale of old wood and nails. He also gave me 2000 
 piastres, nearly £12, which the workmen had given him as a 
 sort of backsheesh. They all pay one, or two, or three 
 piastres daily to any ‘Wakeel’ (agent) who superintends ; that 
 is his profit, and it is enormous at that rate. I said, Why did 
 you not refuse it ? But Omar said they had pay enough after 
 that deduction, which is always made from them, and that, in 
 his opinion, therefore, it came out of the master’s pocket, and 
 was 44 cheatery ” ’ (Lady Huff Gordon). Omar’s sagacious 
 practice has been sometimes used much nearer home, with 
 good effect in cash and morals. 
 
 Vitruvius, the Boman architect, a classic among those who 
 manufacture in the ‘Imitative Styles,’ though not perhaps 
 accomplished as an artist, was intelligent and conscientious ; 
 and he thus delivers his afflicted soul : 4 1 have not sought to 
 amass wealth by the practice of my art, neither is it wonderful 
 that I am known but to a few. Other architects canvass 
 and go about soliciting employment. What must he sus- 
 pect who is solicited by another to be entrusted with the ex- 
 penditure of his money but that it is done for the sake of gain 
 and emolument ? When, therefore, I see this noble science in 
 the hands of the unlearned and unskilful I cannot blame pro- 
 prietors who, relying on their own intelligence, are their own 
 architects ; since, if the business is to be conducted by the 
 unskilful, there is at least more satisfaction in laying out 
 
42 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 one’s money at one’s own pleasure rather than at that of 
 another person.’ 
 
 But Mr. Fergusson, in his instructive letter to ' The Builder,’ 
 says that ' any public body or private individual wdio 
 would attempt to carry out any important or ornamental 
 building in the present day without an architect would most 
 probably have to repent of his temerity.’ This is the second 
 horn of the professional dilemma ; for already Mr. Fergusson 
 has told us in his Preface how the profession is untrue in 
 principle and systematically wrong, straitened in intellect and 
 condemned to failure. Let us then return to simple and 
 imaginative building work, not imitative and important, nor 
 yet ornamental, but genuine and artistic. Though ‘ the world 
 is still deceived with ornament,’ it is 'but for a little time,’ 
 and then, inevitably, disappointment comes. An ornamental 
 picture or a statue, a reputed ornamental man or woman, 
 must be wanting in intelligence and dull. Instead of orna- 
 ment by the profession we can have the artisan and art ; 
 and this is our sole method of escape from Mr. Fergusson’s 
 dilemma. 
 
 Thus with frank confidence, arising from compassion and 
 benevolent respect, we have endeavoured to inform our readers 
 of the nature and Profession of an ' Architect ; ’ to make the 
 public understand what is the cause of their artistic misery, 
 and of their impotence for good in architectural affairs ; how 
 for all this they are themselves to blame, and where they are 
 to find the remedy. Their only hope of reformation is in 
 self-reform, and in their prompt rejection of the strange conceit 
 that other men, ‘ the working classes,’ have been made to 
 furnish luxuries for them, and to be kept in what is called 
 ‘ their place.’ Such notions, and such things, must have an 
 end, wdiich cannot be far distant, nor be very long delayed ; 
 and men of business and the middle classes should consider 
 and obey the sensible command to 'honour all men,’ and 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 43 
 
 esteem the aristocracy of work at least as highly as the 
 oligarchy of the Stock Exchange. 
 
 The public also will eventually see that their own ignorance 
 is the source of all the architectural evil they endure ; they 
 will endeavour to learn something of the most important of 
 their secular affairs, and make themselves acquainted with the 
 fabric and construction of their homes. Those who would 
 build judiciously should forswear leasehold tenure, luxury, 
 and the architectural profession. None but a freehold site 
 should be selected for a residence or for a work of art. 
 Expensiveness, so fashionable from its charm for vulgar 
 minds, should be eschewed. Then Mr. Fergusson’s instructive 
 * History of Modern Architecture ’ should be well studied. In 
 that very wholesome book, entirely free from archaeological 
 and ritualist cant, an intelligent proprietor will see what the 
 Profession of an ‘ Architect ’ has done, and will beware. No 
 five per cent, commission-broker will be asked to send his 
 drawings as professional director of the works. Men who may 
 use their intellects, and will be always on the works to do 
 them must of course direct them. Either educated working 
 men should be the resident contractors for the work as well 
 as the designers of the building, or an able workman, care- 
 fully selected, and in some cases possibly, to do the little 
 setting-out required, a clerk should be engaged, at liberal, 
 judicious salaries. A change of system seldom can be 
 made by one clear step, and so in the transition state, as 
 clerks and workmen are each only half instructed, it may 
 be often needful to combine them and obtain a dual architect; 
 the impotent and the blind helping each other and conjointly 
 doing the artistic work of one sound man; but always present 
 at the work, doing and not delegating that which they pretend 
 to do. Such men would carry on the building with the zeal 
 and interest of freedom and responsibility. With them the 
 patron, or proprietor, whom we suppose to be a man of sense, 
 would carefully devise the plans, commencing with the plainest 
 
44 
 
 THE PKOFESSION OF 
 
 style of building. He would thus become as well acquainted 
 with the structure of his house as with the details of his daily 
 business ; and the work in which he lives and that by which 
 he lives would equally and properly be understood. The eman- 
 cipated under-workmen also would be quick to learn that they 
 were now accounted better than machines, and so would have 
 the stimulus of healthy pride and intellectual interest in their 
 occupation. Their revived imagination would begin to work, 
 and art would germinate, and five per cent, commissions and 
 the multiplied, mysterious, often unknown items that are 
 covered by a builder’s tender, with the cost of all the luxury 
 and foolish ornament that are the special product of the 
 architectural profession would be saved. The working archi- 
 tects would study how to limit the expense, not to increase 
 it ; how to do the best for their employer, not how they might 
 make a public reputation for themselves ; and as the work 
 proceeds the improvements that experience will frequently 
 suggest would be adopted without fear of merciless demands 
 and bills of extras. The result would be an economical and 
 worthy specimen of workman’s art, an honour to its sensible 
 proprietor. 
 
 But now, as the result of building from professional designs, 
 a ghastly crop of ‘ Villas, * ‘ Eagles’ Nests,’ and ‘Granges,’ con- 
 stantly increasing year by year, is making England hideous. 
 These expensive follies are a demonstration of the wealth and 
 ‘ culture ’ of a sort of men who being called ‘ self-made ’ 
 relieve the Providence above of great responsibility. They 
 are not building art, but only graphic sketches done in wood 
 and stone. The charming prettiness and manufactured ‘ pic- 
 turesque ’ are soon discovered to be worthless and a bore ; 
 and the perplexed proprietor is stamped as ill-conditioned, 
 prominent, and vulgar. 
 
 For centuries past the great proprietors and men of wealth 
 in countries nominally Christian have not in any sense been 
 patrons of true art, but only votaries of pompous luxury. 
 
AN c AKCHITECT.’ 
 
 45 
 
 Few scenes exhibit so much mental meanness as the mansion 
 of a rich proprietor or peer. The endeavour to be imposing 
 has been made the substitute for dignity and thought, and the 
 whole pile is consequently found to be a costly and ridiculous 
 imposture. A nobleman would need compassion and relief if 
 custom made him always wear his coronet and ermine ; but 
 in connection with his Castle or his Hall he frequently is just 
 as much encumbered with absurdity. The style of work and 
 furniture to suit a man of rank is founded on a mixture of 
 French pompousness and feminine frivolity, with latterly the 
 fashionable cant of antiquarian design. To substitute true 
 art for such developments of folly and expense would be quite 
 easy; and the exigence is great. For an Earl to be the operarius , 
 and conduct the works upon his family estate, would be a 
 profitable and manly pastime, and would in honour equal one 
 step higher in the order of nobility. To substitute a school 
 of masons for a gang of poachers would ennoble any com- 
 moner ; and the efficient practice of the old masons’ art, or of 
 imaginative workmanship of any kind, would elevate the 
 dignity and self-respect of any noble-minded gentleman or 
 peer. 
 
 The status and condition of the workman is becoming year 
 by year a question of increasing interest throughout the social 
 scale. Already there are sons of peers engaged in commerce ; 
 and, such are the rapid changes in the world, the grandson 
 of a duke may possibly ere long embark in trade, or might 
 ambitiously prefer to be a mason. And with ability, for there 
 is no knowing what amount of latent talent may be found, 
 another Phidias or Buschettus might arise, adding new splen- 
 dour to some noble name. It seems important, then, that 
 there should be no sense of degradation in the workman’s 
 sphere, but that his work should be esteemed as noble, since 
 it leads to opportunities as great, as that of students in the 
 classics or philosophy. 
 
 The pretty general contempt with which the workman is 
 
46 
 
 THE PROFESSION OF 
 
 regarded is a curious demonstration of the spirit of society. 
 Gentlemen whose fathers or grandfathers were workmen, and 
 who by their humble parents’ handicraft and thrift are now 
 saved from being, possibly inferior, artisans, are very orthodox 
 about the workman’s incapacity. And yet these men have 
 all their lives been overwhelmingly indebted to the working 
 man’s intelligent ability. When happily he condescended to 
 be born, the gentleman’s first friend and helper was a work- 
 man, a chirurgeon, literally a handiworkman. Then the 
 common men to whom ‘ the most refined ’ entrusts his life on 
 board a ship or in a railway-train, the barrister who saves 
 his property, the clergyman who piously directs his faltering 
 devotion, are all workmen in their various ways, acting im- 
 mediately with mind upon the subject of their work, the 
 essence of true workmanship. To say that of these workmen 
 some are educated men only declares the added value that 
 instruction gives to practical ability. Each w r orkman ought 
 to be as well instructed, to complete his working education, 
 as a surgeon or a barrister ; not in the same way perhaps, 
 but with at least as much judicious care. The notion that 
 the primary instruction which is now declared to be the birth- 
 right of the artisan will be accepted as sufficient is a very 
 shallow notion. Bricklayers and masons, carpenters and 
 smiths, will certainly obtain a public education for their sons, 
 to fit them for their life and work, as good as that of any 
 wrangler or Smith’s prizeman. Moreover, these young men 
 will then be paid, according to their powers, on equal terms 
 with what are now called gentlemen, ‘ the best and most 
 refined,’ and the professions. 
 
 Thousands of young men are now enlisted in the archi- 
 tectural profession. They and their friends expect for them 
 a light, genteel employment, giving the position, social and 
 financial, due to gentlemen and scholars. These aspirants do 
 not see the social revolution now in progress, less demonstra- 
 tive but far more general than that of France. There the 
 
AN ‘ARCHITECT.’ 
 
 47 
 
 few thousands of the aristocracy were the chief sufferers ; 
 with us the millions of the middle class will feel the change. 
 In but a few years’ time the children of the labouring man 
 will be as well conditioned in the world, as well prepared to 
 assert their personal and mental claims before society, as the 
 sole heir of any manufacturer or wealthy merchant. Young 
 men will then become more promptly known; their characters 
 at school will be their capital, just like a college reputation ; 
 and due credit will be given to capacity as freely as to mere 
 hereditary wealth. Young working men, when thus endowed, 
 will not remain subservient to a pernicious class of middle- 
 men ; and probably in Parliament we soon shall find some 
 representative of labour making the demand that public works 
 shall all be planned and built by workmen who have made co- 
 operative stores their study and example. And who could 
 then deny them ? None can say that only ‘ gentlemen ’ can 
 make a plan or fabricate designs. 
 
 These hard reckonings with the future, a result of long and 
 careful observation of the past, have not been given as a 
 prophecy, but are submitted as a friendly warning to the 
 young and inexperienced hopefuls whom we wish to save 
 from lifelong disappointment and the evil chances of a 
 treacherous career. They should despise the counterfeit 
 gentility that makes two-thirds of men and women, in their 
 social customs, idiots or slaves, and be prepared to ivork in 
 any state of life to which they may be called. Each man and 
 woman, up to the highest rank, should, like the old Hebrews 
 and our medieval kings, be well instructed in a handicraft ; 
 and then, when tribulation comes and the profession fails, our 
 quondam students need not be completely overwhelmed, nor 
 find themselves perplexed and tortured by the constant, sad 
 soliloquy, ‘ I cannot ivorh ; to beg I am ashamed.’ 
 
UNWIN BROTHERS, 
 PRINTERS, 
 
 CHILWORTH AND LONDON. 
 
THE BANE 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 JOHN T. EMMETT. 
 
 Reprinted from 
 
 THE BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW, APRIL, 1881.. 
 
 ItonW : 
 
 HODDEE AND STOUGHTON, 
 
 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
W E ' in our ignorance , talk of education and of spreading education. 
 
 What is the education of the people — to read and ivrite ? Stupi- 
 dity. It is the directing and educating their minds to great virtues and 
 great things. Our education now turns on one subject , making money ; 
 our politics on one subject, making money — that is, buying and selling. 
 I will not say that any pursuit need debase the mind ; but if there is 
 one more calculated than another to do so, it is making money. Our 
 ancestors prohibited gentlemen from making money ; we call this a 
 prejudice, but it ivas not. A man by making money might become a 
 gentleman ; but when he was become a gentleman, his thoughts were 
 to live in a higher sphere, and he was no more to be thinking how a 
 penny might be saved or a penny got. The people understood this, and 
 had an idea of a gentleman as above a trader, thinking his ideas would 
 be above those of bargaining. Noiv the gentleman has gone, and there- 
 fore the respect for gentlemen has gone, and gentlemen hardly respect 
 themselves . — Lord Balling and Bulwer. 
 
 Ebasmxjs pretended , ‘ If it was all true ivhich Luther had written, it 
 < ought not to have been said, or should have been addressed in a learned 
 i language to the refined and educated .’ 
 
 REFERENCES. 
 
 The Tall Mall Gazette, June 8, 1872 ; February 4, 1881. 
 
 The Architect, April 27, June 15, 1872; October 31, 1874. 
 
 The Builder, November 2, 1872 ; November 8, 1873 ; October 24, December 19, 1874 ; 
 
 January 9, October 23, 1875 ; June 12, 1880. 
 
 The Building News, May 10, 1872 ; January 22, 1875 ; November 26, 1880. 
 
 The Renaissance in Italy. The Fine Arts. By J. A. Symonds. 
 
 The Quarterly Review', October, 1874. 
 
 The Edinburgh Review', April, 1875. 
 
 A Book on Building. By Sir Edmund Beckett, Bart, 1876. 
 
 The British Quarterly Review , April, 1880. 
 
THE BANE 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 l-^-F 
 
 I T is a question, for the men of intellect among the public 
 to decide, whether our English architecture is to be the lead- 
 ing art, as God designed it, for the social and imaginative 
 culture of the working classes, the great ‘ people ’ of the land, 
 or whether it shall still, unhappily, remain a mystery for the 
 vulgar, rich and poor ; a degradation for the artisan ; a busi- 
 ness for a pluralist profession ; and a toy for vanity. 
 
 For several centuries the public throughout Western 
 Europe have been more and more excluded from intelligent 
 and homely interest in the art of building. They have paid 
 most lavishly for quasi-architectural devices, which they are 
 persistently instructed to admire. As each new work pro- 
 ceeds, the newspapers and magazines are furnished with 
 commendatory notices by dilettanti of a literary turn, who 
 indicate, in scholarly detail, and with a tone of wonder- 
 ing admiration, what they call the merits of the architect’s 
 design. The public listen vaguely, and accept. Of building 
 art they have no practical or sympathetic knowledge ; and, 
 though architecture in abundant ugliness surrounds them, 
 and in absurd unfitness harasses their lives, they rest con- 
 tent with, and are possibly a little proud of, their sad ignor- 
 ance. Building is 4 low,’ fit only for ‘ work-people,’ quite 
 
4 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 beneath the recognition of the upper classes and of cultivated 
 persons ; they prefer ' fine art.’ They learn from connoisseurs 
 themselves what should be most admired, and so of course 
 they know ; and, in their vacant, imitative way, they praise, 
 and wonder, and pretend to be delighted. Thus, at festive 
 meetings of the 'Academy’ and the 'Institute,’ exalted per- 
 sonages speak in flattering terms of what they are supposed, 
 by courtesy, to understand ; and, as each public building is 
 completed, eager curiosity being for a little time aroused, 
 
 ' The hasty multitude 
 
 ' Admiring enter, and the work some praise, 
 
 'And some the architect.’ 
 
 Indeed, in modern architecture, general authority declares 
 that everything is satisfactory, and, making due allowances, 
 ' whatever is is right.’ 
 
 And yet the public are not permanently satisfied ; although 
 they dance when played to, they have little joy. Their short 
 factitious pleasure is soon ended ; and they then revolt, with 
 dumb impatience ; being, in respect of building work, quite 
 inarticulate. To supplement this general deficiency, and to 
 assist the public to a comprehension of their architectural 
 affairs, has been the object of some recent essays in ' The 
 ' Quarterly ’ and ' British Quarterly ’ Reviews. These articles 
 have also been the subject of particular discussion among archi- 
 tects and their associates ; and, as it may be found instructive 
 to consider what these interested persons have to say, we will 
 proceed to furnish some condensed quotations from their 
 criticisms ; not, it should be noticed, from their merely inci- 
 dental statements or remarks, but chiefly from their serious 
 replies, distinctively ad rem. These criticisms and replies 
 will show that what has recently been said respecting modern 
 architecture is, at least in theory, approved by the profession, 
 and that our account of the contemporary architectural 
 system is most strictly accurate and true. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE . 
 
 5 
 
 By way of introduction we will quote a non-professional 
 critique, wliicli gives a resume of our contention. 4 The Pall 
 Mall Gazette,’ referring to an essay on 4 The State of English 
 Architecture,’ says : 4 The Reviewer’s sympathies lie with the 
 4 time when, according to his confident statement, the work 
 4 and the workman were everything ; when architecture was 
 4 the spontaneous efflorescence of the cultivated imagination 
 4 and ready hand of the mason, and design was the intelligent 
 4 control of the superior, himself a workman ; his conclusion 
 4 from these premises being, that the modern architect, the 
 4 soft-handed professional person, with his paraphernalia of 
 4 4 4 office,” drawing clerks, commission, &c., is an abuse that 
 4 should be done away with at any cost of vested interests. 
 4 The said incubus being removed, he anticipates the recovery 
 4 by the workman of the old inventive spirit, and that the 
 4 architecture of the future may be safely intrusted to his 
 4 hands.’ 
 
 4 The Architect,’ with creditable boldness, says : 4 The 
 4 opinions here set forth have an unquestionable foundation in 
 4 fact. “The Quarterly” critic is no doubt right in his as- 
 4 sumption, that architecture has become more a profession 
 4 than an art. The truth is, that the public themselves have 
 4 created this state of things. People rush after names, and 
 4 the result is a monopoly by which certain men are rendered 
 4 incapable of performing efficiently and honestly that which 
 4 each client supposes to be the personal work of his architect ; 
 4 and thus commissions can only be carried through by the 
 4 help of more or less able clerks.’ And — according to 4 The 
 4 Building News, — “workmen should be competent to design 
 4 their work ; an architect should work more in presence 
 4 of his buildings and less at his desk ; and the unhealthy 
 4 accumulation of practice in a few fashionable offices is 
 4 deplorable. Every one admits that the designer should 
 4 assiduously supervise the execution of his work ; and the 
 4 neglect or compromise of this duty is an essential error. 
 
6 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 4 The article mentions five things which prevent our archi- 
 * tectural success : these are (1) the influence of the ignorant 
 4 public ; (2) the false position of architects ; (3) the over- 
 4 growth of certain architectural practices ; (4) the non- 
 4 employment of the workman’s mental power ; and (5) the 
 4 custom of building on short leases. The first is enough to 
 4 ruin our art. The majority of people prefer inferior archi- 
 4 lecture.’ 
 
 But in 4 The Builder ’ we are told that 4 the transparent 
 4 fallacy which underlies the whole series of attacks is that, 
 
 4 because every true artist is a workman, therefore every work - 
 4 man is a true artist.’ Nothing of the kind ; but since, as is 
 admitted, 4 every true artist is a workman,’ it is evident that 
 modern architects, not being workmen, are not artists ; and 
 the buildings for which they make drawings, and which they 
 so absurdly call their 4 works,’ are all, artistically, bad. If 
 every 4 ornamental and artistic ’ building that has been 
 produced by draughtsmanship, in the last forty years for 
 instance, were destroyed, there would be neither loss nor 
 injury but rather great relief to art, and corresponding 
 benefit to the community. The grievance is, that under 
 drawing-masters workmen never can be artists ; and it is 
 this fact, so evident in its results, contrasted with the work 
 produced when workmen were all 4 free,’ that is the con- 
 demnation of the architectural profession. Workmen, like 
 the rest of men, are mostly born artistic ; and, by a mere 
 law of nature, they would, if left free from draughtsmen’s 
 most incompetent control, become, in various degrees of 
 merit, real artists. 
 
 Still we have gained the admission, that every true artist 
 is a workman ; and yet in the same paper it is said that 4 art 
 4 can be but dimly apprehended by any one who speaks of it as 
 4 labour, enduring as is the toil of the true artist ; for art in its 
 4 essential nature is the embodiment of the conceptions of the 
 4 imagination ; it is the outward and visible form given to the 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 4 creations of the fancy.’ In its essential nature art is labour, 
 or where is ‘the toil of the true artist,’ whence is the 4 em- 
 4 bodiment,’ and how is 4 the visible form given ? ’ Of course 
 art must be labour, vivified ; the workman giving it its life. 
 The fact is that these writers are perplexed, and so their 
 arguments are ‘fallacies.’ 
 
 For instance, referring to a quotation of Plato’s statement, 
 that you could not buy (7 rpiaio) a master workman ( up x>'~ 
 Tercrova) even for ten thousand drachmae, 4 The Builder ’ 
 desperately says, 4 It is convenient to the Reviewer to trans- 
 4 late 7 rpiaio into its plain, blunt, literal meaning, to buy ; 
 4 though it must be obvious that it is here equivalent to hiring 
 4 or engaging.’ 4 It is convenient ’ to speak the truth, although 
 this writer seems to think the contrary is obvious. Ilpiaio 
 means to buy, and no more means to hire, or is equivalent 
 to engaging, than it means to sell. If it meant hiring, time 
 would be essential to the statement, but no time is quoted ; 
 and, for hiring, the verb p,ia66co would of course be used. The 
 error is an old one, and was formerly committed by 4 Athenian 
 4 Aberdeen ; ’ whose classical and architectural scholarship were 
 equally inaccurate. 
 
 Continuing in Hellas : 4 It may be possible that the Greek 
 4 architect was more on the work than the modern one, and 
 4 that he did not make elaborate drawings beforehand.’ Un- 
 doubtedly; but this Greek system is impossible for modern 
 architects, and hence the inartistic character of all their work. 
 Yet, though the architectural profession is thus inartistic and 
 incapable, there is involved in it an influential element of 
 modern business and society ; and, though it is in error, and 
 unsound, and certainly is doomed, we hear 4 it will die hard.’ 
 Discussion may, however, reconcile us to the change, and 
 save the public from the shock of a catastrophe. 
 
 The leading architectural papers are indeed preparing for 
 the inevitable end. 4 The Building News ’ declares that 
 4 fashionable architects are overdone with business. Instead 
 
8 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 4 of tempting one man to distribute his thought and attention 
 ‘ over twenty different works at a time, architecture would 
 4 obviously gain if each work had the care of a competent 
 4 designer.’ And r The Builder ’ contends that 4 the architect 
 4 should be as much on his building as possible ’ — not the con- 
 tractor’s building, but his own ; that is, he must be a master- 
 workman — ‘he should not undertake what he cannot personally 
 ‘ look after; he should be able to improve his design if neces- 
 * sary ; and every artistic workman should have credit for his 
 ‘ work ; the architect remaining the directing spirit of the 
 ‘ whole : ’ which is entirely our doctrine. 
 
 These quotations show that the artistic theory of the work- 
 man’s leadership and conduct of the architectural design is 
 easy to appreciate, and is practically well defined. But this 
 itself appears to be a cause of difficulty. Certain people will 
 accept and modify a statement into contrariety, just as soft 
 wax receives the impression of a seal and then displays it 
 perfectly reversed. We give a specimen, from 'The Builder’:. 
 4 Would any one but the Beviewer assert that a grand build- 
 4 ing would most likely be obtained by trusting the works to 
 4 the combined efforts of a band of masons without a direct- 
 4 ing head, and with the stipulation that they are not to make 
 4 any drawings?’ The enquiry has the semblance of a well- 
 considered misconstruction. As the writer probably would 
 say, ‘It is convenient.’ But, to let our readers judge of the 
 veracity or otherwise with which we have to deal, we furnish 
 the remarks which have thus clumsily been travestied : — 
 4 Of course there was subordination, but the subordination 
 4 was all within the workman class.’ * 4 The master-workman 
 
 4 would make the plan, arrange the elevations, and be, in fact, 
 4 the foreman of the work.’ 4 He is the ruler of workmen; 
 4 he must assign to the individual workmen their appropriate 
 4 task till they have completed the work.’ 4 At the Parthenon 
 4 Phidias was the chief superintendent of the works,’ as a 
 * ‘ The Quarterly Review,’ April, 1872, p. 305. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 9 
 
 resident workman, ‘ tlie architects, or master-workmen, being 
 ‘ under him.’ ‘ This was precisely the state and position of the 
 
 * medieval master-workman ; and, in fact, all true building 
 ‘ methods are essentially the same.’ 4 The workmen worked, 
 
 * after their manner, without extraneous tutelage.’ * 
 
 The complete perversion of these clear, consistent, and re- 
 peated statements, may, however, have been due to mental 
 failure; hut another patient quickly ‘ lifts his head,’ and, with 
 ■emphatic amplitude, repeats the folly. ‘Because the word 
 ‘“architect” nowhere occurs in the records of medieval 
 ‘ buildings, nor anything which can be considered its precise 
 ‘ equivalent, it is assumed that these great structures arose 
 ‘ of themselves as it were, by a unanimous impulse among 
 ‘ workmen having no chief instructor, and working upon no 
 ‘ preconcerted plan. The inference is of course obvious ; take 
 ‘ away the architect, forbid the making of any preliminary 
 ‘drawings, turn loose a hand of “inspired workmen” upon 
 ‘the site, and the building will “rise like an exhalation,” 
 ‘ and repeat all the glory of medieval architecture in the 
 ‘most natural and simple manner’ (‘Fortnightly Review’). 
 
 This quotation serves to show w r itli what inverted per- 
 spicacity we have to deal ; how very ‘ hard,’ as we were told, 
 this curious profession dies. 
 
 With much apology and patience we will state once more 
 the true historic architectural method, by which ‘ inspiration’ 
 always came. The real architects, of every age of art, were 
 working men, and not mere draughtsmen, like our modern 
 ‘ architects,’ who are not working men or architects at all. 
 In the great periods of medieval art, the architects could 
 draw hut little better than our modern men can work ; but 
 they could actually build, which modern architects, preten- 
 tious and incapable, only profess to do. They were the chiefs 
 of the workmen, constantly remaining on the work, directing 
 and conferring with their fellow-artisans. Thus when Niccola 
 * ‘ The Quarterly Review,’ October, 1874, pp. 358-365. 
 
10 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 Pisano, ‘tlie great founder of Italian art, visited Siena in 1266, 
 4 for the completion of his pulpit in the Duomo, he found a 
 * guild of sculptors, or taglia-pietri (stone-cutters), in that city, 
 4 governed by a rector and three chamberlains. Instead of re- 
 garding Niccola with jealousy, these craftsmen only sought to 
 4 learn his method. Accordingly it seems that a new impulse 
 4 was given to sculpture in Siena ; and famous workmen arose , 
 4 who combined this art with that of building. The chief 
 4 of these was Lorenzo Maitani, who designed and carried 
 4 to completion the Duomo of Orvieto during his lifetime. 
 4 While engaged in this great undertaking, Maitani directed 
 ( a body of architects, stone-carvers, bronze-founders, mosaists, 
 4 and painters, gathered together into a guild from the chief 
 4 cities of Tuscany. We must give to Maitani, the master 
 4 spirit of the company, full credit for the sculpture carried 
 4 out in obedience to his general plan. The Duomo of Orvieto, 
 4 by giving free scope to the school of Pisa, marked a point in 
 4 the history of sculpture. It would be difficult to find else- 
 4 where even separate works of greater force and beauty 
 4 belonging to this, the architectural, period of Italian sculp- 
 4 ture. The subjects selected by these unknown craftsmen for 
 4 illustration in marble are in many instances the same as 
 4 those afterwards painted by Eaphael and Michael Angelo in 
 4 Eome ; and nowhere has the whole body of Christian belief 
 4 been set forth with method more earnest and with vigour 
 4 more sustained ’ ( 4 Eenaissance in Italy — The Fine Arts ’). 
 
 How different in spirit, and in method and result, from 
 modern work. We beg the student to read once again, and 
 even to commit to memory, this picturesque historical epi- 
 tome of the artistic method in architecture, which raised up 
 such 4 famous ’ working-men. No doubt these workmen were, 
 like Bezaleel and Alioliab, ‘inspired.’ The thing appears 
 impossible to modern architects; such inspiration they are 
 sure has not occurred in their time or in their experience. 
 
 We have been told by some philosopher that 4 architecture 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 11 
 
 ‘ is a graphic art,’* an art of drawing, therefore not the art 
 of building, as the word expressly means ; and architectural 
 work is superficial only, done on paper or on boards. We 
 consequently understand that London is an aggregate of 
 scenes, not buildings, and we are all, as in a theatre, pre- 
 tending to believe in their solidity. Each house, it seems, is 
 hut a show of architectural drawings, and we do not enter, 
 hut inspect it. Wilars of Cambray, the medieval artist, who, 
 as Professor Willis told us, could not draw, was therefore not 
 an architect, and the cathedral that he built never in fact 
 existed. This kind of metaphysic may he current among 
 architectural ‘ Professors,’ hut by unsophisticated people 
 architecture is supposed to he a plastic art, the chief develop- 
 ment of solid form. Our drawing-masters might go on for 
 years designing, hut without the workman all their efforts 
 would not give us practicable buildings. 
 
 Houses were made before drawings, which, like tools and 
 scaffolding, are only helps to building. The design is not 
 the thing, but only an account, extremely superficial, of the 
 thing proposed; ‘the work’s the thing,’ and workmen are 
 the real architects. Again, although a carver frequently 
 makes sketches, more or less elaborate, as tests of form, his 
 special work is not accounted graphic ; he is a carver who 
 can clo the work ; his art is evidently plastic. On the other 
 hand, although a painter may use solid figures as his guides, 
 his painting is not therefore plastic art ; his previous sketches 
 also are but memoranda. Were he to do no more than sketch 
 and draw, he would not be a painter, but a draughtsman, 
 like our architects, and his productions would not be pictorial, 
 but would, like theirs, be classed as ‘ graphic ’ only. Thus, 
 then, we find, by studying their own apologists, that modern 
 architects are drawing-masters only, graphic composers, 
 totally devoid of real architectural or plastic art. 
 
 The constant use of drawings is indeed an evidence of prac- 
 
 * ‘Edinburgh Review,’ April, 1S75. 
 
12 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 tical ineptitude. ‘ The French architect has made very pretty 
 4 drawings of the mosque here, both outside and in ; it is a 
 ‘ very good specimen of modern Arab architecture, and he 
 ‘ won’t believe it could be built without ground plan, elevations, 
 ‘ &c. ; which amuses people here, who build without any such 
 ‘ invention ’ (Lady Duff Gordon’s ‘ Last Letters from Egypt ’). 
 The old masons, ancient and medieval, sometimes made 
 rough outlines to assist them in their work, but then these 
 outlines were their own preparatory mason’s work. Thus on 
 the lead and granite roofs of some French buildings we still 
 find the outlines traced by medieval workmen. At Mycenae, 
 ‘ below the sculpture at the foot of a tombstone, we see two 
 ‘ spiral ornaments imperfectly scratched in the stone, as if 
 ‘ the artist had made a trial sketch of what he was going to 
 
 * carve on the tablet. Oar present artists make their sketches 
 
 * on paper, but the early Mycenean had neither paper and 
 6 pencil nor pen and ink at his disposal, and so he made his 
 6 trial sketch upon the stone itself, but on its lower part, 
 ‘ which was to be sunk in the ground, and was therefore 
 ‘ hidden from the eye ’ (Schliemann’s ‘ Mycense ’). 
 
 We have, it seems, obtained encouragement and help from 
 the light literature of draughtsmanship ; now let us listen to 
 the eloquence that cheers the ‘ Institute ’ and the ‘ Associa- 
 tion,’ which appear to be the senior and junior houses of the 
 architectural Profession. 
 
 At the Association, a few years ago, Professor Ker — imagine 
 a ‘ Professor ’ Chersiphron ! — assured the meeting that ‘ he 
 ‘ found the profession of architecture most unpopular — the 
 ‘most unpopular profession of modern times. He considered 
 ‘ its position most critical, and he found the reason of this un- 
 ‘ popularity in the prevalence of Fashion in Architecture. 
 
 * What is to be done ? He would recommend increased atten- 
 ‘ tion to the stone and mortar work in architecture. In pro- 
 ‘ portion to the skill in mere draughtsmanship, just in this 
 ‘ proportion he thought he detected the loss of the solid quali- 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 13 
 
 ‘ ties of good design.’ Yet this discerning dictum curiously 
 controverts the c graphic ’ notions of the writer in ‘ The Edin- 
 burgh Review.’ But the ‘Professor’ is, in what he says , 
 essentially correct; the more there is of draughtsmanship 
 and ‘ graphic art ’ the more the plague of pluralism spreads, 
 and architecture sinks into a business in the wholesale way, 
 conducted by commission agents, ‘ architects of eminence.’ 
 And yet our architects are not especially to blame ; they 
 are but items in society. Their calling, or profession, has been 
 long established as a ‘ business,’ and the world approves ; it 
 ministers to vanity, and that is what the world requires. 
 Moreover, the Profession is not an affair of common sense, but 
 an elaborate system of performances, that strike the imagina- 
 tion of the public, just as circus horsemanship surprises little 
 children. That a man should ride one horse; or undertake 
 one building, is a common-place affair, quite useful doubtless, 
 but not striking. Whether his building or his horsemanship 
 are good or bad, the public do not know ; but, as they very 
 much admire the equestrian who, in some straddling way, 
 pretends to ride three horses at a time, so architects are 
 valued, not according to their work, but to their reputation 
 for a marvellous professional width of stride. A clever man 
 may inefficiently and awkwardly control as many as three 
 simple buildings or three ambling steeds close side by 
 side, but how can he pretend to compass and conduct some 
 ten or twenty? Yet a cleric, or a corporation, or indeed 
 most men, think it an advantage, something even of an 
 honour, to have one of these ridiculous performers in their 
 pay. The clergy are especially absurd in this respect. 
 Among themselves such pluralism has been almost univer- 
 sally abolished, and it is not said that formerly, when half 
 a dozen benefices were in one control, beneficence resulted. 
 But a dean or rector will actually be proud to say that his 
 cathedral, or his chancel, has been ‘ splendidly restored ’ by 
 some excessive pluralist ; believing that this vanity of his is 
 
14 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 somehow to his credit. Such men listen to the common chatter 
 about 4 art,’ and probably have joined in it, until they think 
 that art is meant for their particular delight and illustration. 
 Thus they never see nor understand that art cares nothing 
 about them ; that all its interest is in the workmen who 
 produce it ; and that when these working men attain to full 
 possession of the good that art provides for them, its influence 
 overflows, and charms and glorifies the rest of humankind. 
 
 There used to be a story of an 4 architect of eminence ’ 
 whose bill, a startling one, was criticised by a Eight Beverend 
 Father. The divine remarked that the account was equal to 
 a curate’s yearly salary. 4 That,’ said the architect, 4 is true 
 4 enough; but then, my lord, you must remember that among 
 4 architects I am a bishop.’ It was a clever answer, but not 
 true ; the man was but a pluralist, with architectural clerics, 
 curates, we might say, in charge at all his works ; and it was 
 said that he, like others similarly known to Fame, gained his 
 chief introduction to that prating damsel through the help of 
 an unrecognized assistant draughtsman. 
 
 In a discussion at the Institute of British Architects on 
 4 The Hope of English Architecture,’ a prepared critique 
 began with the acknowledgment, that 4 the Beviewer had 
 4 apparently been influenced by a conscientious desire for the 
 4 reform and advancement of the building art, and that regard 
 4 for the public good had prompted him to write ; ’ and it 
 further said that 4 if there had not been a substratum of truth 
 4 in his strictures upon modern professional practice no reply 
 4 would have been necessary.’ The late M. Viollet-le-Duc was 
 then largely quoted : thus, 4 He says that in the fourteenth 
 ‘century an architect was “un homme de l’art quel’on indem- 
 4 nise de son travail personnel .” People who wished to build 
 4 provided materials and hired workmen ; neither estimate, 
 
 4 nor valuation of the work, nor the administration of the funds 
 4 appears to have concerned the architect.’ A wise and sensible 
 relief; 4 the man of art, whose payment is for his own labour,’ 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 15 
 
 will be, generally, less efficient than his neighbours in the 
 faculty of number, and in genius for commerce and finance. 
 The master of the work, or operarius, was the man who, in 
 the middle ages, undertook all inartistic duties ; and in our 
 own time the multitude of worthless architects might possibly 
 be utilised for this inferior business. 
 
 In the discussion at the Institute it was properly explained 
 that, 4 if the principles of construction are not now uniformly 
 4 respected, it is because they are not understood by the 
 
 * people. Yet the ruling principle of every useful art was 
 
 * preached twenty-four centuries ago. “ What ! ” said Aristippus, 
 
 4 “can a dung-basket be beautiful ?” 44 Of course it can,” said 
 4 Socrates, 44 and a golden shield can be very ugly, if the one 
 4 be well fitted for the purpose and the other not .” 5 A dictum 
 much misunderstood by those who do not recognize the play 
 upon a word. KaXos, as a generic term, means not merely 
 "beautiful, but excellent in its way, or for its purpose ; and 
 it was applied by Socrates, much as the word beautiful is 
 applied by us, to many things devoid of beauty. Socrates was 
 fond of paradox, he liked to startle people ; he had also the 
 Athenian gift of humour, and would have been amused to find 
 that architects of any kind or period were ready to associate 
 dung-baskets with their buildings in the element of beauty. 
 
 Continuing the discourse, Professor Ker was of opinion 
 that 4 the workman of the present day was being made too 
 4 much of ; and they ought not to contribute to raise him to a 
 4 false position, from which he must some day or other fall.’ 
 A word of cautious sympathy, induced perhaps by serious, 
 professional self-contemplation. On the other hand, although 
 two years before Professor Ker 4 had found the profession of 
 4 architecture to be most unpopular,’ it w T as now 4 only writers in 
 ‘Reviews, &c., who wrote of what they did not understand, 
 4 who expressed any disrespect of architects.’ Professor Ker, 
 however, had already told the Institute that architects them- 
 selves 4 had a habit of ridiculing each other’s efforts. No one 
 
16 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 ‘ would venture to exhibit a design of any kind, in any style, 
 ‘ without calculating to a certainty upon exciting the derision 
 ‘of the whole body of his colleagues.’ The Architectural Con- 
 ference, to whom this statement was addressed, quite philo- 
 sophically took it ‘ in extremely good part ; it commended 
 ‘ itself to the general mind as a palpable hit ; ’ and yet the 
 Reviewer has been said to be too indiscriminating in his 
 censure. Architects, of course, do laugh at one another, for 
 they must at times perceive, and even understand, the drollery 
 of their position ; * but the public also might consider who it is 
 that pays for the amusement. 
 
 After the Professor comes an amateur, Sir Edmund Beckett, 
 who, with customary frankness, told the Institute what ‘ per- 
 haps it was not a pleasant thing to hear, that the public were 
 ‘not satisfied with the present state of architecture.’ The 
 President, the late Sir Gilbert Scott, also ‘ thought that when 
 ‘ they looked at the forms of architecture which the whole 
 ‘ world pronounced to be wonderful, there could be no doubt 
 ‘ by what manner of men they were originated and carried 
 ‘into execution. The writer of these reviews had done some- 
 ‘ thing in directing their attention to the difference between 
 ‘ the old workman and the architect of the present day ; the 
 ‘ points of difference he had drawn proved clearly that there 
 ‘ was no very great distinction between the architect and the 
 ‘workman in those days.’ But the difference between the 
 old workman and the modern architect is total and extreme ; 
 it cannot be ‘ exaggerated.’ The old masters produced ‘ forms 
 ‘ of architecture which the whole world pronounced to be 
 ‘ wonderful ; ’ the modern architect is said to ‘ excite the 
 ‘ derision of the whole body of his colleagues.’ The old 
 masters did not ‘ bring disgrace upon architecture ; ’ nor 
 were they ‘destroyers of architecture, and the disgrace of 
 
 * ‘ Vetus autem illucl Catonis admodum scitum est, qui mirari se aiebat quod 
 ‘ non rideret haruspexharuspicem quum vidisset’ (Cicero, de Divinatione, ii. 24) ; 
 and both Cato and Cicero were members of the Institute. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 17 
 
 ‘the age,’ as Sir Gilbert Scott assured us ‘an immense 
 
 * multitude ’ of architects now are. The Reviewer never 
 used expressions more severe and general than these ; and, 
 when compared with such professional self-accusation, all 
 our criticisms are but weak and reticent and gentle. 
 
 The reason is that we have hope, and so can easily he mode- 
 rate ; but at the Institute there is despair. Sir Gilbert Scott 
 admitted that ‘ he did not know how in the world the case was 
 ‘ to he met, though he had thought about it a good deal. He 
 ‘ confessed he did not know what the hope of architecture was.’ 
 This being so, might not the Reviewer’s ‘hope ’ be welcomed ? 
 
 It is then well established, and accepted at the Institute of 
 Architects, that medieval architecture was entirely designed 
 by working men, and not by ‘ gentlemen ’ or draughtsmen ; 
 that all these craftsmen’s work was good, and in its higher 
 qualities almost sublime ; but that of modern work a very 
 modest minimum is passable as a pretentious imitation of the 
 repudiated workmen’s style, and all the rest falls off to mul- 
 titudinous disgracefulness. We quote the late President 
 again : ‘ One of the most marked characteristics of the pro- 
 ‘ duction of the great periods of architecture is that no really 
 ‘ bad architecture is ever to be found among them. Who ever 
 
 * heard of a work of the Greeks, at the great period of their 
 ‘ art, which they would presume to call bad architecture ? 
 ‘ While in the works of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries 
 ‘ the same masterly skill, and the same studious handling, are 
 ‘ found in the simple village church as in the noblest cathedral. 
 
 ‘ Nay, one is often disposed to uncover one’s self in humble 
 ‘ reverence before the work of some unheard of carpenter or 
 ‘ mason in an obscure village. No contrast could be more 
 ‘ marked than the difference between the present state of 
 ‘ things and that which prevailed at the great eras alluded 
 ‘ to. Instead of each work in its style displaying the same 
 ‘ knowledge and instinctive sentiment, the same careful, wise, 
 
 ‘ and thoughtful handling, the reverse of this is actually the 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 4 case. From each of our art camps productions are put 
 4 forth of the highest and most contemptible character ; while, 
 4 I fear, a large number of the buildings which will represent 
 4 our period are of that negative kind which, being neither hot 
 4 nor cold but only lukewarm, will excite but a sickly emotion.’ 
 
 This concluding sentence is however too extensive in its 
 scope ; it fairly states the quality of what are called the best, 
 the exceptional few, of our contemporary works. Their worth 
 is ‘ negative ; ’ they are not badly built nor incorrect, but they 
 are wholly destitute of true artistic character and power; 
 4 lukewarm and sickly.’ 
 
 Then, skilfully replying on the whole discussion, the dis- 
 cerning author of the paper said : 4 There must have been 
 4 truth in the article on 44 The State of English Architecture,” 
 4 for only the truth stings ; and I am confirmed in this opinion 
 4 by the knowledge that many architectural assistants — 
 4 Associates of the Institute, who have done, and are still 
 4 doing, good service to their masters — believe much of that 
 4 article to be true. I am convinced that in many instances 
 4 the actual system of practice does not conduce to artistic 
 4 excellence, nor is it fair to the junior and subordinate mem- 
 bers of the profession. I believe that members of the 
 4 Institute might introduce a practical reform.’ 
 
 Another reader at the Institute immediately showed how 
 such reform is to be made. 4 It might be an improvement if 
 4 we had a greater number of competent men, among whom 
 4 our great works might be distributed, so that to each the 
 4 architect might give his whole time and thoughts.’ Here is 
 the whole requirement stated in two words — competence and 
 distribution — so that men of sense may give their constant 
 thought, and practical ability, to one single building work, 
 and thus produce a work of real art. 
 
 Some few months later Mr. Beresford Hope, a reputed 
 connoisseur, who seems often to address the Institute, was 
 quite emphatic on 4 the craze of the day, 44 the workman- 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE . 
 
 19 
 
 4 architect ; ” the idea that Ignorance should be divinely and 
 * miraculously gifted with the power of producing more beauti- 
 ‘ ful things than Education and Instruction. It would take a 
 ‘good many articles in “ The Quarterly Review” to convince 
 ‘ him that the workman would become a heaven-born Phidias 
 ‘ when he had no capital at all.’ 
 
 We have more than once or twice, in sheer compassion, put 
 aside quotations from the Fellows of the Institute of Archi- 
 tects. The Profession, in a way that Mr. Fergusson explains, 
 has evidently a deteriorating influence on the minds of those 
 ■connected with it ; and for all who are engaged in its injurious 
 toil we have the pity that experience compels. But for the 
 self-complacency of connoisseurs there need be small con- 
 sideration; for some forty years or more these gentlemen 
 have been ubiquitous in public architectural affairs ; the busy 
 advocates especially of church, and abbey, and cathedral 
 restoration, in the flashy, sumptuous style. Often of high 
 character, accomplished, well-conditioned, and acknowledged 
 leaders in the world of ‘taste,’ but in the world of art de- 
 luded sciolists, their influence on architecture has been 
 thoroughly injurious. They have reduced it to a show of 
 pedantry, and trumpery church ornament ; and it thus 
 becomes for them a means of personal distinction, and of a 
 peculiar kind of social prominence : they represent the dan- 
 gerous little knowledge to which more abundant ignorance 
 defers. Their custom is to make professional and other 
 architectural meetings opportunities for much ‘ amusing ’ 
 oratorical display; and being dilettante in ecclesiology they, 
 often very quaintly, pose as friends and special champions 
 and defenders of the Church. Yet, with their gentle flock 
 of clerical admirers, they are constant dupes of the Profes- 
 sion; the chief patrons of that jobbing pluralism which has 
 now become the bane of English architecture. 
 
 Several months before, as if prophetically to anticipate our 
 obscurantist connoisseur, the late enlightened President had 
 
20 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 told the Institute that the old craftsman architect or master 
 was no craze; that everywhere and always he was most 
 divinely gifted ; that his artistic knowledge was complete ; 
 that his instruction and his education in his work were per- 
 fect ; and we may add the obvious remark, that what the 
 workman always was until oppressed by connoisseurs and 
 clerics he may yet become again. Sir Gilbert Scott may also 
 possibly have thought what we presume to say, that ‘ Ignor- 
 ‘ ance ’ is evidently not divinely gifted ; and that our con- 
 noisseur’s emphatic disbelief, that any craftsman destitute of 
 ‘ capital ’ could possibly be heaven-born, is strikingly in cha- 
 racter. Few other men would have the genius for such an 
 estimate of heavenly w T orth, and for so broad an explanation 
 of the local claims and the celestial influences of ‘ capital.’ 
 An ancient craftsman, most divinely gifted, used to say of 
 heaven, how hard it was for men of capital to enter there. 
 
 Had he not so frankly told the Institute of his defective 
 powers of apprehension, Mr. Beresford Hope’s objection 
 would appear strong evidence of lamentably irreligious educa- 
 tion, or of careless, not to say neglected, Bible reading. In 
 the earliest page of sacred history we find that Adam was 
 ‘ put into the garden of Eden, where was every tree that was 
 4 pleasant to the sight, to dress it,’ as an artist, 4 and to keep 
 ‘ it,’ wholly without capital. But it is further said that when 
 he listened to the woman, whom the serpent, the first con- 
 noisseur, had tempted, and had tasted of the tree of know- 
 ledge, he was changed. He ceased to be a heaven - born 
 genius ; his eyes were opened, and vain knowingness began. 
 The fallen artist workers were then driven from the pleasant 
 garden, and compelled to till the ‘ cursed ground,’ and made, 
 like modern connoisseur- afflicted artisans, to ‘ eat in sorrow ’ 
 and to live in shame. 
 
 Considering their own abundant incapacity, the objection 
 to the workman’s 4 ignorance ’ comes very curiously from con- 
 noisseurs, who ought at least to know that they themselves 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 21 
 
 are only conversant about the gossip, or 4 the things of art,’ 
 and not with art itself. They have not even learnt to make 
 a Gothic window or a door ; and yet, in compound ignorance, 
 they assume that those who can do this are their inferiors. 
 The workman is directly on the road of architectural know- 
 ledge, and the connoisseurs and draughtsmen are entirely off 
 it. Learning and science never made an architect, though 
 now and then they have developed a composer. They are 
 both distinct from art ; and when connected with it may, by 
 foolish use, be made unspeakably injurious. The workman 
 at the grand climacteric of art had very little learning ; 
 scarcely any that was studiously acquired. The technics of 
 his art were his almost by birth, or by unconscious, childish 
 habitude ; and in the history of art nothing is more evident 
 and interesting than the workman’s carelessness about the 
 past, his ignorance of archaeology, his indifference to all he 
 knew of former work, and his amazing persevering impulse to 
 make all things new. He was a poet, not a sciolist ; a maker 
 of imaginative work, of which our connoisseurs are very proud 
 to know the glossary, and something of its date and history. 
 The knowledge of these dilettanti is but scientific, 4 that in 
 4 which all men agree : knowledge therefore at its lowest term ; 
 4 but the individual expression of the poet is the highest,’ the 
 expression of the man himself, and not of his scholasticism. 
 He developes thoughts, that other men may know ; he does not 
 4 know,’ he sees, and so produces elements for knowledge, widen- 
 ing creation. In architecture all this individual expression 
 is by work, and so the craftsman, liberated and allowed to 
 think, and to create while working, is the only hope of archi- 
 tecture. Connoisseurs and draughtsmen are the men of 
 science ; architectural therefore only 4 at the lowest term.’ 
 
 A few years since the Ordinary of Newgate wrote an in- 
 teresting letter to 4 The Times ’ commending a new workmen’s 
 club at Westminster ; where, as he said, the Hall had been 
 recently 4 built by the working men themselves ; and 4 not only 
 
22 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 ‘ so, they were tlieir own architects.’ This transaction was 
 referred to in ‘ The Quarterly Review ’ as ‘ the latest instance of 
 ‘ true building master workmanship ; ’ the workmen, as in times 
 of art, conducting their own work without a drawing-master’s 
 interference. The Reverend Ordinary’s statement that ‘the 
 ‘ building is very handsome ’ was judiciously omitted ; but that 
 * the plans and elevations had been beautifully drawn by one 
 ‘ of the members ’ was said to make this workman’s ‘ little 
 ‘ front more satisfactory and respectable than the Charing Cross 
 ‘ Hotel or the Royal Academy facade.’ 
 
 For several centuries the workmen have been banished from 
 the realms of art, and systematically hindered from their old 
 intelligent co-operation in artistic building work. At length 
 there is a slight but hopeful indication of a change ; like 
 medieval masters, they design and work together by them- 
 selves. Of course their brother ‘ artists,’ the ‘ superior class,’ 
 were quick to recognize and welcome this endeavour to im- 
 prove the working men’s condition ; and to cheer the first 
 aspiring effort of the men who ‘ do the work ’ for which they 
 ‘ get the praise/ and by whose aid they gain their own position 
 in the world. Here was an opportunity for manifesting in a 
 gentle way their owm superiority. Unhappily they missed it. 
 At a special meeting of the Institute, assembled to discuss 
 and to repudiate ‘ The Hope of English Architecture,’ the 
 workman’s feeble but spontaneous undertaking was received 
 with derision by the whole body, just as we have heard they 
 treat a fellow architect’s, professional designs ; and thus 
 ingenuously they showed themselves to be ‘ inferior.’ 
 
 The critic’s circumspect approval of the method of this 
 workman’s work has been described as ‘ admiration ’ of the 
 architectural result, and as adducing the small front as 
 ‘ the one successful effort of modern architecture.’ We are 
 dealing with a class of men who ‘ may not use their intel- 
 ‘ lects ; ’ and so are possibly unable to distinguish between 
 ‘ effort ’ and ‘ success, ’ or to per6eive that when a method is 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 23 
 
 approved there is no necessary reference to result. All that 
 was said in the Review might well have been advanced without 
 the slightest knowledge or examination of the building. This 
 was designed by working men in somewhat of the medieval 
 working master’s way, and thus is evidently far ‘ more 
 satisfactory and respectable ’ than the neighbouring produc- 
 tions of the drawing-masters’ Institute. Indeed some deli- 
 cate apology is due to the Portcullis Club for the degrading 
 and unkind comparison. The working members of the club 
 did not deface a dignified and monumental composition, 
 like Lord Burlington’s well-studied elevation, nor erect an 
 imitation of a royal monument and a memorial cross as an 
 hotel advertisement and tavern sign. 
 
 Returning to the Institute, we find the late President thus 
 gravely cautious : 4 With regard to the question of vernacular 
 4 architecture, they should each do the best they could, accord- 
 ‘ ing to the ability God had given them.’ Under the present 
 ‘ graphic ’ system no one knows what latent architectural 
 ability our modern architects possess. In many a drawing- 
 master’s office there may he some undiscovered Phidias or 
 Vischer, who in a workman’s shop might he developed as a 
 real artist ; but God has certainly not given even men like 
 these ability to make a dozen buildings at a time, all works of 
 art. Still further, the late President most candidly declared 
 that, ‘ as it is, five pupils out of six sent to architects are worth 
 4 nothing in the world ; and ’ — let the public note this thorough 
 and authoritative condemnation of themselves and of the 
 present system — ‘ they stood as good a chance of getting on 
 ‘ as any one else.’ 
 
 A second connoisseur, Sir Edmund Beckett, a most friendly 
 correspondent of the Institute, considers that the late Sir 
 Gilbert Scott’s evasion of the question is a ‘ declaration that 
 ‘ the idea of vernacular architecture ever again existing is 
 * absurd ; ’ and he adds, ‘ The present confusion or universality 
 ‘ of styles, which we must take as a datum or fact beyond 
 
24 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 4 contending against, maybe a cause of the decline and almost 
 4 disappearance of any public architectural criticism.’ 
 
 Very true : since modern buildings are but inartistic and 
 chaotic compositions, each beholder may object to or approve 
 of them exactly as his individual whimsy dictates. Critics can 
 regard with thoughtfulness, and judge with great respect, a 
 work of veritable art ; but inartistic, imitative buildings are 
 mere matters of scholasticism or caprice, and then of trade ; 
 and, save as warnings, not worth notice. Criticism has in 
 them no valid occupation ; they are things of what the con- 
 noisseurs call 4 taste,’ of costliness and luxury, of fashionable 
 names or styles, and even of 1 a grim or sumptuous ecclesiology. 
 Many a draughtsman has attained to what is reckoned 4 emi- 
 nence ’ by sanctimonious pandering to the silly, wholly in- 
 artistic, High Church school. 
 
 The candid mentor also wrote to the assembled architects : 
 4 Whatever you do, don’t call yourselves 44 artists.” An artist 
 4 is a man who executes, whether he more or less designs be- 
 4 sides ; and ranges from a Phidias or Apelles down to a ballet- 
 4 dancer or a cook. You are artists in respect of your drawings, 
 4 but not in respect of the buildings made from them ; and 
 4 experience has shown that there is no connection between 
 * the power of drawing nice architectural pictures and the 
 4 power of producing fine buildings.’ 
 
 Sir Edmund Beckett is a ready writer and a lecturer on 
 building. In his books there is much useful information; 
 he might even claim to be the recognized Vitruvius of the 
 period. Among other things he tells us : 4 Critics may be 
 4 right in saying that the modern and increasing severance 
 4 between working and general superintendence, and designing, 
 4 tends not to exalt architecture, as its professors pretend it 
 4 does, but to degrade it more and more into a trade for 
 4 making money by the help of clerks. But the public, who 
 4 will not take the trouble to understand a little of these sub- 
 4 jects for themselves, must take architects as they are. In 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 25 
 
 ‘ spite of all that is said at “ opening festivities,” and other 
 4 occasions when people meet to glorify one another, nobody 
 ‘ can hear building talked about among friends without seeing 
 ‘that there is a deep and settled conviction that the much 
 ‘talked of “Hope of Architecture” is little but despair.’ 
 
 To this condition, then, the connoisseurs have brought us. 
 But Sir Edmund Beckett is himself an architect; he has 
 ‘ substantially designed sundry churches, and other buildings 
 ‘ of considerable size.’ Of these the plans are good enough, 
 the ‘ graphic ’ elevations are sufficiently ‘ correct,’ and all the 
 work is solid and well done ; the buildings are however 
 wholly destitute of true artistic feeling, they are coarse and 
 dull. The railway churches at Peterborough and Doncaster 
 might have been designed by some ambitious, unimaginative 
 engineer, without artistic faculty or power, who had gathered 
 his details from hooks, with no perception of propriety or scale; 
 thus illustrating with peculiar force Sir Edmund Beckett’s 
 dictum, that ‘ there is no connection between the power of 
 “ making architectural drawings and the power of producing 
 ‘ fine buildings.’ 
 
 Two designs for the restoration of the west end of St. 
 Albans Abbey Church have recently been published. One is 
 by an architect, and is as weak as any other product of the 
 Institute, mere accidental features being made essential 
 elements of the design. But the rejected elevation seems a 
 work of power and graceful fancy when compared with the 
 design accepted from Sir Edmund Beckett. This design is 
 just the sort of thing that some ‘ small architect ’ would set 
 his youngest clerk to do, to keep him out of further 
 mischief. The whole plan is wrong as a restoration of 
 the west end of the church ; which needs, what the old 
 builders, it appears, intended to supply, two towers ex- 
 tending north and south entirely beyond the line of the 
 aisle walls. The nave is so protracted, westward, that the 
 end seems almost to be lost in distance. The eye, in memory 
 
26 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 at least — and memory is always acting as a most efficient 
 element in architectural appreciation — does not retain a sense 
 of limitation ; and the long nave appears to be, without an 
 obvious termination, undefined. The towers would give this 
 mark of limitation ; they would also make the west front half 
 as wide and, on an average, half as high again, as in its 
 present form ; thus rendering it a suitable facade and frontis- 
 piece for so important and so large a building. The towers 
 would also be distinctive features to associate with the larger 
 tower at the cross ; and thus would bring the structure into 
 unity as a completed composition. 
 
 To Sir Edmund Beckett should be given all due credit for 
 his generous care of the cathedral, for his wise suggestion of 
 the high pitched roof, and for the structural improvements 
 that he has directed ; but the present scheme too painfully 
 reminds us of the fact, that nature has its equitable limits for 
 its gifts to individual men. A most successful advocate, a 
 copious correspondent, and an accurate horologist, might well 
 be satisfied that the constructive faculty is added to his 
 numerous accomplishments, and might have left this western 
 front to artisans, whenever they are found, who, though with- 
 out a quarter of his general ability, should have creative power 
 in intellectual and imaginative work in stone. Distinctly 
 he has missed his way; his new design is utterly beneath 
 the lowest criticism. But Sir Edmund backs his enterprise 
 with an unlimited supply of funds ; and as he is, moreover, 
 hopelessly unconscious and artistically undiscerning, it is 
 difficult to blame a man so zealous, and in such a painful case. 
 Indeed the clerics in authority are the great culprits ; they 
 are trustees for the nation, and the sanction they have given 
 to this ridiculous and yet presumptuous scheme is cer- 
 tainly a violation of their public trust. The three western 
 doorways at St. Albans are unique and exquisite examples of 
 progressive medieval art ; worth, unrestored, far more than 
 all the labour to be spent upon the west front of the church ; 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 27 
 
 in fact a new west end, contrived expressly to enclose and so- 
 preserve them, would be the most judicious and appropriate- 
 completion of the building. To ‘ restore ’ these portals would 
 be mutilation and destruction. Were the authorities at Blooms- 
 bury to allow some wealthy connoisseur, entirely without a 
 plastic artist's insight and ability — ‘ an artist,’ as Sir Edmund 
 Beckett warns us, ‘ in his drawings only ’ — to inflict his in- 
 capacity upon the Elgin marbles, and ‘ restore ’ them, they 
 would but equal the diocesan chancellor and the cathedral 
 clergy at St. Albans in their stolid infidelity to a great artistic 
 trust. Sir Edmund Beckett tells the world that his design is- 
 popular ; but then we have just heard, on good professional 
 authority, that ‘ the public actually prefer inferior architec- 
 4 ture.’ Sir Edmund, therefore, might judiciously beware. 
 
 There was at Doncaster some years ago a dignified and 
 simple parish church, the w 7 ork of master masons, built in 
 an artistic way. This church has been destroyed ; and in its 
 place there is an architectural full-sized model, made to show 
 what modern connoisseurs and architects consider an eclectic, 
 sumptuous imitation of the style of medieval masonry ; and 
 manufactured with whatever finery might make a pretty 
 building. In the sphere of art, according to Sir Edmund 
 Beckett’s valuable letter to the Institute, it is entirely without 
 worth ; but still it is a leading case in connoisseurship 
 and professional design. 
 
 Let us now recapitulate. We learn from special advocates 
 of the Profession, at the Royal Institute, that modern archi- 
 tects are ‘ not artists ’ in respect of their buildings, and that 
 these buildings are for the most part ‘ sickly and lukewarm ; ’ 
 that ‘ five-sixths of those who enter the profession are worth 
 ‘ nothing in the world ; ’ that, notwithstanding, ‘ they are good 
 ‘ enough ’ for anything the public want or give themselves the 
 trouble to understand, and that consequently a national, 
 artistic, architectural speech is utterly impossible, and criti- 
 cism is absurd ; that without capital no working man can be 
 
28 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 divinely gifted, and from this it follows that the ‘ Hope ’ of 
 English architecture is expressly 4 with the capital ; ’ that our 
 present architectural practice is injurious, and that drawing- 
 masters have degraded architecture to a trade ; that though ‘ an 
 ‘ immense number ’ of our contemporary architects are 4 de- 
 4 stroyers of architecture, and the disgrace of the age, the public 
 ‘ must yet take them as they are ; ’ and that the late President, 
 Sir Gilbert Scott, was in despair. 
 
 Bat besides all this, it is judiciously admitted that ‘ to each 
 4 work an architect should give liis whole time and thoughts ; ’ 
 that the old workman who did this built nothing bad, and 
 most things excellent ; and that, although the state of science 
 in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was comparatively low, 
 these medieval master-builders, strikingly in contrast with 
 our modern draughtsmen, always ‘ show instinctive sentiment 
 ‘ and knowledge in their art ; ’ and further that c The “Quarterly” 
 ‘ Reviewer has done something in directing attention to this 
 
 * difference between the old workman and the modern archi- 
 
 * tect.’ 
 
 These are the candid statements of the architectural Pro- 
 fession and their friends. We have the case against the 
 present system perfectly established by its most conspicuous 
 votaries ; who acknowledge that the undirected medieval 
 master workman was the author of the works that all the 
 world for centuries has rejoiced in. Why cannot we adopt 
 the workman’s perfectly efficient system now ? The mere 
 enquiry, after our protracted contemplation of a moribund 
 profession, gives a sense of cheerfulness and life. We really 
 have a hope, ‘ not seen as yet,’ but perfectly substantial ; and 
 the abolition of the drawing-master’s trade will be the pledge 
 and earnest of a general architectural revival. 
 
 A recent article in ‘ The Builder,’ criticising ‘ The Pro- 
 fession of an Architect,’ supplies the latest evidence of the 
 substantial concord between leading advocates of the profes- 
 sion and ‘ The Quarterly ’ Reviewer. Superficial readers 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 29 
 
 may discover in it only symptoms of hostility, but these are 
 trivialities. Wherever truth is absolutely on one side, the 
 adversary has, in equity, some license ; no one complains ; he 
 must say something, and he commonly convicts himself, 
 adding new volume to the overwhelming testimony that he 
 seeks to controvert. 
 
 Our accurate quotation'" of the contrast that Sir Edward 
 Watkin indicates between George Stephenson’s good simple 
 work for mere day wages, and the £ professional ’ charges of a 
 modern engineer, appears to be a grievance. ‘ The special 
 ‘ difference and expense attending the Metropolitan Eailway it 
 £ was of course convenient ’ — we have had this phrase before — 
 £ to leave out of sight,’ — as if they could have been kept out of 
 mind. But then Sir Edward Watkin wrote for ordinary people ; 
 he has only failed to make the matter clear to the ‘ unin- 
 telligent’ profession. Possibly Sir Edmund Beckett can inform 
 £ The Builder, ’ or the Institute, by letter, how Sir Edward 
 Watkin’s shrewd comparison should he applied ; and he might 
 use the Tay bridge as a convenient illustration of professional 
 responsibility, and of its method, and success. 
 
 £ The Builder ’ also takes exception to our solemn illustra- 
 tion of an £ architectural lamp-post.’ f ‘ To pick out some 
 £ apparently stupid thing, its surroundings not being referred to, 
 
 ‘ that some architect has done, and represent it as the common 
 £ practice of architects, is in piain English little better than 
 £ lying.’ The £ plain English ’ is beyond the scope of our re- 
 marks ; but, like previous quotations from £ The Builder,’ it 
 has all Sir Edmund Beckett’s gracefulness of thought and 
 style. However, if the writer in £ The Builder ’ had attended 
 to Sir Edmund Beckett’s teaching, he would have known that 
 modern buildings, when designed by architects, are £ not artis- 
 £ tic,’ they £ certainly are not satisfactory,’ and £ no one goes to 
 £ see them.’ All of them are consequently £ stupid things ; ’ to 
 £ pick out,’ therefore, would be needless ; any random specimen 
 * See ‘British Quarterly Review,’ April, 1880. f Ibid. 
 
30 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 will do to illustrate the ‘ common practice of architects.’ As 
 to the special lamp-post, we are told that 4 it is intended not 
 ‘ merely to carry a lamp but as a termination to a balustrade, 
 ‘ and anything that was not tolerably bulky would look ex- 
 * ceedingly weak.’ Our readers when they pass Trafalgar 
 Square will recognize in the stone, monumental lamp-posts 
 .and the little coping wall, the approved professional propor- 
 tion of a 4 termination to a balustrade.’ 
 We may however take another lamp 
 design, from the great architectural 
 gewgaw in the Euston road ; a bunch 
 of five large lamps set on the high pro- 
 jecting corner of a balustrade. This 
 seeming galaxy is all a sham, and 
 wholly useless, save as an expensive 
 daylight show ; not one of its five 
 lamps is ever lighted. It is placed, in- 
 deed, exactly where no light can he 
 required, and as far towards the moon 
 as possible. Is it not 4 stupid,’ quite 
 professional, and fit to match the lamp- 
 posts in Trafalgar Square ? Yet no one 
 has objected to it ; and the hotel design 
 throughout is just as full of unperceived 
 absurdity. But what could the poor 
 drawing-master do ? It was his 4 busi- 
 ness ; ’ he had fifty other buildings to 
 make sketches for. Sir Edmund Beckett 
 says he was 4 the greatest of modern 
 'Gothic architects,’ and here we have a 
 specimen of his most conspicuous work. 
 He evidently had abundant 4 capital, ’ 
 and so, as Mr. Beresford Hope would say, he might be most 
 4 divinely gifted ; ’ yet his work is worse than nothing, a dis- 
 play of senseless ornament, intended to delight the tavern 
 
 PROFESSIONAL LAMPS, 
 FOR DAYLIGHT ONLY. 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 31 
 
 ■speculators and the 4 tasteful ’ public. The poor parish lamp 
 looks far more 4 satisfactory and respectable.’ 
 
 ‘ One of the Reviewer’s main charges against modern archi- 
 ‘ tects is that they are paid much more than there is any reason 
 ‘ to suppose the medieval architects were paid ; and for this 
 * cause he evidently regards the modern architect as a base and 
 ‘ grovelling personage.’ No; the objection is that modern 
 architects — the great majority of whom, as their late Presi- 
 dent has told us, are ‘ worth nothing in the world,’ but are 
 ‘ destroyers of architecture and the disgrace of the age ’ — get 
 any pay at all. Even the ‘ lukewarm, sickly ’ few receive 
 immensely more than they are worth. The medieval master 
 Rad fair pay for ‘ wonderful ’ artistic work ; the building work 
 of modern drawing-masters, men 4 not alive to their profes- 
 sion,’ is entirely 4 inartistic,’ as Sir Edmund Beckett has so 
 clearly shown. Yet for each inartistic building they receive 
 a rate of payment far beyond what satisfied the medieval 
 artist. And besides ‘ The Builder ’ does 4 admit, and with 
 ‘ regret, that there is not a little to be said in regard to the 
 ‘‘ practice, by architects who have attained reputation, of taking 
 ‘ more work than they can possibly give proper thought to, or 
 ‘ can even see to themselves at all, and having it done en 
 ‘ masse by a number of subordinates.’ It is not merely, as is 
 further said, that £ there are small architects who do dirty 
 'jobs,’ for all our architects are small; but they are 4 architects 
 ‘of reputation’ who are thus disreputable; and what con- 
 tractors say about ‘ commissions ’ taken, even claimed from 
 them, by ‘ architects of known respectability ’ is very much 
 in keeping with this ‘ regrettable,’ but quite ‘ admitted prac- 
 4 tice of architects who have attained reputation.’ Those who 
 lead in the profession, and are 4 eminent,’ are thus, to use the 
 diction of 4 The Builder,’ 4 in the unsatisfactory position of 
 4 a man who is credited with work which he cannot himself find 
 4 time to design or look after ; and is precluded from giving his 
 4 buildings that degree of thought which he ought to consider 
 
32 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 ‘ as rightfully demanded from him.’ This acknowledged system 
 of 'unrighteousness/ and 'falsehood/ and 'dishonesty’ — we 
 collect the imputations of apologists for the Profession— is 
 ' compensated for ’ by multiplied percentages ; and the system 
 and its ' compensation’ do together constitute success in the 
 profession of an architect. Indeed, the architectural profes- 
 sion is entirely founded on the hope of prompt participation 
 in this practice. Its result is, chiefly, that the quiet, able 
 men, who might be artist-builders, real architects, are over- 
 looked ; and that our buildings, public and domestic, are, as 
 works of art, ' worth nothing in the world.’ Impressed with 
 this pernicious and ' disgraceful ’ state of things, ' The 
 ‘ Builder ’ says : ' The practice of architectural design by 
 
 ‘ proxy exists to far too large an extent ; and if the critic had 
 ' directed his shafts mainly against this he might have done 
 ' some good.’ And now we seek especially to satisfy this con- 
 scientious, humble-minded invitation. 
 
 ‘ The case of Crossland v. Outhwaite, tried at Kingston, 
 
 ‘ February 2, 1881, before Lord Coleridge and a special jury of 
 ' the county of Surrey, is of some public interest from the light 
 'which it throws upon the charges made by professional archi- 
 ' tects. The plaintiff in this case sought to recover from the 
 ‘ defendant a sum of about IhSOO in respect of plans and draw- 
 ings made and work done by the former in his capacity of 
 ' architect for the latter. It appeared, however, in the course 
 ' of the trial, from the evidence of the plaintiff himself, that 
 ' the plans were prepared, not by that gentleman, nor even 
 ' under his personal supervision, but by another person, whoso 
 ' name was attached to the drawings. The plaintiff, indeed, 
 
 ' endeavoured to explain this strange discrepancy by asserting 
 ' that the actual draughtsman of the plans was employed by 
 ' him as his clerk at an annual salary of ^200, and that it was* 
 ‘ by no means an uncommon thing for architects thus to avail 
 'themselves of the services of other persons in the preparation 
 ' of plans, while considering themselves fully entitled to be 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 33 
 
 4 paid as if they had devoted their own personal attention to 
 * the business. This theory, which Lord Coleridge designated 
 4 as novel as it was dangerous, is not, let us hope, one 
 4 which is frequently carried into practice. It would appear, 
 
 4 indeed, from the evidence of the plaintiff, to have received 
 4 some kind of sanction more or less formal from the In- 
 4 stitute of British Architects. But, as was pointed out very 
 4 forcibly by the learned judge, it is not competent for a number 
 4 of gentlemen meeting together in Conduit Street to impose 
 4 terms upon the British public which are totally at variance 
 4 with elementary propositions of law. The jury, without 
 4 requiring a summing up from his lordship, refused to adopt 
 4 the extraordinary version of the duties of an architect pro- 
 pounded by the plaintiff.’ ( 4 The Pall Mall Gazette.’) 
 
 Then, referring to the taking of ‘commissions,’ ‘The Builder ’ 
 does not foolishly deny a well-known fact, but gently says : 
 
 4 We have always failed in endeavours to obtain precise state- 
 ments when such charges have been broadly made.’ Most 
 probably ; and no doubt, before the late Commissions issued, 
 all the representatives of Oxford, Macclesfield, and Gloucester, 
 would have made a similarly relevant reply to a suggestion 
 that their several constituencies were venal. But in the way 
 of business, and the profession is 4 a business,’ a 4 commission ’ 
 is not held to be a bribe ; the word is wholly different ; and 
 thus extremely pious persons, who are greatly shocked at 
 bribery, will take and give 4 commissions,’ and resent the im- 
 putation of unrighteousness. Nor are the higher grades of 
 what is called success at all times kept within the path of 
 honour and of honesty. Inferior men in point of talent may 
 be sea-green incorruptibles ; and others, though accounted 
 eminent, may be, in 4 business,’ quite unsound. Indeed to be 
 a pluralist is something of a commendation at the Pioyal In- 
 stitute of British Architects ; and men get medals when they 
 4 take more work than they can possibly give proper thought 
 4 to, or can even attend to themselves at all.’ 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 In January, 1877, ‘ The Times ’ published a copious and 
 interesting correspondence on the subject of ‘ Commissions.’ 
 From this correspondence we will make a few condensed 
 quotations, as they illustrate the practice of the architectural 
 profession. First, Sir Edmund Beckett, with his usual ready 
 testimony, writes : ‘ The best class of agents of all kinds, 
 ‘ probably a small majority of the whole, repudiate the practice 
 4 of taking commissions as dishonest and unjustifiable.’ And 
 ‘ A London Parson,’ having ‘ had experience in church build- 
 ‘ ing, believes it is an undoubted fact that the architect not only 
 ‘ gets his five per cent, commission from his employer, but also 
 4 a commission from various tradesmen for every article of 
 ‘ furniture, from an organ to a hassock ; and may be from the 
 ‘ builders also. . Until architects are more honourable, their 
 i profession will always occupy a secondary rank, even if it be 
 
 * not regarded as among trades rather than professions.’ 
 
 Then come four letters from the Institute. One ‘ Fellow,’ 
 with absurd omniscience, declares that he is ‘ sure no such 
 ‘ practices are carried on by members of the Institute ; ’ a 
 cautious, inefficient limitation. Another ‘ Fellow ’ says that 
 4 whatever some individuals may have done, such a practice 
 4 would, according to the rules of the Institute, insure the 
 
 * expulsion of the offender.’ There must be then ‘a practice ’ 
 among architects to which these ‘ rules ’ refer ; and yet the 
 third Fellow rebukes the * London Parson ’ for stating ‘ his 
 4 “ belief” in the “ undoubted fact ” that architects do such 
 ‘ things ; ’ and further says that ‘ the Institute not only con- 
 demns such’ — incredible — ‘ conduct as it deserves, but would 
 ‘ expel any member who practises it,’ while the fourth Fellow, 
 — the President, — declares that the practice — which ‘ ac- 
 ‘ cording to the rules of the Institute insures expulsion — is 
 ‘ absolutely unknown to architects as a body.’ But why, if 
 there are no transgressors, are the rules ? Undoubted virtue 
 needs no threatening law. There is suspicion even at the 
 Institute. 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUKE. 
 
 35 
 
 The tradesmen then give evidence, distinctly, of the fact : 
 
 4 As Builders and Contractors we may be allowed to know 
 4 something of the matter. We do not allege our “belief,” hut 
 4 we state our experience — and we are sure the building trade 
 4 generally can bear out our statement — that the practice 
 4 which the President of the Boyal Institute of British Archi- 
 4 tects repudiates not only exists, but is common ; and that 
 4 architects are not above receiving commission on goods 
 4 supplied for works executed under their direction. It is 
 * quite usual for architects to name in their bills of quantities 
 4 and specifications certain firms by whom particular goods 
 4 are to be supplied,* or certain portions of the work per- 
 formed; and the firms so named allow a large “discount” 
 
 4 on all orders so received. Perhaps some architects draw a 
 ‘ distinction between “ discounts ” and “ commissions.” ’ 
 Again, Sir Edmund Beckett writes : 4 I have no wish to 
 
 4 depreciate the dignity of the Institute — to which perhaps a 
 4 tenth of the British Architects belong — or its pre-eminence 
 4 over other such societies which are not so Boyal. But the 
 4 practical question just now is, not their dignity hut their 
 4 power to prevent even their own members, and a fortiori 
 4 architects generally, from doing that which they corporately 
 4 denounce, but which the contractors, who are infinitely 
 4 better witnesses, declare is common, and that all the build- 
 4 ing trades will say so. After all that has been lately pub- 
 4 lished, it is simply idle and ridiculous, if not something 
 4 worse, for architects to go on publishing their rules against 
 4 a practice which they know very well they can do nothing 
 4 to prevent, and which those who suffer from it say is be- 
 4 coming impossible to withstand, and is destroying all 
 4 legitimate and moral business. They do not tell us of a 
 4 single member they have even tried for it, much less of any 
 
 # ‘ Town Traveller Wanted, by an old-established firm, to sell cement, plaster, 
 &c., and to call upon architects.'’ (‘ The Times,’ May 12, 1881.) 
 
36 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 ■ one they have expelled ; and if they did, what particular 
 ‘ harm would it do him, or how much less would he demand 
 ‘ his bribes afterwards ? They do not see too that any quantity 
 * of such negative evidence from “ respectable ” members of 
 ‘their own body proves nothing to the point. The only 
 ‘ evidence worth having is from those who are forced to pay, 
 ‘ not from those who say they do not receive.’ 
 
 Can it be that this so ‘ practical ’ and well-informed Sir 
 Edmund Beckett is the writer in ‘ The Builder ’ who has 
 ‘ always failed to obtain precise statements when such 
 ‘ charges have been broadly made ? ’ The correspondence 
 ends with reiterated negations, ‘ proving nothing to the point,’ 
 from the President of the Boyal Institute of British Architects ; 
 and then ‘ The Times ’ ‘ deplores the state of things.’ 
 
 ‘ The Builder,’ in its article of June 12, 1880, says that ‘ the 
 charge of taking commissions from tradesmen, as generally 
 ‘ made, is remarkable equally for impudence and ignorance.’ 
 If our readers can find time to refer to this article and to the 
 letter we have quoted from Sir Edmund Beckett, they will 
 probably be led to the conclusion that in the two publications 
 the writer is the same ; the versatile Sir Edmund merely 
 
 ‘ Shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how,’ 
 
 when specially retained, and showing thus what credit should 
 be given to professional denials. 
 
 These denials are in fact conclusive evidence of what has 
 recently been said about the low morality and intellectual de- 
 ficiency of the profession. An exception has however just 
 appeared : we welcome and record one instance of good sense 
 and honourable feeling. Mr. John McLachlan, in his Presi- 
 dential Address delivered at the meeting of the Edinburgh 
 Architectural Association, on the 17th November, 1880, said : 
 ‘ It is within my own knowledge that there are men belonging 
 ‘ to our profession who habitually undertake work for a 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 37 
 
 4 nominal fee to the client but who make the same client pay 
 4 the amount of three or four fees by manipulating the items 
 4 in the schedules with the contractors in such a way as no 
 * client can detect. The thing is scandalous and disgraceful. 
 4 The commission which appears in so many lawsuits as being 
 4 paid to architects is the surreptitious, underhand, disgrace- 
 ful bribe applied by manufacturers, patentees, and other 
 4 proprietors of building appliances, to have their goods 
 4 introduced into buildings. The leaven of this corruption 
 4 works in divers ways. Some men, calling themselves archi- 
 4 tects, have so arranged that large slices of emolument 
 4 should be hidden in the estimates, ultimately to pass into 
 4 the pocket of the architect. Such a form of wickedness is 
 4 conscious of its blackness, and so keeps out of sight. If 
 4 the architect will in plain words inform his employer that 
 4 on the £100 roof which he has just designed he has pocketed 
 4 £25 of commission, irrespective of his fee, I shall believe 
 4 he is acting as an honest man. Let us act as upright men, 
 4 and I venture to think that, in course of time, we shall take 
 4 a more honourable position in society.’ 
 
 The reason why the drawing-masters can, as we have seen, 
 by pluralism and percentages, obtain 4 whatever sums their 
 4 grasping natures prompt them to demand,’ is that the public 
 are so ‘perfectly unfurnished with the knowledge of the sub- 
 ject ’ — we continue with 4 The Builder ’ — that they are imposed 
 upon; wdiereas the medieval public were habitually well in- 
 structed, and could so distinguish art from imitation that the 
 latter had no chance. Art only was accepted ; and becoming 
 plentiful, and therefore cheap, the hideous waste of temporary, 
 fashionable imitations was prevented. It is true that, as 
 4 The Builder ’ says, the Poet Laureate receives a greater 
 fortune from his works than Milton ever gained ; but then he 
 is a poet, and deserves the payment. Mr. Tennyson does not 
 collect the English classics, and with paste and scissors make 
 commercial 4 sketches ’ for dramatic or idyllic poems as the 
 
38 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 orders come, and leave them, in a way 4 The Builder ’ depre- 
 cates, to be 4 carried out in a semi-mechanical system by a 
 ‘ number of clerks and pupils ; becoming practically a mere 
 4 man of business, and in filling his purse emptying a great 
 4 deal of the dignity of his calling.’ The book-making world 
 has no pretentious class to be compared with modern archi- 
 tects. The public can read books, and do in time appreciate 
 an author’s worth or worthlessness : a few well-written pages 
 quickly doom Montgomery’s 4 Satan ; ’ but there is no homely 
 comprehension of artistic work, to which an architectural 
 critic may appeal. There is no architectural vernacular ; the 
 public are pretending to use Greek, Italian, Early English, 
 Norman French, and half a dozen other architectural idioms, 
 of which they know a little less than of their correlated 
 literary languages ; and then they grieve that there is no 
 advance in architectural art. As reasonably look for 4 Areo- 
 4 pagitica ’ or 4 Comus ’ from a Zulu or a Bengalee. 
 
 How hard it is to get broad principles of truth well lodged in 
 narrow minds. We deprecate the evil influence of draughts- 
 manship, and thereupon 4 The Builder ’ says that drawing is 
 4 proscribed,’ and that 4 a mere stonemason is the Reviewer’s 
 4 notion of an architect.’ Each statement is of course untrue. 
 In our discussion drawing has been kept entirely distinct 
 from trading draughtsmanship ; the one is the occasional and 
 subject help of architectural art ; the other has become its 
 treacherous and dominating substitute. It is quite possible to 
 have a 4 beautiful’ design and yet a worthless building; while 
 from rough sketches, such as Honecort’s, coarse in execu- 
 tion, and apparently repulsive in design, a true poetic work- 
 man could produce a building full of exquisite originality and 
 art. In due subordination, drawing may be useful to the 
 workman ; but, as Professor Ker, in his wise moment, said : 
 4 In proportion to the skill in draughtsmanship, just in this 
 4 proportion seems to be the loss of the solid qualities of good 
 4 design ;’ the details and the carving are mechanical and poor, 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 39 
 
 just as tlie draughtsmanship is elaborate and clever.* This is 
 all true, but nothing has been said to justify the notion formu- 
 lated by ‘ The Builder,’ and imputed to ourselves, ‘that such a 
 ‘ building as the Parthenon could have been produced without 
 ‘ careful delineation and even calculation beforehand.’ This 
 absurd suggestion may commend itself to specially dull people ; 
 others will discern its fallacy and folly. There was, certainly, 
 an outline drawing for the Parthenon, to give the general 
 proportions and the common character of style ; but all the 
 special beauty of the building was emphatically masons’ and 
 carvers’, and not draughtsmen’s work. The drawing for the 
 Parthenon design might easily be done in half a day, and 
 at our usual scale for drawings none of the peculiar artistic 
 merit of the building Would be indicated. All the curves of 
 mouldings, entasis, and stylobate, are purely building work ; 
 and were set out, full size, by the chief master workmen, with 
 the grace and delicate refinement that the men of plastic 
 art invent, and add to their mere graphic studies. They 
 are at the building, and they see where form, beyond the 
 draughtsman’s lines, and various expressive modulation 
 should be given. Modern architects do not create but only 
 copy all these things, and so are only imitative draughts- 
 men ; but by real artists they were all worked out ; and 
 workmen, and not drawing-masters, formed the subtle curves 
 which give the Parthenon its architectural charm. The up- 
 ward curvature of the plinth courses was detected at the 
 building, not from any drawings, by the present scholarly 
 surveyor of St. Paul’s ; and he has recently exhibited its 
 value at the western front of the Cathedral. In our illustra- 
 tion of the Parthenon this curvature may be observed in the 
 foreshortened view of the east stylobate ; but, viewed in front, 
 
 * Architecture is not the sole sufferer from excessive ‘ draughtsmanship.’ 
 
 1 Some day we shall learn the great truth, that pleadings ’ — by 4 draughtsmen ’ 
 — 4 are the curse of the law, but the blessing of lawyers ; that is, all pleadings 
 ‘beyond the simplest statement of the real case ’ (‘ The Quarterly Eeview,’ Jan. 
 1881 . 
 
ENTASIS, AND CURVATURE, PERFECTED BY WORKING MEN, 
 
THE BANE OF ENGLISH AKCHITECTUBE. 41 
 
 ■although this rise is felt, it is not obvious, nor easily perceived 
 without artistically trained attention. 
 
 Architecture rises into art precisely as the sculpturesque 
 controls and dominates the graphic element, and when the 
 thoughtful lapicide and carver most completely rules and 
 guides intelligent artificers and draughtsmen. At the Par- 
 thenon the carver Phidias ruled, and, like the Italian Maftani, 
 this most ‘ famous workman ’ ‘ directed a body of architects 
 and stone carvers.’ Thus, it was to Phidias and other noble 
 handicraftsmen, not to draughtsmanship, that the surpassing 
 merits of the Parthenon are due. If it were otherwise, how 
 is it that in our own day of drawing-masters, the ‘ superior 
 <dass,’ we have no buildings correspondingly superior to the 
 Parthenon, or ieven to St. Stephen’s Chapel, once at West- 
 minster, or to the Abbey choir ? Money without stint is wasted 
 upon ‘ ornamental ’ buildings, graphic, wholly inartistic, and 
 of merely transient and meretricious charm ; perhaps if we 
 again acknowledge the ‘ inferior class,’ and, as at Westminster 
 &nd Athens, let a working man direct our work, we might 
 have buildings far less costly, and yet permanently beautiful. 
 
 No work of labour has so constant and beneficent an influ- 
 ence as building art upon the character and happiness of 
 men. By nature, man is gifted in the noblest way with apti- 
 tude for building; all men, in whatever state, are born in 
 some degree artistic, and they naturally show their rising 
 mental power in thoughtful and imaginative building work. 
 Each nation, from some local accident perhaps, has its pecu- 
 liar form, or * tongue,’ by which the infinite variety of cha- 
 racter in human nature is expressed in art ; but all these 
 languages of work, Egyptian, Greek, Byzantine, Norman, 
 Arabic, and Gothic, not to mention less familiar forms of 
 building, were vernacular, and ‘ understanded of the people.’ 
 Thus they have produced expressive works of art, true monu- 
 mental buildings, things to be preserved, developments of life, in 
 which not manhood only but the Godhead is reflected. Through 
 
42 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 predominating drawing-masters we have lost all this, and we 
 have gained the Albert Monument, the Hyde Park trophy. 
 
 In our discussion, therefore, it is reassuring to perceive 
 that we are very much at one with the late President of the 
 Institute of Architects, Sir Gilbert Scott, who said : ‘ At all 
 4 great periods of art, however different and even contrary 
 4 may he the artistic sentiment expressed by the remains, the 
 4 almost superhuman productions, of various ages, one fact is 
 4 common to them all ; the fact that they were all the works 
 4 of men who, from the humblest to the most exalted, were 
 4 devoted heart and soul, absolutely and unreservedly, to their 
 4 art ; and with whom personal advancement and social position 
 4 were as dust in the balance when weighed against the perfec- 
 4 tion of the arts to which they had sworn allegiance. Until we 
 4 can resuscitate among ourselves the same glorious enthusiasm, 
 4 it is vain to look for another great period of architecture.’ 
 But considering some recent efforts to resuscitate this 
 4 glorious enthusiasm,’ it was hard to find the late President 
 continuing thus : 4 Another promoter of the evils we deplore is 
 4 the prevailing style of architectural criticism; for, much as our 
 ‘ profession is held up to scorn, one rarely sees a word against 
 4 the offal of our art, which is the great disgrace of our age. 
 * Nearly all which appears is against those who are enthusiasti- 
 4 cally aiming at a high standard of art. These are singled out 
 4 for depreciation ; yet this obviously has the effect of encou- 
 ‘ raging those who employ inefficient architects, and of making 
 4 the public more satisfied with their own want of perception.’ 
 The question, as thus stated by Sir Gilbert Scott, turns 
 on the expressions 4 work ’ and 4 art.’ What is the work of 
 modern architects that so arouses their exceptional enthu- 
 siasm ? Is it the same work that the old artist masons, none 
 of whom were ‘inefficient,’ were engaged in 4 heart and soul, 
 4 with no regard for social position or for personal advance- 
 4 ment ? ’ The late President informed us very candidly that 
 4 we must look on architecture as a business,’ and, in our time, 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 43 
 
 business is not understood to be conducted quite without an 
 eye to social position and to personal advancement. In fact 
 an architect is said to become ‘ eminent ’ as he advances his 
 position, not in art, for he is ‘not an artist,’ but in society, 
 which, as Sir Gilbert Scott declared, has not the slightest 
 sense of art. The modern architect ‘ can be an artist only 
 ‘ in his drawings,’ but the old mason, as an artist, worked in 
 stone, and not on paper ; and so when the modern architect 
 enthusiastically aims at a high standard, his ambition is 
 entirely distinct from that of the old master masons. It really 
 is by competition draughtsmanship, and not by building work, 
 that he attains to his ‘ superiority.’ He does no work, ‘ is 
 not an artist in his buildings,’ but by his well-prepared and 
 cleverly selected stock of patterns he obtains from people who, 
 as the late President himself declared, ‘ scarcely perceive the 
 ‘ difference between good architecture and bad, ’an undiscovered 
 number of commissions, and the consequent ‘ advancement.’ 
 
 Again, in the old workman his enthusiasm led to constant 
 personal attention, and devotion heart and soul; but in the 
 modern architect it stops at admiration. Thus in former 
 times the ‘ master ’ lived at home, and with his work, a life of 
 sympathy and dignified affection ; but the modern architect 
 deserts his own reputed art, and trades upon her degradation. 
 
 Possibly some architects are not at ease when this is 
 pointed out. They strive professionally to obtain a seeming 
 credit for their ill-conditioned art, and lavishly bedeck their 
 buildings with expensive ornament, to make them fit for 
 plutocratic good society. But by the test of real art such 
 buildings have no character at all ; and when Sir Gilbert 
 Scott referred to £ architectural offal,’ that which first occurs 
 as worthy of the appellation is the recent meretricious decora- 
 tion of cathedral choirs. 
 
 We consequently do not find that any modern architects 
 are aiming at a ‘ high standard of work ; ’ none therefore, for 
 such effort, have been ‘ singled out for depreciation.’ We 
 
44 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 have quoted those things that are prominent, and on this 
 account alone : buildings are meant to be observed, and 
 surely not in silence, nor without full liberty of judgment. 
 Architects should never feel aggrieved when they are criti- 
 cised ; they would hardly wish to be neglected. Criticism, 
 even trenchant and depreciating criticism, is a favour ; and, 
 by those who are aiming at a high standard, should at least 
 be borne with equanimity. 4 It may be said that our system 
 4 has not failed ; that our architecture is in a very satisfactory 
 * state; that the recent criticisms are false, and that if the 
 4 public are dissatisfied with us, as we are told, it only shows 
 4 their ignorance and unreasonableness. I do not think it 
 4 would be wise for architects to rest content with such 
 4 assurance. It would not tend to restore the confidence of 
 4 the public in them ; and indeed none of them believe it ; 
 4 for though each may consider his own works excellent, he 
 4 thinks other new works faulty, and far inferior to old ones. 
 4 Architects should remember that, unlike painters and 
 4 authors, they have hitherto almost escaped public criticism. 
 4 Those who had the necessary knowledge felt they could not 
 4 with propriety criticise unfavourably the work of professional 
 4 rivals ; and amateur criticism was generally valueless from 
 4 ignorance. A great deal of the architecture produced is, it must 
 4 be confessed, very bad.’ (‘House Architecture.’ By J. J. 
 Stevenson, Fellow of the Koyal Institute of British Architects.) 
 
 For these gentlemen, so grievously neglected by the critics, 
 there should be all fair consideration in their graphic work ; 
 but they perversely fail to comprehend and to accept the 
 workman’s sovereignty in building art. They talk of ‘common 
 4 workmen ’ as if these alone were found incapable ; but we 
 have common architects, and if their own opinion, and the 
 judgment of the public, on the architectural profession and 
 their works may be accepted, they also are but very slightly 
 valued. Though it is quite true that, as an architectural 
 system, the Profession is ‘ held up to scorn,’ this would be but 
 
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 45 
 
 a futile undertaking if their buildings were artistic. Members 
 of the Institute should bear in mind the teaching of their 
 friendly connoisseur, that they are never artists in respect of 
 what they are supposed to build, but only in respect of draw- 
 ings. Even architects can hardly be enthusiastic about these. 
 The late Sir Gilbert Scott’s delusions — self-delusions — about 
 architectural enthusiasm, must have raised a smile in many 
 a serving draughtsman’s face, when he remembered how lie 
 made the drawings which an 4 architect of eminence ’ had 
 used to gain professional success. 
 
 In criticising works by the Profession we endeavour to 
 ignore the individual architect ; but such abstraction is im- 
 possible when verbal utterances are referred to. The late 
 President, Sir Gilbert Scott, who is in reminiscence specially 
 before us, was a man of eminence both as an architectural 
 grammarian and as a man of business ; but, besides, he was 
 distinguished from his nearest rivals by his freedom from their 
 High Church sentiment, or affectation. A particularly ‘ cant- 
 ‘ ing ’ style of church work has become the demonstration of a 
 class of sacerdotalists among the clergy, who contrive to 
 captivate poor silly women, and still sillier men, by tales 
 about their ‘sacraments ’ and * orders.’ In their churches, by 
 an absurd inversion, the officiating minister is dominant ; and, 
 in each circumstance and act of outward worship, men and 
 women show that they have given their intellects into the 
 keeping of the Church, and so, apparently, have lost them. 
 The associations of this school of priestly draughtsmanship 
 are very deleterious to architects, who frequently become 
 small-minded, intellectual dwarfs, unable to look over the 
 enclosure of their petty schism. 
 
 The late President had always kept himself above this clas& 
 of men ; though in his way ecclesiastical, he was not subjec- 
 tively clerical. But possibly instead of this, for all men have 
 their trials, he suffered greatly from the plague of pluralism • 
 which, as we have seen, has now become the bane of English 
 
46 
 
 THE BANE OF 
 
 architecture. To this cause it may he due that, notwith- 
 standing all his increased knowledge and experience, his later 
 buildings were decidedly inferior to some that he erected 
 nearly forty years ago. The church at Camberwell, as a 
 design, is very much above the college chapels at St. John’s 
 and Exeter. His buildings are, however, but scholastic forms, 
 with little of the incident, and nothing of the touch, which 
 indicate the vivifying spirit. Thus they do not live ; they have 
 no future, and they cannot be, to just anticipation and dis- 
 criminating foresight, dignified or venerable. 
 
 This, Sir Gilbert Scott had no doubt come to feel ; it was 
 a sad experience, after forty years of arduous work, to find 
 that all was without hope. No feeling is more painful than 
 despair, and so we warn the younger members of the Institute, 
 that they may save themselves from ultimate despondency. 
 Their late President was, as he assured them, quite enthusi- 
 astic about art; and yet his buildings never were, artistic- 
 ally, a success ; although the medieval masters, also with 
 enthusiasm, did so well. Here are resemblances in condition, 
 with decided contrasts in result ; there then remain the 
 separate methods to consider, and in these the student may 
 be able to discover where, and how T , the modern draughtsman 
 fails. The essential want is, evidently, self-abnegation. The 
 old masons were devoted to their work ; with modern architects 
 the opposite occurs, their work is made a means for them. 
 The medieval masters were not pluralists, but always resident 
 upon their work, to do it, not design it only. In the Church 
 the working clergy have been freed from pluralism, and are 
 now upon the footing of the medieval masons ; cannot our 
 architects of eminence begin a similar reform ? Might they 
 not now, without delay, adopt the method of these constantly 
 successful men ; and each, with perfectly well-founded hope, 
 4 devote himself heart and soul ,’ of course with fitting wages, 
 to one ivork ? For the commissions they may thus abandon 
 or decline they need have no solicitude ; each work can be 
 
ENGLISH AECHITECTUEE. 
 
 47 
 
 entrusted to the care of one of the 4 young men/ or their 
 successors, whom the late President assured us 4 he could 
 ‘name, of the highest promise, and who were actually languish- 
 4 ing for architectural employment.’ 
 
 All the world however is not perfect ; motives are mixed, 
 and help is necessary even for the virtuous. A gold medal, 
 given by Her Majesty, is on occasion offered by the Institute 
 to some reputed architect or connoisseur. The effect, it 
 seems, is nugatory ; when the medal is declined no harm is 
 done, and when it is accepted no great benefit to any one 
 appears to have resulted. If another principle of distribution 
 were adopted, and the medal were presented to the architect who 
 had declined the greatest number of commissions, good might 
 come of it. We venture to commend this new suggestion to the 
 Fellows and Professors at the Institute. Most men are anxious 
 for distinction ; here might be an opportunity and hope for 
 some ; the competition would not probably be too severe. 
 
 What we have said in this discussion has not been induced 
 by an unfriendly or antagonistic spirit, as appears to be sup- 
 posed ; but, on the contrary, by our especial care and sympathy 
 for art, and our compassion for the architects, who spend their 
 lives in practising the ‘Imitative Styles.’ They know too well 
 how hollow all the eminence of the Profession is ; how vain 
 the pedantry of clerics and of connoisseurs ; and how absurd 
 the aspirations, 4 so artistic,’ of the 4 cultivated public.’ These 
 things contemplated daily, without hope, must be a constant 
 misery to those of the Profession who have minds above their 
 4 business ; ’ and our great desire has been to see these gentle- 
 men relieved, in hope at least, from such unblest, ridiculous 
 associations. True, we are wholly unacquainted with the 
 members of the Institute; but this obscurity affords us special 
 freedom in the scope and sentiment of our remarks, and 
 gives no opportunity for any seeming interruption of our 
 general benevolence. Our criticism is reserved for archi- 
 tectural works, but sometimes, when apparently invited, it 
 
48 
 
 THE BANE OF ENGLISH AKCHITECTURE. 
 
 regards, with scrupulous amenity, the utterances of authori- 
 tative public names. These names we often recognise with 
 much respect and thankfulness ; to these contemporary 
 architects, and dilettanti , we are very much indebted for the 
 energy with which they have promoted the Profession, and 
 have thus so amply solved the question of its value as a 
 method and a means of art ; they have done all that is, 
 professionally, possible in their attempts at art ; we cannot 
 hope that anything more scholarly will be achieved. But, 
 having thus beheld the climax of professional potentiality, 
 we find ourselves ‘ unsatisfied ; ’ and, like the little angels on 
 the Albert Monument, are only straining upward in a very 
 futile way. Had we not better start again from solid ground, 
 and seek some other course to the artistic empyrean ? 
 
 Our pluralist Profession is indeed played out; it has en- 
 tirely performed whatever it may call its ‘work,’ and now it 
 stands before the world artistically impotent and in despair. 
 It cannot possibly advance in an artistic way ; but, for a 
 show of movement, it has learned to practise something like 
 an architectural goose step ; first one foot and then another 
 is brought forward, and we have alternate demonstrations of 
 the various styles, Gothic or classic, each, as Professor Ker 
 assured us, ‘in its turn.’ Can this absurdity continue? Ie 
 it not sufficient that three generations of young men have, 
 in our time, been brought to a ridiculous and ‘ languishing ’ 
 condition ? May it not be something other than ‘ a fierce 
 ‘ spirit of hatred ’ that induces us to tell the devotees of the 
 Profession, many of them young and full of eager expectation, 
 what a mean and disappointing course of life they have 
 before them ; and that causes us so perseveringly to point 
 these wanderers to the only way that leads to architectural 
 success ? A way which, if they diligently follow it, will be 
 in truth a life of happiness and freedom, and of self-respect 
 and reasonable hope. 
 
THE ETHICS 
 
 OF 
 
 URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 B¥ 
 
 JOHN T. EMMETT. 
 
 Reprinted from 
 
 THE BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW, 
 APRIL, 1879. 
 
 “ MY ATM IS TO BRING THE MATTER INTO MORE PUBLIC DISCUSSION 
 LET THE SAGACITY OF OTHERS WORK UPON IT.” EDMUND BURKE. 
 
 NINTH THOUSAND* 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HODDEK AND STOUGHTON, 
 
 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
yj allow us to proceed , while we confine ourselves to general 
 truths , until they see that they themselves are implicated in them, 
 and have to act upon them ; and then they suddenly come to a stand ; 
 they collect themselves and draw back, and say they do not see this — or 
 do not admit that ; and they look about for excuses, and they say that 
 we carry things too far , and that we are extravagant, and that we ought 
 to limit and modify what we say, that we do not take into account times, 
 and seasons, and the like. This is what they pretend ; and well has it 
 been said, 1 Where there is a will there is a way ; ’ for there is no truth, 
 however overpoweringly clear , but men may escape from it by shutting 
 their eyes ; there is no duty , however urgent, but they may find ten thou- 
 sand good reasons against it in their own case. And they are sure to 
 say we carry things too far, when ive carry them home to themselves . — 
 John' Henry Newman. 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 easeholds are eviscerated freeholds stuffed with law ; a 
 
 process first contrived when legal subtlety was perfectly 
 matured, but social science and political economy were yet 
 unknown. Property in land was then a corpus vile for the 
 lawyers, who regarded it as a peculiar subject for their 
 cleverest devices. Its superior productive capabilities were little 
 cared for; agriculture made no cognizable progress, though 
 no method for encumbering the land with trammels and com- 
 plexities of law was, seemingly, neglected. The result appears 
 in almost every acre of the soil, in almost every building on 
 the land ; but the bad influence of leasehold tenure is most 
 evident in metropolitan and urban b aildings, and on those who 
 are in any way connected with them, whether freeholders of 
 building land and their lessees, or builders, tenants, occupiers, 
 we mayaven add beholders of our modern leasehold houses. 
 
 The freeholder, for whose behoof the system was invented, 
 has a claim for special pity. He may possibly have been a 
 blissful, unsophisticated, pastoral proprietor, when, in an evil 
 hour, his men of business tell him that his quiet fields have 
 been developed into building land ; and then his misery 
 begins. He seems to see before him the potentiality of wealth 
 without exertion : he is called, by reason of this building 
 land, a man of property ; and hearing, and of course believing 
 
4 : 
 
 THE ETHICS OP 
 
 this, he far too often calculates his expectations as realities, 
 and so begins to live, apart from fact, in dreamy hope. Thus 
 his individuality and manliness are lost— sunk in the land. 
 Afflicted with possession on the brain he loses self-possession, 
 and his neighbours say that he ‘ belongs to the estate,’ which 
 is indeed a true account of his condition. Moreover, in 
 a year or two the monetary gain, whatever it may be in pro- 
 spect, is in thought discounted, and there remains mere 
 eagerness for prompt acquirement. The man in fact is badly 
 off, for he has lost contentment. 
 
 Meanwhile the lawyers and the * architects ’ are realizing 
 what the man of property can only make his hope ; they 
 plan and litigate, as leaseholds need, and get their costs. 
 The sewers and roads are also made at a large outlay, bringing 
 no immediate return, but yielding a commission to the 4 archi- 
 tect,’ and then the property is quiet for some years. 
 
 At length a plot of land is let to a smart, enterprising 
 builder, highly recommended by his timber merchant; and to 
 induce the builder to proceed ‘ with spirit,’ and secure the 
 ground-rents, liberal cash advances from the fortunate pro- 
 prietor are suggested, and eventually made. The 4 architect ’ 
 will certify the cost of building work to warrant each advance, 
 and the solicitor will take the builder’s equitable security and 
 his receipt ; the fees remaining with the ‘ architect ’ and 
 lawyer as before. The freeholder once more is good for all, 
 but gets no gain. 
 
 The work however does proceed with spirit. Possibly a 
 dozen ‘ carcasses ’ are soon in a condition for the first 
 advance ; and so they rapidly proceed till all are covered in. 
 And then the builder, having gained his stipulated cash 
 advance upon the maximum of rough material, to be paid for 
 when his three months’ bills are honoured, and on the mini- 
 mum of costly labour which he has to pay for promptly in 
 days’ wages, can with cheerfulness look round him ; and, his 
 friendly timber merchant being paid, he offers, and a liberal 
 
UBBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 5 
 
 offer too, his general creditors five shillings in the pound. 
 The creditors, who know their business, acquiesce ; and, 
 pocketing their dividend, are quite prepared to trade with the 
 same enterprising builder on some other ‘ freehold property ’ 
 where 4 cash advances will be made.’ 
 
 The secret of their confidence is this, that builders’ trades- 
 men carefully insure themselves against such ‘ accidental ’ 
 losses by extravagant excess of prices ; and these heaped up 
 prices do, to some extent, affect the entire building trade. Of 
 course, then, the great public pays, but is ‘ too occupied with 
 business ’ to consider. In one trade there is a discount or 
 commission of from thirty - three to forty- eight per cent. * 
 beyond the ordinary business profit, and the other trades are 
 liberal in a corresponding way. 
 
 When on a Tuesday morning news arrives from the estate 
 that all the work is stopped — for speculating builders are 
 most careful to obtain advances for the payment of their 
 men on Saturday— -the ‘ architect ’ is naturally sorry ; more 
 particularly if, on very careful scrutiny, the carcasses appear 
 to be in every way defective, thoroughly ill-built, requiring 
 much upholding, and, perhaps, not worth the cost of the 
 material. The freeholder is philosophical, or foolish, as the 
 fates permit; his ground rents are still unsecured, and his 
 advances have resulted in a pile of hideous brickwork, an 
 advertisement of evil on his property. The lawyer and the 
 ‘ architect ’ explain the nature of the case, and the result is 
 that the carcasses are sold for what they may be worth, and 
 our proprietor goes softly for his time of mourning. He has 
 realized the loss that, in conjunction with the profit which 
 his men of business tell him must soon come, is held to con- 
 stitute a sound and healthy character of business, as distinct 
 from mere reception and acquirement. 
 
 * We might quote a trade in which the discount is full fifty per cent. In 
 bankruptcies the tradesman thus can take ten shillings in the pound and yet 
 
 secure a profit. 
 
6 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 Aiter a year or two of patience and consideration land is let 
 again, at probably a great reduction on the former rental, 
 for the carcasses have brought some disrepute upon the land. 
 The freeholder, refusing to ‘advance,’ discovers that his pro- 
 perty is worth no more than half of what he previously had 
 been instructed to expect ; and so he wisely learns to limit all 
 his reckonings to what he has in hand. Meanwhile, if settle- 
 ments and possible encumbrances weigh heavily upon the 
 man of property, the ground- rents are sold off as fast as they 
 are made ; and so eventually, after years of trouble and 
 anxiety and risk, the end of all may be that he is not insol- 
 vent, and is very thankful that his means, apart from his 
 ‘ estate,’ have saved him. If he has been cautious, free from 
 spendthrift habits, and a man of sense, he may avoid extreme 
 disaster, but in most cases ultimate success is slow, and very 
 moderate. 
 
 Of course, the public are not in the counsel of these men of 
 property ; and, in their magnifying way, they take the gross 
 for something like the net return of building land. But if the 
 histories and titles of suburban property in ground rents were 
 investigated, it would soon appear that the reputed rapid in- 
 crement of wealth to the original proprietor is a delusion, and 
 that an ‘ estate ’ is often but a cumbrous and expensive means 
 of wasting life and intellect for a vain show ; that had the free- 
 holder disposed of all his land, with prudent temporary build- 
 ing covenants, in lots as buildings were required, and then 
 invested the proceeds in interest-paying, sound securities, his 
 fortune would have been much greater, his encumbrances 
 much less, time, health, and possibly some credit, would have 
 happily been saved, and years of disappointment, care, and 
 foolish expectation would have been avoided. 
 
 This is a fair account of many an enterprising freeholder’s 
 experience. In other cases speculating men of business take 
 the land, with all its risks and care, at a low ground-rent ; and 
 by sub-letting to the builders make in time what are most 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 7 
 
 infelicitously called 4 improved ’ ground-rents. 4 Architects 5 
 and lawyers are employed to let the land, and to invite their 
 clients to 4 advance to builders ’ at 4 good interest.’ This goes 
 on, possibly, for years, with good or evil fortune for the specm 
 lator ; but the builder’s usual course is one of ill-considered 
 enterprise, extravagant expenditure, anticipated profits, and 
 frequent 4 compromise ’ or bankruptcy ; and for the tradesmen 
 there are heavy risks, completely, or it may be incompletely, 
 covered by insurance prices. 4 Architects ’ and lawyers get, of 
 course, their fees ; and the confiding client-mortgagee receives, 
 for a few years perhaps, his interest, and then possession of 
 a range of showy-looking houses made of half-baked clay, and 
 mud, and compo, with raw shrinking timber, gaping joiner’s 
 work, foul chimneys, unsound roofs, damp basement rooms, 
 and inefficient drains. The public thus are providently housed. 
 
 It must be evident, however, that the method is expensive. 
 The extent of land round London needlessly withdrawn from 
 agriculture, though for years unused for building ; the long 
 lines, and even widespread neighbourhoods of carcasses that 
 stand unfinished, and of houses equally unlet, mean grievous 
 loss and waste, which some one has to suffer. Certainly, the 
 builders cannot be the losers ; and, in brief, the public pays. 
 When to this dead loss are added all the multiplied and heavy 
 untaxed costs of 4 architects ’ and lawyers, the insurance profit, 
 twenty-five per cent, or even thirty, for the tradesmen, and the 
 constant outlay that the rickety and unsound work requires, it 
 must be clear that leasehold house providing is a most extra- 
 vagant and wasteful system, which, when they learn to under- 
 stand it, men of sense will not endure. 
 
 Besides all this excessive costliness, the houses are them- 
 selves a constant tax on physical endurance, and on social 
 comfort and economy. The freeholder’s estate is planned with 
 no regard at all for those who will, by force of leasehold cus- 
 tom, be compelled to suffer in the houses. 4 Architects ’ lay 
 out the roads and streets with reference to frontages alone, 
 
8 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 and on the length of frontage so contrived the extremest sub- 
 division possible for sites of houses, to obtain the greatest 
 rental from the land, is made. The houses are to be the 
 narrowest that the public will, in each locality, endure ; and 
 certainly the public are extremely squeezable. The conse- 
 quences are small incommodious chambers, well called ‘ sitting * 
 rooms, in which the necessary or unnecessary furniture so oc- 
 cupies the little space that those for whom they are supposed 
 to be constructed ought to be incapable of movement, basement 
 kitchens, dog-leg staircases (most aptly named), few rooms to 
 live in on a floor and many floors of height, the thinnest 
 walls the Building Act permits, abundance of cheap ‘ deco- 
 ration,’ a fine coat of stucco, with the 4 architectural effect ’ of 
 cornices and columns to distract attention from the meanness 
 of the work, and such a want of liberal adaptation and amenity 
 as quite forbids the sense of comfort, and prevents the house 
 from ever being honoured or rejoiced in as a home. 
 
 The ordinary term for building leases is from eighty to a 
 hundred years. Renewals, or new leases on a rack house 
 rent, are generally granted for from twenty- one to forty years. 
 These terms becoming always shorter by the lapse of time, 
 the average present length of London leases is not more than 
 thirty years. Of course then a shrewd leaseholder restricts 
 his outlay on improvements and repairs; and probably at 
 length from sheer disgust he sells his houses to some specu- 
 lator in bad leasehold remanets. They are then treated as 
 mere rent producers, to be crammed with lodger-tenants, and 
 be utterly used up ; and in such tenements one half of what 
 are called the floating population live. 
 
 The long continuance and the general extension of the 
 leasehold system are an evidence of the habitual neglect of men 
 to study questions which, in some sense public, yet most 
 intimately concern themselves. In this case failure to per- 
 ceive the obvious connection between a harmless-looking legal 
 document and its widespread damaging effect, becomes the 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 9 
 
 cause of constant suffering and error. Freeholders, for in- 
 stance, never seem to understand their actual position, but 
 unlearnedly imagine that as they hold their land in fee they 
 have control of that which other people, builders, place upon 
 it ; that when they let their freehold land for building they 
 obtain a freehold price by way of rental, and that the reversion, 
 after ninety years or so, is worth consideration and of present 
 value. These all are fallacies : the freeholder’s control is 
 very superficial, and his ground - rents, even on the large 
 estates in Westminster and Bloomsbury, are an economic 
 error, a financial waste. A simple process of arithmetic will 
 show that if a man of statutable age grants building leases 
 for the usual term the reversion of the buildings cannot be, 
 within an ordinary lifetime, of appreciable worth. It is 
 moreover evident that a clear title, with no covenants and 
 no superior control, must be more valuable than a lease con- 
 taining cumbrous stipulations, with the possibility of legal 
 complications, unanticipated loss or even forfeiture. The de- 
 preciated worth of leasehold property compared with freehold 
 is the measure of this difference ; and yet the freeholder will 
 hardly bring himself to admit and understand that what he 
 calls a freehold ground-rent is but leasehold in its value ; that 
 the freehold which he let became by action of the lease de- 
 preciated to mere leasehold in the rent that it commands ; 
 and that for this lessened worth of his commodity he has 
 the fiction of an ultimate reversion, which even to his heirs, 
 when two-thirds of the term has lapsed, will hardly be of any 
 value. He has deprived himself for sixty years at least of 
 something like a quarter of the value of his property. He had 
 a good commodity to sell, spontaneously he made it bad, and he 
 is then obliged to let it at a corresponding under-price ; and all 
 for an ideal gain so far remote that a mere peppercorn insur- 
 ance could suffice to represent it. His financial loss is thus 
 immediate and absolute ; but besides this loss, he has for the 
 remainder of his life the care of supervision, of collecting 
 
10 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 rents, of law contingencies, of architectural dilapidations, of 
 insurance policies, and of the many incidents that happen, 
 unforeseen, to property secured on leasehold houses. His 
 ‘ estate,’ instead of being a relief from care, is quite a busi- 
 ness ; he must then entrust it to a lawyer’s keeping, and with 
 equanimity receive and pay the annual bill. 
 
 All this is new to many lessors and lessees. To make 
 the matter plain, suppose a freeholder has two adjoining 
 plots of land, equal in size and value. One plot is his own 
 in fee, at his complete disposal; but the other is in trust, 
 and can be only let on building leases. On this second 
 plot ten houses, worth six thousand pounds, are built, the 
 ground rent being ninety pounds a year for ninety years. 
 The former plot, worth also ninety pounds a year, is sold, 
 at twenty-five years’ purchase, a fair customary valuation, 
 for two thousand two hundred and fifty pounds (£2,250). 
 The interest, at five per cent., on this amount is one hundred 
 and twelve pounds ten shillings (£112 10s.), which is one 
 quarter, twenty -two pounds ten shillings (£22 10s.), more 
 than the ground -rent of the corresponding leasehold plot. 
 This latter sum gives therefore the decrease of value that 
 the lease has caused. Allowing that from wear and tear 
 and change of fashion the ten houses will in ninety years 
 depreciate so little as one -sixth, the freeholder’s reversion 
 at that distant date will possibly he worth five thousand 
 pounds. Putting then aside the equal ninety pounds per 
 annum in each case, the two transactions are represented to 
 the freeholder in one plot by the twenty-two pounds ten per 
 annum increased income, and in the other by the long deferred 
 reversion, which the compound interest tables say is worth, 
 in theory, some twenty-two weeks’ rent, but which, in fact, 
 for sixty years to come has no commercial value. It is ‘ dor- 
 mant/ but the annual twenty-two pounds ten are ‘ active,’ 
 and of present and continual value ; and if this excess of in- 
 come and its interest be constantly invested in good five per 
 
UBBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 11 
 
 cent, securities, they will in ninety years amount to six and 
 thirty thousand pounds (£86,000), seven times the value of 
 the so much-prized house property reversion. Or if all the cur- 
 rent income were employed judiciously in trade at only ten 
 per cent, net profit on mere annual returns, the ‘ reversion ’ 
 would amount to upwards of a million (£1,195,200). The 
 freeholders’ reversion, then, is very dear ; the man who sells 
 his freehold is the wise financier, and trusts prohibiting a sale 
 are hindrances to wealth. 
 
 But when two-tliirds, or thereabouts, of ninety years has 
 passed, and the slow, gradual increment of fortune comes, 
 how seldom and how little do the owners find themselves the 
 better for their long-expected good. In almost every case the 
 property has been negotiated or encumbered, turned to some 
 account by way of fines or premiums or mortgages or any 
 oi the methods that the law provides for eating up the land. 
 Besides, after some ninety years or more of use and of ex- 
 posure houses will show age and wear. They were not built to 
 last beyond the term, nor yet designed for comfortable human 
 occupation ; but, for the most part, they were planned to suit 
 the fashion and the folly of the day. The fashions having 
 changed, the houses lose their character for style ; they are 
 old-fashioned, and are accounted quite inferior ; whole neigh- 
 bourhoods become neglected and forsaken by the well-to-do, 
 and, notwithstanding lawyers and surveyors, sink into a hope- 
 less state of squalour and dilapidation ; they are then called 
 ^roo keries*’ Thus in every period of its course, in its prepara- 
 tion and its consequences, leasehold tenure is a noxious system, 
 and the transmutation of the freehold is in every way an 
 injury to the proprietor. 
 
 But building speculators are, like leasing freeholders, the 
 victims and results, if they are also agents, of the leasehold 
 system. These poor men are seldom destitute of merit ; they 
 are probably indifferent workmen, who, by force of character 
 and exceptional capacity for supervision and control, have 
 
12 
 
 THE ETHICS OP 
 
 been advanced in their own sphere to some position of com- 
 mand. They are invited to become leaseholders; and, stepping 
 confidently and with eagerness into the stream of speculation, 
 frequently from sheer inexperience and before they are aware, 
 they lose their footing and are carried downward by the stream, 
 perhaps just floating for a while, but almost sure to be at 
 length submerged. The process has a hardening effect, and 
 many a London speculator has, not merely once or twice, 
 compounded with his creditors. The bankruptcies and ‘ com- 
 promises ’ by one generation of the speculating builders about 
 London were, it has been said, more numerous than the men 
 themselves. We seldom hear of speculating builders who 
 have been remarkably successful, but occasionally, after lives 
 of care and scampish work, they make, perhaps by some mere 
 accident, what they esteem a fortune ; or more probably they 
 sink in middle age, exhausted, out of sight below the lowest 
 level even of a leasehold tenure. Would that their works 
 might follow them ! 
 
 Of course, considering the ill repute and risks of speculating 
 leasehold work, few prudent men of capital will seriously en- 
 gage in it. The enterprise is therefore almost wholly left to 
 needy men, who, as they build, immediately charge the car- 
 casses with mortgages and loans, involving costly and un- 
 necessary deeds. Thus it occurs that speculating builders are 
 so grievously oppressed by law. Besides, in modern leases 
 there is now a customary clause requiring that all demises, 
 under-leases, and assignments, which include the mortgages 
 and charges, shall be registered and copied by the freeholder’s 
 solicitor, who is to receive on each occasion some two guineas 
 as his fee ; and, as new houses frequently remain for twenty 
 years or more negotiable and encumbered ere they settle down 
 into the hands of individual proprietors, the fortunate solicitor 
 may, by the fees and costs on a suburban leasehold, make for 
 years an income greater than the freeholder’s gross rental. 
 
 With the speculating builders should be classed their wan- 
 
TJKBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 13 
 
 dering workmen, artisans and labour sub-contractors of the 
 lowest kind in character and quality of work ; ‘ field rangers ’ 
 they are called. Not one quarter of the working builders about 
 London are efficient ‘ tradesmen,’ worth their wages ; almost 
 all are spoiled, or have been grievously arrested in develop- 
 ment by sub-contracting and the present architectural and 
 leasehold systems. These poor men accept from their em- 
 ployers the discovered measure of the ‘ public taste ’ and need, 
 and do their work appropriately. Speculating builders will 
 provide such workmanship as they can get ; but they can 
 hardly care to do good work for people who habitually show that 
 this is not the thing they want, and that it is, in fact, beyond 
 their understanding and appreciation. 
 
 Here then we have a second numerous and wide-spread class 
 perverted and used up by this pernicious system. When the 
 public execrate their painful leasehold houses their chief outcry 
 is against the speculating builders ; but these builders are not 
 half as much to blame as their accusers, who, without these 
 men, it seems, would have no houses to complain of. Specu- 
 lating builders are but a result of public folly ; as a class they 
 are not culpably successful at the public cost, nor are they so 
 beholden to mankind that they should sacrifice themselves 
 to architectural philanthropy. Their object, quite legitimate 
 according to the public will, is to contrive as many houses as 
 they can within a given frontage, then to make these houses 
 stand awhile, and then, with careful promptitude, to sell them. 
 The superior public, who are taught to think that architec- 
 ture ‘ as a fine art ’ is the only fitting subject for their con- 
 templation, and that cordial acquaintance with the simple art 
 of building and with building artisans is ‘low,’ when they 
 experience the result of their absurd neglect are disappointed, 
 injured, irritated, and in their dismay they blame the specu- 
 lating builders, who are only instruments ; they never seem to 
 recognize the real cause of their affliction. 
 
 Now let the truth be known : with all the great defects of 
 
14 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 modern houses and the multiplied delinquencies of builders, 
 these men will, in all things that concern the domicile, bear 
 fair comparison with the occupants themselves, who are 
 absurdly ignorant of everything connected with the scene of 
 their domestic life. The thing that, more than any other, 
 must affect their comfort and their health they never under- 
 stand ; they trouble all the world with their complaints, instead 
 of thoughtfully considering why they suffer and determining 
 to get complete and permanent relief. 
 
 And yet the public also may be well excused. The lease- 
 hold custom has been no invention of the present generation ; 
 they were all born to it, and are constantly debilitated by its 
 influence. Leaseholds have denied them some of the most 
 grateful sentiments and fortifying circumstances of domestic 
 life. To occupy a freehold house confers upon its owner 
 a peculiar sense of freedom, clears his mind of vanities, 
 and gives him, consequently, force of understanding : it 
 induces firmness and stability of character, and sets around 
 a man a healthy limit to his aims, if he is wise enough to 
 recognize it. He has naturally an habitual, sympathetic 
 interest in his house which makes it his delightful care ; and 
 by this sympathy, a noble and expanded selfishness, he rises 
 to be home and house-proud, and in habit self-respecting. 
 ‘ Nothing contributes more to nourish elevation of sentiment 
 in a people than the large and free character of their habi- 
 tations. The Middle Age architecture and its spacious and 
 lofty rooms, so unlike the mean and cramped externals cf 
 English middle-class life, gave the sentiment of a larger and 
 freer existence, and were a sort of poetic cultivation ’ ( J ohn 
 Stuart Mill). 
 
 Such was the character of life on freehold tenure ; but of late, 
 on leaseholds, men are never free in sentiment or elevated or 
 enlarged at home. Their ‘ mean ’ houses are a gathering of 
 torture chambers, and they enter them with the habitual 
 instinctive expectation of removing at the earliest opportunity. 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 15 
 
 * Bees, by the instinct of nature, do love their hives, and birds 
 their nests ; ’ but men can have, by nature, no instinctive love 
 for leasehold houses. Every house appears indeed a thing to 
 be avoided, and each tenant foels that what he calls his house is 
 not a home, but something made for 4 style ; ’ it was not made for 
 him, nor can it be : he is unsettled, apprehensive, constantly 
 expectant, never satisfied. The consequence has been that every 
 year there is increased mobility among the London population, 
 whose full average length of residence in one house is not three 
 years ; and this, in houses of the middle class, is now the 
 ordinary length of term for occupants’ agreements. Houses 
 are got up to look, to superficial eyes, superior to their rental ; 
 showing that a studiously constructed falsehood is considered 
 an advantage. A similar pretentiousness is carefully main- 
 tained in equipage and furniture, that everything may be in 
 keeping; and the tenant thus asserts his vain position in 
 the world. Speculating builders see all this, they learn to 
 know their public, and are quite prepared to please them. 
 They discover that their customers are seldom satisfied with 
 a substantial and convenient, unpretending house, in which 
 the income of the occupant might with propriety be econo- 
 mized, and his display would be within his actual means. 
 The builders understand that the reverse of this is the ambition 
 of the world ; and that if some men have the gift of self- 
 respect above the customary reverence for wealth, this class 
 is not the one on which they must rely. They consequently 
 build their houses for the public as they find them, and these 
 houses are, in architectural character and show, fair repre- 
 sentatives of popular desire. 
 
 Thus the system is continually acting and reacting on 
 the public and on the houses they inhabit. It induces 
 flimsy-mindedness ; men fatuously accept the evil which by 
 leasehold tenure they are made to suffer, and their domiciles 
 reflect the weakness and the want of individuality of those 
 who occupy them. The result is perfectly well known. Though 
 
16 
 
 THE ETHICS OP 
 
 it is said that one half of the world can hardly know how the 
 remainder live, a long experience in London does enable some 
 to form a tolerable estimate of the condition of its sad and 
 quiet-looking people. Certainly a large proportion live from 
 hand to mouth, and very frequently beyond their means. 
 Commencing with a perfectly ‘ genteel ’ idea of themselves 
 and of their suitable requirements, they wear their spurious 
 gentility, a robe of Nessus, all their lives. It is the ‘elegant’ 
 and showy leasehold house that starts them on their lifelong 
 painful and unfortunate career. 
 
 Under such circumstances some device of false economy is 
 needful to maintain appearances ; and cleanliness and comfort, 
 children’s education, even health, are sacrificed. The house, 
 so stylish, and not built for common people of domestic habits, 
 needs much cleaning and attendance ; but these things can 
 be dispensed with. Every year there is a greater general 
 neglect of household decency. Tenants live, for their three 
 years perhaps, in constantly accumulating dirt, and then they 
 take another house, fresh cleaned and painted, where again 
 they stay till filth and its results compel another move. We 
 are informing those who do not know the state in which the 
 other half of London live. The house, they say, is kept in 
 order for them ; and repairs of damage done by ill-conditioned 
 occupants are now by custom made ‘the landlord’s business;’ 
 everything must be provided for the tenant, who in house 
 affairs is treated as entirely helpless and incapable, at once 
 a baby and an imbecile. 
 
 This coddling has a very bad effect upon the personal and 
 domestic habits and the social sentiment of men and women. 
 When so overcared for, people are induced to care but little 
 for themselves. The ‘ husbands ’ are above, or possibly be- 
 neath, the manly household duty of inspecting plumbers* 
 work and drains ; the ‘ housewives ’ also, occupied with ele- 
 gancies, find efficient household work and care unsuitable ; 
 and fevers, typhoid, and diphtheria are allowed to decimate 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 17 
 
 their families. Besides, the house in sanitary matters is not 
 separate from the furniture that it contains, nor this again 
 from clothing and the family that wear it. Thus the danger 
 cannot be restricted to the architectural structure of the house : 
 it pervades everything ; and when reports of fever epidemics 
 and of variola cause alarm, it will be well to notice how 
 these virulent disorders are engendered and promoted. 
 
 But there are more than architectural and sanitary matters 
 influenced by this tenure : intellectual growth and mental 
 character become injuriously affected. People will employ 
 their minds on their immediate surroundings, if not wisely, 
 owing to obstructing circumstances, then absurdly, with tho 
 natural results. Under leasehold tenure men and women being 
 guarded from responsibility — deprived of it would be more 
 accurate — concerning the most influential object that affects 
 them, have no worthy interest in the fabric of their house ; 
 their attention, therefore, is transferred to the light cares 
 of furniture and dress. The consequence of this entire with- 
 drawal of the dignified and permanent abode from social and 
 domestic care is an unnatural levity, which demonstrates 
 itself in ‘ fashions ’ and their imitations. Everything in out- 
 ward life becomes a triviality, and character receives its 
 stamp from trivial surroundings. Self-respect is thus di- 
 minished, and social reverence is lost. The result through- 
 out society has been the ostracism of the stronger minds and 
 the promotion of the weak and vain. Excessive worthlessness 
 of every kind in dress and furniture is evidence of this inver- 
 sion ; and the public, having lost their natural leaders and 
 their individual judgment and good sense, make tradesmen’s 
 novelties in ‘ fashionable ’ rubbish matter for intense desire, 
 extravagant expenditure, and lifelong social competition. 
 
 On the other hand, the uncontrolled possession of his free- 
 hold residence endows the self-respecting man with social 
 dignity. He is a local personage, perhaps a power, having 
 local interests which lead to local public duties. When thus 
 
 2 
 
18 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 territorially settled, men know one another, and discover 
 who should lead in secular affairs and who should follow ; 
 special aptitude for work and for administration becomes 
 recognized and properly applied ,* and as each house erected 
 by its own proprietor upon a freehold site is pretty sure to 
 be a sound, substantial structure, the result of constant 
 effort at improvement, such endeavour and experience natur- 
 ally give the architectural culture needful for the proper 
 management of public works. With such homely, customary 
 house-building there would be no abject deference of ignorance 
 to clever experts ; people generally would understand what- 
 ever might be recommended for the public good, and would 
 themselves see clearly how it is to be obtained. 
 
 But some may say that business is so urgent, and its regular 
 engagements so engross their time, that they have none to 
 spare for architectural diversion. True enough, no doubt, 
 particularly when these persons are successful, and are rising 
 in the world. But what is business that it should be so en- 
 grossing? What need is there for the constant urgency? 
 As business men report, their occupation is not so entirely 
 healthy that no change and no relief could be desired. They 
 say — we quote from varied and extensive testimony — that the 
 trades and even the professions are but few in which a 
 scrupulous regard is shown for genuine, as distinct from legal 
 honesty. It really seems then that some little intermission 
 might be advocated, and accepted by the saner portion of the 
 world. A wholesome change of occupation might improve 
 the moral tone, and possibly revive the spirit of our business 
 men. Their thoughts are evidently gloomy even at their most 
 exhilarating times ; their aspect is indeed a constant strain 
 on pity and commiseration. Where, for instance, can be 
 seen a show more dismal than the range of faces at a feast 
 of some great City Company ? The people are all evidently 
 men of business, and besides, are leaseholders. 
 
 The tenure is not the disgrace and plague of any special 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 19 
 
 class ; all ranks are injured by it, the nobility and West 
 End residents as well as City clerks and working men. All 
 suffer in domestic comfort ; but to those whose state and 
 dignity are held to be their great distinction leasehold influ- 
 ences must be specially obnoxious. To have lost the amplitude 
 and individuality of a town house, and to be numbered in a 
 row of compo-fronted slips of leasehold work, to be the subject 
 of a common building speculation, w T ith its transient fashions 
 and vulgarities, is not consistent with the notion of an ancient 
 aristocracy. The change from Grosvenor Square to Grosvenor 
 Place is like an abdication of nobility. A nobleman till 
 lately had a ducal residence between the river and Tra- 
 falgar Square ; the House has been pulled down, the site 
 has been converted into ‘ frontages,’ and now his Grace 
 finds shelter in a narrow leasehold tenement that faces a 
 cross road behind the Queen’s back garden. 
 
 The effect of leaseholds on the working classes is, however, 
 of more consequence than loss of dignity ; it tends with them 
 directly to disease, to dissipation, and, to death. "At least one 
 tefTof London houses are unfit for human beings to reside 
 mT — AHntEe "rooms are made so small that any locomotion 
 in them causes injury to walls, partitions, furniture, and 
 fixtures ; everything becomes dilapidated, roughly worn, and 
 consequently dirty. Then, their houses being sorry imi- 
 tations of the homes of richer people, those who labour, 
 thinking such display to be distinguished and correct, en- 
 deavour also, in their sordid way, to imitate their betters 
 in their household goods and dress. Thus everything about 
 the families and homes of working men is now a travesty 
 of the pernicious follies of the middle class, as these again 
 are imitators of the social ranks above them. People do not 
 spend their money to secure convenient, healthy homes, but 
 to appear to be above their sphere, to be acquainted with the 
 fashion, and to assert their right and interest in the foolish 
 •custom of the day. The constant outlay that all this requires 
 
20 
 
 THE ETHICS OP 
 
 is quite sufficient to reduce the circumstances of the people 
 from financial affluence to habitual penury ; and this is 
 actually its effect. The money that might build or buy an 
 unpretending, spacious, well-constructed house is spent in 
 worthless ‘ elegance ’ and ornament ; and the small, ill-venti- 
 lated hired rooms are crammed with cumbrous furniture and 
 finery that make habitual cleanliness and health impossible, 
 and phthisis has become the national disease.* 
 
 In such ‘rooms,’ quite inappropriately named, twnjiiiJIioaa^ . 
 of the London population are compelled to pass their lives ; 
 and the effect upon the social habits and the moral character 
 of men and women is deplorable. A man and wife can live 
 perhaps in quiet in these little dens ; hut when the family 
 begins to grow, and children multiply, and move and play, 
 as children do, the father finds himself a surplusage at home, 
 and goes for peace and quiet to the public- house, to join his 
 fellow- sufferers from leasehold tenure. There he, of course, 
 must drink, and then the habit comes, and grows. The com- 
 pany is not select ; the man, if tolerably educated and 
 intelligent, meets numbers who are otherwise, and he must 
 make the best of, or become the worse for, his companions. 
 To i nvite a chosen, well-conditioned few to his”wn^ home 
 would be absurd ; he has no home : the place is b ut a cu p- 
 board, or is possibly a stye. In one small room all culinary 
 and domestic operations must be carried on, the men would 
 therefore be entirely in the way ; or if there is another cupboard, 
 called the best front parlour, all its little floor is occupied by 
 quasi-fasliionable table, sofa, easy-chair, and chiffonier, the 
 necessary demonstrations of gentility, and not a yard of 
 width is left for movement and for social comfort and com- 
 panionship. 
 
 The women, who are left and are supposed to be at home, 
 are possibly still greater sufferers : they never get fresh air. 
 
 * In London there are every year some twenty thousand deaths from chest 
 disease. 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 21 
 
 The slightest ventilation in such little rooms is felt as a cold 
 draught ; and doors and windows are, as far as may be, kept 
 hermetically closed. The children either turn into the streets, 
 and live in dirt and license there, — leaseholds provide no 
 playgrounds, — or, if they are retained at home, they sicken, 
 pine away, and die. The woman’s health gives way, and 
 as she is alone to do the household work it is not done ; 
 the filth accumulates, and then the public - house becomes 
 again a refuge or relief. Both man and woman have lost 
 hope and energy, and home repels them. They have no 
 idea of acting for themselves, or of discovering what would 
 most improve their state at home. The house is not their 
 business but the landlord’s, and all houses for the working 
 class are much the same ; it is ‘ their lot,’ and they accept it 
 listlessly and sink into depravity. 
 
 Youths, also, of both sexes are habitually driven from home ; 
 they naturally seek society, just as ‘their betters’ do, but in 
 their houses they can never find it. They must wander there- 
 fore, and all wholesome family restraint is consequently lost. 
 Parental discipline is scarcely thought of or regarded; parents 
 neglect their duty of command, and the young people, quite 
 untutored in obedience and self-control, find in saloons and 
 ‘ schools for dancing ’ most efficient schools of vanity and 
 vice. In manners also they are more degraded year by year. 
 
 The great concern that has of late been manifested by the 
 upper classes for the benefit of working men, and the alarm 
 that is so frequently expressed at the increased consumption 
 of intoxicating drinks, together show that the condition of the 
 working classes in their homes is little known or understood. 
 Intoxication as a habit is a common consequence, a natural 
 result, of undersized, unwholesome rooms ; and not the lower 
 but the middle and the upper classes are the fabricators and 
 maintainers of the leasehold system, which denies sufficient 
 home accommodation to the poor. These classes are the 
 real culprits in the case of metropolitan intemperance ; and to 
 
22 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 them, much more than to the working men themselves, the vice 
 and misery of drunkenness are due. The working men have 
 yet to learn the method of their misery ; when they 
 attain this knowledge, and have also learnt the lesson of 
 Co-operative Stores, they will promote societies to build 
 on freeholds only, and will look for public sympathy in their 
 determined, just repudiation of the modern leasehold system 
 of house tenure. 
 
 There is a general, vague idea that because large freeholders 
 appear to have some slight control, a better class of houses is 
 erected under leasehold tenure than would be the case if each 
 man had his separate freehold. It is hardly necessary to 
 argue out this question : the result of this insuring system is 
 around us, and the inhabitants of London are, for their wealth 
 and culture, the worst housed population on the globe. No- 
 where in Europe can be seen such lines of paltry houses, with 
 such cribs of rooms ; and never was a people similarly subject 
 to a landlord’s interdict, prohibiting, by means of physical 
 obstruction, ordinary social and domestic intercourse. 
 
 Two generations back, when urban leaseholds had become 
 the rule, there still remained an old-established institution that 
 afforded some relief. The parlour at the public-house was then 
 the regular resort of heads of families and young men of the 
 middle, tradesman class. There politics were talked and 
 parish business was discussed, and there the French were va- 
 liantly defied, the slave-trade was denounced, and parliamen- 
 tary reform was carried. There each company of sturdy boon 
 companions, mostly sons of yeomen, sat and talked through- 
 out the evening, with high argument ; and if at times their 
 logic was defective and their information incomplete, they 
 had the benefit of manly intellectual intercourse, and their 
 bright mother wit was exercised and sharpened. These strong 
 men, although a fragment only of the population, gave a tone 
 of vigour to the public mind which cannot be expected from 
 a generation who throughout their lives have been shut up 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 23 
 
 apart in little boxes with their wives and children. Very 
 likely after twelve the argument would be a little clouded, 
 though the talk and the tobacco would be hindrances to tip- 
 pling rather than inducements to excess. But now there is 
 no general opportunity for intellectual and social intercourse ; 
 the public- house is but a dram-shop, parlours are unknown, 
 there is, in fact, ‘ no house,’ but only what is called a bar, 
 where men and women go all day to stand and drink, and 
 drown the memory of their miserable homes. 
 
 The richer classes can have no idea of the painful influence 
 that narrow houses have on working people. They, by their 
 wealth, can keep themselves sufficiently removed from con- 
 tact with their own domestic architectural surroundings, 
 which indeed are, practically, distant from them, suites of 
 wide and lofty and well-lined enclosures ; and, if all is not 
 agreeable, the upholsterer has ample opportunity and scope 
 for his devices. But for the working man there is at home 
 no intermediate distance, and no space for such appliances of 
 furniture for ease and comfort ; in his sitting room a table 
 and two chairs take all the width between the fireplace and the 
 opposite partition wall, and when the chairs are occupied the 
 room is full. Nor can the workman have the change of resi- 
 dence and scene that richer men afford when houses are not 
 altogether to their mind ; he is directly, and without relief, 
 in constant contact with his house, which is no choice of his, 
 and is by no means his ideal, but in which he suffers daily. 
 A most foolish custom has condemned him to this grievous 
 home imprisonment for life. 
 
 The lower middle class are sufferers in much the same way 
 as the workmen ; and, to escape the pressing evil, clerks and 
 superior artisans and little tradesmen, who compose so large 
 a part of the suburban population, leave their homes and lose 
 their time and health and money at the billiard-room, the 
 tavern, and the music-hall. This is the secret of the great 
 expenditure on drink, a sum that in ten years would buy up 
 
24 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 every London ground-rent ; and until this fact is understood 
 no valid diminution of the drinking habits of the people 
 can he hoped for. Yet no session passes without some en- 
 deavour to enact prohibitory laws against the liquor traffic ; 
 the promoters overlooking the important fact that those who 
 drink are masters of the situation, and that they alone, 
 by a reform of social habits, possible on freehold tenure, can 
 restrict and even stop the trade. If their ordained, legi- 
 timate enjoyments are denied to men, they will of course 
 obtain some vicious substitute. In milder climates men can 
 live in public in the open air, and consequently suffer little 
 from small pieces or appartements ; hut in London such 
 extensive freedom is impossible. For ten months in the year 
 all social meetings must he under cover, and as people cannot 
 make their little cupboards serve as ‘ rooms,’ they meet else- 
 where. The crowds that gather round the gin-shop doors 
 
 towards one o’clock on Sunday show the natural result : 
 
 as long as London houses are not made for men, men 
 
 will avoid them, and will go where they have space and 
 light and company and welcome, and they then must drink. 
 The custom does not lessen with increased intelligence ; it 
 constantly advances. The more highly strung the nervous 
 system of a man, the greater his imaginative power, and the 
 more his mind is cultivated, the intenser is his sensibility to 
 his misfortune-: he can see no prospect of relief, and so he 
 gets a temporary change. Hence the increase of drinking, 
 as distinct from grovelling, drunkenness ; and thus the lower 
 middle and the working classes, as they rise in income 
 and intelligence, spend more and more in liquor. We are 
 furnished with the trade statistics of a public-house frequented 
 by these people, and it seems that in the last fifteen years the 
 trade profits have increased five-fold, without a single new 
 house in the district. 
 
 There have been many efforts to establish reading-rooms 
 for working men ; but reading-rooms are palliatives only : 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 25 
 
 those who make these efforts will admit that they themselves 
 would not be satisfied with such poor substitutes for homes. 
 A month’s experience of 4 Institution ’ life would perfectly 
 suffice to show the value that young men and women set on 
 public-houses of this kind. They soon discover that such 
 education as they most require is not to be obtained in 
 reading-rooms, but in the circle of their families and friends 
 at home. It is the want of such home education that sends 
 half the population to the taverns and saloons ; the other 
 half lament such painful error, but they still maintain, and 
 help to propagate the cause of all the evil. 
 
 The outcry for the opening of museums and the theatres on 
 Sunday is due chiefly to the want of spaciousness in urban 
 living rooms. The people are domestic, fond of home, and 
 naturally hospitable; but these virtues are on leaseholds 
 specially forbidden. To be social, 4 given to hospitality,’ the 
 great majority of Londoners must get away from home ; they 
 can have no ‘church in their house,’ they must ‘forsake the 
 assembling of themselves together ’ — quite a different thing, 
 it may be here explained, from modern church attendance 
 — and they ‘ treat’ their fellows at the tavern bar; or in the 
 reeking gin-shop, or the beer and brandy tea-garden, seek such 
 enjoyment as excitement and indifferent companionship will 
 give, in place of all the dignified and solid comforts of a home. 
 
 And here, again, the higher classes scarcely understand the 
 popular demand. They need no galleries or museums to 
 amuse them on a Sunday, their own rooms are large enough 
 for social intercourse, and so they see their friends at home, 
 a thing the working man is not allowed to do. His Sun- 
 day seldom is to him a day of happiness and rest ; he gets no 
 quiet, has no real relaxation and but miserable change. In- 
 stead of doing work he suffers irritation, and to avoid this 
 suffering he systematically leaves his house and family, and 
 ‘ breaks the Sabbath.’ 
 
 An intelligent observer will perceive how clearly this un- 
 
26 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 happy state of life and morals may be -traced to the outrageous 
 disregard of human nature in the first formation of a young 
 man’s home. The lower animals, birds, beasts, and insects, are 
 superior to Londoners in household dignity. They don’t take 
 leases, and with them the speculating builders are unknown ; 
 they start in life with building operations of their own ; their 
 house is made in preparation for their family. In London, 
 people are like hermit - crabs, content to shuffle into some 
 ill - fitting, cumbrous, unconformable, rejected shell ; and 
 there they make their ‘ home,’ ridiculous to every beholder. 
 
 The leasehold system is a c hief mate rial c ause„Qf the im- 
 provident and thriftless habits of our working cl asses.^ It pre- 
 vents the natural formation of considerate and prudent plans 
 Tor life ; and men rush into matrimony, not perhaps too early, 
 but before they have prepared themselves, by systematic self- 
 control, and by the active self-respect induced by strictly 
 economical expenditure, for the responsibilities of married 
 life. True, there are Savings Banks ; but a 4 deposit ’ is to 
 many a numerical abstraction. Working people do not see 
 it, therefore do not love it, and in consequence too quickly 
 sacrifice it for some visible absurdity which for a moment 
 charms them. There should always be a worthy and imme- 
 diate object for the workman’s savings, something to be seen, 
 and which can thus secure his interest and devotion. A young 
 workman, when the term of his apprenticeship expires, or 
 earlier, should everywhere have opportunity, by weekly pay- 
 ments, to secure a visible investment in an urban or suburban 
 freehold of his own. The saving, prudent habit once begun 
 and formed is apt to grow, increasing with his age. Young 
 women too should know that if they save, instead of spend- 
 ing all they have in finery, they also may contribute to the 
 purchase of their future home. This would be possible ifirfie^ 
 holds were at hand and easily procurable ; but if the only 
 method to secure a house is either to become a speculator in 
 a bastard' tenure, or to buy a rickety, dishonest place of misery, 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 27 
 
 a compound of the Pozzi and Piombi and the Bridge of Sighs, 
 with every association of discredit and of disrepute, young 
 men will hardly practise self-denial to attain so pitiful an end. 
 No man is intelligently proud of any leasehold house; he may 
 have some mean pride in its pretentiousness and paltry show ; 
 but if he has good sense and sensibility he feels the thing to be 
 an illegitimate production, crooked and false in character, and 
 he despises it. If occupants of leaseholds could imagine, even 
 for a moment, that the houses were their own in fee, the thought 
 would give them an astonishing experience of mental dignity. 
 How much more powerful for good would be the actual fact 
 that they were freeholders. 
 
 The effect of leasehold tenure is particularly manifested in 
 the quality and stature of the London population. Separat- 
 ing recent importations and mere summer visitors, there is 
 a large residuum of weakly, nervous semi-dwarfs. A fairly- 
 built pedestrian going eastward from Belgravia to St. Luke’s 
 or Bethnal Green will, if observant, notice, or at any rate 
 will feel, that as he goes he rises by comparison in animal 
 physique. He seems to be a Saul among the people, and, 
 without a thought, to add a cubit to his stature. But a 
 country family for two generations subject to the influence 
 of London houses obviously recedes towards the state of 
 pre-historic and primordial humanity. If men are pla} T ed 
 upon by their environment, and those who are the fittest 
 constantly" survive, we have the philosophic reason for the 
 undersize of genuine Londoners ; they suit themselves to 
 their habitual abode, and in their generations they become 
 homunculi by reason of their little homes. In intellectual 
 and moral power there seems to be a similar decrepitude : of 
 native Londoners it is remarkable how few comparatively are 
 distinguished men. The cause of the deficiency is clear 
 enough ; this leasehold tenure, with its cellular constructions 
 and bad air, has naturally an enervating influence on the 
 brain. Thus, when referring to an accident at Kensington, 
 
28 
 
 THE ETHICS OE 
 
 Mr. Frank Bucldancl writes : 4 The crowd stood like a lot of 
 marble statues ; nobody offered to move, or say, or do, or 
 suggest anything. Upon my word, I think an English crowd 
 is very selfish or exceedingly stupid.’ Mr. Buckland’s sharp 
 alternative was needless ; any London crowd may be entirely 
 what he suggests. But this is their affliction, for the vicious 
 circle makes itself complete. By leasehold influence the in- 
 tellect is weakened and sinks into dull selfishness ; it thus 
 becomes incompetent to recognize the cause of its affliction 
 and to undertake the cure. 
 
 This mental weakness manifests itself not merely in the 
 general absence of superior men, hut by a wide-spread dis- 
 regard or want of scrupulous financial honesty. Those who 
 have special insight into the domestic life of London families, 
 and know more than the world at large about their income 
 and expenditure, can give a curious account of their condition. 
 A proportion, whether large or small we will not say, though 
 it is fairly calculable, are careful people and habitually 
 honest, but the rest proceed upon a constant system of in- 
 debtedness. Young men, who seldom fail to spend their 
 money quite as quickly as they earn it, marry on their in- 
 come, and expect, without a thought of calculation, that 
 enough will come whenever more is wanted. The proceeding 
 is not limited to any rank of life, but we will take in illustra- 
 tion the abundant class of clerks, commercial and professional, 
 whose time is spent in most elaborate contrivances to prevent 
 one set of * Christian ’ gentlemen from cheating, or from being 
 cheated by their fellow : Cliristians. Under present business 
 circumstances these poor men are commonly condemned to 
 life-long drudgery with little pay. Considering the kind of 
 work they do, the pay, compared to what is given to accom- 
 plished artisans, is quite sufficient, and they might live well on 
 it, with comfort, in a simple way. But they must live, it seems, 
 c like gentlemen ; ’ their wives and daughters, too, are 4 ladies,’ 
 which, interpreted by them, means people not accustomed to 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 29 
 
 associate with the working classes. The distinction may to 
 some extent he justified. For centuries ‘society’ has severed 
 manual labour from intelligence, and denied it social equity 
 and personal respect. The lower middle class are therefore 
 prudent in their way when they endeavour to dissociate them- 
 selves from people in a state of permanent inferiority. Posi- 
 tion is especially important to the class which finds itself at 
 the immediate edge of the established platform of respect- 
 ability. A broad-cloth suit, soft hands, a house that has a 
 kitchen quite distinct and separate from sitting-rooms, and the 
 employment of a servant girl, however small and inefficient, 
 are the strict essentials of a Londoner’s gentility ; his life is 
 formed on these. A few men of the clerkly class may gain pro- 
 motion in the business world, but of necessity the great ma- 
 jority remain in their ambiguous condition, with an income on 
 a par with that of decent artisans, but with pretensions quite 
 above the level of these common people, who are workmen. 
 
 Ranks in the scale of income differ, but in each the impulse 
 of gentility is much the same. Incomes are often fixed, but 
 fears and aspirations are unlimited and fluctuating, and ex- 
 penditure is apt to follow feeling more than calculation. 
 When the spirit of gentility has taken hold of men and 
 women peace of mind escapes, desire is paramount, benefi- 
 cence becomes almost or quite impossible, and honesty is 
 honoured as a name. A clerk sees little in the business system 
 of the present day to make him think that practical regard 
 for other people’s rights and property and interest is any 
 mark of wisdom, or a thing that can with credit be avowed. 
 He has been taught to make things safe, and for security to 
 disregard the scrupulosities of rectitude. Success, according 
 to the world and just within the law, is the great aim ; and 
 Christ’s example and the golden rule are amply recognized by 
 audible assertion of a creed in church on Sunday. 
 
 In almost every house in London there are evidences of the 
 mental degradation that this tenure constantly occasions. 
 
dO THE ETHICS OF 
 
 Furniture and fittings, works of art, and even dress, are all 
 unworkmanlike and inartistic, or 4 artistic,’ which is worse, 
 and fashionable, which is worst of all. The more a room is 
 furnished ‘ in the modern taste ’ the worse it is. The motive 
 and idea of modern furniture are vanity and affectation, and 
 it seems that for the present every one must yield to these to 
 some extent, or have no furniture at all. But what is very 
 grievous is the fact that all this failing so reflects the 
 public mind. The intellectual deficiency, the epidemic moral 
 weakness, evident in occupants of leasehold houses, is well 
 understood and recognized by men of trade, who by expe- 
 rience learn to know their customers. The very language 
 and address of shopmen show what characters they have to 
 deal with, and each newspaper contains a page or more of 
 businesslike mendacities, which are well known to pay. The 
 public catch at them : they promise more than what is right, 
 and that is what so many people hope to gain. Of course 
 they are deceived, and all the furniture and fiddle-faddle in 
 their homes, intended to impress the world with their fictitious 
 wealth, or ‘taste,’ or elegance and fashion, only show their 
 great deficiency in character and sense. 
 
 This unnatural and strange condition of so large a popu- 
 lation has still further evil consequences. A deficiency of 
 independent thought, of individuality, and of social power; 
 a habit of regarding public questions as mere themes for 
 newspapers and subjects for home gossip, not involving 
 personal responsibility and duty ; and, as it seems, a compre- 
 hensive incapacity for corporate combination and develop- 
 ment, and for collective will in action, mark the character of 
 Londoners. They are a people spread abroad upon a terri- 
 tory, leaseholders, without enduring interest in the place, and 
 seeking none; a huge outspreading multipede, invertebrate 
 and headless. 
 
 During the last twenty years there have been frequently 
 before the public schemes for the municipal self-government 
 
TJKBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 31 
 
 of London ; all of them superficial, dealing with the popula- 
 tion merely, severed from the land, and so without regard for 
 permanently local interests. Such schemes would scarcely do 
 substantial good : for large and permanent success the free- 
 holders should undertake the primary requirements of a 
 neighbourhood, the laying out of roads and streets and sewers, 
 and gas and water works. Of these things leaseholders and 
 tenants have a temporary user only, and are therefore, natur- 
 ally, seldom zealous for their liberal development and sound 
 construction. Public parks and playgrounds, viaducts and 
 bridges, markets, baths and libraries, are still less likely to 
 engage their serious care ; they may perhaps, after much pain- 
 ful talk, be glad to get these necessaries for themselves, but 
 they have no long-sighted, generous prescience and local states- 
 manship, which look beyond the little space and time that 
 parish vestrymen can compass and appreciate. 
 
 The reason for this failure is the want of full proprietary 
 interest. Apart from a few isolated Land Societies, there 
 are not in all London probably a thousand men who live 
 in their own freehold houses : other freeholders are few, 
 and mostly public bodies and non-residents. The population 
 generally are mere tenants, often in the third or even fourth 
 degree^ on terms extending from seven days to twelve months 
 and three years. Commercial buildings, and most dwelling- 
 houses rated at above three hundred pounds a year, are leased 
 or underleased for seven years or more, the tenant doing all 
 repairs ; but the pernicious system of agreements for a shorter 
 term is rapidly extending upwards in the scale of rental. 
 
 Thus the general population is a mobile element and not a 
 stable mass, and but a small minority take any active part in 
 parish business. These are the vestrymen, who hold as lease- 
 hold property a large number of the smaller London houses, 
 and who often make it their chief business to prevent, and not 
 to undertake and forward necessary public works. The street 
 paving, lighting, and road-making are directed by these people ; 
 
32 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 and the state of the small thoroughfares, in Clerkenwell and 
 Shoreditch for example, shows that leaseholders are not a 
 class to he entrusted with the interests of the public, or even, 
 when there is a need for generous consideration, with their own. 
 The conduct of parochial affairs is left, however, to these little 
 tradesmen, and to speculating builders, and a few surveyors 
 and solicitors of the same inferior grade. These men, the 
 lower quality of popular intelligence, promoted to transactions 
 much beyond their usual experience and to duties far above 
 their comprehension, are the local governments and admin- 
 istrators of the largest and most wealthy city in the world. 
 
 For more than forty 3'ears there has been lamentable want of 
 a conservative, foreseeing care for public works in London. A 
 full quarter of a century after the necessity for arterial drain- 
 age, for the Thames Embankment, and for the Holborn Via- 
 duct, had been obvious to all the world, these works at 
 length were undertaken; a whole generation having been 
 denied the use of them, and left in needless danger and dis- 
 comfort. Each work is, for a metropolis, an ordinary under- 
 taking, save indeed in its excessive costliness and show. The 
 Embankments are inferior in length to those of a provincial 
 town in France, and yet they have been made to look ab- 
 surdly self-important and pretentious. The new Viaduct is 
 level, which is all that could be wanted ; but besides it is a 
 monument of coarse expensiveness, with a ridiculous pretence 
 of patronage of art. The citizens of London make the Via- 
 duct a demonstration of their wealth, and of their want of 
 wit to use it. 
 
 Before the first Beforrn Bill, London and its environs re- 
 ceived from every Government imperial and judicious care. 
 It then was evidently understood that highways were a public 
 need, and should be planned with forethought for extended 
 local intercourse. O11 both sides of the Thames the town was 
 girt by a succession of wide avenues, laid out with liberal 
 judgment that refused to spoil a great improvement for the 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 33 
 
 sake of some minute economy. North of the river the Com- 
 mercial Road, the City and New Koads, the New North Road, 
 the Seven Sisters’, Camden, Caledonian, and Finchley Roads, 
 and Highgate Archway ; and on the Southwark side, the Kent 
 and Dover Roads, and all the avenues that radiate from the 
 Surrey Obelisk, are like 4 imperial works, and worthy kings.’ 
 But since the Government has lost its healthy despotism 
 scarcely a mile of thoroughly suburban read, apart from 
 public parks and promenades, has been laid out as a main 
 public thoroughfare. Streets at the rate of fifty miles a year 
 have been constructed, not as thoroughfares however but as 
 ‘ frontages,’ and with regard alone to each small plot of land 
 which is described as an ‘ estate.’ There is no thought about 
 the gradients and continuity of roads and streets, or of an 
 avenue or great highway; the only things considered are 
 the rentals and the Building Acts. Suburban London is a 
 tangle of small streets that lead to nothing but the score or 
 two of houses in each line of frontage ; and in many places 
 for a mile each way no leading and continuous thoroughfare 
 occurs. The Board of Works, a delegation from the parish 
 vestries, is engaged in rectifying crooked corners and ex- 
 tending narrow lanes in central, close-built London; but, 
 while all this little work is going on, the great suburban dis- 
 tricts, owing to the habitual neglect and want of circumspec- 
 tion of the Board, are constantly supplying them with further 
 opportunity for opening needful avenues, through finished 
 neighbourhoods, in the most expensive way. Instead of care- 
 fully anticipating the advance of building work round Lon- 
 don, and providing broad and leading thoroughfares in all 
 directions, everything is left to chance, or to the smallest 
 and most selfish interests ; and the Board, with all its ped- 
 dling and expensive works, is falling year by year more dis- 
 tantly behind the public need. They even fail to guard the 
 public rights which Parliament a century ago had granted. 
 Thus, the Acts for the formation of the road from Paddington 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THE ETHICS OP 
 
 to Finsbury provided that no houses should be built within 
 fifty feet of the road. On the abolition of the toll-gates it 
 was enacted that any building within this limit should be 
 treated by the parish vestries as a common nuisance, and 
 removed. This, during the existence of select vestries, saved 
 the open space, but on the passing of Hobhouse’s Act the 
 little tradesmen, wishing to increase the area of rating, tacitly 
 permitted the encroachment of first unsubstantial and then 
 solid structures in advance of the original building line. 
 The Board of Works has now to be applied to for permission 
 to build over the front gardens. This permission is, on some 
 parts of the line, habitually granted ; and throughout, wher- 
 ever dwelling-houses are converted into shops, encroachments 
 are continually made. For anything the Board of Works or 
 any local board has done, there will be lost to London the 
 important right of an extended open space as large as a 
 suburban park, and the continued opportunity for making 
 what might be the longest, finest boulevard in Europe. 
 
 The reason of it all is Leasehold Tenure. The inhabitants 
 of London have no pride or satisfaction in the place ; they 
 only wish to make their fortunes by its help, and then to get 
 away from it as soon as possible. But why not move at once ? 
 Of the four millions who inhabit greater London not a thou- 
 sandth part have any permanent, substantial interest in the 
 land or buildings. The whole population suffer from an evil 
 custom which some hundreds only are persisting in to their 
 own hurt, not knowing why, and which they never care to make 
 the subject of inquiry. Each year the population, in sheer 
 misery of home existence, is, as we have said, becoming more 
 unsettled and inclined to move ; and in a few years’ time the 
 tendency of men will be nomadic. As it is they live in booths 
 that scarcely can deserve the name of houses. Their best remedy 
 will be migration : let them, having learnt the cause of all their 
 suffering, decide by acclamation to remove, and quit the place 
 entirely. The proprietors can still retain their piles of half- 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 35 
 
 burnt clay and matchwood; and in a ghastly wilderness of 
 hollow, empty houses, they may sit at gaping doors and 
 melancholy windows, and in sorrow beg their bread as show- 
 men and joint fabricators of the biggest and the ugliest folly 
 that has been inflicted on the world. 
 
 In London, freehold property when leased, as almost all 
 the London freeholds are, is as a rule unrepresented. It pays 
 no annual rates, because these have, for due consideration, 
 all been undertaken by the leaseholder, who is called the 
 * owner,* and the occupier in the first degree. There is, 
 however, one remarkably absurd exception. Freeholders, who 
 have no personal interest in the population, are, by a law 
 designed for rural property, allowed to vote for guardians of 
 the poor, whose duties are entirely personal, and thus by acci- 
 dent alone are local ; but in all matters having reference to 
 public works, in which the permanent proprietors must have 
 a special interest, this most important class is totally ignored. 
 
 It is a first essential for efficient action in municipal affairs 
 that the constituency should be tax-paying freeholders ; or in 
 other words that, by some equitable system of land transfer, 
 those who are the subjects of taxation should obtain posses- 
 sion of the soil in fee. London, for instance, should be held 
 as real property by Londoners. The ultimate proprietary 
 leaseholder with more than twenty years of unexpired term 
 should have a legislative right to purchase, at an equitable 
 valuation, with the due ten per cent, for unwilling sale, all 
 superior interests, including the fee simple of the land ; all 
 titles should be registered and parliamentary, and transfers 
 should be prompt and inexpensive. Every freeholder should 
 have a vote, or two if he be resident, and any severance of 
 the occupiers from the land in fee should be discouraged. 
 
 This can be done experimentally with very little individual 
 disturbance. Of the land in London and its suburbs an un- 
 usually large proportion is in public hands ; it is in fact a 
 mere security for income which the public use, and of which, 
 
36 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 therefore, the great public has the paramount command. 
 These estates of corporate bodies, livery companies, hospitals, 
 commissioners and charities, and all church property, should 
 be sold, with preference for the leaseholder, and the proceeds 
 properly invested in the funds. The transfer would be an 
 immense relief to governing committees, with a corresponding 
 saving of administrative costs ; and, as we have shown, a 
 marvellous financial gain. The property would be more pro 
 fitably used by individual freeholders, the amount of per- 
 sonal efficient interest in the land would be increased five 
 hundred-fold; and in an equal ratio would be the increased 
 care for beneficial public works, and the experienced intellec- 
 tual power to achieve them. 
 
 It may be said in passing that these 4 charity ’ estates are 
 quite miscalled ; they are not for the most part the result of 
 * love ’ but of excessive fear. The 4 pious ’ donors made their 
 legacies by way of expiation for perhaps their lifelong want 
 of charity ; and the result is a continuance of the evil thus 
 compounded for. The constant public work of charity has 
 been forestalled and superseded by a vicious eleemosynary 
 system ; and it thus occurs that, notwithstanding, or by reason 
 of its wealth, the great metropolis of England has become 
 a pauper warren for improvident and ill-conditioned people. 
 
 When the desired proprietary change has been in operation 
 for a year or two, the public will appreciate their happy 
 liberation from the incubus of law and middlemen, and public 
 spirit will revive. The great proprietors throughout London 
 will then see that their own interests and those of the com- 
 munity are quite concurrent, and their damage also, and that 
 the cost of agencies and law, and the depreciated value of their 
 property as leasehold, fall most heavily upon themselves ; and 
 seeing this they will, after some little self-assertion, of their 
 own accord perhaps, apply the simple remedy. 
 
 There then would be a sound constituency of freeholders, 
 possessing the intelligence, and interest, and will to scheme 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 37 
 
 and carry into execution local and extensive public works, 
 which would make London a true mother city, an example for 
 all towns in England and all cities in the world.* At present 
 the reverse of this is true, and, save where Parliament has 
 intervened, the great metropolis has been and is a bad 
 example ; in good works deficient and a laggard, and in consti- 
 tution wanting vital power. As well make visitors at Brighton 
 the rate-paying constituency and local corporation of the 
 borough, as rely on the inhabitants of London, in their pre- 
 sent lackland state, for the strong, enterprising government of 
 the metropolis. 
 
 The principle of the expropriation of house property and 
 ground-rents has within the last few years made demonstrable 
 progress. In 1872 it was called ‘ communism,’ which it seems is 
 something shocking, though most people are accustomed daily 
 to the communistic use of light and air and of the Queen’s 
 highway, and are not scandalized, nor sensible of public harm. 
 But it is said that purchase by compulsion of the seller is 
 a trespass upon private right. Precisely so; and many 
 another wholesome project equally infringes the prescriptive 
 rights of property. An area a hundred times as great as that 
 of London has, within the memory of men of middle age, 
 been forced from its proprietors because the public good 
 required it ; and yet the thing was not called ‘ communism.* 
 Commons — a very communistic word — have been extensively 
 enclosed for the behoof of the adjoining land proprietors ; but 
 this has not been by the said proprietors esteemed a policy of 
 confiscation. Tithe Commutation Acts were thought to be 
 conservative in aim, and copyhold enfranchisement has not 
 been stigmatized as revolutionary. Even the control of 
 4 personalty,’ not real property or freehold of the soil, has 
 
 * A report from Luton says, ‘ The land on which the town is built was sold 
 by the Marquis of Bute in small freehold plots. Many of the artisans own their 
 cottages ; and there is scarcely anything in the nature of a rough class in the 
 town, and but little poverty.’ 
 
38 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 been restrained by legislation ; and the Betting Acts, and 
 what is called Thelusson’s Act, are clear encroachments on 
 proprietary rights. More recently our timid ‘ communistic ’ 
 critic, ‘ rising,’ as he says, * above a false and narrow inter- 
 pretation of vested interests in property,’ declares that ‘ the 
 expropriation clauses of the Artisans Dwellings Act are not 
 at all too sweeping for their object, but are based upon 
 a definite assumption that where public necessities conflict 
 with private rights, private rights must submit to reason- 
 able modifications. Of course this is not a new principle; 
 for the compulsory purchase of lands under private Acts of 
 Parliament is a familiar idea to modern Englishmen. The 
 novelty consists in the recognition of the fact that under certain 
 circumstances the interest of the lowest class might be the 
 interest of the whole community. The Artisans Dwellings Act 
 proceeded strictly on the apostolic maxim that if one member 
 suffers all the other members suffer with it. The remediable 
 grievance of one section of the community is the grievance of 
 all the rest.’ Which is, in fact, our theory of ‘communism.’ 
 All this is hopeful and judicious; it appears that other 
 things than communism may be even less agreeable to con- 
 template ; besides, it is allowed to be ‘ notorious all over Eng- 
 land that no cottages are so bad as those that are cheaply 
 run up,’— on leasehold tenure ? — ‘ either to live in or to let, by 
 persons of the labouring grade.’ To save discussion we accept 
 the statement, and reply that as the leasehold system has 
 extended and is nearly universal, its bad influence has brought 
 and keeps the standard of house-building miserably low. Even 
 on land bought and divided up by freehold land societies the 
 habits of the leasehold builders influence the character and 
 execution of the work. There is, however, on those freehold 
 land estates which are entirely covered a remarkable improve- 
 ment in the buildings. The more recent houses are much better 
 than those first erected, and these also are continually being 
 made more comfortable and in every way improved. Thus, not- 
 
TJBBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 39 
 
 withstanding the great general ignorance of the building art, 
 the natural instinct of the freehold occupants compels them to 
 spend time and care and money on their houses, while the 
 common trade of building has become demoralized because it 
 is deprived of this instructed, zealous, personal control. True, 
 there are Building Acts and sanitary regulations, but these 
 things, which are actual evidence of public folly and neglect, and 
 but a feeble substitute for public knowledge and opinion, would 
 themselves be much more efficacious on a freehold tenure. 
 Were there only one proprietor or interest a monition could 
 be served immediately, and it would be zealously attended to 
 by men made sensible and wise by constant thoughtfulness 
 about their well-appointed freehold homes. 
 
 Good has been attempted, and in part no doubt achieved, by 
 philanthropic individuals and societies, who have built large 
 blocks of dwellings for the artisans and poor ; but this is only 
 an improvement, sometimes a mere change of evil, not a cure. 
 The buildings often are of many storeys high, to get the largest 
 population possible upon an acre of the soil ; a method which 
 ignores or very much neglects the fact that light and air are 
 needful for the due support of life, and that without sufficient 
 space these cannot be obtained. The fashion has, however, 
 been distinctly set, and now the working classes may look for- 
 ward to a century of constantly increasing solar obscuration. 
 For the future light and air will be still further banished 
 from the streets as well as from the houses : even leaseholds 
 have not brought us to this horrible condition. The small tene- 
 ments in Bethnal Green have not a pleasant reputation, but 
 compared with a continuous neighbourhood of ‘sanitary’ dwell- 
 ings they are a suburban paradise. For instance, near the 
 Hackney Road the streets are tolerably wide, the houses too are 
 low, and there are ‘ gardens,’ so that the inhabitants can see 
 their copper-coloured sun, when he sometimes appears, and also 
 get some little colour of their own. But in most model dwellings 
 sun and moon will be but astronomical expressions ; the horizon 
 
40 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 and the zenith will be understood as synonyms; and the young 
 population will become mere pallid fungi, growing feebly at the 
 bottom of their canon or their ‘well.’ In London, building 
 spaces should he open, not confined ; in this vast wilderness 
 we want no ‘ constant contiguity of shade.’ Our climate is not 
 that of Genoa or Naples, and our first sanitary need is ample 
 sunlight, with its consequence, fresh, moving air. Shrewd 
 market gardeners understand all this : they do not rest when 
 they have drained the land and regulated the manure, nor 
 do they place their shrubs as close as possible upon the 
 ground. They arrange, judiciously, to give each plant its 
 share of sunlight and of air, and even open out the centres 
 of their trees and bushes to the sun : they cherish health, 
 and, constantly observing nature’s laws, they look for multi- 
 plied and healthy fruit. Our builders and philanthropists 
 too often it appears regard existence only, not the joy and 
 the exuberance of wholesome sunny life : they plan for a con- 
 gestion of the population that wfill yield them five per cent., and 
 on these terms they undertake to warehouse men and women. 
 
 The apartments thus provided are small, low-pitched rooms, 
 some ten feet square, with what is called ‘ sufficient ventila- 
 tion.* In such places even the most necessary movement of 
 the air must cause a draught. The result is evident : all 
 ventilation is, where possible, prevented ; constitutions then 
 must gradually fail, and doctors’ bills will come to supplement 
 the moderate rent, and bring the cost of model lodgings up to 
 the level of substantial, spacious houses for our artisans. 
 
 There is a minimum of human need in dwellings as in 
 clothes. Places and ages differ, and our model lodgings 
 might he sumptuous for troglodytes and Esquimaux, though 
 quite unsuitable for London workmen, who want homes for 
 comfort and not cabins to confine them. Ordinary day rooms 
 should be sixteen feet, at least, from wall to wall. The 
 fireplace and fender, dining table, with a chair on either side, 
 and room for comfortable movement, make this space im- 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 41 
 
 perative.* In model lodgings movement is impossible, and 
 there are only * sitting ’ rooms. The sleeping rooms will just 
 contain the bed perhaps, but not by any means the necessary 
 air. The lodging-house societies mean well and have done 
 partial good : their efforts so far are deserving of the public 
 thanks. But first endeavours seldom perfectly succeed ; and 
 those most gratefully inclined would fail to thoroughly ap- 
 prove of a benevolent association of slopsellers who should 
 offer cheap and well-made clothes invariably undersized, or, 
 for our latitude, as limited in wholesome shelter as the earliest 
 garments that we read of. 
 
 It is impossible that a few men, or even many, should 
 assume the care of house supply for millions of the London 
 working classes. ‘ During thirty years, up to 1875, private 
 efforts, including those of Lady Burdett Coutts, Sir Sydney 
 Waterlow, and the Peabody Trustees, had housed only 26,000 
 persons, not a great deal more than half the number which is 
 yearly added to the population of London.’ In the work that 
 has been thus accomplished much habitual evil is avoided, 
 and the buildings certainly are genuine and honest. But they 
 are essentially commercial speculations, made, most properly 
 as such, to pay a moderate percentage. This, in household 
 practice and economy, is, however, most distinctly inhumane. 
 A house should never be a thing of commerce to its occupants. 
 It should be made a generous sacrifice to their well being, 
 physical and moral ; and thus, sacred in its character and 
 dedication, it would become an object of affection and respect 
 and loving care. 
 
 * There is about the inner life of a humble home a some- 
 thing one may almost say of sanctity, which is not so 
 apparent, at all events on the surface of things, in splendid 
 mansions. Their splendour, somehow or other, seems a 
 
 * A plan of ‘ an American cheap cottage,’ lately published, shows a ‘living 
 room ’ sixteen feet by eighteen, with a kitchen nearly half this size adjoining. 
 All quite proper, natural, and freehold. 
 
42 
 
 THE ETHICS OP 
 
 matter of course : it is taken for granted both by those who 
 witness it and by those who possess it. It is transmuted 
 money. There is no poetry ; if hearts are moved by it, it is not 
 in that fashion or to that issue that it touches them. Quite 
 different is it with the humble home. There every object seems 
 to have a pleasing history. The care that is taken of it tells 
 you how hard it had been come by. You read in it a little 
 tale of the labour, the frugality, the self-denial expended on 
 its acquisition. It is a revelation of an inner life which you 
 are the better for contemplating and sympathizing with ’ 
 (Rev. F. Barham Zincke). 
 
 Many proprietors have spent large sums in what they think, 
 and certainly intend to be, the improvement of small cottage 
 property on their estates ; but in the great majority of cases 
 they, like the societies, have only made a change of evil. 
 Our old houses were constructed well, according to the habits 
 of the people, and allowing for the state of sanitary science at 
 the time. Thus, when a conflagration was required to clear 
 the wealthy town of London of the plague, the cottages of 
 labouring men would hardly have attained to hygienic excel- 
 lence. They were, however, built to live in, and the working 
 men who planned and built them made the comfort, as they 
 understood it, of the inmates their sole aim. The outer walls 
 were thick, the openings small ; the thatch was ample, thick, 
 and overhanging, keeping out both heat and cold, and throw- 
 ing off the rain. The rooms were tolerably large, but low : in 
 those days height would probably appear to labouring men un- 
 comfortable, and would in winter seem to make the rooms feel 
 cold. Their betters, if they did submit to loftier, larger rooms, 
 had canopies and screens, and had contrived the four-post bed 
 with heavy curtains to obtain the necessary closeness. In those 
 times the country cottager resembled his superiors in folly and 
 in sense ; but now he has no architectural individuality at all : 
 the labourer has no personal control or interest in the build- 
 ing of his house. Some inexperienced draughtsman plans a 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 43 
 
 cheap arrangement of small cells, with nine-inch outer walls 
 to let in cold and damp, and a thin roof of slates and lath 
 and plaster ; just above an inch of rapid heat and cold con- 
 ductors intervening between shivering sleepers and the frosty 
 air. The essential element of these designs is ‘ moderate cost,’ 
 then prettiness of elevation. Comfort and space, security 
 from heat and cold, the very object of a house, are quite 
 secondary matters, and in most cases seem to have escaped 
 attention. There has, however, been of late much care for 
 family morality, and so the moderate-sized bedroom is divided 
 by two thin partitions, and becomes three closets, or there is 
 an attic made of slate and plaster in the roof; the sitting 
 room is but a cupboard, and the place is altogether fitter for 
 a kennel than a home. The cottagers are not allowed to take 
 care of themselves, and, in true artistic rivalry, to build on 
 their own freehold land according to the general progress of 
 intelligence, for comfort and with due regard for health, their 
 plans and work improving year by year as they gain practical 
 experience ; but the proprietor becomes a special providence, 
 and plans these little chambers so that they may bring the 
 calculated interest. His cottages are then by others, and 
 himself perhaps, esteemed to be a boon to working people. 
 What the labourers who occupy them say and feel is quite 
 another matter ; their opinions are not asked, and seldom 
 are their wishes and desires consulted. 
 
 To those who have immediate observation of the present 
 system it is clear that leasehold tenure is the cause of the 
 increasing badness of all building work. The greater showi- 
 ness of modern houses is but a screen or cover-misery. Each 
 year there is more * architectural’ display, and yet more mean- 
 ness. The idea that workmen undirected should reform our 
 system of house-building does perhaps to people of the pre- 
 sent day appear absurd ; but probably they do not recollect 
 or understand that the old houses which were built so ‘ large 
 and free ’ as to become ‘a sort of poetic cultivation’ were 
 
44 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 contrived and built by workmen, and that modern leasehold 
 houses, 4 mean and cramped externals,’ are designed by 
 4 architects ’ and those who imitate their method. We have 
 given to working men the suffrage, and they vote in liberty 
 on our political affairs ; might we not also set them free to 
 build, with genuine artisan intelligence, their own and other 
 people’s houses ? 
 
 Society is often well intentioned, and has shown much 
 patronizing interest in working men ; but, in the midst of its 
 benevolent career, society may well consider whether it is equal 
 to the task of building proper houses for the whole community 
 of workmen. After such consideration they will probably be led 
 to seek some method by which workmen may themselves secure 
 the first necessity of civilized humanity. The poor man’s 
 house, for instance, might be held as freehold, like the rich 
 man’s railway, and be made convertible as easily as railway 
 stock and Three per Cents. These things could be done, if 
 people of the upper classes had distinct perception and a 
 favourable will ; but here they fail. They are exclusive, as 
 they say, conservative; and by their long infliction of bad laws 
 and their support of evil customs, by the cost and intricacy and 
 delay of legal transfers, and by the sad maleficence of leasehold 
 tenure, they have kept, and still they keep, the working classes 
 alienated from the soil and in a state of degradation. We are 
 often told that land is free, is not 4 tied up ’ by any statute. 
 This is only subterfuge. The rich who tell us this can pay the 
 small proportion of law costs upon their own large purchases ; 
 but they are negligently, if not of set purpose, willing that 
 the working classes shall be mulcted in a heavy fine — not less 
 than ten per cent., and frequently much more — if they, in 
 their small way, intrude on the great territorial preserve, and 
 seek to hold, or traffic in, the soil in fee. This all, in feeling 
 and in fact, should be entirely changed, and everything that 
 hinders small investments in house property and freehold 
 land should be removed, that men may spend their money 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 45 
 
 without hindrance on their freehold homes, and make them 
 the chief exhibition of their frugal industry, and of their 
 wealth, in money, in imagination, and in common sense. 
 
 And now that we have carefully discussed the leasehold 
 system, have described its evil influence, and have pointed 
 out the safe and only cure, we may refer appropriately to the 
 interests of art. House building by the people is the first 
 great opportunity for art, and houses for the working classes, 
 built and designed in building by the working men them- 
 selves, have always been its elementary, progressive school. 
 Of architecture as an art the public are entirely ignorant. 
 There is some small scholastic and still smaller antiquarian 
 knowledge, which gentlemen occasionally demonstrate at 
 Institutes and Architectural Societies. With such persons 
 architecture is a luxury, a ‘fine art,’ for superior people to 
 design and criticize; and to amuse these people, and the 
 public who accept their dicta, millions annually are spent 
 in travesties of art. On every other question that affects 
 their daily lives it is supposed that Englishmen are apt to 
 form an independent, practical opinion of their own : the art 
 of building then should hardly be excepted. They reproach 
 the * architectural profession,’ not discerning that their own 
 neglect of homely art has made this counterfeit profession 
 possible. Were the public in like manner to abstain from 
 ordinary reading, and then pride themselves on their superi- 
 ority to literary knowledge, this would be regarded as absurd. 
 Yet men who may for years have little use for literary gifts 
 have daily need of building, and are subject to its influence 
 for good or evil. As the public grow more wise, they will re- 
 pudiate vain ignorance of building work ; they will at all times 
 recognize its dignity, and with delight they will appreciate its 
 value and its power. 
 
 All men of sense and sympathy will spend their money in 
 some way at home, and the first care of every man should be 
 
46 
 
 THE ETHICS OF 
 
 to understand the fabric of his house. To go beyond, and be 
 a viituoso in the arts of Italy and Greece, when everything 
 is barbarous at home, is an absurd neglect of opportunity. 
 In popular domastic architecture with a systematic freehold 
 tenure, art, constantly employed in combination with utility, 
 would be enduring, dignified, and reticent. Men’s intellects 
 when occupied about such work would be ennobled, and the 
 house itself would every year be so improved as to command 
 the higher price spontaneously offered for judicious and artistic 
 work, superior to fashion. 
 
 On the other hand the leasehold system is in art, in policy, 
 and in all things that affect the character of men, an obvious 
 injury and failure ; and it must ere long be superseded. The 
 substantial tenure that will take its place is nothing new 
 or complex, but the earliest, the simplest, and most dignified 
 on record. Abraham, although a stranger, would not * take ’ 
 Machpelah even as a gift, he bought it as a burial-place, and 
 David equally repudiated an uncertain tenure. Our fine 
 medieval buildings were on freehold land, and art has wholly 
 perished from the scene of leasehold tenure. If we return to 
 unsophisticated freeholds art will certainly revive ; each house- 
 holder will seek to make his home more beautiful and excellent, 
 and by this exercise of noble care he will obtain a correspond- 
 ing increment of honour and of self-respect. 
 
 Nothing whatever has been said, or can be said, in rational 
 defence of leasehold tenure. It is a custom wholly destitute of 
 merit, and without beneficence. It is alike injurious to the 
 freeholder, and to those who build, and buy, and rent the 
 houses, and inhabit them. It degrades the moral tone and 
 spirit of the people, it prevents municipal reform, it is a con- 
 stant and increasing injury to the workmen and the poor, and 
 in poetic building art the whole of London is its pattern card: 
 Is then the system worth preserving ? 
 
 The lawyers may be first appealed to for a merciful reply. 
 Their antiquated and unkindly artifices have bewitched house 
 
URBAN LEASEHOLDS. 
 
 47 
 
 property, and, in compassion, they might now resolve to set 
 it free. Those who most largely deal with urban leaseholds 
 will acknowledge all the evil that we have, with prudent re- 
 ticence, described, and will, it may be hoped, devise and 
 publicly promote the remedy. The age is one of law reform, 
 and there are legists of supreme capacity to undertake the 
 work. If such reformers will examine the three Acts for Copy- 
 hold Enfranchisement * they there will find the form and 
 details for a bill to liberate all urban Corporate, and Church, 
 and Charity estates from leasehold bondage. Mr. Gladstone’s 
 Irish Land Act,t and the simple forms for mortgage and con- 
 veyance used by the Irish Church Commissioners, would 
 supply additional suggestions for the scheme. For method 
 and completeness, Mr. Coote’s achievement in the Fines and 
 Recoveries Abolition Act I would also be an excellent example. 
 
 The profession will not grudge so politic and generous a 
 change, but, on consideration, will most gladly welcome it. 
 Although their business costs on leasehold property are large, 
 the gain is not a recompense for the discredit, wholly un- 
 deserved, and for the purposeless responsibility which ‘ lease- 
 hold’ lawyers and conveyancers continually suffer. And 
 besides, these gentlemen well know, by practical experience, 
 that cumbrous documents and heavy costs are ‘ in restraint of 
 trade.’ Stockbrokers would, account their occupation hopelessly 
 oppressed if, for their simple transfers and their small com- 
 mission of one-eighth per cent., there should be substituted 
 various quasi-legal documents, with parchments, and instruc- 
 tions, and attendances, and fees, and corresponding charges. 
 Lawyers are scarcely less discerning than financiers : they 
 will be the first as a profession to repudiate the leasehold 
 system, with its cares and complications and its ill repute, and 
 will, as a Conservative reform, promote its gradual and com- 
 plete extinction. 
 
 * 4 and 5 Viet. c. 33 ; 15 and 16 Viet., c. 51 ; and 21 and 22 Viet. c. 94. 
 f 33 and 34 Viet. e. 46. ♦ 3 and 4 Will. IV. c. 74. 
 

 
 
 
 
‘RELIGIOUS ART. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN T. EMMETT. 
 
 Reprinted from 
 
 THE BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW, OCTOBER 1, 1875. 
 
 JSnbmr : 
 
 IIODDEE AND STOUGHTON 
 
 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
^jr/ hat has never been put in question lias not been proved ; what 
 people have not examined without p>repossessions they have not 
 examined thoroughly . — Diderot . 
 
 Beligion must be for Beligion's sahe ; Morality for Morality ; and 
 Art for Art. The Good and the Holy cannot be the way to the Beau- 
 tiful, any more than the Beautiful can be the way to the Useful, the 
 Good , and the Holy. It leads only to itself . — \ ictor Cousin. 
 
 When the fine arts become a means to some end out of themselves , 
 be that end what it may, the highest or the lowest, such appreciation 
 of art can lead to nothing very good. — Mrs. Jamieson. 
 
‘RELIGIOUS ART. 
 
 O N Sunday, the 5th of October, 1873, the Chapel of King’s 
 College, London, was reopened, after having been deco- 
 rated. £ The Rev. Professor Plumptre occupied the pulpit, and 
 ‘ dealt generally with the subject of the utilization of art in 
 £ Divine worship.’ After a word of congratulation on the altered 
 aspect of the building, the preacher continued : ‘ The wider 
 ‘ teaching of history warns us indeed that a time of much de- 
 ‘ votion to the £esthetic side of culture or religion is not always 
 * a time of high purpose, or of firm resolve. The strange 
 ‘ irony of history has left the word ‘ Renaissance’ to he almost 
 ‘ a byword and a proverb of degeneracy and decay. For old 
 ‘ faith became weak and feeble ; and, so far as that revival of 
 * culture extended, there was no new hope and energy to take 
 ‘ its place. Whatever there was of strength and vigour mould- 
 ‘ ing the thoughts of men and the destinies of nations was found 
 * in the rougher nations of the north ; associated sometimes 
 * with an indifference, sometimes with even a repugnance, to 
 * art as ministering to religion, and condemning its excessive 
 * culture ( and almost any degree of culture has at times been 
 ^thought excessive), as fatal to the manliness and simplicity 
 ,£ of the nation’s life, emasculating while it polished it. We 
 ‘must acknowledge that the Puritan or the Scotch ideal of 
 ‘ human life, though it may be wanting in loveliness and light, 
 * is nobler than the Italian and the French. Art has a beauty 
 
4 
 
 ‘religious art.’ 
 
 * and a glory of her own ; but steadfastness of purpose, patient 
 ‘ endurance, truth in the inward parts, these constitute the 
 
 * true strength of a nation. I hold, and always have taught, 
 
 ‘ that art has her ministry to fulfil in the religious life of man.’ 
 
 The discourse seems fairly to express the feelings and 
 opinions of intelligent and liberal-minded men among the 
 clergy ; and it may perhaps be taken as a measure of their 
 knowledge of the scope and history of art. It is a hopeful 
 demonstration ; and, though the knowledge is defective, the 
 doctrine is erroneous, and the feeling not quite true, the will 
 is evidently good. There is strong desire for improvement; 
 and, in perfect sympathy with this desire, w 7 e now propose to 
 take the reverend Professor and our readers into serious con- 
 ference, and thus endeavour to expound to them the w’ay of 
 art more perfectly. 
 
 We venture first to object to the Professor’s reading of the 
 history of art, and to the lesson he has learnt. It is evident 
 for instance that ‘a time of much devotion to aesthetic culture’ 
 must be 4 a time of high purpose and of firm resolve.’ There 
 is no logical difficulty here ; to aim at esthetic culture is 
 'a high purpose,’ and ‘much devotion’ includes ‘a firm re- 
 « solve.’ If the Professor means that when art is cultivated 
 public spirit fails and patriotism declines, we appeal to the 
 whole range of history against his doctrine. The recorded 
 works of Moses and of Solomon, of Joash and of Nehemiah ; 
 the histories of the Athenian commonwealth and people fight- 
 ing for existence; of Italian cities struggling to maintain their 
 municipal rights ; of France striving for national union ; of 
 England working out its liberties under the long line of 
 Norman, Angevin, and Plantagenet kings ; all of whom were- 
 simultaneously engaged on works of the highest national art, 
 testify against him. The Professor is, however, in idea near 
 the truth, but his form of words has very much misled him. 
 Had he said that a time of high purpose and of firm resolve 
 is not always a time of much devotion to the aesthetic side of 
 
RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 5 
 
 culture or religion, he would have been one step nearer the 
 truth, but still not wholly correct ; for religion has no 
 aesthetic side, any more than it has a clean side, or a 
 grammatical side, or a pecuniary side ; the observance of 
 cleanliness, of syntactical accuracy, and of monetary laws, 
 being only incidentally associated with religious sentiment 
 and practical devotion. Then, as is obvious, ‘the Scotch 
 4 ideal of human life ’ was not originally wanting in the 
 loveliness that art supplies ; the churches at Dunfermline, 
 Glasgow, Jedburgh, and Melrose, show that in Scotland, 
 as elsewhere, art was a national expression of delight in 
 work, and was the exhibition of a character of mind 
 essentially the same as that which raised the glorious 
 medieval monuments of Italy and France. The neglect of 
 aesthetic culture b} 7 the Scotch and by the Puritans was no 
 evidence of superior moral rectitude or of elevated thought ; 
 if this neglect was more than an expediency, local and 
 temporary, it merely showed that, like many since their time, 
 and down to the Professor’s day, the Puritans had not yet 
 learnt to use analysis, and to see the difference between 
 association and identity. They esteemed the Church of 
 Eome erroneous and corrupt in faith and worship ; and, 
 observing that imaginative art, the noblest then in vogue, 
 was used abundantly about religious buildings, they, like 
 the savages who thought a European’s clothes were born 
 upon him, carelessly conceived that art was the aesthetic side 
 or covering of superstition, cognate and identical; and they 
 proscribed it. 
 
 Thus, while the Government of France was striving with 
 too much success to root out 4 simple faith,’ and to expel the 
 Huguenots, the Puritans and Scotch were by an equal error 
 led to extirpate the arts ; and to this day the French and 
 British nations suffer from these follies of their ancestors. 
 Yet, the Professor being witness for ourselves, we still main- 
 tain the Puritan delusion about art and its 4 religious side.’ 
 
6 
 
 ‘ RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 Of late, society of all ranks and creeds and classes has 
 been so grievously deluded by this heresy about 4 Eeligious 
 Art/ that the relative positions, attributes, and powers of art 
 and godliness should, for once, be systematically ascertained. 
 This is our present object ; and after careful demonstration 
 of sound doctrine on aesthetics in relation to religion, we shall 
 show by well-known specimens of recognised ‘ religious art/ 
 how clearly these examples prove our rule. 
 
 Art, first of all, is work ; labour is its foundation, and 
 the human hand its necessary instrument. Eeligion is an 
 aspiration of the soul ; the hands know nothing of it ; they 
 perform their work in strict obedience to the will, what- 
 ever be its motive, whether sacred, non-religious, or profane ; 
 and so their art is totally indifferent ; in it they know not 
 God ; their work is not religious. Thus, a master-workman 
 planning a fine church maybe the subject of religious feeling, 
 or entirely sceptical about a God ; these views do not affect 
 his plan ; the object of the building is prescribed, and he has 
 only to construct the walls and piers accordingly, developing 
 such forms of elevation and interior construction as may best 
 express his ideality and sense of beauty. This is jesthetic 
 architectural design; and, like the handiwork, is merely intel- 
 lectual and imaginative, having no religious side. 
 
 Proceeding one step further, we arrive at what is called 
 the ornamental work, the carving, painting, metal work, and 
 furniture ; these all are efforts of the imagination, and of 
 the adapting mind, directing the experienced and facile hand, 
 entirely without religious doctrine, sentiment, or aspiration. 
 The art workman may be a religious man, the work may be 
 devoted to religious service, but it is still entirely devoid of 
 the religious sentiment. 
 
 Again, in what is called historic painting, and in sculpture, 
 there may be illustrations or fictitious records of prophetic, 
 biblical, and sacred scenes ; but these are efforts of imagina- 
 tion only, not of piety. Pietro Perugino was for many years 
 
‘religious art.’ 
 
 7 
 
 a leading painter of religious subjects, and his pre-Baphaelite 
 art would probably be called strictly religious ; but the painter 
 was by no means what the Church would call devout ; his 
 art was the expression of perception, not of sentiment. Many 
 a scoundrel has depicted, with consummate art, the highest 
 virtues in historic action. No one exceeded Raphael in pour- 
 traying the sweet innocence of childhood, or the virtuous gaze 
 of modest womanhood, but this was no expression of the 
 painter’s moral purity ; the modesty that he pourtrayed was 
 human, not religious, cognisant of man, and not perhaps of 
 God. Or if we turn to Fra Angelico, whose miniatures and 
 larger frescoes are etlierealised so that the human forms 
 appear unfit for mundane use, and only suitable for heavenly 
 spheres, we find no utterance of religion in his paintings. 
 The religious Frate, while he worked with perfect purity of 
 motive, only made his pictures eminent for delicate refine- 
 ment, in conception, and in form and colour. All the holy 
 scenes that he so gracefully imagines and depicts are phan- 
 toms of his mind, not utterances of his heart. His heart was 
 in his work, undoubtedly, but in a mundane, not in a religious 
 sense. The graceful, very striking fresco of the Annunciation 
 on the wall of the San Marco corridor, shows how fervid and 
 direct and simple his imagination was ; but he depicts an act 
 or incident, and not an aspiration. 
 
 Subjectively then we find that art has no ‘ religious side : ’ 
 the artistic workman, whether pious or profane, is equalty 
 unable to develop true religious feeling in his work. His art 
 discovers nothing of his holiness of life or even of desire ; it 
 is not personally 4 religious.’ 
 
 Negatively, however, a man’s religious feeling will affect his 
 work ; it keeps it pure and free from immorality. A painting 
 may be coarse, but this is very much a question of conven- 
 tional and social manners ; coarseness of expression may 
 result from no indelicacy, but from a simple and ingenuous 
 rendering of the customs of the time ; but many an artist’s 
 
8 
 
 i RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 work has been, of absolute intention, vicious and profane. 
 Such tendency is basely human, and too often has been 
 seen in works of art, which are a form of human utterance 
 quite capable of giving full expression to impiety and vice, 
 though not attaining to a like facility in matters of religion. 
 
 Or if we put aside the artist, and consider the effect of art 
 on the beholder, we shall find that its 4 religious side ’ again 
 is undiscoverable. Art has undoubted influence on the mind ; 
 it is a pleasurable impulse to imaginative action, and a 
 healthful means of mental exaltation and development in the 
 sympathetic, sensible admirer ; it charms and glorifies the non- 
 religious side of human nature ; but its very highest works, 
 produced by men of various developments of mental, moral, 
 and religious character, though they may exhibit the pheno- 
 mena of nature in their greatest charm, and include every 
 distinguishable action and expression in the human face and 
 form, leave the religious feelings quite untouched ; the 
 sentiment evoked is not divine, but human in its sympathy 
 and aim. 
 
 Much has been said and written on ‘ old faith,* and of the 
 wonders that it wrought in art. The theory is plausible and 
 popular ; there is a gratifying sense or mild religiousness in 
 the idea that the excellence of our old buildings was an 
 evidence of faith ; and the beholder may with little effort 
 make himself believe that his delight and admiration also are 
 an ‘ act of faith,’ and that, without need of any sacrifice or 
 abnegation, all the merit of the beauty and the noble work 
 that he so well appreciates is efficiently his own, and thus 
 that he is gloriously ‘ religious.’ The fact, however, is that 
 faith has no creative power in art ; it works on very different 
 lines. It does not deal, like art, with what is limited and 
 tangible, but with the infinite and undiscovered. ‘ Old faith ’ 
 did nothing in the way of art ; the old workmen did the 
 work, and then the faithful used it. The old master-work- 
 men built with dignity, simplicity, and ease, and they were 
 
1 RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 9 
 
 able thus to express themselves in stone with infinite delight ; 
 their alert imaginations, unencumbered by the fashionable 
 follies of the world, became an ever-flowing source of art in 
 beautiful variety; the artificer in each material discoursed 
 in his own workman’s language, in accordance with the con- 
 stantly advancing rules of art. All this humanity, variety of 
 thought, and beauty of idea, when it is grandly emphasized by 
 the majestic height, and the contrasted light and shade in 
 a cathedral church, appears impressive and mysterious ; the 
 untutored, unaccustomed mind becomes confused ; and as 
 the building is devoted to religion, and is consecrated and 
 -called holy, the impression given by the holy place is, with- 
 out thought or question, held to be ‘ religious.’ Thus 4 the 
 religious side of art ’ is but a term of place ; it only means 
 that the ‘ religious ’ work of art was seen in church. Pre- 
 cisely the same art might be employed in a casino or a 
 gambling-house, and then with equal reason it would be 
 •esteemed profane. 
 
 A man not wanting in sagacity attends a ritualistic church; 
 the building is correct in style and rubrical arrangements, 
 and adorned with marbles ‘ tastefully ’ arranged ; the reredos 
 is designed by somebody of eminence ; the painted windows 
 and the corresponding decoration on the walls are equally 
 superior in their production; and the whole scene impresses 
 our sagacious devotee. He is at once religious and admiring ; 
 and he imagines, or assumes, without a thought, that his 
 admiring w r onder helps, or is * a side of,’ his religion. Yet 
 these two things have no relationship at all ; the impression 
 he receives is due to ignorance, and is directly kin to the 
 delight of rustics at a village fair. His scope of vision is 
 entirely filled by things that he can apprehend, but is not, by 
 habitual discriminating knowledge, capable of comprehending; 
 and though these objects may in aspect be familiar, yet in 
 meaning they appear mysterious ; and thus, and by associa- 
 tion, they become to him impressive and ‘ religious.’ 
 
10 
 
 ‘ RELIGIOUS AET.’ 
 
 The style of architectural ornament in general modern use 
 is not, as those who talk of ‘ the religious side of art ’ suppose, 
 a thing of beauty, founded on intelligent design ; it is a mere 
 display of costliness, a travesty of art, a vulgar fashion. 
 There are wise men whom it affects, but, most obviously in 
 their weakness, not in their wisdom. It is that branch of 
 luxury which claims the homage of the eye, and most im- 
 presses any region of the individual and social brain which 
 is especially removed from understanding. The buildings of 
 all kinds of architecture which for four hundred years have 
 been the admiration of the age are ‘ornamental,’ not artistic, 
 and our chief illustrations of ‘ the aesthetic side of culture ’ and 
 ‘ religion ’ are but monumental tributes to the deity r of wealth, 
 the lust of eye, and pride of life. 
 
 The term ‘ Religious Art ’ has been accepted by the clergy 
 and the connoisseurs as a superior expression, without pre- 
 vious care to ascertain its meaning, and to find whether in 
 fact it had a rational interpretation. The expression is 
 entirely without meaning. It is a technical or trade term 
 accepted ignorantly by the half-reasoning, inartistic multi- 
 tude ; and is applied particularly to insipid or spasmodic, 
 pietistic painting, and to mechanical and worthless work in 
 architecture and in decoration. The modern German legend- 
 ary paintings of religious subjects, and the trashy art that 
 glorifies a popish shrine ; the tawdry decorations of a ritual- 
 istic church or an advanced dissenting chapel ; churches 
 that inartistic drawing-masters build, in trading imposition 
 on the clergy ; our cathedral restorations ; and the carving 
 and inlaid work that glorify a reredos or a range of stalls, are 
 all, because connected, in some way entirely secular, with 
 sacred history, or with the church, called, generally, by 
 the trade, by clerics, and by connoisseurs, ‘religious art.’ 
 These words, when used as an abbreviated form for ‘ art con- 
 ‘ nected with religion,’ are of course permissible as a trade 
 technicality, just as in the trade ‘ religious bookbinding ’ 
 
c RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 11 
 
 might be used to signify the binding of religions books ; and 
 yet the binder’s art is not esteemed religions, nor do the 
 binder’s morals, or belief about the subject of the books be 
 binds, in any way affect or sanctify bis work ; bis art is 
 wholly secular. 
 
 Again, we bear that ‘ history and doctrine were taught in 
 ‘ form and colour.’ Let us test the operation in a simple way. 
 A painting of a woman carrying a man’s head, just severed, 
 pale and bleeding, tells no tale ; it represents a state of action 
 merely, without progress, and with no scope for interest or 
 sentiment. The head might be the relic of a battle-field or the 
 last subject of the executioner, and may be destined for the 
 surgery or directly for the grave ; but nothing in the painting 
 would instruct the ignorant beholder in the history of Judith, 
 or of the daughter of Herodias. The teaching that, in Bible 
 history, two women were the heroines of such a scene, must 
 come by language, not by art. The picture is an illustration 
 only ; an imaginative, and in most things totally inaccurate, 
 description of the scene ; language alone informs us bow the 
 Baptist’s bead was brought to Herod. Form and colour, in a 
 picture, as distinguished from an unimaginative portraiture 
 of actual fact, cannot teach anything, but only illustrate what 
 has been taught; and this, invariably in sacred incidents, with 
 a most painful diminution of the dignity and interest of the 
 inspired narration. The exalted sentiment of sacred history 
 is never made more manifest by art ; but its events are used 
 as a sublime, and boundless, all-engrossing theme for art to 
 work upon in its inferior way. The story of the Crucifixion 
 is the most impressive in the history of man ; but, in his 
 masterpiece at Venice, Tintoret entirely fails to impress the 
 intelligent beholder with religious awe. The feeling is of 
 admiration, not of gratitude ; and ‘ watchers ’ say, ‘ How fine 
 the picture 4 is ; ’ not 4 Truly this man was the Son of God.’ 
 
 The pictures, carvings, and mosaics in the early Christian 
 churches, though incapable of teaching, were very suitable 
 
12 
 
 ‘ RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 as decorations. They were historical, or legendary, as ac- 
 cepted by the Church, and gave ample opportunity for the 
 display of incident, and for the imaginative use of form and 
 colour ; they became artistic illustrations of Church history 
 and doctrine, but not independent or prevenient instructors. 
 Had instruction been their object they would no doubt have 
 been made, historically, more correct ; whereas we find that 
 they most scrupulously followed all the errors, failures, and 
 excesses of the accepted doctrines, both of fact and faith. 
 
 This impotence of art is not confined to its ‘religious side 
 in secular affairs its incapacity is equally complete. A young 
 child, entirely ignorant of history and of implements of war, 
 might be amazed by the two paintings of ‘ The Death of 
 ‘ Nelson ’ and ‘ The Meeting after Waterloo;’ but, left to them 
 alone, an incident, instead of history, is in each case presented 
 to his observation. What it refers to, what it means, beyond 
 the instant fact, whence it arose, and what it tends to, are 
 entirely beyond his present means of knowledge, and beyond 
 the descriptive power of the painter’s art. 
 
 Or if we turn to earlier efforts of ‘ Religious Art,’ and seek 
 for teaching in 4 impressive symbolism,’ we are similarly 
 unsuccessful. Even the Cross itself is, to an ignorant be- 
 holder, nothing but two harshly intersecting beams of wood ; 
 and, failing the Gospel, it would be entirely without a 
 doctrine. But when the story of the Crucifixion has been 
 heard and learnt, the Cross may be, to those unhappy people 
 who discover nothing better for the purpose, of some use as 
 a memento of the Saviour ; and on buildings it is properly 
 exhibited to mark their dedication to religious services. The 
 symbols used in early Christian sculpture of themselves 
 taught nothing, and their tendenc} r , as in most cases of 
 symbolic utterance, was to obscure the original idea ; they 
 were the temporary, insufficient substitutes for written words 
 among artistic people not well conversant with letters and 
 orthography. But the Alpha and Omega, a esica or a Fish, 
 
‘religious art.’ 
 
 13 
 
 a ‘ Dolium ’ or a Dove, could never teach ; and being only 
 symbols of a fact or doctrine, not its perfect utterance, they 
 must, in modern times, he infinitely less inrpressive than 
 the open Bible to an intelligent, sound-minded devotee. Im- 
 pression from such signs, and from mechanical mementoes, 
 might appear to indicate a state of mind not altogether 
 sound. Those only who are out of health are inwardly 
 affected by the sight of an apothecary’s symbols ; men of 
 vigour recognize them only as abbreviations, to relieve the 
 memory, and save some time. 
 
 The artistic and ‘ religious ’ use of what are called the sacred 
 emblems is a constant source of clerical and popular delusion. 
 The word ‘ sacred ’ is ambiguous, and may be either only 
 technical, or essentially religious, in its meaning and its use. 
 In mundane sciences such different meanings have their own 
 expressive words ; a druggist’s labels are not said to be 
 medicinal, but medical ; nor is the zodiac now declared to be 
 celestial, but merely astronomical. The technically 4 sacred 7 
 emblems have in modern use no greater sanctity than type in 
 capitals, to indicate some title of the Deity ; they are a kind 
 of hieroglyphic signs that were of use perhaps when people 
 could not read ; but now they are the stock-in-trade of ‘sacred 7 
 architects to supplement their absolute artistic incapacity, 
 and serve instead of true artistic work. The constant 
 exhibition of these common forms has no religious influence, 
 but only tends to make the world believe that ‘art, as 
 ‘ ministering to religion,’ is a composite of trivialities. The 
 progress of religious knowledge has deprived these cabalistic 
 signs of any possible utility ; the doctrine signified is better 
 understood than the recondite emblems ; and in the public 
 eye an ‘ altar ’ with its reredos and ‘ impressive ’ symbolism 
 is allied with the insignia that conjurors and wizards use to 
 impress their wondering spectators. To all well-instructed, 
 thoughtful minds, such base employment and association of 
 the emblems of our Lord’s last Passover and passion are at 
 once revolting and profane. 
 
14 
 
 4 RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 Proceeding then to architecture, we are told that churches, 
 abbeys, and cathedrals are ‘ religious art,’ and so in the artistic 
 kingdom are superior. These religious buildings are, however, 
 in their art entirely secular ; their uses are religious, but the 
 art that made them for their use is non-religious. The men 
 who do the work are very seldom more religious than the 
 common world, and all their building-work is purely mundane. 
 A fine church may be in dignity and beauty an appropriate 
 scene for great religious congregations, and for devotion mani- 
 fested publicly in prayer and praise; but this gives no religion 
 to the art that made the building. Worship is not vicarious; 
 and all that the devoutest congregation can achieve in public 
 service will not make the art that built the church religious. 
 
 Still, many a church is solemnly impressive, and is felt to 
 elevate and dignify the mind ; but these effects are not reli- 
 giousness. The feelings and the sentiments are simply human ; 
 yet they are not to be accounted ‘ of the world.’ Humanity 
 in modern times has in the way of art become so totally 
 debased ; society has, owing to its unwise degradation of the 
 workman, the sole source of art, become so mean in all 
 its outward and material displays, that the old medieval 
 workmen’s art may well appear to persons in superior society 
 to be ‘ impressively ’ above the level of their aspirations and 
 association. The noblest efforts of imaginative art always 
 impress by their affinity with what we know of the Creator’s 
 mind, and by their harmony with His own glorious works. 
 The choir at Westminster must be an impressive scene to 
 every man who has not had his sense of dignity in human 
 handiwork entirely stamped out by the determined rush of 
 folly that delights the richer classes of the present day ; but 
 the impression is not in the slightest sense religious. All the 
 medieval work which now it is so much the fashion to admire 
 in churches and cathedrals is but the remnant or memento 
 of an art entirely secular, and which, when working men 
 were not degraded, was ubiquitous and universal. 
 
‘ RELIGIOUS ART. 
 
 15 
 
 A church or a cathedral may of course he popularly called 
 religious, since it has been built for and specially devoted to 
 religious uses, and conforms to the routine of clerical devo- 
 tion. But, with all this high ecclesiastical conformity, no 
 religious building has a sacred influence; or, for instance, has 
 been known to cause a publican to pray for mercy, or in- 
 duced a swindling bankrupt to devote his life and energies to 
 honest restitution. These are low tests, perhaps, but yet of 
 very general application ; and such good results, if they existed, 
 might be quickly ascertained. 
 
 And yet the world is not, in practice, inconsistent when it 
 calls church architecture of the modern type religious. Its 
 .own faith is distinctly in the money power ; and as this power 
 is the guide, the most efficient motive, and the acknowledged 
 patron of society, its demonstrations, grossly inartistic, are 
 accepted as a providence ; and every luxurious environment 
 is held to be at once a gift from, and a tribute to, the ruling 
 .deity. In furniture, and dress, and house, and equipage, the 
 ■god of money rules ; and when, in church, the trash that 
 architects of eminence display seems to have cost much 
 •money, its ‘ religious ’ character becomes apparent to society 
 both clerical and lay. Here then we have the true ‘ religious 
 art,’ the art of luxury, and not of mind ; and here we find a 
 popular religion that may have what Dr. Plumptre says is 
 ,an ‘ aesthetic side.’ In reference to true religion and to 
 art the expression is absurd, but it is well suited for the 
 architectural design and decoration of King’s College Chapel. 
 The idea that such common manufacture is religious, would 
 be open to well-founded ridicule. It happens that a trades- 
 man had instructions thus to daub the place where certain 
 students say their prayers ; and if this accident of place gives 
 the trade decoration a 4 religious side,’ another tradesman 
 .equally has laid religious water-pipes to heat the place withal. 
 
 In painting also there is no religious side. A picture may 
 be made to represent ideally events in sacred history, but it 
 
16 
 
 ‘religious art.’ 
 
 has no religious influence on the mind, nor is the painter able 
 to express religious sentiment or motive in the human counte- 
 nance. Beligion does not show itself in facial expression;* it 
 has pleased Heaven in this respect to shield the heart of man 
 from human eye; and the religious nature of each son of man 
 is visible to God alone, who is his judge. The sentiments 
 of godly life are therefore inexpressible and unexpressed by 
 the spontaneous and uncontrollable revolt of facial muscles. 
 Thus a man’s religion becomes evident to others only by his 
 voluntary act ; he can address the Almighty publicly in 
 speech, or he can demonstrate religious feeling by beneficence 
 to men, but with his God his prayers may always be in secret. 
 
 For merely human sentiments there are abundant means 
 of facial utterance, but the religious sentiment is totally ex- 
 pressionless. If we suppose a woman in an agony of fear 
 striving to pray, we feel at once that as she prays the agony 
 subsides, and a subduing influence, a half or totally abstracted 
 calm, brings all the features into order, and the face is firm 
 and serious, and free from sadness. Were it otherwise, the 
 prayer would evidently be untrue, a cry of fear, revealing tor- 
 ment ; but true prayer, the prayer of faith, is calm and confi- 
 dent ; it makes man godlike. 
 
 The Greek sculptors fully recognised this sacred quality of 
 quietude and calm ; and so to all their statues of the gods 
 they gave an aspect of supreme and serious, powerful repose. 
 This constant principle of ancient art was doubtless reasoned 
 out before it was established. The subjective calm result- 
 ing from habitual converse with the Deity may have induced 
 the ancient carvers to believe that such repose was but a 
 
 ‘ A bumble kneeling posture, with the bands upturned and palms 
 ‘joined, appears to us, from long babit, a gesture so appropriate to de- 
 ‘ votion that it miglit be thought to be innate ; but I have not met with 
 ‘any evidence to this effect with the various extra-European races of 
 ‘mankind. It is not probable that either the uplifting of the eyes, or 
 ‘ the joining of the open hands under the influence of devotional feelings, 
 ‘are innate or truly expressive actions.’ (Darwin, ‘Expression of the 
 ‘ Emotions,’ pp. 220, 221). 
 
‘religious art.’ 
 
 17 
 
 reflex of the quality that most distinguished the unseen, 
 superior influences that exerted such an all-subduing power 
 in the minds of men. 
 
 The medieval and renaissance painters strove to make theii 
 saints look pious, hut the result was only a grimace. The 
 drooping eyelid and the head leaning on one side, together 
 giving very much the expression of a goose, were an accepted 
 token of religiousness ; and from the unnatural upward 
 straining of the eyes it seemed that heaven lay for each holy 
 person through his os frontis. Such torture of the features 
 was the mark of ecstasy ; and worldly people, witnessing the 
 ocular condition of the saints, might well he thankful for the 
 intercession and vicarious experience of the subjects of such 
 painful sanctity. This strange, grotesque achievement in the 
 field of art is due to clerical demand ; it is essentially the 
 ‘ religious ’ element, or the ecclesiastical ; the former title 
 being mere pretence, the latter indicating the true origin of 
 the absurdity. 
 
 This sort of thing it is that makes unlearned, inexperienced 
 men regard a specimen of what is called religious art as 
 something of a mystery, apart from reason, and a thing to be 
 accepted reverently as revealing the impossible. But true art 
 is simple and veracious ; and men strong in art have gene- 
 rally saved themselves from clerical exaggeration. Being 
 satisfied to hold the truth, and keep within artistic possi- 
 bilities, they manifest religiousness, as it can only be dis- 
 covered to our human observation, by the outward act ; and, 
 even without incident or action, the Sistine Madonna, with her 
 straight, simple outlook, and her two full eyes, is more 
 suggestive of religiousness and heaven than the Saint 
 Catherine at Trafalgar Square, with her distorted glance, and 
 the conventional and pious droop of head. 
 
 The fallacy about religiousness in art is principally due to 
 the pernicious patronage that clerics have for several cen- 
 turies been wont to exercise, or to direct. Under this in- 
 
18 
 
 i RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 fluence the old painters, down to Raphael, tried very hard and 
 perseveringly to get some evidence of godliness into the 
 features of their godly men. They had for many years been 
 widening and elevating the capabilities of art; they had 
 discovered how to give expression to the face, but had not 
 ascertained the natural limit of this power ; and so, in striving 
 to extend it, they became grotesque. 
 
 In later times the ecstatic style of painting was a common 
 manufacture of church furniture, an appropriate exhibition 
 of the * ecclesiastical element ’ or 4 the religious side of art.’ 
 The Bolognese eclectic school of painting, with its 4 Ecce 
 4 Homos’ and Madonnas, its pictorial drivel about Saint 
 Sebastian and Saint Francis, furnishes abundant specimens 
 of this bad work ; and in the clerico-religious world no class 
 of pictures has been more in vogue. 
 
 In pictures that profess to represent in a poetic way events 
 in Scripture history, our Saviour often is a necessary figure 
 for the action of the piece ; but this gives no religious life or 
 influence to the work. A man might gaze for half his life on 
 pictures of the 4 Crucifixion,’ and be totally insensible of any 
 love for Christ or gratitude for His great sacrifice, His holy 
 teaching, and His perfect life. Such pictures, and the plays 
 at Ober-Ammergau, are the poetic records or mementoes of 
 historical events. There may be mental influence in the 
 painter’s subtle skill, or in the actor’s passionate impersona- 
 tion, but this influence is entirely undevotional and non- 
 religious. There is a proper mental interest and sympathy 
 and admiration for the able artist, but what is taken for 
 religious sentiment is a vibration only of the nerves, which, 
 as in fright, or in recovery from fear, has no persistent 
 spiritual influence. The shock is held in memory only, not in 
 heart ; and even if some tears should flow, they are, 4 as tears 
 * shed at a tragedy : before the curtain has well fallen they are 
 4 dried up, and the heart remains where it was.’ To those, 
 however, who enact the various parts of the dramatic scene, or 
 
‘ RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 19 
 
 do the work of painting, such religious plays and pictures 
 may be made a noble stimulus. The seriousness and the 
 solemnity of scriptural incidents are the extreme removes 
 from scenes and sentiments of vanity and vice, and are a pure 
 and dignified association for the mind of the devoted artist. 
 This is their only excellence ; and until it can be shown that 
 the custodians of the chief galleries of religious art grow 
 marvellously in grace under the influence of their charge, it 
 would be well to end the trifling with a word of serious im- 
 port, and to restrict the word ‘ religious ’ to its natural use 
 and proper meaning. 
 
 But there are pictures of another class, in which there is 
 an absolute inversion of the principle of art. The painter has 
 no care for, no devotion to his art ; his only care is that the 
 religious sentiment, and art, shall be devoted and subservient 
 to himself. In pictures of this class the sacred subject is not 
 made an elevating influence, a stimulus for dignified artistic 
 phantasy; these works of ‘sacred art’ are but trade clap- 
 traps made to catch the silly, sanctimonious multitude, 
 and to induce them foolishly to pay their monetary tribute 
 to the shrewd artificer, or to some enterprising speculator in 
 artistic wares. This is the almost universal type ; it is a 
 manufacture, done entirely in the spirit of the age ; we are 
 a manufacturing people. 
 
 At Dore’s Bond Street show-rooms of ‘ religious art ’ is 
 an extensive picture, called ‘ Christ leaving the Prsetorium.’ 
 This greatly advertised presentment is an unmeaning show 
 of clothes, and heads, and limbs, without a semblance of con- 
 structive or dramatic power, a breath of creative imagina- 
 tion, a sentiment of beauty, or an element of grace. There is 
 no light and shade, but only foggy dulness and obscurity, 
 and colouring that rivals London in November. In the 
 centre of the picture is a frail slender figure with a feeble 
 face ; not sorrowful, but only pitiable, for its misery is evi- 
 dently due to weakness more than to affliction. This poor 
 
20 
 
 ‘religious art.’ 
 
 figure has been dressed in white, after the manner of a 
 melodrama ; and, that it may he prominently seen, the fog 
 has cleared away just at the proper time and place. Bemove 
 the crown of thorns, and make the venue upon Bamsgate 
 sands, and this ‘ religious ’ figure is a lady bather, pale, and 
 in a state of feeble nervous desperation, as she gingerly steps 
 down into the sea ; or add some flowers to the crown, and we 
 might recognise Ophelia, or, with becoming dress, the Lucia 
 of the operatic stage. The value of the picture is entirely in 
 the name : that is ‘religious,’ and the religious world, who 
 know the name of Christ, are gratified to see a form which 
 they are told ideally describes Him. Their uneducated, 
 inartistic senses are entranced and charmed by the weak, 
 washy-looking whiteness of the figure ; and as they find it 
 pleasantly mysterious, and incomprehensible, and strange, 
 they are ‘ impressed ; ’ and so their visit half consoles them 
 for the piously-forbidden, though more innocent, delights of an 
 Adelphi melodrama or a spectacular Shakesperian play. All 
 that is wanting is a startling terror, like the unexpected 
 movement of the Commandatore or Hermione ; and a soft, sym- 
 pathetic, nervous tremolo of muffled harps and muted violins. 
 
 In a neighbouring gallery there also used to be exhibited 
 a ‘ marvellous picture,’ called ‘ The Shadow of Death ; ’ and in 
 the ‘ history of the picture ’ we were told with what great 
 pains the artist had, literally, gone about to make a work 
 that should most accurately represent ‘ the Son and Daughter 
 ‘ of the House of David.’ Of course these individualities are 
 in some manner realised in every mental portrait gallery ; 
 and in a painting where the outward life and personality 
 of Christ are said to be the ruling elements, and the found- 
 ation of the w r ork, it might be expected that an enduring 
 energy of mind and nerve would be in some way indicated in 
 His outward form. But in the figure Mr. Hunt has drawn 
 there is no energy of body or of mind ; the lower limbs are 
 muscular, and yet the pose and movement are so feeble and 
 
‘religious art.’ 
 
 21 
 
 devoid of will as to suggest paralysis ; the slender arms are 
 not in action, but are spreading heedlessly in space, without 
 intention or control ; the face is equally devoid of energy, 
 intelligence, and human sympathy. Never were mental 
 weakness and the absolute deficiency of moral power more 
 ably shown ; fallen humanity could have little hope from 
 such a delicate and dainty personage. The forty days and 
 forty nights of wandering in the wilderness, and the effective 
 power of will and limb experienced by the money-changers, are 
 entirely inconsistent with this feeble presence. This, then, is 
 not the Christ ; the eyes of all would never have been fas- 
 tened on an aspect such as this ; here is no possibility of 
 any Saviour of the world ; no one would put his trust in such 
 a paragon of imbecility. 
 
 The whole figure is the very opposite of the historic Christ. 
 The Saviour could have been no pretty weakling ; but, as a 
 man destined to sorrow, ITe would be firm of countenance, 
 with majesty, and power, and gentleness united in His aspect. 
 His eyes would not be soft and weak, and full of self-compla- 
 cency, but bright, beaming with active sympathy for human 
 nature, and capable of insight into power as well as into 
 weakness. His mouth and lips, 4 taught by the wisdom of 
 4 His heart,’ would be finely moulded, for the utterance of 
 4 gracious words ’ or of most bitter scorn. His frame and 
 constitution must have been exceptionally strong, and His 
 arms muscular, for He was known as an efficient workman, 
 not a makebelieve — 4 The carpenter ’ whom all could recognise, 
 a Man whom fasting, sorrow, and all human care, could not 
 break down. We have no record of a failure of His health or 
 energy ; he could sleep soundly in a storm at sea, and would 
 rise up a 4 a great while before day’ or 4 continue all night in 
 4 prayer ; ’ and at the end, the day of triumph, the long night 
 of watching, and the thrice-repeated trial were passed through 
 without apparently a moment’s rest. Yet at the very last 
 His mind was clear, His self-possession was maintained, and 
 
22 
 
 ‘eeligious aet.’ 
 
 thus His thoughtfulness for others was supreme. ‘ Woman,. 
 
 ‘ behold thy son;’ and then, * Behold thy mother.’ were con- 
 sidered and expressed before £ I thirst.’ This, it is clear, is 
 not the man that Mr. Hunt has painted ; by the title of 
 the picture it would seem that his chief care has been about 
 the shadow, not with the impersonation, and he thus has 
 sacrificed substantial effort for a very shadowy success. 
 
 If we then turn to Mary, who at the time when Jesus 
 ‘ began to he about thirty years of age,’ must have been 
 from forty-five to fifty, and in figure and complexion an 
 old woman; poor and a widow, she would probably have 
 dressed with studious sobriety. But the unwrinkled arm and 
 beautifully moulded hands of this young figure indicate 
 the age of budding, blooming womanhood ; and thus the 
 mother seems, and so pictorially is, the junior of the son. 
 The ivory chest and golden crown are curious solecisms ; 
 the Wise Men would hardly bring a full-sized crown to 
 offer to a baby king. Their offering was of course in cur- 
 rency, acceptable by king and by the humblest occupant of 
 the inn stable ; and, as a delicate refinement, frankincense 
 and myrrh were added, in the true oriental, courtly, custo- 
 mary way. The gold was doubtless promptly used to purchase 
 household comforts, or for sustenance in Egypt, and not 
 made the worship and encumbrance of a life. Such hoarding 
 would have been entirely inconsistent with Christ’s doctrine 
 about business and benevolence. He would not leave the trea- 
 sure in a box for thirty years, but would have ‘put it with 
 ‘the exchangers, that at his coming,’ — on demand, — ‘he might 
 ‘have received his own with usury;’ or, still more likely, would 
 have lovingly addressed to Mary His Divine but ‘ sorrowful ’ 
 command, ‘Go sell that thou hast, and distribute to the poor.’ 
 The ‘ coffer,’ with its veil or silken drapery, and its wonder- 
 ful contents, is quite sufficient to destroy all claim to make 
 this scene an episode in the pre-missionary life of Christ ; 
 the picture is indeed a strong negation of its own reported 
 
‘ RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 23 
 
 incident and aim. As to the Shadow, this young gentle- 
 woman would not he so easily distracted from her mammon 
 worship by a noiseless apparition ; nor would she in a moment 
 recognise its fleeting form ; nor yet again connect its incon- 
 sistent outline with the notion of a figure on a cross. 
 
 It seems that Mr. Hunt has fallen into the very common 
 error of esteeming art to be didactic. ‘The primary object 
 ‘ of Art,’ his pamphlet says, ‘ is to teach the lesson of the 
 ‘ incident pourtrayed.’ But art can teach no lesson, save that 
 it cannot teach ; in whatever kind of handiwork teaching begins 
 there art ends ; the two things may be mingled in one work, 
 as in an illuminated volume, hut they are then alternate exhi- 
 bitions, not combined and mutually transfused essences ; the 
 pictures are not teachings, hut illuminations, which illustrate 
 or throw light upon the teaching. Mr. Hunt we must prefer 
 to call an artist, not a teacher; he can express himself in 
 colour and in form with vigour, carefulness, and beauty ; hut 
 as an archaeologist his show of detail, which he seems to call 
 his teaching, is grotesque, and as a homilist the doctrine of 
 his pamphlet is degrading and unsound. ‘ The picture,’ it is 
 said, ‘ should he its own expositor,’ and then there follow forty 
 pages of elaborate exposition, which reveal in every word the 
 artist’s failure to expound. The picture is not, as it seems 
 that many fear, in any ‘ danger of vulgarising truth by 
 * realism ; ’ it is essentially imreal. There are some proper- 
 ties most carefully described, just as, in words, a mechanician 
 might recite them for a patent ; but this gives no realism to 
 the picture ; on the contrary, it must be evident that the 
 pictorial prominence, and the importance given to the tools, 
 destroys reality. No one in presence of humanity and life 
 would, were his mind at ease, have casual instruments of 
 handicraft impressed so strongly on his mind that their strict 
 portraiture should be essential to the memory and recognition 
 of the scene. All these details do not produce artistic realism; 
 they are only curiosities, pictorial toys, which rank in art 
 
24 
 
 £ RELIGIOUS ART. 
 
 with little models of mechanical contrivances that charm 
 small children; or at most they are an object lesson, or a 
 diagram, with no ideal or imaginative art. 
 
 But art when truly realistic is not abjectly mechanical. 
 The imagination is employed to regulate the scene, to give 
 each object its due, relative importance, and to bring some 
 character and sentiment into the picture. But this Shadow 
 picture has no character or sentiment at all. The pamphlet 
 and some petty, babyish contrivances together make it under- 
 stood that there is something meant by all the show ; without 
 these aids, the idea that these two inconsistent figures are the 
 Christ and Mary is the last that would occur to the spectator’s 
 mind. The man in no sense represents the ‘ Christ in full man- 
 * hood, enduring the burden of common toil; ’ he is ‘not gaining 
 ‘His bread by the sweat of His face;’ and there is nothing 
 in the picture that exhibits either ‘ the dignity of labour ’ 
 or ‘ the duty of the workman.’ The man is lazy and incap- 
 able, negligent of duty, vain, feeble-minded, and undignified. 
 
 The ‘ marvellous ’ figure then is not the Christ. This we 
 may say at once, to save the printer from a charge of t} 7 po- 
 graphical irreverence ; and, dropping the prophetic name, 
 ‘ The carpenter ’ is clearly not a real working man. His 
 shop is quite untradesmanlike ; the shavings are not whisked 
 away from his chief place of movement ; there is no ‘ sweat 
 ‘ upon his face,’ no powdering of sawdust on his beard and 
 linen cloth. His attitude is not the vigorous station of a man 
 just resting from his handiwork for relaxation, or, as some 
 pretend, ‘ for prayer.’ In either case the feet would be apart, 
 to give a wider base ; the arms would be stretched out or 
 thrown aloft with animated impulse; and the calm, confident, 
 determined face would be an index of the workman’s nervous 
 energy, or of that power in faith and works that gives the 
 suppliant commanding power in prayer. But here there is no 
 confidence or power at all, but only whining feebleness ; the 
 features, the expression, and the figure being by the artist well 
 
‘ EELIGIOUS AET.’ 
 
 25 
 
 assorted and combined. The feet and legs are overlapped as 
 if one foot were suffering from a splinter or a thorn, and so 
 f he figure has a wounded and unstable look, and, as the brain- 
 less head has gone wool-gathering, will surely fall. The arms 
 and hands are posed, quite incorrectly, to suggest a crucifixion, 
 and the head inclines a little, and the fingers crumple down 
 to aid the imitation. This condition of the fingers is attri- 
 buted to cramp from strenuous work, which proves the man 
 to be no carpenter at all. Only a novice at the tools would 
 suffer from such muscular contraction ; the hands of every 
 working carpenter show perfect flexibility. Still, any man 
 that used the handle which our artist has invented for a 
 ‘ pulling ’ saw would find his fingers very much in difficulty ; 
 the queer handle evidently will not pull ; there is no hold or 
 grip for pulling motion. This may possibly account for 
 the small quantity of work that has been done, and for the 
 readiness to give up work ‘ for prayer ’ before the brow 
 and the neat figure had become defiled with dust or perspira- 
 tion. The strange 4 pulling saw,’ and the ‘religious side ’ of 
 our sham workman’s art are however but a blind; the 
 man has nothing of the workman’s jnethod and experi- 
 ence; the board is placed the wrong way on the stool. A real 
 workman would have trailed the timber from the door on to 
 the stool, so that the sun would be behind him, and the window 
 light in front; and not, quite needlessly, have brought the 
 timber past the stool, and then turned round to w T ork with the 
 low-setting sun directly in his eyes. Moreover, ‘at the hour 
 ‘ of evening prayer,’ he would have had his right hand, not his 
 left hand, next the saw ; the carpenter is clearly an impostor. 
 
 So much for the chief figure in the group. The woman — 
 we can give no name — is admirably drawn ; and, also ‘ at the 
 ‘ time of evening prayer,’ is worshipping the gold — a politic 
 appeal to British sympathy. Her ivory coffer is a miracle in 
 ivory ware ; carved, it is said, ‘ in imitation of a capital at 
 ‘ Persepolis ; ’ a strange original for ivory carving. The 
 
26 
 
 ‘ RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 lining of the box, and what is called the 4 veil,’ are bright and 
 clean as if just made, which is suspicious ; and the fact of so 
 much wealth in metal and in art appearing in an open shop, 
 supposed to be a carpenter’s, seems to suggest inquiry. 
 These are the obvious facts ; but we are told that while the 
 woman was engaged in 4 worship,’ or examining the box and 
 its contents, her rapt attention was distracted by the fleeting 
 shadow on the wall, 4 The Shadow of the Cross.’ The rail 
 and rack of tools have, it is true, been cleverly arranged cross- 
 wise; but yet the shadow would suggest no thought or notion of 
 a crucifixion, where the arms would be quite straight and tense, 
 not curved and loose, like those belonging to this 4 Shadow,’ 
 not 4 of Death,’ but, on the contrary, of very easy life. 
 
 Again, the mark upon the wall is actually not a shadow, 
 but a stain. The effect of shadow at that distance is not to 
 obliterate the softer local colour, but to reveal it. In bright 
 sunlight tender colour is made indistinct by the sharp cross 
 reflections of the multitudinous irregularities of surface ; and 
 we practically find that when such tints are nearly worn 
 awa) r , they are most easily discovered under a shadow. The 
 want of adequate penumbra is another evidence that Mr. 
 Hunt is hardly well versed in sciology. 
 
 The outline then is not a shadow, but a fictitious semblance 
 made to please the childish public. It supplies a dismal, and 
 sensational, and sanctimonious name to a production which 
 is meant for 4 the religious side ’ of the : art ’ market. The 
 idea is similar in value and effect to that of 4 Pepper’s Ghost,’ 
 or of the ‘Babbit on the Wall;’ but in merit and complete- 
 ness it is much below the one, and, in simplicity and truthful 
 innocence, inferior to the other. 
 
 Its influence, whatever this may be, is solely bad. It 
 lowers sacred subjects, and the associations of religion, to 
 the level of a galanti-show ; and makes its solemn verities 
 the light amusement, or the spasmodic stimulant, of the most 
 trivial-minded portion of mankind. No sadder sight has 
 
‘religious art.’ 
 
 27 
 
 recently been seen than the deluded gazers who from noon to 
 evening filled the gallery to stare at, and become ‘ impressed ’ 
 by, this so greatly advertised and ‘ marvellous painting.’ 
 
 The book of explanation confidently says that ‘ the picture 
 ‘ tells its own tale.’ The tale £ the Shadow ’ tells us is an 
 obvious and very foolish fiction. But if we clear the picture 
 of the shadow trick, what kind of story will it then suggest ? 
 The unprompted and intelligent beholder, when considering 
 the picture, would at once become aware of something 
 wrong. The. figures and the properties are inconsistent. 
 The shop would soon be felt to be a sham ; but, on the other 
 hand, the crown of gold and the enamel cloisonne are evident 
 realities. These are the woman’s care ; but how did she 
 become possessed of such a treasure ? Like a quick-witted 
 woman, she is conscious of the natural inquiry, and her face 
 is sharply turned away. Who is she ? Evidently not the 
 mother of the seeming carpenter. Her bejewelled, beautifully 
 rounded arm ; her well-conditioned, exquisitely graceful form, 
 an effort of the painter’s art fit to arouse the jealousy of 
 Baphael when at his best ; her dainty dress, not modestly 
 subdued in colour into seeming sympathy with widowhood, 
 but studiously bright and gay, all tell a tale quite different 
 from the lesson that the picture is supposed to teach. The 
 woman cannot be the sorrowing and dependent mother of the 
 man ; her age, whatever be their possible relationship, is 
 certainly not greater than that of her companion. And then 
 her active figure ; her firm arms and hands, speaking of will 
 and resolution to the fingers’ ends ; and her intelligence and 
 promptitude to find a plausible excuse to screen her face, 
 make it quite evident that of the pair she is the mistress, and 
 that the feeble-minded youth is but a parasite, an abject tool. 
 His well-developed lower limbs might on occasion suit a 
 Mercury ; his drapery and waistband show the woman’s 
 influence and pretty taste ; the upper limbs, and the light, 
 unenduring frame are fit for active promptitude, but not for 
 
28 
 
 ‘RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 work. Those arms and hands have never been the honest 
 sole dependence of this well- conditioned pair ; work with 
 this carpenter is mere pretence, a much needed, but an 
 insufficient covering for his ignominy. His weak, zany face 
 is full of self-complacency and affectation, destitute of sterling 
 character ; a proper climax to a figure that is all to pieces, 
 a complete presentment of a moral ruin, naked, but not 
 ashamed ; a very ‘ marvellous picture.’ 
 
 Nothing more, religiously, pernicious could be undertaken 
 than the general dispersion throughout England of engravings 
 of this work ; its chief tendency would be to vilify the Saviour 
 in the eyes of men. The Eomish clergy made Him in their 
 ‘ sacred ’ pictures everything that is describable of human 
 weakness, ‘ a sheep,’ exclusively intended ‘ for the slaughter ;’ 
 and this painting, by its ‘ teaching,’ could but serve to justify 
 the Jews, and to explain, with creditable reason, the historic 
 fact that Jesus ‘was rejected and despised of men.’ 
 
 A Christ is quite beyond the reach of art ; the finite and 
 restricted human mind and hand cannot efficiently describe 
 Divinity in human form. The old artists, Fra Angelico and 
 Francia and others, made their Christs impassionate abstrac- 
 tions, limitedly human, since they could not reach the humanly 
 divine. They never thought of painting Jesus ‘ as He actually 
 ‘ lived ; ’ but, with a lyric or factitious sentiment, they either 
 truthfully pourtrayed their own ideal of a sacred person or a 
 sacred scene, or they adopted the conventional and ecclesias- 
 tical idea, and then used their artistic faculty to illustrate the 
 clerico-historic theme; their art was fanciful, and not religious. 
 
 But though a painting is no act of faith, nor doctrinal, nor 
 yet dogmatic, it arouses sympathy with the accomplished 
 truthful artist as a workman ; this is its object. Art is in 
 its origin divine ; its spirit brings the workman into apposi- 
 tion with the Almighty Worker, and we are led to glorify the 
 heavenly Creator while rejoicing in His mundane emanation. 
 This is the religious opportunity of art : by noble, loving 
 
‘religious art.’ 
 
 29 
 
 sympathy it leads men into glorious association ; and as they 
 recognise the claim of true imaginative work, they reverence 
 and love the workman, and are thus by human ‘ charity ’ 
 raised above ‘faith’ and ‘hope.’ If art is verily didactic, 
 then, of course, ‘religious’ pictures should be multiplied to 
 teach and to convert the sinning world ; and copies should he 
 promptly furnished to the City Prison and the Stock Exchange. 
 
 Beligion is not taught by painted semblances of Christ, hut 
 by the word and work of Christ Himself, which men refuse to 
 make their study and example. Instead of this they listen 
 with a dilettante air while connoisseurs discourse of ‘the 
 ‘religious side of art,’ and of its wonderful ‘impressiveness.’ 
 And yet no sacred picture has been known to publicly con- 
 vince the world of sin ; nor do our connoisseurs and pharisees 
 turn into humble suppliants when studying a Fra Angelico ; 
 nor have we heard it said that students at King’s College, 
 London, have become entirely Christian through the influence 
 of the paint upon their chapel walls. 
 
 But Mr. Hunt is not to he another illustration of the ‘ scape- 
 ‘ goat.’ Though expressly striving to develop a new method, 
 and a canon of his own, he has been naturally influenced by 
 the clerical art theory and pattern of the Christ. The old 
 painters of religious subjects were employed almost exclu- 
 sively on behalf of, or entirely by, the Church, and conse- 
 quently were in great subordination to the ecclesiastical 
 demand for orthodoxy in the things of art. The great pre- 
 vailing dogma of ‘ the Church ’ was that in all things spiritual, 
 and in many things beside, the superior clergy were the 
 divinely instituted, active rulers of mankind. This meant, of 
 course, the meek docility of all the laity ; and so when 
 ‘ saints,’ and even Christ, are set before the world as our 
 examples, they are depicted as entirely gentle, unimpulsive, and 
 submissive, both in mind and manner. The energy of human 
 life is little recognised in the artistic liagiology of Chris- 
 tendom ; and though great original designers like Masaccio, 
 
30 
 
 ‘RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 and Michael Angelo, Mantegna, Veronese, and Tintoret, had 
 strength of character and mind enough to disregard the sacred 
 fashion, the majority of painters, whether pious, delicate, and 
 lyric, like Angelico, or disbelieving, manufacturing, and re- 
 fined, like Perugino, made their saints a feeble race of nerve- 
 less and eviscerated men and women ; and their Christs were 
 similarly abstract, self-compassionate, and non-natural. 
 
 Such transcendental forms were very safe as mental models 
 for enthusiasts and devotees, who were instructed that the 
 imbecile condition of the saints was really one of exaltation, 
 and that heaven became directly open to humanity thus 
 travestied. This was the method and development of what is 
 now called ‘ Christian Art ; ’ the Man Christ Jesus had to be 
 obliterated from the minds of men whose duty is to honour 
 Him by manly imitation, and in His stead we have some sen- 
 timental and insipid notions of a demigod. But Christ was 
 Godliness Incarnate ; His humanity was not a screen or non- 
 essential covering; He was thoroughly of human kind, 
 4 tempted in all points like as we,’ and also active, resolute, 
 and self-asserting. He assumed no look of outward meek- 
 ness : on the contrary, He gave full utterance to His zealous 
 indignation, to His manly spirit of rebuke and scorn. He 
 had, it seems, to tell the world that He was ‘ meek and lowly 
 ‘in heart,’ since possibly His energetic, active zeal, His 
 vigorous use of means, and His sarcastic eloquence, might 
 sometimes have obscured or hidden this less obvious feature 
 of His character. The task that Mr. Hunt has undertaken 
 is beyond the scope of human fancy and perceptive thought. 
 A tempted, sinless, energetic teacher and reformer of mankind 
 transcends the moral and expressive capabilities of art. 
 
 All that we now have written is in strict relation to our 
 subject, and entirely apart from any question of the artist’s 
 merit as a painter, which is great, and will no doubt be 
 greater. An accomplished artist, like a well-equipped and 
 sturdy traveller, may be misled ; and, wandering in byways, 
 
‘religious art.’ 
 
 31 
 
 may fall into a maze of error. A man of sense, who finds 
 himself thus circumstanced, will promptly put himself 
 ^gain on the right road; this Mr. Hunt can surely do. He 
 probably has lost his way by listening to misleading talk 
 about 4 religious art ; ’ having yet to learn that art is sympa- 
 thetic, not religious, and that a painter’s proper object, and 
 his evidence of power, is the command of human sympathy ; 
 his rank depending on the quality of sympathy and mind 
 that he can influence. Those that most highly value Mr. 
 Hunt’s display of ‘Shadow’ are of an inferior type and 
 quality ; people whose views of art are not in fact ‘ religious,’ 
 as they seem to think, hut only sanctimonious. In the shop 
 windows may be seen a coloured drawing of a woman in a 
 night-dress, hanging to a clumsy cross of stone, with seeming 
 waves about her, all miraculously dry ; this is, ‘ religiously,’ 
 the artistic fellow to our ‘Shadow,’ possibly more weak, and 
 even more absurd, but far less impious and tricky. 
 
 The painting fails in the essential qualities that go to make 
 a picture ; it wants powerful and simple manly thought, and 
 dignified imagination. This briefly and regretfully must be 
 admitted ; but it is grateful, also, to recount and treasure the 
 abundant excellences in the technical performance of the 
 work. The draughtsmanship is thorough, and the lower portion 
 -of the picture, from the right-hand corner up to the angle of 
 the coffer lid, is exquisitely painted. The little landscape is a 
 pleasant outlook, and arouses an impatient wish that the 
 pretended carpenter, his work, and tools, would, like a shadow, 
 disappear, so that from the window we might thoroughly enjoy 
 the scene. The figure of the woman is perfection realised, the 
 drapery is graceful in its fold, distinctive in its texture, and 
 superb in colour. The perspective is perhaps a little faulty, 
 or the shavings may confuse the various distances ; and 
 aerial perspective has not been employed as an efficient 
 substitute for the unconscious, undetected parallax of human 
 two-eyed sight. But these are minor failings ; and the painter 
 
32 
 
 ( RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 who can do such work as we have pointed out is sadly wasted 
 when his time is occupied for years on painful nonsense like 
 this questionable carpenter, and the sham solemnity that 
 desecrates the wall. 
 
 We would yet venture on another word of thoroughly respect- 
 ful commendation, and of friendly warning. Mr. Hunt, in one 
 respect, is very much distinguished from the great majority of 
 his contemporaries. His pictures are not evidently a manu- 
 facture, made especially to sell ; they do not seem at home in 
 a Eoyal Academy Exhibition ; they would not associate con- 
 veniently with the latest style of millinery by Millais, or with 
 top-boots by Grant. There are, of course, painters of various 
 character, as well as various merit ; some men, in dignified 
 contentment, make their fortune ; others, 4 of the baser sort,’ 
 would make their fortune by the sacrifice of art. 
 
 * With some she is the goddess great, 
 
 4 With some the milch cow of the field ; 
 
 4 Their aim is but to calculate 
 
 4 What butter she will yield.’ 
 
 Mr. Hunt must be included in the former class ; but he has, 
 unfortunately for his artistic reputation and his possible 
 career, become connected with the picture speculators; and 
 no bad communication is more likely to corrupt an able artist. 
 The commercial object of a speculator is, by using up a well- 
 known name, to gain for his artistic wares a 4 marvellous ’ 
 sale in the wide market of inferior people of all ranks and 
 classes; and to this end the man of name is tempted to 
 degrade his art, and make it suit the prevalent commercial 
 fashion. A curious collector of bad specimens of art might 
 be directed in his choice by records of commissions given by 
 the picture-dealers, and by speculators in what are called 
 ‘ subscription, proof engravings.’ If a true artist condescends 
 to manufacture 4 art ’ to make his fortune, he can scarcely 
 rise above the level of his aim. 
 
‘ RELIGIOUS ART. 
 
 33 
 
 A thoughtful painter should reject the incubus of merely 
 monetary patronage, and should select his patrons, like his 
 pigments, with especial care ; working for no one for mere 
 pay, nor without perfect sympathy. All men, just as all 
 women, have their suitable admirers; and the assumption of a 
 proper status by the artist would soon terminate the present 
 system of promiscuous venality, which has almost ruined art. 
 
 In modern English architecture the display of ‘the aesthetic 
 ‘ side of culture and religion ’ is similarly questionable. The 
 trades of draughtsmanship and contract building, and the 
 drudging work of artisans, have recently exhibited a measure- 
 less amount of ‘piety.’ But it seems strange that these 
 ‘religious works of art’ should be so very bad; being re- 
 ligious, they should at least be true. Yet, as a fact, they are 
 invariably false ; not art at all, but only manufacture. They 
 fail in the essential quality of art ; they yield no delight to 
 the artificer, making ‘ his soul enjoy good in his labour.’ 
 
 The Abbey Church at Westminster is generally quoted as 
 our chief national museum of ‘religious art.’ The term is 
 purely modern ; medieval workmen never understood that what 
 they wrought was ‘ sacred ; ’ but, on the contrary, believed 
 that it required consecration by the priest. Without regarding 
 therefore such acknowledged irreligious work, let us make a 
 passing survey of the Abbey ; and consider how the religious 
 and artistic skill of modern architects has been displayed in 
 that afflicted building. 
 
 First, there are the towers that Sir Christopher designed, 
 and then the equally successful work at the north transept ; 
 but these are things that we were born to, and for them we 
 suffer no remorse. We enter from the west, and the choir- 
 screen faces us ; a carefully composed design, by a neat 
 draughtsman ; feeble, and somewhat scholarly. On our left 
 is a new pulpit of the coarsest speculating manufacture, 
 having nothing of the cultivated workman’s art and dignified 
 imagination. As a substitute for these, the commonplace 
 
 3 
 

 WORKMAN 
 
‘ RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 35 
 
 and minor accidents of medieval pulpits have been unintelli- 
 gently copied, and are made the leading features of the work. 
 Monotonously moulded shafts and plinths and bases, showy 
 capitals, extravagantly disproportioned ‘ handsome ’ cornices, 
 unmeaning canopies, and paltry statuettes, all technically 
 known as ‘ church-work ’ in the trade, are introduced to screen 
 
 PROFESSIONAL ‘RELIGIOUS ART’ AT WESTMINSTER. 
 
 and to divert the eye from the distinguished drawing-master’s 
 incapacity. The pulpit proper ought, of course, to he the 
 subject of the highest workmanship and art, but here a 
 meagre shell, on which a few crude panels set up lozenge-wise 
 are introduced to give some childish notion of original design, 
 is the true pulpit, and the incongruous details, which give 
 
‘religious art.’ 
 
 36 
 
 painful emphasis to its impoverishment, are only adjuncts. 
 Then, the lozenges are filled, to order, with inferior mosaic 
 work, in one compartment with a poor ill-looking face, 
 surrounded by the tradesman’s ignorant suggestion of a 
 wreath of thorns ; and though the work is thus undoubtedly 
 ‘ religious art,’ it is, to quote its nominal designer’s compre- 
 hensive phrase, ‘ a national disgrace.’ The woodwork in the 
 choir is perfectly correct and commonplace ; the architectural 
 forms were doubtless drawn in detail by an office clerk, and 
 then the carver cut the wood, in miserable weariness. 
 Around the choir is some expensive metal-work of no artistic 
 value ; but it was furnished by a tradesman of respectability. 
 
 Still going eastward, on the left another pulpit stands ; it 
 has no merit save that it pretends to none ; in which it is 
 contrasted by the new ‘ altar,’ or communion-table, with its 
 reredos, and the recent restoration of the altar-screen. The 
 ‘ altar-table ’ is a nondescript absurdity, for as an altar it is 
 ill designed, and as a table quite impracticable. The top 
 is marble, as becomes an altar ; and below are ornamental 
 shafts, as imitation table-legs. Between these legs are carv- 
 ings of the Fall, the Crucifixion, and the Resurrection, and 
 some little images of saints ; all ignominiously placed under 
 the table, and just level with the lower limbs of the officiating 
 priest. This matters little, for the real object of the ‘ altar ’ 
 front is not religious or artistic dignity, but sumptuous 
 and fashionable ornament, for winch the most appalling and 
 momentous incidents in sacred history are used as stock-in- 
 trade. The manufacturers who supply these goods would be 
 amused to hear their produce gravely called ‘ religious art.’ 
 Above the ‘ altar ’ is a picture of our Lord’s Last Supper, 
 where the ‘ table and fair white linen cloth ’ are carefully 
 designed, and ‘ proper ; ’ as a protest possibly against the 
 inconsistent hybrid structure placed below. The ancient screen 
 behind the f altar ’ has been recently restored, with parti- 
 coloured alabaster, richly gilt, and so gives evidence of having 
 
6 RELIGIOUS ART/ 
 
 37 
 
 cost much money, which is, in works of art, the English test of 
 value. The work is popular, and manifestly edifying ; those 
 who have seen the line of devotees who after evening prayers 
 cling to the railings, and there gaze with wondering eyes, 
 must have observed the powerful ‘ religious ’ influence of the 
 sumptuous display. The place is one of worship truly, and the 
 god is Mammon ; and as each pilgrim tells with bated breath 
 the glories of the shrine, he bows in mental degradation.* 
 
 The reredos is the highly ornamental picture in mosaic, 
 manufactured at Murano, and enframed with coloured marbles 
 and half-precious stones. This costly trumpery is held to 
 exemplify the ‘ Lamp of Sacrifice and we are told that of our 
 best we should make offering to God. The sacrificial doctrine 
 is quite true, and only misapplied ; our best and only needful 
 offering to God is His own image, that He made to stand, 
 immortal, in His presence, not the dirt that He has sunk 
 beneath the ground. David said truly and devoutly, ‘All 
 ‘ things come of thee, and of thine own have we given 
 ‘thee;’ but in David’s time how little was there known of 
 God’s possessions. ‘ Onyx stones and stones to be set ; 
 ‘ glistening stones, and of divers colours ; and all manner 
 ‘ of precious stones ; and marble stones in abundance,’ were 
 a rich display of human enterprise and skill when David made 
 
 * By the way, as incidental to our subject, three things may be mentioned : 
 (1) That at the Reformation the word ‘ altar ’ in the Coronation Office having, 
 by a single oversight, been uncorrected, the communion table in the Abbey is 
 the only ‘ altar ’ ever, even nominally, recognised by the Established Church. (2) 
 That in some English churches, by the 82nd canon, the communion table was 
 ‘ intended not to stand against the east wall at communion time : ’ and the 
 officiating minister stood before, or in another sense behind, the east side of the 
 table, in a reasonable way, facing the congregation, just as the Pope still stands 
 ‘ behind ’ the altar in the Vatican Basilica. (3) That altars were essentially, 
 and first, the things on which religious sacrifices were consumed by fire ; and 
 among the Hebrews, only the Mosaic altar of burnt offering, the fire on which 
 was never to go out, could ‘ sanctify all things thereon.’ But on the Anglican 
 and Roman ‘ altars ’ no such constant holocaust is made ; they cannot therefore 
 sanctify. Moreover, the unchristian doctrine, that the minister or priest renews 
 the sacrifice, which the apostle Paul declared was offered ‘ once for all ’ upon the 
 cross, has been, like ‘ altars,’ specially rejected by the Church of England, 
 
38 
 
 c RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 liis offering. But now, long ages after David and liis prepa- 
 rations for a ‘palace for the Lord;’ thousands of years since 
 Phidias and Callicrates ; centuries since the inspired works of 
 Giotto the wall-painter, Francia ‘ Aurifex,’ and Michael Angelo 
 the carver; after the boundless phantasy and the surpassing 
 power of Tintoret, and the majestic splendour of Paul Vero- 
 nese, all the results of God’s ‘ own ’ inspiration, and thus 
 fitting to be offered in His house, we have no better sacrifice 
 to make than polished pebble stones and marble, coloured 
 cubes of glass, and * double gilding.’ These are in fact no 
 sacrifice at all ; the flashy bauble is ‘ wholly in the service of 
 * pleasure ;’ and, like other pretty things devoid of noble sensi- 
 bility, its chief object is to excite the wonder of the ignorant, 
 and to gratify the sensual and the vain. But ‘ the Lord’s 
 ‘ portion is his people ; ’ our true offering is the living 
 sacrifice, the cultivated, transformed mind of man, inspired 
 to manifest in art the good, acceptable, and perfect will of God. 
 
 If, standing in the cross of his fine church, the Dean would 
 study carefully the free, intelligently guided handiwork of the 
 old masons, until he feels the power of inspiration in the 
 ‘ lively stones,’ and then glance to the reredos, he will find 
 that in the latter is no art at all, but a commercial product 
 of mechanical contrivances, precise, inflexible, and destitute of 
 human feeling ; a conglomerate of minerals, the very emblems 
 of stupidity. It is a copy only of a scheme on paper, made 
 by some poor serving draughtsman, for the lavish sacrifice of 
 money, as the greatest good, and so the nearest thing to God, 
 within his comprehension. 
 
 Succumbing to the rising deluge of ‘ religious art,’ the 
 Abbey is, like almost all our churches, in a state of rapid obscu- 
 ration ; and, entirely without reference to the requirements 
 of the building, in a vain endeavour to prolong the egregious 
 notoriety of certain commonplace but accidentally success- 
 ful men, the windows of the nave are bleared with coloured 
 glass. The subjects and the treatment are both equally 
 
‘ RELIGIOUS ART. 
 
 39 
 
 absurd ; pictures of viaducts and bridges, and of other scien- 
 tific wonders of the world, are in such plenty that the church 
 might be an annexe to the Institute of Civil Engineers. As a 
 ‘ religious art ’ memorial of the officers and men and boys who 
 perished in the ‘ Captain,’ is exhibited a picture-show, illus- 
 trating among other things the legend of the prophet Jonah ; 
 but how the petulant and conscience-stricken runaway, who 
 so miraculously escaped from drowning, can be compared with 
 those who were engulfed, and died, in the performance of 
 their duty, needs the aid of inspiration to explain. 
 
 We wander to the Chapter-house, newly restored, and we 
 remember that some years ago ‘ the architect,’ exploring in 
 the desolate warehouse for records, looked down a hole, and 
 saw a head, and gleefully announced it in ‘ The Times ’ news- 
 paper. This head and figure, and a corresponding statue, 
 now stand perfectly revealed on each side of the entrance 
 archway. The carving is appropriate, the drapery light, 
 the figures slender and refined, enhancing the effect of power 
 and solidity in the surrounding stonework. Above the arch 
 no central figure was discovered ; and ‘ religious art ’ seizing 
 the opportunity, we here see 4 restored,’ by what contractors 
 know as ‘ piece-work,’ a rude, block-headed, seated figure, 
 careless in conception, androgynous in form, coarse in every 
 feature, and graceless in every line ; its most obtrusive and 
 impressive portions are the huge development of breast, 
 and the thick mass of drapery that hangs about the knees. 
 This is a 4 Majesty,’ and if there be an actual religious art, 
 we here conversely have an art that is profane ; and in the 
 central building of Protestant Christendom, the cradle of the 
 House of Commons, under the guardianship of the Crown, 
 at the expense of the nation, we thus find intruded among the 
 old masons’ true, artistic work, a modern manufacturer’s job, 
 an inartistic, irreligious effigy, too weak for dignity, and 
 too dull to be grotesque. 
 
 At the reopening of the Chapter-house there was a polite 
 
40 
 
 ( RELIGIOUS ART, ' 
 
 and hospitable gathering of connoisseurs and clerics, men of 
 the ‘ Profession ’ and of Parliament, but not of those that 
 did the work : there was no hint of any working masons 
 being there. And yet the whole assembly was not in acumen, 
 or artistically, worth the wages of the medieval carver that 
 hewed out that pair of graceful figures at a workman’s rate 
 of pay ; not one visitor or connoisseur that we have heard 
 of could detect, and honestly denounce, the manifest impos- 
 ture perched above the door. The cause of all this incapacity 
 is obvious ; our connoisseurs and clerics, destitute of wisdom 
 or of cautious care, have put their trust in drawing clerks, 
 or in padrones w r ho farm the draughtsmen; and have 
 habitually neglected and despised the artisan. The folly 
 has its prompt and fitting punishment ; throughout seven 
 centuries the work of the old masons at the Abbey has 
 remained as one of England’s glories, but the new raree-show 7 
 already loses credit and esteem ; for as the glitter fades the 
 wonder vanishes, and thus the grave regrets of men of sense 
 will soon be supplemented by discerning ridicule. 
 
 These works have not been quoted as especially obnoxious 
 or extreme, but, on the contrary, because they are of ordinary 
 evil and delinquency. We purposely avoid extravagant ex- 
 amples, and entirely repudiate all personal and party feeling ; 
 our subject is not any doctrine of the Church, nor the capacity 
 or otherwise of individual men, but what is called ‘religious 
 ‘ art ; ’ and we have chosen for our illustrations works that 
 seem to be most typical and popular. The Abbey is the best 
 known illustration w^e could give of ‘ the esthetic side of 
 ‘ culture and religion,’ free from obvious ritualistic inclina- 
 tions, and dissociated from anything like mental weakness in 
 the official guardians of the church. 
 
 The work of ‘ art-religion ’ goes apace. At Windsor the 
 new reredos, beautified with heavy gilding, parti-coloured 
 marble, and cheap jewellery, looks as if especially designed 
 for a casino ; and the old Tomb-house has been made to don 
 
1 RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 41 
 
 tlie spangles of a pantomime. The pretty reredoses at 
 Gloucester, and at Worcester and Carlisle, are not art, but 
 only fashion, and might easily he manufactured by the yard. 
 These things have no religion in them, and can never have 
 historic value as artistic monuments ; they are in fact, 
 though for the present not in popular perception, costly 
 exhibitions of mere hahy-mindedness ; and when the public 
 and the clergy have attained to manly sense and to intelligent 
 maturity of knowledge in the things of art, this beautiful 
 k religious ’ rubbish will be carted ignominiously away. 
 
 The choir at Exeter is now quite clean and tidy ; no enthu- 
 siastic chambermaid could hope to make a neater show. 
 This is the customary token of 4 religious art ; ’ it ‘ runs 
 4 especially to neatness, which is the full completion of the 
 ‘ thing in hand ; wherefrom a sort of illusion arises, as if the 
 ‘ thing itself were worthy of existing.’ As to the reredos, that 
 is not a work in which religion is at all involved ; there is in 
 it no question of a cult, but only of a craze ; it is a common 
 exhibition of the draughtsman’s pattern and the carver’s 
 knack, and so entirely destitute of real art. The Bishop 
 might with ample reason ask the Dean and Chapter by what 
 right they thus degrade an ancient church, belonging to the 
 nation, and entrusted to their care. In answer they would 
 probably admit their ignorance of art, which is so very 
 obvious, and say that they had trusted to an ‘ architect of 
 ‘ eminence.’ This has gone on for centuries ; and while each 
 Chapter sees the folly of its predecessors, none perceive 
 that ‘ the profession ’ has no eminence at all, but only 
 various profundities of evil. Yet though the members of the 
 modern architectural profession are not artists, nor ‘ acute in 
 ‘ workmanship,’ they have a shrewd appreciation of the artistic 
 ignorance of their customers. This is the drawing-master’s 
 real eminence and practical superiority ; he does know some- 
 thing; and, of course, among the blind the one-eyed man is 
 king. 
 
42 
 
 ‘religious art. ; 
 
 The public aud the clergy have been taught that art is 
 sensuous, and that in some way sensuousness may help to 
 glorify and to advance religious truth. But art, like any other 
 work of mind, is sensuous only in its means: its essence is its 
 ideality. A manufactured picture is by men of sense accepted 
 as a manufacture only, since the true artist’s hand and inspi- 
 ration are not there ; but to the inartistic and uncultivated 
 mind the sensuous element is all-sufficient, and this contempt- 
 ible and lifeless thing it is that ritualist churchmen say will 
 help to lead a sinner up to God, and serves to honour Him. 
 
 In this discussion there has been no special reference to 
 theological affairs, and therefore no concern with ritualism, 
 either in its doctrines or its rites ; but without any, even 
 mental, bias, it may here be said that ritualist influence 
 has caused the most destructive injury that English art has 
 known. Even the style of work in decoration and church 
 furniture and ‘ ornaments ' that ritualists and their imitators 
 so affect is not true art at all, but only childish sensualism ; 
 and their delight in it is something lower than a baby’s joy 
 in a wax doll or in the coloured carboys at a chemist’s shop. 
 Persons thus influenced have perhaps no want of natural 
 capacity for artistic thought and feeling ; but they eschew 
 all criticism ; and following, like women, the prevailing 
 fashion, they accept the trash that weak and wily connoisseurs 
 and drawing-masters set before them as 4 religious art,’ 
 and thus have made so many an English chancel, college 
 chapel, and cathedral choir appear as if designed to please 
 the most unworthy, and the most unwise ; to be, indeed, a 
 paradise for fools. 
 
 Again we venture on an illustration, new, alas ! but very 
 open to remark. Of late two ‘ altars ’ have been made or 
 decorated at St. Paul’s, one in the morning chapel and the 
 other at the east end of the church. Each has a cross and 
 candlesticks, which may be rubrical, or doctrinal, and so we 
 willingly dismiss them. But the eastern ‘ altar ’ has a curtain 
 
4 RELIGIOUS ART.' 
 
 43 
 
 in the rear, and for a frontal a device in red and gold. These 
 things together give the 4 altar ’ very much the look of a ma- 
 gician’s sideboard. On the other 4 altar ’ are two bunches 
 of cut flowers in two pots, and it also has a frontal of a foolish 
 pattern or design. What could have been the mental and 
 4 religious ’ state of the Cathedral Chapter when they ordered 
 these two toys, is not within the scope of our remarks. But, 
 clearly separating the cathedral clergy from their accidents 
 of art, these 4 altar ’ cloths are exhibitions which associate in 
 strict propriety with hammer-cloths and shoulder-knots. 
 Here is no 4 art as ministering to religion,’ but 4 the trade ’ 
 subserving folly, so that 4 the table of the Lord is made 
 4 contemptible.’ Were words employed as basely as these 
 art-religious utterances, they would be open to rebuke and 
 condemnation, and be called profanity. 
 
 Such work, however, is admitted to be fashionable, and it 
 has a suitable effect upon the minds of church officials in 
 their contact with the world. Thus : 4 When I passed by 
 4 Bennett’s church in the morning, all dressed in my diamonds 
 4 and flowers, to be drawn by Swinton, the beadle in full 
 4 costume bowed low to me, taking me for an altarpiece, or 
 4 something to be reverenced’ (Harriett, Lady Ashburton). 
 
 4 Art is religious,’ we are told, ‘because its chosen subjects 
 4 are of a religious character, and its connection with the Chris- 
 4 tian faith cannot be disputed.’ Keligious symbolism also 
 ‘teaches,’ and is solemnly impressive. But what does it all 
 tend to ? Let us see. At Tribsees, in North Germany, the 
 altar is a perfectly developed exhibition of 4 religious ’ and sym- 
 bolic art, and therefore 4 something to be reverenced.’ 4 In the 
 4 centre the mystery of Transubstantiation is accomplished 
 4 under the direction of God the Father, who is accompanied 
 4 by angels as well as by the sun and moon. The Evangelists, 
 4 who are winged, and furnished with the heads of their sym- 
 4 bolic animals, are shaking out sacks of meal into a mill- 
 4 hopper, which is put in motion by the Apostles, who on both 
 
44 
 
 i RELIGIOUS ART.’ 
 
 ‘ sides are drawing up sluices. Below, the bread is coming 
 ‘ out of the flour trough in the form of the Infant Christ : it 
 ‘ is received in a cup by the four Fathers of the Church, and 
 1 is immediately distributed by the priests, in both forms, to 
 ‘ the faithful. Above, on one side, we see Adam in the jaws 
 4 of hell ; on the other side the Annunciation appears as 
 ‘ the beginning of the work of redemption ; on both sides are 
 ‘ the eight principal scenes of the Passion ; and the whole is 
 ‘ crowned by half-length figures of twelve Prophets. The 
 ‘ artistic merit of the work is small, but the whole is valuable 
 ‘ as a splendid work of mysticism of the fifteenth century ’ 
 (Liibke, ‘History of Sculpture ’). 
 
 Again, at Frankfort, ‘ I had long believed myself the only 
 ‘ inmate of the church ; suddenly, in a side chapel, I observe a 
 ‘ charming young girl kneeling and praying devoutly before the 
 ‘ picture of a saint. I could not make out the picture, it hung 
 ‘ too obliquely for me, but the girl moved her little head so 
 ‘ gracefully towards it, she gave the saint such confiding glances 
 ‘from her languishing blue eyes, that I began to have a great 
 ‘ opinion of this saint. Greater and greater became my desire 
 ‘ to see the picture which could make so fine an impression ; 
 ‘ what a masterpiece it must be ! The maiden looked more 
 ‘ and more inspired. I would not move from the spot where 
 ‘ I was lest I should disturb her in her devotions. At length 
 ‘ she stands up, takes a consecrated candle, lights it before 
 ‘ the picture, makes a humble courtesy, crosses herself and 
 ‘ vanishes from the church. I sprang from my retreat and 
 ‘ stood before the picture. I felt myself grow red with vexation. 
 ‘ The picture shows how the skin of St. Bartholomew was 
 ‘ drawn over his ears ; the executioners who perform the job 
 ‘ are just pausing to sharpen their knives. One holds his in 
 ‘ his mouth and pulls with both hands. . . . And yet some 
 ‘ say that art does not further devotion ’ (W. Yon Kaulbach). 
 
 For several years a large and an increasing section of the 
 religious world has been induced to think that art in some 
 
4 RELIGIOUS ART. 
 
 45 
 
 way could be made subservient to religion and to the Church. 
 This was one error, and in following it they have been led into 
 a second, still more grievous. They have mistaken a dull 
 manufacturing ‘ Profession ’ for the noble art which they sup- 
 posed they had in due subjection. The difference between the 
 two seems great enough to warn the commonly intelligent. 
 Art is beneficent and generous and true, a fit associate for those 
 who worship the great Author of all good; but the ‘Profession’ 
 is a selfish and maleficent pretender. It adroitly takes the 
 ‘ handmaid’s ’ place, and serves the Church with seeming de- 
 ference and much appearance of devotion ; but as it gradually 
 shows itself attractive to the sensual world, [it is esteemed 
 essential to the Church, and undiscerning churchmen yield 
 authority, and what is called position, to an imitative trade. 
 
 The system is an inartistic make-believe, resulting from the 
 degradation of the noblest class in the community, the men 
 who, in a healthy state of things, would be both poets and 
 producers. But the social crime entails appropriate retri- 
 bution. Those who have heedlessly combined to practise 
 this oppression have themselves become the victims of their 
 own presumptuous folly. No sight under heaven is more 
 painfully absurd than a high celebrant, in ritual vestments, 
 and surrounded by his ceremonial properties. Our ritualistic 
 clergy think the show aesthetic and devotional, and so perhaps 
 do many of the feeble-minded lookers-on. But these ideas 
 will shortly have an end ; and in a few years’ time no men 
 will look more sheepish than these confident and misled 
 priests, wdien they are vdckedly reminded of the ‘ beautiful ’ 
 upholstery which makes them now ‘ religiously ’ admired. 
 
 When, possibly a generation hence, some new historian ol 
 art has written his account of the Victorian age, no chapter 
 will appear so paradoxical and free from probability as that 
 which tells of clerical development in architectural affairs. 
 That a society of cultivated gentlemen, of whom we all are 
 proud, whose early manhood has been spent among the works 
 
4 6 
 
 ‘beligious akt.’ 
 
 of ancient art, whose life is dedicated to religion and hu- 
 manity, should be bewitched by a poor, fleeting fashion, that 
 dishonours God by carefully degrading men, will be a curious 
 episode in our artistic history. The churches that have 
 been ‘ religiously ’ designed by the ‘ Profession ’ during the last 
 thirty years are ghastly imitations, true perhaps in style and 
 in material, but in art a stultifying manufacture, made es- 
 pecially to please ; and then professionally palmed upon the 
 clergy, and received as elevating and * religious ’ truth. 
 
 * Religious art ’ is essentially external ; but ‘ the order of 
 ‘religious life is from within to that which is without.’ Religion 
 is not founded on appearances, nor are its demonstrations 
 those of outward and material show. It does not become 
 visible by priestly exaltation or in rubrical displa} 7 , but b} r 
 that sentiment abounding among men which causes ‘ each to 
 ‘ esteem other better than themselves.’ The glory of the 
 Church and its beneficent commission are to ‘ undo the heavy 
 ‘burdens, to break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free.’ 
 The working men of England need such mental liberation, and 
 the foremost to demand it for them ought to be the Church, 
 for which our workmen’s predecessors raised those ‘ sacred ’ 
 buildings which are still the pride of Christendom, the glory 
 of our land. When this is undertaken, all the eloquence of 
 modern churchmen about * art as ministering to religion ’ will 
 spontaneously cease. The clergy will remember that the 
 Founder of their church and their religion was ‘ as he that 
 ‘ serveth ; ’ that He came, ‘ not to be ministered unto, but to 
 ‘ minister ; ’ and then, discerning that the excellence of Chris- 
 tianity is in its own loving servitude, they will abandon the 
 idea that ‘ art ’ can ever be ‘ the handmaid of religion,’ or that 
 it ‘ has a ministry to fulfil in the religious life of man.’ Their 
 more sensibly directed aim will be to make religion, in its 
 boundless sympathy and wise benevolence, a minister to art. 
 Thus they will cordially recognise the individual working man, 
 and help to gain for him his ancient social dignity and mental 
 
47 
 
 Religious art.’ 
 
 freedom ; so that, restored to reasoning intelligence, to imagi- 
 native power, and to artistic self-control, he may again become, 
 as once he was, and always was designed to be, ‘ a vessel unto 
 ‘ honour, sanctified and meet for the Master’s service, and 
 ‘ prepared unto every good work.’ 
 
 RELIGIOUS ART’ AT ST. PAUL'S. 
 

 Unwin brothers, 
 
 PRINTERS, 
 
 CHI L WORTH AND LONDON. 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
rockford college 
 
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 GETTY CENTER LIBRARY 
 
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