SECTION XXX.

OF STYLE.

JUDGING from the amount of quarrelling which has been going on for many years about this, one might imagine it to be the most vital subject connected with architecture. But really it is one of comparatively little importance, and it is a pity that so much time and temper have been wasted about it. Styles of architecture are but the art languages in which architects express themselves, and are not of the essence of art itself. One style may indeed be better than another, just as one spoken language is more expressive than another, but in any of them good work may be done. Europe has never seen a worse style than the Palladian, but that does not prevent the cupola of St Paul's from being one of the finest works of architecture which we possess. To condemn a work simply because it does not accord with the critic's preconceived notions about style, is as absurd as to deny the merit of Molière's comedies, because they are written in French.

The idea that only one style ought to be tolerated is very general at the present time, but there is great diversity of opinion as to which that style should be; and one particularly narrow-minded sect, who know not

what they ask for, are continually clamouring for the invention of a new style. Time was when we had a national style, and then all architects worked in it naturally, just as our poets naturally write in the national language; but the national style died out—at least as regards high-class works, though almost to the present time it has continued to exist in a sort of vernacular fashion-and for three centuries we have been without one, and architects, led either by preference or by accidental circumstances, have borrowed sometimes from. one source and sometimes from another. We have now therefore not one, but many styles, and the style in which each man has been educated, or which by special study he has made his own, is to him his native style, in which he will naturally express himself, and which, if he be worth anything, he will by his works enrich and advance. Some of these styles are, of course, better than others, but each man will probably work best in his own, and, if they be rationally and naturally used, they may possibly be gradually drawn together until they become one. But if ever again we are to have a national style we shall not get it for squalling. We must wait patiently until it develops of itself. A man can no more invent a new style than he can invent a new language.

It will be far more profitable if, instead of trying to force any one style, old or new, into general acceptance, we endeavour carefully to search out what general qualities should belong to a perfect style, and then by these qualities test the styles now in use, with a view to their correction and improvement by the elimination of what

is false, and the introduction of what is wanting. For style is not a Procrustean bed which all artists must be lopped down to fit. The laws of styles are good for forming the minds and directing the ideas of beginners, but no real artist is bound by them. Nothing great can ever come of rules and canons. What is called correctness of style can by itself no more make a man an architect than good grammar can make him an orator, regular versification a poet, or etiquette books a gentleman. In all these cases the over-scrupulous attention to rule is a pretty certain indication of the absence of essential qualities. A master in art gives new laws to his style, and by so doing contributes to that gradual change and development which are the life of a true school. Thus, therefore, I justify the statement that the choice of style is not a matter of much importance, for whatever existing style a school may select for present use, if they be men of true art-instinct and power, and if they work in a rational and not in a pedantic spirit, they must ultimately mould it into a respectable or even an excellent form.

Architecture has two kinds of laws, the natural and the conventional. The first are absolute and immutable. They are those imposed by the necessities of construction, the properties of materials, and the like. These can never be neglected with impunity, and the systematic ignoring of any of them is by itself sufficient to condemn any artist or style. The second sort of laws are arbitrary, and subject to change. These are formulas and canons based originally upon experience, which have by

degrees come to have the force of laws to all who are not superior to them, but it is not just to blame an artist for neglecting any of them, provided that he does so with success.

In the earlier part of the present century, the natural laws of architecture were entirely lost sight of, and, consequently, the art was sunk so low that it can scarcely be said to have existed at all. But by the writings and example of the late Augustus Welby Pugin, and of those who immediately followed him, "true principles," as they were called, were so powerfully brought into notice, that their importance is now generally recognised; indeed, in some respects the tendency is rather to exaggerate than to neglect them. The first natural law is that design should recognise and be based upon construction, not disguise or conceal it. Arguing from this, some contend that all construction, and even all material, should be left visible; they forbid us to plaster our walls, paint our furniture, or ceil our churches, because thereby we hide the constructional stone and wood, and cut off from view the framing of the roof. But herein lies a misunderstanding of the rule. If, as is often the case, walls are the better for being plastered, or, as is nearly always the case, an apartment is the better for being ceiled, then the plaster and the ceiling are just as much parts of the construction as the walls and the roof are, and just as much require a suitable and legitimate treatment in the design. It is required not that nothing shall be covered, but that nothing shall be falsified. The design need not

disclose everything, but it must tell no lies. It must not give the impression that certain construction is there which is not. Let the ceiling, whatever be its material, be evidently a ceiling, and not an imitation of a roof; let the plastering be evidently a coating of the walls, and not ruled with joints to look like ashlar, or formed into pilasters and arcades in imitation of stone construction. So far from its being always necessary to expose construction naked to view, it rarely happens but that in interiors there is something which is best covered-not concealed, but veiled, as the anatomy of the body is by the skin. The meaning of this rule is that a design should be an artistic treatment of the essential features of the subject, and not, as it often is, in what are called the "classic" styles, a merely academic production, in which nothing but outward effect has been studied, and to which the practical arrangements of the building have to be accommodated as best they can. If an arch or a window is wanted in any position, let it be accepted as part of the design, and treated accordingly, not looked upon as a nuisance, which interferes with the regularity of the composition, and which, if possible, must be kept out of sight. Cold architectural abstractions may give pleasure to the pedant, but the naturally-designed building appeals to all, except, indeed, to the essentially vulgar-minded; it pleases, though often men know not why; such a building has itself a

1 If it is thought desirable to vary the surface of the plaster, it may be moulded or modelled in a manner suitable to its nature.