the labour and skill of its construction. We like to see the firm and regular courses of well-squared stone, the shaft compacted with the capital, the wedge stones balancing each other in the arch: but when the materials pretend to perform a part which does not belong to their nature, then we are offended by the deception, at least we receive but a very small proportion of the pleasure which their forms would have given if executed in the genuine substance. From the centre of the pit the actress looks as fine as the lady in the boxes; but we do not think that she is equally well dressed, because we are aware that instead of diamonds, gold, and silk, she is tricked out with glass, tinsel, and gauze, with things that assume to be that which they are not, with tromperie. Every deception in architecture becomes a blemish which the mind does not pardon. Windows which exclude the light; doors which cannot be opened; twisted columns which could not stand beneath their superstructure; columns bearing nothing; passages leading to nothing; are imperfections which are obvious to the most inattentive or uneducated observer. They are deformities, because they are of no use; otherwise the idle imposts or columns, which please when properly applied, would have as much inherent beauty-so far as beauty depends upon form-in one situation as in another. But if we cease to derive satisfaction from the parts of a building on account of their false bearing to the whole, can we be better satisfied when the entire building, the perfect model,' is a falsehood? Every structure raised by the hand of man, derives its entire value from the feelings of the human heart. The hearth gives sanctity to the dwelling; the throne, to the palace; the altar, to the temple. But if we erect dwellings, palaces, or temples, which never can be used by human kind, the walls will rise in cheerless and desolate mockery. A perfect modern model of the most perfect Doric temple, if not applied to some purpose beyond mere ornament, would excite no other feelings than those of labour in vain. No person of common sense ever was satisfied with a temple in a garden; we know it is built merely for a show, and as a show we undervalue and despise it.

It may be asked in what manner we are to commemorate national victories. Certainly not by what are called' monuments,' not by pillars, arches, temples, having no assignable use, and built merely as examples.' All these are what are vulgarly called 'follies;' and deserve no more respect than the tower on Shooter's Hill. The ancients never raised monuments; they never realized examples;' they never built for display alone; and it was from its connection with actual life that every ancient work of art acquired its vitality.

In copying any Grecian temple, however beautiful, and calling it a Christian church, we depart still more widely from the practice

of

of the ancients. They never imagined that a restoration of a building which did not belong to them was productive of perfect beauty.' In fact, such an epithet, as applied to any building, must be erroneous. Architecture is not an imitation of nature. All the forms of architecture are conventional; it is therefore an art of which the objects do not admit of abstract perfection. Buildings are capable of as many varieties of perfection as of destination: each may be perfect in its kind, if it is perfectly suited to its end. But therefore it follows as a necessary consequence, that it is impossible to transfer its merit to an example' erected for another purpose, amongst other people, and in another climate: the more the imitation is correct,' the more is its application falsified by its original character.

་

Any system of encouragement for the arts which inculcates, that perfection is to be attained by compelling the artist to faithful imitations,' is the bane of all talent. The ancient architects never 'copied' or 'restored' the structures of the stranger. They knew better. Let us attend to the lessons given by those who have attained the highest station in the art. It was from the banks of the Nile that the gifted Greeks received their art and knowledge; but they instantly surpassed the preceptors who taught them the basis of the art, to which their taste and talent, adapting it to their own purposes, gave a beauty, unknown before. Grecian genius refused to reconstruct exact imitations of the majestic temples of Egypt in honour of the Hellenic deities. They did not place their gods in the adyts of Isis and Osiris.-The acanthus twined around the capital which had been shaded by the branches of the date tree; new elegance was given to the spirals of the volute; beams of olive crossed the cell instead of the transverse blocks of massy granite. Relieved from the superincumbent weight, the entire frame of the structure sprang up more lightly. The columns diminished in diameter; the architrave ceased to retain a useless solidity; acroteria ranged upon the roof, unknown in the land where the rain of heaven does not fall. The sculptured pediments terminated the required covering and decked the front: and the heavy magnificence of Thebes was lost in the graceful splendour of the Athenian Parthe

non.

Whether inherited from their Tuscan ancestors or discovered by their own science, the Romans possessed the art of turning the arch. They had a full perception of the beauties of Grecian architecture then existing in unimpaired perfection. They justly appreciated its excellence, but they never built copies or examples' of Grecian buildings. Following the faith of Greece, they bore away the statues of her gods; but they did not enshrine their Jupiter within the Doric columns of Athens; they did not enter the Forum beneath the Propylea, nor did they copy the Parthenon upon the

proud

proud Capitoline. The art which they had learnt, they put in practice with good sense and prudence. Possessed of a new power, of which their teachers were ignorant, they applied it with boldness. The huge dome of the Pantheon swelled behind the Corinthian portico; fretted vaults took their span over the triumphal train; arch rose upon arch in the eternal amphitheatre: and though the relationship was not disowned, still every feature of Grecian architecture received a new character in imperial Rome.

Amidst the ruins of Rome the great Italian architects formed their taste. They studied the relics of ancient grandeur with all the diligence of enthusiasm; they measured the proportions, and drew the details, and modelled the members. But when their artists were employed by the piety or magnificence of the age, they never 'restored' the examples' by which they were surrounded, and which were the subjects of their habitual study-No-They turned them to a better use. Crude imitation was disdained by this energetic and intelligent race. They felt and understood the beauties of the ancient style; and causing the elements to enter into another combination, a new style was created, which, considered in relation to its intention and employment, possesses transcendent excellence. Retaining the same affinity to the Roman style which the latter bears to the Grecian, it has all the merit of invention, and all the beauty of propriety; and the Pantheon, high in mid air, was expanded into a cathedral worthy of the supremacy assumed by the Pontiff, who claimed to be the Primate of the world.

It was thus that the greatest impulse was given to national genius in those countries where architecture became an inventive, intellectual art. The architects did not linger in contemplation of their predecessors; former generations had advanced, and they proceeded. No style or structure was held up as a perfect model, or propounded as a test. It was their desire to excel by the mixed exercise of judgment and invention. Selecting from the skill of past ages the ideas best suited to the present, they felt that it was their calling to adapt their art to the wants and feelings of society. It was thus that their structures acquired the charm that we would vainly attempt to impart to cold and corpse-like restorations. Original design will never be fostered if artists are taught to defend themselves by precedents. Those who seek to distinguish themselves by the practice of this, the finest of the fine arts, should not lose the benefit derived from experience. The noble writer who is at once the warmest and most learned admirer of Grecian architecture, will best instruct them how to profit by the contemplation of its excellence. 'These models should be imitated not with the timid and servile hand of a copyist: but their beauties should be transferred to our soil, preserving at the same time a due regard to the changes of customs and manners, to the difference of our climate,

and

336

Application of the various Styles of Architecture.

and to the condition of modern society. In this case it would not be so much the details of the edifice itself, however perfect, which ought to engross the attention of the artist, but he should strive rather to possess himself of the spirit and genius by which it was originally planned and directed, and to acquire those just principles of taste which are capable of general application.'" The British architects of the present day are equally distinguished by their genius and their industry: no climate, however remote, has escaped their researches; no toils or dangers are shunned when information and knowledge are to be obtained. The progress of all the mechanical arts has given unexampled means of execution; and the roused spirit of the country will soon furnish them with sufficient employment. Thinking as the ancients would have done, they will not copy antiquity, but they will emulate and share its lasting glory. We might have terminated this Article by making some remarks upon the churches and other buildings which are now constructing in our modern Babylon. It is hardly necessary to observe that the greater part of these edifices do not please us, and that we consider them as liable to censures and objections. But upon consideration we found that we could not dare to criticise. Taste' -we dislike the word, but we can find no other-proceeds upon principles which are so uncertain that mere theorists like ourselves must not be allowed to trifle with the reputation of professional men, whose bread depends upon their exertions. We are therefore silent where a loose or hasty observation of ours might inflict a lasting injury; and whatever affection we may feel towards the pointed style,' we will never allow our love for lancet arches to become the means of wounding the feelings of the architect who has the misfortune to be equally enamoured with entablatures.

When the fine arts really exert a profitable influence, they act by increasing those sources of reasonable pleasure by which the mind is neither degraded, nor enfeebled, nor depraved. That the love of the fine arts may be made to produce a most beneficial effect, cannot be doubted; for there can be no greater source of good, both to the individual and to the species, than the multiplication of such gratifications as are attainable without diminishing the happiness of our fellow-creatures. But when the fine arts are allowed in any manner to become the subjects of rancour or detraction, then the honour which they possess is lost. The productions of Phidias or of Raphael become despicable if they tend to increase the causes of contention. Unfortunately we are furnished with too many reasons for mutual hostility arising out of important matters. Whether this warfare might not be easily diminished it is not our business to inquire; but at all events let us avoid imitating children— let us not quarrel and fight about our gaudes and toys.

ART.

ART. III.-The Fortunes of Nigel. By the Author of 'Waverley,' Kenilworth,' &c. 3 vols. Svo. 3 vols. Svo. Edinburgh. 1822. THE whole reading world has been, for the last eight years, employed in criticizing the Waverley Novels,' and we think the judgment of our contemporaries, where it is the result of so much discussion, entitled to a great part of the weight which is usually confined to that of posterity. As we attribute so much to the public voice, we have been anxious to collect its suffrages: and on many points we find them nearly uniform. It seems to be generally admitted that the author is the greatest writer who has ever adorned this delightful department of literature. It seems admitted, though with a less approach to unanimity, that his characters are superior to his plots; his humble, to his higher life; his Scotland, to his England; his tragedy, to his comedy; and, in general, his earlier, to his later works. While we have only to concur in these opinions, the task of criticism is easy and safe; but we own we have been puzzled when we have heard the same quality brought forward as matter of praise and of blame; when we have heard mannerism attributed by some to him as a fault, and expressions, which are really circumlocutions for it, that it is impossible to mistake his hand,'' that you may at once tell that all his works are from the same master,' employed as terms of high commendation.

Such contradictions lead us to suspect an ambiguity in the word: and we believe that under Mannerism two very different characteristics are included. A writer of fiction may deserve the name of a mannerist, either by a continual selection of peculiar persons or situations for imitation, or by constantly attributing to his characters, whether taken at hazard or from a limited class, in given situations, peculiar feelings and modes of conduct. Thus a painter may be a mannerist, either if he choose to paint nothing but rocks or ships, or again if, taking his subjects from the common storehouse of nature, he dress them all in one or two uniform tints. The hunting pieces of Snyders and the candlelight figures of Schalchen do not differ from the representations of similar subjects by other masters; but they are both called mannerists because they copied no other objects. On the other hand, the landscapes of Gaspar, and the figures of Nicholas, Poussin are taken from an infinite variety of subjects, but the green medium through which the former, and the red through which the latter, seems to have looked upon nature, though their selection of subjects was free from mannerism, have stamped with it their execution. When Marivaux selects for imitation, almost exclusively, the workings of vanity in the female heart, he is a mannerist of the first class.

VOL. XXVII. NO. LIV.

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