CHAPTER XXVII
ON THE IMPORTANCE OF COOPERATION BETWEEN BUILDER AND CARVER
The Infinite Multiplicity of Styles - The "Gothic" Influence: Sculpture an Integral Element in its Designs - The Approach of the so-called "Renaissance" Period - Disturbed Convictions - The Revival of the Classical Style - The Two Styles in Conflict for a Time; their Respective Characteristics Reviewed - Carvers Become Dependent upon Architects and Painters - The "Revival" Separates "Designer" and "Executant."
The prevailing architectural fashion of any era or country, its style we may call it, has generally been determined by the influence of more advanced nations on those of a less "civilized" level; each modifying the imported style to suit its own climatic and social conditions, and adding its own individual temperament. In this way a foreign idea develops into a distinct and national style, which in its turn, hopefully bears fruit, and was passed on as an initiative for other nations to emulate and new styles arise. [250] Historically, the flow of this influence, generally speaking, trended from east to west as though following the course of the sun, upon whose light it depended for the illumination of its beauties.
There are so many styles of architecture, and consequently of carving, both in wood and other materials, that a history of such a subject would be a life study in itself, and be quite barren of results except those of a professional kind. It would include the characteristics of carvings from every country under the sun, from the earliest times known. Engravings on boars' tusks found in prehistoric caves, carvings on South Sea Island canoe paddles, Peruvian monstrosities of terror, the refined barbarity of India and China, the enduring and monumental efforts of Egyptian art, and a hundred others, down to times and countries more within reach. In fact, it would only be another name for a history of mankind from the beginning of the world.
Nothing could be better for the student's purpose than to begin his studies of history at that point where the first indication of the Gothic or medieval period of architecture makes its appearance. For it was [251] from this great and revolutionary change in the manner of building that all the subsequent variety of style in carving as well as building in medieval Europe took its origin. The first rudiments of the great school of art, which has been broadly classified as having a "Gothic" origin, began to make their appearance in Byzantium some three or four centuries after the birth of Christ. This city, said to have been founded by a colony of Greek emigrants, became the seat of Roman government in their eastern empire, and is now known as Constantinople: it contains a noted example of ancient art in the great church of St. Sophia. From the date of the building of this church in the sixth century A. D. to the beginning of the fifteenth century in Italy, and about a hundred years later, more or less, according to distance from that center, we have roughly the period during which the "medieval" spirit ruled the arts of Europe.
The work of this long period is distinguished beyond all others by the varied beauty and interest of its carvings, a preeminence it owes in part to the strong bias in this direction which was given [252] by its early founders, but still more to the unbroken alliance maintained between builders and carvers throughout the entire period. An inherited talent for sculpture, handed down, no doubt, from their classical forefathers, distinctly marks the commencement of the era; but from that time until the appearance of the "Renaissance" influence, builder and carver are no longer conceivable as being independent of each other. Sculpture of one kind or another not only played an important part in the decoration of its buildings, but became a necessary and integral element in every architectural conception, be its importance little or great. The masons designed their structural features with a view to the embellishments to follow from the hand of the carver; they were in full sympathy with the artistic intention of the decoration, therefore their own ideas were in complete conformity with those of the sculptor, while even in some cases they did this part of the work themselves. The sculptors, restrained by the severe laws of structural design, never transgressed the due limits of their craft, or became insistent upon the individuality of [253] their own work. Hence, throughout all the successive changes of style brought about by time and difference of country, climate, or material, the art of carving steadily progressed hand in hand with the art of building. The changes were so very gradual, and grew so naturally from the conditions and requirements of social life, that ample time was allowed for the education of public feeling, which became in this way identified with the inventive progress of the craftsmen. As a happy result, one aim and desire governed alike builders, carvers, and people, and one style at a time, enjoyed and understood by all, was the wholesome regimen by which the architectural appetite of the period was sustained. Cathedral and cottage differed only in their relative grades of importance; each shared in due proportion the advantages of an architectural style common to all forms of building, and adaptable in the highest degree to every varying purpose of design, from the simplest piece of walling, with the barest indication of style, to the most elaborate arrangement of masonry and carving which could be devised to distinguish a stately and important structure. [254]
Time was, however, preparing a revolution which was destined to sweep away many old beliefs and established institutions, and with them those familiar motives and habits of thought, which had long formed the bountiful source of medieval inspiration and invention. The period between the beginning of the fifteenth century and the Reformation was like a fiery furnace, in which the materials for a new world were being prepared; it was no time for the leisurely enjoyment of the pleasures of art, which presupposes settled convictions and imperceptible developments.
About this time many new forms of intellectual activity began to engage the minds of the more gifted. Speculative philosophy, the opening fields of science, the imaginative literature of the ancients; these were among the subjects which, while they enlarged the sphere of individual thought, destroyed that social ideal which had its roots in a common belief, and with it, the secret source of all past development in architecture. With the deep-lying causes and far-reaching effects of the unrest which disturbed this period, we are not here concerned, beyond the point where it touches our interest in [255] architecture and sculpture. That drastic changes were in progress affecting the popular regard for these arts is undeniable. Educated and illiterate minds became alike indifferent to the authority of established religion—either they succumbed to the tyranny of its powerful but corrupt ministers, or stood out in open rebellion against its disputed dogmas. In either case, that architecture which had formerly been regarded as the chief symbol of united faith, shared the neglect of one section or the abhorrence of the other. That strong sense of beauty, once the common possession of builders, sculptors, and people, was now between the upper and nether millstones of fate, being ground into the fine dust which has served for centuries as the principal ingredient in the manufacture of an endless succession of moral puddings and pies, known in modern times as "art criticism."
To earnest minds in all classes at that time, any enthusiasm for architectural styles, old or new, must have appeared as futile as an anxiety about appearances while one's house was burning.
To the art of this period the title [256] "Renaissance" has been foolishly applied. When used in association with the arts of architecture and sculpture, it is essentially a misnomer. For these arts it was merely a time of revival, not in any sense one of rebirth, as the word implies. In no way can this period claim to have conferred vitality along with the resuscitation of outward form. The revival of a classical style in architectural design, which began in the early years of the fifteenth century, was the sequel to a similar "revival" in the study of Greek and Roman literature, then occupying the interests of cultivated scholars. It was but a step further to desire also the realization of those architectural splendors which were associated with these studies. Such dilettante dreams can not be supposed to have deeply interested the general public, with whose concerns they had but a remote connection; so under these circumstances, probably the classical style was as suitable as any other, chosen on such narrow and exclusive grounds. There was even a certain fitness in it, a capability of much expansion on theatrical and grandiose lines. Its unbending demeanor toward [257] craft talent of the humbler kind at once flattered the vanity of the cultured, and cowed uneducated minds.
The Duomo at Florence was finished early in that century, and was one of the first buildings in which the new style was adopted. In this case it was used mainly in the completion of a building already well advanced on lines based upon the older traditions. The character of its design, although not of a strictly imitative kind, was distinctly based on a classical ideal. Imitations followed, mingling, as in the case of the Duomo, Gothic and classic elements, often with fine effect. It is quite possible to believe that, had this intermarriage of the two schools continued to bear fruit, some vertebrate style might have resulted from the union, partaking of the nature of both parents; but the hope was of short duration. Its architects, becoming enamored by the quality of scientific precision, which is the fundamental principle of classical design, soon abandoned all pretense of attempting to amalgamate the native and imported styles. They gave themselves up wholly to the congenial task of elaborating a scholarly system of imitation; so that, [258] by the middle of the sixteenth century, no trace whatever remained of native feeling in the architecture of its important buildings.
During the progress of this revolution in style, the old medieval habits of cooperation between master mason and sculptor were slowly being exchanged for a complete dependence upon a special architect, who was not necessarily a craftsman himself; but whose designs must be carried out line for line with the most rigid adherence to measurements.
For a moment in history, the rival spirits of the two great schools of architecture stand face to face like opposing ideals. The classical one, recalled from the region of things past and forgotten, again to play a part on earth with at least the semblance of life; the Gothic spirit, under notice to quit and betake itself to that oblivion from which its rival is reemerging.
In the heyday of their power, the first had shown a distinctly autocratic bearing toward its workmen; offering to its sculptors of genius opportunities for the exercise of highly trained powers, and to the subordinate workmen only the [259] more or less mechanical task of repeating a limited number of prescribed forms. The other, a more genial spirit, had possessed the largest toleration for rude or untrained workmanship, provided that in its expression the carver had a meaning which would be generally understood and appreciated. If skill could be commanded, either of design or technique, it was welcomed; but it gave no encouragement to work which was either so distinctive as to be independent of its surroundings, or of a kind which could have no other than a mechanical interest in its execution. The abrupt contrasts, the variety and mystery, characteristic of Gothic architecture, had been a direct and irresistible invitation to the carver, and the freest playground for his fancy. The formality of the classical design, on the other hand, necessarily confined such carving as it permitted to particular lines and spaces, following a recognized rule; and except in the case of bas-relief figure subjects and detached statues, demanded no separate interest in the carvings themselves, further than the esthetic one of relieving such lines and spaces as were otherwise uncomfortably bare. [260]
Some modification of this extreme arrogance toward the decorative carver was only to be expected in the revived style, but the freedom allowed to the individual carver turned out to be more apparent than real. A new race of carvers sprang up, imbued with the principles of classical design; but being no longer in touch with natural and popular interests, nor stimulated by mutual cooperation with their brother craftsmen, the mason builders, they adopted the fashionable mode of expression invented by the new architects and the painters of the time.
Elaborate "arabesque" and other formal designs gave employment to the carvers, in making an infinite repetition of fiddles, festoons, and ribbons, in the execution of which they became so proficient, that their work is more often admired for its exquisite finish than for any intrinsic interest in the subject or design.
Judged by its effects upon the art of carving, without the aid of which a national style of architecture is impossible, the revival of classical architecture never had a real and enduring life in it. Strictly speaking, no organic style ever grew out of its ambitious promises; the [261] nearest approach to such a thing is to be found in those uncouth minglings of Gothic tradition with fragments of classical detail which distinguish much of the domestic architecture during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Amusing in their quaint and often rich and effective combinations, humanly interesting in proportion to the predominance of the Gothic element, association has grown up around these homely records of a mixed influence, until they have come to be regarded with affection, if not with the highest admiration.
The "revival" brought nothing but harm to the carver himself—that is, to the carver who found it impossible to reach the elevation of a sculptor of genius. He sacrificed his own small but precious talent as a creator of pleasant images for the attainment of a finesse in the execution of other people's ideas. To the "Renaissance" must be attributed that fatal separation of the craftsman's function into the hands of designer and executant which has so completely paralyzed the living spirit of individual invention. It has taken close upon four centuries to open the eyes of our crafts [262]men to this inconsistency, and "revive" the medieval truth that invention and execution are strictly but one and the same thing. Let us hope that the present awakening to the importance of this fact may yet lead to what will be truly worthy of being called a "Renaissance"; not merely of outward forms, but of that creative energy which alone justifies the true meaning of the word.
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