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THE CIVIL ENGINEER AND ARCHITECT'S JOURNAL. 



[April, 



Leibnitz, philosophy 



Boerhaave, medicine 



Moritz von Saxe, warrior 



Handel, musician 



Count von Munich, Russian Field-marshall . . 



Winckelmann, antiquary 



Count von Schaumburg-Lippe 



Von Haller, poet, &c. 



Mengs, artist 



Maria Theresa, of Austria 



Gluck, musician 



Von Loudon, Field-marshall 



Mozart, musician 



Ferdinand, Duke of Brunswick 



Justus Moser . . . . . . 



Burger, poet 



Catherine II. of Russia 



Klopstock, poet 



Heinse . . . . . . 



Herder, poetry and philosophy 



Kant, philosophy 



Schiller, poetry and history 



Haydn, music .. .. .. . 



Joh. von Muller, history 

 Wielaud, poetry and belles lettre6 

 Scharenhorst, Field-marshall 



Barclay de Tolli, ditto 



Blucher, ditto 



Prince Schwartzenburg 



Herschel, astronomy . . 



Diebitsch-Sabalkansky, Field-marshall 



Stein, Prussian Minister 



Count von Gneisenau, Field-marshall 



Goethe, poetry and universal literature 



A CHAT ABOUT WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



Our metropolitan minster (nasi of St. Paul's), is perhaps without 

 exception, the most beautiful, interesting, and instructive sight in 

 London; and yet how many inhabitants of this great city are there 

 who, but for the accidental visit of a country cousin, which led them 

 to seek the Lions, had never seen it? and how many more to whom it 

 is still unknown ground ? They have travelled, perhaps, to York, to 

 see the Minster there; they have sought objects of interest at Co- 

 logne ; they have thrown their eyes round the Cathedral of Stras- 

 burgh — but Westminster Abbey, close at home, has escaped their in- 

 vestigating gaze. Let them lose no time in seeking it out. We feel 

 persuaded that few can visit this wonderful museum of skill, genius, 

 noble thoughts, and memories of good deeds, without an elevation of 

 mind, an improvement in taste, and a chastening in feeling which 

 must tend in a greater or less degree to good. Walk through it, ex- 

 amine it, study it, as often and carefully as you may, you will ever 

 find some fresh claim on your attention, some beauty before over- 

 looked, or some evidence of unpretending piety, which makes you 

 prouder of humanity and more determined to do nothing derogatory 

 in your own person. It is, indeed, a spot " where folly's dancing foam 

 melts if it cross the threshold ;" where thoughts that are unholy 

 die ; where the past great ones of six centuries speak powerfully to 

 you — it is to be hoped, not uselessly. 



The multitude of monuments which it contains, from that of King 

 Henry III, upwards, (omitting, for the present, any remarks on the 

 destructive effect produced by those erected in modern times,) render 

 it an index to English history, and a commentary, while the speci- 

 mens of the workmanship of different epochs in wood and stone, and 

 glass and metal, which these and other portions of the building pre- 

 sent, make it a lecturer on British art and a record of its progress. 

 Edward the Confessor's chapel, at the east end of the choir, is alone 

 a sufficient reward for a pilgrimage of a hundred miles. Here, 

 where old Time seems to have secluded himself from the garish 

 present, and reigns over remnants of the past, are ranged memorials 

 of our early sovereigns — the pious Edward, Queen Eleanor, Edward I, 

 Henry III, Queen Philippa, Richard II and his Queen, and the gallant 

 Henry V. It has nothing in common with the present time, it stands 



alone, and cannot be realized in the mind of any one of the throng- 

 ing thousands, who are passing at so short a distance from the spot, if 

 they have not visited it. Examine the pavement, examine the shrines 

 — the chantry of Henry V, the screen, next the choir covered with 

 minutest sculpturing — and see how the powers of art hare been la- 

 vished in honour of God. Our forefathers were not satisfied with the 

 decoration of the mere face of the part in human sight — the highest 

 exercise of their powers was deemed hardly worthy of the temple, 

 and so long as any portion, however remote, or hidden, remained ca- 

 pable of improvement, so long was it deemed incomplete and requi- 

 ring alteration. 



Of the elegance of the Abbey as a structure it is almost needless 

 to speak : it may be termed the finest example of the pointed style 

 of architecture ever executed in England, and remains the most com- 

 plete, with the exception of the cathedral at Salisbury. The combi- 

 nations which its various parts form, especially at the eastern end, 

 are as numerous as they are striking, and serve to impress a strong 

 conviction on the mind, of the skill of the old builders, and the power 

 they possessed of so arranging their structures as to excite plea- 

 surable and lofty emotions. Amongst the most striking of these com- 

 binations is that presented when standing beneath the porch of Henry 

 VII's chapel, the gloom in which, most artistically devised, serves to 

 render the full flood of light, to be found in the chapel itself, striking 

 and effective in the highest degree. Burke remarks, in his essay on 

 the sublime, "I think that all edifices, calculated to produce an idea 

 of the sublime, ought rather to be dark and gloomy ; and this for two 

 reasons; the first is, that darkness itself, on other occasions, is known 

 by experience, to have a greater effect on the passions than light. 

 The second is, that to make an object very striking, we should make 

 it as different as possible from the objects with which we have been 

 immediately conversant ; when, therefore, you enter a building, you 

 cannot pass into a greater light than you had in the open air: to go 

 into one some few degrees less luminous, can make only a trifling 

 change; but to make the transition thoroughly striking, you ought to 

 pass from the greatest light to as much darkness as is consistent with 

 the uses of architecture." This the architects of the middle ages 

 well understood ; they appreciated the " dim religious light," and 

 accordingly built their ecclesiatical edifices, for the most part, with 

 comparatively few openings. When, however, as in the case before 

 us, the style adopted rendered larger windows necessary, they re- 

 versed the arrangement, and so still obtained the required effect. In 

 a Gothic edifice, nothing was done without intention — everything is 

 meaning-full, design is everywhere apparent. 



Many of the striking combinations, to which we have referred, are 

 now sadly interfered with by the modern monuments, with which the 

 Abbey is lumbered up — monuments for the most part so absurd that 

 they would make us laugh if they did not make us sad. Mouldings, 

 pillars, and adornments of all descriptions have been ruthlessly cut 

 away for them, openings have been interfered with, and even several 

 of the spaces between the large clustered columns in the side ailes 

 and chapels, are blocked up to the top with tasteless and incongruous 

 masses of stone and marble, alike unsuitable and discordant in colour 

 and design. 



The sculpture of the best periods of the middle ages has an en- 

 tirely distinct and original character, prompted by the spirit of the 

 time and carried out by genius. It is in no way imitated from the 

 master-pieces of Pagan art, which might have been used as models ; 

 but is nevertheless full of feeling, and appeals to the sympathies 

 rather than to the eye. In the ancient tombs at Westminster as 

 elsewhere, the sculpture is seen to be a portion of the building, con- 

 ceived in the same spirit and displaying the same feeling of reve- 

 rence. All the figures are in repose, all are devotional — there is no 

 flutter, no action even, certainly no worldly action ; they do not seek 

 to record, in vain self-glory, any moment of the past, but carry us for- 

 ward to the great hereafter, and inculcate humility. Alas ! how sadly 

 this contrasts with those of more recent date, where every man " for 

 his own hand," has worked in his own way, careless of the general 

 effect, and has not worked well. Mountains of most material clouds, 



