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THE CIVIL ENGINEER AND ARCHITECTS JOURNAL. 



217 



THE POETRY OF ARCHITECTURE. 



A paper read by James Edmeston-, jun., nt the General Meeting of 

 the Architectural Association, May 3UY, 1850. 



Ik it be true that Architecture is a fine art; that it is eminently 

 capable of receiving the marks and impressions of mind and 

 intellect; if it has the power of reflecting the radiations of the 

 heaven-born fire of genius — why, then, it is most truly poetical. 

 For what is poetry but a combination of all these? and to talk of 

 the poetry of architecture is not a mere form of uimieaning words, 

 but expresses a fact that should attract our attention and study, 

 since it cannot be possible for us to place the standard of our art 

 too high, or to fix a limit to the excellencies of which it may be 

 capable. 



That architecture does possess all these characteristics, I think 

 few will deny; and if to some, such e.xpressions may seem to belong 

 to mere theory, I will ask them, at all events, to allow what is, 

 unfortunately, evident enough — that the opposite of these things 

 exists; that is to say, that want of harmony, that bad taste, which 

 we commonly call vulgarity, and which is the offspring of an 

 uneducated mind and low order of imagination. If, then, it is too 

 certain that architectural forms have the power of conveying to the 

 mind such impressions as these, 1 must contend that it is absurd 

 and impossible to say that improvement is not to be made. The 

 mind instinctively points out what is vulgar, deformed, and un- 

 poetic: there must of necessity be the reverse of all this, and the 

 mind will discern and approve what is beautiful, poetic, and pro- 

 portionate. 



It does appear to me that more profit than may be at first sight 

 apparent, may be derived from the study of the art under such an 

 aspect as that now under consideration, since the desire of excel- 

 lence is the incentive to all exertion; and the more fully the mind 

 is impressed with the glorious height and perfection which may be 

 attained, the more firmly and determinately will it buckle on the 

 armour of thought to the task, the more intently will it labour to 

 surmount the difficulties of the road, and gaze firmly on the goal 

 which it desires to reach, — while without faith in the result of our 

 exertions we can achieve nothing. 



What I would call the true poetry of the art is that combination 

 of mass, that disposition of outline, that moulding of form and 

 arrangement of detail, which should be guided by taste the most 

 elevated and refined, and, above all, should speak to the beholder 

 clearly and intelligibly, with a voice mighty yet inward — a work, 

 the contemplation of which, like the divine strains of melodious 

 music, should elevate and purify the mind, encouraging those 

 sensations of the soul which partake least of the earthly clay from 

 which we have sprung, but which, with purity and intensity, yield 

 charms to the imagination far beyond those of a grosser nature; 

 appealing to the sensibility of the soul, and to those innate percep- 

 tions of the beautiful which God has implanted in all his intelligent 

 creatures, — the external harmony from without, finding an internal 

 response within us. Very mysterious and subtle are these influences 

 of what we call "?Ae beautiful" or, as I have called their highest 

 expression, the poetry of art and nature — neither to my mind 

 existing only in the power of perception, but an actuality in the 

 thing perceived; not wholly a matter of the intellect (to be merely 

 acquired like scholastic learning), though certainly to be cultivated 

 and improved,— but partaking of all these; consisting of none 

 wholly, but in part of all; an absolute outward principle, fact, and 

 perfection, existing in and pervading all things, though often we 

 may not perceive or understand it. Yet it is of great importance 

 that ne should believe it is to be achieved and evolved; for if 

 not, we may fall into that frigid and philosophic view of our art, 

 which will so alter its nature, that we shall no longer be able to 

 talk of its poetry; and may at last reduce it to a mere manufacture, 

 or to be worked out like a mathematical problem— not taught ti> 

 spring into warm life by the creative power of genius, full of 

 powerful thought, and clothed with the glowing expressions of 

 poetry. We should, then, gladly welcome those refining influences of 

 high art, allowing that such things may be and are, and strive to im- 

 prove them to the uttermost. 1 have not alluded to colour as being 

 a primary agent in producing these effects, because 1 certainly 

 think that, although an important element and not to be despised, 

 yet that it is certainly altogether secondary to form, arrange- 

 ment, &c. 



All fine art must be poetic; for is it not the illuminating power 

 of genius, and the thoughtful ardour of a superior mind, which, 

 ■working ui)on the natural rough and intractable material, makes 

 of the block of unshapen stone an Apollo Belvidere, or arranges 

 colours with true and powerful harmony on the canvas. 



Perhaps it may not be an inapt simile to compare the works of , 

 the painter and sculptor to the sonnet, every word of which should 

 contain the richest imagery and most suggestive thought, polished 

 and refined with the greatest care, and yet brought into so small a 

 compass; while the architect's works c(une more nearly to the 

 grand, less-minutely finished, but powerful and majestic, epic — in 

 part forcible and striking, in part subdued and general; varying in 

 description, but as a whole, grand and complete. 



Let us, however, endeavour to trace the poetical element in the 

 old world efforts of architectural art. To begin with the half- 

 temple, half-palace, erections of the Egyptians — the great temple 

 of Karnac, for example; this, and most of the other productions of 

 Egyptian art, do not, I think, bear evidence that the artist was 

 actuated so much by higher impulses, as by the desire to produce 

 something grandiose and magnificent: as if each dynasty wished 

 to leave the page of its history indelibly written, and set up on the 

 face of the land for succeeding ages to wonder at, rather than 

 moved by any deep religious feeling, or any of those higher aims 

 which would have ensured more perfect results. Wonderful, ma- 

 jestic, and surprising as are their works, I do not consider that 

 they exhibit so much mental vigour as perhaps every other style, 

 nor much elegance of mind; in fine, 1 tliink that if the Egyptians 

 had taken a higher aim, and been actuated by higher purposes, 

 they would then have produced, with their wonderful technical 

 ability and resources, works of a higher stamp, and in all respects 

 much superior: but they seem to have been wanting in imagination, 

 and, from some circumstances of position or habit, to have been 

 deficient to some extent in poetical genius — learned and scientific 

 though they certainly were. 



But leaving this era of art, and turning to theGreek — what an ex- 

 traordinary dift'erence do we find! The characteristics and purposes 

 of the former style are quite gone (I do not mean mere evidences 

 of relationship and descent, but of feeling and thought); and I 

 think that it must be allowed that here the poetical element exists 

 most strongly. In Grecian buildings we see the language of mind, 

 earnest, determined, elevated, and poetical — a purity of thought 

 and loftiness of idea which is the more surprising when we consider 

 the ffrossness of their religious myths and other circumstances of 

 their position. Let us suppose the Parthenon as it was first erected, 

 fresh and unmutilated — from its vastness, imposing and arresting 

 the attention of the beholder; with its just proportions, pleasing 

 and delighting his eye; and, with its general purity of design, 

 refining and elevating the emotions of his soul: exciting no one 

 thought displeasing and gross, but leaving him better and happier — • 

 he can scarcely tell you why — for having seen it. Yet the reason is 

 no more than this, and as we have before observed, that genius 

 and thought can make themselves felt and evident, and can speak 

 to the minds of others, no matter through what medium — impart- 

 ing a feeling which language can hardly express, hut which the 

 soul can well understand; even as the poet will carry away his 

 hearersor readers by the creations of his fancy conveyed in words. 



Coming next to Roman art; I tliink we find the poetical element 

 much less clearly expressed. The reason I take to be, that the 

 Romans had naturally no such soul-felt love for their art as 

 the Greeks had; their time and attention were too much otherwise 

 occupied; they wanted, to a great extent, tliat elegance of mind 

 which the Greeks i)ossessed; and their fondness for military pomp 

 and grandeur, and for outward show, made itself apparent and over- 

 ruling in their architecture: for to do much and largely seems 

 rather to have been their aim than to do well thoughtfully and 

 carefully. They seem to me much more the works of a great nation 

 than of a refined one; and therefore, as we have argued must be 

 the case, to ])Ossess much less poetic feeling and poetic influence, 

 in spite of the grand proportions of a Colosseum, or the enrichments 

 of a temple to Jupiter Tonans. 



The creations of the modern Italian school, great and wonderful 

 as they many of them are, still suffer from the errors of their 

 parentage; and are, generally speaking, certainly wanting in those 

 higher attributes to which we at first alluded, notwithstanding all 

 the bright names which adorn the list of masters, and the many 

 works which they have left behind them worthy of our respect and 

 admiration. Yet, perhaps I ought to except in some degree the 

 minor productions of some of the masters of this school — the love- 

 liness exhibited in the beautiful gardens, where fount and bridge, 

 temple and loggia, under tlie clear blue sky and amidst Italian 

 foliage, speak visions of love and romance, and produce an 

 imaginative world in harmony with itself. 



In the Romanestjue we find a certain rudeness of invention, yet 

 fervour of thought and boldness of fancy, full of great merits. 

 This style would appear the production of a society struggling 



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