Architectural Refinements 
the comparatively easy work of building the towers 
upright. 
Though Mr. Goodyear is not quite explicit on 
the point, he very cleverly suggests how such a re¬ 
finement was kept in view. The first page of his 
catalogue darkly hints at it in a quotation from M. 
Enlart: “ Le monopole de la corporation semble avoir 
ete assure surtout par la garde jalonse d’enseigne- 
ments secrets.” Certainly long chains of deliberate 
design can be postulated only on the assumption 
that the art of building in the Middle Ages lay in 
the hands of a secret corporation, with an occult 
traditionary method, an inviolate law of design that 
had force during hundreds of years, and, however 
long the building, to the end shaped and perfected 
its construction. 
Here, then, we have the most distinct argument 
which I have yet come across for the existence in 
the Middle Ages of the Freemason Guild—those 
mysterious banded builders who did it all and said 
nothing. The whole contention as to “ King Solo¬ 
mon and Hiram,” as to the “Four Brethren,” as to 
the “Comacine Guild,” and those wandering “ Bom¬ 
bards” who, without leaving a trace behind, built 
all the cathedrals—why, it all appears not only pos¬ 
sible but probable under this new light! As certain 
Scotch architects, who have welcomed the Edin¬ 
burgh Exhibition, say of it: “It completely revises 
the ordinary view of Gothic work.” I conclude that 
Street was ill-advised, and Wyatt Papworth a shal¬ 
low critic, in denying the Freemason architects. 
Nothing but the authority and initiation of a “mys¬ 
tery” could keep alive through generations and bring 
to perfection a scheme of design so recondite that, 
except on the supposition of an ineffable holiness 
attaching to it, it could not be perceived. Its se¬ 
cret was not in itself or its refinement, but in the 
success of its secrecy; in its masterly pretence that 
all the time its crooked ways were mis-measure- 
ment, accident, settlement, or some make-believe 
constructional necessity. Even Viollet le Due, who 
was for years in charge of Notre-Dame, and knew 
every stone of it, never found out the secrets of these 
wonderful Freemasons. Let us yield to the whole 
fascination of Mr. Goodyear’s discovery, and at one 
gulp take down “Comacines,” “Freemasons,” and 
“ Refinements.” 
But I refuse to go with Mr. Goodyear on one point. 
He seems to reckon that the irregularities he exhib¬ 
its, as well as being subtle and traditionary, are 
necessarily beautiful; making “building more im¬ 
posing, more attractive, and more interesting to the 
eye”; as indeed “the necessary conditions of the 
creation of a work of art in architecture.” Now, 
my objection is not that I do not think as Mr. Good¬ 
year when I see the beauty of the mediaeval cathe¬ 
dral, and note how haphazard and accident have 
woven a gauze of mystery over its shapeliness; the 
play of this seems inseparable from my idea of it. 
I had the honor, I remember, some many years ago, 
about the time when Mr. Goodyear began his in¬ 
vestigations, of telling the Art Congress of Edin¬ 
burgh how much the texture of ancient art made, 
in my sight, its beauty, which our modern building 
has missed. But though to my eyes this must al¬ 
ways be so, all the same I feel that it is just associa¬ 
tion that has made roughness and irregularity seem 
the factors of beautiful building. We have had such 
a precious lot of “tee- and set-square” architecture, 
whereby walls have been built perfectly upright, 
string-courses set out dead level, and our buildings 
show just smoothness and mechanical perfection, 
and nothing else. To get into an old church where 
there is none of this perfection is felt to be a relief. 
And then through this veil of imperfection the sim¬ 
plicity and power of the old building appeal to us; 
we associate the texture with the art that lies under¬ 
neath it. Our ideal of its beauty makes its skin and 
rs life seem one. Yet on any conscious examina- 
ion of the question I incline to the thought that 
exactness, smoothness and certainty are the real re¬ 
finements which come into the making of a great 
work of architecture, as in everything else. And I 
believe that the mediaeval builders just thought so 
too. 
1 hey had no aesthetic ambition in making walls 
knock-kneed and facades round-backed. They 
made the best of their conditions; and as prac¬ 
tical men do now, they concealed the ugliness of acci¬ 
dent, and still, in spite of it, and in disregard of it, 
strove after perfection. No more then than now 
could the craftsman be persuaded to bungle his work. 
There are two classes of mind to whom the appeals 
of art are made—the practical and the mystic. Has 
not the connoisseurship of modern art in our days 
healthily stimulated this latter ? We suffer art to 
lie in all sorts of recondite and subtle recipes; in all 
sorts of moral and secret emotions. Mr. Goodyear’s 
gospel will be good tidings to the mystic and the 
idealist, but to the craftsman it is foolishness. 
1 97 
