The sculptural art at St. Germain des Pres seems exactly on a par with that at St. Denis and Chartres. The capitals are either of the Byzantine Corinthianesque, or are filled with animals (natural and grotesque), or consist of a union of both. They are exceedingly fine examples of their style, and I have selected one[18] of them as a type of the style. The design of the interior of the choir, though severely simple, is exceedingly fine, and in some degree original. I exhibit a sketch of two of its bays (Fig. 37).

The western doorway (Fig. 38) seems to have very closely resembled those at Chartres; but the whole of the sculpture has been removed, excepting from the tympanum, which still bears the representation of the Last Supper; and the shafts, which, we are informed, bore full-length figures—alternating, in all probability, with smaller ones richly diapered, as at St. Denis, Chartres, and Bourges—have been exchanged for plain ones. The capitals are of rich Corinthianesque foliage, amongst which are represented grotesque birds, harpies, etc. The basement or pedestal is fluted exactly as at Chartres. On the whole, this church deserves much more attention than it seems generally to have received.

I now come to an example of peculiar interest to ourselves;—that cathedral which it is customary to suppose to be the parent of our own Pointed architecture; and which, though I by no means subscribe to that opinion, possesses an interest sufficiently deep as being, without question, the prototype of the glorious choir and the Trinity Chapel at Canterbury,—the metropolitan church of all England—and as having, through them, exercised a powerful influence, and given a certain degree of French colouring to the immediately succeeding developments throughout the length and breadth of our land. I need hardly say that I allude to the cathedral of Sens.

I am ashamed to say I had not seen this noble church till a short tour I have made during the present winter,[19] and with reference to the present lecture. I had unconsciously entertained a certain feeling of jealousy towards it, arising from the exaggerated opinions constantly expressed as to the entire dependence upon it of our Pointed style; but my first exclamation on entering its nave was, “Well, if our Gothic churches are all derived from this, they had, to say the least, a glorious parentage!”

Though a cathedral of the second magnitude, and much injured by subsequent alterations, I know few which have a nobler or more impressive aspect. Even the soaring interior of Amiens, which I chanced to visit the day after, did not efface from my mind the sterner grandeur of Sens.

The interior is extremely simple (Fig. 39), and rather obtains its impressive effect from the magnitude of its leading features, and still more from the noble sentiment which must have pervaded the mind of its designer, than from anything which can be specifically defined in words. Its nave is of unusual width, being 49 feet from centre to centre of the pillars, which are alternately vast clustered piers of about 11 feet 6 inches diameter (a large portion of which runs up to the vaulting), and coupled columns of nearly three feet diameter each. The triforium is somewhat too small—the only

fault in the composition—and the clerestory windows have, unfortunately, been renewed at a later age. It is generally stated that the whole of the vaulting was renewed with them: this, however, is incorrect; the only parts renewed were the side cells, which, as is proved by evidence I need not here go into, were round-arched, and came low in the clerestory wall, thus diminishing the height of the windows—a defect which led to their reconstruction. Not only are the ribs of the original section, but the bosses are clearly of the same early age, which, I think, is sufficient to disprove the idea of the vaults having been rebuilt. The vaulting of the aisles has round transverse arches, and the aisle windows, as well as the wall-arcading, are round-arched (Fig. 40). The carving is of the same kind with that I have so often described, and most of it is severely simple. Some of the capitals to the wall-arcading are very rich, and many of them contain grotesque animals, birds, etc., finely carved (Figs. 41, 42).

The west portals were, probably, the latest part of the original church, and have since been altered by the substitution of tympana of later date; but the sculptured art they contain is some of the very finest of its period, many of the figures being of classic beauty, and of far more than classic expression. This church was dedicated in 1167, though (with the sole exception of the portals) its character would have led one to place it earlier than St. Denis.

Two years before the consecration of Sens was commenced the great crowning work of the French transition—Nôtre Dame at Paris.[20] Its erection occupied the remainder of the century, while that of the western façade reaches over the first quarter of the succeeding one. I will not attempt a description of what this most noble church was in its original condition: it will be found clearly particularised in M. Viollet le Duc’s Dictionary—a work which should be in the hands of every architectural student. I will rather confine myself to its influence upon sculptured foliage.

On its first commencement no advance was made upon the Byzantine carving of St. Denis; indeed, the capitals in the eastern gallery look almost more archaic than their predecessors of twenty or thirty years’ earlier date. It is curious, however, that the capitals of the large columns below these galleries are in a decidedly more advanced style. This M. le Duc ingeniously attributes to the employment of artists of different ages, and to the preference given (in an age of advancement) to the younger ones, leading to the more important capitals being committed to their hands. I should, however, be inclined to account for it differently, by supposing the smaller and more detached capitals to have been carved before they were fixed, and those of the great pillars left to the last thing before the removal of the scaffolding. I can appreciate this by my own experience, for in the church I am building at Hamburg there will be some ten years’ interval between the carving of the triforium and of the pillars which support it; during which interval I am horrified when I recollect that all but one of the artists have died from the destructive effects of the stone dust, and that one has been saved only by my having requested him to relinquish carving and to content himself with making models for others to work from—a system which, under other circumstances, is one of the advisableness of which I entertain doubts.

The capitals, however, in the nave are those which best display the enormous advance now being made. I should not have dwelt so long on the merely antiquarian fact of the importation of the Byzantine

Corinthian into France, had it not led to this glorious result. In the nave of Nôtre Dame every vestige of this Greekesque foliage is got rid of, its general outline alone excepted;[23] and a kind perfectly new and most truly noble is subtituted, founded slightly on reminiscences of the true Romanesque foliage previous to the Oriental importation, retaining the outline suggested by the acanthus leaf, but worked up into a form which had never before been hinted at, and which was destined to effect a great revolution in this branch of art. From this time forward (till the end of the thirteenth century) the French carving is noble and effective in the very highest degree—at first gradually approaching natural forms without directly imitating them, but eventually adopting frankly the productions of nature as its guide, but so far conventionalising them as to fit them perfectly to their position, and to make them produce a contour

harmonising with, and adding the utmost beauty to, the features of the architecture to which they are applied. I exhibit specimens of this class of foliage in Nôtre Dame (Figs. 47, 48). I will also call attention to a drawing of one of the capitals from the apse of St. Leu, near Creil (said to have been executed a little after a great accession of wealth to the abbey in 1175, M. le Duc says about 1190), as a specimen of the same advance in foliaged carving, and to some of the capitals from the west front of Nôtre Dame (about 1220) as examples of its success just before the systematic introduction of natural foliage.

At this point I ought to mention the introduction (though of somewhat earlier date) of what the French call the capital “à crochet.” I exhibit a sketch showing its origin from a plain unruffled leaf, which accompanied the Byzantine acanthus (Fig. 51). This plain leaf may be seen in a simple form in the apsidal columns at Noyon, in a more advanced state in the nave of the same church, and at Laon (which, however, is a good deal later), and pretty well developed at Sens, and at Montmartre. In Nôtre Dame the capital à crochet assumes a considerable importance, and in the west front is used in its most perfect purely conventional form; while a little later, as at the Sainte Chapelle, it is decked and entwined with natural leaves in the most elegant manner imaginable. No feature which arose during the French transition is so universal in its influence on the architecture of other countries. In France its use is often carried to a vicious excess; but, used in moderation, it is a very valuable element in the architecturalisation of foliage.

I have to apologise, as well for the length to which I have prolonged my remarks on the French transition, as for the very meagre outline with which the limits of a lecture have compelled me to satisfy myself. I will reserve a few remarks suggested by what has passed so hastily in review till I have described some of the English examples.

The English transition was so complete in itself, and all its stages so perfect and so consecutive, that were it not for our knowledge of that of France, and for the interpolation—if I may say so—of the almost purely French work at Canterbury, one would be loath to believe that it had been influenced by any other than the natural and spontaneous working out of the development of our own Romanesque.

It may be divided into several stages, though they are often intermingled in the same work.

First, those buildings which are strictly Romanesque, excepting only that pointed arches are partially used. Such is the nave of Fountains Abbey. The date of this is unknown; but it was in all probability erected between 1140 and 1150, thus agreeing in age with St. Denis. Next comes Kirkstall Abbey, commenced in 1153, and, though it appears to have taken thirty-three years to complete it, retaining the same character throughout—purely Romanesque—and that of a stern and severe variety, but with the pointed arches to its more important parts. Buildwas Abbey belongs to the same class, commenced probably a few years after the foundation of the abbey in 1135, its earlier parts thus probably agreeing in age with Fountains.

These examples would appear at first sight to date back our transition as early as that of France; but this would scarcely be a fair conclusion, for, without doubt, many French examples of the same kind—mere Romanesque with the larger arches pointed—exist in France of an earlier date than that of Abbot Suger’s work. I will therefore pass over these merely incipient specimens.

The next class is the extremely refined Norman,

with or without pointed arches—such as the Galilee at Durham, where, though the date is clearly transitional, the ornaments are Norman of a delicate character, very different from Fountains and Kirkstall, and showing a later date. This was the work of the celebrated Bishop Pudsey, the great promoter of the transition in the north. He commenced in 1155 (as I

believe) with his chapter-house—a purely Norman work—and closed with the erection of Darlington Church, nearly as purely Pointed;[24] his episcopate spreading over about forty years. Of this class the examples in the north of England are most numerous, but are so intermixed with decidedly Pointed work as somewhat to confuse the classification. It is common, in fact, to find a building nearly purely Pointed, but with doorways of this class; of which there is a notable, but not very early instance, at Jedburgh, where the doorways are perfect gems of refined Norman of the highest class and most artistic finish, while the interior of the church is purely Pointed.

One of the most remarkable specimens of this class is at St. Mary’s Abbey, at York, in the vestibule of the chapter-house. I give a restored view of one of the entrances, partly from remains in situ, and partly from fragments preserved in the Museum. The date of this most exquisite work is unknown; but I should suppose it contemporary with the later years of Archbishop Roger, the great promoter of the transition in that diocese, and who presided over the see from 1154 to 1181. He rebuilt the choir of his cathedral, of which the noble remains of the crypt were

discovered a few years back, of a very refined Norman style. He also built the palace on the north side of the cathedral, of which a most beautiful fragment remains (Fig. 65). This fragment, though simple, and with round arches, agrees exactly in its detail with the doorway at St. Mary’s, even to the exact diameter and height of its shafts and capitals, and was, no doubt, executed by the same persons.

Roger, also, as has been proved by Mr. Walbran, built the choir at Ripon, of which I give a bay (Fig. 66). Of the same class, and in the same diocese, may be mentioned the west end of Selby Abbey and the Church at Old Malton; Roche Abbey, and of the same date are probably the stately remains of Byland Abbey—one of the noblest relics of the age, and of which the choir was clearly built on the plan of that of Roger at York.

In the south I will first mention the Church of St. Cross, near Winchester, which seems to be intermediate between the above-named classes; it is Norman, of a grand and severe, but, at the same time, highly refined character, but with pointed arches to all principal parts; its foliage is untinged by French taste, but is of a very refined and elegant character; it is as massive as the earlier specimens, without their heaviness—impressive, without becoming oppressive; it is, in fact, the most perfect and the purest type of the indigenous English transition. Unfortunately, its date is unknown, for though founded in 1136, and the hospital actually commenced in that year, it is impossible to give so early a date to the church. It was founded by Henry de Blois, brother to King Stephen, who held the see of Winchester from 1129 to 1171, and it is but reasonable to suppose that the earlier parts of the church were completed during his lifetime.

Contemporary with the close of this structure is the great western tower of the Cathedral at Ely, erected by Bishop Ridel, between 1174 and 1189, in a very grand and effective style, for the most part purely English in character, but occasionally displaying the influence of French examples in the use of the crochet capital.

This brings me to the great type of the third class—those buildings which are unquestionably in the Pointed style, but retain sufficient reminiscences of their Romanesque origin to distinguish them from the fully-developed Early English. I allude to the choir (Fig. 69) and Trinity Chapel (Fig. 70) at Canterbury. I may here save myself and you much time by referring you to Professor Willis’s admirable architectural history of this cathedral, a book with which every architectural student should be familiar. I will only mention that the splendid late Norman choir having been destroyed by fire in 1174, the monks committed its restoration to William of Sens, who had, in all probability, been engaged on the recently-completed cathedral in that city. He carried on the works till disabled by an accident in 1179, when he left them in the hands of his assistant, called, by way of distinction, William, the Englishman, who brought them to a close in 1184 or 1185.

The work of the first William is almost purely French, and, though far more elaborate than that at Sens, very strongly resembles it. He had, however, the good judgment to Anglicise it in a slight degree, as we see in the liberal use of the zigzag and other

Norman ornaments. His capitals are some of the Byzantine character of Sens, and others in the newly-developed style of Nôtre Dame at Paris, and are very finely carved (Fig. 71). The arches are not all pointed, the pier arches, wall ribs, and triforium arches being round.

William the Englishman discarded the Byzantine foliage, and adopted, almost exclusively, the Nôtre Dame type and the capital à crochet, which he carried out with extreme beauty. His work is far more beautiful than that of his master, though from the resemblance of the plan to that of Sens, and from the use of doubled columns, it must have been laid down by the French William. I know no work of the age finer than those of these two architects. One thing I will remark about the second architect, that he made his crypt, in which he worked unfettered by the designs of another, more English than the superstructure, using there (as he did also in one or two other places) the round abacus, subsequently so characteristic of English work.

The influence of the French work thus introduced into England is distinctly marked, and there is no difficulty in tracing it wherever it exists; but it is by no means such as to supersede the national type. Perhaps the most pervading symptom of it is the prevalence henceforth of the crochet capital, though even that seldom assumes a form wholly French, but receives a distinctly English and often a local modification. The most palpable instance (and almost the only one of this direct kind which I remember) of the imitation of Canterbury work is seen in the hall of the castle at Oakham, built by Walkelin de Ferrers, probably, as Mr. Hartshorne says, between 1180 and 1190. In this the capitals, though with some originality, are obviously of French character, and probably founded on those of the Trinity Chapel.[25]

Immediately after Canterbury, and probably in part contemporaneous with it, was the magnificent Abbey Church of Glastonbury. It appears to have been erected chiefly between 1180 and 1190, though finished a little later. I am not aware whether the Chapel of St. Joseph of Arimathea (which stands at the west end, like the Galilee at Durham) was built earlier than the church:[26] at first sight it would convey that impression, all the arches, except those of the vaulting, being round. In its details, however, it

resembles those of the church, where the arches are all pointed. This chapel is of exquisite beauty, and its details in the highest degree refined; indeed, nothing could exceed the studious care with which every feature and the profile of every moulding is carried out. The English type is adhered to in the retention, in an exceedingly refined form, and in great variety of decorations founded in the chevron, and in the use of intersecting arcades. The external buttresses assume

a form of peculiar elegance and originality; the base moulds are of noble form, wholly differing from those in France. The turrets at the angles are of great beauty. The whole shows symptoms of a perfect knowledge of French developments, but the only distinctive imitation of them is in the capitals, which display, in many instances, the crochet form, but with a beauty and freedom of treatment peculiarly their own, differing not only from the French examples, but from the great majority of English ones, and exercising a strong local influence, extending from Somerset along the north side of the Bristol Channel, and reaching even the distant Cathedral of St. David’s. The church agrees in its details with the chapel, but its remains are grievously fragmentary. The triforium was united

with the pier arcade in a manner I do not recollect in any other Pointed church, though it is seen on a round-arched form at Oxford, and in the early portion of Jedburgh Abbey. The piers are beautifully clustered, as is suggested by the multifarious destinations of their parts, one portion being to carry the vaulting of the aisles; a second, the lower tier of pier-arches; a third, the upper tier; and a fourth, the higher vaulting. It is distressing to think how little of this most glorious church remains. It was probably unequalled by any transitional church in England, but has actually—even up to our own day—been used as a stone quarry!

I should have mentioned that in the chapel the pointed vaulting is used in its fully-developed form—both main arches and side cells being pointed.

Of the same age is a great part of the Cathedral of St. David’s, of which I give an internal bay (Fig. 76). It was commenced in 1182, just after William of Sens relinquished his work at Canterbury. Its character is decidedly more Romanesque than that of Glastonbury. The arches are generally round, and the vaulting seems to have reversed the early custom, being round in the main arch, and pointed in its side cells. The ornaments of the chevron type are used, as at Glastonbury; there is the same refined and studious detail, and the same class of capital is occasionally used, though the majority are formed on the Norman cushion capital. This form of capital had undergone a long series of changes; at first the cushions were single on each face and the profile convex; then they became gradually multiplied, but still convex below; then the outline became concave; subsequently the cushions from semicircles became a much greater portion of a circle, appearing like a series of rolls bent into a concave outline, with deep hollows between them. This occurs frequently at St. David’s. The next step is to decorate the circular ends of these rolls. This is done at St. David’s, sometimes with foliage, sometimes with little figures, as in medallions, and, as a last step, before the final rejection of the type, the whole roll is converted into foliage together. At St. David’s all these later steps are exhibited in a very curious and interesting manner. Some of them may be seen in the choir of Lichfield Cathedral, and at Hereford in the eastern chapel.

At St. David’s the triforium is united with the clerestory, something as at St. Germain des Pres.[27] The clerestory has two bays to one arch below, and has had sexpartite vaulting; not, as usual, embracing two bays, but two of these semi-bays. It is interesting to find in this most remote of the cathedrals of South Britain, and only just verging out of the Romanesque, a degree of originality and of refinement equal to what is met with in our best examples.

The circular portion of the Temple Church in

London is exactly contemporary with Canterbury, having been consecrated in 1185, the year when that work was completed. It is somewhat less advanced in style, possibly from a preference felt among the Templars for the Romanesque. The pillars and main arches, with the vaulting generally, it is true, are quite advanced Pointed, and are exceedingly beautiful; but the triforium consists of an intersecting arcade, as at St. Cross, and the windows are quite Norman; while, on the other hand, the wall-arcading is pointed. The capitals are of several varieties; most of them are of the simple water-leaf form so prevalent in the north of England, while others are founded on the cushion and the crochet forms.

It is exceedingly vexatious that the dates of buildings of this period are so difficult to be ascertained.

Even where we know by whom they were erected, their founders were often so long-lived as to render the information perfectly indefinite. Thus, Pudsey presided over the see of Durham for forty years, Roger over York for nearly thirty years, and Henry de Blois over Winchester forty-two years; and Walkelin de Ferrers, who built the hall at Oakham Castle, held the manor from 1161 to 1201.

Among the later works of the transition may be mentioned the eastern part of Chichester Cathedral[28] (Fig. 80), a most beautiful example, of which I give an internal view; and a yet nobler specimen is the eastern portion of Tynemouth Abbey (Fig. 81). Of this I give a restored view, in which I have supplied one of the bays which have fallen, and also the vaulting, with its curious termination,

against the east end. This, again, is a dateless work. Though externally the flat Norman buttress is retained, it possesses internally no Romanesque features, but is purely Pointed and thoroughly developed in every part, though retaining what in England is the great distinguishing characteristic of the transition—the square abacus. The details are exceedingly rich and beautiful, while the vast thickness of its walls gives to the interior a massive grandeur seldom equalled. Its situation is ungenial, being on a dull promontory and close upon the shore, so that every blast from the German Ocean whistles through its arches; yet, chilling as its position is, no one of taste can visit it without finding his heart warm up with admiration of its noble and beautiful architecture, which is excelled by few, if any, examples of its period.

In the same northern district is Hexham Abbey, a noble example of what may called the transition from the transition into the developed Early English (Fig. 82). Farther north, again, we have noble examples at Kelso, Jedburgh, and Dryburgh: the first having the round arch nearly throughout; the second, as I have before said, famed for its exquisite doorways; and the last having doorways equally refined, but remarkable rather for their chaste simplicity than for their richness of detail. I ought also to mention, among other northern examples, the Abbey of Furness and the sister church of Cartmel; also the noble refectories at Fountains and Rivaulx.

To attempt, however, an enumeration of English examples would be an endless task. So far from being a mere exotic, the country appears to have been absolutely saturated with transitional buildings: and these, so far from showing any of that inaptitude which would accompany the use of a mere imported style, actually evince a degree of originality and a revelry (if I may use such a term) in the new art which is perfectly charming, and display beauties wholly different from any I have seen in other countries. Not only is this the case in works on a grand scale, but in the smallest village churches, in which we find the style reduced to its simplest elements, yet exhibiting a sense of beauty and a studious attention to detail which is quite surprising. One of the features of these simpler productions is the plain unfoliated capital—such as those at Fountains Abbey—but which, from its simplicity, is of frequent use in village churches. Nothing could be more severely plain, yet it possesses a degree of beauty equal in its way to that of the most gorgeous capitals. We see from the examples I give from Ripon and Fountains, how this passed off into the round moulded capital which is so peculiar a characteristic of the English Early Pointed.[29]

The distinctive characteristics of the productions of the English, as compared with the French, transition, are somewhat difficult to define, inasmuch as they begin in a manner the very reverse of that in which they terminate; for at first they evince themselves in a stronger resemblance to the preceding Romanesque,