There are numberless buildings in all parts of the country which show in their external treatment how gradual was the supersession of the old style by the new and more correct treatment, and how limited in range was the influence of even so eminent an architect as Inigo Jones. Indeed, throughout the seventeenth century it would appear that architectural design followed two paths; one was that trodden by trained architects who aimed at correctitude; the other was that taken by less learned designers, whether architects or (as of old) masons and artificers, who had not mastered the niceties of classic design, and therefore mixed ancient methods with such of the new as they could compass. The mullioned window was one of the old features to which they long held fast. The new idea of large window openings such as prevailed in the Banqueting House they seem to have disliked. Their reluctance had, no doubt, a constructional basis, for the narrow lights of a mullioned window are easily bridged, whereas a wide opening requires either a deeper head to carry the weight above it, or else an arch. The introduction of an arch or a deep head involved a more serious departure from ancient ways, and a more complete committal to new design than the ordinary man could face. He did not mind pilasters, and he did not mind a heavy cornice, and consequently there are plenty of instances in which the old mullioned windows are accompanied by the more stiff and straight arrangement which a heavy cornice involves. Such an instance is to be seen in the free school at Warminster, founded as late as 1707 (Fig. 57).

Another feature to which designers clung was the gable. This, of course, had been from time immemorial a dominant feature of English houses; it was the simplest and most natural way of closing the end of a roof, and as roofs were nearly always of a steep pitch, so, too, were the gables. But there was no place in classic architecture for steep gables, nor indeed for gables of any kind; the nearest approach to them was the pediment. It was only by a determined effort that the English architect could get rid of gables, and this effort was too much for any but the most resolute to make. Gables survived even longer than mullioned windows, and as our climate, with its rain and snow, is better encountered by steep roofs than by flat, the roofs continued to be steep.

An interesting example of the mixture of mullioned windows, gables, and classic details is to be found in the Pepysian Library at Magdalene College, Cambridge (Fig. 56). The precise date of this building is not known. In many of the colleges accounts have survived from which may be gathered the date, the cost, and even the names of the designers of the various buildings which make both Cambridge and Oxford so extremely interesting to architects. But unluckily in this instance there are no accounts left, and it is only inferentially and vaguely that a date can be suggested. Subscriptions for a new building were being asked for in 1640,[41] and again in 1679, and the building was apparently finished, or nearly so, in 1703 when Pepys made his will, by which he left his library (after his nephew’s death) either to Trinity College or Magdalene, but preferably to the latter, in which case it was to be in the “New Building,” where, in fact, it was eventually placed.

It would appear from the plan, and also from the external treatment, that the design was made when the project first started in 1640; but if Professor Willis’s suggestion be accepted that the Civil War interrupted the scheme and that, in view of the change in taste, a fresh design was adopted on the resumption of effort in Charles II.’s time, the survival of the old method’s becomes still more striking. But a close examination of the work strengthens the supposition that the front was designed as a whole when the project was started in 1640; and that the pediments and cornices over the windows, together with the carving, were inserted at the close of the century. The later mouldings are larger and bolder in scale than the earlier.

When it is remembered that in 1640 John Webb was drawing none but classic buildings, and that by 1679 St Paul’s Cathedral was already rising above the ground, and that it was designed on fully developed classic lines, the significance of the mixed taste in this building at Magdalene College will be the more readily appreciated. But it must be borne in mind that Webb and Sir Christopher Wren were members of a learned confraternity, while the unknown designer at Magdalene had evidently not had the same opportunities as they enjoyed for acquiring familiarity with classic detail.

Stanway House, in Gloucestershire, belongs in its general treatment to the Jacobean period, but there are numerous late touches about it; among them are the front door and the window above it (Fig. 58). The latter appears to be a later insertion, but the doorway is probably original, as it agrees in its general character with the arch of the fine gate-house, which is contemporary with the mullioned windows by which it is encompassed. It was quite a usual custom to adhere to the old ways in the general design of a house, but to treat some special feature, such as a doorway, in the more modern and correct fashion. This is easily intelligible when it is remembered that the books on classic architecture confined themselves largely to details, and dealt but sparingly with the designs of entire buildings. At this time, that is about 1637, there was probably no one who gave himself up entirely to the pursuit of consistent purity of detail, except Jones and his pupil Webb.

At Astwell, in Northamptonshire, there are the remains of some gates dated 1638 which were fitted into an old Gothic opening (Fig. 59). They have traceried heads of a sort, in imitation of mediæval work, but the mouldings are allied more nearly to the ordinary work of the time, and the whole is an interesting example of the mixture of old and new ideas.

Swakeleys, near Uxbridge, which carries its date, 1638, on some of its rain-water heads, is a good example of late Jacobean work, in which the old treatment is more apparent than the new (Fig. 60). It has mullioned windows and many gables, but the flat pediments which crown the latter are evidence of its having been built towards the close of the Jacobean period. The actual roofs behind the gables are quite steep and are so complicated that some difficulty was found in getting rid of the rain water. Part of it is taken in a trough in the thickness of the attic floor; and in order to lessen the number of down-pipes, much of it is collected into lead troughs which are carried along the inside of the attic walls to the few pipes which are provided. The result of these arrangements is that every heavy storm or fall of snow entails an inspection by the plumber in order to prevent the accumulation of debris and the risk of spoiled ceilings and walls. The whole of the cornices and pediments are worked in cement, and not, as might be supposed, in stone.

If this house is compared with Webb’s drawing of a proposed new wing at Somerset House (Fig. 61), made in the same year, 1638, the difference becomes strikingly apparent between the style of the ordinary designer and that of the learned student; and yet Swakeleys was less than twenty miles from London, where the new methods were being sedulously cultivated.

Perhaps the most remarkable attempt to weld Jacobean and classic design into one consistent whole is to be found in the charming chapel attached to Burford Priory, in Oxfordshire (Fig. 62). There is much more here than a mixture of separate features, some in one style, and some in the other. The general treatment is reminiscent of Jacobean. There is a lofty story crowned with a cornice and an attic above it. There are shafts at the angles round which the cornice breaks, and they are terminated at the top with obelisks as pinnacles; there are also curved gables. But the shafts are fashioned into classic pilasters; the cornice not only breaks round them, but jumps up to make way for a door. The traceried windows have a novel disposition of curves, and the rose window is not a mere travesty of ancient methods, but has a vigorous individuality of its own, and is set in a classic framework. The whole work is consistent throughout, and the detail is refined and carefully handled. It is the successful attempt of a clever designer to solve old problems in new ways, and it is a pity that neither his name nor any other work from his hand is known. The chapel, as well as the house to which it is attached, was built by Speaker Lenthall, subsequent to his acquiring the property in 1634.

The chapel and library of Brasenose College, Oxford, have escaped the full amount of attention which they deserve, probably because they lie outside the range of books dealing with the accepted division of architecture into Gothic and classic. But for that very reason they are of interest to the present inquiry. The detail on the whole is more classic than Gothic, but it is dealt with in a manner reminiscent of Gothic; the cornices break forward over the pilasters, and round the slight projections caused by the advancing of alternate windows; the windows have Gothic tracery; pilasters are used in the place of buttresses (Fig. 63). Indeed the general design is Gothic in its arrangement, but classic detail has been applied to it, which in its turn has modified the Gothic handling. The whole effect is interesting. The designer has not merely made a Gothic design carrying it out with classic detail, nor has he made a classic design, giving his windows Gothic tracery. But each style has influenced the other. The Gothic treatment has modified the classic detail, the classic detail has modified the Gothic treatment The detail itself is quite refined, it is not the work of an ignorant man; the ornament is judiciously introduced, and applied with knowledge and skill. The oriel window on the external front (Fig. 64) adjoining the east end of the chapel is a charming piece of design, and the work generally is so well done that it has been attributed to Sir Christopher Wren; but although the attribution is erroneous it shows that popular opinion held the building worthy of being coupled with a great name. It would appear that a Mr. John Jackson superintended the building operations, and as he made a model for the chapel roof,[42] he may fairly be credited with the whole design. The first stone of the chapel was laid on the 18th June 1656, and the work was practically finished by 1666, in which year, on the 17th November, the dedication took place.

The old house in Southgate, Gloucester (Fig. 65), until recently the City Tea Warehouse, is a curious mixture of the old and new styles. According to the date on a chimney-piece it was built in 1650. The projecting stories, the panels and brackets below the windows of the top floor, and, indeed, the general treatment of the whole front, belong to the order of things that was passing away. The wide windows with their pediments, some straight and some curved, and the stiff floral pendents are indicative of the new style then coming into vogue. If the sash-windows were adopted from the outset, they would be a still more decidedly modern note. But if, as in all probability was the case, they merely replace the original mullions the native aspect of the front would have been less classic.

Another type of the quaint mixture of the old and the new is to be seen at Ipswich in the well-known Sparrow’s house, and in the less ornate example shown in Fig. 66. Here the ancient practice of overhanging the upper stories is utilised to obtain the strong horizontal lines which are characteristic of the classic style; but instead of the walls being full of windows, their blank spaces are larger in extent than the windows, and they are panelled in a simple fashion. Above the bold cornice spring three sharply pointed gables, which give an old-fashioned appearance to the house. The original windows are mullioned, but some of them (and probably all at first were alike) have an arched central light of double the width of the others. No doubt this treatment was introduced in order to vary the monotony of a series of windows composed entirely of small rectangular openings. It was very generally adopted, but the curved side lights are a variation not often found; the more frequent form is that employed in the picturesque Grammar School at Oxford (Fig. 67) which was built in the year 1658 for the education of freemen’s sons, on the foundation of Alderman John Nixon. The steep gables appear to be later additions, the original arrangement was the flatter and more carefully devised gable over the middle window. The arcade on the ground floor is quite Jacobean in feeling.

At Saffron Walden, in Essex, there is a row of houses of ancient aspect, with projecting corbelled gables. One of them is dated 1676, which probably gives the period when the modelled plasterwork was applied to an existing front, for some of the woodwork is Gothic in character. They are interesting examples of the ornamental plasterwork which at one time abounded in the eastern counties (Figs. 68 and 69).

The red brick inn at Scole, in Norfolk (Fig. 72), is another example of the mixture of classic cornices and quasi-pilasters with curved gables, and it gives a good idea of how local designers strove to modernise their buildings and were yet unable to shake off the old fetters which bound them to the traditions of their youth. There used to be, stretching across the road, a very substantial and picturesque sign attached to this inn, a wonderful piece of allegorical design.[43] It was dated 1655, which may be taken as the date of the building itself.

Another good example of the transitional stage between Jacobean work and classic is the school at Witney, in Oxfordshire (Fig. 70). The wings are still part of the main structure; the windows are mullioned, but the larger ones have an oval light in the uppermost compartment; the chimneys have square detached shafts set angle ways on their base. All these are features of the earlier type. On the other hand, the absence of gables, the widely projecting coved eaves, and small detached dormers are characteristic of the new methods of design. The date of the building, as stated on the panel over the principal door, is 1660.

Of such houses as the farmhouse at Stanton Harcourt, in Oxfordshire (Fig. 71), there are plenty of examples to be found. Here the mullioned windows are still retained; but the absence of gables, the straight front, the marked cornice at the eaves, the hood over the door, and the plain, severe outline are all in keeping with the more pronounced classic treatment which was being gradually adopted, even in remote places, by the end of the seventeenth century.

Such are some of the smaller houses built during the years in which Inigo Jones and Webb were working; links between the Jacobean style and that purer version of Italian to which those eminent men devoted themselves.

It has been shown how the general character of houses had changed during the period between the accession of Charles I. and the Restoration in regard to their arrangement and appearance; it will be well now to show briefly how their decoration had also altered. But before doing so, it will be useful shortly to recapitulate the principal changes that had taken place.

The old idea of the house-plan, derived from mediæval times, was to provide a great hall for the daily use of the whole household, and to supplement it by a group of rooms at each end, one for the use of the family, the other for the servants. The relations between the family and their retainers were then closer than they became in later times. Gradually the custom of dining all together died out; the family secluded themselves in their own apartments, the servants in theirs. The great hall was deserted as a living-room and degenerated into a vestibule leading to the rooms where the daily life was led. The distinction between the family and the servants was emphasised somewhat to the disadvantage of the latter; for when sacrifices of comfort had to be made for the sake of architectural effect, it was the servants upon whom discomfort was laid with the least scruple. They were frequently relegated to a basement during the day, and to attics during the night. The ground floor and the floor above it were reserved for the use of the family and for state occasions. The increase in the subdivisions of household work may be realised from Swift’s satirical “Advice to Servants,” addressed to persons whose duties (many of them) had not been specialised, even if they had come into vogue, in the old days.

It is interesting to compare the names of the rooms on the plans in the Thorpe collection, which dates from 1570 to 1620, with those on Webb’s plans for Durham House, dated 1649. Many of them are identical, such as the hall, the dining-room, the great chamber, the withdrawing-room, the gallery, and the servants’ rooms—kitchen, pastry, larder, buttery, and so forth. But Webb has a few new designations, such as the secretary’s room, the apothecary’s lodging, the housekeeper’s room, and the under-housekeeper’s, the baker’s and cook’s rooms, the page’s room, the master of the horse, the receiver-general, and the surveyor’s chamber. Then there are rooms of state, a presence chamber, a private dining-room to serve both his lordship’s and lady’s apartments, his lordship’s cabinet and his wardrobe, a dressing-room, and various back stairs serving both his lordship’s rooms and those of his lady.

From this it will be seen that the tendency was to increase the subdivision of duties and the general convenience of arrangement (by means of back stairs, among other things), and to allot more rooms to the principal servants. At the same time special provision was made for state occasions in the state rooms and presence chamber. It must be remembered that these plans of Durham House were made in 1649, although they were never carried out. They indicate a desire to increase at once the convenience and the stateliness of the house, and although it was designed on strictly classic lines, everything was not yet subordinated, as in later years, to the supposed necessities of architectural grandeur. In some of his other plans, many of which were studies in design rather than practical work, Webb was almost as great a sinner as his successors of the early eighteenth century.

The external appearance of houses had changed even more than their plans. Gables had almost disappeared; dormer windows no longer rose from the walls, wrought in stone or brick, but from the roofs and made of wood; the roofs themselves assumed a flatter pitch and generally started from widely projecting eaves. Windows were no longer mullioned and transomed into many small lights, but consisted of one large opening enclosing a wooden frame, which at first was divided by wood mullions, but later was filled with sliding sashes. The general appearance of the house was more compact than of old but less picturesque; it was more regular, and depended largely upon the nice spacing of the windows, upon its proportions, and its more scholarly detail.

This scholarly detail gradually ousted the naive design of the Jacobean craftsmen. To be scholarly you had to be correctly Italian, and therefore the quaint mixtures and the quaint native growths that sprang from an imperfect acquaintance with the true gospel of Italian design were discountenanced. Fancy was to be smothered by knowledge. Nevertheless it is odd to find how long the strapwork motif survived, which we are apt to think of as Dutch; it is found in work of Charles II.’s time and even later; Webb made use of it, and even Jones himself did not disdain it, as may be seen from some of his designs for chimney-pieces (Figs. 91–94).

Staircases had also changed in the character of their detail; they were still arranged in straight flights, but we have already seen at Coleshill that they sometimes formed a more imposing feature than in Jacobean days; in that instance the staircase is doubled, each portion being of equal importance, and they occupy a considerable part of the entrance hall. This double arrangement was by no means of universal adoption, it depended upon the space at command, and at Ashburnham House, Westminster, for instance, where space was restricted, a single staircase was ingeniously planned, but was treated in a monumental manner. The design is attributed by some to Inigo Jones, and it is almost certain that it must be either by him or by Webb. The house was originally fashioned out of some of the old monastic buildings, and had been used as a dwelling for many years before the time of Elizabeth. It was known as the Dean’s House, and was occupied by a succession of tenants. In 1621 a lady became the tenant; she was succeeded in 1628 by Sir Edward Powell, who obtained a lease in 1629. The question of the tenancy is important as it sets limits to the number of those who would be likely to embark on considerable alterations. In 1640 the house was transferred to trustees for the benefit of Sir Edward’s wife. Then came the Civil War, and the next tenant who appears is William Ashburnham, who, already in occupation, obtained a forty years’ lease in 1662. As he was an ardent royalist, it is supposed that he could not have taken the house previous to the Restoration.[44]

The choice of the individual who caused the new work to be done appears to lie between Sir Edward Powell and William Ashburnham, for Lady Powell’s trustees of 1640 would not be likely to undertake anything of such magnitude, and it is improbable, although not impossible, that it was done during the Civil War or the Commonwealth. The reasonable dates lie, therefore, between 1629–1640, and 1662–1672, in which latter year Webb died. On the whole, the character of the work points to the later period; it looks as though it were the outcome of longer experience than the earlier period could have supplied. It should be borne in mind that the treatment of the ceiling, with the open cupola above it, resembles that of one or two drawings made by Jones and Webb for Wilton and elsewhere.

In any case, and whoever designed it, the detail of the work is of interest as showing the departure from Jacobean ideals. The staircase, it is true, retains the solid newels, the massive handrail, and the stout balusters hitherto in vogue (Fig. 73); but the ornament has changed, and the balusters are almost as stout as if intended to be of stone. The panels on the wall are larger in size and in scale than those of Jacobean design, and they are marshalled with more pomp. The ceiling has no affinity with the busy and intricate ceilings of the departing style. The framework is large, and its members are adorned with foliage in high relief; the open cupola, with its balustrade and detached columns, is a new idea in English work (Fig. 74). If it was executed between 1629 and 1640, it would be the first example of its kind; if between 1662 and 1672, it would have had predecessors among the drawings of Jones and Webb. It is perhaps worthy of note that in Jones’s designs of ceilings the ornament is usually confined to the ribs, the intermediate spaces (that is, the ground of the ceiling itself) being plain. Here the ground is covered with foliage as well as the ribs, and curiously enough, those of Jones’s designs which include cupolas are similarly treated. His drawing for the “cieling of y^e passage Roome in to ye Garden” (at Wilton) is illustrated in Fig. 75. and Webb’s drawing “ffor y^e Seeling of y^e Cabinett Roome, 1649, Wilton,” in Fig. 76. Although the perspective treatment of the cupolas is a somewhat special feature, the general design of these and of that at Ashburnham House gives a good idea of the manner in which ceilings of the period were managed.

Another and more ambitious design for a ceiling by Webb is that for “his Majesty’s Presence at Greenwich, 1666” (Fig. 77), preserved at the Royal Institute of British Architects. The outer border represents a bold cove filled with modelled plasterwork in high relief; the four angles are occupied by lions and unicorns, emblematic of England and Scotland. If this design was ever carried out, it has disappeared, and there is no example to be found of modelling treated on so large a scale; the cove would have been some eight feet on the curve, and the effect of its plaster ornament would have been rather overwhelming.

Returning to the consideration of staircases, there is one at Can Court, in Wiltshire (Fig. 78), which is earlier in feeling, if not in date, than the Ashburnham House staircase. It retains many of the characteristics of Jacobean work, particularly in the stoutness of the newels, the handrail and the string. In the balusters, however, a later touch is apparent, as well as in the upper part of the newels. It is obvious, nevertheless, that the two staircases belong to the same type.

An interesting staircase both as to date and detail is one at Dawtrey Mansion, Petworth (Fig. 79). It is dated 1652, and while it retains the Jacobean form of finial, not gracefully designed, it has twisted balusters of the kind usually associated with work of fifty years later. It is one of the numerous links which connect the old and the new forms.

Of the same type as these in essence, although differently treated, is that kind of balustrade already mentioned in connection with Thorpe Hall (Fig. 49), where the balusters are replaced by scrolls of foliage. There was a very interesting example of this fashion at the Castle Inn, Kingston, now destroyed (Fig. 81), and there is another at Ham House (Fig. 80), where, however, the panels display flags, armour, guns, and other martial emblems, which may perhaps have some reference to Thomas Talmash, a brother of Lord Dysart (the owner) and a general in the time of William III.

There was an ancient house at Greenwich called the “Old Palace,” but distinct from the building which was at one time the royal residence, sometimes known as Crowley House. It has been destroyed, but some sketches by C. J. Richardson of the interesting work it contained have survived, and among them is one of a staircase with foliated balustrade (Fig. 82). The character of the detail suggests a date in the middle of the seventeenth century, and the general treatment recalls the work which was being done by Webb at that period. There is a slight survival of the earlier style, but the design is handled in a more refined spirit than was usually the case with sumptuous examples of Jacobean work. This is particularly observed in the door (Fig. 83).

In the hands of Inigo Jones and Webb both doorways and windows assumed a correct Italian appearance, but in less learned hands there were intermediate stages of development between the Jacobean type and the full classic. Such a one may be seen in the library door at St John’s College, Oxford (Fig. 85), and in an external door at Brasenose College (Fig. 84), part of the work already referred to. The library at St John’s was built in 1631 by Archbishop Laud, who was at that time Bishop of London and Chancellor of the University of Oxford. It is said that he obtained the help of Inigo Jones, but the detail of the work is so unlike anything which remains of Jones’s own draughtsmanship, that the correctness of the attribution is very doubtful. The stonework of this particular door, however, is not unlike some of the doorways with which the name of Jones is connected, now preserved at the Royal Institute of British Architects. The woodwork has no counterpart among his designs.

If we want to see the scholars idea of what a doorway should be, we must turn to Jones’s drawing of one for the Banqueting House (Fig. 86), or to Webb’s design for one in the palace at Greenwich, the block which he designed for Charles II. (Fig. 87). The former is entitled in Jones’s writing, “Scitzo for the Great Doore Ban. Ho. 1619.” It has the logically indefensible broken pediment, making room for an unfinished cartouche which was doubtless to receive the royal arms. On the panel in the frieze is indicated an inscription commencing with the first letters of Jacobus Rex Magnæ Britanniæ; below it is an ornament in which the strapwork motif lingers. The whole effect is strong, handsome, and well proportioned. If it was ever actually carried out, it has now disappeared. Webb’s drawing is entitled in his own writing, “Greenwich, ffor the dore going out of the Cabinet into the gallery 1663.” The whole composition is not unlike Jones’s, but it is larger, although the door itself is smaller. The draughtsmanship in both is somewhat alike, but the difference is just that which distinguishes the work of the one man from that of the other. Jones’s is the more virile and direct. The figures on the pediment at Greenwich are named as “Liberality and Magnanimity,” at the other end were to be “Religion and Justice.” It must be admitted that their different attributes are not clearly indicated. A note at the side shows that this doorway was Webb’s own design; it reads “M^e I must alter these measures and make them thus,” then follow the altered dimensions.

It has already been pointed out how the mullioned window was gradually altered by the introduction of a wider light surmounted by an arch (Fig. 66), or by the introduction of an elliptical light (Fig. 70). But the mullioned window in any form was out of place in a truly classic design. Jones has an early drawing of 1616 in which he makes use of it, as well as of other Jacobean features, but it is doubtful whether any executed work of his can show a stone mullioned window. The type employed in the Banqueting House is that which he favoured, and it is probable that a drawing entitled “The upper windowe of y^e modell” (Fig. 88) is a sketch by him for the windows in the upper story of this building. By comparing this sketch with that of the Banqueting House (Fig. 36) the similarity will be apparent. Jones, like Webb after him, was a student of Serlio, and he has a sheet of sketches of windows taken from Serlio with notes of his own appended. He and Webb do not seem to have concerned themselves with the filling of the window space, all they troubled about was the proportion and embellishment of the main opening. Yet the filling is of considerable interest. Mullioned windows were filled with lead lights, which only required glass of small size. Their successors, where the main opening was large, appear to have been filled with wooden frames having mullions and transoms of the same material, which reduced the actual openings to a size suitable for glazing in the old way. Later on the lead which held the glass was replaced by thick wooden bars holding glass of a larger size. But the opening part of all these windows was a casement, that is a framework (generally of iron) which was hung at the side and opened like a door. Then, from somewhere—but nobody knows exactly whence or when—came the ingenious sliding sash, which was hung with cords and counterbalanced by concealed weights, so that it could be moved up and down. This was really a remarkable change, although we are so accustomed to sash-windows as to take them for granted as part of the universal scheme of things. Their effect on the architectural treatment of windows was of the first importance. They made mullions impossible, they compelled window spaces to be of large size, and these large spaces necessarily influenced the design. They also rendered small bay-windows impossible, as well as large bay-windows with a narrow canted side. They practically put an end to any attempt at modified versions of the Jacobean style, but they were excellently adapted to the larger, plainer, and more regular classic. Considering the effect they had on design it is to be regretted that we know nothing of their origin, or the date of their introduction. At present only one authenticated instance of their use can be cited before the time of William III. If they appear in earlier buildings caution would have to be exercised to ascertain whether they were not later insertions. Anyone who can settle this point would render a singular service in the byways of architectural history. The instance mentioned above occurs in the accounts for work done at Windsor Castle in 1686–88:—[45]