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A BOOK OF ARCHITECTURAL AND DECORATIVE DRAWINGS
BY

BERTRAM GROSVENOR GOODHUE

 

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A BOOK OF

ARCHITECTURAL
AND DECORATIVE
DRAWINGS

BERTRAM GROSVENOR GOODHUE

 

 

NEW YORK

THE ARCHITECTURAL BOOK PUBLISHING COMPANY
PAUL WENZEL AND MAURICE KRAKOW
M-DCCCC-XIV

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AN EXPLANATION AND ACKNOWLEDGMENT

W772! ‘ HE. idea of collecting and publishing Mr. Goodhue's drawings origi-
‘ ‘ nated several years ago among the draughtsmen in his office. We, who
i were daily impressed by the remarkable ease with which charming
, ,, sketches for all sorts of things, from great buildings to trifling bits of
- r M 3 detail, seemed to flow from his pen or pencil, felt that the public
should be given the opportunity of sharing our enjoyment.

 

  

A canvass was accordingly made of office records; back numbers of magazines
were searched for drawings long forgotten; letters were written to the four corners
of this country and some to Europe, requesting the privilege of using book plates,
seals or cover designs. From everywhere came prompt and hearty responses to
the requests and good wishes for the success of the project.

Then our chief’s modesty was subjected to a shock when the summons came
to produce his sketch books and any other material that he might have in the private
work room at his house. The little metallic-paper sketch books that we had occasion-
ally seen emanate from this room contained many pages of just such delightful little
notes as we had been accustomed to watch him make on the margins of detail draw-
ings; indeed, on the margins of books, magazines, almost anything. Many might
easily have fitted a parcel postage stamp without feeling uncomfortable, but were
nevertheless complete in ev.ery detail. Practically all of these were found to be too
tiny for reproduction, however, and so, much to our regret, had to be discarded,—
though they were at the same time an inspiration and a discouragement; and our con-
tinued admiration of them and attempts to copy them, have, I am afraid, resulted in
considerable loss of draughtsman’s time to the firm. of Cram, Goodhue & Ferguson.

, Though it was clear to us all that he was gratified and interested, Mr. Coodhue
looked with horror at the number of drawings we, who had collected them, thought
should appear, and so, while utterly disclaiming'any editorial power whatever, insisted
on exercising the right of veto, and reduced the ‘ile to perhaps one third~ of its original
depth. Even now, he tells me, he would fee far happier were the sifting process
gone through with again; but as the book is merely a personal record and not in any
sense a serious work on architecture or book decoration, he has been persuaded to
“pass" the ones gathered together here.

In time we were able to forward the material to the publishers in Boston who at
the outset had expected to carry through the work. Shortly after its arrival, a disastrous
fire broke out in the publisher’s office, which destroyed not only some of the original
drawings themselves, as well as the back numbers of magazines in which they had
appeared; but even the zinc and copper plates from which many of them had been re-
produced.

In a fire at Mr. Goodhue’s own residence several years before, much of the

“

V

f ’44, l

\3
I

material had passed through a serious- scorching, resulting in some cases in absolute
loss, and this second disaster was a triple blow not only to the promoters of the work
but to the publishers as well, who found it necessary then to give up the project.
After the long delay that naturally followed this second calamity, the drawings, plates
and other matter, at least as much as could be identified, were collected and returned
to New York, cleaned of their stains and made ready for a fresh start.

The present publishers of the book .had, almost from the beginning, shown an
interest in the undertaking; to them therefore we now forwarded the illustrations and
“copy" and matters were soon running smoothly once more.

Although it takes but a moment to tell it, all, this had covered a period of several
years, and we began to fear we were straining the patience of those who, with the
utmost kindness, had put at our disposal their book plates (in some cases, like those
engraved by the late E. D. French, quite unique), and other material of distinct value.

It is to such, and to all who have in any way helped in the production of this
volume, that we de31re to express our grat1tude,for Without their co-operatlon it would

indeed have been an impossibility. -
E. DONALD ROBB.

CONTENTS

SAINT KAVIN’S CHURCH, TRAUMBURG, BOHEMIA

. F rontispiece
AN EXPLANATION AND ACKNOWLEDGMENT. E. Donald Robb Page V
PART ONE

PICTORIAL DRAWINGS OF ARCHITECTURAL

SUBJECTS ACTUALLY BUILT OR MERELY

TENTATIVE, SKETCHES ‘EN PLEINE FANTAISIE,’

AND SKETCH-BOOK SCRAPS.

AN ARCHITECT’S RENDERINGS OF SOME OF HIS WORKS. F ran/a Chouteau Brown . Page 3
ST. KAVIN'S CHURCH, TRAUMBURC, BOHEMIA . . . ' . . . . Page II

IN THE CLOISTER-GARTH, ALL SAINTS, BROOKLINE, MASSACHUSETTS (C. C. (Er F.)

A PROPOSED CHURCH AT WINCHESTER MASSACHUSETTS (C. (16* F.)

ALL SAINTS’, BROOKLINE, MASSACHUSETTS (C. C (Sr F.)

ST. JOHNS, WEST HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT (C. C. 6» F.)

THE PERMANENT BUILDINGS, PANAMA-CALIFORNIA EXHIBITION, SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA (C.
C. SF.)

MEMORIAL ARCH (UNBUILT), UNITED STATES MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT, NEW YORK
(C. C. 6» F.)

THE ARCH OF CONSTANTINE AT ROME

A HOUSE AT BRIARCLIFF, NEW YORK (l)

A HOUSE AT BRIARCLIFF, NEW YORK (2)

THE VILLA F OSCA AND ITS GARDEN . . . . . . . . Page 31

S. STEPHENS CHURCH AT FALL RIVER, MASS. (C. C (Sr F )

A HOUSE NEAR GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT (C. C. 6r F.)

THE PROPOSED EPISCOPAL CATHEDRAL, HAVANA, CUBA (C. C. 6» F.)

TODOS SANTOS, GUANTANAMO, CUBA (C. C. 6r F.)

LA SANTISIMA TRINIDAD, EPISCOPAL PRO-CATHEDRAL, HAVANA, CUBA (C. C. 6* F.)

A HOUSE ON THE SHORE OF LAKE SUPERIOR (C. C. 6» F.)

THE RUSSELL SAGE MEMORIAL (FIRST PRESBYTERIAN) CHURCH, FAR ROCKAWAY, NEW YORK
(C. C. (9 F.)

THE CHAPEL, UNITED STATES MILITARY ACADEMY, WEST POINT, NEW YORK (C. C. (9 F.)

THE SOUTH TRANSEPT AND CAMPANILE, PROPOSED CATHEDRAL, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA (C.

C. 6r F.)
MONTEVENTOSO . . . . . . . . . . . . . Page 49
TWO SMALL COUNTRY CHURCHES—ILLUSTRATIONS FOR ‘CHURCH BUILDING,’ BY RALPH ADAMS
CRAM

THE PARISH HOUSE, SAINT PETER’S, MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY (I)

THE PARISH HOUSE, SAINT PETER’S, MORRISTOWN, NEW JERSEY (2)

THE VILLAGE HALL, DOBBS FERRY, NEW YORK (C. C. (‘5? F.)

THE CHAPEL (UNBUILT), ST JOHN’S SCHOOL, MANLIUS, NEW YORK (C. C. é‘r F.)
PROPOSED CATHEDRAL AND HOSPITAL, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA (C. C. é‘r F.)

THE NORTH PORCH, CATHEDRAL OF THE INCARNATION, BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

THE SOUTH TRANSEPT FRONT, CATHEDRAL OF THE INCARNATION, BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
THE LADY CHAPEL, CATHEDRAL OF THE INCARNATION, BALTIMORE, MARYLAND

THE'VILLAGE HOSTELRY—AN IRREGULAR SPECIFICATION . . . . Page 75

THE CHAPEL FROM CLOISTER, ST. THOMAS’S COLLEGE, WASHINGTON, D. C. (C. C. 6» F.)

FROM THE PLAYING-FIELDS, ST. THOMAS’S COLLEGE, WASHINGTON, D. C. (C. C. 6» F.)

THE ENTRANCE FRONT, ST. THOMAS’S COLLEGE, WASHINGTON, D. C. (C. C. (Sr F.)

A HALF-TIMBERED COTTAGE, ILLUSTRATION FOR ARTICLE IN ‘THE LADIES’ HOME JOURNAL’ BY
RALPH ADAMS CRAM

A CHURCH AT CLEVELAND, OHIO (C. G. (9 F.)

THE ‘BASILIQUE’ AND ‘SOUS LE CAP’—TWO SKETCHES IN QUEBEC

A CASTLE (IN THE FOREST OF) ARDEN, NEW YORK (C. C. (‘5? F.)

SKETCH-BOOK SCRAPS (I)

SKETCH-BOOK SCRAPS (2)

OF PERSIAN GARDENS . . . . . . . . . . . . Page 89

PART TWO

DECORATIVE DESIGNS, MAINLY TYPOGRAPHICAL;
PRINTER'S DEVICES, BOOK-PLATES, AND THE LIKE.

AS TO TYPES AND THE DECORATION OF BOOKS. H. lngalls Kimball . . . Page IOI

AN EARLY MAGAZINE COVER

FROM ‘THE ALTAR-BOOK.’ BOSTON, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, I896 (I)

FROM ‘THE ALTAR—BOOK.’ BOSTON, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, 1896 (2)

FROM ‘ESTHER, AND THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS.’ BOSTON, COPELAND AND DAY, I895
FROM ‘SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS.’ BOSTON, COPELAND AND DAY, I897

FROM ‘SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.’ BOSTON, COPELAND AND DAY, I896

FROM ‘THE TROPHIES OF HEREDIA.’ BOSTON, SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY, I900

A TITLE-PAGE FOR A BOOK ON ARCHITECTURE

A TRIAL PROOF FOR ONE PAGE OF A PROJECTED TRANSLATION OF THE ‘SONG OF ROLAND’
A PAGE FROM A PRIVATELY PRINTED BOOK. BOSTON, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, I900 (I)
A PAGE FROM A PRIVATELY PRINTED BOOK. BOSTON, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, I900 (2)
COVER, TITLE, AND BORDERED PAGE, FROM ‘A PERPETUAL CALENDAR.’ NEW YORK, 1897
TITLE-PAGE FOR AN EDITION OF SHAKESPEARE’S PLAYS. NEW YORK, I903
FIVE CIRCULAR DEVICES OF VARIOUS SORTS

TWO COPPER—PLATE TITLE-PAGES

FOUR TITLE-PAGES

FOUR BORDERED PAGES

FOUR BOOK-PLATES, MECHANICALLY REPRODUCED ON COPPER

FOUR COPPER-PLATE BOOK-PLATES, THREE OF WHICH ARE ENGRAVINGS
VARIOUS MECHANICALLY REPRODUCED BOOK—PLATES

VARIOUS PRINTER’S AND PUBLISHER’S DEVICES

INITIALS FROM ‘THE TROPHIES OF HEREDIA.’ BOSTON, SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY, I900 (I)
INITIALS FROM ‘THE TROPHIES OF HEREDIA.’ BOSTON, SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY, I900 (2)
INITIALS FROM ‘THE TROPHIES OF HEREDIA.’ BOSTON, SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY, I900 (3)
A PAGE FROM ‘CORNELII TACITI OPERA MINORA.’ BOSTON, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, I904

A PAGE FROM A PROJECTED EDITION OF CICERO. NEW YORK. THE CHELTENHAM PRESS

 

 

AN ARCHITECTS RENDERINGS OF SOME OF
HIS WORKS

ESPITE the implied

of the singing swan
Haunted upon this vol-
ume’s title page; de—
spite Mr. Goodhue’s
own repeated declara—
1. ‘3 tion that the least un-
ga‘xV///§m worthy of his drawings
are those made at Traumburg in Bohemia, pub-
lished in the ‘Architectural Review, as long ago
as l896 (one being here reproduced for a frontis-
piece), there is every reason to believe—and, on
the part of Mr. Goodhue’s contemporaries, every
desire to hope—that history may again repeat itself;
and the prophet once more proved to be without
honor or authority,——in even his own very particular
country! F or it is quite impossible to believe that a
pen that has in the past danced so industriously and
felicitously over so many square feet of invitingly
polished bristol-board, can long remain supinely

    

 

content with past accomplishments.

Although it has come to be generally accepted
that the chief attribute of genius is “an infinite ca~
pacity for taking pains," this volume may be re—
garded as evidencing something, at least akin to
genius, of another type—for while these drawings
indicate—on all occasions where such diligence is
desirable—care, precision and exactness of inten-
tion and of accomplishment, by the discerning eye
they will still be recognized as possessing far more
of the vital quality of enthusiasm, “the zest of
youth”; a personal trait of their maker’s that persists
in every page, and permeates every line of their in-
tricate architectural detail. No completely sympa—
thetic relation is to be established between the
reader and this volume—and if it is not to help in
establishing that relation this prelude has no excuse
for delaying him an instant longer at its threshold!
-—unless he immediately recognizes that the quest-
ing spirit of its creator is fundamentally—and con-
tinually—architectural. No other point of View is

allegorical significance ,.

consistently apparent. No matter what the subject,
nor how near or remote may seem to be its relation
to the art of building, it has been observed—or
rather, perhaps, imaginedl—and recorded by the
eye, mind and fingers of one who is before all else
an architect. So long as the problem continues to
be an architectural one, Mr. Goodhue's interest and
enthusiasm remain at white heat. His subject is
shown forth with the most exact and full compre-
hension of its every part and outline, and no flicker
of uncertainty or suspicion of incompleteness is per-
mitted to intrude. The more purely imaginative the
Subject—like some of the pseudo-travel articles, for
instance,—the more completely and definitely are
its remotest accessories realized and suggested. It is
only occasionally, with purely natural surroundings
or backgrounds, that his interest can be seen to flag
and lessen: Then, and only then, may one some-
times suspect that his drawings are perhaps made
on a sort of definitely established—if thoroughly
individual—recipe! One may decide that more
thought is bestowed upon their matter than to their
manner. Mayhap a careful and sympathetic ob-
server would even seem to discern a constant use of
the same general tricks of vignetting and shading,
the frequent employment of the same devices to
obtain effects of distance and increased depth and
perspective. It may indeed even be charged, with
some aspect of fairness, that always the shadows
indicate “a land of endless afternoon,” the sun
shining always from the same quarter of the
heavens; but against this must be put the fact that
these drawings are—or were, at the time of their
making,—generally of non-existent things,—build~
ings, trees, people (often, perhaps, rather wooden
people—if truth musl be told) all forced to instant
portrayal on paper, without the benefit of careful
sketching and study,—evolved, full-grown of ne-
cessity, out of the artist’s brain. With the compara-
tively few exceptions of the Persian gardens, the
Arch of Constantine, and the two pencil sketches
of Quebec, every one of the drawings in this volume

 

is an absolute creation "out of the void." An archi-
tect’s drawings have nearly always this great point
of difference from those of an artist; the one needs
only to Hpaint what he sees," the other has to define
and portray entirely what his imagination prompts.

I think it must easily be apparent that Mr.
Goodhue has had his best fun in drawing his purely
imaginary places—his “Traumburgs” and “Villa
Foscas”; where he has worked unhampered by the
hard-and-fast—and often quite unnecessarily arbi-
trary—requirements of his clients. It is curious to
recall that, when these imaginary places were con-
ceived, their author had never seen his Germany or
Italy; and he protests, I believe, that his portrayals
would have been less successful if he had then
actually been familiar with these foreign lands. It

is amusing, in this connection, to recall how one con~ ’

scientious—if serious-minded—editor (one sus~
pects he was of New England) refused to consider
them for publication, because the places named
were not to be found upon his maps!

The drawings in this book are not a tithe of
those produced through the years of Mr. Goodhue’s
constantly increasing professional activity,—for
few artists are as fruitful and industrious as he.
Many are no doubt included that Mr. Goodhue
would himself have preferred to omit; but a great
number—literally hundreds—have been denied a
place,—including many suggestive hints for furni~
ture, from ancestral chests and mediaeval chairs to
churchly vestments and stately decorative trap—
pings; and this is as true, I believe, of his book
decorations and typographical designs as it is of the

pictorial drawings that are here my more immediate.

concern.

It should not be forgotten that a number of
these drawings are illustrations of buildings de-
signed by Mr. Goodhue in collaboration with his
partners, Messrs. Ralph Adams Cram and Frank
William Ferguson,—a partnership of over twenty
years’ standing, which has only recently (January,
I914) been dissolved. To the number of such
office perspectives (they are to be detected by the
initials C G and F following the titles) should be
added the two gracefully informal little churches
made to point the moral and adorn the tale of Mr.

Cram’s book on ‘Church Building,’ and the trim
half timber cottage originally drawn to accompany
an article in the ‘Ladies' Home Journal’ by Mr.
Cram.

Of the drawings of buildings shown, many
are in the nature of "preliminary sketches" of
structures since built by Mr. Goodhue and his part-
ners. Others, perhaps the majority, have as yet
failed to materialize into actual construction;—or,
worse yet, have fallen back into that limbo of dusty
drawers that means, as actual commissions, they
have ceased to exist, and have been charged by
their designer up to “profit and loss." But, in the
first category, the Chapel at West Point, and to an
even greater degree the little St. John’s Church at
West Hartford, stand out as surprisingly life-like
advance portraits of buildings that have since been
realized in enduring stone.

Probably Mr. Goodhue himself will never
come to regard this volume as a book of architec~
tural designs—but merely as a collection of exam~
ples, garnered more or less at random, of his pen-
and—ink work,—a sort of “by-product," as it were,
of his busy professional life. Readers should also not
forget that these drawings have either been made
exclusively for Mr. Goodhue’s amusement (and
how completely he has been amused perhaps best
appears in the pseudo-travel articles;) or to show
to some doubting client the appearance of his
projected building, when completed. *Mr. Good~
hue has himself no wish to be entered in competi~
tion with such architectural illustrators as Joseph
Pennell, F. L. B. Griggs, Herbert Railton or other
masters of the art of pen—and-ink draughtsmanship,
past or present. His own desire is rather to be
regarded and judged preferably by his actual
product as an architect; and he has himself, in point
of fact, from its very inception rather failed to ac-
cept this projected volume as seriously as those of
his associates who have united to urge it upon him.

It is, of course, obviously impossible that any
one volume could illustrate all the work of so pro-
ductive a draughtsman and designer; and in the
process of condensation by selection, it is to be re-
gretted that many favorite drawings have disap-
peared. I am quite certain that all its readers will

be most grateful, however, that the author's “archi-
tectural fantasies," his imaginative realizations of
non-existent but picturesque compositions, such as
“St. Kavin’s, Traumburg,” the “Villa Fosca,” and
“Monteventoso” are here to reappear; a fitting res-
urrection of three thoroughly charming products, in
which the precision of the pen draughtsman has
been further graced and supplemented by the imagi-
native artist in words.

In the multiplicity and perfection of his other
products, we have forgotten lVlr. Coodhue’s facility
as a writer. He composes as delicately and pre-
cisely in words as in lines; as these articles, another
forgotten and modest little book of Mexican stories,
and an occasional infrequent contribution on some
professional topic to the architectural press, will
testify. Of the two other articles here republished,
the ‘Village Hostelry’ and ‘Persian Gardens,’
the first is another imaginative and nearly similar
product,—the other alone being based substantially
upon fact. Of all these, Mr. Coodhue himself
considers his Traumburg drawings as among his
best work—moved thereto in part, no doubt, by the
recollection of his own pleasure and interest in
working out so thoroughly characteristic and per~
sonally sympathetic a subject. And so some of
them may be; certainly the little street with its oriel
and “Griinewalder Thor,” (first suggested or re-
called in part by some portion of a half-remembered
photograph), shows, as well as any other, the firm-
ness and precision of line; the richness and color of
pen work; the knowing directness and assurance of
attack_ always to be found in his drawings, when
at their best. But the writer regards them as a trifle
more stiff—set, and less pliable than some of his later
and possibly less precise work. Again, architec~
turally considered, although the top of St. Kavin’s
crossing tower indicates,—-at even that compara-
tively early time—the artist’s developing mastery
of picturesque Gothic ornament and tracery, han-
dled in a modern and unconventional fashion; yet
the choir screen, and even the church plan, still
show the comparatively conventional architectural
outlook upon the problem that then controlled the
mind of this designer. Today that plan would be
less blocky; of greater length; would be more

virile, articulate and picturesque in its contour and
‘spot’ suggestion, while those slight tendencies to-
ward stiffness that are occasionally evident in St.
Kavin’s details would be mellowed, fused and
strengthened by a more pervading feeling for the
pulsing Vigor of a living Gothic spirit,—which has
ever been growing more and more dominant
wherever the touch of Mr. Goodhue's hand is to be
discerned.

The All Saints’ (Brookline) renderings are
of about the same date; but here the draughtsman’s
inventive pencil has been held in restraint by an
architectural feeling for what was possible from the
structural qualities of the material, used at the com-
paratively small scale of this church. More un-
restrained and felicitous is the little cottage in the
background, and the stone pines (in better scale
with the cottage than the church, by the way!)
that soften its stiff architectural outlines.

Mr. Coodhue has always been happy with
his architectural accessories,—the Church at Win—
chester shows, for instance, an exceedingly perti—
nent and suggestively attractive foreground. It is,
however, unfair to accuse this artist of favoring
his architecture, like Herbert Railton, by rendering
his sketches more picturesque than would be plau-
sibly natural. The perspective of St. John’s, at
West Hartford—with the exception of a slightly
over-emphasized undulation in the ridge line~——is
just as exact, clean cut and “neat" as the finished
structure appears in the photographawhich it
would indeed have been particularly interesting to
place beside this original for the purpose of such a

comparison. In proof of his felicity with regard to

details one might notice, for instance, the design
and leading of the windows in most of his church
drawings which it is fairly certain have not been
realized in the glass actually installed. The two
little sketches for Mr. Cram’s book show the
artist, thrown back again upon his own originality,
expressing the most happily picturesque and
appropriate thing; appropriate and plausible in
architecture—and of equally appropriate, effective
and telling delineation, with the utmost economy
of means; a general definition that will apply to
successful workmanship—in any art!

The Villa Fosca drawings possess their par-
ticular “protean” interest, because they show us Mr.
Goodhue dealing with subject matter of an archi-
tectural type with which his personality is not ordi—
narily associated. Here we find a plan displaying
the easy magnitude of one or two of the California
villas he has later actually realized in that near~
Italian clime. Unfortunately these villas them-
selves do not appear. The Gillespie house at
Montecito has long ago been better shown by photo—
graphs; and Mr. Goodhue’s drawings of his own
“Chateau en Espagne,” redreamed for a California
site, have since been offered as a fiery sacrifice to
the Gods; although one little hint still lies recorded
in a sketch book page, that is, I hope, to be among
the plates that remain to be added to this record.

These Villa Fosca drawings also indicate
the avidity with which the artist has seized the
opportunity to treat foliage of a rarely luxuriant
and novel type. Some of these illustrations—as
well as the drawing of St. Steven’s at Fall River,
with its beautifully placed and “juicy” blacks,
have caused the plate makers to fall back in despair
upon the half-tone method for their reproduction;
—in itself a confession of inability to cope with the
marvellous network of thin lines that flows from the
artist’s skilful pen.

Mr. Coodhue’s pen work is almost invariably
small—if exact and precise—in scale;—sOmetimes
even minute in line and treatment. His drawings
have always been the bane of the zinc-engraver.
Where he touches in his skies at all, it is done with
an amazing network of thin, and oftentimes gray,
hair lines. It is ordinarily easy to consider that
cross-hatching is not the best technical means for
the expression of a subject by the pen draughtsman;
but this results in part from the fact that few
draughtsmen have so mastered the technique of
that particular means of pen—delineation, and still
fewer among them possess the skill and steadiness
of hand capable of executing it with such perfection
as has Mr. Goodhue. With him, cross~hatching
becomes a legitimate means of texture expression.
Indeed, at his hands it even sometimes becomes a
means of tone expression! Seated at ease; discours-
ing fluently—on half a hundred topics; with tran—

quil smoke up-curling from the ever-glowing
cigarette in his unoccupied right hand and the
flying pen-point propelled with amazing steadiness
by his diligent leftfi-he covers an area with cross-
hatching with the exactness of a water colorist flow~
ing his brush wash over a similar surface. The
hatching is clear, precise; with no break in its tone
in the original drawing,—though it is rarely, if
ever, possible for the plate maker to maintain the
beauty and thinness of these lines in his reproduc—
tions. They sometimes become coarsened, darken;
and are muddy in effect, where any suspicion of
such defects never appears in the original. In this
connection it might be fair to state that several of
the illustrations in this book are actually enlarge—
ments; as, for intsance, the drawing of the “Griine—
walder Thor” in Traumburg; or the very much
rougher sketch for the Village Hall at Dobbs
Ferry, while in that of the “Piazza Re Umberto”
at Monteventoso we have a reproduction that is
practically a literal copy, at the real size of the
original, being beside an example typical of Mr.
Coodhue’s best manner and technique.

It should also be remembered that the plates
of many of these illustrations have been made—
not from the original drawings; since some of these
have been long since burned up or destroyed; but
from other reproductions as, most notably, in the
case of the frontispiece; and that, in other cases,
badly stained and charred drawings have had to
be painstakingly patched up and retouched before
going to the plate maker. To make a half-tone
block from a print from another half-tone block is
a very considerable achievement; and that no
“watered silk" pattern appears in such a picture as
the little “Cascata di Nettuno” (page 37) re—
dounds greatly to that same plate-maker’s credit.

The flamboyant decorative elements of Span-
ish architecture have long remained mysteries to
Anglo-Saxon designers, entirely eluding their
architectural realization or control. F or their suc—
cessful use is demanded a baroque feeling for
exuberance in form and outline, contrasted with a
little appreciated, and still less understood and
particular, sense of restraint in composition, and with
an alert and long continued mastery over thin-spun

decorative motives, that hardly a single other
American designer has yet given evidence of pos-
sessing. Mr. Goodhue’s versatile spirit has been
appealed to by the difficulties of the problem pre-
sented to the modern architect in the use of this
style of architecture and, since his Mexican pil-
grimage, undertaken in the company of Sylvester
Baxter fourteen years ago, in search of material for
a book on “The Spanish Colonial Architecture of
Mexico,” (afterwards published in a regrettably
limited and expensive edition,) he has occasionally
delighted to design and render after this baroque—
classic fashion. Three such examples appear in the
form of Cuban churches; while of still more recent
date are the buildings of the San Diego Exposition,
of which one brief pen—record is included in this
collection.

While ordinarily restricting himself to pen and
ink, there exist a few examples of Mr. Goodhue’s
work in water color or wash; or in crayon; or in pen
and ink, backed and supplemented with pencil or
crayon; or where all these mediums are employed
upon the one drawing,——as in the case of the very
recent and unusual drawings of the Baltimore
Cathedral. Of the first of these was a church at
Cohasset (regrettably missing) with 'its storm-
swept sky and sparse wind—blown vegetation; an-
other is the extensive yet picturesque Cathedral
group proposed for Los Angeles; and still another
appears in the drawing of the Chapel at West
Point,-—one of the most virile expressions of a virile
design that has yet been brought out by our Amer-
ican architectural problems. Indeed, this chapel,
with its grim buttressed outline; its depth of reveal;
its towering corner bastions,——aided by its tremen-
dous scale, and brilliantly placed ornamental
elements, is almost an ideal architectural expression
of the “Church Militant."

By this easy transition are we led to “Monte~
ventoso"; another of the imaginative series, this
time dealing with the brick architecture of North~
ern Italy, with its combination of the grandiose
Classic orders and minute Renaissance detail; its
use of brick in combination with stone, in panels or
contrasting strips,—awkward elements with which

And

few modernists care—or darel—to meddle.

these imaginary scenes and buildings—that are pure
poesy, “of imagination all compact”—(they, least
of all, demand any halting comment)—bring us
again to more of a domestic type of work, such as
appears in the wholly refined and satisfactory de-
sign for a large house on the shore of Lake Su-
perior, and the long easy lines of St. Peter's
Parish House at Morristown. Both of these seem
nearly ideal examples of the sort of composition in
which the draughtsman has added life and interest
to an otherwise exceedingly simple architectural
facade by the introduction of natural accessories
skilfully placed to break up large surfaces of plain
architectural repetition; so concentrating the interest
by these added elements, such as the two clumps of
shrubbery, so differently—yet similarly—employed
in both these last views named.

From Mr. Coodhue’s earlier drawings, where
a distinct disinclination to cope with the difficulties
of the human figure is evident, to some of his later
work, where the figure, either as an element of in-
troducing scale,or in decorative statuary,has become
an important architectural adjunct,——there is shown
a progress in delineative control that is one of the
reasons for somewhat doubting the artist’s own
judgment as to the quality of his Traumburg draw-
ings. Of course, of late years, while the number
of Mr. Goodhue's actual buildings has been grow-
ing greater and greater, his renderings have been
correspondingly diminishing; so that it is easy to
realize how, in his own mind, at least, a very
definite significance attaches to the swan with open
mouth that makes its appearance in his title page
device. Yet it requires only reference to another
drawing, that of the Winchester Church, noticing
its early date, already accompanying the sad and
touChing legend to be found upon a nearby head~
stone, to the effect that “Here rests the pen of
B. G. G.” to suspect this to be a somewhat favorite,
if innocent, pose on the part of the subject of this
monograph, the more forgiveable because of his
absolute lack of unlikeable pettiness, pose or conceit
in any more serious form.

Some drawings, like the house on the shore of
Lake Superior, or those for the Parish House at
Morristown, are comparatively recent, and in these

it is merely natural to observe a lack of the minute
refinement of cross—hatching,—of the laborious
Chinese, or Mediaeval, (as you please!) Working—
out of texture, once so characteristic; probably indi-
cating that, along with the pressure of advancing
business cares, the hand that made them is now too
actively engaged on drawings of more direct and
practical value, to be able as often to work lovingly
and assiduously in the old way. It is true that some
among these later drawings also indicate occasional
recourse to tints in wash, crayon and pencil me—
diums—either in mere impatience, or because of
actual lack of time to complete these sketches by
more painstaking pen methods; but it remains for
the purist alone to cavil at the employment of these
new mediums: By their use the architectural
draughtsman finds frequent advantage and relief
from the everlasting drudgery of rendering archi~
tectural detail; that—no matter how familiar or
concerned the draughtsman himself may be with it
——possesses little interest for the general public. By
these means it becomes the easier for him to em~
phasize daring points in the composition; express
elements of color, sunlight or shadow and, if he is
capable of employing these assistants without per~
mitting himself to fall into too temptingly theatrical
a treatment of his subject, there remains little occa-
sion for quibbling with the results thus secured.

“The Village Hostelry" indicates such an
ideally picturesque composition as Mr. Coodhue
might have made of some rambling dwelling for a
wealthy client,—-given the site, the occasion and
the free hand needed. A smaller and perhaps,
architecturally, rather over—picturesque and “ga~
bley" little design is “the Ladies Home Journal”
cottage, reproduced here at a size better suited to
show the niceties of the artist’s pen work than some
other of the illustrations in this volume.

It is pleasant to find memories of old Quebec
recalled in the two pencil sketches, reproduced from
an old copy of the ‘Studio’ magazine, that have here
been reprinted,———while other examples of the
artist’s use of pencil are shown in the suggestive
studies for a big Gothic country houSe, and the two
pages of sketch~book scraps that follow. Re-
markable as are these pencil reproductions, they

are yet, as a matter of fact, far from equalling the
brittle sharpness of the originals, where the lead
point has crowded into the handy sketch—book such
ideas for furniture,.costumes, book-binding, type—
architectural~or-otherwise~0r~whateveréas, at that
passing moment, were clearest in mind; and such
“thumbnail” notes are not alone restricted to his
sketch-books! They appear on the backs of per~
spectives, crowd the margins of favorite books—
these extra illustrations are then architectural anno—
tations; or they serve to visualize the author’s merely
literary descriptions of houses, gardens or incidents
——-and even a search through old office drawings is
very likely to lay bare a mine of inventive alter-
native details; oftentimes abandoned because of
their added expense or difficulties of realization.
The drawings of Persian gardens resulted
from another journeying far afield, in search of that
atmosphere of romance and novelty that seems to
be the constant quest of this, type of alert and
searching intelligence. These illustrations, repro—
duced at almost full size, disclose far more of the
designer’s technique than ever appeared in the small
scale reproductions in the ‘Century’ magazine. They
also show more of the sources of his inspiration, in
decorative and typographical work, which is the
special subject of a later writer. They indicate, as
well, still another of the interests of an open—eyed,
observant and curious mind; whose preferable
choice is to occupy itself with unusual civilizations,
and strange and little-known architectural periods.
In realizing the mass of accomplishments in
varied fields of one individual—still youthful at
heart and not yet old in yearsl—that this volume in
part commemorates; one cannot but pause to wonder
at the amount of actual knowledge disclosed by
these accomplishments,——for no one new subject
here shown but has resulted from a sudden and
devouring interest in a definite period of the world’s
history; a revelling in its romance, architecture,
belles~lettres, its minor crafts, until he has naturally
come to adopt the very point of View of an in—
habitant of that place and time upon its incidental
problems. Properly directed, this is the view—point
of the modern archaeologist, who restores for us the
civilization of a long past time. That Mr. Goodhue

has never ventured to reconstruct a Pompeian villa
nor an Egyptian temple merely would indicate that
he has been kept too busily occupied with equally
interesting, or more unusual and less known, periods
and times. When he first undertook to master the
spirit underlying what is called the Gothic style,
this type of architecture was, to all intents and pur-
poses, a dead letter in America. When others be~
gan to crowd too close upon his heels in this one
field, he adventured into others. The Spanish
Mission Churches and haciendas; the gardens of
Persia, of California; the mythology and romantic
lore of Mediaeval England, of Burne-Jones and
Morris; the arts and crafts of Holland, Italy, Eng—
land and small German principalities; the typo—
graphical beauties of these countries, of Spain, of
the South Americas; the work'of the masters of
the Renaissance, all appealed to him and all pro-
vided him with material for enthusiastic adaptation
to his own and other problems, often as dissimilar
as could be imagined; and this enthusiasm for the
acquirement of knowledge lies undoubtedly at the
bottom of much of Mr. Goodhue’s interest, vitality
and alertness in matters architectural today; for it
must not be forgotten that all these results are but
evidence of his interest in architectural relations and

c.
3.

accessories; recreative by-products of a life busily
concerned with the planning, designing—and the
inevitably slow and gruelling process of detailing!
—of buildings, on which his hand has placed an
impress to which the architecture of America has
already palpably responded. If he has, of late
years, shown rather a disinclination to publish the
Gothic architectural detail that emanates from his
office, this is no doubt because of the misapplication
and ignorant misuse that have been made by others
of some of his former publications of similar work;
for his spirit is not one to be chary of itself nor of
its product. It is sufficiently rare, sufficiently pro-
ductive, to give freely to office associates, friends,
companions, or to his contemporaries,—without
bitterness and without guile. The chances would
seem to be that Bertram Goodhue will remain for~
ever a favored—if perhaps a somewhat spoiled—
child of all the arts; spoiled because to him the

‘expert artist’s assurance of knowledge has come

 

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easily and felicitously;—and it seems improbable
if not impossible—that he can ever become reserved,
old,—or unproductive,——for to him was “the faery
of talents", in the old wives, tale most generous at

birth!
FRANK CHOUTEAU BROWN

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ST. KAVIN’S CHURCH, TRAUMBURG, BOHEMIA

 

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T was in a well~thumbed copy of
i a volume which may be called

“Baedeker for Arden, Bohemia
and the Pays Bleu,” that I first
stumbled across a mention of
Traumburg. Under the caption
“Bohemia," and quite near the end—I have for-
gotten the page and it doesn't in the least matter
—occurs the following:

“Traumburg. A small but very ancient town,
about twenty miles from the seacoast. Chief place
in the county of the same name lying between
Criinewald and Ruritania. Hotels, none; principal

  

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church, Saint Kavin’s, founded according to tradi-
tion in the year I A. D., but in reality at a much

. later period, probably during the reign of Boles-

11

law I. (936-967). All that remains of the earlier
work may be seen in the crypt, where a piece
of rude masonry runs for eight feet or there-
abouts along the southern wall. Under Ottokar
(1197-1230) the north transept and a portion of
the cloisters were erected in the then prevalent
round-arched style, and are not without a certain
rude dignity. The northern tower of the west
front, as well as the nave and aisles, was built in the
reign of Wenzil II. by Count Germund of Traum-

 

 

burg, called ‘the Pious'; and additions and altera-
tions continued down to the early part of the last
century. While the church possesses a certain
something of picturesqueness, standing as it does
on a precipitous bluff overhanging the river, the
whole structure is crude; and, more especially in the
Gothic portions, very debased in style, possibly
owing to the eastern influence exercised by neigh-
bouring Poland. The Church is of little interest to
the Ordinary tourist because of its lack of unity, and
is but rarely visited, owing to the fact that no rail-
way passes within a number of miles. The shrine
of Saint Kavin, attached to the church, was for-
merly held in great repute because of its supposed
miraculous powers."

As you see, this is quite the customary thing
in the way of guide~book information. Its facts are
all facts and put in the tersest fashion. 50 terse,
indeed, that when I consider the mass of legends
which have gathered about the hoary shrine of good
Saint Kavin, or lurk in the shadowy corners of the
sinuous streets of Traumburg, my admiration for
the self—control of the compiler loses all bounds.
The chief value of the paragraph lies in what it
does not say. Knowing those for whom he wrote,
the author of “Arden, Bohemia and the Pays Bleu”
felt that they would be certain to read between the
lines; and that, for those who could care for such
an out-of—the~way spot as Traumburg, no more was
necessary. Observe the sly ingenuity of his mention
of the “ordinary touristz” F or the possessors of his
book are not “ordinary tourists,” and he knew it.
Let a thing be difficult of access, obscure, lost-in-
legend and quite un-appreciated~or-appreciable
by the “ordinary tourist,” and that thing the readers
of this quite unusual guide-book will insist upon
seeing. '

In its humble way Traumburg is a very com—
plete example of the Mediaeval German spirit. By
this admission I hope to disarm criticism of my poor
attempt to describe it. Let it also be admitted, and
at once, that in Germany there does not, and never
did, exist an architecturalimonument of the first
class,—not even Cologne Cathedral. But there is
a certain quality, it seems to me, in German work

that should possess greater interest, and for more

people, than it apparently does. I mean that qual-
ity that has given us the Teutonic M c'irschen—both
for children and for grown-ups—of which the chief
component may, for lack of a better term, be entitled
the macabre.

All architects are agreed that there are but three
supremely great styles, to wit: Greek, Byzantine
and Gothic. What the Germans can do with Greek
when they try, we need not even go to Greece to
see; the production of their court architects in mod—
ern Germany have made such a journey quite un-
necessary. Byzantine .never obtained any great
foothold in the north except in the faint echo known
as Romanesque, in the German examples of which
style begin to be apparent the macabre quality to
which I have just drawn attention. In Gothic,
however, they did succeed in achieving something
less good no doubt but at least quite different from
what had been done in France. To be sure no
serious writer upon architecture would dream of

   

     

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INTERIOR, LOOKING EAST

 

defending, for instance, their interlaced vaulting
ribs and mouldings generally, much less the ill-
advised daring exhibited in transforming these
mouldings into representations of actual tree-
branches: But, granting in advance every charge
that may be brought against the structural and
artistic nature of such ornament, it nevertheless
does, to my mind at least, possess a certain indeter—
minate and quite indefinable charm, and Traum~
burg is full of examples of this meretricious but still
charming quality.

Pleasant as it would be to tell you some of the.

many traditions of the place, I will try to confine
myself to a purely architectural disquisition; leaving
you, if you be so minded, to learn the rest from the
inhabitants themselves, each of whom possesses ,a
store of quite useless but delightful knowledge
about the founding of the town by King Belphegor,
a younger brother of one of the three wise kings, in

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THE SAINT'S TOMB

the year I A. D. for instance, or the execution of
the wicked robber-baron Von Sorgen in the Kavins-
platz at the beginning of the middle age—both
which incidents, along with many others in the
town’s history, are depicted in the most delightful
‘A ltdeulsch’ fashion on the walls of my favourite
wine cellar facing the church’s west front. Heaven
knows I hold no brief for What, in modern Ger-
many, is called ‘Kultur’ and even Art,—-if by these
terms be understood, (and we of the outside world
are given no choice,)—Prussian officialism—and
Berlin ‘art nouveau’. But ‘Altdeutsch’,—the style
that, in Architecture, gave us Niirnberg and
Hildesheim; in Art, Diirer, Altdorfer, and Beham,
——-to name but three artists; and in Literature,
Faust, greatest of all legends: Which, though mori-
bund, still persists—(chiefly to be sure in modern
beer halls)-—real ‘A ltdeutsch’ is quite another
matter.

We architects have higher and more important
considerations before us than old, musty and quite
impossible legends; and I regret now that I
neglected to take along some strips of lead with
which to duplicate the contours of the mouldings of
the east end of the church,—which were exactly
similar to lots of others you’ve seen,——or, better yet,
a camera, since for practical purposes,—study I be-
lieve it is called,—photographic reproductions
would be vastly more valuable than my purblind
sketches. And, too, I am deeply ashamed of the
incomplete set of measurements from which the
plan has been drawn. The truth is, although an
architect by trade, I am all unworthy in that I like
listening to legends better than plotting mouldings,
or travelling wearily about, dragging tangled
lengths of tape-line at my heels. Let it be my
excuse that when in Traumburg I did not contem-
plate describing the place for my fellows in this
fashion.

Of course, the guide-book compiler is correct
in his general estimate of the architectural worth of
Saint Kavin's; but in spite of him, or whatever may
be said against it when examined in detail with the
merciless science of the archaeological amateur, the
total effect of the place is quite satisfactory con-
sidered simply as a piece of scenery; and there is a

charm even about debased work not always pos-
sessed by structures erected during the highest
period of one given style. F or my poor part, I con-
fess a preference for many a little half-flamboyant,
half-renaissance French village church to the Sainte
Chapelle with all its tonsorial-parlour-like glories of
paint and stained glass; and for some rude Ro-
manesque pier’s sturdy superfluity of girth to the
carefully calculated, but risky-looking perfection of
the finest geometrical clustered column.

Saint Kavin’s is built, for the most part, of a
very light local stone of a crystalline formation,
which glistened and glowed in the sunlight like a
Turner, with pinks and dove-colours, warm sienna
and orange, and upon which each projection cast
lovely transparent purple shadows. In the twilight,
however, it loses all these qualities and assumes in
their stead a soft gray gloom, quite as charming in
its way as the brighter colouring; while at night, the
tall tower, silhouetted against the stars, seems to
tremble and waver in mysterious instability.

As the professional reader will have already
observed from the plan, there are three very distinct
dates apparent in the building of St. Kavin's, the
earliest comprising the north transept, porch and
west side of the cloisters, and, slightly later but still
Romanesque in style, the aisles, nave and taller
western tower, built in the time of Graf Germund
der Fromme,——which is to say, about 1260. The
earlier work, being some fifty years older, is rather
graver and more imposing in mass and form, the
Romanesque tower, Graf Germunds Thurm, as it is
called, especially manifesting that striving after
greater delicacy and lightness of effect characteristic
of the period immediately preceding the Gothic
age. The rest of the west-front facing the market-
place, the central tower, south transept, apse, and
chapels are Gothic of different varieties, ranging
from the severest Geometrical in the south transept,
to a nondescript and very debased sort of Flamboy-
ant—pronounced with a German accent—in the
apsidal chapels. In general, the work grows later
as it passes from west to east; and of course, more
and more delicate and airy. The flying buttresses,
for instance, which take the thrust of the vault of the
apse, seemed far too attenuate for the purpose which

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PLAN OF CHURCH AND PORTION OF MONASTERY

they served, nevertheless the vaulting is still appar-
ently sound, barring an interesting crack or two.
Finally the interior of the southern west tower, the
baptistery, the gate separating the choir from the
nave, and two of the altars—though fortunately not
the high altar—are Renaissance, of no recognized
kind, but with enough badly proportioned classical
pilasters, broken pediments and the like, to be
roughly ranked under this head.

I have endeavoured to make the plan as com-
plete as possible, redrawing it, to this end, from
rough measurements taken with no other instrument
than a two-foot rule and a five-yard tape-line,
which lacked the inch at the end. So, while the
drawing has an air of exactitude, in reality I fear it
is sadly incorrect. F or one thing, I am quite sure
the axis of the choir is set at an angle to that of the
nave; but this difference is so slight that I failed to
register it. I have, too, shown the bays of the nave
as equal in size, while without doubt, they grow
smaller as they proceed toward the east end; and
the vaulting lines are added from sketches, since it

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

mg

          

 

 

      

 

THE GRUNEWALDER THOR

was quite impossible to reach them. As you see,
the barrel~vaulting of the north-transept is as origi-
nally built, while the nave and aisles were changed
when the Gothic veneer was added to the exterior,
the roof of the nave in particular being considerably
raised,—indeed, I am not sure that the original
work ever had anything more than a wooden ceiling.

The choir, apparently, once projected far out
beneath the crossing; but as the monastery shrunk
in importance, and consequently in the number of
monks attached to it, more than half the stalls were
cut away, and the screen and parapet moved back
to their present position. Moreover, no plan can
possibly take into account the enormous amount of
impedimenta and ornamentation in the way of holy-
water stoups, pictures, shrines, standards captured in
battle, and the like, which hang everywhere dusty
and frayed from the walls. It is unfortunate,
too, that my energy did not suffice to add a full plan
of the monastic buildings, since there was much
both quaint and interesting about the irregular old
structure, built on the line of the cliff which fol—
lowed the bend of the river. In addition to the
offices which pertain to the church proper, l have
given only the Scriptorium and the curious little
room known as Saint Kavin’s cell, constructed by
the saint as a place of retirement, it is said, where he
might meditate upon his singlesin with prayer and
mortification of the flesh. A curious circumstance
that militates against this theory is the small stair—
way which leads, with, no other outlet, from the cell
down to the wine-vaults deep in the heart of the
cliff.

At the angle formed by the intersection of the
north transept and aisle stands a chapel, erected for
the express purpose of containing a canopied tomb;
in which are preserved the bones of the saint,
whose effigy lies calmly upon them, with his nose
held high in air and his lips parted in a broad but
very benign smile. Many were the miracles per-
formed here during the Middle Ages, and even
later, as the thousand and one votive offerings,
hung or placed in all sorts of impossible po~
sitions about the tomb, testify. Upon the
stubby Romanesque pillars are arranged crutches,
little images, pipes,——left by miserable crea-

‘tures miraculously cured of the vicious practice
of smoking, curious little copper ships, thank~
offerings of those delivered from death by drowning
when wrecked upon the neighbouring coast; and to
all these I modestly added my two—foot rule.

Thanks to the good offices of the three remain~
ing brothers, I was permitted to rummage at will
among the presses in the sacristy and in the little
strangely-shaped room used as a treasury. This last
was a perfect gem among treasuries, differing totally
from anything else of the kind in the world. As
everybodyknows,the possessions of more frequented
churches are ranged neatly upon shelves behind
glazed doors, duly labelled and ticketed, and with
the legend “slrengslens verboten,” etc., everywhere
in evidence. Here the very room itself was far
from being burglar-proof, nor was there the slightest
attempt at any sort of order. A frameless Memling
hung above a pile of nondescript articles, such as
candlesticks, gorgeous but utterly worn-out vest~
ments, a silver sanctuary lamp or so, censers and
images galore. In a cabinet against the wall were
kept such relics as, possessing no intrinsic value, are
still of interest historically; an iron mace, said to
have been borne by Johann Ziska, the Hussite
leader, an enormous two~handed sword, supposed
to be that of the terrible Witikind, and, more
shadowy yet as to pedigree, alas!, the crown of
Belphegor himself, of late Byzantine workmanship.

Although during the day I was too deeply
engrossed in wandering about the interesting old
church and almost equally interesting old town,
and at night too tired to do more than sit in some
little Weinstube in the Platz with a tall Schoppen
of the thin white wine of the neighbourhood at my
elbow; it \seems rather a pity, now that I have re-
turned, that I failed to go further with my plan;
for though most of the monastery is frankly ruinous
now and much of it devoted to the most secular of
uses, there is still a great deal in evidence that merits
fuller description,—both graphic and verbal.

Of course, with the shrinking of the brother—
hood, from the scores that, one deduces from the
extent of the building, during the Middle Ages
must have lived out their uneventful lives within its
walls to the three rather dazed and forlorn but still

 

energetically charitable Christian souls that now
remain its sole population, great changes have
come about in the uses to which have been put the
various apartments that one must still regard as
appertaining to the confraternity, and even greater
changes in their appearance.

But the ancient designation of the Scriptorium
is still approximately correct, and even today it still
preserves a shadow of its former character; for when
Brother Desiderius (who confided to me the fact
that before taking orders his name had been the
much more workaday one of Hans Muller) wishes
to indite an infrequent but tremendously laborious
epistle he retires to one of the little alcoves,
each of which has retained its low confining walls

and its single dim little window glazed with the

most enchanting of antique glass: In addition each
possesses a high writing desk and stool of ink-
stained deal that are quite in character; though
they must be, at the very least, four centuries later
in date than their surroundings.

The walls of this Scriptorium are plastered;
but not at all as a modern specification~writer or
journeyman understands the term: F or everywhere
the surface is innocent of any evidence of that hor~
rible modern utensil known as a ‘Hoat’; it looks,
therefore, like plaster and not like bristol-board.
One feels, even beneath the rare portions that are
quite fairly smooth, the underlying stone work, and
whilel cannot deny that this plastered surface has
been whitewashed, probably innumerable times,
it has certainly never been ‘white-coated.’ As for
the whitewash, I wish I knew where and how to
obtain such today: F or white it certainly is not,
rather is its colour that of mother of pearl.

As if this were not enough some one of the
industrious crew that formerly made here the great,
black-lettered, and pigskin and oak bound books
that were the pride of the brotherhood+some
busy-fingered but idle-pated scribe has ventured to
slyly sketch here and there upon the then invitingly
fresh walls evident caricatures of some of his fellow
labourers, naively and most unexpectedly intro-
duced, it may be, into the midst of a small group
of mitred prelates or aureoled saints; aureoles some-
times added to the very caricatures themselves.

Hidden away on the wall below one of the
windows,——just below, that is, where once must
have come the edge of whatever the mediaeval sub-
stitute for a drawing board may have been, there
is even a crude sort of isometric drawing of an
interior scarcely monastic in character. Though the
drawing is ill-done and so faded that it was diffi-
cult for me to be sure of the facts, I think I estab—
lished beyond the peradventure of a doubt that its
chief feature represents the foot of a great, mediae—
val canopied bedstead, beneath which reposes a
pair of little shoes—not sandals, so by no means in—
tended to connote masculine ownership. I wonder
what the good St. Kavin said, or perhaps only
thought, when, or if, he came upon this evidence
that his extra—monastic'goings and comings were
not wholly hidden from those of the little domain
over which he ruled with such gentle rectitude.

One of the strangest and at the same time most
characteristic bits in Traumburg is the structure
built into the angle of the south aisle and transept
of Saint Kavin’s Church, of which, since it was far
too complex for my pen, a verbal description must
suffice. Had it been classic in style, one might have
called it a nymphaeum; but instead of this it was
in the most exuberant Gothic 1 have ever seen, inter~
laced and bepinnacled to the last degree, showing
here and there signs of the approaching Renaissance,
with its hopeless vulgarizing of all things. Beneath
a carved and fretted canopy, in a broad and shal—
low niche, stood an undraped female figure, with
one arm resting upon the projecting 'end of what
was manifestly intended to portray a wine~butt.
This figure looked laughingly out across the Platz,
brandishing aloft a stone Romer tilted at a consider-
able angle frOm the perpendicular. From this
Romer, as well as from the open bung of the stone
wine~butt, fell streams of water into an octagonal
reservoir. An inscription in dubious, even porcine,
Latin, tells only too little of its origin; but it would
appear that in the sixteenth century, when the
Renaissance and lots of other dreadful things spread
over the country, even upsetting the balance of
Traumburg in their course, the simple townsfolk be-
came deeply imbued with the desire of knowing
more than was good for them. To this end they

formed themselves. into an association not unlike our
modern Browning clubs in certain ways, for the
study of ancient and quite unknowable literatures
and beliefs. The most enthusiastic, albeit one of the
most ignorant, of the members was the syndic of the
Vintners. F at, jolly and absurd, his well-known
riches and philanthropy preserved him from becom-
ing the butt of his staid and learned fellow-
' members. 50, when he announced at one of the
monthly meetings of the club, that, after long re-
search and close study of the classic authors, more
particularly those who touch upon the Eleusinian
Mysteries, he had come to the conclusion that
Bacchus must have been a woman, his words were
received in grave and apparently respectful silence.
When he continued, however, by saying that to
commemorate his great discovery he intended to
present his native town with a statue of Bacchus
herself, which he had commissioned a local Phidias
to execute, the silence changed into a titter, finally
breaking out into loud and prolonged applause.
The syndic was as good as his word; and the town
government, feeling that no place could be more
appropriate for the erection of the statue than in or
near the church, chose, despite the energetic protest
of the monks, the angle mentioned above; and built
to receive the work of art, the uproarious Gothic
affair which still covers it. At first, of course, the

  
  

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fountain ran wine; but this was soon found inex~
pedient, and water was substituted at the request
of the contemporaneous W. C. T. U. And, alas!
except upon the feast of Saint Kavin, water it
squirts to this day.

Incomplete and fragmentary as this descrip-
tion has been, I am beset with the knowledge that I
am dealing with matters that are the rightful
domain of graver and more observant writers
and critics, and have grudged throughout the
type and paper used for all facts other than
purely architectural ones. But, after all, my omis-
sions can easily be supplied by a visit to Traum—
burg; so a few simple directions for getting there,
and I am done.

First you must obtain a copy of the guide-
book above mentioned. It is also “usual and proper"
to have a passport. As I never had one, but
smuggled myself through a little-used pass of the
Vergesslichkeit mountains (the range which sur-
rounds Traumthal) I am quite unable to tell you
how to procure this. At the foot of the mountains
runs a river, the name of which, curiously enough,
has escaped me but which sounds something like
the old Slavonic equivalent for Lethe. This deep
and sluggish stream creeps beneath the very walls
of the town. You can hire a skiff for almost noth-
ing—vand surely the rest is simple.

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THE HARBOUR AND PORT

THE VILLA FOSCA AND’HITS GARDEN

 

-, N spite of the years of insult to
which Italy has been subjected,
-— in spite of the hordes of Paris—
prepared young prizemen who
' have ransacked herevery avaiI~
able nook and corner, in spite of
the “progressive” attitude of a most modern and
progressive government, even in spite of railroads
and tourists, there still remain certain regions safely
hidden away hitherto from all these hostile in-
fluences. One such, however, has been unfortunate
enough to have entertained the writer; and of it the
following is but an incomplete account.

Of not enough importance, politically, to find
a place in the histories, or architecturally, to merit
attention on the part of the restorationist, the Villa
Fosca has hitherto escaped the observation of the
serious writers upon both subjects. It is true that in
the course of a few years there will be published
an elaborate account, not only of the architecture
of the building, but also of the proud family who
inhabited it; and their position in, and influence
upon, the troubled history of the land, will be drawn
from the various papers of interest still to be found

  

 

 

 

3|

in the'jibrary there, mildewed and foxed until their
mincin'g 'characters dc civilité are almost illegible.
But this volume will be written by one who has
every qualification for the work he has assumed:
A dweller on the spot, bound to it and its owner
by all the ties of affection and knowledge, possess-
ing the steadfastness of purpose and archaeological
ability needed for such an account, as well as the
mental capacity to grasp and set down in their
proper place and order all the contending and, to
me, hopelessly muddled elements of Italian history.

Here no such task is required, or even desired,
for which I am heartily thankful. In Signor
Orgogliese’s book you will find all such items of
exact information as could be demanded by the
most scrupulous enquirer, and until its publication
you must content yourself with my own inconse-
quent account, wherein I promise you no imperti-
nent restorations or inaccurate surmises. My only
tools were my sketching materials, aided and
abetted by my lazily inquiring mind; and if I state
any fact, historical or archaeological, with a seem-
ing show of authority, rest assured that I obtained
it from my friend, Signor Carlo Orgogliese, at once

custode and historian, even, de facto, the resident
proprietor of the Villa.

Set on a forgotten islet in the Adriatic, with
the neighbouring coast for many miles a desolate and
unhealthy maremma, the Villa has fallen quietly
from its once high estate into a present condition of
hidalgo-like decay. The wars which have raged
about it since history began have left it strangely
untouched, and the influence of Byzantine and
Barbarian, Guelph and Chibelline, Turk and
Christian, has proved less hostile than the softer but
no less sure hand of time.

Within the Villa, I have said, dwells Signor
Orgogliese, and yet this information is scarcely
exact enough, for it is only in one or two of the
smaller rooms of the north Wing that he actually
lives. Into these he has transferred from the other
portions of the house such articles as he fancied:
furniture of a dozen different periods, a wonderful
picture or two of the early Renaissance, some few
pieces of Sicilian silks, and most of the volumes
which have escaped the conqueror worm or the all—
pervading dampness of the library. To these he
has added such modern conveniences as are de—
cidedly ben trovato, even in the Villa Fosca; a
magnificent satinwood Erard, astral lamps, and a
few trifling efforts in the way of plumbing. Here
it was that we sat long over the musty old archives
with our tobacco and liqueurs, while he cour-
teously aided me in the preparation of this article
to accompany my sketches; even going so far as to
permit me to make a copy of the plan which he had
laboriously measured and upon the accuracy of
which it would be discourteous indeed to cast
doubts, although it must be confessed that much
depicted by him has long since ceased to exist. As
the representative of a proud and once powerful
family, whose present head is too deeply interested
in Paris, Auteuil, and baccarat often to appear in
so sad a spot, and too poor to render it less so,
Signor 'Orgogliese is tenacious to the last degree of
everything which makes for the family glory; and
I am sure you will pardon those errors of antiquarian
judgment into which the enthusiasm of an old gen—
tleman, a sort of Italian and high-bred Caleb Bal~

derstone, may have led him; and, like myself, smile

indulgently at those fanciful names which he has
given to the various objects, fountains, grottoes and
the like, for which he might find it difficult to cite
his authority.

The gardens in olden times were doubtless.
very beautiful, despite the fact that they are circum-
scribed in extent and must have laboured under that
disadvantage of trimness from which so much simi-
lar work suffers. Now, however, lacking their
former care, they have gained the perhaps more
than counterbalancing value of that picturesqueness
come of utter neglect. Signor Orgogliese, it is true,
does potter about feebly with a pair of hedge
shears, and has even succeeded in bringing back to
bloom the tangled beds of violets, crocuses, poppies,
roses and amaranth with which, in imitation of the
villas of the classical period, the house is sur-

.rounded.

The axis of the building is set almost due
east and west, and is continued in one direction out
across the upper court to the Fountain of Diana, and
on the other down the eleven-bayed portico on the
seaward side, across the first and second terraces,
on either side of the long, rectangular, and, save for
the lotus and nenuphar, quite unadorned pool, over
a third and less imposing flight of steps, to the
Cascala di N etluno,‘ where what was manifestly in?
tended to be a considerable cascade falls over a
little cliff upon the head and shoulders of the sea-
god, standing grim and majestic on the moss-Cov~
ered rock below. But, epitome of the Villa and
its lords, the purple sea now laves the feet of'the
god caressingly, as though it knew his power over
wind and wave had departed, while thei'casca‘de.
has diminished in volume until scarcely more than
a thin silver thread thereof whispers softly, almost
confidentially, in his ear. From the balustrade

, immediately above, you obtain perhaps the most

32

imposing view of the Villa. Before you lies the
motionless and lily—covered pool, in whose amber
depths you may, from time to time, catch glimpses
of great, slow—moving fish, the sad descendants of
the silver and golden carp which adorned the
banquets of long-dead princes and cardinals.
Upon either side stretch off, in far-vanishing per—
spective, the rows of Hermae which line what was

 

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once a squared hedge. These fauns and nymphs
have attained gravity with years, and the once glar-
ing boldness of tossing horns or chiselled coquetry
has grown discreetly grey. The solemn fauns peer
at you almost sullenly from under brows bushy with
age, while the once laughing marble ladies seem

striving now to hide the ravages of time by averted ~

heads or expressions of mournful repentance.

It would be impossible within the limits of this
paper to give a detailed and categorical description
of the various interesting objects scattered about so
lavishly in the garden of the Villa Fosca. It is said
that no less a personage than Leonardo devised the
construction of the great reservoir which ends the
vista at the opposite approach,and the ingenuity with
which so slight a supply of water is made to do
duty in so many fountains and grottoes may very
well be attributed to him, though at the period of
his visit here, presumably while on his way to or
from the Sultan’s court, the art of gardening had

not reached that apogee when every poor bit of

antique sculpture which could be found, and

myriads of contemporaneous substitutes beside,

were made to serve as tutelary divinities over bom—
bastically named grottoes, temples, or exedrae.

The clear intent of him who designed these
gardens is fortunately apparent. Placed as the
buildings are upon the summit of a hillock which

 

 

 

 

 

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l THE VILLA FOSCA. l

, Key to Plan.
1. Domed ante-chamber. ' 12. Ollie:S
2' i Salons.
Picture gallery.
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. Ban nquer room. 20. I'ou hntain of Ihe Sa Iyrs
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34

falls away rapidly to the sea clearly visible at no
great distance on three sides, and having for back-
ground, upon the fourth or eastward side, the
mountain, it was well nigh impossible, even with
the resources which the Orgo‘gliesi could bring to
the aid of art, to obtain any effect of spaciousness.
To be sure, there was the well-understood trick of
tracing, through the underbrush and shrubbery of
the forest on either side, paths whose windings and
convolutions might well allure one for what seem
miles, though in reality in no case is the distance
over four or five hundred feet, from the villa itself.
But the effect of nature unadorned is gradually de-
creased by ingeniously conceived and almost im-
perceptible stages until,- between the seaward
portico and the pool, the climax of artificiality is
reached at the broad flight of stone steps, upon the
summit of which is the so-called F ontana dei Satiri,
a piquant note, introducing a group of excessively
wild—looking satyrs huddled together and appar-
ently still confused at finding themselves in the
midst of so much magnificence, although beside
them now graze, appropriately enough, several
equally wild—looking goats.

Toward the north a rather ornate pergola
stretches out for some two hundred feet, ter~
minating in the little bigliardo or billiard hall,
erected about the middle of the eighteenth cen-
tury in the most inconceivably debased rococo
style, with strangely shaped and bulbous-looking
balconies upon three sides, hung with creeping and
clambering weeds. The other\ and far simpler
pergola ends In certain indispensable and tolerably
ornamental farm buildings; oil and wine presses,
granaries, and the like. Beyond these, and upon
the downward slope which terminates in the little
village, is the theatre, once, if we may believe my
friend the resident, filled with crowds of dark-
eyed and noisy Greeks in those remote days when
the island was a trading station in the commerce

carried on between Greece and the northern bar—

barians. Now, of course, nothing is left of the
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guishable concentric tiers, overgrown with acanthus
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centuries old, and playing soberly the parts which
we Of the North have assigned them, silent mourners
guarding the ashes of the long buried years.

Along the southern face of the simpler pergola
which encloses the kitchen gardens, and descending
by slow degrees to the bay, is a ramp, crossed at in~
tervals by winding pathways, all of which converge,
after long and intentionally mazy wanderings, at the
Tempietto di Venere,which, like the billiard hall, is
another triumph of the baroque. Its material is a
pale flesh—pink marble, and there is scarcely a plain
surface to be found upon it, each of its six sides
being concaved after the manner of those strange
structures still overlooking the desert about Palmyra.
Upon the broken pediment surmounting its en-
trance is perched a little amoret; his chubby fore—
finger is held warningly to his lips, but the silence
for which he pleads is now eternal, never again to
be broken by laughter of gay gallant or gayer
light—o’~love.

In the midst of all this mournful magnificence
rises the villa, irregularly regular in plan, set about
three sides of a court. A five-arched loggia adorns
one of these sides, the columns of which are per—
haps those originally used in the peristylium of the
Roman house which once occupied the site. These
columns are certainly classic, simple Tuscan in
style, and chiefly interesting because of the material
of their shafts. Such verde antico was no longer
to be found in its natural state even in the Renais-
sance period, but its effect is somewhat cheapened
by the gorgeous mosaics of the vaulted ceiling of
the loggia, earlier by at least a century than the
opposite facade. The older portion, the court side,
is almost without architecture, as we understand
the term in this enlightened age, for, barring the
pilasters which continue the blank arcade past the
chapel to the library, on the northern side of
the court there is no ornament whatsoever except
the delicate quattrocento frames to the windows of
the second story, and the cornice, both of which set
at defiance all our rules of proportion.

The garden facade, however, more than
compensates for this plainness. The vaulting am-
bition of its designer, apparently some dry-as—dust
pupil of Vig'nola, was not allowed enduring
marble, but succeeded in expressing itself pretty

36

completely in brick and stucco, and here all the
bombast of the “high” Renaissance has found vent.

The series of apartments within were once
on that scale of magnificence dear to the heart of
the age which conceived them, and in a sense mag-
nificent they are still with their deeply panelled and
gilt plaster-work ceilings, their pompous paintings in
the style of Paolo Veronese, and their uncom-
fortable floors of many colored marbles in patterns
artlessly arranged so as to produce an effect of high
crystalline reliefs. The central apartment is cir-
cular in plan, with its domed ceiling entirely cov—
ered by a painting representing (allegorically, of
course,) the triumph of a certain Cardinal Or-
gogliese whose chief title to be so commemorated
lies in the fact of his having negotiated a not too
honourable treaty between two of the petty North
Italian states.

But for the ruinous condition into which, alas!
they are now fallen, the rooms of the older portions
of the building would be of far greater interest; but
the chapel, at no time very elaborately decorated,
is now scarce more than a barn, while the dining,
or rather banquet, room has been disfigured at some
time by another of the inevitable and quite stupid
plaster ceilings. On its walls, however, it was most
interesting to laboriously trace the faded frescoes
done by some forgotten master of the early Sienese
school. Continuing without a break of any kind
completely around the room, they baffle you, at
first, as to their intent, which I think now must have
been the portrayal of the adventures of Ceres in her
search for Proserpine, though the subject seems a
curiously pagan one for the devout Sienese painter
to have chosen.

‘ The “grand" staircase isn’t in the least grand,
but its insufficiently lighted and damp steps afford
descent to the portico; on either side of this lie
those offices, which, excepting the armory and
guard rooms, were never seen by the noble guests
entertained, in the days of their grandeur, by the
Orgogliesi.

The baths, cleverly constructed from classic
descriptions, are at first undiscoverable, but a short
walk to the north of the stables brings one to them,
small but delightfully complete, with hot, tepid,
and disrobing rooms, nuliarum and lounge, the lat~

ter almost a grotto formed of cool green and white
marbles.

If this were all that constitutes the charm of
the Villa Fosca, it would scarce be worth describ-
ing, but hitherto I have not mentioned the most
important factor of all. In the hot glare of day,
every imperfection, every sordid bit of plaster pre-
tence, every telltale revelation of brickwork through
its stucco mask, is pitilessly laid bare; but at night,
in the tender light of the southern moon, and sur-
rounded by “opiate, dewy and dim" vapours, all is
changed. Then, stretching majestic above the
black, mysteriously whispering cypresses, the
building gleams silvern and ghostly against the
luminous purple of the starry sky, and something,
——the spirit of the dust~covered ages perhaps—
seems to return.

Well I remember the last night spent in com~
pany with Signor Orgogliese. We had been try-
ing over some old music on his piano, grave
melodies of Scarlatti and Arcadelt, or trivial can-
zonettas of the eighteenth century, full of a thousand
mock languors, swells and tremours. From these we
had wandered to the literature of the same period;
wherein was the same artificiality as had been mani-
fest in the music, pastoral pieces in which noble
dames masqueraded in thin disguise, or sonnets full
of false sentiment and verbal arpeggios. As we
naturally drifted into an argument over the com-
parative value of different ages, I upheld stoutly

n‘

the merit of the austere old pointed work of
mediaeval times, “stern of lineament and grim" as
Dante’s profile, while Signor Orgogliese gently
but bravely maintained that art, to be genuine, must
reflect its age, however false and soulless that age
may be, and that we can ill afford to do without
the poetry even of the eighteenth century for instance.
To this I replied, that art never was the reflection
of a period,—rather that the reverse was true; that
we should strive to comprehend and enjoy only the
great epochs, leaving the less, lesser and least to
the limbo in which they rightfully should lie. For
answer, the old gentleman rose slowly, and filling
his pockets with cigarettes as he spoke, suggested
the garden as a fitting place in which to end our
conversation. Ensconced in the corner of one of
the stone seats facing the moonlit building, I
listened to the monotone of his voice, at first clear
and distinct, but fading imperceptibly into a sort
of bourdon to the chorus of night, the hum of
insects, the plash of fish in the pool, and the sound
of the “close feathered nightingales yet trilling clear
warbles of thick-sobbing song divine.” Suddenly
I received my answer, for from the shore far below
us, in the clear manly baritone of some sailor, came
the opening notes of "de Provenza al mar al suol,”
well remembered yet unworn, and therein seemed
to lurk the expression of all that Italy has been, is
or may yet be, all the pathos and glamour of a for—
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y T is but a poor place, this Monte-
ventoso, and scarce worth discov-
ering, after all’s said and done.
I ' Were it not that Italy has been
so ransacked within the past hun-
“M“ . dred years without even a stray
mention of the town finding its way into Murray or
Baedeker, I should scarcely dare to notice it here.
The railway from Bologna to Pistoja passes within
a few miles of it, and but for a promontory of crag
and cliff it would be plainly Visible to the bicyclist
pedalling the highway between Pievepelago and
Cutigliano.

It is quite possible, though, that I am quite
in the wrong, and my discovery will turn out to be
Well known to the cognoscenti in Italian travel
merely as a place of very meagre interest in a region
so rich in historical tradition and monuments of art as
is Emilia,——furthermore one to be avoided as cold
and uncomfortable in the matter of the hospitality
dispensed at its inns, while its edifices are despised
of architects as not only vastly excelled in every
particular, but almost exactly paralleled, by other

 

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49

       

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far more famous and accessible cities. No—
despite the announcement, made by the proprietor
of the “Albergo della Ruota,” that in Monteven-
toso were to be found “notable” buildings, the
author must beg leave to deny any complicity in the
statement.

It would, indeed, be difficult to point out in
what particular the buildings of Monteventoso
possess this quality of notability. To be sure,
antiquity is theirs, and to most Americans antiquity
makes largely for “notability,” while about the old
shadowy streets and glittering roofs and towers is
crystallized enough legendry to equip a dozen of
our States. Centuries of bloody history and clusters
of hoary tradition are very pretty things in their
way, but architecture is almost an exact science, a
thing of scale and plumb-line; hence it is not to be
wondered at if Monteventoso has received but
scant consideration from those who have given us
the whole history of architecture in a neat octavo
volume.

Still, it is curious that the town has escaped
the archaeologist, for it is certainly rich in late Ro-

\‘

man remains. Everywhere are to be espied frag-
ments of this period. They seem to have been
especially popular as quoins during the Middle
Ages, while the columns and frieze of the chapel
porch of the church of Santa Caterina once, so they
say, formed part of the ancient temple of Boreas;
and, too, the road and causeway leading down
from the town, over the little river which skirts the
base of the eminence, and thence out across the
level plain towards Modena, bear less interesting
but no less distinct traces of the heavy hand of the
one-time mistress of the world. Yes, the archaeol-
ogist, he who has picked, dug, or hammered his
way over the land with such remarkable results,
might here make a number of quite stupid discov-
eries, I feel sure. F or instance, the author is no
archaeologist, but there is an archway constructed
by Gian Galeazzo Visconti in l398, almost entirely
of classic fragments, at the foot of the hill at the
intersection of the Roman way and the more mod—
ern Strada Maestra, and despite my very halting
Latin I am quite certain that on one of its stones
—the centre one in the right-hand pedestal as you
enter the town—is an inscription to the effect that
here Marcus Brutus erected a column commem-
orating the loyal devotion of the inhabitants to
his cause in the year 78. Then. there is the strange,
artificial, and doubtless funereally intended cavern
above the town, now called the Grotto of Egeria,
in which a more practised eye than mine might see
signs of genuine Etruscan handiwork.

But, after all, these are but surmises, and even
if correct, quite foreign to the purpose of this paper.
Enough classic work remains to prove that Monte-
ventoso was as unknown in the days of Alaric and
Attila as it is now, and it would be pathetic indeed
if, after the centuries of repose from invasion it has
enjoyed, it should at this late day fall a victim to
some devastating modern Goth, one who would
pick the old fragments from their long-accustomed
homes, filling their places with brand-new brick
and stucco, simply and solely that his name might
appear “writ small” in some museum catalogue.

As elsewhere, all the life and most of the
interest of the town centre about the piazza, in spite

' of the fact that the principal structure, the church

50

of St. Catherine, is perched on the hillside some
little distance above. Charlemagne is currently
reported to have assisted at the pious work of be-
ginning this church, even to the extent of relaxing
his regal attitude and stiffening his regal muscles
sufficiently to lay the corner-stone with his own
regal hands. If you demand proof of this occur-
rence, it is before your eyes in one of the clerestory
windows; to be sure, this glass cannot be earlier
than the close of the fourteenth century, but tut! in
matters of this kind one shouldn’t be too particular,
and what suffices for the excellent old prete and
simple townsfolk ought to be enough to quell our
doubts as well. .

The church of Santa Caterina (da Alessan~
dria) served at one period of the past as a cathedral,
and even to-day is often so termed by the in—
habitants, though its last bishop was deposed
nearly two centuries ago, and now its services are
far from magnificent, conducted as they are by one
poor priest with two attendant acolytes, one of
whom is a lame lad and the other, when not robed
in shabby red and dubious white lace, spends his
time officiating as a sort of half sacristan, half
gardener. With the dawn of modernism, with
“United Italy," with shearing from the Holy
Father all his temporal dignities, has come a for~
getfulness on the part of the people of the dark,
dusty old church high above them, and the con—
trast of an evening of the two quarters, the secular
and the religious, is marked indeed. You have but
to leave the lavola rotonda of your hotel—the
Albergo della Ruota is the better of the two barely
tolerable ones—and step out into the Piazza Re
Umberto, to find yourself in the midst of a very
fair, though, of course, highly provincial imitation
of Milan, and even of Rome. Up and down
parade a throng of citizens: portly shopkeepers with
their beetle-browed wives, stray soldiers having
somewhat the appearance of banditti turned
Knights of Pythias, sad-looking, nondescript indi-
viduals seated about the café tables; the élite of the
town for the most part, with long names, but with
purses barely long enough to purchase them the
little glasses of vermouth or apéritif they so delight
in; and perhaps, if it chance to be the evening of a

 

     

 
 

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THE PIAZZA RE UMBERTO

festa, a band, the strains of whose music are nearly
obliterated by the screaming of innumerable chil-
dren and barking of still more numerous dogs. But
walk to one corner, mount the little Contrada degli
Avvellenatori, all twists, turns, and steps. In a few
moments these will bring you to a region very dif-
ferent from the one you lately left. The blue~
black shadows are but semi-occasionally troubled
by lamp brackets, and it is only rarely that you
meet people, strange, skulking, and noiseless, who
creep eerily from black blot to black blot, creatures
of the night you think, but who turn out to be only
a half dozen or so poor old women on their way to
deposit at the church the few centesimi they have
managed to save during the week. God, who alone
knows how they did it, will assuredly reward them.
At last, after a particularly toilsome flight of tor—
tuous, time-worn steps, you come out into the little
“Giardino Pubblico," an absurd appellation, since
it contains only a few scrawny and stunted trees and
wind-swept plants. Across this “garden” rises the
dim facade of the church of St. Catherine; its rose
window, in the form of an immense wheel in allu-
sion to the legend of the saint’s martyrdom, glim-
mering faintly from the few flambeaux within, and
from its open doors coming the sound of a droning
Gregorian, cut short every now and again by sharp
gusts of the eternal winds from which the town
derives its name. The unknown architect of the
church evidently considered this blast a not-to-be~
despised enemy when he constructed his thin but
massive campanile and abutments, both of which
appear the more enormous when contrasted with
the delicate detail of the church itself.

On the facade are many figures, in marble and
pale gray terra-cotta, of different degrees of merit,
from the veritable marvels of grace and action by
Begarelli and Zarabaja, back to the crude and'
amusing but interesting early Lombard attempts to
portray the “human form divine." The townsfolk,
aided and abetted it is to be feared by the priest,
with little reverence for mere antiquity, have not
scrupled to” remove the earlier and poorer of these
figures to the museo lapidario in the library below,
filling their places with smart, new, attitudinizing
ladies and gentlemen in glaring white marble from

52

the sculptor’s shops of Carrara, Modena, or Pistoja.
Sic transit, etc., though doubtless the venerable
gray worthies of old time, Cervasius and Protasius,
Nazarius and Celsus, even good Ambrosius of
Milan himself, now find themselves far more com-
fortably situated among their Etruscan and Roman
countrymen in the museum than they ever were When
huddled back in their niches at Santa Caterina’s to
escape the bleak mountain Winds.

Though there is considerable of note in and
about the church, little of it is sketchable. The
crypt or ’scurolo, as it is called, seems sufficiently
ancient to give colour to the Charlemagne legend,
and its fading and ruinous frescoes are well worth
examining closely with the aid of the torch sup-
plied you by the sacristan for a soldo. This crypt
is but a few steps below the level of the nave, the
chancel being raised as at Modena, from which it
is probably copied.

In the treasury—the third floor back room of
the sacristan’s house—are ‘a number of relics of
Gothic and Lombard times, a manuscript sacra-
menlarium given to the then bishop of Monteventoso,
by Queen Theodolinda; a beautiful wrought pale
or altar front of gold, silver, uncut gems, and
enamel, worthy to rank with the best extant work
of the kind but by an utterly unknown artist; an
ostensorium accredited to Cellini,——scarcely im~
portant enough to have come from his hand, it is
more probably the work of some one of his
imitators,—beside many less noteworthy objects,
badly shattered diptychs, Renaissance candelabra,
and the like.

The old priest is deeply interested in the wel-
fare of his flock, on the material rather than the
spiritual side it seemed to me, and frankly and most
volubly regrets that he is not permitted, for a con-
sideration, to part with such articles appertaining to
his church as possess an intrinsic and not miraculous
value. The money obtainable in this way might
be put to good use in the most practical of fashions;
for instance, “the sacristy and chapels needed re-
tiling badly. Had not Matteo Chitti, the roofer,
so informed him? And beside, if the frescoes of
the choir (by Lionello Spada and dated 1597)
could only be touched up in cheerful Colours by his

 

 

 

 

 

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friend, Luigi Moncalvo, the artist in the Borgo
della Montagna, h0w much more honour would
redound to the church, and,” a natural sequence in
the priestly brain, “how the wealthy forestieri would
flock to poor old Monteventoso!” Alas! Even
clericalism has been tinged by the prevailing spirit.

No, after all, if one is to become acquainted
with the place it is best not to waste time poring
about the dingy old church, but rather by returning
to the piazza, its musical and unmusical sounds, its
clamouring people, its miserable bronze Umberto,
and rickety iron café tables. Yet even here, if one
happens to be architect, artist, sculptor, or poet, and
few sojourners in Italy escape a ‘touch of one or all
of these things after a little (I have known a Kan-
sas City wheat—broker to turn connoisseur on a
three weeks' stay and begin a mad career after ex-
tremely dubious old masters on his return to his
native heath), he will grow weary of the throng
and let his eye rove above the heads of the people
to where the tops of old buildings meet the sky.
Among these are the library and museum of Gian
Caleazzo Visconti, a large edifice in the Lombard
style, in brick and terra—cotta, with the arched
heads of its openings pointed for the most part, but
with a curious admixture of Florentine influence,
especially in the heavy, rather forbidding ground~
story walls and in the cornice, which, although of
terra~cotta, and consequently much lighter in effect,
recalls that of the Palazzo Riccardi, so familiar to
us all and so frequently in evidence nowadays,—
a mere streak at the top of some sky-scraping office
building in the United States of North America.
The open upper story of this building, formerly
frequented by the young lords with their bravi as
affording excellent space for fencing and tennis, has
with a commendable spirit of economy (“United
Italy" again) been leased to a well-to-do peasant
for the raising of silk-worms and storage of
acorns and chestnuts. Near the library, but on an-
other side of the piazza, towers the old palace of
the Signori Scogli, now converted into offices for
the administration of the local . government, its
machicolated battlements seeming to frown down
. their present degradation and the torricella of Count

Ercole, to climb up, away, anywhere to escape its

fate and to forget that in its lower stories, once the
haunt of valiant men—at—arms and graceful pages,

_ a few crabbed notaries are snoring away their

54

office hours.

Listen to the faithful chronicler’s account of
but one episode in the dark past of the palace which
occurred about the end of the fourteenth century.
I translate freely: “My gentle lord, the young,
beautiful, and brave Count Ascanio, in the course
of a secret mission to Perugia, had occasion to sup
at the house of the Signori Baglioni, Before the
company were seated it fell about that my lord’s
eyes met those of Narcisa, the fair daughter of his
host. Now with the gentle family of the Scogli
to think is to act, and finding himself on the instant
madly enamoured, he begged her to pace with him
the walks of her father’s garden, meanwhile dis~
patching his page to see to it that faithful. and
valiant servitors should station themselves in all
quietness near the enclosurewall. Now it chanced
that the Baglioni were intending to mingle acqua
lofana with the wine served their guest, and they
liked not well to see the lady Narcisa pass into the
darkness of the gardens with my young lord. In
and about the moonlit glades and deep shadows
they wandered, until they had neared the wall at
the farther side. Here my lord, quickly covering
the lady’s mouth with his mantle that her cries
might not be heard, mounted the walls with her and
departed. Before the stupid Perugians could re~
cover from their astonishment sufficiently to mount
and after, my lord was safe from their pursuit, and
though they were insolent enough to come under
the very walls of our beloved city of Monteventoso,
yet my lord’s retainers soon sent those that remained
at the end of the day back to their foul home. But
woe to the gentle and heroic house of Scogli! The
lady Narcisa had accompanied my lord most un-
willingly; finding resistance in vain, she had
seemed to acquiesce, but on my lord’s arrival, she
had requested a confessor and from him had ob-
tained a weapon, none knows how, but in all likeli-
hood by some sweet sorcery, for she had associated
from her youth with witches. That night, as my
lord held converse with her in her chamber, she
stabbed him to the heart, and tearing his blood-

 

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THE ALBERGO DELLA RUOTA

stained doublet into little strips, made for herself
a rope with which she let herself descend into the

arms of the rascally priest, whom she had so en-.

chanted, that he, at her command, had stationed
himself below her balcony. Yet not long did the
evil deed go unrewarded, for within the hour my
lord's death was discovered, the lady caught in the
priests arms, and the two righteously slain before
the door of the cathedral."*

The window and balcony in the torricella
from which the lady descended after her deed of
violence are still pointed out and, besides their
association with the tale, are of some architectural
interest. In the panels of the balcony are glazed
terra-cotta relief medallions of three of “gentle”
young Ascanio’s forebears, while within the very
room in which he breathed his last broken and
blood-choked breath hangs a beautiful profile por-
trait by Piero della Francesca, supposed to be
that of Ascanio’s unwilling but scarcely virtuous
lady love.

However Monteventoso may have escaped
devastation at the hands of enemies, Visigothic or
Umbrian, it certainly bore its little part honourably
or dishonourably during the strifes of the two great
factions, and the presence everywhere of the forked
battlement testifies to its loyal and constant sym~
pathy with the Ghibellines. The ferocious Ezze-
lino Romano, the “scourge of God," for some time
held the town, and a small, narrow-fronted house
‘ in the Contrada degli Avvellenatori is still pointed
out as his abode, though for no better reason, ap~
parently, than that its walls are surmounted by the
above form of battlement. Through thick and thin
the little town, perched upon its craggy hillside,
maintained unswervingly its devotion to the party
whose principles had been espoused by the Scogli,
and all efforts to take or destroy it were abortive.
This does not necessarily indicate any unusual
degree of prowess on the part of its indwellers, but
testifies rather to the shrewd foresight of
shadowy original founders,,Etruscans, Boians, or
what and whoever they may have been, that
established it upon a well-nigh impregnable spur

of rock.

"Sioria della Famosa e Valianle Casa di Scogli. by Fra
Pietro Adulatoro. Milan, 1673.

56

Their loyalty at last brought the inhabitants
substantial returns, for at the beginning of the
fifteenth century the all-powerful Lord of Milan,
Gian Galeazzo Visconti, was pleased to admire
their town and to load it with favours. To him is due
the triumphal arch or city gate, and likewise the
library, the plans of which were probably drawn
by Marco de Campione, though certain details
seem later in date and resemble the work of Duccio,
the Florentine. The-three~bayed portal and vesti-
bule, with its delicate early Renaissance detail in
creamy marble surrounding reliefs in glazed and
tinted terra-cotta, is certainly not the work of the
Lombard, and while this portico can scarcely be
said to adhere very rationally to the original struc-
ture, still the conjoiniflng of the different styles
appears less awkward than one might suppose.

The large windows of the principal story are
good examples of veritable Lombard Gothic, and
apart from their plastic character form charming
harmonies of color among themselves and afford a
most pleasant contrast to the gray walls of the
Signoria. It would have been an almost impossible
undertaking to make measured drawings of even
one of these, but there are some very similar ones in
Griiner, lacking, however, that which all drawings
of such work must needs lack, the infinite variety of
detail and shimmering play of tint and surface of
the work itself. Not only are the ornaments con~
stantly varied, foliated or geometrical, scarcely ever
repeating themselves in exactly the same form, but
even the plain surfaced bricks are subtly formed of
various sizes to suit different localities 1n a way not
to be dreamed of to-day. .

It 18 certain that here 1n Northern Italy, within
a very restricted area, the architecture of baked
clay found its fullest and most artistic expression, ‘
and that, too, during the mediaeval period. The
purist may rail against the Italian Gothic, and with
justice. The gloomy style of the “Tedeschi” was
quite impossible of comprehension or appreciation
by the Southern mind, yet before the wonderfully
conceived and still more wonderfully executed
detail of such structures as the Certosa di Pavia,
Crema Cathedral, or even this poor forlorn church
of St. Catherine at Monteventoso, he must confess

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NARCISA'S BALCONY

that the lesser known and even quite forgotten
sculptors of Lombardy, Umbria, and Tuscany
succeeded in giving to their plastic fancies qualities
of debonair grace and delicacy utterly unknown to
the colder, more self-restrained craftsmen north of
the Alps. And not only the intricate and profuse
detail, but almost every portion of their buildings,
was fashioned by these forgotten Italians from the
same material: As a delightful author and traveller
has said, “What the marble quarries of Pentelicus
were to the Athenian builders, the clay beneath
their feet was to the Lombard craftsmen. From it
they fashioned structures as enduring, towers as
majestic, and cathedral aisles as solemn as were
ever wrought from chiseled stone.”* This is the
expression of no unprejudiced judge to be sure,
but of a sworn lover of the South and of all things
classic, yet from one very logical point of view it is,
without doubt, entirely true.

Every possible variety of tone and tint seems
to have been known from deep purple through a
warm gamut of colour to palest dove—gray, and these
contrast harmoniously or fade suavely into the mar~
vellous colourings of their backgrounds of landscape,
—the distant violet hills, the almost spiritually
delicate green of the budding lemon trees, the hoary
olives, the Lincoln green of the tall, columnar
cypresses, or the sad tints of russet and dun of the
mountain side.

In every Italian town, even the humblest, there
are many things of interest, even perhaps of gran-
deur, and in and about the narrow streets of Monte-
ventoso one can scarcely stroll more than a few mo-
ments without coming across something, a window
or balcony, a fountain or loggia, which is bound to
arrest the attention of the passenger.

In the Borgo della Montagna,——a strange,
dirty quarter on the western slope of the hill which
is surmounted by the church of Saint Catherine,
and almost as steep and unexpectedly laid out as
the Contrada degli Avvellenalori,~——is the most
architectural, if one may use the word, portion of
the town, the haunt of the most delightfully un-
expected glories. At one time apparently the
Borgo della Montagna was the aristocratic ward

’5 Sketches in Italy, J. Addington Symonds. Leipsic, 1883.

—the Faubourg Saint Germain, so to speak. Start-
ing at the corner of the piazza it stretches down the

hill to the Arch of Gian Galeazzo Visconti and

southward to the old monastery garden, now re-

. garded by the peasants as a space set apart for their

58

special delectation and by the goats as a public
training ground. ~

Just before you reach the top of the hill——
that is, about three hundred steps from it——is an
old stone palace of Ghibelline tendencies, out~
wardly as stern and uncompromising as the ven-
geance its owners were wont to wreak. But despite
its severity it is now the home of the most genial
of men, for at one corner of the pian’ terreno, if you
can call that a ground floor which has two stories
below it on one side, is the curiosity shop of Signor
Simone Truffaro. Old Simone is a rogue, of
course; with a very few things worth buying—I am
poor, and they are, I dare say, still there—bristle
whole cartloads of falsities of various kinds, false
old masters, false diptychs and triptychs, false fur—
niture, and I fear false smiles on the part of old
Truffaro and his pretty but equally false daughter
Lizetta. '

As I have said, the exterior of the building is
of stony severity, but one of its former proprietors,
during the gracious days of the early Renaissance,
being weary of wars, saw fit to recase, if indeed
he did not entirely reconstruct, the courtyard with '
pale gray terra-cotta and colored and glazed reliefs
of the same material. Being very circumscribed
in extent, these ornaments have the advantage of
meeting the eye at so little distance that every re-
finement of modelling, every subtlety of surface is
manifested at once.

The “high” Renaissance is unforgiveable to.
the romanticist, and the cathedral of Chartres re-
mains a book written in the most undecipherable of
dead languages to the academy graduate, but in the
early Renaissance for a trifle of time there seems
to exist a common meeting ground about whose sun~
flecked and shadow-dappled paths the modern and
architectural Guelf and Chibelline can wander at .
will, conversing amicably enough and without need
Of recourse to blows. And this nameless little
courtyard is one of the most satisfactory of exam~

 

 

IN THE BORGO DELLA MONTAGNA

ples. It is true that it is the work of none of the
great masters of the period, but more probably of
some local modeller in clay, who, chancing to visit
Florence, laid to heart the new spirit at work there.
Having pored perhaps over the manuscripts sent by
the Eastern emperor to Cosmo de’ Medici, and
stored in the new library; by some fortunate chance,
on his return he was commissioned to execute this
courtyard while his heart still throbbed and mind
still tingled with what he had heard, read, and seen.
Here are the nymphs and muses (with a singular
reticence or forgetfulness the designer seems to have

59

omitted all the high gods), the shepherds, the eggs~
and-darts, the dentils, and beads of classicism, but
somehow—perhaps because of the strangeness of
the material to the subject—everything seems in-
vested With an unworn and unwonted charm, quite
as different from such real, classic works as the Elgin
marbles as the Mars and Venus of Botticelli in the
National Gallery at London must needs be differ-
ent from the ochre-colored pictures by Apelles of
which we are now unhappily bereft.

The main body of the work, caps, bases, archi-
traves, etc., is of pale gray terra-cotta, but such a
gray and such a surface! The colour is, first of all,
gray to the sight, but as you look there begin to be
visible hints and ghosts of other tones, strange pinks
and blues, yellows and greens, softly veiled by the
glaze; and the term “glaze" is hardly correct, since
there is no vulgar shine like that we all know and
abhor in the catafalque called a piano, and even
sometimes found in materials more nearly resembling
those of which I am speaking now. No, this glaze
is deep and semi-transparent, filling the interstices
and hollows of the modelling with soft liquid
spaces, its surface not shiny but dulled, whether by
age or craft I do not know, into something that
shimmers and casts back lights when desired, or
by its smooth and reflectionless surface serves to
bring out without change of word or thought the
meaning of the modeller. In the spandrels of the
arches are medallions of various classic characters,
all scarcely sculpture, but rather what an architect
would substitute for sculpture if it lay within his
wishes, and—a harder task—power to do so. Not
coarse, muscular, masculine figures or rotund and
rather shameless dames, such as one sees in modern
French and German works—alas! even in Amer-
ican, too—things for which the greatest architect in
the world could but provide a more or less unsuitable
encadremenl, if that is the word, all the figures
here are so gracefully and tenderly moulded as to
completely escape the strutting appearance that
sculpture usually wears. Not satisfied, however,
with the miracle of modelling he had performed, the
artist cast about his creations the added glamourie of
colour, now faint and delicate as the gray by which
they are surrounded, and then in some shadowy

 

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spot gleaming with splendid smalt and tawny
cadmium. In the centre stands a small fountain
with its figure, and here, if anywhere, a fault makes
itself felt. The pedestal and basin are gray-green,
but the figure, a youth without distinguishing at~
tributes, which cannot be later in date since it is
evidently by the same hand, is absolutely colourless
though glazed to the last point. Whether the
artist felt as does the organist, who, having climbed
through chords and melodic mazes to the grandest
summit of sublimity, and fearing a Phaeton-fall
into the sea of banality and the commonplace, ends
abruptly on some unfinished phrase, or whether he
had worked out a fantastic theory that the focus of
so much magnificence could be naught else than
white, dazzling and pure, one cannot tell; in cer~
tain lights with the sun at the meridian there creep
in certain justifications for such a theory, but for
the greater portion of the time you can but wonder
that after so much the master should have so stayed
his hand just short of perfection. It is needless to
apologize for the lack of any sketch of this place;
if a thing is good enough to be worth sketching it is
too good for me to sketch, and the little photo-
graph I shamefacedly snapped of it turned out
worthless with the verticals all distorted and the
exposure hopelessly undertimed. If by any chance
you should find yourself in Monteventoso and find
the shop (I don’t think you will, but it is just pos~
sible), mention my name to Signor Truffaro and
perhaps he’ll show you this courtyard, but when
you come out through the shop be particularly care—
ful about your purchases, for, if he notices that you
are distrait you are lost. Above all, don’t let him
sell you anything of any value: it’s sure to be quite
worthless.

There is one grave objection to northern eyes
in almost all southern countries: anything which we
can dignify by the name of greensward is practi-
cally unknown. In the Jardin de la Borda, at Cuer-
navaca, in Mexico, that realized and lovely dream
of a fabulously wealthy mining king and poetical
adventurer, one may wander for hours without feel-
ing the lack of grass, so bright is the scene, so sooth-
ing the mossy cisterns and fountains of cement, so
all~abounding the tropical fruits and flowers; but

60

when you come to recall the place you remember,
with a slight shock, that grass——genuine green
grass, such as the meanest dooryard at home pos—
sesses—is nowhere in evidence.

In Italy, Where everything you see seems
merely an efflorescence on the mould of vanished,
even prehistoric, civilizations, they have had more
time in which to remedy the shortcomings of nature;
so in the more favoured localities the “personally
conducted” are enabled to gaze—not tread—on
sward as green and as perfect as at home.

Throughout Emilia, the moment one leaves
the carefully cultivated gardens of the wealthy city
or citizen, as the case may be, and steps outside the
walls or enclosure gates, he soon finds himself
walking on barren rock or sun-browned and hard-
ened tufa.

Everywhere, that is, but at Monteventoso, and
even there in but one circumscribed way, for down
the mountain side to join the little river at the foot
comes, I can’t say roars or tumbles or even falls, a
small thread of water through a rod~wicle meadow
of the greenest green grass. When I first found it
I supposed it had its source in some wild glade
among the oaks and chestnuts high above and, with
a faint sensation of home~sickness, I set out to
climb up to this supposititious point for a view
of the town spread bird’s-eye fashion below.
As I walked, at first past low, straggling campanni
half hidden in veritable bowers of ilex and
olive, and before which old hags and cow-
eyed girls were washing clothes in the pools, then
past rather more pretentious dwellings varied by
occasional spaces of pasture, I grew conscious that
my barbarian longings for savage fastnesses were
little likely of realization, since things seemed to
be growing more and more well-cared-for at every
step. At last, following a sudden turn made by
the brook, I was brought to a standstill by a steep
and flowered incline down which the water
trickled silently: Looking up for some way to
follow the brook, I noticed the tiled roofs and
stained white walls of a tiny villa, set deep among
the trees above, and languidly curious, I made my
way by a rather circuitous flight of stone steps to
the summit of the cliff. Here were the two things

for which I had come in search; for before me,
among the flowers and statues of a bewilderingly
lovely garden-close was a small, rectangular pool
in the midst of which rose a fountain—now silent
—and figure of some nymph, the Arethusa of the
stream, perhaps; while, turning, I looked out over
the tree-tops, among which glistened the thin thread
of water winding its way downward past the little
cottages with their washer-women, through the

Q

rocks and sand, past the grimy walls of the
town, to the river and plain. Below me in the
now windless and shimmering atmosphere huddled
the purple and red roofs of the town, the tortuous
streets marked by narrow courses of liquid purple
through the gold and salmon roofs and walls.
From the midst of all this colour rose the cam-
panile, clear cut against the hazy distance,
the detonation of its bells on the instant break~

 

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THE CHURCH OF SANTA CATERINA FROM THE PUBLIC GARDEN

E

ing the air into an invisible tempest, while
its forked battlements seemed less to bring to
mind “old, unhappy, far-off things, and battles
long ago” than to accent the peace and stillness of
to-day, the time and the place. Architect and
American as I was, and in Italy for the stern prac-
tical purpose of study among the monuments of
the past, with little enough leisure even for that
laudable purpose, I felt a bit softened (the walk
had been hard and I was, perhaps, tired), so seeing
no one of whom to ask permission, and a marble
bench standing cool and inviting on the terrace
beside me, I made bold to sit down to waste some
of my precious time: I say precious, since I had
agreed for a consideration to supply a certain
periodical with an alarmingly large quantity of
pictures and text before a date at that time‘altogther
too near,——a clear, logical, and argumentative
article on the influence of a certain newly invented
portable centering for the construction of vaults,
with isometric drawings to point a moral rather
than adorn a tale.

And instead of being at work in my stuffy.

little cubicle of a bed room in the Albergo della
Ruota below, here I was, high on the mountain
side, sitting in somebody’s private garden-close on
somebody’s private marble bench, gazing out
across the plain toward distant Modena (which I
fancied I could even see), dreaming a world of
things none of which had any possible relation to
architecture. In the boskage behind me the birds
were singing about the same things that filled my
mind; small beasts moved cautiously; little green
lizards sat on the parapet and looked softly at me;
the breeze, the eternal wind of MOnteventoso,
began to stir in his sleep and to stretch himself
among the leaves, and—the present came back
with a shock as I heard a gentle voice murmur
something which, strangely enough, I could not
seem to comprehend, and I sat up stiffly—feeling
most guilty—the trespasser before the owner, the
peccant before his judge. A second look con-
vinced me that the judge was likely to be merciful,
for I was gazing into the face of no bag-wigged
official, or even absurdly pompous gendarme, but
that of a lady,—not a beautiful Satanita or

62

Biancabella of old time, but the intensely mod-
ern sorrow-scarred visage of an elderly gentle-
woman. Though she was speaking French, at my
first sally of stammering apology she changed to
English quite as grammatical. as my own, but
with a charming quaintness of diction and pre-
cision of pronunciation that would have told me,
even if her air had not, that here was no country-
woman. The Contessa Paolina Scogli d’lllusioni
Perduti, for such was her name and title, invited
me cordially not to embarrass myself, but to remain
for the actual sunset, a most beautiful occurrence in
this part of the Apennines, and her voice was so
gentle that I needed no further excuse for staying.
She was a descendant, it seemed, of the same
Scogli whose history had been so frankly and
faithfully set down in the volume from which I
have already quoted, a work you may be sure I
was careful not to mention, but in her seemed to
be exemplified all the bright face of that history
of which Fra Pietro gives only the dark reverse.
Thanks to her courtesy, I was later on enabled
to see certain things closed to the ordinary
tourist in Monteventoso, such as the cabinet
of her ancestor, Count Tebaldo, in the Signoria
below, with its carved and inlaid panelling and
heavily moulded and gilt ceiling, the flat spaces
of which contain rather ill—done pictures of the
school of Francia, or the Gothic retable with its
altar—piece by Signorelli, representing the Apoca—
lypse, which, long sought by amateurs and dealers,
had never, she thought, been exposed to their
covetous gaze, since it was in the private chapel of
one of her cousins, a lady so poor that we in Amer-
ica could scarcely conceive such utter impecuniosity,
but so proud of her family’s past—here the Countess
smiled an apologetic smile—that were Mr. Van—
derbilt or Mr. Morgan to come to Monteventoso,
with the intent of purchasing the picture, they
would be forced to return empty-handed, the pic-
ture being, quite literally, priceless.

But it was not alone in things pertaining to
her people that the Countess proved herself a
cognoscenle. She knew many of the dates of the
different portions of the church, was not so inclined
to smile at the tale of Charlemagne’s having

 

laid the corner-stone as I was, told me of a number
of things I had quite overlooked in the church itself,
and finally the legend of the vanishing frescoes in
the crypt.

In the dim past there was a monastery
on the same spot, which antedated the present
church by several centuries, and among the brother-
hood was one, a scoffing, light-minded young
man, who had come there not so much through
penitence as through the desire of his father, a
noble Venetian, to remove him as far as possible
from the scene and consequences of a particularly
serious peccadillo. This young brother had some
artistic pretensions, and so, alas! had the abbot, who
had engaged several miserable, strolling painters to
decorate the crypt. One day the superior and this
youth were watching these men as they worked,
when the latter broke out in a most unholy fit of
laughter, and stated, it is to be feared with a
certain dreadful oath more familiar among the
gay young garzoni of Venice than among simple
and God-fearing monks, that he could paint better
in the dark than these men in-broad daylight. The

abbot's reproof at the time was gentle, but that night
his patron, Saint Cemigniano, appeared to him in a
vision and commanded that such godlessness should
go no longer unpunished, and that the user of oaths
be imprisoned in the crypt until he should have
completed the work, which was therefore done,
though of course not in complete darkness, since the
pictures are sufficiently good to indicate that torches
.must have been supplied the youth along with the
food which was lowered to him daily.

When the Countess had finished the tale,
which I have considerably condensed, I thanked
her for her kindness and rose to bid her farewell.
She was good enough to regret that her departure
on the morrow for Modena would prevent her
asking me to appear before her again at this time,
but she trusted I would some day return to Monte-
ventoso. She was an old woman, and her poor
house resented being left alone as much as she had
been in the habit of doing, so no doubt she would
be still in Monteventoso should I come.

With a cordial handshake we parted—and I

have never fulfilled my promise to return.

 

 

 

 

 
    

  

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PROPOSED CATHEDRAL AND HOSPITAL, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA (C. G. (9 F.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MARYLAND

BALTIMORE.

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THE VILLAGE HOSTELRYLIAN’IRREGULAR
SPECIFICATION

NTIL recently, with the coming At one end of the dining—room is a generously
’ of the automobile and better roads, proportioned ingle, while at the other, immediately
the village hostelry has scarcely over the entrance, and reached only by the service
; 3 deserved its name, its character staircase, will project a minstrels’ gallery, in imita-

partaking either of that of the tion of those in 'old English halls. For parties
hedge ale—house of the past, or desiring to dine in private there is provided a small

else that of a sordid and ill- equipped summer and retired room, as well as another containing a
hotel. But the village hostelry to be considered huge, round board for more jovial companies.
here is essentially different from both types, On the opposite side of the entrance hall is
and in no sense competing with them. The land- the very heart of the whole inn—its fireplace,
lord of our inn will insist that the dining-room has capacious enough to take‘the traditional four-foot
the full benefit of the afternoon sun, while break— log, and on each hand a broad oak settle. Around

 

 

 

 

 

 

fasters are almost sure to prefer a window looking the entrance hall are ranged those accommodations
toward “morning and the east.” The site we have most necessary to life at a modern inn—the coat-
chosen has a pleasant prospect across the little and-hat room; the writing-room; the staircase
river which flows past the rear of the building. leading up to the sleeping-rooms, and down to the

Here is set a terrace lifted four or five steps above various indispensable offices; the telephone booth,
the lawn, which slopes to the river's bank where forming, as it happens, the back of the pages’
art has aided nature a bit by providing clean white bench; and the office itself, which is the host's
shingle to take the place of muddy sedge. On the sanctum, with its three windows from which he
terrace is ranged a series of connecting arbours, may oversee nearly all that happens in his little
where the traveller may dine or sup al fresco. world; his own fireplace; and with, at the back,

75

easy access to the “tap" which, with its table and
chairs, and its bright rows of pewter hanging from
the beams of the ceiling, may be as attractive as
convenient. Directly across the corridor from
which the tap-room is entered lies the billiard-
room, and connecting with this, as well as with
the corridor, the smoke-room, where again comfort
is the one essential. Here are heavy oak beams
supporting the ceiling, a big brick hearth and fire-
place, and plenty of chairs and tables.

only the structure itself, but also its rooms, are of
necessity low, though these may vary somewhat.
F or instance, the entrance hall and smoke-room
will have their timbered ceilings within a few
inches of the floor-boards of the story above and
the little newspaper and writing~room will be
plastered down. to the lower edge of its heaviest
beam; while the dining-room will run far up into
the roof, though not quite to the apex, since it is
desirable to leave a certain amount of air—space

 

IN THE STABLE YARD

The stable-yard is a very important adjunct,
and with its central drinking-pool must be distinctly
inviting. In the old days the stable—yard and the
inn-yard were frequently one and the same, and
to-day, partaking somewhat of its quondam char-
acter, it should be readily accessible to all comers.

So much for the ground-floor of the building.
There is virtually but one other, for only a few
of the many gables contain anything more than
garrets. It is the quality of homely comfort and
not pretentious luxury for which we should aim.

Since nothing is so certain to prevent the air
of homely comfort we seek to attain as height, not

76

there for added warmth in winter and extra cool~
ness in summer. This also is so large a room as to
demand rather greater height than the others.

If you ascend the staircase to have a look at
the sleeping—rooms, you will very likely be sur-
prised to find no more than twelve single rooms,
each rather spacious, and well equipped as to
closets; two suites of three rooms and a bath; and ’
four of two rooms and a bath.

At the head of the main staircase is a fairly
large, parlour-like apartment known as the tea-
room, though in reality put to many other uses
besides the serving of tea. It is, in a word, the

feminine counterpart of the men's smoke-room
below,——indeed, mingled with the odorjrs of "es-
sences sprinkled on the air,” it is just possible that
here too may sometimes—oh very rarely indeed—-
be detected one that faintly resembles nicotine.

A little farther down the passage you will
discover the large linen-closet that marks the ending
of the housekeeper's suite, beyond which lie the
second-story rooms of'the kitchen wing.

From the window—seat at the head of the main
staircase where we now are a little panorama of
the grounds is visible. Before you lies the rect-
angular lawn, broken at its farther end by the
irregular serrations of the river-bank. Along the
left-hand side of the lawn runs a well~trimmed
hedge, from behind which rise clumps of foliage
in what may be used as a small paddock. On the
right, at the end of the terrace, stands the boat—
house, with its pier and float. Behind the arbours
of the terrace you catch a glimpse of another of the

  
  

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architect's whims, the inn-garden. In no sense a
necessity, the landlord has found it so thoroughly.
liked by his temporary tenants that he is beginning
to cease regretting that he indulged his architect in
what at first seemed to his own practical mind too
purely a luxury.

Let us go down,—it ’5 still too early to dine,
—and have a look at this garden as we wait. The
surrounding hedge, you observe, is rather higher
than any prying pair of eyes, while within, almost
lost in the bloom of simple, old~fashioned flowers,
are two semicircular seats. All is quaint in its
miniature formality. In the center is set the dial,
already beginning to attain a touch of venerable
grayness. Graven about its face is the mournful
legend "FVGIT'HORA'DISCEfMORI" —
which some former guest has succeeded in enliven-
ing by scratching the following waggish translation
on the metal disc—in the very shadow of the
gnomon: “The Hours Fly. Learn to di(n)e."

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HE sadly thumbed copy of one knocks with one’s quirt on the ramshackle, low,
the “Arabian Nights’ Entertain— and utterly unassuming door; and after a moment
ments” that I studied in child— finds oneself in a veritable paradise, wherein great
hood I still possess, saved\,—who cypresses and plane-trees cast their motionless
knows by what magic9—from shadows over cool walks paved with ancient

 

 

. ' that limbo into which so much of marble, gorgeous intricacies of coloured tile, and
childhood 3 stuff disappears. Its title—page lS gor— square tanks of silent but invariably crystal— clear
geous with an arabesque of interwoven vignettes water.

illustrating the tales that follow, done by some To be sure, no “cypress-slender minister of
Englishman of the early Victorian period, it is true, wine" comes bringing that wherewith to quench
and leaving, therefore, something to be desired one’s thirst,—at least not if one happens to be a
as to correctness of local colour, but convincing, “faranghee dog" like myself;—nor, to tell the
nevertheless. One picture in particular stood, truth, is the wine she doesn’t bring, but which may
and still stands, in my eyes as the very embodiment once in a great while, and for a price, be obtained,
of the spirit and scene of the tales. In vivid sun- ——the far-famed wine of ShiraZ,——one half as

light gorgeously habited people are sauntering idly precious as the tea that is everywhere immediately
over paved walks, shadow-Hecked by great trees, yours for the asking. No; much that we of the
while behind them rises a vast horse-shoe~arched West have learned to look upon as essential is
gateway within which the outer day is changed, absent; but the poetry is here, and the mystery, and,
instantly and without warning, into moonlit night, above all else, the art—an art and craft of garden—
a thin but preternaturally large crescent dimly making no less perfect than that of Italy, but set
illuminating a fairyland of mysterious black in the midst of surroundings as different as east is
shadows and plashing fountains, where djinns and from west.
peris, though invisible, must certainly be present. Yet—in Persia, such an experience is wonder-
If so sudden a transition from day to night fully frequent. There needs not the private Xanadu
seems over—magical, believe me, it is no more so of some prince to produce it. Over and over again
than that which occurs when, after riding for many has it come to me at little rest-houses (C impair-kha—
weary hours over the moistureless stones and sand nehs) ,——even at such a poor little place as Takht—i-
of the desert, one comes to a small rectangle of Bahram, where the garden is a trifle ruinous it is
green, surrounded by high mud walls, the whole a true, but from the terrace of which one may gaze
space of not more than a few hundred feet in each over miles of shimmering desert and the spectral
direction perhaps, set in the pitiless glare of un- waters of the great salt lake from whose further
broken leagues of sand whereon the little lizards shore rise like an unsubstantial mirage, the gleam-
cast violet shadows as distinct as themselves; when ing golden walls, domes, and minarets of the holy

89

but inhospitable " city of Kum. Such a View
much more than compensates the traveller for a little
shabbiness as to his immediate surroundings.

My travelling companion and I had seen many
of the most famous gardens of Italy on our way to
Persia so that we were enabled to make a very
close comparison between the horticultural art of
the Renaissance and that of Persia while our mem-
ories were fresh. The best work in both lands is
virtually contemporaneous, the famous old garden at
Kashan, if one may judge by its tile~work, being
of about the period of the Villa Lante. Allowing
for necessary differences of component features and
setting, the aesthetic impulse is also surprisingly like.

The chief difference lies in the treatment of
water, which, while almost too abundant in many
an Italian garden, as in that of the royal villa of
Caserta, in Persia is a rare and precious thing, to
be carefully cherished and used, it may be, over
and over again. At Tivoli and Frascati, the Anio,
tumbling and rushing through its rocky gorges, fills
every fountain with sparkle and makes musical
every leafy alley. Nothing like that is to be found

CHAPAKHANEH GARDEN AT . u ‘
TA] T’IIBAHRAM NEAKIQZM 9,, s .

I awa- 'EO_VI__uC.uI4 41"“

anywhere in Persia except possibly in the Shimran,
the summer suburb of the modern capital of
Teheran. In Italy the pools are deep, dark, and
full of mysterious movement; in Persia they are
shallOw, lucent, and motionless; but by an ex-
quisite, if artificial, device, the difference is charm-
ingly accentuated. No pool can be much more than
eighteen inches in depth, but each is lined with
tiles whose dull-glazed surface of pale, very
slightly greenish, blue serves perfectly to suggest to
the mind the presence of an unclouded sky. Such
tanks are rarely fed by actual fountains as we un—
derstand the term, the nearest approach being a
small pyramidal structure rising only a foot or two
above the surface of the water, almost invariably
constructed in three stories, the lowest square, the
next octagonal, and the top circular in plan, and
resembling nothing so much as a squat rifle bullet.
Simple as it is this is a not ungraceful form. At the
apex a microscopic orifice emits a gurgling thread
of water, which breaks immediately upon reaching
outer air, only to fall noiselessly in a thin, glistening
surface over the stone to the pool below, causing not

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even the tiniest ripple in its progress. The more usual only fair to state that we were unfortunate in be-
form of inlet, however, is a very small channel ginning our pilgrimage just as the native yellow
sunk in the surface of the stone or tile of some path- roses—the true Persian roses—had ceased to
way: Never greater than an inch or so either in bloom. However, I, being an architect, and there-
width or in depth, these interfere in no way with fore, I trust, something of an artist, was well content
the. progress of the passer-by. Everything is formal, with what I saw in the way of trees and flowers.
and almost everything is rectangular. Pools, The scarcity of water has been everywhere-
walks, and terraces are far more restful and satis— met not only by such ingenuities in its display as I
factory in effect than the tortured sinuosities of late have described, but by even more surprising ones
Italian work. in its conduct over such great distances as to make
The trees and flowers are strangely few in the existence Of many towns and gardens seem
variety. The trees are mainly cypresses, which ‘ utterly miraculous, the desert actually blossoming
grow almost more wonderfully straight and tall like the rose. After a few days’ observation from
than in Italy, since this is their original home; and the saddle, however, this miracle was explained;
chenars, or Oriental plane-trees. Usually pollarded for in crossing the desert we frequently noticed
these are thin, poplar~like, and beautiful after their lines of little mounds of earth separated by inter-'
own fashion, but scarcely to be matched against vals of a hundred feet or so, and learned that these
the lordly cypress. The flowers seemed in no way marked the course of some kanat, or subterranean
remarkable Or unusual—looking even to us, and the canal, often very many miles in length, each
roses were almost a disappointment, though it is leading its stream from some cool mountain gorge,

92

to make glad the little city at its end. These
kanals are all ancient, none, so we were assured,
being later in date than the “golden prime," not of
the good Haroun—al-Rashid, but of, the apparently
even better, Shah Abbas, who lived nearly three
centuries ago.

Your modern Persian, though he is certainly
possessed of many more good qualities than our
newspaper correspondents, missionaries, and Burton
himself would have us believe, can scacely be said
to have much energy or initiative in practical mat~
ters, and is content to rely upon, and patch up from
time to time, the kanals bequeathed to him by his
forefathers. Some places, of course, like the great

cities, possess more unfailing sources of supply.
Teheran has every need met by the melting snows
of the neighbouring Elburz mountains; but little
villages far out On the plains are too poor to be able
to rely on anything but a form of the sakkia, or

 

    

 

  

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93

primitive bull-driven engine of the well so familiar
to us all in Bible pictures. The kanal, however,
remains the commonest, as it is certainly the most
ingenious, method of providing water for town,
village, or garden. On the other hand, and
strangely enough in a land so thirsty, we found
places where, by some unaccountable perversity,
water enough to irrigate large tracts is literally
allowed to run to waste. At one village, Morghab,
I think was its name, ageyser-like spring gushes

suddenly from the dry rocks above the town,

for all the world as though Moses had touched -
the spot with his rod, only to fall back into a
crystal-clear pool,——in which waving green cresses
brought a sudden pang of nostalgia to me, bending
toward them from my saddle,—and then seeps
quietly back into the ground whence it came.
At Shiraz, even the Ruknabad, stream beloved of
poets from Saadi and Hafiz to Moore and
Richard Le Gallienne, its duty done of being chief
among the many delights of the delightful city
through which it courses, a few miles below the
immediate suburbs grows more and more shallow,
broadening at last until all its loveliness is lost, and
it becomes merely a little salt lake, pitiful, worth-
less, even inimical to the very verdure it so lately
fostered.

Persian gardens are, roughly speaking, of only
three types, though these three are of course broken
up into many sub-divisions. The first is the in-
variably small and rigidly formal arrangement to
be found in the courtyard of nearly every city house
above a certain size, of which that of the Tel-
egrapher’s house at Shiraz is a particularly success~
ful example. The second, and most typically Per-
sian type, is that of the Dulgosha at Shiraz,——the
Chehail—Zitun at Ispahan and the Afiabad at
Shiraz being more ambitious, but scarcely as
successful, variants. .This second type demands
an almost level site of considerable extent,
which is divided into four equal portions by
two intersecting axial avenues, both tree-bordered
and of a stately character, though one is somewhat
the more important, being broader and slightly
elevated, to accommodate the canal that courses
through its centre. At intervals in the masonry

    

  

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margin of this canal are small apertures, which are
closed with clay. These are readily opened by
the turn of a spade, permitting the escape of suf-
ficient water to fill the trenches that run at right
angles to the central canal, when they are again
closed. What arrangement could be simpler, more
efficacious, and, considering the stringent laws
governing the use of water, more economical? It
is, in fact, precisely the method in use in every pig—
iron foundry in Pittsburg-

' The artistic embellishment is as simple as
the rest, and as perfect, being no greater matter
than the placing 'of a garden-house at the intersec-
tion of the two tree—lined avenues. As plain or as
ornate as,the owner’s whim may direct or his purse
permit, though usually simple structures, square or
cruciform in plan and surmounted by a dome, these
little buildingsare almost invariably beautiful both
within and without, That of the Dulgosha con-
tains nothing but an octagonal pool in the floor im-

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mediately beneath the dome, with only a very
slight amount of decoration on the inner walls and
none at all on the outer. 4 Four L-shaped tanks are
arranged in moat—like fashion close to the wall on
the outside. All, as you see, is as simple as may
be, yet quite incapable of improvement. No en~
gineer could devise a more efficient method of
irrigation; no husbandman, however hard-headed,
could suggest an arrangement permitting more space
for cultivation, the only features that could pos—
sibly be called luxuries being the little garden~
house, set four-square in the centre, and the secon-
dary transverse avenue. Even these may be of
practical use, the building for the storage of tools
and the secondary avenue as a means of access for
carts. Such is the Dulgosha, little more than a
mere utilitarian orange orchard, and yet, for its
loveliness, famed throughout the length and
breadth of the land of Fars. Fancy what might

be done if stupid, effete Persians, instead of

 

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bright, “hustling” Americans happened to make
up the population of, say, Phoenix, Arizona!
The third and last type is more pretentious,
and demands for its proper effectiveness not only a
longer purse, but also a less easily found site—an
acclivity considerably higher at one end than at the
other and preferably with a background of moun—
tains. It is, in fact, the Persian parallel to such
gardens as the Villa d’Este or Villa Mondragone,
and folloWs them closely in essential arrangement;
for upon the highest eminence stands the garden-
house or casino, as a rule, much larger than those
of the second type. In front of this is a wide space
from which a series of terraces in no way resem—
bling one another in anything but general dimensions
leads to the level space below, where is often to be
found a pool of considerable size. To this last
type belongs the Kasr-Kajar, near Teheran, an
estate of the reigning dynasty; the garden of the
Naib-i-Sultan, in the Shimran; and the Bagh-i-
Takht, overlooking Shiraz. It was our good
fortune to call the last our home for the greater
part of our stay in Shiraz, a good fortune brought to
pass by a little compounding with the venal verger.

Bagh-i-Takht means the Garden of the Throne,

and is actually crown property; nevertheless, it is

  
  

96

in so ruinous a condition, and so rarely visited by
the young prince~governor of the province, that the
attendant in charge needed but little persuasion, in
the shape of silver coin of the realm, to allow us
to quarter ourselves in a couple of rooms in the less
ruinous portion of the palace, while our servant
disappeared with the horses into the purlieus of
the city.

Situated on a spur of the mountains, which
at this point are scarcely more than a mile from the
bazaar, between the house and its background is
a small walled court, shaded by century-old
cypresses and plane~trees, and containing a few
tile-lined tanks. Though its only means of access
from the plain below is an extremely steep trail,
this is the forecourt, as we would say. The palace
is in two parts, one quite frankly ruinous, the other
in somewhat more livable shape, thanks to some
recent penurious attempts at restoration. The two
portions, now quite distinct, were doubtless once
connected by one of the high three-bayed loggias
that are a favourite feature in Persian houses, and
Which bear many evidences, like the capitals of
the columns, of being a survival from the Perse-
politan period. Through the midst now runs a
small water-course that breaks in a sort of rigidly
confined and box-like cascade over the highest
terrace, appearing and reappearing in various
fashions on most of the seven terraces that lead to
the great lake~like pool at the base of the eminence.
These terraces, though equal in height and width,
differ widely both in design and sentiment. One
is no more than a long row of twenty—eight foun—
tains, real jets this time, each falling into its own
little arabesque basin that is connected with
those on each side by a channel in the coping
scarcely larger in section than a lead~pencil.
Another is nothing but a rather elaborate arrange—
ment of staircase, with one central jet; while
another contains no architectural feature what-
ever, only the glory of one magnificent rosebush.
The pool at the bottom of this flight of ter-
races is about two by three hundred feet in area,
—too large to possess the customary lining Of blue
tile,———and is surrounded by what was once a row
of majestic cypresses, of which only a few hoary

members are left. From this pool a double avenue
leads across a level space a thousand feet or more
to the gate-house. Yet the carefully calculated
focus of the whole design is not this gate-house,
but, crowning perfection of all, the greenish-golden
dome of the principal mosque, far away in the heart
of the city.

This description is, after all, only a bare cata—
' logue of various features, and Without a hint of the
manifold charms of the place. For the Bagh-i~
Takht is one of the great gardens of the world.
Its decay only heightens its resemblance to the

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Villa d’Este, and the same mournful atmosphere
seems to pervade both. It was pleasant to lie on
the upper terrace in the evening\and listen to the
nightingales while we pondered the past of the
storied city spread out before us; pleasant indeed,
but mysteriously saddening as well, to watch the
great “honey-coloured-moon” rise suddenly through
the warm haze of the desert, casting a deeper
gloom beneath the groves where Hafiz and Saadi
sleep, tipping with silver light each dome and
minaret of the ancient city, its full splendour at last
reflected in the quiet mirror at our feet.

      

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PART TWO

DECORATIVE DESIGNS—MAINLY TYPOGRAPHICAL; PRINTER’S DEVICES,
BOOK-PLATES, AND THE LIKE.

 

 

 

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AS TO TYPES AND THE DECORATION OF BOOKS

ple the name of Ber-
tram Grosvenor Good-
hue is familiar, it is
strange to consider that
literally hundreds have
never thought of him as
an architect. To these
-» ,, '= others he 18 withoUt any
question the most distinguished designer of types,
book-plates and book— decorations that America
has ever known. Had he never designed a single
building, his position in the world of art would
have been no less firmly fixed nor in any lower
place than it is today; indeed, with a few notable
exceptions, the designs here gathered together
have nothing in them to suggest the feeling of an
architect.

Mr. Goodhue’s printed lettering, no matter in
what spirit (and he is singularly catholic in his
taste), has no suggestion of the monumental; he has
recognized instantly the difference between writing
to be printed in black on white paper and writing
to be cut in stone or cast in bronze.

There are certain general characteristics run-
ning through all Mr. Goodhue's typographic work
that make it distinctly his own, of which the two
most noticeable are the clearness and fine feeling
of his line and the charming freedom with which,
constantly, in the most unexpected places he intro-
duces symbols. There is scarcely a drawing which
does not contain beside the principal symbol some
delightfully unexpected bit tucked away in a corner.

The book decoration that is reproduced here di-
vides itself naturally into three heads: First, Type;
second, Page Decoration; third, Book—Plates and
Printer’s Devices.

Mr. Goodhue’s first venture in the direction of
type design was not design at all—but it gave an
early indication of his revolt against the anaemic
type faces in vogue in the late eighties.

Some pages of the ‘Knight Errant’ had been
set in Caslon—a type much in use now but rarely
seen at that period, though cut in 1722. Disap-

 

lOl

pointed at its paleness and lack of virility he had
electrotypes made of the pages and—after experi-
menting with a then projected translation of the
‘Song of Roland—proceeded with a bit of sand-
paper ruthlessly to rub the surface off the plates.
There were no hair lines left—and some of the
blacks were too black. But the paleness was gone;
the page,——while rough—was rugged and sturdy
and altogether pleasing and Mr. Goodhue had
designed his first types.

While in the course of his work Mr. Goodhue
has produced an almost infinite variety in the forms
of letters, his two founts of Roman type deserve
principal consideration. The first of these, produced
for Mr. Berkeley Updike, and called the "Merry-
mount" type after the name of Mr. Updike’s press,
is a fine, sturdy letter composing very beautifully
into pages, especially when, as in the page of Taci~
tus that appears in the present volume, the copy
is in Latin; but in the Merrymount type, beautiful
as it is, Mr. Coodhue, unfortunately seems to have
fallen into the same error that has caused the letters
designed by Morris, Ricketts, Ashbee and other
modern English designers too strongly influenced
by early models, to take their place as “fantasie”
instead of “body" letters; in other words, these
designers—Mr. Coodhue with them in this case—
have considered each letter as a separate problem
in design instead of as a unit in a word shape in
which it eventually takes its place: So the Merry-
mount type fails somewhat in that by the very
beauty of its individual letters it loses in legibility;
for legibility is, after all, basic in the consideration
of type design. Even when looked at as separate
units, the letters composing the Merrymount fount
seem a little bit angular,—a little bit too close to the
work of Nicolas Jenson, to be altogether pleasant;
there are some slight affectations as, for example,
the angular, rather over—emphasized punctuation
marks; but these are small defects when the fine
feeling of the whole fount is considered, the close
fitting of which is a distinct point in its favor. Nor
must it be forgotten that the type under consideration
was designed not for general use and to be at the

 

mercy of the mechanical limitations of every type~
setting machine; but for a very particular purpose,
to wit: the ‘Altar Book of the American Church,’ a
folio volume designed to be used only by clergymen
while officiating. F or this purpose them—indeed
for any book of the same general nature,—the face
is very lovely and altogether appropriate.

Its size moreover is exactly right for the page
in which it was to be printed; its weight nicely
adjusted to the decoration of the pages and their
rubrication.

To borrow a term from Architecture, the
‘Altar Book’ is truly monumental, and has the
quality, so rarely found in books printed from
moveable types, of perfect proportion. There is a
harmony between all its elements that makes it as

a whole one of the notable achievements of modern -

bookmaking. Such a volume could not possibly
have been produced except through the sympathy
of the designer of types and borders with the ulti~
mate purpose of the finished book.

The very perfection of the Merrymount fount
for its purpose might suggest a limitation to Mr.
Goodhue’s skill had we not before us the Chelten—
ham fount (in which this present book is printed).

Here the scribe has had to give way to the
many exigencies of commerce, the artist to prove
himself superior to the innumerable difficulties
thrown in his way by the perfection of modern
mechanical methods.

It must be remembered that the type designer
of other days worked in the metal itself—and in
the size in which his type was to print. When
Caslon or Bodoni cut a set of punches they were
able in each size to vary the design to express their
precise shade of feeling. .

Printing was slow and careful. If one letter
overhung another in such fashion as to require
tedious and fastidious justification—no harm was
done. There was no “point system"-—the "univer-
sal line" was unknown.

Modern invention has indeed made printing,
once a luxury of princes, the servant of the multi~
tude: But it has at the same time reduced the art of
type designing to a manipulation of small but none
the less definite geometrical units.

102

Imagine the difficulty of constructing a beau-
tiful building from a collection of blocks of given
form and you have a part of the problem. If then
your building must be so designed as to be beautiful
without change of detail in whatever size—from a
chapel to a cathedral ;—the problem becomes com~
plex. , Add to this fact that it must be appropriate
to any imaginable surroundings—and the thing be—
comes well nigh impossible. Yet here in brief is the
problem of the modern type designer.

Instead of working in the metal, and in the
definite size required, the present day designer must
produce his drawings to scale in large size (the
Cheltenham fount was made from drawings some
fourteen inches high). He must also altogether
avoid “overhang”; each letter must be complete
within its own body.

He cannot trust the careful compositor to put
a thin space between the i and the t—yet to keep
his w very close indeed to the small letter that fol-
lows it. Each letter, in other words, must look
well, no matter in what company it finds itself.

The “six point"——a size of which there are
twelve lines to the inch,—must be cut from the
same designs as the seventy~two point—in which
the letters are an inch in height. And so the tech~
nical limitations multiply as invention goes on. '

In the Cheltenham fount Mr. Goodhue has
recognized the limitations of his medium, and,
without stepping once beyond their bounds, has pro-
duced a truly beautiful type face. It is this perhaps
more than any other one achievement that places
him definitely above all other American designers
of type faces. Let us consider the face then, in
detail, with all these facts in mind.

In principle, Mr. Goodhue’s body “Chelten-
ham" letter was distinctly better than the Merry~
mount. It is particularly distinguished in its clean-
ness of line and by the very absence of both angles
and affectation; unless, indeed, to return to the old
form of lower case “g" were called an affectation.

In the Cheltenham fount, which is not only
closely fitted but almost with0ut ceriphs, Mr. Good-
hue has produced a letter more beautiful in word
formation than when considered as separate types;
owing to the extreme height of the ascending, and

a

the extreme shortness of the descending letters, the ‘

capitals are fine and full,—-much bigger in propor-
tion to the lower case round letters than is usual.

The Italic is particularly lovely and the fount
consists not only of the customary letters and signs,
but contains a number of “swash” capitals, which
are graceful and delightful, as well as several very
unusual ligatures.

This face found such favor with printers that
it has been not only endlessly imitated both here
and abroad—modern German typography in par-
ticular owes much to Mr. Goodhue—but endlessly
adapted in other forms, following many of its
general characteristics but in themselves often ugly,
as for example, “Cheltenham Bold," uCheltenham
Extended," “Cheltenham Condensed” and the
like. Unfortunately, even in the Roman and the
Italic, the original design has not been adhered to
by the founders with good faith, except in one size,
the H point.

Mr. Coodhue has never designed a complete
fount of black or “text" letters, though his black~
letter inscriptions are so beautifully proportioned
that many of us hope he will some day make a com—
plete series.

The title page of ‘Every Day’s Date, shown,
together with the cover and a bordered page in
much reduced form in the present volume, is a beau-
tiful example of blackletter full of intricacies and
interlocking, yet perfectly legible withal. This
page in itself is a complete composition—a design
with a definite beginning and definite purpose, yet
it would be an utter impossibility to make up a fount
of workable printer's type from the letters of which
it is composed; indeed, despite the example of the
earliest printers with their imitation logotype effects,
there is grave question as to whether a thoroughly
good printer’s fount can ever be made from black-
letter, but it will be a pity if Mr. Goodhue does not
some day make the attempt, for no one else has
shown such sympathetic and altogether natural
handling of it.

As for initials, the number of these from Mr.
Coodhue’s pen is almost as infinite as is his plain
lettering. On three pages of this book will be found
a practically complete set of such, beautiful, decora-

103

tive and in harmony with the books which they
were designed to adorn. In the formation of the
letters themselves it is interesting to note the differ-
ence between these initials and such, for example,
as the letter B in the page from ‘Esther,’ I in that
from ‘Sonnets from the Portuguese,’ and T in the
‘Song of Roland.’ One would scarcely say that
they all had come from the same pen, so eminently
fitted is each to the exact place it is to occupy.

In page decorations Mr. Goodhue has shown
to an even greater extent the facility which is so
marked in his initial letters. Compare, for example,
the seventeenth century decorative title page for ‘A
Midsommer Nights Dreame,’ with the delicate
tracery so befitting the types used in the ‘Trophies’
of Herediafi‘

The border decoration for the ‘Sonnets from
the Portuguese,’ and for the ‘Love Sonnets of
Proteus,’ give perhaps as clear an idea as it is
possible for two drawings to convey, of the sym—
pathetic and widely varying mastery which has
given Mr. Coodhue his place as a decorator of
books. Yet turn to the four bordered pages repro-
duced together later on. Note particularly the
charming humor in the St. Kavin border, which, it
is no violation of confidence to divulge, depicts
incidents in the life of Bliss Carman, whose portrait
appears in each panel; and note the symbolism in
which every detail of the design is rich, including
the little picture of ‘The Meeting of the Visionists,’
in the top panel, in which, by the way, each figure
is an attempt at actual portraiture.

The lettering in the ‘Hand Book of the Boston
Public Library,’ being very early, shows a trace of
the architect, which could never by any chance take
so un-bookish, even-sided form in the mind of the
designer today.

The two titles made for Small, Maynard &
Company show Mr. Goodhue’s catholicity at its
richest; could two more totally different renderings
of the same symbols be imagined? To quite an-
other spirit and sentiment belongs the title page of
the Beacon Biographies, a delightful imitation of
the copper-plate title pages of the late eighteenth

‘5 As both these plates are enlargements from the printed page.
the lines are infinitely coarser than in the original drawing or even the
plates as printed.

and early nineteenth centuries. Though the flour-
ishes lack a little of the engraver's touch and the
script is just a trifl'e‘less free than it might be (both
defects due very possibly in great measure to the
fact that Mr. Coodhue is left handed and more, no
doubt, to the artist’s very evident expectation that the
cursive lettering and its flourishes would be trans-
lated into something more graceful by the actual
engraver), in the general spirit and in the handling
of every detail, this page is produced with an ease
and flourish and familiarity which would almost
lead one to believe that the author had lived his life
in the florient ornamentation of copper—plate en-
gravings.“

I cannot leave this part of Mr. Goodhue’s
work without reference to the title page for the
‘Knight Errant,’ designed when Mr. Goodhue was
a very young man indeed; in 189l, to be exact.
This shows in many directions the ’prentice hand,
yet youthful as it is in many ways, few of Mr.
Coodhue’s book drawings have been pleasanter to
look at. Note particularly the entire difference in
handling the Diireresque copper-plate treatment of
the sky and the wood—block treatment of the lower
part of the page, and that where the two come to-
gether in the trees, there occurs a transposition
rather than a discord. As in all of Mr. Good-
hue's drawings, there is hidden away in this one
any amount of charming foolery, yet none without
its underlying symbolism; from the dragon-Hy, the
snake, and skull in the foreground to the signal flag
—presumably of beauty in distress—at the tower
window, and the decoration, while always a deco-
ration, and never a picture, is full of interest and
incident.

To be sure, the lettering leaves something to
be desired, and had the margin at the top been just
a little wider one would have felt more comfort-
able; yet, as a whole, this drawing becomes a com-
plete page decoration, in no sense disturbed by the
type panel.

One of the delights of Mr. Goodhue's work is
his single minded enthusiasm for the thing he is
doing. ' He has never made a title page or a border
that is not worth careful study and that is not really
easy to write about. That I have selected the few

which I have mentioned here is only because they
first fell under my eye in the present very incomplete
collection. _

Just as Mr. Goodhue’s page decoration varies
in period and in‘spirit, so he has made book-plates
of many types, all as different one from another as'
may be, yet all characteristically his.

In heraldic mantling, for example, could any—
thing have been handled with more grace and spirit
than that in the seal of the Boston Arts and Crafts
Society, yet was anything ever less heraldic than

the design for Henry Washington? Could any-

104'

thing more absolutely flat, more charmingly and un-
conventionally unpictorial 'be conceived than that
for St. Mary's Parish at Walkerville, or anything
in which relief in the metallic frame, and the pic-
torial in the literal landscape drawing, is carried
further than in the Margaret Whitney plate?

Compare the book-plates of the Harvard
University Library and the Harvard Union. It is
hardly possible to imagine that both were done by
the same hand; and still less the book-plate for the
Signet Society on the same page. In this latter, by
the way, Mr. Goodhue, reverting again to the
medium of the copper-plate engraver and to the
period of the early nineteenth century, leaves
England and finds himself in France, consistent in
the smallest detail down to the last refinement of
the lower case ‘t’ in "Bibliotheca” and the special
‘E’ in “Ex”, the flippant curves and over-refined
lines of the Roman lettering of the period.

As an example of the purely symbolic, the
book-plate of Winthrop Ames is perhaps the best,
though that of Pierre La Rose on the same page is
a very close second.

Curiously enough, to my taste such of Mr.
Goodhue’s book—plates as include architectural
drawings are the least attractive,—-—-the conventional
tree and the heraldic mantling on the Martin plate
being infinitely more pleasing than the picture. Of >
course, the design of the building has much to do
with this, but I cannot believe that it is wholly re—
sponsible.

Closely related to book-plates are printer’s de-
vices, of which various examples for three printing
and publishing establishments are shown; that of

the Cheltenham Press appears in two forms, the
second a charming elaboration of the first,—-and
both full of personality and allurement; that of
Messrs. Small, Maynard & Company with the
motto, “Scire quod Sciendum,” shown in but three
of the many forms in which it was, to my certain
knowledge, drawn. I cannot believe that symbolism
and motto alone are quite enough for a printer's
mark and feel that some more definite identifying
sign should, in these modern days, be added. The
device with the monogram "C. D." was that of
Copeland & Day, publishers in Boston, and while
in the three forms in which it is shown the symbol
and motto are always present, there is added the
monogram which should have its place in every
printer’s mark.

I have reserved for a final paragraph slight
comment on the very beautiful book—plate of John
Sanburn Phillips, which appears as a frontispiece
to this section of the book. The lettering, due per-
haps to the employment of the tree ‘Yggdrasil,’ is
Celtic in feeling, and quite the best example of its
character I have ever seen. The conventional treat-
ment of the tree and the handling of the landscape

are unexceptionable. The use of the tree’s root as a
basis for all of the remaining decoration, while not
altogether original, is so well handled as to be alto-
gether noteworthy; yet the design is full of daring
inconsistencies, as, for example, the falling leaves,
the wide panelling that has frankly no purpose ex-
cept that of a decorative spot, and the light back-
ground behind the tree that starts nowhere and stops
without cause.

To those of us who are not architects, it seems
a pity that Mr. Goodhue's architectural work has '
grown so absorbing of recent years that he has been
able to give but little time to the books that once
were so much his interest and delight; but fortu-
nately, or unfortunately, the detailing of books,
unlike that of architecture, cannot be delegated to
others. However, I cannot believe that book deco-
ration is less important or less permanent than archi-'
tecture, and we who know Bertram Coodhue as a
decorator of books cannot but hope that, as the years
go by, he will find in a return to book decoration the
stimulation of renewed interest tempting him for his
own pleasure and our benefit.

H. INGALLS KIMBALL

 

 

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immortal, throu h him who liveth and reigneth '
with thee and e Holy Ghost, now and ever. A I men.

{I This Collect is to be repeated every day, with the other Collects
in Advent, unto ChristmaSIday.

THE EPISTLE. Rom. xiii. 8.

   
       
       
     
 
   
   

  

  

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1“ lasting life; ‘5: humbly beseech thee that, as 1“"
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FROM ‘THE ALTAR-BOOK. BOSTON, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, |896

   
 

  

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,/

II
TO MANON: COMPARING HER TO A

RAVE as a falcon
M \, and as merciless,

I . With bright eyes

world, thy prey,
saw thee pass in

The dull crowd gazed at thee.It could not guess .
The secret of thy proud aérial way,
Or read in thy mute face the soul which lay
A prisoner there in chains of tenderness.
. —-Lo, thou art captured. In my hand to-day
‘ ‘ I hold thee, and awhile thou deignest to be
:" Pleased with my jesses. I would fain beguile
E My foolish heart to think thou lovest me. See, ,6

to”? . .
fi’fi And thou shalt sail back heavenwards.Woe is M r
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FROM ‘ESTHER, AND THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS.‘ BOSTON, COPELAND AND DAY, 1895

 

'_ That thereby
3' beauty’s rose might
' never die,
But as the riper
m - V should by time de-
A I”, cease,

‘ \e. N His tender heir
. “V‘W‘ might bear his

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1 - But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
“ ‘ Feed’stthylight’sflamewith self-substantial fuel,

Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou, that art now the world’s fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,

‘ Within thine own bud buriest thy content

I And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding.
.i Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.

 

FROM ‘SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS.’ BOSTON, COPELAND AND DAY, |897

“M5“ .,

$3.6

:7, Of the sweet years,
" , the dear andwished ' \
for years, '
Who each one in a gra-
cious hand appears
To bear a gift for mor-
! tals, old or young:
' And, as I mused it in
v I“ fi[g his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,

, , Those of my own life,who by turns had flung

" A shadow across me. Straightway I was ’ware,

. ‘ “So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move

Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery while I strove :—
“Guess now who holds thee?”—“ Death,” I said. .

 

FROM ‘SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.‘ BOSTON, COPELAND AND DAY, 1896

 

 

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F O R G O T T E N
‘ ~ N jutting cape the
ruined temple stands,
3 And Death has strewn
upon the tawny ground
Heroes of bronze and
a .1 marble Goddesses

’ ll Whose fame the soli-
tary herb enshrouds.
‘ Only at times a herds-

7 é man where he leads

His buffaloes to drink, and from his Conch
Sends forth an ancient tune o’er the wide main,
Lifts his black form against the bOundless sky.
Earth, to the ancient Gods a mother kind, '
Each spring makes bloom all vainly eloquent
A new acanthus round the capital.
But man, for dreams ancestral caring naught,
Hears without shudder in the silent nights
The sea that mourns in tears her Sirens lost.

  
 

 

 

 

FROM ‘THE TROPHIES OF HEREDIA.’ BOSTON, SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY, I900

 
 
 
   
 
  
     
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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ARCHITECTURE

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BY
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HENRY GREENWOOD PEABODY
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BERTRAM GROSVENOR GOODHUE

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J.B. MILLET COMPANY
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A TITLE—PAGE FOR A BOOK ON ARCHITECTURE

CANTO III. WHEREIN IS SET FORTH THE CON-
TINUANCE OF THE BATTLE BETWEEN THE
FRENCH AND THE SARACENS; HOW WHEN TOO
LATE ROLAND WINDETH HIS HORN; AND HOW
AT THE LAST ROLAND IS SLAIN AND OLIVER

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THE FRENCH strike with
vigour and from the heart, slay-
ing the Paynims by thousands
and by multitudes, so that out of
an hundred thousand men not
two survive.1lQuoth the Arch-
bishop, our men are brave in-
deed, and never under heaven
had any monarch better 361-
diers. It is written in the Tale of

the deeds of France that our em- I

peror hath good serving men.
filFrom grief and tendernessthe
eyes of those which walked to
' and fro over the field seeking
their own again, were filled with
tears by reason of the great love

which they bore to their kin,
when of a sudden, King Marsil- '
lus with a countless host ap-.
peared‘before them.7 i

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b 9&3) of the valley cometh
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he has assembled. Divided into
twenty companies they march
and in the sunlight glister their
jewels and the gold of their
helms their shields and broid-
ered hauberks. Seven thousand
trumpets sound the advance
and loud is the noise thereof
through all the country. flThen
spake Roland, Oliver, my com-
panion and brother,the fell
Ganelon has sworn our death;
his treachery may no longer be
hidden and a terrible revenge
will the Emperor wreak upon
him because of it. 1TBut as for
us,The Battle before us will be
strong and fierce and such a
combat as no man has ever seen
before, Yet again I shall strike
with Durendal and you Com-

  
 
 

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PRESS AND PERSONAL COMMENT.

The movement for an Exhibition of the Arts and Crafts
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INITIAL LETTERS FROM ‘THE TROPHIES OF HEREDIA.‘ BOSTON. SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY. I900

CORNELII TACITI DE VITA ET MORIBVS IVLII AGRICOLAE LIBER
IN CIPIT F ELICITER

Larerum virerum fadia moresque posteris tradere, antiquitus usitaI
tum, ne nostris quidem temporibus quamquam incuriesa suorum
aetas omisit, quetiens magna aliqua ac nobilis virtus vicit ac super,
gressa est vitium parvis magnisque civitatibus commune, ignoranI
tiam reéti et invidiam. sed apud prieres, ut agere digna memeratu
prenum magisque in aperto erat, ita celeberrimus quisque ingenio
ad prodendam virtutis memoriam sine gratia aut ambitione benae

tantum censcientiae pretio dueebatur. ac plerique suam ipsi vitam narrare fiduciam
potius morum quam adregantiam arbitrati sunt, nec id Rutilie et Scaure citra fidem
aut ebtredtationi fuit: adeo virtutes isdem temporibus optime aestimantur, quibus
facillime gignuntur. at nunc narraturo mihi vitam defundti hominis venia opus fuit,
quam non petissem incusaturus tam saeva et infesta virtutibus tempera. Legimus,
cum Arulene Rustice Paetus Thrasea, Herennio Senecieni Priscus Helvidius lauI
dati essent, capitale filiSSC, neque in ipses mode auétores, sed in libros quoque eorum
saevitum, delegate triumviris ministerio ut monumenta clarissimorum ingenierum
in comitio ac fore urerentur. scilicet ille igne vocem populi Remani et libertatem
senatus et conscientiam generis humani aboleri arbitrabantur, expulsis insuper saI
pientiae prefessoribus atque omni bona arte in exilium adia, ne quid usquam hone,
stum occurreret. dedimus prefedto grande patientiae documentum; et sicut vetus
aetas vidit quid ultimum in libertate esset, ita nos quid in servitute, adempto per in/
quisitiones etiam loquendi audiendique commercie. memoriam quoque ipsam cum
vece perdidissemus, si tam in nostra potestate esset oblivisci quam tacere. N unc de/
mum redit animus; et quamquam prime statim beatissimi saeculi ortu Nerva CaeI
sar res olim dissociabiles miscuerit, principatum ac libertatem, augeatque cetidie fe/
licitatem temporum Nerva Traianus, nec spem modo ac votum securitas publica,
sed ipsius voti fiduciam ac robur adsumpserit, natura tamen infirmitatis humanae
tardiora sunt remedia quam mala ; et ut corpora nostra lente augescunt, cito extinI
guuntur, sic ingenia studiaque oppresseris facilius quam revocaveris: subit quippe
etiam ipsius inertiae dulcedo, et invisa prime desidia postremo amatur. quid .7si per
quindecim annes, grande mortalis aevi spatium, multi fortuitis casibus, promptissi/
mus quisque saevitia principis interciderunt, pauci, et, ut ita dixerim, non modo aliO’
rum sed etiam nestri superstites sumus, exemptis e media vita tot annis, quibus iu/
venes ad sened’tutem, senes prepe ad ipses exaétae aetatis termines per silentium ve/
nimus. non tamen pigebit vel incendita ac rudi vece memoriam prioris servitutis ac
testimonium praesentium benerum cempesuisse.hic interim liber,heneri Agricolae
seceri mei destinatus, prefessione pietatis aut laudatus erit aut excusatus.

Gnaeus Iulius Agricola, vetere et inlustri Foroiuliensium colenia ortus, utrumque
avum precuraterem Caesarum habuit, quae equestris nobilitas est. pater illi Iulius
Graecinus. senatorii ordinis, studio elequentiae sapientiaeque netus, iisque ipsis virI
tutibus iram Gai Caesaris meritus: namque M. Silanum accusare iussus et, quia ab,
nuerat,interfe<£1us est. mater Iulia Procilla fuit, rarae castitatis. in huius sinu indul’
gentiaque educatus per omnem honestarum artium cultum pueritiam adulescenI
tiamque transegit. arcebat eum ab inlecebris peccantium praeter ipsius bonam inte'
gramque naturam, quod statim parvulus sedem ac magistram studiorum Massiliam
habuit, locum Graeca comitate et provinciali parsimonia mixtum ac bene compesi/
tum. memeria tenee selitum ipsum narrare se prima in iuventa studium philosophiae

A PACE FROM ‘CORNELII TACITI OPERA MINORA.’ BOSTON, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, 1904

DE. DlVlNATIONE LIB. I.

Helruria autem 6e caalo iaé‘ta seientisSime animaduerlit, eaJém-
'que inlerprelalur quid quibusque oflEJatur mons‘tris atque porten-
tis. qucirea bene apuJ maiores noflros Senatus tum qui? florebat
imperium, Jecreuit ut Je principum fi‘lijs sex singulis Heimrice po-
pulis .in Jisciplinam traJerentur, ne ars tanta propter tenuilat€.homi-
num 3 religionis autboritate abJuceretur a’J merceJem atque qua:-
flum. Pbryges aulem‘, (TPisidce, @"Cilices, C’T'Arabum natio, auiE
signification‘ibus plurimum oblemperant: qqu idem faélitatum in
Vmbria accepimus. Ac mihi quidem uidentur’e loeiquuoq; ipsis qui
3 quibusq: incolebanlur, Jiuinationum opportunitales esse Juélce. Vt
enim Aegyptif, ut Babylonii, in eamporum patentium cequoribus ha-
bilantes, quum ex terra nihil cmineret qqu contemplationi caali of-
ficere posset, omnem euram in syJerEcognilione posuerfit. Helrusci
autem quaJ religione imbuti, fludiosius (7" crebrius hoflias immola-
bani, extorum cognitioni 3e maximé JeJiJerunl.° qu6Jq; propter aé'-
ris crassiluJinem Je ccelo apuJ eos multa fiebc‘fl, (7un ob eanJem
muss; multa inusitata partim ex ccelo, alia ex terra oriebEtur, qua:-
Jam etiam ex h'omim'i pequfimue conceplu (7" satu, oS'leniorG exer-
eitatissimi interpreles extiierunl: quorum quiJem aim (at {u soles 6i-
cere) uerba ipsa pruJenter c} maioribus posita Jeclarant. (kid enim
oflenJunl, portenJunt, monflrani, prceJicunl : oflenta, portenla, mon- .
51m, proJigia Jicuntur. Arabes autem @' Phryges €77 Cilices, qu56
paS'lu pequum maximé’ ul'untur, campos é" monies hyeme C?” 02310-
te peragrantes, propterea facilius cantus auiam (7' uolatus notaue--
runt. EaJe’mque (7" Pisicfic‘e ‘caussafuit, (Tbuic nos'l'rce Vmb-ricr.
Tum Cariav tota, pracipuéque Telmesses quos ante Jixi, quéJ agros
uberrimos maximé'que fertiles incolunt, in quibus multa propter fie—
cunJitatem fingi gignique possunt, in ofienlis animaJuertenJis Jili-
genles fuerunt. (@is uerc} non uiJet in optima quaq; Republica
plurimum auspicia (Treliqua Jiuinacfi genera ualuisse? Qgis Rex
unquEfuit, quis populus, qui non uteretur procd'iélione Jiuina? neque
32, . solfim

A PAGE FROM A PROJECTED EDITION OF CICERO. NEW YORK. THE CHELTENHAM PRESS

FOR THIS VOLUME OF ARCHITECTURAL AND DECORATIVE DRAWINGS BY BERTRAM
GROSVENOR GOODHUE THE COPPER-PLATES AND ZINC BLOCKS WERE MADE BY THE ‘
GALVANOTYPE ENGRAVING COMPANY AND THE PENCIL DRAWINGS REPRODUCED BY THE
BRETT LITHOGRAPHING COMPANY - IT WAS PRINTED BY THE LENT AND GRAFF COM-
PANY OF NEW YORK, DURING THE MONTH OF NOVEMBER, MDCCCCXIV, AND IS
PUBLISHED BY THE ARCHITECTURAL BOOK PUBLISHING COMPANY
AT THIRTY-ONE EAST TWELFTH STREET, NEW YORK

    
     
    
 
 
 
 

 
   
   
 

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