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In my previous remarks I have attempted to set forth some of the first principles of ornament, and to call attention to the purport or intention of certain of the leading historic styles, and the manner in which they make utterance to us of the faith or sentiments of their producers.

But there are other utterances of ornament, and other general expressions which decorative forms convey to the mind. Thus sharp, angular, or spiny forms are more or less exciting (Fig. 11); while bold and broad forms are soothing, or tend to give repose.

Sharp or angular forms, where combined in ornament, act upon the senses much as racy and pointed sayings do. Thus "cut" or angular glass, spinose metal-work, as the pointed foliage of some wrought-iron gates, and other works in which there is a prevalence of angles and points, so act upon the mind as to stimulate it, and thus produce an effect opposite to repose; while "breadth" of form and "largeness" of treatment induce tranquillity and meditation.

Nothing can be more important to the ornamentist than the scientific study of art. The metaphysical inquiry into cause and effect, as relating to decorative ideas, is very important—indeed, all-important—to the true decorator. He must constantly ask himself what effect such and such forms have upon the mind—which effects are soothing, which cheerful, which melancholy, which rich, which ethereal, which gorgeous, which solid, which graceful, which lovable, and so on; and in order to do this he must separate the various elements of ornamental composition, and consider these apart, so as to be sure that he is not mistaken as to what affects the mind in any particular manner, and he must then combine these elements in various proportions, and consider the effects of the various combinations on his own mind and that of others, and thus he will discover what will enable him to so act on the senses as to induce effects such as he may desire to produce.

Are we to decorate a dining-room, let the decoration give the sense of richness; a drawing-room, let it give cheerfulness; a library, let it give worth; a bed-room, repose; but glitter must never occur in large quantities, for that which excites can only be sparingly indulged in—if too freely employed, it gives the sense of vulgarity.

In this chapter I have to speak primarily of Truth, Beauty, and Power. Long since I was so fully impressed with the idea that true art-principles are so perfectly manifested by these three words, that I embodied them in an ornamental device which I painted on my study door, so that all who entered might learn the principles which I sought to manifest in my works.

There can be morality or immorality in art, the utterance of truth or of falsehood; and by his art the ornamentist may exalt or debase a nation.

Truth.—How noble, how beautiful; how righteous to utter it; and how debasing is falsehood; yet we see falsehood preferred to truth—that which debases to that which exalts, in art as well as morals; and I fear that there is almost as much that is false, degrading, and untrue in my beautiful art as there is of the noble, righteous, and exalting, although art should only be practised by ennobling hands. It is this grovelling art, this so-called ornamentation, which tends to debase rather than exalt, to degrade rather than make noble, to foster a lie rather than utter truth, which brings about the abasement of our calling, and causes our art to fail in many instances in laying hold of, and clinging to, the affections of the noble and the great. Ornamentation is in the highest sense of the word a Fine Art; there is no art more noble, none more exalted. It can cheer the sorrowing; it can soothe the troubled; it can enhance the joys of those who make merry; it can inculcate the doctrine of truth; it can refine, elevate, purify, and point onward and upward to heaven and to God. It is a fine art, for it embodies and expresses the feelings of the soul of man—that inward spirit which was breathed by the Creator into the lifeless clay as the image of his life—however noble, pure, or holy.

This being the case, those who ignore decoration cast aside a source of refinement, and deprive themselves of what may induce their elevation in virtue and morals. Such a neglect on the part of those who can afford luxuries would be highly censurable, were it not that the professors of the art are for the most part false pretenders, knowing not what they practise, and men ignorant of the power which they hold in their hands. The true artist is a rare creature; he is often unknown, frequently misunderstood, or not understood at all, and is not unfrequently lost to a people that prefer shallowness to deep meaning, falsehood to truth, and glitter to repose.

We now see the utter folly of appealing simply to what is called "taste" in matters of art, and the uselessness of yielding to the caprice (falsely called taste) of the uneducated in such matters, especially as this so-called taste is often of the most vulgar and debased order. We also see the absurdity of persons who employ a true artist interfering with his judgment and ideas. The true artist is a noble teacher; shall he be told, then, what morals he shall inculcate, and what lofty truths he shall embody in his works, or omit from them? Do we tell the preacher what he shall say, and ask him to withhold whatever is refining and elevating? We do not, and in art we must leave the professors free to teach, and hold them responsible for their teachings.

If I thought that I had now convinced my reader that decorative art does not consist merely in the placing together of forms, however beautiful they may be individually or collectively; nor in rendering objects simply what is called pretty; but that it is a power for good or evil; that it is what will elevate or debase—that which cannot be neutral in its tendency—I would advance to consider its principles; but I cannot teach, nor can I be understood, unless the reader feels that he who practises art wields a vast power, for the rightful use of which he must be held responsible.

All graining of wood is false, inasmuch as it attempts to deceive; the effort being made at causing one material to look like another which it is not. All "marbling" is false also: a floor-cloth made in imitation of carpet or matting is false; a Brussels carpet that imitates a Turkey carpet is false; so is a jug that imitates wicker-work, a printed fabric that imitates one which is woven, a gas-lamp that imitates an oil-lamp. These are all untruths in expression, and are, besides, vulgar absurdities which are the more lamentable, as the imitation is always less beautiful than the thing imitated; and as each material has the power of expressing beauty truthfully, thus the want of truth brings its own punishment. A deal door is beautiful, but it will not keep clean; let it then be varnished. It is now preserved, and its own characteristic features are enhanced by the varnish, so that its individuality is emphasised, and no untruth told. A floor-cloth can present a pattern with true and beautiful curves—how absurd, then, to try and imitate the dotty effect of a carpet; and the Brussels carpet can express truer curves than the Turkey carpet, then why imitate the latter in the finer material? But perhaps the most senseless of all these absurdities is the making an earthen jug in imitation of wicker-work when if so formed it would be useless as a water-vessel. I can imagine a fool in his simplicity priding himself on such a bright thought as the production of a vessel of this kind, but I cannot imagine any rightly constituted mind producing or commending such an idea. Let the expression of our art ever be truthful.

Beauty.—I will say little on this head, for decorative forms must be beautiful. Shapes which are not beautiful are rarely decorative. I will not now attempt to express what character forms should have in order that they be considered beautiful, but will content myself by saying that they must be truthful in expression, and graceful, delicate, and refined in contour, manifesting no coarseness, vulgarity, or obtrusiveness. My views of the beautiful must be gathered from the series of chapters which will follow, but this I may here say, that the beautiful manifests no want, no shortcoming. A composition that is beautiful must have no parts which could be taken from it and yet leave the remainder equally good or better. The perfectly beautiful is that which admits of no improvement. The beautiful is lovable, and, as that which is lovable, takes hold of the affections and clings to them, binding itself firmer and firmer to them as time rolls on. If an object is really beautiful we do not tire of it; fashion does not induce us to change it; the merely new does not displace it. It becomes as an old friend, more loved as its good qualities are better understood.

Power.—We now come to consider an art-element or principle of great importance, for if absent from any composition, feebleness or weakness is the result, the manifestation of which is not pleasant. With what power do the plants burst from the earth in spring! With what power do the buds develop into branches! The powerful orator is a man to be admired, the powerful thinker a man we esteem. Even the simple power, or brute force, of animals we involuntarily approve—the powerful tiger and the powerful horse call forth our commendation, for power is antagonistic to weakness. Power also manifests earnestness; power means energy; power implies a conqueror. Our compositions, then, must be powerful.

But besides all this, we, the professors of decorative art, must manifest power in our works, for we are teachers sent forth to instruct, and ennoble, and elevate our fellow-creatures. We shall not be believed if we do not utter our truths with power; let truth, then, be uttered with power, and in the form of beauty.[7]

There are other principles governing the production and application of ornament which we must now notice, the first of which is utility, for the first aim of the designer of any article must be to render the object which he produces useful. I may go further, and say that an article must be made not only useful, but as perfectly suited to the purpose for which it is intended as it can be. It matters not how beautiful the object is intended to be, it must first be formed as though it were a mere work of utility, and after it has been carefully created with this end in view it may then be rendered as beautiful as you please.

There are special reasons why our works should be useful as well as beautiful, for if an object, however beautiful it may be in shape, however richly covered with beautiful ornaments, or however harmoniously coloured, be unpleasant to use, it will ultimately be set aside, and that which is more convenient for use will replace it, even if the latter be without beauty. As an illustration of this fact, let us suppose the balustrade railings of a staircase very beautiful, and yet furnished with such projections as render it almost impossible that we walk up or down the stairs without tearing the dress, or injuring the person, and how soon will our admiration of the beautiful railing disappear, and even be replaced by hate! In like manner let the handle of a door, or the head of a poker, be so formed as to hurt the hand, and the simple round knob, or round head, will be preferred to it, however ornamentally or beautifully formed.

In relation to this subject, Professor George Wilson has said: "The conviction seems ineradicable from some minds, that a beautiful thing cannot be a useful thing, and that the more you increase the beauty of the necessary furniture or the implements of every-day life the more you lessen their utility. Make the Queen's sceptre as beautiful as you please, but don't try to beautify a poker, especially in cold weather. My lady's vinaigrette carve and gild as you will, but leave untouched my pewter ink-bottle. Put fine furniture, if you choose, into my drawing-room; but I am a plain man, and like useful things in my parlour, and so on. Good folks of this sort seem to labour under the impression that the secret desire of art is to rob them of all comfort. Its unconfessed but actual aim, they believe, is to realise the faith of their childhood, when it was understood that a monarch always wore his crown, held an orb in one hand and a sceptre in the other, and a literal interpretation was put upon Shakespeare's words,

'Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.'

Were art to prosper, farewell to fire-proof, shapeless slippers, which bask like salamanders unharmed in the hottest blaze. An æsthetic pair, modelled upon Cinderella's foot, and covered with snow-white embroidery, must take their place, and dispense chilblains and frost-bite to miserable toes. Farewell to shooting-coats out a little at the elbows, to patched dressing-gowns, and hair-cloth sofas. Nothing but full-dress, varnished boots, spider-legged chairs, white satin chair-covers, alabaster ink-bottles, velvet door-mats, and scrapers of silver or gold. It is astonishing how many people think that a thing cannot be comfortable if it is beautiful. . . . If there be one truth which the Author of all has taught us in his works more clearly than another, it is the perfect compatibility of the highest utility with the greatest beauty. I offer you one example. All are familiar with the beautiful shell of the nautilus. Give the nautilus itself to a mathematician, and he will show you that one secret of its gracefulness lies in its following in its volute or whorl a particular geometrical curve with rigid precision. Pass it from the mathematician to the natural philosopher, and he will show you how the simple superposition of a great number of very thin transparent plates, and the close approximation of a multitude of very fine engraved lines, are the cause of its exquisite pearly lustre. Pass it from the natural philosopher to the engineer, and he will show you that this fairy shell is a most perfect practical machine, at once a sailing vessel and a diving-bell, in which its living possessor had, centuries before Archimedes, applied to utilitarian ends the law of specific gravity, and centuries before Halley had dived in his bell to the bottom of the sea. Pass it from the engineer to the anatomist, and he will show you how, without marring its beauty, it is occupied during its lifetime with a most orderly system of rowing and sailing tackle, chambers for food, pumps to keep blood circulating, ventilating apparatus, and hands to control all, so that it is a model ship with a model mariner on board. Pass it lastly from the anatomist to the chemist, and he will show you that every part of the shell and the creature is compounded of elements, the relative weights of which follow in each individual nautilus the same numerically identical ratio.

"Such is the nautilus, a thing so graceful, that when we look at it we are content to say with Keats—

'A thing of beauty is a joy for ever;'

and yet a thing so thoroughly utilitarian, and fulfilling with the utmost perfection the purely practical aim of its construction, that our shipbuilders would be only too thankful if, though sacrificing all beauty, they could make their vessels fulfil their business ends half so well."

Viewing our subject in another light, and with special reference to architecture, we notice that unless a building is fitted for the purpose intended, or, in other words, answers utilitarian ends, it cannot be esteemed as it otherwise might be, even though it be of great æsthetic beauty. In respect to this subject, Mr. Owen Jones has said: "The nave and aisles of a Gothic church become absurd when filled with pews for Protestant worship, where all are required to see and hear. The columns of the nave which impede sight and sound, the aisles for processions which no longer exist, rood screens, and deep chancels for the concealment of mysteries, now no longer such, are all so many useless reproductions which must be thrown aside." Further, "As architecture, so all works of the decorative arts, should possess fitness, proportion, harmony; the result of all which is repose." Sir M. Digby Wyatt has said: "Infinite variety and unerring fitness govern all forms in Nature." Vitruvius, that "The perfection of all works depends on their fitness to answer the end proposed, and on principles resulting from a consideration of Nature itself." Sir Charles L. Eastlake, that "In every case in Nature where fitness or utility can be traced, the characteristic quality, or relative beauty, is found to be identical with that of fitness." A. W. Pugin (the father): "How many objects of ordinary use are rendered monstrous and ridiculous simply because the artist, instead of seeking the most convenient form, and then decorating it, has embodied some extravagance to conceal the real purpose for which the article has been made." And with the view of pointing out how fitness for, or adaptation to, the end proposed is manifested in the structure and disposition upon the earth of plants, I have written in a little work now out of print: "The trees which grow highest upon the mountains, and the plants which grow upon the unsheltered plain, have usually long, narrow, and rigid leaves, which, owing to their form, are enabled to bear the fury of the tempest, to which they are exposed, without injury. This is seen in the ease of the species of fir which grow at great altitudes, where the leaves are more like needles than leaves such as commonly occur; and also in the species of heath which grow upon exposed moors: in both cases the plants are, owing to the form of the leaf, enabled to defy the blast, while those with broad leaves would be shattered and destroyed.

"Not only is the form of leaf such as fits these plants to dwell in such inhospitable regions, but other circumstances also tend to this result. The stems are in both cases woody and flexible, so that while they bend to the wind they resist its destroying influence by their strength and elasticity. In relation to the stem of the papyrus," which is a plant constantly met with in Egyptian ornaments, "the late Sir W. J. Hooker mentions an interesting fact which manifests adaptation to its position. This plant grows in water, and attaches itself to the margins of rivers and streams, by sending forth roots and evolving long underground stems in the alluvium of the sides of the waters. Owing to its position it is exposed to the influences of the current, which it has to withstand, and this it does, not only by having its stems of a triangular form—a shape well adapted for withstanding pressure—but also by having them so placed in relation to the direction of the stream, that one angle always meets the current, and thus separates the waters as does the bow of a modern steam-ship."

I might multiply illustrations of this principle of fitness, or adaptation to purpose, as manifested in plants, to an almost indefinite extent; but when all had been said we should yet have but the simple truth before us, that the chief end which we should have in creating any object, is that of rendering it perfectly fitted to answer the proposed end. If those works which are beautiful were but invariably useful, as they should be; if those objects which are most beautiful were also the most convenient—and there is no reason why they should not be so—how the beautiful would become loved and sought after! Cost would be of little moment, the price would not be complained of, if beautiful objects were works of perfect utility. But, alas! it is far otherwise: that which is useful is often ugly, and that which is beautiful is often inconvenient to use. This very fact has given rise to the highly absurd fashion of having a second poker in a drawing-room set of fire-irons. The one poker is ornamental, possibly, but it is to be looked at; the other is for use, and as it is not to be looked at, it is hidden away in some corner, or close within the fender. I do not wonder at the second poker being required; for nineteen out of every twenty pokers of an ornamental (?) character which I have seen during the last few years would hurt the hand so insufferably if they were used to break a lump of coal with, that it would be almost impossible to employ them constantly for such a purpose. But why not abolish the detestable thing altogether? If the poker is to be retained as an ornament, place it on the table or chimney-piece of your drawing-room, and not down on the hearth, where it is at such a distance from the eye that its beauties cannot be discovered. It is no use saying it would be out of place in such a position. If to poke the fire with, its place is within the fender; if it is an ornament, it should be placed where it can be best seen—in a glass case, if worthy of protection.

I hope that sufficient has now been said upon this all-important necessity, that, if an object is to be beautiful it should also be useful, to cause us to consider it as a primary principle of design that all objects which we create must be useful. To this as a first law we shall constantly have to refer. When we construct a chair we shall ask, is it useful? is it strong? is it properly put together? could it be stronger without using more, or another, material? and then we should consider whether it is beautiful. When we design a bottle we shall inquire, is it useful? is it all that a bottle should be? could it be more useful? and then, is it beautiful? When we create a gas-branch we shall ask, does it fulfil all requirements, and perfectly answer the end for which it is intended? and then, is it beautiful? And in relation to patterns merely we shall also have to make similar inquiries. Thus, if drawing a carpet design, we shall inquire, is this form of ornament suitable to a woven fabric? is it suitable to the particular fabric for which it is intended? is the particular treatment of the ornament which we have adopted the best possible when we bear in mind that the carpet has to be walked over, as it is to act in relation to our furniture as a background does to a picture, and is to be viewed at some distance from the eye? and then, is it beautiful? Such inquiries we shall put respecting any object the formation of which we may suggest: hence, in all our inquiries, I shall, as I love art, consider utility before beauty, in order that my art may be fostered and not despised.

There are many subjects yet not named in these pages which we ought to consider, but I must content myself by merely mentioning them, and you must be willing to think of them, and consider them with such care as their importance may demand. Some of them, however, we shall refer to when considering the various manufactures.

A principle of great importance in respect to design is, that the material of which an object is formed should be used in a manner consistent with its own nature, and in that particular way in which it can be most easily "worked."

Another principle of equal importance with that just set forth, is this: that when an object is about to be formed, that material (or those materials) which is (or are) most appropriate to its formation should be sought and employed. These two propositions are of very great importance, and the principles which they set forth should never be lost sight of by the designer. They involve the first principles of successful designing, for if ignored the work produced cannot be satisfactory.

Curves will be found to be beautiful just as they are subtle in character; those which are most subtle in character being most beautiful.

The arc is the least beautiful of curves (I do not here speak of a circle, but of the line, as a line, which bounds the circle); being struck from one centre its origin is instantly detected, while the mind requires that a line, the contemplation of which shall be pleasurable, must be in advance of its knowledge, and call into activity its powers of inquiry. The elliptic curve, or curve bounding the ellipse, is more beautiful than the arc, for its origin is not so strikingly apparent, being formed from two centres. The curve of the egg is more beautiful still, being formed from three centres.[8] As the number of centres necessary to the formation of a curve increases, the difficulty of detecting its origin also becomes greater, and the variety which the curve presents is also proportionally great; the variety being obviously greater as the number of the centres from which it is struck is increased.

Proportion, like the curve, must be of a subtle nature.

A surface must never be divided for the purpose of decoration into halves. The proportion of 1 to 1 is bad. As proportion increases in subtlety it also increases in beauty. The proportion of 2 to 1 is little better; the proportion of 3 to 8, or of 5 to 8, or of 5 to 13, is, however, good, the last named being the best of those which I have adduced; for the pleasure derived from the contemplation of proportion increases with the difficulty of detecting it. This principle is true in relation to the division of a mass into primary segments, and of primary segments into secondary forms, as well as in relation to the grouping together of parts of various sizes; hence it is worthy of special note.

A principle of order must prevail in every ornamental composition.

Confusion is the result of accident, while order results from thought and care. The operation of mind cannot well be set forth in the absence of this principle; at least, the presence of a principle of order renders the operation of mind at once manifest.

The orderly repetition of parts frequently aids in the production of ornamental effects.

The kaleidoscope affords a wonderful example of what repetition will do. The mere fragments of glass which we view in this instrument would altogether fail to please were they not repeated with regularity. Of themselves repetition and order can do much. (Figs. 13 and 14.)

Alternation is a principle of primary importance in certain ornamental compositions.

In the case of a flower (as the buttercup, or chickweed, for example) the coloured leaves do not fall over the green leaves (the petals do not fall over the sepals), but between them—they alternate with them. This principle is not only manifested in plants, but also in many ornaments produced in the best periods of art (Fig. 15).

If plants are employed as ornaments they must not be treated imitatively, but must be conventionally treated, or rendered into ornaments (Fig. 16).

A monkey can imitate, man can create.

These are the chief principles which we shall have to notice, as involved in the production of ornamental designs.