joice in its simplicity if not in its power,
and in its vitality if not in its science.

Sec. XIV. We have, then, three orders of ornament, classed according to
the degrees of correspondence of the executive and conceptive minds. We
have the servile ornament, in which the executive is absolutely subjected
to the inventive,--the ornament of the great Eastern nations, more
especially Hamite, and all pre-Christian, yet thoroughly noble in its
submissiveness. Then we have the mediaeval system, in which the mind of
the inferior workman is recognised, and has full room for action, but is
guided and ennobled by the ruling mind. This is the truly Christian and
only perfect system. Finally, we have ornaments expressing the endeavor
to equalise the executive and inventive,--endeavor which is Renaissance
and revolutionary, and destructive of all noble architecture.

Sec. XV. Thus far, then, of the incompleteness or simplicity of execution
necessary in architectural ornament, as referred to the mind. Next we
have to consider that which is required when it is referred to the
sight, and the various modifications of treatment which are rendered
necessary by the variation of its distance from the eye. I say
necessary: not merely expedient or economical. It is foolish to carve
what is to be seen forty feet off with the delicacy which the eye
demands within two yards; not merely because such delicacy is lost in
the distance, but because it is a great deal worse than lost:--the
delicate work has actually worse effect in the distance than rough work.
This is a fact well known to painters, and, for the most part,
acknowledged by the critics of painters, namely, that there is a certain
distance for which a picture is painted; and that the finish, which is
delightful if that distance be small, is actually injurious if the
distance be great: and, moreover, that there is a particular method of
handling which none but consummate artists reach, which has its effects
at the intended distance, and is altogether hieroglyphical and
unintelligible at any other. This, I say, is acknowledged in painting,
but it is not practically acknowledged in architecture; nor until my
attention was especially directed to it, had I myself any idea of the
care with which this great question was studied by the mediaeval
architects. On my first careful examination of the capitals of the upper
arcade of the Ducal Palace at Venice, I was induced, by their singular
inferi