Historic Ornament, Vol. 1 (of 2) Treatise on decorative art and architectural ornament — A Reader’s Guide

From Wooden Pegs to Stone Ornament

Ward’s most striking argument is that the Doric order’s seemingly abstract details—guttae, mutules, triglyphs—originated in functional wooden construction. He cites the Mycenian palace as the prototype, noting that guttae are “cylindrical in shape detached from the walls, and in every respect identical with the wooden pegs” that once secured timber entablatures. The mutules, he explains, are similarly derived from joist ends, and their slope in Selinous reflects a ridged roof, while a flat roof at Mycenae required horizontal placement. This materialist explanation extends to the frieze: triglyphs are pillars that “maintain the slabs (metopes) in place.” Ward emphasizes that later Greeks forgot this borrowing, renaming pegs as “drops,” and he uses this case to illustrate a broader principle: ornament often preserves the memory of construction.

Mycenaean Metalwork and Ceramic Evidence

Ward devotes considerable attention to the industrial arts unearthed by Schliemann at Mycenae, Tiryns, and Troy. He describes pottery decorated with “bands and squares arranged in rows, some animal forms, leaves with wavy stems, and spirals,” as well as marine motifs like octopus and argonaut. The Marseilles ewer, with its brown-black decoration on a light ground showing argonaut and seaweed, is singled out as “the most beautiful form of Mycenian pottery.” Ward notes that its shape is “characteristic of metal,” suggesting it copied metal prototypes. In metalwork, he highlights bronze daggers inlaid with gold and electrum, depicting panthers hunting birds, lion hunts, and spiral ornamentation. These objects, he argues, demonstrate a “high order” of skill and provide evidence for the sophistication of pre-Classical decorative art.

The Handbook’s Scope and Methodological Limits

Ward acknowledges that the subject’s “comprehensive nature” forces him to treat divisions “in a very condensed manner.” His method is to present “salient features” and “landmarks” rather than exhaustive coverage. The book’s organization moves from prehistoric art through ancient, Eastern, early Christian, Byzantine, Saracenic, Romanesque, Gothic, and Renaissance styles, but the excerpts only show the early chapters in detail. Ward relies heavily on secondary sources like Perrot and Chipiez’s “Art in Primitive Greece,” from which he reproduces chromolithographs. The illustrations are central: many are described as “actual size,” though the transcriber notes this is “difficult to substantiate.” Readers should be aware that Ward’s conclusions are based on the scholarship of his time, and later discoveries may have revised some of his claims about Mycenaean origins.

Ward’s handbook rewards readers who attend to his recurring argument that ornament is not arbitrary but rooted in practical construction and material tradition. The 436 illustrations are not decorative extras but essential evidence; the text frequently refers to specific figures, and following these cross-references is key to understanding his reasoning. Because the book is condensed, readers may wish to supplement it with more recent archaeological studies, particularly on Mycenaean and Greek architecture, to see how Ward’s hypotheses have fared. The volume stands as a document of early twentieth-century art-historical method, combining evolutionary theory with close observation of surviving artifacts.

The rain drummed against the window as I traced the Doric guttae in Ward’s illustrations, those little stone pegs remembering wooden originals. That quiet logic of construction shaping beauty stayed with me. Later, I found the same patient reasoning in Design and Tradition A short account of the principles and historic development of architecture and the applied arts — Reading Companion, its voice gentler, but the thread felt like a continuation of the same conversation, begun that grey afternoon.