Some Account of Gothic Architecture in Spain — Key Ideas to Explore

An Architect’s Method: Observation and Measurement

Street’s approach is that of a working architect, not a historian. He describes buildings by their structural logic: the plan of the chevet, the springing of groining, the height of triforium and clerestory. At Barcelona Cathedral, he notes how the architect deliberately minimized windows to reduce light and heat, a climatic adaptation that makes note-taking difficult even at midday. Street’s language is precise: arches are “narrow and stilted,” columns a “confused jumble of thin mouldings.” He records measurements and materials—dark stone that increases “sombre magnificence”—and judges success by how well the building serves its congregation. His observations are grounded in what he can see and measure, not in received opinion.

Local Adaptations and Catalan Detail

Street is attentive to regional variation. At Barcelona, he identifies a French chevet plan—aisle and chapels round the apse—but insists the detail is “completely Catalan.” He points to the narrow, stilted arches and the awkward arrangement of mouldings. The triforium is small, the clerestory windows traceried and filled with stained glass, set back from the wall. This is not a generic Gothic; it is a specific response to climate and local tradition. Street also notes the crypt of Sta. Eulalia, with its alabaster shrine carried on eight detached columns, spiral and fluted, with capitals of foliage. He compares the detail to Italian Gothic of the same age, suggesting foreign influence without overstating it.

The Shrine of Sta. Eulalia: A Case Study in Detail

Street’s description of the shrine in Barcelona Cathedral exemplifies his method. He records the ark’s steep roof, alabaster material, and sculptured sides depicting the saint’s life, with her soul borne aloft by angels. The columns are marble, spiral, fluted, and chevroned; some bases have carved figures in “mediæval Italian fashion.” A long inscription around the base recounts the saint’s death, burial, and translations. Street notes that the shrine is mentioned in a contemporary memorial of the translation and attributes it to Jayme Fabre. He does not speculate beyond the evidence, but his careful inventory of materials, forms, and inscriptions gives the reader a vivid sense of the object.

Street’s Vocabulary of Stone and Light

Throughout the excerpts, Street’s diction reveals his priorities. He writes of “groining,” “wall-rib,” “octagonal vault,” and “stilted arches.” Light is a practical concern: windows are small to minimize heat, and the dark stone enhances “sombre magnificence.” He describes the transepts as “groined at the level of the side chapels” and notes that they form porches on the ground plan. His prose is technical but not dry; it conveys the physical experience of being in these buildings—the difficulty of sketching in dim light, the weight of stone, the interplay of structure and ornament. This is an architect’s account, shaped by the demands of his craft.

Street’s account is best read as a working architect’s notebook: detailed, opinionated, and grounded in direct observation. He does not offer a comprehensive history of Spanish Gothic, but a selective record of what he saw and measured. Readers interested in construction, regional variation, and the practical challenges of medieval building will find his observations invaluable. The book rewards those who read with a plan in hand and a willingness to follow Street’s eye from vault to capital.

Reading Street’s careful notes on Spanish stone, I remembered standing in a dim Scottish kirk, tracing a worn arch with my fingers. That same quiet wonder—how light finds its way through solid walls—came back while slowly leafing through The ecclesiastical architecture of Scotland from the earliest Christian times to the seventeenth century; vol. 1/3 — Context and Discussion. Both books treat masonry like a spoken language, patiently translated.