nothing more." But wait a little, architecture is not only a question of arrangement. Arrangement is one of the fundamental prerogatives of architecture. To walk in Hadrian's Villa and to have to admit that the modern power of organization (which after all is "Roman") has done nothing so far—what a torment this is to a man who feels that he is a party to this ingenuous failure!
They did not have before them the problem of devastated regions, but that of equipping conquered regions; it is all one and the same. So they invented methods of construction and with these they did impressive things—"Roman." The word has a meaning. Unity of operation, a clear aim in view, classification of the various parts. Immense cupolas, with their supporting drums, imposing vaulting, all held together with Roman cement; these still remain an object of admiration. They were great constructors.
A clear aim, the classification of parts, these are a proof of a special turn of mind: strategy, legislation. Architecture is susceptible to these aims, and repays them with interest. The light plays on pure forms, and repays them with interest. Simple masses develop immense surfaces which display themselves with a characteristic variety according as it is a question of cupolas, vaulting, cylinders, rectangular prisms or pyramids. The adornment of the surfaces is of the same geometrical order. The Pantheon, the Colosseum, the Aqueducts, the Pyramid of Cestius, the Triumphal Arches, the Basilica of Constantine, the Baths of Caracalla.
Absence of verbosity, good arrangement, a single idea,
