Correspondingly, music is dynamic, subjective, mental, of one
dimension; while architecture is static, objective, physical, of three
dimensions; sustaining the same relation to music and the other
arts as does the human body to the various organs which compose, and
consciousnesses which animate it (it being the reservatory of these
organs and the vehicle of these consciousnesses); and a work of
architecture in like manner may and sometimes does include all of the
other arts within itself. Sculpture accentuates and enriches, painting
adorns, works of literature are stored within it, poetry and the drama
awake its echoes, while music thrills to its uttermost recesses, like
the very spirit of life tingling through the body's fibres.

Such being the relation between them, the difference in the nature of
the ideas bodied forth in music and in architecture becomes apparent.
Music is interior, abstract, subjective, speaking directly to the soul
in a simple and universal language whose meaning is made personal and
particular in the breast of each listener: "Music alone of all the
arts," says Balzac, "has power to make us live within ourselves."
A work of architecture is the exact opposite of this: existing
principally and primarily for the uses of the body, it is like the
body a concrete organism, attaining to esthetic expression only in
the reconciliation and fulfilment of many conflicting practical
requirements. Music is pure beauty, the voice of the unfettered
and perpetually vanishing soul of things; architecture is that soul
imprisoned in a form, become subject to the law of causality, beaten
upon by the elements, at war with gravity, the slave of man. One is
the Ariel of the arts; the other, Caliban.

Coming now to the consideration of architecture in its historical
rather than its philosophical aspect, it will be shown how certain