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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Architecture: nineteenth and twentieth
+centuries, by Henry-Russell Hitchcock
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Architecture: nineteenth and twentieth centuries
+
+Author: Henry-Russell Hitchcock
+
+Release Date: February 21, 2023 [eBook #70079]
+
+Language: English
+
+Produced by: Tim Lindell, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed
+ Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was
+ produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
+ Digital Library.)
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARCHITECTURE: NINETEENTH AND
+TWENTIETH CENTURIES ***
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE PELICAN HISTORY OF ART
+
+ EDITED BY NIKOLAUS PEVSNER
+
+ Z15
+
+ ARCHITECTURE: NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES
+ HENRY-RUSSELL HITCHCOCK
+
+
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ HENRY-RUSSELL HITCHCOCK
+
+ ARCHITECTURE
+ NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH
+ CENTURIES
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+
+ PENGUIN BOOKS
+ BALTIMORE · MARYLAND
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ _First published 1958_
+ _Second edition 1963_
+ _Penguin Books Inc._
+ _3300 Clipper Mill Road, Baltimore, Maryland_
+
+ *
+
+ _Copyright_ © _1958 Henry-Russell Hitchcock_
+
+ *
+
+ _Made and printed in
+ Great Britain_
+
+
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ TO
+
+ A.C. O’M.-W.
+
+ *
+
+
+
+
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CONTENTS
+
+
+ LIST OF FIGURES ix
+
+ LIST OF PLATES xi
+
+ ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS xix
+
+ PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION xx
+
+ INTRODUCTION xxi
+
+
+
+ Part One
+
+ _1800-1850_
+
+
+ 1. ROMANTIC CLASSICISM AROUND 1800 1
+
+ 2. THE DOCTRINE OF J.-N.-L. DURAND AND ITS 20
+ APPLICATION IN NORTHERN EUROPE
+
+ 3. FRANCE AND THE REST OF THE CONTINENT 43
+
+ 4. GREAT BRITAIN 59
+
+ 5. THE NEW WORLD 77
+
+ 6. THE PICTURESQUE AND THE GOTHIC REVIVAL 93
+
+ 7. BUILDING WITH IRON AND GLASS: 1790-1855 115
+
+
+
+ Part Two
+
+ _1850-1900_
+
+
+ 8. SECOND EMPIRE PARIS, UNITED ITALY, AND 131
+ IMPERIAL-AND-ROYAL VIENNA
+
+ 9. SECOND EMPIRE AND COGNATE MODES 152
+ ELSEWHERE
+
+ 10. HIGH VICTORIAN GOTHIC IN ENGLAND 173
+
+ 11. LATER NEO-GOTHIC OUTSIDE ENGLAND 191
+
+ 12. NORMAN SHAW AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES 206
+
+ 13. H. H. RICHARDSON AND McKIM, MEAD & WHITE 221
+
+ 14. THE RISE OF COMMERCIAL ARCHITECTURE IN 233
+ ENGLAND AND AMERICA
+
+ 15. THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE DETACHED HOUSE IN 253
+ ENGLAND AND AMERICA FROM 1800 TO 1900
+
+
+
+ Part Three
+
+ _1890-1955_
+
+
+ 16. THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ART NOUVEAU: 281
+ VICTOR HORTA
+
+ 17. THE SPREAD OF THE ART NOUVEAU: THE WORK 292
+ OF C. R. MACKINTOSH AND ANTONI GAUDÍ
+
+ 18. MODERN ARCHITECTS OF THE FIRST 307
+ GENERATION IN FRANCE: AUGUSTE PERRET
+ AND TONY GARNIER
+
+ 19. FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT AND HIS CALIFORNIA 320
+ CONTEMPORARIES
+
+ 20. PETER BEHRENS AND OTHER GERMAN 336
+ ARCHITECTS
+
+ 21. THE FIRST GENERATION IN AUSTRIA, 349
+ HOLLAND, AND SCANDINAVIA
+
+ 22. THE EARLY WORK OF THE SECOND GENERATION: 363
+ WALTER GROPIUS, LE CORBUSIER, MIES VAN
+ DER ROHE, AND THE DUTCH
+
+ 23. LATER WORK OF THE LEADERS OF THE SECOND 380
+ GENERATION
+
+ 24. ARCHITECTURE CALLED TRADITIONAL IN THE 392
+ TWENTIETH CENTURY
+
+ 25. ARCHITECTURE AT THE MID CENTURY 411
+
+ EPILOGUE 429
+
+ NOTES 439
+
+ BIBLIOGRAPHY 473
+
+ _The Plates_ 484
+
+ INDEX 677
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ LIST OF FIGURES
+
+
+ 1 Friedrich Weinbrenner: Karlsruhe, 17
+ Marktplatz, 1804-24, plan
+
+ 2 J.-N.-L. Durand: ‘Vertical Combinations’ 21
+ (from _Précis des leçons_, II, plate
+ 3)
+
+ 3 J.-N.-L. Durand: ‘Galleries’ (from 24
+ _Précis des leçons_, II, plate 14)
+
+ 4 Leo von Klenze; Munich, War Office, 26
+ 1824-6, elevation (from Klenze,
+ _Sammlung_, III, plate x)
+
+ 5 K. F. von Schinkel: project for Neue 29
+ Wache, Berlin, 1816 (from Schinkel,
+ _Sammlung_, I, plate 1)
+
+ 6 K. F. von Schinkel: Berlin, Altes 31
+ Museum, 1824-8, section (from
+ Schinkel, _Sammlung_, I, plate 40)
+
+ 7 K. F. von Schinkel: Berlin, Feilner 34
+ house, 1829, elevation (from Schinkel,
+ _Sammlung_, plate 113)
+
+ 8 Gottfried Semper: Dresden, Opera House 37
+ (first), 1837-41, plan (from Semper,
+ Das _Königliche Hoftheater_, plate 1)
+
+ 9 J.-I. Hittorff: project for country 47
+ house for Comte de W., 1830, elevation
+ (from Normand, _Paris moderne_, I,
+ plate 71)
+
+ 10 John Nash: London, Regent Street and 65
+ Regent’s Park, 1812-27, plan (from
+ Summerson, _John Nash_)
+
+ 11 John Haviland: Philadelphia, Eastern 79
+ Penitentiary, 1823-35, plan (from
+ Crawford, _Report_, plate 1)
+
+ 12 Thomas Jefferson: Charlottesville, Va., 83
+ University of Virginia, 1817-26, plan
+ (from Kimball, _Thomas Jefferson_)
+
+ 13 Isaiah Rogers: Boston, Tremont House, 87
+ 1828-9, plan (from Eliot, _A
+ Description of the Tremont House_)
+
+ 14 H.-P.-F. Labrouste: Paris, Bibliothèque 125
+ Sainte-Geneviève, (1839), 1843-50,
+ section (from _Allgemeine Bauzeitung_,
+ 1851, plate 386)
+
+ 15 J.-L.-C. Garnier: Paris, Opéra, 1863-74, 139
+ plan (from Garnier, _Nouvel opéra_, I,
+ plate 9)
+
+ 16 Vilhelm Petersen and Ferdinand Jensen: 156
+ Copenhagen, Søtorvet, 1873-6,
+ elevation (Kunstakademiets Bibliotek,
+ Copenhagen)
+
+ 17 Antoni Gaudí: project for Palau Güell, 203
+ Barcelona, 1885, elevation (from
+ Ráfols, _Gaudí_, p. 54)
+
+ 18 W. Eden Nesfield: Kew Gardens, Lodge, 208
+ 1867, elevation (Courtesy of Victoria
+ and Albert Museum)
+
+ 19 R. Norman Shaw: Leyswood, Sussex, 1868, 210
+ plan (from Muthesius, _Das Englische
+ Haus_, I, figure 81)
+
+ 20 D. H. Burnham and F. L. Olmsted: 231
+ Chicago, World’s Fair, 1893, plan
+ (from Edgell, _American Architecture
+ of Today_, figure 36)
+
+ 21 T. F. Hunt: house-plan, 1827 (from Hunt, 255
+ _Designs for Parsonage Houses_, plate
+ IV)
+
+ 22 A. J. Downing: house-plan, 1842 (from 258
+ Downing, _Cottage Residences_, figure
+ 50)
+
+ 23 Philip Webb: Arisaig, Inverness-shire, 260
+ 1863, plan (Courtesy of J.
+ Brandon-Jones)
+
+ 24 Nesfield & Shaw: Cloverley Hall, 261
+ Shropshire, 1865-8, plan (from
+ _Architectural Review_, 1 (1897), p.
+ 244)
+
+ 25 Philip Webb: Barnet, Hertfordshire, 262
+ Trevor Hall, 1868-70, plan (Courtesy
+ of Victoria and Albert Museum)
+
+ 26 W. R. Emerson: Mount Desert, Maine, 266
+ house, 1879, plan (from Scully, _The
+ Shingle Style_, figure 46)
+
+ 27 McKim, Mead & White: Newport, R.I., 268
+ Isaac Bell, Jr, house, 1881-2, plan
+ (from Sheldon, _Artistic Houses_)
+
+ 28 Bruce Price: Tuxedo Park, N.Y., Tower 270
+ House, 1885-6 (from Scully, _The
+ Shingle Style_, figure 109)
+
+ 29 Frank Lloyd Wright: Chicago, Isidore 272
+ Heller house, 1897, plan (from
+ Hitchcock, _In the Nature of
+ Materials_, figure 44)
+
+ 30 Frank Lloyd Wright: Chicago, J. W. 273
+ Husser house, 1899, plan (from
+ Hitchcock, _In the Nature of
+ Materials_, figure 46)
+
+ 31 Frank Lloyd Wright: Kankakee, Ill., 274
+ Warren Hickox house, 1900, plan (from
+ Hitchcock, _In the Nature of
+ Materials_, figure 54)
+
+ 32 C. F. A. Voysey: Lake Windermere, 277
+ Broadleys, 1898-9, plan (Courtesy of
+ J. Brandon-Jones)
+
+ 33 M. H. Baillie Scott: Trevista, c. 1905, 278
+ plan (from Baillie Scott, _Houses and
+ Gardens_, 1906, p. 155)
+
+ 34 Victor Horta: Brussels, Aubecq house, 290
+ 1900, plan (Courtesy of J. Delhaye)
+
+ 35 Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Casa Milá, 304
+ 1905-10, plan of typical floor
+ (Courtesy of Amics de Gaudí)
+
+ 36 Auguste Perret: Paris, block of flats, 311
+ 25 bis Rue Franklin, 1902-3, plan
+ (from _Architecture d’Aujourd’hui_,
+ October 1932, p. 19)
+
+ 37 Auguste Perret: Le Raincy, S.-et-O., 313
+ Notre-Dame, 1922-3, plan (from
+ Pfammatter, _Betonkirchen_, p. 38)
+
+ 38 Frank Lloyd Wright: Highland Park, Ill., 322
+ W. W. Willitts house, 1902, plan (from
+ Hitchcock, _In the Nature of
+ Materials_, figure 74)
+
+ 39 Frank Lloyd Wright: Glencoe, Ill., W. A. 323
+ Glasner house, 1905, plan (from
+ Hitchcock, _In the Nature of
+ Materials_, figure 111)
+
+ 40 Frank Lloyd Wright: Pasadena, Cal., Mrs 327
+ G. M. Millard house, 1923, plans (from
+ Hitchcock, _In the Nature of
+ Materials_, figure 251)
+
+ 41 Frank Lloyd Wright: Minneapolis, M. C. 328
+ Willey house, 1934, plan (from
+ Hitchcock, _In the Nature of
+ Materials_, figure 317)
+
+ 42 Frank Lloyd Wright: Middleton, Wis., 331
+ Herbert Jacobs house, 1948, plan (from
+ Hitchcock and Drexler, _Built in
+ U.S.A._, p. 121)
+
+ 43 Adolf Loos: Vienna, Gustav Scheu house, 353
+ 1912, plan (Courtesy of Dr Ludwig
+ Münz)
+
+ 44 Le Corbusier: First project for Citrohan 368
+ house, 1919-20, perspective (from Le
+ Corbusier, _Œuvre complète_, I, p. 31)
+
+ 45 Le Corbusier: Second project for 369
+ Citrohan house, 1922, plans and
+ section (from Le Corbusier, _Œuvre
+ complète_, I, p. 44)
+
+ 46 Le Corbusier: Vaucresson, S.-et-O., 371
+ house, 1923, plans (from Le Corbusier,
+ _Œuvre complète_, I, p. 51)
+
+ 47 Le Corbusier: Poissy, S.-et-O., Savoye 372
+ house, 1929-30, plan (from Hitchcock,
+ _Modern Architecture_, p. 67)
+
+ 48 Walter Gropius: Dessau, Bauhaus, 1925-6, 374
+ plans (from Hitchcock, _Modern
+ Architecture_, p. 67)
+
+ 49 Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Project for 375
+ brick country house, 1922, plan (from
+ Johnson, _Mies van der Rohe_, p. 32)
+
+ 50 Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Brno, 376
+ Tugendhat house, 1930, plan (from
+ Hitchcock, _Modern Architecture_, p.
+ 127)
+
+ 51 Le Corbusier: Marseilles, Unité 386
+ d’Habitation, 1946-52, section of
+ three storeys (from Le Corbusier,
+ _Œuvre complète_, V, p. 211)
+
+ 52 Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Chicago, 389
+ Illinois Institute of Technology,
+ 1939-41, general plan (from Johnson,
+ _Mies van der Rohe_, 2nd ed., p. 134)
+
+ 53 Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Plano, Ill., 390
+ Dr Edith Farnsworth House, 1950, plan
+ (from Johnson, _Mies van der Rohe_, p.
+ 170)
+
+ 54 Sir Edwin Lutyens: Hampstead Garden 406
+ Suburb, London, North and South
+ Squares, 1908 (from Weaver, _Houses
+ and Gardens_ (Country Life), 1913,
+ figure 480)
+
+ 55 Saarinen & Saarinen: Warren, Mich., 419
+ General Motors Technical Institute,
+ 1946-55, layout (Courtesy of General
+ Motors)
+
+ 56 Osvaldo Arthur Bratke: São Paulo, 425
+ Morumbí, Bratke house, 1953, plan
+ (from Hitchcock, _Latin American
+ Architecture_, p. 174)
+
+ 57 Philip Johnson: Wayzata, Minn., Richard 426
+ S. Davis house, 1954 (from
+ _Architectural Review_, 1955, pp.
+ 236-47)
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ LIST OF PLATES
+
+
+ ABBREVIATION N.B.R. – NATIONAL BUILDINGS RECORD
+
+
+ 1 J.-G. Soufflot and others: Paris, Panthéon
+ (Sainte-Geneviève), 1757-90 (Archives
+ Photographiques—Paris)
+
+ 2 (A) C.-N. Ledoux: Paris, Barrière de la Villette,
+ 1784-9 (Archives Photographiques—Paris)
+
+ 2 (B) C.-N. Ledoux: Project for Coopery, c. 1785 (from
+ Ledoux, _L’ Architecture_, 1)
+
+ 2 (C) L.-E. Boullée: Project for City Hall, c. 1785 (H.
+ Rosenau)
+
+ 3 Sir John Soane: London, Bank of England, Consols
+ Office, 1794 (F. R. Yerbury)
+
+ 4 (A) Sir John Soane: London, Bank of England, Waiting
+ Room Court, 1804 (F. R. Yerbury)
+
+ 4 (B) C. F. Hansen: Copenhagen, Vor Frue Kirke, 1811-29
+ (Kongelige Bibliotek, Copenhagen)
+
+ 5 Benjamin H. Latrobe: Baltimore, Catholic
+ Cathedral, 1805-18 (J. H. Schaefer & Son)
+
+ 6 (A) Sir John Soane: Tyringham, Buckinghamshire,
+ Entrance Gate, 1792-7 (Soane Museum)
+
+ 6 (B) Percier and Fontaine: Paris, Rue de Rivoli,
+ 1802-55 (A. Leconte)
+
+ 7 J.-F.-T. Chalgrin and others: Paris, Arc de
+ Triomphe de l’Étoile, 1806-35 (Giraudon)
+
+ 8 (A) Thomas de Thomon: Petersburg, Bourse, 1804-16
+ (Courtesy of T. J. McCormick)
+
+ 8 (B) A.-T. Brongniart and others: Paris, Bourse,
+ 1808-15 (R. Viollet)
+
+ 9 (A) Friedrich Gilly: Project for monument to Frederick
+ the Great, 1797 (F. Stoedtner)
+
+ 9 (B) Leo von Klenze: Munich, Glyptothek, 1816-30 (F.
+ Kaufmann)
+
+ 10 (A) Friedrich Weinbrenner: Karlsruhe, Marktplatz,
+ 1804-24 (Staatliches Amt für Denkmalpflege,
+ Karlsruhe)
+
+ 10 (B) Friedrich von Gärtner: Munich, Ludwigskirche and
+ Staatsbibliothek, 1829-40 and 1831-40 (from an
+ engraving by E. Rauch)
+
+ 11 (A) Heinrich Hübsch: Baden-Baden, Trinkhalle, 1840 (H.
+ Kuhn)
+
+ 11 (B) Wimmel & Forsmann: Hamburg, Johanneum, 1836-9 (E.
+ Gorsten)
+
+ 12 K. F. von Schinkel: Berlin, Schauspielhaus,
+ 1819-21
+
+ 13 K. F. von Schinkel: Berlin, Altes Museum, 1824-8
+
+ 14 (A) K. F. von Schinkel: Potsdam, Court Gardener’s
+ House, 1829-31
+
+ 14 (B) G. L. F. Laves: Hanover, Opera House, 1845-52 (H.
+ Wagner)
+
+ 15 Ludwig Persius: Potsdam, Friedenskirche, 1845-8
+
+ 16 (A) Leo von Klenze: Regensburg (nr), Walhalla, 1831-42
+ (from Klenze, _Walhalla_, plate VI)
+
+ 16 (B) M. G. B. Bindesbøll: Copenhagen, Thorwaldsen
+ Museum, Court, 1839-48 (Jonals)
+
+ 17 (A) Friedrich von Gärtner: Athens, Old Palace, 1837-41
+ (Tensi)
+
+ 17 (B) Peter Speeth: Würzburg, Frauenzuchthaus, 1809 (F.
+ Stoedtner)
+
+ 18 (A) P.-F.-L. Fontaine: Paris, Chapelle Expiatoire,
+ 1816-24 (Archives Photographiques—Paris)
+
+ 18 (B) L.-H. Lebas: Paris, Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, 1823-36
+ (Archives Photographiques—Paris)
+
+ 19 J.-B. Lepère and J.-I. Hittorff: Paris,
+ Saint-Vincent-de-Paul, 1824-44 (from _Paris dans
+ sa splendeur_)
+
+ 20 Douillard Frères: Nantes, Hospice Général, 1832-6
+ (from Gourlier, _Choix d’édifices publics_, III)
+
+ 21 H.-P.-F. Labrouste: Paris, Bibliothèque
+ Sainte-Geneviève, 1843-50 (Bulloz)
+
+ 22 (A) É.-H. Godde and J.-B. Lesueur: Paris, extension of
+ Hôtel de Ville, 1837-49 (from a contemporary
+ lithograph)
+
+ 22 (B) F.-A. Duquesney: Paris, Gare de l’Est, 1847-52
+ (Archives Photographiques—Paris)
+
+ 23 (A) Giuseppe Jappelli and Antonio Gradenigo: Padua,
+ Caffè Pedrocchi, 1816-31 (Alinari)
+
+ 23 (B) Antonio Niccolini: Naples, San Carlo Opera House,
+ 1810-12 (Alinari)
+
+ 24 Raffaelle Stern: Rome, Vatican Museum, Braccio
+ Nuovo, 1817-21 (D. Anderson)
+
+ 25 A. de Simone: Caserta, Royal Palace, Sala di
+ Marte, 1807 (Alinari)
+
+ 26 (A) Pietro Bianchi: Naples, San Francesco di Paola,
+ 1816-24 (Alinari)
+
+ 26 (B) Giuseppe Frizzi and others: Turin, Piazza Vittorio
+ Veneto, laid out in 1818; with Gran Madre di Dio
+ by Ferdinando Bonsignore, 1818-31 (G.
+ Cambursano)
+
+ 27 (A) A. A. Monferran: Petersburg, St Isaac’s Cathedral,
+ 1817-57 (Mansell)
+
+ 27 (B) A. A. Monferran: Petersburg, Alexander Column,
+ 1829; and K. I. Rossi: Petersburg, General Staff
+ Arches, 1819-29 (Courtesy of T. J. McCormick)
+
+ 27 (C) A.-J. Pellechet: Paris, block of flats, 10 Place
+ de la Bourse, 1834 (J. R. Johnson)
+
+ 28 (A) Sir John Soane: London, Royal Hospital, Chelsea,
+ Stables, 1814-17 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 28 (B) Sir John Soane: London, Bank of England, Colonial
+ Office, 1818-23 (F. R. Yerbury)
+
+ 29 Alexander Thomson: Glasgow, Caledonia Road Free
+ Church, 1856-7 (T. & R. Annan)
+
+ 30 John Nash: London, Piccadilly Circus and Lower
+ Regent Street, 1817-19 (from lithograph by T. S.
+ Boys)
+
+ 31 London, Hyde Park Corner: Decimus Burton, Screen,
+ 1825, Arch, 1825; William Wilkins, St George’s
+ Hospital, 1827-8; Benjamin Dean Wyatt, Apsley
+ House, 1828 (from lithograph by T. S. Boys)
+
+ 32 John Nash and James Thomson: London, Regent’s
+ Park, Cumberland Terrace, 1826-7 (A. F.
+ Kersting)
+
+ 33 Sir Robert Smirke: London, British Museum, south
+ front, completed 1847 (A. F. Kersting)
+
+ 34 (A) H. L. Elmes: Liverpool, St George’s Hall, 1841-54
+ (Hulton Picture Library)
+
+ 34 (B) W. H. Playfair: Edinburgh, Royal Scottish
+ Institution, National Gallery of Scotland, and
+ Free Church College, 1822-36, 1850-4, and
+ 1846-50 (F. C. Inglis)
+
+ 35 (A) Alexander Thomson: Glasgow, Moray Place,
+ Strathbungo, 1859 (T. & R. Annan)
+
+ 35 (B) Sir Charles Barry: London, Travellers’ Club and
+ Reform Club, 1830-2 and 1838-40 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 36 J. W. Wild: London, Christ Church, Streatham,
+ 1840-2 (J. R. Johnson)
+
+ 37 (A) Sir Charles Barry: original design for Highclere
+ Castle, Hampshire, _c._ 1840 (S. W. Newbery)
+
+ 37 (B) Cuthbert Brodrick: Leeds, Corn Exchange, 1860-3
+ (N.B.R.)
+
+ 38 (A) Robert Mills: Washington, Treasury Department,
+ 1836-42 (Horydczak)
+
+ 38 (B) Thomas Jefferson: Charlottesville, Va. University
+ of Virginia, 1817-26 (F. Nichols)
+
+ 39 (A) Thomas U. Walter and others: Columbus, Ohio, State
+ Capitol, 1839-61 (Ohio Development and Publicity
+ Commission)
+
+ 39 (B) James C. Bucklin: Providence, R.I., Washington
+ Buildings, 1843 (F. Hacker)
+
+ 40 William Strickland: Philadelphia, Merchants’
+ Exchange, 1832-4 (Historical Society of
+ Pennsylvania)
+
+ 41 Isaiah Rogers: Boston, Tremont House, 1828-9 (from
+ Eliot, _A Description of the Tremont House_)
+
+ 42 (A) A. J. Davis: New York, Colonnade Row, 1832 (W.
+ Andrews)
+
+ 42 (B) Russell Warren: Newport, R.I., Elmhyrst, _c._ 1833
+ (from Hitchcock, _Rhode Island Architecture_)
+
+ 43 (A) Henry A. Sykes: Springfield, Mass., Stebbins
+ house, 1849 (R.E. Pope)
+
+ 43 (B) Alexander Parris: Boston, David Sears house, 1816
+ (Southworth & Hawes)
+
+ 44 Thomas A. Tefft: Providence, R.I., Union Station,
+ begun 1848 (R.I. Historical Society)
+
+ 45 Amherst, Mass., Amherst College, Dormitories,
+ 1821-2, Chapel, 1827 (Courtesy of Amherst
+ College)
+
+ 46 William Clarke: Utica, N.Y., Insane Asylum,
+ 1837-43 (Courtesy of Munson-Williams-Proctor
+ Institute)
+
+ 47 (A) John Notman: Philadelphia, Atheneum, 1845-7 (W.
+ Andrews)
+
+ 47 (B) J. M. J. Rebelo: Rio de Janeiro, Palacio
+ Itamaratí, 1851-4 (G. E. Kidder Smith)
+
+ 48 John Nash: Brighton, Royal Pavilion, as remodelled
+ 1815-23 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 49 C. A. Busby: Gwrych Castle, near Abergele,
+ completed 1815
+
+ 50 (A) John Nash: Blaise Hamlet, near Bristol, 1811
+ (N.B.R.)
+
+ 50 (B) Thomas Rickman and Henry Hutchinson: Cambridge, St
+ John’s College, New Court, 1825-31 (A. C.
+ Barrington Brown)
+
+ 51 G. M. Kemp: Edinburgh, Sir Walter Scott Monument,
+ 1840-6 (F. C. Inglis)
+
+ 52 (A) A. W. N. Pugin: Cheadle, Staffordshire, St
+ Giles’s, 1841-6 (M. Whiffen)
+
+ 52 (B) Sir G. G. Scott: Hamburg, Nikolaikirche, 1845-63
+ (Staatliche Landesbildstelle, Hamburg)
+
+ 53 (A) Richard Upjohn: New York, Trinity Church, _c._
+ 1844-6 (W. Andrews)
+
+ 53 (B) Richard Upjohn: Utica, N.Y., City Hall, 1852-3 (H.
+ Lott)
+
+ 54 Sir Charles Barry: London, Houses of Parliament,
+ 1840-65 (A. F. Kersting)
+
+ 55 (A) Salem, Mass., First Unitarian (North) Church,
+ 1836-7 (Courtesy of Essex Institute, Salem)
+
+ 55 (B) F.-C. Gau and Théodore Ballu: Paris,
+ Sainte-Clotilde, 1846-57 (from _Paris dans sa
+ splendeur_)
+
+ 56 E.-E. Viollet-le-Duc: Paris, block of flats, 28
+ Rue de Liège, 1846-8 (J. R. Johnson)
+
+ 57 (A) Alexis de Chateauneuf and Fersenfeld: Hamburg,
+ Petrikirche, 1843-9
+
+ 57 (B) G. A. Demmler and F. A. Stüler: Schwerin, Schloss,
+ 1844-57 (Institut für Denkmalpflege, Schwerin)
+
+ 58 (A) John Nash: Brighton, Royal Pavilion, Kitchen,
+ 1818-21 (Brighton Corporation)
+
+ 58 (B) Thomas Telford: Menai Strait, Menai Bridge,
+ 1819-24 (W. Scott)
+
+ 59 Thomas Telford: Craigellachie Bridge, 1815 (A.
+ Reiach)
+
+ 60 (A) John A. Roebling: Niagara Falls, Suspension
+ Bridge, 1852 (Courtesy of Eastman House)
+
+ 60 (B) Thomas Hopper: London, Carlton House,
+ Conservatory, 1811-12 (from Pyne, _Royal
+ Residences_, III)
+
+ 61 Robert Stephenson and Francis Thompson: Menai
+ Strait, Britannia Bridge, 1845-50 (Hulton
+ Picture Library)
+
+ 62 (A) Grisart & Froehlicher: Paris, Galeries du Commerce
+ et de l’Industrie, section, 1838 (from Normand,
+ _Paris Moderne_, II)
+
+ 62 (B) Robert Stephenson and Francis Thompson: Derby,
+ Trijunct Railway Station, 1839-41 (from Russell,
+ _Nature on Stone_)
+
+ 63 J. B. Bunning: London, Coal Exchange, 1846-9 (from
+ _Builder_, 29 Sept. 1849)
+
+ 64 Sir Joseph Paxton and Fox & Henderson: London,
+ Crystal Palace, 1850-1 (from _Builder_, 4 Jan.
+ 1851)
+
+ 65 I. K. Brunel and Sir M. D. Wyatt: London,
+ Paddington Station, 1852-4 (from _Illustrated
+ London News_, 8 July 1854)
+
+ 66 (A) Lewis Cubitt: London, King’s Cross Station, 1851-2
+ (British Railways)
+
+ 66 (B) Karl Etzel: Vienna, Dianabad, 1841-3 (from
+ _Allgemeine Bauzeitung_, 1843)
+
+ 67 (A) Decimus Burton and Richard Turner: Kew, Palm
+ Stove, 1845-7 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 67 (B) James Bogardus; New York, Laing Stores, 1849 (B.
+ Abbott)
+
+ 68 L.-T.-J. Visconti and H.-M. Lefuel: Paris, New
+ Louvre, 1852-7 (Giraudon)
+
+ 69 H.-P.-F. Labrouste: Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale,
+ Reading Room, 1862-8 (Chevojon)
+
+ 70 (A) H.-J. Espérandieu: Marseilles, Palais Longchamps,
+ 1862-9 (R. Viollet)
+
+ 70 (B) J.-L.-C. Garnier: Paris, Opéra, 1861-74 (Édition
+ Alfa)
+
+ 70 (C) Charles Rohault de Fleury and Henri Blondel:
+ Paris, Place de l’Opéra, 1858-64 (Chevojon)
+
+ 71 J.-L.-C. Garnier: Paris, Opéra, Foyer, 1861-74
+ (Bulloz)
+
+ 72 (A) J.-A.-E. Vaudremer: Paris,
+ Saint-Pierre-de-Montrouge, 1864-70 (R. Viollet)
+
+ 72 (B) J.-F. Duban: Paris, École des Beaux-Arts, 1860-2
+ (Giraudon)
+
+ 73 (A) Gottfried Semper and Karl von Hasenauer: Vienna,
+ Burgtheater, 1874-88 (Österreichische
+ Nationalbibliothek)
+
+ 73 (B) Theophil von Hansen: Vienna, Heinrichshof, 1861-3
+ (from a water-colour by Rudolf von Alt)
+
+ 74 Vienna, Ringstrasse, begun 1858 (from a
+ water-colour by Rudolf von Alt)
+
+ 75 (A) A.-F. Mortier: Paris, block of flats, 11 Rue de
+ Milan, _c._ 1860 (J. R. Johnson)
+
+ 75 (B) Giuseppe Mengoni: Milan, Galleria Vittorio
+ Emmanuele, 1865-77 (Alinari)
+
+ 76 (A) Gaetano Koch: Rome, Esedra, 1885 (Fotorapida
+ Terni)
+
+ 76 (B) J.-A.-F.-A. Pellechet: Barnard Castle, Co. Durham,
+ Bowes Museum, 1869-75 (Copyright Country Life)
+
+ 77 (A) Friedrich Hitzig: Berlin, Exchange, 1859-63 (F.
+ Stoedtner)
+
+ 77 (B) Julius Raschdorf: Cologne, Opera House, 1870-2
+ (Courtesy of Rheinisches Museum, Cologne)
+
+ 78 (A) Cuthbert Brodrick: Leeds, Town Hall, 1855-9
+ (N.B.R.)
+
+ 78 (B) Sir Charles Barry: Halifax, Town Hall, 1860-2
+ (N.B.R.)
+
+ 79 Cuthbert Brodrick: Scarborough, Grand Hotel,
+ 1863-7 (Walkers Studios)
+
+ 80 (A) John Giles: London, Langham Hotel, 1864-6 (Bedford
+ Lemere)
+
+ 80 (B) London, 1-5 Grosvenor Place, begun 1867 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 81 Joseph Poelaert: Brussels, Palace of Justice,
+ 1866-83 (Archives Centrales Iconographiques,
+ Brussels)
+
+ 82 (A) Thomas U. Walter: Washington, Capitol, Wings and
+ Dome, 1851-65; Central Block by William Thornton
+ and others, 1792-1828 (from _American
+ Architect_, 30 Jan. 1904)
+
+ 82 (B) Arthur B. Mullet; Arthur Gilman consultant:
+ Washington, State, War and Navy Department
+ Building, 1871-5 (Horydczak)
+
+ 83 (A) Sir M. D. Wyatt: London, Alford House, 1872
+ (Victoria and Albert Museum, Crown Copyright)
+
+ 83 (B) Francis Fowke: London, Victoria and Albert Museum,
+ Court, begun 1866 (Victoria and Albert Museum,
+ Crown Copyright)
+
+ 84 Georg von Dollmann: Schloss Linderhof, near
+ Oberammergau, 1870-86 (L. Aufsberg)
+
+ 85 William Butterfield: London, All Saints’, Margaret
+ Street, interior, 1849-59 (S.W. Newbery)
+
+ 86 (A) William Butterfield: London, All Saints’, Margaret
+ Street, Schools and Clergy House, 1849-59 (S.W.
+ Newbery)
+
+ 86 (B) Deane & Woodward: Oxford, University Museum,
+ 1855-9
+
+ 87 William Butterfield: Baldersby St James,
+ Yorkshire, St James’s, 1856 (R. Cox)
+
+ 88 William Burges: Hartford, Conn., project for
+ Trinity College, 1873 (from Pullan,
+ _Architectural Designs of William Burges_)
+
+ 89 (A) Henry Clutton: Leamington, Warwickshire, St
+ Peter’s, 1861-5 (J. E. Duggins)
+
+ 89 (B) James Brooks: London, St Saviour’s, Hoxton, 1865-7
+ (N.B.R.)
+
+ 90 Sir G. G. Scott: London, Albert Memorial, 1863-72
+ (A. F. Kersting)
+
+ 91 (A) J. P. Seddon: Aberystwyth, University College,
+ begun 1864 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 91 (B) H. H. Richardson: Medford, Mass., Grace Church,
+ 1867-8 (from _American Architect_, 8 Feb. 1890)
+
+ 92 (A) E. W. Godwin: Congleton, Cheshire, Town Hall,
+ 1864-7 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 92 (B) G. F. Bodley: Pendlebury, Lancashire, St
+ Augustine’s, 1870-4 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 93 (A) J. L. Pearson: London, St Augustine’s, Kilburn,
+ 1870-80 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 93 (B) Edmund E. Scott: Brighton, St Bartholomew’s,
+ completed 1875 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 94 (A) R. Norman Shaw: Bingley, Yorkshire, Holy Trinity,
+ 1866-7 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 94 (B) G. E. Street: London, St James the Less, Thorndike
+ Street, 1858-61 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 95 (A) Ware & Van Brunt: Cambridge, Mass., Memorial Hall,
+ 1870-8 (J. K. Ufford)
+
+ 95 (B) Frank Furness: Philadelphia, Provident Life and
+ Trust Company, 1879 (J. L. Dillon & Co.)
+
+ 96 (A) Russell Sturgis: New Haven, Conn., Yale College,
+ Farnam Hall, 1869-70 (C. L. V. Meeks)
+
+ 96 (B) Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Palau Güell, 1885-9
+ (Arxiu Mas)
+
+ 97 (A) Fuller & Jones: Ottawa, Canada, Parliament House,
+ 1859-67 (Courtesy of Public Archives of Canada)
+
+ 97 (B) William Morris and Philip Webb: London, Victoria
+ and Albert Museum, Refreshment Room, 1867
+ (Victoria and Albert Museum, Crown copyright)
+
+ 98 E.-E. Viollet-le-Duc: St-Denis, Seine,
+ Saint-Denys-de-l’Estrée, 1864-7 (Archives
+ Photographiques—Paris)
+
+ 99 (A) Heinrich von Ferstel: Vienna, Votivkirche, 1856-79
+ (P. Ledermann)
+
+ 99 (B) Friedrich von Schmidt: Vienna, Fünfhaus Parish
+ Church, 1868-75 (Österreichische
+ Nationalbibliothek)
+
+ 100 G. E. Street: Rome, St Paul’s American Church,
+ 1873-6 (Alinari)
+
+ 101 (A) E.-E. Viollet-le-Duc: Paris, block of flats, 15
+ Rue de Douai, c. 1860 (J. R. Johnson)
+
+ 101 (B) P. J. H. Cuijpers: Amsterdam, Maria Magdalenakerk,
+ 1887 (Lichtbeelden Instituut)
+
+ 101 (C) P. J. H. Cuijpers: Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum, 1877-85
+ (J. G. van Agtmaal)
+
+ 102 (A) Philip Webb: Smeaton Manor, Yorkshire, 1877-9 (O.
+ H. Wicksteed)
+
+ 102 (B) R. Norman Shaw: Withyham, Sussex, Glen Andred,
+ 1866-7 (Courtesy of F. Goodwin)
+
+ 103 R. Norman Shaw: London, Old Swan House, 1876
+ (Bedford Lemere)
+
+ 104 (A) R. Norman Shaw: London, Albert Hall Mansions, 1879
+ (N.B.R.)
+
+ 104 (B) George & Peto: London, W. S. Gilbert house, 1882
+ (Bedford Lemere)
+
+ 105 R. Norman Shaw: London, Fred White house, 1887
+ (Bedford Lemere)
+
+ 106 (A) R. Norman Shaw: London, Holy Trinity, Latimer
+ Road, 1887-9 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 106 (B) R. Norman Shaw: London, New Scotland Yard, 1887
+ (Bedford Lemere)
+
+ 107 R. Norman Shaw: London, Piccadilly Hotel, 1905-8
+ (Bedford Lemere)
+
+ 108 (A) H. H. Richardson: Boston, Trinity Church, 1873-7
+ (from Van Rensselaer, _Henry Hobson Richardson_,
+ 1888)
+
+ 108 (B) H. H. Richardson: Pittsburgh, Penna., Allegheny
+ County Jail, 1884-8
+
+ 109 (A) Charles B. Atwood: Chicago, World’s Fair, Fine
+ Arts Building, 1892-3 (from _American
+ Architect_, 22 Oct. 1892)
+
+ 109 (B) McKim, Mead & White: New York, Villard houses,
+ 1883-5 (from _Monograph_, 1)
+
+ 110 H. H. Richardson: Quincy, Mass., Crane Library,
+ 1880-3 (W. Andrews)
+
+ 111 McKim, Mead & White: Boston, Public Library,
+ 1888-92 (W. Andrews)
+
+ 112 (A) C. R. Cockerell: Liverpool, Bank Chambers, 1849
+ (J. R. Johnson)
+
+ 112 (B) Alexander Parris: Boston, North Market Street,
+ designed 1823 (B. Abbott)
+
+ 113 E. W. Godwin: Bristol, 104 Stokes Croft, _c._ 1862
+ (N.B.R.)
+
+ 114 (A) Peter Ellis: Liverpool, Oriel Chambers, 1864-5
+ (N.B.R.)
+
+ 114 (B) Lockwood & Mawson(?): Bradford, Yorkshire,
+ Kassapian’s Warehouse, _c._ 1862 (N.B.R.)
+
+ 115 (A) George B. Post: New York, Western Union Building,
+ 1873-5 (Courtesy of Museum of the City of New
+ York)
+
+ 115 (B) D. H. Burnham & Co.: Chicago, Reliance Building,
+ 1894 (Chicago Architectural Photographing Co.)
+
+ 116 (A) H. H. Richardson: Hartford, Conn., Brown-Thompson
+ Department Store (Cheney Block), 1875-6
+
+ 116 (B) H. H. Richardson: Chicago, Marshall Field
+ Wholesale Store, 1885-7 (Chicago Architectural
+ Photographing Co.)
+
+ 117 (A) Adler & Sullivan: Chicago, Auditorium Building,
+ 1887-9 (Chicago Architectural Photographing Co.)
+
+ 117 (B) William Le B. Jenney: Chicago, Sears, Roebuck &
+ Co. (Leiter) Building, 1889-90 (Chicago
+ Architectural Photographing Co.)
+
+ 118 Adler & Sullivan: St Louis, Wainwright Building,
+ 1890-1 (Bill Hedrich, Hedrich-Blessing)
+
+ 119 Adler & Sullivan: Buffalo, N.Y., Guaranty
+ Building, 1894-5 (Chicago Architectural
+ Photographing Co.)
+
+ 120 Holabird & Roche; Louis H. Sullivan: Chicago,
+ 19-20 South Michigan Avenue; Gage Building,
+ 1898-9 (Chicago Architectural Photographing Co.)
+
+ 121 Louis H. Sullivan: Chicago, Carson, Pirie & Scott
+ Department Store, 1899-1901, 1903-4 (Chicago
+ Architectural Photographing Co.)
+
+ 122 (A) J. B. Papworth: ‘Cottage Orné’, 1818 (from _Rural
+ Residences_, plate XIII)
+
+ 122 (B) William Butterfield: Coalpitheath,
+ Gloucestershire, St Saviour’s Vicarage, 1844-5
+ (N.B.R.)
+
+ 123 R. Norman Shaw: nr Withyham, Sussex, Leyswood,
+ 1868 (from _Building News_, 31 March 1871)
+
+ 124 (A) Dudley Newton: Middletown, R.I., Sturtevant house,
+ 1872 (W. K. Covell)
+
+ 124 (B) H. H. Richardson: Cambridge, Mass., Stoughton
+ house, 1882-3 (from Sheldon, _Artistic Country
+ Seats_, 1)
+
+ 125 (A) McKim, Mead & White: Elberon, N.J., H. Victor
+ Newcomb house, 1880-1 (from _Artistic Houses_,
+ 2, Pt I)
+
+ 125 (B) Bruce Price: Tuxedo Park, N.Y., Pierre Lorillard
+ house, 1885-6 (from Sheldon, _Artistic Country
+ Seats_, II)
+
+ 126 McKim, Mead & White: Newport R.I., Isaac Bell, Jr,
+ house, 1881-2
+
+ 127 McKim, Mead & White: Bristol, R.I., W. G. Low
+ house, 1887
+
+ 128 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: River Forest, Ill., W. H.
+ Winslow house, 1893
+
+ 128 (B) Frank Lloyd Wright: River Forest, Ill., River
+ Forest Golf Club, 1898, 1901 (from _Ausgeführte
+ Bauten und Entwürfe_, 1910, pl. xi)
+
+ 129 (A) C. F. A. Voysey: Hog’s Back, Surrey, Julian
+ Sturgis house, elevation, 1896 (Courtesy of
+ Royal Institute of British Architects)
+
+ 129 (B) C. F. A. Voysey: Lake Windermere, Broadleys,
+ 1898-9 (Courtesy of J. Brandon-Jones)
+
+ 130 (A) Gustave Eiffel: Paris, Eiffel Tower, 1887-9 (N. D.
+ Giraudon)
+
+ 130 (B) Baron Victor Horta: Brussels, Tassel house, 1892-3
+
+ 131 (A) Baron Victor Horta: Brussels, Solvay house,
+ 1895-1900 (Archives Centrales Iconographiques,
+ Brussels)
+
+ 131 (B) Baron Victor Horta: Brussels, L’Innovation
+ Department Store, 1901 (F. Stoedtner)
+
+ 132 (A) C. R. Mackintosh: Glasgow, School of Art, 1897-9
+ (T. & R. Annan)
+
+ 132 (B) Baron Victor Horta: Brussels, Maison du Peuple,
+ interior, 1896-9 (F. Stoedtner)
+
+ 133 Frantz Jourdain: Paris, Samaritaine Department
+ Store, 1905 (from _L’Architecte_, II, 1906,
+ plate X)
+
+ 134 (A) Auguste Perret: Paris, block of flats, 119 Avenue
+ Wagram, 1902 (from _L’Architecte_, I, 1906,
+ plate XIV)
+
+ 134 (B) C. Harrison Townsend: London, Whitechapel Art
+ Gallery, 1897-9 (from Muthesius, _Englische
+ Baukunst der Gegenwart_)
+
+ 135 (A) C. R. Mackintosh: Glasgow, School of Art, 1907-8
+ (T. & R. Annan)
+
+ 135 (B) Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Casa Milá, ground storey,
+ 1905-7 (Arxiu Mas)
+
+ 136 Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Casa Batlló, front,
+ 1905-7 (Arxiu Mas)
+
+ 137 (A) Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Casa Milá, 1905-7
+ (Soberanas Postales)
+
+ 137 (B) Hector Guimard: Paris, Gare du Métropolitain,
+ Place Bastille, 1900 (R. Viollet)
+
+ 138 (A) Otto Wagner: Vienna, Majolika Haus, _c._ 1898
+ (from _L’Architecte_, I, 1905)
+
+ 138 (B) H. P. Berlage: London, Holland House, 1914 (from
+ Gratama, _Dr H. P. Berlage, Bouwmeester_)
+
+ 139 (A) Auguste Perret: Paris, Garage Ponthieu, 1905-6 (F.
+ Stoedtner)
+
+ 139 (B) Place de la Porte de Passy, 1930-2 (Chevojon)
+
+ 140 (A) Auguste Perret: Le Havre, Place de l’Hôtel de
+ Ville, 1948-54 (Chevojon)
+
+ 140 (B) Auguste Perret: Paris, Ministry of Marine, Avenue
+ Victor, 1929-30 (Chevojon)
+
+ 141 Auguste Perret: Le Rainey, S.-et-O., Notre-Dame,
+ 1922-3 (Chevojon)
+
+ 142 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: Kankakee, Ill., Warren Hickox
+ house, 1900
+
+ 142 (B) Frank Lloyd Wright: Highland Park, Ill., W. W.
+ Willitts house, 1902 (Fuermann)
+
+ 143 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: Delavan Lake, Wis., C. S. Ross
+ house, 1902
+
+ 143 (B) Frank Lloyd Wright: Oak Park, Ill., Unity Church,
+ 1906 (Russo)
+
+ 144 Frank Lloyd Wright: Pasadena, Cal., Mrs G. M.
+ Millard house, 1923 (W. Albert Martin)
+
+ 145 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: Falling Water, Pennsylvania,
+ 1936-7 (Hedrich-Blessing Studio)
+
+ 145 (B) Frank Lloyd Wright: Pleasantville, N.Y., Sol
+ Friedman house, 1948-9 (Ezra Stoller)
+
+ 146 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: Racine, Wisconsin, S. C.
+ Johnson and Sons, Administration Building and
+ Laboratory Tower, 1936-9 and 1946-9 (Ezra
+ Stoller)
+
+ 146 (B) Bernard Maybeck: Berkeley, Cal., Christian Science
+ Church, 1910 (W. Andrews)
+
+ 147 (A) Greene & Greene: Pasadena, Cal., D. B. Gamble
+ house, 1908-9 (W. Andrews)
+
+ 147 (B) Irving Gill: Los Angeles, Walter Dodge house,
+ 1915-16 (E. McCoy)
+
+ 148 (A) Peter Behrens: Berlin, A.E.G. Small Motors
+ Factory, 1910 (F. Stoedtner)
+
+ 148 (B) Peter Behrens: Hagen-Eppenhausen, Cuno and
+ Schröder houses, 1909-10 (F. Stoedtner)
+
+ 149 (A) Peter Behrens: Berlin, A.E.G. Turbine Factory,
+ 1909 (F. Stoedtner)
+
+ 149 (B) Max Berg: Breslau, Jahrhunderthalle, 1910-12 (F.
+ Stoedtner)
+
+ 150 H. P. Berlage: Amsterdam, Diamond Workers’ Union
+ Building, 1899-1900 (Lichtbeelden Instituut)
+
+ 151 Adolf Loos: Vienna, Kärntner Bar, 1907 (Gerlach)
+
+ 152 Bonatz & Scholer: Stuttgart, Railway Station,
+ 1911-14, 1919-27 (Windstosser)
+
+ 153 (A) Fritz Höger: Hamburg, Chilehaus, 1923 (Staatliche
+ Landesbildstelle, Hamburg)
+
+ 153 (B) Erich Mendelsohn: Neubabelsberg, Einstein Tower,
+ 1921 (F. Stoedtner)
+
+ 154 (A) Josef Hoffmann: Brussels, Stoclet house, 1905-11
+ (Archives Centrales Iconographiques, Brussels)
+
+ 154 (B) Otto Wagner: Vienna, Postal Savings Bank, 1904-6
+ (Österreichische Nationalbibliothek)
+
+ 155 (A) Adolf Loos: Vienna, Gustav Scheu house, 1912 (from
+ Glück, _Adolf Loos_)
+
+ 155 (B) Adolf Loos: Vienna, Leopold Langer flat, 1901
+ (from Glück, _Adolf Loos_)
+
+ 156 (A) Piet Kramer: Amsterdam, De Dageraad housing
+ estate, 1918-23 (Lichtbeelden Instituut)
+
+ 156 (B) Michael de Klerk: Amsterdam, Eigen Haard housing
+ estate, 1917 (Lichtbeelden Instituut)
+
+ 157 (A) W. M. Dudok: Hilversum, Dr Bavinck School, 1921
+ (C. A. Deul)
+
+ 157 (B) Saarinen & Saarinen: Minneapolis, Minn., Christ
+ Lutheran Church, 1949-50 (G. M. Ryan)
+
+ 158 (A) Walter Gropius with Adolf Meyer: Project for
+ Chicago Tribune Tower, 1922 (W. Gropius)
+
+ 158 (B) Walter Gropius and Adolf Meyer:
+ Alfeld-an-der-Leine, Fagus Factory, 1911 (Museum
+ of Modern Art)
+
+ 159 Le Corbusier: Poissy, S.-et-O., Savoye house
+ 1929-30 (L. Hervé)
+
+ 160 (A) Le Corbusier: Second project for Citrohan house,
+ 1922 (from Le Corbusier, _Œuvre complète_, I)
+
+ 160 (B) Le Corbusier: Garches, S.-et-O., Les Terrasses,
+ 1927 (Museum of Modern Art)
+
+ 161 (A) Walter Gropius: Dessau, Bauhaus, 1925-6 (Museum of
+ Modern Art)
+
+ 161 (B) Walter Gropius: Dessau, City Employment Office,
+ 1927-8 (Museum of Modern Art)
+
+ 162 (A) Walter Gropius: Berlin, Siemensstadt housing
+ estate, 1929-30 (Museum of Modern Art)
+
+ 162 (B) Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Stuttgart, block of
+ flats, Weissenhof 1927 (Museum of Modern Art)
+
+ 163 (A) Brinkman & van der Vlugt: Rotterdam, van Nelle
+ Factory, 1927 (E. M. van Ojen)
+
+ 163 (B) J. J. P. Oud: Hook of Holland, housing estate,
+ 1926-7 (Museum of Modern Art)
+
+ 164 (A) J. J. P. Oud: Rotterdam, church, Kiefhoek housing
+ estate, 1928-30 (Museum of Modern Art)
+
+ 164 (B) Gerrit Rietveld: Utrecht, Schroeder house, 1924
+ (F. Stoedtner)
+
+ 165 (A) Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Barcelona, German
+ Exhibition Pavilion, 1929 (F. Stoedtner)
+
+ 165 (B) Le Corbusier: Paris, Swiss Hostel, Cité
+ Universitaire, 1931-2 (L. Hervé)
+
+ 166 Le Corbusier: Marseilles, Unité d’Habitation,
+ 1946-52 (Éditions de France)
+
+ 167 Le Corbusier: Ronchamp, Hte-Saône,
+ Notre-Dame-du-Haut, 1950-4 (L. Hervé)
+
+ 168 (A) Le Corbusier: Éveux-sur-L’Arbresle, Rhône,
+ Dominican monastery of La Tourette, 1957-61 (C.
+ Michael Pearson)
+
+ 168 (B) Eero Saarinen: Warren, Mich., General Motors
+ Technical Institute, 1951-5 (Ezra Stoller)
+
+ 169 Howe & Lescaze: Philadelphia, Philadelphia Savings
+ Fund Society Building, 1932 (Museum of Modern
+ Art)
+
+ 170 Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Chicago, Ill., blocks of
+ flats, 845-60 Lake Shore Drive, 1949-51 (Hube
+ Henry, Hedrich-Blessing)
+
+ 171 Lúcio Costa, Oscar Niemeyer, and others (Le
+ Corbusier consultant): Rio de Janeiro, Ministry
+ of Education and Health, 1937-43 (G. E. Kidder
+ Smith)
+
+ 172 (A) Giuseppe Terragni: Como, Casa del Fascio, 1932-6
+ (G. E. Kidder Smith)
+
+ 172 (B) Tecton: London, Regent’s Park Zoo, Penguin Pool,
+ 1933-5 (Museum of Modern Art)
+
+ 173 (A) Martin Nyrop: Copenhagen, Town Hall, 1893-1902 (F.
+ R. Yerbury)
+
+ 173 (B) Alvar Aalto: Säynatsälo, Municipal Buildings,
+ 1951-3 (M. Quantrill)
+
+ 174 (A) Ragnar Östberg: Stockholm, Town Hall, 1909-23
+ (Lindquist and Svandesson)
+
+ 174 (B) Ragnar Östberg: Stockholm, Town Hall, 1909-23
+ (Lindquist and Svandesson)
+
+ 175 (A) Sigfrid Ericson: Göteborg, Masthugg Church,
+ 1910-14 (Courtesy of G. Paulsson)
+
+ 175 (B) P. V. Jensen Klint: Copenhagen, Grundvig Church,
+ 1913, 1921-6 (F. R. Yerbury)
+
+ 176 (A) E. G. Asplund: Stockholm City Library, 1921-8 (F.
+ R. Yerbury)
+
+ 176 (B) Edward Thomsen and G. B. Hagen: Gentofte Komune,
+ Øregaard School, 1923-4 (F. R. Yerbury)
+
+ 177 (A) Cram & Ferguson: Princeton, N.J., Graduate
+ College, completed 1913 (E. Menzies)
+
+ 177 (B) Reed & Stem and Warren & Wetmore: New York, Grand
+ Central Station, 1903-13 (New York Central
+ Railroad)
+
+ 178 Cass Gilbert: New York, Woolworth Building, 1913
+ (J. H. Heffren)
+
+ 179 McKim, Mead & White: New York, University Club,
+ 1899-1900 (from _Monograph_, II)
+
+ 180 Henry Bacon: Washington, Lincoln Memorial,
+ completed 1917 (Horydczak)
+
+ 181 Sir Edwin Lutyens: Delhi, Viceroy’s House, 1920-31
+ (Copyright Country Life)
+
+ 182 (A) Alvar Aalto: Muuratsälo, architect’s own house,
+ 1953 (Kolmio)
+
+ 182 (B) Sir Edwin Lutyens: Sonning, Deanery Gardens, 1901
+ (Copyright Country Life)
+
+ 183 (A) Victor Laloux: Paris, Gare d’Orsay, 1898-1900 (F.
+ Stoedtner)
+
+ 183 (B) Eugenio Montuori and others: Rome, Termini
+ Station, completed 1951 (Fototeca Centrale F.S.)
+
+ 184 Carlos Lazo and others: Mexico City, University
+ City, begun _c._ 1950 (R. T. McKenna)
+
+ 185 (A) Kay Fisker and Eske Kristensen: Copenhagen,
+ Kongegården Estate, 1955-6 (Strüwing)
+
+ 185 (B) Eero Saarinen: New Haven, Conn., Ezra Stiles and
+ Samuel F. B. Morse College, 1960-2 (J. W.
+ Molitor)
+
+ 186 (A) James Cubitt & Partners: Langleybury,
+ Hertfordshire, school, 1955-6 (Architectural
+ Design)
+
+ 186 (B) London County Council Architect’s Office: London,
+ Loughborough Road housing estate, 1954-6
+ (Architectural Review)
+
+ 187 (A) Kenzo Tange: Totsuka, Country Club, _c._ 1960 (Y.
+ Futagawa)
+
+ 187 (B) Kunio Maekawa: Tokyo, Metropolitan Festival Hall,
+ 1961 (Akio Kawasumi)
+
+ 188 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: New York, Guggenheim Museum,
+ and (1943-6), 1956-9 (Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum)
+ (B)
+
+ 189 Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (Gordon Bunshaft): New
+ York, Lever House, 1950-2 (Ezra Stoller)
+
+ 190 (A) Philip C. Johnson: New Canaan, Conn., Boissonas
+ house, 1955-6 (Ezra Stoller)
+
+ 190 (B) Eero Saarinen: Chantilly, Va., Dulles
+ International Airport, 1960-3 (B. Korab)
+
+ 190 (C) Oscar Niemeyer: Pampulha, São Francisco, 1943 (M.
+ Gautherot)
+
+ 191 Hentrich & Petschnigg: Düsseldorf, Thyssen Haus,
+ 1958-60 (Arno Wrubel)
+
+ 192 Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and Philip Johnson: New
+ York, Seagram Building, 1956-8 (A. Georges)
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
+
+
+_My_ Modern Architecture: Romanticism and Reintegration _appeared in
+1929. It was an early attempt to relate the newest architecture of the
+nineteen-twenties to that of the preceding century and a half. In the
+thirty years that followed I have studied, in varying degrees of detail,
+many aspects of the story of architecture in the last two hundred years,
+from the ‘Romantic’ gardens of the mid eighteenth century to
+Latin-American building of the mid twentieth. In the process debts of
+gratitude have accumulated that can never be discharged, least of all
+here. Moreover, immediately before writing this book I visited a dozen
+countries in the New World, and during its composition in London—made
+possible by a sabbatical leave from Smith College for the academic year
+1955-6—I visited another dozen in the Old World. It would be manifestly
+impossible even to list all those—first of all in England and America,
+but also all the way from Athens to Bogotá—who assisted me in various
+ways in the gathering of material. They will, I trust, understand and
+accept this generalized expression of my thanks._
+
+_Not least of the problems of preparing such a book as this is the
+finding of photographs. The names of the photographers responsible for
+the plates (or in a few cases those who obtained photographs for me) are
+given in the list of plates. The material for the figures, mostly
+redrawn for this book by P. J. Darvall, came largely from books and
+drawings in the libraries of the Royal Institute of British Architects
+and the Victoria and Albert Museum, to whose authorities my thanks are
+due, as also for notable assistance of various other sorts. The
+co-operation of the National Buildings Record, which was generously
+ready to add to their so extensive files photographs newly taken for use
+in this book, deserves specific mention here. In certain other cases I
+am not quite sure whether photographs were taken especially for me or
+not, but I must express gratitude in this connexion also to Professor
+Frederick D. Nichols of the University of Virginia, to the Staatliche
+Landesbildstelle of Hamburg, to the Institut für Denkmalpflege of
+Schwerin, and to Professor Donald Egbert of Princeton University._
+
+_The notes indicate a considerable number of the fellow scholars who
+have assisted me in one way or another. But I would like to mention more
+particularly the following, who were good enough to read chapters or
+sections covering matters of which they had expert knowledge: John
+Summerson, Dorothy Stroud, John Brandon-Jones, Fello Atkinson, Robin
+Middleton, Turpin Bannister, Winston Weisman, James Grady, William
+Jordy, and Reyner Banham, not to speak of the Editor of the Pelican
+History of Art, whose contribution in a field especially his own was
+naturally of the utmost value. Needless to say these friends bear no
+responsibility for what appears here, but the importance of their
+contribution will often be very apparent in the notes. Robert Rosenblum
+did a very large part of the work of gathering the bibliography, a
+notable service to the author of a book such as this, as well as
+checking innumerable note references._
+
+_Finally I must mention Mary Elkington, whose intelligent typing of
+successive drafts of the manuscript made revision a pleasure._
+
+ _H. R. H._
+ _1958_
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
+
+
+ _THE present edition is no drastic revision of the
+ original one. Only a paragraph or two has been omitted or
+ rewritten, and the one wholly new section is the Epilogue.
+ However, very many corrections and additions have been
+ made in detail, following suggestions made by reviewers
+ and including facts supplied by others, notably John
+ Jacobus, Robin Middleton, Pieter Singelenberg, John
+ Harris, Fritz Novotny, Malcolm Quantrill, Carroll Meeks,
+ and Kevin Dynan among a host of correspondents who have
+ kindly answered specific queries or volunteered relevant
+ information. No changes have been made in the Figures and
+ only about a dozen in the Plates, chiefly at the end where
+ it was possible to introduce the influential work of Aalto
+ and characteristic examples of late Japanese work by
+ reducing the Latin-American representation, not to speak
+ of important works by Wright, Le Corbusier, and Mies
+ completed since the original edition was prepared. The
+ sources of the new photographs are indicated in the List
+ of Plates, but I must specially thank Messrs Hentrich and
+ Johnson, among the architects, for their assistance and
+ also J. M. Richards of the_ Architectural Review _from
+ whose files come the Japanese material and one of the
+ Aalto illustrations_.
+
+ _A certain number of new Notes (indicated by a letter after
+ the number) have been added and many were largely rewritten.
+ The Bibliography has been extended to include titles
+ posterior to the date of the original edition._
+
+ _H. R. H._
+ _1962_
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ INTRODUCTION
+
+
+THE round numbers of chronology have no necessary significance
+historically. Centuries as cultural entities often begin and end decades
+before or after the hundred-year mark. The years around 1800, however,
+do provide a significant break in the history of architecture, not so
+much because of any major shift in style at that precise point as
+because the Napoleonic Wars caused a general hiatus in building
+production. The last major European style, the Baroque, had been all but
+dissolved away in most of Europe. The beginnings of several differing
+kinds of reaction against it—Academic in Italy, Rococo in France,
+Palladian in England—go back as far as the first quarter of the century;
+shortly after the mid century there came a more concerted stylistic
+revolution.
+
+1750 and 1790 the new style that is called ‘Romantic Classicism’[1] took
+form, producing by the eighties its most remarkable projects, and even
+before that some executed work of consequence in France and in England.
+Thus the nineteenth century could inherit the tradition of a completed
+architectural revolution, and at its very outset was in possession of a
+style that had been fully mature for more than a decade. The most
+effective reaction against the Baroque in the second, and even to some
+extent the third, quarter of the eighteenth century had taken place in
+England; the later architectural revolution that actually initiated
+Romantic Classicism centred in France.
+
+Yet Paris was not the original locus of the new style’s gestation but
+rather Rome.[2] From the early sixteenth century Rome had provided the
+international headquarters from which new ideas in the arts, by no means
+necessarily originated there, were distributed to the Western world. To
+Rome came generation after generation of young artists, connoisseurs,
+and collectors to form their taste and to formulate their aesthetic
+ideals. Some even settled there for life. From the time of Colbert the
+French State maintained an academic establishment in Rome for the
+post-graduate training of artists. Thus French hegemony in the arts of
+the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries was based on a
+tradition maintained and renewed at Rome. The nationals of other
+countries came to Rome more informally, and were for the most part
+supported by their own funds or by private patrons; only in the
+seventies were young English architects of promise first awarded
+travelling studentships by George III. In the fifties the number of
+northern architects studying in Rome notably increased; some of them,
+beginning with the Scot Robert Mylne (1734-1811) in 1758, won prizes in
+the competitions held by the Roman Academy of St Luke.[3]
+
+The initiation of Romantic Classicism was by no means solely in the
+hands of architects. In the mid-century period of Roman gestation,
+Winckelmann, Gavin Hamilton, and Piranesi—a German archaeologist, a
+Scottish painter, and a Venetian etcher—played significant roles, as
+well as various architects, some _pensionnaires_ of the French Academy,
+others Britons studying on their own. Certain aspects of Romantic
+Classicism (1720-78), not the projects in his _Prima parte di
+architettura_ of 1743 or the plates of ruins in his _Antichità romane_
+of 1748 but his fanciful Carceri dating from the mid 1740s. On the
+theoretical side the _Essai sur l’architecture_ of M.-A. Laugier
+(1713-70), which first appeared anonymously in 1751 with further
+editions in 1752, 1753, and 1755, had something of real consequence to
+contribute as a basic critique of the dying Baroque style. In simple
+terms Laugier may be called both a Neo-Classicist and a Functionalist.
+The bolder functionalist ideas of an Italian Franciscan Carlo Lodoli
+(1690-1761) as presented by Francesco Algarotti in his _Lettere sopra
+l’architettura_, beginning in 1742, and in his _Saggio sopra
+l’architettura_ of 1756 were also influential. However, despite all the
+new archaeological treatises inspired by the Roman milieu, of which the
+first was the _Ruins of Palmyra_ published in 1753 by Robert Wood
+(1717-71), and all the excavations undertaken at Herculaneum over the
+years 1738-65 and those at Pompeii beginning a decade later, the first
+architectural manifestations of Romantic Classicism did not occur on
+Italian soil.
+
+Two buildings begun in the late 1750s, one a very large church in France
+completed only in 1790, the other a mere garden pavilion in England, may
+be considered to announce the architectural revolution: Sainte-Geneviève
+in Paris, desecrated and made a secular Panthéon in 1791 immediately
+after its completion, was designed by J.-G. Soufflot (1713-80);[4] the
+Doric Temple at Hagley Park in Worcestershire is by his exact
+contemporary James Stuart (1713-88). The Panthéon remains one of the
+most conspicuous eighteenth-century monuments of Paris; the Hagley
+temple is familiar today only to specialists. Yet, historically,
+Stuart’s importance is rather greater than Soufflot’s, even though his
+production was almost negligible in quantity. Born and partly trained in
+Lyons, Soufflot studied early in Rome and returned to Italy again in the
+middle of the century. Like several of the French theorists of the day,
+he had had a lively interest in Gothic construction from his Lyons days.
+He owed his selection to design Sainte-Geneviève in 1755 to his
+friendship with Louis XV’s Directeur Général des Bâtiments, the Marquis
+de Marigny, brother of Mme de Pompadour, whom he had accompanied to
+Italy in 1749 along with the influential critics C.-N. Cochin and the
+Abbé Leblanc.
+
+The Scottish architect James Stuart had also gone to Rome, and formed
+there as early as 1748 the project of visiting Athens; by 1751 he was on
+his way, accompanied by Nicholas Revett (_c._ 1721-1804), with whom he
+proposed to produce an archaeological work on the _Antiquities of
+Athens_. The publication of the first volume of this epoch-making book
+was delayed until 1762. In the meantime, in 1758, the year Stuart
+designed his Hagley temple, J.-D. Leroy (1724-1803) got ahead of him by
+publishing _Les Ruines des plus beaux monuments de la Grèce_; but the
+very pictorial and inaccurate plates in this had little practical effect
+on architecture.
+
+The significance of Stuart’s temple may be readily guessed; small though
+it is, this fabrick was the first example of the re-use of the Greek
+Doric order[5]—so barbarous, or at least so primitive, in appearance to
+mid-eighteenth-century eyes—and the first edifice to attempt an
+archaeological reconstruction of a Greek temple. By the fifties many
+architects and critics were ready to accept the primacy of Greek over
+Roman art, if not little or no knowledge of Greek architecture several
+French writers before Laugier had praised it. J. J. Winckelmann also
+recommended Greek rather than Roman models in his _Gedanken über die
+Nachahmung der Griechischen Werke_ (Dresden, 1755) published just before
+he settled in Rome.[6]
+
+Out of Italian chauvinism Piranesi attacked the theory of Grecian
+primacy in the arts; yet before his death he had prepared an impressive
+and influential set of etchings of the Greek temples at Paestum which
+his son Francesco published. In 1760, moreover, Piranesi decorated the
+Caffè Inglese in Rome in an Egyptian mode. Eventually Greek precedent in
+detail all but superseded Roman for over a generation; yet a real Greek
+Revival, at best but one aspect of Romantic Classicism, did not mature
+until after 1800. There was never a widespread Egyptian Revival,[7] but
+Egyptian inspiration did play a real part in crystallizing the formal
+ideals of Romantic Classicism; it also provided certain characteristic
+architectural forms, such as the pyramid and the obelisk, and occasional
+decorative details.
+
+Soufflot’s vast cruciform Panthéon provides no such simple paradigm as
+Stuart’s temple. No longer really Baroque, it is by no means thoroughly
+Romantic Classical. Like most of the work of the leading British
+architect of Soufflot’s generation, Robert Adam (1728-92),[8] the
+Panthéon must rather be considered stylistically transitional. For
+example, the purity of the temple portico at the front, in any case
+Roman not Grecian, is diminished by the breaks at its corners. The tall,
+hemispherical dome[9] over the crossing is even less antique in
+character, owing its form to Wren’s St Paul’s rather than to the Roman
+Pantheon, which was the favourite domical model for later Romantic
+Classicists. In the interior, up to the entablatures, the columniation
+is Classical enough and the structure entirely trabeated[10]—at least in
+appearance (Plate 1). Above, the domes in the four arms are perhaps
+Roman, but hardly the pendentives that carry them; these are, of course,
+a Byzantine structural device revived in the fifteenth century by
+Brunelleschi. Over the aisles the cutting away of the masonry and the
+general statical approach, while not producing anything that _looks_
+very Gothic, illustrate the results of Soufflot’s long-pursued study of
+Gothic vaulting. Many aspects of nineteenth-century architectural
+development were thus presaged by Soufflot here, as will become very
+evident later (see Chapters 1-3, 6, and 7).[11]
+
+The Panthéon was finally finished in the decade after Soufflot’s death
+by his own pupil Maximilien Brébion (1716-_c._ 1792), J.-B. Rondelet
+(1743-1829), a pupil of J.-F. Blondel, and Soufflot’s nephew (François,
+?-_c._ 1802). Well before that, a whole generation of French architects
+had developed a mode, similar to Adam’s in England, which is usually
+called, despite its initiation long before Louis XV’s death in 1774, the
+_style Louis XVI_. Whether or not this mode in its inception owed much
+to English inspiration is still controversial. In any case it was widely
+influential outside France from the seventies to the nineties, and in
+those decades both French-born and French-trained designers were in
+great demand all over Europe, except in England; and even in England
+French craftsmen were employed. With that completely eighteenth-century
+phase of architectural history this book cannot deal, even though most
+of the architects who after 1800 had first made their reputation under
+Louis XVI, or even earlier under Louis XV. The _style Louis XVI_ and the
+English ‘Adam Style’ were over, except in remote provinces and colonial
+dependencies, by 1800.
+
+In various executed works of the decades preceding the French Revolution
+it is possible to trace the gradual emergence of mature Romantic
+Classicism in France, as also to some extent in the executed buildings
+and, above all, the projects of the younger George Dance (1741-1825)[12]
+in England. But it is in the extraordinary designs, dating from the
+eighties, by two French architects a good deal younger than Soufflot
+that the new ideals were most boldly and completely visualized. In the
+last twenty-five years these two men, L.-E. Boullée (1728-99) and C.-N.
+Ledoux (1736-1806), have increasingly been recognized as the first great
+masters of Romantic Classical _design_ if not, in the fullest sense, the
+first great Romantic Classical _architects_. Boullée built little and
+few of his projects and none of the manuscript of his book on
+architecture, both now preserved at the Bibliothèque Nationale, were
+published—or at least not until modern times.[13] Yet they must have
+been well known to his many pupils—including J.-N.-L. Durand, who was
+the author of the most influential architectural treatise of the Empire
+period, and doubtless to others as well (see Chapters 2 and 3).
+
+Ledoux was from the first a very successful architect, working with
+assurance and considerable versatility in the _style Louis XVI_ from the
+late sixties, particularly for Mme du Barry. He became an academician
+and _architecte du roi_ in 1773 and spent the next few years at Cassel
+in Germany. His major executed works are in France, however, and belong
+to the late seventies and eighties. These are the Besançon Theatre of
+1775-84, the buildings of the Royal Saltworks at Arc-et-Senans near
+there of 1775-9—he had been made _inspecteur_ of the establishment in
+1771—and the _barrières_ or toll-houses of Paris, which were built in
+1784-9 just before the Revolution. In this later work most of the major
+qualities of his personal style, qualities carried to much greater
+extremes in his projects, are readily recognizable; his earlier work was
+of rather transitional character and not at all unlike what many other
+French architects of his generation were producing.
+
+The massive cube of the exterior of Ledoux’s Besançon Theatre, against
+which an unpedimented Ionic portico is set, can already be found,
+however, at his Château de Benouville begun in 1768; the later edifice
+is nevertheless much more rigidly cubical and much plainer in the
+treatment of the rare openings. In the interior Ledoux substituted for a
+Baroque horseshoe with tiers of boxes a hemicycle[14] with rising banks
+of seats and a continuous Greek Doric colonnade around the rear fronting
+the gallery. The extant constructions at Arc-et-Senans are less
+geometrical; instead of Greek orders there is much rustication and also
+various Piranesian touches of visual drama. It was this commission which
+set Ledoux to designing his ‘Ville Idéale de Chaux’; that was his
+greatest achievement, even though it never came even to partial
+execution, nor could perhaps have been expected to do so, so cosmic was
+the basic concept.
+
+The _barrières_ varied very widely in character; some were very
+Classical, others in a modest Italianate vernacular; some were rather
+Piranesian in their bold rustication, the Besançon Theatre. The most
+significant, however, were notable for the crisp and rigid geometry of
+their flat-surfaced masses. The extant Barrière de St Martin in the
+Place de Stalingrad in the La Villette district of Paris consists of a
+tall cylinder rising out of a very low, square block; this is
+intersected by a cruciform element projecting as three pedimented
+porticoes beyond the edges of the square (Plate 2A). Although the range
+of Ledoux’s restricted detail here is not very great, it is varied to
+the point of inconsistency all the same. The rather heavy piers of the
+porticoes are square, with capitals simplified from the Grecian Doric;
+yet around the cylinder extends an open arcade of Italian character
+carried on delicate coupled columns.
+
+Had Ledoux’s ideas been known only from his executed work, he would
+probably not have been especially influential; certainly he would not
+have attained with posterity the very high reputation that is his today.
+Inactive at building after the Revolution—he was even imprisoned for a
+while in the nineties—he concentrated on the publication of his designs
+both executed and projected. His book _L’Architecture considérée sous le
+rapport de l’art, des mœurs et de la législation_ appeared in 1804, and
+a second edition was published by Daniel Ramée (1806-87) in 1846-7. This
+book has a long and fascinating text which is sociological as much as it
+is architectural; but it is in its plates, both of executed work and
+projects, that Ledoux’s originality can best be appreciated. By no means
+all of his ideas, known before the Revolution to his pupils and
+undoubtedly to many others as well, passed into the general repertory of
+Romantic Classicism; some of the most extreme are hardly buildable. The
+‘House for Rural Guards’ is a free-standing sphere, a form that he
+utilized as space rather than mass in the interior of a project for a
+Columbarium. For the ‘Coopery’, the coopers’ products dictated the
+target-like shape (Plate 2B). The ‘House for the Directors of the Loue
+River’ is also a cylinder set horizontally, but a much more massive one,
+through which the whole flood of the river was to pour to the thorough
+discomfort, one would imagine, of the inhabitants. Even where the forms
+are more conventional, as in the project for the church of his ‘Ville
+Idéale’ of Chaux—a purified version of Soufflot’s Panthéon: cruciform,
+temple-porticoed, and with a Roman saucer dome—or for the bank there—a
+peristylar rectangle with high, plain attic, flanked at the corners by
+detached cubic lodges—the clarity and originality of his formal thinking
+is very evident, and was apparently influential well before his book
+actually appeared in 1804. Masses are of simple geometrical shapes,
+discrete and boldly juxtaposed; walls are flat and as little broken as
+possible, the few necessary openings mere rectangular holes. Minor
+features are repeated without variation of rhythm in regular reiterative
+patterns; the top surfaces of the masses, whether flat, sloping, or
+rounded, are considered as bounding planes, not modelled plastically in
+the Baroque way.[15]
+
+Much of this is common to the projects of Boullée, more widely known
+than Ledoux’s in the eighties because of his many pupils. The simple
+geometrical forms, the plain surfaces, the reiterative handling of minor
+features, all are even more conspicuous in his designs and generally
+presented at a scale so grand as to approach megalomania (Plate 2C).
+Boullée could be, and often was, more conventionally the Classical
+Revivalist than Ledoux; he was also perhaps somewhat less bold in using
+such shapes as the sphere cube and the pyramid. His inspiration was on
+occasion medieval (of a very special South European ‘Castellated’
+order), and he thereby laid the foundations for that more widely
+eclectic use of the forms of the past which makes the Romantic Classical
+a syncretic style, not a mere revival of Roman or Greek architecture.
+Various projects of the eighties by younger men, such as Bernard Poyet
+(1742-1824) and L.-J. Desprez (1743-1804), of whom we will hear again
+later, were of very similar character.
+
+Both Boullée and Ledoux, but particularly Ledoux, were interested in
+symbolism. In that sense their architecture was not essentially
+abstract, despite the extreme geometrical simplicity of their forms, but
+in their own term _parlante_ or expressive and meaningful. So special
+and personal is most of their symbolism, however, that even when quite
+obvious, as with the ‘Coopery’, it was hardly viable for other
+architects. When Ledoux gave to his _Oikema_ or ‘House of Sexual
+Education’ an actual _plan_ of phallic outline (which would be wholly
+unnoticeable except from the air) he epitomized the hermetic quality of
+much of his architectural speech. It is understandable that, of the many
+who accepted his architectural syntax, very few really attempted to
+speak his language. Such symbolism belonged on the whole to an early
+stage of Romantic Classicism; after 1800 architectural speech was
+generally of a much less recondite order. Yet to each of the different
+vocabularies employed by Romantic Classicists—Grecian, Egyptian,
+Italian, Castellated, etc.—some sort of special meaning was commonly
+attached. Thus a restricted and codified eclecticism provided, as it
+were, the equivalent of a system of musical keys that could be chosen
+according to a conventional code when designing different types of
+buildings.
+
+One cannot properly say that international Romantic Classicism derives
+to any major degree from Ledoux and Boullée; one can only say that their
+projects of the eighties epitomized most dramatically the final ending
+of the Baroque and the crystallization of the style that succeeded it.
+Many French architects of the generation of Poyet and Desprez, however,
+such as J.-J. Ramée, Pompon, A.-L.-T. Vaudoyer, L.-P. Baltard, Belanger,
+Grandjean de Montigny, Damesme, and Durand (to mention only those whose
+names will recur later) came close to rivalling even the grandest
+visions of Ledoux and Boullée in projects prepared in the nineties.[16]
+After such exalted work on paper, the buildings actually executed by
+this generation of Romantic Classicists often seem rather tame. So also
+were the glorious social schemes of the political revolutionaries much
+diluted by the functioning governments of Consulate and Empire before
+and after 1800.
+
+Only in England did the decades preceding the French Revolution produce
+any development in architecture at all comparable in significance to
+what was taking place then in France. But there also it is the projects
+rather than the executed work of Dance—of which very little remains
+except his early London church of All Hallows, London Wall, of
+1765-7—that modern investigators have come to realize led most
+definitely away from the transitional ‘Adam Style’ towards Romantic
+Classicism. His Piranesian Newgate Prison, begun in 1769, was demolished
+in 1902. By 1790, both in France and in England, the new ideas had taken
+firm root, however, and other countries were not slow to accept the
+mature style once it had been fully adumbrated.
+
+The fact that the nineteenth century began with much of Europe under the
+hegemony of a French Empire does not quite justify calling the
+particular phase of Romantic Classicism with which the nineteenth
+century opens _Empire_, although this is frequently done in most
+European countries. Yet the prestige of Napoleon’s rule, and indeed its
+actual extent, ensured around 1800 the continuance of that French
+leadership in architecture which had started a century earlier under
+Louis XIV. Beyond the boundaries of Napoleon’s realm and the lands of
+his nominees and his allies, moreover, French émigrés carried the new
+architectural ideas of the last years of the monarchy—for many of them
+were revolutionaries in the arts, although like Ledoux politically
+unacceptable to the leaders of the Revolution in France. Even in the
+homeland of Napoleon’s principal opponents, the English, the prestige of
+French taste, high in the eighties, hardly declined with the Napoleonic
+wars. The mature Romantic Classicism of England in the last decade of
+the old century and the first of the new is certainly full of French
+ideas, even though it is not always clear exactly how they were
+transmitted across the Channel in war-time.
+
+If Romantic Classicism, the nearly universal style with which
+nineteenth-century architecture began, was predominantly French in
+origin and in its continuing ideals and standards, the same decades that
+saw it reach maturity also saw the rise of another major movement in the
+arts that was definitely English. The ‘Picturesque’, a critical concept
+that had been increasing in authority for two generations in England,
+received the dignity of a capital P in the 1790s. The term Romantic
+Classicism is a twentieth-century historian’s invention, attempting by
+its own contradictoriness to express the ambiguity of the dominant mode
+of this period in the arts; the term Picturesque, on the other hand, was
+most widely used and the concept most thoroughly examined just before
+and just after 1800 (see Chapters 1 and 6).
+
+To the twentieth century, on the whole, the aesthetic standards of
+Romantic Classicism—or perhaps one should rather say the visual
+results—have been widely acceptable. The results of the application of
+Picturesque principles in architecture, on the other hand, have not been
+so generally admired; indeed, until lately the more clearly and
+unmistakably buildings realized Picturesque ideals, the less was usually
+the esteem in which they were held by posterity. On the whole, in
+architecture if not in landscape design, the twentieth century has
+preferred to see the manifestations of the Picturesque around 1800 as
+aberrations from a norm considered primarily to have been a ‘Classical
+Revival’. As the adjectival aspect of the term Romantic Classicism makes
+evident, however, the Classicism of the end of the eighteenth century
+and the beginning of the nineteenth was not at all the same as that of
+the High Renaissance, nor even that of the Academic Reaction of the
+early and middle decades of the eighteenth century. Romantic Classicism
+aimed not so much towards the ‘Beautiful’, in the sense of Aristotle and
+the eighteenth-century aestheticians, as towards what had been
+distinguished by Edmund Burke in 1756 as the ‘Sublime’.
+
+Posterity has admired in the production of the first decades of the
+nineteenth century a homogeneity of style which is in fact even more
+illusory than that of earlier periods. Horrified by the chaos of later
+nineteenth-century eclecticism, two twentieth-century have praised
+architects and patrons of the years before and after 1800 for a
+consistency that was by no means really theirs. In some ways, and not
+unimportant ways, the history of architecture within the period covered
+by this volume seems to come full circle so that the Austrian art
+historian Emil Kaufmann could in 1933 write a book entitled _Von Ledoux
+bis Le Corbusier_. Kaufmann did not live quite long enough to realize
+how far from the spheres and cubes of the Ledolcian ideal the
+revolutionary twentieth-century architect would move in these last years
+(see Chapter 23). Le Corbusier’s church at Ronchamp, completed in 1955
+after Kaufmann’s death, seems more in accord with extreme
+eighteenth-century illustrations of the Picturesque than with
+characteristic monuments of Romantic Classicism (Plate 167). Yet in the
+early works of the American Frank Lloyd Wright in the 1890s and those of
+the German Mies van der Rohe twenty years later a filiation to early
+nineteenth-century Classicism can be readily traced; that tradition
+informed almost the entire production of the French Perret, a good deal
+of that of the German Behrens, and even some of the best late work of
+the Austrian Wagner (see Chapters 18-21).
+
+Forgetting for the moment the Picturesque, one may profitably set down
+here some of the characteristics that the aspirations and the
+achievements of the architects of 1800 share, or seem to share, with
+those of the architects of over a century later. The preference for
+simple geometrical forms and for smooth, plain surfaces is common to
+both, though the earlier men aimed at effects of unbroken mass and the
+later ones rather at an expression of hollow volume. The protestations
+of devotion to the ‘functional’ are similar, if as frequently
+sophistical in the one case as in the other. The preferred isolation of
+buildings in space is as evident in the ubiquitous temples of the early
+nineteenth century as in the towering slabs of the mid twentieth.
+Monochromy and even monotony in the use of homogeneous wall-surfacing
+materials and the avoidance of detail in relief is balanced in both
+periods by an emphasis on direct structural expression, whether the
+structure be the posts and lintels of a masonry colonnade or the steel
+or ferro-concrete members of a continuous space-cage. Finally,
+impersonality and, perhaps even more notably, ‘internationality’ of
+expression provided around 1800 a universalized sense of period rather
+than the flavours of particular nations or regions, just as they have
+done in the last forty years.
+
+The full flood of Romantic Classicism came late, having been dammed so
+long by the political and economic turmoil of the last years of the
+eighteenth century and the first of the nineteenth; it also continued
+late, in some areas even beyond 1850. But dissatisfaction and revolt
+also started early; it is not a unique stylistic paradox that the
+greatest masters of Romantic Classicism were often those who were also
+most ready to explore the alternative possibilities of the Picturesque
+(see Chapter 6). The architectural production of the first half of the
+nineteenth century cannot therefore be presented with any clarity in a
+single chronological sequence. Parallel architectural events, even
+strictly contemporary works by the same architect, must be set in their
+proper places in at least two different sequences of development.
+
+The building production of the early decades of the century already
+divides only too easily under various stylistic headings. A Greek
+Revival, a Gothic Revival, etc., have fact, these and other ‘revivals’
+were but aspects either of the dominant Romantic Classical tide or of
+the Picturesque countercurrent (see Chapters 1-5 and Chapter 6,
+respectively). Only the story of the increasing exploitation of new
+materials, notably iron and glass, reaching some sort of a culmination
+around 1850, lay outside, though never quite isolated from, the realm of
+the revivalistic modes (see Chapter 7).
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ PART ONE
+
+ 1800-1850
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 1
+ ROMANTIC CLASSICISM AROUND 1800
+
+
+DESPITE the drastically reduced production of the years just before and
+after 1800, between the outbreak of the French Revolution and the
+termination of Napoleon’s imperial career, there are prominent buildings
+in many countries that provide fine examples of Romantic Classicism in
+its early maturity; others, generally more modest in size, give evidence
+of the vitality of the Picturesque at this time. Since England and
+America were least directly affected by the French Revolution, however
+much they were drawn into the wars that were its aftermath, they
+produced more than their share, so to say, of executed work. French
+architects before 1806 were mostly reduced to designing monuments
+destined never to be built or to adapting old structures to new uses.
+
+The greatest architect in active practice in the 1790s was Sir John
+Soane (1753-1837), from 1788 Architect of the Bank of England. The
+career of his master, the younger Dance, was in decline; he had made
+what were perhaps his greatest contributions a good quarter of a century
+earlier. Whatever Soane owed to Dance, and he evidently owed him a great
+deal, the Bank[17] offered greater opportunities than the older man had
+ever had. His interiors of the early nineties at the Bank leave the
+world of academic Classicism completely behind (Plate 3). His extant
+Lothbury façade of 1795, with the contiguous ‘Tivoli Corner’ of a decade
+later—now modified almost beyond recognition—and even more the
+demolished Waiting Room Court (Plate 4A) showed that his innovations in
+this period were by no means restricted to interiors.
+
+Soane’s style, consonant though it was in many ways with the general
+ideals of Romantic Classicism, is a highly personal one. At the Bank,
+however, he was not creating _de novo_ but committed to the piecemeal
+reconstruction of an existing complex of buildings, and controlled as
+well by very stringent technical requirements. Thus the grouping of the
+offices about the Rotunda, like the plan of the Rotunda itself, goes
+back to the work done by his predecessor Sir Robert Taylor (1714-88)
+twenty years earlier; while the special need of the Bank for various
+kinds of security made necessary both the avoidance of openings on the
+exterior and a fireproof structural system within. The architectural
+expression that Soane gave to his complex spaces in the offices which he
+designed in 1791 and built in 1792-4 had very much the same abstract
+qualities as those to which older masters of Romantic Classicism, such
+as Ledoux and Dance, had already aspired in the preceding decades (Plate
+3). The novel treatment of the smooth plaster surfaces of the light
+vaults made of hollow terracotta pots, where he substituted linear
+striations for the conventional membering of Classical design, was as
+notable as the frank revelation of the delicate cast-iron framework of
+his glazed lanterns (see Chapter 7). These interiors have particularly
+appealed to twentieth-century taste, while Soane’s columnar confections
+of this period generally appear somewhat pompous and banal.
+
+The Rotunda of 1794-5 was grander and more Piranesian in effect; thus it
+shared in the international tendency of this period towards megalomania.
+So also the contemporary Lothbury façade, with its rare accents of
+crisply profiled antae and its vast unbroken expanses of flat
+rustication, is less personal to Soane and more in a mode that was
+common to many Romantic Classical architects all over the Western world.
+The original Tivoli Corner of 1805, however, was almost Baroque in its
+plasticity, with a Roman not a Greek order, and a most remarkable piling
+up of flat elements organized in three dimensions at the skyline that
+could only be Soane’s.
+
+On the other hand, the reduction of relief and the linear stylization of
+the constituent elements of the Loggia in the Waiting Room Court of
+1804, equally personal to Soane, illustrated an anti-Baroque tendency to
+reduce to a minimum the sculptural aspect of architecture (Plate 4A).
+Planes were emphasized rather than masses, and the character of the
+detail was thoroughly renewed as well as the basic formulas of Classical
+design that Soane had inherited. This was even more apparent in the New
+Bank Buildings, a terrace of houses, begun in 1807, that once stood
+across Prince’s Street. Except for the paired Ionic columns at the ends,
+conventional Classical forms were avoided almost as completely as in the
+Bank offices of the previous decade, and the smooth plane of the stucco
+wall was broken only by incised linear detail.
+
+Perhaps the most masterly example of this characteristically Soanic
+treatment is still to be seen in the gateway and lodge of the country
+house that he built at Tyringham in Buckinghamshire in 1792-7 (Plate
+6A). There the simple mass is defined by flat surfaces bounded by plain
+incised lines. The house itself is both less drastically novel and less
+successful; various other Soane houses of these decades have more
+character.
+
+Summerson has claimed that Soane introduced all his important
+innovations before 1800. However that may be, there is no major break in
+his work at the end of the first decade of the century, nor did his
+production then notably increase. It is therefore rather arbitrary to
+cut off an account of his architecture at this point; but it is
+necessary to do so if the importance of the Picturesque countercurrent
+in these same years, not as yet of great consequence as an aspect of
+Soane’s major works, is to be adequately emphasized. His concern with
+varied lighting effects, however, if not necessarily Picturesque
+technically, gave evidence of an intense Romanticism; more indubitably
+Picturesque was his exaggerated interest in broken skylines.
+
+While Soane’s work at the Bank was proceeding, in these years before and
+after 1800, James Wyatt (1746-1813), capable of producing at Dodington
+House in 1798-1808 a quite conventional example of Romantic Classicism,
+was building in the years between 1796 and his death in 1813 for that
+great Romantic William Beckford the largest of ‘Gothick’ garden
+fabricks, Fonthill Abbey in Wiltshire.[18] This was a landmark in the
+rise of the Gothic Revival. In 1803 S. P. Cockerell (1754-1827),
+otherwise far more consistently Classical than Wyatt, was erecting for
+his brother, the Indian nabob Sir Charles Cockerell, a vast mansion in
+Gloucestershire in an Indian mode. The design of Sezincote was based on
+early sketches made by the landscape gardener Humphry Repton (1752-1818)
+and all its details were derived from the drawings Thomas Daniell
+(1749-1840) had made in India fifteen years before and published in _The
+Antiquities of India_ in 1800. The ‘Indian Revival’ (so to call it) had
+little success; in these years only the stables built in 1805 by William
+Porden (_c._ 1755-1822) for the Royal Pavilion at Brighton followed
+Sezincote’s lead.
+
+The Neo-Gothic of Fonthill, however, a mode that had roots extending
+back into the second quarter of the eighteenth century, is illustrated
+in a profusion of examples by Wyatt, Porden, and many others. None,
+however, seems to have succeeded as well as Beckford and Wyatt at
+Fonthill in achieving the ‘Sublime’ by mere dimension. The
+characteristic Gothic country houses of this period were likely to be
+elaborately Tudor, like Wyatt’s Ashridge begun in 1808 and Porden’s
+Eaton Hall of 1803-12, or lumpily Castellated like Hawarden of 1804-9 by
+Thomas Cundy I (1765-1825) and Eastnor of 1808-15 by Sir Robert Smirke
+(1781-1867). The last, moreover, differs very little from Adam’s Culzean
+of 1777-90.
+
+Some Gothic churches were built in these decades, too, as others had
+been ever since the 1750s. Such an example as Porden’s church at
+Eccleston of 1809-13, while more recognizably Perpendicular, lacked the
+brittle charm of the earlier ‘Gothick’ churches of the eighteenth
+century.
+
+The virtuoso of the Picturesque mode and, after Soane, the greatest
+architectural figure of these years in England, was John Nash
+(1752-1835). Working in partnership with Repton for several years at the
+turn of the century, he turned out a spate of Picturesque houses, many
+of them rather small, with various sorts of medieval detail: Killy Moon
+in Ireland, built in 1803, is Norman; more usually they are Tudor or at
+least Tudoresque: his own East Cowes Castle on the Isle of Wight, which
+was begun in 1798, for example, or Luscombe in Devonshire, begun the
+following year. The medieval detail was probably designed by the French
+émigré Augustus (Auguste) Charles Pugin (1762-1832), whom Nash employed
+at this time (see Chapter 6). It is rather for their asymmetrical
+silhouettes and for the free plans that this asymmetry encouraged,
+however, than for the stylistic plausibility of their detailing that
+these houses are notable.
+
+Finer than such ‘castles’ is Cronkhill, which Nash built in 1802 at
+Atcham, Salop. Here the varied forms are all more or less Italianate,
+and the whole was evidently inspired by the fabricks in the paintings of
+Claude and the Poussins—literally an example of ‘picturesque’
+architecture. Actually more characteristic of the Picturesque at this
+time, however, is the Hamlet at Blaise Castle. There Nash repeated in
+1811 a variety of cottage types that he had already used individually
+elsewhere, arranging them in an irregular cluster (Plate 50A).
+
+The Rustic Cottage mode, like so many aspects of the Picturesque in
+architecture, had its origins in the fabricks designed to ornament
+eighteenth-century gardens. But the mode had by now attained
+considerable prestige thanks to the writings of the chief theorists of
+the Picturesque,[19] Richard Payne Knight (1750-1824) and Uvedale Price
+(1747-1829). Their support was responsible also for the rising prestige
+of the asymmetrical Castellated Mansion and the Italian Villa; indeed,
+Payne Knight’s own Downton Castle in Shropshire of 1774-8 is both
+Castellated and Italianate. The appearance of several prettily
+illustrated books on cottages[20] in the nineties provided a variety of
+models for emulation, and from the beginning of the new century the
+Cottage mode was well established for gate lodges, dairies, and all
+sorts of other minor constructions in the country.
+
+For larger buildings a definite Greek Revival was now beginning to take
+form within the general frame of Romantic Classicism. More young
+architects were visiting Greece and, for those who could not, two
+further volumes of Stuart and Revett’s _Antiquities of Athens_,
+appearing in 1787 and in 1794, and the parallel _Ionian Antiquities_,
+which began to be issued in 1769, provided many more models for
+imitation than had been available earlier. The Greek Doric order had
+first been introduced into England by Stuart himself in 1758 in the
+Hagley Park temple, as has been mentioned earlier; a little later, in
+1763, he used the Greek Ionic on Litchfield House which still stands at
+15 St James’s Square in London. From the nineties, the Greek orders were
+in fairly common use, as such a splendid group as the buildings of
+Chester Castle, of 1793-1820 by Thomas Harrison (1744-1829), handsomely
+illustrates. However, the handling of them was not as yet very
+archaeological.
+
+Summerson credits the attack made by the connoisseur Thomas Hope
+(1770?-1831) in 1804 on Wyatt’s designs for Downing College, Cambridge,
+with helping to establish a more rigid standard of correctness. However
+that may be, the winning and partly executed design of 1806-11 for this
+college by William Wilkins (1778-1839) well illustrates the new ideals.
+Wilkins had made his own studies of Greek originals in Sicily and
+Southern Italy, and was publishing them in the _Antiquities of Magna
+Graecia_ at this very time (1807). The inherited concepts of medieval
+college architecture, largely maintained through the earlier Georgian
+period, were all but forgotten at Downing. The group was broken down
+into free-standing blocks, each as much like a temple as was feasible,
+and repeated Ionic porticoes provided almost the only architectural
+features. There was no Soanic originality here, no Picturesque
+eclecticism; perhaps unfortunately, however, this provided a codified
+Grecian mode which almost anyone could apply from handbooks of the Greek
+orders.
+
+Wilkins was also responsible for the first[21] British example of a
+giant columnar monument, the Nelson Pillar of 1808-9 in Dublin. This
+134-foot Greek Doric column in Sackville (now O’Connell) Street, of
+which the construction was supervised by Francis Johnston (1760-1829),
+initiated a favourite theme of the period usually, and not incorrectly,
+associated with Napoleon (see Chapter 3).
+
+The Covent Garden Theatre in London was rebuilt in 1808-9 by Smirke.
+This pupil of Soane had, like Wilkins, seen ancient Greek buildings with
+his own eyes and generally aimed to imitate them very closely. His
+theatre was somewhat less correct than the Cambridge college, but
+despite the castles he had built it was Smirke rather than Wilkins who
+carried forward the Grecian mode at its most rigid through four more
+decades (see Chapter 4). Wilkins, however, at Grange Park in Hampshire
+in 1809 had shown, as C.-E. de Beaumont (1757-1811) had done at a
+country house called ‘Le Temple de Silence’ just before the Revolution
+in France, how the accommodations of a fair-sized mansion could be
+squeezed inside the temple form (admittedly with some violence to the
+latter). Grange Park provided an early paradigm of a Grecian domestic
+mode destined to be curiously popular at the fringes of the western
+world in America, in Sweden, and in Russia, but very rarely employed in
+more sophisticated regions (see Chapter 5). The house was much modified
+by later enlargements of 1823-5 by S. P. Cockerell and of 1852 by his
+son C. R. Cockerell (1788-1863).
+
+Grecian design descended slowly to the world of the builders. The
+relatively restricted urban house-building of the two decades before
+Waterloo maintained a close resemblance to that of the 1780s. Russell
+Square in London, built up by James Burton (1761-1837) in the first
+decade of the new century, does not differ notably from Bedford Square
+of twenty years earlier—probably by Thomas Leverton (1743-1824)—except
+that the façades are smoother and plainer. But a still greater crispness
+of finish could be, and increasingly was, obtained by covering terrace
+houses—as for that matter most suburban villas also by this time—with
+stucco. In this respect the work of some unknown designer in Euston
+Square in London, which was built up at the same time as Russell Square,
+may be happily contrasted with Burton’s (which has in any case been much
+corrupted by the introduction around 1880 of terracotta door and window
+casings).
+
+In industrial construction, such as the warehouses by William Jessop at
+the West India Docks, begun in 1799, and those by D. A. Alexander
+(1768-1846) at the London Docks, begun in 1802, the grandeur and
+simplicity characteristic of Romantic Classicism can be seen at their
+best.[22] These warehouses also presage the importance of commercial
+building in a world increasingly concerned with business (see Chapter
+14).
+
+During the years of the American Revolutionary War, 1776-83, years in
+which Romantic Classicism was maturing in France and in England, North
+Americans were not entirely cut off from the Old World. Not only did
+many earlier cultural ties remain unbroken—while a surprising reverse
+emigration of good painters from the New World to the Old occurred—but
+new cultural ties with the French ally were established, and these were
+maintained and reinforced by several émigrés of ability who arrived in
+the 1790s. Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826), hitherto as confirmed a
+Palladian as any English landowner of the mid eighteenth century, was
+undoubtedly influenced by his friend Clérisseau when he based his
+Virginia State Capitol[23] of 1785-96 at Richmond very closely on the
+best preserved ancient Roman structure that he had seen in France, the
+Maison Carrée at Nîmes, even though he used for the portico an Ionic
+instead of a Corinthian order. In this first major public monument
+initiated in the new republic Jefferson’s drastic aim of forcing all the
+requirements of a fairly complex modern building inside the rigid mould
+of a Roman temple was more consonant with the absolutism of the French
+in this period than with the rather looser formal ideals of the English.
+
+Jefferson was not able to impose so rigid a Classicism on the new
+Federal capital of Washington at its start, despite the efforts of
+various French and British engineers, architects, and amateurs who
+participated in the competitions of 1792 for the President’s House
+(White House) and for the Capitol and who worked on the latter during
+its first decade of construction. The White House[24] as designed by the
+Irish architect James Hoban (_c._ 1762-1831) was still quite in the
+earlier eighteenth-century Anglo-Palladian manner, and Jefferson’s own
+project was based on Palladio’s Villa Rotonda. Neither the English
+amateur William Thornton (1759-1828) and his professional assistant who
+was also English, George Hadfield (_c._ 1764-1826), nor their French
+associate É.-S. Hallet succeeded in giving the Capitol[25] a very
+up-to-date character (Plate 82A). Yet it is these major edifices that
+still occupy two of the focal points in the Washington city plan,[26]
+which was prepared by the French engineer P.-C. L’Enfant (1754-1825)
+before his dismissal from public service in 1792.
+
+It was Benjamin H. Latrobe (1764-1820), an English-born architect of
+German and English training, who finally brought to America just before
+1800, and shortly to Washington, the highest professional standards of
+the day and a complete Romantic Classical programme. Indeed, he almost
+succeeded in making Romantic Classicism the official style in the United
+States for all time; at least it remained so down to the Civil War in
+the sixties, and a later revival lasted, as regards public architecture
+in Washington, from the 1900s to the 1930s (see Chapter 24). A pupil of
+S. P. Cockerell, Latrobe emigrated in 1796 and was soon assisting
+Jefferson on the final completion of the Virginia State Capitol as well
+as undertaking the construction of canals as an engineer. Not
+inappropriately Latrobe’s first important American building, the Bank of
+Pennsylvania begun in 1798, was also an Ionic temple, but with an order
+that aspired to be Greek. This Philadelphia bank included a great
+central hall whose saucer dome, visible externally, made it a more
+complex and architectonic composition than the Richmond Capitol. The
+flat lantern crowning the dome recalled, and may derive from, those over
+Soane’s offices at the Bank of England. Characteristically, Latrobe at
+this very same time was also building a country house, Sedgley, outside
+Philadelphia, with ‘Gothick’ detailing. By 1803 he had taken charge of
+the construction of the Capitol, nominally under Thornton, with whom he
+had continual rows. Most of the early interiors there were his, notably
+those in the south wing, fine examples of Romantic Classicism with
+French as well as English overtones; moreover he was still in charge of
+rebuilding them after the burning of the Capitol in 1814 down to his
+forced resignation in 1817.
+
+In 1805 Latrobe submitted alternative designs for the Catholic cathedral
+in Baltimore. The Gothic design is one of the finest projects of the
+‘Sublime’ or ‘High Romantic’ stage of the Gothic Revival; yet in its
+vast bare walls, carefully ordered geometry, and dry detail it is also
+consonant with some of the basic ideals of Romantic Classicism. The
+Classical design that was preferred and eventually built is perhaps less
+original; but internally, at least, this is one of the finest
+ecclesiastical monuments of Romantic Classicism, combining a rather
+Panthéon-like plan with segmental vaults of somewhat Soanic character
+(Plate 5). The cathedral was largely completed by 1818. The portico,
+though intended from the first, was added only in 1863, but the present
+bulbous terminations of the western towers are not of Latrobe’s design.
+
+Near by in Baltimore the Unitarian Church of 1807 is by a Frenchman,
+Maximilien Godefroy (_c._ 1760-1833),[27] who was also responsible for
+the first Neo-Gothic ecclesiastical structure of any consequence in
+North America, the chapel of St Mary’s Seminary there, also of 1807. The
+Unitarian Church is a monument which might well have risen in the Paris
+of the 1790s had the French Deists been addicted to building churches.
+The triple arch in the plain stuccoed front below the pediment comes
+straight from Ledoux’s _barrières_; the interior, unhappily remodelled
+in 1916, was originally a dome on pendentives of the purest geometrical
+order. So also Godefroy’s Battle Monument of 1814 also in Baltimore,
+with its Egyptian base, might easily have been erected in Paris to
+honour some general prominent in Napoleon’s campaign on the Nile.[28]
+Another Frenchman, J.-J. Ramée (1764-1842), active since the Revolution
+in Hamburg and in Denmark, also came briefly to America. In 1813 he laid
+out Union College[29] in Schenectady, N.Y., on a rather Ledolcian plan
+and began its construction before he returned to Europe. His semicircle
+of buildings still crowns the hill—although two only are original—and
+Ramée here initiated a tradition of college architecture as remote from
+that of earlier American colleges, with their free-standing buildings
+set around a ‘campus’, as Wilkins’s Downing at Cambridge was from
+earlier English colleges.
+
+The French eventually departed leaving no line of descent; but Latrobe
+had a pupil, the first professionally trained American in the field and,
+like Latrobe, almost as much an engineer as an architect. By 1808 Robert
+Mills (1781-1855) was supervising for Latrobe the new Bank of
+Philadelphia, Gothic (or at least ‘Gothick’) where his earlier Bank of
+Pennsylvania had been Grecian, and also building on his own the Sansom
+Street Baptist Church, a competent but not distinguished essay in
+Romantic Classicism. In the same year another Latrobe pupil, William
+Strickland (1788-1854), designed for Philadelphia a Gothick Masonic
+Hall; this was built in 1809-11, and later rebuilt, but according to the
+original design, after a fire in 1819-20.
+
+Far more successful than either of these, if now overshadowed by the
+megalomaniac Classicism of the twentieth-century Philadelphia Museum of
+Art by Horace Trumbauer and others on the hill above, are the waterworks
+begun in 1811 on the banks of the Schuylkill. These are probably but not
+certainly by Mills rather than by the engineer Frederick Graff, whose
+name is signed to the drawings. These very utilitarian structures are
+most characteristic of the beginnings of Romantic Classicism in America,
+where Latrobe, Mills, and also Strickland were all three engineers as
+well as architects. Moreover, it is evident that engineering
+considerations often influenced their approach to architecture, just as
+architectural considerations gave visual distinction to much of their
+engineering. Thus they may be compared with engineers like Telford and
+Rennie in England as well as with the English architects of their day.
+
+In this so-called ‘Federal’ period, when Romantic Classicism centred in
+the Middle Atlantic states thanks to Latrobe, Godefroy, Mills, and
+Strickland, the leading architect outside this area, the Bostonian
+Charles Bulfinch (1763-1844), was a late-comer to Romantic Classicism.
+His great public monument of the 1790s, the Massachusetts State House in
+Boston, had been designed originally as early as 1787-8, and even as
+executed in 1795-8 it derived principally from the Somerset House in
+London of Sir William Chambers (1726-96) and in one interior from Wyatt.
+His Boston Court House of 1810 first showed evidence of a change in his
+style, notably in its smooth ashlar walls of cold grey granite. That was
+a local material destined to lend particular distinction to the
+principal Romantic Classical buildings of Boston from this time forward
+(see Chapter 5).
+
+The Frenchmen who came to America at the end of the eighteenth century
+or in the early 1800s (and shortly left again) could hardly import the
+French architecture of those decades; on the one hand, they had all been
+trained before the Revolution, from which most of them were in flight;
+on the other hand—and more consequently—there was almost no later
+architecture for them to reflect. Between 1789 and 1806 French building
+was at a standstill. Architects were mostly busy, if at all, with the
+decoration of various revolutionary fêtes and the accommodation of new
+political agencies in old structures.
+
+One major example of the accommodation of an older structure to a new
+purpose deserves particular mention. In the years 1795-7 J.-P. de Gisors
+(1755-1828), E.-C. Leconte (1762-1818), and the former’s brother
+A.-J.-B.-G. de Gisors (1762-1835) built within the old Palais Bourbon
+the Salle des Cinq Cents, the legislative chamber of the First Republic.
+This hemicycle, at least as rebuilt along much the original lines by
+Joly in 1828-33, still serves as the Chamber of Deputies of the Fourth
+Republic. Such a chamber, so different in plan from the college-chapel
+arrangement of the British House of Commons with facing benches for
+Government and Opposition, is characteristically Romantic Classical in
+form, but this form has unfortunately proved to be conducive to an
+indefinite shading of multiple parties from right to left. The British
+model, suited to two-party rule only, was rarely imitated; the French
+one has been rather frequently, beginning with Latrobe’s House of
+Representatives in the Washington Capitol. Leaving aside the apparent
+political effect of the plan—not so notable in Washington as
+elsewhere—Gisors’s chamber seems to have been respectable if not
+especially distinguished. Covered with a segmental half dome and a
+barrel vault, both top-lighted, the smooth though rather richly
+decorated surfaces of the walls and the vaults made clear the
+interesting geometrical form of the interior space. The prototype was
+the lecture theatre of the École de Médecine in Paris erected in 1769-76
+by Jacques Gondoin (1737-1818), one of the most advanced interiors of
+its day.
+
+There was some private building in the Paris of the 1790s and early
+1800s before public building eventually revived at Napoleon’s fiat.
+Typical and partly extant is the Rue des Colonnes, most probably by
+N.-A.-J. Vestier (1765-1816), although sometimes attributed to Poyet,
+who may have had some urbanistic control. This has an open arcade at the
+base carried on Greek Doric columns, here very modestly scaled, and cold
+flat walls above that are almost without any detailing whatever. This
+Paris street, as much as the arcaded ones of medieval and Renaissance
+Italy, may well have been the prototype for Napoleon’s first and
+greatest urbanistic project, the work of his favourite architects
+Charles Percier (1764-1838) and P.-F.-L. Fontaine (1762-1853). From his
+acquisition of La Malmaison in 1799 he kept them busy remodelling the
+interiors of his successive residences as First Consul and Emperor but
+rarely gave them new buildings to erect. This extensive planning scheme
+includes the Rue de Castiglione, running south out of the Place Vendôme,
+the Rue and Place des Pyramides, and the Rue de Rivoli facing the
+Tuileries Gardens. This last street was eventually extended to the east
+well beyond the Louvre by Napoleon III. The opening of the Rue de
+Castiglione was ordered in 1801; construction began the next year, and
+the execution of the rest went on, with long interruptions, for more
+than half a century.
+
+Percier and Fontaine’s façades are characteristic of Romantic Classicism
+in their coldness of detailing and their infinite repetition of the same
+formula; but their Italianism, thin and dry though it is, recalls the
+plates in _Maisons et palais de Rome moderne_, which the two architects
+had published in 1798 before their professional star had risen very high
+(Plate 6B). With Nash’s Cronkhill, although in a very different and even
+opposed spirit, this scheme presages the international Renaissance
+Revival of the second quarter of the century. The very effective high
+curved roofs, filling out completely the ‘envelope’ allowed by the Paris
+building code, were added in 1855; more conventional two-pitched
+mansards were provided originally.
+
+But the Empire mode, particularly as elaborated by Percier and Fontaine
+in the service of the Emperor, was primarily a fashionable style for
+interiors, and found perhaps its most characteristic expression in
+furniture, usually of dark mahogany with much ornate decoration of a
+character resembling gold embroidery on uniforms. Such flat decorative
+work is also found carved on exteriors, not only in France but wherever
+Napoleonic influence penetrated. Indeed in furniture and interior design
+generally non-French work is often of the highest quality, especially
+when executed for such clients as Napoleon’s sister Caroline Murat at
+Naples.
+
+Yet the character of French leadership in the arts had changed since the
+1780s. The architects at the end of the _ancien régime_ had been truly
+revolutionary in their aesthetic and their social ideals. Napoleon’s
+designers, almost like Hitler’s and Mussolini’s and Stalin’s in our
+century, were flatterers and time-servers. Emulation of their work
+abroad was chiefly a matter of following well-publicized fashion;
+creative French influence still flowed, however, from men of the older
+generation now so largely forgotten at home. Thus it was at this point
+that Ledoux’s projects became generally available to others, thanks to
+his book published in 1804 and dedicated to Napoleon’s Russian ally of
+the moment, Alexander I.
+
+Extensive building activity in Paris under Napoleon’s aegis began only
+in 1806, but once it started there came a positive flood of projects in
+conscious emulation of Louis XIV’s architectural campaigns. There was
+also the expectation that this activity would absorb unemployment in the
+building trades. But Napoleon, like later dictators who have initiated
+vast building projects, actually bit off a great deal more than he could
+chew. He was, however, more fortunate than Mussolini and Hitler in that
+the regimes which succeeded his in the decades between the First Empire
+and the Second were surprisingly willing to carry his unfinished
+monuments to completion. Still later, his nephew Napoleon III emulated
+him in an even more concerted programme of urbanism and monumental
+construction carried out over nearly two decades in a very different
+style—indeed in several (see Chapter 8).
+
+The Colonne de la Grande Armée, replacing the statue of Louis XV at the
+centre of the Place Vendôme, is a properly symbolic monument of its
+epoch—first to be designed of the many giant columns that would arise
+all across the Western world from Baltimore to Petersburg within the
+next quarter century. Wilkins’s Nelson Pillar in Dublin, actually
+completed before the Paris example, has already been mentioned. The
+column in Paris is Trajanesque not Grecian, however, and was entirely
+executed with the bronze of captured guns. It well represents the
+Imperial Roman megalomania already evident in many projected memorials
+of the 1790s. Gondoin, its architect, with whom was associated J.-B.
+Lepère (1761-1844), provides a real link with the past, since his
+already-mentioned École de Médecine was one of the earliest major
+edifices in which Romantic Classical ideals were carried beyond the
+transitional stage of Soufflot’s Panthéon.
+
+Even before the Colonne Vendôme was finished in 1810, a smaller and
+somewhat less typical monument, but equally Roman and also the first of
+a considerable line, had been completed by Percier and Fontaine. The Arc
+du Carrousel of 1806-8—once a gate to the Tuileries from the Place du
+Carrousel, now unhappily floating in unconfined space—has much of the
+daintiness and, in the use of coloured marbles, the polychromy of its
+architects’ contemporary palace interiors. Indeed, the richness of the
+detailing is far less characteristic of Empire taste in architecture
+than are their façades near by in the Rue de Rivoli (Plate 6B); the Arc
+du Carrousel must have provided a rather fussy pedestal for the superb
+Grecian horses stolen from St Mark’s in Venice that were originally
+mounted upon it.
+
+Far more satisfactorily symbolic of imperial aspiration is the enormous
+Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile, which looks down the entire length of the
+Champs Élysées today to overwhelm its brother arch even at that great
+distance (Plate 7). J.-A. Raymond (1742-1811), a pupil of Leroy, first
+received the commission; but with him was associated J.-F.-T. Chalgrin
+(1739-1811), the master of the younger Gisors, who soon took over and
+imposed his own astylar design. Chalgrin, like Gondoin, was an architect
+already well established under the _ancien régime_. His major innovation
+had been the reintroduction of the basilican plan[30] at
+Saint-Philippe-du-Roule in Paris in the 1760s, henceforth one of the
+favourite models for Romantic Classical churches in France and elsewhere
+on the Continent. Like many of the monuments of that earlier period by
+Chalgrin’s contemporaries, his Arc de l’Étoile reverts less to Roman
+antiquity than to certain aspects of the architecture of Louis XIV. Even
+its megalomaniac grandeur can be matched, relatively at least, in the
+Porte St Denis in Paris built in the 1680s by François Blondel, and it
+follows almost line for line the square proportions of that masterpiece.
+The arch was slowly brought to completion after Chalgrin’s death, first
+by his pupil L. Goust from 1811 to 1813 and from 1823 to 1830; then by
+Goust’s assistant, J.-N. Huyot (1780-1840), advised by a commission that
+included François Debret (1777-1850), Fontaine, and the younger Gisors;
+and finally from 1832 to 1837 by G.-A. Blouet (1795-1853). It owes its
+unmistakably nineteenth-century character partly to the crisp, hard
+quality of its imposts and entablatures and partly to the great Romantic
+figural reliefs executed in 1833 by Rude, Etex, and Cortot. These take
+the place on the piers of the more conventional trophy-hung obelisks on
+Blondel’s seventeenth-century arch. A certain post-Empire quality
+derives from the plastic complexity of Blouet’s attic; but on the whole
+the Arc de l’Étoile, if less original and less influential than
+Saint-Philippe-du-Roule, is Chalgrin’s masterpiece and Napoleon’s finest
+memorial.
+
+The Place de la Concorde, projected by A.-J. Gabriel (1692-1782) at the
+end of the Baroque Age, continued to lack, even after a half century and
+more, appropriate monuments to terminate the cross axis. The building of
+a big church at the head of the Rue Royale to close the vista between
+Gabriel’s two colonnaded ranges on the north side of the square had
+bogged down well before the Revolution; across the river the much
+earlier Palais Bourbon, set at an angle, was even more awkward than
+before, now that the roof of the Salle des Cinq Cents rose above it.
+Since the amelioration of this southern terminal required only a tall
+masking façade set at right angles to the axis, this was promptly
+provided. Poyet in 1806-8 used the most obvious Romantic Classical
+solution for such a problem, a high blank wall with a ten-columned
+temple portico at its centre. The result is certainly an urbanistic
+success, if without any particular intrinsic interest; the raising of
+the portico above a high range of steps ensured, for example, its
+visibility from the square across the bridge. The form of the pediment
+was slightly modified and the sculpture by Cortot added in 1837-41.
+
+In 1761 Pierre Contant d’Ivry (1698-1777) and, after his death, G.-M.
+Couture (1732-99) had made successive projects for a church dedicated to
+the Magdalen at the head of the Rue Royale, the latter already proposing
+that it be surrounded by a Classical peristyle. This structure, which
+was as yet barely begun, Napoleon now decided should be not a church but
+a Temple de la Gloire—he reversed his decision in 1813 after the Battle
+of Leipzig and the loss of Spain. For such a temple he understandably
+preferred, in the competition held in 1806, neither the first nor the
+second premiated design, both of church-like character, but one by
+Pierre Vignon (1763-1828) that proposed the erection of an enormous
+Corinthian temple on a high Roman podium. Inside, a series of square
+bays covered with domes on pendentives supported by giant Corinthian
+columns provided a structural solution technically Byzantine but as
+imperially Roman in scale and detailing as the exterior.
+
+Construction of the Madeleine, begun in 1807, dragged on interminably.
+J.-J.-M. Huvé (1783-1852) succeeded Vignon as architect in 1828 and,
+like the Arc de l’Étoile, the edifice was finally finished only under
+Louis Philippe in 1845. The interior has a somewhat funereal solemnity,
+more characteristic of the post-Napoleonic regimes than of the period of
+its initiation. The rather obvious temple form of the exterior is
+redeemed by the superb siting, the really grand scale, and the rich
+pedimental sculpture by Lemaire. Like Chalgrin’s arch, Vignon’s
+Madeleine has continued to provide a major monumental nexus in the
+urbanism of Paris ever since.
+
+Also proposed in 1806 but not initiated until 1808 was the Bourse by
+A.-T. Brongniart (1739-1813), another architect who had, like Gondoin
+and Chalgrin, made his mark long before the Revolution (Plate 8B). Again
+a free-standing peripteral structure like the Madeleine, the Bourse has
+suffered somewhat from its enlargement in 1902-3 by J.-B.-F. Cavel (_c._
+1844-1905) and H.-T.-E. Eustache (1861-?). Nearly square originally and
+unpedimented—and also set much closer to the ground—it must always have
+lacked the monumental presence of the Madeleine. But the interior with
+its ranges of arcades, derived almost as directly from a Louis XIV
+monument—in this case the court of the Invalides by Libéral Bruant—as
+Chalgrin’s arch was from that of Blondel, is very characteristic of the
+sort of reiterative composition generally favoured by Romantic
+Classicism. L.-H. Lebas (1782-1867) was associated with the elderly
+Brongniart from the start, and after Brongniart’s death the building was
+finished in 1815 by E.-E. de Labarre (1764-1833). Labarre was
+responsible also for the Colonne de la Grande Armée at Boulogne; this
+was proposed in 1804 and begun in 1810, but, like so many Napoleonic
+monuments, not finished until Louis Philippe took up its construction
+again in 1833. It was finally completed by Marquise in 1844.
+
+In 1799 a fire made it necessary to rebuild the Théâtre de l’Odéon; but
+the original design of M.-J. Peyre (1730-88) and Charles de Wailly
+(1729-98), dating back to 1779, was repeated in 1807 with little change,
+as was also the case in 1819 when it was rebuilt again after another
+fire. This provides excellent evidence of the continuity of Romantic
+Classical style in France before and after the Revolution (see Chapter
+3).
+
+Napoleon had in mind the erection of various less monumental and more
+utilitarian structures than the Bourse and the Odéon; some of these were
+started, and one or two even finished, before the Empire came to an end.
+Behind one section of the façades in the Rue de Rivoli an enormous and
+rather dull General Post Office was begun in 1810 and eventually
+completed to serve as the Ministry of Finance under Charles X in 1827.
+Another ministry (Foreign Affairs) on the Quai d’Orsay was designed in
+1810 by J.-C. Bonnard (1765-1818) and even begun in 1814; this was
+eventually carried to completion by Bonnard’s pupil Jacques Lacornée
+(1779-1856) in 1821-35. With its rich ordonnance of columns and arches,
+Bonnard’s façade had an almost High Renaissance air, or so it would
+appear from extant views of a structure long ago destroyed.
+
+The Marché St Martin of 1811-16 by A.-M. Peyre (1770-1843), the Marché
+des Carmes of 1813 by A.-L.-T. Vaudoyer (1756-1846), and the Marché St
+Germain of 1816-25 by J.-B. Blondel (1764-1825), with their clerestory
+lighting and open timber roofs, are typical of the more practical side
+of Romantic Classicism.[31] The simple masonry vocabulary of these
+Parisian markets, so straightforward and without Antique pretension, was
+considered to be Italian (see Chapter 2).
+
+The Napoleonic building flurry barely reached the provinces before its
+short course was over. The theatre in Dijon, begun about 1805 by Jacques
+Célérier (1742-1814), may be mentioned; but such plain square blocks
+with frontal porticoes could have been, and were, built in almost
+precisely the same form thirty years before—for example Ledoux’s theatre
+at Besançon of 1775-84. At Pontivy in Brittany, then called
+Napoléonville, the younger Gisors built a Préfecture in 1809 and a
+Palace of Justice with associated prisons two years later. A rather dull
+church, Saint-Vincent at Mâcon, repeating a model that had been new at
+Saint-Philippe-du-Roule forty years earlier, was also erected by him in
+1810. The pair of front towers was a novelty suggested by an earlier
+project of Lebas.
+
+It is quite characteristic of this period, so ready (as the French have
+been ever since) to employ elderly architects and so content with
+stylistic innovations that dated from before the Revolution, that
+Mathurin Crucy (1749-1826) rebuilt in 1808-12 the theatre in Nantes—very
+like that at Dijon—in exactly the same form as it had originally been
+designed by him in 1784-8; while he also finished in 1809-12 the Bourse
+and Tribunal de Commerce there which he had begun in 1791, just after
+the Revolution started, with no change in the original design. The
+setting of his theatre in the Place Graslin provided by continuous
+ranges of five-storey houses is presumably contemporary; despite the
+rather high roofs, the façades are notably crisp and smooth. The
+rusticated arcuation of the lower storeys might make plausible a date in
+the 1780s, but the rather thin and geometrically detailed iron balcony
+railings suggest rather the first or second decade of the new century,
+when the theatre was rebuilt.
+
+If the imperial effort in France barely extended outside Paris except
+for the interior alterations that Percier and Fontaine carried out in
+the royal châteaux at Versailles, Compiègne, Saint-Cloud, and
+Fontainebleau—major examples of Empire decoration but not of
+architecture—the emperor and his nominees left their mark on most of the
+great cities of continental Europe. The Palazzo Serbelloni in the Corso
+Venezia, where Napoleon stayed in Milan, had been built by Simone
+Cantoni (1736-1818) in 1794. Similar to French work of the 1780s, it
+would probably have impressed the Emperor as still quite up-to-date. He
+ordered in 1806 the laying out in Milan of the Forum Bonaparte,
+according to the designs of Giannantonio Antolini (1754-1842), and the
+erection of a conventionally Roman triumphal arch, the work of Luigi
+Cagnola (1762-1832?), which was finally completed in 1838.
+
+In Rome the development of the Piazza del Popolo, like the Forum
+Bonaparte a work of urbanism rather than of architecture, was based by
+Giuseppe Valadier (1762-1859), an Italian despite his French name and
+ancestry, on a project he had made as early as 1794. This project was
+modified by him under the Empire to incorporate ‘corrections’ by the
+younger Gisors and L.-M. Berthault (1771?-1823). Execution of the
+project actually began only in 1813 after Pope Pius VII returned from
+his Napoleonic captivity; Valadier carried it forward to ultimate
+completion in 1831. Valadier’s Roman church work, such as his new façade
+for San Pantaleone of 1806, just off the present-day Corso Vittorio
+Emanuele, is mostly too dull to mention; his domestic work was somewhat
+more interesting, but with little personal or even Italian flavour.
+
+In Naples Leconte, who had worked with the two Gisors on the Salle des
+Cinq Cents in Paris, remodelled the San Carlo opera house in 1809 for
+Murat—it was, however, refronted in 1810-12 and rebuilt in 1816-17 (see
+Chapter 3). In association with Antonio de Simone, Leconte also
+decorated rooms in the Bourbon Palace at Caserta,[32] originally built
+by Vanvitelli in 1752-74, for this Napoleonic brother-in-law. But the
+finest Empire things in the area were the Sala di Marte and the Sala di
+Astrea there, which de Simone, working alone, had begun to decorate
+slightly earlier in 1807 for Napoleon’s brother Joseph Bonaparte (Plate
+25). As with so many architectural projects of the brief period of the
+Empire, it was left to a returning legitimate sovereign, in this case
+Ferdinand I of the Two Sicilies, to finish the job. Unlike the greater
+part of Percier and Fontaine’s work in the French palaces, these rooms
+at Caserta are interior architecture, not just interior decoration, and
+fully worthy in their scale and their sumptuous materials of the
+magnificent spaces, created almost half a century earlier by Vanvitelli,
+which they occupy. This is the more remarkable as de Simone was really a
+decorator not an architect.
+
+The Napoleonic emendation of the Piazza San Marco in Venice calls for
+little comment. There Sansovino’s church of San Zimignan at the end was
+removed in 1807 and replaced with a structure by G. M. Solis (1745-1823)
+more consonant with the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Procurazie by
+Buon and by Scamozzi along the sides. Solis’s emendation finally
+completed, and not unworthily, this most magnificent piece of urbanism
+in the form we now know it. La Fenice, the Venice opera-house, had been
+rebuilt by Giannantonio Selva (1751-1819) in 1786-92; of his work,
+however, only the rather dull façade remains. The exquisite Neo-Rococo
+interior is, rather surprisingly, of the second quarter of the
+nineteenth century, being by the brothers Tommaso and G. B. Meduna
+(1810-?), who restored the theatre after a fire in 1836.
+
+Ever since the fifteenth century Italian architects had worked much
+abroad, generally bringing with them the latest stylistic developments.
+Now that day was largely over; France, England, and very soon Germany
+were exporting taste as Italy had done for so many previous centuries.
+After the Second World War her position as architectural mentor began,
+at least, to revive again (see Chapter 25).
+
+The employment of foreign architects by Russian Tsars was a
+well-established tradition by the late eighteenth century;[33] most of
+them had been Italians, but one, Charles Cameron (_c._ 1714-1812), who
+represents like Adam the transition from Academic to Romantic
+Classicism, was Scottish.[34] There had also been a French designer of
+the most original order working in Russia early in the eighteenth
+century, Nicholas Pineau (1684-1754); he even formed his mature style
+there, initiating the ‘Pittoresque’ phase of the Rococo well before he
+returned to France. Half a century later Catherine the Great acquired
+the greater part of the drawings of Clérisseau, friend and mentor of
+Adam and also of Jefferson. Catherine’s grandson, Alexander I, was so
+esteemed as a liberal ruler in what had once been the most advanced of
+French architectural circles that Ledoux, long left behind as a builder
+by Revolution and Empire, dedicated to him his book on architecture in
+1804, as has already been noted.
+
+Soon after Alexander’s accession in 1801 he called on a less
+distinguished French architect, Thomas de Thomon (1754-1813), to design
+the Petersburg Bourse[35] for him; this structure, built in 1804-16, not
+Brongniart’s slightly later Bourse in Paris, is the great, indeed almost
+the prime, monument of Romantic Classicism around 1800 (Plate
+#8A:pl008A). The blank pediment, rising from behind a colonnade, the
+great segmental lunette lighting the interior, the flanking rostral
+columns, the smooth stucco so crisply painted, all establish this as a
+perfect exemplar of this period, even though every idea in it can be
+found in projects, if not in executed work, by Ledoux and Boullée dating
+from before the Revolution. An even more precise prototype is provided
+by a project for a ‘Bourse Maritime’ by Pompon that won a second Grand
+Prix de Rome in 1798; this was not published until 1806, after Thomon
+had begun his Bourse, but he was probably familiar with it all the same.
+Not only is the Bourse exemplary in itself; Petersburg—already a century
+old and with many vast Baroque palaces to its credit—rather than the
+newly founded city of Washington on the other side of the western world,
+offers the finest urban entity of this brief period and of the following
+decades during which Alexander and his brother Nicholas I continued for
+some thirty years major campaigns of construction along Romantic
+Classical lines.
+
+Thomon’s chief Russian rival, Nikiforovich Voronikhin (1760-1814), was
+French-trained, a pupil of de Wailly. His Kazan Cathedral at Petersburg
+of 1801-11 is still rather Baroque in its obvious reminiscences of St
+Peter’s in Rome. But the Academy of Mines, which he began ten years
+later, although somewhat heavy-handed in the way Romantic Classicism
+tended to be, away from the great cultural centres, is almost as
+exemplary as Thomon’s Bourse. More characteristically Russian in its
+incredible extension and the great variety of its silhouette is the
+Admiralty[36] of 1806-15 by Adrian Dimitrievich Zakharov (1761-1811).
+But the end façades successfully enlarged to monumental scale the theme
+of the arched entrance to the pre-revolutionary Hôtel de Salm in Paris
+by Pierre Rousseau (1751-1810). Altogether the Admiralty exceeded in
+quality as well as in scale almost everything that Napoleon commanded to
+be built in France, except perhaps the Arc de l’Étoile.
+
+Thus Romantic Classicism before Waterloo had major representatives all
+the way from Latrobe and Mills in America, the one a foreigner, the
+other a native, to Thomon and his two native rivals in Russia; while the
+work of Leconte in Naples could once be matched by that done by Ramée in
+Hamburg and Denmark before he went to America and by the projects, at
+least, of Desprez in Sweden (see below). Other Frenchmen were working
+throughout Napoleon’s realm and outside it as well; but the most
+distinguished architect of this period hitherto unmentioned was a Dane,
+C. F. Hansen (1756-1845). The design of his Palace of Justice of 1805-15
+in the Nytorv in Copenhagen, with its associated gaol, derives from the
+most advanced projects made by Frenchmen in the earlier years of
+Romantic Classicism before 1800. The gaol and the arches of its
+courtyard are more definitely Romantic than anything executed in France
+under Louis XVI, for they specifically recall the ‘Prisons’ of Piranesi,
+those strange architectural dreams in which the Baroque seems to become
+the Romantic before one’s very eyes. The gaol also resembles a prison
+designed for Aix by Ledoux and owes a certain medieval flavour, one must
+presume, to Hansen’s first- or second-hand knowledge of the projects of
+Boullée.
+
+Still finer, because more homogeneous in conception if less pictorially
+Romantic, is the principal church in Copenhagen, the Vor Frue Kirke in
+the Nørregade, designed in 1808-10 by Hansen and built over the years
+1811-29. The severely plain tower above the Greek Doric portico at the
+front illustrates the more primitivistic and Italianate aspects of
+Romantic Classical theory—more precisely it might seem to derive from
+the tower of a project for a slaughterhouse by F.-J. Belanger
+(1744-1818),[37] a pupil of Leroy. The interior, eventually furnished
+with statues of Christ and the Twelve Apostles by one of the greatest
+Romantic Classical sculptors, the Danish Thorwaldsen, raises its ranges
+of Greek Doric columns to gallery level above a smooth arcuated base
+(Plate 4B). These carry a coffered Roman barrel vault in a way that
+follows quite closely, although with some change in the proportions,
+Boullée’s project for the Bibliothèque Royale. Not the least successful
+and original feature of the exterior is the plain half-cylinder of the
+half-domed apse broken only by a portal of almost Egyptian simplicity.
+But in Copenhagen, with its old tradition of building in brick, the
+characteristic Romantic Classical surfaces of smooth stucco seem alien
+and the curious pinky-brown that Hansen’s buildings are painted is
+certainly a little gloomy today.
+
+In Sweden the Rome-trained French architect Desprez, whose projects of
+the 1780s have been mentioned, was largely occupied not with building
+but with theatre settings; however, there is at least the excellent
+Botanical Institute that he built in Uppsala, designed in 1791 and
+completed in 1807, with its characteristic Greek Doric portico and plain
+wall surfaces. More notable was his grandiose project, also of 1791, for
+the Haga Slott in the form of a very long peripteral temple with an
+octastyle pedimented portico projecting in the middle of the side. But
+Sweden saw no such monumental example of Romantic Classicism carried to
+execution. Typical of actual production is the country house at
+Stjamsund built in 1801 by C. F. Sundahl (1754-1831); this is more
+English than French in character, indeed with its plain rectangular mass
+and central portico almost literally Anglo-Palladian.
+
+Harassed and recurrently conquered or _gleichgeschaltet_ though most of
+the German states were in the Napoleonic Wars (while Sweden eventually
+received a Napoleonic marshal as sovereign through the testament of her
+legitimate ruler) there was much more building altogether in these years
+of the turn of the century in Germany than in Sweden, or indeed in
+France, much of it of high quality. The frontispiece to Romantic
+Classicism in Germany is the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, built in
+1789-93 by K. G. Langhans (1733-1808). Still somewhat attenuated and
+un-Grecian in its proportions, this is the first of the Doric ceremonial
+gateways that were to be so characteristic of Romantic Classicism
+everywhere and also one of the most complex and original in composition.
+More ponderous and provincial is Langhans’s Potsdam theatre of 1795; but
+the Stadttheater at Danzig of 1798-1801 by Held, the City Architect, a
+cube with a Doric temple portico and a low saucer dome, follows a more
+Ledolcian paradigm.
+
+David Gilly (1748-1808) was a more advanced Berlin architect than the
+elderly Langhans; but his best work of these years is the Viewegsches
+Haus in Brunswick of 1801-5 with its smooth stucco wall-planes, boldly
+incised ornament, and Greek Doric porch. More elegantly French is
+another Brunswick house of this period, the free-standing Villa Holland
+of 1805 by P. J. Krahe (1758-1840).
+
+Gilly would have been overshadowed by his son Friedrich (1771-1800) had
+the latter lived, or so one must judge, not from his modest Mölter house
+in the Tiergartenstrasse in Berlin of 1799, but from certain major
+projects. One, of 1797, is for a monument to Frederick the Great which
+was widely and deeply influential for many years to come; another, of
+1800, is for a Prussian National Theatre, improving upon Ledoux’s at
+Besançon as regards the interior and very original in its external
+massing. The monument raised a Greek Doric temple on a tremendous
+substructure of the most abstract geometrical character, surrounded it
+with obelisks, and set the whole in a vast open space, unconfined but—as
+it were—defined by subsidiary structures of very fresh and varied design
+(Plate 9A). The handsome gateway to the square seems to provide evidence
+of Gilly’s familiarity with such a highly personal work of Soane as his
+entrance arch at Tyringham (Plate 6A); however, the general tone of
+somewhat funereal grandeur recalls rather the monumental projects of
+Ledoux, Boullée, and the younger men of France who designed so much and
+built so little in this decade. Other contemporary Berlin architects,
+such as Heinrich Gentz (1766-1801), who built the old Mint in 1798-1800,
+and Friedrich Becherer (1746-1823), who built the Exchange in 1801,
+while up-to-date stylistically, were much less accomplished than
+Friedrich Gilly. His artistic heir was his fellow pupil Schinkel, whose
+architectural career really began in 1816 (see Chapter 2).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 1. Friedrich Weinbrenner: Karlsruhe, Marktplatz, 1804-24, plan
+]
+
+The Baden architect Friedrich Weinbrenner (1766-1826) was already active
+in Strasbourg in the 1790s, and his monument of 1800 to General Desaix
+on the Île des Épis, Bas-Rhin, is so French in every way that it
+properly finds a place in the official publication by Gourlier and
+others of the public works of France in these years. Returning to
+Karlsruhe, Weinbrenner began perhaps the most productive architectural
+career of any German of his generation, transforming the Baden capital
+into a Romantic Classical city somewhat less monumental, but more
+coherently exemplary, than Petersburg. His own house there dated from
+1801 and his Ettlinger Gate from 1803. In 1804 he began work on the
+Marktplatz there, basing himself, however, on earlier projects that he
+had made in 1790 and in 1797 (Plate 10A). A Baroque scheme exists on
+paper for this square, closing it in with continuous façades and curving
+them round the ends. Weinbrenner’s characteristically Romantic Classical
+approach to the design of a square is quite different, similar to if
+somewhat less open than Friedrich Gilly’s intended setting for the
+Frederick the Great Monument (Figure 1). Two balancing but not identical
+buildings, each more or less isolated, face each other across the centre
+of the oblong space. The other less important structures appear as
+separate blocks. Their relative geometrical purity is underlined by the
+even purer form of the plain pyramidal monument erected in the centre in
+1823. Such had for some time provided favourite decorations in Romantic
+gardens, but this was the first to be used as a focal accent in place of
+an arch, a column, or an obelisk. The City Hall on one side, with the
+associated Lyceum, was begun in 1804 and completed some twenty years
+later. The temple-like Evangelical Church which faces the City Hall was
+built in 1807-16. Something of the grand scale of the Corinthian portico
+on the front of the church is carried over into the interior, where two
+tiers of galleries run along the sides behind giant Corinthian nave
+colonnades. In the circular Rondellplatz, punctuated eventually by an
+obelisk in the centre, there rose in 1805-13 Weinbrenner’s
+Markgräfliches Palais, its portico set against the concave quadrant of
+the front. His domed Catholic church of 1808-17 was unfortunately
+entirely rebuilt in 1880-3.
+
+Similar to Weinbrenner’s Rondellplatz is the Karolinenplatz in Munich,
+laid out by Karl von Fischer (1782-1820) in 1808. But this was
+originally even more Romantic Classical in disposition, since the
+individual houses were all discrete blocks set in the segments between
+the entering streets. The 106-foot obelisk in the centre here was
+erected in 1833 by Leo von Klenze (1784-1864). Fischer’s National
+Theatre in the Max-Josephsplatz in Munich, projected in 1810 and built
+in 1811-18—and later rebuilt by Klenze according to the original design
+after a fire in 1823—is a quite conventional monument of its day
+dominated by a great temple portico. Though not very crisp in its
+proportions, this theatre has real presence, particularly in relation to
+the less boldly scaled Renaissance Revival buildings by Klenze, the
+Königsbau of 1826 and the Hauptpostamt of ten years later, which flank
+it on the sides of the square.
+
+Not to extend unduly this catalogue of German work of the very opening
+years of the nineteenth century, one may conclude with mention of the
+Women’s Prison in Würzburg by Peter Speeth (1772-1831) built in 1809-10.
+In this, much of the boldness of design of the French prison projects of
+Ledoux and Boullée was happily realized, if at a rather modest scale
+(Plate 17B). Speeth later proceeded to Russia, but what he did there is
+a mystery.
+
+Austrian production was rather limited and on the whole undistinguished
+in this period. The extant façade by Franz Jäger (1743-1809) of the
+Theater an der Wien of 1797-1801 off the Linke Wienzeile in Vienna has a
+delicacy that is more _style Louis XVI_ than Romantic Classical. Neither
+the Palais Rasumofsky at 23-25 Rasumofskygasse in Vienna of 1806-7,
+built by Louis Joseph von Montoyer (_c._ 1749-1811) for Beethoven’s
+patron, nor his Albertina of 1800-4 on the Augustinerbastei has much
+character. There is equally little to be said for the Palais Palffy of
+1809 at 3 Wallnerstrasse by the other leading Viennese architect of the
+day, Karl von Moreau (1758-1841). Despite his French name, Montoyer was
+a Hapsburg subject from the Walloon provinces; Moreau’s origin is
+uncertain, but he is reputed to have been trained, if not born, in
+France. If he was not French, Austria would be one of the few countries
+where no French architect worked in this period.
+
+A certain sort of primacy must certainly be given to France in this
+period, although less definitely than in the decades 1750-90, because
+the French became the educators of the world in architecture and the
+codifiers of style once a new post-Baroque style had been created. Among
+Napoleon’s new institutional establishments was the École Polytechnique.
+Here architecture was taught by Durand, a pupil of Boullée, under the
+Empire and the following Restoration. His _Précis des leçons_ became a
+sort of Bible of later Romantic Classicism throughout his lifetime and
+even beyond. Above all in Germany, the instruction of Durand provided
+the link between the innovations of the creative decades before the
+Revolution in France and a new generation of architects who matured just
+in time to take over the building activities of the kingdoms which rose
+from the ruins of Napoleon’s empire. We may well precede any description
+of the achievements of Romantic Classicism after 1810 with some
+consideration of Durand’s treatise.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 2
+ THE DOCTRINE OF J.-N.-L. DURAND AND ITS APPLICATION IN NORTHERN EUROPE
+
+
+FROM the time of Louis XIV France had been unique in possessing a highly
+organized system of architectural education. Under the aegis of the
+Académie, students were prepared for professional practice in a way all
+but unknown elsewhere. To crown their formal training came the
+opportunity, determined by competition, for the ablest to spend several
+years of further study as _pensionnaires_ in Rome. The revolutionary
+years of the 1790s disrupted temporarily the French pattern of
+architectural education and recurrent wars cut off access to Rome. The
+Empire, however, early re-established the pattern of higher professional
+education with only slight and nominal differences. From 1806 on,
+moreover, the competition projects for the Prix de Rome, including those
+from as far back as 1791, were handsomely published in a series of
+volumes.[38] Thus the whole international world of architecture could
+henceforth have ready access to the visual results of official French
+training in architecture, if not to the actual discipline of the
+Parisian ateliers.
+
+Napoleon, as an ex-ordnance officer, felt more sympathy with engineers
+than with architects; hence he established a new École Polytechnique,
+where architecture was included in the curriculum along with various
+sciences and technics. J.-N.-L. Durand (1760-1834), the new school’s
+professor of architecture, published his _Précis des leçons
+d’architecture données à l’École Polytechnique_ in two volumes in
+1802-5, thus making a fairly complete presentation of the content of
+French architectural education generally available.[39] Recurrent issues
+of this work down to 1840, of which at least one appeared outside
+France—in Belgium—allowed this popular treatise to become a sort of
+bible of Romantic Classicism that retained international authority for a
+generation and more.
+
+Durand was a pupil of Boullée; but both the text and the plates of his
+book indicate his capacity for synthesizing and systematizing the
+diverse strands of theory and practice that had developed in France in
+the previous forty years. Because of his temperament and background, and
+_a fortiori_ because he was teaching not in an art academy but in a
+technical school, Durand is doubtless to be classed within his
+generation as a proponent of structural rationalism. But he was a much
+more eclectic one than Soufflot’s disciple Rondelet, from 1795 professor
+at the École Centrale des Travaux Publics and author of the major
+treatise on building construction of the period.[40] Durand’s lessons
+incorporated many other aspects of Romantic Classicism, from the pure
+Classical Revivalism of one wing of the academic world to an eclectic
+interest in Renaissance and even, like his master Boullée, in certain
+medieval modes; only the recondite symbolism of Ledoux is absent. In
+general, one feels in Durand’s case, as always with the second
+generation of an artistic movement, some loss of intensity at various
+points where the awkward edges of opposed sources of inspiration were
+clipped to allow their coherent codification.
+
+After a theoretical introduction concerning the goal of architecture,
+its structural means, and the general principles to be derived
+therefrom, Durand deals as a convinced ‘constructor’ with various
+materials and their proper employment before treating of specific forms
+and their combination. Only in the second part of his work, concerned
+with ways of combining architectural elements, do the visual results of
+his theories become fully evident. There he presents in plan and in
+elevation various structural systems from trabeated colonnades of Greek
+and Roman inspiration to arcuated and vaulted forms of Renaissance or
+even round-arched medieval character. Among his specific examples,
+‘vertical combinations’ of fifteenth- or sixteenth-century elements
+outnumber the strictly Classical paradigms (Figure 2); whole plates,
+moreover, are given to schemes that are not only generically Italianate,
+but of Early Christian, Romanesque, or even Gothic, rather than
+Renaissance, inspiration. Common to most of his examples is the
+insistent repetition of elements, both horizontally and vertically, and
+most characteristic is his interest in the varied skylines that central
+and corner towers can provide, as also in the incorporation of voids in
+architectural compositions in the form of loggias and pergolas. More
+monumental façades fronted by temple porticoes are in a minority,
+although colonnades are frequent enough in his presentation of such
+specific features as porches, vestibules, halls, galleries, and central
+spaces. Here are to be found most of the detailed formulas—almost all
+derived from Boullée and from the Grand Prix projects of the previous
+decade—which the next generation of architects would follow again and
+again throughout most of the western world.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 2. J.-N.-L. Durand: ‘Vertical Combinations’ (from _Précis des
+ leçons_, 1805)
+]
+
+In his second volume Durand turns from a consideration of architecture
+in terms of structural elements to a notably systematic presentation of
+buildings in terms of their varying functions. First he deals with
+urbanistic features, including not only bridges, streets, and squares,
+but also such supposedly essential elements of the ideal classicizing
+city as triumphal arches and tombs. A second section considers temples
+(not churches, it is amusing to note), palaces, treasuries, law courts,
+town halls, colleges, libraries, museums, observatories, lighthouses,
+markets, exchanges, custom houses, exhibition buildings, theatres,
+baths, hospitals, prisons, and barracks. Here were all the individual
+structures of the model Napoleonic city, of which Napoleon had time to
+build so few but of which the next decades in France and abroad were to
+see so many executed by Durand’s pupils and other emulators of his
+ideals.
+
+For less representational edifices, from town halls and markets to
+prisons and barracks, Durand’s utilitarianism led him to substitute for
+colonnades and domes plain walls broken by ranges of arcuated openings,
+sometimes of _quattrocento_ or Roman-aqueduct character but as often of
+vaguely medieval inspiration. For nearly a half century such paradigms
+were very frequently followed, not only in France but even more in other
+countries, as Classicism continued to grow more Romantic.
+
+Nor were the designs for houses that Durand provided in the final
+section of his book entirely uninfluential.[41] However, there were
+fewer of these, and the inspiration of far more executed work of the
+next forty or fifty years can be traced to his paradigms for public
+monuments than to his prescriptions for private dwellings. Indeed,
+Romantic Classicism is a predominantly public style, and its
+utilitarianism is of the State rather than of the private individual.
+However, the opposing current of the Picturesque, reflected in Durand’s
+book only in his concern for the ‘employment of the objects of nature in
+the composition of edifices’ (by which he meant hardly more than
+Italianate fountains and even more Italianate vine-hung loggias),
+provided amply for the individual (see Chapter 6).
+
+It might seem natural to continue from this discussion of Durand’s
+treatise with some account of the executed architecture of France during
+the final years of the Empire after 1810, under the last Bourbons, and
+under Louis Philippe. Actually, however, the most concrete examples of
+Durand’s influence, and certainly the finest Durandesque monuments, are
+to be found not in France but in Germany and Denmark.
+
+By the time of Napoleon, French influence on German architecture was a
+very old story. More and more French architects were employed by German
+princes as the eighteenth century proceeded, and by 1800 there were few
+German centres without examples of their work. As we have seen in the
+previous chapter, moreover, the work of various German architects in the
+1790s and the early 1800s, whether or not they had actually studied or
+even travelled in France, showed their devotion to the early ideals of
+Romantic Classicism. Such men as K. G. Langhans and David Gilly in
+Berlin, Fischer in Munich, or Weinbrenner in Karlsruhe had no Napoleon
+to employ them; but they were happier than his architects in seeing
+their major works brought to relatively early completion. At Karlsruhe
+Weinbrenner’s comprehensive projects for the new quarters of the town
+continued to go forward down to his death in 1826. By that time his City
+Hall had finally been finished, and street after street of modest houses
+filled out the pattern of a coherent Romantic Classical city.
+
+The Karlsruhe Marktplatz stands as one of the happiest ensembles of the
+early nineteenth century, happy not alone because Weinbrenner, who first
+conceived it, was able to carry it to final completion before
+architectural fashions had begun to change, but even more because that
+first conception dated back to the most vigorous period of the
+architectural revolution in Germany and was not notably diluted by the
+more pedestrian standards of later days (Plate 10A). In detail, perhaps,
+the original designs for the individual buildings were bolder; but the
+ideal of a public square, not walled in in the Baroque way but defined
+by discrete blocks, balanced but not identical, and focused by the
+eye-catching diagonals of the central pyramid, a geometric shape as pure
+as the cube or the sphere yet also an established formal symbol and a
+subtle memory of the Egyptian past, was fully realized (Figure 1).
+Outside the Marktplatz, except perhaps in the Rondellplatz with its
+central obelisk, Weinbrenner’s work is more provincial though in a very
+distinguished way. Here and there, moreover, a pointed arch or a touch
+of asymmetry showed his early response to the contemporary currents of
+the Picturesque.
+
+Weinbrenner’s death in 1826 and the succession as State architect of
+Baden of his pupil Heinrich Hübsch (1795-1863) provides a natural break
+in the Romantic Classical story at just that point when the rise of new
+ideals began to make the more Classical side of Romantic Classicism out
+of date—in 1828 Hübsch himself published a characteristic essay, _In
+welchem Styl sollen wir bauen?_, a question to which the answers were
+increasingly various, and rarely the Classical style. Elsewhere in
+Germany, and notably in Bavaria, where the Wittelsbachs, raised to
+kingship while in alliance with Napoleon, were also the most culturally
+ambitious rulers of a post-Napoleonic state, there is no such sharp
+break. Leo von Klenze, born in 1784 in Hildesheim, lived until 1864; his
+Munich Propylaeon, completed only the year before his death and begun as
+late as 1846, is by no means the least Grecian of his works. Klenze (he
+was ennobled by his royal patron) had studied in Paris under the Empire
+not only under Durand at the École Polytechnique but also with Percier.
+In 1805 he had visited the other two main sources of up-to-date
+architectural inspiration, Italy with its Classical ruins and its
+Renaissance palaces, and England with its own early version of Romantic
+Classicism and its various illustrations of the Picturesque. In 1808
+Napoleon’s brother Jerome, then King of Westphalia, who was already
+employing A.-H.-V. Grandjean de Montigny (1776-1850), had made the
+twenty-four-year-old Paris-trained German his court architect; in 1814
+Maximilian I called him to Munich.
+
+In 1816 Klenze began his first major construction, the Munich
+Glyptothek, a characteristic and externally somewhat dull sculpture
+gallery. This is dominated in the established French way by a tall
+temple portico in the centre, and the blank walls at either side are
+relieved, none too happily, by aedicular niches. But if the exterior
+(which survived the blitz) is conventional enough the interiors,
+completed in 1830 and originally filled—among other magnificent
+antiquities—with the sculpture from the temple at Aegina as repaired and
+installed by Thorwaldsen, made it one of the finest productions of the
+great early age of museum-building as long as they existed (Plate 9B).
+The plan, with a range of top-lit galleries around a court, was
+generically Durandesque in its square modularity; the sections followed
+almost line for line one of Durand’s paradigms for art galleries (Figure
+3). The sumptuous decoration of the vaults and the superb sculpture so
+handsomely arranged by Thorwaldsen provided a mixture of periods—real
+fifth-century Greek and Empire—distressing to purists but wonderfully
+symptomatic of the ideals of the age.
+
+The Glyptothek was the first building erected in the Königsplatz, a very
+typical Romantic Classical urbanistic entity. Faced by an even more
+completely columniated picture gallery, built by G. F. Ziebland
+(1800-73) in 1838-48, with Klenze’s Propylaeon of 1846-63 forming the
+far side of the square, the Königsplatz has all the coldness and
+barrenness which Weinbrenner happily avoided in his Marktplatz; by the
+time of its completion this must have seemed very out of date, not least
+to Klenze himself. But as the Propylaeon indicates, Klenze never
+eschewed trabeated Classicism, however much his best later work belongs
+to—indeed to a considerable extent actually initiates—the Renaissance
+Revival.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 3. J.-N.-L. Durand: ‘Galleries’ (from _Précis des leçons_,
+ 1805)
+]
+
+His Walhalla[42] near Regensburg, built in 1831-42 but based on designs
+prepared a decade or more earlier, is the most grandly sited of all the
+copies of Greek and Roman temples which succeeded in the first half of
+the nineteenth century Jefferson’s initial large-scale example at
+Richmond, Virginia. Like the finest ancient Greek temples, it is raised
+high on a hill—that is actually what is most truly Classical about it,
+as it is also, paradoxically, what may today seem most specifically
+Romantic (Plate 16A). But the tremendous substructure of staircases and
+terraces, derived from Friedrich Gilly’s project for the monument to
+Frederick the Great (Plate 9A), could belong to no other period than
+this.
+
+In the thirties Klenze, who had already visited Greece in 1823-4 before
+the establishment of a Wittelsbach monarchy gave employment to Bavarian
+architects there, was called to Petersburg. There, in 1839-49, rose his
+Hermitage Museum. The elaborate detailing of this, however Grecian it
+may be in intention, reflects the growing taste for elaboration in the
+second quarter of the century as his other Classical works do not. Still
+later, though not as late as the Propylaeon, is the Munich Ruhmeshalle
+of 1843-53, a U-shaped Doric stoa which provides in the Hellenistic way
+a setting for a giant statue of Bavaria by Schwanthaler. This is dull,
+and still in the old-established Grecian mode of the earlier years of
+the century. More characteristically, however, Klenze left all that
+behind him even before 1825, when Maximilian I was succeeded by Ludwig
+I.
+
+Museums are the most typical monuments of Romantic Classicism, as a
+whole range of them[43] from the Museo Pio-Clementino by Michelangelo
+Simonetti (1724-81) at the Vatican in Rome of 1769-74 down at least to
+the Neuere Pinakothek in Munich of 1846-53 by August von Voit (1801-71)
+sufficiently illustrate. The two most purely Grecian examples, Smirke’s
+British Museum in London (Plate 33) and Schinkel’s Neues (later Altes)
+Museum in Berlin (Plate 13), were not yet designed when Klenze first
+turned his attention in the years 1822-5 to planning a gallery for
+paintings at Munich. Begun in 1826 and completed in 1833, the Pinakothek
+(later Ältere Pinakothek) might be considered the earliest monumental
+example of revived High Renaissance design. Yet there is little about it
+that cannot be matched in published French Grand Prix projects or in the
+plates of Durand; Bonnard’s ministry on the Quai d’Orsay in Paris,
+moreover, must have been rather similar. The Pinakothek was largely
+destroyed in the Second World War, but has now been rebuilt according to
+Klenze’s original design, except for the ceiling decorations.
+
+Another building by Klenze, the Königsbau section of the Royal palace in
+Munich, fronting on the Max-Josephplatz at right angles to Fischer’s
+theatre, is a more attractive early example of the Renaissance Revival.
+Begun in the same year 1826 as the Ältere Pinakothek, it was completed
+in 1833. The façade follows closely that of the Pitti Palace as extended
+in the seventeenth century, but carries the pilasters of Alberti’s
+Rucellai Palace, and in designing it Klenze must have drawn heavily on
+the _Architecture toscane_ of Grandjean de Montigny.[44] The planning
+inside is curiously free and asymmetrical considering the total
+regularity of the fenestration, but then little trace of the original
+Pitti plan had survived to be followed by an imitator.
+
+In 1836 Klenze completed this square, so characteristic a product of two
+generations of Romantic Classicism, by facing the eighteenth-century
+Palais Törring on the other side from the Königsbau with a
+_quattrocento_ arcade in order to provide a monumental and harmonious
+Central Post Office. Another earlier square, the Odeonsplatz, with
+Klenze’s Leuchtenberg Palais of 1819, his matching Odeon completed in
+1828, and a range of shops of 1822, also by him, on the other side of
+the Ludwigstrasse, has almost as much Italian Renaissance feeling but is
+less derivatively Tuscan. It follows rather the work of his master
+Percier in Paris under the Empire.
+
+The increasing eclecticism of Romantic Classical architects is well
+illustrated by the fact that the Court Church[45] attached to the palace
+at the rear was built by Klenze in the same years as the Königsbau,
+1826-37. This is covered by a series of domes on pendentives, derived
+presumably from the Madeleine in Paris but detailed to suggest, as
+Vignon’s do not, the ultimately Byzantine origin of the structural form;
+the immediate prototype, however, was probably one of Schinkel’s
+projects for the Werder Church in Berlin (see below).
+
+In the creation of the principal street of Ludwigian Munich, the
+Ludwigstrasse, a rival of Klenze’s, Friedrich von Gärtner (1792-1847),
+like Klenze ennobled by his sovereign, played a more important role.
+Born in Coblenz, Gärtner studied first at the Munich Academy, where he
+was later to be professor of architecture and, from 1841, director.
+After his studies in Munich, he travelled in France, Italy, Holland, and
+England, although he had no formal foreign training such as Klenze’s.
+Gärtner’s first major work, destined by its tall twin towers to dominate
+the long and rather monotonous perspective of the Ludwigstrasse, was the
+Ludwigskirche built in 1829-40 (Plate 10B). If Klenze’s Court Church was
+Byzantinesque, Gärtner’s church was Romanesquoid, though still in a
+rather Durandesque way. Even more Durandesque, and very much finer, is
+the long façade of Gärtner’s State Library next door, which was built in
+1831-40 (Plate 10B). Here the tawny tones of the brick and terracotta,
+as much as the slightly medievalizing detail of the arcuated front, give
+evidence of the Romantic rejection of the monochromy typical of the
+Greek Revival. But if this façade is warm in colour it could hardly be
+colder in design, throwing into happy relief the richer _ordonnance_ of
+Klenze’s nearby War Office of 1824-6 with its rusticated arches and low
+wings (Figure 4).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 4. Leo von Klenze: Munich, War Office, 1824-6, elevation
+]
+
+Rounding out the Ludwigstrasse are many other consonant structures. By
+Klenze is the Herzog Max Palais of 1826-30 on the right; by Gärtner the
+Blindeninstitut of 1834-8, farther down opposite the Ludwigskirche, and
+the University of 1834-40 together with the Max Joseph Stift that
+complete the terminal square. There stands also the inharmoniously Roman
+Siegestor of 1843-50 which is, rather surprisingly, also by Gärtner. Far
+more appropriate, if equally unoriginal, is his Feldherrenhalle of
+1841-4 at the other end of the street above the Odeonsplatz, a close
+copy of the fourteenth-century Loggia dei Lanzi in Florence. The whole
+area constitutes what is perhaps the finest, or at least the most
+coherent, range of streets and squares of the later and more eclectic
+phase of Romantic Classicism. This exceeds in extent, though not in
+quality, Weinbrenner’s Marktplatz in Karlsruhe of the preceding quarter
+century. This brilliant Munich period came to an end on Ludwig I’s
+abdication in 1848; his successor Maximilian II’s attempt to find a ‘new
+style’ for his Maximilianstrasse in the next decade was a dismal fiasco,
+for this ‘new style’ as applied by Friedrich Bürklein (1813-73), a pupil
+of Gärtner, in building up the new street in 1852-9 proved to be merely
+a fussy and muddled approach to the English Perpendicular, already
+employed with more success by Bürklein’s master.
+
+Before his death, the year before Maximilian II’s accession, Gärtner had
+all but completed the Wittelsbach Palace. This he had begun in 1843
+using a very Durandesque version of English Tudor executed in red brick.
+Red brick also characterizes another example of contemporary
+eclecticism, the Bonifazius Basilika of 1835-40 by Ziebland. This was
+designed, as its name implies, in a Romantic Classical version of the
+Early Christian; but it is much less Roman in detail than the great
+French and Italian churches of the period of this generic basilican
+order (see Chapter 3).
+
+Most of these variant aspects of later Romantic Classicism in Munich,
+whether Early Christian, Byzantine, Romanesque, Italian Gothic, or
+_quattrocento_ in inspiration, are also examples of what was called at
+this time in Germany the _Rundbogenstil_.[46] A large and prominent
+example in Munich, late enough to illustrate how this special mode of
+Romantic Classicism deteriorated after the mid century, was Bürklein’s
+railway station built in 1857-60. The whole station has now been largely
+but not entirely destroyed by bombing; originally it had a handsome shed
+with very heavy arched principals of timber.
+
+Although the mode may be readily paralleled in other North European
+countries, the _Rundbogenstil_ is peculiarly German. It was, indeed, the
+favourite mode of the thirties and forties in most German states;
+certainly it is comparable in local importance to the mature Gothic
+Revival of these decades in England as the German Neo-Gothic is not (see
+Chapter 6). Deriving from the more utilitarian arcuated models provided
+by Durand (and ultimately from the projects of his master Boullée and
+other French architects of the 1780s), the _Rundbogenstil_ is still a
+phase of Romantic Classicism even if in it the Romantic element has
+risen close to dominance. But in its rigidity of composition, repetition
+of identical elements, and emphasis on direct structural expression it
+is wholly in the line of the earlier and more Classical rationalism.
+
+The changing taste of these decades usually demanded ever more and
+busier detail. Rivalry with the archaeological pretensions of the Greek
+Revival, moreover, called for a certain parade of stylistic erudition.
+But the archaeological sources drawn upon were very various and to
+varying degrees effectively documented. From the Early Christian to the
+_quattrocento_, most of them were more or less Italianate. However,
+there were some architects who succeeded—like Gärtner at the Wittelsbach
+Palace—in using pointed-arched precedent in a characteristically
+_Rundbogenstil_ way; others elaborated their detail with real
+originality rather than adhering closely to any past precedent at all.
+
+On its _quattrocento_ side the _Rundbogenstil_ was perhaps most notably
+represented in Germany by the Johanneum in Hamburg of 1836-9 (completely
+destroyed in the Second World War), a large building surrounding three
+sides of a court and incorporating two schools and a library (Plate
+11B). This was by C. L. Wimmel (1786-1845), like Hübsch a pupil of
+Weinbrenner, and F. G. J. Forsmann (1795-1878). This particular
+_Rundbogenstil_ work can also be classified as belonging, like Klenze’s
+Königsbau, to the international Renaissance Revival of which Hamburg was
+rather a centre. For example, the extant Exchange there of 1836-41 by
+these same architects is of richer and more High Renaissance character
+and not at all _Rundbogenstil_.
+
+Many houses in Hamburg built by Gottfried Semper (1803-79), Alexis de
+Chateauneuf (1799-1853), who had studied in Paris, and others in the
+forties were of elegant Early Renaissance design—one by the former even
+having _sgraffiti_ on the walls—more like Klenze’s row of shops in the
+Odeonsplatz. The Rücker-Jenisch house of 1845 by the Swiss-born Auguste
+de Meuron (1813-98), a pupil of the same French architect, A.-F.-R.
+Leclerc, as de Chateauneuf, was certainly not _Rundbogenstil_ but rather
+a version of the Travellers’ Club in London. Thus it followed, in this
+anglicizing city, an epoch-making model by Charles Barry that dates from
+fifteen years earlier (see Chapter 4). However, de Chateauneuf’s Alster
+Arcade beside the waters of the Kleine Alster and his red brick Alte
+Post (now the Welt-Wirtschafts-Archiv) of 1845-7 in the Poststrasse are
+both prominent and excellent examples of the _Rundbogenstil_ of this
+period in Hamburg, the latter being slightly Gothic in its detailing.
+
+The work of Hübsch, Weinbrenner’s successor as State architect in Baden,
+despite his very serious archaeological study of Early Christian and
+Romanesque architecture,[47] falls somewhere between Gärtner’s
+Ludwigskirche and Ziebland’s Bonifazius Basilika without achieving
+either the crisply Durandesque quality of the one or the relative
+archaeological plausibility of the other. In his civil buildings, such
+as the very simple Ministry of Finance designed in 1827 and built in
+1829-33, the more ornate Technische Hochschule of 1832-6, the Art
+Gallery of 1840-9, and the Theatre of 1851-3, all in Karlsruhe, very
+considerable originality of composition was more and more confused as he
+grew older by the fussy elaboration of the terracotta ornamentation.
+
+In his later work Hübsch frequently used not the round but the segmental
+arch—a highly rational form with brick masonry—and was usually somewhat
+happier than the Bavarians in handling the tawny tonalities of brick and
+terracotta which so generally replaced the pale monochromy of the Greek
+Revival in the thirties and forties. A minor but especially fine example
+of his most personal manner is the Trinkhalle of 1840 at Baden-Baden
+(Plate 11A), rather better suited in its festive spirit to a
+watering-place than the Classical severity of Weinbrenner’s Kurhaus
+there of 1821-3. Hübsch’s churches are naturally more archaeological in
+character and definitely more Romanesquoid than _Rundbogenstil_. Those
+at Freiburg (1829-38), Bulach (1834-7), and Rottenburg (1834) are
+typical. The _Rundbogenstil_ railway stations of another Baden
+architect, Friedrich Eisenlohr (1804-55), at Karlsruhe (1842) and
+Freiburg precede Bürklein’s in Munich in date and are rather superior to
+it.
+
+The _Rundbogenstil_ was particularly dominant in the southern German
+states, overflowing also into Switzerland, where the Federal Palace in
+Berne, built in 1851-7 by Friedrich Studer (1817-70), is a particularly
+extensive and nobly sited example. It was, however, in Prussia in the
+north of Germany that the greatest architect who worked in this mode was
+active, and he owes his reputation largely to his Grecian work.
+
+Karl Friedrich von Schinkel, the only architect of the first half of the
+nineteenth century who can be compared in stature with the English
+Soane, was the great international master of two successive phases of
+Romantic Classicism, first of the programmatic Greek Revival, with which
+the post-Napoleonic period began almost everywhere in the second decade
+of the century, and then of the more eclectic phase that followed. Born
+in 1781, a generation later than Soane, Schinkel’s serious architectural
+production began only in 1816. His relatively early death in 1841
+truncated his career; but his pupils and his spirit dominated Prussian,
+and indeed most of German, architecture for another score of years and
+more.
+
+Somewhat as the long-lived Titian stood to the short-lived Giorgione
+stood Schinkel in relation to his near-contemporary and associate
+Friedrich Gilly, whose projects have already been mentioned (Plate 9A).
+Indeed, Schinkel showed almost as great a capacity to absorb and
+continue the revolutionary architectural ideals of the 1780s in France
+as Gilly—more, certainly, than most of the foreigners who visited Paris
+during the unproductive years following the Revolution, or even those
+who stayed on to study there.
+
+Schinkel, however, soon to be one of the most architectonic of
+architects, made his earliest mark not with architectural projects but,
+like Inigo Jones in England before him, as a designer of theatre sets.
+Down to 1815 he executed no buildings of any consequence; but in his
+paintings of these years, even more perhaps than in his stage sets, he
+established himself as a High Romantic artist of real distinction. At
+their best these follow in quality very closely after the master works
+of German Romantic landscape by Caspar David Friedrich.
+Characteristically, buildings play an important part in Schinkel’s
+pictures, and vast Gothic constructions in the ‘Sublime’ spirit of
+Wyatt’s Fonthill Abbey are actually more frequent than Grecian or
+Italianate fabricks.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 5. Karl Friedrich von Schinkel: project for Neue Wache, Berlin,
+ 1816
+]
+
+But if Gothic projects form a more important part of his production on
+canvas, and also on paper, in the first decades of the century than is
+the case with any other architect of the period, even in England,
+Schinkel made his formal architectural debut as a Grecian and a
+rationalist. Named by Frederick William III State architect in 1815, his
+project of the next year for the Neue Wache (Figure 5), Unter den
+Linden, facing Frederick the Great’s opera house, is especially notable
+in the use of square piers—a Ledolcian extreme of rationalist
+simplification—beneath the Grecian pediment. His intense Romanticism
+also reveals itself in the heads of Pergamenian extravagance that writhe
+forth from the frieze above. Not surprisingly, in the building as
+executed, and happily still extant, Greek Doric columns replace the
+square piers. But the broad plain members that frame the cubic mass
+behind and, above all, the superb proportions of the whole reveal a
+surer hand than any other architect of the day in Germany possessed. The
+contrast with Klenze’s Glyptothek, begun the same year, is notable.
+
+Schinkel’s Berlin Cathedral, as rebuilt in 1817-22 beside the Baroque
+Schloss of Andreas Schlüter, was a modest work and none too successful;
+its replacement in 1894-1905 by the enormous Neo-Baroque structure of
+Julius Raschdorf was no great loss.
+
+There followed after the Cathedral a work of much greater scale, the
+Berlin Schauspielhaus, designed in 1818 and built in 1819-21 (Plate 12).
+Here the complexity of the mass diminishes somewhat the clarity of the
+geometrical order in the separate parts; but Schinkel’s rationalistic
+handling of Grecian elements is nowhere better seen than in the
+articulation of the attic by means of a ‘pilastrade’ of small antae or
+the reticulated organization of the walls of the side wings. The
+interior of the auditorium boldly combines very simple and heavily
+scaled wall elements with very delicately designed iron supports for the
+ranges of boxes and galleries.
+
+Characteristic of the many-sidedness of Schinkel’s talent, if very much
+smaller and intrinsically less happy, is the War Memorial, also of
+1819-21, on the Kreuzberg in Berlin. This is a Gothic shrine of the most
+lacy and linear design, 111 feet high and entirely executed in cast
+iron.
+
+The Singakademie in Berlin of 1822 and a large house in Charlottenburg
+for the banker Behrend, on the other hand, are very accomplished
+exercises in a rigidly Classical mode such as his French contemporaries
+were currently essaying with markedly less elegance of proportion. The
+Zivilcasino in Potsdam, begun the next year, where an awkward site
+forced—or perhaps merely justified—an asymmetrical juxtaposition of the
+parts, illustrated an aspect of Schinkel’s talent that is particularly
+significant to his twentieth-century admirers: the imposition of
+coherent geometrical order upon an edifice markedly irregular in its
+massing. This was something the English were only playing at in these
+years when they designed Picturesque Italian Villas such as Nash’s
+Cronkhill or loosely composed Castellated Mansions such as Gwrych (Plate
+49).
+
+It is characteristic of Romantic Classicism that Schinkel’s
+masterpiece—and, with Soane’s later Bank interiors, the masterpiece of
+the period—should be a museum. The Altes Museum, designed in 1823 and
+built in 1824-8, faces the Schloss across the Lustgarten, to which
+Schinkel’s just completed Schlossbrücke gave a dignified new approach.
+The Museum quite outranked his rather undistinguished cathedral; yet at
+first glance it may seem one of the least original and most tamely
+archaeological of Romantic Classical buildings (Plate 13). Substituting
+for the paradigm of the pedimented peripteral temple that of the stoa,
+Schinkel evidently counted on the prestige of a giant Grecian order to
+impress his contemporaries, quite as Brongniart had done at the Paris
+Bourse (Plate 8B). But the Museum retains the admiration of a twentieth
+century usually bored, and even shocked, by such stylophily because of
+the extraordinary logic and elegance of its total organization.
+
+The frontal plane of superbly detailed Ionic columns is not weak at the
+corners, as colonnades seen against the light generally are, for here
+spur walls ending in antae firmly enframe the long, unbroken range. And
+if this frontal columnar plane is unbroken—and also seems to deny by its
+giant scale the fact that this is a two-storey structure—within the dark
+of the portico, made darker and more Romantic by a richly coloured mural
+designed by Schinkel and executed under the direction of Peter
+Cornelius, one soon becomes aware of a recessed oblong where a double
+flight of stairs leads to the upper storey. Moreover, lest this façade
+be read, like a stoa, as no more than a portico, there rises over the
+centre, still farther to the rear, a rectangular attic.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 6. Karl Friedrich von Schinkel: Berlin, Altes Museum, 1824-8
+ section
+]
+
+It is characteristic of the purism of Schinkel’s approach, a purism not
+archaeological but visual, that this attic masks externally a
+Durandesque central domed space (Figure 6). Such circular central
+spaces, so recurrent in Romantic Classical planning, had been a
+favourite setting for classical sculpture, the principal treasure of
+most art collections of this period, ever since the Museo Pio-Clementino
+was built at the Vatican. None is finer than this in the proportional
+relationship of interior colonnade, plain wall above, and coffered dome
+with oculus. Most, indeed, are but feeble copies of the Roman Pantheon;
+this exceeds in distinction, if not in scale, its ancient original.
+
+But the Museum, unlike the Munich Glyptothek, had to have picture
+galleries as well as sculpture halls; and Schinkel’s organization of
+these, so much less palatial than Klenze’s in his Pinakothek, is a
+technical triumph of the rationalistic side of Romantic Classicism.
+Screens at right angles to the windows, and thus free from glare,
+provided the greater part of the hanging space, a premonition almost of
+the movable screens of mid-twentieth-century art galleries (Figure 6).
+
+The external treatment of the rear walls of the Museum, moreover,
+achieved a clarity of mathematical organization and a subtlety of
+structural expression in the detailing which was also hardly equalled
+before the mid twentieth century. Tall windows in two even ranges
+express clearly the two storeys of galleries behind; the stuccoed walls
+between delicately suggest by their flat rustication—so like that Soane
+used on the Bank of England—the scale of fine ashlar masonry. But the
+giant order of the front is also clearly echoed in the flat corner antae
+just short of which the string-course between the storeys and the
+rustication of the walls are stopped. A prototype of such detailing can
+be seen in the Athenian Propylaea, no doubt familiar to Schinkel through
+publications; a derivation—or at least a superb twentieth-century
+parallel—is the way Mies van der Rohe handles the juxtaposition of steel
+stanchions and brick infilling in his buildings erected for the Illinois
+Institute of Technology in Chicago in the last fifteen years (see
+Chapter 20).
+
+The rapid deterioration of rationalist Grecian standards, which followed
+within a few decades even in the hands of Schinkel’s ablest pupils, is
+to be noted in the Neues Museum, built in 1843-55 by F. A. Stüler
+(1800-65) behind the Altes Museum. It is even more evident in the
+contiguous Nationalgalerie, also by Stüler but based on a sketch by
+Frederick William IV. This temple stands on a very high substructure in
+an awkward perversion of the theme of Gilly’s monument to Frederick the
+Great and Klenze’s Walhalla. It was finished only in 1876 by which time,
+even in Germany, Romantic Classicism was completely dead (see Chapter
+9).
+
+Behind his museum Schinkel himself had built in 1828-32, along the banks
+of the Kupfergraben, the Packhofgebäude. This range of utilitarian
+structures was definitely consonant, towards the Museum, with the
+Grecian rationalism of its rear façade. But for the warehouses at the
+remote end of the group Schinkel used a rather direct transcription of
+Durand’s paradigm for an arcuated market.[48] Here, at almost precisely
+the same time as at Gärtner’s State Library in Munich and Hübsch’s
+Ministry of Finance in Karlsruhe, the _Rundbogenstil_ makes an early
+appearance as an alternative to the trabeated Grecian. In comparably
+utilitarian works of a few years earlier, the Military Prison in Berlin
+begun in 1825 and the lighthouse at Arkona of the same date, Schinkel
+had already used dark brickwork unstuccoed, but with square rather than
+arched openings; while on his long-demolished Hamburg Opera House, begun
+also in 1825 and completed in 1827, there were arched openings
+throughout of a somewhat High Renaissance order but far more severely
+treated than by Klenze on his Munich Pinakothek.
+
+To the year 1825 belongs too the beginning of the Werder Church in
+Berlin, Gothic in its vaults, as also in its detail, and executed in
+brick and terracotta. Less just in its scaling than his earlier Gothic
+monument of cast iron, this church as executed makes one regret that
+Schinkel’s domed project of 1822, derived either from Vignon’s interior
+of the Madeleine in Paris or from one of Durand’s paradigms, was not
+executed.
+
+In 1826 began Schinkel’s extensive and varied work for the Royal family
+at Potsdam,[49] the town destined to be the richest centre of later
+Prussian Romantic Classicism. Here he worked in close association with
+the heir to the throne who was later, after 1840, king as Frederick
+William IV. This romantic and talented prince—who actually wished he
+were an architect rather than a ruler—frequently provided Schinkel and,
+after his death, Schinkel’s pupils with sketches from which as we have
+seen in the case of the Nationalgalerie) various executed buildings were
+elaborated with more or less success. One of the great amateurs, his was
+a very late example of direct Royal intervention in architecture. Some
+of the modulation of Schinkel’s style towards the Picturesque—still more
+evident in the work at Potsdam of his ablest pupil Ludwig Persius
+(1803-45)—may be credited to this princely patron.
+
+In Berlin, in the later twenties, Schinkel was also remodelling and
+redecorating palaces for Frederick William’s brothers, major works in
+scale but rather limited in architectural interest.[50] More
+characteristic of Schinkel’s best Grecian manner is the somewhat later
+palace for Prince William built in 1834-5 by the younger Langhans (K.
+F., 1781-1869). This architect’s still later theatre at Breslau, begun
+in 1843, is worth mention at this point and also the old Russian Embassy
+of 1840-1 in Berlin by Eduard Knoblauch (1801-65), but Schinkel’s
+comparable work is fifteen years earlier.
+
+At Potsdam, even though much of what he did there also consisted of
+enlarging earlier buildings, Schinkel was freer than in Berlin.
+Collaboration with the gardener P. J. Lenné (1789-1866), who provided
+superb naturalistic settings in the tradition of the English garden, may
+have encouraged a looser and less Classical sort of composition. In many
+views, Charlottenhof with its dominating Greek Doric portico, remodelled
+from 1826 on as the residence of the Crown Prince, may appear a
+sufficiently conventional Greek Revival country house. But if one
+considers the planning of the house and its close relation to the raised
+terrace, and also the relation to the solid block of the open
+pergola—’an object of nature’ in Durand’s special sense—one sees that
+here, as earlier at the Zivilcasino, but from no necessity enforced by
+the site, Schinkel sought to apply the most stringent sort of
+geometrical order to an asymmetrical composition. For this, of course,
+the Erechtheum and to some extent the Propylaea on the Akropolis, those
+two fifth-century Greek examples of Romantic Classicism, provided
+precedents. At Schloss Glienecke near by, also begun in 1826 for another
+Prussian prince, Karl, whose palace in Berlin he was remodelling too,
+the Athenian derivation is very patent in the later belvedere of 1837
+based on the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates. But it is the asymmetrical
+massing of carefully organized elements here that reveals the extent to
+which Schinkel was able to absorb and actually to synthesize with the
+discipline of Romantic Classicism one of the major formal innovations of
+the Picturesque. The bold off-centre location of the tower actually
+makes of this a sort of Italian Villa in the Cronkhill sense.
+
+In the enlargement of the medieval Kolberg Town Hall in Pomerania, begun
+in 1829, Schinkel employed secular Late Gothic in a version as stiff and
+mechanical as that of Gärtner’s Wittelsbach Palace a decade later. A
+remarkable centrally-planned Hunting Lodge, built for Prince Radziwill
+at Ostrowo in 1827, on the other hand, illustrated a bold attempt to
+apply the principles of Durandesque structural rationalism to building
+in timber; the result is very different indeed from the contemporary
+American, Russian, and Swedish houses of wood that were designed as
+copies of marble temples.
+
+In 1828 a series of designs for churches in the new suburbs of Berlin,
+several of them executed in reduced form in the early thirties, showed a
+drastic shift away from Classical models—still sometimes offered as
+alternatives and actually executed in two cases—towards the creation of
+a very personal sort of _Rundbogenstil_. All intended to be of brick
+with terracotta trim, these were less successful than the house he built
+of the same materials for the brick and terracotta manufacturer Feilner
+in Berlin in 1829. In its perfect regularity and rigid trabeation this
+recalled the rear of the Museum (Figure 7). But the employment of
+delicate arabesque reliefs in the jambs of the openings, quite in the
+_quattrocento_ way, illustrated rather more agreeably than the church
+projects the characteristic modulation in these years away from Grecian
+and towards Italianate models.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 7. Karl Friedrich von Schinkel: Berlin, Feilner House, 1829,
+ elevation
+]
+
+The happiest and most informal example of this modulation is to be seen
+in the Court Gardener’s House on the Charlottenhof estate of 1829-31
+(Plate 14A). The closely associated Tea House and Roman Bath of 1833-4
+loosely enclose the square rear garden at the junction of two canals. As
+the plan of the house itself clearly reveals, this was not a new
+construction but a remodelling, or encasing, of an earlier gardener’s
+house; but more important to the total effect than the original solid
+block is the skilful disposition of the clearly defined voids in the
+three-dimensional composition, voids which include pergolas of varying
+height, loggias, and even an open attic below the main roof.
+
+On the one hand, the inspiration for this must have come from Durand’s
+illustrations of the ‘employment of the objects of nature’ or perhaps
+from other French works[51] more specifically dealing with Italian
+buildings in the countryside. On the other hand, rather more than most
+English Italian Villas in the line of Nash’s Cronkhill, this seems to be
+based on some real knowledge of Italian rural, not to say rustic,
+building. But visually, as at Cronkhill and at Glienecke, the pivot of
+the whole composition is the tower around which the various elements,
+solid and hollow, are as carefully organized as in a piece of
+twentieth-century Neoplasticist sculpture. This Gardener’s House is as
+much the international masterwork of the asymmetrically-towered Italian
+Villa mode, one of the more modest yet extremely significant innovations
+of the first half of the nineteenth century, as is the Altes Museum of
+formal Grecian Classicism.
+
+At Potsdam and near by Schinkel’s pupil Persius, before his untimely
+death only four years after Schinkel’s, produced many other compositions
+of this order, often by remodelling eighteenth-century buildings.[52]
+Two of the finest are the Pheasantry, which is specifically a towered
+Italian Villa, and the group that includes the Friedenskirche, carried
+out by others from Persius’s designs in 1845-8 (Plate 15). In this
+latter group the principal feature is a close copy of an Early Christian
+basilica, even to the inclusion of a real medieval apse mosaic brought
+from Murano; yet compositionally the group is a masterpiece of the
+classically ordered Picturesque, rivalling Schinkel’s Gardener’s House
+in subtlety and elegance. Even more personal to Persius is the delicacy
+of detailing and the unusual external arcade of his earlier
+Heilandskirche of 1841-3, with its graceful detached campanile, by the
+lakeside at nearby Sakrow.
+
+Also notable are his steam-engine houses, particularly that for Schloss
+Babelsberg. The inclusion of medieval and even Islamic detail indicates
+the increasing eclecticism of taste around 1840; yet the disparate
+elements are so scaled and ordered as to compose into an asymmetrical
+pattern of Italian Villa character in which the minaret-like chimney
+provides the dominant vertical accent. Less Picturesque is the
+Orangerieschloss, based on a sketch by Frederick William IV and executed
+after Persius’s death by A. Hesse.
+
+Schinkel’s big Potsdam church, the Nikolaikirche, designed in 1829 and
+built up to the base of the dome in the years 1830-7, stood right in the
+town, not in the park like his work for the princes, and is a wholly
+formal monument. It was planned as a hemisphere above a cube in the most
+geometrical mode of Romantic Classicism. As in the case of Soufflot’s
+dome of the Panthéon, this was undoubtedly influenced by Wren’s St
+Paul’s in London which Schinkel had seen on an English voyage in 1826.
+Unfortunately Persius had later to add corner towers, almost like the
+minaret chimney of his Babelsberg engine house, in order to load the
+pendentives when he completed the church in 1842-50. These irrelevant
+features quite denature Schinkel’s formal intention. The interior,
+however, is superior to those in most of the centrally planned churches
+of this period in various countries that were based on the Roman
+Pantheon.
+
+Schinkel did not have such opportunities of building whole squares and
+streets as did his Baden and his Bavarian contemporaries. For all his
+efforts, the Berlin Lustgarten was probably never very satisfactory
+urbanistically because of the inadequate focus that was provided by his
+modest cathedral beside the massive Baroque Schloss and the awkward
+shift in the axis where the Schlossbrücke enters from Unter den Linden.
+At the other end of Unter den Linden the Pariser Platz inside K. G.
+Langhans’s Brandenburg Gate shows little evidence of Schinkel’s intended
+regularization of the surrounding buildings. All that he was actually
+able to carry out there was the Palais Redern of 1832-3 (in fact a
+remodelling), and this was demolished in 1906 to make way for the Adlon
+Hotel.
+
+The façades of the Palais Redern gave a _quattrocento_ Florentine
+impression because of their relatively bold over-all rustication; only
+the large openings were arcuated, however, the ordinary windows being
+lintel-topped. Significant of Schinkel’s new interest in asymmetrical
+order was the disposition of the four arched openings; these were
+balanced in relation to the corner of Unter den Linden but unbalanced in
+relation to either façade alone; the other windows were quite regularly
+spaced.
+
+If Schinkel seems to have adopted here a version of the Renaissance
+Revival—as, for that matter, he had already done much earlier in his
+somewhat similar remodelling of the Berlin City Hall in 1817—at the Neue
+Tor, also of 1832, he provided two gatehouses which were in a sort of
+_Rundbogenstil_ Tudor comparable to Gärtner’s Wittelsbach Palace of
+fifteen years later. His trip to England[53] had fascinated him with
+English architecture, old and new; there he had noted everything with
+intelligent interest—from medieval castles to the towering new cotton
+mills near Manchester with their internal skeletons of iron. He had no
+occasion, however, to make large-scale use of iron construction, though
+there is little doubt that had he lived on through the forties he would
+have done so with both technical and aesthetic mastery.
+
+At Schloss Babelsberg,[54] built for the rather tasteless brother of his
+own particular patron, later the Emperor William I, he essayed an
+English sort of castle, admittedly more in the contemporary Picturesque
+mode of the new Castellated Mansions of Nash and Wyatt than like any
+real medieval one. This was designed in 1834 and begun in 1835. Persius
+took it over on Schinkel’s death, redesigning one of the principal
+towers, and it was finally finished after Persius’s death by Heinrich
+Strack (1805-80) in 1849. Though certainly not inferior to Smirke’s
+Eastnor or Cundy’s Hawarden, if without the lovely site and the richly
+organic composition of Busby’s Gwrych, Babelsberg is better appreciated
+in Schinkel’s or Persius’s drawings than in actuality. Schloss Kamenz, a
+rather Tudoresque remodelling of an earlier structure which Schinkel
+undertook in 1838, is more typical but no more successful.
+
+Although playing but a very minor part in Schinkel’s own production, his
+exercises in the Chalet mode should at least be mentioned. Not only do
+these illustrate the very wide range of his own eclectic inspiration,
+considerably wider than that of Durand and the French of the previous
+generation, they also represent one of the peripheral aspects of his
+achievement which his pupils, and German architects of the mid century
+generally, delighted to exploit. The happiest work of his followers,
+however, continued rather the Italian Villa line of Glienecke and the
+Court Gardener’s House, a line in which Persius at least all but
+equalled his master.
+
+The Grecian work of Schinkel’s imitators and emulators tended to be
+overdecorated and lacking in geometrical order while their
+_Rundbogenstil_ is in general awkwardly proportioned and incoherently
+ornamented (see Chapter 9). Outside Prussia, such Hamburg architects as
+Wimmel & Forsmann and de Chateauneuf illustrate better than other North
+Germans the real possibilities of the _Rundbogenstil_. De Chateauneuf
+had something of an international reputation, moreover, after winning
+the second prize in the competition held in 1839-40 for the Royal
+Exchange in London. His design for that was based on the Loggia dei
+Lanzi, and may well have provided the suggestion for Gärtner’s
+Feldherrenhalle in Munich begun the next year.
+
+It is impossible and unnecessary to follow Romantic Classicism to all
+the other German centres. At Darmstadt the Classical Ludwigskirche of
+1822-7 by Georg Moller (1784-1852),[55] a pupil of Weinbrenner, is a
+handsome circular edifice with an internal colonnade below the dome.
+Thus it is rather like the ‘central space’ in Schinkel’s Museum, but
+more broadly proportioned. A boldly arched entrance of almost Ledolcian
+character is set against the external circumference of blank wall rather
+than the more usual temple portico. The Artillery Barracks at Darmstadt
+of 1825-7 by Moller’s pupil Franz Heger (1792-1836) provided a notably
+early example of the _Rundbogenstil_. Comparable was August Busse’s
+Castellated Zellengefängnis in Berlin of 1842-9, the first German
+example of a penitentiary radially planned and with individual cells
+(see Chapter 5). Stüler’s destroyed Trinitatiskirche in Cologne, a
+Persius-like Early Christian basilica completed in 1860, was much finer
+than his Berlin churches (see Chapter 9).
+
+Also _Rundbogenstil_, but of a more medievalizing order, was Semper’s
+Synagogue of 1838-41 in Dresden. Its centralized massing is
+uncharacteristically plastic. His Palais Oppenheim there of 1845-8 at
+9-11 An der Bürgerwiese, based on Raphael’s Pandolfini Palace, was a
+handsome and very ‘correct’ example of the international Renaissance
+Revival to be compared, like de Meuron’s house in Hamburg, with Barry’s
+London clubhouses. The Cholera Fountain of 1843 in Dresden was Gothic,
+however, providing further evidence of Semper’s rather directionless
+eclecticism at this time.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 8. Gottfried Semper: Dresden, Opera House (first), 1837-41,
+ plan
+]
+
+His principal works of this period were the first Opera House[56] in
+Dresden of 1837-41, where Wagner’s early triumphs took place, burnt and
+rebuilt by Semper later, and the nearby Art Gallery of 1847-54 which
+completed so unhappily the circuit of the marvellous Rococo Zwinger by
+Daniel Pöppelmann. The one was a rather festive, the other a rather
+solemn example of the Renaissance Revival; both are more notable for
+their planning and their general organization than for any visual
+distinction (Figure 8). The Opera House in Hanover, built by G. L. F.
+Laves (1789-1864) in 1845-52, is less original in plan but more sober,
+even a bit Schinkelesque, in design (Plate 14B). Its interior has been
+completely done over since it was bombed in the Second World War.
+
+The historian tends always to press forward, forcing rather than
+retarding the pace of development in his written account. Klenze’s
+Propylaeon, however, has already provided evidence of the late
+continuance of Grecian ideals in the German States; in Stuttgart the
+Königsbau of 1857-60 by C. F. Leins (1814-92), a pupil in Paris of Henri
+Labrouste, provides a worthier example, although this was actually begun
+twenty years earlier by J. M. Knapp (1793-1861). In Vienna, as late as
+1873, the Parliament House of Theophil von Hansen (1813-91) provides a
+gargantuan example of what the French had first aspired to build almost
+a century earlier. Ambiguous in its massing, if still very elegant in
+its Grecian detail, this contrasts markedly with Hansen’s other Viennese
+work of the third quarter of the century which is generally of High
+Renaissance design (see Chapter 8).
+
+This Copenhagen-born and trained architect knew Greece at first hand,
+for he and his brother H. C. Hansen (1803-83) worked in Athens for some
+years for the Wittelsbachs and the Danish dynasty that succeeded them.
+Along University Street in Athens a conspicuous range of porticoed
+structures is theirs. The University, built in 1837-42, is by the elder
+brother; the Academy, built in 1859-87, was designed by Theophil and
+executed by his pupil Ernst Ziller; the National Library was also
+designed by Theophil in 1860 and completed in 1892. Conventional essays
+in the international Greek Revival mode, here made somewhat ironical by
+their proximity to the great fifth-century ruins, these lack the
+elegance and refinement of Theophil’s Palais Dimitriou of 1842-3 (lately
+destroyed by the enlargement of the Grande Bretagne Hotel towards
+Syndagma Square) as also the more than Schinkelesque restraint of the
+earliest Romantic Classical building in Greece. This is Gärtner’s gaunt
+but distinguished Old Palace,[57] designed in 1835-6 for Otho of
+Wittelsbach immediately after his assumption of the Greek throne and
+built in 1837-41 (Plate 17A).
+
+The Old Palace and its neighbour the Grande Bretagne still dominate the
+centre of modern Athens. The palace, in its regularity, its austerity,
+and its geometrical clarity of design, is a finer archetype of the most
+rigid Romantic Classical ideals than anything Gärtner built in Munich;
+indeed, perhaps those ideals were nowhere else ever followed so
+drastically at monumental scale except in Denmark. One may even wonder
+irreverently if the fifth century had many civil buildings that were so
+pure and so calm!
+
+Gärtner and the Hansens set the pace for a local Greek Revival
+vernacular of a rather North European order. In its detail this
+vernacular sometimes exceeds in delicacy that of the later centuries of
+antiquity, as illustrated here in the Stoa of Attalos in the Agora—at
+least as that has lately been reconstructed—or the Arch of Hadrian. Not
+all of the new construction was Grecian, however: Klenze’s Roman
+Catholic Cathedral (Aghios Dionysios) in University Street is a basilica
+with Renaissance detail, built in 1854-63; the modest English Church of
+1840-3 is rather feebly Gothic and reputedly based on a design provided
+by C. R. Cockerell that was much modified in execution.
+
+Of the leading Greek architects of the period, Lyssander Kaftanzoglou
+(1812-85), Stamathios Kleanthis (1802-62), and Panajiotis Kalkos
+(1800?-1870?), only Kleanthis was German-trained. This talented pupil of
+Schinkel followed his master’s Italianate rather than his Grecian line,
+and the house he built in 1840 for the Duchesse de Plaisance on Kiffisia
+Avenue (now the Byzantine Museum) is a distinguished example of a
+Durandesque Italian villa, with simple arcading front and rear and low
+corner towers. Kaftanzoglou, trained at the École de Beaux-Arts in Paris
+and in Milan, was somewhat less able; but the large quadrangular Grecian
+structure that he designed in the fifties and built in 1862-80 to house
+the Polytechneion in Patissia Street more than rivals the academic
+buildings by the Hansens in University Street in the careful ordering of
+its parts and the correct elegance of its details. Of Kalkos’s work
+little remains in good condition today.
+
+The new capital of remote Greece possesses more, and on the whole more
+impressive, Romantic Classical buildings than do Vienna and Budapest,
+capitals of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In them ambitious urbanistic
+projects were initiated only later after the accession of Francis Joseph
+in 1848. The Theseus Temple in the Volksgarten in Vienna of 1821-3 by
+Peter von Nobile (1774-1854),[58] a Swiss who had made his reputation in
+Trieste, is hardly more than a large Grecian garden ornament
+conscientiously copying the fifth-century Hephaisteion in Athens line
+for line. His nearby Burgtor, begun the following year, is much worthier
+in its heavy, almost Sanmichelian, way. More characteristic, however, is
+the work of Joseph Kornhäusel (1782-1860) and of Paul Sprenger
+(1798-1854).
+
+Kornhäusel’s Schottenhof, opening off the Schottengasse, is a housing
+development built in 1826-32 in collaboration with Joseph Adelpodinger
+(1778-1849). This is of extraordinary extent and arranged very regularly
+around several large internal courts. The smooth stucco walls,
+restricted ornamentation, and regular fenestration, brought out to the
+wall surface by double windows, can be matched in many streets of the
+city that were built up in these decades. Behind such a façade in the
+Seitenstettengasse lies Kornhäusel’s elegant but rather modest Synagogue
+of 1825-6. This has an elliptical dome and an internal colonnade that
+carries a narrow gallery. Much richer is his rectangular main hall of
+1823-4 in the Albertina; as has been noted, this palace had already been
+enlarged in 1801-4 in Romantic Classical style by Montoyer. Kornhäusel’s
+hall is finished in mirror and in pale yellow and pale mauve scagliola
+with chalk-white Grecian details and sandstone statues of the Muses by
+J. Klieber.
+
+With Kornhäusel all is classical; Sprenger, on the other hand, employed
+a rather tight version of the _Rundbogenstil_, more Renaissance than
+medievalizing, for his considerably later Mint of 1835-7 in the Heumarkt
+in Vienna. More original, and with charming arched window-frames of
+terracotta in delicate floral bands, is his Landeshauptmannschaft of
+1846-8 at 11 Herrengasse. This contrasts happily with the Diet of Lower
+Austria, projected in 1832-3 and built in 1837-44 by Luigi Pichl
+(1782-1856), next door at No. 13, a rather heavy and conventional
+example of Romantic Classicism; so also does No. 17, a very simple block
+originally built by Moreau for the Austro-Hungarian Bank in 1821-3. The
+later bank building across the Herrengasse at No. 14, built by Heinrich
+von Ferstel (1828-83) in 1856-60, well illustrates the modulation of the
+_Rundbogenstil_ here, as in Germany, towards richer and more Gothicizing
+forms after the mid century. The glass-roofed passage extending through
+this to the Freyung is still very attractive, despite its shabby
+condition, and worthy of comparison with other extant examples of
+passages elsewhere in the Old and New Worlds (see Chapters 3, 5, and 8).
+
+The great nineteenth-century Viennese building campaign of Francis
+Joseph began in 1849 with the initiation of the Arsenal. There the outer
+ranges (now mostly destroyed by bombing) were completed in 1855 from
+designs by Edward Van der Nüll (1812-65), a pupil of Nobile and
+Sprenger, and his partner August Siccard von Siccardsburg (1813-68). The
+Army Museum of 1850-6 is by Ludwig Foerster (1797-1863) and Theophil von
+Hansen (who had married Forster’s daughter after moving from Athens to
+Vienna), and the chapel of 1853-5 is by Karl Rosner (1804-59). These are
+all in slightly varying _Rundbogenstil_ modes, and they show, like
+Ferstel’s bank, the changed taste of the mid century, most notably in
+their rather violent brick polychromy (see Chapter 8).
+
+In Budapest the National Museum of 1837-44 by Michael Pollák (1773-1855)
+is a vast rectangle fronted in the conventional way by an octostyle
+Corinthian portico and with a somewhat Schinkel-like severity of
+treatment on the side wings. This is another major example of the
+museums which were such characteristic monuments of Romantic Classicism
+everywhere. Among many other large and typical public monuments designed
+by Pollák, the Kommitat Building may be mentioned as of comparable size
+and dignity to his museum.
+
+If first Greece and then Austria employed Danish Hansens in the forties
+and fifties, the earlier Romantic Classical tradition of C. F. Hansen,
+who in any case lived on until 1845, was still better maintained at home
+by his pupil M. G. B. Bindesbøll (1800-56). Where C. F. Hansen’s
+inspiration was Roman and Parisian, Bindesbøll’s seems rather to have
+been German, as was common in his generation. Certainly his masterpiece,
+again a museum and indeed a museum of sculpture, out-Schinkels Schinkel.
+The Thorvaldsens Museum[59] in Copenhagen was built in 1839-48 to house
+the sculpture and the collections of the thoroughly Romanized Bertil
+Thorwaldsen, which he had determined in 1837 to present to his native
+country. The mode, of course, is Greek but completely astylar like the
+rear of Schinkel’s Berlin Museum; the general impression, particularly
+of the court with Thorvaldsen’s tomb in its centre, is surprisingly
+Egyptian (Plate 16B). The mathematical severity of the architectural
+design is warmed by the murals on the walls, once largely washed away
+but now all renewed; they romanticize thoroughly its rigid geometrical
+forms. Even the purely architectural elements, moreover, were once
+polychromed, if the present restoration of the colour is correct.
+
+The murals on the exterior of the museum were designed in 1847-8 and
+executed in 1850 by Jørgen Sonne in a sort of coloured plaster intarsia
+with heavy black outlines. Developing a happy idea of Bindesbøll’s,
+these tell rather realistically the story of the transport of the
+sculpture from Rome to Copenhagen. The foliate work on the court walls
+was carried out by H. C. From in 1844—laurel-trees, oaks, and palms. In
+the interiors, where Thorwaldsen disposed his own sculptures somewhat
+less formally than he had the Aegina sculptures in the Munich
+Glyptothek, the intricate and brightly coloured decoration of the barrel
+vaults is in that Pompeian mode which had been a part of the Romantic
+Classical tradition ever since the time of Clérisseau and Adam. This
+provides a happy contrast to so much Neo-Classic white marble statuary
+set against plain walls painted in strong flat colours. The finest of
+these ceilings have no modern rivals, even in Adam’s eighteenth-century
+work, for the precise geometrical organization of the panels and the
+delicate refinement of the very low plaster reliefs. Bolder and wholly
+abstract are the floors of tile mosaic arranged in a bewildering variety
+of patterns, some imitated from Roman models but more of them so
+original in design that they suggest ‘hardedge’ paintings of the 1960s.
+
+In his few other executed works and projects Bindesbøll showed himself
+considerably less Classical and Schinkelesque than in this museum;
+perhaps the museum reflects Thorvaldsen’s taste as much or more than his
+own. Tending, like other Danes of his generation, towards the
+_Rundbogenstil_ in his urban buildings, for his country houses he
+arrived at a very direct and logical rural mode in which rustic
+materials and asymmetrical compositions were controlled by a Romantic
+Classical sense of order and decorum. If, on the one hand, his interest
+in bold structural polychromy in the fifties parallels that of the
+English Butterfield, his domestic mode forecasts that of the English
+Webb (see Chapters 10 and 12). Bindesbøll’s production was small indeed,
+but at least the very simple _Rundbogenstil_ Agricultural School of
+1856-8 at 13 Bulowsvej in Copenhagen, executed after his death, deserves
+specific mention here.
+
+J. D. Herholdt (1818-1902), living almost half a century longer than
+Bindesbøll, was naturally more productive. He was also a master of the
+_Rundbogenstil_ hardly rivalled in his generation even by the ablest
+Germans. Late as is his National Bank at 17 Holmens Kanal in
+Copenhagen—1866-70—this is one of the finest examples anywhere of the
+more Tuscan sort of _Rundbogenstil_. His University Library of 1857-61
+in the Frue Plads is less suave in design but much more original in its
+brick detailing. As late as the eighties he maintained the Romantic
+Classical discipline in his Italian Gothic Raadhus at Odense of 1880-3
+as well as carrying out many tactful restorations of Romanesque
+churches. Of his fine Copenhagen Station of 1863-4 the wooden shed now
+serves on another site as a sports hall.
+
+G. F. Hetsch (1830-1903) also continued the Romantic Classical line,
+most happily perhaps in his Sankt Ansgarskirke of 1841-2, the Roman
+Catholic church in the Bredgade in Copenhagen. Ferdinand Meldahl
+(1827-1908), although capable of very disciplined Early Renaissance
+design in his office building at 23 Havnegade in Copenhagen of 1864, led
+Danish architecture away from Romantic Classicism and the
+_Rundbogenstil_ towards a rather Second Empire sort of eclecticism after
+he became professor at the Copenhagen Academy in 1864 and its director
+in 1873 (see Chapter 8).
+
+With its great individual monuments by C. F. Hansen and Bindesbøll and
+its streets of fine houses in the Romantic Classical vernacular,
+Copenhagen provides today a more attractive picture of the production of
+this period than almost any other city. Norway, at this time less
+prosperous than Denmark, has work by Schinkel himself. At least the
+designs for the buildings of the University at Christiania, erected in
+1841-51 by C. H. Grosch (1801-65), a pupil of C. F. Hansen and of
+Hetsch, were revised by Schinkel just before his death, and the handling
+of the walls is certainly quite characteristic of his work in the
+clarity and logic of their articulation.
+
+In Sweden, where the dominant influences in the early nineteenth century
+were first French and then German as in Denmark, there was no comparably
+brilliant development of Romantic Classicism. Rosendal, a country house
+built in 1823-5 by Fredrik Blom (1781-1851), is a pleasant and very
+discreet edifice that might well be by almost any French architect of
+Blom’s generation. His Skeppsholm Church in Stockholm of 1824-42,
+circular within and octagonal without, is a typical but not especially
+distinguished work of its period. More characteristic are the modest
+wooden houses with Grecian detail. These are similar to, but in their
+naive ‘correctness’ less extreme than, the temple houses of Russia and
+the United States. Their board-and-batten walls might, paradoxically,
+have inspired one aspect of Downing’s anti-Grecian campaign in America
+in the forties (see Chapter 15).
+
+In 1850 Stüler was called to Stockholm from Berlin to design the
+National Museum. Eventually completed in 1865, this is in a richer
+Venetian Renaissance mode than he usually employed at home. Such more
+definitely Romantic modes were generally exploited by native architects
+only much later. For example, the Sodra Theatre of 1858-9 in Stockholm
+by J. F. Åbom (1817-1900) is still quite a restrained example of the
+revived High Renaissance; while so excellent a specimen of the more
+Tuscan sort of _Rundbogenstil_ as the Skandias Building in Stockholm by
+P. M. R. Isaeus (1841-90) and C. Sundahl dates from 1886-9, but must be
+compared with German work of at least a generation earlier.
+
+Holland has even less of distinction to offer in this period than
+Sweden.[60] Yet the Lutheran Round Church on the Singel in Amsterdam, as
+it was rebuilt after a fire in 1826 by Jan de Greef (1784-1834) and T.
+F. Suys (1783-1861), a pupil of Percier, lends a distinctly Venetian air
+to the local scene with its great dome, despite the admirably Dutch
+quality of its fine brickwork. The original church was built in 1668-77
+by Adriaen Dortsmann, and doubtless the peculiar plan, with main
+entrance under the pulpit and double galleries at the rear outside the
+main rotunda, derives from the older building.
+
+The monumentally Classical Haarlemer Poort of 1840 in Amsterdam by J. D.
+Zocher (1790-1870) may also be mentioned, as it is nearly unique in
+Holland. This has the stuccoed walls that, in Holland as elsewhere,
+generally replaced exposed brickwork under the influence of
+international Romantic Classicism. The Academy of Fine Arts in The
+Hague, built by Z. Reijers in 1839 and demolished in 1933, dominated by
+an Ionic portico of stone, might well have risen in any French
+provincial city of the day. Very similar, except that the portico is
+Corinthian, is the Palace of Justice in Leeuwarden built in 1846-52 by
+T. A. Romein (1811-81). Handsome also, but like the Hague Academy less
+autochthonous in character than the Round Church, is the long stone
+façade beside the Rokin of the Nederlandsche Bank in the Turfmarkt
+(1860) by Willem Anthony Froger. On the whole, Holland is the exception
+that proves the rule. Almost alone in Northern Europe Dutch architects
+failed, in general, to accept Romantic Classicism as it was adumbrated
+most notably in the treatise of Durand; while local conditions, in any
+case, reduced monumental architectural production to a minimum in the
+decades between Waterloo and the mid century.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 3
+ FRANCE AND THE REST OF THE CONTINENT
+
+
+BEFORE considering English architecture in the years between Waterloo
+and the Great Exhibition, it will be well to turn to that of France. The
+drama of the supersession of a supposedly purely Classical school in
+painting by a purely Romantic one, the contrast between such giants as
+Ingres on the one hand and Delacroix on the other, cannot be matched in
+the tame course of French architecture in this period; only very rarely
+was the accomplishment of these great painters or of half a dozen
+others, ranging from Géricault and Bonington to Corot and Daumier,
+equalled in quality by a Henri Labrouste or a Duban. Although the art of
+Ingres is in many ways parallel to Romantic Classicism in architecture,
+no French architect of this generation really approaches him at all
+closely in stature, although he numbered several among his close
+friends. Still less is there among architects any rebellious Romantic of
+the distinction of Delacroix or any ‘independent’ comparable to Corot.
+
+The Empire left a vast heritage of unfinished monuments. It is properly
+to the credit of the July Monarchy of Louis Philippe that these were
+brought to completion a generation after their initiation; but all the
+credit for them has in fact generally accrued to Napoleon himself. The
+intervening Restoration of the returned Bourbons, tired, reactionary and
+bigoted, gave its support largely to the construction of religious
+buildings. Appropriately, the first important new commission under Louis
+XVIII was for the Chapelle Expiatoire in memory of his brother Louis XVI
+and Marie Antoinette. This chapel with its raised tomb-flanked
+forecourt, lying between the Rue Pasquier and the Rue d’Anjou off the
+Boulevard Haussmann, was begun in 1816 and completed in 1824 (Plate
+18A). Somewhat less appropriately, it was Napoleon’s favourite architect
+Fontaine—his partner Percier had by this time retired—who received the
+commission. But the character of the project and of the regime led him
+to modulate his earlier imperial style from the festive and the
+triumphal towards the solemn and the funereal. Not an unworthy example
+of Romantic Classicism, this nevertheless lacks the crispness and
+clarity of the best contemporary German work. Nor does it much recall—as
+it well might have done—either the delicacy of the _style Louis XVI_ or
+the ‘Sublime’ grandeur of the many projects for monumental cenotaphs
+designed by the previous generation of architects and by those of
+Fontaine’s own generation in their youth.
+
+To restore the strength of the church, as the piety of the later
+Bourbons demanded, priests had to be trained in quantity. The next
+significant work undertaken in Paris after the Chapelle Expiatoire was
+the Séminaire Saint-Sulpice in the Place St Sulpice by É.-H. Godde
+(1781-1869); this was begun in 1820 and completed in 1838. So flat and
+cold are its façades that the observer may readily fail to note that the
+design somewhat approaches, perhaps unconsciously, the _quattrocento_
+Florentine. However, it quite lacks the archaeological character of
+Klenze’s Königsbau in Munich, designed only a few years later, or the
+vigour and assurance of Wimmel & Forsmann’s Johanneum in Hamburg. In
+fact, of course, it derives almost directly from Durand and not from any
+careful study of Grandjean de Montigny’s _Architecture toscane_.
+Somewhat more definitely Early Renaissance in detail are the Baths at
+Mont d’Or, built by L.-C.-F. Ledru (1771-1861), a pupil of Durand, in
+1822, and the Barracks in the Rue Mouffetard in Paris as extended in
+1827 by Charles Rohault de Fleury (1801-75). Both exploit a rusticated
+Tuscan mode somewhat as Klenze was doing in Munich, but much less
+archaeologically.
+
+Shortly after the Séminaire, Godde undertook several Paris churches.
+Saint-Pierre-du-Gros-Caillou in the Rue St Dominique of 1822-3 replaced
+a church destroyed in the Revolution. Finer and considerably larger is
+Saint-Denis-du-Saint-Sacrament in the Rue de Turenne, built in 1823-35.
+Both are barrel-vaulted basilicas in the tradition of Chalgrin’s
+Saint-Philippe-du-Roule; the latter is rather elegant in its dry
+severity, the former confused by various later additions behind the
+altar. Notre-Dame-de-Bonne-Nouvelle of 1823-30 is smaller and more
+modest, as are also two nearly contemporary Paris churches by A.-I.
+Molinos (1795-1850), Saint-Jean-Baptiste in Neuilly of 1827-31 and
+Sainte-Marie-des-Batignolles in the Place du Dr Félix Lobligeois in
+Paris of 1828-9. All these churches lack externally the Grecian grandeur
+of scale of the London churches of the period built by the Inwoods and
+others (see Chapter 4), but the basilican plan provides interiors that
+are considerably more interesting than the galleried halls with which
+most English architects were satisfied at this time. Of course, such a
+highly original interior as that of Soane’s St Peter’s, Walworth, of
+1822 is in a different class altogether.
+
+A much larger and more prominent church than any of Godde’s or Molinos’s
+is Notre-Dame-de-Lorette in the Rue de Chateaudun, one of the few really
+distinguished products of this dull period. It was the result of a
+competition held in 1822 which was won by Lebas, Brongniart’s
+collaborator on the Bourse (Plate 18B). This five-aisled edifice was
+built at very great expense in 1823-36 and sumptuously decorated with
+murals that added as much as a sixth to the total cost. The basic model
+is again the Early Christian basilica but here interpreted in thoroughly
+Classical terms, with a tall temple portico rivalling those of London at
+the front and no vaults or arches except at the east end. Evidence of a
+certain eclecticism is the rich coffering of the ceiling in panels
+alternately square and cruciform; so also is the introduction of a domed
+chancel before the apse. Both features are certainly of _cinquecento_
+inspiration.
+
+To modern eyes, attuned to the late fifth-and sixth-century basilicas
+of Ravenna, Notre-Dame-de-Lorette certainly has a far less Early
+Christian air than Ziebland’s Bonifazius Basilika in Munich of the
+next decade; but doubtless the great Imperial basilicas of Rome of the
+fourth and early fifth centuries, notably Santa Maria Maggiore with
+its trabeated nave colonnade, were originally something like it. In
+any case, Lebas’s church is a highly typical monument of Romantic
+Classicism and a major one. In France, as elsewhere, the accepted
+range of precedent now extended well beyond Greek and Roman antiquity
+to include Italian models of fifth- and of sixteenth-century date, if
+very little from the centuries between. Even before the construction
+of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, the Belgian-born P.-J. Sandrié and Jacob
+Silveyra (1785-?) in building a big Parisian synagogue in the Rue
+Notre-Dame-de-Nazareth in 1819-20 had also followed rather closely the
+basilican formula.
+
+The most important Parisian church of the second quarter of the century,
+Saint-Vincent-de-Paul off the Rue Lafayette, is also a five-aisled
+classical basilica (Plate 19). This was begun in 1824 by Lepère, but
+work was soon suspended. When it was carried to completion in 1831-44
+Lepère’s son-in-law J.-I. Hittorff (1792-1867) took over, and he has
+generally received credit for the whole job. In utilizing a rising site,
+which required terraces and flights of steps in front, and in providing
+two towers, Lepère and Hittorff gave their church more prominence and a
+richer, if rather clumsily organized, three-dimensional interest.[61]
+Hittorff’s archaeological studies in Sicily had made him an enthusiast
+for architectural polychromy, and to contemporaries the great novelty
+about Saint-Vincent-de-Paul was the proposal to use enamelled lava
+plaques on the exterior.[62]
+
+The French did not, like the Germans, turn to the use of tawny brick and
+terracotta in the second quarter of the century; but the interest of
+Hittorff and his generation in applied polychromy relates their work a
+little to that of the Romantic colourists in painting.[63] Unfortunately
+almost none of this polychromy remains visible now; and so the shift
+away from the monochromy that is characteristic everywhere of Romantic
+Classicism down to this period is less evident in France than in other
+countries.
+
+Especially fine is the open timber roof of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul,
+although in fact only a part of the actual construction is exposed;
+while the fact that the colonnaded apse is wide enough to include the
+inner aisles as well as the nave gives a quite unprecedented spatial
+interest to the east end. Moreover, in this interior Hittorff achieved a
+rich warmth of tone quite different from the coldness of Godde’s and
+Molinos’s churches of the twenties. His Cirque des Champs Élysées of
+1839-41 and Cirque d’Hiver of 1852 were even more brilliantly
+polychromatic both inside and out. But the most conspicuous extant works
+of Hittorff, the Gare du Nord of 1861-5, the Second Empire façades
+surrounding the Place de l’Étoile, and the decoration of the Place de la
+Concorde and the Champs Élysées with fountains and other features under
+the July Monarchy, provide today little evidence[64] of this aspect of
+his talent once so notable to contemporaries at home and abroad.
+
+Especially happy is the siting of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul on the upper
+side of the new polygonal Place Charles X (now Place Lafayette), of
+which the other sides were filled in the twenties with consonant houses
+by A.-F.-R. Leclerc (1785-1853),[65] a pupil of both Durand and Percier,
+and A.-J. Pellechet (1789-1871). Less characteristic of Romantic
+Classical urbanism than the squares and streets of Karlsruhe and Munich,
+this nevertheless well illustrates the dignity and the regularity of the
+houses then rising in the new quarters of Paris. The very considerable
+new quarter in Mulhouse, which was laid out and built up in 1826-8 by
+J.-G. Stotz (1799-?), a pupil of Leclerc, and A.-J.-F. Fries (1800-59),
+a pupil of Huyot, is more properly comparable with Karlsruhe.
+
+Most of the new churches in the suburbs of Paris and the French
+provinces followed basilican models. The parish church of
+Saint-Germain-en-Laye, which was brought at last to completion in 1823-7
+by A.-J. Malpièce (1789-1864) and his partner A.-J. Moutier (1791-1874),
+a pupil of Percier, following the original designs of M.-M. Potain
+(1713-96) of the 1760s, is much more modest and somewhat less Roman. In
+Marseilles the younger M.-R. Penchaud (1772-1832), who designed in 1812
+and built in 1827-32 the Palais de Justice at Aix on Ledoux’s earlier
+foundations, erected in 1824 a large Roman basilica for the local
+Protestants, doubtless with some conscious reference to Salomon de
+Brosse’s seventeenth-century Protestant Temple at Charenton of two
+hundred years earlier. By exception, however, the Protestant Temple at
+Orléans by F.-N. Pagot (1780-1844), a pupil of Labarre, which was built
+in 1836, is a plain cylinder in plan. Saint-Lazare in Marseilles, built
+by P.-X. Coste (1787-1879) and Vincent Barral (1800-54) in 1833-7,
+followed Notre-Dame-de-Lorette even more closely than does Penchaud’s
+Protestant church.
+
+In the more modest parish church of Vincennes outside Paris, which rose
+in 1826-30, the very last years of the Restoration, J.-B.-C. Lesueur
+(1794-1883) was already using a rather Brunelleschian sort of detail
+that is not without a certain cool elegance. More definitely of the
+Renaissance Revival is Saint-Jacques-Saint-Christophe, the parish church
+of La Villette in the Rue de Crimée in Paris built by P.-E. Lequeux
+(1806-73) much later, in 1841-4. It is one of half a dozen that Lequeux
+began in the forties, in addition to designing the town halls of this
+and several other quarters of Paris. Lequeux employed definitely
+_quattrocento_ detail somewhat more lavishly than Lesueur had done at
+Vincennes, and produced at La Villette one of the most satisfactory
+French churches of the Louis Philippe epoch. In building a small Norman
+church at Pollet near Dieppe in 1844-9, Louis Lenormand (1801-62), a
+pupil of his uncle Huvé, used Early Renaissance detail of a more French
+sort that may not improperly be called _François I._ Such detail was
+highly exceptional in ecclesiastical architecture even as late as the
+forties.
+
+The housing of public services, initiated so actively by Napoleon,
+continued at a much reduced pace under Louis XVIII and Charles X. The
+Paris Custom House of 1827 by L.-A. Lusson (1790-1864), a pupil of
+Percier, with its great arched entrance rising from the ground and its
+similar transverse arches inside, was later transformed—three bays of
+it, at least—into a Protestant church by one of Lebas’s pupils, the
+German-born F.-C. Gau (1790-1853), for Louis Philippe’s German relatives
+in 1843. A similar reflection of Durand’s utilitarian models may be seen
+in the vast Government Warehouse at Lyons, begun in 1828 by L.-P.
+Baltard (1764-1846), Lequeux’s master, who had worked when very young
+with Ledoux on the Paris _barrières_. This contrasts notably in its
+consistent arcuation with the belated giant Corinthian colonnade that
+fronts Baltard’s Palace of Justice there, built in 1836-42, and
+parallels fairly closely the contemporary warehouses Schinkel was
+building in Berlin. More characteristic of the rather mixed official
+mode of the period is the Custom House of 1835-42 at Rouen by C.-E.
+Isabelle (1800-80), a pupil of Leclerc. This is of interest chiefly for
+the tremendous rusticated arch of the entrance, which quite overpowers
+the rest of the _palazzo_-like façade.
+
+For educational institutions most new construction was subsidiary to
+existing buildings. At the École Polytechnique, A.-M. Renié (_c._
+1790-1855), a pupil of Percier and Vaudoyer, provided in 1828 a new
+arcuated and rusticated entrance hardly worthy of the school where
+Durand was now teaching a second generation of architects. P.-M.
+Letarouilly (1795-1855) made in 1831-42 additions that are less
+unworthy, but hardly more interesting, to Chalgrin’s Collège de France,
+built originally in the 1770s. But his great contribution, of course,
+was the _Édifices de Rome moderne_—the first volume of which appeared in
+1840. Finally completed with the publication of the third volume in
+1857, this was the bible of the later Renaissance Revival in France as
+of several generations of academic architects throughout the rest of the
+world. The École Normale Supérieure by the youngest Gisors (H.-A.-G. de,
+1796-1866), a pupil of Percier, is a large, wholly new building of
+1841-7; this looks forward to the Second Empire a little in its high
+mansard roof and seventeenth-century detailing, extremely dry and sparse
+though that is (see Chapter 8).
+
+Private construction was for the most part very dull, whether in city,
+suburb, or country. As an example of the country houses that were built
+in some quantity, a typical project of 1830 for one by Hittorff may be
+illustrated (Figure 9). With its careful if rather uninteresting
+proportions, its rigid rectangularity, and the stiff chains of
+rustication that provide its sole embellishment, however, this rises
+somewhat above the general level of achievement of the period.
+
+The _François I_ character of the detailing of Lenormand’s Pollet church
+has been mentioned. In domestic architecture such national Renaissance
+precedent had rather greater success even if nothing very novel or
+original developed from it. In 1825 L.-M.-D. Biet (1785-1856), a pupil
+of Percier, brought to Paris the court façade of an early
+sixteenth-century house from Moret and applied it to a _hôtel
+particulier_—always called with no justification the ‘Maison de François
+I’—in a new residential area of Paris. This house shortly gave the name
+‘François I’ to the entire quarter between the Champs Élysées and the
+Seine. The barrenness and brittleness of Biet’s own elevations were more
+of a tribute to his respect for the old work than to his creative
+ability.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 9. J.-I. Hittorff: Project for country house for Comte de W.,
+ 1830, elevation
+]
+
+Within the next few years houses built by such architects as L.-T.-J.
+Visconti (1791-1853), another pupil of Percier, and Famin tended to grow
+ever richer. In 1835 P.-C. Dusillion (1804-60), an architect otherwise
+more active abroad than at home, used _François I_ detail with the
+lushest profusion on a house at 14 Rue Vaneau. The façade rather
+resembles an interior of the so-called _style troubadour_ turned inside
+out. Much the same may be said for the block of flats built by Édouard
+Renaud (1808-86), a pupil of Leroy, at 5 Place St Georges in 1841. But
+this was rather an exception to the severity and regularity of Parisian
+street architecture under the Restoration. This was generally
+maintained, moreover, under the July Monarchy for blocks of flats, even
+by men like Visconti and Lesueur whose private houses were often very
+rich indeed.
+
+Two country houses of 1840 make a more extensive and plausible use of
+_François I_ features. One is the Château de St Martin, near St Paulzo
+in the Nièvre, built by Édouard Lussy (1788-1868), a pupil of Percier;
+this is elaborately picturesque in silhouette but still rigidly
+symmetrical. Another by J.-B.-P. Canissié (1799-1877), a pupil of
+Hittorff, at Draveil, S.-et-O., is somewhat irregular both in plan and
+in composition. But the _style François I_ in the France of the second
+quarter of the nineteenth century had neither the general acceptance nor
+even the vitality—at that relatively low—of the revived ‘Jacobethan’ in
+contemporary England.
+
+Even where a major sixteenth-century monument had to be restored and
+enlarged, as was the case with the Hôtel de Ville of Paris, the
+architects Godde and Lesueur were at some pains to regularize and
+chasten the unclassical vagaries of Boccador’s original design (Plate
+22A). Most of the work by Lesueur was done after 1837; from 1853 Victor
+Baltard (1805-74), son of L.-P. Baltard, carried on; then the whole had
+to be rebuilt after it was burned under the Commune. The present rather
+similar edifice by Théodore Ballu (1817-74), a pupil of Lebas, was begun
+only in 1874, the year of his death, and eventually completed by his
+partner P.-J.-E. Deperthes (1833-98). Except for the high French roofs,
+looking forward like those by Gisors on the École Normale to the next
+period, the general effect of Lesueur’s work here was very Italianate.
+
+A somewhat similar character can be seen in a few wholly new structures
+of more or less _François I_ inspiration, for example the Museum and
+Library at Le Havre built by C.-L.-F. Brunet-Debaines (1801-62), a pupil
+of Vaudoyer and Lebas, in 1845. In such a major commercial work of this
+period as the Galeries du Commerce et de l’Industrie in the Boulevard
+Bonne-Nouvelle, built by J.-L.-V. Grisart (1797-1877), a pupil of Huyot,
+and C.-M.-A. Froehlicher in 1838, it is hard to say whether the
+continuous arcading derived from French or from Italian
+sixteenth-century precedent. The iron-and-glass interiors were of more
+interest (see Chapter 7).
+
+There has seemed no need to emphasize thus far, as regards its effect on
+architecture, the change of regime that took place in 1830, even though
+that date in the other arts of France is sometimes thought to mark the
+triumph of _romantisme de la lettre_ over earlier Neo-Classicism. No
+such triumph took place in architecture, although it is evident that
+sources of inspiration other than the Antique were rather more
+frequently utilized after 1830 than before, if to nothing like the same
+extent as in Germany. Yet thanks to Victor Hugo and Guizot, Gothicism
+had by now acquired a less reactionary connotation than under the last
+Bourbons and was receiving the support, up to a point, of the July
+Monarchy (see Chapter 6).
+
+For political reasons Louis Philippe desired especially to emphasize the
+continuity of his liberal monarchy with the more liberal aspects of the
+Empire and to reclaim for France the Napoleonic glories that the
+Restoration had denigrated. So Napoleon’s ashes were brought back to the
+Invalides, where Visconti, hitherto chiefly active in the domestic
+field, prepared in 1842 a setting for them as funereal as the Chapelle
+Expiatoire but more sumptuous in its use of coloured marbles. Napoleon’s
+Temple de la Gloire (the Madeleine) and his Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile
+were finally brought to completion, the one by Huvé in 1845, the other
+by Blouet in 1837, as has already been noted. Several new monuments,
+very much of the Empire type, were also erected in Paris.
+
+Where Napoleon’s Elephant Monument was to have marked the site of the
+Bastille, J.-A. Alavoine (1778-1834), and after his death L.-J. Duc
+(1802-79), a pupil of Percier, erected in 1831-40 the gigantic Colonne
+de Juillet, rather less Imperial Roman and more French Empire than
+Napoleon’s Colonne Vendôme, but like that all of metal. In the centre of
+the Place de la Concorde there rose, with echoes of Napoleon’s Egyptian
+campaign (and less relevantly of Sixtine Rome), a real obelisk presented
+to Louis Philippe by the Khedive in 1833; thereafter, Hittorff
+ornamented in 1836-40 the square, the Champs Élysées, the Place de
+l’Étoile, and the Avenue de la Grande Armée with big fountains, lamp
+standards, and other pieces of elaborate urbanistic furniture.
+
+While the Empire embellishment of Paris was thus finished up or
+complemented, the July Monarchy also developed a fantastically extensive
+activity in the construction of hospitals, prisons, and other such
+utilitarian structures. Vast and plain, these could hardly be duller in
+the eyes of posterity. Yet they derive quite directly from Durand’s
+admirable paradigms for such structures and more remotely from the
+social, if not the aesthetic, aspirations of such men of high talent as
+Ledoux and Boullée, who initiated Romantic Classicism before the
+Revolution. If a funerary edifice—the Chapelle Expiatoire—best
+epitomizes the architecture of the Restoration, some enormous public
+institution is the contemporary, if inappropriate, architectural
+equivalent of the Romantic arts of Delacroix and Berlioz in the thirties
+and forties! Very conspicuous, and quite characteristic of these as a
+class, is the Hôtel Dieu, beside Notre-Dame in Paris, although this was
+actually built[66] very much later, in 1864-78, by A.-N. Diet (1827-90).
+It is the only one that can be readily seen without being jailed or
+certified; but most of them were amply presented in contemporary
+publications.
+
+Penchaud, whose Marseilles Protestant church has already been mentioned,
+was one of the ablest and most productive provincial architects of the
+Restoration and Louis Philippe periods. His lazaret at Marseilles, built
+in 1822-6, is more Ledoux-like than the Aix Palace of Justice that he
+erected on Ledoux’s foundations and considerably more original than his
+triumphal arch of 1823-32 at Marseilles, called the Porte d’Aix. On this
+arch, however, the liveliness of the relief sculpture provides something
+of the same Romantic _élan_ as that of Rude on the Arc de
+l’Étoile—Rude’s work dates, of course, from the Louis Philippe period.
+The Marseilles arch continues the Roman ideals of the Empire; the more
+significant lazaret revives the social and utilitarian ideals of the
+preceding Revolutionary period.
+
+In Paris Lebas’s Petite Roquette Prison for young criminals, in the Rue
+de la Roquette, designed in 1825 and executed with some modification of
+the original project in 1831-6, hardly rivals his great church in
+interest; but the polygonal plan with machicolated round towers at the
+corners recalls both the special medievalism of Boullée and the Millbank
+Penitentiary[67] in London of 1812-21 which Lebas had actually visited.
+Of more historical significance was the no longer extant Prison de la
+Nouvelle Force (or Mazas) commissioned in 1836 and built in 1843-50 by
+E.-J. Gilbert (1793-1874), a pupil first of Durand at the École
+Polytechnique and then of Vignon, the recognized leader in this field
+under Louis Philippe. Its radial cellular planning showed, like Barry’s
+Pentonville Prison of 1841-2 in London, the significant influence abroad
+of the Eastern Penitentiary in Philadelphia built by John Haviland
+(1792-1852) in 1823-35. This plan was made known to Europeans by two
+reports on American prisons, one by William Crawford, published in
+London in 1834, and another by F.-A. Demetz and Blouet, published in
+Paris in 1837. On this prison J.-F.-J. Lecointe (1783-1858) was
+associated with Gilbert.
+
+Much larger is Gilbert’s Charenton Lunatic Asylum of 1838-45 at St
+Maurice outside Paris, which he designed and built alone. The vast and
+orderly grid of this institution provides a community that is almost of
+the order of a complete town. The innumerable bare and regular ranges of
+wards are dominated by the temple portico of the centrally placed
+chapel, an ecclesiastical monument of some distinction that is
+unfortunately inaccessible to visitors. Such work, often as extensive in
+the provinces as near the capital, was much admired and studied by
+foreigners even quite late in the century. To the French, moreover, it
+carried a special prestige; the line of descent was direct from Boullée
+to Durand and from Durand to Gilbert and his provincial rivals, such as
+the brothers Douillard (L.-P., 1790-1869; L.-C., 1795-1878, a pupil of
+Crucy), who were responsible for the Hospice Général (Saint-Jacques) at
+Nantes built in 1832-6 (Plate 20). In the estimation of contemporaries,
+this was one of the two main lines of development in this period,
+balancing socially and intellectually the more aesthetic programme of
+polychromatic romanticization pursued by Hittorff, Henri Labrouste, and
+Duban.
+
+Representational public buildings, although usually much less plain in
+design, are likely to be even more heavy-handed than the prisons and
+lunatic asylums. Their architects’ strictly functional approach was
+capable of achieving a rather bleak sort of distinction which should
+have been sympathetic to the twentieth century had they been better
+known. The Palace of Justice at Tours of 1840-50 by Charles
+Jacquemin-Belisle (1815-69), with its unpedimented Roman Doric portico,
+is typical enough of a very considerable number of large and prominent
+civic structures. Lequeux’s Paris town halls in the outlying
+_arrondissements_ are just as dry but less monumentally Classical.
+
+Happily there are a few finer public buildings, mostly in Paris,
+structures not least interesting for their bold use of metal and glass.
+Among early railway stations only the Gare Montparnasse of 1848-52 by
+V.-B. Lenoir (1805-63) and the engineer Eugène Flachat (1802-73) and the
+Gare de Strasbourg (Gare de l’Est) of 1847-52 by F.-A. Duquesney
+(1790-1849), a pupil of Percier, still stand in Paris. The Gare de
+l’Est, with its vast central lunette expressing clearly the
+iron-and-glass arched train-shed, is a most notable early station. The
+detailing, of a somewhat High Renaissance—at least not Greek or
+Roman—order, is pleasant but undistinguished (Plate 22B). This detailing
+has been effectively maintained in the modern doubling of the front of
+the station. The original shed by the engineer Sérinet was long ago
+replaced.
+
+The other great Parisian structure of the forties in whose construction
+the visible use of iron played a prominent part, the Bibliothèque
+Sainte-Geneviève in the Place du Panthéon, is especially distinguished
+for the originality and elegance of its detailing, even more as regards
+that of the masonry of the exterior than of the ironwork within (Plate
+21). Henri-P.-F. Labrouste (1801-75), a pupil of Lebas and Vaudoyer, who
+designed this library in 1839 and built it in 1843-50, is the one French
+architect of the age whose name can be mentioned—though a little
+diffidently—with those of the great architects of the earlier decades of
+the century outside France, Soane and Schinkel, even if his
+contemporaries usually gave precedence to Gilbert or to Hittorff. Yet
+Labrouste hardly ranks for quality with a Dane of his own generation
+such as Bindesbøll, although his library is much more advanced both
+stylistically and technically than the contemporary Thorwaldsen Museum
+in Copenhagen.
+
+Everywhere except in England this was a period, like the first quarter
+of the century, in which official architecture exceeded private in
+interest. Moreover, the priority that the erection of monuments of
+public utility, from markets and prisons to art galleries and libraries,
+received over the building of churches and palaces gave significant
+evidence of the rise of a new pattern of bourgeois culture. It is
+therefore quite appropriate that this library of Henri Labrouste’s
+should be the finest structure of the forties in France. The
+Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève is also one of the few buildings of the
+second quarter century anywhere in the world that has been almost
+universally admired ever since its completion, if successively for a
+variety of different reasons. The façade of the library, often ignored
+by those praising the visible iron structure of the interior (Figure
+14), outranks in distinction almost all other contemporary examples of
+the Renaissance Revival anywhere in the world; but it is worth noting
+that the flanking administrative block and the Collège Sainte-Barbe also
+offer a premonition of the next period in their prominent mansard roofs.
+(Henri’s brother F.-M.-T. Labrouste (1799-1855) supervised the
+construction of the college.) The façade of Henri’s administrative block
+is a composition of real originality and exquisite co-ordination of
+parts to which the term Renaissance Revival need hardly be applied; this
+is what _style Louis Philippe_ really means, or ought at least to mean.
+
+By Charles X’s time the Salle des Cinq Cents at the Palais Bourbon,
+erected by the two older Gisors and Leconte in the 1790s, was in such a
+bad state that it was necessary to rebuild it, adding at the same time a
+library. J.-J.-B. de Joly (1788-1865) in 1828-33 followed closely the
+original design; but behind the scenes, as it were, he used a great deal
+of iron to ensure a lasting structure. He also embellished the walls
+with a richly coloured sheathing of French marbles and, in the library,
+with murals by Delacroix. With less originality, but with respect for a
+major monument of the seventeenth century, H.-A.-G. de Gisors much
+enlarged the Luxembourg for Louis Philippe in 1834-41, repeating Salomon
+de Brosse’s original garden façade, in order to accommodate a new
+chamber for the House of Peers. His chamber followed closely the earlier
+one there of 1798 by Chalgrin; the new chapel which he also provided at
+the Luxembourg has even more of the colouristic richness demanded by
+advanced taste in this period. The Luxembourg Orangery, later the
+Luxembourg Museum, which was built by Gisors in 1840 in an early
+seventeenth-century mode, used brick for the walls with only the
+dressings of stone, a rare instance of such external bichromy in the
+Paris of its day despite the lively interest in the employment of colour
+in architecture.
+
+The present Foreign Ministry on the Quai d’Orsay was built in 1846-56 by
+Jacques Lacornée (1779-1856), who had completed in 1821-35 his master
+Bonnard’s earlier Ministry near by that was begun for Napoleon in 1814.
+Superimposed arch orders produce a rich and rather Venetian version of
+the Renaissance Revival not unrelated to the treatment of the somewhat
+exceptional Empire building on which he had worked. Duc began to plan
+the restoration and enlargement of the Palace of Justice in Paris as
+early as 1840, but the handsomest and most conspicuous portions of this
+elaborate complex date from the Second Empire. J.-F. Duban (1797-1870)
+started the restoration of the old Louvre, over which a hot controversy
+soon ensued, in 1848; the New Louvre, begun by Visconti in 1852 and
+carried forward after his death in 1853 by Lefuel, would be the prime
+monument of the succeeding period (see Chapter 8). Duban’s capacities in
+this period—he did his best work rather later (Plate 72B)—are better
+appreciated in the building for the École des Beaux Arts he completed in
+1838 and in the elegant Early Italian Renaissance design of the Hôtel de
+Pourtalès of 1836 in the Rue Tronchet, perhaps the finest Paris mansion
+of its day.
+
+However, it was not with such _hôtels particuliers_ but with _maisons de
+rapport_, that is, blocks of flats, that the streets of Paris, like
+those of Berlin and Vienna, were mostly built up in these decades.
+Earlier ones, such as those in the Place de la Bourse, are very
+carefully composed yet almost devoid of prominent architectural features
+(Plate 27C). In the later thirties and above all the forties, however,
+the detail grew richer and more eclectic, while the façades were in
+general much less neatly composed. Not only were rich Italian or French
+Renaissance features popular but exotic oriental ornament was more than
+occasionally used. The planning became more complex and elastic also;
+but both in exterior design and in interior organization the type
+remained firmly rooted in late-eighteenth-century tradition. The Paris
+streets of the first half of the nineteenth century have a notable
+consistency of scale and character, since the cornice lines, and even
+the shapes of the high roofs, were controlled by a well-enforced
+building code and their eclecticism of style is little more than a
+matter of detail.
+
+More than in other countries in this period, the major virtues of French
+architecture lay in the placid continuance of well-established lines.
+Traditions were being slowly eroded, but there was very little of that
+urgent desire to overturn the immediate past which coloured so
+significantly much English production of the thirties and forties. Nor
+was there the German capacity in this period for carrying over into
+medievalizing modes the basic discipline of established Romantic
+Classicism. Not surprisingly, French leadership in architecture,
+established under Louis XIV and renewed under Napoleon, was largely
+lost; it came back, however, with the Second Empire (see Chapters 8 and
+9). All the same, architectural controversy flourished at home in these
+decades.
+
+Quite naturally, French influence still remained largely dominant in
+contiguous Belgium and much of Switzerland. If Studer’s work in Berne
+falls under the German rubric of _Rundbogenstil_, in French-speaking
+Lausanne and Neuchâtel important commissions went to Frenchmen. An
+Asylum for the former city was designed by Henri Labrouste in 1837-8;
+another in the latter town, built a few years later, is by P.-F.-N.
+Philippon (1784-1866), a pupil of J.-J. Ramée who had also worked with
+Brongniart. Both are characteristically respectable examples of _Louis
+Philippe_ work. Labrouste also designed a prison for Alessandria in
+Italy in 1840.
+
+In Belgium, under Dutch rule from the fall of Napoleon down to 1830, the
+Théâtre de la Monnaie in Brussels, begun in 1819 by the French architect
+L.-E.-A. Damesme (1757-1822), who had once worked on the Paris
+_barrières_ with Ledoux, and completed by E.-J. Bonnevie (1783-1835), is
+a large but typical example of the theatres built in the French
+provinces by architects of the previous generation. It was not improved
+by an enlargement and remodelling of 1856, but the original temple
+portico is noble in scale and handsomely detailed. Characteristically,
+Damesme also built the Brussels prison. When a new generation of Belgian
+architects appeared led by Joseph Poelaert (1817-79), who had studied
+with Huyot, more international influences were evident. For example,
+Poelaert’s fine early school of 1852 in the Rue de Schaerbeek in
+Brussels shows little of Huyot but a good deal of Schinkel in its
+rationalistic handling of Grecian forms. Poelaert’s boldness here, which
+even suggests that of Alexander Thomson in his Glasgow work of this
+decade and the next, prepares one a little for his later Palace of
+Justice designed in the sixties (see Chapter 8).
+
+The long pre-eminence of Italy in the arts came to an end even before
+the end of the old regime. Architects still flocked there, finding in
+each generation new sources of inspiration as first Renaissance palaces
+and then medieval churches succeeded Roman ruins as the preferred quarry
+of travellers of taste. But not after Piranesi was there an Italian
+architect with real international influence. At the opening of the new
+century doctrine flowed from Paris, not from Rome; increasingly,
+moreover, architects turned to England and Germany for still fresher
+ideas and ideals.
+
+Only a few Italian cities were notably ornamented in this period; on the
+other hand, none were blighted, and much ordinary building hardly even
+bears clear indications of its date. The characteristic and prominent
+productions of the period are, however, quite up to the highest
+international standards. They have thus far been underestimated, not
+least by the Italians themselves, partly because they are so much
+overshadowed in interest by earlier work, partly because they carry in
+Italy for the first time since the Gothic the onus—not entirely
+justified—of following a foreign lead.
+
+The Pope, like other legitimate sovereigns who returned to power after
+Napoleon’s fall, carried out existing projects, notably those for the
+Piazza del Popolo as planned by Valadier. He also initiated in 1817 the
+building of a new wing for the sculpture museum at the Vatican, the
+Braccio Nuovo by Raffaelle Stern (1774-1820). Completed in 1821, this is
+one of the finest of the many galleries in the line of descent from
+Simonetti’s Museo Pio-Clementino at the Vatican of which the first half
+of the nineteenth century saw so many (Plate 24). Taller and less
+ornately embellished than Klenze’s galleries in the Munich Glyptothek,
+and with rather stronger spatial articulation, this is none the less
+well within the Romantic Classical tradition as it had been established
+by the previous generation of French architects.
+
+The principal architectural activity of the post-Napoleonic years in
+Rome and, indeed, of the whole later period of papal rule was the
+reconstruction after a fire of the great fifth-century basilica of San
+Paolo fuori-le-mura. Begun by Pasquale Belli (1752-1833) in 1825, with
+whom were associated the younger Pietro Camporesi (1792-1873) and F. J.
+Bosio (1768-1845), the supervision was taken over after Belli’s death in
+1833 by Luigi Poletti (1792-1869), who completed the job in 1856.
+Following closely the august original in its dimensions and proportions,
+San Paolo has a truly Roman Imperial scale; but the hardness of the
+materials, the polish of their surfaces, and the cold precision of their
+handling recalls rather the contemporary Paris churches of Lebas and
+Hittorff without matching their relatively rich colour. A more modest
+Roman monument of this period in a conspicuous location is the Teatro
+Argentina by Camporesi.
+
+The Teatro Carlo Felice in the Piazza de Ferrari in Genoa, built by C.
+F. Barabino (1768-1835) in 1827, is a more advanced and distinguished
+Romantic Classical structure of considerable originality, now badly
+damaged by bombing. Barabino was also responsible for designing the
+Camposanto di Staglieno at Genoa with its Pantheon-like chapel and its
+endless colonnades. Begun in 1835, this project was carried to
+completion by G. B. Rezasco (1799-1872).
+
+Naples[68] has more interesting monuments of this period to offer than
+Rome or Genoa. Yet San Francesco di Paola, which was built from designs
+by Pietro Bianchi (1787-1849) in 1816-24 in resolution of a vow of
+Ferdinand I, can hardly be considered much more original than San Paolo
+(Plate 26A). The interior is another of the innumerable copies of the
+Pantheon that were erected all over Europe and America in this period;
+but the Berninian quadrant colonnades in front are better handled than
+at Voronikhin’s Kazan Cathedral at Petersburg. The great saucer dome,
+moreover, is rather happily echoed in the two smaller domes on either
+side; they serve also to tie together the side colonnades and the
+pedimented portico. Above all, this church is most effective
+urbanistically. The colonnades enclose the square north of the Royal
+Palace in a quite Baroque way; while the church as a whole, because of
+the giant scale of its parts and its cleanly sculptural composition,
+stands as a discrete object in the best Romantic Classical way against
+the higher portion of the city that rises behind. Less happy in the city
+picture is the front of the San Carlo opera house, carried out a little
+earlier in 1810-12 by Antonio Niccolini (1772-1850), who also
+redecorated the interior in 1816-17 and again in 1841-4. This has
+adequate open space only at the sides; and the curiously high-waisted
+façade, in any case rather underscaled in its parts, must be seen in a
+perspective sharper than is becoming to most post-Baroque monuments
+(Plate 23B).
+
+The throne room in the palace at nearby Caserta, decorated for Ferdinand
+II by Gaetano Genovese (1795-1860) in 1839-45, is a surprisingly worthy
+late pendant to de Simone’s contiguous interiors of more than a
+generation earlier, very rich indeed in its gold-and-white decoration,
+but superbly ordered. Genovese also carried out an extensive and tactful
+remodelling and enlargement of the Royal Palace in Naples in 1837-44,
+most notably the regularization of the long façade above the quay.
+
+No other Italian city provides quite such prominent examples of
+individual Romantic Classical monuments as do Rome and Naples. The
+setting of San Carlo in Milan, built by Carlo Amati (1776-1852) in
+1844-7, a rectangular recession from the line of the present-day Corso
+Matteotti, provides no such build-up for its Pantheon-like dome as does
+Bianchi’s San Francesco. The giant granite colonnades at the base of the
+contiguous blocks do, however, continue effectively the pedimented
+portico on either side of the little _piazza_. Only at Turin, almost
+more French than Italian always, were great squares and wide, arcaded
+streets carried out in this period, but without focal monuments of any
+particular distinction. These squares and streets vie with Percier and
+Fontaine’s in Paris, yet they also continue a local seventeenth-century
+tradition that was to remain alive down into the Fascist period.
+
+The expiatory church in Turin, which paralleled in motivation Ferdinand
+I’s in Naples, the Gran Madre di Dio, was proposed in 1814 and built on
+the farther bank of the Po by Ferdinando Bonsignore (1767-1843) in
+1818-31 to celebrate the departure of the French and the return of the
+House of Savoy to its capital (Plate 26B). This is a far duller and less
+original example of a modern structure based directly on the Pantheon
+than is the Tempio Canoviano of 1819-20 at Possagno.[69] For this the
+great Romantic Classical sculptor of Italy, Thorvaldsen’s rival Antonio
+Canova, was the client and apparently also the designer.
+
+It is not Bonsignore’s church that is notable in the Turin scene but the
+vast Piazza Vittorio Veneto opposite, laid out by Giuseppe Frizzi
+(1797-1831) in 1818 and later surrounded by fine ranges of arcaded
+buildings mostly carried out between 1825 and 1830 (Plate 26B). At the
+upper end of this tremendous square two quadrants draw in to meet the
+arcaded Via Po. Characteristically, the arcades here are supported on
+compound piers based on those in the seventeenth-century Piazza San
+Carlo but simplified and sharpened now to conform to Romantic Classical
+standards. Also a typical Turin feature, but new in this period, was the
+syncopation of the handsome iron balconies of the upper storeys. This
+theme marks most of the houses in the quarter contiguous to this square,
+a quarter built up over the next generation in a remarkably elegant and
+consistent way more than rivalling the contemporary districts of Paris
+or Vienna.
+
+The other principal square of this period, on the farther side of the
+new quarter and at the outer end of the present-day Via Roma, is the
+Piazza Carlo Felice. This was laid out by the engineer Lombardi and by
+Frizzi in 1823, and has façades by Carlo Promis (1808-73) that also
+extend on both sides of the square along the broad Corso Vittorio
+Emmanuele II. Continuous arcades cross the street ends, as in the Piazza
+Vittorio Veneto, and the balconies are syncopated. The fine big trees in
+the square and along the Corso are a happy addition to the urban scene
+quite uncharacteristic of the rest of Italy.
+
+The inner end of the Piazza Carlo Felice is not curved but
+semi-octagonal. Originally the outer end was open and defined only by
+rows of trees; later, in 1866-8, the handsome Porta Nuova Railway
+Station was built there by the engineer Alessandro Mazzuchetti (1824-94)
+and the architect Carlo Ceppi (1829-1921). Now this terminates the long
+central axis of the city which extends from the Royal Palace through the
+Piazza Castello, the Piazza San Carlo, and down the Via Roma to the
+Piazza Carlo Felice.
+
+Turin has other monumental edifices of this period besides the Gran
+Madre di Dio. There are, for example, two later churches in the new
+quarter, San Massimo and the Sacramentine; the latter, by Alfonso Dupuy,
+was built in 1846-50 from a design of 1843, with later portico by Ceppi;
+the former in 1845-54 by Carlo Sada (1809-73). Both are domed, but less
+Pantheon-like than the Gran Madre. They lack, unfortunately, the
+elegance and delicacy of scale of the houses of the period in the
+streets that surround them.
+
+Milan owes less than Turin to the architectural activity of this period.
+The present decoration of the interior of the opera-house, La Scala,
+which was built by Giuseppe Piermarini (1734-1808) in 1776-8, dates from
+1830 and is by Alessandro Sanquirico (1774-1849). This is quite similar
+in the sumptuousness of its white-and-gold ornamentation to Genovese’s
+later throne room at Caserta. The square gatehouses at the Porta
+Venezia, built in 1826 by Rodolfo Vantini (1791-1856), are boldly scaled
+and effectively paired. The Palazzo Rocca-Saporiti of 1812 by Giovanni
+Perego (1776-1817) in the Corso Venezia with its raised colonnade rivals
+in interest Cantoni’s better-known Palazzo Serbelloni of the 1790s near
+by. The much smaller and considerably later Palazzo Lucini of 1831 in
+the Via Monte di Pietà by Ferdinando Crivelli (1810-55) is so expert an
+example of High Renaissance design that it can readily be taken for real
+_cinquecento_ work. Paradoxically, such an extremely literate specimen
+of the Renaissance Revival is far less characteristic of Italy in the
+second quarter of the nineteenth century than of England or Germany.
+More typical of Italian taste in the thirties and forties are the
+buildings facing the flank of La Scala across the Via Verdi with their
+complex rhythm of fenestration and their very rich but still vaguely
+Grecian ornamentation. Eventually the Italians did, however, take up
+occasionally the Renaissance version of the international
+_Rundbogenstil_, and none too happily. For example, the Casa di
+Risparmio (known vulgarly as the Ca’ de Sass), built by Giuseppe
+Balzaretti (1801-74) in 1872 across the street from the refined and
+discreet Palazzo Lucini, is a stonier example of Tuscan rustication—as
+its nickname suggests—than was ever produced by the Northern Europeans
+who first revived the mode half a century earlier.
+
+A charming ornament to a smaller city is the Caffè Pedrocchi[70] in
+Padua of 1816-31 by Giuseppe Jappelli (1783-1852), a pupil of Selva, and
+Antonio Gradenigo (1806-84). Delicate in scale, interestingly varied in
+the handling of solids and voids, and most urbane in the discretion of
+its carefully placed ornamentation, this is certainly the handsomest
+nineteenth-century café in the world and about the finest Romantic
+Classical edifice in Italy (Plate 23A). Exceptional in this period in
+the Latin world is the Neo-Gothic wing known as Il Pedrocchino attached
+to the café, designed by Jappelli and for the same client; this was
+completed in 1837.
+
+Trieste in this period, like the cities of Lombardy and the Veneto, is
+more Italian than Austrian architecturally. As a result it outshines
+Vienna in the extent and the quality of its early nineteenth-century
+construction. The new buildings were largely concentrated around the
+Canal Grande, a rectangular lagoon extending inland from the Riva Tre
+Novembre. At the head of this rises Sant’ Antonio di Padova, built by
+Nobile in 1826-49, long after this former Trieste City Architect had
+been called to Vienna as head of the architecture section of the
+Akademie there. Occupying a position somewhat similar to that of the
+Gran Madre di Dio in Turin, Nobile’s church is considerably more
+interesting, particularly as regards the generous spatial organization
+of the interior. The Canal Grande is flanked by contemporary palaces
+that are harmonious with one another in scale but quite varied in
+detail. The largest and finest, facing the sea on the left, is the
+Palazzo Carciotti. This was completed in 1806 by Matthäus Pertsch, a
+Milan-trained architect who had provided in 1798 the façade of the
+Teatro Verdi here in Trieste. With its raised portico and small dome,
+the Palazzo Carciotti is one of the most prominent and successful
+Italian buildings of the opening years of the century.
+
+At the other side of the Latin world, the Iberian peninsula participated
+rather less than the Italian in the advanced architectural movements of
+the first half of the century. In Madrid the Obelisk of the 2nd of May,
+built by Isidro Gonzalez Velasquez (1764/5-?) in 1822-40, and the
+Obelisk of La Castellana (1883), by Francisco Javier de Mariateguí, are
+rather modest specimens of a widely popular sort of erection compared to
+Smirke’s gigantic Wellington Testimonial in Dublin or Mills’s Washington
+Monument. The Palace of the Congress of 1843-50 by Narciso Pascual y
+Coloner (1808-70) is a dull example of that nineteenth-century
+Classicism that hardly deserves the qualification ‘Romantic’.
+
+Italians, little employed elsewhere out of their own country in this
+period, provided the principal new public edifices of Lisbon. F. X.
+Fabri (?-1807) built the Palace of Arzuda, begun in 1802, and Fortunato
+Lodi (1806-?) the Garret Theatre more than a generation later in 1842-6;
+both are as uninspired as the contemporary monuments of Madrid. As late
+as 1867-75 the Municipal Chamber of Lisbon by the local architect
+Domingos Ponente da Silva (1836-1901) maintained the Classical mode at
+its most conventional. Already, with the establishment of the Braganza
+headquarters in Rio de Janeiro early in the century, Portuguese vitality
+was passing to the New World (see Chapter 5). Yet if Lisbon has no
+individual Romantic Classical monuments of much interest, the lower
+city, extending from the Praça do Commercio to O Rocio, is a splendid
+example of late-eighteenth-century urbanism, initiated after the
+earthquake of 1755 by Eugenio dos Santos de Carvalho (1711-60).
+
+In the eighteenth century Petersburg owed its grandeur as a Baroque city
+largely to the work of imported Italian architects; but with the rise of
+French and English influence in the later decades of the old century and
+the first of the new the day of the Italians was over, there as
+elsewhere (see Chapter 1). Alexander I’s aspirations, after as well as
+before Waterloo, were wholly French, not Italian. The Committee for
+Construction and Hydraulic Works, indeed, which Alexander set up in 1816
+to pass the designs of all public and private buildings in his capital,
+had a French military engineer, General Béthencourt, as its chairman.
+Yet the principal architect of the post-Napoleonic decades, Karl
+Ivanovich Rossi (1775-1849), although he had an Italian family name and
+was of Italian origin, was Russian-born and Russian-trained. Rossi’s
+General Staff Arches of 1819-29 and the vast hemicycle of which they are
+the centre continue happily the urbanistic tradition of the older
+generation; but the detail is Roman not Greek, and the taste altogether
+coarser and more provincial than that of Thomon and Zakharov (Plate
+27B). This is even more true of his Alexandra Theatre of 1827-32 and his
+Senate and Synod of 1829-34.
+
+August Augustovich Monferran (1786-1858), to whom was assigned the
+building of St Isaac’s Cathedral[71] in 1817, a vast pile that he
+completed only in 1857 (Plate 27A), was French, despite the Russian form
+in which his name is here given, and actually a pupil of Percier. In his
+youth he had worked under Vignon on the Madeleine, moreover. Monferran
+lacked, like most of his own generation who remained in France, both the
+originality and the finesse of the earlier generation, just as Nicholas
+I lacked the taste of his brother Alexander I. A wealth of sumptuous
+materials, granites and marbles, marks this church, however, and the
+dome is of some importance in technical history because it is entirely
+framed in iron (see Chapter 7).
+
+Another typical monument in the Napoleonic tradition rose also from
+Monferran’s designs, the Alexander Column of 1829 in the Winter Palace
+Square (Plate 27B). This may well be the largest granite monolith in the
+world—a typically Russian claim—but it quite lacks the elegance of
+Alavoine’s still later Colonne de Juillet in Paris or the scale of
+Mills’s Washington Monument. The Triumphal Gate of 1833 by Vasili
+Petrovich Stasov (1769-1848) is a trabeated Greek Doric propylaeon,
+somewhat comparable to Nobile’s Burgtor in Vienna; more significant is
+the fact that, like the July Column in Paris and Monferran’s great dome,
+not to speak of a curious Egyptian suspension bridge of this period in
+Petersburg, this structure is all of metal.
+
+In 1840 the authority of the Committee of 1816 was terminated and in
+Petersburg, as so generally elsewhere in Europe, coherent urbanistic
+control came to an end. The great architectural period there was over as
+Moscow, with its nationalistic traditions, came more to the fore.
+Characteristically, the most important new church of the second quarter
+of the century, the Cathedral of the Redeemer of 1839-83, was built in
+the older capital and is the first major Russian example of
+Neo-Byzantine. One is not surprised to find that Konstantin Andreevich
+Ton (1794-1881), its architect, was German not French; for in a sense
+this represents a rather clumsy local variant of the German
+_Rundbogenstil_, continuing the particular eclectic line initiated by
+Klenze in his Munich Court Church more than a decade earlier.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 4
+ GREAT BRITAIN
+
+
+IN English terminology, the most productive period of Nash and Soane,
+the two greatest Romantic Classical architects of England, extending
+from 1810 down to the thirties, is loosely referred to as ‘Regency’, and
+the rest of the first half of the century as ‘Early Victorian’. Neither
+term has much more specific meaning in an international frame of
+reference than does ‘Restoration’ or ‘Louis Philippe’ in France, not to
+speak of ‘Biedermeier’, which is sometimes used for this period in
+Germany and Austria. ‘Regency’ production includes the characteristic
+monuments of mature Romantic Classicism in England and also much work
+that makes manifest the Picturesque point of view. Early Victorian
+production illustrates the modulation of Romantic Classicism into the
+Renaissance Revival, and includes as well the most doctrinaire phase of
+the Gothic Revival (see Chapter 6).
+
+Although current researches are somewhat amending the picture, it is
+accepted that private architecture has generally been more significant
+in England than public architecture. This was least true in the first
+three decades of the nineteenth century. Soane had been Architect to the
+Bank of England, in effect if not in fact an important branch of the
+State, from 1788. Nash succeeded Wyatt in the office of
+Surveyor-General—although he was only given the title of Deputy—in 1813.
+And in 1815 Soane, Nash, and Smirke, undoubtedly the three leading
+architects of their day if one excepts Wilkins, became the members of a
+new board set up by the national Office of Works, which was at a peak of
+its authority and activity immediately after Napoleon’s downfall. Soane
+and Smirke, though not personal favourites of George IV, were knighted,
+like several of their German contemporaries. The principal building
+project of the day, the laying out and the construction of Regent Street
+and Regent’s Park, the latter on Crown land, had the fullest personal
+support of George IV, first as Regent and after 1820 as King.
+
+Yet Soane’s most important work between 1810 and 1818 was private,
+except for what he built as Architect to the Chelsea Hospital, and, in
+the case of his house and his family tomb, wholly personal. All that
+remains of consequence of his work at the Chelsea Hospital, the stables
+of 1814-17, might as well be private, for this is no great monument with
+columned portico and Pantheon-dome such as preoccupied most architects
+of Soane’s generation and status abroad (Plate 28A). Rigidly astylar,
+boldly arcuated, and executed in common yellowish London stock bricks,
+with no more deference to the purplish walling bricks and bright
+orange-red rubbed dressings of Wren’s earlier buildings at the Hospital
+than to his English Baroque style, this is as utilitarian as any project
+of Durand’s. Moreover, in its very simple detailing this reflects, and
+quite consciously, something of that primitivistic aspect of
+international Romantic Classical theory deriving from the theories of
+Soane’s favourite critical author, Laugier. Above all, in the
+proportioning and in the organization of the arcuated elements, the
+design of the stables is personal almost to the point of perversity. It
+is far more comprehensible to the abstract tastes of the twentieth
+century than in accordance with the ideals most widely accepted in the
+England of Soane’s own day.
+
+Soane’s Dulwich Gallery of 1811-14, outside London, is likewise built of
+common brick and has similarly primitivistic detailing. This structure
+is most characteristic of its period in being a museum, indeed it is the
+earliest nineteenth-century example; but it could hardly be more
+different from the line of sculpture galleries that runs from Klenze’s
+Glyptothek in Munich through Bindesbøll’s Thorwaldsen Museum in
+Copenhagen. Nor does it much resemble the picture galleries of the
+period running from those in Schinkel’s Altes Museum in Berlin through
+Klenze’s Ältere Pinakothek in Munich to Voit’s Neuere Pinakothek, also
+in Munich. It is least unlike the last of these, although that was
+designed forty years later; this similarity may help to suggest how
+confusingly advanced in style Soane, eldest of the leading architects of
+the post-Napoleonic decades, remained even in middle and old age.
+
+But Soane’s _Rundbogenstil_—so to apply this term out of its German
+context, as one might do even more properly to the Chelsea Hospital
+stables—is a round-arched style with a difference. There are neither
+medieval nor _quattrocento_ Italian overtones here. While Soane’s
+approach was creatively personal in the detailing as well as in the
+over-all organization, that approach seems most closely parallel to
+Durand’s rationalism, particularly in the technical skill with which the
+monitor-lighting was handled. The centrepiece of the Gallery is a
+mausoleum in which Soane’s virtuosity in three-dimensional
+composition—an interest that sets him well apart from most of his
+generation on the Continent—and also at abstract linear ornamentation,
+produced here by plain incisions in the stone slabs of the lantern,
+reaches something of a climax.
+
+Even more of such ornamentation is to be seen on the family tomb in St
+Pancras churchyard of 1816 as also, though much more chastely handled,
+on the façade of his own house[72] of 1812-13 at 13 Lincoln’s Inn
+Fields. The interiors of this house are full of spatial exercises, many
+of them miniscule in scale, which Soane developed later in various
+public structures. It may suffice here to mention the small
+breakfast-room with its very shallow dome, its varied and ingenious
+effects of indirect lighting, and its characteristic decoration by means
+of incised linear patterns and convex mirrors.
+
+In 1818 there began for Soane a new spate of public activity that
+continued down to 1823. A series of offices at the Bank of England[73]
+now carried further the spatial and decorative innovations of the
+interiors of the 1790s. Whether or not these were finer is a matter of
+taste; but the continuous arched forms without imposts, the smoother
+surfaces, and the very abstract linear decoration certainly represent a
+more advanced stage of Soane’s personal style (Plate 28B). Under the Act
+for Building New Churches of 1818, which generated great activity in the
+ecclesiastical field, Soane was one of the guiding architects; he built,
+however, only three churches for the Commission that was set up by the
+Act. St Peter’s, Walworth, in South London, of 1823-5 is both elegant
+and ingenious in the way the galleries are incorporated into the
+internal architectural organization rather than treated as mere
+afterthought. The other two are less successful.
+
+Almost all the other churches built under the Act, or by other means, in
+these years were rather conventionally Grecian, that is if sufficient
+funds were available; otherwise they were what is called ‘Commissioners’
+Gothic’ (see Chapter 6). The contrast that the former provide with the
+Walworth church helps to emphasize the highly personal character of
+Soane’s achievement even in his least esteemed work. St Peter’s was
+evidently designed from the inside out, and owes almost nothing to the
+architecture of any period of the past. The type-church of the age in
+England, however, comparable in historical significance to Lebas’s
+slightly later Notre-Dame-de-Lorette in Paris, is St Pancras of 1818-22
+in the Euston Road in London built by William Inwood (_c._ 1771-1843)
+and his son (H. W., 1794-1843). Very evidently this was designed from
+the outside in, for its features are derived from the Erechtheum, a
+monument which the younger Inwood actually went to Athens to measure
+after the church had been begun.[74]
+
+English tradition required a lantern above the temple portico at the
+front, and so the Inwoods devised a sort of Gibbsian tower for St
+Pancras out of elements borrowed from the Athenian Tower of the Winds.
+Urbane yet rather barren, the interior lacks even the tepid religious
+feeling of the French basilicas of the day. The architects, and
+contemporaries generally, were more interested in the caryatid
+porches—for there are not one but two—that flank the rear.
+
+Other Inwood churches in London, such as All Saints in Camden Street of
+1822-4 and St Peter’s in Regent’s Square of 1824-6, are equally Greek in
+detail but less directly related to particular ancient monuments. They
+are also much less impressive. No more interesting are most of the
+Grecian churches built by other architects. St Mary’s, Wyndham Place of
+1823-4 by Smirke, however, is set apart by the circular tower placed on
+the south, a feature which he had already used on St Philip’s, Salford,
+of 1822-5. His church at Markham Clinton in Nottinghamshire of 1833,
+cruciform in plan and with a fine octagonal lantern, is considerably
+more original, but it was rather a family mausoleum than an ordinary
+parish church.
+
+A revolution was getting under way in Great Britain in the realm of
+church architecture at this very time, and the heyday of the temple
+church was destined to be brief. After the early thirties only
+Nonconformists continued to build them. But such a Congregational chapel
+as that built by F. H. Lockwood (1811-78) and Thomas Allom (1804-72) in
+Great Thornton Street, Hull, in 1841-3, its broad temple front flanked
+by lower side wings, still had real distinction, a distinction rarely
+maintained after this date, although rather similar structures continued
+to be erected for several more decades both in London and in the
+provinces.
+
+In Scotland, where Greek sanctions lasted longer than in England,
+Alexander Thomson (1817-75) built in the fifties and sixties three of
+the finest Romantic Classical churches in the world. His Caledonia Road
+Free Church in Glasgow of 1856-7 was designed for those Presbyterians
+who had left the established Scottish church in 1843 (Plate 29). This
+owes a great deal to Schinkel’s suburban Berlin churches, which Thomson
+must have known through the _Sammlung architektonischer Entwürfe_. The
+composition is more Picturesque, in being markedly asymmetrical, and the
+superb tower at the corner reduces the temple front to a subordinate
+element in a sort of Italian Villa composition. Yet the idea for this
+sort of composition may well have come from Schinkel also, a derivation
+which the rather _Rundbogenstil_ character and asymmetrical organization
+of certain of Thomson’s earlier suburban villas seems to make still more
+probable. The interior of the church is very different from that of
+Soane’s in Walworth, but it is equally architectonic in the
+Schinkelesque way the galleries are incorporated in the general scheme.
+This is real interior architecture, not just a gallery-surrounded hall
+like the Grecian churches in England built back in the twenties.
+
+Thomson’s more prominently located St Vincent Street Church of 1859,
+also in Glasgow, is not finer. But it utilizes a difficult site with
+striking success, and the exotic eclecticism of the spire is peculiarly
+personal to Thomson. His Queen’s Park Church of 1867, in a southern
+suburb of Glasgow, was as perversely original as anything by Soane, and
+is perhaps Thomson’s final masterpiece. Inside, he handled the light
+iron supports with clear logic and elegantly appropriate painted
+decoration. Both the heavy masonry tower—which is, of course, invisible
+from the interior—and the heavy clerestory are carried on these
+delicately proportioned metal columns with a frankness and boldness
+hardly equalled before the twentieth century. Externally Thomson
+detailed the trabeated masonry with the purity of a Schinkel and the
+originality of a Soane, yet he composed the façade in three dimensions
+in a fashion that is almost Baroque beneath his strange near-Hindu
+‘spire’.
+
+Thomson’s churches, late though they are, can be better understood as
+examples of Romantic Classicism, sharing important qualities with the
+boldest French projects of the 1780s, than in relation to any other
+stage of nineteenth-century architectural development. Yet it will be
+evident later that they also have a good deal in common with the
+architectural aspirations of their own quarter of the century (see
+Chapter 9).
+
+Soane in his latest work seems at times to have produced what were
+almost parodies of his characteristic Bank interiors, approaching in
+their strangeness and their oriental allusions the exotic spires of
+Thomson. As these things do not survive, it is hard to know whether the
+Court of Chancery at Westminster of 1824-5, with its pendentives cut
+back so that they are no more than a sort of plaster awning, or the
+Council Chamber in Freemasons’ Hall, with its strange canopy-like
+covering, were effective or not. But these interiors do help to explain
+why the idiosyncratic, not to say cranky, Soane left on his death in
+1837 no such living tradition behind him as did Schinkel in Germany.
+
+Nash, Soane’s rival as England’s leading architect in the second and
+third decades of the nineteenth century, was a very different sort of
+man. Until his marriage he was of no great prominence; it was the
+Regent’s favour which then brought him to the fore. As an urbanist, if
+not as a designer of individual buildings, he was worthy of his
+opportunities—and no architect of his generation had greater. His
+distinction at what is today called ‘planning’ resides not alone in the
+amplitude, the elasticity, and the resultant variety of his schemes, but
+as much perhaps in his ability as an entrepreneur in carrying amazingly
+extensive operations to completion. Few, moreover, succeeded better than
+Nash in modulating Romantic Classicism towards the Picturesque; and this
+was over and above his important direct contribution to Picturesque
+practice in the building of castles, villas, and cottages.
+
+At the beginning of the second decade of the century the lease of the
+Crown’s Marylebone Estate fell in. Nash’s scheme for its development, by
+far the most comprehensive, won the day, evidently because he had the
+personal backing of the Regent. Nash’s scheme of 1812, somewhat modified
+in ultimate execution, provided for a park—Regent’s Park—surrounded by
+terraces of considerable size organized into a series of palatial
+compositions (Figure 10). The traditions of homogeneous terrace design
+go back to the early eighteenth century, and terraces facing out towards
+open scenery appeared soon after the middle of the century. But what
+Nash planned for Regent’s Park, and in the main executed, vastly
+exceeded not only in extent but also in originality the early
+eighteenth-century terrace in Grosvenor Square, where the idea of
+over-all composition was probably first tried out, or the
+mid-eighteenth-century Royal Crescent at Bath by John Wood II (1728-81),
+which was the first terrace to face not a square or a street but open
+park-like country. This work around the park alone should have been
+enough to make Nash’s reputation.
+
+But in these unquiet years, when the world was briefly trying to live at
+peace with Napoleon, Nash sensed the Regent’s ambition to embellish
+London in a way to rival the Emperor’s plans for Paris. He therefore
+projected a street which should proceed, much as had been proposed even
+before this, along the line where the residential West End began,
+northward from the Regent’s residence at Carlton House to the southern
+entrance of the new park. An early scheme for such a street, entirely
+lined with colonnades and interrupted by squares in which public
+structures would stand in splendid isolation, suggests his original aim
+of emulating the Rue de Rivoli and Parisian monuments like the Madeleine
+and the Bourse. As the project was gradually adjusted to the realities
+of the situation, most of its geometric regularity and practically all
+of its Parisian character disappeared. The colonnades survived only
+along the Quadrant leading out of Piccadilly Circus; the Duke of York’s
+Column in Waterloo Place, rising between the two blocks of Carlton House
+Terrace, which eventually replaced Carlton House, is the one feature of
+Napoleonic scale and character. It is not by Nash but by the Duke of
+York’s favourite architect, Benjamin Dean Wyatt (1775-?1850), and was
+built only in 1831-4.
+
+Instead of an imitation of Paris, something vastly more original was
+created, an example of civic design whose full implications are perhaps
+not wholly digested even today. Nash, the former partner of the
+landscape gardener Humphry Repton (1752-1818), in his new Regent Street
+as well as in his Regent’s Park and its surrounding terraces, sought to
+carry out, not with natural scenery but with urban scenery, the
+principles of Picturesque landscaping. Yet his architectural vocabulary
+remained well within the accepted range of Romantic Classicism.
+
+Waterloo Place is wholly formal, serving as a sort of forecourt to
+Carlton House when it was laid out in 1815. But going up Lower Regent
+Street the separate buildings erected in 1817-19 were separately
+designed, to a harmonious scale but with no over-all regularity of shape
+and size. At Piccadilly, first the Circus, also of 1817-19, a circular
+place, and then the Quadrant of 1819-20 took care most ingeniously of a
+drastic leftward shift in axis. A relatively monumental façade, that of
+the County Fire Office, faced the head of Lower Regent Street; the other
+façades of the Circus were regular and plain in an almost Soanic way
+(Plate 30). The Quadrant gained great distinction from its projecting
+colonnades of Doric columns (made of cast iron) and from the skilful
+placing of a domed pavilion opposite its western end.
+
+From there on the street, as carried forward in 1820-4, proceeded more
+directly, but with great variety in the individual façades—one terrace
+of houses over shops (1820-1) was by Soane. There were also special
+pavilioned structures to phrase several slight changes in direction and
+to mark the openings of intersecting streets. At Regent (now Oxford)
+Circus a second circle, similar to that at Piccadilly but elaborated by
+Nash with a Corinthian order, marks a major cross artery. Above this the
+street continues quite straight for a little way; then comes another
+sharp leftward shift in the axis. There Nash placed his All Souls’
+Church, which was built in 1822-4. Its curious fluted steeple still
+rises through the colonnade that crowns the tower to provide a pivot by
+which the eye is carried around the sharp corner. Almost at once another
+right-angled turn leads into the broad pre-existing esplanade of Adam’s
+Portland Place. From here on all is formal again as at Waterloo Place.
+
+At the upper end, between the top of Portland Place and the Park, was to
+be a large residential circus. Of this only the two southern quadrants
+were built—one of them the earliest portion of the whole scheme,
+initiated at the very start in 1812. As executed, there are above
+this—for this part of the scheme is all extant—two regular terraces
+facing each other across Park Square.
+
+In 1813, as has been said, Nash succeeded Wyatt in the
+Surveyor-General’s office; but it was in the role of private
+entrepreneur rather than as an official that he executed the Regent
+Street scheme, hazarding his own rising fortune and using every device
+of subleasing to carry the project through. This he accomplished in the
+relatively short period of fifteen years, even though the renewal of the
+war held up execution for several years immediately after the start. Of
+all this nothing remains below Portland Place but the planning and All
+Souls’. However, in the district east of Lower Regent Street, the Royal
+Opera Arcade still exists behind New Zealand House and, much larger and
+more conspicuous, the conventional temple portico of the Haymarket
+Theatre of 1821 stands at the end of what is now Charles II Street.
+
+At the base of Waterloo Place, facing the Green Park, the two ranges of
+Carlton House Terrace, built in 1827, still rise above their cast-iron
+Doric basement colonnades. In the lower half of this square, south of
+Pall Mall, with the two clubs on either side—one by Nash, the other by
+Burton—and the Duke of York’s Column silhouetted against the distant
+scenery of park and Government buildings between the two wings of
+Carlton House Terrace, Nash’s urbanism can still be fully appreciated.
+The full grandeur of Napoleon’s Paris or Alexander I’s Petersburg is
+lacking, but so also is their archaeology. This obviously belongs to the
+nineteenth century. It establishes, for modern eyes, Nash’s capacity as
+‘planner’ quite as much as do his terraces around Regent’s Park, as
+these were carried out in 1820-7 by himself and by various younger
+architects working under his general supervision.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 10. John Nash: London, Regent Street and Regent’s Park,
+ 1812-27, plan
+]
+
+Curiously enough, the first Regent’s Park terrace, built in 1821 while
+construction was still proceeding in Park Square, was at least nominally
+by young Decimus Burton (1800-81), the talented son of the builder James
+Burton, who was as active here in these years as in Bloomsbury.
+Dignified and severe, although not Grecian in detail like the handsomer
+Ionic York Terrace and its flanking Doric villa completed the next year,
+Cornwall Terrace certainly lacks the specifically Nashian qualities.
+Happily typical of Nash’s response to urbanistic opportunities is the
+way he opened York Gate in the middle of York Terrace through to the
+Marylebone Road in order to incorporate visually the new façade provided
+by Thomas Hardwick (1752-1829) in 1818-19 for the Marylebone Parish
+Church.
+
+Sussex Place of 1822, with its curved plan and its ten domes, is much
+more notably Picturesque; but the most spectacular composition of all is
+Cumberland Terrace, Nash’s in general conception, but executed by James
+Thomson (1800-83) in 1826-7 (Plate 32). This is far more palatial, at
+least superficially, than the rather humdrum Buckingham Palace that Nash
+was gradually erecting for the King from 1821 on.[75] When seen through
+the trees of the park or in sharp perspective from the ring road, this
+range of houses provides a Picturesque three-dimensional composition of
+a dream-like order—what matter if the conventional Classical elements
+are organized and executed in a very slapdash way?
+
+The total scope of the Regent’s Park development provided a ‘New Town’
+in a rather complete sense inspired possibly by Ledoux’s ‘Ville Idéale’.
+There were detached villas in the park, mews behind the terraces, a
+market-place to the east, modest two-storey houses near by in Munster
+Square and, finally, the two Park Villages, carried out by his protégé
+Sir James Pennethorne (1801-71) after Nash’s ideas from 1827 on. These
+last are extensions of the Picturesque hamlet, consisting of groups of
+semi-detached villas some of Italianate, some of Tudoresque character,
+loosely strung along curving roads, which provide the very prototype of
+the later-nineteenth-century suburb.
+
+To most of his professional contemporaries, and not least to his
+associates on the Board of the Office of Works, Soane and Smirke, Nash
+seemed an opportunist and almost a charlatan. He differed as markedly
+from the archaeologically-minded Smirke as from Soane, even if he was as
+ready to borrow Greek orders from the one as incised detail from the
+other. Despite the independent stylistic position of Soane and of Nash,
+Britain could hardly have produced a line of archaeologist-architects
+from James Stuart to C. R. Cockerell—a line at least as distinguished as
+the French line from Leroy to Hittorff—without developing by this time
+Greek Revival doctrines quite as rigid and as self-assured as those of
+France and Germany. From the end of the second decade of the century the
+Grecian mode was, indeed, rather more firmly entrenched in Great Britain
+than anywhere on the Continent.
+
+The historical importance of Wilkins’s Downing College at Cambridge has
+already been noted. If Wilkins was never able to complete this, so that
+it remained but a fragment of an ideal Grecian college, he had greater
+opportunities later in London, opportunities which on the whole he
+muffed. His University College of 1827-8 in Gower Street impressed
+contemporaries because its central temple portico ran to _ten_ columns
+in width. It is not otherwise distinguished, and the advancing wings of
+the quadrangle are not by him. His St George’s Hospital at Hyde Park
+Corner, of the same date, is a much more modest building (Plate 31). Yet
+it already shows some of the restlessness, if little of the elaboration,
+of later Grecian work on the Continent, such as Klenze’s Hermitage
+Museum in Petersburg. The hospital, although the theme of the Choragic
+Monument of Thrasyllus is ingeniously exploited, lacks the delicacy and
+elegance of Decimus Burton’s Ionic screen of 1825 across the way (Plate
+31).
+
+The hospital is, however, rather more original than Burton’s nearby
+Constitution Hill Arch, also of 1827-8, now moved back towards the Green
+Park. This is one of the two erected in connexion with the new
+Buckingham Palace and in conscious rivalry of those Napoleon had set up
+in Paris and other Continental cities. The other one, originally forming
+the entrance to the court of the palace, is Nash’s Marble Arch of 1828;
+that was moved to the corner of Hyde Park where Park Lane meets Oxford
+Street in 1851 after the palace was refronted by Blore in the late
+forties. Neither arch has the urbanistic value of Benjamin Dean Wyatt’s
+Duke of York’s Column or of the Nelson Column, erected in 1839 in
+Trafalgar Square by William Railton (1803-77), because of their very
+casual siting. Apsley House, as remodelled by B. D. Wyatt for the Duke
+of Wellington in 1828, rising too high beside the Burton screen, is not
+altogether an addition to the group at Hyde Park Corner.
+
+Wilkins’s largest and most conspicuous work, and the one which ruined
+his reputation, is the National Gallery of 1832-8. The long façade of
+this, extending across the top of Trafalgar Square, is excessively
+episodic and best seen in sharp perspective looking along Pall Mall East
+or from the south side of St Martin’s-in-the-Fields. The order is not
+Greek, since the columns of the portico Henry Holland (1745-1806)
+erected in front of Carlton House in the early 1790s were re-used, and
+the little dome behind the central pediment is almost Byzantine in
+character. Comparison of this Picturesque-Classical composition with
+Cumberland Terrace is inevitable; the honours are all Nash’s.
+
+If Wilkins made the first Grecian spurt, it was Soane’s pupil Smirke who
+held the course. In Trafalgar Square the unified range of buildings
+built in 1824-7 on the west side that once housed the Union Club and
+later the College of Physicians contrasts most strikingly with Wilkins’s
+National Gallery. Heavy, dignified, and immaculately ‘correct’ in its
+Greek detailing, this block also shows considerable variety in the
+handling of standard Romantic Classical elements without any such
+striving for Picturesque effect as the National Gallery. Later additions
+on the west have not seriously damaged Smirke’s work.
+
+It is highly typical that the most considerable Grecian edifice of
+London should be a museum and library. The British Museum, begun by
+Smirke in 1824, was not completed until 1847.[76] Its principal internal
+feature, moreover, the domed Reading Room built of cast iron in the
+central court (see Chapter 7), was designed and carried out in the mid
+fifties by Smirke’s younger brother Sydney (1798-1877). Only the King’s
+Library was finished rapidly within the twenties to house the library of
+George III. This is dignified and crisp, if somewhat less immaculately
+correct than Smirke’s façade in Trafalgar Square.
+
+The characteristic south front of the Museum, one of the most
+overwhelming examples of Romantic Classical stylophily, or love of
+columns—there are forty-eight of them—was one of the last portions of
+the whole to be completed (Plate 33). The great temple portico and the
+colonnade that is carried round the inner sides and the ends of the
+flanking wings was probably not decided on until the thirties; such a
+redundancy of columns seems to belong well into the second quarter of
+the century—compare Elmes’s St George’s Hall in Liverpool (Plate 34A) or
+Basevi’s Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge. The façade of Smirke’s General
+Post Office of 1824-9, with columns used only at the centre and the
+ends, and two ranges of good-sized windows between, was more
+characteristic of the usual Romantic Classical balance between columnar
+display and rationalistic provision for internal function.
+
+Wilkins and Smirke were not alone in providing Grecian public buildings
+for the London of George IV. The London Corn Exchange of 1827-8 by
+George Smith (1783-1869) was an excellent example, less heavy than most
+of Smirke’s work, less inconsequent than Wilkins’s. Decimus Burton, who
+provided various gatehouses at Hyde Park as well as the screen at Hyde
+Park Corner in 1825—the modest ones at Prince’s Gate are almost
+identical with Schinkel’s tiny Doric temples at the Potsdamer Tor in
+Berlin—also provided the finest façade in Waterloo Place when he built
+the Athenaeum there in 1829-30. This clubhouse is severe and astylar
+externally but grand and sumptuous within to a degree hitherto unknown.
+Henry Roberts (1803-76), a Smirke assistant, followed his former master
+closely in the design of the Fishmongers’ Hall built in 1831-3. His
+great Ionic portico rises as splendidly above the solid substructure
+that flanks the Thames as Klenze’s Walhalla does above its stepped
+terraces.
+
+Corporate clients that came to the fore in the thirties saw in the
+solemn Grecian mode the best means of achieving representational
+monumentality in their buildings; moreover, they were increasingly ready
+to employ leading architects in order to obtain it. C. R. Cockerell
+(1788-1863), the son of S. P. Cockerell, soon to be Soane’s successor as
+Architect of the Bank of England, began his distinguished career as a
+favourite servant of the financial world by providing the Westminster
+Insurance Office in the Strand in 1832 with a range of Doric
+half-columns. Five years later, in the London and Westminster Bank in
+Lothbury, he attained a still greater effect of dignified restraint,
+with no loss of sumptuousness, in an astylar façade of great
+originality.
+
+The new railways, whose earliest stations had been very modest indeed,
+were as interested as insurance companies and banks in the
+representational dignity of Classical frontispieces. At Euston Grove in
+London, before what was intended to be a double station planned by the
+engineer Robert Stephenson (1803-59)[5^a] in 1835 to serve the London &
+Birmingham and the Great Western Railways, there rose from the designs
+of Philip Hardwick (1792-1870) the Euston ‘Arch’, a giant Greek Doric
+propylaeon; for the Birmingham terminal of the railway at Curzon Street
+Hardwick provided a second gateway that is more in the form of a Roman
+triumphal arch. This theme John Foster (1786-1846) expanded into a
+continuous Roman screen in front of Lime Street Station at Liverpool in
+1836. At Huddersfield James P. Pritchett (1789-1868) and his son Charles
+fronted the main station block in 1845-9 with a Roman temple portico and
+flanked it with minor colonnaded features. The Monkwearmouth station by
+John Dobson (1787-1865) of 1848 is similar, but Grecian in its
+detailing.
+
+More appropriate to modern eyes was the endless red-brick façade
+designed by Francis Thompson for Robert Stephenson’s Trijunct Station in
+Derby of 1839-41. This was astylar but had various subtle projections
+and recessions of the wall plane and a comparable variety of levels in
+the very long skyline. Thompson also, in the stone towers he designed
+for Stephenson’s Britannia Bridge of 1845-50, handled his material with
+a superbly rational directness (Plate 61). The technical significance of
+such structures as examples of the new uses of iron which the railways
+encouraged, must be considered later (see Chapter 7). Of comparable
+quality to Thompson’s work is the enormous Royal Navy Victualling Yard
+at Stonehouse of 1826-35 by the engineer Sir John Rennie
+(1794-1874)—able son, like Robert Stephenson, of a more famous engineer
+father and also a brother-in-law of C. R. Cockerell. Despite the
+severity characteristic of the period, this has an almost Baroque
+plasticity and vigour of silhouette rarely achieved by contemporary
+architects before the mid-century.
+
+Except for certain large provincial and suburban Nonconformist churches,
+the heyday of the temple portico came to an end about 1840. The last
+prominent example in London is the Royal Exchange, built by Sir William
+Tite (1798-1873) in 1841-4, but there is nothing Classical about other
+aspects of this prominent structure. The side, rear, and court façades
+are in a sort of Neo-Baroque that prefigures the bombast of the third
+quarter of the century (see Chapter 9).
+
+Grecian public monuments were as characteristic of provincial cities in
+the twenties and thirties as of London, perhaps more so. Francis Goodwin
+(1784-1835)[77] provided Manchester with a handsome town hall in 1822-4,
+now long since superseded. In the latter year he lost the competition
+for the new Royal Institution there to the young Charles Barry
+(1795-1860), hitherto most unsympathetically employed in building cheap
+Gothic churches for the Commissioners.[78] This edifice Barry erected
+over the years 1827-35. Happily it still stands, serving as the
+Manchester Art Gallery, an excellent example of Barry’s command of that
+Grecian idiom which his more personal Italianate mode forced into
+obsolescence even before this building was finished (see below).
+
+In 1828 Foster began the fine Grecian Custom House in Liverpool,
+completely destroyed, alas, in the blitz; while in 1831 Joseph A. Hansom
+(1803-82) won the competition for the Birmingham Town Hall with the most
+striking British example of the temple paradigm. This characteristic
+Romantic Classical edifice, raised on a high rusticated podium, was
+slowly executed by Hansom and his partner Edward Welch (1806-68) over
+the next fifteen years and more.
+
+The more widespread the use of Greek forms became, the less vitality and
+character they seemed to retain. It is not the columnar detail, so much
+more correct than that at Regent’s Park, which gives interest to the
+terraces—built from the twenties on—that George Basevi (1794-1845)
+designed for Belgrave Square in London or to those of slightly later
+date designed by Lewis Cubitt (1799-?) and by John Young in Eaton
+Square; it is the remarkable scale and extent of this newest urban
+development, rivalling that at Regent’s Park, which was undertaken by
+the builder Thomas Cubitt (1788-1855), Lewis’s brother, for the
+Grosvenor Estate behind the gardens of Buckingham Palace.
+
+So also at Newcastle, where Thomas Grainger (1798-1861), with the
+presumptive assistance of Dobson[79] as designer, laid out and built up
+a series of streets from 1834 on, it is not the more correctly Greek
+orders that make Grey Street a finer piece of urbanism than Nash’s
+Regent Street; it is the fine, creamy freestone that replaces London’s
+stucco and the skilful organization of the ranges of buildings, all so
+much more carefully grouped and related to one another than in Regent
+Street, along the curving and rising slope. The Grey Column, built by
+John Green (?-1852) in 1837-8, is superbly placed in the best manner of
+the period as a focal accent at the top of the development just like the
+Duke of York’s Column at the bottom of Lower Regent Street. The cleaning
+of many buildings has of late much enhanced the attractiveness of
+central Newcastle.
+
+It was not until the early forties that Greek Revival buildings began to
+be characterized by contemporaries as ‘insipid’. But Basevi’s façade of
+the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge, begun in 1837 and carried to
+completion with some emendations by C. R. Cockerell in 1847 after
+Basevi’s death, well illustrates some of the changes that were already
+coming over Romantic Classical design. As at Wilkins’s National Gallery,
+the silhouette is elaborately varied—here much more skilfully than in
+Trafalgar Square. As with Tite’s Royal Exchange, there is also a most
+un-Grecian sort of plastic bombast. The orders are not Grecian but
+Roman, moreover, and the spirit is more Roman still, but Roman of the
+later Empire in the East, as at Baalbek or Palmyra.
+
+St George’s Hall in Liverpool, the latest of the major Romantic
+Classical monuments of England, was finished like the Fitzwilliam by C.
+R. Cockerell long after its original designer’s death. It displays much
+less bombast and much more true grandeur of scale. The young Harvey
+Lonsdale Elmes (1814-49) won two successive competitions, for a Hall and
+for Law Courts, in 1839 and 1840 respectively. Then, when it was decided
+to combine the two in one structure, he paid a visit to Berlin to study
+the work of Schinkel. Schinkelesque, indeed, is the long colonnade
+facing Lime Street Station, and even more so the curious square piers,
+free-standing in their upper half, that Elmes used elsewhere on the
+building (Plate 34A).
+
+The temple portico at the south end is conventional enough, but with its
+steps boldly raised above a massively plain foundation wall; the rounded
+end to the north is much more original and also rather French in
+feeling. French surely, but of the Empire rather than the contemporary
+July Monarchy, is the tremendous scale of the whole and the stately
+axial planning of the sort to be seen in many Prix de Rome projects of
+the preceding fifty years. The great hall is slightly larger than its
+prototype in the Baths of Caracalla.[80] As completed by Cockerell in
+the early fifties, the interior lost all the Grecian severity of the
+exterior. Together with the elegant elliptical concert hall, planned by
+Elmes but entirely executed by Cockerell, the great hall belongs to the
+next period of architectural development as much by its rich decoration
+as by its date.
+
+It was in Scotland, not in England, that the Greek Revival had its
+greatest success and lasted longest. There seems to have been some
+special congruity of sentiment between Northern Europe in the first half
+of the nineteenth century and the ancient world. Edinburgh, which
+considered itself for intellectual reasons the ‘Athens of the North’,
+set out after 1810 to continue in a more Athenian mode the extension and
+embellishment of her New Town begun in the 1760s. The result rivals
+Petersburg as well as Copenhagen, Berlin, and Munich. Indeed, in
+Edinburgh, what was built between 1760 and 1860 provides still the most
+extensive example of a Romantic Classical city in the world.
+
+If the architecture of Edinburgh is largely Classical—the most
+conspicuous exceptions are the inherited medieval Castle on its rock at
+the head of the Old Town and the Walter Scott Monument in Prince’s
+Street Gardens—the setting is extremely Picturesque. The fullest scenic
+advantage was taken of the castle-crowned hill, above the filled-in and
+landscaped North Loch, and of the two heights to the east and the
+south-east, Calton Hill and Arthur’s Seat. The latter was kept quite
+clear of buildings, the former gradually turned into a sort of Scottish
+Akropolis. Perhaps fortunately, the largest structure there, the
+National Monument, a copy of the Parthenon by C. R. Cockerell and the
+local architect W. H. Playfair (1789-1857), was never finished; thus it
+appears to be a ruin and adds to the Picturesque effect of this terminus
+to the eastward view along Prince’s Street.
+
+Calton Hill is approached, and the view of it framed, by Waterloo Place,
+the buildings of which were erected by Archibald Elliott (1763-1823) in
+1815-19. This is no unworthy rival of the homonymous square in London,
+despite the lack of a central column. The view had to remain open to the
+hill beyond, where Playfair’s Observatory was rising in 1814-18 and
+later, in 1830, the Choragic Monument by Thomas Hamilton (1785-1858)
+dedicated to that very un-Grecian poet Robert Burns, as well as various
+other objects of visual interest. In St Andrew’s Square in the New Town,
+however, is the Melville Column. This was built by William Burn
+(1789-1870) in 1821-2 and based, like the Colonne Vendôme in Paris, on
+that of Trajan.
+
+These Scottish architects were perhaps more fortunate than Dobson in the
+material available to them; Edinburgh’s Craigleith stone becomes with
+time a rather deep grey, but not so black as that in Newcastle when left
+uncleaned. Seen in Playfair’s terraces, executed gradually from 1820 to
+1860, which run around the base of Calton Hill on the south, east, and
+north, the effect may be rather dour; but the dignity and solidity of
+these Grecian ranges, rivalled in the contemporary circuses on the
+slopes to the north of the eighteenth-century New Town, are undeniably
+impressive.
+
+From the completion of his Observatory in 1814 to the completion of the
+Scottish National Gallery forty years later Playfair continued to
+ornament Edinburgh with Classical (and on occasion with non-Classical)
+structures. Looking south along the cross-axis of the new Town, one sees
+just beyond Prince’s Street his Royal Scottish Institution begun in
+1822, its rather massive Doric bulk happily crowned just after its
+completion in 1836 by the seated figure of the young Queen Victoria
+(Plate 34B). Behind this lies his Ionic National Gallery of 1850-4,
+which is not unworthy of comparison with Smirke’s British Museum begun
+more than a quarter of a century earlier. High to the rear, on the
+slopes of the Old Town, rise the two towers of the Free Church College,
+also by Playfair and begun in 1846, framing with their crisp Tudorish
+forms the richer and more graceful spire (sometimes attributed to Pugin)
+of Tolbooth St John’s, which was built by James Gillespie Graham in
+1843.
+
+Finer than any individual work of Playfair’s, and splendidly sited on
+the south side of Calton Hill, is the High School by Thomas Hamilton
+(1784-1858). Begun in 1825, this complex Grecian composition shows how
+well the lessons of the Athenian Propylaea were learned by Scottish
+architects. More original, but still essentially Grecian, is Hamilton’s
+Hall of Physicians in Queen Street of 1844-5.
+
+Banking was not far behind State and Church as a patron of monumental
+architecture in Scotland. Before the astylar _palazzo_ mode took over
+the financial scene, two banks grander than any in London had been
+erected in the Edinburgh New Town. The Commercial Bank of Scotland of
+1846 in George Street by David Rhind (1808-83), despite its pedimented
+portico, is no longer Greek in detail; the British Linen Bank of 1852 in
+St Andrew’s Square by David Bryce (1803-76), more plastically Roman
+still, has giant detached columns upholding bold entablature blocks, an
+idea deriving from C. R. Cockerell’s rejected competition design for the
+Royal Exchange in London.
+
+As the earlier mention of Thomson’s churches in Glasgow will have
+indicated, the Greek Revival lasted even longer there than in Edinburgh.
+But such edifices as the Royal Exchange of 1829-30 by David Hamilton
+(1768-1843) or Clarke & Bell’s Municipal and County Buildings of 1844 do
+not rival the work of Playfair and of the other Hamilton in the capital;
+nor is there in Glasgow much good urbanism of this period. In his
+domestic work Thomson remained closer to the conventional norms of the
+Greek Revival than in his churches. However, in Moray Place,
+Strathbungo, of 1859, where he lived himself, he produced the finest of
+all Grecian terraces (Plate 35A) and, still later, in Great Western
+Terrace an ampler if less original composition.
+
+In England the Greek Revival was barely established as the dominant mode
+in the twenties before it was challenged. Barry, as has been noted
+earlier, began his career with the building of cheap Commissioners’
+Gothic churches, but his favourite mode was the Renaissance Revival. We
+have seen that in Germany the Renaissance Revival may be considered to
+begin with Klenze’s Munich work of the mid twenties. Now, in 1827-8,
+Barry built the Brunswick Chapel, later St Andrew’s, at Hove in a
+_quattrocento_ mode—the exterior, that is, for the modest interior can
+hardly be thus characterized, and in its present form includes various
+changes since Barry’s time. The façade looks rather nineteenth-century
+French to modern eyes; yet comparable French churches, such as Lequeux’s
+Saint-Jacques-Saint-Christophe in Paris, are mostly from five to fifteen
+years later (see Chapter 3). Barry doubtless turned to some of the
+available French publications on the Italian Renaissance for his detail,
+most probably to the _Architecture toscane_ of Grandjean de Montigny and
+Famin, but he certainly did not derive the design of his church from
+current Continental practice.
+
+Following immediately upon the Brunswick Chapel, Barry built for Thomas
+Attree of Brighton a symmetrical Italian Villa, now the Xavierian
+College, with an architectural garden setting. This was part of a
+scheme, otherwise unexecuted, for surrounding Queen’s Park, east of the
+town, with a range of detached houses, some Italianate, some Tudoresque,
+in an extensive suburban development of the order of Nash’s only
+slightly earlier Park Villages. The intended effect can best be seen in
+Decimus Burton’s Calverley Estate at Tunbridge Wells carried out over
+the years 1828 to 1852.
+
+Far more important, however, was the fact that Barry in 1829 won with a
+_palazzo_ composition the competition for the new Travellers’ Club. This
+was built in Pall Mall in the next two years beside the prominent corner
+site where Burton’s astylar but still Grecian Athenaeum was rising.
+Raphaelesque on the front—although not as derivative from Raphael’s
+Pandolfini Palace in Florence as was claimed at the time—but rather
+Venetian on the rear, this clubhouse notably eschews the flat barrenness
+and the giant orders of the Grecian mode to throw emphasis on the
+elegant aedicular treatment of the windows and the bold _cornicione_
+which crowns the top (Plate 35B).
+
+Very soon Charles Fowler (1791-1867), who owned the copy of Durand’s
+treatise now in the Library of the Royal Institute of British
+Architects, was introducing a more utilitarian sort of Italianism in the
+Hungerford Market in London of 1831-3, now long gone, and in the Lower
+Market at Exeter of 1835-6. There the Durandesque and almost basilican
+interiors, destroyed in 1942, contrasted markedly with the Greek Doric
+detailing of the façade of his Upper Market of 1837-8.
+
+In 1836 Barry designed a larger edifice of the _palazzo_ type, the
+Manchester Athenaeum built in 1837-9. But this was overshadowed in size,
+in prominence, and in quality by the new Reform Club next door to the
+Travellers’ in Pall Mall; for this he won the competition in 1837, and
+it was built in 1838-40 (Plate 35B). Here his model was obviously San
+Gallo’s Farnese Palace in Rome. But there are many differences such as
+the unaccented entrance, the balustrade which sets the façades back from
+the pavement, the simpler and more San Gallesque top storey, the corner
+emphasis provided by prominent chimneys, not to speak of the
+metal-and-glass roofing of the central court.
+
+Barry’s two Pall Mall clubs provided architectural paradigms much
+followed through the forties and well into the third quarter of the
+century. Moreover, W. H. Leeds (1786-1866), in the text of a monograph
+on the _Travellers’ Club-House_ published in 1839, developed at some
+length the arguments for a Renaissance Revival. A little less evidently
+than the Continental work of these years in Renaissance modes, but none
+the less truly, Barry’s _palazzi_ represent a continuation of Romantic
+Classicism. In the block-like unity of the external masses, the
+regularity of the fenestration, and the extreme orderliness of the
+planning his _palazzo_ mode is at least as characteristic an aspect of
+later Romantic Classicism in Great Britain as is the _Rundbogenstil_ on
+the Continent.
+
+This is considerably less true of two other directions in which Barry
+first turned in the thirties. It would be premature, however, to discuss
+here the design with which Barry won the competition for the new Houses
+of Parliament in 1836 (Plate 54). As the first major public monument to
+be designed anywhere in Gothic this constituted above all an
+epoch-making step in the English revolt _against_ Romantic Classicism
+(see Chapter 6).
+
+This is not so much the case with Barry’s first and only important essay
+in the ‘Jacobethan’ mode—or the Anglo-Italian as he preferred to call
+it—the remodelling of Highclere Castle in Hampshire, proposed as early
+as 1837 and carried out over the next two decades (Plate 37A). Despite
+the Picturesque effect of its towered and bristling silhouette, this
+great country house rigidly maintains the quadrangular plan of the
+Reform Club and is almost as regular as that in composition, and even
+more coldly crisp in its detailing. Much the same can be said of
+Mentmore House in Buckinghamshire, built by Sir Joseph Paxton (1803-65)
+in 1852-4 in a very similar vein but more directly derived from
+Smithson’s Elizabethan Wollaton Hall near Nottingham. In general,
+however, the extremely popular Jacobethan Revival of these years, even
+more than the contemporary revival of the _style François I_ in France,
+represents a reaction not merely against the Greek Revival, as does the
+_palazzo_ mode, but against the basic disciplines of Romantic Classicism
+and was one of the major stylistic vehicles of the later Picturesque.
+
+On the other hand, the utilization of pre-Gothic medieval forms in
+England in this period, so closely similar in its result to the
+Romanesquoid aspect of the _Rundbogenstil_, seems to have been only
+partly Picturesque in intention. From the twenties on a very
+considerable number of churches, mostly small, had Norman Romanesque
+detail, but usually there was little or no attempt to break away from
+the hall-like tradition of the Late Georgian church in their plans.
+However, three rather large churches that are early medieval in
+inspiration but not Norman in detail deserve particular mention, for
+they are among the finest, though not the most historically significant,
+built in Britain in the early forties.
+
+St Mary and St Nicholas’s, Wilton, built by T. H. Wyatt (1807-80) and
+David Brandon (1813-97) in 1840-6 for Sydney Herbert and his Russian
+mother, might almost have risen in the Prussia or the Baden of this
+period. However, this Italian Romanesque basilica, with tall, detached
+campanile and rich internal polychromy of Cosmati-work brought from
+Italy, is rather more archaeological than Persius’s or Hübsch’s churches
+in Germany. On the other hand, the so much more original Christ Church
+of 1840-2 in Streatham, south of London, by J. W. Wild (1814-92) is so
+similar to Prussian work that some knowledge on Wild’s part of
+Schinkel’s suburban-church projects of a decade earlier might almost be
+assumed (Plate 36). Although the exposed yellow brickwork and the
+touches of external brick polychromy are notably premonitory of the next
+period, the splendid obelisk-like campanile and the crisp ranges of
+clerestory windows, for all their pointed tops, are quite as much within
+the range of Romantic Classicism as the German churches that this
+recalls. The handling of the galleries of the interior had local
+precedent in Soane’s churches of the twenties as well as in Schinkel’s
+of the thirties. Although the barrel vaults are presumably only of
+plaster, St Jude’s, Bethnal Green, in London, built by Henry Clutton
+(1819-93) in 1844-6, has an impressive cruciform interior. The exterior
+here is notably Germanic with two thin towers flanking the great
+polygonal apse.
+
+But these three churches, for all their individual excellence, are
+exceptional in England. They are related to the broad contemporary
+current of the Renaissance Revival that Barry had set under way only in
+rejecting Grecian sanctions even more completely than he. Barry was
+himself too versatile ever quite to repeat the strict _palazzo_ formula
+of the Reform Club, although he almost came to that in the British
+Embassy in Istanbul of 1845-7. For this he provided sketches as early as
+1842 and later emended the plans of the local executant architect, W. J.
+Smith. This structure, carrying the Renaissance Revival to, or even
+beyond, one edge of the western world as Grandjean de Montigny did to
+Rio de Janeiro at the other edge, is considerably larger than the Reform
+Club and rather bleak, though splendidly sited and very dignified
+indeed. At Bridgewater House in London of 1847-57, however, Barry
+enriched the _palazzo_ paradigm quite considerably, not only by the
+introduction of a good deal of carved work but also by breaking the
+continuity of the garden front towards the Park in order to emphasize
+the end bays. This personal compositional device is even more
+conspicuous on the river front of his Gothic Houses of Parliament.
+
+It was for clubhouses and business buildings that Renaissance models
+were most generally used in England after 1840. For the remodelling of
+the Carlton Club in 1847 Sydney Smirke, who had provided the winning
+design in a select competition, based himself, not on San Gallo’s
+Farnese Palace in sixteenth-century Rome as Barry had done at the Reform
+Club next door, but on Sansovino’s Library in sixteenth-century Venice.
+Before this was finished in the mid fifties, C. Octavius Parnell
+(?-1865) and his partner Alfred Smith had erected across Pall Mall in
+1848-51 the Army and Navy Club based on Sansovino’s Palazzo Corner della
+Cà Grande. Both are now gone.
+
+But if these architects in London were moving in the late forties
+towards an altogether richer and more plastic sort of High Renaissance
+design, from which almost all traces of the cold asceticism of Romantic
+Classicism had departed, most provincial architects were content to
+stick fairly close to the Farnese Palace model of the Reform Club well
+down into the sixties. This was most notably true in the design of
+edifices for financial institutions. In 1840 George Alexander (?-1884),
+who had made his own study of the _cinquecento_ in Italy, designed the
+Savings Bank in Bath as a little Reform Club; the next year in the
+Brunswick Buildings in Liverpool A. & G. Williams applied the formula to
+a much larger block of general offices. Henceforth the mode was solidly
+established for almost a generation.
+
+Barry usually gave a characteristically Italian Villa bent to the many
+country houses that he remodelled by introducing a tall loggia-topped
+tower (used to store water for the more elaborate sanitation now
+demanded) placed asymmetrically at one side of the main block. The first
+of these was at Trentham Park, near Stoke-on-Trent, where a second later
+rose in the stable court; the finest are those at Walton House near
+London of 1837 and at Shrubland in Norfolk of 1848-50. In these the
+inherited Georgian blocks became subordinate parts of rich
+three-dimensional compositions almost like the villas that Schinkel and
+Persius built at Potsdam. The rebuilding of Osborne House as a country
+retreat for Queen Victoria on the Isle of Wight gave Royal sanction to
+the Italian Villa mode. Unfortunately she did not employ Barry; the work
+was done in 1845-6 and 1847-9 by the builder Thomas Cubitt and the
+design was dictated, if not actually prepared, by Prince Albert.
+
+Despite the continued use of Greek forms for certain purposes and in
+some areas, the controls of Romantic Classicism were loosening rapidly
+in Great Britain in the forties. A real change of style was at hand; but
+since certain stylisms, such as the conventional use of Renaissance
+forms, tended to continue indefinitely, it is hard to know just where to
+draw the line chronologically.
+
+The Geological Museum in Piccadilly in London, built in the late forties
+by Pennethorne, Nash’s protégé and his successor at the Office of Works,
+was far more successful than the ballroom wing he added in the early
+fifties to Buckingham Palace. Even that, however, was a considerable
+improvement on the curious façade—more Neo-Baroque than
+Neo-Renaissance—with which Edward Blore (1787-1879) masked the front of
+Nash’s edifice in 1847. The Museum was more successful precisely because
+its exteriors retained the regularity and severity characteristic of
+Romantic Classicism. Still later, the Free Trade Hall built by Edward
+Walters (1808-72) in Manchester in 1853-6 followed the lusher
+Sansovinesque Italianism of Smirke’s Carlton Club, while his many
+handsome warehouses there moved ever farther away from the severity of
+Barry’s Athenaeum despite their generic _palazzo_ character. Yet the
+Corn Exchange in Leeds, erected as late as 1860 by Cuthbert Brodrick
+(1825-1905), is still Romantic Classical in the cool regularity of its
+diamond-rusticated walls broken only by ranges of plain arches (Plate
+37B).
+
+There can be little question, however, that his Town Hall in Leeds of
+1855-9, despite the reiterative grandeur of its giant colonnades and the
+evident derivation of its principal interior from St George’s Hall in
+Liverpool, is in English terms definitely ‘High Victorian’ (Plate 78A).
+If the Corn Exchange can hardly be considered typically Early Victorian
+in character, and in any case is some ten years too late in date, it
+might almost be called _Louis Philippe_, so close is it to some French
+work of the 40s.
+
+Run-of-the-mill English railway stations of the forties, mostly designed
+by engineers and minor architects, clearly rank in their dullness with
+the most utilitarian French work of that decade. They indicate to what
+depths of conventionality late Romantic Classicism in England had sunk
+by this time. Yet Lewis Cubitt’s long-demolished Bricklayers’ Arms
+Station in London of 1842-4, with its entrance screen compounded of
+rustic Italian elements derived from the books of Charles Parker,[81]
+seems to have had considerable plastic interest. Moreover, the great
+plain arches at the front of his King’s Cross Station of 1850-2 (Plate
+66A) remain to signalize to every traveller a masterpiece of the period
+more than worthy of comparison with Duquesney’s somewhat earlier Gare de
+l’Est in Paris (Plate 22B).
+
+On the whole, however, for all that King’s Cross is one of the major
+late monuments of the rationalistic side of Romantic Classicism, it is
+better to consider railway stations in relation to their sheds of iron
+and glass, technically, that is, rather than stylistically (see Chapter
+7). They illustrate especially well something which the stylistic
+preoccupations of the first half of the nineteenth century tended to
+mask from most contemporaries, the success with which new functional
+needs were satisfied in this period by the bold use of new materials and
+new types of construction.
+
+Yet the most characteristic monuments of Romantic Classicism in Europe
+after those prime urbanistic symbols of Napoleonic or counter-Napoleonic
+triumph, the arches, the columns, and the obelisks that rose in all the
+great cities from Petersburg to Madrid, are the museums and libraries,
+starting with Soane’s Dulwich Gallery, begun in 1811, and ending with
+Labrouste’s Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, opened in 1850. These are
+useful, yes; moreover, they serve what were effectively new purposes,
+purposes closely related to the rising ideal of providing cultural
+opportunities for the general public. On the whole, however, they could
+be carried out—and so they usually were down to Labrouste’s library—with
+established methods of construction; while their cultural
+significance—and in the case of the sculpture galleries from Klenze’s
+Glyptothek, begun in 1816, to Bindesbøll’s Thorwaldsen Museum, opened in
+1848, their very contents—seemed to justify, if not indeed to demand,
+the use of Greek or Roman forms.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 5
+ THE NEW WORLD
+
+
+IN varying degree Romantic Classicism left its mark on all the major
+cities of Europe. Paris without the Napoleonic monuments that Louis
+Philippe brought to completion is inconceivable, while Karlsruhe,
+Munich, Petersburg, and Edinburgh owe most of their architectural
+interest to this period.
+
+In the New World, where the independence of the principal colonies of
+the European nations, British, Spanish, and Portuguese, was generally
+established in this period or just before it, one might expect that
+Romantic Classicism would have made a still more conspicuous
+contribution to the architectural scene. Yet the very youth of most of
+the countries of the New World, settled though many of them had been in
+the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and also the strong cultural
+links that they still maintained with the ancient traditions of their
+several homelands, tended to hold them back from entering fully into the
+new international movement of the day in architecture. What national
+libraries, moreover, were yet needed in Venezuela or Colombia, what
+sculpture galleries in the American Middle West? Columns and obelisks,
+if not triumphal arches, rose—frequently very belatedly—to celebrate
+national heroes of the various wars of independence; but outside the
+eastern United States the still very simple organization of society and
+the primitive means of transport required neither the institutional
+edifices of France—markets, hospitals, and prisons—nor the new railway
+stations of England.[82]
+
+Yet in the United States, and not alone along the eastern seaboard, the
+period of Romantic Classicism left a very rich architectural deposit.
+The monuments of real distinction range all the way from such a church
+as Latrobe’s Catholic Cathedral in Baltimore (Plate 5), one of the very
+finest ecclesiastical edifices of the first half of the century to be
+seen anywhere, to Haviland’s Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia
+of 1823-35, the first to be planned on the radial cellular system
+(Figure 11). Studied and published by the English penologist William
+Crawford as well as by Demetz and Blouet,[83] this provided a new
+functional concept for penal architecture influential abroad from the
+time that Gilbert projected his Nouvelle Force Prison in the late
+thirties. Haviland’s prison was Castellated like Lebas’s Petite
+Roquette, not Grecian in detail; his New York prison of 1836-8, however,
+was Egyptian in detail, to which it owed its curious nickname, ‘The
+Tombs’. That both Latrobe and Haviland were English-born and
+English-trained is certainly significant; the latter, who was a cousin
+of the painter Haydon and a pupil of H. L. Elmes’s father James
+(1782-1862), had first tried his luck in Petersburg.
+
+The characteristic and almost universal use of Grecian forms in domestic
+building, however, in many parts of the country continuing down to the
+Civil War of 1861-5, was the result of no foreign influence. Moreover,
+the Grecian details were not drawn by most architects and builders from
+the great basic treatise of Stuart and Revett, available in America only
+to a very few, but at second hand from the local Builders’ Guides[84]
+prepared by Haviland in Philadelphia, Asher Benjamin (1773-1845) in
+Boston, Minard Lafever (1798-1854) in New York, and various others. Such
+authors consciously Americanized what they borrowed from European
+sources in order to adapt Classical masonry forms to the ubiquitous
+wooden construction of the American countryside.
+
+There are two levels of Romantic Classicism in America. Work of the
+upper professional level is found chiefly in the big eastern cities
+where architects operated who were either themselves foreign-born and
+foreign-trained or else pupils and emulators of such. The lower
+vernacular level is more conspicuous in America than in Europe because
+it includes a much greater proportion of building production than in
+older countries, where so many structures of earlier periods remain
+extant. ‘Carpenter’s Grecian’, so to call it, represents the perhaps
+naïve, but culturally significant, determination of all who built to
+exploit, in some degree at least, the modern style of their day.
+
+The frontiersman in the Oregon of 1850 when raising a tavern in the
+Willamette Valley thus shared with the new and old royalties of Europe
+the satisfaction of architectural patronage. Moreover, like so many
+English gentlemen of the eighteenth century or such a nineteenth-century
+prince as Frederick William IV, he often took a hand at design himself.
+In this he was assisted by memories of the relatively settled towns he
+had left behind in the Middle West, themselves largely products of this
+period architecturally, and also by the Builders’ Guides issuing from
+the east in recurrent editions.
+
+It was not alone the transient patronage of a Corsican soldier, for a
+few brief years heir to Louis XIV and overlord of Europe, nor the
+Building Committee of an autocrat on the banks of the Neva controlling
+all public and private architecture in an Imperial capital for a quarter
+of a century, that really established Romantic Classicism as the last
+universal style before that of our own day. It is the fact that Boston
+architects and builders, when Quincy granite (that most perfect of
+Romantic Classical building materials) became readily available in the
+mid twenties, arrived at a rational sort of trabeated design as
+distinguished as Schinkel’s; while three thousand miles to the west, and
+a quarter of a century later, amateur builders working in wood produced
+almost the same sort of ‘pilastrades’, simplified well beyond the
+Americanized paradigms of Greek antae they found in the plates of Asher
+Benjamin’s books, as Schinkel had in Berlin.
+
+The Grecian writ ran far south to Buenos Aires in Latin America, where
+the broad portico of the cathedral, designed by the French engineer
+Prosper Catelin and built in 1822, follows closely Grand Prix designs of
+the 1790s; and deep into the Antipodes as well where Australia moved
+like the United States into nationhood and into the Greek Revival at
+much the same time, but at a slower pace and with less sophistication.
+
+Washington, as the greatest fiat city of the period, might well have
+been, rather than Edinburgh, the Romantic Classical city _par
+excellence_. Even so, as it was laid out by a French engineer in the
+1790s the prototype of its plan was not the Baroque city but the French
+hunting park. And L’Enfant envisaged for it no walled-in streets and
+squares but rather the isolated block-like structures that once stood
+around his ‘circles’ as some still stand around Fischer’s Karolinenplatz
+in Munich. In Washington, moreover, from 1803 when Jefferson made him
+Surveyor of Public Buildings until 1817, Latrobe generally had his
+headquarters; there his pupil Mills became Government Architect and
+Engineer in 1836, retaining the post until 1851.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 11. John Haviland: Philadelphia, Eastern Penitentiary, 1823-35,
+ plan
+]
+
+The great monuments of the thirties still stand in Washington, mostly
+designed by Mills himself at the peak of his career. But at the Capitol
+(Plate 82A), rising at the head of the main axis of the city, the
+Romantic Classical elements of the edifice completed in 1827 by Bulfinch
+are now all but invisible between and below the wings and the dome added
+after 1851 by Thomas U. Walter (1804-87). Hoban’s White House, moreover,
+on the cross axis, remains, despite its restoration by Latrobe after the
+War of 1812 and two twentieth-century campaigns of enlargement and
+reconstruction, a quite Anglo-Palladian—indeed, almost Gibbsian—work.
+These focal edifices largely belie the Romantic Classical ideals so
+boldly epitomized in the tallest of all nineteenth-century obelisks,
+Mills’s Washington Monument. This was designed in 1833, begun in 1848,
+and not completed until 1884, when T. L. Casey, an Army engineer,
+sharpened the pitch of the pyramidon and crowned it with solid
+aluminium.
+
+Immediately beside the White House, however, the Grecian granite of
+Mills’s Treasury (Plate 38A), worthy of Playfair if not of Schinkel, is
+overshadowed by the former State, War and Navy Department Building with
+its tremendous Second Empire plasticity (Plate 82B). Begun in 1836, when
+Mills received his official appointment, the Treasury was largely
+completed by 1842; the west wing was added by Isaiah Rogers (1800-69) in
+1862-5 following the original design.
+
+Mills’s career got under way decades before he was called to Washington
+(see Chapter 1). Churches in Philadelphia, Richmond, and Baltimore
+occupied him first, of which the most notable is the octagonal
+Monumental Church in Richmond begun in 1812. This is an austere
+structure with a strongly geometrical organization of the elements, but
+much less suave and refined than Latrobe’s Baltimore Cathedral.
+Polygonal planning also gives original character to his Insane Asylum of
+1821-5 in Columbia, S.C.; but this has, at the front, a giant Greek
+Doric portico such as was just becoming even more conventional in
+America than in Europe at this time.
+
+In an age so monumentally-minded it was a much earlier work, for which
+Mills won the competition in 1814, the monument erected in honour of
+Washington at Baltimore in 1815-29, that first made his national
+reputation. This was the first giant column to be erected in the New
+World. Superbly placed on a square podium of almost Egyptian severity at
+the centre of cruciform Mt Vernon Place, this Doric shaft is one of the
+most effective of the many that this period produced, even if it lacks
+the megalomaniac scale of his later obelisk in Washington. Mills claimed
+credit also for proposing the obelisk form for the Bunker Hill
+Monument[85] which Solomon Willard (1783-1861) erected in Charlestown,
+Mass., in 1825-43.
+
+In Washington Mills’s Government buildings include, besides the Treasury
+and the Monument, the Patent Office and the old Post Office Department,
+both begun in 1839. These are sober masonry edifices of wholly fireproof
+construction incorporating much vaulting. They are dominated by Grecian
+porticoes, like the Treasury, but without that more conspicuously sited
+structure’s peristyles along the sides. Mills’s smaller custom houses in
+various seaboard towns are simple and massive blocks of granite ashlar,
+the best preserved today being that in New London, Conn. These provided
+worthy symbols of Federal authority among the slighter edifices of wood
+and brick that filled the seaports of this period. Like Latrobe, Mills
+was as much engineer as architect, which helps to explain his
+preoccupation with fireproof construction; moreover, lighthouses and
+waterworks figured prominently in his total production.[86]
+
+Mills, more than anyone else, set the high standard of design and
+construction for Federal buildings that was fortunately maintained by
+his successors until after the Civil War. These were Ammi B. Young
+(1800-74), who took over the Government post[87] in 1852, and Rogers,
+who followed him ten years later in 1862. In remote San Francisco the
+Grecian rule in Federal architecture continued very late, as the U.S.
+Mint there of 1869-74 rather surprisingly indicates. This was possibly
+designed by Rogers just before his death even though A. B. Mullet had
+succeeded him in office in 1865.
+
+Related to the Romantic Classicism of Washington is certain Virginia
+work. Arlington House, as remodelled by the English-born and
+English-trained Hadfield, rises just across the Potomac River on a high
+hill-crest; by its tremendously overscaled Paestum-like temple portico,
+added in 1826 to give grandeur to a modest earlier mansion, this
+provides a more monumental note in the Washington scene than anything of
+this period inside the city except Mills’s obelisk and his Treasury.
+
+Just outside Charlottesville, Jefferson, after his retirement from the
+Presidency, devoted himself architecturally as well as educationally
+from 1817 until his death to the organization of the University of
+Virginia and the construction of its buildings. The layout, with
+pavilions for the various professors’ use linked by porticoed galleries
+behind which the students’ rooms are placed, culminated at the upper end
+in the Library and was originally open[88] to the view at the bottom
+(Figure 12). Although most of the pavilions reflect earlier stages of
+Romantic Classicism—if not usually the Anglo-Palladian with which
+Jefferson’s architectural career had begun half a century earlier—this
+is a more remarkable entity than his Virginia Capitol. Perhaps it has a
+lesser general historical importance, yet it is certainly not without
+special significance for America. This is most notably true of one of
+the pavilions whose design was suggested to Jefferson by Latrobe in
+1819. Here for the first time a modern American dwelling, and one of
+quite modest size—for these pavilions were used as houses for the
+professors as well as providing classrooms on the ground storey—was
+encased within the shell of a prostyle Greek temple. Moreover, Jefferson
+accomplished this rather more successfully than Beaumont in France in
+the late eighteenth century at the Temple de Silence, or Wilkins in
+England at Grange Park in 1809.
+
+Not the least successful among the innumerable imitations of the Roman
+Pantheon, the building which originally served as the Library of the
+University, built in 1822-6, dominated the two ranges of
+colonnade-linked pavilions (Plate 38B). Here more drastically than by
+Wilkins at Downing College or Ramée at Union, the earlier Anglo-Saxon
+patterns of educational architecture were reconstituted in Romantic
+Classical guise, yet the University of Virginia did not have a very
+considerable influence, then or later. The central group at Amherst
+College in Massachusetts—two dormitories of 1821 and 1822 and a chapel
+between of 1827—offers a modest group of quite different but equally
+notable quality on a splendid hill-crest site (Plate 45). At other
+colleges only individual structures usually survive from this period.
+
+The temple house, initiated by Jefferson and Latrobe, had a tremendous
+success with builders in the thirties and forties, particularly in the
+new territories west of the Alleghenies. But the finest and most
+paradigmatic came rather earlier and were architect-designed. Ithiel
+Town (1784-1844), for example, built the Bowers House in Northampton,
+Mass., in 1825-6 with an Ionic portico on the main block and fronted the
+lower side wings with antae. The big Corinthian Russell house, a pure
+temple with no side wings—the present wing was added later—rose in
+Middletown, Conn., to the design of his partner, A. J. Davis (1803-92),
+in 1828.
+
+From such a ‘Parthenon’ as Berry Hill in Virginia, built by its owner
+James Coles Bruce in 1835-40, which is flanked by two lodges also of
+temple form, to innumerable more modest houses in the older towns of
+Ohio and Michigan, the roster of such edifices is infinitely extensive.
+It is also surprisingly varied in scale and in the materials used—most,
+but not all, are of white-painted wood—as also in the handling of the
+dominating columnar porticoes. In the South, for example, the
+characteristic plantation houses of Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and
+Mississippi are peripteral but unpedimented, with external galleries
+splitting the height of the giant columns. Natchez in Mississippi has
+several fine examples; in Louisiana, Greenwood near St Francisville of
+about 1830 may be specifically mentioned, and also Oak Alley of 1836 at
+Vacherie near New Orleans.
+
+The most ambitious Grecian houses of the Deep South are often very late
+in date, and architects were rarely employed to design them. Moreover,
+Greek detail was adopted in the South only very slowly and rarely used
+with the correctness of the Northern builders, who leaned so heavily on
+the plates of the orders in the books of Benjamin and others. Belle
+Meade, near Nashville, of 1853, being by the distinguished Philadelphia
+architect Strickland, is something of an exception in several ways; it
+had, for example, a fine portico of square antae executed in white
+marble that was almost Schinkelesque. Vast Belle Grove at White Castle,
+Louisiana, built by Henry Howard in 1857, was probably more effective in
+the romantically ruinous state in which it existed for many years before
+its final destruction than in its pristine condition, so confusedly
+eclectic was the general composition, with Italianate as well as
+Classical elements quite casually mixed.
+
+Unpedimented porticoes are not unknown in the North, both east and west
+of the Alleghenies, as in the Levi Lincoln house of 1836 (once in
+Worcester, Mass., now moved to nearby Sturbridge) by Elias Carter
+(1781-1864) with its convex-fluted Doric order. Such original touches,
+which many carpenters introduced out of plain ignorance and more
+sophisticated architects developed out of a conscious desire to
+nationalize and personalize even such absolute paradigms as those of the
+Greek orders, often lend variety and piquancy to the mode. The finest
+Grecian houses, such as Elmhyrst at One Mile Corner, Newport, R.I.,
+built probably by Russell Warren (1783-1860) about 1833, certainly owe
+their originality to the studied intentions of architects. This house,
+in particular, has a façade composed in overlapping planes that is not
+unworthy of Cockerell (Plate 42B). On the other hand, the Hermitage near
+Savannah, Georgia, designed by Charles B. Cluskey _c._ 1830, could
+almost be by Schinkel, so simple and pure is its design.
+
+Trained architects, on the whole, were too rationalistic or too
+adventurous to follow closely the plain temple model in domestic or
+institutional work. Walter presumably surrounded Andalusia, the home of
+the philhellene banker Nicholas Biddle outside Philadelphia, with a
+Doric temple-shell in 1833 only against his own better judgement. In
+1833-47 he also built for Girard College in Philadelphia, of which
+Biddle was the trustee who called the tune, an enormous Corinthian
+temple. Inside this he incorporated a variety of educational functions
+only with considerable difficulty, but he vaulted all the interiors in
+the manner of Latrobe and Mills in order to provide a completely
+fireproof structure.[89] Curiously enough, this was one of the first
+American buildings to be published abroad,[90] thus rivalling Haviland’s
+prison, but it attracted no emulators in Europe. By the thirties, of
+course, these buildings by Walter were no novelties in Philadelphia.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 12. Thomas Jefferson: Charlottesville, Va., University of
+ Virginia, 1817-26, plan.
+]
+
+Philadelphia, the former colonial metropolis and briefly the national
+capital, was much more than Washington the cultural centre of the
+country in the early decades of the century. Here Latrobe had had his
+start, significantly with a bank in the form of an Ionic temple. Now in
+1818 Strickland,[91] a native-born American and quite untravelled, won
+in competition the commission for building the Branch Bank of the United
+States with a much more archaeologically correct temple. Like various
+European and British public monuments of the period, but unlike any bank
+abroad, this is a marble Parthenon. But the various needs of the banking
+business were skilfully provided for inside, and the principal
+barrel-vaulted interior is very fine indeed. Built in 1819-24, this bank
+(later a Custom House) rivals the Bavarian Walhalla and the Scottish
+National Monument, though lacking their splendid hill-top sites. It was
+just the thing to establish Strickland’s national reputation. But his
+Merchants’ Exchange in Philadelphia of 1832-4, with a rounded end and a
+trabeated ground storey, provides more interesting and impressive
+evidence of his talent, perhaps the greatest of the generation following
+Latrobe in America (Plate 40).
+
+Strickland’s latest major work, the State Capitol in Nashville,
+Tennessee, of 1845-9, still a temple but with various accretions, has
+the high site his bank lacked, but it suffers otherwise from the general
+deterioration of the sense of Grecian style after the mid thirties, a
+deterioration quite as evident in American architecture as in European.
+This Tennessee temple was the last but one of a series of state capitols
+that followed the model of Jefferson’s at Richmond, Virginia, rather
+than Bulfinch’s dome-crowned Boston State House or the national Capitol
+in Washington. The first example that was correctly Greek in detail
+seems to have been that for Connecticut in New Haven; it was built by
+Town and his partner Davis in 1827-31, and has long since been
+demolished. However, that designed by Gideon Shryock (1802-80) in
+Frankfort, Kentucky, was going up at about the same time.
+
+In 1831-5 Davis built a larger and grander Greek Doric temple (no longer
+extant) as a Capitol for Indiana at Indianapolis, but provided it with a
+small central dome. The latest of all the temples built to serve as
+state capitols was a very modest one of 1849 at Benicia, California,
+where the columnar portico was reduced to two Doric columns _in
+antis_—it is worth noting that this was erected in the very year that
+Sutter’s gold strike first put California on the map of the world.
+
+Other state capitols of this period are Grecian but not of temple form;
+a good example is that Town & Davis built at Raleigh, North Carolina,
+which was begun in 1833. The finest of all is that for Ohio at
+Columbus,[92] begun in 1839-40 and carried to completion over the years
+1848-61. Here the giant ‘pilastrade’, for which columns are substituted
+in the central third of the front, has a Schinkel-like directness and
+severity (Plate 39A). Not so happy is the flat-topped central lantern,
+which is also surrounded by a pilastrade. In conscientious pursuit of
+trabeated consistency the architects thus sought to mask the rounded
+shape of the dome within, as had been tried in various French projects
+of the late eighteenth century and by Schinkel in the Altes Museum
+already.
+
+After Philadelphia, Boston was the architectural metropolis of this
+period; and from Boston, beginning in 1827, issued the later treatises
+of Benjamin purveying the Grecian orders to carpenters and builders all
+over the North and the Middle West. Here Bulfinch, however, established
+as the leading architect in the 1790s, long remained faithful to the
+ideals of Chambers and Adam (see Chapter 1).
+
+At University Hall, built for Harvard College in Cambridge, Mass., in
+1813-15, Bulfinch used granite for the ashlar of the walls as he had
+done for his Boston City Hall of 1810, but the white-painted wooden trim
+is not yet Grecian. The Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston, also
+of granite, was designed by him in 1816-17, just before he left for
+Washington to take over from Latrobe supervision of the construction of
+the Capitol. The hospital building (now known as the Bulfinch Pavilion)
+as executed by Alexander Parris (1780-1852) in 1818-20 is certainly a
+mature Romantic Classical edifice if not a typically Grecian one. Above
+the plain pediment of the central portico a square attic with corner
+chimneys supports the saucer dome, and the long side wings with three
+ranges of unframed windows display the fine granite ashlar of Boston in
+all its cold pride. Compared to Latrobe, however, Bulfinch remained a
+provincial if not a colonial designer, high as is the intrinsic quality
+of his best work.
+
+A younger generation, hitherto much influenced by Bulfinch’s established
+manner, took over leadership in Boston on his departure for Washington.
+Parris soon provided the first Greek temple in conservative New England
+when he built St Paul’s Church (now the Anglican Cathedral) in Tremont
+Street in 1819-21. Where Strickland’s contemporary Philadelphia bank was
+Doric and of marble, this is Ionic with the portico executed in the
+Acquia Creek sandstone from Virginia which was then being used so much
+in Washington. Solomon Willard carved the capitals. Parris’s Stone
+Temple of 1828, the Unitarian ‘Church of the Presidents’—the two Adams
+presidents—in Quincy, Mass., is not at all a temple in form but more
+comparable to the Grecian churches built in England in this decade. The
+Stone Temple outranks most of them in dignity, however, because of the
+superbly appropriate local material of which it is built. It was from
+this town that the Quincy granite came that was employed for the best
+Boston buildings of the next thirty years and more, and this church was
+a relatively early instance of its monumental use. Quincy granite had
+become more readily available after the first American railway was built
+from the quarries to the seashore by Willard solely to facilitate
+bringing it out by water.[93]
+
+The first notable use of this granite away from Quincy had been for the
+Bunker Hill Monument in Charlestown, Mass., built by Willard in 1825-43.
+Not only Mills, as has been mentioned, but the sculptor Horatio
+Greenough[94] and also Parris claimed, and perhaps deserve, some credit
+for the particular form of this simple but grandiose obelisk, which
+rivalled those of the Old World a decade before Mills’s in Washington
+was designed. On its completion, a steam-operated lift or elevator was
+provided in 1844 capable of carrying six people; this was one of the
+earliest examples of an important technical device that would later
+influence architecture profoundly (see Chapter 14).
+
+Granite imposed rigid restrictions on detailing. But the new generation
+knew how to make of those restrictions an opportunity for developing a
+highly original sort of basic classicism such as even the most
+determined European rationalists rarely approached. The houses at 39-40
+Beacon Street in Boston, now occupied by the Women’s City Club, and the
+David Sears house at No. 42, now the Somerset Club (Plate 43B)—the
+latter by Parris and of 1816, the former probably by him and of 1818—as
+also the granite terrace at Nos. 70-75, probably by Benjamin, are good
+examples of domestic work of this period. More important is Parris’s
+Quincy (properly Faneuil Hall) Market in Boston, designed in 1823 for
+Mayor Joseph Quincy as the central feature of a considerable urbanistic
+development on the site of earlier docks. This domed and porticoed
+structure lacks the geometrical severity of the Sears house with its
+great bow on the front and its superbly placed scroll panel; but in the
+Market House Parris not only used cast iron for the internal supports
+but also experimented on the exterior with a trabeated framework of
+monolithic granite piers and lintels. The same sort of ‘granite
+skeleton’ construction (so to call it) was also used but with greater
+delicacy of proportion and elegance of finish—note the Soanic incised
+detail of the wooden window-frames—for the commercial buildings[95]
+which Parris designed and that various lessees shortly built along the
+streets that flank the Market House to the north and the south (Plate
+112B). This was one of the major structural innovations of the period
+(see Chapter 14).
+
+Within a few years other Boston architects and builders were currently
+using this sort of construction, and it soon spread to several New
+England cities. However, more typical of the urban ambition of the
+twenties and thirties than the destroyed block of 1824 in Providence by
+J. H. Green (1777-1850), which followed line for line Parris’s
+commercial work, are two other buildings there. The Providence Arcade of
+1828 by Warren has not one, but two terminal porticoes of Ionic columns
+executed in granite and also a fine interior consisting of raised side
+galleries under an iron-and-glass roof. Few extant galleries of this
+decade in Europe are as notable in scale and in finish. The Washington
+Buildings of 1843 by James C. Bucklin (1801-90), who had assisted Warren
+on the Arcade, had a plain range of three storeys of window-pierced
+red-brick wall above a trabeated granite ground storey, the whole
+dominated by a central pedimented feature (Plate 39B). This was a
+commercial project as grand as any in contemporary Europe in scale, in
+materials, and in finish, although without the originality of the
+trabeated all-granite bow-front of Rogers’s contemporary Brazier’s
+Buildings on State Street in Boston. Yet Bucklin’s Westminster
+Presbyterian Church in Providence of 1846 is a straight Greek Ionic
+temple like so many other non-Anglican edifices of this period in
+England and America.
+
+Where Romantic Classicism, and more specifically the Greek Revival,
+found its noblest opportunities in Europe in public monuments, in
+America after the days of Latrobe it was rather commercial,
+institutional, and even industrial[96] commissions that stimulated
+architects and builders to original achievement, while public work grew
+more and more conventional. For instance, the Lippitt Woollen Mill of
+1836 in Woonsocket, R.I., and the Governor Harris Manufactory at Harris,
+R.I., dating from as late as 1851 can both be properly described as ‘in
+the Grecian vernacular’. They are most admirably proportioned and very
+soundly built, with walls of random ashlar masonry and boldly scaled
+wooden trim, very plain, yet of generically Greek character. The
+discipline of Romantic Classicism accorded well with the requirements of
+industrial building; not until the present century would factories of
+comparable architectural quality be built. Moreover, they were often
+complemented by consonant low-cost housing, as in the extant mill
+village at White Rock, R.I., of 1849.
+
+No European public edifice has a grander Greek Doric portico than that
+which dominates the tremendous four-storey front block of the Lunatic
+Asylum in Utica, N.Y., of 1837-43, designed by no architect, according
+to the records, but by the Chairman of the Board of Trustees, William
+Clarke (Plate 46). Still later, in 1850, after the Grecian mode was
+_passé_ with most architects if not with the general public, Davis built
+in the Renaissance Revival mode that he called ‘Tuscan’ the Insane
+Asylum at Raleigh, North Carolina; this is distinguished by his
+characteristic arrangement of the windows in tall vertical bands. Such
+American institutions are not at all unworthy of comparison with the
+best French productions of the period by Gilbert and others, although
+generally of rather smaller size (Plate 20).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 13. Isaiah Rogers: Boston, Tremont House, 1828-9, plan
+]
+
+Hotels in Europe had not as yet received much architectural elaboration,
+nor did they in general before the mid century. Such English hotels of
+Grecian pretension as the Queen’s by W. C. and R. Jearrad at Cheltenham,
+which opened in 1837, or the Great Western in Bristol by R. S. Pope
+(1781-?), opened two years later, are rather exceptional, being located
+at spas, and in any case a decade later in date than the first notable
+American example. It was in Boston, at the Tremont House built in
+1828-9, a Grecian granite structure of dignified grandeur externally
+(Plate 41) and of considerable functional elaboration internally (Figure
+13), that Rogers and his clients consciously initiated a new standard of
+hotel design. For thirty years Rogers himself, in various hotels from
+New Orleans—the St Charles—to Cincinnati—the Burnet House—all long ago
+demolished, personally maintained and, at least in terms of functional
+organization, continued to raise that standard. Not for nothing did the
+big new London hotels of a generation later label their bars and their
+barber-shops ‘American’.
+
+In 1832 Rogers began the Astor House in New York; when completed in 1836
+this already outranked the Tremont House in every way. Not least
+extraordinary must have been the elaborately fan-vaulted hall. This
+reflected that eclectic interest in Gothic of which Rogers’s wooden
+Unitarian Church of 1833 in Cambridge, Mass., provides extant evidence.
+The last hotel that he built was the Maxwell House in Nashville,
+Tennessee, of 1854-60.
+
+Rogers’s pre-eminence at hotel design was signalized from the first by
+the publication in 1830 of a monograph on the Tremont House;[97] thus
+the hotel joined the prison as a type of building in which American
+influence became important internationally. But Rogers’s practice was by
+no means confined to hotels; among other things he gave both Boston and
+New York their Merchants Exchanges long before he became Supervising
+Architect in Washington. The colonnade of the latter, a little like that
+of Schinkel’s Altes Museum, still survives at the base of McKim, Mead &
+White’s First National City Bank in Wall Street to illustrate Rogers’s
+high competence at handling a standard Romantic Classical theme.
+
+Resort hotels repeated the same Grecian themes in wood, their columns
+being often much attenuated in order to rise three and four storeys
+above the circumambient verandas. However, an early example, the first
+Ocean House of 1841 at Newport, R.I., had a colonnade only two storeys
+tall set against the main four-storey block. On the Atlantic House there
+of 1844 the fourth storey occupied the broad Greek entablature
+surrounding the entire main block, but the front portico of elongated
+Ionic columns was only hexastyle. Both were burnt many years ago, but
+later examples of inferior quality remain in several forgotten spas and
+mountain resorts of the period, particularly in New York State.
+
+New York City was drawing architectural talent in these years from other
+cities. Before Rogers moved there from Boston in 1834, mid way in the
+Astor House campaign, Town & Davis had arrived from Connecticut. Davis’s
+Sub-Treasury in Wall Street begun in 1834,[98] however, is rather less
+successful than the earlier New England houses of similar temple form
+that he and Town had designed. Davis was himself more notably a
+protagonist of the Picturesque, despite all the very large and prominent
+Grecian buildings for which he was responsible (see Chapter 6). Yet his
+Colonnade Row in Lafayette Street of 1832, a terrace all of freestone
+with a free-standing giant Corinthian colonnade, equals in grandeur
+anything of the period that London or Edinburgh have to offer (Plate
+42A). More typical of New York in this period than Colonnade Row, and of
+uncertain authorship, is the terrace of red-brick Grecian houses built
+on the north side of Washington Square in the thirties, of which a few
+have survived on sufferance the vandalous encroachments of New York
+University.
+
+Some of the finest Greek houses are by provincial architects. One such
+is stone-built Hyde Hall in Cooperstown, N.Y., very crisp and severe as
+it was remodelled in 1833 by Philip Hooker (1766-1836) of Albany, who
+had built it originally in 1811. Still others are of uncertain
+authorship, notably the Alsop house of 1838 in Middletown, Conn. This is
+a symmetrical Grecian villa almost worthy of Schinkel’s Potsdam, with
+very fine murals on the exterior as well as inside. The Alsop house (now
+the Davison Art Centre of Wesleyan University) was probably designed by
+a relative of the family who had access to the resources of the Town &
+Davis office; however, the painters employed were Italian or German. The
+Wooster-Boalt house of 1848 in Norwalk, Ohio, indicates the late
+continuance of real restraint and sophistication of design in the Middle
+West, something already lost in the sumptuous mansions of New Orleans
+and the Deep South. But many Middle Western houses illustrate rather the
+surprising elasticity of Carpenters’ Grecian.
+
+A mode that approaches the German _Rundbogenstil_—indeed, in the work of
+such foreign-trained architects as the Prague-born Leopold Eidlitz
+(1823-1908) relatively authentic examples of that mode—was not uncommon
+in the America of the mid century.[99] The Astor Library in Lafayette
+Street opposite Colonnade Row, built by A. Saelzer in 1849, was a good
+example. Less successful was Appleton Chapel at Harvard College in
+Cambridge, Mass., by Paul Schulze (1827-97), who sent over the drawings
+from Germany, and later settled in America. Begun in 1856, this was a
+very reduced version of Gärtner’s Ludwigskirche in Munich with only one
+tower. However, the largest and finest example was by a precocious
+student at Brown University, Thomas A. Tefft (1826-59).[100] This was
+the Union Station in Providence, begun in 1848 and gradually carried out
+by Bucklin and his partner Talman (Plate 44). This station rivalled in
+extent and in the distinction and ingenuity of its rather Lombardic
+Romanesque detailing, simply executed with ordinary red brick, the
+German ones by Eisenlohr and Bürklein in Baden and Bavaria; without much
+question it was the finest early station in the New World. Tefft also
+designed various New England churches of somewhat similar character, all
+dominated by very tall and simple spires. However, his churches in the
+East are outrivalled by such a Middle Western example as the Union
+Methodist in St Louis, built by George I. Barnett (1815-98) in 1852-4.
+Tefft’s best works, other than the station, are not _Rundbogenstil_ but
+Barryesque; such is the brownstone Tully-Bowen house on Benefit Street
+in Providence of 1852-3, for example. Others were building as fine ones
+there, however. The consistent use of brownstone and red brick well
+illustrates the sharp reaction that had set in by his time against the
+pale tones and untextured surfaces of the Greek Revival.
+
+The towered Italian Villa[101] was introduced by John Notman (1810-65)
+in Bishop George W. Doane’s house at Burlington, NJ., in 1837 and soon
+actively propagandized by A. J. Downing (1815-52) in his influential
+books (see Chapters 6 and 15). Indeed, the Barryesque Renaissance mode
+was also probably first introduced by the Scottish-born Notman at the
+Philadelphia Atheneum[102] built in 1845-7 (Plate 47A). These
+non-Grecian, yet still basically Romantic Classical, modes were in
+relatively common use by 1850, though not very much earlier. Young, for
+example, who had made his reputation with the saucer-domed but otherwise
+Greek Custom House[103] that he built in Boston in 1837-47, substituted
+a somewhat Barryesque manner for Mills’s Grecian as the current mode for
+Federal buildings[104] when he became Supervising Architect in 1853. But
+neither Notman nor Young was a Barry—nor even as competent at such
+design as the youthful Tefft—and the most notable result of the waning
+of the Greek Revival in the forties, in the East at any rate—it waned
+much more slowly in the South and West—was the rise of a rather
+considerable variety of Picturesque modes of suburban-house design, of
+which the Italianate was only one (see Chapters 6 and 15). In cities,
+the shift from the characteristic granite or, more usually, hard red
+brick with white trim to the chocolate tones of brownstone, used alone
+or with brick, is much more indicative of a general change of taste than
+any widespread exploitation of Renaissance forms.
+
+A fine relatively early Italian Villa such as the Stebbins house of 1849
+on Crescent St, off Maple St, in Springfield, Mass., by Henry A. Sykes
+belongs to the realm of Romantic Classicism like Schinkel’s or Barry’s
+country houses in this mode (Plate 43A). But on the whole the Italian
+Villa in America is rather one of the many vehicles of the Picturesque
+reaction against a doctrinaire Greek Revival. This fact was well
+illustrated in one by Eidlitz, also in Springfield, on Maple Street,
+that was built of brick with much wooden ‘gingerbread’ of a vaguely
+Tyrolean order and latterly, at least, painted a warm pink where Sykes’s
+villa is painted white with brown trim. Sykes’s originality within the
+Italian Villa mode is most happily illustrated by the former observatory
+at Amherst College, now known as the Octagon, whose stuccoed polygonal
+elements stand in such interesting contrast to the severe row of
+red-brick dormitories and chapel behind. Not often did the mid century
+add so effectively to groups of buildings produced in earlier decades.
+
+Just as the Iberian peninsula was in general devoid of significant
+architectural activity in the first half of the nineteenth century, so
+in the Spanish and Portuguese lands beyond the seas there came no early
+wave of autochthonous Romantic Classicism to submerge and succeed the
+Baroque that had flourished there to the end of the colonial period and
+beyond. In Brazil Dom Pedro, later the first Brazilian Emperor, under
+whose rule the centre of gravity of Portuguese civilization moved from
+Lisbon to Rio de Janeiro, imported in 1816 a group of French artists.
+They were expected to found a new post-Baroque Brazilian culture much as
+Alexander I’s architects had done a little earlier in Russia. One was
+the French architect Grandjean de Montigny, author with Famin of that
+most influential work _L’Architecture toscane_ to which all Europe
+turned for _quattrocento_ models, who had been employed by Jerome
+Bonaparte in Westphalia as long as Napoleon’s Empire lasted. He erected
+in Rio in 1826 the first home for the new Imperial Academy of Fine Arts,
+founded of course on the model of the Parisian École des Beaux-Arts, the
+Market, and the extant Custom House. He also trained a group of
+Brazilians who gave local architectural production an Empire flavour
+that lasted until it was superseded well after the mid century by a wave
+of Second Empire influence.
+
+In vernacular building traditional treatments were often maintained in
+Brazil, notably the use of _azulejos_ (glazed tiles) for wall surfaces
+and of rich painted colour for the ubiquitous stucco. But more
+sophisticated work can be very French indeed. For example, the Itamaratí
+Palace in Rio of 1851-4 by J. M. J. Rebelo, a pupil of Grandjean de
+Montigny, might well be taken for a _hôtel particulier_ erected in the
+new quarters of Paris in the earlier decades of the century (Plate 47B).
+Beautifully restored, this now houses the Brazilian Foreign Office—one
+says ‘Itamaratí’ as one says ‘Quai d’Orsay’. Rebelo also built the
+Summer Palace at Petrópolis. The Santa Isabel Theatre at Recife,
+Pernambuco, built about 1845, which is so like a French provincial
+theatre of this period, is by another French architect who had settled
+in Brazil in 1840, L.-L. Vauthier.
+
+In Chile, on the other side of the South American continent, C.-F.
+Brunet-Debaines (1799-1855), a brother of the architect who built the
+Museum and Library at Le Havre, was employed on government work in
+Santiago. But the schools that such French architects assisted in
+founding had more significance than the few buildings they were able to
+erect. Henceforth, Latin America would be less dependent in architecture
+on the Spanish and Portuguese homelands than on Paris. The character of
+the larger cities outside their colonial cores—if, indeed, more than a
+few early monuments remain extant—was henceforth determined by this
+fact. However, it is the Second Empire and not the First which left the
+more visible mark; for the various capitals, some like Montevideo in
+Uruguay almost without earlier architectural history, saw their greatest
+expansion in the later decades of the nineteenth century and the first
+of the twentieth.
+
+The establishment of a Latin American architecture of really
+autochthonous character, as distinguished from the continuance of
+various local vernacular building traditions, had to await the present
+period (see Chapters 22 and 25). Once again French influence had a
+significant role to play. But between the arrival of Grandjean de
+Montigny in 1816 and Le Corbusier’s first visit to South America in 1929
+that continent took little part in the major architectural developments
+of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. On the other hand, the United
+States, building on the professional foundations laid by Latrobe and
+exploiting to the full new structural materials and methods, rose before
+the nineteenth century was over to a position of world leadership (see
+Chapters 13, 14, and 15).
+
+What is true of Latin America is not altogether untrue of the British
+Dominions in the New World and at the Antipodes, as also of various
+British Colonies throughout the rest of the world. No French architects
+were imported, of course, and the links with England remained very close
+and strong. As in all colonial situations, however, the transfer of new
+ideas from the homeland was slow and inefficient and the capacity of
+_émigré_ architects usually rather low. No Latrobes or Havilands seem to
+have gone to the Dominions; and the Greek Revival was hardly accepted
+before the forties, when it was already passing out of favour in the
+United States.
+
+The first professional to work in Australia, Francis Greenway
+(1777-1837), who arrived in Sydney in 1814 as a convict and almost at
+once became Governor Macquarie’s architect, remained faithful in most of
+his public work to the modes of his eighteenth-century youth in Bristol.
+But his house of 1822 for Robert Campbell, Jr, in Bligh Street in Sydney
+showed that he had real skill as a designer of up-to-date Regency
+villas. Canada had no early architect of comparable ability to serve the
+British community.
+
+As the western world expanded in the nineteenth century, significant
+architectural achievement tended to move outwards from the old centres
+on the Tiber, the Seine, and the Thames; but that movement was always
+very uneven, and still remains so today. Russia was building more and
+finer structures of Western European character than Spain and Portugal;
+while the United States, not yet fantastically disparate in size and
+population, produced many more productive Romantic Classical architects
+than either Holland or Sweden. All the same, the architectural
+leadership of the western world remained for at least a generation
+longer in the old centres of Europe; our story must return to where it
+started in order to proceed beyond the mid century or even to complete
+the account of the period 1810-50.
+
+Romantic Classicism came to no sudden end. If in Vienna a monumental
+Grecian Parliament house could rise as late as the seventies, so in the
+desert of Arizona the Crystal Palace Saloon of 1878 at Tombstone is
+still in the Greek Revival vernacular. From the very first, on the other
+hand, there was some admixture of the Picturesque in Romantic
+Classicism. Almost all the architects that have been mentioned, both of
+the earlier and of the later generation, were more eclectic in their
+practice and even in their theories than this account of their major
+works has made altogether evident. But in the main, down into the
+forties, Romantic Classicism, while increasingly eclectic, remained a
+coherent style whose canons controlled most of the accepted variants to
+the Grecian.
+
+The dissolution of the dominant stylistic discipline, hardly completed
+even in the fifties, had nevertheless begun very early indeed. In terms
+of historical significance, if not of absolute achievement, the
+Picturesque rises rapidly in comparative importance from the time of
+Wyatt’s Fonthill Abbey in the 1790s. Beside Soane’s crisp Bank interiors
+it is necessary to carry in the mind’s eye the prophetic image which his
+renderer J. M. Gandy (1771-1843) provided of them as a Romantic ruin;
+nor should the vast dream-like Gothic cathedrals that Schinkel made the
+centre of some of his early paintings be forgotten in the cool presence
+of his Grecian Schauspielhaus and Museum. Fortunately no one is likely
+in looking at Barry’s _palazzi_ to forget that they are contemporary
+with his Gothic Houses of Parliament; one does, however, tend to forget
+that the career of his associate Pugin as protagonist of the mature
+Gothic Revival ended well before Barry’s did as the chief English
+protagonist of the Renaissance Revival. Earlier the Gothic Revival was
+hardly more than a special aspect of the Picturesque; with Pugin,
+however, it became a major movement in its own right and actually
+anti-Picturesque in theory, if rarely so in practice. To a considerable
+extent, moreover, the Gothic Revival usurped during the forties the
+centre of the stage in England, if hardly to the same degree in other
+countries even in the following decades.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 6
+ THE PICTURESQUE AND THE GOTHIC REVIVAL
+
+
+THE principal modern treatise on the Picturesque with a capital P,
+Christopher Hussey’s of 1927, is subtitled ‘Studies in a Point of View’.
+By the opening years of the nineteenth century the term had come to have
+a far more precise, if also a more complex, meaning than the adjective
+‘picturesque’ as it is generally used today. But Hussey is perfectly
+correct: the Picturesque is no more a style than is the Sublime, it _is_
+a point of view. That point of view nevertheless influenced
+architecture[105] increasingly as the first half of the nineteenth
+century wore on. It had a solvent, and eventually a destructive, effect
+on the dominant Romantic Classical style as has already been suggested
+in discussing the later work of various leading architects in several
+countries.
+
+The Picturesque had its early eighteenth-century origins[106] in
+England, and its most notable theorists were English. In the first
+quarter of the century, moreover, there was no British architect so
+resolutely Grecian that he did not, either on his own initiative or in
+deference to his clients’ wishes, experiment with alternative modes in
+conscious pursuit of the Picturesque. Despite the stringencies of the
+Greek Revival as represented, early, in Wilkins’s Downing College or,
+later, in Smirke’s British Museum, Smirke had built several Castellated
+mansions in the years before Waterloo and Wilkins the Gothic screen and
+the hall range at King’s College, Cambridge, in the twenties; while at
+the National Gallery in the thirties he handled standard Classical
+elements in a markedly Picturesque way. Nash was the initiator of one
+characteristically Picturesque mode, the asymmetrically towered Italian
+Villa, at Cronkhill in 1802; he also exploited in an exemplary way
+another longer-established one, the Rustic Cottage, in Blaise Hamlet in
+1811 (Plate 50A). The score or more of Castellated mansions that Nash
+built were always Picturesque and irregular whether their detailing was
+Norman[107] or some sort of Gothic. Above all, he handled the urbanistic
+development which was his greatest achievement in a thoroughly
+Picturesque way. Soane’s Picturesque was of a less usual order and his
+personal tendency was as much or more towards the Sublime, otherwise a
+largely forgotten category after 1810.
+
+But from 1810 on new buildings in which the basic principles of Romantic
+Classicism were ignored and exotic stylistic alternatives to the Grecian
+exploited were generally larger, more prominent, and also more
+creatively original than they had ever been before. C. A. Busby
+(1788-1838) was responsible as late as 1827 for one of the finest, most
+formal, and most extensive examples of Romantic Classical urbanism, Kemp
+Town at Brighton. Yet in 1814 he exhibited at the Royal Academy his
+design for Gwrych Castle, completed in 1815, which he was building in
+North Wales near Abergele, presumably in collaboration with his client,
+Lloyd Bamford Hesketh, a notable amateur (Plate 49).
+
+The next year Nash began for the Regent the transformation of his
+favourite residence, the Royal Pavilion[108] at Brighton. This was at
+that time an elegant early example of a Romantic Classical house as
+first remodelled and enlarged by Henry Holland[109] (1745-1806) just
+before the Napoleonic Wars began. Nash now made of it an extraordinary
+oriental confection (as had already been proposed by Repton[110] in
+1806). Part Chinese, part Saracenic, and part Indian, this is quite in
+the spirit of Porden’s earlier Dome near by (Plate 48). Festive and
+frivolous, the Pavilion resembles an oversized garden fabrick or
+sumptuously ornamented marquee; but the scale is fully architectural,
+even monumental, both externally and in the principal apartments. Not
+least interesting is Nash’s frank use of visible iron elements. These
+are not masonry-scaled like the columns he employed later in the Regent
+Street Quadrant and on Carlton House Terrace, but delicate and playfully
+decorative. The pierced ‘Chinese’ staircases of 1815-18 have
+naturalistically coloured bamboo detailing and the tops of the four
+columns that carry the monitor over the kitchen of 1818-21 are
+embellished with copper palm-leaves (Plate 58A).
+
+The Pavilion had no real sequel; even the Regent, King as George IV from
+1820, tired of it almost as soon as it was finished. Indeed, he forsook
+Brighton for good in 1823 just as the general building activity
+there,[111] commonly but incorrectly called ‘Regency’, was getting under
+way. Turning his attention to Windsor Castle, the King employed Sir
+Jeffrey Wyatville (1776-1840) to remodel the accumulated mass of
+heterogeneous construction there into a Picturesque mansion of the
+Castellated sort in which the real medieval elements were quite
+submerged. But Windsor, being much more obviously a remodelling than was
+the Pavilion when Nash completed it, is not a very exemplary specimen of
+a fake castle. Busby’s Gwrych, set against a hanging wood, its round and
+square towers simply detailed and tightly though asymmetrically
+composed, is a better instance of that abstract sculptural massing which
+critics of the mid century would sometimes define as ‘architecturesque’
+(Plate 49). For this sort of three-dimensional composition the Italian
+Villa mode provided on the whole a better vehicle. Wyatville, for
+example, did his best to turn the vast regular mass of late
+seventeenth-century Chatsworth[112] into a more Picturesque adjunct to
+its landscape setting by Capability Brown (1715-83), by adding a long
+service wing on the north side and terminating that with a very large
+and tall loggia-topped tower.
+
+Well before George IV undertook the remodelling of Windsor, a relatively
+modest mansion linked the Castellated mode more closely to the rising
+enthusiasm for the Middle Ages. The author of the immensely popular
+Waverley novels, Sir Walter Scott, employed Blore in 1816 to build
+Abbotsford near Melrose in Roxburghshire in this vein—it was much
+extended along the same lines by William Atkinson (_c._ 1773-1839) in
+1822-3. With its definitely Scottish features Abbotsford initiated a
+special mode, the Scottish Baronial, that eventually received Royal
+sanction when Queen Victoria acquired Balmoral Castle near Ballater in
+1848, a modest residence built in the late thirties by John Smith of
+Aberdeen. At the time she and Prince Albert first occupied this Scottish
+retreat Balmoral was quite small, but it was reconstructed in 1853-5 on
+a vastly larger scale in the same Scottish Baronial mode by William
+Smith, son of the original architect, working in close collaboration
+with Prince Albert. Thus the Queen’s two private residences, Osborne and
+Balmoral, both in part at least designed by the Consort, illustrated—in
+neither case very happily—the two major types of determinedly
+Picturesque design for edifices of some consequence, the Italian Villa
+and the Castellated; the viability of the Rustic Cottage mode was
+necessarily rather limited and hardly suitable for Royal use.
+
+Castellated design was not restricted to the field of country-house
+building. At Conway, in Wales, the engineer Thomas Telford (1757-1834)
+in his suspension bridge of 1819-24 and, after him, Robert Stephenson
+and his associated architect Francis Thompson in the tubular bridge[113]
+there of 1845-9 castellated the piers out of deference to the nearby
+thirteenth-century Castle. Another example of Engineers’ Castellated is
+the first Temple Meads Railway Station at Bristol, built in 1839-40 by
+I. K. Brunel (1806-59). Brunel, however, had preferred Egyptian forms
+for the piers of the Clifton Suspension Bridge[114] near Bristol that he
+designed in 1829.
+
+Somewhat more appropriately, prisons were likely to be Castellated in
+the forties and fifties, thus echoing the design as well as the planning
+of Haviland’s Eastern Penitentiary in Philadelphia. The Reading Gaol of
+1842-4 by Sir George Gilbert Scott (1811-78) and his partner W. B.
+Moffatt (1812-87) and the Holloway Gaol in London of 1851-2 by J. B.
+Bunning (1802-63) are the most striking examples. Both are essentially
+Picturesque essays; but by the time the latter was built the accepted
+standards of fake-castle building had entirely changed. The
+reconstruction of Alton Castle in Staffordshire, about 1840, by A. W. N.
+Pugin (1812-52) was archaeological in intention; even more
+archaeological is Peckforton Castle in Shropshire, newly erected by
+Anthony Salvin (1799-1881) in 1846-50, and his extensive ‘restoration’
+of Alnwick Castle in Northumberland carried out in the next decade.
+Thanks to its magnificent hill-top site and its present state of
+disrepair, Peckforton is in fact notably Picturesque; but the fine,
+hard, structurally expressive detailing of the beautiful pink sandstone
+may almost be considered anti-Picturesque—contemporaries praised it for
+its ‘realism’.
+
+The welter of alternative Picturesque modes is most entertainingly
+epitomized in the model village of Edensor,[115] built by Joseph Paxton
+in 1839-42 at Chatsworth. He was probably assisted by John Robertson, a
+draughtsman for that encyclopaedist of the Picturesque, J. C.
+Loudon.[116] One particular mode, however, had begun to take the lead
+even before this ‘point of view’ came closest to dominance in the early
+decades of the new century. The use of Gothic[117] for new churches was
+common enough from the mid eighteenth century. Down to about 1820,
+however, this was usually done without much archaeological pretension.
+The mood of the protagonists of what was then called ‘Gothick’, whether
+architects or clients, was not very serious. Architects lacked accurate
+illustrations of old work such as the volumes of Stuart and Revett and
+other similar treatises were providing for the Grecian. In the first two
+decades of the new century the more thorough and general study of
+ancient Gothic monuments in England and the handsome publications of
+John Britton (1771-1857)[118] and of Nash’s Gothic specialist, the elder
+Pugin,[119] were gradually changing the situation. Thomas Rickman
+(1776-1841), a pharmacist turned medievalist, began to put his
+knowledge[120] of old churches to practical use; his St George’s,
+Birmingham, built 1819-21, is a not unsuccessful essay in revived
+Perpendicular. Several others had built or were building by this time
+churches whose relationship to monuments of the medieval past was about
+as close as that of most of the contemporary Grecian work to its ancient
+models. St Mary’s, Bathwick, in Bath, of 1814-20 is at once very early
+and exceptionally well-scaled. The local architect John Pinch
+(1770-1827) even vaulted it throughout in Bath stone.
+
+The ultimate purging away of the frivolity of Georgian Gothick detail
+and the effective substitution of archaeological for Picturesque ideals
+in over-all composition was by no means always a gain. In two later
+Birmingham churches, St Peter’s, Dale End, of 1825-7, and Bishop Ryder’s
+of 1837-8, Rickman did not improve on St George’s, while St Luke’s,
+Chelsea, built in London by James Savage (1779-1852) in 1819-25, despite
+its great size and its stone vaulting, is as cold and dry as the Grecian
+churches of the day and quite inferior to Pinch’s.
+
+Edward Garbett’s Holy Trinity, Theale, of 1820-5—with tower added after
+the architect’s death by John Buckler (1770-1851) in 1827-8—is rather
+more interesting and also premonitory of what was coming. Here the
+detail, imitated from Salisbury Cathedral, is thirteenth-century in
+character, not fifteenth-sixteenth-century, as in the churches of Pinch,
+Rickman, and Savage. Moreover, Theale is more boldly scaled and more
+plastically handled altogether than are theirs. The placing of the
+tower, far to the rear on the south side, while more Picturesque in its
+asymmetry than the standard position at the centre of the west front, is
+also an archaeological echo of the free-standing tower which still
+existed then beside Salisbury Cathedral.
+
+Most Gothic churches built in the twenties and thirties under the Act of
+1818—Commissioners’ Churches as they are called—were neither very
+satisfyingly Picturesque nor at all archaeological. The usual reason for
+preferring Gothic to Grecian, indeed, was to save money by avoiding the
+need for expensive stone porticoes! Barry’s Commissioners’ Churches
+around Manchester and in north-eastern London are among the better
+examples; but only his St Peter’s, Brighton, of 1824-6 (not financed by
+the parsimonious Commissioners) is at all elaborate. Among the most
+successful contemporary examples are several by one of Soane’s pupils,
+R. D. Chantrell, at Leeds. His Christ Church there of 1823-6 has
+considerable spatial grandeur in its tall nave and aisles, while the
+Perpendicular detailing is rich and even fairly plausible.
+
+Generally preferable to the ecclesiastical Gothic of this decade is the
+collegiate work; of this more exists both at Oxford and at Cambridge
+than is generally realized. At King’s College, Cambridge, Wilkins’s
+Gothic screen fronting the quadrangle and the hall range at right angles
+to it are not altogether unworthy of the magnificent Perpendicular
+chapel and Gibbs’s Fellows Building that form the other two sides.
+Wilkins won the competition for this work in 1823, and it was all
+completed by 1827. Still more appealing, because an effectively
+independent entity, is Rickman’s New Court at St John’s College, also at
+Cambridge,[121] built by him with the aid of his pupil Henry Hutchinson
+(1800-31) in 1825-31 (Plate 50B). This is not very plausibly Gothic
+perhaps, but the papery planes of the light-coloured ashlar walls of the
+U-shaped quadrangle, now richly hung with creeper, form an eligibly
+Picturesque composition above and behind the open gallery across the
+south side despite their total symmetry.
+
+By the thirties standards of Gothic design were generally rising, both
+in the greater degree of plausibility attained by the leading
+practitioners and in their more positive command of various borrowed
+idioms. Thus Barry’s King Edward’s Grammar School in Birmingham,
+designed in 1833 and built 1834-7, seems to have been a rather
+satisfactory Neo-Tudor design, notably Barryesque in the breadth of the
+composition and in the use of strong terminal features. This building
+was unusually literate in detail owing to the assistance of the younger
+Pugin, who was just about to make a tremendous personal reputation as a
+Gothic expert thanks to his books.[122]
+
+Pugin’s _Contrasts_, published 1836, marks a turning point even more
+than does the acceptance in that year of Barry’s Gothic design for the
+Houses of Parliament. Newly converted to Catholicism, Pugin believed the
+building of Gothic churches to be a religious necessity. His programme
+of Gothic Revival was far more stringent than any existing programme of
+Greek Revival or, _a fortiori_, of Renaissance Revival. If the Gothic
+were really to be revived, Pugin saw that its basic principles must be
+understood and accepted. Merely to copy Gothic forms was as futile, and
+to him as immoral, as merely to copy Grecian or _cinquecento_ ones. The
+methods of building of the Middle Ages must be revived; architecture
+must again derive its character, in what he considered to have been the
+true medieval way, from the direct expression of structure; and at the
+same time it must serve the complicated ritual-functional needs of
+revived medieval church practices.
+
+In some ways Pugin’s ideas are closely parallel to those of the most
+rationalistic Romantic Classical theorists in France; doubtless they
+could be traced back, through his father, to French eighteenth-century
+sources (see Introduction). However, Pugin’s primary motivation was
+devotional and sacramental. Approaching all matters of building with
+passion, he could not but reject the frivolous emphasis on visual
+qualities that had always been characteristic of the Picturesque point
+of view.
+
+The mature Gothic Revival that began with Pugin, essentially an English
+manifestation despite its presumptive French background and carried
+eventually wherever English culture extended—as far as the West Coast of
+the United States and to the remotest Antipodes—grew out of the
+Picturesque yet is itself basically anti-Picturesque. One must build in
+a certain way because it is right to do so, not because the results are
+agreeable to the eye. The Gothic Revival thus came to be, for about a
+decade, as absolute as the most doctrinaire sort of Grecian Classicism.
+When the Anglicans of the Established Church just after 1840 took over
+and began to apply rigidly the principles of the Catholic Pugin, a new
+church-architecture came into being. This is quite as characteristic of
+the nineteenth century as is Romantic Classicism, even though the mode
+was—nominally at least—entirely dependent on English medieval Gothic of
+the fourteenth century. Within a decade, however, Puginian Gothic, after
+being accepted and codified by the Cambridge Camden Society,[123]
+developed into a much more original mode, the High Victorian Gothic,
+very remote indeed from the models which Pugin had recommended as
+providing the only proper precedents for the Revival (see Chapter 10).
+
+Here it will be well to consider two exceptional Gothic monuments,
+designed in the late thirties and built in the forties, one very large,
+the other rather small, which did _not_ follow the new Puginian
+standards, even though in the case of one of them Pugin collaborated on
+the design from the first. The most Picturesque addition to the Romantic
+Classical scene in Edinburgh, curiously effective by contrast with the
+big-scaled and very cold Grecian structures near by, is the Sir Walter
+Scott Monument in Prince’s Street Gardens (Plate 51). This was designed
+in 1836 and executed in 1840-6 by G. Meikle Kemp[124] (1795-1844). His
+project had originally been placed below both Fowler’s and Rickman’s in
+a competition; as the local contender, however, he had eventually
+obtained the commission in 1838. The lacy elaboration of this florid
+shrine, if less appropriate to Sir Walter’s own brand of medievalism
+than Abbotsford, is certainly in the richest Late Georgian tradition of
+the Picturesque.
+
+Picturesque also are certain aspects of the Houses of Parliament,
+notably the contrast in shape and placing of the two towers at the ends
+and, above all, the silhouette of the Clock Tower, almost certainly one
+of Pugin’s personal contributions to the design (Plate 54). But
+essentially the Houses of Parliament, as might be expected of Barry,
+their architect, are one of the grandest academic productions of the
+nineteenth century. Summerson has suggested a relationship to Fonthill
+Abbey in the way the plan is organized round a central octagon; there
+may also be an echo of Wyatville’s east front of Windsor in the
+composition of the river front. But except for the incorporation of the
+medieval Westminster Hall, the Crypt Chapel, and the Cloister Court,
+which necessitated irregularity along the landward side, the plan is
+almost as regular and as classically logical in its balanced provision
+for multiple functions as a pupil[125] of Durand might have developed.
+Equally regular are the façades and, in the case of the principal front
+towards the river, elaborately symmetrical as well.
+
+The rich Late Gothic detail was provided in incredible profusion by
+Pugin, who worked under Barry against his own developing taste for
+earlier and less lacy Gothic forms. Doubtless, like the towers, this
+detailing reflects the Picturesque, but the extreme regularity of the
+façades provides also the characteristic reiterations of Romantic
+Classicism. Pugin is supposed to have said that the river front was ‘all
+Greek’, a considerable exaggeration. But just as Highclere shows what
+Barry’s basic principles of design could produce when expressed in the
+revived Jacobethan mode, so without too great a strain one can imagine
+this front executed with some sort of Renaissance detailing, if hardly
+in columnar Grecian guise.
+
+Commissioned in 1836, the Houses of Parliament rose slowly. The House of
+Lords was opened in 1847; the House of Commons only in 1852, the year of
+Pugin’s early death. Even at the time of Barry’s death in 1860 the whole
+group was still not finished, although his eldest son (Edward Middleton,
+1830-80) made but few personal contributions when he took over control
+and finally completed the job later in the decade. During this extended
+period of about thirty years the Puginian phase of the Gothic Revival
+had been initiated and run its entire course; even the succeeding High
+Victorian Gothic was more than half-way over by the mid sixties. Like
+the Napoleonic monuments of Paris, which were also a generation
+a-building, the Houses of Parliament belong historically to the period
+of their beginning. They are not quite pre-Victorian, since construction
+above ground began only in 1840 after considerable revision of the
+competition design, but they are definitely Early Victorian.
+
+Not all of Pugin’s own work is as remote in character from the Houses of
+Parliament as his mature principles would lead one to expect. His first
+church of any consequence, St Marie’s, Derby, of 1838-9, is
+Perpendicular in style and very crisp and flat in treatment.
+Nevertheless, both in its detailed ‘correctness’ and in Pugin’s real
+command of the national Late Gothic idiom, this church marks a great
+advance over the work of Rickman and the other Gothic architects of the
+older generation who were still in practice. Scarisbrick Hall in
+Lancashire, a remodelling, is confused by the retention of earlier
+elements and also by a considerable addition made by Pugin’s son (Edward
+Welby, 1834-75) in the sixties. But the portions carried out in 1837-52
+are quite consonant with Pugin’s work done in association with Barry.
+The great hall is a definitely archaeological feature of the plan yet
+also a feature that would be of great significance in the later
+development of the nineteenth-century house (see Chapter 15).
+
+If Scarisbrick is not exactly _anti_-Picturesque, comparison with such a
+great house as Harlaxton near Grantham, first designed by Salvin in the
+Jacobethan mode in 1831 and rising under Burn’s supervision from 1838
+on, reveals how little the Picturesque really influenced Pugin even at
+the beginning of his career. However, Neo-Tudor Lonsdale Square in
+London, begun by R. C. Carpenter (1812-55) in 1838, is still less
+Picturesque than Scarisbrick because of its extreme regularity. This
+example makes evident how far other young architects—and Carpenter was
+precisely Pugin’s contemporary—were behind him in understanding and
+exploiting even Late Gothic forms; yet within a very few years Carpenter
+became the most ‘correct’ of Anglican church architects by following
+Pugin’s lead.
+
+In 1839 and 1840 Pugin designed two modest churches that provided
+favourite paradigms for Anglo-American church-building for a generation
+and more. St Oswald’s, Old Swan, Liverpool, built in 1840-2, adopts the
+fourteenth-century English parish-church plan with central western tower
+broach-spired, aisles, deep chancel, and south porch, each element being
+quite clearly expressed in the external composition. Internally the
+effect is low and dark, since Pugin provided no clerestory, roofed the
+nave with much exposed timber, and filled the traceried windows with
+stained glass. More original is St Wilfred’s, Hulme, Manchester, built
+in 1839-42, in that the tower—never completed, alas—was set at the
+north-west corner. The detail of St Oswald’s is fairly elaborate,
+including a rather rich east window. St Wilfred’s is simpler, with
+lancet windows to avoid the expense of fourteenth-century tracery.
+
+A larger, more complete, and more expensively decorated example of the
+Old Swan model was St Giles’s, Cheadle, of 1841-6 (Plate 52A). This has
+a quite magnificent, if hardly very original, spired tower and interior
+walls all patterned in colour. Here Lord Shrewsbury, Pugin’s most
+important patron, provided sufficient funds to furnish the church as the
+architect intended. Pugin’s largest churches, unfortunately, never
+received the carved work, stained glass, and painted decoration that he
+planned for them. At St Barnabas’s, Nottingham, now the Catholic
+Cathedral there, of 1842-4 he achieved externally a rather fine piling
+up of related masses at the rear, the whole crowned by a central tower.
+For lack of any decoration, however, this is grim without and barren
+within, despite all the spatial interest of the very complex east end.
+
+Pugin, always his own severest critic, was most nearly satisfied with
+the church that he built for himself next door to his own house, the
+Grange, at Ramsgate.[126] The house dates from 1841-3, the church from
+1846-51. Externally of Kentish knapped flint and internally of Caen
+stone with a very heavy roof of dark oak, this edifice is worthy of his
+highest standards of revived medieval construction. But it is rather
+less original and interesting in external massing and internal spatial
+development than such a big bare church as St Barnabas’s. To the house
+we will be returning later (see Chapter 15).
+
+Pugin’s production is largely concentrated in the years 1837-44, between
+the two periods of his employment by Barry on the Houses of Parliament.
+By 1844 other architects, Anglican and not Roman Catholic, were
+accepting his principles and rivalling his success. G. G. Scott, for
+example, never a really great architect but a notable self-publicist,
+after modest beginnings designed the Martyrs’ Memorial at Oxford in 1841
+in the form of a fourteenth-century Eleanor Cross and followed up that
+prominent commission by building the large suburban London church of St
+Giles’s, Camberwell, in 1842-4. At that time he was still in partnership
+with Moffatt. Then, in 1844, he signalized the international standing of
+the English Gothic Revival by winning alone the competition for the
+Nikolaikirche in Hamburg, which he carried to completion over the years
+1845-63.
+
+Although the body of this church was all but completely destroyed by
+bombs, the tower and spire still dominate the Hamburg skyline (Plate
+52B). It is interesting to compare this grand scenic accent with the
+tower and spire of the Petrikirche, almost equally prominent, built in
+1843-9 by de Chateauneuf and Fersenfeld (Plate 57A). Although built,
+with a curious echo of London’s characteristic stock brick, of an
+unpleasantly yellowish brick, while the Petrikirche is of a handsome
+deep-red brick like de Chateauneuf’s Alte Post, the silhouette is so
+enriched with elaborate fourteenth-century stonework—part English, part
+German in derivation—that it almost rivals in richness of effect Kemp’s
+Walter Scott Monument in Edinburgh. Yet the scale is grand, the parts
+well related, and in every way it represents a more advanced, almost
+mid-century taste, in contrast to the simplicity and the geometrical
+clarity of de Chateauneuf’s square brick tower with its plain triangular
+gables and its very tall and svelte metal-clad spire.
+
+From 1845 down to 1855, when Henry Clutton (1819-93) and William Burges
+(1827-81) won the competition for Lille Cathedral in France and G. E.
+Street (1824-81) received the second prize, the pre-eminence of English
+architects at plausible revived Gothic was generally recognized abroad.
+Though few of the innumerable churches built by Scott and his rivals at
+home in the forties are in any way really memorable, by the middle of
+that decade the characteristics of English church edifices had been
+completely revised, largely thanks to the propaganda of the Cambridge
+Camden Society. There is no more typical nineteenth-century product than
+a Victorian Gothic church of this period built to the Camdenian canon;
+yet the real achievement of the most original architect who designed
+such churches, Butterfield, belongs to the next, or High Victorian,
+phase (see Chapter 10). The more Puginian Carpenter, the other favourite
+architect of the Society, who died in 1855, is hardly as interesting a
+designer—however ‘correct’ he may be—in such prominent works as St
+Paul’s in West Street, Brighton, of 1846-8 and St Mary Magdalen’s,
+Munster Square, in London of 1849-51, as in what he built for Lancing
+College in 1851-3. There the plain high-roofed ranges with their fine
+smooth walls of knapped flint and very flat and simple cut-stone
+dressings have a quality of precision quite lacking in most contemporary
+churches. Almost finer is St John’s College, Hurstpierpoint, although
+largely posthumous in execution.
+
+Scott, Carpenter, and Butterfield all supplied designs for churches in
+various parts of the British Empire; other English architects emigrated
+to the Dominions and to the United States, carrying with them the
+doctrine of the Gothic Revival, just as French architects half a century
+earlier had carried a rather different sort of doctrine all over the
+western world. As a symbol of Britain’s major world position, moreover,
+English churches now rose in many Continental cities, from German
+watering-places and French Riviera towns to remote capitals such as
+Athens and Istanbul. Remarkably alien in their foreign contexts, these
+express the vigour and the assurance, if rarely the real creative
+possibilities, of the Victorian Gothic.
+
+The Established Church in England was the great patron of the revived
+Gothic, although other denominations were not far behind. But the use of
+Gothic was by no means confined to churches, nor indeed to country
+houses as it had largely been in the late eighteenth century. No other
+Gothic public buildings rivalled the Houses of Parliament; but in 1843-5
+Philip Hardwick, designer of the most Grecian of railway stations, with
+his son (P. C., 1822-92) built the Hall and Library of Lincoln’s Inn in
+London of Tudor red brick with black brick diaperings and cream stone
+trim. This offered a foretaste of the external polychromy which would be
+the sign-manual of the next period of revived Gothic in England. An
+earlier, more severe, sort of Tudor, carried out in stone, served
+Moffatt, Scott’s former partner, for a mansion at No. 19 Park Lane. But
+this house was most exceptional; in the forties London architects and
+builders generally eschewed Gothic of any sort except for churches.
+Generically medieval, if not specifically Gothic, inspiration would
+eventually play a major part in forming the advanced commercial mode of
+the late fifties and sixties however (see Chapter 15).
+
+The success that Victorian Gothic, initiated by a Romanist and supported
+by the Catholicizing wing of the Church of England, had with
+non-Anglicans in England and throughout the English-speaking world is
+surprising. Ritualistic planning, almost the essence of the Revival to
+Pugin and his Camdenian followers, was naturally avoided; but the Gothic
+work of the best Nonconformist architects, such as the Independent
+Church of 1852 in Glasgow by J. T. Emmett, is by no means unworthy of
+comparison with Scott’s, if not the more puristic Carpenter’s. Samuel
+Hemming of Bristol even employed a few touches of Gothic detail on the
+prefabricated cast-iron churches that he exported all over the world
+from Bristol in the early fifties.
+
+The mature Gothic Revival, as has been said, is more anti-Picturesque
+than Picturesque, at least in the realm of theory; as a writer in _The
+Ecclesiologist_ expressed the matter succinctly, ‘The true picturesque
+derives from the sternest utility.’ Yet the revived Gothic could only be
+expected to appeal widely to architects and to a public who had long
+fully accepted the Picturesque point of view. All its irregularity and
+variety of silhouette, its plastically complex organization and its
+colouristic decoration, its textural exploitation of various traditional
+and even near-rustic materials is profoundly opposed to the clear and
+cool ideals of Romantic Classicism, but fully consonant with the
+Picturesque.
+
+The significance of the English Gothic Revival of the thirties and
+forties is manifold, and no two critics will agree how to assess it.
+Certainly the functional doctrines of the Revival and its renewed
+devotion to honest expression of real construction remain of great
+importance, even though much of this runs parallel to—if, indeed, it
+does not follow from—the more rationalistic aspects of Romantic
+Classical theory. In this way the Revival made a positive historical
+contribution, if not perhaps as new and original a one as has sometimes
+been maintained in recent years.
+
+Negatively, the English Gothic Revival was clearly of very great
+effectiveness as a solvent, not only of the rigidities and
+conventionalities of Romantic Classicism, but also of the older and
+deeper Classical traditions that had been revived by the Renaissance and
+maintained for several centuries. The lack of an equally effective
+solvent on the Continent helps to explain why the revolutionary
+developments of the next period, particularly in the domestic and in the
+commercial fields, were so largely Anglo-American.
+
+Even in the twentieth century it may be said that part of the profound
+difference between a Wright and a Perret lay in the fact that one had
+the tradition of the English Gothic Revival in his blood—largely through
+reading Ruskin—while the other had not (see Chapters 18 and 19). Still
+later, the California ‘Bay Region School’ of the 1930s and 1940s implies
+a Gothic Revival background, however little its leaders may be aware of
+the fact; the coeval ‘Carioca School’ of Brazil manifestly has no such
+background (see Chapter 25). It is therefore of more consequence to see
+how the ideals of the Picturesque, and concurrently the anti-Picturesque
+doctrines of the Gothic Revival, were accepted in the United States,
+than to give comparable attention to Europe, where neither the
+Picturesque nor the Gothic Revival were very productive of buildings of
+distinction. For that matter, most of the American buildings that fall
+under these rubrics are but feeble parodies of English originals. The
+Greek Revival architects of America were no unworthy rivals of the
+Europeans of their day; the exponents of the Picturesque and the
+followers of Pugin—sometimes the same men—produced little of lasting
+value. But when seen in relation to the later development of the
+American house, the contribution of the Picturesque period, lasting in
+America down to the Civil War and even beyond, is of real significance
+(see Chapter 15).
+
+There was not much eighteenth- or very early nineteenth-century Gothick
+of consequence in America. Latrobe’s Sedgeley of 1798, Strickland’s
+Masonic Hall in Philadelphia of 1809-11, and Bulfinch’s contemporary
+Federal Street Church in Boston were none of them of much intrinsic
+interest, and all are now destroyed. Other early manifestations of the
+Picturesque were even rarer, and it was not until the thirties that a
+concerted Gothic movement got under way. Haviland’s Eastern Penitentiary
+of 1821-9 was very modestly Castellated; Strickland’s St Stephen’s in
+Philadelphia, a rather gaunt two-towered red-brick structure of 1822-3,
+more or less Perpendicular, represents but a slight advance in
+plausibility over his Masonic Hall.
+
+The finest works of the next decade are a group of churches in and
+around Boston, all built of granite. Willard’s Bowdoin Street Church in
+Boston of 1830 and St Peter’s of 1833 and the First Unitarian or North
+Church of 1836-7, both in Salem, Mass., are the best extant examples
+(Plate 55A). The material discouraged detail, but provided, when used
+rock-faced, an almost antediluvian ruggedness. Tracery is generally of
+wood and much simplified; the most characteristic decorative features
+are very plain crenellations and occasional quatrefoil openings. Thus,
+on the whole, these monuments are closer to Romantic Classicism than to
+the Picturesque and have little in common with English work of their own
+day or even of the preceding period. However, the wooden Gothic of this
+period is in general of a rather lacy Late Georgian order.[127]
+
+The mid thirties saw some quite elaborate Gothic houses of stone, such
+as A. J. Davis’s Blythewood of 1834 at Annandale, N.Y., and Oaklands,
+built by Richard Upjohn (1802-78) the next year at Gardiner, Maine. Both
+architects were capable of designing at the very same time Greek
+edifices of considerably higher quality—Davis’s Indiana State Capitol of
+1831-5 at Indianapolis and Upjohn’s Samuel Farrer house of 1836 at
+Bangor, Maine, for example—but both were already leaders in the rising
+revolt against the Grecian.
+
+Upjohn’s Trinity Church in New York completed in 1846 is the American
+analogue of Pugin’s St Marie’s, Derby, and by no means inferior despite
+its plaster vaults (Plate 53A). With Trinity to his credit Upjohn,
+English-born but not English-trained, became the acknowledged leader of
+the American ecclesiologists. At Kingscote, Newport, R.I., which he
+built in 1841, Upjohn also rivalled Davis as a designer of Picturesque
+Gothic houses. But he was almost equally addicted to Italianate forms,
+even in the church-building field, for there his rigid ecclesiological
+principles made him unwilling to use Gothic except for Episcopalians.
+His non-Gothic work ranges from a vague sort of _Rundbogenstil_, as
+illustrated in his Congregational Church of the Pilgrims in Brooklyn of
+1844-6, once provided with a highly original spire of scalloped outline,
+and the more Germanic Bowdoin College Chapel in Brunswick, Maine, of
+1844-55, to Italian Villas, such as that built in Newport, R.I., for
+Edward King in 1845-7 (now the Free Library), and even to public
+buildings in the Italian Villa mode, such as his City Hall in Utica,
+N.Y., of 1852-3 (Plate 53B). His basilican St Paul’s in Baltimore,
+Maryland, of 1852-6—its style is rather surprising, since the parish was
+Episcopalian—is more successful than most of his later Gothic churches.
+His Corn Exchange Bank of 1854 in New York, round-arched if not exactly
+_Rundbogenstil_, was one of the most distinguished early approaches to
+the use of an arcaded mode for commercial building (see Chapter 14). Of
+very similar character and comparable quality was the H. E. Pierrepont
+house in Brooklyn completed in 1857.
+
+But Upjohn’s reputation, rightly or wrongly, is based on his Gothic
+churches. Externally these are usually quite close to contemporary
+Camdenian models; internally they are often distinguished by very
+original—and also very awkward—wooden arcades rising up to the open
+wooden roofs above. St Mary’s, Burlington, NJ., of 1846-54 is perhaps
+the most attractive and English-looking of his village churches, the
+modest cruciform plan culminating in a very simple but delicate spire
+over the crossing. Not least significant, moreover, are Upjohn’s still
+more modest wooden churches[128] of vertical board-and-batten
+construction, such as St Paul’s in Brunswick, Maine, of 1845. They
+illustrate, like his openwork wooden arcades, a real interest in
+expressing the stick character of American carpentry. This interest is
+intellectually similar to, but visually very different from, Pugin’s
+devotion to the direct expression of masonry construction. At building
+churches in stone British immigrants like Notman and Frank Wills
+(1827-?)[129] were not surprisingly Upjohn’s rivals in the quality of
+their craftsmanship.
+
+Running parallel with Upjohn’s career is that of Davis, but with the
+difference that he built few churches and, as Ithiel Town’s former
+partner, continued on occasion, even after the latter’s retirement in
+1835, to provide Grecian as well as Gothic designs. He was perhaps most
+successful, however, with Italian Villas such as the Munn house in
+Utica, N.Y., or the E. C. Litchfield house in Prospect Park, Brooklyn,
+N.Y., both of 1854. At Belmead, in Powhatan County, Virginia, built in
+1845, he introduced Manorial Gothic to the southern plantation, but this
+mode never rivalled the Grecian peripteral temple in popularity in the
+South. Walnut Wood, the Harral house in Bridgeport, Conn., of 1846, was
+more typical and long retained all its original furnishings. With the
+building of Ericstan, the John J. Herrick house in Tarrytown, N.Y., in
+1855 Davis brought the fake castle to the Hudson River valley—so
+frequently compared to that of the Rhine and favourite subject in these
+years of a new American school of landscape painters of the most
+Picturesque order. As a scenic embellishment Ericstan was not unlike the
+ruins that Thomas Cole introduced in his most Romantic and imaginary
+landscapes.
+
+Despite Davis’s ranging activity, extending westward into Kentucky and
+Michigan, elaborate Gothic houses, whether Castellated or manorially
+Tudor, were relatively rare in the America of the forties and fifties.
+But a type of gabled cottage with a front veranda and elaborate
+traceried barge-boards was rather popular. This is well represented by
+the extant Henry Delamater house in Rhinebeck, N.Y., and also by that of
+William J. Rotch of 1845 in New Bedford, Mass., both by Davis himself.
+The mode was energetically supported by Davis’s great friend, the
+landscape gardener and architectural critic A. J. Downing (1815-52).
+
+Downing was a characteristic proponent of the Picturesque point of view,
+leaning heavily on earlier English writers. The designs for Picturesque
+houses, some by Davis, some by Notman, one at least—the King Villa—by
+Upjohn, and others presumably by himself, illustrated in Downing’s two
+house-pattern books[130] were quite as likely to be towered Italian
+Villas as Tudor Cottages or more pretentiously Gothic designs. Most
+significant of all are those called Bracketted Cottages by Downing for
+which he recommended the board-and-batten[131] external finish that
+Upjohn later took up for modest wooden churches. But these, which are
+neither very Picturesque—at least with the capital P—nor yet at all
+Gothic, are better considered in relation to the general development of
+Anglo-American house-design in the nineteenth century (see Chapter 15).
+
+Rare in execution, as are indeed all the more exotic Picturesque modes,
+but also significant for its later influence, was the Swiss Chalet.
+Although chalets were illustrated in the English Villa books of P. F.
+Robinson (1776-1858)[132] and others from the twenties, the finest
+extant American example is fairly late, the Willoughby house in Newport,
+R.I., of 1854. As this is by Eidlitz, it may be presumed to derive from
+Swiss[133] or German sources rather than from Robinson’s or other
+English designs.
+
+Thus at Newport, already rising towards its later position as the
+premier American summer resort, there were by the time the Civil War
+broke out in the early sixties examples of the Tudor Cottage (Upjohn’s
+Kingscote), the towered Italian Villa (his Edward King House)—as for
+that matter also the more Barryesque symmetrical villa without tower,
+the Parish House of 1851-2 by the English-trained Calvert Vaux
+(1824-95)[134]—and the Swiss Chalet, not to speak of other more formal
+houses which here in Newport began to show very early the influence of
+the French Second Empire. There were also several big hotels of this
+period, now all destroyed. Two Grecian examples have been mentioned
+earlier; but the second Ocean House, built by Warren in 1845, was
+Gothic, a gargantuan version of a Davis-Downing Tudor Cottage. On this
+the Tudoresque veranda piers were carried to a fantastic height in naïve
+competition with the columned porticoes of the previous Ocean House and
+the Atlantic House.
+
+If there were in America no castles of the scale and plausibility of
+Salvin’s Peckforton, no pavilions of the pseudo-oriental magnificence of
+Nash’s at Brighton, the will to build them was none the less present.
+Ericstan has already been mentioned; while at Bridgeport, Conn., P. T.
+Barnum erected Iranistan in 1847-8 in conscious emulation of the
+Regent’s pleasure dome at Brighton from designs he had obtained in
+England. This was carried out by Eidlitz. Longwood, near Natchez,
+Mississippi, by Samuel Sloan (1815-84), begun in 1860, is even more
+ambitiously oriental, but was left unfinished when the Civil War broke
+out the next year.[135] Rather curiously the Smithsonian Institution in
+Washington, set down like an enormous garden fabrick in L’Enfant’s Mall
+near the Mills obelisk, was at the insistence of its director, Robert
+Dale Owen,[136] designed as a Norman castle by James Renwick (1818-95).
+Built in 1848-9 of brownstone, this is a very monumental manifestation
+of the Picturesque and one of the more surprising features of a capital
+otherwise mostly Classical in its architecture. On the whole the
+happiest American achievements in the Picturesque vein were the towered
+Italian Villas, from Notman’s Doane house of the mid thirties down
+through Upjohn’s City Hall in Utica of the early fifties and Davis’s
+still later houses in the East and the Middle West (see Chapter 5).
+
+The Gothic Revival in America, deriving after 1840 from Pugin and the
+Camdenians, was a much more alien movement than the Greek Revival. In
+the British Dominions and Colonies, even though the characteristic
+production of this period is in many ways more similar to that of the
+United States than to that of the homeland, the Neo-Gothic achievement
+appears somewhat less exotic. However, St John’s in Hobart, Tasmania, by
+John Lee Archer, which was completed in 1835 in the most rudimentary
+sort of Commissioners’ Gothic, is far inferior to the granite churches
+of its period in the Boston area. From that to Holy Trinity in Hobart,
+completed by James Blackburn in 1847, the advance in mere competence is
+very evident. Yet, as in the case of Upjohn in America, the Norman
+church that Blackburn built for the Presbyterians of Glenorchy and even
+more his Congregational Church at Newtown, an asymmetrically towered
+Italian Villa edifice, may well be preferred to his Gothic work.
+
+Greenway’s Government House Stables of 1817-19 in Sydney, Australia,
+were already Castellated, but in a modest eighteenth-century way. M. W.
+Lewis’s Camden church of 1840-9 was based on plans sent out by Blore and
+simply executed in red brick. In W. W. Wardell (1823-99), who emigrated
+as late as 1858, Australia finally obtained an experienced Neo-Gothic
+architect of real ability. He had already made his mark in England a
+decade before his departure with Our Lady of Victories, Clapham, in
+London; but even that very decent early church of his required no
+specific mention in the English section of this chapter. His Australian
+work is too late to be considered here (see Chapter 11).
+
+Across the Atlantic, communications were doubtless quicker than with the
+Antipodes, and the cultural climate of Canada was undoubtedly more
+similar to that of the homeland. The first important Neo-Gothic work in
+Canada, however, was built for the French and not the British community.
+Notre Dame, the Catholic Cathedral of Montreal, was originally designed
+and erected by an Irish architect, James O’Donnell (1774-1830), in
+1824-9 somewhat to the disgust of most French Canadians, who considered
+O’Donnell’s Gothic to be Anglican when in fact it was merely Georgian.
+Equipped later with western towers and redecorated internally with
+operatic sumptuousness in the seventies, it is not easy to realize just
+what Notre Dame was like when O’Donnell completed it. It was bigger,
+certainly, but not more advanced than the New England churches of a few
+years later.
+
+In 1845 Wills arrived in Canada from England and began the Anglican
+Cathedral at Fredericton, New Brunswick, as a moderate-sized cruciform
+parish-church with central tower, the whole of rather run-of-the-mill
+Camdenian character despite its pretensions. Very similar, but
+considerably larger and richer, is the Montreal cathedral which he began
+a decade later in 1856. His American churches, though smaller and less
+elaborate, have somewhat more character. Canadians must have sensed
+Wills’s inadequacy almost at once, for both Butterfield and G. G. Scott
+were asked to send out church designs in the forties. The former
+provided in 1848 a scheme for a more elaborate east end for Wills’s
+Fredericton Cathedral, which had been started only three years before.
+Scott’s Cathedral in St John’s, Newfoundland, initiated in 1846,
+deserves a relatively important place in the roster of his churches as
+Butterfield’s New Brunswick work does not. But this large edifice was
+completed only some forty years later by his son (G. G. II, 1839-97).
+Even the stone used here was imported from Scotland.
+
+As in the United States, there is plenty of more-or-less Gothic domestic
+work in Canada, most of it relatively late. An early and rather
+pretentious secular edifice was the so-called Old Building of Trinity
+College, Toronto, erected in 1851 by Kivas Tully (1820-1905). This was a
+by no means incompetent example of Collegiate Gothic, but more like
+Wilkins’s or Rickman’s work of the twenties at Cambridge than the
+advanced Camdenian edifices of its own period. Canadian Neo-Gothic rose
+to a certain autochthonous distinction only in the next period (see
+Chapter 10).
+
+If early illustrations of the Picturesque point of view and of the
+mature Gothic Revival are on the whole of minor interest in the
+English-speaking world outside Great Britain, that whole world from
+California to Tasmania was absorbing the propaganda of the English
+exponents of the Picturesque and the Gothic Revival. This had its effect
+in the succeeding period when the High Victorian Gothic of England was
+exploited to more considerable purpose than the Neo-Gothic of the Early
+Victorian period. By the time a great English critic came to the support
+of the Gothic Revival, John Ruskin (1819-1900), he had almost from the
+original publication of his _Seven Lamps of Architecture_ in 1849 more
+readers beyond the seas than at home.[137]
+
+Neither the Picturesque nor the Gothic Revival has the same importance
+on the Continent of Europe as in English-speaking countries. The
+Picturesque point of view was carried abroad by the great British
+artistic invention of the eighteenth century, the English garden—_jardin
+anglais_, _englischer Garten_, _giardino inglese_, _jardin inglès_,
+etc., to muster the various well-established and revelatory foreign
+terms for the more or less naturalistic mode that succeeded the
+architecturally ordered French gardens of the Le Nôtre type. By 1800 the
+Picturesque was as familiar in theory as were the international tenets
+of Romantic Classicism. But for all the garden fabricks that were built
+in Europe in the English taste, the point of view tended to remain
+alien. Moreover, from the continuance of Orléans Cathedral[138] in
+Gothic, ordered as early as 1707 by Louis XIV though not finally
+finished until 1829, to Schinkel’s painted Gothic visions of the opening
+of the nineteenth century, there is no lack of evidence of Continental
+interest in Gothic forms. In France there was also a very considerable
+theoretical interest in Gothic methods of construction that can hardly
+be matched in eighteenth-century England (see Introduction). But there
+followed in the early decades of the nineteenth century no such
+effective crystallization of an earlier dilettante interest in the
+Gothic as in England, no popular fad for building fake castles, no flood
+of cheap Commissioners’ Churches.
+
+Yet, in France as in England, a new and more serious phase of the Gothic
+Revival did open in the late thirties, stimulated by the ideals of
+Catholic Revival of a series of writers from Chateaubriand to
+Montalembert. No great Gothic public monument like the Houses of
+Parliament in London was initiated in these years in Paris—nor for that
+matter at any later date—but several churches designed around 1840 were
+at least intended to be as exemplary as Pugin’s; they were also
+considerably more ambitious in their size and their elaboration than
+most of those his Catholic clients and the Camdenians’ Anglican ones
+were sponsoring in England at this point.
+
+A curious example of the change in taste is the Chapelle-Saint-Louis at
+Dreux.[139] The original chapel was built in 1816-22 by an architect
+named Cramail (or Cramailler) as a Classical rotunda to serve as the
+mausoleum of the Orléans family. In 1839 Louis Philippe ordered its
+remodelling and enlargement in Gothic style by P.-B. Lefranc
+(1795-1856), desiring thus to associate the Orleanist dynasty with the
+medieval glories of French royalty in a manner already fashionable[140]
+with intellectuals to the left and to the right, if not with many
+architects. The new exterior, completed in 1848 just as the Orléans rule
+came to an end, is in a very lacy and unplausible sort of Gothick, not
+without a certain still rather eighteenth-century Rococo charm but quite
+inharmonious with the Classical interior. Like another Royal mausoleum
+of these years, the Chapelle-Saint-Ferdinand in the Avenue Pershing in
+Neuilly, built in 1843 in memory of an Orléans prince who had been
+killed in an accident near its site, the Chapelle-Saint-Louis has
+stained glass windows designed in 1844 by no less an artist than Ingres.
+These are even less appropriate in association with Lefranc’s Gothic
+than with the Romanesquoid mode that the elderly Fontaine—who knew, like
+Talleyrand, how to maintain his position under several successive
+regimes—used for the Neuilly chapel. They are hardly superior in
+quality, moreover, to the glass, whether imported from Germany or
+produced locally, that was being used in the early forties in England
+for Neo-Gothic churches.
+
+A more important Gothic project of this date than the
+Chapelle-Saint-Louis was that for the large new Paris church of
+Sainte-Clotilde prepared in 1840 by F.-C. Gau (1790-1853), German-born
+but a pupil of Lebas. Doubts as to the extensive use of iron proposed by
+Gau held up the initiation of the construction of Sainte-Clotilde until
+1846, so that several provincial Neo-Gothic edifices of some consequence
+were executed first. These may be compared, but only to their
+disadvantage, with Pugin’s churches of around 1840 as regards their
+plausibility, their intrinsic architectonic qualities, and the elegance
+of their detail. However, several of them are larger and more
+ambitious—being Catholic churches in a Catholic country—than are even
+his various cathedrals.
+
+In any case the character of real Gothic architecture in France, as in
+most other European countries, made unlikely a programme of revival
+based chiefly on parish churches in the way of Pugin’s. The Continental
+Middle Ages had most notably produced cathedrals, and it was for new
+churches of near-cathedral scale that the re-use of Gothic was likely to
+be proposed. Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, built by J.-E. Barthélémy
+(1799-1868) in 1840-7 on the heights of Ste Cathérine above Rouen, opens
+the serious phase of the Revival in France. It has a superb site and is
+best appreciated from a considerable distance, but the silhouette is not
+happy and the execution is rather hard and cold. Saint-Nicholas at
+Nantes was begun in 1839 just before the Rouen church by L.-A. Piel
+(1808-41), a confused Romantic character who died a monk, and taken over
+in 1843 by J.-B.-A. Lassus (1807-57), a pupil of Lebas and Henri
+Labrouste. It is very hard to accept this church as even in part the
+production of Lassus, the erudite archaeologist who brought out in 1842
+the first volume of a major monograph on Chartres Cathedral and who
+undertook in 1845, together with the better-known E.-E. Viollet-le-Duc
+(1814-79), the restoration of Notre-Dame in Paris after sharing with
+Duban the responsibility for restoring the Sainte-Chapelle. Rather more
+plausible—at least in the sense that it merges fairly successfully with
+the original fourteenth-century nave to which it is attached—is the
+façade of Saint-Ouen at Rouen built in 1845-51 by H.-C.-M. Grégoire
+(1791-1854), a pupil of Percier.
+
+Sainte-Clotilde was finally begun in 1846, as has been noted, and
+completed after Gau’s death by Ballu in 1857 (Plate 55B). This ambitious
+urban church of cathedral scale lacks almost as completely as those just
+mentioned the personal qualities of design and the integrity of revived
+medieval craftsmanship that give character, if not always distinction,
+to the churches of Pugin, Carpenter, and other leading English Gothic
+Revivalists of the forties. Nor does it have the grandeur of proportion
+of Scott’s Nikolaikirche in Hamburg, to which it is more comparable in
+size and pretension (Plate 52B). The style is Rayonnant, or French
+fourteenth-century, and the material good freestone, but deadly
+mechanical and quite characterless in the detailing. The parts seem
+somehow too large for the whole. Ballu’s west towers, for example, are
+excessively tall for so stubby a plan, and the chapel-surrounded chevet
+is too elaborate for even an urban parish church.
+
+Two later churches by Lassus, Saint-Nicholas at Moulins, built in
+collaboration with L.-D.-G. Esmonnot (1807-80) in 1849, and Saint-Pierre
+at Dijon of 1853 hardly rival Sainte-Clotilde in size, elaboration, or
+even plausibility. Viollet-le-Duc was rather more of an executant
+architect than Lassus, even though in this decade and the next most of
+his vast energy and very considerable archaeological knowledge went into
+the restoration of medieval monuments. At Notre-Dame in Paris the
+Chapter House that he designed is a wholly new construction of 1847 not
+unworthy of comparison with the best work of Scott in these years. The
+block of flats (Plate 56) he built at 28 Rue de Berlin (now de Liège) in
+Paris in 1846-8—his first executed building—may better be compared with
+the most advanced English secular Gothic of its date, Salvin’s
+Peckforton, say, or Butterfield’s St Augustine’s College, Canterbury.
+The front is so simple and straightforward in composition that it fits
+between more conventional façades with no awkwardness, and the rather
+plain detailing has the ‘realism’ that was coming to be admired by this
+date in the most advanced English circles.
+
+The Romanesquoid design of Fontaine’s Chapelle-Saint-Ferdinand of 1843
+has been mentioned. The use of such forms was in the forties even more
+exceptional in France than in England. In 1852 Didron estimated—probably
+with some exaggeration—that over two hundred Neo-Gothic churches had
+been built or were building in France, a record which compares
+statistically, if in no other way, with English church production in
+this period. None of them, however, is as impressive to later eyes as
+Saint-Paul at Nîmes, which follows with notable success the alternative
+Romanesquoid mode of Fontaine’s chapel. C.-A. Questel (1807-88), a pupil
+of Blouet and Duban, the architect of this church, had evidently studied
+the Romanesque with the care and enthusiasm usually lavished on the
+Gothic by his generation, and the result is so great an advance over
+Fontaine’s work that the resemblance is merely nominal. Thus might the
+Camdenians have hoped to build had they considered the twelfth-century
+Romanesque of France as worthy of conscientious emulation as the
+fourteenth-century Gothic of England. Saint-Paul is a large cruciform
+edifice, rib-vaulted throughout in a proto-Gothic way, and crowned with
+a great central lantern. The detail is plausible in its design, neither
+too skimpy nor too elaborate, although the execution lacks any real
+feeling for medieval craftsmanship in stone. Questel’s church, however,
+is as much of an exception as Fontaine’s chapel. No Romanesque Revival
+got under way in the forties in France in the way that one did to a
+certain extent in Germany, and the few other Romanesquoid churches of
+high quality belong to the next period (see Chapter 8).
+
+Minor evidence of French interest—and rising interest—in the Picturesque
+is not hard to find in these decades, but that is all there is. No
+Picturesque modes comparable to those of the Anglo-Saxon world became
+widely popular. In the first decade of the century the brothers Caccault
+built at Clisson[141] in the Vendée a whole village based on their
+memories of the Roman Campagna, a more considerable essay in the Italian
+Villa vein than anything carried out in England. But the asymmetrically
+towered Italian Villa[142] did not mature in France in the way that it
+did in England, Germany, and the United States. Séheult’s _Recueil_ of
+1821, of which a second edition appeared in 1847, is one of the earliest
+and richest repositories of inspiration drawn from rustic Italian
+building; but the edifices Séheult illustrated, however Picturesque in
+other ways, are all symmetrical and quite in the Durand tradition. J.-J.
+Lequeu (1758-_c._ 1824)[143] had produced bolder projects a generation
+earlier. These are often asymmetrical, generally quite wildly eclectic,
+and very vigorously plastic; but such things rarely, if ever, came to
+execution in France except as garden fabricks. Lequeu had no success at
+all in his later years.
+
+Moreover, the Rustic Cottage mode seems to have struck no real roots in
+France, even though the painter Hubert Robert and the architect Richard
+Mique (1728-94), in designing the fabricks of Marie Antoinette’s Hameau
+at the Petit Trianon in 1783-6, had followed native rather than English
+rural models. Under the Restoration and the July Monarchy inspiration
+came generally from English Cottage books. Visconti’s Château de Lussy,
+S.-et-M., of 1844, though a fairly large structure, is really in the
+English Cottage mode with an asymmetrically organized plan and an
+irregularly composed exterior. This is almost unique and, in any case,
+quite undistinguished. A more vigorous flow of rustic influence entered
+France via Alsace and directly from Switzerland. The Chalet aux Loges of
+1837 by Bonneau near Versailles was, as its name implies, a Swiss
+Chalet, but it quite lacked the integrity of structural expression and
+the originality of plastic organization of Eidlitz’s Willoughby house in
+Newport, R.I., which is, of course, considerably later in date.
+Occasional imitations of the _style François I_, such as the already
+mentioned country house by Canissié at Draveil, S.-et-O., have some
+irregularity both of outline and of plan; but in general the _François
+I_ of the July Monarchy, like so much of the Jacobethan of Early
+Victorian England, is Picturesque only in detail, not in general
+conception.
+
+In 1840 the elder Bridant, who also built Chalets in the succeeding
+years around the lake at Enghien, a watering-place on the outskirts of
+Paris, built a Gothic ‘Castel’ on the plain of Passy, then a fairly open
+suburb. This was markedly asymmetrical and consistently medieval in
+detail. The contemporary fame of this enlarged garden fabrick—for such
+it really was—indicates its unique position in contemporary production,
+as unique as Moffatt’s Gothic house in Park Lane in London. L.-M. Boltz,
+an architect of Alsatian if not German origin but a pupil of Henri
+Labrouste, had some success with a less feudal mode, half-timbered and
+asymmetrical, in the forties—a house of 1842 at Champeaux, S.-et-M., was
+typical.
+
+This modest influx into France of Picturesque models from contemporary
+Germany as well as from contemporary England might lead one to assume
+that the Picturesque, if not the Gothic Revival, was more significant in
+Central Europe. In Germany and Austria, however, as also in Scandinavia,
+Picturesque and medievalizing tendencies mostly merged with Romantic
+Classicism in the _Rundbogenstil_ rather than standing apart, thus
+constituting neither an opposition eventually rising to triumph in the
+English way, nor a mere gesture of aberrant protest as in France.
+
+Schinkel’s interest in Gothic has already been touched on, but none of
+his more ambitious Gothic projects ever got beyond the drawing-board
+(see Chapter 2). There are fewer such, in any case, belonging to his
+later than to his earlier years. Moreover, the Gothic of the early
+projects naturally belongs to the contemporary High Romantic world of
+Wyatt’s Fonthill Abbey and Latrobe’s alternative design for the
+Baltimore Cathedral, not to the ethical and archaeological milieu of
+Pugin and the Camdenians. Most of the virtues—by no means negligible—of
+his Berlin Werder Church of the twenties are not Gothic virtues—not at
+any rate as Englishmen of the succeeding decades understood them—they
+are rather Romantic Classical virtues. The principal interest of his
+earlier Kreuzberg Memorial lies in its cast-iron material, a material
+anathema to Pugin as a ‘modernistic’ innovation. The Babelsberg Schloss,
+based principally on the modern castles that he saw on his visit to
+England in 1826, makes no pretensions to archaeological correctness in
+the way of Pugin’s Alton Castle of about 1840 or Salvin’s still later
+Peckforton.
+
+A few Castellated mansions of more local inspiration, such as
+Hohenschwangau in Upper Bavaria, as reconstructed by J. D. Ohlmüller
+(1791-1839) in 1832-7, are closer in spirit to Pugin’s and Salvin’s
+ideals. Hohenschwangau, like certain castles built in this period on the
+Rhine, exploits the Picturesque possibilities of a fine site and the
+nostalgic overtones of a district with a romantic medieval past. Schloss
+Berg in Bavaria, which owes its present very domesticated Gothic
+character to the work done there by Eduard Riedel (1813-85) in 1849-51,
+hardly deserves mention in this connexion any more than do Schinkel’s
+more or less medievalizing country houses, so crisp and regular is their
+design. Curiously enough, the vast Schloss at Schwerin, begun by G. A.
+Demmler (1804-86) in 1844, is a more elaborate and extensive example of
+_François I_ than anything this period produced in France (Plate 57B).
+It is also notably Picturesque, with innumerable towers and gables
+disposed around the sides of an irregularly polygonal court. Stüler
+carried this extraordinary pile to completion after Demmler left
+Schwerin in 1851. Not very Picturesque, but representing another sort of
+medievalism, were two Venetian Gothic houses Am Elbberg in Dresden,
+built with considerable archaeological plausibility by an architect
+named Ehrhardt in the mid forties. They provide a curious premonition of
+Ruskin and the High Victorian Gothic of England (see Chapter 10).
+Semper’s Gothic Cholera Fountain of 1843 in Dresden has already been
+mentioned.
+
+As in France, much energy went at this time into the restoration and
+completion of major medieval churches in Germany. Most notable in this
+connexion was the work on Cologne Cathedral begun in 1824 by F. A.
+Ahlert (1788-1833), continued by E. F. Zwirner (1802-61), and finally
+completed by Richard Voigtel (1829-1902) in 1880. Assisting Zwirner, who
+had worked earlier under Schinkel on the Kolberg Town Hall, was (among
+others) Friedrich von Schmidt (1825-91), after 1860 the most important
+Gothic Revivalist in Austria (see Chapters 8 and 11). No more than in
+France did this activity in ‘productive archaeology’ in Germany lead to
+new building of much interest, not at least until Schmidt began to work
+in Vienna.
+
+Ohlmüller’s Mariahilfkirche outside Munich, begun in 1831 and completed
+after his death by Ziebland, the next considerable essay in
+ecclesiastical Gothic in Germany after Schinkel’s Berlin church, is
+certainly much less appealing than is his mountain castle. The
+hall-church form, authentically German though it was, produced a
+clumsily proportioned mass, at the front of which a stubby tower ending
+in an openwork spire seems to be ‘riding the roof’. This church is as
+‘advanced’, in the sense of being fairly plausible archaeologically, as
+Barthélémy’s Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours built a decade later, but that is
+about all one can say for it. It certainly does not stand up to
+comparison with Rickman’s or Savage’s English churches of the twenties.
+
+De Chateauneuf’s Petrikirche in Hamburg begun in 1843, or at least its
+tower, has already been mentioned (Plate 57A). This is superior in
+design, and in some ways also better built, to most of Pugin’s churches
+of this date. It is, for example, rib-vaulted throughout in a quite
+plain but very competent way. The interior lacks, however, the
+strikingly simple proportions and the warm colour of the red brick
+exterior; above all, the complex spatial development of the transeptal
+members lacks clarity, although the plan was probably taken over from
+the medieval Petrikirche that had been burned. The Gothic churches of K.
+A. von Heideloff (1788-1865), beginning with his Catholic church in
+Leipzig built in the Weststrasse there in 1845-7, are hardly above the
+level of Ohlmüller’s and certainly much less successful than the
+Petrikirche, though Heideloff had a much higher reputation than de
+Chateauneuf with contemporaries as a specialist at Gothic on account of
+his published studies of medieval architecture.[144]
+
+In Berlin most of the new churches of this period by Stüler, Strack, and
+others were in a Romanesquoid version of the _Rundbogenstil_. Of these
+elaborated and coarsened versions of Schinkel’s suburban-church projects
+of a decade earlier, Stüler’s Jacobikirche of 1844-5 was basilican in
+plan; his Markuskirche, begun in 1848, was of the central type but with
+a tall campanile rising at one side. The Berlin Petrikirche, built by
+Strack in 1846-50, was Gothic, however, and even clumsier than
+Ohlmüller’s much earlier Mariahilfkirche, which it very closely
+resembles. Nor was Stüler’s one important essay in Gothic, the
+Bartholomäuskirche, begun in 1854 and completed by Friedrich Adler
+(1827-?) in 1858, much better. In general, the first half of the century
+was well over before Gothic churches of any great size and pretension
+were built either in Germany or Austria. The largest and most prominent,
+the Votivkirche in Vienna (Plate 99A), for the designing of which
+Heinrich von Ferstel (1828-83) won the competition in 1853 when he was
+only twenty-five, was not begun until 1856 nor completed until 1879 (see
+Chapter 8).
+
+In England the Picturesque and the Gothic Revival were effective
+solvents of Romantic Classicism, because both, and particularly the
+latter, were consciously nationalistic, emphasizing in an increasingly
+nationalistic period the recovery of local rather than of universal
+building traditions. For a good part of their local acceptability they
+were dependent, moreover, on certain warm connotations which their
+visual forms had for English patrons. The Rustic Cottage, the Tudor
+Parsonage, the Castellated Mansion had all, supposedly, been
+autochthonous products of the insular past. On the other hand, even
+though the English of the eighteenth century had adopted as their own
+such foreign painters as Claude and Poussin, from whose canvases the
+Italian Villa mode principally derived both its forms and its prestige,
+that mode was certainly not English in its ultimate prototypes. It is
+readily understandable, therefore, that it was the Italian Villa, of all
+the established vehicles of the Picturesque, which had the greatest
+success in a Germany romantically mad about Italy. But such superb
+compositions as the Court Gardener’s House by Schinkel (Plate 14A) or
+Persius’s Friedenskirche at Potsdam (Plate 15), perhaps the highest
+international achievements in the Picturesque genre, owed only their
+basic concept, if even that, to England. Their elements were for the
+most part borrowed directly from Italian sources, and they were
+carefully composed according to a formal discipline not inconsonant with
+the standards of Romantic Classicism.
+
+The Swiss Chalet, an even more alien mode in England than the Italian
+Villa, was a native one in Central Europe. Hence one finds Schinkel
+first, and then his pupils, exploiting it with considerable virtuosity
+as the _Tirolerhäuschen_. Indeed, the particular form of wooden fretwork
+which came to be called ‘gingerbread’ in English, one of the favourite
+forms of later Picturesque detail everywhere in the western world from
+Russia to America, is more likely to be derived from Alpine chalets via
+nineteenth-century German than via nineteenth-century English
+intermediaries.
+
+Romantic Classicism, being founded on the basic Western European
+heritage of Greece and Rome, could readily broaden its sources to
+include the Early Christian and the Italian Renaissance. But to men of
+the early nineteenth century the Gothic was not a universal European
+style as we are likely to consider it today; it was ‘Early English’ or
+‘Altteutsch’ or (with far more justification) ‘l’architecture
+française’. The bigotry of the English Gothic Revival was so intense in
+the forties that Scott was denounced in _The Ecclesiologist_ for even
+entering a competition for a church in Germany since, if successful, his
+clients would be Lutherans not Anglicans. Such insular narrowness made
+the Catholic Pugin’s Gothic paradoxically intransmissible to Catholic
+countries abroad, quite as intransmissible in effect as the Jacobethan.
+Scott won his Hamburg competition by modulating, to the horror of
+puristic compatriots, his usual fourteenth-century English Decorated
+towards its German equivalent, on the whole a grander style as he
+exploited it there.
+
+Continental nationalism, like Continental Neo-Catholicism outside
+France,[145] favoured earlier—or later—modes than the Gothic, down at
+least to the mid century. The _Rundbogenstil_, moreover, despite the
+fact that the precedent for its detail was quite as often Italian as
+local, received warm support from nationalists in Germany; when
+exported, moreover, as to the Scandinavian countries and the United
+States, it was properly recognized as a German product (see Chapters 2
+and 5). In Latin countries, and particularly in Italy, Gothic continued
+to seem alien; hence there are few examples of revived medieval design
+of any sort there or in Spain and Portugal before 1850. Jappelli’s
+highly exceptional work at Padua, mentioned earlier, is rich and
+delicate but not in the least plausible to Northern eyes in the way of
+Ehrhardt’s somewhat similar Italian Gothic houses in Dresden.
+
+A European consensus of taste had been achieved by the late seventeenth
+century, despite the division of Europe into Catholic and Protestant
+countries, and this consensus was maintained, and even grew in strength,
+for another hundred years and more. When it finally broke down in the
+second quarter of the nineteenth century, it necessarily broke down in
+different ways and to a different degree in each country. No new
+cultural synthesis was achieved, at least as regards architecture,
+before our own day. The resultant stylistic patchwork that the second
+half of the nineteenth century inherited was largely the product of the
+increasing nationalism of the two decades that preceded the mid century.
+This particularistic nationalism, rather than the concurrent increase in
+mere eclecticism of taste—for such eclecticism had existed to a greater
+or lesser degree since the mid eighteenth century—explains the major
+difference in the architectural climate around 1850 from that around
+1800; at least it is some part of the explanation. To be Roman in
+architecture, to be Greek, even to be Italian, one need not cease to be
+English or French or German. But to be Tudor one must be English, as to
+be _François I_ one must be French, or so it seemed to most architects
+and their clients in the forties.
+
+From this pattern of growing nationalistic divergence, this Late
+Romantic disintegration of the cultural unity that had remained strong
+and vital through the first few decades of the century, it is important
+now to turn to an aspect of architecture that derived from a different
+international absolute, that of science and technology. The English led
+in most technological developments affecting building methods from the
+mid eighteenth century on, both in the introduction of new materials and
+in the exploitation of new types of construction to serve new needs. But
+they led only because the Industrial Revolution, at once the result of
+certain major technological changes and the cause of innumerable others,
+had its origins and its early flowering in England. Before the first
+half of the nineteenth century was over, other countries to which the
+Industrial Revolution came relatively late were rapidly catching up.
+After the fifties technological leadership in building passed from
+Britain to the United States and to the Continent. Some consideration of
+the increased use of iron and glass between 1790 and 1855 may well
+conclude the first part of this book.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 7
+ BUILDING WITH IRON AND GLASS: 1790-1855
+
+
+ARCHITECTURAL history has many aspects. Ideas and theories, points of
+view and programmes can have real importance even when, as with the
+Picturesque and the earlier stages of the Gothic Revival, most of the
+buildings which derive from them or follow their prescriptions are
+lacking in individual distinction. Volume of production is also
+significant; the disproportion between the previous chapter and the four
+that precede it expresses fairly accurately the difference in the amount
+of building in the first half of the century belonging, at least by a
+broad definition, to the rubric of Romantic Classicism and the very much
+smaller amount—up to 1840 at least and outside England—that can be
+considered essentially Picturesque or programmatically Neo-Gothic. But
+the history of architecture must include the history of building as a
+craft or technic; sometimes the story of technical development is—or has
+appeared to posterity to be—more important than any other aspect of a
+particular historical development. Such has been the case until quite
+lately with the rise of the Gothic in the twelfth century in France; it
+has also seemed true in varying degree for the nineteenth century to
+many historians and critics.
+
+The Industrial Revolution induced a parallel but gradual revolution in
+building methods; even today, after two hundred years, the
+potentialities of that revolution have not been fully actualized. The
+technical story, particularly as it concerns the structural use of
+ferrous metals, first cast iron,[146] next wrought iron, and then steel,
+begins well before 1800. There has already been occasion to mention, in
+passing, technical innovations in various edifices where those
+innovations had a determinant effect on the total architectural result.
+But it is worth while, partly for the intrinsic interest of the subject,
+partly as preparation for subsequent technical developments of great
+importance later in the nineteenth and in the twentieth century, to go
+back to the beginning and to recount sequentially the episodes in the
+rise of iron as a prime building material, as also to touch at least on
+the concurrent use of other ‘fireproof’ materials and the vastly
+increased exploitation of glass. This sequence of episodes reaches a
+real culmination in the fifties with the construction of a considerable
+number of ‘Crystal Palaces’, first in London and then all over the
+western world, edifices that were almost entirely of iron and glass.
+
+A marked change in the situation came around 1855. For one thing, it was
+in that year that Sir Henry Bessemer invented a new method of making
+steel in quantity so that it could be profitably used for large building
+components. However, the full architectural possibilities of the use of
+structural steel were hardly grasped before the nineties. There was also
+in the fifties an increasingly general realization that unprotected iron
+was not as fire-resistant[147] as had hitherto been fondly supposed.
+Then, too—and perhaps most significantly—a sharp shift in taste at this
+time, leading to a predominant preference for the massively plastic in
+architecture, made unfashionable both the delicate membering suitable to
+iron and the smooth transparent surfaces provided by large areas of
+glass (see Chapters 8-11).
+
+The technical development of the use of ferrous metals in building
+continued unbroken beyond the fifties; indeed, most of the quantitative
+records of the first half of the century, in the way of distances
+spanned and volumes enclosed, were progressively exceeded in the
+sixties, seventies, and eighties (see Chapter 16). From the point of
+view of architecture, however, the story passes more or less out of
+sight for a generation. To a certain extent metal literally ‘went
+underground’ as new types of foundations were evolved for taller and
+heavier buildings; but more generally metal structure was masked with
+stone or brick, as was first proposed in the forties in England, to
+provide protection against the adverse effects of extreme heat in urban
+fires (see Chapter 14). When the use of exposed metal and glass became
+significant again in the nineties that use was to be a major constituent
+of general architectural development as it has remained ever since (see
+Chapters 16, 22, 23, and 25). But down to the 1850s the rise of iron and
+glass is best considered as a separate story.
+
+This story is not confined to the most advanced countries. The tall,
+slim columns used by Wren in 1706 to support the galleries in the old
+House of Commons _seem_ to have been of iron[148]; but short ones,
+introduced in 1752, can still be seen in the kitchen of the Monastery of
+Alcobaça in Portugal, and a very early use of iron beams was in the
+Marble Palace at Petersburg built by Antonio Rinaldi (1709-94) in
+1768-72. The main line of development, however, was undoubtedly English,
+French, and American. Definitely dated 1770-2 were the iron members
+supporting the galleries in St Anne’s, Liverpool.
+
+A much more notable and better publicized use of iron followed shortly
+after this when metal replaced masonry for the entire central structure
+of the Coalbrookdale Bridge in Shropshire. This was begun in 1777 by
+Thomas Farnolls Pritchard (?-1777) with the active co-operation of
+Abraham Darby III, an important local ironmaster.[149] Darby’s
+Coalbrookdale Foundry cast the iron elements that were needed and the
+bridge was completed in 1779. Pritchard was an architect, and architects
+played a more important part in the story of the early development of
+iron construction than is generally realized. Soon, however, the
+importance of special problems of statics to which such construction
+gave rise and, above all, the need to measure accurately the strength of
+various components required the expert assistance of civil engineers,
+and often the engineers came to build on their own without the
+collaboration of architects.
+
+At this point the story crosses the channel to France.[150] There
+Soufflot, the very technically minded architect of the Paris
+Panthéon—one of the edifices with an account of which this book
+began—assisted by his pupil Brébion, provided in 1779-81 an iron roof
+over the stair-hall[151] that he built to lead up to the Grande Galerie
+of the Louvre. In the next few years two rather obscure French
+architects, Ango and Eustache Saint-Fart (1746-1822), were occupied,
+respectively, with the introduction of iron framing and of ‘flower-pot’
+(i.e. hollow-tile) elements supported on timber framework to produce
+more or less fireproof types of floors. Over the years 1786-90 the great
+French theatre architect J.-V. Louis (1731-1800), horrified by the
+recurrent fires at the Palais Royal, combined these two ideas when he
+designed the roof of the new Théâtre Français in Paris.
+
+Now the main line of advance returns to England. In 1792-4 Soane avoided
+timber altogether in the fireproof vaults of his Consols Office at the
+Bank of England, using nothing but specially made earthenware pots; he
+also covered the twenty-foot oculus in the central vault with a lantern
+of iron and glass (Plate 3). The architectural qualities of this
+interior have already been stressed. Even more important for later
+architecture, however, although effectively invisible, had been the
+adoption just before this of French principles in a calico mill at Derby
+and the West Mill at Belper, both begun in 1792. These were planned and
+carried out by the millowner-engineer William Strutt (1756-1830) who
+used specially designed iron stanchions throughout carrying timber beams
+and, in the top storey only, ‘flower-pot’ vaults between the beams such
+as Saint-Fart had first introduced, but flat brick vaults or
+‘jack-arches’ elsewhere.
+
+Other mills soon followed. The first to have iron beams as well as
+stanchions seems to be the Benyons, Marshall & Bage flax spinning mill
+in St Michael’s Street, Shrewsbury. This was built in 1796-7 from the
+designs of Charles Bage (1752-1822) a friend and correspondent of
+Strutt. The much-publicized Salford Twist Company’s cotton mill at
+Salford of 1799-1801, designed and built by Boulton & Watt of
+steam-engine fame—they knew Bage’s mill since they had installed his
+steam-engine—was according to present evidence the second[152] to be
+erected with a complete internal skeleton of iron. By 1800, then, a
+system of fire-resistant construction using cast-iron stanchions and
+cast-iron beams, carrying what are sometimes called ‘jack-arches’ of
+brick, had been established in the world of English mill-building. By
+1850 such construction was in use in Britain for almost all high-grade
+building. The system was significantly modified, however, after about
+1845 by the substitution of rolled—that is wrought—iron beams, as
+proposed by Sir William Fairbairn (1789-1874),[153] since cast-iron ones
+had proved dangerously brittle.
+
+It is not necessary here to do more than sketch out the steps by which
+the new iron skeleton structure became generally accepted. In 1802-11
+James Wyatt introduced it in the Castellated New Palace that he built at
+Kew for George III, an edifice of which little is otherwise known since
+it was demolished in 1827-8. In line with this curious conjunction of
+technical and stylistic innovation, already noted in Schinkel’s somewhat
+later cast-iron Gothic monument of 1819-20 in Berlin, is Porden’s
+profuse use of iron for the Gothic traceries and balustrades at Eaton
+Hall[154] in Cheshire in 1804-12, as also by Hopper in the even more
+ornate Gothic Conservatory at Carlton House in London in 1811-12 (Plate
+60B).
+
+Isolated columns of iron appeared in many edifices from the 1790s on.
+The most notable extant examples, perhaps, are those in the kitchen and
+in several of the rooms that were added by Nash to the Royal Pavilion at
+Brighton in 1818-21 (Plate 58A). His ‘Chinese’ staircases of 1815-18
+there are entirely of decorative pierced ironwork and the framing of his
+big onion dome is also of metal, although of course invisible. From the
+early use of iron columns for gallery supports in churches, increasingly
+general by the early 1800s, there shortly developed the aspiration to
+exploit iron still more extensively in such edifices. In three churches
+that Rickman and the ironmaster John Cragg built in Liverpool, St
+George’s, Everton, and St Michael’s, Toxteth Road, both begun in 1813,
+and St Philip’s, Hardman Street, completed in 1816, the entire internal
+structure is of iron. At St Michael’s the new material is not restricted
+to the interior but appears on the outside as well. Rickman’s increasing
+archaeological erudition and that of his contemporaries soon limited the
+use of iron in Gothic churches, however; by Pugin and the Camdenians it
+was rigidly proscribed. Structural elements of iron in churches of any
+architectural pretension became acceptable again only in the fifties
+(see Chapter 10).
+
+Turning to what long remained the most notable field of metal
+construction, bridge building,[155] one finds a rapid increase in the
+numbers and the spans of English metal bridges from the mid 1790s on. In
+Shropshire, where the first iron bridge and the first all-iron-framed
+factory had been built, one of the greatest English engineers, Thomas
+Telford (1757-1834),[156] built the Buildwas Bridge with a span of 130
+feet in 1795-6. At the same time the much longer and handsomer metal
+arch of the Sunderland Bridge in County Durham was rising to the designs
+of Rowland Burdon. He was assisted, it appears, by certain ideas
+supplied by Thomas Paine (1737-1809), better known for his political
+writings than as a technician, who had had some association with
+bridge-building in America. Burdon was a Member of Parliament and
+neither an architect nor an engineer. Telford, however, though not
+professionally trained as an architect, had worked for Sir William
+Chambers as a journeyman-mason on Somerset House in his youth;
+throughout his career he built masonry toll-houses and even, on
+occasion, modest churches in a competent if rudimentary Romantic
+Classical vein.
+
+In connexion with his work on the Bridgewater Canal and on the road
+system of the Scottish Highlands, Telford designed and built innumerable
+bridges, the majority of them of stone. But some of his later iron
+bridges, more skilfully devised technically and more graceful visually
+than the Buildwas Bridge, deserve mention here. On the Waterloo Bridge
+of 1815 at Bettws-y-Coed in Wales he used an openwork inscriptional band
+and floral badges rather than architectural detail to give elegance and
+even richness to a modest cast-iron arch. A longer and simpler bridge of
+similar design but unknown authorship built in 1816 still spans the
+Liffey in Dublin.
+
+The same year as the Waterloo Bridge, at Craigellachie, amid austere
+Scottish mountains, Telford bridged the Spey with a plain latticed iron
+arch. But it is worth noting that he elaborated the masonry abutments as
+battlemented towers in a wholly Picturesque way (Plate 59). For the
+Menai Bridge, built in 1819-24 between North Wales and Anglesey, Telford
+used a new principle in metal construction, suspending his roadbed from
+metal chains (Plate 58B). This was a principle of great antiquity
+already exploited with success in America.[157] Telford’s masonry towers
+at the Menai Bridge are of extremely elegant Romantic Classical design,
+tapered like Egyptian pylons and pierced with delicate arches. In the
+twin bridge to this at Conway, also in North Wales, the close proximity
+of the Edwardian castle led him to provide Castellated towers. In a
+still later arched bridge at Tewkesbury of 1826 the latticed metalwork
+itself has the cuspings of Gothic tracery.
+
+The Menai Bridge remains the longest of its type in the British Isles.
+I. K. Brunel’s Clifton Suspension Bridge near Bristol, for which he won
+the competition in 1829, but which was begun only in 1837, has already
+been mentioned because of the Egyptian detailing proposed for the piers.
+This bridge was finally completed only in 1864 by W. H. Barlow (1812-92)
+using the materials of Brunel’s earlier Hungerford Suspension Bridge in
+London. Of early arched metal bridges there are very many and by all the
+leading English engineers of the first half of the century: John Rennie
+(1761-1821), I. K. Brunel (1806-59), George Stephenson (1781-1848) and
+his son Robert (1803-59), as well as Telford. The new railways, from the
+early thirties on, required even more bridges than the canals
+constructed by the previous generation.
+
+In France Napoleon’s engineers built two arched iron bridges across the
+Seine. L.-A. de Cessart (1719-1806) designed before 1800 and Delon in
+1801-3 executed the Pont des Arts, the first French bridge of iron, and
+Lamandé completed the Pont du Jardin du Roi in 1806.[158] Neither is
+comparable in span or in logic of design to the earlier English
+examples, thus reversing the pre-eminence which the French had held as
+bridge-builders so long as masonry was used. The much later Pont du
+Carrousel in Paris, built by A.-R. Polonceau (1788-1847) in 1834-6, was
+considerably superior to these Napoleonic examples, though hardly
+epoch-making. But already in 1824, just as Telford’s Menai Bridge was
+completed, Marc Séguin (1786-1875) was spanning the Rhône near Tournon
+with a suspension bridge hung on wire ropes[159] instead of chains.
+
+From the early forties Séguin’s cable principle was developed much
+further in America in bridges at Wheeling, W. Va., Pittsburgh, Penna.,
+and Cincinnati, Ohio, by the German immigrant John A. Roebling
+(1806-69). Those at Wheeling[160] and Cincinnati are still in use. The
+more dramatically sited Niagara Falls Bridge of 1852, which attracted
+world-wide attention when it was new, is no longer extant (Plate 60A);
+its success, however, led to Roebling’s being commissioned to build the
+famous Brooklyn Bridge[161] in New York. Begun by him in 1869 and
+completed by his son Washington A. Roebling (1837-1926) in 1883, this is
+still one of the principal sights of New York. It is sad to record that
+work in the caissons sunk for the foundations of the piers killed the
+designer.
+
+Bridges are at the edge of the realm of architecture. Fairly early,
+moreover, they came almost entirely under the control of men without
+architectural training or standards—Roebling, for example, was such a
+one. Ordinary buildings, all of iron or with much use of iron, are more
+significant as the century proceeds, both in France and in England.
+Hopper’s Carlton House Conservatory (Plate 60B) has been mentioned. In
+1809 the architect F.-J. Belanger (1744-1818), a pupil of Brongniart,
+replaced the domed wooden roof of the Halle au Blé in Paris, added in
+1782 by J.-G. Legrand (1743-1807) and J. Molinos (1743-1831), with one
+of metal. The Marché de la Madeleine, designed by M.-G. Veugny
+(1785-1850) possibly as early as 1824 but not built until 1835-8, was
+apparently all of metal internally; its masonry exterior, however, was
+quite conventional. Already in 1835, in the fish pavilion which formed
+part of his rather Durandesque Hungerford Market in London, Charles
+Fowler had outstripped this in the direct and elegant use of light metal
+components, here with no surrounding shell of masonry at all.
+
+Some further Continental examples of the use of iron in the late
+twenties and thirties deserve mention at this point. Alavoine—at whose
+suggestion Duc’s Bastille Column, begun in 1831, was made of metal,
+though the metal is bronze not iron—designed in 1823 a flèche 432 feet
+tall to rise over the crossing of Rouen Cathedral in the form of an
+openwork cage of iron. Begun in 1827 and interrupted in 1848, this was
+finally completed by the younger Barthélémy (Eugène, 1841-98) and L.-F.
+Desmarest (1814-?) in 1877. In 1829-31 Fontaine roofed the
+Galeried’Orléans, which he built across the garden of the Palais Royal,
+with iron and glass. This structure, now destroyed, was more prominent
+and also much wider than most of the many _passages_ and _galeries_[162]
+with glass roofs that had been built in Paris and elsewhere in France
+from the 1770s on. The most impressive extant French example is the
+Passage Pommeraye in Nantes, built by Durand-Gasselin and J.-B. Buron
+(?-1881) in 1843; in this the circulation moves upwards from one end to
+the other through three storey-levels. A modest Milanese example of
+1831, the Galleria de Cristoforis by Andrea Pizzala (?-1862), might be
+mentioned here also, as it was the local prototype for the greatest of
+all these characteristic nineteenth-century urban features, Mengoni’s
+Galleria Vittorio Emanuele begun in the sixties (Plate 75B). Of the many
+early nineteenth-century ones that remain in other European cities, the
+Galerie Saint-Hubert in Brussels, built by J.-P. Cluysenaer (1811-80), a
+pupil of Suys, in 1847, is one of the largest and best maintained.
+Warren’s Providence Arcade in Providence, R.I., has been mentioned
+earlier.
+
+Related to the _galeries_, and sometimes also so-called, were the large
+Parisian enterprises of this period that were really early department
+stores. The Bazar de l’Industrie, built by Paul Lelong (1799-1846) in
+1830, had a large glass-roofed and iron-galleried court of the sort that
+was to be continued in Parisian department stores down into the present
+century (see Chapter 16). Even larger and bolder were the similar courts
+in the department store known as the Galeries du Commerce et de
+l’Industrie, built by Grisart and Froehlicher in the Boulevard
+Bonne-Nouvelle in 1838, which has already been mentioned for its richly
+arcaded Renaissance façades (Plate 62A). Shop-fronts of iron were also
+frequent in Paris[163] by this time. Thus in France, as in England and
+America, the use of iron was closely associated with structures for
+business use, but more usually with sales emporia than with office
+buildings (see Chapter 14). Such, however, were not unknown in England
+and America, though they were generally less extensive and made less use
+of glass-roofed courts.
+
+Glass held in wooden frames had for some time been extensively employed
+for greenhouses. How early iron began to be substituted for wood is not
+clear, and not perhaps of much consequence.[164] Hopper’s ornately
+Gothic Conservatory of iron and glass at Carlton House in London,
+demolished in the twenties, has been mentioned several times already
+(Plate 60B). In 1833, at the Jardin des Plantes in Paris, Charles
+Rohault de Fleury (1801-75) built a very large and handsome iron
+greenhouse without any stylistic decoration. The structure of the square
+pavilions was as transparent and rectilinear as the interior framework
+of Veugny’s slightly later market seems to have been, and the ranges
+between were covered, just as so many wooden greenhouses had been, with
+transparent roofs rising in two quadrants. At Chatsworth in Derbyshire
+the Great Conservatory was built in 1836-40 by the 6th Duke of
+Devonshire’s gardener, Sir Joseph Paxton (1803-65), possibly with some
+minor assistance from Decimus Burton. This quite outclassed the largest
+earlier greenhouse, the Anthaeum at Brighton, designed in 1825 and built
+in 1832-3 for the horticulturist Henry Phillips, with a dome of iron and
+glass 160 feet in diameter which collapsed before it was quite
+completed. The Chatsworth conservatory was a still larger rectangle, 227
+feet by 123 feet, with the exterior rising in a double cusp like the
+side ranges of Rohault’s Paris greenhouse—or, for that matter, like the
+section of the Anthaeum. The columns and beams here were of iron, but
+the great arched principals of the ‘nave’ and the ‘aisles’ were of
+laminated wood and four-foot long panes of glass were held in wooden
+sashes arranged in a ridge-and-furrow pattern. A particular invention of
+Paxton’s, whose name was given to such roofs, was the hollowing out of
+the wooden members at the base of the furrows to serve as gutters.
+
+Decimus Burton’s still extant Palm Stove at Kew, carried out by the
+contracting engineer Richard Turner of Dublin in 1845-7, with rounded
+ends and a higher central area, is more bubble-like than Paxton’s
+because of the absence of ridges and furrows on its continuously glazed
+surface (Plate 67A). But both these great greenhouses were among the
+most striking monuments of their Early Victorian day and were never
+exceeded later in elegance though often in size. French rivals, long
+since destroyed, were the Jardins d’Hiver in Lyons and Paris of 1841 and
+1847 by Hector Horeau (1801-72), the latter a rectangle 300 by 180 feet
+and 60 feet tall.
+
+With the thirties begins the story of a new building type, the railway
+station,[165] in whose sheds the mid century was to realize some of the
+largest and finest examples ever of ‘ferrovitreous’, or iron-and-glass,
+construction. The structures utilizing iron thus far mentioned have been
+of two sorts, some, such as bridges, markets, greenhouses, etc., with
+only subsidiary masonry elements, if any at all; others, examples of
+mixed construction with metal providing only the internal skeleton or
+the roof. Railway stations were generally—and before the fifties
+always—examples of mixed construction, but of a rather special sort. The
+iron and glass portions, that is the sheds, and the masonry portions are
+likely to be merely juxtaposed, not truly integrated. Such a masonry
+frontispiece as Hardwick’s Euston Arch in London of 1835-7 had no
+connexion at all with the functional elements of the station behind—here
+by Robert Stephenson—although Euston was an extreme case. But a happy
+co-ordination of the masonry and the iron-and-glass portions of stations
+was rarely achieved anywhere.
+
+Of the earliest railway station, that at Crown Street in Liverpool of
+1830, nothing remains; it was in any case a very modest structure.[166]
+Of its successors at Lime Street the present station is the fourth on
+the site. Even the ‘Arch’ at Euston, the next major station to be built,
+is now gone, despite the strenuous efforts of the Victorian Society and
+others in Britain and overseas to save this symbolic portal to the
+Victorian Age. However, the first station at Temple Meads in Bristol,
+which was built by Brunel in 1839-40, is physically intact, though
+supplanted in present-day use by a larger and later one. Castellated as
+regards the masonry block in front, the shed here is equally
+medievalizing; for its roof is of timber, not of iron, and based on the
+fourteenth-century hammerbeam roof of Westminster Hall in London, whose
+width it exceeds by a few feet only.
+
+Of the once far finer Trijunct station at Derby, built in 1839-41, the
+last portions of Francis Thompson’s brick screen have finally been
+destroyed; the three original sheds provided by Robert Stephenson, with
+Thompson’s collaboration on the detailing, were each 56 feet wide in
+comparison to the 40-foot width of Stephenson’s earlier ones at Euston
+(Plate 62B). The tie-beam roof had much of the graceful directness and
+linear elegance of Rohault’s greenhouse or Veugny’s market.
+
+More and more, the use of iron was being generally accepted as a
+technical necessity in the forties. At Buckingham Palace Blore, in
+adapting one of Nash’s side pavilions as a chapel for Queen Victoria in
+1842-3, used visible iron supports just as Nash had done so long before
+in the interiors of the Brighton Pavilion for her uncle. Yet generally
+the use of iron in important masonry structures in the thirties and the
+early forties was quite invisible, being confined to the floors and the
+substructure of the roofs. In 1837-9 C.-J. Baron (1783-1855) and Nicolas
+Martin (1809-?), for example, provided a complete iron roof above the
+vaults of Chartres Cathedral, a work of very considerable scale and
+technical elaboration that provided the immediate prototype for the iron
+roof of Gau’s Sainte-Clotilde in Paris, designed in 1840 and begun in
+1846. At the Houses of Parliament, the actual construction of which
+started only in 1840, Barry capped the whole with iron roofs—the
+external iron plates are actually visible, of course, but the fact of
+their being of iron is rarely recognized. Fireproof floors built
+according to various French and English patent systems were increasingly
+thought necessary in all high-grade construction. Queen Victoria’s
+Osborne House on the Isle of Wight, constructed without the aid of an
+architect by the builder Thomas Cubitt, had them throughout, as did many
+other well-built country houses of the forties, at least in the passages
+and stair-halls.
+
+Here and there in the commercial buildings of this decade the iron
+skeleton used inside came through to the exterior, as it had on one of
+Rickman’s Liverpool churches a generation earlier. A small office
+building at No. 50 Watling Street in London, with visible iron supports
+and lintels in the upper storeys but with brick corner piers and brick
+spandrels, was a case in point, probably dating from early in the
+decade. By 1844 Fairbairn was recommending in a report that fireproof
+construction should be used in all warehouses. Increasingly this was
+done in Lancashire and, before long, elsewhere; Fairbairn himself had
+introduced it ten years earlier in the Jevons Warehouse on the New Quay
+in Manchester.
+
+Closely associated with the development of iron construction is the
+development of prefabrication; indeed, the parts of an elaborate iron
+edifice, such as a bridge or a greenhouse, are necessarily prefabricated
+and merely assembled at the site. From the early forties, and perhaps
+even before that, lighthouses were frequently erected in ironmasters’
+yards in Britain, disassembled, shipped to Bermuda or the Barbadoes, and
+then reassembled. In 1843 John Walker of London provided a prefabricated
+palace for an African king and, by the end of the decade, prefabricated
+warehouses and dwellings of iron were being supplied to gold-diggers in
+California and emigrants to Australia in very considerable quantity. A
+look at the prefabricated houses of the 1940s will perhaps explain why
+almost none of these ancestors of a century earlier seems to have
+survived, at least in recognizable form. None the less, the advance of
+prefabrication remains a notable technical—though hardly
+architectural—achievement of the 1840s and 1850s.
+
+To the mid and late forties belong several splendid examples of mixed
+construction in various countries that not only represent technical
+feats of a high order but are also fully architectural in character.
+Some are by architects, others by teams of architects and engineers
+working in close collaboration. In building the Britannia Bridge,[167]
+which crosses the Menai Strait near Telford’s Menai Bridge, the Derby
+Trijunct team of Stephenson and Thompson in 1845-50 utilized with great
+success the rectangular tubes built up of wrought-iron plates that
+Fairbairn, the consulting engineer, recommended (Plate 61). The Holyhead
+railway line still passes through these tubes. The masonry entrances and
+the tall towers, taller than they need have been because of Stephenson’s
+original intention to use suspensory members for additional support to
+his rigid tubes, were superbly detailed by Thompson. Contemporaries
+called them Egyptian, but the design has already been noted as fully
+consonant with Romantic Classicism though quite devoid of Grecian
+elements. At least the sculptor John Thomas’s pairs of gigantic lions at
+the entrances are Nubian!
+
+At the London Coal Exchange[168] built in 1846-9 in Lower Thames Street,
+the City Corporation’s architect Bunning arrived at no such complete
+co-ordination of masonry and metallic design as did Stephenson and
+Thompson on the Britannia Bridge. The masonry exterior consists of two
+_palazzo_ blocks set at a fairly sharp angle to one another and loosely
+linked by a very Picturesque round tower, free-standing in its upper
+stages. Behind all this the dome of the interior court can barely be
+glimpsed. Inside this court, however, no masonry at all is visible; one
+sees only an elegant cage of iron elements rising to the glazed
+hemisphere above (Plate 63). The metal members are richly but
+appropriately detailed, and there is even more appropriate decorative
+painting by Sang in such panels as are not glazed.
+
+In France two monuments of comparable distinction have already been
+mentioned, Henri Labrouste’s Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève of 1843-50
+and Duquesney’s Gare de l’Est of 1847-52 (Plate 22B). Unfortunately the
+original shed of the latter, with arched principals of 100-foot span,
+was taken down when the station was doubled in size in the present
+century. Inside the library a central row of iron columns of somewhat
+Pompeian design—that is, resembling the slender, metallically scaled
+members seen in Pompeian wall paintings—still carries the two barrel
+roofs on delicately scrolled arches of openwork iron (Figure 14). Since
+the masonry walls with their ranges of window arches are visible all
+round, the effect produced is less novel than in the iron-and-glass
+court of the Coal Exchange; but Labrouste achieved much greater
+integration between interior and exterior (Plate 21). The Dianabad in
+Vienna, built by Karl Etzel in 1841-3, had a fine iron roof; the
+circular bracing of the iron principals, a frequent motif in large
+openwork members of cast iron at this time, was most appropriate to the
+_Rundbogenstil_ detailing of the masonry walls (Plate 66B).
+
+Monferran’s cast-iron dome on St Isaac’s in Petersburg, completed about
+1842, has already been mentioned (Plate 27A). This was rivalled before
+very long by several American examples,[169] most notably Walter’s
+enormous dome, built in 1855-65, above the Capitol in Washington (Plate
+82A). Baroque in silhouette and rather Baroque in detail also, this may
+have encouraged—along with the rising taste for elaborately plastic
+effects of which it was itself a notable expression—the increasingly
+common practice of casting the exposed iron elements of American
+commercial façades in the form of rich Corinthian columns and heavily
+moulded arches.
+
+Around 1850 cast-iron architecture was coming to its climax everywhere.
+James Bogardus (1800-74), a manufacturer of iron grinding machinery, not
+an architect or engineer, began to erect in Center Street in New York in
+1848 a four-storeyed urban structure for his own use as a factory with
+an exterior consisting only of cast-iron piers and lintels. This was one
+of the earliest[170] and most highly publicized of the cast-iron fronts
+which Bogardus and various other ironmasters in New York and elsewhere
+made ubiquitous in the principal American cities before and after the
+Civil War. But his earliest completed iron front was that of the
+five-storey chemist shop of John Milhau at 183 Broadway erected within
+the year 1848. An extant work by Bogardus, the range of four-storey
+stores built for Edward H. Laing at the north-west corner of Washington
+and Murray Streets in New York, was begun in 1849 and finished within
+two months, well before his own building was completed. These early
+cast-iron fronts are very logical and expressive in the way the
+attenuated Grecian Doric columns and flat entablatures are used to form
+an external frame; but the Laing stores have lost most of the applied
+ornament that appealed so much to mid-century taste (Plate 67B). Later
+façades are richer and heavier, generally with Renaissance or Baroque
+arcading, as has just been noted. For the Harper’s Building in New York
+built in 1854, which incorporated the first American rolled-iron beams,
+the architect John B. Corlies provided a design of ornate Late
+Renaissance character. Curiously enough, in executing this building
+Bogardus used for the upper four storeys the same castings as in the Sun
+Building that he had erected in 1850-1 in Baltimore to the designs of R.
+G. Hatfield (1815-79). To the typical cast-iron fronts of New York,[171]
+of which the most extensive and one of the simplest was that of the old
+Stewart Department Store on Broadway begun in 1859 by John W. Kellum
+(1807-71), vacated several years ago by Wanamakers and burned during
+demolition in 1956, one may well prefer the delicacy of a Glasgow
+example, the Jamaica Street Warehouse[172] of 1855-6, or a remote Far
+Western department store like the Z.C.M.I. of 1868 in Salt Lake City,
+rivalling amid the Rocky Mountains those of Paris. Neither of these is
+the work of architects.
+
+Great Britain and Europe saw few all-iron façades. This was in large
+part because the danger of their collapse when exposed to the extreme
+heat of urban conflagrations, a danger made real to Americans only by
+the fires of the seventies in Boston and Chicago, was appreciated very
+early. Yet it was not in America but in Britain that the greatest
+masterpieces of iron construction of the fifties were built. The
+succeeding turn of the tide against the visible use of iron also had its
+origins in Britain, not in America where the material had early become
+so tediously ubiquitous.
+
+In 1850 Paxton was completing at Chatsworth a relatively small new
+greenhouse to protect the _Victoria regia_, a giant water-lily imported
+from Africa by the Duke of Devonshire. With its arcaded walls of iron
+and glass and its flat ridge-and-furrow roof, this seemed to Paxton to
+provide a suitable paradigm for the vast structure[173] needed by May
+1851 to house the Great Exhibition, the first international exposition,
+which was scheduled to open at that time. The Commissioners of the
+Exhibition had held an international competition that produced several
+extremely interesting ferrovitreous projects, notably an Irish one by
+Turner, Burton’s collaborator at Kew, and a French one by Hector Horeau.
+Rightly or wrongly, all of them were rejected, and the Commissioners’
+own Building Committee, including the chief architectural and
+engineering talents of the age, then produced a project of their own.
+Reputedly in large part the work of the engineer Brunel and the
+architect T. L. Donaldson (1795-1885), this manifestly impractical
+scheme, a sort of _Rundbogenstil_ super-railway-station intended to be
+built of brick—the project actually provided the inspiration for
+Herholdt’s Central Station in Copenhagen of 1863-4, or so it would
+appear—was already out for bids when Paxton presented in July 1850 his
+own scheme based on the Chatsworth Lily House. Published in the
+_Illustrated London News_ and offered with a low alternative bid by the
+contractors Fox & Henderson, this was accepted and—with much significant
+modification—erected in the incredibly short space of nine months.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 14. H.-P.-F. Labrouste: Paris, Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève,
+ (1839), 1843-50, section
+]
+
+Inside this vast structure, with its tall central nave, galleried
+aisles, and arched transept, Paxton and his engineer associates, Sir
+Charles Fox (1810-74) and his partner Henderson (to the two of whom a
+considerable part of the credit must go), created unwittingly a new sort
+of architectural space. So large as in effect to be boundless, this
+space was defined only by the three-dimensional grid of co-ordinates
+which the regularly spaced iron stanchions and girders provided (Plate
+64). These elements, designed for mass-production, and also in such a
+way that they could be disassembled as readily as they were assembled,
+had a new sort of mechanical elegance towards which the design of metal
+components had hitherto been moving only very gradually. The character
+of the casting process made it only too easy to impose on cast-iron
+elements all sorts of more or less inappropriate decorative treatments
+from Gothic to Baroque; only rarely had stylistic detail been
+successfully reinterpreted, as by Bunning in the Coal Exchange, in terms
+of the fat arrises and broad radii that are suitable to the material and
+to the particular method of its production. Even at the Crystal Palace a
+few touches of ornament provided by Owen Jones (1806-89), who was also
+responsible for the highly original and rather Turneresque colour
+treatment, suggest the gap—and, alas, it was in the 1850s a widening
+gap—between the technicians’ and the architects’ ambitions for iron.
+
+Contemporaries had no words for what the Crystal Palace offered. Even
+today, when the aesthetic possibilities of the new sort of space it
+contained as well as the technical advantages of its method of assembly
+from mass-produced elements have been more generally explored, it is not
+easy to describe Paxton’s and Fox & Henderson’s achievement despite the
+remarkably complete documentation that exists. The space inside the tall
+transept (an afterthought designed to allow the saving of a great elm),
+arched on laminated wooden principals, was more readily appreciated in
+its day than that in the long nave, because it was more familiar. It is
+not surprising, therefore, that when the Crystal Palace was disassembled
+and rebuilt in 1852-4 at Sydenham, where it lasted down to its
+destruction—ironically by fire—in 1936, the entire nave was arched
+although with principals of openwork metal rather than of laminated
+wood.
+
+The Crystal Palace’s structural vocabulary—though not, alas, the quality
+of its space—can be appreciated in the Midland Station at Oxford, built
+by Fox & Henderson with identical elements in 1852. There one can still
+see how the new methods enforced a modular regularity more rigid than
+that of Romantic Classicism and also encouraged a tenuity of material
+quite unknown to the Neo-Gothic as executed in masonry. Thus the visual
+result ran doubly counter to the rising fashions in architecture in the
+fifties (see Chapters 9 and 10). Within five years of the moment when
+the Crystal Palace was greeted with such general—though never
+universal—acclaim the climactic moment of the early Iron Age was already
+over. In those few years, however, Crystal Palaces rose in many other
+major cities. The finest was perhaps that built in Dublin in 1852-4 by
+Sir John Benson (1812-74) with its bubble-like rounded ends; the least
+successful that in New York[174] of 1853 by G. J. B. Carstensen
+(1812-57), the founder of the Tivoli in Copenhagen, and Charles
+Gildemeister (1820-69). The prompt destruction of this last by fire was
+a fearful early warning of the limitations of iron construction
+unsheathed by masonry. The burning of Voit’s Glaspalast of 1854 in
+Munich, like that of the Sydenham Palace, occurred in our own day, as
+also the similar end of the Paleis voor Volksvlijt in Amsterdam, which
+was built by Cornelis Outshoorn (1810-75) in 1856.
+
+The prestige of iron construction was never higher than in the early
+fifties. For Balmoral Castle, not yet rebuilt in its final form, the
+Prince Consort ordered in 1851 a prefabricated iron ballroom by E. T.
+Bellhouse of Manchester modelled on the houses for emigrants to
+Australia by Bellhouse that the Prince had seen at the Great Exhibition.
+In the Record Office in London, begun by Pennethorne in this same year,
+even more iron was used for the internal grid of separate storerooms and
+for the window-sash than in the great mill that Lockwood & Mawson built
+for Sir Titus Salt at Saltaire in Yorkshire in 1854. The internal
+structure of this last represented another major contribution by
+Fairbairn. Characteristically, however, the detailing of the external
+masonry of the Record Office is more or less Tudor, if rather crude and
+over-scaled, while that of the Saltaire mill is picturesquely
+Italianate.
+
+In two new London railway stations, both happily extant, these years
+produced the chief rivals to the Crystal Palace. At King’s Cross,
+planned by the architect Lewis Cubitt in 1850 and built in 1851-2, the
+two great arched sheds somewhat resembled technically the transept of
+the original Crystal Palace, their principals having been of laminated
+wood. These had eventually to be replaced in 1869-70 with the present
+steel principals which are, however, still held by Cubitt’s original
+cast-iron shoes. The masonry block of the station on the left, or
+departure, side is undistinguished but fairly inconspicuous. The great
+glory of the station is the front, with its two enormous stock-brick
+arches that close the ends of the sheds towards the Euston Road (Plate
+66A). The idea had been Duquesney’s at the Gare de l’Est, but here there
+is no irrelevant Renaissance detail, only grand scale and clear
+expression of the arched spaces behind.
+
+Paddington Station, built in 1852-4, has no such grand exterior, being
+masked at the southern end by the Hardwicks’ Great Western Hotel. The
+engineer Brunel here called in the architect M. D. Wyatt (1820-77) as
+collaborator, and for the metal members of the shed Wyatt devised
+ornamentation which—as Brunel specifically requested—is both novel and
+suited to the materials (Plate 65). There is a slightly Saracenic
+flavour both to the stalagmitic modelling of the great stanchions and to
+the wrought elements of tracery that fill the lunettes at the ends and
+even run along the sides of the great elliptically-arched principals.
+But the detailing of these, if unnecessarily elaborate, is certainly
+quite original and not inappropriate to the materials or to the complex
+spatial effects of the three great parallel sheds crossed by two equally
+tall transepts. The cool spirit of Cubitt’s station recalls that of
+earlier Romantic Classicism; the richer forms of Paddington are related
+to the rising ‘High’ styles of the third quarter of the century, of
+whose initiation the Great Western Hotel was one of the earliest
+indications (see Chapter 8).
+
+By 1853 the craze for iron construction was so great that the
+Ecclesiological Society, forgetting their Puginian principles—Pugin had
+died the previous year, but not before issuing a severe critique of the
+metal-and-glass construction of the Crystal Palace—commissioned their
+favourite and most ‘correct’ architect, Carpenter, to design for them an
+iron church. It was not Carpenter’s death two years later but the
+refusal of the English bishops to consecrate prefabricated structures
+for permanent use that brought to nothing this interesting project along
+the lines of Rickman’s and Cragg’s Liverpool churches of forty years
+earlier. The general flood of prefabrication, now producing all sorts of
+structures for the Antipodes and other remote areas that still lacked
+their own building industries, slowed down in 1854, when the demands of
+the War Office for barracks (on account of the Crimean War) deflected
+prefabricators from civil production.
+
+In that year, however, Sydney Smirke began one of the last major
+monuments of cast iron in England, the domed Reading Room in the court
+of his brother’s British Museum. Awkward in proportion and encased in
+stacks, this is not to be compared in distinction of design with the
+Reading Room that Henri Labrouste added to the Bibliothèque Nationale in
+Paris in 1862-8[175] (Plate 69). That superb interior, with its many
+light domes of terracotta carried on the slenderest of metal columns and
+arches, is a great advance over his earlier Bibliothèque
+Sainte-Geneviève (Figure 14). The Reading Room in Paris has no proper
+exterior, however, any more than does that in London, for it is
+incorporated in a group of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century
+structures that Labrouste adapted and enlarged (see Chapter 8). Even
+more striking are Labrouste’s stacks, visible from the Reading Room
+through a great glass wall, for in them the entire spatial volume is
+articulated by vertical and horizontal metal elements in a fashion
+somewhat like the interior of the Crystal Palace. But in the sixties
+such things were exceptional.
+
+In 1853-8 L.-P. Baltard’s son Victor (1805-74) built the Central
+Markets[176] of Paris with the assistance of F.-E. Callet (1791-1854) in
+a mode much less elegant but still franker, exposing his metal structure
+outside as well as in, at Napoleon III’s personal insistence.
+Saint-Eugène, an almost completely iron-built church of Gothic design,
+was erected in Paris in 1854-5 by L.-A. Boileau (1812-96).[177]
+Boileau’s Saint-Paul at Montluçon, Allier, completed in 1863, is a
+second French example of a cast-iron church, and he made designs for
+several others. His Notre-Dame-de-France off Leicester Square in London,
+a modest church of 1868, has been completely rebuilt since the last war.
+
+However, to house the first Paris international exhibition, that of
+1855, F.-A. Cendrier (1803-92) and J.-M.-V. Viel (1796-1863), both
+pupils of Vaudoyer and Lebas, provided in 1853-4 not another Crystal
+Palace, such as Dublin, New York, Copenhagen, Munich, Amsterdam, and
+Breslau, among other cities, had built or were building, but an example
+of mixed construction. The great iron-and-glass arched interiors were
+all but completely masked externally by a very conventional masonry
+shell. It was not until the Paris Exposition of 1878 that iron and glass
+were frankly exposed and decoratively treated on the exterior of such a
+structure in France (see Chapter 16). The curve of enthusiasm for iron
+was evidently taking a downward dip; in Britain the Age of Cast Iron
+came to an end even more suddenly and much more dramatically than in
+France.
+
+In 1855 Sir Henry Cole, the prime mover of the Great Exhibition of 1851,
+had to provide on the estate at Brompton, in the part of London now
+called South Kensington that the Commissioners had just acquired from
+the proceeds of the Exhibition, temporary housing for the collections
+that were being formed by the Government’s Department of Practical Art.
+Having to build in great haste and in war-time, it is perhaps not
+surprising that Cole employed, properly speaking, neither an architect
+nor an engineer, but allowed the Edinburgh contracting firm of C. D.
+Young & Son to design as well as erect the structure subject to some
+nominal control from the engineer Sir William Cubitt (1785-1861). It was
+certainly a surprising product of a Government agency devoted to raising
+the standard of ‘art-manufactures’! Although we can today appreciate
+some of the practical virtues of this edifice as a Museum of Science and
+Art, it must be admitted that it was inferior even to the general
+contemporary run of prefabricated structures to which it belongs
+technically. Derisively christened the ‘Brompton Boilers’ by George
+Godwin (1815-88), editor of the _Builder_, it roused a chorus of
+disapproval as loud if not as widespread as the Crystal Palace had done
+of approval five years before.
+
+After this time British and Continental interest in iron construction
+waned rapidly; for fifteen years or so exposed iron was chiefly
+exploited in the commercial façades of the United States, themselves now
+more and more masonry-like in scale and in detailing, as has been noted.
+Structural steel began to be used here and there from the early sixties,
+but the serious beginnings of the Age of Steel lay a quarter of a
+century ahead (see Chapter 14).
+
+At least in England, its principal home, the Age of Cast Iron, so
+paradoxically interrelated with the Gothic Revival in its very early
+stages, came to an end in considerable part because of the triumph of
+the Gothic Revival around 1850 (see Chapter 10). For several decades the
+characteristic new architectural developments were stylistic rather than
+technical. Yet it was the later theories—not the practice—of a French
+medievalist, Viollet-le-Duc, which played a great part in the renewed
+interest in the frank use of metal on the Continent in the eighties and
+nineties (see Chapter 16).
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ PART TWO
+
+ 185O-19OO
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 8
+ SECOND EMPIRE PARIS, UNITED ITALY,
+ AND IMPERIAL-AND-ROYAL VIENNA
+
+
+MANY historians, in despair, have merely labelled the period after 1850
+‘Eclectic’ as if earlier periods of architecture—and notably all the
+preceding hundred years since 1750—had not also been eclectic, although
+admittedly to a lesser degree. Within the eclecticism of the late
+eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries there can readily be
+distinguished the two major stylistic divisions with which Part I has
+dealt separately (in Chapters 1-5 and in Chapter 6, respectively). So
+also in the fifties, sixties, and seventies two principal camps are
+discernible among the architects. Their programmes were less clear than
+in the previous half century, and in one case much less widely accepted
+internationally. Yet the High Victorian Gothic of England, taken
+together with the later Neo-Gothic elsewhere, on the one hand, and what
+may be loosely called the international Second Empire mode on the other,
+subsume between them a fair part of the more conspicuous architectural
+production of the third quarter of the century.
+
+Both the Victorian Gothic of this period and the Second Empire mode were
+‘high’ phases of style. Perhaps for that reason neither of them
+controlled, in the way that Romantic Classicism had done in the earlier
+decades of the century, all or even any very extensive segments of
+building activity; yet between them they gave colour to a very
+considerable proportion of it. The obvious stigmata of one or of the
+other, or even of both—external polychromy and high mansard roofs,
+respectively—are to be found on such modest things as mills and
+working-class housing blocks as well as on major public monuments. The
+High Victorian Gothic first developed in Anglican ecclesiastical
+architecture and always carried with it a rather churchy
+flavour—sometimes quite ludicrously, as in the case of Gothic
+distilleries, Gothic public-houses, and Gothic sewage plants.
+Continental Neo-Gothic was more largely confined to churches, especially
+in France. The international Second Empire mode found its inspiration in
+the grandiose extension of a palace in Paris; something of the Parisian
+and even the palatial clung to it when it was used—as often in the
+non-French world—for such things as factories and modest suburban
+villas.
+
+Both the Victorian Gothic and the Second Empire had definite national
+homes, yet both were also full of elements of Italian origin. In that
+respect the High Victorian phase of the fifties and sixties was somewhat
+analogous to the Germanic _Rundbogenstil_, as well as being the direct
+heir of the earlier and more puristic Gothic Revival of the forties in
+England. Often the Second Empire mode was even more Italianate, since it
+was in the main but a pompous modulation of the earlier Renaissance
+Revival. The one had its roots in the Picturesque, but it differed from
+earlier Picturesque manifestations in being a ‘style’—or very nearly
+such—not merely the reflection of a point of view. The other had roots
+not only in Romantic Classicism but also farther back in the High
+Renaissance and the Baroque; some qualities of those earlier styles were
+both continued and revived. But neither High Victorian Gothic nor Second
+Empire were ‘revivals’ in the sense of those of the first half of the
+century; they lived with a vigorous nineteenth-century life of their
+own, not one borrowed from the past. In both cases one may more properly
+say that they _had_ revived.
+
+The Second Empire mode was the heir, or at least the successor, of the
+last universal style of the western world, the Romantic Classical.
+Moreover its wide international sway was hardly terminated by the end of
+Napoleon III’s reign in France any more than its beginning had waited
+for his enthronement. Concerning that sway it should be noted, however,
+that considered as a definite ‘style’ the Second Empire mode is very far
+from characterizing as much of French production in this age as of that
+in several other countries. Indeed, somewhat paradoxically, its actual
+initiation may almost be said to have occurred outside France and before
+the political Second Empire actually began in 1852. In this chapter and
+the next, certain alternative developments in succession to the earlier
+Renaissance Revival have been associated with the Second Empire mode,
+sometimes a bit arbitrarily perhaps, for lack of a more appropriate
+place to deal with them.
+
+Although France was less affected by the Picturesque in the first half
+of the nineteenth century than England, the Renaissance Revival had
+permitted some straying from the more rigid paths of Romantic Classicism
+in the thirties and forties (see Chapters 3 and 6). The earliest French
+work of the twenties that may seem of Italian Renaissance inspiration is
+very severe and flat, approximating occasionally the effects of the
+German _Rundbogenstil_ yet consistently disdaining that mode’s
+tendencies towards either medievalism or originality in detail.
+Gradually, under Louis Philippe, there were changes: on the one hand,
+there arose an interest in later periods of the Italian Renaissance; on
+the other, there came an increasing and less peripheral use of
+sixteenth-century and even later native models. Common to both these
+developments was an evident desire for richer and more plastic
+effects.[178] What above all distinguishes the mature Second Empire
+mode, even more in other countries than in France, is the elaboration of
+three-dimensional composition by the employment of visible mansard roofs
+and of pavilions at the ends and centres of buildings, these last capped
+either with especially tall straight-sided mansards or, even more
+characteristically, with convex or concave ones. Such features are rare
+before 1850 in France and almost unknown elsewhere.[179]
+
+The return of the mansard in France is harder to document than its
+appearance as a new element of architectural composition in other
+countries, for in France it had never passed out of use as a practical
+device for providing usable attics. With the increasing emulation of
+sixteenth-century French models in the second quarter of the century
+tall roofs of a more medieval sort began to be used with some frequency.
+Biet’s ‘Maison de François I’ of 1825 did not have them; but ten years
+later they are very prominent on the _François I_ house Dusillion built
+in the Rue Vaneau. Moreover, Lesueur in the late thirties could hardly
+avoid their use when extending the sixteenth-century Hôtel de Ville
+(Plate 22A). As noted earlier, it seems to have been H.-A.-G. de Gisors,
+at the École Normale Supérieure built in 1841-7, who first re-introduced
+on a prominent building mansards of seventeenth- or early
+eighteenth-century character, and in association with detailing that
+suggests, vaguely at least, the _style Louis XIV_. By the late forties
+the use of such mansards was fairly common in France, although they
+rarely received much emphasis.
+
+Had Dusillion in 1849-51 built the mansarded mansion for T. H. Hope[180]
+in Paris rather than in London therefore, or the Danish-born but
+Paris-schooled Detlef Lienau (1818-87)[181] his mansarded Hart M. Shiff
+house of the same date in France rather than in America, neither would
+have been especially notable. But in the England and the United States
+of the mid century emulation of French models was in itself novel.
+Dusillion’s and Lienau’s mansards, moderate enough by French standards,
+suggested to the English and the Americans a way by which edifices of
+generically Renaissance character could be given something of the bold
+silhouette that high pointed roofs provided for Victorian Gothic
+structures. Like Barry’s loggia-topped towers and his corner chimneys,
+mansards appealed directly to the mid century’s characteristic desire to
+break sharply away from the flat-surfaced, and nearly flat-topped, cubic
+blocks of Romantic Classicism. Pavilion composition offered a similar
+resource for the plastic modelling of façades.
+
+In 1851, following immediately after the Hope house, came the designing
+of the Great Western Hotel at Paddington in London by the Hardwicks.
+This was still, one should note, before the Second Empire actually began
+in France. Gawky though this hotel is, and very uncertain in its use of
+French precedent, contemporaries generally recognized its inspiration as
+derived from the period of Louis XIV. The complex massing and the broken
+skyline, with roofs of different heights and pavilion-like towers at the
+ends, are much more obviously a premonition of the Second Empire mode in
+the form the world outside France would shortly adopt it than were the
+London and New York houses of two years earlier. Unlike Dusillion and
+Lienau, moreover, the architects of the Great Western Hotel, recognized
+masters of the dying Greek Revival as well as of the rising Gothic and
+Renaissance Revivals, were not French-trained.
+
+If the international Second Empire mode had thus, in a sense, beginnings
+outside France, it is nevertheless true that its spiritual headquarters
+was in Paris. The prestige of the new Emperor’s capital, a prestige
+rapidly regained after more than a generation of desuetude, quite as
+much as the visual appeal of multiple mansards and pavilioned façades,
+explains the world-wide success of the mode during, and even well after,
+the eighteen years that the Second Empire lasted.
+
+It was in 1852 that Napoleon, then Prince-President, made himself
+Emperor. He had already signalized, a few months earlier, his ambition
+to revive the splendours not alone of his uncle’s rule but those of
+earlier French monarchs by his decision to complete the Louvre[182]—or
+more accurately to connect the Louvre with the Tuileries. This was a
+project over which generations of architects had struggled on paper and
+at which several abortive starts had already been made. Visconti
+received the commission, not Duban, who had been engaged since 1848 on
+what was proving a highly controversial restoration of the old Louvre.
+Visconti was chosen not for his reputation as a private architect but
+largely because a succession of public projects for new library
+buildings in Paris that he had been asked to prepare under Louis
+Philippe and even under the Second Republic had all fallen through, and
+it was felt he deserved an important commission from the State. Perhaps
+also his Tomb of Napoleon I at the Invalides made him especially
+sympathetic to Napoleon III.
+
+A viable scheme for the New Louvre was produced by the sixty-year-old
+Visconti with very great rapidity. Counting on the great size of the
+Cour du Carrousel to obscure the awkward lack of parallelism between the
+Louvre and the Tuileries, he planned two hollow blocks extending
+westward at either end of the existing western front of the old Louvre.
+Beyond these blocks narrower wings, in part built already, would connect
+with the two ends of the Tuileries Palace in which French rulers usually
+lived. In the middle of the court fronts of the side blocks there were
+to be large pavilions, echoing Le Mercier’s in the centre of the west
+wing of the old Louvre, and other smaller pavilions to mark the salient
+corners towards the Place du Carrousel. Although the new constructions
+were intended to house various things—two ministries, a library, stables
+for the Tuileries, etc.—they were designed comprehensively with no
+specific indication of what would go on behind the long walls and inside
+the various pavilions. The New Louvre was not a palace or Royal
+residence; but like the old Louvre, which by this time housed several
+disparate activities—most notably the chief art gallery of France—it was
+meant to be representationally palatial.
+
+In 1853 Visconti died and H.-M. Lefuel (1810-80), a pupil of Huyot, took
+over. Lefuel very much enriched the design and thereby provided the
+prime Parisian exemplar of the Second Empire mode, at least as the world
+outside France came to know it in the late fifties and sixties. Heavily
+though Lefuel leaned on the precedents provided by the various sections
+of the old Louvre, it is important to stress that his design did not
+represent, in the way of the first half of the century, a specific
+‘revival’. For one thing, the old Louvre, begun by Pierre Lescot late in
+François I’s reign and carried forward by a succession of architects in
+the next four hundred years, offered a wide range of suggestions but no
+one consistent model. The most characteristic and striking features of
+the New Louvre, the corner pavilions, were those that were most eclectic
+in inspiration and in their total effect most nearly original (Plate
+68). No part of the old Louvre is as boldly plastic as these pavilions
+with their rich applied orders set far forward of the wall-plane; only
+Le Mercier’s Pavillon de l’Horloge on the old Louvre offered precedent
+for the great height of all the new pavilion roofs and in particular for
+the convex mansards, like square domes, over the central pavilions
+flanking the Cour du Carrousel.
+
+Sumptuous as was Goujon’s sculptural investiture of the earliest work in
+the court of the old Louvre, this was delicate in scale and very flat;
+much of the sculptural decoration of the new pavilions follows Goujon
+fairly closely, but even more—some of it nearly in the round—is so
+bombastically plastic as almost to justify the term ‘Neo-Baroque’.
+Although there is actual early-seventeenth-century precedent for most of
+their individual details, the very lush stone dormers set against the
+high straight mansards of the corner pavilions are particularly novel in
+effect. For the next thirty years, and even longer, such features of the
+New Louvre would be imitated all over the western world yet,
+paradoxically, they had much less influence in France and almost none in
+Paris.
+
+As far as the outside world—particularly perhaps England and the United
+States, but hardly less Latin America—was concerned the New Louvre was
+the prime architectural glory of Second Empire Paris and the symbol,
+_par excellence_, of cosmopolitan modernity. Burghers in Amsterdam and
+Montreal, vacationers in Yorkshire and silver-miners in the Rocky
+Mountains all expected to find echoes of it in the sumptuous new hotels
+they frequented; Latin Americans continued to emulate it even into the
+twentieth century. Yet in the real Paris of the Second Empire, the Paris
+which is largely still extant today, the New Louvre is but one prominent
+structure among many and, as has been said, not even a very typical one.
+
+The first Napoleon had had no time to carry out any considerable
+urbanistic reorganization of his French capital. But for the goodwill of
+his successors, notably Louis Philippe, the architectural projects that
+he was able to initiate would never have been brought to completion. His
+nephew, however, vowed to peace and not to war, had nearly two decades
+in which to build. Well before his reign began, moreover, he had
+definitely made up his mind to replan Paris more drastically than any
+great city had ever been replanned before.[183] Only a few fine squares,
+the Champs Élysées, and the Rue de Rivoli remain in Paris from earlier
+campaigns of urban extension and replanning; but the Paris of the Second
+Empire, the Paris of the boulevards and the great avenues, is the
+urbanistic masterwork of the third quarter of the nineteenth century, a
+period notably deficient in urbanistic achievement almost everywhere
+else except in Vienna.
+
+For all the sumptuousness of the individual monuments with which the
+focal points of Napoleon III’s Paris were ornamented, their settings are
+generally more distinguished than the ‘jewels’ mounted in them; an
+exception, of course, is the Place de l’Étoile where, however, the jewel
+was inherited from an earlier period (Plate 7). This is because of the
+high standard of design that was maintained in the general run of new
+blocks of flats that lined the _places_, the boulevards, and the avenues
+(Plate 75A). Since in Second Empire Paris the urban totality is more
+significant than the individual buildings, and since over the years of
+the Empire—or for that matter down even to the eighties—there was very
+little stylistic development, the Parisian production of this period may
+well be presented more topographically than chronologically, as if one
+were outlining a tour[184] of its splendours.
+
+There is one extant railway station of some distinction belonging to the
+period at which to arrive. Yet this station, Hittorff’s Gare du Nord
+designed in 1861 and built in 1862-5, is perhaps less advanced than
+Duquesney’s Gare de l’Est, which was just being completed as the Second
+Empire opened (Plate 22B). The flat Ionic pilasters of the façade and
+the great archivolt-surrounded openings between them are evidence of the
+firm resistance that Hittorff’s generation put up against the lusher
+tastes of the mid century as expressed in Lefuel’s work on the New
+Louvre. Even more characteristically Romantic Classical, and probably
+finer though less famous than the Gare du Nord, was Cendrier’s Gare de
+Lyon, since demolished, which had been built almost a decade earlier at
+the same time as his Palais de l’Industrie in the early fifties.
+
+Proceeding from Hittorff’s station one strikes immediately the
+characteristic broad straight streets, often lined with trees, that were
+the new Second Empire arteries of Paris. The continuous ranges of grey
+stone buildings, their even skyline crowned with inconspicuous mansards,
+generally include shops below and always contain flats above. They are
+so designed as to attract very little attention to the individual
+structures,[185] almost as little as do the separate houses in London
+terraces. There is much less irregularity of outline than along Nash’s
+Regent Street, for example, and a general consistency in the size and
+phrasing of the windows. There is also very little noticeable variety in
+the handling of the conventional apparatus of academic detail so crisply
+carved in fine limestone. Even where, by great exception, some bolder
+architect such as Viollet-le-Duc used more original detail, the unity of
+character is barely disturbed, so consistent are the basic patterns of
+the façades (Plate 101A).
+
+Since the plan of Paris has remained basically radial, the visitor has
+the choice of proceeding circumferentially along one of the lines of
+outer or inner boulevards or of turning inwards to the centre. It is
+more profitable, on the whole, to advance centripetally, for the outer
+boulevards are generally very monotonous. The Île de la Cité was the
+original core of Paris; the east-and-west axis of the Louvre, extended
+westward along the Champs Élysées all the way to the Étoile, already
+provided a central tract parallel to the Seine; the new cross axis was
+to be a north and south artery running from the Gare de l’Est to the
+Observatoire. On the Île the vast complex of the Palais de Justice,
+whose restoration and extension had been undertaken by Duc as early as
+1840, received a notable Second Empire ornament in its western block,
+facing the Place d’Harcourt, which was built by Duc assisted by E.-T.
+Dommey (1801-72) in 1857-68. Rationalistic in its structural expression
+and Classical in most of its detailing, this façade and the hall behind
+it reflect the tastes of the period in the heavy scale of the parts and
+the rather cranky—and certainly studied—awkwardness of the modelling of
+the various conventional elements of the orders and minor features of
+detail. Duc’s earlier work at the Palais de Justice, on the other hand,
+was detailed with very great grace and elegance, it may be noted.
+
+The principal Second Empire construction on the east-and-west axis of
+Paris, the New Louvre, has been described already. Along the north side
+of the Louvre the Rue de Rivoli was extended eastward in 1851-5 the
+entire length of the palace with no change in the original Percier and
+Fontaine design except for the addition of high quadrantal mansards
+throughout the entire length of the street and its subsidiaries. Even a
+large new hotel[186] was forced into this framework. Yet because of its
+island site, the high rounded roofs give this block as it is usually
+seen from the Place du Théâtre Français to the north something of the
+new plasticity; it thus provided eventually an appropriate terminus to
+the Avenue de l’Opéra, after that was finally completed under the Third
+Republic.
+
+Facing the east side of the Louvre, Hittorff balanced the restored
+Gothic front of Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois with the new front of the
+Mairie du Louvre built in 1857-1861. Characteristic of this period in
+France is the avoidance of Gothic detail on this secular façade in
+favour of something vaguely _François I_; yet the pattern of the front
+of the church is carefully repeated, even to the rose-window in the
+high-pitched gable, and the new tower by Ballu, on axis between the
+Church and the Mairie, is Gothic.
+
+Up to the Rond Point, the Champs Élysées is flanked by parked areas on
+either side and decorated by fountains and other features designed by
+Hittorff (see Chapter 3). At the Rond Point there are a few very
+sumptuous _hôtels particuliers_, but beyond that the avenue was built
+up—or more accurately, for the most part, would eventually be built
+up—like a very broad boulevard flanked by large blocks of flats with
+shops and cafés below. In the open area on the left between the main
+axis, the river, and the new quarter which had taken its name ‘François
+I’ from Biet’s house, lay the Jardin d’Hiver of 1847 and the Palais de
+l’Industrie of 1853-4. Here also is the Rotonde des Panoramas of 1857 by
+G.-J.-A. Davioud (1823-81). Around the Arc de l’Étoile, at the far end
+of the Champs Élysées, are ranged pairs of dignified houses; these were
+designed by Hittorff with the collaboration of Rohault de Fleury in 1855
+and executed in 1857-8 in a mode so academic as to be almost a revival
+of the _style Louis XVI_ (Plate 7). The general layout of the _place_
+was determined by Haussmann, expanding a much earlier scheme of
+Hittorff’s.
+
+What is most notable in all this mid-nineteenth-century construction
+along the main axis of the city is the continuity of taste between the
+Second Empire period and the period that preceded it. The only real echo
+of the New Louvre was in the big private houses set back from the Rond
+Point.
+
+The Avenue de l’Opéra, extending north-westward from the Place du
+Théâtre Français, has become, since its completion in 1878, the major
+cross axis, rather than the earlier Boulevard Sébastopol to the east.
+The Place de l’Opéra, with a short spur of the avenue at its south end,
+was laid out in 1858; and the façades of the buildings (Plate 70C)
+around it began to go up in 1860 from the designs of Rohault de
+Fleury[187] and Henri Blondel (1832-97). The Opéra[188] (more properly
+Académie Nationale de Musique)—after the New Louvre the most conspicuous
+product of the Second Empire—was begun in 1861 from the design with
+which J.-L.-C. Garnier (1825-98), a pupil of Lebas who also worked
+briefly for Viollet-le-Duc, won the second competition held in that
+year. Although the Garnier design is often thought to be particularly
+characteristic of the taste of the Imperial couple, it was actually very
+unpopular with the Empress Eugénie; she had expected the project of her
+friend Viollet-le-Duc to be accepted and was furious when it failed to
+win. Substantially completed externally by 1870, the Opéra was not
+finally finished and opened until January 1875, so that neither Napoleon
+III nor Eugénie ever entered it.
+
+Here, at its heart, the contrast between setting and monument in Second
+Empire Paris is at its most extreme, even though this setting is far
+richer and more plastic than that provided by the severely flat houses
+that surround the Arc de l’Étoile. Just as there, however, the use of a
+giant order on all the big blocks that form the _place_ reveals the
+distinctly academic taste of the leading French architects in this
+period; but Blondel’s rounded pavilions, where two major streets come in
+on either side at an angle, provide an almost Baroque elaboration in the
+grouping of the various masses by which the complex space is defined
+(Plate 70C). Certainly the result is very different from the large open
+areas surrounded by discrete blocks of plain geometrical shape favoured
+by Romantic Classicism.
+
+The Opéra is sumptuous in a rather different way from the New Louvre
+(Plate 70B). Yet in Garnier’s work, as in Lefuel’s, a generically
+Neo-Baroque effect is achieved with elements mostly High Renaissance in
+origin, but here Italian rather than French. The richly coloured
+marbles, the admirably placed sculpture by Carpeaux, and above all the
+fashion in which the masses pile up—from the ornate colonnade crowning
+the main façade, through the half-dome which expresses the auditorium
+externally, to the tall stage-house at the rear—is much richer
+plastically than the somewhat repetitive scheme of the New Louvre. The
+whole, moreover, is made fully three-dimensional by the comparable
+organization of the major elements at the sides and on the rear. Thus
+Garnier provided a visual equivalent to the complex ordering of his
+extremely elaborate plan, a plan the undoubted virtues of which can be
+fully appreciated only on paper (Figure 15). Inside the Opéra the great
+staircase, the foyer, and the actual auditorium drip with somewhat
+brassy gold and the profusion of detail has a curiously un-Renaissance
+spikiness and lumpiness (Plate 71). This quality underlines how
+un-archaeological was Garnier’s approach, how responsive he was (perhaps
+unconsciously) to the new tastes of the mid century that had produced
+the High Victorian[189] Gothic in England in the previous decade and
+fostered generally the international success of the Second Empire mode.
+When Eugénie asked him what the ‘style’ of the Opéra was—_Louis XIV_,
+_Louis XV_, _Louis XVI_—he replied with both tact and accuracy: ‘C’est
+du Napoléon III’.
+
+Like the lushness of the New Louvre, Garnier’s lushness has an
+undeniably parvenu quality characteristic of the time and place; but the
+pace he set, however much emulated all over the world in later opera
+houses, and the peculiar capacity he showed for satisfying the taste for
+bombastic luxury of the third quarter of the century were never equalled
+by other architects, least of all by French ones. In the twin theatres
+flanking the Place du Châtelet,[190] which were built in 1860-2,
+Davioud, the architect of the Rotonde des Panoramas, made little attempt
+to vie with Garnier’s Opéra; but they are considerably more successful
+in their own right than is the Vaudeville in the Boulevard des Capucines
+of 1872 by A.-J. Magne (1816-85), which does. Garnier’s own Panorama
+Français of 1882 at 251 Rue Saint-Honoré has only a modest façade to the
+street.
+
+Only one other work of Garnier himself rivals the Opéra, his Casino at
+Monte Carlo of 1878. The fine site that this occupies somewhat makes up
+for its tawdry finish in painted stucco, and the two-towered façade
+towards the bay has a properly festive air. The Casino and Baths he
+built at Vittel in 1882, his Observatory at Nice, and the Cercle de la
+Librairie of 1880 in the Boulevard Saint-Germain in Paris are
+considerably quieter in design. The Palais Longchamps[191] of 1862-9 in
+Marseilles by H.-J. Espérandieu (1829-74), who had worked for Questel
+and for Vaudoyer, two palatial museum blocks joined by a curved
+colonnade above an elaborate cascade, is more Neo-Baroque than most work
+of the period (Plate 70A); but much of the credit should go to the
+sculptor Bartholdi whose earlier fountain project Espérandieu took over.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 15. J.-L.-C. Garnier: Paris, Opéra, 1863-74, plan
+]
+
+Despite what has been said of the houses at the Rond Point, most Second
+Empire mansions in Paris, at least those built by leading architects,
+tend to be rather restrained in their general design and often quite
+archaeologically correct in their detailing. They are likely, moreover,
+to follow French seventeenth- or eighteenth-century models rather than
+those of sixteenth- or seventeenth-century Italy. Already, in the Hôtel
+de Pontalba, Visconti had copied Versailles closely in the interiors,
+while his exterior followed the line of the early eighteenth-century
+_hôtels particuliers_. (This was drastically remodelled in the
+eighties.) Labrouste, in the Hôtel Fould, 29-31 Rue de Berri, which was
+built in 1856-8, was rather plausibly Louis XIII; while Alfred Armand
+(1805-88), a pupil of Leclerc and a frequent collaborator with
+Pellechet, in designing the Hôtel Pereire and its twin in the Place
+Pereire about 1855 approached the _style Louis XVI_ as closely as
+Hittorff did round the Étoile. Nevertheless, study of Parisian exemplars
+inspired many foreign architects to design houses that could hardly be
+anything else but Second Empire.
+
+This is largely explained by the special character of the
+publications[192] of C.-D. Daly (1811-93), a pupil of Duban, and of
+P.-V. Calliat (1801-81), a pupil of Vaudoyer, through which current
+French work of this period chiefly became known to the outside world.
+Almost as was the case at the opening of the century, when the volumes
+illustrating Prix de Rome projects made the higher aspirations of French
+architects better known to students abroad than their ordinary practice,
+the publications of this later day seem to have focused attention on
+certain aspects only of the French architectural scene, aspects
+prominent enough, but not altogether characteristic as regards public
+monuments and dominant official taste. Without knowledge of the French
+architectural past, without the inhibitions instilled early in French
+architects by their training at the École des Beaux-Arts, foreign
+architects readily derived from published sources a Second Empire mode
+considerably lusher than was generally approved for public use in French
+academic circles and made it very much their own. Even in public
+architecture foreigners must have seen current work with different eyes
+from the French.
+
+For example, the Tribunal de Commerce on the Île de la Cité, an agency
+provided in 1858-64 with a building of its own instead of mere quarters
+in the Bourse, was supposed by French contemporaries to express in its
+detailing the Emperor’s personal enthusiasm for the _quattrocento_
+buildings that he had lately seen in Brescia. But posterity, like
+foreigners when the Tribunal was new, notes in this work of A.-N. Bailly
+(1810-92) the characteristic Second Empire mansards and the almost
+Neo-Baroque dome—which at Haussmann’s insistence was added to close the
+vista down the new north-south artery—not the uncharacteristically flat
+and delicately detailed façades. Far finer is the front of that section
+of the École des Beaux-Arts facing the Seine which was built by Bailly’s
+master Duban in 1860-2, finer and doubtless also truer to the most
+exigent taste of the day. Rather directly expressive of its interior
+uses—it houses exhibition galleries, etc.—the detailing of this façade
+is quite original without being at all cranky like Duc’s on the Palais
+de Justice, and the whole very subtle in composition (Plate 72B). Much
+of the cold severity characteristic of the previous half-century
+remains; but Duban was clearly trying to be creative, not
+archaeological, so that one cannot properly apply stylistic names from
+the past, not even to the extent that it is possible to do so in the
+case of the New Louvre and the Opéra. However, such high distinction of
+design as Duban achieved here was rather rare in Second Empire Paris; it
+parallels in this period the equally exceptional distinction of Henri
+Labrouste’s Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève of the forties.
+
+The accepted range of stylistic inspiration was so wide that it is often
+only a certain syncretism that gives buildings of this period, nominally
+in any one of half a dozen ‘styles’, a recognizably contemporary
+flavour. So also new methods of construction, rather than superseding
+masonry in toto and thereby demanding original expression as in Victor
+Baltard’s Central Markets, were more characteristically fused with it,
+as in the reading-rooms of Labrouste’s libraries. Of these only the
+later, that in the Bibliothèque Nationale, was built under the Second
+Empire (Plate 69). Except for this Salle de Travail of 1861-9 and the
+Magasin or stacks, both so exciting to posterity, most of Labrouste’s
+other work at this institution, begun in 1855, is as derivative as his
+private houses; for the most part it is actually hard to say where the
+old seventeenth- and eighteenth-century buildings stop and his
+nineteenth-century additions and those of his successor J.-L. Pascal
+(1837-1920) begin.
+
+Despite the increasing use of metal in all sorts of buildings, there was
+undoubtedly less sympathy for it than earlier, and hence less success in
+finding appropriate expression of its qualities (see Chapter 7). By
+exception, however, the Central Markets in Lyons of 1858 by Antoine
+Desjardins (1814-82), a pupil of Duban, have a somewhat Labrouste-like
+elegance in the arched and pierced metal principals spanning the three
+naves that is not found in Baltard’s so much larger Central Markets in
+Paris.
+
+In church architecture something like full eclecticism reigned in Paris
+under Napoleon III, although Gothic was most popular in the provinces.
+The new Parisian churches generally occupy focal points where major
+avenues join or boulevards change direction; but, like the Opéra, they
+have little visual relation to the sober settings provided by the blocks
+of flats among which they are placed. Instead, each one seems intended
+to illustrate an alternative mode quite different from the standard
+urban vernacular of the day.
+
+Saint-François-Xavier in the Boulevard Montparnasse was begun by
+the elderly Lusson in 1861 and finished by T.-F.-J. Uchard
+(1809-91) in 1875. With its basilican plan and cold Early
+Renaissance detail, this might well have been built under Louis
+Philippe. Saint-Jean-de-Belleville by Lassus, on the other hand,
+begun in 1854 and completed in 1859 after his death, while larger
+and rather better built than his churches of the forties, hardly
+represents any advance over Gau’s Sainte-Clotilde, completed by
+Ballu only two years earlier. Neo-Gothic could hardly be duller.
+However, Saint-Denys-de-l’Estrée (Plate 98), the parish church of
+the suburb of St-Denis, designed by Lassus’s associate and
+successor Viollet-le-Duc[193] in 1860 and built in 1864-7, is more
+comparable in quality to the contemporary High Victorian Gothic
+churches of England (see Chapter 11).
+
+Victor Baltard’s church of Saint-Augustin, also of 1860-7, is not
+located, like the Gothic edifices by Lassus and Viollet-le-Duc, in a
+working-class district or suburb, but occupies a very prominent if
+awkwardly narrow triangular site in the Boulevard Malesherbes near its
+intersection with the Boulevard Haussmann. Considering the success of
+his Central Markets, it is not surprising that Baltard used iron here;
+but he did so with much less consistency and thoroughness than Boileau
+had done at Saint-Eugène (see Chapter 7). The arched iron principals of
+the roof accord very ill with the Romanesquoid-Renaissance design of the
+masonry structure below. The front, with its great rose window, is
+somewhat more effective. At least it provides a strong urbanistic focus
+among the standardized ranges of blocks of flats that line the
+boulevards in this quarter. Two other big Parisian churches are similar
+in quality although quite different in appearance. Ballu, in addition to
+finishing Sainte-Clotilde, built both Saint-Ambroise in the Boulevard
+Voltaire, which is certainly more plausibly Romanesque than
+Saint-Augustin, and also La Trinité in the Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin,
+which is much less plausibly _François I_ than his later work at the
+Hôtel de Ville. La Trinité was built in 1861-7, Saint-Ambroise in
+1863-9. Both are vast and pretentious, but neither has much positive
+character. Like so many comparable examples of the eclecticism of this
+period in other countries, it is by their faults and not by any
+characteristic virtues that they are readily recognizable as products of
+the Second Empire.
+
+Two Romanesquoid churches less prominently located, and hence less well
+known, are considerably more interesting. One is the parish church of
+Charenton, Seine, built by Claude Naissant (1801-79) in 1857-9; this is
+clearly composed and detailed with a somewhat eclectic elegance not
+unworthy of Labrouste or Duban. Much larger is Notre-Dame-de-la-Croix in
+the Rue Julien-Lacroix in the Menilmontant quarter of Paris. Built by
+L.-J.-A. Héret (1821-99), a pupil of Lebas, in 1862-80, this is a
+cruciform edifice with the vaulting ribs all of openwork iron like those
+of Saint-Augustin. For archaeological plausibility it compares not
+unfavourably with Questel’s church at Nîmes, begun some twenty years
+earlier, in the design of the masonry portions of the structure.
+
+The only big Paris church of the sixties of much real distinction—the
+only French church, for that matter—is Saint-Pierre-de-Montrouge at the
+intersection of the Avenue du Maine and the Avenue d’Orléans. This was
+built by J.-A.-E. Vaudremer (1829-1914), a pupil of Blouet and Gilbert,
+in 1864-70. Romanesque and Early Christian—perhaps more specifically
+Syrian—in inspiration,[194] this basilica is notably direct in its
+structural expression, nobly scaled, expressively composed, and
+restrained almost to the point of crudity in its detailing (Plate 72A).
+Vaudremer’s Santé Prison off the Boulevard Arago in Paris, which was
+commissioned in 1862 and built in 1865-85, is also Romanesquoid or at
+least in a sort of very simple _Rundbogenstil_. The still quite
+Durandesque character of this prison illustrates Vaudremer’s close
+linkage, through the work of his two masters, who had both specialized
+in designing prisons and asylums under Louis Philippe, with the
+classicizing rationalism of 1800. His much later Lycées of the eighties,
+Buffon and Molière in Paris and those at Grenoble and Montauban, on the
+other hand, reflect the more Gothic rationalism of Viollet-le-Duc (see
+Chapter 11).
+
+Vaudremer’s work may have had some influence, around 1870, on the
+American Richardson, who was still a student in Paris when
+Saint-Pierre-de-Montrouge was begun (see Chapter 13). However, no
+significant line of development led forward in France from his sort of
+church design. In a smaller and later Parisian church, Notre-Dame in the
+Rue d’Auteuil of 1876-83, Vaudremer himself showed no further
+development of his personal style, though the interior here is not
+unimpressive in its scale and proportions.
+
+The vast and prominent church of the Sacré-Cœur on Montmartre in
+Paris was begun by Paul Abadie[195] (1812-84), a pupil of Leclerc,
+well after the Second Empire was over in 1874, and largely finished
+before the end of the century by the younger Magne (Lucien,
+1849-1916). This is Romanesque in inspiration, too, but painfully
+archaeological—’painfully’, because its architect, in carrying out
+the restoration of his principal medieval exemplar, Saint-Front at
+Périgueux, seems to have sought to provide ‘precedent’ for several
+of the features that he introduced here! Yet the bold exploitation
+of the remarkable site of this church, dominating Paris from the
+heights of Montmartre, and the bubble-like silhouette of its cluster
+of domes when seen from a distance give the Sacré-Cœur positive
+qualities lacking in most other French ecclesiastical work of the
+later nineteenth century except Saint-Pierre-de-Montrouge.
+
+Architecture in France had been a highly centralized profession ever
+since the late seventeenth century. Under Louis XV a few provincial
+cities showed some capacity for independent activity, but this subsided
+during the unproductive years that followed the Revolution. Except to a
+certain extent in Lyons and Marseilles, local activity did not revive
+very notably in the first half of the nineteenth century. Under the
+Second Empire most French cities still remained content to follow the
+lead of Paris. There is hardly a large provincial town which did not—to
+stress first the positive side of the picture—lay out broad boulevards
+or straight avenues and line them with more or less successful versions
+of the _maisons de rapport_ of Paris; on the negative side, the public
+buildings and churches were usually derived from, and too often very
+inferior to, prominent Parisian models.
+
+In the centres of the biggest cities one can well believe that one has
+not left Paris. Occasionally, however, there are urbanistic entities
+which have more vitality than the rigidly controlled and tastefully
+restrained new squares and streets of the capital. The fairly modest
+square in front of the cathedral at Nantes, with its ranges of
+high-mansarded blocks, is a case in point. Better known is the rising
+slope of the Cannebière, continued in the Rue de Noailles and the Allées
+de Meilhan at Marseilles, with the columnar dignity of the Chamber of
+Commerce on the left near the Vieux Port at the bottom and the paired
+Gothic towers of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul closing the vista at the top.
+Public buildings in smaller cities sometimes have a rather illiterate
+sort of gusto in their boldly plastic massing and exuberantly coarse
+detailing closer to Second Empire work abroad than to that of Paris; to
+some eyes these have a theatrical charm not unlike the period flavour of
+Offenbach’s operas. They often date from well after 1870.
+
+Espérandieu’s Neo-Baroque Palais Longchamps at Marseilles has been
+mentioned (Plate 70A). Also at Marseilles is the enormous
+Romanesco-Byzantine cathedral of 1852-93, which was designed by the
+younger Vaudoyer (Léon, 1803-72), a pupil of his father and also of
+Lebas. Espérandieu became _inspecteur_ on the job in 1858 and carried on
+the work after Vaudoyer’s death. This is hardly superior to Ballu’s
+Paris churches, much less to Vaudremer’s or even Abadie’s, but it is
+more striking plastically in its rather redundant combination of domed
+west towers, crossing dome, and transeptal domes; it is also
+exceptionally colouristic for France. There is an almost High Victorian
+Gothic brashness in the treatment of the exterior walls with bands of
+alternately white and green stone. Here the aggressive assurance of the
+period speaks with an even louder voice than at the New Louvre and the
+Paris Opéra; this assurance is echoed, moreover, near by in
+Espérandieu’s own high-placed church of Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde of
+1854-64, a scenic accent of the most brazen Second Empire vulgarity.
+
+The Marseilles Exchange, however, dominating its own tree-lined square,
+is rather similar to the Chamber of Commerce in the Cannebière as it
+rises among ranges of houses that are more Provençal than Parisian in
+the modesty of their painted stucco fronts. Originally begun in 1842 by
+Penchaud, the Exchange was largely built in 1852-60 by his pupil Coste,
+but its style remains _Louis Philippe_ rather than Second Empire.
+
+The great elaboration and consequent expensiveness of Second Empire
+modes of design, as generally executed in France in fine freestone,
+restricted their full exploitation to the capital and the largest
+provincial cities. There is a sort of economic striation, from the
+immense sums the Emperor and, after him, the authorities of the Third
+Republic—even though relatively impoverished—were willing to put into
+representational public construction at the top, through the level
+represented by what Parisian investors spent on blocks of flats or rich
+provincial cities on their principal monuments, down finally to the
+niggardly building budgets of small towns and villages. This striation
+provides a sort of analogue to the breakdown of that earlier stylistic
+unity which had been so marked and happy a characteristic of French
+architecture for at least a century and a half. That this breakdown was
+still relative in France is apparent when one turns to other countries
+where eclectic taste in this period was bolder and where the variation
+in expenditure on different sorts of buildings was at least as great.
+
+French architectural prestige revived internationally in the fifties to
+remain surprisingly high for another two generations.[196] However, the
+Second Empire mode was gradually succeeded internationally by another
+Parisian mode to which it is convenient to apply the name ‘Beaux-Arts’,
+from the École des Beaux-Arts out of whose instruction it stemmed. More
+and more foreigners went to Paris to study as the second half of the
+century wore on, until Paris became almost what Rome had been in the
+eighteenth century. In architectural education the influence of the
+École was especially strong in the New World; the training of English
+and most Continental architects was much less affected. The first two
+architectural schools to be founded in the United States, both by
+William Robert Ware (1832-1915)—himself, curiously enough, a
+practitioner of a fairly aggressive sort of Victorian Gothic (see
+Chapter 11)—that at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Boston
+opened in 1865 and the somewhat later school at Columbia University in
+New York, were both based on the methods of the École.[197] French
+winners of the Prix de Rome were increasingly imported to serve as
+teachers, and three generations later the last of them had not yet left
+the United States. The influence of the École in Latin America was even
+more powerful, and the dominance of its ideas has lasted in some
+countries down almost to the present.[198]
+
+Both in the New World and the Old most cities grew like weeds in the
+third quarter of the century; the analogy is, indeed, a rather accurate
+one, for the growth was characteristically rank, uncontrolled, and
+destructive of earlier architectural amenities. Various European
+capitals, however, imitating Napoleon III’s re-organization of Paris,
+took advantage of the clearing away of their fortifications to lay out
+something equivalent to the _grands boulevards_. Florence during the
+late sixties, for example, when it was very briefly the capital of
+Italy, saw the laying out, according to the general plan of Giuseppe
+Poggi (1811-1901), of a range of avenues and squares that extend around
+the city to the east, north, and west on the site of the old walls.
+These districts, built up over the years 1865-77, display little or none
+of the new Second Empire afflatus. For the most part everywhere in Italy
+in this period the architecture is of generically Renaissance revival
+character. Only in the much later Piazza della Repubblica, carved out of
+the slummy heart of the city in the 80s and 90s, is there a heavy
+pomposity of scale that is curiously un-Florentine—the centre of
+nineteenth-century Athens might be Neo-Greek, but it was Munich, not
+Florence, that became characteristically Neo-Tuscan!
+
+In the old Savoy capital of Turin, where the first half of the century
+had seen such notable urbanistic projects, a vigorous local tradition
+continued to control most of the new work.[199] However, at the farther
+side of the Piazza Carlo Felice the Porta Nuova Railway Station was
+built in 1866-8, as was mentioned in Chapter 3, by the engineer
+Mazzuchetti and the architect Ceppi in a rather original sort of
+_Rundbogenstil_. The vast iron and glass lunette at the front still
+provides a handsome termination to the long axis of the Via Roma,
+although the rear of the station has been rebuilt since the War. Along
+the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele II the earlier arcades of Promis were
+continued almost indefinitely; but the detailing of the façades grew
+continually richer in evident emulation of Second Empire Paris. This
+influence also affected the building up of the contiguous quarter of the
+city. In the fine new square at the end of the Via Garibaldi, however,
+balancing the earlier Piazza Vittorio Veneto at the end of the Via Po,
+the Piazza dello Statuto opened in 1864, the façades by Giuseppe Bollati
+(1819-69) are not at all Parisian, but recall rather the local Academic
+Baroque of Juvarra. Especially effective, and rare in Turin, are the
+warm and tawny colours of the painted stucco walls here.
+
+With the uniting of Italy and the eventual taking over of Rome as the
+capital of the kingdom of Italy on the downfall of Napoleon III in 1870,
+a tremendous expansion[200] of the old Papal city began. The two
+principal new streets extending eastward, the Via Venti Settembre and
+the Via Nazionale, were laid out in 1871 and built up over the next
+fifteen years. Vast and tawny-coloured like the Piazza dello Statuto in
+Turin, but much less distinguished in design, is the Finance Ministry in
+the former street built by Raffaele Canevari (1825-1900) in 1870-7.
+Equally grand in scale and much more dignified are the quadrantal
+façades of the Esedra built by Gaetano Koch (1849-1910) in 1885 at the
+head of the Via Nazionale facing Michelangelo’s Santa Maria degli Angeli
+(Plate 76A). With the fine later fountain by A. Guerrieri and Mario
+Rubelli in the centre this provides a most impressive piece of
+late-nineteenth-century academic urbanism. It still offers a not
+altogether unworthy preface to the Baths of Diocletian—of which it
+actually occupies the site of the largest exedra—and to the new railway
+station (Plate 183B), both so near, which epitomize between them the
+ancient and the modern worlds in the architecture of Rome.
+
+Koch’s Palazzo Boncampagni in the Via Vittorio Veneto, now the American
+Embassy, built in 1886-90, is also very dignified. It represents very
+well the occasional tendency in that decade towards restraint and
+sobriety in Renaissance design, a tendency that balances the
+contemporary stylistic development towards the Neo-Baroque. In the Via
+Nazionale the two most prominent edifices[201] by Italian architects,
+the Palazzo delle Belle Arti of Pio Piacentini (1846-1928) begun in 1882
+and Koch’s Banca d’Italia of 1889-1904, are both quite academic in a
+respectable Renaissance way, and in the latter case impressively
+monumental as well. The same applies _a fortiori_ to the two principal
+public edifices begun in Rome in the eighties—not the respectability,
+goodness knows, but the monumentality. The enormous Palazzo di
+Giustizia, in a new quarter across the Tiber, is an incredibly brash
+example of Neo-Baroque loaded down with heavy rustication, doubtless of
+Piranesian inspiration. This was designed by Giuseppe Calderini
+(1837-1916) in 1883-7 and built in 1888-1910 without the intended high
+mansards.
+
+But the most overpowering new structure in Rome, dominating the whole
+city and blocking the view of both the ancient Forum and the Renaissance
+Campidoglio, is the Monument to Victor Emmanuel II, rising above the
+much enlarged Piazza Venezia at the head of the Corso. Largely the work
+of Count Giuseppe Sacconi (1854-1905),[202] who in 1884 won the third
+competition held for its design, this was begun in 1885 and continued
+after his death by Koch, Piacentini, and M. Manfredi (1859-1927), being
+finally brought to completion only in 1911 by the engineer R. Raffaelli.
+Hardly Second Empire nor yet quite ‘Beaux-Arts’, this most pretentious
+of all nineteenth-century monuments well illustrates the total decadence
+of inherited standards of Classicism in Europe towards the end of the
+century. It can be compared only with Poelaert’s Palace of Justice in
+Brussels, begun twenty years earlier, and entirely to the latter’s
+advantage even as regards mere gargantuan assurance.
+
+In general, Italian production of the second half of the century is of
+relatively slight interest; moreover, it often seriously upsets the
+balance of earlier urban entities by its heavy scale. The great
+exception, and the one ranking Italian work of the period, is generally
+recognized to be the Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II in Milan. In Genoa,
+behind the theatre, the Galleria Mazzini of 1871 also exceeds in length,
+in height, and in elaboration all the galleries and passages built in
+various European cities in the first half of the nineteenth century, yet
+it is not essentially very different from them in its scale or its
+detailing. The vast cruciform Galleria in Milan, however, extending from
+the Piazza del Duomo to the Piazza della Scala, with a great octagonal
+space at the crossing, is in concept and in its actual dimensions more a
+work of urbanism than of architecture (Plate 75B). Built with English
+capital by an English firm, the City of Milan Improvement Company Ltd,
+and even, presumably, with some English professional advice—M. D. Wyatt
+was a member of the English board—this tremendous project more than
+rivals the greatest Victorian railway stations of London in the height,
+if not the span, of its metal-and-glass roof. But the actual designing
+architect was Italian, Giuseppe Mengoni (1829-77), and the Galleria de
+Cristoforis provided him with at least a modest local prototype. Erected
+in 1865-77 and now completely restored to its pristine richness and
+elegance, the Galleria scheme involved the enlargement of the Piazza del
+Duomo and the lining of two of its sides with related façades—executed
+only partly from Mengoni’s designs—as also the regularization of the
+Piazza della Scala. Alessi’s sixteenth-century Palazzo Marino, itself of
+almost Second Empire lushness, was enlarged to serve as the offices of
+the municipality and provided with a new façade in Alessi’s extreme
+Mannerist style across one side of the square facing La Scala. This was
+carried out in 1888-90 by Luca Beltrami (1854-1933), who had studied in
+Paris at the École des Beaux-Arts, to serve as municipal offices.
+
+Like all the other most prominent buildings of this period, Mengoni’s
+Galleria makes its impression by its size, its elaboration of detail,
+and above all its unqualified assurance. From the triumphal-arch portal,
+rising as high as the nave of the medieval Duomo, to the gilded
+arabesques of the pilasters, all is obvious, expensive, and rather
+parvenu; yet the setting—at once so comfortable and so magnificent—that
+it provides for urban life, centre as it has always remained of so much
+Milanese activity, has not been equalled since.[203] The Galleria
+Umberto I in Naples is a late and rather inferior imitation whose ornate
+entrance most ungenerously overpowers the San Carlo Theatre across the
+street. This was built by Emmanuele Rocco in 1887-90.
+
+After Paris the most extensive and sumptuous example of the
+re-organization of a great city carried out in this period is not in
+Italy but in Austria. Vienna had been relatively inactive
+architecturally in the first half of the nineteenth century under
+Francis I (see Chapter 2). His successor Francis Joseph, however, who
+came to the throne in 1848, set out in the following decades as _Kaiser_
+and _König_ to see that his Imperial and Royal capitals should rival
+Napoleon III’s Paris. In 1857 the fortifications surrounding the old
+city of Vienna were removed, and the following year Ludwig Förster
+(1797-1863) won the competition for the layout of the Ringstrasse that
+was to take their place. The execution of this project, with many
+modifications, took some thirty years (Plate 74). Outside the actual
+walls there had been a wide glacis, and therefore the Ring could be
+developed not merely as a series of wide tree-lined boulevards like
+those of Paris but with large open spaces in which major public
+buildings were grouped. These edifices are even more various in style
+than the comparable ones in Paris, despite the fact that they were the
+work of a very closely knit group of architects. None of them is of
+specifically Second Empire character, though the high mansards and the
+pavilion composition of the New Louvre were used fairly frequently on
+private buildings in Vienna and throughout the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
+
+The earliest major project of Francis Joseph was the construction of the
+Arsenal, begun in 1849, where most of the leading architects of the
+period worked (see Chapter 2). All in various versions of the
+_Rundbogenstil_, this group of buildings culminates in the centrally
+placed Army Museum of 1856-77 by Förster and his Danish son-in-law
+Theophil von Hansen (1813-91). On this the very ornate detail is
+Byzantinesque and Saracenic in inspiration, yet it is not without a
+distinctive flavour that is unmistakably of this particular period: the
+brilliant polychromy of the red and yellow brick walls almost seems to
+echo, like Vaudoyer’s Marseilles cathedral, the bolder effects of the
+contemporary High Victorian Gothic architects of England.
+
+Ferstel’s bank in the Herrengasse of 1856-60, also _Rundbogenstil_, has
+been mentioned earlier. The North Railway Station of 1858-65 by Theodor
+Hoffmann was _Rundbogenstil_ of an even more ornate sort, with only a
+rather modest iron-and-glass-roofed shed set between its two massive
+masonry blocks. This was badly damaged by bombing in the last War but
+not totally destroyed. On the other hand, the South Station, built in
+1869-73 by Wilhelm Flattich (1826-1900), a pupil of Leins in Stuttgart,
+was of rather conventional High Renaissance character.
+
+The typical and, one may suppose, the preferred stylistic vehicle of
+most Viennese architects in these decades was, indeed, a rather rich
+High Renaissance mode. This, for example, Hansen used very effectively
+for the Palace of Archduke Eugene of 1865-7 and for the Palais Epstein
+at 1 Parlamentsring of 1870-3. He and Förster, and after Förster’s death
+Hansen alone, as well as many other architects, employed this mode
+ubiquitously for various big blocks of flats along the Ring and
+elsewhere (Plate 74). Good examples are such new hotels of the period as
+the former Britannia, still standing in the Schillerplatz, and the
+Donau, which once rose opposite the North Station. Both are by Heinrich
+Claus (1835-?) and Josef Grosz (1828-?) and were built in the early
+seventies. Their rather Barryesque raised end-pavilions, without
+mansards, and the heavily sumptuous detailing of the façades are most
+characteristic. The better known Sacher’s Hotel behind the Opera House,
+built by W. Fraenkel in 1876, is somewhat smaller and less lush, at
+least externally. The block at 8 Operngasse, built by Ehrmann in the
+early sixties, was topped with Parisian mansards, as are also the long
+blocks in the Reichstrasse behind the Parlament and the University on
+either side of the Rathaus; these also have open arcades at their base
+somewhat like those in Turin.
+
+As along the boulevards of Paris, there is a considerable homogeneity in
+the private architecture that lines the Ring and the many squares and
+streets that were built up at the same time. Only in the design of
+public monuments—often by much the same architects, it is worth
+noting—did a pompous and somewhat retardataire eclecticism rule.
+Consider the major works of Ferstel: his bank is _Rundbogenstil_; his
+Votivkirche of 1856-79 is Gothic; his University something else again.
+
+Ferstel’s Gothic must be compared, not with the distinctly original High
+Victorian churches of its period in England (see Chapter 10), but with
+Gau’s earlier Sainte-Clotilde in Paris (see Chapter 6): it is certainly
+a considerable improvement over that in the general justness of the
+scale and the plausible laciness of the fourteenth-century detail. But
+in English terms the Votivkirche is still Early rather than High
+Victorian. The painted decoration by J. Führich and others, somewhat
+more discreet than that in the chief _Rundbogenstil_ churches of Vienna,
+relieves effectively the coldness usual in these big Continental
+examples of Neo-Gothic.
+
+Ferstel’s much later University of 1873-4, which stands next door to his
+church and balances Hansen’s precisely contemporaneous Grecian Parlament
+(see Chapter 2), is a richly plastic pavilioned composition of
+generically Renaissance character. It also has a high convex mansard
+over the central block like those on the New Louvre, a feature echoed on
+the Justizpalast in the Schmerlingplatz, built by Alexander Wielemans
+(1843-1911) after the University in 1874-81. So much for the main works
+of one leading architect of the period. Not all Ferstel’s contemporaries
+had quite so varied a stylistic repertory, however.
+
+In Vienna, as in Paris, one of the most conspicuous and also one of the
+most successful and original of the new public buildings was the Opera
+House. This was built in 1861-9 by Van der Nüll & Siccardsburg in a mode
+quite unrelated to their earlier work at the Arsenal but one not easy to
+define. The Vienna Opera House is a somewhat simpler and less boldly
+plastic structure than Garnier’s, both in its generally right-angled
+massing, with pairs of rectangular wings projecting on each side towards
+the rear, and in the rather flat, somewhat _François I_ detail. Yet the
+vast curved roof, actually rather like that over the buildings along the
+Rue de Rivoli, does give it a distinctly Second Empire air (Plate 74).
+Less grandly sited than the Paris Opéra, it was none the less balanced
+across the Opernring by one of the largest and handsomest of Hansen’s
+private works, the Heinrichshof of 1861-3 (Plate 73B). This had a fine
+glass-roofed passage through its centre and ranges of flats behind the
+elaborate Late Renaissance façades. It has unfortunately been demolished
+since the War to make way for a very poor modern block of offices.
+
+Here by the Opera House, as at the Place de l’Opéra in Paris, the
+Viennese urban achievement of the age was concentrated. The
+Heinrichshof, with its raised central portion matching the high roof of
+the Opera House opposite and its corner towers corresponding to the
+mansarded pavilions of more definitely French-styled blocks of flats,
+offered a handsomer Austrian equivalent of the Second Empire mode than
+does the Opera House itself; for the Opera House lacks externally the
+lushness and bombast characteristic of the period at its most assured,
+while the auditorium within, re-opened in 1955, is today a much
+simplified reconstruction by Erich Boltenstern (b. 1896). Yet the
+masonry exterior of the Opera House is clean and fresh today thanks to
+Boltenstern’s restoration and, with the great staircase and foyer
+regilded and refurbished generally, it offers a lighter and more festive
+vision of the period than do the vast majority of Viennese buildings
+whose stucco so often badly needs a coat of paint.
+
+Hansen’s Musikvereinsgebäude of 1867-9 in the Dumbagasse is academic in
+an almost eighteenth-century way, both as regards the general
+organization of the exterior and the restraint of the detailing. In his
+still later Parlament of 1873-83, as has been noted earlier, he produced
+the last grandiose monument of the Greek Revival. More characteristic,
+however, is his contemporaneous Academy of Fine Arts of 1872-6 in the
+Schillerplatz. This is externally in the Renaissance mode that he
+presumably preferred after he left Athens, but it has Grecian detailing
+inside of a delicacy and elegance that recalls the thirties. Especially
+handsome is the colonnaded Aula in the centre, even though its rich
+painted ceiling of 1875-80 by Anselm Feuerbach is inappropriately
+Baroque in a rather Rubens-like way.
+
+Another Austrian architect besides Ferstel was using Gothic for
+prominent Viennese edifices in this period (see also Chapter 11). After
+Ferstel’s Votivkirche the next Neo-Gothic structure was the Academische
+Gymnasium in the Beethovenplatz; this was built in 1863-6 by Friedrich
+von Schmidt (1825-91), who had worked earlier under Zwirner on the
+restoration and completion of Cologne Cathedral. But the school was soon
+outshone in size and in elaboration by Schmidt’s Rathaus of 1872-83.
+This stands between Hansen’s Parlament and Ferstel’s University but in a
+line with the Reichstrasse at their rear. The Vienna Rathaus is
+certainly not unrelated to G. G. Scott’s Victorian Gothic and that of
+Waterhouse in England, particularly in the side wings that end,
+eclectically enough, in high-mansarded pavilions. But the general
+fussiness of the turreted front recalls rather pre-Puginian Gothic, say
+Porden’s Eaton Hall of seventy years earlier (see Chapters 6 and 10).
+
+Despite the total visual unlikeness of the Rathaus to its Grecian
+neighbour, the Parlament, both have a similarly obsolete air. It is as
+if Francis Joseph’s presumptive intention in the fifties of outbuilding
+Napoleon III had been succeeded by a belated and rather provincial
+desire to outrival the larger structures in other countries in the two
+leading modes of the previous period, the Greek Revival and the Gothic
+Revival, neither much represented hitherto in Vienna.
+
+Yet an equally prominent public monument of the seventies and eighties,
+the Burgtheater, which stands just opposite the Rathaus, is of a Late
+Renaissance, almost Neo-Baroque order, with a distinctly Second Empire
+flavour to its bowed front and generally very plastic composition (Plate
+73A). This, the most distinguished of all the public monuments along the
+Ringstrasse, was built in 1874-88 by Semper, whose international career
+in Germany, England, and Switzerland wound up in Vienna after he was
+called there in 1871 by Francis Joseph to advise on the extension of the
+Hofburg Palace. Except perhaps in its bowed front, this Viennese theatre
+does not much resemble the rebuilt Dresden Opera House of 1871-8 which
+Semper had just designed (see Chapter 9). Perhaps Semper and his
+Viennese partner Karl von Hasenauer (1833-94), a pupil of Van der Nüll
+and of Siccardsburg, were somewhat influenced by the plans on which they
+were working together for the extension of the nearby palace; these
+were, not inappropriately, in the Austrian Baroque of Fischer von
+Erlach’s unfinished Michaelertrakt of the Hofburg dating from the second
+quarter of the eighteenth century. However that may be, the theatre,
+boldly scaled and tightly composed, is a far more successful building
+than the very derivative Neue Hofburg projecting out towards the Ring as
+that was executed in 1881-94 by Hasenauer after Semper’s death. The
+post-War restoration of the theatre and the rebuilding of its auditorium
+are by Michel Engelhart (b. 1897).
+
+Semper and Hasenauer’s two vast Museums of Art History and Natural
+History face each other on a large square across the Burgring from the
+Neue Hofburg. Of identical design, they were both largely built in
+1872-81. In the treatment of the exteriors—they were finished internally
+only very much later—as also in some of Hansen’s very latest work in
+Vienna, one senses a conscious rejection of the bold plasticity and the
+compositional elaboration characteristic of the preceding decades, and
+most notably of the Burgtheater. The Renaissance detail is by no means
+sparse, but there is an academic sort of primness and orderliness
+belonging to the last quarter of the century such as has been noted
+earlier in Koch’s Roman work.
+
+The Bodenkreditanstalt built by Emil von Förster (1838-1909), Ludwig’s
+son, in 1884-7 is still more severe in its Florentine _quattrocento_
+way, recalling the more Tuscan aspects of the _Rundbogenstil_. With this
+may be contrasted the unashamed Neo-Baroque of Karl König’s Philipphof
+of 1883, introducing one of the modes most characteristic of the end of
+the century in both Austria and Germany.
+
+Budapest, the second capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, was also
+much embellished with public buildings by Francis Joseph. Stüler from
+Berlin worked here, using a quiet version of the _Rundbogenstil_ for the
+Academy of Sciences in 1862-4. But the later and more ornate
+_Rundbogenstil_ of Berlin and Vienna had already been echoed in Budapest
+by Frigyes Feszl (1821-84) in the Vigado Concert Hall of 1859-65. This
+could easily be by Ferstel, so similar is it to his bank in Vienna. The
+leading Hungarian architect of the period, Miklós Ybl (1814-91), who was
+trained in Vienna, also used the _Rundbogenstil_, but of a rather more
+Romanesquoid sort, for the Ferenczváros Parish Church which he built in
+1867-78. However, his Renaissance Revival Custom House of 1870-4 is more
+nearly up to the best Vienna standards of the day as maintained by
+Hansen. The Opera House that Ybl built in 1879-84, with its boldly
+convex mansards, vies in its rich plasticity with Garnier’s, but none
+too successfully. The Szent Lukásh Hotel by R. L. Ray (1845-99), a
+Swiss-born pupil of Gamier, is one of the largest mansarded Second
+Empire hotels anywhere in the western world. On the whole, the dominant
+influences in Hungary were Austrian and German, however, not Parisian,
+as is hardly surprising. No autochthonous note was struck; as is true of
+all Eastern Europe, the architecture of this age is as essentially
+colonial in character as in the outlying British Dominions or in Latin
+America, although the models emulated were rather different.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 9
+ SECOND EMPIRE AND COGNATE MODES ELSEWHERE
+
+
+IN the cities of Germany and of Northern Europe generally there were in
+this period no such comprehensive urbanistic developments as in Paris
+and Vienna. Some individual public monuments are, perhaps, not inferior
+to those that Napoleon III and Francis Joseph obtained from their
+architects; but these are rarely grouped into such coherent entities as
+the Marktplatz in Karlsruhe of the first quarter of the century or the
+Ludwigstrasse in Munich of the second quarter. The domestic building of
+the period is also considerably less consistent in character than in
+Paris and Vienna.
+
+The architectural scene in Germany was overshadowed by the distinguished
+achievements of the previous period. The Schinkel tradition, although
+increasingly corrupted, lasted on almost indefinitely not merely in
+Prussia but in most German states. Stüler, Schinkel’s ablest disciple in
+Berlin after the death of the short-lived Persius, remained an
+internationally respected practitioner. He was employed in Sweden and in
+Hungary, as has been noted, not to speak of German cities, down to his
+death in 1865. By him and by many others the _Rundbogenstil_ was
+employed quite as late as in Austria-Hungary both in the various German
+states and also in the Scandinavian countries. Such a very large and
+prominent public building as the Berlin Rathaus of 1859-70 by H. F.
+Waesemann (1813-79) well indicated the long-continued hold of this mode
+on German officialdom. Nor was this particularly inferior in quality to
+much similar work produced in the earlier heyday of the _Rundbogenstil_
+before 1850. As in Austria, however, alternative modes were growing
+increasingly popular, even though none rose to a local dominance
+comparable to that of revived Renaissance in Vienna. The taste of the
+period for elaboration, both in general composition and in detail, is
+everywhere evident regardless of the mode employed.
+
+French influence was not absent; indeed, specifically Second Empire
+features were perhaps more common than in Austria. G. H. Friedrich
+Hitzig (1811-81), a former assistant of Schinkel’s, had actually studied
+in Paris. After Stüler, he was the most prominent and successful
+architect of the period in Berlin, and in the fifties he built a few
+mansarded houses there. Along the new Viktoriastrasse in the Tiergarten
+quarter, where he did a great deal of work in 1855-60, one house among
+the eight that he built was mansarded; the others and most of those he
+was erecting near by in the Bellevuestrasse, the Stülerstrasse, and
+other streets at the same time were, however, in a much elaborated
+Schinkelesque vein. Suburban houses of the sixties occasionally followed
+Parisian modes also; but far more were clumsy variants of Schinkel’s and
+Persius’s Italian Villas, or else in some sort of equally clumsy Gothic.
+
+Public buildings in Germany were only occasionally designed in the
+mansarded mode and, in general, only after the mid sixties. The
+Baugewerkschule in Stuttgart, built in 1866-70 by Josef von Egle
+(1818-99) its director, had projecting centre and end pavilions with
+crudely Parisian detailing. It is curious to realize that it was
+contemporary with Leins’s belated but rather distinguished Grecian
+Königsbau there. In Cologne the High School of 1860-2, and the
+Stadttheater of 1870-2 by Julius Raschdorf (1823-1914), both destroyed
+in the last War, were heavily mansarded and very plastically modelled;
+the latter, at least, on which H. Deutz collaborated with Raschdorf, had
+some real compositional interest in the tight interlocking of the masses
+(Plate 77B). Despite their very evidently French character, both were
+considered by contemporaries to be ‘German Renaissance’—as, for that
+matter, was Wieleman’s Justizpalast in Vienna—because of the specific
+precedent of much of the detail; German Renaissance was by this time the
+latest fashion, but to later eyes these buildings in Cologne were no
+more characteristic examples of it than the one in Vienna. Raschdorf is
+better known in any case for his much later Neo-Baroque work, notably
+the Berlin Cathedral, for which he prepared the design in 1888, although
+it was not built until 1894-1905.
+
+The Military Hospital by F. Heise in Dresden of 1869 was considerably
+more French in the strong articulation of the mansarded centre and end
+pavilions and also in its quite Parisian detailing than Raschdorf’s
+contemporary buildings in Cologne. More prominent in Dresden by far,
+however, is the Hoftheater, which is not at all French in character.
+This was designed in 1871 by Semper after his earlier theatre there had
+been destroyed by fire; its construction was supervised by Semper’s son
+Manfred after he settled in Vienna, and completed in 1878. Gone was most
+of the festive grace and delicacy of his Hamburg and Dresden work of the
+forties, even though the auditorium was not dissimilar to the one that
+had been destroyed. Yet in the arrangement of the interior and the
+disposition of the masses this rivals in clarity of organization the
+opera-houses of Garnier in Paris and of Van der Nüll & Siccardsburg in
+Vienna. The plans undoubtedly owed a great deal to the elaborate studies
+Semper had made for Ludwig II in 1865-7 for an opera-house to be built
+in Munich especially for the production of Wagner’s operas.
+
+The relative importance of Berlin was, of course, rising well before its
+establishment as the imperial capital in 1871. Friedrich Hitzig’s most
+considerable public building in Berlin, the Exchange, built in 1859-63
+at the same time that the Rathaus was in construction, was neither
+Schinkelesque nor _Rundbogenstil_ but in a rather academic sort of Late
+Baroque (Plate 77A). Hitzig seems to have been consciously recalling
+what Knobelsdorf built for Frederick the Great and thus presaging the
+more overt Neo-Baroque of the last decades of the century. His later
+Reichsbank of 1871-6, on the other hand, was in general considerably
+more Classical despite its banded and diapered walls in two colours of
+brick.
+
+The public buildings of Martin K. P. Gropius (1824-80) are also
+indicative of the general stylistic stasis of this period in Germany.
+His Museum of Decorative Art in Berlin, begun in 1877 and completed in
+1881 by Heinrich Schmieden (1835-1913), resembled Hitzig’s houses of the
+fifties in its Grecian elaboration; it also recalled Klenze’s Hermitage
+Museum, built more than a generation earlier in Petersburg. Gropius &
+Schmieden’s still later Gewandhaus in Leipzig of 1880-4, however, is
+less reminiscent of Schinkel or Klenze and more conventionally academic.
+This concert hall was renowned for its superb acoustics.
+
+It is easy to forget how much the architects of these decades,
+apparently obsessed with stylistic elaboration, were also concerned to
+incorporate in their buildings all sorts of technical advances. Iron may
+show less than in the previous period, but it was quite consistently
+used behind the scenes. Central heating, extensive sanitary equipment,
+vertical transportation, and various other things that are taken for
+granted today first became accepted necessities in these decades. But it
+was only in the commercial field—and in England and the United States
+above all—that such technical innovations influenced architecture very
+positively or visibly (see Chapter 14), however much they must actually
+have preoccupied architects who seem today so imitative and
+retardataire. The Anhalter Bahnhof in Berlin by Franz Schwechten
+(1841-1924), however, built in 1872-80, did represent a real advance
+over the principal English railway station of this period, St Pancras in
+London of 1863-76, in the clarity and coherence of its organization. One
+can hardly say that the shed roof of the Anhalter Bahnhof was in the
+_Rundbogenstil_; yet it is much more happily related in scale and shape
+to the masonry elements of the station than are the two parts of that in
+London, world-famous nonetheless until the nineties for the unrivalled
+span of its shed.
+
+Architectural activity in Bavaria was of a very different order. The
+Ludwigsschlösser,[204] the country palaces that Ludwig II of Bavaria
+erected for his private delectation after he succeeded Maximilian II in
+1864, are the playthings of a monarch mad about Louis XIV. Linderhof,
+built in 1870-86, revived a local Bavarian sort of Baroque, and was thus
+even more premonitory of a favourite German mode of the eighties and
+nineties than Hitzig’s Berlin Exchange (Plate 84). Herrenchiemsee, first
+projected as early as 1868 but begun only in 1878, is a direct imitation
+of Versailles. Neuschwanstein, on the other hand, is a wild Wagnerian
+fantasy of a medieval castle occupying a superb mountain site.
+
+It must be assumed that the architect of the first two, Georg von
+Dollmann (1830-95), was little more than the draughting agent of his
+master’s dreams of grandeur. More interesting than the exteriors are the
+incredibly rich interiors of Linderhof, operatic recreations of the
+Bavarian Rococo. Appropriately enough these were designed by Franz von
+Seitz (1817-83), then director of the Munich State Theatre, who was
+famous for his stage-sets. At Herrenchiemsee, however, many of the
+interiors were exact copies of the main apartments of Louis XIV at
+Versailles. These were executed by Julius Hoffmann (1840-96), who began
+to work under Dollmann in 1880 and succeeded him in 1884. More original
+were certain other rooms at Herrenchiemsee designed by F. P. Stulberger
+after 1883 in an even more elaborate and fantastic Neo-Rococo than those
+by Seitz at Linderhof.
+
+Ludwig II had another obsession besides the majesty of Louis XIV, and
+that was the genius of Richard Wagner. This cult is almost nauseatingly
+reflected at Neuschwanstein, for which Riedel, who had built Schloss
+Berg in 1849-51, prepared the original design in 1867. Construction
+there began in 1869, was taken over by Dollmann in 1874, and only
+completed as regards the exterior in 1881; much of the decoration is
+still later. Despite Ludwig’s romantic love of the real Romanesque of
+the Wartburg, Neuschwanstein really differs very little from the fake
+castles of the first half of the century, except in its very ingenious
+adaptation to a most precarious site. It is the later interiors,
+designed by Hoffmann in the early eighties, that attempt to realize the
+Wagnerian legends both in the architectural detailing and in endless
+murals. The whole culminates in the Byzantinesque throne room of 1885-6
+intended by Ludwig to be a sort of ‘Grail Hall’ from _Parsifal_. The
+results of his other obsession are more gratifying to the eye.
+
+Never again would any ruler, however, not even in Germany, be so
+spendthrift a patron of architecture. Considering the deterioration in
+quality evident in these palaces and castles of the seventies and
+eighties from the work done for Ludwig’s predecessor Ludwig I or for
+Frederick William IV of Prussia in the thirties and forties, this was
+just as well. Fortunately the activities of William II were less related
+to the building arts; and Hitler, a thwarted architect, had too little
+time.
+
+Far more typical of the turn German architecture in general was taking
+in the seventies than the Ludwigsschlösser were such things as the von
+Tiele house in Berlin by Gustav Ebe (1834-1916) and Julius Benda
+(1838-97). In its crawlingly rich German Renaissance detail and its
+irregularly gabled silhouette this prepared the way far more definitely
+than Raschdorf’s contemporary Cologne buildings for a veritable flood of
+such coarse work all over Germany in the next decade. This
+characteristic German mode has analogies with the English style-phase of
+the seventies and eighties somewhat perversely known as ‘Queen Anne’;
+more specifically it often resembles very closely what is called ‘Pont
+Street Dutch’ in England. But leadership comparable to that provided in
+England by Webb and Shaw was entirely lacking, and even lesser talent of
+the order of George’s or Collcutt’s (see Chapter 12).
+
+Usually executed in dark-coloured brick with stone trim, this prime
+manifestation of the bourgeois ambitions of the Bismarckian Empire
+produced a spate of buildings of all sorts that have come to look very
+grim indeed with the accumulated smoke of years. Old photographs
+indicate that many of them once had a certain lightness and even a quite
+festive air, Wagnerian in the _Meistersinger_ vein rather than in that
+of the _Ring_ as at Neuschwanstein. But the materials used were always
+hard and mechanically handled and the execution of the detail at once
+fussy and metallic. No positive originality in general composition or in
+planning made up, as with much comparable work in England, for the
+anti-architectonic character of the basic approach.
+
+A prominent late example is the Rathaus[205] in Hamburg built in
+1886-97. This vast and turgid edifice contrasts most unhappily with the
+suave High Renaissance design of Wimmel & Forsmann’s contiguous Exchange
+built in the thirties. Its tall tower, moreover, has neither the
+richness of outline of Scott’s on the Nikolaikirche nor the simple
+directness of de Chateauneuf’s on the Petrikirche, with both of which it
+still disputes the central position on the Hamburg skyline.
+
+The nationalistic ‘Meistersinger mode’, so to call it, had only too
+long a life, lasting well into the twentieth century. But it was early
+challenged by a new modulation of German taste in the eighties,
+parallel to that which the English also experienced, towards an
+eighteenth-century revival—here in Germany definitely Neo-Baroque—of
+which Linderhof was probably the first really sumptuous and striking
+example. Ebe & Benda early deserted the German Renaissance for a
+German Baroque at least as chastened as that of Hitzig’s much earlier
+Exchange when they built their Palais Mosse in Berlin of 1882-4. In
+1882 Paul Wallot (1841-1912), who had also worked earlier in the
+Meistersinger mode, won the competition for the Reichstag Building
+with an overpoweringly monumental Neo-Baroque project recalling
+Vanbrugh more than Bernini or Schlüter. Erected by him in 1884-94,
+this was soon matched at the inner end of Unter den Linden by
+Raschdorf’s cathedral.
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 16A and 16B. Vilhelm Petersen and Ferdinand Jensen: Copenhagen,
+ Søtorvet, 1873-6, elevation
+]
+
+Unlike Napoleon III and Francis Joseph, the German emperors William I,
+Frederick I, and William II did not succeed in making their capital an
+important exemplar of nineteenth-century urbanism. Moreover, the
+influential position that Germany had occupied in the international
+world of architecture in the first half of the century was less and less
+maintained after the death of Stüler. Not until the twentieth century
+did Germans again make a significant contribution to European
+architectural history (see Chapter 20).
+
+With the deterioration of German leadership in the seventies and
+eighties went also a general decline in the architectural standards of
+the Scandinavian countries that had so successfully based their later
+Romantic Classicism and their _Rundbogenstil_ on German models of the
+thirties, forties, and fifties. In Denmark the work of Meldahl was
+increasingly inferior to that of Herholdt. Although he was only nine
+years younger than Herholdt, his direction of the Copenhagen Academy,
+beginning in 1873, coincided with the feeblest and most eclectic period
+in Danish architecture, from which recovery started only in the nineties
+with the early work of Martin Nyrop (1849-1925) in Copenhagen and of
+Hack Kampmann (1856-1920) in Aarhus (see Chapter 24).
+
+A characteristic urbanistic development of the seventies in Copenhagen,
+the Søtorvet built in 1873-6 by Vilhelm Petersen (1830-1913) and
+Ferdinand Vilhelm Jensen (1837-90), is French not German in its ultimate
+inspiration. This grandiose pavilioned and mansarded range of four tall
+blocks forms a shallow U-shaped square along a canal (Figure 16). Its
+definitely Second Empire character may not, all the same, have derived
+directly from Paris but via German or English intermediaries, so much
+more typical is this of the international than of the truly Parisian
+mode of the third quarter of the century.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+[Illustration]
+
+As late as 1893-4 the much more conspicuous Magasin du Nord department
+store, built by A. C. Jensen (1847-1913) and his partner H. Glaesel in
+the Kongens Nytorv in Copenhagen, also carried the high mansarded roofs
+of the new Louvre, both flat-sided and convex-curved, above its end and
+centre pavilions. The detailing was chastened, however, by memories of
+local palaces and mansions in the nearby Amalie quarter of the city,
+where Jensen had worked on the completion of the eighteenth-century
+Marble Church. The Magasin du Nord thus combines two characteristic
+aspects of the architecture of the period, evident in most countries but
+rarely thus joined: a reflection of Napoleon III’s Paris, elsewhere
+reaching its peak around 1870, and a revival of the style of the
+seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, generally beginning about a decade
+later.
+
+In Sweden also there was some Second Empire influence, although nothing
+very notable resulted from it. The Jernkontovets Building in Stockholm
+erected by the brothers Kumlien (A.F., 1833-?; K.H., 1837-97) in 1873-5
+has a high mansard and pavilions combined with a respectably academic
+treatment of the façades that is quite different from the bombast of the
+Søtorvet. Bern’s Restaurant in Stockholm of 1886 by Åbom, whose more
+conservative Renaissance Revival theatre of thirty years earlier has
+been mentioned, is similarly Parisian, particularly in the decorations
+that were provided by Isaeus.
+
+With I. G. Clason (1856-1930) the tide of eclecticism in Sweden turned
+more nationalistic. The Northern Renaissance of his Northern Museum,
+built in 1889-1907, parallels somewhat belatedly the Meistersinger mode
+in Germany; but it also shows a more refined and delicate touch,
+somewhat like that of George and of Collcutt in England. As in most
+other countries, the revival of the native sixteenth-century style was
+soon succeeded by a revival of the Baroque, here rather academically
+restrained. This phase is most conspicuously represented in Stockholm by
+the grouped Parliament House and National Bank of 1897-1905 by Aron
+Johansson (1860-1936). In the nineties Ferdinand Boberg (1860-1946) was
+also initiating a new movement somewhat comparable to that led by Nyrop
+in Denmark (see Chapter 24).
+
+The modes of Second Empire Paris left rather more mark on Holland than
+did those of the First Empire, particularly in the work of Cornelis
+Outshoorn (1810-75), whose iron-and-glass Paleis voor Volksvlijt in
+Amsterdam of the late fifties has been mentioned earlier. That is long
+gone, but the related Galerij, a U-shaped range of mansarded blocks
+linked by a sort of veranda of cast iron, till lately bounded the south
+of the Frederiksplein. His enormous Amstel Hotel, near by on the farther
+side of the Amstel, was built in 1863-7. At Scheveningen the Oranje
+Hotel (1872-3), also by him, was one of several typical resort
+establishments there of an international Second Empire order, as is also
+his hotel at Berg-en-Dal near Nijmegen (1867-9). Fairly generally high
+mansards rose in the sixties and seventies over the narrow house-fronts
+in the new quarters of Dutch cities. However, the opposing Neo-Gothic is
+more significant historically in Holland, and the secular work of
+Cuijpers as well as his churches, although rather like Clason’s, is
+better considered in that connexion (see Chapter 11). As in the
+Scandinavian countries, the nineties saw new beginnings in Holland, in
+this case with the appearance of Berlage and Kromhout (see Chapter 20).
+
+The principal Anglo-American developments in the second half of the
+century were in the specialized fields of domestic and commercial
+building (see Chapters 14 and 15). England, moreover, had from 1850 to
+the early seventies a lively stylistic development of her own, the High
+Victorian Gothic, rather different from the later Neo-Gothic of the
+Continent, which was also very influential in the Dominions and in the
+United States (see Chapters 10 and 11). Nevertheless, the international
+Second Empire mode flourished on both sides of the Atlantic among
+Anglo-Saxons to a greater extent, perhaps, than anywhere in Europe. It
+is not, of course, possible to subsume all non-Gothic work of these
+decades in England under the Second Empire rubric any more than on the
+Continent. Yet, with certain notable exceptions, the most vigorous and
+conspicuous buildings of a generically Renaissance character were
+clearly inspired by Paris, and often specifically by the New Louvre, as
+Prosper Mérimée noted and wrote to Viollet-le-Duc while on a visit to
+London in the mid sixties.
+
+The most considerable English public monument built just after the mid
+century, the Leeds Town Hall of 1855-9, is by Cuthbert Brodrick (Plate
+78A). That Brodrick was an architect markedly French in his leanings has
+already been noted in describing his Leeds Corn Exchange, which is later
+in date but earlier in style than his Town Hall (see Chapter 4). But
+this major early work, for which Brodrick won the commission in a
+competition in 1853, is not easily pigeon-holed stylistically. The great
+hall inside derives quite directly from Elmes’s in Liverpool, designed
+almost a quarter of a century earlier, though not opened until 1856. The
+exterior recalls in its grandiose scale the English Baroque of Vanbrugh
+more than it does anything that had even been projected since the
+megalomaniac French projects of the 1790s. The Leeds Town Hall is
+certainly no longer Romantic Classical, no longer Early Victorian; yet
+except for the rather clumsy originality of some of the detail and the
+varied outline of the tower—a late emendation of the original project of
+1853—it is hard to say how or why it is so definitely High Victorian,
+and rather a masterpiece of the High Victorian at that. Wallot in Berlin
+in the eighties approached Brodrick’s mode of design in the Reichstag
+but had little of his command of scale or his almost Romantic Classical
+control of mass.
+
+When Brodrick designed his town hall very little was known in England of
+Visconti’s project of 1852 for the New Louvre, and Lefuel had not yet
+begun to elaborate the design. So vigorously individual an architect as
+Brodrick was hardly likely, moreover, to find inspiration in the Hope
+house of Dusillion or the Hardwicks’ Great Western Hotel. But the wave
+of Second Empire influence arrived in England well before the Leeds Town
+Hall was finished. When the English swarmed to Paris to visit the
+International Exhibition of 1855 the character of the New Louvre became
+generally known to architects and to the interested public. The Crimean
+War in the mid fifties served, moreover, to bring English and French
+officialdom into close contact. To English ministers and civil servants,
+even more than to architects and ordinary citizens, the existing
+governmental accommodations in Whitehall contrasted most unfavourably
+with those Napoleon III was providing in the New Louvre. When a
+competition was held in 1856-7 for a new Foreign Office and a new War
+Office to be built in Whitehall, it is not surprising that most of those
+entrants who were not convinced Gothicists should have modelled their
+projects more or less on the work of Visconti and Lefuel.
+
+Barry, the head of the profession, did not enter the competition; but
+unofficially—for he was still an employee of the Government at the
+Houses of Parliament—he prepared at this time a comprehensive scheme for
+the development of the whole length of Whitehall from Parliament Square
+to Trafalgar Square. In this project he crowned all his
+façades—including that of his already executed Treasury—with mansards,
+introduced stepped-back courts like that of the New Louvre, and marked
+the corners and the centres of the court façades in the most Louvre-like
+way with pavilions crowned by still taller mansards. Had this project of
+Barry’s been followed, London would rival Paris and Vienna in the
+extent, the consistency, and the boldness of her public buildings of
+this period. In fact, practically nothing ever came of it nor, indeed,
+of the official competition; for by this period earlier traditions of
+urbanism had all but completely died out and architectural initiative
+was largely in private hands.
+
+When the competition was judged in 1857, the designs that received the
+top prizes both for the War Office and for the Foreign Office were in
+the pavilioned and mansarded manner; they derived, however, at least as
+much from the Tuileries as from the New Louvre. It was the rising
+prestige of Napoleon III, of course, that called public attention at
+this time to the Tuileries which was his residence—as it had been, for
+that matter, the residence of earlier nineteenth-century French
+monarchs. Otherwise no one in England would probably have thought of
+reviving any of the various periods, covering some four centuries,
+represented in its conglomerate mass or of emulating its pavilioned and
+mansarded composition.
+
+Since neither of these projects for ministries was ever executed, and
+their respective architects—Henry B. Garling (1821-1909), on the one
+hand, and H. E. Coe (1826-85) and his partner Hofland, on the
+other—never built much else of consequence, it is not necessary to
+linger over them. However, their designs and other Second Empire ones
+that received minor premiums were extensively illustrated in
+professional and general periodicals, and they provided favourite models
+in the sixties both in England and in the United States. The Paris
+originals, on which graphic data was not only scarcer but also less
+readily accessible, were not on the whole so influential. This helps to
+explain why French influence _appears_ to have been stronger in the
+Anglo-Saxon world than on the Continent, even though there was probably
+less direct contact with Paris.
+
+There was also in England at this time a general tendency, even more
+notable than in Austria or Germany, to enrich and elaborate plastically
+the long-established Renaissance Revival mode. This is less specifically
+inspired by Paris. An excellent example is provided by the extensive
+range of terraces, designed by Sancton Wood (1814-86) in 1857, that
+flank Lancaster Gate in the Bayswater Road in London with their boldly
+projecting bay windows linked by tiers of colonnades. In other examples,
+such as the National Discount Company’s offices at 65 Cornhill built by
+the Francis Brothers in 1857, the capping of the whole block with a
+boldly dormered mansard[206] is more obviously of Second Empire
+inspiration, though the façades below are merely of a much enriched
+_palazzo_ order.
+
+When the Moseley Brothers designed in 1858 the vast Westminster Palace
+Hotel near Westminster Abbey at the foot of Victoria Street, a
+caravanserai intended to exceed the Hardwicks’ Great Western Hotel of
+1850-2 in international luxury, they took over its pavilioned and
+mansarded design. To judge from the relative dignity and sobriety of
+their detailing, they would seem to have studied contemporary Parisian
+work—not the New Louvre but the quieter _maisons de rapport_ along the
+boulevards—rather than merely basing themselves on the prize-winning
+Government Offices projects as so many others were content to do at this
+time. This hotel, which proved a failure, now serves as a block of
+offices, and has been remodelled almost beyond recognition.
+
+The next year Barry designed the Halifax Town Hall, his last work. He
+did not himself propose to cap this, like the Government Offices in his
+Whitehall scheme, with French mansards; those that were executed are an
+emendation by his son, E. M. Barry, who carried the building to
+completion in 1862 after his father’s death in 1860. But the richly
+arcaded articulation of the walls and the emphatic forward breaks of the
+great tower and of the more modest pavilion at the other end clearly
+emulate, without directly imitating, the sumptuous plasticity of the New
+Louvre. Nevertheless, the boldly asymmetrical composition, dominated by
+a single corner tower, is more in the Italian Villa vein (Plate 78B).
+
+This tower—but not the site—was lined up with the axis of Prince’s
+Street, which enters Crossley Street at this point. The assured quality
+of its design and above all that of its tremendous spire, more than
+worthy of Wren in the ingenuity with which the silhouette of a Gothic
+steeple was built up out of Renaissance elements, makes the Halifax Town
+Hall thoroughly English and one of the masterpieces of the High
+Victorian period. Totally devoid of Gothic elements, it has more Gothic
+vitality than Barry’s Houses of Parliament, at this time just
+approaching completion nearly thirty years after they were first
+designed.
+
+E. M. Barry went on to crown two London station hotels, that at Charing
+Cross in 1863-4 and that at Cannon Street in 1865-6, with mansards; but
+these were far from being masterpieces, and that at Charing Cross has
+lately been much modified. The Grosvenor Hotel, built beside the new
+Victoria Station in 1859-60 by Sir James T. Knowles (1831-1908), is far
+more original. He covered the whole enormous mass with a very tall
+convex mansard, giving further emphasis to the broad pavilions at the
+ends by carrying their roofs still higher and capping them with
+lanterns. Beyond this nothing was French. The detail indeed, defined by
+its architect as ‘Tuscan’, i.e. _Rundbogenstil_, is highly individual,
+partaking of the coarse gusto and even somewhat of the naturalism of the
+most advanced Victorian Gothic foliage carving of the period (see
+Chapter 10).
+
+Similar mansards, but flat-sided not bulbous, and similar detail
+characterize a pair of tall terraces that Knowles built in 1860 on the
+north side of Clapham Common, south of London. These constituted a
+subtle suburban attack on Early Victorian traditions of terrace-design
+that soon had metropolitan repercussions. His Thatched House Club in St
+James’s Street in London of 1865 has a great deal of very rich carving
+by J. Daymond in the naturalistic vein, but is less interesting in
+general composition.
+
+Knowles’s Grosvenor was still new when John Giles outbid it with the
+Langham Hotel, begun in 1864. Given a much finer site than Knowles’s at
+the base of the broad avenue of Portland Place across from Nash’s All
+Souls’, Langham Place, Giles rose boldly—most people now think too
+boldly—to the occasion (Plate 80A). Certainly he overwhelmed Nash’s
+delicate and ingenious steeple by the rounded projection and the tall
+square corner tower—now bombed away at the top—with which he faced it.
+Equally certainly his massive north façade, with its boldly modelled
+flanking pavilions and its profusion of lively animal carvings, would
+overwhelm the urbane refinement of the nearby Adam terraces flanking
+Portland Place had these not by now been replaced by far inferior
+buildings. For all its gargantuan scale and the somewhat elephantine
+playfulness of the detail (not to speak of the dinginess to which the
+‘Suffolk-white’ brickwork and the stone trim have now been reduced), the
+Langham is a rich and powerfully plastic composition, most skilfully
+adapted to a special site, and more original than most of what was
+produced in the sixties in Paris. The carved animals at the window
+heads, so varied and so humorous, deserve an attention they rarely
+receive; these scurrying creatures almost seem to come out of Tenniel,
+but may actually derive from Viollet-le-Duc.
+
+That this degree of architectural originality, presented with such bold
+assurance and even bombast, should within a decade or two have come to
+seem tasteless and actually ugly—as, indeed, it has seemed to many ever
+since—is not of major historical consequence. The age that achieved it
+rejected as tasteless and insipid the architectural production of the
+previous hundred years, and most notably Late Georgian work of the sort
+to which the Langham stood in close proximity. What _is_ of consequence
+is that such High Victorian buildings, even when not Gothic, possessed a
+vitality and a contemporaneity within their period that was very largely
+lacking in parallel work on the Continent, most of which in any case is
+a decade or more later in date. In their parvenu brashness, the
+Grosvenor and Langham balance the contemporary achievement of the Gothic
+church architects—an achievement generally more acceptable even today as
+it was already to highbrows and aesthetics in the sixties—without
+necessarily equalling it (see Chapter 10).
+
+In the English hotel boom of the early and mid sixties which these big
+London hotels set off, some variant of the anglicized Second Empire
+became the accepted type of design; indeed, a mansarded French mode
+continued to be used as late as the nineties[207] for such a big London
+hotel as the Carlton built by H. L. Florence (1843-1916) in 1897. Many
+heavily mansarded London hotels of the seventies and eighties are now
+gone or have been turned, like the earlier Westminster Palace and the
+Langham, to other uses—among these the former Grand Hotel in Trafalgar
+Square of 1878-80 by H. Francis and the front block of the former Cecil
+in the Strand built in 1886 by Perry & Reed may at least be noted here,
+since they remain so conspicuous and are so exasperatingly unavailable
+to travellers.
+
+It is a resort hotel, however, the Cliff (now the Grand) at Scarborough
+in Yorkshire, built by Brodrick at the height of the boom in 1863-7,
+just before he retired to live in France, that remains internationally
+the most notable example of the type (Plate 79). And the type could be
+found in such remote spots as the famous ‘ghost town’ of the Comstock
+Lode, Virginia City, Nevada, where the large and elaborate hotel is no
+more, or Leadville, Colorado, where the more modest and much later
+Vendome Hotel, built by Senator Tabor for his ‘Baby Doe’, is still in
+use, as well as in big European cities such as Amsterdam, Frankfort,
+Brussels, and Budapest.
+
+The site of Brodrick’s Grand Hotel is a superb one on the edge of the
+Scarborough cliffs above the North Sea, as different as possible from
+the setting of the New Louvre. Its corner pavilions are capped, not with
+ordinary high mansards, but with curious roofs like pointed domes,
+richly crowned with elaborate cornices. In the intricacy of their
+silhouette these are not unworthy rivals of Barry’s Halifax tower. The
+massive walls are not of freestone in the manner of Paris nor yet of
+pallid Suffolk brick with light coloured stone or cement trim as in
+London. Instead, they are of warm red brick with incredibly lush
+decorative trim of tawny terracotta—a combination that M. D. Wyatt also
+used on the most elegant Second Empire mansion in London, Alford House,
+which stood from 1872 until 1955 in Prince’s Gate at the corner of
+Ennismore Gardens (Plate 83A).
+
+Public and private architecture could hardly hope to rival the
+sumptuousness of the new hotels, and in Britain rarely attempted to do
+so. At Liverpool T. H. Wyatt in 1864-9 carried a U-shaped range of
+ornately pavilioned and mansarded blocks that housed the Exchange around
+the open space at the rear of the Town Hall, somewhat as Outshoorn
+carried his Galerij around the Paleis voor Volksvlijt in Amsterdam; but
+that is now all gone.
+
+In the English countryside, the Bowes Museum at Barnard Castle in County
+Durham, built in 1869-75 by J.-A.-F.-A. Pellechet (1829-1903), and
+Waddesdon Manor in Buckinghamshire by another French architect, G.-H.
+Destailleur (1822-93), largely of 1880-3, are unique examples of
+extensive mansions completely in the Second Empire mode (Plate 76B). In
+London Montagu House, designed in 1866 by the elderly Burn for the Duke
+of Buccleuch, once raised in Whitehall the mansarded pavilions that
+Barry and the winners of the Government Offices competition had proposed
+in 1857, but this has now been demolished.
+
+The most notable Second Empire ensemble in London, however, still partly
+survives (Plate 80B). Facing the gardens of Buckingham Palace and
+extending southward from the group of Late Georgian monuments around
+Hyde Park Corner, are the terraces of Grosvenor Place. These were
+designed[208] in 1867 and built in the following years. They provide one
+of the more striking features of the London skyline inherited from the
+Victorian period. Rivalling the high roofs and, almost, the tall
+steeples of the Victorian Gothic, the mansards over the end houses are
+carried to fantastic heights and capped with pointed upper roofs,
+providing several storeys of attics; while the centre houses have convex
+mansards like square domes taken straight from the New Louvre.
+
+Below these Alpine crests, elaborated at the base with rich stone
+dormers, the enormous houses are all of fine Portland stone—hardly to be
+found in any earlier nineteenth-century London terraces except those of
+Ennismore Gardens—and detailed with a plausibly Parisian flair—it is
+even said that draughtsmen were sent to Paris to study Second Empire
+work at first hand. English are the porches, however, which make plain
+that these pretentious ranges are rows of dwellings like those in nearby
+Belgrave Square. English, also, are the red stone bands, novel touches
+echoing the fashionable ‘structural polychrome’ of the contemporary
+Victorian Gothic, just as the tall mansards echo its pointed roofs (see
+Chapter 10).
+
+Beyond the first two blocks of Grosvenor Place the new construction of
+the sixties stops; but it starts again at the farther end and surrounds
+the two triangles of Grosvenor Gardens, of which Knowles’s hotel
+occupies part of the farther side. It is characteristic of the Parisian
+inspiration of the whole that on the east side of the Gardens great
+blocks of flats—’mansions’ in a Victorian euphemism—replaced the usual
+London terraces of individual tall houses, but these now serve as
+offices as do all the extant houses in Grosvenor Place. For one of these
+blocks red brick was used, but set like a mere panel-filling within
+stone frames according to a French rather than an English tradition.
+
+There are no other comparably pretentious examples of Second Empire
+terraces in London except Cambridge Gate (1875) by Thomas Archer and A.
+Green (?-1904), an unhappy intrusion among Nash’s stuccoed Regent’s Park
+ranges despite its handsome execution in fine ashlar of Bath stone.
+Characteristically, London domestic architecture of the late fifties and
+sixties merely elaborated the Renaissance Revival formulas of the
+previous decade. Not only were the chosen models generally later and
+richer as in Vienna; wherever possible bolder plastic effects were
+achieved by a more extensive use of ground-storey colonnades,
+first-storey porches, and projecting bay windows, as on Wood’s
+magniloquent terraces at Lancaster Gate or those of 1858 by C. J.
+Richardson (1800-72) that followed them in Queen’s Gate.
+
+The high standards of the earlier period were maintained only in
+business _palazzi_, not those of London’s City, but those in big
+Northern towns like Bradford and in Scotland. There good freestone was
+readily available and a certain cultural lag, as well as a regional
+sobriety of temperament, led to the maintenance of a more Barry-like
+tradition. Notable everywhere for their academic virtues are the various
+National Provincial Bank buildings by Barry’s pupil John Gibson
+(1819-92). The earliest, but not the most typical, is the head office in
+Bishopsgate, which was begun in 1863.
+
+A special school of Renaissance design is associated with Sir Henry
+Cole’s Department of Practical Art, and this produced the various
+buildings that he sponsored in the new London cultural centre in
+Brompton (now usually called South Kensington). The Exhibition of 1862,
+on the southern edge of the estate belonging to the Commissioners of the
+Great Exhibition, was housed in a structure designed by Francis Fowke
+(1823-65), an army engineer. As at the Paris Exhibition of 1855, the
+metal and glass construction of this was masked externally with masonry
+walls, but, unlike Cendrier’s and Viel’s Palais de l’Industrie, the
+whole was pavilioned and mansarded in the Second Empire mode. A still
+more elaborate Second Empire project was prepared by Fowke for the
+Museum of Science and Art (later Victoria and Albert), Cole having
+evidently accepted all too abjectly the criticism of his earlier
+temporary structure, the notorious ‘Brompton Boilers’ (see Chapter 7).
+As Fowke died at this point the Museum (Plate 83B), begun in 1866, as
+also the associated Royal College of Science (Huxley Building), built in
+1868-71, were carried out in a much less French vein under another army
+engineer, H. G. D. Scott (1822-83). The walling material is a fine
+smooth red brick, very rare in the London of the nineteenth century,
+beautifully laid up with thin joints. With this is combined an enormous
+quantity of elaborately modelled pale cream terracotta, as on various
+Central European buildings deriving from Schinkel’s Bauakademie in
+Berlin of 1831-6.
+
+In these South Kensington structures, planned by an engineer, the
+emphasis is on the sculptural embellishment designed and executed by
+Godfrey Sykes and other artists associated with the Department. This
+team-work, by-passing as it did over-all control by an architect, was
+not very successful in achieving the coherence of Knowles’s and Giles’s
+hotels, although those were built for much less sophisticated clients.
+Much the same team, but with still more sculptors collaborating, was
+responsible for the Albert Hall, the vast circular auditorium built in
+1867-71 on the northern edge of the Commissioners’ Estate facing the
+most characteristic monument of the age, G. G. Scott’s Victorian Gothic
+Albert Memorial. The engineer Scott’s really notable achievement here in
+the metal construction of the vast dome is unfortunately swamped by the
+profuse investiture of sculptural detail in terracotta, intrinsically
+elegant though much of that is.
+
+In the sixties there was some coherence in the planning of the
+Commissioners’ Estate as a whole, with a garden court surrounded by a
+great hemicycle of terracotta arcading by M. D. Wyatt lying behind the
+1862 Exhibition Building and below the Albert Hall. In Vienna the
+cultural edifices were admirably grouped along the Ringstrasse with
+plenty of open space between them, however much they may have lacked
+intrinsic architectural quality. In sad contrast is the way the
+following decades allowed this considerable tract to become clogged up
+until almost no urbanistic organization at all remains.
+
+Other European countries tended in this period, like Denmark, Sweden,
+and Holland, to follow Paris and Vienna rather than London. Only a few
+works of the sixties and seventies need be singled out from the welter
+of pretentious public and private construction that turned Brussels, for
+example, into a ‘Little Paris’.[209] The Boulevard Anspach as a whole
+suggests the Cannebière in Marseilles, although the mansards on the
+buildings that line it are more plastically handled; the Exchange, in
+its own square half-way down the boulevard, was built by L.-P. Suys
+(1823-87) in 1868-73, and this provides the focus of the
+mid-nineteenth-century city, as does Garnier’s Opéra in Paris. A
+provincial variant of the Opéra in many ways, despite its quite
+different function, this is somewhat more academic in composition yet
+also rather coarser in its profuse ornamentation. Brussels as a whole is
+dominated, however, by one of the grandest and most original monuments
+erected anywhere in this period.
+
+The Palace of Justice,[210] built by Joseph Poelaert (1817-79) in
+1866-83, occupies so high a site and is mounted on so mountainous a
+substructure that almost the whole of its gargantuan mass is visible
+from all over the city. Although generically Classical, a good deal of
+the external treatment has an indefinable flavour of the monuments of
+the ancient civilizations of the East, somewhat like that of the exotic
+churches Alexander Thomson built in the late fifties and sixties in
+Glasgow (Plate 81). Even more than Thomson’s relatively small and
+delicately scaled work, the Palace of Justice also suggests the
+megalomaniac architectural dreams of such a Romantic English painter as
+John Martin. Heavy and almost literally cruel, it has a Piranesian
+spatial elaboration and a plastic vitality of the most exaggeratedly
+architectonic order. Thus it quite puts to shame the urbane Renaissance
+costuming of most Continental public architecture of this period and the
+usual Neo-Baroque of the next.
+
+The existence of this extraordinary edifice in a minor European capital
+prepares one a little for the important part that Brussels was to play
+in the nineties, even though there could hardly be two architects
+further apart in spirit than Poelaert and Victor Horta, who initiated
+there the Art Nouveau (see Chapter 16). So also in Glasgow, the
+originality of Thomson’s Queen’s Park Church of the sixties at least
+opened the way for the notable international contribution to be made by
+the Glaswegian C. R. Mackintosh in the nineties. But it was Alphonse
+Balat (1818-95), not Poelaert, who was Horta’s master and also in these
+decades professor of architecture at the local Academy. Balat’s Musée
+Royale des Beaux Arts of 1875-81 already represents a reversion to a
+more restrained and academic classicism with none of Poelaert’s force
+and vitality. Yet this building is not without a certain correct
+elegance of detail and conventional skill in composition for which his
+houses of the sixties, with their Barry-like handling of the High
+Renaissance _palazzo_ theme, prepared the way. The real eclecticism of
+this period lies less significantly in the variety of nominal styles
+employed than in the variety of ways of employing them. It is this,
+rather than the concurrent multiplication of fashionable modes, that
+makes it so difficult to characterize broadly the production of the
+period between the mid century and the nineties.
+
+In several other European countries the situation was made even more
+complicated than in Belgium by a very considerable cultural lag such as
+has already been noted in Scandinavia. While the Rütschi-Bleuler House
+in Zurich of 1869-70 by Theodor Geiger (1832-82) had the fashionable
+Second Empire mansard, here high and concave, at nearby Winterthur
+Semper’s Town Hall of precisely the same date, with its dominating
+temple portico, might at first sight be taken for a provincial French
+public edifice of the second quarter of the century. At the Zurich
+Polytechnic School, where Semper became a professor in 1855,[211] the
+large building begun in 1859 that he erected with the local architect
+Wolff is equally retardataire in style. His Observatory there of 1861-4
+is a delicate and rather picturesquely composed exercise in the
+_quattrocento_ version of the _Rundbogenstil_, rather like his Hamburg
+houses of twenty years earlier.
+
+If a German architect of established international reputation could be
+thus affected by the conservative tastes of his Swiss clients, it is not
+surprising that in the Iberian peninsula almost nothing of interest was
+built in this period. It may, however, be mentioned that the building
+for the National Library and Museums in Madrid, designed in 1866 by
+Francisco Jareño y Alarcón (1818-92) and almost thirty years in
+construction, while still of the most conventional Classical character
+as regards its façades, has convex mansards over the end pavilions of
+quite definitely Second Empire character. Characteristically, the
+Chamber of Commerce in Madrid, completed in 1893 by E. M. Repulles y
+Vargas (1845-1922), illustrates the general return of official
+architecture to still more conventional academic standards towards the
+end of the century. But in the seventies there began in Barcelona the
+career of a Spanish—or more accurately Catalan—architect, Antoni Gaudí,
+who was destined to produce around 1900 some of the boldest and most
+original early works of modern architecture. Gaudí’s real links in the
+seventies and eighties, spiritually if not so much actually, are with
+the High Victorian Gothic not the Second Empire, although the earliest
+project on which he worked reflected the Palais Longchamps at Marseilles
+(see Chapter 11).
+
+The situation in the United States was naturally most like that in
+England. As has already been noted, a French-trained Danish architect,
+Lienau, prefigured the Second Empire mode in the Shiff house in New York
+as early as 1849-50. By the mid fifties mansards of rather modest
+height, often with shallow concave slopes, had appeared in Eastern
+cities on many houses not otherwise particularly Frenchified. Richard M.
+Hunt (1827-95),[212] the first American to study at the École des
+Beaux-Arts and actually an assistant as well as a pupil of Lefuel,
+returned from Paris to America in 1855. But he brought with him no lush
+Second Empire mode but rather the basic academic tradition of the French
+official world, despite the fact that he had himself worked in 1854 on
+the New Louvre. Although some of the earliest work of H. H. Richardson,
+who returned from Paris a decade later after working for several years
+for Labrouste’s brother Théodore, was of Second Empire character, he
+showed himself from the first more responsive to influences from
+contemporary England (see Chapters 11 and 13). On the whole, the Second
+Empire mode, as it was practised in America through the third quarter of
+the century, derived almost as completely as the local Victorian Gothic
+from England. Most American architects were kept informed of what was
+going on abroad through the English professional Press, and so they
+naturally followed the models that were offered in the _Builder_ and the
+_Building News_ rather than those in the publications of César
+Daly.[213]
+
+The Civil War of 1861-5 did not bring architectural production to a
+stop; indeed, it seems to have had a less inhibiting effect than the
+aftermath of the financial crash of 1857 in the immediately preceding
+years. In Washington the building of Walter’s new wings of the Capitol,
+initiated in 1851,[214] and of his cast-iron dome, designed in 1855,
+continued until their completion in 1865, right through the war years at
+President Lincoln’s express order (Plate 82A). There is nothing
+specifically French about this new work at the Capitol, even though
+Walter had the assistance from 1855 of the Paris-trained Hunt. On the
+other hand, the original more-or-less Romantic Classical edifice that
+had finally been brought to completion in 1828 by Bulfinch after so many
+changes of architect was largely submerged. The new wings echo in their
+academic porticoes the broader portico of the original late
+eighteenth-century design; but the cast-iron dome (see Chapter 7),
+rivalling in size the largest Baroque domes of Europe, has a high drum
+and a Michelangelesque silhouette of the greatest boldness in contrast
+to the Roman saucer shape of that designed by Latrobe and not much
+raised in execution by Bulfinch.
+
+It was not in Washington that the Second Empire mode was first
+introduced for public buildings; Washington, indeed, would never again
+be the centre of architectural influence that it was in the Romantic
+Classical period, although the new state capitols begun in the sixties
+and seventies were mostly capped with imitations of Walter’s dome. A
+‘female seminary’ on the Hudson River, endowed by a brewer, and the new
+City Hall in Boston, Mass., both dating from the opening of the sixties,
+are the first monumental instances of the new mode that dominated the
+field of secular public building until the financial Panic of 1873
+brought the post-war boom to a close. James Renwick,[215] who designed
+the very extensive Main Hall for Matthew Vassar’s new college at
+Arlington near Poughkeepsie, N.Y., in 1860, was specifically instructed
+by his client to imitate the Tuileries—not the New Louvre—and so he did
+in an elaborately pavilioned composition of U-shaped plan crowned by
+various sorts of high mansards. This overshadows in significance his
+earlier Charity Hospital of 1858 on Blackwell’s Island in New York,
+already mansarded but very plain, and his Corcoran Gallery of 1859, now
+the Court of Claims, in Washington, with a rich but muddled façade still
+rather flatly conceived.
+
+Renwick was at least as eclectic as such Europeans as Ballu and Ferstel.
+Having made his first reputation with the building of the Anglican Grace
+Church in New York in 1843-6—if not very Camdenian, this is at least a
+fair specimen of revived fourteenth-century English Gothic—he continued
+in the Gothic line with the Catholic St Patrick’s Cathedral in New York,
+begun in 1859 and completed (except for the spires) in 1879. That vast
+two-towered pile, however, is Gothic in a very Continental way,
+resembling Gau’s and Ballu’s Sainte-Clotilde in Paris and Ferstel’s
+Votivkirche in Vienna more than anything English of the period. In the
+late forties Renwick had also been the agent of Robert Dale Owen’s
+‘Romanesque Revival’ aspirations in designing the Smithsonian
+Institution in Washington (see Chapter 6).
+
+For such things as the Smithsonian and his churches Renwick had plenty
+of visual documents on which to lean, either archaeological treatises on
+the buildings of the medieval past or illustrations of contemporary
+foreign work. But for Vassar College, very evidently, he was dependent
+for his inspiration on rather generalized lithographic or engraved views
+of the Tuileries. Nor could he, at this relatively early date, borrow
+much from published illustrations of contemporary English work in the
+new international Second Empire mode. The particular plastic vitality of
+the Americanized Second Empire is already notable in this early example,
+however, even though the rather crude articulation of the red brick
+walls is remote from anything French of any period from the sixteenth
+century to the nineteenth. Later buildings by Renwick in the same mode
+are richer and closer to Parisian standards, but their architectonic
+vitality is considerably less.
+
+The Boston City Hall,[216] built by G. J. F. Bryant (1816-99) and Arthur
+D. Gilman (1821-82) in 1862-5, is a smaller but suaver edifice. Although
+it is a compactly planned block, the articulation of the walls by
+successive Roman-arched orders, coldly but competently executed in
+stone, is boldly plastic below the crowning mansards. However, just
+before this, for the Arlington Street Church of 1859-61, the first
+edifice erected in the Back Bay district that Gilman was just laying
+out,[217] he had turned not to France but to eighteenth-century England
+for inspiration, basing himself chiefly on the same churches by Gibbs
+that had been the most popular American models in later Colonial times.
+
+A leading opponent of the Greek Revival, Gilman, like most Continental
+architects of the day, evidently knew better what he meant to leave
+behind than whither he wished to proceed. His Boston church initiated no
+national wave of Gibbsian church architecture; indeed, the sixties were
+the heyday of Victorian Gothic design for churches in the United States.
+His City Hall, on the other hand, set off a nation-wide programme of
+public building in the Second Empire mode; for Boston was now for a
+score of years the artistic as well as the intellectual headquarters of
+the country in succession to Philadelphia. In this programme
+municipalities, state authorities, and the Federal Government all
+participated actively during the decade following the Civil War. In the
+case of many Federal buildings, only nominally the work of the office of
+the Supervising Architect, where A. B. Mullet (1834-90) succeeded Rogers
+in 1865, Gilman acted in these years as consultant, and was probably the
+real designer rather than Mullet or his assistants.
+
+These vast monuments were mostly constructed during General Grant’s
+presidency. Parisian in intention, yet American in their materials, they
+are withal rather similar to Second Empire work in England. Few were
+completed before the mode went out of favour as changes in architectural
+control sometimes make evident. In the case of the New York State
+Capitol in Albany, for example, begun in 1868 by Thomas Fuller (1822-98)
+and his partner Augustus Laver (1834-98), both arriving from England via
+Canada, Eidlitz and Richardson took over jointly in 1875, modifying the
+design of the building very notably above the lower storeys towards the
+Romanesquoid. Thus it was finally brought to completion by them and
+others in the following twenty years. The very tall tower on the
+Philadelphia City Hall, begun in 1874, was finished over a decade later.
+This tower, whose crowning statue of William Penn still tops the local
+skyline, has hardly anything in common with the Louvre-like pavilions
+below; yet the whole is nominally the work of one architect, John
+McArthur, Jr (1823-90), the grandfather of General Douglas McArthur.
+
+Undoubtedly the association of these prominent buildings with the
+unsavoury Grant administration and the fact that there were—at least in
+the two cases mentioned above—major financial scandals involved in their
+slow and incredibly costly construction played an important part in the
+early rejection of a mode so associated with the public vices of the
+decade after the Civil War. Not many of them are extant today other than
+the Boston, Albany, and Philadelphia structures just mentioned and the
+old State Department Building in Washington (Plate 82B).
+
+In New York, Boston, and other large cities the vast granite piles in
+this mode that long served as post offices are all gone. In Chicago the
+Cook County Buildings built by J. J. Egan in 1872-5 have also long since
+been replaced. In San Francisco Fuller & Laver’s extensive group of
+Municipal Buildings was destroyed in the fire that followed the
+earthquake of 1906. This must have been the largest, the richest, and
+plastically the most complex production of the whole lot, with its
+triangular site, boldly articulated massing, and central dome.
+
+Though threatened by every new administration, the State, War and Navy
+Department Building built by Mullet in 1871-5 still stands,
+overshadowing the nearby White House. This is perhaps the best extant
+example in America of the Second Empire—or as it is sometimes called
+locally, the ‘General Grant’—mode (Plate 82B). The tiers of Roman-arched
+orders in fine grey granite, borrowed by Gilman as consultant architect
+and presumptive designer from his earlier Boston City Hall rather than
+from Paris, tower up storey above storey to carry mansards of various
+different heights above the complex pavilioned plan. Cold and grand,
+almost without sculptural decoration, this could hardly be less like the
+New Louvre or the old Tuileries in general texture; nor is there any of
+the playful semi-Gothic detail of Knowles’s and Giles’s London hotels or
+of the festive colouring and lush ornamentation of Brodrick’s at
+Scarborough.
+
+The contrast of the old State Department Building with its _pendant_ on
+the other side of Lafayette Square, Mills’s Grecian Treasury, finally
+completed by Rogers a decade earlier, is shocking to most people. Yet it
+is fascinating to read here the representational aspirations of an age
+that found its most significant expression, not in its public buildings,
+but in the new skyscrapers which first rose in New York at just this
+time, Hunt’s Tribune Building and the Western Union Building by his
+pupil George B. Post. Both, incidentally, were heavily mansarded, and
+the one by the American-trained Post was much more typically Second
+Empire than is the French-trained Hunt’s (see Chapter 14).
+
+In urban domestic architecture, both on large mansions and on the more
+usual terrace houses, mansards became characteristic but not
+ubiquitous in the late fifties and remained so down to the mid
+seventies and even later in the West. Boston’s Back Bay district, laid
+out by Gilman in 1859, has a few mansions along Commonwealth Avenue
+that resemble somewhat the _hôtels particuliers_ of Paris, and also
+several mansarded terraces by Bryant & Gilman and other architects in
+that avenue and in Arlington and Beacon Streets. The materials used
+are un-Parisian—brownstone like Gilman’s nearby church or dark-red
+brick with brownstone trim—and the detail is rarely very plausibly
+French. In general, inspiration still came from London, even if
+nothing so extensive and spectacularly monumental as Grosvenor Place
+and Grosvenor Gardens was ever produced. In New York Lienau’s finest
+terrace, that built in Fifth Avenue between 55th and 56th Streets in
+1869, was rather more sumptuous than the Boston examples, being of
+white marble with very literate ranges of superposed orders. Hunt’s
+New York work was often so authentically Parisian as quite to lack the
+bombast of the international Second Empire mode. Especially
+interesting were his Stuyvesant Flats in 18th Street, New York, of
+1869-70. This block was a very early example of an apartment house of
+the Parisian sort in America, where they did not generally flourish
+much before the late eighties.
+
+For the more characteristic free-standing houses that were built outside
+cities, in suburbs, in towns, and even in the country, the Second Empire
+mode was also very popular. Interpreted in wood, painted brown or grey
+stone colours, these have a distinctly autochthonous character.
+Generally symmetrical and tightly planned, they did not advance the
+development of the American house in the way of the rival ‘Stick Style’;
+but in their emphasis on complicated three-dimensional modelling,
+especially the modelling of the roofs, they prepared the way for one
+important aspect of the later and more original ‘Shingle Style’ (see
+Chapter 15).
+
+The Second Empire episode in the United States is a curious one. On the
+one hand, it was a consciously ‘modern’ movement, deriving its prestige
+from contemporary Paris, not from any period of the past like the Greek,
+the Gothic, or even the Renaissance Revivals—of which last, of course,
+it was in some limited sense an heir. On the other hand, the
+considerable originality of the mode as it was actually employed was
+largely unconscious and due to the lack of accurate visual documents, or
+even a codified body of precedent, to be followed. At this time
+contemporary conditions demanded, as in Europe, the construction of many
+public edifices, Federal, state, and municipal, to house a complexity of
+functions. It would have been almost impossible to compress these within
+the rigid rectangles of the Greek Revival even had the Greek Revival not
+already been rejected by most critics twenty years or more earlier.
+
+Yet the Second Empire episode was necessarily brief, lasting little more
+than a decade. The crass assurance it reflected, particularly the
+special arrogance of the post-war politicians in Washington, the state
+capitals, and in the bigger cities, was much shaken by the Panic of
+1873. The mode did not therefore, as in much of Europe, continue in
+America into the eighties and nineties.
+
+The episode has a longer-term significance, nevertheless. Slight as was
+the actual relationship to the Second Empire mode of the first two
+Americans to be trained at the École des Beaux Arts, Hunt and
+Richardson, their personal influence and their prestige encouraged a
+growing trek of architectural students to Paris; their recommendations
+alone would hardly have had much effect had not fashion already
+established Paris rather than London in the public mind as the centre of
+modern architectural achievement and inspiration. From the mid eighties
+on, the long-maintained dependence on England in architectural matters
+began to be notably weakened; for a generation and more very many
+American architects would seek their roots abroad, but henceforth in
+France, or even Italy, not England.
+
+It is not surprising that in the British Dominions there was no such
+direct French influence in this period as in Latin America. Urban
+entities like the Colmena and its terminal square in Lima, Peru,
+pavilioned and mansarded throughout, rival European examples like the
+Søtorvet in Copenhagen or the Galerij in Amsterdam. Before they gave way
+to skyscrapers, the _hôtels particuliers_ along the Paseo de la Reforma
+in Mexico City were more numerous and more plausibly Parisian than along
+Commonwealth Avenue in Boston or Bellevue Avenue at Newport. But both in
+Canada and in Australia the Second Empire mode arrived from England late
+and in a more corrupted form than in America. The mansarded Windsor
+Hotel of 1878 in Montreal hardly rivalled the Palmer House of 1872 in
+Chicago by J. M. Van Osdel (1811-91), to which the rich merchant Potter
+Palmer was as proud to give his name as to the incredible fake castle
+that he built for his own occupancy a decade later. The Princess Theatre
+in Melbourne, Australia, built by William Pitt in 1877, with its three
+square-domed mansards, has an appealing nonchalance, like that of the
+contemporary edifices of the mining towns high in the American Rocky
+Mountains—the hotel in Virginia City, Nevada, that has been mentioned
+earlier, or the much more modest Opera House in Central City, Colorado,
+for example. But the public architecture of the third quarter of the
+century in Australia was more restrained in design just because it was
+generally so very retardataire.
+
+The Parliament House in Melbourne, begun in 1856 by John G. Knight
+(1824-92) and completed in 1880 by Peter Kerr (1820-1912), has academic
+virtues not unworthy of Kerr’s master Barry, though its giant colonnades
+recall rather those of Brodrick’s contemporary Town Hall in Leeds. The
+Treasury Buildings in Melbourne, by John James Clark (1838-1915) of
+1857-8, are not unworthy of comparison with High Renaissance work of the
+period on the Continent. Other public buildings of the sixties and
+seventies are of more definitely Victorian character, but Early
+Victorian rather than High. For example, Clark’s Government House of
+1872-6 in South Melbourne is a towered Italian Villa consciously
+modelled on Queen Victoria’s Osborne House of a generation earlier. Both
+in Australia and in Canada the Victorian Gothic had more vitality in
+this period (see Chapter 11).
+
+There is little profit in pursuing farther in the outlying areas of the
+western world evidence of direct influence from Paris (of which there
+is, for example, some in Russia) or autochthonous variants of the Second
+Empire mode. In this generally rather unrewarding period the best work
+mostly falls under the High Victorian Gothic rubric, or else it
+illustrates specifically the development of commercial and domestic
+architecture in the Anglo-American world (see Chapters 10 and 11; 14 and
+15). In an attempt to give an over-all picture too many buildings of low
+intrinsic quality and little present-day interest have already been
+cited.
+
+What makes especially difficult the proper historical assessment of the
+widespread influence of Paris in the decades following 1850 is that this
+influence, whether direct or indirect, rarely produced buildings on the
+Continent of real distinction or even of much vitality. Only in England
+and the United States, where the mode was quite reshaped by a different
+cultural situation and the bold use of local materials, is it of much
+independent interest. The more plausibly Parisian the work outside
+France, the less vigour it usually possesses. Some of it can be very
+plausible indeed, as for example the street architecture of Mexico City
+and Buenos Aires, even if what appears to be carved French limestone in
+the Argentine capital is usually but a triumph of imitative
+craftsmanship on the part of stucco-workers imported from Italy. In
+general, Mexican and Argentine Second Empire is very dull, as dull as in
+Belgium, say, with no Poelaerts to redress the balance. Yet along the
+Malecón in Havana, Cuba, where the traditional galleried house-fronts
+were reinterpreted in a generically Second Empire way with Andalusian
+lushness, the results are much more notable, not least because the soft
+local stone has been very richly weathered by the strong sea breeze. As
+was mentioned earlier, the use of _azulejos_ in extraordinary tones of
+brilliant green and purple gives autochthonous character to similar work
+in Brazil.
+
+The international Second Empire mode has so far found no historian or
+even a sympathetic critic. Perhaps no other mode so widespread in its
+acceptance and so prolific in its production has ever received so little
+attention from posterity. Yet beside it the contemporary stream of the
+Victorian Gothic mode, which has been recurrently studied, must seem
+more than a little parochial and also excessively dependent on the
+individual capacities—not to say the caprices—of its leading
+practitioners. Within the areas in which the Victorian Gothic was
+employed, however, an area effectively confined to the Anglo-Saxon world
+geographically and to certain kinds of buildings typologically, it was
+capable of major architectural achievement. Moreover, thanks to the line
+of spiritual descent from the leaders of the generation of architects
+active in the third quarter of the century to those of the next, the
+more creative aspects of the architecture of the turn of the century
+derive in not inconsiderable part from the later Victorian Gothic.
+
+The Lefuels and Hansens, or such men as Brodrick, Poelaert, and Gilman,
+trained no worthy pupils. But the disciples of the Victorian Gothic
+leaders not only include such very able young men who actually worked in
+their offices as Webb and Shaw and Voysey but also, in some sense at
+least, so great an American architect as Richardson, whose formal
+training had been wholly Parisian (see Chapters 11, 12, and 13). The
+advance of domestic architecture in the second half of the nineteenth
+century and, to a somewhat lesser extent, also that of commercial
+architecture therefore owed a great deal to the Victorian Gothic, at
+least in England and America (see Chapters 14 and 15).
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 10
+ HIGH VICTORIAN GOTHIC IN ENGLAND
+
+
+BY 1850 Neo-Gothic was accepted as a proper mode for churches throughout
+the western world. Only in England, however, had it become dominant for
+such use. Moreover, Gothic was a more than acceptable alternative there
+to Greek or Renaissance or Jacobethan design for many other sorts of
+buildings also. Only in the urban fields of commercial construction and
+of terrace-housing was its employment still very rare. On the Continent
+the nearest equivalent in popularity and ubiquity to the Victorian
+Gothic was the German _Rundbogenstil_. Neo-Gothic, although used more
+and more everywhere after 1850 for churches, attracted few architectural
+talents of a high order (see Chapter 11).
+
+There are several reasons why the Gothic Revival was able in England,
+and almost only in England, to pass into a new and creative phase around
+1850. One was certainly the ethical emphasis of its doctrines, an
+emphasis more sympathetic to Victorians than to most Europeans of this
+period, but not without its appeal on the Continent towards the end of
+the century. Another reason was the informality, not to say the
+amateurishness, of architectural education in Britain, encouraging
+personal discipleship and the cultivation of individual expression
+rather than providing for the continuation of an academic tradition.
+
+Related to this is the private character of architectural practice in
+England as compared to its more public responsibilities and controls on
+the Continent. The desirable professional positions in France, and to
+almost the same degree in many other European countries, were those
+offered by the sovereign or the State. But after the time of Soane and
+Nash official employment ceased to carry either prestige or opportunity
+in England, the Houses of Parliament notwithstanding—it was not Barry’s
+work there but his clubs and mansions that established his high
+professional reputation. As in the eighteenth century, a social and
+aesthetic _élite_ still provided both critical esteem and the most
+desirable commissions for Victorian architects; by 1850 a large part of
+that _élite_ was very church-minded and thoroughly Gothicized. Not until
+the mid sixties was there any significant change; even then those
+responsible for this change, both the architects and their patrons, had
+all been brought up in the churchly Gothic Revival tradition.
+
+The High Victorian Gothic opened with the building of a London church.
+All Saints’, Margaret Street, designed in 1849, largely completed
+externally by 1852, and consecrated in 1859, was the result of no
+imperial fiat, like the Votivkirche in Vienna or the big churches of the
+sixties in Paris, nor did it occupy like them an isolated site
+approached by wide new boulevards. Intended as a ‘model’ church by its
+sponsors, the Ecclesiological Society, and financed by private
+individuals, All Saints’ is set in a minor West End street at the rear
+of a restricted court flanked by a clergy house and a school (Plate 6A).
+But for its tower, the tallest feature of the mid-century London
+skyline, it would have been hard to find; but once found, it could never
+be ignored.
+
+The architect of All Saints’, Butterfield, had been for some years,
+together with Carpenter, the favourite of the ecclesiologists because of
+the Pugin-like ‘correctness’ of his revived fourteenth-century English
+Gothic. Now, quite suddenly, he and his sponsors embarked on new paths.
+As soon as the walls began to rise, their startling character became
+apparent; for the church is of red brick, a material long out of use in
+London, and that red brick is banded and patterned with black brick, a
+theme varied on the tower by the insertion of broad bands of stone.
+‘Permanent polychrome’, achieved with a variety of materials, thus made
+its debut here. In the interior, moreover, the polychromatic effect was
+even richer and more strident, with marquetry of marble and tile in the
+spandrels of the nave arcade and over the chancel arch, not to speak of
+onyx and gilding in the chancel itself (Plate 85). The very exiguous
+site forced any expansion upwards; the nave is tall, the vaulted chancel
+taller, and the subsidiary structures flanking the court are even higher
+and narrower in their proportions.
+
+While the construction of All Saints’ proceeded there was much
+concurrent and complementary activity in the English architectural
+world. In 1849 a young critic, John Ruskin (1819-1900), had brought out
+an influential book, _The Seven Lamps of Architecture_, in which many of
+the recommendations ran parallel to, if indeed they did not influence,
+Butterfield’s latest stylistic innovations. Notably, Ruskin urged the
+study of Italian Gothic: if All Saints’ is, in fact, not specifically
+Italian in the character of its polychromy, it seemed so to most
+contemporaries. The real foreign influences here, as in the profile of
+the fine plain steeple, are German if anything. Butterfield’s moulded
+detail continued to follow quite closely English fourteenth-century
+models.[218]
+
+In this same year 1849 Wild[219] was building on an even more obscure
+London site in Soho his St Martin’s Northern Schools with pointed
+arcades of brick definitely derived from Italian models. Moreover, he
+was being acclaimed for doing this by the very ecclesiological leaders
+who had ten years before condemned his Christ Church, Streatham, as
+‘Saracenic’. With the publication of the first volume of Ruskin’s next
+book, _The Stones of Venice_, in 1851 (the two less important later
+volumes came out in 1853) and the appearance of _Brick and Marble
+Architecture of the Middle Ages in Italy_ by G. E. Street (1824-81) in
+1855, Italian influence increased. Street’s name, moreover, introduces
+the third of the three men most responsible for the sharp turn that
+English architecture was taking in the fifties.
+
+Without depending on polychromy, Butterfield designed in 1850 and built
+in 1851-2 St Matthias’s off Howard Road in Stoke Newington, a London
+suburb, another church of novel character. Unconfined by a closed-in
+urban site, this also showed in its great scale and the bold silhouette
+of the gable-roofed tower—still standing today above the bombed ruin of
+the church—how the timid Early Victorian Gothic of the forties could be
+invigorated. Moreover, at St Bartholomew’s at Yealmpton in Devonshire,
+built in 1850, Butterfield introduced in a country church striped piers
+of two different tones of marble and considerable coloured marquetry
+work. A former fellow assistant of Street in G. G. Scott’s office,
+William H. White (1826-90), at All Saints’ in Talbot Road, Kensington,
+in London, begun in 1850, also used the new polychromy that soon became
+the principal, though by no means the only, hallmark of High Victorian
+Gothic.
+
+A large country house of stone by S. S. Teulon (1812-73), Tortworth
+Court in Gloucestershire, built in 1849-53, has no polychromy, although
+its architect was soon to be the most unrestrained of all in its
+exploitation. His patrons, moreover, would be notably ‘lower’ in their
+churchmanship than the members of the Ecclesiological Society who
+employed Butterfield. But in the boldly plastic massing of Tortworth,
+leading up to a tall central tower of the most complex silhouette,
+Teulon exemplified the new architectural ambitions, ambitions that would
+soon be finding as striking expression in secular work as in
+ecclesiastical building whether ‘high’ or ‘low’.
+
+Street had been a favourite of the High Church party since he first
+began building small churches and schools of a most ‘correct’ sort in
+Cornwall on leaving Scott’s office.[220] He was also the author of
+several critical articles published in _The Ecclesiologist_, notable for
+their cogency. In these he commented, for example, on the applicability
+of the arcades of Wild’s school to commercial building; he also attacked
+the curious habit of the forties, most prevalent with the
+ecclesiologists, of designing urban churches on confined sites as if
+they were to sprawl over ample village greens. Street began his first
+important church with associated school buildings, All Saints’, Boyn
+Hill, at Maidenhead, in 1853. Here he employed red brick and almost as
+much permanent polychrome as Butterfield at All Saints’, Margaret
+Street. He also handled the detail, particularly on the schools, with
+something of the same sort of brutal ‘realism’ (to use the catchword of
+the period) that Butterfield used on his subsidiary buildings.
+
+In the same year in London Street’s former employer Scott, long
+established as the most successful, if hardly the most ‘correct’, of
+Early Victorian Gothic practitioners, and since 1849 Architect to
+Westminster Abbey, built in Broad Sanctuary contiguous to the façade of
+the Abbey a Gothic terrace. That the use of Gothic should have been
+encouraged here by the Abbey authorities is not surprising. But they
+themselves may well have been surprised at what their architect
+produced; for this is no flat range of Neo-Tudor fronts in stock brick,
+but a plastic mass of stonework bristling with oriels and turrets and
+capped with a broken skyline of stepped gables. Nothing here recalls the
+rather French thirteenth-century Gothic of the Abbey itself; instead the
+effect is Germanic, recalling the medieval houses of the Hansa cities.
+The work was executed with a boldness of detail doubtless less personal
+in character than Butterfield’s or Street’s, but quite as striking to
+the casual observer.
+
+Scott’s houses had little influence, however. Gothic terraces were no
+more popular in the fifties and sixties in England than in the preceding
+decades. In residential districts the flood of more-or-less Renaissance
+stucco continued to spread, little affected by the High Victorian
+Gothic. As we have seen, the Second Empire mode also had only a very
+limited success in this field of construction, a field dominated not by
+architects but by builders.
+
+In 1853 also Scott provided for the Camden Church in the Peckham Road in
+South London—Ruskin’s own family church—a new east end in a round-arched
+and banded medievalizing mode; Ruskin himself collaborated on the window
+design, or so it is said. There is sufficient Gothic ‘realism’ in the
+detail here to justify considering this a round-arched variant of the
+High Victorian Gothic; but it is definitely of Italian inspiration. It
+seems also to be related to the later _Rundbogenstil_ of this decade in
+Germany and Austria; nor is it altogether without resemblance to such a
+contemporary French church as Vaudoyer’s Byzantinesque cathedral of
+Marseilles.
+
+Several far more important and better publicized interventions in
+architecture on the part of Ruskin followed immediately. In considerable
+part because of his personal influence with Oxford friends, the Gothic
+design of the Irish architects Sir Thomas Deane[221] (1792-1871) and
+Benjamin Woodward (1815-61) was accepted for the University Museum at
+Oxford in 1855. Woodward had already proved himself a would-be Ruskinian
+in detailing their design of 1853 for the Museum of Trinity College,
+Dublin, in a Venetian (though largely _quattrocento_) way. As the Oxford
+Museum rose to completion in the next four years, Ruskin was in
+continuous contact with Woodward, providing himself the design for at
+least one window as well as encouraging the delegation to the Irish
+carvers of much of the responsibility for the ornamental decoration—of
+which only a small part was, in fact, ever executed. The work of the
+O’Sheas is better appreciated in Dublin, where the decoration both of
+the Trinity College building and of the Kildare Street Club of 1861 was
+carried out by them in a very free and yet boldly naturalistic vein.
+
+The most interesting feature of the University Museum—and one that it is
+surprising to find Ruskin, who hated iron and all it stood for in the
+nineteenth-century world, involved with—is the court, with its roof of
+iron and glass (Plate 86B). How different this is, however, from what
+iron-founders without architectural control were providing at the same
+time in the Brompton Boilers! Yet it is even more different from
+Hopper’s or Rickman’s iron Gothic of fifty years earlier (Plate 60B).
+For all the elaboration of the ornament, which is very metallic in
+character but also very aware of Early Gothic precedent, what is most
+notable is the highly articulated character of the structure, as if the
+architects had asked themselves: ‘How would medieval builders have used
+structural iron had it been readily available to them?’ Is this,
+perhaps, the first echo in England of the theories of Viollet-le-Duc,
+the French architect who was to exercise an international influence
+equal to Ruskin’s over the next generation? Probably not, as his own
+enthusiasm for iron began only rather later (see Chapter 16). Whether or
+not there is specific influence from Viollet-le-Duc here, his great
+archaeological publication, the _Dictionnaire raisonné_,[222] had begun
+to appear the year before. Very soon the structural expressiveness of
+‘Early French’ detailing, studied by English architects at first hand as
+well as in the woodcuts of the _Dictionnaire_, began to supplant Italian
+polychromy as the hallmark of advanced fashion in the higher aesthetic
+circles.
+
+A more modest Oxford building by Deane & Woodward, the Union Debating
+Hall of 1856-7, has more vigour on the whole than does the Museum,
+particularly in its characteristically notched brick detailing. It also
+has the advantage of murals by the young Pre-Raphaelites. One of these,
+who had just left Street’s architectural office to turn briefly to
+painting, was William Morris (1834-96).[223] His ceiling here initiated
+the most distinguished career of architectural decoration of the second
+half of the century. Morris as a critical writer was destined, moreover,
+to be at least as influential on later architecture as Ruskin or
+Viollet-le-Duc.
+
+Of the same date, 1856, is perhaps the most successful of Butterfield’s
+extant churches, that at Baldersby St James near Beverley in Yorkshire,
+with its contiguous group of vicarage, schools, and cottages. All of
+stone externally, the polychromy here is rather a sort of ‘poly-texture’
+most effectively handled in the banding of the tall pyramidal spire
+above the plain square tower (Plate 87). Internally a delicate harmony
+of pink and grey-blue bricks, with accents of creamy stone, replaces the
+acid chords of All Saints’ in London, a harmony rivalled in the Welsh
+church of St Augustine’s at Penarth near Cardiff built a decade later in
+1866. At the same time, Teulon at St Andrew’s in Coin Street off
+Stamford Street south of the Thames in London was using the boldest of
+brick-and-stone banding externally and, inside, elaborate patterns of
+light-coloured brickwork. Moreover, the rather Germanic planning of this
+church, demolished since the Second World War, was highly unorthodox by
+ecclesiological standards. Already it was evident that within the High
+Victorian Gothic there were to be two streams, one High Church in its
+patronage and led by architects of considerable learning and
+sophistication like Butterfield and Street, another more
+characteristically Low Church and often quite secular; this was
+generally coarser and more philistine, not to say outright illiterate.
+
+Yet not all the best work of the High Church architects was
+ecclesiastical. By 1857 J. L. Pearson (1817-97) had already built some
+respectable if not very interesting churches distinguished chiefly by
+their very fine spires; but his first work of positive High Victorian
+character was Quar Wood, a country house he built in Gloucestershire in
+that year. The skilful asymmetrical massing around the stair tower here,
+the plastic variety provided by several different types of steep roofs,
+the crisp precision of the detailing, all combine to produce a modest
+mansion that is as different in effect from Teulon’s mountainous
+Tortworth as both are characteristic of the beginnings of the High
+Victorian Gothic.
+
+Two houses begun soon after Quar Wood, both within the broad frame of
+reference of the maturing High Victorian Gothic, could hardly differ
+more from one another. In remodelling Eatington Park in Warwickshire in
+1858 John Prichard (1818-86) attempted to mask an underlying Georgian
+mansion with a profusion of bold innovations in the detailing. Stone
+polychromy, applied sculpture, bold plastic membering of wall, roof, and
+chimneys, all are used here more abundantly than ever before. The Red
+House at Bexley Heath in Kent, on the other hand, which Philip Webb
+(1831-1915), who had been a fellow pupil with Morris in Street’s office,
+built for Morris in 1859-60, is notable for its extreme simplicity. So
+also is the house now known as Benfleet Hall that he built in 1861 at
+Cobham in Surrey for Spencer Stanhope, another of the young artists who
+had collaborated on the murals of the Oxford Union. This has a rather
+better plan than the Red House.
+
+These houses have no external polychromy, only plain red brick
+beautifully laid; there is no sculptured detail at all; and the few
+breaks in the loose massing of the walls and roof are closely related to
+the informal ease of the rather novel plans. Only the high roofs of red
+tile are similar to those of Pearson’s Quar Wood. But in the plain, very
+‘real’, detailing and the segmental-headed white-painted window-sash of
+an early eighteenth-century sort, set under pointed relieving arches,
+the relationship is close to the secular work of somewhat older men—to
+Butterfield’s vicarages of the forties (Plate 122B) and more notably to
+his clergy house and school at All Saints’, Margaret Street (Plate 86A).
+Webb had himself worked on some of the latest of the rather similar
+vicarages and schools that Street had been building for a decade. His
+first big country house, Arisaig, built of local stone in the remote
+Scottish Highlands forty miles beyond Fort William in Inverness-shire
+beginning in 1863, may properly be considered High Victorian Gothic also
+(Figure 23). It is especially interesting, like Benfleet Hall, for its
+plan (see Chapter 15).
+
+Down to about 1860 the development of the High Victorian Gothic was on
+the whole convergent. Henceforth, ambitious young architects tried
+harder to have personal modes of their own like Butterfield; yet,
+conversely, many formed loose stylistic alliances in which individual
+expression became merged in some sort of group expression. The boldest
+and the most unruly were no longer likely to be of the High Church
+party, but rather of the Low. St Simon Zelotes of 1859 in Moore Street
+in London by Joseph Peacock (1821-93) hardly compares with the work of
+Butterfield and Street in distinction; but its internal polychromy of
+white and black brick outbids that of their best London churches, also
+built at the end of this decade.
+
+Butterfield’s St Alban’s in Baldwin’s Gardens off Holborn in London,
+erected 1858-61, is all rebuilt now. But something of its splendidly
+tall proportions, if not the rich brick and tile marquetry of the wall
+over the chancel arch, can still be apprehended. The contrast in quality
+with Peacock’s work was once amazing. Street’s St James the Less in
+Thorndike Street off the Vauxhall Bridge Road in London also of 1858-61,
+is less fine but still much superior to Peacock’s work (Plate 94B). The
+tall square tower, set apart like a campanile, has a curiously gawky
+roof based on French models and the interior is somewhat cavernous. But
+in the richness of its red and black brick patterns, used both inside
+and out, and in the naturalistic carving of the nave capitals this
+church of Street’s rivals Butterfield’s All Saints’ and St Alban’s and
+is, unlike the latter, still completely intact.
+
+Various younger men of Webb’s generation were beginning to make
+important contributions in church design also. G. F. Bodley (1827-1907),
+trained in his kinsman Scott’s office rather than in Street’s, built St
+Michael’s, Brighton, in 1859-62. This must have been very striking for
+the boldness of its scale and for the vigour of its structural
+expression before it was overshadowed by the tall later nave beside it
+added by William Burges (1827-81).[224] But it is not the parody of
+‘Early French’ detailing in the square archivolts and spreading capitals
+of the nave arcade, so soon to be abjured by Bodley, that is significant
+here but the fact that this was the first church to receive an over-all
+decorative treatment, including stained glass, at the hands of Morris
+and his associates, who included the painters Ford Madox Brown and
+Edward Burne-Jones.
+
+There is still finer glass of this period designed by Burne-Jones in the
+east window of Waltham Abbey in Essex, where the rear wall was rebuilt
+in the heaviest ‘Early French’ taste by Burges in 1860-1. As a painter
+Burne-Jones is hardly to be compared with Ingres; yet as a designer of
+stained glass the superiority of such early windows of his as these at
+Waltham Abbey to the ones by Ingres at Dreux and at Neuilly is amazing.
+It is not the least claim to distinction of the High Victorian Gothic
+that it nurtured this brilliant revival of decorative art led by Morris.
+Many churches of the sixties and seventies are worth visiting solely for
+their windows by Morris, Brown, and Burne-Jones to which there are
+apparently no worthy Continental parallels.
+
+A quite different sort of contemporary church is White’s Holy Saviour,
+Aberdeen Park, in London, of 1859. Externally this is quiet and rather
+shapeless; but inside the red brick of the exterior gives way to a
+subtle harmony of patterned brickwork in beiges, browns, and
+mauves—assisted in the chancel by some additional decorative
+painting—that is unequalled in High Victorian polychromy. Also rather
+different from standard High Church Anglican work of the day is the
+Catholic church of St Peter in Leamington of 1861-5 (Plate 89A) by Henry
+Clutton (1819-93). He had won the competition for Lille Cathedral in
+France in 1855 with a design prepared in collaboration with Burges, but
+was not allowed to supervise the construction because he was a
+Protestant; English Roman Catholics were not so bigoted. Internally the
+characteristic articulation of Puginian planning was given up; nave and
+apse form one continuous vessel, almost basilican in effect, under a
+barrel roof that ends in a half dome. Unfortunately, the painted
+decoration of the walls and the ceiling here has all been destroyed; the
+effect must once have been much less barren than it is today.
+Externally, plain red brick is most happily combined with stone trim
+treated with great simplicity and yet with extreme subtlety. The
+inspiration is Early French, perhaps influenced by Viollet-le-Duc,[225]
+although Clutton knew old French work at first hand; but the smooth
+concavities and the delicately varied chamfers are handled with the
+greatest originality and justness of scaling. The fine tower, at once
+sturdy in its detailing and svelte in its shape, has lost the original
+pyramidal roof.
+
+Not unworthy of the church, and vastly superior to Clutton’s rather dull
+country houses, is the contiguous rectory here, a rectangle in plan with
+the long gable broken only by elegantly chamfered pairs of brick
+chimneys (Plate 89A). The expanses of plain brick wall are regularly but
+not symmetrically pierced by coupled windows divided by colonnette
+mullions of stone. In simplicity of massing this rectory surpassed the
+Red House and Webb’s other—and in some ways better—early house for
+Spencer Stanhope, Benfleet Hall. In their simple dignity such things
+contrast sharply with the more ambitious secular work of the day, by
+this time reaching peaks of elaboration almost exceeding Prichard’s
+Eatington Park.
+
+Teulon’s Elvethan Park in Hampshire of 1861, for example, is perhaps the
+wildest of all High Victorian Gothic houses; this mansion is so complex
+in composition and so varied in its detailing that it quite defies
+description. Polychromy runs riot, forms of the most various but
+undefinable Gothic provenience merge into one another, and the result
+seems almost to illustrate that original mode of design which Thomas
+Harris (1830-1900)[226] had just christened ‘Victorian’ in describing a
+project he published in 1860 for a terrace of houses at Harrow.
+
+However, several churches of the mid sixties rivalled Elvethan Hall, if
+not Harris’s ‘Victorian Terrace’. There was, for example, Teulon’s own
+St Thomas’s, Wrotham Road, of 1864, piling up to its heavy central tower
+among the railway yards of Camden Town in London; and there was also his
+much more peculiar St Paul’s, Avenue Road, also of 1864, in the
+approaches to Hampstead. This was purged early of its original internal
+decoration but it long remained externally an almost unrecognizable
+variant of the standard Victorian Gothic church. Both have been
+demolished since the war. At St Mary’s in the London suburb of Ealing,
+built in 1866-73, Teulon used iron columns for the nave arcade; a still
+wilder Low Church architect, Bassett Keeling (1836-86), did the same in
+two London churches, St Mark’s in St Mark’s Road, Notting Dale, and St
+George’s on Campden Hill (where they have since been replaced), both
+begun in 1864. Nor were Teulon and Keeling by any means the only
+architects to revive the use of iron columns in the sixties; even Burges
+introduced them once in a church, St Faith’s at Stoke Newington, now
+largely demolished, and also in his Speech Room at Harrow School of
+1872.
+
+Of a quite different order is another London church, St Martin’s in
+Vicars Road, Gospel Oak, also begun in 1864. This is by E. B. Lamb
+(1805-69), an architect who had already begun to show rather High
+Victorian tendencies in the thirties. There is no polychromy here, and
+the inspiration from the past is neither Italian nor French but the
+still heterodox English Perpendicular. The massive plasticity of Lamb’s
+personal mode, with much large-scale chamfering and a consistent use of
+segmental-pointed arches in several orders, is happier where it was
+exploited more simply on the nearby rectory. The interior of his church,
+which has a sort of central plan with wide transepts and only a slightly
+prolonged nave, is a forest of timber-work ingeniously bracketed and
+intersected in a fashion peculiar to Lamb. Only perhaps in an
+international context, in relation to the contemporary American ‘Stick
+Style’, is this sort of structural articulation intelligible (see
+Chapter 15). But the solid, compactly planned, and simply detailed
+rectory has virtues not unworthy of comparison with Clutton’s at
+Leamington, if not perhaps with Webb’s more delicately scaled and
+functionally articulated early houses.
+
+Two churches by Street, St John’s at Torquay of 1861-71[227] and St
+Philip and St James’s at Oxford, which was completed in 1862, are more
+standard products of the early sixties. The former is notable for the
+very rich marble polychromy in the chancel and the full complement of
+windows by Morris and Burne-Jones; the latter is more ‘Early French’
+with a tall tower rising in front of the polygonal apse and a curiously
+unorthodox but effectively ‘real’ way of running the nave arches into
+the east wall with no imposts at all. This device was repeated at All
+Saints’, Clifton, now a ruin, where the variety of colours of the fine
+local stones—orange and blue Pennant and cream Bath—permitted a more
+truly structural polychromy than usual and one of remarkable tonal
+harmony and elegance. All Saints’ was begun in 1863.
+
+Both Burges and Pearson erected distinguished churches at this time,
+Burges in Ireland, Pearson in London. St Finbar’s Church of Ireland
+Cathedral in Cork, designed in 1863 for a competition and built in
+1865-76, is of unusual size for a British church of this period and,
+what is more unusual for a nineteenth-century cathedral, it was
+completed without serious modification of the original project. Provided
+with a fine open site and a full complement of towers, two flanking the
+west front and a taller one over the crossing, this rivals in
+elaboration the big Continental Gothic churches of the period (see
+Chapter 11). Moreover, the detailing is of a distinctly French
+twelfth-century order with very few eclectic or Italianate touches, thus
+recalling the winning design for Lille Cathedral that he had prepared
+with Clutton in 1855. Yet the contrast with contemporary Continental
+Gothic—especially with Lille Cathedral as finally executed by others—is
+almost as great as in the case of the rather more original English
+churches of this period by Butterfield or Street.
+
+In the interior of St Finbar’s Burges developed the theme of
+articulation, a theme more characteristically Early English than ‘Early
+French’, with remarkable plastic vigour, while the handsome wooden roof,
+so rare a feature in medieval France, lends to the whole an unmistakably
+Victorian air. Less subtle, less aesthetic, than other churches of the
+sixties by younger men, St Finbar’s has the sort of athletic strength
+that is characteristic of much High Victorian Gothic, expressed in
+unusually literate, not to say archaeological, terms.
+
+Burges’s church opened the road again towards a more ‘correct’ imitation
+of the medieval High Gothic, a road along which Pearson soon proceeded
+more rapidly and more doggedly than he. Yet Pearson’s own South London
+church of 1863-5, St Peter’s in Kennington Lane, Vauxhall, is more
+typically High Victorian than St Finbar’s. The carved capitals and the
+heavy scale of the stone detail are rather ‘Early French’. But walls and
+vaults are of London stock brick and there is some polychromy of the
+quieter, less Butterfieldian, sort resembling a little White’s at St
+Saviour’s. The continuity of the chancel and rounded apse with the nave
+echoes the ‘unified space’ of Clutton’s Leamington interior. Puginian
+articulation of plan and mass was henceforth somewhat out of date.
+
+The Albert Memorial[228] in Hyde Park in London is a monument
+generally—and not unjustly—considered the perfect symbol of this High
+Victorian period, more perfect than the Houses of Parliament (in the
+early sixties at last approaching completion) were of the previous Early
+Victorian period. In 1861 Queen Victoria’s beloved husband, the Prince
+Consort, died. In the competition for a national memorial to rise in
+Hyde Park near the site of the Crystal Palace, held the next year, G. G.
+Scott almost inevitably won first place. Construction of the Albert
+Memorial began in 1863 and took nearly ten years. By the time it was
+completed in 1872 critics of advanced taste were already condemning it,
+yet it represents precisely what Scott most liked to do and what he
+undoubtedly did best—in his own words, this his ‘most prominent work’
+represented his ‘highest and most enthusiastic efforts’. It is,
+moreover, an epitome of the aspirations[229] that were most widely held
+when it was designed (Plate 90).
+
+The contrast between this elaborate shrine and Scott’s modest and
+essentially archaeological Martyrs’ Memorial of 1841 at Oxford is very
+great—what a long distance the English Gothic Revival had travelled in a
+score of years! Among Early Victorian memorials the Prince Consort’s
+cenotaph is rather more like Kemp’s Scott Monument in Edinburgh (Plate
+51) than like the Oxford one. But where Kemp’s is soft and monochrome,
+this is hard and almost kaleidoscopically polychromatic. Scott’s theme
+is still that of the fourteenth-century English Eleanor Crosses, as is
+certainly appropriate for a monument to a Royal spouse; but the
+inspiration came in the main from relatively small reliquaries and other
+medieval works executed in metal and embellished with enamels and
+semi-precious stones.
+
+The Martyrs’ Memorial was purely English, the specific precedents for
+the Albert Memorial mostly Continental: Italian, French, German, and
+Flemish. The materials are cold and shining, polished granites, marbles,
+and serpentines of various colours; and much of the detail is executed
+in gun-metal left plain or gilded. A profusion of white marble sculpture
+at various scales leads up to the seated bronze figure of the Prince by
+J. H. Foley, finally installed in 1876, over which is a vaulted canopy
+of brilliantly coloured glass mosaic. Enamels, cabochons of marble or
+serpentine, and intricately crisp detail of the most metallic character
+carry out Scott’s basic idea of a ciborium enlarged, like Bernini’s in
+St Peter’s, to fully architectural scale.
+
+Beside the Albert Memorial most of Scott’s other work of this period
+lacks interest. His churches, particularly, are likely to be dull and
+respectable, reflecting the new eclectic tastes of the day only in a
+rather inconspicuous way. His Exeter College Chapel at Oxford of 1856-8
+is a sort of Sainte-Chapelle; St John’s College Chapel at Cambridge of
+1863-9 is equally monumental but somewhat less French in character and
+also more original in its proportions. His secular work at Oxford and
+Cambridge is also dull, lacking the Ruskinian touches that give a
+certain vitality to the Meadow Buildings built for Christ Church in 1863
+by Sir Thomas Deane and his son Thomas Newenham Deane (1828-99).
+
+Far finer, however, is their Kildare Street Club in Dublin, facing the
+Trinity College Museum across an expanse of lawn; for this continues the
+best Ruskinian tradition of the work that they did earlier with
+Woodward.[230]
+
+A very striking example of the Gothic of the early sixties in England,
+superior to anything at Oxford or Cambridge, is the Merchant Seamen’s
+Orphan Asylum of 1861 by G. Somers Clark (1825-82), now the Wanstead
+Hospital, in a suburb north-east of London. This is actually more what
+is supposed to be ‘Ruskinian’, because of its Venetian detailing, than
+the very original Dublin clubhouse with its consistent theme of
+segmental arches and its bold naturalistic carving; but, like that, the
+Wanstead building is generically High Victorian in the asymmetrical
+massing, the strong colours of the black-banded red brickwork, and the
+surprising richness of the decoration Clark lavished on a utilitarian
+structure.
+
+In the early sixties several younger men, most of them trained in
+Street’s office, were already turning away from the stridency of the
+work of the High Victorian leaders towards a simpler and suaver mode.
+Webb’s houses of this period have been mentioned, and will be again (see
+Chapter 15). Here the plain row of small London shops that he built at
+91-101 Worship Street, Finsbury, in 1861 might be described. In them the
+material is not even red brick, but London stocks excellently laid.
+Almost nothing is overtly Gothic, yet a sense of medieval craftsmanship
+controls the handling of both the wide shop-windows below and the
+sash-windows in the upper storeys. Above all, the general composition is
+quiet and regular, more like Clutton’s Leamington rectory than the
+asymmetrical articulation that is characteristic of Webb’s own houses of
+these years.
+
+A similar quietness controls the design of the wing that W. Eden
+Nesfield (1835-88), son of Barry’s collaborator on Italian gardens,
+William A. Nesfield (1793-1881), and a pupil not of Street but of Burn
+and Salvin, was adding to the Earl of Craven’s seat, Combe Abbey in
+Warwickshire, beginning in 1863. This was Nesfield’s earliest work.
+Despite his own studies of French Gothic,[231] which he had published
+the previous year with a dedication to Lord Craven, and the tracings he
+is supposed to have made from the illustrations of Gothic detail in
+Viollet-le-Duc’s _Dictionnaire_, the arches at Combe Abbey are round,
+not pointed, and the major architectural theme is the English late
+medieval ‘window-wall’ of many lights divided by stone mullions and
+transoms.
+
+In a completely new house, Cloverley Hall, that Nesfield began in 1865
+together with his partner Richard Norman Shaw (1831-1912), the great
+window-bays and the other ranges of stone-mullioned windows in the
+beautifully laid salmon-pink brick walls were even more the principal
+theme of the design. But in the decorations, delicate in scale and
+elegant in craftsmanship, a new sort of eclecticism made its appearance.
+Basically the house derives from those manor houses of the sixteenth
+century that were uninfluenced by Renaissance ideas; but in the
+detailing of Cloverley there were Japanese motifs, notably the sunflower
+disks that Nesfield called his ‘pies’, reflecting the new interest in
+oriental art that such painters as Whistler and Rossetti were taking.
+Except for its relatively early date, Cloverley Hall has no place in a
+discussion of High Victorian Gothic, for it is characteristically Late
+Victorian (see Chapter 15).
+
+Nesfield’s partner Shaw, however, built in the sixties two churches that
+were still High Victorian in style, one in Yorkshire, the other at Lyons
+in France. Holy Trinity at Bingley of 1866-7 is one of the finest
+examples of the ‘Early French’ phase of the Victorian Gothic (Plate
+94A). Externally it builds up to a very tall central tower, superbly
+proportioned and very simply detailed, that more than rivals in quality
+Street’s at Oxford. Internally the fine random-ashlar stonework—there is
+no polychromy—the very bold and structural detailing of the square
+archivolts and the simply carved capitals illustrate even better than
+does Webb’s domestic work in brick the new and more sophisticated
+attitude towards the building crafts. The principles involved go back to
+Pugin; but now for the first time in Webb’s and Nesfield’s and Shaw’s
+work of the sixties one senses a real respect, at once intelligent and
+intuitive, for the differing nature of different materials. Such a
+respect would continue to give special virtue to the work of the most
+distinguished English and American architects of the late nineteenth and
+early twentieth centuries (see Chapters 12, 13, 15, and 19).
+
+The Lyons church, which Shaw began in 1868, is perhaps the finest of the
+many Victorian churches built on the Continent for local English
+colonies, but very different indeed from that at Bingley. A city church
+set between tall blocks of flats, this is also very tall in its
+proportions and has a more urban character than that of the Yorkshire
+church. French freestone does not lend itself to the particular type of
+semi-rustic craftsmanship that was now rising to favour with the younger
+English architects; hence the Lyons church is less significant than the
+Bingley one in that respect. But Shaw was not primarily a church
+architect, nor did he long remain a High Victorian (see Chapter 12).
+
+More characteristic of the various new directions that the Victorian
+Gothic was taking in the mid sixties, directions that soon also led
+quite away from the High Victorian, are two new churches both designed
+well before Shaw’s at Bingley and Lyons were begun. At All Saints’ in
+Jesus Lane, Cambridge, begun in 1863, the spikiness of the Italianizing
+Victorian Gothic and the rugged structuralism of the ‘Early
+French’—rarely carried farther than in Bodley’s own early work—gave way
+to something much more English in inspiration. There is, for example, a
+very deep chancel and only one aisle, not to speak of a battlemented
+tower at one side, out of which rises a small stone spire. In fact,
+Bodley returned here to the fourteenth-century Decorated models
+preferred by Pugin, some so ‘late’ as to suggest the still forbidden
+Perpendicular.
+
+Bodley now made even more use of the decorative talents of Morris
+and his associates than at St Michael’s, Brighton. His St
+Martin’s-on-the-Cliff, Scarborough, completed in 1863, is a finer
+church than either St Michael’s or All Saints’. Falling between them
+in style as well as in date, this has less historical importance,
+but it also was richly decorated by the Morris firm. At All Saints’
+painted polychromy, but of a rather subtle order much superior to
+most of that of the forties, entirely replaced permanent polychrome.
+The brocade patterns stencilled on the walls seem almost to be
+designs of Pugin strengthened in their outlines and their colours by
+Morris. Although Bodley’s mature career as one of the two principal
+Late Victorian church architects did not really get under way until
+1870, Victorian Gothic was evidently coming full circle at All
+Saints’, and the High Victorian phase was nearly over.
+
+The other important new church of this period, St Saviour’s, Penn
+Street, in the Hoxton district of the East End of London, was begun in
+1865 by James Brooks (1825-1901). Unfortunately this was very badly
+damaged in the blitz, and has since been demolished. St Saviour’s was of
+brick and included some polychromy like Brooks’s slightly earlier East
+End church, St Michael’s in Mark Street, Shoreditch, of 1863-5. But what
+was really significant at St Saviour’s was the unified interior space,
+ending like Clutton’s Leamington church and Pearson’s Vauxhall church in
+London in a rounded apse (Plate 89B). Notable also were the Webb-like
+quietness of the general composition and the straightforward handling of
+the main structural elements. In another, happily unblitzed, church by
+Brooks in the East End of London, St Chad’s, Nichols Square, in
+Haggerston, which was begun in 1867, the same qualities can be seen in a
+more mature state. Moreover, the rather plain windows and the simple
+moulded brick trim are echoed at domestic scale on the nearby rectory.
+
+The fine vessel of the interior of St Chad’s, with its simple nave
+arcade of stone, clean red-brick walls, quietly structural wooden roof
+over the nave, and brick-vaulted chancel, contrasts strikingly with the
+hectic elaboration and dramatically vertical proportions of
+Butterfield’s last London church of any great interest, St Augustine’s,
+Queen’s Gate, of 1865-71. Two churches of the late sixties outside
+London, All Saints’ at Babbacombe near Torquay, which was built in
+1868-74, and the earlier mentioned St Augustine’s at Penarth, begun in
+1866, are much more satisfactory examples of Butterfield’s middle
+period.
+
+Brooks continued through the seventies to develop the implications of
+his East End churches with great success. The largest and most notable
+is that of the Ascension, Lavender Hill, in Battersea, which was begun
+in 1873 and completed by J. T. Micklethwaite[232] (1843-1906), a former
+assistant of G. G. Scott, in 1883. The vast lancet-pierced red-brick
+hull of this church is one of the landmarks of the South London skyline;
+the interior, which is perhaps a little bare, has nevertheless a
+monumentality of scale rare in English churches of any period. However,
+this monumentality is rivalled both inside and out in St Bartholomew’s,
+Brighton (Plate 93B), completed in 1875 by Edmund E. Scott (?-1895), and
+considerably later in Brooks’s own London church of All Hallows,
+Shirlock Street, begun in 1889 and never provided with its intended
+vaults.
+
+Victorian Gothic, whether Early or High, is primarily an ecclesiastical
+mode. The leading Neo-Gothic architects were happiest when building
+churches; their few secular works—if parsonages, colleges, and schools
+can really in this period be called secular—generally have a churchy
+tone. But it is characteristic of the High Victorian Gothic as opposed
+to the Early Victorian Gothic, and _a fortiori_ to Neo-Gothic on the
+Continent, that it became for some twenty years, from the early fifties
+to the early seventies, a nearly universal mode.[233] A good many houses
+have already been cited; and certainly no churches of this period
+provide finer specimens of High Victorian Gothic than the warehouse at
+104 Stokes Croft in Bristol, which was built by E. W. Godwin (1833-86),
+a friend of Burges, in the early sixties (Plate 113), or the office
+building of 1864-5 at 60 Mark Lane in London by George Aitchison
+(1825-1910). The one is an especially subtly polychromed attempt to
+follow Ruskin’s Italianism, the other more ‘Early French’ in its detail,
+but both use round-arched arcading throughout their several storeys (see
+Chapter 14).
+
+Godwin in two rather modest town halls, one at Northampton of 1861-4,
+which is very rich in sculptural detail, the other at Congleton,
+Cheshire, of 1864-7, which is more severe and ‘Early French’ in
+character, produced two further High Victorian Gothic[234] works of the
+highest quality (Plate 92A). Unfortunately by the time the taste of the
+authorities in the larger English cities caught up in the late sixties
+with the advanced position of the High Church architectural leaders,
+those leaders had left that position far behind. As a result, many of
+the biggest and most conspicuous public edifices are very retardataire.
+Gothic designs won only low premiums in the Government Offices
+competition in 1857, although both Street’s and Deane & Woodward’s—on
+which Ruskin advised—were of considerable distinction. When Alfred
+Waterhouse (1830-1905) two years later won the competition for the
+Manchester Assize Courts he elaborated the design of this large public
+structure along the rather unimaginative lines of Deane & Woodward’s
+earlier Oxford Museum, then just reaching completion.
+
+At best Waterhouse had a rather heavy hand and an uncertain sort of
+eclectic taste somewhat like G. G. Scott’s. He lacked the cranky
+boldness of a Butterfield, the sophistication of a Street, and the sense
+of craftsmanship of such men as Webb and Godwin who were his own
+contemporaries. But he did have real capacity as a planner of large and
+complex buildings, something at which most of the leading church
+architects had little or no experience. Thus his Manchester Town Hall,
+begun ten years later than the Assize Courts in 1869, while lacking all
+the refinement of Godwin’s smaller and earlier ones, is a large-scale
+exercise in High Victorian Gothic of some interest. But inevitably the
+High Victorian Gothic was a mode less well suited to this kind of
+monumental exploitation than the contemporary Second Empire mode as
+naturalized in England and America. For all the skill of Waterhouse in
+the organization of plan and general composition and in the bold
+detailing of materials inside and out, the Manchester Town Hall is a
+late and inferior work—late, that is, in the phase of style which it
+represents, though not so late in the highly successful career of its
+architect. It may properly be compared, and to its own manifest
+advantage, moreover, with Schmidt’s Rathaus in Vienna.
+
+The other most conspicuous High Victorian Gothic public monument, the
+Law Courts in London, is the work of Street, an older and far more
+distinguished architect; but it came very late indeed in Street’s
+career, so late that he died before it was finished in 1882. Designed
+originally for a competition held in 1866, many years dragged by during
+which the site was twice changed—once southward to the river’s edge and
+then back to the north of the Strand—before it was even begun in 1874.
+Other work of the late sixties and early seventies by Street indicates
+how completely his own taste had turned away from this sort of French
+thirteenth-century Gothic even before the Law Courts were started.
+
+At St Margaret’s in Liverpool, for example, which he designed in 1867,
+Street reverted to English fourteenth-century models; thus, like Bodley
+at All Saints’, Cambridge, he seemed to be returning to the particular
+stylistic ideal with which the ecclesiologists had started out
+twenty-five years before. In the Guards’ Chapel at the Wellington
+Barracks in London, however, which was all but completely destroyed in
+the blitz, he in 1877 remodelled the interior of an engineer-built
+Grecian edifice with incredible sumptuousness in a sort of Byzantinoid
+Italian Romanesque, using a stone-and-brick banded barrel vault and a
+glittering investiture of gold and glass mosaic that quite outshone the
+comparable work of Continental architects in the _Rundbogenstil_. Then,
+in remodelling the interior of St Luke’s, West Norwood, near London,
+built by Francis Bedford (1784-1858) in 1823-5, equally Grecian, he used
+in 1878-9 round-arched Italian detail. Despite the bold banding in brick
+and stone, this is certainly not Gothic or Byzantine, but rather recalls
+the Tuscan Proto-Renaissance, or even the _quattrocento_.
+
+Certain buildings by Deane & Woodward and by Scott at Oxford and
+Cambridge have already been mentioned; much more exists by Scott,
+Waterhouse, and various others, very little of it of any distinction,
+yet sometimes fitting not too uncomfortably into the general scene. The
+most striking example of Victorian Gothic architecture at Oxford,
+fortunately on an isolated site opposite the Parks, where it had no
+neighbours earlier than the Museum, is Butterfield’s Keble College, a
+complete entity in itself, largely built in 1868-70. With its walls so
+violently striated with bricks of various colours, Keble would have been
+a most disturbing increment to any existing college; on the other hand,
+Butterfield’s quietly stone-banded chapel at Balliol of 1857 is that
+college’s happiest feature, the rest being largely the work of
+Waterhouse.
+
+Since Keble was founded by Butterfield’s pious High Church friends for
+clerical students, the chapel, which was added to the group in 1873-6,
+understandably dominates the whole. Tall and richly decorated, this has
+many of Butterfield’s virtues, but it quite lacks the directness and the
+poignance of his best work of the fifties and early sixties. The hall
+and library are less monumental than the chapel, fitting more easily
+into the ranges of sets that surround the two quadrangles. The over-all
+composition is fairly regular, and there is less coarse or fussy
+detailing than Scott and Waterhouse used for their ‘Collegiate Gothic’.
+Moreover, the scale of Keble is modestly domestic and, despite its
+considerable size, the features are simple and crisp; but in the
+relatively clean air of Oxford Butterfield’s polychromy has received
+less of the desirable mellowing than it gets in London. The banded walls
+certainly lack the harmony that the softer colours of the materials used
+in his country church interiors generally produced.
+
+By the time Keble was completed—indeed in advanced circles well before
+it was begun—such polychromatic brashness was out of date. Yet at Rugby
+School, where Butterfield’s buildings of 1868-72 awkwardly adjoin
+various earlier nineteenth-century Gothic structures, the polychromy is
+even louder; moreover, it is still less mellowed by time. Although
+Butterfield lived on through the rest of the century and continued to
+build many churches and some schools, this first and boldest of High
+Victorian Gothic architects was more and more left behind after the mid
+sixties by the evolving taste of his own High Church milieu.
+
+There are other High Victorian Gothic collegiate groups which are, or
+would have been if carried to completion, far finer than Keble. Being at
+less renowned institutions than Oxford, they are less well known.
+University College on the sea-front at Aberystwyth in Wales is by J. P.
+Seddon (1827-1906), from 1852 to 1862 a partner of John Prichard. This
+structure was begun in 1864 to serve as a hotel, incorporating as its
+most inappropriate nucleus a small Castellated villa built by Nash for
+Uvedale Price in the 1780s. The failure of the hotel project, the slow
+and faltering start of the college, and the necessary repair and
+rebuilding after two fires have left a complex pile of most disparate
+character, even though it is almost all by Seddon. But certain aspects
+of the building, the bowed section on the sea-front—originally the hotel
+bar, later the college chapel!—and the entrance and stair tower on the
+rear are among the grandest and most boldly plastic fragments produced
+in this period (Plate 91A). Neither Oxford nor Cambridge has anything of
+comparable quality.
+
+For Trinity College in Hartford, Conn., Burges prepared in 1873 a
+splendid plan worthy of its fine new site on a high ridge south of the
+city (Plate 88). Unfortunately only one side of one quadrangle was
+finished according to his designs; but that is perhaps the most
+satisfactory of all his works, and the best example anywhere of
+Victorian Gothic collegiate architecture. The brownstone from nearby
+Portland, Conn., favourite material all over the eastern states during
+what Lewis Mumford has called the ‘Brown Decades’, is especially well
+suited to Burges’s heavy and well-articulated detail. The rough
+quarry-facing of the random ashlar contrasts tonally with the more
+smoothly cut trim in a fashion that is polytonal if not polychromatic.
+The roughness of the stone walls also enhances the massive proportions
+of the long dormitory range and of the paired towers with their boldly
+pyramidal roofs. Yet for the classrooms this masonry is articulated into
+banks of large mullioned windows. Despite the general regularity and
+even symmetry of the composition, there is plenty of functionally
+logical variety in the handling of the different sections. Burges was
+happy in the Scottish-born Hartford architect who supervised the work,
+G. W. Keller (1842-1935); and Keller revealed his continued debt to
+Burges in the construction of a Memorial Arch in the park in Hartford
+which is one of the very few examples of such a Classical monument
+completely translated into Gothic terms, and not without real interest.
+
+Burges undoubtedly enjoyed more what he did for the Marquess of Bute,
+beginning in 1865, in restoring Cardiff Castle and Castell Coch in
+Wales. ‘Restoring’ should be put in quotation marks, for by the time
+Burges got through with them both were almost as much fake castles as
+any built in the first half of the century. They lie somewhere between
+Fonthill Abbey and Peckforton in intention and are considerably more
+sumptuous internally than either. Although Cardiff Castle, which had
+been subjected to drastic Georgian remodelling, was gradually
+re-castellated with considerable consistency, the work there never
+reached completion. It is chiefly the incredibly rich interiors that are
+of interest, even if the interest is of a rather theatrical order.
+
+Castell Coch near Llandaff, restored in 1875, interiors of equal
+fantasy, almost comparable to those of Neuschwanstein; that is,
+they are more like settings for Wagnerian opera than anything the
+Middle Ages actually created. But the quality of the imagination
+and of the execution is of a very much higher order than Ludwig II
+commanded. Externally Castell Coch is a sober and plausible
+restoration-reconstruction of a smallish castle, chiefly of
+archaeological interest, but most romantically sited and solidly
+built. Beside its integrity the more famous restorations by
+Viollet-le-Duc at Pierrefonds and Carcassonne appear rather harsh,
+and obviously modern.
+
+The McConochie house, built in Cardiff for Lord Bute’s estate agent, is
+one of the best medium-sized stone dwellings of the High Victorian
+Gothic, superior in almost every way to Burges’s own house at 9 Melbury
+Road in London. That was built later, in 1875-80, by which time the
+operatic medievalism of the interiors was quite out of date (see Chapter
+12). Here in the Cardiff house the tight asymmetrical composition, the
+excellent detailing of the handsome stonework, and a generally domestic
+rather than Castellated air prepared the way for Burges’s fine
+collegiate work in America.
+
+English architects in the sixties were capable of exploiting a wide
+range of different aspects of the High Victorian Gothic in almost
+precisely the same years. Only the size and departmentalized
+organization of G. G. Scott’s office, the largest of the period and more
+like the ‘plan-factories’ of the twentieth century (see Chapter 24), can
+explain how he could be nominally responsible for such a quiet,
+well-scaled, and advanced church as St Andrew’s, Derby, designed in
+1866—some say by Micklethwaite, who was working for him at the time—and
+also for such a strident, complex, and over-elaborated edifice as the
+Midland Hotel fronting St Pancras Station. The design for this was
+prepared in 1865 for a competition held, curiously enough, two years
+after the shed had been begun by the engineers W. H. Barlow (1812-1902)
+and R. M. Ordish (1824-86). Such a drastic divorce of engineering and
+architecture could hardly be expected to produce a co-ordinated edifice,
+yet both aspects of St Pancras have considerable independent interest.
+The shed, ingeniously tied below the level of the tracks and rising, for
+purely coincidental technical reasons, to a flattened point of slightly
+‘Gothic’ outline, has the widest span of any in the British Isles and,
+until the nineties, in the world. It is, therefore, a nineteenth-century
+spatial achievement of quantitative, if not so much of qualitative,
+significance. The masonry block at the front is one of the largest High
+Victorian Gothic structures in the world. It long had ardent admirers,
+and it has come to have them again, for it epitomizes almost as notably
+as the Albert Memorial the aspirations of Scott and his generation. The
+contrast to its neighbour, Lewis Cubitt’s Kings Cross Station, begun
+some fifteen years earlier, or even to Paddington, where the engineer
+Brunel and the architect Wyatt collaborated so happily, is striking. The
+taste of English railway authorities, as of most patrons of
+architecture, had been revolutionized by the general triumph of the High
+Victorian Gothic in the late fifties and early sixties. Yet on its
+completion in the mid seventies St Pancras was even more out of fashion
+in advanced circles than were Street’s Law Courts, the construction of
+which only began at that time, so rapidly did taste continue to change
+in the late sixties and early seventies.
+
+By 1870 church architecture, for example, was in general much chastened.
+Externally Teulon’s St Stephen’s, The Green, on Rosslyn Hill in
+Hampstead of 1869-76 is not polychromatic but all of purple-brown brick
+with some creamy stone trim. It builds up, moreover, somewhat like
+Shaw’s Bingley church begun a few years earlier, to a tall rectangular
+crossing tower with rather quiet, more or less ‘Early French’,
+membering. Inside Teulon achieved in the brickwork a kind of golden
+harmony of tone resembling that of White’s interior in St Saviour’s,
+Aberdeen Park, completely eschewing the bold and almost savage patterns
+of contrastingly coloured bricks he had favoured since the early
+fifties. In the tremendously tall interior of Edmund Scott’s already
+mentioned St Bartholomew’s, Brighton—aisleless, chancel-less, and
+provided with broad, flat internal buttresses—the traces of brick
+polychromy are hardly noticeable on the walls of a space so grandly
+proportioned (Plate 93B). The later ciborium here is not by Scott.
+
+Burges in the two Yorkshire churches which he began in 1871 at Skelton
+and at Studley Royal, both near Ripon, the latter with a very fine
+rectory near by, still aimed at a rather satiating luxury of both
+coloured and sculptural decoration in the interiors. But Pearson at St
+Augustine’s, Kilburn Park Road, in London, initiated at this time a new
+line of vast plain churches (Plate 93A). That line would culminate in
+the archaeological correctness of his Truro Cathedral in Cornwall,
+started in 1880 and finally completed by his son (F. L., 1864-1947) in
+the present century. His last work, the cathedral of Brisbane,
+Australia, designed shortly before his death in 1897, was only begun by
+his son in 1901.
+
+As Pearson’s Kilburn church was built in 1870-80, it should perhaps more
+properly be considered Late Victorian than High. But Pearson retained
+here and to the end of his life, particularly in his tall towers and
+spires, a truly High Victorian love of grand and bold effects. However
+archaeological he became, and with his passion for rib-vaulting he could
+from this time on be rather more archaeological in a Franco-English way
+than Viollet-le-Duc in France or Cuijpers in Holland, his spaces are
+usually nobly proportioned and his masses crisply composed no matter how
+‘correctly’ they are membered. At Truro, where the cathedral rises
+suddenly out of narrow streets, its granite still almost unweathered,
+Pearson’s handling of the relationship of the three tall towers carries
+vigorous plastic conviction; Burges had attempted the same effect at
+Cork with rather less success when the High Victorian was still at its
+highest. Brisbane Cathedral is plainer and tougher than Truro despite
+its very late date.
+
+It would be inappropriate in this chapter to carry the story of
+Victorian Gothic much further. Scott and Street died in 1878 and 1881
+respectively, though Butterfield and Bodley outlived Pearson.
+Butterfield seems to have frozen for life in the mode of his early
+maturity, and as a result produced ever feebler work after the mid
+sixties; Pearson was able to maintain a leading position with a younger
+generation grown chaster and more archaeological in its standards
+without forsaking his pursuit of those more abstractly architectonic
+values which give distinction to his earlier work. It was above all
+Bodley, however, with his Late Decorated verging on Perpendicular, who
+set the pace in Anglican church-architecture from this time forward. His
+personal style, still tentative at All Saints, Cambridge, in the mid
+sixties, was mature by the time he built St Augustine’s at Pendlebury in
+Lancashire in 1870-4. Crisp and almost mechanical in its detailing, this
+tall rectangular mass, buttressed by an internal arcade, is impressive
+both inside and out (Plate 92B), yet it wholly abjures most of the
+qualities that had for two decades given special vitality to English
+Neo-Gothic.
+
+With various modulations what might, rather ambiguously, be called
+‘Bodleian Gothic’ remained the favourite of Anglicans in and out of
+England well into the twentieth century. The continuing admiration for
+the work of Sir Ninian Comper (1864-1960) in certain milieus suggests
+that it has not even yet been finally superseded; but much of Comper’s
+large-scale work dates from before Bodley’s death in 1907. For example,
+his principal London church, St Cyprian’s in Glentworth Street, was
+built in 1903. This crisp and clean example of revived Late Gothic, with
+its elegant gilt font-cover and screen, may wind up this account more
+appropriately than the vast unfinished cathedral at Liverpool begun by
+Sir Giles Gilbert Scott (1880-1960), a grandson of the first G. G.
+Scott, in 1903. But neither is Victorian Gothic; both are rather
+manifestations of one aspect of twentieth-century ‘traditionalism’ (see
+Chapter 24).
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 11
+ LATER NEO-GOTHIC OUTSIDE ENGLAND
+
+
+THE High Victorian Gothic produced in the United States no such
+roster of distinguished—or at least prominent and highly
+characteristic—monuments as in Britain. The period of its
+florescence was much briefer, and few assured and sophisticated
+talents came to the fore. If, in the case of Richardson, one such
+did appear, his maturity came only in the mid seventies, when the
+High Victorian Gothic was all but over. Why the period was so much
+shorter in the United States, in effect only the decade 1865-75, is
+not altogether clear. One reason, undoubtedly, is that the speed of
+transmission of new architectural ideas from England to America had
+increased so much by the seventies that the influence of the later
+English mode which succeeded the High Victorian Gothic around 1870
+reached America very promptly indeed (see Chapters 13 and 15).
+Another quite different reason is that a wave of nationalism in
+America, parallel to those current in North European countries at
+the time, encouraged from the mid seventies developments that were
+more autochthonous. Leadership in commercial and in domestic
+architecture crossed the Atlantic almost precisely at the moment
+when, in 1876, the centenary[235] of American political independence
+was being celebrated.
+
+The phenomenal success in the United States of Ruskin’s treatises, _The
+Seven Lamps of Architecture_ of 1849 and _The Stones of Venice_[236] of
+1851-3, should be emphasized; from 1855 Street’s _Brick and Marble
+Architecture_ was also available. Yet, despite the warm reception of
+such relevant writings, few reflections of the High Victorian Gothic can
+be discerned in American production before 1860. The first is probably
+the Nott Memorial Library[237] at Union College, Schenectady, N.Y.,
+designed by Edward T. Potter (1831-1904) in 1856 and built in 1858-76.
+Here the banded arches are pointed and the plan is circular, perhaps in
+emulation of the Pisa Baptistery to which Ruskin had called attention,
+but more probably in deference to Ramée’s general plan for the college
+(see Chapter 1).
+
+The years immediately following the Panic of 1857 and, quite
+understandably, the Civil War years 1861-5 were relatively unproductive
+of new buildings, as has already been noted. An edifice far more overtly
+Ruskinian than Potter’s Library was the National Academy in New York,
+built by Peter B. Wight (1838-1925) in 1863-5, although apparently first
+designed as early as 1861. Its Venetian Gothic mode, with pointed arches
+boldly banded and walls diapered in coloured stones, was still the
+subject of considerable contemporary controversy as it would hardly have
+been in England by this date.
+
+Potter and Wight were both young men. Established Gothic Revivalists in
+America did not swing over as rapidly as in England from the Early
+Victorian to the High. Upjohn, Potter’s master, was no Butterfield;
+Renwick when designing St Patrick’s Cathedral in New York in 1859
+followed contemporary Continental rather than English models, as has
+been noted, presumably because his clients were Catholics.
+
+At best the sort of High Church Anglican patronage which sponsored
+Butterfield’s and Street’s innovations in England was relatively much
+less important in the United States—or Canada and Australia, for that
+matter. Enthusiasm for the High Victorian Gothic, although widespread in
+the later sixties and early seventies, was rarely exclusive as is
+evidenced by the disparate interests and activities of the members of
+the prominent and successful firm of Ware & Van Brunt. It has already
+been noted that when William Robert Ware founded in 1865 the first
+American architectural school at the Massachusetts Institute of
+Technology in Boston, he based its instruction on that of the Paris
+École des Beaux-Arts.[238] His partner Henry Van Brunt (1832-1903) was
+one of the first to follow Richardson’s lead away from the High
+Victorian Gothic in the seventies. So little were either of them
+dyed-in-the-wool Gothicists in these decades.[239]
+
+However, Ware & Van Brunt designed and built in Cambridge, Mass., one of
+the largest and most conspicuous of mature High Victorian Gothic
+edifices in America, Memorial Hall[240] at Harvard College, first
+projected in the late sixties and erected in 1870-8. This somewhat
+cathedral-like edifice has walls of red brick liberally lashed with
+black and a massive central tower now denuded by fire of its high roof
+(Plate 95A). The manner is more than a little Butterfieldian, but the
+quality is not even up to G. G. Scott.
+
+Before Memorial Hall was designed, a competition held in 1865 for the
+First Church (Unitarian) in Boston in the new Back Bay residential
+district had brought out a variety of rather feeble attempts by Boston
+architects to follow the High Victorian Gothic line. The winning design
+of Ware & Van Brunt, executed in 1865-7, while not of the wilder Low
+Church order of Teulon’s or Keeling’s London work of these years, is
+hardly comparable to Street’s or Butterfield’s, much less to the
+contemporary production of younger architects such as Brooks, Bodley, or
+Shaw. Its best feature is the material, the richly mottled and textured
+local Puddingstone from nearby Roxbury.
+
+The High Victorian Gothic of the sixties and early seventies in the
+United States was no more restricted to the ecclesiastical field than in
+England. Despite its churchy look, Memorial Hall served a variety of
+secular purposes from refectory to concert hall; only the wide
+transeptal lobby was strictly memorial in purpose. But there was rarely
+even such relative devotion to the Gothic in this period in the United
+States as the major works of Ware & Van Brunt display. For example, the
+untutored Elbridge Boyden (1810-98), best known for introducing the
+cast-iron commercial front into New England in 1854, could build two
+buildings for the Polytechnic Institute of Worcester, Mass., in the same
+year 1866 of which one, the Washburn Machine Shop, is mansarded with
+crude, vaguely Second Empire, detailing; while the other, Boynton Hall,
+is in a very provincial sort of High Victorian Gothic. Hunt, product of
+a Parisian education, designed the Yale Divinity School in New Haven in
+1869 in a frenzied, rather Teulonian, Gothic; while in his precisely
+contemporary Lenox Library in New York, built in 1869-77, he followed
+closely and with some dignity French, if not specifically Second Empire,
+models.
+
+It is not really surprising, therefore, that Richardson, returning from
+Paris and the École des Beaux-Arts at the end of the Civil War and
+entering a competition for a new Unitarian church to be built at
+Springfield, Mass., offered a High Victorian Gothic project that seems
+to derive rather directly from the work of Keeling and other Low Church
+English practitioners. What _is_ surprising, however, considering the
+lack of special interest to later eyes in his Unity Church as executed
+in 1866-8, is the fact that he won the competition! The warm colour and
+texture of the rock-faced brownstone from nearby Longmeadow laid up in
+random ashlar, a certain masculine scale in the details, and an attempt
+at least at a boldly asymmetrical composition evidently struck his
+contemporaries as very promising, however. (The church was demolished in
+1961.)
+
+It was not in the Unity Church, but in Richardson’s second church, Grace
+Episcopal, in Medford, Mass., happily still extant, of 1867-8, that one
+recognizes strong personal expression. The more massively pyramidal
+character of the asymmetrical composition and, above all, the great
+boulders of which the walls are built, with heavy trim of rough
+quarry-faced granite, announce an original approach (Plate 91B). Yet
+this approach was evidently still nurtured on the English High Victorian
+Gothic models that Richardson knew through the wood engravings in
+imported periodicals. It is even specific enough here so that one can
+describe this Medford church as Burgessy rather than Butterfieldian or
+Street-like; it is certainly no longer Keelingesque like the church in
+Springfield. Incidentally, when Richardson visited England in 1882 it
+was the work of Burges, who had just died, that he went out of his way
+to see—by that time, however, he found it rather disappointing.
+
+If Richardson’s first churches were Gothic, his Western Railway Office
+at Springfield, built in 1867 for a client associated with the Unity
+Church commission, was generically Second Empire. Yet this was still
+more directly derived from current English work that was closely related
+to that mode, notably the Francis Brothers’ National Discount Building
+of 1857 in the City of London, than from anything Parisian. His brick
+and stone Dorsheimer[241] house of 1868 in Delaware Avenue in Buffalo,
+N.Y., is also Second Empire rather than Victorian Gothic, but very
+restrainedly so, and hence rather more French in effect. Other work by
+Richardson dating from the late sixties, such as the B. H. Crowninshield
+house in Marlborough Street in Boston of 1868-9, was more experimental
+in design, often recalling wild English work of the early years of the
+decade. Although built of wood and of very modest size, Richardson’s
+most interesting house of this period was the one that he built for
+himself in 1868 at Arrochar on Staten Island near New York.[242] This
+combines the use of a high mansarded pavilion with a sort of imitation
+half-timbering related to the contemporary American ‘Stick Style’ (see
+Chapter 14).
+
+In Farnam Hall at Yale College in New Haven (Plate 96A), begun in 1869,
+the German-trained Russell Sturgis (1836-1909),[243] who had been for a
+time Wight’s partner, somehow arrived at an almost Webb-like—or at least
+Brooks-like—simplicity and sophistication of late High Victorian Gothic
+design, in marked contrast to the stridency of Hunt’s precisely
+contemporary Divinity School there. This, however, is almost unique. The
+most characteristic work of the day was produced by such home-trained
+architects as Ware & Van Brunt, Wight, Edward T. Potter, and his younger
+brother William A. Potter (1842-1909).[244] Wight’s National Academy in
+New York has been mentioned. His Mercantile Library in Brooklyn, N.Y.,
+completed in 1869, of red brick with ranges of pointed-arched windows
+regularly but asymmetrically disposed, is similar—and not inferior—to
+much of G. G. Scott’s secular work. Edward T. Potter’s Union College
+Library has also been mentioned. His Harvard Church in Brookline, Mass.,
+of 1873-5 is more conventional for its period. Largely renewed
+internally after being gutted by a fire in 1931, this shows how
+effectively such American materials as the popular brownstone from
+Portland, Conn., and the light-coloured Berea sandstone from Ohio,
+enlivened by accents of livid green serpentine from Pennsylvania, could
+produce a polychromy richer and more enduring than the endemic
+Butterfieldian or Teulonian red brick, with banding of bricks dipped in
+black tar, that had been in general use for a decade. Along this line
+Richardson himself followed for a while (see Chapter 13). At the same
+time William A. Potter, who became very briefly Supervising Architect in
+Washington in succession to Mullet in 1875, produced a few post offices,
+such as the one in Pittsfield, Mass., that are characteristic but not
+very distinguished examples of secular High Victorian Gothic executed in
+stone. (Both Potters, however, gave up the High Victorian Gothic to
+accept Richardson’s leadership within the next few years.)
+
+The Boston & Albany Railroad station in Worcester built by Ware & Van
+Brunt in 1875-7, with its tall and striking tower and its vast
+segmental-pointed arches at the ends of the shed, provides one of the
+happiest illustrations of what the rather illiterate approach of even
+the most highly trained Eastern architects of this period could produce.
+By working in an almost primitive way, along lines suggested by the
+half-understood work of the bolder English innovators, something was
+often achieved of which few Continental architects were capable in this
+period. In less sophisticated hands, whether of provincial architects or
+of builders, the results were naturally still cruder, though sometimes
+equally vital and fresh. In church design,[245] where ecclesiological
+control of planning was not accepted outside the Episcopal denomination,
+galleried auditorium schemes with rows of exposed iron columns were
+often executed with a violence of polychromy and a gawkiness of notched
+detailing that exceeded Teulon or Keeling at their most extreme. One of
+the most prominent extant examples is the squarish New Old South Church
+at Copley Square in the Back Bay district of Boston, built in 1874-5 by
+Charles A. Cummings (1833-1905) and his partner Sears in 1875-7. Its
+impressive tower resembling an Italian campanile has now been much
+reduced in height and chastened in silhouette.
+
+Even more extreme than most churches, but of the highest quality, is the
+intensely personal work of Frank Furness (1839-1912)[246] in
+Philadelphia. His building for the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in
+Broad Street was erected in 1872-6 in preparation for the Centennial
+Exhibition. The exterior has a largeness of scale and a vigour in the
+detailing that would be notable anywhere, and the galleries are top-lit
+with exceptional efficiency. Still more original and impressive were his
+banks, even though they lay quite off the main line of development of
+commercial architecture in this period (see Chapter 14). The most
+extraordinary of these, and Furness’s masterpiece, was the Provident
+Institution in Walnut Street, built as late as 1879 (Plate 95B). This
+was most unfortunately demolished in the Philadelphia urban renewal
+campaign several years ago, but the gigantic and forceful scale of the
+granite membering alone should have justified its respectful
+preservation. The interior,[247] entirely lined with patterned tiles,
+was of rather later character than the façade and eventually much
+cluttered with later intrusions, but it was equally fine in its own way
+originally. Later work by Furness is of less interest, and his big Broad
+Street Station of 1892-4 has also been demolished. No small part of
+Furness’s historical significance lies in the fact that the young Louis
+Sullivan picked this office—then known as Furness & Hewitt—to work in
+for a short period after he left Ware’s school in Boston. As Sullivan’s
+_Autobiography of an Idea_ testifies, the vitality and originality of
+Furness meant more to him than what he was taught at the Massachusetts
+Institute of Technology, or later at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris
+(see Chapter 14).
+
+In the realm of house-design the more-or-less Gothic-based ‘Stick Style’
+represented a largely autochthonous American development not without
+considerable significance and interest (see Chapter 15). In public
+architecture there was little serious achievement even at the hands of
+English-trained architects such as Calvert Vaux (1824-95) and his
+partner F. C. Withers (1828-1901)[248] or second-generation Gothicists
+like Upjohn’s son (Richard M., 1828-1903). The younger Upjohn’s
+Connecticut State Capitol[249] in Hartford begun in 1873, the only major
+American example of a High Victorian Gothic public monument of any great
+pretension or luxury of materials, is singularly vulgar and
+stylistically ambiguous, with its completely symmetrical massing and its
+tall central dome, compared to Burges’s contemporary project for Trinity
+College there.[250] Doubtless G. G. Scott would not have disdained it,
+even so!
+
+Still more comparable to Scott’s own thwarted ambitions for a High
+Victorian Gothic governmental architecture, which led him as late as the
+seventies to enter various Continental competitions, is an earlier group
+of buildings in the New World outside the United States, the Parliament
+House (Plate 97A) and associated structures at Ottawa, Canada, designed
+by Fuller & Jones and Stent & Laver in 1859 and built in 1861-7. F. W.
+Stent had come out from England some considerable time before this,
+having last exhibited at the Royal Academy in London in 1846. Thomas
+Fuller (1822-98), also English, had settled in Toronto in 1856. Of their
+respective partners, Augustus Laver (1839-98) and Herbert Chilion Jones
+(1836-1923), less is known. In the course of the work Fuller and Laver
+joined forces, moving on shortly to the United States, as has been
+noted.
+
+The main block at Ottawa, which was by the first-named firm, has been
+rebuilt after a fire in the present century in a considerably chastened
+vein, except for the big chapterhouse-like library at the rear, which is
+original. But the variety of form, the gusto of the detail, and the
+urbanistic scale of this project made of the Dominion Capitol a major
+monumental group unrivalled for extent and complexity of organization in
+England.[251] The buildings flanking the vast lawn extending in front of
+the Parliament House are by Stent & Laver. These are somewhat less
+exuberant in scale and more provincial in the character of their
+detailing than the Parliament House was originally.
+
+Most of the Neo-Gothic in Canada up to this time is more properly to be
+considered Early rather than High Victorian (see Chapter 6). An
+exception to this, perhaps, is University College in Toronto, designed
+in 1856 by F. W. Cumberland (1821-81), who had come out from England in
+1847. Yet its rich and rather bombastic Norman design is closer to
+English work of the earlier decades of the century than to the
+round-arched Ruskinian Gothic of the fifties.
+
+Australia, the other major British Dominion, had nothing comparable to
+Canada to offer in this period. Wardell’s English, Scottish, and
+Australian Bank in Melbourne is a passable example of secular High
+Victorian Gothic but no more than that. St John Evangelist’s, which he
+built at Toorak south of Melbourne in 1860-73, is handsomer but very
+simple—still almost Puginian, indeed—and all of monochrome ashlar. The
+enormous Catholic cathedral of Melbourne, St Patrick’s, which Wardell
+began in 1860, is more Continental in character, with two west towers
+like Renwick’s St Patrick’s in New York and also a tall crossing tower
+completed only in 1939. The Catholic cathedral of Adelaide, St Francis
+Xavier’s, begun in 1870 and still without its intended western spires,
+reputedly goes back to a design prepared by Pugin before his death in
+1852. But even the later design of his son E. W. Pugin, on which the
+executed work was actually based, must have been much modified over the
+years by W. H. Bagot (b. 1880), H. H. Jory (b. 1880), and Lewis
+Laybourne-Smith (b. 1888), who successively supervised the job. It is
+certainly no happier an example of High Victorian Gothic than Wardell’s
+Catholic cathedral in Melbourne.
+
+The Anglican cathedral in Melbourne, St Paul’s, having been begun in
+1850 from designs by Butterfield, ought to be finer. But Butterfield had
+made the drawings as early as 1847, before even he was a High Victorian,
+and the laggard execution of the church by Joseph Reed evidently
+entailed much modification of the original designs. Moreover, the spires
+by John Barr date only from 1934. For the very late Anglican cathedral
+at Brisbane, St John’s, perhaps the finest of the lot, which was begun
+in 1901 by F. L. Pearson from earlier designs by his father J. L.
+Pearson as has already been mentioned, Butterfield had also prepared
+designs in 1884.
+
+The architecture of the Dominions remained Colonial in spirit, as these
+notes on a few Australian churches indicate, well into the present
+century. First the able Frank Wills, moreover, the English-born
+architect of Montreal Cathedral, and then Fuller & Laver were drawn away
+from Canada to the United States, where opportunities were greater.
+Despite the great interest of the Government Buildings at Ottawa, it was
+in the United States rather than the British Dominions that the High
+Victorian Gothic proved a stimulus to such highly original achievement
+as Furness’s in the seventies.
+
+The High Victorian Gothic episode in American architecture balanced
+almost precisely the Second Empire episode. Both were disowned, even by
+many of their most successful protagonists, by the mid seventies. It was
+the Gothic, however, that prepared the way for the more original
+developments of the last quarter of the century; as has already been
+stated, those who had practised chiefly in the Second Empire mode
+continued to take their lead from Paris. Yet there are paradoxes in the
+situation which must not be ignored. Richardson, the most creative new
+force in the seventies and eighties, continually urged young aspirants
+to an architectural career to study at the École des Beaux-Arts as he
+had done. Charles F. McKim (1847-1909), Richardson’s first really able
+assistant, was Paris-trained; partly because of that training, it was he
+who became in the mid eighties the leader of the reaction against the
+Richardsonian. Sullivan, the first truly great modern architect not
+alone of America but of the whole western world, was also in part
+Paris-trained, even though he was always highly critical of the doctrine
+of the École and much stimulated by Furness. Finally, it was even more
+the later writings of the French Viollet-le-Duc than those of the
+English Ruskin that encouraged bold and imaginative thinking about
+architecture in America in the seventies and eighties when his
+_Entretiens_ became available in translation and were first widely
+read.[252]
+
+Were this a history of architectural thought rather than of
+architecture—that is of what was actually _built_ in the nineteenth and
+twentieth centuries—Viollet-le-Duc would play a much larger part. But
+his production,[253] while not negligible, is curiously ambiguous. His
+many ‘restorations’ are no contribution to nineteenth-century
+architecture; rather they represent a serious diminution of authenticity
+in the great monuments of the past subjected to his ministrations. These
+include most notably Notre-Dame in Paris, the refurbishing of which he
+continued alone after the death of Lassus in 1857, and the Château de
+Pierrefonds, Oise, the rebuilding of which began the next year and
+continued down to his death in 1879; but the whole list is very long
+indeed, including Carcassonne, Vézelay, and Saint-Denis, to mention only
+some of the best known things.
+
+Viollet-le-Duc’s new parish church for the suburb of St-Denis,
+Saint-Denys-de-l’Estrée in the Boulevard Jules Guesde, built in 1864-7,
+has considerable interest, however. Unlike most English High Victorian
+Gothic churches, it is vaulted throughout; but the vaulting does not
+have that look of a student exercise which characterizes Lassus’s at
+Saint-Jean-de-Belleville in Paris of the previous decade. The broad
+square bays of the nave are well lighted by groups of lancets in the
+clerestory, and there is a sturdy sort of articulation of the elements
+not unlike that in the early work of Burges (Plate 98). Externally the
+rather complex plan, with a large rectangular Lady Chapel projecting
+behind the altar, produces a gawky and confused composition; but the
+detailing is simple and virile as in the interior. A massive western
+tower rises over the entrance porch, culminating in a tall slated roof
+rather than a stone spire. But the plate tracery of the large west
+window over the porch and the lancets of the stage above are stony
+enough and have a quite Street-like scale and vigour of form. It is
+perhaps unfortunate that Viollet-le-Duc built so few new churches;
+certainly most other French Neo-Gothic work is very inferior to this, as
+such a large and prominent church as Saint-Epvre at Nancy, begun in 1863
+by M.-P. Morey (1805-78), a pupil of Leclerc, well illustrates.
+
+In secular work Viollet-le-Duc was too often content to follow the
+current Second Empire mode with a good deal of the eclecticism, but
+little of the plastic boldness, of the English and the Americans. Such
+more or less Gothic blocks of flats as those that he built in the late
+fifties and sixties in the Rue de Condorcet and at 15 Rue de Douai in
+Paris are somewhat more comparable to the secular High Victorian Gothic
+in England (Plate 101A). These are certainly praiseworthy for the
+urbanistic politeness with which they fit between more conventional
+Second Empire neighbours despite their distinctly ‘Victorian’
+detail,[254] but there is little originality of conception. On paper
+Viollet-le-Duc later showed great boldness, however, in certain projects
+proposing the use of metal structural elements that he published with
+the second volume of the _Entretiens_ (see Chapter 16).
+
+In the late fifties and sixties the vigour of the ‘Early French’
+detailing of certain English architects and a related logic of
+structural expression then called ‘real’ was often derived in part from
+a study of Viollet-le-Duc’s _Dictionnaire_. But Shaw’s book of
+_Continental Sketches_ of 1858 and Nesfield’s similar book of 1862 make
+evident how intense and how idiosyncratic was their own first-hand study
+of medieval work across the channel. Certainly the ‘Early French’ detail
+of the English leaders is generally of higher quality than even
+Viollet-le-Duc’s best at Saint-Denys-de-l’Estrée.
+
+If there was very little Gothic work done in the third quarter of the
+century in France comparable in quality or in interest to that of the
+Anglo-Saxon countries, yet there was a general movement there away from
+the somewhat mincing attitudes of the forties and early fifties. Just as
+the Medieval Revival in America, considered in a broad sense, came to
+its climax in the mature work of Richardson (see Chapter 13)—which is
+much more Romanesque than Gothic in so far as it leans at all on the
+past—in France the Romanesquoid work of Vaudremer represents the highest
+achievement of the period in a non-Renaissance mode (Plate 72A). The
+same may even be said up to a point of most of the other countries of
+Europe. Yet the Germanic _Rundbogenstil_ of the third quarter of the
+century was, for all the size, prominence, and elaboration of such
+public monuments as Waesemann’s Berlin City Hall or Hansen’s Vienna
+Waffenmuseum and the real excellence of Herholdt’s Danish work, already
+a sinking rather than a rising mode.
+
+In Germany and Austria more Neo-Gothic edifices, both secular and
+ecclesiastical, were built after 1850 than before; several of them have
+already been mentioned. These are, however, rather examples of
+contemporary eclecticism than of a concerted movement. In addition to
+his school and his Rathaus, however, Schmidt built in Vienna some eight
+Gothic churches ranging in date from the Lazaristenkirche of 1860-2 to
+the Severinkirche of 1877-8. Most of them are brick-vaulted
+hall-churches—that is, of the characteristic medieval German plan and
+section, with aisles of the same height as the nave. However, the
+largest and most interesting, the Fünfhaus Parish Church of 1868-75, is
+centrally planned. This is an aisled octagon rising to a ribbed dome
+with hexagonal chapels grouped around the irregularly polygonal apse
+(Plate 99B). The spatial complexity of the interior is of real interest,
+and the walls are painted to suggest polychromatic brickwork of almost
+English brashness. Two front towers flanking the gabled entrance bay are
+set close against the dome to provide a very Baroque sort of
+composition—this is really, therefore, a sort of Sant’ Agnese in Agone
+or Karlskirche carried out with a G. G. Scott vocabulary of Neo-Gothic
+elements.
+
+In Hungary the eighties saw a very belated manifestation of secular
+Neo-Gothic. The Parliament House, begun in 1883 by Imre Steindl
+(1839-1902) and completed in 1902, was surely inspired by Barry’s in
+London begun nearly a half-century earlier, but in character it is (not
+surprisingly) more like Schmidt’s Vienna Rathaus. Thus did outlying
+countries in the later decades of the century continue to take up modes
+long obsolescent in the major architectural centres.[255]
+
+The Gothic of C. F. Arnold (1823-90) at Dresden, as seen in his secular
+Kreuzschule of 1864-5 or the two-towered Sophienkirche of the same
+years, is inferior to Schmidt’s, both in command of the idiom and in
+architectonic organization, as indeed is most such German work of these
+decades. The Johanniskirche in Dresden of 1874-8 by G. L. Möckel
+(1838-1915), however, has a rather fine tower set in the transeptal
+position so much favoured in Victorian England. This is bold in scale
+and carefully detailed in a literate twelfth-century—not to say ‘Early
+French’—way much as Burges or Pearson might have designed it in England.
+More characteristic of German work of these decades is the Munich
+Rathaus, built in 1867-74 by G. J. von Hauberrisser (1841-1922) and
+extended by him in 1899-1909. Excessively spiky, this seems almost to
+have borrowed back from G. G. Scott the more Germanic features of his
+Broad Sanctuary terrace in London of fifteen years earlier. But the
+Neo-Gothic of the seventies and eighties in Germany is in general no
+more aggressive and gawky than the popular Meistersinger mode that
+revived so turgidly the forms of the Northern Renaissance (see Chapter
+10).
+
+Holland, which made almost no significant architectural contribution in
+the first half of the nineteenth century, now produced in P. J. H.
+Cuijpers (1827-1921) a sort of Dutch Viollet-le-Duc. In addition to
+undertaking important restorations, he built many vast new Gothic
+churches of brick which he exposed once more in reaction against the
+earlier nineteenth-century practice of stucco-coating. Cuijpers was
+learned and ambitious, and in such work he could be rather more original
+than Viollet-le-Duc in France, if less so perhaps than Schmidt in
+Austria. His Vondelkerk, a church of 1870 near the Vondel Park in
+Amsterdam, is not centrally planned like Schmidt’s Fünfhaus church in
+Vienna, but he obtained a somewhat similar spatial effect by making the
+crossing octagonal. The brickwork of the piers and the vaults is very
+richly treated but in a fashion as much polytonal as polychromatic. The
+banding is in bricks of different sizes and textures rather than of
+different colours, and the result has something of the subtlety of the
+interior of White’s Aberdeen Park church in London.
+
+A larger and later Amsterdam church by Cuijpers, the Maria Magdalenakerk
+in the Zaanstraat of 1887, is considerably more impressive, both inside
+and out. Occupying one of those narrow triangular sites so often
+assigned to important urban churches in this period, the exterior builds
+up grandly to the rather severe crossing tower at the rear. Inside,
+Cuijpers made the most of the difficulties of the site also. The east
+end is conventionally Gothic in plan, and the choir here is
+brick-vaulted, as is the Vondelkerk throughout. But the taller nave,
+covered with a wooden roof of ogival section, is much more effective
+spatially because of the way it is widened by triangular elements at the
+front where the aisles are cut off owing to the narrowing of the site
+(Plate 101B). The later painted decorations in this church are
+harmonious in tone with the brickwork, and the whole has a breadth of
+attack comparable to some of the best English churches of the seventies,
+such as Pearson’s in Kilburn or Edmund Scott’s St Bartholomew’s,
+Brighton, without resembling any of them very much.
+
+Curiously enough for so dedicated a church-builder, Cuijpers’s secular
+work is more conspicuous, and hence better known, than are his churches.
+The two largest and most prominent nineteenth-century buildings of
+Amsterdam are both by him. In these, the Rijksmuseum built in 1877-85
+(Plate 101C) and the Central Station of 1881-9, he moved away from the
+emulation of thirteenth- or fourteenth-century ecclesiastical Gothic
+towards a more elastic sixteenth-century sort of design, rather similar
+to the English mode of these decades known as ‘Pont Street Dutch’ (see
+Chapter 12).
+
+The similarity to the Northern Renaissance mode of this period in
+Germany is nearly as great, as also to such somewhat later Scandinavian
+buildings as Clason’s Northern Museum in Stockholm and Nyrop’s Town Hall
+in Copenhagen (Plate 173A). But Cuijpers’s touch is lighter than that of
+the Germans, and his precedent rather more Late Gothic than Mannerist,
+while his two chief works precede those that they most resemble in
+Sweden and Denmark by a decade or more. In both cases the frank
+incorporation of iron-and-glass elements is notable, a vast shed at the
+station and two almost equally vast covered courts in the museum. Above
+all, being the Gothic Revivalist he was, Cuijpers saw to it that the
+craftsmanship was excellent throughout; while his handling of scale,
+though ambiguous as in much work of these decades everywhere, is
+surprisingly successful. Both are very large buildings, placed in
+isolation where they can be seen from a distance and with carefully
+studied silhouettes varied by towers and other skyline features; yet the
+membering is delicate and almost domestic, quite as in the rather
+comparable English work of George (Plate 104B) or Collcutt (see Chapter
+12).
+
+In Italy projects of restoration led, as elsewhere, to the designing of
+certain fairly ambitious new façades in Gothic to complete medieval
+churches. The most conspicuous is that of the cathedral of Florence.
+After many abortive earlier moves, this was finally begun by Emilio de
+Fabris (1808-83) in 1866, when Florence became briefly the capital of
+Italy, and completed only in 1887. The earlier and less successful
+façade of Santa Croce in Florence had been carried out in 1857-63 by
+Niccoló Matas (1798-1872). It is characteristic of the international
+architectural scene in these decades that neither of these carefully
+archaeological compositions in polychrome Italian Gothic comes alive in
+the way that Italianate High Victorian Gothic often did in the hands of
+English architects, or even American ones, in the fifties and sixties.
+
+Churches were built for Anglicans in most of the principal cities of
+Europe in the mid nineteenth century, usually by English architects and
+always in Victorian Gothic. Sometimes, as in the case of the Crimean
+Memorial Church by Street[256] at Istanbul and Shaw’s English Church at
+Lyons, these were by the most distinguished English designers of the
+day, but more often they were by hacks who lived abroad and specialized
+in such work. Among the ‘English churches’ of this period that provided
+good samples of the High Victorian Gothic for foreigners—many were still
+to all intents and purposes Early Victorian—are two by Street[257] in
+Rome, one for the English community, the other not ‘English’ at all in
+fact but built for American Episcopalians. The former, All Saints’, in
+the Via del Babuino, with a much later tower not by Street, provides
+internally a moderately successful example of his later work, although
+it is unimpressive and largely invisible externally. It was begun in
+1880, a year before Street’s death, and opened in 1885.
+
+Far finer is St Paul’s, the American church, prominently located among
+the contemporary banks and blocks of flats of the Via Nazionale and
+built in 1873-6. Boldly banded in brick and stone and with a tall square
+campanile at the front corner, this is indeed a richer and more striking
+example of an Italian Gothic basilica than the Middle Ages ever produced
+in Rome (Plate 100). The interior, with a rich apse mosaic by
+Burne-Jones on a glittering gold ground, has an originality and a
+coherence that is quite lacking in such Italian churches as were
+redecorated in the later nineteenth century. Late though this is in
+Street’s _œuvre_, it remains one of his best works.
+
+If the English High Victorian Gothic was to some extent an article of
+export—and, of course, this account has hardly touched on the vast
+outlying areas of the British Empire, notably including India, to which
+it was exported in the greatest quantity—it was nevertheless largely
+without real influence outside the United States and the British
+Dominions. In the world picture, it was the British architectural
+critics of this period, Ruskin and Morris, who would have a vital
+influence, but that influence came for the most part rather later,
+around 1890 (see Chapter 16). Cuijpers, however, was a reader of Ruskin
+from the fifties.
+
+Still to be discussed is the early work of one great architect, also
+reputedly a reader of Ruskin, whose career began in the seventies with a
+sharp revulsion from the Second Empire mode towards the Neo-Gothic. The
+Spanish (or more precisely Catalan) architect Antoni Gaudí i Cornet
+(1852-1926) was one of the most intensely personal talents that either
+the nineteenth or the twentieth century has produced. His style hardly
+matured before the nineties, and what are generally considered his
+typical works must be discussed later in connexion with the Art Nouveau
+(see Chapter 16). But what he had accomplished already in the seventies
+and eighties can be better appreciated here in relation to the
+contemporary work of those decades in other countries.
+
+Gaudí’s earliest work was at the Parc de la Ciutadella in Barcelona,
+laid out in 1872, where he assisted the master of works Eduardo
+Fontseré, while still a student, in various projects for its
+embellishment. The elaborate Cascade there, incorporating an Aquarium,
+on which he worked in 1877-82 derives in the main from Espérandieu’s at
+the Palais Longchamps in Marseilles. But some of the detail, both
+plastic and incised, has a flavour more comparable to that of the
+wildest and most eclectic English and American Second Empire work of the
+previous decade than to anything French.
+
+The first commission for which Gaudí was wholly responsible is the house
+of Don Manuel Vicens at 24-26 Carrer de les Carolines in Barcelona. This
+was erected in 1878-80, immediately upon his graduation from the local
+Escuela Superior de Arquitectura, and in it no trace of Second Empire
+influence, French or international, remains. A large suburban villa
+built of rubble masonry liberally banded with polychrome tiles, the Casa
+Vicens passes beyond the extravagances of a Teulon or a Lamb in the
+sixties into a world of fantasy that only one or two High Victorian
+designers such as the Scottish Frederick T. Pilkington (1832-98) ever
+entered. Yet Gaudí’s general inspiration came definitely from the
+medieval past. In Spain that past included the semi-Islamic Mudéjar,
+however, and much of the detailing which appears most original to
+non-Spanish eyes is, in fact, dependent on local precedents of one sort
+or another. For example, the floral tiles are merely what the Iberian
+world knows as _azulejos_ and has continued to use down to the present
+time, especially in Portugal and Brazil (see Chapter 25).
+
+In all the flamboyance of the decoration of the Casa Vicens, the most
+personal note is in the ironwork. This is naturalistic in theme and bold
+in scale; it also includes curious linear elements that wave and bend in
+a way which is more than a little premonitory of the Art Nouveau of the
+nineties (see Chapter 16). The entrance grille is a masterpiece of
+decorative art of this period, rivalled only by some of Morris’s
+contemporary stained glass.
+
+The very utilitarian industrial warehouse for La Obrera Mataronense of
+1878-82 at Mataró, with its great arched principals of laminated wood,
+should be mentioned to balance the Casa Vicens. Here Gaudí’s prowess as
+an imaginative constructor—almost a straight engineer—was very evident,
+as also the fact that the unfamiliar forms he continually used—the shape
+of the arches here was parabolic not semicircular or pointed—were not a
+matter of personal crankiness but selected for statical reasons: Gothic
+in theory, that is, like some of Soufflot’s vaulting, though not very
+Gothic in appearance.
+
+In 1884, however, Gaudí was made director of works for a large new
+Gothic church in Barcelona, and from this time forward a considerable
+part of his activity, extending down through his restoration of the
+cathedral of Palma on the island of Mallorca in 1900-14, was that of a
+Gothic Revivalist, if an increasingly unconventional one. Towards such a
+career his own intense religiosity inclined him quite as much as was the
+case with Pugin and reputedly also with Cuijpers—Viollet-le-Duc, by
+exception, was strongly anti-clerical. Unlike Pugin’s or Cuijpers’s,
+however, Gaudí’s career as an ecclesiastical architect was rather
+unproductive. Yet from the first he designed and executed church
+furnishings and, while still a student in 1875-7, he assisted the
+architect Francesc de Paula del Villar i Carmona (1845-1922) on a
+project for adding a porch to the monastery church of Montsarrat.
+
+In 1881 Villar was made architect of the proposed Expiatory Temple of
+the Holy Family (Sagrada Familia),[258] for which a large square site
+had been obtained between the Carrers de Mallorca, de Marina, de
+Provença, and de Sardenya in an outlying part of Barcelona, and the
+construction of the crypt of a great cruciform Gothic church was started
+in 1882. Two years later Gaudí took over charge of the work, as has been
+said, completing the crypt by 1891 almost entirely according to Villar’s
+original and quite conventionally thirteenth-fourteenth-century Gothic
+design. There followed the construction of the outer walls only of the
+chevet; these were finished by 1893. The further history of the church
+will be considered later; for Gaudí’s style underwent extraordinary
+changes in the nineties as he designed and built one transept façade of
+the church and its towers—which is about all that exists above ground
+even today (see Chapter 17).
+
+Contemporaneously with Gaudí’s construction of the crypt and the chevet
+walls of the Sagrada Familia came four secular works, two of them also
+quite Neo-Gothic in character and two others of very great originality.
+The Bishop’s Palace at Astorga of 1887-93 and the Fernández-Arbós house,
+known as the Casa de los Botines, in the Plaza de San Marcelo at León of
+1892-4 might well be mistaken for provincial High Victorian Gothic done
+in England or America twenty or thirty years earlier. But the city
+mansion of Don Eusebio Güell at 3-5 Carrer Nou de la Rambla (now Conde
+del Asalto) in Barcelona, built in 1885-9, is an edifice of the greatest
+distinction, rivalled for quality in its period only by the very finest
+late work of Richardson in America (see Chapter 13). The Teresian
+College at 41 Carrer de Ganduxer in Barcelona is also quite remarkable
+in its simpler way.
+
+Far suaver than his earlier Casa Vicens, the Palau Güell is quite as
+strikingly novel all the same. At the base yawn a pair of parabolic
+arches, their tops filled above a plain reticulated grille with sinuous
+seaweed-like ornament of the most extravagant virtuosity (Plate 96B).
+The ‘Dragon Gate’ of the Finca Güell of 1887 in the Avenida Pedralbes is
+still stranger, with a nightmare quality which those of the house in
+town happily lack. On either side of the entrance arches and in the
+projecting first storey the façade of the Palau Güell is no more than a
+rather plain rectangular grid of stone mullions and transoms. In scale
+this grid is more like Parris’s Boston granite fronts of the twenties
+than like English window-walls, but it is detailed in a cranky
+medievalizing way that is more comparable to Webb’s handling of
+stonework (Figure 17). The rear façade towards the court includes in the
+middle a broad bay-window with curved corners protected by sunscreens as
+original but less fantastic than the grilles at the entrance. The most
+extraordinary features of the exterior, however, are the chimney-pots
+rising in profusion above the flat roof like an exhibition of abstract
+sculpture and entirely covered with a mosaic of irregular fragments of
+glass, rubble, or coloured tiles. In them the extravagance of his
+earlier houses was continued, and such terminal features remained
+characteristic of all his later secular work.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 17. Antoni Gaudí: project for Palau Güell, Barcelona, 1885,
+ elevation
+]
+
+The interiors of the Palau Güell are extremely sumptuous. There is much
+use of marble arcades of parabolic arches carried on round columns, both
+arches and columns being detailed with the greatest mathematical
+elegance and simplicity, yet with considerable variety. Some of the
+ceilings are of marble slabs carried by visible iron beams, but in the
+principal apartments there are incredibly elaborate confections of
+woodwork in the Moorish tradition.
+
+The College of Santa Teresa de Jesús, built in 1889-94 immediately after
+the Palau Güell, is naturally much more modest than that great
+merchant’s palace, which continues the line of those that late medieval
+and Renaissance magnates often built. Rubble walls banded and stripped
+with brickwork are pierced alternately with ranges of narrow windows and
+with small square ventilators closed with quatrefoil grilles. The widely
+spaced windows are capped with steep parabolic ‘arches’ formed by
+cantilevering inward successive brick courses. The third storey is all
+of brickwork panelled with blind ‘arches’ between the windows and
+carried up into large, flat, triangular finials along the skyline. Less
+ingratiating than the Palau Güell with its luxurious use of fine
+materials inside and out, this college building is equally regular in
+composition and no more Gothic in appearance to a non-Spanish eye; in
+fact, however, it leans even more heavily on Mozarab and Mudéjar
+precedent than does the Casa Vicens. A certain amount of relatively
+plain wrought-iron grillework recalls that at the entrances of the
+earlier houses.
+
+Only perhaps in England and America did the line of descent from the
+Gothic Revival lead so far away from the standard medievalism of the mid
+century in the seventies and eighties. But these early works of Gaudí
+represent only a part—to most critics the less important half—of his
+production. For strangeness they can be matched in work of equal
+consequence within this period only by Sullivan’s earliest commercial
+façades in Chicago (see Chapter 14). Teulon and Harris had reformed by
+the seventies; Lamb and Pilkington were forgotten. In character Gaudí’s
+work of the seventies and eighties could hardly be more different from
+the mature style of the English Shaw. Yet Shaw, at his occasional best,
+could compete with Gaudí in the quality of his achievement; while his
+influence, both at home and in the United States, was of very
+considerable historical importance, as Gaudí’s was not, even in Spain
+(see Chapters 12, 13, and 15).
+
+For all that Gaudí was actually represented at the Paris Exhibition of
+1878—by a glovemaker’s vitrine!—and later by pavilions designed for the
+Compañía Transatlántica in the Naval Exhibition of 1887 at Cadiz and in
+the Barcelona International Exhibition of the following year, his work
+was hardly known at all except to his compatriots before the nineties.
+In the mid twentieth century, however, his reputation is still rising,
+as the flood of new publications of the last decade makes evident. The
+reasons for this will be suggested later, since they apply chiefly to
+the work that he did after 1900 (see Chapters 16 and 20).
+
+In the European picture as a whole a less notable shift of direction
+occurred around 1870 than in England and America. There was naturally
+continuity in the Vienna of Francis Joseph, since the Imperial
+government called the tune in Austrian architecture and the
+King-Emperor’s reign went on without a break—indeed, it lasted for
+another generation and more. What is surprising is that the end of the
+Second Empire and the beginning of the Third Republic brought so little
+change in France. There was, of course, a short hiatus in production
+like that which followed the fall of the first Napoleon. As around 1820,
+however, so around 1875 the story picks up again almost as if there had
+been no break at all. Gradually interest in exposed metal construction,
+in decline since the fifties, revived; by the time of the Paris
+Exhibition of 1889 French feats of metal construction, not so much the
+Galerie des Machines as the Eiffel Tower, became the talk of the world
+(see Chapter 16).
+
+In the fugue-like composition of nineteenth-century architectural
+history different themes have differing durations. The English theme of
+High Victorian Gothic, picked up in any case only by the Anglo-Saxon
+sections of the orchestra, came effectively to an end with the early
+seventies; the Second Empire theme, whether it be considered in a
+specialized sense or in a broader one, was picked up at least
+selectively by the whole western world and not least boldly by the
+Anglo-American section; moreover, it continued in most countries, with
+some modulation, for at least a decade longer than the High Victorian
+Gothic. Yet both in England and America, the important new themes of the
+seventies and eighties were rooted not in the Second Empire but in the
+Victorian Gothic, even though they represent something much more
+original than mere modulations of that earlier theme.
+
+The third quarter of the nineteenth century is notable for the stylistic
+diversity of its production. In principle there may, perhaps, be no more
+difference between Visconti’s and Lefuel’s New Louvre and a Butterfield
+church than between Nash’s Blaise Hamlet and his terraces around
+Regent’s Park, to cite merely work by one early nineteenth-century
+architect. Yet thanks to the fugal character of the general historical
+development, which meant that new modes were added to the architectural
+repertory—as they had been at least since the twenties—more rapidly than
+old modes were dropped, the over-all picture became extremely
+complicated after 1850. It belies the most valid and idiosyncratic
+achievements of this period, however, to stress too much its apparently
+limitless eclecticism.[259] The account given in the last four chapters
+undoubtedly exaggerates the importance of certain modes, if that
+importance be measured statistically in terms of quantity of production.
+Qualitative considerations have led to a drastic selectivity,
+emphasizing relatively limited but vital aspects of architectural
+production at the expense of others that were far more ubiquitous but
+generally very dull. With different criteria of selection, using
+different standards of architectural quality—attainment of
+archaeological plausibility, say; or success or failure in the
+incorporation of new technical developments; or realization of
+programmatic aims—several very different pictures could be, and indeed
+frequently have been,[260] given of the architecture of the western
+world in these decades.
+
+At the expense of emphasizing architectural developments peculiar to the
+Anglo-Saxon world in this same, possibly unbalanced, fashion the next
+chapter is organized around the career, after 1870, of Norman Shaw,
+whose early work in the High Victorian Gothic has already received some
+attention. The chapter following that centres on the achievement of the
+American architect Richardson, whose somewhat parallel beginnings have
+also been described in this chapter.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 12
+ NORMAN SHAW AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES
+
+
+IN England and America there followed immediately upon the ‘High Styles’
+of the fifties and sixties phases of stylistic development that cannot
+readily be matched in the other countries of the western world. This is
+true both of the quality of the achievement and also of its significance
+for what came after. Beginning just before 1870 in England and but
+little later in the United States, these two phases developed in far
+from identical ways. In both cases their conventional names, ‘Queen
+Anne’ and ‘Romanesque Revival’, are misnomers. It was a long time before
+the Queen Anne of the seventies actually became a revival of early
+eighteenth-century architecture in the same sense as the Greek, Gothic,
+or Renaissance Revivals. The supposed Romanesque Revival in America of
+this period was not very archaeological either. It is therefore less
+inaccurate to label these modes by the names of their principal
+protagonists: ‘Shavian’ for Richard Norman Shaw (even though that proper
+adjective refers more familiarly to George Bernard Shaw) and
+‘Richardsonian’ for Henry Hobson Richardson. Shaw, however, shares
+responsibility for the effectiveness of the mutation away from the High
+Victorian with other men, notably his early partner Nesfield, Webb,
+Godwin, and J. J. Stevenson.[261] Of all this group, Shaw was
+unquestionably the most successful, the most typical, and the most
+influential, though not the most original.
+
+Except for Pugin, no architect since Robert Adam had so much effect on
+English—and for that matter also on American—production. Moreover, his
+influence lasted for some thirty-five years, rather longer than did
+Adam’s. Yet it is not possible to define the Shavian mode clearly as it
+is the Adamesque or the Puginian. An architectural Picasso, Shaw had
+many divergent manners which he developed successively, but of which
+none—except the High Victorian Gothic—was ever entirely dropped. Each of
+these manners, down to the very end of his long practice, found in turn
+a following. His latest and most conspicuous work, the Piccadilly Hotel,
+built in London in 1905-8 between Piccadilly and the Regent Street
+Quadrant (Plate 107), is more characteristic of the Edwardian Age of the
+opening twentieth century than his early church at Bingley is of the
+High Victorian. Outside church architecture the intervening Late
+Victorian can hardly be defined better than in terms of his various
+manners, and even in church architecture he had a real contribution to
+make, if a lesser reputation than Pearson or Bodley.
+
+Yet Shaw cannot be rated with Soane or Schinkel as a nineteenth-century
+architect of absolutely the first rank; nor yet with his American
+contemporary Richardson, even though Richardson’s career came to an end
+a score of years before his. Shaw’s work reflects all too clearly,
+despite his own vast and sanguine assurance, the general uncertainties
+of the years after 1870. Webb, though less successful and famous,
+eventually had more influence, not so much on English architecture in
+general as on the more creative and original men of the next generation.
+The later history of European architecture would be much the same—if not
+that of American architecture—had Shaw never existed; but the modern
+architecture that first came into being after 1900 in various countries
+of Europe owed something directly, and even more indirectly, to Webb. In
+this way Richardson also has more significance than Shaw, despite his
+lack of influence abroad, for Sullivan and Wright in America both
+learned much from him.
+
+Norman Shaw was born in Edinburgh in 1831. Brought early to London, he
+was taken on in his early teens by Burn, the Edinburgh architect then
+settled in London, who had so great a success designing Jacobethan and
+Scottish Baronial mansions for the high aristocracy in the forties and
+fifties. Shaw also studied at the Royal Academy, winning in 1853 their
+Silver Medal, and in the next year their Gold Medal, with the award of a
+Travelling Studentship that took him to Germany, Italy, and France. The
+project which won him the first medal was a surprising production for
+its period, and quite without relation to his own High Victorian Gothic
+work of the next decade that has been described earlier (see Chapter
+11). A vast design for a college with central domed block and side
+pavilions loaded with giant orders, this project is more Vanbrugh-like
+than Second Empire. In some sense Shaw’s career was to come full circle
+stylistically; but even in the Gaiety Theatre in the Strand in London of
+1902-3 and the still later Piccadilly Hotel he would hardly be as
+whole-heartedly Neo-Baroque again.
+
+In 1858 Shaw published, as has been mentioned before, what is perhaps
+the most attractive of High Victorian Gothic source-books,
+_Architectural Sketches from the Continent_, based on his European
+studies; doubtless on the strength of this book he became at this time,
+or shortly after, Street’s principal assistant—chief draughtsman, one
+might call it—in succession to Webb.[262] There he remained for four
+years, leaving in 1862 to form a partnership with Nesfield, whom he had
+first known in the early fifties in Burn’s office. As has already been
+noted, Nesfield was the son of Barry’s collaborator in garden design for
+all his major country house commissions. Younger than Shaw, Nesfield had
+gone to Burn’s office in 1850 a year or two after leaving Eton, and in
+1853 had moved to the office of his uncle Anthony Salvin, another
+successful builder of aristocratic country houses. Nesfield, in this
+year 1862, issued a book rather like Shaw’s of four years earlier as has
+been mentioned in connexion with his work for Lord Craven at Combe
+Abbey. Other aristocrats with whom he had connexions through his father
+soon began to employ him on more modest jobs.
+
+Building lodges and other accessories to great country estates, and in
+1864 one in Regent’s Park where everyone might appreciate his highly
+personal touch, Nesfield revived in effect the Picturesque Cottage mode
+of half a century earlier. But the materials he used were more
+various,[263] including tile-hanging and pargetting, and his designs had
+a general finesse that was much more craftsmanlike than those of the
+slapdash Nash and his rivals in this genre (Plate 50A). In Nesfield’s
+first major work, Cloverley Hall in Shropshire, begun in 1865, several
+characteristic features appear for which his lodges hardly prepared the
+way (see Chapter 15). There a tall great hall provided the principal
+interior, and the areas of mullioned windows in the Tudor tradition were
+so extensive as to constitute real ‘window-walls’ (Figure 24). His very
+refined and ingenious ornamentation at Cloverley, some of it of Japanese
+inspiration, has been mentioned.
+
+Even earlier, in 1862, when Japanese art was just beginning to be an
+inspiration to advanced painters in Paris and in London and the Japanese
+Government first sent examples of characteristic work to an
+international exhibition, Godwin, who was just at that point throwing
+off the influence of Ruskin, had stripped bare the interiors of his own
+house in Bristol and decorated them only with a few Japanese prints
+asymmetrically hung. By 1866 Godwin was designing wallpapers of notably
+Japanese character for Jeffry & Co. and from 1868 ‘Anglo-Japanese’
+furniture for the manufacturer William Watt.[264] But _japonisme_ is
+only a minor theme of this period,[265] and it hardly influenced Shaw at
+all.
+
+Half a century earlier the prestige of a ranking novelist, Sir Walter
+Scott, had helped to launch one of the most popular Picturesque modes,
+the Scottish Baronial, when he asked Blore to imitate the old Border
+castles in designing his house at Abbotsford. Now in 1861 Thackeray, a
+novelist many of whose novels were set, not in the Middle Ages, but in
+early eighteenth-century England and Virginia, designed for himself a
+house in Palace Green in London opposite Kensington Palace, much of
+which is more or less of that particular period. This house echoes the
+modest red-brick manor houses of the time of Queen Anne on both sides of
+the Atlantic, but it could hardly be less plausible. At the same time
+Wellington College by John Shaw (1803-70), which was begun in 1856, was
+reaching completion in a much richer, almost Second Empire, version of
+the Wren style of 1700.
+
+The serious adumbration of a Queen Anne mode really began a few years
+later with a small public commission of Nesfield’s. His lodge at Kew
+Gardens, designed in 1866 and built in 1867, though simple, is already
+almost an archaeological exercise in early eighteenth-century[266]
+brickwork (Figure 18). This Kew lodge he followed up a few years later
+with a big but remote country house, Kinmel Park near Abergele in Wales,
+built in 1871-4 though possibly designed a bit earlier. To this we will
+be returning shortly. Shaw had nothing to do with Kinmel Park, since his
+partnership with Nesfield came to an end in 1868; that was just after
+the completion of Cloverley Hall on which he certainly collaborated even
+if his personal contribution there cannot now be readily distinguished.
+Already in 1866, before Shaw parted from Nesfield, however, his own
+career had opened with the designing of the Bingley church (Plate 94A)
+and of Glen Andred, near Withyham in Sussex, a house of great
+originality of character (Plate 102B).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 18. W. Eden Nesfield: Kew Gardens, Lodge, 1867, elevation
+]
+
+Glen Andred is little more related to the new Queen Anne mode of the Kew
+lodge than it is to the Gothic of the Bingley church. It does, however,
+seem to derive somewhat from earlier Nesfield work, or possibly from
+Devey. Where the High Victorian Gothic had rejected English precedent in
+favour of Italian and French models, this first Sussex house of Shaw’s
+is resolutely regional in character. The tile-hung walls above a
+red-brick ground storey, the white-painted wooden casements, almost as
+extensive as the ‘window-walls’ of Cloverley, the loose asymmetrical
+organization of the massing are all related to a local Sussex and Surrey
+vernacular of no particular period (Plate 102B). The entrance front is
+more formal, carefully balanced if not precisely symmetrical, and here
+the pargetting in the central gable is of Jacobethan character. But the
+great stair-window and the graceful massing of the tiled roofs, quite in
+the finest tradition of the Picturesque but handled with a new ease and
+casualness, are more important elements of Shaw’s first manner, which
+can be called ‘Shavian Manorial’. The hall across the front between the
+two projecting wings is modest in size, with the principal living rooms
+loosely grouped round it. Thus this may be considered an early example
+of what I have rather clumsily called the ‘agglutinative plan’, but as
+it was never published the extent of its actual influence must remain
+uncertain.
+
+There was little logic to Shaw’s regionalism. Already in 1868 he was
+applying his Sussex vocabulary of materials and forms to the Cookridge
+Convalescent Hospital at Horsforth near Leeds in stony Yorkshire. In
+general, however, he kept this manner for work near London, using it
+even as late as 1894 for a house called The Hallams near Bramley in
+Surrey. He also introduced tile-hanging on some of his houses in London
+such as West House, at 118 Campden Hill Road, of 1877 and Walton House
+in Walton Street of 1885 as well as—rather more appropriately—on the
+suburban Hampstead house that he built in the same year for Kate
+Greenaway at 39 Frognal.
+
+Shaw’s first client had been a painter, J. C. Horsley, R.A., for whom he
+made some alterations in the early sixties and whose son later entered
+his office. Glen Andred was for another painter, E. W. Cooke, later
+R.A., and West House was for George Boughton, R.A. Kate Greenaway,
+better known today than these forgotten academicians, was an illustrator
+of children’s books much patronized by Ruskin. F. W. Goodall, R.A.
+(1870), Marcus Stone, R.A. (1876), Luke Fildes, R.A. (1877), Edwin Long,
+R.A. (1878, and again in 1888), Frank Holl, R.A. (1881), are other
+successful painters and fellow academicians—Shaw became an A.R.A.
+himself in 1872 and an R.A. in 1877—for whom he built houses (with the
+dates of the commissions). All but Goodall’s house at Harrow Weald were
+either in Melbury Road in Kensington in London or else in Fitzjohn’s
+Avenue near his own Hampstead house of 1875 at 6 Ellerdale Road. Where
+the prosperous artists, themselves presumably aping the aristocracy,
+led, magnates and City men were now quick to follow. The Newcastle
+steelmaster Sir William Armstrong had Shaw build Cragside near Rothbury
+in Northumberland for him as early as 1870.
+
+Leyswood, near Withyham in Sussex, begun in 1868 at the same time as the
+Cookridge Hospital, was one of Shaw’s most influential works (Plate
+123). More archaeologically manorial than Glen Andred, it provided a
+mass of suggestions that English and American architects borrowed again
+and again over the next twenty years and more. Because of Shaw’s later
+leadership, it is natural for posterity to note what was new here;
+contemporaries, used to the wild vagaries of the High Victorian Gothic,
+saw Leyswood rather as a reaction against the ‘modernism’ of the fifties
+and earlier sixties. Tile-hung upper storeys and barge-boarded gables,
+richly half-timbered—the half-timbering a mere sham applied over solid
+brickwork!—long banks of casements that approach the twentieth-century
+‘ribbon-window’ and great mullioned bays providing ‘window-walls’ as
+extensive as Nesfield’s at Cloverley clothed an interior that was not at
+all medieval but a more developed example than Glen Andred of the
+‘agglutinative plan’ (Figure 19). The main reception rooms were grouped
+about a central hall, from one side of which rose elaborate stairs
+arranged in several flights about an open well. Webb had already essayed
+this sort of planning in a more orderly way at Arisaig begun in 1863
+(Figure 23); but it was Shaw’s version, not Webb’s, that was generally
+imitated (see Chapter 15).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 19. Norman Shaw: Leyswood, Sussex, 1868, plan
+]
+
+Shortly after Leyswood, and following fairly closely its manner although
+with fewer Late Gothic elements of detail, came the house later called
+Grim’s Dyke built at Harrow Weald in 1870-2 for F. W. Goodall,
+afterwards the country house of the composer W. S. Gilbert, and Preen
+Manor in Shropshire also designed in 1870. Then followed Hopedene, near
+Holmbury in Surrey, and Boldre Grange, near Lymington in Hampshire, in
+1873; Wispers, Midhurst, in Sussex, in 1875; Chigwell Hall in Essex, and
+Pierrepoint, near Farnham in Surrey, in 1876; Merrist Wood near
+Guildford in Surrey, and Denham at Totteridge in Hertfordshire, in 1877;
+and so on down into the nineties.
+
+After their showing each year at the Royal Academy Exhibition Shaw’s
+brilliant pen-and-ink perspectives of these houses were published
+photo-lithographically in the professional press; moreover, from 1874
+the plans were usually given as well, the first published being that of
+Hopedene. Not surprisingly these were the most influential of Shaw’s
+works abroad, providing in the late seventies and early eighties one of
+the most important sources of the American ‘Shingle Style’ (see Chapter
+15). Beside them, moreover, Webb’s more prominent London works of the
+late sixties, the house for George Howard, later Earl of Carlisle, built
+in 1868 near Thackeray’s in Palace Green, Kensington, and the small
+office building at 19 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, also of 1868, appear
+somewhat cranky and overstudied, still rather too Gothic in detail and
+lacking the comfortable air of his country-house work. However, the
+modest London studio-house at 14 Holland Park Road, Kensington, which
+was designed in 1864 and built in 1865 for Val Prinsep, like Morris and
+Spencer Stanhope one of the crew of artists who worked on the decoration
+of the Oxford Union, must have been more like the Red House and Benfleet
+Hall before it was recurrently enlarged by Webb in the following
+decades. Another London studio-house for the water-colour painter G. B.
+Boyce at 35 Glebe Place, Chelsea, which was begun in 1869, is in rather
+better condition today and quite exemplary in its quiet way despite some
+changes by Webb and others.
+
+At this point came Nesfield’s Kinmel Park. Shaw and other advanced
+architects must have been aware of the character of the designs for this
+house from 1870 or 71, even though it was neither shown at the Royal
+Academy nor published then, and took some four years to complete. Kinmel
+is much more complicated stylistically than Nesfield’s Kew lodge of
+1866-7, but it offers the next step in the development of the new Queen
+Anne mode. At first sight it might appear to be related rather to Second
+Empire work, for the main block on the entrance side is symmetrical,
+high-roofed, and dominated by a bold central pavilion. Moreover, the
+detailing of the red-brick façades with their profuse light-coloured
+stone trim is almost as French of Louis XIII’s time as it is English of
+Queen Anne’s day. The garden front, which is carefully ordered but not
+symmetrical, and the service wing to the south, much more loosely
+composed and with a profusion of small-paned double-hung sash-windows
+and dormers, are more definitely English and also more original.
+
+Webb had been using such windows and even approaching the Late Stuart
+vernacular in his houses for a year or two before Kinmel was begun. This
+was most evident at Trevor Hall (Figure 25), built at Oakleigh Park near
+Barnet in Hertfordshire in 1868-70, for that modest country house was
+quite symmetrical in design although almost devoid of any sort of
+‘period’ detail, whether Gothic or Late Stuart. To more acclaim, Webb
+had also been responsible for designing with William Morris a little
+earlier, in 1866 and in 1867, the Armoury in St James’s Palace and the
+Refreshment Room in the Victoria and Albert Museum. The former,
+particularly, is a very original masterpiece of nineteenth-century
+decoration, hardly at all related to the contemporary High Victorian
+Gothic, yet reflecting the eighteenth century only as regards the
+treatment of the wainscoting and the door and window casings (which may
+be of eighteenth-century date). The Refreshment Room is also very fine
+and now accessible to the public (Plate 97B).
+
+Just after 1870, while Kinmel was still in construction, the main line
+of development moved from the country into London. The Education Act of
+1870 required the building of innumerable new schools, particularly by
+the London School Board. Among the architects successful in the first
+competitions that were held for designs for these schools were E. R.
+Robson (1835-1917) and J. J. Stevenson (1831-1908); they used a
+non-Gothic vocabulary in London stock bricks trimmed with red bricks cut
+or moulded along seventeenth-century vernacular lines.[267] This mode
+was not unrelated to the more definitely Queen Anne models provided by
+the Kew lodge and by Kinmel, but the new London schools were more
+irregular in composition and naturally much more cheaply built. Robson,
+appointed architect to the London School Board in 1871, soon made this
+mode the official one for schools in London County and this, of course,
+before long influenced Board School design nationally.
+
+In 1871 Stevenson, like Shaw a Scot out to make a London reputation,
+built a new house for himself in what is now Bayswater Road. This he
+named the Red House, like Morris’s at Bexley Heath of a decade earlier,
+in order to call attention to the fact that its brickwork was not
+covered with stucco but exposed like that of the Thackeray and Howard
+houses in Palace Green. In fact, however, it was built like the Board
+Schools of brownish stock bricks with red-brick detail elaborately
+moulded, gauged, and cut in the Late Stuart way. Although Stevenson’s
+house had little of the real elegance of Kinmel or the natural ease of
+Shaw’s manors, its novelty and its fairly conspicuous location would
+have attracted attention in any case. But Stevenson, a very accomplished
+publicist, saw the advantage of proclaiming for this hybrid mode a name,
+‘Queen Anne’, which was evidently no less applicable to Nesfield’s Kew
+lodge and Kinmel or even to his friend Robson’s schools. Thus was a
+revival formally launched.
+
+Two new buildings in London by Shaw, begun in 1872 and in 1873, were
+definitely in the new mode. Only at this point, indeed, does the term
+Queen Anne begin to make any sense as applied to Shaw’s work. Despite
+the valid claim to priority that Stevenson made for his Red House in a
+paper read in 1874 at the Architects’ Conference ‘On the recent reaction
+of taste in architecture’ in which he claimed the Queen Anne mode was a
+‘Re-Renaissance’ (_sic_), and his own relative success from this time on
+as a fashionable London house-architect, the Queen Anne became Shaw’s
+from the moment that he first turned his hand to it in 1872. Whether the
+original idea came to him from Devey or from Nesfield—he had probably
+worked himself on the drawings for the Kew lodge—or was merely an
+attempt to outbid a rival Scotsman on the London scene makes no real
+difference.
+
+New Zealand Chambers, the office building which Shaw erected in 1872-3
+in Leadenhall Street in the City, was certainly totally unlike anything
+the Age of Anne ever saw except for the cut-brick detailing of the
+pedimented entrance. Boldly projecting red brick piers divided the tall
+façade into three bays, while between them rose oriel windows broken by
+ornately sculptured spandrels imitated from the mid-seventeenth-century
+ones on Sparrow’s House at Ipswich. The small panes and thick white
+sash-bars of these windows made the scale surprisingly domestic in
+contrast to the usual boldness of High Victorian commercial work, and
+the whole composition was effectively tied together by an ornately
+pargeted cove cornice that ran straight across the top (see Chapter 14).
+Above this the rather simple range of continuous dormers in the roof was
+very much in the spirit of the ‘ribbon-window’ bands on his country
+houses.
+
+So dazzled were contemporaries by the lush exuberance of Shaw’s ornament
+on the spandrels and the cove that they hardly noticed the way in which
+the bold articulation of this façade by the brick piers, with the areas
+between nearly all window, frankly reflecting the internal iron
+construction, provided most satisfactory lighting for the offices; nor
+that Shaw, while keeping his scale intimate in all the detailing, was
+not afraid to stress the verticality of his façade by avoiding emphasis
+on the storey lines. Only the weaker features of the design—the
+arbitrary asymmetry of the entrance, the profuse ornamentation, and the
+underscaling—were generally imitated.
+
+Lowther Lodge, built in 1873-4, a large free-standing mansion in
+Kensington Gore, still survives—it is now the home of the Royal
+Geographical Society—as New Zealand Chambers does not. Here the
+vocabulary of cut and moulded brick is more consistently Late Stuart,
+although the general composition, with many gables, two tall polygonal
+bay-windows, quantities of dormers, and tall fluted chimney stacks, is
+as romantically complex as that of Shaw’s manors in Sussex and Surrey.
+However, both the front and the rear façades, when studied, will be
+found to approximate symmetry in their principal portions as does the
+front of Glen Andred; and the main rooms inside, the hall at the front
+and the drawing-room behind, are quite symmetrical and have recognizably
+Early Georgian (rather than specifically Queen Anne) fireplaces and door
+and window casings, although their grouping is still, so to say,
+agglutinative.
+
+In a Surrey house of the same date, 1873, like Trevor Hall unhappily
+demolished, Webb moved rather farther in a similar direction. Joldwynds
+near Dorking was quite as symmetrical as Trevor Hall but even less
+Gothic. The vocabulary of tile-hanging on the upper storeys, with
+weather-boarding in the gables, was as authentically regional as that of
+Shaw’s nearby houses, but the vaguely eighteenth-century vernacular of
+the detailing was much simpler than Shaw’s repertory of moulded and cut
+brickwork at Lowther Lodge.
+
+Nesfield, in designing what is now Barclays Bank in the Market Square of
+Saffron Walden in Essex, remained more eclectic, staying closer to the
+manorial mode of Cloverley Hall yet using again various Japanese motifs
+in the rich decoration. This was built in 1874. Godwin, who had just
+moved to London with the actress Ellen Terry and was now largely
+occupied with designing stage sets, developed further in the rooms of
+their rented house in Taviton Street in 1873-4 the Anglo-Japanese mode
+of his interiors of ten years earlier in Bristol. In 1874 he also
+arranged an exhibition of paintings in a similar spirit for his friend
+the painter Whistler at the new Grosvenor Galleries.[268]
+
+In the mid seventies, however, it was Shaw, not Nesfield or Godwin, who
+occupied the centre of the architectural stage. In the Convent of the
+Sisters of Bethany of 1874 in St Clements Road at Boscombe near
+Bournemouth he disguised his use of concrete, then a relatively new
+building material, with his familiar Sussex vernacular. He did the same
+in a slightly later series of designs for cottages made of patented
+prefabricated concrete slabs.[269] It is worth noting, moreover, that
+the internal iron skeleton above the bold cantilever on the front of his
+Old Swan House (Plate 103) of 1876 at 17 Chelsea Embankment in London
+provides in effect an example of what would later be called ‘skyscraper
+construction’, since it carries completely the weight of the brickwork
+of the upper walls; this was a decade before the ‘invention’ of this
+sort of construction in Chicago (see Chapter 14). Shaw’s interest in
+technical developments and his enthusiasm for new materials and methods
+was evidently very great, always provided that he could bend them to his
+particular sort of retroactive pictorial vision. When he built the Jury
+House for the Paris Exhibition of 1878 of patent cement bricks, for
+example, he designed the façade very elegantly in his Late Stuart manner
+just as if it were of cut and moulded clay bricks. Godwin and Whistler,
+however, were showing at this same exhibition an Anglo-Japanese room of
+highly original character in association with Watt the furniture
+manufacturer.
+
+Shaw’s excellent church of this period at Bournemouth, St Michael’s and
+All Angels, Poole Hill, begun in 1873, is Late Victorian in the
+crispness and clarity of its design but less archaeological than those
+of this date by Bodley. It seems to indicate that he could have made a
+great reputation as a church builder had he not been absorbed with
+secular work. But by the seventies secular work once again provided the
+field of major prestige in England, as it had hardly done since 1840,
+and so Shaw concentrated on it. Having revolutionized country-house
+design, he now turned, more definitely than at Lowther Lodge—by its size
+and open siting more a country house set in the city—to urban and
+suburban domestic work. In these his conquest was even more complete, at
+least in England and, as regards the suburbs, in America.
+
+The Old Swan House and its neighbour Cheyne House at the outer end of
+the Chelsea Embankment, respectively of 1876 and 1875, are both mansions
+rather than ordinary terrace houses. They also represent a considerably
+further advance along the road towards a formal eighteenth-century
+revival than Lowther Lodge. Old Swan House is completely symmetrical,
+and the upper storeys are also quite regularly fenestrated in the early
+eighteenth-century way (Plate 103). However, the total effect is still
+highly Picturesque because of the way these upper storeys are
+cantilevered forward; from the cantilever depend, moreover, elaborate
+oriels of much earlier character very similar to those Shaw had
+introduced at New Zealand Chambers. Such oriels he long continued to
+employ; they are not only a principal feature of his own house in
+Hampstead, built in this same year, but also of the much later Holl and
+Long houses. Cheyne House occupies an irregular curving plot with the
+entrance in Royal Hospital Road; but Shaw used all his considerable
+ingenuity to give it symmetrical façades, even though the plan actually
+has little of the orderliness of that of Lowther Lodge.
+
+If these two Chelsea houses seem to presage an early return to the
+serenity of Georgian street architecture, Shaw’s J. P. Heseltine house
+of 1875 at 196 Queen’s Gate in South Kensington unleashed a flood of the
+most individualistic house-design London had ever seen. Stucco-fronted
+houses of builders’ Renaissance design were still being erected on
+contiguous sites when this tall gabled façade rose, totally oblivious of
+old and new neighbours. Cut brick, moulded brick, terracotta, all of the
+brightest red, surround very large mullioned windows in a composition
+that is gratuitously asymmetrical at the base but symmetrical in the
+upper storeys below the crowning gable. For fifteen years such houses
+proliferated in the Chelsea, Kensington, and Earls Court districts of
+western London. The best are by Shaw himself, such as those at 68, 62,
+and 72 Cadogan Square—the first of 1879, the others of 1882—and those at
+8-11 and 15 Chelsea Embankment of 1878-9; but more are by other
+architects, and the vast majority by builders. In the Chelsea Embankment
+range River House at No. 3 is by Bodley; Nos 4-6 are by Godwin; and No.
+7 is by R. Phéné Spiers (1838-1916), an architect whose Parisian
+training did not restrain him from following Shaw.
+
+Collingham Gardens of 1881-7 by Sir Ernest George (1839-1922) and his
+then partner Harold A. Peto (?-1890), a sort of square with variously
+designed houses, all gabled, opening on to a lawn in the centre,
+provides a still more complete illustration of what may be called
+Neo-Picturesque urbanism. Not at all Shavian, the detailing of many of
+these houses is very similar to that of Cuijpers’s Rijksmuseum and none
+of it Queen Anne. The contiguous mansions that George & Peto built in
+1882 near by in Harrington Gardens, one for W. S. Gilbert at No. 19
+(Plate 104B), the other for Sir Ernest Cassel, the banker, are the most
+elaborate single London examples of their domestic work. The house of
+the composer of the Savoy Operas approaches very closely the German
+Meistersinger mode of the period, but the touch is much
+lighter—intentionally whimsical perhaps?—and both the organization of
+the whole and the execution of the profuse detail is very superior to
+what one finds in most contemporary German work (see Chapter 9).
+
+Stevenson’s best and most Shavian houses in London are two that he built
+in 1878 in partnership with A. J. Adams in Lowther Gardens behind
+Lowther Lodge; however, those he built at 40-42 Pont Street have a
+certain interest because the mode that he exploited here is often called
+‘Pont Street Dutch’, so ubiquitous is it in this part of Chelsea. This
+name also emphasizes the characteristic tendency of the late seventies
+and eighties towards varying the English late seventeenth-century
+vernacular mode by the introduction of Dutch and Flemish elements of
+detail, usually executed in terracotta, as George & Peto did in most of
+the Earls Court houses mentioned above. Thus, by the late seventies, the
+long-established London tradition of coherent terrace design came to an
+end. That was, on the whole, a real urbanistic misfortune, however
+excellent some of the best individual houses by the above-mentioned
+architects may be.
+
+Shaw’s venture into the suburbs initiated a new domestic tradition of
+positive value and also a tradition of ‘planning’ that has continued
+with some modification down to the present, both in England and abroad.
+At Bedford Park, Turnham Green, then well beyond the western edges of
+built-up London, Shaw laid out in 1876 and largely designed an early
+‘Garden Suburb’ (see Chapter 24), in fact, almost a ‘new town’, similar
+in some ways to the New Towns of the present post-war period, but
+without any industries of its own. Small houses, mostly semi-detached,
+i.e., in pairs, stand in their own gardens, simply and casually built of
+good red brick with a certain amount of modest Queen Anne detailing. The
+scheme is very complete, including a church by Shaw that is most
+ingeniously styled to harmonize with the domesticity of the houses, a
+club, a tavern, shops, and so forth.[270] Godwin’s assistant Maurice B.
+Adams (1849-1933) and E. J. May (1853-1941) also worked here, as well as
+Godwin himself; indeed, some of the best houses are not by Shaw but by
+Godwin.
+
+With characteristic versatility, while the construction of Bedford Park
+was proceeding in this simplified version of his middle manner,
+Picturesque but distinctly anti-Gothic, Shaw was also erecting at Adcote
+in Shropshire in 1877 a large Tudor manor house in reddish stone. This
+is notable for its restrained, almost ‘abstract’, detailing and for the
+tall mullioned window-wall of the hall bay, more than rivalling that of
+Cloverley Hall. Flete, a still larger house in Devon begun the year
+after Adcote, is also Tudor. Dawpool in Cheshire, demolished in 1926,
+was begun in 1882 in much the same mode but was even more extensive and
+elaborate than Flete. J. F. Doyle (1840-1913) of Liverpool collaborated
+on this.
+
+The Bedford Park church of 1878, St Michael’s, is more or less Queen
+Anne, at least not at all Gothic. But at Ilkley in Yorkshire Shaw’s St
+Margaret’s of the previous year is a remarkably personal essay in the
+Perpendicular, low and broad and elegantly detailed. In quality this is
+well above his earlier Bournemouth church and rather more original in
+its proportions than the standard work of Bodley and his imitators at
+this time. Somewhat similar, and still more original, is St Swithin’s in
+Gervis Road in Bournemouth, also of 1877; while All Saints’, Leek, of
+1886 carries almost to the point of parody the Shavian stylization of
+English Late Gothic proportion towards the broad and low—visually, that
+is; ritualistically they are quite as ‘High’ as Bodley’s.
+
+Next Shaw produced his finest and most creatively conceived church, Holy
+Trinity, Latimer Road, comparable in quality to his early church at
+Bingley but wholly different in character. This was built in 1887-9 for
+the Harrow Mission in a poor district of western London. The interior of
+Holy Trinity is a single vessel, very broad and moderately low, covered
+by a flat-pointed wooden ceiling which is tied by vigorous horizontal
+members of iron cased in wood and heavily buttressed externally (Plate
+106A). Behind the chancel, which is no more than a square dais on which
+the altar is raised, rises an ecclesiastical version of the Shavian
+window-wall, broad and low like the space it terminates but arched and
+lightly traceried at the top. The result could hardly be more different
+from Shaw’s domestic Queen Anne of these years. It is on such things as
+this church, in which his basic architectural capacities are revealed
+unconfused by frivolous elaboration of detail, that his claim to high
+talent, occasionally to genius, must be based.
+
+If Shaw did not cease to design churches while continually extending the
+range of his secular practice, it is a still more notable testimony to
+the breadth of his approach that he built in 1879, in Kensington Gore
+between the Albert Hall and Lowther Lodge—and with a characteristic
+disregard for both—the first really handsome block of flats erected in
+London; the first, that is, unless one prefers the Second Empire ones of
+the late sixties in Grosvenor Gardens. The tall and extensive mass of
+this block, like that of most of his houses of the period, is extremely
+picturesque in silhouette because of the very tall and ornate gables
+that face the Park. But these are quite regularly spaced and the walls
+below them, with the multitudinous segment-arched, white-sashed windows
+all evenly phrased in threes, illustrate Shaw’s Queen Anne of the
+seventies at its most disciplined (Plate 104A).[271]
+
+As has been noted, Shaw was by now the preferred architect of most of
+his fellow Royal Academicians. Webb had built houses for several of the
+Pre-Raphaelite painters who were his friends and associates. Less
+successful and more advanced painters employed Godwin. Small though it
+is and now much remodelled, the White House in Tite Street round the
+corner from the Chelsea Embankment, which Godwin built for his friend
+Whistler in 1878-9, has one of the most original façades of the decade.
+As its name implies, although all of brick, it was not ‘red’ like
+Morris’s and Stevenson’s famous houses, but ‘white’ because the walls
+were so painted,[272] recalling perhaps the white-painted Colonial
+farmhouses of Whistler’s New England youth. The sparse detail is related
+in its vaguely eighteenth-century character to the Shavian Queen Anne,
+but it is much more delicate and linear, indeed almost Late Georgian in
+inspiration. Most significantly, the composition of the façade as a
+whole, and even more evidently the asymmetrical placing of the door and
+windows, owes a great deal to those abstract principles of Japanese art
+which both Whistler and Godwin had been studying for almost twenty
+years.
+
+Whistler had to sell his house almost as soon as it was finished in
+order to pay the costs of his unhappy libel suit against Ruskin, a legal
+battle in which the Late Victorian and the High Victorian came to
+violent grips. But Godwin went on to build several more studio houses in
+Tite Street at Nos 29, 33, and 44 in the next few years and also the
+Tower House in 1885. Similar, but inferior, is No. 31 by R. W. Edis,
+which John Singer Sargent later occupied. Also in Tite Street is the
+commonplace terrace house at No. 16, of which the interiors were
+decorated by Godwin for Oscar Wilde,[273] the greatest aesthete of them
+all. Wilde’s influential ideas in this field, carried to America on a
+lecture tour in 1881-2, were largely derived from Godwin, it may be
+noted.
+
+When Shaw turned again to commercial work it was to design in 1881 the
+offices for the bankers Baring Brothers at 8 Bishopsgate in the City of
+London. This small building was as discreet, as orderly, and almost as
+domestic as Cheyne House. But the next year, so chameleon-like was his
+development, he gave the more conspicuous Alliance Assurance Building at
+the corner of St James’s Street and Pall Mall opposite St James’s Palace
+broad, low, banded arches of brick and stone below and elaborated the
+vertical articulation of the upper storeys with profuse sculptural
+ornament.[274] Very tall and scallopy gables provide a Neo-Picturesque
+effect only too comparable to the most vulgar ‘Pont Street Dutch’ houses
+designed by his rivals or even to contemporary Northern Renaissance work
+on the Continent. To emphasize his variousness further, there is
+diagonally across the street a later edifice for the same clients, built
+in collaboration with his pupil Ernest Newton (1856-1922) in 1903, so
+quietly academic in the Neo-Georgian taste of the early twentieth
+century that one can hardly believe it is also Shaw’s.
+
+His next important secular works after the first Alliance building, both
+begun in 1887 like the Latimer Road church, contrast with each other
+almost as markedly as they do with that. Characteristic of the
+essentially private patronage—patronage from successful artists,
+patronage from business, patronage from the professional
+classes—responsible for the best English architecture of this period is
+the fact that Shaw’s first public commission came only at this advanced
+stage of his career. London’s Metropolitan Police Offices in New
+Scotland Yard, of which the original block was built in 1887-8 and the
+second block to the south added in 1890, have a splendid site on the
+Thames Embankment. Remembering, it would seem almost for the first time,
+his own Scottish birth—or possibly in apposite reference to the familiar
+name of the London police headquarters—Shaw designed Scotland Yard
+somewhat like a Scottish castle with corner tourelles and tall curved
+gables, but using throughout heavy and rather academic later
+seventeenth-century detailing of a much less regional sort (Plate 106B).
+Red brick and stone in combination make it also as colouristic as the
+Alliance building, the solidity of the proportions makes it weighty, and
+the high gables and tower roofs give it great variety of outline. As a
+result, the total effect is almost High Victorian in its vigour and its
+massiveness. Shaw is said to have regretted the need to build a second
+block; certainly it must have been more impressive when the original
+block stood alone like an isolated riverside fortress.
+
+Scotland Yard seems to look backward somewhat, at least in relation to
+that gradual development towards orderliness and restraint of an
+eighteenth-century sort which can be discerned in Shaw’s work of the
+seventies despite all its variousness. On the other hand, the house that
+he built in 1887-8 for Fred White,[275] an American diplomat, at 170
+Queen’s Gate, so near to that strikingly aberrant terrace house of the
+previous decade at No. 196, seems to look forward into the early
+twentieth century, when the eighteenth-century Georgian would provide
+the basis for a quite archaeological revival. This plain rectangular
+block of red brick, orderly and symmetrical on the long façade towards
+Imperial Institute Road and also on the end towards Queen’s Gate, with
+three ranges of large sash-windows below an academic cornice, is
+therefore as much a historical landmark, if not an original creation, as
+was Glen Andred twenty years before (Plate #105:pl105). The suave and
+well-scaled ornamentation is concentrated at the doorway in the
+eighteenth-century manner, and the hip roof is unbroken except by
+regularly spaced dormers. Yet, curiously enough, the plan is somewhat
+less completely regular and symmetrical than one might expect from the
+exterior; for example, the large drawing-room towards Queen’s Gate is
+L-shaped.
+
+Only the excellence of the craftsmanship here, based not on the Sussex
+vernacular but on the most sophisticated work of around 1720, the
+prominence of the tall chimneys, and the wide central dormer with its
+curved top reveal Shaw’s hand and suggest, perhaps, an early date;
+otherwise such a house might well have been built forty years or so
+later by many other architects, English and American (see Chapter 24).
+However, Webb at Smeaton Manor[276] in Yorkshire, built in 1877-9, had
+already arrived at an almost identical regularity and formality of
+design (Plate 102A). Characteristically, however, he did not elaborate
+the exterior with borrowed eighteenth-century detailing, and the house
+remains almost undatable on internal evidence, like much of his best
+work.
+
+Scotland Yard is an all but unique example of an English public building
+of distinction erected in the eighties. Before continuing with the
+account of Shaw’s work in the nineties, two prominent features of the
+London skyline, the most striking additions made since Butterfield’s
+spire of All Saints’ rose in Margaret Street in the fifties and the
+Victoria Tower of the Houses of Parliament was completed in the sixties,
+should be mentioned. Both the Imperial Institute, towering over Shaw’s
+contiguous Fred White house in South Kensington, which was built in
+1887-93 in honour of Queen Victoria’s first jubilee, and the Catholic
+cathedral of Westminster, not begun until 1894, are especially notable
+for their very tall dome-topped towers. The cathedral, which was
+designed by J. F. Bentley (1839-1902), a pupil of Clutton, has also a
+magnificent domed interior. The Institute, built by T. E. Collcutt
+(1840-1924), was perhaps of less over-all interest but extremely refined
+and elegant in its detailing compared to the contemporary work of George
+& Peto, which it most closely resembles. Curiously enough, the very
+underscaled membering and even so dainty a trick as the use of single
+courses of red brick here and there in the stonework does not make the
+280-foot tower petty. It may be compared to its own very great advantage
+with Haller’s contemporary tower, in a somewhat parallel Northern
+Renaissance vein, on the Hamburg Rathaus. Collcutt’s own earlier tower
+on the Town Hall at Wakefield in Yorkshire of 1877-80 was less
+successful than this London landmark, which has happily survived the
+rest of the building.
+
+Bentley’s tower has a similar silhouette, but is more boldly striated by
+broad bands of brick and stone. The detail, partly Byzantine, partly
+Early Renaissance despite his distinguished early career as a Late
+Victorian Gothic church architect, is, like Collcutt’s, rather
+underscaled. This goes still further to prove the extent to which this
+period in England saw all architecture, even that of cathedrals, in
+domestic terms. However, well before Bentley began his cathedral—it is
+not even yet completed as regards the internal decoration—Shaw had
+turned towards considerably more monumental forms at Scotland Yard, and
+even to quite academic design.
+
+At Bryanston, a large country house in Dorset begun in 1889 for Lord
+Portman, Shaw modelled the main block on Sir Roger Pratt’s Coleshill
+House of the mid seventeenth century; the side wings here are quite
+Gibbsian. This is the earliest example of what the English call
+‘Monumental Queen Anne’—to distinguish this sort of work henceforth from
+the freer and more vernacular Queen Anne of the seventies and
+eighties—and the Americans ‘Georgian Revival’. Two years later Shaw
+built Chesters in Northumberland. This mansion is equally academic, if
+less derivative from particular sources; but it is also highly original
+in plan and conception. The composition of the incurved façade planes,
+moreover, is as knowing and as ingenious in its formal way as anything
+he ever built in a more rambling vein.
+
+Later in the nineties Shaw’s stylistic uncertainty—or, if one wishes to
+call it so, his versatility—was notably illustrated in two large
+commercial buildings built in Liverpool. The façade of Parr’s Bank in
+Castle Street, built in 1898 in collaboration with W. E. Willink
+(1856-1924) and P. C. Thicknesse (1860-1920), is of the suavest academic
+order. Its proportions are surer than in any of his other works except
+Chesters, and yet he striated its light-coloured stonework with bands of
+green marble in a way few later architects working in this vein would
+ever have thought of doing. Two years later, in the offices that he
+built in collaboration with Doyle for Ismay, Imrie & Co., later the
+White Star Line—for whom he also designed the interiors of the liner
+_Oceanic_—he provided what was externally almost a copy of Scotland
+Yard, and yet inside he exposed the riveted metal structural members in
+a fashion at once frank and highly decorative.
+
+If Shaw had had the opportunity to rebuild Nash’s Regent Street Quadrant
+completely according to the designs that he prepared in 1905 the loss of
+the original work might not be so serious. Approaching seventy-five, he
+turned here to a Piranesian Classicism. The colonnaded section finished
+in 1908, which forms the northern front of the Piccadilly Hotel, though
+flanked at both ends by an emasculated version of Shaw’s design carried
+out in 1923 by his disciple and biographer Sir Reginald Blomfield
+(1856-1942), rivals in boldness anything English architecture had
+produced since the days of Vanbrugh and Hawksmore. Even more
+spectacular, and also incomplete, since the gable at the east end was
+never built, is the Piccadilly façade of the hotel with its tremendous
+open colonnade raised high against the sky (Plate 107). The Classical
+serenity of this feature is characteristically contrasted with the
+voluted silhouette of the tall gable over the projecting wing at the
+west end, and the exuberance of the whole puts most other Edwardian
+Neo-Baroque to shame.
+
+To summarize Shaw’s achievement or even to epitomize his personal style
+is almost impossible. He was, for example, in no ordinary sense of the
+word merely an eclectic; yet his modes were very various, more various
+than those of almost any other nineteenth-century architect of equal
+rank. After his first borrowings from Nesfield, however, they were all
+his own—his own, at least, until hordes of other architects in England
+and America took them up, one or two at a time, often vulgarizing them
+beyond recognition. He was probably not the most talented English
+architect of his generation and certainly not the most original. How
+much he owed to Nesfield at the start it is impossible to estimate, even
+though at least two of the characteristic Shavian modes seem to have
+been originally of his invention—if not, indeed, of Devey’s!
+
+Yet ironically Nesfield’s own later work appeared to contemporaries
+almost like an echo of Shaw’s if it was known at all. He never had any
+such success as did Shaw, and died relatively young in 1888. Godwin also
+was somehow never able, after 1870, to repeat the public triumphs that
+had been his in the competitions of the early sixties. In his later life
+he turned more and more to designing sets and costumes for the theatre
+and died in 1886, two years before Nesfield. Webb lived on till 1915,
+although he retired from practice in 1900; his spirit, moreover, lived
+on in a quite different way from Shaw’s. It was through emulation of the
+craftsman-like integrity of Webb’s work that the attitudes, rather than
+the forms, of Pugin’s earlier Gothic Revival were transmitted to the
+first modern architects quite as much as through study of the writings
+of his friend and close associate Morris.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 13
+ H. H. RICHARDSON AND McKIM, MEAD & WHITE
+
+
+THE story of Shaw’s career is a fascinating one, far more interesting in
+fact than the general history of English architecture in the last
+quarter of the nineteenth century. It was a success-drama in four or
+five acts, of which the last was by no means the least brilliant.
+Richardson’s career was less eventful, even though, at its peak in the
+mid eighties, it was at least as successful as Shaw’s. It was also
+incomplete, since death brought his production to an end at that peak
+when he was only forty-eight. Yet Richardson’s achievement must be
+considered greater than Shaw’s, qualitatively if not quantitatively,
+because his work was better integrated and his development more
+intelligently directed. Moreover, his influence operated on two levels:
+on one it was as wide, if more evanescent, than Shaw’s—say, what Shaw’s
+might have been if _he_ had died at the age of forty-eight, that is, in
+1879—on another level it was more like that of Webb, affecting deeply
+several of the most creative American architects of the next two
+generations.
+
+Henry Hobson Richardson was born in 1838 near New Orleans in
+Louisiana. Upon graduation from Harvard in 1858 Richardson, bilingual
+on account of his Louisiana birth, not unnaturally proceeded to Paris
+to the École des Beaux-Arts, entering there the atelier of L.-J. André
+(1819-90), a pupil of Lebas who had become a professor at the École in
+1855. But after two years the outbreak of the Civil War in the United
+States cut off his remittances from home and he had to find work in
+order to maintain himself. His experience in the office of Théodore
+Labrouste, notably in working on the designs for the Asile d’Ivry
+outside Paris, was perhaps of more ultimate value to him than what he
+learned in André’s atelier and at the École. Several of his earliest
+works in America, designed immediately after his return from Paris in
+1865, have been discussed already (see Chapter 11). It was with the
+Brattle Square (now First Baptist) Church on Commonwealth Avenue at
+Clarendon Street in the new Back Bay residential district of Boston,
+the commission for which he won in a competition held in 1870, that
+his career seriously began. During the years that this was in
+construction, 1871-2, he had in his office a young assistant, Charles
+F. McKim (1847-1909), who had returned from Paris at the outbreak of
+the Franco-Prussian War in 1870. It may well be that the forceful
+McKim helped Richardson to crystallize the divergent elements evident
+in his earlier work into a coherent personal style. The Brattle Square
+Church somewhat resembles in its round-arched medievalism such a Paris
+church of the sixties as Vaudremer’s Saint-Pierre-de-Montrouge, which
+Richardson himself may have seen and admired in the early stages of
+its construction. But the squarish T-shaped plan, without aisles but
+with transepts, would have been as unusual in France at this period as
+in England. The material is the richly textured Roxbury Puddingstone
+rising in broad plain surfaces to the medium-pitched gables. The
+detail strikes a sort of balance between the French Romanesquoid and
+the English High Victorian Gothic, the forms being more French, the
+execution more English. The varied polychromy of the deep voussoirs of
+the arches is certainly English, but with a personal note in the great
+variety of the coloured banding. The corner placing of the tall tower,
+with its fine frieze by the French sculptor Bartholdi, is English in
+spirit, but its shape is rather more campanile-like than any English
+church tower had been since the forties.
+
+A similar stylistic crystallization can be seen in the very extensive
+plant of the State Hospital at Buffalo, N.Y., a commission also won by
+Richardson in competition in 1870. This was largely re-designed before
+construction began in 1872 and was in building throughout the whole
+decade. It was, functionally, the sort of commission for which
+Richardson’s French training best prepared him, and the planning is
+French. The other sources of the design seem to have been mostly
+English, particularly the projects of Burges.
+
+Two buildings in Springfield, Mass., where Richardson had been working
+on and off since his return from Paris, are even more significant than
+the Buffalo asylum for the rather definite evidence they offer as to his
+chief contemporary sources of inspiration at this point. The spire of
+the North Congregational Church there—commissioned as early as 1868, but
+built in 1872-3, after being re-designed in 1871 or 72—is a rather squat
+pyramid of quarry-faced brownstone with four corner spirelets rising
+from the same square base, apparently a version of the spire Burges
+designed for his Skelton church begun in 1871 or that of Street’s St
+James the Less. The tower of the Hampden County Courthouse of 1871-3
+also comes from Burges, in this case from the project that he entered in
+the London Law Courts competition of 1866. The general composition owes
+more to the slightly earlier English town halls at Northampton and
+Congleton by Godwin, who was also Burges’s collaborator on the Law
+Courts project. But the magnificent scale of the random ashlar walls of
+quarry-faced Monson granite, their coldness relieved by bright red
+pointing, is as personal to Richardson as the similar brownstone masonry
+of the North Church and the Buffalo Hospital.
+
+Richardson’s American Express Building,[277] his first work in Chicago,
+which was begun in 1872, and his contemporary Andrews house in Newport,
+R.I., both showed comparable evidence of generic influence from
+contemporary England (see Chapters 14 and 15:ch15#). In this same year,
+1872, Richardson won the competition for Trinity Church[278] in Boston,
+which was to occupy a conspicuous site on the east side of Copley
+Square, the principal open space in the new Back Bay district. Preceding
+by a year the Panic of 1873, which slowed building almost to a
+standstill, this commission and that for the Buffalo Hospital kept him
+busy through five lean years. As Trinity rose to completion over the
+years 1873-7, this big Boston church established Richardson’s reputation
+as the new leader among American architects (Plate 108A). Even before
+Trinity was finished others were producing crude imitations of it; and
+over the next twenty years many prominent American churches,
+particularly in the Middle West, followed in some degree the paradigm
+that it provided.
+
+Trinity is in plan an enlarged and modified version of the Brattle
+Square Church. A deep semicircular chancel provides a fourth arm, and a
+great square lantern rises over the crossing. The elaborate porch, so
+archaeologically Provençal Romanesque, was added by Richardson’s
+successors, Shepley, Rutan & Coolidge, in the nineties, as were also the
+tops of the western towers; the present decorations of the chancel are
+much later and by Charles D. Maginnis (1867-1955).
+
+The materials of Trinity are pink Milford granite in quarry-faced random
+ashlar for the walling and the Longmeadow brownstone that he had first
+used on the Unity Church in Springfield for the profuse trim. The detail
+changed in character as the work proceeded; in the earliest portions
+executed it is heavy and crude, with the foliage carved in a
+naturalistic High Victorian Gothic vein. But the logic of the round
+arches that Richardson had been consistently using since he designed the
+Brattle Square Church in 1870 led him to study Révoil’s _Architecture
+romane du midi de la France_,[279] and such a characteristic feature as
+the polychromy on the outside of the apse is specifically Auvergnat.
+Moreover, the executed lantern was rather closely based on that of the
+Old Cathedral of Salamanca in Spain—a model that Richardson’s assistant
+Stanford White (1853-1906), who succeeded McKim in his employ in 1872,
+seems to have suggested.
+
+Most contemporaries, supposing all worthy nineteenth-century
+architecture to be necessarily derivative from this or that style of the
+past, believed that Richardson had initiated a Romanesque Revival here.
+But Richardson remained really as responsive to contemporary English
+ideas as he had been earlier. For example, the curious double-curved
+wooden roof with kingpost trusses derives from published examples of
+similar roofs built or projected by Burges. Equally symptomatic of
+English influence is the use of stained glass by Morris and Burne-Jones
+in the north transept windows. That glass, however, is inferior in
+richness of tone to the small windows in the west front designed by the
+American artist John LaFarge. LaFarge was also responsible for the
+painted decoration on the walls and the roofs.
+
+To take over Fuller & Laver’s New York State Capitol at Albany when
+already partly built in the way that Richardson and Eidlitz—a
+foreign-born exponent of Romanesque of the earlier _Rundbogenstil_ sort,
+it will be recalled—were asked to do in 1875 was a thankless job; but
+this call for Richardson’s aid illustrates the rapidity with which he
+achieved a national reputation. More important, both historically and
+intrinsically, than what he was able to carry out in Albany—chiefly the
+Senate Chamber—were a second house that he built in Shepard Avenue in
+Newport, R.I., in 1874-6 and a building in Main Street in Hartford,
+Conn., of 1875-6 (see Chapters 14 and 15). The Sherman house is the
+first example of a Shavian manor successfully translated into American
+materials; the Cheney Block (now Brown-Thompson Store) is not Shavian at
+all, but very similar to the arcaded façades common in England since the
+late fifties (Plate 116A).
+
+To the late seventies belong two remarkably fine buildings, still
+obviously related to slightly earlier English work, but more personal
+than either the Newport house or the Hartford commercial building. With
+the Winn Memorial Library in Woburn, Mass., of 1877-8 Richardson
+initiated a line of small-town public libraries that reached its climax
+in the Crane Library in Quincy, Mass., of 1880-3 (Plate 110). The high
+window-bands of the stack wings, a monumental stone version of Shaw’s
+‘ribbon-windows’, and the stone-mullioned ‘window-walls’ at the ends are
+more significant than the round stair-turrets and the cavernous entrance
+arches—Early Christian from Syria[280] in origin, not Southern French
+Romanesque, it should be noted—that romanticize their generally compact
+massing. The highly functional planning is asymmetrical yet very
+carefully ordered, perhaps the one remaining trace of his Paris
+training.
+
+In building Sever Hall, a classroom building for Harvard College in
+Cambridge, Mass., in 1878-80 Richardson abandoned rock-faced granite and
+brownstone, materials whose common use would, a little later, mark the
+extent of his influence on other architects, for the red brick of the
+nearby eighteenth-century buildings in the old Harvard Yard. He even
+imitated the plain oblong masses of these Georgian edifices under his
+great red-tiled hip-roof; but the front, with its deep Syrian arch and
+two tower-like rounded bays, and the rear, with a broader and shallower
+central bow, are wholly Richardsonian. There is a rather Shavian
+pediment over the centre of the front, however; while the moulded brick
+mullions of the banked windows and the very rich cut-brick panels of
+floral ornament seem to reflect current English work by Stevenson and by
+Godwin as well as by Shaw. Yet the whole has been amalgamated into a
+composition quite as orderly as anything the English ‘Annites’ had
+produced. At the same time Sever Hall is almost as vigorous and manly in
+scale as his contemporary libraries of granite and brownstone.
+
+Two domestic buildings of 1880, one entirely shingled, the other of
+rough glacial boulders, are even more personal works; and both,
+particularly the former, represent the American domestic mode of this
+period now called the ‘Shingle Style’ (see Chapter 15). The John Bryant
+house in Cohasset, Mass., of 1880 first illustrated his emancipation
+from the direct Shavian imitation that had begun with the Sherman house
+and continued in several projects—probably mostly White’s work in actual
+fact—that were prepared in the later seventies but never executed. Quite
+a series of later shingled houses by Richardson followed the Bryant
+house between 1881 and 1886 (Plate 124B).
+
+The contemporary Ames Gate Lodge[281] in North Easton, Mass., has a sort
+of antediluvian power in the bold plasticity of its boulder-built
+walls—a theme exploited once before in Grace Church in Medford, Mass.,
+of 1867 it will be recalled—as remote from the Romanesque as from the
+Queen Anne. A similarly absolute originality of a more gracious order
+can be seen in the Fenway Bridge of 1880-1 in Boston; its tawny
+seam-faced granite walls happily echo the easy naturalistic curves of
+the landscaping by his friend F. L. Olmsted (1822-1903),[282] of which
+it is a principal feature.
+
+1881 saw the initiation of a more monumental building for Harvard,
+Austin Hall,[283] then the Law School, which was completed in 1883. Rich
+Auvergnat polychromy and a great deal of rather Byzantinesque carved
+ornament somewhat confuse the direct structural expressiveness of the
+thoroughly articulated masonry walls; as a result Austin Hall provided a
+multitude of decorative clichés for imitators to abuse. Much more modest
+and also much more significant was the station at Auburndale, Mass.,
+also of 1881, built for the Boston & Albany Railroad. This was the first
+and the finest of a series of small suburban stations notable for the
+simplicity of their design and for the compositional skill with which
+the open elements, carried on sturdy but gracefully shaped wooden
+supports, were related to the solid masonry blocks of granite and
+brownstone beneath sweeping roofs of tile or slate. If Shaw was called
+on in the nineties to design the interiors of an ocean liner for the
+White Star Line, Richardson had already provided in 1884 a railway
+carriage for the Boston & Albany. This was neither Romanesque nor Queen
+Anne in inspiration, but had domestically scaled interiors lined with
+small square oaken panels and no carved ornament of any sort.
+
+Stations, libraries, and houses form the bulk of Richardson’s production
+from 1882 until his death. But two much larger buildings, which he
+himself judged to be his master works, were also fortunately initiated,
+one in 1884 and the other in 1885, well before his last illness began,
+though both had to be finished by his successors Shepley, Rutan &
+Coolidge after his death. The Allegheny County Buildings[284] in
+Pittsburgh, Penna., consist of a vast quadrangular courthouse dominated
+by a very tall tower that rises in the centre of the front and a gaol
+across the street to the rear. Except for the courtyard walls,
+interesting for the variety and the openness of their ranges of granite
+arcading, the courthouse offers on the whole only a sort of summary of
+his talents; the detail, above all, is afflicted with an archaeological
+dryness that must be due to the increasing dependence of his assistants
+on published documents of medieval carving. The courthouse provided,
+however, the model for many large public buildings in the next few
+years. Among these, the City Hall in Minneapolis, Minn., begun by the
+local firm of Long & Kees in 1887, is not unworthy of comparison with
+the original, particularly as regards the tower. That of Toronto in
+Canada, built by E. J. Lennox in 1890-9, is less interesting but even
+more monumental; it also signalizes the supersession of English by
+American influence in Canadian architecture at this point, as does the
+almost equally Richardsonian Windsor Station in Montreal begun by the
+American architect Bruce Price in 1888.
+
+The Pittsburgh Jail is a masterpiece of the most personal order,
+Piranesian in scale, nobly expressive of its gloomy purpose, and as
+superb an example of granite masonry as exists in the world (Plate
+108B). It epitomizes Richardson’s genius where the courthouse merely
+summarizes his talents.
+
+Richardson’s highest achievement, however, was in the field of private
+building not in that of the public monument. By a happy coincidence his
+ultimate masterpiece rose in Chicago where, at this very moment,
+technical advances in construction were being made that would soon bring
+to a climax the whole story of nineteenth-century commercial
+architecture (see Chapter 14). Chicago retains Richardson’s last great
+masonry house, that of 1885-7 for J. J. Glessner, almost as perfect a
+domestic paradigm of granite construction as the Pittsburgh Jail. To her
+shame, however, Richardson’s Marshall Field Wholesale Store, built
+during the same years, was torn down a generation ago to provide a car
+park.
+
+The Field store occupied an entire block with a dignity and a grandeur
+no other commercial structure had ever attained before (Plate 116B).
+Internally it was of iron-skeleton construction; externally the arcaded
+masonry walls represented a development from those of the Cheney
+Building of ten years earlier (Plate 116A). Segmental arches covered the
+broad low openings in the massive ground storey, all built of great
+ashlar blocks of rock-faced red Missouri granite. The next three
+storeys, built of brownstone, were combined under a single range of
+broad arches, yet also articulated within these arched openings by stone
+mullions and transoms. Above this stage the rhythm doubled, with the
+windows of the next two storeys joined vertically under narrower arches.
+The scale of the quarry-faced ashlar was graded down as the walls rose,
+quite as were the window sizes, and the non-supporting spandrels were
+filled with small square blocks. The full thickness of the bearing
+masonry walls was revealed at all the openings. Finally there came a
+trabeated attic of somewhat Schinkel-like character over which appeared
+almost the only carved detail on the building, a boldly crocketed
+cornice. That was ‘Early French’, i.e., of twelfth-century Gothic rather
+than Romanesque or Byzantine inspiration.
+
+The result was a monument as bold and almost as Piranesian in its scale
+and its forcefulness as the Pittsburgh Jail; but the walls were also as
+open, as continuously fenestrated, as those of the court of the
+Pittsburgh Courthouse. The logical and expressive design of commercial
+buildings with walls of bearing masonry could hardly be carried further.
+But in the very year that the Field Store was finished Holabird & Roche,
+in designing the Tacoma Building, also in Chicago, first showed how the
+exterior of such edifices might express instead a newly developed sort
+of construction that allowed the internal metal skeleton to carry the
+external cladding of masonry (see Chapter 14).
+
+In one last commercial building, much more obscurely located and built
+of far less sumptuous materials, which was started just before
+Richardson’s death—it was only commissioned after his last illness had
+begun—he carried the logic of the design of the Field Store one step
+farther. It was almost as if he had already sensed, like Holabird &
+Roche, the implications of the Home Insurance Building in Chicago of
+1883-5 by their former employer William Le Baron Jenney, in which the
+new sort of construction was first used but not at all expressed. On
+Richardson’s Ames Building in Harrison Avenue in Boston a tall arcade
+rose almost the full height of the wall beneath a machicolated attic;
+the depth of the reveals around the sash at the sides of the brick piers
+was minimized; and above the ground storey the spandrels were of metal
+panels set almost flush with both piers and sash.
+
+When Richardson died in 1886 the evidence of his great late works
+indicates that his powers were at their highest. His office, moreover,
+had never been busier. How Richardson might have developed further it is
+impossible to say. In the hands of his imitators the Richardsonian mode
+did not grow in any very creative way during the decade or more that it
+continued a favourite for churches, public buildings, and even houses
+built of masonry. Those who had been closest to Richardson when his
+style was maturing, McKim and White, rarely imitated him; even before
+his death, in fact, they had already set under way a reaction against
+the Richardsonian. Their buildings and not his provide the real American
+analogue to the later work of Shaw in England. Moreover, their
+leadership succeeded his in many professional circles from coast to
+coast almost before he was dead.
+
+Leaving aside the modes inherited from the sixties, in any case
+transmuted almost beyond recognition by the early eighties if not yet
+entirely superseded, there were at the time of Richardson’s death three
+main currents in American architecture as against the four or five more
+or less Shavian modes then popular in England. One was the
+Richardsonian.[285] This was practised with some success by various
+Boston firms such as Peabody & Stearns and Van Brunt & Howe. It had been
+carried to Kansas City, Missouri, by Van Brunt, moreover, and it was
+being developed with some originality by other Middle Westerners such as
+George D. Mason (1856-1948) in Detroit, D. H. Burnham (1846-1912) and
+his partner J. W. Root (1850-91), H. I. Cobb (1859-1931) and his partner
+Frost, and several other firms in Chicago. The very able designer Harvey
+Ellis (1852-1904),[286] working for L. S. Buffington (1848?-1931) in
+Minneapolis, should also be mentioned. Another current was represented
+by the development leading towards the Chicago skyscrapers of the
+nineties, in Richardson’s last years more in the hands of technicians
+than of architects (see Chapter 14).
+
+The third, and for the next few years the most expansive, current was
+what can already be called the Academic Reaction. This was parallel to,
+yet already pushing well ahead of, Shaw’s somewhat coy approach to a
+programmatic revival of eighteenth-century forms; and McKim, Mead &
+White were its acknowledged leaders.[287] During the years that White
+was working for Richardson he seems to have been devotedly Shavian.
+Certain unexecuted house projects from the Richardson office which White
+signed, done for the Cheney family of Manchester, Conn., the clients for
+Richardson’s Cheney Block in Hartford, make this particularly evident.
+When White replaced Bigelow in the firm of McKim, Mead & Bigelow, on his
+return from the European trip that he took after leaving Richardson in
+1878, he found McKim designing Shavian houses with a considerably less
+sure decorative touch than his own. The McKim, Mead & White country
+houses that followed, however, such as that for H. Victor Newcomb in
+Elberon, N.J., of 1880-1 (Plate 125A), that for Isaac Bell, Jr, in
+Newport, R.I., of 1881-2 (Plate 126), and that for Cyrus McCormick in
+Richfield Springs, N.Y., of the same years, represent in several ways a
+real advance over Richardson’s Sherman house.[288] Such an advance is
+equally to be observed in various houses built around Boston in these
+years by W. R. Emerson (1833-1918) and by Arthur Little (1852-1925), the
+very earliest of which doubtless influenced Richardson when he designed
+the Bryant house (see Chapter 15).
+
+For McKim, Mead & White’s Tiffany house in New York of 1882-3, all of
+tawny ‘Roman’ brick with much moulded brick detail, the inspiration was
+largely Shavian also; only the rock-faced stone base and the broad low
+entrance arch were at all Richardsonian. In the New York house that they
+began the next year, however—really a group of houses arranged in a U
+around an open court across Madison Avenue from the rear of St Patrick’s
+Cathedral—for the railway magnate Henry Villard an entirely different,
+even quite opposed, spirit appears (Plate 109B). The Villard houses,
+although on Villard’s insistence still built of brownstone rather than
+of light-coloured limestone, are as much a High Renaissance Italian
+_palazzo_ as anything Barry or his contemporaries on the Continent ever
+designed in the preceding sixty years. Reputedly Joseph M. Wells
+(1853-90), an assistant in the McKim, Mead & White office who later
+refused membership in the firm, was responsible for the decision to
+follow Roman models of around 1500, most notably the Cancelleria Palace,
+as that was known to him—he had never been abroad—through the plates of
+Letarouilly’s _Édifices de Rome moderne_.
+
+This type of design represented a conscious reaction against the
+Neo-Picturesque, whether Richardsonian, Shavian, or _François I_, a
+return to formal order of the most drastic sort. It represented also a
+return to close archaeological imitation of a style from the past such
+as had ended in America, on the whole, with the decline of the Greek
+Revival a generation earlier. Curiously enough this turn was also
+something of a declaration of independence from Europe, since the
+American Academic Reaction as initiated in the design of the Villard
+houses seems to have had no contemporary sources abroad. However much
+Shaw’s Queen Anne had, for about a decade, been moving towards an
+equivalent formality—of a more eighteenth-century sort—Shaw had neither
+gone as yet so far in this direction nor did he ever turn to the High
+Renaissance for his models. Continental parallels in the eighties are
+not hard to find in the work of such men as Balat in Belgium, Koch in
+Italy, and Wagner in Austria; but their current production was probably
+not known in the United States, whose foreign relations in architecture
+had always been largely restricted to England, France, and Germany.
+
+This American return to order was at first more significant for its
+absolute aspect than for its archaeological bent. Although McKim, Mead &
+White used a Renaissance arcade at the base of their Goelet Building
+erected in Broadway at 20th Street in New York in 1885-6, the upper
+storeys of this modest skyscraper offer a very free, and at the same
+time a highly regularized, expression of the hive of offices behind, and
+even of the metal grid of the internal skeleton. Certain houses by
+McKim, Mead & White in New York of these years were even freer from the
+imitation of specific Italian precedents; while their Wm. G. Low house
+of as late as 1886-7, on the seashore south of Bristol, R.I., is a
+masterpiece of the ‘Shingle Style’ despite the tightness and formality
+of its plan (see Chapter 15). Carefully ordered under its single broad
+gable, which even subsumes the veranda at the southern end, the Low
+house is yet quite without reminiscent detail or, indeed, much of any
+detail at all (Plate 127). In a group of small houses at Tuxedo Park,
+not at all academic in their exterior treatment, Bruce Price (1845-1903)
+was reorganizing the open plan of the Americanized Queen Anne in a
+schematically symmetrical way at just this time also (Plate 125B; Figure
+28).
+
+The possibility of a revival of the American Colonial and Post-Colonial
+in all their successive phases from the medievalism of the
+seventeenth-century origins to what can be called the ‘Carpenters’ Adam’
+of 1800 had been in the air ever since the early seventies, when McKim
+had added a Neo-Colonial room to a real Colonial house in Newport, R.I.
+In the local Colonial architecture Americans found obvious parallels to
+the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century precedent that Shaw was
+exploiting in England.[289] The ‘Shingle Style’ employed various
+features and treatments—such as the all-over covering of shingles
+itself—that recall American work of the periods before 1800. But because
+of the continued strength of inherited Picturesque ideals there was no
+programmatic imitation of formal eighteenth-century house design before
+the mid eighties. Even such a highly orderly example as Little’s
+Shingleside House at Swampscott, Mass., of 1880-1 was still quite
+un-archaeological. Interestingly enough, this seems to have been about
+the first up-to-date American house to be published in a foreign
+magazine[290] since the _Allgemeine Bauzeitung_ in 1846 presented
+examples of Greek Revival terrace-houses in New York.
+
+Following on the completion of the Bramantesque Villard houses in New
+York in 1885, McKim, Mead & White built in Newport, R.I., in 1885-6 the
+H. A. C. Taylor house, lately destroyed, which was as Neo-Georgian, in
+its American Colonial way, as the Fred White house Shaw began in London
+two years later. For this the American architects adopted the
+symmetrical Anglo-Palladian plan of the mid eighteenth century and
+capped the resultant rectangular mass with the special gable-over-hip
+roof of Colonial Newport. Elaborately embellished with Palladian windows
+and with much carved detail of a generically Georgian order, the Taylor
+house provided a new formula of design for domestic work that soon
+superseded almost completely the ‘Shingle Style’. From the Taylor house
+stems that mature Colonial Revival which was to last longer in the end
+in America than had the Greek Revival.
+
+Down to the early nineties, however, McKim, Mead & White were rarely so
+programmatic in their Neo-Colonial work, and their principal public
+building of the late eighties, the Boston Public Library, was entirely
+Italianate (Plate 111). In 1887 they were commissioned to build this
+major monument on the west side of Copley Square. There it was to face
+the Trinity Church that had initiated the Richardsonian wave more than a
+decade earlier—a monument in whose designing, moreover, both McKim and
+White had actually participated. The Library as built in 1888-92 was a
+major challenge to the Richardsonian, at least as contemporaries then
+generally understood and employed what they thought was Richardson’s
+mode. The contrast it offers to the church opposite is almost as great
+as to the prominent but low-grade High Victorian Gothic structures that
+flanked the new site to north and south, the New Old South Church by
+Cummings & Sears of the mid seventies, still standing across Boylston
+Street, and the contemporaneous Museum of Fine Arts by John H. Sturgis
+(?-1888) and Charles Brigham (?-1925) which long occupied the south side
+of the square.
+
+Trinity is dark and rich in colour, a complex pile rising massively to
+its large central lantern. Moreover, it was flanked at the left on the
+Boylston Street side, where Richardson took Picturesque advantage of the
+corner cut off his site by Huntington Avenue, with an asymmetrically
+organized and domestically scaled parish house. The Library is light
+coloured and monochromatic, all of a smooth-cut Milford granite ashlar
+originally almost white and even today much lighter than the rock-faced
+pink Milford granite of Trinity. It is, moreover, a simple quadrangular
+mass, capped by a pantiled[291] hip-roof of moderate height; the scale
+throughout is monumental and the detail sparse but eminently suave. Yet
+if the contrast with Richardson’s Trinity of 1873-7 is so great—and even
+greater with the ponderous vernacular Richardsonian as that was long
+illustrated south of the Library in the all-brownstone S. S. Pierce
+Store just built by S. Edwin Tobey in 1887—the continuity with
+Richardson’s work of the mid eighties is equally notable.
+
+For example, none of Richardson’s own late work was polychromatic. Three
+of his more prominent edifices, the Allegheny County Buildings in
+Pittsburgh and the Glessner and MacVeagh houses in Chicago, were all of
+light-coloured granite, while the Warder house in Washington is of
+smooth-cut limestone such as Wells had wished to use for the Villard
+houses. Above all, the quadrangular block of the Boston Library with its
+regular arcuated fenestration parallels rather closely the design of
+Richardson’s just completed masterpiece, the Marshall Field Store. Thus,
+in fact, Richardson’s former assistants, for all the Renaissance
+precedent of their detailing—and the courtyard of tawny Roman brick is
+almost more Bramantesque in treatment than the Villard houses—were to a
+very notable extent only proceeding farther in a direction that he
+himself had already taken.
+
+Since most contemporaries, in their innocence, thought the Richardsonian
+merely a Romanesque Revival, it is understandable that they saw in such
+things as the Villard houses and the Boston Public Library an
+alternative—and anti-Richardsonian—Renaissance Revival. Nor can it be
+denied that the handling of the exterior of the Library derives from the
+sides of Alberti’s Tempio Malatestiano in Rimini almost as directly as
+the arcade in the court is copied from that of the Cancelleria Palace in
+Rome.[292]
+
+The stair-hall, the reading-room, and even the minor corridors reveal
+clearly their Letarouillian origins when they are studied in the
+architects’ drawings, drawings which imitate the very style of
+draughtsmanship of Letarouilly’s plates. The stair-hall, executed in
+yellow Siena marble, has walls decorated allegorically by the French
+painter Puvis de Chavannes, generally considered the greatest muralist
+of the age; the delivery room has an entirely different sort of
+illustrative Shakespearean frieze painted by Edwin A. Abbey; the hall in
+the top storey contains John Singer Sargent’s most ambitious murals. The
+associated sculpture by Augustus St Gaudens and others is less
+interesting; but these notable decorative increments from the hands of
+painters and sculptors of considerable reputation help to explain why
+for a generation this building was thought to have initiated a real
+‘American Renaissance’ in which all the arts participated. Of this
+‘Renaissance’ an international exhibition represented the moment of
+early triumph.
+
+When, in 1891, it was decided to hold in Chicago the first American
+international exhibition in recognition of the 400th anniversary of the
+discovery of America by Columbus, the initial architectural
+responsibility lay with the Chicago firm of Burnham & Root. They were
+working at that very moment on two of the most remarkable of early
+Chicago skyscrapers, the Reliance Building (Plate 115B) begun in 1890,
+which eventually offered the frankest expression of the new all-skeleton
+construction, and the Monadnock Building begun the next year, which was
+the last very tall building to have exterior walls of bearing masonry
+(see Chapter 14). The more representational Chicago skyscrapers of this
+period by Burnham & Root, the Women’s Temple and the Masonic Building,
+were of generically Richardsonian character; and Richardsonian influence
+was never stronger and more general in Chicago than in the five years
+following his death. But the principal buildings of the World’s
+Columbian Exposition,[293] as they rose in 1892-3, proved to be neither
+Richardsonian nor at all expressive of metal construction in the way of
+those at the Paris Exhibitions of 1878 and 1889 (see Chapter 16).
+
+Burnham in 1891 called in various leading Eastern architects to assist
+him in designing the World’s Fair, as the Chicago exhibition was usually
+called. Then in that same year his partner Root, the designer of the
+pair, died. So it came about that the Easterners, not so much the ageing
+Hunt, dean of the profession, as the energetic and executive McKim,
+called the tune; McKim even provided Burnham with a new designer in the
+person of Charles B. Atwood (1849-95) to replace Root. The Fair, with
+the landscape architect Olmsted to collaborate on the planning, came out
+a great ‘White City’, the most complete new urbanistic concept[294] to
+be realized since the replanning of Paris and of Vienna in the third
+quarter of the century (Figure 20).
+
+The metal-and-glass construction of the regular ranges of vast
+exhibition buildings was almost entirely hidden by the elaborately
+columniated façades of white plaster that were reflected, dream-like, in
+Olmsted’s formal lagoons. The architects’ inspiration was generically
+academic, not specifically Italianate or Classical, and only one or two
+small State pavilions followed Colonial Revival models. The dominant
+scale was very large indeed, and the façades of the various buildings,
+although by many different architects both Eastern and Western, were
+surprisingly harmonious. The young men back from the École in Paris must
+have worked overtime to bring up to McKim’s increasingly academic
+standards the projects of various well-established architects who had
+been doing more or less Richardsonian work for the last decade.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 20. D. H. Burnham and F. L. Olmsted: Chicago, World’s Fair,
+ 1893, plan
+]
+
+Despite the major importance of the Shavian influence in America around
+1880, after the designing of the Villard houses in 1883 American
+architects moved far more rapidly than Shaw himself along the path
+towards abstract order and stylistic discipline. The H. A. C. Taylor
+house introduced, in an American version, the formal eighteenth-century
+revival—whether one calls it ‘Monumental Queen Anne’ or
+‘Neo-Georgian’—before Shaw began his house for Fred White. It is even
+perhaps significant that this was done for an American client. The
+World’s Fair of the early nineties brought to the fore a more Classical
+and ordered sort of Neo-Academicism than Shaw ever reached. By the
+standards of the next generation, for example, Atwood’s Fine Arts
+Building at Chicago (Plate 109A), though based on a Prix de Rome project
+of 1857, was more advanced than Shaw’s Piccadilly Hotel of 1905-8 (Plate
+107). The Paris Exhibition of 1889 was notable for its great feats of
+metal construction, Eiffel’s Tower (Plate 130A) and Contamin’s Galerie
+des Machines (see Chapter 16). But the façades of the Grand Palais built
+for the Paris Exhibition of 1900, executed permanently in stone, seem
+merely a solider realization of the plaster ‘dream-city’ that Burnham
+and McKim had conjured up on the Chicago lake-front earlier in the
+decade.
+
+Whether or not there was really influence from Chicago on Paris in the
+late nineties, there can be no question that the influence of the Fair
+in America was very great indeed. While the buildings of the Fair were
+rising in 1892 the young Frank Lloyd Wright built his Blossom house in
+Chicago in rather obvious emulation of McKim, Mead & White’s Taylor
+house (see Chapter 15). The following year he submitted in competition a
+completely academic project for a Museum and Library in Milwaukee.
+Moreover, this project, based on Perrault’s east front of the Louvre,
+was more suave in its academicism than the buildings that Richardson’s
+successors, Shepley, Rutan & Coolidge, who had already gone over like
+almost everyone else to the McKim camp, were erecting that year for the
+Chicago Public Library and for the Chicago Art Institute on Michigan
+Avenue.
+
+It is the great historical paradox of this period in Chicago that at the
+very time the academic triumph of the Fair was being prepared,
+nineteenth-century commercial architecture was also reaching its climax
+there. Even before Richardson died, his tradition had split in the mid
+eighties. One side of it, that related to his own French training and
+his dependence on various styles of the past, limited though that was,
+as also his growing concern with architectonic order, went forward under
+the leadership of McKim (see Chapter 24). The other side, derived from
+his sense of materials, at once intelligent and intuitive, and his
+interest in functional expression—the qualities that were most notable
+in his shingled houses and his commercial buildings—provided the
+platform from which first Sullivan and then Wright in the late eighties
+and the nineties advanced to the creation of the first modern
+architecture (see Chapters 14 and 15).
+
+If the importance of Richardson and, indeed, that of Shaw—as regards the
+development of domestic architecture—are to be fully appreciated the
+stories of the general development of the commercial building and of the
+dwelling-house in England and America down to 1900 must be known. Of the
+two, that of commercial architecture is the simpler and also the more
+dramatic. The culmination of this story in the American skyscrapers of
+the nineties has been recognized, from the time when so many foreign
+visitors came to Chicago in 1893 on account of the Fair, as one of the
+major and most characteristic architectural achievements of the whole
+period with which this volume deals.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 14
+ THE RISE OF COMMERCIAL ARCHITECTURE IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA
+
+
+THE line of technical development which runs from the cast-iron-framed
+textile mills of the 1790s in England to the steel-framed skyscrapers of
+the 1890s in America seems to posterity a simple and obvious one. But,
+in fact, various lags and cul-de-sacs make the story long and complex.
+The most significant technical advances in iron construction of the
+first half of the century were not in the commercial field, and the
+account in this chapter is by no means merely a repetition and a
+continuation of the story of iron construction down to 1855 that has
+been provided earlier (see Chapter 7).
+
+The great difference between the Benyons, Marshall & Bage mill of 1796
+at Shrewsbury, which initiated metal-skeleton structure, and Sullivan’s
+Guaranty Building in Buffalo, N.Y., of a century later is that the
+English mill is purely and simply a technical feat of construction quite
+without architectural pretension. If not literally anonymous, the mill
+was certainly the work of a millwright rather than an architect; the
+skyscraper, on the other hand, is a prime architectural monument of the
+long period of a century and a half that this book covers, and the
+masterpiece of one of the greatest and most creatively original
+designers that the nineteenth and twentieth centuries have produced
+(Plate 119). But the skyscrapers of the 1890s do represent also the
+culmination of developments in the field of construction that began with
+the English mills of the 1790s, even if those developments are far from
+being the whole story of nineteenth-century commercial architecture. How
+office buildings were gradually received into the realm of architecture
+and, by the end of the nineteenth century, had risen so high in that
+realm that few productions of the 1890s in other fields of building can
+compare in quality of design with the great early skyscrapers is perhaps
+more significant for western culture in general than the purely
+technical aspect of the story. The weaving together of these two strands
+makes the full story one of the most interesting and complex in the
+history of nineteenth-century architecture.
+
+Nineteenth-century commercial building need not be very precisely
+defined. It includes several slightly different sorts of edifices
+suitable for the needs of business, all consisting of a succession of
+identical upper storeys subdivided into offices or storerooms, with or
+without shops or representational premises below. Highly specialized and
+very lucrative concerns such as banks and insurance companies, to whom
+prestige of various sorts increasingly appeared a major desideratum,
+were the first to seek dignity and architectural display by employing
+architects of established reputation. Such agencies also desired
+buildings that were fire-resistant quite as much as did contemporary
+mill-owners. Already in Soane’s earliest work at the Bank of England he
+emulated, as has been noted, certain French technical advances that had
+just been employed by Louis in the Théâtre Français in Paris before
+these advances were first adopted in an English textile mill (see
+Chapters 1 and 7). Along Regent Street, around 1820, Nash and others
+housed less pretentious types of business in structures of mixed
+character and of less completely fireproof construction. But the
+premises on the ground floor here generally required very wide
+shop-windows of the sort that the use of iron supports made possible,
+even though the upper storeys were still nearly identical with those of
+domestic terraces.
+
+In Boston in the mid twenties Parris was designing for the streets
+flanking his Market Hall commercial façades of a much more novel
+character, using not iron but granite in monolithic posts and lintels to
+provide a masonry skeleton filled with wide and close-set windows in all
+the storeys (Plate 112B).[295] In later Boston work of the next two
+decades in this tradition architects such as Isaiah Rogers and various
+builders employed iron for internal supports and sometimes also on the
+exterior at ground-floor level. But the granite ‘skeleton’ front
+preceded the skeletonized all cast-iron front in America by precisely a
+quarter of a century.
+
+In England in the forties complete internal skeletons of iron carrying
+jack arches of brick or tile, hitherto used chiefly in textile mills,
+were increasingly adopted for superior commercial work, but the
+characteristic exteriors of commercial buildings[296] remained entirely
+of bearing masonry construction. However, in one case at least, a small
+block at 50 Watling Street in London which was probably built before
+1844, the iron came through to the outer surface in the continuous
+window-bands of the upper storeys, even though the corner piers and the
+sections of wall between the storeys were of solid brickwork.
+
+From C. R. Cockerell, titular Architect of the Bank of England after
+Soane’s retirement in 1833, and other architects such as Hopper, banks
+and insurance companies in London and other large cities obtained in the
+thirties and forties distinguished buildings all of masonry. In one
+especially fine edifice, erected in 1849-50 purely for use as offices,
+Bank Chambers behind Cockerell’s monumental Branch Bank of England of
+1845-8, in Cook Street in Liverpool, he closely approached the
+directness of trabeated masonry expression of the contemporary Boston
+architects and builders (Plate 112A). The fireproof construction was of
+vaulted masonry throughout, moreover, with iron used only for the
+skylights over the stair-wells.
+
+For the general character of commercial architecture down to the late
+fifties, however, A. & G. Williams’s Brunswick Buildings of 1841-2, also
+in Liverpool, were more significant. In this very large quadrangular
+block of general offices they followed the _palazzo_ model provided by
+Barry’s newly completed Reform Club almost as closely as George
+Alexander had already done in his Bath Savings Bank the year before. The
+_palazzo_ mode soon became the favourite one for imposing commercial
+architecture in Britain and, before long, in the United States as
+well.[297] With its regular rows of good-sized windows and its special
+prestige of having housed a commercial aristocracy in Renaissance times,
+this had certain aspects of suitability, both real and symbolical, to
+the needs of business-men. It also had serious disadvantages which soon
+led to a gradual modulation away from the earlier formulas of design.
+
+The wide spacing of the windows demanded by correct _palazzo_ precedent
+was awkward for offices requiring that maximum of natural light which
+was so readily provided by Parris and others in their granite buildings
+in Boston and by the unknown designer of 50 Watling Street in London.
+Therefore windows were soon much enlarged and also set closer together.
+Sometimes, moreover, as in a large cotton warehouse built in Parker
+Street in Manchester in 1850 by J. E. Gregan (1813-55), the increasingly
+heavy frames were applied only to every other opening. Properly, such
+‘palaces’ ought not to be more than three storeys high, but the rapidly
+rising value of good sites in urban business districts made it ever more
+desirable to carry office buildings to four and five storeys like the
+terrace houses of the period.
+
+Already in the Sun Assurance Offices in Threadneedle Street in the City
+of London, designed in 1839 and built in 1841-2, which do not in fact
+conform at all closely to the standard _palazzo_ formula, Cockerell not
+only opened the ground floor with an arcade of haunched-segmental arches
+but also linked his two topmost floors behind an engaged colonnade in
+order to reduce the apparent height of the façade to three storeys.
+Across the street in the Royal Exchange Buildings of 1844-5 Edward
+l’Anson (1812-88) in 1844-5 lifted his whole palace front above a tall
+glazed arcade and tied the top-storey windows into a sort of frieze as
+Barry had already done in the second storey of the Reform Club (Plate
+35B). In Manchester l’Anson’s cousin Edward Walters (1808-72) in the
+Silas Schwabe Building of 1845 at 41 Mosley Street linked the windows of
+the first and second storeys by an applied arcade.
+
+The building with an exterior entirely of cast iron that James Bogardus
+(1800-74) designed and built for his own use in New York in 1848-50 was
+well publicized at the time,[298] and is still famous although long
+since demolished. On the corner of Washington and Murray Streets in New
+York another Bogardus building, the Laing stores erected in two months
+in 1849, is still extant (Plate 67B). Although there was never any such
+general use of cast-iron fronts in Great Britain as in America in the
+fifties and sixties, it seems probable from contemporary evidence that
+some architect, probably Owen Jones, built one at 76 Oxford Street in
+London a year or so before 1851. However that may be, an ironfounder
+named McConnel provided the structural elements for an office building
+that still stands[299] in Jamaica Street, Glasgow, in 1855 with an
+exterior all of cast iron. A curious feature of the design of this
+structure is the delicate iron membering that forms a series of arcades
+between the major structural piers. This decorative device, structurally
+meaningless in iron except for bracing although employed by Paxton at
+the Crystal Palace, is probably an imitation of the masonry arcading
+that was, in the mid fifties, gradually modifying the earlier _palazzo_
+paradigm quite beyond recognition.
+
+In 1849 Wild used two ranges of Italian Gothic arcades on his St
+Martin’s Northern Schools in London, and the perspicacious Street
+remarked in an article on the obvious suitability of the theme for
+commercial fronts, as has already been noted. In Manchester in 1851
+Starkey & Cuffley in a pair of shops employed ranges of three arches on
+each of the two fronts in the four storeys, binding them in with coupled
+columns marking the ends of the party walls.
+
+The lifting of the window tax in 1851 encouraged great increases in
+window area. In jubilant recognition of this H. R. Abraham the next year
+made all his windows triplets in the first and second storeys of the W.
+H. Smith Building at 188-192 Strand in London, but without using any
+arches at all. Two years later, however, in a building for Heal’s
+furniture store in Tottenham Court Road in London, James M. Lockyer
+(1824-65) carried a _quattrocento_ arcade all across the first storey.
+
+By this time architects and public alike had become aware of a different
+High Renaissance formula from Barry’s (see Chapter 4). Beside the Reform
+Club in Pall Mall Sydney Smirke’s new front of the Carlton Club,
+designed in 1847, was coming to belated completion in the mid fifties.
+Moreover, its Sansovinesque arcades were already echoed in the first
+storey of Parnell & Smith’s Army and Navy Club of 1848-51 across the
+way. These London models were closely followed by William B. Gingell
+(1819-1900) in his West of England Bank in Corn Street, Bristol, of 1854
+and quite outranked by the great Venetian _palazzo_ that David Rhind
+(?-1883) erected in 1855 in Prince’s Street in Edinburgh for the Life
+Association of Scotland.
+
+Possibly the fine warehouse at 12 Temple Street in Bristol with three
+groups of triplet arches in each of the upper storeys is by Gingell and
+of this date. There is none of the Sansovinesque lushness of his bank
+here, but the fine workmanship of the quarry-faced Pennant stone walls
+laid up in random ashlar, with smooth-cut Bath stone trim and coloured
+voussoirs banding the arches, bears some resemblance to the Bristol
+General Hospital he was building in 1853-7, notably in the very bold
+rustication of the ground-storey arches.
+
+However that may be, two London buildings of 1855 advanced nearly as far
+towards the all-arcaded front. Hodgson’s Building by Knowles in the
+Strand at the corner of Chancery Lane had the general character of a
+_palazzo_, but all the windows were arched, as in buildings of the
+_Rundbogenstil_; moreover their trim sank into the wall rather than
+projecting from it, so that the wall sections between were reduced
+visually to mere piers, even though they had no imposts. The Crown Life
+Office, in New Bridge Street, Blackfriars, was built in 1855-7 by
+Ruskin’s friends Deane & Woodward, with whom he was most closely
+associated precisely in those years. The round-arched medieval arcading
+of this façade, with the piers hardly narrower than on Knowles’s
+building yet articulated by bases and imposts, may surely claim
+Ruskinian sanction. Here, at any rate, was the first important contact
+between advanced High Victorian Gothic and the commercial world, a
+contact destined to be very fruitful over the next fifteen years or so.
+Henceforth even architects of no aesthetic pretension were ready to
+exploit arcading.
+
+The English development of arcaded masonry façades can be closely
+matched in America, specifically in Philadelphia.[300] There S. D.
+Button (1803-97), Napoleon Le Brun (1821-1901), and others in buildings
+of 1852-3 in Chestnut Street—that at 239-241 by Button is still
+extant—consistently used arched openings between slim piers; and Notman
+in 1855 provided for the Jackson Building at 418 Arch Street a façade
+even more completely articulated by arcading in all its four floors than
+the Crown Life Office. By this time, moreover, the trabeated design of
+Bogardus’s first iron fronts had likewise given way to ornate arcading
+in emulation of masonry fronts.[301]
+
+Iron remained behind the scenes in most of the English arcaded
+buildings. In Waterhouse’s Fryer & Binyon Warehouse in Manchester of
+1856, however, whose upper walls had the polychrome diapering of the
+Doge’s Palace so much admired by Ruskin, the first storey was opened up
+by an arcade carried on coupled iron columns. In the Wellington Williams
+Warehouse of 1858 in Little Britain in London, the obscure City firm of
+J. Young & Son used arcades in all the five storeys with iron columns to
+support the outer orders; thus the width of the piers could be
+considerably reduced, and the effect of over-all articulation was much
+enhanced as in the Philadelphia buildings.
+
+Deane & Woodward’s very Ruskinian project of 1857 for the new Government
+Offices, with its endless Italian Gothic arcading, and a small warehouse
+in Merchant Street in Bristol of 1858 by Godwin gave some impetus to the
+use of pointed instead of round arches. But on the whole the best
+designed among the innumerable arcaded façades in England retained the
+rounded form, however Gothic their other detailing may be. In one of the
+largest and finest examples of the early sixties, moreover, Kassapian’s
+Warehouse in Leeds Road, Bradford, perhaps by Lockwood & Mawson, the
+detailing is academically Roman (Plate 114B).
+
+Different as they are, this Bradford façade and that of Godwin’s
+contemporary warehouse at 104 Stokes Croft in Bristol, so much more
+subtly Ruskinian than anything by Deane & Woodward, are the two
+masterpieces of the genre at its best moment (Plate #113:pl113). Of very
+high quality also is 60 Mark Lane in the City of London built by George
+Aitchison in 1864-5. There the existence of a complete iron skeleton,
+presumably but not certainly present in most of the other examples, is
+fully documented. Moreover, on the rear the metal comes through to the
+outer face of the wall much as it did at 50 Watling Street, built some
+twenty years earlier.
+
+In Philadelphia William Johnston had begun in 1849 the seven-storey
+Jayne Building in Chestnut Street,[302] introducing a new vertical
+formula of design for commercial façades. Above a conventional ground
+floor, narrow granite piers in the forms of clustered colonnettes rise
+the full height of the building, merging into Venetian Gothic tracery
+below a terminal parapet. Whether or not Samuel K. Hoxie, the contractor
+who provided the Quincy granite for this and other Philadelphia
+buildings, was familiar with the ‘granite-skeleton’ work of Parris,
+Rogers, and others in Boston is not clear. But in the next few years a
+good many façades with a similarly vertical and ‘skeletonized’ treatment
+were built in Philadelphia by J. C. Hoxie and his sometime partner
+Button. That across the street from the Jayne Building has already been
+mentioned, since the openings between the piers are covered with
+segmental arches throughout. Button’s building at 723-727 Chestnut
+Street of 1853 and his extant Leland Building at 37-39 South Third
+Street are even more ‘proto-Sullivanian’, so to put it. Louis Sullivan
+probably saw and admired such things as the Jayne Building and the
+Leland Building when he was working for Frank Furness in Philadelphia in
+the seventies; certainly they are very premonitory of his characteristic
+work of the eighties and even the nineties.
+
+Various other ways of reducing the wall to little more than a masonry
+cladding of the iron structural members were also in use in England as
+well as in America by this time. A notable small edifice in the City of
+London, of uncertain date and authorship but probably by Thomas Hague
+and of 1855, is at 22 Finch Lane, with another front to the court at the
+side. On both these façades the two lower storeys are joined together
+visually by setting back the horizontal spandrel between them, and the
+moulded stonework of the very narrow piers is of almost metallic scale
+and crispness.
+
+Still more striking is Oriel Chambers[303] in Water Street in Liverpool,
+built in 1864-5 by Peter Ellis (fl. 1835-84), and another smaller
+building by him at 16 Cook Street of a year or two later. On the front
+façades of these the masonry is scaled down quite as much as at 22 Finch
+Lane but given a more decorative treatment, in both cases of rather
+metallic character. At Oriel Chambers, oriels of plate glass held in
+delicate metal frames are cantilevered out in every bay of all the upper
+storeys, producing a regular rhythm broken only by the clumsy cresting
+on the top (Plate 114A). At 16 Cook Street all the stone spandrels are
+set back, thus emphasizing even more strongly than at Oriel Chambers the
+continuous vertical lines of the mullions. The over-all pattern is once
+more somewhat confused, however, by the arches across the top that link
+the mullions together. The rear walls of both of Ellis’s buildings are
+even more open in design and directly expressive of the metal skeleton.
+Towards the narrow court at the side of Oriel Chambers only every third
+iron pier is clad with masonry; those between rise free behind the glass
+of the horizontally sashed windows whose upper planes are slanted
+inward. This is, in effect, an early example of the ‘curtain-wall’ (see
+Chapter 22).
+
+If in some technical respects the Chicago skyscraper of the nineties
+seems almost to have come to premature birth in Liverpool in the
+sixties, as in some other respects it had done in the Philadelphia
+commercial buildings of the fifties, the immediate influence of these
+buildings by Ellis seems to have been almost nil. Eventually Owen Jones,
+in a façade at Derby of 1872, and Thomas Ambler, in a corner building at
+46-47 Boar Lane in Leeds of 1873, did come to use only iron and glass,
+omitting all masonry; but more characteristic commercial work of these
+years is to be seen in such warehouses by unknown hands as the one at
+1-2 York Place in Leeds, with an arcade crisply detailed in moulded
+brick rising through all the upper storeys, somewhat as on the
+Philadelphia buildings of the fifties, or a larger example in Strait
+Street in Bristol, with a much heavier arcade subsuming several upper
+storeys, handsomely executed in stones of different colours and textures
+and very boldly and simply detailed. Such things, however, very soon
+seemed to the English not advanced but retardataire as contemporary
+attention focused on the Queen Anne of Shaw’s New Zealand Chambers of
+1872-3.
+
+Richardson’s very un-Shavian American Express Building[304] in Chicago
+of 1872-3 first brings that Mid-Western metropolis into this story. That
+had no arcading, but the windows were very closely set, sometimes (it
+would appear) with only light metal colonnettes as mullions between
+them. There was also a directness and a ‘realism’ of treatment
+throughout comparable to that of Richardson’s more monumental work of
+this date, notably the Hampden County Courthouse and the Buffalo State
+Hospital, both designed the previous year and at this time still in
+construction. But Richardson’s dependence on English commercial work of
+the preceding fifteen years became closer still in his first really fine
+business building, the Cheney Block (now the Brown-Thompson Department
+Store) built in Hartford, Conn., in 1875-6 (Plate 116A). Here the wide
+ground-storey arcade, including a mezzanine, and the narrower arcade
+above, subsuming several storeys—as on the very proto-Richardsonian
+warehouse in Strait Street in Bristol—are carried out with typically
+Richardsonian stoniness in quarry-faced brownstone. But the banded
+arches introduce a bold note of High Victorian Gothic polychromy, and
+the carved detail is in the harsh but richly naturalistic vein—also High
+Victorian Gothic in spirit—of the ornament on the earliest executed
+portions of Trinity Church in Boston, probably of a year or two before.
+
+Already, in New York, the skyscraper[305] had been born by this date,
+and leadership in commercial architecture had crossed the Atlantic for
+good and all. None of the structures dealt with so far in this chapter
+except the Jayne Building were more than five or six storeys high, since
+it could not be expected that business clients would climb more than
+four or five flights of stairs. But the average height of buildings in
+the financial districts of cities had, even so, almost doubled since the
+eighteenth century, partly because of the general rise in the number of
+storeys, partly because of much increased storey heights. Vertical
+transportation of human beings, which would allow the erection of office
+buildings considerably more than five storeys high—industrial buildings
+were often much taller already—became increasingly feasible during the
+forties and fifties. Hoists for goods were a commonplace of English
+warehouse design after 1840, and in 1844 the Bunker Hill Monument had a
+passenger-hoist operated by a steam engine. In New York the Haughwout
+Store on Broadway had in 1857 the first practical passenger lift or
+elevator to be installed in an ordinary urban structure. This was of the
+type developed by Elisha G. Otis. A lift of another sort was introduced
+in the Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York later that year. Those of 1860 in
+the Westminster Palace Hotel in London apparently did not function, at
+least for some years. The Equitable Building, for which Arthur Gilman
+and Edward Kimball, with George B. Post (1837-1913) as the associated
+engineer, won the competition in 1868, was the first office building in
+New York to have a lift from the time of its completion in 1871.
+Immediately after this lifts were introduced in several other comparable
+structures, and one- or two-storey mansards were often added to the tops
+of existing buildings. A great change was thus at hand in New York in
+the early seventies.
+
+Despite the Panic of 1873, the mid seventies saw the construction of
+what may properly be considered the first skyscrapers, the nine-storey
+(260-foot) Tribune Building and the ten-storey (230-foot) Western Union
+Building. Both were therefore about double the height even of the
+tallest office structures, such as the five-storey (130-foot) Equitable
+Building erected during the preceding boom period. These first
+skyscrapers rose to altitudes reached hitherto in America only by church
+spires, as general views of the New York skyline around 1875 make
+evident. Neither Hunt’s New York Tribune Building, extant but since
+carried many storeys higher, nor Post’s Western Union Telegraph
+Building, long since demolished, incorporated any other technical
+innovations;[306] nor was their design at all closely related, like that
+of Richardson’s Cheney Block in Hartford, to the advanced English
+commercial work of the previous decade. Paradoxically, the
+French-trained Hunt’s building is somewhat the more English of the two
+in character; but, for all the direct expressiveness of the window
+grouping in triplets in each bay, the detail throughout is coarse and
+gawky, and the silhouette of the very tall mansard and the
+asymmetrically placed tower was from the first overbearing. The later
+addition of many more storeys has made the building even more top-heavy
+in appearance. The Tribune Building was of interest chiefly for its
+relatively great height, now unnoticeable among the much taller
+skyscrapers built around it later. Its almost complete avoidance of any
+sort of archaeological styling, however, such as the Romanesquoid of
+Richardson’s Cheney Block or the violently polychromatic and spiky
+Gothic of Hunt’s own Divinity School at Yale, on which construction was
+still at this date proceeding, is certainly worth remark also.
+
+The Western Union Building of Post was only nominally French, for its
+rather heavy-handed Second Empire treatment owed more to earlier English
+and American designs in this mode than to anything Parisian (Plate
+115A). But the exterior was more orderly, if less expressive, than that
+of Hunt’s skyscraper and the mansards on top piled up as grandly to the
+centrally placed tower as on the big contemporary Post Office near by.
+Yet stylistically both Post’s and Hunt’s buildings were out of date
+almost as soon as they were finished; and after the hiatus caused by the
+depression of the seventies the locus of the skyscraper story moved
+westward to Chicago.
+
+Chicago, already the metropolis of the Middle West, had almost no
+architectural traditions at this time. First developed as a city in the
+thirties, the need for rapid building in timber had led to the invention
+or development of what is called ‘balloon-frame’ construction, in which
+relatively light studs or scantlings, rising wall high, form a cage or
+crate whose members are fastened together by a liberal use of
+machine-made nails. Balloon-frame construction, thus, is a typical
+offshoot of the industrial revolution, becoming feasible only with the
+mechanization of the saw-mill and of the manufacture of nails.
+Theoretically, there might be thought to be some analogy between this
+New World method of carpentry, so different from the heavy framing of
+the Old World, hitherto always used in America as well, and metal
+construction. There is no evidence, however, that Chicago took to iron
+with any greater enthusiasm in the fifties and sixties than did New York
+or various other cities; indeed, St Louis seems to have had more and
+finer examples of cast-iron fronts, particularly in the early seventies.
+As late as that, moreover, the new cities of the American Northwest were
+obtaining cast-iron fronts prefabricated from Britain, just as San
+Francisco had obtained many of her warehouses and immigrant dwellings in
+1849-50.
+
+At the opening of the seventies a terrific conflagration[307] all but
+wiped out Chicago. The need for rapid rebuilding drew thither ambitious
+architects and engineers from all over the East, but the immediate
+results of their activities were anything but edifying. Architectural
+leadership was still centred in Boston and New York; in any case, that
+leadership had rarely been more confused than in the early seventies
+when even Richardson was only just maturing his personal style.
+Richardson’s own Chicago building for the American Express Company was
+doubtless too indeterminate in character to attract a local following;
+nor did he build again in Chicago until the mid eighties, by which time
+various versions of the Richardsonian were already reaching Chicago at
+second or third hand.
+
+If the Chicago architectural scene had any virtues around 1880 they were
+largely negative ones: no established traditions, no real professional
+leaders, and ignorance of all architectural styles past or present.
+Among the architects who had settled in Chicago in the seventies was a
+Dane, Dankmar Adler (1844-1900). Into his office in 1879, first as chief
+draughtsman but soon as partner, came the young Bostonian Louis
+Sullivan. As has been noted before, Sullivan had been trained first in
+Ware’s school at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and later,
+until he revolted against its rigid doctrines, at the École des
+Beaux-Arts in Paris. Having worked for Frank Furness, wildest of
+American High Victorians, Sullivan picked Chicago not alone for its
+evident professional opportunities but also because he liked the idea of
+working where there were no hampering traditions. (Moreover, his parents
+had moved there from Boston.)
+
+The earliest building of any real originality designed by Sullivan, the
+Rothschild Store in Chicago of 1880-1, seems at first a turgid
+compilation of barbarisms. Examined more closely, however, and compared
+with the Leiter Building on its right, which was built two years earlier
+by the engineer-architect William Le Baron Jenney (1832-1907), the two
+sorts of innovation that Sullivan essayed here can be readily
+recognized. On the one hand there is the ornament,[308] undefinable in
+historic terms yet with a kind of similarity—almost certainly
+accidental—to the Anglo-Japanese detail of Nesfield and Godwin. At this
+stage in Sullivan’s career the originality of his ornament must be
+remarked but can hardly be admired. Below his elaborate ornamental
+cresting, on the other hand, Sullivan handled the main architectonic
+elements of his façade with considerable novelty and most admirable
+logic. Although the building is not tall—no skyscraper, that is, even by
+the modest standards of 1880—Sullivan did not hesitate to follow the
+lead of the Philadelphia commercial architects of the fifties in
+emphasizing the vertical. This he accomplished by continuing the
+mullions that subdivide his bays across the spandrels, somewhat as Ellis
+had done fifteen years before in his buildings in Liverpool, rather than
+by using a multiplicity of masonry piers.
+
+Sullivan’s next Chicago building, the Revell Store erected for Martin
+Ryerson in 1881-3, continued the theme of the Rothschild Store, but
+extended it over a much larger corner block with considerable chastening
+of the ornamental treatment at the top. The Troescher Building of 1884,
+which came next in sequence, is very much finer. Widely-spaced piers of
+plain brickwork rise the full height of the façade above a slightly
+Richardsonian ground-storey arcade of rock-faced stone; between them
+there are no oriels, as on Ellis’s Oriel Chambers or his Ryerson
+Building[309] of the previous year, but broad horizontal windows
+separated by recessed spandrels. These spandrels are rather like Ellis’s
+on his other building at 16 Cook Street, but their actual prototypes are
+to be found, more probably, in Philadelphia buildings by Button such as
+the one at 723-727 Chestnut Street. The ornament here, now still further
+chastened, is largely confined to these spandrels. The curved cresting
+across the top, however, recalls a little the turgid crown of the
+Rothschild façade.
+
+Sullivan’s early buildings were not very tall, and they did not advance
+the technical development of the skyscraper. In these same years,
+however, other Chicago architects were doing so to notable effect. For
+the ten-storey Montauk Block of 1882-3, tall, but no taller than the
+first New York skyscrapers of ten years before, Burnham & Root
+introduced spread foundations to carry its great weight on the muddy
+Chicago soil, out of which earlier buildings had, literally, to be
+hoisted every few years. In design they were content, however, with a
+range of ten almost identical storeys of plain brick pierced by
+regularly spaced segmental-arched windows. Obvious as this treatment may
+seem, it took courage to use it at a time when most architects were
+still trying to disguise the embarrassing height of buildings only half
+as tall by grouping their storeys together in twos and threes.
+
+The Home Life Insurance Building begun in 1883 was also only ten storeys
+tall.[310] But in building it Jenney invented, or at least introduced in
+Chicago, what is specifically called ‘skyscraper construction’, that is
+a method of carrying the external masonry cladding on metal shelves
+bolted to the internal skeleton. Jenney, however, probably thought he
+was merely tying together his metal skeleton and his brickwork, not
+carrying the latter entirely, though this was found to be the case when
+the structure of the building was carefully examined during its
+demolition. The Home Insurance Building, in any case, looked far more as
+if its external walls were bearing than do any of Sullivan’s early
+works. Jenney, moreover, fought shy of the frankness of Burnham & Root’s
+treatment of the Montauk Block; instead he phrased his storeys in
+groups, almost as if several buildings of normal three- or four-storey
+height had been casually piled one on top of the other.
+
+Before the Home Insurance was finished in 1885 two more major commercial
+monuments were rising in Chicago, Richardson’s Marshall Field Wholesale
+Store (Plate 116B), last but one of the large buildings erected in
+Chicago with walls entirely of bearing masonry, and Burnham & Root’s
+Rookery Building (see Chapter 13). Both were begun in 1885, Richardson’s
+being finished in 1887 and Burnham & Root’s a year earlier in 1886. The
+exterior of the eleven-storey Rookery Building is not an example of the
+stripped ‘functionalism’ that these architects had introduced in their
+Montauk Block but rather a provincial imitation of the Richardsonian. In
+the court walls, however, the architects used—and with complete
+awareness of its implications—the new structural method of Jenney’s Home
+Insurance Building, carrying the brickwork above the sides of the
+central glass-roofed lobby entirely on the internal metal[311] skeleton.
+
+With the advent of Richardson in 1885, the main lines of development in
+commercial architecture, both as regards design and as regards
+construction, might seem to have been concentrated in Chicago. It is
+well therefore to note again that McKim, Mead & White in their Goelet
+Building on Broadway in New York of 1885-6 provided almost as frank an
+expression of the skyscraper, or tall office building of many identical
+storeys, at least above their Renaissance ground-floor arcade, as did
+Burnham & Root in the Montauk Block. Their windows, however, were
+phrased in triplets like Hunt’s on the Tribune Building and also grouped
+vertically within tall bay-width panels of moulded brick rising with
+only one break to the cornice. This was a quite frank solution of the
+problem, and is hardly to be castigated as ‘traditional’ or even as
+‘un-functional’. Moreover, another New York building, Babb, Cook &
+Willard’s De Vinne Press of 1885 in Lafayette Street, is not altogether
+unworthy of comparison with the Field store. It lacks the regularity and
+the grandeur of scale of Richardson’s masterpiece, but George F. Babb
+used his fine red brick in a belated _Rundbogenstil_ way, and not
+without some conscious reminiscence, one may presume, of Durand’s
+exemplars of the beginning of the century.
+
+Richardson’s last commercial work, the Ames Building in Harrison Avenue
+in Boston of 1886-7, on which the arcade was carried the full height of
+the building and the reveals much reduced, had no immediate influence in
+Chicago (see Chapter 13). Sullivan’s first really great work, the
+Auditorium Building (now Roosevelt College) in Chicago, derived for the
+most part straight from the Field store, at least as regards the
+exterior. Designed in 1886 and built in 1887-9, this is a vast and
+complex edifice, or group of edifices, with a hotel on the Michigan
+Avenue front, an opera-house entered in the middle of the Congress
+Street side, and offices along Wabash Avenue at the rear. The walls are
+all of bearing masonry still. In order to incorporate more storeys than
+Richardson had ever done, Sullivan carried up his heavy rock-faced
+granite base through two mezzanine levels and increased the number of
+floors subsumed by the main arcade which rises from the first storey
+(Plate 117A). He also used light stone throughout, instead of the red
+granite and the brownstone of the Field store, with its surfaces all
+smooth-cut above the mezzanines.
+
+This flattening of the wall-plane was carried even further on the tower
+which rises above the portal of the opera-house in Congress Street. On
+that wide arched panels of very slight projection are filled with
+articulated screens of stone in which the windows are arranged in a
+continuous grid with no evident storey lines. The eaves gallery at the
+top of the tower, a stubby colonnade set in a long horizontal panel with
+a continuous ribbon-window behind—the window in fact of the Adler &
+Sullivan office—is so like Thomson’s on the front of his Queen’s Park
+church of the sixties in Glasgow that it is hard to believe Sullivan did
+not know it. Yet other evidence indicates that he continued to abjure
+all European influence at this point in his career.
+
+In the interiors, particularly the bar and the banquet hall at the top
+of the hotel, Sullivan’s ornament changed even more markedly than his
+exterior design. Here also there is possibly Richardsonian influence,
+but coming from the Byzantinizing detail worked out by John Galen Howard
+of the Richardson office for the MacVeagh house of 1885-7 in Chicago
+rather than from the Field store.
+
+However, one cannot entirely discount the possibility of a contribution
+in the field of ornament by a brilliant young man of twenty, Frank Lloyd
+Wright, whom Sullivan and Adler had just taken on as a draughtsman in
+1887 and who was soon given charge of the innumerable detail drawings
+that this vast project required. Nurtured on Owen Jones’s _Grammar of
+Ornament_,[312] which the Paris-trained Sullivan claimed not to have
+known, as well as on the writings of Ruskin, Morris, and Viollet-le-Duc,
+Wright may perhaps have encouraged Sullivan to move away from the bold
+coarseness of his earlier ornament towards the lush elaboration of
+intricately plastic surface decoration henceforth characteristic of his
+work. It is tempting, even, to believe that Jones’s page of Celtic
+ornament particularly attracted the Irish Sullivan’s fancy.[313]
+
+Together with the Auditorium, though commissioned a year later, there
+was also rising in Chicago in 1887-9 the Tacoma Building of William
+Holabird (1854-1923) and Martin Roche (1855-1927), two young architects
+trained in Jenney’s office. Here the exterior walls on the two fronts
+were entirely carried by the metal skeleton within, only the rear walls
+and some of the interior partitions being of bearing masonry like the
+walls of the Auditorium. Moreover, this fact was made evident in the
+frank if not particularly distinguished treatment of the two fronts.
+Vertical ranges of oriels were carried the full height of the building,
+and there was only a minimal brick and terracotta sheathing of the
+structural verticals and horizontals. A more or less Richardsonian
+cornice capped the whole, but the general effect was closer to Ellis’s
+Oriel Chambers of the sixties in Liverpool or to some of Sullivan’s
+earlier buildings than to the Field store.
+
+Despite the general swing of Eastern architects towards the Neo-Academic
+in these years, some who were doing commercial work were not out of step
+with what was happening in Chicago. For example, there are office
+buildings and warehouses in Boston and New York of relatively modest
+height built in the late eighties and early nineties that emulate in
+brick the arcading of the Field store with almost as much success as
+Sullivan. Similar things can be seen in many Middle and Far Western
+cities, but these derive more probably from Sullivan or Burnham & Root
+than directly from Richardson.
+
+In the Middle West, moreover, McKim, Mead & White were building in
+1888-90 two very large business buildings, still with bearing masonry
+walls, for the New York Life Insurance Company, one in Omaha, Nebraska,
+and one in Kansas City, Missouri, of effectively identical design.
+Unlike the already characteristic Chicago ‘slabs’—the quadrangular plan
+of the Rookery Building is exceptional—these are U-shaped, and each has
+a tower rising above the main mass at the rear of the court. The
+treatment of the walls with tall arcading follows as evidently from the
+Field store as does Sullivan’s at the Auditorium; like that of the
+contemporary Boston Public Library, however, the fairly simple detailing
+is of High Renaissance rather than Richardsonian Romanesque character.
+
+Before these towering blocks were finished in the West the new
+‘skyscraper construction’ had been introduced in New York by Bradford
+Lee Gilbert (1853-1911). His Tower Building of 1888-9, as its name
+implies, was a tower, not a slab, with more or less Richardsonian
+detailing. It is worth noting that the Tower Building—ten storeys, 119
+feet—was _not_ as tall as the first New York skyscrapers built in the
+early seventies with bearing walls. Indeed, Post’s World or Pulitzer
+Building of 1889-90 in New York with twenty-six storeys, the tallest
+built up to then—309 feet—still had bearing walls. Of course, the Eiffel
+Tower, completed in 1889, exceeded in height by a great deal all the
+skyscrapers of its day whatever their construction; indeed, it was not
+overtopped until the Empire State Building in New York rose from the
+designs of Shreve, Lamb & Harmon in the early 1930s at the end of the
+second wave of skyscraper building following the First World War.
+
+Post’s Western Union Building of the early seventies was in the Second
+Empire mode; his World Building was still French, but what can better be
+called ‘Beaux-Arts’. It is designed like a series of three- or
+four-storey Renaissance palaces, one on top of the other, and crowned
+with a large and ornate dome. The next New York skyscrapers all followed
+the new structural method introduced by Gilbert in the Tower Building;
+but Post, Price, and the other architects who designed them used an
+ornate paraphernalia of Renaissance ornamentation with none of the
+discretion of McKim, Mead & White on their Kansas City and Omaha
+insurance buildings. Characteristic of the period are Price’s American
+Surety Building at Broadway and Wall Street, begun in 1894, and his St
+James Building of 1897-8 at 1133 Broadway, both in New York, and Post’s
+Park Building in Pittsburgh, completed in 1896. The latter’s Havemeyer
+Building in New York, completed earlier, in 1892, was still somewhat
+Richardsonian however.
+
+The maturing of an original sort of skyscraper design around 1890 is a
+Middle Western, and almost specifically a Chicago, story to which New
+York architects made no contribution. Boston’s architectural leadership
+had ended with the death of Richardson; despite the prominence of McKim,
+Mead & White and their large Eastern following, leadership in this field
+passed almost at once to Chicago. It was most appropriate that
+Richardson’s masterpiece, the Field store, should have been built there;
+the inspiration it provided, as we have already seen in the case of the
+Auditorium Building, played an important part in the succeeding Middle
+Western development.
+
+In 1889-90 Jenney built for Levi Z. Leiter a large building on South
+Clark Street in Chicago now occupied by Sears, Roebuck & Company. In
+this he not only used the new ‘skyscraper construction’ for the exterior
+walls but also—with the presumptive aid of his assistant and later
+partner William Bryce Mundie (1863-1939)—arrived at an expression of its
+structural character almost as logical as that of the Tacoma Building
+yet much more monumental. Like most other Chicago designers in these
+years, Jenney and Mundie were influenced here by the Field store. The
+uncompromisingly block-like shape of this tremendous building, with its
+heavy plain entablature and pilaster-like corner piers, is Richardsonian
+both in its scale and in its simplicity (Plate 117B). The various
+groupings of stone mullions that clad the main piers and subdivide the
+bays, lithe and light though they are, were clearly envisaged as
+Romanesque colonnettes and even carry modest foliate capitals. Despite
+the dichotomy of the solidly Richardsonian silhouette and the open
+screen-like treatment of the walls, the effect is coherent and
+dignified. In this respect the Sears, Roebuck Building is superior to
+Sullivan’s very Richardsonian[314] Opera House Building in Pueblo,
+Colorado, of 1890 which was burned in the 1920s. The Walker Warehouse in
+Chicago of 1888-9 better displayed his great talent.
+
+Three buildings of the early nineties, two in Chicago by Daniel H.
+Burnham’s firm and one in St Louis by Sullivan, illustrate the wide
+range of creative possibilities in skyscraper design at this point. The
+most advanced is surely the Reliance Building, at least in terms of
+direct structural expression. This was carried up only four storeys in
+1890, though extended to its present thirteen storeys by D. H. Burnham &
+Company in 1894. As completed, this is a refined and perfected version
+of Holabird & Roche’s Tacoma Building (Plate 115B). The light-coloured
+terracotta cladding of the vertical members, particularly on the flat
+oriels, is reduced to a minimum; the terminal member is a thin slab, not
+a cornice or an entablature; and the only stylistic reminiscence is in
+the cusped panelling—neither Romanesque nor Renaissance, but slightly
+Late Gothic in character—of the spandrels. What we see was presumably
+designed as well as built in 1894.[315]
+
+Burnham & Root’s other significant skyscraper of this particular moment,
+the sixteen-storey Monadnock Building begun in 1891, the last tall
+Chicago building with bearing walls of brick, was and still remains more
+famous than the Reliance; doubtless it is also finer, although much
+mid-twentieth-century critical opinion has favoured the Sears, Roebuck
+Building of Jenney & Mundie and the Reliance because they are more
+advanced technically. The smooth shank of the Monadnock, varied only by
+the slight projection of the recurrent oriels, has a most subtle and
+elegant taper or reverse entasis. The final bending outward of the
+brickwork to provide a cove cornice unifies the whole formal concept
+with extraordinary effectiveness. Few large buildings have ever achieved
+such monumental force with such simple means. There is almost literally
+no detail of any sort, whether derivative or original.
+
+Sullivan’s Wainwright Building of 1890-1 in St Louis, Missouri, in which
+he and Adler used ‘skyscraper construction’ for the first time, no
+longer dominates two- and three-storey neighbours as it did when newly
+built; thus the prominence that the relatively great height gave it in
+the city picture of the nineties can hardly be realized today. But
+Sullivan undoubtedly sought to emphasize what seemed to contemporaries,
+as they do not to posterity, its very tall proportions (Plate 118).
+Continuous pilaster-like piers of brick, quite like those on his
+Troescher Building of 1884, clad the vertical elements of the steel
+skeleton, yet identical brick piers with no major structural members
+behind them also serve as intervening mullions. But at the base the wide
+windows of the ground storey and the mezzanine reveal the true width of
+the actual bays of the steel skeleton as the treatment of the shank of
+the building does not. The piers are considerably broader than most of
+those on the Sears, Roebuck Building; but they are also topped, like
+Mundie’s, with ornament that forms a sort of capital. Moreover, the
+attic storey above is quite hidden behind a deep band of the richest
+Sullivanian ornament elsewhere restricted, as on the Troescher Building,
+to the recessed spandrels. The ‘cornice’ above this frieze-like attic is
+merely a slab, but a much thicker one than that which caps the Reliance
+Building. Nothing of Richardson’s direct influence is left; but by now
+Sullivan had learned from the Field store the basic lessons of scale and
+order, applying them here in a visually sure but not particularly frank
+way to the new type of metal-skeleton construction. The plan is
+U-shaped, like those of the McKim, Mead & White buildings in Kansas City
+and Omaha, but the court is to the rear, so that the block appears
+unified from the surrounding streets.
+
+In Sullivan’s next important work, the Schiller Building in Chicago of
+1891-2, he adopted—exceptionally for him—a truly tower-like shape. Here
+the masonry piers that clad the structural steel stanchions are not
+doubled by identical mullions between; instead these piers are linked by
+arches below a sort of frieze. The ‘frieze’ is really a very ornately
+arcaded eaves-gallery, not a flat band as on the Wainwright Building,
+occupying a whole storey below the thick slab cornice.
+
+Interchange of ideas was continuous in these years between the various
+Chicago architects’ offices, while the influence of the Academic Revival
+in the East, dominant in almost all the buildings at the World’s Fair of
+1893 save Sullivan’s own Transportation Building, was still negligible
+in the commercial field. Thus Sullivan’s Stock Exchange Building of
+1893-4 in Chicago borrowed its rather clumsy ground storey and
+mezzanine, with a cavernously Richardsonian arched entrance, from
+Burnham’s Ashland Block of 1892 and its oriels from the Tacoma or
+possibly the Reliance Building. These oriels alternate with horizontal
+openings of the type known as ‘Chicago windows’ sharply cut through the
+smooth light-coloured terracotta of the wall plane. ‘Chicago windows’,
+with a wide fixed pane in the centre and narrower sashes that open on
+either side, were used by most Chicago architects in this decade and the
+next. A heavy moulded cornice, not just a thick slab, crowns the whole
+above a colonnaded eaves-gallery somewhat like the one at the top of the
+Auditorium tower.
+
+What should probably be considered Sullivan’s masterpiece, the Guaranty
+Building in Buffalo, N.Y., followed in 1894-5 (Plate 119). One of the
+most significant new themes in the design of this skyscraper, whose
+premonitory character can only be fully appreciated in relation to the
+use of _pilotis_ in later modern architecture (see Chapter 22), is
+already to be found in a project of Sullivan’s of the previous year for
+the St Louis Trust & Savings Bank. This is the treatment of the ground
+storey, where the terracotta sheathed piers were isolated from the wall
+plane by bending back the tops of the shop-windows. The piers are thus
+nearly free-standing and seem to lift the shaft of the building above
+them right off the ground. This allows circumambient space to penetrate
+under the main volume of the building. Thus the fact that the edifice is
+a hollow cage is very strongly suggested, and the wide shop-windows do
+not appear to undermine the walls above them as in so much commercial
+work of the nineteenth century.
+
+There are several reasons, not intrinsic to Sullivan’s design, that
+explain why the Guaranty remains the most effective of all the early
+skyscrapers. Since downtown Buffalo has not filled up with buildings of
+equal or greater height in the way of downtown St Louis and the Chicago
+Loop, the Guaranty still rises high above most of its modest neighbours,
+in effect a tower as well as a slab, although actually of U-shaped plan
+like the Wainwright. In this city, moreover, which has in the last sixty
+years remained considerably cleaner than Chicago, the colour of the
+tawny terracotta sheathing has not been so much obscured by grime as on
+the Stock Exchange Building. These were happy local conditions that
+Sullivan could not foresee.
+
+The plastic handling of the crown of the Guaranty was perhaps suggested
+to Sullivan by the effectiveness of the cove at the top of Burnham &
+Root’s Monadnock Building. Here the crowns of the arched façade bays—two
+to each structural bay, as the wide spacing of the piers at
+ground-storey level so clearly reveals—are related to the outward curve
+of the top of the wall below the terminal slab. The profuse and
+melodious curvilinear ornament, subsuming the round attic windows,
+echoes and complements the plastic theme. This is an example, rare even
+in Sullivan’s most mature work of the mid and late nineties, of the
+successful integration of architectonic and decorative effects. The
+treatment of the terracotta cladding throughout the exterior of the
+Guaranty, moreover, covered all over as it is with lacy geometrical
+ornament in very low relief, seems to lighten the whole. The cladding is
+read as a mere protective shell carried by the underlying steel
+structural members and not as solid brickwork like the piers of the
+Wainwright Building.
+
+Just as the Wainwright Building may be contrasted on the one hand with
+the still greater solidity of the Monadnock Building—in that case
+justified by the bearing-wall construction—and on the other with the
+openness of the Reliance, so it is of interest to compare the Guaranty
+with two other big business buildings of 1895 by other Chicago
+architects. In the Ellicott Square Building, also in Buffalo, Burnham
+was strongly influenced by his close association with McKim at the
+World’s Fair. With the assistance of his designer Atwood, whose short
+life ended this same year, he adopted the elaborate Renaissance
+membering and the heavy masonry vocabulary of the New York skyscraper
+architects, although he retained the quadrangular plan and the
+glass-roofed central court of the Rookery. On the other hand, in Chicago
+Solon S. Beman (1853-1914) in the Studebaker (now Brunswick) Building
+came very close to providing an all-glass front, despite the profusion
+of Late Gothic frippery with which he detailed his very restricted
+terracotta cladding.
+
+Adler had parted from Sullivan in 1895, but Sullivan’s career as a
+skyscraper builder continued for a few more years at a very high level.
+In his next skyscraper, the Condict Building in New York of 1897-9, he
+reduced very considerably the width of the mullions between the piers so
+that they became mere colonnettes, and even these are omitted in the
+first storey. But this highly logical differentiation between pier and
+mullion, related to the treatment of his Rothschild Store of 1880-1,
+still gets lost at the top in a flurry of ornamentation almost as turgid
+in its very different and almost _quattrocento_[316] way as the top of
+that very early façade. The treatment of the ground storey was
+originally like that of the Guaranty, but has been modified by later
+shop-fronts.
+
+The next year Holabird & Roche built three contiguous buildings on
+Michigan Avenue in Chicago for Harold McCormick (Plate 120). The two
+southerly ones are excellent examples of the work of the Chicago School;
+they are a little less extensively glazed than Beman’s Studebaker
+Building or Holabird & Roche’s own McClurg Building of 1899 but with
+crisp and simple, if quite conventional, moulded brick detail on the
+piers and rather plain cornices of wholly academic character. Standard
+Chicago windows are used throughout. The third façade on the north, that
+of the Gage Building at 18 South Michigan Avenue, while fronting a
+structure also by Holabird & Roche, is itself by Sullivan. A different
+arrangement of the windows, a bolder moulding of the terracotta cladding
+of the piers—there were no intervening mullions now, any more than on
+his Troescher Building of 1884—and a strategic spotting of the
+chicory-like ornament—as well as, originally, a rich picture-frame-like
+band around the ground-storey shop-window—produce an entirely different
+effect. This effect is no less expressive of the underlying structure,
+but it represents a fuller and subtler deployment of architectural
+resources than Holabird & Roche provided on the façades next door.
+
+The Gage Building was Sullivan’s penultimate major work. With the
+Carson, Pirie & Scott Department Store his career as an architect of big
+commercial buildings came to an end. This was designed in 1899 and the
+original three-bay and nine-storey section on Madison Street built in
+1899-1901 for Schlesinger & Mayer; it was completed in 1903-4 for the
+present owners with the erection of the twelve-storey section that runs
+along State Street.[317] This building, which was Sullivan’s swan song,
+has also seemed to many critics his masterpiece (Plate 121). It lacks,
+however, the unity of the earlier Guaranty Building, having been built
+in two—indeed actually in three—successive campaigns. Despite the
+prominence of its site in the Chicago Loop, the store is inevitably
+overshadowed today by later and taller neighbours; nevertheless, it
+occupies a very high place in the Sullivanian canon.
+
+There is no vertical emphasis except on the rounded pavilion at the
+corner, where continuous colonnettes rise the full height between the
+rather narrow bays; this feature was intended from the first but not
+built until 1903-4. The wide Chicago windows are crisply cut through the
+white terracotta sheathing just like the windows between the oriels on
+the Stock Exchange Building. The underlying grid of the structural steel
+frame—always more horizontal than vertical in effect, as the Reliance
+Building so clearly reveals—completely controls the surface pattern of
+the fenestration. On the Guaranty Building Sullivan emphasized the
+structural piers at their base by bending back the shop-windows of the
+ground storey; here it was the topmost storey that he set back,
+revealing the tops of the piers like little free-standing columns
+beneath the terminal slab in the spirit of his earlier eaves galleries.
+This treatment—most unfortunately replaced in 1948 by a flush
+parapet—increased very notably the effect of volume in much the same way
+as the parallel treatment at the base of the Guaranty.
+
+At the base here, however, the shop-windows are carried up two storeys
+and given picture-frame-like surrounds, somewhat as on the Gage
+Building. In the cast-iron ornamentation of these frames, now much
+simplified, as also in that of the canopy on the north side and around
+the entrances in the rounded corner pavilion, Sullivan reached a peak of
+virtuosity in the lush decoration that has seemed to later critics quite
+at odds with the severe rectangularity of the façades above. There can
+be no question, however, that Sullivan considered ornament of the
+greatest importance in architecture and gave to its invention and
+elaboration his best thought and energy. It is certainly an interesting
+coincidence, moreover, rather than a matter of influence either way,
+that in these very years in Europe the newest architectural mode, the
+Art Nouveau, also put heavy emphasis on a somewhat similar sort of
+curvilinear decoration, often in association with exposed metal
+construction, and most notably on department stores (see Chapters 16,
+17).
+
+Sullivan’s ornament never had much influence either at home or abroad.
+Although Sullivanian skyscrapers of varying size and quality exist in
+many Middle Western and Far Western cities, most of them built in the
+first two decades of the new century, only the Rockefeller Building in
+Cleveland, built in 1903-6 by Knox & Elliot and extended laterally in
+1910, really employs ornament, although of a drier and more geometrical
+order deriving from Owen Jones’s _Grammar_, in anything like Sullivan’s
+way. On Sullivan’s own late buildings, mostly tiny banks in small Middle
+Western towns, and in comparable work by his former assistant George G.
+Elmslie (1871-1952)[318] and William G. Purcell (b. 1880) the ornament
+tends to get more out of hand than on any of his skyscrapers of the
+nineties except perhaps the Condict Building. The best of Sullivan’s is
+the National Farmers’ Bank at Owatonna, Minn., of 1908; but Purcell &
+Elmslie’s Merchants’ National Bank in Winona, Minn., completed in 1911,
+might easily be mistaken for Sullivan’s work, for it is of comparable
+quality.
+
+In the skyscrapers of the late nineties and the first two decades of the
+twentieth century designed in other Chicago architectural offices, such
+as D. H. Burnham & Co., Jenney & Mundie, and Holabird & Roche, there was
+rarely any attempt to vie with Sullivan as an ornamentalist but rather a
+continuance of the straightforward sort of design of the last-named
+firm’s Michigan Avenue buildings of 1898-9. A particularly fine and very
+large example is their Cable Building in Chicago of 1899. In the Fisher
+Building of 1897, also in Chicago, the Burnham firm more or less
+repeated the formula of the Reliance Building, but with a profusion of
+rather archaeological Late Gothic detail, eschewing the New York
+influence apparent in the Ellicott Square Building of 1895. Jenney &
+Mundie, rather more than the others, tended to follow the leadership of
+the New York architects of the day in using academic detail.
+
+On the whole, the Chicago School continued to be vigorous, if not
+especially creative, down to the First World War, all the way through a
+period during which New York skyscrapers, still usually conceived as
+shaped towers rather than as plain slabs, received a succession of
+different stylistic disguises as they rose higher and higher. The
+forty-seven-storey (612-foot) Singer Building[319] of 1907 by Ernest
+Flagg (1857-1947) with its curious bulbous mansard—’Beaux-Arts’ of a
+quite aberrant sort—was followed by the campanile-like 700-foot
+Metropolitan Tower in Madison Square of 1909 by Napoleon LeBrun &
+Sons;[320] and that in turn by the cathedral-like Late Gothic
+elaboration of the Woolworth Building[321] of 1913 by Cass Gilbert
+(1859-1934), fifty-two storeys and 792 feet tall, which is still one of
+the major landmarks of downtown New York (Plate 178). A new flurry of
+skyscraper building followed in the twenties (see Chapter 24). The story
+with which this chapter is concerned, however, had reached its climax
+with the Chicago skyscrapers of the nineties, even though they were soon
+overshadowed in height and in contemporary esteem by the taller and more
+spectacular towers of Manhattan. Moreover, most of the big cities of the
+country, including Chicago, eventually sought to imitate the New York
+mode. But size is not, even in this period, a measure of quality, and
+the tallest skyscrapers are not the best, any more than the longest
+bridges are the most beautiful. So far the results of the revival of
+skyscraper building in the last fifteen years have rather confirmed this
+judgement (see Chapter 25).
+
+A difficult question remains to be asked, even if it cannot be very
+satisfactorily answered: Why was the nineteenth-century development of
+commercial architecture, from Nash’s Regent Street to Sullivan’s
+skyscrapers, so completely an Anglo-American achievement? A few reasons
+may at least be suggested. On the Continent business activity was less
+concentrated in special urban districts in the nineteenth century, and
+was hence less likely to develop its own architectural programme. The
+big new nineteenth-century blocks in cities like Paris and Vienna and
+Rome generally serve a variety of purposes and almost always consist of
+residential flats in the upper storeys. In England and in America, on
+the other hand, most dwellings were still not flats but houses before
+1900, and these fled farther and farther from the commercial areas as
+the nineteenth century progressed. The high property values in the
+central urban districts of the big Anglo-American cities, rising very
+rapidly in the second half of the century, encouraged the exploitation
+of their sites with taller and taller buildings. These values also
+helped to drive out the earlier inhabitants, leaving such areas as the
+London City and the Chicago Loop all but deserted after office hours.
+
+Neither the office blocks of London and the big provincial English
+cities of the fifties and sixties nor, _a fortiori_, the skyscrapers of
+New York of the seventies and those of Chicago of the nineties can
+readily be matched elsewhere—except, of course, to some extent in the
+British Dominions and Colonies. Yet European cities do offer certain
+nineteenth-century commercial structures that are of real interest. The
+covered _passages_ and _galeries_, from the modest ones of the early
+decades of the century in Paris to Mengoni’s great Galleria Vittorio
+Emanuele II in Milan (Plate 75B) of the sixties, offered an urbanistic
+device of real significance. This is barely to be appreciated in the
+various extant English and American examples, such as the still
+flourishing Burlington Arcade in London or the Arcade in Providence,
+R.I., which is maintained as a historic monument though all but deserted
+by commerce.
+
+Related to these structures serving multiple business purposes was the
+gradual development of the department store, a grouping together of
+various separate shops under one management and one roof, of which the
+Galeries du Commerce et de l’Industrie in Paris of 1838 were a
+relatively early example (Plate 62A). Exploiting like the _galeries_ the
+possibilities of iron-and-glass roofing, the early Continental examples
+of the department store had their more modest English and American
+counterparts such as Owen Jones’s Crystal Palace Bazar of 1858 in London
+or the Z.C.M.I. in Salt Lake City, founded by the Mormon leader Brigham
+Young himself and housed in cast iron in 1868.
+
+The most notable later nineteenth-century department stores were in
+Paris and Berlin. In Paris the still extant Bon Marché of 1876 in the
+Rue de Sèvres by L. C. Boileau (1837-?), son of the builder of several
+Second Empire churches of iron, and the engineer Eiffel and the
+Printemps at the corner of the Rue de Rome and the Boulevard Haussmann
+of 1881-9 by Paul Sédille (1836-1900) were remarkable in conception if
+without much distinction of design. However, the Bon Marché is now
+completely masked externally by a masonry façade of the 1920s, and
+little of interest remains visible inside the Printemps. Of the portion
+of the Wertheim Department Store in Berlin built by Alfred Messel
+(1853-1909) in 1896-9 nothing survives.
+
+Just after 1900, when the metal-and-glass construction of the interiors
+of department stores came to be generally exposed externally, this line
+of development came to its climax (Plates 131B and 133). This climax is
+so closely associated with the decorative and architectural development
+called Art Nouveau that the later Continental department stores may
+better be discussed in connexion with that (see Chapters 16, 17). Being
+of exposed metal, however, not of masonry-sheathed ‘skyscraper
+construction’ and relatively low, these stores are closer in character
+to the cast-iron commercial buildings of the third quarter of the
+century in America and Britain than to the tall Chicago structures of
+1890-1910.
+
+Steel construction of the American type, with the internal skeleton
+carrying a protective cladding of masonry, has gradually spread since
+the opening of the century to all parts of the world that produce or can
+afford to buy structural steel. It was, for example, introduced into
+London by the Anglo-French architects Mewès & Davis in building the Ritz
+Hotel there in 1905. Yet it remains typically American. In most other
+countries reinforced concrete rivals or completely takes its place as
+the characteristic material for building large structures of all sorts.
+The story of reinforced concrete had its technical beginnings in the mid
+nineteenth century; but it was not before the nineties that it first
+began to be exploited on a large scale and for conscious architectural
+effect. The first important reinforced concrete buildings, French like
+most of the best department stores of around 1900, will be mentioned
+later (see Chapter 18).
+
+The whole picture of architecture in the twentieth century, so different
+from the picture of architecture before 1850, was modified by the
+developments that culminated in the Chicago skyscrapers. However
+important this has been for all later architecture both technically and
+aesthetically, it is important to stress here, as with the mid-century
+monuments of iron and glass, that the successive stages in the
+development are not solely, or even primarily, of premonitory and
+historical interest. From Parris’s granite buildings in Boston of the
+twenties, through the arcaded English commercial work of the fifties and
+sixties, to Richardson’s Field store and Sullivan’s skyscrapers in
+Chicago, St Louis, Buffalo, and New York, enlightened commercial patrons
+demanded and often received the best architecture of their day. The
+functional and technical challenges of commercial building seem to have
+brought out the creative capacities of three generations of architects
+as no other commissions did so consistently. Compare Parris’s Grecian
+temple church, St Paul’s in Boston, with his granite ‘skeleton’ fronts
+beside the Quincy Market (Plate 112B); set Godwin’s Stokes Croft
+Warehouse beside his town halls (Plates 113 and 92A); measure
+Richardson’s Field store even against his Pittsburgh Jail (Plates 116B
+and 108B). Then the strictly _architectural_, as well as the technical
+and social, significance of the major commercial monuments of the
+nineteenth century will be evident.
+
+This chapter has summarized what was probably the greatest single
+innovation in nineteenth-century architecture, the rise of a new type of
+building to a position of prestige and of achievement comparable to that
+of churches and palaces in earlier periods. The same cannot be said of
+domestic architecture. The house was hardly a nineteenth-century
+invention like the office building. It was, however, modified almost
+beyond recognition as the century progressed, at the hands of several
+generations of creative architects. Around 1900 there are few if any
+churches, for example, to rival Sullivan’s skyscrapers in quality; but
+there are some houses, especially several by his disciple Wright and by
+his English contemporary Voysey.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 15
+ THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE DETACHED HOUSE IN ENGLAND AND AMERICA FROM 1800
+ TO 1900
+
+
+IN the long story of man’s dwellings from prehistory to the present, the
+Anglo-American development that took place in the hundred years between
+the 1790s and the 1890s is of considerable significance, particularly as
+it provides the immediate background of the twentieth-century house.
+Architectural history has generally been little concerned, in dealing
+with periods earlier than the eighteenth century at least, with the
+habitations of any but the upper classes. The study of rural cottages in
+various regions of the world has been more a matter for anthropological
+investigation; the housing of the urban poor, when that was other than
+the makeshift adaptation of grander structures fallen into decay,
+remains for most early periods a matter of mystery. We know that ancient
+Rome had its blocks of middle-class flats of many storeys; although the
+links are not easy to recover, there was certainly some continuity in
+Mediterranean lands between that form of urban housing in antiquity and
+what can be traced from the medieval period down to the nineteenth
+century. Northern Europe in the late Middle Ages saw rather the
+development of individual urban dwellings with party walls, ancestors of
+the terrace-houses that first appeared in England in the seventeenth
+century.
+
+The detached house of moderate size, so familiar today, the principal
+type of dwelling to undergo notable development in the nineteenth
+century in Anglo-Saxon countries, has no such remote Classical origins
+as the Continental flat or apartment. It made its appearance as the
+dwelling of the yeoman when economic conditions in late medieval England
+encouraged the rise of a class between the feudal landowner and the
+peasant parallel to the skilled artisan class in the towns. The
+conditions of settlement of the British colonies in America,
+particularly in New England, encouraged the continuation through the
+seventeenth century of this type of dwelling almost to the exclusion of
+any other sort, since towns were then small and large estates rare.
+Around 1700 in America, though considerably earlier in England,
+relatively advanced contemporary modes began to have some influence on
+the design of such houses. With a lag of as much as a quarter of a
+century, the architectural developments of the home country were
+generally followed in the colonies; nor did political independence much
+affect the dependent cultural relationship in this field after the
+American Revolution.
+
+The effects of the Picturesque point of view on the development of the
+house in England around 1800 were several (see Chapter 6). On the one
+hand, the newly fashionable attitude gave prestige to modest detached
+dwellings, raising the social status of the ‘cottage’ from an
+agricultural labourer’s hovel to a middle-class habitation or even on
+occasion a holiday ‘retreat’ for the upper classes—at first by adding
+the French adjective _orné_ (Plate 122A). At the same time the status of
+the ‘villa’ tended to be reduced from a large Italianate mansion on its
+own estate to a moderate-sized house at the edge of town. In much of the
+prolific architectural literature of the period, the hierarchy of
+residential building types was Rousseauistically inverted as rustic
+models, both native and Italian, were proposed for emulation in edifices
+of fairly considerable size. Thus several modes of informal design that
+had made their eighteenth-century debut in garden ornaments received
+more serious attention from architects as they came to be considered
+suitable for medium-sized dwellings and even sometimes for quite large
+mansions. As we have already seen, the towered Italian Villa was first
+introduced as a modest detached house by Nash at Cronkhill in 1802. It
+was similarly utilized by Schinkel (Plate 14A) and Persius at Potsdam a
+generation later, although Royalty still preferred to dwell there in
+Grecian dignity or Castellated pomp (see Chapter 2). Somewhat later,
+however, the Italian Villa provided (none too happily) a Royal retreat
+when Prince Albert decided on this mode for Osborne House on the Isle of
+Wight in the mid forties.
+
+Not all Picturesque modes were equally adaptable to middle-class
+dwellings. The Indian found its most notable realizations in a large
+country house, S. P. Cockerell’s Sezincote, and a Royal folly, Nash’s
+Brighton Pavilion (Plate 48). There were, however, considerably later
+American examples[322] on a somewhat more modest scale, such as
+Iranistan at Bridgeport, Conn., built for Barnum in 1847-8, and
+Longwood, near Natchez in Mississippi, designed by Samuel Sloan in 1860
+that have been mentioned earlier. But the Indian mode contributed the
+veranda, henceforth an integral feature of American domestic
+architecture, though rare after the Picturesque period in England.
+Verandas very early lost the Oriental detail, however. In front of
+Rustic Cottages they were often supported by bark-covered logs, but they
+could also acquire the formal character of Italian loggias, Tudor
+arcades, Swiss galleries or, most frequently, Classical porticoes and
+‘pilastrades’ when adapted for use with other current modes.[323] In
+some cases the veranda, carried on occasion to two storeys in height,
+became the main theme of the exterior, yet was detailed so simply that
+no modish name properly applies (Plate 122A).
+
+Even the Castellated mode, although used mostly for rather large houses
+(Plate 49), encouraged loose asymmetrical massing of the sort that is
+still more characteristic of the towered Italian Villa.
+
+The Picturesque was thoroughly eclectic, in both possible senses of the
+word, as well as occasionally original. On the one hand, the point of
+view encouraged the parallel use of diverse modes. In theory, these were
+to be chosen according to their suitability to various sorts of natural
+settings, but in practice several were often employed side by side, as
+in Nash’s Park Villages in London, begun in 1827, and in the
+contemporary and later development of comparable suburban areas both in
+England and in America. On the other hand, the combination in one design
+of features derived from several different modes was allowable, even
+praiseworthy—low-pitched roofs with very broad eaves borrowed from the
+Swiss Chalet, towers from both the Castellated Mansion and the Italian
+Villa, bay-windows from the Tudor Parsonage, and verandas from the
+Indian were all part of a common repertory exploited rather
+indiscriminately. Basic to the Picturesque point of view and often
+determinant of choice of mode and even of individual features was the
+preoccupation with the natural setting; verandas, loggias, bay-windows
+and prospect towers were desirable, even necessary, features because
+they made possible the fuller enjoyment of the circumambient scene.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 21. T. F. Hunt: house-plan
+ (from _Designs for Parsonage Houses_, 1827)
+]
+
+All these features affected house-plans in detail; but domestic planning
+in general was not as consistently re-organized as might have been
+expected, if only because the Picturesque point of view was so
+predominantly visual rather than practical in its usual concerns.
+Asymmetrical massing allowed, even forced, asymmetrical planning,
+however, thereby encouraging functional differentiation of the
+disposition and the sizes of various rooms (Figure 21). Yet very often,
+behind irregular exteriors, the plans were only slightly dislocated from
+the formal patterns of the preceding Palladian period. Although the
+increased articulation of most house-plans allowed the introduction of
+windows on several sides of many rooms, more significant at this stage
+was the frequent use of irregular shapes for the larger rooms, their
+main rectangular spaces complicated by external oriels and by internal
+ingle-nooks. None of these individual changes can be very precisely
+dated, at least in the current state of knowledge of the development of
+the house-plan in this period. Almost all of them were generally
+familiar in England by 1810. Tudor Parsonages, whether or not occupied
+by members of the clergy, were likely to be most adeptly planned.[324]
+In them the well-defined needs of a family of relatively high social
+status but low income encouraged a more efficient grouping of the rooms
+and a clearer distinction of separate functions—entrance hall,
+drawing-room, dining-room, study, kitchen, scullery—than had been common
+earlier in such medium-sized dwellings.
+
+In the first third of the century the various Picturesque modes of
+house-design were very widely exploited in England for middle-class
+habitations in the new suburbs, having generally made their first
+appearance a decade or so earlier in lodges or other accessories to
+large private estates. They were also popular at the new seaside
+resorts, such as Sidmouth in Devon and Bournemouth in Hampshire, where
+they often housed more exalted clients. At Sidmouth, for example, what
+is now the Woodlands Hotel was remodelled from a barn into a
+barge-boarded Cottage Orné by Lord Gwydyr in 1815; the nucleus of the
+Knowles Hotel there was Lord Despenser’s cottage of a few years earlier;
+and the Royal Glen Hotel, a modest Castellated house then known as
+Walbrook Cottage, was built early enough to house Queen Victoria as a
+baby. Although the prestige of the Picturesque declined rapidly in high
+aesthetic circles after 1840, the rigorous principles of Pugin and the
+ecclesiologists had little effect on the operations of suburban
+builders, who continued for decades to follow the various
+well-established modes of a generation earlier.
+
+As Latrobe’s ‘Gothick’ Sedgley, built outside Philadelphia in 1798, and
+various other Neo-Gothic structures in Philadelphia and Boston of the
+first decade of the new century make evident, the Picturesque came early
+to the United States. Yet it was hardly before the thirties that the
+various Cottage and Villa modes began to compete at all with the Greek
+temple and the formal post-Palladian house modernized by the use of
+Grecian detail; only with the appearance in 1842 of _Cottage Residences_
+by A. J. Downing (1815-52)[325] were they enthusiastically propagated.
+
+Earlier, new developments in the planning of the ubiquitous
+moderate-sized free-standing houses were not very notable in America. In
+the 1790s the influence of Adam, and possibly of the French, encouraged
+some experimentation with variously shaped rooms; but this largely died
+out as the necessary rectangularity of the Greek temple house, only
+extended by one or more wings in the largest examples, reimposed the
+formal Anglo-Palladian plan with central stair-hall and four nearly
+equal-sized corner rooms. For smaller houses with pedimented fronts,
+however, a sort of terrace-house plan was increasingly popular, with
+stair-hall at one side, two principal living rooms one behind the other,
+and a narrower kitchen wing extending to the rear. A planning innovation
+that first appeared in America in the 1790s, by no means unknown earlier
+in England but rare except in terrace-houses, was the opening together
+of two rooms—front and back parlours—by means of broad sliding doors.
+This became increasingly common after 1800. Moreover, the temple portico
+provided the equivalent of a shallow veranda across the front of the
+house and was sometimes replaced or supplemented by a deeper colonnaded
+porch at the sides or rear. The veranda, indeed, had reached the
+southern states fairly early in the eighteenth century, arriving from
+the East via the West Indies. In its usual two-storeyed form it was
+easily merged with the monumental colonnades demanded by the Grecian
+mode (Plate 38B).
+
+Thus, even before a rather belated wave of strong Picturesque influence
+began to drive out the temple house in the forties, early
+nineteenth-century American houses had certain definitely post-Colonial
+characteristics in their plans. Of later house-planning in the United
+States in the forties and fifties almost everything that has been said
+about English planning in the preceding decades applies (Figure 22). By
+this time in England, however, newer planning ideas were being
+introduced by leading architects in relatively large houses. At
+Scarisbrick, for example, where the remodelling and extension of the
+existing Georgian house began in 1837, Pugin revived the medieval great
+hall (see Chapter 6). A few years later in his own house, The Grange of
+1841-3 at Ramsgate,[326] by no means a mansion in size or scale, the
+more modest two-storey hall incorporates the staircase and also
+provides, with the galleries above, the central core of communication.
+Parallel with these examples, which were of Gothic inspiration, Barry at
+Highclere adapted the glass-roofed central _cortile_ of the Reform Club
+to domestic use, associating with it the main staircase rising in a
+contiguous vertical space.
+
+At the hands of High Church architects the parsonage, by definition no
+mansion but a modest free-standing gentleman’s residence, was also
+undergoing a characteristic development. No longer Tudor, of course, it
+was still not forced to be archaeologically decorated in its planning,
+since there were few if any relevant medieval models to imitate. The
+doctrine of ‘realism’ condemned the shabby construction and careless use
+of materials that had too often been characteristic of Picturesque
+house-building in the previous decades, while the need for economy
+discouraged the ornamentation common on contemporary churches.
+
+Such a vicarage as that which Butterfield built in 1844-5 to go with his
+‘first’ church, St Saviour’s at Coalpitheath, Gloucestershire, is a
+model of simple masonry construction. In the random ashlar walls are set
+wide banks of plain mullioned windows, Gothic only in the arching of
+their heads, where they can serve best to light the various rooms (Plate
+122B). The massing also is irregular yet orderly with several high
+gables, a porch, many tall chimney stacks, and a broad bow-window
+elaborating the basically rectangular block. But, in the language of the
+ecclesiologists, ‘the true Picturesque derives from the sternest
+utility’, and so all these projecting features were such as could be
+readily justified functionally, like the ritualistic articulation of
+contemporary churches. The plan of Butterfield’s vicarage has the
+virtues of those of the Picturesque Tudor Parsonages in the variety of
+room-sizes and shapes provided and also in the opportunities that the
+windows offer to enjoy surrounding nature. There is also at Coalpitheath
+a very modest version of Pugin’s stair-hall at The Grange, not a mere
+lobby but a central space designed for easy horizontal and vertical
+communication.
+
+Any serious revival of medieval craftsmanship in masonry was all but
+impossible in America; in any case it was largely irrelevant in a land
+where most houses were built of wood. But in reaction to the
+white-painted clapboards and the smooth Grecian trim of the previous
+decades, echoing however humbly the marble of Greece, Downing in the
+early forties proposed and many at his behest adopted variant treatments
+for the exterior sheathing of Picturesque villas and cottages that were
+rather more expressive. The distinguished native craftsmanship evident
+in the more monumental edifices of the Greek Revival executed in fine
+ashlar of granite or other light-coloured stone, or else in smooth red
+brick, died out. Such materials had no more appeal than did crisp
+white-painted wood to a generation indoctrinated with the Picturesque
+point of view. Yet clapboards remained the usual surfacing material for
+wooden houses, even if they were now painted, not white, but in the
+stony hues—grey or beige—that Downing recommended in his books with
+actual coloured samples.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 22. A. J. Downing: house-plan (from _Cottage Residences_, 1842)
+]
+
+The treatment Downing preferred was board-and-batten.[327] This he made
+a constituent element of the very original Bracketted mode that he
+offered as an American alternative to the imported Italian Villa and
+Tudor Parsonage which he was energetically engaged in nationalizing.
+Board-and-batten provides a stronger pattern of light and shade, and
+also the verticalism that appealed increasingly to mid-century taste.
+This sheathing also offers a sort of symbolic expression of the light
+‘balloon-frame’[328] construction that was beginning to come into
+general use by the fifties, though this method of wooden framing was
+apparently never known to Downing, since he died in 1852 before it
+reached the eastern states where he lived and worked.
+
+With their board-and-batten walls, their ample verandas, and their
+bay-windows, what are still usually called ‘Downing houses’ constitute a
+largely original American creation in spite of the frequent use of
+Tudoresque detail on barge-boards and veranda supports and even of
+elaborately moulded terracotta chimney pots. Yet in their planning the
+houses designed by Downing and his architect friends Davis and Notman do
+not advance much beyond the models published in the English books of the
+previous decades that were their immediate prototypes (Figure 22). The
+verandas are usually wider and more prominent, however, and the front
+and rear parlours are likely to open into one another, as sometimes also
+into a modest central hall.
+
+In America as in England, the Picturesque period came to no sudden end.
+The recurrent publication of Downing’s books even after the Civil
+War[329] indicates how long his models remained favourites with American
+builders and their small-town and suburban clients. However, even before
+the Civil War a mansarded Second Empire mode was beginning to become
+popular (see Chapter 9). With the wide acceptance of this and of the
+High Victorian Gothic there developed a rather sharp split between
+autochthonous and imported types of house-design, drastically though the
+imported types were usually Americanized outside the bigger eastern
+cities. To this situation we must return later.
+
+Something has already been said of the major turn that took place in the
+development of the English house around 1860 (see Chapters 9 and 12).
+When seen in relation to the parsonages that his master Street and also
+Butterfield had been building in the previous fifteen years, Webb’s Red
+House built in 1859-60 for William Morris is considerably less
+revolutionary than has sometimes been supposed. Had this been built in
+Gloucestershire rather than in Kent, it would certainly have been of
+stone like Butterfield’s Coalpitheath Vicarage; as it is, the entrance
+porch is no simpler or less Gothic than Butterfield’s. The particular
+window forms, moreover, can be matched in Butterfield’s Clergy House and
+School at All Saints’, Margaret Street, and the somewhat rustic ease of
+composition in his cottages at Baldersby St James. Yet the planning here
+is highly individual, suited to the special needs of a client who was an
+artist and a writer, not a parson.
+
+The next house that Webb built, now known as Benfleet Hall, Cobham,
+begun in 1860 for the painter Spencer Stanhope, has been less
+publicized, and it never had the rich furnishings that Morris and his
+associates designed and executed for the Red House. Yet it is perhaps
+more significant in the general history of the Anglo-American house.
+There is here, for example, a small stair-hall of the order of Pugin’s
+at the Grange or Butterfield’s at Coalpitheath around which the other
+ground-storey rooms are loosely grouped. The particular character of the
+plan can, in fact, best be matched at Hinderton, a small country house
+in Cheshire that is hardly more of a mansion than Benfleet, which
+Waterhouse built in 1859. This house is in Waterhouse’s gawkiest High
+Victorian Gothic, with none of the simplicity and delicacy of Webb’s
+early houses. It is rather unlikely that Webb was actually emulating it,
+but the plan was twice published[330] and hence soon known abroad.
+
+Webb’s Arisaig in Inverness-shire was begun in 1863 (Figure 23). Built
+of local stone, it is somewhat more conventionally Gothic externally;
+moreover, it is of country-house size, a mansion rather than a modest
+artist’s dwelling like the Red House or Benfleet Hall. The plan has two
+major aspects of interest: the two-storeyed hall, with gallery above,
+occupies a central position and the principal rooms on both storeys are
+very efficiently grouped about it within the bounding rectangle of the
+main block of the house. In other words, Arisaig’s hall seems to derive
+as much from the Highclere sort of glazed central court as from Pugin’s
+revival of the medieval great hall.
+
+Cloverley Hall, which was built by Nesfield and Shaw in 1865-8,
+attracted much favourable contemporary attention largely because of the
+superb craftsmanship of the brickwork and the originality of the
+_japoniste_ ornament (see Chapter 12). It is destroyed now except for
+the extensive service and stable wings and the gate lodge; but the
+amount and the character of the fenestration, providing in some areas
+what amounted to window-walls of stone-mullioned and transomed lights,
+and the character of the plan make it still memorable. It was also the
+first of the many notable Late Victorian manor houses which both
+Nesfield and Shaw would build when working alone.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 23. Philip Webb: Arisaig, Inverness-shire, 1863, plan
+]
+
+Like Arisaig, Cloverley was a large country house. The medieval great
+hall, first rather modestly revived by Pugin at Scarisbrick, here
+returned at full scale; but it was placed in a corner of the main
+block—as was occasionally its position in the sixteenth century—so that
+it might receive light from one end as well as from the side (Figure
+24). From the entrance, however, one passed by this hall through the
+‘screens’ under a gallery to arrive at a stair-hall, more in the manner
+of Waterhouse’s and Webb’s, around which the other principal rooms were
+compactly grouped. There was also here a very skilful play with levels,
+the hall being lower than the rest of the main floor, and therefore
+part-way down to the basement—containing a billiard room and so
+forth—which was entirely above ground at the rear of the house.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 24. Nesfield & Shaw: Cloverley Hall, Shropshire, 1865-8, plan
+]
+
+While Cloverley Hall was still in construction, Shaw had begun his own
+personal career as a house-builder at Glen Andred in 1866-7 (Plate
+102B), where he introduced a more vernacular manner (see Chapter 12).
+Following this came his Leyswood in 1868-9, a mansion as large as
+Cloverley Hall and in some of its decorative features more
+archaeologically Late Medieval. As at Cloverley Hall, the amplitude of
+the fenestration, however, arranged here in long mullioned bands as well
+as in tall window-walls, has seemed more significant to posterity than
+the stylistic detailing[331] (Plate 123). Above all, Leyswood marked a
+further stage in the development of the ‘agglutinative plan’ (Figure
+19), of which the first well-publicized example was Waterhouse’s at
+Hinderton. Here the great hall and the stair-hall of Cloverley are
+combined to form a central spatial core of communication, somewhat as at
+Webb’s Arisaig, but the shape of this is quite irregular and the
+reception rooms are grouped very loosely about it, more as at Benfleet
+Hall. Projecting well out of the main block, the dining-room and the
+drawing-room both receive light from three sides. Moreover, the space of
+these rooms is articulated, as in certain Picturesque houses of forty
+and fifty years earlier, by ingle-nooks, oriels, and various other
+irregularities. Perspectives of Leyswood—not the plan[332]—were
+published in the supplement to the _Building News_ of 31 March 1871 and
+made at once a tremendous impression both in England and in America
+(Plate 123).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 25. Philip Webb: Barnet, Hertfordshire, Trevor Hall,
+ 1868-70, plan
+]
+
+In a house by Webb of the same date as Leyswood, Trevor Hall at Oakleigh
+Park, Barnet, in Hertfordshire, the arrangement of the rooms about the
+central hall was much more compact (Figure 25). The whole formed a
+square and allowed a quite symmetrical treatment of the three principal
+fronts. This house is now destroyed except for the gate lodge. Less
+interesting in plan but significant for its very modest size is Webb’s
+Upwood Gorse, Caterham, Surrey, built for Queen Victoria’s dentist Sir
+John Tomes also in 1868. The consistency and the simplicity with which
+the local vernacular of brick below and tile-hanging above is handled in
+connexion with plenty of white-painted Queen Anne sash-windows regularly
+but not symmetrically spaced offers a curiously close prototype of the
+American ‘Shingle Style’, although the initiators of that mode a decade
+later can hardly have known of this house, since it was never published.
+It was rather Shaw’s houses of the next decade, of which his drawings
+were exhibited each year at the Royal Academy and given great prominence
+in the professional Press, that provided the exemplars which architects
+generally imitated both at home and abroad; from 1874 on the plans were
+usually illustrated as well as Shaw’s own very virtuoso pen-drawn[333]
+perspectives (Plate 123).
+
+Webb’s houses for the painters Val Prinsep and G. B. Boyce in Kensington
+and Chelsea, of 1865 and 1869 respectively, were the first English
+‘studio-houses’—houses, that is, in which the studios, naturally
+equipped with very large windows, were the principal rooms. These
+provided a more livable alternative to the great halls that Shaw
+generally provided in his country houses; but it was the larger artists’
+houses of the seventies and eighties which Shaw built for his fellow
+academicians that received contemporary publicity.
+
+By the mid seventies Shaw was moving in the formal and symmetrical
+direction initiated by Webb at Trevor Hall and soon carried much further
+by Nesfield at Kinmel Park as regards both the planning and the external
+organization of his larger London houses. Lowther Lodge in Kensington
+Gore of 1873-4 is the first of his domestic commissions that may
+properly be called Queen Anne rather than Manorial. The even more
+formally designed Cheyne House and Old Swan House, of 1875 and 1876
+respectively, on the Chelsea Embankment followed shortly after (Plate
+103); but he long continued to build more loosely composed houses in the
+country, as has been noted earlier.
+
+Before turning to the results of Shaw’s very notable influence in the
+United States in the seventies, something should be said of the
+situation there in the preceding decade. The Second Empire mode had been
+increasingly popular for houses from the mid fifties and was especially
+fashionable during the boom period that followed the Civil War. It had
+no positive contribution to make to the general Anglo-American
+development in these decades, however. In the domestic field more or
+less Gothic modes were its significant rivals; first Downing’s
+wide-veranda-ed version of the Tudor Cottage; then, after 1860, what
+Vincent Scully has christened the ‘Stick Style’.[334]
+
+On houses in this mode, which is really hardly Gothic at all, a sort of
+imitation half-timbering panels the exterior walls, suggesting, like
+Downing’s board-and-batten sheathing, the underlying wooden
+stud-structure of balloon-frame construction. This construction came to
+be generally used in the East as well as in the Middle West, where it
+originated, after it had been explained by William E. Bell in his
+_Carpentry Made Easy_ in 1858. More striking is the open stickwork of
+the ubiquitous verandas. This can be seen in an early form on the
+Olmsted house in East Hartford, Conn., of 1849 by the English architect
+Gervase Wheeler,[335] who obviously derived it from Picturesque models
+in England dating back at least to the thirties. In the J. N. H.
+Griswold house of 1862 in Bellevue Avenue in Newport, R.I., by the
+French-trained Hunt, now the Newport Art Association, the ‘sticks’ of
+the wall surface are so sturdy that they may well be the actual framing
+members.
+
+Very characteristic of the maturity of the mode is the Sturtevant house
+at nearby Middletown, R.I., built by Dudley Newton (1845?-1907) a decade
+later in 1872. Here the gawky vigour of the Stick Style, its intense
+woodenness, and its descent from several different Picturesque modes—not
+least the Swiss Chalet—is very evident (Plate 124A). Extensive
+surrounding verandas are of the very essence of the mode; but the
+internal planning, while informal and often asymmetrical, is rarely very
+open. Several books by Eugene C. Gardner (1836-1905)[336] of
+Springfield, Mass., give a sophisticated architect’s rationale of the
+mode. But the exemplars that G. E. Woodward[337] offered in the sixties
+are more typical, and were more widely imitated in actual production;
+for the Stick Style had almost run its course by the time Gardner began
+to present his excellent house designs. Woodward was no architect, and
+for the most part the Stick Style should not be considered an
+architect’s mode. It represented rather a popular attempt, remarkably
+successful for a few years, to create an American domestic vernacular,
+suited to the materials in general use and to the current methods of
+building, comparable to Downing’s earlier Bracketted mode. Like the
+Second Empire vogue the Stick Style died out, at least in the East,
+during the general hiatus in building production after the financial
+Panic of 1873.
+
+By that time Shaw’s influence had begun to reach America.[338] Moreover,
+the possibilities of agglutinative planning about a great hall had been
+realized by Richardson well before a Shaw plan—that for Hopedene—was
+first made available in the _Building News_ in 1874. It is, of course,
+possible that McKim, in passing through England on his way home from
+Paris in 1870, had seen (or merely heard of) the character of Webb’s,
+Nesfield’s, and Shaw’s houses of the sixties and transmitted that
+information to Richardson.
+
+An undated project of about 1871 by Richardson for a house to be built
+in Newport, R.I., for Richard Codman includes his first great hall[339]
+of the Shavian sort; but the Codman plan is already in advance of, or at
+least rather different from, those of Shaw. This hall, out of which the
+stairs would rise in an L-shaped at the rear, was to be very large in
+relation to the other rooms, and thus definitely a principal living area
+not a mere foyer or centre of circulation. The drawing room and dining
+room were to open out of the hall through wide doorways so that some
+sort of spatial continuity would have extended through all the reception
+rooms of the ground storey. There was to be a large veranda at the rear
+in the well-established local tradition. The exterior as shown in the
+elevations is not at all Shavian but rather related to the Stick Style,
+like Richardson’s own house at Arrochar on Staten Island of 1868.
+
+Richardson’s first executed country house, the F. W. Andrews house of
+1872-3 at Newport, R.I., was much more Shavian in plan. Four or five
+rooms were grouped about a relatively smaller central stair-hall and
+most of these were articulated by bay-windows and ingle-nooks. But the
+main block was also surrounded by verandas, features which are rare and
+always of modest extent on Shaw’s houses. The Andrews house was burned a
+long time ago, but from the existing elevations it would appear that the
+external treatment represented a sort of transition between the Stick
+Style, then at its apogee, and Shaw’s Surrey vernacular translated into
+American materials. The verandas were still detailed in a Stick Style
+way, and flat stickwork interrupted the continuity of the wall surfaces;
+but the clapboarding of the lower walls evidently took the place of the
+brickwork Shaw used—it was almost certainly painted red—and the wooden
+shingling of the upper walls was a happy substitute for English
+tile-hanging. Shingles were, of course, an old though largely forgotten
+American sheathing material long used especially for roofs.
+
+By the time Richardson came to design his next large house, that for
+William Watts Sherman on Shepard Avenue in Newport in 1874, the
+perspectives of several of Shaw’s manors had appeared in the _Building
+News_ and the plans of two. As a result, probably, of his assistant
+Stanford White’s Shaw-like skill with the pencil, the Sherman house was
+notably Shavian externally. Above the ground storey, which is of
+Richardsonian random-ashlar masonry in pink Milford granite with
+brownstone trim, the walls and the high roofs are covered with shingles
+cut in various decorative shapes suggested by those of Shaw’s
+tile-hanging. Many of the casement windows are grouped to form
+window-walls in the ground storey and arranged in long horizontal bands
+above. The half-timbering of the front gable, with painted decoration on
+the intervening plaster, was taken straight from Shaw’s Grim’s Dyke; the
+carved ornament on the barge-boards is almost Nesfieldian in its
+suggestion of _japonisme_. Thus the whole is as perfect a specimen of
+Shaw’s Manorial mode as anything any architect other than he or Nesfield
+ever produced in England. The house has since been much enlarged, partly
+by White in 1881, partly by Newton very much later, but always with due
+respect for the character of the original design.
+
+The plan has more of the independent virtues of that of the Codman
+project. The hall provides a principal portion of the living area, and
+the other main rooms open into it through wide doors; thus there is some
+flow of space throughout the whole original block. The original library
+at the rear corner, later replaced by a large ballroom, ended in a
+Shavian rounded bay with a continuous window band, a feature Wright
+would copy later. Yet otherwise the house was less articulated than
+Shaw’s earlier ones, having rather the compactness though none of the
+symmetry of Webb’s Trevor Hall.
+
+The mid seventies saw many other American reflections of Shaw’s Manorial
+mode and soon of his Queen Anne also, none of them so successful as the
+Sherman house. But the deep business recession that followed the Panic
+of 1873 led to a general mood of repentance after the extravagances,
+architectural and otherwise, of the post-war boom. From the resultant
+nostalgia for the simpler ways of the American past there began to
+develop at this time a great interest in the houses of the Colonial
+period, an interest that readily merged, however, with the current
+English preoccupation with the vernacular of the seventeenth and
+eighteenth centuries. To an extent difficult for posterity to
+appreciate, the nascent ‘Shingle Style’,[340] which crystallized towards
+the end of the decade with the revival of building production, was to
+its protagonists already a sort of Colonial Revival. Although its
+origins are partly Shavian, it represents above all a reaction, as did
+Shaw’s Manorial mode in England, against the ‘modernism’ of the High
+Victorian Gothic and the Second Empire, now grown thoroughly
+unfashionable except in the West.
+
+Boston was still the architectural metropolis of the United States, and
+it was around Boston, especially in the work of Emerson and Little, the
+latter a serious early student of old Colonial work, that this
+crystallization of the Shingle Style first took place (see Chapter 13).
+But it was at once taken over and given a somewhat more Shaw-like
+elaboration by the New York firm of McKim, Mead & White, formed in 1879.
+From the early eighties, and for over a decade, the Shingle Style was
+widely practised by architects from coast to coast, and not least
+happily in the Far West. The characteristic use of shingles as an
+all-over wall-covering emphasized the continuity of the exterior surface
+as a skin stretched over the underlying wooden skeleton of studs, in
+contrast to the way the preceding Stick Style had echoed that skeleton
+in the external treatment. The shingles properly provide the name for a
+most characteristically American domestic mode; but it was in planning
+that American architects made the really original contribution in what
+was the most significant development of the detached house since the
+Picturesque period.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 26. W. R. Emerson: Mount Desert, Maine, house, 1879, plan
+]
+
+One of the first mature examples of the Shingle Style, a house built by
+Emerson on Mount Desert in Maine in 1879, well illustrates the
+virtuosity of the new planning (Figure 26). Rooms of varied shape and
+size are loosely grouped about the hall and open freely into one
+another. The various levels of the different areas are related to the
+landing levels of the elaborate staircase. Above all, it should be noted
+that the verandas are not mere adjuncts or afterthoughts, as they were
+even on Richardson’s Andrews house, but major elements, both space-wise
+and visually, of the whole composition. Such houses parallel in their
+three-dimensional complexity the massing of the Italian Villas of the
+earlier nineteenth-century decades with their loggias, pergolas, and
+prospect towers, yet they bear little or no visual resemblance to them,
+since the later houses are always much more sculpturally plastic and
+less articulated in composition. The windows are generally of
+double-hung small-paned sashes of a type at once Queen Anne and
+Colonial, but they are frequently grouped in the Shavian way, as well as
+being ingeniously placed in order to vary the internal lighting effects,
+so that the pattern of fenestration is not at all of an
+eighteenth-century order.
+
+Richardson certainly did not initiate the Shingle Style; but he took it
+over in 1880 and made it very much his own, using it for all his later
+country and suburban houses. Dropping all detail, whether Richardsonian
+Romanesque, Shavian Manorial, Queen Anne, or American Colonial, he
+retained much of the ease and casualness of Shaw’s best early houses.
+But there is also a great deal of similarity to the simple massive
+effects of the old Colonial houses also. Spiritually, so to say, if not
+so much visually, Richardson’s shingled houses most resemble Webb’s best
+work; of these Richardson presumably had no knowledge, although it is
+just possible that he might have seen some when he was in England in
+1882, well after the Shingle Style was fully established.
+
+Richardson’s Stoughton house in Brattle Street in Cambridge, Mass., of
+1882-3 is perhaps his best shingled one, at least in the relatively
+untouched form in which it, almost alone, alas, has come down to us
+(Plate 124B). It certainly shows little evidence of the interest that he
+is known to have taken in Burges’s and Shaw’s work while he was abroad
+just before this. The entrance, originally, was through the loggia
+recessed into the main mass of the house (it is now from Ash Street on
+the left). The living-hall extends, as in the Sherman house, from front
+to back and the stairs sweep up in a quarter-circle over the entrance.
+The drawing room at the corner and the dining room behind the loggia
+both open into the hall through wide doors; only the small library is
+isolated from the general flow of space. Externally, the shingled
+surfaces, broken only by banks of double-hung windows, model the complex
+mass into a unified composition, the almost submerged stair-tower
+successfully linking the two gabled wings at right angles to one another
+by its rounded form. There is no ornament of any sort, and the weathered
+grey of the shingles is varied only by the dark-green paint of the
+window sash.
+
+McKim, Mead & White’s houses of the early eighties, several of them
+equally fine, are usually rather more elaborate in their massing and are
+likely to be enlivened with much imaginative detail.[341] Some of the
+detail recalls this or that style of the past, but all of it is
+thoroughly personalized by White’s delicate hand. One of their best
+houses is the one for Isaac Bell, Jr, built in 1881-2 in Bellevue Avenue
+in Newport, R.I. (Plate #126:pl126). This is less unified externally
+than the Stoughton house but more open in plan (Figure 27). A wide
+veranda, with very elegant bamboo-like supports, extends around two
+fronts, expanding into a two-storeyed open pavilion on the right. This
+pavilion provides a semicircular void to balance the round tower at the
+rear left corner. The patterns of the original cut shingles on this
+house, although obviously suggested by English tiling, are much softer
+and more graceful, almost bringing to mind birds’ plumage.
+
+Inside, the hall is articulated by a wide ingle-nook, rather dark and
+low, in sharpest contrast to the great flight of stairs beyond down
+which floods light from the window-wall at the half landing.
+Twenty-five-foot sliding doors, hung from above, make it possible to
+open the drawing room through almost its entire length into the hall.
+The Bell dining room, connecting at its end through French windows with
+the curved portion of the veranda, has some of the finest of White’s
+orientalizing detail. This is much more original than that in the new
+library he decorated at this time in the Sherman house or the dining
+room he added to Upjohn’s Kingscote, both also in Newport.
+
+McKim, Mead & White’s slightly earlier H. Victor Newcomb house of 1880-1
+in Elberon, N.J., is at once clumsier and more Shavian externally than
+the Bell house; but the spatial treatment of the living-hall is most
+original and very significant for later developments (Plate 125A). The
+main rectangular space, of which the shape is emphasized by the ceiling
+beams and by the abstract geometrical pattern of the floor, seems to
+flow out in various directions into other rooms and into several bays
+and nooks; but the actual room-space is sharply defined by a continuous
+frieze-like member that becomes an open wooden grille above the various
+openings. There can be little question that the major influence here is
+from the Japanese[342] interior, but from the Japanese interior
+understood as architecture. This is not just a superficial matter of
+Nesfieldian _japonisme_ such as White was employing so much in his
+ornament in these years. The Kingscote dining room has somewhat similar
+spatial qualities but more eclectic detailing and richer materials:
+marble, Tiffany glass tiles, cork panels, stained glass, etc.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 27. McKim, Mead & White: Newport, R.I., Isaac Bell, Jr, house,
+ 1881-2, plan
+]
+
+In 1879 Cyrus McCormick had his Chicago mansion built by the local
+architect Adolph Cudell (1850-1910) and his partner Blumenthal in the
+form of a very corrupt Second Empire _hôtel particulier_. It is good
+evidence of the rapidity with which taste changed at this time that two
+years later he called on McKim, Mead & White to build for him in
+Richfield Springs, N.Y., one of the finest and most carefully composed
+of all their Shingle Style houses. This house is notable not only for
+the subtly Japanese character of the various sorts of veranda supports
+but even more for the way the composition is unified under the broad
+front gable by the long horizontal line of the veranda roof repeating
+that of the stylobate-like stone wall of the terrace below. It is most
+unfortunate that this house is now in a state of near-collapse.
+
+Little’s contemporary Shingleside House of 1881 in Swampscott, Mass.,
+has been mentioned already. Soberer than the Bell or the McCormick
+houses in its rectangular shape and almost total lack of exterior
+detail, this had a galleried two-storey hall with a window-wall as the
+principal living area. In the combining of different levels this house
+recalled a little Cloverley Hall, but it was completely Americanized in
+scale and in detail without being archaeologically Neo-Colonial.
+
+By the mid eighties J. Lyman Silsbee (1848-1913) had introduced the
+Shingle Style to Chicago, and other Eastern architects were building
+good houses of this order in such Western towns as Cheyenne, Idaho;
+Colorado Springs, Colorado; and Pasadena, California. In Philadelphia
+Wilson Eyre (1858-1944) developed the mode with a very characteristic
+personal difference, often eschewing the use of shingles. If his
+exteriors are rather English in their frequent use of brick and real
+half-timbering, his plans are most original. The long rooms of varied
+and irregular shape are strung out on either side of halls from which
+rise stairs within grilled enclosures of a sort that appeared in England
+only in the houses of the nineties by Voysey and his contemporaries.
+
+The heyday of the Shingle Style was brief, even though it continued in
+use well down into the nineties. The Colonial Revival implications,
+present from the first, soon encouraged more and more comprehensive use
+of eighteenth-century detail, and this supported the general tendency of
+the mid eighties in America away from the irregular and towards more
+formal order (see Chapter 13). Something of this change could be seen in
+Richardson’s latest houses in masonry such as the Glessner house of
+1885-7 at 18th Street and South Prairie Avenue in Chicago, which still
+stands, and the contemporary Mac Veagh house, long since destroyed, also
+in Chicago, both of which were almost symmetrical as regards their front
+façades. The most drastic examples, of course, of this Academic Reaction
+were such houses as McKim, Mead & White’s Villard group in New York
+(Plate 109B) and their H. A. C. Taylor house in Newport with its formal
+Anglo-Palladian plan of central hall and four corner rooms. Despite its
+even tighter plan, however, their extant W. G. Low house in Bristol,
+R.I., of 1887—a year later therefore than the demolished Taylor
+house—can properly be cited again as a masterpiece of the Shingle Style
+(Plate 127). This illustrates very well how the loose massing of the
+houses of the early eighties could be organized into a carefully
+balanced composition without succumbing to any historical mode of
+design, whether Italian Renaissance or American Colonial.
+
+Particularly interesting in this connexion are the small houses at
+Tuxedo Park, N.Y., which Price designed for Pierre Lorillard in 1885-6,
+some years before he began to build Renaissance skyscrapers (see Chapter
+14). Lorillard’s own house has a rather tight plan of the Neo-Colonial
+sort; but the exterior with its paired chimneys on the front, a
+Richardsonian entrance arch between them, and the verandas and terrace
+treated as voids carefully related to the solid mass behind is still in
+the earlier tradition (Plate 125B). In such other houses by Price at
+Tuxedo as those for William Kent and Travis C. Van Buren, the loose open
+plans of the immediately preceding years were organized into T and X
+patterns, and the verandas and terraces were even more formally treated
+as important elements in compositions made up of well-defined voids and
+solids (Figure 28).
+
+This brings us to the beginning of the career of Frank Lloyd Wright,
+already introduced as an important coadjutor of Sullivan from 1887 to
+1893. Although Wright’s mature career begins only about 1900 (see
+Chapter 19), his apprentice years as a builder of houses provide a very
+significant episode that is closely related to the earlier story of the
+nineteenth-century house in England and America. By the late eighties a
+full-dress Colonial Revival was under way in the East. But it was the
+particular combination of freedom and order that had been achieved by
+Richardson in his latest houses, by McKim, Mead & White in their Low
+house, and by Price in his Tuxedo houses which was the immediate
+tradition from which Wright’s domestic architecture grew far more than
+the work of Sullivan.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 28. Bruce Price: Tuxedo Park, N.Y., Tower House, 1885-6
+]
+
+Born in 1867, Wright had had some two years in the Engineering
+School—there was no architectural school—at the University of Wisconsin
+when he came to Chicago at the age of twenty in 1887. He first found
+work in the office of Silsbee whom Wright’s uncle Jenkin Lloyd Jones had
+brought to Chicago a year or two earlier to design All Souls’ Unitarian
+Church, of which he was minister. The young architect’s first work,
+nominally a Silsbee commission, was the Hillside Home School built in
+1887 for his aunts near Spring Green, Wisconsin. This was a rather
+provincial specimen of a Shingle Style house and was later demolished by
+Wright himself.
+
+Shifting over the following year to the Adler & Sullivan office, Wright
+by 1889 was married and ready to build a house for himself on the
+strength of a five-year contract with his new employers. This house, at
+428 Forest Avenue in Oak Park, Ill., still extant but much pulled about,
+derives almost entirely from Price’s cottages at Tuxedo except that the
+plan is much less formal. In the interior, the wide openings between the
+rooms are not framed by architraves but seem to have been produced by
+pulling back the walls beneath the continuous frieze. In this treatment,
+rather Japanese in concept, Wright would seem to have been influenced by
+White’s handling of the hall of the Newcomb house, even though that is
+rather Japanese also in some of the detailing and Wright’s is not.
+
+Wright’s next important work is the James Charnley house at 1365 Astor
+Street in Chicago, built in 1891-2. This was actually a commission of
+the Adler & Sullivan firm, but one of which he had entire charge. A city
+house built of tawny Roman brick like that used for the court of the
+Boston Public Library, this is as formal[343] as anything McKim, Mead &
+White had yet designed. But there is no High Renaissance or Colonial
+reminiscence whatever in the external detailing. The Charnley house is
+rather a conscientious attempt to emulate in a modest three-storey
+residence the highly original design of Sullivan’s newly completed
+Wainwright Building in Saint Louis.
+
+Wright was also accepting various private commissions on the side,
+mostly very small ones, by this time. The George Blossom house of 1892
+at 4858 Kenwood Avenue on the south side of Chicago, however, is of more
+consequence. Externally, this follows rather closely McKim, Mead &
+White’s Taylor house in the curved Ionic entrance porch and the
+recurrent Palladian windows, not to speak of the use of yellow-painted
+clapboards and white-painted trim of simplified academic character. Even
+the plan is for the most part symmetrically ordered. But behind the
+formal range of entrance lobby and two small corner rooms at the front
+the whole centre of the house opens up as a single great living-hall. In
+this living-hall a wide ingle-nook is lined up on axis with the
+entrance, the elaborate staircase rises in several flights across one
+end, and wide openings connect with the library and the dining room. The
+dining room, which ends in a curved bay with a continuous window-band,
+is almost a copy of the original library of Richardson’s Sherman house.
+In another Wright house of 1892, that for A. W. Harlan, also on the
+south side of Chicago, at 4414 Greenwood Avenue, which Sullivan happened
+to see, he recognized his assistant’s hand and this brought about the
+break between the two before Wright’s contract ran out.
+
+When Wright set up for himself in 1893 there were two paths open to him.
+That he actually considered following the path of Academic Reaction, so
+heavily publicized by the success of the World’s Fair, is evident from
+his project of this year for a Library and Museum in Milwaukee (see
+Chapter 13). But when Burnham at this point offered to send Wright to
+Paris to study at the École des Beaux-Arts and then to the new American
+Academy which he and McKim were planning to start in Rome, in
+preparation for taking him on as designing partner, the young architect
+turned the opportunity down.
+
+The W. H. Winslow house of 1893 in Auvergne Place in River Forest, Ill.,
+always considered by Wright his ‘first’, shares many qualities with the
+Blossom and Harlan houses, but is altogether a much more mature and
+original work (Plate 128A). The front is completely symmetrical and as
+formal as that of the Charnley house of two years before.[344] Broad and
+low, of fine Roman brickwork with a rich band of moulded terracotta the
+full depth of the upper-storey windows below the wide eaves, the general
+effect of this has usually been considered very Sullivanian. But as
+Wright himself was responsible for the Adler & Sullivan work that this
+house most resembles—the Charnley house, certainly; and the Victoria
+Hotel of 1892 at Chicago Heights, probably—it is more accurate to
+consider that the Winslow house represents a continuation of his own
+manner of the previous year or two. The plan is more axial and less open
+than that of the Blossom house, the still rather Richardsonian dining
+room with its rounded bay being placed here at the centre of the rear.
+The staircase, still so prominent in the Shingle Style way at the
+Blossom house, is here pushed out of sight between walls.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 29. Frank Lloyd Wright: Chicago, Isidore Heller house, 1897,
+ plan
+]
+
+Wright’s next important house, that of 1897 for Isidore Heller at 5132
+Woodlawn Avenue on the south side of Chicago, perhaps shows some
+Japanese[345] influence in the succession of eaves-lines, one above the
+other. It is the development of the plan, however, that is most
+significant, as also the effect of the planning on the treatment of the
+exterior (Figure 29). The two principal living rooms are linked by a
+stair-hall into which they both open through wide apertures—no more mere
+doorways than in his own house of 1889, but tall breaks in the
+continuity of the walls. Although these rooms have ingle-nooks, they are
+not casual and cosy in the Shingle Style way but carefully ordered;
+both, indeed, are of regular cruciform shape. This shape, moreover, is
+given external expression in the plastic articulation of the external
+massing, an articulation that the multiple eaves echo above.
+
+Two years later, in the Joseph W. Husser house, now destroyed, in Buena
+Park on the north side of Chicago, Wright’s personal development of
+domestic planning was carried much farther (Figure 30). Here the main
+living rooms were all raised to the first storey in order to have a good
+view of Lake Michigan, and the interior space was continued
+uninterrupted along the main axis of the house from the dining-room
+fireplace across the landing and through to the living-room fireplace.
+But the dining room was also articulated along a cross axis, extending
+outward into a large polygonal bay facing the lake, somewhat like the
+more Richardsonian bays of the Blossom and Winslow dining rooms.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 30. Frank Lloyd Wright: Chicago, J. W. Husser house, 1899, plan
+]
+
+Between the two houses just described, in which Wright’s planning
+developed so rapidly and so boldly towards unified but articulated
+space, came the River Forest Golf Club in River Forest, Ill. The front
+wing of this, built in 1898,[346] showed a comparable maturing of his
+vocabulary of wooden construction. The two Chicago houses were both of
+brick with rather lush Sullivanian terracotta decoration below the eaves
+not unlike that on the Schiller Building. At the Golf Club the
+characteristic feeling of the Shingle Style for rough natural wood
+surfaces was revived by Wright but made more architectonic in scale.
+Below continuous window bands protected by his characteristic hovering
+eaves, the lower walls and the terrace parapets were sheathed with
+boards and battens, not applied vertically as by Downing, but
+horizontally. Uncovered terrace, covered veranda, glazed foyer, all were
+closely related spatial areas, the last two unified by the continuous
+roof. The only solid element was the broad stone chimney marking the
+point where the main axis and the subsidiary axis of the low side-wings
+crossed. In 1901 the building was much enlarged by Wright, but quite in
+the original spirit (Plate 128B).
+
+In 1900, the last year of the nineteenth century, with which this
+account of Wright’s beginnings may properly close, he built two houses
+side by side in Kankakee, Ill. He also designed for the _Ladies Home
+Journal_ ‘A Home in a Prairie Town’ which was published in February
+1901. The larger of the two Kankakee houses, that for B. Harley Bradley
+at 701 South Harrison Avenue, is a large, loosely cruciform composition
+with low-pitched gables projecting in blunt points well beyond the ends
+of the wings. The smaller Hickox house, next door at 687 South Harrison
+Avenue, has a more advanced plan under similar roofs. Wood stripping
+suggests the stud structure underneath the stucco of the walls as do
+also, and rather more directly, the wooden window mullions (Plate 142A).
+The living room here, flanked by semi-octagonal music and dining rooms,
+extends across the ‘garden front’ and opens by french doors on to the
+uncovered terrace (Figure 31). Here the articulated but unified space of
+the Husser house was reduced in scale and simplified until it provided a
+quite new concept of domestic planning, later to be widely influential
+internationally (see Chapter 22). Towards that new concept much of the
+development of the Anglo-American house since as far back as the 1790s
+may seem—not too exaggeratedly—to have been tending.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 31. Frank Lloyd Wright: Kankakee, Ill., Warren Hickox house,
+ 1900, plan
+]
+
+The _Ladies Home Journal_ project for a ‘House in a Prairie Town’, from
+which the term ‘Prairie Houses’ for Wright’s characteristic production
+of the next decade derives, is larger than the Hickox house, but the
+living area was intended to be very similarly unified and articulated.
+In one version Wright even proposed carrying this space up two storeys
+in the centre, somewhat like one of Shaw’s manorial halls. As on the
+River Forest Golf Club, the long lines of the low hip roofs shelter very
+long window-bands—out of Shaw, via Richardson, presumably. Although the
+_Ladies Home Journal_ house was intended to be stuccoed like the
+Kankakee houses, the window mullions echo the underlying wooden stud
+structure. As at the Golf Club, the chimneys would be the only really
+solid elements, passing up through the crossing volumes defined by the
+two levels of roof. The lower line of eaves extends, somewhat as on
+McKim, Mead & White’s McCormick house, over the _porte-cochère_ on one
+side and over the veranda on the other, a treatment Wright had already
+tried out somewhat clumsily on the Bradley house.
+
+In considering the significance of these Wright houses of 1900 it must
+be recognized that even in America they were highly exceptional. Despite
+the fact that the ‘Prairie house’ project was published in a general
+magazine of national circulation, its immediate influence was very
+slight indeed. For all the vigour of the two great Chicago achievements
+of the nineties, Sullivan’s skyscrapers and Wright’s earliest houses,
+the main direction of American architecture in 1900 was quite different.
+So also in the England of these years, where Shaw’s house for Fred White
+and his Bryanston had introduced by the nineties almost the same sort of
+Academic Revival as had McKim, Mead & White’s Villard and Taylor houses,
+the work of Voysey, the English architect most comparable to Wright, was
+also almost as exceptional. The line of architectural development had
+already split as sharply as in America, with the difference that the
+longer-lived Shaw himself had taken the lead in the academic direction
+that Richardson’s pupils, McKim and White, took in America.
+
+Although Charles Francis Annesley Voysey (1857-1941)[347] was ten years
+older than Wright, it is understandable with English conditions that his
+architectural career got under way little earlier. From 1874 to 1880 he
+worked as a pupil in the office of Seddon; from 1880 until he set up for
+himself in 1882 he was assistant to Devey.[348] In 1883 Voysey sold his
+first designs for wallpapers and printed fabrics, but for several more
+years he did little building. His first house, The Cottage at Bishop’s
+Itchington in Warwickshire, was built only in 1888; in the next two
+years various projects of his, increasingly original in character, were
+published in the _British Architect_; of these the one for a house[349]
+at Dovercourt of 1890 was the most advanced.
+
+By the late eighties Nesfield and Godwin were both dead and leadership
+in English architecture, particularly as regards the domestic field,
+rested more firmly than ever in Shaw’s hands. The forces of innovation
+in English art were concentrated in the decorative field, thanks in part
+to Webb’s continuing activities with the Morris firm. But there is some
+question how well younger men like Voysey really knew Webb’s
+architectural work; almost none of it was published, and some of the
+best is hidden in remote parts of Scotland and the North of England. The
+work of A. H. Mackmurdo (1851-1942) was perhaps somewhat better known,
+but he was much more active with furniture, chintzes, and wallpapers
+than with building in the eighties. A project for a ‘House for an
+Artist’ that he published in his magazine _The Hobby Horse_ in 1888 was
+of considerable promise, however. In any case Voysey soon rivalled
+Mackmurdo as a designer of furniture, wallpapers, and chintzes, and
+quite outclassed him as an architect. Mackmurdo’s most significant
+influence was probably abroad (see Chapter 16).
+
+The existence of an earlier project dated 1888 for Voysey’s house for J.
+W. Forster at Bedford Park has led to some confusion. The executed house
+dates from 1891. Sometimes known as the Grey House, it is very different
+indeed from its neighbours, by this time some fifteen or more years old,
+by Godwin, Shaw, and their pupils. For one thing, its walls are covered
+with roughcast, already used by Voysey on The Cottage at Bishop’s
+Itchington; for another, it is a three-storey rectangular box, severe
+and rather formal beneath its low hipped roof, not quaint and irregular
+like even the simplest of the earlier houses. The casement windows are
+arranged in bands between stone mullions, regularly but not
+symmetrically, and the eaves troughs are supported by delicately curved
+iron brackets. Otherwise there is no external detail.
+
+The plan of the Forster house is also compact and regular, with entrance
+on the left side and living room across the front. In other words this
+house represents as much of a reaction against the picturesqueness of
+the earlier Queen Anne as does Shaw’s Fred White house, yet is quite
+without eighteenth-century reminiscence.[350]
+
+More interesting and more prominent than the contemporary
+storey-and-a-half house known as The Studio at 17 St Dunstan’s Road in
+West Kensington are a pair of terrace-houses, also designed in 1891 but
+begun only the next year, at 14-16 Hans Road off the Brompton Road in
+London. Here Voysey dropped the roughcast he had originally proposed and
+used Webb-like red brickwork with the windows characteristically
+arranged in bands between plain stone mullions. The elegantly original
+detailing of the projecting stone porches and the curved line of the
+parapets at the top are related to his contemporary decorative work and
+in notable contrast to the almost ‘Monumental Queen Anne’ treatment of
+Mackmurdo’s slightly later house next door at No. 12.
+
+A moderate-sized country house, Perrycroft, Colwall, near Malvern, begun
+in 1893, may be considered Voysey’s first mature production, introducing
+in executed work the personal mode of design for which the Ward project
+of 1890 had already shown the way, and from which he never moved very
+far in later years. This is comparable, not to Wright’s ‘first’ house in
+River Forest of the same date, but to his more advanced work of the end
+of the decade, the River Forest Golf Club and the Hickox house.
+Roughcast walls, windows arranged in bands between plain mullions,[351]
+a regular composition approaching but not quite reaching symmetry, these
+all follow from the Grey House and the Studio. But, being in the
+country, the house could spread out more. Moreover, the roofs were
+raised to a medieval pitch—45 degrees—so that their conspicuously heavy
+slating is as much a part of Voysey’s simple craftsman-like mode as are
+the off-white roughcast walls. The planning is closer to Webb’s than to
+Wright’s, the rooms being less symmetrically shaped and not opening at
+all into one another in the way of the Ward project.
+
+A rather larger house, begun in 1896 on the Hog’s Back near Guildford in
+Surrey for the American Julian Sturgis, presumptive original of
+Santayana’s _Last Puritan_, has a somewhat less balanced composition
+with a prominent cross gable near one end (Plate 129A). The
+characteristic stone-mullioned lights of several of the rooms are here
+so extensive in their grouping as to constitute window-walls of the
+earlier Shavian sort.
+
+In what is doubtless Voysey’s finest work, Broadleys on Lake Windermere,
+designed in 1898, the roofs are lower once more, and the window-walls
+are concentrated in three rounded bays along the lakeside terrace (Plate
+129B). Here the hall in the middle is carried up two storeys, quite as
+Wright proposed to do in one version of his first _Ladies Home Journal_
+house (Figure 32). In its horizontality, its concentration of
+fenestration, and its avoidance of medieval feeling, this house
+represents the extreme point of innovation and originality in Voysey’s
+work.
+
+His own house, The Orchard, at Chorley Wood in Hertfordshire, was
+completed in 1900. Externally this resembles closely his earlier houses,
+but The Orchard has two cross gables and hence a stronger feeling of
+symmetry. Towards this the more regular and carefully balanced spacing
+of the window bands further conduces. In studying the vocabulary of this
+house, a vocabulary destined to be parodied _ad infinitum_ by architects
+and then by builders in the next twenty-five years, one can understand
+his feeling that he was a reformer not an innovator—the last disciple of
+Pugin, so to say, to whose secular work a line can be traced back via
+Webb, Street, and Butterfield. In Voysey’s special sense of continuity,
+which grew on him in later years, lies his great difference from Wright;
+for Wright was certainly determined, from the time he designed the
+Winslow house, to be as great an innovator—as much of an architectural
+creator—as was Sullivan in his skyscrapers. None the less, to look
+forward a little, such a house by Voysey as that now called Little Court
+at Pyrford Common in Surrey, built in 1902, is quite worthy of
+comparison with Wright’s masterpieces of that year (see Chapter 19). It
+shows little further development beyond his houses of the late nineties,
+however, except for a certain increase in horizontal emphasis.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 32. C. F. A. Voysey: Lake Windermere, Broadleys, 1898-9, plan
+]
+
+Just before and just after 1900, Voysey’s work was very much better
+known and more influential in England, and increasingly in other
+countries,[352] than was Wright’s either at home or abroad at that time.
+Moreover, many contemporaries in England were building rather similar
+houses. One of them, M. H. Baillie Scott (1865-1945), who also worked a
+good deal on the Continent, developed his planning much farther in the
+direction of Wright-like openness along the lines suggested by Voysey’s
+project of 1890 for the Ward house. The many houses, both executed and
+projected, that Baillie Scott published in _Houses and Gardens_ in 1906
+made his planning known to the young architects of the Continent (Figure
+33). Characteristic is his Blackwell house on Lake Windermere of about
+1900 with an enormous two-storey living-hall elaborated spatially by
+various ingle-nooks and so forth. The plan was published by Muthesius in
+1904, and may well have influenced Adolf Loos in Vienna and other
+Europeans even before his own book appeared (see Chapters 20 and 21).
+After 1906 Baillie Scott’s work became quite ‘traditional’, and it is
+hard to believe that the projects published in the later version of his
+_Houses and Gardens_ in 1933 are by the same man.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 33. M. H. Baillie Scott: Trevista, _c._ 1905, plan
+]
+
+The name of W. R. Lethaby (1857-1931), later the biographer of Webb and
+an influential writer on architecture, should also be at least mentioned
+here. When Lethaby left Shaw’s office, where he had been chief
+assistant, he began his career by building Avon Tyrrell in Hampshire in
+1891, a large brick country house closer to Webb’s than to Shaw’s in
+character. But his main contribution was not in the field of domestic
+architecture.[353]
+
+Already by the mid nineties, the most successful English house-builder,
+more than rivalling Voysey in the quantity and occasionally even in the
+quality of his domestic work, was Sir Edwin L. Lutyens (1869-1944).
+Beginning like Voysey in the late eighties by building cottages, his
+first house of real distinction was the one he built for his cousin and
+frequent collaborator, the garden-designer Gertrude Jekyll, at Munstead
+Wood near Godalming in 1896. Several other good houses followed shortly,
+including notably The Orchards, Godalming, in 1898; but this early
+period of his work really culminates in Deanery Gardens at Sonning in
+Berkshire of 1901 (Plate 182B). In these houses are preserved all the
+best of the Shavian Manorial—the great timber-framed bay-window of the
+two-storeyed hall at Deanery Gardens is exemplary—simplifying and
+regularizing that mode under the influence of Webb and even approaching
+Webb’s standards of craftsmanship in the execution.
+
+Like Webb in his later work, Lutyens used almost from the first a good
+deal of stylistic detail in interiors; he also turned back towards the
+‘traditional’ in his exteriors considerably earlier than Baillie Scott
+when designing such houses as Overstrand Hall in Norfolk and Tigbourne
+Court at Witley in Surrey, both built in 1899 two years before Deanery
+Gardens. Lutyens became from about 1906 the leading architect of his
+generation in England, and his later work will be treated elsewhere (see
+Chapter 24). His increasing material success after the opening years of
+the century, rivalling Shaw’s in the previous generation, is to a
+certain extent the measure, though not the cause, of Voysey’s decline in
+popularity.
+
+C. R. Ashbee (1863-1942) and George Walton (1867-1933)[354] were other
+domestic architects active in the nineties and the early years of the
+new century. The latter belongs to the Glasgow School, of which
+Mackintosh was the principal figure, and like Mackintosh he was more
+decorator than architect (see Chapter 17). One house in England, The
+Leys at Elstree of 1901, may be mentioned here. The interiors are fine
+examples of the Arts and Crafts mode, as it is sometimes called, more
+stylized than Voysey’s but less original than Mackintosh’s. The plan is
+organized symmetrically around a large two-storey hall rivalling Baillie
+Scott’s of the period in its complex spatial development.
+
+Ashbee was one of the first Europeans to appreciate the significance of
+Wright, and was appropriately chosen by Wasmuth to write the
+introduction to his second publication of Wright’s work in 1911 (see
+Chapter 19). Three houses by Ashbee side by side in Cheyne Walk in
+London, No. 37 of 1894 and Nos 38-39 of 1904, represent the
+chronological span of his significant architectural production and
+illustrate clearly his characteristic progress from the Shavian to an
+originality at least comparable to Voysey’s. Closely associated with the
+Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society, Ashbee was like most of these men
+except Voysey[355] and Lutyens generally more active in the field of
+decorative art than in building. Right through this period English
+decorative art exercised a major influence on the Continent (see
+Chapters 16 and 17). So close is Mackintosh’s tie with the Continent
+that his schools and even his houses are better discussed in relation to
+the Art Nouveau.
+
+Of all these English architects who have just been mentioned, Voysey was
+the most creative in the field of domestic architecture and, except for
+Lutyens, the most productive down at least through the early years of
+the twentieth century; after 1910 he built almost nothing at all. Yet
+Voysey did not die until 1941, by which time a younger generation, to
+his confusion, had accepted him as a father of a modern architecture
+that he disapproved as strongly as did Lutyens. In 1940 he returned
+almost from the grave to receive the Gold Medal of the Royal Institute
+of British Architects.
+
+From the Picturesque cottages of the opening decades of the nineteenth
+century to the early masterpieces of Wright and Voysey around 1900 is a
+far cry, further perhaps in the drastic revision that it represented of
+so old-established a building type as the dwelling-house than from
+Parris’s Market Street buildings in Boston of 1824 to Sullivan’s Carson,
+Pirie & Scott Store in Chicago as completed eighty years later in 1904.
+Yet in Anglo-American domestic architecture, quite as was the case with
+commercial architecture, real achievement recurred all through the
+century.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ PART THREE
+
+ 1890-1955
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 16
+ THE BEGINNINGS OF THE ART NOUVEAU: VICTOR HORTA
+
+
+THE two preceding chapters, in entering the nineties, crossed what is
+perhaps the major historical frontier within the century and a half
+covered by this book. The skyscrapers of Sullivan and the early houses
+of Wright and Voysey—despite Voysey’s own disavowal of modernism—are
+among the first major manifestations of the period of architectural
+history that extends down to and includes our own time. The
+contemporaries of these men who were the new leaders on the Continent in
+the nineties had as sharp a sense of the novelty of the innovations they
+were making as did Sullivan or Wright, and the most characteristic
+stylistic formulation of this decade in Europe was appropriately known
+from an early date[356] as ‘Art Nouveau’. Before discussing the Art
+Nouveau itself, two related developments that precede it must be
+considered at least briefly. In France, various feats of metal
+construction of the sixties, seventies, and eighties had prepared the
+way for the Art Nouveau on the technical side, and these have, moreover,
+considerable intrinsic interest in their own right. English innovations
+in decorative art of the eighties and nineties are accepted by most
+historians as providing one of the most important immediate sources of
+the Art Nouveau,[357] and English architecture and architectural theory
+of the later decades of the nineteenth century certainly offered a
+generic stimulus to Europeans between 1890 and 1910 that was of vital
+consequence to subsequent developments.
+
+By the early nineties advanced English work began to be widely known on
+the Continent. In 1888 the German architect Alexander Koch (1848-1911)
+started to publish annually his _Academy Architecture_ bringing current
+English production, and many significant projects also, to the attention
+of designers abroad. _L’Architecture moderne en Angleterre_ by the
+French architect Paul Sédille (1836-1900) appeared in Paris in 1890. The
+architect Hermann Muthesius (1861-1927), who was stationed at the German
+Embassy in London from 1896 to 1903 primarily to study low-cost housing,
+issued two folio volumes devoted to _Die englische Baukunst der
+Gegenwart_ in 1900-2, another on _Die neuere kirchliche Baukunst in
+England_ in 1902 and, in 1904-5, three thick quarto volumes on _Das
+englische Haus_. These richly illustrated books made much of the story
+of the development of English architecture in the second half of the
+century available in German long before it was pieced together by the
+English (see Chapters 12 and 15).
+
+Voysey never worked abroad; but his houses, known internationally from
+an early date thanks to their publication in the _Studio_, an English
+periodical founded in 1893, were soon much studied on the Continent, and
+to a lesser extent in America. Voysey’s contemporaries Baillie Scott and
+Charles Rennie Mackintosh (1868-1928), however, both received foreign
+commissions as early as 1898; in fact, Mackintosh and his highly
+original ideas—he was no Voyseyan ‘reformer’ but a very bold
+innovator—received more support abroad than at home and were much more
+influential on the Continent than in Great Britain.
+
+Historians of modern architecture have generally emphasized, and
+rightly, the special importance of the advances in metal
+construction[358] that were made in France in the later decades of the
+nineteenth century. The great name of the period is not that of an
+architect but of an engineer, Gustave Eiffel (1832-1923). At the
+International Exhibition of 1855 in Paris and again at the World’s Fair
+of 1893 in Chicago the vast metal-and-glass structures were masked
+externally by real or imitated masonry façades. Between these dates,
+however, came a series of French exhibition buildings that were
+increasingly bold in scale and frank in design; with the construction of
+most of them Eiffel was directly concerned. Yet his bridge over the
+Douro at Oporto in Portugal of 1876-7 quite overshadowed the Galerie des
+Machines that he and Krantz built for the Paris Exhibition of 1867, as
+his later Pont de Garabit of 1880-4 outclassed the pavilion that he
+designed for the Exhibition of 1878 and that portion of the Bon Marché
+Department Store on which he collaborated in 1876 with the younger
+Boileau. In the exhibition buildings the metalwork was completely
+exposed and in that of 1878[359] a serious attempt was made to develop
+appropriate embellishments, quite as Wyatt had done for Brunel at
+Paddington Station in London twenty-five years earlier. The rather
+tawdry result helps to explain why innovations in architectural design
+had so little public support in France in this period—a period, of
+course, when the bold innovations of the Impressionists were
+revolutionizing another art in Paris.
+
+Beside Eiffel’s gallery, the Anglo-Japanese room[360] which Whistler and
+Godwin showed at this same exhibition must have seemed infinitely
+sophisticated, and even the Late Stuart detailing of the cement-brick
+front of Shaw’s Jury House most agreeably urbane. Such things might well
+have turned the attention of foreign architects towards England earlier
+than was generally the case. Sédille, one of the less tradition-bound
+French professionals of this period, did visit England in the eighties,
+publishing his book on current English architecture, which has just been
+mentioned, ten years before Muthesius’s. His selections, however, were
+not very discriminating, nor is there evidence that he profited much
+from what he saw. The Printemps department store of 1881-9, designed of
+course well before his trip, certainly shows no English influence.
+
+For the Paris Exhibition of 1889[361] Eiffel early proposed and, in
+1887, was commissioned to build the tremendous all-metal tower[362]
+which still dominates Paris (Plate 130A). As has been noted, this
+984-foot edifice was, down to the erection of the Empire State Building
+in New York by Shreve, Lamb & Harmon more than forty years later, the
+tallest structure in the world. The Eiffel Tower, which appropriately
+carries its designer’s name, is no more a building in the ordinary sense
+than are his great bridges, however. Although scraping so much higher
+skies than did Holabird & Roche’s Tacoma Building in Chicago, which was
+erected in precisely the same years, the Paris tower was far less
+significant either technically or functionally. Except the painter
+Seurat, most contemporaries disliked it, considering it a monstrous
+blemish on the Parisian skyline; today of course, it is rightly deemed a
+nineteenth-century masterpiece, but a masterpiece of engineering rather
+than of architecture.
+
+As with Eiffel’s pavilion at the Exhibition of 1878, there is
+considerable ambiguity in the design of the Eiffel Tower. Seen from a
+distance its four legs have much of the vigorous spring of his bridges
+and the tapered shaft of criss-crossed metalwork seems—but in fact is
+not—an almost inevitable expression of large-scale construction in
+metal. Seen from nearer to, however, the arbitrarily arched forms that
+link the legs are very conspicuous and also the coarse ornamentation of
+curvilinear strapwork—recalling a little Wyatt’s at Paddington Station
+of nearly forty years before, but much less just in scale—with which the
+basic forms are bedecked. The close similarity of this mixture of frank
+construction and applied decoration to the Art Nouveau approach to the
+design of metal structures will shortly become evident. Over-impressed,
+perhaps, by the more functional engineering feat of construction at the
+1889 Exhibition provided by the wide-spanned metal-and-glass Palais des
+Machines of the engineers Contamin (1840-93), Pierron, and Charton—in
+which the contribution of the associated architect C.-L.-F. Dutert
+(1845-1906) was relatively unimportant—certain later critics have
+preferred that structure to the Eiffel Tower. Yet it is the tower which
+clearly has more of the magnificence of Eiffel’s bridges despite its
+irrelevant and (from a distance) almost invisible ornamentation. The
+tower, moreover, is premonitory of the Art Nouveau; the Galerie des
+Machines rather of later modern architecture (see Chapters 20 and 22).
+
+One other line of innovation in France in these decades deserves
+mention. In 1871 Jules Saulnier built a factory for Chocolat Menier near
+Paris at Noisiel, S.-et-M., with an exposed metal skeleton. The iron
+frame consists of diagonally set members rather similar to the late
+medieval timber-framing of France, and the infilling of the panels is of
+varicoloured bricks and tiles. This structure attracted the attention of
+Viollet-le-Duc, who saw in it a realization of certain of his
+theoretical ambitions for nineteenth-century architecture. He not only
+mentioned it very favourably in the second volume of his _Entretiens_,
+which appeared in 1872, but in several illustrations suggested similar
+and variant combinations of iron and masonry. In a colour plate, for
+example, he showed a striking urban façade with its visible iron
+framework filled with brilliantly coloured glazed tiles. By the nineties
+quite a few buildings in France had exploited very successfully this
+structural system;[363] it is perhaps more important, however, that
+Viollet-le-Duc’s text and illustrations made the idea familiar
+internationally.
+
+When one learns that Horta or Gaudí or various Americans ‘read
+Viollet-le-Duc’ in the seventies and eighties one must assume that the
+_Entretiens_, of which the first volume appeared in 1863, is meant—and
+perhaps even more specifically the second volume of 1872 with its
+accompanying set of plates. These last could be ‘read’ by architects to
+particularly good purpose. The _Entretiens_ were available to most
+Europeans in the original language and to the English and the Americans
+in translation.[364]
+
+The characteristic employment of metal by Art Nouveau architects in the
+nineties and the first decade of this century undoubtedly owed a great
+deal both to the inspiration of Eiffel’s large engineering structures,
+culminating in his tower of 1887-9, and to the vigorous critical support
+of Saulnier’s ideas which Viollet-le-Duc provided, not to speak of the
+projects of his own that he published in 1872. The knot is tied
+tighter—although with a different sort of structural development—when
+one notes that de Baudot, of all French architects most particularly the
+disciple and heir of Viollet-le-Duc as well as a former pupil of Henri
+Labrouste, was the first to exploit ferro-concrete architecturally and
+not merely technically (see Chapter 18). Moreover, he employed as his
+contractor to construct his epoch-making concrete church of St Jean de
+Montmartre in Paris of the nineties (see Chapter 17), Contamin, one of
+the engineers responsible for the Galerie des Machines at the Exhibition
+of 1889. But the European Art Nouveau was even less a matter of
+structural innovation, pure and simple, than Sullivan’s contemporary
+skyscrapers in America (see Chapter 14).
+
+This brief and curious episode in the history of art,[365] starting in
+the early nineties and subsiding little more than a decade later, has
+always been called in English by a French name, perhaps because it never
+became acclimatized in England but was always considered a dubious
+import from Belgium and France. Despite the diffidence of the
+English—which Americans fully shared—the Art Nouveau was an
+international mode. It was as frequently called in France by the English
+name ‘Modern Style’, while to the Germans it was ‘Jugendstil’ and to the
+Italians ‘stile Liberty’. The German term comes from the magazine
+_Jugend_, whose illustrations and typography were fairly consistently in
+the new mode; the Italian from Liberty’s, the shop in London whose
+orientalizing fabrics became widely popular at this time (but with
+overtones from the obvious pun involved). In Italian it is also, and
+much more descriptively, the ‘stile floreale’.
+
+The Art Nouveau is not primarily an architectural mode. Many of the
+finest and boldest of the large edifices built between 1890 and 1910,
+however, beginning with Sullivan’s skyscrapers, are certainly related to
+its ethos; and the Art Nouveau leaders produced quite a few buildings of
+real distinction that can be defined by no other term. Like the Rococo
+of the early and mid eighteenth century—which the Art Nouveau sometimes
+closely resembled and to whose revived forms it was often vulgarly
+assimilated—it was most successful as a mode of interior decoration.
+Generally linear rather than plastic,[366] the Art Nouveau was also very
+closely associated with the graphic arts; indeed they provide many of
+the most characteristic examples, as well as the earliest items that can
+be considered possible prototypes.
+
+How far back the ultimate sources of the Art Nouveau should be sought,
+and precisely where, continues to be a subject of active research. In
+the graphic arts there are certainly significant similarities to be
+noted in William Blake’s[367] way of designing book pages. Through the
+Pre-Raphaelites, moreover, a line of descent from Blake can be traced
+down to the eighties and nineties when, indeed, his characteristic pages
+were sometimes reproduced in facsimile. But oriental,[368] specifically
+Japanese, influence certainly played some part also in the gestation of
+the mode. There is early evidence of that influence on western
+architecture in the decorative work of Godwin and Nesfield in England,
+beginning already in the sixties, as also in the painting of the
+Impressionists in France (see Chapters 10 and 12). But the earliest
+designs that can be readily mistaken for Continental work of 1900 are
+certainly by the English architect-decorator Mackmurdo and date from
+just after 1880. Many of the textile and wallpaper patterns that
+Mackmurdo, Heywood Sumner (1853-1940), and others created for the
+Century Guild, founded in 1882, already have the characteristic
+semi-naturalistic[369] forms, swaying lines, and asymmetrical
+organization of the mature decorative mode of the nineties. Even more
+striking is the design of Mackmurdo’s title-page of 1883 for his book on
+the London churches of Sir Christopher Wren[370]—a curious conjunction,
+this, of two opposed stylistic developments of the eighties, the one
+towards the Baroque and the ‘Monumental Queen Anne’, the other towards a
+wholly novel mode of ornamentation.
+
+English products, such as were shown by the Arts and Crafts Exhibition
+Society from its foundation in 1888, soon reached the Continent.
+Moreover, even before the _Studio_ began publication in 1893 Koch’s
+_Academy Architecture_ (from 1888), which has already been mentioned,
+and (from 1890) his review _Innendekoration_, as well as less
+specialized English magazines such as (from 1884) Mackmurdo’s _Hobby
+Horse_ and (from 1891) _The Yellow Book_, with its highly stylized and
+very curvilinear illustrations by Aubrey Beardsley, were eagerly studied
+all over western Europe. The younger men were reading William Morris,
+too, and responding enthusiastically to his ethical and social demands
+for a reform of the household arts. At the same time the novel styles of
+the most advanced Post-Impressionist painters offered a powerful
+stimulus to architects.
+
+This matter of the relationship between advanced painting and advanced
+architecture in the nineteenth century, a relationship destined to be of
+rather greater importance in the early twentieth, deserves some broader
+comment and recapitulation here. A hundred and fifty years before, when
+Romantic Classicism was being born in Rome, painters, sculptors, and
+architects shared common ideals and worked with a full understanding of
+each other’s problems (see Chapter 1). The backgrounds of David’s
+bas-relief-like early paintings show architecture in the most advanced
+taste of the day, and no more beautiful Romantic Classical furniture was
+actually produced than that which he invented for his Classical scenes
+and occasionally introduced in his modern portraits. The Classical
+sculptor Thorwaldsen at the Glyptothek in Munich and later at the
+Thorwaldsen Museum in Copenhagen collaborated closely with the
+architects Klenze and Bindesbøll. Schinkel was himself a Romantic
+painter of some distinction before he matured as a Romantic Classical
+architect, and he collaborated later on the mural for the front of the
+Altes Museum with the painter Peter Cornelius, as did Klenze on the
+decorations of the Glyptothek in Munich.
+
+With the gradual decline of Romantic Classicism architects and painters
+had more difficulty in developing parallel programmes; and the results
+of collaboration between them in the decoration of buildings were rarely
+as happy as the backgrounds the architects sometimes supplied to the
+painters. Ingres’s stained-glass windows of the forties in the Chapelle
+d’Orléans at Dreux and the Chapelle Saint-Ferdinand at Neuilly have been
+mentioned. More successful are the murals by Delacroix in Joly’s library
+at the Chambre des Deputés in Paris; but there is hardly that real
+visual harmony between picture and setting that the previous period had
+often achieved. However, the rising interest in architectural polychromy
+and the extension of the range of acceptable stylistic models to include
+the Early Renaissance and even the Middle Ages were both encouraged by
+the turn that the art of painting was beginning to take on the Continent
+around 1815. Hübsch, for example, was a sort of Nazarener among
+architects. Later Ingres was a close friend of Hittorff, even though he
+never collaborated with him to any good purpose (see Chapter 3), much
+less with Viollet-le-Duc, with whom he was also on good terms. The
+degree of stylization that Early Christian, Romanesque, or Gothic
+architectural modes properly demanded was not yet acceptable in figural
+art. Indeed, the rather _quattrocento_ early pictures of Ingres were
+much too ‘Gothic’ for most of his contemporaries and are generally less
+esteemed than his more Classical work even today.
+
+Above all, the ever-rising importance of landscape in the painting of
+all countries was necessarily without real parallels in architecture,
+except in so far as the increasing desire to open up houses towards the
+circumambient view reflects a similar preoccupation with the natural
+scene. As to Realism, the principal artistic movement of the mid century
+in French art, that could only be echoed in architectural theory.
+Impressionism may seem even more difficult to relate to
+architecture.[371]
+
+In England in the fifties, however, a loose alliance did exist between
+the new Pre-Raphaelite painters and some of the leading High Victorian
+Gothic architects, both supported for a time by the critic Ruskin. In
+the sixties and seventies Morris on the one hand, developing as a
+decorator out of the Pre-Raphaelite _milieu_ of Rossetti and Ford Madox
+Brown, and Whistler on the other hand, chiefly nurtured in the advanced
+artistic world of Paris but also influenced in England by Rossetti,
+collaborated closely with architects—Morris with Webb and with Bodley,
+Whistler with Godwin. As has been noted, the strikingly novel results of
+the latter collaboration were displayed in Paris in their Anglo-Japanese
+room at the Exhibition of 1878. Europeans became generally aware of
+Morris’s decorative work only somewhat later.
+
+In France in these decades fewer painters than in England commissioned
+talented individualists of the order of Shaw or Webb or Godwin to build
+their houses.[372] If they were Realists or Impressionists they could
+not have afforded to do so; if they were prosperous Academicians they
+would not have wished to. Even in England, Millais, after he became
+really successful, preferred to build a dull house in South Kensington
+of quite conventional character rather than to employ Shaw or Webb or
+Godwin.
+
+In the eighties the most advanced European painters, not merely those of
+France but more generally, turned away from Realism and even from
+Impressionism in order to concern themselves more with pattern or with
+expression. The two French leaders of this reaction whose art seems to
+posterity most architectonic, Cézanne and Seurat, did not affect
+architecture or design at this time at all. Even Van Gogh and Gauguin,
+whose styles have a more decorative inflection, were less influential
+than such almost forgotten painters as the Dutch Toorop and the Belgian
+Khnopff, the better-known Belgian Ensor, or the Swiss Hodler and the
+Norwegian Munch, not to speak of the English Beardsley.
+
+The general admiration in _avant-garde_ circles for the work of these
+artists—with which went paradoxically a continuing and even growing
+estimation of the anti-architectonic pictures of the Impressionists and
+Neo-Impressionists both French and native—ran parallel everywhere with
+the rapid rise and spread of the Art Nouveau. In some sense, indeed, the
+Art Nouveau may be considered the equivalent as a mode of design of what
+is somewhat ambiguously called Impressionism in music—the work of
+Debussy, Delius, etc. Some of the chief critical supporters of the new
+painters in the nineties such as Julius Meier-Graefe were also active
+proponents of the Art Nouveau. Yet advanced painting, in fact, provided
+little more than a sympathetic atmosphere for the birth of the Art
+Nouveau, somewhat as the young painters and critics of the third quarter
+of the eighteenth century had done in Rome for the gestation of Romantic
+Classicism in architecture.
+
+Why the Art Nouveau should have been initiated full-fledged by Victor
+Horta (1861-1947)[373] in Brussels in 1892 remains a mystery. The rather
+similar stylistic crystallization in Sullivan’s architectural ornament,
+henceforth almost equally organic and sinuous in character, had begun
+several years earlier even before the interiors of the Auditorium were
+designed in 1887-8. These will hardly have been known in Belgium, for
+few foreigners were aware of Sullivan’s work at all until they came to
+Chicago to visit the World’s Fair in 1893. Illustrations of the
+remarkable ironwork on Gaudí’s Palau Güell in Barcelona are not likely
+to have reached Brussels either, though several of its interiors were
+published in _The Decorator and Furnisher_ in New York in 1892. In any
+case Gaudí’s ultimate style was only beginning to take form in the early
+nineties. A certain amount of quite original decoration was being done
+in New York from the beginning of the eighties by Louis Comfort Tiffany
+(1848-1933), but it is unlikely that it was known abroad. Tiffany’s
+‘Favrile’ glass came a good deal later and is precisely contemporaneous
+with the Art Nouveau,[374] of which it continued to be for a decade and
+more one of the most internationally distinguished products.
+
+It is generally assumed that Horta knew the rather similar glass
+designed earlier by Émile Gallé (1846-1904) in France and that he
+already had some familiarity with the work of such painters as Ensor,
+Khnopff, and Toorop, if not with that of Hodler, Munch, or Beardsley.
+Yet such familiarity would hardly by itself have counter-balanced the
+academic training he received from his master and later employer Balat
+(see Chapter 9). This explains, however, the very Classical character of
+his Temple des Passions Humaines, erected in 1884 in the Parc du
+Cinquantenaire in Brussels. Horta did no building on his own between
+1885 and 1892. Presumably, however, it was knowledge of the theories and
+the projects of Viollet-le-Duc acquired in those years that encouraged
+him to make frank and expressive use of iron in association with masonry
+when he really began to practise. Yet the influence of Viollet-le-Duc
+hardly provides an explanation for the specific character of his
+innovations in ornament or the consistency of style that he achieved
+almost at once.
+
+Against such rather negative assumptions, a more positive one may be
+set. In the Tassel house in Brussels, completed in 1893, Horta’s first
+mature work, he introduced an English[375] wallpaper between the exposed
+metal structural elements of the dining-room walls. It is highly likely,
+therefore, that the new English decorative products were already known
+to him the previous year[376] when he designed and began this
+epoch-making house.
+
+The Tassel house at 6 Rue Paul-Émile Janson, just off the Avenue Louise,
+initiated a new architectural mode as definitely as one modest
+terrace-house could possibly do. How long before 1892, when the Tassel
+house was begun, Horta may have been designing on paper in this way does
+not seem to be known. When one considers how important the innumerable
+projects of the second half of the eighteenth century are to our
+understanding of the architectural revolution that established Romantic
+Classicism as the successor to the Baroque, the absence of such clues
+concerning the gestation of the Art Nouveau is most exasperating; but
+considerable research by students of the period has so far brought
+little that seems relevant to light.
+
+In plan there are no very great novelties in the Tassel house, although
+the interior partitions of the principal floor are bent to give varying
+shapes and sizes to symmetrically disposed spaces that open rather
+freely into one another. The major innovation lay in the frank
+expression of metal structure and in the characteristic decoration,
+particularly that of the stair-hall (Plate 130B). There at the foot of
+the stair an iron column rises free and svelte out of which iron bands
+branch at the top, like vines from the trunk of a sapling, to form
+brackets under the curved openwork beams of iron above. Other lighter
+and less structural bands interlace to form the stair-rail. The organic,
+swaying, and interweaving lines of the metalwork, both structural and
+decorative, were originally rather boldly echoed in purely ornamental
+curvilinear decoration painted on the walls, and they are still so
+echoed in the patterns of the extant floor mosaic.
+
+These patterns in the stair-hall are each unique, not repeated like
+those on the English chintzes and wallpapers they so much resemble. The
+lines, whether moving freely in space like those of the ironwork,
+painted on the curved wall, or inlaid in the flat floor plane, all form
+part of complex organic motifs. The result is therefore more comparable
+to Mackmurdo’s title-page of 1883, or even to some of the repoussé
+brasswork on his furniture. (Like the very few buildings Mackmurdo
+designed, this furniture is quite rectilinear otherwise, it might be
+noted.) During the brief life of the Art Nouveau hardly even Horta
+himself, much less those who followed in his footsteps, achieved an
+ensemble more exemplary than this stair-hall. It is truly a work of
+interior architecture, not merely a matter of applied decoration as is
+most of the ornament used in association with the English wallpaper in
+the dining-room.
+
+The façade of the house is much less striking than the interiors.
+However, the linear curves of the internal structural elements are
+reflected plastically, so to say, in the bowing forward of the entire
+central window area. This is so extensive as to approach, but not to
+equal, English window-walls of the preceding decades. In the upper
+storeys the lights in this broad bay-window are subdivided only by iron
+colonnette-mullions and topped with exposed iron beams. There is no
+archaeological reminiscence of any past style here; yet it must have
+been from local stucco-work of the Rococo period that Horta drew the
+inspiration for his carved stone detail. It certainly does not derive
+either from England or from Viollet-le-Duc. Horta was, and continued to
+be, much less happy in devising such plastic ornament than in his
+metalwork; but he felt obliged to apply it here and there on capitals,
+cornices, brackets, and so forth, just as conventional architects of the
+time used the common coin of the Renaissance or Gothic vocabularies.
+
+The Tassel façade may be almost unnoticeable today unless one looks
+carefully for its exposed metalwork and its rather original detailing,
+but it evidently had an almost instant appeal in the Brussels of the
+nineties. The somewhat similar Frison house at 37 Rue Lebeau was built
+in 1893-4, and in 1895 three more houses were begun, of which the finest
+is the much larger Hôtel Solvay at 224 Avenue Louise.[377] This house
+was built, together with a laboratory started a year later, over a
+period of several years for the famous chemist Ernest Solvay. It remains
+the most complete of Horta’s domestic commissions, since it retains all
+the original furniture designed by the architect, though now a _maison
+de couture_. The broad façade is much more plastic than that of the
+Tassel house with the walls curving forward in the first and second
+storeys to enframe two tall flanking bays subdivided by metal
+colonnettes and transoms (Plate 131A). The ironwork of the balconies is
+especially rich and characteristic. In the interiors the exposed metal
+structure and various elaborate incidental features, such as the
+lighting fixtures, participate fully in the general pattern of organic
+curvature. Although plant-like in feeling, Horta’s metalwork is quite as
+abstract as Gaudí’s grilles in the entrance arches of the Palau Güell
+(Plate 96B) and often achieves a comparable distinction considered as
+craftsmanship.
+
+The house of Baron Van Eetvelde of 1895 at 4 Avenue Palmerston—the
+extension to the left numbered 2 is considerably later—has a quite
+different exterior from the Solvay house. The front has an almost
+Sullivanian range of arched bays consisting entirely of exposed
+metalwork. Inside, the salon is even more of a masterpiece than the
+stair-hall of the Tassel house. A circle of iron columns, curving up
+into elliptical arches, supports a low dome of glass across which long
+leaf-like bands of transparent colour continue the sinuous structural
+curves below. In a happy floral metaphor the lighting fixtures bend and
+droop, each electric bulb shaded by a coloured glass bell of over-blown
+tulip shape. Not since Nicholas Pineau developed the _pittoresque_
+version of the Rococo in the second quarter of the eighteenth century
+had such elegant consistency and originality been seen in the decorative
+exploitation of plant-like elements.
+
+Horta’s other fine houses in Brussels range in date down to the Wiener
+house of 1919 in the Avenue de l’Astronomie. After the very elegant and
+restrained Hallet house of 1906 at 346 Avenue Louise they became so dry
+and so formal that the term Art Nouveau hardly applies to them, however.
+There are two much earlier examples at 23-25 Rue Américaine, built in
+1898, which are of special interest because Horta occupied them himself.
+The virtuoso elaboration of the interwoven structural and decorative
+ironwork of the oriel on the one to the left and the continuous
+ribbon-window set behind iron mullions in the top storey of the other
+are among the most striking and original external features he ever
+designed. These years at the very end of the century undoubtedly
+represent the peak of his career. His most advanced domestic planning
+was to be seen in the Aubecq house of 1900 at 520 Avenue Louise,
+demolished in 1950 (Figure 34). There the interflow of space between the
+interlocking octagonal reception rooms of the ground storey comes very
+close to that found in certain early houses by Wright (see Chapters 15
+and 19).
+
+Certainly Horta’s most important single work is the Maison du Peuple of
+1896-9. This was built for the city authorities of Brussels on a
+curiously-shaped site of which Horta took the fullest advantage.
+Extending around a segment of a circular _place_ and part way along two
+radial streets, the façade forms a continuous but irregular series of
+curves, mostly concave, but with the main entrance placed in one of the
+shorter convex portions. The greater part of the exterior wall consists
+of a visible skeleton of iron with solid masonry sections defining the
+ends and the entrance bay. The vertical stanchions are not curved, but
+many of the horizontal members are slightly arched. Decorative metal
+elements at some of the intersections attempt, not altogether
+successfully, to give to the structural grid the over-all organic
+quality so happily achieved in the Van Eetvelde entrance hall. As in his
+houses, Horta had difficulty in assimilating the carved detail of the
+stonework, here associated with wall panels of brick, to the metalwork;
+where the two come close together, as in the entrance arch of mixed
+materials, the result is very awkward indeed.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 34. Victor Horta: Brussels, Aubecq house, 1900, plan
+]
+
+Comparison with Sullivan’s work of these years is inevitable—there is
+really nothing else of the precise period with which the Maison du
+Peuple can properly be compared. With Sullivan the main structural
+members of metal are always covered with terracotta and the visible
+metalwork is almost entirely decorative. Yet there is considerable
+similarity in the way Sullivan handled the metal mullions at the
+entrances of the Carson, Pirie & Scott Store, mullions which rise into
+and interweave with the ornament above, to Horta’s attempt to merge the
+structural and the decorative in his framework of visible metal elements
+here.
+
+His greatest success at this was certainly in the auditorium at the top
+of the Maison du Peuple. In this the openwork iron beams that support
+the roof, forming a sort of hammerbeam system with the side galleries,
+have graceful and expressive but essentially structural curves (Plate
+132B). To these the decorative railings of the galleries provide a
+delicate and harmonious counterpoint in their intricately plant-like
+detailing. Around the structural frame the auditorium is enclosed only
+by glass or by very thin panels held in metal frames, rather like the
+‘curtain-walls’ of the mid twentieth century; thus there is in this
+permanent edifice a good deal of the volumetric lightness previously
+associated with temporary exhibition buildings only.
+
+Among Horta’s commercial buildings in various Belgian cities the most
+conspicuous was the Innovation Department Store of 1901 in the Rue Neuve
+in Brussels (Plate 131B). The front, almost entirely of metal and glass
+though set in a granite frame, was a remarkable example of Art Nouveau
+decorative design at fully architectural scale. The Innovation
+completely overshadowed the equally bold but extremely coarse and clumsy
+Old England Department Store just off the Place Royale in Brussels, also
+almost entirely of iron and glass, that was built by Paul Saintenoy
+(1832-92) two years earlier. In the Gros Waucquez Building in the Rue de
+Sable of 1903-5 and the Wolfers Building of 1906 in the Rue d’Arenberg,
+as in his houses of those later years, Horta’s treatment is much more
+restrained than in the department store. Stone piers subdivide their
+façades, curves are fewer and more structural, and there is much less
+ornament and almost no exposed iron.
+
+It is a historical paradox that Horta’s architectural career should have
+continued long after the Art Nouveau was forgotten, bringing him in the
+end such public esteem and material success as few other innovators of
+his generation ever knew. Yet his later work, beginning with his Palais
+des Beaux-Arts in Brussels, designed in 1914 just before the First World
+War but begun only in 1923, and continuing down to his Central Station
+there, begun in 1938 and only lately completed, is of purely local
+significance. What brought him a peerage and a street named after
+him—that at the side of his Palais des Beaux-Arts—was not his early work
+of the Art Nouveau years, standing with Sullivan’s skyscrapers like a
+landmark at the beginning of modern architecture, but this later
+official work which is almost totally without intrinsic interest and, in
+the case of the station, actually rather monstrous. The contrast with
+Sullivan’s barren later years after 1904 is very striking.
+
+Despite the poetic justice that there might be in ignoring a Belgian who
+long falsely claimed the credit for the invention of the Art Nouveau,
+one cannot turn to other countries without mentioning the name of Henri
+Van de Velde (1863-1957).[378] In 1892, when Horta designed the Tassel
+house, Van de Velde had not even begun to practise architecture. His
+first work, which is his own house of 1895-6 at Uccle near Brussels,
+though still rather conventional externally in a simple, almost peasant
+way perhaps influenced by Voysey, included furniture more functional
+than Horta’s, if much less elegant and imaginative. He also brought to
+Brussels—and later to Paris, Berlin, and Weimar—an interpretation of
+Ruskin’s and Morris’s sociological approach to the arts that had a wide
+and growing influence, for he pursued his mature career as decorator,
+architect, and educator largely outside Belgium[379] (see Chapters 17
+and 20).
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 17
+ THE SPREAD OF THE ART NOUVEAU: THE WORK OF C. R. MACKINTOSH AND ANTONI
+ GAUDÍ
+
+
+THE initiation of the Art Nouveau by Horta in 1892 was sudden and its
+spread extremely rapid. Almost concurrently forms very similar to those
+he had invented began to appear in other European countries. Rarely has
+a new idea in the visual arts been taken up internationally with so
+little lag. Advanced artistic circles at this time were evidently
+thoroughly prepared to accept major innovations and new periodicals,
+starting up almost one a year, provided vehicles for their transmission:
+_Pan_ in 1895, for example, _Jugend_ in 1896, _Dekorative Kunst_ in
+1897, and _Die Kunst_ in 1899, to mention only German magazines. Had the
+Art Nouveau not already been invented by Horta the year before, three
+works of art dated 1893, Aubrey Beardsley’s ‘Cello Player’, an
+illustration in black and white, Toorop’s picture ‘Three Brides’, and
+Munch’s ‘The Cry’, first a painting but widely available as a
+colour-lithograph the following year, might well have supplied the
+impetus for other designers to do so; doubtless such inspiration did
+encourage rivalry rather than direct imitation of Horta. In Germany a
+Munch exhibition in Berlin in 1892 and a Toorop exhibition in Munich in
+1893 called attention to the long waving curves and the general
+linearity of style of these artists. In 1893, moreover, the _Studio_
+began to bring to designers and architects everywhere well-chosen
+illustrations of current English decorative work.
+
+England itself was least responsive to the new Continental mode. It is,
+indeed, improper to call the Bishopsgate Institute in Bishopsgate in the
+City of London, built in 1893-4 by C. Harrison Townsend (1850-1928), Art
+Nouveau. Yet, despite its evident dependence on Webb, the way in which
+Townsend took the characteristically stylized but basically naturalistic
+patterns of contemporary English wallpapers and chintzes and used them
+in relief at architectural scale is as drastic an innovation as are the
+bits and pieces of more abstract stone carving that Horta used on his
+Brussels houses of these years. Townsend remained a ‘fellow-traveller’
+rather than a member of the international Art Nouveau group for a
+decade. For example, the façade of his Whitechapel Art Gallery in the
+Whitechapel Road in the East End of London, designed in 1895 and built
+in 1897-9, is an improved version of that of the Bishopsgate Institute
+(Plate 134B). The broad and almost Richardsonian arch is placed off
+centre, the ornament is freer and bolder, and the few windows are
+organized in a continuous band below the plain wall of the upper
+portion.
+
+Less successful, though perhaps more advanced, is Townsend’s Horniman
+Museum of 1900-1, a free-standing edifice in London Road, Forest Hill,
+south of London. This has less external ornamentation, except for the
+façade mosaic by Anning Bell, but there is a very plastically conceived
+tower with rounded corners placed at one side of the front façade. His
+church of St Mary the Virgin, consecrated in 1904, at Great Warley in
+Essex, is very simple, indeed rather Voysey-like as regards the
+buttressed and roughcast exterior. However, the elaborate decorations
+inside by Sir William Reynolds-Stephens (1862-1943) offer the most
+virtuoso example of Art Nouveau in England—at least they are about as
+close to the Continental mode as the English came.[380] No other English
+architect came nearer the Art Nouveau than Townsend; in quality,
+moreover, his work excels most of that done on the Continent by the
+various imitators and emulators of Horta, even if it lacks the humble
+integrity of Voysey’s best houses of these years.
+
+The earliest and, later, the most versatile Art Nouveau architect of
+France[381] was Hector Guimard (1867-1942). But his first work of
+consequence, the complex block of flats in Paris called the Castel
+Béranger[382] at 16 Rue La Fontaine, which was completed after several
+years of construction in 1897, still represents a very ambiguous
+exploitation of the new ideas coming from Brussels. It must be
+remembered, however, that the original design almost certainly antedates
+by a year or two all other Art Nouveau work outside Belgium. Also
+notable is the fact that the façade of the Castel Béranger was premiated
+by the City of Paris in 1898, since this indicates the rapidity with
+which the new mode won approval in France.
+
+In 1896, while the Castel Béranger was building, Siegfried Bing, a
+Hamburg art-dealer whose wares included Japanese prints—now even more in
+demand than at any time since their introduction to Europe in the late
+fifties—and also the new English decorative products, decided to open a
+shop in Paris. Bing’s Maison de l’Art Nouveau at 22 Rue de Provence was
+designed for him by L.-B. Bonnier (1856-1946) in the Belgian mode, which
+thereby acquired its familiar name. This shop was of no great
+architectural interest, however, except that it was the first of the
+multitude that were produced in the next ten or fifteen years. Not only
+in Paris but in most Continental cities large and small, and even in
+England and in America, where the Art Nouveau otherwise hardly
+penetrated, these shop-fronts can still be noted; one of the finest has
+even been transferred from Paris to the Philadelphia Museum of Art in
+America.
+
+Bing also enlisted the services of Van de Velde, still quite immature as
+a designer compared to Horta, but very articulate as a critic.
+Influenced more intellectually than visually by the English, Van de
+Velde’s personal development as a decorator now proceeded very rapidly.
+The lounge he designed for the Dresden Exhibition of 1897, for example,
+was an accomplished if somewhat heavily scaled example of an Art Nouveau
+interior and much more elaborate than those completed in his house at
+Uccle the year before.
+
+By the time the Maison du Peuple in Brussels opened three years later in
+1899 and Horta’s early career reached its apex of achievement, the Art
+Nouveau was already a favourite mode with young French designers and
+generally in rising favour in _fin de siècle_ Paris. As a result even
+established architects were not averse to introducing its curves in
+interior decoration and for the detailing of exposed metal structural
+elements, although most of them had little understanding of its real
+possibilities. The giant stone colonnades of the Grand Palais in Paris,
+designed in 1897 and built in 1898-9 for the Exhibition of 1900, were
+presumably intended to rival those of the plaster palaces of the Chicago
+World’s Fair of 1893; but behind them the architectural team of H.-A.-A.
+Deglane (1855-1931), L.-A. Louvet (1860-1936), both pupils of
+Richardson’s master, André, and A.-F.-T. Thomas (1847-1907) provided a
+vast iron-and-glass interior detailed in a coarse sort of Art Nouveau
+way that is quite unrelated to the academic treatment of the
+exterior.[383]
+
+The entrance feature, designed by René Binet (1866-1911), and the
+Pavilion Bleu by E.-A.-R. Dulong (1860-?), the principal exhibition
+restaurant in the Champ de Mars, were even more whole-heartedly _à la
+mode_. One can hardly regret, however, that these gaudy structures,
+unlike the Grand Palais, were only temporary. A much superior example of
+Art Nouveau decoration, Maxim’s Restaurant in the Rue Royale, remains
+intact as it was redecorated in 1899 by Louis Marney. This is full of
+period flavour and still splendidly maintained, but it has no real
+existence as interior architecture. Soon the Art Nouveau would be
+vulgarized in dozens of cafés, large and small, all over Europe. Of
+these the Brasserie Universelle in the Avenue de l’Opéra in Paris by
+Niermans, carried out two or three years after Maxim’s and lately
+demolished, was perhaps the most sumptuous; there, however, the new mode
+was eclectically combined with a lush Neo-Rococo.[384]
+
+The architect Charles Plumet (1861-1925), working with the decorator
+Tony Selmersheim (b. 1871), built in 1898 at 67 Avenue Malakoff the
+first of a series of houses in which Art Nouveau decoration was grafted
+on to a general scheme of design that was more or less Late Gothic. This
+has also been demolished. Such eclecticism, based more usually on
+eighteenth-century models, is characteristic of the rapid Parisian
+dilution of the Art Nouveau and doubtless played a great part in its
+early descent into the obsolescence of the _démodé_. Yet Auguste Perret
+(1874-1954), in a large block of flats built in 1902 at 119 Avenue de
+Wagram, exploited in masonry a heavier and richer sort of Art Nouveau
+than Plumet’s with considerable success (Plate 134A). This edifice is in
+curious contrast to the flats of ferro-concrete at 25 bis Rue Franklin,
+designed by Perret in 1902 also, with which his career is generally
+considered to begin. Even the latter, moreover, have considerably more
+Art Nouveau feeling in their panels of faience mosaic than is usually
+recognized (see Chapter 18). The block in the Avenue Wagram is quite
+typical of French production in these years but of much higher than
+average quality.
+
+The most accomplished French Art Nouveau designer remained Guimard, the
+first to take up the mode. His most conspicuous works, however, the
+Paris Métro entrances of 1898-1901, lie outside the normal realm of
+architecture (Plate 137B). These are executed entirely in metal of the
+most sinuous and vegetable-like character, and their extreme virtuosity
+is the more surprising in that they consist of metal castings produced
+in series. His no longer extant Humbert de Romans Building of 1902 in
+the Rue Saint-Didier in Paris, on the other hand, illustrated the usual
+difficulties of Art Nouveau architects when working with masonry. The
+exterior was neither Neo-Rococo nor Neo-Flamboyant but curiously crude
+and gawky in its originality, like his Castel Béranger, with none of the
+Art Nouveau grace that even Plumet sometimes evoked with success, or the
+rather lush ornamentation of Perret’s block of flats in the Avenue
+Wagram. The auditorium inside, however, employed curved structural
+members even more boldly than Horta had done in that of the Maison du
+Peuple. Here Guimard succeeded in giving a masculine vigour to the
+rather feminine forms of a mode already passing its brief prime.
+
+As late as 1911, however, Guimard remained faithful to the Art Nouveau
+in an extensive range of contiguous blocks of flats that he built at
+17-21 Rue La Fontaine near the Castel Béranger. For his own flat there
+he designed ironwork as boldly abstract as advanced mid
+twentieth-century sculpture in metal, but also as suavely elegant as
+comparable Rococo detail of the eighteenth century. The exteriors,
+moreover, which are entirely of stone, have a great deal of the
+refinement and restraint of Horta’s Hallet house of 1906 in Brussels.
+They are, however, more plastically treated with boldly moulded bay
+windows and attic storeys. Except for Perret’s, few Parisian blocks of
+flats of the period rival these in interest or in quality of design and
+execution.
+
+Three Paris department stores of the early years of the century
+continued to use the metal-and-glass interior structure of Boileau and
+Eiffel’s Bon Marché, with notable success. In presumable emulation of
+Horta’s Innovation in Brussels, moreover, the architects of two of these
+extended considerably the external use of exposed metal introduced by
+Sédille at the Printemps in the eighties. These two stores remain, with
+Guimard’s Métro entrances, the most prominent Parisian examples of the
+Art Nouveau. The main branch of the Samaritaine[385] in the Rue de la
+Monnaie near the Pont Neuf was built in 1905 by C.-R.-F.-M. Jourdain
+(1847-1935). This has several fine galleried courts inside in the
+tradition of the Galeries du Commerce et de l’Industrie of the 1830s,
+but it is even more distinguished for the sturdy scale and the
+straightforward design of the external metal frame (Plate 133). The
+actual structural members are hardly bent at all by the exigencies of
+the mode; but they were characteristically ornamented not only with
+decorative metalwork but also with inset panels of polychrome faience,
+now painted over. On the north front, however, other panels, here of
+faience mosaic, remain visible; these are of even greater delicacy and
+elegance than Perret’s foliate panels in his block of flats of 1902-3 in
+the Rue Franklin.
+
+The contemporary Grand Bazar de la Rue de Rennes, now the Magasins
+Réunis, at 134-136 Rue de Rennes by H.-B. Gutton (b. 1874) is generally
+fussier in design than the Samaritaine. Gutton achieved, however, a more
+completely volumetric expression, emphasizing the lightness and the
+thinness of metal-and-glass construction somewhat as the early monuments
+of the 1840s and 1850s in England had done. New shop-windows below and
+the removal of the open grillework that once rose against the sky have
+now much diminished its effectiveness. Binet’s earlier galleried court
+of 1900 at the Printemps was burned out in 1923, unfortunately. With the
+lifts rising in the corners and the staircases swooping down in great
+splashing curves, this court was altogether superior to his Entrance to
+the Exhibition of 1900 and even to Frantz Jourdain’s small later courts
+in the Samaritaine. It seemed somehow to epitomize what a great
+metropolitan department store _ought_ to look like somewhat as Garnier’s
+Opéra epitomizes what later generations came to expect of an
+opera-house. If Prince Danilo supped with the ‘damen’ of Maxim’s, we can
+be sure the ‘Merry Widow’ and the ‘Pink Lady’ did their shopping here.
+
+It was the Art Nouveau structures at the Exhibition of 1900 which first
+focused public attention on the new mode, occasioning also that rapid
+Parisian vulgarization which brought its early end. At the exhibition,
+besides the crude but conspicuous things designed by Binet and Dulong
+that have been mentioned, there was the Pavillon Art Nouveau Bing by
+Georges de Feure (1868-1928), a designer rather than an architect, which
+had rooms by Edward Colonna, back from working for Tiffany in America,
+and others of the best artists and craftsmen employed by Bing; but their
+exhibits represented decoration, not interior architecture properly
+speaking. However, by 1900 the Art Nouveau was not at all the strictly
+Parisian manifestation that it must have seemed to most of those who
+visited the exhibition. The Germans, notably, had already taken it up
+with great enthusiasm, beginning about 1897.
+
+The Studio Elvira of 1897-8 in Munich by August Endell (1871-1925) had a
+plain stucco façade cut by a few strategically placed windows of varied
+shape; but this façade was splashed across the centre with a very large
+abstract relief of orientalizing character resembling something half-way
+between a dragon and a cloud. Endell’s studio, if not the first
+manifestation of the Art Nouveau in Germany, was certainly the most
+striking; moreover, it followed immediately upon the showing of Van de
+Velde’s Lounge at the Dresden Exhibition of 1897. Already, however, in
+that portion of the Wertheim Department Store in Berlin in the
+Leipzigerstrasse which was begun in 1896, Alfred Messel (1853-1909) had
+used a great deal of exposed metal and glass and even perhaps modified
+the detail a bit towards the Art Nouveau. This was five years before
+Horta designed the Innovation Department Store in Brussels and ten years
+earlier than Jourdain’s Samaritaine in Paris. Messel made the spacing of
+his heavily moulded masonry piers quite wide and opened up completely
+the bays between. The result was at least as close to Sullivan’s Gage
+Building of 1898-9 as to the Paris department stores of a decade later.
+In those portions of this department store that Messel added in 1900-4,
+however, the façades, although highly stylized, were of rather Late
+Gothic character and certainly quite remote from the Art Nouveau.
+
+In 1899 Van de Velde moved from Paris to Berlin. There he designed the
+Hohenzollern Kunstgewerbehaus, a shop parallel to Bing’s Maison de l’Art
+Nouveau in Paris in its interests and its activities. In the next year
+he carried out the Haby Barber Shop and the Havana Cigar Store, two of
+the most extravagant of all Art Nouveau shop interiors. With the opening
+of the new century, however, in his full-scale architecture Van de Velde
+moved almost as rapidly away from the Art Nouveau as did Messel,
+although in a different direction (see Chapter 20). By this time strong
+counter-influences were reaching Germany from Glasgow and Vienna.
+
+Although not disdaining the Art Nouveau as completely as did the English
+and the Americans, the Austrians showed little of the enthusiasm of the
+French and the Germans. There is in Vienna one block of flats[386] of
+about 1900 so completely Art Nouveau that it might well have been
+designed by Horta himself. But the leading Austrian architects, old and
+young, reflected the new Belgian mode only with considerable diffidence
+and restraint. Otto Wagner (1841-1918), long a well-established academic
+architect and indeed Professor of Architecture at the Akademie,
+introduced more and more Art Nouveau detail in the Stadtbahn stations
+that he built over the years 1894-1901, most notably in the one at the
+Karlsplatz with its curved metal frame and inset floral panels. However,
+even this seems tentative and hardly rivals in interest Guimard’s
+contemporary Métro stations in Paris.
+
+Wagner’s so-called Majolika Haus, a block of flats at 40 Linke Wienzeile
+designed about 1898, is far more distinguished and original (Plate
+138A). Although the ironwork of the balconies is here and there
+curvilinear in detail and the faience plaques that completely cover the
+wall are decorated with great swooping patterns of highly colourful
+flowers, the architectonic elements of the façade are nevertheless very
+crisp, flat, and rectangular. That Vienna would very shortly become the
+focus of a reaction against the Art Nouveau does not seem surprising in
+the light of this façade. Moreover, on an office building erected in the
+Ungargasse for the firm of Portois & Fix in 1897 by Max Fabiani (b.
+1865), who had been Wagner’s assistant in 1894-6, the coloured faience
+slabs which sheathe its surface are arranged in a purely geometrical
+chequer-board pattern; only the ironwork has a slightly Art Nouveau
+flavour. In the late nineties it would be hard to say whether Art
+Nouveau influence was arriving or departing but for the projects other
+Viennese architects were publishing in the review _Ver Sacrum_ started
+in 1898.
+
+The design of the art gallery built in the Friedrichstrasse in Vienna in
+1898-9 for the Sezession, a newly founded society of artists in revolt
+against the Academy, by J. M. Olbrich (1867-1908) seems more influenced,
+however, by the façade of Townsend’s Whitechapel Art Gallery—only just
+begun but already published as a project in the _Studio_ in 1895—than by
+the work of the Belgians or the French, which had affected him strongly
+in the immediately preceding years. The pierced dome of floral metalwork
+alone vies in virtuosity with Horta or Guimard, and the pattern of this
+is actually quite English in character. The bronze doors are by Gustav
+Klimt, an Austrian Post-Impressionist who can be grouped, up to a point,
+with the Dutch, Belgian, Norwegian, and Swiss Post-Impressionists
+mentioned earlier (see Chapter 16). Olbrich was called to Darmstadt in
+Germany to work at the artists’ colony sponsored there by the Grand Duke
+Ernst Ludwig in 1899 and Darmstadt, like Vienna, soon became a centre of
+reaction against the Art Nouveau under his leadership (see Chapter 20).
+
+Both in Vienna and in Darmstadt the influence of the Scottish designer
+Mackintosh helped most to crystallize an alternative mode. Mackintosh
+first exhibited a room on the Continent at Munich in 1898, the same year
+that Baillie Scott was called by the Grand Duke to decorate an interior
+in the palace at Darmstadt. In 1900 Mackintosh was invited to design a
+room in the Sezession Exhibition in Vienna. That exhibit undoubtedly
+encouraged Viennese architects, already diffident towards the Art
+Nouveau, to turn very sharply away from it. This Adolf Loos (1870-1933)
+had already done in designing a completely rectilinear shop interior in
+Vienna in 1898. Loos, Wagner after about 1901, and Wagner’s pupil Josef
+Hoffmann (1870-1956) were all leaders in the international reaction
+against the Art Nouveau (see Chapter 20). The position of Mackintosh,
+however, is rather hard to state so categorically and must be considered
+here in more detail.
+
+At home in Scotland Mackintosh’s early decorative work of the mid
+nineties approached Continental Art Nouveau more closely than that of
+any other Briton, not excluding Townsend. Indeed, he was castigated by
+his compatriots and his English contemporaries for participating in so
+exotic a movement. But Mackintosh also came nearer to possessing genius
+than most of the men of his generation associated with the Art Nouveau,
+not even excluding Horta. That genius, all the same, was of so
+ambivalent a nature that he could seem for a few years to go along with
+the general stream of Continental fashion and yet, almost at the very
+same time, provide also a real protest against its excesses and its
+superficialities by the craftsmanlike integrity and the almost ascetic
+restraint of his best work. That protest the Austrians and the Germans
+were not slow to heed.
+
+Mackintosh made his first mark in Glasgow, which had earlier been the
+home of the highly original ‘Greek’ Thomson (see Chapter 4). By the
+nineties, moreover, interest in contemporary French painting was
+probably livelier there than it was in London. But Glasgow was also as
+notorious as Chicago, that major focus of architectural achievement in
+the America of the nineties, for its presumed philistinism. Touches of
+Mackintosh’s hand can be distinguished in work of the office of John
+Honeyman (1831-1914) and his partner Keppie, where the young architect
+was employed at the start of his career, notably in the Martyrs’ Public
+School in Glasgow of 1895. But it was in the decoration of the first of
+a series of Miss Cranston’s ‘tea-rooms’ (_scottice_, restaurants), the
+one in Buchanan Street remodelled by him in 1897-8, that Mackintosh’s
+personal talents were first effectively exploited. His very earliest
+decorative compositions and the murals that he and his wife provided
+here, full of heavy and presumably Gaelic symbolism, are parallel to,
+rather than derivative from, the work of the Belgians. They are, in
+fact, much closer to the drawings of Beardsley and the paintings of
+Toorop and Munch than to the plant-like ironwork and almost Neo-Rococo
+carved stone ornament characteristic of Horta. But the same long
+swinging curves are present, the same linearity, and the same rejection
+of all stylistic influence from the past.
+
+In this same year 1897 Mackintosh’s firm had the good fortune to win the
+limited competition for the Glasgow School of Art with a project that
+was entirely their young designer’s (Plate 132A). Thus he very soon had
+an opportunity to prove himself architect as well as decorator in a way
+that only two or three of the Europeans associated with the Art Nouveau
+had been able to do up to this point. The school was built during the
+next two years, just as Horta was finishing his Maison du Peuple in
+Brussels. The only element in the design that relates to the
+contemporary Art Nouveau of the Continent is the ironwork. This is quite
+incidental to the major architectonic qualities of the building,
+moreover, since it is purely decorative, not structural. It is also
+extremely restrained in its abstract curves, like Fabiani’s of this date
+in Vienna, and almost totally devoid of vegetable or floral
+reminiscence.
+
+The entrance to the Glasgow Art School seems to derive from Webb, but,
+like that of Townsend’s contemporary art gallery in London, it is rather
+less traditional in character than Webb’s work of this period. The
+somewhat wilful asymmetry and the plastic elaboration of the central
+part of the façade contrast nevertheless with the straightforwardness of
+the general treatment. There are two ranges of very wide studio
+windows—reputedly derived from a Voysey project—like ‘Chicago windows’
+but larger, with the reinforced-concrete lintels above them frankly
+exposed, and little else in the whole composition. To later eyes this
+façade, expressing so clearly the uncomplicated plan that it fronts,
+tends to appear deceptively simple and obvious. But Mackintosh’s very
+sensitive proportions and the delicate touches of linear detail provided
+by the ironwork create a design at once very direct and very subtle.
+
+The north end of the building is a tall plain wall of rather
+small-scaled random ashlar broken only by a few strategically spotted
+windows of various shapes. At once medievally dramatic and quite
+abstract, this façade makes one appreciate all the more the almost
+classical serenity and horizontality of the main front. The Art School
+is clearly the manifesto of an architectural talent of broad range and
+great assurance—very different indeed from that of Voysey.
+
+Mackintosh was not alone in Glasgow in these years. A real ‘school’
+existed, chiefly in the field of decoration, of which George Walton was
+another notable exponent.[387] Like Baillie Scott and Ashbee, Walton had
+some success as an architect in England (see Chapter 15) as Mackintosh
+did not, even though he executed a few interiors below the Border. But
+local support was not what it should have been for any of them in either
+Scotland or England. While the Art School was in construction, however,
+Mackintosh was asked in 1898 to provide the already-mentioned room in
+Munich, first of many that he showed at various exhibitions in Germany
+and Austria. This interior was very different indeed, both in the basic
+rectangularity of the forms and in the delicacy of the membering, from
+Van de Velde’s Art Nouveau Lounge at the Dresden Exhibition of the
+previous year. Thus, even before Van de Velde reached Berlin in 1899, a
+new line of influence from Glasgow into Germany—and soon into Austria
+also—was established whose general tendency was in sharp opposition to
+the lusher currents flowing from Brussels and Paris.
+
+When Olbrich settled in Darmstadt—just _before_ Mackintosh’s room was
+shown at the Sezession—he also rejected almost completely in the work he
+carried out at the Grand Duke’s Art Colony the still slightly Art
+Nouveau leanings—in any case already closer to the English Townsend than
+to Horta or Van de Velde—of his newly completed Sezession Building (see
+Chapter 20). Only his Pavilion of the Plastic Arts of 1901 at Darmstadt
+retained curved elements, and those were structural rather than merely
+decorative. The general rectangularity and the broad horizontal windows
+of the Ernst Ludwig Haus, a block of artists’ studios also completed by
+Olbrich in 1901, suggest comparison with Mackintosh’s Glasgow School of
+Art. Whether or not, in fact, Olbrich knew Mackintosh’s building—he may
+well have seen drawings if not photographs of it—his approach here was
+certainly very similar.
+
+Mackintosh had a good many further opportunities as a decorator, both at
+home and abroad, but only too few commissions to design whole buildings.
+However, his two houses near Glasgow, Windy Hill at Kilmacolm of
+1899-1901 and Hill House at Helensburgh of 1902-3, are both very
+notable. Externally they have a certain generic similarity to Voysey’s,
+with their moderate pitched roofs of dark slate, roughcast walls, and
+plain stone trim. His prototypes are not English but Scottish,
+however—the simple seventeenth-century houses of the minor lairds. As
+one would expect from his interiors, moreover, the façades of
+Mackintosh’s houses are much more carefully and abstractly composed than
+Voysey’s; they even include some simple geometrical features that are
+not at all reminiscent of the past in their design. Like Voysey’s
+houses, Mackintosh’s show no real novelties in planning, although the
+disposition of the rooms is always straightforward and commodious. The
+interiors are very original and rather less forced than those he was
+producing for exhibitions on the Continent.
+
+Mackintosh built very little after 1903 except the Scotland Street
+School of 1904 in Glasgow, the north wing of the Glasgow Art School in
+1907-8, and the finest of the various tea-rooms that he remodelled for
+Miss Cranston. This was the Willow Tea Room in Sauchiehall Street of
+1904, for which he remade the façade as well as reorganizing the
+interior. Internally this tea-room was arranged on several interrelated
+levels subdivided by ingenious screenwork; the exterior was a flat
+surface of white stucco cut by broad horizontal openings, one to a
+storey. The Scotland Street School is equally straightforward in design,
+the rather plain façade with its ranges of horizontal windows being
+flanked by rounded stair-towers articulated into continuous stone grids
+by mullions and transoms, like the bay windows of Voysey’s Broadleys but
+much taller.
+
+The north wing of the Glasgow Art School is more remarkable, quite
+worthy of the original front but much more stylized (Plate 135A). Where
+the front is strongly horizontal the new end façade, like that on the
+south, is markedly vertical, in part because of the way the ground falls
+off. But the tall oriels, glazed at the outer plane of the stonework,
+are striking features, and the whole composition is tense and dramatic.
+The library inside is a _tour de force_ of spatial subdivision somewhat
+like the Willow Tea Room. Most notable is the way the rectangular
+stick-work makes manifest the complex articulation of the total volume.
+This sort of handling of interior space was unique up to this time as a
+product of conscious design, although already present inside Paxton’s
+Crystal Palace in the mid nineteenth century. Certainly there is no
+evidence here of a decline in Mackintosh’s creative powers; indeed,
+quite the contrary. Yet this library proved to be his swan song; for
+want of further commissions Mackintosh’s career all but closed at much
+the same time that the Art Nouveau was coming to an end on the
+Continent. Not since Ledoux perhaps had so great a talent been thus
+thwarted by circumstances, although just what the thwarting
+circumstances were, other than Mackintosh’s own temperament, is not so
+evident as in the case of the revolutionary French architect.
+
+The Art Nouveau, so extensively propagated by exhibitions, is often
+thought to have terminated with an exhibition, that held at Turin in
+1902. This is more than a slight exaggeration, as various already
+mentioned buildings executed as late as 1911 will have made evident. Yet
+after the early years of the century the decline of the Art Nouveau was
+almost universal except in provincial places and in outlying countries
+such as those of Latin America and eastern Europe. At Turin the Belgian
+section had characteristic Art Nouveau interiors by Horta. Mackintosh,
+wholly detached by now from the Art Nouveau, contributed a Rose Boudoir,
+typically light in colour and delicate in line with the predominant
+verticals and horizontals relieved by little abstract knots, so to say,
+of curvilinear decoration. Raimondo D’Aronco (1857-1932), the Italian
+architect responsible for the principal pavilions, wavered between a
+rather plastic, somewhat Neo-Baroque, version of the Art Nouveau, not
+unrelated to the seventeenth-century work of the great local architect
+Guarino Guarini, and a crisper mode much influenced by Mackintosh and
+the Viennese.
+
+D’Aronco’s finest building, however, was not at Turin but the Pavilion
+of Fine Arts that he designed for the Udine Exhibition the next year.
+Moving sharply away from the turgidity of much of his work at the
+earlier exhibition, he produced for Udine a façade that was unified in
+design, frankly impermanent in its materials, and at once festive in
+spirit and dignified in tone. This was a most distinguished piece of
+exhibition architecture in a period when leading designers gave a great
+part of their attention to such rather ephemeral things—largely,
+doubtless, because so few opportunities to build permanent structures
+came their way. In Istanbul, D’Aronco built a small mosque in 1903,
+prominently located by the Galata Bridge, and also several blocks of
+flats that signally fail to maintain the promise of his Italian
+exhibition buildings. The very awkwardly sited mosque, raised on top of
+an existing structure, is as Viennese in character as the Udine
+pavilion.
+
+Other Italian architects, however, remained faithful for a few years to
+the _stile floreale_, their version of the Art Nouveau. In Milan the
+Casa Castiglione, a _palazzo_ or mansion-like block of flats at 47 Corso
+Venezia built by Giuseppe Sommaruga (1867-1917) in 1903, is a very large
+and ponderous example. The detail is extremely bold, inside and out, the
+materials rich, and a very large part of the interior is given up to a
+monumental stair-hall of almost Piranesian spatial complexity. A
+Milanese hotel at 15 Corso Vittorio Emmanuele of 1904-5 by A. Cattaneo
+and G. Santamaria is of a comparable extravagance. Finer perhaps,
+certainly simpler, is the Casa Tosi of 1910 at 28 Via Senato in Milan by
+Alfredo Campanini (1873-1926).[388]
+
+To judge from the rather _stile floreale_ character of some work of this
+period in Latin America, Italians as well as Iberians may well have
+carried the Art Nouveau there. In Cuba and Brazil, especially, memories
+of Colonial exuberance encouraged a profusion of carved or moulded
+ornament beyond even the excesses of the French around 1900. The most
+prominent example, but not the most characteristic, is the Palacio de
+Bellas Artes in Mexico City begun for President Diaz by Adamo Boari
+after 1903 and completed in 1933 by Federico Mariscal; this is
+‘Beaux-Arts’—not inappropriately, perhaps—in all except its detailing;
+in the latest portions this reflects the Paris of the Exposition des
+Arts Décoratifs of 1925 rather than the Art Nouveau Paris of 1900.
+
+In Spain itself the international current of the Art Nouveau was not
+very influential outside Barcelona. Gaudí, whose earlier work of the
+seventies and eighties has already been described (see Chapter 11),
+continued to be as much apart from the contemporary Spanish
+architectural scene as he was from the international Art Nouveau. His
+finest late works, moreover, all but post-date the demise of the Art
+Nouveau in the major European capitals. Nor is there any such close, if
+ambivalent, linkage between Gaudí’s career and the general rise and fall
+of the mode as in the case of Mackintosh. One can only say that his
+personal style is more closely related to the Art Nouveau than to the
+new stage of modern architecture that was already succeeding it by the
+time he produced his final masterpieces. The premonitory character of
+his early ironwork has been discussed and illustrated already (Plate
+96B).
+
+Gaudí’s work on the church of the Sagrada Familia[389] in Barcelona went
+on more or less continuously from 1884 to 1914 and began again in 1919
+after the First World War. The most conspicuous portion that has so far
+been executed, one of the transept façades, was designed and largely
+built in the nineties. Dominating Barcelona with its four extraordinary
+towers—not finally completed until after Gaudí’s death in 1926—this
+façade, begun in 1891, breaks quite sharply with the Neo-Gothic of
+Villar’s crypt and his own chevet. The portals with their steep gables
+have a generically Gothic _ordonnance_; but the extraordinary profusion
+of sculpture, mostly executed after 1903, gives a highly novel flavour.
+While conventional enough as regards the figures, this is otherwise
+either naturalistically floral or else meltingly abstract. It resembles
+the Art Nouveau in many minor details, but is generally bolder in scale,
+more fully three-dimensional, and, in places, somewhat nightmarish.
+
+Although only about two-thirds as tall as the cluster of towers intended
+by Gaudí to rise over the crossing, the four openwork spires above this
+façade—with the two in the centre taller than those on the sides—reach a
+wholly disproportionate height in relation to the roof that should
+ultimately cover the still unbuilt transept. At the top they break out
+into fantastically plastic finials whose multi-planar surfaces are
+covered with a mosaic of broken tiling in brilliant colours. The
+prototypes for these finials are the chimney-pots of the Palau Güell,
+but here their note of free fantasy is raised to monumental scale. The
+inspiration of the towers, so remote in character from anything that the
+Art Nouveau ever produced, came from certain native buildings which
+Gaudí had seen in Africa: these strange primitive[390] forms he first
+exploited in a project of 1892-3 for the Spanish Franciscan Mission in
+Tangier which was never executed.
+
+_In posse_ the Sagrada Familia is perhaps the greatest ecclesiastical
+monument of the last hundred years; beside it such a suave late example
+of monumental Neo-Gothic in England as Liverpool Cathedral, begun by Sir
+Giles Gilbert Scott in 1903, lacks both vitality and originality of
+expression, if not nobility of scale. However, Gaudí’s church still
+remains a fragment, and a very incoherent one at that, even though he
+prepared in 1925, the year before his death, a brilliant new project for
+the nave. Gaudí really stands or falls by the few secular buildings that
+he was able to carry to completion, beginning with the Palau Güell of
+1886-9 (Plate 96B), and not, as many compatriots assume, by the
+unrealized—perhaps unrealizable—plans for the Sagrada Familia.
+(Construction has gone slowly forward, however, on the other transept
+for a decade now.)
+
+Gaudí’s next Barcelona mansion after the Palau Güell, that built at 48
+Carrer de Casp for the heirs of Pedro Mártir Calvet in 1898-1904, is
+much less impressive. Baroque rather than medieval in its antecedents,
+this is interesting chiefly for the detailing of the ironwork; but even
+that is no more remarkable here than that at the Palau Güell of a decade
+earlier. It is of interest, however, as illustrating the support which
+Gaudí received all along from his fellow citizens, that the Casa Calvet
+was awarded a prize in 1901 as the best new façade in Barcelona, quite
+as Guimard’s Castel Béranger was premiated three years earlier in Paris.
+
+A wholly new spirit, quite comparable in its total originality to the
+Art Nouveau, first appears in the work that Gaudí did for Don Eusebio
+Güell at the Park Güell (now the Municipal Park of Barcelona), carried
+out over the years 1900-14, and in the walls and the gate he built in
+1901-2 for the suburban estate of Don Hermenegildo Miralles in Las Corts
+de Sarriá. In the latter all the forms are curved and no stylistic
+reminiscence whatsoever remains, but it is a production of minor
+importance compared to the park. The park is mostly landscaping, but
+partly architecture in that it includes several small buildings and much
+subsidiary construction. A sort of Neo-Romantic naturalism, exceeding in
+fantasy that of the most exotic landscape gardening of the eighteenth
+century, controls the whole conception. Sinuous and megalomaniac
+near-Doric colonnades of concrete support a sort of flat vault that is
+of great interest technically;[391] yet these colonnades also suggest
+artificial ruins of the eighteenth-century sort raised to giant scale.
+The other porticoes and grottoes, however, recall no architecture of the
+past. Their rubble columns seem rather to emulate slanting tree-trunks,
+but in fact their profiles were worked out statically with the most
+careful study of the forces involved.
+
+The ranges of curving benches surrounding the great open terrace over
+the Doric hypostyle, although covered with a mosaic of the most
+heterogeneous bits and pieces of broken faience, seem like congelations
+of the waves of the sea; the roofs of the lodges, also tile-covered,
+toss in the air like cockscombs. A strange biological plasticity, rather
+like that of the small-scale carved detail of Horta’s or Guimard’s
+buildings very much enlarged, turns whole structures into malleable
+masses as in some Gulliverian dream of vegetable or animal elements
+grown to monumental size. Everything but the ironwork is moulded in
+three dimensions, and even the ironwork tends towards a heavy scale more
+comparable to that of the structural members of metal used in Belgian or
+French work of the day than to the delicacy of Art Nouveau decorative
+detail.
+
+Gaudí’s major secular works belong to the same years as the execution of
+the park. It is hard to believe that the Casa Batlló at 43 Passeig de
+Gracia in Barcelona, a small block of flats, is not a completely new
+structure but a remodelling carried out in 1905-7. This fact perhaps
+explains the relative flatness of the façade. Yet Gaudí made the lower
+storeys extraordinarily plastic and open, using a bony articulation of
+curvilinear stone members, and the high roof in front that masks the
+roof terrace is of even more cockscomb-like character than those on his
+park lodges (Plate 136). The upper storeys of the façade glitter with a
+fantastic plaquage of broken coloured glass considerably more subtle in
+tonality than his usual mosaic of faience fragments.[392] But
+architecturally the façade is handled more like Horta’s, with most of
+the windows nearly rectangular even though bulging balconettes of metal
+project at their bases. The effect, as with Horta, is slightly
+Neo-Rococo. But the sort of Rococo which this façade recalls is not
+circumspect French eighteenth-century work but the lusher mode that was
+exploited in Bavaria and Austria—and still more appositely in Portugal
+and Spain. The entire wall surface seems to be in motion, and all its
+edges waver and wind in a way that even interior panelling did rarely in
+eighteenth-century France. This effect of total motion is even more
+notable in the interiors, which seem to have been hollowed out by the
+waves of the sea.
+
+The rear façade of the Casa Batlló is remarkable for its openness. The
+wide window-walls in the paired flats open on to sinuous balconies
+extending all the way across. Above, there is a simpler plastic cresting
+than on the front; over this the curious forms of the chimney-pots
+provide a range of abstract sculptural features covered with polychrome
+tiling, always a favourite terminal theme of Gaudí’s.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 35. Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Casa Milá, 1905-10, plan of
+ typical floor
+]
+
+Much larger than the Casa Batlló is the edifice built for Roser Segimon
+de Milá in 1905-7 at 92 Passeig de Gracia, appropriately known in
+Barcelona as ‘La Pedrera’ (the quarry). Surrounding two more or less
+circular courts, this large block of flats occupies an obtuse corner
+site, and the entire plan is worked out in curves as well as all the
+elements of the exterior (Figure 35). The façade of the Casa Milá is not
+a thin plane, curling like paper at the edges and pierced with squarish
+holes like that of the Casa Batlló; instead ranges of balconies heavier
+than those on the rear of the Casa Batlló sway in and out like the waves
+of the sea beneath the foamlike crest of the roof, making the whole
+edifice a very complex plastic entity (Plate 137A). From a distance La
+Pedrera looks as if it were all freely modelled in clay; in fact, it is
+executed in cut stone with boldly hammered surfaces that appear to
+result from natural erosion.
+
+There is no external polychromy of glass or tile here, and the frescoed
+colour used on the court walls has suffered such serious deterioration
+that it is difficult to know what it was like originally. On the other
+hand, Gaudí’s detail was never more carefully studied nor more
+consistent; there are no straight lines at all, and in the forms of the
+piers rising from the ground to support the balconies of the first
+storey he suggested natural formations with real success (Plate 135B).
+These elements look as if they had been produced by the action of sea
+and weather rather than by the chisel, quite as does much of the
+mid-twentieth-century sculpture of Henry Moore.
+
+The marine note is seen at its strongest and most naturalistic in the
+ironwork however. Strewn over the balcony parapets and across various
+openings, like seaweed over the rocks and sand of the seashore, the
+railings and grilles are full of intense organic vitality with none of
+the graceful droopiness of Guimard’s Métro entrances. Gaudí’s metalwork
+frequently suggests the work of various mid-twentieth-century sculptors
+in welded metal, quite as his handling of masonry does later sculpture
+in stone. Indeed, his iron grilles often exceed such sculptors’
+metalwork in richness and variety of form, as also in the fine
+hand-craftsmanship of the execution.
+
+The detailing on the Casa Milá, whether of the masonry or the ironwork,
+avoids the nightmarish overscaling of the somewhat similar elements at
+the Parc Güell, and also the coarseness of the broken faience mosaic
+surfaces that he used so much there and elsewhere but here restricted to
+the roof-tops. As regards the masonry, moreover, it is really wrong to
+speak of detailing, for the very fabric of the structure, not just its
+edges and its trimmings as on the Casa Batlló, has been completely
+moulded to the architect’s plastic will. Whether or not it be correct to
+consider the Casa Milá an example of the Art Nouveau—and technically it
+is not—La Pedrera remains one of the greatest masterpieces of the
+curvilinear mode of 1900, rivalled in quality only by the finest of
+Sullivan’s skyscrapers (Plate 119), which it does not, of course,
+resemble visually at all.
+
+Despite the esteem in which his work has always been held by his
+fellow-citizens of Barcelona, Gaudí had few local imitators of
+consequence. However, such detailing on early twentieth-century
+buildings there as may appear at first to be conventionally Art Nouveau
+is often in fact a bit Gaudian. Only his assistants Francisc Berenguer
+(1866-1914) and J. M. Jujol Gibert (1879-1949) seem to have understood
+Gaudí’s mature style. At least the house by Jujol at 335 Diagonal in
+Barcelona, though quite small and simple, and the Bodega Güell at Garraf
+of 1913 by Berenguer are of a quality worthy of comparison with Gaudí’s
+own best work.[393] The big Palau de la Musica Catalana, built by Luis
+Domenech Montaner (1850-1923) in 1908, is a very extravagant example of
+the architecture of the period, bold and coarse and rich, but with none
+of Gaudí’s personal flair and integrity.
+
+In Glasgow Mackintosh after 1908 was a prophet with far less honour than
+‘Greek’ Thomson had received there in an earlier day. But the
+countercurrent that he had helped to set going on the Continent was in
+full swing, particularly in Austria and in Germany (see Chapters 20 and
+21). Even in Horta’s own Brussels, Josef Hoffmann had been called from
+Vienna as early as 1905 to build the suburban Stoclet mansion (Plate
+154A) at 373 Avenue de Tervueren (see Chapter 21).
+
+Despite the ephemeral nature of much of its production and the
+completeness with which it was ultimately rejected everywhere, the Art
+Nouveau has very great historical importance. The Art Nouveau offered
+the first international programme for a basic renewal of architecture
+that the nineteenth century actually set out to realize. Most earlier
+programmes, moreover, even if not primarily revivalistic, aimed chiefly
+at the reform of architecture; this was still true of Voysey and his
+English contemporaries in these very years, though not, of course, of
+Sullivan and Wright, working in isolation in the American Middle West.
+Thus the Art Nouveau was actually the first stage of modern architecture
+in Europe, if modern architecture be understood as implying, before
+anything else, the total rejection of historicism.
+
+The proto-modernity of earlier stages of nineteenth-century
+architectural development is almost always ambiguous, since the leaders
+of the various successive movements rarely intended to break with the
+past entirely. The characteristic ideal of nineteenth-century
+architects, as of their late eighteenth-century predecessors, had been
+to react against what they considered the decadence of the building arts
+current in their day by returning to the principles of some earlier and
+supposedly purer or more vital age. The very considerable amount of
+innovation that many European architects before Horta introduced in
+their work was not exactly unconscious; but it was rather a matter of
+achieving personal expression by adapting old forms to new needs, new
+materials, and new methods of construction than of creating a wholly
+original modern style.
+
+Well before the nineties a very few men had consciously sought absolute
+originality and total freedom from the disciplines of the past. But such
+architects found little or no public support for their programmes of
+architectural revolution nor even fellow-artists to share in their
+highly individualistic campaigns. After the relatively universal
+acceptance of the doctrines of Romantic Classicism there had followed
+chiefly a succession and a multiplication of divergences; now, in the
+nineties, a real pattern of convergence appeared. But this convergence
+was premature. The renewal of ornament and of the accessories of
+architecture outran the renewal of the more basic elements of the art of
+building towards which the technical developments of the nineteenth
+century had been so inevitably leading.
+
+Thus the Art Nouveau stands apart both from the architecture of the
+preceding hundred years and from the modern architecture of the
+following sixty which extends down to the present. It did not bring the
+one to an end, as the profusion of so-called ‘traditional’ buildings of
+the early twentieth century makes very evident (see Chapter 24), nor did
+it provide much more than a preface to the major new developments that
+mark the early decades of the present century (see Chapters 18-21). That
+the Art Nouveau was completely rejected on principle by
+‘traditionalists’ is not surprising: it was the first serious attack on
+the position they continued to maintain. But the very rapidity with
+which the Art Nouveau rose to popularity and descended to vulgarization
+encouraged its denigration in the name of ‘taste’ by almost all other
+architects soon after it reached its climax around 1900. In recompense,
+interest in the Art Nouveau began to revive early, by the early
+thirties, after a much shorter period of neglect than other phases of
+nineteenth-century architectural development have undergone and are
+still undergoing.
+
+The place of the Art Nouveau in the story of modern architecture, if
+only as an episode of youthful wild-oat-sowing, is now well established.
+Most of its exponents actually lived long enough to receive in their
+later years embarrassing praise for youthful work they had quite
+disowned if not forgotten. It is a curious paradox that although most of
+the leaders of the Art Nouveau survived for decades—and Van de Velde
+died only in 1957—not one except Gaudí[394] maintained after 1910 the
+position of relative pre-eminence that had been his in 1900. A wholly
+new cast of characters, many of them no younger, came to the fore in the
+first decade of the twentieth century; they constitute the first
+generation of modern architects, properly speaking.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 18
+MODERN ARCHITECTS OF THE FIRST GENERATION IN FRANCE: AUGUSTE PERRET AND
+ TONY GARNIER
+
+
+NO better name than ‘modern’ has yet been found for what has come to be
+the characteristic architecture of the twentieth century throughout the
+western world, well beyond its confines also in Japan, India, and
+Africa, and increasingly in most of the Communist countries. Alternative
+adjectives such as ‘rational’, ‘functional’, ‘international’, or
+‘organic’ all have the disadvantage of being either vaguer or more
+tendentious. Whether the Art Nouveau or such things as Sullivan’s
+skyscrapers and Voysey’s houses all truly belong, in their rather
+sharply differing ways, to a first stage of modern architecture or are
+transitional and prefatory may still be debated; but from the earliest
+years of this century several continuous lines of development can
+certainly be traced. These lines were in the main convergent through the
+twenties, if increasingly divergent in the middle decades of the
+century. By stressing generic changes rather than specific achievements
+the development can be presented almost anonymously, somewhat as the
+nineteenth-century development of commercial architecture was outlined
+earlier in this book (see Chapter 14). But it is more humanistic, and at
+least as true to the detailed facts, to consider modern architecture as
+deriving from the individual activities of a few leaders rather than
+from some Hegelian historic necessity. Of those leaders one group, born
+in the late 1860s, constitutes the first generation; a group born some
+twenty years later forms a second generation; since the 1930s still
+another generation has come to the fore.
+
+A somewhat similar succession of three generations could be
+distinguished in the case of Romantic Classicism, the last universal
+style in architecture. What sets the twentieth-century situation apart
+from that of the earlier period has been the marked prolongation of the
+activity of the first generation, two of whose leading members, Wright
+and Perret, lived on and remained active well beyond 1950. Wright
+continued in vigorous production down to his death in 1959. The leaders
+of the second generation, who first moved towards the centre of the
+stage in the early twenties, are mostly still alive; two of them at
+least, Le Corbusier and Mies van der Rohe, have been rather more
+productive since 1946 than they were earlier in their careers (see
+Chapter 21).
+
+While some influence from their juniors can be noted in the later work
+of the modern architects of the first generation, a real difference
+between their approach to architecture and that of the second generation
+has continued. Those who have come forward since the mid thirties owe
+much to the first generation as well as to the second, yet they have
+also manifested some significant characteristics that are their own. The
+modern architecture of the last sixty years may well be presented
+historically in terms of the work of two generations of leaders (see
+Chapters 18-23), and then of the production of the decade following the
+Second World War (see Chapter 25). But modern architecture, even very
+broadly interpreted, includes only a small fraction of all building
+production down to the war; the work of those supporters of the
+‘tradition’ in the twentieth century bulked much larger in quantity,
+even if it very rarely rivalled the modern work in interest or quality
+(see Chapter 24). An Epilogue will touch on the current scene in the
+early sixties.
+
+The leaders of the first generation of modern architects remained great
+individualists to the last. It is therefore not easy to draw any general
+stylistic picture from their production, even for the years before the
+twenties when they were the only modern architects. The leaders of the
+second generation drew their inspiration, in most cases, not from one
+but from several of the older men; yet their work was so convergent that
+by the mid twenties a body of doctrine had come to exist deriving partly
+from their theories and partly from their few executed buildings and
+their many projects. With the increasingly wide acceptance of this body
+of doctrine critics were soon ready to recognize the existence of a new
+style as coherent, as consistent, and almost as universally employed by
+younger architects everywhere as the Romantic Classical style had been
+at the opening of the nineteenth century (see Chapter 22).
+
+Towards the constitution of this new style each of the great architects
+of the first generation had made notable contributions; yet their
+executed work, and even more their theories, remained independent of it.
+To appreciate that work only in the light of what they had in common
+with their juniors is to miss much of the richness and all of the
+idiosyncrasy of their achievement. In considering the work of these
+older architects for its own sake, what sets it apart from the Art
+Nouveau, whose protagonists were in many cases their exact
+contemporaries, must first be indicated and evaluated. For example,
+their rejection of ornament, at most but relative, provides only a minor
+and negative point of differentiation. In their positive preoccupation
+with structure and its direct architectonic expression, and also their
+reform and revitalization of planning concepts, however, they went much
+further than most of the Art Nouveau designers of 1900. It is true that
+such architects as Horta and Jourdain, when working with metal and
+glass, were concerned with the expression of structure, but that
+expression was usually more decorative than architectonic (Plates 132B
+and 133). Traditional materials, such as stone and brick, in the hands
+of Art Nouveau architects and their spiritual brothers often lost all
+their natural character, being treated like so much clay. The sense of
+materials, both new and old, and the determination of their proper use
+preoccupied all the leading architects of the first generation,
+something for which only the English and the Americans prepared the way
+in the nineteenth century.
+
+The new importance of structure and its expression, the preoccupation
+with a particular building material, is nowhere more evident than in the
+work of Auguste Perret (1874-1954), the only great French architect of
+this generation. Associated as he was with the family contracting firm
+of A. & G. Perret, which specialized early in the use of reinforced
+concrete, he saw as his principal task the development of formulas of
+design for concrete as valid as those so long established in France for
+building with stone. The other architects of his generation came more
+gradually and less whole-heartedly to the exploitation of new
+materials—it is paradoxical, for example, that the characteristic Art
+Nouveau interest in exposed metal construction came generally to an end
+about 1905—and their work as a result is more various and less
+doctrinaire. Because of Perret’s clear definition of his goal and his
+single-minded advance along a predetermined line, his somewhat limited
+architectural achievement may well be considered before the protean
+many-sidedness of Wright’s in America and the ambiguity of Peter
+Behrens’s in Germany, not to speak of the important contributions of
+Wagner and Loos in Austria, and of Berlage and de Klerk in Holland (see
+Chapters 19, 20, and 21).
+
+Auguste Perret came of Burgundian stock, but by the accident of his
+father’s exile from France after the Commune he was born in Brussels.
+His education was entirely French. He left the École des Beaux-Arts to
+enter the family’s building firm without waiting to receive the
+Government’s diploma, somewhat as Wright went out into the practical
+world with but two years of engineering school behind him. His career
+began almost at once, for he built his first house at Berneval in 1890.
+Several blocks of flats and an office building in Paris followed in the
+next eight years; the Municipal Casino at St-Malo, built in 1899, was
+the first work of any real consequence. There he and his brother Gustave
+(1876-?) used reinforced concrete for an unsupported slab floor of
+54-foot span. Executed otherwise in local granite and wood, this
+building has a certain bold simplicity as remote from ‘Beaux-Arts’ as
+from Art Nouveau work of the period.
+
+Reinforced concrete,[395] that is concrete strengthened by internal
+reinforcing rods of metal, seems to have been invented by a French
+gardener named Joseph Monnier in 1849, but he used it only for flower
+pots and outdoor furniture. In 1847 François Coignet (1814-88) built
+some houses of poured concrete without reinforcement; in 1852 for a
+house at 72 Rue Charles Michel in St-Denis, Seine, Coignet first
+employed his own system of _béton armé_, to use his term. That term has
+since remained current in French—the German term is _Eisenbeton_, the
+Italian _cimento armato_. During the next four decades ferro-concrete,
+to give it its simplest English name, was developed very gradually by
+Coignet and by François Hennebique (1842-1921) with no very notable
+architectural results. Detailed research is gradually revealing many
+instances of its early use by various men in different countries; but
+neither in the scale of its employment nor in the achievement of new and
+characteristic modes of expression does its history in these decades
+rival that of iron in the first half of the nineteenth century (see
+Chapter 7).
+
+In 1894, just as the Art Nouveau was reaching France, ferro-concrete was
+used for the first time in a structure of some modest architectural
+pretension by J.-E.-A. de Baudot[396] (1836-1915) for a school in the
+Rue de Sévigné in Paris. This is overshadowed in interest, however, by
+the church he began to build in 1897. Saint-Jean-de-Montmartre at 2
+Place des Abbesses in Paris has very little connexion with the Art
+Nouveau except for its drastic novelty. On the contrary, de Baudot
+employed for his structural skeleton very much simplified Gothic forms.
+Actually, it is incorrect to call the material used here _béton armé_;
+it is more properly _ciment armé_ since there is no coarse aggregate as
+in concrete. Like his master Viollet-le-Duc’s projects, Saint-Jean is
+curious rather than impressive and not at all to be compared in
+intrinsic interest with Gaudí’s Sagrada Familia. Worth noting, however,
+is the use of faience mosaic to decorate the concrete structural
+members, something de Baudot had already tried out on his earlier
+school. The authorities were dubious of the strength of de Baudot’s
+structure, as well they might have been considering the iron-like
+delicacy of the membering, and a hiatus of several years held up the
+construction after 1899, the church being completed only in 1902-4. As
+has been mentioned already, the contractor was Contamin working with
+Soubaux, his partner of the period.
+
+Before Saint-Jean-de-Montmartre was finally finished in 1904, Perret had
+already demonstrated the architectural possibilities of the new material
+rather more effectively in the block of flats that he built in 1902-3 at
+25 bis Rue Franklin in Paris. Despite the echo of the Art Nouveau
+already noted in the foliage patterns of faience mosaic filling the
+wall-panels on the exterior, most of the interest of the building
+resides in its structure and its planning. Like that of Anatole de
+Baudot’s church, the structure is visibly a discrete framework, but made
+up entirely of vertical and horizontal elements with no curved members
+of either Gothic or Art Nouveau inspiration. However, the concrete is
+nowhere exposed but always covered with glazed tile sheathing. Within
+the wall-panels the windows are crisply outlined by plain projecting
+bands of tile; this provides an early instance of that _encadrement_, or
+framing, on which Perret came to insist in all his work after the mid
+twenties.
+
+The skeletal structure of 25 bis Rue Franklin allowed great freedom in
+planning (Figure 36). Around a small court, sunk into the front of the
+building, the principal living areas of each flat all open into one
+another, somewhat as in Wright’s Hickox house of 1900 but with less
+spatial unification (Figure 31); the result is closer to Horta’s
+treatment of the main floor of his Aubecq house of 1900 in Brussels
+(Figure 34).
+
+The next year Perret built another block of flats at 83 Avenue Niel in
+Paris with an internal skeleton not of concrete but of metal, and
+façades of stone treated somewhat like those of his Art Nouveau flats of
+the previous year in the Avenue Wagram (see Chapter 17). He returned,
+however, at once to the use of ferro-concrete and rarely deserted it
+again.
+
+The Garage Ponthieu, which was built in 1905-6 in the Rue de Ponthieu in
+Paris, is a much more striking example of the possibilities of the new
+material than the earlier blocks of flats; moreover, the concrete is
+here exposed (Plate 139A). Inside, galleries carried along both sides of
+the L-shaped space provide a second level for parking motor cars and the
+whole interior is almost as light and open as if it were built of metal,
+thus recalling a little de Baudot’s church. The façade, likewise, is as
+skeletal as if executed with a metal frame. But Perret’s determination,
+somewhat comparable to Sullivan’s in the Wainwright Building in St Louis
+of fifteen years before, to organize the expression of a new type of
+construction along basically Classical lines is as evident as the
+maximal fenestration. The thin slab which projects at the top provides a
+sort of cornice and the range of small windows underneath it a sort of
+frieze, while the arrangement of the elements of the façade below is
+very formal indeed. The rose-window-like glazing of the big central
+panel is somewhat rudimentary and rather less Classical in feeling than
+the rest, but the essentials of Perret’s concrete aesthetic are all
+adumbrated here as they were not in the more tentative block of flats in
+the Rue Franklin.
+
+In the solid, marble-sheathed façade of the Théâtre des Champs Élysées
+in the Avenue Montaigne in Paris, Perret’s largest and most conspicuous
+early work, his classicizing intentions are even more evident, but the
+expression of concrete-skeleton structure is much less complete; these
+intentions are underlined, moreover, by the large stylized reliefs by
+Antoine Bourdelle that provide the only external decoration. Originally,
+in late 1910, the commission for this theatre was given to Van de Velde.
+He at once proposed that it should be built of ferro-concrete with the
+Perret firm as contractors. During the course of the following year
+Perret proposed various changes in the plan to make more practical its
+construction with a concrete skeleton. When he later offered an
+alternative design for the façade this was preferred by Van de Velde
+because it seemed then so expressive of the underlying structure, as it
+hardly does to posterity. By September Van de Velde made a final report
+as consulting architect and withdrew completely. Needless to say, there
+has been controversy ever since as to the degree of Perret’s
+responsibility for this major monument of twentieth-century Paris; as
+built, however, there can be little question that it is very largely of
+his design. How different a theatre by Van de Velde would have been is
+at least suggested by the one that he erected in 1914 for the Werkbund
+Exhibition in Cologne (see Chapter 20).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 36. Auguste Perret: Paris, block of flats, 25 bis Rue Franklin,
+ 1902-3, plan
+]
+
+The foyer of the Théâtre des Champs Élysées expresses the possibilities
+of ferro-concrete in a more architectural way than do the interiors of
+the earlier block of flats and the garage. The actual structural members
+of the skeleton are visible in the free-standing columns, as are also
+the beams that they support; the walls are very evidently only thin
+panels between the piers. A few simple mouldings are used to assimilate
+the new expression to the conventions of academic design—too few to
+satisfy contemporaries, though too many for later taste.
+
+There is less clarity of expression in the great auditorium because of
+the profusion of murals contributed by various Symbolists and
+Neo-Impressionists—Maurice Denis and K.-X. Roussel most notably—and by
+the over-all gilding of the principal structural members, which are also
+elaborated by semi-Classical detailing. Even so, the fact that the dome
+is carried on the four pairs of tall slender columns is very evident,
+and the swinging curves of the successive balconies give early evidence
+of the ease with which ferro-concrete lends itself to bold
+cantilevering.
+
+The presumed necessity of achieving monumentality undoubtedly
+compromised the purity of Perret’s expression of structure throughout
+the Théâtre des Champs Élysées. During the War, which followed so soon
+after the inauguration of the theatre in 1913, an important industrial
+commission of Perret’s produced what would be for the next generation of
+architects a more exemplary work. The warehouses built at Casablanca in
+North Africa in 1915-16—there are also others there of 1919—required no
+representational display; they are almost ‘pure’ engineering in
+concrete. But the lightness of their walls, pierced with abstract
+patterns formed by ventilating holes, and the elegance of their thin
+shell vaults of segmental section displayed the potentialities of a
+quite new structural aesthetic, at once delicate and precise, with no
+echoes at all of the massive masonry buildings of the past.
+
+The interior of the Esders Clothing Factory at 78 Avenue
+Philippe-Auguste in Paris, erected just after the War in 1919, and
+several smaller industrial buildings for the metal-working firm of
+Wallut & Grange at Montataire, Oise, of 1919-21 were more readily
+studied by younger architects and, in the case of the Esders factory,
+much grander in scale than the North African warehouses. Even more
+elegant than the warehouses, and equally ‘pure’, was the atelier of the
+decorator Durand built in Paris in the Rue Olivier-Métra in 1922. This
+has a shell vault rising from the floor broken, along one side only, by
+a long skylight over widely spaced ribs that continue the curve of the
+vault.
+
+By this time, of course, ferro-concrete was in general use for
+industrial building throughout most of the western world. In France the
+vast parabolic-vaulted aircraft hangar at Orly, Seine, designed by the
+engineer Eugène Freyssinet (1879-1962) in 1916, overshadowed in size and
+boldness anything built by Perret. This very exceptional utilitarian
+construction, magnificent in form yet quite without architectural
+pretension, was destroyed during the Second World War. To Tony Garnier’s
+work in Lyons we shall turn later.
+
+In America Frank Lloyd Wright used ferro-concrete for his modest E.Z.
+Polish Factory in Chicago in 1905, just as Ernest L. Ransome was
+completing the first mature example of a large plant of ferro-concrete
+frame construction, the United Shoe Machinery Plant in Beverly, Mass.,
+begun in 1903.[397] All over the Middle West, moreover, grain
+elevators[398] were rising in the form of gigantic linked cylinders. In
+Switzerland the great engineer Robert Maillart (1872-1940) in his
+factories and bridges was using concrete in several new ways as
+different from the elevators as from the usual timber-like frames of the
+French and the Americans or the shell vaults of Perret and Freyssinet.
+Everywhere the importance of ferro-concrete as the prime building
+material of the twentieth century was receiving increasing recognition;
+for it was a material more universally available than structural steel
+and also so elastic in its potentialities that these have hardly even
+yet been adequately explored.[399] In the early twenties, when a younger
+generation of architects all over Europe turned their major attention to
+ferro-concrete as the most modern of building materials, Perret was the
+architect who had the most to offer them—how limited had been Wright’s
+exploitation of concrete up to this time we shall shortly see (see
+Chapter 19). When Perret erected the church of Notre-Dame at Le Raincy,
+S.-et-O., near Paris in 1922-3 concrete came of age as a building
+material in somewhat the same way that cast iron had done in a series of
+major English and French edifices of the 1840s (see Chapter 7).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 37. Auguste Perret: Le Raincy, S.-et-O., Notre-Dame, 1922-3,
+ plan
+]
+
+The Le Raincy church is not revolutionary in plan, being a basilica with
+aisles and an apse; unlike de Baudot’s church, however, it has no
+specific elements of Gothic reminiscence in the interior (Plate 141).
+Instead it provides what the medieval builders of Saint-Urbain at Troyes
+or King’s College Chapel in Cambridge had obviously sought to achieve, a
+complete cage of glass supported by a minimal skeleton of solid
+elements. The broad segmental shell vault of the nave, with smaller
+vaults running crosswise over the aisle bays in the Cistercian way, is
+carried on no walls at all but only on the slightest of free-standing
+columns reeded vertically by the forms in which they were cast (Figure
+37). Quite separate from this supporting skeleton is the continuous
+enclosing screen of pre-cast concrete units, pierced and filled with
+coloured glass designed by Maurice Denis. This is carried round the
+entire rectangle of interior space and bowed out at the east end in a
+segmental curve to form a shallow apse behind the altar. Only at the
+front is the clarity of the conception compromised by the awkward
+impingement of the clusters of columns that shoot up to form the tower.
+
+Deserting the dilute Classicism that was his natural bent, Perret
+allowed the clustered piers of his tower to rise into the sky,
+supporting nothing at the top, in order to approximate the outline of a
+Gothic spire. Even more than in the interior, where one is aware only of
+the lowest stage, the verticalism and the medieval suggestion of this
+feature, so over-ingeniously composed of standard ferro-concrete
+elements, seems quite at odds with the severe concrete-and-glass box
+that provides the body of the church. Few other ferro-concrete
+churches[400] of the twenties, least of all Perret’s own Sainte-Thérèse
+at Montmagny, S.-et-O., of 1925-6 and other French ones by his
+imitators, rival Notre-Dame at Le Raincy. The largest and boldest, Sankt
+Antonius at Basel in Switzerland, built by Karl Moser (1860-1936) in
+1926-7, seems somewhat heavy and factory-like. Its plain rectangular
+tower, however, rising free at one corner of the church, is much simpler
+and more original than Perret’s spire and has been frequently and
+successfully emulated by other architects. Of quite a different order
+are the Expressionist churches of the German Dominikus Böhm, which have,
+in the long run, had at least as wide an influence (see Chapters 20 and
+25).
+
+Two remodelled Paris banks, one of 1922 for the Société Marseillaise de
+Crédit in the Rue Auber and another of 1925 for the Crédit National
+Hôtelier, gave evidence of Perret’s capacity to extend the implications
+of ferro-concrete design to more conventional problems. These interiors
+are almost wholly devoid of ornament, and they largely depend for their
+effectiveness, like the foyer of the Théâtre des Champs Élysées, upon
+the careful proportioning of the exposed elements of the skeleton
+construction. In 1924 the Palais de Bois, a temporary exhibition
+building at the Porte Maillot in Paris, showed how this sense of direct
+structural expression could be exploited in a building all of timber.
+This was much more successful than the theatre that Perret built in
+1924-5 for the Paris Exposition des Arts Décoratifs. Of a quite
+different order was the Tour d’Orientation at Grenoble, also of 1924-5.
+Here Perret was far happier in achieving something comparable to the
+richness of medieval spires with standard structural elements and
+pre-cast panels than in the tower of his church at Le Raincy, for this
+is much more structurally conceived and quite devoid of Gothic
+reminiscence in the outline.
+
+The mid twenties also brought to Perret, by this time widely recognized
+in advanced circles as the leading French architect, several commissions
+for houses, chiefly for artists, in France and even as far afield as
+Egypt. Characteristically French in his preoccupation with large, not to
+say monumental, problems, house-design was not Perret’s forte in the way
+it was that of his American and Austrian contemporaries Wright and Loos.
+Moreover by this date certain younger architects, particularly Le
+Corbusier and two or three others in Paris, had set under way a
+revolution in domestic architecture as drastic as Wright’s of
+twenty-five years earlier (see Chapter 22).
+
+Perret’s best houses, such as the Mouron house at Versailles of 1926 or
+the Nubar house in the Rue du 19 Janvier at Garches of 1930, have an
+almost eighteenth-century dignity and serenity. The ‘stripped-Classical’
+apparatus of terminal cornices, _encadrements_ around the openings, and
+occasional free-standing columns is doubtless logical as an expression
+of the construction, but it is also very conservative in effect. Yet the
+ferro-concrete construction encouraged Perret to introduce very wide
+openings leading out on to surrounding terraces and to open up the main
+living areas even more than he had done in the flats of 1902-3 in the
+Rue Franklin. Such treatments were still rather advanced for Europe,
+however common they may have been in America for a quarter of a century
+and more. The characteristic quality of Perret’s domestic work is seen
+at its best in a small block of flats at 9 Place de la Porte de Passy in
+Paris facing the Bois de Boulogne that he built in 1930 (Plate 139B).
+This has a façade towards the park so superbly proportioned that it
+might almost be by Schinkel and a flow of space inside the individual
+flats that is worthy of Wright, although much more formal in
+organization.
+
+Now Perret began to receive the official commissions that are generally
+given in France only to men well on in years. The building designed in
+1929 that he erected for the technical services of the Ministry of
+Marine in the Boulevard Victor in Paris is one of the largest and most
+typical of his later works (Plate 140B). The complex rhythms and subtle
+three-dimensional play of this façade are entirely produced by the
+actual structural elements. The skeleton divides the long façades into a
+series of horizontal panels within which are set the vertical frames of
+the windows separated by pre-cast slabs; in one storey the windows even
+extend the full width of the bays.
+
+To a considerable extent Perret had succeeded in achieving what he had
+long consciously sought, that is, a vocabulary of design in concrete as
+direct, as expressive, and as ordered as the masonry vocabulary of the
+seventeenth and eighteenth centuries—a _style Louis XX_, so to say—still
+very French in a quite traditional way, yet unmistakably of this
+century. In the Garde Meuble or National Furniture Storehouse in the Rue
+Croulebarbe in Paris, begun the next year, the vocabulary is—from
+principle—all but identical; yet fewer windows and more solid panels
+were necessary here so that the general effect is flatter and blanker.
+The curved colonnade across the open side of the court is almost
+archaeologically reminiscent of the eighteenth century, despite the
+breadth of its spans and the ingenuity of its detailing. The small
+concert hall of 1929 in the Rue Cardinet for the École Normale de
+Musique is less pretentious but also less impressive.
+
+Concrete to Perret, after all these years of employing it, was not a
+crude or a substitute material. By the use of coloured aggregates which
+he found various means of exposing he was able to vary the texture and
+colour of his poured and pre-cast elements with considerable subtlety
+and elegance. In the later buildings the workmanship is usually of the
+highest quality—it was by no means so in the early twenties—with arrises
+brought to a sharp edge in pure cement and such classicizing details as
+the flute-like facets on piers and the capital-like treatment of their
+tops carried to a finish comparable to that of chisel-cut freestone.
+
+Thus Perret was eventually able to avoid the industrial brutality of
+much work in concrete where the material is left as it comes from rough
+timber forms with crumbling arrises and pockmarked surfaces. Such lack
+of finish is acceptable in large-scale engineering work but certainly
+awkward when seen close to as in Notre-Dame at Le Raincy. On the other
+hand, Perret kept well away also from that slickness of
+surface—especially popular with younger architects in the twenties—that
+is produced when concrete is covered with a smooth stucco rendering and
+painted.[401] Such slickness is, of course, generally very soon lost as
+the original surface grows cracked and stained; only too rarely is it
+properly maintained by frequent patching and repainting. Concrete was to
+Perret a worthy material, like stone, and therefore deserved the effort
+and the cost required to give it an expressive finish requiring little
+or no maintenance.
+
+The reticulated wall system of the big government buildings was also
+used for a block of flats at 51-55 Rue Raynouard, built in 1932, where
+Perret himself lived and also maintained his atelier. The necessary
+adaptation of his formalized open planning to a trapezoidal site
+produced suites of interior space of considerable complexity yet perfect
+orderliness. Though Perret was still without a governmental diploma, the
+atelier[402] he ran here was associated with the École des Beaux-Arts.
+It almost seemed now as if he wished to demonstrate how much truer a
+representative he was of real French tradition than those who were its
+official, though unworthy, custodians. Thus the older he grew the
+farther his work drew away from that of the more revolutionary modern
+architects of the second generation. By 1930 it had definitely begun to
+date; yet it was only in the last twenty-five years of his life that
+there came to him the greatest opportunities of realizing his ambitions
+for French twentieth-century architecture.
+
+In comparison with Perret’s own pioneering of 1902-22 his late work
+seems to lack vitality. For all the thought that went into its finish,
+for all the virtuosity of certain features—such as the self-supporting
+curve of the broad stair that spirals down into his atelier in the Rue
+Raynouard—his very ambition to create a new French tradition gave his
+later buildings something of the banality of those designed by the more
+conventionally ‘traditional’ architects of his generation. This applies
+in particular to his principal work of the thirties in Paris, the still
+unfinished Musée des Travaux-Publics in the Avenue du Président-Wilson
+which he began in 1937. Here the ingeniously pseudo-Classical—yet also
+truly structural—apparatus of external engaged columns and the intricate
+plan spreading out from a circular auditorium at the apex of the site
+are quite in the Beaux-Arts manner. But the grandeur of scale in the
+interiors and the exciting upward sweep of the boldly curving stairs
+lend value, and even novelty, to a scheme that is in many ways extremely
+conservative.
+
+After the Second World War Perret was asked to provide plans for the
+rebuilding of several bombed cities: Le Havre in 1945; Amiens in 1947;
+and the Vieux-Port district of Marseilles in 1951. For Amiens he
+designed a skyscraper, long physically complete but still unoccupied,
+that derives more from his decorative Tour d’Orientation at Grenoble
+than from the skyscrapers of the New World. This is one of his few
+complete failures, if for no other reason than the competition its tall
+and awkward silhouette offers to the cathedral, whose towers had so long
+dominated the city’s skyline. The executed Marseilles buildings are not
+of his design any more than are most of those at Amiens.
+
+At Le Havre, however, his control of the rebuilding was more complete.
+The Place de l’Hôtel de Ville, or at least the three sides completed
+between 1948 and 1950 by his associates, outweighs by a great deal the
+failure of the Amiens skyscraper (Plate 140A). Ranges of four-storey
+buildings, all carried out in the reticulated vocabulary of his
+Government buildings of the early thirties in Paris, surround a large
+sunken plaza; the Hôtel de Ville in the near-Beaux-Arts manner of his
+Musée des Travaux Publics occupies the fourth side. Shops open towards
+the square under a continuous colonnade. Behind, rising out of small
+courts, are taller towers occupied by flats; these lend great
+three-dimensional interest to the formal and absolutely symmetrical
+layout of this section of the rebuilt quarter. Since his death similar
+ranges of buildings have been carried out along the quais to the south.
+On the whole the extensive work of the team[403] is superior to the
+public monuments by their captain, the Hôtel de Ville and the church of
+St Joseph, both designed in 1950 and completed before Perret’s death in
+1954.
+
+Impressive as is Perret’s Le Havre in the international roster of
+post-war urban rebuilding, it seems curiously out of date today, a mere
+realization in the 1940s and 1950s, one might almost say, of the
+aspirations of the early decades of the century. Since that period had
+few such opportunities as was Perret’s here to realize urbanism on this
+scale, however, what he accomplished there is a welcome addition to the
+city-building achievements of this century.
+
+Until the second generation appeared on the scene in the twenties France
+produced little modern architecture of much interest besides Perret’s
+work. The department stores of the early years of the century, still
+strongly under the influence of the Art Nouveau, have already been
+mentioned (see Chapter 17). After Perret the most important architect
+was Tony Garnier (1867-1948), and he is of more significance for a vast
+project that he prepared in his youth than for the executed work of his
+maturity. In the later decades of the eighteenth century, when the
+Romantic Classical revolution in architecture was getting under way,
+projects were often of more interest than executed buildings for their
+premonitions of what was to come, and this was particularly true in
+France. It was true again in the early decades of the twentieth century,
+down at least to Le Corbusier’s project for the Palace of the League of
+Nations of 1927-8.
+
+Ledoux’s ‘Ville Idéale’ summarized his own aspirations and also provided
+a wealth of ideas from which later generations of Romantic Classical
+architects could draw inspiration. So, at the opening of the twentieth
+century, Garnier’s very complete scheme for a ‘Cité Industrielle’[404]
+contained a wealth of ideas on which architects drew well into the
+1920s. Like that of the ‘Ville Idéale’, the interest of the ‘Cité
+Industrielle’ is threefold: sociological, urbanistic, and architectural.
+Henceforth the industrial city would be more and more accepted as normal
+and not exceptional. Its needs both general and specific—so notably
+recognized by Garnier, all the way from the provision of adequate
+workers’ housing to various sorts of industrial plants—would become more
+and more important preoccupations of most modern architects. In coping
+generally with the manifold needs of an industrial community Garnier
+also faced in detail many very different individual architectural
+problems with considerable ingenuity.
+
+Garnier’s solutions in the main were very simple and direct, but they
+often had a merely negative character, as of buildings of academic
+design scraped of all surface paraphernalia, rather than displaying any
+fresh and creative approach. But an important part of the main
+architectural development for some twenty years was to be such a purging
+of inherited excess. Garnier reduced architecture to basic, if not
+particularly unfamiliar, terms; on his foundations the next generation
+began, in the twenties, to build something much more positive; thus his
+influence was parallel to that of Loos (see Chapters 20 and 21). His
+contribution to the twentieth century’s repertory of forms was less than
+Ledoux’s had been to that of the nineteenth a hundred years earlier;
+notably inferior in quality to Ledoux’s was his own actual production,
+moreover.
+
+Garnier’s appointment as Architect of the City of Lyons in 1905, a
+position which he retained until 1919, might seem to have provided the
+perfect opportunity to realize his dreams as, but for the Revolution,
+should Ledoux’s appointment by Louis XV to build the Royal Saltworks at
+Arc-et-Senans. But neither the Municipal Slaughterhouse of Lyons at La
+Mouche, executed in 1909-13, the Herriot Hospital at Grange-Blanche,
+designed in 1911 and begun in 1915, nor the Olympic Stadium of 1913-16
+at Lyons realize much more than the obvious practical implications of
+the detailed projects for various buildings in his ‘Cité
+Industrielle’.[405] The slaughterhouse is bold structurally but clumsily
+industrial in its handling, with none of the refinement of Perret’s
+factories; the more highly finished stadium has irrelevant Classical
+touches in the detailing, simple though it is, of the concrete elements.
+
+Garnier’s work after the First World War began with the hospital, which
+was completed only in 1930, and included a large low-cost housing
+project in the États-Unis quarter of Lyons designed as early as 1920 but
+executed only in 1928-30. Both are quite overshadowed by the comparable
+work of the next generation in these years—that in other countries at
+least, if not that in France. The Moncey Telephone Office at Lyons of
+1927, the Textile School at La Croix-Rousse of 1930, and the Hôtel de
+Ville of the Paris suburb of Boulogne-Billancourt of 1931-4, on which
+another architect, J.-H.-E. Debat-Ponsan (b. 1882), a pupil of Victor
+Laloux, collaborated, differ very little from the scraped academicism of
+most French public architecture of this period. The houses Garnier built
+in 1909 at St-Rambert and in 1910 at St-Cyr (Mont d’Or) are among his
+best executed works; all the same, except for their early date, they are
+hardly very notable.
+
+Two blocks of flats built by Henri Sauvage (1873-1932) in 1925 in the
+Rue des Amiraux and in the Rue Vavin in Paris, faced with glazed white
+brick and stepped back in section to provide terraces for the upper
+floors, are well above the level of quality of Garnier’s later work
+without approaching that of Perret’s. That in the Rue des Amiraux, being
+for working-class occupancy, is more significant of the international
+aspirations of the period. Although less drastically novel than the
+low-cost housing of the twenties in Holland and Germany, this has
+survived very well because of its permanent grime-proof surfacing. It
+has been rather unjustly forgotten, largely because it lies off the main
+line of international development (see Chapter 21).
+
+Most French production in the twenties remained completely subject to
+academic discipline although it was often tricked out with the sort of
+modish decoration that flourished particularly at the Paris Exposition
+des Arts Décoratifs of 1925. Yet at the same time Paris, as the world
+capital of modern art, was one of the three great foci of architectural
+advance. The linkage between advanced painting and the Art Nouveau in
+the nineties was discussed earlier (see Chapter 16). Perret employed
+Symbolist and Neo-Impressionist painters as collaborators, beginning
+with the Théâtre des Champs Élysées before the First World War. But
+there is no real parallel between his architecture and that of Garnier
+or Sauvage on the one hand and the art of the great twentieth-century
+masters of the École de Paris on the other. Picasso, Gris, Braque,
+Matisse, and Derain had no effective influence on architecture.
+Characteristically Perret employed Bourdelle, not Maillol, when he
+needed sculpture. With the next generation the situation entirely
+changed; but the new architects of the twenties, not only in France but
+everywhere, for all their greater sophistication and their close
+association with advanced painters and sculptors, still owed at least as
+much to Perret and to Garnier if not to Sauvage.
+
+To the most creative new architects who appeared around 1920 Garnier’s
+project for the ‘Cité Industrielle’ offered both a challenge and an
+inspiration, but Perret was by far the more important influence.
+Somewhat later, towards 1930, that influence became almost ubiquitous in
+France, and its effect grew increasingly banal as the ferro-concrete
+Classicism of Perret’s later work gradually replaced the official and
+inherited tradition of the École des Beaux-Arts, by that time nearly
+obsolete even in France.[406] As has so often happened in France before,
+a youthful rebel, after being accepted late in life by the academic
+authorities, was only too ready to support a new discipline that had
+itself already become academic. Thus is cultural continuity maintained
+in France at the expense of variety and recurrent new growth. The
+situation was rather different in America, as we shall soon see.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 19
+ FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT AND HIS CALIFORNIA CONTEMPORARIES
+
+
+WRIGHT in America found himself, in his seventies, as generally accepted
+a master as did Perret in France, but his influence never became at all
+academic in the way of Perret’s after 1930. There could hardly be a
+greater contrast between the careers of two contemporaries in the same
+field. Both were very productive over a length of time that is more than
+a third of the whole period covered by this book, but this is about all
+that they did have in common. Perret’s career progressed gradually over
+several decades to general and even official acceptance. Wright’s
+career, on the other hand, had very notable ups and downs, and he only
+once received a governmental commission.
+
+After the years of preparation discussed earlier (see Chapter 15) there
+followed some ten years of great success. But this success was largely
+restricted to a particular region, the Middle West, and to a particular
+field, the building of good-sized suburban houses. Following that, in a
+decade interrupted by the First World War, Wright’s influence rapidly
+increased, not at home but abroad, although he had considerably fewer,
+if much larger, commissions. Then, paradoxically, in the twenties, while
+the United States swung into the biggest building boom in history, there
+began a decade in which Wright’s production all but ceased. Many assumed
+that his career had closed and that his work had passed into history as
+had Voysey’s and Mackintosh’s by that time. This, of course, was not at
+all true. In the mid thirties Wright’s activity revived, and his
+production continued at a rising rate until his death. Moreover, there
+was little sign of any decline into personal academicism such as marked
+the late work of Perret in the same decades.
+
+Where Perret had, in effect, only a double architectural career, being
+largely occupied on the one hand with industrial commissions close to
+the dividing line between architecture and engineering, and on the other
+hand with public buildings, Wright’s career was increasingly
+multifarious. Beginning chiefly as a domestic architect, he never ceased
+to build houses; but by the 1950s there were few fields, including that
+of urbanism, which he had not entered, if only to present challenging
+projects and announce controversial theses. Disciple of a great
+skyscraper architect, author of a succession of skyscraper projects,
+Wright had to wait a full half century after Sullivan completed his last
+skyscraper in Chicago before he built his first, the Price Tower in
+Bartlesville, Oklahoma, in 1953-5. Some of his planning projects may yet
+come to posthumous execution, and his work at Florida Southern College
+at least was of urbanistic scope.
+
+Perret consciously summarized and continued earlier French tradition;
+but Wright wished to initiate a new tradition, one which he preferred to
+call ‘Usonian’ rather than American. Perret’s disciples, emulators, and
+imitators in his later years were able to take control of French
+architecture to a quite considerable extent. Wright’s disciples, despite
+the fifty years during which he maintained offices that were also
+training ateliers in Oak Park, in Chicago, in Tokyo, in Wisconsin, and
+in Arizona, have only rarely made any significant mark of their own; nor
+has his influence had much more specific effect on the character of
+modern architecture in America than it has had generically on that of
+the world outside. Where Perret’s influence, particularly outside
+France, has been largely restricted to architects working with
+ferro-concrete, the material that he was the first to master
+architecturally—and even in concrete construction this influence has
+inhibited as often as it has liberated—Wright’s influence has been
+protean on the international scene. From the day when the German
+publisher Wasmuth first made Wright’s work available to Europeans at the
+opening of the second decade of the century this has been true, down to
+the time, a decade ago, when the Italian architect, critic, and
+historian Bruno Zevi (b. 1918) tried to invert chronology so that
+Wright’s ‘architettura organica’[407] might seem to succeed rather than
+to precede the ‘funzionalismo’ or ‘International Style’ of the second
+generation of modern architects.
+
+Before turning to a more detailed consideration of Wright’s work after
+1900 one further comparison with the _œuvre_ of Perret may be made.
+Although Wright never confined himself to one material or to one method
+of construction—indeed, his versatility in this respect continued to
+increase right down to his death—he was from the first especially
+interested in the possibilities of concrete. He published in _The
+Brickbuilder_ for August 1901 a project for a small village bank, still
+very Sullivanian in its rich detailing, that was intended to be executed
+entirely in concrete. This was only two years after Perret had first
+used the material with little or no attempt to develop its architectural
+possibilities and a year before his block of flats in the Rue Franklin
+was designed. His E.-Z. Polish Factory of 1905 at 3005-17 West Carroll
+Avenue in Chicago has already been mentioned. The Unity Church in Oak
+Park of 1906 (Plate 143B), entirely of concrete surfaced with a special
+pebble aggregate and decorated with integral ornament, precedes by many
+years Perret’s church at Le Raincy (Plate 141). Perret’s ultimate
+development of various refined finishes for exposed concrete came still
+later. Admittedly, however, the Oak Park church is a much smaller and
+less striking edifice than Perret’s; and the work of Kahn and other
+industrial architects soon overshadowed Wright’s modest factory.
+Moreover, it was only with the twenties that Wright, like the Europeans,
+really gave major attention to building in concrete.
+
+Wright’s creative powers in the first decade of this century were
+largely concentrated on his ‘Prairie Houses’. Their essentials were
+already present in the two Kankakee houses of 1900 (Plate 142A) and the
+first house designed for the _Ladies Home Journal_ (see Chapter 15). But
+these essentials received more masterly—one might well say more
+classic—expression two years later. The large W. W. Willitts house at
+715 South Sheridan Road in Highland Park, Ill., of 1902 is of
+wooden-stud construction, but covered like the Kankakee houses with
+stucco (Plate 142B). The C. S. Ross house off the South Shore Road on
+Lake Delavan in Wisconsin, also of 1902, has the rough board-and-batten
+sheathing of the River Forest Golf Club (Plates 143A and 128B). Both
+offer versions of the cruciform plan (Figure 38) with the interior space
+‘flowing’ round a central chimney core and also extended outward on to
+covered verandas and open terraces quite as in Price’s Tuxedo Park
+houses of fifteen years earlier (Figure 28).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 38. Frank Lloyd Wright: Highland Park, Ill., W. W. Willitts
+ house, 1902, plan
+]
+
+Another major work of 1902 is the Arthur Heurtley house at 318 Forest
+Avenue in Oak Park, Ill. There the principal living areas, which are on
+the upper floor as in the Husser house of 1899, form an articulated
+L-shaped within the basic square that is defined by the overhanging
+roof. The brick walls of the lower storey have broad projecting
+horizontal bands and the wide, low entrance arch remains quite
+Richardsonian. The upper storey consists largely of continuous ranges of
+wooden-mullioned casement windows.
+
+No notable progression is observable in the series of suburban houses
+built during the remainder of this decade before Wright went to Europe
+in 1909; but he produced many other brilliant illustrations of both the
+cruciform and the square plan as well as a more elongated sort extending
+along a single axis. Of the many fine examples of the Willitts or Ross
+type around Chicago, the small house for Isabel Roberts at 603 Edgewood
+Place in River Forest of 1908 is one of the best; there the living room
+in the front wing is carried up two storeys, as was proposed for one
+version of the _Ladies Home Journal_ house. The larger F. J. Baker house
+at 507 Lake Avenue in Wilmette of 1909 also has a two-storeyed living
+room; but here the tall cross element of the plan which this feature
+provides was moved to one end of the house so that the plan is of a T or
+L shape rather than cruciform.
+
+The E. H. Cheney house at 520 North East Avenue in Oak Park of 1904 is
+square like the Heurtley house near by. It is raised off the ground on a
+sort of extended square stylobate so that the living area, which runs
+all across the front as at the Hickox house, can open freely through
+french doors on to the walled terrace in front. In the T. P. Hardy house
+at 1319 South Main Street in Racine, Wis., of 1905 a declivitous
+lakeside site encouraged a vertical rather than a horizontal
+organization of the interior with a two-storey living room as the
+spatial core.
+
+A very different feeling pervades the small, squarish house at 6
+Elizabeth Court in Oak Park that Wright built for Mrs Thomas Gale in
+1909. Here flat slabs—which had been proposed as early as 1902 in a
+project (perhaps for execution in concrete) for the Yahara Boat Club in
+Madison, Wis.—replace the low-pitched hip or gable roofs of the
+characteristic Prairie Houses. Moreover, parapeted balconies and other
+simple rectangular features elaborate plastically the composition in a
+fashion that suggests the abstract sculpture of a decade later in Europe
+(see Chapter 21).
+
+The W. A. Glasner house of 1905 at 850 Sheridan Road in Glencoe, Ill.,
+on the contrary was extended longitudinally and the living area for the
+first time not at all articulated but completely unified (Figure 39).
+Something of the same longitudinal extension marks the much larger F. C.
+Robie house at 5757 Woodlawn Avenue in Chicago of 1909. But there the
+living room and dining room are separated by the chimney core and raised
+above the ground level. Built of fine Roman brick, this is the most
+monumental of these early houses. The long horizontal lines of the
+balcony below and the roof above dominate the composition; yet a cross
+element comes forward in the upper storeys to provide, less
+symmetrically than in his houses of cruciform plan, something of the
+abstract plasticity of the Gale house.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 39. Frank Lloyd Wright: Glencoe, Ill., W. A. Glasner house,
+ 1905, plan
+]
+
+Another large house of the end of the decade, the Avery Coonley house at
+300 Scottswood Road in Riverside, Ill., of 1908, offers a quite
+different and much more extended plan. The square block containing the
+living room rises above a terrace and a reflecting pool as the main
+element of the design, but from this block two long wings project. That
+to the left includes a large dining room and also very extensive service
+facilities at the rear; in the one to the right are the master’s suite
+and other bedrooms. Thus the house is, in a later phrase of Wright’s,
+‘zoned’ according to function. The upper walls of this house are covered
+with a geometrical pattern produced by setting coloured tiles into the
+stucco. Wright never did quite the same thing again, but this led the
+way to his use of patterned concrete blocks a few years later.
+
+Two of Wright’s non-domestic works of this period are of considerable
+importance. Unity Church in Oak Park has already been mentioned; the
+other was the Larkin Administration Building in Buffalo, N.Y., of 1904.
+Massive and even sculptural externally, particularly at the ends, this
+had a tall glass-roofed court running down the centre, around which the
+upper ranges of offices extended on galleries carried by somewhat
+Sullivanian piers. All the fittings of the offices, including the steel
+furniture—probably the first to be designed by an architect—were
+Wright’s. Thus he set here a wholly new standard of elegance,
+consistency, and coherence in semi-industrial building.
+
+Within the massive slab-roofed block of the Unity Temple (Plate 143B),
+which is echoed beyond a low entrance link by the smaller block of the
+Sunday School, Wright achieved even more notably than inside the Larkin
+Building a new sort of monumental space-composition such as even his
+biggest houses hardly provided room for. The square auditorium with
+incut corners has double galleries on three sides and a pulpit platform
+on the fourth, behind which rises the organ. The multiple spatial
+elements seem to cross one another at different levels in a sort of
+three-dimensional plaid. Moreover, this theme is echoed in all the minor
+features, such as the wood stripping of the sand-finished plaster walls
+and the prominent lighting fixtures. Of this spatial development there
+had been some premonition in the auditorium block at one end of the
+Hillside House School that he built for his aunts outside Spring Green,
+Wis., in 1902; but there the masonry of the exterior walls and piers was
+still rather Richardsonian and the internal gallery consisted of a
+square set lozenge-wise.
+
+Wright’s work down to 1910 was made available to Europeans by two
+publications of Wasmuth, the Berlin publisher; and the end of the first
+decade of the century does, coincidentally, mark a real turning point in
+his career. He would not be so prolific again before the forties; and
+henceforth, although he never ceased to build houses, these would no
+longer constitute the bulk of his production.
+
+The production of the next decade, after his return from Europe in 1911,
+opens with two houses, however. Taliesin, which he built outside Spring
+Green for his mother in 1911, was soon much enlarged when he moved there
+himself and it always remained his principal residence. As a result of
+the growing needs of his family and of his school—not to speak of two
+major fires in 1914 and 1925—the Taliesin of today is very different,
+above all in its endless ramification, from what he planned in 1911; but
+the vocabulary of materials and design stayed more or less constant
+through all the years. Where the Prairie Houses echoed in their
+horizontal lines the flat Illinois terrain on which most of them were
+set, Taliesin is wrapped around a hill-top just below the crest. The use
+of various levels in the interior and a landscape-like elaboration of
+the low-pitched roofs represent his response to this more interesting
+site; after that the ‘Prairie’ master avoided flat sites for houses
+whenever he could!
+
+Taliesin, combining a house, drawing-office, living accommodation for
+apprentices, and even farm buildings, had from almost the first a
+complex plan not readily definable as square, cruciform, or unilinear.
+But in a project of the same year 1911 in which Taliesin was originally
+built, that for the S. M. Booth house at Glencoe, Ill.—never executed,
+unfortunately, according to these plans—a new sort of organization
+appeared, related to the elaborated cube of the Gale house and also to
+the ‘zoned’ scheme of the Coonley house. A two-storey living-room was to
+provide both the spatial and the plastic core; from this wings serving
+different purposes would shoot out swastika-like.
+
+The relative homogeneity of Wright’s production in the first decade of
+the century, following after the gradual convergence of his early work
+during the nineties, is explained by the nearly identical problems and
+sites that he faced in designing the houses mentioned so far. This
+homogeneity now gave way to an increasing variety that makes it
+difficult to summarize the work of these years. The Coonley Playhouse,
+built on the Coonley estate at Riverside in 1912, bears little
+resemblance to the original house of four years earlier. The plan is
+cruciform and symmetrical; but what is new here is the way the slab
+roofs, set at two different levels and pierced through their wide
+projections in order to let light reach the windows below, were used to
+achieve an even more boldly sculptural quality than in the project of
+1902 for the Yahara Boat Club or the Gale house of 1909. Wright’s
+mastery of abstract decoration was wholly mature by this time. From the
+first he had used leaded glass in simple geometrical patterns in his
+windows,[408] but the windows in this playhouse are the finest of all.
+Moreover, these festive compositions of circles of coloured glass
+arranged asymmetrically resemble quite closely the abstract paintings
+that such artists as Kupka, Delaunay, and the Constructivists would
+shortly be producing in Europe.
+
+Northome, the F. W. Little house at Wayzata, Minn., of 1913, is also
+quite different from all the earlier houses, yet not at all similar to
+the Coonley Playhouse. Raised on a ridge above the southern shore of
+Lake Minnetonka, this house consists of a series of pavilions—some open,
+some closed—strung along a single axis parallel to the water’s edge.
+That containing the living room, which is of almost monumental size and
+scale, dominates the whole. Wright seemed able now to invent a new mode
+almost with every individual commission, each one with potentialities as
+great as those of the Prairie Houses he had so thoroughly exploited in
+the decade before 1910.
+
+The major work of the immediate pre-war years, the Midway Gardens of
+1913-14 on the Midway south of Chicago, is rather hard to define
+precisely. Not quite a beer or _Heuriger_ garden, nor yet a music-hall
+or cabaret in the ordinary European sense, the establishment consisted
+of a large outdoor dining and entertainment area with raised terraces on
+two sides, a stage and orchestra shed at the far end, and a closed
+restaurant block towards the street. Here Wright’s ambitions as a
+decorative artist could have free play. Abstract compositions of
+coloured circles like those in the windows of the Coonley Playhouse
+appeared here as wall-high murals at the ends of the covered restaurant.
+Moreover, the sculptural implications of the general composition of the
+playhouse were carried farther in the openwork ‘constructions’ that he
+set on the tops of the towers. At the same time he introduced a great
+deal of figurative sculpture stylized in a rather Cubist way. Thus
+several different aspects of the abstract and near-abstract art which
+was just coming into independent existence in Europe were closely
+paralleled in the adjuncts to Wright’s architecture here.
+
+More architectonic patterns produced by simple geometrical means also
+ran riot at the Midway Gardens. Notable and significant was the use of
+extensive areas of patterned concrete blocks; these were somewhat like
+the patterned upper walls of the Coonley house of 1908 but all
+monochrome. The early demolition of the Midway Gardens makes it
+difficult to know whether this tremendous elaboration of the decorative
+aspects of Wright’s architecture was symphonic or cacophonous in total
+effect. Whatever the degree of their success or their failure, however,
+they opened a sort of ‘Mannerist’ or ‘Baroque’[409] period in his career
+that was destined to last for more than a decade.
+
+During the First World War, in 1915, Wright was approached by emissaries
+of the Japanese Imperial Household to design and build the Imperial
+Hotel in Tokyo. Proceeding to Japan, Wright was largely concerned with
+this commission for the next seven years, finally bringing it to
+completion in 1922. This is the principal production of his ‘Baroque’
+phase. It was also a notable engineering triumph, for his ingenious use
+of concrete slabs carried on a multitude of concrete piles brought it
+safely through the earthquake of 1923. Paul Mueller, the engineer of the
+old Adler & Sullivan office, was his collaborator here.
+
+Abstract ornament proliferated on the hotel; some of it, carved in
+greenish lava, elaborates the garden courts of the vast H-shaped plan;
+still more is painted in gold and colour on the ceilings of the
+principal interiors. Moreover, the massive proportions of the masonry
+walls produce an effect of castle-like solidity wholly inexpressive of
+the method of their support and very far removed from the light and
+floating character of the Prairie Houses. On the whole this hotel
+represents, far more than the Midway Gardens, a cul-de-sac in Wright’s
+development.
+
+Overlapping the period of construction of the Imperial Hotel came a
+series of houses in southern California in which the ‘Baroque’ element
+was gradually restrained. The earliest of these, Hollyhock House in Los
+Angeles and two smaller houses near by, were built for Aline Barnsdall
+in 1920 on a large estate bounded by Sunset and Hollywood Boulevards,
+Edgemont Street, and Vermont Avenue. These are of poured concrete very
+massively handled and carry considerable abstract sculptural
+ornamentation. For a slightly later series of four houses around Los
+Angeles, beginning with the house of 1923 for Mrs G. M. Millard at 645
+Prospect Crescent in Pasadena, Wright developed a type of concrete-block
+construction with reinforcement in the joints that was of considerable
+technical interest and also offered special decorative possibilities.
+The idea of using concrete blocks cast with relief patterns of
+geometrical character goes back to the Midway Gardens, however, and
+walls covered with repeating ornamental units had first appeared at the
+Coonley house.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 40. Frank Lloyd Wright: Pasadena, Cal., Mrs G. M. Millard
+ house, 1923, plans
+]
+
+In the Millard house, particularly, the scale of the moulded blocks and
+the ingenious inclusion of pierced units—very similar to the pre-cast
+elements that Perret was using for the screen walls of his Le Raincy
+church at just this time—produced a masterpiece (Plate 144). This house,
+however, is not solely of interest for its construction and its
+decoration. In contrast to the horizontal composition of almost all his
+earlier houses except that in Racine for the Hardys, this is a tall
+vertical block, entered at the middle level, with the dining room and
+kitchen below and the two-storey living room opening out to a balcony at
+the front (Figure 40). The main bedroom is reached from a gallery
+overhanging the rear of the living-room. Both organizationally and
+visually this represents a surprising change, and the result closely
+resembled what a leading architect of the second generation had just
+then been proposing in Europe (Figure 45). There are, for instance, no
+hovering eaves here; instead a parapet continues the wall plane upwards
+and confines a roof terrace. This is as close as Wright ever came to
+building a ‘box-on-stilts’, his term of abuse for the advanced European
+houses of the twenties. It was as if, after the expansiveness of his
+work from the Midway Gardens to Hollyhock House, Wright wished to prove
+here his capacity to produce a house modest in scale and compact in
+section as well as in plan.
+
+In the next decade, from 1924 to 1934, Wright’s actual production
+declined almost to zero although he was working on a series of important
+projects, some of which later provided the basis for executed buildings.
+Taliesin was rebuilt after a fire in 1925, however—it had already been
+rebuilt once before after an earlier fire in 1914—and a large house of
+concrete blocks, with almost no use of pattern except for occasional
+pierced grilles, was erected for his cousin Richard Lloyd Jones in 1929
+at 3700 Birmingham Road in Tulsa, Okla. That is about all.
+
+The small M. C. Willey house of 1934 at 255 Bedford Street, S.E., in
+Minneapolis marked the beginning of what proved to be almost a second
+career for Wright. Low and L-shaped, with practically no ornament
+whatsoever, this modest brick house introduced a major change in
+domestic planning. Not only are the living room and the dining room
+completely unified, as was first done at the Glasner house in 1905, but
+the kitchen—now re-christened ‘work-space’—opens into the main living
+area behind a range of glazed shelves (Figure 41). Thirty years later
+the full implications of this development are still not quite digested
+in America or even fully apprehended abroad; on the contrary, a reaction
+from open planning has perhaps begun.
+
+It was not the Willey house, however, modest in size and very quiet in
+expression for all its revolutionary plan, that signalized the renewal
+of Wright’s activity. That he could take up his career again at the
+highest level of creativity became apparent to everyone with the
+construction of two much larger buildings both designed in 1936. Falling
+Water, a large house in the Pennsylvania woods, is cantilevered over a
+waterfall with a sense of drama even Wright had never hitherto
+approached. The Administration Building for the S. C. Johnson Wax
+Company at 1525 Howe Street in Racine, Wis., his first semi-industrial
+commission since the Larkin Building of 1904, was built in 1937-9. Both
+are as remarkable for the technical boldness of their use of
+concrete—totally different in the two cases—as for their design.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 41. Frank Lloyd Wright: Minneapolis, M. C. Willey house, 1934,
+ plan
+]
+
+Falling Water has a rear section built of rough stone which rises like a
+tower from the native rock on the banks of Bear Run. From this solid
+vertical core are cantilevered out a series of concrete slabs bounded by
+plain parapets at their edges. This produces a very complex horizontal
+composition related to, but infinitely elaborated from, that of the Gale
+house of 1909 (Plate 145A). The completely unified living space is
+closed in by stone walls on the inner or dining side. It also extends
+out over the waterfall; the all-glass walls on that side, with their
+thin metal mullions, hardly seem to separate the interior space at all
+from that of the open terraces outside. A similar relationship exists
+between the bedrooms and their terraces on the upper floors.
+
+Never before had Wright exploited the structural possibilities of
+concrete so boldly. In this amazingly plastic composition—if ‘plastic’
+be the word for anything so light and suspended in appearance—it seems
+as if he had determined to outbid the European architects of the second
+modern generation at their own games (see Chapter 22). His early work
+has, in the clarity and axial character of the organization and the
+serenity of its expression, a classic if hardly a Classical quality; his
+work of 1914-24 shows a Baroque exuberance in the proliferation of the
+ornament. Now that he was approaching seventy his Romantic or
+anti-Classical tendencies—call them what you will—reached an intensity
+of purely architectonic expression comparable to the musical intensity
+of the late quartets of Beethoven that Wright so much admired. Falling
+Water, which might easily have been the swan song of Wright’s career,
+soon to be halted again by a second World War, proved in fact but the
+opening _allegro_ in a new period of innovation and experiment.
+
+The Johnson Building is very different from Falling Water. In it the
+curve rather than the cantilever provides the principal theme, and
+enclosure rather than interpenetration of exterior and interior space
+controls both the planning and the design (Plate 146A). The main office
+area is tall and unified, but it is filled with a forest of
+inverse-tapered concrete piers rising from tiny bronze shoes to carry
+circular slabs of concrete whose edges all but touch. The spaces between
+these lilypad-like disks were filled with tubes of Pyrex glass, and
+bands of similar tubes are carried around the building below the balcony
+and at the top of the plain red brick walls to provide additional
+natural light. In the more specialized adjuncts to the general office
+area curved and diagonal plan-elements lend a machine-like elegance to
+the shape of the building as a whole. Additional bands of glass tubing
+interrupt the smooth and continuous masonry surfaces at intervals, thus
+clearly indicating that these portions are of several storeys.
+
+Falling Water and the Johnson Building were large and expensive
+structures; so also was Wingspread, the H. F. Johnson house that Wright
+built in Racine at the same time. This is zoned in the manner of the
+Booth project of 1911 around a tall central core. But in 1937 Wright
+also erected the first of what he called his ‘Usonian’ houses, the
+Herbert Jacobs house at Westmorland, near Madison, Wis. This modest
+L-shaped dwelling, with wooden ‘sandwich’ walls and a flat wooden slab
+roof, carried farther than the Willey house the integration of the
+‘work-space’ or kitchen with the main living area. Here this rises in a
+masonry tower and is lighted by a clerestory, yet it is closely related
+to the space of the interior as a whole. A very considerable range of
+Wright’s later houses are variants of the Usonian model. Some were built
+before the War, even more in the last decade; some are of modest
+dimensions like the Jacobs house, others much larger. They exist in all
+parts of the United States, including the East, where he had hardly
+worked at all before this time.
+
+The earlier Usonian houses were designed on a square module. This is
+true, for example, of the version that he prepared for _Life_ magazine
+in 1938,[410] which thereby received the same sort of national
+circulation that the _Ladies Home Journal_ gave to three of his projects
+more than a generation earlier.[411] But Wright was now interested also
+in developing the hexagon and the triangle as basic units. Beginning
+with the Hanna house of 1937 at 737 Coronado Street in Palo Alto, Cal.,
+he continued in many others to explore the possibilities of planning
+based on 60-30-degree angles.
+
+In the most extraordinary house that he built in these pre-war years,
+his own winter residence, Taliesin West, begun in 1938 in the desert
+outside Phoenix, Ariz., 45-degree diagonals are used in the planning and
+almost all the structural elements are battered or canted. However, it
+is the materials which give this edifice—like Taliesin itself at once a
+house, a working place, and a school—its unique qualities. The
+substructure is of ‘desert concrete’, that is great rough blocks of
+tawny local stone placed in forms and loosely stuck together, so to say,
+with concrete; the superstructure is of dark-stained timber frames
+mostly filled only with canvas to allow a maximum flow of air. As at the
+original Taliesin in Wisconsin, Wright kept on enlarging Taliesin West,
+not always to its advantage. Another example of ‘desert-concrete’
+construction, the Rose Pauson house of 1940 in Phoenix, was destroyed by
+fire. It was, in its very sculptural way, a masterpiece of this period
+unlike anything else he ever built and is still an impressive ruin.
+
+It was characteristic of Wright’s activity in his ‘second’ career that
+the versatility of his invention knew no bounds. Many earlier ideas that
+had existed only in projects could come to fruition now that his
+services were in such demand. At the same time it is hard to believe
+that in the plain white stucco walls, extensive window bands, and thin
+roof slab of the E. J. Kaufmann guest house, built just above Falling
+Water in 1939, or in the G. D. Sturges house of the same year at 449
+Skyway Road in Brentwood Heights near Los Angeles, cantilevered out from
+a hill-slope, Wright was not consciously rivalling the effects of the
+European architects of the second generation whom he professed to
+scorn—rivalling them, but also making very much his own such of their
+effects as he cared to emulate.
+
+Wright did not drop the novel methods of construction that he had
+developed earlier as he tried out new ones. In his most extensive late
+commission, the layout of a new campus for Florida Southern College at
+Lakeland in Florida, begun in 1938, the plan is highly formal at the
+same time that it is markedly asymmetrical. It thus elaborates upon the
+angular themes of his project of 1927 for a desert resort at Chandler,
+Arizona—incidentally the point at which his interest in 60-30-degree
+angles began. The buildings at Florida Southern, starting with the Ann
+Pfeiffer Chapel of 1940 to which many more were later added, are mostly
+of concrete-block construction, but with much less use of patterned
+elements than in the executed work and projects of the twenties.
+
+The Second World War interrupted Wright’s career less than the First.
+Various projects initiated in the war years came to fruition soon after
+the war was over and gave evidence of the continuing vitality of his
+powers of invention. The second house for Herbert Jacobs at Middleton in
+the country west of Madison, Wis., was very different from the Usonian
+one of 1937. Ever since an unexecuted house project of 1938 Wright had
+been fascinated by the possibilities of using the circle in planning.
+While he had tried out the form in the Florida Southern Library before
+the war, the Jacobs house of 1948 was the first of a series of houses
+that he built with curved plans. Its two-storey living area bends around
+a circular sunken garden court with the bedrooms opening off a balcony
+above (Figure 42). On the other side the house is half buried in the
+hill-top, above which rise its walls of coursed rubble. A tower-like
+circular core near one end of the convex side provides a strong vertical
+accent.
+
+Another house of the post-war years, also based on the circle, is quite
+different in character. The Sol Friedman house in Pleasantville, N.Y.,
+is roofed with mushroom-like concrete slabs; the two intersecting closed
+circles of the actual dwelling are balanced at the end of a straight
+terrace parapet by the open circle of the carport (Plate 145B). This was
+completed in 1949 with battered walls of almost Richardsonian random
+ashlar masonry below a strip of metal-framed windows. A still later
+‘house of circles’ for his son David J. Wright was built near Phoenix,
+Ariz., in 1952. This is of concrete blocks and raised off the ground,
+with the approach up a gently sloping helical ramp to the various curved
+rooms on the first storey. The circle and the helix appear also in an
+urban building of these years, the shop for V. C. Morris in Maiden Lane,
+San Francisco, completed in 1949. Here the street façade is a sheer
+plane of yellow brick broken only by the entrance, which is a
+Sullivanian—or Richardsonian—arch like that of the Heurtley house of
+1902. Inside, a helical ramp rises around the central circular area
+beneath a ceiling made of bubble-like elements executed in plastics.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 42. Frank Lloyd Wright: Middleton, Wis., Herbert Jacobs house,
+ 1948, plan
+]
+
+A major work of these years, the extension of the Johnson Administration
+Building in Racine, Wis., also completed in 1949, makes much use of
+circles also (Plate 146A). North of the existing office building Wright
+surrounded a square court with open carports whose outer walls of solid
+brickwork shut out the surrounding city; inside these walls are ranged
+short concrete columns with lily-pad tops like those in the section that
+he built ten years earlier. In the centre of the ‘piazza’ thus defined
+rises a laboratory tower of tree-like structure. The upper floors of
+this, alternately square with rounded corners and circular, are all
+cantilevered out from a central cylindrical core which contains the lift
+and the vertical canalizations. Alternate bands of brickwork and Pyrex
+tubing, such as were used on the original building, enclose the tower
+except at ground level; there the space of the court continues under the
+cantilevered floors above as far as the solid central core.
+
+This relatively modest tower prepared the way for Wright’s skyscraper in
+Bartlesville, Okla., of 1953-5, which has been mentioned earlier.
+Actually, however, this Price Tower,[412] which is partly occupied by
+offices and partly by flats, is the final realization of a project
+originally prepared in 1929 for a block of flats for St Mark’s Church in
+New York. This he had elaborated in the intervening years in projects
+for blocks of flats in Chicago and for a hotel in Washington.
+
+While Wright was continuing to employ in his houses of the late forties
+and early fifties a variety of modes of design that go back to the
+thirties, and also developing at Florida Southern and in Bartlesville
+ideas dating from his inactive period in the late twenties, he continued
+to strike out in other directions too. The Neils house at 2801 Burnham
+Boulevard on Cedar Lake in Minneapolis, Minn., completed in 1951, is all
+of coloured marble rubble provided by the client; the Walker house at
+Carmel, Cal., completed in 1952, is a glazed polygonal pavilion
+overhanging the sea. Where the Prairie Houses of the first decade of
+Wright’s mature career may all seem in retrospect to have come out of
+the same, or nearly identical, moulds, the many houses designed in his
+seventies and eighties are notable for the great variety of their
+siting, their materials, and the geometrical themes of their planning.
+
+Nor was the domestic field anything like the sole area of his activity.
+In addition to the college buildings, the shop, the skyscraper, and the
+laboratory that have been mentioned, Wright built during the years
+1947-52 a Unitarian church in Madison, Wis., of very original character.
+The products of his multifarious activity in these years include,
+moreover, many projects for all sorts of structures, some of which have
+been completed—notably the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York
+(Plate 188). A decade and more of designing and redesigning preceded the
+initiation of this remarkable helical concrete building in 1956. Of
+three other late projects, those for an opera-house in Baghdad and for
+an Arizona state capitol in Phoenix, dating from 1957, are unlikely to
+be built; but the county buildings for Marin County, Cal., are now well
+advanced.
+
+In spite of so much late activity, greater than that of his early
+maturity, in spite (or perhaps, in part, because) of its kaleidoscopic
+variety, Wright’s actual influence was less significant than forty years
+before; at least it was of a very different order. He still outpaced his
+juniors both of the next generation and the one after; but few if any
+were able to follow with any success along the intensely personal paths
+he opened.[413] Like Perret to the end of his life, Wright continued at
+ninety to offer an inspiration to all architects, but there has risen no
+school of imitators to vulgarize his manner as there was long a school
+of imitators of Perret in France.
+
+In creative power, in productivity, and, over the forty years and more
+since 1910, in influence, Wright overshadowed all the other American
+architects of his generation. Inspired by Wright as well as by Sullivan,
+there flourished for a while a sort of ‘Second Chicago School’ to which
+Purcell & Elmslie; George W. Maher (1864-1926); Schmidt, Garden &
+Martin, and several other architects who were active in the Middle West
+before the First World War may be considered to belong.[414] But this
+school flickered out in the twenties as most of its members succumbed to
+the dominant ‘traditionalism’ of the day or else ceased to find
+clients.[415] Four rather more vital and original architects appeared
+shortly after 1900 in California: the brothers Greene (Charles S.,
+1868-1957, and Henry M., 1867-1954), Irving Gill (1870-1936), and
+Bernard R. Maybeck (1862-1957).[416] But the productive careers of the
+Greenes, of Gill, and, to a lesser extent, that of Maybeck came pretty
+much to a close, like those of the Chicagoans, around 1915 with the
+resounding success of the ‘traditional’ buildings designed by Bertram G.
+Goodhue (1869-1924) for the San Diego Exhibition of that year.[417]
+These were in the most ornate sort of Spanish Baroque, quite
+archaeologically handled; and the emulation of them, which at once
+became endemic in California, turned most local architects away from
+innovation for almost twenty years.
+
+Maybeck, who had been a graduate of the École des Beaux-Arts in the
+eighties, contributed to the San Francisco Exhibition[418] of the same
+year the still extant Fine Arts Building in an equally ‘traditional’ but
+more Classical vein. Partly ruined today, his tawny stucco columns and
+entablatures have the air of a painting by Pannini or Hubert Robert. For
+all its charm, this was a surprising work to come from a man who had
+earlier shown himself, in the Christian Science Church of 1910 in
+Berkeley, Cal., almost as bold an innovator as Wright even though he
+employed for that a fantastically eclectic vocabulary of reminiscent
+forms (Plate 146B). Many Berkeley houses, moreover, ranging over several
+decades in date, also prove Maybeck to have been an architect of great
+originality and surprising versatility.
+
+In Berkeley also are several houses by John Galen Howard (1864-1931) as
+well as his building for the University of California’s School of
+Architecture, of which he was for long the Dean. His building at the
+University (which has in addition a Faculty Club and one or two other
+things by Maybeck), the Gregory house of about 1904, and the architect’s
+own house of 1912 are also notable examples of free design dating from
+the first decades of the century. Howard’s informal work is more
+directly related than are Wright’s houses to the Shingle Style of the
+preceding period, though not specifically to that of Richardson, for
+whom, however, Howard had actually worked in the mid eighties before he
+came to California. Most of his work at the University, in fact, is in
+an Italianate vein, and the campus is dominated by his tall,
+campanile-like clock tower.
+
+The production of the Greene brothers in this period, entirely domestic
+and largely in Pasadena, offers a more coherent corpus than that of any
+modern American architect of their generation except Wright. Related,
+like the work of Howard, to the Shingle Style, which had been brought to
+Pasadena and Los Angeles by Eastern architects in the eighties and
+nineties, the Greenes’ houses are most interesting for their successful
+assimilation of oriental influences. The best example is the Gamble
+house at 4 Westmorland Street in Pasadena of 1908-9 (Plate 147A). But
+the Pitcairn house of 1906 and the Blacker house of 1907, at 289 West
+State Street and at 1157 Hillcrest respectively, as well as the later
+Thorsen house of 1909, at 2307 Piedmont Avenue in Berkeley, now a
+fraternity house, are also excellent.
+
+Shingled walls, low-pitched and wide-spreading gables, and extensive
+porte-cochères and verandas of stick-work surpassing in virtuosity those
+of the Stick Style, were combined by the Greenes in rather loosely
+organized compositions. Less formal and regular than Wright’s Prairie
+Houses, theirs are executed throughout with a craftsmanship in wood
+rivalling that of the Japanese, whom they, like Wright, so much admired.
+The Greenes’ plans are less open than Wright’s, but they made more use
+of verandas and balconies than he. Superb woodwork and fine stained
+glass combine with the specially designed furniture in the interiors to
+produce ensembles of a sturdy elegance hardly matched by any of
+Wright’s. Those in the Blacker and Thorsen houses, whose clients were
+both in the lumber business, are especially rich.
+
+Moreover, a ‘California Bungalow’ mode[419]—at worst but a parody at
+small scale of the Greenes’ expensive mansions, at best sharing many of
+their virtues of directness and simplicity if not of imaginative
+craftsmanship—became widely popular thanks to national magazines,
+pattern-books, and the activities of many builders. This was true not
+alone in the West but throughout the country in the very years after
+1910 when ‘traditionalism’, usually in Neo-Colonial guise, closed in
+most completely on American domestic architecture.
+
+The reputation of the Greenes today is less than that of the more
+articulate but less consistent Maybeck. But when modern architecture
+revived in California in the thirties the new men were fully aware of
+what the Greenes had accomplished. Thus their work provided, together
+with that of Maybeck and Howard, a background and a tradition for the
+local development of a largely autochthonous domestic architecture in
+the San Francisco Bay area. This was a truly living tradition[420] quite
+unlike the abortive revival of the architecture of the Spanish Missions,
+which it has now almost completely displaced. But the Mission influence
+was not altogether a negative one in early twentieth-century California,
+as the work of Irving Gill illustrates.
+
+Gill was less prolific than the Greene brothers, and most of what he
+built is less striking. Like Voysey, he was in principle a reformer not
+a revolutionary, finding his inspiration consciously in the local
+structural tradition of the early Spanish Missions and _haciendas_. As a
+result some of his buildings, such as the First Church of Christ
+Scientist of 1904-7 in San Diego or in Los Angeles the Laughlan house of
+1907 and the Banning house of 1911, at 666 West 28th Street and 503
+South Commonwealth Avenue respectively, with their elliptically arched
+loggias and their grilles of ornamental ironwork, are almost as ‘Spanish
+Colonial’ as the work of the outright traditionalists around him.
+
+Gill’s most interesting and mature houses, thanks to their smooth stucco
+walls, large window areas, and avoidance of stylistic detail, can also
+have a deceptive air of being European rather than American and of a
+period some years later than that in which they were actually built. In
+his best work, such as the Dodge house (Plate 147B) of 1915-16 at 950
+North Kings Road in Los Angeles or the Scripps house at La Jolla of
+1917, now the Art Centre, the asymmetrically organized blocks, crisply
+cut by large windows of various sizes carefully sashed and disposed,
+with roof terraces or flat roofs above, more than rival the contemporary
+houses of the Austrian architect Adolf Loos (Plate 155A) in the abstract
+distinction of the composition. They even approach rather closely the
+most advanced European houses of the next decade (see Chapters 21 and
+22).
+
+Gill’s interiors are especially fine and also quite like Loos’s. Very
+different from the rich orientalizing rooms designed by the Greenes,
+they are in fact more similar to real Japanese interiors in their severe
+elegance. The walls of fine smooth cabinet woods, with no mouldings at
+all, are warm in colour, and Voysey-like wooden grilles of plain square
+spindles give human scale. The whole effect, in its clarity of form and
+simplicity of means, is certainly more premonitory of the next stage of
+modern architecture than any other American work of its period.
+
+Gill continued to practise intermittently down into the thirties, but
+his finest work was done in the second decade of the century. He had
+little influence locally and still less nationally, yet his best houses
+extend very notably the range of achievement of the first generation of
+modern architects in America, even though his later production declined
+sadly in quantity and even in quality. Wright alone was able to renew
+his career successfully after the reaction against modern architecture
+that dominated America from coast to coast during the twenty years from
+the First World War to the mid thirties finally came to an end.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 20
+ PETER BEHRENS AND OTHER GERMAN ARCHITECTS
+
+
+THE pattern of architectural development in Germany in the early decades
+of this century was rather different from that in either France or the
+United States. No academy, native or foreign, no influences from the
+École des Beaux-Arts discouraged innovation; yet there was an early and
+general reaction against the whimsicality and the decorative excesses of
+the Art Nouveau at which most of the younger men had tried their hands
+before 1900. After the First World War, however, the example of
+Expressionism in painting and sculpture led many architects to excesses
+of another sort. Expressionism in architecture,[421] or something very
+close to it, is not restricted to Germany. The most extreme example of
+any consequence, and probably the earliest, is Dutch, the
+Scheepvaarthuis in Amsterdam of 1912-13 by van der Meij (see Chapter
+21). In Germany around 1920 various architects who had earlier been
+predominantly ‘traditional’ in their approach were influenced by
+Expressionism, as well as others who were already programmatically
+modern; nor was that influence restricted to the modern architects of
+the first generation (see Chapter 22).
+
+The boundary line between what, in retrospect, still seems definitely
+modern and what now seems very similar to the ‘traditional’ work of
+these decades in other countries is much less sharp than in America. And
+no German architect of their own generation had the continuously
+creative achievement of a Perret or a Wright to his credit. Nevertheless
+Peter Behrens stands out among his contemporaries because of the
+vigorous boldness of his industrial buildings. Moreover, the influence
+of his factories of around 1910 was crucial on the next generation, and
+several of the later leaders actually worked in his office at that
+relevant period. Yet all but Behrens’s finest work can be matched in the
+production of other German architects; while his own vitality as an
+innovator was rather strictly limited to a few years and to what he did
+for one corporate client. That client was the A.E.G. (German General
+Electric Company), which had already employed Messel down to his death
+in 1909.
+
+Messel and Ludwig Hoffmann (1851-1932) dominated the architectural scene
+in Berlin, where the latter was appointed City Architect in 1896 on the
+strength of his vast academic Imperial Law Courts of 1886-95 in Leipzig.
+In the early years of the century they both developed a formal mode that
+was more ‘traditional’ than modern. Despite Messel’s and Hoffmann’s
+usual preference for conventional sixteenth- or eighteenth-century
+models, Behrens was certainly not uninfluenced by their mode of design,
+even though his more positive sources of inspiration were of a less
+conservative order. Yet, in so far as one can sort out the different
+architectural camps in Germany in these years, Behrens must be
+considered well to the artistic ‘left’ of Messel and Hoffmann.
+
+Germany was certainly very receptive to new ideas in decoration when
+Behrens’s architectural career began at the turn of the
+century—receptive rather than creative. There were other Germans who
+handled the Art Nouveau with considerable originality besides August
+Endell, notably Bernard Pankok (b. 1872) and Richard Riemerschmid
+(1868-1957); but two foreigners, neither of them very prolific builders,
+seem to have been the most influential figures on the German
+architectural scene at the opening of the new century. The Belgian Van
+de Velde had moved from Paris to Berlin in 1899; the Austrian Olbrich
+was called to Darmstadt by the Grand Duke in the same year. Olbrich
+stayed at Darmstadt until his early death in 1908; Van de Velde,
+however, left Berlin in 1902 when he was invited to Weimar to head the
+School of Arts and Crafts there which later became the Bauhaus. Van de
+Velde’s finest Art Nouveau furniture dates from his Berlin years around
+1900. As late as 1906,[422] the Central Hall which he designed in the
+Dresden Exhibition showed him still a competent if rather heavy-handed
+decorator in the Art Nouveau tradition.
+
+Van de Velde’s remodelling of the Folkwang Museum at Hagen of 1900-2,
+quite Art Nouveau in its details, his Esche house at Chemnitz of 1903,
+and his Leuring house at Scheveningen in Holland of the next year, both
+very massive and heavily mansarded though unornamented externally like
+his own house of 1895-6 at Uccle, hardly require particular mention.
+However, for the school that he headed in Weimar he completed in 1906 a
+building even more devoid of Art Nouveau elements and notably
+straightforward in character. The plain white stucco walls below his
+usual heavy mansards were very frankly fenestrated with ranges of wide
+studio windows, perhaps in emulation of Mackintosh’s Glasgow Art School.
+Indeed, the general effect is even simpler and more rectilinear than
+that of its possible Scottish prototype. The problem of his
+responsibility or lack of responsibility for the design of the Théâtre
+des Champs Élysées in Paris of 1911-13 has already been discussed (see
+Chapter 17).
+
+Van de Velde continued to build occasionally throughout all his long
+life—some portions of his Kröller-Müller Museum near Otterlo in Holland
+were only completed in 1953—but his last pre-war work was the theatre
+that he designed and executed in 1913-14 for the Werkbund Exhibition at
+Cologne. Some trace of the massively plastic quality of his Dresden hall
+of 1906—so different from the delicacy and grace of the Art Nouveau in
+its best period—remained in the curved walls and roof of this edifice,
+but the whole effect was lighter and plainer, more abstract one might
+almost say.
+
+The resemblance of Olbrich’s Ernst Ludwig Haus of 1901 at the Darmstadt
+Artists’ Colony to Mackintosh’s Art School has already been noted (see
+Chapter 17). At Darmstadt he also continued to build houses for some
+years, and his work there culminated in the Exhibition Gallery and the
+Wedding Tower on the Matildenhöhe, erected in 1907. The former was
+blocky and somewhat classicizing in character, at once very plain and
+very formal. The latter, of brick, had a more Hanseatic flavour because
+of its arched and panelled gable; but it also included a novel motif,
+bands of windows that seem to carry round a corner, that was destined to
+be very influential everywhere in the twenties.
+
+In the next and last year of Olbrich’s life—he died, it will be
+recalled, at the early age of forty-one—two important commissions came
+to him away from Darmstadt. The Feinhals house at Marienburg near
+Cologne repeats the blocky symmetrical composition of the Exhibition
+Building, the walls being articulated only with flat oblong panels. The
+loggia between, however, has a range of Greek Doric columns, clear
+evidence of the influence of Romantic Classicism that was growing
+stronger in Germany all through this decade. But Olbrich had little real
+appreciation of the subtle elegance of the work of Schinkel and his
+contemporaries, or so it would appear from this house.
+
+The buildings of the East Cemetery in Munich, designed by Hans Grässel
+(1860-?) in 1894 and completed in 1900, are perhaps the first examples
+of this sort of ‘Neo-Neo-Classicism’. Yet beside the contemporary
+Neo-Baroque of the Munich Palace of Justice built in 1897 by Grässel’s
+master, Friedrich von Thiersch (1852-1921), nearly as over-scaled and
+aggressive as Wallot’s Reichstag in Berlin, the rather Schinkelesque
+work at the cemetery appears, in its crispness and its relative
+simplicity, almost as ‘modern’ as anything by Olbrich. As has been noted
+earlier, Schinkel remained a major inspiration to such a leader of the
+second generation of modern architects as Mies van der Rohe, so this
+influence has a continuing significance.
+
+A much larger building by Olbrich than the house at Marienburg, also
+completed in the year of his death, the Tietz (now Kaufhof) Department
+Store in Düsseldorf, repeats the reiterative verticalism of those
+portions of Messel’s Wertheim store in Berlin that were built in 1900-4,
+though Olbrich’s detailing is not medievalizing like Messel’s but rather
+semi-Classical. Neither of these later things maintains the promise of
+his Ernst Ludwig Haus; they rather illustrate that general recession
+from bold innovation which characterized the architecture of this decade
+in Germany, a recession corresponding more or less closely to the
+general resurgence of ‘traditionalism’ in England and America that came
+a few years later (see Chapter 24).
+
+Peter Behrens (1868-1940), only a year younger than Olbrich, began his
+career as an architect at Darmstadt. From 1896 on, before being called
+there, he had only done decorative work of a markedly Art Nouveau sort.
+In his own house in the Artists’ Colony of 1900-1—the only one not built
+by Olbrich—the interiors are still quite Art Nouveau, but the clumsy
+exterior has little interest except as a document of revolt. Yet the
+plan is quite like that of Wright’s own house of 1889 in Oak Park,
+allowing a real flow of space through wide openings between entrance
+hall, living-room, and dining-room. By 1902 the ‘Hessian’ interior that
+he contributed to the Turin Exhibition was wholly rectilinear,
+presumably under the influence of Olbrich and Mackintosh. A similar
+severity characterized the work that he did, much of it merely open
+pergolas, for the Düsseldorf Garden and Art Exhibition of 1904.
+
+By this time Behrens’s personal style was maturing, although his debt to
+Olbrich remained very evident. The Art Pavilion for the North-West
+German Art Exhibition held in Oldenburg in 1904 was a symmetrical
+composition of cubical masses, the flatness of their surfaces even more
+emphasized by linear panelling than in Olbrich’s work. The Obenauer
+house of 1905-6 at Sankt Johann near Saarbrücken is rather more loosely
+composed; indeed, its white stucco walls, slated roofs, and grouped
+windows distinctly recall Voysey’s houses, which were by this time very
+well known in Germany thanks to the _Studio_ and Muthesius’s book. The
+garden front, however, is symmetrical and the plan not as open as that
+of his own house of four years earlier.
+
+In Behrens’s next two buildings, the small Concert Hall in the Flora
+Garden at Cologne of 1906 and the large Crematorium at Delstern near
+Hagen completed the following year, the geometrical panelling in black
+and white, used both inside and out, recalls a little San Miniato in
+Florence. But the blocky geometry of the Oldenburg pavilion and its
+smooth flat surfaces were also repeated, so that both these buildings
+have a curiously model-like look as if they were made of sheets of
+cardboard.
+
+Behrens’s two finest works up to this time, the Schröder house of
+1908-9—no longer extant—and the Cuno house of 1909-10 in the
+Hassleyerstrasse at Eppenhausen near Hagen, have a much more solid
+appearance, with quarry-faced masonry below and roughcast walls above
+(Plate 148B). The symmetrical façades, which correspond to completely
+symmetrical plans, are at once more tightly and more subtly composed.
+Here English influence seems to have been superseded by an attempt,
+rather more successful than Olbrich’s at Marienburg, to emulate
+Schinkel. A third early house by Behrens, the Goedecke house at
+Oppenhausen of 1911-12, is equally formal but not symmetrical, recalling
+thus a little Schinkel’s Schloss Glienecke near Potsdam.
+
+Somewhat similar to Behrens’s work of this period in its evident
+derivation from German Romantic Classicism, but more delicate in scale,
+was the work of Heinrich Tessenow (1876-1950), notably his Festival
+Theatre of 1910-13 and the other buildings he designed and erected for
+the Art Colony at Hellerau near Dresden. But such German work, of which
+a great deal was produced in the decade before the First World War,
+corresponds rather closely, despite the frequent stylization of detail
+and the serious concern with geometrical clarity in composition, to the
+Neo-Georgian of England and America in the early twentieth century, and
+also to much parallel work in the Scandinavian countries that is usually
+of rather higher quality (see Chapter 24).
+
+Moreover, those Frenchmen who castigated the Théâtre des Champs Élysées
+as ‘Boche’ during the First World War because of the presumption that it
+was designed by Van de Velde, born a Belgian but head of a German art
+school, were not altogether wrong. In its scraped Classicism and rigidly
+geometrical _ordonnance_ Perret’s façade was not at all remote from one
+of the most characteristic German modes of the years just before 1914.
+Perret’s industrial work was, of course, much more significant for the
+future.
+
+So also with Behrens it was the challenge that his position as architect
+of the A.E.G. brought of working in the industrial field that made him
+briefly a rival of Wright, and even more particularly of Perret, as a
+major architectural innovator. Behrens’s first work for the A.E.G., the
+Turbine Factory at the corner of the Hussitenstrasse and the
+Berlichingenstrasse in Moabit, an industrial suburb of Berlin, was
+erected in 1909 immediately upon his appointment as successor to Messel.
+This broke new ground in several ways. It was built partly of poured
+concrete, partly of exposed steel, with both materials very directly
+expressed (Plate 149A). The side wall of glass and steel more than
+rivals in its openness those of the department stores designed by Art
+Nouveau architects (Plates 131B and 133). But Behrens’s façade, in
+contradistinction to theirs, has no applied ornament whatsoever.
+Moreover, he ordered the whole composition as carefully as Schinkel
+might have done if either large factories or metal-and-glass
+construction had come within his purview.
+
+The end façade of the Turbine Factory is slightly less frank in design.
+The concrete corners on either side of the central window-wall of metal
+and glass are battered and striated horizontally as if to suggest
+rusticated masonry. The gable of the multi-faceted roof is brought
+forward to shelter the window-wall; this projects slightly in front of
+the concrete corners, almost like a Shavian bay-window raised to
+industrial scale. The treatment of the window-bands of the lower
+concrete block to the left resembles that of Schinkel’s articulated
+walls on the Berlin Schauspielhaus, but with all the Greek mouldings
+omitted. Thus the functional elements of a factory executed throughout
+in new materials were here for the first time in Germany
+architectonically ordered with no dependence on decoration of any sort.
+Wright had done much the same four years earlier in his little-known
+E.-Z. Polish Factory in Chicago, but the scale of that is modest and its
+walls are not extensively fenestrated. Perret had come closer to it in
+his Garage Ponthieu in Paris, also built in 1905. There can be little
+question, however, that Behrens’s is the finest building of the three.
+
+In two more factories built in 1910 for the A.E.G., both much larger but
+neither of them quite so striking, Behrens broadened his range as an
+industrial architect. The High Tension Factory in the Humboldthain is of
+brick, not concrete or steel. Except for a few minor elements somewhat
+suggesting pedimented temple-fronts translated into an industrial
+vocabulary, he handled the vast façades here with the same directness as
+the side elevation of metal and glass at the Turbine Factory. The Small
+Motors Factory in the Voltastrasse is similar but much finer (Plate
+148A). There the brick piers have rounded corners and rise unbroken
+almost the full height of the building. The effect is somewhat like that
+portion of Messel’s Wertheim Store which was built in the late nineties,
+but the scale is larger, and there is none of Messel’s rich,
+half-traditional, half-Art-Nouveau detailing. Instead, the careful
+proportioning and the suave but extremely straightforward treatment of
+the structural elements again suggests Schinkel’s sort of ‘rationalism’
+yet succeeds in doing so, as at the earlier Turbine Factory, with almost
+no reminiscence of actual Romantic Classical forms.
+
+Thanks to the widening range of responsibility that German industry was
+now ready to give architects, Behrens not only built these big factories
+for the A.E.G. and also redecorated their retail shops all over Berlin,
+but he was soon asked in addition to provide some blocks of flats for
+the company’s workmen at Hennigsdorf outside Berlin. This was a social
+challenge which neither Wright nor Perret had to meet. (In fact,
+however, Wright did in 1904 design terrace-houses that were never
+executed for Larkin Company workers in Buffalo; while in France low-cost
+housing had a very important place in Garnier’s projects for a ‘Cité
+Industrielle’.) Henceforth, such housing would be a major preoccupation
+of most modern architects. This is true not only in Germany but all over
+the western world, and especially in Holland and Scandinavia. The
+origins of low-cost housing go back to the 1840s in England when Henry
+Roberts, whose Fishmongers’ Hall in London has been mentioned, became
+the first architect to specialize in this field. But the early history
+of housing[423] is of more sociological than architectural interest.
+Moreover, what the nineteenth century esteemed to be ‘model’ low-cost
+dwellings have too often had to be demolished as ‘sub-standard’ in the
+twentieth. Even the interest and activities of present-day architects
+may not spare the twentieth century the shame of building again as a
+public service what posterity will consider slums.
+
+Various small A.E.G. factories for making porcelain, lacquer, and other
+specialized products were also erected by Behrens in 1910 and 1911, none
+of particular interest. In 1911-12, however, there followed the Large
+Machine Assembly Hall at the corner of the Voltastrasse and the
+Hussitenstrasse near the Small Motors Factory. This rivals in quality
+the Turbine Factory of 1909. Once more a great rectangular volume is
+covered with a multi-faceted steel-framed roof, the structure below
+being in this instance also of steel with no use of concrete. The metal
+frame is largely filled with glass, but brick was introduced at the base
+and on the ends. The scale of this unit is less monumental than that of
+the Turbine Factory, though the size is much greater. The general
+effect, particularly that of the interior with its travelling cranes, is
+at once light and dramatic. A big A.E.G. plant was also built by Behrens
+at Riga in Russia in 1913.
+
+Three large non-industrial commissions of 1911-12 show how this work for
+the A.E.G. affected Behrens’s approach to design. Although it is built
+of stone not brick, the German Embassy (Plate 27A) opposite Monferran’s
+St Isaac’s Cathedral in Petersburg is, at first sight, deceptively like
+the Small Motors Factory. Actually, the façade has a range of engaged
+Doric columns, but by their tall slim proportions and their lack of
+entasis these were, so to say, ‘industrially’ stylized. The great scale,
+the absolute regularity, and a certain coldness surely derived in part
+from the factories of the previous two years; but these also recall
+Romantic Classical monuments of Alexander I’s time in Petersburg.
+
+Behrens’s enormous office building for the Mannesmann Steel Works on the
+Rhine at Düsseldorf was less successful, as was also that for the
+Continental Rubber Company in Hanover. The latter was designed in 1911
+and begun in 1913, but not completed until after the First World War, in
+1920; it was destroyed in the Second World War. The heavily reiterative
+sort of scraped Classicism Behrens used for these overpowering masonry
+blocks lacked the subtlety of composition of the Hagen houses yet
+retained something of the directness of expression of the A.E.G.
+factories. They were not untypical, however, of much large-scale German
+building of the second and third decades of the century. This mode
+developed fairly directly out of the Berlin work of Messel and Ludwig
+Hoffmann, although it was usually much less specifically ‘traditional’
+in its detailing and even more aggressive in scale; a not dissimilar
+mode returned to official favour under Hitler in the mid thirties,
+usually with very coarse detailing.
+
+With these big office buildings by Behrens and others one may compare
+the work of this period by various other German architects who preferred
+less classicizing modes. Early buildings by Fritz Schumacher
+(1869-1947), such as his crematorium in Dresden of 1908, also illustrate
+the megalomaniac tendencies of the period that seem so expressive of the
+expansive ambitions of William II’s Second Reich. The many schools that
+Schumacher built in Hamburg just before the First World War are simpler,
+although still rather heavily scaled, and more comparable in quality to
+Behrens’s work. One in particular, built in 1914 in the
+Ahrensburgerstrasse, almost echoes the elongated colonnade of Behrens’s
+Petersburg Embassy, but the ‘columns’ are plain piers executed in dark
+red brick[424] and strung along a front that is concave not flat. The
+bath-house at Eppenhausen, also of 1914, is very like the schools; while
+in the Kunstgewerbe Haus of the previous year on the Holstenwall in
+Hamburg a similar mode was employed for what is, in effect, a large
+office building. This seems to have initiated a local tradition of
+design for commercial buildings which was maintained in the twenties
+with little change, not only by Schumacher but by several other Hamburg
+architects. Schumacher’s cemetery chapel, built as late as 1923, follows
+much the same line.
+
+In Stuttgart the railway station by Paul Bonatz (1877-1951) and F. E.
+Scholer (b. 1874) is the finest though not the largest of several built
+in Germany in these years. Designed in 1911, it was started only in
+1914, just as the enormous and much less interesting one at Leipzig with
+its six parallel sheds, begun by Wilhelm Lossow (1852-1914) and M. H.
+Kühne in 1907, was reaching completion. That at Stuttgart was not
+finished until 1927 because of the interruption caused by the First
+World War. This structure has a rather Richardsonian flavour in its
+extensive unbroken wall surfaces of rock-faced ashlar and its plain
+round arches (Plate 152). But the influence here came rather from the
+Munich architect Theodor Fischer (1862-1938). Fischer’s Romanesquoid
+churches, such as that of the Redeemer in Munich of 1899-1901 and the
+Garrison Church of 1908-11 in Ulm, were among the largest and most
+strikingly novel built in the opening years of the century in Germany;
+in the latter he even used ferro-concrete principals to carry the roof
+of the nave. Fischer’s Art Gallery of 1911 in Stuttgart was both more
+delicate in scale and rather more archaeological in its detailing;
+Bonatz’s Stuttgart work is bolder, simpler, and quite as admirably
+expressive of the traditional materials used.
+
+With the Stuttgart Station may be contrasted the rather earlier one at
+Hamburg that Heinrich Reinhardt (1868-?) and Georg Süssenguth (1862-?)
+built in 1903-6. There the major sections—shed, concourse, etc.—designed
+by the engineer Medling resemble rather closely Contamin and Dutert’s
+Galerie des Machines at the Paris Exhibition of 1889. These great
+constructions of iron and glass fortunately quite overshadow the low
+ranges of accessory elements in masonry, with ornament still in the
+Meistersinger mode of the eighties, contributed by the architects. The
+differences between these two notable stations well illustrate that
+reaction towards masonry construction and a more or less traditional
+approach to design that was developing strength in the decade preceding
+the First World War. In the history of the railroad station as a type
+the Hamburg Hauptbahnhof represents, not a new beginning, but the end of
+a line descending from the great shed-dominated stations of the mid
+nineteenth century.
+
+Intermediate in date between the Hamburg and Stuttgart stations was that
+at Karlsruhe built by August Stürzenacker in 1908-13. Although masonry
+construction and masonry forms dominate here as at Stuttgart, the
+simplification of mass and space composition throughout, and above all
+the elegant detailing, give evidence of the continuing leadership of
+Olbrich at the time of his death. Olbrich never built a station himself,
+but he won third place in the 1903 competition for that at Basel and
+second place in the 1907 competition for Darmstadt.
+
+In other specialized fields of building a forward line of development is
+more evident. Two big circular halls, one in Frankfort built by Thiersch
+in 1907-8, the other in Breslau built by Max Berg (b. 1870) in 1910-12
+(Plate 149B), are more notable than the contemporary railway stations at
+Stuttgart and Karlsruhe. Like Behrens’s industrial work for the A.E.G.,
+these structures illustrate the vital stimulus that German architects
+were obtaining in these generally somewhat reactionary years from the
+use of engineering solutions and materials other than masonry—steel at
+Frankfort, ferro-concrete at Breslau—to cover and enclose space. In the
+case of Thiersch this is the more remarkable when one remembers the
+ponderous traditionalism of his Neo-Baroque Palace of Justice in Munich
+built ten years before. While Berg on the exterior of his vast hall
+approaches the attenuated Classicism of Perret’s work of the next
+decade, the superb interior reminds one at once of Piranesi and of the
+much later structures of Nervi.
+
+German architects of this generation were rarely able to carry over into
+the designing of more conventional structures the boldness and freshness
+of approach of their large-scale work. They seem to have felt no such
+call to regenerate architecture as Wright had imbibed from Sullivan; nor
+did they, like Perret, attempt to use the new materials and the new
+structural methods consistently for all sorts of buildings whatever
+their particular purpose. German production before and after the First
+World War, as represented in the _œuvre_ of such then highly esteemed
+figures[425] as Oskar Kaufmann (b. 1873), German Bestelmeyer
+(1874-1942), and Wilhelm Kreis (b. 1873), to mention but three of the
+best known, shades over almost imperceptibly from industrial and
+semi-industrial buildings of bold and original character to a range of
+structures in various tasteful modes that are, in retrospect, hardly
+distinguishable from the traditional work of this period in other
+countries. This has already been noted as regards Tessenow.
+Characteristic examples of these men’s work were Bestelmeyer’s
+extensions of the University and the Technical High School in Munich, of
+1906-10 and 1922 respectively, both in the local tradition of Theodor
+Fischer’s work. The Museum of Prehistory in Halle that Kreis built in
+1916 with K. A. Jüngst was more traditional even than Bestelmeyer’s
+work, although Provincial-Roman rather than Romanesque in inspiration.
+
+As in England in the late nineteenth century, individual idiosyncrasies
+were much cultivated, and architects tended to specialize in particular
+types of buildings. Kaufmann, for example, had a very personal
+Neo-Rococo manner, delicate and frivolous, that he employed with real
+appropriateness in various Berlin theatres, notably the remodelling of
+the Kroll Oper and the Komödie, both carried out in 1924. But Behrens
+remains on the whole the most interesting and accomplished architect of
+this generation, whose opportunities for building were often to be even
+greater under the Weimar Republic in the early twenties than they had
+been under the Kaiser.
+
+No very great change is observable in Behrens’s work after the First
+World War. The terrace-houses that he built in 1918 for A.E.G. workers
+at Hennigsdorf, and the semi-detached dwellings of a low-cost housing
+estate for which he was responsible at Othmarschen near Altona in 1920
+are simple and solid in construction, quite like those of before the war
+but more conservative in design. However, at this point comes a
+characteristic, though brief, change of phase that illustrates his ready
+response to influences from the new painting and sculpture of the day.
+In the big complex erected for the I. G. Farben Company in 1920-4 at
+Höchst Behrens gave up the direct expression of new industrial building
+methods characteristic of his A.E.G. factories of 1909-11. The exterior
+was massive and almost medievalizing, even though the ranges of arches
+were of the unconventional parabolic form that seems to have appealed
+especially to Expressionist taste. In the tall glass-roofed court inside
+the angular forms of Expressionism were most strikingly evident; but he
+also introduced wholly abstract wall paintings and a few rather
+Constructivist lighting fixtures elsewhere in the reception rooms and
+offices. The result was, to say the least, ambiguous and incoherent,
+although the exterior was not unimpressive in its general effect.
+
+Expressionist influence had first appeared a little earlier than this in
+the work of other German architects, but it reached a peak in these
+years of the early twenties. In his pre-war industrial work Hans Poelzig
+(1869-1936) was not yet Expressionist. The chemical works that he built
+at Luban near Posen in 1911-12 rivalled in size and even in directness
+of expression—though not in distinction—Behrens’s factories for the
+A.E.G. After the war, however, Poelzig became a principal exponent of
+Expressionism in architecture. One of the earliest and most striking
+examples of Expressionist design on a large scale was his remodelling of
+the Grosses Schauspielhaus in Berlin in 1919. Here the cavernous,
+stalactite-ceilinged interior round the central circular stage was
+itself like an Expressionist stage-set and the planning implied a major
+revolution in dramatic presentation that never, in fact, quite came off.
+Yet his industrial work of the early twenties soon became much more
+straightforward again, and he later reverted to something very
+comparable to the stripped monumentality of Behrens’s Düsseldorf and
+Hanover office buildings. The most prominent extant example of this is
+the enormous I.G. Farben Company headquarters that he built in 1930 in
+Frankfort.
+
+One can hardly leave the subject of Expressionism in German
+architecture, largely confined though its more extreme manifestations
+were to a very short post-war period of three or four years, without
+mentioning two more names, those of Fritz Höger (1877-1949) and
+Dominikus Böhm (1880-1955).
+
+The twenties saw a few skyscrapers erected in Germany, none of them of
+the great height then current in America, but sometimes as conspicuous
+above the existing skyline as the first skyscrapers in New York had been
+in the seventies. The largest, though not the tallest, and certainly the
+most impressive was the Chilehaus, built by Höger in Hamburg in 1923,
+with its Schumacher-like piers of patterned brickwork and its upper
+three storeys receding behind narrow terraces (Plate 153A). A large and
+irregular site encouraged the employment of a long double curve on the
+right-hand side of the hollow block, and the sharp angle at that end
+produced automatically a silhouette of the shrillest Expressionist
+order. Actually, however, Höger like other German architects was already
+returning by this time from earlier and wilder Expressionist adventures.
+To what extent he was aware of the skyscrapers of Sullivan is uncertain.
+The emphatically vertical scheme of design he used here, with arches
+linking the brick piers together below slab cornices, certainly suggests
+some knowledge of them, even though they were by this time all but
+forgotten in America.
+
+Considerably taller than the Chilehaus, but not otherwise very
+distinguished, were two other German skyscrapers of the twenties.
+Kreis’s Wilhelm Marx Haus of 1924 in Düsseldorf, a thirteen-storey tower
+crowned with curious openwork tracery of inter-laced brick, is still a
+conspicuous feature of the local skyline; but the Planetarium and
+associated buildings that he erected at the Gesolei there two years
+later are better examples of the fairly restrained mode that he and
+others usually employed in these years. The plainer and better
+proportioned seventeen-storey Hochhaus am Hansaring in Cologne was built
+in 1925 by Jacob Koerfer (b. 1875).
+
+Although only a few skyscrapers actually rose in European cities in the
+twenties, the theme nevertheless fascinated the younger architects. Many
+bold designs for them were projected, some of them of real significance
+for later developments in both the Old World and the New (see Chapter
+22). The international competition for the Chicago Tribune Tower held in
+1922, which many Europeans entered and the Finn Eliel Saarinen all but
+won, signally focused attention on a type of building hitherto
+considered unsuitable for the Old World, and generally accepted in
+Europe only in the 1950s (see Chapters 21 and 25).
+
+The churches of Böhm, all of them Catholic, have a suavity that Höger’s
+work lacks, but at least equal forcefulness. The Suabian War Memorial
+Church of 1923 at Neu-Ulm is like an imaginative film-set of the period,
+being a sort of free fantasia on Gothic themes with little feeling of
+structural reality. But the boldest of Böhm’s churches, that he built at
+Bischofsheim in 1926, seems almost to take off from the engineer
+Freyssinet’s hangars at Orly. The paraboloid forms are here very frankly
+used; yet the concrete ‘barrel’ vault of the nave, intersected by lower
+cross-vaults over the bays of the aisles, creates a strong emotional
+effect that is both Gothic and Expressionist in tone. The finest of his
+churches, however, may be Sankt Engelbert at Cologne-Riehl of 1931-3.
+This is circular in plan and very ingeniously roofed, not with a
+dome,[426] but with lobes of paraboloid barrel-vaulting.
+
+However, in a church built in 1929, Sankt Josef at Hindenburg in Upper
+Silesia, Böhm had already turned away from the emotionalism of his
+earlier work towards simple rectangular forms.[427] This simplicity he
+has maintained in his post-war churches, with the result that his last
+work, Maria Königin,[428] built at Marienburg outside Cologne in 1954,
+with its squarish plan, very slender metal supports, and side wall of
+glass, has very little churchly flavour left. Yet some of Böhm’s very
+late projects indicated that many of his ambitions of thirty years ago
+still remained with him to the end; they may well some day find
+effective expression at the hands of his son or of Rudolf Schwarz now
+that a more emotional approach to church-design has been revived
+internationally.
+
+Compared to such a French church of the twenties as Perret’s Notre-Dame
+at Le Raincy or such a Swiss church as Moser’s Sankt Antonius in Basel,
+both using concrete in the rectangular and skeletal mode usually
+preferred at that time, Böhm’s churches of the twenties once seemed
+semi-traditional rather than modern. One can now see, however, that
+there is a different and more emotive line of development in modern
+church architecture to which, for example, Gaudí’s unfinished churches
+at San Coloma and Barcelona belong, as do also such later Latin American
+examples in ferro-concrete as the Purísima at Monterrey in Mexico by
+Enrique de la Mora (b. 1907) of 1939-47, São Francisco at Pampulha in
+Brazil, built by Oscar Niemeyer (b. 1901) in 1943, Nuestra Señora de los
+Milagros in Mexico City by Felix Candela (b. 1910), completed in 1955,
+and several completed in the mid fifties by Juvenal Moya at Bogotá in
+Colombia[429] (see Chapters 23 and 25). Expressionism may have been less
+of a cul de sac than its brief impingement on Behrens might lead one to
+suppose. Certainly it was a potent force for a few years after the First
+World War, and played then a significant role in breaking down the rule
+of ‘tasteful’ traditionalism inherited from the preceding decade.[430]
+
+As the twenties progressed, however, and extreme Expressionist influence
+generally receded, Behrens gave evidence of his awareness of the quite
+different direction that modern architecture had just taken in the hands
+of certain younger men, several of whom had actually been his own pupils
+or at least his employees. In 1925-6 he built New Ways, a house in
+Northampton, England, for S. J. Bassett-Lowke, earlier a client of
+Mackintosh’s. With its smooth white stucco walls, horizontally grouped
+windows, and flat roof, this is of considerable historical interest,
+although of very little intrinsic merit.[431] No such advanced work had
+yet been done in England by local architects, and at this time only a
+very few houses of a comparably advanced character had been executed
+anywhere (see Chapter 22).
+
+Despite his unusual openness of mind, which led Behrens in his fifties
+to attempt to rival juniors barely started on their careers—or, quite as
+probably, because of the lack of strong personal conviction of which
+this gives evidence—Behrens did not, like Perret and Wright in later
+life, continue to be very creative beyond this date. In Vienna, where he
+was called in the mid twenties to be professor of architecture at the
+Akademie, he settled into a sort of compromise mode. The low-cost
+housing blocks that he built in Vienna in 1924-5 on the
+Margaretengürtel, in the Stromstrasse, and in the Konstanziastrasse
+illustrate his characteristic uncertainty of direction in these years.
+If considerably sounder, they are also much less adventurous than the
+Bassett-Lowke house designed at almost the same time. This can be seen
+still more clearly at the Weissenhof in Stuttgart where many of the
+buildings of the German Werkbund’s housing exhibition held in 1927
+remain in use today. There Behrens’s block of flats stands very near one
+designed by the director of this exhibition, his former assistant Mies
+van der Rohe (Plate 162B), and not far from houses by such other leaders
+of the new generation as Gropius, Le Corbusier—who had both worked in
+his office also—and Oud (see Chapter 22). The contrast between his
+massive block and their light and open structures is the more striking
+because Behrens here so evidently set out to meet his juniors more than
+half-way.
+
+Behrens’s very latest work, the factory for the Austrian Tobacco
+Administration at Linz built in 1930 in association with Alexander Popp
+(b. 1891), was rather less conservative because of the nature of the
+commission. It is less mechanistic than the industrial work done so much
+earlier for the A.E.G., yet nonetheless impressive for its consistency
+of treatment and also for its human scale. The Linz factory provides a
+not unworthy concluding note to Behrens’s ambiguous career.
+
+The vast productivity of the German architects of Behrens’s generation,
+both before and after the First World War, building in a boom which only
+came to a close around 1930 with the world-wide depression, makes it
+difficult to choose specific examples worth the emphasis of even brief
+mention. The situation is made no easier by the considerable versatility
+of most of the leading figures. Those few buildings that have been
+specifically mentioned—even most of Behrens’s own work except for his
+A.E.G. factories—should be considered typical of the upper level of
+German achievement in these decades rather than monuments of unique
+distinction like the best things done by Perret and by Wright in the
+same decades. Yet, it is worth noting, for a long time neither Wright
+nor Perret had much effect on the general scene in their own countries,
+for all the seminal effect of their influence on younger architects
+everywhere; while the Germans achieved a tremendous volume of what can
+be called ‘half-modern’ work that notably changed the whole character of
+several large cities. Thus the way was prepared for a very early and
+widespread acceptance of the next stage of modern architecture, an
+acceptance so premature that it induced in the thirties a sharp
+reaction.
+
+In 1933 a regime rose to power in Germany with doctrinaire objections to
+the latest phase of modern architecture, ironically castigated as
+_Kultur-Bolschevismus_ immediately after the Bolsheviks had rejected it
+as unacceptably bourgeois! As a result, the leaders of the younger
+generation almost all emigrated (see Chapter 23); while with few
+exceptions those German architects who remained at home turned backwards
+in their tracks, though not very far backwards. Most German production
+in the Nazi period is all but indistinguishable, indeed, from what was
+considered most advanced before the First World War and even for some
+years thereafter. Very little of it deserves specific mention. As was
+the case around 1910, the more nearly the structures were of an
+engineering order—as for instance Bonatz’s bridges for the Autobahn
+built over the years 1935-41—the less they were likely to be stylized
+along the heavy near-Classical or semi-medieval lines the later Imperial
+period had established as conventional a generation before. Even the
+housing that Bonatz built after the War in 1945-6 at Ankara in Turkey
+and his Opera House there of 1947-8 are hardly as advanced as his
+Zeppelinbau office building of 1929-31 opposite the station in
+Stuttgart. Like Behrens at the same time, he had attempted there—with a
+certain amount of real success—to follow the ascetic principles of the
+younger generation that had just been so well illustrated at Stuttgart
+in the Werkbund Exhibition of 1927 on the Weissenhof (see Chapter 22).
+
+Immediately after the Second World War there was for several years some
+continuing use of the modes of 1910, so to call them. This was natural
+because of the prolonged absence of most of the leaders of the
+intervening generation from the country—Gropius, Mies, and Mendelsohn
+never returned—and the renewed activity of so many of the older
+generation who had made their reputation in the period 1905-25 with
+which this chapter has chiefly dealt. Today it is as if Germany had
+lived through the stylistic developments of the twenties a second time,
+and now the newer sort of architecture is once again as ubiquitous there
+as it was in 1930.
+
+These tidal waves of changing taste in Germany, each representing a
+sharp reaction against its predecessor, make difficult such a focusing
+of attention on a few creative and insurgent figures as gives dramatic
+pungency to the history of these decades in America and France.
+_Jugendstil_, _Expressionismus_, _Neue Sachlichkeit_,[432] these general
+movements, more than even so distinguished an individual as Behrens, are
+the real protagonists of the German story from 1900 to 1933; but in the
+international frame of reference they must be subordinated to the
+broader currents that dominated the architecture of the western world in
+the period. In that frame of reference the contribution of a few
+Austrians more than equalled that of the more prolific Germans, down at
+least to the First World War.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 21
+ THE FIRST GENERATION IN AUSTRIA, HOLLAND, AND SCANDINAVIA
+
+
+THE development of modern architecture in Austria between 1900 and the
+Nazi conquest has many connexions with that of Germany. The Austrian
+Olbrich had as much as anyone to do with setting off the reaction
+against the Art Nouveau in Germany after 1900. From the mid twenties,
+Behrens was living in Austria, not in Germany. Even so, and particularly
+for the years before the First World War, there is a separate and purely
+Austrian story, more limited than the German story yet at least equally
+notable for highly distinguished achievement. Two Austrian architects at
+least, Otto Wagner and Adolf Loos (1870-1933), if not Wagner’s pupil
+Josef Hoffmann (1870-1956), were the equals of any of the leading German
+architects of their day, except perhaps Behrens. Wagner, already sixty
+in 1901, produced his finest work after that date. The Wiener
+Werkstätte, founded by Hoffmann in 1903, provided a centre of activity
+in the field of decoration comparable to what the Century Guild and the
+Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society had offered earlier in England. Above
+all, Loos—in part possibly because he, of all Europeans of his
+generation, knew American architecture best—demonstrated, from his
+earliest executed work of 1898, a determination to renew the art of
+building that was as revolutionary as Wright’s.
+
+Soon after 1900 Wagner threw off all Art Nouveau influence. Yet the
+finest element in his masterpiece, the central hall of the Postal
+Savings Bank in the Georg Coch Platz in Vienna of 1904-6, still retains
+in the curvature of its glass roof and the tapering of its metal
+supports something of Art Nouveau grace (Plate 154B). The exteriors of
+this massive edifice are lightened by the very original treatment of the
+geometrically organized wall-planes; the thin plaques of marble which
+provide the sheathing suggest volume, not mass, and the delicate relief
+of the few and simple projections quite avoids the ponderousness of most
+contemporary German work. As in so much of the best German work,
+however, the severity of form and even the specific character of certain
+ornamental features reflect in a stylized way the Grecian mode of a
+hundred years earlier. This is somewhat surprising in Vienna, where
+Romantic Classicism had been on the whole both unproductive and
+uncreative, but doubtless Wagner knew Schinkel’s work as well as did
+Behrens—certainly his lightness of hand is more comparable to
+Schinkel’s.
+
+Not least interesting technically is the consistent employment of
+aluminium[433] in this building. The sculptured figures by Othmar
+Schimkowitz which crown the façade and the visible bolts that retain the
+granite and marble plaques are of this new metal; so also, apparently,
+are the structural members that support the glazed roof of the hall; at
+least they are completely sheathed with it. The large rear block of the
+bank dates from 1912, but the original vocabulary was retained by Wagner
+with only some slight simplification of the detailing of the plaquage.
+
+Sankt Leopold, the cruciform church that serves as the chapel of the
+Steinhof Asylum on the Gallitzinberg at Penzing outside Vienna, was
+built by Wagner in 1904-7 at the same time as the Postal Savings Bank.
+This crowns his extensive hillside layout of the whole establishment,
+comparable in scale to the French asylums of the mid nineteenth century,
+but for the other buildings he was not directly responsible. Sankt
+Leopold is a large domed monument inviting comparison with Schinkel’s
+Nikolaikirche at Potsdam. However, the linear stylization of the
+detailing inside and out brings to mind Olbrich’s and Behrens’s
+buildings of its own day. There is no paraphernalia of Greek orders, yet
+the conceptual organization of the elements is certainly in the Romantic
+Classical tradition, with the four arms each quite cubic and the
+hemispherical dome raised on a cylindrical drum. As at Schmidt’s
+Neo-Gothic Fünfhaus church of the 1870s in Vienna, there are echoes of
+Fischer von Erlach’s Baroque Karlskirche here also, but the spirit is
+not at all Baroque. All the visible metalwork here, the sheathing of the
+dome, the statues of angels by Schimkowitz and of saints by Richard
+Luksch, and even the heads of the bolts that retain the marble plaques
+on the exterior walls, is of gilded bronze, not aluminium. This has not
+worn as well, for it has lost its gilt coating, peeled off many of the
+bolts, and streaked the walls with verdigris. Inside the church the
+mosaics by Rudolf Jettmar and the stained glass by Kolo Moser combine to
+rival the most sumptuous domestic ensembles produced by the Wiener
+Werkstätte, but the general effect, while light and even gay, still has
+a monumental dignity appropriate to a church. The walls are of plain
+white plaster, and narrow bands of geometrical ornament in gold and blue
+panel the cross vault—for, curiously enough, the central dome is not
+exploited internally.
+
+Crisper in design and much simpler altogether than the Steinhof church
+are the blocks of low-cost flats that Wagner built in 1910-11 at 40
+Neustiftsgasse and next door at 4 Döblergasse. Their walls are covered
+with stucco lined off to suggest plaquage, and the decoration is reduced
+to thin bands of dark blue tiles that merely outline the surface planes.
+Needless to say, these blocks have not survived as well as the
+expensively built bank and church. Wagner’s last works, a hospital not
+far from the Steinhof Asylum and his own house at 28 Hüttelbergstrasse,
+both in Penzing and of 1913, are typical but rather less interesting.
+
+Hoffmann’s first architectural work of any consequence, a Convalescent
+Home at Purkersdorf built in 1903-4, was already simpler than Wagner’s
+hospital of a decade later, if considerably less architectonic in
+effect. The plain white stucco walls are full of ample windows almost
+devoid of surrounding frames and very regularly disposed; cornices and
+other conventional elements of detail are either omitted or reduced to
+an absolute minimum. The result is a structure that would still look
+very fresh and crisp half a century later were it not, like Wagner’s
+flats, in shabby physical condition.
+
+As Hoffmann’s founding of the Wiener Werkstätte indicates, he was at
+heart less an architect than a decorator, like so many of the leading
+English and Scottish designers of this period and the immediately
+preceding one. The important commission to build a large and extremely
+luxurious mansion on the edge of Brussels in 1905, the Palais Stoclet at
+373 Avenue de Tervueren, gave his decorative ambitions a free rein
+(Plate 154A). Yet the exterior of this has a good deal of the
+geometrical clarity of the Convalescent Home and rather more of Wagner’s
+architectonic values. The carefully ordered asymmetrical composition is
+dominated by the stair-tower, somewhat as the best Italian Villas of the
+previous century were dominated by their off-centre belvederes. The
+walls appear to be no more than thin skins of marble plaques, like
+Wagner’s, with the frequent and regularly spaced windows brought forward
+into the same surface plane. A decorative edging of gilded metal defines
+these smooth wall planes, giving the whole something of the fragile look
+of D’Aronco’s exhibition buildings. This is especially true of such a
+complex accent as the tower, with its tall stair-window.
+
+The Stoclet house, as finished after six years in 1911, has some very
+fine interiors, cold and formal but sumptuously simple in their use of
+various marbles. The marble is quite undecorated on the delicate
+rectangular piers in the two-storey stair-hall; but in the dining-room
+it carries inlaid patterns by Gustav Klimt of almost Art Nouveau
+elaboration. The effect is rather curious, somewhat resembling
+characteristic English interiors by Voysey and his contemporaries
+carried out, not in stained or painted wood, but in figured and polished
+marbles; yet undoubtedly this is one of the most consistent and notable
+great houses of the twentieth century in Europe. Seeking to provide a
+new sort of elegance that even the best English domestic work lacked,
+Hoffmann achieved here an urbane distinction only approached by Gill and
+the Greenes at this time in America. His houses in Vienna, such as that
+at 5-7 Invalidenstrasse of 1911 and the suburban one at 14-16
+Gloriettegasse in Hietzing, are not in a class with the Palais Stoclet
+but more comparable to Olbrich’s or Behrens’s houses of this period in
+Germany. Work of similar character and equal distinction was done by
+Fabiani in Vienna before he settled in Gorizia in 1920. Very
+Hoffmann-like indeed is his building for the publisher Artaria at 9
+Kohlmarkt of 1901. His Urania in the Uraniagasse of 1910 also rivals
+Hoffmann’s best.
+
+Successor to Wagner in general esteem, and himself a professor at the
+Kunstgewerbeschule, Hoffman developed his personal style no further in
+the work he did after the First World War. At the Austrian Pavilion in
+the Exhibition of Decorative Arts of 1925 in Paris—an exhibition
+organized in part to reclaim for France the primacy in the arts and
+crafts of decoration that had by this time passed to Vienna, largely
+because of Hoffmann’s leadership—the rather Neo-Rococo stuccoed block
+that he provided was much less advanced in character than the
+greenhouse-like portion designed by Behrens. However, his low-cost flats
+in the Felix-Mottlstrasse in Vienna, built like those of Behrens in the
+mid twenties, retain a good deal of the quality of his early sanatorium
+at Purkersdorf. Crisp and clean, they are distinctly less blank and
+ponderous than Behrens’s, if also less advanced in design that those by
+Josef Frank (b. 1885). Frank, a somewhat younger Viennese architect of
+considerable ability but lesser reputation than Hoffmann, left Vienna to
+settle in Sweden when the Nazis took over Austria.
+
+The international acclaim that Viennese low-cost housing of this period
+received when new seems rather exaggerated now. From the first its
+significance was more political and sociological than architectural. It
+happened to be built, moreover, mostly by men not of the newest
+generation of architects at just the time when an architectural
+revolution was taking place in France and Holland and Germany (see
+Chapters 22 and 23). Henceforth that revolution, brilliantly illustrated
+as regards low-cost housing in the German Werkbund’s international
+exhibition of 1927 at Stuttgart, would affect most notably the design of
+such projects throughout the western world. The Viennese housing
+exhibition of 1930, a modest counterpart to that in Stuttgart, came too
+late to reform the local tradition, which largely survived even after
+the Second World War.
+
+The work of Hoffmann’s exact contemporary Loos dates less than his and
+was of the greatest importance in providing inspiration to the modern
+architects of the second generation who brought about the revolution of
+the twenties. This inspiration from Loos is comparable in significance
+to that which the younger architects found in the work of Wright and of
+Perret. Loos, unlike other Austrians of his period, was primarily
+interested in architecture, not in decoration—indeed, he wrote in 1908
+an article[434] claiming that ‘ornament is crime’, an attitude shared by
+no other architect of his generation, and least of all by his fellow
+Viennese. It was Loos’s tragedy that a very large part of his employment
+before the First World War was in remodelling and redecorating flats;
+this constrained him so little, however, that many of these may easily
+be taken in photographs for completely original house interiors (Plate
+155B).
+
+Although Loos began his career in the late nineties when the Art Nouveau
+tide ran highest, he was never at all affected by it, in part doubtless
+because he had spent the years 1893-6 in America beyond the range of Art
+Nouveau influence. The interior of the Goldman haberdashery shop in
+Vienna, which he designed in 1898, was entirely straight-lined and quite
+without any ornament; in the Café Museum of the next year the segmental
+ceiling and the bentwood chairs were curved, but only for structural
+reasons. Both are now gone, although the extant Knizé men’s shop in the
+Graben in Vienna of 1913 gives some idea of what the former was like.
+
+It is Loos’s houses around Vienna, in Plzen, in Brno, in Montreux, and
+in Paris that place him as one of the four or five most important
+architects of his generation. His finest single extant work, however, is
+a small bar in Vienna. From the first he designed from the inside out,
+reducing his exteriors to square stucco boxes cut by many windows of
+different sizes and shapes. The results are very like Gill’s houses in
+California, as has been noted already, but with no such traditional
+elements as Gill’s arched porches. This is especially true of the Gustav
+Scheu house in the Larochegasse in the Vienna suburb of Hietzing, almost
+the only one left in Austria in something closely approaching its
+original condition (Plate 155A; Figure 43). Loos was an enthusiastic
+admirer of English domestic architecture; this bent of his taste is
+curiously illustrated by his liking for English eighteenth-century
+furniture of the Queen Anne and Chippendale periods, which looks today
+so out of place in his severely rectangular rooms. But the architectural
+character of his interiors is never influenced by eighteenth-century
+modes, but only by the most advanced English work of the opening of the
+century which he knew well through the _Studio_. Articulated by plain
+wooden structural members like Voysey’s interiors or, on occasion, by
+similar piers clad with marble like Hoffmann’s in the Stoclet house,
+Loos’s suites of living areas are as flowing as Wright’s[435] but he
+never provided as much interconnexion between indoors and out.
+
+Of a succession of houses built before the First World War the much
+mishandled Steiner house of 1910 and the above-mentioned Scheu house of
+1912, both in suburbs of Vienna, are perhaps the finest. The Villa
+Karma, built much earlier at Montreux in Switzerland in 1904-6, had an
+almost Hoffmann-like sumptuousness of materials and finish within; but
+in the main Loos kept, like Voysey and Wright, to plainer effects and
+simple dark wooden trim.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 43. Adolf Loos: Vienna, Gustav Scheu house, 1912, plan
+]
+
+At first his houses looked, externally, rather like quite conventional
+ones from which all elements of traditional detail had been scraped, as
+do many of the contemporary projects included in Garnier’s ‘Cité
+Industrielle’. Gradually, however, Loos came to handle his simple
+elements of external design with more of that assurance which his
+domestic interiors had displayed from as early as the flat in Vienna
+remodelled for Leopold Langer in 1901 (Plate 155B). Both the placing and
+the sashing of his windows were more carefully studied; and the
+proportions and the juxtapositions of his rather boxy masses were
+abstractly ordered well before a Neoplasticist like Georges Vantongerloo
+in Holland arrived at somewhat similar effects in sculpture (see Chapter
+22). Compared to Wright’s more complex and articulated experimentation
+with abstract composition in the house of 1909 for Mrs Thomas Gale or
+the Coonley Playhouse of 1912, there remains, nevertheless, a distinctly
+negative quality about all Loos’s work. He seems to have been
+principally concerned to clear away inherited tradition in order to lay
+the foundations of an immanent new architecture. That new architecture,
+however, he himself was never able to bring fully into being, although
+others did so under his influence by the time he was in his early
+fifties (see Chapter 22).
+
+In Loos’s larger urban work, such as the prominent Goldman & Salatsch
+Building of 1910 in the Michaelerplatz in Vienna, he was ready to use
+marble externally and even to include classically detailed columns. But
+in the ground storey of this store he increased the articulated space
+effects characteristic of the interiors of his flats and houses to
+almost monumental scale. Here, in the small Kärntner Bar of 1907, and in
+the Café Capua of 1913, both also in Vienna, his use of fine materials
+with their polished surfaces uninterrupted by mouldings would eventually
+prove as potent an inspiration to architects of the next generation as
+did his more ascetic written doctrine.
+
+The Café Capua is gone; the Goldman & Salatsch interior drastically
+remodelled; but the Kärntner Bar, in the Kärntner Durchgang behind 10
+Kärntnerstrasse, remains a small masterpiece of modern design. During
+the Nazi occupation the façade lost the American flag in stained glass
+which ran across the top, but the exterior was never of much interest in
+any case. The interior is fortunately completely intact (Plate 151).
+Skilful use of mirrors quite disguises its very small dimensions. Above
+smooth dark mahogany walls, set like screens between plain green marble
+piers, unframed panels of mirror that reach to the ceiling allow one to
+see the strong reticulated pattern of the yellow marble ceiling
+extending left and right and to the rear just as if the actual area of
+the bar were merely an enclave in a much larger space. Because of the
+particular height of the mahogany wainscoting this illusion is quite
+perfect, for one sees only about as great a space reflected on either
+side as that one is actually in; if the mirrors came lower, a greater
+extension on either side and at the rear would be suggested than could
+possibly be plausible as a reflection. A continuous grille of square
+panels filled with translucent yellow onyx takes the place of the mirror
+panel across the top of the front wall. Not until Mies van der Rohe’s
+Barcelona Pavilion of 1929 was marble used again by a modern architect
+with such assurance (Plate 165A).
+
+It was not these urban commissions, however, but Loos’s free-standing
+houses that the next generation of architects studied most closely. For
+example, Loos’s sort of domestic open planning, not Wright’s, was
+probably the major influence on the Continent after the First World War.
+Moreover, the neutrality, not to say the negativity, of the exteriors of
+his houses provided better even than Garnier’s projects the raw material
+with which a positive sort of architectural design could be created by
+younger men in the early twenties. Loos’s achievement before the First
+World War was largely in the domestic field; after the war most of his
+executed work still consisted of houses and shop interiors, although he
+made several extremely interesting projects for larger edifices and
+erected a large sugar refinery for the Rohrbacher Company in
+Czechoslovakia in 1919.
+
+The Rufer house in Vienna of 1922 is a narrow three-storey block rather
+similar to Voysey’s Forster house of 1891 at Bedford Park. This has a
+most interesting sort of open plan, with the dining-room on a higher
+level than the living room. Loos was also working in other countries
+now; for his reputation, though limited to the most advanced circles,
+was increasingly international. His most considerable production of this
+decade was the house he built in 1926 for the writer Tristan Tzara at 14
+Avenue Junod in Paris, where Loos had settled four years earlier. In the
+Tzara house the interior is arranged somewhat like that of the Rufer
+house: the dining room opens into the living room but on a higher level.
+The tall, rather blank front, slightly concave in plan, has a more
+positive character than those of most of his houses, because the
+two-storey void sunk into its centre provides a dominating plastic
+feature above the solid rubble of the ground storey.
+
+Of still later work the Kuhner house of 1930 at Payerbach in the wooded
+hills near Vienna is the most original example. A two-storey hall,
+opening towards the view through a window-wall, occupies most of the
+interior, with the various other living spaces opening into it on the
+main floor and the bedrooms reached from a gallery above. Above the
+masonry base the house is externally of log-construction, chalet-like,
+with Tyrolean roofs of low pitch and wide-spreading eaves. This
+reversion to peasant materials, and even to peasant forms, was curiously
+premonitory of a direction modern architecture took in several countries
+in the thirties (see Chapter 23). Had Loos lived longer he might, like
+Wright in that decade, have returned to the centre of the stage. As it
+was, his major contribution antedated the First World War.
+
+Perret, Wright, Behrens, and Loos: on the whole these are the four most
+important architects of the first modern generation, important both for
+their personal contribution and also for their decisive influence on
+later architecture. Outside the countries in which these men worked,
+notably in Holland and in Scandinavia, there were also architects of
+distinction belonging to this generation but their achievement was more
+limited and their influence more local, at least before the First World
+War. Yet Holland, between 1910 and 1925, came closer than any other
+country to creating a modern style, or phase of style, that was
+universally accepted at home; the origins, moreover, go back to the
+nineties. There was, properly speaking, no prefatory Art Nouveau episode
+in Holland of any consequence in spite of a considerable activity in the
+decorative arts inspired, in part at least, by serious study of the
+crafts of Indonesia.
+
+Hendrik Petrus Berlage (1856-1934), the leader of the national school,
+was considerably older than Perret, Wright, Behrens, or Loos, although
+much younger than Wagner. As in Wagner’s case, his earliest work, dating
+from the eighties, is of a generically Renaissance character, though
+much less suave and academic. The influence of Cuijpers soon led him
+towards a medieval mode—not Gothic, however, but round-arched. Compared
+to _Rundbogenstil_ work of the best period fifty years earlier, his
+round-arched buildings of the nineties are rather gawky, but not without
+originality in their ornamentation; above all, they are vigorously
+structural in their expression in a ‘realistic’ and, indeed, almost High
+Victorian way. However, the insurance company buildings in Amsterdam and
+The Hague that best illustrate this phase were later enlarged by him in
+a chaster mode, thereby losing much of their anachronistic flavour.
+
+Berlage’s major opportunity came with the competition for the design of
+the Amsterdam Exchange held in 1897. This competition he won with a
+project which seems rather Richardsonian[436] to American eyes, though
+he did not—apparently—know much about American work at that time. For
+this very extensive public edifice, built over the years 1898-1903, he
+used, not the stone of his insurance office across the Damrak of 1893,
+but the red brick of his Hague insurance office, also of 1893, varied
+with a modicum of stone trim still quite crudely notched and chamfered.
+Inside, the principal interior has exposed metal principals above
+galleried walls of brick and stone. In Berlage’s masculine vigour and
+defiant gracelessness of detailing one could hardly have a greater
+contrast to such another major public building, designed and built at
+almost precisely the same time, as Horta’s Maison du Peuple in Brussels.
+But Horta’s masterpiece climaxed rather than opened his career as an
+architect of international importance; certainly it did not lead to the
+development of a national modern school in Belgium. At least for
+Holland, the Exchange was more seminal, even if it lacked the
+revolutionary character of Wright’s houses of these years or Perret’s
+block of flats in the Rue Franklin in Paris. A fairer comparison would
+be with Voysey’s contemporary houses, the work of an architect who was
+by intention rather a ‘reformer’ than a drastic innovator, or with
+Martin Nyrop’s Town Hall in Copenhagen begun five years earlier.
+
+Berlage’s near-Richardsonian mode of this period is still better
+illustrated in a smaller structure, that built for the Diamond Workers’
+Trade Union in the Henri Polak Laan in Amsterdam in 1899-1900 (Plate
+150). In this, the organization of the windows into a sort of
+brick-mullioned screen and the less aggressive handling of the carved
+stone detail produces a façade not unworthy of comparison with
+Richardson’s Sever Hall or Gaudí’s Casa Güell (Plate 96B). It is
+notable, however, that it is work of the seventies and eighties in
+America and in Spain that comes to mind, not work of this date.
+
+The Hotel American of 1898-1900 in the Leidse Plein in Amsterdam by
+Willem Kromhout (1864-1940) illustrates how boldly Berlage’s line was
+taken by other local architects, and his relative originality even
+outrivalled. But the lead came in Kromhout’s case not from Berlage, but
+from Cuijpers’s nephew Eduard (1859-1927), a transitional figure whose
+work deserves more attention outside Holland than it has generally
+received. Kromhout’s touch is lighter than Berlage’s, as is also, to
+make a poor pun, the colour of his pale buff bricks, but his expression
+of structure is less ‘real’ and more frankly fantastic. In the detail of
+the exterior, and even more in the interiors, he was undoubtedly seeking
+to create a sort of Dutch alternative to the Art Nouveau, not
+curvilinear or naturalistically ‘organic’ but richly decorative in a
+semi-abstract way. The intention was worthy; the result, alas, is rather
+tawdry.
+
+It was not in the design of sumptuous individual buildings but in
+low-cost housing and in city-planning that Berlage himself was most
+active in the next fifteen years. In 1908, for example, he prepared a
+plan for the extension of The Hague, and in 1915 a more ambitious one
+for Amsterdam. He had built his first blocks of flats in the
+Linnaeusstraat in Amsterdam in 1905. These are much less Romanesquoid
+than his earlier work but they are equally brusque as to the detailing.
+However, his architecture shortly grew much suaver. Berlage’s finest
+work of any period, perhaps, is not in Holland but in the City of
+London, Holland House of 1914 at 1-4 Bury Street, E.C. This has a
+reticulated façade of moulded terracotta members more Sullivanian than
+Richardsonian in its verticality (Plate 138B)—and by this time he
+certainly knew Sullivan’s work.
+
+The influence of Berlage in Holland was by this time very great and the
+esteem in which he was held—at least as much for his doctrine of direct
+structural expression as for his executed work—by no means restricted to
+his own country, since his writings were published in Germany as well as
+in Holland.[437] Yet, to foreign eyes, the achievement of the new school
+that grew up partly under his inspiration in Amsterdam is greater than
+his own. The work of this ‘Amsterdam School’—for it was soon so
+called—which flourished particularly in the decade 1912-22 is at times
+very close to that of the German architects influenced by Expressionism
+in the early twenties; but it began much earlier and has a strongly
+autochthonous flavour.[438] German Expressionism never inspired a
+building more stridently angular than the Scheepvaarthuis that J. M. van
+der Meij (b. 1868), a pupil of Eduard Cuijpers, built to house dock
+offices on the Prins Hendrik Kade in Amsterdam in 1912-13. The most
+extreme example of the abandon with which twentieth-century Dutch
+architects set out on new paths, this opened the way for the housing
+work of van der Meij’s assistants Michael de Klerk (1884-1923) and P. L.
+Kramer (1881-1961), both also pupils of Eduard Cuijpers, which
+represents internationally the greatest Dutch contribution to modern
+architecture. As the master of these three, Eduard Cuijpers, despite his
+own historicism, has perhaps as much right as Berlage to be considered a
+father of the Amsterdam School. Their work, moreover, has some analogies
+not only with German Expressionism but also with Wright’s contemporary
+Baroque phase of 1914-24. However, the crystallization of de Klerk’s
+personal style preceded the beginning of Wright’s influence in Holland
+and, when that influence began during the years of the First World War,
+it operated in fact to counter the extravagances of the Amsterdam
+School.
+
+Early buildings by de Klerk, such as the first Eigen Haard Estate
+housing blocks that were designed in 1913 and erected round the
+Spaandammerplantsoen on the west side of Amsterdam, have a quaintness
+that recalls English or American work of a generation earlier rather
+than van der Meij’s aggressive angularity. They look almost as if they
+were especially fanciful projects of the Shingle Style that happened to
+be executed in brick instead of wood. But the elegant underscaled local
+brick is handled with extraordinary virtuosity, and the façades achieve
+a stage-set-like unreality in sharpest contrast to the often dreary
+matter-of-factness of low-cost housing produced in other countries in
+these same years. Although the first Eigen Haard blocks were, in
+planning and general organization, as straightforward as Berlage’s, they
+have a warmer human touch such as architects elsewhere—Behrens, for
+example, or the Scandinavians—either missed entirely or attempted to
+attain by a parsimonious use of more or less ‘traditional’ detailing.
+
+The extension of the Eigen Haard Estate along the Zaanstraat, begun in
+1917, represents perhaps the peak of de Klerk’s achievement (Plate
+156B). Here the many curved wall elements bring out the special
+qualities of Dutch brickwork; and the rather heavy wooden window-frames,
+brought forward as in Hoffmann’s Stoclet house to the wall-plane, give
+continuity to the plastic modelling of the façades. Highly imaginative,
+even whimsical, features of detail, such as the barrel-like corner
+oriel, give an air of good humour, and even of the outright humorous,
+that is rare in any other architecture, ancient or modern; but these
+features are for the most part truly architectonic, not merely
+decorative. De Klerk’s whimsy is never nightmarish, in the way Gaudí’s
+can be, nor loud and aggressive like van der Meij’s. His highly personal
+style can be considered a sort of _barocchino_ of the early twentieth
+century.
+
+The extreme point of de Klerk’s invention is seen in the post office
+that occupies the apex of the later portion of the Eigen Haard Estate.
+This is like nothing so much as a child’s toy enlarged to architectural
+scale in some contemporary setting for Diaghilev’s Ballet Russe.[439]
+After this his work grew somewhat simpler and more orderly. Already the
+blocks he designed in 1920 for an area round the Henriette Ronnerplein
+in the De Dageraad Estate on the south-east side of Amsterdam are more
+regular and restrained; the plainest of all is the very long continuous
+range near by in the Amstellaan built in 1921-2.
+
+Also in the De Dageraad Estate, in the portion that runs down both sides
+of the P. L. Takstraat, along the Burgemeester Tellegenstraat and into
+the Talmastraat, Kramer showed himself even more of a virtuoso in the
+handling of curved wall elements of brick—here brown and buff—than de
+Klerk (Plate 156A). Projected in 1918 and built in 1921-3, Kramer’s
+scheme combined tall and very plastic features at the street
+intersections with notably straightforward three-storey ranges in
+between. Thus he produced an extensive urbanistic ensemble of great
+homogeneity of character, yet very considerable variety of visual
+interest, and with a quality of craftsmanship perhaps superior to de
+Klerk’s. But by the time this was completed Kramer had become even more
+chastened than de Klerk in his last work in the Amstellaan. In Kramer’s
+Amsterdam West housing, begun in 1923, the façades are plain and flat
+with continuous bands of white-sashed windows. Thus these blocks are
+definitely related to the direction that modern architecture was taking
+in Holland as in France and Germany in these years at the hands of men
+of Kramer’s own generation (see Chapter 22).
+
+Kramer’s De Bijenkorf department store of 1924-6 in the Grotemarktstraat
+in The Hague, however, still retains much of the plastic exuberance of
+his earlier housing blocks and is executed with a sumptuous range of
+fine materials. Kramer here employed at large scale the curved surfaces
+of brickwork characteristic of De Dageraad, with notable success. Many
+Amsterdam canal bridges of these years illustrate also his virtuosity at
+elaborate semi-abstract detail carried out with excellent craftsmanship
+in wrought iron and carved or artificial stone. Moreover, in the mid
+twenties the Amsterdam City Architect’s office exploited with real
+success in various school and police buildings a manner closely
+approaching that of de Klerk and Kramer.
+
+Unfashionable even in Holland for a quarter of a century, the work of
+the Amsterdam School merits that more sympathetic examination which the
+Art Nouveau has now for some years received. At its best the work of de
+Klerk and Kramer from the mid teens to the mid twenties has survived
+better than all but the finest contemporary achievements of Wright and
+Perret, partly because it was so well built in the first place and has
+been so well maintained ever since. Without being, in the proper sense
+of the word, Expressionist, it yet has close analogies with the
+Expressionist approach. It may be considered to stand in a relationship
+to the work of Höger and Poelzig in Germany somewhat comparable to that
+of Gaudí to the Art Nouveau of Brussels and Paris; for it is at once
+independent of outside influence and superior to the foreign work that
+it most closely parallels. But the Amsterdam School did not occupy the
+entire Dutch scene even in these, its best, years.
+
+In no European country was the work of Frank Lloyd Wright studied
+earlier and with more enthusiasm than in Holland; Berlage was one of
+Wright’s greatest admirers after his visit to America in 1911. The
+influence of Wright’s work up to 1910, known through the Wasmuth
+publications, began to be evident in the later years of the First World
+War. Dirk Roosenburg (1887-1962), Jan Wils (b. 1891), J. J. Van Loghem
+(1882-1940), and several others were notably Wrightian in the early
+twenties; and the magazine _Wendingen_, edited by H. T. Wijdeveld (b.
+1885), continued through the mid twenties to bring Wright’s later
+buildings and his projects of those years to European attention, notably
+devoting to him a magnificent series of special issues in 1925 which
+constitutes a document of signal importance for the study of his work of
+this period. The first German book on Wright after the Wasmuth
+publications did not appear until the next year, and the first in French
+only in 1928.
+
+Wrightian ideas were readily accepted by many Dutch architects
+previously inspired chiefly by Berlage, not to speak of their influence
+on Berlage himself. Admiration for Wright’s work undoubtedly played a
+real part in the rapid modulation of Dutch architecture towards greater
+severity and a more geometrical discipline in the twenties. But the
+major significance of the lively Dutch interest in the American lies in
+its effect on the development of a few younger men in these years. To
+the Amsterdam School there had arisen a strong opposition led by
+architects belonging to the De Stijl group of artists who were active in
+Rotterdam and Utrecht. Yet the Amsterdam School architects continued for
+some time to be highly productive, and the work of several prominent
+men, notably J. F. Staal (1879-1940) and W. M. Dudok (b. 1884), was
+related to both camps. But by the time Berlage was engaged on the big
+concrete-framed Netherlands Insurance Company Building in The Hague in
+1925-6 its very Wrightian character had just been superseded in the
+projects and the production of Rietveld and Oud by a more ascetic mode
+parallel to that adumbrated by the new architects of France and Germany
+in the early twenties (see Chapter 22).
+
+In the new building of the Scandinavian countries before and after the
+First World War admirers in other countries thought to recognize an
+originality and vitality comparable to that of contemporary Dutch work.
+As has already been remarked, it has since become evident that most of
+what was produced in these decades in Denmark and Sweden did not really
+differ very much from the work of ‘traditionalists’ elsewhere. Despite
+extremely elegant and often piquant stylization, comparable but superior
+to that of most German work in this period, continued maintenance of
+inherited principles of design and the general use of reminiscent detail
+sharply differentiated the characteristic production of the
+Scandinavians from that of the Dutch, and of course far more from that
+of Wright or Loos. What such men as Ragnar Östberg (1866-1945), and E.
+G. Asplund (1885-1940) down to his sharp change of style in the late
+twenties, designed and built in Sweden or P. V. Jensen Klint (1853-1930)
+and Kay Fisker (b. 1893)—down to his parallel change of style—in Denmark
+was generally still rated ‘modern’ a generation ago; almost all of it
+may now be more properly classed with ‘traditional’ work in other
+countries. In quality, however, it often more than rivals all but the
+finest modern German, Austrian, and Dutch work of its day (see Chapter
+24).
+
+An exception to this statement as regards Sweden is the remarkable
+Engelbrekt Church of 1904-14 in Stockholm by L. I. Wahlman (b. 1870),
+with its great parabolic arches and its vertically massed exterior
+dominated by a very tall and svelte tower; there much of the
+experimentalism of the nineties lived on. For its influence, this is
+possibly a more important twentieth-century church than Perret’s at Le
+Raincy. An even more considerable exception is a large part of the
+prolific production of the Finnish architect Eliel Saarinen (1873-1950)
+both in the Old World and in the New. Saarinen was the leading architect
+of Finland down to the twenties; after his removal to the United States
+he was Wright’s only rival of his own generation on the American scene,
+the careers of the early modern architects of the West Coast being by
+then in decline (see Chapter 19).
+
+Saarinen’s earliest work in partnership with Herman Gesellius
+(1874-1916) and A. E. Lindgren (1874-1929) dates from the nineties. In
+1900 he designed the Finnish Pavilion at the Paris Exhibition; this
+offered a powerful, though rather cranky, statement of Nordic
+originality quite opposed to the Latin elegance of the contemporary Art
+Nouveau and not without kinship to Berlage’s Amsterdam Exchange. At home
+important public commissions followed rapidly: the National Museum in
+Helsinki in 1902 and the Helsinki railway station, for which he won the
+competition in 1904. This large and complex structure, built over the
+years 1910-14, is Saarinen’s principal early work. In size and in
+monumentality it rivals Bonatz’s Stuttgart station and also the vast
+stations that ‘traditional’ architects in America were building at much
+the same time (see Chapter 24). But there is much less of ‘tradition’
+here than at the Stuttgart or, _a fortiori_, in the American stations.
+The heaviness and the grandeur are more than a little Germanic so that
+the fairest comparison is with Stürzenacker’s Karlsruhe station, on the
+whole more straightforward in design and certainly much more delicately
+detailed.
+
+Saarinen’s achievement in his homeland made him well known throughout
+Europe; as early as 1905 one of his principal works had been a country
+house, Molchow, in Brandenburg in Germany. The project that he entered
+in the Chicago Tribune Tower competition in 1922 brought him suddenly to
+American attention. Although a Gothic design by John Mead Howells (b.
+1868) and Raymond Hood (1881-1934) won this competition and was
+executed[440] on Michigan Avenue, in 1923-5, Saarinen’s project (which
+in any case received a financially generous second premium) had a
+tremendous _succès d’estime_, including the accolade of Sullivan
+himself. In retrospect the design appears almost as medievalizing as
+Howells & Hood’s; but the elegance of the silhouette and the consistency
+of the detailing, stylized nearly to the point of absolute originality,
+had an enormous contemporary appeal.
+
+By this time Americans were beginning to grow bored with the
+increasingly forced adaptation of familiar styles of the past to
+skyscraper design. Yet in 1922 they were hardly ready to recognize the
+positive qualities of the very plain reticulated tower, elaborated with
+certain minor Constructivist touches, that was proposed by Walter
+Gropius (b. 1883) and Adolf Meyer (d. 1925) (Plate 158A). Today it is
+easy to see how close this came to reviving the Chicago tradition of the
+early skyscrapers, a tradition almost forgotten since the First World
+War, as also its great importance in the crystallization of a new
+architecture in the early twenties (see Chapter 22).
+
+Saarinen, after settling in the United States in 1922, designed various
+other skyscrapers along the lines of his Chicago project, none of them
+built. However, other architects at once picked up his relatively novel
+ideas; and undoubtedly his ideas played an important part in turning
+American skyscraper architects away from their long-continued dependence
+on the styles of the past. Hood himself was not least affected, as his
+black and gold American Radiator Building[441] on West 40th Street in
+New York, completed in 1924 even before the Chicago Tribune Tower, soon
+made evident. In Detroit, near which city Saarinen settled, Albert
+Kahn’s Fisher Building is even more Saarinenesque and quite unrelated to
+his contemporary factories.
+
+Called to Bloomfield Hills, Mich., by the Booth publishing family,
+Saarinen’s first work in America was the Cranbrook School for Boys, a
+very extensive group of buildings begun in 1925. Here an almost Swedish
+elegance of craftsmanship and a profusion of semi-traditional detail
+were combined in a somewhat whimsical manner rather recalling English
+work of forty or fifty years earlier. The girls’ school near by,
+however, Kingswood, begun in 1929, is much simpler, with an almost
+Wrightian horizontality and crispness of expression.
+
+When American building activity revived in the late thirties Saarinen
+continued to develop. From 1937 on his American-trained son Eero
+(1911-61), destined later to be one of the leaders of post-war
+architecture in the United States, doubtless played some part in
+encouraging that bolder structural expression and increasing
+sparseness of ornamentation that characterizes his finest late works.
+These qualities are already very evident in the Kleinhans Music Hall
+in Buffalo, N.Y., of 1938; while the contrast between the
+straightforwardness of the Crow Island School in Winnetka, Ill., of
+1939, on which the Chicago firm of Perkins, Wheeler & Will
+collaborated, and the quaintness and fussiness of the Cranbrook School
+is quite startling.
+
+Most distinguished of all the late Saarinen works are his Tabernacle
+Church at Columbus, Ind., designed in 1940 and built in 1941-2, and the
+similar but smaller Christ Lutheran Church in Minneapolis that was built
+in 1949 just before his death (Plate 157B). Cool, clear, and rational,
+the distinguished handling of brickwork in these churches, the knowing
+control of light, and the careful ordering of space in the interiors
+remain exemplary. Their towers are more refined versions of Moser’s on
+Sankt Antonius in Basel; yet the massing of their blocky external
+elements almost seems to belong to an earlier tradition, that of the
+English Victorian Gothic churches of the third quarter of the nineteenth
+century, whose reminiscent forms they wholly abjure, and with which
+neither of the Saarinens was probably familiar.
+
+Of the first generation of modern architects not even Wright still
+survives. As long as he continued in active production the story that
+the last four chapters have tried to tell could not be completed but in
+1959, with his death, an architectural epoch came finally to an end. It
+was a rich epoch and a complex one because the men of that generation
+were all great individualists and proud of it. In most countries they
+had to fight a vigorous battle for the right to personal expression, a
+battle that they carried through to recognition against entrenched
+inertia, both professional and lay. Yet in general, the links of this
+generation with the later nineteenth century remained close, both in
+their dependence on handicraft and in their frequent tendency—least
+evident with Wright and Loos—to accept (up to a point) personal
+stylization of earlier architectural forms[442] as a substitute for that
+basic originality of which all were at their best truly capable.
+
+Not since the late eighteenth century had there been any such wide
+international renewal of architectural aspiration. Just as then, a new
+generation would profit from the experiments of their elders, taking
+much from each, but rejecting much as well, in order to create a
+style—or at least a discipline—aiming at universality. By its essential
+principles, this discipline could not have the variety and the intensity
+of personal expression which gives such colour and life to the work of
+the older men. Just as in the early nineteenth century, however, the
+architects who succeeded the great originals were far more able than
+they to work together. By joining their individual efforts the men of
+the next generation changed the character of almost all architectural
+production in a way that their elders were quite unable to do. Thus
+there came into being an architecture more completely of its own century
+than any style-phase of the previous hundred years—up to the Art Nouveau
+at least—had ever been wholly of the nineteenth century.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 22
+ THE EARLY WORK OF THE SECOND GENERATION: WALTER GROPIUS, LE CORBUSIER,
+ MIES VAN DER ROHE, AND THE DUTCH
+
+
+THE project that Gropius and Meyer offered in the competition of 1922
+for the Chicago Tribune Tower, unlike Saarinen’s, attracted very little
+contemporary attention in America (Plate 158A). Such a stripped
+expression of skeleton construction had, up to that time in America,
+been seen only in factories and warehouses. Even in Chicago, moreover,
+the New York ideal of the shaped tower had quite replaced the
+Sullivanian slab as the favourite form for pretentious skyscrapers. Ten
+years later, however, when the first International Exhibition of Modern
+Architecture was held at the new Museum of Modern Art in New York it was
+evident that the kind of architecture represented by Gropius’s project
+had become widely accepted in several European countries. By that date
+it was even possible to deduce from the executed work of Gropius and his
+chief European contemporaries, most of which was shown in the
+exhibition, the existence of a new style christened ‘international’[443]
+by Alfred Barr, the Museum’s director. Whether the new architecture that
+came into being in the twenties in Europe and has since spread
+throughout the western world should in fact be considered a style, or
+even a style-phase, remains a matter of controversy; but for forty years
+now it has been readily distinguishable from what the older generation
+of modern architects produced.
+
+In 1922 this new architecture hardly existed except in the form of
+projects. Some of the most strikingly novel buildings built in the early
+twenties were by Willem Marinus Dudok (b. 1884) in Holland and by Erich
+Mendelsohn[444] (1887-1953) in Germany. These no longer belonged to the
+realm of the earlier, pre-war modern architecture. Yet the work of
+neither was as indicative of the direction the newer architecture was
+taking in these formative years as is the Gropius Chicago Tribune
+project. Very shortly, however, both Dudok and Mendelsohn drew closer to
+the main current of development of this decade, although they continued
+to be, in varying degree, individualists rather than whole-hearted
+converts to the dominant architectural mode of their generation.
+
+Dudok’s work as City Architect of Hilversum, beginning with the Public
+Baths and the Dr H. Bavinck School in 1921, is remarkably simple and
+direct (Plate 157A). The abstract crispness and clarity of his
+compositions are very different from the whimsically curved surfaces of
+de Klerk’s and Kramer’s housing blocks (Plate 156A and B). This rigidly
+geometrical organization of the forms reflects his earlier contact with
+the group of Dutch abstract artists known as _De Stijl_,[445] notably
+the painters Piet Mondrian and Theo van Doesburg and the sculptor
+Georges Vantongerloo. But Dudok’s continued emphasis on the fine quality
+of his brickwork, the massiveness of his characteristically interlocking
+blocks, and a certain basically decorative intention still link his
+buildings of the twenties at Hilversum with the ideals of the older
+generation. Dudok’s work of this period was certainly novel—and even
+modern in a very advanced way for the date—but it remained quite Dutch
+in its idiosyncrasies, not ‘international’.
+
+The plasticity of Mendelsohn’s Einstein Tower, designed in 1919 and
+completed in 1921, at Neubabelsberg near Berlin (Plate 153B) seems at
+first sight not unrelated to that of Gaudí’s hewn-stone Casa Milá in
+Barcelona of 1905-10 (Plate 137A). But it was originally intended to be
+executed in poured concrete—for technical reasons it is in fact mostly
+of brick rendered with cement—and what one might call the ‘overtones’ of
+the forms are more mechanistic than organic. Like Dudok, Mendelsohn had
+been influenced by a local school of painting. But the images he
+distorted according to the tenets of Expressionism came from the world
+of machines not, like Gaudí’s, from the world of plants and animals.
+Mendelsohn’s earlier war-time sketches[446] make this origin even more
+evident. The extreme point of this sort of abstract sculptural
+Expressionism[447] in the twenties is found in the work of no architect
+but in the mountainous cult edifice called the Goetheanum at Dornach in
+Switzerland, designed by the creator of anthroposophy Rudolf
+Steiner[448] and begun in 1923.
+
+Mendelsohn himself rejected this excessively plastic approach to
+architecture—an approach to which a reversion can be noted on the part
+of Le Corbusier in the last decade, incidentally (Plate 167)—even before
+the Einstein Tower was completed. The hat factory that he built at
+Luckenwalde in 1920-3 was in the direct line of descent from the
+industrial work Behrens and Poelzig had done before the First World War.
+This was rightly recognized as one of the signal productions of those
+crucial years of the early twenties when the concepts of the new
+architecture were first being tentatively realized in France and in
+Holland, and very shortly, of course in Germany. Dudok’s buildings at
+Hilversum of the early twenties had a very considerable international
+influence;[449] Mendelsohn’s Einstein Tower did not, at least not on
+architecture.[450] However, other work of his done in the next few years
+was much admired and also widely emulated, both in Germany and abroad,
+by the younger architects.
+
+In spite of the importance in these years of the executed work of Dudok
+and of Mendelsohn, several other architects certainly had far more to do
+with determining the direction that architecture took from 1922 on. One
+was a Swiss then working in Paris, Charles-Édouard Jeanneret, known as
+Le Corbusier. At this time more painter than architect, Le Corbusier had
+earlier been an assistant of Perret’s and had also worked briefly for
+Behrens and even for Josef Hoffmann. Two others were Dutchmen. J.J.P.
+Oud had practised in association with Dudok at Leiden in 1912-13, and
+from 1917 and 1918 he and G.T. Rietveld were in much closer contact with
+the artists of _De Stijl_ than Dudok ever was, being actual members of
+that small cohesive group. Two more were Germans, Walter Gropius and
+Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, both of whom had been Behrens’s assistants,
+respectively for two and for three years.
+
+Gropius, born in 1883, is the eldest of the five and older than
+Mendelsohn also; Le Corbusier, Rietveld, and Mies were born in 1888; Oud
+in 1890. Gropius’s career began as early as 1906, when he erected some
+plain brick workmen’s houses in Pomerania even before he had finished
+his professional training at the Technische Hochschule in Munich. A
+leading professor in this school was Theodor Fischer, Bonatz’s master,
+in whose office Oud later spent a few months in 1911. After a year of
+travel in Spain, Italy, and Holland Gropius entered Behrens’s office in
+1908, remaining there till 1910. On leaving Behrens he designed in 1911,
+with Adolf Meyer, the Fagus Factory at Alfeld-an-der-Leine. He worked
+again in partnership with Meyer from after the First World War until the
+latter’s death in 1925.
+
+Directly as this Alfeld factory—it made shoe-lasts—follows from
+Behrens’s work for the A.E.G., notably the front of the Turbine Factory
+of 1909, its architectural expression is much more advanced (Plate
+158B). There the great window remained, for all its size, but a window;
+here, in the main three-storey block, the slightly projecting metal
+chassis rise unbroken over very wide areas bounded by narrow brick
+piers, and the storey levels are barely indicated by solid panels
+identical in treatment with the glazed sash above and below them. This
+arrangement of transparent and opaque elements identically handled may
+almost—but not quite—be considered to constitute a ‘curtain-wall’.[451]
+The omission of piers at the corners, a structural novelty here,
+enormously enhances the effect of transparent volume as opposed to that
+of solid mass. In the organization of the various industrial elements of
+the complete plant that are associated with the glazed block there is
+neither symmetry, such as Behrens was only beginning to relinquish, nor
+yet asymmetry of the more casual and picturesque sort; instead a modular
+regularity controls the whole composition. This factory has long been
+recognized historically as one of the most important[452] buildings of
+the twentieth century.
+
+Gropius’s next building, the Hall of Machinery at the Werkbund
+Exhibition of 1914 in Cologne, was in some ways less advanced. The main
+façades of this were quite symmetrical; and in the articulation of the
+brick piers of the ground storey, in the heavily framed central entrance
+and, above all, in the projecting slab roofs of the raised corners there
+appears to have been some direct influence from the work of Wright,
+notably from his hotel of 1909 in Mason City, Iowa. (This was published
+in the Wasmuth book of 1910, where Gropius would almost certainly have
+seen it.) The glazed front of the principal storey, however, and
+especially the rounded glass stair-towers at the ends were not at all
+Wrightian; they carried still further the expression of architecture as
+transparent volume already evident in the Fagus Factory and approached
+very closely indeed the mature curtain-wall concept, although at a
+modest scale.
+
+Mies remained with Behrens a year longer than Gropius, after having
+spent three earlier years with Bruno Paul[453] (1874-1954), a more
+conservative architect whose best work was done as a furniture designer.
+His independent career began in a much less spectacular fashion than
+that of Gropius. The Perls house of 1911 at Zehlendorf outside Berlin
+was as formally symmetrical as Behrens’s houses at Hagen of 1908-9 and
+rather more Schinkelesque. The Urbig house of 1914 at Neubabelsberg was
+very correctly late-eighteenth-century in its detailing. His most
+important work of these years, however, was the project for the H. E. L.
+J. Kröller house in The Hague of 1912, intended to contain the large and
+famous Kröller-Müller Collection of modern paintings now at Otterlo. Of
+this a full-scale wood and canvas model was erected on the actual site,
+but it was never built. The formal though asymmetrical organization of
+the severe horizontal blocks, the incorporation of voids in the
+composition by means of loggias and pilastrades, and the cold austerity
+of the refined detailing of the masonry all approach very closely such
+things by Schinkel as the Zivilcasino at Potsdam and Schloss Glienecke,
+even if the characteristic belvedere tower of the latter is
+significantly omitted. In many ways this project was as premonitory of
+later modern architecture as the Fagus Factory, although the latter, as
+an executed building, has properly received much more notice.[454] Both
+Gropius and Mies were involved in the First World War from 1914 to 1918,
+so that the next stage in their careers opened only in 1919.
+
+Le Corbusier, Oud, and Rietveld were neutral nationals, but their
+production of these early years, although less interrupted by the war,
+is mostly not of much intrinsic interest. After two years with Perret in
+Paris Le Corbusier had spent six months in Behrens’s office in
+1910.[455] His first house,[456] built for his parents at La Chaux de
+Fond in Switzerland in 1913, is more closely related to Behrens’s early
+houses in its plain white stucco walls and fairly restricted
+fenestration than it is to the work of Perret or to Behrens’s A.E.G.
+factories of 1909-11. The plan is the most interesting feature: this
+provides a central living area out of which other more specialized rooms
+open to left and right through wide glazed doors, a scheme that seems to
+derive from Perret’s planning, or perhaps that of Loos,[457] rather than
+from Wright’s.
+
+Le Corbusier’s next significant work was a war-time project of 1914-15
+for low-cost houses called Dom-Ino. These seem to derive not from
+anything of Perret’s or Behrens’s but rather directly from the ones that
+Tony Garnier had proposed for his ‘Cité Industrielle’ as early as
+1901-4,[458] but they are still plainer, probably because of the
+concurrent influence of Loos. However, Le Corbusier’s only important
+executed building of the War years, the Villa Schwoff of 1916 at La
+Chaux de Fond, is closer to Perret in its elaborate formality,[459] its
+much simplified academic detail, and its concrete-and-brick
+construction. The plan represents an advance over that of his parents’
+house, however, for the main living area here is carried up two storeys
+and lighted by a tall window-wall towards the garden. Of special
+significance also is the arrangement of all the flat roofs as usable
+terraces.
+
+The next year, 1917, _De Stijl_ was founded, and soon Oud and Rietveld
+as members of the group began to collaborate with the Dutch abstract
+painters and sculptors generally known as Neoplasticists.[460] In this
+year Oud built two villas by the seashore: Allegonda at Katwijk,
+designed in association with the architect M. Kamerlingh Onnes; and De
+Vonk at Noordwijkerhout, with interiors decorated by the _De Stijl_
+painter and critic Theo van Doesburg. The Dutch had no direct contact
+with Behrens, unlike the other three, but Oud was briefly with Fischer
+in Munich in 1911, as has been said. However, Oud’s work down to this
+time had been essentially Berlagian: moreover, it was Berlage who evoked
+his interest in the work of Wright. Nevertheless, there is nothing
+Wrightian about these villas, but rather a Loos-like reduction of
+architecture to white stucco cubes. The interest of De Vonk is largely
+confined to the floors of bold geometric pattern executed in coloured
+tile by van Doesburg; Allegonda was much modified by Oud in 1927.
+Rietveld was still primarily a furniture designer until 1921.
+
+In 1918 Oud became City Architect of Rotterdam, where his brother
+occupied a prominent political position, and began work at once on the
+Spangen Housing Estate, Blocks I and II being of that year, Blocks VIII
+and IX of the next. The Tuschendijken Estate followed in 1920. These
+housing blocks, even more than the seaside villas, are notable for their
+negative rather than their positive qualities. All the elaboration of
+form and detail of the Amsterdam School was put aside in favour of an
+ascetic regularity. But various projects of these years illustrate how
+boldly Oud was attempting, partly under the influence of his painter and
+sculptor friends, partly under that of Wright, to arrive at new formal
+concepts. But Oud was not alone in these years in attempting to
+translate the ideals of _De Stijl_ into architecture. Gerrit Rietveld,
+in a jewellery shop in Amsterdam built in 1921, was probably the first
+fully to realize Neoplasticist concepts in three dimensions and at
+architectural scale.[461]
+
+In Paris in the first post-war years Le Corbusier was also closely
+involved with painters; indeed, he himself was then as much, or more, a
+painter as an architect, and he has never ceased painting since. With
+the French painter Amédée Ozenfant he had written a book on art, _Après
+le cubisme_, published in Paris in 1918; together they developed a
+post-Cubist sort of abstract painting, partly inspired by their friend
+Fernand Léger and partly by their interest in the simple shapes of
+everyday objects. This they called ‘Purisme’. In support of their ideas
+about all the arts they began in 1920[462] to publish a review,
+_L’Esprit nouveau_, which continued to appear until 1925, the nursery
+years of the new architecture.
+
+In succession to his Dom-Ino system of multiple housing of 1914-15, Le
+Corbusier was developing at this time the Troyes system, using poured
+concrete, and also the Monol system with a reinforced-concrete skeleton
+deriving technically from the innovations of Perret. But the definitive
+formulation of his new ideals for architecture, focused as they were at
+this time on the sociological problem of the low-cost dwelling, lay a
+year or two ahead. Having no official position, he did not need, like
+Oud, to produce executed work in quantity before his own concepts
+matured. Gropius’s earliest work, back in 1906, had been a low-cost
+housing scheme, as has been noted, and in 1911 he built another housing
+estate, at Wittenberg-an-der-Elbe. Economical housing was increasingly
+recognized as a social service for which architects ought to exploit to
+the utmost their technical abilities; from the first it offered a common
+challenge to the Dutchman, the Swiss-Parisian, and the German.
+
+Like the Dutch and Le Corbusier, Gropius was involved with painters in
+the early post-war years. Appointed in 1919 head of the Art School in
+Weimar and also of the Arts and Crafts School there which Van de Velde
+had run before the War, he combined them and named the new school the
+Bauhaus.[463] Here teachers of painting and sculpture and architecture
+worked in closest association with teachers of the crafts in
+continuation and extension of the English Arts and Crafts ideals of the
+eighties and nineties. Soon this rather Viennese approach, brought to
+the Bauhaus by Adolf Itten, with its emphasis on handicraft, was revised
+by Gropius so that it might better fit an increasingly industrialized
+society.[464] To his faculty Gropius brought such advanced painters as
+the German-American Lyonel Feininger in 1919 and in 1922 the Russian
+Wassily Kandinsky and the Swiss Paul Klee. Yet it was not their refined
+art but rather Expressionist painting and sculpture which still
+influenced the jagged War Monument that he erected in Weimar in 1921.
+His architectural ideals in the early post-war years before 1922,
+moreover, seem to have been rather closer to Poelzig’s or Mendelsohn’s
+than to those of Le Corbusier, Oud, or Rietveld.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 44. Le Corbusier: First project for Citrohan house, 1919-20,
+ perspective
+]
+
+As has been several times stated already, certain remarkable projects
+best displayed the direction in which several of the architects of the
+younger generation were moving, along nearly parallel lines, in these
+years preceding the general revival of building production in the mid
+twenties. Gropius’s Chicago Tribune project of 1922, in which the line
+of his development shifted away from Expressionism, has already been
+discussed out of sequence (Plate 158A). But the most significant
+projects, earlier than this by several years, were by Mies and by Le
+Corbusier. Mies’s early work had not been very adventurous up to the
+time when he proposed, in 1919 and in 1920-1, two revolutionary glazed
+skyscrapers to be built in Berlin. In both, the floors were to be
+cantilevered out from central supporting cores and the curtain-walls
+enclosing them merely light metal chassis holding great panes of glass.
+However, their plans, respectively jagged and curvilinear, reflected the
+strong influence of Expressionism, an influence that disappeared from
+Mies’s as from Gropius’s work the very next year, after the Germans
+became aware of the architectural implications of Dutch Neoplasticism
+and also of Russian Constructivism. Van Doesburg,[465] it should be
+noted, visited the Bauhaus in 1922, and for a short but crucial period
+both Gropius and Mies seem to have drawn from Dutch sources as much
+inspiration as the young Dutch architects. In addition to the obvious
+debts of Dudok, Oud, and Rietveld to Neoplasticism, Cornelis van
+Eesteren (b. 1897), today City Architect of Amsterdam, was actually
+collaborating with van Doesburg in these years on various house
+projects.
+
+Less striking than Mies’s skyscrapers, but more buildable, were Le
+Corbusier’s successive Citrohan projects for houses of 1919-22 (Plate
+160A; Figures 44 and 45). Brought to public attention first in _L’Esprit
+nouveau_ and later in his extremely influential book _Vers une
+architecture_, published in Paris in 1923 and shortly translated into
+English and German, these adumbrated a new aesthetic of architecture
+more completely than anything that he or any other architect had yet
+proposed on paper, much less built. Modest in size, each Citrohan house
+was to consist largely of a two-storey living-room fronted like that of
+the La Chaux de Fond house of 1916 with a tall window-wall. This would
+occupy most of the façade, and it was here set within a very plain frame
+of rendered concrete. The dining area was to be at the rear under a
+balcony from which the bedroom would open. Thus the section is similar
+to Wright’s Millard house of 1923.
+
+The earlier version of the house was intended to stand on the ground
+(Figure 44); in the later scheme the whole cube of the house was to be
+lifted up on _pilotis_, that is, free-standing piers of reinforced
+concrete constituting, Perret-like, essential parts of the structural
+skeleton (Plate 160A; Figure 45). Like Sullivan’s piers at the base of
+the Guaranty Building of 1894-5 (Plate #119:pl119) the effect of these
+_pilotis_, allowing circumambient space to pass under the enclosed
+building above, was to enhance very strongly the look of volume as
+opposed to mass. This treatment, possible only with skeleton
+construction in ferro-concrete, steel, or wood, soon became one of the
+most significant formal devices differentiating the new architecture of
+the twenties from what preceded it. The later Citrohan project was thus
+the first of the ‘boxes on stilts’ against which Wright continually
+protested, even though his own buildings themselves tended more and more
+frequently to be lifted off the ground by one means or another.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 45. Le Corbusier:
+ Second project for
+ Citrohan house, 1922,
+ plans and section
+]
+
+If the structural methods employed here by Le Corbusier came from
+Perret, the external expression of his lifted box seems rather to derive
+from Garnier or Loos, although the rendered surfaces were evidently
+intended to be smoother and flatter than those of Loos’s executed houses
+(Plate 155A) and the pattern of the windows much more regularly
+organized in the wall-plane. With the roof terrace on top surrounded by
+parapets continuous with the wall-planes below, even the earlier type is
+apprehended as volume rather than mass, especially as there were no deep
+window reveals to suggest thickness in the walls such as appear in
+Garnier’s projects and Loos’s executed work. By keeping the openings
+absolutely in the wall-plane, as Hoffmann had done on the Stoclet house,
+the very exact geometrical discipline of the design of the façades could
+be maintained even when seen in perspective. As a result, however, the
+underlying structure was expressed only in the _pilotis_ of the later
+project. Yet the wide expanse of the window-wall at the front and the
+characteristic shape of the other windows, oblongs extended
+horizontally,[466] would obviously not have been practical but for the
+long spans made possible by the ferro-concrete skeleton.
+
+There was in the Citrohan projects no very close similarity to Le
+Corbusier’s Purist pictures of these years other than the crisply
+geometrical ordering of the very flat façades and the untextured
+smoothness of their surfaces. However, the extreme mechanical precision
+and the more-than-Loosian rejection of the inessential clearly reflected
+an aesthetic parallel to that adumbrated in his paintings. Certainly the
+effect was—as Wright and others recurrently complained—likely to prove
+more pictorial than architectonic when such things were executed. There
+was no ornament such as Oud had, in some sense, obtained at Katwijk from
+his painter-collaborator van Doesburg; indeed, there was hardly any
+detail at all, at least as architectural detail was understood by Perret
+and Behrens. In this respect also Le Corbusier’s new architecture was
+closest to the personal style of Loos.
+
+Articles in _L’Esprit nouveau_ and later the illustrations in _Vers une
+architecture_ revealed the sources of Le Corbusier’s extra-architectural
+inspiration and made such inspiration available to others who cared to
+look about them with his particular vision and his clearly defined
+ideals for the modern world. Works of engineering, American
+grain-elevators and the like;[467] the forms of things that move—ocean
+liners, motor cars and aeroplanes:[468] such things provided some of the
+visual prototypes for Le Corbusier’s new aesthetic of architecture.[469]
+But there was also the social motive of developing a method of building
+houses to satisfy the needs of all classes. Moreover, Le Corbusier was
+already—to use a term introduced later—as much a ‘planner’ as an
+architect. In 1922 he prepared a project for a city of three million
+inhabitants. This proposed at the core a geometrically ordered group of
+widely spaced cruciform skyscrapers and, round the core, ranges of
+blocks of flats of moderate height, not arranged along narrow streets,
+but broadly distributed over a park-like terrain.
+
+Le Corbusier had many years to wait before the world caught up with
+his ideas as a planner as these were promulgated in his book
+_Urbanisme_, published in Paris in 1925. But as an architect[470] he
+was shortly building in and near Paris a series of houses, most of
+them of considerably greater size than his Citrohan project. Moreover,
+in 1927, at the Werkbund Exhibition in Stuttgart, he finally brought
+that to execution also, although some minor modifications were
+incorporated.[471] Le Corbusier’s very first post-war houses—one at
+Vaucresson, S.-et-O., near Paris, which has been remodelled quite
+beyond recognition, and the house for Ozenfant at 53 Avenue Reille in
+the Montrouge district of Paris, both designed in 1922 and built in
+1923—were naturally not very adequate expressions of his ideals[472]
+(Figure 46). But, beginning with the contiguous La Roche and Jeanneret
+houses, designed originally in 1922 also and executed with many
+modifications and improvements in 1924 in the Square du Dr Blanche in
+the Auteuil district of Paris, and culminating in the Savoye house at
+Poissy, S.-et-O., of 1929-30 (Plate 159), the new aesthetic[473] of
+the Citrohan project was exploited with increasing virtuosity. Le
+Corbusier developed much further the spatial unity of his plans,
+usually keeping inside a defining rectangle but articulating that in
+various ways: at the Savoye house, for example, the main terrace is
+within the same raised box as the enclosed rooms (Figure 47). The
+treatment of the exteriors likewise grew simpler and more open.
+Horizontal windows were grouped and extended to form continuous
+ribbons all the way across façades, and roofs at various levels, being
+completely flat, served as outdoor living-spaces. This is best seen at
+Les Terrasses (Plate 160B), the house built in 1927 for Michael Stein
+at 17 Rue du Professeur Pauchet in Garches, S.-et-O.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 46. Le Corbusier:
+ Vaucresson, S.-et-O., house, 1923, plans
+]
+
+Different colours were often used on different walls to emphasize them
+as individual planes, particularly in interiors. Curved elements, such
+as were introduced earlier in the plan of the Vaucresson house (Figure
+46), appeared at the Savoye house in screens that rose around the upper
+roof-terrace (Plate 159). Moreover, the geometrical discipline of his
+_tracés régulateurs_ based on the Golden Section was used with
+ever-increasing consistency.[474] At the same time the use of different
+colours and of curves produced, particularly at the Savoye house, a
+lyricism closely related to that of Purist paintings of the early
+twenties. This is curious, since in his paintings dating from the late
+twenties Le Corbusier was moving away from Purism, under the influence
+of Fernand Léger (and perhaps even of Surrealism), towards a looser and
+more connotative mode.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 47. Le Corbusier: Poissy, S.-et-O., Savoye house, 1929-30, plan
+]
+
+Le Corbusier was not the only architect of the new generation building
+houses in Paris in these years. Beside his, those by the Belgian Robert
+Mallet-Stevens (b. 1886)[475] are at once cruder and more superficial in
+their design. In the Rue Mallet-Stevens near Le Corbusier’s La Roche and
+Jeanneret houses, where he built several houses close together in
+1926-7, he provided a somewhat depressing glimpse of the future, a
+glimpse which has often proved, alas, to be only too accurate a
+generation later. The Cité Seurat, on the other side of Paris near Le
+Corbusier’s Ozenfant house, offered an even larger group of new houses
+of the same period, several of them of much higher quality. The Chana
+Orloff house there is by Perret; but most of the others are by André
+Lurçat[476] (b. 1892), an architect of much more integrity than
+Mallet-Stevens, if without Le Corbusier’s genius. The best of Lurçat’s
+houses, where they have been adequately maintained, possess certain
+common-sense virtues that Le Corbusier’s lack; in the late twenties and
+early thirties they provided paradigms at least as popular as Le
+Corbusier’s. His school of 1931 in Villejuif, Seine, has a special
+importance also, as it was in the field of school-building[477] that the
+new architecture first became widely accepted later in the thirties in
+several countries. Le Corbusier’s activity was much greater than
+Lurçat’s, however, and in one major project at least he extended the
+scope of the new architecture far beyond the realm of the modest private
+dwellings that he and Lurçat were so largely restricted to building in
+the twenties.
+
+In 1925, in the Pavilion de l’Esprit Nouveau at the Paris Exposition des
+Arts Décoratifs, Le Corbusier had shown a dwelling unit of the Citrohan
+type arranged as a flat with a large terrace at one side, following an
+unexecuted project of 1922. The actual housing estate that he built at
+Pessac outside Bordeaux in 1925-6 was less successful, although by this
+time many young architects concerned with housing in other countries
+were finding inspiration in his work and perhaps even more in his ideas.
+But it was in an entirely different realm that Le Corbusier had, like
+Saarinen in the Chicago Tribune competition, a failure which was
+nonetheless a tremendous _succès d’estime_. Le Corbusier’s project for
+the Palace of the League of Nations[478] came very close to winning the
+competition of 1927. Moreover, the totally undistinguished scheme
+jointly produced by the elderly Frenchman P.-H. Nénot (1853-1934), who
+had built the new Sorbonne in Paris in 1884-9, and various other
+architects from several different countries eventually executed in
+Geneva never received the attention or the flattery of world-wide
+emulation and imitation which Le Corbusier’s project did. This led, for
+example, to his selection to design the Centrosoyus in Moscow in 1928.
+Begun the following year, this was finally finished in 1936, but with
+most inadequate supervision. However, the Communist ‘party line’[479]
+turned sharply against modern architecture in the early thirties, and no
+more projects by Western European architects were invited after the
+Palace of the Soviets competition held in 1931.
+
+If Le Corbusier in the twenties was, by force of circumstances, almost
+more completely restricted to house-building than Wright had been in the
+preceding decades, Gropius’s career in Germany developed very
+differently. In 1925 he was invited by the city of Dessau to come there
+from Weimar and re-establish the Bauhaus; in that year and the next he
+had a chance to build a very large and complex structure to house the
+school as well as his own and several other professors’ houses. The
+houses were not notable additions to the new canon, although they were
+soon as much imitated as Le Corbusier’s and Lurçat’s. However, the
+Bauhaus building itself was the first major example of the new
+architecture to be executed, illustrating on a large scale most of its
+possibilities and principal themes, none of them by this date altogether
+novel.
+
+The most striking element of the Bauhaus is the studio block, a
+four-storeyed glass box (Plate 161A). This carried to its logical limit
+the implications of the near-curtain-wall of the Fagus Factory, quite as
+Mies had already proposed for his two glass skyscraper projects, but
+without their Expressionist planning. The bridge to the left of this
+block exploits the possibilities of great spans in ferro-concrete
+construction. Throughout that section and the block on the left
+ribbon-windows longer than Le Corbusier’s at Les Terrasses open up the
+walls just as Mies had already proposed to do in a notable project of
+1922 for a ferro-concrete office building. A lower refectory wing links
+the glazed block with an apartment tower at the rear; in that the
+grouping of the horizontal windows with the many little projecting
+balconies clearly expresses the fact that this portion of the building
+is made up of small repeated dwelling units.
+
+The organization of this very complex structure is asymmetrical but
+carefully studied (Figure 48). Where Le Corbusier had thus far composed
+most of his houses inside a single ‘box’, Gropius here combined four or
+more. In each he emphasized visually the fact that the surface was but a
+thin shell enclosing an internal volume, but he varied the treatment
+according to the internal use of each portion of the building. At the
+same time regularity of rhythm, and often identity of measure in the
+parts, ordered the whole without recourse to symmetry or to the
+imposition of any such special system of proportion as Le Corbusier was
+enthusiastically developing.
+
+Gropius did not again, until late in life in America, have such another
+architectural opportunity. In the following years, down to his departure
+from Germany with the rise of Hitler, his production was almost entirely
+in the field of low-cost housing. There he had the large-scale
+responsibilities largely denied to Le Corbusier until after the Second
+World War, but common enough by then in Germany.[480] First, in 1926-8,
+came the Törten Estate at Dessau consisting of terrace houses of
+concrete with smoothly rendered walls and horizontal windows. These were
+sound and economical but somewhat dull in design, the very reverse of Le
+Corbusier’s at Pessac. At the Werkbund Exhibition of 1927, moreover,
+Gropius’s free-standing houses did not rival Le Corbusier’s in quality
+of design, despite their considerable technical importance as early
+examples of something approaching total prefabrication.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 48. Walter Gropius: Dessau, Bauhaus, 1925-6, plans
+]
+
+Gropius’s most finished works of the twenties were all at Dessau.
+Besides the Bauhaus itself, there is a small block of flats rising at
+the end of a row of one-storey shops to form the centre of the Törten
+Estate of 1928. But even more notable is the Dessau City Employment
+Office, begun the year before. Here Gropius rejected stucco
+rendering,[481] hitherto almost as much the sign manual of the new
+architecture in Germany as in France, and surfaced his walls with brick
+(Plate 161B). The horizontal strips of window in the office wing,
+carefully related to the narrow bands of wall between and elegantly
+subdivided by light metal sash, are balanced with bold assurance against
+the tall vertical light of the stair tower at one end. Whether Gropius
+had learned from the Neoplasticists or the Constructivists, by this time
+he had become a master of abstract architectural composition in his own
+right.
+
+Leaving the Bauhaus in 1928, Gropius next undertook a large housing
+estate, Dammerstock, at Karlsruhe. Here he combined terrace houses,
+somewhat ampler in size and less mechanically designed than those at
+Törten, with ranges of six-storey blocks of flats in the form of long,
+rigidly orientated slabs. Following this came the Siemensstadt Estate of
+1930 outside Berlin (Plate 162A). This is the classic example of housing
+in tall, thin slabs, prototype of innumerable similar estates to be
+built throughout the western world before and after the Second World
+War. In Germany, however, where the form was first adumbrated, their
+production ceased in 1933 with the onset of the Hitler regime—it has
+since been revived very actively, particularly by Ernst May at Hamburg
+and by architects of several countries in the Interbau exhibition of
+1957 in Berlin.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 49. Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Project for brick country house,
+ 1922, plan
+]
+
+Mies in the twenties was not nearly so prolific as Gropius, nor was he
+so widely influential. His Wolf house of 1926 at Guben and the Lange and
+Esters houses at Krefeld of 1926 and 1928, side by side in the
+Wilhelmshofallee, despite their fine dark brickwork[482] and the careful
+placing of the large horizontal windows, did not redeem the promise of
+an earlier project which he had made in 1922 for a country house; that
+was comparable in significance to his skyscraper schemes of the
+preceding years. Its plan seemed to represent the extension upward of a
+complex, but very rigid, geometrical pattern like those seen in
+Mondriaan’s and van Doesburg’s paintings of this period (Figure 49).
+This sort of planning allowed a continuous flow of space in and around
+internal partitioning elements and out through wall-high glass areas to
+the surrounding terraces, themselves defined by the extension of the
+solid brick walls of the house. This openness more than rivalled, and
+was probably influenced by, the spatial flow in the Prairie Houses of
+Wright. Neoplasticist influence continued strong in Mies’s work as late
+as his Liebknecht-Luxemburg Monument in Berlin of 1926. This was an
+abstract rectangular block, ingeniously composed of various brick
+surfaces arranged in different planes. (It was, of course, destroyed
+under Hitler.)
+
+The flats that Mies built in the Afrikanische Strasse in Berlin in
+1924-5 were more in line with Gropius’s and Le Corbusier’s contemporary
+work than his private houses. Moreover, his block of flats (Plate 162B)
+at the Werkbund Exhibition of 1927 on the Weissenhof at Stuttgart, of
+which he was the general director, with its lines of broad window-bands
+broken occasionally by vertical stair-windows, had an elasticity of
+planning and a clarity and subtlety of expression much superior to
+Gropius’s taller and longer slabs at Dammerstock and Siemensstadt.
+
+In 1929 came Mies’s masterpiece, one of the few buildings by which the
+twentieth century might wish to be measured against the great ages of
+the past (Plate 165A). The German Pavilion at the Barcelona Exhibition,
+although built of permanent materials—steel, glass, marble, and
+travertine—was, like most exhibition buildings, only temporary. But few
+structures have come to be so widely known after their demolition, or so
+intensely admired through reproductions, except perhaps Paxton’s Crystal
+Palace. Set on a raised travertine base almost like a Greek stylobate,
+in which lies an oblong reflecting pool, the space within the pavilion
+was defined by no bounding walls at all but solely by the rectangle of
+its thin roof-slab. This was supported, almost immaterially, on a few
+regularly spaced metal members of delicate cruciform section sheathed in
+chromium. The covered area was subdivided, rather in the manner of the
+project of 1922 for a brick country house, by tall plate-glass panels
+carried in light metal chassis, some transparent, some opaque, and also
+by screens of highly polished marble standing apart from the metal
+supports. The disposition of these screens is asymmetrical but
+exquisitely ordered; yet it has none of that Neoplasticist complexity
+evident in the placing of the partitioning elements in the project of
+1922. As a result, the articulated space of the pavilion has a classic
+serenity quite unlike the more dynamically flowing interiors of Wright’s
+houses. At the Berlin Building Exhibition in 1931 Mies repeated the
+Barcelona Pavilion in less sumptuous materials, making only slight
+changes in the plan so that it might provide a model for a house.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 50. Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Brno, Tugendhat house, 1930, plan
+]
+
+More than a little of the special quality of space-distribution in this
+exhibit Mies had been able to achieve already in the Tugendhat house of
+1930 at Brno in Czechoslovakia. There also the screens that subdivide
+the unified living-space are quite separate from the delicate cruciform
+metal supports (Figure 50). One of them, made of macassar ebony,
+partially encloses the dining-area and is semicircular in plan, thus
+notably enriching the general spatial effect. Externally this house is
+less remarkable. At the upper, or entrance, level towards the street it
+is quite closed in and even rather forbidding; but at the rear towards
+the garden there is a continuous, room-high glass wall framed by stucco
+bands above and below. At one end an open terrace is included within the
+rectangle of the plan, and from this a broad flight of stone stairs
+descends to the ground. The contrast with the somewhat similar rear of
+Le Corbusier’s Les Terrasses expresses well the considerable range of
+different effects possible within the tight limits of the new
+architecture even in this, its most rigidly doctrinaire period of the
+late twenties.
+
+Within the twenties, both in France and in Germany, the new architecture
+received its full formulation, first in projects and shortly afterwards
+in executed work. At the same time Le Corbusier and Gropius provided in
+articles and in books the arguments in its defence.[483] Both are
+extremely articulate men, the one with the emotional intensity of a poet
+or a preacher, the other with the cool logic of a scientist or a
+professor. They soon found excited readers and later devoted followers
+all over the western world as their writings were exported,
+translated,[484] and paraphrased; but the significant activity of this
+period was by no means only French and German. Despite the continuing
+vitality of the Amsterdam School through the mid twenties, the new Dutch
+school associated with Rotterdam rose rapidly in national and
+international significance. Oud,[485] indeed, brought the new
+architecture to maturity in Holland in precisely the same years as Le
+Corbusier and their German contemporaries; Rietveld and several others
+made signal contributions also, in Rietveld’s case perhaps equal in
+importance to Oud’s.
+
+The Oud Mathenesse housing estate at Rotterdam, which Oud undertook in
+1922, is rather different from Spangen and Tuschendijken. At first sight
+it may appear more conservative, since it consists of small terrace
+houses with visible tiled roofs rather than tall blocks of flats. But
+rendered and painted walls replaced the brick of the earlier Rotterdam
+work, recalling the Loos-like treatment of his seaside villas as also
+the rather Wrightian projects he had designed in the intervening years.
+Moreover, the shapes and subdivisions of the windows were very carefully
+considered, so that the general effect is quite similar to the most
+advanced projects of Le Corbusier and of Mies designed in this same
+year. The influence of the _De Stijl_ artists may not be very apparent
+in the façades of the houses and shops; but in the temporary building
+superintendent’s office that Oud built here in 1923 cubical wooden
+elements painted in primary colours produced a composition quite like a
+Neoplasticist painting developed in three dimensions. It should be
+noted, however, that this was not, like Dudok’s work of the period, at
+all related to the very complex Neoplasticist sculpture of Vantongerloo.
+Oud’s façade of 1925 for the Café de Unie in Rotterdam, being
+two-dimensional, was even more like a Mondrian painting raised to
+architectural scale.
+
+It has already been mentioned that in 1923 van Doesburg was engaged in
+collaboration with van Eesteren on some remarkable studies, half
+abstract paintings, half architectural isometrics. Rietveld, in the
+Schroeder house of 1924 in Utrecht (Plate 164B), boldly carried such a
+hypothetical Neoplasticist architecture of discrete planes and
+structural lines into the world of reality even more completely than in
+his earlier shop in Amsterdam.
+
+But by this time, Oud felt he had learned what Neoplasticism had to
+offer him. He was in any case now personally closer to Mondrian than to
+van Doesburg, and Mondrian had left Holland for Paris. In Oud’s first
+really mature work, which remains also his masterpiece, two terraces
+with shops at their ends built at the Hook of Holland in 1926-7 but
+designed a year or two earlier, all overt emulation of contemporary
+painting disappeared, except for the restriction of colour to
+white-painted rendering with only small touches of the primaries on some
+of the minor elements of wood and metal (Plate 163B). The serenity of
+these smooth façades with their long regular ranges of horizontal
+windows, the extreme refinement of the detailing of the fences and the
+doorways, and, above all, the lyricism of the rounded shops, their walls
+all of glass under a cantilevered slab bent down at the ends, were
+unequalled by anything Le Corbusier or Gropius or Mies had yet built.
+Reputedly it was the influence of Van de Velde that led Oud to introduce
+curves here, much to the disgust of the Neoplasticists.
+
+Oud’s terrace-houses in the 1927 exhibition at Stuttgart were equally
+exemplary in their perfection of finish but slightly less interesting in
+their over-all design. Those by a still younger Dutch architect, Mart
+Stam (b. 1899), were perhaps superior. Then there followed Oud’s very
+large Kiefhoek housing project at Rotterdam which was built in 1928-30.
+Here the windows of the upper storey of each terrace became a continuous
+band, but something of the earlier refinement was lost just as in
+Gropius’s Siemensstadt blocks of the same period.
+
+At Kiefhoek Oud was called on to provide a church as well as housing.
+Its vices as well as its virtues epitomize very well the state of the
+new architecture at the end of the decade (Plate 164A). Considered as
+elements in an abstract composition, the handling of the subordinate
+features of the Kiefhoek church is masterly, refining and—as it
+were—domesticating various adjuncts of an almost industrial order such
+as had earlier provided a good part of the varied visual interest of
+Gropius’s Fagus Factory. But the main auditorium block is so box-like
+that it holds its place among the rows of houses only by its size,
+offering no expression whatsoever of its special purpose—it could as
+easily be a garage. A far more notable exemplar of the new architecture,
+still about the finest twentieth-century building in Holland, is the van
+Nelle Factory outside Rotterdam built in 1927-8 by the firm of J. A.
+Brinkman (1902-49) and L. C. van der Vlugt (b. 1894) but probably
+designed by Stam (Plate 163A). The Dutch firm of B. Bijvoet (b. 1889)
+and Johannes Duiker (1890-1935) should also be mentioned for their
+admirable work of the twenties, starting with several Wrightian houses
+of 1924 at Kijkduin, but soon quite as advanced as Oud’s or Rietveld’s.
+
+The conditions of the twenties—or more precisely the particular
+conditions under which the new architects had to work and, to a large
+extent, even seemed satisfied to work—restricted their scope rather
+considerably. In France the usual clients, often American rather than
+French, sought houses that were _avant-garde_ and related ideologically
+to the painting of the Cubists and Post-Cubists. Towards the utilitarian
+field of low-cost housing the new architects everywhere felt a special
+responsibility; in Germany and Holland they readily found major
+opportunities for official employment at such work. Their intense
+concern with the aesthetic potentialities of engineering gave them a
+special sympathy for industrial building, but major opportunities such
+as the van Nelle Factory were very rare. Gropius’s Bauhaus, a large and
+complex structure serving a cultural purpose, and the Barcelona
+Pavilion, an edifice with almost no other purpose than to be beautiful,
+were important exceptions in a range of production characterized by a
+surprising international consistency of type as well as of character.
+
+Yet the hands of the various individual architects are, in fact, never
+difficult to distinguish and, from this time onwards, the paths of the
+four early leaders began definitely to diverge. It was chiefly the work
+of late-comers, of whom there were in the twenties large numbers only in
+Germany, that tended towards monotony and anonymity. Not since the early
+years of the nineteenth century, when Romantic Classicism at the hands
+of a second generation reached a comparable clarity of stylistic
+definition, had there been such a rigid and humbly accepted
+architectural discipline. However, certain men, such as Mendelsohn and
+Dudok, retained in their practice of the new architecture strong traces
+of earlier idiosyncrasies. Much of their work lacks therefore the purity
+and the assured mastery of the four initiators. But Mendelsohn’s
+Schocken Department Stores, built in several German cities in the late
+twenties—at Nuremberg and Stuttgart in 1926-7, at Chemnitz in 1928—and
+his Petersdorf Store at Breslau in 1927 are certainly superior in
+interest and in vitality to the new city houses and suburban villas in
+France; not to speak of the housing estates in Germany that were being
+produced in such considerable quantity by the end of the decade by
+architects who were literalistic adherents of the new architecture. The
+work of such designers showed all the naive enthusiasm, the subjection
+to discipline, and the doctrinaire characteristics of the activity of
+new converts in any field.
+
+But when, in his Columbus Haus of 1929-31 in Berlin, Mendelsohn finally
+accepted a comparable discipline he was able to retain most of his
+earlier vitality. Here he produced a really paradigmatic commercial
+building—almost a small skyscraper—such as none of the four leaders ever
+had the opportunity of carrying to execution in the twenties. Much the
+same can be said for a considerably later ‘baby skyscraper’, Dudok’s
+Erasmus Huis of 1939-40 in the Coolsingel in Rotterdam. This is still,
+after the van Nelle Factory, one of the best buildings in Rotterdam,
+despite all the post-war reconstruction there (see Chapter 25).
+
+As the new architecture spread to other countries around 1930 it was
+naturally the lowest common denominator of its potentialities that
+became most widely evident. However, at just this point an international
+depression supervened; the building boom, with which the rise of the new
+architecture had been at best but coincidentally associated, soon ground
+to a standstill. In Germany in the early thirties, moreover, as also in
+Russia and considerably later and less rigidly in Italy, an
+authoritarian regime proscribed the new architecture. Leaders like
+Gropius, Mies, and Mendelsohn left the country and the new architecture
+was in abeyance there until after Hitler’s fall.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 23
+ LATER WORK OF THE LEADERS OF THE SECOND GENERATION
+
+
+HISTORIANS, whether of politics or the arts, should ideally stand at
+some distance from their subjects thanks to remoteness in time; in lieu
+of that, remoteness in space sometimes serves the same purpose. However,
+this historian has now reached the point at which he entered the scene;
+he must write, as statesmen who write history are often forced to do, of
+events concerning which he has first-hand knowledge—and hence, alas,
+first-hand prejudices. Architects, the real actors in architectural
+history, often write as well as build; since Vitruvius there have been
+many whose fame depends as much on their books as on their buildings,
+not least several of the men with whom Part Three of this book has
+dealt. But those who write about architecture as historians and critics
+without being active builders, who merely explain, select, and
+illustrate the significant work of their own day or even of the
+past—particularly the immediate past—are to some extent minor actors on
+the scene also. They cannot, therefore, be merely neutral observers,
+reporting without _parti pris_ the ideas and the achievements of others,
+however hard they may try to maintain their objectivity.
+
+To have written the only monograph on Wright to appear in French, to
+have provided the first account in English of the new architecture, to
+have published a book on the work of Oud in the late twenties, modest as
+these contributions were, are all actions indicating an early commitment
+on the part of this author. The preparation in 1931 with Philip Johnson
+of the first International Exhibition of Modern Architecture, held at
+the Museum of Modern Art in 1932, in which Le Corbusier, Gropius, Oud,
+and Mies were signalized as the leaders of the new architecture, and the
+publication—also with Philip Johnson—of the book called _The
+International Style_[486] at that time were even more definite and
+controversial acts of participation in the dialectic of architectural
+development in this century.
+
+If it seems necessary to mention these publications here and not merely
+to refer to them in the Notes or list them in the Bibliography, it is in
+no spirit of boastfulness but rather of apology. From this point on the
+ideal objectivity of the historian, attempting disinterestedly to piece
+the past together from a study of its extant monuments and from relevant
+contemporary documents, is inevitably coloured, if not cancelled out, by
+the subjectivity of the critic writing of events he knew at first hand.
+Concerning them, of course, his present opinions have no more real
+historical validity than those he held and published nearer the time
+when the events occurred. With this proviso the canvas may now be
+somewhat broadened.
+
+By the early thirties the new architecture was by no means restricted to
+France, Germany, and Holland, the countries where it had originated.
+Yet, with the possible exception of Alvar Aalto (b. 1898) in Finland, no
+other leader of the calibre of the early four had appeared up to that
+time. The building of 1928-9 at Turku for the newspaper _Turun Sanomat_
+was Aalto’s first mature work to be completed. In this the plastic
+handling of the concrete piers[487] in the interior introduced a new and
+personal note of architectural expression in a frankly industrial
+setting. His Tuberculosis Sanatorium at Paimio of 1929-33 rivalled the
+Bauhaus in size, if not perhaps in complexity, and was almost the
+first[488] major demonstration of the special applicability of the new
+architecture to hospitals. The City Library at Viipuri, designed as
+early as 1927 but not finished until 1935, was a more original example
+of the new architecture. In particular, the lecture hall there, with its
+acoustic ceiling of irregularly wavy section made up of strips of wood,
+was strikingly novel.
+
+In the United States the Lovell house in Los Angeles opened in 1929 the
+American career of Richard J. Neutra (b. 1892), an Austrian who had
+worked briefly with Wright. In this house, with its cantilevers, its
+broad areas of glass, and its volumetric composition, Neutra showed the
+completeness with which he had already rejected the broad Wrightian road
+and accepted the more restricted aspirations of the newer architecture
+of Europe. Never, perhaps, have Wright’s ideals and those of the next
+generation appeared so sharply opposed as at just this time, moreover.
+But Neutra’s mature work began only considerably later than this.
+
+In 1930-2 the tallest of all skyscrapers, the Empire State Building by
+Shreve, Lamb & Harmon, was rising in New York; this was a shaped tower
+in the local tradition although devoid of reminiscent stylistic detail.
+In these same years, however, a well-established ‘traditional’
+architect, George Howe (1886-1954),[489] in association with a Swiss,
+William E. Lescaze (b. 1896), who had been a pupil of Karl Moser,
+returned to the Sullivanian slab in designing the Philadelphia Savings
+Fund Society Building (Plate #169:pl169). Moreover, they treated their
+slab along the lines that the leading European exponents of the new
+architecture had adumbrated in the previous ten years. It would be a
+score of years before other skyscrapers of such significant and
+distinguished design were built in American cities (see Chapter 25).
+
+In Sweden E. G. Asplund (1885-1940), whose architecture had hitherto
+been of a ‘Neo-Neo-Classic’ order, extremely crisp and refined but
+definitely reminiscent,[490] turned to the new architecture of Le
+Corbusier and Gropius just before he completed the Central Library of
+Stockholm (Plate 176A), a building first projected in 1921 but not
+opened until 1928 (see Chapter 24). For the Stockholm Exhibition of
+1930, of which he had entire charge, Asplund was soon designing an
+extensive and elegantly varied range of pavilions that exploited to the
+full the possibilities of the new architecture. In Denmark Kay Fisker
+(b. 1893) underwent a somewhat less drastic conversion at much the same
+time.
+
+These years also saw the beginning of the English career of Berthold
+Lubetkin[491] (b. 1901), a Russian who had settled in England in 1930
+after working for some time in France. His early Gorilla House at the
+Regent’s Park Zoo in London was soon outshone by the smaller, but much
+more remarkable, Penguin Pool there of 1933-5, which is almost a piece
+of Constructivist sculpture (Plate 172B). In 1933-5 also, the tall block
+of middle-class flats, Highpoint I at Highgate outside London, was
+erected by the Tecton group, of which Lubetkin was the leading spirit.
+With its fine hill-top site overlooking Hampstead Heath, this cruciform
+tower rivalled Le Corbusier’s Clarté block in Geneva of 1930-2 in
+interest and in quality. Almost equally impressive, and like Highpoint
+hardly rivalled by comparable work in London since, is the Peter Jones
+Department Store in Sloane Square, designed in 1935 by William
+Crabtree.[492] Already in 1933 Mendelsohn had settled in England,
+practising there for a few years in partnership with Serge Chermayeff
+(b. 1900) before moving on to Israel in 1936. From 1934 to 1937 Gropius
+was in England working with E. Maxwell Fry (b. 1899); Marcel Breuer (b.
+1902), a Hungarian pupil of Gropius from the Bauhaus, was also in
+England working with F. R. S. Yorke (1906-62). By the mid thirties
+Connell, Ward & Lucas,[493] Wells Coates (1895-1958), and Frederick
+Gibberd (b. 1908) were also well started on their careers.[494]
+
+In Italy, where the projects of an architect associated with
+Futurism,[495] Antonio Sant’Elia (1888-1916), before his death in the
+First World War had offered a remarkable premonition of the new
+architecture of the twenties, a fresh talent at least comparable in
+interest and individuality to Lubetkin’s appeared on the scene in these
+years. The Casa del Fascio at Como of 1932-6 by Giuseppe Terragni
+(1904-43) is almost as original as Aalto’s Viipuri Library but very
+different (Plate 172A). In its use of fine marbles and in its innate
+classicism it recalls Mies, yet it is as Mediterranean in spirit as his
+work is Northern. Unfortunately, like Sant’Elia before him, Terragni was
+killed in the Second World War that followed within a few years after
+the start of his career. However, the firm of Luigi Figini (b. 1903) and
+Gino Pollini (b. 1903), who continue to be leaders of Italian modern
+architecture, also made their first mark at this time with the ‘Artist’s
+House’ that they showed at the Fifth Triennale in Milan in 1933. This
+was similarly calm and Latin in its handling of the ‘international’
+vocabulary of form.
+
+The Florence railway station, built in 1934-6 by Giovanni Michelucci (b.
+1891) and five associated architects, also deserves mention. Michelucci
+is not to be compared with Terragni or Figini & Pollini, but his station
+was stylistically the most advanced in the world when it was built.
+Moreover, like the Casa del Fascio in Como, it offers notable evidence
+of the support the Fascist regime was still giving to _architettura
+razionale_ at a time when both in Germany and in Russia other
+authoritarian regimes were denouncing the International Style. The
+Termini Station in Rome (Plate 183B) was begun even earlier from the
+designs of Angiolo Mazzoni. It owes its distinguished reputation as the
+finest station of the twentieth century, however, to the new project of
+Eugenio Montuori (b. 1907) and his associates, prepared in 1947 and
+finally carried to effective completion in 1951 (see Chapter 25).
+
+Yet for all the increasingly wide spread of the new architecture by the
+mid thirties, Le Corbusier and two Germans retained their international
+position of leadership despite economic depression in France and
+Hitlerian exile from Germany. If the amount of their executed work was
+much reduced—in the case of Mies for several years to nil—the
+geographical range of their activities was now much extended. Today, for
+example, Le Corbusier’s work is to be found from La Plata in Argentina
+to Chandigarh in India; he was also a consultant on two of the largest
+and most striking buildings in the New World built just before and just
+after the Second World War, the Ministry of Education and Public Health
+in Rio (Plate 171) and the United Nations Secretariat[496] in New York.
+
+Gropius and Mies, settling in America in the late thirties, became
+figures of crucial importance in the reform of American architectural
+education[497] as well as being increasingly productive as architects
+since the war. At Harvard University[498] and at the Illinois Institute
+of Technology, respectively, they set a pace for several American
+architects who later became leading educators, such as Howe at Yale and
+W. W. Wurster (b. 1895) at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and
+the University of California. Mendelsohn, still very much of an
+individualist, but with a notable international reputation based on what
+he had built in England and in Israel as well as on his earlier work of
+the twenties in Germany, practised in America from after the war down to
+his death.
+
+This extension of the field of activity and the direct influence of the
+European leaders further emphasized the universal character of the new
+architecture. Today American architects, such as the firm of Skidmore,
+Owings & Merrill,[499] working as far from home as Turkey, or Edward D.
+Stone (b. 1902), building on three continents, provide almost the most
+characteristic later examples of what—and in their cases most critics
+would agree—is not improperly called the International Style. The
+American Embassies in Copenhagen and in Stockholm, and the flats for
+embassy personnel at Neuilly and at Boulogne outside Paris, all by
+Rapson[500] & Van de Gracht, are perhaps the most distinguished examples
+of American work abroad of the 1950s.
+
+But there would have been no El Panamá Hotel in Panama (1950) by Stone,
+no Istanbul Hilton Hotel (1954) by the Skidmore firm, and no such
+foreign building programme by the United States Government as was
+responsible for the executed embassies by Rapson & Van de Gracht of the
+early fifties and the ones since built by Eero Saarinen in London and
+Oslo, by Gropius and TAC in Athens, by Stone in New Delhi, and by Breuer
+in The Hague but for the pioneering of the Europeans, nor did that
+pioneering cease in the thirties. Only in Oud’s case, because of a
+serious indisposition that removed him from practice for many years
+after 1930, was the _œuvre_ effectively complete with the twenties; and
+even he is now quite active again. In the case of both Le Corbusier and
+Mies, if not of Gropius, their largest commissions came only after the
+Second World War. Their influence in the 1950s was still as great as
+around 1930, in Mies’s case considerably greater. The mid twentieth
+century had come to accept stylistic continuity in a way that the
+nineteenth century, was never able to do once the tradition of Romantic
+Classicism finally wore out. The often adventurous late work of these
+men, now become elder statesmen of modern architecture, fortunately
+counter-balanced to some extent those more rigid interpretations of the
+discipline they founded, interpretations that recurrently threatened
+after the late twenties to become academic and frozen in one country or
+another.
+
+Many of the more characteristic demands of Le Corbusier’s aesthetic
+canon, as it had been announced in his projects of the early twenties
+and adumbrated in the succession of houses that led up to the Savoye
+house of 1929-30—including restrictions docilely accepted almost
+everywhere by advanced architects in the late twenties—were already
+ignored in the buildings he himself designed in the early thirties. The
+house that he built for Hélène de Mandrot at Le Pradet in Provence in
+193O-1 is raised on no _pilotis_ but sits firmly on a terrace; and its
+walls, where solid, are of rough, uncoursed rubble. Quiet and
+rectangular, with no lyrically curved elements and little painted
+colour, this house accepts the surrounding landscape as Wright’s had
+always done. Le Corbusier seemed here almost to be avowing a respect for
+local materials and humble village craftsmanship such as is associated
+with Voysey and his English contemporaries of a generation earlier that
+would certainly have been anathema to him in the twenties. On the other
+hand, the penthouse that he built in 1931 for Carlos de Beistegui on top
+of a block of flats on the Champs Élysées in Paris was all of plate
+glass and white marble. This had something of the glittering elegance of
+Mies’s Barcelona Pavilion of two years earlier, where the polished
+marbles, once so brilliantly exploited by Loos, were first brought back
+after a decade of restriction to ascetic and impermanent surfaces of
+painted stucco.
+
+The Salvation Army Building which Le Corbusier erected in 1931-2 in the
+Rue Cantagrel in Paris is more in line with the canon of the twenties.
+Unfortunately the original curtain-wall is now cut up by projecting
+sun-breaks added in a post-war refurbishing by Le Corbusier’s former
+partner Pierre Jeanneret. The Maison Clarté block of flats of 1930-2 in
+Geneva is almost as completely glass-walled.
+
+It was most notably the Swiss Hostel at the Cité Universitaire in Paris,
+designed in 1930 and built in 1931-2, which introduced various quite new
+elements of plan and design that Le Corbusier would develop much further
+after the Second World War (Plate 165B). The _pilotis_ he used in the
+twenties were thin and round, rather like Perret’s columns, though
+without their facets and capitals; but here a double row of heavy piers
+of a complex moulded section carries a dormitory block that is boldly
+cantilevered out from them both front and back. The rubble masonry of
+the Mandrot house was used here once more for a tall unbroken wall of
+irregularly curved plan at the rear of the building; the textured and
+tonal surface of this wall and its effect of solidity contrasts both
+with the exposed concrete of the structural elements and with the smooth
+areas of thin stone plaquage on the upper walls. Curves in Le
+Corbusier’s earlier work were almost always confined within a bounding
+rectangle and never made of massive materials; yet they lost none of
+their elegance in being handled in this bolder and more organic way.
+This is closely related to his later paintings, of which the mural in
+the common room here provides a major example.
+
+The international depression closed in even more completely on France in
+the early thirties than it did elsewhere, and there was no subsequent
+revival of building activity such as other countries experienced in the
+years preceding the Second World War. Le Corbusier’s activities were
+therefore more and more confined to projects, most of them for
+commissions outside France. However, a small block of flats, very
+similar to the Maison Clarté in Geneva, was built at 24 Avenue Nungesser
+et Coli on the western edge of Paris in 1933. The most interesting
+portion of this is the architect’s own penthouse on top; there, like
+another Soane, he experimented at small scale with a variety of
+vault-topped spaces.
+
+In a modest house at 49 Avenue du Chesnay in Vaucresson of 1935 there
+are no more curves in plan than in the Mandrot house, but segmental
+concrete vaults cover the rectangular bays of which the plan is made up.
+Moreover, as if to underline Le Corbusier’s return towards nature after
+his earlier devotion to the abstract and the mechanistic, grass grows
+over their crowns to provide insulation. The exposed frame of the
+concrete structure, where not filled with glass brick, has panels of
+coursed rubble.
+
+Le Corbusier’s projects of the thirties often included new ideas that
+others exploited even before he was able to do so himself in executed
+work. For example, the Ministry of Education and Public Health in Rio de
+Janeiro, on which he was a consultant only, designed in 1937 and
+completed in 1942 by Lúcio Costa (b. 1902), Oscar Niemeyer (b. 1907),
+and a group of others, the great building which opened so brilliantly
+the story of the new architecture in Brazil (Plate 171), included on the
+west front the projecting sun-breaks he had first proposed in 1933 for
+certain tall buildings intended to be erected in Algiers. Such
+sun-breaks soon became characteristic of mid-century architecture in all
+countries where the sun’s heat and glare offered a major problem—in Asia
+and Africa as much as in South America. By this device the all-glass
+wall, favourite large-scale theme of the new architecture since Mies’s
+early skyscraper projects, received a much-needed functional correction.
+As often before, a real (or supposed) practical need encouraged the
+satisfaction of overt or covert aesthetic aspirations; for sun-breaks
+very much enhance the three-dimensional interest of large façades,
+substituting for the slick planar effects characteristic of the twenties
+a more articulated sort of surface treatment related to, but independent
+of, the expression of skeleton structure. Sun-breaks even came to be
+used where they are hardly needed, quite as has been the case with
+various other clichés of modern architecture.
+
+Since the war three major works of Le Corbusier, in the estimation of
+many critics his masterpieces, have carried much further the sculptural
+tendencies of his architecture of the thirties. One of these, the block
+of flats called the Unité d’Habitation,[501] far out the Boulevard
+Michelet in Marseilles, which was first projected in 1946 and finally
+completed in 1952, has various other points of interest, however. The
+Unité realizes on a large scale Le Corbusier’s ideas for the
+mass-dwelling, providing a single tall slab large enough to house a
+complete community and including, half-way up, a storey intended to be
+entirely occupied by shops, as well as other communal facilities on the
+roof (Plate #166:pl166). An ingenious section allows two-storey
+living-rooms for all the flats and also permits the use of a skip-stop
+lift system (Figure 51). The framework in front of the walls provides
+sun protection for the tall living-room windows and also shallow
+balconies for each flat both front and back.
+
+Like the Swiss Hostel, the Unité is carried on central supports arranged
+in a double row. These are much more massively sculptural than the
+earlier ones in Paris, and almost anthropomorphically expressive of
+weight-bearing. All the poured concrete surfaces are left rough as they
+came from the forms, and the prefabricated members of the outer
+sun-break system have an exposed pebble aggregate. Everything is bold
+and masculine, even coarse, indicating a complete turnabout in Le
+Corbusier’s understanding of the essential ‘nature’—itself a rather
+Wrightian concept—of concrete. On the roof an abstract landscape of
+sculptural forms plays counterpoint to the superb backdrop of mountains.
+One cannot help remembering the roof of Gaudí’s Casa Milá in Barcelona
+(Plate 137A); there are even some glazed tiles set in the concrete to
+provide notes of ‘permanent polychrome’. Yet the window in the
+entrance-hall at the base of the slab is quite Neoplasticist in the
+pattern of its subdivisions and the use of coloured glass; while painted
+colour of the boldest sort, by no means restricted to the primaries, is
+used on the sides of the sun-breaks, though not on any of the outer
+surfaces. Thus has Le Corbusier’s later architecture been enriched by a
+sort of eclecticism quite remote from his Purist aesthetic of the
+twenties.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 51. Le Corbusier: Marseilles, Unité d’Habitation, 1946-52,
+ section of three storeys
+]
+
+At Chandigarh in India, where Le Corbusier had the general
+responsibility for planning the entire new capital of the State of
+Punjab and of building the principal public monuments, only one or two
+were by the mid fifties finished; the rest of the city was the work of
+other architects, principally Pierre Jeanneret and the English firm of
+Maxwell Fry and his wife Jane Drew. The High Courts of Justice,[502]
+built by Le Corbusier in 1952-6, are even more sculptural than the Unité
+at Marseilles. A continuous umbrella-like shell-vault of concrete rises
+high above the roofs of the court-rooms to allow the free passage of
+air. Supporting this are great rounded piers that merge into the concave
+surfaces over them, almost like the structural elements of the Casa
+Milá, but here of monumental scale. On the west side deep box-crates,
+with brilliant painted colours on their soffits like those on the
+sun-breaks of the Unité, keep the sun off the glazed walls of the
+court-rooms and provide that three-dimensional play first exploited on
+the Ministry in Rio.
+
+The long slab of the Secretariat at Chandigarh, also of 1952-6, with its
+very varied pattern of sun-breaks, is less novel than the High Courts;
+but other work of the mid fifties at Ahmedabad should not be ignored
+(see Chapter 25). However, Le Corbusier’s most extraordinary late
+building is in France, not India, and therefore considerably more
+accessible. Architects and laymen alike have been consistently impressed
+by the intense emotionalism of his church of Notre-Dame-du-Haut at
+Ronchamp, Hte-Saône,[503] built in 1950-5. Whether this church will ever
+have as much influence as the Unité has already had remains debatable
+because of its very special character. But it certainly made even more
+evident than the High Courts the fact that Le Corbusier in the fifties
+was moving in almost the opposite direction from that in which he led in
+the twenties.
+
+In an exaggerated phrase Le Corbusier described his early houses as
+_machines à habiter_; but Notre-Dame-du-Haut is more like an enormous
+piece of sculpture than a ‘machine for praying-in’ (Plate 167). He who
+once drove architecture towards the mechanistic, the precise, and the
+volumetric, now provides the exemplar of a new mode so plastic as almost
+to be naturalistic in the way of Gaudí’s blocks of flats of fifty years
+earlier. The walls and roof are rough, indeed almost brutal, in finish,
+and so massive and solid that the interior of the church at certain
+times of the day seems positively ill-lit by the tiny deep-sunk windows
+that irregularly penetrate the side walls. In place of an aesthetic
+expression emulating the impersonal results of engineers’ calculations,
+there is here a freehand quality comparable to the spontaneity of the
+sculptor. Moreover, where the overtones of his characteristic buildings
+of the twenties were wholly of the present, this arouses deep
+prehistoric atavisms—and quite intentionally. Whether the High Courts at
+Chandigarh and the church at Ronchamp evidence a deep split in modern
+architecture or represent rather a major turning point is still far from
+clear. Only a few have yet succeeded in following with any distinction
+the line of development they appear to open (see Chapter 25 and
+Epilogue).
+
+The later work of the German leaders arouses no such difficult critical
+problems as does Le Corbusier’s; yet it has also ranged sometimes in
+directions not altogether to be expected from their best-known work of
+the twenties. Their careers, moreover, suffered a harsher break because
+of the political tribulations of their homeland than Le Corbusier
+suffered from the economic tribulations of France. In 1930 Mies became
+Director of the Bauhaus, remaining until it was closed by Hitler in
+1933. Although he won a competition for the Reichsbank in Berlin as late
+as that year, he was allowed to do no work under the Nazis, and so he
+settled in the United States in 1938 after a preliminary visit the
+previous year.
+
+As has been noted, Mendelsohn and Gropius, on leaving Germany in 1933,
+settled first in England, and both did significant work there—if not
+especially significant for their own careers, certainly so for the early
+stage of modern architecture in England. With his English partner
+Maxwell Fry, Gropius was responsible in 1935-7 for the Impington Village
+College in Cambridgeshire; this set a new pace for school design in
+England in the post-war years, perhaps the best in the world.
+Mendelsohn, with Chermayeff, built in 1934-5 the De La Warr Pavilion at
+Bexhill on the Sussex coast. In the main this is a rather conventional
+example of the new architecture; but it has a semicircular glazed
+stair-tower that recalls the more lyrical quality of his best earlier
+work such as the Schocken department stores.
+
+From England Mendelsohn moved on to Israel, where a large Government
+Hospital by him at Haifa and the Medical Centre of the Hadassah
+University in Jerusalem on Mount Scopus, both of 1936-8, show a most
+skilful adaptation of the international European canons to a hotter
+climate and a different cultural tradition, somewhat as is the case with
+the Ministry at Rio. Only with the onset of the war in 1941 did
+Mendelsohn settle in America. There his Maimonides Hospital in San
+Francisco of 1946-50 and synagogues and Jewish community centres in
+Cleveland (1946-52), St Louis (1946-50), Grand Rapids (1948-52), and St
+Paul (1950-4) continued to illustrate his very personal command of the
+commonly accepted elements of the new architecture, with the inclusion
+here and there of anomalous features that seem to belong to a much
+earlier period of his career.
+
+Gropius proceeded directly from England to America in 1937, having been
+called by Dean Joseph Hudnut of the Graduate School of Design to be
+Professor of Architecture at Harvard University. He became Chairman of
+the Architecture Department the following year, which position he
+retained until 1953. As has already been said, his major contribution to
+architecture in America has been as an educator. However, he built, in
+partnership with Breuer, whom he had brought to Harvard, several houses,
+including his own at Lincoln, Mass., and also a housing development at
+New Kensington, Penna., in the years 1938-41. These are, on the whole,
+no more successful than much of his work of the late twenties in
+Germany, despite an intelligent effort to adapt a European mode to
+American building methods, particularly as regards the use of wood, both
+structurally and for sheathing. This turning away, on Gropius’s part,
+from ferro-concrete and rendered surfaces is parallel to Le Corbusier’s
+somewhat earlier reversion to the use of local and traditional
+materials. The houses that Breuer designed after he parted from Gropius
+have considerably more intrinsic interest; as is perhaps natural in the
+work of a younger man, they show a more integral adjustment to the
+characteristic living habits and building methods of the New World. Two
+large-scale commissions, for the Unesco Building[504] in Paris (now
+nearly finished) and for the Bijenkorf Store in Rotterdam (1955-7), not
+to speak of the U.S. Embassy at The Hague, have brought him back to the
+European scene, but as an American rather than a Hungarian or German
+architect.
+
+Gropius’s principal American work was all done after the war. It
+included by the mid fifties two schools at Attleborough, Mass., one of
+1948 and one of 1954, and the Graduate Centre of Harvard University in
+Cambridge, Mass., of 1949-50. These were all three designed—as also the
+already-mentioned Athens Embassy, which is not yet completed—in
+association with the firm known as TAC (The Architects’ Collaborative),
+consisting of a group of younger architects, all but one educated at
+Yale University, formed in 1946. In the double quadrangle of buildings
+at Harvard, forming in itself almost a complete small college, the
+architecture of the twenties lived on with little change. Light-coloured
+brick replaced stucco for the walls, however, and there is a certain
+rather inhibited use of curves in plan and of angular relationships in
+detail reflecting ideas that had entered the new architecture only in
+the thirties. The Attleborough schools are less pretentious and
+altogether more successful, improving upon Gropius and Fry’s Impington
+College of the thirties in England in various ways. After his retirement
+as professor, Gropius and TAC became increasingly active, and he
+continued to present his well-known architectural doctrines in lectures,
+articles, and books.[505]
+
+Coming to the United States a year later than Gropius, Mies also found
+his greatest opportunity there, and almost at once. In 1939 he was
+commissioned to design the entire new group of buildings for the
+Illinois Institute of Technology, which was moving to the south side of
+Chicago. In this scheme, which is of urbanistic scale and extent, a
+classic, indeed an almost academic, order prevails throughout (Figure
+52). The buildings that he was able to execute, two during the war in
+1942-4, many more after 1945, have a comparably classic serenity. But
+they also express with relentless logic the character of their
+predominantly steel-skeleton construction. In them Mies almost revived
+architectural detail by the precision and the elaboration of his
+handling of the elements of metal structure. As at Gropius’s Graduate
+Centre, light-coloured brick replaces stucco for the solid wall panels.
+The severe patterns of the black-painted metalwork are organized with
+something of the purity of Mondrian’s canvases of the twenties yet with
+a dominating symmetry. This is true also of the interior planning of the
+individual buildings. However, the latest, Crown Hall, housing the
+architectural school, completed in 1956, is unsubdivided on the
+principal floor, and thus represents the most extreme statement of his
+later ideals, both structurally and in its planning.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 52. Ludwig Mies van der Rohe:
+ Chicago, Illinois Institute of Technology, 1939-41, general plan
+]
+
+Mies also built houses and several tall blocks of flats in and near
+Chicago and, with Philip Johnson (b. 1906), a New York skyscraper at 375
+Park Avenue for the Seagram Company in 1956-8 (Plate 192). His
+completely glazed Farnsworth house near Plano, Ill., designed in 1946
+and built in 1950,[506] is a cage of white-painted welded steel raised
+above the river valley in which it is set and walled partly with great
+sheets of plate glass, partly with metal screening. The floor is a
+continuous plane of travertine from which broad travertine steps descend
+to an open travertine terrace. Planned about a central core in which are
+placed the fireplace, the bathrooms, and the heater, the interior space
+is completely unified, the different functional areas being separated
+only by cupboards that do not rise to the ceiling (Figure 53). Even more
+than Crown Hall, this house represents the purest and most extreme
+statement of aesthetic purpose in one particular direction that the new
+architecture has yet produced—a direction which is, of course, in total
+opposition to the increasingly complex plastic effects sought in these
+same years by Le Corbusier. It is, nevertheless, quite as remote from
+the stucco boxes characteristic of the twenties and even more remote
+from Mies’s own brick houses of that period.
+
+A similarly ascetic luxury is also evident in Mies’s blocks of flats at
+845-860 Lake Shore Drive in Chicago of 1949-51 (Plate 170). There he
+seemed to have arrived, not imitatively but by force of parallel logic,
+at something very close to the skyscrapers that Sullivan designed in the
+nineties (Plate 119). Mies’s structural piers, carried down to the
+ground as free-standing elements just as they are below the Farnsworth
+house, give the dominant bay rhythm, their structural steelwork being
+sheathed here first in protective concrete and then in black-painted
+metal. Between the piers continuous I-shaped beams along the mullion
+lines stiffen the wall screens which are otherwise entirely of glass
+held in bright aluminium frames; they also provide a subsidiary rhythm,
+quite as Sullivan’s mullions sometimes did in the eighties and nineties.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 53. Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Plano, Ill., Dr Edith Farnsworth
+ House, 1950, plan
+]
+
+Identical in shape, rectangular slabs both, the two blocks were set
+close together and at right angles to one another. This placing gave a
+minimum of overlap as regards the lake view and a minimum of overlook as
+regards the privacy of the apartments. The relationship also creates
+from these very simple shapes a notable variety of effects in
+perspective. The visual interest is enhanced especially by the fact that
+the projecting I-beams, when seen at a sharp angle, give the illusion
+that one wall of each block is solid; the other wall, being seen head on
+or nearly so, appears completely open between the structural piers and
+the mullions. Four more nearly identical apartment blocks[507] have
+risen in Chicago from Mies’s designs since, the Esplanade Apartments
+beside the first two towers, and two farther to the north, not to speak
+of those in Detroit and Newark.
+
+After his arrival in America Mies was not merely for fifteen years the
+architect of the Illinois Institute of Technology’s buildings, he soon
+became head of its Department of Architecture also, a post he retained
+until he retired in 1955. Less articulate than Gropius and occupying a
+less important academic post, Mies’s influence specifically as an
+educator has been considerably less. On the other hand, the general
+influence of his work in America in the late forties and fifties has
+been far greater. The ‘Miesian’ became almost a sub-school of the new
+architecture not only in the United States but in several other
+countries: to Mies not only younger men but also many established
+practitioners owed the specific direction of much of their post-war work
+(see Chapter 25).
+
+Just before the Second World War broke out Oud, in 1938, recovered his
+health sufficiently to undertake a large commission, the Shell Building
+in The Hague, completed in the course of the next four years. In Holland
+there had been in the thirties a strong reaction against the new
+architecture led by M. J. Granpré-Molière (b. 1883) and the graduates of
+his school at Delft. Granpré-Molière urged a return, if not to the
+outright ‘traditional’, at least to a semi-traditionalism that was not
+without some similarity to what Hitler was sponsoring in Germany. In
+response to this challenge Oud set out to show how the new architecture,
+still considered by many in Holland to be too stark and mechanistic,
+could be humanized. To return from stucco to brick, in this case a thin
+glazed white brick such as Dudok was using at this same time with great
+success on his quite conventionally ‘International Style’ Erasmus Huis
+office building in the Coolsingel in Rotterdam,[508] was merely to
+emulate the rejection of stucco in this decade by the French and German
+leaders in favour of more permanent, if also more traditional, walling
+materials, such as marble, rubble, brick, and even wood. But Oud’s
+attempt to revive ornament and the elaborate symmetry and near-academic
+complications of his over-all design of the Shell Building had little
+appeal outside Holland. In the small Esveha office building of 1952 near
+the railway station in Rotterdam and the much larger Vrijzinnige
+Christelijk Lyceum at 131 Goudsbloemlaan in The Hague of 1953-6 Oud
+returned to something much closer to the norms of the new architecture
+elsewhere. But the day of his great international influence has long
+been over despite the belated prestige which is still his in
+Holland.[509]
+
+Like several of the preceding chapters dealing with the architects of
+the first modern generation, this has brought some aspects of our story
+down nearly to the present. In so doing, the specifically modern
+architecture of the twentieth century has been largely accounted for;
+the picture will be rounded out later by offering a synoptic view of the
+international scene at the mid century (see Chapter 25 and Epilogue).
+But first it is necessary to discuss the architecture that was _not_
+modern which was produced in the first four decades of this century.
+Historicism,[510] that is reminiscence of past styles, endemic
+throughout the nineteenth century, lived on. It is considered polite to
+call such architecture ‘traditional’, over-favourably weighted rather
+than accurate though the term may be. Clearly a traditional architecture
+that produced a ‘Gothic’ skyscraper like Cass Gilbert’s Woolworth
+Building (Plate 178) or vast ‘Classical’ railway stations like the two
+in New York (Plate 177B) was not unduly restricted by revivalistic
+canons. Clearly also this sort of architecture cannot be ignored
+historically, since it produced some of the largest, most prominent, and
+most carefully studied buildings and groups of buildings of the first
+third of this century. Moreover, in many countries traditionalism gave
+way to modern design only after the Second World War; while the
+authoritarian regimes of Europe in varying degree returned to its
+sanctions in the thirties, just as it was generally losing ground
+elsewhere in the western world.
+
+There were few if any great leaders among twentieth-century traditional
+architects; certainly hardly more than one or two approached the calibre
+or the individual significance of the men whose work Part Three of this
+book has largely dealt with up to this point. But a conspectus can be
+provided, with typical examples of the best work in several countries,
+and some indication offered of the character of the production in other
+countries where the individual architects were less colourful, the
+monuments less notable, and the general level of quality less high.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 24
+ ARCHITECTURE CALLED TRADITIONAL
+ IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY
+
+
+THROUGH at least the first three decades of the twentieth century most
+architects of the western world would have scorned the appellation
+‘modern’ or, if they accepted it, would have defined the term very
+differently from the way it has been understood in the immediately
+preceding chapters. For twentieth-century architecture that continued
+the historicism[511] of the nineteenth century the usual name in English
+is ‘traditional’. This term reflects a fond presumption that such
+architecture derives its sanctions from the traditions of the further
+past, although in fact its only real tradition is that of the preceding
+hundred years. Whatever one calls it, this traditional architecture
+includes the majority of buildings designed before 1930 in most
+countries of the western world and a considerable, if very rapidly
+decreasing, proportion of those erected since.
+
+Statements of this sort are not very relevant when they concern the
+arts. In the case of every revolutionary change in architecture the same
+situation has obtained while the old slowly gave way to the new. Since
+the modern revolution may well be of the scale of the Renaissance, the
+student of architectural history should recall that from the early
+crystallization of the new Italian mode—and at first it was no more than
+a minor regional mode—in Florence around 1420 to the general acceptance
+of a new international style throughout Europe some two hundred years
+passed. The Baroque, in succeeding the Renaissance, came to
+international dominion only by gradual stages and eventually died out,
+not all at once around 1750, but gradually over the next half century.
+
+Despite prolific production and the quite remarkable things that were
+occasionally achieved when historicism came to uneasy terms with new
+technical means—as had already happened not infrequently in the
+nineteenth century—the traditional architecture of the twentieth century
+is primarily an instance of survival; and cultural survivals are among
+the most difficult problems with which history has to deal. Their
+sluggish life, sunk in inertia and conservatism, is very different from
+the vitality of new developments. Yet survivals are tough and resilient,
+tending always to maintain themselves by their very uneventfulness.
+Static, not to say smug, assurance is their greatest strength; their
+greatest danger is that boredom resulting from excessive familiarity
+which they eventually induce.
+
+Survivals do not generally rouse the interest of posterity. The Gothic
+of fifteenth-century Italy or that of seventeenth-century England has
+not received from historians the attention of the rising forces in the
+architecture of those periods. Somewhat unfairly, late and anachronistic
+achievements, if admired at all, are likely to be credited to the
+previous age. In America, for example, Grecian plantation houses built
+as late as the 1850s are frequently called ‘Southern Colonial’. We are
+too well aware today, however, that the work of the traditional
+architects of the last fifty or sixty years is of this century, and not
+of the previous one, to permit that kind of confusion. The historian
+_must_ attempt to give some sort of account of things like the Stockholm
+City Hall (Plate 174A and B) and the Woolworth Building (Plate 178). But
+the story is not an easy one to tell because it seemed—still at least in
+the mid twentieth century—to lack plot. The rise of modern architecture,
+on the other hand, offers material for a dramatic narrative, for it
+follows the pattern of the ‘success-story’, just as does that of the
+Gothic in twelfth-century France or the beginnings of the Renaissance in
+fifteenth-century Italy.
+
+In some areas of the world a meaningful succession of stages can be
+discerned in the late period of historicism. Because of the differential
+lags in various parts of the western world, however, it is difficult to
+find a scheme of organization that is at all generally applicable. All
+the same, those lags usually mean that certain countries were going
+through phases of architectural development in the early twentieth
+century that more advanced areas had left behind before 1900. Since
+those phases have been discussed in Part Two, it is unnecessary to
+detail here the peripheral and anachronistic ‘repeats’ of familiar late
+nineteenth-century episodes in the present century.
+
+Without attempting to round out the picture with the citation of
+multiple examples, one may at this point suggest some of the aspects,
+parallel and successive, of twentieth-century historicism. There was,
+for example, a characteristic continuation of that reaction against the
+boldness and coarseness of the architecture of the third quarter of the
+nineteenth century which is recognizable in most countries, and
+particularly perhaps in America and England from the eighties; hence the
+general critical emphasis of the period on ‘restraint’ and on the
+‘tasteful’. Academically designed buildings of the 1920s were often
+still intended to realize aspirations that had been novel some forty
+years earlier; rarely, however, did they do so with a vitality
+comparable to that of later nineteenth-century work. So also Gothic of
+the early twentieth century produced by such American architects as
+Ralph Adams Cram or James Gamble Rogers hardly differs in its standards
+from what the English Bodley initiated around 1870.
+
+We have already seen in much of the work of Perret and Behrens a special
+kind of continuation of the Classical tradition in the twentieth
+century. This shades down through various degrees and kinds of
+simplification as represented in the personal modes of such architects
+as Asplund in Sweden or Marcello Piacentini in Italy to the maintenance
+of a Classical revivalism as absolute as that of 1800 in white marble
+temples like Henry Bacon’s Lincoln Memorial in Washington (Plate 180).
+
+The medievalizing currents of the nineteenth century link up with many
+aspects of the advanced architecture of the early twentieth century.
+This aftermath, often vital and creative in the fields of theory and of
+craftsmanship with architects as different as the English Voysey and the
+Spanish Gaudí, likewise shades down through various levels of decreasing
+stylization to a literal revivalism that is still in the Victorian
+tradition, but more in line with that tradition’s early or Puginian
+phase or its latest Bodleian phase than with the Butterfieldian phase of
+the 1850s and 1860s.
+
+Both on the Classical and on the Gothic side of the fence, however,
+there have been a few twentieth-century traditional architects whose
+personal stylization of borrowed forms was almost as extreme as that of
+the High Victorians. In their work, intense individualism and limited
+respect for the canons of ‘taste’ and ‘restraint’ offer real points of
+contact with the brashness of such modern architects of the first
+generation as Wright and de Klerk. This is in contrast to the other line
+of traditionalist integrity in the handling of materials that was
+solidly based on Gothic Revival standards of revived hand-craftsmanship,
+one of the truly positive values contributed to the next generation by
+such architects as Richardson in America and Webb in England. The two
+lines could also in some milieus combine to produce, particularly in
+Scandinavia, some of the most impressive works of the early twentieth
+century. Such an outline, blurred and overlapping in its rubrics, can do
+little more than suggest some of the principal later channels of the
+architectural currents which were carried over from the nineteenth
+century into the early decades of the twentieth century.
+
+There is still hardly a country in the world where buildings of
+traditional design are not being erected; but whatever vitality
+twentieth-century traditional architecture retained as late as the
+second and even the third decade of the century had departed by the
+fourth. Post-mortems on traditional architecture have been many—and
+often premature. The causes of death are still disputable, but the fact
+of dissolution is by now generally accepted. Yet the last years of
+traditional architecture were not completely senile. However much the
+youthful vitality of the newer architecture attracts sympathy and
+attention, as late as 1930 its impact on building production was in most
+countries a very limited one. It is fortunate, therefore, that not all
+the traditional architecture of the years 1900-30 need be dismissed with
+scorn, even if the standards by which it must be judged remain those of
+the nineteenth rather than of the twentieth century.
+
+The nineteenth century ended, as we have seen earlier, with a surge of
+innovation (see Chapters 14, 15, and 16). Looking forward from the late
+nineties, a prophet might well have assumed that a new architecture
+would surely arise just beyond the turn of the century; yet within a few
+years a general reaction set in which took somewhat different forms in
+various parts of the western world. As has already been noted, there
+were almost everywhere strong links with the earlier Academic Reaction
+of the eighties against the bold and brash ‘high styles’ of the mid
+century; indeed, it may be said that the traditional architecture of the
+new century was in general both a continuance and a resurgence of that
+reaction. In most European countries, although not in England and
+America, the academic architecture of the late nineteenth century had
+represented little more than a resurgence or a continuance of certain
+aspects of decadent Romantic Classicism. Seeking a loftier pedigree,
+however, conservative architects often claimed that they were returning
+to traditions that had existed down to less than a century before their
+own day, quite as various reformers from Pugin to Voysey claimed they
+were renewing a link with one or another earlier period.
+
+Relatively valid as this might still have been for certain aspects of
+the Queen Anne in England and the Colonial Revival in America, or for
+the parallel return to eighteenth-century modes in various Continental
+countries towards the end of the century, this theory had already run
+into serious difficulties long before 1900. A church might hope to be
+plausibly Gothic, but a railway station could only be Victorian Gothic;
+a skyscraper could not even be as Gothic as that. Moreover, the tide of
+eclecticism that had been rising since the mid eighteenth century was
+not turned back; for both the reaction of the 1880s and the later
+reaction of the early 1900s represented chiefly a rejection of earlier
+nineteenth-century innovations, especially of novel sorts of detail,
+rather than positive programmes of exclusive revival.
+
+It is possible, at least for individual countries, to make statements
+concerning what occurred in the field of traditional design between the
+1890s and the 1930s that are not wholly without significance. Of Holland
+it may be said, negatively, that no reaction of consequence towards the
+traditional occurred before the mid thirties. In Germany the boundary
+line between what was traditional and what was modern was always fairly
+vague; yet evidence of a return to stylistic reminiscence after the
+earliest years of the century is to be found even in the work of leaders
+of the first generation of modern architects such as Olbrich and Behrens
+(see Chapter 20). Farther to the North in Denmark and Sweden, the
+Copenhagen Town Hall of 1892-1902 (Plate 173A) by Martin Nyrop
+(1849-1923) and the contemporary post offices and fire stations in
+Stockholm and Malmö by Ferdinand Boberg (1860-1940) resemble Berlage’s
+Exchange in Amsterdam in their haunting parallelism to the Richardsonian
+of the eighties in America and even, to some extent, to the Shavian of
+the seventies in England. It is true that Absalons Gaard, built in
+1901-2 by Vilhelm Fischer (1868-1914) in the square in front of Nyrop’s
+Town Hall, and even more notably the nearby Palace Hotel of 1907-10 by
+Anton Rosen (1859-1928), developed the freer implications of Nyrop’s
+manner with an almost Dutch verve. But more characteristically there
+followed in Scandinavia from about 1900, as elsewhere rather earlier, a
+programme of tasteful emulation of local versions of the Baroque and
+then, from shortly after 1910 in Denmark and a decade later in Sweden,
+an even more programmatic revival of Romantic Classicism.
+
+In the Scandinavian development from 1890 to 1930 there is therefore a
+sort of ‘plot’ or recognizable sequence of phases despite their
+overlappings. What has been called ‘National Romanticism’, rooted in the
+cultural climate of the eighties, had a briefer span in Denmark than in
+Sweden. Nyrop’s Town Hall, begun in 1892, although in fact hardly more
+traditional than Berlage’s Amsterdam Exchange, introduced the mode, and
+the Stockholm Town Hall (Plate 174A and B) by Ragnar Östberg
+(1866-1945), completed thirty years later, brought it to a close. But
+its dominion in Denmark was never exclusive. Although the Custom House
+of 1897 at Aarhus by Hack Kampmann (1856-1920) with its picturesque high
+roofs and corner towers belongs to the mode, his Aarhus Theatre of
+1898-1900 and his City Library there of 1898-1902 do not. Externally,
+the theatre is in the main of Early Renaissance design, although with
+considerable eclecticism in the detail; on the other hand, the library
+is even less traditional than Nyrop’s Town Hall. Both, moreover, have
+extremely rich plaster decoration inside that may not improperly be
+called Art Nouveau.
+
+Wahlman’s Engelbrekt Church of 1904-14 in Stockholm, mentioned earlier
+as an exception to the general dominance of tradition in Scandinavia in
+these decades, and the Grundvig Church in Copenhagen (Plate 175B) by P.
+W. Jensen Klint (1853-1930), originally designed in 1913 and completed
+finally in 1926, are both closely related to the earlier National
+Romanticism of the eighties and nineties. By the time the latter was
+designed, however, this phase had for some years been superseded by a
+sort of Neo-Baroque still also very nationalistic in its choice of
+precedents and very romantic in their handling. Sometimes, however, this
+mode approached eighteenth-century revivalism of the sort that
+flourished in England and America. For example, the Marselisberg Slot,
+built by Kampmann for the Danish Crown Prince at Aarhus in 1899-1902, is
+the precise Danish equivalent of the best Neo-Georgian houses of the
+period in England and America.
+
+Monuments such as the Masthugg Church (Plate 175A) of 1910-14 in
+Göteborg by Sigfrid Ericson (b. 1874) or the Högalid Church of 1916-23
+in Stockholm by Ivar Tengbom (b. 1878) are hardly recognizable as
+Neo-Baroque to non-Swedish eyes, for they are composed with a sense of
+visual drama quite equal to Wahlman’s and very stylized in all their
+detailing. Ericson’s, in particular, has much in common with the
+American Shingle Style, although that was rarely used for churches and
+never for big ones of stone or brick construction.
+
+In much secular Swedish work in the Neo-Baroque mode, such as the very
+typical ASEA Building of 1916-19 in Västeros by Erik Hahr (1869-1944),
+bold asymmetrical massing and onion-domed towers reflect the romanticism
+of the churches and also recall early stages of the revived Queen Anne
+in England in the seventies. Danish taste in the second decade of the
+century was much more severe than Swedish, as in fact it had always
+been, and the characteristic low-cost housing blocks in Copenhagen of
+this period, such as those of 1914 in the Amagertorv by Hansen & Hygom,
+are, so to say, only Neo-Baroque round the edges.
+
+For the 1920s, however, the most significant phase was the third, that
+is the return to Romantic Classicism. This was initiated in Denmark by
+Carl Petersen (1874-1923) in his Faaborg Museum designed in 1912, and
+reached its climax immediately after the First World War. In Sweden the
+parallel phase began a bit later. By the time such men as Fisker in
+Denmark, Asplund in Sweden, and Aalto in Finland became ‘converts’ to
+the International Style in the late twenties, Scandinavian
+traditionalism had become almost as purged of stylistic detail as the
+architecture of Tony Garnier, or even that of Adolf Loos, had been for a
+generation.
+
+On the whole the Danes and the Swedes produced the most lively and
+distinguished traditional architecture of the early decades of the
+century. Medievalizing churches in Scandinavia, such as the
+just-mentioned Grundvig Church in Copenhagen, where Jensen Klint
+followed Baltic modes that seemed strange and even Expressionist to
+foreign eyes, or Tengbom’s Högalid Church in Stockholm, superbly sited
+and actually much more Baroque than Gothic in its detail, make the
+respectable Neo-Perpendicular and Neo-Georgian exercises of contemporary
+Anglo-Saxon architects look timid and unimaginative. In both cases it is
+the stylization of proportion—the tremendous verticality—that makes them
+striking and full of a sort of vitality, at once nervous and lusty,
+which is comparable to that of the best High Victorian Gothic churches.
+
+The finest medievalizing work is undoubtedly Östberg’s Stockholm Town
+Hall of 1909-23.[512] This is an exceedingly eclectic combination of
+elements adapted from various periods both of the Swedish and the
+general European past. Superbly set at the water’s edge, it is
+sumptuously decorated inside and out with products of craftsmanship that
+are of a very high order of competence (Plate 174A and B). Despite his
+eclecticism, Östberg succeeded in imposing on all his disparate elements
+a high degree of personal stylization at the same time that he exploited
+the situation with marvellous dramatic effect. There is also a witty
+allusiveness suggesting the art of the theatre and the exotic fantasies
+of the late eighteenth century. The Stockholm Town Hall provides a sort
+of pageant-setting for the ceremonial life of the city, recalling the
+splendours of town-hall architecture of many epochs of the past, even
+though it lacks the straightforwardness and the integrity of Nyrop’s
+earlier Town Hall in Copenhagen.
+
+The outside world had hardly had time to apprehend such new Scandinavian
+building in the years following the First World War before it became
+evident that architecture in these countries, hitherto on the whole in
+stylistic retard of developments elsewhere by almost a generation, had
+taken a surprisingly sharp turn. Petersen’s museum at Faaborg followed
+the local Romantic Classical models of C. F. Hansen far more literally
+than any of the contemporary admirers of Schinkel in Germany were doing.
+Brought to completion in 1916 during the First World War, it attracted
+very little foreign attention at the time it was built. But the Police
+Headquarters in Copenhagen by Kampmann, erected after the war in
+1918-22, with its great colonnaded circular court, and the Øregaard
+School (Plate 176B) at 32 Gersonsvej in the Gentofte Kommune north of
+Copenhagen by Edward Thomsen (b. 1884) and G. B. Hagen (1873-1941) that
+followed in 1922-4 were at once noticed abroad. Both indeed are notable
+for their grandeur and for their simplicity, the latter realizing old
+Romantic Classical ideals with extraordinary success, the former coming
+closer to the academic work of McKim, Mead & White in America.
+
+Still simpler, and not without a similar sort of understated grandeur
+surprising in such work, were the Danish low-cost housing blocks erected
+in the early twenties in succession to those of Hansen & Hygom. Those by
+Povl Baumann (b. 1878) in the Hans Tavsengade or the enormous
+Hornsbaekhus of 1923 by Kay Fisker (b. 1893), all in Copenhagen, are
+especially fine. The extreme precision, the elegant craftsmanship in
+brick, and the ascetic detailing of these blocks of flats, rivalling the
+contemporary ones by de Klerk and by Kramer in Amsterdam in quality but
+subscribing to a quite opposed aesthetic, are found also in many Danish
+private houses of the twenties built by Gotfred Tvede (1863-1947) and
+other architects both in the city and in the country.
+
+Although Carl Westmann (1866-1936) in the Röhss Museum of Handicraft at
+Göteborg and Erik Lallerstedt (1864-1955) in the University of
+Architecture and Engineering at Stockholm approached the simplicity and
+fine craftsmanship in brick of the Danes, Swedish work of this period
+was in general richer and more robust, still reflecting the very
+eclectic sources of inspiration of Östberg’s Town Hall. However, in 1923
+Neo-Classicism of a more attenuated and whimsical order than Petersen’s
+made a striking appearance in the buildings for the Göteborg Jubilee
+Exhibition. Of these the Congress Hall by Arvid Bjerke (b. 1880), with
+its serried clerestories carried on arched principals, was the boldest
+and least reminiscent. These Göteborg pavilions were very influential
+abroad in the mid and late twenties; detailing of Swedish inspiration
+then seemed to offer to traditional designers elsewhere a sort of Nordic
+spice with which to enliven the dead-level of the local
+eighteenth-century revivals.
+
+Tengbom, deserting the romantic eclecticism and the emotional drama of
+his earlier Högalid Church, used a highly stylized, almost
+exposition-like, Neo-Classic mode for his Stockholm Concert Hall of
+1920-6. However, the climax in Sweden—if not, indeed, the climax as
+regards all Scandinavia—came with Asplund’s Central Library in
+Stockholm, begun in 1921 and much simplified and refined as construction
+proceeded through the mid twenties. Rejecting the frivolous decorative
+detail of his Skandia Cinema of 1922-3, Asplund rivalled the Danes in
+reducing architecture to geometrical simplicity (Plate 176A). Thus he
+might almost seem to have passed beyond C. F. Hansen and Schinkel, the
+Scandinavian idols of the day, to draw the inspiration for his plain
+cylinder rising out of a cube directly from Ledoux or Boullée (Plate
+2A); while at the base he ran a continuous band of windows derived from
+the newest architecture of these years in France, Germany, and Holland.
+This juxtaposition in the same edifice of Ledoux and Le Corbusier, so to
+put it, is rather awkward; but it is highly symptomatic of the very
+slight step that the Scandinavians had still to take in the late
+twenties when they gave up revived Romantic Classicism—already pared
+down to basic geometry in this library and in much Danish housing—to
+become outright converts to the International Style.
+
+Although Sweden and Denmark produced no modern architect of the first
+generation of such individual distinction as the Finnish Saarinen, and
+must in any case be considered to have started out around 1900 from a
+position somewhat in retard of the French and the Germans, their early
+twentieth-century architecture largely avoided the stasis of
+traditionalism elsewhere, moving through overlapping but discrete phases
+to an early and sympathetic acceptance of the new international
+architecture of the twenties even before that decade was over. So clear
+a picture is hard to discern in most other countries.
+
+In the United States the pattern of development between the 1890s and
+the 1930s, in so far as one can make out any pattern at all, was quite
+different; nor was there in America, in the way of England in the
+twenties, any Swedish influence of consequence. Movements roughly
+equivalent to the Scandinavian National Romanticism of 1900, the
+Richardsonian Romanesque and the Shingle Style, had flourished in the
+eighties and come to an end by 1900. The Academic Reaction that early
+succeeded them swept on, however, for some forty years. Despite the
+ruling eclecticism of taste that permitted an archaeological sort of
+revived Gothic still to thrive as a mode for churches and educational
+institutions, the more widely favoured Classical, Renaissance, and
+Georgian stylisms had all been initiated by McKim, Mead & White in the
+eighties and early nineties. The quality of their work began to
+decline[513] almost as soon as their professional primacy became
+assured; yet their best buildings of the first decade of the new century
+undoubtedly remain among the most competent, if unexciting, examples of
+traditional architecture then produced anywhere. Americans, not
+Frenchmen, were in these decades the worthiest products of the École des
+Beaux-Arts, and thus heirs of the strongest academic tradition in the
+world.
+
+Whether McKim, Mead & White’s models be Renaissance, as in the
+University Club in New York (Plate 179) completed in 1900, the series of
+Branch Public Libraries there that were built over the next dozen years,
+and the Tiffany Building finished in 1906; or Classical, as in the
+Knickerbocker Trust in New York and the Bank of Montreal in Montreal,
+both completed in 1904, the very similar Girard Trust in Philadelphia of
+1908, and the vast Pennsylvania Station in New York of 1906-10, this New
+York firm was clearly one of the truest successors to the
+nineteenth-century academic heritage that so many of the French were
+frittering away at the opening of the new century in a half-hearted
+flirtation with the Art Nouveau.
+
+The Gare d’Orsay in Paris of 1898-1900 (Plate 183A) by V.-A.-F. Laloux
+(1856-1937) is no more to be compared with the Americans’ station than
+his Hôtel de Ville at Tours of 1904-5 with their clubs and banks—his
+best work, closer to the tradition of Duquesney and Hittorff, was an
+earlier station, that at Tours of 1895-8. Yet Laloux was often
+considered the most accomplished French traditional architect of the
+period.[514] Moreover, the McKim, Mead & White repertory of stylistic
+modes was wide: much wider than that of the French, although Laloux did
+produce in Saint-Martin at Tours, completed in 1904, a domed basilica
+still in the line of the earlier French Romanesquoid churches, though
+not at all of the quality of Vaudremer’s Saint-Pierre-de-Montrouge of
+the sixties.
+
+McKim, Mead & White exploited a vernacular Colonial Revival, as in the
+E. D. Morgan house of 1900 at Wheatley Hills, Long Island, as well as a
+more formal Neo-Georgian, at which several others, such as Delano &
+Aldrich[515] and Charles A. Platt (1861-1933), were quite as competent
+as they. But they could also shade their Classicism towards the
+Byzantine, as in the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York
+completed in 1906, or adapt it to industrial uses, as in the I.R.T.
+Power Station in New York of 1903. They could even extend it upward into
+skyscrapers, as in the New York Municipal Building completed in 1908,
+concentrating all their attention on the ground floor and the crowning
+feature while ignoring the many-storeyed shank between; or spread it
+thin over large apartment houses such as that they built in 1918 at 998
+Fifth Avenue, one of the best examples of the apparently solid blocks
+that walled one side of that thoroughfare above 57th Street facing
+Central Park and soon turned Park Avenue from 46th to 96th Street into a
+man-made canyon. The one thing they and their contemporaries seemed to
+be unable to do was to make their architecture live, even with the
+derivative vitality of the Scandinavians. Frozen ideals of stylistic
+‘correctness’ stifled such expression of individual personality as gives
+real character to the work of a Tengbom or a Kampmann even when it comes
+closest to theirs.
+
+In popular estimation certain buildings that made use of Gothic rather
+than Classical, Renaissance, or Georgian forms had a higher reputation.
+Cass Gilbert’s already-mentioned Woolworth Building finished in 1913
+(Plate 178) initiated a considerable range of Gothic skyscrapers,
+including Howells & Hood’s Chicago Tribune Tower of 1923-5, but it
+remains in the judgement of posterity the most notable example of this
+sort of applied medieval design. Despite the considerable acclaim it
+received when new, such an equally characteristic Romanesquoid example
+as the Shelton Hotel of 1929 by Arthur Loomis Harmon (b. 1901) rivals
+Gilbert’s no more in interest than in height. The New York Telephone
+Company Building, completed in 1926 by Ralph Walker (b. 1889) at the
+beginning of his career with the firm of McKenzie, Voorhees & Gmelin, is
+more original. Its fortress-like masses, somewhat frivolously relieved
+by ornamental touches borrowed from the Paris Exposition of 1925, and
+its isolated location at the Hudson River’s edge, ensure that its bold
+silhouette will long vie, for the visitor arriving from abroad, with the
+so much taller and richer silhouette of the Woolworth Building. Most of
+the other individual big buildings of the twenties in New York and other
+large American cities are no more than incidental elements in the
+man-made mountain ranges of their skylines.
+
+Curiously enough the ‘correct’ Gothic churches of this period do not
+receive today as favourable a response as the large-scale medievalizing
+secular work that is necessarily so very unlike real work of the Middle
+Ages. Those of Ralph Adams Cram (1863-1942), then the most esteemed
+Gothic practitioner, are lifeless and even crude beside Bodley’s and
+Pearson’s in England from which they largely derive. His first church,
+All Saints’, Ashmont, outside Boston which was built in 1892 is by its
+early date the least anachronistic. Cram’s former partner Goodhue’s St.
+Vincent Ferrer in New York completed in 1916, a competent and
+well-scaled example of Late Gothic that is more Continental than English
+in character, is rather more successful than any of their joint work or
+that which Cram did later with his other partner Ferguson. Bertram
+Grosvenor Goodhue (1869-1924), responsible also, as has been noted, for
+the Spanish Colonial revival in California, moved on in the early
+twenties just before his death to an eclectic sort of semi-modernism
+best represented by his Nebraska State Capitol in Lincoln. This is
+vaguely Byzantinesque, yet towered instead of being domed in what had
+been the tradition for state capitals ever since Bulfinch’s in Boston.
+His contemporary Los Angeles Public Library is starker and more like a
+project by Tony Garnier.
+
+There were other architects to match McKim, Mead & White directly at
+their own academic exercises: most notably John Russell Pope
+(1874-1937), with his Temple of Scottish Rite in Washington completed in
+1916, a grandiose reconstruction of the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus; and
+Henry Bacon (1866-1924), with his Lincoln Memorial completed the
+following year (Plate 180). The latter is a peripteral Greek Doric
+temple of white marble with a high attic that might almost have been
+designed in Paris in the 1780s—no mean compliment. Equally French in
+spirit, but with no such evident prototypes, is the Grand Central
+Station in New York, built in 1903-13 by Reed & Stem and Warren &
+Wetmore.[516] More efficiently organized than the Pennsylvania Station,
+its concourse is one of the grandest spaces the early twentieth century
+ever enclosed (Plate 177B).
+
+Compared to most work of these decades by French architects, all trained
+like the American leaders at the École des Beaux-Arts, the greater
+‘correctness’ of the detailing of these buildings is notable. The boast
+of ‘good taste’ was not altogether a hollow one, although it is at best
+a negative rather than a positive criterion for architecture.
+
+So extensive was American building production during the twenties that
+it is difficult to know how to epitomize it.[517] On the one hand, there
+are the later skyscrapers, essaying new stylistic garments as the older
+ones lost their piquancy. Even before the Romanesquoid of Harmon’s
+Shelton Hotel had come the massive simplicity of Walker’s Telephone
+Building. But for all the playing around with superficially novel
+decoration borrowed from the Paris Exposition of 1925 in the succeeding
+years, there was no basic renewal of form before next decade opened.
+Just after the crash of 1929 terminated the boom, the second skyscraper
+age came to a belated close with the erection in the early thirties of
+Shreve, Lamb & Harmon’s Empire State Building and the initiation of the
+Rockefeller Center project.[518] There a more urbanistic grouping,
+extending over a considerable area, replaced the earlier ideal of
+building single structures of ever greater height that had just reached
+its climax with the Empire State Building. This change in approach,
+recognized ever since as a turning point, was for a long time hardly at
+all followed up. However, the spaced skyscrapers of Pittsburgh’s rebuilt
+Golden Triangle and, since then, various projects of urban renewal for
+big and middle-sized cities from coast to coast are shifting the
+emphasis from individual structures to the wholesale reorganization of
+very large areas (see Chapter 25 and Epilogue).
+
+In the terms of this chapter neither the Empire State Building nor
+Rockefeller Center are examples of traditional architecture, even if it
+is hardly proper to consider them ‘modern’ in the sense of the European
+architecture of their day. Although likewise no example of the new
+architecture as then understood in Europe like Howe & Lescaze’s
+Philadelphia Savings Fund Society Building of 1932 (Plate 169), such a
+clean-cut skyscraper as Hood’s vertically striped Daily News Building in
+New York marked with more distinction than its outsize rivals the end of
+traditional design in this field.
+
+Almost as remarkable as the skyscrapers of the twenties in size and
+elaboration were the groups of new buildings in which so many academic
+institutions, both new and old, variously housed themselves. The mode is
+Classical at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, built by Welles
+Bosworth (b. 1869) in 1912-15 on the Charles River in Cambridge, Mass.;
+‘Georgian-Colonial’ in the range of ‘Houses’ that Coolidge, Shepley,
+Bulfinch & Abbott[519] built in the twenties for Harvard, also along the
+Charles River in Cambridge; it is Gothic at Cram & Ferguson’s Graduate
+College at Princeton, N.J. (Plate 177A) completed in 1913, in the
+Harkness Quadrangle, designed in 1917, and other later buildings for
+Yale at New Haven, Conn., by James Gamble Rogers (1867-1947), and at the
+Men’s Campus by Horace Trumbauer (1869-1938) at Duke University in
+Durham, North Carolina; it is even, by exception, Byzantinoid at Cram’s
+Rice Institute at Houston, Texas, opened in 1912. The usual modes for
+such work were what was known as ‘Collegiate’ Gothic, based rather
+loosely on work at Oxford and Cambridge that was quite as likely to be
+nineteenth-century as medieval in date, and Neo-Georgian in an
+Anglo-American version, usually too grand to be plausibly Colonial yet
+too casually composed to be properly Anglo-Palladian. Curiously enough,
+the Gothic Cram’s Neo-Georgian Sweet Briar College in Virginia of 1901-6
+is more successful than much of his own medievalizing work or than
+comparable work by those who specialized in eighteenth-century design.
+
+The technical competence of American architects in this period was very
+great, the sums of money available almost unlimited, and the avowed
+standards of design only the vague ones of ‘taste’ and ‘correctness’, by
+this time little more than a schoolmasterish respect for precedent in
+detail, though rarely in over-all composition.[520] Far less than in
+Scandinavia is it possible to define the particular ways in which the
+period expressed itself, for express itself America in these decades
+undoubtedly did. Yet, when Americans of this period worked abroad, what
+they produced is readily distinguishable from the work of local
+traditionalists. The American Academy on the Gianicolo in Rome, built by
+McKim, Mead & White in 1913, has a certain chaste precision in its High
+Renaissance detailing no Italian could then have achieved even if he had
+wanted to. In London Helmle & Corbett’s[521] Bush House, rising between
+the Strand and Aldwych, has a clarity of form and a sense of urbanistic
+responsibility that few comparable buildings of its period designed by
+leading British architects display; up to a point, the same is true of
+Carrère & Hastings’s[522] Devonshire House in Piccadilly of 1924-6. The
+Ritz Hotel of 1906 across the street by the Anglo-French firm of Mewès &
+Davis,[523] both of them trained at the École des Beaux-Arts as was
+Thomas Hastings, is bolder in scale, less priggish, but it also lacks
+the suavity and finish of its neighbour. Bolder also, indeed too
+monumental for its size, is Barclays Bank of 1926 by W. Curtis Green (b.
+1875), near by in Piccadilly across Arlington Street. Of more nearly
+comparable quality is Green’s earlier Westminster Bank of 1922-3 on the
+north side of Piccadilly.
+
+Somewhere between the extreme professional competence of the traditional
+architects of America, a competence almost wholly anonymous in its
+results, and the intensely personal expression of the Scandinavians lies
+the pattern that the best traditional architecture, such as Green’s,
+followed in England in the early twentieth century. But before turning
+to that a good deal more should first be said concerning both the
+competence and the anonymity of American production, since that
+competence and even that anonymity came to be accepted throughout the
+western world as desirable[524] characteristics of modern architecture
+by a great many architects, at least in the mid century.
+
+Partnerships were not unknown in the nineteenth century, although
+professional alliances between strong personalities rarely lasted for
+long. When the partner was not an equal the historian is often justified
+in writing, say, of G. G. Scott and forgetting Moffatt or, with rather
+less justification, only of Sullivan while ignoring Adler. But
+architectural firms that include three or more named partners, with
+still other members listed only on the letter-head; others such as D. H.
+Burnham _and Company_ and Albert Kahn _Incorporated_, or ‘partnerships’,
+such as McKim, Mead & White or Cram & Ferguson, which continued to
+function under the same name for decades after the death of the original
+partners like so many firms of lawyers: these are more or less peculiar
+to the twentieth century and first became common in the United States.
+Today, moreover, an architect of European background like Mies van der
+Rohe does not undertake large-scale operations in America, such as the
+group of buildings for the Illinois Institute of Technology or _a
+fortiori_ his tall blocks of flats in Chicago and the Seagram skyscraper
+in New York, without associating himself with such large local firms.
+Wright and Gropius solved the problem somewhat differently; but the
+Taliesin Fellowship and TAC provided them respectively with the
+relatively modest and idiosyncratic equivalents of the organization of
+the big Harrison & Abramowitz firm in New York or of one of the
+Skidmore, Owings & Merrill offices in Chicago, New York, San Francisco,
+and Portland, Oregon.
+
+The development of the characteristic large-scale American architectural
+office seems to have begun in Chicago. Burnham, on the death of his
+designing partner Root in 1891, just after they had undertaken the
+primary responsibility for the general planning and building of the
+World’s Fair of 1893, had to set up an organization of which he was no
+more than the executive head. But the office of McKim, his closest
+associate in carrying out the Fair, was certainly already far advanced
+along a parallel road. There is a definite connexion here also with the
+rise of the skyscraper, for those very large commercial buildings
+already required a vast amount of uninspired draughting that could be
+efficiently undertaken only by a large force of assistants working in
+what came later to be derisively called ‘plan-factories’.
+
+The same is even more true of industrial work. Here Albert Kahn took
+the lead around 1905 in developing a type of subdivision and flow of
+work in his office in Detroit comparable to the new methods of
+mass-production that his motor-car factories were specifically
+designed to facilitate. Such patterns are found at their extreme in
+the group[525] of firms that together produced Rockefeller Center, in
+the Harrison & Abramowitz office which is in effect their heir, and in
+the largely post-war expansion of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill. Abroad,
+more characteristically, such organizations have been built up in
+offices under a public authority such as those of the London and the
+Hertfordshire County Councils, the City Architects’ Offices in various
+German cities, or the Banco Obrero housing agency in Venezuela.
+
+‘Plan-factories’ are undoubtedly conducive to speed and to a certain
+sort of competence in the execution of large projects, but it must be
+evident that the architecture they produce will necessarily be
+anonymous. In defining the character of their competence, moreover, one
+must be careful not to imply too much. Only such team-work, perhaps, can
+organize the logistics of building production in such a way that
+extensive and ramified ventures are carried rapidly to completion, a
+desideratum of the first order in a boom period for skyscrapers that
+must be finished quickly in order to begin repaying their enormous cost.
+Efficiency is of a different sort of consequence where large-scale
+building schemes of a more public and social nature are being
+undertaken, but none the less extremely important. Le Corbusier’s Unité
+at Marseilles, produced without an elaborate office organization, took
+some six years to build; as a result it was no longer ‘low-cost housing’
+when it was finally completed.
+
+Yet competence in the sections of a big office that deal with the
+plumbing, say, or the electrical system is no assurance that the quite
+different sort of competence required in the design department will be
+available. Moreover, a brilliant initial design may or may not survive
+intact the various modifications that other departments bring to it as
+the preparatory paper-work for the building moves through successive
+stages to ultimate execution. At best, even when a particular designer’s
+name is associated with a particular building, as is that of Gordon
+Bunshaft of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill with Lever House (Plate 189), his
+responsibility is of a very different order from Wright’s for the Price
+Tower-although not perhaps so different from Mies’s for the Seagram
+skyscraper.
+
+The situation in England in the first third of the century was rather
+different from that in America despite a nineteenth-century inheritance
+which was in many aspects common to both countries. One architect, Sir
+Edwin Lutyens, had a personal capacity for invention along traditional
+lines superior to that of any American of his generation. This was not,
+however, of the order of individualistic intensity of an Östberg or a
+Jensen Klint, nor was he able, in the way of an Asplund or even a Hood,
+to accept around 1930 the discipline of the newer architecture of the
+day. Lutyens built no skyscrapers, nor did he develop the sort of office
+organization that made them possible in America. This was, however,
+occurring to some extent by the twenties and thirties in other big
+English offices, such as those of Sir John Burnet & Tait[526] and of
+Curtis Green.
+
+All the same, it fell to Lutyens’s lot to build some of the biggest
+business structures erected anywhere outside America in these years, and
+his career culminated in the design and construction of an imperial
+capital such as came the way of no American. His competence was of a
+more nineteenth-century order than that of the Americans, and there was
+certainly nothing anonymous about his work. He was, moreover, still an
+inspiriting figure in an England where architecture, under the difficult
+economic conditions since the last war, tended to become anonymous
+without becoming especially competent, except for public housing and for
+schools (see Chapter 25).
+
+Lutyens’s beginnings were very remote from the world of business and
+governmental buildings with which his career wound up (see Chapter 15).
+Very early houses, such as Ruckmans of 1894 at Oakwood Park or
+Sullingstead of 1896 at Hascombe, both in Surrey, followed directly in
+the line of Shaw’s Surrey manor-houses with their tile-hung walls, free
+and easy composition, and simple domesticity of tone. They are, indeed,
+superior to most of Shaw’s—the first of which, Glen Andred, was built
+almost thirty years earlier and the last about this time—because of
+Lutyens’s respect for Webb and the resultant superiority of his
+craftsmanship. In his finest early houses, such as Deanery Gardens at
+Sonning of 1901 (Plate 182B), he rivalled Voysey. He was already
+inclined, however, like Webb in many of his later houses, to use
+considerable stylistic detail, usually Neo-Georgian, in his interiors,
+and here and there on exteriors as well.
+
+Perhaps the revolution—or counter-revolution—in his development
+represented by his Heathcote of 1906 at Ilkley in Yorkshire has been
+somewhat exaggerated. Yet the design of this, completely symmetrical and
+quite elaborately Palladian in detail, did represent as great a shift in
+approach, taken in one jump, as that from Shaw’s Glen Andred of the late
+sixties to his Chesters of the early nineties. It was, however,
+practically the same shift. Eclectic like almost all the traditional
+architects of his generation, Lutyens still occasionally remodelled
+medieval houses, but the main line of his development henceforth was
+certainly Neo-Georgian. Yet it was usually Neo-Georgian with an
+important difference from what had become by this time in England as in
+America a rather drearily codified mode. Nashdom at Taplow in
+Buckinghamshire, built in 1909, is a vast white-painted house, plain,
+regular, massive, and hardly at all archaeological. Yet this is so
+handsomely proportioned and so well built that one could well believe it
+to be the result of some generations-long process of accretion in the
+eighteenth century. Great Maytham in Kent of 1910 is Queen Anne, but not
+the Queen Anne of the 1870s. Here a great mansion of the early
+eighteenth century was re-created with such a plausibility of
+craftsmanship that after only half a century it was hard to believe it
+was not two hundred and fifty years old. A somewhat smaller house, the
+Salutation at Sandwich of 1912, is similar and perhaps even more
+remarkable as an example of what is almost ‘productive archaeology’ on
+the part of a man who was not, in fact, at all archaeologically minded.
+Such houses are the twentieth-century equivalents of Devey’s in the
+nineteenth century, but they often have a witty originality in the
+handling of traditional detail that has aptly been called ‘naughty’ and
+is peculiarly personal to Lutyens.[527]
+
+If the Georgian had to be revived in the way of the Greek and the
+Gothic, it could hardly have been done with more competence and more
+animation; certainly the Americans of Lutyens’s generation rarely
+excelled so notably in this particular field, although many of the once
+highly esteemed firms mentioned earlier positively specialized in it.
+Beside these houses of Lutyens, the Neo-Georgian of the Shepley firm’s
+Harvard Houses or Cram’s Sweet Briar College is merely routine. Yet in
+such work Lutyens was still only a country-house architect.
+
+Before discussing Lutyens’s work at the Hampstead Garden Suburb, with
+which his association began in 1908, something should be said concerning
+the ‘Garden City’ movement[528] in general. In 1892 Ebenezer Howard[529]
+(1850-1928) published _Tomorrow. A Peaceful Path to Reform_, better
+known by the title of the edition of 1902 as _Garden Cities of
+Tomorrow_. Howard’s opportunity to realize his aspirations for a new
+sort of town began with the acquisition of land at Letchworth in 1903,
+but the construction of the Letchworth Garden City on the plans of Sir
+Raymond Unwin (1863-1940) and his partner Richard Barry Parker actually
+post-dates their work at the Hampstead Garden Suburb. They had, however,
+already laid out a ‘model village’ for a chocolate manufacturer at New
+Earswick near York in 1904.
+
+In 1907 Dame Henrietta Barnett set out to realize some aspects of the
+Garden City ideal on the outskirts of London. The next year land was
+acquired near Golders Green on the far side of Hampstead Heath and the
+suburb planned as a whole by Parker & Unwin.[530] Lutyens was invited to
+plan and design the group of public buildings in the centre and their
+immediate setting (Figure 54). This town centre was eventually largely
+completed, most of it from Lutyens’s design, and the two churches, with
+the contiguous squares, provide some of his finest work. His work here
+certainly set a pace of coherence and urbanity that was unfortunately
+not maintained in later Garden Cities such as Welwyn, begun in 1919,
+that followed the rather more diffuse plan of Letchworth.
+
+Welwyn, however, is of importance in the history of town-planning
+because it was not merely a residential development but included from
+the first an industrial estate as well. Thus it was a more complete
+entity and the prototype of the English ‘New Towns’ initiated after the
+Second World War. The Barnett project was originally, and has remained,
+an upper-middle-class suburb; yet it is unique for the orderliness and
+the distinction of the public buildings that Lutyens provided at the
+centre and the terrace-framed squares that flank them.
+
+St Jude’s, the Anglican church, begun in 1910 and not finally completed
+at the west end until 1933, is Lutyens’s principal ecclesiastical work,
+his Catholic cathedral in Liverpool having been barely begun before his
+death. Lacking the emotional drama of the Scandinavian churches of its
+period, St Jude’s has nevertheless a certain real boldness of
+silhouette, produced by rather eclectic means, and an elegance of
+craftsmanship in the brickwork that is in the finest tradition of the
+Gothic Revival. Yet, being by Lutyens, it is hardly at all medieval. The
+tall crossing tower may have slight suggestions of the Norman in its
+detailing and a cathedral-like scale, but in general the exterior is in
+a vaguely seventeenth-century vernacular descending from the later work
+of Shaw and Webb.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 54. Sir Edwin Lutyens: Hampstead Garden Suburb, London, North
+ and South Squares, 1908
+]
+
+The interior, rather surprisingly, proves to be almost High
+Renaissance in character; there is even a barrel vault over the nave.
+On the other hand, the timberwork of the roofs of the aisles, which
+descend so low on either side, is of a structural peculiarity
+recalling Webb at his crankiest if not, indeed, Butterfield. Except
+for the highly exceptional London church of the Holy Redeemer,
+Clerkenwell, built by J. D. Sedding (1837-91) in 1887-8, so truly
+Palladian—rather than Anglo-Palladian—internally as almost to persuade
+one that it is Italian, no non-Gothic church of this quality had been
+built in England for two generations. Lutyens’s more modest Free
+Church is rather similar, both inside and out, but considerably less
+effective.
+
+To surround two sides of both North Square and South Square beside the
+churches Lutyens revived the Early Georgian terrace, varying the
+composition ingeniously and handling the beautifully laid bricks in two
+colours, reddish and greyish, with a fascinating subtlety. Unfortunately
+such truly urban housing stood no chance with the clientèle drawn to
+this and other Garden Cities as against the appeal of free-standing or
+semi-detached houses. No general revival of the terrace occurred. But
+Parker & Unwin and their emulators achieved in individual houses a
+standard of semi-traditional suavity that represents one of the
+principal English achievements of the period, and something frequently
+imitated abroad.
+
+Lutyens’s call to lay out New Delhi as the capital of India followed in
+1911, and the first plans were made before 1914. It was a commission
+better suited to his leaping imagination than the modest domesticity of
+an English Garden City. Construction of the buildings, notably the
+enormous Viceroy’s House, began only in 1920.[531] Not since L’Enfant
+laid out Washington had a fiat city of such amplitude and grandeur been
+conceived, much less even partly executed. The Viceroy’s House, finally
+finished in 1931, is official residence, centre of administration, and
+focus of the whole scheme—a _tour de force_ for which, from the Queen
+Anne, the Neo-Georgian, and the Palladian, Lutyens lifted his sights to
+a Roman scale (Plate 181). The result is grand and broad, adapted to the
+climate, and even reminiscent of the Indian architectural past in some
+of its forms and features. Towards the designing of such a major
+monument generations of Frenchmen and others who studied at the
+Beaux-Arts had been prepared; there is a certain irony that this
+opportunity came to an Englishman, trained in the most private and
+individualistic English way.
+
+Nashdom and Great Maytham represent a side of Lutyens’s mature talent
+that follows rather directly from Webb’s Smeaton Manor of the seventies
+(Plate 102A). The work at the Hampstead Garden Suburb, and above all
+that at Delhi, represents another side. On the one side he had a few
+worthy rivals: Leonard A. S. Stokes (1858-1925)[532] was a more
+adventurous architect than he around 1900, with some leaning towards the
+Art Nouveau; Shaw’s pupil Newton was almost as competent at Neo-Georgian
+work. Those who tried to rival him on the other side, however, Sir
+Reginald Blomfield (1856-1942), a pupil of Norman Shaw, and Sir Herbert
+Baker (1862-1946), a pupil of Ernest George, hardly deserve mention,
+even though their work bulks very large on the London scene.
+
+Blomfield’s watered-down version of Shaw’s quadrant façade of the
+Piccadilly Hotel, carried out in the twenties, has been mentioned.
+Better examples of what may be called in W. S. Gilbert’s terms his ‘not
+too French, French’ academicism face Piccadilly Circus. But his
+pretensions to cosmopolitanism, although based on a very considerable
+knowledge of French seventeenth- and eighteenth-century architecture,
+did not serve him as well as Lutyens’s purely English background in
+continuing along the ‘Monumental Queen Anne’ line of Shaw’s late work.
+
+Baker’s outrageous rape of Soane’s masterpiece, the Bank of England,
+carried out over the years 1921-37, has also been mentioned; it was
+literally a fate worse than death. Despite a half-hearted decision to
+preserve a good deal of the relatively unimportant exterior, the Tivoli
+Corner was pointlessly stripped of its idiosyncratic crown, presumably
+in the name of Baker’s superior ‘taste’. His South Africa House of 1935,
+moreover, all but ruins Trafalgar Square.
+
+Lutyens’s Midland Bank of 1924, near the Bank of England in Poultry,
+like Baker’s bank almost a skyscraper in size if not in height, at least
+required the destruction of no earlier work of distinction and is
+undoubtedly more consistently and personally designed. Yet the
+cliff-like massiveness of its walls, with even less evidence of the
+underlying structural skeleton than in office buildings of this period
+by American architects, is almost as anti-urbanistic as Baker’s Bank of
+England. Because of the very narrow streets of the area, the filling up
+of the City of London with such structures, very few of them even of
+this degree of intrinsic interest, was a tragedy of the twenties that
+even bombing did not put right. The superiority of Corbett’s Bush House,
+not in the rather flat detailing but in the exploitation of the fine
+site at the foot of Kingsway, and even in the politeness of the plain
+foil it offers to the Baroque elaboration of Gibbs’s St Mary-le-Strand,
+is very notable.
+
+Lutyens’s other big Midland Bank buildings, one of 1928 in Leadenhall
+Street in the City and one of 1929 in King Street in Manchester, are not
+much of an improvement over that in Poultry. However, his elegant little
+Midland Bank of 1922 in Piccadilly in front of Wren’s St James’s is a
+rich and inventive exercise in the vein of Wren built of brick and
+stone. Anachronistic as such a design must be considered, the verve of
+the _pastiche_ nevertheless has a distinct appeal, like a plausibly
+realistic setting on the stage.
+
+Lutyens’s most successful big business building is doubtless Britannic
+House of 1924-7. This profits from its site between Finsbury Circus and
+Moorgate Street, the curve of the Circus giving to the eastern front a
+certain major Baroque drama that is echoed in the versatile play with
+seventeenth-eighteenth-century motifs in the detailing. But one may well
+prefer the massively mock-Egyptian effect of Adelaide House by London
+Bridge, built by Sir John Burnet & Tait in 1924-5. This, at least, makes
+some approach to the new ideals of the Continent in these years. Burnet,
+moreover, had been for decades one of the most competent British
+practitioners in a local version of the international Beaux-Arts mode,
+as his King Edward VII wing of the British Museum of 1904 notably
+illustrates. Three years later Tait was the first English-born
+architect[533] to attempt to build in the International Style, as has
+been mentioned earlier. The closest Lutyens came to the Continental
+modes of the twenties was in his public housing.
+
+Public housing in England between the wars was generally rather routine
+in design despite the statistical importance of its social achievement,
+lacking either the drama of the Dutch or the restraint of the
+Scandinavians. On the one occasion when Lutyens turned his attention to
+this field, on the Grosvenor Estate in Westminster in 1928, he succeeded
+beyond all expectation. The bold device of chequering all the façades of
+his blocks of flats in alternate oblongs of brickwork, plain stucco
+panels, and windows is somewhat inhuman in scale but notably effective.
+The contrast is striking to the work of the twenties by the London
+County Council Architect’s Office. In that a type of design not unsuited
+to semi-detached houses in middle-class suburbs was spread thin over
+vast many-storeyed masses.
+
+Lutyens, one feels, in a different time and place—a generation earlier
+in England, say, or a generation later—might have been a greater
+architect. But even as his career actually worked out, he is not
+unworthy to occupy the place given him here as the ‘last
+traditionalist’. Since his death there has not been, either in England
+or elsewhere, any traditional or even semi-traditional building of
+consequence, unless one wishes to consider Perret’s work at Le Havre in
+the latter category.
+
+The traditional architecture of the first third of the twentieth century
+in Italy and France, headquarters in so many ways of the major
+architectural traditions of the western world, is disappointing beside
+that of the countries discussed so far. In the case of France, the
+situation is confused by the modulation of Perret’s style towards a
+semi-traditional Classicism which, by the thirties, official and
+academic taste was ready to meet half-way. In Italy Marcello Piacentini
+(1881-1960), the son of the architect of the Academy of Fine Arts in the
+Via Nazionale in Rome, always had more vitality than the French of his
+generation other than Perret. From the new _città bassa_ of Bergamo, for
+which he won the competition in 1907 and which was executed in 1922-4,
+through his general responsibility for the _Terza Roma_, Mussolini’s
+vast project for a new capital between old Rome and Ostia which was to
+have opened with an exhibition in 1942, there is a certain assurance and
+amplitude of scale lacking in most contemporary work in France.
+Mussolini, in the middle years of Fascism, was not averse to modern
+architecture, as we have seen. When, under German influence, he began to
+turn against the International Style the choice of Piacentini to set a
+neo-imperial pace was as natural as Hitler’s return to the modes of
+twenty years earlier in Germany. Moreover, from the public buildings of
+Bergamo through the ‘New Towns’ below Rome—Littoria, Sabaudia, Pontinia,
+etc., mostly destroyed during the Second World War—to the arcaded cube
+of La Padulla’s Palace of Italian Civilization at the _Terza Roma_,
+nicknamed by Italians the ‘Square Colosseum’, fine materials, clean if
+familiar proportions, and excellent craftsmanship provide certain
+lasting qualities not unworthy of Italian national traditions. Where
+Fascist work is interpolated in an earlier urbanistic scheme, as along
+the Via Roma in Turin between the Piazza San Carlo and the Piazza Carlo
+Felice, the new buildings of 1938—here by Piacentini—fit as well with
+the seventeenth-century buildings of the one as with the
+nineteenth-century ones of the other. For all their obviousness,
+moreover, the colonnades of the Via Roma, all of polished granite
+monoliths, have a truly Roman scale and dignity. Even the Square
+Colosseum has a Chirico-like obsessive force, like something out of a
+dream; while the big unfinished structures around it, only now being
+completed, are not altogether without virtues to balance the mid century
+conventionality of those that have lately risen beside them.
+
+To pursue the subject of traditional architecture further would be
+merely to explore what can now be seen to have been not so much
+a cul-de-sac as a road without a goal. The standards of
+traditionalism—standards of ‘taste’, of ‘literacy’, of ingenious
+adaptation—were still on the whole nineteenth-century ones. Yet down
+into the thirties, traditional buildings were the big trees in the
+forest of twentieth-century architecture; with the rise of a new range
+of giants in the forest, the seedlings from which they grew seem now to
+have been more significant: Asplund’s Stockholm Exhibition of 1930 and
+his Crematorium there of 1935-40 tend to obscure our vision of his
+earlier Library, although that is perhaps finer considered absolutely.
+So also the Philadelphia Savings Fund Society skyscraper of 1932, so
+clearly the immediate ancestor of those built in the last decade, draws
+attention away from the Woolworth Building. In England continuity has
+been so completely broken that it is hard to realize how much the
+‘Mannerist’ façade-treatment of Drake & Lasdun’s tall housing slabs of
+1946-56 on the Paddington Estate has in common with Lutyens’s chequered
+Grosvenor Estate blocks of thirty years ago. However the future may
+evaluate the achievements of the traditional architects of the early
+twentieth century, the chapter is now closed.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ CHAPTER 25
+ ARCHITECTURE AT THE MID CENTURY
+
+
+TO describe the state of architecture in the late forties and early
+fifties, before and after the mid-point of this century, is far more
+difficult than to sketch its condition a hundred and fifty years
+earlier, as the first chapter of this book attempted. The western world
+was enormously larger in geographical extent, vastly more populous, and
+as a result very much more productive of buildings of all types and at
+all levels of quality. Many of the types most important in the twentieth
+century—big business buildings, low-cost public housing, facilities for
+transportation such as bus stations and airports—did not exist in 1800.
+These difficulties are objective and merely imply that the sampling of
+executed work must be relatively much more limited. But the very limited
+selection provided here is inevitably influenced by subjective criteria.
+The activity of two generations of historians writing on the
+architecture of the early nineteenth century has produced something
+approaching a consensus of opinion as to what is and what is not
+important or characteristic in that period. There remains, of course,
+much to be discovered concerning building in the decades around 1800,
+particularly as interest rises in the technical aspects of the story;
+yet the engineers[534] are unlikely ever to force the Soanes and the
+Schinkels out of the centre of the picture: moreover, men like Latrobe
+and Mills were themselves as much engineers as architects.
+
+Already, in carrying the story of the production of the leading
+architects of the first and second generations of modern architecture
+down to the mid fifties, a certain emphasis has been given to their work
+in the production of the last decades. The decisions as to what to
+include in rounding out the picture are critical ones hardly comparable
+to the relatively objective historical process of selection that
+controls in the First and Second Parts of this book. The very extent in
+time of what should be considered ‘the present’ is a subjective matter.
+I have known American architectural students whose present was so
+limited that they had never heard of Perret! To anyone under thirty the
+effective present will hardly extend backward more than five or ten
+years. To keep this chapter still more or less historical I have saved
+consideration of the years since the later fifties for an Epilogue.
+
+In most countries of the western world the Second World War occasioned a
+hiatus in construction that lasted nearly a full decade from the slowing
+down that came with Munich in the late thirties to the general revival
+of building activity in the late forties. There is therefore a real lack
+of continuity between pre-war and post-war building except in those
+countries that remained neutral. But just as the break in the continuity
+of building production around 1800 resulting from the Napoleonic Wars
+was a limited, not an absolute, phenomenon, since the truly
+revolutionary developments in architecture preceded rather than followed
+its onset, so there was in the last post-war period very little to be
+recognized at first that had not had its beginnings well before 1939.
+
+The perspective of the war seemed somehow to flatten out some of the
+architectural episodes deemed to be significant in the mid thirties, not
+alone the Nazi and late Fascist reaction but such minor symptoms of
+dissatisfaction with the general line that architectural development had
+taken internationally since the early twenties as the rise of the Bay
+Region School[535] in America and of the New Empiricism in Europe.
+Historians are still rather uncertain how much weight to give to these
+matters. Once they lost the topicality of current events they seemed no
+more and no less significant than the rather similar critical flurries
+that came later concerning the ‘New Brutalism’ and ‘Neo-Liberty’.[536]
+Such flurries cannot be entirely ignored;[537] yet the general
+emendation of the rigid doctrines of the ‘International Style’ was more
+strikingly illustrated by the continued high esteem of Wright’s latest
+productions and, _a fortiori_, by the warm critical reception of Le
+Corbusier’s remarkable church at Ronchamp than by any of the buildings
+that illustrated the schismatic reactions of the decade of the thirties.
+The accepted definitions of modern architecture had undoubtedly become
+very much looser than they were a generation earlier, partly as a result
+of various abortive attempts at more thoroughgoing revolt. But the
+greatest individualists were, paradoxically, not young men[538] in their
+thirties, but older masters in their late sixties, seventies, and
+eighties.
+
+The greatest change in the post-war architectural scene, a change that
+began gradually during the pre-war years, was the shift in the
+geographical pattern. No longer did France, Germany, and Holland occupy
+the centre of the stage. The rise of the United States to great
+prominence, continuing a development already begun in the 1870s, was not
+surprising. Far more surprising was the rise in the importance of Italy
+and Japan, not only because of their actual achievements, especially in
+concrete construction in both cases, but as major influences. This was
+presaged in Italy by the work of Terragni and of Figini & Pollini in the
+mid thirties and was hardly inhibited there by the ambiguities of the
+later Fascist attitude towards architecture just before the Second World
+War. The post-war British achievement was more canalized; yet it was of
+an autochthonous character which a long-term consideration of English
+architectural abilities and disabilities makes more intelligible than
+that flurry of new ideas, so largely of foreign origin, characterizing
+the mid thirties in England.
+
+The Scandinavian countries retained their position of prominence but not
+pre-eminence in the international architectural scene. In contrast to
+their long-recognized virtues, some rather less relevant today than they
+once were, must be set the very different contribution of the Latin
+American countries, whose entry on the international scene all but
+post-dates the war. Production there was hardly worth mentioning a
+hundred and fifty years ago; by the late forties Brazil, Mexico,
+Colombia, and Venezuela were making a contribution on a par, in quantity
+and even in quality, with older and richer countries. Moreover, while
+the West was more and more losing political control of Africa and Asia,
+its cultural influence on those continents did not necessarily decline,
+indeed as regards architecture it probably increased. Modern
+architecture, originally developed to utilize to the full the most
+advanced technologies, was found to serve especially well also in areas
+where technology was least advanced. Indeed, the most characteristic
+building material of modern architecture, ferro-concrete, is often
+exploited most ingeniously in countries where materials are dear and
+labour cheap.
+
+Not only did many outlying parts of the world import architects along
+with other technicians from the West; Asia, which lay almost entirely
+outside the field of western culture a century and a half ago, produced
+a great modern school in Japan. Various Dominions and dependencies—South
+Africa, Australia, Puerto Rico, for example—likewise began to have
+active groups of local practitioners operating in close consort of
+principle with those of Europe and North America.
+
+With so wide a range of lively activity, no continent-by-continent, much
+less country-by-country, survey of modern architecture is possible in a
+single short chapter. Even allowing for all the enormous climatic and
+cultural differences that still affect architectural production, there
+was still sufficient identity of principle in architecture throughout
+most of the world to justify an international consideration of post-war
+achievement in terms of various building types, moving from the
+macrocosm down to the microcosm—from the whole city as a planned product
+of architectural design to the individual dwelling-house.
+
+Despite its vast productive capacity, the old western world in the mid
+twentieth century created rather fewer urban entities of distinction
+than did the nineteenth. Partly, this was because the building of cities
+necessarily remains a slower process than the building of individual
+structures, even in an age when there are many fiat towns and also much
+concerted rebuilding of older cities partially cleared by bombing in the
+Second World War. Even more, perhaps, it is because it takes far longer
+for the ‘planning’ ideals of architects in any period to achieve a
+degree of public acceptance sufficient to ensure over decades proper
+control of layout and construction—or reconstruction—of whole cities
+than to find clients, even governmental clients, for single buildings or
+for extensive, but piecemeal, social projects.
+
+Perret’s Le Havre (Plate 140A) has earlier been characterized as the
+realization—notable even if belated—of ideals that date back before the
+First World War. None of the post-war ‘New Towns’ of England were
+complete enough by the mid fifties to be apprehensible as urban
+entities; for the most part they were still only large-scale housing
+developments—suburbs in search of a city, so to say—realizing at a
+considerably lower economic level the ideals of the Garden Cities of
+fifty years before. Better than the English examples and indicative of
+the widespread acceptance of Garden-City ideals was Vållingby in Sweden.
+
+More complete urban entities of the mid century could be seen in such
+heavily bombed and largely rebuilt cities as Coventry in England or
+Hanover in Germany; yet in neither case was the architectural
+achievement of the highest contemporary order. They should be compared
+for quality with Napoleon III’s Paris or Francis Joseph’s Vienna rather
+than with Alexander I’s Petersburg or Ludwig I’s Munich, and even that
+comparison is not always very favourable to them.
+
+In the extensive and almost explosive expansion and reconstruction of
+various Latin American cities it was only in Caracas that the planner
+Maurice Rotival was able to keep a bit ahead of the builders. But even
+Caracas still had only samples of the characteristic new urbanism of the
+mid twentieth century: two or three isolated skyscrapers and a housing
+development, the Cerro Piloto, differing from those in other parts of
+the world chiefly by its very great extent and its superb
+mountain-backed site. The North American cities that were growing
+fastest, Houston or Los Angeles or Miami Beach or Toronto in Canada,
+were at least as chaotic as the Latin American ones, and neither the
+quantity nor the quality of the individual buildings was as high.
+Against the eruptive growth of a city like São Paulo in Brazil might be
+better balanced such a North American programme of large-scale
+rebuilding as that which had already cleared the Golden Triangle in
+Pittsburgh, replacing typical nineteenth-century urban congestion with
+an open park and spaced cruciform skyscrapers. The new capital of
+Brazil, Brasilia, was not planned by Lúcio Costa even on paper until
+1957.
+
+The mid twentieth century had no full-scale cities that properly
+exemplified the highest ideals of modern architects. It would be
+necessary to wait, with fingers crossed, even to see the results of such
+piecemeal projects of reconstruction as that proposed by Sir William
+Holford for the bombed district around St Paul’s Cathedral in
+London,[539] and still longer for such complete cities as Brasilia and
+Chandigarh where, however, the public buildings by Le Corbusier were in
+the mid fifties rapidly rising. But there were also in existence already
+certain special entities of almost urban scale planned since the Second
+World War that deserve attention. Notable are the ‘university cities’,
+complete educational plants located on new terrain, planned as a whole
+and designed as regards their individual buildings either by a single
+team of architects or by several teams whose work was closely
+co-ordinated from start to finish. The most remarkable of these is that
+of the University of Mexico, but even here the difference in quality
+between such highly original structures as the Olympic Stadium of
+Augusto Perez Palacios (b. 1909), Raúl Salinas Moro, and Jorge Bravo
+Jiménez of 1951-2, with its fine relief mosaic by Diego Rivera, or the
+Central Library of Juan O’Gorman, Gustavo Saavedra, and Juan Martinez de
+Velasco of 1951-3, with its stack tower entirely covered with mosaics
+designed by O’Gorman, and certain of the other equally large and
+prominent buildings is very notable (Plate 184). The university city of
+Rio de Janeiro, for which Le Corbusier was originally called to Brazil
+to provide a plan in 1936, was by no means so far advanced; but the
+control of the design of all the principal buildings by one architect,
+Jorge Moreira (b. 1904), who is one of the three or four ablest in
+Brazil, seemed to promise a homogeneity of character and a distinction
+of finish unique in this field. Among several other Latin American
+examples begun and partly built by the mid fifties, that at Caracas by
+Carlos Raúl Villanueva (b. 1900) rivals in its principal building, the
+Aula Magna of 1952-3 with its extraordinary acoustic ceiling by the
+technician Robert Newman and the sculptor Sandy Calder, the achievement
+of the Mexicans.
+
+Of a very different character indeed, and initiated much earlier, is the
+University of Aarhus[540] in Denmark for which Kay Fisker, C. F. Møller
+(b. 1898), and Povl Stegmann (1888-1944) won the competition in 1931.
+Some of its many buildings date from before the Second World War:
+professors’ houses of 1933, student residences of 1934, museum of
+natural history of 1937-8; while most of the classroom buildings were
+actually erected in the war years 1942-6. The work continues in the
+hands of Møller, and the layout of the beautiful sloping site was by C.
+Th. Sørenson (b. 1893). Built of buff brick with tile roofs of medium
+pitch, the general effect is much quieter than that of the Latin
+American university cities with their tall ferro-concrete buildings,
+crisply shaped and distinguished both by a bold use of colour and the
+conspicuous incorporation of work by distinguished painters and
+sculptors. At first sight—and to the prejudiced—the University of Aarhus
+may appear more conservative; but the range of the new architecture is
+recognized today as being wider than it was thirty years ago, and
+Møller’s _aula_ in its very different way is quite as advanced as
+Villanueva’s; or even, for that matter, as the shell-domed auditorium of
+1952-5 at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, Mass.,
+by Eero Saarinen (1910-61).
+
+One of the earliest individual building types to find wholly
+untraditional expression was the large block of offices. The skyscraper
+reached maturity early in the hands of Sullivan in Chicago; the later
+vagaries of the form in New York did not recommend it to European
+emulation, although skyscraper projects by Mies, by Gropius, and by Le
+Corbusier were among the most notable early evidences of the birth—on
+paper—of a new architecture in the years 1919-22. Howe & Lescaze’s
+Philadelphia Savings Fund Society Building of a decade later was the
+first large-scale example of the acceptance in America of the new
+architecture of Europe; but during the thirties skyscraper-building
+languished, and many critics thought that their day was already over. In
+many parts of the world that day had yet to dawn, and Europe still had
+very few notable examples to offer, but in the New World the fifties saw
+the start of a new wave of skyscraper building by no means confined to
+the United States. For the first time since the nineties a rather
+considerable number of really distinguished examples were being built in
+both North and South American cities. Wright’s Price Tower at
+Bartlesville, Okla., a relatively modest one, and Mies and Johnson’s
+Seagram Building in New York have both been mentioned already.
+Diagonally across Park Avenue in New York from the site of the Seagram
+tower stands the first epoch-making post-war skyscraper in New York,
+Lever House, designed by Gordon Bunshaft (b. 1909) of the Skidmore,
+Owings & Merrill firm and built in 1950-2 (Plate 189). The almost
+completely glazed curtain-walls of the east and west sides of the United
+Nations Secretariat in New York—built in 1947-50 by Wallace K. Harrison
+(b. 1895) and his partner Max Abramowitz (b. 1908) but incorporating
+ideas provided by an international panel of which Le Corbusier and
+Niemeyer were members—are carried round three sides of Bunshaft’s slab.
+More significant, however, is the fact that this slab, rising like the
+isolated United Nations building with no setbacks, covers only a portion
+of the available site. Thus it stands in its own envelope of space
+carved, as it were, out of the solid canyon of Park Avenue, just as Mies
+and Johnson would later set their building back 100 feet from the avenue
+and well in from both the side streets also. Their ‘plaza’ is
+unconfined; Bunshaft’s open space is defined by a mezzanine on _pilotis_
+carried round an unroofed court.
+
+Reacting against the almost totally glazed curtain-wall of his U.N.
+Secretariat, a type of sheathing for large urban structures then
+spreading very rapidly to other countries, Harrison on the Alcoa
+Building of 1952 in Pittsburgh used storey-high panels of aluminium cut
+by relatively small windows. This alternative type of sheathing has been
+less exploited since, however, than the more completely glazed sort.
+There was a curious revival of Expressionist feeling in the complex
+angular design of the glazed lobby of the Alcoa Building that contrasted
+sharply with the paradigmatic expression of the ‘International Style’
+seen in the Equitable Building in Portland, Ore., of 1948 by Pietro
+Belluschi (b. 1899), the earliest of the interesting post-war
+skyscrapers. A later Western skyscraper, the Mile-High Center in Denver,
+Col., completed by I. M. Pei (b. 1907) in 1955, followed almost more
+closely the formula of Mies’s Lake Shore Drive Apartments in Chicago
+than he did himself in the design of the Seagram Building.
+
+It is invidious to mention only these few North American examples, but
+production of similar skyscrapers was already so nation-wide in the
+United States and in Canada that one can still hardly hope to see the
+individual trees for the forest. There are good reasons why those
+selected for illustration or mention are likely to remain conspicuous
+and not become lost in the crowd. But skyscrapers are no longer a
+prerogative of North America; some of the finest were rising in Latin
+America, and these would before long be rivalled by European examples
+already projected or even under construction by 1955.
+
+It is a mistake to assume that North Americans housed business only in
+skyscrapers. More and more large corporations were moving their
+headquarters to the open country. Quite as significant as Lever House in
+the production of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill in the mid fifties was the
+700-foot-square but only four-storeyed office plant of the Connecticut
+General Insurance Company of 1955-7, set in a park of eighteenth-century
+size and amenity at Bloomfield, Conn., some ten miles outside Hartford,
+the insurance capital. Luxury of materials, white marble and granite as
+well as aluminium, makes up somewhat for the rigid asceticism of the
+standardized walls, while four interior court gardens by Noguchi and
+three pink granite figures by him on the slope beyond the ‘artificial
+water’ in which swans swim about below the all-glass cafeteria further
+balance the expression of crisp efficiency with something warmer and
+more humane.
+
+In most Latin American cities all-glass walls are impractical because of
+the heat and the glare of the sun. As a result, architects have
+developed various versions of the sun-break system introduced twenty
+years ago on the first tall modern building to be erected in that part
+of the world, the Ministry of Education in Rio; glazed curtain-walls
+were by no means unknown, however. The egg-crate sun-breaks of the
+Edificio C.B.I. of 1948-51 in São Paulo by Lucjan Korngold (b. 1897) and
+the horizontally patterned grid of the Retiro Odontológico of 1953-4 in
+Havana by Antonio Quintana Simonetti and Manuel A. Rubio give these
+buildings a very different look from such examples of more North
+American character as the building in the Calle de Niza at the corner of
+the Calle de Londres in Mexico City of 1952-3 by Juan Sordo Madaleno (b.
+1916), or that of the Suramericana de Seguros in the Avenida Jiménez de
+Quesada in Bogotá of 1954 by Cuéllar, Serrano, Gomez & Co.
+
+The most ingenious and best designed Latin American skyscraper of the
+fifties, however, is the completely isolated Edificio Polar of 1953-4 at
+the Plaza Venezuela in Caracas. This was built by Martin Vegas Pacheco
+(b. 1926), a pupil of Mies at the Illinois Institute of Technology, and
+his partner José Miguel Galia, a pupil of the one distinguished South
+American architect of the first modern generation, Julio Vilamajó, at
+the University of Montevideo. Here the structure was reduced to four
+ferro-concrete piers from which the curtain-walls were cantilevered out
+11 feet on all four sides. The curtain-walls have a varied infilling,
+part solid sandwiches of plywood and aluminium sheeting, part louvres
+that transmit air but not light, and part glass. These are combined in
+different proportions on each side according to the orientation in order
+to control the glare and the heat of the sun while providing direct
+ventilation. Since this tower was isolated, it needed no envelope of
+space; in fact, however, the wider mezzanine extending under the base of
+the tower does provide this. The two open storeys, one at ground level
+and one above the mezzanine, give a lightness of effect and a frank view
+of the essential structure that is even more striking than at Lever
+House, where the relation of the towering slab to the mezzanine is less
+boldly handled.
+
+European skyscrapers[541] as yet rarely rivalled North American ones in
+height, and few large urban office buildings reached even the median
+level of quality of those in Latin America. In rebuilding bombed cities,
+however, there were opportunities that could readily be exploited for
+carrying certain buildings very high over a portion only of their sites,
+as was first done in North America at Lever House, but using the ampler
+spaces provided by the replanning of the cities to extend lower blocks
+from the main slab. One of the best examples of this treatment is the
+Continental Rubber Building of 1952-3 in Hanover by Werner Dierschke and
+Ernst Zinsser, which replaces Behrens’s ponderous block of thirty years
+earlier that was destroyed in the war. The surfacing materials, mostly
+various stones, are serviceable and the general composition well
+studied, but the proportions lack the elegant lightness of the Edificio
+Polar. Yet the whole achieved a ‘reality’ of effect lacking in the
+C.B.I. in São Paulo, which looks, despite its great size, rather like a
+cardboard model; or Lever House, which too much resembles a slick
+cellophane-wrapped package. Some German commercial work at smaller scale
+was more refined, as, for example, the Haus der Glas-Industrie of 1951
+at Düsseldorf by Bernhard Pfau and Pempelfort Haus there of 1954 by
+Hentrich & Petschnigg, or the Burda-Moden Building of the same date in
+Offenburg by Egon Eiermann. Hentrich & Petschnigg are also responsible
+for the striking BASF skyscraper at Ludwigshafen, the tallest built in
+the Old World up to the mid fifties.
+
+Post-war Italian commercial work was more varied and imaginative than in
+other countries, but the tallest examples were not the best. Very often
+it was the fine marble or mosaic surfacing—echoed in the BASF—and the
+high quality of the craftsmanship that seemed to give them interest and
+an effect of luxury rarely yet found in other countries, rather than
+real distinction of design. Interestingly enough, since post-war Latin
+America has tended to follow Italian models, one of the best Italian
+buildings of this decade, the Olivetti offices in Milan of 1954-5 by G.
+A. Bernasconi, Annibale Fiocchi (b. 1915), and M. Nizzoli, has a very
+Latin American air because of its prominent sun-breaks. This was one of
+the few buildings premiated by the international jury at the São Paulo
+Biennal in 1957, and the only non-Brazilian one.
+
+Industrial construction has not even yet been as fully accepted into the
+realm of architecture as has commercial building for the last hundred
+years. Ever since the factories of Behrens and the warehouses of Perret,
+however, industrial commissions have played an increasingly important
+part in modern architectural production. Probably the largest acreage of
+good factory-building just after the war, as earlier in the century, was
+in North America. With rising standards of amenity, moreover, and the
+substitution of road haulage for rail transportation, factories came out
+from behind the railway tracks and took their proper place visually as
+well as functionally, with well-maintained grounds as important
+features, in regional planning. It is hard to single out particular
+factories for mention, if only because their design, whether it is by
+engineers or by specialist architectural firms like Albert Kahn, Inc.,
+had arrived at a largely anonymous standardization—the fate,
+incidentally, towards which some critics see all twentieth-century
+architecture as inevitably moving.
+
+The General Motors Technical Institute at Warren, Mich., completed by
+Eero Saarinen in 1955 after a decade of planning and construction, is
+almost more comparable in scale and complexity to a university city than
+to a factory; yet this group of twenty-five buildings organized round a
+large rectangular artificial lake is also in its use and in its
+character a major example of American industrial building raised at the
+behest of a corporate client into the realm of distinguished
+architecture (Plate 168B; Figure 55). Little or no link remained between
+this and even the latest buildings designed by Eliel Saarinen on which
+his son collaborated, although the former was involved in this
+commission down to his death in 1950. Instead, the influence of Mies was
+very strong, since in the younger Saarinen’s estimation the Miesian
+discipline was specially suitable for giving order to such a project, in
+terms both of over-all planning and of the characteristic structural
+vocabulary of curtain-walling. Yet the necessary variety of size and
+shape of the buildings, determined in part by the very different
+activities that they house, from power-houses and engine-test cells to
+the Styling Centre for new motor-car models, made impossible the
+imposition of so classic a pattern as Mies had aimed to produce at the
+Illinois Institute of Technology (Figure 52). In conscious avoidance of
+the monotony of the motor-car factories around Detroit, which run on
+without modification for thousands of feet, and in pursuit of ideals
+which most modern planners have realized only on paper, Eero Saarinen
+accented his long lake-front with a water-tower all of stainless steel
+rising out of the water and provided a special domed unit at the south
+end to house the display of new models beside the one section of the
+complex to which the outside world has some access. Moreover, he varied
+the characteristic metal-and-glass vocabulary of the façades—the metal
+in general black oxidized aluminium, the glass greenish in tone to
+reduce glare in the interiors—with solid walls of glazed brick in
+various brilliant colours, almost rivalling the Mexicans in the
+intensity of the reds, blues, yellows, and greens that he chose. As with
+the later Connecticut General plant, sculpture of distinction, here by
+Antoine Pevsner, provides a note of humane interest amid all the
+expression of mechanistic efficiency.
+
+In Europe the Olivetti Company were more consistent patrons of
+distinguished design in architecture than General Motors. The main plant
+at Ivrea, designed by Figini & Pollini, is small by American standards,
+and has been in existence for some time—since 1942. It is chiefly
+notable because it is the heart, as it is the _raison d’être_, of an
+architectural programme of almost urbanistic scope at Ivrea that is
+still in process of
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 55. Saarinen & Saarinen: Warren, Mich., General Motors
+ Technical Institute, 1946-55, layout
+]
+
+realization by Figini & Pollini and by the resident architect Fiocchi,
+whose small foundry of 1954-5 is an exemplary industrial unit of almost
+Miesian elegance. Characteristic now of most Latin countries are the
+sun-breaks on the south-west side of the large Ivrea factory; while the
+north-east façade rises four storeys in sheer glass like a vast
+extension of Gropius’s studio block at the Bauhaus. Of the present
+period of the fifties, and better sited, more articulated, and more
+self-complete, is the later Olivetti factory at Pozzuoli near Naples by
+Luigi Cosenza. Structurally, however, the industrial work of the
+engineer Nervi is more original.
+
+Factories are still more likely to be designed by engineers than by
+architects; but the contribution of engineers to their design is by no
+means always standardized and monotonous. Particularly in those
+countries where the lack of steel encourages the use of ferro-concrete,
+engineers were devising notably imaginative solutions to the problems of
+space-coverage and lighting. The Spanish-born engineer Candela in Mexico
+worked with ferro-concrete vaults in industrial construction with the
+casual ease and _ad hoc_ ingenuity of a twelfth-century Frenchman
+building in stone; yet his church of Nuestra Señora de los Milagros of
+1953-5 gave the impression of being a reversion to Expressionism,
+despite the unassailable mathematical and structural logic of the
+hyperbolic paraboloid forms of its ‘ruled surfaces’. The Italian-born
+José Delpini, in such factories as his S.I.T. Spinning Shed of 1949-50
+at Pilar in Argentina, easily rivalled the work of the leading modern
+architects of Argentina in the distinction as in the scale of his
+buildings. The Danish-born Ore Arup in England, working with the
+Architects Co-Partnership on the artificial rubber factory at Bryn Mawr
+in Wales, provided one of the most notable large-scale buildings in
+post-war Great Britain, and deserves much of the credit for it. To
+return to the work of architects, it should be noted that in England,
+where most post-war industrial building was rather modest in size, the
+power-stations of Farmer & Dark, culminating in that of 1955-7 at
+Marchwood, have a grandeur of scale and a logic of partially open design
+that ordinary factories can almost never rival.
+
+Industrial building, still at the frontier of architecture despite the
+great contribution it has made to more general developments since the
+English mills of the 1790s, was notably international in its
+twentieth-century standards and its achievements. The leading
+industrial firms, such as Albert Kahn, Inc., and that of Frankland
+Dark were asked to build in many parts of the world, for the
+traditions of the old-established technologies are of especial value
+in such work. The continued existence of cultural empires, so to call
+them, is still made manifest when English firms build power-houses and
+factories in the Middle and Far East. James Cubitt & Partners[542]
+completed in Rangoon in 1955, for example, a pharmaceutical plant that
+was probably the largest post-war factory of architectural interest to
+be built by an English firm, just as their Technical College at Kumasi
+in Ghana built at the same time was a more considerable example of a
+mid-twentieth-century university city than England had yet seen.
+
+The provision of housing by organs of the State had come to be
+recognized almost everywhere as an essential social service, quite as
+modern architects always insisted that it should be. Le Corbusier’s
+Unité at Marseilles is doubtless the most striking single example of the
+tall structures, slabs or ‘point-blocks’, which were increasingly the
+characteristic form of such housing, but the most notable general
+programmes of production were still found in England, in certain Latin
+American countries, and in Denmark and Sweden. The pressure of
+population-growth and the need for rebuilding after war-time destruction
+motivated such programmes almost everywhere, but in several countries
+notable otherwise for the high standard of their current
+architecture—the United States and Italy, for example—the results were
+disappointing indeed. A strong social tradition of public housing,
+moreover, as in Holland, even with the precedent there of the notably
+fine work of thirty and forty years ago, seemed then to be no guarantee
+of continued excellence in this field. Although the rising popularity of
+housing in tall structures is still balanced in England by a strong
+attachment to small houses built in pairs or in terraces, such as
+comprise the greater part of the New Towns, English achievement in this
+field on the whole exceeded that of most other countries in the ten
+years after the war, both in quantity and in quality. The post-war pace
+was set by the Churchill Gardens of A. J. Philip Powell (b. 1921) and
+his partner Hidalgo Moya in Pimlico, London, for which the Westminster
+Borough Council was the client. For over a decade the planning and
+building of this vast urban project went forward towards completion with
+rising standards of design and finish. Perhaps the finest single block
+is De Quincey House, with its ingenious section of duplexes approached
+by access galleries. But the Architect’s Department of the London County
+Council, under the successive leadership of Robert Matthew (b. 1906) and
+of Sir Leslie Martin (b. 1908), in the last seven years equalled and
+perhaps exceeded in quality, as many times over in quantity, the
+achievement of Powell & Moya. Whether on urban sites, such as that at
+Loughborough Road in South London (Plate 186B), or on more open sites,
+as at the Ackroydon estate in Putney or at Roehampton, by the
+combination of tall blocks, some square in plan, some slab-like, with
+ranges of lower blocks of maisonettes and terraces of houses the L.C.C.
+has provided—piecemeal at least—examples of mid-twentieth-century
+urbanism more impressive than anything the New Towns yet offered. A
+provincial English example of comparable excellence is the Tile Hill
+Estate outside Coventry by the Borough Architect’s Office.
+
+The forty-eight slabs of the Cerro Piloto development of 1955 built by
+the Banco Obrero, the Venezuelan public housing corporation, and
+designed by Guido Bermudez (b. 1925), rising against the mountains
+outside Caracas more than rival in extent and in scale the English
+examples. And in the Cerro Grande blocks of flats there, built in
+1953-5, Bermudez rivalled the ingenuity of Powell & Moya and the L.C.C.
+in the use of duplexes. Interesting for the mixture of types—tall slabs,
+lower blocks of flats, and houses—is the Centro Urbano Presidente Juarez
+in Mexico City by Mario Pani (b. 1901); the handsome colours used here
+were chosen by the painter Carlos Mérida. But the most exemplary of the
+Latin American estates is Pedregulho outside Rio de Janeiro begun in
+1948 by Affonso Eduardo Reidy (b. 1909). Here the tall serpentine block
+at the rear is entered at middle level from the hill slope, a scheme
+suggested by certain of Le Corbusier’s projects of the thirties for
+North Africa, and various community buildings provide something of New
+Town character in the development, as does a range of low blocks with
+shops at their base in the Tile Hill Estate at Coventry. Most notable is
+Reidy’s school at Pedregulho with its murals of _azulejos_—glazed
+tiles—by Cándido Portinari and its characteristic repertory of the
+architectural forms of the Cariocan School. Of that Reidy, a member of
+the original group who designed and built the Ministry of Education, was
+as much one of the founders as Oscar Niemeyer.
+
+In the mid twentieth century, however, it is England that leads in
+school design and construction even more definitely than in the design
+of tall housing blocks. In particular, the Hertfordshire County
+Architect’s Office under C. H. Aslin (1893-1959) developed a system of
+construction using a light-metal skeleton and prefabricated concrete
+slabs of very great technical interest. Not all the Hertfordshire
+schools are designed in the County Architect’s Office, however, and some
+of the best were by private architects, such as the Architects’
+Co-partnership and James Cubitt & Partners (Plate 186A). The new
+architecture has been more widely and successfully used for schools than
+for most other types of buildings. Outside England those of Donald
+Barthelmé in Texas, such as his Elementary School at West Columbia of
+1952, and by Ernest J. Kump (b. 1911) in California may be especially
+noted, although they represent no such concerted programme of design and
+construction as has spread in England from Hertfordshire to other parts
+of the country. Outright ‘traditional’ schools are rare anywhere today.
+
+In church architecture the post-war situation was rather different.
+Although Perret and Wright, Moser and Böhm, among the older generation
+of modern architects, all built notable churches, until Le Corbusier’s
+Notre-Dame-du-Haut at Ronchamp the international leaders of the next
+generation were rarely called on to design them; and from Oud’s church
+of the late twenties at Oud Mathenesse through Mies’s Chapel of 1950 at
+the Illinois Institute of Technology it seemed that the extreme
+rationalism of these men made it difficult if not impossible for them to
+provide ecclesiastical edifices which differed in any expressive way
+from meeting-halls. Something was said earlier of the more emotional
+concrete-vaulted church architecture of Böhm and the line of related
+advance in the last two decades from the semi-traditional, somewhat
+Gothic or Baroque, effects of the twenties to work of completely
+original character. Niemeyer’s São Francisco at Pampulha (Plate 190C),
+completed in 1943, was one of the buildings that early established his
+reputation as one of the most imaginative architects of his generation
+anywhere in the world. Soon Latin American churches as different as
+Candela’s Nuestra Señora de los Milagros in Mexico City and the
+unvaulted Beato Martín Porres at Cataño outside San Juan in Puerto Rico
+by Henry Klumb (b. 1905), a pupil of Wright, were illustrating a wider
+range of possibilities; while Juvenal Moya’s Nuestra Señora de Fatimá
+and his chapel at the Ginnásio Moderno in Bogotá, the one of 1953-4, the
+other of 1954-5, followed—with considerable vulgarization—the more
+lyrical line of Niemeyer’s São Francisco.
+
+Less operatic, but doubtless better adapted to Protestant use, are the
+churches in the American Northwest by Belluschi, notably the First
+Presbyterian of 1951 at Cottage Grove in Oregon. Various Swiss churches,
+some Catholic but more of them Protestant, followed also in this line,
+to which such earlier-mentioned churches as Moser’s Sankt Antonius in
+Basel of 1927 and the elder Saarinen’s Christ Lutheran, Minneapolis, of
+1948 belong (Plate 157B). The younger Saarinen’s silo-like circular
+chapel of red brick at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology of
+1954-5, however, reverted to something much more emotional. There is
+great ingenuity in the handling of the lighting, which streams down from
+above over a screen by Harry Bertoia and also penetrates more subtly
+round the edges of the low-arched base through the water of a
+surrounding moat.
+
+Johnson’s synagogue in Port Chester, N.Y., of 1955-6, while severe in
+its general character, uses coloured glass in slots between the vertical
+slabs with which the visible steel frame is filled and also a curved
+awning-like ceiling of plaster to warm and enrich the basically Miesian
+paradigm. Accessories by the sculptor Ibrahim Lassaw also play an
+important part in the interior; while the oval domed entrance vestibule
+is an element of almost Baroque formal interest despite its ascetic
+simplicity of execution. Thus, two Mies disciples have offered in their
+ecclesiastical work correctives to the classroom-like coldness of his
+own chapel in Chicago.
+
+Such large-scale constructions as factories and tall housing blocks,
+together with skyscrapers, represent the new architecture’s
+preoccupation with building problems that the nineteenth century had
+already essayed, but of which the development was not carried to its
+logical extremes, either technically or architecturally, before the
+present period. Curiously enough, in the provision of new edifices to
+serve the needs of transportation, the nineteenth century in its middle
+decades was rather more successful in bringing the railway station to
+quite early maturity than was the twentieth century with the airport.
+One of the largest and finest post-war buildings of Italy is the Rome
+railway station (Plate 183B), and within a few years the active campaign
+of modernizing and rebuilding stations in Italy was notably reflected in
+other European countries. But airports had still to find so satisfactory
+an expression, partly because the expansion of traffic everywhere made
+them inadequate almost before they were completed. Too often the
+necessity for continual extension has destroyed such integrity of
+conception as the architects were able to give them in the first place.
+Some of the world’s busiest, such as Idlewild near New York and Midway
+near Chicago, were through the nineteen fifties near-shambles beside
+which century-old railway stations appeared as masterpieces of
+up-to-date organization! Here, as in many other fields of contemporary
+building, there seem to be two main lines of approach, but not properly
+to be distinguished as ‘rational’ versus ‘emotional’, since both are
+almost entirely dependent on the structural solutions chosen. Of the
+first sort a relatively early example (which now carries only local
+traffic and has therefore not had to be expanded), the Santos Dumont
+Airport by the Roberto brothers begun in 1938 and largely completed
+after 1944 at the bay’s edge in downtown Rio de Janeiro, remains one of
+the best; for it is compactly planned, clear and direct in design, and
+elegant in the choice of materials and the use of colour. The San Juan
+Airport completed in 1955 by Torro, Ferrer & Torregrossa[543] in Puerto
+Rico is larger and somewhat less refined in detail, but an excellent
+example of planning in terms of circulation. The vast London Airport by
+Gibberd was still incomplete.
+
+Two other airports of much the same date, the very large one at St Louis
+by Minoru Yamasaki (b. 1912) and Joseph W. Leinweber, and the small one
+by Pani and his partner Enrique del Moral at Acapulco, used concrete
+shell vaults with very dramatic effect. It would seem that the ‘classic’
+stage of airport design, reached in railway stations between 1845 and
+1855, was only beginning in the late fifties, and its climax may well
+lie many years ahead.
+
+From the airport to the individual dwelling, from the newest sort of
+structure to what is presumably the oldest, represents a considerable
+jump. Yet it is at least debatable whether the best houses of the mid
+twentieth century, continuing a line of development that has earlier
+been traced forward from 1800 (see Chapter 15), were not more
+satisfactory solutions of the problems their designing and building
+poses, both practically and aesthetically, than any of the airports
+mentioned. To a considerable extent they were as novel.[544] The
+dwelling may not, in the years after 1925, have developed primarily as a
+‘machine for living in’, according to Le Corbusier’s famous phrase, but
+it certainly became more and more a ‘box for housing machinery in’. As
+the relative proportion of the total cost spent for mechanical equipment
+went up, the shell had to shrink. As the shell shrank, planning was
+increasingly simplified. Only rarely was the ultimate in unification of
+space reached, as in Mies’s Farnsworth house or Philip Johnson’s own
+house in New Canaan, Conn., where only the bathroom is enclosed and the
+other subdivisions of the interior are but ranges of cupboards not
+reaching to the ceiling. Equally rare is the exclusively glass walling
+of these two houses, clearly the extreme point of a _crescendo_ that
+goes back at least to the window-walls of the third quarter of the
+nineteenth century. But if they represented the end-point of several
+developments, from which there has since been a return even on the part
+of their own architects (Plate 190A), the extremes that they illustrate
+were in many respects those towards which houses in general were then
+tending.
+
+The house as a detached, individually-designed edifice was still for
+most people the ideal dwelling. But at no time since 1800 had such a
+dwelling been more of a luxury. Convenience and economy drove rich and
+poor alike towards more communal forms of habitation, whether they were
+the cabañas of the millionaires’ motels at Palm Springs or the low-cost
+flats in suburban ‘point-blocks’. In between these poles were all the
+varieties of terrace-housing, ‘semi-detachery’, and builders’
+standardized products, ranging from conservative parodies of the
+individually designed houses of a generation ago through various
+vulgarizations of more modern houses to the prefabricated
+package-dwelling which seemed to be no nearer to receiving that general
+acceptance which would make it economical than it was a hundred years
+ago. Mass housing, no matter what form it took, whether the forty-eight
+tall slabs of the Cerro Piloto or the forty-eight hundred, more or less,
+semi-detached two-storey dwellings of an English housing estate, belongs
+increasingly to the world of bureaucratized architecture. The house, on
+the other hand, conceived as an individualized entity, remained almost
+as much a specialized and exceptional product as the church; yet the
+changes first made in individual houses gradually affected all housing
+standards. Particularly in North and South America they still provided
+architectural opportunities of the greatest interest and variety. Most
+Latin American houses, for example, retained the semi-oriental ideals of
+seclusion of the Iberian tradition; yet behind the walls surrounding
+their plots to cut out the world, they were often opener than houses in
+the United States, since a warm climate makes of the patio or garden the
+principal living area. Niemeyer’s own house of 1954 at Gávea outside Rio
+de Janeiro is almost as much a glass box as Mies’s or Johnson’s,
+although its glass walls are set under a slab whose outline is a
+continuous free curve. The house of Osvaldo Arthur Bratke (b. 1907) at
+3008 Avenida Morumbí outside São Paulo is also closer in plan and
+conception to houses in the United States, protection of various sorts
+being provided by grilles and movable shutters (Figure 56).
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 56. Osvaldo Arthur Bratke: São Paulo, Morumbí, Bratke house,
+ 1953, plan
+]
+
+There was considerable variety in mid-century house-design in Latin
+America, ranging all the way from such Mexican houses as those of
+Francisco Artigas (b. 1916) or Sordo Madaleno that present a blank wall
+to the street and yet open up completely to a patio or a garden, to
+Niemeyer’s open pavilion at Gávea. In North America there was perhaps
+even wider diversity. Despite the equalization of climate by then
+readily provided by heating and cooling facilities, there were still
+great differences between one region and another in the forces of nature
+that must be controlled or protected against, from the insects and
+hurricanes of Florida to the blizzards of Minnesota, than between the
+various countries of Latin America. Johnson’s Davis house at Wayzata in
+Minnesota was enclosed, however, not because of the climate, but in
+order to provide hanging space for an art collection, while it opens
+within on to a patio that can be roofed in winter (Figure 57). Neither
+screening nor anchorage against high winds is conspicuous in the design
+of most of the Florida houses of Paul Rudolph (b. 1918). On the West
+Coast the aberrant casualness of the Bay Region manner of the thirties
+and forties now became increasingly disciplined. Wooden construction,
+pitched roofs, and a certain discursiveness of planning still
+contrasted, however, with more rigidly Miesian design; yet the finest
+houses of Joseph Esherick in and around San Francisco or of John Yeon in
+Portland, Ore., to mention only two West Coast architects, sometimes
+rivalled in distinction those of Johnson and Rudolph.
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ Figure 57. Philip Johnson: Wayzata, Minn., Richard S. Davis house,
+ 1954
+]
+
+Whether the building of individual houses in other countries will ever
+again have the significance it still retains in the New World depends on
+many extra-architectural factors. The last thing a historian should
+pretend with regard to this or to any other aspect of the near-present
+is that he is capable of prophecy. The history of architecture in the
+second half of this century can only be written in the future. The
+glimpses—for they are no more than that—of post-war production given
+here represent a critic’s and not an historian’s selection, and a
+selection that has inevitably been much influenced by what that critic
+knows best at first hand.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Despite the obligation to provide in the Introduction some sort of
+eighteenth-century foundation, this book had a real historical
+turning-point for its actual beginning; it had, in the mid 1950s, no
+such point at which to end. From Wright, near ninety, to men two
+generations younger, some of whom have been mentioned in this chapter,
+the work of the architects of the western world showed then no
+convincing evidence of a major and general turn, however surprising in
+the light of his work of the twenties Le Corbusier’s church at Ronchamp
+might seem. We stopped in mid-stream and even the Epilogue which follows
+can provide no true peroration. Fortunately the contemporary history of
+architecture is being recorded more promptly and completely than ever
+before in the professional press. It does not seem necessary to footnote
+this chapter or the Epilogue with references to periodicals when every
+issue of the principal journals inevitably includes material
+illustrative of current production throughout the world. Yet when one
+leaves the world of history for the world of ‘current events’, the time
+has come to turn from books to periodicals. In the Bibliography there
+are naturally few ‘monographs’—i.e. books or summary articles—devoted to
+the men first mentioned in this chapter, since many of them were still
+at the outset of their careers.[545]
+
+From Papworth’s ‘Cottage Orné’ (Plate 122A) to the slabs of Loughborough
+Road (Plate 186B)—’model’ dwellings both; from the Bank of England to
+Thyssen Haus (Plate 191), both housing business as it was never housed
+before the period with which this book deals; from Baltimore Cathedral
+(Plate 5) to Notre-Dame-du-Haut (Plate 167), the range of notable
+achievement recorded in this book is not readily outranked in variety by
+any other hundred-and-fifty-year period in the history of the western
+world. As to the absolute quality of that achievement, as distinguished
+from what may be called the ‘plot’-interest of various relatively
+coherent developments continuing over the last century and a half, it
+requires a very catholic taste indeed even to pretend to pronounce. The
+‘revivals’ of the nineteenth century and the ‘traditionalism’ of the
+twentieth century accepted the dangerous challenge of meeting the
+earlier past on its own ground, and this in itself is enough to reduce
+the absolute value of most nineteenth- and twentieth-century production.
+Yet there were renaissances long before there were revivals; and at
+almost any given moment of the past most production has been the
+equivalent in stylistic retardation of the traditional architecture of
+the twentieth century. If one must have originality, these hundred and
+fifty years have not lacked it, from Ledoux and Soane to Gaudí and
+Wright. Of the hundreds of names mentioned in these twenty-five chapters
+there are few doubtless equal to Bramante or to Bernini, but how many
+were there in the preceding hundred and fifty years? while the variety
+of approach represented, from a Schinkel to a Le Corbusier, from a
+Butterfield to a Mies, is hardly to be equalled in any comparable period
+of history. Above all, this is the stage of architectural history that
+lies between the unhallowed present and the hallowed past, between the
+cultural certainties—if they were so certain—of the eighteenth century
+and the cultural anxieties of the present. What we are we can only hope
+to understand by exploring the immediate ancestry of our own present.
+Only revivalists could afford to denigrate and ignore all that lay
+between them and some ‘golden age’ they sought to emulate. The future
+must build upon the foundations—so very various, so often nearly
+contradictory—of the architecture of the last hundred and fifty years.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ EPILOGUE
+
+
+THE five years since the original edition of this book appeared have
+seen a building boom throughout the western world such as has rarely
+been equalled in other post-war periods; nor has this boom been confined
+to those countries of Europe and the Americas with which this account
+has chiefly been concerned. These have also been years of
+continuing—indeed increasing—uncertainty in architectural doctrine. As
+might have been expected, various tendencies already touched on in the
+preceding chapter—both positive (although often apparently reactionary)
+tendencies towards greater individuality, and negative or, at least in
+the present context, conservative tendencies towards somewhat tired
+repetition of pre-war clichés—have not only continued but become much
+stronger. The tonality of the over-all picture of current architectural
+production has by now definitely changed. That relative balance between
+what may, at their best, be called the Miesian and the Corbusian, still
+maintained almost everywhere in the mid fifties, had by the early
+sixties been upset. In hindsight, for example, it must now seem that
+such mature and established architects as the Finnish Alvar Aalto and
+the American Louis Kahn were inadequately treated in previous
+chapters—not to speak of such still older men whose activity has
+continued or been renewed as the Germans Hans Scharoun and the late
+Rudolf Schwarz. Various new names call for attention also: the Dutchman
+Aldo van Eyck, for example, the Norwegian Sverre Fehn, the Japanese
+Tange and Maekawa, the Italian Viganò, and the English firm of Stirling
+& Gowan, to mention but a few that were all but unknown internationally
+in the mid fifties whose work is now of rising consequence.
+
+For all the evidences of change, it is almost as difficult as it was
+five years ago to isolate the common denominator of the new tendencies
+except in negative terms. It is still easier to be explicit about what
+architects are moving away from—what they are rejecting—than whither
+they are headed. Any attempt in a few words to describe positively the
+present architectural climate faces the difficulty that only in certain
+extreme works are novel architectural ideals and ideas wholly dominant;
+while by no means all the current building that does _not_ follow in the
+newer directions, either by older architects such as Mies himself or by
+those who have stayed faithful to his canons—whether intentionally or by
+default of any alternative allegiance—can yet be dismissed as merely
+vulgar, provincial, or _retardataire_.
+
+The rejection of the advanced doctrines of the 1920s and 1930s has
+rarely been total. The assumption of some writers, moreover, that there
+has yet been any serious and concerted return to Beaux-Arts or other
+pre-modern standards is, as regards the attitude of most mature
+architects—even those who actually have such backgrounds—still something
+of an exaggeration. On the other hand, the current sensibilities to
+which architects such as Aalto and Kahn, at least, have been
+successfully appealing—and in Aalto’s case for some twenty-five years
+already—are certainly very different from the sensibilities that once
+responded to the crisp geometries, the smooth surfaces, the glass walls,
+and the minimal detailing of the Bauhaus (Plate 161A), the Savoye house
+(Plate 159), and the Barcelona Pavilion (Plate 165A). ‘Neo-Brutalism’,
+or _brutalismo_, is as dangerous a term to use indiscriminately as any
+other critical catchword that has been prematurely popularized. But it
+does suggest, at least by a play upon words in several languages, a
+current climate of taste which favours _béton brut_—naked concrete—and
+rough, usually rather dark-coloured, materials. Bricks, pre-cast slabs
+with a coarse aggregate in relief, or even stone masonry of rubble or
+quarry-faced granite, with rather heavy trim of raw or varnished wood
+and wrought iron, are widely preferred to the slicker, more highly
+finished elements that are the natural product of the increasing
+industrialization of the building crafts. But this is literally
+superficial.
+
+Associated with the notable shift of preference as regards the texture
+of the skin, so to say, of buildings there has been a comparable rise of
+interest in broken silhouettes, uneven skylines, masses that are
+articulated rather than unified, and expressive exposure of individual
+structural elements, themselves often sculptural rather than mechanistic
+in character. This has affected in varying degree the work of almost all
+architects from the most Corbusian to the most Miesian. Windows,
+moreover, tend to be fewer and smaller, and their shapes are very likely
+to be vertical rather than horizontal, slots instead of ribbons. So also
+plans now emphasize the particularity of various internal functions and
+over-all organization tends towards additive compilation of contiguous
+spatial units, in some cases equal or modular, in others disparate in
+both size and shape. All this would once have been disapproved by most
+critics as under-studied, not to say amateurish, before Aalto’s mature
+work became a major international influence (Plates 173B and 182A).
+There is surely some reflection of the painting and the sculpture of the
+past decade, even perhaps of its most advanced music, in the apparent
+intention to suggest freehand improvisation and randomness in an art
+whose works, however their designing may have been initiated, are
+necessarily in the end products of relatively long periods of
+preparatory study and of complex collaborative execution.
+
+Yet to hazard such statements as these, even though they have long
+applied to much of the work of Aalto and are now true in varying degree
+of the production of architects as different in many basic ways as the
+Frenchman Guillaume Gillet or the Italian Franco Albini, is to be
+reminded of the prevalence of another kind of interest in more elaborate
+effects of detail—often denigrated as merely decorative—that is being
+exploited not only by such well-established architects as the Americans
+Edward Stone or Minoru Yamasaki, on the one hand, and by the German Egon
+Eiermann, on the other—otherwise quite opposed as a result of their very
+different training, experience, and personal dispositions—but by many
+others from Latin America to Asia and Africa.
+
+Perhaps it may be said in very simple terms that what is widely
+recognized as the newest architecture has two aspects, one exaggeratedly
+masculine, the other almost daintily feminine. Both are in some cases to
+be found illustrated, in a curious kind of rhythmic alternation, by
+successive works of the same architect; both contrast with the neutral
+severity of the architecture of the immediately preceding period. Yet
+both clearly have their half-admitted precedents in the varied and even
+contradictory work over many decades of Frank Lloyd Wright and that of
+the Expressionists forty years and more ago.
+
+Even if it could be accepted, for the moment, that these two tendencies
+represent the whole story, few would be impartial enough to admit that
+they are _equally_ characteristic of the more serious architectural
+production of the present. Thanks to a revival of near-Puritanical
+asceticism in some quarters, sharply contrasting with the readiness in
+others to beguile with somewhat saccharine ‘beauty’, the more masculine
+aspect has been presented as superior morally and even as more
+‘advanced’; for there are still those ready, as in the 1920s and 1930s,
+to plead near-Hegelian necessities for one or another direction in which
+architecture may be moving, necessities that are often in patent
+opposition to the actual pressures from the aesthetically neutral realm
+of technology.
+
+But the two aspects so far noted do not, in any case, even suggest the
+full complexity of the present situation. A third, not necessarily
+related to the other two yet also, possibly, subsuming both, is more
+evident to historians than it is to most architects. Admitting the
+danger of pressing analogies with the morphology of earlier periods—the
+Gothic, say, or the Renaissance—there is at least a presumption that
+what we have known as ‘modern architecture’ is (rather prematurely, it
+must seem) already in a ‘late’ phase. Recurrent in late phases there
+have usually been two distinguishable but often closely related aspects
+of academicism: a return towards principles that dominated the arts
+before the stylistic revolution with which the particular cycle began,
+on the one hand, and on the other the reduction to an easily applied
+system of formal elements of the painfully evolved features that were
+peculiar to the preceding ‘high’ phase.
+
+But reaction, to give this aspect of the current architectural scene an
+unnecessarily denigratory name, is quite likely in particular instances
+to be more due to the special circumstances of the current building boom
+than to any hypothetical life-pattern of modern architecture. In the
+first half of the twentieth century economic influences were supposed,
+at least, to favour both technological advance in the building sciences
+and, concommitantly, ‘advanced’ design in the aesthetic sense. Not
+always, however, were the theoretical economies actually realized—or
+not, at any rate, before considerable time had passed—and ‘advanced’
+design often proved in practice not only expensive but physically
+uncomfortable. Then other kinds of technological development, by setting
+up even more expensive new standards of amenity, notably in such things
+as vertical transport, glare-control, and air conditioning, were already
+cancelling out the economies that mechanized methods of large-scale
+production were eventually making real. At the same time the inherent
+practical difficulties of such things as all-glass walls and completely
+open plans were increasingly realized as they were ever more generally
+and uncritically exploited. By the 1960s some of the technical
+improvements in building advocated since the 1920s, notably in the field
+of partial prefabrication and prefabrication of larger and larger
+components—whole sides of houses and flats, for example—had become
+widely viable, not to speak of new materials and structural methods that
+made certain features relatively easy and inexpensive to provide. Yet
+total prefabrication of dwelling units was remoter from
+realization—except in mobile units such as caravans—than a quarter of a
+century earlier, in part because the public’s willingness to accept the
+results of partial mechanization of house-production seemed actually, in
+many countries, to have diminished.
+
+The major building problems of the post-war world were not and still are
+not the production of individual monuments: opera houses, churches,
+stadia, and the like, on which professional as well as public attention
+has tended to focus and for which drastically new kinds of architectural
+expression can most readily be invented. What has been more significant
+are the large-scale reconstruction of bombed or blighted cities, the
+rehousing of very considerable segments of the population, and the
+provision of the manufacturing facilities, the offices, and the stores
+required by greater industrial, financial, and commercial activity.
+Inevitably, in a boom period, the very large volume of production over
+large sectors of the total range of building has led, in such work, to a
+sort of stasis in stylistic development. A vast amount of architectural
+energy everywhere must go into the mere carrying out of unprecedentedly
+extensive plans the major decisions for which were made as many as ten
+or fifteen years ago. An inertial lag is very evident wherever large
+urban areas, whether cleared twenty years ago by bombing or in the last
+few years by schemes of urban renewal, have been or are being rebuilt.
+Large parts of the world outside North America, moreover, are only now
+first learning how to build very tall structures and hardly yet ready to
+modify creatively what they have just learned to do at all.
+
+The last decade, and particularly the last five years, have seen the
+production of a great part of the urban and suburban settings in which
+we will probably be living for the rest of this century, and doubtless
+well into the next. Somewhat as the post-Napoleonic period carried out
+at an ever lower level of quality the ambitions and aspirations of the
+revolutionary architects of the later eighteenth century, so in the
+post-war years—and particularly the last five—there has come about the
+realization of many urbanistic ideals that once seemed fantastic or
+Utopian when they were first proposed some forty years ago. Inevitably
+there has been a diminution of visual interest when certain modes of
+design, first adumbrated in a few unique individual structures or in
+relatively modest housing projects in the 1920s by architects of intense
+conviction and high inventive power, have been applied wholesale, almost
+as clichés, by countless other men, usually much less able and less
+dedicated, throughout the whole world. Moreover, serious errors in the
+original ideals, perhaps only recognizable as those ideals came to
+large-scale actuality, have been discovered and denounced. To some
+critics certain earlier urban conditions, against whose vices those
+ideals were first invoked as correctives, have come to seem, by
+nostalgia, preferable in various human ways to the ‘brave new world’ of
+the 1920s which has, to such a surprising extent, become the real world
+of the 1960s.
+
+But the reaction against the International Style, thus to describe in
+over-simplified form what seems to be the consensus of many of the
+changes of attitude in the last years, is by no means as yet a
+counter-revolution. If the canons of the permissible and the desirable
+have been broadened by current theory and practice towards various
+aspects of what may still be called the traditional—including, as by now
+also traditional, much that was common to various pre- or
+extra-international Style aspects of earlier modern architecture—certain
+of the presuppositions of the most advanced architects of the 1920s
+still seem, though usually in revised form, quite as forward-looking as
+ever. For the rather limited aspects of function recognized by the
+Functionalists (if there ever were architects truly meriting that name),
+for example, far more sophisticated conceptions of function have come to
+be accepted by most architects whose fields of work are not industrial
+or commercial.
+
+Yet some engineers—the Italian Nervi, whose practice has become
+international in scope, the late Spaniard Torroja, the Mexican Candela,
+the Danish Arup, and the American Fuller, to mention but a few of the
+best known—have today reputations throughout the architectural
+profession, and even with the public, which neither the Swiss Maillart
+nor the lately deceased Frenchman Freyssinet had in their heyday half a
+century ago. None the less architecture is not more largely in the hands
+of the engineers today than it was earlier despite many prognoses, both
+pessimistic and optimistic, that the engineers are, or should be, taking
+over. Moreover the architectural quality, as distinguished from the
+technical ingenuity, of the works of the great engineers is often as
+notable as is that of those buildings by certain architects in which
+engineering principles are dominant such as Eero Saarinen’s Chantilly
+airport (Plate 190B).
+
+These paragraphs have necessarily been of the most general nature and
+critical rather than historical. Properly they should be illustrated by
+a considerable body of carefully described photographs, plans, and
+sections such as fortunately can be found in several current books
+covering either the whole world, or single countries, individual
+architects, or particular types of building. Some of the most useful of
+those that had appeared by the summer of 1962 will be found among the
+additions to the Bibliography. The few plates that it has been possible
+to add in this new edition cannot hope to present a conspectus of the
+various aspects of the current situation that have been at least
+mentioned in this Epilogue. But the plates of the Seagram Building
+(Plate 192) and the Guggenheim Museum (Plate 188A and B) may serve as a
+reminder that some of the dichotomies of the third quarter of this
+century in architecture could, in the late 1950s, be almost as well
+illustrated in the work of long-recognized masters of architecture as in
+that of men a generation or more younger. The illustrations of the work
+of Aalto, work actually of an earlier date, show clearly whence one of
+the winds of influence has for some time been blowing; while the plate
+of Japanese buildings (Plate 187) in contrast to the Thyssen Haus (Plate
+191), illustrate the international Corbusian and the international
+Miesian of these last years at levels that are notably high, both in the
+size and prominence of the structures and, what is more important, in
+intrinsic quality.
+
+Throughout its length this book has been less concerned with urbanism,
+with the architectural macrocosm, than with individual buildings; nor,
+for that matter, can photographs give the feeling of the newly rebuilt
+central and peripheral areas of our cities even as well as for the
+nineteenth century. The character of the Ludwigstrasse (Plate 10B) or
+the Place de l’Opéra (Plate 70C) can be fairly well apprehended from
+photographs; Park Avenue above the Grand Central Station, as rebuilt
+beginning with Lever House (Plate 189) in the last decade, or the
+cities, as distinguished from the individual public monuments, of
+Chandigarh and Brasilia—or even Cumbernauld in Scotland or Vållingby in
+Sweden—cannot.
+
+Despite all the confusion of architectural doctrine in the early 1960s,
+despite the vast areas of undistinguished and even manifestly bad
+building, these last years have seen their share of new masterworks, or
+at least of structures which in our present myopic view have already
+been accepted as such. Yet, on the negative side, several of the older
+leaders have left us: Wright, Freyssinet, Torroja, Skidmore, Schwarz,
+and, alas, a few rather younger men as well: Yorke in England, for
+example, and in America Eero Saarinen.
+
+Saarinen’s work, since the General Motors Technical Institute completed
+in 1955 and illustrated here (Figure 55; Plate 168B) which was so very
+Miesian, came by the late 1950s to epitomize the variety, not to say the
+incoherence, of the ambitions of many architects throughout the world in
+those years. Happily, after a mature career which lasted only eleven
+years compared to his father Eliel’s fifty, his contribution to
+American, indeed to world, architecture, culminated in two works, his
+colleges at Yale (Plate 185B) and his airport outside Washington (Plate
+190B) that in their differing, even apparently opposed, ways express
+many of the aspirations of our day at as high a level, perhaps, as
+earlier modern architecture ever reached except in the greatest works of
+Wright, Le Corbusier, and Mies. But what make Eero Saarinen in
+retrospect the typical architect of the late fifties and early sixties
+are, on the one hand, his Miesian beginnings, in sharp reaction to his
+father’s half-traditional romanticism, and on the other the fact that
+his _oeuvre_ included many works which in their wilfulness and even, one
+may say, their frivolity were well below the median standards of serious
+achievement in those years. Thus he stood, to an extent not always
+realized in his brief lifetime when the kaleidoscopic diversity of his
+buildings dazzled those it did not shock, at the centre of his age. His
+remarkably successful career, remarkable even in a period—so unlike
+several of the earlier decades of this century—when few architects of
+quality, even the most ascetic or most fanciful, were wholly without
+employment, made plain one of the central facts about these last few
+years: that the style or movement we call ‘modern architecture’ had in
+many, perhaps in most, countries achieved such total acceptance that
+clients were willing, almost too willing, to trust their architects in
+whatever novel direction they might wish to move, in terms of structure,
+of materials, and of either asceticism or decorative elaboration, not to
+speak of philosophical content.
+
+Remembering the extraordinary new developments in architecture that were
+under way in the 1760s two hundred years ago in the period with which
+the Introduction has dealt, the historian can only end by wondering
+whether in the welter of innovation of the last few years there lie
+somewhere the particular seeds from which the architecture of the later
+twentieth and twenty-first centuries will grow; whether, to use another
+dubious historical analogy, the stylistic development of this quarter of
+our century corresponds to the Mannerism of the central decades of the
+sixteenth century in Italy. May we look forward, towards 2000 perhaps,
+to some such immanent movement, at once a synthesis of many preceding
+technical and stylistic innovations and a return to some at least of the
+principles of the preceding ‘high’ phase, yet above all a vital new
+creation with a life-expectancy of a hundred years and more, as was the
+Baroque around 1600? From the latest Baroque Western European
+architecture turned away two centuries ago; to the Baroque, in any
+revivalistic sense, it is hardly likely to return. Yet after the
+ever-increasing divergencies, which have been as characteristic of the
+mid century as convergence was of twentieth-century architecture down to
+the 1930s, will we—perhaps before another decade has passed—begin to
+sense the beginnings of a new synthesis?
+
+Today, the problem must be posed in world terms. So far Eastern Europe,
+Asia, and Africa have, on the whole, been learners and disciples of the
+West. Will the countries of Eastern Europe and the new countries of Asia
+and Africa soon be making contributions towards a new world-style, such
+as in the last few decades first the North Americans, then the Latin
+Americans, and now the Japanese have made? Will the history of Western
+European architecture continue to be the principal story (which thanks
+to political conditions has been largely true up to the present) or will
+the Western European tradition, to which this volume has been almost
+completely devoted, become in the succeeding period somewhat peripheral
+and even alien to a basically changed situation in which under-developed
+countries will increasingly, as they come of age, tend to throw off
+cultural tutelage as they have mostly already thrown off political
+tutelage?
+
+The Brazilians could design and build in these last years Brasilia by
+themselves as well, perhaps better than Europeans or North
+Americans—above all, certainly, the architects of their own Portuguese
+homeland—could have built it for them. The Indians, on the other hand,
+have employed Le Corbusier and other Europeans, and the Iraqis have
+assigned the designing and building of their University to an American
+firm headed by an architect of German origin. The Japanese, who are in
+this respect already at the forefront, had employed Wright half a
+century ago for the Imperial Hotel; today it may perhaps be said that
+their own best work is superior to the Museum of Modern Art in Tokyo
+whose designs they obtained from Le Corbusier. Yet current Japanese
+architecture is not and is not intended to be—witness the
+foreign-language editions of two of their architectural
+periodicals—outside the tradition of Western European architecture;
+indeed, it represents the latest notable contribution to that
+architecture with which this book has hitherto dealt. It is appropriate,
+therefore, that the roster of plates in this book, which began with
+buildings conceived—in effect at least—in Rome and built in France, in
+England, and even in North America, should end with buildings built in
+Asia following principles first adumbrated by a Swiss in France. The
+later eighteenth century turned inward in architecture towards the Rome
+and the Greece that were at the fountain-head of the Western European
+tradition; today we should perhaps be turning outward towards the new
+non-European world which is still in the mid twentieth century, in
+architecture as in so much else, the child of Europe. Symbolically, at
+least, the best hope of a new architectural synthesis in the decades to
+come may lie in this fact; so that later histories of twentieth-century
+architecture will perhaps give as much attention and space to India or
+to some of the new African states as little Holland or vast North
+America have received in this account of the architecture of the last
+two hundred years.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ NOTES AND BIBLIOGRAPHY
+
+
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ NOTES
+
+
+ INTRODUCTION - Notes
+
+
+Footnote 1:
+
+ Sigfried Giedion introduced this term in his _Spätbarocker und
+ romantischer Klassizismus_ in 1922 and provided an extended discussion
+ of the concept. Fiske Kimball first used the term in English in his
+ article ‘Romantic Classicism in Architecture’, _Gazette des
+ Beaux-Arts_, XXV (1944), 95-112.
+
+Footnote 2:
+
+ See Hautecœur, L., _Rome et la renaissance de l’antiquité à la fin du
+ XVIII^e siècle_, Paris, 1912. However, the deeper background of theory
+ was French, not Roman. Unhappily the brevity with which this whole
+ matter must be treated here, where it is merely prefatory to an
+ account of nineteenth- and twentieth-century architecture, makes it
+ impossible to discuss such French theorists of the early eighteenth
+ century as J.-F. Félibien (1656-1733), A.-L. Cordemoy, and A.-F.
+ Frézier (1682-1773); even Laugier appears somewhat out of context,
+ since he was active not in Rome but in France. Hautecœur in _Histoire
+ de l’architecture classique_, vols III and IV, and Kaufmann in
+ _Architecture in the Age of Reason_—particularly in Chapter
+ XI—elaborate this background of theory in France centring round the
+ _Cours d’architecture ..._, Paris, 1770-7, of J.-F. Blondel (1705-74).
+
+Footnote 3:
+
+ See Harris, J., ‘Robert Mylne at the Academy of St Luke’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CXXX (1951), 341-52.
+
+Footnote 4:
+
+ Monographs on major architects will be found listed alphabetically by
+ architect in the Bibliography and are not referenced from the text.
+
+Footnote 5:
+
+ The changing attitudes towards the Greek Doric order provide a measure
+ of the rise of Romantic Classicism. It is noteworthy that Soufflot was
+ one of the first to make drawings of the very archaic Doric of
+ Paestum, but it never occurred to him to emulate it in his own work.
+ See Pevsner, N., and Lang, S., ‘Apollo or Baboon’, _Architectural
+ Review_, CIV (1948), 271-9.
+
+Footnote 6:
+
+ Winckelmann’s major work is the _Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums_,
+ 2 vols, Dresden, 1764.
+
+Footnote 7:
+
+ Interest in Egyptian forms can be traced all the way back through the
+ Baroque period to the early Renaissance, but it undoubtedly increased
+ after 1750 and lasted well into the next century. See Pevsner, N., and
+ Lang, S., ‘The Egyptian Revival’, _Architectural Review_, CXIX (1956),
+ 242-54. For a remarkable, rather late (1838-41) example of an
+ ‘Egyptian’ mill, see Bonser, K. J., ‘Marshall’s Mill, Holbeck, Leeds’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CXXVII (1960), 280-2. In the second quarter of
+ the nineteenth century Egyptian forms were most likely to be used,
+ especially in America, for prisons and cemetery accessories.
+
+Footnote 8:
+
+ Adam studied, with the assistance of the French _pensionnaire_ C.-L.
+ Clérisseau (1722-1820), the Late Roman ruins of Diocletian’s Palace at
+ Spalatro in 1757, and began his brilliant career in London two years
+ later with the Admiralty Screen in Whitehall. See Adam, R., _Ruins of
+ the Palace of the Emperor Diocletian at Spalatro_, London, 1764, and
+ Fleming, J., _Robert Adam and his Circle_, London, 1962.
+
+Footnote 9:
+
+ The present dome is a relatively late emendation; the original
+ crowning feature was much less severe. Soufflot sent a pupil named
+ Roche to London to make measured drawings of St Paul’s in 1776, the
+ year before he prepared this design.
+
+ In general, the Panthéon appears much more Romantic Classical today
+ than what Soufflot actually built. The towers which once rose over the
+ corners of the portico—in any case disapproved by Soufflot—were
+ removed by Antoine Quatremère de Quincy (1755-1849) in 1791, and he
+ also filled up the windows that originally cut into the plain wall
+ surfaces. The murals are all of the nineteenth century.
+
+Footnote 10:
+
+ Actually many of the spans are much too great to be covered by single
+ stones and the entablatures are really flat arches. There is also
+ considerable use of iron.
+
+Footnote 11:
+
+ See Petzet, M., _Soufflot’s Sainte Geneviève und der französische
+ Kirchenbau des 18. Jahrhunderts_, Berlin, 1961.
+
+Footnote 12:
+
+ See Rosenau, H., ‘George Dance the Younger’, _Journal of the Royal
+ Institute of British Architects_, LIV (1947), 502-7. Even more
+ significant of developing Romantic Classical taste at this point was
+ the character of the designs in Peyre, M.-J., _Livre sur
+ l’architecture_, Paris, 1765.
+
+Footnote 13:
+
+ See Rosenau, H. (ed.), _Boullée’s Treatise on Architecture_, London,
+ 1953; and Boullée, E.-L., _Mémoire sur ... la Bibliothèque du Roi
+ ..._, [Paris] 1785.
+
+Footnote 14:
+
+ This more classical arrangement was first proposed in the 1760s by
+ Pierre Patte (1723-1814), a theorist in the Blondel tradition, on the
+ analogy of Palladio’s theatre in Vicenza.
+
+Footnote 15:
+
+ This is not true, however, of much of his executed work at
+ Arc-et-Senans which has heavily plastic roofs of various shapes.
+
+Footnote 16:
+
+ So did Friedrich Gilly in Germany and—according to Kaufmann—Valadier
+ in Italy.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 1 - Notes
+
+Footnote 17:
+
+ See Steel, H. R., and Yerbury, F. R., _The Old Bank of England_,
+ London, 1930, for photographic coverage of this monument of which the
+ interiors were largely destroyed in the 1920s, and even the exterior
+ considerably—and unnecessarily—modified (see Chapter 24).
+
+Footnote 18:
+
+ See Britton, J., _Illustrations of Fonthill Abbey_, London, 1823;
+ Rutter, J., _An Illustrated History and Description of Fonthill
+ Abbey_, Shaftesbury, 1823; and Storer, J., _A Description of Fonthill
+ Abbey_, Wiltshire, London, 1812. The most extensive modern account of
+ the building of Fonthill Abbey is given by Brockman, H. A. N., _The
+ Caliph of Fonthill_, London [1956].
+
+Footnote 19:
+
+ See Pevsner, N., ‘The Genesis of the Picturesque’, _Architectural
+ Review_, XCVI (1944), 139-46, and Pevsner, N., ‘Richard Payne Knight’,
+ _Art Bulletin_, XXXI (1949), 293-320.
+
+Footnote 20:
+
+ Hussey in _The Picturesque_ lists many of these books and gives good
+ examples of their illustrations.
+
+Footnote 21:
+
+ First, that is, in this period. The columnar Monument in the City of
+ London by Robert Hooke, commemorating the Great Fire, dates from the
+ 1670s.
+
+Footnote 22:
+
+ See Telford, T., _An Account of the Improvements of the Port of
+ London_, London, 1801. Splendid later examples also survive in
+ Liverpool, built by the Corporation engineer Jesse Hartley
+ (1780-1860); see Waldron, J., ‘Measured Drawings of the Albert Dock
+ Warehouses in Liverpool’, _Architectural History_, IV (1961), 103-16.
+
+Footnote 23:
+
+ See Kimball, F., _Thomas Jefferson and the First Monument of the
+ Classic Revival in America_, Harrisburg, 1915.
+
+Footnote 24:
+
+ See Kimball, F., ‘The Genesis of the White House’, _Century Magazine_,
+ February 1918.
+
+Footnote 25:
+
+ See Brown, G., _History of the United States Capitol_, 2 vols,
+ Washington, 1900-3.
+
+Footnote 26:
+
+ See Kimball, F., ‘Origin of the Plan of Washington, D.C.’,
+ _Architectural Review_ (New York), VII (1918), 41-5; and Kite, E.,
+ _L’Enfant and Washington_, Baltimore, 1929.
+
+Footnote 27:
+
+ See Davison, C. V., ‘Maximilien and Eliza Godefroy’, ‘Maximilien
+ Godefroy’, _Maryland Historical Magazine_, March, September 1934.
+
+Footnote 28:
+
+ See Alexander, R. L., ‘The Public Memorial and Godefroy’s Battle
+ Monument’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XVII
+ (1958), 19-24.
+
+Footnote 29:
+
+ See Hislop, C., and Larrabee, H. A., ‘Joseph-Jacques Ramée and the
+ Building of North and South College’, _Union College Alumni Monthly_,
+ February 1938.
+
+Footnote 30:
+
+ The idea probably originated with Soufflot, who had earlier proposed a
+ similar plan for the cathedral of Rennes.
+
+Footnote 31:
+
+ See Blondel, J.-F., _Plan, coupe, et élévations du nouveau marché
+ Saint Germain_, Paris, 1816, and Délespine, P.-J., _Marché des Blancs
+ Manteaux_, Paris, 1827.
+
+Footnote 32:
+
+ See Chierici, G., _La Reggia di Caserta_, Rome, 1937; and Mongiello,
+ G., _La Reggia di Caserta_, Caserta, 1954.
+
+Footnote 33:
+
+ See Hautecœur, L., _L’Architecture classique à Saint Pétersbourg à la
+ fin du XVIII^e siècle_, Paris, 1912.
+
+Footnote 34:
+
+ See Loukomski, G., _Charles Cameron_, London, 1943.
+
+Footnote 35:
+
+ See Thomon, T. de, _Recueil des principaux monuments construits à
+ Saint Pétersbourg_, Petersburg, 1806; repeated in his _Traité de
+ peinture_, Paris, 1809; and Loukomski, G., ‘Thomas de Thomon’,
+ _Apollo_, XLII (1945), 297 ff.
+
+Footnote 36:
+
+ See Lancere, N., ‘Adrien Zakharov and the Admiralty at Petersburg’ (in
+ Russian), _Starye Gody_, (1911), 3-64.
+
+Footnote 37:
+
+ Kaufmann, who illustrates the Belanger project in _Architecture in the
+ Age of Reason_, figure 169, dates it around 1808 on the ground that
+ slaughterhouses first began to be built in Paris in that year. It is
+ extremely unlikely, of course, that Hansen ever saw this project; but
+ the similarity of his tower to Belanger’s indicates how closely he was
+ in tune with his French contemporaries. In any case similar towers are
+ to be found in the projects published by Durand in his _Précis_ of
+ 1802-5, which Hansen must have known (see Chapter 2).
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 2 - Notes
+
+Footnote 38:
+
+ Allais and others, _Projets d’architecture ... qui ont mérités les
+ grands prix_, Paris, 1806, and at different dates subsequently with
+ varying authors and titles. For a collection of earlier projects, see
+ Rosenau, H., ‘The Engravings of the Grand Prix of the French Academy
+ of Architecture’, _Architectural History_, III (1960), 17-180, since
+ the original publication is very rare.
+
+Footnote 39:
+
+ Durand was already well known as the compiler of the _Recueil et
+ parallèle des édifices en tout genre, anciens et modernes_, Paris,
+ 1800, a curious work in which the drawings of important buildings of
+ all periods are freely modified to bring them into conformity with the
+ author’s modular theories of proportion. This is conventionally known
+ as ‘Le grand Durand’.
+
+Footnote 40:
+
+ Rondelet, J. B., _Traité théorique et pratique de l’art de bâtir_, 4
+ vols, Paris, 1802-17. There were several later editions. From 1806
+ Rondelet taught at the École Spéciale d’Architecture, which was
+ shortly afterwards merged with the École Polytechnique.
+
+Footnote 41:
+
+ French designs of this period for houses were provided in profusion in
+ the publications of J. C. Krafft. See Krafft, J. C., and Ransonette,
+ N., _Plans, coupes, élévations des plus belles maisons et des hôtels
+ construits à Paris et dans les environs_, Paris [_c._ 1802]; reprint,
+ Paris, 1909; and Krafft, J. C., _Recueil d’architecture civile_,
+ Paris, 1812; later ed., 1829. Krafft, J. C., and Thiollet, F., _Choix
+ des plus jolies maisons de Paris et de ses environs, édifices et
+ monuments publics_, Paris, 1849, may also be mentioned here although
+ very much later. It is significant of the international availability
+ of the earliest work listed here that it was provided with texts in
+ French, English, and German.
+
+Footnote 42:
+
+ Klenze, L. von, _Walhalla in artistischer und technischer Beziehung_,
+ Munich, 1842.
+
+Footnote 43:
+
+ See Hitchcock, H.-R., _Early Museum Architecture_, Hartford, 1934.
+
+Footnote 44:
+
+ Grandjean de Montigny, A.-H.-V., and Famin, A.-P.-Ste-M.,
+ _Architecture toscane_, Paris, 1815.
+
+Footnote 45:
+
+ See Klenze, L. von, _Anweisung der Architektur des christlichen
+ Kultus_, Munich, 1834.
+
+Footnote 46:
+
+ See Möllinger, K., _Elemente des Rundbogenstiles_, 2nd ed., Munich,
+ 1848. It is convenient to retain the German term for this very
+ Germanic round-arched style, even though it flourished in several
+ countries besides Germany (see below in this chapter for Scandinavia,
+ and Chapter 5 for America).
+
+Footnote 47:
+
+ See Hübsch, H., _Die altchristlichen Kirchen nach den Baudenkmalen und
+ älteren Beschreibungen_, 2 vols, Karlsruhe, 1862-3.
+
+Footnote 48:
+
+ Durand, _Précis_, II, plate 13.
+
+Footnote 49:
+
+ See Häberlin, C. L., _Sanssouci, Potsdam und Umgebung_, Berlin and
+ Potsdam, 1855; Poensgen, G., _Die Bauten Friedrich Wilhelms IV in
+ Potsdam_, Potsdam, 1930; Huth, H., _Der Park von Sanssouci_, Berlin,
+ 1929; Kania, H., _Potsdamer Baukunst_, Berlin, 1926; _Potsdam. Staats-
+ und Bürgerbauten_, Berlin, 1939; and Hitchcock, H.-R., ‘Romantic
+ Architecture of Potsdam’, _International Studio_, 99 (1931), 46-9.
+
+Footnote 50:
+
+ See Sievers, J., _Das Palais des Prinzen Karl von Preussen_, Berlin,
+ 1928.
+
+Footnote 51:
+
+ Notably Séheult, F.-L., _Recueil d’architecture dessiné et mesuré en
+ Italie ... dans 1791-93_, Paris, 1821.
+
+Footnote 52:
+
+ See Persius, L., _Architektonische Entwürfe für den Umbau vorhandener
+ Gebäude_, Potsdam, 1849; _Architektonische Ausführungen_, Berlin
+ [1860?]; and Fleetwood Hesketh, R. and P., ‘Ludwig Persius of
+ Potsdam’, _Architects Journal_, LXVIII (1928), 77-87, 113-20.
+
+Footnote 53:
+
+ Ettlinger, L., ‘A German Architect’s Visit to England in 1826’,
+ _Architectural Review_, XCVII (1945), 131-4.
+
+Footnote 54:
+
+ See Poensgen, G., _Schloss Babelsberg_, Berlin, 1929.
+
+Footnote 55:
+
+ See Frölich, M., and Sperlich, H. G., _Georg Moller, Baumeister der
+ Romantik_, Darmstadt, 1959.
+
+Footnote 56:
+
+ See Semper, G., _Das königliche Hoftheater zu Dresden_, Brunswick,
+ 1849.
+
+Footnote 57:
+
+ Gärtner’s design for the Palace owes a good deal to a project prepared
+ by Klenze for a palace on the Kerameikos hill which was never begun.
+ Fortunately Schinkel’s more ambitious project for a palace on the
+ Akropolis was also not carried out.
+
+ The digging away of the ground, which originally sloped up to the
+ Palace above the square, and the introduction in the 1930s of the
+ present retaining wall with the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier have
+ diminished somewhat the effectiveness of the front of the Palace.
+
+Footnote 58:
+
+ See Amodeo, A., ‘La Giovinezza di Pietro Nobile’, ‘La Maturità di
+ Pietro Nobile’, _L’Architettura_, I (1955), 49-52; 378-84.
+
+Footnote 59:
+
+ See _Thorvaldsens Museum_, Copenhagen, 1953.
+
+Footnote 60:
+
+ See Hekker, H. C., ‘De Nederlandse Bouwkunst in het Begin van de
+ Negentiende Eeuw’, _Bulletin van de Kon. Ned. Oudh. Bond_, IV (1951),
+ 1-28.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 3 - Notes
+
+Footnote 61:
+
+ The idea for the two-towered façade is probably derived from a project
+ of 1809 by Lebas, but could also come from Gisors’s Saint-Vincent in
+ Mâcon of 1810.
+
+Footnote 62:
+
+ Three pieces only of the enamelled lava decoration were put in place;
+ owing to the ensuing outcry they were soon removed.
+
+Footnote 63:
+
+ Hittorff and other architects of his generation such as Henri
+ Labrouste and Duban, who supported his proposal to revive the external
+ polychromy they had noted on the Classical temples of Sicily, were
+ closer in fact to Ingres than to Delacroix. Ingres in 1828 backed
+ Labrouste’s controversial rendering of the Paestum temples showing
+ external colour. Duban, one of the first to introduce polychrome
+ decoration—the plaques of enamelled lava used in the entrance
+ courtyard of the École des Beaux-Arts are his—was a close friend and
+ on occasion a collaborator of Ingres. Hittorff collected paintings by
+ Ingres and assisted him with the architectural backgrounds of his
+ pictures, though that in the ‘Stratonice’, which gives perhaps the
+ best idea of the sort of polychromy intended by these architects, was
+ supplied by Victor Baltard.
+
+Footnote 64:
+
+ Actually the original paintwork on the beams and panels of the
+ vestibules of the Gare du Nord is still there, but so dulled and
+ begrimed that one hardly notices it. To the twentieth century the
+ remarkable roof of Hittorff’s Rotonde des Panoramas in the Champs
+ Élysées of 1836 would be, if extant, of more interest, since it was
+ suspended from iron cables.
+
+Footnote 65:
+
+ As has been noted in Chapter 2, both de Chateauneuf and Meuron studied
+ with Leclerc.
+
+Footnote 66:
+
+ The history of this project is very complicated. As might be surmised
+ from its character, a design was at one point prepared by Gilbert, the
+ principal Louis Philippe architect for this sort of work. The actual
+ construction of the Hôtel Dieu by Diet followed only after a decade of
+ changes of plan, yet the executed work probably incorporates something
+ of Gilbert’s design; in any case, what was built is still wholly in
+ the spirit of Gilbert’s Louis Philippe work and not at all in that of
+ the Second Empire (see Chapter 8). Diet was Gilbert’s son-in-law.
+
+Footnote 67:
+
+ Begun by John Harvey, continued by Thomas Hardwick, and completed by
+ Sir Robert Smirke.
+
+Footnote 68:
+
+ See Venditti, A., _Architettura neoclassica a Napoli_, Naples, 1961.
+
+Footnote 69:
+
+ See Missirini, M., _Del Tempio eretto in Possagno da Antonio Canova_,
+ Venice, 1833. Some give credit to Selva, but not Bassi his biographer.
+ See also Meeks, C. L. V., ‘Pantheon Paradigm’, _Journal of the Society
+ of Architectural Historians_, XIX (1960), 135-44.
+
+Footnote 70:
+
+ See Falconetti, A., _Il Caffè Pedrocchi, dagherrotipo artistico
+ descrittivo_, Padua, 1847; and Cimegotto, C., and others, [Centenary
+ volume on the Caffè Pedrocchi], Padua, 1931.
+
+Footnote 71:
+
+ See Montferrand, A.-R. de, _L’Église cathédrale de Saint-Isaac,
+ description architecturale, pittoresque, et historique_,
+ Saint-Pétersbourg, 1845.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 4 - Notes
+
+Footnote 72:
+
+ Many additions and changes in the house were made from 1816 on; a top
+ storey and a Picture Room of 1825-6 behind No. 14 were the most
+ consequential. See Soane, J., _Description of the House and Museum on
+ the North Side of Lincoln’s Inn Fields_, London, 1832; enl. ed.,
+ 1835-6.
+
+Footnote 73:
+
+ See Note [17], Chapter 1. The new interiors were built in 1818; the
+ front and side façades were rebuilt in 1823.
+
+Footnote 74:
+
+ St Pancras is really based on Gibbs’s St Martin’s-in-the-Fields as
+ regards the exterior; but all the features have, so to say, been
+ translated into the Greek of the Erechtheum. See Inwood, W. and H. W.,
+ _St Pancras New Church. Specifications ..._, London, 1819; and Inwood,
+ H. W., The _Erechtheion at Athens_, London, 1827.
+
+Footnote 75:
+
+ See Smith, H. C., _Buckingham Palace_, London, 1931.
+
+ The palatial character of Cumberland Terrace is due to the fact that
+ it faced the site of an intended summer palace in the Park planned for
+ George IV but never even begun.
+
+Footnote 76:
+
+ See Pevsner, N., ‘British Museum 1753-1953’, _Architectural Review_,
+ CXIII (1953), 179-82.
+
+Footnote 77:
+
+ See Rolt, L. T. C., _George and Robert Stephenson_, London, 1960.
+
+Footnote 78:
+
+ See Fort, M., ‘Francis Goodwin, 1784-1835’, _Architectural History_, I
+ (1958), 61-72.
+
+Footnote 79:
+
+ See Whiffen, M., _The Architecture of Sir Charles Barry in Manchester
+ and Neighbourhood_, Manchester, 1950.
+
+Footnote 80:
+
+ See Dobson, J. J., _Memoir of John Dobson_, London, 1885.
+
+Footnote 81:
+
+ In one sense the Baths of Caracalla provided Elmes’s model, since the
+ size of the great interior there was intentionally exceeded here; in
+ another sense, this was a grandiose development of Wren’s relatively
+ modest interior of St James’s, Piccadilly. Just as Gibbs was
+ translated into Greek by the Inwoods at St Pancras’, Wren was
+ translated into Latin here, but with less precision of vocabulary.
+
+Footnote 82:
+
+ See Parker, C., _Villa Rustica_, 3 vols, London, 1832, 1833, 1841; 2nd
+ ed., London, 1848.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 5 - Notes
+
+Footnote 83:
+
+ When railway stations were needed in Brazil after the mid century they
+ were actually imported, in prefabricated iron, from England.
+
+Footnote 84:
+
+ See Haviland, J. _A Description of Haviland’s Design for the New
+ Penitentiary ..._, Philadelphia, 1824; Anon., _A Description of the
+ Eastern Penitentiary ..._, Philadelphia, 1830; Crawford, W., _Report
+ on the Penitentiaries of the United States_, London, 1834; Demetz,
+ F.-A., and Blouet, A.-G., _Rapport sur les penitenciers des États
+ Unis_, Paris, 1837; and Markus, T. A., ‘Pattern of the Law; Bentham’s
+ Panopticon Scheme’, _Architectural Review_, CXVI (1954), 251-6.
+
+Footnote 85:
+
+ See Haviland, J., _The Builder’s Assistant_, 3 vols, Philadelphia,
+ 1818-21—the first to include plates of the Greek orders; 2nd ed.,
+ Philadelphia, 1830; Benjamin, A., _The American Builder’s Companion_,
+ Boston, 1827 (the first edition is of 1806, but Greek orders were not
+ included until this latest edition); _The Practical House Carpenter_,
+ Boston, 1830, with later editions to 1857; _Practice of Architecture_,
+ New York, 1833, with later editions to 1851; _Elements of
+ Architecture_, Boston, 1843, 2nd ed., 1849; _The Builder’s Guide_,
+ Boston, 1839, with later editions to the Civil War; Lafever, M., _The
+ Young Builder’s General Instructor_, Newark, 1829; _The Modern
+ Builder’s Guide_, New York, 1833, with later editions to 1855; _The
+ Beauties of Modern Architecture_, New York, 1835, with later editions
+ to 1855; _The Architectural Instructor_, New York, 1856; Shaw, E.,
+ _Civil Architecture_, Boston, 1830, with later editions to 1855; and
+ Hills, C., _The Builder’s Guide_, Hartford, 1834, with later editions
+ to 1847.
+
+Footnote 86:
+
+ See Willard, S., _Plans and Sections of the Obelisk on Bunker’s Hill_,
+ Boston, 1843.
+
+Footnote 87:
+
+ See Mills, R., _The American Pharos; or, Lighthouse Guide_,
+ Washington, 1832; and _Waterworks for the Metropolitan City of
+ Washington_, Washington, 1853.
+
+Footnote 88:
+
+ See Thayer, R., History, _Organization and Functions of the Office of
+ the Supervising Architect of the Treasury Department_, Washington,
+ 1886; and Strobridge, T. R., ‘Archives of the Supervising
+ Architect—Treasury Department’, _Journal of the Society of
+ Architectural Historians_, XX (1961), 198-9. See also Overby, O.,
+ ‘Ammi B. Young in the Connecticut Valley’, _Journal of the Society of
+ Architectural Historians_, XIX (1960), 119-23.
+
+Footnote 89:
+
+ See O’Neal, W. B., Jefferson’s _Buildings at the University of
+ Virginia_, I, Charlottesville, 1960. Like the hill-top siting of
+ Monticello, Jefferson’s own nearby house—begun before the American
+ Revolution and finally completed only in 1808—this provision of an
+ open end towards the view illustrates his active response to the
+ ideals of the Picturesque. For Monticello, moreover, drawings of
+ Gothick garden fabricks exist. The fact that McKim, Mead & White
+ blocked the view at the bottom of Jefferson’s layout with a new
+ building in the twentieth century is curious evidence of the lack of
+ understanding of the essential qualities of the architecture and
+ planning of this period on the part of even the most sophisticated
+ ‘traditional’ architects—men who professed the greatest admiration for
+ the work of such predecessors as Jefferson and yet proceeded to
+ destroy its essence whenever the opportunity arose!
+
+Footnote 90:
+
+ From the time of Latrobe’s Bank of 1798 the Greek temple paradigm for
+ public buildings characteristically and quite inconsistently included
+ vaulted interiors for protection against fire.
+
+Footnote 91:
+
+ In Nicholson, Peter, _The Carpenter’s Guide_, London, 1849. See also
+ Walter, T. U., _Report(s) of the Architect of the Girard College ..._
+ [Philadelphia, 1834-50].
+
+Footnote 92:
+
+ Once more, as with Latrobe and Mills, the importance of Strickland’s
+ work as an engineer should at least be noted. The principal
+ publications of the period in this domain are his _Reports on the
+ Canals, Railways, Roads and other Subjects_, Philadelphia, 1826, and
+ his _Reports, Specifications and Estimates of Public Works in the
+ United States_, London, 1841.
+
+Footnote 93:
+
+ The history of the building is so complex that it is difficult to know
+ to whom the credit should be assigned for its distinguished design.
+ The competition held in 1838 was won by Walter, who actually laid the
+ foundations in 1839-40; but the executed design certainly owes more to
+ the competition project of the painter Thomas Cole (1801-48). See
+ Cummings, A. L., ‘The Ohio State Capitol Competition’, _Journal of the
+ Society of Architectural Historians_, XII (1953), 15-18. Modifications
+ of the scheme initiated in 1839-40 were made with Walter’s assistance
+ in 1844, and building was resumed in 1848 under the direction of
+ William Russell West of Cincinnati. On his resignation in 1854 Nathan
+ B. Kelly (1808-71) of Columbus succeeded, and the work was finally
+ brought to a finish by Isaiah Rogers in 1858-61.
+
+Footnote 94:
+
+ See Wheildon, W. W., _Memoir of Solomon Willard_, Boston, 1865.
+
+Footnote 95:
+
+ Greenough is better known today as the ‘herald of functionalism’ than
+ as a sculptor. See Wynne, N., and Newhall B., ‘Horatio Greenough:
+ Herald of Functionalism’, _Magazine of Art_, XXII (1939), 12-15. For
+ his theories, see Greenough, H., _Aesthetics at Washington_,
+ Washington, 1851; _Travels, Observations, and Experience of a Yankee
+ Stone-cutter_, New York, 1852; and _Form and Function: Remarks on Art_
+ (H. A. Small, ed.), Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1947.
+
+Footnote 96:
+
+ There are measured drawings of these commercial buildings in
+ Hitchcock, H.-R., _Guide to Boston Architecture_, New York, 1954.
+
+Footnote 97:
+
+ The most thorough study of American industrial building of this
+ period, including the housing of operatives, is Coolidge, J. P., _Mill
+ and Mansion_, New York, 1942, which deals with Lowell, Mass.
+ Considerable Rhode Island work is illustrated in Hitchcock, H.-R.,
+ _Rhode Island Architecture_, Providence, R.I., 1939.
+
+Footnote 98:
+
+ See Eliot, W. H., _A Description of the Tremont House_, Boston, 1830.
+
+Footnote 99:
+
+ Davis intended to include a central domed space on the model of
+ Latrobe’s Bank of 1798. This was omitted when the design of the
+ interior was revised by Samuel Thomson or William Ross and executed by
+ John Frazee. See Torres, L., ‘Samuel Thomson and the Old Custom
+ House’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XX
+ (1961), 185-90.
+
+Footnote 100:
+
+ See Schuyler, M., ‘A Great American Architect; Leopold Eidlitz’,
+ _Architectural Record_, XXIV, 163-79, 277-92, 364-78, and, for a more
+ general treatment, Meeks, C. L. V., ‘Romanesque before Richardson in
+ the United States’, _Art Bulletin_, XXXV (1953), 17-33.
+
+Footnote 101:
+
+ See Stone, E. M., _The Architect and Monetarian: a Brief Memoir of
+ Thomas Alexander Tefft_, Providence, R.I., 1869, and Wriston, B.,
+ ‘Architecture of Thomas Tefft’, _Rhode Island School of Design
+ Bulletin_, XVIII (1940), 37-45.
+
+Footnote 102:
+
+ See Meeks, C. L. V., ‘Henry Austin and the Italian Villa’, _Art
+ Bulletin_, XXX (1948), 145 ff.
+
+Footnote 103:
+
+ See Smith, R. C., _John Notman and the Atheneum Building_,
+ Philadelphia, 1951.
+
+Footnote 104:
+
+ See Young, A. B., _New Custom House_, Boston, Boston, 1840. The tower
+ that now replaces the dome was built by Peabody & Stearns in 1913-15;
+ it was the first real skyscraper in Boston.
+
+Footnote 105:
+
+ See Young, A. B., _Plans of Public Buildings in Course of Construction
+ under the Direction of the Secretary of the Treasury_, [Washington]
+ 1855-6.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 6 - Notes
+
+Footnote 106:
+
+ Hussey devotes only a portion of his book to the Picturesque in
+ architecture. See also Pevsner, N., ‘The Picturesque in Architecture’,
+ _Journal of the Royal Institute of British Architects_, LV (1947),
+ 55-61. C. L. V. Meeks in ‘Picturesque Eclecticism’, _Art Bulletin_,
+ XXXII (1950), 226-35, extends the range of the Picturesque to include
+ considerably more of nineteenth-century architecture than is usual. As
+ with ‘Romantic’ or ‘Classical’, it makes a difference whether or not
+ one uses a capital; with a capital it seems best to restrict the term
+ Picturesque to the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries,
+ although the point of view lasted down into the fifties, and it is
+ also possible to recognize a sort of ‘Neo-Picturesque’ in the
+ seventies and eighties (see Chapters 12 and 13 particularly).
+
+Footnote 107:
+
+ See Note [19], Chapter 1.
+
+Footnote 108:
+
+ Thomas Hopper was even more addicted to the ‘Neo-Norman’, as Gosford
+ Castle in Ireland, begun in 1819, and the rather late Penrhyn Castle
+ of 1827-37 near Bangor in Wales, all built of Mona marble and with a
+ keep copied from that of twelfth-century Hedingham Castle in Essex,
+ splendidly illustrate. See Fedden, R. R., ‘Thomas Hopper and the
+ Norman Revival’, in _Studies in Architectural History_, II (1956).
+
+Footnote 109:
+
+ See Musgrave, C., _Royal Pavilion; a Study in the Romantic_, Brighton,
+ 1951; and Roberts, H. D., _A History of the Royal Pavilion, Brighton_,
+ London, 1939.
+
+Footnote 110:
+
+ See Stroud, D., _Henry Holland_, London, 1950.
+
+Footnote 111:
+
+ Repton’s scheme was much less eclectic than Nash’s, being entirely
+ based, like Sezincote, on the Daniells’ book on India (see Chapter 1).
+
+Footnote 112:
+
+ See Dale, A., _Fashionable Brighton, 1820-1860_, London, 1947; and
+ _History and Architecture of Brighton_, Brighton, 1950.
+
+Footnote 113:
+
+ The work was begun in 1818 and continued down into the thirties. See
+ Thompson, Francis, _A History of Chatsworth_, London, 1949.
+
+Footnote 114:
+
+ See Clark, E., _The Britannia and Conway Tubular Bridges_, 2 vols and
+ album, London, 1850.
+
+Footnote 115:
+
+ This was begun only in 1837 and completed, without the elaborate
+ Egyptian decoration that Brunel originally intended, by W. H. Barlow
+ (1812-1902) in 1864.
+
+Footnote 116:
+
+ See Donner, P., ‘Edensor, or Brown come True’, _Architectural Review_,
+ XCV (1944), 39-43; and Chadwick’s _The Works of Sir Joseph Paxton_,
+ 162-5, which gives primary credit to Paxton.
+
+Footnote 117:
+
+ See Loudon, J. C., _Encyclopaedia of Cottage, Farm and Villa
+ Architecture and Furniture_, London, 1833; 2nd ed. with Supplement,
+ 1842. This is the culminating anthology of the Picturesque,
+ summarizing and all but concluding some forty years of Cottage and
+ Villa Book production in England.
+
+Footnote 118:
+
+ In addition to the treatises of C. L. Eastlake, Sir Kenneth Clark,
+ Basil F. L. Clarke, and Marcus Whiffen listed in the Bibliography, see
+ Kamphausen, A., _Gotik ohne Gott: ein Beitrag zur Deutung der Neugotik
+ und des 19. Jahrhunderts_, Tübingen, 1952.
+
+Footnote 119:
+
+ See Britton, J., _The Architectural Antiquities of Great Britain_, 5
+ vols, London, 1804-14; _Cathedral Antiquities of Great Britain_, 14
+ parts, 1814-35; etc.
+
+Footnote 120:
+
+ See Pugin, A. C., and Willson, E. J., _Specimens of Gothic
+ Architecture_, 2 vols, London [1821]; _Examples of Gothic
+ Architecture_, London, 1831. Two more volumes of the _Examples_ were
+ published by A. W. N. Pugin after his father’s death.
+
+Footnote 121:
+
+ See Rickman, T., _An Attempt to Discriminate the Styles of English
+ Architecture_, London [1817]; many later editions. The terms Rickman
+ introduced here—Early English, Decorated, and Perpendicular—for the
+ successive phases of the English Gothic are still in general use. For
+ Rickman’s use of iron in his early churches in Liverpool, see Chapter
+ 7.
+
+Footnote 122:
+
+ See Whiffen, M., ‘Rickman and Cambridge’, _Architectural Review_,
+ XCVIII (1945), 160-3.
+
+Footnote 123:
+
+ Pugin’s really important books concerning architecture were three:
+ _Contrasts, or a Parallel between the Architecture of the 15th and
+ 19th Centuries_, London, 1836; _The True Principles of Pointed or
+ Christian Architecture_, London, 1841; and _An Apology for the Revival
+ of Christian Architecture in England_, London, 1843. All of these have
+ later editions which sometimes show significant omissions and
+ additions.
+
+Footnote 124:
+
+ Founded at Cambridge University in 1839 and later known as the
+ Ecclesiological Society. The Society’s periodical, _The
+ Ecclesiologist_, which began to appear in 1841, together with their
+ other publications, had a notable influence on architectural
+ development in England and English-speaking countries in the forties
+ and fifties and even later. See White, J. F., _The Cambridge
+ Movement_, Cambridge, 1962.
+
+Footnote 125:
+
+ See Bonnar, T., _Biographical Sketch of G. Meikle Kemp_, Edinburgh and
+ London, 1892.
+
+Footnote 126:
+
+ The palace-planning of one Durand pupil, Klenze, behind the regular
+ façade of his Königsbau in Munich is actually very unsymmetrical and
+ episodic, as Giedion points out in his _Spätbarocker und romantischer
+ Klassizismus_.
+
+Footnote 127:
+
+ See Summerson, J., ‘Pugin at Ramsgate’, _Architectural Review_, CIII
+ (1948), 163-6.
+
+Footnote 128:
+
+ An influential publication of this period was Hopkins, J., _Essay on
+ Gothic Architecture_, Burlington, 1836. Bishop Hopkins himself
+ designed and built several churches of the rather feeble Gothick order
+ of the plates in this book.
+
+Footnote 129:
+
+ See Upjohn, R., _Upjohn’s Rural Architecture_, New York, 1852.
+
+Footnote 130:
+
+ See Wills, F., _Ancient English Ecclesiastical Architecture ..._, New
+ York, 1850, which includes designs for new churches. Similar is Hart,
+ J., _Designs for Parish Churches in the Three Styles of English Church
+ Architecture_, New York, 1857.
+
+Footnote 131:
+
+ Downing’s major work, _A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of
+ Landscape Gardening adapted to North America_, New York and London,
+ 1841, with later editions to 1879 (and twentieth-century reprints),
+ devotes only a chapter to house design. His really influential
+ architectural books were _Cottage Residences_, New York, 1842, with
+ later editions to 1887, and _The Architecture of Country Houses_, New
+ York, 1850, with later editions to 1866.
+
+Footnote 132:
+
+ See Scully, V. J., ‘Romantic Rationalism and the Expression of
+ Structure in Wood: Downing, Wheeler, Gardner and the “Stick Style”,
+ 1840-1876’, _Art Bulletin_, XXXV (1953), 121-42.
+
+Footnote 133:
+
+ See Robinson, P. F., _Rural Architecture_, London, 1822, with later
+ editions to 1836, and also his _Designs for Ornamental Villas_,
+ London, 1827, again with later editions to 1836.
+
+Footnote 134:
+
+ The handsomest and one of the most authoritative mid-century books on
+ chalets was by Graffenried and Sturler, _Architecture suisse_, Berne,
+ 1844.
+
+Footnote 135:
+
+ See Vaux, C., _Villas and Cottages_, New York, 1857, with later
+ editions to 1874.
+
+Footnote 136:
+
+ See Lancaster, C., ‘Oriental Forms in American Architecture’, _Art
+ Bulletin_, XXIX (1947), 183-93. For other work of Samuel Sloan, a very
+ productive mid-century architect and architectural writer, see
+ Coolidge, H. N., ‘A Sloan Checklist, 1849-1884’, _Journal of the
+ Society of Architectural Historians_, XIX (1960), 34-8.
+
+Footnote 137:
+
+ See Owen, R. D., _Hints on Public Architecture_, New York, 1849.
+
+Footnote 138:
+
+ Of the _Seven Lamps_, of the first volume of the _Stones of Venice_,
+ and of the _Lectures on Architecture and Painting_, American editions
+ appeared respectively in 1849, 1851, and 1854, the same years as the
+ original London editions, and were succeeded by new issues and new
+ editions at a pace far exceeding that maintained by the original
+ publishers in England. In part this may merely mean that the American
+ editions, all pirated, were smaller; but it is certainly evidence of
+ an avid and extensive body of American readers from the mid century
+ down to 1900.
+
+Footnote 139:
+
+ See Chenesseau, G., _Sainte-Croix d’Orléans; histoire d’une cathédrale
+ gothique réedifiée par les Bourbons, 1599-1829_, 3 vols, Paris, 1921.
+
+ The design of 1707 for the façade was by Robert de Cotte, J.-H.
+ Mansart’s principal lieutenant. The work was carried on more actively
+ by A.-J. Gabriel under Louis XV. With the Restoration in 1816 Louis
+ XVIII took up the completion of the project—which Napoleon had
+ actually ordered before Waterloo—as part of the general preoccupation
+ of the Restoration with a strengthening of the Church, and Charles X
+ opened the finished church in 1829. Thus the renewal of activity here
+ in the second decade of the nineteenth century precedes the other
+ Neo-Gothic work described below by some twenty years. But credit—or
+ discredit—for its Rococo-Gothic character belongs to the eighteenth
+ not to the nineteenth century.
+
+Footnote 140:
+
+ See Rotrou, E. de, _Dreux, ses antiquités, Chapelle St Louis_, Dreux,
+ 1864.
+
+Footnote 141:
+
+ The aesthetic climate of the period is presented in several books:
+ Rosenthal, L., _L’Art et les artistes romantiques_, Paris, 1928;
+ Robiquet, J., _L’Art et le goût sous la Restauration_, Paris, 1928;
+ Schommer, P., _L’Art décoratif au temps du Romantisme_, Paris, 1928.
+ These were published in advance of the ‘Centenaire du Romantisme’ in
+ 1930.
+
+Footnote 142:
+
+ See Thiénon, C., _Voyage pittoresque dans le Bocage de la Vendée, ou
+ vues de Clisson et ses environs_, Paris, 1817.
+
+Footnote 143:
+
+ In 1836 Viollet-le-Duc wrote to his father that every greengrocer had
+ a small Italian Villa with a tower, but this is patently a rhetorical
+ exaggeration.
+
+Footnote 144:
+
+ See Kaufmann, E., _Three Revolutionary Architects, Boullée, Ledoux and
+ Lequeu_, Philadelphia, 1952.
+
+Footnote 145:
+
+ See Heideloff, K., _Nürnberg’s Baudenkmale der Vorzeit_, Nuremberg,
+ 1839; and _Die Kunst des Mittelalters in Schwaben_, Stuttgart, 1855.
+ His _Ornaments of the Middle Ages_ (to give it its English title),
+ which began to appear in Nuremberg in 1838, had several editions with
+ French and English text.
+
+Footnote 146:
+
+ This is least true in France, where the Neo-Catholic intellectuals
+ were Gothic enthusiasts and succeeded in imposing Gothic on the
+ architects, few of whom ever took to it with whole-hearted enthusiasm.
+ Even Viollet-le-Duc, after the forties, was confusedly eclectic in
+ most of his newly designed buildings as distinguished from his
+ ‘restorations’ and his completions of unfinished medieval monuments
+ (see Chapter 11).
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 7 - Notes
+
+Footnote 147:
+
+ See Sheppard, R., _Cast Iron in Building_, London, 1945, and Gloag, J.
+ and Bridgwater, D., _A History of Cast Iron in Building_, London,
+ 1948. These accounts require considerable revision in the light of
+ later research by T. C. Bannister and by A. W. Skempton. See Note
+ [151], _infra_, and for further illustrations, ‘The Iron Pioneers’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CXXX (1961), 14-19, and Richards, J. M., _The
+ Functional Tradition in Early Industrial Buildings_, London, 1958.
+
+Footnote 148:
+
+ Problems of fire-resistance were already under discussion in England
+ in the forties. The London Fire Department even refused to enter
+ burning buildings with internal skeletons of iron because of the
+ danger of their collapse; while the effectiveness of fireproofing iron
+ columns with masonry sheathing was already being tested in 1846. I owe
+ this information, as well as that on many other significant points in
+ this chapter, to Turpin C. Bannister.
+
+Footnote 149:
+
+ See Harris, J., ‘Cast Iron Columns 1706’, _Architectural Review_, CXXX
+ (1961), 60-1.
+
+Footnote 150:
+
+ See Raistrick, A., _Dynasty of Ironfounders_, London, [1953].
+
+Footnote 151:
+
+ See Giedion, S., _Bauen in Frankreich: Eisen, Eisenbeton_, Leipzig,
+ 1928, an account which its own author and others have considerably
+ emended since.
+
+Footnote 152:
+
+ This was replaced a quarter of a century later when a new stair-hall
+ was built by Percier & Fontaine.
+
+Footnote 153:
+
+ See Bannister, T. C., ‘The First Iron-Framed Buildings’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CVII (1950), 231-46; Skempton, A. W., and
+ Johnson, H. R., ‘The First Iron Frames’, _Architectural Review_, CXXXI
+ (1962), 175-86. In 1803-4 came two more iron-framed mills, the North
+ Mill at Belper and one at Leeds.
+
+Footnote 154:
+
+ See Fairbairn, W., _On the Application of Cast and Wrought Iron to
+ Building Purposes_, London, 1854.
+
+Footnote 155:
+
+ See Buckler, J. and J. C., _Views of Eaton Hall_, London, 1826.
+
+Footnote 156:
+
+ See Mock, E., _The Architecture of Bridges_, New York, 1949; Whitney,
+ C., _Bridges; a Study in their Art, Science and Evolution_, New York,
+ 1929; De Maré, E., _The Bridges of Britain_, London, 1954; Andrews,
+ C., ‘Early Iron Bridges of the British Isles’, _Architectural Review_,
+ LXXX (1936), 63-8; and ‘Early Victorian Bridges in Suspension in the
+ British Isles’, _Architectural Review_, LXXX (1936), 109-12; and
+ Mehrtens, G., _Der deutsche Brückenbau in XIX Jahrhundert_, Berlin,
+ 1900.
+
+Footnote 157:
+
+ In addition to Telford’s own superbly illustrated autobiography and
+ the two modern monographs, see Sutherland, R. J. M., ‘Telford’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CXIV (1953), 389-94.
+
+Footnote 158:
+
+ The American James Finley built an iron-chain suspension bridge as
+ early as 1801 and patented the system in 1808 after he had built
+ several more. See Pope, T., _Treatise on Bridge Architecture_, New
+ York, 1811, which was probably known to Telford.
+
+Footnote 159:
+
+ These early French bridges—and several important early English ones
+ too—are illustrated in later editions of Rondelet’s _Traité_ (See Note
+ [40], Chapter 2), and in Bruyère, L., _Études relatives à l’art des
+ constructions_, Paris, 1823. Delon’s name is also given as Dilon and
+ Dillon.
+
+Footnote 160:
+
+ See Séguin, M., _Des ponts en fil de fer_, Paris, 1824.
+
+Footnote 161:
+
+ See Ellet, C., _The Wheeling Bridge_ [Philadelphia, 1852]. For this
+ bridge Roebling provided the cables but not the design.
+
+Footnote 162:
+
+ Sec Conant, W., _The Brooklyn Bridge_, New York [1883].
+
+Footnote 163:
+
+ Hautecœur lists nearly forty built before 1848 in Paris alone. For the
+ Galerie d’Orléans, see Fontaine, C., _Histoire du Palais Royal_,
+ Paris, 1834.
+
+Footnote 164:
+
+ Thiollet, F., _Serrurerie de fonte et de fer récemment exécutés_,
+ Paris, 1832, illustrates several examples.
+
+Footnote 165:
+
+ See Pevsner, N., ‘Early Iron: Curvilinear Hothouses’, _Architectural
+ Review_, CVI (1949), 188-9.
+
+Footnote 166:
+
+ Sec Meeks, C. L. V., ‘The Life of a Form: A History of the Train
+ Shed’, _Architectural Review_, CX (1951), 163-74, and his book _The
+ Railroad Station_, New Haven, 1956.
+
+Footnote 167:
+
+ See Arschavir, A. A., ‘The Inception of the English Railway Station’,
+ _Architectural History_, IV (1961), 63-76, for the story before Crown
+ Street.
+
+Footnote 168:
+
+ See Clark, E., _The Britannia and Conway Tubular Bridges_, 2 vols and
+ atlas, London, 1850.
+
+Footnote 169:
+
+ See Hitchcock, H.-R., ‘The Coal Exchange’, _Architectural Review_, CI
+ (1947), 185-7.
+
+Footnote 170:
+
+ See Bannister, T. C., ‘The Genealogy of the Dome of the United States
+ Capitol’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, VII
+ (1948), 1-16.
+
+Footnote 171:
+
+ Bogardus’s priority in this matter is by no means absolute. Certainly
+ earlier in America was the Miners’ Bank, built by Haviland in
+ Pottsville, Penna., in 1829-30; but here cast iron was used only to
+ provide a decorative sheathing of the brick walls in the absence of
+ available stone. Also earlier was a steam flour-mill three storeys
+ high prefabricated by Sir William Fairbairn in London in 1839 and sent
+ to Turkey, where it was erected in Istanbul in 1840. This was more
+ like Bogardus’s building, and he had probably actually seen it when it
+ was exhibited in London in Fairbairn’s shops at Millwall before being
+ disassembled and shipped away. Daniel D. Badger (1806-?) also claimed
+ priority because of the many one-storey shops he had built of iron,
+ one of which was just across Center Street in New York from Bogardus’s
+ factory. But Bogardus deserved the publicity he received at home and
+ abroad; undoubtedly it was his activity which really started the
+ general vogue of cast-iron fronts in the United States. See Bogardus,
+ J., _Cast Iron Buildings: their Construction and Advantages_, New
+ York, 1856 (written for Bogardus by a friendly ‘ghost’, John W.
+ Thomson), and Bannister, T. C., ‘Bogardus Revisited, Part One: The
+ Iron Fronts’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XV
+ (1956), 12-22.
+
+Footnote 172:
+
+ See Sturges, W. K., ‘Cast Iron in New York’, _Architectural Review_,
+ CXIV (1953), 233-8.
+
+Footnote 173:
+
+ See Hitchcock, H.-R., ‘Early Cast Iron Façades’, _Architectural
+ Review_, CIX (1951), 113-16.
+
+Footnote 174:
+
+ See Hitchcock, H.-R., _The Crystal Palace ..._, 2nd ed., Northampton,
+ Mass., 1952.
+
+Footnote 175:
+
+ See Carstensen, G., _The New York Crystal Palace_, New York, 1854.
+
+Footnote 176:
+
+ The date of this is often given as 1855, when Labrouste took charge of
+ the work at the Bibliothèque Nationale, and the original project for
+ it may well be more nearly contemporaneous with the Reading Room of
+ the British Museum.
+
+Footnote 177:
+
+ Six pavilions were built first and four more before 1870; the
+ remaining two were not erected until the 1930s. See Baltard, V., and
+ Callet, F., _Monographie des Halles centrales de Paris construites
+ sous le régne de Napolèon III_, Paris, 1865.
+
+Footnote 178:
+
+ Technically the architect of Saint-Eugène in Paris was L.-A. Lusson,
+ and in his monograph on the church, _Plans, coupes, elevations, et
+ details de l’église ... de Saint Eugène_, Paris, 1855, he does not
+ even mention Boileau’s name. However, the credit—or, to many
+ contemporaries, the discredit—for the character of the cast-iron
+ Gothic interior of the Paris church has always been given to Boileau.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 8 - Notes
+
+Footnote 179:
+
+ A notably extreme early example is Visconti’s Fontaine Molière of
+ 1841-4 in the Rue de Richelieu in Paris.
+
+Footnote 180:
+
+ Here Visconti’s taste also proves to have been premonitory. His
+ project of 1833 for a library already had a bulbous roof over the
+ central pavilion; while that of 1849 for the Bibliothèque Nationale in
+ the Rue de Richelieu had bold engaged orders on the central pavilion
+ and a tall straight-sided mansard as well.
+
+Footnote 181:
+
+ See Hitchcock, H.-R., ‘Second Empire “avant la lettre”’, _Gazette des
+ Beaux Arts_, XIII (1953), 115-30. The existence of French analogues in
+ the forties was insufficiently stressed there, however.
+
+Footnote 182:
+
+ See Kramer, E. W., ‘Detlef Lienau, an Architect of the Brown Decades’,
+ _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XIV (1955),
+ 18-25. Lienau was born in Schleswig-Holstein, then Danish, but
+ received his early education in Germany. For a still earlier mansard
+ than Lienau’s, see Dallett, J. F. ‘John Notman’s Mansard, 1848’,
+ _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XIX (1960), 81.
+
+Footnote 183:
+
+ See Aulanier, C., _Le Nouveau Louvre de Napoleon III_, Paris [1953],
+ and Hautecoeur, L. _Histoire du Louvre_, Paris [n.d.]
+
+Footnote 184:
+
+ See Pinkney, D. H., _Napoleon III and the Rebuilding of Paris_,
+ Princeton, N.J., 1958. Work began on the extension of the Rue de
+ Rivoli in 1851; but it was only in 1853 that the Emperor found in
+ G.-E. Haussmann (1809-91), whom he made Prefect of the Seine and later
+ a baron, an adequate collaborator and executant for his tremendous
+ urbanistic programme.
+
+Footnote 185:
+
+ A tour which can be taken vicariously is provided in a splendid set of
+ lithographs of the period, _Paris dans sa splendeur_; from this Plates
+ 19 and 55B are taken.
+
+Footnote 186:
+
+ The degree of control exercised by public authority over the façades
+ varied. For the extension of the Rue de Rivoli, continuation of
+ Percier & Fontaine’s original design was required; and for the Place
+ de l’Étoile and the Place de l’Opéra comprehensive designs established
+ in advance were enforced (see below). Elsewhere only the height of the
+ cornice line and the silhouette of the mansard were ordinarily
+ standardized by regulation.
+
+Footnote 187:
+
+ Built in 1855 as the Hôtel des Chemins de Fer, but now the Hôtel du
+ Louvre, and the work of Hittorff, Rohault de Fleury, Armand, and
+ Pellechet. Hittorff and Rohault were also collaborating on the houses
+ surrounding the Place de l’Étoile at this time. T. L. Donaldson,
+ reporting on the new hotel at the Royal Institute of British
+ Architects on 22 June 1855, remarked: ‘The roof plays an important
+ part in the design ... much of the majesty of French buildings is
+ derived from these lofty roofs.’ Donaldson supervised the erection of
+ the Hope house, and had thus played a personal part in the
+ introduction of the French mansard into England six years earlier.
+
+Footnote 188:
+
+ It is curious that there should be uncertainty about the authorship of
+ a complex so central to the building activity of its era. The Grand
+ Hotel which occupies the corner of the Boulevard des Italiens to the
+ left of the Opéra was by the team responsible for the Hôtel des
+ Chemins de Fer at the other end of the avenue (see Note [187]).
+ Pinkney in _Napoleon III and the Rebuilding of Paris_, the latest to
+ discuss the subject, gives credit for all the façades around the Place
+ de l’Opéra to Rohault; Hautecoeur assigns the rounded pavilions
+ opposite the front of the Opéra to Blondel and mentions no other
+ architect. Whoever was responsible, Garnier felt they were much too
+ tall and confining for his Opéra.
+
+Footnote 189:
+
+ See Garnier, J.-L.-C., _Le nouvel Opéra de Paris_, 2 vols text and 6
+ vols plates, Paris, 1875-81.
+
+Footnote 190:
+
+ By this time Viollet-le-Duc was far more ‘Victorian’ than Garnier, yet
+ his secular work had become so eclectic and even original in detail as
+ hardly any longer to be Neo-Gothic at all (see Chapter 11.
+
+Footnote 191:
+
+ See Daly, C., and Davioud, G.-J.-A., _Les théâtres de la Place du
+ Châtelet_, Paris, 1860.
+
+Footnote 192:
+
+ See _Notice du Palais de Longchamps à Marseille_, Marseilles, 1872.
+
+Footnote 193:
+
+ See Daly, C., _L’Architecture privée au XIX^e siècle ... sous Napoléon
+ III; nouvelles maisons de Paris et des environs_, 3 vols, Paris, 1864;
+ Calliat, V., _Parallèle des nouvelles maisons de Paris_, vol. II,
+ Paris, 1864; Adam, Leveil, and LeBlanc, _Recueil des maisons les plus
+ remarquables_, Paris, 1858; and _Maisons les plus remarquables de
+ Paris_, Paris, 1870. César Daly, as editor of the _Revue de
+ l’architecture_, also determined the character of the material that
+ periodical offered in this period.
+
+Footnote 194:
+
+ It is awkward that the long career of Viollet-le-Duc, like that of
+ Semper, does not fall largely within any single chapter of this book.
+ Active from the forties until the seventies, leading restorer of
+ medieval monuments of his age in France, leading medieval
+ archaeologist of Europe, controversial reformer of French
+ architectural education (at least _in posse_), author of influential
+ critical books, he was the inspirer—by his writings rather than his
+ executed work—of a later generation of architectural innovators abroad
+ perhaps even more notably than at home. His failure to conform to the
+ normal pattern of architectural life that usually confines a
+ particular man’s significant activity within some one phase of
+ architectural development—such as, on the whole, each chapter of this
+ book deals with—makes it necessary to present his career in piecemeal
+ fashion. It is partly covered in Chapter 6, with a few further
+ mentions in this chapter, and—more significantly—in Chapter 11 in this
+ Part and Chapter 16 at the beginning of Part Three. It is worth noting
+ that Viollet-le-Duc is the only architect who enters this book in each
+ of its three parts, even though it is only as an influence, not an
+ executant, that he comes into the last part.
+
+Footnote 195:
+
+ And some contemporaries were ready to say Sicilian! It was started—or
+ at least commissioned—some years before the first volume of the great
+ treatise on Syrian architecture appeared: Vogüé, C.-J.-M. de, _Syrie
+ Centrale_, 2 vols, Paris, 1865-77. But Vaudremer must have seen the
+ drawings of Kalat Seman published by Duthuit in the _Gazette des
+ architectes et du bâtiment_, 1864, No. 7, 79.
+
+Footnote 196:
+
+ See Daumet, H., _Notice sur M. Abadie_, Paris, 1886. It is relevant
+ that Abadie became Diocesan Architect of Périgueux in 1874, the same
+ year he began the Sacré-Cœur, the competition for which he had won two
+ years earlier.
+
+Footnote 197:
+
+ For characteristic French prize projects that were admired and
+ emulated abroad, see _Les grands prix de Rome d’architecture de
+ 1850-1900_, Paris [n.d.]
+
+Footnote 198:
+
+ For the Massachusetts institution, see Ware, W. R., _An Outline of a
+ Course of Architectural Instruction_, Boston, 1866; for Columbia, see
+ _idem_, ‘The Instruction in Architecture at the School of Mines’,
+ _School of Mines Quarterly_, X (1888), 28-43.
+
+Footnote 199:
+
+ Yet one of the boldest modern architects of Latin America, Carlos Raúl
+ Villanueva (b. 1900) of Venezuela, was educated at the École des
+ Beaux-Arts itself; and most of the other modern architects in these
+ countries—those over forty at least—were trained in the local Escuelas
+ de Bellas Artes based on the Paris original.
+
+Footnote 200:
+
+ The most conspicuous exception, dominating the whole city, is the Mole
+ Antonelliana. This extraordinary edifice, begun by Alessandro
+ Antonelli (1798-1880) in 1863, more than rivals his very tall earlier
+ dome on San Gaudenzio in Novara, designed in 1840. Never really
+ completed, the construction of the Mole continued intermittently down
+ to Antonelli’s death. By its great height and in some of the
+ technicalities of its construction it rivals the Eiffel Tower and the
+ early American skyscrapers which are posterior to it by several
+ decades. Yet Antonelli arrived at no coherent expression of his
+ structural innovations and, to judge from the successive purposes for
+ which the structure has been intended to serve or has served, no real
+ capacity to provide a functionally viable building. On the whole, as
+ its present name implies, this is a monument chiefly to its designer’s
+ megalomania.
+
+Footnote 201:
+
+ See Reed, H. H., ‘Rome: The Third Sack’, _Architectural Review_, CVII
+ (1950), 91-110.
+
+Footnote 202:
+
+ The third prominent edifice, surprisingly enough, is High Victorian
+ Gothic. St Paul’s, the American church, is by the English architect G.
+ E. Street, and its curious relation to the characteristic academic
+ blocks by Koch and his contemporaries can be appreciated on Plate 100
+ (see Chapter 11).
+
+Footnote 203:
+
+ See Acciaresi, P., _Giuseppe Sacconi e l’opera sua massima_, Rome,
+ 1911.
+
+Footnote 204:
+
+ The best-maintained later equivalent in northern Europe is probably
+ the Passage, as it is called, in The Hague. Built in 1882-5, this
+ hardly rivals the Galleria Mazzini in Genoa in length and breadth,
+ much less Mengoni’s. There are many other examples, some of them
+ considerably later, but few are in good condition today, and none have
+ the scale of the three principal Italian examples. For earlier French
+ examples, see Chapter 3.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 9 - Notes
+
+Footnote 205:
+
+ See Kreisel, H., _The Castles of Ludwig II of Bavaria_, Darmstadt
+ [n.d.] and _Schloss Linderhof_, Munich, 1959.
+
+Footnote 206:
+
+ The design derives from the results of a competition held in 1876. Of
+ the nine architects involved in the execution of the building,
+ Grotjan, Lamprecht, Robertson, and Martin Haller (1835-1925) had won
+ prizes in the competition. The tower is attributed specifically to the
+ last and sometimes, more loosely, the whole structure.
+
+Footnote 207:
+
+ It should be pointed out that tall mansards allowed the addition of a
+ full storey—sometimes even two—without increasing the height of the
+ masonry work of the façade itself; thus there were reasons of economy
+ as well as of fashion for their spread at this time (see Chapter 14).
+
+Footnote 208:
+
+ For that matter the London Ritz Hotel, built in 1905-6 by Mewès &
+ Davis, is capped with a high mansard, although the vocabulary of their
+ façades is a discreet and academic, if overscaled, _style Louis XVI_
+ and the construction—reputedly—the first example of the use of a steel
+ skeleton of the American skyscraper type in England.
+
+Footnote 209:
+
+ Thomas Cundy II (1790-1867) died in this year; if provided by the
+ Estate Architects’ office, the designs were either initiated before
+ his death or else they were entirely by his assistants, perhaps
+ directed by his surviving brother Joseph (1795-1875). A. T. Bolton
+ believed that the responsibility for the design lay with the builder
+ Trollope; the Grosvenor Estate office, however, names not Trollope but
+ the Cubitt firm as the builders. As with the Place de l’Opéra, the
+ credit—or discredit—for this most notable and conspicuous piece of
+ Second Empire urbanism remains rather uncertain.
+
+Footnote 210:
+
+ See, however, Castermans, A., _Parallèle des maisons de Bruxelles_,
+ Paris, 1856, which illustrates much work that is not at all Parisian.
+
+Footnote 211:
+
+ See Poelaert, J., _Le Nouveau Palais de Justice de Bruxelles_,
+ Brussels, 1904.
+
+Footnote 212:
+
+ Semper was in England for several years after he left Dresden as a
+ result of the revolution that also led to Wagner’s expulsion in 1848.
+ He did no building in England, but was closely associated with Cole
+ and his Department of Practical Art. The catafalque of the Duke of
+ Wellington, used at the State funeral in 1852, was of his design. His
+ Swiss period was followed by a triumphant return to Dresden to rebuild
+ the opera-house there and his final settlement in Vienna in 1871.
+ Since this relatively important architect appears, like
+ Viollet-le-Duc, in unrelated contexts in several different chapters of
+ this book, it seems well to recall here the total range of his career
+ from its beginnings in Hamburg in the forties to its conclusion in
+ Vienna in the seventies, passing by Dresden, London, Zurich, and
+ Dresden a second time.
+
+Footnote 213:
+
+ See Burnham, A., ‘The New York Architecture of Richard M. Hunt’,
+ _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XI (1952), 9-14.
+
+Footnote 214:
+
+ Of course Daly’s _Revue de l’architecture_ reached some American
+ architects and also his _Architecture privée_ (see Note [194], Chapter
+ 8). See also Liénard, M., _Specimens of the Decoration and
+ Ornamentation of the XIXth Century_, Boston, 1875, although by that
+ date the vogue for such Second Empire detailing was all but over.
+
+Footnote 215:
+
+ See Walter, T. U., _Letter to the Committee on Public Buildings, in
+ reference to an Enlargement of the Capitol_ [Washington, 1850], and
+ _Report of the Architect of the United States Capitol and the New
+ Dome_, Washington, 1864.
+
+Footnote 216:
+
+ See McKenna, R. T., ‘James Renwick, Jr, and the Second Empire Style in
+ the United States’, _Magazine of Art_, XLIV (1951), 97-101.
+
+Footnote 217:
+
+ See Boston. Committee on Public Buildings, _The City Hall, Boston_,
+ Boston, 1866. A considerably larger early project of 1861 emulates
+ much more closely the new Louvre.
+
+Footnote 218:
+
+ See Bunting, B., ‘The Plan of the Back Bay Area in Boston’, _Journal
+ of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XIII (1954), 19-24.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 10 - Notes
+
+Footnote 219:
+
+ Despite the ‘correctness’ of Butterfield’s detailing, an idiosyncratic
+ coarsening can be noted at St Augustine’s College in Canterbury and in
+ other work by him done several years before All Saints’; yet, by
+ contrast to other aspects of his mature style, his moulded detail
+ remained conventional.
+
+Footnote 220:
+
+ Since building Christ Church, Streatham, at the opening of the decade,
+ Wild had been busy in Egypt. His curious St Mark’s, Alexandria, as
+ Saracenic as his detractors accused the Streatham church of being, was
+ unhappily never brought to completion. Designed in 1842, work was
+ suspended for lack of funds in 1848 and Wild then returned to England.
+
+Footnote 221:
+
+ Deane owed his knighthood to having been Mayor of Cork, not to his
+ professional attainments. It would appear that Woodward did all the
+ firm’s designing and, after his death in 1861, Deane’s son Thomas
+ Newenham took over.
+
+Footnote 222:
+
+ See Viollet-le-Duc, E.-E., _Dictionnaire raisonné de l’architecture
+ française du XI^e au XVI^e siècle_, 10 vols., Paris, 1854-68.
+
+Footnote 223:
+
+ See Mackail, J. W., _The Life of William Morris_, London, 1899.
+
+Footnote 224:
+
+ Burges designed this in 1868 in his most archaeological and
+ articulated French Gothic manner. Construction began only in 1893,
+ long after Burges’s death, and the suave quality of the execution, so
+ uncharacteristic of the still High Victorian date of the original
+ design, is thereby explained; at best the design was singularly out of
+ key with what Bodley had built.
+
+Footnote 225:
+
+ Since this is a Catholic church, and by a man who knew French Gothic
+ architecture well, it provides the fairest possible comparison with
+ Viollet-le-Duc’s own new church of Saint-Denys-de-l’Estrée at St-Denis
+ designed at almost precisely the same time (Plate 98). Viollet-le-Duc
+ is world-famous; Clutton is not generally considered even in England
+ one of the leaders of his generation; yet the superiority of the
+ Leamington church to the St-Denis church is very considerable indeed
+ both inside and out.
+
+Footnote 226:
+
+ See Harbron, D., ‘Thomas Harris’, _Architectural Review_, XCII (1942),
+ 63-6, and Donner, P., ‘Harris Florilegium’, _Architectural Review_,
+ XCIII (1943), 51-2.
+
+Footnote 227:
+
+ This is spoilt externally by an unfortunate tower added by his son A.
+ E. Street (1855-1938) in 1884-5.
+
+Footnote 228:
+
+ See _The National Memorial to H.R.H. the Prince Consort_ [London],
+ 1873.
+
+Footnote 229:
+
+ Scott’s aspirations for architecture, in general more sympathetic than
+ what he built, will be found in his _Remarks on Secular and Domestic
+ Architecture, Present and Future_, London, 1858.
+
+Footnote 230:
+
+ Although Woodward’s death occurred in the same year 1861 that this
+ club was begun, it is possible, even probable, that the original
+ design was his.
+
+Footnote 231:
+
+ See Nesfield, W. E., _Specimens of Mediaeval Architecture ... in
+ France and Italy_, London, 1862.
+
+Footnote 232:
+
+ The intentions of the church builders in this decade are well
+ presented in Micklethwaite, J. T., _Modern Parish Churches, their
+ Plan, Design, and Furnishing_, London, 1874.
+
+Footnote 233:
+
+ An extraordinary example of the use of Victorian Gothic for a somewhat
+ unexpected purpose was Columbia Market by H. A. Darbishire (1839-1908)
+ set down in 1866-8 among the grim housing blocks that he built for the
+ philanthropist Angela Burdett-Coutts. See Wilson, F. M., ‘Ypres at
+ Bethnal Green’, _Architectural Review_, XCVI (1944), 131-4.
+
+Footnote 234:
+
+ Godwin’s active and distinguished Victorian Gothic period concluded
+ with the building of two castles in Ireland, Dromore at Pallaskenny
+ for the Earl of Limerick in 1867-9 and Glenbegh in 1868-71. Burges was
+ with him in Ireland when he designed Dromore, and its decorations and
+ furnishings rival in elaboration and exceed in elegance what Burges
+ did for Lord Bute at Cardiff and Castell Coch in these years. A row
+ with the client for Glenbegh, who complained of drastic leakage, in
+ which Godwin’s then partner Crisp deserted him, did Godwin much harm
+ professionally. He was still a relatively important figure in the Late
+ Victorian seventies, but more as a decorator than as an architect (see
+ Chapter 12).
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 11 - Notes
+
+Footnote 235:
+
+ At the Centennial Exhibition in Philadelphia the larger pavilions were
+ all of iron and glass; and probably the most influential buildings
+ were the British ones designed by Thomas Harris—no longer a wild
+ ‘Victorian’—in a mode closely approaching Norman Shaw’s ‘Manorial’
+ mode (see Chapter 12). However, the exhibition stimulated the
+ publication of several books on the Colonial architecture of
+ Philadelphia which played their part in preparing the way for a
+ ‘Colonial Revival’ (see Chapters 13 and 15).
+
+Footnote 236:
+
+ Separate American editions of vols 2 and 3 did not appear promptly in
+ 1853 in the way that of vol. 1 did in 1851. However, the three-volume
+ American edition of 1861 was the first of the complete work.
+
+Footnote 237:
+
+ See Tunnard, C., ‘Deviation by the Brothers Potter, Collegiate Gothic
+ at Union College, Schenectady’, _Architectural Review_, CIII (1948),
+ 67.
+
+Footnote 238:
+
+ See Note [197], Chapter 8.
+
+Footnote 239:
+
+ They had, after all, first met when they were both working for R. M.
+ Hunt.
+
+Footnote 240:
+
+ See Ware, W. R., _The Memorial Hall, Harvard University_, Boston,
+ 1887.
+
+Footnote 241:
+
+ In the 1936 edition of my book on Richardson a later Dorsheimer plan
+ is incorrectly associated with this Buffalo house. The house is
+ properly identified in Hitchcock, H.-R., ‘Richardson’s American
+ Express Building: A Note’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural
+ Historians_, IX (1950), 25-30 and in the new 1961 edition.
+
+Footnote 242:
+
+ This is also missing from my 1936 Richardson book, but will be found
+ in the article cited above and in the 1961 edition of the book.
+
+Footnote 243:
+
+ See Wight, P. B., ‘Reminiscences of Russell Sturgis’, _Architectural
+ Record_, XXVI (1909), 123-31. It is perhaps worth pointing out that
+ Farnam Hall, together with Sturgis’s contiguous Battell Chapel of 1876
+ and his Durfee Hall at right angles to it, although neither are of at
+ all comparable excellence, give this corner of the Old Campus at Yale
+ a consistent High Victorian Gothic character interesting to study both
+ in relation to the earlier Romantic Gothic of Henry Austin’s library
+ (now Dwight Chapel) of 1842-4 on the other side of the campus and the
+ ‘traditional’ Collegiate Gothic of James Gamble Rogers’s
+ twentieth-century Harkness Quadrangle across High Street.
+
+Footnote 244:
+
+ See Schuyler, M., ‘The Work of William Appleton Potter’,
+ _Architectural Record_, XXVI (1909), 176-96.
+
+Footnote 245:
+
+ See Holly, H. H., _Church Architecture Illustrated_, Hartford, 1871.
+ Much more extreme models can be found in general compendia of
+ architectural design published in the late sixties and early
+ seventies.
+
+Footnote 246:
+
+ See Campbell, W., ‘Frank Furness, an American Pioneer’, _Architectural
+ Review_, CX (1951), 310-15.
+
+Footnote 247:
+
+ See ‘Another Furness Building: Provident Life and Trust Company
+ Building, Philadelphia’, _Architectural Review_, CXII (1952), 196,
+ ‘Provident Trust Company Banking Room, Philadelphia’, _Journal of the
+ Society of Architectural Historians_, XI (1952), 31; and Massy, J. C.,
+ ‘The Provident Trust Buildings’, _Journal of the Society of
+ Architectural Historians_, XIX (1960), 79-80.
+
+Footnote 248:
+
+ See Withers, F. C., _Church Architecture_, New York, 1871.
+
+Footnote 249:
+
+ See Upjohn, R. M., _The State Capitol, Hartford, Conn._, Boston, 1886.
+
+Footnote 250:
+
+ It was the selection of the old Trinity College property to provide a
+ site for the new Capitol that led to the rebuilding of the college
+ elsewhere, for which Burges provided the designs (see Chapter 10).
+
+Footnote 251:
+
+ It is worth recalling that much the same could evidently be said of
+ Fuller & Laver’s San Francisco municipal group; characteristically
+ enough for the period, this was Second Empire like their Albany
+ Capitol, not High Victorian Gothic (see Chapter 9).
+
+Footnote 252:
+
+ See Viollet-le-Duc, E.-E., _Entretiens sur l’architecture_, 2 vols,
+ Paris, 1863, 1872; and translations, _Discourses on Architecture_, 2
+ vols, Boston, 1875, 1881, and _Lectures on Architecture_, 2 vols,
+ London, 1877, 1881. Originally the _Entretiens_ appeared in parts,
+ those in the first volume beginning to come out about 1860 and those
+ in the second some six years later.
+
+Footnote 253:
+
+ The two most sumptuously illustrated publications concerning
+ Viollet-le-Duc offer very few examples of new buildings designed by
+ him; these must be sought in periodicals and other general
+ contemporary sources. See _Compositions et dessins de Viollet-le-Duc_,
+ Paris, 1884, and Baudot, A. de, and Roussel, J., _Dessins inédits de
+ Viollet-le-Duc_, 3 vols, Paris [n.d.]
+
+Footnote 254:
+
+ The most extravagant compilation of idiosyncratic detail in
+ Viollet-le-Duc’s work is to be seen on the tomb of Napoleon III’s
+ half-brother the Duc de Morny, erected in 1858 in Père Lachaise
+ Cemetery in Paris. Hardly any element of the ornamentation is clearly
+ referable to a particular stylistic source, and the whole effect is as
+ ‘Victorian’ as anything the wildest High Victorians ever produced in
+ England.
+
+Footnote 255:
+
+ It should not be forgotten that Street’s Law Courts in London were
+ completed only a year before Steindl began the Budapest Parliament
+ House; but the Law Courts were, for England, extremely retardataire.
+
+Footnote 256:
+
+ Burges won the competition for this in 1857, but in the end Street
+ received the commission and built the church in 1864-9.
+
+Footnote 257:
+
+ See Meeks, C. L. V., ‘Churches by Street on the Via Nazionale and the
+ Via del Babuino’, _Art Quarterly_, XVI (1953), 215-27.
+
+Footnote 258:
+
+ See Martinell, C., _La Sagrada Familia_, Barcelona, 1952, and Puig
+ Boada, I., _El Templo de la Sagrada Familia_, Barcelona, 1952. A
+ phenomenal number of articles have appeared concerning this church,
+ all listed up to his date of publication (1952) by Ráfols in the later
+ edition of his monograph on Gaudí.
+
+Footnote 259:
+
+ Mixing the elements of several styles in individual buildings provided
+ the liveliest aspect of eclecticism at this time; the mere use of
+ alternative modes had chiefly the effect of blurring the edges of all
+ the styles of the past.
+
+Footnote 260:
+
+ Compare, for example, Sigfried Giedion’s presentation of the period in
+ _Space, Time, and Architecture_.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 12 - Notes
+
+Footnote 261:
+
+ Many serious and conscientious English students of this period would
+ precede such a list with the name of George Devey (1820-86). Of Devey,
+ in whose office C. F. A. Voysey, the most original English architect
+ of the next generation, chose to work after completing his
+ apprenticeship with Seddon, Voysey later wrote: ‘Providentially an
+ invitation came to enter the Office of the most extensive practitioner
+ in homes for the Nobility and Gentry. No domestic practice has
+ equalled his in extent before or since his death.’ As in the case of
+ William Burn, whose aristocratic practice of the forties and fifties
+ Devey’s more than rivalled in the sixties and seventies, neither he
+ nor his clients cared for publicity, and so none of his work was
+ published, even to the slight extent that the work of Nesfield and
+ Webb was illustrated in the professional journals. Still today his
+ houses are known to posterity chiefly through a few articles: Godfrey,
+ Walter ‘The Work of George Devey’, _Architectural Review_, XXI (1907),
+ 23-30, 83-8, 293-306; and ‘George Devey, F.R.I.B.A., a Biographical
+ Essay’, _Journal of the Royal Institute of British Architects_, XIII
+ (1906), 501-25.
+
+ But just as the work of Nesfield and Webb was in actuality familiar
+ from the first to their professional friends and rivals, as also to
+ prospective country house clients, so was that of Devey. Many of the
+ stylistic trends so vigorously exploited by Shaw in the seventies can
+ be traced back to Devey’s houses of the preceding decade—or so such
+ experts on the period as H. S. Goodhart-Rendel and John Brandon-Jones,
+ who know Devey’s work intimately, always insist. Foreign students of
+ this period, from Muthesius to the Editor of this series and this
+ author, perhaps merely because of lack of direct or even adequate
+ indirect knowledge of Devey’s houses, have never been ready to grant
+ him so important a place in the story. Here particularly, where the
+ story is told in an international context, the evident strength of the
+ influence of Shaw’s work abroad even more than at home justifies
+ giving his primacy and referring only incidentally to that of Devey.
+
+Footnote 262:
+
+ Shaw did not immediately succeed Webb, since the latter stayed on in
+ Street’s office until the middle of 1859. There must have been close
+ contact between them over a period of up to a year, and they remained
+ in touch from then on. Blomfield, Shaw’s biographer, being himself
+ prejudiced against Webb, underestimates the reality and the importance
+ of this relationship. It is only one of the many errors of fact or
+ emphasis in his book.
+
+ To quote from a private communication from Brandon-Jones concerning
+ Shaw and Webb: ‘Each must have had a good idea of the work the other
+ was doing. Their two offices, in Gray’s Inn and Bloomsbury Square,
+ were within a stone’s-throw of one another, and Lethaby while working
+ for Shaw was in close touch with Webb and was in his spare time
+ assisting him with the architectural work of Morris & Co. It is quite
+ obvious from the dates of various executed works that Lethaby was
+ carrying over Webb’s ideas and details and trying them out in work he
+ was doing for Shaw. As for the mutual respect and friendship between
+ Webb and Shaw, I [Brandon-Jones] have recently come across a letter
+ written at the time of Shaw’s death in which he [Webb] pays a tribute
+ to his “old friend”, and I have also seen a letter from Sydney
+ Barnsley to Sydney Cockerell in which Barnsley says that he had called
+ on Shaw only a few months before his death and that Shaw had been
+ talking of Webb and saying that he still treasured some photographs
+ given him by Webb nearly fifty years earlier.’
+
+Footnote 263:
+
+ Devey’s incidental work at Penshurst Place in Kent, where that notable
+ fourteenth-century manor house was restored by him, having been done
+ more than a decade earlier, probably prepared the way for this. It is
+ extremely likely that Nesfield was familiar with what Devey had done
+ there; but the line forward leads, in the late sixties, from Nesfield
+ to Shaw, not directly from Devey to Shaw.
+
+Footnote 264:
+
+ See Pevsner, N., ‘Art Furniture of the Seventies’, _Architectural
+ Review_, CXI (1952), 23-50.
+
+Footnote 265:
+
+ The most famous instance of _japonisme_ in decoration is Whistler’s
+ ‘Peacock Room’, now in the Freer Gallery in Washington. See Ferriday,
+ P., ‘Peacock Room’, _Architectural Review_, CXXV (1959), 407-14.
+
+Footnote 266:
+
+ Once again Devey had prepared the way, in this case at Betteshanger,
+ Kent, a house built precisely ten years earlier. This will doubtless
+ have been known both to friends of Devey’s clients and to various
+ young architects. But the Kew lodge was located where everyone could
+ see it, even though it was not published until the nineties.
+
+Footnote 267:
+
+ For this also there was precedent at Devey’s Betteshanger; but
+ Betteshanger initiated no popular mode in the way that the conspicuous
+ London schools by Robson and Stevenson’s highly touted house did at
+ this point. For the schools, see Jones, D. G., ‘Towers of Learning’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CXXIII (1958), 393-8.
+
+Footnote 268:
+
+ See Harbron, D., ‘Queen Anne Taste and Aestheticism’, _Architectural
+ Review_, XCLV (1943), 15-18.
+
+Footnote 269:
+
+ See Shaw, R. N., _Sketches for Cottages and Other Buildings ..._,
+ London, 1878.
+
+Footnote 270:
+
+ See ‘The Ballad of Bedford Park’, _St James’s Gazette_, 17 December
+ 1881 (reprinted by Blomfield, _Shaw_, 34-6). This is an amusing but
+ not entirely accurate contemporary description in verse.
+
+Footnote 271:
+
+ The handling of this building in section is particularly ingenious,
+ the area of the service portions at the rear of the flats being much
+ increased by the use of lower storey heights than in the reception
+ rooms at the front. This device has been revived since, but its
+ earlier invention by Shaw has rarely been noted Brandon-Jones pointed
+ out to me.
+
+Footnote 272:
+
+ At least they are now so painted; it is probable they were originally
+ of ‘white’ Suffolk brick, actually a very pale yellow when newly laid
+ and unbegrimed, but more likely to be black after a few decades of
+ exposure to the air of London!
+
+Footnote 273:
+
+ Hyde, H. M., ‘Wilde and his Architect’, _Architectural Review_, CIX
+ (1951), 175-6.
+
+Footnote 274:
+
+ It is characteristic of Shaw’s prestige in America and the rapidity
+ with which architectural ideas crossed the ocean at this time that
+ Shaw’s handsome perspective of the Alliance was published in America a
+ few months earlier than in England.
+
+Footnote 275:
+
+ White first approached Webb but, finding him too difficult to deal
+ with, went to Shaw—a significant episode as regards both architects.
+
+Footnote 276:
+
+ See Brandon-Jones, J., ‘Notes on the Building of Smeaton Manor’,
+ _Architectural History_, I (1958), 31-59.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 13 - Notes
+
+Footnote 277:
+
+ See Webster, J. C., ‘Richardson’s American Express Building’, _Journal
+ of the Society of Architectural Historians_, IX (1950), 21-4, and my
+ article cited in Note 7 to Chapter 11.
+
+Footnote 278:
+
+ See Richardson, H. H., _Trinity Church, Boston_, Boston, 1888.
+
+Footnote 279:
+
+ 3 vols, Paris, 1868-73. It will be noted that the last volume of this
+ appeared after the original competition drawings for Trinity Church
+ were prepared.
+
+Footnote 280:
+
+ The source was probably the book by Vogüé of which the second volume
+ appeared only in 1877 (see Note [196], Chapter 8). The motif first
+ appeared in the North Easton Library, designed and begun in that year.
+
+Footnote 281:
+
+ See Richardson, H. H., _The Ames Memorial Building_[197], Boston,
+ 1886.
+
+Footnote 282:
+
+ See Olmsted, F. L., and Kimball, T., _Frederick Law Olmsted_, 2 vols,
+ New York, 1922-8.
+
+Footnote 283:
+
+ See Richardson, H. H., _Austin Hall, Harvard Law School_, Boston,
+ 1885.
+
+Footnote 284:
+
+ See Richardson, H. H., _Description of Drawings for the Proposed New
+ County Building for Allegheny County, Penn._, Boston, 1884.
+
+Footnote 285:
+
+ See Schuyler, M., ‘The Romanesque Revival in New York’, _Architectural
+ Record_, I (1891), 7-38, 151-98.
+
+Footnote 286:
+
+ See Bragdon, C., ‘Harvey Ellis’, _Architectural Record_, XXV (1908),
+ 173-83.
+
+Footnote 287:
+
+ Hunt, of the older generation, was generally recognized as a leader in
+ this camp also, although his energies in these years were principally
+ engaged in designing and building a series of _François I_ châteaux
+ for the Vanderbilts and other millionaires that are anything but
+ academic in their involved picturesqueness.
+
+ This curious episode, which has been given exaggerated importance by
+ some historians of American architecture, began with the designing of
+ the W. K. Vanderbilt house in New York in 1879-80 (see Andrews, W.,
+ _The Vanderbilt Legend_, New York, 1941). Other architects were also
+ briefly affected by what was hardly more than a recrudescence of a
+ mode popular in France under Louis Philippe in Hunt’s youth (see
+ Chapter 3).
+
+ A few houses by McKim, Mead & White of the early eighties are
+ definitely _François I_, and Richardson used _François I_ dormers,
+ probably independently of Hunt, on the Albany Capitol. Moreover, the
+ round towers of the ‘Shingle Style’ undoubtedly owe something to
+ Stanford White’s sketching trips in France. This episode obviously
+ parallels the interest in revived Northern Renaissance modes of design
+ in Germany, Holland, and Scandinavia in these decades, and has
+ analogies also to the contemporary work in England of George & Peto
+ and Collcutt (see Chapters 9 and 12).
+
+Footnote 288:
+
+ In the designing of the Sherman house—particularly in the Shavian
+ detailing—White had probably played an important part; he was,
+ moreover, called on by the Shermans to enlarge the house in 1881. The
+ library, of this date, is one of his finest pieces of interior
+ decoration.
+
+Footnote 289:
+
+ One of the earliest examples of the serious study of Colonial
+ precedent is Arthur Little’s _Early New England Interiors_, Boston,
+ 1878. However, his own work remained relatively free for some years.
+
+Footnote 290:
+
+ See _Building News_, 28 April 1882.
+
+Footnote 291:
+
+ These tiles wore out some years ago and have now been replaced. The
+ smooth black roof seen on Plate 111 lacks the fine scale and rich
+ texture the pantiles provide.
+
+Footnote 292:
+
+ The conceptual organization of the exterior has seemed to most critics
+ to have been borrowed from a much later monument, Henri Labrouste’s
+ Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève in Paris of the 1840s, even though McKim
+ would not admit it. There is certainly none of Labrouste’s exposed
+ metalwork in the interior; but the extensive use of Guastavino tile
+ vaults, at this time a real technical innovation, is worth noting.
+
+Footnote 293:
+
+ See Burnham, D. H., _World’s Columbian Exposition_, Chicago, 1894, and
+ Ives, H., _The Dream City_, St Louis, 1893.
+
+Footnote 294:
+
+ The area round the ‘Wooded Isle’ was much less regular than that round
+ the Lagoon in continuance of Olmsted’s earlier and more naturalistic
+ sort of landscaping. Into this area were shunted most of the buildings
+ by local architects, doubtless because McKim distrusted their capacity
+ to conform to the academic standards he was setting.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 14 - Notes
+
+Footnote 295:
+
+ See Note [97], Chapter 5.
+
+Footnote 296:
+
+ Somewhat fuller accounts of English commercial architecture in this
+ period will be found in Hitchcock, ‘Victorian Monuments of Commerce’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CV (1949), 61-74, and in Hitchcock, _Early
+ Victorian Architecture_, Chapters XI and XII. Most of the English
+ buildings mentioned in this chapter are illustrated either in the book
+ or the article.
+
+Footnote 297:
+
+ See Weisman, W., ‘Commercial Palaces of New York’, _Journal of the
+ Society of Architectural Historians_, XXXVI (1954), 285-302.
+
+Footnote 298:
+
+ See Bogardus, J., _Cast Iron Buildings: Construction and Advantages_,
+ New York, 1856.
+
+Footnote 299:
+
+ See Hitchcock, H.-R., ‘Early Cast Iron Façades’, _Architectural
+ Review_, CIX (1951), 113-16.
+
+Footnote 300:
+
+ See Weisman, W., ‘Philadelphia Functionalism and Sullivan’, _Journal
+ of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XX (1961), 3-19.
+
+Footnote 301:
+
+ See Sturges, W. K., ‘Cast Iron in New York’, _Architectural Review_,
+ CXIV (1953), 233-8.
+
+Footnote 302:
+
+ See Peterson, C., ‘Ante-bellum Skyscraper’, _Journal of the Society of
+ Architectural Historians_, IX (1950), 27-9; X (1951), 25. The Jayne
+ Building, begun by Johnston, was completed by Thomas U. Walter. It has
+ unfortunately been demolished since 1958.
+
+Footnote 303:
+
+ See Woodward, G., ‘Oriel Chambers’, _Architectural Review_, CXIX
+ (1956), 268-70. Fine measured drawings by students of the University
+ of Liverpool School of Architecture were published in _Architectural
+ History_, II (1959), 81-94.
+
+Footnote 304:
+
+ See Note [277], Chapter 13.
+
+Footnote 305:
+
+ See Weisman, W., ‘New York and the Problem of the First Skyscraper’,
+ _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XII (1953),
+ 13-20. For a rather different opinion, see Webster, J. C., ‘The
+ Skyscraper: Logical and Historical Considerations’, _Journal of the
+ Society of Architectural Historians_, XVIII (1959), 126-39.
+
+Footnote 306:
+
+ It is worth noting that neither cast-iron façades nor the vertical
+ articulation of the Philadelphia buildings of the fifties was used in
+ either case. Both developments of the mid century proved cul-de-sacs
+ since the New York architects followed the established modes of the
+ sixties for monumental buildings in these first two skyscrapers. In
+ the same years 1873-4, however, Hunt did build the five-storey edifice
+ at 478-482 Broadway in New York with an all cast-iron front, employing
+ a sort of attenuated ‘giant order’ subsuming the three middle storeys.
+
+Footnote 307:
+
+ Giedion first called attention to the importance of ‘balloon-frame’
+ construction in _Space, Time and Architecture_ in 1941; but see Field,
+ W., ‘A Re-examination into the Invention of the Balloon Frame’,
+ _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, II (1942), 3-29.
+
+Footnote 308:
+
+ See Randall, G., _The Great Fire of Chicago and its Causes_, Chicago
+ [1871].
+
+Footnote 309:
+
+ See Hope, H., ‘Louis Sullivan’s Architectural Ornament’, _Magazine of
+ Art_, XL (1947), 110-17. Sullivan thought of his early ornament as
+ somehow ‘Egyptian’, but it is not very easy to see why. A later, so
+ far unpublished study by Etel Kramer seems to establish, contrary to
+ his own statements, that Sullivan owed a good deal to the theories of
+ Owen Jones and that his ornament matured, earlier than has hitherto
+ been supposed, in 1884-5.
+
+Footnote 310:
+
+ This is not the same as the Revell Store.
+
+Footnote 311:
+
+ Several more storeys were added later and appear in many of the
+ published views.
+
+Footnote 312:
+
+ One must say ‘metal’, because structural steel was only gradually
+ replacing cast and wrought iron at this time; all these types of
+ ferrous material were probably used in the Home Insurance, the
+ Rookery, and other skyscrapers of the mid eighties. Two books by W.
+ Birkmire, _Architectural Iron and Steel_, New York, 1891, and
+ _Skeleton Construction in Buildings_, New York, 1893, best present the
+ technical aspects of large-scale metal construction as it matured in
+ the eighties and early nineties.
+
+Footnote 313:
+
+ An American edition of this book appeared in 1880. See Note [309],
+ _supra_.
+
+Footnote 314:
+
+ I owe this suggestion to Vincent Scully.
+
+Footnote 315:
+
+ Incidentally, the signature Frank L[loyd] Wright on the drawings for a
+ rather Richardsonian group of three masonry houses in Chicago,
+ designed in the Adler & Sullivan office in 1888 for Victor L.
+ Falkenau, suggests that it was Sullivan’s brilliant draughtsman, as it
+ was Jenney’s assistant on the Leiter Building, who was responsible for
+ this example of overt Richardsonian influence.
+
+Footnote 316:
+
+ The discovery by Condit that this building was begun in 1890 seemed to
+ lend it a special importance, up until then unrecognized. But the text
+ gives the correct dating.
+
+Footnote 317:
+
+ It is so generally assumed that Sullivan’s mature style is without
+ historical antecedents that the even more definitely _quattrocento_
+ character of the entrance here, as well as of those of the Guaranty
+ Building, is rarely noted.
+
+Footnote 318:
+
+ The five southernmost bays are an addition made in 1906 by D. H.
+ Burnham & Co. They follow, with some slight diminution in the
+ bay-width, Sullivan’s original design.
+
+ The form of the Burnham firm’s name in these years is significant of
+ the increasing anonymity of architectural practice in America as the
+ scale of operation increased (see Chapter 24).
+
+Footnote 319:
+
+ See _Purcell and Elmslie Architects_ (Walker Art Gallery Exhibition
+ Catalogue), Minneapolis, 1953, and Gebhard, D., ‘Louis Sullivan and
+ George Grant Elmslie’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural
+ Historians_, XIX (1960), 62-8, and _A Guide to the Existing
+ Architecture of Purcell and Elmslie_, Roswell, N. M., 1960.
+
+Footnote 320:
+
+ Of more interest than the skyscraper is a smaller and earlier Singer
+ Building, also by Flagg. Flagg was one American who retained contact
+ with the French tradition of exposed metal construction as well as
+ with the academic aspects of ‘Beaux Arts’ design as his first Singer
+ Building illustrates.
+
+Footnote 321:
+
+ See Schuyler, M., ‘The Work of N. LeBrun & Sons’, _Architectural
+ Record_, XXVII (1910), 365-80. The Metropolitan Tower is, of course,
+ the work of a firm not of a single architect; LeBrun himself had been
+ dead for some years.
+
+Footnote 322:
+
+ See Schuyler, M., ‘“The Towers of Manhattan” and Notes on the
+ Woolworth Building’, _Architectural Record_, XXX (1913), 98-122.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 15 - Notes
+
+Footnote 323:
+
+ See Note [107], Chapter 6
+
+Footnote 324:
+
+ For a remarkable later development of the veranda outside England, see
+ Robertson, E. G., ‘The Australian Verandah’, _Architectural Review_,
+ CXXVII (1960), 238-45.
+
+Footnote 325:
+
+ There are many examples in various English books of the first third of
+ the century; characteristic are those offered by T. F. Hunt, J. B.
+ Papworth, and P. F. Robinson. See Note [134] to Chapter 6.
+
+Footnote 326:
+
+ See Note [132], Chapter 6.
+
+Footnote 327:
+
+ See Note [128], Chapter 6.
+
+Footnote 328:
+
+ See Note [133], Chapter 6.
+
+Footnote 329:
+
+ See Note [308], Chapter 14.
+
+Footnote 330:
+
+ See Note [132], Chapter 6.
+
+Footnote 331:
+
+ In the _Builder_ for 15 January 1859 and in the Supplement to Kerr,
+ R., _The Gentleman’s House_, 2nd ed., London, 1865.
+
+Footnote 332:
+
+ Contemporaries saw this house rather as a reaction towards the ‘Old
+ English’ after the ‘modernism’ of the High Victorian Gothic and the
+ Second Empire of the preceding decade. How conscious Shaw himself was
+ of the significance of his own innovations it is difficult to say.
+
+Footnote 333:
+
+ The plan was first published by Muthesius in 1904; this does not mean
+ that its character was not known to contemporary architects, however.
+
+Footnote 334:
+
+ By this time photo-lithographic processes made it possible for Shaw’s
+ perspectives to appear in the _Building News_ practically as
+ facsimiles of his originals. Had it been necessary, as in the fifties
+ and sixties, to ‘translate’ them into wood-engravings the transmission
+ of the Shavian influence abroad would certainly have been much less
+ effective.
+
+Footnote 335:
+
+ See Note [133], Chapter 6. The term ‘Eastlake’ is sometimes rather
+ inaccurately used for the Stick Style.
+
+Footnote 336:
+
+ See Wheeler, G., _Rural Houses_, New York, 1851, with later editions
+ to 1868, and his _Homes for the People in Suburb and Country_, New
+ York, 1855, with later editions to 1867.
+
+Footnote 337:
+
+ See Gardner, E. C., _Homes and How to Build Them_, Boston, 1874, and
+ also his _Illustrated Homes_, Boston, 1875.
+
+Footnote 338:
+
+ See Woodward, G. E., _Woodward’s Country Houses_, New York, 1865;
+ _Woodward’s Architecture, Landscape Gardening and Rural Art_, New
+ York, 1867; _Woodward’s Cottage and Farm Houses_, New York, 1867; and
+ _Woodward’s National Architect_, New York, 1868. Of _Woodward’s
+ Country Houses_ there were eight successive editions within a decade,
+ thus rivalling in this period the popularity of Downing’s _Cottage
+ Residences_ in the forties and fifties; however, it is worth noting
+ that the latter still remained in print.
+
+Footnote 339:
+
+ See Sturges, W. K., ‘Long Shadow of Norman Shaw: Queen Anne Revival’,
+ _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, IX (1950), 21-5.
+
+Footnote 340:
+
+ Scully in _The Shingle Style_ provides evidence that the idea of a
+ great hall was not unknown in America well before this. It may be
+ unnecessary to suppose that Richardson knew of the Hinderton plan,
+ since one or two comparable ones can be found in books appearing in
+ America in the fifties; see, for example, the Nathan Reeve house in
+ Newburgh, N.Y., published as ‘Design No. 22’ in Vaux, C., _Villas and
+ Cottages_, New York, 1857. However that may be, the great hall theme
+ was rarely exploited in Second Empire or Stick Style houses of the
+ sixties. It makes a notable appearance or re-appearance, as the case
+ may be, in Richardson’s planning just after 1870. See Notes VI-4 and
+ VIII-2 in the 1961 edition of my Richardson book.
+
+Footnote 341:
+
+ The term is Vincent Scully’s. Various themes touched on in this and
+ succeeding paragraphs are discussed at length in his homonymous volume
+ and provided there with a full roster of illustrations.
+
+Footnote 342:
+
+ It is of interest that when the _Monograph of the Work of McKim, Mead
+ & White_ was prepared in 1915 almost all this early work was omitted.
+ It has been rediscovered by critics and historians in the last thirty
+ years, beginning with Mumford in the _Brown Decades_ in 1931.
+
+Footnote 343:
+
+ Just how the influence reached American architects so early is not
+ altogether clear. The first treatise in English on Japanese
+ architecture is Morse, E. S., _Japanese Homes and Their Surroundings_,
+ Boston, 1886; new ed., New York, 1961. See Lancaster, C., ‘Japanese
+ Buildings in the United States before 1900: Their Influence upon
+ American Domestic Architecture’, _Art Bulletin_, XXXV (1953), 217-24.
+
+Footnote 344:
+
+ See Hitchcock, H. R., ‘Frank Lloyd Wright and the “Academic Tradition”
+ in the Nineties’, _Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes_,
+ VII (1947), 46-63.
+
+Footnote 345:
+
+ For an unsuspected but possible influence on Wright in this façade,
+ see Gebhard, D., ‘A Note on the Chicago Fair of 1893 and Frank Lloyd
+ Wright’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XVIII
+ (1959), 63-5.
+
+Footnote 346:
+
+ Japanese influence was more evident at the Chauncey L. Williams house
+ at 520 Edgewood Place in River Forest, Ill., of 1895, notably in the
+ use of rough boulders at the foot of the brick wall and flanking the
+ entrance. Wright by this time was enthusiastically interested in
+ Japanese prints; whether he also knew Morse’s book of 1886 (see Note
+ 20 _supra_) is not clear.
+
+Footnote 347:
+
+ This was very much extended, but along the original lines, in 1901, as
+ shown on Plate 128B. The present River Forest Tennis Club, a much
+ smaller structure, is not the same, though it bears some superficial
+ resemblance to the Golf Club. The building of 1898-1901 was demolished
+ in 1905.
+
+Footnote 348:
+
+ I am grateful to John Brandon-Jones for allowing me to read the
+ manuscript of his unpublished monograph on Voysey. Without his
+ assistance of various sorts this account of Voysey could not have been
+ written and illustrated.
+
+Footnote 349:
+
+ See Note [261], Chapter 12.
+
+Footnote 350:
+
+ The ‘House at Doverscourt for A. J. W. Ward’, published in the
+ _British Architect_, 11 April 1890, was apparently never executed any
+ more than those illustrated the previous year. It is very like
+ Perrycroft, built in 1893, the first of Voysey’s important country
+ houses, thus suggesting that on paper his style had in fact largely
+ crystallized by this date before his Forster house was begun. It is of
+ interest that the plan of the Ward project is more open than those of
+ any of his executed houses; it may well have influenced Baillie Scott
+ (see below).
+
+Footnote 351:
+
+ Brandon-Jones suggests, however, that the very plain Regency villa in
+ which Voysey was then living in St John’s Wood may have had some
+ generic influence on the Forster house.
+
+Footnote 352:
+
+ At Perrycroft the mullions are of wood, originally painted green. At
+ the Forster house they were of stone, and that is true of almost all
+ the later houses. So also the slates here were Welsh and grey; when he
+ began to work in the Lake District he turned to green slates, earlier
+ used by Godwin on Whistler’s house. These became standard on his later
+ houses wherever they were built.
+
+Footnote 353:
+
+ For a later tribute to his influence and that of Baillie Scott abroad,
+ see Fisker, K., ‘Tre pionerer fra aarhundredskiftet’, _Byggmästaren_,
+ 1947, 221-32; the third ‘pioneer’, rather surprisingly, is Tessenow
+ (see Chapter 20).
+
+Footnote 354:
+
+ For a remarkable later work of Lethaby, see Pevsner, N., ‘Lethaby’s
+ Last’, _Architectural Review_, CXXX (1961), 354-7. This church, at
+ Brockhampton-by-Ross in Herefordshire, was roofed with pre-cast
+ concrete slabs at the surprisingly early date of 1900-2; and its
+ simplified, rather angular, Gothic design is, in effect, already
+ proto-Expressionist.
+
+Footnote 355:
+
+ See Pevsner, N., ‘George Walton, His Life and Work’, _Journal of the
+ Royal Institute of British Architects_, XLVI (1939), 537-48.
+
+Footnote 356:
+
+ Voysey was also a notable designer of wallpapers and chintzes, perhaps
+ the most notable of his generation in England.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 16 - Notes
+
+Footnote 357:
+
+ See Madsen’s _Sources of Art Nouveau_, 75-83.
+
+Footnote 358:
+
+ See Schmutzler, R., ‘English Origins of the Art Nouveau’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CXVII (1955), 108-16. The question is
+ discussed further at a later point in this chapter (pp. 284-5).
+
+Footnote 359:
+
+ See Note [149], Chapter 7.
+
+Footnote 360:
+
+ The one large structure built for this exhibition in permanent form,
+ the Palais du Trocadéro by Davioud, has since been replaced. Vaguely
+ Saracenic in design, yet not altogether unworthy in silhouette of its
+ splendid site on the Chaillot heights, this shared none of the
+ qualities of Eiffel’s temporary pavilion. See Davioud, G., _Le Palais
+ du Trocadéro_, Paris, 1878. As long as it lasted, however, the
+ Trocadéro provided a sort of pendant on this side of Paris to Abadie’s
+ Sacré-Cœur atop Montmartre, begun in the same rather dreary decade of
+ French architectural production.
+
+Footnote 361:
+
+ See Note [265]a, Chapter 12.
+
+Footnote 362:
+
+ See Alphand, A., _L’Exposition universelle de Paris de 1889_, Paris,
+ 1892.
+
+Footnote 363:
+
+ See Eiffel, G., _La Tour de trois-cents-mètres_, Paris, 1900.
+
+Footnote 364:
+
+ Bogardus’s shot-towers of the fifties in New York, which were of
+ essentially similar construction, received little contemporary or
+ later publicity. It is still uncertain whether Jenney knew of them
+ when he built the Home Insurance Building in Chicago in 1883-5. See T.
+ C. Bannister, ‘Bogardus Revisited, Part II’, _Journal of the Society
+ of Architectural Historians_, XVI (1957).
+
+Footnote 365:
+
+ See Note [253], Chapter 11.
+
+Footnote 366:
+
+ See Grady, J., ‘Bibliography of the Art Nouveau’, _Journal of the
+ Society of Architectural Historians_, XIV (1955), 18-27 and _Art
+ Nouveau_ (Museum of Modern Art Exhibition Catalogue), New York [1960].
+
+Footnote 367:
+
+ This applies particularly to Art Nouveau decoration; the major
+ architectural works were frequently very plastically organized,
+ although most of the detail was linear.
+
+Footnote 368:
+
+ See Schmutzler, R., ‘Blake and the Art Nouveau’, _Architectural
+ Review_, CXVIII (1955), 90-7.
+
+Footnote 369:
+
+ See Lancaster, C., ‘Oriental Contributions to Art Nouveau’, _Art
+ Bulletin_, XXXIV (1952), 297-310.
+
+Footnote 370:
+
+ See Grady, J., ‘Nature and the Art Nouveau’, _Art Bulletin_, XXXVII
+ (1955), 187-92.
+
+Footnote 371:
+
+ See Mackmurdo, A. H., _Wren’s City Churches_, Orpington, 1883.
+
+Footnote 372:
+
+ Not perhaps impossible: There is something a little analogous to
+ Impressionism in the work of Shaw, though he probably had no
+ admiration for the art of Monet and his contemporaries in the
+ seventies even if he was at all aware of it. The same is true of the
+ American masters of the Shingle Style. The analogy lies in the casual
+ looseness of over-all composition and the delicacy of the touch—both
+ tile-hanging and shingles provide a certain effect of ‘broken colour’
+ or at least ‘tachiste’ brushwork—even though they are usually
+ monochrome. On the other hand, Kimball in his _American Architecture_,
+ written a generation ago, saw an analogy to Cézanne in the return to
+ architectural order in the mid eighties in America. There is no
+ evidence that McKim or White then admired any French painters more
+ advanced than Puvis de Chavannes however.
+
+Footnote 373:
+
+ Some studio houses were certainly built in France by leading
+ architects throughout the second half of the nineteenth century: The
+ one that Viollet-le-Duc provided for the painter Constant Troyon in
+ the late fifties was of notable interest—in fact, one of his best
+ works. Moreover, the more modest _ateliers d’ artiste_ erected by
+ builders provided much later, in the 1920s, precedents of value to Le
+ Corbusier and Lurçat. See Banham, R., ‘Ateliers d’artiste’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CXX (1956), 75-83.
+
+Footnote 374:
+
+ See Delhaye, J., ‘Hommage à mon maître; architecte Baron Victor
+ Horta’, _L’Appartement d’aujourd’hui_, Liège, 1946, 6-17; Maus, O.,
+ ‘Habitations modernes, Victor Horta’, _L’Art moderne_, XX (1900),
+ 221-3; Sedeyn, E., ‘Victor Horta’, _L’Art décoratif_, IX (1902),
+ 230-42; and Madsen, S. T., ‘Horta. Works and Style of Victor Horta
+ before 1900’, _Architectural Review_, CXVIII (1955), 388-92.
+
+Footnote 375:
+
+ See Koch, R., and others, _Louis Comfort Tiffany 1848-1933_, New York,
+ 1958.
+
+Footnote 376:
+
+ The wallpaper was probably one of those designed by Heywood Sumner,
+ possibly his ‘Tulip’ according to Elizabeth Aslin of the Victoria and
+ Albert Museum. This was one of the considerable range of English
+ papers shown by Jeffrey & Company at the Salon de l’Association pour
+ l’Art d’Anvers in Antwerp in the winter of 1892-3. These papers, which
+ included designs by most of the English leaders in the field of
+ decorative art, had already been shown at the Paris Exposition of
+ 1889. It is hard to believe that Horta became aware of them only when
+ the Tassel house was nearly finished and not earlier in Antwerp or in
+ Paris. For the Antwerp showing, see Van de Velde, H., ‘Artistic
+ Wallpapers’, _L’Art moderne_, XIII (1893), 193-5. This article was
+ copied in _L’Emulation_, XVIII (1893), 150-1, the most advanced
+ Belgian architectural journal, where the Tassel house itself was
+ published in 1895. It introduces the name of another important Belgian
+ figure besides Horta in the story of the Art Nouveau.
+
+Footnote 377:
+
+ It is of interest, although irrelevant to the inception of the Art
+ Nouveau, that in this same year Horta became professor of architecture
+ at the Académie like Balat before him.
+
+Footnote 378:
+
+ See Kaufmann, E., ‘224 Avenue Louise’, _Interiors_, 116 (1957), 88-93.
+
+Footnote 379:
+
+ For a late tribute to Van de Velde in English, see Shand, P. M.,
+ _Architectural Review_, CXII (1952), 143-55. It is a major error of
+ emphasis—and in detail an accumulation of errors of fact—that H.
+ Lenning offers in his book _The Art Nouveau_ (The Hague, 1951) by
+ accepting the legend that Van de Velde was the initiator of the Art
+ Nouveau. There is plenty of evidence that Van de Velde was aware of
+ English innovations in decoration from the early nineties. On the
+ other hand, despite the wallpaper in the Tassel dining-room, it should
+ be noted that Horta’s widow and his disciple Delhaye minimize, to the
+ point of denying all but absolutely, the dependence of Horta on
+ English sources at the time he designed the Tassel house.
+
+Footnote 380:
+
+ Paul Hankar (1861-1901) was a third Belgian architectural innovator in
+ this period. His work, however, is so crude and uneven that his name
+ need be no more than mentioned. He is in no proper sense an exponent
+ of the Art Nouveau. See Conrady, C., and Thibaux, R., _Paul Hankar_,
+ [n.p.] 1923.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 17 - Notes
+
+Footnote 381:
+
+ See Malton, J., ‘Art Nouveau in Essex’, _Architectural Review_, CXXVI
+ (1959), 100-4. For a considerably earlier and more extraordinary
+ example of English work approaching the Art Nouveau, see Beazley, E.,
+ ‘Watts Chapel’, _Architectural Review_, CXXX (1961), 166-72. This
+ chapel at Compton, Surrey, was designed in 1896 by Mary Watts, the
+ widow of the painter G. F. Watts. The inspiration seems to have been
+ predominantly Norse and Celtic.
+
+Footnote 382:
+
+ See Gout, P., _L’Architecture au XX^e siècle et l’Art Nouveau_, Paris,
+ 1903.
+
+Footnote 383:
+
+ See Hostingue, G. d’, _Le Castel Béranger, œuvre de H. G.,
+ architecte_, Paris, 1898.
+
+Footnote 384:
+
+ Both the main façade and the principal interior are essentially the
+ work of Deglane. Louvet and Thomas were more responsible for other
+ elements of the complex structure.
+
+Footnote 385:
+
+ See _L’architecture moderne à Paris, concours de façades_, 2 vols,
+ Paris, 1901, 1902.
+
+Footnote 386:
+
+ See Uhry, E., ‘Agrandissements des magasins de la Samaritaine’,
+ _L’Architecte_, II (1907), 13-14, 20, plates X-XII.
+
+Footnote 387:
+
+ I owe my knowledge of this remarkable façade to Martin Kermacy. He was
+ unable to find out by whom and when it was built; it is very probably
+ an early work of Josef Urban, Novotny informs me.
+
+Footnote 388:
+
+ For another rather independent Scottish architect of this period, see
+ Walker, D. M., ‘Lamond of Dundee’, _Architectural Review_, CXXIII
+ (1958), 269-71.
+
+Footnote 389:
+
+ See Scheichenbauer, M., _Alfredo Campanini_, Milan, 1958.
+
+Footnote 390:
+
+ See Note [259], Chapter 11.
+
+Footnote 391:
+
+ Among other things, it is Gaudi’s use of forms inspired by primitive
+ architecture that has appealed to later twentieth-century taste.
+ ‘Primitivism’ in painting and sculpture has been of recurrent
+ importance since the days of the Fauves and the Expressionists; a
+ comparable primitivism in architecture has been much rarer, except for
+ Gaudí.
+
+Footnote 392:
+
+ Except as regards the theories of vaulting exemplified in successive
+ schemes for the Sagrada Familia and his church at Santa Coloma de
+ Cervelló, Gaudí’s technical innovations have been until lately little
+ studied despite the very considerable literature devoted to his work.
+ Research is proving that he made many important innovations in
+ structure over and above those so evident in the crypt—the only
+ portion executed—of the Santa Coloma church. George Collins showed
+ some of the results, as yet unpublished, of the latest studies in an
+ exhibition at Columbia University in May 1962.
+
+Footnote 393:
+
+ While the mosaic of broken fragments of patterned ceramic on the
+ benches at the Parc Güell suggests Cubist _collages_ and even Dada
+ compositions—notably the _Merzbilder_ of Kurt Schwitters—the handling
+ of the coloured glass on this façade is closer to the paintings of
+ Jackson Pollock and other New York artists of the 1950s.
+
+Footnote 394:
+
+ A curious continuation, or more accurately revival, of Gaudian modes
+ has of late occurred in Portuguese Africa. See Beinart, J., ‘Amancio
+ Guedes, Architect of Lourenço Marques’, _Architectural Review_, CXXIX
+ (1961), 240-51.
+
+Footnote 395:
+
+ Even Gaudí after 1910 produced little, being almost wholly occupied
+ with the slow progress of the Sagrada Familia. Of course, in a sense
+ Horta is another exception; but his success after 1910 was of purely
+ local significance and dependent on his total rejection of the Art
+ Nouveau of his youth. One can only think of the later career of
+ Giorgio de Chirico, still today a success in Italy but ignored by the
+ outside world except when he imitates his earlier work.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 18 - Notes
+
+Footnote 396:
+
+ See _Concrete and Constructional Engineering_, II (January 1956),
+ special anniversary number reviewing the history of concrete. More
+ important later studies are: Raafat, A. A., _Reinforced Concrete in
+ Architecture_, New York [1958]; and Collins, P., _Concrete, The Vision
+ of a New Architecture_, New York [1959]. See also Kramer, E. W., and
+ Raafat, A. A., ‘The Ward House, Pioneer Structure of Reinforced
+ Concrete’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XX
+ (1961), 34-7.
+
+Footnote 397:
+
+ See Baudot, A. de, _L’Architecture, le passé, le présent_, Paris,
+ 1916, and Baudot, J. de, _L’Architecture et le béton armé_, Paris,
+ 1916.
+
+Footnote 398:
+
+ See Huxtable, A. L., ‘Progressive Architecture in America: Reinforced
+ Concrete Construction. The work of Ernest L. Ransome,
+ Engineer—1884-1911’ and ‘Factory for Packard Motor Car Company—1905,
+ Detroit, Michigan, Albert Kahn, Architect. Ernest Wilby, Associate’,
+ _Progressive Architecture_, 38 (1957), 139-42 and 121-2.
+
+ Such research is revealing that Albert Kahn (1869-1942) was not such a
+ pioneer in concrete factory construction as has been generally
+ supposed. However, the ‘Kahn Bar’ developed by his brothers’
+ engineering firm was a major technical contribution, and undoubtedly
+ his motor-car factories were among the earliest major industrial works
+ in the new material. For the alternative use of steel in American
+ warehouse and factory construction, see Eaton, L. K., ‘Frame of
+ Steel’, _Architectural Review_, CXXVI (1959), 289-90.
+
+Footnote 399:
+
+ The detailed history of the concrete grain elevator cannot be given
+ here. The prototypes for the great monuments of Buffalo, Minneapolis,
+ and Duluth were certainly French. These monolithic cylinders are, of
+ course, very different from the motor-car factories with their
+ post-and-lintel construction, but the history of the elevator
+ undoubtedly runs nearly parallel to that of the factory. See [Torbert,
+ D. R.] _A Century of Minnesota Architecture_, Minneapolis, 1958,
+ unpaged.
+
+Footnote 400:
+
+ In the last few years the innovations of such engineers as Pierluigi
+ Nervi (b. 1891) in Italy, Eduardo Torroja (1899-1961) in Spain, and
+ Felix Candela (b. 1910) in Mexico have revolutionized earlier
+ conceptions of the possibilities of ferro-concrete (see Chapter 25).
+ For Torroja, see _The Structures of Eduardo Torroja_, New York [1960],
+ and Torroja, E., _The Philosophy of Structures_, Berkeley, 1958. (See
+ Epilogue.)
+
+Footnote 401:
+
+ See Pfammatter, P., _Betonkirchen_, Cologne and Zurich, 1948.
+
+Footnote 402:
+
+ By reaction many of the same architects, notably Le Corbusier, have in
+ the last few years consciously sought the brutality of industrial
+ concrete finish—he calls it _béton brut_—even in monumental work (see
+ Chapter 25 and Epilogue).
+
+Footnote 403:
+
+ The atelier was founded in 1928.
+
+Footnote 404:
+
+ The team that worked with Perret on Le Havre consisted of P. Branche,
+ P. Dubouillon, P. Feuillebois, A. Heaume, J. Imbert, M. Kaeppelin, G.
+ Lagneau, M. Lotte, P.-E. Lambert, A. Le Donné, A. Persitz, J.
+ Poirrier, H. Tougard, and J. Tournant, all of whom seem to have shared
+ responsibility for the buildings flanking the Place de l’Hôtel de
+ Ville. Poirrier, Le Donné, and Lambert were, however, joint
+ architects-in-chief. Specific attributions are perhaps not very
+ significant in this kind of situation, but the characteristic Hôtel
+ Normandie (1950) is by Poirrier and the whole sea front by Lambert.
+
+Footnote 405:
+
+ See Garnier, T., _Une Cité industrielle_, Paris [1918]. The basic
+ project goes back to 1901, but was much elaborated in the intervening
+ years. Although it was unpublished, many architects were certainly
+ familiar with its general character. See Wiebenson, D., ‘Utopian
+ Aspects of Garnier’s Cité Industrielle’, _Journal of the Society of
+ Architectural Historians_, XIX (1960), 16-24.
+
+Footnote 406:
+
+ See Garnier, T., _Les Grands Travaux de la ville de Lyon_, Paris,
+ 1919.
+
+Footnote 407:
+
+ This applies particularly to the work of Michel Roux-Spitz (b. 1888),
+ who became in the thirties the acknowledged leader of the profession
+ in France.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 19 - Notes
+
+Footnote 408:
+
+ See Zevi, B., _Verso un’architettura organica_, Turin, 1945; English
+ translation, _Towards an Organic Architecture_, London, 1950.
+
+Footnote 409:
+
+ See Pellegrini, L., ‘La decorazione funzionale del primo Wright’,
+ _L’Architettura_ (1956), 198-203.
+
+Footnote 410:
+
+ Wright’s ‘Baroque’ period, running for approximately ten years from
+ 1914 to 1924, parallels the Expressionist episode in European modern
+ architecture (see Chapters 21 and 22). That may be considered to open
+ with van der Meij’s Scheepvaarthuis of 1912-13 in Amsterdam and to run
+ out in general sometime in the mid twenties. It is not apparent that
+ there was any influence of consequence either way; indeed, the effect
+ of studying Wright’s work in the war years and the early twenties was
+ rather adverse to Expressionism and related tendencies, particularly
+ in Holland where Wright’s influence was strongest.
+
+Footnote 411:
+
+ See _Life_, V (26 Sep. 1938), 60-1.
+
+Footnote 412:
+
+ See _Ladies Home Journal_, February 1901; June 1901; April 1907.
+
+Footnote 413:
+
+ Wright, F. Ll., _The Story of the Tower_, New York, 1956.
+
+Footnote 414:
+
+ Wright had a tendency to scoff at the work of his former junior
+ associates and to deny the reality of their discipleship. There are at
+ present in practice a good many architects who have been for shorter
+ or longer periods at Taliesin, where the Fellowship has at times since
+ the Second World War included over sixty. Those who were at Taliesin
+ some time ago have naturally made the greater mark, since many of the
+ post-war members of the Fellowship had, in the mid 1950s, only just
+ begun their own practice. Alden Dow (b. 1904) in Midland, Michigan,
+ and Henry Klumb (b. 1905) in San Juan, Puerto Rico, have over the last
+ few years the greatest volume of work of more-or-less Wrightian
+ inspiration to their credit. But it must not be forgotten that Richard
+ J. Neutra (b. 1892), whose work is of a very different order, was also
+ for a time with Wright; while there are some architects whose work is
+ Wrightian to the point of parody who have never had any direct contact
+ with Wright at all.
+
+Footnote 415:
+
+ Richard E. Schmidt (1865-1959) and Hugh M. G. Garden (1873-1961).
+
+Footnote 416:
+
+ The contribution of these men is only beginning to receive the study
+ which it merits now the realization is growing that American
+ architecture was far less dominated by traditionalism in the first
+ quarter of the twentieth century, particularly in the Middle West and
+ on the Pacific Coast, than has generally been supposed in the last
+ thirty years. See Brooks, A., ‘The Early Work of the Prairie
+ Architects’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_, XIX
+ (1960), 2-10.
+
+Footnote 417:
+
+ See Thompson, E., ‘The Early Domestic Architecture of the San
+ Francisco Bay Region’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural
+ Historians_, X (1951), 15-21; Bangs, J. M., ‘Bernard Ralph Maybeck,
+ Architect, Comes into His Own’, _Architectural Record_, CIII (1948),
+ 72-9, and ‘Greene and Greene’, _Architectural Forum_, LXXXIX (1948),
+ 80-9; McCoy, E., _Five California Architects_, New York, 1960; and
+ Woodbridge, J. M. and S. B., _Buildings of the Bay Area, a Guide to
+ the Architecture of the San Francisco Bay Region_, New York, 1960,
+ which covers both earlier and later work.
+
+Footnote 418:
+
+ See Price, C., ‘Panama-Californian Exposition: Bertram Grosvenor
+ Goodhue and the Renaissance of Spanish-Colonial Architecture’,
+ _Architectural Record_, XXXVII (1915), 229-51.
+
+Footnote 419:
+
+ See Macomber, B., _The Jewel City, its Planning and Achievement_...,
+ San Francisco, 1915.
+
+Footnote 420:
+
+ See Lancaster, C., ‘The American Bungalow’, _Art Bulletin_, XL (1958),
+ 239-53.
+
+Footnote 421:
+
+ That is, on the West Coast; considered as an alternative to the
+ ‘International Style’ suitable for emulation everywhere, as it was for
+ a few years, it had no more validity than any other regional mode.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 20 - Notes
+
+Footnote 422:
+
+ Reviving interest in Expressionism has already led to considerable
+ significant publication. See, for example, Dorfles, G., _Barocco
+ nell’architettura moderna_, Milan, 1951, especially the second part;
+ Gregotti, G., ‘L’Architettura del’Espressionismo’, _Casabella_, August
+ 1961, [260]-48; Conrads, U., and Sperlich, H. G., _Phantastische
+ Architektur_, Stuttgart, [1960]; and, for a particularly significant
+ figure, Joedicke, J., ‘Haering at Garkau’, _Architectural Review_,
+ CXXVII (1960), 313-18. For a remarkable Expressionist publication by
+ an architect who was very active and influential in Germany in the
+ 1920s, see Taut, B., _Die Stadtkrone_, Jena, 1919.
+
+Footnote 423:
+
+ For the development of Van de Velde’s ideas in these years see _Die
+ Renaissance im modernen Kunstgewerbe_, Berlin, 1901, and _Vom neuen
+ Stil_, Leipzig, 1907. Van de Velde was a prolific writer, and it is
+ impossible to give a complete list of his books and articles here.
+ They will be found in Madsen’s _Sources of Art Nouveau_, 469.
+
+Footnote 424:
+
+ See Bauer, C. K., _Modern Housing_, Boston and New York, 1934; and my
+ _Early Victorian Architecture in Britain_, Chapters XIII and XIV.
+
+Footnote 425:
+
+ See Schumacher, F., _Das Wesen des neuzeitlichen Backsteinbaues_,
+ Munich, 1917. The rich and decorative use of brick is as
+ characteristic of the Hamburg School as of the Amsterdam School in
+ these decades (see Chapter 21).
+
+Footnote 426:
+
+ See Bie, O., _Der Architekt Oskar Kaufmann_, Berlin, 1928; Hegemann,
+ W., _German Bestelmeyer_, Berlin [n.d.] and Mayer, H., and Rehdern,
+ G., _Wilhelm Kreis_, Essen, 1953. In the twenties a large number of
+ such well-illustrated monographs on individual German architects were
+ published; it is much more difficult to find adequate documentation on
+ the work of several architects in other countries who are of
+ considerably greater originality and historical importance.
+
+Footnote 427:
+
+ Paraboloid domes of ferro-concrete were used with brilliant spatial
+ effect by Jacques Droz (b. 1882) at Sainte-Jeanne-d’Arc in Nice. This
+ was built in 1932, just at the same time that Böhm was building Sankt
+ Engelbert. The plan, consisting of three intersecting ellipses, is
+ very nearly identical with that of J. B. Neumann’s Baroque masterpiece
+ Vierzehnheiligen; the result is very different, however, because of
+ the continuity of the walls and roof here. Unfortunately Droz’s church
+ was elaborated with a tower and other features of a rather
+ ‘Jazz-Modern’ order.
+
+Footnote 428:
+
+ Another German church-architect of the twenties who has still a very
+ considerable reputation is Otto Bartning (b. 1883). He moved much
+ earlier in this direction than Böhm. For a statement of his
+ intentions, see Bartning, O., _Vom neuen Kirchbau_, Berlin, 1919.
+
+Footnote 429:
+
+ See _Maria Königin_ [Cologne, n.d.].
+
+Footnote 430:
+
+ This is not the place to discuss these churches. It may be remarked
+ here, however, that Candela’s church is considerably more
+ Expressionist in appearance, especially the interior, than anything
+ Böhm ever built in the twenties. Yet its strangely angular piers and
+ vaults that _look_ so much like the settings for the ‘Cabinet of Dr
+ Caligari’, the most famous German Expressionist film, result from this
+ engineer’s consistent use of the hyperbolic paraboloid forms which he
+ favours primarily for technical reasons. De la Mora, Niemeyer, and
+ Moya were content to use barrel-vault elements of plain parabolic
+ section such as were first introduced by Böhm in 1925-6.
+
+Footnote 431:
+
+ The triangular bay-window lighting the stairs is still somewhat
+ Expressionist, but the interior treatment is in general more related
+ to geometrical abstract art. The decoration approaches what came to be
+ known as ‘Jazz-Modern’ when it became vulgarized in the next ten years
+ or so in England. The contrast of the interiors that Behrens designed
+ with the fine examples of Mackintosh’s furniture, brought from a house
+ that he had remodelled earlier for the Bassett-Lowkes, appears rather
+ shocking a generation later. What must have been considered a bit
+ _démodé_ in 1925 now represents to posterity—at least in the field of
+ furniture design—the main line of advance in the early twentieth
+ century; what then seemed in England to be ‘the last word’ has dated
+ badly.
+
+Footnote 432:
+
+ ‘New Objectivity’: A generic term for some of the advanced movements
+ that succeeded Expressionism in the arts; in architecture, roughly
+ equivalent to ‘Functionalism’.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 21 - Notes
+
+Footnote 433:
+
+ The use of aluminium in architecture became widespread only some forty
+ years later, it should be noted, although it had supplied the cap of
+ the pyramid with which T. L. Casey finally completed the Washington
+ Monument as early as 1884—its first use in architecture. In the
+ nineties Thomas Harris already foresaw its great importance in
+ building; see his _Three Periods of English Architecture_, London,
+ 1894.
+
+Footnote 434:
+
+ See ‘Ornament und Verbrechen’ in Loos, A., _Trotzdem: Gesammelte
+ Aufsätze 1900-1930_, Innsbruck, 1931, first published in the _Neue
+ Freie Presse_ in January 1908. A French translation of the article
+ appeared in _L’Esprit nouveau_, I (1920), 159-68.
+
+Footnote 435:
+
+ Considering that Wright’s open planning had by no means matured while
+ Loos was in Chicago, American influence (if any) came probably from
+ the houses of the Shingle Style. Because of his close _rapport_ with
+ England, however, one may assume that the influence of Baillie Scott’s
+ plans was more important; while the treatment of interior trim comes
+ closest to Voysey, as has been noted.
+
+Footnote 436:
+
+ The recurrent suggestions of Richardsonian influence in Europe in the
+ nineties are not yet adequately explained. Townsend in England knew of
+ Richardson’s work from American and English publications, and there
+ was in England one house by Richardson, Lululund at Bushey, Herts, now
+ largely destroyed except for the entrance. This was designed shortly
+ before Richardson’s death for Sir Hubert von Herkomer, who had painted
+ his portrait, and executed without supervision. Boberg had been for a
+ short while in Chicago and Bruno Schmitz (1858-1916) in Indianapolis;
+ but there are others whose work also seems somewhat Richardsonian,
+ such as Theodor Fischer, who certainly had not. Berlage did not visit
+ America until 1911, when it was Wright’s work that most impressed him.
+ He and Fischer might, of course, have known Richardson’s buildings
+ from publications. For foreign publications of Richardson’s work
+ before 1900, see pp. 333-5 in the 1961 edition of my Richardson book.
+
+Footnote 437:
+
+ See Berlage, H. P., _Gedanken über den Stil in der Baukunst_, Leipzig,
+ 1905; _Grundlagen und Entwicklung der Architektur_, Amsterdam, 1908;
+ German ed., Berlin, 1908; and _Studies over Bouwkunst_, Rotterdam,
+ 1910.
+
+Footnote 438:
+
+ The work of K. P. C. de Bazel (1869-1923), a pupil of Cuijpers who
+ represents a rather different stream in Dutch architecture of the
+ early twentieth century, is especially close to that of the
+ contemporary German leaders but hardly at all related to
+ Expressionism. His massive office building for the Nederlandsche
+ Handel Maatschappij in Amsterdam of 1917-23 is quite similar to
+ Behrens’s nearly contemporary office blocks in Hanover and Düsseldorf,
+ but much more intricate and inventive in its brick-and-stone detail.
+
+Footnote 439:
+
+ Although it is unlikely that de Klerk actually owed anything to the
+ sets that Bakst, Benois, and others were designing for the Ballet
+ Russe, the visual investiture of the Diaghilev productions certainly
+ had a loosening effect on Western European taste in these years just
+ before the First World War. For the first time Russia impinged
+ visually on European art, but that impingement had only an oblique
+ effect on architecture, for the art that was exported was not, of
+ course, very architectural.
+
+Footnote 440:
+
+ See _American Architect_, CXXVIII (5 October 1925).
+
+Footnote 441:
+
+ See ‘The American Radiator Company Building, New York’, _American
+ Architect_, CXXVI (1924), 467-84.
+
+Footnote 442:
+
+ It is this that makes it so difficult to decide which architects
+ should be discussed in Chapters 18-21 and which in Chapter 24. No two
+ critics will agree, but most now recognize that the boundary line is
+ not a sharp one. For this reason in _Modern Architecture_, published
+ thirty years ago, I labelled the work of this generation ‘The New
+ Tradition’ and did not then reject the work of the Scandinavians as
+ too ‘traditional’ to be classed, broadly at least, with that of
+ Wright, Perret, Behrens, Wagner, and Loos, as I have done here.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 22 - Notes
+
+Footnote 443:
+
+ That is, Barr proposed the title _The International Style_ for the
+ book prepared by myself and Philip Johnson to go with this Exhibition,
+ drawing the word ‘international’ from the title of Gropius’s
+ _Internationale Architektur_. For various reasons the name
+ ‘International Style’ has often been castigated since 1932; yet it is
+ still recurrently used, with or without apology, by many critics. The
+ term is, for example, used in English and in a rather unflattering
+ sense by Gillo Dorfles in _L’ Architettura moderna_—one chapter is
+ entitled ‘“L’lnternational Style” ed i nuovi regionalismi’—with no
+ indication of its origin. Since this term had rather generally
+ acquired a pejorative meaning, I avoided using it as far as possible
+ in this book, preferring the vaguer but less controversial phrase
+ ‘modern architecture of the second generation’ despite its clumsiness.
+ For the possible claim that the original meaning of ‘International
+ Style’, as used by Barr, Johnson, and myself, still retained some
+ validity in the early fifties, see my article ‘The “International
+ Style” Twenty Years After’, _Architectural Record_, CX (1952), 89-97.
+ (See Epilogue.)
+
+Footnote 444:
+
+ See Roggero, M. F., _Il Contributo di Mendelsohn alla evoluzione dell’
+ architettura moderna_, Milan [1952].
+
+Footnote 445:
+
+ See Jaffé, H. L. C., _De Stijl, 1917-1931_, London [1956], and Zevi,
+ B., _Poetica dell’ architettura neoplastica_, Milan, 1935.
+
+Footnote 446:
+
+ See Mendelsohn, E., _Bauten und Skizzen_, Berlin, 1923; and English
+ ed., _Buildings and Sketches_, London, 1923.
+
+Footnote 447:
+
+ The whole question of Expressionism in architecture is still a
+ difficult one despite a renewed critical interest in the intentions
+ and achievements of the architects influenced by the movement (see
+ Note [422] to Chapter 20). As will shortly be noted, Gropius and Mies
+ van der Rohe were both briefly affected by Expressionist concepts and
+ used forms of distinctly Expressionist character in the years 1919-21.
+
+Footnote 448:
+
+ An earlier Goetheanum of 1913-20, which was destroyed by fire, had
+ been largely of wood. It was not at all like Mendelsohn’s Einstein
+ Tower but still somewhat Art Nouveau. See Brunati and Mendini,
+ _Steiner_, Milan [n.d.], for both versions. See also Steiner, R.,
+ _Wege zu einem neuen Baustil_, Dornach, 1926 (Eng. trans., London-New
+ York, 1927), and _Der Baugedanke des Goetheanum_, Dornach, 1932; and
+ Rosenkrantz, A., _The Goetheanum as a New Impulse in Art_, [London,
+ n.d.].
+
+Footnote 449:
+
+ For a late reassessment of that influence, see Jordan, R. F., ‘Dudok’,
+ _Architectural Review_, CXV (1954), 237-42.
+
+Footnote 450:
+
+ It is probable that Mendelsohn’s early projects and also the tower had
+ some influence on the later development of ‘streamlining’ in
+ industrial design. See Banham, R., ‘Machine-aesthetic’, _Architectural
+ Review_, CXVII (1955), 224-8.
+
+Footnote 451:
+
+ This sort of enclosure has come of late to be called a ‘curtain-wall’.
+ Some of the skyscrapers of the nineties in Chicago, most notably
+ Beman’s Studebaker Building of 1895 and Holabird & Roche’s McClurg
+ Building of 1899, approached it very closely, yet in them the actual
+ supporting piers remained in the façade plane as at the Fagus Factory
+ and thus the ‘curtain’ was interrupted, not continuous horizontally.
+ The first true example of the curtain-wall applied to a large urban
+ structure followed within a few years after the Fagus Factory, and
+ certainly with no influence from it; this is the Hallidie Building in
+ San Francisco, completed by Willis Polk (1867-1924) in 1918
+ immediately after the First World War. But see p. 238 and Note 9 to
+ Chapter 14 for Oriel Chambers of 1864-5.
+
+Footnote 452:
+
+ See Note [454], below.
+
+Footnote 453:
+
+ See Popp, J., _Bruno Paul_, Munich.
+
+Footnote 454:
+
+ To those historians of modern architecture who find its relevant
+ prehistory largely in the technical developments of the previous
+ century and a half, the Fagus Factory is the more important; to those
+ who accept that the architecture of the mid twentieth century had
+ aesthetic as well as technical roots, the special ‘classicism’ of
+ Mies’s project, like Wright’s contact with the American ‘Academic
+ Tradition’ of the nineties, seems perhaps at least as important. The
+ thesis of the late Emil Kaufmann, adumbrated in a series of books from
+ his _Von Ledoux bis Le Corbusier_ of 1931 to his posthumous
+ _Architecture in the Age of Reason_ of 1955, stresses—indeed
+ overstresses—the relevance of the theories and projects of the
+ revolutionary architects of the late eighteenth century to the new
+ architecture of the twentieth century. If it ever becomes possible to
+ subsume historically under a single rubric the ‘traditional’ and the
+ ‘advanced’ architecture of the first quarter of the twentieth century,
+ the ‘classicism’ and ‘academicism’ of Wright, Wagner, Mies, and Le
+ Corbusier as well as of Perret and Behrens will prove as significant
+ as the technical feats of those architects who erected the last great
+ railway stations in these years and the tallest skyscrapers. Lest the
+ issue seem a simple dichotomy, Mies’s respect for Berlage’s
+ structuralism should also be remembered at this point; as also the
+ Expressionism which influenced both Gropius and Mies after the First
+ World War, not to speak of Wright’s ‘Baroque’ phase of 1914-24.
+
+Footnote 455:
+
+ Le Corbusier’s first publication was an _Étude sur le mouvement d’art
+ décoratif en Allemagne_, La Chaux de Fond, 1912, giving evidence of
+ his closer _rapport_ with Central European than with Parisian currents
+ at this point in his life.
+
+Footnote 456:
+
+ For the early work of Le Corbusier, hitherto almost entirely
+ unpublished, see _Perspecta_, 6 (1961), 28-33.
+
+Footnote 457:
+
+ Le Corbusier’s relations with Loos were very close for a year or two
+ after Loos settled in Paris in 1923. But he undoubtedly knew of Loos’s
+ work well before the First World War, having been for a short stay in
+ Vienna in 1908, at which time he had already begun to react against
+ the dominant decorative emphasis in the work of Hoffmann and the
+ Wiener Werkstätte.
+
+Footnote 458:
+
+ As has been noted, Garnier’s book on the ‘Cité Industrielle’ did not
+ appear until 1918, but his projects had long been generally known in
+ Paris. His work attracted more attention in the early twenties, thanks
+ to his own publication _Les Grands Travaux de la ville de Lyon_,
+ Paris, 1919, and an article by Jean Badovici, ‘L’Œuvre de Tony
+ Gamier’, in _L’Architecture vivante_, Autumn-Winter 1924.
+
+Footnote 459:
+
+ See Note [455], _supra_.
+
+Footnote 460:
+
+ See Note [445], _supra_. Also relevant is my book _Painting towards
+ Architecture_, New York, 1948.
+
+Footnote 461:
+
+ Several years earlier, possibly even before he actually joined _De
+ Stijl_, Rietveld had designed and executed a remarkable ‘Red-Blue’
+ chair in which many aspects of the three-dimensional aesthetic of the
+ group were already realized.
+
+Footnote 462:
+
+ The first number is not dated and may have appeared in 1919.
+
+Footnote 463:
+
+ See Bayer, H., and others, _Bauhaus 1919-28_, New York, 1938.
+
+Footnote 464:
+
+ The mixed character of Bauhaus theory and production in the early
+ years is well illustrated in Gropius, W., _Staatliches Bauhaus,
+ 1919-1923_, Munich [1923].
+
+Footnote 465:
+
+ The effect of van Doesburg’s visit to Germany remains controversial.
+ Although Gropius denies, or at any rate minimizes, its importance to
+ the Bauhaus group—and, indeed, personally disliked van
+ Doesburg—critics and historians mostly believe the influence of
+ Neoplasticism to have been at least as significant at this point as
+ that of the Russian Constructivists. See Zevi, B., ‘L’Insegnamento
+ critico di Theo van Doesburg’, _Metron_, VII (1951), 21-37.
+
+ It is not without significance that Gropius included in 1926 Oud’s
+ _Holländische Architektur_ in the series of Bauhausbücher which he
+ edited. That certainly proves a special respect for the _De
+ Stijl_-nurtured modern architecture of Holland at the time.
+
+Footnote 466:
+
+ Like Le Corbusier’s window-walls, these horizontal strip-windows,
+ usually called ‘ribbon-windows’ in English, can be traced back at
+ least as far as Shaw’s work of the sixties, though all the intervening
+ links are not yet clearly identified. Their analogy with ‘Chicago
+ windows’ is closest and, indeed, Sullivan’s Carson, Pirie & Scott
+ façades, with their wide windows crisply cut in the smooth terracotta
+ wall-plane, are amazingly premonitory of the characteristic new
+ window-banded façades of the twenties. Before this time window-strips
+ were always subdivided by relatively heavy mullions in the plane of
+ the wall, as in Voysey’s houses, or set behind ranges of colonnettes
+ or other supports, as they were still in the clerestory of Wright’s
+ Unity Church.
+
+Footnote 467:
+
+ This special vision of America is well illustrated in books of the
+ twenties by European architectural visitors; see Mendelsohn, E.,
+ _Amerika. Bilderbuch eines Architekten_, Berlin, 1926, and Neutra, R.,
+ _Wie baut Amerika?_ Stuttgart, 1927.
+
+Footnote 468:
+
+ The preoccupation with the shapes of things that move—which
+ architecture does not—reflects doubtless the motion-aesthetic of the
+ Futurists. How well Le Corbusier knew the pre-war projects of the
+ brilliant Italian Antonio Sant’Elia is not clear. But his own
+ aesthetic is less related to the particular forms found in Sant’Elia’s
+ designs for buildings than to generalized Futurist dreams of speed and
+ technical modernity. See also Note [495] to Chapter 23.
+
+Footnote 469:
+
+ However, Le Corbusier’s sketch books make evident that he had used his
+ eyes to advantage on a very wide range of buildings in the
+ Mediterranean world on his early travels, from peasant huts to the
+ Parthenon, the Campidoglio, and Versailles. His attitude towards the
+ past was very different, evidently, from that of the Futurists, of
+ which a somewhat closer reflection is to be found in the doctrines of
+ Gropius.
+
+Footnote 470:
+
+ Throughout this period, and indeed down to 1943, Le Corbusier
+ practised in partnership with his cousin Pierre Jeanneret (b. 1896);
+ technically most of his work should therefore be attributed to ‘Le
+ Corbusier & Jeanneret’. No attempt has yet been made by critics or
+ historians to determine to what extent Jeanneret deserves credit for
+ the work of the firm, nor to evaluate the work he has since done
+ independently.
+
+Footnote 471:
+
+ See Roth, A., _Zwei Wohnhäuser von Le Corbusier und Pierre Jeanneret_,
+ Stuttgart, 1927.
+
+Footnote 472:
+
+ The open plan of the Vaucresson house was more significant than the
+ treatment of the exterior; that was ‘scraped’ of all features in a
+ Loos-like way, yet still quite symmetrical, at least on the garden
+ side.
+
+ The studio-house for Ozenfant, built on a very restricted corner site,
+ was too special in its vertical organization to be very influential.
+ Although today in good general condition, the very ‘industrial’
+ saw-toothed skylights on the roof have been removed and the terrace
+ surrounded with a crude railing.
+
+Footnote 473:
+
+ Confused by Le Corbusier’s description of his houses as _machines à
+ habiter_ and the general ‘machinolatry’ of much of his early writing,
+ many have mistakenly supposed that his was a machine-aesthetic. Just
+ how to define his aesthetic other than by begging the question and
+ merely calling it ‘Corbusian’ is, however, far from clear. For an
+ analysis stressing Le Corbusier’s ‘formalism’, but not in the
+ pejorative sense of Stalinist criticism, see Rowe, C., ‘Mannerism and
+ Modern Architecture’, _Architectural Review_, CVII (1950), 289-300.
+
+Footnote 474:
+
+ Le Corbusier’s personal system of proportion, first used for the 1916
+ house, gradually crystallized into a very detailed mathematical scheme
+ which has been made generally available in his books _Le Modular_,
+ Boulogne-sur-Seine, 1950; English ed., London, 1954; and _Modular II_,
+ London, 1958.
+
+Footnote 475:
+
+ See Moussinac, L., _Robert Mallet-Stevens_, Paris, 1931.
+
+Footnote 476:
+
+ See _André Lurçat, projets et réalisations_, Paris, 1929.
+
+Footnote 477:
+
+ In this connexion Schumacher’s school-building programme for Hamburg,
+ initiated considerably earlier, is also significant.
+
+Footnote 478:
+
+ See Le Corbusier, _Une maison—un palais_, Paris, 1928.
+
+Footnote 479:
+
+ As building activity increased in Russia in the late twenties there
+ was considerable experimentation, mostly along Constructivist lines,
+ and a growing acceptance of the new architecture of the western world.
+ This continued into the early thirties. But the competition for the
+ Palace of the Soviets of 1931, to which Le Corbusier and Gropius as
+ well as Poelzig and Mendelsohn were among the over two hundred
+ architects who contributed projects, represented a major turning
+ point. This was won by the Soviet architect B. M. Iofan (b. 1891) with
+ a very monumental scheme designed in a variant of that megalomaniac
+ mode of scraped classicism which had been popular for large-scale
+ architecture in Germany under the Second Reich and which returned to
+ favour in 1933 under the Third Reich, just after Iofan’s scheme
+ triumphed. By 1937 this relatively severe project had been elaborated
+ by Iofan and his collaborators W. G. Helfreich and V. A. Schouko until
+ it rose—and to the same tremendous height as the Empire State Building
+ in New York—like a telescopic wedding-cake, terminating in a statue of
+ Stalin a third as tall as the whole structure below.
+
+ Henceforth the ‘scraping’ of Classical forms ceased and Stalinist
+ architecture in general aimed at an elaboration that was at once
+ Baroque and Victorian in its coarse exuberance and in its illiterate
+ use of academic clichés all but forgotten in the western world. During
+ the later Stalinist period official Soviet criticism decried the
+ modern architecture of the western world as a manifestation of
+ ‘bourgeois formalism’.
+
+ Since the end of that period the denunciation of its characteristic
+ architecture by Soviet leaders implies some return towards the contact
+ with advanced western ideas which was evident in the twenties and
+ early thirties. For the production of the Stalinist period, which
+ would rate anywhere else as very low-grade ‘traditional’ architecture,
+ see _Dreissig Jahre sowjetische Architektur in der RSFSR_, Leipzig,
+ 1950.
+
+Footnote 480:
+
+ More than rivalling Gropius’s housing in its extent was that carried
+ out by Ernst May (b. 1887) for the city of Frankfort at this same
+ time.
+
+Footnote 481:
+
+ Gropius and Meyer first used a smooth rendered surfacing on a theatre
+ at Jena that they remodelled in 1922; this was not otherwise very
+ significant, except that no trace of Expressionist influence, still
+ strong in work of the year before, remained. As will appear shortly,
+ Mies van der Rohe proposed to use brick in a design for a country
+ house in 1922; and all the private houses he built in the twenties are
+ of that material, though his housing blocks at Berlin and Stuttgart
+ were rendered.
+
+Footnote 482:
+
+ Although Mies is not, as his second name van der Rohe might suggest,
+ Dutch, he has always been an admirer of Berlage, and his very high
+ standards for brickwork derive from his knowledge of Dutch building,
+ both old and new, acquired during the year spent in The Hague
+ designing the Kröller house.
+
+Footnote 483:
+
+ Much of Le Corbusier’s prolific writing of the twenties has already
+ been mentioned in the text and earlier notes; for Gropius’s, see Cook,
+ R. V., _A Bibliography: Walter Gropius, 1919-1950_, Chicago [1951].
+
+Footnote 484:
+
+ For example, the German translation of _Vers une architecture_
+ appeared in 1926; the English translation in 1927 in both English and
+ American editions. Of _Urbanisme_, the American edition is of 1927,
+ the English of 1929, and the German of 1929 also. Mies wrote, in
+ effect, nothing at all.
+
+Footnote 485:
+
+ As has been noted, Oud, at the invitation of Gropius, wrote
+ _Holländische Architektur_ (No. 10 in the series of Bauhausbücher) and
+ also published many articles in Dutch, German, English, and French
+ magazines.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 23 - Notes
+
+Footnote 486:
+
+ See Note [443], Chapter 22.
+
+Footnote 487:
+
+ Le Corbusier’s moulded _pilotis_ supporting the Swiss Hostel in Paris
+ (Plate 165B) are two years later; those under the Unité d’Habitation,
+ which resemble Aalto’s much more closely, were designed after the
+ Second World War.
+
+Footnote 488:
+
+ A hospital built in 1926-8 by Adolf Schneck and Richard Döcker (b.
+ 1894) in Stuttgart is actually earlier but hardly comparable in
+ quality.
+
+Footnote 489:
+
+ For Howe’s earlier ‘traditional’ work see _Monograph of the Work of
+ Mellor, Meigs and Howe_, New York, 1923; for an assessment of his
+ later career, _see also_ Zevi, B., ‘George Howe’, _Journal of the
+ American Institute of Architects_, XXIV (1955), 176-9. For the PFSF
+ see Jordy, W., and Stern, R., _Journal of the Society of Architectural
+ Historians_, XXII (1962), entire June issue.
+
+Footnote 490:
+
+ The same description applies roughly to Aalto’s work down to the
+ buildings mentioned above, it may be noted.
+
+Footnote 491:
+
+ See Jordan, R. F., ‘Lubetkin’, _Architectural Review_, CXVIII (1955),
+ 36-44.
+
+Footnote 492:
+
+ Technically the architects were J. Alan Slater and Arthur Hamilton
+ Moberly (1885-1952) with Crabtree as designing associate. Professor
+ Sir Charles Herbert Reilly (1874-1948), head of the School of
+ Architecture at Liverpool, which he made one of the most advanced
+ schools in the world in these years, was consultant. It is curious to
+ recall that he had earlier been a consultant on Devonshire House in
+ Piccadilly in London, built in 1924-6 by Carrère & Hastings (John M.,
+ 1858-1911; and Thomas, 1860-1929), when the influence of American
+ ‘traditional’ architecture was strong in London (see Chapter 24).
+
+Footnote 493:
+
+ Amyas Douglas Connell (b. 1901), Basil Robert Ward (b. 1902), and
+ Colin Anderson Lucas (b. 1906); _see also_ Note [492] to this chapter.
+
+Footnote 494:
+
+ For the late twenties and early thirties, when the newer architecture
+ first penetrated England, see Pevsner, N., ‘Nine Swallows—No Summer’,
+ _Architectural Review_, XCI (1942), 109-12, and Hitchcock, H.-R.,
+ ‘England and the Outside World’, _Architectural Association Journal_,
+ LXXII (1956), 96-7 (this is a special number of the _Journal_ devoted
+ to the work of Connell, Ward & Lucas, 1927-39). See also Richards, J.
+ M., ‘Wells Coates’, _Architectural Review_, CXXIV (1958), 357-60.
+
+Footnote 495:
+
+ If Expressionism in architecture is an episode difficult to assess
+ despite the real achievement of several of the architects involved
+ with it (see Chapters 20 and 22), Futurism is impossible to evaluate
+ at all since it was only a ‘might have been’. Italian modern
+ architecture since the thirties does not derive from the projects of
+ Sant’Elia, many of which are only now being studied for the first
+ time. Sant’Elia and the other architects associated with Futurism
+ wished to cut all links with the past, Terragni re-linked the
+ ‘International Style’—usually called _architettura razionale_ under
+ the Fascist regime—with Italian tradition, a line which several
+ Italian modern architects have followed since. See Sartoris, A.,
+ _Sant’Eliae l’architettura futurista_, Rome, 1943; Tentori, F., ‘Le
+ Origini Liberty di Antonio Sant’Elia’, _L’Architettura_, 1(1955),
+ 206-8; Banham, R., ‘Futurism and Modern Architecture’, _Journal of the
+ Royal Institute of British Architects_, LXIV (1957), 129-38, and
+ ‘Futurist Manifesto’, _Architectural Review_, CXXVI (1959), 77-80. The
+ greater part of Sant’Elia’s drawings are now available for study at
+ the Villa Olmo, Como.
+
+Footnote 496:
+
+ See Le Corbusier, _UN Headquarters_, New York, 1947.
+
+Footnote 497:
+
+ See Rudolph, P., ‘Walter Gropius et son école’, _L’Architecture d’
+ aujourd’hui_, XX (1950), 1-116.
+
+Footnote 498:
+
+ Credit for initiating the reform at Harvard must be given to the Dean
+ of the school there, Joseph Hudnut (b. 1886), who invited Gropius to
+ join his faculty.
+
+Footnote 499:
+
+ Louis Skidmore (1897-1962), Nathaniel Owings (b. 1903), John O.
+ Merrill (b. 1896).
+
+Footnote 500:
+
+ Ralph Rapson is Dean of the School of Architecture at the University
+ of Minnesota, it is relevant to note at this point.
+
+Footnote 501:
+
+ See Le Corbusier, _The Marseilles Block_, London, 1953.
+
+Footnote 502:
+
+ See Le Corbusier, _Œuvre complète_, [VI, 1957], 50-107.
+
+Footnote 503:
+
+ See Stirling, J., ‘Ronchamp’, _Architectural Review_, CXIX (1956),
+ 155-61. The best coverage is in Le Corbusier, _Œuvre complète_, [VI,
+ 1957], 16-43, however. See also Le Corbusier, _The Chapel at
+ Ronchamp_, New York, 1957.
+
+Footnote 504:
+
+ In collaboration with the French architect B.-H. Zehrfuss and the
+ Italian engineer Pierluigi Nervi.
+
+Footnote 505:
+
+ For a late published statement of Gropius’s principles, see _The Scope
+ of Total Architecture_, New York, 1955, London [1956], although there
+ is little there not to be found already in his other writings of the
+ last forty years. See also Note [482] to Chapter 22.
+
+Footnote 506:
+
+ Curiously enough Philip Johnson’s glass house in New Canaan, Conn.,
+ which obviously derives in several ways from the Farnsworth house, was
+ actually erected first, in 1949; but of course Mies’s plan and model
+ of the Farnsworth house had already been published by Johnson in his
+ book _Mies van der Rohe_ in 1947.
+
+Footnote 507:
+
+ Although their design follows closely that of the two blocks built in
+ 1949-51, the construction is actually of ferro-concrete, not steel.
+
+Footnote 508:
+
+ Thanks to the continuance in the early post-war years of the reaction
+ of the thirties, the buildings at the south end of the Coolsingel
+ appear to present a curious inversion of chronology. While Dudok’s
+ Bijenkorf Department Store of 1929-30, now demolished to open the view
+ to the harbour, was characteristic of the ambiguity of much of his
+ work, this ‘baby skyscraper’ of 1939-40 and also the contiguous
+ Exchange by J. F. Staal (1879-1940), designed in 1929 and built in the
+ thirties, appear much more ‘modern’ to mid-century eyes than the first
+ big banks and so forth rebuilt after the war—these look as if they had
+ been designed at least a generation ago. But the wave of reaction soon
+ ran its course; the Lijnbaan of 1953-4, a complete shopping street by
+ van den Broek & Bakema running parallel to the Coolsingel, if not the
+ new Bijenkorf by Breuer of 1955-7, was among the most advanced
+ projects carried out anywhere in the mid fifties.
+
+Footnote 509:
+
+ Oud’s prominent Resistance Monument on the Dam in Amsterdam opposite
+ the Royal Palace, completed in 1956, is hardly a work of architecture
+ but rather an enlarged pedestal and frame for sculpture. Such a
+ commission and the honorary doctorate he received in 1955 from the
+ University of Leiden none the less indicate the high respect he was
+ receiving in Holland by that time.
+
+Footnote 510:
+
+ See Note [511] to Chapter 24.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 24 - Notes
+
+Footnote 511:
+
+ ‘Historicism’ is a clumsy term matched by no viable adjective. It
+ does, however, express more accurately than ‘traditionalism’,
+ ‘revivalism’, or ‘eclecticism’ a certain aspect of architecture which
+ was common throughout the last five hundred years, and not unknown in
+ early ages. Quite simply, it means the re-use of forms borrowed from
+ the architectural styles of the past, usually in more or less new
+ combinations. It is late in this book to introduce a definition; but
+ historicism is always so much taken for granted in discussing the
+ architecture of the nineteenth century that it is only after the
+ appearance as an alternative of exclusive modernism, rejecting all
+ borrowed forms, that the older attitude needs to be isolated in order
+ to discuss its continuance in this century. Characteristically, the
+ architecture of two-thirds of the period covered by this book balanced
+ a moderate sort of modernism with more or less of historicism. This is
+ as true of most of the novel projects of Ledoux in the 1780s as it is
+ of a considerable part of the work of the first generation of modern
+ architects. However, only the traditional architects remained firmly
+ attached to the concept of historicism in the twentieth century; men
+ like Behrens and Perret were, through much of their careers at least,
+ in highly significant revolt against it, quite as Ledoux had been in
+ his day.
+
+Footnote 512:
+
+ See Östberg, R., _The Stockholm Town Hall_, Stockholm, 1929.
+
+Footnote 513:
+
+ The decline is perhaps to be related at its start to the death of
+ their associate Joseph M. Wells in 1890. Never a member of the firm,
+ he had nevertheless been personally responsible for the design of the
+ Villard houses (Plate 109B) that had opened the academic phase of the
+ firm’s career. Later, the death of White and the retirement of McKim
+ in the early years of the new century removed the two controlling
+ personalities from the firm. Henceforth the office was a
+ ‘plan-factory’, with high professional standards undoubtedly, but
+ without direction other than that already established in the late
+ eighties and nineties by the founders. In 1961 the firm finally came
+ to an end with the death of J. K. Smith, the only surviving partner
+ who had known the founders.
+
+Footnote 514:
+
+ J.-L. Pascal (1837-1920), a pupil of Gilbert who had worked with
+ Garnier on the Opéra and succeeded Labrouste at the Bibliothèque
+ Nationale, had at least as high a reputation, and was the teacher of
+ several prominent English and American architects. His severe academic
+ style, emulated later by his Anglo-Saxon pupils, was well established
+ by the time he designed the Faculty of Medicine at Bordeaux in the
+ early nineties. Nénot was one of Pascal’s French pupils.
+
+Footnote 515:
+
+ William Adams Delano (b. 1874) was a pupil of Laloux; Chester Holmes
+ Aldrich (b. 1878) was also trained at the École des Beaux-Arts. For an
+ attempt to reassess the ‘traditional’ houses of this period, see Lane,
+ J., ‘The Period House in the Nineteen-Twenties’, _Journal of the
+ Society of Architectural Historians_, XX (1961), 185-90.
+
+Footnote 516:
+
+ The controversy as to which firm should receive credit for the design
+ of the Grand Central Station once waxed hot. The organization of the
+ tremendous complex was probably the work of Charles A. Reed (?-1911)
+ and Allen H. Stem (1856-1931), who had already built other big
+ stations in Troy, N.Y., in 1901-4 and in Tacoma in 1909-11—as,
+ moreover, their successors, Felheimer & Wagner, have done also:
+ Buffalo and North Station, Boston, both begun in 1927, and Cincinnati
+ in 1929-33. Whitney Warren (1864-1943) and Charles D. Wetmore
+ (1866-1941), who also worked with Reed & Stem on the Detroit station
+ completed in 1913, were doubtless more responsible for the dignified
+ and well-scaled detailing. See Marshall, D., _Grand Central_, New
+ York, 1946.
+
+Footnote 517:
+
+ Books of the period, such as _American Architecture_ of 1928 by the
+ distinguished architectural historian Fiske Kimball, or _American
+ Architecture of Today_, also of 1928, by the then Dean of the Harvard
+ University School of Architecture, G. H. Edgell, offer the later
+ writer very little assistance. Kimball in the twenties was too ready
+ to consider the continuance of the academic tradition assured—his
+ chapter on Sullivan and Wright was entitled ‘The Lost Cause’—while
+ Edgell offers such a miscellany of buildings that no clear picture
+ emerges. Several attempts within the period to select its major
+ monuments fixed on much the same lot as are given prominence here; but
+ such selections hardly help to organize the work of the day in
+ historical terms.
+
+Footnote 518:
+
+ See Weisman, W., ‘Towards a New Environment: the Way of the Price
+ Mechanism; the Rockefeller Centre’, _Architectural Review_, CVIII
+ (1950), 399-405; ‘Who Designed Rockefeller Center?’, _Journal of the
+ Society of Architectural Historians_, X (1951), 11-17; and ‘The First
+ “Mature” Skyscraper’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural
+ Historians_, XVIII (1959), 54-9.
+
+Footnote 519:
+
+ This firm were the successors of Richardson, and Henry Richardson
+ Shepley, now its head, is Richardson’s grandson. See Forbes, J. D.,
+ ‘Shepley, Bulfinch, Richardson and Abbott, Architects—An
+ Introduction’, _Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians_,
+ XVII (1958), 19-31.
+
+Footnote 520:
+
+ ‘Compositionalism’ has been suggested by Colin Rowe as a name for the
+ style-phase with which this section deals. Composition was then
+ conceived by many architects and theorists as an absolute to which the
+ re-use of any sort of stylistic forms could be accommodated. It is at
+ least open to suspicion, for example, that Rogers’s Pierson College at
+ Yale was designed originally with Gothic forms and then re-cast as
+ Neo-Georgian. Later eyes than our own will doubtless find it possible
+ to identify the period characteristics of traditional work of the
+ twenties in the way many critics already feel able to do with the
+ nineteenth-century revivals. The period-designation ‘President
+ Harding’ may some day perhaps be as meaningful as ‘General Grant’, if
+ hardly comparable to ‘Victorian’!
+
+Footnote 521:
+
+ Harvey Wiley Corbett (b. 1873), a pupil of Pascal at the École des
+ Beaux-Arts, was probably the designer.
+
+Footnote 522:
+
+ Carrère was dead by this time, but the firm name remained unchanged;
+ as has been mentioned earlier, Professor Sir Charles Reilly was
+ consultant, and he probably made some real contribution to the design.
+
+Footnote 523:
+
+ C.-F. Mewès (1858-1947) and Arthur Joseph Davis (1878-1951), both
+ pupils of Pascal, like Corbett.
+
+Footnote 524:
+
+ Gropius is very insistent on the desirability of anonymous team-work
+ in architecture. His TAC, the one-time Tecton group in London, and
+ other firms with similar names are examples of this ideal which aims,
+ of course, at something rather different from the anonymity of the
+ large commercial firms. Theirs is fact rather than ideal.
+
+Footnote 525:
+
+ See Weisman, W., ‘Group Practice’, _Architectural Review_, CXIV
+ (1953), 145-51.
+
+Footnote 526:
+
+ Sir John J. Burnet (1857-1938), another pupil of Pascal at the École;
+ Thomas S. Tait (1882-1954).
+
+Footnote 527:
+
+ See Pevsner, N., ‘Building with Wit; the Architecture of Sir E.
+ Lutyens’, _Architectural Review_, CX (1951), 217-25.
+
+Footnote 528:
+
+ See Purdom, C. B., _The Garden City_, London, 1913; and Culpin, E. G.,
+ _The Garden City Movement Up-to-Date_, London, 1913.
+
+Footnote 529:
+
+ See Macfadyen, D., _Sir Ebenezer Howard and the Town Planning
+ Movement_, London, 1933.
+
+Footnote 530:
+
+ See Unwin, R., _Town Planning and Modern Architecture at the Hampstead
+ Garden Suburb_, London, 1909.
+
+Footnote 531:
+
+ Some of the other large buildings were the work of Sir Herbert Baker,
+ who was also responsible for another dominion capital at Pretoria in
+ South Africa. Of his rival’s intervention at New Delhi Lutyens
+ remarked characteristically, ‘It was my Bakerloo’.
+
+Footnote 532:
+
+ See Drysdale, G., ‘The Work of Leonard Stokes’, _Journal of the Royal
+ Institute of British Architects_, XXXIV (1927), 163-77, and Roberts,
+ H. V. M., ‘Leonard Aloysius Stokes’, _Architectural Review_, C (1946),
+ 173-7.
+
+Footnote 533:
+
+ The New-Zealand-born Connell’s High-and-Over in Bucks of 1927 is very
+ superior, however, to Tait’s Le Chateau at Silverend in Essex, and a
+ year earlier.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+ CHAPTER 25 - Notes
+
+Footnote 534:
+
+ No sharp distinction has been made in this book between architects and
+ engineers. Such engineers, from Telford to Candela, as have been
+ responsible for work of architectural pretension deserve to be
+ considered as architects, and monographic works on several of them
+ will be found in the Bibliography.
+
+Footnote 535:
+
+ See San Francisco Museum of Art, _Domestic Architecture of the San
+ Francisco Bay Region_, San Francisco, 1949.
+
+Footnote 536:
+
+ See Banham, P. R., ‘New Brutalism’, _Architectural Review_, CXVIII
+ (1955), 355-61. See also Banham’s articles in the _Architectural
+ Review_ on ‘Neo-Liberty’, a term introduced by Paolo Portoghesi.
+
+Footnote 537:
+
+ Consideration of such topics of current controversial interest more
+ properly belongs in periodicals or special critical works than in a
+ general history, but see the Epilogue.
+
+Footnote 538:
+
+ There is something symptomatic in the fact that the younger men,
+ whether architects or critical writers, are mostly content to revive
+ early controversial attitudes of the preceding half century rather
+ than to offer anything really new. (See Epilogue.)
+
+Footnote 539:
+
+ See Holford, W., ‘The Precincts of St Paul’s’, _Journal of the Royal
+ Institute of British Architects_, LXIII (1956), 232-4.
+
+Footnote 540:
+
+ See Aarhus Universitet, _Hovedbygningen_, Aarhus [n.d.].
+
+Footnote 541:
+
+ The term skyscraper in this context is to be understood as meaning a
+ very tall office building. Many European housing blocks, such as are
+ discussed below, would have been considered skyscrapers a generation
+ ago, and the same is true of much urban office building in central
+ areas which often today rivals in height the German examples of the
+ twenties mentioned in Chapter 20. However, the significant skyscrapers
+ of the post-war period are much taller than this, and—perhaps equally
+ important—they characteristically stand in their own space, rising
+ sheer from some sort of plaza at their base.
+
+Footnote 542:
+
+ 9 James Cubitt (b. 1913), Stephan Buzas (b. 1915), Fello Atkinson (b.
+ 1919), and Richard Maitland (b. 1917).
+
+Footnote 543:
+
+ Osvaldo Luis Torro (b. 1914) and Miguel Ferrer (b. 1915).
+
+Footnote 544:
+
+ Architects designing for prefabrication and above all structural
+ experimenters such as Buckminster Fuller were certainly far bolder and
+ more revolutionary in their concepts of the house as ‘controlled
+ environment’ than are most of those who have so far built airports.
+
+Footnote 545:
+
+ The death of Eero Saarinen in 1961 brought to a premature end the
+ career of a typical, indeed a very leading, post-war architect whose
+ mature production dated very largely from the years since the mid
+ fifties when this book was originally written. (See Epilogue.)
+
+ Monographs on such different architects as Philip Johnson and the firm
+ of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill should appear almost coincidentally with
+ this second edition and others are already in preparation.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ BIBLIOGRAPHY
+
+
+For the study of the architecture of the western world since about 1840
+no sources are more valuable than the professional periodicals. To
+provide a comprehensive list with full bibliographical details would
+require an inordinate amount of space and many technicalities because of
+the complicated way such publications start and stop, initiate new
+series, merge, and change title. However, it may be helpful to mention,
+without giving any descriptive details, a few that are especially
+valuable to the historian. In England, the _Builder_, the _Building
+News_, and later the _Architectural Review_ are most useful; in France
+the _Revue générale de l’architecture_, the _Encyclopédie
+d’architecture_, the _Gazette des architectes_, and later
+_L’Architecture vivante_ and _L’Architecture d’aujourd’ hui_. In
+Austria-Hungary the _Allgemeine Bauzeitung_ may be cited. For the United
+States, the _American Architect and Building News_ and later the
+_Architectural Record_, the _Architectural Forum_, and _Progressive
+Architecture_ cover the field from the eighteen-seventies to the
+present. The American _Journal of the Society of Architectural
+Historians_ has devoted more articles to the nineteenth century than
+other learned journals. Particular articles in the above-mentioned and
+other periodicals are for the most part merely referenced in the Notes,
+except those that provide the equivalent of separate monographs on
+certain architects; such are listed here.
+
+_General Works_ are subdivided, necessarily with some overlap, into
+those covering the _Nineteenth Century_ (including, in fact, the later
+decades of the eighteenth also) and those covering the _Twentieth
+Century_. There follow rubrics for separate countries or groups of
+countries. Finally come the monographs on individual architects
+arranged, regardless of country or period, alphabetically by architect.
+
+
+ GENERAL WORKS
+
+
+ NINETEENTH CENTURY
+
+BENEVOLO, L. _Storia dell’architettura moderna_, 1. Bari, 1960.
+
+CASSOU, J., LANGUI, E., and PEVSNER, N. _The Sources of Modern Art._
+ London, 1962. (In America, _Gateway to the Twentieth Century_, New
+ York, 1962.)
+
+FERGUSSON, J. _History of the Modern Styles of Architecture._ London,
+ 1862.
+
+GIEDION, S. _Space, Time and Architecture._ Cambridge, Mass., 1941.
+ Later editions to 1954.
+
+GIEDION, S. _Spätbarocker und romantischer Klassizismus._ Munich, 1922.
+
+HAMLIN, A. D. F. _A Text-Book of the History of Architecture._ New York,
+ 1896.
+
+HAUTECOEUR, L. _Rome et la renaissance de l’antiquité à la fin du
+ XVIII^e siècle._ Paris, 1912.
+
+HITCHCOCK, H.-R. _Modern Architecture, Romanticism and Reintegration._
+ New York, 1929.
+
+JOSEPH, D. _Geschichte der Baukunst des XIX. Jahrhunderts._ 2 vols.
+ Leipzig [1910].
+
+KAUFMANN, E. _Architecture in the Age of Reason._ Cambridge, Mass.,
+ 1955.
+
+KAUFMANN, E. _Von Ledoux bis Le Corbusier._ Vienna, 1933.
+
+LAVEDAN, P. _Histoire de l’urbanisme_, vol. 3. Paris, 1952.
+
+LUNDBERG, E. _Arkitekturens Formspråk_, IX, _Vägen till Nutiden,
+ 1715-1850_, Stockholm, 1960; X, _Nutiden, 1850-1960_, Stockholm, 1961.
+
+MADSEN, S. T. _Sources of Art Nouveau._ Oslo, 1956; New York, 1956.
+
+MEEKS, C. L. V. _The Railroad Station._ New Haven, 1956.
+
+MICHEL, A. (ed.). _Histoire de l’art depuis les premiers temps chrétiens
+ jusqu’à nos jours_, VII, 2; VIII, 1, 2, 3. Paris, 1924-9.
+
+MUTHESIUS, H. _Stilarchitekur und Baukunst: Wandlungen der Architektur
+ im XIX. Jahrhundert._ Mülheim-Ruhr, 1902.
+
+PAULI, G. _Die Kunst des Klassizismus und der Romantik._ Berlin, 1925.
+
+PEVSNER, N. _An Outline of European Architecture._ Harmondsworth, 1942;
+ seventh edition 1963.
+
+PEVSNER, N. _Pioneers of Modern Design._ London, 1936; 3rd ed.,
+ Harmondsworth, 1960.
+
+RÉAU, L. _Histoire de l’expansion de l’art français_, vol. 1-. Paris,
+ 1924-.
+
+REHME, W. _Die Architektur der neuen freien Schule._ Leipzig, 1901.
+
+RICHARDSON, E. P. _The Way of Western Art, 1776-1914._ Cambridge, Mass.,
+ 1939.
+
+SUMMERSON, J. N. _Heavenly Mansions._ London, 1949.
+
+
+ TWENTIETH CENTURY
+
+BANHAM, R. _Theory and Design in the First Machine Age._ London, 1960.
+
+BEHRENDT, W. C. _Modern Building._ New York, 1937.
+
+BENEVOLO, L. _Storia dell’architettura moderna_, II. Bari, 1960.
+
+_Contemporary Architecture of the World 1961._ Tokyo [1961].
+
+DORFLES, G. _L’Architettura moderna._ Milan, 1954.
+
+GIEDION, S. _A Decade of Contemporary Architecture._ Zurich, 1954.
+
+GROPIUS, W. _Internationale Architektur._ Munich, 1925.
+
+HAMLIN, T. F. _Forms and Functions of Twentieth-Century Architecture._ 4
+ vols. New York, 1952.
+
+HITCHCOCK, H.-R., and JOHNSON, P. _The International Style: Architecture
+ since 1922._ New York, 1932.
+
+JAFFÉ, H. L. C. _De Stijl, 1917-1931._ London [1956].
+
+JOEDICKE, J. _A History of Modern Architecture._ New York, 1959.
+
+PLATZ, G. _Die Baukunst der neuesten Zeit._ Berlin, 1927.
+
+RICHARDS, J. M. _An Introduction to Modern Architecture._ 9th ed.
+ Harmondsworth, 1962.
+
+ROTH, A. _The New Architecture._ Zurich, 1940.
+
+SARTORIS, A. _Introduzione alla architettura moderna._ Milan, 1949.
+
+SARTORIS, A. _Gli Elementi dell’architettura funzionale._ Milan, 1935.
+
+SFAELLOS, C. _Le Fonctionnalisme dans l’architecture contemporaine._
+ Paris, 1952.
+
+SMITH, G. E. K. _The New Architecture of Europe._ Cleveland and New York
+ [1961]; Harmondsworth, 1962.
+
+WHITTICK, A. _European Architecture in the Twentieth Century._ 2 vols.
+ London, 1950-3.
+
+ZEVI, B. _Storia dell’architettura moderna._ Turin, 1950.
+
+
+ INDIVIDUAL COUNTRIES
+
+ AUSTRIA-HUNGARY
+
+DEHIO, G. _Handbuch der deutschen Kunstdenkmäler: Österreich._ Vienna,
+ 1933.
+
+LÜTZOW, C. von, and TISCHLER, L. (eds). _Wiener Neubauten._ 2 vols.
+ Vienna, 1876-80.
+
+RADOS, J. _A magyar klasszicista építészet hagyományai._ Budapest, 1953.
+
+SCHMIDT, J., and TIETZE, H. _Wien._ Vienna [1954].
+
+TIETZE, H. _Wien._ Leipzig, 1928.
+
+VIRGIL, B. _A magyar klasszicismus epiteszete._ Budapest, 1948.
+
+_Wiener Neubauten in Stil der Sezession._ 6 vols. Vienna, 1908-10.
+
+WIRTH, Z. _Ceśká architektura, 1800-1920._ Prague, 1922.
+
+ BRITISH DOMINIONS
+
+_Architecture in Australia_ (catalogue of exhibition at the R.I.B.A.).
+ London, 1956.
+
+BEIERS, G. _Houses of Australia._ Sydney [1948].
+
+BOYD, R. ‘Victorian Victorian’, _Architectural Review_, CXIV (1953),
+ 105-8.
+
+BOYD, R. _Australia’s Home._ Carlton, 1952.
+
+CASEY, M., and others (eds.). _Early Melbourne Architecture._ Melbourne,
+ 1953.
+
+CLARKE, B. F. L. _Anglican Cathedrals outside the British Isles._
+ London, 1958.
+
+‘Commonwealth I, II’, (special issues of) _Architectural Review_,
+ October 1959; July 1960.
+
+GOWANS, A. _Looking at Architecture in Canada._ Toronto, 1958.
+
+GRIFFITHS, G. N. _Some Houses and People in New South Wales._ Sydney,
+ 1948.
+
+HERMAN, M. _The Early Australian Architects and their Work._ Sydney and
+ London, 1954.
+
+HERMAN, M. _The Architecture of Victorian Sydney._ Sydney, 1956.
+
+HUBBARD, R. ‘Canadian Gothic’, _Architectural Review_, CXVI (1954),
+ 102-8.
+
+SHARLAND, M. _Stones of a Century._ Hobart, 1942.
+
+TURNBULL, C. _The Charm of Hobart._ Sydney, 1949.
+
+WILSON, H. _Old Colonial Architecture in New South Wales and Tasmania._
+ Sydney, 1924.
+
+ FRANCE
+
+BARQUI, F. _L’Architecture moderne en France._ Paris [n.d.]
+
+BAUCHAL, C. _Nouveau dictionnaire biographique et critique des
+ architectes français._ Paris, 1887.
+
+BRAULT, E. _Les Architectes par leurs œuvres._ 3 vols. Paris [n.d.].
+
+CALLIAT, V. _Parallèle des maisons de Paris._ 2 vols. Paris, 1850, 1864.
+
+GOURLIER, BIET, GRILLON, and TARDIEU. _Choix d’édifices publics projetés
+ et construits en France depuis le commencement du XIX siècle._ 3 vols.
+ Paris, 1825-36.
+
+GROMORT, G. _L’Architecture_ in _Histoire générale de l’art français de
+ la Révolution à nos jours_, II. Paris, 1922.
+
+HAUTECOEUR, L. _Histoire de l’architecture classique en France_, vols
+ IV-VII. Paris, 1952-7.
+
+KRAFFT, J., and THIOLLET, F. _Choix des plus jolies maisons de Paris et
+ des environs._ Paris, 1849.
+
+MAGNE, L. _L’Architecture française du siècle._ Paris, 1889.
+
+NORMAND, L. M. _Paris moderne ou choix de maisons._ 3 vols. Paris, 1837,
+ 1843, 1849.
+
+RÉAU, F. L. _L’Œuvre de baron Haussmann._... Paris, 1954.
+
+ROCHEGUDE, Marquis de. _Guide pratique à travers le vieux Paris._ New
+ ed. Paris, 1923.
+
+VACQUIER, J. _Le Style empire._ Paris, 1911.
+
+ GERMANY
+
+BEENKEN, H. _Schöpferische Bauideen der deutschen Romantik._ Mainz,
+ 1942.
+
+_Berlin und seine Bauten._ Berlin, 1877.
+
+CONRADS, U. _Neue deutsche Architektur 1955-1960._ Stuttgart, 1962.
+
+DEHIO, G. _Handbuch der deutschen Kunstdenkmäler._ 5 vols. Berlin, 1905
+ _et seq._; new ed., ed. E. Gall, so far, 11 vols. Berlin and Munich,
+ 1935 _et seq_.
+
+HERRMANN, W. _Deutsche Baukunst des 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts_, vol. 1
+ Breslau, 1932.
+
+HOFFMANN, H., and KASPAR, K. _Neue deutsche Architektur._ Teufen [1956].
+
+LANDSBERGER, F. _Die Kunst der Goethezeit._ Leipzig, 1931.
+
+LICHT, H. _Architektur Deutschlands._ 2 vols. Berlin, 1882.
+
+MEBES, P. _Um 1800._ Munich, 1918.
+
+SCHMALENBACH, F. _Jugendstil._ Würzburg, 1935.
+
+SCHMITZ, H. _Berliner Baumeister vom Ausgang des 18. Jahrhunderts._
+ Berlin, 1914.
+
+SCHUMACHER, F. _Strömungen in der deutschen Baukunst seit 1800._
+ Leipzig, 1935.
+
+VOGEL, H. _Deutsche Baukunst des Klassizismus._ Berlin, 1937.
+
+
+ GREAT BRITAIN
+
+BOASE, T. S. R. _English Art 1800-1870._ London, 1959.
+
+CASSON, H. _An Introduction to Victorian Architecture._ London, 1948.
+
+CASSON, H. _New Sights of London._ London, 1938.
+
+CLARK, K. _The Gothic Revival._ London, 1928; second edition 1950.
+
+CLARKE, B. F. L. _Church Builders of the Nineteenth Century._ London,
+ 1938.
+
+COLVIN, H. M. _A Biographical Dictionary of English Architects,
+ 1660-1840._ London, 1954.
+
+EASTLAKE, C. L. _A History of the Gothic Revival._ London, 1872.
+
+GOODHART-RENDEL, H. S. _English Architecture since the Regency._ London,
+ 1953.
+
+GOODHART-RENDEL, H. S. ‘Rogue Architects of the Victorian Era’, _Journal
+ of the Royal Institute of British Architects_, LVI (1949), 251-9.
+
+HARBRON, D. _Amphion or the Nineteenth Century._ London and Toronto,
+ 1930.
+
+HITCHCOCK, H.-R. _Early Victorian Architecture in Britain._ 2 vols. New
+ Haven and London, 1954.
+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+ England._ London, 1924.
+
+RICHARDSON, A. E. _Monumental Classic Architecture in Great Britain and
+ Ireland._ London, 1914.
+
+Royal Institute of British Architects. _One Hundred Years of British
+ Architecture, 1851-1951._ London, 1951.
+
+SUMMERSON, J. _Georgian London._ London, 1945.
+
+SUMMERSON, J. _Ten Years of British Architecture._ London, 1956.
+
+TURNOR, R. _The Smaller English House, 1500-1939._ London, 1952.
+
+TURNOR, R. _Nineteenth Century Architecture in Britain._ London, 1950.
+
+WHIFFEN, M. _Stuart and Georgian Churches outside London._ London,
+ 1947-8.
+
+
+ GREECE
+
+RUSSACK, H. H. _Deutsches Bauen in Athen._ Berlin, 1942.
+
+
+ HOLLAND
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+
+BLIJSTRA, R. _Netherlands Architecture since 1900._ Amsterdam, 1960.
+
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+ London, 1926.
+
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+
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+
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+
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+
+ ITALY
+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+ LATIN AMERICA
+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
+
+ RUSSIA AND POLAND
+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
+
+ SCANDINAVIA
+
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+
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+
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+
+ SPAIN
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+
+ UNITED STATES
+
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+AALTO
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+
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+HOWE
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+
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+JACOBSEN
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+
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+ Problems’, _Architectural Review_, CXX (1957).
+
+JEFFERSON
+
+ Kimball, F. _Thomas Jefferson, Architect._ Boston, 1916.
+
+JOHNSON
+
+ Jacobus, J. M. _Philip Johnson._ New York, 1962.
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+ Thausig, P. _Joseph Kornhäusel._ Vienna, 1916.
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+LABROUSTE (H.)
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+ enfants._ Paris, 1928.
+
+LALOUX
+
+ Cox, H. B. ‘Victor Laloux; the Man and his Work’, _Architects’
+ Journal_, LI (1920), 555-7.
+
+LANGHANS
+
+ Hinrichs, W. _Karl Gotthard Langhans._ Strassburg, 1909.
+
+LATROBE
+
+ Hamlin, T. F. _Benjamin Henry Latrobe._ New York, 1955.
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+LAUGIER
+
+ Herrmann, W. _Laugier and Eighteenth-Century French Theorists._
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+
+ Vaudoyer, L. _Notice historique sur la vie et les ouvrages de M. Le
+ Bas._ Paris, 1869.
+
+LE CORBUSIER
+
+ Boesiger, W. _Le Corbusier & Pierre Jeanneret: Œuvre complète._ 6
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+ New York, 1960.
+
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+
+ Papadaki, S. (ed.). _Le Corbusier: Architect, Painter, Writer._ New
+ York, 1948.
+
+LEDOUX
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+ Ledoux, C.-N. _L’Architecture considérée sous le rapport de l’art, des
+ mœurs et de la législation._ Paris, 1804. [Reprint], 2 vols. Paris,
+ 1962.
+
+ Raval, M., and Moreux, J.-Ch. _C.-N. Ledoux._ Paris, 1945.
+
+ See also BOULLÉE.
+
+LEFUEL
+
+ Delaborde, H. _Notice sur la vie et les ouvrages de M. Lefuel._ Paris,
+ 1882.
+
+LETHABY
+
+ ‘William Richard Lethaby, 1857-1931; a Symposium in Honour of his
+ Centenary’, _Journal of the Royal Institute of British Architects_,
+ LXIV (1957), 218-25.
+
+LOOS
+
+ Glück, F. _Adolf Loos._ Paris, 1931.
+
+ Kulka, H. _Adolf Loos, das Werk des Architekten._ Vienna, 1931.
+
+ Münz, H. _Adolf Loos._ Milan, 1956.
+
+LURÇAT
+
+ _André Lurçat; projets et réalisations._ Paris, 1929.
+
+LUTYENS
+
+ Butler, A. S. G. _The Architecture of Sir Edwin Lutyens._ 3 vols.
+ London, 1950.
+
+ Hussey, C. _The Life of Sir Edwin Lutyens._ London, 1950.
+
+ Weaver, L. _Houses and Gardens by E. L. Lutyens._ London, 1913. Second
+ edition 1921.
+
+MAILLART
+
+ Bill, M. _Robert Maillart._ Zurich, 1949.
+
+MACKINTOSH
+
+ Howarth, T. _Charles Rennie Mackintosh and the Modern Movement._
+ London, 1952.
+
+ Pevsner, N. _Charles Rennie Mackintosh._ Milan, 1950.
+
+MACKMURDO
+
+ Pevsner, N. ‘Arthur H. Mackmurdo’, _Architectural Review_, LXXXIII
+ (1938), 141-3.
+
+ Pond, E. ‘Mackmurdo Gleanings’, _Architectural Review_, CXXVIII
+ (1960), 429-31.
+
+MCKIM, MEAD & WHITE
+
+ _A Monograph of the Work of McKim, Mead and White._ 4 vols. New York,
+ 1915-25.
+
+MENDELSOHN
+
+ Mendelsohn, E. _Briefe und Auszeichnungen eines Architekten_, 8 vols.
+ 1961.
+
+ Whittick, A. _Eric Mendelsohn._ 2nd ed. London [1956].
+
+ _Erich Mendelsohn: das Gesamtschaffen des Architekten._ Berlin, 1930.
+
+MENGONI
+
+ Ricci, G. _La Vita e le opere dell’ architetto Giuseppe Mengoni._
+ Bologna, 1930.
+
+MESSEL
+
+ Behrendt, W. C. _Alfred Messel._ Berlin, 1911.
+
+MIES VAN DER ROHE
+
+ Bill, M. _Ludwig Mies van der Rohe._ Milan, 1955.
+
+ Drexler, A. _Ludwig Mies van der Rohe._ New York, 1960.
+
+ Johnson, P. _Mies van der Rohe._ 2nd ed. New York, 1953; German ed.,
+ Stuttgart [n.d.].
+
+ Hilbersheimer, L. _Mies van der Rohe._ Chicago, 1956.
+
+MILLS
+
+ Gallagher, H. _Robert Mills._ New York, 1935.
+
+NASH
+
+ Davis, T. _The Architecture of John Nash._ London, 1960.
+
+ Summerson, J. N. _John Nash, Architect to George IV._ London, 1935.
+
+NERVI
+
+ _The Works of Pierluigi Nervi._ [Stuttgart] and London, 1957.
+
+ Argan, G. C. _Pierluigi Nervi._ Milan, 1955.
+
+ Nervi, P. _Costruire correttamente._ Milan, 1955.
+
+NESFIELD
+
+ Brydon, J. M. ‘William Eden Nesfield, 1835-1888’, _Architectural
+ Review_, I (1897), 235-7, 283-95.
+
+ Creswell, B. ‘William Eden Nesfield, 1835-1888: An Impression’,
+ _Architectural Review_, II (1897), 23-32.
+
+NEUTRA
+
+ McCoy, E. _Richard Neutra._ New York, 1960.
+
+ Zevi, B. _Richard Neutra._ Milan, 1954.
+
+ _Richard Neutra, Buildings and Projects._ Zurich, 1955.
+
+NEWTON
+
+ Newton, W. G. _The Work of Ernest Newton, R.A._ London, 1923.
+
+NIEMEYER
+
+ Papadaki, S. _The Work of Oscar Niemeyer._ New York, 1950.
+
+ Papadaki, S. _Oscar Niemeyer: Works in Progress._ New York, 1956.
+
+ Papadaki, S. _Oscar Niemeyer._ New York, 1960.
+
+OLBRICH
+
+ _Architektur von Professor Joseph M. Olbrich._ 3 vols. Berlin, 1903-7.
+
+ Lux, J. A. _Josef Maria Olbrich._ Vienna, 1919.
+
+ Veronesi, G. _Josef Maria Olbrich._ Milan, 1948.
+
+OUD
+
+ _Architect J. J. P. Oud._ Rotterdam, 1951.
+
+ Hitchcock, H.-R. _J. J. P. Oud._ Paris, 1931.
+
+ Veronesi, G. _J. J. Pieter Oud._ Milan, 1953.
+
+PAXTON
+
+ Chadwick, G. F. _The Works of Sir Joseph Paxton._ London [1961].
+
+ Markham, V. _Paxton and the Bachelor Duke._ London, 1935.
+
+PERCIER AND FONTAINE
+
+ Fouché, M. _Percier et Fontaine._ Paris, 1905.
+
+PERRET
+
+ Champigneulle, B. _Auguste Perret._ Paris, 1959.
+
+ Collins, P. _Concrete—The Vision of a New Architecture_, pt. III.
+ London, 1959.
+
+ Jamot, P. _A.-G. Perret et l’architecture du béton armé._ Paris and
+ Brussels, 1927.
+
+ Rogers, E. _Auguste Perret._ Milan, 1955.
+
+ _Architecture d’aujourd’hui_, 1932 (special issue on A. Perret).
+
+PERSIUS
+
+ (See Note [53] to Chapter 2).
+
+PIRANESI
+
+ Focillon, H. _G. B. Piranesi._ Paris, 1918.
+
+PLATT
+
+ Cortissoz, R. _Monograph of the Work of Charles A. Platt._ New York,
+ 1913.
+
+POELZIG
+
+ Heuss, T. _Hans Poelzig._ Berlin, 1939.
+
+PUGIN
+
+ Ferrey, B. _Recollections of A. N. Pugin and His Father A. Pugin._
+ London, 1861.
+
+ Gwynn, D. _Lord Shrewsbury, Pugin and The Catholic Revival._ London,
+ 1946.
+
+ Trappes-Lomax, M. _Pugin, a Mediaeval Victorian._ London, 1932.
+
+REIDY
+
+ Franck, K. _The Works of Affonso Eduardo Reidy._ New York, 1960.
+
+ Giedion, S. _The Works of Eduardo Affonso Reidy._ New York, 1960.
+
+ _Revett._ See STUART.
+
+RICHARDSON
+
+ Hitchcock, H.-R. _The Architecture of H. H. Richardson and His Times._
+ 2nd ed. Hamden, Conn., 1961.
+
+ Van Rensselaer, M. G. _Henry Hobson Richardson and His Works._ Boston
+ and New York, 1888.
+
+RIETVELD
+
+ Brown, T. M. _The Work of G. Rietveld._ Utrecht, 1958.
+
+ROHAULT DE FLEURY
+
+ Rohault de Fleury, C. _Œuvre._ Paris, 1884.
+
+ROUX-SPITZ
+
+ Roux-Spitz, M. _Réalisations_, 1924-39. 2 vols. Paris [n.d.].
+
+SAARINEN
+
+ Christ-Janer, A. _Eliel Saarinen._ Chicago, 1948.
+
+SANT’ ELIA
+
+ Banham, P. R. ‘Sant’ Elia’, _Architectural Review_, CXVII (1955),
+ 295-301; CXIX (1956), 343-4.
+
+ Mariani, L. ‘Disegni inediti di Sant’ Elia’, _L’Architettura_, I
+ (1955-6), 210-15, 704-7.
+
+SCHINKEL
+
+ Griesebach, A. _Karl Friedrich Schinkel._ Leipzig, 1924.
+
+ Pevsner, N. ‘Schinkel’, _Journal of the Royal Institute of British
+ Architects_, LIX (1952).
+
+ Rave, P., and others. _Karl Friedrich Schinkel Lebenswerk_, vol. [I]-.
+ Berlin, 1941-.
+
+ Schinkel, K. F. _Sammlung architektonischer Entwürfe ... _ Berlin,
+ 1819-40.
+
+ Wolzogen, A. F. von. _Aus Schinkels Nachlass._ 3 vols. Berlin, 1862-4.
+
+SCOTT (G. G.)
+
+ Scott, G. G. _Personal and Professional Recollections by the late Sir
+ George Gilbert Scott._ London, 1879.
+
+SCOTT (BAILLIE)
+
+ Scott, M. H. B. _Houses and Gardens._ London, 1906.
+
+SELVA
+
+ Bassi, E. _Giannantonio Selva, architetto veneziano._ Padua, 1936.
+
+SEMPER
+
+ Ettlinger, L. _Gottfried Semper und die Antike._ Halle, 1937.
+
+ Semper, G. _Der Stil in den technischen und architektonischen
+ Künsten._ Frankfurt, 1860.
+
+SHAW
+
+ Blomfield, Sir R. _Richard Norman Shaw, R.A._ London, 1940.
+
+ Pevsner, N. ‘Richard Norman Shaw’, _Architectural Review_, LXXXIX
+ (1941), 41-6.
+
+ See also WEBB.
+
+SOANE
+
+ Bolton, A. T. _The Works of Sir John Soane._ London, 1924.
+
+ Bolton, A. T. _The Portrait of Sir John Soane._ London, 1927.
+
+ Stroud, D. _The Architecture of Sir John Soane._ London [1961].
+
+ Summerson, J. N. ‘Soane: the Case-History of a Personal Style’,
+ _Journal of the Royal Institute of British Architects_, LVIII
+ (1951), 83-9.
+
+SOMMARUGA
+
+ _L’Architettura di Giuseppe Sommaruga._ Milan, 1908.
+
+SOUFFLOT
+
+ Mondain-Monval, J. _Soufflot._ Paris, 1918.
+
+STREET
+
+ Hitchcock, H. R. ‘G. E. Street in the 1850s’, _Journal of the Society
+ of Architectural Historians_, XIX (1960), 145-72.
+
+ Street, A. E. _Memoir of George Edmund Street._ London, 1888.
+
+STRICKLAND
+
+ Gilchrist, A. A. _William Strickland: Architect and Engineer._
+ Philadelphia, 1950.
+
+ Gilchrist, A. A. ‘Additions to William Strickland _Journal of the
+ Society of Architectural Historians_, XIII (Oct., 1954), sup. 1-16.
+
+STUART
+
+ Lawrence, L. ‘Stuart and Revett; their Literary and Architectural
+ Careers’, _Journal of the Warburg Institute_, II (1938), 128-46.
+
+SULLIVAN
+
+ Connely, W. _Louis Sullivan as He Lived._ New York, 1960.
+
+ Morrison, H. _Louis Sullivan._ New York, 1952.
+
+ Sullivan, L. H. _The Autobiography of an Idea._ New York, 1953.
+
+ Sullivan, L. H. _Kindergarten Chats._ New York, 1947.
+
+TELFORD
+
+ Gibb, A. _The Story of Telford._ London, 1935.
+
+ _Life of Thomas Telford, Civil Engineer, written by himself._ London,
+ 1838.
+
+ Rolt, L. T. C. _Thomas Telford._ London, 1958.
+
+TERRAGNI
+
+ Labò, M. _Giuseppe Terragni._ Milan, 1947.
+
+THOMSON
+
+ Law, G. ‘Greek Thomson’, _Architectural Review_, CXVI (1954), 307-16.
+
+TOWN & DAVIS
+
+ Newton, R. H. _Town and Davis: Architects._ New York, 1942.
+
+UPJOHN
+
+ Upjohn, E. _Richard Upjohn, Architect and Churchman._ New York, 1939.
+
+VAN DE VELDE
+
+ Osthaus, K. _Van de Velde; Leben und Schaffen des Künstlers._ Hagen,
+ 1920.
+
+ Casteels, M. _Henry van de Velde._ Brussels, 1932.
+
+VIOLLET-LE-DUC
+
+ Gout, P. _Viollet-le-Duc; sa vie, son œuvre, sa doctrine._ Paris,
+ 1914.
+
+VORONIKHIN
+
+ Panov, V. A. _Arkhitektor A. N. Voronikhin._ Moscow, 1937.
+
+ See also ZAKHAROV.
+
+VOYSEY
+
+ Betjeman, J. ‘Charles Francis Annesley Voysey; The Architect of
+ Individualism’, _Architectural Review_, LXX (1931), 93-6.
+
+ Pevsner, N. ‘Charles Francis Annesley Voysey’, _Elsevier’s
+ Maandschrift_, 1940, 343-55.
+
+ Brandon-Jones, J. ‘Voysey’, _Journal of the Architectural Association_
+ (1957).
+
+WAGNER
+
+ Lux, J. A. _Otto Wagner._ Berlin, 1919.
+
+ Wagner, O. _Einige Skizzen, Projekte und ausgeführte Bauwerke._ 4
+ vols. Vienna, 1890-1922.
+
+WAHLMAN
+
+ Lind, S., and others (eds.). _Verk av L. I. Wahlman._ Stockholm, 1950.
+
+WALTER
+
+ Newcomb, R. ‘Thomas U. Walter’, _The Architect_, August, 1928.
+
+WEBB
+
+ Lethaby, W. _Philip Webb and his Work._ London, 1935.
+
+ Brandon-Jones, J. ‘The Work of Philip Webb and Norman Shaw’,
+ _Architectural Association Journal_, LXXI (1955), 9-21.
+
+WEINBRENNER
+
+ Valdenaire, A. _Friedrich Weinbrenner, sein Leben und seine Bauten._
+ Karlsruhe, 1919.
+
+WHITE
+
+ Baldwin, C. _Stanford White._ New York, 1931.
+
+ See also MCKIM, MEAD & WHITE
+
+WRIGHT
+
+ Drexler, A. _The Drawings of Frank Lloyd Wright._ New York, 1962.
+
+ _Frank Lloyd Wright Drawings for a Living Architecture._ New York,
+ 1960.
+
+ Gutheim, F. (ed.). _Frank Lloyd Wright on Architecture: Selected
+ Writings, 1894-1940._ New York, 1941.
+
+ Hitchcock, H.-R. _In the Nature of Materials; the Buildings of Frank
+ Lloyd Wright, 1887-1941._ New York, 1942.
+
+ Kaufmann, E. _Taliesin Drawings; Recent Architecture of Frank Lloyd
+ Wright._ New York, 1952.
+
+ Kaufmann, E., and Raeburn, B. _Frank Lloyd Wright Writings and
+ Buildings._ New York, 1960.
+
+ Manson, G. C. _Frank Lloyd Wright to 1910._ New York, 1958.
+
+ Wijdeveld, H. T. (ed.). _The Life Work of the American Architect,
+ Frank Lloyd Wright._ Amsterdam, 1925.
+
+ Wright, F. Ll. _An Autobiography._ New York, 1943.
+
+ Wright, F. Ll. _A Testament._ New York, 1957.
+
+ _Ausgeführte Bauten und Entwürfe von Frank Lloyd Wright._ [Berlin,
+ 1910].
+
+ _Frank Lloyd Wright: Ausgeführte Bauten_ (introduction by C. R.
+ Ashbee). Berlin, 1911.
+
+ ‘Frank Lloyd Wright’, _Architectural Forum_, XCIV (Jan., 1951),
+ 73-108.
+
+WYATT (J.)
+
+ Dale, A. _James Wyatt._ Oxford, 1956.
+
+WYATT (M. D.)
+
+ Pevsner, N. _Matthew Digby Wyatt._ London, 1950.
+
+ZAKHAROV
+
+ Arkin, D. _Zakharov i Voronikhin._ Moscow, 1953.
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ THE PLATES
+
+
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 1 J.-G. Soufflot and others: Paris, Panthéon (Sainte-Geneviève),
+ 1757-90
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 2 (A) C.-N. Ledoux: Paris, Barrière de la Villette, 1784-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 2 (B) C.-N. Ledoux: Project for Coopery, _c._ 1785
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ (C) L.-E. Boullée: Project for City Hall, _c._ 1785
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 3 Sir John Soane: London, Bank of England, Consols Office, 1794
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 4 (A) Sir John Soane: London, Bank of England, Waiting Room Court,
+ 1804
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 4 (B) C. F. Hansen: Copenhagen, Vor Frue Kirke, 1811-29
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 5 Benjamin H. Latrobe: Baltimore, Maryland, Catholic Cathedral,
+ 1805-18
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 6 (A) Sir John Soane: Tyringham, Buckinghamshire, Entrance Gate,
+ 1792-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 6 (B) Percier and Fontaine: Paris, Rue de Rivoli, 1802-55
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 7 J.-F.-T. Chalgrin and others: Paris, Arc de Triomphe de l’Étoile,
+ 1806-35
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 8 (A) Thomas de Thomon: Petersburg, Bourse, 1804-16
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 8 (B) A.-T. Brongniart and others: Paris, Bourse, 1808-15
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 9 (A) Friedrich Gilly: Project for monument to Frederick the Great,
+ 1797
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 9 (B) Leo von Klenze: Munich, Glyptothek, 1816-30
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 10 (A) Friedrich Weinbrenner: Karlsruhe, Marktplatz, 1804-24
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 10 (B) Friedrich von Gärtner: Munich, Ludwigskirche and
+ Staatsbibliothek, 1829-40 and 1831-40
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 11 (A) Heinrich Hübsch: Baden-Baden, Trinkhalle, 1840
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 11 (B) Wimmel & Forsmann: Hamburg, Johanneum, 1836-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 12 K. F. von Schinkel: Berlin, Schauspielhaus, 1819-21
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 13 K. F. von Schinkel: Berlin, Altes Museum, 1824-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 14 (A) K. F. von Schinkel: Potsdam, Court Gardener’s House, 1829-31
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 14 (B) G. L. F. Laves: Hanover, Opera House, 1845-52
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 15 Ludwig Persius: Potsdam, Friedenskirche, 1845-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 16 (A) Leo von Klenze: Regensburg (nr), Walhalla, 1831-42]
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 16 (B) M. G. B. Bindesbøll: Copenhagen, Thorwaldsen Museum, Court,
+ 1839-48
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 17 (A) Friedrich von Gärtner: Athens, Old Palace, 1837-41
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 17 (B) Peter Speeth: Würzburg, Frauenzuchthaus, 1809
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 18 (A) P.-F.-L. Fontaine: Paris, Chapelle Expiatoire, 1816-24
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 18 (B) L.-H. Lebas: Paris, Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, 1823-36
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 19 J.-B. Lepère and J.-I. Hittorff: Paris, Saint-Vincent-de-Paul,
+ 1824-44
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 20 Douillard Frères: Nantes, Hospice Général, 1832-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 21 H.-P.-F. Labrouste: Paris, Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, 1843-50
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 22 (A) É.-H. Godde and J.-B. Lesueur:
+ Paris, extension of Hôtel de Ville, 1837-49
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 22 (B) F.-A. Duquesney: Paris, Gare de l’Est, 1847-52
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 23 (A) Giuseppe Jappelli and Antonio Gradenigo: Padua, Caffè
+ Pedrocchi, 1816-31
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 23 (B) Antonio Niccolini: Naples, San Carlo Opera House, 1810-12
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 24 Raffaelle Stern: Rome, Vatican Museum, Braccio Nuovo, 1817-21
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 25 A. de. Simone: Caserta, Royal Palace, Sala di Marte, 1807
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 26 (A) Pietro Bianchi: Naples, San Francesco di Paola, 1816-24
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 26 (B) Giuseppe Frizzi and others: Turin, Piazza Vittorio Veneto,
+ laid out in 1818, with Gran Madre di Dio by Ferdinando Bonsignore,
+ 1818-31
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 27 (A) A. A. Monferran: Petersburg, St Isaac’s Cathedral, 1817-57
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 27(B) A. A. Monferran: Petersburg, Alexander Column, 1829; and K. I.
+ Rossi: Petersburg, General Staff Arches, 1819-29
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ (C) A.-J. Pellechet: Paris, block of flats,
+ 10 Place de la Bourse, 1834
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 28 (A) Sir John Soane: London, Royal Hospital, Chelsea, Stables,
+ 1814-17
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 28 (B) Sir John Soane: London, Bank of England, Colonial Office,
+ 1818-23
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 29 Alexander Thomson: Glasgow, Caledonia Road Free Church, 1856-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 30 John Nash: London, Piccadilly Circus and Lower Regent Street,
+ 1817-19
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 31 London, Hyde Park Corner: Decimus Burton, Screen, 1825; Arch, 1825;
+ William Wilkins, St George’s Hospital, 1827-8;
+ Benjamin Dean Wyatt, Apsley House, 1828
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 32 John Nash and James Thomson: London, Regent’s Park, Cumberland
+ Terrace. 1826-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 33 Sir Robert Smirke: London, British Museum, south front, completed
+ 1847
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 34 (A) H. L. Elmes: Liverpool, St George’s Hall, 1841-54
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 34 (B) W. H. Playfair: Edinburgh, Royal Scottish Institution
+ (_right_),
+ National Gallery of Scotland, and Free Church College,
+ 1822-36, 1850-4, and 1846-50
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 35 (A) Alexander Thomson: Glasgow, Moray Place, Strathbungo, 1859
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 35 (B) Sir Charles Barry: London, Travellers’ Club and Reform Club,
+ 1830-2 and 1838-40
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 36 J. W. Wild: London, Christ Church, Streatham, 1840-2
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 37 (A) Sir Charles Barry: original design for Highclere Castle,
+ Hampshire, _c._ 1840
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 37 (B) Cuthbert Brodrick: Leeds, Corn Exchange, 1860-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 38 (A) Robert Mills: Washington, Treasury Department, 1836-42
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 38 (B) Thomas Jefferson: Charlottesville, Va., University of Virginia,
+ 1817-26
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 39 (A) Thomas U. Walter and others: Columbus, Ohio, State Capitol,
+ 1839-61
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 39 (B) James C. Bucklin: Providence, R.I., Washington Buildings, 1843
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 40 William Strickland: Philadelphia, Merchants’ Exchange, 1832-4
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 41 Isaiah Rogers: Boston, Tremont House, 1828-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 42 (A) A. J. Davis: New York, Colonnade Row, 1832
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 42 (B) Russell Warren: Newport, R.I., Elmhyrst, _c._ 1833
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 43 (A) Henry A. Sykes: Springfield, Mass., Stebbins house, 1849
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 43 (B) Alexander Parris: Boston, David Sears house, 1816
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 44 Thomas A. Tefft: Providence, R.I., Union Station, begun 1848
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 45 Amherst, Mass., Amherst College, Dormitories, 1821-2, Chapel 1827
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 46 William Clarke: Utica, N.Y., Insane Asylum, 1837-43
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 47 (A) John Notman: Philadelphia, Atheneum, 1845-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 47 (B) J. M. J. Rebelo: Rio de Janeiro, Palacio Itamaratí, 1851-4
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 48 John Nash: Brighton, Royal Pavilion, as remodelled 1815-23
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 49 C. A. Busby: Gwrych Castle, near Abergele, completed 1815
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 50 (A) John Nash: Blaise Hamlet, near Bristol, 1811
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 50 (B) Thomas Rickman and H. Hutchinson: Cambridge, St John’s College,
+ New Court, 1825-31
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 51 G. M. Kemp: Edinburgh, Sir Walter Scott Monument, 1840-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 52 (A) A. W. N. Pugin: Cheadle, Staffordshire, St Giles’s, 1841-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 52 (B) Sir G. G. Scott: Hamburg, Nikolaikirche, 1845-63
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 53 (A) Richard Upjohn: New York, Trinity Church, _c._ 1844-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 53 (B) Richard Upjohn: Utica, N.Y., City Hall, 1852-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 54 Sir Charles Barry: London, Houses of Parliament, 1840-65
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 55 (A) Salem, Mass., First Unitarian (North) Church, 1836-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 55 (B) F.-C. Gau and Théodore Ballu: Paris, Sainte-Clotilde, 1846-57
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 56 E.-E. Viollet-le-Duc: Paris, block of flats, Rue de Liège, 1846-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 57 (A) Alexis de Chateauneuf and Fersenfeld:
+ Hamburg, Petrikirche, 1843-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 57 (B) G. A. Demmler and F. A. Stüler: Schwerin, Schloss, 1844-57
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 58 (A) John Nash: Brighton, Royal Pavilion, Kitchen, 1818-21
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 58 (B) Thomas Telford: Menai Strait, Menai Bridge, 1819-24
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 59 Thomas Telford: Craigellachie Bridge, 1815
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 60 (A) John A. Roebling: Niagara Falls,
+ Suspension Bridge, 1852
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 60 (B) Thomas Hopper: London, Carlton House,
+ Conservatory, 1811-12
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 61 Robert Stephenson and Francis Thompson: Menai Strait, Britannia
+ Bridge, 1845-50
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 62 (A) Grisart & Froehlicher: Paris, Galeries du Commerce et de
+ l’Industrie,
+ section, 1838
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 62 (B) Robert Stephenson and Francis Thompson:
+ Derby, Trijunct Railway Station, 1839-41
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 63 J. B. Bunning: London, Coal Exchange, 1846-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 64 Sir Joseph Paxton and Fox & Henderson: London, Crystal Palace,
+ 1850-1
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 65 I. K. Brunel and Sir M. D. Wyatt: London, Paddington Station,
+ 1852-4
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 66 (A) Lewis Cubitt: London, King’s Cross Station, 1851-2
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 66 (B) Karl Etzel: Vienna, Dianabad, 1841-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 67 (A) Decimus Burton and Richard Turner: Kew, Palm Stove, 1845-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 67 (B) James Bogardus: New York, Laing Stores, 1849
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 68 L.-T.-J. Visconti and H.-M. Lefuel: Paris, New Louvre, 1852-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 69 H.-P.-F. Labrouste: Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, Reading Room,
+ 1862-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 70 (A) H.-J. Espérandieu: Marseilles, Palais Longchamps, 1862-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 70 (B) J.-L.-C. Garnier: Paris, Opéra, 1861-74
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 70 (C) Charles Rohault de Fleury and Henri Blondel: Paris, Place de
+ l’Opéra, 1858-64
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 71 J.-L.-C. Garnier: Paris, Opéra, foyer, 1861-74
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 72 (A) J.-A.-E. Vaudremer: Paris, Saint-Pierre-de-Montrouge, 1864-70
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 72 (B) J.-F. Duban: Paris, École des Beaux-Arts, 1860-2
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 73 (A) Gottfried Semper and Karl von Hasenauer: Vienna, Burgtheater,
+ 1874-88
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 73 (B) Theophil von Hansen: Vienna, Heinrichshof, 1861-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 74 Vienna, Ringstrasse, begun 1858
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 75 (A) A.-F. Mortier: Paris, block of flats,
+ 11 Rue de Milan, _c._ 1860
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 75 (B) Giuseppe Mengoni: Milan, Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele,
+ 1865-77
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 76 (A) Gaetano Koch: Rome, Esedra, 1885
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 76 (B) J.-A.-F.-A. Pellechet: Barnard Castle, Co. Durham, Bowes
+ Museum, 1869-75.
+ _Copyright Country Life_
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 77 (A) Friedrich Hitzig: Berlin, Exchange, 1859-63
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 77 (B) Julius Raschdorf: Cologne, Opera House, 1870-2
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 78 (A) Cuthbert Brodrick: Leeds, Town Hall, 1855-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 78 (B) Sir Charles Barry: Halifax, Town Hall, 1860-2
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 79 Cuthbert Brodrick: Scarborough, Grand Hotel, 1863-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 80 (A) John Giles: London, Langham Hotel, 1864-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 80 (B) London, 1-5 Grosvenor Place, begun 1867
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 81 Joseph Poelaert: Brussels, Palace of Justice, 1866-83
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 82 (A) Thomas U. Walter: Washington, Capitol, Wings and Dome, 1851-65;
+ Central Block by William Thornton and others, 1792-1828
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 82 (B) Arthur B. Mullet; Arthur Gilman consultant: Washington,
+ State, War and Navy Department Building, 1871-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 83 (A) Sir M. D. Wyatt: London, Alford House, 1872
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 83 (B) Francis Fowke: London, Victoria and Albert Museum, Court, begun
+ 1866
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 84 Georg von Dollmann: Schloss Linderhof, near Oberammergau, 1870-86
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 85 William Butterfield: London, All Saints’, Margaret Street,
+ interior, 1849-59
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 86 (A) William Butterfield: London, All Saints’,
+ Margaret Street, Schools and Clergy House, 1849-59
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 86 (B) Deane & Woodward: Oxford, University Museum,
+ 1855-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 87 William Butterfield: Baldersby St James, Yorkshire, St James’s,
+ 1856
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 88 William Burges: Hartford, Conn., project for Trinity College, 1873
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 89 (A) Henry Clutton: Leamington, Warwickshire, St Peter’s, 1861-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 89 (B) James Brooks: London, St Saviour’s, Hoxton, 1865-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 90 Sir G. G. Scott: London, Albert Memorial, 1863-72
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 91 (A) J. P. Seddon: Aberystwyth, University College, begun 1864
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 91 (B) H. H. Richardson: Medford, Mass., Grace Church, 1867-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 92 (A) E. W. Godwin: Congleton, Cheshire, Town Hall, 1864-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 92 (B) G. F. Bodley: Pendlebury, Lancashire, St Augustine’s, 1870-4
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 93 (A) J. L. Pearson: London, St Augustine’s, Kilburn, 1870-80
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 93 (B) Edmund E. Scott: Brighton, St Bartholomew’s, completed 1875
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 94 (A) R. Norman Shaw: Bingley, Yorkshire, Holy Trinity, 1866-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 94 (B) G. E. Street: London, St James the Less, Thorndike Street,
+ 1858-61
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 95 (A) Ware & Van Brunt: Cambridge, Mass., Memorial Hall,
+ 1870-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 95 (B) Frank Furness: Philadelphia, Provident Life and Trust Company,
+ 1879
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 96 (A) Russell Sturgis: New Haven, Conn., Yale College, Farnam Hall,
+ 1869-70
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 96 (B) Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Palau Güell, 1885-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 97 (A) Fuller & Jones: Ottawa, Canada, Parliament House, 1859-67
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 97 (B) William Morris and Philip Webb: London, Victoria and Albert
+ Museum,
+ Refreshment Room, 1867
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 98 E.-E. Viollet-le-Duc: St Denis, Seine, Saint-Denys-de-l’Estrée,
+ 1864-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 99 (A) Heinrich von Ferstel: Vienna, Votivkirche,
+ 1856-79
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 99 (B) Friedrich von Schmidt: Vienna, Fünfhaus Paris Church,
+ 1868-75
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 100 G. E. Street: Rome, St Paul’s American Church, 1873-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 101 (A) E.-E. Viollet-le-Duc: Paris,
+ block of flats, Rue de Douai, _c._ 1860
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 101 (B) P. J. H. Cuijpers: Amsterdam,
+ Maria Magdalenakerk, 1887
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 101 (C) P. J. H. Cuijpers: Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum, 1877-85
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 102 (A) Philip Webb: Smeaton Manor, Yorkshire, 1877-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 102 (B) R. Norman Shaw: Withyham, Sussex, Glen Andred, 1866-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 103 R. Norman Shaw: London, Old Swan House, 1876
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 104 (A) R. Norman Shaw: London, Albert Hall Mansions, 1879
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 104 (B) George & Peto: London, W. S. Gilbert house, 1882
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 105 R. Norman Shaw: London, Fred White house, 1887
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 106 (A) R. Norman Shaw: London, Holy Trinity, Latimer Road, 1887-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 106 (B) R. Norman Shaw: London, New Scotland Yard, 1887
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 107 R. Norman Shaw: London, Piccadilly Hotel, 1905-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 108 (A) H. H. Richardson: Boston, Trinity Church, 1873-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 108 (B) H. H. Richardson: Pittsburgh, Penna, Allegheny County Jail,
+ 1884-8
+
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 109 (A) Charles B. Atwood: Chicago, World’s Fair, Fine Arts Building,
+ 1892-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 109 (B) McKim, Mead & White: New York, Villard houses, 1883-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 110 H. H. Richardson: Quincy, Mass., Crane Library, 1880-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 111 McKim, Mead & White: Boston, Public Library, 1888-92
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 112 (A) C. R. Cockerell: Liverpool, Bank Chambers, 1849
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 112 (B) Alexander Parris: Boston, North Market Street, designed 1823
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 113 E. W. Godwin: Bristol, 104 Stokes Croft, _c._ 1862
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 114 (A) Peter Ellis: Liverpool, Oriel Chambers, 1864-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 114 (B) Lockwood & Mawson (?): Bradford,
+ Kassapian’s Warehouse, _c._ 1862
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 115 (A) George B. Post: New York, Western Union Building, 1873-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 115 (B) D. H. Burnham & Co.: Chicago, Reliance Building, 1894
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 116 (A) H. H. Richardson: Hartford, Conn., Brown-Thompson Department
+ Store
+ (Cheney Block), 1875-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 116 (B) H. H. Richardson: Chicago, Marshall Field Wholesale Store,
+ 1885-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 117 (A) Adler & Sullivan: Chicago, Auditorium Building, 1887-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 117 (B) William Le B. Jenney: Chicago, Sears, Roebuck & Co. (Leiter)
+ Building.
+ 1889-90
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 118 Adler & Sullivan: St Louis, Wainwright Building, 1890-1
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 119 Adler & Sullivan: Buffalo, N.Y., Guaranty Building, 1894-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 120 Holabird & Roche; Louis H. Sullivan:
+ Chicago, 19 South Michigan Avenue; Gage Building, 1898-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 121 Louis H. Sullivan: Chicago, Carson, Pirie & Scott Department
+ Store, 1899-1901, 1903-4
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 122 (A) J. B. Papworth: ‘Cottage Orné’, 1818
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 122 (B) William Butterfield: Coalpitheath, Gloucestershire, St
+ Saviour’s Vicarage, 1844-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 123 R. Norman Shaw: nr. Withyham, Sussex, Leyswood, 1868
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 124 (A) Dudley Newton: Middletown, R.I., Sturtevant house, 1872
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 124 (B) H. H. Richardson: Cambridge, Mass., Stoughton house, 1882-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 125 (A) McKim, Mead & White: Elberon, N.J., H. Victor Newcomb house,
+ 1880-1
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 125 (B) Bruce Price: Tuxedo Park, N.Y., Pierre Lorillard house, 1885-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 126 McKim, Mead & White: Newport, R.I., Isaac Bell, Jr, house, 1881-2]
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 127 McKim, Mead & White: Bristol, R.I., W. G. Low house, 1887
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 128 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: River Forest, Ill., W. H. Winslow house,
+ 1893
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 128 (B) Frank Lloyd Wright: River Forest, Ill.,
+ River Forest Golf Club, 1898, 1901
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 129 (A) C. F. A. Voysey: Hog’s Back, Surrey, Julian Sturgis house,
+ elevation, 1896
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 129 (B) C. F. A. Voysey: Lake Windermere, Broadleys, 1898-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 130 (A) Gustave Eiffel: Paris, Eiffel Tower, 1887-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 130 (B) Baron Victor Horta: Brussels, Tassel house, 1892-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 131 (A) Baron Victor Horta: Brussels,
+ Solvay house, 1895-1900
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 131 (B) Baron Victor Horta: Brussels,
+ L’Innovation Department Store, 1901
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 132 (A) C. R. Mackintosh: Glasgow, School of Art, 1897-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 132 (B) Baron Victor Horta: Brussels, Maison du Peuple, interior,
+ 1896-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 133 Franz Jourdain: Paris, Samaritaine Department Store, 1905
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 134 (A) Auguste Perret: Paris, block of flats, 119 Avenue Wagram, 1902
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 134 (B) C. Harrison Townsend: London, Whitechapel Art Gallery, 1897-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 135 (A) C. R. Mackintosh: Glasgow, School of Art, 1907-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 135 (B) Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Casa Milá, ground storey, 1905-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 136 Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Casa Batlló, front, 1905-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 137 (A) Antoni Gaudí: Barcelona, Casa Milá, 1905-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 137 (B) Hector Guimard: Paris, Gare du Métropolitain, Place Bastille,
+ 1900
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 138 (A) Otto Wagner: Vienna, Majolika Haus, _c._ 1898
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 138 (B) H. P. Berlage: London, Holland House, 1914
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 139 (A) Auguste Perret: Paris, Garage Ponthieu, 1905-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 139 (B) Auguste Perret: Paris, block of flats, 9 Place de la Porte de
+ Passy, 1930-2
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 140 (A) Auguste Perret: Le Havre, Place de l’Hôtel de Ville, 1948-54
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 140 (B) Auguste Perret: Paris, Ministry of Marine, 1929-30
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 141 Auguste Perret: Le Raincy, S.-et-O., Notre-Dame, 1922-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 142 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: Kankakee, Ill., Warren Hickox house, 1900
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 142 (B) Frank Lloyd Wright: Highland Park, Ill., W. W. Willitts house,
+ 1902
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 143 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: Delavan Lake, Wis., C. S. Ross house, 1902
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 143 (B) Frank Lloyd Wright: Oak Park, Ill., Unity Church, 1906
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 144 Frank Lloyd Wright: Pasadena, Cal., Mrs G. M. Millard house, 1923
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 145 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: Falling Water, Pennsylvania, 1936-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 145 (B) Frank Lloyd Wright: Pleasantville, N.Y., Sol Friedman house,
+ 1948-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 146 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: Racine, Wis., S. C. Johnson and Sons
+ Administration Building and Laboratory Tower, 1936-9 and 1946-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 145 (B) Bernard Maybeck: Berkeley, Cal., Christian Science Church,
+ 1910
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 147 (A) Greene & Greene: Pasadena, Cal., D. B. Gamble house, 1908-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 147 (B) Irving Gill: Los Angeles, Walter Dodge house, 1915-16
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 148 (A) Peter Behrens: Berlin, A.E.G. Small Motors Factory, 1910
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 148 (B) Peter Behrens: Hagen-Eppenhausen, Cuno and Schröder houses,
+ 1909-10
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 149 (A) Peter Behrens: Berlin, A.E.G. Turbine Factory, 1909
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 149 (B) Max Berg: Breslau, Jahrhunderthalle, 1910-12
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 150 H. P. Berlage: Amsterdam, Diamond Workers’ Union Building,
+ 1899-1900
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 151 Adolf Loos: Vienna, Kärntner Bar, 1907
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 152 Bonatz & Scholer: Stuttgart, Railway Station, 1911-14, 1919-27
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 153 (A) Fritz Höger: Hamburg, Chilehaus, 1923
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 153 (B) Erich Mendelsohn: Neubabelsberg, Einstein Tower, 1921
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 154 (A) Josef Hoffmann: Brussels, Stoclet house, 1905-11
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 154 (B) Otto Wagner: Vienna, Postal Savings Bank, 1904-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 155 (A) Adolf Loos: Vienna, Gustav Scheu house, 1912
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 155 (B) Adolf Loos: Vienna, Leopold Langer flat, 1901
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 156 (A) Piet Kramer: Amsterdam, De Dageraad housing estate, 1918-23
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 156 (B) Michael de Klerk: Amsterdam, Eigen Haard housing estate, 1917
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 157 (A) W. M. Dudok: Hilversum, Dr Bavinck School, 1921
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 157 (B) Saarinen & Saarinen: Minneapolis, Minn., Christ Lutheran
+ Church, 1949-50
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 158 (A) Walter Gropius with Adolf Meyer:
+ Project for Chicago Tribune Tower, 1922
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 158 (B) Walter Gropius and Adolf Meyer: Alfeld-an-der-Leine,
+ Fagus Factory, 1911-14]
+
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 159 Le Corbusier: Poissy, S.-et-O., Savoye house, 1929-30
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 160 (A) Le Corbusier: Second project for Citrohan house, 1922
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 160 (B) Le Corbusier: Garches, S.-et-O., Les Terrasses, 1927
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 161 (A) Walter Gropius: Dessau, Bauhaus, 1925-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 161 (B) Walter Gropius: Dessau, City Employment Office, 1927-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 162 (A) Walter Gropius: Berlin, Siemensstadt housing estate, 1929-30
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 162 (B) Ludwig Mies van der Rohe:
+ Stuttgart, block of flats, Weissenhof, 1927
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 163 (A) Brinkman & van der Vlugt: Rotterdam, van Nelle Factory, 1927
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 163 (B) J. J. P. Oud: Hook of Holland, housing estate, 1926-7
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 164 (A) J. J. P. Oud: Rotterdam, church, Kiefhoek housing estate,
+ 1928-30
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 164 (B) Gerrit Rietveld: Utrecht, Schroeder house, 1925
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 165 (A) Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Barcelona, German
+ Exhibition Pavilion, 1929
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 165 (B) Le Corbusier: Paris, Swiss Hostel, Cité Universitaire, 1931-2
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 166 Le Corbusier: Marseilles, Unité d’Habitation, 1946-52
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 167 Le Corbusier: Ronchamp, Hte-Saône, Notre-Dame-du-Haut, 1950-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 168 (A) Le Corbusier: Éveux-sur-L’Arbresle, Dominican
+ Monastery of La Tourette, 1957-61
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 168 (B) Eero Saarinen: Warren, Mich., General Motors Technical
+ Institute, 1951-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 169 Howe & Lescaze: Philadelphia, Philadelphia Savings Fund Society
+ Building, 1932
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 170 Ludwig Mies van der Rohe: Chicago, Ill., blocks of flats, 845-60
+ Lake Shore Drive, 1949-51
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 171 Lúcio Costa, Oscar Niemeyer, and others (Le Corbusier consultant):
+ Rio de Janeiro,
+ Ministry of Education and Health, 1937-42
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 172 (A) Giuseppe Terragni: Como, Casa del Fascio, 1932-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 172 (B) Tecton: London, Regent’s Park Zoo, Penguin Pool, 1933-5
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 173 (A) Martin Nyrop: Copenhagen, Town Hall, 1892-1902
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 173 (B) Alvar Aalto: Säynatsälo, Municipal Buildings, _c._ 1951-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 174 (A) Ragnar Östberg: Stockholm, Town Hall, 1909-23
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 174 (B) Ragnar Östberg: Stockholm, Town Hall, 1909-23
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 175 (A) Sigfrid Ericsson: Göteborg, Masthugg Church, 1910-14
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 175 (B) P. V. Jensen Klint: Copenhagen, Grundvig Church, 1913, 1921-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 176 (A) E. G. Asplund: Stockholm City Library, 1921-8
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 176 (B) Edward Thomsen and G. B. Hagen: Gentofte Komune, Øregaard
+ School, 1923-4
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 177 (A) Cram & Ferguson: Princeton, N.J., Graduate College, completed
+ 1913
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 177 (B) Reed & Stem and Warren & Wetmore: New York, Grand Central
+ Station, 1903-13
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 178 Cass Gilbert: New York, Woolworth Building, 1913
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 179 McKim, Mead & White: New York, University Club, 1899-1900
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 180 Henry Bacon: Washington, Lincoln Memorial, completed 1917
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 181 Sir Edwin Lutyens: Delhi, Viceroy’s House, 1920-31. _Copyright
+ Country Life_
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 182 (A) Alvar Aalto: Muuratsälo, architect’s own house, 1953
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 182 (B) Sir Edwin Lutyens: Sonning, Deanery Gardens, 1901.
+ _Copyright Country Life_
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 183 (A) Victor Laloux: Paris, Gare d’Orsay, 1898-1900
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 183 (B) Eugenio Montuori and others: Rome, Termini Station, completed
+ 1951
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 184 Carlos Lazo and others: Mexico City, University City, begun _c._
+ 1950
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 185 (A) Kay Fisker and Eske Kristensen: Copenhagen,
+ Kongegården Estate, 1955-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 185 (B) Eero Saarinen: New Haven, Conn., Ezra Stiles and
+ Samuel F.B. Morse Colleges, 1960-2
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 186 (A) James Cubitt & Partners: Langleybury, Hertfordshire, school,
+ 1955-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 186 (B) London County Council Architect’s Office: London,
+ Loughborough Road Estate, 1954-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 187 (A) Kenzo Tange: Totsuka, Country Club, _c._ 1960
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 187 (B) Kunio Maekawa: Tokyo, Metropolitan Festival Hall, 1961
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 188 (A) Frank Lloyd Wright: New York, Guggenheim Museum, (1943-6),
+ 1956-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 188 (B) Frank Lloyd Wright: New York, Guggenheim Museum, (1943-6),
+ 1956-9
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 189 Skidmore, Owings & Merrill (Gordon Bunshaft): New York, Lever
+ House, 1950-2
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 190 (A) Philip C. Johnson: New Canaan, Conn., Boissonas house, 1955-6
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 190 (B) Eero Saarinen: Chantilly, Va., Dulles International Airport,
+ 1960-3
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 190 (C) Oscar Niemeyer: Pampulha, São Francisco, 1943
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 191 Hentrich & Petschnigg: Düsseldorf, Thyssen Haus, 1958-60
+]
+
+[Illustration:
+
+ 192 Ludwig Mies van der Rohe and Philip Johnson: New York, Seagram
+ Building, 1956-8
+]
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ INDEX
+
+
+Numbers in _italics_ refer to plates. References to the Notes are given
+only where they indicate matters of special interest or importance: such
+references are given to the page on which the note occurs, followed by
+the number of the chapter to which it belongs, and the number of the
+note. Thus 455(13)[287] indicates the note is on page 455, it is
+referenced from chapter 13, and is note [287] within the body of this
+book.
+
+The system followed in towns and cities is to print the name of the
+building first, followed where applicable by the name of the street in
+which it is located and by the district or suburb. Thus the White House,
+Tite Street, Chelsea, will be found in the main London entry under White
+House, and Saint-Jean-Baptiste, Neuilly, in the main Paris entry under
+Saint-Jean-Baptiste; each, however, is cross-referenced in the main
+index, as Chelsea, _see_ London (White House). More remote suburbs
+generally have separate entries. Country houses are entered under their
+own names rather than under nearby towns and villages.
+
+ A
+
+ Aalto, Alvar, 380-381, 429, 430, 433; _173_, _182_
+
+ Aarhus, City Library, 395;
+ Custom House, 395;
+ Marselisberg Slot, 396;
+ Theatre, 395;
+ University, 414-415
+
+ Abadie, Paul, 143
+
+ Abbey, Edwin A., 230
+
+ Abbotsford (Roxburgsh.), 94
+
+ Aberystwyth (Cardigansh.), University College, 187; _91_
+
+ Åbom, J. F., 42, 157
+
+ Abraham, H. R., 235-236
+
+ Abramowitz, Max, 415, _see also_ Harrison & Abramowitz
+
+ _Academy Architecture_, 281, 285
+
+ Acapulco, airport, 423
+
+ Adam, Robert, xxiii, 3
+
+ Adams, A. J., 215
+
+ Adams, Maurice B., 215
+
+ Adcote (Salop), 216
+
+ Adelaide, Cathedral, 196
+
+ Adelpodinger, Joseph, 39
+
+ Adler, Dankmar, 241, 246; _117-119_
+
+ Ahlert, F. A., 111
+
+ Ahmedabad, 386
+
+ Airports, 423
+
+ Aitchison, George, 185, 237
+
+ Aix, Palais de Justice, 46, 49
+
+ Alavoine, J.-A., 49, 120
+
+ Albany (N.Y.), New York State Capitol, 168, 469(13)[287]
+
+ Albert, Prince, 75, 94
+
+ Albini, Franco, 430
+
+ Alcobaça, monastery, 116
+
+ Aldrich, Chester H., 469(24)[515], _see also_ Delano & Aldrich
+
+ Alessandria, Prison, 53
+
+ Alexander I, 9, 14, 15, 57
+
+ Alexander, D. A., 5
+
+ Alexander, George, 75
+
+ Alexandria, St Mark’s, 461(10)[220]
+
+ Alfeld, Fagus Factory, 365; _158_
+
+ Algarotti, Francesco, xxii
+
+ Allom, Thomas, 61
+
+ Alnwick Castle (Northumberland), 95
+
+ Alton Castle (Staffs.), 95
+
+ Aluminium, 349
+
+ Amati, Carlo, 55
+
+ Ambler, Thomas, 238
+
+ Amherst (Mass.), Amherst College, 81, 90; _45_
+
+ Amiens, skyscraper, 316
+
+ Amsterdam, Amstel Hotel, 185;
+ Amstellaan housing estate, 358;
+ Amsterdam West housing estate, 358;
+ Central Station, 199;
+ De Dageraad housing estate, 358; _156_;
+ Diamond Workers’ Trade Union Building, 356; _150_;
+ Eigen Haard housing estate, 357-358; _156_;
+ Exchange, 356;
+ Galerij, 158;
+ Haarlemer Poort, 42;
+ Hotel American, 356;
+ jewellery shop by Rietveld, 367;
+ Linnaeusstraat, 356;
+ Maria Magdalenakerk, 199; _101_;
+ Nederlandsche Handel Maatschappij, 464(21)[224];
+ Paleis voor Volksvlijt, 126;
+ Resistance Monument, 469(23)[509];
+ Rijksmuseum, 199; _101_;
+ Round Church, 42;
+ Scheepvaarthuis, 336, 357;
+ Vondelkerk, 199
+
+ Andalusia (Philadelphia), 82
+
+ André, L.-J., 221
+
+ Ango, 116
+
+ Ankara, housing, 347;
+ opera-house, 347
+
+ Annandale (N.Y.), Blythewood, 103
+
+ _Antichità romane_ (Piranesi), xxii
+
+ _Antiquities of Athens_ (Stuart and Revett), xxii, 4
+
+ _Antiquities of India_ (Daniell), 3
+
+ _Antiquities of Magna Graecia_ (Wilkins), 4
+
+ Antolini, Giannantonio, 13
+
+ Antonelli, Alessandro, 449(8)[200]
+
+ _Après le cubisme_ (Le Corbusier), 367
+
+ Arc-et-Senans (Doubs), xxiv
+
+ Archer, John Lee, 105
+
+ Archer & Green, 163
+
+ _Architectural Sketches from the Continent_ (Shaw), 198, 207
+
+ _Architecture considérée sous le rapport de l’art_ (Ledoux), xxv
+
+ _Architecture moderne en Angleterre_ (Sédille), 281
+
+ _Architecture romane du midi de la France_ (Révoil), 223
+
+ _Architecture toscane_ (Grandjean), 25, 72
+
+ Arisaig (Inverness-shire), 178, 259, fig. 23
+
+ Aristotle, xxvii
+
+ Arizona State Capitol, project, 332
+
+ Arkona, lighthouse, 32
+
+ Arlington (N.Y.), Vassar College, 167
+
+ Arlington House (Va.), 81
+
+ Armand, Alfred, 140, 448(8)[187]
+
+ Arnold, C. F., 198
+
+ Arrochar (N.Y.), Richardson’s own house, 193
+
+ Artigas, Francisco, 425
+
+ Art Nouveau, 281ff.
+
+ Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society, 285
+
+ Arup, Ove, 420, 433
+
+ Ashbee, C. R., 279
+
+ Ashmont, _see_ Boston (All Saints’)
+
+ Ashridge (Herts.), 3
+
+ Aslin, C. H., 422
+
+ Asplund, E. G., 359-360, 381, 393, 398; _176_
+
+ Astorga, Bishop’s Palace, 202
+
+ Athens, Academy, 38;
+ Aghios Dionysios, 38;
+ Byzantine Museum, 39;
+ English Church, 38;
+ National Library, 38;
+ Old Palace, 38; _17_;
+ Palais Dimitriou, 38;
+ Polytechneion, 39;
+ University, 38;
+ University Street, 38
+
+ Atkinson, Fello, 471(25)[542]
+
+ Atkinson, William, 94
+
+ Attleborough (Mass.), school, 388
+
+ Atwood, Charles B., 230, 231-232, 248; _109_
+
+ Auburndale (Mass.), railway station, 224
+
+ Auteuil, _see_ Paris (Jeanneret, La Roche houses)
+
+ Avon Tyrrell (Hants.), 278
+
+ _Azulejos_, 90, 172, 201, 422
+
+
+ B
+
+ Babb, Cook & Willard, 242
+
+ Babbacombe (Devon), All Saints’, 184
+
+ Babelsberg, Schloss, 36, 111;
+ (steam-engine house), 35
+
+ Bacon, Henry, 393, 400; _180_
+
+ Baden-Baden, Kurhaus, 28;
+ Trinkhalle, 28; _11_
+
+ Badger, Daniel D., 447(7)[172]
+
+ Bage, Charles, 117
+
+ Baghdad, opera-house project, 332
+
+ Bagot, W. H., 196
+
+
+ Baillie Scott, M. H., 277, 282, 297, fig. 33
+
+ Bailly, A.-N., 140
+
+ Baker, Sir Herbert, 407-408, 470(24)[531]
+
+ Balat, Alphonse, 165
+
+ Baldersby St James (Yorks.), St James’s, 177; _87_
+
+ ‘Balloon-frame’ construction, 240
+
+ Ballu, Théodore, 48, 108; _55_
+
+ Balmoral Castle (Aberdeensh.), 94, 126
+
+ Baltard, L.-P., xxvi, 46
+
+ Baltard, Victor, 48, 128, 141, 442(3)[63]; _22_
+
+ Baltimore, Battle Monument, 7;
+ Catholic Cathedral, 6; _5_;
+ St Mary’s Seminary chapel, 7;
+ St Paul’s, 103;
+ Sun Building, 124;
+ Unitarian Church, 6-7;
+ Washington Monument, 80
+
+ Balzaretti, Giuseppe, 56
+
+ Bangor (Maine), Farrer house, 103
+
+ Barabino, C. F., 54
+
+ Barcelona, Batlló, Casa, 303; _136_;
+ Calvet, Casa, 302; 335
+ Diagonal, 305;
+ Exhibition (1929), Mies’s pavilion, 376; _165_;
+
+ Güell, Finca, Pedralbes, 203;
+ Güell, Palau, 202-204; _96_;
+ Milá, Casa, 304-305, fig. 35; _135_, _137_;
+ Miralles estate, 302-303;
+ Palau de la Musica Catalana, 305;
+ Parc de la Ciutadella, 201;
+ Parc Güell, 302-303;
+ Sagrada Familia, 202, 301-302;
+ Teresian College, 202, 204;
+ Vicens, Casa, 201
+
+ Barlow, W. H., 119, 188, 445(6)[115]
+
+ Barnard Castle (Co. Durham) Bowes Museum, 163; _76_
+
+ Barnet (Herts.), Trevor Hall, 211, 262, fig. 24
+
+ Barnett, George I., 89
+
+ Barnett, Dame Henrietta, 405
+
+ Barnum, P. T., 105, 254
+
+ Baron, C.-J., 122
+
+ Barr, John, 196
+
+ Barral, Vincent, 46
+
+ Barry, Sir Charles, 28, 69, 72ff., 96, 97, 98, 122, 159, 160, 257;
+ _35_, _37_, _54_, _78_
+
+ Barry, E. M., 98, 160
+
+ Barthélémy, Eugène, 120
+
+ Barthélémy, J.-E., 108
+
+ Barthelmé, Donald, 422
+
+ Bartholdi, 138, 222
+
+ Bartlesville (Okla.), Price Tower, 320, 330-331
+
+ Bartning, Otto, 463(20)[427]
+
+ Basel, Sankt Antonius, 314
+
+ Basevi, George, 69
+
+ Bassett-Lowke, S. J., 346
+
+ Bath (Som.), Royal Crescent, 63;
+ St Mary’s Bathwick, 96;
+ Savings Bank, 75
+
+ Battersea, _see_ London (Ascension, church of the)
+
+ Baudot, J.-E.-A. de, 284, 309-310
+
+ Baumann, Povl, 397
+
+ Bay Region School, 412
+
+ Bazel, K. P. C. de, 464(21)[438]
+
+ Beardsley, Aubrey, 285, 286, 292
+
+ Beaumont, C.-E. de, 5
+
+ Becherer, Friedrich, 17
+
+ Beckford, William, 2
+
+ Bedford, Francis, 186
+
+ Bedford Park, _see_ London
+
+ Behrens, Peter, xxviii, 336, 338ff; _148-149_
+
+ Belanger, F.-J., xxvi, 15, 119
+
+ Bell, Anning, 292
+
+ Bell, William E., 263
+
+ Belle Grove (Louisiana), 82
+
+ Bellhouse, E. T., 126
+
+ Belli, Pasquale, 54
+
+ Belluschi, Pietro, 416, 422
+
+ Belmead (Va.), 104
+
+ Belper (Derbysh.), West Mill, 117
+
+ Beltrami, Luca, 147
+
+ Beman, Solon S., 248
+
+ Benda, Julius, 155, _see also_ Ebe & Benda
+
+ Benjamin, Asher, 78, 84, 85
+
+ Benicia (Cal.), California State Capitol (old), 84
+
+ Benouville, Château de (Calvados), xxiv
+
+ Benson, Sir John, 126
+
+ Bentley, J. F., 219
+
+ Berenguer, Francisc, 305
+
+ Berg, Max, 342-343; _149_
+
+ Berg, Schloss, 111
+
+ Berg-en-Dal, Hotel, 158
+
+ Bergamo, _città bassa_, 409
+
+ Berkeley (Cal.), California University School of Architecture, 333;
+ Christian Science Church, 333; _146_;
+ Gregory house, 333;
+ Howard house, 333;
+ Thorsen house, 333
+
+ Berlage, H. P., 355-357, 359; _138_, _150_
+
+
+ Berlin, A.E.G. factories:
+ high tension, 340;
+ large machine assembly hall, 341;
+ small motors, 340; _148_;
+ turbine, 339-340; _149_;
+ Afrikanische Strasse housing estate, 375;
+ Altes Museum, 30-32, fig. 6; _13_;
+ Anhalter Bahnhof, 154;
+ Bartholomäuskirche, 112;
+ Brandenburg Gate, 16;
+ Building Exhibition (1931), 376;
+ Cathedral (old), 30;
+ Cathedral (new), 153;
+ City Hall, 35;
+ Columbus Haus, 379;
+ Exchange, 17, 153; _77_;
+ Feilner house, 34, fig. 7;
+ Hohenzollern Kunstgewerbehaus 296;
+ Interbau Exhibition (1957), 375;
+ Jacobikirche, 112;
+ Komödie Theatre, 343;
+ Kreuzberg War Memorial, 30, 111;
+ Kroll Oper, 343;
+ Liebknecht-Luxemburg Monument, 375;
+ Lustgarten, 35;
+ Markuskirche, 112;
+ Mint, old, 17;
+ Moller house, 16;
+ Mosse, Palais, 156;
+ Museum of Decorative Art, 153;
+ Nationalgalerie, 32;
+ Neues Museum, 32;
+ Neue Tor, 35;
+ Neue Wache, 29-30, fig. 5;
+ Packhofgebäude, 32;
+ Pariser Platz, 35;
+ Petrikirche, 112;
+ Prison, Military, 32;
+ Rathaus, old, 152;
+ Redern, Palais, 35;
+ Reichsbank, 153;
+ Reichstag, 156;
+ Russian Embassy, 33;
+ Schauspielhaus, 30; _12_;
+ (Grosses), 344;
+ Schlossbrücke, 30;
+ Siemensstadt housing estate, 375; _162_;
+ Singakademie, 30;
+ skyscraper projects (Mies), 368;
+ Viktoria Strasse, 152;
+ Von Tiele house, 155;
+ Werder Church, 32, 111;
+ Wertheim store, 251, 296;
+ Zellengefängnis, 37; _see also_ Hennigsdorf, Neubabelsberg,
+ Zehlendorf
+
+ Bernasconi, G. A., 417
+
+ Berne, Federal Palace, 28, 52
+
+ Berneval, house by Perret, 309
+
+ Berry Hill (Va.), 82
+
+ Berthault, L.-M., 13
+
+ Bertoia, Harry, 423
+
+ Besançon (Doubs), theatre, xxiv
+
+ Bessemer, Sir Henry, 115
+
+ Bestelmeyer, German, 343
+
+ Béthencourt, General, 57
+
+ Bethnal Green, _see_ London (St Jude’s)
+
+ Betteshanger (Kent), house by Devey, 454(12)[266]-[267]
+
+ Bettws-y-Coed (Carnarvonsh.), Waterloo Bridge, 118
+
+ Beverly (Mass.), United Shoe Machinery Plant, 312
+
+ Bexhill (Sussex), De La Warr Pavilion, 387
+
+ Bexley Heath (Kent), The Red House, 177, 259
+
+ Bianchi, Pietro, 54; _26_
+
+ Biddle, Nicholas, 82
+
+ Biet, L.-M.-D., 47
+
+ Bijvoet & Duiker, 378
+
+ Bindesbøll, M. G. B., 40; _16_
+
+ Binet, René, 294
+
+ Bing, Siegfried, 293
+
+ Bingley (Yorks.), Holy Trinity, 183; _94_
+
+ Birmingham, Bishop Ryder’s church, 96;
+ Curzon Street Station, 68;
+ King Edward’s Grammar School, 97;
+ St George’s, 95;
+ St Peter’s, Dale End, 96;
+ Town Hall, 69
+
+ Bischofsheim, church, 345
+
+ Bishop’s Itchington (War.), The Cottage, 275
+
+ Bjerke, Arvid, 397
+
+ Blackburn, James, 105
+
+ Blackwell’s Island, _see_ New York (Charity Hospital)
+
+ Blaise Hamlet (Glos.), 3, 93; _50_
+
+ Blake, William, 284
+
+ Blom, Fredrik, 42
+
+ Blomfield, Sir Reginald, 220, 407
+
+ Blondel, François, 10
+
+ Blondel, J.-B., 12
+
+ Blondel, J.-F., xxiii, 449(int.)[2]
+
+ Blondel, Henri, 137; _70_
+
+ Bloomfield (Conn.), Connecticut General Insurance Co., 416
+
+ Bloomfield Hills (Mich.), Cranbrook School, 361;
+ Kingswood School, 361
+
+ Blore, Edward, 75-76, 94, 122
+
+ Blouet, G.-A., 10, 49, 50, 77
+
+ Board-and-batten, 258
+
+ Boari, Adamo, 301
+
+ Boberg, Ferdinand, 157, 395, 463(21)[436]
+
+ Bodley, G. F., 178, 184, 215; _92_
+
+ Bogardus, James, 124, 235, 458(16)[364]; _67_
+
+ Bogotá, churches, 346;
+ Ginnásio Moderno, chapel, 422;
+ Nuestra Señora de Fatimá, 422;
+ Suramericana de Seguros, 416
+
+ Böhm, Dominikus, 344, 345
+
+ Boileau, L.-A., 128
+
+ Boileau, L. C., 251
+
+ Boldre Grange (Hants.), 210
+
+ Bollati, Giuseppe, 145
+
+ Boltenstern, Erich, 149
+
+ Boltz, L.-M., 110
+
+ Bonaparte, Jerome, 23
+
+ Bonaparte, Joseph, 13
+
+ Bonatz, Paul, 342, 347
+
+ Bonatz & Scholer, 342; _152_
+
+ Bonnard, J.-C., 12
+
+ Bonneau, 110
+
+ Bonnevie, E.-J., 53
+
+ Bonnier, L.-B., 293
+
+ Bonsignore, Ferdinando, 55; _26_
+
+ Boscombe (Hants.), Convent of the Sisters of Bethany, 213
+
+ Bosio, F. J., 54
+
+
+ Boston, All Saints’, Ashmont, 400;
+ Ames Building (Harrison Avenue), 226, 243;
+ Arlington Street Church, 168;
+ Back Bay district, 169;
+ Beacon Street, 85; _43_;
+ Bowdoin Street Church, 102;
+ Brattle Square (First Baptist) Church, 221-222;
+ Brazier’s Buildings, 86;
+ City Hall, 84, 167, 168;
+ Court House, 7-8;
+ Crowninshield house, 193;
+ Custom House, 89;
+ Federal Street Church, 102;
+ Fenway Bridge, 224;
+ First (Unitarian) Church, 192;
+ Market Street, 86, 234; _112_;
+ Massachusetts General Hospital, 84-85;
+ Merchants’ Exchange, 88;
+ Museum of Fine Arts, old, 229;
+ New Old South Church, 194;
+ Pierce store, 229;
+ Public Library, 229-230; _111_;
+ Quincy Market, 85-86;
+ St Paul’s Cathedral, 85;
+ State House, 7;
+ Tremont House, 87, fig. 13; _41_;
+ Trinity Church, 105, 222-223; _108a_
+
+ Bosworth, Welles, 401
+
+ Boullée, L.-E., xxiv, xxv-xxvi; _2_
+
+ Boulogne, Colonne de la Grande Armée, 12
+
+ Boulogne-Billancourt (Seine), Hôtel de Ville, 318
+
+ Boulton & Watt, 117
+
+ Bourdelle, Antoine, 311
+
+ Bournemouth (Hants.), St Michael and All Angels, 214;
+ St Swithin’s, 216
+
+ Boyden, Elbridge, 192
+
+ Bracketted mode, 104, 258
+
+ Bradford (Yorks.), Kassapian’s Warehouse, 237; _114_
+
+ Brandon, David, 74
+
+ Brasilia, 414, 434, 435
+
+ Bratke, Osvaldo Arthur, 425, fig. 56
+
+ Bravo Jiménez, Jorge, 414
+
+ Brébion, Maximilien, xxiii, 116
+
+ Breslau, Jahrhunderthalle, 342-343; _149_;
+ Petersdorf store, 379;
+ theatre, 33
+
+ Breuer, Marcel, 382, 388, 469(23)[508]
+
+ _Brick and Marble Architecture of the Middle Ages in Italy_ (Street),
+ 174
+
+ _Brickbuilder_, 321
+
+ Bridant, 110
+
+ Bridgeport (Conn.), Iranistan, 105, 254;
+ Walnut Wood, 104
+
+ Bridges, 118-119
+
+ Brigham, Charles, 229
+
+ Brighton (Sussex), Anthaeum, 121;
+ Kemp Town, 93;
+ Pavilion, 3, 93-94, 117; _48_, _58_;
+ St Bartholomew’s, 185, 189; _93_;
+ St Michael’s, 178;
+ St Paul’s, 100;
+ St Peter’s, 96;
+ Xavierian College, 72;
+ _see also_ Hove
+
+ Brinkman, J. A., 378; _16_
+
+ Brisbane Cathedral, 189-190
+
+ Bristol (Som.), General Hospital, 236;
+ Great Western Hotel, 87;
+ Merchant Street warehouse, 237; 104
+ Stokes Croft, 185, 237; _113_;
+ Strait Street warehouse, 238;
+ Temple Meads Railway Station, 95, 121;
+ 12 Temple Street, 236;
+ West of England Bank, 236
+
+ Bristol (R.I.), Low house, 228, 269; _127_
+
+ Britton, John, 95
+
+ Brno, Tugendhathouse, 376, fig. 50
+
+ Brockhampton-by-Ross (Herefs.), church, 458(15)[354]
+
+ Brodrick, Cuthbert, 76, 158, 162; _37_, _78_, _79_
+
+ Broek, van den, & Bakema, 469(23)[508]
+
+ Brongniart, A.-T., 11; _8_
+
+ Brookline (Mass.), Harvard Church, 194
+
+ Brooklyn (N.Y.), Brooklyn Bridge, 119;
+ Congregational Church of the Pilgrims, 103;
+ Litchfield house, 104;
+ Mercantile Library, 194;
+ Pierrepont house, 103
+
+ Brooks, James, 184-185; _89_
+
+ Brown, Lancelot (‘Capability’), 94
+
+ Brown, Ford Madox, 178
+
+ Bruce, James Coles, 82
+
+ Brunel, I. K., 95, 119, 122, 125, 127; _65_
+
+ Brunet-Debaines, C.-F., 91
+
+ Brunet-Debaines, C.-L.-F., 48
+
+ Brunswick, Viewegsches Haus, 16;
+ Villa Holland, 16
+
+ Brunswick (Maine), Bowdoin College Chapel, 103
+
+ Brussels, Aubecq house, 289, fig. 34;
+ Boulevard Anspach, 164;
+ Central Station, 291;
+ Exchange, 164;
+ Frison house, 289;
+ Galerie Saint-Hubert, 120;
+ Gros Waucquez building, 291;
+ Hallet house, 289;
+ Innovation store, 290-291; _131_;
+ Maison du Peuple, 289-290; _132_;
+ Musée Royale des Beaux Arts, 165;
+ Old England store, 291;
+ Palais des Beaux Arts, 291;
+ Palais de Justice, 165; _81_;
+ Prison, 53;
+ 23-25 Rue Américaine, 289;
+ Rue de Schaerbeek, school, 53;
+ Solvay house, 289; _131_;
+ Stoclet house, 350-351; _154_;
+ Tassel house, 287-289; _130_;
+ Temple des Passions Humaines, 287;
+ Théâtre de la Monnaie, 53;
+ Van Eetvelde house, 289;
+ Wiener house, 289;
+ Wolfers building, 291
+
+ _Brutalismo_, 430
+
+ Bryanston (Dorset), 219
+
+ Bryant, G. J. F., 168
+
+ Bryant & Gilman, 169
+
+ Bryce, David, 72
+
+ Bryn Mawr, rubber factory, 420
+
+ Buckler, John, 96
+
+ Bucklin, James C., 86, 89; _39_
+
+ Budapest, Academy of Sciences, 151;
+ Custom House, 151;
+ Ferenczváros parish church, 151;
+ Kommitat building, 40;
+ National Museum, 40;
+ Opera House, 151;
+ Parliament House, 198;
+ Szent Lukásh Hotel, 151;
+ Vigado Concert Hall, 151
+
+ Buenos Aires, Cathedral, 78
+
+ Buffalo (N.Y.), Dorsheimer house, 193;
+ Ellicott Square Building, 248;
+ Guaranty Building, 233, 247; _119_;
+ Kleinhans Music Hall, 361;
+ Larkin Administration Building, 324;
+ State Hospital, 222
+
+ Buffington, L. S., 227
+
+ _Builder_, 166
+
+ Builders’ Guides, 78
+
+ _Building News_, 166
+
+ Buildwas (Salop), bridge, 118
+
+ Bulach, church, 28
+
+ Bulfinch, Charles, 7-8, 79, 84, 102
+
+ Bunning, J. B., 95, 123; _63_
+
+ Bunshaft, Gordon, 403; _189_
+
+ Burdon, Rowland, 118
+
+ Burges, William, 100, 178, 180, 187-188, 189, 451(10)[234],
+ 453(11)[256]; _88_
+
+ Burke, Edmund, xxvii
+
+ Bürklein, Friedrich, 26
+
+ Burlington (N.J.), Doane house, 89;
+ St Mary’s, 103
+
+ Burn, William, 71, 99, 162, 453(12)[261]
+
+ Burne-Jones, Sir Edward, 178, 180, 201, 223
+
+ Burnet, Sir John J., 470(24)[526]
+
+ Burnet & Tait, Sir John, 404, 408
+
+ Burnham, D. H., 227, 230-231, 248, fig. 20; _see also_ Burnham & Root,
+ D. H. Burnham & Co.
+
+
+ Burnham & Co., D. H., 245, 249, 250, 456(14)[318]; _115_
+
+
+ Burnham & Root, 230-231, 241-242, 245-246; _115_
+
+ Buron, J.-B., 120
+
+ Burton, Decimus, 64-66, 67, 68, 72, 121; _31_, _67_
+
+ Burton, James, 5
+
+ Busby, C. A., 93, 94; _49_
+
+ Busse, August, 37
+
+ Butterfield William, 106, 174, 177, 178, 184, 186-187, 190, 196, 257,
+ 259; _85-87_, _122_
+
+ Button, S. D., 236
+
+ Buzas, Stephan, 471(25)[542]
+
+
+ C
+
+ Caccault brothers, 109
+
+ Cagnola, Luigi, 13
+
+ Calder, Sandy, 414
+
+ Calderini, Giuseppe, 146
+
+ Callet, F.-E., 128
+
+ Calliat, P.-V., 140
+
+ Camberwell, _see_ London (St Giles’s)
+
+ Cambridge (Cambs.), All Saints’, 184;
+ Downing College, 4, 66;
+ Fitzwilliam Museum, 70;
+ King’s College screen, 96;
+ St John’s College, chapel, 181;
+ New Court, 96; _50_
+
+ Cambridge (Mass.), Harvard University, Appleton Chapel, 89;
+ (Austin Hall), 224;
+ (Graduate Centre), 388;
+ (Law School), 224;
+ (Memorial Hall), 192; _95_;
+ Sever Hall, 224;
+ (University Hall), 84;
+ Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 144, 401, 415, 422-423;
+ Stoughton house, 267; _124_;
+ Unitarian Church, 88
+
+ Camden Society, 97, 100, 127
+
+ Cameron, Charles, 14
+
+ Campanini, Alfredo, 301
+
+ Camporesi, Pietro, 54
+
+ Candela, Felix, 345, 420, 433, 461(18)[400]
+
+ Canevari, Raffaele, 145
+
+ Canissié, J.-B.-P., 48
+
+ Canova, Antonio, 55
+
+ Canterbury (Kent), St Augustine’s College, 451(10)[219]
+
+ Cantoni, Simone, 13
+
+ Caracas, 413-414;
+ Cerro Piloto, 414;
+ Edificio Polar, 416;
+ University City, 414
+
+ Carcassonne (Aude), 197
+
+ _Carceri_ (Piranesi), xxii
+
+ Cardiff (Glam.), Castle, 188;
+ McConochie house, 188
+
+ Carmel (Cal.), Walker house, 332
+
+ Carpeaux, J.-B., 138
+
+ Carpenter, R. C., 99, 100, 127
+
+ ‘Carpenter’s Grecian’, 78
+
+ _Carpentry Made Easy_ (Bell), 263
+
+ Carrère, John M., 468(23)[492]; _see also_ Carrère & Hastings
+
+
+ Carrère & Hastings, 402
+
+ Carstensen, G. B., 126
+
+ Carter, Elias, 82
+
+ Casablanca, warehouses by Perret, 312
+
+ Caserta, Palace, 13, 54; _25_
+
+ Casey, T. L., 80, 463(21)[433]
+
+ Castell Coch (Glam.), 188
+
+ Cast iron, xxix, 115ff.
+
+ Cataño (Porto Rico), Beato Martín Porres, 422
+
+ Catelin, Prosper, 78
+
+ Caterham (Surrey), Upwood Gorse, 262
+
+ Catherine the Great, 14
+
+ Cattaneo, A., 301
+
+ Cavel, J.-B.-F., 11
+
+ Célérier, Jacques, 12
+
+ Cendrier, F. A., 128, 136
+
+ Century Guild, 285
+
+ Ceppi, Carlo, 55, 56, 145
+
+ Cessart, L.-A., 119
+
+ Cézanne, Paul, 286
+
+ Chalgrin, J.-F.-T., 10, 44, 51; _7_
+
+ Chambers, Sir William, 7
+
+ Champeaux (S.-et.-M.), house by Boltz, 110
+
+ Chandigarh, 386, 414, 434
+
+ Chandler (Ariz.), 330
+
+ Chantilly (Va.), Airport, 433, 434; _190_
+
+ Chantrell, R. D., 96
+
+ Charenton (Seine), asylum, 50;
+ parish church, 142
+
+ Charlestown (Mass.), Bunker Hill Monument, 80, 85, 239
+
+ Charlottenburg, Behrendhouse, 30
+
+ Charlottesville (Va.), University of Virginia, 81, fig. 12; _38_
+
+ Charton, 283
+
+ Chartres, Cathedral, roof, 122
+
+ Chateauneuf, Alexis de, 28, 36, 100, 112; _57_
+
+ Chatsworth (Derbyshire), 94, 120, 124
+
+ Cheadle (Cheshire), St Giles’s, 99; _52_
+
+ Chelsea, _see_ London (Boyce house, Glebe Place, Chelsea, Cheyne House,
+ Cheyne Walk, St Luke’s, Old Swan House, Tite Street, White House)
+
+ Cheltenham (Glos.), Queen’s Hotel, 87
+
+ Chemnitz, Esche house, 337
+
+ Chermayeff, Serge, 382, 387
+
+ Chester (Cheshire), Castle, 4
+
+ Chesters (Northumberland), 219
+
+ Chicago, All Souls’ Unitarian Church, 270;
+ American Express Building, 222, 238, 240;
+ Art Institute, 232;
+ Auditorium Building, 243; _117_;
+ Blossom house, 232, 271;
+ Cable Building, 250;
+ Carson, Pirie & Scott store, 248-249; _121_;
+ Charnley house, 271;
+ Cook County Buildings, 169;
+ Esplanade Apartments, 390;
+ Exhibition (1893), _see_ World’s Fair;
+ E.-Z. Polish factory, 312;
+ Field store, 225-226, 242; _116_;
+ Fisher Building, 250;
+ Gage Building, 248; _120_;
+ Glessner house, 225, 269;
+ Harlan house, 271;
+ Heller house, 272, fig. 29;
+ Home Insurance building, 226, 242;
+ Husser house, 272-273, fig. 30;
+ Illinois Institute of Technology, 388-389, fig. 52; 845-860 Lake
+ Shore Drive, 389-390; _170_;
+ McClurg Building, 248;
+ MacVeagh house, 243, 269;
+ Masonic Building, 230;
+ Michigan Avenue, 248; _120_;
+ Midway Airport, 423;
+ Midway Gardens, 325-326;
+ Monadnock Building, 230, 245-246, 247;
+ Montauk Block, 241;
+ Palmer House, 171;
+ Public Library, 232;
+ Reliance Building, 230, 245; _115_;
+ Revell store, 241;
+ Robie house, 323;
+ Rookery Building, 242;
+ Rothschild Store, 241;
+ Ryerson Building, 241;
+ Schiller Building, 246;
+ Sears, Roebuck (Leiter) Building, 245; _117_;
+ Stock Exchange Building, 246-247;
+ Studebaker (Brunswick) Building, 248;
+ Tacoma Building, 226, 243-244;
+ Tribune Tower competition (1922), 360-361, 363; _158_;
+ Troescher Building, 241, 246;
+ Walker Warehouse, 245;
+ Women’s Temple, 230;
+
+ World’s Fair, 230-232, fig. 20; _109_;
+ _see also_ Glencoe, Highland Park, Oak Park, River Forest, Riverside,
+ Wilmette, Winnetka
+
+ ‘Chicago windows’, 247
+
+ Chigwell Hall (Essex), 210
+
+ Chorley Wood (Herts.), The Orchard, 276
+
+ Christiania, University, 41
+
+ Cincinnati (Ohio), Burnet House, 87;
+ cable bridge, 119
+
+ ‘Cité Industrielle’, 317
+
+ ‘Citrohan’ projects, 368-370, figs. 44-45; _160_
+
+ Clapham, _see_ London (Our Lady of Victories)
+
+ Clark, John James, 171
+
+ Clarke, William, 86; _47_
+
+ Clarke & Bell, 72
+
+ Clason, I. G., 157
+
+ Clérisseau, C.-L., 5, 14, 439(int.)[7]
+
+ Clerkenwell, _see_ London (Holy Redeemer)
+
+ Cleveland (Ohio), Jewish Community Centre, 387;
+ Rockefeller Building, 249
+
+ Clifton (Som.), All Saints’, 180;
+ Suspension Bridge, 95, 119
+
+ Clisson (Vendée), 109
+
+ Cloverley Hall (Salop), 183, 207, 259-261, fig. 26
+
+ Cluskey, Charles B., 82
+
+ Clutton, Henry, 74, 100, 179; _89_
+
+ Cluysenaer, J.-P., 120
+
+ Coalbrookdale Bridge (Salop), 116
+
+ Coalpitheath (Glos.), St Saviour’s church and vicarage, 257; _122_
+
+ Coates, Wells, 382
+
+ Cobb, H. I., 227
+
+ Cobb & Frost, 227
+
+ Cobham (Surrey), Benfleet Hall, 177, 259
+
+ Cochin, C.-N., xxii
+
+ Cockerell, Sir Charles, 3
+
+ Cockerell, C. R., 5, 38, 68, 70, 234, 235; _112_
+
+ Cockerell, S. P., 2, 5, 254
+
+ Codman house project, 264
+
+ Coe, H. E., 159
+
+ Coe & Hofland, 159
+
+ Cohasset (Mass.), Bryant house, 224
+
+ Coignet, François, 309
+
+ Colbert, Jean-Baptiste, 1
+
+ Cole, Sir Henry, 128, 163-164, 450(9)[212]
+
+ Cole, Thomas, 444(5)[93]
+
+ Collcutt, T. E., 219
+
+ Cologne, Cathedral, 111;
+ Flora Garden, 339;
+ High School, 153;
+ Hochhaus am Hansaring, 345;
+ Stadttheater, 153; _77_;
+ Trinitatiskirche, 37;
+ Werkbund Exhibition (1914), Hall of Machinery, 365;
+ theatre, 337;
+ _see also_ Marienburg, Riehl
+
+ Colonna, Edward, 296
+
+ Columbia, (S.C.), Insane Asylum, 80
+
+ Columbus (Ind.), Tabernacle Church, 361
+
+ Columbus (Ohio), Ohio State Capitol, 84; _39_
+
+ Combe Abbey (War.), 183
+
+ Commissioners’ Churches, 96
+
+ Como, Casa del Fascio, 382; _172_
+
+ Compiègne, 13
+
+ Compositionalism, 470(24)[520]
+
+ Compton (Surrey), Watts Chapel, 460(17)[381]
+
+ Concrete, reinforced, 309
+
+ Congleton (Cheshire), Town Hall, 185; _92_
+
+ Connell, A. D., 468(23)[493], 470(24)[533]
+
+ Connell, Ward & Lucas, 382
+
+ Constantinople, _see_ Istanbul
+
+ Contamin, 283, 284, 310
+
+ Contant d’Ivry, Pierre, 11
+
+ _Contrasts_ (Pugin), 97
+
+ Conway (Carnarvonsh.), suspension bridge, 95;
+ tubular bridge, 95, 118
+
+ Coolidge, Shepley, Bulfinch & Abbott, 401
+
+ Cooperstown (N.Y.), Hyde Hall, 88
+
+ Copenhagen, Absalons Gaard, 395;
+ Agricultural School, 41;
+ Amagertorv housing estate, 396;
+ Gaol, 15;
+ Grundvig Church, 395, 396; _175_;
+ Hans Tavsengade housing estate, 397;
+ 23 Havnegade, 41;
+ Hornsbaekhus, 397;
+ Kongegården Estate, 185;
+ Magasin du Nord, 157;
+ National Bank, 41;
+ Palace Hotel, 395;
+ Palace of Justice, 15;
+ Police Headquarters, 397;
+ Railway Station, 41, 125;
+ Sankt Ansgars Church, 41;
+ Søtorvet, 156, fig. 16;
+ Thorwaldsen Museum, 40-41; _16_;
+ Town Hall, 395; _174_;
+ University Library, 41;
+ Vor Frue Kirke, 15; _4_;
+ _see also_ Gentofte Komune
+
+ Corbett, Harvey W., 470(24)[521]; _see also_ Helmle & Corbett
+
+ Cordemoy, A.-L., 439(int.)[2]
+
+ Cork, St Finbar’s Cathedral, 180-181
+
+ Corlies, John B., 124
+
+ Cornelius, Peter, 31
+
+ Cortot, J.-P., 10, 11
+
+ Corts de Sarría, Las, Miralles Estate, 303
+
+ Cosenza, Luigi, 420
+
+ Costa, Lúcio, 385, 414; _171_
+
+ Coste, P.-X., 46, 144
+
+ Cottage Grove (Ore.), First Presbyterian Church, 422
+
+ _Cottage orné_, 253; _122_
+
+ _Cottage Residences_ (Downing), 256, fig. 22
+
+ Cotte, Robert de, 446(6)[129]
+
+ Couture, G.-M., 11
+
+ Coventry (War.), Tile Hill Estate, 421
+
+ Crabtree, William, 382
+
+ Cragg, John, 117
+
+ Cragside (Northumberland), 209
+
+ Craigellachie (Banff), bridge, 118; _59_
+
+ Cram, Ralph Adams, 393, 400
+
+ Cram & Ferguson, 401; _177_
+
+ Cramail (Cramailler), 107
+
+ Crawford, William, 50, 77
+
+ Crivelli, Ferdinando, 56
+
+ Cronkhill (Salop), 3, 34, 254
+
+ Crucy, Mathurin, 12
+
+ Crystal Palace, _see_ London
+
+ Cubitt, James, 481(25)[542]
+
+ Cubitt & Partners, James, 420, 422; _186_
+
+ Cubitt, Lewis, 69, 76, 127; _66_
+
+ Cubitt, Thomas, 69, 75, 122, 460(9)[209]
+
+ Cubitt, Sir William, 128
+
+ Cudell, Adolph, 268
+
+ Cudell & Blumenthal, 268
+
+ Cuéllar, Serrano, Gomez & Co., 416
+
+ Cuijpers, Eduard, 356, 357
+
+ Cuijpers, P. J. H., 199-200, 201; _101_
+
+ Culzean (Ayrshire), Castle, 3
+
+ Cumberland, F. W., 195
+
+ Cumbernauld New Town (Dunbartonsh.), 434
+
+ Cummings, Charles A., 194
+
+ Cundy, Joseph, 450(9)[209]
+
+ Cundy, Thomas (the elder), 3
+
+ Cundy, Thomas (the younger), 450(9)[209]
+
+ Curtain-wall, 465(22)[451]
+
+
+ D
+
+ Daly, C.-D., 140, 449(8)[193]
+
+ Damesme, L.-E.-A., xxvi, 53
+
+ Dance, George, xxiv, xxvi
+
+ Daniell, Thomas, 3
+
+ Danzig, Stadttheater, 16
+
+ Darbishire, H. A., 451(10)[233]
+
+ Darby, Abraham (III), 116
+
+ Dark, Frankland, 420
+
+ Darmstadt, 297, 299;
+ Artillery Barracks, 37;
+ Behrens house, 338;
+ Exhibition Gallery, 337;
+ Ludwigskirche, 36;
+ Wedding Tower, 337
+
+ D’Aronco, Raimondo, 300-301
+
+ Davioud, G.-J.-A., 137, 138, 458(16)[360]
+
+ Davis, A. J., 82, 84, 86, 88, 103, 104; _42_; _see also_ Town & Davis
+
+ Davis, Arthur J., 470(24)[523]
+
+ Dawpool (Cheshire), 216
+
+ Daymond, J., 161
+
+ Deane, Sir Thomas, 176, 181; _86_
+
+ Deane, Thomas Newenham, 181
+
+ Deane & Woodward, 176, 236, 237; _86_
+
+ Deanery Gardens (Berks.), 278, 404; _182_
+
+ Debat-Ponsan, J.-H.-E., 318
+
+ Debret, François, 10
+
+ _Decorator and Furnisher_, 287
+
+ Deglane, H.-A.-A., 293-294
+
+ _Dekorative Kunst_, 292
+
+ Delacroix, Eugène, 51, 285
+
+ Delano, William A., 469(24)[515]; _see also_ Delano & Aldrich
+
+ Delano & Aldrich, 399
+
+ Delavan Lake (Wis.), Ross house, 321; _143_
+
+ Delon (Dilon, Dillon), 119
+
+ Delpini, José, 420
+
+ Delstern, Crematorium, 339
+
+ Demetz, F.-A., 50, 77
+
+ Demmler, G. A., 111; _57_
+
+ Denham (Herts.), 210
+
+ Denis, Maurice, 312, 313
+
+ Denver (Col.), Mile-High Center, 416
+
+ Deperthes, P.-J.-E., 48
+
+ Derby, calico mill, 117;
+ St Andrew’s, 188;
+ St Marie’s, 99;
+ Trijunct Station, 69, 121-122; _62_
+
+ Desjardins, Antoine, 141
+
+ Desmarest, L.-F., 120
+
+ Desprez, L.-J., xxvi, 16
+
+ Dessau, Bauhaus, 373, fig. 48; _161_;
+ City Employment Office, 374; _161_;
+ Törten housing estate, 374
+
+ Destailleur, G.-H., 162
+
+
+ _De Stijl_, 363, 366
+
+ Detroit (Mich.), Fisher Building, 361; _see also_ Warren (Mich.)
+
+ Deutz, H., 153
+
+ Devey, George, 453(12)[261], 454(12)[263], 454(12)[266]-[267]
+
+ _Dictionnaire raisonné_ (Viollet-le-Duc), 176
+
+ Dierschke, Werner, 417
+
+ Diet, A.-N., 49
+
+ Dijon, Saint-Pierre, 109;
+ theatre, 13
+
+ Döcker, Richard, 467(23)[488]
+
+ Dobson, John, 68, 70
+
+ Dodington House (Glos.), 2
+
+ Doesburg, Theo van, 363, 366, 368, 377
+
+ Dollmann, Georg von, 154; _84_
+
+ Domenech Montaner, Luis, 305
+
+ ‘Dom-Ino’ project, 366
+
+ Dommey, E.-T., 136
+
+ Donaldson, T. L., 125, 448(8)[187]
+
+ Doric, Greek, xxii, 4, 439(int.)[4]
+
+ Dornach, Goetheanum, 364, 464(22)[448]
+
+ Dortsmann, Adriaen, 42
+
+ Dos Santos de Carvalho, Eugenio, 57
+
+ Douillard, L.-P. and L.-C., 50; _20_
+
+ Dow, Alden, 462(19)[414]
+
+ Downing, A. J., 89, 104, 256, 257-259, fig. 22
+
+ Downton Castle (Salop), 4
+
+ Doyle, J. F., 216, 219
+
+ Drake & Lasdun, 410
+
+ Draveil, 48
+
+ Dresden, Am Elbberg, houses, 111;
+ Art Gallery, 37;
+ Cholera
+ Fountain, 37, 111;
+ Crematorium, 341;
+ Exhibitions, (1897), 293; (1906), 337;
+ Hoftheater, 153;
+ Johanniskirche, 198;
+ Kreuzschule, 198;
+ Military hospital, 153;
+ Opera House (first), 37, fig. 8;
+ (second), 150;
+ Oppenheim, Palais, 37;
+ Sophienkirche, 198;
+ Synagogue, 37
+
+ Dreux (E.-et-L.), Chapelle-Saint-Louis, 107
+
+ Drew, Jane, 386
+
+ Dromore Castle (Co. Limerick), 451(10)[234]
+
+ Droz, Jacques, 463(20)[427]
+
+ Duban, J.-F., 52, 134, 140-141, 442(3)[63]; _72_
+
+ Du Barry, Mme, xxiv
+
+ Dublin, Crystal Palace, 126;
+ Kildare Street Club, 176, 181;
+ Liffey Bridge, 118;
+ Nelson Pillar, 4;
+ Trinity College Museum, 176
+
+ Duc, L.-J., 49, 120, 136
+
+ Dudok, W. M., 359, 363-364, 379, 468(23)[508]; _157_
+
+ Duiker, Johannes, 378
+
+ Dulong, E.-A.-R., 294
+
+ Dulwich, _see_ London
+
+ Dupuy, Alfonso, 56
+
+ Duquesney, F.-A., 50, 123; _22_
+
+ Durand, J.-N.-L., xxiv, xxvi, 19, 20ff., figs. 2, 3;
+ atelier, 312
+
+ Durand-Gasselin, 120
+
+ Durham (N.C.), Duke University, 401
+
+ Dusillion, P.-C., 47-48, 133
+
+ Düsseldorf, Garden and Art Exhibition, 338;
+ Gesolei, 345;
+ Haus der Glas-Industrie, 417;
+ Mannesmann offices, 341;
+ Pempelfort Haus, 417;
+ Thyssen Haus, 433; _191_;
+ Tietz (Kaufhof) store, 338;
+ Wilhelm Marx Haus, 344-345
+
+ Dutert, C.-L.-F., 283
+
+
+ E
+
+ Ealing, _see_ London (St Mary’s)
+
+ East Cowes Castle (I.o.W.), 3
+
+ East Hartford (Conn.), Olmsted house, 263
+
+ Eastlake style, 457(15)[335]
+
+ Eastnor (Herefs.), Castle, 3
+
+ Eatington Park (War.), 177
+
+ Eaton Hall (Cheshire), 3, 117
+
+ Ebe, Gustav, 155
+
+ Ebe & Benda, 155-156
+
+ Ecclesiological Society, 445(6)[124]
+
+ _Ecclesiologist_, 101, 113, 175, 445(6)[124]
+
+ Eccleston (Cheshire), church, 3
+
+ École des Beaux-Arts, 144, 170
+
+ Edensor (Derbysh.), 95
+
+ _Édifices de Rome moderne_ (Letarouilly), 47
+
+ Edinburgh, British Linen Bank, St Andrews Square, 72;
+ Choragic Monument, 71;
+ Commercial Bank of Scotland, George Street, 72;
+ Free Church College, 71; _34_;
+ Hall of Physicians, 72;
+ High School, 71-72;
+ Life Association of Scotland building, 236;
+ Melville Column, 71;
+ National Gallery, 71; _34_;
+ National Monument, 71;
+ Observatory, 71;
+ Royal Scottish Institution, 71; _34_;
+ Scott Monument, 98; _51_;
+ Tolbooth St John’s, 71;
+ Waterloo Place, 71
+
+ Edis, R. W., 217
+
+ Eesteren, Cornelis van, 368, 377
+
+ Egan, J. J., 169
+
+ Egle, Joseph von, 153
+
+ Egyptian mode, xxiii, 7, 439(int.)[7]
+
+ Ehrhardt, 111
+
+ Ehrmann, 148
+
+ Eidlitz, Leopold, 89, 90, 104, 105, 168, 223
+
+ Eiermann, Egon, 417, 430
+
+ Eiffel, Gustave, 251, 282-283; _130_
+
+ Eisenlohr, Friedrich, 28
+
+ Elberon (N.J.), Newcomb house, 227, 268; _125_
+
+ Elevators, _see_ Lifts
+
+ Elliott, Archibald, 71
+
+ Ellis, Harvey, 227
+
+ Ellis, Peter, 238; _114_
+
+ Elms, Harvey Lonsdale, 70; _34_
+
+ Elmes, James, 77
+
+ Elmslie, George G., 249; _see also_ Purcell & Elmslie
+
+ Elstree (Herts.), The Leys, 279
+
+ Elvethan Park (Hants.), 179
+
+ Emerson, W. R., 227, 265, 266, fig. 26
+
+ Emmett, J. T., 101
+
+ ‘Empire’ style, xxvii, 9
+
+ Endell, August, 296
+
+ Engelhart, Michel, 150
+
+ _Englische Baukunst der Gegenwart_ (Muthesius), 281
+
+ _Englisches Haus_ (Muthesius), 281
+
+ Ensor, James, 286
+
+ _Entretiens_ (Viollet-le-Duc), 197, 283, 452(11)[252]
+
+ Eppenhausen, bath-house, 341-342;
+ Cuno house, 339; _148_;
+ Schröder house, 339; _148_
+
+ Ericson, Sigfrid, 396; _175_
+
+ Esherick, Joseph, 425
+
+ Esmonnot, L.-D.-G., 109
+
+ Espérandieu, H.-J., 138, 143; _70_
+
+ _Esprit Nouveau_, 367, 368, 370
+
+ _Essai sur l’architecture_ (Laugier), xxii
+
+ Etex, Antoine, 10
+
+ Etzel, Karl, 123; _66_
+
+ Eugénie, Empress, 137, 138
+
+ Eustache, H.-T.-E., 11
+
+ Éveux-sur-L’Arbresle, La Tourette monastery, _168_
+
+ Exeter (Devon), Markets, 73
+
+ Expressionism, 344, 462(20)[422], 464(22)[447]
+
+ Eyre, Wilson, 269
+
+
+ F
+
+ Faaborg, Museum, 396, 397
+
+ Fabiani, Max, 297, 351
+
+ Fabri, F. X., 57
+
+ Fabris, Emilio de, 200
+
+ Fairbairn, Sir William, 117, 122, 127, 447(7)[171]
+
+ Falling Water (Penna.), 328; _145_
+
+ Famin, A.-P.-Ste M., 47
+
+ Farmer & Dark, 420
+
+ ‘Favrile’ glass, 287
+
+ Fehn, Sverre, 429
+
+ Feininger, Lyonel, 367
+
+ Felheimer & Wagner, 469(24)[516]
+
+ Félibien, J.-F., 439(int.)[2]
+
+ Ferrer, Miguel, 471(25)[543]
+
+ Fersenfeld, 100; _57_
+
+ Ferstel, Heinrich von, 39, 112, 147-148; _99_
+
+ Feszl, Frigyes, 151
+
+ Feuerbach, Anselm, 149
+
+ Feure, Georges de, 296
+
+ Figini, Luigi, 382
+
+ Figini & Pollini, 382, 418-420
+
+ Finley, James, 447(7)[158]
+
+ Finsbury, _see_ London (Worship Street)
+
+ Fiocchi, Annibale, 417, 420
+
+ Fire-resistance, 446(7)[148]
+
+ Fischer, Karl von, 18
+
+ Fischer, Theodor, 342, 364, 463(21)[436]
+
+ Fischer, Vilhelm, 395
+
+ Fisker, Kay, 360, 381, 397, 414; _185_
+
+ Flachat, Eugène, 50
+
+ Flagg, Ernest, 250
+
+ Flattich, Wilhelm, 148
+
+ Flete (Devon), 216
+
+ Florence, Cathedral, façade, 200;
+ Piazza della Repubblica, 145;
+ Railway Station, 382;
+ Santa Croce, façade, 200
+
+ Florence, H. L., 162
+
+ Foley, J. H., 182
+
+ Fontaine, P.-F.-L., 8, 10, 13, 43, 447(7)[152]; _6_, _18_
+
+ Fontainebleau (S.-et-M.), 13
+
+ Fonthill Abbey (Wilts.), 2, 3
+
+ Fontseré, Eduardo, 201
+
+ Forest Hill, _see_ London (Horniman Museum)
+
+ Forsmann, F. G. J., 27; _see also_ Wimmel & Forsmann
+
+ Förster, Emil von, 150
+
+ Förster, Ludwig, 40, 147; _74_
+
+ Foster, John, 68
+
+ Fowke, Francis, 164; _83_
+
+ Fowler, Charles, 73, 120
+
+ Fox, Sir Charles, 125
+
+ Fox & Henderson, 125-126; _64_
+
+ Fraenkel, W., 148
+
+ Francis, H., 162
+
+ Francis Joseph, 40
+
+ Francis Brothers, 160
+
+ Frank, Josef, 351
+
+ Frankfort, circular hall, 342;
+ I. G. Farben Co., 344
+
+ Frankfort (Kentucky), Kentucky State Capitol, 84
+
+ Frazee, John, 444(5)[100]
+
+ Frederick the Great Monument, project by Gilly, 16; _9_
+
+ Frederick William IV, 32-33, 35
+
+ Fredericton (N.B.), Anglican Cathedral, 106
+
+ Freiburg, church, 28;
+ station, 28
+
+ Freyssinet, E., 312, 433, 434
+
+ Frézier, A.-F., 439(int.)[2]
+
+ Fries, A.-J.-F., 45
+
+ Frizzi, Giuseppe, 55; _26_
+
+ Froehlicher, C.-M.-A., 48; _see also_ Grisart & Froehlicher
+
+ Froger, Willem Anthony, 42
+
+ From, H. C., 40
+
+ Fry, E. Maxwell, 382, 386, 387
+
+ Führich, J., 148
+
+ Fuller, Buckminster, 433, 471(25)[544]
+
+ Fuller, Thomas, 168, 195
+
+ Fuller & Jones, 195; _97_
+
+ Fuller & Laver, 168, 169, 452(11)[251]
+
+ Functionalism, xxviii
+
+ Furness, Frank, 194-195; _95_
+
+ Futurism, 468(23)[495]
+
+
+ G
+
+ Gabriel, A.-J., 11, 446(6)[139]
+
+ Galia, José Miguel, 416
+
+ Gallé, Émile, 287
+
+ Gandy, J. M., 92
+
+ Garabit, Pont de, 282
+
+ Garbett, Edward, 96
+
+ Garches (S.-et-O.), Les Terrasses, 371; _160_;
+ Nubar house, 314
+
+ Garden, Hugh M. G., 462(19)[415]
+
+ _Garden Cities of Tomorrow_ (Howard), 405
+
+ Garden City movement, 405
+
+ Gardiner (Maine), Oaklands, 103
+
+ Gardner, Eugene C., 264
+
+ Garling, Henry B., 159
+
+ Garnier, J.-L.-C., 137-138, fig. 15; _70_, _71_
+
+ Garnier, Tony, 317-319
+
+ Garraf, Bodega Güell, 305
+
+ Gärtner, Friedrich von, 25ff., 38; _10_, _17_
+
+ Gau, F.-C., 46, 108, 122; _55_
+
+ Gaudí i Cornet, Antoni, 166, 201-204, 301-305, figs. 17, 35; _96_,
+ _135-137_
+
+ Gauguin, Paul, 286
+
+ Gávea, Niemeyer’s house, 424-425
+
+ _Gedanken über die Nachahmung der griechischen Werke_ (Winckelmann),
+ xxiii
+
+ Geiger, Theodor, 165
+
+ Geneva, Maison Clarté, 384;
+ Palace of the League of Nations, 373
+
+ Genoa, Camposanto di Staglieno, 54;
+ Galleria Mazzini, 146, 450(8)[204];
+ Teatro Carlo Felice, 54
+
+ Genovese, Gaetano, 54
+
+
+ Gentofte Komune, Øregaard School, 397; _176_
+
+ Gentz, Heinrich, 17
+
+ George III, xxi
+
+ George IV, 59, 94
+
+ George, Sir Ernest, 215
+
+ George & Peto, 215; _104_
+
+ _Geschichte der Kunst des Altertums_ (Winckelmann), 439(int.)[5]
+
+ Gesellius, Herman, 360
+
+ Gibberd, Frederick, 382, 423
+
+ Gibson, John, 163
+
+ Giedion, Sigfried, 439(int.)[1]
+
+ Gilbert, Bradford Lee, 244
+
+ Gilbert, Cass, 250, 399; _178_
+
+ Gilbert, E.-J., 50
+
+ Gildemeister, Charles, 126
+
+ Giles, John, 161; _80_
+
+ Gill, Irving, 332, 334-335; _147_
+
+ Gillet, Guillaume, 430
+
+ Gilly, David, 16
+
+ Gilly, Friedrich, 16, 29; _9_
+
+ Gilman, Arthur, 168, 169, 239
+
+ Gingell, William B., 236
+
+ Gisors, A.-J.-B.-G. de, 8, 10, 12
+
+ Gisors, H.-A.-G. de, 47, 51, 133
+
+ Gisors, J.-P. de, 8
+
+ Glaesel, H., 157
+
+ Glasgow, Caledonia Road Free Church, 61-62; _29_;
+ Independent Church, 101;
+ Jamaica Street warehouse, 124, 235;
+ Martyrs’ Public School, 298;
+ Miss Cranston’s tea-rooms, 298, 300;
+ Moray Place, Strathbungo, 72; _35_;
+ Municipal and County Buildings, 72;
+ Queen’s Park Church, 62;
+ Royal Exchange, 72;
+ St Vincent Street church, 62;
+ School of Art, 298-299, 300; _132_, _135_;
+ Scotland Street School, 300
+
+ Glass, use of, xxix, 115ff.
+
+ Glen Andred (Sussex), 208-209, 261; _102_
+
+ Glenbegh Towers (Co. Kerry), 451(10)[234]
+
+
+ Glencoe (Ill.), Booth house, 325;
+ Glasner house, 323, fig. 39
+
+ Glenorchy (Tasmania), Presbyterian church, 105
+
+ Godalming (Surrey), The Orchards, 278
+
+ Godde, É.-H., 43, 44, 48; _22_
+
+ Godefroy, Maximilien, 6-7
+
+ Godwin, E. W., 185, 208, 213, 215, 217, 220, 237; _92_, _113_
+
+ Godwin, George, 128
+
+ Gondoin, Jacques, 8, 10
+
+ Gonzalez Velasquez, Isidro, 57
+
+ Goodhue, Bertram G., 333, 400
+
+ Goodwin, Francis, 69
+
+ Gosford Castle (Armagh), 444(6)[108]
+
+ Gospel Oak, _see_ London (St Martin’s)
+
+ Göteborg, Jubilee Exhibition, 397;
+ Masthugg Church, 396; _175_;
+ Röhss Museum, 397
+
+ Goust, L., 10
+
+ Gradenigo, Antonio, 56; _23_
+
+ Graff, Frederick, 7
+
+ Graham, James Gillespie, 71
+
+ Grain elevators, 312
+
+ Grainger, Thomas, 69-70
+
+ _Grammar of Ornament_ (Jones), 243
+
+ ‘Grand Durand’, 441(2)[40]
+
+ Grandjean de Montigny, A.-H.-V., xxvi, 23, 25, 90, 91
+
+ Grand Rapids (Mich.), Jewish Community Centre, 387
+
+ Grange-Blanche, _see_ Lyons (Herriot Hospital)
+
+ Grange Park (Hants.), 4-5
+
+ Granpré-Molière, M. J., 391
+
+ Grässel, Hans, 338
+
+ Great Maytham (Kent), 405
+
+ Great Warley (Essex), St Mary the Virgin, 292-293
+
+ Greet Jan de, 42
+
+ Green, John, 70
+
+ Green, J. H., 86
+
+ Green, W. Curtis, 402
+
+ Greenaway, Kate, 209
+
+ Greene & Greene, 332, 333-334; _147_
+
+ Greenough, Horatio, 85
+
+ Greenway, Francis, 91, 105
+
+ Greenwood (Louisiana), 82
+
+ Gregan, J. E., 235
+
+ Grégoire, H.-C.-M., 108
+
+ Grenoble, Lycée, 142;
+ Tour d’Orientation, 314
+
+ Grim’s Dyke (Middx.), 210
+
+ Grisart, J.-L.-V., 48; _see also_ Grisart & Froehlicher
+
+ Grisart & Froehlicher, 120; _62_
+
+ Gropius, Martin, 153
+
+ Gropius, Walter, 361, 363, 364, 367-368, 373-375, 376-377, 382, 383,
+ 387, 388, fig. 48; _158_, _161-162_
+
+ Grosch, C. H., 41
+
+ Grosz, Josef, 148
+
+ Guben, Wolf house, 375
+
+ Guerrieri, A., 145
+
+ Guimard, Hector, 293, 294-295; _137_
+
+ Guizot, 48
+
+ Gutton, H.-B., 295
+
+ Gwrych Castle (Denbighsh.), 93, 94; _49_
+
+
+ H
+
+ Hadfield, George, 6, 81
+
+ Hagen, G. B., 397; _176_
+
+ Hagen, Folkwang Museum, 337
+
+ Haggerston, _see_ London (St Chad’s)
+
+ Hagley Park (Worcs.), xxii, 4
+
+ Hague, Thomas, 237
+
+ Hahr, Erik, 396
+
+ Haifa, Government Hospital, 387
+
+ Halifax (Yorks.). Town Hall, 160; _78_
+
+ Hallams, The, (Surrey), 209
+
+ Halle, Museum of Prehistory, 343
+
+ Haller, Martin, 450(9)[206]
+
+ Hallet, É.-S., 6
+
+ Hamburg, Alster Arcade, 28;
+ Chilehaus, 344; _153_;
+ Exchange, 27;
+ Johanneum, 27; _11_;
+ Kunstgewerbe Haus, 342;
+ Nikolaikirche, 100; _52_;
+ Opera House, old, 32;
+ Petrikirche, 100, 112; _57_;
+ Post, Alte, 28;
+ Railway Station, 342;
+ Rathaus, 155;
+ competition (1876), 450(9)[206]
+
+ Hamilton, David, 72
+
+ Hamilton, Gavin, xxi
+
+ Hamilton, Thomas, 71
+
+ Hampstead, _see_ London (Greenaway house, St Paul’s)
+
+ Hankar, Paul, 460(16)[379]
+
+ Hanover, Continental Rubber Building, 417;
+ Opera House, 37-38; _14_
+
+ Hansen, C. F., 15, 40; _4_
+
+ Hansen, H. C., 38
+
+ Hansen, Theophil von, 38, 40, 147, 148, 149; _72_
+
+ Hansen & Hygom, 396
+
+ Hansom, Joseph A., 69
+
+ Hardwick, Philip, 68, 101, 121, 133
+
+ Hardwick, P. C., 101, 133
+
+ Hardwick, Thomas, 66, 442(3)[67]
+
+ Harlaxton (Lincs.), 99
+
+ Harmon, Arthur Loomis, 400; _see also_ Shreve, Lamb & Harmon
+
+ Harris, Thomas, 179, 452(11)[235], 463(21)[433]
+
+ Harris (R.I.), Governor Harris Manufactory, 86
+
+ Harrison, Wallace K., 415
+
+
+ Harrison & Abramowitz, 403, 415
+
+ Harrison, Thomas, 4
+
+ Harrow (Middx.), Harrow School, Speech Room, 180
+
+ Hartford (Conn.), Cheney Block, 223, 238-239; _116_;
+ Memorial Arch, 188;
+ Connecticut State Capitol, 195;
+ Trinity College, 187-188; _88_
+
+ Hartley, Jesse, 440(1)[22]
+
+ Harvey, John, 442(3)[67]
+
+ Hasenauer, Karl von, 150; _73_
+
+ Hastings, Thomas, 468(23)[492]; _see also_ Carrère & Hastings
+
+ Hatfield, R. G., 124
+
+ Hauberrisser, G. J. von, 199
+
+ Haussmann, G.-E., 137, 140, 448(8)[184]
+
+ Havana, Malecón, 172;
+ Retiro Odontológico, 416
+
+ Haviland, John, 50, 77, 78, 447(7)[171], fig. 11
+
+ Havre, _see_ Le Havre
+
+ Hawarden (Flintsh.), 3
+
+ Heger, Franz, 37
+
+ Heideloff, K. A. von, 112
+
+ Heise, F., 153
+
+ Held, 16
+
+ Helensburgh (Dunbartonsh.), Hill House, 299
+
+ Helfreich, W. G., 467(22)[479]
+
+ Hellerau, Art Colony, 339
+
+
+ Helmle & Corbett, 402
+
+ Helsinki, National Museum, 360;
+ Railway Station, 360
+
+ Hemming, Samuel, 101
+
+ Hennebique, François, 309
+
+
+ Hennigsdorf, A.E.G. housing estate, 340, 343
+
+ Hentrich & Petschnigg, 417; _191_
+
+ Herculaneum, xxii
+
+ Héret, L.-J.-A., 142
+
+ Herholdt, J. D., 41, 125
+
+ Herrenchiemsee, Schloss, 154
+
+ Hesketh, Lloyd Bamforth, 93
+
+ Hesse, A., 35
+
+ Hetsch, G. F., 41
+
+ Hietzing, 14-16
+ Gloriettegasse, 351;
+ Scheu house, 352, fig. 43; 155
+
+ High-and-Over (Bucks.), 470(24)[465]
+
+ Highclere Castle (Hants.), 73, 257; _37_
+
+ Highgate, _see_ London (Highpoint)
+
+
+ Highland Park (Ill.), Willitts house, 321, fig. 38; _142_
+
+ Hilversum, Bavinck School, 363; _157_;
+ Public Baths, 363
+
+ Hindenburg, Sankt Josef, 345
+
+ Hinderton (Cheshire), 259
+
+ Historicism, 469(24)[511]
+
+ Hitler, Adolf, 9
+
+ Hittorff, J.-I., 45, 47, 49, 135, 136-137, 443(3)[64], 456(8)[188],
+ fig. 9; _19_
+
+ Hitzig, Friedrich, 152, 153; _77_
+
+ Hoban, James, 6, 79
+
+ Hobart (Tasmania), St John’s, 105
+
+ _Hobby Horse_, 275, 285
+
+ Höchst, I. G. Farben Co., 343-344
+
+ Hodler, Ferdinand, 286
+
+ Hoffmann, Joseph, 297, 349, 350-351; _154_
+
+ Hoffmann, Julius, 154
+
+ Hoffmann, Ludwig, 336
+
+ Hoffmann, Theodor, 148
+
+ Höger, Fritz, 344; _153_
+
+ Hog’s Back (Surrey), Sturgis house, 276; _129_
+
+ Hohenschwangau, 111
+
+ Holabird, William, 243; _see also_ Holabird & Roche
+
+
+ Holabird & Roche, 226, 243-244, 248, 250; _120_
+
+ Holford, Sir William, 414
+
+ Holland, Henry, 67, 94
+
+ Honeyman, John, 298
+
+ Honeyman & Keppie, 298
+
+ Hood, Raymond, 360, 361, 401
+
+ Hook of Holland, housing estate, 378; _163_
+
+ Hooke, Robert, 440(1)[21]
+
+ Hooker, Philip, 88
+
+ Hope, Thomas, 4
+
+ Hopedene (Surrey), 210
+
+ Hopkins, Bishop, 445(6)[128]
+
+ Hopper, Thomas, 117, 444(6)[108]; _60_
+
+ Horeau, Hector, 121, 125
+
+ Horsforth (Yorks.), Cookridge Convalescent Hospital, 209
+
+ Horta, Victor, 287ff., 300, fig. 34; _130-132_
+
+ _Houses and Gardens_ (Baillie Scott), 277, fig. 33
+
+ Houston (Texas), Rice Institute, 401
+
+ Hove (Sussex), St Andrew’s, 72
+
+ Howard, Ebenezer, 405
+
+ Howard, Henry, 82
+
+ Howard, John Galen, 243, 333
+
+ Howe, George, 381, 383; _see also_ Howe & Lescaze
+
+ Howe & Lescaze, 415; _169_
+
+ Howells, John Mead, 360
+
+ Hoxie, J. C., 237
+
+ Hoxie, Samuel K., 237
+
+ Hoxton, _see_ London (St Saviour’s)
+
+ Hübsch, Heinrich, 23, 28, 286; _11_
+
+ Huddersfield (Yorks.), station, 68
+
+ Hudnut, Joseph, 388, 468(23)[498]
+
+ Hugo, Victor, 48
+
+ Hull (Yorks.), Congregational Chapel, Great Thornton St, 61
+
+ Hunt, Richard M., 166, 167, 169, 170, 192, 239, 263, 455(13)[287]
+
+ Hunt, T. R, fig. 21
+
+ Hurstpierpoint (Sussex), St John’s College, 101
+
+ Hussey, Christopher, 93
+
+ Hutchinson, Henry, 96; _50_
+
+ Huvé, J.-J.-M., 11, 49
+
+ Huyot, J.-N., 10
+
+
+ I
+
+ I’Anson, Edward, 235
+
+ Idlewild Airport (N.Y.), 423
+
+ Ile des Épis (Bas-Rhin), monument, 17
+
+ Ilkley (Yorks.), Heathcote, 404;
+ St Margaret’s, 216
+
+ Impington (Cambs.), Village College, 387
+
+ ‘Indian Revival’, 3
+
+ Indianapolis (Ind.), Indiana State Capitol, 84, 103
+
+ Ingres, J.-A.-D., 107, 286, 442(3)[63]
+
+ _Innendekoration_, 285
+
+ ‘International’ style, 363
+
+ _International Style_ (Hitchcock and Johnson), 380
+
+ _In welchem Styl sollen wir bauen?_ (Hübsch), 23
+
+ Inwood, H. W., 61
+
+ Inwood, William, 61
+
+ Iofan, B. M., 467(22)[468]
+
+ _Ionian Antiquities_, 4
+
+ Ionic order, Greek, xxiv
+
+ Isabelle, C.-E., 46
+
+ Isaeus, P. M. R., 42, 157
+
+ Istanbul, British Embassy, 74;
+ Crimean Memorial Church, 200;
+ Hilton Hotel, 383;
+ mosque by D’Aronco, 301
+
+ Italian Villas, 254
+
+ Itten, Adolf, 367
+
+ Ivrea, Olivetti plant, 418
+
+
+ J
+
+ ‘Jack-arches’, 117
+
+ Jacquemin-Belisle, Charles, 50
+
+ Jäger, Franz, 18
+
+ _Japonisme_, 208, 284
+
+ Jappelli, Giuseppe, 56; _23_
+
+ Jareño y Alarcón, Francisco, 166
+
+ Jeanneret, C.-É., _see_ Le Corbusier
+
+ Jeanneret, Pierre, 384, 386, 466(22)[470]
+
+ Jearrad, W. C. and R., 87
+
+ Jefferson, Thomas, 5, 79, 81, fig. 12; _38_
+
+ Jekyll, Gertrude, 278
+
+ Jena, theatre, 467(22)[481]
+
+ Jenney, William LeBaron, 226, 241, 242, 245; _117_; _see also_ Jenney &
+ Mundie
+
+
+ Jenney & Mundie, 245, 250
+
+ Jensen, A. C., 157
+
+ Jensen, Ferdinand, 156, fig. 16
+
+ Jensen Klint, P. V., 360, 395, 396; _175_
+
+ Jerusalem, Hadassah University, 387
+
+ Jessop, William, 5
+
+ Jettmar, Rudolf, 350
+
+ Johansson, Aron, 157
+
+ Johnson, Philip, 380, 389, 423, 424, 425, fig. 57; _190_, _192_
+
+ Johnston, Francis, 4
+
+ Johnston, William, 237
+
+ Joldwynds (Surrey), 213
+
+ Joly, J.-J.-B. de, 8, 51
+
+ Jones, Herbert Chilion, 195; _97_
+
+ Jones, Jenkin Lloyd, 270
+
+ Jones, Owen, 126, 235, 238, 243
+
+ Jory, H. H., 196
+
+ Jourdain, C.-R.-F.-M., 295; _133_
+
+ _Jugend_, 284, 292
+
+ _Jugendstil_, 284, 347-348
+
+ Jujol Gibert, J. M., 305
+
+ Jüngst, K. A., 343
+
+
+ K
+
+ Kaftanzoglou, Lyssander, 38, 39
+
+ Kahn, Albert, 361, 403, 461(18)[398]
+
+ ‘Kahn Bar’, 461(18)[398]
+
+ Kahn, Louis, 429
+
+ Kalkos, Panajiotis, 38
+
+ Kamenz, Schloss, 36
+
+ Kamerlingh Onnes, M., 366
+
+ Kampmann, Hack, 395, 396, 397; _173_
+
+ Kandinsky, Wassily, 367
+
+ Kankakee (Ill.), Bradley house, 273;
+ Hickox house, 273-274, fig. 31; _142_
+
+ Kansas City (Missouri), 227;
+ New York Life Insurance Co., 244
+
+ Karlsruhe, Art Gallery, 28;
+ Catholic church, 18;
+ City Hall, 22;
+ Dammerstock housing estate, 374;
+ Ettlinger Gate, 17;
+ Markgräfliches Palais, 18;
+ Marktplatz, 17-18, 22-23, fig. 1; _10_;
+ Ministry of Finance, 28;
+ Railway Station, 28, 342;
+ Rondellplatz, 18;
+ Technische Hochschule, 28;
+ Theatre, 28;
+ Weinbrenner’s house, 17
+
+ Katwijk, Allegonda, 366
+
+ Kaufmann, Emil, xxviii
+
+ Kaufmann, Oskar, 343
+
+ Keeling, Bassett, 180
+
+ Keller, G. W., 188
+
+ Kellum, John W., 124
+
+ Kelly, Nathan B., 444(5)[93]
+
+ Kemp, G. Meikle, 98; _51_
+
+ Kensington, _see_ London (All Saints’, Burges house, Geological Museum,
+ Howard house, Lowther Lodge, St Dunstan’s Road, Science Museum,
+ Thackeray house, Victoria and Albert Museum)
+
+ Kerr, Peter, 171
+
+ Kew, _see_ London
+
+ Khnopff, Fernand, 286
+
+ Kilburn, _see_ London (St Augustine’s)
+
+ Killy Moon (Co. Tyrone), 3
+
+ Kilmacolm (Renfrewsh.), Windy Hill, 299
+
+ Kimball, Edward, 239
+
+ Kimball, Fiske, 439(int.)[1]
+
+ Kinmel Park (Denbighsh.), 208, 211
+
+ Kleanthis, Stamathios, 38-39
+
+ Klee, Paul, 367
+
+ Klenze, Leo von, 18, 23ff., 26, 38, fig. 4; _9_, _16_
+
+ Klerk, Michael de, 357-359; _156_
+
+ Klieber, J., 39
+
+ Klimt, Gustav, 295, 351
+
+ Klint, P. V. Jensen, _see_ Jensen Klint
+
+ Klumb, Henry, 422, 462(19)[414]
+
+ Knapp, J. M., 38
+
+ Knight, John G., 171
+
+ Knight, Richard Payne, 3-4
+
+ Knoblauch, Eduard, 33
+
+ Knowles, Sir James T., 160-161, 236
+
+ Knox & Elliot, 249
+
+ Koch, Alexander, 281, 285
+
+ Koch, Gaetano, 145, 146; _76_
+
+ Koerfer, Jacob, 345
+
+ Kolberg, Town Hall, 33, 111
+
+ König, Karl, 151
+
+ Korngold, Lucjan, 416
+
+ Kornhäusel, Josef, 39
+
+ Krafft, J. C., 441(2)[41]
+
+ Krahe, P. J., 16
+
+ Kramer, P. L., 357-359; _156_
+
+ Krefeld, Esters house, 375;
+ Lange house, 375
+
+ Kreis, Wilhelm, 343, 344-345
+
+ Kristensen, Eske, _185_
+
+ Kromhout, Willem, 356
+
+ Kühne, M. H., 342
+
+ Kumasi, Technical College, 420
+
+ Kumlien, A. F. and K. H., 157
+
+ Kump, Ernest J., 422
+
+ _Kunst_, 292
+
+
+ L
+
+ Labarre, E.-E. de, 12
+
+ Labrouste, F.-M.-T., 51
+
+ Labrouste, Henri-P.-F., 51, 53, 123, 128, fig. 14; _21_, _69_
+
+ La Chaux de Fond, Le Corbusier’s parents’ house, 366
+
+ Lacornée, Jacques, 12, 52
+
+ La Croix-Rousse, _see_ Lyons (textile school)
+
+ _Ladies Home Journal_, 273, 274
+
+ LaFarge, John, 223
+
+ Lafever, Minard, 78
+
+ La Jolla (Cal.), Scripps house, 334
+
+ Lakeland (Fl.), Florida Southern College, 330
+
+ Lake Windermere (Lancs.), Blackwell house, 277;
+ Broadleys, 276, fig. 32; _129_
+
+ Lallerstedt, Erik, 397
+
+ Laloux, V.-A.-F., 399; _183_
+
+ Lamandé, 119
+
+ Lamb, E. B., 180
+
+ La Mouche, _see_ Lyons (Municipal Slaughterhouse)
+
+ Lancing (Sussex), Lancing College, 100-101
+
+ Langhans, K. F., 33
+
+ Langhans, K. G., 16
+
+ La Padulla, 409
+
+ Lassaw, Ibrahim, 423
+
+ Lassus, J.-B.-A., 108, 141
+
+ Latrobe, Benjamin H., 6, 7, 79, 80, 81, 83, 256; _5_
+
+ Laugier, M.-A., xxii, xxiii, 59
+
+ Lausanne, Lunatic Asylum, 53
+
+ Laver, Augustus, 168, 195; _see also_ Fuller & Laver, Stent & Laver
+
+ Laves, G. L. F., 37-38; _14_
+
+ La Villette, _see_ Paris (Saint-Jacques-Saint-Christophe)
+
+ Laybourne-Smith, Lewis, 196
+
+ Lazo, Carlos, _184_
+
+ Leadville (Col.), Hotel Vendome, 162
+
+ League of Nations, project for Palace of the, 373
+
+ Leamington (War.), St Peter’s, 179; _89_
+
+ Lebas, L.-H., 12, 44, 49-50; _18_
+
+ Leblanc, Abbé, xxii
+
+ LeBrun, Napoleon, 236, 250
+
+ Leclerc, A.-F.-R., 28, 45
+
+ Lecointe, J.-F.-J., 50
+
+ Leconte, E.-C., 8, 13
+
+
+ Le Corbusier, xxviii, 364, 366, 367, 368ff., 376-377, 382ff., 414, 415,
+ 429, 435, figs. 44-47, 51; _159-160_, _165-168_
+
+ Ledoux, C.-N., xxiv-xxvi, 9; _1_
+
+ Ledru, L.-C.-F., 44
+
+ Leeds (Yorks.), 46-47
+ Boar Lane, 238;
+ Christ Church, 96;
+ Corn Exchange, 76; _37_;
+ Town Hall, 76, 158; _78_;
+ 1-2 York Place, 238
+
+ Leeds, W. H., 73
+
+ Leek (Staffs.), All Saints’, 216
+
+ Leeuwarden, Palace of Justice, 42
+
+ Lefranc, P.-B., 107
+
+ Lefuel, H.-M., 134; _68_
+
+ Léger, Fernand, 367
+
+ Legrand, J.-G., 119
+
+ Le Havre, Museum and Library, 48;
+ Place de l’Hôtel de Ville, 316-317; _140_
+
+ Leins, C. F., 38
+
+ Leinweber, Joseph W., 423
+
+ Leipzig, Gewandhaus, 153-154;
+ Imperial Law Courts, 336;
+ Railway Station, 342;
+ Weststrasse church, 112
+
+ Lelong, Paul, 120
+
+ Lemaire, 11
+
+ L’Enfant, P.-C., 6, 78
+
+ Leningrad, _see_ Petersburg
+
+ Lenné, P. J., 33
+
+ Lennox, E. J., 225
+
+ Lenoir, V.-B., 50
+
+ Lenormand, Louis, 46
+
+ León, Casa de los Botines, 202
+
+ Lepère, J.-B., 10, 45; _19_
+
+ Le Pradet (Var), de Mandrot house, 383-384
+
+ Lequeu, J.-J., 110
+
+ Lequeux, P.-E., 46, 50
+
+ Le Raincy (S.-et-O.), Notre-Dame, 313-314, fig. 37; _141_
+
+ Leroy, J.-D., xxii
+
+ Lescaze, William E., 381; _169_
+
+ Lesueur, J.-B., 46, 48; _22_
+
+ Letarouilly, P.-M., 46
+
+ Letchworth Garden City (Herts.), 405
+
+ Lethaby, W. R., 278
+
+ _Lettere sopra l’architettura_ (Algarotti), xxii
+
+ Leverton, Thomas, 5
+
+ Lewis, M. W., 105
+
+ Leyswood (Sussex), 209-310, 261-262, fig. 19; _123_
+
+ Lienau, Detlef, 133, 166, 169
+
+ _Life_, 329
+
+ Lifts, 85, 239
+
+ Lille, Cathedral, 100, 179, 181
+
+ Lima, Colmena, 170
+
+ Lincoln, Abraham, 166
+
+ Lincoln (Mass.), Gropius’s house, 388
+
+ Lincoln (Neb.), Nebraska State Capitol, 400
+
+ Linderhof, Schloss, 154; _84_
+
+ Lindgren, A. E., 360
+
+ Linz, Austrian Tobacco Administration factory, 346
+
+ Lisbon, Garret Theatre, 57;
+ lower city, 57;
+ Municipal Chamber, 57;
+ Palace of Arzuda, 57
+
+ Little, Arthur, 227, 228, 265, 269, 455(13)[294]
+
+ Liverpool, Bank Chambers, 234; _112_;
+ Brunswick Buildings, 75, 234;
+ Cathedral, 302;
+ 16 Cook Street, 238;
+ Crown Street Station, 121;
+ Custom House, 69;
+ Exchange, 162;
+ Ismay, Imrie & Co. offices, 219;
+ Lime Street Station, 68, 121;
+ Oriel Chambers, 238; _114_;
+ Parr’s Bank, 219;
+ St Anne’s, 116;
+ St George’s, Everton, 117;
+ St George’s Hall, 70; _34_;
+ St Margaret’s, 186;
+ St Michael’s, Toxteth Road, 117-118;
+ St Oswald’s, Old Swan, 99;
+ St Philip’s, Hardman Street, 118
+
+ Lockwood, F. H., 61
+
+ Lockwood & Mawson, 126-127, 237; _114_
+
+ Lockyer, James, 236
+
+ Lodi, Fortunato, 57
+
+ Lodoli, Carlo, xxii
+
+ Loghem, J. J. van, 359
+
+ Lombardi, 55
+
+ London, Ackroydon housing estate, Putney, 421;
+ Adelaide House, 408;
+ Albert Hall, 164;
+ Albert Hall Mansions, 216; _104_;
+ Albert Memorial, 181-182; _90_;
+ Alford House, 162; _83_;
+ Alliance Assurance, St James’s Street, 217;
+ All Hallows, London Wall, xxvi;
+ (Shirlock Street), 185;
+ All Saints’, Camden Street, 61;
+ (Margaret Street), 173-174; _85-86a_;
+ (Talbot Road), 174;
+ All Souls’, Langham Place, 64;
+ Apsley House, 67; _31_;
+ Army and Navy Club, 75, 236;
+ Ascension, church of the, Battersea, 184-185;
+ Athenaeum Club, 68;
+ Bank of England, 1-2, 60, 117, 407; _3_, _4_, _28_;
+ Barclays Bank, Piccadilly, 402;
+ Baring Brothers offices, 8 Bishopsgate, 217;
+ Bedford Park, 215;
+ (Forster house), 275;
+ Bedford Square, 5;
+ Belgrave Square, 69;
+ Bishopsgate Institute, 292;
+ Board Schools, 212;
+ Boyce house, Glebe Place, Chelsea, 211, 263;
+ Bricklayer’s Arms Station, 76;
+ Bridgewater House, 74-75;
+ Britannic House, 408;
+ British Museum, 67-68; _33_;
+ (Edward VII wing), 408;
+ Broad Sanctuary, 175;
+ Buckingham Palace, 66, 75-76, 122;
+ Burges house, Melbury Road, Kensington, 188;
+ Bush House, 402, 408; 62, 68, 72
+ Cadogan Square, 215;
+ Cambridge Gate, 163;
+ Camden Church, Peckham Road, 175; _118_
+ Campden Hill Road, 209;
+ Cannon Street Hotel, 160;
+ Carlton Club, 75, 236;
+ Carlton Hotel, 162;
+ Carlton House conservatory, 117; _60_;
+ Carlton House Terrace, 63, 64;
+ Cecil Hotel, 162;
+ Charing Cross Hotel, 160;
+ Chelsea Hospital, stables, 59; _28_; 8-11
+ Chelsea Embankment, 215;
+ Cheyne House, Chelsea, 214, 260; _37-39_
+
+ Cheyne Walk, 279;
+
+ Christ Church, Streatham, 74; _36_;
+
+ Churchill Gardens housing estate, Pimlico, 421;
+ Clapham Common, terraces, 161;
+ Coal Exchange, 123; _63_;
+ College of Physicians, 67;
+ Collingham Gardens, 215;
+ Columbia Market, 451(10)[233];
+ Constitution Hill Arch, 67;
+ Corn Exchange, 68; 65;
+ Cornhill, 160;
+ Cornwall Terrace, 66;
+ Court of Chancery, Westminster, 62;
+ Covent Garden Theatre, 4;
+ Crown Life Office, Blackfriars, 236;
+ Crystal Palace, 124-126; _64_;
+ Crystal Palace Bazar, 251;
+ Cumberland Terrace, 66; _32_;
+ Devonshire House, 402;
+ Duke of York’s Column, 63;
+ Dulwich Gallery, 59;
+ Eaton Square, 69;
+ Euston Square, 5;
+ Euston Station, 68, 121;
+ Exhibition (1851), 124-126; 64;
+ (1862), 164;
+ 22 Finch Lane, 237-238;
+ Fishmongers’ Hall, 68;
+ Foreign Office, 159;
+ Freemasons’ Hall, 62;
+ Gaiety Theatre, 207;
+ General Post Office, 68;
+ Geological Museum, 75;
+ Gilbert house, Harrington Gardens, 215; _104_;
+ Grand Hotel, 162;
+ Great Western Hotel, 133;
+
+ Greenaway house, 39 Frognal, Hampstead, 209;
+ Grosvenor Estate, 69, 408;
+ Grosvenor Hotel, 160;
+ Grosvenor Place, 162-163; _80_;
+ Grosvenor Square, 63;
+ Guards’ Chapel, Wellington Barracks, 186;
+ Hampstead Garden City, 405, fig. 54;
+ 14-16 Hans Road, 276;
+ Harrington Gardens, 215;
+ Haymarket Theatre, 64;
+ Heal’s store, 236;
+
+ Highpoint, Highgate, 381-382;
+ Hodgson’s building, Strand, 236;
+ Holland House, Bury Street, 356-357; _138_;
+ Holloway Gaol, 95;
+ Holy Redeemer, Clerkenwell, 406;
+ Holy Saviour, Aberdeen Park, 179;
+ Holy Trinity, Latimer Road, 216; _106_;
+ Hope house, Piccadilly, 133;
+
+ Horniman Museum, 292;
+ Houses of Parliament, 73, 98, 116, 122; _54_;
+ Howard house, Palace Green, Kensington, 211;
+ Hungerford Market, 73;
+ (fish pavilion), 119;
+ Hyde Park Corner Screen, 66-67; _31_;
+ Imperial Institute, 219;
+ Kew Gardens, lodge, 208, fig. 18;
+ (New Palace), 117;
+ (Palm Stove), 121; _67_;
+ King’s Cross Station, 76, 127; _66_;
+ Lancaster Gate, 160;
+ Langham Hotel, 161; _80_;
+ Law Courts, 186;
+ Litchfield House, 15 St James’s Square, 4;
+ Lincoln’s Inn, Hall and Library, 101;
+ 19 Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 211;
+ London Docks, 5;
+ London and Westminster Bank, Lothbury, 68;
+ Lonsdale Square, 99;
+ Loughborough Road housing estate, 421; _186_;
+ Lower Regent Street, 63;
+ Lowther Gardens, 215;
+ Lowther Lodge, 213, 263;
+ Marble Arch, 67;
+ 60 Mark Lane, 185, 237;
+ Marylebone Parish Church, 66;
+
+ Merchant Seamen’s Orphan Asylum, Wanstead, 181;
+ Midland Bank, Leadenhall Street, 408;
+ (Piccadilly), 408;
+ (Poultry), 407-408;
+ Midland Hotel, St Pancras, 188;
+ Montagu House, 162;
+ Monument, 440(1)[21];
+ National Gallery, 67;
+ National Provincial Bank, Bishopsgate, 163;
+ Nelson Column, 67;
+ Newgate Prison, xxvi;
+ New Scotland Yard, 217-218; _106_;
+ New Zealand Chambers, 212-213;
+ Notre-Dame-de-France, Leicester Square, 128;
+ Old Swan House, 17
+ Chelsea Embankment, 214, 263; _103_;
+ Our Lady of Victories, Clapham, 106;
+ Oxford Circus, 64;
+ 76 Oxford Street, 235;
+ Paddington housing estate, 410;
+ Paddington Station, 127; _65_;
+ 19 Park Lane, 101;
+ Park Square, 64;
+ Park Villages, 66, 254;
+ Peter Jones store, 382;
+ Piccadilly Circus, 63; _30_;
+ Piccadilly Hotel, 206, 220; _107_;
+ 40-42 Pont Street, 215;
+ Portland Place, 64;
+ Prinsep house, 14 Holland Park Road, Kensington, 211, 263;
+ Quadrant, 63;
+ Queen’s Gate, 163;
+ (No. 196), 214-215;
+ Record Office, 126;
+ Red House, Bayswater Road, 212;
+ Reform Club, 73; _35_;
+ Regent’s Park, 63, fig. 10;
+ Regent Street, 234;
+ Ritz Hotel, 251, 402, 450(9)[208]
+ Roehampton housing estate, 421;
+ Royal College of Science, 164;
+ Royal Exchange, 69;
+ Royal Exchange Buildings, 235;
+ Royal Opera Arcade, 64;
+ Russell Square, 5;
+ St Alban’s, Baldwin’s Gardens, 178;
+ St Andrew’s, Coin Street, 177;
+ St Augustine’s, Kilburn, 189; _93_;
+ (Queen’s Gate), 184;
+
+ St Chad’s, Haggerston, 184;
+
+ 17 St Dunstan’s Road, Kensington, 276;
+
+ St Faith’s, Stoke Newington, 180;
+ St George’s, Campden Hill, 180;
+ St George’s Hospital, 66-67; _31_;
+ St Giles’s, Camberwell, 100;
+ St James the Less, Thorndike Street, 178; _94_;
+ St James’s Palace, armoury, 211;
+ St Jude’s, Bethnal Green, 74;
+ St Luke’s, Chelsea, 96;
+ (West Norwood), 186;
+ St Mark’s, Notting Dale, 180;
+
+ St Martin’s, Gospel Oak, 180;
+ St Martin’s Northern Schools, 174, 235;
+
+ St Mary’s, Ealing, 180;
+ (Wyndham Place), 61;
+ St Mary Magdalen’s, Munster Square, 100;
+
+ St Matthias’, Stoke Newington, 174;
+ St Michael’s, Shoreditch, 184;
+ St Pancras’, 61;
+ St Pancras Station, 188-190;
+ St Paul’s, Avenue Road, 180;
+
+ St Peter’s, Regent’s Square, 61;
+ (Vauxhall), 181;
+ (Walworth), 44, 60;
+
+ St Saviour’s, Hoxton, 184; _89_;
+ St Simon Zelotes, Moore Street, 178;
+ St Stephen’s, Rosslyn Hill, 189;
+ St Thomas’s, Camden Town, 179-180;
+ Science Museum, South Kensington, 128;
+ Scotland Yard, _see_ New Scotland Yard;
+ Soane house and museum, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 60;
+ Soane tomb, Old St Pancras churchyard, 60;
+ South Africa House, 407;
+ Sun Assurance Offices, Threadneedle Street, 235;
+ Sussex Place, 66;
+ Swan House, _see_ Old Swan House;
+ Thackeray house, Palace Green, Kensington, 208;
+ Thatched House Club, 161;
+ Tite Street, Chelsea, 217;
+ Travellers’ Club, 72-73; _35_;
+ University College, 66;
+ Victoria and Albert Museum, 163-164; _83_;
+ (refreshment room), 211; _97_;
+ Walton House, Walton Street, 75, 209;
+ War Office, 159;
+ Waterloo Place, 63;
+ 50 Watling Street, 122, 234;
+ West India Docks, 5;
+ Westminster Bank, Piccadilly, 402;
+ Westminster Cathedral, 219;
+ Westminster Insurance Office, Strand, 68;
+ Westminster Palace Hotel, 160, 239;
+ Whistler’s house, _see_ White House;
+ Whitechapel Art Gallery, 292; _134_;
+ Whitehall project (1857), 159;
+
+ White house, 170 Queen’s Gate, 218; _105_;
+ White House, 35 Tite Street, 217;
+ W. H. Smith building, Strand, 236;
+ Williams warehouse, Little Britain, 237;
+
+ 91-101 Worship Street, Finsbury, 182;
+ York Gate, 66;
+ Zoo, gorilla house, 381;
+ (Penguin Pool), 381; _172_
+
+ London Airport, 423
+
+ London County Council Architect’s Office, 408, 421; _186_
+
+ Long & Kees, 225
+
+ Loos, Adolf, 297, 349, 352-355, fig. 43; _151_, _155_
+
+ Los Angeles, Banning house, 334;
+ Dodge house, 334; _147_;
+ Hollyhock House, 326;
+ Laughlanhouse, 334;
+ Lovell house, 381;
+ Public Library, 400;
+ Sturges house, 330
+
+ Lossow, Wilhelm, 342
+
+ Loudon, J. C., 95
+
+ Louis, J.-V., 116
+
+ Louis Philippe, 48
+
+ Louvet, L.-A., 293-294
+
+ Luban, chemical works, 344
+
+ Lubetkin, Berthold, 381-382; _172_; _see also_ Tecton
+
+ Lucas, Colin A., 468(23)[493]; _see also_ Connell, Ward & Lucas
+
+ Luckenwalde, factory, 364
+
+ Ludwig I, 25
+
+ Ludwig II, 154
+
+ Ludwigshafen, BASF building, 417
+
+ Ludwigsschlösser, 154-155
+
+ Luksch, Richard, 350
+
+ Lululund (Herts.), 463(21)[436]
+
+ Lurçat, André, 372
+
+ Luscombe (Devon), 3
+
+ Lusson, L.-A., 46, 141, 448(7)[178]
+
+ Lussy, Château de, 110
+
+ Lussy, Édouard, 48
+
+ Lutyens, Sir Edwin L., 278-279, 404-9, fig. 54; _181-182_
+
+ Lyons, Central Markets, 141;
+ church by Norman Shaw, 183;
+ États-Unis housing estate, 318;
+ Government warehouse, 46;
+
+ Herriot Hospital, Grange Blanche, 318;
+ Jardin d’Hiver, 121;
+ Moncey Telephone Office, 318;
+
+ Municipal Slaughterhouse, La Mouche, 318;
+ Olympic Stadium, 318;
+ Palais de Justice, 46;
+
+ Textile School, La Croix Rousse, 318
+
+
+ M
+
+ McArthur, John, 168
+
+ McConnel, 235
+
+ McKenzie, Voorhees & Gmelin, 400
+
+ McKim, Charles F., 196, 221, 226, 227, 230-231; _see also_ McKim, Mead
+ & White
+
+
+ McKim, Mead & White, 227ff., 242, 244, 265, 267-268, 269, 398-399, 402,
+ 455(13)[287], fig. 27; _109_, _111_, _125-127_, _179_
+
+ Mackintosh, Charles Rennie, 282, 297-300; _132_, _135_
+
+ Mackmurdo, A. H., 275, 276, 285
+
+ Mâcon, Saint-Vincent, 12
+
+ Madison (Wis.), Unitarian Church, 332
+
+ Madrid, Chamber of Commerce, 166;
+ National Library and Museums, 166;
+ Obelisk of the 2nd May, 57;
+ (of La Castellana), 57;
+ Palace of the Congress, 57
+
+ Maekawa, Kunio, 429; _187_
+
+ Maginnis, Charles D., 223
+
+ Magne, A.-J., 138
+
+ Magne, Lucien, 143
+
+ Maher, George B., 332
+
+ Maillart, Robert, 313, 433
+
+ _Maisons et palais de Rome moderne_ (Percier and Fontaine), 9
+
+ Maitland, Richard, 471(25)[542]
+
+ Mallet-Stevens, Robert, 372
+
+ Malpièce, A.-J., 45
+
+ Manchester, Assize Courts, 185;
+ Athenaeum, 73;
+ Free Trade Hall, 76;
+ Fryer & Binyon warehouse, 236;
+ Jevons warehouse, 122;
+ Midland Bank, King Street, 408;
+ Parker Street warehouse, 235;
+ Royal Institution (Art Gallery), 69;
+ St Wilfrid’s, Hulme, 99;
+ Schwabe Building, 235;
+ Town Hall, 69, 185-186;
+ warehouses, 76
+
+ Manfredi, M., 146
+
+ Mansard roofs, 132-133
+
+ Marchwood (Hants.), power station, 420
+
+ Mariateguí, Francisco Javier de, 57
+
+
+ Marienburg, Feinhals house, 337-338;
+ Maria Königin, 345
+
+ Marigny, Marquis de, xxii
+
+ Mariscal, Federico, 301
+
+ Markham Clinton (Notts.), church, 61
+
+ Marney, Louis, 294
+
+ Marquise, 12
+
+ Marseilles, Cannebière, 143;
+ Cathedral, 143;
+ Chamber of Commerce, 144;
+ Exchange, 144;
+ Lazaret, 49;
+ Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde, 144;
+ Palais Longchamps, 138; _70_;
+ Porte d’Aix, 49;
+ Protestant Church, 46;
+ Saint-Lazare, 46;
+ Unité d’Habitation, 385-386, fig. 51; _166_;
+ Vieux-Port, 316
+
+ Martin, Sir Leslie, 421
+
+ Martin, Nicolas, 122
+
+ Martinez de Velasco, Juan, 419
+
+ Marylebone, _see_ London
+
+ Mason City (Iowa), hotel, 365
+
+ Mason, George D., 227
+
+ Mataró, La Obrera warehouse, 202
+
+ Matas, Niccoló, 200
+
+ Matthew, Robert, 421
+
+ Maximilian II, 26
+
+ May, E. J., 215-216
+
+ May, Ernst, 375, 467(22)[480]
+
+ Maybeck, Bernard, 333; _146_
+
+ Mazzoni, Angiolo, 382
+
+ Mazzuchetti, Alessandro, 55, 145
+
+ Medford (Mass.), Grace Episcopal Church, 193; _91_
+
+ Medling, 342
+
+ Meduna, G. B. and Tommaso, 14
+
+ Meier-Graefe, Julius, 287
+
+ Meij, J. M. van der, 336, 357
+
+ Melbourne, English, Scottish and Australian Bank, 196;
+ Government House, 171;
+ Parliament House, 171;
+ Princess Theatre, 171;
+ St Patrick’s Cathedral, 196;
+ St Paul’s Cathedral, 196;
+ Treasury Buildings, 171
+
+ Meldahl, Ferdinand, 41, 156
+
+ Menai Strait, Britannia Bridge, 69, 123; _61_;
+ Menai Bridge, 118; _59_
+
+ Mendelsohn, Erich, 363, 364, 379, 382, 387; _153_
+
+ Mengoni, Giuseppe, 120, 146; _75_
+
+ Menilmontant, _see_ Paris (Notre-Dame-de-la-Croix)
+
+ Mentmore House (Bucks.), 73
+
+ Merrill, John O., 468(23)[499]
+
+ Merrist Wood (Surrey), 210
+
+ Messel, Alfred, 251, 296, 336
+
+ Meuron, Auguste de, 28
+
+ Mewès, C.-F., 470(24)[523]; _see also_ Mewès & Davis
+
+
+ Mewès & Davis, 251, 402, 450(9)[208]
+
+ Mexico City, Calle de Niza, 416;
+ Centro Urbano Presidente Juarez, 421;
+ Nuestra Señora de los Milagros, 345, 420;
+ Palacio de Bellas Artes, 301;
+ Paseo de Reforma, 170;
+ University City, 414; _184_
+
+ Meyer, Adolf, 361, 363, 365; _158_
+
+ Michelucci, G., 382
+
+ Micklethwaite, J. T., 184-185, 188
+
+ Middleton (Wis.), Jacobs house, 330, fig. 42
+
+ Middletown (Conn.), Alsop house, 88;
+ Russell house, 82
+
+ Middletown (R.I.), Sturtevant house, 263; _124_
+
+
+ Mies van der Rohe, Ludwig, xxviii, 364, 365, 368, 375-376, 383, 387,
+ 388-390, 429, figs. 49-50, 52-53; _162_, _165_, _170_, _192_
+
+ Milan,
+ Ca’ de Sass, 56;
+ Castiglione, Casa, 47
+ Corso Venezia, 301;
+ 15 Corso Vittorio Emmanuele, 301;
+ Forum Bonaparte, 13;
+ Galleria de Cristoforis, 120;
+ (Vittorio Emmanuele), 120, 146-147; _75_;
+ La Scala, 56;
+ Lucini, Palazzo, 56;
+ Marino, Palazzo, 147;
+ Olivetti offices, 417;
+ Porta Venezia, 56;
+ Rocca-Saporiti, Palazzo, 56;
+ Serbelloni, Palazzo, 13;
+ Tosi, Casa, 301;
+ Triennale, fifth, 382;
+ Triumphal Arch, 13;
+ Via Verdi, 56
+
+ Millais, Sir John, 286
+
+ Mills, Robert, 7, 79, 80; _38_
+
+ Minneapolis (Minn.),
+ Christ Lutheran Church, 361; _157_;
+ City Hall, 225;
+ Neils house, 332;
+ Willey house, 327, fig. 41
+
+ Mique, Richard, 110
+
+ Moberly, Arthur Hamilton, 467(23)[493]
+
+ Möckel, G. L., 199
+
+ ‘Modern’ architecture, 307
+
+ Moffatt, W. B., 95, 100, 101
+
+ Molchow (Brandenburg), 360
+
+ Molinos, A.-I., 44
+
+ Molinos, J., 119
+
+ Møller, C. F., 414
+
+ Moller, Georg, 36
+
+ Mondrian, Piet, 363, 378
+
+ Monferran, A. A., 57-58; _27_
+
+ Monkwearmouth (Co. Durham), railway station, 68
+
+ Monnier, Joseph, 309
+
+ Monol system, 367
+
+ Montataire (Oise), Wallut & Grange factory, 312
+
+ Montauban (Tarn), Lycée, 142
+
+ Mont d’Or, baths, 44
+
+ Monte Carlo, Casino, 138
+
+ Monterrey, Purísima, 345
+
+ Montevideo, 91, 417
+
+ Monticello (Va.), 443(5)[89]
+
+ Montluçon (Allier), Saint-Paul, 128
+
+ Montmagny (S.-et-O.), Sainte-Thérèse, 314
+
+ Montmartre, _see_ Paris (Sacré-Cœur)
+
+ Montoyer, Louis Joseph von, 18
+
+ Montreal, Bank of Montreal, 399;
+ Notre Dame, 106;
+ Windsor Hotel, 171;
+ Windsor Station, 225
+
+ Montreux, Villa Karma, 353
+
+ Montrouge, _see_ Paris (Ozenfant house)
+
+ Montuori, Eugenio, 382; _183_
+
+ Mora, Enrique de la, 345
+
+ Moral, Enrique del, 423
+
+ Moreau, Karl von, 18, 39
+
+ Moreira, Jorge, 414
+
+ Morey, M.-P., 197
+
+ Morris, William, 176, 177, 178, 180, 223, 259, 285, 286; _97_
+
+ Mortier, A.-F., _75_
+
+ Moscow, Cathedral of the Redeemer, 58;
+ Centrosoyus, 373;
+ Palace of the Soviets, 467(22)[479]
+
+ Moseley Brothers, 160
+
+ Moser, Karl, 314
+
+ Moser, Kolo, 350
+
+ Moulins (Allier), Saint-Nicholas, 108
+
+ Mount Desert (Maine), house by Emerson, 266, fig. 26
+
+ Moutier, A.-J., 45
+
+ Moya, Hidalgo, 421
+
+ Moya, Juvenal, 346, 422
+
+ Mueller, Paul, 326
+
+ Mulhouse, 45
+
+ Mullet, A. B., 81, 168, 169; _82_
+
+ Munch, Edvard, 286, 292
+
+ Mundie, William Bryce, 245; _see also_ Jenney & Mundie
+
+ Munich, Blindeninstitut, 26;
+ Bonifazius Basilika, 27;
+ Cemetery, East, 338;
+ Court Church, 25;
+ Elvira, Studio, 296;
+ Feldherrenhalle, 26;
+ Glaspalast, 126;
+ Glyptothek, 23-24; _9_;
+ Hauptpostamt, 18;
+ Herzog Max Palais, 26;
+ Karolinenplatz, 18;
+ Königsbau, 18, 25;
+ Königsplatz, 23-24;
+ Library, State, 26; _10_;
+ Ludwigskirche, 26; _10_;
+ Ludwigstrasse, 25-26;
+ Mariahilfkirche, 111;
+ Maximilianstrasse, 26;
+ Max Joseph Stift, 26;
+ National Theatre, 18;
+ Odeonsplatz, 25;
+ Palace of Justice, 338;
+ Pinakothek, Ältere, 25;
+ Propylaeon, 23;
+ Railway Station, 27;
+ Rathaus, 199;
+ Redeemer, Church of the, 342;
+ Ruhmeshalle, 24;
+ Siegestor, 26;
+ Technical High School extension, 343;
+ Törring, Palais, 25;
+ University, 26; (extension), 343;
+ War Office, 26;
+ Wittelsbach, Palais, 27
+
+ Munstead Wood (Surrey), 278
+
+ Murat, 13
+
+ Murat, Caroline, 9
+
+ Mussolini, Benito, 9, 409
+
+ Muthesius, Hermann, 281
+
+ Muuratsälo, Aalto’s house, _182_
+
+ Mylne, Robert, xxi
+
+
+ N
+
+ Naissant, Claude, 142
+
+ Nancy (M.-et-M.), Saint-Epvre, 197
+
+ Nantes (Loire-Inf.), Bourse, 13;
+ Cathedral square, 143;
+ Hospice Général, 50; _20_;
+ Passage Pommeraye, 120;
+ Saint-Nicolas, 108;
+ Theatre, 12-13;
+ Tribunal de Commerce, 13
+
+ Naples, Galleria Umberto I, 147;
+ Royal Palace, 54;
+ San Carlo Opera House, 13, 54; _23_;
+ San Francesco di Paola, 54; _26_
+
+ Napoleon I, 9, 20
+
+ Napoleon III, 9, 133-134, 135
+
+ Napoléonville, _see_ Pontivy
+
+ Nash, John, 3, 59, 62ff., 93, 94, 117, 234, 254, fig. 10; _30_, _32_,
+ _48_, _50_, _58_
+
+ Nashdom (Bucks.), 404-405
+
+ Nashville (Tenn.), Belle Meade, 82;
+ Maxwell House, 88;
+ Tennessee State Capitol, 84
+
+ Natchez (Miss.), Longwood, 105, 254;
+ plantation houses, 82
+
+ National Provincial Bank branches, 163
+
+ Nénot, P.-H., 373
+
+ ‘Neo-Brutalism’, 430
+
+ ‘Neo-Liberty’, 412
+
+ Neoplasticists, 366
+
+ Nervi, Pierluigi, 420, 433, 461(18)[400], 468(23)[504]
+
+ Nesfield, William A., 183, 207
+
+ Nesfield, W. Eden, 182-183, 207-208, 213, 259, figs. 18, 24
+
+
+ Neubabelsberg, Einstein Tower, 364; _153_;
+ Urbig house, 365
+
+ Neuchâtel, Lunatic Asylum, 53
+
+ _Neuere kirchliche Baukunst in England_ (Muthesius), 281
+
+ _Neue Sachlichkeit_, 347-349
+
+ Neuilly, _see_ Paris (Saint-Ferdinand, Saint-Jean-Baptiste)
+
+ Neuschwanstein, Schloss, 154-155
+
+ Neutra, Richard J., 381, 462(19)[413]
+
+ Neu-Ulm, Suabian War Memorial Church, 345
+
+ New Bedford (Mass.), Rotch house, 104
+
+ Newburgh (N.Y.), Reeve house, 457(15)[340]
+
+ New Canaan (Conn.), Philip Johnson’s house, 424; _190_
+
+ Newcastle-on-Tyne, Grey Street, 70
+
+ New Delhi, 407; _181_
+
+ New Earswick (Yorks.), model village, 405
+
+ New Haven (Conn.),
+ Connecticut State Capitol (former), 84;
+ Stiles and Morse Colleges, 434; _185_;
+ Yale University, Battell Chapel, 452(11)[243];
+ (Divinity School), 192;
+ (Durfee Hall) 452(11)[243];
+ (Dwight Chapel), 452(11)[243];
+ (Farnam Hall), 193; _96_;
+ (Harkness Quadrangle), 401
+
+ New Kensington (Penna.), housing development, 388
+
+ New London (Conn.), Custom House, 80
+
+ Newman, Robert, 414
+
+ New Orleans, St Charles Hotel, 87
+
+ Newport (R.I.), Andrews house, 222, 264;
+ Atlantic House, 88;
+ Bell house, 227, 267, fig. 27; _126_;
+ Elmhyrst, 82; _42_;
+ Griswold house, 263;
+ Kingscote, 103, 105, 267, 268;
+ Library, Free, 103, 105;
+ Ocean House (first), 88;
+ (second), 105;
+ Parish house, 105;
+ Sherman house, 223, 265, 267;
+ Taylor house, 229, 269;
+ Willoughby house, 104
+
+ Newton, Dudley, 263, 265; _124_
+
+ Newton, Ernest, 217, 407
+
+ Newtown (Tasmania) Congregational Church, 105
+
+ ‘New Towns’, 413
+
+ New York, American Radiator Building, 361;
+ American Surety Building, 245;
+ Astor House, 88;
+ Astor Library, 89;
+ Barclay-Vesey (N.Y. Telephone) Building, 400, 401;
+ Bogardus factory, 124, 235;
+ 472-82 Broadway, 456(14)[306];
+ Charity Hospital, Blackwell’s Island, 167;
+ Colonnade Row, 88; _42_;
+ Columbia University, 144;
+ Condict Building, 248;
+ Corn Exchange Bank, 103;
+ Crystal Palace, 126;
+ Daily News Building, 401;
+ De Vinne Press, 242;
+ Empire State Building, 381, 401;
+ Equitable Building, 239;
+ Fifth Avenue Hotel, 239;
+ Fifth Avenue, terrace by Lienau, 169; (No. 998), 399;
+ Goelet Building, 228, 242;
+ Grace Church, 167;
+ Grand Central Station, 400; _177_;
+ Guggenheim Museum, 332, 433; _188_;
+ Harper’s Building, 124;
+ Haughwout store, 239;
+ Havemeyer Building, 245;
+ I.R.T. Power Station, 399;
+ Knickerbocker Trust, 399;
+ Laing Stores, 124, 235; _67_;
+ Lenox Library, 192;
+ Lever House, 403, 415, 433; _189_;
+ Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church, 399;
+ Merchants’ Exchange, 88;
+ Metropolitan Tower, 250;
+ Milhau store, 183 Broadway, 124;
+ Municipal Building, 399;
+ National Academy, 191;
+ Pennsylvania Station, 399;
+ Prison, 77;
+ Pulitzer Building, _see_ World Building;
+ Rockefeller Center, 401;
+ St James Building, 245;
+ St Patrick’s Cathedral, 167, 191;
+ St Vincent Ferrer, 400;
+ Seagram Building, 389, 433; _192_;
+ Shelton Hotel, 399-400;
+ Shiff house, 133, 166;
+ Singer Building, 250;
+
+ Stewart (Wanamaker) store, 124;
+ Stuyvesant flats, 170;
+ Tiffany Building, 399;
+ Tiffany house, 227;
+ Tribune Building, 169, 239, 240;
+ Trinity Church, 103; _53_;
+ Tower Building, 244;
+ United Nations Secretariat, 415;
+ University Club, 399; _179_;
+ Vanderbilt house, 455(13)[287];
+ Villard houses, 227, 269; _109_;
+ Wanamaker store, _see_ Stewart store;
+ Washington Square, 88;
+ Western Union Building, 169, 239, 240; _115_;
+ Woolworth Building, 250, 399-400; _178_;
+
+ World (Pulitzer) Building, 244
+
+ Niagara Falls (N.Y.), suspension bridge, 119; _60_
+
+ Niccolini, Antonio, 54; _23_
+
+ Nice, Observatory, 138;
+ Sainte-Jeanne-d’Arc, 463(20)[427]
+
+ Nicholas I, 15
+
+ Niemeyer, Oscar, 345, 385, 415, 422, 424-425; _172_, _190_
+
+ Niermans, 294
+
+ Nîmes (Gard), Maison Carrée, 5;
+ Saint-Paul, 109
+
+ Nizzoli, M., 417
+
+ Nobile, Peter von, 39, 56
+
+ Noguchi, Isamu, 416
+
+ Noisiel (S.-et-M.), Menier factory, 283
+
+ Noordwijkerhout, De Vonk, 366
+
+ Northampton (Mass.), Bowers House, 81-82
+
+ Northampton (Northants.) New Ways, 346;
+ Town Hall, 185
+
+ North Easton (Mass.), Ames Gate Lodge, 224
+
+ Norwalk (Ohio), Wooster-Boalt house, 89
+
+ Notman, John, 89, 236; _46_
+
+ Nottingham, St Barnabas’, 99
+
+ Novara, San Gaudenzio, 449(8)[200]
+
+ Nüll, Eduard van der, _see_ Van der Nüll, Eduard
+
+ Nyrop, Martin, 156, 395; _173_
+
+
+ O
+
+ Oak Alley (Louisiana), 82
+
+
+ Oak Park (Ill.) Cheney house, 322;
+ F. Ll. Wright’s own house, 428 Forest Avenue, 271;
+ Gale house, 323;
+ Heurtley house, 322;
+ Unity Church, 321, 324; _143_
+
+ Odense, Raadhus, 41
+
+ O’Donnell, James, 106
+
+ Offenburg, Burda-Moden Building, 417
+
+ O’Gorman, Juan, 414
+
+ Ohlmüller, J. D., 111-112
+
+ Olbrich, J. M., 297, 299, 337-338, 342
+
+ Oldenburg, Exhibition (1904), 338
+
+ Olmsted, F. L., 224, 230-231, fig. 20
+
+ Omaha (Nebraska), New York Life Insurance Co., 244
+
+ Oporto, Maria Pia Bridge, 282
+
+ Oppenhausen, Goedecke house, 339
+
+ Ordish, R. M., 188
+
+ Orléans, Cathedral, 107;
+ Protestant Temple, 46
+
+ Orly (Seine), aircraft hanger, 312
+
+ Osborne House (I.o.W.), 75, 122
+
+ O’Shea brothers, 176
+
+ Oslo, American Embassy, 383;
+ University, 41
+
+ Östberg, Ragnar, 359-360, 395, 396-397; _174_
+
+ Ostrowo, Hunting Lodge, 33
+
+ Othmarschen, low-cost housing, 343
+
+ Otis, Elisha G., 239
+
+ Ottawa, Parliament House, 195; _97_
+
+ Otterlo, Kröller-Müller Museum, 337
+
+ Oud, J. J. P., 364, 366-736, 377-378, 390-391; _163-164_
+
+ Outshoorn, Cornelius, 126, 157-158
+
+ Overstrand Hall (Norfolk), 279
+
+ Owatonna (Minn.), National Farmers’ Bank, 249
+
+ Owen, Robert Dale, 105
+
+ Owings, Nathaniel, 468(23)[499]
+
+ Oxford,
+ Balliol College, 186;
+ Exeter College chapel, 181;
+ Keble College, 186-187;
+ Martyrs’ Memorial, 100;
+ Meadow Buildings, 181;
+ Midland Station, 126;
+ St Philip and St James, 180;
+ Union Debating Hall, 176;
+ University Museum, 176; _86_
+
+ Ozenfant, Amédée, 367
+
+
+ P
+
+ Paddington, _see_ London
+
+ Padua, Caffè Pedrocchi, 56; _23_;
+ Il Pedrocchino, 56
+
+ Paestum, xxiii
+
+ Pagot, F.-N., 46
+
+ Paimio, sanatorium, 381
+
+ Paine, Thomas, 118
+
+ Palladio, Andrea, 6
+
+ Palma de Mallorca, Cathedral, 202
+
+ Palmer, Potter, 171
+
+ Palo Alto (Cal.), Hanna house, 329
+
+ Pampulha, São Francisco, 345, 422; _190_
+
+ _Pan_, 292
+
+ Panama, El Panamá Hotel, 383
+
+ Pani, Mario, 421; _see also_ Pani & del Moral
+
+
+ Pani & del Moral, 423
+
+ Pankok, Bernard, 337
+
+ Papworth, J. B., _122_
+
+ Paris, Arc du Carrousel, 10;
+ (de Triomphe de l’Étoile), 10, 49; _7_;
+ 67 Avenue Malakoff, 294;
+ (Niel, No. 83), 310;
+ (Nungesser et Coli, No. 24), 384;
+ (de l’Opéra), 136, 137;
+ (de Wagram, No. 119), 294; _134_;
+ Barracks, Rue Mouffetard, 44;
+ _barrières_, xxiv-xxv;
+ Barrière de Saint-Martin, xxv; _1_;
+ Bastille Column, 120;
+ Bazar de l’Industrie, 120;
+ de Beistegui flat, 384;
+ Bibliothèque Nationale, 128, 141; _69_;
+ (Sainte-Geneviève), 51, 123, fig. 14; _21_;
+ Bon Marché, Rue de Sèvres, 251, 282;
+ Bourse, 11; _8_;
+ Brasserie Universelle, 294;
+ Castel Béranger, 293;
+
+ ‘Castel’, Passy, 110;
+ Cercle de la Librairie, 138;
+ Champs Élysées, 45;
+ Chapelle Expiatoire, 43; _18_;
+
+ Chapelle Saint-Ferdinand, Neuilly, 107;
+ Châtelet, theatres, 138;
+ Cirque des Champs Élysées (d’Été), 45;
+ (d’Hiver), 45;
+ Cité Seurat, 372;
+ Cité Universitaire, Swiss Hostel, 384; _165_;
+ Collège de France, 46-47;
+ (Sainte-Barbe), 51;
+ Colonne de la Grande Armée, 9-10;
+ (de Juillet), 49;
+ Concert Hall, Rue Cardinet, 315;
+ Crédit National Hôtelier, 314;
+ Custom House, 46;
+ École des Beaux-Arts, 52, 140; _72_;
+ (de Médecine), 8;
+ (Normale Supérieure), 47, 133;
+ (Polytechnique), 19, 20, 46;
+ Eiffel Tower, 282-283; _130_;
+ Esders factory, 312;
+ Exhibition (1855), 128;
+ (1867), Galerie des Machines, 282;
+ (1889), Eiffel Tower, 282-283; _130_,
+ (Palais des Machines), 283;
+ (1900), 293-294, 295-296, 360;
+ des Arts Décoratifs (1925), Austrian pavilion, 351,
+ (Pavillon de l’Esprit Nouveau), 372;
+ Fontaine Molière, 448(8)[179];
+ Fould, Hôtel, 140;
+ Garage Ponthieu, 310; _139_;
+ Galeries du Commerce et de l’Industrie, 48, 120; _62_;
+ Galerie d’Orléans, 120;
+ Garde Meuble, 315;
+
+ Gare de l’Est, 50, 123; _22_;
+ (de Lyon), 135-136;
+ (du Métropolitain), 294; _137_;
+ (Montparnasse), 50;
+ (du Nord), 45, 135;
+ (d’Orsay), 399; _183_;
+ Grand Bazar de la Rue de Rennes, 295;
+ Grand Palais, 293-294;
+ Halle au Blé, roof, 119;
+ Hôtel de Ville, 48; _22_;
+ Hôtel-Dieu, 49;
+ Humbert de Romans building, 294;
+ Invalides, Napoleon’s tomb, 49;
+ Jardin d’Hiver, 121, 137;
+ Jeanneret house, 370;
+ La Roche house, 370;
+ Louvre, Grand Galerie, 116;
+ (New Louvre), 133-135; _68_;
+ Lycées Buffon, Molière, 142;
+ Luxembourg Palace, Peers’ Chamber, 51;
+ (Orangerie: Museum), 51;
+ Madeleine, 10-11, 49;
+ Mairie du Louvre, 136-137;
+ ‘Maison de François I’, 47, 133;
+ Maison de l’Art Nouveau, 293;
+ _maisons de rapport_, 52;
+ Marché des Carmes, 12;
+ (St Germain), 12;
+ (de la Madeleine), 119;
+ (St Martin), 12;
+ Markets, Central, 128;
+ Maxim’s, 294;
+ Métro entrances, _see_ Gare du Métropolitain;
+
+ Ministry of Finance, 12;
+ (of Foreign Affairs), 12;
+ (of Marine), 315; _140_;
+ Musée des Travaux-Publics, 316;
+
+ Notre-Dame, 108, 109, 197;
+ (chapter house), 109;
+ Rue d’Auteuil, 142-143;
+ (de-Bonne-Nouvelle), 44;
+ (de-la-Croix, Menilmontant), 142;
+ (de Lorette), 44; _18_;
+ Opéra, 137-138, fig. 15; _70-71_;
+ Orloffhouse, 372;
+
+ Ozenfant house, 370;
+ Palais de Bois, 314;
+ Palais Bourbon, Salle des Cinq Cents, 8, 51;
+ Palais de Justice, 52, 136;
+ Panorama Français, 138;
+
+ Panthéon (Sainte-Geneviève), xxii, xxiii; 2;
+ Père Lachaise, Duc de Morny’s tomb, 452(11)[254];
+ Pereire, Hôtel, 140;
+ Petite Roquette prison, 49;
+ Place de la Bourse, 52; _8_;
+ (Charles X), 45;
+ (de la Concorde), 11, 45;
+ (de l’Étoile), 45, 135; _7_;
+ (de l’Opéra), 137; _70_;
+ (de la Porte de Passy, No. 9), 315; _139_;
+ (des Pyramides), 8;
+ (Saint-Georges), 48;
+ Pont du Carrousel, 119;
+ Post Office, General, _see_ Ministry of Finance;
+ Pourtalès, Hôtel de, 52;
+ Printemps store, 251, 282;
+ Prison de la Nouvelle Force, 50;
+ Quai d’Orsay, Foreign Ministry, 52;
+ Rotonde des Panoramas, 137, 442(3)[64];
+ Rue des Amiraux, flats, 318;
+ (de Castiglione), 8-9;
+ (des Colonnes), 8;
+ (de Condorcet, flats), 197;
+ (de Douai, flats), 136; 197; _101_;
+ (Franklin, No. 25 bis), 294, 310, fig. 36;
+ (La Fontaine, Nos 17-21), 295;
+ (de Liège, flats), 109; _56_;
+ (Mallet-Stevens), 372;
+ (de Milan), _75_;
+ (des Pyramides), 8;
+
+ (Raynouard, Nos 51-55a), 316;
+ (de Rivoli), 8, 136; _6_;
+ (de Sévigné, school), 309;
+ (Vaneau, No 14), 47-48, 133;
+ (Vavin), 318;
+
+ Sacré-Cœur, 143;
+ Saint-Ambroise, 142;
+ Saint-Augustin, 141;
+ Sainte-Clotilde, 108, 122; _55_;
+ Saint-Denis-du-Saint-Sacrament, 44;
+ Saint-Eugène, 128;
+ Saint-François-Xavier, 141;
+ Sainte-Geneviève, _see_ Panthéon;
+
+ Saint-Jacques-Saint-Christophe, La Villette, 46;
+ Saint-Jean-de-Belleville, 141;
+ Saint-Jean-de-Montmartre, 284, 309;
+ Saint-Jean-Baptiste, Neuilly, 44;
+ Sainte-Marie-des-Batignolles, 44;
+ Saint-Phillippe-du-Roule, 10;
+ Saint-Pierre-du-Gros-Caillou, 44;
+ Saint-Pierre-de-Montrouge, 142; _72_;
+ Saint-Vincent-de-Paul, 45; _19_;
+ Salm, Hôtel de, 15;
+ Salvation Army building, 384;
+ Samaritaine store, 295; _133_;
+ Santé Prison, 142;
+ Séminaire Saint-Sulpice, 43;
+ Société Marseillaise de Crédit, Rue Auber, 314;
+ Sorbonne, 373;
+ Synagogue, Rue Notre-Dame-de-Nazareth, 45;
+ Théâtre des Champs Élysées, 310-312;
+ (Français), 116;
+ (de l’Odéon), 11;
+ Tribunal de Commerce, 140;
+ Trinité, La, 142;
+ Trocadéro, Palais du, 458(16)[360];
+ Troyon house, 459(16)[373];
+ Tzara house, 355;
+ Unesco Building, 388;
+ Vaudeville theatre, 138
+
+ Parker, Charles, 76
+
+ Parker, Richard Barry, 405
+
+ Parker & Unwin, 405
+
+ Parnell, C. Octavius, 75
+
+ Parris, Alexander, 84-85, 234; _43_, _112_
+
+ Parsonages, 257;
+ Tudor, 255-256, fig. 21
+
+ Partnerships, 402
+
+ Pasadena (Cal.) Blacker house, 333;
+ Gamble house, 333; _147_;
+ Millard house, 326-327, fig. 40; _144_;
+ Pitcairn house, 333
+
+ Pascal, J.-L., 141, 469(24)[514]
+
+ Pascual y Coloner, Narciso, 57
+
+ Passy, _see_ Paris (‘Castel’)
+
+ Patte, Pierre, 440(int.)[14]
+
+ Paul, Bruno, 365
+
+ Paxton, Sir Joseph, 73, 95, 120-121, 124-126; _64_
+
+ Payerbach, Kuhner house, 355
+
+ Peabody & Stearns, 226-227, 444(5)[104]
+
+ Peacock, Joseph, 178
+
+ Pearson, F. L., 189
+
+ Pearson, J. L., 177, 180, 181, 189, 190; _93_
+
+ Peckforton Castle (Salop), 95
+
+ Pedralbes, _see_ Barcelona (Güell, Finca)
+
+ Pedregulho, _see_ Rio de Janeiro
+
+ Pei, I. M., 416
+
+ Pellechet, A.-J., 45, 137, 448(8)[187]
+
+ Pellechet, J.-A.-F.-A., 162; _76_
+
+ Penarth (Glam.), St Augustine’s, 177
+
+ Penchaud, M.-R., 46, 49, 144
+
+ Pennethorne, Sir James, 66, 75, 126
+
+ Penrhyn Castle (Carnarvonsh.), 444(6)[108]
+
+ Penshurst Place (Kent), 454(12)[262]
+
+ Penzing, hospital, 350;
+ 28 Hüttelbergstrasse, 350;
+ Steinhof Asylum, 350
+
+ Percier, Charles, 8-9, 10, 13, 447(7)[152]; _6_
+
+ Perego, Giovanni, 56
+
+ Perez Palacios, Augusto, 419
+
+ Périgueux (Dordogne), Saint-Front, 143
+
+ Perkins, Wheeler & Will, 361
+
+ Perret, Auguste, xxviii, 294, 308ff., 372, figs. 36-37; _134_,
+ _139-141_
+
+ Perret, Gustave, 308
+
+ Perry & Reed, 162
+
+ Perrycroft (Worcs.), 276
+
+ Persius, Ludwig, 33, 35; _15_
+
+ Pertsch, Matthäus, 57
+
+ Pessac (Gironde), housing estate, 372
+
+ Petersburg, Academy of Mines, 15;
+ Admiralty, 15;
+ Alexander Column, 58; _27_;
+ Alexandra Theatre, 57;
+ Bourse, 14; _8_;
+ Cathedral of the Redeemer, 58;
+ German Embassy, 341; _27_;
+ General Staff Arches, 57; _27_;
+ Hermitage Museum, 24;
+ Kazan Cathedral, 15;
+ Marble Palace, 116;
+ St Isaac’s Cathedral, 57-8; _27_;
+ Senate and Synod, 57;
+ Triumphal Gate, 58
+
+ Petersen, Carl, 396, 397
+
+ Petersen, Vilhelm, 156, fig. 16
+
+ Peto, Harold A., 215
+
+ Petrópolis, Summer Palace, 90
+
+ Pevsner, Antoine, 418
+
+ Peyre, A.-M., 12
+
+ Peyre, M.-J., 12
+
+ Pfau, Bernhard, 417
+
+ Philadelphia, Atheneum, 89; _46_;
+ Bank of Pennsylvania, 6;
+ (of the United States), 83-84;
+ Broad Street Station, 195;
+ Chestnut Street, 236, 237;
+ City Hall, 168;
+ Eastern State Penitentiary, 50, 77, fig. 11;
+ Girard College, 82-83;
+ Girard Trust, 399;
+ Jackson Building, 236;
+ Jayne Building, 237;
+ Leland Building, 237;
+ Masonic Hall, 7, 102;
+ Merchants’ Exchange, 84; _40_;
+ Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, 194;
+ Pennsylvania Museum of Art, 7;
+ Philadelphia Savings Fund Society Building, 381, 415; _169_;
+ Provident Institution, 194-195; _95_;
+ St Stephen’s, 102;
+ Sansom Street Baptist Church, 7;
+ Waterworks, 7
+
+ Philippon, P.-F.-N., 53
+
+ Phillips, Henry, 121
+
+
+ Phoenix (Ariz.), Pauson house, 329;
+ Taliesin West, 329;
+ David Wright house, 330
+
+ Piacentini, Marcello, 393, 409
+
+ Piacentini, Pio, 146
+
+ Pichl, Luigi, 39
+
+ Piel, L.-A., 108
+
+ Picturesque mode, xxvii, 2, 3, 93ff.
+
+ Piermarini, Giuseppe, 56
+
+ Pierrefonds, Château de, (Oise), 197
+
+ Pierrepoint (Surrey), 210
+
+ Pierron, 283
+
+ Pilar, S.I.T. Spinning Shed, 420
+
+ Pilkington, Frederick T., 201
+
+ _Pilotis_, 247, 369
+
+ Pimlico, _see_ London (Churchill Gardens)
+
+ Pinch, John, 96
+
+ Pineau, Nicholas, 14
+
+ Piranesi, Francesco, xxiii
+
+ Piranesi, G. B., xxi, xxii, xxiii
+
+ Pitt, William, 171
+
+ Pittsburgh (Penna.), Alcoa Building, 415-416;
+ Allegheny County Buildings, 225; _108_;
+ cable bridge, 119;
+ Golden Triangle, 401, 414;
+ Jail, 225;
+ Park Building, 245
+
+ Pittsfield (Mass.), Post Office, 194
+
+ Pius VII, 13
+
+ Pizzala, Andrea, 120
+
+ ‘Plan-factories’, 403
+
+ Plano (Ill.), Farnsworth house, 389, fig. 53
+
+ Platt, Charles A., 399
+
+ Playfair, W. H., 71; _34_
+
+ Pleasantville (N.Y.), Friedman house, 330; _145_
+
+ Plumet, Charles, 294
+
+ Poelaert, Joseph, 53, 165; _81_
+
+ Poelzig, Hans, 344
+
+ Poggi, Giuseppe, 145
+
+ ‘Point-blocks’, 420
+
+ Poissy (S.-et-O.), Savoye house, 370-371, fig. 47; _159_
+
+ Poletti, Luigi, 54
+
+ Polk, Willis, 465(22)[451]
+
+ Pollák, Michael, 40
+
+ Pollet (Seine-Inf.), church, 46
+
+ Pollini, Gino, 382; _see also_ Figini & Pollini
+
+ Polonceau, A.-R., 119
+
+ Polychromy, 45, 174
+
+ Pompeii, xxii
+
+ Pompon, xxvi, 14
+
+ Pontivy (Ctes-du-Nord), Préfecture, 12;
+ Palace of Justice, 12
+
+ Ponente da Silva, Domingos, 57
+
+ Pope, John Russell, 400
+
+ Pope, R. S., 87
+
+ Popp, Alexander, 346
+
+ Porden, William, 3, 117
+
+ Port Chester (N.Y.), Synagogue, 423
+
+ Portinari, Cándido, 422
+
+ Portland (Ore.), Equitable Building, 416;
+ houses by Yeon, 425
+
+ Possagno, Tempio Canoviano, 55
+
+ Post, George B., 169, 239, 244, 245; _115_
+
+ Potain, M.-M., 45
+
+ Potsdam, Charlottenhof, 33;
+ Court Gardener’s house, 34; _14_;
+ Friedenskirche, 35; _15_;
+ Nikolaikirche, 35;
+ Orangerieschloss, 35;
+ Pheasantry, 35;
+ Schloss Glienecke, 33;
+ Theatre, 16;
+ Zivilcasino, 30
+
+ Potter, Edward T., 191, 194
+
+ Potter, William A., 193, 194
+
+ Pottsville (Penna.), Miners’ Bank, 447(7)[171]
+
+ Powell, A. J. Philip, 421
+
+ Powell & Moya, 421
+
+ Poyet, Bernard, xxvi, 8, 11
+
+ Pozzuoli, Olivetti factory, 420
+
+ ‘Prairie houses’, 273, 274, 321
+
+ _Précis des leçons_ (Durand), 19, 20-22, figs. 2-3
+
+ Preen Manor (Salop), 210
+
+ Prefabrication, 122
+
+ Pre-Raphaelites, 286
+
+ Price, Bruce, 225, 228, 244-245, 269-270, fig. 28; _125_
+
+ Price, Uvedale, 3-4
+
+ Prichard, John, 177
+
+ _Prima parte di architettura_ (Piranesi), xxii
+
+ Primitivism in architecture, 460(17)[155]
+
+ Princeton (N.J.), Graduate College, 401; _177_
+
+ Prinsep, Val, 211
+
+ Pritchard, Thomas Farnolls, 116
+
+ Pritchett, Charles, 68
+
+ Pritchett, James P., 68
+
+ Prix de Rome projects, 20
+
+ Promis, Carlo, 55; _26_
+
+ Providence (R.I.), Providence Arcade, 86;
+ Tulley-Bowen house, 89;
+ Union Station, 89; _44_;
+ Washington Buildings, 86; _39_;
+ Westminster Presbyterian Church, 86
+
+ Prussian National Theatre, project by Gilly, 16; _9_
+
+ Pueblo (Colorado), Opera House Building, 245
+
+ Pugin, A. C., 3, 95
+
+ Pugin, A. W. N., 95, 97, 98ff., 257; _52_
+
+ Pugin, E. W., 99, 196
+
+ Purcell, William G., 249
+
+ Purcell & Elmslie, 249, 332
+
+ ‘Purisme’, 367
+
+ Purkersdorf, convalescent home, 350
+
+ Putney, _see_ London (Ackroydon estate)
+
+ Puvis de Chavannes, 230
+
+ Pyrford Common (Surrey), Little Court, 277
+
+
+ Q
+
+ Quar Wood (Glos.), 177
+
+ Quatremère de Quincy, Antoine, 439(int.)[9]
+
+ Queen Anne Revival, 206, 208, 211, 212ff.
+
+ Questel, C.-A., 109
+
+ Quincy (Mass.), ‘Church of the Presidents’, 85;
+ Crane Library, 223-224; _110_
+
+ Quincy granite, 78, 85
+
+ Quintana Simonetti, Antonio, 416
+
+
+ R
+
+ Racine (Wis.) Hardy house, 322-323;
+ S. C. Johnson Building, 328-329, 331; _146_;
+ Wingspread, 329
+
+ Raffaelli, R., 146
+
+ Railton, William, 67
+
+ Railway stations, 121
+
+ Raleigh (N. C.), Asylum, 86-87;
+ North Carolina State Capitol, 84
+
+ Ramée, Daniel, xxv
+
+ Ramée, J.-J., xxvi, 7
+
+ Ramsgate (Kent), St Augustine’s, 99-100;
+ The Grange, 99-100, 257
+
+ Rangoon, pharmaceutical plant, 420
+
+ Ransome, Ernest L., 312
+
+ Rapson, Ralph, 383, 468(23)[500]
+
+ Rapson & Van de Gracht, 383
+
+ Raschdorf, Julius, 153; _77_
+
+ Ray, R. L., 151
+
+ Raymond, J.-A., 10
+
+ Reading (Berks.), Gaol, 95
+
+ Rebelo, J. M. J., 90; _46_
+
+ Recife, Santa Isabel Theatre, 90-91
+
+ Recueil (Séheult), 109-110
+
+ Reed, Charles A., 469(24)[516]
+
+ Reed, Joseph, 196
+
+ Reed & Stem, 400; _177_
+
+ Regensburg, _see_ Walhalla
+
+ Reidy, Affonso Eduardo, 421-422
+
+ Reijers, Z., 42
+
+ Reilly, Sir Charles Herbert, 467(23)[492]
+
+ Reinhardt, Heinrich, 342
+
+ Renaud, Édouard, 48
+
+ Renié, A.-M., 46
+
+ Rennes (Ille-et-V.), Cathedral, 440(1)[30]
+
+ Rennie, Sir John, 7, 69, 119
+
+ Renwick, James, 105, 167-168, 191
+
+ Repton, Humphry, 3, 63, 94
+
+ Repulles y Vargas, E. M., 166
+
+ Revett, Nicholas, xxii, 4, 77
+
+ Reynolds-Stephens, Sir William, 293
+
+ Rezasco, G. B., 54
+
+ Rhind, David, 72, 236
+
+ Rhinebeck (N.Y.), Delamater house, 104
+
+ Ribbon-windows, 466(22)[466]
+
+ Richardson, C. J., 163
+
+ Richardson, H. H., 166, 168, 170, 192-193, 196, 221ff., 238-239,
+ 242-243, 264-265, 267, 269, 455(13)[287], 463(21)[436]; _91_; _108_,
+ _110_, _116_, _124_
+
+ Richfield Springs (N.Y.), McCormick house, 227, 268
+
+ Richmond (Va.), Monumental Church, 80;
+ Virginia State Capitol, 5, 6
+
+ Rickman, Thomas, 95, 96, 117-118; _50_
+
+ Riedel, Eduard, 111, 154
+
+
+ Riehl, Sankt Engelbert, 345
+
+ Riemerschmid, Richard, 337
+
+ Rietveld, Gerrit, 364, 366, 367, 377, 465(22)[461]; _164_
+
+ Riga, A.E.G. plant, 341
+
+ Rinaldi, Antonio, 116
+
+
+ Rio de Janeiro, Custom House, 90;
+ Imperial Academy of Fine Arts, 90;
+ Itamaratí Palace, 90; _46_;
+ Market, 90;
+ Ministry of Education and Public Health, 383, 385; _171_;
+ Pedregulho housing estate, 422;
+ Santos Dumont Airport, 423;
+ University City, 419;
+ _see also_ Gávea
+
+ Rivera, Diego, 414
+
+
+ River Forest (Ill.), River Forest Golf Club, 273; _128_;
+ River Forest Tennis Club, 458(15)[347];
+ Roberts house, 322;
+ Williams house, 458(15)[346];
+ Winslow house, 271-272; _128_
+
+
+ Riverside (Ill.), Coonley house, 323-324;
+ Coonley playhouse, 325
+
+ Robert, Hubert, 110
+
+ Roberto brothers, 423
+
+ Roberts, Henry, 68, 340
+
+ Robertson, John, 95
+
+ Robinson, P. F., 104, 457(15)[325]
+
+ Robson, E. R., 212
+
+ Rocco, Emmanuele, 147
+
+ Roche, Martin, 243; _see also_ Holabird & Roche
+
+ Roebling, John, 119; _60_
+
+ Roebling, Washington A., 119
+
+ Roehampton, _see_ London
+
+ Rogers, Isaiah, 80, 81, 86, 87-88, 234, 444(5)[93], fig. 13; _41_
+
+ Rogers, James Gamble, 393, 401
+
+ Rohault de Fleury, Charles, 44, 120, 137, 448(8)[187]
+
+ Rome, Academy of St Luke, xxi;
+ All Saints’ English Church, 200;
+ American Academy, 402;
+ Banca d’Italia, Via Nazionale, 146;
+ Caffè Inglese, xxiii;
+ Esedra, 145; _76_;
+ Ministry of Finance, 145;
+ Museo Pio-Clementino, 25;
+ Palazzo delle Belle Arti, 146;
+ (Boncampagni), 146;
+ (di Giustizia), 146;
+ Piazza del Popolo, 13, 53;
+ St Paul’s American Church, 200-201; _100_;
+ San Pantaleone, 13;
+ San Paolo fuori-le-mura, 54;
+ Teatro Argentina, 54;
+ Termini Station, 382, 423; _183_;
+ Vatican, Braccio Nuovo, 53; _24_;
+ Via Nazionale, 145;
+ (Venti Settembre), 145;
+ Victor Emanuel II Monument, 146
+
+ Romein T. A. 42
+
+ Ronchamp (Hte-Saône), Notre-Dame-du-Haut, xxviii, 386-367; _167_
+
+ Rondelet, J.-B., xxiii, 20
+
+ Roosenburg, Dirk, 359
+
+ Root, J. W., 227; _see also_ Burnham & Root
+
+ Rosen, Anton, 395
+
+ Rosendal, 42
+
+ Rosner, Karl, 40
+
+ Ross, William, 444(5)[99]
+
+ Rossetti, D. G., 286
+
+ Rossi, K. I., 57; _27_
+
+ Rotival, Maurice, 413
+
+ Rottenburg, church, 28
+
+ Rotterdam, Bijenkorf store, 388, 468(23)[508];
+ Café de Unie, 377;
+ Erasmus Huis, 379, 391;
+ Esveha offices, 391;
+ Kiefhoek housing estate, 378; _164_;
+ Lijnbaan, 469(23)[508];
+ Oud Mathenesse housing estate, 377;
+ Spangen housing estate, 366-367;
+ Tuschendijken housing estate, 367;
+ van Nelle factory, 378; _163_
+
+ Rouen (Seine-Inf.), Cathedral, flèche, 120;
+ Custom House, 46;
+ Notre-Dame-de-Bon-Secours, 108;
+ Saint-Ouen, 108
+
+ Rousseau, Pierre, 15
+
+ Roussel, K.-X., 312
+
+ Roux-Spitz, Michel, 461(18)[407]
+
+ Rubelli, Mario, 145
+
+ Rubio, Manuel A., 416
+
+ Ruckmans (Surrey), 404
+
+ Rude, François, 10
+
+ Rudolph, Paul, 425
+
+ Rugby (War.), Rugby School, 187
+
+ _Ruines des plus beaux monuments de la Grèce_ (Leroy), xxii
+
+ _Ruins of Palmyra_ (Wood), xxii
+
+ _Rundbogenstil_, 27
+
+ Ruskin, John, 106-107, 174, 175, 176, 286
+
+
+ S
+
+ Saarinen, Eero, 361, 415, 418, 422-423, 433, 434, 471(25)[545], fig.
+ 55; _157_, _168_, _185_, _190_
+
+ Saarinen, Eliel, 360-361, 418; _157_
+
+ Saavedra, Gustavo, 414
+
+ Sacconi, Giuseppe, 146
+
+ Sada, Carlo, 56
+
+ Saelzer, A., 89
+
+ Saffron Walden (Essex), Barclays Bank, 213
+
+ _Saggio sopra l’architettura_ (Algarotti), xxii
+
+ Saint-Cloud (S.-et-O.), 13
+
+ St-Cyr, houses by Garnier, 318
+
+ St-Denis (Seine), Abbaye, 197;
+ 72 Rue Charles Michel, 309;
+ Saint-Denys-de-l’Estrée, 141, 197; _98_
+
+ Saintenoy, Paul, 291
+
+ Saint-Fart, Eustache, 116
+
+ St Gaudens, Augustus, 230
+
+ Saint-Germain-en-Laye (S.-et-O.), church, 45
+
+ St John’s (Newfoundland), cathedral, 106
+
+ St Louis (Miss.), Airport, 423;
+ Jewish community centre, 387;
+ St Louis Trust and Savings Bank, 247;
+ Union Methodist Church, 89;
+ Wainwright Building, 246; _118_
+
+ St-Malo (Ille-et-V.), Municipal Casino, 309
+
+ St-Maurice (Seine), Charenton Lunatic Asylum, 50
+
+ St Paul (Minn.), Jewish community centre, 387
+
+ St Paulzo (Nièvre), Château de St Martin, 48
+
+ St Petersburg, _see_ Petersburg
+
+ St-Rambert (Drôme), houses by Gamier, 318
+
+ Sakrow, Heilandskirche, 35
+
+ Salem (Mass.), First Unitarian (North) Church, 102; _55_;
+ St Peter’s, 102
+
+ Salford (Lancs.), Salford Twist Company’s Mill, 117;
+ St Philip’s, 61
+
+ Salinas Moro, Raúl, 419
+
+ Salt, Sir Titus, 126
+
+ Salt Lake City (Utah), Z.C.M.I. store, 124, 251
+
+ Saltaire (Yorks.), 126-127
+
+ Salvin, Anthony, 95
+
+ Santa Coloma de Cervelló, church by Gaudí, 460(17)[392]
+
+ Sundahl, C., 42
+
+ San Diego (Cal.), Exhibition (1915), 333;
+ First Church of Christ Scientist, 334
+
+ Sandrié, P.-J., 44-45
+
+ Sandwich (Kent), Salutation, 405
+
+ San Francisco, Exhibition (1915), 333;
+ Hallidie Building, 465(22)[451];
+ Maimonides Hospital, 387;
+ Mint, 81;
+ Morris shop, 330-331;
+ Municipal Buildings, 169
+
+ Sang, 123
+
+ San Juan (Porto Rico), Airport, 423
+
+ Sankt Johann, Obenauer house, 338
+
+ Sanquirico, Alessandro, 56
+
+ Santamaria, G., 301
+
+ Sant’ Elia, Antonio, 382, 468(23)[495]
+
+ Santiago (Chile), 91
+
+ São Paulo, Airport, 423;
+ Biennal (1957), 417;
+ Bratke house, 425, fig. 56;
+ Edificio C.B.I., 416
+
+ Sargent, John Singer, 230
+
+ Saulnier, Jules, 283
+
+ Sauvage, Henri, 318
+
+ Savage, James, 96
+
+ Savannah (Georgia), Hermitage, 82
+
+ Säynatsälo, Municipal Buildings, _173_
+
+ Scarborough (Yorks.), Grand Hotel, 162; _79_;
+ St Martin’s-on-the-Cliff, 184
+
+ Scarisbrick Hall (Lancs.), 99, 257
+
+ Scharoun, Hans, 429
+
+ Schenectady, Union College, 7, 191
+
+ Scheveningen, Leuring house, 337;
+ Oranje Hotel, 158
+
+ Schimkowitz, Othmar, 349, 350
+
+ Schinkel, K. F. von, 17, 28ff, 41, 110, figs. 5-7; _12-14_
+
+ Schmidt, Friedrich von, 111, 150, 198; _99_
+
+ Schmidt, Richard E., 462(19)[415]
+
+ Schmieden, Heinrich, 153
+
+ Schmitz, Bruno, 463(21)[436]
+
+ Schneck, Adolf, 467(23)[488]
+
+ Schocken Department Stores, 379
+
+ Scholer, F. E., 342
+
+ Schouko, V. A., 467(22)[479]
+
+ Schulze, Paul, 89
+
+ Schumacher, Fritz, 341-342
+
+ Schwanthaler, 24
+
+ Schwarz, Rudolf, 345, 429, 434
+
+ Schwechten, Franz, 154
+
+ Schwerin, Schloss, 111; _57_
+
+ Scott, Edmund, 185; _93_
+
+ Scott, Sir George Gilbert, 95, 100, 106, 175, 181-182, 302; _52_, _90_
+
+ Scott, H. G. D., 164
+
+ Scott, M. H. B., _see_ Baillie Scott
+
+ Scott, Sir Walter, 94
+
+ Scottish Baronial mode, 94
+
+ Scully, Vincent, 263
+
+ Sears, 194
+
+ Sedding, J. D., 406
+
+ Seddon, J. P., 187; _91_
+
+ Sedgley (Penna.), 6, 102, 256
+
+ Sédille, Paul, 251, 281, 282
+
+ Séguin, Marc, 119
+
+ Séheult, F.-L., 109-110
+
+ Seitz, Franz von, 154
+
+ Selmersheim, Tony, 294
+
+ Selva, Giannantonio, 14, 55, 442(3)[69]
+
+ Semper, Gottfried, 28, 37, 111, 150, 153, 165, fig. 8; _73_
+
+ Semper, Manfred, 153
+
+ Sérinet, 50
+
+ Seurat, Georges, 286
+
+ _Seven Lamps of Architecture_ (Ruskin), 107, 174
+
+ Sezincote (Glos.), 3, 254
+
+ Shaw, John, 208
+
+ Shaw, R. Norman, 183, 198, 206ff., 259, 263, figs. 19, 24; _94_,
+ _102-107_, _123_
+
+ Shepley, Rutan & Coolidge, 223, 225, 232; _see also_ Coolidge, Shepley,
+ Bulfinch & Abbott
+
+ ‘Shingle Style’, 265ff.
+
+ Shreve, Lamb & Harmon, 381
+
+ Shrewsbury (Salop), Benyons, Marshall & Bage Mill, 117, 233
+
+ Shrubland (Norfolk), 75
+
+ Shryock, Gideon, 84
+
+ Siccardsburg, August Siccard von, 40
+
+ Sidmouth (Devon), Knowles, Royal Glen, Woodlands Hotels, 256
+
+ Siemensstadt housing estate, _see_ Berlin
+
+ Silsbee, J. Lyman, 269, 270
+
+ Silveyra, Jacob, 44-45
+
+ Silverend (Essex), Le Chateau, 470(24)[533]
+
+ Simone, Antonio de, 13; _25_
+
+ Simonetti, Michelangelo, 25
+
+ Skelton (Yorks.), church, 189
+
+ Skidmore, Louis, 434, 468(23)[499]
+
+ Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, 383, 403, 415, 416; _189_
+
+ Skyscrapers, 239ff., 471(25)[541]
+
+ Slater, J. Alan, 467(23)[492]
+
+ Sloan, Samuel, 105, 254, 446(6)[136]
+
+ Smeaton Manor (Yorks.), 218; _102_
+
+ Smirke, Sir Robert, 3, 4, 59, 61, 67, 442(3)[67]; _33_
+
+ Smirke, Sydney, 67, 75, 127-128
+
+ Smith, Alfred, 75
+
+ Smith, George, 68
+
+ Smith, John, 94
+
+ Smith, J. K., 469(24)[513]
+
+ Smith, W. J., 74
+
+ Smith, William, 94
+
+ Soane, Sir John, 1-2, 44, 59-60, 62, 117; _3-4_, _6_, _28_
+
+ Solis, G. M., 14
+
+ Sommaruga, Giuseppe, 301
+
+ Sonne, Jørgen, 40
+
+ Sordo Madaleno, Juan, 416, 425
+
+ Sørenson, C. T., 415
+
+ Soufflot, François, xxiii
+
+ Soufflot, J.-G., xxii, xxiii, 116; _2_
+
+ Spalatro, 439(int.)[7]
+
+ Speeth, Peter, 18; _17_
+
+ Spiers, R. Phéné, 215
+
+ Sprenger, Paul, 39
+
+ Springfield (Mass.), Hampden County Courthouse, 222;
+ house by Eidlitz, 90;
+ North Congregational Church, 222;
+ Stebbins house, 90; _43_;
+ Unity Church, 193;
+ Western Railway Office, 193
+
+ Spring Green (Wis.), Hillside Home School, 270, 324;
+ Taliesin, 324-325, 327
+
+ Staal, J. F., 359, 468(23)[508]
+
+ Stam, Mart, 378
+
+ Stanhope, Spencer, 177, 259
+
+ Starkey & Cuffley, 235
+
+ Stasov, V. P., 58
+
+ Steel, use of, 115
+
+ Stegmann, Povl, 414
+
+ Steindl, Imre, 198
+
+ Steiner, Rudolf, 364
+
+ Stem, Allen H., 469(24)[516]
+
+ Stent, F. W., 195
+
+ Stent & Laver, 195
+
+ Stephenson, George, 119
+
+ Stephenson, Robert, 68, 69, 95, 119, 121-122, 123; _61_, _63_
+
+ Stern, Raffaelle, 53; _24_
+
+ Stevenson, J. J., 212, 215
+
+ ‘Stick Style’, 263-264
+
+ _Stijl_, _see_ _De Stijl_
+
+ _Stile Liberty_, 284
+
+ Stirling & Gowan, 429
+
+ Stjarnsund, house by Sundahl, 16
+
+ Stockholm, American Embassy, 383;
+ Bern’s Restaurant, 157;
+ Central Library, 381, 398; _176_;
+ Concert Hall, 398;
+ Engelbrekt Church, 360, 395;
+ Exhibition (1930), 381;
+ Högalid Church, 396;
+ Jernkontovets Building, 157;
+ National Bank, 157;
+ National Museum, 42;
+ Northern Museum, 157;
+ Parliament House, 157;
+ Skandia Cinema, 398;
+ Skandias Building, 42;
+ Skeppsholm Church, 42;
+ Sodra Theatre, 42;
+ Town Hall, 395, 396-397; _174_;
+ University of Architecture and Engineering, 397
+
+ Stoke Newington, _see_ London (St Faith’s, St Matthias’s)
+
+ Stoke-on-Trent (Staffs.), Trentham Park, 75
+
+ Stokes, Leonard A. S., 407
+
+ Stone, Edward D., 383, 430
+
+ Stonehouse (Devon), Royal Navy Victualling Yard, 69
+
+ _Stones of Venice_ (Ruskin), 174
+
+ Stotz, J.-G., 45
+
+ Strack, Heinrich, 36, 112
+
+ Streatham, _see_ London (Christ Church)
+
+ Street, A. E., 451(10)[227]
+
+ Street, G. E., 100, 174, 175, 178, 180, 186, 200-201; _94_, _100_
+
+ Strickland, William, 7, 82, 83-84, 102; _40_
+
+ Strutt, William, 117
+
+ Stuart, James, xxii, 4, 77
+
+ Studer, Friedrich, 28, 52
+
+ _Studio_, 282, 285, 292
+
+ Studio-houses, 263
+
+ Studley Royal (Yorks.), church, 189
+
+ Stulberger, F. P., 154
+
+ Stüler, F. A., 32, 37, 42, 111, 112, 151, 152; _57_
+
+ Sturbridge (Mass.), Levi Lincoln house, 82
+
+ Sturgis, John H., 229
+
+ Sturgis, Julian, 276
+
+ Sturgis, Russell, 193; _96_
+
+ Stürzenacker, August, 342
+
+ Stuttgart, Art Gallery, 342;
+ Baugewerkschule, 152-153;
+ Hospital, 467(23)[488];
+ Königsbau, 38;
+ Railway Station, 342; _152_;
+ Werkbund Exhibition, Weissenhof (1927), (Behrens), 346; _162_;
+ (Gropius), 374;
+ (Le Corbusier), 370;
+ (Mies), 375;
+ (Oud), 378;
+ Zeppelinbau, 347
+
+ _Style Louis XVI_, xxiii-xxiv
+
+ Sullingstead (Surrey), 404
+
+ Sullivan, Louis H., 195, 196-197, 241-2, 245, 246, 248-249; _117-121_
+
+ Sumner, Heywood, 285, 459(16)[376]
+
+ Sun-breaks, 416
+
+ Sundahl, C. F., 16
+
+ Sweet Briar College (Va.), 401
+
+ Swiss Chalet mode, 104, 113
+
+ Sunderland (Durham), bridge, 118
+
+ Süssenguth, Georg, 342
+
+ Suys, L.-P., 164
+
+ Suys, T. F., 42
+
+ Swampscott (Mass.), Shingleside, 228, 269
+
+ Sydney, Campbell house, 91;
+ Government House stables, 105
+
+ Sykes, Godfrey, 164
+
+ Sykes, Henry A., 90; _43_
+
+ Symbolism, xxvi
+
+
+ T
+
+ TAC, 388, 402, 470(24)[524]; _168_
+
+ Tacoma (Wash.), railway station, 469(24)[516]
+
+ Tait, Thomas S., 470(24)[526], [533]
+
+ Taliesin, _see_ Phoenix, Spring Green
+
+ Talman, William, 89
+
+ Tange, Kenzo, 429; _187_
+
+ Tarrytown (N.Y.), Ericstan, 104
+
+ Taylor, Sir Robert, 1
+
+ Tecton, 382, 470(24)[524]; _172_
+
+ Tefft, Thomas A., 89; _44_
+
+ Telford, Thomas, 7, 95, 118; _58-59_
+
+ Tengbom, Ivar, 396, 398
+
+ Terragni, Giuseppe, 382; _172_
+
+ _Terza Roma_, 409
+
+ Tessenow, Heinrich, 339
+
+ Teulon, S. S., 175, 177, 179, 180, 189
+
+ Tewkesbury (Glos.), bridge, 118
+
+ Thackeray, William M., 208
+
+ Theale (Berks.), Holy Trinity, 96
+
+ The Hague, Academy of Fine Arts, 42;
+ American Embassy, 383, 388;
+ Bijenkorf store, 358;
+ Kröller house, 365-366;
+ Nederlandsche Bank, 42;
+ Netherlands Insurance Company Building, 359;
+ Passage, 450(8)[204];
+ Shell Building, 390;
+ Vrijzinnige Christelijk Lyceum, 391
+
+ Thicknesse, P. C., 219
+
+ Thiersch, Friedrich von, 338, 342-343
+
+ Thomas, A.-F.-T., 294
+
+ Thomon, Thomas de, 14; _8_
+
+ Thompson, Francis, 69, 95, 122, 123; _61_, _63_
+
+ Thomson, Alexander, 61-62, 72; _29_, _35_
+
+ Thomson, Edward, 397; _176_
+
+ Thomson, James, 66; _32_
+
+ Thomson, Samuel, 444(5)[99]
+
+ Thornton, William, 6; _82_
+
+ Thorwaldsen, Bertil, 15, 23, 40
+
+ Tiffany, Louis C., 287
+
+ Tigbourne Court (Surrey), 279
+
+ Tite, Sir William, 69
+
+ Tobey, S. Edwin, 229
+
+ Tokyo, Imperial Hotel, 326, 435;
+ Metropolitan Festival Hall, _187_;
+ Museum of Modern Art, 435
+
+ Tombstone (Ariz.), Crystal Palace Saloon, 92
+
+ Tomes, Sir John, 262
+
+ Ton, K. A., 58
+
+ Toorak, St John Evangelist’s, 196
+
+ Toorop, Jan, 286, 292
+
+ Toronto (Ont.), City Hall, 225;
+ Trinity College, old building, 106;
+ University College, 195-196
+
+ Torquay (Devon), St John’s, 180
+
+ Torro, Osvaldo Luis, 471(25)[543]
+
+ Torro, Ferrer & Torregrossa, 423
+
+ Torroja, Eduardo, 433, 434, 461(18)[400]
+
+ Tortworth Court (Glos.), 175
+
+ Totsuka Country Club, _187_
+
+ Tournon, bridge, 119
+
+ Tours, Hôtel de Ville, 399;
+ Palais de Justice, 50;
+ Railway Station, 399;
+ Saint-Martin, 399
+
+
+ Town, Ithiel, 81; _see also_ Town & Davis
+
+
+ Town & Davis, 84, 88; _39_
+
+ Townsend, C. Harrison, 292-293; _134_
+
+ _Tracés régulateurs_, 371
+
+ ‘Traditional’ architecture, 392ff.
+
+ Trevista, fig. 33
+
+ Trieste, Palazzo Carciotti, 57;
+ Sant’ Antonio di Padova, 56;
+ Teatro Verdi, 57
+
+ Trollope, 450(9)[209]
+
+ Troy (N.Y.), railway station, 469(24)[516]
+
+ Troyes system, 367
+
+ Trumbauer, Horace, 7, 401
+
+ Truro (Cornwall), cathedral, 189
+
+ Tully, Kivas, 106
+
+ Tulsa (Okla.), Jones house, 327
+
+ Tunbridge Wells (Kent), Calverley Estate, 72
+
+ Turin, Corso Vittorio Emmanuele II, 145;
+ Exhibition (1902), 300, 338;
+ Gran Madre di Dio, 55; _26_;
+ Mole Antonelliana, 449(8)[200];
+ Piazza Carlo Felice, 55;
+ (dello Statuto), 145;
+ (Vittorio Veneto), 55; _26_;
+ Porta Nuova Railway Station, 55, 145;
+ Sacramentine, 56;
+ San Massimo, 55-56;
+ Via Roma, 409
+
+ Turku, Turun Sanomat Building, 381
+
+ Turner, Richard, 121, 125; _67_
+
+ Tuxedo Park (N.Y.), Lorillard and other houses, 228, 269-270, fig. 28;
+ _125_
+
+ Tvede, Gotfred, 397
+
+ Tyringham (Bucks.), 2; _6_
+
+
+ U
+
+ Uccle, Van de Velde’s house, 291, 337
+
+ Uchard, T.-F.-J., 141
+
+ Udine Exhibition (1903), 301
+
+ Ulm, Garrison Church, 342
+
+ Unwin, Sir Raymond, 405
+
+ Upjohn, Richard, 103-104; _53_
+
+ Upjohn, Richard M., 195
+
+ Uppsala, Botanical Institute, 16;
+ Haga Slott, 16
+
+ Urban, Josef, 460(17)[387]
+
+ _Urbanisme_ (Le Corbusier), 370
+
+ ‘Usonian’, 320
+
+ Utica (N.Y.), Asylum, 86; _47_;
+ City Hall, 103; _53_;
+ Munn house, 104
+
+ Utrecht, Schroeder house, 377; _164_
+
+
+ V
+
+ Valadier, Giuseppe, 13, 53
+
+ Vållingby, Garden City, 413, 434
+
+ Van Brunt, Henry, 192; _see also_ Ware & Van Brunt
+
+ Van Brunt & Howe, 227
+
+ Van de Velde, Henri, 291, 293, 296, 311, 337
+
+
+ Van der Nüll, Eduard, 40
+
+ Van der Nüll and Siccardsburg, 40, 149
+
+ Van der Rohe, _see_ Mies van der Rohe
+
+ Van Eyck, Aldo, 429
+
+ Van Gogh, Vincent, 281
+
+ Van Osdel, J. M., 171
+
+ Vantini, Rodolfo, 56
+
+ Vantongerloo, Georges, 363
+
+ Vanvitelli, Luigi, 13
+
+ Västeros, ASEA Building, 396
+
+ Vaucresson (S.-et-O.), 49 Avenue du Chesnay, 384-385;
+ early house by Le Corbusier, 370, fig. 46
+
+ Vaudoyer, A.-L.-T., xxvi, 12
+
+ Vaudoyer, Léon, 143
+
+ Vaudremer, J.-A.-E., 142; _72_
+
+ Vauthier, L.-L., 91
+
+ Vaux, Calvert, 105, 195
+
+ Vegas Pacheco, Martín, 416
+
+ Venice, La Fenice, 14;
+ Piazza S. Marco, 14
+
+ Verandas, 254, 256
+
+ _Ver Sacrum_, 297
+
+ Versailles (S.-et-O.), 13;
+ Chalet aux Loges, 110;
+ Hameau, Petit Trianon, 110;
+ Mouron house, 314
+
+ _Vers une architecture_ (Le Corbusier), 368, 370
+
+ Vestier, N.-A.-J., 8
+
+ Veugny, M.-G., 119
+
+ Vézelay (S.-et-L.), 197
+
+ Vicenza, Villa Rotonda, 6
+
+ Viel, J.-M.-V., 128
+
+ Vienna, Academisches Gymnasium, 149;
+ Academy of Fine Arts, 149;
+ Albertina, 18, 39;
+ Army Museum, 147;
+ Arsenal, 40, 147;
+ Artaria Building, 351;
+ Austro-Hungarian Bank (earlier), 39;
+ (later), 39, 147;
+ Bodenkreditanstalt, 150;
+ Britannia Hotel, 148;
+ Burgtheater, 150; _73_;
+ Burgtor, 39;
+ Café Capua, 354;
+ (Museum), 352;
+ Dianabad, 123; _66_;
+ Diet of Lower Austria, 39;
+ Donau Hotel, 148;
+ Epstein, Palais, 148;
+ Felix-Mottlstrasse, 351;
+ Fünfhaus Parish Church, 198; _99_;
+ Goldman shop, 352;
+ Goldman & Salatsch Building, 354;
+ Heinrichshof, 149; _73_;
+ Hofburg Palace, 150;
+ 5-7 Invalidenstrasse, 351;
+ Justizpalast, 148;
+ Karlsplatzstation, 296;
+ Kärntner Bar, 354; _151_;
+ Landeshauptmannschaft, 39;
+ Langer flat, 353; _155_;
+ Lazaristenkirche, 198;
+ low-cost housing, 346;
+ Majolika Haus, 297; _138_;
+ Mint, 39;
+ Museum of Art History, 150;
+ (of Natural History), 150;
+ _Musikvereinsgebäude, 149; 40;_
+ Neustiftsgasse, 350;
+ North Railway Station, 148;
+ opera house, 149; _74_;
+ 8 Operngasse, 148;
+ Palace of Archduke Eugene, 148;
+ Palffy, Palais, 18;
+ Parliament House, 38, 149;
+ Philipphof, 151;
+ Portois & Fix offices, 297;
+ Postal Savings Bank, 349; _154_;
+ Rasumofsky, Palais, 18;
+ Rathaus, 150;
+ Reichstrasse, 148;
+ Ringstrasse, 147; _74_;
+ Rufer house, 355;
+ Sacher’s Hotel, 148;
+ Schottenhof, 39;
+ Severinkirche, 198;
+ Sezession art gallery, 297;
+ South Railway Station, 148;
+ Synagogue, 39;
+ Theater an der Wien, 18;
+ Theseus Temple, 39;
+ University, 148;
+ Urania, 351;
+ Votivkirche, 112, 148; _99_;
+ _see also_ Hietzing, Penzing, Purkersdorf
+
+ Viganò, 429
+
+ Vignon, Pierre, 11
+
+ Viipuri, city library, 381
+
+ Vilamajó, Julio, 416
+
+ Villanueva, Carlos Raúl, 414, 449(8)[199]
+
+ Villar i Carmona, Francesc de Paula del, 202
+
+ ‘Ville Idéale de Chaux’, xxiv, xxv; _1_
+
+ Villejuif (Seine), school, 372
+
+ Vincennes (Seine), parish church, 46
+
+ Viollet-le-Duc, E.-E., 108, 109, 129, 136, 141, 176, 197-198, 283-284,
+ 449(8)[194]; _56_, _98_, _101_
+
+ Virginia City (Nevada), 162
+
+ Visconti, L.-T.-J., 47, 48, 49, 110, 134; _27_, _68_
+
+ Vittel, Casino and Baths, 138
+
+ Vlugt, L. C. van der, 378; _163_
+
+ Voigtel, Richard, 111
+
+ Voit, August von, 25, 126
+
+ _Von Ledoux bis Le Corbusier_ (Kaufmann), xxviii
+
+ Voronikhin, Nikiforovich, 15
+
+ Voysey, C. F. A., 275-277, 279, 282, 453(12)[261], fig. 32; _129_
+
+
+ W
+
+ Waddesdon Manor (Bucks.), 163
+
+ Waesemann, H. F., 152
+
+ Wagner, Otto, xxviii, 296-729, 349-351; _138_, _154_
+
+ Wahlman, L. I., 360
+
+ Wailly, Charles de, 12
+
+ Wakefield (Yorks.), Town Hall, 219
+
+ Walhalla, 24; _11_
+
+ Walker, John, 122
+
+ Walker, Ralph, 400, 401
+
+ Wallot, Paul, 156
+
+ Walter, Thomas U., 79, 82, 123-124, 455(14)[302]; _39_, _82_
+
+ Walters, Edward, 76, 235
+
+ Waltham (Essex), Abbey, 178
+
+ Walton, George, 279, 299
+
+ Walworth, _see_ London (St Peter’s)
+
+ Wanstead, _see_ London (Merchant Seamen’s Orphan Asylum)
+
+ Ward, Basil, 468(23)[493]; _see also_ Connell, Ward & Lucas
+
+ Wardell, W. W., 105-106, 171, 196
+
+ Ware, William Robert, 144, 192; _see also_ Ware & Van Brunt
+
+
+ Ware & Van Brunt, 192, 194; _95_
+
+ Warren, Russell, 82, 86, 105; _42_
+
+ Warren, Whitney, 469(24)[516]; _see also_ Warren & Wetmore
+
+
+ Warren & Wetmore, 400; _177_
+
+ Warren (Mich.), General Motors Technical Institute, 418, fig. _55_;
+ _168_
+
+ Washington, U.S. Capitol, 6, 79-80, 123-124, 166-167; _82_;
+ Court of Claims, 167;
+ Lincoln Memorial, 393, 400; _180_;
+ Patent Office, 80;
+ Post Office Department (former), 80;
+ Smithsonian Institution, 105, 167;
+ State, War and Navy Department Building (former), 80, 169; _82_;
+ Temple of Scottish Rite, 400;
+ Treasury 80; _38_;
+ Washington Monument, 80;
+ White House, 6, 79-80
+
+ Wasmuth, 321, 324
+
+ Waterhouse, Alfred, 185-186, 236, 259
+
+ Watts, Mary, 460(17)[381]
+
+ Wayzata (Minn.), Davis house, 425, fig. 57;
+ Little house, 325
+
+ Webb, Philip, 177, 178, 182, 206-207, 211, 213, 218, 220, 259-260,
+ 262-263, 454(12)[275], figs. 23, 25; _97_, _102_
+
+ Weimar, Bauhaus, 337, 367;
+ War Monument, 367-368
+
+ Weinbrenner, Friedrich, 17, 22-23, 28, fig. 1; _10_
+
+ Welch, Edward, 69
+
+ Wellington College (Berks.), 208
+
+ Wells, Joseph M., 227, 469(24)[513]
+
+ Welwyn Garden City (Herts.), 405
+
+ _Wendingen_, 359
+
+ West, William Russell, 444(5)[272]
+
+ West Columbia (Texas), Elementary School, 422
+
+ Westmann, Carl, 397
+
+ Westmorland (Wis.), Jacobs house, 329
+
+ Wetmore, Charles D., 469(24)[516]
+
+ Wheatley Hills (N.Y.), Morgan house, 399
+
+ Wheeler, Gervase, 263
+
+ Wheeling (W. Va.), bridge, 119
+
+ Whistler, J. A. M., 286
+
+ Whitechapel, _see_ London
+
+ White Rock (R.I.), mill village, 86
+
+ White, Stanford, 223, 226, 227, 265, 267, 455(13)[287]-[288]; _see
+ also_ McKim, Mead & White
+
+ White, William H., 174, 179
+
+ Wielemans, Alexander, 148
+
+ Wiener Werkstätte, 349
+
+ Wight, Peter B., 191, 193-194
+
+ Wijdeveld, H. T., 359
+
+ Wild, J. W., 74, 174, 235; _36_
+
+ Wilde, Oscar, 217
+
+ Wilkins, William, 4-5, 66-67, 96; _31_
+
+ Willard, Solomon, 80, 85, 102
+
+ Williams, A. & G., 75, 234
+
+ Willink, W. E., 219
+
+ Wills, Frank, 104, 106, 196
+
+
+ Wilmette (Ill.), Baker house, 322
+
+ Wils, Jan, 359
+
+ Wilton (Wilts.), St Mary and St Nicholas’s, 74
+
+ Wimmel, C. L., 27; _11_
+
+ Wimmel & Forsmann, 27, 36; _11_
+
+ Winckelmann, J. J., xxi, xxiii
+
+ Windsor Castle (Berks.), 94
+
+
+ Winnetka (Ill.), Crow Island School, 361
+
+ Winona (Minn.), Merchants’ National Bank, 249
+
+ Winterthur, Town Hall, 165
+
+ Wispers (Sussex), 210
+
+ Withers, F. C., 195
+
+ Wittenberg, housing estate, 367
+
+ Woburn (Mass.), Winn Memorial Library, 223
+
+ Wolff, 165
+
+ Wood, John, 63
+
+ Wood, Robert, xxii
+
+ Wood, Sancton, 160
+
+ Woodward, Benjamin, 176; _86_; _see also_ Deane & Woodward
+
+ Woodward, G. E., 264
+
+ Worcester (Mass.), Boston & Albany Railroad Station, 194;
+ Polytechnic Institute, 192
+
+ Woonsocket (R.I.), Lippitt Woollen Mill, 86
+
+ Wren, Sir Christopher, 116
+
+ Wright, Frank Lloyd, xxviii, 232, 243, 270ff., 312, 320ff., 359, 431,
+ 434, 456(14)[316], figs. 29-31, 38-42; _124-126_, _128_, _188_
+
+ Wurster, W. W., 383
+
+ Würzburg, Prison for Women, 18; _17_
+
+ Wyatt, Benjamin Dean, 63, 67; _31_
+
+ Wyatt, James, 2, 3, 117
+
+ Wyatt, Sir M. D., 127, 146, 162, 164; _65_, _83_
+
+ Wyatt, T. H., 74, 162
+
+ Wyatville, Sir Jeffrey, 94
+
+
+ Y
+
+ Yahara Boat Club, project for, 323
+
+ Yamasaki, Minoru, 423, 430
+
+ Ybl, Miklós, 151
+
+ Yealmpton (Devon), St Bartholomew’s, 174
+
+ _Yellow Book_, 285
+
+ Yeon, John, 425
+
+ Yorke, F. R. S., 382, 434
+
+ Young, Ammi B., 81, 89
+
+ Young, Brigham, 251
+
+ Young, John, 69
+
+ Young & Son, C. D., 128
+
+ Young & Son, J., 237
+
+
+ Z
+
+ Zakharov, A. D., 15
+
+
+ Zehlendorf, Perls house, 365
+
+ Zehrfuss, B.-H., 496(23)[505]
+
+ Zevi, Bruno, 321
+
+ Ziebland, G. F., 24, 27, 111
+
+ Ziller, Ernst, 38
+
+ Zinsser, Ernst, 417
+
+ Zocher, J. D., 42
+
+ Zurich, Observatory, 165-166;
+ Polytechnic School, 165;
+ Rütschi-Bleuler House, 165
+
+ Zwirner, E. F., 111
+
+
+------------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+ ● Transcriber’s Notes:
+ ○ In the printed version of this book the page numbering started
+ over at 1 for The Plates section. In this version, instead, the
+ page numbers continue at 484, and the Index starts on page 677.
+ The table of CONTENTS has been updated to reflect these changes.
+ ○ Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
+ ○ Typographical errors were silently corrected.
+ ○ Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only
+ when a predominant form was found in this book.
+ ○ Text that:
+ was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
+ ○ The use of a caret (^) before a letter, or letters, shows that the
+ following letter or letters was intended to be a superscript, as
+ in S^t Bartholomew or 10^{th} Century.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARCHITECTURE: NINETEENTH AND
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