[CONTENTS]
[LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS]
[FOOTNOTES]

THE
LIFE AND WORKS
OF
SIR CHARLES BARRY, R.A., F.R.S.,
&c. &c.

By REV. ALFRED BARRY, D.D.,
PRINCIPAL OF CHELTENHAM COLLEGE.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1867.
The right of Translation is reserved

LONDON: PRINTED BY W. CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET,
AND CHARING CROSS.

PREFACE.

The objects which I have had in view in the following pages, and the spirit in which I have endeavoured to pursue them, are referred to in the opening paragraphs of the first chapter. It remains to say a few words on the nature of the materials at my command, and the authorities on which my statements of fact and opinion are based.

For all narrative purposes, I have found an abundance of excellent and trustworthy materials. My father’s architectural life is written in outline in his own professional journals, and, in its more important periods, has left its memorials in public and official documents of unquestionable authority. Some of these I have quoted in the Appendix; in other cases I have given summaries of their contents, and references to the original documents. In all cases I may venture to profess, that I have taken the greatest pains to ascertain clearly the facts which I have here recorded. When I could not consult official documents, I have depended only on personal recollection and the testimony of eye-witnesses. Of any errors, which may still have crept in, I shall thankfully receive correction.

I could indeed have wished to present to my readers more original letters and extracts from Journals. These form the most valuable part of many biographies; for, independently of any intrinsic excellence of their own, they are full of interest, as bearing the marked impress of personal character, and enabling the subject of the biography to speak for himself. But here my materials fail me. My father was no great letter-writer. His pen was indeed constantly busy in valuable professional notes and official reports, clear in style and comprehensive in scope, of which specimens are given in the Appendix. But I find few characteristic letters, embodying his personal opinions and feelings; and he does not appear to have preserved, except in a few cases, the numerous letters from eminent persons, which he must have received. I have had therefore to rely on personal recollection to supply the deficiency, and to endeavour in the last chapter to describe his private life and character, as it appeared to those who knew him and loved him best. Nor are his Journals altogether fit for reproduction. They are indeed invaluable as authorities. During his foreign tours they were copious and detailed, and almost the whole of Chapter II. is drawn from them. But they were mostly notes for practical use, and, before they could be published, they would need alterations and developments, which he alone had the right to give them. During his professional life they contained simply brief memoranda of every day’s work. I could not therefore quote them with advantage, but I have found them of the greatest value in ascertaining facts and fixing dates, which otherwise might have escaped me.

For all professional information and opinion,—for all, in fact, which may give any value to the work,—I have been able to refer to my brothers, in regard to the later part of my father’s career, with every fact of which they were intimately acquainted. For the earlier portion I have depended mainly on J. L. Wolfe, Esq., who was to my father the true friend of a lifetime, almost the only person who knew well his opinions and principles, and to whose aid and criticism he was materially indebted. He has given me notes and information, which I have found invaluable, especially in regard of the story of the New Palace at Westminster, which must be the central feature of the biography. For all the letterpress, however, I hold myself responsible. The choice of the illustrations is due to my eldest brother. We have to acknowledge with thanks the permission given us to use in some cases illustrations which have already appeared. Believing that an architectural record must speak mainly to the eye, we should gladly have given further illustrations; instead of some which are here found, we should have wished to represent more of the unexecuted designs, had authentic drawings been at hand; but we conceive that those actually given, especially the large illustrations of the Westminster Improvements, will be of great interest, both to the profession and to the public.

With these materials at command, and with these authorities to refer to, I have tried to tell my story, without tincturing the record with undue partiality, or introducing into it those merely private details, either of fact or of feeling, which appear to me to be utterly out of place in a published narrative.

I trust also, that, in speaking of controversies, and in dwelling on some parts of my father’s life, on which I cannot but feel strongly, I shall be thought to have observed due moderation of expression, and due respect for the reputation of others. In some cases I have simply stated facts, and left it to others to draw inferences and make comments upon them. It will not, I hope, be supposed that reticence in such cases implies any want of strong conviction or strong feeling on my own part. In fact, as the work has proceeded, I have felt more and more that such reticence is forced upon a son, when he is writing his father’s life, and I do not think that it need necessarily interfere with the impression which the record ought to create.

The story itself may perhaps be mainly one of professional interest. But this is a time in which Art is beginning to be recognised as an important subject to the public; and the record of a career not unimportant in regard of artistic progress, of the erection of one of the largest and most important buildings of modern times, and of designs and opinions bearing upon most public improvements now actually in contemplation, may therefore commend itself to general notice.

I have only to say in conclusion, that the inevitable difficulties in the task of preparation, the duty of wading through long official documents, and the necessity of seeking in many quarters information (which, even now, has occasionally arrived too late for use),[1] have delayed the publication of this Memoir to a period far later than that originally contemplated. I am far, however, from regretting this enforced delay. Whatever interest there may be in the record of works and opinions here given, it is not of a temporary character; and it is clear, from many indications, that even the time, which has already elapsed, has served to bring out public opinion more clearly, and has tended to the formation of a true estimate of Sir Charles Barry’s architectural genius, and of the position which his works must hold in the progress of English Art.

A. B.

Cheltenham, April, 1867.

ADDENDUM.

Since this work was printed, the risk alluded to in page 195, as likely to arise from the employment of the late Mr. A. W. Pugin on the New Palace at Westminster, has been unexpectedly realized fifteen years after his death by some extraordinary claims put forward by his son. These claims, referring as they do to a question raised and settled in the life-time of those concerned, have not appeared to me to require any notice in these pages. I have therefore left the whole passage in pp. 194-198 precisely as it was originally written, without the alteration of a single word. It contains the exact account of the connexion which existed between Mr. A. W. Pugin and my father, and which, I repeat, so far as Sir Charles Barry’s knowledge and feeling were concerned, was never broken by any dispute or estrangement, from the day when Mr. Pugin (then a young man of 23) was first employed on the drawings of the New Palace, until the day of his death in 1852.

A. B.

October 22nd, 1867.

CONTENTS.

ERRATA.
(Corrections made by etext-transcriber.)

• Page [109], line 23, for “Berkshire” read “Hampshire.”
• Page [147], line 12, for “November” read “December.”
• Pages [195], [196], transpose paragraphs beginning “As soon as,” &c., and “The first aid,” &c.
• Page [259], line 32, for “twenty-five” read “twenty-nine,” and for “thirty” read “forty-three.”

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

MEMOIR
OF
SIR CHARLES BARRY, R.A.

CHAPTER I.
1795-1817.
EARLY LIFE AND EDUCATION.

Object of the work—Birth of Charles Barry—His childhood, schooldays, and apprenticeship—His early efforts and amusements—His self-education and its effects on his character—His determination to travel—His matrimonial engagement.

In the compilation of this memoir of my late father I have endeavoured to keep two objects in view. It is desired, on the one hand, to preserve for his family and his many personal friends some record of his private life and character. It is thought, on the other, that there will be some public value and interest in a notice of his opinions, designs, and works, and a general record of his professional career.

Even to the public at large it is conceived that his life, though it presents but little variety of incident, may yet be worth telling. He started with no advantages of birth, and with an imperfect education; he was supported by no influential connection or school of art, and was aided by no patronage except that which his own merit commanded. He won for himself a place among the foremost architects of Europe, not more by his talents than by a life-long devotion to his art, and an extraordinary power of work. Having earned this high position, he paid its usual penalty in the many difficulties and misrepresentations, which are inevitable to a professional career, and which, though they may be stoutly met, tend, far more than any mere work, to wear out the energies and shorten the life. The interest of biography seems to lie, not so much in variety of event, as in its illustration of human character, and the ordinary conditions of human life. It is hoped that this interest may not be altogether wanting in the following pages.

By his professional brethren it will probably be thought, that the history of so many public and private works, and of the questions raised and decided in connection with them, may bear on some points important to the profession at large, and that the grounds and the nature of the architectural principles, which he maintained, may excite interest, even where they do not secure agreement. It is not unlikely that the record of such a life as his may throw some light on the remarkable progress and diffusion of artistic taste, which appear to mark our own time, transforming the whole aspect of our country, and not indirectly affecting our national character. Since he entered on his career the forms of Art have changed, and its principles have been developed or modified. With some of these changes he strongly sympathized; others he strenuously resisted. But, in either case, the record of a life of ceaseless architectural activity, and of a mind keenly alive to artistic influences—readily impressible, and bound to no special school—must tend to illustrate the movements which have taken place, and are taking place still, in his own special province of Art.

It is for these reasons that the following memoir has been undertaken. In performing such a duty, it would be useless and unbecoming in a son to affect a position of independent criticism, or to claim credit for a strict impartiality. It can only be expected that he should record his father’s career as it was seen from his own point of view, and sketch his character as it appeared to those who loved him best. It can only be required that he observe strict truthfulness and accuracy as to facts, and due consideration for the feelings of others. If these limitations be observed (and I trust that in the following pages they will be observed most sacredly), experience has shown that such a record is likely to contain at least a large and essential portion of the whole truth. There will be subjects indeed on which it can only give the materials for judgment; for, where criticism is precluded, eulogium is at least equally out of place. But such correction and completion as it requires may be safely left to the impartial judgment of its readers.

In most cases its influence on the reputation of its subject is but a secondary one. The true and lasting reputation of a man will depend very little on any other memorial than the work which he has done, and the influence which he has exerted in his life-time; and on the results which he has thus left behind for the use and the verdict of posterity.

Charles Barry, the fourth son of Walter Edward and Frances Barry, was born in Bridge Street, Westminster, on the 23rd of May, 1795, in a house which (until last year) lay under the shadow of the Clock Tower of the New Palace at Westminster.

His father was a stationer of great respectability and some wealth,[2] as is seen by the fact that he supplied, in the course of his business, the materials used at the Government Stationery Office. His mother died in 1798, when he was a little more than three years old; but her place was supplied (so far as a mother’s place can be) by the care and affection of his stepmother, Sarah, to whom his father was married shortly after, and to whom, at his death in 1805, he left the care of his children, and of the business which was to support them. Most thoroughly did she fulfil the charge, and reap her due reward of respect and gratitude. Of the whole family he alone, even from his childhood, manifested artistic taste and capacity, and chose for himself, in spite of all difficulties, a new path in life. These difficulties were then far greater than they would be now, in a less stationary condition of society, with greater facilities for change and travel, and greater opportunities of artistic and general education. There was little in his home life to foster any high aspirations, although perhaps its wholesome atmosphere of honesty and regularity, of steady industry and “habits of business,” supplied a corrective influence much needed by an enthusiastic and artistic temperament.

He had little advantage of education. He went with his brothers to various private schools, such as schools then were. The first seems to have been a mere preparatory school; of the second, the only account preserved is that the “master paid little attention to it, being very dissolute, and absenting himself for weeks together;” and the last school, though perhaps rather better than the rest, was apparently one of those which attempted only mechanical teaching and severe discipline. Education, in the highest sense of the word, seems hardly to have been dreamt of. He carried away from it little except a superficial knowledge of English, a good proficiency in arithmetic, and a remarkably beautiful handwriting.

The account of his early days speaks of him as merely a warm-hearted and spirited boy, handsome and engaging in appearance, not very studious, full of fun, and by no means averse to mischief. His only remarkable talent was his taste for drawing; in this he was taught by a most incompetent man, and his best practice was in caricatures, especially of his drawing-master. The imperfection of his early training he always felt and regretted, in spite of his zealous efforts to supply its deficiencies. For, not to speak of the external difficulties which it threw in his way, it is obvious enough that his impulsive disposition, quick observation, and susceptible mind, especially needed the bracing and strengthening influence of a good education.

On leaving school, at the age of fifteen, he was articled to Messrs. Middleton and Bailey, architects and surveyors, of Paradise Row, Lambeth. With them he remained six years. Both took a strong and affectionate interest in him, and from them he received all the professional training which he ever enjoyed. Their business was mainly that of surveying; he could have learnt little with them of the artistic element of architecture. But his time was not wasted; for he studied accurately and industriously the “business” of his profession. Lists of prices, calculations of dimensions, methods of measuring and valuation, crowd his note-book, side by side with studies from Chambers’ Architecture, and sketches of such details and ornaments as struck his own fancy. In the later part of his time much responsibility was thrown upon him, and responsibility he never refused. The fruit was seen in after life in his excellent habits of business, and his ability to prepare his own working drawings, make out his own specifications and estimates, and form a sound judgment of materials and work. This knowledge stood him in good stead; he never failed to impress its importance on young architects; and, though he would not for a moment have allowed it to take equal rank with artistic power, he regarded the frequent neglect of it, and the increasing tendency to separate it from the higher province of art, as a serious evil, both in theory and in practice.

But he could not be satisfied with this semi-mechanical work. His name appears regularly in 1812, 1813, 1814, and 1815 in the architectural part of the catalogue of the Royal Academy. His first drawing, there exhibited when he was seventeen years old, still remains. It was a drawing of the interior of Westminster Hall, the building which (as has been well said) “was in after-days to give the key-note to his greatest work.” His other designs “For a Church,” “A Museum and Library,” “A Nobleman’s Mansion,” &c., have all perished. They had served their purpose, and were no doubt destroyed by himself, for he was always ruthless both in his criticism and his treatment of his early designs.

At an earlier age (about fifteen or sixteen) his artistic taste had found a much more curious development. There was much of the boy in him still (as indeed there was in all his after-life), and he did not disdain boyish fancies and amusements. Accordingly he resolved to transform his small attic bedroom into a “hermitage,"—“a rocky interior,” “with openings looking out on a sunny landscape.” The mechanical work and the painting he did entirely himself, working at it in all his spare time with constant delight; and when it was done, he kept up its character by using it as a painting-room, and drawing constantly figures of all kinds on a large scale on its walls. His family noticed all this with some wonder and amusement; he himself, though he used to laugh at it in after-life, remembered it with a kind of pleasure. These details may seem trivial, but they were certainly characteristic. The work must have given boldness to his hand (as scene-painting has done to some of our great painters); it may not improbably have helped to kindle and foster his imagination, and at the same time to satisfy that delight in alteration and contrivance which always was conspicuous in him.

In every respect his home was a simple and a happy one. If it did not stimulate artistic tastes, it certainly allowed them perfect freedom, and gave them the support of admiration and sympathy. His character, in spite of his fondness for change and amusement, was always strongly domestic. In his work, and the society of his mother (for so he always esteemed her) and his brothers, he found all the interest he cared for. Such are the records of his early days. They are scanty enough; but they are corroborated by the recollections of his later life, for his was a character that changed but little.

It is evident from these that he was in every sense of the word a self-educated man, and the recognition of this fact is most important, for the true appreciation of his character, and a right understanding of his career.

Even in general education this was strikingly the case. He carried away very little from school. His very journals show that he had to acquire for himself not only a knowledge of French and Italian (which he mastered sufficiently for all practical purposes), but even correctness and fluency of English. They show, during his foreign journey, almost as great progress in style as in thought—a progress gained, as usual with him, not so much by systematic study as by a certain “readiness of mind” and an unwearied practice. Mathematics and theoretical mechanics he had studied but little, and in fact he had little taste for such study. Their practical conclusions, as bearing on his own profession, he knew familiarly enough; and his mind was not only quick in its deductions from them, and bold even to the verge of rashness, but singularly fertile in all kinds of mechanical contrivance. But of systematic study of theory he was impatient. He could often, though at some risk, supersede it for himself by a kind of intuition, and he perhaps never estimated it at its true value.

But much more was this the case in all that regarded his own profession. No powerful mind had by its contact fired and influenced his; no deep course of study had imbued him with profound and systematic principles. He had gained “business” experience and practical knowledge; his strong natural tastes and powers had been cordially and kindly recognised, but in all that concerns the higher element of his profession he was left alone to find his way by his own observations and inductions to the first principles of Art. His natural character—vigorous, impulsive, and energetic—was allowed to grow by its own power, and to choose for itself both the method and the direction of growth.

The chief consequence was, as usual, an intense and absorbing devotion to the art which he had chosen as his work in life. He found it difficult to take any deep interest in anything else. In the political and social questions of the day he would often adopt the opinions of others. All his originality and his thought were already pre-occupied. In the service of architecture he held everything cheap; time, labour, and health were sacrificed as a matter of course; and keenly sensitive as he was to blame, yet he would defy the opinion of the world in search of what he deemed perfection.

His art was scarcely at any time absent from his mind, even in times of social relaxation or of more serious employment. He could hardly enter a room without seeing capabilities in it, and longing to develope them. But when an important design was in progress, it seemed to take entire possession of his mind. It was his custom to work it out almost wholly for himself, in its scientific and financial as well as its artistic bearings. His extraordinary rapidity of execution and untiring industry enabled him to keep up this custom to a great extent, even in his busiest times. In fact, when a design was once conceived—when it had once taken possession of his imagination—hard work at it was a relief. The idea of it would occur to him at his first waking, and he could not but rise, however early the hour, and set to work. Adverse criticism at such a time was rejected or disregarded, but a few days later it would be found to have sunk into his mind unconsciously; then it would be rapidly seized upon as if original, and its results, often greatly modified and reconstructed, would be produced in the most perfect good faith as new, perhaps to the very person who had first made the criticism. Difficulties were forgotten or defied in the attempt to perfect the idea conceived; drawings of the more important parts of the work altered scores of times until his fastidious taste was satisfied. He could not conceive the idea of resting contented with what was acknowledged to be defective, and he held that the word “impossible” was to be erased from his dictionary. In this absorbing devotion to his art lay the cause of infinite labour, many troubles, and much misapprehension, but in it lay, as usual, the secret of success.

Another effect of this early freedom and self-direction was a vigorous growth of self-reliance and originality. It perhaps entailed some want of philosophic symmetry and largeness of view, especially at a time when there was comparatively little study of great principles of art as based on substantial reason. Grounds of criticism were then sought by the generality in conventional rules, and by the more active minds in arbitrary conceptions of “taste,” till society was divided into the connoisseurs, who were to pronounce their arbitrary judgment, and the “ignobile vulgus,” who were obediently and ignorantly to accept their conclusions. Yet it gave him the power of progress, and it kept him also free from any tendency to bigotry and copyism. There is indeed the highest kind of originality, which combines philosophic knowledge and study with the power of a true development. But in practice, especially in the domain of art, the most important steps of progress are probably due to men of a happy intuition and an unscientific audacity, and such men are usually men who have guided and educated themselves.

He himself was avowedly and on principle an eclectic. He could not help recognising the excellences of various schools: but he knew too much to be satisfied with any single one, as if it were all-comprehensive, and to conclude accordingly that to it alone praise and devotion are due. His principles of design and construction had been worked out for himself, the fruit of many crude conceptions in theory and many trials in practice. For that very reason they became so deeply rooted in his mind, that, when he attempted to change his course, he found himself insensibly returning to them. His early study of Greek architecture did not prevent his appreciation of Italian and Gothic; and so he stood apart from the exclusive devotion to one or other style which now seems to divide the architectural profession. Such a position is a difficult and dangerous one, in art, as well as in politics or theology, but those who occupy it supply the chief resisting influence to stagnation, and open some of the chief avenues of progress. In his case it was all but inevitable; his natural character, and his early freedom from the trammels of any school of art, forbade his taking any other course. For even in his early days those characteristics were fixed which determined his after career.

With these capabilities, and with a fixed and hopeful resolution to cut out a path for himself, he passed through his time of pupilage, and attained his majority in 1816. He now began to act for himself, and he at once conceived, or perhaps after long consideration declared openly, a determination on which much of his future success depended. He was naturally formed to make his way in the world. To the mental qualities already enumerated he added the advantages of a handsome person, great fascination of manner, high spirits, and a sanguine temperament, which was well calculated to inspire confidence and win affection. He believed that he had the elements of success in him, and that he only needed freedom of scope and a more extended sphere than he could obtain at home. The result verified his belief. Perhaps the prophecy fulfilled itself.

By his father’s will, he and each of his brothers had inherited a certain sum of money, and the remainder of this inheritance, diminished by the expense of his education and his articles, now came into his hands. The sum was not a large one, and it was his all, for he had little expectations of assistance from without in entering on the risks of a professional career. He resolved to devote the whole, or the greater part of it, to an architectural tour.

The Continent was just opened by the peace of 1815. All English society was awaking from the torpor and isolation of the great European war. Architecture was receiving a fresh stimulus by the cessation of external difficulties, and fresh principles and models from abroad were breaking in upon its stereotyped forms. He naturally felt, with all the impressibility of his character, the influence of this universal movement; and at the same time, from deliberate consideration, he saw that his only chance of developing the power and satisfying the desires of which he was conscious, his only chance of gaining a thorough grasp of his art, and taking a high stand in his profession, lay in foreign travel. His mind wanted objects which the narrow and prosaic character of his home life could not supply. It wanted the intercourse of a society from which conventional barriers shut it out in England; it wanted scope for activity, and models by which its activity might be guided. Without foreign travel he might have had the certainty of a respectable position and sufficient emoluments in his profession; with it he took the risk of delay and difficulty, and the chance of a noble career.

The choice was not likely to cause him much hesitation. He decided at once, and kept to his decision firmly, in spite of the natural remonstrances of his family, who felt the risk, but did not understand the necessity. Travel was then comparatively rare, and thought by many to be needless. It seemed madness to risk on it so much of his slender resources. His stepmother alone was led by her own strong good sense, and by her unlimited confidence in him, to give him her decided support. At last his plans were fixed, and his journey, the length of which he did not anticipate, or at any rate did not disclose, was determined upon.

Before he left England he was engaged to Miss Sarah Rowsell. Her father, Mr. Samuel Rowsell, was employed in the same line of business which his own father had followed. After about a year’s acquaintance, the engagement was made on the eve of his departure; and with this fresh tie to home, and fresh incentive to exertion, he left England in June, 1817.

CHAPTER II.
1817-1820.
TRAVELS IN FRANCE, ITALY, GREECE, EGYPT, AND THE EAST.

I. France and Italy.—General effects of travel—Study of classical architecture—Observation of natural scenery—Universality and accuracy of examination. II. Greece and Constantinople.—Growth of artistic power—Impressions of Athens and Constantinople—Contrast of the Turkish and Greek characters. III. Egypt and the East.—Great effect of Egyptian architecture upon him—Mehemet Ali’s government—Dendera, Esneh, Edfou, Philæ, Abousimbel, Thebes—Return to Cairo—Palestine—Jerash—Baalbec—Damascus—Palmyra. IV. Sicily and Italy.—Syracuse, Messina, Agrigentum, and Palermo—Return to Rome—Meeting with Mr. J. L. Wolfe—Systematic architectural study—Effects of Egyptian impressions—Italian palaces at Rome, Florence, Vicenza, and Venice—Italian churches—St. Peter’s, the Pantheon, the cathedrals at Florence and Milan—The Bridge of La Santa Trinita at Florence—The growth of his architectural principles—Return to England.

On June 28th, 1817, Mr. Barry left England, and remained abroad for more than three years. During that time he travelled, first, chiefly alone, in France and Italy; next with Mr. (afterwards Sir C.) Eastlake, and Messrs. Kinnaird and Johnson, in Greece and Turkey; thirdly, with Mr. D. Baillie, Mr. Godfrey, and Mr. (afterwards Sir T.) Wyse, in Egypt, Palestine, and Syria; and lastly, chiefly in company with Mr. J. L. Wolfe, in Sicily and Italy, returning alone through France in August, 1820.

His travels had, at the time, a considerable interest of their own: few had gone so far as the second cataracts of the Nile; still fewer had added to their Egyptian experiences so great an extent of Eastern and Western travels. Accordingly, on his return to Rome, he was one of the lions of the season, and his portfolio of sketches excited unbounded interest, as much by their novelty as by their intrinsic excellence. All this is, of course, greatly changed; scenes then little known have become almost hackneyed; what were then difficult and even hazardous journeys, are now pleasant summer excursions. The intrinsic interest of any narrative of his travels (such as might easily be drawn from his copious journals) is therefore to a great extent lost. But the importance of their effect on his own mind can hardly be exaggerated, and it is to this, therefore, that attention must here be drawn.

In the first period of his travels, the point most deserving notice is the exciting and enlarging effect of novelty and beauty on a mind, which had hitherto been cooped up within narrow limits, and had lacked its own congenial food. The change was infinite, after the narrowness of home experience, and the depression of all artistic and scientific energy in England by the long war. It seemed to be the entrance on a new life, one day of which (to use his own constant expression) was “worth a year at home.” His frank and buoyant spirit, his love of adventure, and good-humoured determination in all his purposes, answered readily to its call.

There is little at first in his journals of a strictly professional character; the architect is merged in the artist; and even the artistic element has by no means an exclusive dominion; observations of all kinds throng his journals, as impressions of all kinds evidently crowded on his mind. The external aspect of the country, both as to its scenery and its life, social peculiarities, and differences from English customs,[3] political feelings and tendencies, aspects of individual life and character—all claim their place, side by side with the records of sketches taken and buildings criticized.

Such a process, as it was the most natural, was also probably the most beneficial, if travel was really to enlarge his mind and to educate his whole nature. The work of life would soon narrow, and so deepen, the stream of thought and observation; and, indeed, at all times, he possessed the power of subordinating all his various interests and enjoyments to his one important business. He always liked the greater freedom of foreign life and foreign society, as compared with the conventions and formality which, then especially, clung to the social system of England. But Paris and Rome, with all their various enchantments fully appreciated and enjoyed, never drew him away from the hard work which was the real object of his travels.

At first, of course, all study was devoted to classical architecture alone. It is curiously characteristic of the time, that at Rouen, while he thought it worth while to sketch and criticize a small Corinthian church, all the glories of the cathedral and of St. Ouen are dismissed in one line, as being “examples of a rich florid Gothic;” and at Paris, the cathedral of Notre Dame and the Sainte Chapelle are noticed in the same spirit, as having an antiquarian interest, and a certain irregular beauty of their own; but not as deserving any high admiration or study. Milan Cathedral is noted for its grandeur and richness, but with no criticism as to its architectural details. All this gradually changed as the revival of mediæval architecture began. On his return over the same ground the contrast seen in his journals is remarkable; and Gothic, though not studied or understood as it would be now, was regarded by him with keen interest and deep respect.

Art of all kinds, not exclusively architectural, attracted him at once. At Paris the Louvre occupied him for days together; and it was characteristic of his taste (which always inclined to the real rather than the ideal) that, on the one hand, he passed by at once as “showy and unnatural” the then popular school of David and Gérard, and, on the other, devoted more attention to the grand historical series of Rubens’ pictures, the Claudes, and the Dutch pictures (which reminded him of Wilkie), than to those of a higher and more imaginative kind. At Rome (thanks to the kindness of Canova, to whom he had letters of introduction) he spent whole days in sketching among the antiquities, the sculptures, and the paintings of the Vatican, and of other galleries. In fact, at this time he often seemed to turn aside from architecture to woo the sister arts, although afterwards his own art gradually asserted an almost exclusive dominion, and he was accused, with some truth, of looking at the others as merely her handmaids.

Travelling as he was in Italy, he could not fail to be impressed by the artistic influences of painting, sculpture, architecture, and, above all, of music, which the Church of Rome presses into the service of her religious ceremonies. He first saw these displayed (and he could hardly have seen them more gloriously) when he entered Milan Cathedral on the feast of St. Carlo. He had fuller opportunities still, in his long sojourn at Rome, of witnessing all the splendours of Christmas and Easter. They could not but appeal to his artistic tastes, and especially to his great love of music; but they seem never to have laid hold of his mind. The sense of the artificiality and cumbrousness of ceremony spoilt the effect to his taste; and neither the time nor his own disposition was such as to appreciate any devotion, in which superstition might appear to lurk, whether in the wayside chapels of Switzerland or under the dome of St. Peter’s itself. He felt in it occasionally “something awful and divine;” but his feeling was marred by the prevailing sense of unreality. Even his friend Pugin’s enthusiasm in after days, though it commanded respect, could win no real sympathy from him.

With regard to natural scenery, though his observation of it was always keen, he delighted in what was rich and beautiful, rather than in the highest forms of grandeur. The love of mountain scenery was not then a fashion, which few, even in a Journal, would dare to disregard. His admiration of it was blended with the notion of something strange and almost grotesque in it. He speaks of it as exhibiting “the freaks and outrageous effects of Nature” in its wilder features, and the beauties of an Alpine pass seemed to him to present something “appalling,” calculated to excite a kind of awe, too oppressive for genuine admiration. He delighted more in the Apennines, rising in mountains of equal height “like the waves of the sea,” and disclosing in their lateral valleys scenes of quiet beauty and richness, or in the scenery of the Saronic Gulf, with its bright colour and picturesque variety. Colour, indeed, at this time, seems to have impressed him more than form: sunsets, or moonlight effects, and the contrasts of white cities with the verdure surrounding them, are constant themes of notice and admiration. He cared for what was bright and beautiful more than for any sombre and awful grandeur; and he was always master of his impressions rather than overmastered by them.

His examination of buildings was always comprehensive, and his criticisms, even from the first, audaciously defiant of all fashion and authority.[4]

In entering a town he always estimates its general effect before proceeding to details; and his impressions seem often divided between an artistic love of the picturesque and a determined architectural preference for regularity. In proceeding to greater particularity, no buildings came amiss to him. Besides the churches and palaces, which have a prescriptive right to precedence, he seems to have had a special taste for two most opposite specimens of architectural effect. Cemeteries, on the one hand, always attracted his notice, both as to their arrangement and their accompanying buildings, and in their case he had a strong dislike of over-embellishment. The sombre solemnity of a Turkish burial-ground was his ideal. The same taste which attached brightness and cheerfulness in buildings that ministered to life, inclined to solemnity and sadness in all that suggested the idea of death. On the other hand, theatres greatly interested him at all times, from the Scala at Milan to the little theatres of Italian country towns. He thought that they gave a grand opportunity for architectural effect, which was generally frittered away. And his note-books abound in plans and criticisms of existing buildings, and ideas as to their best theoretical construction. It was curious enough that a theatre was almost the only kind of public building which it never fell to his lot to execute.

Perhaps the one point especially to be noticed in all his examinations of buildings is the extreme care for accuracy which distinguishes them; measurements are always given, plans generally accompany the descriptions in his journals; he would take any trouble to obtain measurements and details, even if it risked his neck, or threw him into the hands of the police.[5] What was vague seemed to him worthless, and difficulties rather excited than daunted him.[6]

In this way the first nine months of his travels passed over—a good preparation, but only a preparation, for professional study. It became a question whether he should return home, or visit Greece in the congenial company of Mr. (afterwards Sir C.) Eastlake, already distinguished as an artist; Mr. Kinnaird, an architect, afterwards editor of the last volume of Stuart’s ‘Athens;’ and Mr. Johnson, afterwards a Professor at Haileybury College. Home ties and considerations of economy drew him back; he consulted his friends at home, and especially his future father-in-law, Mr. Rowsell, and by his sensible advice he determined to disregard difficulties, and give full scope to his tastes and powers. It was a wise resolution; he had left England inexperienced and unknown; he was now recognised as an artist of talent and promise, and was to travel with men of acknowledged ability, generally his superiors in education and knowledge both of books and men. His journals show clearly the effect of his past experience in greater maturity of judgment, greater taste for antiquity, and general growth of mind.

Athens and Constantinople were their two main objects. The season was rather advanced, so they hurried on, paying but a hasty visit to Naples[7] and Pompeii, then across Calabria to Bari, while he made the most of his time by sketching incessantly under a great umbrella, and managing to give careful descriptions and rough plans of all that he visited. Thence they crossed to Corfu;[8] and there first the richness and picturesque beauty of the island seem to have captivated him, and stirred up anew the artistic power within. His pencil was never out of his hand, but it was employed almost entirely on the beauties of nature, and his delight in the scenery itself evidently increased with his power of representing it.

This was even more strikingly the case in a visit to Parnassus and Delphi, where they spent some ten days in the hut of a poor cottager, and were richly compensated for their disappointment at finding no traces of the old temple, and no remains worthy of notice, by the extraordinary beauty of the country, and the opportunity which it gave them for countless sketches. They even offered a reward from the minaret of the village for one of the great vultures of the mountain, and obtained, for sketching purposes, a magnificent bird, measuring nine feet from tip to tip of his wings. “I drank,” he says, “deeply of the Castalian spring, but did not find my poetic faculty improved thereby.” Yet the genius loci did not fail him entirely. It was here more especially that a change and growth of artistic power in him struck his fellow-travellers.[9] Before he left Rome, his drawings had been only careful and elaborate; now there began to show itself in them that indescribable power of insight and imagination, which distinguishes the true artist from the mere draughtsman. Conventionalities were shaken off, and nature represented as it was; laboured and ineffective drawing gave place to a bold and masterly grasp of the leading lines, and the general effect of the scene represented; and his journals show an ever-increasing admiration for natural and artificial beauty, and an absorbing delight in the task of representing it. The progress, once begun, never ceased. Every day witnessed a progress in his power, till his sketches in Egypt showed those powers in full maturity, and astonished those who had known him only in Italy and in Greece.

At Athens they stayed about a month, in despite of some danger of plague which hung over the city. Here unfortunately his journals fail us for a time, and there is no means of supplying the deficiency. It is easy to imagine his intense delight in seeing the buildings which he had so long considered not only as the masterpieces of Greek art, but as the highest forms in which the architectural idea of beauty had clothed itself. We know, what might easily have been conceived, that his admiration did not evaporate in mere enthusiasm, but gave rise to careful study and thoughtful criticism; and that such study, while it deepened his original admiration, yet led him to feel that changes of circumstances, needs, and conceptions might well limit that imitation of Greek models, which had hitherto exercised a despotic influence over modern architecture. But beyond this, there is no memorial of what he perhaps at that time felt to be the crowning pleasure of his architectural tour, except some sketches, made always entirely on the spot, and remarkable for uniting great accuracy and truthfulness of effect to free and spirited drawing.

He left Athens on June 25th, 1818, with Mr. Johnson, and passed by Ægina, and through the Cyclades, touching at Delos, to Smyrna, and thence by land to Constantinople. The voyage was “one continued delight;” full of architectural and antiquarian interest, and even fuller of natural beauty, seen under cloudless skies and glorious sunsets.

They were now having their first experience of countries under Turkish rule, just at the beginning of Mahmoud’s reign, when lawlessness was at its height, scarcely kept down by his bloody justice, or awed by the suspicions of the coming revolution. It is not uninteresting to gather from the journals the impressions made upon the travellers even then by the Turkish and the Greek characters.

The Turks seemed essentially barbarians, not without some excellences (which probably have been deteriorated in late years), such as simplicity and sincerity of religious devotion, dignity, truthfulness, and even generosity of character. They appeared to occupy rather than inhabit the country, allowing its richest regions to fall into desolation, and its commerce (except where the Greeks or English[10] sustained it) to languish and decay. The relics of its former grandeur were transformed for their own purposes, or watched over as antiquities with a jealous and ignorant churlishness;[11] their general insolence and violence were unbridled. At Constantinople Mr. Barry, by attempting a panorama of the city from the Galata tower, grievously offended the Turkish women, who, after abusing him with all their powers of vituperative eloquence, called up the guard to dismiss him summarily, and incited a mob of boys to pursue him with stones, and cries of “Giaour” through the city. Such insults were common then, and had to be borne patiently even by those under ambassadorial protection.

The Greeks, on the other hand, wherever, as at Iverli, Scio, and Patmos, they managed to secure self-government by payment of tribute, appear to have shown that activity and intellectual capacity which the modern kingdom of Greece, with all its defects, has since exemplified. They had schools and universities, in spite of the jealousy and ill-will of the Turks, libraries ancient and modern, and even scientific instruments from Paris. It was a matter of regret, but, after ages of slavery, hardly a matter of surprise, that their honesty and truthfulness did not keep pace with their intellectual progress. But there seemed then grounds for hope of improvement in them, and none for their Turkish masters.

Constantinople itself surpassed even his high-wrought expectations, as seen, first from the Asiatic heights, and afterwards on approaching it from the water. His journals are full of enthusiastic description; and in after life he often spoke of it as “the most glorious view in the world.” In spite of all difficulty he managed to see it thoroughly, both as to its architecture, and as to its Turkish life: but again his pencil was too busy to give much time for the use of his pen. Except to testify his impression of the magnificence of St. Sophia, there is little record or criticism of individual buildings. He spent a month of never-forgotten interest and enjoyment in the city, and then prepared to turn homewards, in August, 1818.

Once more an opportunity presented itself which could not be passed by. Mr. David Baillie, whom he had met at Athens, was preparing for a journey to the East; and, struck by the beauty of Mr. Barry’s sketches, he offered to take him, at a salary of 200l. a year, and to pay all his expenses, in consideration of retaining all the original sketches he might make. The artist was to be allowed to make copies for himself. The offer was too tempting to be refused,[12]

for it gave him his only opportunity of visiting Egypt and Syria, and of doing so with a man of high cultivation and refinement, who treated him at all times with great kindness and liberality. He hesitated but little; and set out on September 12th, full of delight and expectation.

The third period of his travels was more important to him than all which had gone before. “Egypt,” he remarked, “is a country which, so far as I know, has never yet been explored by an English architect.” Besides the members of the French Institute, only Captains Irby and Mangles, and Belzoni, had gone before him. He felt keenly the novelty and magnificence of the scene thus opened to him. The remains of Egyptian architecture made a far deeper impression upon him than all Italy and Greece combined; and from this time architectural study seems to have assumed in his mind that predominant and almost exclusive influence which it never lost. His journals are kept with far greater accuracy and copiousness. Every great temple is described in outline and in detail, with notes of its present condition, and of the traces of its former greatness. His observation seemed to be stimulated, without being overwhelmed, by the inexhaustible profusion and magnificence of the Egyptian remains. He must certainly have thought of publishing to the world the information he had so carefully collected on a field hitherto little known, and engrafting on it the criticism and evolution of principles, which in the whirl of ceaseless change and activity he had no time to record in his journals. That intention bore no immediate fruit; but the effects of the study sank deep in his own mind. It is hardly too much to say that he entered Egypt merely under the influence of vague artistic interest, and left it with the leading principles of his architectural system fixed for ever.

They passed first through the Troad, and thence by Assos and Pergamus to Smyrna, a brief journey, but one which was remarkable for the varied associations of legendary, classical, Byzantine, and modern times, such as perhaps no other part of the world can offer. Thence they sailed (with Messrs. Godfrey and Wyse) to Alexandria.

The impression then made by Mehemet Ali’s government of Egypt was very much the same which after experience has confirmed. It was a wonderful contrast with Turkish lawlessness; the country was well ordered, and perfectly open to Europeans; public works of all kinds were progressing; commerce and agriculture were pushed on under the guidance of European science, and with all the power of a despotic government. But there was another side to the picture: the pasha urged on his work in utter disregard of the rights, happiness, or lives of his subjects; “in fact,” he was “the chief merchant in Egypt, and did not mind sacrificing all other interests to his own.” The natural results among the people were infinite distress, and a deep though impotent hatred of the Government, solaced only by the common belief that the English (whose glory in Egypt was still fresh) would soon seize and emancipate the country.

Cairo itself was a remarkable evidence of the state of Egypt. The busy crowds of all nations which streamed through its streets, “from the stately Turk to the half-naked and miserable Arab,” gave proof of a vigour and activity very different from the listless and apathetic aspect of most Turkish cities. In the city itself, though it seemed peculiarly Oriental in its general sombreness of aspect, relieved by “bursts of Saracenic magnificence,” yet buildings in European style, and silk and cotton manufactures under European guidance, indicated the quarter whence this vivifying influence came. There was no danger of molestation in sketching here, for, though the city was full of rejoicing and illuminations for Ibrahim Pasha’s victory over the Wahabbees, the strong hand of the Government, which left its bloody traces here and there visible in the streets, effectually checked the spirit of turbulence. The whole country was full of life and energy and progress, but its progress was maintained by force and purchased by misery.

From this point the journals contained a careful and elaborate description of the journey up the Nile. The first place noticed especially is Siout (Lycopolis?), where they landed to obtain permission from Ibrahim Pasha to visit Upper Egypt, and to examine the great catacombs; of these Mr. Barry made a careful ground-plan, as well as a sketch of the frontispiece. To the S.E. of the catacombs they saw “a kind of amphitheatre formed by the mountains, the whole of which was perforated for tombs, one range rising above another.” There was a beautiful contrast between the “gloom of this city of the dead” and the view from the height overlooking it, over the “rich plain of the Nile, level as water, and in the highest cultivation, mostly covered with the rising crops, now of a beautiful green, and laid out” (as of old) “with geometrical exactness.”

From this point the ruins of temples began to show themselves, and on November 29th they came in sight of the great temple of Dendera, lying “on a low ridge of land all in shadow, with a pretty foreground of palm-trees, and the Libyan mountains in the distance.” Full of excitement they hurried on shore to see this first specimen of Egyptian grandeur. “It astonished us,” he says, “by its unexpected magnitude, and gave me a high idea of the skill and knowledge of the principles of architecture displayed by the Egyptians. There is something so unique and striking in its grand features, and such endless labour and ingenuity in its ornaments and hieroglyphics, that it opens to me an entirely new field. No object I have yet seen, not even the Parthenon itself (the truest model of beauty and symmetry existing), has made so forcible an impression upon me. The most striking feature of the building is its vast portico, six columns in front and four in depth, giving a depth of shadow and an air of majestic gravity such as I have never before seen.”

As soon as the first impressions of the grandeur of the great temple had passed away there followed, as usual, a most accurate examination of the whole. The three temples are described with the greatest exactness, every dimension, even of the details, being carefully recorded. All stood before them in complete preservation, in spite of the 4000 years which had passed over the scene. “Even the hieroglyphics and the most delicate parts of the ornamentation were as sharp and vigorous as when they were first executed.” All was studied con amore. He seems to have been especially struck with the variety and beauty of the Egyptian capitals, all of which he sketched and criticised, evidently seeking to emancipate himself from the limits of the five orders, and longing for greater variety and scope for imagination.

The impression made on him by the mixture of general grandeur of outline and dimension with profuse richness of detail was never effaced. It seems at this time to have kindled in his mind an intensity of devotion to his art hitherto unknown, and to have stirred him up to extraordinary labour and study. Temple after temple opened upon him till the view of Philæ crowned the magnificence of the whole. Sketching for Mr. Baillie, copying sketches, where possible, for himself, elaborately describing in his journal what was then an almost unknown treasure-house of ruins, “in comparison with which even those of Greece and Rome sink into insignificance, although the Parthenon and the Pantheon still keep their places as models of architectural excellence"—he drank in deeply the influence of the scene, and seemed in three months to have lived through whole years of study.

Esneh, their next halting-place, appeared then less striking than Dendera; but his second visit corrected the impression, and led him to think the great portico “the finest of all he had seen in Egypt,” half concealed though it was by rubbish and by modern excrescences. Both at Esneh and at Dendera he gives an elaborate description of the remarkable zodiacs, which appeared to show a knowledge of the precession of the equinoxes, and which were then little known except from the Memoirs of the French Institute, a work of which he remarks elsewhere that he found it “full of glaring and unpardonable errors.”

Edfou was then being excavated by M. Drouetti, sufficiently for examination; the sculpture appeared to be of a high order, but the general effect of the temple with the grand peristyle of columns (enclosing an area of 146 ft. by 108 in front) unsatisfactory in spite of its size, for want of due proportion and symmetry in its parts. On the other side of the river they visited the ruins of the temples at Eleithias, some half-excavated in the rock, and the famous tombs, which had then recently been opened, and had given by their hieroglyphics and painting a new glimpse of the life of the ancient Egyptians.

A few days now brought them to Assouan, whence they visited the islands of Elephantina and Philæ. At the former the ancient Nilometer attracted their attention, and was accurately measured and described. The latter island, now, and at his return in January, was felt by him to be the centre of attraction. He felt “it impossible to conceive anything more magnificent than Philæ in the zenith of its prosperity; when all, Egyptians and Ethiopians alike, venerated it as the burial-place of Osiris, and lavished on it the treasures of ages.” He speaks of the long ranges of columns as the characteristic features of the ruins, and as producing even now an “enchanting effect,” and notices the traces of painting in the great portico, as showing great taste in the harmonizing of colours, and giving some idea of the brilliant effect which must have been produced in the days of its splendour. Even then, when the island was a mass of ruins, they lingered over it, carefully examining it at every step; and when at last they left it, it was with deep regret, and a feeling that only in leaving it could they fully appreciate its grandeur. The natural beauty of the view of the first cataracts, far superior in his opinion to that of the second cataracts, or to any point of the Nile, claimed its due share in their delight, and it was evidently the one spot in Egypt to which he most delighted to recur.

At Philæ they left their large vessel and proceeded in four small boats up the river. The whole scenery was now changed: mountains bounded the narrow strips of cultivated land on the banks of the river, and occasionally approached close to the water’s edge; villages numerous, but miserable enough, fringed the banks; and the finer barbarian race of Nubia contrasted favourably with the abject and miserable Egyptians. The ruins still showed themselves in almost uninterrupted series on either side, interesting in themselves, but still more interesting as memorials of the various civilisations which had passed over the country. Most belonged to the earlier Egyptian days: but, combined with these, or superimposed upon them, were the signs of the Greek and Roman dominion; and these in their turn were remodelled or defaced by Christian hands. Greek, Latin, and Coptic inscriptions were mingled with the hieroglyphics; ancient deities were transformed into saints; and a rough daub of the Madonna was often seen on the very plaster which covered the symbols of old Egyptian idolatry.

They proceeded slowly, both in their ascent and return, and found abundant occupation by the way. Above all others, the ruins of Abousimbel claimed careful examination and accurate description. The temples, as being entirely excavated from the rock, and having the greater portion of their fronts occupied by colossal figures, were entirely new to them, and produced as great an effect on their minds as those of Dendera or Philæ. The entrance to the great temple, opened the year before by Mr. Salt, was now again closed by sand and rubbish, and had to be re-opened with much labour. The sculpture of the interior struck them greatly as spirited, and free from the conventionality of most of those which they had seen. The painting was in most places fresh and bright, but the intense heat (98°) and moisture of the interior had made the surface soft, and threatened rapid decay. He was even obliged to sketch on a board, because the paper was so soft that the pencil could not be used upon it, and to work with light almost insufficient for accurate examination. He carried away a drawing of the exterior, seen by a bright moonlight, and partly lit up by the fire of their Arab crew, as a memorial of a place which made a permanent impression on his mind.

A few days brought them to the second cataracts, where they stayed only long enough to admire the picturesque aspect of the scenery, wilder, though less beautiful, than that near Philæ; and then they returned leisurely down the stream, stopping generally rather longer than on the ascent.

At Koum Ombos they now stayed to visit the great temple, with its many traces of crocodile worship, and to examine some of the mummies there found in abundance.

Thebes, which they had passed before, now detained them several days. The ruins of Luxor and Karnac, by their overwhelming magnitude and variety, seemed to throw all others into the shade; and at Medinet Habou, the temples and the recently discovered Tombs of the Kings possessed hardly inferior interest. Even Dendera, which had seemed so marvellous at first, now held only a secondary place. In fact, the rich abundance of architectural treasures presented to their eyes seems almost to have outstripped all attempt at description, and to have left neither time nor room for criticism.

Finally they arrived at Cairo on March 1st; thence duly ascended the great pyramids of Ghizeh, and penetrated into their interior; and on March 12th, 1819, Mr. Barry left Egypt. Little more than four months had elapsed since he first entered Cairo; but the fruits of that short time had been valuable beyond all description.

Their journey across the desert to Gaza, and thence to Jaffa and Jerusalem, with excursions to Bethlehem, the Dead Sea, and the convent of St. Saba, lay over a more beaten track, and produced far less effect upon his mind. It could not fail to be full of interest, and gave opportunity for numberless sketches;[13] they carried on their examination with their usual vigour, visiting all the “Holy Places,”[14] and, as they arrived at Easter, had abundant evidence of the feuds of the Greeks and Latins, and witnessed the notorious miracle of the “Holy Fire.” They carried away from the Latin Patriarch certificates of their presence at the Easter ceremonies (which gave them a certain sacred character as pilgrims), and rosaries, blessed at the Holy Sepulchre, which were highly prized in Italy and France; but the journal adds, “I wish I could say that my faith had been strengthened by a pilgrimage in the Holy Land,” and goes on to express the predominant feeling of disgust at the superstitions and impostures, which swarm on that sacred ground, and mar its holy associations.

A visit to Jerash, in Arab costume and under Arab guidance, had in it more of novelty. They found its remains situated in a well-wooded valley, and embosomed in trees. The ruins were then carefully examined, and some sketches made, but disputes between their Arab guards, and strong symptoms of violence, hastened their departure. “The remains (all of Roman origin) much resemble those of Antinoöpolis, and are probably of the same age; there is too great a profusion of ornament and feebleness of general design; but the effect of the great street, 740 yards in length, flanked by long colonnades of Roman, Ionic, and Corinthian, crossed by triumphal arches, and terminating in a circus surrounded by a peristyle of Ionic columns, must have been magnificent, in spite of many faults of detail.”

Their journey northward, through the Lebanon country, to Beyrout, was highly interesting, not only for the grandeur and beauty of the scenery, but because it brought them in contact with the Maronites and Druses. Among the Maronites they always found industry, especially silk-weaving and the raising of silkworms, and considerable prosperity, wherever they enjoyed a quasi-independence of Turkish rule. At Deh-el-Kams the Emir (who was secretly a Christian) was full of interest in the West, a man of taste[15] and energy, who, like other Orientals, worshipped the memory of Sir S. Smith. The great Maronite convent of St. Anthony had a printing-press at work, and was a centre of cultivation and industry. They heard much of the Druses, and the jealous care with which they guarded the secret of their religion, the Acchals, or stricter Druses, living a recluse and ascetic life, the Jechaird Druses mingling with all, and professing themselves indifferently Christian or Mohammedan. Their relations were then peaceful; but the peace was jealous and precarious, and the Turkish authority (as usual) seemed weak to protect, and powerful only to oppress.

Baalbec, Damascus, and Palmyra, were their chief objects of attraction. The situation of Baalbec, in the midst of its forest of walnut-trees, delighted the eye of the artist, but accurate plans and descriptions of the magnificent ruins (then but little known, and even now described with much discrepancy of authorities), gave evidence of more elaborate architectural study. The great encircling wall of the citadel, within which the ruins stand, formed of huge blocks of stone, some as much as 30 feet long, 13 feet high, and 10 feet thick, the fragments of the Greater Temple (of the Sun?), 270 feet by 165 feet, the extensive remains of the Smaller Temple (of Jupiter?), and a third circular Corinthian temple, with their decorations and masterly bas-reliefs, in which the Roman eagle was conspicuous, gave them the idea of that union of power with richness, which well deserves the title of “magnificence.”[16]

It was a curious transition from the silent grandeur of Baalbec to the bustle and life of Damascus. The first view of the city struck them, as it strikes all travellers, as one perfectly unique in its beauty,—“a boundless plain, with surface and horizon level as the sea,” but covered with masses of dark verdure, out of which the city of Damascus rises, “bright as the whitest marble.” The city itself hardly corresponded with this glorious appearance. The travellers were probably taken for Turks, and so were able to see, without molestation, all the parts of this city,—the very home of Turkish fanaticism; but with the exception of a few of the larger buildings, which were full of Oriental magnificence, there was little to justify the glowing descriptions of former travellers. They quitted it without regret; for Palmyra lay before them.

In this expedition they encountered their only noteworthy adventure. The country was beset with the Bedouin Arabs, half obedient, half hostile to the Turkish Government. Every city and village was in a “state of siege;” and when the travellers arrived at the village of Kâl, they were taken for Arabs, and received with a dropping fire of musketry, till the presence of the Aga of Baalbec put an end to the mistake. However, they arrived safely at Homs; and there their dangers began. By the help of the Governor, who treated them most kindly and honourably, a negotiation was made with two Bedouin Arabs, professing to be envoys from the chief of the neighbouring tribe, for their safe conveyance to and from Palmyra.

They set out accordingly, eight in number, with an escort of twelve Arabs, who soon began to play them false, and led them out of the way to a large encampment of their tribe, where they were kept prisoners, and assailed with all kinds of lies and threats to extort money. The Arabs, of course, could not conceive the true object of their visit to Palmyra; but settled at once that they must be seekers of hidden treasures, and that Mr. Baillie’s eye-glass, which excited their greatest astonishment, was the talisman, by which the treasures were to be revealed. The whole party had, for some extraordinary reason not mentioned, come out unarmed; there was not even a pistol among them; and they were therefore wholly in the power of the Arabs. However, they stood firm with true English coolness, till, after long negociation, they found proceeding hopeless, and resolved to return with their escort to Homs.

This they did at full speed, starting about 4 p.m., and galloping over the desert all night by starlight, the Arabs hurrying on in order to leave them under the walls of Homs before daybreak, and so to escape the vengeance of the Governor. About two hours before sunrise, they arrived at Dehr Balbah, near Homs. Here the Arabs by their signal made the dromedaries kneel down, and then tried, first to induce, and then to force, the travellers to dismount. This they refused to do, and, unarmed as they were, resisted for some minutes, wresting the spears and matchlocks from the hands of the Arabs. One or two of the party were slightly wounded, and the thrust of an Arab spear from behind at Mr. Barry would have been serious, and perhaps fatal, had it not been turned aside by the loose burnoose which he wore; as it was, it passed under his arm, and merely grazed his hand. A short struggle proved that the odds were too great, and so the Arabs gained their point, and galloped off to the desert.

Next morning the travellers went on to Homs, having previously sent a despatch to the Governor. On their way they met droves of camels and Bedouin drivers, hastening with all speed to the desert, and cavalry of the Turkish Governor in pursuit. Several Arabs were killed, and three heads brought into Homs in triumph. The Governor behaved most honourably; he felt the danger of provoking the Arabs (for, in fact, out of this incident arose a petty war), but felt also that his own faith had been pledged to the Englishmen, and that it must not be violated with impunity. Some of the money still in his hands he insisted on returning, and, though full of anxiety as to the consequences of the affair, he dismissed them with all honour and courtesy. So ended the only failure, and almost the only serious danger, of their journey.

At Tripoli (June 18th, 1819) Mr. Barry’s engagement with Mr. Baillie terminated; and they parted with mutual regret. Nothing could have exceeded the kindness and liberality of Mr. Baillie’s conduct. About 500 drawings, by far the best which have been preserved of Mr. Barry’s sketches, remained with him, as evidence of the zeal and ability with which the other part of the contract had been performed.

Mr. Barry returned alone, touching at Cyprus, and thence coasting along Asia Minor. Rhodes naturally attracted his notice by the curious contrast of its former and present aspects. The old church of St. John (then a mosque), the Grand Master’s house still bearing traces of its original character, the old escutcheons embedded in the walls, spoke of the days of Christianity and Western civilization. The docks and trade of the place, engrossed by Greeks and Europeans, and the insolence and ignorance of the Turkish soldiery, gave a melancholy picture of the present. At Boudroon (Halicarnassus) he managed, not without difficulty, to see the famous marbles embedded in the walls. Yerunda brought back a reminiscence of Egypt by a temple with an avenue of seated figures, 600 yards in length, “clearly Egyptian in origin, but only a feebly executed copy of the original.” Patmos, at which they next touched, was entirely Greek. The great convent near the “Cave of the Apocalypse” was the first object of interest. A good library neglected, with curious MSS. very carelessly kept, was its reproach; a flourishing Greek school its best evidence of activity. Thence he made his way to Smyrna, passing the ruins of Ephesus; and at last (August 16th, 1819) he bade farewell to the East, and sailed (with Messrs. Godfrey and Wyse) to Malta and Sicily.

A quarantine of twenty days at Malta left him only time for a hasty examination of Valetta and its buildings, before passing on to Syracuse. In Sicily he spent two months of great activity and enjoyment, studying the superimposed strata of Greek, Roman, Saracenic, and Gothic architecture, which give a visible epitome of the history of the island.

Syracuse attracted notice for the sake of the past rather than the present. The very cathedral was formed out of the old temple of Athene; the fountain of Arethusa, shorn of its glories, appeared only as “a great pool, full of washerwomen;” the town itself, shrunk to the little island of Ortygia, was but a symbol of the wretched and degraded state in which the island then was.[17] The two harbours (“the smaller paved with marble, with rings for the fastening of galleys”) and the distinct traces of the other quarters of the old city were the only objects of much interest.

Taormina (Tauromenium) struck them more forcibly by its magnificent position, and its strange juxta-position of the great Greek theatre, Roman baths, Saracenic tombs, and Franciscan convent.

Messina, putting aside its beauty of situation, showed them little except the great hospitals (grand in conception, scale, and revenue, but miserable in arrangement, and restricted in usefulness), and the great prison, with its horrible dungeons and torture chambers, full of memories of recent cruelty, and even then unworthy of a civilized Government.

At Girgenti (Agrigentum) the profusion of remains, and the magnificent scale of the temples, especially the great temple of the Olympian Zeus, invited very careful study and criticism, in which are clearly seen the effects of his Egyptian travels.

But of all places in Sicily, Palermo was clearly far the richest in interest, and not unworthy “of one of the finest situations in the world.”[18] The cathedral at Palermo, and the palace and chapel at Monreale, gave him his first introduction to that peculiar architecture, full of Saracenic and Byzantine influence, which is so interesting to all students of the early Gothic styles. He was much struck with its picturesque character, and especially with the richness of the mosaic decorations, and the use of external colours. It hardly approved itself to his taste; for it was too irregular, and too merely picturesque. Still it was examined with a care and respect, which showed the growing importance of Gothic in his mind, and the recollection probably bore fruit in after-times. But the choicest records of his Sicilian expedition were unhappily lost. A large portfolio of sketches (probably some of the best he ever made) was stolen from the vessel in which he was to return home; and, in spite of all inquiry and search, no trace of it was ever recovered.

He crossed over to Italy, passed through Naples, again visiting Pompeii, and arrived at Rome at the end of January, 1820, under very different auspices from those under which he left it. In fact, he was one of the lions of the day, especially in the English society of Rome; and his letters show that he heartily enjoyed his condition, and entered with great zest into the occupations and amusements which it afforded. It was not his nature to do things by halves; his spirits were naturally high and sanguine; and he could not but feel proud in the thought, that his position had been fairly won by his own talent and exertion. But, as usual, he did not allow all this to interfere for a moment with his main object. All dissipation was kept for the evening: the day was sacred to work, and that work was now entered into with matured taste and new powers, both of origination and criticism. In this work he found an unexpected coadjutor. In a letter (dated Feb. 24th, 1820) he says,—“A Mr. Wolfe, an architect and pupil of Mr. Gwilt, has just arrived, and I have made his acquaintance with great pleasure. He is an enthusiastic admirer of art.” The acquaintance went on apace. At Easter, 1820, he continues—“In my first interview with him, I saw immediately that he was a man with whom I could coalesce and become intimate; and the result is that I now reckon him among the few sincere friends that one can hope to obtain in the world.” Never were anticipations more fully realized. The friendship, there begun, continued till the day of his death, with a rare warmth and perfectness of sympathy. The very dissimilarities of the two friends (as is usually the case when there is identity of principle and feeling) only strengthened their union, by giving each power to help the other. Art was the one thought of both; but it was pursued in very different ways. Mr. Wolfe’s mind was more educated, was naturally more scientific and philosophical, and pre-eminently distinguished by cool and well-balanced judgment. It was exactly the mind to influence Mr. Barry’s at this stage of his professional career, and to induce him to study, systematically and with a view to first principles, the treasures of Italian architecture which were before his eyes, find the rich variety of ideas and objects, with which his travels and his sketches had stored his mind.

He was often oppressed by the idea (apparently a very groundless one) that he had wasted much of his time by the discursiveness of his occupations, and especially by his preference of the artistic to the scientific element of study. The truth probably was, that the materials were gathered, and that the task of arrangement and organization now alone remained. In that task the two friends resolved to work in common; and each altered his arrangements that they might be together in their study of Rome, Florence, Vicenza, Venice, and Verona.[19]

The devotion to Greek architecture with which he left England had been somewhat shaken by his intense admiration of the Egyptian. Although he looked upon the latter as a thing essentially of the past, yet recollections of it would haunt his imagination and influence his principles of design.

“I know not[20] (says his friend) whether the taste for ornament, for which he subsequently became remarkable, was natural or acquired. But he was full of admiration for the Egyptians’ practice of completely covering their buildings with sculptured hieroglyphics or painting; and he exulted in the (then recent) discovery, that the Parthenon, the model of Greek purity, was itself overlaid with ornament. His opinion was that ornament should be so limited in size as to increase the apparent scale of the building, and that it should be so kept down by lowness of relief, or by marginal framing, as not to interfere with the main outlines. These rules observed, he seemed to think that enrichment could never be overdone—an opinion which he continued to hold to the end of his career.

“This principle of subordination of ornament was paramount with him. Perfection of design and workmanship were lost upon him, where ornament destroyed the essential outlines. To the Corinthian capital he had a positive dislike: even its finest specimens failed to satisfy him. For his idea was that in large capitals, however enriched by foliage, the apparent capability of supporting the entablature should still be preserved. The germ of this idea was probably found in the Egyptian capitals, many of which he very carefully studied and sketched. For years a new Corinthian-like order floated before his mind; but, as he had no opportunity of attempting it on a grand scale, his ideas were never carried out; for it was the rule with him, that without the spur of reality his genius slept.”

Italian architecture had hitherto attracted him but little in comparison with Greek; but he began to perceive how much more capable it was of adaptation to modern requirements, and to study it in that view. “By degrees its beauties grew upon him, although he long retained the opinion that it should be purified and refined, in fact treated à la Grecque. He delighted in every example of what he considered Greek feeling, and, as a notable one, in the grand fragment of entablature in the Colonna garden, the so-called ‘frontispiece of Nero.’ It was some years before the traces of this Greek influence disappeared from his designs.”

The building, which first inspired him with admiration for the Italian style, was the Farnese Palace. The principal front he greatly admired; he considered that the “imposing effect of its vast mass was greatly enhanced by the unbroken lines of the entablature and string-courses, the number and relative smallness of the windows, the complete subordination of all horizontal divisions to the crowning cornice, and the consequent full effect of the entire height.” The rear front seemed to him to be spoilt by the centre, which did not harmonize with the rest, and (by “a most unwarrantable wickedness”) broke the general entablature, and moreover outraged his feelings by the superposition of three orders (Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian). The interior courtyard he liked less still; and, among other criticisms, he noticed here what seemed to him at all times offensive, the solidity of the upper story, resting on two arcaded courses below.

The Florentine palaces, especially the Strozzi, confirmed the general impression made by the Farnese, “and from this time a grand cornice, without an order, became his beau-ideal of a street front;” but he noticed that few façades had the feature, which he thought all but necessary, an important basement, to serve as a kind of pedestal and “balance” the great cornice. The Strozzi Palace, “vast and imposing” as it was, was, however, rather a study than an example; its enormous height and masses of solid wall between the tiers of windows were unfit for use in England; and the characteristic windows, with their central mullions, he thought inconvenient for use, and perhaps inadmissible in pure Italian architecture.

Two of Bramante’s palaces at Rome, the Cancelleria and the Palazzo dei Rei d’Inghilterra, at first pleased him much by their general character of solidity and breadth, and in the former case he noticed with delight the delicacy both of design and execution in the ornaments, and the perfect finish of every detail. There appeared, however, a want of boldness in the low relief of the great fronts, which seemed tame after the Farnese. “But his great objection was to the use of two orders, even when they were in low relief, and when the unity of the height was preserved by the importance of the upper cornice. The best examples of North Italy could not reconcile him to this ‘piling of house upon house.’ In later days the beauties of the Banqueting-house at Whitehall so prevailed with him, that he frequently used order upon order in his own designs: but hardly ever without breaking the entablatures. By the continuous vertical lines so produced the two stories were united, and his love of unity satisfied. But at Rome this expedient would have shocked him as barbarous.”

Before he left Italy he acquired a taste for greater luxuriance of ornament and greater boldness of outline, and looked on the style of Bramante as fit only for small works and for interiors. “The Villa Pandolfini at Florence proved to him how much could be done, even in a front of small extent, by means of a good frieze and cornice. He noticed as defects the stunted proportions of the windows and the continuation of the entablatures across the piers between them; but above all he disliked the great projection of the lower story. For this so distinctly broke up the elevation into two stories that the cornice and frieze, well-proportioned to the entire height, appeared overpowering. But notwithstanding these defects, when he was at work on the street-front of the Travellers’ Club, no building had so much influence in determining its general style as the Villa Pandolfini.”

The palatial fronts at Vicenza and Venice did not take the same hold upon him as those at Rome and Florence. “The Library of St. Mark at Venice, the greater Porto Palace by Palladio at Vicenza, and others of the same kind, had not only the cardinal vice of superimposed orders, but were offensive by the multiplicity and prominence of their details.... To engaged columns—’colonnades walled up’—he had a great dislike; and when, as at the Board of Trade, he had to employ them, he always relieved them from the wall by grounds or margins. Even then they never thoroughly satisfied him. The disposition of the windows (grouped in the centre) in some of the smaller Gothic and other palaces at Venice was noted by him with approval, and was not forgotten when he was designing the garden-front of the Travellers’ Club. Of palace fronts, in which an order was employed, he was most struck with those of the public prisons at Venice and Palladio’s Thiene Palace at Vicenza.”

The Ducal Palace, magnificent as he felt it to be, did not satisfy him. Of the beauty of the arcaded stories he was fully sensible, nor did he object to arcaded exteriors in general. “But no consideration could reconcile him to arcades or colonnades supporting, as here, a heavy mass of building. Whatever might be the character of the superstructure, he required that the lower part of the building should be comparatively solid and plain; the reverse appeared unnatural. In the finest portico he was not satisfied unless the basement (or the steps) was equal in mass to the pediment above. Even in the river-front of his new Palace at Westminster he rejected the idea (once entertained) of introducing a cloister; and was so jealous of the solidity and plainness of his basement, that he grudged every window and would hardly enrich a gateway.”

In the study of details of arrangement he was somewhat discouraged by considerations of the great differences between Italy and England as to climate and life. “The open cortile, surrounded with arches or colonnades, was a feature which delighted him, and which he often longed to introduce. There was one in his first design for the Reform Club. But in England he felt that a central hall had the advantage both in convenience and in effect. He suggested in after years the covering in of the area of the Royal Exchange and of the still more spacious area of the British Museum. His delight in a great central hall became a passion.”

The great staircases might have served more immediately as models; but he had peculiar ideas on this subject, which interfered with his admiration of those usually deemed most excellent. “Where scenic effect was given by various flights of steps, arcades, and columns, he seemed to think that space was sacrificed and a grand hall spoilt. He did not like to see ‘steps hanging in the air’ or supported by cumbrous walls; and sudden changes in the direction of the flights annoyed him. His ideal staircase was a grand straight flight, the whole space, however great, being occupied by the steps; but if this were impossible, he required that all that could be seen at one view should be straight, and preferred the staircase, so common in Italy, where each separate flight is enclosed in solid walls.”

In Italy he first acquired that liking for visible roofs, which he afterwards showed, both in his Italian and Gothic works. He approved of them, because, being essential features, they ought not to be concealed; because, in fact, their visible appearance was the proof that the building was covered and was not a mere shell.

“To rustic work he had at first a great aversion. In substruction it might be tolerated, but elsewhere its employment seemed to him indefensible, and a rusticated column monstrous.” His admiration for Sanmicheli’s works, especially that at Lido, first shook his determination; at home his delight in the work of Inigo Jones carried on the process of conversion; and he himself afterwards used what at this time he would have proscribed.

His study of the Italian palaces was minute and elaborate, and produced the greatest effect upon his own future works. The great churches, though not less carefully studied, had less direct influence. The Gothic revival in England had begun to make itself felt, and his thoughts were already turned in that direction, although he had probably at this time less knowledge of Gothic than of any other style. He was not then, nor did he ever become, an admirer of Italian Gothic. None of its forms appeared to him to be free from the characteristics of other recognised styles; some appeared corrupt Roman, others impure Gothic; and not even the eloquence and ability of their modern advocates could make him approve their revival.

But the great churches, though they could hardly be models for imitation, yet demanded admiration and criticism.

St. Peter’s disappointed him greatly in its elevation. He thought it had “a confused appearance and want of simple grandeur;” that “the openings in the centre were too crowded,” and that “the three-quarter columns, always objectionable, did not afford sufficient relief.” The details he greatly disliked. He noticed especially the want of apparent size in a building, one of the largest in the world, and accounted for it by the presence of colossal figures on the top of the façade, without anything to give the true scale,[21] by the want of sufficient projection in the front, and the enormous size of the windows, and by the impossibility of seeing any great part of the dome from the piazza, whence alone the whole substructure was visible. On the whole he much preferred the exterior of St. Paul’s, in spite of the “piling of order upon order,” which was a departure from Wren’s original design; he preferred its regularity of design to “the complicated front and lofty attic of St. Peter’s;” he thought the circular peristyle of columns under the dome far finer than the corresponding substructure in the other case; and, if only the churchyard could be enlarged, he thought that its complete insulation, and the fine perspective views which it offers, gave it a decided advantage in position and apparent grandeur.

It was far otherwise with the general effect of the interior of St. Peter’s. Its magnificent size, satisfying his love of spaciousness, its beautiful proportions and simplicity of design, its richness and completeness of decoration, producing a sense of harmony and perfection, seized his imagination at once, and seemed to “leave nothing to be desired.” Its details he thought unworthy of special notice; but not so its decoration. The decoration of the dome delighted him; but the gem in his eyes was the baptistery. There the arrangement of marbles and mosaics seemed perfect, both in colour and form; it constantly recurred to him in designing, and had much to do with fixing his taste for that gorgeous kind of decoration. He delighted also in the gilding of the vault. Being wholly gilt (either dead or burnished gold), it seemed not gilt, but golden. This was to him real magnificence; “parcel-gilding” was gaudy, and he held it in contempt. This vault and the ceiling of Sta. Maria Maggiore were models which he would have gladly followed in his designs, and it was with reluctance that he gave up the idea of making the roof of his House of Lords all gold.

The piazza in front of St. Peter’s, with its semicircular colonnades and magnificent fountains, greatly impressed him. The remembrance of it constantly floated before his memory as the ideal of the proper treatment of such a spot; and he long cherished a hope of realizing his ideal in London.[22]

The portico of the Pantheon he thought perfect in plan, and magnificent in effect. He admired its great depth, the increase of this in the centre, and above all the disposition of the inner columns, which gave apparent stability and variety of effect, without confusing the eye or obstructing the approach. He never could endure a portico which was shallow, or which had no inner columns, or which had the wall, the background of the columns, broken up by windows. But the junction to the circular building appeared to him unhappy. In fact he objected in toto to the treatment of a portico as a mere porch, thinking that in all cases the portico should be a continuation of the main building.[23] The interior he used to quote as the finest example in the world of the grandeur of a dome, when sufficiently large, and sufficiently near the eye to be comprehended in one glance. Domes like that of St. Peter’s, which could only be seen by a painful throwing back of the neck, seemed to him wrong in principle. For at all times he held, that interiors should be so contrived that a spectator on entering should see enough of the design to enable him to comprehend the whole, and that, when this was not the case, there was a distraction of thought, fatal to any striking effect.

The exterior of the cathedral at Florence seemed to him grand only in size, “unworthy to be compared with our best Gothic cathedrals;” and the arrangement of black and white marbles such as to destroy both massiveness of general effect and beauty of form in its various parts. The dome, as the largest in the world, and the first constructed after St. Sophia, called for attentive study, especially in construction; but it convinced him that “polygonal domes should be avoided, especially when ribbed and of few sides. If, on looking directly at the dome, you do not see exactly an equal portion of the two remote sides, the perspective gives an untrue figure; and when the ribs are prominent and far removed from each other, this effect is increased.” The general architecture seemed to him a vicious mixture of Roman and Gothic, though details, especially the beautiful external cornice running round the building, were worthy of study and admiration.

On entering he acknowledged that the effect was simple and imposing, in apparent size grander than St. Peter’s, and even approaching the sublime. But the details appeared to him unworthy of special notice.

The Campanile was one of the few specimens of Italian Gothic which commanded his warm admiration. He longed for the spire (which had been rejected as savouring of “la brutta maniera Tedesca”): but the lofty and graceful proportion of the tower charmed him. What he admired above all was the simplicity and distinctness of outline, which, he complained, was wanting in many of the finest Gothic towers. Nothing compensated him for a ragged or uncertain outline. His constant reference to this great work of Giotto showed that the impression was one neither weak, nor unfruitful of results. A liking for towers grew upon him; designs for them became the most cherished creations of his imagination, till he seemed to think that no design could be complete without them.

His notices of Milan cathedral are chiefly interesting as showing the growing importance of Gothic architecture in his mind. At his first visit he was merely struck with the elaborate richness of its material and workmanship, and the solemn magnificence of its interior. At his return in 1820, an accurate plan and section of the church are given; the grandeur of the interior is still more deeply felt; and some points, such as the introduction of the tabernacle-niches and statues over each cluster of shafts, noticed as interfering with it. But, while justice is still done to the richness and elaboration of the exterior, it is severely criticised. The “pinnacles are noted as rising too suddenly out of the solid mass to an enormous height;” the lantern-spire “as far too slender for the substructure;” the general design noted as “unhappy; much of its laboured enrichment is mis-applied; there is a want of harmony and continuity in its parts; and the sensation created is rather that of wonder at the treasures lavished upon it, than of genuine admiration.”

At Florence the Bridge della Trinita was an object of especial interest to him. “As it was still a question what was the exact form of its arches, and particularly whether they were or were not pointed, he determined to measure two of them, and, as time and means were wanting to accomplish this from below, he ingeniously set out level lines on the outside of the parapet, and let fall a series of ordinates to the fillet of the archivolt. After a long and careful investigation, he came to the conclusion that the arches were not designed to be pointed; but the original curve had been so crippled by irregular settlement, that its exact nature could not now be ascertained. He greatly admired the elegance of proportions in the arch and superstructure. To the curve itself, however, he had a decided objection. He had, and always retained, an antipathy to the ellipse and all which he considered irregular curves. Whether in single arches or vaulting, no curves pleased him that were not portions of circles, and whenever in the course of his practice semicircular vaulting would have destroyed proportion, he would adopt a coved ceiling, or any other expedient, rather than resort to the hated ellipse. In his first design for the new Westminster Bridge, the arches were segments of circles, and it was not without difficulty that he could be induced to substitute the ellipse. Even in Gothic work he never willingly employed a Tudor arch; but, where cramped for height, he preferred the arch formed by two flat segments of circles, making an angle with the jambs (as seen in certain windows at Winchester). Irregularity in curves excited in him a feeling that was absolutely painful.”

In this indefatigable study and criticism he passed the last few months of his sojourn abroad. They were months of intense enjoyment: for his spirits were buoyant, his disposition frank and genial. Work he always loved for its own sake, and difficulties he rather enjoyed.[24] But they were also months of serious thought and study. “It was evident” (says his friend) “that the leading principles of composition which influenced him throughout his career were already rooted in his mind.”

First and foremost came a love of truth. “The false in architecture he abhorred; and all external features, which did not at least indicate the internal design, he condemned ruthlessly. Even a blank window offended him. The showy but screen-like façades, so often applied in Italy to comparatively mean buildings, were to him impostures, worthy of contempt.”

Next came a love of unity and regularity. “That he had an artist’s eye for the picturesque was certain from the happy choice he was sure to make of the best points of view for sketching. But actually to plan irregularity, because it was picturesque, he thought unworthy of the dignity of art.” Every feature, especially every ornamental feature, he would rigidly subordinate to the preservation of the main outline and the main principle of the design, sometimes even at the cost of boldness and variety. Unity rather than multiplicity of effect he thought the object of human art—a lower beauty indeed than that which results from the unstudied harmony of Nature, but the only one which seemed to him really attainable. This view he continued to maintain, and, though he saw much beauty in works designed on the opposite principle, yet the observation of their general effect tended to confirm him in his theory.

Connected with this was his great love of the effect of spaciousness. The church “degli Angeli,” in the Baths of Diocletian at Rome, made a lasting impression upon him. “Its noble proportions and simplicity of design satisfied this instinctive desire of space, for the loss of which no variety of plan and no picturesque effect could compensate. No sooner did he enter a building than he measured with a glance its utmost capacity; and all that stood in his way,—piers, columns, and sometimes even the vault itself,—became obstructions which he longed to clear away.” In the grand nave above referred to the same feeling led him to dislike the position of the entrance at the side. In all great oblong halls he would have the door at the end, that the whole might be seen at first entrance. Except by necessity, he never gave up this principle.

Probably the next point most evident in his criticism was the love of perfection and completeness in detail. Nothing disturbed him so much as incongruity or want of keeping in the various parts of a design; the mingling of grandeur with pettiness, and of rich decoration with bare and unadorned features,[25] seemed an offence against harmony; and he held that the hand of a master of his art was almost as much shown in the study and adaptation of every detail, as in the conception of a great general design. With this was connected his keen sense of symmetry and proportion. “The least offence against either—a single feature out of scale, an opening too narrow, or even a moulding too heavy—jarred upon him like a discord.” This sensitiveness was in fact carried to excess; “a single fault in a composition would blind him to its beauties; it needed to be overcome by an effort on his part or even the promptings of others; and it necessarily made him hypercritical, for, no building being perfect, he was rarely heard to praise any.” It is but fair to add that in this same hypercriticism he never spared his own designs, whether past or present, and often incurred by it almost endless labour.

These principles fixed in his mind, he left Italy, well acquainted with Greek, Egyptian, and Italian architecture, and with his interest and attention already attracted to the reviving Gothic. The work of life was now to commence in earnest; he was resolved to enter it fettered by the traditions of no single school, ready to think and work for himself.

It will be easily seen that the hopes with which he had gone abroad had been fully realized. The very fact of his travels gave him a position in the eyes of the world, of which he might easily have made much more, had he carried out his intention of publication. He had gained acquaintances in the artistic world and in ordinary society, and his character and talents excited a general expectation that he would achieve fame and success. But the really important advantage was the kindling in himself of artistic energy and a sense of power, and the extraordinary development of his mind in knowledge, criticism, and ideas. Most men are conscious of some period in their life on which such an awakening influence acts, when the boundaries of thought seem to expand, when new ideas and powers make themselves felt, and the idea of some great object in life is definitely grasped. Such a period is one of intense happiness and of priceless value. It came to him during these three years of travel, and he returned to England a changed man.

CHAPTER III.
EARLY PROFESSIONAL LIFE.
1820-1829.

Early difficulties and failures—Thought of emigration—Non-publication of his sketches—Holland House—Revival of Gothic—His Manchester churches, and their peculiarities—Marriage—Church at Oldham—Alarm at Prestwich Church—Designs for King’s College, Cambridge—Royal Institution at Manchester—Gradual relinquishment of Greek architecture—St. Peter’s Church, Brighton—Sussex County Hospital—Petworth Church—Queen’s Park, Brighton, his first Italian design—Islington churches—His relations to church architecture generally—Removal to Foley Place—Subsidiary work—Travellers’ Club—General character of his life at this period.

In August, 1820, Mr. Barry returned to England to commence his professional life. He took a small house in Ely Place, Holborn, a position of no great pretension, but one recommended by its quietness, centrality, and cheapness. There he began the struggle of life in real earnest, with little external advantages of patronage or connection. It was a great, and not a pleasant, change from the brightness of his foreign life, during the latter part of which at least he had earned a high artistic reputation, and enjoyed the society to which such a reputation is the passport. He had warm friends of his own and his future wife’s family of the middle class, but they had little power, though much will, to help him. He had attracted at Rome the notice of men of high rank and influence; from them he received much courtesy and even kindness, but their patronage brought as yet little substantial fruit.

With regard to the leading members of his own profession, of Mr. Nash, the Wyatts, and Sir R. Smirke, he knew little or nothing; of Sir J. Soane he had some slight knowledge, and from him on one occasion (that of the Islington churches) I believe he received some recommendation; of his own contemporaries he knew best Mr. Cockerell and Mr. Tite, and afterwards (partly through Mr. Wolfe) Messrs. Donaldson, Angell, and Poynter—all beginning life, as he was, and struggling, with more or less of advantage, against the same obstacles.

Perhaps a more serious difficulty still was the great change of architectural style in general, and of his own architectural taste in particular, which seemed likely to render valueless much of his professional study, begun when the ascendancy of the Greek style was still undisputed.

All these obstacles were of course incapable of hindering that ultimate success, which must depend essentially on a man’s own intellect and character. But they delayed its attainment, long enough to cause him disappointment, and the occasional despondency which belongs to the reaction of a sanguine character. He had begun, as almost all young architects must begin, by the harassing and thankless work of public competition; in it he had, as usual, his share of failures, embittered perhaps occasionally by the inevitable suspicions of incompetency or partiality of judgment. At times he even thought of leaving London, and settling in a provincial town; at one time of leaving England, and trying his fortune in the more open field of America. His want of success had also the effect of delaying his marriage, and continuing the difficulties and the discomfort of an already long engagement. For after paying the expenses of his foreign travels, he had little money of his own to fall back upon, while waiting for the first gleam of fortune. All these causes made the first years of his professional career a time of anxiety and struggle, his first real entrance (in fact) on the battle of life. During this critical time he received much encouragement and much substantial help from his old masters, Messrs. Middleton and Baily, who still preserved their kindly feeling towards him, and felt proud of the reputation he had already achieved.

A natural way to public notice would have been opened to him by the publication of his Egyptian sketches. They were unique at the time, and had attracted much notice; his travelling companions, especially Mr. Wyse, urged him to bring them out.[26] His careful notes would have enabled him to give them something more than an æsthetic value. It is clear that he had cherished the idea of bringing them before the public. But it happened that in Egypt he had made the acquaintance of Mr. William Bankes of Kingston Hall; and he appears to have entertained the idea of some publication in conjunction with him. He probably needed a literary coadjutor, and he had been much attracted by Mr. Bankes’s brilliancy and talent. But after much delay and trouble, circumstances prevented the realization of the plan; and by this time, he probably found that the favourable opportunity had been lost. At any rate he gave up all idea of publication, and to a great extent all care for those sketches which remained in his own possession. For his books are full of blank spaces, and many sketches have been altogether lost to his family.[27]

For the sake of the world, as well as for his own sake, it must be a subject of regret that he abandoned his project. The Egyptian field has been occupied by men of high talent and extensive knowledge. But probably there are few who would have brought to bear on the subject so much clearness and accuracy of observation, and so entire a freedom from prejudice. All that he ventured to publish would have been substantial, practical, and trustworthy, and might have been a sure basis for future study and speculation.

At Rome he had made the acquaintance of the Marquis of Lansdowne, who continued to be at all times one of his kindest patrons and friends. Through him he was introduced to Lord and Lady Holland, and became a not unfrequent visitor in the society for which Holland House was then famous. There he first met many noblemen of the Whig party, who showed him great kindness, and many of the distinguished literary men and artists of the day. He appreciated most highly these intellectual and social influences; for his interest was keen and comprehensive, though his study was chiefly confined to his own profession. He enjoyed literary and scientific, at least as much as artistic society, and certainly possessed the faculty, peculiar to men of quick observation and clearness of conception, of understanding rapidly, and of seeing in their most important bearings, subjects on which he had no special experience or knowledge. Holland House therefore gave him great enjoyment and encouragement, and produced occasionally some substantial results of work. From his host and hostess he received such kindness as he could never forget.

Still, however, he was working on without much success. The Gothic style, though as yet little understood in its real principles, was now asserting its claims, especially for ecclesiastical purposes; and some stimulus had been given to ecclesiastical architecture (such as it then was) by the erection of the “Commissioners’ Churches.”[28] To this style he had never paid sufficient attention; he had now to become a student; and he threw himself into the new study with characteristic diligence and perseverance. His first essays were not very successful, though certainly not below the average of the time; he used to think and speak of them afterwards with a humorous kind of indignation; he carefully destroyed every drawing relating to them, and would have still more gladly destroyed the originals. Up to the day of his death he felt that he was continually advancing in knowledge of Gothic, and was unsparing in the criticism of his own earlier work.

The event proved that he had judged rightly. His first works of any consequence were two churches built for the Commissioners, one at Prestwich, and the other at Campfield, Manchester.[29] His letters show the exultation with which he hailed the first success, and the complacency with which he regarded his first church designs, a complacency justified by the high opinion formed of them by others, but destined to undergo a woful change in after years, when these churches served as a continual subject of laughter to his friend Mr. Pugin and to himself.[30]

The first stone of the Prestwich Church was laid by Lord Wilton,[31] on the 3rd of August, 1822, and that of the Manchester Church (Campfield) by the Bishop of Chester, on the 12th of the same month. The designs seem to have been then well received, and to have given him his introduction to Manchester, where he found warm friends (especially the late Sir J. Potter), and afterwards did a good deal of work. They, of course, showed little acquaintance with the spirit of Gothic detail. But they were considered to have elegance of proportion, and some originality of design. The fronts of churches appeared to him deficient in extension, and he attempted to obtain this by means of an arcaded porch at Manchester, as afterwards at Brighton by spreading the lower part of the tower. In this, as in other points, he carried out principles fixed in his own mind, without shrinking from ecclesiological heresies. On the other hand, in spite of his admiration for the horizontal lines and regular forms of Egyptian and Greek architecture, he entered so thoroughly into the vertical principle of Gothic, that he felt unsatisfied in carrying out any Gothic building without a spire. In his first church at Prestwich, as afterwards at Brighton, he did his utmost to secure the erection of one, though in both cases economical considerations prevailed against the architect’s protest. In his last work at the New Palace at Westminster, as soon as he felt himself “master of the situation,” the castellated character of the original design faded away, and a forest of spires sprang up, which he at times longed to complete by some spire-like erection on the Victoria Tower itself.

His success with regard to these churches was the more welcome, inasmuch as it enabled him at last to conclude his marriage, on the 7th of December, 1822, and thus to enter on the domestic life which he so much desired and prized. The small house in Ely Place continued for a time to be his home. Economy was still a necessity, and in that economy he had a prudent and affectionate coadjutrix. But, indeed, except for his art, he was never lavish; and in spite of his enterprising and sanguine temperament, he had a horror of embarrassment and debt.

The work at Manchester seemed to be the first entrance on his long career of professional success. He was appointed, in March, 1823, architect for the erection of another church at Oldham, somewhat on the same scale and style as those already built. A commission was also given him to prepare drawings and plans for some alterations and enlargement of St. Martin’s, Outwich, which were afterwards carried out under his superintendence.

In the midst of it there came an alarm which would have overwhelmed a nervous architect, though it failed to disturb his equanimity to any serious extent. Soon after the opening of his church at Prestwich there came an express from Manchester, stating that one of the galleries had shown signs of falling during service, that the congregation had rushed out in panic, and that many were seriously hurt. By the time the then tedious journey to Manchester was over, the report had grown into “Stand Church fallen, 300 killed and wounded.” It turned out that a small hair crack had appeared in the plaster in consequence of too rapid drying. A man under the gallery perceived it, and fancied that it widened rapidly, whereupon he shouted out, “The church is falling!” The consequence of this sapient proceeding was a sudden rush to the doors, at one of which the steps had not yet been fixed. Down went the temporary steps, and the congregation over them. Happily but few were hurt, and those not seriously; so the architect’s reputation escaped.

Meanwhile he was constantly at work. In the year 1823 he entered into the competition for the new buildings at King’s College, Cambridge, his friend Mr. Wolfe being also a competitor. The building was to be either Grecian or Gothic. In spite of the genius loci, he proposed a Greek building, thinking that a classical style (for which the Fellows’ Building afforded a precedent) would be less likely to invite comparison with the overwhelming grandeur of the chapel. Besides, in Gothic he was still weak, and somewhat inclined, after the fashion of the day, to restrict its employment to ecclesiastical purposes. In this competition he experienced a failure, probably fortunate enough for his reputation; for he never looked back on his design with any satisfaction, and, in fact, his attachment to Greek was gradually giving way. He felt that, for modern purposes, the style was not sufficiently plastic. Except on a grand scale, and in a commanding position, with full command of polychromy and of sculpture, the Greek portico seemed to him to lose its original effect, and become flat and insipid.

He did not indeed suddenly relinquish the style which in his early days he had regarded as the perfection of beauty and truth, nor did he fail to show that he had really grasped the principles on which this truth and beauty depended. In 1824 he built the Royal Institution of Fine Arts at Manchester, an edifice of considerable size and importance. On this building it was remarked, in the ‘Builder’ of May 19th, 1860, shortly after his death,—“The building was of great importance, historically speaking, and in the results which it produced. By contrast with the pseudo-Greek, which was general in public buildings, and which in Manchester had even degenerated from the time of Harrison, it presented what was at once Greek derivatively, or Greco-Roman in details and impress, and yet was work new or original—work of art and mind. The portico, as a feature of architecture, was used and not spoiled; that feature and remainder of the building were grouped together, whereas in Greek of that day a portico was often tacked on to a many-windowed façade; the staircase hall, grand in proportions within, and culminating to a central feature of the exterior, was the forerunner of later efforts of the kind by the same architect and by others.” And even after he had given up the erection of buildings in the Greek style, it was remarked, with great truth, that “his feeling for the subtle beauty of Greek architecture never left him, and probably contributed in no slight degree to give that air of finish and refinement to his works which so greatly distinguished them.”

In 1831 he made a Greek design, of great massiveness and grandeur, for the Birmingham Town Hall—a building which had the needful advantages of scale and position.[32]

But with these exceptions, he did little in the style to which his early studies had been given. Practical experience confirmed the doubts which had already been suggested by theory; and he saw that Gothic and Italian had the mastery of the field.[33]

His most important work of this period in the former style was St. Peter’s Church at Brighton. The opportunity was considerable; the competition exceedingly severe, and his victory was a subject of great delight and encouragement to him. A hurried note to his wife announced, August 4th, 1823, the day when the result was proclaimed, as the “proudest day of his existence,” likely to be the “entrance on a brilliant career.” Nor were these expectations altogether groundless. The church was much admired at the time, not undeservedly, for it was a decided step in advance, though the greater knowledge of Gothic in the present day will hardly altogether endorse contemporary criticisms. He himself in after days naturally felt dissatisfied with the faults of detail and the mixture of styles admitted therein; and his architectural conscience felt a strong and characteristic repugnance to the aisle windows, on the ground that, being in one height, they sinned against “truth” in giving no indication of the galleries within. But his greatest cause of regret always was the absence of the spire, with a view to which the tower was expressly designed. He did his best to fight against the economical veto put on its erection, and always considered that the want of it did much injustice to his first important Gothic design.[34] But he had, on the whole, little reason to be dissatisfied. The design showed a marked advance, as compared with those of the earlier churches, and secured to him a good position in the ranks of church architects.

The erection of this church opened a new field to him at Brighton. Several minor works gave scope to his activity, and supplied welcome aid to his exchequer. He built Brunswick Chapel for Dr. Everard, a gentleman who appreciated his talents, and showed him very great kindness. Some other chapels and dwelling-houses he built or altered; of the Sussex County Hospital he designed the centre, to be at once erected as a portion of a larger design. The first stone was laid by Lord Egremont in March, 1826. Large additions were, however, made by other hands in the shape of wings, which entirely altered the proportions of the whole mass. He became also known to Lord Egremont in August, 1824, and was a not unfrequent partaker of the generous hospitality of Petworth Castle. For him he almost rebuilt Petworth Church in 1827, and added a new spire to the restored building.

At this time he also became acquainted with Mr. Attree, a solicitor of considerable eminence and influence in Brighton, who was, then and afterwards, one of his sincerest friends. For him he undertook the laying out of a considerable tract of land as a park, to be called the Queen’s Park, and to be portioned out in villas—all designed in the Italian style. Of such detached villa residences there was great scarcity, and the scheme had every prospect of success. But the co-operation of the owners of adjacent property could not be gained, and in consequence no good access from the cliff was possible. Hence the Queen’s Park has never been so well known and frequented, as from its beautiful situation might have been expected. Only Mr. Attree’s house was built, on the plan of an Italian villa, excellently adapted to modern English requirements. Near it was a circular tower in the same style, intended to cover a horizontal wind-wheel for raising water. The work deserves notice as his earliest essay in the style in which he first gained his fame, and which to the last (in spite of the Gothicists) he maintained to be in some respects peculiarly fit for mansions of the present day. Small as it was, it was designed with as much care and finish as any of his larger works. In it for the first time he had an opportunity of carrying out his ideas of “architectural gardening,” as the house was set in a terrace-garden, with small fountains and pretty loggie, after the Italian manner. It led indirectly to a larger work of the same kind. The Duke and Duchess of Sutherland (to whom he had been introduced at Holland House) saw it, and were struck with the elegance and refinement of the design. From this impression resulted his subsequent employment to carry out the greater works at Trentham.

Meanwhile the church-building movement continued, and in that movement he found much occupation. In 1826 he was employed by the Rev. Daniel Wilson, Rector of Islington (afterwards Bishop of Calcutta), to erect three churches in Islington—at Holloway, Ball’s Pond, and Cloudesley Square. These were churches of considerable scale, and no small expense;[35] but in them, as in so many other churches of the time, little was effected compared with what could now be done for the same sum. In 1829 he built a chapel and schools at Saffron Hill, London.

It was at this time only of his professional career that he was much employed in the building of churches. The consequence is that, although his churches were fully up to the mark of their period, they cannot take their place among his important works, or be considered to form any important step in architectural progress.

It was not merely that at this time Gothic detail and Gothic principles of design were comparatively unknown. But church architecture, as such, was only in the infancy of its revival, inasmuch as its symbolism was neglected, and the true proportion and meaning of its various features ill understood. Churches were regarded very much as “auditoria,” or preaching-houses—for the sermon still usurped a pre-eminence obscuring the other great elements of public worship. It was not wonderful that in their design a want of power to enter into the true principles of church architecture was often betrayed, either by slavish adoption of that which was now meaningless, or by innovations which outraged the whole harmony of its grand idea. The minds of men have since been awakened to truer conceptions of the church and of its worship, and the progress of thought is seen in that advance of art, which has left behind the works of an earlier period. But architects, unlike other artists, cannot destroy the crude conceptions, which are their steps towards perfection.

Mr. Barry’s architectural career soon led him in another direction. This was probably not a mere accident, for it may be doubted whether his mind was such as to enter very deeply into the principles of church architecture, or at any rate into the particular development which such architecture has received. He himself felt strongly that the forms of mediæval art, beautiful as they are, do not always adapt themselves thoroughly to the needs of a service which is essentially one of “Common Prayer.” Deep chancels, high rood-screens, and (in less degree) pillared aisles, seemed to him to belong to the worship and institutions of the past rather than the present. Time-honoured as they were, he would have in some degree put them aside, and, accepting Gothic as the style for church architecture, he would have preferred those forms of it, which secured uninterrupted space, and gave a perfect sense of unity in the congregation, even at the cost of sacrificing features beautiful in themselves, and perhaps of interfering with the “dim religious light” of impressiveness and solemnity.[36]

It still remains to be seen, whether the value of these principles will not yet be felt, and asserted more forcibly in the church architecture of the future, and whether the actual requirements of our service will not prevail over the beauty of special features and the power of old associations. But in the stage, through which ecclesiastical architecture was passing in the days of his active work, “correctness” was everything, and any innovations were ruthlessly hunted down as heretical. The stage was a very useful and necessary one; but it was rather preparatory than final, and there are already signs that it is passing away, and giving place to greater freedom and originality of treatment.[37]

All these works gave him constant occupation, and were gradually carrying him on through the first struggle of life to pecuniary independence. The improvement of his circumstances was shown by his removal in 1827 to 27, Foley Place, Cavendish Square—a house more desirable in situation, and better fitted for his increasing family.

Still he found time for much subsidiary work. Then, as afterwards, it was his practice never to neglect or despise anything. In October, 1824, he undertook to make or correct a plan of Lambeth parish—a work in which no doubt his old local knowledge stood him in good stead; and in the next year he thought it worth his while to survey an estate in Dulwich. Nor did he shrink from the labour of preparing designs for competitions, or on the chance of professional employment. In March, 1824, he was busy upon a design for the “National Scotch Church;” in 1825 he sent in designs for the Leeds Exchange, and for the erection of a church at Kensington. The year 1828 seems to have been one of great activity. In it he prepared no less than four different designs in the competition for the Pitt Press at Cambridge; in the same year we find records of designs for three very different buildings—the Law Institution, a new concert-room at Manchester, and a new church at Streatham; while at the same time he was working hard at the design for the Travellers’ Club, the building which, more than any other of the period, secured him at once a high position in the architectural profession. His life at this time, as at all others, tells the story of work and enterprise, with the drawback of repeated failures, and the encouragement of occasional success. Such practical work was gradually absorbing the time hitherto given to artistic study. But he still found time for occasional architectural tours, in which, of course, his sketch-book was seldom out of his hand, for an elaborate plan and drawings of Jerusalem, in 1823, and for a drawing of a building, which he greatly admired, the cathedral at Palermo, contributed to a Leeds exhibition in May, 1825. For his life was at this time full of activity and a sanguine hope, which gave zest to its hard work.

But the building which first gained him high reputation, and which even now holds a high place among his works, was the Travellers’ Club. He entered into a select competition for its erection in the year 1829. In sending in his designs he had great misgivings as to success; for, though he felt confident that the building would be satisfactory if erected, he thought that in the drawing it would be too plain to be attractive. Fortunately he was mistaken; and no sooner was the building carried out, than its erection was recognised as a real and important step in artistic progress. Italian architecture was already making its way in England; but it was observed at the time by a favourable critic, that “Barry’s Italian differed from much of that which had preceded it, as the perfection of language differs from mere patois.” The work itself was noticed by those interested in the revival of the Italian style, as a practical protest against the identification of that style in England with what is “little more than one mode of it, namely, the Palladian, which, if not the most vicious and extravagant, is almost the poorest and the most insipid.” The chief points of novelty noticed in it were the large proportion of the solid wall to the windows, and the striking effect of the great cornice.[38] “There is no single distinctive mark” (it was said) “which more forcibly characterizes the difference between the Palladian school and that which preceded it, than the cornicione employed by the older artists to crown their façades. It was reserved for Mr. Barry to introduce the cornicione here, and its value as an architectural feature may be said to have been since admitted by acclamation. That the example thus set has not been lost upon us is already tolerably evident.”[39] But the great charm of the building was attributed with justice to the beautiful simplicity of its design (according, as it did, so well with the comparatively small size of the building), and the exquisite proportion and finish of all its parts.[40] In it, as in all Mr. Barry’s designs, there was not a line which had not been carefully and even elaborately studied, and the apparent ease and simplicity of the result, while it might lead the ignorant to wonder what there was in it to be called original, showed to competent critics the presence of the “ars celare artem,” which is pre-eminently the characteristic of genius.

The woodcut on the opposite page gives the elevation of the garden-front, and the plan of the principal floor. With regard to the latter, there is little to

notice, except the care for finish and detail, which has been remarked as eminently characteristic of its author. The position of the door at one extremity of the street front was acknowledged by him to be a blemish, inconsistent with the symmetrical principle of his design, but forced upon him by considerations of convenience, and the very small frontage at his command. The grouping of the central windows on the garden front was also an innovation on the principle of the regular Italian front, but it was one of a totally different kind. It was thoroughly in accordance with the main idea of symmetry, while it gave life to that symmetry by the evidence of artistic design, and it should be added, that it is as successful and convenient, in relation to the internal arrangement, as it is graceful externally. It was noticed and approved of at once by all critics.

The success of the design being undoubted, it naturally followed that its claims to originality were disputed. The garden front was acknowledged to be original and singularly beautiful, but the street front was asserted to be a mere copy of the Villa Pandolfini. On this point it may be better to quote the words of one in the highest degree competent to give an opinion. “The Pall Mall front has been characterized by superficial observers as a copy, with slight modifications, from Raffaelle’s Pandolfini Palace at Florence. One moment’s comparison of the two elevations will suffice to entirely dispel the idea. The Pandolfini Palace has, in common with the Travellers’ Club-house, only the accidents of being two-storied, having rusticated angles, and a doorway at the extreme right-hand of the ground-floor of the principal façade. In every other respect the dissimilarities are most striking; the proportions of the windows are about one-third narrower in the Travellers’ than they are in the Pandolfini; in the former they are Ionic on the first-floor and Doric on the ground-floor; while in the latter they are Corinthian on the first-floor, and have simply returned architraves and no order on the ground-floor. The four windows on the first-floor of the Florentine façade are surmounted with alternately angular and segmental pediments, and united by panels in the interspaces, and by horizontal members; while the five of the Pall Mall building are precisely uniform, and the wall is entirely free from panelling, and the running through of any one of the members forming or decorating the fenestration above the cill-level. One of the leading features in the Pandolfini is its deep plain frieze, adorned only with a simple classic-looking inscription; while in the entablature of the Travellers’ Club the frieze is reduced to so small a proportion, and is so highly carved, as in fact to do duty rather as an enriched member of the cornice, than as a distinctive frieze at all.”[41]

This question of originality, always recurring in the career of every great artist, in fact of every distinguished man, is often most inconsiderately handled. It is clear that the progressiveness of man depends on the power, which each generation has, of using and modifying the work of its predecessors. Every great epoch in science and in art has had its period of anticipation and preparation. It is the characteristic of genius to create out of materials common and well known to all; and its creations are universally recognised and accepted, as the clear and beautiful expression of that which is vaguely felt by the generality of men. If a man, in order to be original, defies established principles, and despises the treasures of the past, he voluntarily places himself on a level below that which has been already attained by humanity. Originality, in the true sense of the word, implies that ideas and suggestions from without shall be truly appreciated, studied, and reproduced with the stamp of native thought and imagination upon them, to individualize what is general, and to harmonize materials in themselves crude or uncongenial. Then, and generally speaking not till then, can we hope for a new creation, which shall be true, and therefore permanent, in harmony with that which has gone before, and therefore capable of striking a new key-note not unaccordant with the old.

In this sense it cannot be denied that Mr. Barry’s work was original. Simple details excepted, he copied little or nothing. Every design was conceived and moulded into shape, before he referred to a book or drawing. His mind was teeming with the stores of memory; but, when he borrowed an idea either from the works of the past or the advice and criticism of the present, it was sure to be modified or replaced by some fresh kindred idea of his own. External influence was with him only suggestive; it set his mind in motion, but did not dictate the direction in which it should proceed. “Where we have an opportunity” (says the memoir already quoted) “of tracing the progress of his thoughts through a series of studies for any particular building, we find the work growing, as it were, evenly under his hand from the slightest generalization in the first small-scale sketch, to the plotted-out bay or repeat, and subsequently to the large-scale detail; then back again to another general elevation, to see how far that particular detail will work well in combination, then altered according to the result of that test, and roughed out again on a large scale to make sure of the effect of the parts when near the eye, and so on, till his fastidious judgment would be almost bewildered under the multiplying and conflicting impressions produced by the various studies. The man who works perseveringly in this way may at least make sure of two things—that his work will be good, and that it will be his own.”[42]

What is here so well said as to his work generally, is true of the Travellers’ Club in particular. It was certainly like nothing which had preceded it in England; it was certainly recognised as a model for future imitation or guidance. These two facts alone stamp the design as having a real place in architectural progress, and justify its being regarded as that, which first secured to its author a position among those who have deserved well of the cause of Art.

Meanwhile adverse criticisms did not weigh very heavily on his mind. He felt that by the new building he had become a man of mark, and had produced a decided effect on the growth and improvement of Italian architecture in the country. He was steadily advancing in prosperity, having passed through the period of doubt and difficulty, which besets the opening of most artistic lives.

His private life and tastes were simple enough. He appreciated the higher class of society into which he was thrown, and more particularly the peculiar brilliancy which distinguished that of Holland House. But he never was so thoroughly attracted by it as to feel quite at home there; probably, in England at any rate, few artists can be so. He came back with constant relief and pleasure to the quiet of his own fireside, and the society of his wife and children. Increasing work shortened his time of amusement and relaxation; for, as the day was taken up with business, the morning and evening became the times of composition and study: but at these times he neither needed nor liked solitude; music, in which he greatly delighted, was always a welcome accompaniment to his drawing, and even conversation failed to disturb him. When the opportunity for amusement came, he could always throw himself into it with all the delight of a schoolboy. These days were the palmy days of the London Theatre, and in theatrical entertainments he always took the greatest pleasure, and found in them, as I suppose most hard-worked men do, the most complete relaxation and change of idea. But of all evening occupations, which his work left him time to enjoy, he cared most for those afforded by scientific and literary institutions. At the Royal Institution in Albemarle Street, while he lived in London, he was a most regular attendant.

This time seems to have been, not indeed the most famous, but perhaps the happiest and most hopeful period of his life. With good health and spirits he entered with equal zest into hard work and complete relaxation; he saw his way opening before him, and had not as yet had that experience of disappointment, injustice, and misrepresentation, which every public man must expect, and from which he was not to be exempt hereafter.

CHAPTER IV.
CHIEF ITALIAN WORKS.

Plan of the Chapter. (A.) Original Buildings—Varieties of his Italian style—First manner—Reform Club—Manchester Athenæum—New wing at Trentham—Second manner—Bridgewater House—Third manner—Halifax Town-hall. (B.) Conversions and Alterations—College of Surgeons—Walton House—Highclere House—Board of Trade—Architectural gardening—Trentham Hall—Duncombe Park—Harewood House—Shrubland Park—Cliefden House—Laying out of Trafalgar Square. (C.) Designs carried out by others—Keyham Factory—Ambassador’s Palace at Constantinople—General remarks on his Italian architecture.

The steps by which Mr. Barry won his way to a high professional position have been narrated in chronological order. For the period of his life, from 1821 to 1829, is the one which is in itself most interesting and suggestive to those entering on a professional career.

It shows clearly enough, even by the variety of his designs, the fertility and versatile character of his mind and his unwearied energy of work. It illustrates the difficulties and disappointments, which present themselves at the outset of most professional careers. It is not uninteresting to remark the comparatively fruitless character of its earlier years, and the rapid increase of work towards its close, an increase which continued with progressive rapidity till the great work at Westminster absorbed all his time and powers. If the lesson which it reads is not uncommon, yet it is at the same time one which never loses its value and interest.

But after this time his life had few vicissitudes. It became more and more absorbed in actual work, and its progress was marked, not by years or by events, but by the buildings which rose everywhere under his hand.

It seems better therefore to neglect the order of time, so as to follow only the connexion of subject, and endeavour to group together in some intelligible arrangement the various works which he was called upon to execute. The New Palace at Westminster will demand a separate treatment of its own.

The present chapter will be devoted to a notice of his chief works in the Italian style, both public and private buildings. The success of the Travellers’ Club naturally turned his attention principally to this style for some time. In it, perhaps even to the last, he worked with the greatest pleasure; and probably, if the choice had been left to him, without any influence of external authority or local association, it would have been the style of his New Palace.

His Italian works accordingly are numerous,[43] and naturally divide themselves into two classes: the first, of buildings erected by him; the next, of buildings which he was called upon to alter, to an extent often amounting to a complete transformation. Some brief notice may also be necessary of buildings for the designs of which he was consulted, although the execution of the designs was not under his direction.

The first class of designs is not very numerous compared with the second. This might have been partly accidental, but it probably was due in great measure to his own fertility of resource, and the keen eye which he had for the capabilities of existing buildings. As he seldom admired any building unreservedly, so he seldom despaired of any, even of those which most men would have condemned as hopeless. When he was consulted therefore by public bodies or by private individuals, who needed additional accommodation, or desired greater architectural effect, he could generally strike out some plan of alteration which satisfied both requirements, while it appeared less costly than the erection of a new building, and preserved something of the charm of old associations. It may be questioned whether more real originality is shown in the design of what is absolutely new, than in the power of impressing a new character on old materials. But he used to regret the comparative fewness of his opportunities of erecting new buildings, unconscious that it was in some degree due to his remarkable power of giving fresh life to the old.

(A). It is, however, in his original buildings that his principles of Italian design can be most clearly traced. Those principles remained essentially unaltered. No competent eye can ever fail to recognise his hand. But he had certainly different “manners,” and these are most distinctly impressed upon the Italian buildings which he erected de novo. The first manner is that of his Travellers’ and Reform Clubs, and to it belong the new wing which he erected at Trentham and the Manchester Athenæum. The second is marked in Bridgewater House. The third is distinctly seen in one of his last designs, the design for the erection of the Halifax Town-hall, which was carried out after his death. It must, of course, remain uncertain how far it would have been modified in process of execution, had he lived to see the work complete.

Reform Club.—The Travellers’ Club was completed in 1831. Since that time the great competition for the New Palace at Westminster had been decided, and his success had secured him a place in the first rank of British architects. In 1837 he was called upon to enter a select competition with Messrs. Basevi, Blore, Burton, Cockerell, and Smirke, for the erection of the Reform Club. His design was almost unanimously chosen. He felt some difficulty in designing a building of such superior magnitude in the same Italian style, side by side with his favourite Travellers’. He would gladly have varied it as much as possible, but he could not bring himself to depart from the “astylar” style; for of engaged orders he never thoroughly approved. The Farnese Palace was doubtless in his mind during the conception of this design, and a charge of plagiarism has been grounded upon certain superficial resemblances, in the same way and with the same injustice as in the comparison of the Travellers’ Club with the Villa Pandolfini.[44]

In this Club-house, as the sides were liable to be seen at the same time, an almost complete uniformity

of design was preserved throughout the three visible fronts. To complete breaks of design under such circumstances he had a rooted objection; he would rather risk monotony, than break unity and give the effect (so often seen in Venice) of façades merely “applied” to a building. Here, as in the Travellers’ Club, simplicity, solidity, and repose, were the great objects aimed at. The entrance seemed to some to want importance; he tried (in deference to advice) columns and pilasters; a porch he would not hear of, for it seemed to him a mere excrescence. But the design so enlarged seemed out of harmony with the windows; it appeared to break the unity of the design, and the entrance was therefore left in its present simplicity.

In criticizing his own design, he greatly regretted that he could not give to his upper windows an importance commensurate with that of the lower stories, such as is found in the three full stories of the Farnese Palace. He also took blame to himself because, for want of some relief, the columns flanking his windows appeared to be embedded in the wall. He would have gladly given more boldness to the dressings of the lower windows, and possibly more size to the windows throughout. With these exceptions, he continued satisfied with his design, and public opinion has certainly continued to confirm that satisfaction.

In the original plan the central portion of the interior was occupied by an open Italian cortile. A roof thrown over this converted it into the magnificent Central Hall, which is now one of the greatest ornaments of the building. A rival design (Mr. Cockerell’s) had a Central Hall. It is possible that this may have first suggested the idea to the successful architect. But considerations of convenience and suitability to an English climate would have been sufficient to recommend such a step, and little change after all was made, except the addition of the roof.

It will be easily seen that the grand effect of a Central Hall, which became afterwards a leading feature in his Italian designs, cannot be obtained without considerable sacrifice. It is liable to interfere with the due provision of light and air for the basement story, and, in spite of much skill in contrivance, this defect may be traced in the case of the Reform Club. It is likely also to interfere with the existence of a grand central staircase, as it does in this case and at Bridgewater House. But it was a peculiarity of Mr. Barry’s plans that he seldom gave up much space to a grand staircase. As afterwards at the New Palace at Westminster, he was apt to consider such space as comparatively wasted, and to think a more effective use might be made of it for a great hall or gallery. At the Reform Club certainly he never regretted the sacrifice needful to secure his magnificent Central Hall.

With the internal decoration Mr. Barry took great pains, but felt great compunction in the use of imitations (scagliola and painting) in the place of real marbles and other precious materials. Necessity compelled the “imposture,” for, even as it was, the expense was great, and (in the opinion of some members of the Club) excessive. But with carte

blanche as to expenditure, he would have expelled every trace of it, and have rivalled the examples of gorgeous decoration, which had struck him in Italy.

This Club was remarkable for the great attention paid to internal convenience. More particularly the kitchen department, in which the enthusiasm and knowledge of M. Soyer were allowed full scope, was held to be a model of excellence. The whole has been named (by Mr. Digby Wyatt) as an example, that “the most minute attention to comfort, and the satisfactory working of utilitarian necessities, are compatible with the exercise of the most delicate sense of refinement, and the hardihood of genius.”

The annexed illustration gives a perspective view from the west (taken from Pall Mall), and a plan of the ground floor. The chief point notable in the latter is the careful attention to absolute symmetry of arrangement,—the centres of doors, colonnades, entrances to staircases and the like, being all made to balance with one another. The espacement of the windows, dictated by the external design, was also made to adapt itself symmetrically to each room, and in no case was recourse had to the device of blank windows—a device to which, though not uncommon in ancient and modern examples of Italian, Mr. Barry had a decided objection. Another point is the careful provision of direct lines of communication by corridors, and the picturesque treatment in many cases of their termination. Generally speaking, it will be found that it unites stateliness and architectural symmetry with great cheerfulness and practical convenience.

The building, as a whole, was a decided success. Grander in scale than the Travellers’ Club, it carried out more thoroughly and emphatically the principles of design, which had made the former building famous. Its exterior, perhaps, produced less effect on the public, for the earlier design had pre-occupied the ground of originality. But it established Mr. Barry in the first rank of Italian architecture, and showed, alike by its points of similarity and its points of difference, that his former success had not been a happy accident. On the interior the difference of scale told for more than on the exterior. In the Travellers’ elegance and comfort alone could be aimed at. In the Reform Club there was an opportunity of adding grandeur, without destroying the former characteristics. No one could doubt that the opportunity had been nobly used. At the time of its erection the building stood almost alone, as a model to foreigners of what a great English Club could be. Other buildings have risen since on the same or even on a grander scale, both as to size and magnificence of ornament; but still it may be doubted whether its high position has been impaired.[45]

Manchester Athenæum.—The Manchester Athenæum, as has been said, belongs to this period of his Italian style. The exterior is plain, for it has no

great advantage of position, and economy was an object; but in its refinement of detail and perfection it is as characteristic as his greater works. In the interior there was one remarkable feature involving some bold and even hazardous construction. The confined space made it necessary to erect the great Lecture Theatre on the top story; and this, considering its size and the large number it was to accommodate, was a matter of no slight difficulty, but it was successfully achieved.

The New Wing at Trentham also belongs to about the same period. The annexed woodcut shows its general character—a Palazzino in itself, with an engaged order, not altogether unlike his favourite Banqueting-house at Whitehall. It needs no more special notice.

Bridgewater House.—The building which most distinctly marks his “second manner” is Bridgewater House. The change is chiefly traceable in a tendency to greater freedom of treatment, and to a desire for greater richness of effect. It seems to have been partly due to a general change of architectural taste in these directions, partly to his own habituation to Gothic work at the New Palace of Westminster.

Bridgewater House (built for the Earl of Ellesmere in 1847) was the last of his great Italian buildings in London. In his first design, fearing apparently too great a similarity to his Club-houses, and inclining to a more ornate style, he attempted to depart from his usual principles, and produced a design (exhibited at the Royal Academy) in which on a lofty basement appeared a grand Corinthian order with engaged columns and entablature unbroken. But, as usual in such cases, he could not rest content with this dereliction from the principles in which both study and experience had confirmed him. He could not make up his mind to a “walled-up colonnade,” and double stories masked by a single order.[46] The design was rejected as too costly; and he not unwillingly returned to his usual style, and produced the design now executed.

In it there was, as has been said, another conflict of principles in his mind. Profuse Gothic ornamentation had made his earlier Italian simplicity seem insipid; for a time his pencil was busy, covering every yard of plain surface with panelling and sculpture. But here also his old principles reasserted their dominion, and the design ultimately came out as we at present see it, more ornate than his former works, but yet preserving a general character of simplicity.

The street front remained uniform as in his Club-houses; in the Park front internal requirements forced upon him the very effective variety of the great three-light windows at each end of the façade. The porch he was obliged to add for convenience sake, but, as it were, under protest, for it seemed to him, as usual, an excrescence. The chief peculiarity in the design was the treatment of the upper

windows. He was obliged to make them small and place them close under the cornice, and accordingly he united them by panels, and treated them as a kind of frieze. But this also he did not in the abstract approve; he doubted whether they were not too small for a story, yet too large for a frieze, and whether the effect was not to diminish the apparent height of the building. Another unusual step was the concealment of the roofs, and the substitution of a balustrade. It is curious that, whereas in his earlier designs (e.g. the Travellers’, Walton, and the Reform Club) he had used a visible roof, yet in some later designs (e.g. Bridgewater House and Cliefden) he departed from this principle, and employed a balustrade. The two are of course not incompatible, and indeed, especially if the roof be high pitched, some protection of balustrade or parapet is needed in London streets to prevent masses of snow, slates, &c., from falling. In his great design for the Government Offices, Sir Charles showed in almost all cases both a visible roof and a balustrade, and accordingly, in the design for the Halifax Town-hall, carried out since his death by his son, a similar arrangement is adopted.

The annexed woodcuts give the elevation of the Park front, and the plan of the principal floor. The latter manifests the same characteristics already noticed in the Reform Club. It is quoted by Mr. Kerr, in his ‘English Gentleman’s House,’ as a typical specimen of a stately and symmetrical plan, and contrasted with one in which a convenient irregularity and picturesque effect are the main objects proposed.

It will be observed that the centre of this building, as of the Reform Club, is occupied by a fine hall, the result here also of an after-thought, for in the original design its place was occupied by a grand staircase, enclosed by walls. For the decoration of this hall he had formed great designs, which were never to be carried out. Delays interposed, and after the death of Lord Ellesmere the hall was placed in other hands. Mr. F. Götzenberg, a German artist, directed its decoration, and in 1858 the architect was invited to inspect the work, and aid it by his criticism. But, as might be expected, he found the principles adopted by M. Götzenberg very different from those which he had in his own mind. He could not take the responsibility implied in any interference or suggestion, and he retired with deep regret.

The building is certainly one of his most beautiful designs. It shows that the greater taste for richness and variety of effect had not injured that delicacy of proportion, and exquisite finish of detail, which had been so remarkably characteristic of his earlier buildings.[47]

Halifax Town-hall.—The Halifax Town-hall, the last Italian building which he designed, marks still more strikingly the change which his mind had undergone since the erection of the Travellers’ and Reform Clubs.[48]

“This was the last of Sir Charles Barry’s works, and is in many respects one of the most interesting. Its interest arises not from the size or importance of the building, but from the evidence afforded by its design of the results of a long experience in the mind of its architect.

“In the design of the Reform Club, and still more remarkably in the design of the Travellers’ Club, he had adopted that type of Italian architecture which aims at producing grandeur of effect by the symmetry of its parts, the regularity of its arrangement, and the simplicity, verging on severity, of its details. Ornament is sparely applied in these buildings, and is in all cases subordinate to the strict regularity which governs the design. The only exception to this regularity, viz., the position of the entrance door to the Travellers’ Club, was always regarded by the architect as a blemish, only to be justified by its absolute necessity, and forced on him by the nature of the site.

“When, many years afterwards, Bridgewater House was designed, Sir Charles Barry had evidently changed his views in some degree; for this building, although preserving the rhythm and symmetry of a stately Italian palace, relies more on its ornamentation than either the Reform Club or the Travellers’.

“In it, as in the alterations to the Treasury Buildings in Whitehall, which were proceeding at about the same time, we see indications that Sir C. Barry had begun to give to his Italian architecture a character differing considerably from that which marked his earlier productions.

“One important feature however may be remarked, as common to the Travellers’ and Reform Clubs on the one hand, and to Bridgewater House on the other, namely, the unbroken cornice which surmounts each building. The cornice is proportioned to the whole height of the building, and it is a curious circumstance that Bridgewater House is the last of his designs which contains this feature. In the case of the Treasury, the original design by Sir John Soane controlled of course very decidedly Sir C. Barry’s operations, but the features which he introduced, namely, the broken entablatures (tending towards a vertical, as opposed to the original horizontal effect of Sir J. Soane’s work), the carved panels between the two principal rows of windows, the covering of the entire surface with rustication and panels, the elaborate carving in the attics, go far to show that, whether influenced by the decorative character of the New Palace, Westminster, or by other considerations, he was rapidly changing the character of his Italian designs, and ornamenting them with increased decoration. The same tendency may be observed in his subsequent designs for the sculpture galleries at Shrubland Park and for the Government Offices. At Shrubland the entablature is broken over the columns and pilasters, and in his design for the Government Offices Sir C. Barry showed his opinion of the present Treasury buildings by adopting them as an integral part of

his design, which was indeed materially influenced by this circumstance.

“In the design for Halifax Town-hall the freedom of treatment above referred to may be clearly noticed to an even greater extent, not only in the more decorative portions of the work, but also in the arrangement of the plan and general character of the entire design. The tower and spire, which are placed at one corner of the building, form one of its most remarkable features; and, though it is possible that Sir C. Barry might have somewhat modified his design, if he had lived to carry it out, its general outline, and even its details, were too far advanced at the time of his death to have admitted of any radical interference with its essential characteristics.

“The Town-hall is situated in the middle of the town, on a site which, from its confined character, is not in itself favourable to architectural effect. The tower is placed at one corner of the building, so as to face the principal street, and to form the main entrance to the Town-hall. The Tower is surmounted by a spire of a remarkable design, which, in common with the whole of the building, displays a marked Renaissance character, while from its position it gives an irregularity of outline to the entire design, greatly at variance with the symmetrical arrangement observable in Sir C. Barry’s earlier Italian buildings. It may be noted however that in the New Palace at Westminster, which has often been criticized as planned on Italian principles, he placed his towers in positions of great irregularity as regards the plan, which in other respects is arranged as far as possible on the principle of strict symmetry. The design at Halifax consists of two orders, with broken entablatures and arched windows in each bay. At the corner opposite to the Tower the Council-room forms a second projecting mass, thus departing still further from a symmetrical arrangement of plan, and there are also smaller projections at the other angles of the building. At Sir C. Barry’s death the foundations of the building were just completed, and its erection was intrusted by the corporation to me. At this time the details of the exterior had all been fully made out and revised and approved by him. The interior however had not been fully designed, and I am therefore responsible for its architectural treatment, as also for the addition of a high roof to the building, which latter feature was not to be found in the original design. I have also succeeded in restoring to the design several decorative features, which were at first omitted from the contract from motives of economy, but which were readily sanctioned, on my recommendation, by the corporation, whose public spirit and desire to do justice to Sir C. Barry’s last design deserve from me a word of grateful recognition.—E. M. B.”

It does not concern us to discuss the abstract merits of this gradual change of Italian style, visible in Sir C. Barry’s works. But it is certainly interesting in itself, and if it illustrates, as probably is the case, a tendency in the architecture of the present day to break down the rigidity of conventional divisions, and vary established styles by greater freedom of treatment, it will serve to illustrate the remark made in the first chapter, that his mind was one eminently plastic and progressive, and one which therefore would partly guide, and partly follow, the general movement of architectural taste in the country. Holding, as he did, most strongly, the opinion that the styles which divide the architectural profession into two rival camps, had each their characteristic excellences, it is not surprising that he allowed their influences to interpenetrate and modify each other. It still remains to be seen whether his practice does not represent a tendency, which will be more fully exemplified hereafter.

(B). The second class of Sir C. Barry’s designs includes those which had for their object the alteration of existing buildings. In this work his skill was proverbial and almost unrivalled. Possibly his sanguine belief in the capabilities of the materials at command may at times have even misled him into attempting alteration, where demolition and reconstruction would have been little less difficult and much more satisfactory. But as has been said, it is doubtful whether his originality and power of resource were not manifested at least as much in this kind of work as in the erection of new buildings. In many cases, not only the fronts, but even the openings of the windows, would be preserved, and yet the building would become new under his hand, and what was plain and commonplace would start into richness and beauty. Like a masterly translation, the design bore the appearance of unfettered originality.

College of Surgeons.—One of the first instances of such conversion was that of the College of Surgeons in Lincoln’s Inn. Great additions were required, and the site was accordingly extended. As usual, not only was he to retain as much as possible of the old building, but the portico, the principal feature of the original building, was, above all, to be preserved. Mr. Barry himself would gladly have dispensed with the portico altogether; it was (what he strongly disliked) a mere porch attached to the building, not (as in the old Greek temples) an essential and dominant portion of it. But he could not venture upon this; so he changed its position to the centre of the new front by shifting one or two columns from one end to the other, and left it otherwise unchanged. The leading feature in his design was the severe and massive cornice, predominating over the portico and front generally, and uniting the attic with the main stories. The front itself he treated as a background, carrying simplicity almost to baldness in order to subordinate all to the main effect. It will be seen, of course, and it has been already remarked, that in this change he was carrying out the leading principle of his Italian street fronts, the use of the great cornice to give unity and completeness to the design. Although more of the exterior was preserved than usual, yet the spirit of the whole was changed; and, plain as it still was, it gained a striking and original effect.

The interior was almost entirely remodelled. The most important change was in the New Museum. The old one had been divided for architectural effect

by massive piers and transverse arches. All obstructions were now cleared out; ample space and light were secured; indeed, not a foot of space was wasted, and the light, diffused by transmission through a continuous cove (the ceiling being left as a reflector), was excellent. It became, as the curators declared, a cheerful and most convenient museum. At a later period (1850) he was called upon to carry out some further internal changes. These were intended merely to give additional accommodation, and little architectural effect was aimed at. An additional museum was erected on the same principles of design which had dictated the alteration of the old, but with somewhat more of light through the roof. Two new theatres were added, with suitable offices. No alteration was made in the front.[49]

Walton House.—The next specimen of Mr. Barry’s power of reconstruction, under very different circumstances, is seen at Walton House, belonging to the Earl of Tankerville.

The house stands on the banks of the Thames, in a position very pleasant and beautiful in itself (almost buried in its magnificent trees, and affording a ready access to the river), but having little openness or elevation, and therefore placing some difficulties in the way of architectural effect. The house had been a somewhat commonplace straggling building. The site was such as to require a certain amount of irregularity in treatment. In 1837 Mr. Barry was consulted for its reconstruction. This was the time between the erection of the Travellers’ and Reform Clubs, and belongs architecturally to his earlier Italian style. Some considerable additions were made, especially a fine entrance corridor, and a belvedere, on which probably the architect relied for giving effect to a building which wanted elevation of site. But the whole house was remodelled both externally and internally—the work as usual growing in conception during its progress. It became externally an elegant and at that time an almost unique specimen of an Italian villa. The size is not considerable, but every detail is studied so as to produce that effect of harmony and perfection at which Mr. Barry at all times aimed. The style is simple, with the characteristic features of a predominating cornice, and (as in the Club-houses) a carefully studied proportion of solid wall to windows, and an Italian roof made a visible and ornamental feature.[50] Seen, as so many Italian villas are seen, on some rising ground, and with opportunity of comparatively distant views, it might have produced a more striking effect. As it is, although the plan and composition are well adapted to the site, some part of its beauty is lost.

The interior arrangement has been quoted by Mr. Kerr[51] as an example on a smaller scale, and on a somewhat irregular plan, of the same “stateliness”

of design which he observes in Bridgewater House. Yet it was certainly adapted most thoroughly to the special requirements of the case, and cannot be accused of sacrificing convenience to effect. The chief feature is the long entrance corridor, spacious and symmetrical, divided by pilasters into equal bays, each square having its pendentive ceiling—somewhat in the style which in an Italian climate would have produced an open loggia. The internal details of the rooms are simple, but with the simplicity which is the result of study and of thorough understanding of principles. The house marks the change of taste (which Mr. Barry had certainly a considerable share in promoting) from the older Greek style of country houses, with their huge porticoes and massive details, to the greater elasticity, elegance, and brightness of the Italian style. It can hardly be doubted that the change was an improvement, both in architectural propriety and in domestic comfort and cheerfulness.

Highclere House.—But in the same year, 1837, he was called upon to exercise his skill in conversion on a grander scale, and in a far more striking manner, for the Earl of Carnarvon, at Highclere in Hampshire. At Walton he had to add much, and almost to reconstruct. At Highclere the whole constructional framework of the house was retained, and yet the building became in the strictest sense new and original. In fact, the contrast of its former and present condition, shown by the comparison of the two woodcuts, almost renders any comment unnecessary. The old building, as will be seen at once, is designed in the comparative flatness and insipidity of bare classicism: under his hand it became a palace, rich and original in design. Yet not only were the main walls preserved, with scarcely any extension of the building or plan, but even the secondary features were kept intact. In no case was the level of any floor or the opening of a window changed.

The style chosen was less simple and richer in effect than the style of pure Italian. He called it “Anglo-Italian,” an Elizabethan or Jacobian style, which he thought excellent, when, as must often be the case in domestic architecture, the openings were of necessity too crowded for the purer Italian style, of which he had given examples in his Club-houses.[52] The centre, contrary to his usual practice, he elevated by an attic, feeling that the style admitted greater freedom and irregularity of treatment, and wishing to give importance to the great entrance; for he considered that the lofty and beautiful central tower and the elevated angle-turrets would preserve the needful unity of design.

The building thus transformed was one of his favourite works. It certainly is in itself one of the most striking country seats in England, and he could fairly claim it as his own, and rejoice over the beauty created out of unpromising materials and under conditions of no slight difficulty.

Board of Trade.—But of all examples perhaps the one best known is the conversion effected on the

Board of Trade at Whitehall. He had to deal with a building, which had long been before the public eye in a prominent position, and which was not without many points of architectural excellence. But the altered building seemed to take the public by surprise; it was practically new in design and spirit, and, though exposed to much censure from one class of critics, it commanded general admiration. The comparison of the two woodcuts, which show its present and its former condition, will easily explain the vividness of effect produced, and will show (what is elsewhere noticed) the growing taste for richness and vigour of effect visible in Mr. Barry’s later Italian style,[53] and in this case remarkably contrasted with the strict classicism of the original.

Yet the conversion was carried out under conditions which might have seemed hopeless shackles on his genius. Not only was it necessary to preserve all the levels of the floors and the position of the openings, but he was obliged also to keep and work in the Corinthian order of the original building, in spite of his objection to engaged columns. The original design, with many points of excellence, yet seemed to him to want symmetry, force, and grandeur. To remedy these defects, he raised the order on a basement story, did away with the superstructure, which seemed to oppress it, and, removing the colonnades, which by their shadows and projection cut up the wings, he gave the great flanking masses their full effect.

The question next arose, whether the entablature should be broken or not. Mr. Barry’s objection to engaged columns has already been mentioned. Here, however, such an arrangement was forced upon him, and the question was, how the impropriety could be best alleviated. He had begun to think of breaking entablatures (which in days of classical purism would have shocked him), partly from the example of Inigo Jones’s Banqueting-house, partly from his Gothic studies, and the tendency to vertical lines which they fostered. He conceived that, when this step was taken, the engaged column changed its character; it no longer affected to support the entablature, but became avowedly an adjunct. This feeling, joined to the desire of greater variety and richness, carried the day, and, in this case and others, the entablatures were broken. In looking at his own work he felt that, from the necessary position of the columns, the breaks were somewhat over-crowded; and he rather regretted that he had not carried out an idea, which had occurred to him in studying his design, of crowning the principal windows with pediments to relieve the appearance of squareness. Otherwise he was contented and pleased with his work, which has been acknowledged as having given one more striking building to London. He long hoped that the façade would have been extended along Downing Street, and have terminated in a mass corresponding to those which now flank the elevation. His ideas indeed went beyond this: far larger schemes of extension were conceived by him in connection with the designs for the Government Offices. But

none of these were destined to be realized, and the building remains in its original dimensions.

Trentham Hall.—The next group of alterations to be noticed brings into prominence a kind of work, in which he took the greatest pleasure, and achieved very brilliant results. This was the architectural laying out and ornamentation of gardens. Early in his career he had made some essay in this direction at Mr. Attree’s house in Brighton Park. Up to the last he retained almost a passion for it. His idea was that the definite artificial lines of a building should not be contrasted, but harmonized, with the free and careless grace of natural beauty. This could only be effected by a scheme of architectural gardens, graduated, as it were, from regular formality in the immediate neighbourhood of the building itself, through shrubberies and plantations, less and less artificial, till they seemed to melt away in the unstudied simplicity of the park or wood without. In this the architect and landscape gardener must work side by side.

These views he had the opportunity of exemplifying on a grand scale in the works carried on for many years at Trentham Hall, the residence of the Duke of Sutherland. To the old building containing the state reception rooms, he simply gave a better cornice and improved its details, adding moreover a grand entrance hall, which served also as a billiard saloon, and communicated with the state rooms by a fine semicircular corridor. He succeeded also in grouping together very effectively the straggling offices of the great house. Though he could not effect all that he wished, he was able thus to give some grandeur and unity to the large mass of building. The design of the private wing has been already mentioned.

But the great work was the change effected in the gardens.[54] His difficulties are stated by a high authority, the late Mr. Loudon:—“We could not help doubting whether even Mr. Barry could make anything of this great dull flat place, with its immense mansion, as tame and spiritless as the ground on which it stands; we have seen the plans, however, for the additions and alterations. Let no man henceforth ever despair of a dead flat.” The hall was surrounded by lawns and paddocks, reaching down to a lake. These were converted into a succession of gardens of regular design, stepping down by terraces from the house to the lake, and by balustrades, vases, statues, and flights of steps, so connected with the architecture of the house as to spread out its base, and give it the dignity and apparent height which its natural position forbade. This was a principle which Mr. Barry at all times pursued; gardening was, of course, with him only a handmaid to architecture, and in this particular case such treatment was the only method by which the lowness of site could be corrected, and dignity be given to what otherwise must have been but an ordinary country seat. He effected much; could he have carried out his whole scheme he would have had an “Isola

Bella” on the lake, and converted the lake itself into an architectural basin. For in his development of the principle that all garden work connected with buildings should have an architectural character, he was accused sometimes, not quite unjustly, of desiring to extend the domain of Art, even at the risk of encroaching upon Nature herself.

Probably the disadvantage of site still shows itself, and it may be that the materials at his command were somewhat impracticable; but the great confidence and liberality of his patrons gave him abundant scope, and the result is a building which may take high rank among the palaces of England.

Duncombe Park.—Another conversion, on a smaller scale, in which remarkable effect was produced by much less alteration, was carried out at Duncombe Park, the seat of Lord Feversham. The immediate object contemplated was the increase of accommodation in the stables and domestic offices, but the opportunity thus presented of improving a building, which stands on one of the noblest sites, and commands one of the finest views in England, was not to be lost. A design was prepared accordingly, meeting the special requirements of the case, but going far beyond them in its aim.

The house, which is ascribed to Vanbrugh, and was probably built by one of his pupils, is massive and imposing in its style, and severely plain in details. But it seemed to Mr. Barry merely to occupy the site, without harmonizing with the surrounding scenery of the park. His object was to bring it into this connection, and soften the boundary-line between nature and art.

The main building he did not alter, except by suggesting a portico to the entrance front, known to have formed a part of the original design, though never actually executed; but he swept away a mass of subordinate buildings on each side, containing the existing offices and stables, and, designing a noble entrance court in proportion to the massive scale of the building, he flanked it with two blocks of buildings (containing the accommodation required), symmetrically designed, and showing remarkable boldness of detail. These new blocks of building he connected with the central building with quadrantal corridors, closed to the side of the entrance court, but open to the private gardens on the other side.

Having thus given grandeur and unity to a previously ineffective building, he proceeded to connect it with the scenery around. He altered the great avenue of approach through the park, so as to bring it, where it approached the new entrance court, into a position of centrality to the building. On the other side he remodelled the private gardens in his favourite Italian style, and so gave to the windows of the private apartments a view more suitable than that of the grass fields, into which they had previously looked.

The effect, as usual, was to give the house perfect novelty and dignity of effect, by utilising to the utmost size and capabilities comparatively wasted before.

Harewood House.—A somewhat similar work was carried out for the Earl of Harewood, in the years 1843 to 1850. Harewood House is situated about nine miles from Leeds, in a position of great beauty, looking over the valley of the Wharfe. It was a house of some scale and pretension, built in 1759, by Messrs. Carr and Adams, with a lofty centre, having a large engaged Corinthian order, and connected by lower curtains with the wings, which were plainer in design.

It had apparently some massiveness of design and merits of proportion. It needed finish, life, and variety. The treatment of the work by Mr. Barry (additional accommodation being required) was simply to raise the wings, altering their design so as to bring them into greater importance and greater harmony with the centre, and to improve the design of the centre itself, by adding a handsome balustrade, and by raising the chimney-stacks to the dignity of architectural features, so as to vary the flat and monotonous lines of the former roof. Little else was done except that some beautiful carving (by Mr. Thomas), in the pediment and elsewhere, gave the greater richness and life which the original design wanted. But the effect was considerable, and the house now commands attention, not only by its scale and proportion, but by the evidence of taste and design visible throughout.

In the interior the work merely included some alteration and enlargement of the principal rooms and basement, and some new decorations.

But the gardens here also engaged his attention. The park and grounds had been laid out by Mr. Lancelot Brown (well known in the last generation as a landscape gardener), but the garden near the house itself remained to be treated in Mr. Barry’s usual style. A grand terrace garden was formed on the south side, rising by a handsome flight of steps to the level of the house, adorned with sculptures and fountains, and laid out in parterre beds of architectural design. The gardens, kept up as they are with great care and skill, are among the chief sights of the neighbourhood. It need not be added that they thoroughly harmonize with the building and give it completeness and magnificence.

Shrubland Park.—But of all parks of this kind probably the most successful was that carried out for Sir W. Middleton at Shrubland Park in the year 1848. Inferior in extent to the work at Trentham, it presented greater capabilities, and was more perfect in result. On the house itself he produced a striking alteration. The original building had little architectural character; but it had been considerably altered in 1830 from the design of Mr. Gandy Deering. On the house, as thus altered, Sir C. Barry had to work, and the effect produced will be seen by an inspection of the annexed woodcuts. He added a new entrance, with a sculpture gallery on each side. At the same time he raised a portion of the house, so as to form a beautiful specimen of his favourite Italian towers, and substituted balustrades for the large pediments surmounting the various fronts, which would have grouped ill with the tower, and,

by distracting the eye, have interfered with unity of effect. A handsome lodge was added with a central tower, through which the main approach passed.

But the glory of Shrubland lay in its gardens, and it is in them that the traces of his hand are most plainly seen. Beautiful in themselves, they seemed to agree too little with the house, which had now assumed some architectural pretensions.

The upper garden near the house was therefore rearranged, and enclosed by balustrades. A handsome flight of steps led from the upper to the lower garden. At the foot of the steps an open loggia was placed, and the adjoining ground laid out with architecturally formed beds.

The works show in a very marked manner the refined taste and exquisite finish which distinguished all his designs. The whole principle, indeed, of his arrangements was dictated by the desire of perfect finish and harmony, against which the original scheme, bringing an ordinary flower-garden up to the very walls of the house, appeared to him to militate. Few works produced so much effect, considering their scale, and certainly few were so entirely after his own heart, as those at Shrubland Park.

Cliefden House.—Of all his conversions of existing buildings, this was the one which approached most nearly to the conditions of an original design. But his work was still in some degree fettered by the circumstances of the case.

The house was originally built, in a fashion very prevalent some years ago, having a centre with two distinct wings, which were virtually separate buildings, and were only joined to the central mass by connecting corridors on the ground-floor. Such a plan produces much external grandeur; but this advantage, and some others which belong to it, are dearly purchased at the cost of internal convenience, especially when, as at Cliefden, the servants’ rooms are placed in one of the wings. A fire destroyed the central mansion, but spared the wings; and to Sir C. Barry was assigned the task of rebuilding what had been destroyed, without sacrificing the portions remaining, and of rebuilding it on the old foundations, which were still intact, and which it was desired to utilise.

The first design which he prepared was set aside for economical reasons. It differed materially from Cliefden as it now is. It was an astylar Italian design, comparatively simple in detail, and having the angles raised into towers, so as to be prominent features. Thus, although designed on symmetrical principles, it would have presented far greater variety of outline than the building actually erected. Considering its magnificent position, and considering also the different points of view and the great distances at which the house can be seen, the architect greatly regretted the necessity which forbade the realisation of his original design. He thought that a more vertical tendency and more varied outline would have contrasted better with the horizontal line of the beautiful bank of wood, out of which it rises.

The present house is built on the old