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.
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.
OnJune 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 strictlyprofessional 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 insketching 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 accompanythe 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 pastexperience 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 tipof his wings. “I drank,” he says, “deeply of the Castalian spring, but did not find my poetic faculty improved thereby.” Yet thegenius locidid 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 mighteasily 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 noimmediate 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 whichstreamed 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 “richplain 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 whichhad 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 studiedcon 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,” halfconcealed 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 columnsas 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 remodelledor 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, andgave 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 ofRoman, 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 ofthe 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 correspondedwith 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 hiddentreasures, 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 docksand 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 asymbol 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 intowith 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 histime 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 couldnever 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 treatedà 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 projectionof 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 opencortile, 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 ‘stepshanging 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 lessknowledge 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 departurefrom 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 objectedin tototo 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 enablehim 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 towercharmed 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 incurves 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.”