THE STORY OF THE GOTHIC REVIVAL.
When, centuries hence, historians endeavor to delineate the characteristics of the present century, it is more than probable that the features that will most strike them will be those of innovation and change. Progress in every science, rapid advance in material prosperity, sweeping reforms in laws and governments, political and social changes not a few, will appear to have pretty well filled up the records of the busy century that is fast drawing to its close. To those, however, who look more closely into the minor though oftentimes important details that contribute in a great measure to influence the character of an age, it will be evident that, if change and revolution have to a large extent reigned paramount in this century, neither has it been altogether wanting in a just recognition of the past, and in a serious revival of some of the best features of that past.
These thoughts have been suggested by the perusal of Sir Charles Eastlake’s History of the Gothic Revival in England—a work in which is displayed a thorough knowledge of the subject combined with an agreeable style and a high artistic taste, which cannot fail to interest even those whose predilections are for other styles of architecture.
The revival which it describes has not been confined to England; in both France and Germany progress in Gothic art has made rapid strides during the last thirty years. In the production, indeed, on the history and theory of the pointed style France is perhaps in advance of England; but nowhere else has the revival been so universal and so practical as in the latter country, nowhere else has it reached a point which could justify an author in attempting its history. So many Catholic associations are linked with Gothic architecture, so many fond recollections of a glorious past are called up by the mere name, that it is only natural that Catholics should take a special interest in its revival, should feel justly proud of the large part that some of their co-religionists have had in that revival, and should refer with feelings of pleasure to the influence brought to bear upon it by the adoption of many Catholic doctrines and practices by their Protestant brethren.
American readers cannot be indifferent to the history and fortunes of edifices where their ancestors prayed in those happy days when unity of faith prevailed; nor can they fail to take an interest in the history, which we propose to sketch, of those years during which a handful of earnest men struggled, and struggled successfully, to revive the glories of a style that had been rendered for ever illustrious by such names as Cologne and Chartres, Amiens and Salisbury, Notre Dame and York Minster.
Many were the fair buildings that graced the broad lands of merry England at the commencement of the reign of Henry VIII.; stately churches and splendid monasteries adorned her towns and nestled among her wooded hills and valleys; the one same principle of art had presided over their structure—happy symbol of the one faith to whose service they ministered. Before the end of that reign what a transformation had come over the face of the land! One of the first acts of the Reformation had been the suppression of the monasteries and confiscation of their property. Cromwell and his band of impious followers but too faithfully carried out the orders of their royal master; the venerable and beauteous piles on which the pious munificence of ages had lavished their skill and their treasures were soon reduced to bare and crumbling ruins. Nor did the spoliation end here; the zealous reformers of God’s church were not slow in condemning as idolatrous the rich and brilliant decorations and ornaments that filled the cathedrals and churches, and thus these sacred edifices were shorn of all the costly treasures that devotion had accumulated to honor the abiding presence of a heavenly King, in order to fill the coffers of a licentious monarch.
It was not, however, the material ruin and desecration of its finest buildings that struck the severest blow at Gothic art; it was rather the loss of that faith which had witnessed its earliest efforts and had inspired its grandest works. When the cold blast of Protestantism swept away one after another each Catholic dogma and each Christian belief, the sources of Gothic inspiration were dried up, its very raison d’être ceased to exist. Not that the Catholic Church has in any way adopted one style of architecture as the only fitting one for her use; she has equally sanctified by her solemn ritual and her sacred ceremonies the colonnades of the Greek temple, the dome of the Italian basilica, and the pointed arch of the Gothic cathedral. But this last, if we may use a comparison, seems somehow more especially her own child; the others are but children of adoption—wayward children that she has rescued from pagan parents. She has not watched over them from their birth, nor seen them grow up under her fostering care to the vigor and strength of manhood.
It naturally took some time before the spirit of a form of art which was then the only form could completely disappear from the country; for we must recollect that in England at the time of the Reformation not only ecclesiastical but civil and domestic architecture was entirely Gothic. As there were for several centuries no new churches built—for the usurped edifices of Catholic days more than sufficed for the needs of Protestant piety—it was in domestic structures that the spirit of the style lingered longest in a practical form.
“Even down to the reign of James I. the domestic architecture of England, as exemplified in the country-houses of the nobility, was Gothic in spirit, and frequently contained more real elements of a mediæval character than many which have been built in modern times by the light of archæological orthodoxy. Inigo Jones himself required a second visit to Italy before he could thoroughly abandon the use of the pointed arch. But its days were numbered when in 1633 the first stone was laid for a Roman portico to one of the finest cathedrals of the middle ages, and Gothic architecture as a practical art received what was then no doubt supposed to be its death-blow.”[[101]]
From this period the practice of Gothic art gradually died out. Classic and Italian architecture, which had received a fresh impulse from the French Renaissance, rapidly came into fashion. Architects studied no other style, for the very good reason that the public admired no other. It was henceforth considered the criterion of good taste to abuse as barbarous all the productions of mediæval art, and the test of good Protestantism to look upon them as superstitious and popish. It is indeed surprising that so many of the wonderful productions of a period no longer understood or appreciated should have been allowed to come down to us unaltered by “classical” remodelling. What saved them and at the same time preserved the spirit of the old art from total extinction is thus told by Sir C. Eastlake:
“By a strange and fortunate coincidence of events, however, it happened at this very time, when architects of the period had learned to despise the buildings of their ancestors, a spirit of veneration for the past was springing up among a class of men who may be said to have founded our modern school of antiquaries. Sometimes, indeed, their researches were not those of a character from which much advantage can be expected.... But, luckily for posterity, the attention of others was drawn in a more serviceable direction. Up to this time no work of any importance had been published on the architectural antiquities of England. A period had arrived when it was thought necessary, if only on historical grounds, that some record of ecclesiastical establishments should be compiled. The promoters of the scheme were probably little influenced by the love of Gothic as a style. But an old building was necessarily a Gothic building, and thus it happened that, in spite of the prejudices of the age, and probably their own æsthetic predilections, the antiquaries of the day became the means of keeping alive some interest in a school of architecture which had ceased to be practically employed.”[[102]]
Amongst the earliest names that attained to a certain celebrity by their researches and writings may be mentioned those of Mr. R. Dodsworth and Mr. W. Dugdale, joint authors of the Monasticon Anglicanum, a work first published in 1655, and which still retains much interest for the modern student, as it includes many records and views of buildings which have long since perished. Another writer whose name deserves mention was Antony à Wood, born 1611, whose History of the Antiquities of Oxford was a book of considerable importance, connected as it was with a university where Gothic architecture was so nobly illustrated and where the traditions of the style lingered long after its true principles were forgotten.
During the next two hundred years the annals of Gothic art are indeed meagre; from time to time we have the record of some antiquarian research, and at rare intervals we hear of some uncouth attempts at Gothic building remarkable only for the egregious mistakes they display.
Early in the eighteenth century we find the name of a remarkable man connected with one of these crude attempts at mediæval art—that of the celebrated Horace Walpole, Earl of Oxford, the author of the first work of modern fiction whose scene is laid in the middle ages. His labors in the fields of literature and art were not profound. Eccentricity seemed the most marked feature of his taste; and, as may be well imagined, his famous Gothic house, Strawberry Hill, which has remained almost unaltered to the present day, is a strange monument of what debased art can achieve. The fact, however, that a man of his position, and enjoying the reputation he did, could patronize a form of architecture which had fallen into almost universal contempt could not have been without a powerful effect on the public mind—an effect which may be traced in the erection during the next fifty years of a certain number of mansions throughout the country in that style which Pugin loved so much to call “Brummagem Gothic.”
Towards the end of the century some useful books on architectural archæology appeared, such as Carter’s Specimens of Ancient Sculpture and Painting, Hearne’s Antiquities of Great Britain, Gough’s Sepulchral Monuments, Halfpenny’s Gothic Ornaments of the Cathedral of York, B. Willis’ History of Gothic Architecture in England.
“It was something at least to draw attention to the noble works of our ancestors, which had long been neglected and despised; to record with the pencil or with the pen some testimony, however inadequate, of their goodly form and worthy purpose; to invest with artistic and historical interest the perishing monuments of an age when art was pure and genuine.”[[103]]
When the nineteenth century opens, we find these works already producing practical fruits; for we see several architects of note, such as Wyat, Nash, and Smirke, attempting, and not without some success, the erection of edifices of Gothic design. Nearly always, however, their efforts were confined to domestic structures for private individuals—a proof how completely the taste was confined to the upper classes and was still unappreciated by the general public. If they did not often attempt to build new churches, unfortunately they did not hesitate to restore and improve the venerable cathedrals and churches of the past. Wyat in particular has a heavy burden of responsibility to bear on this score; for many were the noble buildings that long bore the traces of acts of vandalism and ignorance associated with his name.
How, indeed, could we expect better things in ecclesiastical architecture at a time when religion was at so low an ebb in England? As each generation had passed away the lingering memories of the old faith and the old ritual had vanished one by one; the last remnants of Catholic feelings and practices had disappeared under the influence of the cold formalism of the Puritans and the colder indifferentism of those who succeeded them. When we read the following description, given by Sir C. Eastlake, of a Protestant church and Protestant worship as he recollected them during the early years of the present century, we cannot feel surprised that there was a lack of inspiration among church architects:
“Who does not remember the air of grim respectability which pervaded, and in some cases even still pervades, the modern town church of a certain type, with its big bleak portico and muffin-capped charity-boys? Enter and notice the tall, neatly-grained witness-boxes in which the faithful are empanelled; the 'three-decker’ pulpit placed in the centre of the building; the lumbering gallery which is carried round the three sides of the interior on iron columns; the wizen-faced pew-opener eager for stray shillings; the earnest penitent who is inspecting the inside of his hat; the hassock which no one kneels on; the poor-box which is always empty. Hear how the clerk drones out the responses for a congregation too genteel to respond for themselves. Listen to the complicated discord in which the words of the Psalmist strike the ear after copious revision by Tate and Brady. Mark the prompt, if misdirected, zeal with which old ladies insist on testing the accuracy of the preacher’s memory by turning out the text. Observe the length and unimpeachable propriety, the overwhelming dulness, of his sermon.”
Alas! as far as exterior worship was concerned, the Catholic chapels of this period were in an equally sad condition; but from how different a cause! Centuries of persecution had not been able to stamp out the Catholic faith, but penal laws still in force, though not rigorously carried out, forced it to hide away in back streets and lanes, always avoiding whatever might attract public notice, lest it might awaken again the dormant flames of bigotry. Add to this the state of poverty to which, in many places, the Catholic body was reduced, and we need not wonder at the desolate aspect of the chapels, if the miserable structures that oftentimes were used for divine service deserved the name. They possessed, however, the presence of that God who had not disdained the poverty of a stable nor the humble offerings of poor shepherds; in like manner he looked with indulgence on the mean and scanty ornaments that in these sad times decorated his altars, and on the cold and desolate walls within which persecution had forced him to make his dwelling. He was pleased to await the time when happier days and gentler laws should once again permit his worship to be freely celebrated with all the glory and pomp of by-gone years. Such days were rapidly advancing, and Catholics were not slow in availing themselves of each relaxation of penal statutes, each favorable turn of Protestant bigotry, to improve their churches and to carry out more fully their sacred ceremonies—a task of no small difficulty on the part of a community so ill supplied with the riches of this world, and so long, from cruel necessity, forced to content themselves with a simplicity almost akin to that of the early Christians.
The dawn of the revival, which was now at hand, was marked by some writers of eminence whose theoretical works contributed much to prepare the way for it. Their writings were distinguished from those of the earlier antiquarians by a more practical knowledge of building and a more exact delineation of the details of the edifices they describe. Mr. J. Britton may be looked upon as a link between the two schools, as he had some of the characteristics of both. He was the author of numerous works on the English cathedral and other Gothic edifices, all illustrated with really artistic drawings. They were, however, more designed to create a taste for ancient art among the reading public than to assist the professional architect.
“While Britton was thus enlisting the sympathy of the amateur world two architects were engaged in preparing a practical and valuable work for the use of professional students.
“The examples of Gothic architecture which had hitherto been selected for publication were chiefly those which either served to illustrate a principle in the history of the style, or possessed some picturesque attraction in the way of general effect. But neither of these were of real service to the practical architect, who required geometrical and carefully-measured drawings of ancient roofs, doors, and windows to guide him in his designs and to help him in reviving a style the details of which had been as yet most imperfectly studied. Pugin’s (father to the celebrated Welby Pugin) and Wilson’s specimens of Gothic architecture supplied this want. It was a happy accident which brought these men together, the one eminently qualified as a draughtsman for the task, the other equally fitted to undertake its literary labor.”[[104]]
The writer whose name next appears on the roll of champions of Gothic art is one whose memory is enshrined in the hearts of all English Catholics—Dr. Milner, Vicar-Apostolic of the Midland district, better known to most people for his holy life, his ardent zeal, and his controversial power than as a writer on architecture. In this latter capacity, however, he deserves a foremost place among those who prepared the way for the great revival which unfortunately he did not live to see accomplished.
His Survey of the Antiquities of Winchester revealed much erudition and a thorough appreciation of ancient art; but by far the most important part of it was the short but now famous essay it contained, “On the Rise and Progress of the Pointed Arch.” In it the author uses for the first time the appellation now become so general as applied to the architecture of the middle ages—viz., the pointed style. His next work was an important Treatise on the Ecclesiastical Architecture of England during the Middle Ages. In this work the author not only proves himself an antiquary but a man of taste. A work more important still, and one productive of the most serious results, was a short pamphlet entitled A Dissertation on the Modern Style of Altering Ancient Cathedrals, as Exemplified in the Cathedral of Salisbury. In it he protests in vigorous language against the miserable degradation of the old churches accomplished under the name of restoration; nor does he spare Wyat, the leading spirit in these unfortunate improvements. No one before the days of Welby Pugin had so enthusiastically entered into the spirit of the old art, so thoroughly appreciated its beauties, and so ably defended its principles, not only against its avowed enemies, but against the ignorance of many of its would-be admirers. So outspoken, indeed, was Dr. Milner’s language in this pamphlet that it shocked the staid members of the Society of Antiquaries, before whom it was to have been read, and was in consequence withdrawn—not, however, to lie mouldering in its author’s desk, but soon to appear in print, and to work even more important effects on the future than its author ever contemplated.
Dr. Milner died in 1826, the very year that W. Pugin, then a youth of fourteen, was displaying one of the earliest proofs of his taste for mediæval art in devoting long hours to the studying and sketching of the old castle of Rochester.
How little did the gray-haired bishop dream of the wonderful revolution this youth, as yet unknown to fame, was to accomplish within a few years. Little did he think, when he saw arising the humble walls of his Gothic chapel at Winchester, that the day was not far distant when a Catholic architect would revive throughout the land the glories of that style which Dr. Milner had so well defended in days when it was neglected and abused.
One more name of importance must be mentioned before we attempt to trace the outline of Pugin’s career; we again quote from Sir C. Eastlake:
“Midway in point of time between Milner and Pugin, and possessing, though in a minor degree, the talents of both, Thomas Rickman, as an architect and author, plays no unimportant part in the history of the revival. His churches are perhaps the first of that period in which the details of old work were reproduced with accuracy of form. Up to this time antiquaries had studied the principles of mediæval architecture, and to some extent classified the phases through which it had passed, while architects had indirectly profited by their labors when endeavoring to imitate in practice the work of the middle ages. Rickman united both functions in one man.... In the science of his art he will not, of course, bear comparison with Willis. In the analyzing of its general principles he must yield to Whewell. In capability of invention he ranks, even for his time, far below Pugin; but it may be fairly questioned whether, if we consider him in the twofold capacity of a theorist and a practitioner, he did not do greater service than either his learned contemporaries or his enthusiastic disciple.”[[105]]
Had Rickman done no more than write his Attempt to discriminate the Styles of English Architecture, he would have been worthy of a high place among those who contributed to revive Gothic art. He supplied by this book a want long felt by architects and by those interested in architecture. Of learned, or rather unlearned, dissertations on the origin of the pointed style there were plenty, but of those short and useful volumes to which have been aptly given the name of hand-books there was a complete absence. Rickman’s book gave in a small compass a very complete history of the various phases of Gothic architecture in England; the main divisions into periods which he adopted being so good that they have remained unaltered to the present day. The work was illustrated with very fair engravings, and no architect who had perused it could any longer plead ignorance as an excuse for the monstrosities that were so often produced in those days under the name of Gothic.
His work on French Gothic, the fruits of a journey through the North of France with his friend Whewell, afterwards the famous Master of Trinity, is full of interest and contains an elaborate and carefully-drawn comparison between the mediæval remains in France and England.
With Rickman ends that gloomy night which had so long, with faint flashes of light now and again, enveloped the science and art of Gothic architecture; a dawn as sudden as it is bright foretells a day of more than ordinary brilliancy.
Ignorance and prejudice, which had so long reigned supreme in England in all matters concerning true religion and true art, were fast giving way before the researches of conscientious science, and as a result we see two great movements marking the first quarter of the present century—the Tractarian movement and the Gothic revival; the one religious, the other artistic. Of the first it does not enter into our plan to speak here, though it would no doubt afford a highly interesting study to trace out the mutual influence these two movements have exercised on one another; for it is impossible not to perceive that, on the one hand, the inquiry into the principles and form of ancient art led naturally on to an inquiry into the ancient formularies and practices of the faith which had inspired that art; and that, on the other hand, the revival of the long-forgotten ritual of the old faith led directly to the restoration and refurnishing of those temples that were so intimately connected with it. Before entering on the life of Pugin, which constitutes the culminating point in the great artistic revival we are attempting to sketch, we cannot do better than quote the opening words of the chapter in which Sir C. Eastlake traces his career, as it clearly proves the importance he attaches to the labors of this great man:
“However much we may be indebted to those ancient supporters of pointed architecture who, faithfully adhering to its traditions at a period when the style fell into general disuse, strove earnestly, in some instances ably, to preserve its character; whatever value in the cause we may attach to the crude and isolated examples of Gothic work which belong to the eighteenth century, or to the efforts of such men as Nash and Wyat, there can be but little doubt that the revival of mediæval design received its chief impulse from the energy and talents of one architect whose name marks an epoch in the history of British art, which while art exists at all can never be forgotten.”[[106]]
Augustus Welby Pugin, the architect to whom these words apply, was born in London on March 1, 1812. We have already spoken of his father, and of the important place his illustrated works occupy in the history we are tracing; he was a French refugee and a Protestant, and his son was brought up a Protestant. Although the elder Pugin had little professional practice, he seems to have attained to a position of ease by the sale of his works and the instruction of pupils. His son was educated at Christ’s Hospital, on leaving which he entered his father’s office, having from his earliest years shown a great taste for drawing. He soon mastered the first elements of his profession and became of much use to his father, already showing that earnestness in all he undertook that was so characteristic of him in later years. His taste for mediæval art received a fresh impulse from a professional tour he made in 1827 with his father through Normandy, which gave him the opportunity of studying the beauty of Gothic ornament in some of its most splendid productions.
While still a mere youth his cleverness in designing attracted attention, and he received a commission from the royal upholsterers to prepare designs for the new furniture for Windsor Castle, which it was determined should partake of the character of the building. The drawings he gave were probably better than what most architects of the day could have produced, yet in the writings of his after-years he always frankly pointed out their faults.
A love of variety and a strong taste for roving interrupted for a short period his architectural studies. He devoted for a time his energies to scene-painting, and with much success when the subjects were of a mediæval character. Next we find him carried away by an extraordinary passion for the sea, and he actually for a certain period commanded a merchant schooner trading between England and Holland. Having been wrecked, however, on the Scotch coast, his seafaring ardor was somewhat cooled, and he returned to the labors of his original profession.
His talents were soon rewarded by increasing practice, many architects being glad to avail themselves of his wonderful, one might almost say innate, knowledge of Gothic ornament.
A most serious and important event in Pugin’s life, and one having much influence on his future career, occurred about this time—his conversion to the Catholic religion. There can be no doubt that his intense love of the past and his enthusiastic admiration of the glorious monuments of the ages of faith strongly biassed his mind towards this determination, though of course it was not these considerations alone that led him to take so important a step. His after-life proved how thorough was his faith and how sincere his piety.
This change of religion affected, in more ways than one, the professional career of Welby Pugin. From a pecuniary point of view it probably made little difference to him—as his talents were such as to insure for him constant work, and he already possessed independent means. But by this step he sacrificed what was far dearer to him, his future fame as an architect.
Never was there a more splendid opening for architectural talent than that very time when Pugin, in the first dawn of his genius, embraced the Catholic faith. Everything had combined to prepare a revival of Gothic art. The materials were already collected and awaited but the hand of a man of genius to make a practical use of them. The ritualistic movement had awakened the desire to restore the old and to build new churches. Rich men were ready to give unbounded wealth to further the enterprise. Had Pugin remained a Protestant, had he preferred fame to conscience, he might have found an easy road to it by availing himself of an opportunity so worthy the gifts of one eminently fitted to be a leader in a movement that combined religion and art. He preferred to return to the faith that had inspired those mediæval times he so fondly loved, and to risk his future reputation by offending that feeling which is so strong in Protestant England against converts. The Catholic who for centuries has kept his faith they can tolerate, nay, admire; but one who was their own and deserts them they find it hard to forgive.
Not only did Pugin, in thus affronting public opinion, bias the judgment of his contemporaries and of future critics, but he actually, by attaching himself to the poorest religious body in England, deprived himself of the means of adequately displaying his power.
During the next years that composed the short career of Pugin we find him working with an activity and enthusiasm that showed how all labor connected with his art was to him a labor of love. His pen and his pencil were alike devoted to its service. In 1836 he published his celebrated Contrasts—a work in which he compares with keen irony and scathing satire the buildings and institutions of the past with those of the present; in the sketches which illustrate it he delineates with wonderful humor all the weak points of modern architecture. His style of writing was flowing and easy, always highly picturesque and enthusiastic, but sometimes slightly inclined to exaggeration and eccentricity. It was this that made it so difficult for him to write without giving offence sometimes even to his own friends and co-religionists.
His next work was his True Principles of Pointed Architecture. It is but a short volume, consisting of two lectures delivered at St. Mary’s College, Oscott, but it forms a most complete elementary treatise on Gothic art, founded on the two great principles enunciated in its first page: “1. That there should be no features about a building that are not necessary for convenience, construction, or propriety; 2. That all ornament should consist of enrichment of the essential construction of the building.”
It is clearly shown that in these principles lies the true secret of all correct pointed construction and ornament, and that any analysis of Gothic work undertaken without taking them into consideration must inevitably lead to erroneous conclusions.
The truth of these principles is now universally admitted in works that treat of pointed architecture, but to Pugin belongs the honor of having first laid them down and having shown how important they were to the right understanding of the lessons handed down to us in the wondrous structures of the past.
His next work was An Apology for the Revival of Christian Architecture in England. It is a brilliant defence of Gothic art, intended specially to prove that it is still “the only correct expression of the faith, the wants, and climate of our country.”
As a specimen of Pugin’s amusing style when describing the incongruous productions of modern architecture, we cannot do better than quote the description of a nineteenth-century cemetery contained in this book; we only wish we could reproduce the delightful picture that accompanies the text:
“There are a superabundance of inverted torches, cinerary urns, and pagan emblems, tastefully disposed by the side of neat gravel walks, among cypress-trees and weeping willows.
“The central chapel is generally built on such a comprehensive plan as to be adapted (in the modern sense) for each sect and denomination in turn as they may require its temporary use; but the entrance gate-way is usually selected for the grand display of the company’s enterprise and taste, as being well calculated from its position to induce persons to patronize the undertaking by the purchase of shares or graves. This is generally Egyptian, probably from some associations between the word catacombs, which occurs in the prospectus of the company, and the discoveries of Belzoni on the banks of the Nile; and nearly opposite the Green Man and Dog public-house, in the centre of a dead-wall (which serves as a cheap medium of advertisement for blacking and shaving-strop manufacturers), a cement caricature of the entrance to an Egyptian temple, two and a half inches to the foot, is erected, with convenient lodges for the policeman and his wife, and a neat pair of cast-iron hieroglyphical gates which would puzzle the most learned to decipher; while, to prevent any mistake, some such words as 'New Economical Compressed Grave Company’s Cemetery’ are inscribed in Grecian capitals along the frieze, interspersed with hawk-headed divinities, and surmounted by a huge representation of the winged Osiris bearing a gas-lamp.”[[107]]
In 1844 he published his next important work, The Glossary of Ecclesiastical Ornament and Costume. It is a thoroughly practical book, designed to supply correct descriptions and patterns for the use of those who manufacture the various ornaments employed in the ritual of the church, which were at that time of the most incorrect forms and in the worst taste.
His other literary productions were numerous but of less importance, being for the most part of a controversial character, and we pass on to examine, as far as our limited space permits, Pugin’s career and influence as a practical architect. Catholic emancipation, in freeing the church from the galling restraints to which she had been so long subjected in England and Ireland, opened for her a new era of liberty and prosperity in those countries. True, she did not regain that wealth which had been sacrilegiously torn from her at the Reformation; still, she was enabled, through the generosity of her children, to expend large sums in the construction of churches somewhat more worthy of the august mysteries she celebrates than those poor edifices she had been so long forced to use.
As a Catholic of undoubted talents, Pugin soon found that his architectural capacity was appreciated by his co-religionists, who entrusted to him the construction of all their principal churches. Few among them, indeed, were, by their size or importance, calculated to give full scope to Pugin’s genius; nevertheless, to the smallest building he always devoted long study and attention and a scrupulous fidelity to the principles he had laid down in his writings, although in many cases it was extremely difficult to do so, owing to the small amount of money that could be expended on the work. Among the many churches he designed we may mention, as the best specimens of his skill, the cathedrals of Birmingham, Southwark, Nottingham, Killarney, and Enniscorthy; the churches of St. Wilfrid’s, Manchester; St. Marie’s, Liverpool; St. Giles’, Cheadle; St. Bernard’s Abbey, Leicestershire; St. Augustine’s, Ramsgate.
In all these churches the exterior beauty has been more or less sacrificed to interior ornament and decoration, Pugin preferring to devote all the money possible to beautifying those parts which were most closely connected with the presence of his God, when the funds did not permit him to adorn fully both exterior and interior. This has often led his critics to misjudge his capacity as an architect; even Sir C. Eastlake falls into this error, and, though a sincere admirer of Pugin, does not hesitate to assert that “of constructive science he probably knew but little.” That his greatest power lay in ornament and detail may no doubt be true; still, we are fully convinced that had he found the same opportunities of displaying his knowledge as a scientific architect, and had he not been trammelled by the constant necessity to keep down expense, he would have amply proved to the world how unfounded were these accusations.
In comparing Pugin with the architects who have succeeded him people often forget the difficulties he had to contend against. He had to revive and educate the whole series of artisans whose combined labors are required to construct the smallest Gothic edifice—sculptors, carvers, iron-workers, painters, and decorators. When he began his career as a practical architect he had to design every smallest item required for his buildings, and, what is more, often personally to superintend their manufacture; a lock, a screw, a nail of correct pointed design were then things that had no existence.
If we take up now a book of that period, we can scarcely believe that ignorance and absurdity could go so far as to call Gothic the designs we see there depicted under that appellation. It is solely to Pugin’s untiring energy, to his conscientious love of his art, and to his wonderful fertility of invention—gifts which even his adversaries cannot deny him—that we owe the change that has been wrought in a few years.
The important progress in metal work, which now places at the disposal of the architect and builder material and designs almost equalling the best products of the middle ages, is completely due to him; in this, as in another long-lost branch of art—glass-staining—he found in Mr. J. Hardman, of Birmingham, one thoroughly competent by his practical knowledge and refined taste to assist him in carrying out his reforms.
How many other branches of industry, connected directly or indirectly with mediæval art, could be mentioned in which the influence of Pugin’s labors can be traced!—the production of encaustic tiles, silk embroidery, wood-carving, the manufacture of church plate and furniture of all kinds, even household articles and jewelry. Sir C. Eastlake truly remarks: “Those establishments which are known in London as ecclesiastical warehouses owe their existence and their source of profit to Pugin’s exertions in the cause of rubrical propriety.”[[108]] He might have added with equal truth that the many beautiful objects we admire in them owe their existence to the principles he established by his writings and to the endless models which his unrivalled facility of invention placed at the disposal of the public.
If a proof were wanting of the hold that the revival of which Pugin was the leading spirit was taking on public opinion, it is the fact that a Parliamentary committee, in drawing up the terms of the competition for the plans of the new Houses of Parliament, stipulated that the designs should be Gothic or Elizabethan. It has often been regretted that Pugin did not take part in this competition, and his reasons for not doing so have never been quite satisfactorily explained.
Barry, the architect selected for the new buildings, showed his appreciation of Pugin’s capabilities and his esteem for his talents by applying to him for designs for all the important interior decorations and furniture. The beauty of these parts shows how well suited he was for the task; many consider them the most perfect parts of the edifice, the exterior, notwithstanding its real merits, having numerous faults—some of them, it is true, inherent to the style adopted—Tudor or perpendicular.
Besides the many churches and other religious edifices which Pugin designed, he devoted considerable attention to domestic architecture; and among the best specimens he left may be mentioned Bilton Grange, Adare Manor, and Scarisbrick Hall, Chirk Castle and Alton Towers; the last two he only restored and altered. But perhaps his happiest effort in this style was his own house at Ramsgate, which is, in every detail, a perfect specimen of a mediæval residence, strongly illustrating how deeply imbued Pugin was with the spirit and traditions of the past. So thoroughly Gothic were all his feelings and tastes that we firmly believe it would have been impossible for him to design a building in any other style.
With Pugin’s death, which occurred in 1854, we shall terminate this short sketch of one of the most wonderful revivals of the present age. We have told how Gothic architecture became extinct as a practical art, how its theory was forgotten and misunderstood for centuries, its very name kept in remembrance only by a few rare lovers of antiquity. We have traced the first dawn of a change in public taste, originated by the serious works of men versed in the history of ancient art, and inspired by a love of its grand productions.
In what a different position we leave it now! The master spirit that had breathed a new life into its almost inanimate form has passed away; his mortal remains are sleeping in the hallowed transept of that beautiful church at Ramsgate, the designing and decorating of which had been to him such a labor of love; but, unlike many reformers, he had lived to see his cherished dreams realized; he had lived to see the mystic steeple and the high pitched roof once more ascend to heaven from the crowded cities and the wooded fields of his country; he had lived to see a long array of distinguished names consecrate their gifts to that one style he had loved and for which he had labored.