His most important work of this period in the former style was St. Peter’s Church at Brighton. The opportunity was considerable; the competition exceedingly severe, and his victory was a subject of great delight and encouragement to him. A hurried note to his wife announced, August 4th, 1823, the day when the result was proclaimed, as the “proudest day of his existence,” likely to be the “entrance on a brilliant career.” Nor were these expectations altogether groundless. The church was much admired at the time, not undeservedly, for it was a decided step in advance, though the greater knowledge of Gothic in the present day will hardly altogether endorse contemporary criticisms. He himself in after days naturally felt dissatisfied with the faults of detail and the mixture of styles admitted therein; and his architectural conscience felt a strong and characteristic repugnance to the aisle windows, on the ground that, being in one height, they sinned against “truth” in giving no indication of the galleries within. But his greatest cause of regret always was the absence of the spire, with a view to which the tower was expressly designed. He did his best to fight against the economical veto put on its erection, and always considered that the want of it did much injustice to his first important Gothic design.[34] But he had, on the whole, little reason to be dissatisfied. The design showed a marked advance, as compared with those of the earlier churches, and secured to him a good position in the ranks of church architects.
The erection of this church opened a new field to him at Brighton. Several minor works gave scope to his activity, and supplied welcome aid to his exchequer. He built Brunswick Chapel for Dr. Everard, a gentleman who appreciated his talents, and showed him very great kindness. Some other chapels and dwelling-houses he built or altered; of the Sussex County Hospital he designed the centre, to be at once erected as a portion of a larger design. The first stone was laid by Lord Egremont in March, 1826. Large additions were, however, made by other hands in the shape of wings, which entirely altered the proportions of the whole mass. He became also known to Lord Egremont in August, 1824, and was a not unfrequent partaker of the generous hospitality of Petworth Castle. For him he almost rebuilt Petworth Church in 1827, and added a new spire to the restored building.
At this time he also became acquainted with Mr. Attree, a solicitor of considerable eminence and influence in Brighton, who was, then and afterwards, one of his sincerest friends. For him he undertook the laying out of a considerable tract of land as a park, to be called the Queen’s Park, and to be portioned out in villas—all designed in the Italian style. Of such detached villa residences there was great scarcity, and the scheme had every prospect of success. But the co-operation of the owners of adjacent property could not be gained, and in consequence no good access from the cliff was possible. Hence the Queen’s Park has never been so well known and frequented, as from its beautiful situation might have been expected. Only Mr. Attree’s house was built, on the plan of an Italian villa, excellently adapted to modern English requirements. Near it was a circular tower in the same style, intended to cover a horizontal wind-wheel for raising water. The work deserves notice as his earliest essay in the style in which he first gained his fame, and which to the last (in spite of the Gothicists) he maintained to be in some respects peculiarly fit for mansions of the present day. Small as it was, it was designed with as much care and finish as any of his larger works. In it for the first time he had an opportunity of carrying out his ideas of “architectural gardening,” as the house was set in a terrace-garden, with small fountains and pretty loggie, after the Italian manner. It led indirectly to a larger work of the same kind. The Duke and Duchess of Sutherland (to whom he had been introduced at Holland House) saw it, and were struck with the elegance and refinement of the design. From this impression resulted his subsequent employment to carry out the greater works at Trentham.
Meanwhile the church-building movement continued, and in that movement he found much occupation. In 1826 he was employed by the Rev. Daniel Wilson, Rector of Islington (afterwards Bishop of Calcutta), to erect three churches in Islington—at Holloway, Ball’s Pond, and Cloudesley Square. These were churches of considerable scale, and no small expense;[35] but in them, as in so many other churches of the time, little was effected compared with what could now be done for the same sum. In 1829 he built a chapel and schools at Saffron Hill, London.
It was at this time only of his professional career that he was much employed in the building of churches. The consequence is that, although his churches were fully up to the mark of their period, they cannot take their place among his important works, or be considered to form any important step in architectural progress.
It was not merely that at this time Gothic detail and Gothic principles of design were comparatively unknown. But church architecture, as such, was only in the infancy of its revival, inasmuch as its symbolism was neglected, and the true proportion and meaning of its various features ill understood. Churches were regarded very much as “auditoria,” or preaching-houses—for the sermon still usurped a pre-eminence obscuring the other great elements of public worship. It was not wonderful that in their design a want of power to enter into the true principles of church architecture was often betrayed, either by slavish adoption of that which was now meaningless, or by innovations which outraged the whole harmony of its grand idea. The minds of men have since been awakened to truer conceptions of the church and of its worship, and the progress of thought is seen in that advance of art, which has left behind the works of an earlier period. But architects, unlike other artists, cannot destroy the crude conceptions, which are their steps towards perfection.
Mr. Barry’s architectural career soon led him in another direction. This was probably not a mere accident, for it may be doubted whether his mind was such as to enter very deeply into the principles of church architecture, or at any rate into the particular development which such architecture has received. He himself felt strongly that the forms of mediæval art, beautiful as they are, do not always adapt themselves thoroughly to the needs of a service which is essentially one of “Common Prayer.” Deep chancels, high rood-screens, and (in less degree) pillared aisles, seemed to him to belong to the worship and institutions of the past rather than the present. Time-honoured as they were, he would have in some degree put them aside, and, accepting Gothic as the style for church architecture, he would have preferred those forms of it, which secured uninterrupted space, and gave a perfect sense of unity in the congregation, even at the cost of sacrificing features beautiful in themselves, and perhaps of interfering with the “dim religious light” of impressiveness and solemnity.[36]
It still remains to be seen, whether the value of these principles will not yet be felt, and asserted more forcibly in the church architecture of the future, and whether the actual requirements of our service will not prevail over the beauty of special features and the power of old associations. But in the stage, through which ecclesiastical architecture was passing in the days of his active work, “correctness” was everything, and any innovations were ruthlessly hunted down as heretical. The stage was a very useful and necessary one; but it was rather preparatory than final, and there are already signs that it is passing away, and giving place to greater freedom and originality of treatment.[37]
All these works gave him constant occupation, and were gradually carrying him on through the first struggle of life to pecuniary independence. The improvement of his circumstances was shown by his removal in 1827 to 27, Foley Place, Cavendish Square—a house more desirable in situation, and better fitted for his increasing family.
Still he found time for much subsidiary work. Then, as afterwards, it was his practice never to neglect or despise anything. In October, 1824, he undertook to make or correct a plan of Lambeth parish—a work in which no doubt his old local knowledge stood him in good stead; and in the next year he thought it worth his while to survey an estate in Dulwich. Nor did he shrink from the labour of preparing designs for competitions, or on the chance of professional employment. In March, 1824, he was busy upon a design for the “National Scotch Church;” in 1825 he sent in designs for the Leeds Exchange, and for the erection of a church at Kensington. The year 1828 seems to have been one of great activity. In it he prepared no less than four different designs in the competition for the Pitt Press at Cambridge; in the same year we find records of designs for three very different buildings—the Law Institution, a new concert-room at Manchester, and a new church at Streatham; while at the same time he was working hard at the design for the Travellers’ Club, the building which, more than any other of the period, secured him at once a high position in the architectural profession. His life at this time, as at all others, tells the story of work and enterprise, with the drawback of repeated failures, and the encouragement of occasional success. Such practical work was gradually absorbing the time hitherto given to artistic study. But he still found time for occasional architectural tours, in which, of course, his sketch-book was seldom out of his hand, for an elaborate plan and drawings of Jerusalem, in 1823, and for a drawing of a building, which he greatly admired, the cathedral at Palermo, contributed to a Leeds exhibition in May, 1825. For his life was at this time full of activity and a sanguine hope, which gave zest to its hard work.