The international Second Empire mode has so far found no historian or even a sympathetic critic. Perhaps no other mode so widespread in its acceptance and so prolific in its production has ever received so little attention from posterity. Yet beside it the contemporary stream of the Victorian Gothic mode, which has been recurrently studied, must seem more than a little parochial and also excessively dependent on the individual capacities—not to say the caprices—of its leading practitioners. Within the areas in which the Victorian Gothic was employed, however, an area effectively confined to the Anglo-Saxon world geographically and to certain kinds of buildings typologically, it was capable of major architectural achievement. Moreover, thanks to the line of spiritual descent from the leaders of the generation of architects active in the third quarter of the century to those of the next, the more creative aspects of the architecture of the turn of the century derive in not inconsiderable part from the later Victorian Gothic.

The Lefuels and Hansens, or such men as Brodrick, Poelaert, and Gilman, trained no worthy pupils. But the disciples of the Victorian Gothic leaders not only include such very able young men who actually worked in their offices as Webb and Shaw and Voysey but also, in some sense at least, so great an American architect as Richardson, whose formal training had been wholly Parisian (see Chapters [11], [12], and [13]). The advance of domestic architecture in the second half of the nineteenth century and, to a somewhat lesser extent, also that of commercial architecture therefore owed a great deal to the Victorian Gothic, at least in England and America (see Chapters [14] and [15]).

CHAPTER 10
HIGH VICTORIAN GOTHIC IN ENGLAND

By 1850 Neo-Gothic was accepted as a proper mode for churches throughout the western world. Only in England, however, had it become dominant for such use. Moreover, Gothic was a more than acceptable alternative there to Greek or Renaissance or Jacobethan design for many other sorts of buildings also. Only in the urban fields of commercial construction and of terrace-housing was its employment still very rare. On the Continent the nearest equivalent in popularity and ubiquity to the Victorian Gothic was the German Rundbogenstil. Neo-Gothic, although used more and more everywhere after 1850 for churches, attracted few architectural talents of a high order (see Chapter [11]).

There are several reasons why the Gothic Revival was able in England, and almost only in England, to pass into a new and creative phase around 1850. One was certainly the ethical emphasis of its doctrines, an emphasis more sympathetic to Victorians than to most Europeans of this period, but not without its appeal on the Continent towards the end of the century. Another reason was the informality, not to say the amateurishness, of architectural education in Britain, encouraging personal discipleship and the cultivation of individual expression rather than providing for the continuation of an academic tradition.

Related to this is the private character of architectural practice in England as compared to its more public responsibilities and controls on the Continent. The desirable professional positions in France, and to almost the same degree in many other European countries, were those offered by the sovereign or the State. But after the time of Soane and Nash official employment ceased to carry either prestige or opportunity in England, the Houses of Parliament notwithstanding—it was not Barry’s work there but his clubs and mansions that established his high professional reputation. As in the eighteenth century, a social and aesthetic élite still provided both critical esteem and the most desirable commissions for Victorian architects; by 1850 a large part of that élite was very church-minded and thoroughly Gothicized. Not until the mid sixties was there any significant change; even then those responsible for this change, both the architects and their patrons, had all been brought up in the churchly Gothic Revival tradition.

The High Victorian Gothic opened with the building of a London church. All Saints’, Margaret Street, designed in 1849, largely completed externally by 1852, and consecrated in 1859, was the result of no imperial fiat, like the Votivkirche in Vienna or the big churches of the sixties in Paris, nor did it occupy like them an isolated site approached by wide new boulevards. Intended as a ‘model’ church by its sponsors, the Ecclesiological Society, and financed by private individuals, All Saints’ is set in a minor West End street at the rear of a restricted court flanked by a clergy house and a school (Plate [6A]). But for its tower, the tallest feature of the mid-century London skyline, it would have been hard to find; but once found, it could never be ignored.

The architect of All Saints’, Butterfield, had been for some years, together with Carpenter, the favourite of the ecclesiologists because of the Pugin-like ‘correctness’ of his revived fourteenth-century English Gothic. Now, quite suddenly, he and his sponsors embarked on new paths. As soon as the walls began to rise, their startling character became apparent; for the church is of red brick, a material long out of use in London, and that red brick is banded and patterned with black brick, a theme varied on the tower by the insertion of broad bands of stone. ‘Permanent polychrome’, achieved with a variety of materials, thus made its debut here. In the interior, moreover, the polychromatic effect was even richer and more strident, with marquetry of marble and tile in the spandrels of the nave arcade and over the chancel arch, not to speak of onyx and gilding in the chancel itself (Plate [85]). The very exiguous site forced any expansion upwards; the nave is tall, the vaulted chancel taller, and the subsidiary structures flanking the court are even higher and narrower in their proportions.

While the construction of All Saints’ proceeded there was much concurrent and complementary activity in the English architectural world. In 1849 a young critic, John Ruskin (1819-1900), had brought out an influential book, The Seven Lamps of Architecture, in which many of the recommendations ran parallel to, if indeed they did not influence, Butterfield’s latest stylistic innovations. Notably, Ruskin urged the study of Italian Gothic: if All Saints’ is, in fact, not specifically Italian in the character of its polychromy, it seemed so to most contemporaries. The real foreign influences here, as in the profile of the fine plain steeple, are German if anything. Butterfield’s moulded detail continued to follow quite closely English fourteenth-century models.[[218]]