It is hardly possible, however, to suppose that the illustrious architect of the British Museum was not as conversant with Roman as with Greek architecture, or that he was wholly unacquainted with the Romano-Italian works of Wren or Palladio.
As the Roman, unlike the Grecian, and still more unlike the Pointed, does not mainly depend for its beauty on the lines of its construction, the facility for legitimately decorating a building of the shape of the British Museum would have been far greater in the first-named style. Who shall say that in a gallery of the Roman type the statues of Roman Emperors, or even the monuments of Assyrian Kings, are out of place? or that the disjecta membra of a Greek frieze or pediment would be incongruous with an architecture so nearly akin to their own? At any rate, we should have been able to view them with comfort, which is scarcely the case at present; for the power of lighting would have been increased tenfold. Opportunities, too, of a more effective system of intramural ornamentation would have been offered, and many other minor advantages, conducive to beauty or convenience, secured. Happily, in the latest addition to the great building—an addition that owes alike its origin, position, and form of construction to the enterprise and genius of Panizzi—the ponderous and unsuccessful imitation of the Greek style has been laid aside, and a light and graceful form of the Italian order adopted.
This little gem of architecture—this “Margarita”—is the “New Reading-Room.”
The history and traditions of the Reading-Room at the British Museum have been so faithfully and minutely recorded by others that it would be unpardonable to overcrowd our space in this work with too full a description of them. Since the year 1758, a Reading-Room has always been attached to the Museum, and the original apartment was, by all accounts, especially comfortable and even luxurious. Though small, it seems to have been sufficiently large to meet the requirements of those early days of its existence. We read of this pleasant corner room in “the basement story, with one oak table and twenty chairs,” so small as to be fitted for only twenty readers, yet it was seldom patronized to the extent of its full capabilities. In one respect it must have been truly paradisiacal, for it opened into a delightful garden in which, as tradition has it, the presiding deity was accustomed to walk, although not in the cool of the evening. This gentleman, Dr. Templeman, afterwards Secretary to the Society of Arts, seems, notwithstanding, to have found his duties sufficiently onerous. After eight months’ incumbency,[incumbency,] “he takes the opportunity of reminding the Committee that he begs to be relieved from the excessive attendance of six hours’ continuance each day, for it is more than he is able to bear,” and on March 13, 1760, he records with a chuckle “Last Tuesday, no company coming to the Reading-Room, Dr. Templeman ventured to go away about 2 o’clock.” Not above twenty readers were admitted monthly during the first few months, and when the novelty of the institution had worn off, even this average declined to ten or twelve. It is true that among these appear the names of Johnson, Gray, Hume and Blackstone. Nor were the regulations patterns of liberality. The statutes directed that notice should be given in writing the day before to the officer in attendance by each person “what book or manuscript he will be desirous of perusing the following day; which book or manuscript in such request will be lodged in some convenient place in the said room, and will from thence be delivered to him by the officer of the said room.”
From the delightful garden with which it communicated, and its almost rural surroundings; from the illustrious names of those ornaments of the silver age of our literature who frequented it, and in the excellence of whose works one almost seems to discover traces of quiet ease of study, such as this resort must have afforded, it is with mingled feelings of regret and envy that we turn to our own time and lament that the world of readers and writers should have arrived at such monstrous dimensions and such unmanageable proportions.
One great improvement has recently been effected, the electric light—the latest application of science to the means of illuminating large buildings, has been, through the energy of Mr. E. A. Bond, the present Principal Librarian, most successfully introduced into this department—gladdening the hearts of students by increasing their hours of research, and enabling them to seek, with its clear effulgence, the information which they desire to possess.
Our contemplation of Panizzi’s majestic work has, however, its dark shade. It reminds us sadly of the bustling and feverish spirit which pervades our present, literature; of the enormous trade of bookmaking openly carried on amongst us, and of the lack both of dignity and polish only too often conspicuous in the best works of our best modern authors.
The quiet ease and learned leisure gradually died away, readers and authors of all classes rapidly increased; insignificant as were their numbers compared with the present multitude, it became incumbent on the authorities to prepare something more than the single and comfortable room with its garden; and in the old House and in its last days, three rooms were set apart for their accommodation.
To the first Reading-Room in the new building but scant praise can be accorded. The appointments of it were in no wise satisfactory, whilst the mode of access was almost mean and decidedly incommodious. Previously crowded, as a rule, it is on record that, although constructed to hold only about 120 readers, no less than 200 persons were frequently crammed into it. A larger apartment was, therefore, urgently called for; and, in 1838, the old room was closed, another being opened in a different quarter of the building. This, divided into two compartments, was about one-third larger than its predecessor, and in its size alone its superiority appears to have consisted. It is true that, in many respects, its fittings were far better, that a more convenient entrance was constructed, and that more attention was paid to the comfort, if not so much of the readers, at any rate of certain of the attendant officials, who had before this been wretchedly housed.
The lighting by means of windows many feet from the ground was, in both rooms, lamentably deficient. In neither had due care been taken to provide sufficient ventilation. The admission of fresh air appears to have been chiefly effected by the simple contrivance of opening the windows, a practice not always possible, and not unlikely, at certain seasons of the year to be attended with as much danger as would have been the retention of foul air. Readers who remained in the stifling atmosphere of either room for any length of time were known to complain of a peculiar languor and headache, and the expressive term Museum Megrims was invented to describe the uneasy sensations of the too persistent student.