'•fc*. ,-:,A X''>jT'«»'/,_ ■ y '' ' +' ' V X \uf^, . .,^iuK 6^'Fv^i?‘W.?l^V AS I*' I.*'- Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 https://archive.org/details/henryhobsonricha00vanr_0 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON AND HIS WORKS BY MRS. SCHUYLER VAN RENSSELAER WITH A PORTRAIT AND ILLUS- TRATIONS OF THE . ARCHITECT’S DESIGNS •Scautp totll not come at tl)c call of a Icfftslatnrc, nor tutll it repeat in ©nfflanU or 3(mtrtia its (listorp in Greece. 3ft toill come, as altoaps, unannounceH, anU spring up bcttocen tl)t feet of braPe anb earnest men. 'iSmerpoa BOSTON AND N]*:W ^'ORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY ilfje Utitjcrfiiilic Cnmtirilioc MDCCCLXXXVIII iFjl3e |)unlJre5 Coptec Printci, No. c- -> \ - • Copyright, 1888, Bt M. G. van RENSSELAER akd HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. All rights reserved. The Riverside Press, Cambridge ; Electrotyped and Printed hy H. 0. Houghton and Company. To THE PUPILS OF HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON this book is dedicated, as a testhnony to the value of the assistance which they gave their master ifi his work and an expression of the belief that their own works tinll show, more convincingly than any words, the greatness of his qualities as an a?'tist and a teacher. r 9 West Ninth Street, New York, April 77, i88S. M. G. VAN RENSSELAER. y.i ■ ' ■ ■ . ■ ■ • •/( •. '\ '• ••« ' »»ij i CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Ancestry and Early Life . . 1 II. Life in Paris 6 III. Life in Paris and Eeturn to America . . . . . . . . . . .14 IV. Professional Life 19 V. European Journey . 26 VI. Last Days. — Personal Traits 35 * VII. Hereditary Influences . 42 VIII. Early Works 47 IX. Early Works . 54 X. Trinity Church 59 XI. Works of Middle Life 67 XII. The Albany Capitol ■ . ... . . . . . . 73 XIII. Works of Middle Life . . 78 XIV. The Cathedral Drawings. — The Pittsburgh Court-House 87 XV. The Field Building. — The Cincinnati Chamber of Commerce . 94 XVI. Railroad Stations. — Dwelling-Houses 100 XVII. Characteristics as an Artist ............. Ill XVIII. Characteristics as an Artist ............. 117 XIX. Methods of Teaching . . . ■ 123 XX. Influence upon Profession and Public . 132 APPENDIX. I. List of Richardson’s "Works . • . . . • ■ .139 II. Methods of Instruction followed and Problems given out at the Ecole des Beaux Arts, Paris 141 III. Extracts from Richardson’s Description of Trinity Church . . . . . . . .143 IV. Extracts from Memoranda and Letters relating to the Cathedral Drawings . . . 145 V. Richardson’s Professional Circular for Intending Clients 147 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FULL-PAGE PLATES. Portrait of H. H. Richardsox . Trinita' Church, Bostox IXTERIOR of TrIXITY ChURCH, BoSTOX Competitive Desigx for Trixity Church, Bostox .... Proposed Porch for Trixity Church, Bostox . ; . Wixx Memorial Library, Woburx ....... WiXG of Library, North Eastox ...... Doorway of Library, North Eastox ...... Sever Hall, Harvard Uxiversity Towx Hall, North Eastox South Froxt op the Capitol, Albaxy Interior of Senate Chamber, Capitol,. Albany .... Fire-Place in Court of Appeals Room, Capitol, Albany . Plan of West Staircase, Capitol, Albany Crane Memorial Library, Quincy City Hall, Albany Study for Rear of City Hall, Albany Law School, Harvard University Porch of Law School, Harvard University .... Re.vr of Law School, Harvard University . . . . Ames Building, Boston . Ames Building, Boston ......... Plan of Propo.sed Cathedral Church for Albany . Perspective View of Proposed Cathedral Church for Albany . Elevation op Proposed Cathedral Church for Albany . Allegheny County Buildings, Pittsburgh ..... Jail, Pittsburgh .......... Field Building, Chicago Chamber of Commerce, Cincinnati ...... Railroad Station, Aup.urndale Railroad Station, Holyoke Railroad Station, Chestnut Hill Frontispiece PAGE . 58 , 59 . 60 , 61 . 62 , 63 . 64 , 65 . 66 , 67 . 68 , 69 . 68 , 69 . 70 , 71 . 70 , 71 . 74 , 75 74 , 75 . 76 , 77 78 , 79 . 80 , 81 82 , 83 . 82 , 83 84 , 85 . 84 , 85 84 , 85 . 86 , 87 88 , 89 . 88 , 89 88 , 89 . 88 , 89 90 , 91 . 96 ), 97 98 , 99 100, 101 100, 101 102 , 103 viii LIST OF ILLUSTFATIONS. Hall, Hol'se of Johx Hay, AVashixgtox 106, House of B . II. IVaeoek, Washixgto'x 108, House of Fkaxklix MacVeagh, Chica(;o 108, LlliUAJtY OF H. H. IIlCHAKDSOX 122, Offices of H. H. Richakdsox 126, ILLUSTKATIONS IN THE TEXT. Autograph Drawixg by H. H. Richakdsox, 1859 ........... Tower, Church of the Uxity, Srkixgflelu (Autograph Drawixg by H. H. Richardsox) . Study for Church of the Uxity, Sprixofuild ............ Tower, New Brattle Square Church, Bostox Study for North Church, Sprixgfield I9.A-X OF Trixity Church, Cloisters, ax’d Chapel-Buildix’^g ......... A Glimpse of North Eastox- . Proposed Additiox’’ to Chex-ey" Buildix-g, Hartford 1’lax' of Library, Woburx’^ ................ Library. North Eastox Sketch for a Towx Hall for Bkooklix-e ............. City Hall, Alb^yxy Wix-Dow IX” GxVble of Library, Quixcy ............. IVixDow IX Porch of Library, Quix”cy ............. Plax of Library”, Quix”cy” ................ Plan of Library”, Burlix”gtox” ............... Sketch for Library”, Burlixgtox” . . . . . . . . . . . . Library”, Burlixgtox” ^ Sketch for Readixg Room, Library”, Burlix”gtox” ........... Sketch for Book Room, Library”, Burlixgtox” ........... Library”, MxVldex” Plax for a Library” Buildixg (Autograph Sketch by” H. H. Richardsox) ...... Plax” of Law School, Harvard Uxiy”eksity” ............ Emmaxuel Church, Allegiiexy” City” ............. Sketch for a Chapel ................. Cathedral Church (Autograph Sketch by H. H. Richardsox”) . Graxite Capit.als, Court-house, Pittsbujrgh 89, Pl.ax of Court-house (Secoxd Story), Pittsburgh Tower, Court-hou.se, Pittsburgh Plax” of .Jail* (Secox’d Story”), Pittsburgh ............ Plax of Baptist Church, Newtox Fouxtaix”, Detroit Dixix”g-rooji, House of N. L. Ax”dersox”, Washixgtox” .......... Railroad Statiox”, North Eastox” .............. Railroad StxVtiox”, Woodlax”d Sketch for Exd of Trix”tty” Rectory” ............. Gate Lodge, North Eastox” ................ Sketch of House for N. L. Ax”dersox, Washix”gtox .......... 107 109 109 123 127 8 47 48 52 54 60 67 68 69 70 72 78 78 78 ■ 79 79 80 80 81 82 83 83 84 85 86 87 , 90 91 92 93 94 98 100 101 102 103 103 104 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. ix Rear op Percy Browne’s House, Marion . 105 Ceiling of Hall, House of John Hay, Washington 106 Brick Carving, House op Henry Adams,. Washington 107 Stone Carving, House of Henry Adams, Washington 107 Sketch op House for J. R. Lionberger, St. Louis ........... 108 Sketch of House for Franklin MacVeagh, Chicago. 108 Sketch of House for J. J. Glessner, Chicago ........... 109 Plan of House for J. J. Glessner, Chicago 109 Sketch of House for W. H. Gratwick, Buffalo 110 Sketch for a Light-house Ill Sketch for an Ice-house 117 Sketch for a Hall 122 Plan of Cathedral Church (Autograph Sketch by H. H. Richardson) . . . . . . 123 Plan of Trinity Church (Autograph Sketch by H. H. Richardson) 124 Law School (Autograph Sketch by H. H. Richardson) 125 Plan of City Hall, Albany' (Autograph Sketch by H. H. Richardson) 126 Law School (Autograph Sketches by H. H. Richardson) 128 Sketches for Andirons 132, 133 Sketch for a Gas Bracket . 133 Chair in Library, Malden ................ 134 Sketch for Chair in Capitol, Albany 135 Autograph Sketch by H. H. Richardson, on margin of circular relating to Casino Competition . 142 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON. CHAPTER I. ANCESTRY AND EARLY LIFE. Henry Hobson Richardson was bom at the Priestley Plantation in the Par- ish of St. James, Louisiana, on the 29th of September, 1838. His father was Henry Dickenson Richardson, a native of St. George’s, Bermiicla, and his mother was Catherine Caroline Priestley, a gran d-dangh ter of that Dr. Priestley who was famous in his day for many things, but is now chiefly remembered as the discov- erer of oxygen. The first paternal ancestor of whom any record is preserved is James Richard- son, who was born in London in 1695 and early in life emigrated to Bermuda. In 1722 he married Mary, daughter of Francis Dickenson of Port Royal, Bermuda, and his son Robert was born four years later. Robert married Mary Burchell, and their son, a second Robert, born in 1752, married for his third wife Honora Bur- rows. These were the parents of Henry Dickenson Richardson. His mother died at the moment of his birth, and his father while he was still a lad. When about sixteen years of age he removed to New Orleans, and entered into business as a cotton-merchant with the firm of Hobson & Company. The maternal pedigree also begins in the seventeenth century, with Joseph Priestley, a “ maker and dresser of woolen cloth ” in Yorkshire.^ His son Jonas married the daughter of Joseph Swift, a farmer, and their son, Josc2fii Priestley, afterwards the fiunous doctor, was born in 1733 at Fieldhead about six miles from Leeds. The story of his life is very interesting, but concerns us here only in so far as it exjilains the causes which brought him to America. He was bred a Dissenter and entered the ministry. But even while studying at the theological academy he had shown that tendency toward indcjiendent thought which afterwards bore such consjiicuous fruit. Even then, he tells us, he “ saw reason to embrace what is generally called the heterodox side of things.” As years went on he developed into a pronounced Socinian and an upholder of Neces- sitarian doctrines in iDhilosojihy ; and as he always expi-essed each jihase of his ojiinions with entire friinkness — not to say imiietuosity — of both speech and j)cn, he Avas constantly embroiled in theological battles Avhich yearly grew more hot and bitter. His scientific investigations brought him a less thorny croAvn of fame. ^ Memoirs of Dr. Joseph Priestleij to the Year 1795. Judge of the 5th District of Pennsylvania; and the Rev- Written hy himself. With a continuation to the Time of erend William Christie. Northumberland ; Printed by his Decease, by his Son, Joscj)h Priestley ; and Obser- John Binns, 1806. (Issued also in London, 1805-1807.) vations on his Writings by Thomas Cooper, President 9 IIEXIIY HOBSON lUCIIAlWSON. Hut as he also interested himsell’ in soeial questions, and here too took his stand among the boldest Radieals of that excited day, political as well as religious hatred long raged against him, not only in the neighhorhoods where he dwelt hut throngh- out the length and breadth of England ; and when in 1791 he boldly exj)ressed his sympathy with the reyolutionists of France, conseryatiye passion could no longer contain itself. Jlis house and laboratory in Birmingham were burned by a Ifaiitie mob, he was obliged to flee for his life, and eyen in London was compelled to hide for a time from his enemies. A curious old a([uatint, a copy of which is still in the possession of the Richard- son hiinily, sho^ys the ruin to which his home had been reduced. One imagines that some sympathetic feeling must hayc prompted its publication, for a group of sliort-waisted ladies and long-coated gentlemen stand in the foreground and lift their hands as though in lamentation. But so little sympathy was shown by his countrymen at large tliat he soon shook English dust from his feet and in 1794 set sail for America, whither his three sons had preceded him. may be proud that the young re])id)lic was so much less bigoted and fearful than the mother-country that she gaye him honorable reception. He was wel- comed by addresses and deputations when he landed in New York, and might at once haye estal)lished lumself as Unitarian preacher and philosophic lecturer in either New A ork or Rhiladelphia. But before deciding what his new life should be, he went to Northumberland (a little town at the confluence of two branches of the Susquehanna Riyer, about one hundred and thirty miles northeast of Idiil- adel])hia) to inspect a district where his eldest son and some other Englishmen ^yere ])lanning to estal)lish an agricultural colony. lie himself was neyer con- cerned in this land-scheme, wdiicli, indeed, was soon abandoned. But he was charmed by the beauty and apparent healthfulness of Northund^erland, wms more attracted by its promise of leisure and retirement than by the offers of public use- fulness wdiich the large cities held out to him, and soon decided to make it his permanent home. Hither he brought his books and his scientific instruments, and liere, in a comfortable house to wdiich was attached a good laboratory, he dw elt for the rest of his years, going, how^eyer, from time to time to Philadelphia to deliyer courses of lectures on yarioiis philosophical themes. He studied, ex- perimented, and wrote as diligently as he had done at home, and still argued with zeal on many matters of public interest. Not a few heated paper battles were the result, but they showed scarce a sign of that bitterness of personal inyectiye w hich had characterized the opposition to his yiews in England. The nearest approach to persecution that he experienced in America was when certain politi- cal writings, in wdiich he had criticised the course of the Federalist party, drew from John Adams the adyice to speak no more on such topics “lest he get him- self into trouble.” During his later years Dr. Priestley suffered much from disease and weakness, and he died at Northumberland in 1804 at the age of sixty-one. He had mar- ried in early life Mary, the daughter of Isaac Wilkinson, an iron-master liying near Wrexham in Wales. She died in 1796, at the age of fifty-fiye, and lies bur- ied beside her husband. ANCESTRY AND EARLY LIFE. 3 Their second son, William, from whom Richardson was descended, was born in Leeds. He was with his father at the time of the Birmingham outrage, fled to France to escape the after-claps of the popular storm, and became naturalized as a citizen of the new reiDublic. But French air was likewise filled with storms, and what with Conservative intolerance on one side of the Channel and Radical excesses on the other, the Old World seemed to have no place where a quiet man might gain his livelihood by trade. An elder and a younger brother were already in Amer- ica, and hither William Priestley came, too, a short time before his father’s im- migration. After his arrival he married Margaret Foulke, who was also of English birth, — a native of Northumberlandshire and probably of Birmingham. Her father, Joseph Foulke, was a gentleman of Scotch descent, and her mother be- longed to that Chambers family which founded Chambersburg in Pennsylvania. William Priestley remained but a short time with his father in Pennsylvania. About the year 1801 he removed to Louisiana, in the belief that the cultivation of sugar-cane would prove a profitable employment. Nor was he mistaken, for he soon owned large and flourishing plantations and amassed a fortune — very considerable in those days — of several hundred thousand dollars. His daughter, Catherine Caroline Priestley, was born at the Priestley Plantation, and, as has been told, married Henry Dickenson Richardson and became the mother of the archi- tect. He was the eldest of a family of four, — the others being one brother, Mr. William Priestley Richardson who served with distinction in the Civil War as an officer of the Confederate army and who now lives in New Orleans, and two sis- ters who are married to Mr. John W. Labouisse and Mr. Henry Leverich of the same city. His father died at Philadelphia in 1854, and his mother subsequently married Mr. John D. Bein who had been the business partner of her late brother, Mr. William Priestley. Both Mr. and Mrs. Bein died some years ago. The mothers of great men, even unto the third and fourth generation, have a j^roverbial interest for the biographer. Dr. Priestley’s wife, according to his own testimony, was the faithful, intelligent, and courageous sharer of his troubled life, — “a woman of excellent understanding, much improved by reading, of great for- titude and strength of character, and of a temper in the highest degree affection- ate and generous ; feeling strongly for others and little for herself. Also, greatly excelling in everything relating to household affairs, she entirely relieved me of all concern of that kind, which allowed me to give all my time to the prosecution of my studies and the other duties of my station.” Of Margaret Foulke, AYilliam Priestley’s wife, Mr. William Priestley Richardson writes : “ My grandmother died in New Orleans, at the age, I believe, of eighty-five. I well remember her, and have often heard her spoken of as most accomplished in all that pertains to womanly virtue, and as having a constitution of mind, remarkable in her time, which enabled her to give personal attention, after the death of her husband, to all the important details of her business, — the management of large ])lantation interests, — and after the death of her son William to share in the control of the large hardware firm of Priestley & Bein to which he had belonged.” And her daughter, Mrs. Richardson, by the same evidence, “ inherited in the highest de- gree all her gentler qualities of heart and mind, and was tridy a most devoted friend and mother.” 4 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON. Hichardson’s early life was passed chiefly in New Orleans, though the summer months and the winter vacations were si)cnt at the plantation where he and his mother had been horn. A\dien not more than seven years of age he Avas sent to the public school then held in the hasement of the Presbyterian Church on La- faA'ctte Scpiare. But he remained there only a fcAV months. His systematic edu- cation began in a private school kept by Mr. George Blackman, and Avas there carried on until the autumn folloAving his father’s death. It had been intended that he should enter the army, and through Mr. Judah P. Benjamin, an intimate friend of his father’s, the chance of a cadetship at AVest Point Avas secured. But an iinpediment in his speech rendered him unfit for military seiwicc, and after a vear at the University of Louisiana he Avent to Cambridge, Mass., to prepare for Harvard with a private tutor. Early in his school life he shoAved signs in Avhich avc can noAV read the budding talent of the architect. When about ten years old his love for diwing induced his father to place him, Avith pupils of much greater age, under the best master in Ncav Orleans ; and in mathematics he Avas exceptionally proficient from the very first. Both Mr. Blackman and Professor Sears, the head of the University of Lou- isiana, Avere accomplished mathematicians, and both delighted in his rapid ])rog- ress and saAV therein the prophecy of a distinguished future. When he first Avent to Cambridge he might easily have passed in mathematics into the Sophomore, or probably even into the Junior class. Backwardness in the classics, hoAVCver, com- pelled further preparation, and he matriculated Avith the class of ’59. At this time he Avas already a good French scholar ; for though no French blood ran in his veins, he had been taught the language at home as Avell as in his school classes. His childhood seems to have been of the happiest, and the memory of his com- ])anions shows him to us in a most attractive light. He Avas an eager, active, aficc- tionate, generous, and merry hoy, Avorking Avell at school, and, whenever ambition prompted, easily excelling his felloAVS in all out-door sports and athletic exercises. Later he became a good horseman, and, as his father had been before him, an expert Avith the foils. From his father too, as Avell as from all the Priestleys, he inherited a great fondness for chess, and it is said that even blindfold he could succcssfidly play several games at once. He loved music, and learned to play Avell on the flute ; and, to quote his brother’s Avords, “ he Avas fond of ladies’ society, and consequently ahvays scrupulously neat and tasteful in his dress. This love of dress greAV with him. His ‘mock part’ in college Avas ‘Nothing to Wear,’ from the fact that he had better clothes and more of them than any one man needed.” His college life Avas uneventful. He took and kept a fixir standing in his class, but docs not seem to have been an 'especially diligent student, or to have shoAvn marked ability in any branch save mathematics. His proficiency in this branch all his classmates recollect ; and all remember his social disposition and his great personal charm. “ It is pleasant,” says one Avho Avas a fclloAV-stiident, though not a classmate,^ “to go back and recall the slender, companionable Southern lad, full of creole life and animation. ... In recent years he Avas ‘ a good portly man and a corpulent, of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage ; ’ ’ Charles Francis Adams, Jr. ; Address delivered at Cambridge, Mass., on Commencement Day, June, 1886. ANCESTRY AND EARLY LIFE. 5 but in those early clays ... he was, like FalstalF at the same period of life, ‘not an eagle’s talon in the waist.’ ” He was then, indeed, a very handsome youth, above the medium height, slightly and gracefully built, with thick, curly dark hair, a warm complexion, very dark and brilliant hazel eyes, a rather thin long face, and finely-moulded features — the firmly compressed yet mobile and hu- morous mouth speaking both the energy and the gayety of his disposition. Handsome and distinguished in appearance, vivacious and sympathetic in man- ner, forcible and amusing in conversation, clever, ardent, and impressionable, — rich too, and, we are told, “ generous to a fault,” - — it is no wonder that his col- lege days should have been pleasant, or that they should have brought him many friends. It is a better proof that he had the power of winning true affection and of bestowing it in return, to find that the friends then made remained the friends of a life-time. Their love for “ Fez,” as they affectionately called him, and the interest they felt in his career, were never interrupted for a day, despite his long absence from America and the strain of that terrible conflict which severed so many of the tics that had bound together Americans of northern and of southern birth. They made him many generous offers of assistance during his time of poverty and struggle in Paris ; their welcome after six years of separation was as heartfelt as their god-speed had been ; and those who were his closest friends at college were still among his closest when he died. His Alma Mater had no more loyal or grateful son than this one, born in a far- off State, whom the chances of later life brought back to dwell almost at her doors. He often spoke of all she had done for him, especially in the way of widening his life and enriching it with friends. No commission to work pleased him so much as a commission to work for her ; and if one chanced to cite Sever Hall as perhaps the most perfect of his structures, he was ready for her sake to delight in the ver- dict. And I think no social distinction which could have come to him in later life could have given him so much satisfaction as his membership in that very an- cient and “exclusive” college club — The Porcellian^ — -which admits only fifteen undergraduates at a time but keeps all whom it admits in close brotherhood ever after. llichardson’s intention on leaving the South had been to make civil engineering his profession. Neither his finnily nor his classmates remember just when he changed his mind, or just what led him to think of the architectural profession instead. Nor have I been able to discover any evidence in his own handwriting — all the letters he wrote home from Cambridge having been destroyed when his family left New Orleans before the arrival of the Union troops. A short time before his graduation he heard with pleasure that his step-father had resolved to send him to Europe to prosecute his architectural studies ; and as soon as his examinations were over he set sail with two of his classmates, spent the summer traveling in England, Scotland, and Ireland, and then settled doAvn to his Avork in Paris. While still at college he had engaged himself to Miss Julia Gorham Hayden, daughter of Dr. John Cole Hayden of Boston. CHAPTER II. LIFE IN PARIS. "^T:ry few of Rieliardson’s letters from Paris have been preseryed — only a single' one addressed to an uncle in New Orleans, and a short series, covering a period of about four montlis, written to bis future wile. Fortunately they chance to speak of significant days and things, and the memory of his friends helps us to complete at least an outline of the picture we should have liked to see fully painted by himself. The letter to his uncle is dated November 23, 1860, more than a year later than his arri\al in Europe, and conveys the news of his admission to the great Paris art-school. “ Last Tuesday I was admitted member of PEcole des Beaux Arts. No one knew I intended presenting myself. ... I have no time to write you a detailed account of the examinations. Suffice it to say they lasted one month, were public, and carried on entirely in French. I was once sick and was obliged to ])resent an unfinished design ; but not withstanding I entered well. One hun- dred and twenty presented themselves, sixty only were accepted, I being the eighteenth. I had the disadvantage of being a foreigner, — got confused at my mathematical examination, and that brought my average down.” Certainly this is a very good showing for one who passed his examinations in a foreign tongue, and who had had no jireparatory instruction before leaving home except in mathematics. There is no record of any artistic study during his earlier years save such as is implied by the drawing-lessons of his childhood and by certain others followed, with how much diligence does not appear, during his college terms. It seems, however, that he had been far from realizing what such an examination woidd mean even as regarded mathematics, and had tried in vain to pass it immediately upon his arriwal. “ My first recollection of Richardson,” writes Mr. R. Phene Spiers, the dis- tinguished English architect, who studied at the same time in Paris though in a different atelier, “ was in September or October, 1859, when he presented him- self for examination at the Ecole des Beaux Arts. He had come over about a month previous in the hope of being able to pass the examination straight off. Two rive voce examinations in algebra and geometry he managed to pass, but the stiff questions in descriptive geometry (the study of which he had only taken up about a month before) floored him, and he had to wait until I860, when he entered the school.” The intervening months were passed in steady preparatory work. “ I remember him,” writes an American friend,^ “ living in a sort of pension in ^ Mr. Joseph Bradlee. LIFE IN PARIS. 7 the Rue cle Vaugirard, working hard at French, and getting himself up on the subjects for examination at the Ecole. . , . He was then receiving regular remit- tances of money from New Orleans which enabled him to live with ease. But his choice of a profession was a serious one, and he devoted himself to the study of it with the earnestness of a man for whom it was to he what the Germans call a ‘ bread-study.’ In his second Avinter he left the Rue de Yaugirard, and took a pleasant ajAartment in the Rue dc Luxembourg, on the other side of the river, now called the Rue Canibon. Here he liAcd until the Civil War at home interfered ivitli his remittances of funds, — Avhich first became irregular and finally Avholly ceased, — and he Avas obliged to look for less expensive quarters. He accepted the situation cheerfully, and took a room in the not A^ery attractive Rue Mazarin, Avhich he occu])ied for some time during the latter part of his stay in Paris. The Avhole of his student life Avas jAassed, I believe, in the atelier of Monsieur Andre (Rue de I’Ecole des Beaux Arts), Avlioin he liked personally, and for A\diose professional taste he ahvays had great respect ; and Avith one or tAvo of his French felloAV-students there he formed lasting friendshqAS. Richardson AA as an excellent companion, but though fond of pleasure and society and ahvays ready for a dinner-party or a dancing-jAarty, he never alloAved these things to interfere Avith the serious performance of his Avork ; and many of his friends of that time Avill remember that he not infrequently returned late to his rooms after a party to finish the night in study ; or to his atelier Avhen aii exhibition of plans or draAvings Avas in jAreparation. Cheerfulness and energy he seemed to have in unlimited quantity, both at this time and later, Avheii illness and fail- ing strength must have severely tried his patience. ... Of course he made friends Avhcrever he might be. In Paris they Avere among Frenchmen as Avell as Americans, Northerners and Southerners. He never, however, even in those hard times for him, appeared to have politics very much on his mind. At any rate there Avas no bitter partisan feeling, — indeed, bitterness Avas not in the man. He Avas quite absorbed in his lArofession, Avhich he must have felt Avas, of neces- sity, to give him a career and means of sujAport for himself and a 2^i’obable family. His friends probably thought of him as ‘ Rich,’ as he Avas familiarly called, Avith- out looking very closely as to Avhether he ‘ sympathized ’ Avith the North or the South. Many of them Avill have jAleasant remembrances of him at the s’ and s’, and at the houses of others Avhere Americans in Paris Avere in the habit of going five-and-tAventy years ago. . . .For some of us avIio kncAv him in those earlier days in Paris, as a slender youth of jAromising talent, a good- teni]Aered and amiable coniiAanion, it has been a delight to meet him from time to time during these recent years ; for Ave have ahvays found him the same old ‘ Rich ’ Ave had knoAvn as younger men.” During the latter jAart of his stay in Paris, Richardson lived in the Rue du Bac Avith a felloAV-student, Monsieur AdoljAlie Gerhardt, avIio aftcrAvards gained a prix de Rome, and noAV holds a place among the eminent architects of France. For this friend Richardson ahvays retained the Avarmest aficction and gratitude, and for his talents the sincerest admiration. What have been Monsieur Ger- hardt’s feelings in return may best be read in his OAvn Avords : — 8 HENPiY HOB SOX RICIIAIWSOX. “ . . » Cominp; to Paris in 1859, Richardson presented himself and was received at the aleHer of Monsieur Andre, and a short time afterwards at the Ecole des Beaux Artsd He enjoyed at this time i)eciiniaiT resources whicli l)erniitted him to hope that he might j)ursue a long course of study free from all material cares. But ere long the outhreak of the War of Secession forced him to return to Amei’ica. ... At the hegiiming of the year 18(>2 he came hack to Paris to resume with courage the course of his studies. Unfortu- nately a time soon arrived when these coidd no longer be his sole concern. Ilis resources threatening to become exhausted, he husbanded them for a while as carefully as possible, hut soon there remained for him no choice save to sup|)ort himself by working as a draughtsman in architects offices. From this moment there began for my ])Oor friend an incessant battle between his as])irations and the needs of his existence. The chief thing for which he strove y as not to l)e forced to leave the alchcr of our dear master. Monsieur Andre. It was but at unduly long intervals that he could take part in tlie school competi- tions which lasted each for tAVO full months. He Avas thus compelled to renounce the effort (dter successes to Avhich he Avas Avell entitled to aspire ; yet their ab- sence left him Avith fenv regrets. The ambition Avliich inspired him aa as of too healthy and too disinterested a sort for him to lay much stress upon the mere satisfaction of his amour-propre. The life of the aieh.er, — that existence of Avork and mutual encouragement, animated by much good-humor and gayety, — this it Avas that he had learned to love as heartily as any one of us. lie folloAved Avith interest and ardor the labors of his comrades, regretting only that he Avas not ahvays able to do as they Averc doing and take part in those peaceful conflicts Avliich had as their arena the Salle des Compositions de Concours of the Ecole des Beaux Arts. Although long pieces of' Avork Avere too often forbidden him, he yet ‘ kept his hand in ’ by making sketches for compositions to AAdiich he gave extraordinary charm ami brilliancy. ^ If the fact of his being a foreigner had not excluded him from the contests for the prix de Rome, he Avould have been among those most am])ly endoAved for taking ])art in them. “In addition to his architectural studies properly so called ^ — Avhich the neces- sities of his existence rendered somcAvhat desultory — our friend also sought instruction from a painter of talent. Monsieur Leperre, to Avhose studio he Avent tAA'O or three times a week. There, in the presence both of nature and of the antique, he comjAleted an artistic education Avhich he felt Avould be incomplete ^ See Appendix II. LIFE IN PAIilS. 9 unless nourished by knowledge and intelligent appreciation of form and linear harmony as shown in their noblest and most elevated aspects. Our dear Ilich- ardson understood the importance of this principle from the outset ; and, in the application he made of it, showed that he had a true feeling for all artistic things, and that he realized one must aim high to attain to any excellence whatever. . . . “ I am sure that these years he passed in Paris, battling Avith adverse for- tnne, Avere not useless to his talent. Misfortune gave him a maturity of mind Avhich is rarely exhibited by young men of his age. By the very stress of cir- cumstances his tlionghts Avere concentrated Avholly on his Avork — he hecaine an enthusiast, a devotee ! I, AA^ho had the honor of being his friend and of sharing his life for more than tAvo years, never had the chance to note any faltering, any feebleness in his A^aliant sonl, — neither coAvardly regrets nor niiAvliolesome ambitions. In his heart he kept ahvays intact and fresh a love for his art, a reverence for her Avho Avas to be his life’s companion, and a pride in his fatherland.” ^ Mr. Spiers also speaks of the benefit it Avas to Bichardson to he forced to strug- gle as he did : — “ . . . All day Avorking in an ofiice . . . and every evening in his atelier, he managed to pursue his studies as before ; and jArobahly by this accident Avere laid the fonndations of his future career. The practical Avork of Avhich he acquired a knoAvledge in the Avorking-office and on the Avorks is, I may say, never sought for by those Avho intend to practice in other countries, and Avho go to Paris to learn the art only and the theory of construction. ...” When, as Monsieur Gerhardt has told us, Bichardson came to America in 1862, he at first thought of remaining in Boston and beginning the practice of his pro- fession. He tried to find Avork, but the only definite ojAening that seems to have presented itself Avas Avith an architect of some standing avIio agreed to employ him if he Avonld not put out his sign or accept any AVork in his oAvn name. Such an offer Avould have seemed satisfactory to most young men in Bichardson’s posi- tion, hut it by no means fell in Avith his desires. Then he thought seriously of going South, for his sympathies Avere naturally Avith his OAvn people, although before the actual outbreak of the Avar he had felt and siAoken strongly against secession. His Boston friends, hoAvever, vigorously opposed a step Avhich Avonld mean almost certain ruin to his career. Their efforts to induce him to take the oath of allegiance Avere in vain ; but he jAroniised not to enter an insnrrectionary State Avithout their knoAvledgc, and finally consented to go hack to Paris and resume his studies. The fcAV letters Avhich remain from the very many Avritten to Miss Hayden dur- ing his student life, date from the months immediately folloAving his return to ^ Tliis letter, together with those from Mr. Bra'llee and one number of tlieir paper a special memorial of Mr. Mr. Phen^ Spiers, and several others which I shall here- Richardson. AVith the greatest courtesy they abandoned after have occasion to quote, was written for publication their project upon learning that this hook was in prepara- at the request of the editors of The, American Architect tion, and permitted me to use the materials which they and Building News, when they contenq)lated making had been at the ti'ouhle of gathering. 10 HENFiY HOBSON F1CIIABDS0E\ Paris. The passages I am permitted to quote from them sliow how definitely his mind was now made u]) to complete his education, hut do not half reveal how hit- ter was the struggle this resolution cost him. March 13, 1862. “ . . . At last in Paris — it’s a good old city, hut on arriving yesterday morning 1 had mingled feelings of joy and sorrow. I went to my atelier ; the fellows were delighted to see me, hut Monsieur Andre is not well and I did not see him. . . . March 27. “ . . . I think Paris a dangerous place to send a young man. Paris is to a man what college is to a hoy. I mean as regards life. I never shall cease to thank llea\'cn for my short tri]) to Boston. ... It gave me an opportunity of compar- ing side by side the habits, customs, lives, of the French and Anglo-Saxons. Had I remained longer in France I fear I should have been prejudiced. My feelings and ideas of French life are different from what they ever were before. I prefer our old-fashioned ways and ideas by far. ... I have discussed the self-same topic at least a dozen times since my return, and have always taken up the cudgel for my own country. I mean, as a matter of course, from a social point of view. Politics I wash my hands of, externally at least. . . . A^ml 3. “ . . . Ikiris has no charms for me except my studies. My visit to you, and I thank Heaven for it, put an end to those it might have had. ... I am noAv work- ing (it I’Ecole des Beaux Arts, and will continue to till I am obliged to work for money, for I gain more knowledge. . . . Aiml 10 . “ . . . I am very, very busy, working on a Corps Legislatif for exhibition. I am at the atelier every day till six r. m. (unless called off by business). I return at eight p. M. and remain till eleven p. M. That is my regular day’s work. No one can say that I waste my time. . . . Last Friday I was at the atelier all night working for another man. I left the work at eight o’clock Saturday morning. The fall maij bring me home, hut I doubt it strongly. . . . Best assured that no one wishes my return to Boston more sincerely than I. There is no use looking on the dark side. I have enough to struggle against ivithout borrowing trouble. One of these days I may have my pleasures, at least I hope so — but as the French say, lonjours esperer, c est cles^sperer. ... April 17. “ . . . I am very busily engaged at present. I never leave the studio before eleven p. m., except Sundays, or when accidentally called off as last Tuesday, when I dined with and [friends from Boston], and went to the theatre in the evening. I see Miss every week, otherwise I go out not at all. Study and society are incompatible. ... I see that operations have been commenced against New Orleans. I feel nervous and anxious to hear more. My poor mother LIFE IN PARIS. 11 and sisters — if I thought I could iii any way aid them by being there, I would go to-morrow. You ask me what effect the capture of New Orleans would have on me. I don’t know, but it would be folly to return immediately, a mere waste of time and money to come to Paris and stay but a few months. ... I have given up hopes of receiving great aid from anything I may have in New Orleans. I am young, and I hojDe man enough to make my own way, and any stay I may make in Euroj^e, feel assured, will be with the view of making both happier in the end. I want very much to go to Italy, and I intend to do it. . . . As that is a study I can undertake as well married as single, I may come home first. . . . If it is impossible for me to do it married, know that it is essential I go single. Neither you nor I will ever regret the time I pass perfecting myself in my stud- ies. The more I study the nobler my profession becomes. . . . April 25 . “ . . . I hardly have time to take my meals. I am just waking u]^ to the value of time, and, feeling I may be called away at any moment, I try to make the most of my days. But if I tell you in confidence I am working very hard . . . don’t tell any one, not even your family. For two reasons : First, coming from you is the same as coming from myself, and amounts to self-praise. Second, there is no use in it, for if my work does me any good, the world will find it out of itself. . . . Since I last wrote I have done nothing but what I did the week before. . . . Last night I came home to write you as usual. I sat down in my easy-chair, took uj) my pencil and began to compose, meaning to pass half an hour or so. One of my candles burned out. I got up to get another, when, turning to the window, I saw the tAvilight. I looked at my watch — it was nearly five o’clock in the morning ! . . . I have been for the last tAvo days, and was last night, trying to compose a palace for the governor of Algiers and residence for the emperor — that is, besides my regular Avork, aa hich is a Corps Legislatif. The more I see and knoAv of architecture, the more majesty the art gains. Oh, if I had begun at nineteen to study it ! To Athens and Rome I must go, coute qiie coute. May 1 . “ . . . I am not very Avell nor have I been for a Aveek past. I ’m afraid it is sitting up too late. I can ahvays Avork better at night. . . . My mind is ahvays more active after eleven or tAvelve o’clock than at any other time. ... I have no neAvs Avhatever to Avrite. My life is monotony itself, — to-day is as yesterday and to-morroAV Avill be as to-day. In fact I live the life of a recluse and attempt that of a philosopher. ... I can’t say hoAv long I Avill remain in Europe. It depends on various things . . . and you Avould prefer to have me remain a fcAV months longer in Europe than return to America a second-rate architect. Our j)oor country is overrun Avith them noAV. I never Avill practice till I feel I can at least do my art justice. . . . 3ray 1 (). “ . . . NeAV Orleans is taken — governed by strangers. . . . What a position to be placed in ! My hands are tied, in one sense, from the many obligations under 12 IIENBY HOBSON BICHAIWSON A\ liicli I hold myself toAvards my IHeiids in Boston ; and there ’s not one of them for A\ honi I Ayould not personally undergo the greatest sacrifices. For their kind- ness I owe an eyerlasting debt. I have in yain reasoned about the right and wrong. . . . How I haye snttered and do suffer, no one can eyer knoAy. To re- main in Europe 1 think my best plan, — in fact I must. But I burned Avith shame a\ hen I read the capture of my city and I in Paris. AVhat is to be the end I do not see. I receiyed a letter from mother in Ayhich she begs me to remain where I am. ... May 23. “ . . . 1 intend studying my profession in such a manner as to make my success a surety and not a cliance. AYe can then go anyAvhere in the beginning Avhcre good opportunities offer themselves. ... I liaAe Avritten to Mr. in Liver- pool as to money matters ; if he holds money from my family, directly or indi- rectlA', I shall accept it. If not, I shall immediately begin to support myself. It Avill come very hard to me, — not on account of the comforts I shall be in need of", but on account of my prof'ession. Naturally, Avhcn I support myself I am em- ployed to do things I am already versed in, Avhereas at I’Ecole des Beaux Arts, I am daily advancing in my studies, and every day I find iieAV beauties in a pro- fession Avhicli I already place at the head of all the Fine Arts. Therefore do not be surprised at my determination to avoid employment as long as I can. It suffices me to knoAV that I can, Avlieii called upon, support myself— minus the luxuries. . . . May 29. “ . . . I have taken a decided step. I have given uja all hope of aid from home. I begin next Aveek, or as soon as possible, to aa ork for my living. . . . Hoav I have suffered f'rom it you Avill never knoAv, for you knoAV not Iioav I love my art. . . . From tills moment I am dependent on myself and on myself alone. Where or Avhen I shall get employment I can’t say. I trust it will be soon. I am going to atteni])t to support myself and carry on my studies at the same time ; but Avhether I can do it or not is to be proved. But continue my studies I must, — there ’s no tAvo Avays about it. . . . IIoav many are there worse off than I am ! If I jiersevere I must succeed in the end, and my jirofession Avill be much dearer to me from the very jiain it has caused me. . . . Let us hope for brighter days — they must come. It seems hard to me, but Iioav many have done it before me. ... I must stop, — it is iioav past one o’clock and I get up at seven. ... I must come to the right side some time. “ It ’s a long road that has no turning.” I don’t care about the Avant of money, but the time taken from my studies I regret. . . . * June 18. “ . . . You say again I cannot return to Boston. I can after the Avar, and it is quite possible that I Avill live there. I don’t say it is probable, but it may hap- pen. ... I shall live Avhere I can practice most profitably my profession, wherever it may be, provided there are no serious objections for your sake. . . . Mother says ‘ you must not think of returning home until peace is declared.’ LIFE IN PARIS. 13 Jtihj 4. . Yesterday and day before I had sketches at the school — twelve hours each ; in two days I worked twenty-four hours. Last night I left the school at nine P. m., came home, dressed myself, and went to dine at ten p. m. . . . July 18. “ . . . I am now engaged in studying a Hospice des Incurables pour Honimes et Femmes.^ It is quite a monument, to contain 2,000 persons, — invalids, a large church, nuns and nunnery, — in fact, a hospital of first importance, the total cost being two millions of dollars. Monsieur Labrouste has put into my hands the correspondence he had with the government, and told me to study it as I thought best. I rarely see him. I work at his house, but in a room entirely to myself — jirivate. . . . My office hours are from between eight and nine till six. I am entirely alone, never see a person unless I go into Monsieur Labrouste’s room to speak to him. ... I come home at six, dress, dine, and in the evening either go to the studio, read in my room, or make visits. My habit is to study in the evening, visiting the excejition, though lately I have been out a great deal. I gain between two hundred and three hundred francs a month. I did not ask for more. . . . Since I have been working I have felt more like myself than I have for a year. Although my troubles are just as great I feel happier. . . . Lecollect I never studied architecture because it was a lucrative j^rofession. . . . Ally list 6. “ . . . Why look upon the dark side } . . . The day will come, and I trust it is not far distant, when talking of our misfortunes will only make our present hap- piness so much the greater. . . . The world owes us a living and our share of happiness. ... Of one thing feel certain — the more we yield to pressure, the harder will be our lot. Just at i3resent it does not look very bright, but it only calls for a little more courage and it will look less dark. . . . August 29. “ . . . I am busy working on the hospital. I rise before eight, take a cup of coffee in my room, go to my office and remain there till half j^ast five or six p. m. I then go to my room and dress for dinner. I dine about seven P. m. (for thirty- five cents). After my dinner I go to my room, smoke, and think . . . until nearly nine. Then to my studio until eleven p. m. Sometimes in the evenings — rarely — I make calls. I spend hardly anything. . . . What weighs most heavily on me is that I have not more time to carry on my studies. I ought to consider myself fortunate as it is ; but man is never satisfied. . . . Economy is my hue and cry just now. I breakfast for twenty-five cents, dine for thirty-five, and 2^ay fifty francs (ten dollars) a month for my room. Otherwise I spend very little. I never go to any jdace of amusement. . . .” ^ It should be understood that tlie designing of this Richardson for self-support, in the office of one of the hospital was not a school task like the essays previously chief government architects of the day. referred to, but a 2 Jractical piece of work, undertaken by CIIAPTEPv III. LIFE IX PAULS AND KETURX- TO AMERICA. Enough lias boon told in the foregoiiio- chapter to prove that the trials of Piehardsoii’s student years n ere great, their privations manifold, and their out- look dark. Put it would need a recital of facts and feelings too personal for these pages to show the full extent of the burden laid upon him, or of the courage with which he bore its weight. Idic war distressed him deeply from day to dav, and so clouded the future that even his hopeful eye could see the opening of no definite professional jiatli. As the many months went by, habit seems not to have inured him to the separation from those whom he held dear, but to have made it ever harder to support. The unfaltering vigor with which, in spite of all obstacles and discouragements, he pursued his studies is worthy of deep ad- miration. Only those Avho have tried to gain at the same time an education and a livelihood can understand hoAv great must have been the temptation to think his training complete enough and to turn his Avhole thought to self- sii])])ort ; all the greater, too, by reason of his early Avealth, and his naturally lavish and self-indulgent disposition. It must indeed have been, as Monsieur Gerhardt says, a “ valiant soul ” Avhich could so long sustain so complicated a struggle, and a sold inspired by a true reverence for that art Avhich can but too easily be turned into a mere money-making industry. And ability as Avell as energy and high courage must have been shoAvn by Richardson at this time. I rememlier his saying that (at all events for a certain period) he Avorked half his days at getting his education and only half at earning his living. Certainly this implies ability, Avlien one recollects that he was a foreigner Avith no friends except those Avhom he had made for himself, Avith no recommendation except his OAvn talents, living in a city Avhere the artistic professions are ahvays over- croAvded, and Avhere, in the architectural profession especiall}^, Avork that can find a market must be distinctly good. It Avas the influence of his patron that got him his first position in a government office. But no patron Avould have been likely to recommend an inefficient man to one of those establishments Avhich demand and get the very best service the country has to give ; and no recom- mendation unsupported by the outcome of practical tests Avonld have advanced him to such Avork as he soon secured. At one time he acted under Hittorf in superintending the construction of Awrious railroad stations ; and he has himself told of the tasks to Avhich he Avas put by Labrouste — tasks Avhich related to AVork of a A'ery important and difficult kind, and Avhich Avere not mechanical or merely executive, but to a great degree independent and creative. In the Paris of to-day there is a large colony of American artists, — painters, sculptors, architects, studying or practicing their crafts, — Avhich is recognized as LIFE IN PALIS AND RETURN TO AMERICA. 15 an important and honored factor in local artistic life. Its mere existence serves to recommend each new-comer and to give him a good chance to show what may in him lie, while its individual members are ready to aid him with counsel and example, and with a brotherly hand in days of need. But American students were very rare in the Paris of Richardson’s day. Then, as now, the government schools were open to all comers, but few aspirants in any branch had yet crossed the Atlantic to take advantage of their hospitality. Mr. Richard M. Hunt had graduated with distinction some years before from the Ecole des Beaux Arts, and had afterwards been ein 2 )loyed on government work as important as the con- struction of the new Louvre. But, so far as can be learned, his was the only American name that had j^receded Richardson’s on the roll of the Architectural Section, and only one or two others were added while Richardson’s remained. Richardson worked and lived as an isolated foreigner ; or, one may more truly say, as a Frenchman among Frenchmen — for warm affection and brotherly helf) soon came to him in as full a measure as though his friends had been his fellow- countrymen. Many delightful letters which they wrote him (of too j)urely personal a sort to call for insertion here) show the reflex of his frank, ardent, and attractive j^ersonality. Then, as in all later years, men wrote to Richardson in a strain which jwoves a much warmer sort of attachment than commonly exists between man and man after maturity has come. When his lot had so changed that the memory of this past time of trial only made, as he had foretold, his “ j^resent haj^jiiness seem greater,” it was both amusing and inspiring to hear Richardson’s own account of it — vivid, enthu- siastic, humorous, yet showing that undercurrent of serious thought and 23rofound feeling which always revealed itself in all talks that touched upon his art or the ambitions of his life. One realized then that this time had had its bright as Avell as its shadowed side even while it jDassed. One felt the truth of his friend Gerhardt’s impression — that the energy of his nature had been sufficient not only to carry him through his struggles, but to make even the act of strug- gling a stimulus and a pleasure. Many were his tales of the curious, dramatic, or pathetic incidents of the motley life of the Latin Quarter. Many were his recollections of the wild gayety of his friends when some difficult task, left for completion to last hurried hours of all-night work, had been finished and dis- played, and the atelier — through some one of its members in whose success all the others felt they had a right to share — had triumphed over rival studios in a general concours of the School. Most picturesque of all was his account of that great, and now historic, student “ strike ” which occurred when Viollet-le-Due had been apj)ointcd lecturer in opposition to all the traditions and to the very decided jn'otests of the School. The lecture-room was packed when the fomous medigevalist first appeared, but with an audience noisily determined not to listen to so much as his first word. And when he had been driven discomfited from the jdatform, his adversaries, joined by a swarm of symjiathizing students of all sorts, defiantly i:)araded the quais till the police laid violent hands upon them. Of course Richardson’s sym- pathies were with the insurgents. But as a foreigner he felt himself a guest of the government and no sharer in the right of the ciloijen to appeal from its dcci- 1(3 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON sioiis. This feeling was strong enough to hold him aloof from the demonstration in the Sehool, hut not from the street parade. Among those captured by the police, lie was locked up for official examination on the following day. But being dignified to the eye, as he Avonld explain, “ hy good clothes from Poole’s,” he u as put in a private cell with only a single companion — a strange-looking, long- haired gentleman of enchanting conversational powers. Half the night had passed merrily between them when the door was thrown open and a dignitary in evening dress appeared, blazing with stars and ribbons. This proved to be Nieuwerkerke, the offending and now in his turn offended Minister of Fine Arts; and Pichardson’s comjianion, in answer to whose apiical the great man had come, proved to be Theophilc Gautier. Of course Bichardson at once began impetu- ousl)' to i)lead for his own release ; and of course his frank and charming elo- cpience won the day. It all sounds tame enough as here recited, but was im- mensely amusing when told in his graphic pantomime and in those rapid words which were emphasized into greater piquancy by his slightly stammering tongue. The vivacious delight with which he described how he left the jail in triumph l)etween the bc-starred and be-ribboned official and the hunous poet, was matched by the conscientious earnestness with which he explained how it was not against Yiollet-lc-Duc himself that the students had protested, but against a government which in his appointing had “ dared to try to coerce the School,” and the boy- ish zest Avith Avhich he exulted in the School’s final Avinning of its righteous battle. From his step-father’s letter already referred to, Avritten in February, 1859, it appears that Richardson Avas expected to stay but some six or eight months in London or Paris, and then return to study and practice his profession in Ncav Orleans. But his sojourn abroad Avas prolonged for six years and a half. It Avas not until October, 1865, Avhen the Avar Avas avcII over and business affairs had begun to be straightened out, that he finally set sail for home. And then it Avas not to Ncav Orleans that he Avent. He never even visited his native toAvn again, although I have heard him s})eak of a constant Avish to do so. Ncav York Avas chosen as the best place in Avhich to try his fortune, and the commissions Avhicli aftcrAvards marked out his life came exclusively from the Northern States. Advice of many sorts had been offered him during his last year in Paris. His French friends begged him to cast in his lot Avith theirs — to become naturalized as a Frenchman and then try for that prix de Rome to Avhich he had already every other title to aspire, or at least to take advantage of the assured jAOsition Avhich he had earned by his satisfactory service under government. His Boston friends urged — indeed almost dictated as a course about Avhich there could be no question — that he should come back to them.^ His family Avrote that peace Avould mean reneAved prosperity for Noav Orleans and a good opening for his talent there. And a more singular suggestion more than once seriously made ^ One of them writes, just after the close of the war, Richardson is invited to return and become a member of that Boston is in truth full of young men out of work a proposed club, “ carefully selected, to be called the and needing it badly, but that those who earnestly seek Hors d' CE'iLvres." will no doubt eventually find it, and that meanwhile LIFE IN PARIS AND RETURN TO AMERICA. 17 to him by Southern correspondents was that he might secure a great future by settling in Mexico. This was at the time when Maximilian’s throne seemed to give some promise of stability. All these suggestions (excepting the last named) Richardson considered and discussed in his letters. But the ties which bound him to the Northern States were strongest ; and here too, he wisely felt, lay at just that time his richest chances of professional success. There are no letters, however, and no distinct memories to prove just what reasons led him to New York instead of to Boston, Avhere he was so much more at home. Immediately after his return he seems to have entered into some kind of a partnership with a builder in Brooklyn named Roberts ; but little can be learned about this association, and he soon broke away from it, took an olSce in New York, and looked about for independent work. He was wholly without resources for the future ; — even the fine library he had gathered during his college life and the first months of his stay in Paris had been already sold. He made no complaints, however, and seldom allowed despondency to aj^pear in his manner. No false pride stood in the way of his accepting any employment, however hum- ble — once he even went to Tiffany & Co. and offered himself, apparently without success, as a designer of gas-fixtures ; yet no false modesty led him to hide his belief that he had the ability which would bring success in his own high pro- fession could he but get “one chance to show what he could do.” « “ Let me describe him,” writes a lady who befriended him at this time when he was boarding in Brooklyn,^ “ exactly as I recall to-day his looks. . . . He was of good height, broad-shouldered, full-chested, dark complexion, brown eyes, dark hair parted in the centre, and had the look of a man in perfect health and with much physical vigor. He wore his clothes, which fitted him well, with an indescribable air of ease . . . like one who had dressed himself properly in his room and thought no more about it afterwards than he did about the color of his hair or the shape of his head. . . . His cravats had a careless ease. . . . His shoes were thick, broad-soled, and looked more as if made in England than in France. . . . “AYe had been boarding a month or two at the same house when I had an opportunity to buy a pretty little house and . . . decided to go to house- keeping. Mr. Richardson . . . came into my room and said, ‘ Airs. P., I Avant you to take me as a boarder. . . . All I Avant for breakfast is hash, Avith the addition of a cup of coffee so strong that you can never Avash the cu]) Avhite after using.’ . . . “ He occupied a small back parlor, quiet and retired. Here he brought his library, and here he spent many hours of patient study. . . . After a feAv Aveeks he came to me and said, ‘ I have dissolved my partnership, I stand alone in the Avorld Avithout the means to pay my Avay.’ There Avas a proud humility in his manner Avhich amused and interested me. ‘ Do not be troubled,’ I said, ‘ some- thing favorable Avill turn up after a Avhile. Stay on Avith us.’ ... I kiiOAV he was in perplexity, but I failed at the time to fathom the undercurrent of de- Letter in Boston Evening Transcript, October 8, 188G. 18 IIENBY HOBSON BICIIAIWSON. spondcncy wliicli troubled, liis life. . . . He was going to the Century Club one evening, and as he passed out of his room he said, ‘ Look at me. I wear a suit made by Poole, of London, which a nobleman might be pleased to wear, and — and — and I have n’t a dollar to my name.’ lie said this so cheerfully, with that same proud humility to which I have referred, that even then I did not realize his despondency. It was a dark hour to him. ... Not for from this time came the sad news of his mother’s death. At once — he could hardly wait for the next train — he must go for sympathy to the one who held the place in his heart next his mother. There was a childlike simplicity about this man which he may liave hidden as he came more in contact with the world and his life was filled with work and care ; but it was in his nature. . . . “ .Vt last he disapi)eared for a day or two. On his return he said that . . . he was to be the architect of a new church in S 2 )ringfield, Mass. He went to work Avith great interest, though he had not been idle during his Avaiting time. . . . One thing is certain, if ‘ the Avdue of any Avork of art is exactly in the ratio of the quantity of humanity put into it,’ then Mr. llichardson’s work Avas good, for he put his soul into it. He believed in ‘ bold, rich, living architecture,’ and in good Avork or none. . . . He did not like that the architect should be fettered by lack of money in the client. In his vicAV the best use of money is to spend it in architecture to Avhich posterity may point with pride. . . .” It Avas in the month of November, 1866, after he had been more than a year at home, that Itichardson got that first commission to Avhich reference has just * been made. AVhen the competition for a large Unitarian church to be built in SiAi'ingfield Avas opened, a former classmate, Mr. J. A. Ilumrill, obtained for him permission to send in his designs Avith those of several well-knoAvn architects. Much opposition Avas made l)y more than one member of the building- committee to the idea of intrusting so important apiece of Avork to an untried man — to a man Avho had had no independent practice and no especial training in the kind of design re([uired, and Avhose knoAvledge of practical matters in America must evidently be very small. Nevertheless the intrinsic merits of his project carried the day. He had come himself to Springfield in his impatience to learn the committee’s decision and Avas aAvaiting it in an outer room. When it Avas told him he burst into tears and exclaimed, “ That is all I Avanted — a chance B And a chance Avas all he needed. Almost at once he received another impor- tant commission in Springfield, and Avithin the year he was successful in a com- petition for an Episcopal church at AVest Aledford, near Boston, and could feel himself fairly launched in professional life. On the strength of his very first piece of Avork he married Miss Hayden, — in January, 1867, — and established his home at Clifton, Staten Island. CHAPTER IV. PROFESSIONAL LIFE. Richardson’s first place of business was in Trinity Building, on Broadway, where he was permitted to occupy a room in the offices of Mr. Emliii J. Littell, architect. Here he worked for some eighteen months upon the commissions for his first three buildings, — the Church of the Unity and the Boston & Albany Railroad offices in Springfield, and Grace Church at West Medford, Massachusetts. Just two years after his return to America (October 1, 1867), he entered into partnershii) with Mr. Charles Gambrill, an architect of well-established reputation who seems to have known and befriended him during the foregoing months. The firm of Gambrill & Post, of which the second member had been Mr. George B. Post, was dissolved at this time, and that of Gambrill & Richardson was imme- diately formed, Richardson removing to his j3artner’s offices at No. 6 Hanover Street. Later on the firm was housed at No. 57 Broadway, a building which, in the new guise given it by Messrs. Babb, Cook & Willard, is still the iirofessional home of many architects. This partnership lasted for eleven years, — until October, 1878, soon after which time Mr. Gambrill died. Many of Richardson’s works therefore, and some of great importance, including Trinity Church in Boston, were designed under the firm name.^ But as works of art they were not in any true sense the pro- ducts of associated labor. The partnership was even more exclusively of a business nature than those which usually bind architects together, and each member exe- cuted his own tasks in his own individual way. There is no question that Rich- ardson owed a great and constantly recurring debt to the business experience and practical knowledge of Mr. Gambrill. But his artistic independence is clearly acknowledged by Mr. Gambrill himself in letters which still exist, was very soon unmistakably manifest in his productions, and was generally understood at the time by those who knew them both. Not merely when Trinity Church was com- missioned but at an even earlier period, men thought and sjioke of Richardson as an independently creative artist, and were fully justified in so speaking by all laws except those of the narrowest professional etiquette. It is not proposed to describe any of his works in this chapter, — they will be better considered by themselves when the main facts of his life have been told, — and only those need be even mentioned which conspicuously influenced that life by their success. The first which thus claims attention is the Brattle St[uare Church in Boston, ^ See List of Works, Appendix 1. 20 HENBY HOBSON BICHABHSON. tlie commission for which was gained in comiDetition in July, 1870 — two years after the formation of the partnership. No building that had been erected in Boston within the memory of younger generations had compelled half the notice 'which this excited, even before its elaborate sculptured decorations were in place ; and the general admiration for it was great enough to justify the selection of its designer as one of those who should compete for the j^roposed new church for Trinity parish. TVhen the invitation to do this was before him, Bichardson knew that a critical moment in his career had come. “ The chance ” for which he had longed in order that he might show himself an architect had been given him in the Spring- field church, and had been so well used that now, at thirty-four years of age, after only five years of practice, he was given a chance to show wTrether or not he was a great architect. Trinity was to be a church of unusual size and costli- ness, and was sure to be exceptionally conspicuous by reason of the isolation and dignity of its site, and, I may add, the wide fame of its pastor ; and in competing for it, Bichardson was to measure himself against a number of the most distin- guished architects of the country. While preparing his designs he knew that he was dealing with the signal opportunity of his life ; and when they had been chosen he kneAV that he had gained a marked professional victory and a most for- tunate opening for full and decided self-expression. It was a great test, but it resulted in a triumph which seemed greater and greater as actual construction progressed. Trinity grew to be a far finer building than the designs had promised, and it did more for Bichardson than even he him- self could have hoped. Not only was it a turning-point in his outer professional career, — it is also the most conspicuous mile-stone which marks the course of his inner artistic development. The practice given by so large and ornate a group of buildings was of inestimable advantage at this stage in his life. Their general success confirmed his belief in the great possibilities and the wide serviceableness of Bomanesque forms, while their defects as well as beauties helped to settle into a far clearer scheme his conception of the way in which these forms should be used. When he began Trinity all his work had been merely tentative, and it was itself but a great and bold experiment. When he finished it he was already erecting other buildings which are mature and characteristic expressions of his poAver. When he began it he was a very promising architect who had attracted a greater measure of popular attention than usually falls to the share of such an one in our day and land. When he finished it he was to his countrymen at large the best knoAvn and most interesting figure in the profession. While he Avas still in Paris his brother had Avritten him that “ he gave him five years to stand at the head of his profession.^’ The prophecy was bold, but was almost literally fulfilled. The commission for Trinity was received in July, 1872, and the completed and decorated structure Avas consecrated on the 9th of February, 1877. MeaiiAAdiile another most important piece of Avork of a very different sort had been under- taken. In 1876 the Legislature of the State of Noav York confided to Bichard- son, in company with Mr. Leopold Eidlitz, architect, and Mr. Frederick LaAV Olmsted, landscape architect, the responsible, difficult, and in many ways ungrate- PROFESSIONAL LIFE. 21 fill task of completing the State Capitol at Albany. Much of Richardson’s time was given to this task, esjDecially during the next succeeding years, but it was far from being finished when he died. Tlie next commissions he received were for public library buildings in the towns of Woburn and North Easton, in eastern Massachusetts, — the one in March and the other in SeiAemher, 1877. With these closes the list of works to which the firm name of Gambrill & Iliehardson was attached. Trinity Church and other New England structures gradually claimed so large a portion of Rich- ardson’s time that in the spring of 1874 he removed his family from Staten Island to Brookline, four miles from Boston ; and his jDractice grew gradually more and more independent — as is shown, for example, by the Albany commission, which was given to himself individually and not to his firm. Tims the ties of iDartner- ship had* so relaxed that when they were severed in October, 1878, no public announcement of the fact was made. Richardson’s offices were now also removed to Brookline and accommodated under the same roof with his home ; and here, amid singularly advantageous and congenial surroundings, he lived and worked during the eight years that remained to him. The commission to build Sever Hall for Harvard College was the first that he received after the dissolution of his partnership. But it is not needful in this place to follow farther the long list of his works. Their number is not re- markable if, in comparing it with the number which fell to the lot of other prominent architects during the same term of years, one counts building against building without regard to relative importance. But it seems very great if one considers the character of Richardson’s structures, — if one notes how many are of the monumental class, and notes, too, how pronounced is that diversity which meant at almost every step a new problem with new difficulties of its own. Town work and rural work ; niunicii^al buildings, libraries, and churches ; railroad sta- tions and dAvellings ; ivholesale warehouses and retail stores ; bridges, monnments, fountains, armories, succeed each other heneath his busy hand. And the variety which the list reveals has a double interest and significance, — as shmving, first, that Richardson delighted to embrace every kind of ojAportunity, Avhether great or small ; and secondly, that the public had begun to feel that small architectural opportunities, as Avell as great ones, require the service of the ablest minds. The most singular fact to be noted Avith regard to the Avork of Richardson’s latter years is that ecclesiastic commissions Avere so fcAV. First the Springfield church, then the Brattle Square Church, and then and above all Trinity — these had been the three buildings to make his name and to draAV popular attention to his art. Yet after the commission for Trinity Avas received he built hut tAvo churches, and these Avere by no means of the first imjAortance. This fact, hoAvever, cannot be counted a misfortune either for himself or for the public. His natural bent Avas much more toAvards secular than toAvards eccle- siastical architecture. He Avas horn a creator not a student, an innovator not an anticiuary. A feeling for the vital serviceahleness of his art Avas very strong Avithin him, and therefore he cared more to AVork on noAV than on traditional lines. What he loved best Avas the freshest problem. What he most rejoiced 22 HENPiY HOBSON lUCHAlWSON in was to give true yet beautiful expression to those needs which were wholly modern in their genesis and had hitherto been overlooked by art. No architect so endowed as to be very strongly attracted by ecclesiastical work would have been likely to say A\ hat I once heard Itichardson say : “The things I Avant most to design are a grain-elevator and the interior of a great river-steamboat.” Once indeed in his later years he put on paj)er his conception of Avhat a church of the most monumental kind should be. The most elaborate and most scholarly designing he ever did is shoAvn in the splendid series of competition-draAvings for the Protestant cathedral at Albany. NoAvhere else are his purely aesthetic aspirations set forth upon so noble and complete a scale, or with such richness of detail and accessory decoration. But Avhen the terms of the competition are examined and these draAvings are studied by their light, it seems certain that lu' could have had no sober expectation of being alloAved to build in any near accordance Avith his submitted scheme. The truth seems to be that Avhen once this scheme had taken hold of Richard- son’s imaginatio’n he tlircAV himself into it Avith uncalculating ardor and devel- oped it for the mere pleasure of the task. To a true artist there is no delight so great as to find or fancy himself for once amid ideal conditions— free to do his best and greatest, unfettered and unquestioned, Avith no hiAvs or limits to respect save those prescribed by art itself and the farthest reach of his own pow- ers. It Avoidd be difficult to say just Iioav definitely Richardson recognized, in the enthusiasm of the moment, that these conditions Avere in this case fancied and not found. At all events, though he Avas deeply chagrined and disappointed Avlien the commission Avas denied him, he soon realized that to have been kept from building his cathedral Avas a positive piece of good fortune. “ It Avould have been delightfid Avork,” he often said, “ but I had not the time to spare for it — there is so much other Avork to do and of so much more necessary kinds. Fifteen years of‘ labor on a cathedral Avas not the thing I should have hoped for.” Nor Avould it have been the best thing for his felloAV-countrymen had the last and strongest years of Richardson’s life been chiefly occupied in such a task. Churches of certain sorts are needed to-day, of course, as Avell as secular struc- tures ; and they also need the exercise of the best creative poAver- — need to be adapted and not copied from the examples of some elder time. To build a church like Trinity — large but not excessively large, and planned to meet the actual needs of a modern Protestant congregation, — to build one like that Baptist church at NcAvton, Mass., Avhich he finished but shortly before his death — modest in size and planned for a modern congregation Avith special ritual needs, — these Avere indeed Avorthy tasks ; for they Avere tasks Avhich required for their right fulfill- ment fresh study of fundamental problems as Avell as artistic taste and knoAvledge, and Avhich, if rightly fulfilled, Avould be of helpful influence in many a future case. But it is a question Avhether our modern Protestant America really needs a vast and ornate cathedral church planned on mediaeval lines. And it is certain that even if Richardson had built one as beautiful as his designs foreshadoAV, it Avould have been of small practical aid toAvards the general development of Amer- ican art. It Avould have been a far more sujAerb monument to the aesthetic side of his power than anything he constructed. But it would not have been such PPi OFESSIONAL LIFE. 23 a monument to the practical usefulness of that power, or such a projDliecy of the progress of our architecture as a genuinely yital art, as are the municipal and commercial structures u2:)on which instead the efforts of his later years were spent. No cathedral, however magnificent in scheme or j^erfect in detail, would he worth so much to us as the Pittsburgh Court-house or the great simple Field Building in Chicago ; and we should he unwilling to take it in exchange for that series of modest railroad stations which has done so much to lift the stigma of obligatory ugliness from one of the most imjDortant architectural novel- ties of our time. In liichardson’s own estimation the Pittsburgh building was the great work of his life — the most interesting and imj^ortant as a problem and the most entirely successful in result ; and he was esjDecially proud of the chance to build it as the invitation to comjDete had come from so distant a sj^ot and had been jDromjDted by the sight of his works alone and not by a i^ersonal acquaintance of any mem- ber of the committee with himself. He knew his life might be very short and was almost feverishly anxious to see the Court-house comjfiete before he died. “ Let me but have time to finish Pittsburgh,” he often exclaimed, “ and I should be content without another day.” He had been gifted with a strong constitution and a fine j^hysique. But while in Paris he met with a serious accident from the j:>ainful results of which he never recovered, and for years before his death he suffered from a dangerous chronic disease that called for constant iDrecautions. Often he was kept for many days at home by its attacks or actually confined to his bed ; and he gradually grew so very stout that his weight alone might have been thought an almost prohibitive obstacle to bodily exertion. Yet in sj^ite of everything he seemed much the most active and energetic, much the most alive of all the men one kneAv. An intense, immense vitality, physical as well as mental and emotional, was his most distinctive characteristic. Every one had been told that his life Avas in dan- ger, but no one could believe it in his jAresence, for there seemed strength enough in him to do the Avork of six and life enough to last out three times our three- score years and ten. Every one kneAV he suffered greatly, but feAV could realize the fact, his jAatience Avas so unfailing, his sjAirits so high, his delight in life so peculiarly apparent. No man ever asked less for jAity or seemingly pitied himself less than this man who, after a long period of struggle, Avas noAv on the tojA Avave of success ; who was leading just the life amid just the surroundings Avhich he Avould have chosen; who had done so much but kncAV so Avell he could do so much more and better ; Avho felt and confessed a cliildlike pleasure as Avell as a manly pride in his great talent and his noble ojAiAortunity — and Avas yet aAvare that all might be at an end for him to-morroAV. He bore his great burden of professional tasks, domestic responsibilities, and jAliysical ills so buoyantly that others almost forgot its magnitude and came at last to feel that he Avas fortu- nately of a nature to forget it himself in the occupations and attractions of each passing hour. It was difficult to conceive that, consciously shadoAved by the very wings of Death, he could cherish ambitions so far-reaching, lAlans and projects 24 HEX 11 Y HOB SOX lUCHAlWSOX. so ca2)Licioiis, and siiC'li self-congratulations on the happiness of the j^rcsent mo- ment and the rich promise of the future. Facts and feelings Avliich woidd have paralyzed other men seemed to act as a stiniidant on llic-hardson. Because to-morrow Avas uncertain he Avas bent upon using and enjoying to-day to the full, lie felt that he must Avork tAyice as hard as though he Ayere promised longer years ; and he did thus Ayork yet neA er seemed painfully pressed for time. With his uncertain health there could he little regularity in his hours of labor ; hut his poAyer of laboring anyAyhere and at any time and under any conditions amply made up for this apjAarent draAvhack. lie could Avork as Ayell by night as by day, and as persistently on his sick-bed as in his offices or near his buildings — and often, he confessed, to better adA antage there than amid outside influences and distractions. He took tremendous jour- neys at short interyals and at a rushing rate of speed, — sleeping night after night on the cars, spending day after day in the active superintendence of construc- tions under Ayay or in dealing A\ith those indiyidual or corporate clients Ayho are sometimes far less tractable than bricks and mortar, and at cyery odd moment, Aylierever he Ayas, planning, inyenting, designing, consulting, and deciding. Yet though he Ayas ahvays thus absorbed in his AVork, he Avas by no means Avholly tied doAvn to it. lie had ])lenty of energy left to take an interest in other things, and that sort of energy Ayhich seems ahyays to make time to gratify its Avishes. Ilis early taste for society never diminished, and the calls of friendly intercourse Avere met as only the half-idle are apt to meet them in this hurrying land of ours. There Avas no more frequent guest at the dinner-tables of Boston and its neighborhood than Kichardson, none Avhose coming meant more surely a delight- fid evening, and none Avho Avas more certain to enjoy himself while delighting others. The hospitality of his OAvn hearth and table Avas as unlimited as informal ; and when his great offices had become one of the sights of Boston, no stranger ever failed of courteous entertainment there. The busiest home 1 ever saw, Richardson’s Avas also the one Avliere the doors Avere most generously opened and Avhere the Avelcome seemed most heartfelt and perennial. And even in his rapid professional journeys he took care to airange beforehand so that every spare hour might be devoted to those friends Avhom he Avould find along his path, and that many of the hours of actual labor might be made to yield their fruit in pleasant companionship as Avell. Ahvays ready to talk of himself and eager to talk of his Avork, he Avas neither egotistical nor narroAV. His sympathies Avere very Avide and sensitive, and his chosen associates Avere men Avho, Avhile they understood his art and intelligently valued his achievements and his aims, trod themselves in other paths than his. Artists of one kind and another Avere, indeed, among them, but clergymen and literary men and men of business and of science stood just as near to him in friendship and served his intellectual needs as Avell. If the long list of their names could be given, it AVOuld shoAV them all to be men of excejitionally strong and interesting individuality, but Avould also shoAV that Avhat bound them and Richardson together Avas the mere fact of this individuality — this personal Avorth or poAver — and not any narrower analogy betAveen their peculiar gifts or aims or dispositions and his OAvn. PliOFESSIONAL LIFE. 25 It is another characteristic fact that even when he turned to books for refresh- ment it was not reposeful words he sought. There was little time in his life for desultory reading, but I remember his saying that when he was too tired and ill for work or social intercourse, — as just before his European trij) in 1882, — he always wanted a book in his hand by day and under his pillow at night, and always the most exciting he could find ; and I remember his naming Gaborian’s detec- tive stories at the head of the list of those which had most satisfactorily met his needs. CHAPTER V. liUllOPEAN JOUKNEY. IHciiardson’s way of living- showed an energy, a breadth of mind, and a fresh- ness ol‘ leeling whieh u roiight their own well-s])rings of renewal. The fact that after and even during his working hours, he coidd turn to outside men and things with such eager interest, kept him young and sympathetie and alive in every fibre, and enabled him to do the work itself in a more fresh and vigorous way than would have been possible had he allowed himself to he exclusively absorbed by it. Naturally, such receptive and assimilative power is a gift like any other. To all strenuous men life is made up of labor and of rest ; but each must take his rest as nature has decreed he may, and only a fortunate few can take it as Richardson took his — in the way not of literal repose of mind and body, hut of stimulating and fecundating action upon other lines. After a hard day’s work in the office or a long journey by rail, and with half a night of labor still before him, to sit down at a big dinner-table fidl of diversely assorted guests and talk hrilliantly and incessantl}' for a couple of hours on desultory themes, — this would hardly he refreshment lor the average man. But “ This is the way I rest,” Richardson Avould often exclaim on such occasions, with boyish delight in his power to give truth to the words. Nothing about him was more remarkable than the manner in which he woidd then throw off his burden of thought and responsibility — unless, indeed, it Avere the manner in Avhich he Avould take it up once more, fresh- ened by the interval hut as Avholly and deeply in his task again as though no alien idea had crossed his mind. Often, Avhen one rememhered his physical con- dition, it seemed as though it Avould need hut a fcAV days like those he persisted in li^ ing to exhaust him utterly. But again it seemed as though his will, his activity, his delight in life Avere Avhat kept death at bay. Some one once exclaimed, “ Richardson is all right — he will never take time to die ” ; and no Avords could more accurately express the feeling he inspired. It Avas only a few Aveeks before his death that after a round of his croAvded offices he paused to say : “ There is lots of Avork to do, is n’t there ? And such Avork ! And then to think that I may die here in this office at any moment.” But the Avords were so simply and bravely said, and he seemed to think so much more of the work than of the dan- ger, that the next phrase did not strike the ear as an unnatural sequence : “ Well, there is no man in the Avhole Avorld that enjoys life Avhile it lasts as I do.” Al- Avays in the doctors’ hands, he Avas certainly not Avliat is called “ a good patient,” — the demands of the moment Averc too imperious Avith him for consequences to he often borne in mind. Yet if the Avish to live, the imperious desire to get Avell, are indeed among the physician’s mightiest helpers, Richardson aided his Avith a titanic hand. EUROPEAN JOURNEY. 27 The vacations he took were few, hut he enjoyed them greatly and in character- istic fashion. “ In 1875,” writes his intimate friend, Mr. Frederick Laiv Olmsted, “we went on a ‘ Cook’s Tour,’ together with our families, resting at Trenton Falls, Buffalo, Niagara, Montreal, Quebec, and among the White Mountains. It was the first vacation of his 2)i'ofessional life, and was always afterwards referred to as his ‘ wedding journey.’ “ The whole-heartedness with which he gave himself nj) to enjoyment for the time being was the most interesting circumstance of the journey. I have never seen the like of it, even in a school-boy. At Niagara this was shown in association with another quality. He refused to take j^art in discussing, or to consider at all how we should jwoceed, saying, ‘ This is a matter in which you are an exjDcrt, and I will not take off the least share of your resi^onsibility.’ And though my jDolicy was the reverse of that which is generally adoj)ted and which he would naturally have taken to, he showed no imiDatience, but made the most of whatever was enjoyable for the moment, never asking what was to come afterwards. We were out several hours without coming in sight of the Falls — did not see them fairly, indeed, till the next day. When we did he had caught the idea of throwing curiosity aside and avoiding amazement, and was willing to sit for hours in one place conteniiDlatively enjoying the beauty, saying little of what was before us and chatting not a little of other matters, but taking quiet pleasure and laying iq) j^leasure. At Quebec, on the other hand, he took command, and all the way to Montgomery he was studying the little old French larmhonses, and considering how much more j^leasant they were than such cottages as we were accustomed to, in which so much more had been done to jilcase.” In the Slimmer of 1882 Richardson took the only long vacation of his later life. A European journey was decided ujion, jiartly that he might be taken quite away from business and jiartly that certain sjiecialists in London might be con- sulted about his health. Ilis comiianions at the start and during many subse- quent weeks were the Rev. Phillijis Brooks of Boston, the Rev. AVilliam McA^ickar of Philadelphia, the Rev. Mr. Franks of Salem, and Mr. Jaqiies, a young friend from his own office. London, Paris, the south of France, and the north of Italy were visited, and then Richardson, accompanied only by his tDiq^il, took a flying trij) through the central and northern jiarts of Spain, going into some districts where even the architectural tourist seldom jienetrates, but whither he was attracted, more strongly than to the Moorish jirovinces, by the jn-esence of many Romanesque niouuments little known to fame or the iihotograjiher. Mr. Jaques’s account of the trij:), recently written down from memory, rims in abbreviated form as follows : ^ — “ Mr. Richardson’s enthusiasm carried him through as a traveler just as it did at home, and his ivonderfiil vitality and endurance were never more fully tested than they were then. Mr. Brooks was a most tremendous traveler, and Mr. Richardson would not be outdone ; and when I sa}' that we visited tliirt} -three ^ Mr. Jaques’s long letter was kindly written for iny tured to use tliein witli only such excisions as the neccssi- information only ; but his own words are so much nioi’o ties of space compelled, interesting than any paraphrase could be that 1 have ven- 28 IIFXIIY HOBSON lUCHAFiDSON. towns in tliirty-two days, it gives some idea of the rate at whieli we journeyed. Xigiit or day it made no differenee, and not until we reached Yenicc did it seem to tell 112)011 him, though his great weight must have made it douhly hard for him. lie was off for a holiday and was hound by no rules of health or diet, though they were all written down lor him and I was su])2)osed to enforce them ! He rarely gave his ini2)ressions of things he saw exeejit when in just the right mood, and woidd often lie enthusiastic to a degree over some trivial 2^f>hit, and wholly silent over a magnifieent work that iniiiressed him tremendously. “ On arriving in London (July 1 ) he saw^ Sir Janies Paget and Sir William Gull, who took great interest in his case and jironouneed his heart sound and his dis- ease not necessarily fatal. They iirescribed lor him carefully and gave yarious directions, all of which he immediately began to disregard because he felt so much better o)'er the results of their examination. He showed his desire to carry out their iustructioiis more by hiring a landau by the week with a j^rivate coachman than by regularity of meals and hours. “ In London he sjient much time in seeing the ordinary street sights, and vis- ited ^■ery few historical monuments exce2)t Westminster and the Tenijile. The new lanv Courts did not incase or interest him, hut he was greatly interested in the scheme of heating and ventilating in the Houses of Parliament. “ He visited Mr. II. Phene 8})iers, wdioin he had known in Paris, and through him ])roeured letters to Mr. Pullen, wdiich gave admission to Mr. Burgess’s house. Mr. llichardson w ent over it very carefully, hut on the whole was rather disaj)- |)ointed in it, in s])ite of his great interest in Mr. Burgess. It did not come u}) to his ideal. At Merton Abbey Mr. William Morris ha 2 ) 2 )ened to be in, and he went ])ersonally wdth us over the Avorks and gave extremely interesting accounts of the 2 )rogress he had made in the manufacture of his glass, car 2 )ets, stulfs, etc. He seemed to take great interest in Mr. llichardson and left his owm l^arty to drive to town Avith ours. The visit to Morris’s house, and the five-o’clock-tea there on the folloAviug Sunday Avith the various ‘ aesthetes,’ a\ as an exiAerience long to be remembered. He Morgan ht in lile or in the success of his labors. And there is a singular analogy between Richardson’s last days and those of Priestley when, as his son relates, he told his doctor, “ that if he covdd but patch him up for six months longer he slioidd be perfectly satisfied, as he should in that time be able to com- plete printing his works.” Ih’iestley says in his autobiogra])hy that he had “ an even chearfulness of temper ” which “ rarely deserted him even for an hour,” and which he had inher- ited from his father, who “ had uniformly better spirits ” than any man he ever knew. This good gift he in his turn transmitted. Constitutional high spirits rather than an “ even chearfulness of temper ” is the phrase which best fits Rich- ardson. But this only seems to make the likeness closer, for undoubtedly the stronger words would have better fitted Dr. Priestley too. AVhen he paints his own portrait it looks mild and ecpiable and cool enough, but his contemporaries give it much more pronounced and fervid traits. Again, we need not believe them Avholly, and we may make some deductions from the words of the later writer who remarks upon that “ indefatigable activity, that bigoted vanity, that precipi- tation, cheerfulness, and sincerity which made u]^ the character of this restless philosopher.”^ No man who was bigotedly vain would have been so quick to retract his words when second thoughts had shown him a mistake. Yet he cer- tainly never paused for second thoughts before rushing into print ; his confi- dence in himself was unbounded and his impetuosity as great. Had his temper been very “ even ” he would have led a quieter intellectual life, and something more than mere “ chearfulness ” must have sustained him in the perjietual un- quiet that he sought. There is every sign -of a temperament quite like his great- grandson’s, brought to even more pronounced develojiinent by the nature of his work. AYords were his materials for self-expression, arguments his tools, while Richardson’s language was of bricks and stones which give opjoortunity to declare and preach but no chance to argue, and which inculcate deliberate methods and the foreseeing of unalterable results. Yet even in Richardson’s buildings it is easy to read the enthusiasm, the impulsiveness, the self-trust which he had inher- ited, and his speech and manner still more distinctly showed them. Intellectual independence Avas also a trait Avhich these kinsmen had in common. Neither ever accepted current beliefs because of their mere currency, or feared to express his own lest they be deemed unorthodox.” Southey calls the Doctor “ a man Avho sj)eaks all he thinks ; ” ^ another pen declares that “ frankness and dis- interestedness in the avowal of his opinions was his point of honor ; ” ^ and the phrases may here stand Avith a double application. It matters nothing that Priest- ley spoke Avith definite Avords and Richardson through the abstracter language of ^ Lord Jeffrey, Edinburgh Review, October, 1806. ^ Sir James Mackintosh, Life, i. ch. vii. ^ Life and Correspondence, ch. v. HEREDITARY INFLUENCES. 45 an art. Just the same spirit that giiicled the theological and scientific writings of the one inspired the artistic practice of the other. Everything was examined at first hand, tried in the balance of personal thought and feeling ; and whatever was then believed was proclaimed without deference to any “ doxy.” Indeed, the bias with Richardson as with Priestley was towards the new and unfamiliar for the sake of its freshness, not towards the old and honored for the sake of its accepted title ; and towards undue haste and over-emphasis in expression rather than towards a cautious reticence. Each of them, in short, was an originator, a leader in his own path ; and this means that both were born to be independent, “ heterodox,” and combative, but means, too, that both were constructive and not destructive by nature. Of course, with regard to Richardson, this fiict is very clear, — the mere name “ artist ” is the proof. But if Priestley’s story be fully read it is as clearly proved for him. Like his descendant he was an idealist, — a man with ideals in which he passionately believed, and to which he desired to give concrete existence. And if he was an iconoclast, it was because certain things stood in the way of those he wanted to establish, — not, in religion or in politics anymore than in science, an iconoclast for the mere pleasure of destroying. If it seems strange that two men so unlike in their vocations should have been so alike in nature, the explanation is that one of them was not by nature really fitted for the part he chose to play. Your true philosopher is not quick but slow and very patient, is not confident but cautious, is never emotional, rash, or hot, loves contemplation more than action, cares far more for knowing than for doing. It is the man of artistic nature who longs to be creative, who can hardly pause to know, so great is his desire to do, who passes lightly by the thoughts of others in his impulse towards self-expression. And it is he, too, whose mind is “ objective ” — loves concrete things, demonstrable facts, and definite decisions. The philos- opher’s mind is content with vagueness, shuns cut-and-dried definings, sees the highest virtue often in “ susj)ended judgments,” and disports itself by choice in cloud-land. Read now what a historian says of our philosopher : — “ Priestley’s mind was objective to an extreme ; he could fix his faith upon nothing which had not the indorsement of sense in some way impressed iqDon it. . . . The most spiritual ideas were obliged to be cast in a material mould before they could commend themselves to his judgment or conscience. His instinct was rapid to a degree. lie saw the bearings of a question according to his own j^riii- ciplcs at a glance and embodied his thoughts in volumes while many other men would hardly have sketched out their plan. All this, though admirable in a man of action, was not the temperament to form the solid metaphysician, — nay, it was precisely opposed to that deep reflective habit, that sinking into one’s own inmost consciousness, from which alone speculative philosophy can obtain light and advancement.” ’ But the artist is above all a man of action, of deeds ; and no temperament could be more artistic than the one thus painted. More love of action than love of contemplation, and more perceptive power than reasoning power, — this seems ^ Morell, History of Modern Philosophy, i. 142, 143. 46 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON. to have been Priestley’s character not only as a inetaphysician but as a man of sci- ence too. And if it was the character of a Priestley who was by training and profession a philosopher, Richardson may with certainty be said to have been indebted for his talent to that maternal blood of wdiich he ahvays loved to boast. In conclusion it is interesting to note that Priestley’s portraits show a strong- likeness to his great-grandson, not in general type or in coloring but in the shape of the forehead and the manner in which the hair grows above it, and in the peculiar line of the eyebrows — rising sharply towards the tem2:)les. Even the fact that Richardson’s stammer was inherited from the Doctor (who re- garded it as “ a providential check ” upon his “ undue loquacity ”) seems not in- significant as emphasizing their close kinship ; nor the fact that the only one of Richardson’s six children who has inherited the stammer from him has also inher- ited a face which still more nearly resembles the Doctor’s than did his own. CHAPTER Till. EARLY WORKS. The manner in which Richardson began his pro- fessional life and gained his first commission has already been described. The Church of the Unity was a much more important j)iece of work than usu- ally Mis to a beginner’s lot, and for Richardson the difficulties it presented were peculiarly great. He had been trained in Paris upon problems of a very different kind, and travel had not suiij^lemented the teachings of the School. The ecclesiastical art of England was the study-book to which the taste of the moment in America distinctly pointed him. It is unlikely that he had familiarized himself with this art even upon paper, while he was of course without that knowledge of local materials, methods of con- struction, and business customs which most archi- tects gain during a term of pupilage at liomCo The success of his effort is therefore doubly remarkable. In general scheme the Church of the Unity is based upom a rural English type. It has no tran- sejAs or western portal, but has aisles and clerestory and at the southwestern angle a projecting porch above which rise tower and spire.^ These are Eng- lish in feeling, and the windows in all parts of the building are acutely pointed. But here analogies end. There is no effort after “ scholarly” treatment according to any historic pattern. No mouldings or sculptured decorations are anywhere employed, the square-sectioned windows being merely surmounted by thin, flat drip-stones Avhich have too much the effect of wooden features to be commended except for friiiik sim])licity. And as the Unitarian service did not require it, there is no chancel. It is most interesting to see how this first Avork reveals the essential qualities of Richardson’s art, hoAV it proves that Avhat he thought most about Avas the building as a whole — the mass, the body — and not any one feature or any ([uestion ol treatment or decoration. Other Gothic churches have been built in America Avhich seem better than this if tested for evidence of academic knoAvledge or of a ^ On account of the surrounding trees no good })icture of the church as it a|)])ears to-day could be obtained. TOWER, CHURCH OF THE UNITY, SPRINGFIELD. (Auloyraph Urawiny by 11. 11. likhardstm.) 48 llENPiY HOBSON FilCHArilJSON. satisfactory as a composition, while all its lines hear clear witness to the clisj)Osition of its interior. The suhordinate rooms which lie to the eastward are neither con- fused with the church proper nor dissevered from it. Each mass has its own roof, but the two roofs unite in a harmonious whole from whichever side they are seen. The porch beneath the tower is attractively designed, and the west front is much more interesting than in the average English church where entrance is effected through a porch. A low aisle-like inclosed arcade runs all across it, form- ing a large vestibule which is of as great practical as artistic value. STUDY FOR CHURCH OF THE UNITY, SPRINGFIELD. sense of the beauty possible to individual features. But we seldom find one Avhicli is half so good in general conception and arrangement, which so immediately affects us as a whole, an entity, or is so harmoniously massed, so graceful in silhouette. Eortunately it stands a])art from the neighboring houses on a slightly elevated site and may he well seen from several points of vicuv. Eroin each it is entirely EARLY WORKS. 49 Inside, both scheme and treatment are simple. There are no galleries, and at the west end there is nothing between the low doors that lead into the vestibule and the high-jilaced rose-window except a plain field of wall which, it is said, Richardson hoped might some day be covered by a great picture. The treatment of the east end is, however, individual and interesting. Choir-galleries and organ- pipes are placed in two groups above the pulpit, forming with it an agreeable composition and doing much to redeem that architectiiral nudity which the ab- sence of a chancel involves ; and behind the pipes the wall is pierced in such a way that the organ may also be used for services held in the Sunday-school room heyond. The whole interior is colored on a very simple scheme sui^erintended by Richardson himself. It is rather “ hot ” and shows no especially strong feeling for color, yet it has no trace of that crudeness or of that vulgar over-emphasis in tone which at this time still commonly characterized such work. Outside, the red sandstone of which the church is entirely biult is well treated, though not with the technical individuality that marks Richardson’s maturcr work ; and on the whole, it is a building the aspect of which would do credit to a later day and a much more experienced hand, while its j^ractical success is heartily vouched for by its owners. The next building Richardson designed — the railroad-ofiices close by the Bos- ton and Albany Station in Springfield — is rectangular, stands on a corner site, and measures about one hundred and ten feet by sixty feet. It is four stories in height, with a mansard roof, and is built of light-gray granite — rock-faced ashlar with rusticated angles and cut trimmings. If we knew neither its date nor the name of its builder we should not think it especially interesting or individual, though it would reveal a much truer feeling for proportion and for repose and dignity than have often been combined in our commercial structures. Named and dated, however, it has points of great interest. It proves in the first place that even when thus fresh from his Paris training Richardson felt no wish to put the special lessons of that training into practice. Though in style it is “ free classic,” it is not “ free classic ” of any current Parisian type. It is a Roman Renaissance scheme of much the same sort as other American architects, very dif- ferently trained, have very frequently tried. Again, the boldness with which the rock-faced stone is used was much more remarkable twenty years ago than it would be to-day, and gives a hint of that feeling for “ bigness ” which, in technical as well as in other directions, so strongly characterizes Richardson’s later wx)rk. Ilis next building was a charming little rural Episcopal church at West Med- ford, near Boston, the commission for which he gained in conij)etition. Here again an English type is in some parts reproduced, though again w ith no “ scholarly ” minuteness. The tower rises over the north transept and the main l)orch is towairds the w^est end of the north side. There is a rose-w indoAv in tlu' west end above a small plain door, and eastward a chancel (finislied as a polygonal apse) the walls of w hich are of the same height as those of the nave but the roof much lower. The design has great breadth and simplicity, and the apse with its buttresses and high-])laced arcade of small w indow s is an especdally charming fi'a- ture. The most notew ortliy })oint about the building, how ever, is the nature of its 50 IlEXUY HOBSON ItlClIAlWSON. material. It was a bold but a sensible and artistie de^iee to employ for its walls those loose, rounded stones which the retreat of the glacial ice left so thickly scat- tered over New England soil. “ Tliat is best which lieth nearest — - Shape from that thy work of art,” is advice which need not tdwtiys be taken as the tirchitect’s rule of practice. But it is certtnnly sound tidvice when economy should be consulted, and, intrinsically, the bowlders of New Enghuid were as A^x'll entitled to be ])iit to architectural ser- vice as, for instance, those Norfolk flints with which old English builders pro- duced such charming and such individmd results. Bichardson was not the very first tirchitcct to use them, but the success of liis churcb first conspicuously proved their artistic value.’ They are very a igorously and frankly managed, but very sensildy except in the spire where the outline is rather disagreeably broken by the over-prominence of certain units. Cut stone is employed for the trimmings in sufficient ([iiantity and with sufficient skill to give stability of effect and an appro- priate dc'gree of refinement. Arches in which the outer line of the voussoirs takes a shai'ifer ciiiu e than the inner line are not always agreeable features ; but here their effect is good, for it increases the apj^arent strength of the arch, and with so heterogeneous a wall-fabric strength in the arch was particnlarly desir- [ible.-2 These are the three Avorks Avhicli Bichardson built before his association Avith Mr. Gambrill. The first he f)uilt after that association had been formed, Avith the exception of a dAvelling-house in Boston,'^ Avas the Agawam Bank in Springfield — a granite facade three stories in height Avith a mansard roof. The dooinvay and the Avin- doAvs of the loAver floor are round-arched ; the up])er AvindoAvs are segmentally pointed ; and in all of them the immensely heavy, rock-faced voussoirs differ still more conspicuously than at Medford in the lines of their outer and inner curves. A very stumj)y little marble column — its shaft not much deeper than its foliated capital — is everywhere introduced betAveen the jamb and the arch. Naturally, such a building is conspicuous and striking ; but it is striking as are countless others in all American toAvns Avhere pure hmtasy or a desire to do “something iieAV ” seems to have been the ruling motive. And yet it gives cer- tain signs of latent ability. It is bad as a Avork of art but not bad in a Aveak, hesitating, or inconsistent Avay. It is “ all of a piece ” and sIioavs that though its designer Avas mistaken in his aim he kncAV very clearly Avhat that aim Avas ; and there is a rough, even brutal sti’ength in the Avay its stones are used and treated Avhich means an immature, exaggerated effort after valuable qualities aa hich fcAV architects at that day seemed to prize. ^ The use of these bowlders was suggested to Richard- son by Mrs. Brooks, one of the donors of the church. They had already been employed in building a barn on her country-place. ^ The frank eclecticism of Richardson’s work, even at this early period, is shown by his use of this kind of arch. which never occurs iu English work of any historic period but is frequent in Italian. ® For the sake of clearness it has seemed l)est to leave all Richardson’s dwelling-houses to be described in a sej)- arate chapter ; and in the same chapter his railroad sta- tions will also be noticed. EARLY WORKS. 51 The High School hiiilcling for Worcester, Massachusetts, commissioned in No- vember, 1869, is also “ nondescript ” in style and quite different from any j3re- vious essay. It is a rectangular structure with a basement, two main stories, and a mansard with many dormers, with corner pavilions, independently roofed, and in the centre of the fagade a bold arrangement of stairs and porch above which rises a tower finished Avith a very tall and slender spire. The main Avindow in each face of the toAver is round-arched, but all the other openings are square — sometimes single and sometimes grouped. All the horizontal divisions are strongly marked, and though the design sIioavs minor faults it shoAVs many points of excellence as Avell ; and as a Avhole it has much more character — is much more of a conception — than either of the secular designs AAdiich had preceded it. A very notcAvorthy because at that time Avholly novel feature Avas its decora- tion by pronounced surface-color. The main material Avas red brick, but black bricks, and red, green, and black tiles Avere profusely introduced, — as in the string-courses and betAveen the dormers, — and vari-colored slates Avere used on the roof. A brother architect, aa riting to llichardson before the Avork Avas quite finished, says : — “ The High School I liked much. But the green tiles are not a success — too strong in color and not rich. Moreover they are not in harmony Avith anything else. The other thing that struck me as not right is the slating — its color. It is so arranged as to obscure the line of the cornice instead of making it more dis- tinct. It takes some study to distinguish the red slates from the red brick of the dormers, and both together make a red surface aa hicli looks like Avail. I think the slates hetAveen the dormers should have been black or green. The toAvers and roof and all that, seem to me a success, and I think the Worcester people Avill like it Avhen they are used to it. But they Avill not get used to the green tiles. At least I should not. The use of black bricks for surface decoration is interest- ing, and I am glad to see it done. But I should hesitate about copying it. It looks a little poor as Avell as flat. The toAver promises to be stunning and the corner pavilions are much improved from the sketch.” An exhihition-building for the toAvn of Cordova, Argentine Republic, Avas com- missioned in November, 1869. It Avas a Avooden structure, not very large, Avhich Avas carefully put together in a vacant lot in Ncav York, taken to pieces again, and shipped to South America Avith a number of carpenters Avho svqAerin- tended its final erection. The commission to build the Brattle Square Church ^ in Boston for a Congre- gational Society Avas gained in competition in July, 1870. It is a cruciform building, not very large, Avitli a lofty toAver aa hicli stands in the angle betAveen nave and transept, resting upon four 2 iicrs connected by great round arches. The carriage-iiorch Avhich is thus formed ojiens into a Ioav arcaded por- tico or vcstihidc that is built out, flush Avith the face of the toAver, from the end of the transept. This arcade and all the large AvindoAA s are round-arched, hut a range of groujied square-headed lights occurs, hcneath a large rose, in the end of ^ This name is a mere survival of that hy which the The churcli stands on tlie corner of Commonwealth Ave- congregation’s earlier place of worship had been known. nue and Clarendon Street. HKNIl 1 ' JIOJi^ON UK' II A U DSON. the iiaAC, Tlie roof' cind loin ro - l)oards are covered Avith red tiles, the frieze and the capitals in the porch are of a lii>ht-colored stone, and the angels’ trumpets are gilded. A single kind of stone appears in the rest of the strnctnrc — in Avails and trimmings alike — and the treatment of its surface does not vary. But it is a pud- ding-stone of a warm ^^ellon^ tint conspicuously div ersified n ith darker iron-stains, and such good advantage has heen taken of its changing tone to avoid monotony in the fields of wall and to accent the trimmings that the general color effect is both ric-li and animated. Nt'vertheless the church is not, as a whole, a success- fid piece of work. No part of it is very interesting ex- cept the tower, and though this is in itself superb it has little organic relation to the lower masses and crushes them b}' its excessive size and stateliness. Its chief intrinsic beauty is its chief defect as a feature in such a composition. I mean its magnificent independence — the way it rises in a sin- gle spring from its own sturdy feet. Disdaining the support of the adjacent walls it deprives them of dignity, and would itself ap- pear to better advantage if they did not exist, — if it stood in actual as it does in virtual independence. And there was once a chance that it might thus stand. The church was a jiartial failure, not only from an TOWER, NEW BRATTLE SQUARE CHURCH, BOSTON. EAELY WOliKS. 53 artistic but from a practical point of view. Its acoustic properties were bad, and when — for reasons of poverty and of decline in numbers incident to their re- moval to so distant a site — its owners were coinj^elled to abandon it shortly after its consecration, it remained unused for several years. In 1881 it was bought by a i^rivate purchaser, again offered for sale, and saved from destruction by the generous action of a few citizens, who subscribed a certain sum towards its purdiase on condition that the tower at least should forever be preserved. Ilich- ardson always said that the acoustic difficulty might be overcome by the build- ing of galleries, but was not allowed by his clients to try the experiment. It has been tried, however, Jind with the best success, by its present owners (the First Baptist Society) ; and there now seems little pros2)ect that the 2Droj)osal so often made while the church stood idle will be carried out — the i 3 roj:)Osal that its body should be jnilled down and the site planted as a little loark, leaving the tower in isolation like one of those Italian camj^aniles to which in outline it bears so strong a likeness. It is cpiite certain that Bichardson himself would not have been disj^leased to see this done. Nothing about the church satisfied him excejit the tower, but for this he had an esj)ecial liking, and its volimtary redeni2:)tion by the 2^eo2)le of Boston 2)leased and touched him dee 23 ly. There is scarcely another work of his which could be criticised as this church must be. His most constant merit as a designer was his 2)ower in general conce 23 - tion — the way in which he first “ got his building ” as a whole and then got its features, working so that each feature should have its due relative ini2)ortance and no more, and that all should act together to the enhancement of the main architectural ini2)ression. And even here, if we consider the tower in and for itself, we find this characteristic merit 2>i’<^ved. Judged in itself the tower is good and im2)ressive as a whole — not by virtue of the se 23 arate excellence of certain fea- tures. Perha2)s to some eyes its chief charm may seem to lie in its great scul2)tnred frieze. But it does not ; it lies in the main conce2)tion and in the artistic concord of all other features with the frieze itself. It is their a2)2)ro2)riateness to the 2)hice they hold, their right effect as 25 ortions of a large design, which makes the SC11I2)- tures so ini2)osing. The tower does not exist for them but they for the tower, and their own beauty is accented by the fact. The frieze was modeled by the French scnl2itor Bartholdi in Paris, but the general idea for it was Ilichardson’s, and the carving was done by Italian workmen after the stones were in ])lace. A mixture of diverse elements — French and Italian, ecclesiastic and secular — shows in the various features of this church. But Roniancs(2ue forms are par- amount, and, though they are not treated in at all the same S2)irit which Ivichard- son’s later works reveal, they give the building extreme ini2)ortance as the first Avhich in any way 2^redicts the ultimate course of his develo2)ment. A large State Asylum for the Insane, to be built at Buffalo, N. Y., at a cost of two million dollars, was commissioned (in coni2)etition) in March, 1871 . It has a central 2)iivilion, with two towers of moderate height and a recessed 2^<^i‘t‘h of three round arches, flanked by long retreating wings. It is dignified and credit- able as a com])osition, but its chief excellence lies in its 2 )h>n» which Richardson ada2)tcd from a French 2^i’ototy2)c. CTIAPTEH IX. EAKLY WOKKH. Kiciiardson’s next Avork Avas the Hamp- den County Conrt-lionse at Springfield, Mass., commissioned (in competition) in .Inly, 1871. Here again llomanesqne teatnres are cons])iciious, altliongli they do not prei)ondcrate in the general effect. And here again — and more appropriate because put to sccnlar service — is the machicolatcd cornice Avhich speaks of a study of the fortified palaces of Tuscan toAvns. Ai)i)ropriately, too, it is accoin- STUDY FOK NORTH CHURCH, SPhINGFIELD. XXX */ l)aiiied by forked battlements ; and if Ilichardson had been permitted to carry out his oi’iginal intention, the body of the hidlding Avonld have l)ecn j)rotected by overhanging eaves, supported by great brackets in the niedi®val Italian Avay. The present set-hack cornice Avas the result, and not an entirely happy one, of his determination to liaA c a very emphatic feature of some kind, even if not of the kind he preferred. The building stands free on all sides, though not far enough from its neighhors to be very advantageously seen, and is built thronghoiit of granite. Its depth is much greater than its breadth on the tAvo main streets ; therefore the ends toAvard these streets are designed as great pavilions, and the central connecting portion is somcAvliat deeply recessed betAveen them. The entrance fayade forms, of course, one of the shorter fronts. The roof Avith its dormers and the toAver group aa ell together, and the toAver groAvs organically from the loAver mass. It cannot he said that all minor features are so fused together and so infused Avith individual feeling that they form an arcliitectural conception in the truest, best sense of the Avord : and some of them are palpably discordant — like the steps, Avliich are not very dignified in themselves and not Avell united Avith the loggia ; and like the balcony, which sadly Aveakens the most conspicuous corner. Yet it may he said that in general they harmonize fairly Avell, that they Avork together to give one the im- pression of a dignified building and not of an aggregate of disconnected parts. The chief Romanesque motive — the loggia — is treated feebly, if Ave take Rich- ardson’s OAvn later manner as a standard. But the mere introduction of such a motive Avas a piece of hold originality at that day, and the Avhole design was then so novel and so much stronger than the average of such designs, that Ave cannot Avonder the Court-house made a deep imjAression and Avas thought to promise a great future for its author. Even to-day it Avould be counted a more than credit- able Avork for so young a man. EARLY WORKS. To my mind the best part of it, and the part which is most truthfully prophetic, is not the more elaborate fagade, but the rear — which is very plain, frankly utili- tarian in accent, yet so massive, dignified, and well-proportioned as to be really monumental. It shows how much may be done for the simplest walls by care- fully designed, strongly battered foundation-courses. No device was used by Rich- ardson more constantly or artistically than this, and there is none which plays a greater part in exjDlaining the admirable sturdiness of all his structures. .1 The dated list which has been prepared for this volume from the old office-books of Richardson’s firm gives the year 1868 as that in which the North Church at Springfield was commissioned. But the design then prepared was for a new build- ing on the old site, and it was afterwards decided to build upon a new site. The present church was not begun until June, 1872, and its character proves the prep- aration of a fresh design, for it is much more akin to Richardson’s later works than either the Brattle Square Church or the Court-house. It is, in fact, the first of his buildings which can be called really characteristic. Here for the first time speaks the Romanesque spirit as he afterwards so consistently expressed it — somewhat crudely voiced and not unmixed with other accents, yet unmistakably the same. It is not in groui)ing and outline that one finds the church thus characteristic. But the composition is very good of its kind, the tower being well adapted in size to the lower masses and well connected with them, and having, with its spire, a strong and graceful silhouette. All the features of the tower are concordant, the transition from square to octagon is especially well and simply managed, and this jDortion of the design, at least, seems distinctly Richardsonian in idea and treat- ment. It is especially interesting to note the unconventional yet fortunate way in which the tower windows are treated. The turret impinges too much on the lateral face of the tower for the window to hold there the same central station as in front. But instead of making his window smaller, Richardson preserved unity and simplicity by making it the same in size and shape and pushing it boldly aside, almost to the quoins. The effect is piquant but has no touch of willfulness, for it at once explains itself as sensible. The entire building, spire and all, is of red Longmeadow sandstone and the roofs are tiled. The nave, which is without aisles, measures one hundred feet by sixty feet and the transept eighty-four feet by forty-four feet. The contract price was forty-eight thousand dollars and the actual cost but little over fifty thousand dollars. Severe simplicity of treatment was therefore prescribed. But this sim- plicity is so frankly confessed for what it is, and secures so much grace as well as strength of effect, that it not only satisfies but charms the eye. The witness of the North Church ;done should be enough in the eyes of any observer to put the claims of cheap elaboration forever out of court. The Phoenix Insurance Company’s building in Hartford, Conn., commissioned in March, 1872, docs not call for detailed description, though it was interesting and influential in its day as another attempt at pronounced color-treatment. It is built of yellow, red, and black bricks with freestone trimmings. The American Merchants’ Union Express Company’s building in Chicago HENlir HOBSON BICIIABBSON. :A) should be included here ainoiii*; Richardson’s early works, for, although it was cominissioned a few months later than Trinity Church, it was built before the construction of this had had its intiuence upon him. It is dignihed and in many features yery good, and it shows a use of Ronianesc[ue motives which entitles it to rank as the first of his commercial structures that can he called characteristic ; yet it is still “ nondescri])! ” rather than consistent in style. With the excei)tion of two or three dwelling-houses these buildings are all that Richardson designed in his first or tentative period. He began no others until Trinity Church had been given three years of his life. A surve}' of this tentative period may offer some surprises to those who have known Richardson’s art mainly in its maturer phases. 8o great in later years was his consistency in aim, feeling, and manner, that it is natural perhaps to expect to find something of the same consistency marking his very earliest efforts. Rut we do not find it. His early buildings, taken as a whole, do not foreshadow those whose list begins with ’frinity Church, and though characteristic features noAv and again ap])ear, it is not in such a way that at the time any certain projdiecy could have been gathered from them. First one scheme is tried and then another. Often it is a scheme which may best he described as “ nondescript,” and whatever its nature it is never so repeated or reechoed as to show a desire to work out its j)ossihilities Avith thoroughness. A more diverse, more ])al])al)ly experimental series of huildings it Avould he hard to find from any hand. In short, we see that in these earlit'r years Richardson Avas simply feeling his Avay — and toAvards what, he coidd not himself have told. He Avas also feeling it more cautiously than in retrospect may seem cpdte natural. If Ave except the toAA er of the Brattle Square Church, he made no experiments of so “ big and bold ” a sort that, even if unsuc- cessful, they Avould seem quite in keeping Avith his later big and hold successes. Yet none of his Avork is really Aveak or timid, and it all looked a good deal bigger and holder Avhen it was built than it does to-day. This is a point which Ave should never forget : the great advance, both in vigor and in skill, Avhich Ave have made in the last tAventy years largely through Richardson’s oavii influ- ence. When Ave admire, although Avith reservations, this early conception or that, AAdien Ave approve the vigorous treatment of his surfaces, Avhen Ave delight in the beautiful color as Avell as form of the Brattle Square toAver, Avhen Ave appreciate the daring hut Avise because appropriate use of cobble-stones at Medford, even Avhen Ave smile a little at the almost brutal over-emphasis of the chisel’s Avork in the AgaAvam Bank, or at the crudeness of the color-scheme in the Worcester High School, Ave must remember the epoch when they Avere built and Avhat Avere then the average efforts of American architecture. Only thus can avc recognize hoAV forcible and individual Avere in reality most of Richardson’s early efforts. Moreover, if Ave keep in mind the special circumstances of his oavii life and education, their testimony to his artistic n'ature as avc kncAV it in after days groAvs much more clear. Judged as the products of a young man fresh from years of study and Avork in Paris, they shoAV him daring and original enough. Most of his contemporaries, if they had been trained at all, had not been trained in any one kind of design, and Avith no recognized leaders before them were almost EARLY WORKS. 57 driven to pursue a widely tentative course. But Richardson had been thoroughly trained in an artistic creed held with absolute hiith by a whole nation recognized as the most artistic nation of the modern world. The mere fact that this creed had taken no hold whatever upon his artistic conscience certainly proved that he had neither a conventional nor a pliable mind, while the fact that he did not at least cling to it for safety proved that he had a bold and self-reliant nature — safety might so well have seemed the highest attainable good amid that unfamiliar American confusion which meant little more than a confusion of sins and failures. The strength of his desire for self-expression and also of his belief in his creative power could not have been more clearly shown than by his instant and entire abandonment of Parisian formulas, illustrated by a remark he often made in his earliest New York days : “It would not cost me a bit of trouble to build French buildings that should reach from here to Philadelphia, but that is not what I want to do.” Knowing his disposition, one feels sure that a theoretically develojDed belief that French buildings were not suited to American wants did not j^lay much part in calling forth such words. He was never a theorist about himself except in retrospect. Not until he had practically found what he thought would satisfy American needs did he try mentally to define these needs. Not until he had begun to do his true work did he put into definite thought his idea of what an architect’s work here and to-day should be. Instinct was his guide, experi- ment his test, and the first goal he sought was something that should thoroughly please himself. The tendencies thus shown in his earliest works are the same which showed in his latest ; and they were tendencies which even while they resulted in but par- tially successful works proved him at once a born artist. It does not impugn but establish the vitality of his talent to say that he himself did not know at first whither it would lead him, and that it developed through exj^eriniental action, not by feeding upon theories. And it illustrates the purely artistic character of his mind to say that he was not only able but eager to submit himself to the leadings of that talent in spite of a training which had inculcated a very different course of action — to submit himself to its leadings and to try through a series of partial failures for something that would express it better than those Parisian jDatterns with which he might easily have secured a stereotyped success. Nor, after all, did he need to experiment many times or long. Plis tentative period was wonderfully short considering hoAV much it taught him, and the marked diversity of its products each from each proves a singular keenness of percejition with regard to his real wants. He experimented during five years only, and he never once thought he was on the right path until he really got there. Of course this was owing to the fundamental benefit of that Paris training the suj)erficial influence of which he had so instantly shaken off. II is schooling had not taught him what was right (for him), but it had made him able quickly to recognize what was wrong. An untrained mind wovdd never have seen its OAvn missteps so instantly, or so soon have found and rapidly assimilated the Avholly unfamiliar elements out of Avhich it could create success. Nor, it is almost need- less to add, would an untrained mind have been able to secure fundamental ({uali- 58 lIENIiY HOBSON lUCHABDSON ties of excellence eren in results which did not satisfy its aspirations. Itichardson threw aside as useless the schemes upon which he had worked so long in Paris, but it Avas their careful study Avhich had deA cloped his feeling for proportion, his poAver of coinj)osition, and his appreciation of technical beauty to such a point that, dealing Avith Avliolly unfamiliar schemes, he could make his very first Avork admirable in mass and outline, could skillfully manage the great Brattle Square toAA er Avith its difficidt decoratiA e feature, could charmingly reproduce in small upon his Court-house the huge toAvers of niedia3Aal Italy, could feel the full importance of such minor constructive features as the profiles of foundation- courses, and could at least try to treat all surfaces in an interesting and appro- priate Avay. In truth, the more Ave consider the conditions amid AAdiich he began and the preparation he had had, the more vigor and individuality and poAver Bichardson’s early Avorks seem to reveal. And if they do not reveal quite so much of either quality as Ave might expect, or shoAV so much clearness in aim and consistency in effort, is it not rather because our instinctive demands are exaggerated than because his development Avas inconsequent ? The results of his life as a aa hole shoAv that he Avas a man of phenomenal jAOAver. But Avould he not have been a man of miraculous poAver had he come tAventy years ago fresh from the schools of Paris Avith a ready-made anti-Parisian creed and at once begun to build successful “ original ” structures, very various in purpose but consistent in themselves and among themselves to the precepts of that creed ? TRINITY CHURCH, BOSTON. t c !, ’.‘•iwiA CHAPTER X. TRINITY CHURCH. The site selected for Trinity Church was one which cramped the architect in his search for a scheme, but which promised him unusual advantages of effect if he could find a fitting scheme. It lay on one side of a large, irregularly outlined square, where the Art Museum had recently been built and where other structures might be exjiected which in size at least would be monumental ; and it was en- tirely isolated — projecting into, not flanking the square, and thus having a street of average width on only one of its sides. But it was in the shape of a triangle of which the base-line formed by this street was almost as long as the other two. This fact, however, which to an architect preferring the familiar Gothic type of church would have seemed unfortunate, was extremely fortunate for Richard- son. It almost prescribed a design based upon the examples of that southern Romanesque which he had just begun to study. A church with a long nave and a dominant entrance-front could hardly have been well fitted to such a site. A coni2iact groimd-iilan, a pyramidal mass, a tower equally consiiicuous from all lioints of view — these were jilainly the things to be desired. These Richardson secured, and so very skillfully that his church now looks as though its situation had been chosen exjiressly that it might show to the best advantage. It is cruciform on j)lan, but all of its limbs are of nearly equal breadth — roughly sjieaking, fifty feet within the walls — and while it measures one hundred and twenty-one feet from end to end of the transejit walls (outside), it measures only one hundred and sixty feet from the ajise wall to the faqade. The main ceilings are sixty-three feet and three inches in height, and the flat ceiling of the tower is one hundred and three feet and two inches. The tower is sujiported by four great piers, set near the angles of the crossing, which measure something over thirty-six feet to the springing of the arches that connect them by a clear span of forty-six feet and six inches. Narrow aisles, used only as iiassage-ways, add nine feet and four inches to the width of the nave, and its clerestory is borne by an arcade of two arches. Within this arcade, above the aisles, is a narrow trifo- riuni-like jiassage connecting the galleries which are built across the ends of the three limbs. The chancel proper is very short, hut the apse is very large (giving the east limb a length of fifty-seven feet), semi-circular, and jiicrccd by a range of tall windows set well up under the cornice. An interior designed in some such way as this is certainly better suited to mod- ern needs than one in which rows of columns intercc2)t the sight and s})ace is gained h}^ longitudinal extension. Other American architects had already recog- nized this fact and had tried to give it acccqitable ex])ression. But Trinity was the first im^iortant American church which jirovcd that it might he exi)ressed 60 HENRY HOBSON RIC HARD SON Avith groat architectural beauty and Avitli aii effect as truly ecclesiastic as that of the “ long-draAvii aisle ; ” and the iiidueiice of Richardson’s success upon suhse- (pient practice has been a ery ])OAyerful. It is impossible to say how strong with him AA'as consciously the Aveight of practical considerations at the outset. The mere ccsthetic factors in his problem aa ere sufficient, as has been shoAvn, to haye alone determined his conception. But one cannot doubt that he at once per- ceiA'cd and aa elcomed the fact that the claims of convenience and of exterior PLAN OF TRINITY CHURCH, CLOISTERS, AND C H APE L- BU I LD I NG . beauty pointed in the same direction ; and he certainly nowhere sacrificed prac- tical to aesthetic interests, and only in a single feature sinned against entire appro- priateness of expression. The chnrcdi would be far less beautiful, inside and out, and no more convenient Avere the chancel smaller. But, expressionally sjoeaking, it is too large a chancel for a very “ loAV-church ” service. In his usual optimistic Avay Richardson thought that when the chancel was once built its owners Avonld be tempted into furnishing and using it in an appropriate manner. But this hope was unfulfilled, and to-day the chancel has a look of uselessness Avhich is certainly to be deplored. Yet its intrinsic beauty — its purely artistic rightness — is so apparent that the sternest critic can hardly regret that in its design Richardson someAvhat transgressed the great architectural laAV of “ fitness.” r y V. . 4 .• (■ TRINITY CHURCH. 61 As regards the construction of the interior, it will be best to quote from a pro- fessional pen : — “ The ceilings of the auditorium are of light furring and plaster in the form of a large barrel-vault of trefoil section, abutting against the great arches of the crossing, which are furred down to a similar shape, with wooden tie-])eams casing iron rods carried across on a level with the cusps of the arches. The four great granite piers which sustain the weight of the tower are encased with furring and l)lastering, finished in the shape of grouped shafts Avith grouped capitals and bases. The whole apparent construction is thus, contrary to the conviction of the modern architectural moralist, a mask of the construction. We do not projAOse here to enter upon the question as to whether or to what extent the architect Avas justi- fied in thus frankly denying his responsibility to the ethics of design as jAracticed and expounded by the greatest masters, ancient and modern ; it suffices ... to note that the material of actual construction being noAvhere visible in the interior to afford a key of color to the decorator or to affect his designs in any Avay, he had before him a field peculiarly unembarrassed by conditions.”^ And it should be added that Richardson had such a state of things in vicAV from the beginning. What he contemplated from the outset was, as he said, “ a color church,” — though it is not so easy to decide whether he Avas led to the idea by actual preference or adopted it as the best expedient which the money and the decorative processes at his command permitted. But, hoAvever incited, his mask- ing of the construction was frank, consistent, and entire. Except for the division of the ceiling into narroAv cross-sections by moulded strips of dark wood, it left the decorator a field as fortunate as free ; and this field Mr. La Farge, though Avork- ing under great difficulties as to time and cost, utilized in a way Avhich entirely justified the Avisdom of Richardson’s idea.^ The acoustic properties of the church proved good. It was a nervous moment for Richardson Avhen the scaffoldings Avere removed and the preacher’s voice Avas tried. His partial failure Avith the Brattle Square Church was still fresh in men’s minds, and he kneAV that no degree of purely artistic success would he thought to redeem a second want of success in this great f>ractical point. The church is placed so that its entrance front faces the point of the triangular lot and overlooks the broadest part of the square, and is set back to the street- ^ Henry Van Brunt: “ The New Dis 2 )ensation in Mon- umental Art,” Atlantic Monthly., May, 1879. ^ “Although it was often suggested during the progress of the work that the great jiiers at least should show the stone face a 2 )i)arent in the church, this has, nevertheless, from the first conception of the design, seemed in many ways undesiraWe, and 2 )ro})ositions looking to that end Iiave heen, after careful consideration, always finally re- jected. A rich effect of color in tlie interior was an essen- tial element of the design, and this could not he obtained in any practicable mateilal without painting. Brick-work, which might have been strong enough in color, would not have endured the strain upon it, and the use of granite was a necessity of construction. Tlie cold, harsh effect of this stone in the midst of the color decoration could not be tolerated, and as between {)ainting directly on the stone and plastering it to secure a smooth surface, it seemed decidedly j>referable that there shoidd be no difference in texture between the piers and the other walls, but that all shoidd be plastered alike. The commonjilace criticism, that jilaster ‘ conceals construction,’ can hardly be consiiration for the other. How unjust is the statement that Richardson coj)- ied, shows very clearly if we try to compare his work with the old and to decide uiDon their relative degrees of excellence. We cannot really comjDare, we can only contrast them. We do not feel that the same ideal was twice conceived and was attained with different degrees of felicity. We feel that different ideals were kejDt in view. Each result has unity and harmony ; but the unity of Salamanca is brought about by a general uniformity in features relieved by minor divergencies in treatment, and the unity of Trinity by a strong opj)osition of features skillfully worked into vital amalgamation. Clearness, definiteness, is the key-note of the old scheme ; mystery — a multifarioiisness which true artistic feeling has made concordant — is the key-note of the new. The charm of Trinity’s tower cannot in the least be appreciated from a picture — noble dignity of scale and a singu- lar beauty of color j^lay too large a role. When we are in its presence, it gives us an ini2:)ression such as modern work rarely j)roduces. It is very rich yet very broad, and is entirely sj^ontaneous and living — distinctly non-mechanical or labored. It looks as though the man who built it had been born to build in just this way ; it looks like the result of a genuine impulse and not of a lesson learned and then rejieated. In the arrangement and iDrojDortioning alike of its forms and of its colors it has that entire felicity which means an air of organic growth — and this is the charm we most rarely find in the cut-and-dried rigidity or the willful yet laborious license of average modern work. It does not become tame and com- monplace on long ac([iiaintance, but has that perennial freshness which always marks those results, and only those, that are veritably right and vital. And, as has been said, it dignifies and does not suppress the remainder of the church. Its HENRY HOBSON RICH ARE SON m iKHiiitv is greater than that of any other part, hnt all other parts are consonant in feeling though less refined in treatment — showing more immaturity of thought and hand and giving less evidence of thorough study. The most serious charge that has been hroiight against this tower relates to truthfulness of expression — not to that mere heaiity of effect which we have thus far considered. Salamanca’s tower, it has been said, covers a dome and is excpdsitely truthful in design. Trinity’s covers a flat ceiling, and, therefore, Ilich- ardson’s borrowing of Salamanca’s form was a lapse from that clear expression of structure which is counted chief among architectural virtues. There may he a measure of justice in the charge. And yet it is perhaps open to cpiestion whether the toAver Avould seem at all untriithfiil to an observer Avho had not Salamanca in his mind, Avho judged it by its OAvn expression only. Of course in the earlier structure the turrets and gables serve as counterpoises to the thrust of the vaidt. But the alteration of the plan and the lessened size of the turrets alike weaken testimony as to the existence of a vault in Trinity, as do the sharper outline of the roof and the different proportioning of its faces, and the treatment of the upper arcade Avith its louvre-hoards. Examining this toAver in and for itself, I think one might perceive the exact truth, — that a flat ceiling comes at the level of the strongly emphasized string-course, above the glazed, heloAV the boarded AvindoAvs ; and might find the turrets none too massive for the mere supporting to the eye of Avails pierced by such a continuity of openings. Richardson felt, of course, that the jAorch of Trinity ought to be its most beau- tifid and elaborate feature — that here should be concentrated a Avealth of deco- ration Avhich Avould make a harmonious contrast Avith the masculine severity of the adjacent Avails, lie never seemed to regret that he had not built it at the same time that he l)uilt the rest, knoAving that with each subsequent year he had groAvn in poAver and skill, especially as regarded the management of ornamental motives. But it Avas one of his most eager hopes that he might some day be per- nntted to construct it. Ideas for it Avere ahvays being turned over in his mind ; more than once they Avere put on paper ; and after his return from Europe a de- sign Avas made, so carefid, clear, and beautiful that one must hope soon to see it executed. It is based upon the design of that Avonderful porch of St. Trophime at Arles, his profound admiration for Avhich has been referred to in a previous chapter, and shoAvs a porch Avhicli Avould extend across the Avhole breadth of the fagade and be some thirty feet in depth. Its multitudinous details Avould still have received long and patient study had Richardson’s life been spared ; but its lines and masses, great and small, are all in. place, and as a general scheme he often de- clared it the final solution of the problem he had so long been considering. The architectural body is conceiAX'd so that another hand may easily hnild it ; and the decorative integument is sufficiently Avell indicated for a hand trained in Rich- ardson’s school to develop it in accordance with his intent.^ ^ In Appendix IV. will be found some additional extracts from Richardson’s description of bis church which give an insight into the constructive methods he enmloycd. Vi 1 . I ■' <1 CHAPTER XI. WORKS OF MIDDLE LIFE. The Cheney Building in Hartford was the first, with the exception of a single dwclling-honse, that Richardson 1875. It is a large commercial struc- ture, built throughout of Longmeadow sandstone, which has variously arcaded stories, angle pavilions, only one of which rises above the cornice line, and much richness of detail. The scheme is conceived with less individuality than later schemes of a similar kind, and is rather awkwardly managed as regards one or two minor features. Yet it is a scheme which we instinctively judge as a whole and find vigorous, vital, and im- posing ; and in general its treatment is so skillful that we are tempted to forget how entirely novel at that time was the effort to adapt such a design to such a purpose. We are likewise impelled to judge the Winn Memorial Library at Woburn, near Boston, commissioned in competition in March, 1877, by contrast not Avith the contemporary efforts of other hands, hut with Richardson’s own later Avorks. The first of those public libraries for small toAvns Avhich are so conspicuous among his best products, it is one of the largest and most complex, and is the most elaborate and picturesque. Its total length is one hundred and sixty-three feet. The main portion contains the reading-room and hook-room Avith subordinate apartments above, and a picture gallery ; the octagon is an art-mnseum. The first impression the building produces is very poAverful and delightful, and its florid picturesqueness has made it very popular Avith uncritical observers. But it can hardly be called so mature a Avork as even the Cheney Building. The octa- gon, though thoroughly pleasing in itself, does not group Avell Avith the gable, and is so separated from the library proper that the effect is of tAvo buildings in con- tact rather than of one building of tAVO parts. In the main portion the grouping lacks simplicity and breadth ; there is no dominant centre of interest, and the rela- tionship betAveen feature and feature seems fortuitous, not inevitable. The portal is not satisfactory and is hardly important enongh to suit the character of the building, Avhile the toAver is too important and is not very felicitous on plan. And a simpler general scheme Avould have been more ap])roj)riate at Woburn. The designed after Trinity Church had been begun. It Avas commissioned three years later than Trinity, in September, A GLIMPSE OF NORTH EASTON, 68 mJNHY HOBSON EICHAIWSON. intense surprise one feels on first coining upon this library through the wide, (piiet, grass-hordered streets and among the wooden houses of a small New Eng- land town is in part a measure of its beauty, hut in part a measure of its unfitness to its place. With all its faults it is a superb building — a strong, fresh, and spontaneous if not a thoroughly or- ganic composition, delightfully elabo- rated in many of its parts. But when a building is superb in such a way that one’s first thought is. What a pity it stands here, it is robbed of half its claim, not to admiration, perhaps, but to approbation. One experiment, howeyer, was enough to show iliehardson his mis- take. In the North Easton library, which was commissioned only six months later, the design is much sim- pler, soberer, and more organic. Ex- cept that there is no octagon, the main features are the same, but their grouping is vastly better. The en- trance has due dignity, and its union with the gable gives a true centre of interest. The tower is in good pro- jiortion with the lower masses and is well connected with them. The roof is admirably broad and simple. Richness is not excessive and is ar- tistically concentrated upon a few features supported by dignified and quiet fields of wall. The somewhat crude and over-bold treatment of wall - surfaces which PROPOSED ADDITION TO CHENEY BUILDING, HARTFORD.l marked much of Richardson’s early work had by this time disappeared. But he had not degenerated into technical feebleness or monotony. An interest- ing surface, and one of a kind to suit the character of the special building he had in hand, Avas ahvays a chief concern •Avith him. Scale Avas carefidly considered in regulating the average size of the stones, and they Avere varied among themselves in size and shape Avith a keen feeling for that degree of difference Avhich should mean animation without restlessness, breadth combined Avith vitality. The Avork of the mason Avas as important in Richardson’s eyes as the Avork of the sculptor ; and many a piece of plain Avail Avas pulled down by his orders and rebuilt because ^ As this addition to the Cheney Building was to have structure ; and the illustration in no way suggests the char- been constructed of brick, a wholly different and much acter of this. The management of the large shop-window more elaborate treatment was adopted than in the main is the most noteworthy point in the proposed work. ' ^ 1 ■r ^ af !■ '1-^ .:J 1 W|''*B l.^vJ . *3 / llw ’3 ■ , DOORWAY OF LIBRARY, NORTH EASTON. - ,y a c / WOPiKS OF MIDDLE LIFE. 69 the desired effect had in some particular been missed. The result justified and more than justified his care, though perhaps few observers pause to appreciate how much it contributes to the general result which they admire. The interior of the library, including the barrel-vault which covers the long stack-room, is finished in butternut, with delicate carved and turned decoration. Neither inside nor out is the building one of Richardson’s very best; yet it ap- proaches the best in excellence, and its entrance-porch is one of the most charac- teristic he designed. PLAN OF LIBRARY, WOBURN. Sever Hall, commissioned in October, 1878, was the first work Richardson undertook after his partnership with Mr. Gambrill had been dissolved. It meas- ures about one hundred and seventy-six feet by seventy-five feet, and its interior is divided into j)lainly finished class-rooms and recitation-rooms. It stands in the college Yard amid many neighboring buildings, but is sufficiently removed from them to be well seen, and is shaded by large trees. It is built of red brick, with a sparing use of Longmeadow stone in the foundations and trimmings. The roof is of red tiles, and the ornamentation is not moulded in terra-cotta but carved in brick — an expedient which secures, of course, much greater sharpness and vital- ity of effect. Sever Hall was designed at the period when Richardson had just given himself over, heart and soul, to the leadings of southern Romanesque art, and when the exuberant possibilities of this art had recently seduced him somewhat from so- briety. Therefore its singular simplicity and its paucity of pronounced Roman- esque features bear strong witness to the development of his feeling for appropri- ateness as a prime architectural virtue. Many of the college-buildings — and those which both age and excellence most commended to his respect — were plain rectangular structures of red brick, designed in that genuine Georgian style which is so different from the pseudo-Georgian of Queen Victoria’s reign. In later years certain showy, would-be Gothic buildings had forced themselves into this sober company. Richardson was wise enough not to disturb it further by erecting an unsymnietrical, “ romantic,” Romanesque structure, massive in feature and elab- orate in detail. Sever Hall does not imitate the old halls, } et it is not so out of 70 HENFiY HOBSON RICHAFDSON keeping with them as to seem discordant. It is much stronger and more beautiful than they are, yet it does not crush them by its iDresencc. As is the case with Trinity Church, size and color play so large a part in the impression it makes that no picture can reproduce its charm. But even a picture can show the beauty of its simple, imposing outlines, ol its organic massing and of the arrangement — neither monotonous nor restless — of its many small openings, and the rich effect produced with so little idd from decoration. The doorway is not too much emphasized to suit the character of the building, but is made finely effective by LIBRARY, NORTH EASTON. the great roll-mouldings formed of bricks separately cast for the purpose. The roof and chimneys are superb ; and the end with its united yet varied ranges of windoAvs is an epitome of architectural excellence. The Avails of Sever Hall are very beautiful in color — a soft, deep red tending toAvards crimson. The bright red of the tiles contrasts Avell Avith them ; the slightly different tone of the carvings adds another touch of variety ; and the stone trimmings sufficiently relieve the general redness without being too con- spicuous. The treatment of the brick- Avork is as Avorthy of notice as Bichard- son’s treatment of stone surfaces. The use of Avell-made common eastern brick instead of pressed-brick, and the bonding Avith six successive courses of “ stretch- ers ” to one of “ headers,” produce, in place of the usual hard mechanical surffice, a melloAV, gently accented, and vital surface, interesting and delightful to the eye. It is impossible, I think, to pick a fault in Sever Hall unless it be with one detail of decoration, — the carved band beneath the cornice is a little “ sjAotty ” oAving to the Avide spacing of its panels. Other Avise every feature is admirable in itself and admirably fitted to its place, and they all AVork together to produce a building Avhich is as true and organic a conception as any ever built. It has some- thing even higher than unity to recommend it ; it has that noblest architectural •■i TOWN HALL, NORTH EASTON. k WORKS OF MIDDLE LIFE. 71 quality we call style. And if its style is individual — if it is not one which can readily be fitted with a historic name — it is not on that account less genuine or less beautiful. Richardson afterwards built structures which showed his im- aginative, creative power in a still more convincing light — in designing which he was compelled to deal with more difficult and novel j:)roblems. But he never built one wherein the given j^roblem was more perfectly solved, or one for which we may more confidently claim the approving voice of all observers. The excel- lence and beauty of Sever Hall are so striking yet so serious, sensible, uneccentric, and appropriate, that it is impossible to imagine any critic, however opposed to Richardson’s ideas and methods as shown in other works, who should deny to this one a place among the most perfect creations of modern architecture. A Town Hall for North Easton was commissioned about a year and a half later than the hbrary which has been described above. Both were erected by the Ames family for public use and as memorials, respectively, of Oliver and Oakes Ames. They stand near together on a rocky site in the outskirts of the village. The library is of a warm-toned local granite with trimmings of Longmeadow stone. The hall, which measures ninety-seven feet by fifty-one feet, and seventy- four feet to the toj:) of the tower, is built of the same materials in the lower story and above is of red brick with a wooden half-story at one end. In both buildings the main roofs are of red tiles and the tower roofs of stone. The site would have been called a difficult one by an architect enamored of the commonplace. But Richardson was too distinctly “ a romantic ” by birth not to be strongly attracted by those natural diversities of surface which, if rightly used, mean architectural individuality as well as pictorial charm in the result ; and with the aid of Mr. Frederick Law Olmsted he utilized their possibilities to the full. A fine retaining-wall runs along the street, and beyond it the ground rises in abrupt and broken stretches. The hall, which stands much higher than the library, is approached by successive j^latforms and short flights of steps, kept duly inconspicuous and artistically adapted to the inequalities of the rocky sur- face. A balustraded wall to connect the two structures was contemplated from the first but unfortunately has not yet been built. Nothing could be better than the way in which each building stands. The slighter swells and depressions of the ground beneath the library have been as carefully respected as the bold rocks that support the hall. Nature has been made to help the work of the architect in the only way which can effect a union fertile in true beauty. Her scheme has been accepted as the foundation for his, and all her suggestions have been empha- sized yet harmonized by his treatment. The manner in which the tower of the hall rises out of the rock, almost like a natural development, is the finest feature of the building. If we compare the loggia of this hall with that of the Springfield Court-house we see how great a change had come over Richardson’s art within the space of eight years. The arches of the hall are not quite fortunate in shape, and in decid- ing upon the proportions of the columns Richardson certainly pushed to a far extreme the mediaeval belief that no rule but individual i)rcfercnce in an individ- ual case need determine the relative height and diameter of a shaft. But the IIENliY HOBSON RICHARDSON 72 arcade has a grand eftect, liowcYcr iinscholarly it may be ; and it grandly ex- presses its function as bearing the weight of the building upon its shoulders. Here, as is not the case in Springfield, there is vital rclationshiiD and dignified accord between loggia and steps. This loggia is a true conception, not an experi- mental device, and it is treated in a way which is truly characteristic of its builder though not representative of his highest power. The Ames monument at Sherman, Wyoming Territory, is a granite pyramid which hears on two of its faces medallions of heroic size, executed by St. Gaiidens, representing Oliver and Oakes Ames. It stands at the summit of the pass through the Rocky Mountains at a little distance from the line of the Union Pacific Railroad which the brothers built and which was the first to cross the con- tinent. Mr. Olmsted writes of it : — “ I never saw a monument so well befitting its situation or a situation so well befitting the special character of a particular monument. It is not often seen, apparently, except from a considerable distance, being on the peak of a great hill among great hills with a shanty village on the slope near which the train passes. A fellow-passenger told me that he had several times passed it before that and it had caught his eye from a distance but had seemed to him a natural object. Within a few miles there are several conical horns of the same granite projecting above the smooth surface of the hills. It is a most tempestuous place, and at times the monument is under a hot fire of little missiles driven by the wind. But I think they will only improve it.” There is no law, it seems, so binding but that it may permit exceptions ; even the imitation of a work of nature may occasion- ally produce a good result in art. The Boston Park Commission employed Richardson in April, 1880, to design a bridge for the new Back Bay Basin — a chain of tide-flooded ponds with wide borders of grass and shrubbery. The bridge carries a broad road which will eventually be a closely-built street, and is simply utilitarian in character. But the fine curve of the single great round arch and the charming color of the pud- ding-stone make it a thing of beauty as well as of very evident strength and serviceahleness. SKETCH FOR A TOWN HALL FOR BROOKLINE. SOUTH FRONT OF THE CAPITOL, ALBANY. / ,lj.' c CHAPTER XII. THE ALBANY CAPITOL. Richardson’s commission to work on the New York State Capitol at Albany placed him for the only time in his life publicly in opposition to other members of his profession. The story is a very comjDlicated one, involving questions of state finance and party politics and professional etiquette as well as questions of art. Only its main incidents can be noted here, but a prefatory word must be said about the way in which the undertaking Avas managed. From the day when the foundations of the Capitol Avere laid until this, charges of reckless extraA^agance and scandalous Avaste in the management of the Avork have been incessantly made by politicians opposed to those for the time being in poAver, and all persons holding any position of res]Donsibility in connection Avith the building have been held up to public odium as faithless jAuhlic servants. As far as the architects are concerned it should be better knoAvn than it seems to be that, in accordance Avith a most unfortunate system of administration, they were not emjDloyed to superintend the Avork but merely to give counsel in architectural questions and to prepare plans for others to carry out. They had no responsibil- ity for those parts of the undertaking in Avhich, if anyAvhere, public money Avas likely to be misused. They determined neither the rates of Avages and salaries, nor Avho should receive them, nor the length of a day’s Avork. The organization and discijiline of the great force employed, the purchase of materials, the making of contracts, the keeping of accounts, — all these matters Avere in other hands, and their oAvn pay Avas received month by month as a stated salary, not as a commis- sion on the cost of the Avork. In repeated legislative investigations nothing calcu- lated to throAV a suspicion upon the integrity or conscientiousness of any architect Avho had been employed on the building Avas discovered. The Capitol cost enor- mous sums both before and after Messrs. Eidlitz, Richardson, and Olmsted took it in hand. But the Avay in Avhich it had been begun precluded the possibility of really economical treatment on their part, and though some persons may think that they ought nevertheless to have made their Avork less costly than they did, the question is one Avhich involves merely their good sense and good taste as artists, not their good faith as public servants. The iieAv Capitol had been begun in 1868 Avith the understanding that it Avas not to cost more than four million dollars.^ When the Legislature met in 1875 it had cost five millions, and Avas very far from complete even up to the floor of the third story — the highest point to Avhich the Avails had been carried. At least seven millions more Avere declared needful to complete it in accordance Avith the ^ The materials for this summary have been gathered from the newspapers of the time and the published reports of proceedings in the New York Legislature, HENRY llOBSOE^ RICIIARBSON U designs of the arcliiteet in charge, and it was apparent to the most superficial oiiserver that these designs were proving iinsatisfaetory in almost every practical respect. The Legislature therefore a])pointcd a iicav Commission, with Lieuten- ant-Governor Dorsheinier as its chairman, to inquire into the prospects of the work, and resolved to grant no more money except upon its recommendation. This Commission appointed Messrs. Eidlitz, Richardson, and Olmsted as its Advi- sory Board of Architects.^ Early in 1878 a detailed report based iq)on a careful examination of the huilding itself and of the architect’s drawings was suhmitted by the Board to the Commission and by the Commission to the Senate. This report ex])lained that tlie existing work had in general been avcTI done and that the foundations and hasement of the biulding, contrary to pul)lic belief, were of “ vast strength.” It declared the scheme to l)e full of grave practical defects, explaining them in a lucid way and adding that most of them could not he reme- died without rebuilding the entire structure iq)on a radically different ground- ])lan. The fact that the legislative chamhers had been relegated to the third story was named as the most conspicuous mistake, while among the others were dark corridors, rooms now too small for their purpose and now too large, insuf- ficient light, undignified stairways, and inconvenient approaches to the chief apartments. The more purely artistic aspect of the scheme was then discussed at length. The verdict was again severe but again clear reasons for the severity were given. With this report the Board of Architects submitted, by request, sketches to show how in their opinion the design might be altered for the better. Also by request they soon afterwards submitted full drawings, based on these sketches, for comparison with those of the architect in charge, accom])anied by estimates and by tenders from responsible contractors to show how money might be saved by the change.^ As soon as the existence and character of these designs were known a storm of opposition broke. No one questioned that the Capitol scheme had been in a deplorable condition or doubted the justice of the special criticisms made by the Advisory Board. But some professional voices asserted that the architect in charge ought first to have been asked to suggest possible improvements, and con- demned the Board for having submitted such elaborate drawings even at the Com- mission’s direct request ; and many cried out with emphasis against the character of these designs. The building had been begun in a Roman Renaissance style. Messrs. Eidlitz and Richardson proposed to complete it in a Romanesque style. The intrinsic merits of the two designs were but little discussed. Almost all the protests were chiefly inspired, and, many of them were wholly insj^ired, by indig- nation at the thought of seeing in a single building a union of two different styles. The newsi)apers of the entire State soon joined in the battle. Most of them took ^ Mr. Olmsted, although not an architect, was associated in this Board upon equal terms with the two architects be- cause of his practical familiarity with their art and his long experience with large public undertakings. ^ Volumes i. and ii. of The American Architect and Building News contain a condensation of this report, a discussion of the original design, reproductions both of this design and of the one submitted by the Board, and many letters referring to the various questions at issue, including one from the architect in charge. This letter states that the Legislature was itself responsible for tlie chief faults in liis building, having pi'escribed the position of the legis- lative chambers and having constantly interfered in his later work. INTERIOR OF SENATE CHAMBER, CAPITOL, ALBANY. I 'S 1 s ' ■■ill V • t FIRE-PLACE IN COURT OF APPEALS ROOM, CAPITOL, ALBANY -'.•I 1 s V j < iy A.o THE ALBANY CAPITOL. 75 the 2 ^art of the Board, translating a j)iiblic sentiment which cared little for ab- stract questions of style, much for the chance that in some ways at least the Caj> itol would iDrofit by a change of architects. The chief jn-ofessional journal of the country tried to preserve a safe neutrality. No j^rotests changed the attitude of the Board ; and none disturbed llichardson’s jjeace of mind until in March, 1876, a formal remonstrance was addressed to the Senate by the New York Chapter of the American Institute of Architects. Being himself a member of this Chapter, he thought it should have given him a hearing before it iDublicly condemned his course ; and he also felt aggrieved by what he considered the discourteous tone of the document. A draft of a reply exists among his papers, together with a num- ber of letters from well-known architects and professors of art dei^loring the action of the Chaf)ter and the similar action of other Chaj^ters Avhicli had less right to interfere in the matter. But Richardson decided not to 2 )ublish any rei)ly, feel- ing that the j^ublic was with him and that a good jjart of the j)rofession was not against him, and believing that works, not words, are the best arguments for an artist’s use. By order of the Commission work upon the Caj^itol was resumed in accordance with the new designs. In March, 1877, however, the outcry against them was still so strong that a council of five New York architects was summoned before the Committees of Ways and Means and of Finance to testify “ as exjierts as to the i^roiDriety of the changes made in the }:)lans of the architect for the State Caj)- itol building by the Advisory Board.” Their report was again a decided condem- nation of these changes and again was not very courteous in tone, charging that the course of the Board in substituting another style amounted to a confession that its members felt incompetent to manage the style first selected. The mat- ter was referred for decision to the Finance Committee. By a majority report, against which a minority rcqiort protested, it was declared that it had not been “ intended or exjDected by the Legislature . . . that the style of architecture should be materially changed,” and that the Board’s joroject was “ radically delec- tive not only in design but in the treatment of the material used — granite.” The Legislature thereiqDon voted one million dollars to carry on the work, sid^ject to the condition that the first scheme should again be adopted. Governor Rol)- inson vetoed the bill, j:)robal)ly because of this condition. Both houses then j^assed over the veto an appropriation of five hundred thousand dollars, but without mak- ing any reference to the question of style ; and in June the Capitol Commission instructed the Board to ju’oceed with its work. The Board was collectiv ely resj^onsible before the public for all ])arts of the work ; but in execution Richardson and Mr. Eidlitz divided it betu een them. The former took charge of the exterior and of the interior of the south side, which contains the senate chamber ; and the latter of the interior of the nortli side, v ith the assembly chamber, and of the great tower which has not yet been built. Only Richardson’s portion of the work can be considered here. The illustration shows his treatment of the exterior with sufficient clearness. In the two stories below the roof a pure form of Romanesv^ue has been adhered to, though with many vari- ations from the first design. After these stories had been built on the north side, the Legislature again decreed a return to a Renaissance style. It was j)lainly ini- 7(3 TIENBY HOBSON RICHAIWSON possible to return to that employed in the lower stories, so Richardson did what he could to obey orders by designing his roof and dormers in an Eaiiy-Renaissance, “ free classic,” manner more in harmony with his own arcades. The north and south front are similar in scheme, l)ut differ in the proportioning of their fea- tures, as Richardson thought the one first completed someAvliat Aveak in effect. If the building as it stands is comi)ared Avith the original design no one can noAv deny that the State Avas fortunate in its second choice of architects. Although its lack of unity prevents it from taking rank Avith the most successful buildings in the country, it is one of the most interesting and impressive. Considered in them- selves, its upper portions — desjAite the discrepancies in style Avhich even there occur — are beautiful in composition as aa ell as in detail. Architectural order has been brought out of the chaos beloAV, and as clear an expression of the inte- rior has been given as the circumstances of the case permitted. In a near vieAV the beauty of these upper portions richly compensates for the lack of unity in general effect ; and in a more distant vicAV they alone are noticeable. Richard- son’s Avork, as he foresaAV, is the best justification of his course. It is needless noAV to insist that this course Avas not dictated by inability to manage a Renais- sance scheme or hy a mere self-seeking impulse. Yet it is but just to say that those Avho took pains to inquire into the matter kneAv at the time as Avell as every one sees to-day, that he had good reasons to give for his choice of a Romanesque manner of treatment. It Avas the manner of treatment Avhicli in all cases, at this period of his life, he theoretically approved. It had no such claim, however, upon Mr. Eidlitz’s preference, as his Avork in the interior of the Capitol is enough to shoAV ; yet Mr. Eidlitz shared Richardson’s Avish to adopt it in this case and Mr. Olmsted approved their joint decision because, to the one as to the other, it seemed to offer the best chance for a true expression in the exterior of the inter- nal structure, arrangements, and s2Aecial services of the different jAarts of the build- ing. Had the same artists been called uiAon to complete a building Avhich had been Avell begun in a Renaissance style, they Avould certainly not have substituted another style. Rut it seemed to them that here the question Avas not betAveen unity and disharmony in style so much as betAveen a Avholly bad building and one Avliich might be partly good. And though they kneAV their course Avas open to criticism from the modern standpoint, they must have drawn confidence from the countless precedents Avhich the greater ages of their art afford. When mediaAval builders set a Lancet-Pointed on top of a Norman story, or a rigid Perpendicular on tojA of a florid Gothic story, unity of effect Avas much more consiAicuously vio- lated than in the Albany Capitol. It is true that they exjAressed the tastes and Avishes of their Avliole generatioiq Avhile Richardson and Eidlitz exjAressed only their j^ersonal convictions Avith regard to Avhat Avas best ; but this Avas as unques- tionalAly to them the right guide to folloAV. As the north front Avas first built, the assembly chamber was ojAened long before the senate chamber ; and Mr. Eidlitz’s tAvo staircases Avere soon finished, Avhile Richardson’s larger one has not yet risen above the first story. His great library also has barely been begun, but as he left full draAvings for it Ave may hope for its completion at no distant date. The senate chamber was opened in March, 1881 . Its dimensions as at first PLAN OF WEST STAIRCASE, CAPITOL, ALBANY. f ji. k'* X . THE ALBANY CAPITOL. 77 established could not be changed by Richardson ; but they were so much greater than was desirable — allowing nearly one hundred feet by sixty feet for the ac- commodation of only thirty-two senators — that he reduced them by treating the ends as lobbies, divided off by massive arcades, and 2)lacing the visitors’ galleries above them. Reauty as well as convenience is greatly increased by these arcades ; they redeem to the eye the existence of two sin^erimi^osed ranges of windows — another relic of the original design that could not be done away with ; and the individuality which they give to the room is so thoroughly architectural in char- acter that its rich materials and lavish decorations j)lay a j^roperly subordinate part in the impression it j^roduces.^ The lower walls, as far u}) as the sirring of of the arches of the first range of windows, are faced with reddish-gray Knoxville granite, smoothly finished but not polished. Above this for a sjDacc of about twelve feet they are covered with polished j^anels of mottled, semi-translucent Mexican onyx framed in bands of yellow Sienna marble. Above this i^aneling is a simple marble string-course, and the ui^per walls are covered with gilded leather. The columns are of dark red-brown granite, the capitals of whitish marble, and the arches of Sienna marble. The galleries, which are bowed between the col- umns into slightly j^rojecting balconies, have balusters of Sienna marble and gray marble rails. The oaken beams of the ceiling are four feet in depth — not an excessive size for a room fifty feet in height — and, like the j^anels between them, are richly carved and touched with color. The great chimney-breasts have not yet been carved, nor are all the sculptured details in other parts of the room comjDlete or all the windows filled with suitable glass. The furniture is of mahogany and red leather. In its color effect, as in its architectural scheme, the room is one of the most suj)erbly successful and one of the most individual that has been built in modern times. Its acoustic j^roiDerties are excellent. Among the other apartments whieh Richardson comjjleted are the governor’s room and the court of aj^i^eals room. The latter is less striking in effect than the senate chamber, but hardly less beautiful ; and it would be as perfect in treat- ment had the great stone window-arches been sujDiDorted by j^ilasters of the same material. The red-oak j^aneling which covers the walls has been used for the jambs as well, somewhat to the detriment of solidity of effect. On the long wall ojjposite the windows it is so disposed as to frame a row of historic j^ortraits. Its details are everywhere profuse but delicate in treatment and quiet in effect. The screen in front of the judges’ platform is jDarticularly rich yet refined in mo- tive, and the vast marble mantel is the most beautiful, i)erhaps, that Richardson designed. The design for the great staircase was jierfected in Richardson’s later years, and when comjfiete it will be one of the finest features of the building. The well in which it rises measures about seventy feet square, and the material is a pale red Scotch sandstone. ^ These are the arelies wliicli the Englisli historian and it was the Romanesque work on the Capitol as a wliole critic Freeman praised l>y a comparison wliich to him wliicli convinced him that this style was tlie best for meant more than any other — l>y saying that in general American use. No praise which Richardson ever re- conception they were “ worthy to stand at Ragusa.” And ceived pleased him so much as this. CHAPTER XIII. WORKS OF MIDDLE LIFE. Richardson’s five library buildings afford an excel- lent chance to trace the development of his talent. Two have already been described. The third was the Crane Memorial Library for Quincy, Mass., commissioned in May, 1880. The two others — the Billings Library for the University of Yermont at Burlington, and the Converse Memorial Library at Malden, near Boston — were not commissioned until three years later but may best be considered here. At Quincy and at Burlington Richardson reached the most perfect expression of the general scheme upon which all five are based. The Quincy building bears the nearest analogy to that at North Easton, but is still better as regards appropriateness of effect and architectural coherence and charm. The book-room wing is practically the same. But the insertion in the front of the great window which lights the reading-room, the lowering of the gable and diminution of its arcade, the alteration into a staircase turret of the tower, Avhich at North Easton is too authoritative in expression to suit the purpose and surroundings of the building, and its more vital uniting with the fagadc, the exten- sion of the line of the roof in an unbroken sweep, and the enlivening of its slope by the useful lit- tle windows — all these changes are expressionally for- tunate ; and the compacter massing which results from them is as fortunate from a purely aesthetic point of view. Here at last is a whole in which all WINDOW IN GABLE OF LIBRARY, QUINCY. parts arc so fused together that it is impossible — - to disassociate them in thought. The building WINDOW IN PORCH OF LIBRARY, QUINCY. ^ , , looks as though it had been conceived at a sin- gle inspiration, born by a single impulse. But this means of course that it CRANE MEMORIAL LIBRARY, QUINCY. < i i 'U ) ‘T WORKS OF MIDDLE LIFE. 79 was the result of patient constructive thought, of well - trained reasoning skill. Inside, the plan is excellent and the treatment very beautiful. Largely in answer to Richardson’s own needs and as a result of the difficult yet rational tasks he set and the exacting criticism he applied to their execution, a school of wood- carvers had by this time been developed which was capable of doing work at once vigorous and refined, spirited and delicate. He furnished the designs for such work from his own office, where they were as carefully elaborated as his exterior decorations ; and in Mr. Evans’s worksho]! in Boston they were carried out as few designs have been in recent times. The interior of the Quincy Library is a rich example. The many slender pilasters are delicately reeded, and their cap- itals constantly vary in motive. The little cornices arc exquisite, and the great chimney-breast with its Byzantinesque decoration, largely based xi])on suggestions afibrded by native plants, is a remarkable piece of truly architectural ornament. The carving is everywhere abundant but nowhere sins by over-abundance ; and 80 lIENliY UOBSON lUCIIARDSON. the gi’jice and spirit of the execution lead one to examine it with a care more often given to ancient than to modern work. It is a convincing answer to those critics who have said that the llomanesque motives which llichardson preferred lack those qualities of refinement, halance, harmony, and grace which since the days of the classic llenaissance modern taste demands. Richardson’s decoration SKETCH FOR LIBRARY, BURLINGTON. sometimes erred on the side of over-boldness, barbaric luxuriance, diversity, and emphasis. But when, as in this Quincy interior, he based his work upon those liyz antine developments the likeness of which to classic develoj)nients is so clear and close, he proved the entire fitness of Romanesque art to meet the most refined demands of modern taste. And in the harmonious interpolation of motives taken directly from neighboring woods and fields he proved the possibilities for further development which the style possesses. LIBRARY, BURLINGTON. In the Billings Library at Burlington, commissioned in 1883 and finished shortly before Richardson’s death, the exterior features are similar to those em- ployed at Woburn though the plan is different and the polygon has another use. How great is again the improvement upon the first expression of the idea! Wo- burn is a striking assemblage of picturesquely connected but not integrally united parts ; Burlington, though combined of as piany parts, is a true, a homogenous whole. Perhaj)s it is not so striking but it has truer dignity. It is at once more simple and more beautiful. For a University library standing among other large CITY HALL, ALBANY. 4 WORKS OF MIDDLE LIFE. 81 buildings the tower is not too important ; and if the stack-room wing seems a little too short, it should be noted that an additional bay, contemplated in Rich- ardson’s design, was omitted in the execution from motives of economy. The dimensions of the two buildings are the same within a very few feet ; but while Woburn shows an intermingling of granite and sandstone, Burlington is built entirely of sandstone. The interior is finished in hard pine and the polygon is covered with an open timber roof. The walls are simply decorated in water-color. SKETCH FOR READING ROOM, LIBRARY, BURLINGTON. I once heard Richardson say that when he built Woburn he Avas in his “ pyro- technic stage.” Any of his later works might serve to sIioav the difference be- tween that stage and the one in Avhicli he expressed his mature development, yet in no Avay could it have been so clearly shoAvn as by the chance Avhicli Burlington offered him to build, as it were, the same library OA^er again. The Malden library, as our illustration shoAVs, differs from the others in the arrangement of its plan. It is a picturesque, individual, and excellent piece of Avork, but it has neither the dignity of Burlington nor the wholly satisfying charm of Quincy. Another illustration shoAVS the autographic first sketch for the plan of a large library on a lot of unusual shape. It Avas made in May, 1884, and after- Avards elaborated for a competition in Avhich Richardson Avas unsuccessful. We may noAV return to our chronological notice of his works of other kinds. Eight months later than the commission for the Quincy Library came, in coinpe- 82 HENRY HOBSON BICHARHSON. tition, tlie commission to build a City Hall at Albany, N. Y. The site bad been fortunately selected. The great State Ca])itol stands on top of a high steep hill from which the streets run down to the older portion of the town. The old State House had stood just below it, on a sort of broad plateau which interrupts the decliyity ; and on the opposite side of this plateau, Ayhere the descent begins again. u SKETCH FOR BOOK ROOM, LIBRARY, BURLINGTON. the neAv City Hall Ayas placed. Thus it dominates the city, and is dominated in its turn by the greater building Avhich represents the greater authority of the CommoiiAvealth . % It is unnecessary to say much more about the City Hall than our illustrations tell. It is admirably adapted to the irregularities of the ground, and the combi- nation Avith the jail in the rear is cleyerly effected — a coyered bridge bringing the prisoners directly from their cells into the court-rooms in the main structure. The great iiorch Avith the loggia aboye is a characteristic piece of composition ; and the concentration of ornament here and upon the gable and the upper 2)art of the toAver relieves Avithout disturbing the massiye simplicity of the other portions. The enormous toAver apj)ropriately exj^resses civic authority ; and it has a novel LAW SCHOOL, HARVARD UNIVERSITY. i J \ \ STUDY FOR REAR OF CITY HALL, ALBANY. V > 'H . -S' ■ - I ■- \ I • V • • I WORKS OF MIDDLE LIFE. 83 practical use as a conveniently arranged storehouse for the city’s historic papers. In design it is a very free adaptation of southwestern liomanesque precedents. Or, more truly, it is a bold development of these precedents along a new and individual line. There may be a difference of opinion as to the wisdom of using LIBRARY, MALDEN. unrelieved light stone in its lower and unrelieved dark stone in its upper portions. But there can be none as to the fine simplicity and reticence of all the lower por- tions, or as to the vigorous beauty of the outline of the tower. One important factor in the effect of this, however, can- not be appreciated in a picture — the bold batter which sets the great body so firmly and gracefully on its feet. A compari- son of this tower with that of the Brat- tle Square Church strikingly shows the change which had come over Richard- son’s attitude toward Romanesque art as a quarry of elements for the modern designer’s use. School building Austin Hall — a Law for Harvard University — was commis- sioned in February, 1881. It measures two hundred and sixteen feet in length, and was built at a cost of about one hun- dred and forty-five thousand dollars. In outline and massing it is simple almost to severity, and the symmetry and solidity of the wings and the (piietness of the gray slated roof well sustain the richness of the central facade and the striking color of the walls. PLAN FOR A LIBRARY BUILDING. {Autograph Sketch by II. II. liicharthon.) 84 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON. Ricliarclson here departed from his usual method of constructing with sandstone alone or with a light-toned granite trimmed with sandstone. The ashlar is of dark Longmeadow sandstone, the trimmings are of j^ale yellow Ohio stone, and blue-stone is introduced in the mosaic patterns. A fortunate result is not often secured by a color scheme which takes a conspicuously lighter tone for the most emphatic members ; but it is unusually satisfactory here, as the large rclatiye quantity and the good disj^osition of the Ohio stone prevent any look of weakness or confusion. It is certain that at this period of his life Richardson would not have used so striking a color scheme in any building less austerely composed than the Law School ; but it may be questioned whether, even as it is, the effect is not a little too striking. Yet it is very beautiful and lacks neither dignity nor colier- ence. Qidte possibly it is merely the neighborhood of Sever Hall which temj)ts one to think the front of the Law School a little overdone, while no piece of work that Richardson ever executed exceeds the back of this building for purely archi- tectural l:)eauty — for the virtues of good proportion, harmonious outlines, well- arranged features, artistic treatment of surfaces, and simple dignity of expression. The interior of the School was very carefully planned, and except that the ves- tibule and the longitudinal hall are not quite commodious enough, it is very suc- cessful. The finish throughout is plain but dignified. The walls are wainscoted and plastered. The massive radiating arches of brick which sj^ring from the col- umns in the two rectangular halls arc square in section, but furnished with a deeply undercut roll at either edge. The responds are also of brick, but the low sturdy columns are of polished granite with lieaA'^y carved capitals of Knoxville marble. The stair Avays sin, if at all, by too great simplicity. The large reading- room over the lecture-amphitheatre is beautifully proportioned, Avell lighted and suitably furnished. The coved and paneled ceiling is supported by great tie- beams borne on long corbels. The immense fire-place and chimney-breast are of brick and Ohio stone. There is no mantel, but a broad slab above the fire-place bears a Latin inscription in honor of Samuel Austin, to Avhose memory the School PORCH OF LAW SCHOOL, HARVARD UNIVERSITY. ■* '.I- I «« \K : ) . 17 “ \ o ■ ' ^ 'I . ..ft' AMES BUILDING, BOSTON. f I W0RK8 OF MIDDLE LIFE. 85 was built by his brother; and over this is a charmingly decorated cornice supported by vast foliated brackets — conventionalized representations of gnarled apple- branches. For nearly seven years after the Cheney Building in Hartford was built Rich- ardson had no occasion to design a large commercial warehouse. But in March, 1882, Mr. Frederick L. Ames gave him the commission to build one at Bedford and Kingston streets in Boston. It is a costly and monumental work, entirely of Longmeadow stone, occupying a broadly rounded corner site. Although it cannot be entirely seen from any point of view, at the first glance it is extremely impres- sive ; and the longer one looks the more imposing it appears as a whole, while features of the greatest merit reveal themselves in the design. The successive ranges of arcaded openings are beautifully proportioned, and the fact that each of the lower ones embraces two stories of the interior is frankly indicated in their construction. The size of the dormers does not seem as unduly great as the pho- tograph leads one to believe ; and the unconventional way in which they break EMMANUEL CHURCH, ALLEGHENY CITY. through the cornice is not displeasing to the eye. A keen feeling for appropriate- ness of expression is shown by the small size and inconspicuous character of the doorways ; — dearly as Richardson loved a great arched portal, he knew when it would be out of place and when the windows should bo more important. The details of decoration are carefully studied throughout, and nothing more beautiful was ever designed in the Brookline office than the strong, rich, yet delicate coupled lights of the upper arcade. But despite the beauty of the building and the excel- lence of many of its parts, this store can hardly be called one of Richardson’s most satisfactory productions. As a monument pure and simple it is superb ; as 8G HENRY HOBSON RICHARHSON ii building adapted to commercial uses it lias the defect of inappropriateness. When we examine the design part by part and consider for what service it was intended, this service does, indeed, make itself clearly manifest ; — no building with a lower story of this pattern and with so constant a succession of uniform openings above eoidd have been meant for any other use. It is the richness of the execution which is inappropriate. We have so few superb monuments in our cities that we can hardly be conscientious enough to regret that this one is so superb. But as the adequate expression of the given problem in its entirety, — and in consequence as an example for others, a type, a model, — it cannot be as highly valued as some of Richardson’s other buildings. For his own sake, and especially for the sake of his influence upon American art, it was well that he lived long enough to solve the same problem again in a more perfect way. The summer of this year Richardson spent, as has been told, in Europe. The months next after his return he devoted to the competition-drawings for the Albany Cathedral. SKETCH FOrt A CHAPEL. AMES BUILDING, BOSTON. .t -2\ r: r I CHAPTER XIV. THE CATHEDRAL DRAWINGS. THE PITTSBURGH COURT-HOUSE. While still in Europe Richardson had agreed to compete for the commission to build a Prot- estant Episcopal cathedral church at Albany. It was not until the latter part of October, however, that he could give the scheme serious attention, and it was almost the end of November before he got fairly to work on the drawings. About four months later they were finished. The time seems short when we see their elaborate perfection. They are very large in size and nine in number, including plan, perspective, exterior and interior elevations, longitudinal and transverse sections, and a sheet of details upon which even the sub- jects for the stained-glass windows are fully indicated. Their interest would be very great if they merely showed the high degree of technical skill which Rich- ardson’s pupils had acquired. In no office in the world could a more clear, com- plete, and beautifully executed set of drawings be prepared. More than two of them would have been published with this volume had it proved possible in reducing them to preserve their beauty or even their significance. The instructions laid before the competing architects described a site which measured two hundred and eighty-six feet by one hundred and forty feet, and a soil of stratified clay which would require the greatest care in preparing the founda- tions. The cathedral was to be Gothic in style, to follow “ to some extent the traditional arrangements of the Church,” and to seat from fifteen hundred to eighteen hundred persons on the ground ffoor. The choir was to be furnished with stationary seats but the nave to be left free for the use of chairs. In addi- tion to the church itself there were required : A bishojD’s vestry with treasury attached ; other vestries for clergy and choir ; a chapter -house ; a hall to accom- modate one hundred persons, and a covered bridge to connect the north side of the church with a school across the street. It was also prescribed that, as it was probable that the wdiole of the structure could not be immediately built, the architect should show how a joortion of the expenditure might be postponed, either by deferring the execution of part of the constructive work or by defer- ring only the ornamental work and “ erecting the structural parts complete or in such manner as may be considered desirable by the architect, bearing in mind that the works of the first stage must provide a building fit and proper for occu- pation by the whole number of persons mentioned.” Two separate drawings of CATHEDRAL CHURCH. {Autograph Sketch bg IL II. Richardson.) 88 HENRY HOBSON lUCHARDSON. the building as it would he in this first stage were required, and a limit of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars was set as its total cost. No limit of cost was set with regard to the completed cathedral. Tlie proposed site seemed to Richardson too small, hut he was told it could not he enlarged. The reduction of his plan will show the main arrangements of his church, which, as his accompanying memoranda explained, he tried “ to avoid making merely an enlarged parish church.” All the accessory apartments are suji- j)lied on the ground level except the treasury, which is placed in the crypt under the bishop’s vestry ; and, in addition, a baptistry is supplied beneath the north- western turret, and the hall is so treated as to be useful for chapel-services. The design well illustrates one of Richardson’s greatest merits — his poAver to appre- ciate the value both of ancient forms consecrated by persisting sentiment and of practical modern needs, and to put the one Avithout violence to the sciwice of the other. It folloAvs “ the traditions of the Church ” not merely “ to some extent,” but as they are represented in fully developed mediaeval examples. Yet Avhen Ave examine it Ave find that no niedia)A al feature has been kept simply for the sake of correctness ; each has its use, traditional Avhenever possible, novel Avhenever neces- sary, but Avhen novel none the less appropriate. For example, no ecclesiastical features are more beautiful in exterior or in interior effect than the ambidatories and apsidid chapels of great French churches, and none are more helpful in accenting the difference betAveen a mere parish church and something nobler. W e have no saints to-day Avhom Ave Avorship behind the high-altar at altars of their OAA 11 ; but Richardson Avas surely Avise to preserve the form of their sanctuaries Avhen providing the several vestries that Avere required of him. He Avas also Avise to meet our modern Avish for comfort by surrounding a great part of his church Avith Avide, Ioav, vaulted passages or lobbies, especially as they give additional beauty to both the interior and the exterior perspectives, and in no Avay detract from the scholarly correctness of his scheme as a Avhole. When Ave turn to the other draAvings we see that he interpreted in a very liberal Avay the iirescription that the church should be “ Gothic in style.” His main arches are slightly pointed, Imt noAvhere else has he varied from the prece- dents of pure Romanesque art. As a consequence, no design could be less Gothic in effect or feeling, as a Avhole or in detail. Only by a straining of terms can Ave say even so much as that it is in a Transitional style. It is so clearly, so emphat- ically Romanesque that Ave feel it Avould hardly be more purely Romanesque Avere all its arches semi-circles. Even so optimistic a man as Richardson must have knoAvn that in presenting such a scheme he seriously compromised his chances of success. Doubtless he not only hopc\d but believed, either that his faint semblance of a surrender to their Avishes Avoidd satisfy his judges or else that the intrinsic beauty of his design Avould revolutionize those Avishes. But be this as it may, he could not have consented, at any time in his maturer years, to build a really Gothic church, and least of all at this particular time Avhen he Avas fresh from the study of ancient Romanesque art and more than ever convinced of its peculiar fitness for modern adaptation. A man of a different mould might have thought that the holding of such beliefs forbade him to enter this competition. But Richard- son believed that the first duty of an artist Avas the eager use of every possible mtri ■■ I icininiEiiil I fiiTTri'MiTn' irmrjmTr ' jirniiiiiiiij iiiiimiiiiM' IfTmTuKTiP 111 ^ ^TTTTfrmrj,; ^ |JJ.fLiiiJJ.Tjjj I W-0\\ I^DjriTniiTn; imi'iimiin: fej [ii^ PLAN OF PROPOSED CATHEDRAL CHURCH FOR^ALBANY. fT" , V • ■■• ^ , 4' «a’^ IS I ’ • ’ 3 « k '*1 / sK' 'z ■' ■'. - * jU ! ,1 tfy u M k : PERSPECTIVE View OF PROPOSED CATHEDRAL CHURCH FOR ALBANY. IS 1. , r. tl ELEVATION OF PROPOSED CATHEDRAL CHURCH FOR ALBANY. »>« .t ALLEGHENY COUNTY BUILDINGS. PITTSBURGH. . . ' ■ f. ■ :ii. THE CATHEDRAL DRAWINGS. 89 opportunity to impose his own ideas of art upon the world. As will he seen from his memoranda^ he j^ointed out to the eommittee how his design might be altered to make it less exj^ensive ; but he never hinted at any possibility of alteration in the matter of style. And in after days when he spoke of the chance he had lost, it was always to regret that he had not been allowed to build the church in his own way — never that he had not tried harder to persuade himself to build it in another’s way. Only a careful study of all the drawings in their original size can show how perfectly Richardson had absorbed the very marrow and spirit of his chosen style. It is impossible to point to any one ancient church which is the plain prototype of this. But I think it would he imj)ossihle to find any which more perfectly rejiresents the highest possibilities of the style it follows except as size is an clement in grandeur of efiect ; and none is a more vital entity, a more organic Avhole. Those who know the precedents upon which he drew are astonished at the scholarliness of Richardson’s treatment ; hut those who do not know them feel its logical and vital excellence as strongly. We may like his design or not, hut we like it or dislike it as a whole, and according to our personal taste in the matter of style. We do not say that it is better in one part than in another, more beautiful here than there. As has been already explained, we cannot regret that Richardson was forced to spend his few remaining years upon work of a dif- ferent sort. Yet nothing could have been more fortunate for his fame than that he should have prepared these drawings. While they reveal a side of his endowment which without them we should never have apj^reciated, they throw the brightest light upon the prin- ciples which ruled his practice as a whole. They show that he had a schol- arly grasp upon the richest traditional resources of his art which the most purely antiquarian of architects might envy, and therefore they prove that when he was not scholarly it was of deliberate intent, that when, in the maturity of his power, he was “ free ” or “ eclectic ” in treatment, it was because he felt that fitness did not call for historic accuracy, that practical or exi)ressional needs demanded more of inventive and less of re])roductive effort. Some ex])lanatory extracts from the memoranda he submitted with his drawings are given in an ai)pendix. Further analysis of them would be useless, as it cannot he accompanied by the whole series in illustration.^ GRANITE CAPITAL, COURT*HOUSE, PITTSBURGH. Richardson’s success in the coni])etition for the county buildings at Pittsburgh, Pa., was announced in February, 1884. The contracts fixed the cost of the work ^ kSee Appendix IV. " The legacy Richardson has left ns in these drawings is too precious to he lost. If in any part of America another cathedral chnrch is desired their existence should surely l)e remembered. 90 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON at $2,243,024. It has been finisliecl sinee Iticliardson’s death. The site was fortniiately chosen, on top of the highest hill in a hilly town. The main building, which forms a hollow square, measures three hundred and one feet by two hundred and nine feet, and in the rear, connected with it by a coyered bridge, stands the jail. The court - yard within the main building measures one hundred and forty-fiye feet by seyenty feet, is entered by two great arched passage-ways, and may conycn- iently be used as a place for pid)lic meetings. In its principal features the plan of the building is the same on all the floors excepting as regards the great staircase, which is of two flights only, beginning in the basement and leading to the great Indls of the first and second stories. Four other large staircases and four eleyators are accommodated in tow- ers at the angles of the court-yard, and rise to the top of the building. All the rooms lie on the outside of the wings towards the street, and are connected by corridors which encircle the court-yard. The first story is twenty-fiye feet, the second twenty-nine feet high in the large apartments ; but in the smaller ones this height is diyided to admit of half-stories or mezzanines. The small rooms are thus doubled in number while their proportions are improyed. The county offices occupy the first story. In the second are the chief court-rooms and a library almost as large as the largest court-room, which measures seyenty feet by forty-fiye feet. In the third story are court-rooms again and a multitude of clerks’ apartments, while the roof story can be put to similar use if needful. Aboye the third floor the fiye remaining stories of the tower are arranged as stor- age-rooms for documents, while one of its turrets holds a staircase and another an eleyator, and two are yentilating shafts. Of course this is but the barest optline of a plan the minute excellence of which can only be understood by a careful com- parison of the requirements set before the architect with his large-scale drawing. As the work was well under way before the utilization of natural gas had puri- fied Pittsburgh’s atmosphere, Pichardson gaye particular care to the question of lighting, and we are told that it was his success in this direction more eyen than the artistic merit of his designs which determined their selection. All the main apartments are lighted from two sides, and there is not a single room in the build- JAIL, PITTSBURGH. I THE PITTSBURGH COURT-HOUSE. 91 ing which does not receive an abundance of light through the outer walls. The heating apj^liances are of an elaborate kind, and the ventilating apparatus is among the most interesting features of the building. The supj^ly of fresh air is drawn from the top of the tower through openings about two hundred and fifty feet above the ground, and after being warmed and cleansed is distributed in a vol- ume which, it is calculated, will supj)ly thirty cubic feet of fresh air j^er minute to each occuiiant of the Court-house. The care with which all accessory details have been considered is shown by the fact that every gas jet in the building has its special ven- tilating pij^e. In plan the jail is in the shape of an irregular cross the central part of Avhich is occupied by an octagonal guard-room, forty- eight feet in diameter, which is also to be used as a chapel. One short arm of the cross con- tains the reception and officers’ rooms, while the other arms are occupied by the tiers of cells. Two L-shaped wings at the end of the cross contain the kitchen and various service-rooms, the hospital, and the sheriff’s dwell- ing, while the prisoners’ court- yards are formed by their junc- tion Avith the Avings of the jail proper. The details of the plan are of the greatest interest — convenience, security, and thor- ough ventilation being provided for in simple yet ingenious Avays. The treatment of the outside of the great building is shoAvn in our illustrations. The construction throughout is fire-proof. Pinkish-gray Milford granite backed Avith brick is used in the street fronts, and brick for the most part in the court- yard fronts. The trimmings are of cut stone but the ashlar is rock-faced. Orna- ment is very sparingly used and the capitals, like the mouldings, strings, and Avater-tahles, are kept very fiat, in order to avoid the disfigurement of surface and the distortion of line Avhich Avould result from the accumulation of soot ui)on projecting memhers. The building dejAends for its beauty ujAon its design jAropcrly so-called, Avhich, Avhile jAreserving a dignified symmetry hetAveen corresponding part and part, is so varied in the successive stories as to produce an effect of great grandeur combined Avith animation. When the plan and the ]Aerspective are studied together Ave find that this variation clearly expresses the varying impor- tance and jAurpose of the different ajAartments. Above the chief entrance-porch IIENIIY HOB ISON lUCHAlWSON. TOWER, COURT-HOUSE, PITTSBURGH. on Grant Street (the eentral arch of which is thir- teen feet wide hy twenty feet in height) the three large arelied windoAVS light the library, Ayhilc the similar ones in the third story light the supreme court room. On the other fronts the eentral groups of AvindoAys light the 2>Tiiicipal eoiirt-rooms, and the long arcades of the third story, Avhich do so mnch to relieye the massiye effect of the loAyer jAortions, open into the roAvs of transerihing-rooms and offices. 'Jdie great gables on the side fayades emphasize the idace of the passage- Ayays Avliich giye access from the street into the court-yard. The toAver is yery heautiful as a i)iece of design and is appropriate as expressing the ciA ic poAA'cr Avhicli has its throne beneath these roofs. If it had no use but this it AA onld still be a neces- sary feature from an artistic ])oint of yicAy ; but our interest in its beauty is yastly increased Ayhcn Ave sec that A arious iicAy modern needs hayc been met in the preseiwation of this traditional feature the ancient uses of A\diich arc noAy symbolic ouIax It C- c/ is such a piece of Avork as this toAycr Ayhieh most conyineingly shoAys the truly creatiye character of Ivichardson’s talent. The exterior of the jail is in harmony Ayith that of the Court-house but is much more seyere in treatment. The roof reyeals the shape and importance of the octagonal hall, and the yast Aoussoirs Ayhieh llichardson brought home in his mind from Spain are as appropriate in a modern ])rison door as in ancient portals of defense. Taken as a aa hole the design of this yast and com- plex structure, both inside and out, is a inaryel of good sense as Aycll as of architectural beauty. None of the faidts Ayhieh appear in some of Iliehardson’s other buildings can be found in this. It seems as simply yet completely right in execution as in first concc])tion. We may take the Court-house as llich- ardson Ayished it to be taken — as the full expres- sion' of his mature poAyer in the direction Ayhere it Ayas most at home. Had he not liyed to build it his record Ayoidd still hayc been a surprising one and Avould still hayc entitled him to be called a man of genius in the full meaning of the term. But it Ayoidd have been an incomplete, a broken record, Avhile now Ave see the best of Ayhieh he himself felt capable ; and seeing it Ave believe that no ]Aossible problem Avhich a long life might have brought him Avould have been too difficult for him to solve. It proves that he Avas more firmly THE PITTSBURGH COURT-HOUSE. 93 convinced than ever that in the precedents of southern Romanesque he could find his best inspiration, but that he had worked his way to a very different attitude towards them from the one he had first assumed. The Court-house is the most magnificent and imposing of his works, yet it is the most logical and quiet. It is the most sober and severe, yet it is the most original and in one sense the most eclectic. Although all its individual features have been drawn from an early southern style, its silhouette suggests some of the late-mediaeval buildings of the north of Europe, and its symmetry, its dignity and nobility of air, speak of Renaissance ideals. To combine inspirations drawn from such different sources into a novel yet organic whole while expressing a coinj^lex plan of the most mod- ern sort — this was indeed to be original. There is no other municipal building like Richardson’s Court-house. It is as new as the needs it meets, as American as the community for which it was built. Yet it might stand without loss of prestige in any city in the world. CTIAPTEPv XV. THE FIELD BUILDING AND THE CINCINNATI CHAMBER OF COMMERCE. The Baptist Church at XcM ton, near Boston, which llichardson was commis- sioned to build in October, 1884, is interesting chiefly by reason of its plan. Pecuniary resources Avere limited, and the design was therefore very sim])le, while the ornament Mdiich relieve its massiveness has been left in block for future execution. Our non-cpiscopal congregations often ask that a church-building shall include many things besides the place of M orship itself — large Sunday-school and lecture rooms, “ ehurcli parlors,” committee-rooms, and even kitchens to serve charitable and social needs. In providing all these at Newton Richardson adopted an expe- dient Mdiich worked in the interests of economy as ivell as of that love for archi- tectural clearness Avhicli Avould have a church to look like a church and nothing else. Instead of surrounding his church Avith a group of minor apartments he massed these into a basement story and placed his church above them. In meet- ing the special needs of a Baptist congregation he designed as wisely and in a very PLAN OF BAPTIST CHURCH, NEWTON. original way. The characteristic feature of the Baptist service is the rite of immersion, but in previous churches this rite had never been architecturally rec- ognized. The great tank or “ baptistry ” had not been a part of the structural THE FIELD BUILDING. 95 design but a mere make-shift — an undignified basin sunk in the floor and boarded over when not in use ; and those who had approached or left it had been forced to pass in full sight of the congregation. Richardson’s baptistry, on the other hand, is a permanent, prominent, and controlling feature in his design. The east end of his church forms a large semi-circular apse. On the chord of the apse stands the pulpit-i3latform and behind this is a large basin, sufficiently raised to be visible from the church and inclosed on the other three sides to a considerable height by a curtain. Beyond and above rise the circling windows of the apse, and the screened-off space between its loAver Avails and the curtain is filled by dressing- rooms arranged on a radiating plan. The practical good sense of the idea is not more evident than its expressional and artistic felicity. The Field Building in Chicago stands Avith the Pittsburgh Court-house and the Cathedral draAvings at the head of all Richardson’s productions, and in sjAite of the unquestionable superiority, as monumental conceiAtions intrinsically consid- ered, of these two Avorks, it is in one Avay his most remarkable. At first sight either the Cathedral or the Court-house may seem richer in evidence of his imag- inatiA^e ability. But in neither of them Avas his imagination compelled to begin at the very bottom of the problem. Cathedrals existed by scores, not just like the one he conceived but similar in scheme ; the type was fixed, the main features set- tled, the general plan prescribed ; and the minor features Avhich he combined into a fresh result Avere all to be found, in suggestion at least, in the vast and varied storehouse of ancient precedents. Great municijAal buildings, too, had been built for ages ; and though they imposed upon him no such ready-made outline of a scheme as did the old cathedrals, they gave at least standards of comparison by which he could anticipate the probable suceess of his OAvn effort. In each case — though in each in a different way — his result is amply entitled to be called new and individual. But in neither is it based on a radically ncAV conception. On the other hand, a vast commereial building of the sort he Avas more than once bidden to design had been a thing unknoAvn in earlier ages. The depend- ence of the art of architecture upon the science of construction, the dependence of this upon the practical Avants of men, and the alteration of these Avants by facts and inventions of seemingly slight import, aa ere never more strikingly shoAvn than by the genesis of the immensely tall commercial buildings of our larger toAvns. They Avere born of tAvo distinctively American characteristics — haste and me- chanical ingenuity. Our intense appreciation of the fact that time is money has made the cost of land in our large cities extraordinarily great ; for it is, of course, the Avish to save time Avhich makes us croAvd our places of business so closely together. This costliness of the land inspired the wish for a greater degree of vertical extension than had previously been achieved ; and the development of the steam-lift permitted such extension to a degree limited only by construc- tional necessities. Architecture as an art had no voice in the ncAV departure, but was merely bidden to make the structurally possible artistically satisfying if it could. If general proportions Avere the only things prescribed to the designer, the most difficult problems of this class would be those in Avhich lateral dimensions 9G HEXEY HOB SOX EICIIAEBSOX. are narrowest. But individual features are also j)rescril)ed to him in undigni- fied monotony. lie may not boldly project (iiid recess his masses — he would waste yaluable ground. He may not consi)icuously break the ridge or incline the slope of his roof — his upper story is not a garret but a sj^ace as yaluable as those Avliich lie below it. He may not group his openings and su])port them with broad fields of wall — his interior must be cut uj) into many little rooms alt equally well lighted. Nor does economy or expressional truth permit him to introduce great portals, loggias, bays, or balconies. The practical ideal of a com- mercial building is, in short, a v ast rectangular box pierced at close equal interyals with windows of moderate size. The average factory — only with exaggerated height — may stand as the type of the thing which the American architect is asked to make a vyork of art fit to stand in comparison in a city’s finest streets with church and dwu'lling-housc and municipal palace. It is easy to see, there- fore, vyhy the more lateral dimensions are enlarged, the greater his difficulties become ; for the larger and more self-asserting a structure, the less content we can be vyith a design vyliich is simply agreeable in its indiyidual features — the more vye ask in the v\ ay of coherent dignified effect, vv ell-balanced structural composition. And hovy are these qualities to be secured when, no matter what the lateral extension, height is still excessiye, mass must still be unbroken, and features still petty and monotonous ? llichardson was one of the first to try, seriously and frankly, to answer this question ; and at the time w hen it was built no other answer so successful as his Cheney Building in Hartford had been giyen. His Ames Building in Boston was an improv ement ev en upon this — at last we had a great commercial structure vyhich was a monument of beauty, wdiich, far from disjvleasing the eye, produced a strong “ architectural emotion.” But the problem was not fully mastered. Beauty had been gained, but at the sacrifice of ex 2 vressional truth in general effect and — a j^oint of especial imjvortance in a class of work wdiich must be controlled by economical more than by iiurely aesthetic considerations — at the expenditure of too great an amount of money. The richly delicate ornamentation of the Ames Building is, like all good architectui al decoration, so much a jjart and parcel of the scheme that we cannot supiiress it and leave the scheme in a state to be criticised with fairness. But it means too great an outlay for the average owner to emulate ; and, even if this consideration be ignored, it means an exj)res- sion which is not in accord with the purpose of the building. A store should not cost as much as a palace, and just as certainly it ought not to look like a palace. The judgment of many other architects ujion the Ames Building has exjiressed itself in more or less successful attempts to reproduce its general effect. Bich- ardson himself always took great pride in its incontestable beauty ; but his true judgment of it as a type for repeated use is showm by the character of tlie Chicago building commissioned by Mr. Marshall Field in Ajjril, 1885. Certain structural ideas, certain main features, are common to the two ; but their treat- ment is widely different, and in effect and exjvression the earlier and the later building are utterly unlike. The main constructional device common to the two, but far more boldly and FIELD BUILDING, CHICAGO. ■i C I , '''I, f i ■ f'-t : THE FIELD BUILDING. 97 simply carried out in the Field Building, is the including of more than one story within the sweep of a range of great round-headed arches. It is not a device peculiar to Richardson but one which — partly though by no means solely as a result of his influence — is accepted by most of our able architects as the best for the purpose. It redeems the monotonous poverty of many low stories and count- less little windows. It suj)plies features appropriate in scale to the height of the structure. It leads the eye in a horizontal direction without unduly multiplying horizontal lines. It manifests solidity ; and it permits rej^ose and animation to be combined. The nearest approach of earlier ages to the modern problem had been made in the lofty palaces of Renaissance Italy. We know how Palladio dealt with them — diminishing their height and ennobling the relative lowness of their stories by his ranges of great pilasters. We know, too, how his bold innovation has ever since been criticised by purists. An observer of broad taste, however, may find much to say in favor of it, and still more to say in favor of our modern version of the same idea. The result which Palladio sought to produce by ornamental additions we try to produce in the process of construction ; and though superficial beauty may be greater in his work, ours has a more truly architectural excellence. Our great including features form not an overlay but the fabric itself, and the included ranges of windows are integrally united with them and with one another, while their individual independence is yet clearly shown by the heavy mullions and transoms. The Field Building is the vast rectangular box in its most uncomjDromising estate. The site measures three hundred and twenty-five feet by one hundred and ninety feet, and every foot of it is covered by a solid mass which rises to a height of one hundred and twenty-five feet. The roof is invisible, the doorways are inconspicuous, and decoration is very sparingly used. The whole effect de- pends upon the structure of the walls themselves. No building could more frankly express its purpose or be more self-denying in the use of ornament. Yet the most elaborately massed, diversified, and decorated structure could not be more truly a design ; and its prime virtues of a solidity commensurate with its ele- vation and a dignity equal to its bulk are secured in such a way that even a high degree of beauty is not wanting. The material is fine in color — red sandstone in the upper parts and red Missouri granite in the lower. The tone of the two dif- fers only slightly, but they are unlike, of course, in quality and are differently finished — the sandstone is cut and the granite is rock-faced. Each detail of the reticent sculptured decoration tells strongly against the general severity, and the hand of a careful, skillful artist is as plainly visible in that varied disposition of the plain units of construction which gives interest to every foot of the surface. It is visible, too, in the beautiful profile of the angles, and in that alternation of heavier with lighter piers which inconspicuously yet effectively relieves the mo- notony of the upper range of windows. In short, this vast, plain building is as carefully studied as the smallest and most elaborate could be, and is a text-book of instruction in treatment no less than in composition. In August, 1885, Richardson gained in competition the commission to build for the merchants of Cincinnati their Chamber of Commerce. The work was not 98 IIEXIIY IIOB.'SON men ARB SOX. actually begun until after liis death, but the approved design had received its final inodifications under his own eye. A coniparison of the illustration here given with the coinpetition-drawing^ will show what these modifications were — changes in the treatment of the basement, in the design of the main story on the shorter fagade (making it similar to the longer), and in the pitch and elevation of the roof, all effected for the sake of greater simplicity and of more harmonious ]^ro23or- tions. The design as it is now being carried out is most interesting in its e^ idence FOUNTAIN, DETROIT. that Richardson always in these later years felt the value of symmetry and of the repose which it secures, although he still liked to work in an ornate way when the character of the building joermitted. The i^roblem i^resented by the Chamber of Commerce had not the ham}:)ering monotony of a simj^le commercial building, but it was quite as modern in its own way. American merchants, like their fiu'-off predecessors in Belgium and Hol- land, want a great and dignified hall of assemblage ; but, with a keener eye to rev- enue, they demand that it shall be combined with an “ office building,” ■ — that every possible foot of space shall be j^iit to use in ways that are often quite at variance with the chief use of the building, and that as many such feet as j3ossible shall be secured by vertical extension. Richardson’s j^roblem, therefore, was, well to combine and clearly to exj)ress many apartments alien in character and discord- ant in idea ; and it is hard to say whether its practical or its expressional difficul- ties were greatest. ^ Published in the American Architect and Buildin(j Nea-s, September 11, 1886. CHAMBER OF COMMERCE, CINCINNATI. r -J i I I * i THE CINCINNATI CHAMBER OF COMMERCE. 99 The building stands on a sloping site which measures one hundred and fifty feet by one hundred feet. The first floor and the higher portions of the basement are occuj)ied by bank-offices, shoj^s, and a restaurant. The second story, forty- eight feet in height, contains the great hall and its dej^endencies — part of it being subdivided into three tiers of small rooms. The hall is one hundred and forty feet long by sixty-eight feet wide, with a lobby forty feet by eighteen feet. The angle-j3avilions form large bays in the hall itself where members may retire for private conference. The three upper stories are filled with offices, the j3ortions above the hall being suspended from the roof by an elaborate scheme of iron con- struction. A knowledge of this scheme justifies, of course, the j^onderousness of the roof and of the immense angle-pavilions which support it. The exj^ressional clearness and the beauty of the exterior treatment need no fuller exj^lanation than our illustration gives. The construction throughout is entirely fireproof. The walls are of pink Milford granite and the roof is of red tiles. CHAPTER XYI. RAILROAD STATIONS. DWELLING-HOUSES. It is much to be regretted that Rich- ardson was never commissioned to build a great terminal railway station. His success with smaller stations proves that such a problem would have given free outlet to his talent on ifs strongest side. In the year 1881 he was asked to build a small station at Auburndale, near Boston, a larger one at Palmer in the centre of the State, and another small one at North Easton. Three more Avere jAut in hand in 1883, four in the succeeding year, and Hvo in 1885, Most of them Avere for rural stopping-places in the neighborhood of Boston ; but one Avas for Holyoke, near Springfield, and another for Noav London, Conn., and both of these are of larger size. The last named (Avhich Avas not begun until after his death) is of brick ; all the others are of granite trimmed Avith LongmeadoAv stone. A glance at any one of them shoAvs that Richardson strove first of all clearly to express the building’s purpose — to mark the fact that a station is not a house but a shelter, not a j^lace to live in but, so to say, a place to Avait under. The roof is the chief feature, not the Avails. These are ahvays Ioav and the plan as compact as possible, Avhile the roof is always massive and broad. In tiny Avayside stations, such as that at AYaban, there are no lArojecting sheds but the roof is car- ried far out on great Avooden corbels. Sometimes, as at North Easton and Chest- nut Hill, there is a great carriage-porch on the side aAvay from the tracks and a long shed running beside them ; and again, as at Holyoke, the shed encircles the Avhole building. In no tAvo cases are the designs alike, but in all there is the same expression of temporary shelter as the main thing to be supplied, together Avith a sturdy air of permanence. Often this air is secured Avith the frankest good- sense but occasionally it results in part from features Avhich a sternly conscientious criticism might condemn. At North Easton, for instance, three huge round-arches form the three exposed sides of the carriage-porch, supporting nothing but them- selves and their OAvn roof. They are evidently giants doing striplings’ service. But they may excuse themselves, perhaps, as accenting the expressional importance of the roofs, and their l)eauty is so seductive — so simple yet so picturesque, so digni- fied yet so rural looking — that it is hard to protest against them. In fact, our country railroad stations had so long been hideous make-shifts or futile attempts at prettiness (and in either case synonyms for fragility and parsimony), that the DINING-ROOM, HOUSE OF N. L. ANDERSON, WASHINGTON. RAILROAD STATION, AUBURNDALE. I S RAILROAD STATION. HOLYOKE. RAILROAD STATIONS. 101 massiveness of Richardson’s seemed a protest which would have been less welcome had it been less emphatic. Nor was it often too emphatic. The majority of his stations are as simple and right in feature as they are approiiriate in general effect, while none of them show more than touch of decoration. All parts are as carefully RAILROAD STATION, NORTH EASTON. built and finished as in his monumental structures, all materials are dignified and durable, and all surfaces are made j)leasant to the eye. The interior of the wait- ing-rooms is wainscoted with Avood or brick, and the construction of the roof is usually shoAvn. All necessary features are artistically treated — the fire-places (aa hich are commonly of brick), the drinking-fountains and gas-fixtures, the settees on the exterior and the long benches Avithin, and the ticket-offices Avhich project upon the platform as charmingly designed bays. But no features or details exist for the sake of beauty merely, and there is no carving in stone and very little RAILROAD STATION, NORTH EASTON. in Avood. The corbeled Avooden posts Avhich support the sheds are especially to be commended for their simplicity and their frank expression of the nature of the material. It need hardly be added that the j)lan of each station Avas very carefully studied for convenience as Avell as compactness, or that each Avas designed Avith reference to its effect on its own particular site. Chestnut Hill is ])crhaps the jnettiest 102 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON examj^le of a union of artistic and natural beauties which to some degree might always he secured in similar spots, making an hour’s detention there a very differ- ent thing from that purgatory of discomfort and impatience which we are so often called upon to hear. ^yllcn an architect’s leanings are distinctly toward massiveness, impressiveness, grandeur, vigor, and self-assertion, we naturally conclude that he will show less aptitude for domestic than for monumental work — especially in a land like ours which asks for no palaces or castles but merely for citizens’ dwellings, modest, as a rule, in all respects and even when sumptuous and costly seldom of great size. Richardson’s record is in harmony with such conclusions. Indeed, it illustrates their justness even more plainly than might have been foreseen. In his earlier years he seems to have had a comparative distaste for domestic work which amounted almost to positive dislike. He would sometimes exclaim in his over-emphatic way that “ house-building is not architecture in the noble sense of the word ; ” and the phrase was half inspired by sincere conviction, though half, perhaps, by the feeling that house-building was not the kind of archi- tecture in which his own success had been achieved. He was too sensible, how- ever, and too ambitious to decline any commission which came in his way, and too true an artist not to exert himself in its fulfillment. And as commissions for houses became more frequent with the growth of his reputation, and as his results became more of an honor to that reputation, his interest increased propor- tionately. In the last few years of his life he felt the deepest concern and the most entire pride in the many houses he then had in hand. The interiors of his early houses are much better than their exteriors. These are uninteresting, and in the light of to-day seem uncharacteristic, even unpro- jihetic. Here, more evidently than in his other structures, he was working in the dark, with no clear idea of what he wished to do or of the relative value of the various schemes which presented themselves. No one of these houses represents a definite, distinct conception, while even the Agawaxm Bank and the Worcester RAILROAD STATION, CHESTNUT HILL. 1 ] t S' r ■H ,,f > »’■ !! 4 A a / D WELLING-HO USES. 103 High School do represent such conceptions, although of unsatisfactory kinds. Mr. Ben- jamin F. BoAvles’s house in Springfield, for example, Avas built long after these tAA^o AA^orks — in May, 1873, Avhen Trinity Church had been in hand a year ; hut all there is about it AAdiich speaks of Richardson or of any strong- designer is a broad plain field of brick AA-all at the back. The only early house Avhich - is successful as a AAdiole is the one designed for Mr. William Watts Sherman of NeAA^Aort in 1874. It is partly of stone and partly shingled, and though less simple and coher- ent in design than Richardson would liaA-e made it later in his life, it is picturesque, in- diAddual, and attractive. It is still among the most interesting houses in NeAAq)ort. It Avas not until 1879 that Richardson undertook another dAvelling. Then he designed the rectory for Trinity Church in Boston. By this time his manner had become firmly established if not fully developed, and the rectory is a characteristic j:)iece of work though by no means one to cite as really representative. The great porch and many other features are delightful ; but the composition is restless and the decoration someAvhat heavily out of scale. Picturesque is again the Avord Avhich comes to mind, and it is not the highest Avord of praise for a city house. An entrance-lodge for the country-seat of Mr. Frederick L. Ames, at North Easton, Avas commissioned in March, 1880. Of course it is not one of Richardson’s important works, yet there is no other of any kind which has been more often illustrated, more Avidely discussed, or more diversely judged. GATE LODGE, NORTH EASTON. Its purpose is more dignified than its name implies ; in addition to the lodge proper it contains a suite of bachelor ajAartments, and the circular end is a storage- room for plants in Avinter. It is built of boAvlders such as Avere used in the Med- ford church, but in a more eccentric Avay. No stones Avere too big, too rough, or 104 IIEKBY HOBSON EICIIAIWSOJSt too abnormal in shape to claim a i)lacc in its walls, and the ashlar about the open- ings was made as inconspicuous as possible. Considered in themselves these walls would be brutal if they were not so amusing ; but refinement is given the building bv the graceful great curve of the archway (built of cut stones of many tints but all of local origin) and by the fine sweep of the simple roofs. It is too eccentric a building to be judged by the standards which we apply to Richardson’s other works. Individual taste will always play a larger jiart than reasoned criticism in deciding upon its merits. The public has found it peculiarly attractive. Many SKETCH OF HOUSE FOR N. L. ANDERSON, WASHINGTON. architects have praised it in strong terms. Others have called it inferesting but not beautiful. Others, again, pronounce it a mere architectural extravaganza of a semi-humorous sort, acknowledging, however, that only a vigorous mind could have been whimsical in such titanic fashion. The most serious reproach which can be brought against it is of an extrinsic character. It seems to announce the entrance to a vast park and a massive chrdeau, rather than to an American coun- try home. In 1881 Richardson was employed by Mr. F. L. Iligginson to build a house fifty-five feet in Avidth on Beacon Street in Boston. At the same time a Ncav Y ork firm of architects, tAvo of Avhom (Messrs. McKim and White) had been his OAvn pupils, Avere commissioned to build a house of similar size on an adjoining lot. The tAvo designs are very different in style and spirit, but each designer, we perceive, kept a friendly eye upon the other’s intentions. The same materials — LongmeadoAV stone and red brick — are used in both buildings, the string-courses come at the same level, the roofs are similar, and the general result is one of D W ELLIN G-IIO USES. 105 harmony in contrast, of artistic amity and mutual support, such as we seldom find where adjacent houses clearly confess a different parentage. The interior of Richardson’s house is very dignified, and shows the touch of a skillful i^lanner and a master of rich yet refined decoration. But neither the reticence nor the refinement of the interior is reproduced outside. The design is bold, effective, and in parts very interesting, and the roof at least is extremely good. But as a whole this house again is too picturesque, too restless, too em- phatic in decoration, and too uncompromisingly massive. And it seems less char- acteristic even in its defects than most of Richardson’s buildings of so late a date — desj3ite its Romanesque forms it hints at the influence of the modern English gospel of domestic architecture as preached by Mr. Norman Shaw. It shows, in short, that Richardson had not yet conceived a vital and satisfactory idea of his own Avith regard to the aspect Avhich a city home should wear. When Ave consult our dates and find that Trinity rectory is contemporaneous Avith Sever Hall, and Mr. Higginson’s house Avith the LaAV School and the Auburndale station, Ave real- ize hoAV sloAv in every resjAect Avas his advance in domestic Avork. Richardson made a great step foi’Avard, hoAvever, Avhen he designed a red brick house for Mr. N. L. Anderson in Washington in the summer of 1881. The prob- lem Avas more inspiriting than that Avhich had offered on Beacon Street. There he had had a fagade only ; here he had a corner lot extensive enough to leave a large house free on every side. The house is very simple in mass, Avith tAvo plainly treated bays and a lofty hijAiAed roof. So Aaist is this roof that though Aery beau- tiful it strikes one more, perhaps, as an expedient to avoid the commonplace than as an obviously sensible covering for a city home in a climate Avhere snoAvs are light and infrequent. And the entrance also, though in an opposite Avay, bears the imprint of Avillfulness. If the roof is too self-asserting, the entrance is so very quiet that its expression is hardly in accord Avith its practical im- portance in the scheme. Yet in spite of these faults the building is a fine one — grand in mass, harmonious in proportions, co- herent in design, and dignified in its severe simplicity. Here at last Ave have a true conception. The interior is Avholly successful, Avell lighted, and in plan unlike our usual types of arrangement yet not at all eccentric. It has at once an aristocratic and a thoroughly com- fortable air. It is a charming interior to look at and a delightful one to live in. A country house for the Rev. Percy BroAvne at Marion, Mass., Avas designed in the last months of the same year. It is one of the smallest structures tliiit Rich- ardson ever built, and, I l)clicve, the least expensiA e ; yet in its Avay it is a great success. It stands on the crest of a short but steep slope overlooking a road in the outskirts of the village, beyond Avhich lie flat meadoAVS and the not distant REAR OF PERCY BROWNE'S HOUSE, MARION. 106 lIEKltY HOBSON lUCHABDSON. sea. It is ycry low and comparatively very long, with many windows in broad groups, a loggia in the centre of the front, a piazza at one end and across a j^or- tion of the hack, small dormers, and low bnt massive chimneys. Its foundations follow with delightlul frankness the variations of the ground upon which it stands, while its good proportions and the harmonious arrangement of its roof- lines give it that truly architectural character in which dignity may lie for the most modest building. It is so appropriate to its surroundings that it seems to have grown out of them by some process of nature, and it is equally appropriate to its purpose. It explains itself at once as a gentleman’s summer home, hut with a simplicity which does not put the humblest village neighbor out of counte- nance. Inside, the planning gives an unexpected amount of comfort and air of sj^acc. The doorways are very wide, and are so arranged as to afford a diagonal instead of a straight perspective. The windows are carefully placed to command every possible point of outlook, the rear views toward woods and sunset being as much considered as those which show the sea. The longer one studies this little house the better one likes it, the more typical it seems of that sort of excel- lence which the American owner so often craves — artistic treatment combined with cheapness, comfort with small dimensions, beauty with simplicity, refinement without decoration. Outside, the only touch of ornament is given by the varied shaping of the shingles, and inside, pleasant tints alone relieve the plainness of the woodwork, and good outlines the severity of the chimney-pieces. It has sometimes been said that Richardson took so much interest in great problems that he had none left to give to small ones. But no one could have more carefully studied a little house like this, the cost of which, exclusive of foundations, barely exceeded twenty-five hundred dollars. In January, 1884, Richardson received from Mr. John Hay and Mr. Henry Adams the commission to build two acljoining houses on La Fayette Square in Washington. Mr. Hay’s house stands on the corner of Sixteenth Street while Mr. Adams’s has but a single fagade fronting on the square. In each case certain HALL, HOUSE OF JOHN HAY, WASHINGTON. :0 ;A ti! ' • ■' k 1) WELLING-HO USES. 107 BRICK CARVING, HOUSE OF HENRY ADAMS, WASHINGTON. things were prescribed of so controlling a sort that the design cannot he judged as strictly rep- resenting Richardson’s own impnlses. No one kncAV better than he, for instance, that the turret-like bay which forms the angle of the corner house tends to destroy rej)ose, and introduces an unfortunate accent of picturesqueness into a whole which oth- erwise would have been of monumental dignity. Again, the singular plan of Mr. Adams’s house was given in outline for his treatment. In this case, however, the demand resulted in no decrease of excellence. The chief rooms were to be ujd- stairs, and the ground floor was to be divided longitudi- nally by a wall — the hall and staircase lying to the right, the kitchen ajDartments to the left of it, and communica- tion between them being effected only at the back of the house. Richardson clearly marked this division on the exterior by designing his ground-story with two low, somewhat depressed arches with a pier between them. Within one arch is the beautifully treated main doorway, and behind the other, masked by a rich iron grille, are the windows of the servants’ apartments, while the door which leads to these lies beyond the arch to the left. Inside, the hall with its great fire-place and its stairway forming broad platforms is as charming as it is individual, and the living-rooms up-stairs are well proj^ortioned, and simple but complete in detail. The fire-places arc their chief features — wide and low, with jambs and mantels of rich -toned marble which might be too heavy but for their carefully studied outlines and firm yet delicate decoration. The finest external feature of Mr. Hay’s house is the doorway on Sixteenth Street — jin imposing arrangement of broad steps leading np to a balustraded platform with a richly carved door set back under a powerful round arch. Inside, even the fine hall is exceeded in beanty by the dining-room, one end of which is filled by a wide mantel of green marble recessed in a deep alcove of the same material. Both houses are built of red brick with trimmings of very light-colored Ohio stone. The plain brick surfaces as well as the carvings were carefully studied for variety in unity. The upper part of Mr. Adams’s house is par- ticularly instructive as proving what quiet yet interesting efiects can be produced STONE CARVING, HOUSE OF HENRY ADAMS, WASHINGTON. 108 IIENBY HOBSON RICHARDSON by the diversified arrangement of plain bricks. As a whole this fogade is both suc- cessfnl and original. The imposed conditions arc partly responsible for the fact that the adjoining side of Mr. Hay’s house docs not combine with it quite hap- pily ; but it is inferior even as regards those details of treatment for which we SKETCH OF HOUSE FO*^ J. R. LIONBERGER, ST. LOUIS. must hold the artist altogether responsible. The main front of this house, however, including the entrance just described, is almost as good as Mr. Adams’s fagade and more imposing in effect. One gets a good idea of the scope of Richardson’s talent by turning from the rich dignity of this house to the utter simplicity — quite as artistic in its own way — of Mr. Adams’s stable. SKETCH OF HOUSE FOR FRANKLIN MACVEAGH, CHICAGO. In March, 1885, another large house, for Mr. B. H. Warder, was taken in hand in Washington. Although it stands in the middle of the block its plan is not determined by the usual straight fagade. The width of the lot — about sev- enty-six feet — permitted Richardson to recess nearly one half of the front to a • • .I1 f t ■ ■ ..y , i I *} C D WELLING-HO USES. 109 considerable distance. The space thus left free forms a carriage-entrance from which a great archway beneath the recessed wing gives access to the stables in the rear. The more prominent wing contains the great hall with the reception rooms and chief bedrooms above ; the other contains the dining-room and picture- gallery and the children’s apartments. The main staircase is very stately, with broad platforms and carved columns that have a charming effect from a window which opens upon them from the library alcove. The dining-room and picture- gallery are connected by archways supported on delicately ornamented shafts. The exterior is built of an almost white Ohio stone. Its design recalls a little that of the French chateau of Renaissance times. But the likeness is in outline PLAN OF HOUSE FOR J. J. GLESSNER, CHICAGO. only. The treatment is characteristic of Richardson’s latest manner, to which a study of Byzantine motives gave a much greater delicacy than had marked his earlier work. As the house forms but two sides of its court-yard, and as the third is formed by the plain projecting wall of the adjoining house, there is a lack of completeness in the effect which is somewhat disturbing. But despite this fact the design has great nobility and elegance as well as individuality, and clearly expresses a beautiful and convenient interior. 110 HENRY HOBSON lUCHARBSON, During the year 1885 Richardson was coininissioned to build three more large city houses — one in St. Louis and two in Chicago. They had barely been begun at the time of his death, hut the illustrations represent his matured intentions and the present aspect of the huildings. The design for Mr. Glessner’s house in Chicago gave Richardson peculiar satisfaction. The lot was of large size hut instead of placing the house in the middle of it he placed it on the street lines and threw all the remaining space into an inclosed court-yard. Here the carriage- approach ends after passing under a great archway, and here are balconies and loggias upon which the chief apartments open. Richardson considered the scheme SKETCH OF HOUSE FOR W. H. GRATWICK, BUFFALO. fortunate both as affording a retirement not often secured in our city dwellings and as allowing him to build on the side street one of those plain massive walls in which he always delighted. Richardson has been made known in England by a house which he designed just before his death for Professor Hid^ert Herkomer. It is possible, howeyer, that the work does not represent him as well as we should wish. The plan had already been decided upon when he was asked to put the exterior into shape ; and he was so apt to modify a design in the process of construction that it is diffi- cult to be sure of the success of one which was not executed under his own eye or that of a trusted assistant. The last commission he accepted, two months before his death, was to build a house at Buffalo for Mr. William II . Gratwick. As a class, Richardson’s dwelling-houses are less remarkable than his public or his commercial buildings. Yet if they alone had borne witness to his talent he would have proved himself an artist of unusual strength and skill. Perhaps no one of them can be called a perfect example of success in its own direction, as we may use the words when speaking of the Quincy Library or the Pittsburgh Court- house or the Field Building or Sever Hall. But his last houses were distinctly his best, and we may believe that had he lived a few yeans longer he would have improved even upon these. The greatest obstacle which confronted him in this path was gradually being overcome — that impulse towards the massive, grand, and monumental which was the very gift which made him great in other paths. CHAPTER XVII. An artist cannot be tested as we must test almost every other man — by the average success of his re- sults. The artist has a right to be called as great as his very greatest work. Yet the in ore frequently he succeeds, the higher, of course, we esteem his power. If Richardson had built nothing good but the Pittsburgh Court-house he would still be entitled to the name of a great architect ; but it is only when we consider all his works together, as in a chronological panorama, that we realize the strength of his endowment. ’ We cannot help judging them by a stricter standard than we apply to the works of others, yet even so we are astonished to find how few of them fiill below a level of great excellence. The fact seems the more remarkable when we note the versatility they reveal. This quality has sometimes been denied to Richardson ; but only by those to whom versatility means a constant change in the garments of thought, not a constant freshness in thought itself. After his art matured he adhered to a single style. Rut to deny his versatility for this reason is as unjust as it would be to deny a poet’s because he had expressed ideas of wide diversity in a dramatic or a lyric or an epic form alone. When, moreover, we analyze the similarity in style which marks Richardson’s maturer works, we find that it cannot be called uniformity. It reduces itself to terms of very broad significance. Neither in deciding upon general outlines and proportions, nor in choosing special features, nor in elaborat- ing details, did he work after set schemes or narrow rules. A man who could immediately follow up so romantic a structure as Trinity Church with so sedate a one as Sever Hall, and who could design in the same year the picturesquely varied Chamber of Commerce and the grandly monotonous Field Building, cannot be accused of mannerism. The more we study Richardson’s works the more we feel that something deej^er than style constitutes their individuality — that we must look behind his round arches and square - sectioned openings, his stone CHARACTERISTICS AS AN ARTIST. 112 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON. mullions, his arcades and loggias, and his Byzantinesque decoration to find the fundamental qualities which really reveal him. These qualities are : Strength in conception ; clearness in expression ; breadth in treatment ; imagination ; and a love for repose and massive dignity of aspect, and often for an effect which in the widest meaning of the Avord Ave may call “ romantic.” The first is the most fundamental and important quality, and upon it depends to a very large degree the in-escnce of the others. Tlie chief thing Avhich made Richardson’s Avorks alike among themselves and unlike the AVorks of almost all his contemporaries Avas his poAver to conceive a building as a Avhole, and to preserve the integrity of his conception no matter hoAV various might he the features or hoAv profuse the decoration he employed. Each of his host buildings is an organism, an entity, a coherent vital Avhole. Reduce it by distance to a mere silhouette against the sky, or draAV it doAvn to a thumb-nail sketch, and it Avill still he the same, still he itself; yet the nearer Ave approach it the more its individuality Avill he emphasized. This is because its character de- pends upon no one feature, no one line, hut upon the concord of all and the vigor of the impression Avhich all together give. No feature is of dominant imjAortance, hut each is of the right relative importance from any given point of vioAV, and all are vitally fused together ; — the building seems to have groAvn, developed, ex- panded like a plant. We cannot dismember it in thought Avithout hurting both Avhat Ave leave and Avhat Ave take aAvay ; and Avhether avc study it up or doAvn — from particulars to generals or from generals to particulars — there is no point Avhere conception seems to end and mere treatment to begin. It would be as impossible, Avithout injuring the conception, to change the surface character of the Avails or the distribution of the ornament, as to alter the relative proportions of Avails and roof or the size and position of the chief constructional features. When these facts are perceived together Avith the great dificrence in general aim which exists hetAveen Richardson’s best buildings, his versatility is by implication con- fessed. It matters nothing that he drenv from the same historic source most of the elements Avith Avhich he built church and Avarehouse, civic palace and country cottage. In each case a radically different idea Avas needed and in each case it came to him. In each case, too, it came as a strikingly appropriate idea. While conceiving and developing a structure as a Avhole, he Avorked from the inside out, not from the outside in. The nature of the service it should render Avas his first thought, its plan his next ; and these rule his exterior in its major and its minor features. AYe do not find him taking schemes or features Avhich Avere heautiful because appropriate in one building and trying to make them beautiful in another at the expense of fitness ; and there is no favorite feature he does not sacrifice if fitness demands — not the last trace of decoration, not the visible roof Avhich he loved to make so prominent, nor the round arch itself. Of course he sometimes sinned against perfect appropriateness of expression, but his slips Avere foAV, and the longer he lived the rarer they became. Here lies the true greatness of Richardson’s Avorks — in the fixet that they are true conceptions, clearly expressing an idea as appropriate as vigorous. The great value of the Quincy Library, for instance, or of the Pittsburgh Court-house, or — at the other end of the scale ^ — of the Marion CHARACTERISTICS AS AN ARTIST. 113 cottage, lies in the fact that it is a coherent vital entity and at the same time a siDeaking entity — unmistakably a library, a municipal palace, a gentleman’s seaside home. Another fundamental quality in Richardson’s work is breadth of treatment. It is this which gives his results their air of “ bigness ” — not the actual size which in many of them chances to be great. Artistically speaking, his smallest structures are as big as his largest, and they are so because they are as largely treated. Whatever his faults he never worked in a small, hesitating, feeble way. Clear- ness in aim and strength in rendering were the gods of his idolatry in art. If combined with refinement, so much the better ; if not, they were still to be pre- ferred to refinement without them. We are siire that he excused the faults of a Rubens on canvas, of a Michael Angelo in architecture, but never those of a painter who had microscopically elaborated a weak conception, of an architect who had delicately adorned a fabric that was not in the true sense a building. In his own work he was over-exuberant at times, but, so to say, with a broad brush and a vigorous touch, and with that truly architectural instinct which makes ornament accentuate the meaning of constructional lines. Of course it was the strength of his basic conception which encouraged him to be thus broad and definite in treatment. There was no temptation to fritter away his effect when he felt that his fundamental idea would impress the imagination and charm the eye. There was every reason why he should present this idea as frankly as possible, either in bold simplicity or with lavish decoration which emphasized leading lines and important features. I have said that the greatness of his work rests first of all upon the strength and the appropriateness of his conceptions ; but perhaps the breadth of treatment through which they were exj^ressed is as important a quality. Certainly it is as rare a quality in modern art. The strong imaginative power which Richardson’s works reveal should perhaps not be called a separate characteristic, being implied in the existence of those just named. Yet we realize it most fully when Ave understand not only how strong and vital his conceptions are and how unlike each other, but how unlike they most often are to the conceptions of any earlier day or of modern men in any other land. He took the elements of the language with Avhich he voiced his thoughts from other thinkers, but his thoughts Avere his OAvn. Whenever fitness demanded — and with our novel needs this Avas very often the case — he took counsel of his OAvn imagination, began at the bottom of the jAroblem, and produced a result Avhich differed essentially from all others. Yet he Avas too true an artist to prize novel- ties as such, and he had too strong a faith in the individuality of his talent to fear that if he Avere not “ original ” he would not seem himself. He never needlessly sought for a neAv conception. It could never have occurred to him to Avish merely to do something unlike Avhat his predecessors had done or Avhat he himself had already done. When a jAroblem presented itself Avhich Avas similar to some pre- ceding problem, he frankly re-adapted the same idea Avliich had already served. His versatility develojAed in the only Avay that it could have developed hand-in- hand Avith excellence — through the effort to fulfill the given task in the best pos- sible manner, to find clear and full expression for the appropriate idea. HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON lU Wlien such qualities as these are found conspicuous and persistent in an artist’s ■work, his choice of style seems a matter of secondary importance. His thoughts have made his -work great and individual, not the language in which he has expressed them. Yet Richardson’s choice of language, was by no means fortuitous or without deep and interesting significance. It is true that working in some other style he might as clearly have shown us the value of definiteness in concep- tion and breadth in treatment, of harmonious effects of color and strong effects of light and shade ; the beauty of a roof, the meaning of a wall ; the nature ’of good surfiice treatment and of decoration which explains construction. But his chosen style was essentially favorable to the teaching of such lessons, as well as to the display of that romantic kind of beauty for which he had so strong a liking. And better than any other style it could meet his fundamental love for massiveness and repose.^ When he recognized the serviceableness of its forms he instinctively preferred to study them in their southern developments. His temperament was essentially a southern one — loving breadth and light and color, yariety and luxuriance, not cold grandeur, solemnity, and mystery. Refinement was not one of his most fun- damental qualities as an artist. Yet his steady development towards a refined simplicity coidd not have had its starting-point in a paraphrase of Norman work. It could only have begun with such a paraphrase of southern Romanesque as we •see in the Woburn Library. In matters of treatment Richardson’s attitude towards the precedents of ancient art was the same as in matters of conception. He studied them with love and care but in no slavish, idolatrous mood, and from a practical or purely aesthetic, not from an antiquarian standpoint. He viewed them as the work of men of like nature with himself, not of demi-gods inspired to a quality of performance which modern men need not try to improve upon. They were helps for him not fetishes, starting-points not patterns. What he wanted was their aid in building a good structure, not their prescriptions how to build a “ scholarly ” one. He looked upon them as a dictionary not as a grammar, and still less as a collection of attractive features which might be stowed awaiy in the mind like quotations isolated from their context. None of his pupils ever heard him say, “ This is a charming thing — some day we must manage to use it.” The context, he knew, was what made the worth of an architectural phrase. Only when a man is sure of ^ By repose is not here imjilied quietness in the sense of simplicity of surface and a moderate number of fea- tures, but structural repose — repose of line and mass, re- pose in the form of features ; and it is not too much to say that Richardson could best secure this quality by develop- ing the suggestions of Romanesque art. Greek art, mak- ing all its lines straight and its horizontal accentuations preponderant, does not express repose so much as great strength gracefully hearing a downward pressing load. We realize the fact when we study Egyptian art, which is similar in essence to Greek, minus the grace. Gothic art, accenting vertical lines, actually expresses motion — an upward lifting as of a growing tree ; so much so that when, as in its Venetian forms, it strives to be more rest- ful, we feel that it is not really itself, that it is trying to achieve a result which could have been more perfectly secured with round arches. Roman art, when it passed from the engineer’s into the artist’s hand, was not a simple concrete scheme, but a splendid bastard mingling of two alien schemes. Only when it was again stripped of its Greek overlay did it clearly reveal its intrinsic qualities. It is in Romanesque art only, and in those early Renais- sance modes which were directly based upon it, that we find that balance between vertical and horizontal accentu- ations which means perfect repose. The semicircle de- mands neither that ascending lines nor that retreating lines shall preponderate ; and in itself it is neither passive like the lintel nor soaring like the pointed arch. It seems to have grown to its due bearing power and thus to re- main, vital yet restful, making no effort either to resist downward pressure or to press upward itself. CHARACTERISTICS AS AN ARTIST. 115 the general meaning he wants to express, the general effect he wants to produce, can he turn to his predecessors for assistance. In minor as in major matters Richardson invented when he was obliged to and borrowed when he could. He took the Romanesque art of the south of France as his chief but not as his only quarry. He was ready to draw from other sources any special features which a special need required ; — later mediasval fashions furnished him with much material at the outset of his life, and towards its end he was more and more attracted by Byzantine forms and decorations. Whatever he took he remodeled as freely as he saw fit, and there was no more effort to conceal his alter- ings than his borrowings. What he wished was simply that to an intelligent eye his work should look right in the outcome ; and if it did, then he knew it was right, though to a dull eye it might seem a copy or though to an antiquarian eye all the precedents of all the ages might seem to protest against it. Sometimes, of course, he was not entirely successful in his adaptations. But often he was, as in that tower of Trinity, the genesis of which has been described at length because it so clearly typifies his constant way of working. No one could mistake this tower for an ancient one, wherever it might chance to stand. Yet the impression it pro- duces is similar to that which good ancient works produce — an impression as of a vital, homogeneous entity. And, it cannot be too often said, this is the impres- sion made by all of Richardson’s best structures. Therefore, the more eclecticism apiDears when they are analyzed, the more cheering is their evidence with regard to the future of our art. In nothing did Richardson do us better service than in 23i’oving that the modern artist need not be cowed into a j^urist, straightened into an archseologist, crani 2 :)ed and confined within the limits of a single narrow stretch of by-gone years — or, on the other hand, thrown wholly on his own inventive jDOwers — if he would do work to satisfy and delight us as the men of early years satisfied and delighted themselves. The tendencies of American art have been chiefly towards a reckless inventiveness. Those of foreign art are too strongly towards mere scholasticism. But Richardson, keej^ihg to a middle i)ath, worked as those whom we call the demi-gods had worked. Eclecticism is more patent in his results than in theirs, for the store of j^recedents which lay open to him was vastly wider than that uf)on which any of them could draw. But in sj^irit his process was the same as theirs. Many other modern artists have shared this spirit theoretically but very few have had the jDower to exj)ress it in work which can be com23ared with his for excellence. Few, indeed, have had the boldness to atteni])t the task as frankly. It is hard to say which hict proves Richardson’s indei)endcnce of mind and self-trust more — the fact that he dared so visibly to borrow the gen- eral scheme of so famous a j)iece of work as the Salamanca tower, or the fact that having borrowed it he dared to remould it with so radical a hand. One success of this kind is a better lesson for after-comers than a hundred correct and schol- arly 2 )lagiarisms. Nor need we ask the antiquary whether or no it is a success. Perhaps he might say that the builders of Salamanca would not have ai)i)roved of the tower of Trinity. But very likely the builders of the Parthenon or even of the Pantheon would not have approved of Salamanca. The world has had too much — infinitely too much — of such ai)pcals to the artistic conscience of the past. It is time to remember that the j)ast itself never had an}" artistic IIG HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON conscience except that of the enrrent age, and that we in our turn should make the present onr judge — or that if we look outside the present it should be forward and not back. The true question to be asked with regard to work like Richard- son’s is whether it has those fiindamental qualities of harinony, vitality, appropri- ateness, meaning, and beauty which will make it seem good in the eyes of men born seven hundred years from now. How it would have looked in the eyes of men born seven hundred years ago — incapable of understanding onr conditions, of sympathizing with our tastes, of seeing the currents which have been all this time at Avork in science and in art — is indeed a matter of small concern. Yet, as has been hinted, there is another danger besides that which lies in an overweening respect for the past. W e Americans are more ready than the rest of the Avorld to acknoAvledge that adaptation, not imitation, should be the artist’s for- mula. But Ave do not realize all that is meant by our oavii Avords when we add that of course adaptation must be sensible and skillful. We do not realize that it needs not only more poAver but more knoAvledge and labor to adapt well than to copy AA ell. Here again Richardson’s example is infinitely instructive. He adapted Avell — so Avell that the process Avas a creative one in the truest sense of the Avord — because he had thoroughly studied the principles of his art, and because he practiced it Avith an exceptional degree of love and patience. CHAPTER XVIII. CHARACTERISTICS AS AN ARTIST. W ITH regard to the benefit which Richardson received from his long early training, I cannot do better than quote the words of a brother archi- tect : ^ — “ Richardson stands as a beacon light before the community, not only as a producer of distinguished architecture, but as a warning to impatient aspirants and their guardians against loose fancies on the subject of the education of the architect. He was no exemplar of the popular notion that all that creative genius has to do is to stretch forth its hand, however untrained, to accomplish everything that its heaven-born instinct impels it to. Poeta nascitur, non Jit, it is true, but once horn he cannot voice himself without mastering the symbols and signs of expression, and the more completely he mas- ters them the more thoroughly and recognizably he will project himself. When once Richardson had passed through the chrysalis stage, he could not help design- ing in a grand way because he was a man of large calibre, of broad scope, and of lavish temperament. But he served a long apprenticeship, quite beyond the twelve or twenty-four months assigned by the average American parent as the unproductive pupillary stage of the gifted offsjiring. . . . The Ecole course tends chiefly ... to classic Renaissance expression, but that counted for little. The main thing is to get the discipline. The teacher’s bias is nearly immaterial. Richardson’s bent led him before long to handle the grammar of a certain archi- tectural school closer than any other, though he almost always allowed himself entire freedom in the handling. But if by any chance his instincts or moods had led him to take hold of some other vehicle of expression than the one which soon became his choice, his training, we may be sure, would have stood him in equally good stead, and he would have equally mastered and equally illustrated it.” It is more difficult to explain the patient enthusiasm of Richardson’s labor to those who never had the chance to follow — either at the time or afterwards in drawings and descriptions — the genesis of one of his great structures. When a new problem appealed to him, some definite idea of a solution was very quickly ^ A. J. Bloor, ill The Building Budget, July, 1886. 118 HENFiY HOBSON BICHAEDSON born. But he was not quick to call it a good idea except in so far as it might seem rich in possibilities of improvement. Speaking of some fresh scheme he often said, “It is good, is n’t it t But I mean to make it better. I don’t see how just yet, but I shall find out.” Meanwhile he seemed less to think about it than to wait for suggestions to present themselves. “ I wait,” he would say, “ and go to bed on it, and carry it about with me while I am doing other things, and don’t try to worry it out ; and then after a while it comes.” The artist as opposed to the manufacturer of art speaks in words like these ; but it is only the well-trained artist who can be thus semi-passive to good purpose, and who, when the inspiration has come, will realize that it is but the beginning of the matter. Richardson never forgot that only time and efibrt can turn a “good idea” into a good piece of work. It has been shown — though only in part — how he labored over Trinity Church, and how different its present asj^ect is from his first designs. So he always labored — not too proud to see when he had started wrong or too indolent to begin afresh, never satisfied with a thing which others found good if he could better it, never feeling himself beyond the necessity for a perpetual self- criticism broad in reach and minute in application, always open to fresh inspira- tions, always ready to take intelligent hints from his subordinates, always eager and ardent yet always trying to check impulse by reason. As his intelligence developed and his experience increased, his processes grew quicker and, naturally, left behind them less conspicuous traces than have been preserved in the case of Trinity. But they were always the same processes and always brought increase of excellence, as may be seen by comparing the competitive designs for the Pitts- burgh Court-house with the finished building. “About a fortnight before Richardson’s death,” writes Mr. Frederick Law Olmsted, “ I was with him in Washington, and it is remarkable that he was led to speak in this last intervieAV that I had with him of a point of professional economy of Avhich he had been led to speak (by seeing a lot of rough tracings on a draAving- board) the first time he came to my house fifteen years before. “When I came into his room in Washington he was in a reclining-chair, so exhausted after an attempt to take the air in a carriage that he had been for some time, as he explained, on the verge of losing consciousness. His eyes Avere blood- shot, his face red, his forehead studded Avith beads of sweat. He spoke feebly, hesitatingly, and Avith a scarcely intelligible husky utterance. While in this con- dition — I had been urging him and he had promised to go home the next day — a client came in. Something Avas said of the draAvings of the structure Richard- son Avas building for him, and then of the many successive draAvings that had been made, revising the preliminary studies, the design ahvays gaining as a turn of one detail led to the reconsideration of another, the gain being, as Avas intimated, steadily in the direction of simplification. Going on from this, Richardson re- peated Avhat he had first said to me at Staten Island. This Avas, in effect, that the most beguiling and dangerous of all an architect’s appliances Avas the T-square, and the most valuable Avere tracing-paper and india-rubber. Nothing like tracing over tracing, a hundred times. There Avas no virtue in an architect more to be cultivated and cherished than a willing spirit to Avaste draAvings. Never, never, till the thing was in stone beyond recovery, should the slightest indisposition be CHARACTERISTICS AS AN ARTIST. 119 indulged to review, reconsider, and revise every particle of his work, to throw away his most enjoyed drawing the moment he felt it in him to better its design. “ From something like this he went on discussing for the better j^art of an hour, growing to sit up erect, his voice becoming clear, his utterance emphatic, his eyes flashing, smiling, laughing like a hoy, really hilarious, much as in some of our all-night debates years ago in Albany when he was yet a lithe, active, healthy fellow. I was afraid it would he too much for him, and, rising to go, said, ‘ Eid- litz asked me to let him know how I found you : I shall have to tell him, never better in your life ; ’ and he laughingly assented.” One 23hrase of Richardson’s, repeated here, hints at something which it is impor- tant to make jDlain. An architect’s revisings, he believed, should never end until his building is “ in stone, beyond recovery ; ” and he exemi^lifled this belief by altering much and often after construction had been actually begun. No one could have used j)rej3aratory pencil and pajoer more conscientiously, yet it was one of his firmest dogmas that they could not be imj)licitly trusted. If his scorn was great for the recklessness which says. No matter about the drawings ^ — we can set things right as we build, it would have been just as great for the closet-spirit which should say. No matter how the work is looking as it grows — it was all right on pajDer. “ The architect,” he often exjDlained, “ acts on his building, but his build- ing reacts on him — helps to build itself. His work is plastic work, and, like the sculjitor’s, cannot be finished in a drawing. It cannot be fully judged excejDt in concrete shape and color, amid actual lights and shadows and its own f>articular surroundings ; and if when it is begun it fails to look as it should, it is not only the architect’s privilege but his duty to alter it in any way he can.” Therefore he kept his judgment awake until his last stone was set and his last touch of dec- oration had been given. Therefore, too, he thought needful those long frequent hurried journeys which must have done so much to sap his strength. His rejire- sentatives on the ground were cajDable and conscientious. He knew that he could trust them to carry out a design quite faithfully. But he could trust only his own eye to see whether the design was carrying itself out well or not, and so would leave the sick-room to find how some far-off building looked which he had seen but a few weeks before. As long as he possibly could he kept up his custom of making monthly tours through all the distant towns where he had work under way ; and when journeys were at last forbidden he sent one of his chief assistants to bring him back verbal rejiorts, and exacted daily detailed letters by means of which he could follow the placing of every stone. There are many architects, I believe, who hold a different creed from the one which Richardson exemplified. They jDoint with pride to the exact correspond- ence between their studies and their completed buildings while Richardson delighted to exj^lain the disj^arities in his. It would he idle to try to lay down rules of right and wrong as decisive between such opposite ways of thinking ; yet the j)aramount success of Richardson’s results should at least he taken into account by those whose own theories and methods are not yet established. The chief faults which have been charged against Richardson as an artist are : Extravagance ; a willingness to secure a striking effect at the cost of conscientious 120 IIENFiY HOBSON lUClIARDSON care for all parts of a building ; a neglect for the expression of construction ; and a lack of rcfineincnt. In one sense Richardson was certainly extravagant — or, to speak more exactly, lavish. He always wished to spend enough money on a building to make it per- fect, and his ideas of perfection were high. In consequence, he often persuaded his clients into a larger outlay than they had anticipated. But if thus to persuade clients is not exactly a virtue it is at least a common sin — a sin into which almost every artist falls who has any skill in argument. And Richardson was not extravagant in the sense of wasting the money he secured. Few of his clients will deny that, whether or no they were right in sj)ending so much money, they received a fidl return in greater beauty for the greater outlay. His ideas of perfection, I rejDcat, were high. They often included the richest decoration and always that solidity which means costly methods of construction. His railroad stations cost a great deal more than had ever before been paid for sta- tions of their size ; his commercial structures were built throughout of stone ; and his Capitol apartments are sumptuous to an unj^recedented degree. But in neither case did he Avaste money in realizing an aim which might have been more cheaply realized, and in neither Avas the aim inappropriate to the purpose of the building. It is true that his stations might have been cheaper and still have been good ; but it is not true that if they had been cheaper they Avould have been as beautiful, still less that they ought to have been cheaper in order to be excellent. The case is just the same Avith his commercial work if Ave take the Field Building as representative of his full doA^elopment ; and even the Capitol apartments are not too sumptuous for the fitting accommodation of the representatives of a com- moiiAvealth so rich and poAverful as Ncav York. They might have been less costly but there is no intrinsic, artistic reason Avhy they should have been. It should also be said that cases Avere not rare in Avhich Richardson paid the closest regard to questions of economy. The very Ioav cost of his successful little house at Marion has been referred to, and his other country houses Avere also cheap considering their excellence. The Baptist Church at NcAvton Avas given to him to build after several other architects had decided that no good church could be built for the stipulated sum ; and he built it throughout of stone. Even the Field Building Avould have been much less costly had he carried out the first intention, Avhich he thoroughly approved, and constructed it of brick. It Avas in ansAA er to his client’s Avish that he substituted stone and recast the draAvings he had already jArepared.^ He did not often insist upon the costlier material as an absolute necessity ; but Avhen the character of the building permitted he Avas ahvays eager to use it, and he always did insist upon some kind of material and of treatment Avhich should be commensurate in dignity Avith the given place and purpose. We have very good reason, therefore, to rejoice that Richardson often secured the chance to make his buildings as sumptuous as appropriateness alloAved. Our public needed to be taught tAvo complementary truths — that architectural excel- lence need not ahvays be costly, and that some kinds of architectural excellence cannot be cheap. It needed a sight of beautiful simplicity to conAunce it that ^ As it stands the Field Building cost $800,000. The Chamber of Commerce will cost about $500,000. CHARACTERISTICS AS AN ARTIST 121 neither nakedness nor cheap elaboration should ever be allowed ; but it also needed a sight of really rich monumental beauty to convince it that niggardly attempts at grandeur are absurd. The charge that Richardson was apt to neglect some parts of his buildings in order to secure the effectiveness of other parts seems merely to mean a belief that his exteriors are more complete and beautiful than his interiors. No belief could be more mistaken ; — as a rule they are quite as carefully conceived and quite as carefully completed. They show the same harmony between part and part and the same uniting of all parts to produce a single impression. In this respect their influence has been very good, especially as regards those private inte- riors where we are apt to think that interest must mean variety, and that the character of different ajiartments cannot be explained without a change of style. Richardson always made his interiors consistent in style, and, whenever he had his own way, he made them as beautiful as consistency to the exteriors prescribed. That this fact is too commonly disputed is due in part to ignorance — an exterior is much more often seen than an interior and much more often portrayed ; but it is also due in part to the j^erennial temiDtation which besets a critic to dAvell more upon occasional failures than upon frequent virtues. Some of Richardson’s inte- riors are certainly bare and j)oor in effect as compared with the outside of the buildings, and a great deal has been said about the most conspicuous case in point — the Albany City Hall. Richardson explained this case by saying that as the money at command was not sufficient to make the whole building what it should have been, he preferred to j^erfect the exterior at the exjDense of the interior rather than let both suffer together ; and he would have held a similar exj^lana- tion good in any other case, although I think that with a dwelling-house he would have chosen the interior as entitled to his preference. Whether it is a justifiable explanation or not — whether it argues a right adherence to his artistic ideals or an excessive wish to show himself at his best — is a question that the reader can decide for himself. But it includes the whole question as to Richardson’s artistic conscientiousness. No one can think that he willingly neglected or degraded any part of any piece of work, or that he was unable to see when any part failed to equal the rest. There are mistakes in his buildings, of course, and they are sometimes of a sort which seems to sacrifice a practical to an artistic requirement — as when we find that one or two of his libraries and stations are not quite well enough lighted, and remember his love for broad, plain fields of wall and for heavy mullions and transoms. But I do not think there is any j:>roof that he ever made such mistakes of deliberate intention ; and they did not occur in his latest years. In how far Richardson sinned against architectural ethics by concealing or misrepresenting his constructional expedients is too technical a question to be examined here. It may be said, however, that the charge seems to rest solely upon his treatment of the interior of Trinity Church. It is certainly needless to add that such sins as the misrepresentation of a plan by an exterior, or the mendacious imitation of one material in another, cannot be laid to his account. Judged by modern standards he seems singularly conscientious in such matters. 122 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON. The final charge — that Richardson’s work lacks refinement — is true as regards many of his earlier productions. But had the reverse been true he would have been either a weaker artist or a miracle among men. If he had cared for refine- ment more than for clearness and force, it would have been a proof of that innate feebleness out of which nothing strong can ever grow ; and if, in breaking a new path, in formulating a new architectural language, he had been able to secure all excellences together and make executive skill go hand-in-hand with creative power from the very outset, we should be forced to credit him with an almost superhuman gift. His progress was as steadily from crudeness and rough vigor to refinement as it was from over-elaboration to simplicity. The growing refinement of his feeling for general forms shows in his growing love for serenity and symme- try. The “ romantic ” side of his nature still spoke in such a work as the Chamber of Commerce, hut far more reticently than in those earlier efibrts which have been called “ barbaric,” and there is no trace or hint of it in the almost classic severity and repose of the Pittsburgh Court-house. The same progress is as apparent in individual features — no later work shows such exaggerated features as the dwarf yet titanic columns of the North Easton Town Hall — ^ and in decorative details. At the outset his decoration had been too emphatic in scale and too loose in execution, while his “ barbaric ” impulses had found expression in Gothicizing monsters and conspicuous gargoyles. But a more modern, which also means a more classic, spirit gradually possessed him. The delicate influence of Byzantine decoration was gradually absorbed, and no architect of our time has done work which is more pure and lovely than Richardson’s wood-carvings at Quincy, more graceful yet spirited than his sculptures in the senate chamber, more simple and elegant than the fittings in some of his houses, more quiet and dignified than the plain capitals which his use of granite made appropriate at Pittsburgh. If there is a fault in the Field Building it came from his wish to avoid any over-em- phatic accent ; — the cornice might perhaps have been bolder in section and in motive. In fact, when we look at Richardson’s best decoration we wonder how so much delicacy of thought and touch could have been evolved from the same mind which showed such strength in matters of general treatment ; and when we look at any one of his latest buildings, we wonder how in that short life his exu- berant spirit could have learned so large a measure of self-restraint, serenity, and good taste. SKETCH FOR A HALL. LIBRARY OF H. H. RICHARDSON, t I CHAPTER XIX. METHODS OF TEACHING. After dissolving his partnershij) with Mr. Gambrill, Richardson never thought of forming another. It is impossible to imagine him in mature life as willing to work ui^on equal terms with any one else. He found it hard enough to bear the checks and limitations which came to him from his clients, and could not have con- sented to a division of authority in his office or have held himself accounta- ble to any one in matters of art or business ; he was too much the born autocrat and his individual ideas and personal fame had grown too dear to him. Yet he had especial need of such help as most architects get from their partners, and he received it from the devoted service of a large band of scholars the ablest of whom he quickly developed into competent assistants. The burden of initiative impulse, constant criticism, and final oversight which he kept for his own shoulders implied extraordinary vigor and fiexibility of mind. But the share of executive work and temporary responsibility which it was impos- sible for him to retain could only have been borne by men who had been trained in his own ideas, and in whose knowledge, judgment, and sympathy he could confide. In this j^ushing, eager land the temptation to a precocious assertion of independence is so strong that it was surprising and delightful to find an office like Richardson’s — composed of an unusual number of students, Avorking in an unusually independent Avay, yet to a singular degree a unit in feeling, effort, and production. It Avas no great government atelier supported and controlled by offi- cial 2)restige and direction. ' The smallest lArovincial office aa as not more nnallied and private. Yet it Avas filled Avith a score of Avorkers ranging in age and grade from the boyish novice up to the capable, exjierienced artist, all fraternally bound together and loyally devoted to their chief, all laboring togetlier on Avork Avhicli had a single inspiration and a common accent, and each feeling a personal jiride in results which the Avorld kneAV as the master’s only. Tavo or tliree of Richardson’s pupils remained Avith him for excojitionally long periods, but in general their term PLAN OF CATHEDRAL CHURCH. iAuiograph Sketch hy H. H. HichanUon.) 124 HENBY HOBSON PiICIIABDSON of service was not more than six or seven years. It was the character of their service, the spirit in which it was rendered, and the master’s method of control- ling it, A^'hich made this office so different from others. Kichardson was a born teacher as well as leader, and was the most interestins: and sympathetic of masters. Young men rarely speak of a former “ chief” as his sj^cak of him — with so much professional admiration joined to so much personal PLAN OF TRINITY CHURCH. {Autograph Sketch by II. H. liichardsonO gratitude and affection. They know and delight to confess that much as they did for him he did more for them, and was their warm friend as well as their capable, devoted instructor. The personal bond between them would under any condi- tions have been strong, but was drawn closer still by the way in which Richard- son’s home and office were connected. The house in Brookline to which he removed while Trinity was being built was a simple, old-fashioned dwelling, with an acre or two of well-shaded ground about it. On the left of the entrance were the parlor and dining-room with a library beyond, and on the right was an unused chamber. This last Avas appropriated to Avorking purposes, and was Richardson’s only office for some time after he had given up the one in NeAV York. When more room Avas needed the library Avas taken, the students having to pass from one apartment to the other through the family liAing-rooms. Then the room first used Avas abandoned, and an office for his men Avas built out beyond the library, AAdiich became Richardson’s private study ; and as the staff increased from year to year the general office Avas extended in an irregular line trending back parallel to the kitchen Aving of the house. The addi- tions thus made Avere of the simplest character, mere Ioav working-cells Avhich opened on one side into a long passage-Avay. But a foAv years before his death Richardson added to them at the ffirther end a large and sumptuous library of semi-fireproof construction ; and the irregular space thus inclosed by the Avails of house and office and library Avas eventually roofed in and lighted from above, making a great Avork-room on the Avide Avails of Avhich the largest draAvings could be displayed. METHODS OF TEACHING. 125 It was a curious and most interesting experience to pass from the house into the long passage-way with the “ coops,” as the students called them, on one hand and the big work-room on the other, all filled with busy draughtsmen, and then suddenly to come into the beautiful library which was so expressive of the master’s tastes and occujoations. It is a large, low-ceiled room from which by a wide arch- way opens a smaller study. The vast recessed fire-place with its old Yenetian landier of wrought-iron, the low book-cases filled with costly architectural works and hundreds of carefully-arranged i)hotographs, the table twelve foet square piled with objects of beauty and of use, the huge comfortable window-seats and chairs and sofas, and the walls lined with photographs and drawings, were entirely appro- jDi’iate to the needs and likings of a man who loved beauty and work in equal measure, and whq liked quite as well to have space and comfort and “ everything big ” about him. Even at first sight Richardson’s library had not the aspect of those rooms filled to overflowing with miscellaneous bric-a-brac which in recent years we have come to know so well. It Avas just as full and its contents Avere just as varied, but the general effect Avas harmonious and restful ; there Avas no rub- bish among the things Avhich professed to be Avorks of art, there Avere no ugly objects of utility, and each item bore Avitness to the strong personal tastes and the actual material or professional needs of the OAvner. It Avas evidently in the first place a room to Avork in, although it Avas so charming a room to lounge in that even the dasual visitor was loath to leave it. Its contents Avere the tools of its OAvner, and its charm Avas the natural outcome of the fact that his Avork Avas art. Superfi- cially the library was in striking contrast to the offices through AAdiich one entered it, but essentially there Avas no contrast. The one Avas simply the result and complement of the others, a splendid flower into Avhich their utilitarianism had appropriately bloomed. And the Avhole place — house, offices, and library together — was so characteristic of Richardson that one can hardly think of it to-day as occupied by any one else, or find in it half the interest and charm Avliich Avcrc so singularly potent Avhile he lived. It expressed his energy and his success as clearly as his peculiar needs and fancies, Avhile the unusual juxtaposition of home and Avork-shop kept one ahvays in mind of the precarious state (d* liealth Avhich had prescribed it, and therefore of the difficulties amid Avhich energy had })ersisted and success had been achieved. 126 IIENET HOBSON RICHARDSON Tliouo'li the union between house and office was more intimate at the hesinnino: tliaii alterwards, they were iiever really divided. The life of the home and the life of the office went on together. The rich library was as free to others as to Hichardson himself. His photographs were pinned about to decorate the “ coops,” — he said he liked “to guess at what was in a boy” by the choice he made among them. The elder students were constantly at his hearth and table lJ.'- ficoU, 0 // 9 - PLAN OF CITY HALL, ALBANY. {Autogi-ajth Sketch by H. H. Richardson.) and seemed as much a part of his family as the children whom he loved to have about him while at work and to take with him on his hurried business journeys. So close, in fact, was the union of domestic life and professional activity, so large and yet so corporate the troop of pupils, so devoted to their chief, so conscious of their dependence upon him and of his upon them, and of the profit and honor the connection brought them, that a visit to Brookline seemed to carry one leagues and ages away from the America of the moment. One could think of nothing but some great home-studio of those elder times when leadership and cooperation in art were the rule and not the exception, when the artist lived in his work and with his scholars, and when the names of “ master ” and “ pupil” had something of a paternal and a filial sound. OFFICES OF H. H. RICHARDSON. \ METHODS OF TEACHING. 127 Richardson profited much by such an order of things but his students profited not less. It gave them a sense of rooted existence, of mutual dependence, of intimate comradeship, of responsibility to collective interests, which both fostered and purified their ambition, and which cultivated them in a much broader way than professional education usually does, developing them as men and not only as artists. No tendeneies in modern life are more deplorable than those whieh lead us to disassociate our working from our living, which tempt us to think we can work well enough when we have studied just a little, and which persuade us that to do one kind of work we need only one kind of education. Against all these tendencies the spirit of Richardson’s office protested, and the good influence of its protest has been felt far outside the ranks of the men who labored there. His own personal ways of thinking and working assisted this happy influence. No young man could fail to respect his art or could approach it merely as a busi- ness in sight of a devotion so fervid, an ambition so far-reaching yet so conscien- tious in all that concerned the elaims of art as art. None could think lightly of his share in the common task when its importance was so vigorously impressed upon him. None eould be listless with such energy to reproaeh him, — it seemed easy to work even into the small hours of the night with a master who worked too in spite of pain and illness, cared for the comfort of his associates, was anxious to give them recreation whenever possible, and liked nothing better than to amuse and rest himself in their soeiety. Richardson asked a great deal of his assistants from day to day, but they never seemed to think that he asked too mueh or that they could too eagerly respond to his call. When important work was behind- hand no amount of labor daunted them. When he was on his mettle the office rose to the same pitch of intensity, and when he was rejoicing in some recent triumph his mood was reflected in every face about him. Even those elder pupils who had left him to start upon independent careers did not feel that the connec- tion had really been severed. His office still seemed their professional home and his triumphs their successes, and they were still ready to help him in any emergency. It is not unimportant to note that courtesy was one of Richardson’s weapons of conquest with his subordinates as well as with his friends. InuDetuous and imperative though he was at times, he was not imperious to the point of forget- ting that , his pupils were gentlemen, and did not fail to respect their dignity in his manner of address. When eritieising their work he fell into no moods of impatient fault-finding. I have heard more than one man speak of the wonderful patience of this naturally hasty spirit when some one’s work had “ gone wrong,” when some long-considered problem “ would not come,” when days and weeks had been spent over results which were good for little save to show what must not be done. Instead of saying bluntly that it must not be done he would say, “ Let us look into the thing and see what is the matter,” and follow up the words with patient critieisms, explanations, hints, and theorizings, so expressed as neither to wound the hearer’s feelings nor to damp his courage. An hour’s eonversation of this sort would leave a beginner inspirited, eager to throAV the old Avork aside and commence again, conscious less of the fact that he had failed than of the fact 128 HENRY HOBSON RICHARBSON that now lie was going to succeed. Not one or two but many trials were granted him until at last he did succeed ; and through them all Richardson’s policy would he the same — a policy of confidence, encouragement, and inspiration. Of course he tried to instill as the basis of every effort a feeling for the primary importance of the problem proposed. Its special intrinsic claims were to be the first things considered, and the precedents of ancient art were to be consulted only for the help they might give towards the free, full, and exact expression of these claims. He also insist- ently recommended his own practice of working even when not actually at work. The habit he had acquired in Paris of first designing in his head and then testing and elaborat- ing upon paper he thought indisiiensable to an architect. The fact that it saved time was its smallest recommendation. Its greatest was that it fostered a sense of the relative value of chief and minor things ; — for a man who begins his de- sign in his head must begin by finding a conception and by arranging principal features ; even if he should try he could hardly begin with details.^ But the peculiar character of Richardson’s teaching is best understood Avhen we learn how near to the bottom of a problem the student Avas told to begin and hoAv independently he Avas alloAved to attempt its develojA- ment. The basic conception Avas ahvays Richardson’s oAvn, but the simplest, rud- est penciled memoranda conveyed it to his executive. A little rough sketch half the size of his palm (those reproduced in this chapter are characteristic exam- jdcs) Avas given to the pupil even though he might be one Avho had just entered the office. “ Do what you can Avith it,” Richardson Avould say, .adding, of course, some general counsels and directions ; “ Do Avhat you can Avith it and then Ave shall see.” Then he Avonld not stajid at the pupil’s elboAV to direct his pencil, and Avonld not speedily correct or criticise him, but AVonld Avait until he seemed pretty ^ “ I believe,” writes a former pupil of Richardson’s, “ that it was Monsieur Andr^ who used sometimes to make his students study a problem without 2>encil or paper, then get up and describe verbally to him their solutions, and then go to the blackboard and draw out what they had described. If their solutions were not feasible or were not good, the fact became quickly apparent. They began, of course, with simple problems, advancing gradually to the most complicated. This habit, thus early acquired, Mr. Richardson considered of the greatest assistance and value. He has often told me that he did the greater part of his woi'k while driving, or on the cars, or, per- haps, in bed. Sometimes when I have been driving with him he would turn to me and talk of some problem he had in hand just as if he saw it drawn out before him, and discuss various possible solutions of a particular point in the design. He used often to urge upon his pupils the necessity for cultivating the same habit.” METHODS OF TEACHING. 129 well started on the road to success, or found himself in a tight place out of which only the master could help him. Even in the latter case he might get little that was definite from the master except in the way of negative criticism. If a scheme was palpably mistaken he was told to try for another. If a feature evidently ' would not do Richardson did not exactly 2 U’escribe the one which would do. He exidained why this one would not, and expected the pujDil to put his negative counsel into jDositive shajDe. And if he wished to direct him for assistance to his- torical examples, he did not say “ Study this building ” or “ Adapt that motive,” but “ In this book or that jjortfolio you may find something to heli:> you,” or, more often, “ You had better spend an hour with the photograj:)hs.” And all this was done with a care and j^ersistence yet a never-flagging fire which drove home the lesson that no time was too much, no pains were too great, to bestow upon the task, and that no task was too difficult to be mastered if due jDains and time were given. Such a method of guidance must often have seemed slow if suj3erficially judged — if judged by its immediate results with regard to the j^rogress of the design which chanced to be in hand. But we know how remarkable was its success in almost every instance, and we can understand how great was its ultimate profit to both master and pupil, — if the pupil had industry, talent, and recejDtive in- sight. Richardson did not waste his teaching upon incomiDetence. Many men benefited by it, but they were all men in whom from the first he had recognized the right sort of ability. If he had not recognized this, or if a novice had failed to win his personal as well as professional interest, a long term might have been spent to little purpose in his office. But jDupils whom he liked and in whose talent he believed learned of him as they could have learned of no one else. They learned something very different from the mere power to rej^eat in careful drawings the careless but comprehensive drawings of another, or to understand definite detailed instructions and reproduce them upon paper. They learned to think for themselves, to design for themselves, to decorate for themselves ; they learned to begin at the beginning and study a thing to the end ; they learned to make a building and not merely to make a drawing. They gained a great share of such experience as our architects most often do not gain until they start inde- pendently in their profession ; and they gained it all the better, all the more quickly, by working under supervision. They were not forced to struggle with the vague aims and crude ideals of inexperience, or to criticise their results by its feeble light. The settled aims and the lofty ideals of a great and j^racticed mas- ter were their goal, and though they were often left to discover for themselves a way to reach it, his illuminating criticisms and pregnant hints helj^ed without cramj^ing their efforts. Nor was Richardson’s teaching suspended when he left the draughting-table. He was careful to give his men all the chances he could to increase their general knowledge and develop their taste, and he never talked more or better than when he was among them. The Monday-night dinners which in his later years he organized to bring his actual and his former pupils around him were but the most conspicuous features in an intercourse few moments of which were sterile. Ilis conversation never wandered long from the things he had most at heart, and 130 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON though it was never didactic it was always doctrinal. Whether he talked of some special piece of work just then under way, of some still nebulous future scheme, of his own early struggles, of foreign sights, of home necessities, or of the artist’s life and tasks in general, he showed the same serious, noble breadth of view, the same enthusiastic, eager, yet reverent spirit. No man was less of a pedant, and he en- joyed a joke, like the youngest ; but a jest about art or a light word spoken of the artist’s duties hurt him as a joke about religion hurts a devotee. To Richardson’s mind the most imi^ortant lesson to be taught his pupils was respect for their art and for themselves as its exponents, and the pupil would have been dull indeed who did not learn this at least in the Brookline home. It seems almost paradoxical that a master could stand so aloof from the task in hand and yet control it so entirely — that pupils could be left so much to them- selves and yet do work which was so essentially, thoroughly, individually their master’s. Its aspect is enough to prove that Richardson’s work was all his own, in feature and detail no less than in primary conception. His executives knew it to be so — knew it well at the moment and still better when they came to try to do their own work. Yet even they could hardly understand and cannot at all exj^lain how it passed from his mind into their minds and hands — by just what process of gradual, imperceptible inoculation. His fluent, incisive, eager speech, fllled with picturesque epithets and piquant illustrations and often tinged with the poetry Avhich is latent in a. true artist of any kind, dealt little Avith particulars, much with generalities, yet in such a Avay that a symjAathetic listener could detect the bearing Avhich these generalities Avere meant to have upon the particulars before him. Not many things Avhich the master said could be utilized as precise directions, but everything Avas rich Avith meaning from Avhich concrete aid could be extracted. Even Avhen his hints Avere vaguest they Avere vital ; even when his suggestions were slightest they Avere fertile. Without prescribing a form or dic- tating a feature he could so talk of the general effect that he Avanted to produce, of the bearing of forms and features upon each other, and of the special accent Avhich each should bring into the scheme, that the student would feel in some inexplicable Avay an exacter meaning than was expressed, and in giving it shape Avould knoAV that Avhile he seemed to be inventing he was merely translating. Most architects, Ave are aAvare, either design a building themselves or hand it over to a subordinate and leave him to deal Avith it pretty much as he thinks fit ; Ave often see the fact all too clearly expressed in the various structures credited to a single office. Except in his very early years Richardson never, in the literal sense, designed a building himself. Yet 'each building that bears his name Avas from end to end really his creation. He developed the individual poAvers of his pupils, yet moulded them for the time at least into a visible likeness Avith himself ; and he impressed upon them for all time his lu’oad beliefs Avith regard to the essential virtues Avhich a Avork of architecture should possess. Such methods of vicarious yet personal creation and of vague yet pregnant and, in the end, very definite instruction cannot be explained in Avords. They Avere not so much methods of teaching in the usual sense of the term as of inspiration and, so to say, magnetic transmission, and as such are beyond the power of logical METHODS OF TEACHING. 131 thought to analyze or of language fully to record. Their potency and something of their manner of action were recognized, as has been said, for what they were by those who worked in Richardson’s office, and could easily be guessed by all others Avho had come within the influence of his magnetic mind and voice. But some men, doubtless, will find it hard to believe in them, and very few artists can hope to imitate them. Nevertheless, alien though they seem to the mental attitude and the professional customs of our time, there have been times when they must often have been exerted and must have seemed entirely natural. When- ever art has been at its greatest we may divine great artists influencing others in Richardson’s way and expressing their own ideas through other hands. To- day each painter, for example, works by and for himself. A picture of Corot’s means a picture which no hand but Corot’s has touched. A pupil of Meissonier’s means a pupil to whom Meissonicr is teaching the manii)ulation of his tools. The followers of Fortuny are a number of independent workers who have seized upon some of his novel ideas or expedients and are trying, each in his own way, to work them out on individual lines. The Impressionist school is a group of artists dif- fering radically among themselves in conception and manner, and merely united in name by certain broad articles of faith — by their approval or disapproval of cer- tain schemes of pictorial interpretation. But if we think of what is meant by a painting of Rubens, by the school of Lionardo, by Perugino’s pupils, how great is the contrast ! Here we divine methods which may be placed in partial parallel at least with that process of intellectual and emotional influence, of direct inspiration and indirect control, of deputed effort yet personal production, which went on beneath Richardson’s roof. It must be confessed, however, that the riddle of how it went on is not thereby clearly read for us. CHAPTER XX. INFLUENCE UPON PROFESSION AND PUBLIC. Richardson’s influence upon the members of his profession extended far beyond the walls of his own office, and was both stimnlating and ennobling. His success showed that good work might win wide pop- ular appreciation, but that a class of work Avhich had once seemed good enough would not seem so in the future ; and the manner in which he had achieved success impressed the lesson that art is a serious mat- ter and should be approached in a serious spirit. Upon the public, too, he exerted a very strong personal influ- ence through contact with clients, friends, and even casual acquaintances. That self-assertion which to some eyes was a fault in his character seems in this connection his greatest merit. Nothing was more to be desired when he began his work than that Ameri- can architects should have a better chance to show of what they were capable. No champion was more needed than one who should assert their right to do their own work in their own way — should proclaim and prove the fact that an artist knows more about art than the persons who employ him. Richardson’s strength of will, directness of aim, genial manner, and beguiling tongue persuaded his cli- ents to give him open opportunities and vigorous backing, to supjiress their own crude ideas and wishes, and often to employ him on tasks of a sort for which an artist’s help had seldom in the jiast been thought essential. The result has given us not onl}^ his own work but a better chance than we ever had before to get good work from others. In fighting his own battles he fought his comrades’ battles, in widening his own path he ■ smoothed and widened theirs, and in guiding and enlightening his clients he leavened the spirit of the whole American public. The unique position which he gained for himself has visibly raised the standing of the architectural profession through- out the whole country. There can be no Amer- ican city into which some echo of Richardson’s name and fame has not penetrated ; and wherever they are even vaguely known the standing and the chances of his humblest brother-artist are thereby improved. No degree of personal force and charm, however, could by itself have been so SKETCH FOR AN ANDIRON. INFLUENCE UPON PEOFESSION AND PUBLIC. 133 j)owerful. The influence of Richardson’s works upon the general public potently assisted the influence of his words. He was not the first American archi- tect to build good and beautiful structures. But he was the first to build them in a way to attract the eye of every passer, and to Avin always respectful thought and almost always genuine, hearty admi- ration. Of all the services Richardson rendered us this is the most important. Of all his legacies the most valuable we possess is a neAv-born interest in the art of architecture, a groAving belief that it may give us true pleasure and that Ave should therefore try to understand and foster it. The man was made for the place and hour. In other lands those Avho are capable of learning the value of art are taught by the precepts of long tradition and by the sight of ancient master-pieces. When Richard- SKETCH FOR AN ANDIRON. son began his Avork our love for art was groAving strong hut Avas still crude and ignorant. It Avas as vague in theory as in practice, and it Avas not half sure enough of its oaaui value as a factor in national life. An influence like his was Avhat Ave needed most — an influence which should give both an added impulse to our desires and an in- creased knowledge of how they might be gratified. Richardson himself knew this and rated his exceptional opportunity at its full worth. Not even his personal fame, dear though it Avas to him, so touched his imagination and fired his Avill as the consciousness that this fame was ennobling the attitude of the Avhole profession toAvards its work and of the Avhole public toAvards the profession. The impress Avhich Richardson thus made upon his generation has not been beneficial to architecture alone. He knew that architec- ture as the mother and centre of all other arts and handicrafts should encourage them all for her OAvn sake no less than for theirs. He Avas among the first American architects to preach and j)ractice the fundamental precept that Avhen walls and roof are standing a building is not finished, but still needs that its builder should concern himself Avith every detail of its decoration, perfecting it himself or calling upon other artists to perfect it in a Avay har- monious Avith his own resnlts. No feature Avas too small, no object too simple to engage his thought. American glass-staincrs and decorative painters, architectural carvers in stone and Avood, Avorkers in iron and brass, cabinet-makers, car])enters, masons, potters — all to-day do Avork of a quality for Avhich the last generation might have asked in vain. Those Avhom Richardson employed profited both intel- I SKETCH FOR A GAS BRACKET. 134 HEXFiY HOB SOX RICH AED SOX. lectiially and teclinically by the nature of the tasks he required and by the wise severity with whieh he criticised their perlbrniancc. This was especially the case, of course, with those upon whom he most depended — his carvers and his masons ; but a man could not even dis for llichardson without learning that there was a right way and a ivrong Avay to dig. Yet though he demanded much of the arti- san, and firmly believed that he should be developed into something better than the name had implied in recent years, he was always eager to exchange his help for that of the higher artist. And when an artist’s help had been secured, his policy of strict dictation gave place to one of brotherly cooperation. What he wanted was the best work other artists could supply for his particular purpose ; and though he insisted that that piiiq)ose should be borne in mind, he remembered that what was true of himself Avas true of others : “No man can do good Avork Avho is per- petually cramped and tliAvarted.” From the beginning to the end of his life he Avas ahvays trying to bring the best sculptors, the best landscape-gardeners, and the best painters of the country into his undertakings ; and one of the chief facts Avliich make Trinity Church a mile-stone to mark our progress in art is the fact that it Avas the first American church the interior decoration of which Avas intrusted as a Avhole to a painter of ability. Neither Richardson’s OAvn success nor his public usefulness could have been half so great but for his hearty ojAtimism, synonym as it Avas for a thorough sympa- thy Avith his time and his surroundings. He Avas successful and influential because his nature Avas so intensely modern, so thoroughly American. His long familiarity Avith the triumphs of ancient art had simply inspired the belief that Avhat had been done once could be done again and ^Acrhaps improved upon. And his long residence abroad had shoAvn him that ojAportunities are both freest and richest here, and that latent talent, if not perfected skill, is at least as great. To his mind it argued dullness of vision or Aveakness of Avill Avhen an American architect Avished he had been born in some other time or land. There Avas little in surrounding circumstances or in the cast of Richardson’s mind to lead him to talk of the conditions of artistic life in earlier ages. But he often discussed its present conditions in Europe, and ahvays with expressions of thankfulness that his oavu lines had not been cast there. The priceless teaching of ancient monuments, he thought, could be absorbed by an American, Avhile their distance from his actual place of labor gave him that greatest of all advantages — a free field, an open opportunity. What an architect can do in Europe is largely controlled by the neighborhood of historic Avorks and by the traditions, fiiiths, and INFLUENCE UPON PROFESSION AND PUBLIC. 135 prejudices which antiquarian study has developed. What he can do in America depends only upon himself and upon the sympathy he can awaken in minds which if ignorant are unprejudiced, if untrained are intelligent, if unconscious of their wants are quick to recognize the value of anything which really appeals to them as a combination of good sense and beauty. In Europe a much more intelligent effort is made to secure the best architectural service than has been made in America. But when it is secured it is cramped in ways of which we know noth- ing — in France by the rule of certain official styles and formulas ; in England by the sway of changing fashions, each as insistent for the time as quickly abandoned, and often by the personal ideas of men high in political place ; and everywhere by that archaeological spirit which demands ffi’st of all not that a building shall be sensible and beautiful but that it shall be scholarly, not that it shall represent an artist’s own thought but that it shall show his acquaintance with the thought of some forerunner. The greatest difficulty with which our architects have had to contend is public indifference, the greatest with which foreign architects have to contend is public interference, and it is not difficult to see why Bichardson thought the former much the smaller hindrance of the two. It seemed to him the one which personal force might more easily overcome in the end and mean- while might more easily ignore.^ His last visit to Paris confirmed this attitude of mind. When he met the friends of his student days he found some of them at the very head of their 23ro- fession — highly and securely j^laced, full of work, and rich in honor. But far from envying their position, he re- gretted that men of such ability should not have the same oj3port unities that were open to him. He dej^lored the fact that no one of them was able really to be himself — to discover what he would like best to do in art and then to do it. And when he came home it was with a renewed sense of intense delight in the freedom of his own ^^ath, the singleness of his dependence upon a public with fresh eyes and sjDontaneous instincts. Such feelings may not be shared by men of a different teinj^erament from Bichardson’s — there is a degree of safety in tradition and iDrescrij^tion which strongly attracts all but the sturdiest sj)irits. But they were feelings which played a controlling j^art in his wonderful career. It is not talents or oj^portunities, he always maintained, which lack in the America of to-day, but merely the will to make good use of them, merely a truer recognition of what art really means and ot ^ The history of the Albany Capitol otfers, indeed, an case was in every way so exceptional that it does not allect instance of public interference with architects’ work. But the general contrast between American and European con- professional voices then incited legislative action, and the ditions. 136 HENRY HOBSON EICHARBSON. AA'liat the artist’s needs and obligations really are. It was the perception of the fact that these qualities are rapidly developing which made his confidence in the future of American art so great ; and it was this confidence, this ever-forward, hopeful gaze, which made him so bold in doing his work and caused him to pur- sue with pupils, artists, and public alike, that policy of trust, encouragement, and inspiration which has borne such valuable fruit. His creed was the poet’s : — I know that the past was great and the futnre will he great, And that wdiere I am or you are this present day there is the centre of all days, all races. And there is the meaning to us of all that has ever come of races and days or ever shall come.” Its value as a creed for the American artist may best be judged by its results in Ilichardson’s buildings and in their influence ujfon the people. It is difficult to cxphiin why Richardson’s work appealed so immediately and so strongly to the 2)nblic. But the question is of such importance that his biogra- pher cannot escape from the attempt to give at least a partial exj^lanation. • The mere originality of any of his buildings can have had little to do with the matter. Originality of one sort or another has so long been the rule in American architecture that the most striking novelty, if it is nothing more, can hardl}" ex- cite even a passing curiosity. The solid popular success of Richardson’s work — great at once and growing greater year by year — has certainly been due in large degree to those qualities which have already been described as setting it conspicu- ously apart from modern architectural work in general — to the clearness and vigor of the primary conceptions which it embodies, and to the consistency yet flexibility in matters of treatment which it displays. The strength and clearness of each of Richardson’s conceptions attracted the eyes of men whom mere schol- arly arrangements of beautiful features or elaborate schemes of decoration left unmoved — putting before them a body which they could not help noticing as a whole and which plainly showed what the aim of the artist had been and what was the nature of his testhetic ideal. And then his steady yet pliant and sensible adherence to the same ideal in the fulfillment of many different aims impressed its character upon the observer’s mind, made him think not of each work by itself but of all together, and thus caused him to realize the difference between an archi- tectural creed and a mere succession of architectural recipes. It was Richardson who first proved to the American public that the speech of a modern architect may be something wholly different from a series of varying quotations or of ever- new inventions — that it may be a consistent yet plastic language, one which inspires the artist yet is ductile in his hands, one which borrows its terms from ancient tongues yet has a thoroughly modern accent and can express a fresh and powerful individuality. It was Richardson who first proved this, and it is not strange, therefore, that he should first have excited a genuine interest in the art he practiced. A i:>art of the popularity of his works may in this way be explained. But only a part — interest is not necessarily admiration, and they have excited an admi- ration which seems doubly strong in contrast with the cool indifference that had greeted the best works of his forerunners. This fact is best accounted for, INFLUENCE UPON PROFESSION AND PUBLIC. 137 perhaps, by regarding him as the unconscious exponent of an unconscious, latent, yet distinctly marked national taste in architecture. An artist so strong as he would in any case have impressed his generation deeply ; but to have made the extraordinary mark he did seems to imply a peculiar concord in feeling between himself and his public. Uj^on the question whether this concord was a fact turns the interesting ques- tion whether Ilichardson will be recognized by later generations as the founder and inspirer of a national architectural development. It does not involve the future of his fame as a great artist, or the vitality of his fostering influence upon our love for art in general and our understanding of architectural excellence. These in any case are well assured. And so, we cannot doubt, is the permanence in certain respects of his influence upon the actual character of American archi- tecture. If the collective work of the American architects of to-day is compared with that of fifteen or twenty years ago, the effect of Richardson’s example clearly api^ears ; — it would be hard to overstate the degree to which he should receive credit for the growth of this work in vigor, breadth, and simj)licity, in coherence and clearness of expression. As far as such qualities as these are concerned his influence must endure. But they are not the only ones in which, at the moment, it is conspicuously embodied. His special schemes and features and types of decoration — his actual creed and style — have found so many adherents that they are fast setting a- distinct impress upon the aspect of our towns. We have had many architectural fashions in America but nothing to compare with the vogue of that neo-Romanesque work which often seems to reproduce the true spirit of Richardson’s art if at other times it seems merely to imitate or caricature it. And it is the permanence, the spread, the vital development, the eventual triumjDli in quality and in quantity of this special form of art which are involved in the question whether, in using it, Richardson merely exjwessed his personal taste or unconsciously expressed the taste of the American people too. It is not important that we should discuss this question in advance, but it is imperative that we should recognize its exact form and bearing. It cannot l)c too often repeated that if the renewed Romanesque art which Richardson gave us does in truth continue to grow and flourish, it will not be because he taught us to like it but because when he produced it we liked it by native instinct. This can- not be too often repeated, especially by the young architect for his own guidance. If he clearly understands it he will know that, however great his admiration for Richardson’s success, the main thing he has to do is to seek within himself the direction which his own work should take. From the beginning to the end of his career Richardson frankly and emphatically expressed himself, and thus he did the very best that it was possible to do for the great talent which had been given him. It remains for the future to prove whether in expressing himself he really voiced a broad national instinct and thus was fortunate enough to do the best that could possibly be achieved for the art of his country. But no man can help this art or can assist Richardson’s influence upon it by tr} ing to Avork in Richardson’s manner unless he feels as clearly as Richardson felt that it is the best manner. To say this — to say that we should not blindly accept even Ricliardson as 138 HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON a guide in finding out the things which suit ns best in art — is not to impugn his talent or his force. It needed immense talent and force to do what many cannot help believing that he did — clearly to reveal the fact that we had innate artistic tastes. To do more than this — to create tastes — is not within the com- pass of hnman power. A man may teach art in one way — by demonstrating its broad principles and by exciting a spirit which shall intelligently appreciate good results of every kind ; and in this way Richardson was a very great teacher. But no man ever taught an art, in the sense of prescribing a special manner of practice, except to a peo])lc for whom he was the sympathetic spokesman. In fact, the highest praise we can give to an artist is to say that he was his public’s spokesman. All narrowly individual merits pale before the great merit of being the one who says first what his fellow-countrymen are eager to hear and thus opens other mouths to give full expression to a national instinct. Not to he iso- lated hut to he representative is to he a true leader, a true creator in art. Richardson’s right to this high title cannot now l)e decided. But the spirit in which he labored and the work which he produced have already done so much for us, and in the coming years will assuredly do so much more, that we may call him with confidence not only the greatest American artist but the greatest benefactor of American art who has yet been born. APPENDIX. I. LIST OF HENRY HOBSON RICHARDSON’S WORKS. This list lias been carefully compiled from Ricliardsoii’s office books, and is believed to be complete. The annexed dates show when the respective commissions were received. In the sec- ond division of the list the stars mark the buildings which were independently designed by IMr. Gambrill, all the others having been practically Richardson’s own work. In the third division the stars show what buildings were left unfinished at Richardson’s death and bequeathed for com- pletion to his successors, Messrs. Shepley, Rutan, and Coolidge. WORKS BY H. H. RICHARDSON, 111 BROADWAY, NEW A"ORK. Church of the Unity, Springfield, Mass November, 1866. Western (now Boston & Albany) R. R. Offices, Springfield, Mass 1867. Grace Church, West Medford, Mass 1867. WORKS BY GAMBRILL & RICHARDSON, 6 HANOVER STREET AND 57 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. House for B. W. Crowninshield, Esq., Boston, Mass April, 1868. North Congregational Church, Springfield, Mass May, 1868. House for Wm. Dorsheimer, Esq., Buffalo, N. Y October, 1868. *House for Edward Stimpson, Esq., Dedham, Mass October, 1868. Agawam National Bank, Springfield, Mass April, 1869. *House for Jonathan Sturges, Esq., New Yffirk, N. August, 1869. High School, Worcester, Mass November, 1869. Exhibition Building, Cordova, Argentine Rep February, 1870. Hotel Bi-unswick (Alteration), New Yoi'k, N. Y" . March, 1870. Brattle Square Church, Boston, Mass July, 1870. State Asylum for the Insane, Buffalo, N. Y^ Ylarch, 1871. Hampden County CourtJiouse, Springfield, Mass duly, 1871. Phoenix Insurance Co.’s Building, Hartford, Conn hlarch, 1872. House for F. YV. Andrews, Esq., Newport, R. I didy, 1872. Trinity Church, Boston, Mass duly, 1872. American Merchants’ Union Express Co.’s Building, Chicago, 111 September, 1872. House for Benjamin F. Bowles, Esq., Springfield, Alass Alay, 1873. *House for Dr. J. II. Tinkham, U. S. N., Owego, N. Y^ February, 1874. House for YVm. Watts Sherman, Esq., Newport, R. I September, 1874. Cheney Building, Hartford, Conn September, 1877). State Capitol, Albany, N. Y February, 187(). Winn Alemorial Public Library, YVoburn, Alass Ylarch, 1877. Ames Memorial Public Library, North Easton, Alass September, 1877. WORKS BY 11. H. RICHARDSON, BROOKLINE. MASS. Sever Hall, Harvard University, Cambridge, Alass October, 1878. Ames Alemorial Town Hall, North Easton, Mass February, 1879. Rectory for Trinity Clmrcli, Boston, Alass April, 1879. uo APPENDIX. Ames Monument, Sherman, Wyoming Territory Gate Lodge for L. L. Ames, Esq., North Easton, Mass Bridge for Department of Public Parks, Boston, Mass Crane Memorial Public Library, Quincy, Mass House for Dr. John Bryant, Cohasset, Mass City Hall, Albany, N. Y Station for Boston & Albany K. 11. Co., Auburndale, Mass Austin Hall (Law School), Harvai’d University, Cambridge, Mass House for E. L. Higginson, Esq., Boston, Mass House for N. L. Anderson, Esq., Washington, D. C Station for Boston & Albany R. R. Co., Palmer, Mass Pruyn Monument, Rural Cemetery, Albany, N. Y House for Rev. Percy Browne, Marion, Alass Station for Old Colony R. R. Co., North Easton, Mass Dairy Building for Boston & Albany R, R. Co., Boston, Mass House for Grange Sard, Jr., Esq., Albany, N. Y ^Wholesale Store for E. L. Ames, Esq., Kingston and Bedford Streets, Boston, Mass. Store for E. L. Ames, Esq., Washington Street, Boston, Ylass . . House for Mrs. M. E. Stoughton, Cambridge, Mass House for Dr. Walter Channing, Brookline, Mass Billings Library for University of Vermont, Burlington, Vt Station for Boston & Albany R. R. Co., Chestput Hill, Mass Emmanuel Church, Allegheny City, Pa Converse Memorial Public Library, Malden, Mass Station for Boston & Albany R. R. Co., South Framingham, Mass Station for Connecticut River R. R. Co., Holyoke, Mass *House for Robert Treat Paine, Esq., Waltham, Mass House for John Hay, Esq., Washington, D. C House for Henry Adams, Esq., Washington, D. C. * Allegheny County Buildings, Court-house and Jail, Pittsbui’gh, Pa Cottage for E. L. Ames, Esq., North Easton, Mass Station for Boston & Albany R. R. Co., Brighton, Mass Baptist Church, Newton, Mass ^Station for Boston & Albany R. R. Co., Waban, Mass ■^Station for Boston & Albany R. R. Co., Woodland, Mass ^Station for Boston & Albany R. R. Co., Eliot, Mass House for Prof. E. W. Gurney, Beverly Farms, Mass ^House for B. H. Warder, Esq., Washington, D. C Drinking Fountain ( for J. J. Bagley Estate), Detroit, Mich . . ^Wholesale Store for Marshall Field, Esq., Chicago, 111 *House for J. J. Glessner, Esq., Chicago, 111 *House for Franklin MacVeagh, Esq., Chicago, 111 Station for Boston & Albany R. R. Co., Wellesley Hills, Mass. ^Chamber of Commerce, Cincinnati, Ohio • *Union Passenger Station, New London, Conn _ *House for J., R. Lionberger, Esq., St. Louis, Mo * Armory Building (for J. J. Bagley Estate), Detroit, Mich *House for Prof. Hubert Herkomer, England *Store for E. L. Ames, Esq., Harrison Avenue*, Boston, Mass *House for Dr. J. H. Bigelow, Newton, Mass *House for Win. H. Gratwick, Esq., Buffalo, N. Y November, 1879. March, 1880. April, 1880. Alay, 1880. September, 1880. November, 1880. February, 1881. February, 1881. February, 1881. May, 1881. August, 1881. October, 1881. October, 1881. November, 1881. November, 1881. January, 1882. Ylarch, 1882. April, 1882. June, 1882. February, 1883. April, 1883. April, 1883. August, 1883. August, 1883. October, 1883. November, 1883. January, 1884. January, 1884. January, 1884. February, 1884. March, 1884. July, 1884. October, 1884. October, 1884. October, 1884. October, 1884. December, 1884. March, 1885. April, 1888. April, 1885. May, 1885. July, 1885. July, 1885. Allgust, 1885. September, 1885. November, 1885. December, 1885. January, 1886. January, 1886. January, 1886. February, 1886.. APPENDIX. 141 II. METHODS OE INSTEUCTION FOLLOWED AND PROBLEMS GIVEN OUT AT THE ECOLE DES BEAUX ARTS, PARIS. In explanation of certain references made by Monsieur Gerhardt and by Richardson in their letters from Paris, it may be said that the methods of instruction at the Ecole des Beaux Arts differ in important ways from those followed in our own art schools. In the Architectural Section, as in all the others, the students attend in common upon lectures delivered in the School by various professors. But their practical work is chiefly carried on in ateliers which are con- nected with the School, but only some of which are contained in its building-. Certain artists are commissioned by government to direct such studios ; and a candidate for admission to the School must belong to one of them, or, at least, must be presented for his entrance examinations by one of their directors — err patrons, as they are called. The sketches for the problems given out from time to time by the Professor of Architecture are made in the salle de concours (competition-room) of the School, but are subsequently studied and elaborated in the various ateliers ; and then the designs from all the ateliers are shown in gen- eral competition in the exhibition-galleries of 'the School. There is, therefore, a double stimulus to exertion in the double rivalry which is excited. Each student contends fraternally against his fellows in his own atelier ; yet each feels a strong desire that if no one of the prizes — which except in a few instances are merely honorary — falls to him, something may yet be won by other members of the atelier, and his pjatroPs reputation as a teacher profit by the fact. So strong, indeed, is this de.sire, prompted by a generous espn'it de corps, that individual anflntions are often forgotten, and a student whose own work is already finished, or who has become discour- aged over his prospects of success, or whose admiration for some cleverer or pity for some weaker or some tardier brother prompts him to self-sacrifice, will turn from his proper task and give a helping hand elsewhere. A lively series of letters published in The American Architect and Building News ” in 1880 gives an excellent idea of the strenuous, boisterous, rough-and-tumble yet cheerful and fraternal life in these ateliers. The Prix de Rome — the most coveted distinction which any student can gain in any modern academy of art — is a prize given every year to the ablest student in each of the sections of the School. It entitles him to four years’ free residence at the French Academy of Arts in Rome — the historic Villa Medici — with expenses paid thither and back, and with a stipend which enables him to travel widely during his term. The only obligation is that certain specified pieces of work must be sent to Paris at certain specified intervals of time and must remain the property of the government. Moreover, a winner of the Prix de Rome, when his term is over, is given imme- diate employment under government and, of course, is exceptionally well launched in life by the mere fact of having attained the academic distinction. The competitions for this prize are spe- cially conducted, are very severe, and are open to French citizens only. All the other privileges and honors of the School, however, are freely and impartially conferred u})on men of every nation. Several circulars for the ordinary School competitions Avere found among Richardson’s papers, and two of them are here translated in full to give an idea of the kind of Avork demanded and of the manner in Avhich it is required to be executed. It may be remarlved that neither in the more elementary nor in the more advanced competition is any perspective draAving desired. The first circiflar reads as follows : — Imperial School of Fine Arts. Architectural Section. Second Class. PK015LEM FOR THE COMPETITION OF .TUNE 3 , 1803 . The Professor of Theory proposes as the .sub ject of competition : A Casino, over a thermal min- eral spring. 142 APPENDIX. This Casino, erected on the promenade of one of onr great thermal establishments, is to cover a spring the medicinal cpialities of which permit only the drinking of the water. As the drinkers who will frecpient it must find places for recreation and for study, it shall he composed as follows : — Ground-Floor : A vestibule. A general assembly-room where will be the fountain, and benches or exedras for con- versation. A billiard-room. One or two staircases. Covered promenades. All to be adorned with statues and other works of art. Second Floor : A room for retirement and study. A loggia open towards the promenade. Terraces ornamented with flowers. The site occupied by the building shall not exceed thirty meters .AUTOGRAPH SKETCH BY H. H. RICHARDSON, ON MARGIN OF CIRCULAR RELATING TO CASINO COMPETITION. in greatest dimension. To he presented as sketches : General plan of the ground floor ; half plan of second floor ; elevation and section, to the scale of .005 per meter. As draiDinrjs : The two plans, in entirety, to a scale of one centimeter per meter ; elevation and section to double this scale. The construction to be indicated in the section. (Signed) Le Sueur. Paris, June 3, 1863. The second circular is dated two years later, but bears neither heading nor professor’s signa= tare. It was evidently given out to a higher class than the other, as the problem it presents is of far greater difhculty. A PREPARATORY SCHOOL OF MEUICINE, WITH A CLINICAL HOSPITAL ATTACHED, FOR THE CHIEF TOWN OF A DEPARTMENT. This establishment, destined in part for the teaching of medicine and in part for the treatment of a limited number of patients, shall consist of but a single edifice, yet shall preserve in each of its main divisions — school and hospital — the character appropriate thereto. The edifice shall be composed of. On the Ground-Floor : 1st. A rather large vestibule preceding a lecture-room capable of holding two hundred stu- dents. The dependencies of this room shall be : An office for the professors ; one or two rooms for anatomical preparations ; a chemical laboratory ; a pharmacy ; a room for the collection of surreal instruments. All these to be more rather than fewer in number. O 2d. A small library to serve as a study. 3d. A museum of anatomy. 4th. Janitor’s and secretary’s rooms. 5th. A ward for twenty male patients sulfering from complaints which need surgical atten- tion. 6th. Ditto for male children ditto. APPENDIX. 143 7th. Ditto for female patients ditto. 8th. Ditto for female children ditto. 9th. A very large kitchen with all appurtenances. 10th. Offices for gratuitous consultations. 11th. Several rooms for patients with contagious diseases. 12th. A bath-room. 13th. A reception-room for patients. 14th. A mortuary chamber. 15th. A small chapel. 16th. A janitor’s room and an administration-room with living-rooms above* 17th. A large and commodious stairway giving access to the second floor. The second floor as well as the third shall be devoted to wards for patients, — men, women, and children, — of whom the total number is not to exceed one hundred and sixty for both floors, divided as nearly as possible twenty to a ward, and to accommodations for fifteen Sisters of Charity and as many resident students. The attics to be devoted to servants’ cpxarters. The building shall have two entirely distinct entrances, — that of the school to face the north and that of the hospital the south. The site, including the gardens, is not to exceed ninety thou- sand square meters in extent, and shall be contained between two boundary walls, one towards the west, the other towards the east. An isolated site must be reserved for a pavilion for dissect- ing purposes. Facade, section, and plan to a scale of .002. Certain parts of this composition must be monumental without exaggeration. Other parts, on the contrary, must be of great simplicity without coldness. Cheerfulness rather than sombreness of effect is to be aimed at, in order that the patient may not enter with regret. February, 1865. III. EXTRACTS FROM RICHARDSON’S DESCRIPTION OF TRINITY CHURCH. . . . On testing the ground at the site a compact stratum was found, overlaid by a quantity of alluvium, upon which a mass of gravel, about thirty feet deep, had been filled in. Upon such a foundation was to be built a structure, the main feature of which consisted in a tower weighing nearly nineteen million pounds, and supported on four piers. The first pile was driven April 21, 1873. Every pile was watched, numbered, its place marked on a plan at a large scale, and a record made of the weight of the hammer with which it was driven, the distance that the pile sank at the last three blows, and the height from which the hammer fell. With these indica- tions, a map of the bearing stratum was made, with contour lines, showing the surface of the clay bed. . . . On the 10th of October, 1873, the contract was made with Messrs. Norcross Brothers, of Worcester, Mass., for the masonry and carpenter-work of the structnre ; the building-committee, who had a large quantity of stone on the ground brought from the ruins of the Summer Street Church, undertaking to furnish all the foundation stone, except that for the great piers of the tower, which it was necessary to construct of special stones. Under the centre of the church a space ninety feet square had been reserved for the tower foundation, and this had been driv(Mi uniformly full of piles, as near together as practicable, over two thousand being contained in the area. This area, while the foundation walls for the other parts of the cluirch Avere building, Avas sul)jected to various processes, in preparation for its future duty. The piles witliin these limits Avere cut off at “ grade five,” six inches loAver than the ])iles under the other portions of the building, as an excess of ])r(‘caution against any failure of Avater for keeping the Avood saturated. The ground was then excavated around the heads of the ])iles to a 144 APPENUIX. depth of two feet, and replaced with concrete. The concrete was mixed on the ground, put into harrows, and wheeled on plank-waxys laid on the heads of the }>iles to its destination, and thrown' into the excavation. Four successive layers, each six inches thick, were put in, and each was thoroughly compacted with wooden rammers. The upper surface of the concrete was kept one inch helow the heads of the piles, on the theory that the piles heing the true support of the structure, it was important that every stone should rest tirmly upon them, without coming in con- tact witli the concrete, Avhich might some time sink, by the settlement of the o-ravel fillino-, and cause dislocation of any masonry which might rest partly upon it and partly on the unyielding piles. The concrete, however, had an important use in preventing the lateral motion of the piles, and to some exent connecting them together. Before the close of this season, the first course of one of the four pyramids which form the foundation of the tower piers had been laid on the piles, and as an ex})eriment the outside joints were cemented np, and the whole was then grouted with cement and sand till the joints and the space between the stone and concrete were flushed full. The pumping, which had been constantly kept up to free the excavation from the water which came in through the gravelly bottom, then ceased, and the water was allowed to enter the cavity, which it soon filled to the depth of about four feet, and the operations on the ground were sus])ended until the following spring. . . . On resnming oi)erations in the spring of 1874, it was found that the tide water, coming in through the gravel, had affected the setting of the cement. The concrete was in a favorable con- dition, but the grouting of the masonry which had been started for the piers was still very soft, although made with a cement which, under ordinary circumstances, sets rapidly. In view of this unexplained difficulty, as well as the need of proceeding rapidly with the piers without being- obliged to wait for the setting of any doid)tful cement, it was thought best to reduce the matter to certainty by using Portland cement throughout the piers. A variety of English and French Portland cements was tried, hut the result seemed equally good with all, some difference in the rapidity of setting heing the principal variation. The stones already set were taken up and relaid, and with the substitution of the different cement, treated as before; the outer joints being ])acked close, and the inside grouted until completely full. At first the Portland cement was handled like Rosendale in similar circumstances, the cement being mixed rather dry, and after being put into the joints with trowels, compressed as much as possible with rammers ; but further experience and careful trials showed equally good results by first filling the larger joints with a trowel and the drier mortar, and then mixing some rather rich cement, sufficiently liquid to pour into the smaller joints from a bucket, stirring it well with the thicker portion, until the whole was of a methuni consistency and had penetrated into every inter- stice of the stone-work. Each course was leveled up to a uniform surface with cement, and chips where necessary, before the next course was begun, and the upper bed of the third course from the top, and all the vertical and horizontal joints of the two upper courses were taken out of wind and pointed, so as to form a perfectly close joint. Toward the close of 1874, the four pyramids of solid granite, each thirty-five feet square at the base and seven feet square at the top, and seventeen feet high, were completed ; the main walls of the church heing then well advanced, and the chapel, which had been urged foiavard with great rapidity, nearly finished. . . . During the winter, the stone for the remainder of the building was cut, the larger portion of the work heing upon the granite for the iq)per part of the piers which carry the tower. These were blocks of W esterly granite, each five feet by two and one-half, and twenty inches high, with hammered vertical and horizontal joints. These were laid in cement, in pairs, forming a pillar five feet square in section, the joints of alternate courses crossing. For laying these piers and the adjoining walls, as well as the arches between the piers, a massive scaffold was built, standing independently upon the four pyramids of the tower foundation. Four derricks stood upon this structure, and not only the pier stones, weighing two tons each, were easily handled, but the same stage served afterward to carry the centres for the great arches, and the whole superstruc- ture of scaffolding, to the very top of the tower, no outside staging heing used. This “ great stage,” as it was called, remained in place for more than two years. APPENDIX. 145 In the construction of the great arches and for tying- the piers at the summit to the walls of the nave and transept iron was used, but sparingly, and as a matter of precaution rather than necessity, the weights and points of application of the adjoining walls having been calculated to furnish sufficient resistance to the thrust of the arches without the aid of ties. In p-eneral, throughout the huilding, the use of iron was avoided as far as might he, and with the exception of the staircase turret, which is supported hy a double set of iron beams over the vestibule below, no masonry in the church is dependent on metal for support. . . . lY. EXTRACTS FROM MEMORANDA AND LETTERS RELATING TO THE CATHEDRAL DRAWINGS. EXTRACTS FROM RICHARDSOx’s MEMORANDA SUBMITTED WITH THE DRAWINGS. . . . Entering the church by the western porches, one finds on the left of the ample vesti- bules the baptistry, a vaulted polygonal apartment somewhat more than eighteen feet in diameter, having the font in the centre. . . . On the right, and corresponding with the baptistry, is a grand staircase leading to the gallery over the western vestibules. Smaller spiral staircases lead to the smaller galleries over the transept entrances, and still smaller ones on the western fi-ont lead to the triforium galleries. . . . Besides the great western porches and the transept porches, cloister entrances are provided which give that protection from the weather so necessary in our climate. . . . The vestries for the bishop, the clergy and the choir are placed in chambers whose circular form, subdivided as shown on the plan, makes them especially well adapted to the purpose for which they are designed. These rooms are reached by the ambulatory which runs around the apse and which is divided off by a wrought-iron screen, so as to give a retired communication to the ves- tries while leaving the arcades perfectly open and thus not interfering with the grandeur of the design. These ambulatories are filled with light from the windows above the roofs of the vestries all around the apse. ... It is proposed to build the church of some warm granite with Longmeadow brown sandstone, the roofs of the towers to be of stone, the other roofs of slate. Messrs. Norcross Brothers’ esti- mate includes everything to complete the church as shown in the drawings, with all stained-glass windows, carvings and sculpture, and all furniture shown in drawings. . . . The bid of Messrs. Norcross Brothers for the temporary cathedral includes the foundations of the vaulted tower weighing twenty thousand tons. These foundations will be nearly one hundred feet square, of the best granite, laid in a bed of concrete. This bid includes also the clerestory walls, which are the highest in the church (except the gable walls), and also the seats and other necessary furniture, and, in short, a temporary church as shown in the plans complete for use in every particular. This temporary church is so arranged that the progress of the work in the rest of the cathedral can proceed without in any way disturbing the services of the church in the tem- porary structure except for a short interval when the roof will have to be pierced to carry up tlie piers and walls. EXTRACTS FROM LETTER TO THE BISHOP OP THE DIOCESE OF ALBANY, MARCH 30, 1883. In the interior [of the completed structure] (as shown in tlie section) the arches of the triforium are open with a passage between them and the wall, and in tlie clerestory is a similar passage, so that the clerestory windows are seen through these open arches. . . . The main walls of the church whicli measure six feet thick on plan are, for the sake of econ- omy, to be built hollow. They have to be made as thick as six feet on account of tlie jiassages above. These walls would be built eighteen inches thick outside, eighteen inches thick inside, with a hollow space of three feet in the middle, the two walls being securely tied together at 14G APPENDIX. proper intervals. The walls of my design (l)otli the clerestory and the aisle walls), if measured, will be found not very high, nor are the western towers of great height, hut kept within bounds in order to give greater value and interest to the main feature of the composition, the great, many-sided central tower crowning and dominating the whole mass. With regard to the temporary structure, I Avould add that it is proposed to carry out the cen- tral portion of the completed plan as the temporary church, carrying up the piers as far as to the top of their capitals, and surrounding the whole by a temporary thin brick wall which could be easily taken down when the great church outside of it is completed. The hid for the temporary structure includes, as was said, the massive foundations of the great tower and of the highest walls of the church. My experience with the uncertain soil of Alljany, which has been somewhat extensive, has led me to see the necessity of treating these foundations ^\ith the greatest care. For this reason the greater part of the one hundred and fifty thousand dollars allotted for the temporary building would have to be in any case put below ground. And I have taken great care to reduce the height of my walls, both of nave and chan- cel, to a minimum size consistent with largeness of effect. I beg that you and the chapter will give particular consideration to the estimates ; for however much I should like to make you a more attractive offer, I -feel that the bid for the temporary structure is as low as it could he con- sistent with thorough workmanship. ' If the interior of the cathedral is made of brick with a cement surface, only the piers, arches, vaulting-ribs, and mouldings being of stone, the whole building can be completed within one mil- lion dollars. This woidd give a great opportunity for a magnificent treatment of the interior in color — a treatment at least as noble as coidd be made in stone, and one which is especially adapted to our climate, which, with its long winter of five months, seems to call for warm and cheerful interiors glowing vdth color. Nor can anything be more imposing and solemn, more truly religioiis in sentiment, than a great church-interior appropriately decorated in color, as is well known to any one familiar Avith the church of St. Mark at V enice ; and indeed such a treat- ment is supported by the precedent of many of the noblest church-interiors of Europe. A color treatment on a cement surface has also this advantage ; that, while the interior can be agreeably and cheaply finished at once, it gives opportunity for adding from time to time to the decorations as funds are given for the purpose, and thus the interior grows in richness and beauty, solemnity and sionificaiice. As, however, in the conditions no sum is mentioned as the limit of cost of the completed design, I most respectfidly claim that the architect -should be chosen solely with reference to the merits of his design as fulfilling in the best way the conditions propounded. If the chapter then desire to limit the cost of the completed design, the chosen architect can so modify his design as to meet this new condition, or submit, if necessary, a new design whose cost shall be within the sum they decide upon. In conclusion I should like to say a word with regard to the effects I have aimed at in my design. In the first place I have tried to avoid making my cathedral merely an enlarged parish church. And I have striven to give the church that dignity and strength, that calmness and re- pose Avliich should be the attributes of a great cathedral. These qualities, it seemed to me, could only 1)6 obtained by the most carefully studied proportion of parts and masses, by the greatest simplicity of form and treatment, — for grandeur is always characterized by simplicity, — and by unity of design, to obtain which I have used one consistent treatment around the whole structure, interior and exterior, carrying some strong featiires around the whole building, tying it together, as it were, with great bands, while not neglecting to give to the different parts of the cathedral that distinctive treatment Avhich they seemed to demand. EXTRACTS FROM LETTER OF THE BISHOP OF THE DIOCESE OF ALBANY TO RICHARDSON, MAY 6, 1883. . . . Apart from all other considerations, the great expense of the completed building and the unsatisfactoriness of the temporary structure made the acceptance of the plans impossible. APPENDIX. 147 Even the suggestion of an interior finishing- in plaster and colors (to which I could never consent) would have left too great an expense. What I wanted to say to you . . . was to thank you for your interest in the matter, to assure you that your enthusiasm has inspired us with a new feeling of interest and admiration for you and your work, and to add that while I consider the plans which we have accepted better suited to the cathedral worship of the Episcopal Church and more adapted to our needs in Albany, I recognize the dignity of your design, with most of whose lead- ing features I am thoroughly in sympathy. I trust the opportunity may offer for its carrying out elsewhere. . . . V. H. H. RICHARDSON’S PROFESSIONAL CIRCULAR FOR INTENDING CLIENTS ; USED DURING THE LATTER PART OF HIS LIFE. Dear Sir : The following statement was prepared in reply to the request of a client for an explanation of the basis of my charges, and of the responsibilities which, as an architect, I un- dertake : — It has been my practice to charge five per cent, on the cost of the building, with an additional charge, which covers : 1st, the visits of the clerk of the work ; 2d, his traveling expenses ; 3d, my time lost in traveling ; 4th, my traveling exjienses. My habit at one time was to charge for these by items, but I found this was as annoying to my clients as to myself, and I now prefer to charge a fixed commission of eight per cent, for all work costing more than ten thousand dollars, unless the work is so far distant that the extra charge of three per cent, will not cover loss of time and traveling expenses. When interior work, such as mantels, wainscoting, ceilings, carving on walls, columns, etc., is done separately, the charge is very much higher than five per cent., sometimes as high as fifty per cent. But the charge of eight per cent, covers everything inside and out that is not movable furniture. I undertake, by myself, or my clerk of the works, to see that all the necessary super- vision is given to the building. The duration and extent of such supervision will be determined by the nature and character of the work. I do not agree to supervise, for instance, the laying of each brick or the driving of each nail, but I do agree to exercise such supervision as is calculated to, and ordinarily vdll, secure the furnishing of materials of the kind and quality required by the contract, and the performance of the work in accordance with the plans and specifications, and in a good, workmanlike, and substantial manner. In so far as concerns the plans and specifications, I guarantee that the building, when erected in accordance therewith, shall be suited to the uses for which it is erected, and that the specifica- tion shall embrace all that will be required to completely finish it, unless it shall have been other- wise expressly understood between the owner and myself. For any errors of construction which appear on my plans, or for any failure to properly super- vise the work, whereby the building, when completed, is rendered insecure or unsafe, or the stories or rooms are made inaccessible or incapable of being devoted to the uses for which the plans showed they were intended, I consider myself responsible. In preparing the architectural design, I agree, after consultation with the owner, to iise my best judgment. I cannot, however, guarantee that the building, when completed, shall conform to his ideas of beaiity or taste, or indeed to those of any person or school. I can only agree to examine and consider this matter well and carefully, and to recommend nothing which is inconsistent Avith my own ideas upon these subjects. O^Of course, when I follow the owner’s positive instructions, I consider myself relieved from all responsibility whatsoever. Yours very truly, H. H. Richardson. INDEX. Adams, Charles Francis, Jr., Citations from Address by, 4, 38. Adams, Henry, House for, 106-108 ; see List of Illus- trations. Agawam Bank, Springfield, Mass., described, .50 ; 56, 102 . Albany, N. Y., see Capitol, Cathedral, City Hall, List of Works, and List of Illustrations. Allegheny City, Pa., see Emmanuel Church, and List of Illustrations. Allegheny County Buildings, see Court-house (Pittsburgh), and Jail. “ American Architect and Building News,” 9 (note), 74 (note), 98 (note), 141. American Artists, Richardson’s influence upon, 40, 134, 135 ; in Paris, 14, 15. American Merchants’ Union Express Co.’s Building, Chi- cago, 111., 5.5. Ames Building, Boston, described, 85, 86 ; 96 ; see List of Illustrations. Ames, F. L., Lodge for, see Lodge ; Stores for, see Stores ; see List of Works. Ames Memorial Library, North Easton, described, 68, 69 ; 78 ; see List of Illustrations. Ames Memorial Town Hall, Nortli Easton, Mass., de- scribed, 71, 72; 122 ; see List of Illustrations. Ames Monument, Sherman, Wyoming Territory, 72. Ames, Oakes, 71. Ames, Oliver, 71. Andirons, Sketches for, see List of Illustrations. Andre, Professor, 7, 8, 10, 128 (note). Andrews, F. W., House for, see List of Works. Arles, see St. Trophime. Artists, American, see American Artists. Asylum for the Insane, Buffalo, N. Y., see Insane Asy- lum. “ Atlantic Monthly,” Citation from, see Van Brunt. Henry. Auburndale, Mass., see Railroad Stations, and List of Illustrations. Austin Hall, see Law School. Bagley Estate, Armory for, see List of Works ; Foun- tain for, see Fountain. Bank, Springfield, see Agawam Bank. Baptist Church, Newton, Mass., 22 ; described, 94, 95 ; .120 ; see List of Illustrations. Bartholdi, 53 . Bein, .John D., 3. Benjamin, .ludah P., 4. Beverly Farms, Mass., see List of Works. Bigelow, .1. II., House for, see List of Works. Billings Library, Burlington, Vt., 78 ; described, 80, 81 ; see List of Illustrations. Bishop of Diocese of Albany, Citation from letter of, 146, 147. Blackman, George, 4. Bloor, A. J., Citation from article by, in “ Building Budget,” 117. Boston, Mass., see Ames Building, Brattle Square Church, Bridge, Trinity Church, Rectory, List of Works, and List of Illustrations. “ Boston Evening Transcript,” Citation from, 17, 18. Boston & Albany R. R. Co., Office Building for, see Of- fice Building ; Stations for, see R. R. Stations (Au- burndale, Chestnut Hill, North Easton, Palmer, Waban), and List of Works. Bowles, Benj. F., House for, 103. Bradlee, Joseph, Citation from letter of, 6, 7 ; 9 (note). Brattle Square Church, Boston, 19, 21 ; described, 51-53 ; .55, 56, 58, 61, 63, 83 ; see List of Illustrations. Bridge, Boston, Mass., 72. Brighton, Mass., see List of Works. Brookline, Mass., see Library, Richardson’s ; Offices, Rich- ardson’s ; List of Works, and List of Illustrations. Brooks, Rev. Phillips, 27, 36 ; citations from article by, in “Harvard Monthly,” 37, 38 (note), 40, 43. Browne, Percy, House for, described, 105, 106 ; 112, 120 ; see List of Illustrations. Brunswick, Hotel, see List of Works. Bryant, J. B., House for, see List of Works. Buffalo, N. Y., see Gratwick, Insane Asylum, List of Works, and List of Illustrations. “ Building Budget,” Citation from, see Bloor, A. J. Burchell, Mary, 1. Burgess, 28. Burlington, Vt., see Billings Libraiy, and List of Illus- trations. Burne-Jones, 28. Burrows, Honora, 1. Cambridge, Mass., see Law School, Sever Hall, List of Works, and List of Illustrations. Capitol, New York State, Albany, 20, 21 ; described, 73- 77 ; 82, 120, 135 (note) ; see List of Illustrations. Cathedral Church at Albany, Designs for pro])osed, 22, 23, 86 ; described, 87, 89 ; 95 ; extracts from letters and memoranda relating to, 145-147 ; see List of Illus- trations. Chairs, Sketches for, see List of Illustrations. Chamber of Commerce, Cincinnati, Ohio, described, 97-99; 111, 120 (note), 122 ; see List of Illustrations. Channing, W., House for, see List of Works. 150 INDEX. Chapel, Proposed, see List of Illustrations. Cheney Building, Hartford, described, 67 ; projjosed ad- dition to, 68 (note) ; 85, 96 ; see List of Illustrations. Chestnut Hill, Mass., see Railroad Stations, and List of Illustrations. Chicago, 111., see Field Building, Glessner, List of Works, and List of Illustrations. Churches, see Baptist Church, Brattle Square Church, Cathedral, Grace Church, North Church, Church of the Unity, List of Works, .and List of Illustrations. Church of the Unity. Springfield, Mass., 18, 19, 21 ; de- scribed, 47-49 ; see List of Illustr.ations. Cincinnati, Ohio, see Ch.ainber of Commerce, and List of Illustr.ations. Circular, Rich.ardson’s Professional, 147. Cohasset, Mass., see List of Works. College Buildings, see Billings Library, Law School, and Sever Hall. Commercial Buildings, 95, 96 ; see American Merchants’ Union, Ames Building, Chamber of Commerce, Cheney Building. Field Building, Phoenix Insurance Co., and List of Works. Connecticut River R. R., Station for, see R. R. Stations (Holyoke). Converse Memorial Library, Malden, 78 ; described, 81 ; see List of Illustrations. Cottage for F. L. Ames, see List of Works. Cordova, Argentine Rep., see Exhibition Building. County Buildings, Pittsburgh, Pa., see Court-house, Jail. Court-house, Springfield, Mass., described, 54, 55 ; 58, 71, 72. Court-house, Pittsburgh, 23, 36 ; described, 89-93 ; 95, 110, 111, 112, 122 ; see List of Illustrations. Crane Memorial Library, Quincy, Mass., described, 78- 80 ; 81, 110, 112, 122 ; see List of Illustrations. Crowninshield, B. W., House for, see List of Works. Dairy Building, Boston, see List of Works. Dedham, Mass., see List of Works. De Morgan, 28. Detroit, Mich., see List of Works, and List of Illustrations. Dickenson, Francis, 1. Dickenson, Mary, 1. Dorsheimer, Lieut. Gov. Wm., 74 ; house for, see List of W orks. Drawings by H. H. Richardson, 128 ; see List of Illus- trations. Dwelling-houses, described, 102-110 (Bowles, 103 ; Sher- man, 103 ; Trinity Rectory, 103, 105 ; Ames Lodge, 103, 104 ; Higginson, 104, 105 ; Anderson, 105 ; Browne, 105, 106, 112, 120 ; Hay, 106-108 ; Adams, 106-108 ; Warder, 108, 109; Glessner, 110; Herkomeiv 110 ; Gratwick, 110; MacVeagh, see List of Illusti’ations ; Lionberger, see List of Illustrations) ; see List of Works. Ecole des Beaux Arts, Paris, 6, 10, 15, 16, 117 ; methods of instruction at, 141—143. Eidlitz, Leopold, 20, 73, 74, 75, 76. Eliot, Mass., see List of Works. Emmanuel Church, see List of Works, and List of Illus- trations. England, see Herkomer. Evans, 29, 79. Exhibition Building for Cordova, Argentine Republic, 51. Express Co.’s Building, Chicago, 111., see American Mer- chants’ Union. Family, Sinwiving Members of Richardson’s, 3, 46. Field Building, Chicago, 23, 36 ; described, 95-97 ; 110, 111, 120, 122 ; see List of Illustrations. First Work, Richardson’s, see Church of the Unity. Foulke, Joseph, 3. Foulke, Margaret, 3. Fountain, Detroit, Mich., see List of Works, and List of Illustrations. Franks, Rev. Mr., 27. Freeman, Prof. E. A., opinion of Richardson’s work, 77 (note). Gambrill, Charles, 19, 21, 50, 69, 123. Gas Bracket, Sketch for, see List of Illustrations. Gate Lodge, North Easton, Mass., see Lodge. Gautier, Theophile, 16. Gerhardt, Adolph, 7 ; citation from letter of, 8, 9 ; 32, 141. Glessner, W. H., House for, 110 ; see List of Illustra- tions. Grace Church, West Medford, Mass., 18, 19; described, 49, 50 ; 56, 103. Gratwick, W. H., House for, 110 ; see List of Illustrations. Gi’eatest Work, Richardson’s, see Court-house (Pittsburgh). Gurney, E. W., House foi*, see List of Works. Hampden County Conrt-house, see Court-house (Spring- field). Hartford, Conn., see Cheney Building, Phoenix Insurance Co.’s Building, and List of Illustrations. Harvard University, Richardson’s life at, 4, 5 ; see Law School, Sever Hall, and List of Illustrations. “ Harvard Monthly,” Citations from, see Brooks, Rev. Phillips. Hay, John, House for, 106, 108 ; see List of Illustrations. Hayden, Dr. John Cole, 5. Hayden, .Julia Gorham, 5, 9, 18. Herkomer, H., House for, 110. Higginson, F. L., House for, 104, 105. High School Building, Worcester, Mass., described, 50, 51 ; 56, 102, 103. Hittorf, 14. Hobson & Co., 1. * Holyoke, Mass., see Railroad Stations, and List of Illus- trations. Houses, see Dwelling-houses. Hunt, Richard M., 15. Ice-house, Proj^osed, see List of Illustrations. Illustrations, List of, vii. Insane Asylum, Buffalo, N. Y., 53. Insurance Co.’s Building, Phoenix, Hai’tford, Conn., see Phoenix. .Jail, Pittsburgh, Pa., 30 ; described, 91 ; see List of Illus- trations. Jaques, Letter from Mr., describing Richardson’s Euro- pean journey in 1882, 27—32. INDEX. 151 Labouisse, Mrs. John W., 3. Labrouste, 13, 14. Last Work, Richardson’s, see Gratwick. Law School Building, Cambridge, described, 83-85 ; 105, see List of Illustrations. Leperre, 8. Letters, Citations from — An Architect to Richardson (1870 ?), 51. An Artist to Author, 40. Bishop of Albany to Richardson (1883), 146, 147. Bradlee, Joseph, to Eds. “ American Architect and Building News,” 6, 7. Friend in Boston to Richardson (1865), 16 (note). Gerhardt, A., to Eds. “ American Architect and Build- ing News,” 8, 9. Jaques to Author, 27-32. Olmsted, F. L., to Author, 72. Olmsted, F. L., to Eds. “ American Architect and Build- ing News,” 27 ; 118, 119. Pu 2 nl of Richardson’s to Author, 128 (note). Richardson to his Uncle (1860), 6. Richardson to Miss Hayden (1862), 10-13. Richardson to his Family (1882), 33, 34. Richardson to Bishoj) of Albany (1883), 145, 146. Richardson, W. P., to Author, 3, 4. Richardson, W. P., to Richardson (1865?), 20. Sjners, R. Phend, to Eds. “ American Architect and Building News,” 6, 9. Leverich, Mrs. Henry, 3. Library Buildings, Public, see Ames Memorial, Billings, Converse, Crane, Winn, and List of Illustrations ; de- sign for a, 83 ; see List of Illustrations. Library, Richardson’s, 124, 125 ; see List of Illustra- tions. Light-house, Proposed, see List of Illustrations. Lionberger, J. R., House for, see List of Works, and List of Illustrations. List, Chronological, of Richardson’s Works, 139, 140. Littell, E. J., 19. Lodge for F. L. Ames, North Easton, Mass., 103, 104 ; see List of Illustrations. MaeVeagh, F., House for, see List of Works, and List of Illustrations. McKim & White, Messrs., their house next Richardson’s in Boston, 104-105. McVickar, Rev. William, 27. Malden, Mass., see Converse Memorial Library, and List of Illustrations. Marion, Mass., see Browne, and List of Illustrations. Memoirs of Dr. Priestley, 1 (note). Monument, see Ames Monument, and Pruyn. Morris, William, 28. New London, Conn., see Railroad Stations. Newport, R. I., see Sherman (W. W.), and List of Works. Newton, Mass., see BajJist Church, List of Works, and List of Illustrations. New York, N. Y., see List of Works. Nieuwerkerke, 16. Norcross, 29, 14.3, 145. North Church, Sjjringfield, 55, 56; see List of Illustra- tions. North Easton, Mass., see Ames Library, Ames Town Hall, Lodge, Raih’oad Stations, List of Works, and List of Illustrations. Office Building for Boston and Albany R. R. Co., Spring- field, Mass., 19 ; described, 49. Offices, Richardson’s, described, 124, 125 ; Life in, 123- 131. Old Colony R. R., Station for, see Railroad Stations (North Easton). Olmsted, Frederick Law, 20 ; citations from letters of, 27, 72, 118, 119 ; 73, 74, 76. Paine, R. T., House for, see List of Works. Palladio, Architectural ideas of, comjjared with those of American architects, 97. Palmer, Mass., see Railroad Stations. Phoenix Insurance Co.’s Building, Hartford, Conn., 55. Pittsburgh, Pa., see Court-house, Jail, and List of Illus- trations. Porcellian Club, 5. Post, Geo. B., 19. Priestley & Bein, 3. Priestley, Catherine Caroline, 1, 3. Priestley, Jonas, 1- Priestley, Jose^Ji, 1. Priestley, Dr. JosejJi, 1, 2 ; intellectual resemblance to Richardson, 43-46. Priestley, JosejJi (third of the name), 1 (note), 3. Priestley, William, 3. Pruyn Monument, Albany, N. Y., see List of Works. Public Buildings, see Cajiitol, City Hall, Court-house, Jail, Library, Town HaU. Pullen, 28. Quincy, Mass., see Crane Memorial Library, and List of Illustrations. Railroad Stations, 23 ; described, 100-102 (Auburndale, 100, 105 ; Chestnut Hill, 101, 102 ; Holyoke, 100 ; New London, 100 ; North Easton, 100 ; Palmer, 100; Wa- ban, 100) ; see List of Works, and List of Illustra- tions. Rectory, Trinity, Boston, Mass., see Trinity Rectory. Richardson, James, 1. Richardson, Henry Dickenson, 1, 43. Richardson, Henry Hobson, birtli and parentage, 1 ; an- cestry, 1-3 ; boyhood and youth, 4 ; college life, 4, 5 ; choice of jjrofession, 5 ; betrothal, 5 ; arrival in Pails, 5; life in Paris, 6-16; letters from Paris, 6, 10-13; visit to Boston, 9 ; final return to America, 16 ; first professional engagement, 17 ; struggles to lind employ- ment, 17, 18 ; iiersonal aj)iiearance and characteristics, 17, 18 ; first architectural commission, 18 ; marriage, 18 ; jirofessional career sketched, 19-25, 35, 36 ; jiartnership with Charles Gambrill, 19 ; commission to build Brattle Sf^uare Church, 19 ; to build Trinity Church, 20 ; to complete capitol at Albany, 20 ; for library buildings, 21 ; dissolution of 2 >artnerslii]), 21 ; commission to build Sever Hall, 21; ecclesiastical work, 21-23; love for new ])roblems in architecture, 21-23, 37 , 38 ; own opinion as to his best work, 23, 92 ; ill-health, 23, 24; personal and social characteristics, 24-27, 37-41, 42- 152 INDEX. 46 ; journey to Niagara and Canada, 27 ; European journey, 27-34; letters from Europe, 33, 34; effects of this journey on his work, 35 ; renewed ill-health, 35, 36 ; death and funeral, 36 ; fellowship in societies, 37 ; inherited qualities (intellectual likeness to Dr. Priestley), 42-46; early works, 47—56; eclecticism in art, 50 (note), 89, 93; characteristics of early works, 56-58; Trinity Church, 59-66 ; own description of Trinity Church, 61 (note), 62 (note), 143—145; works of middle life, 67-86 ; Albany Capitol, 73-77 ; last public buildings, 87-89 ; creative character of his art, 88, 92- 94, 98 ; railroad stations, 100-102 ; dwelling-houses, 102-110; general characteristics as an artist, 111—122; chief merits of his work, 112, 113 ; attitude towards ancient art, 114-116 ; benefit of early training, 117 ; ])atience in working, 117-119; alleged faults in his work, 119-122 ; methods of teaching and working, 123-131 ; influence upon architects, 132, 137 ; upon the public, 132-138 ; upon progress of other arts, 133, 134 ; care for accessoiy features in his buildings, 133, 134 ; opinion of architects’ opportunities in Amer- ica, 134-136 ; reasons why his work interested the public, 136, 137 ; lessons to be drawn from his example, 137, 138; his position in history, 138 ; chronological list of his works, 139-140 ; extracts from his descrip- tion of Trinity Church, 143-145 ; extracts from his letters and memoranda relating to Cathedral designs, 145, 146 ; professional circular, 147. Richardson, Robert, 1. Richardson, Robert, Jr., 1. Richardson, William Priestley, 3 ; citations from letters of, 3, 4. Robinson, Governor, 75. Romanesque Art, Influence of, on Richardson, 20, 35, 53, 54, 55, 56, 59, 63-66, 69, 76, 77 (note), 80, 88, 89,93, 114, 115, 122 ; relations to American public, 136-138. Rumrill, .1. A., 18. St. Louis, Mo., see List of Works, and List of Illustra- tions. St. Trophime, Arles, 29, 33. Salamanca, Old Cathedral, 31, 34 ; tower of, and tower of Trinity Church, 64-66 ; 115. Sard, Grange, Jr., House for, see List of Works. Sears, Professor, 4. Sever Hall, Cambridge, Mass., 5, 21 ; described, 69-71 ; 105, 110, 111 ; see List of Illustrations. Shaw, Norman, Influence of, in one of Richardson’s houses, 105 . Shepley, Rutan & Coolidge, 139. Sherman, W. W., House for, 103. Sherman, Wyoming Territory, see Ames Monument. South Framingham, Mass., see List of Works. Spiers, R. Phen^, Citations from letter of, 6, 9 ; 28. Springfield, Mass., see Agawam Bank, Boston & Albany R. R., Bowles, Church of the Unity, Court-house, North Church, and List of Illustrations. State Capitol, Albany, N. Y., see Capitol. Stations, Railroad, see Railroad Stations. Stimpson, Ed., House for, see List of Works. Stores for F. L. Ames, see Ames Building and List of Works ; for Marshall Field, see Field Building. Stoughton, Mrs. M. F., House for, see List of Works. Sturges, Jonathan, House for, see List of Works. Successors, Richardson’s, 139. Swift, Joseph, 1. Tinkham, J. 11., House for, see List of Works. Town Hall for Brookline, Mass., Proposed, see List of Illustrations. Town Hall, North Easton, Mass., see Ames Memorial Town Hall. Ti'inity Church, Boston, Mass., commission for, 20 ; 21, 31 (note), 35, 56 ; described, 59-66 ; tower compared with Salamanca, 64-66 ; pi'oposed porch, 66; 67, 70, 103, 111 ; tower, 115, 118 ; interior, 121, 134 ; methods of construction, 143—145 ; see List of Illustrations. Trinity Rectory, Boston, Mass., described, 103 ; 105 ; see List of Illusti'ations. Unity, Church of the, Springfield, see Church of the Unity. University of Vermont, see Billings Library. Van Brunt, Henry, Citation from article by, on Trinity Church, 61. Viollet-le-Duc, 15, 16. Waban, Mass., see Railroad Stations. Waltham, Mass., see List of Works. Warder, B. H., House for, 108, 109 ; see List of Illus- trations. Washington, D. C., see Adams (Henry), Andei'son, War- der, and List of Illustrations. Wellesley Hills, Mass., see List of Works. West Medford, Mass., see Grace Church. Wilkinson, Isaac, 2 Wilkinson, Mary, 2, 3. Winn Memorial Library, Woburn, Mass., 21 ; described, 67, 68 ; 80, 81, 114 ; see List of Illustrations. Woburn, Mass., see Winn Memorial Library, and List of Illustrations. Woodland, Mass., see List of Works, and List of Illus- trations. Worcester, Mass., see High School. Works of H. H. 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