An inquiry into the appropriateness of the Gothic style for the proposed buildings for the University of Glasgow, with some remarks upon Mr. Scott’s plans [1]

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When it was announced that the ground and buildings at present occupied by the Glasgow University had been sold for the purpose of being converted into a railway-station, and that new buildings on a greatly extended scale would be required, the local architects, who had laboured devotedly and with some degree of success in fulfilling, the ordinary demands of the public, very naturally expected that they would have had so far recognised as to be afforded a chance of winning the greatest prize that ever their fellow-citizens had it in their power to bestow. The Professors of the University may be regarded as the truest representatives of wisdom and learning amongst us, and that, although our wealthy merchants might occasionally fall into mistakes in matters involving a knowledge of art, there was no danger of any miscarriage in this case – that the Professors, feeling the slight cast upon them by the practice of our families in sending their sons to the great schools and universities of England, would have sympathised with local professional men like themselves, and seen the necessity for a city such as ours having a school of architecture worthy of its importance. They, at least, might have known that whatever honour a community may derive from the possession of great works, there is a much higher honour and a very manifest advantage in being possessed of the minds that created these; and their first duty was to have used the means of ascertaining whether there were not some men amongst ourselves who deserved encouragement, and were capable of undertaking the erection of those buildings in a manner creditable to the institution.

But if the half-million of people by whom and for whom the University is chiefly maintained, and to whom the Professors look for the means of carrying out their scheme, could not produce a man equal to the task, then they, as promoters of social progress and intellectual culture, were bound in duty to search for a properly qualified architect wherever he could be found, and to offer him their work as an inducement to settle amongst us. Had they even secured a first-rate work, it would in some measure have served the purpose of an architectural professorship in the University. They, however, followed a different course, and without any notice of their intention, the fact was announced that plans had been procured from the “celebrated architect, Mr G. Gilbert Scott, of London.”

The members of the profession in Glasgow took no steps to frustrate the proceeding. It might have been regarded as bad taste on their part to have done so; but now that the arrangement has been completed, and the necessary funds almost subscribed, there can be little harm in reviewing the whole matter, and giving expression to an opinion as to how far the course followed by the University authorities has been justified by its results. When they made up their minds to employ Mr. Scott, they thereby relinquished all claims to the possession of any degree of knowledge or regard for the interest of art superior to the vulgar public’s. For, granting that Mr. Scott is all that his most enthusiastic admirers would have him to be, everybody knows that his establishment being the most fashionable in the great metropolis, his business is so enormous that, to expect him to bestow more than the most casual consideration upon the work which passes through his office, is altogether unreasonable. Nor could it be supposed that the magnitude of this work was sufficient to have secured more than an ordinary amount of attention at his hands, for it was nothing unusual to him. Had the University authorities been guided by a competent amount of knowledge and genuine love of art, they would have turned from a workshop of this sort with disgust, and placed their commission in the hands of someone not inferior to Mr. Scott in ability, and superior to him in all the other qualities essential to the practice of what was once regarded as amongst the noblest of the arts.

There are many men who would have devoted their whole energies of heart and soul to a work of this kind, and produced a building of enduring interest – something that we would have been proud of, no matter where its author came from; and surely there is a sufficient number of men among the subscribers, honest, generous, and brave enough to have supported the Professors in pursuing a course of this kind, and to have defended them from that class of people who, from lack of knowledge to judge for themselves, are in the habit of resorting to the marts of fashion for whatever they want. But I shall proceed to the consideration of the suitableness of the style of architecture which has been chosen. Judging from the general aspects of the designs, and from the fact that they have issued from Mr. Scott’s office, it may be assumed that Gothic in some form or other had been selected as the most appropriate for the purpose. Let us inquire into some of the claims which are put forward on behalf of this style, and see whether the choice was a judicious one or not.

The pleasure which we derive from objects of sight arises partly from the associations which they suggest, and partly from their own inherent beauty. It is difficult to see anything in the associations of the Gothic style that should recommend its adoption as the proper architectural exponent of learning and mental cultivation. It had its origin in what are termed The Dark Ages; and although we have some reason to be proud of the sturdy virtues of our ancestors, and to feel grateful to them for transmitting to us some of the most valuable traits in our character, yet were we to sit down and calmly consider what was actually done for the advancement of knowledge and civilisation during the many centuries which intervene between the Augustine or Apostolic period and the dawn of the Reformation, and suppose it all swept away, there would be little occasion for any very immoderate expression of regret Indeed, in so far as social progress is concerned, we might be chronicling events and heading our letters with the figures 866 instead of 1866, and be a thousand years nearer the truth; for is it not the fact that a great part of the work of the last two or three centuries has consisted in rectifying the errors of the mediaeval system?

The Gothic revivalists are fond of catching hold of people by their prejudices. They say that theirs is the national style, and this assertion has come to be admitted almost generally. Yet nobody seems to understand exactly what it means. It certainly had not a national origin, and, although it was practised in this country for some centuries, and assumed national and local peculiarities, the same may be claimed for the Classic styles. But they tell us that it suits the national taste. Now this argument, if it be worth anything at all, can be admitted only after it has been proved that Gothic is the best style, otherwise it is no compliment to the nation.

We are next told that we should adopt it because it is the Christian style, and, strange to say, this most impudent assertion has also been accepted as sound doctrine even by earnest and intelligent Protestants; whereas it ought only to have force with those who believe that Christian truth attained its purest and most spiritual development at the period when this style of architecture constituted its corporeal frame.

The claims put forth in favour of this style are so multifarious, and the practice of its discipline, is so conflicting, that it is difficult to address all of the essential points – like some of the lower forms of animal existence, to which Nature has not supplied either the power of defence or the means of escape, but in lieu of these has so distributed their vitality that we search in vain for hearts of any kind, and when their heads are chopped off they do not seem to miss them, and as for hearts they have none. Ever and anon we are called on to admire the constructive skill displayed by our ancient builders; the principle of the arch in its various applications, and the means employed to control the law of gravity in its different directions, are expatiated on as altogether marvellous. Now, all this is consistent with fact, and yet the whole is founded upon an egregious error. Can anything be more absurd than to rear a fabric with the very agents of destruction? Every stone in an arch is a wedge, and every stone above it is a hammer, slowly it may be, but surely, driving these wedges home. All the parts in Gothic architecture seem to aspire at standing upon end. Great height and extreme inequality of height, with high-pitched roofs, are its most striking characteristics. The result of all this is that the inequality of height produces inequality of subsidence in the walls and foundations. The high roof presenting a great extent of surface to the wind communicates a vibratory motion to the walls. These roofs are either vaulted with stone, or constructed of timber, but in neither case do they contain within themselves any provision against their natural tendency to thrust out the walls. This is met by the altogether external opposing-power of buttresses at an enormous cost of material, for a modern engineer would for the same purpose make a pound of wire go as far as a ton of stone. But perhaps this violent conflict of forces, this incessant struggle between stick-up and knock-down, may account in some measure for the favour which the style has obtained with a cock-fighting, bull-baiting, pugilistic people like the Anglo-Saxons.

Then there are no projecting cornices to protect the walls from rain. In the older buildings there is not even any contrivance for conducting the water from the roofs to the ground; it is merely spouted from the gargoyles in concentrated streams, which the wind blows into the walls. It follows that the water, penetrating the stone, and finding its way into the joints, is expanded by the irresistible power of frost. There is not a hairsbreadth of motion produced by any or all of these agencies but is inevitably taken advantage of by the ever vigilant hammer-and-wedge principle of construction. The walls are split by the arches or thrown off the perpendicular by the thrust of the roofs, and even should the lofty spire fail to attract a demolishing thunderbolt, sooner or later, in spite of all the opposing power of standing and flying buttresses and counter-posing pinnacles, the whole thing finds its way back to the ground from whence it sprang.

There can be no doubt of the fact that the introduction of the arch into architecture has strewed Europe with ruins; whilst in Egypt and Greece, except where deliberately injured or destroyed, we have lintelled structures which have stood the test of thousands of years without showing an open joint or any other symptom of decay further than natural disintegration. The simple unsophisticated stone lintel contains every element of strength which is to be found in the most ingeniously contrived girder, so that Stonehenge is really more scientifically constructed than York Minster.

There are many more fallacies in connection with this subject which might be easily exposed, but I go on to consider the artistic merits of the style. In order to the proper understanding of its peculiar characteristics, it may be of service to inquire into the principles exhibited in other styles of architecture and in the appearances of nature. There are two classes of objects in nature which, while merging into each other at the middle, are very distinct at the extremes, and which for want of more definite terms may be described as forms and effects. The first includes the whole animal kingdom and a portion of the vegetable, such as leaves, flowers, and the like. The second includes trees, rocks, hills, clouds, and landscape in general, and there is more or less beauty in all. In the first class we have certain typical forms, of which all other forms are varieties. By means of a mental faculty, common to us all, we have no difficulty in discriminating, in a general way, between inferior and superior forms; and, according as we cultivate this faculty, we are enabled to determine which are the most perfect, even to very subtle degrees of difference. These again suggest the ideal, that is, the highest order of beauty which the imagination can conceive. The distinctive characteristics of the higher class of animal forms are, that each is symmetrical as a whole, that all its parts are symmetrical, and that all its parts bear some precise proportion to each other and to the whole. The second class of objects embraces irregular forms, such as trees, rocks, and hills, or combinations of these, with effects of colour and light-and-shade. These constitute what is termed the picturesque; but although this class is in itself a source of much pure delight, it is manifestly inferior, in so far as it wants the ideal quality, while the first contains both. The greater comprehends the less. The higher classes of animals, from the perfect mechanism of their structure, are capable of the most diverse and graceful motions; and their members, though few, may be disposed in an almost endless variety of combinations. This is the case even with single individuals, but much more so in groups.

Some people imagine that the rules of architecture are arbitrary, that they have been invented by certain pedantic people in old times, and that it becomes men of an independent turn of mind to set them at nought; but the fact is, that the laws which govern the universe, whether aesthetical or physical, are the same which govern architecture. We do not contrive rules; we discover laws. There is such a thing as architectural truth. One man may make an endeavour to embody an idea in form, and another, recognising his intention, may take it up and disencumber it so far of extraneous matter. A third may purify it still further, and so on from generation to generation, until, purged of every particle of useless material, and adjusted in all its proportions, it becomes for all time a typical form – a perfectly realised idea. In like manner, certain combinations of forms and lines are felt to be harmonious by all who have sufficiently cultivated their minds in this branch of art, and any alteration of those forms or those combinations can be at once detected as a departure from the truth. These are characteristic of the ideal styles of architecture, as we see them gradually developed in the noble series beginning with the dawn of the human intellect, and diffused over distant parts of the world – in Central America, India, Syria, Egypt, and reaching its climax on the Acropolis of Athens, in conjunction with, and as one of the most splendid and most enduring exponents of, that race which raised human attainment in almost every department to a degree of excellence which has been the envy and admiration of all succeeding ages.

Although the lineage of Gothic architecture may be traced through various stages back to the Greek, yet it is of all styles the most opposite to Greek architecture; and the most opposite of all is the English Gothic, which, as it was practised in the fourteenth century, had lost nearly every trace of Classic tradition. After the extinction of the Roman power in the north of Europe, civilisation and learning sunk to a very low ebb; but by-and-bye affairs became more settled – tribes were grouped together into powerful kingdoms, and energies which had hitherto almost exclusively devoted to the sports of the field and to warfare, now sought and found other channels; the influence of the Church began to be felt, and places of worship came into demand. There was not much art visible in the remains of Roman architecture in these later times, but such as it was it served as a starting-point; and, partly aided by a few notions imported from the East, these “awful fathers of mankind” took to shaping their thoughts in timber and stone in the best way they could. They were by no means hampered with knowledge as we are; their shelves were not groaning under the weight of books about everything as ours do; but they had the powers of imagination in great vigour, and they could not choose but receive impressions from the scenes amid which they moved. The material for making “silk purses” was evidently awanting here, and so the product was, as might have been expected, somewhat rough and homespun.

The Gothic, in its earlier forms, seems to embody the spirit of the woods – not the outward semblance, as some say, but the habit and the character. Everything seems to grow; a kind of forest-life pervades the old gray piles – buttresses terminating in unambitious pinnacles, which look as if the principle of growth had only paused for a time; sturdy mullions, gnawed by the tooth of time, but still vigorous, spreading out, or interlocking their branching limbs to bear up the superincumbent arch, but without the least appearance of effort, as if habit had made the labour light. If we pass the deeply-recessed doorway, with its alternate shafts and mouldings, and enter the interior, we see the same unrestrained freedom about all its parts, the same look of staid animation, as if it had taken a longer while to grow, but might grow for a long while to come. Still, forest-like, it reminds us of stately trunks and over-arching branches – of sunny glades and gloomy recesses. The light streaming through the stained-glass is suggestive of leaves and flowers, while the gloom is associated with lurking terrors of wolves and hobgoblins. The eye falls here and there upon strange, root-like combinations of crooked limbs, presenting a preponderance of knees and elbows, with grotesque faces distorted with pain, or grinning in hideous laughter. The style is essentially romantic and picturesque, rather pleasing than instructive, rather interesting than excellent.

While it is allied more to the landscape than to the figure department of art, it lacks the perfect freedom of the landscape; stone-and-lime are not so pliable as colour on the canvas. On the other hand, it lacks the highest qualities which are to be found in figure-painting or in sculpture. The principle of design is not that which we see in the superior orders of the animal kingdom, where every limb and feature is not only symmetrical in its own form and proportions, but stands also in harmonious relation to every other part and to the whole. The ideal element is nearly or altogether absent; in the minor features there is no attempt to ascertain and fix the true symmetrical proportions of any typical form, but instead of this the tendency is to run into numerous imperfect varieties. Nor is there any very decided approach to fixed harmonics in composition; as the forms may be longer or shorter, broader or narrower, so the masses and spaces may be greater or less without appearing to be inconsistent. The principle of design is somewhat akin to that which is observed in trees and such-like forms, hut limited in its application by the demands of utility, and the nature of the materials employed – it does not seem to stand upon the earth, but to spring out of it. We have the effect of trunks and branches in the mullions and traceries of windows, and in the piers and vault-ribs of the interior. In good Gothic the detail multiplies as it ascends, and one part seems to grow out of another. It resembles the lower forms of nature also, in seeking for diversity rather than in aiming at unity.

This principle can be carried out only by the sacrifice of the higher manifestations of truth and beauty: in order to conceal the crudeness of one form others are brought in to distract the attention; and by way of compensation for harmonious combination the element of variety is introduced. In some cases every bay or compartment has something peculiar in its treatment, which demands our notice on its own account. It will also be observed that these old builders did not feel themselves under any obligation to make similar things exactly alike. The individual workmen seem to have been allowed considerable latitude, and introduced more or less slight variations into features which we would expect to find the same, such as occasionally making buttresses of unequal height and projection, chamfering some and leaving others square, placing openings a little off the centre line of the spaces in which they occur, breaking the continuity of lines, and doing many other capricious things, which, although in all probability mere accidents, do at the same time serve to interest us, partly because we are puzzled to account for them, but also, whether intended or not, they serve to give intricacy to the design. Moreover, the eye, taking in several objects nearly alike, but yet not the same, and the various figures overlapping, mixing, and uniting in one on the field of perception, give a softness of outline which they would not otherwise have. Then, there is the element of irregularity of plan and outline; towers, spires, and pinnacles break the general mass upwards; porches and other accessories lead the line downwards to unite it with the ground. Some of these adjuncts project considerably from the general plan, and serve the purpose of foreground masses to the rest. By all these contrivances and accidents an impression of multitudinousness and incomprehensibility is conveyed to the mind. (Our own Cathedral was completely deprived of this effect by the removal of the western tower and the consistory-house; and from the unusually small projection of the transept the view from the south is now extremely tame as compared with what it was formerly, and the apparent size of the edifice very much curtailed.) But Gothic architecture does not express greatness; it is only grand where it is actually of large dimensions. Small Gothic buildings are not impressive unless begrimed with dirt, or in a dangerous state of dilapidation. Indeed these last mentioned qualities have a great deal to do with the romantic interest which we associate with old Gothic structures. The effect of breadth produced by blackness, and the softening influences of decay, cover many of the defects inherent in the style. Suppose Alloway Kirk to have been put into a tidy state of repair, and painted in fresh stone-colour, Tam O’Shanter and his gray mare Meg would have passed it without a thought of ghaists or witches. So would it be with any moderately-sized Gothic erection. An illustration of what I have stated may be seen in the portions of Glasgow Cathedral which have been restored, for although the new stone was carefully blackened to the tone of the old, no means were used to soften the angles, and so the whole of the west front is most painfully hard and forbidding, and appears in very striking contrast to the scarred and weather-worn aspect of the old work.

But, while the forms and combinations hitherto used in Gothic architecture belong to an inferior order, it is evident from the nature of the style that they must ever remain so. This will readily be seen when it is considered that the shape of the openings constitute the main object in the system, to the total subjection of the solid parts. These openings consist of certain geometrical perforations in the walls, intricate and curious enough in their various combinations, but utterly incapable of the delicate refinements with which solid forms may be treated. The patterns of the windows being either strong black or white, according as they are looked at from without or within, any attempt to modify the solid parts would at once be detected. They are, therefore, mere parallel spaces of wall between the windows, or, as tracery, mere lines of uniform breadth separating the different shapes from each other. Then the extreme definiteness of these shapes, and the strong black or white in which they appear, calls for equally strong mouldings to correspond, also necessarily composed of the more common geometric forms – ropes and fillets brought out in striking relief by deep ruts emulating the blackness or whiteness of the windows. There is an inveterate tendency in detail of this indifferent sort to become redundant, for, as I have already stated, the readiest way of distracting the attention from the defects of one crude form is to place two or three cruder forms beside it.

If we compare a Gothic flank with a colonnade, it will be observed that there is a most essential difference between the two things in the principles upon which they are designed. In the Gothic the element of height is chiefly developed or suggested; every particular bay is framed off from its neighbour by buttresses, and requires to be examined by itself. The articulation of its parts leads the eye upwards over the parapet, to survey a desert of slates or some other mean kind of roofing, and down again to the earth. The perceptive faculty thus gathers a number of separate impressions as it goes from bay to bay, the mixture of which leaves an undefined and more or less confused general impression on the mind, the effort to unravel and arrange which is to many people a pleasing exercise of the imagination. But the element of height is confined within the moderate limits of practical construction and usefulness, so that the Gothic is altogether unsuitable for buildings of great extent, because when it assumes the horizontal form its different parts cease to have any apparent relationship to each other, and become more like a little town than a great building. In a colonnade or façade, the element of length is developed or suggested, and it will be readily perceived that there is no single building or combination of buildings, however great in extent, to which this element does not apply, and which, with proper treatment, would not be enhanced in dignity in proportion as it is prolonged. I may refer to the magnificent architectural compositions of the late John Martin in illustration of this.[2] A comprehensible number of columns are arranged in a compartment, then a feature projecting outwards and upwards is introduced; the columns are continued through and beyond it to the next feature of the same kind; these are repeated as often as they can be comprehended, and a feature still larger is brought in, to be repeated at greater intervals; and so on almost indefinitely; the columns are connected by their stylobates below and their entablatures above; while the other features are united by terraces – the whole producing an effect of surpassing grandeur.

All who have studied works of art must have been struck by the mysterious power of the horizontal element in carrying the mind away into space, and into speculations upon infinity. The pictures of Turner and of Roberts afford frequent examples of this. The expanding effect which is thus produced upon the mind cannot be overrated. Perhaps there is no more decisive test of the general inferiority and want of refinement in Gothic architecture than the character of the painting and sculpture which has grown out of it. There is not a scrap or fragment of either of these arts, produced before the revival of Classic art, that would for a moment be tolerated in a gallery where painting and sculpture were being exhibited for their artistic merits; and not only so, but the very nature of the style excludes alike beauty of form, delicacy of manipulation, and repose in composition, – the soft effect of flesh, the almost imperceptible dimplings of surface, and the perfectly free and harmonious combinations of all sorts of delicately-curved lines, which are inseparable from good sculpture or painting, are altogether out of place amidst the sharply-defined geometrical shapes, the strongly-contrasted lights and shadows, the harsh, vulgar, reedy forms, and the inveterate perpendicularity of Gothic architecture.

Every genuine style of architecture has carried its sculpture and painting along with it, not as sister arts, as we are in the habit of calling them, but as proper component elements essential to the completeness of every important monumental edifice. In the Egyptian architecture, and in the sculpture we see the same look of repose – the same indifference to the passing events of the world’s history – an expression of quiet waiting till all the bustle is over – till time shall be no more – when they shall enter upon a new and never-ending existence with the revived forms of that race whose genius called them into being, and whose civilisation seems to us more like the close of the antediluvian period, when men lived a thousand years, and could afford time to do things well, rather than the beginning of the present paltry system of hurry, scurry, sham, and subterfuge. In modern Italian architecture we see a similarly intimate relationship to its sculpture; its loose composition, its gross mouldings, and its barrel-bulged columns are fitly associated with corpulent cherubs, with festoons of such rounded and blown-out forms as apples and pears, and with tangled and weedy spandrils. The Greek is the only style of architecture which harmonises with the highest style of sculpture and painting.

The Theseus, the Illissus, the head of the Horse of Night, and the unrivalled frieze with the metopes, which form the principal part of the Elgin Marbles, all belonged to the Parthenon. And the head of Jupiter, and that torso so much admired by Michael Angelo, might have also belonged to it; and yet no one can say that the architecture is in the least degree inferior to these noblest of works. But suppose them placed upon a building of any other style whatever, either they or the architecture would be lost sight of, as the one cannot combine with the other. This may be observed in the painted windows of our Cathedral, where the pictorial subjects are composed with all the skill of the German School of Art. The same freedom which is usually observed in good historical-pictures is adopted in the disposition of forms and colours, without any regard to the direction of the architectural currents, and from the fact that the walls are in shadow, and the light in general much subdued, the windows have the best of the strife, and the venerable Cathedral has modestly retired from the field. The incongruity produced by the combination of artistic groups of sculpture with Gothic architecture is very markedly illustrated in Mr. Scott’s design for the Albert National Memorial, and even the groups of figures introduced for effect into the large perspective-drawing of the principal front of the new buildings for our University appear to belong to a style of art totally different from that of the architectural part of the subject.

But, perhaps one of the most shameless of all the claims advanced in favour of the use of Gothic architecture is its flexibility, – that it is not tied down by rules, but admits of the greatest latitude, and this promiscuousness dignified by the name of freedom. This is the argument which has been employed by loose characters in all ages to excuse their conduct. They prefer the laxity and regardlessness of publicans and sinners, to the prudent cautious self-control which regulates the conduct of the wise and the good.

I have gone somewhat more fully into the merits of the Old Gothic than I at first intended; it is necessary nevertheless to turn for a little to Modern Gothic, and inquire into its condition and prospects. The circumstances amidst which the Old Gothic came into existence, and the system upon which it was carried on, were altogether different from ours. Although there must have been in all cases some directing mind, and some general plan, it has not been established that there was any class of men devoted to the study of architecture as a separate profession A great deal seems to have been left to the workmen, and to this fact we may trace many of the characteristics of the style. The minds of these men were not disciplined and refined by education; the literature of art, if there was any, must have been very scant, and it is evident that their knowledge was not very precise. They had “little Latin, and less Greek” to look to, and so they had to express their thoughts and purposes in the best way they could. If we take our stand upon the Acropolis of Athens, whence has come nearly all that we know of art in all its branches, we may see and comprehend the whole process of architectural development from beginning to end. From that eminence we look down into the obscurity of the Dark Ages, and see a noble struggle going on – we notice with intense interest the strength, the agility, and the earnestness with which these men climb towards the light, and most heartily award to them the highest meed of praise; but just in proportion as we admire the genuine Goth, and the degree of progress to which he attained, so do we regret the retrograde movement which has been going on for the last thirty or forty years.

It is not necessary to trace the history of this movement. It has been called the Mediæval revival; but with about as much truth, as if we were to say that the Portland-cement models of Professor Owen at Sydenham[3] are the commencement of a pre-Adamic revival. The spirit and the circumstances which produced Gothic art have passed away, and can never be revived. Men cannot divest themselves of civilisation and knowledge even if they would. Ruskin says that good Gothic must have something wolfish in it. This is not the character of Modern Gothic. We have no wolfish turns to serve, and therefore it is perfectly tame and subdued in its nature and aspect. We miss in it the rude vigorous life, the spontaneity, the artlessness, the wild revelry of invention, the heedlessness of rules, the interesting accidents, the sober colour, the softness of dilapidation, and the terrible bulging and splitting of the walls – these qualities are quite inimitable and inadmissible by modern society, and in our orderly ways of planning, measuring, and estimating. Your Gothic architect nevertheless affects it as much as possible. He cannot be bothered with correct drawing; indeed, it does not suit him. He cannot himself tolerate, far less dare he venture before the public with a design in architectural lines merely. He feels, without knowing it, the poverty of his style; and in order to conceal this from himself and others, he draws his design for a new building in the clever dashing manner which he has acquired in making up his stock-in-trade, by sketching among the grim and mouldering remains of the Middle Ages. His lines are neither straight, continuous, nor of equal thickness but jerked, intermittent, and blotchy. He adds to the architectural lines those of the masonry, and, by a mode of hatching the individual blocks with a pen,[4] produced by an alternate up-and-down and side-to-side motion of the hand, he gives a good imitation of canted stones in an advanced state of decay. The windows and other recesses are shaded in the same manner with a towsy blackness resembling matted tufts of coarse hair. He writes the titles on his plans in unintelligible old English characters, and his work seems a perfect realisation of his own dreams and those of his ecclesiological patrons, and eagerly the order is given for the building to be proceeded with; but it rises from the ground trim, straight, and clean-shaven; for although he has done his best to maintain the deception by rough-dressing the stones, and leaving the needful lime out of the joints, still, after every trick has been tried, the result is disappointment, and by-and-bye the thing is pronounced to be another failure – in a year or two dirty streaks resembling shadows appear where shadows are not wanted, and to people of tidy habits this is quite abominable. Those who love the effect of dilapidation in old buildings detest it in the new, and soluble silicate or vulgar paint is resorted to to prevent the softening influences of disintegration and discoloration, which gives the building a still more hard and determined expression than it presented at the beginning.

In this way important buildings are begun and finished, and fabulous sums of money spent in costly materials and mere workmen’s wages, under the delusion that a great work is being accomplished. But when we have comprehended the plot, and marked the leading peculiarities in the detail, the interest fades away like that produced by the last popular novel; and the reason is obvious – ingenuity of arrangement, variety of detail, costly material, and the labour of mere workmen, do not constitute art – do not produce that kind of beauty which “is a joy for ever.” Notwithstanding the general favour which has been bestowed upon this movement, and the splendid opportunities which have been afforded to it, we look in vain for any building of enduring interest in the style. While the Roman revival, beginning with Inigo Jones, and followed by Christopher Wren, Vanbrugh, Gibb, Chambers, and others, has given us many worthy structures, and the Greek revival has given us the Edinburgh High School and St. George’s Hall, Liverpool – unquestionably the two finest buildings in the kingdom[5] – there is not a modern Gothic building of more than ten years’ standing that any one cares a straw about. The New Palace of Westminster[6] compares very disadvantageously with Somerset House; and Donaldson’s Hospital, Edinburgh, of which great things were expected, fails to excite even a passing remark; while the High School, the fragments of the National Monument, Dugald Stewart’s Monument, the Surgeons’ Hall,[7] and the Institution on the Mound, continue to illuminate their respective localities with the light of truth and beauty, giving to our Northern Metropolis an air of refinement which no other city in the kingdom possesses.

It is worthy of remark that on the Continent, where art is more generally appreciated than with us, the Gothic movement has failed to establish itself in the favour of the public, and although it has prevailed now for many years in this country, and its promoters arc generally pretty well read up in its details, yet it has made no real progress, and never can. If, on the one hand, it is made more picturesque, it becomes grotesque: if, on the other, it is made more orderly, it comes into competition with the Greek, against which it has not the shadow of a chance. Modern Gothic was introduced mainly by the aid of literary men, and written into fashion. We have seen all the phases and periods of it follow each other in rapid succession, ever changing, but never advancing; and it is evident that this cannot last much longer. In making architecture a fashion it ceases to be an art, and like all other fashions which have come in, it will in due course go out, and be as much despised as it was formerly esteemed.

I have thus endeavoured to point out the peculiarities of Gothic architecture. I have admitted its merits, and the interest which for various reasons attaches to it. And I have also shown that it is not associated with learning in any way – that it is not national – that the Christianity which it represents was not of the purest type – that it is founded upon erroneous principles of construction – that it was the product of uneducated men – that it does not teach us the higher principles of architectural art – and that it is inconsistent with the best examples of sculpture and painting. And I hold that, for these reasons, it is quite unfit to express the character and purposes of the University – an institution the object of which is to instil into the youthful mind a knowledge of the principles and laws by which all things exist and are governed – where the greatest and best examples of human attainments are exhibited and explained, and where habits of mental discipline and refinement are expected to be formed.

Some people who are naturally of a mild and amiable turn, and others who lack the power to discriminate, seek to quash discussion upon these subjects, and assuming an air of wise moderation, tell us that there are beauties in all styles. Now, it does not require any great effort of mental power to arrive at this very plain truth. Indeed, I suppose that the most vehement upholder of any particular style will readily admit that there is more or less beauty in every other style; but this is no reason why he should bury the hatchet and fraternise with his opponents: the subject in dispute is as to which style is the best. We are bound by an imperative law of our nature, not merely to distinguish truth from error; but to aspire to the apprehension of the highest forms of truth, and realise them in practice. We are told that if we take a broad view of things, we shall see beauties in all styles; but if, after having done so, we look more narrowly into things, we shall see further that there is a great difference in the amount and degree of beauty exhibited in different styles – and just in proportion to our knowledge and sincerity, will we firmly maintain and zealously propagate the opinions which may be forced upon us by conviction. It would be difficult to conceive of any case in which a judicious decision as to the proper style was more urgently called for than in the present. The importance of having the mind stored with correct images cannot be too much insisted upon. It lies at the foundation of our ability to understand language. The impressions formed in youth stick to us through life; and those whose business it is to sow and plant in the fresh soil of young hearts, are under a heavy responsibility as to the quality of the fruit which may be gathered in mature years.

While the Professors are telling us of the great advantages which will accrue to the cause of art in Scotland by the execution of these designs, even to the extent of introducing us to a new era in architecture, Mr. Scott very simply lets out that he had devoted his attention chiefly to the very humble business of concocting the plans and dealing out to each of the Professors the exact kind and amount of accommodation which the business of his class required – at the same time keeping in view with the tail of his eye the refinement of society and the resuscitation of Scottish architecture. Under the circumstances, it might have been expected that the plan would have strongly reflected the light of modern science, and shown a due appreciation of the importance of proper sanitary arrangements, – that the opportunity would have been seized of exhibiting the flexibility of Gothic architecture, and its adaptability to all circumstances, of which so much has been said, – that the disposition and form of the various parts would have represented and expressed the character and purposes of the building. But there is nothing of the kind. There is no rambling incomprehensibility about the plan such as one might have looked for from the champion of this picturesque style, – no attempt to give height and bulk to those parts which occupy the more important places in the economy of the University, and allowing the other parts to stretch out, in various directions, into length, or to settle down into irregular groups, as occasion seemed to suggest.

There was no lack of scope on the ground for the carrying out of such an arrangement. And in these days, when sanitary reformers are using every device which science can afford to woo the healthful breeze, and let the cheerful light of the sun into every hall and apartment intended for the use of man, we find with some surprise that Mr. Scott has given us a plan in which space is economised as if the buildings were meant for a site within the city. It is a parallelogram, 534 feet by 297 feet, inclosed on all sides, and divided in the interior into two courts – thus needlessly excluding air and light. But there is also an unpardonable waste of effect in this mode of arrangement; for it is evident that Mr. Scott might have revealed nearly double the extent of frontage which he has done, without necessarily increasing the cost. The plan shows five rows of building, whereas not more than two can be seen at once. The museum and library, which are put out of sight from the front, might have been combined in a large and lofty central mass, with the class-rooms and other apartments running out from it; and the common-hall – the place of ceremony – which is hidden from view between the two courts, should have been made a prominent object and clothed in all the dignity which architecture could impart.

This mediæval aberration has dissipated and degraded art-knowledge to such a degree that we rarely see a bit of sound criticism in any of our architectural publications. It has given place very much to a mere expression of approval or dislike – laudation or abuse of such works as appear from time to time. This arises from the absence of any definite end to be attained, and from the want of any recognised standards of excellence. There is not in all Christendom a building which the modern Goths can point to as the type of their style, so that there is no means of testing the success of these gentlemen. They are firing in the air, perhaps with mere blank cartridge; but if they would aim at some mark, we could then record their hits and misses with some degree of precision. It would be wrong to object to a design simply because its elements had been drawn from various styles. Things very different in themselves may be brought together in harmonious combination, or into mere juxtaposition, but they may also be placed in repulsive discord. And when we see a man looking as complacently as if he had fulfilled the first condition, when in fact he has tumbled headlong into the last, it is difficult to refrain from ridicule in pointing out the incongruity.

Now, in looking at Mr. Scott’s designs, we are at once struck with the fact that he is really on his way to Kilkenny when he thinks himself going to Kildare. The general scheme and aspect is Classic – that is to say, it assumes a horizontal form with the larger features uniform and regularly-disposed so as to enable the mind to comprehend it, while the minor features are Gothic, and somewhat confused. The first design which was exhibited in the Fore Hall of the College reminds us of that form of the Renaissance which we are accustomed to call Old Scottish, and of which George Heriot’s Hospital in Edinburgh is the type. But Mr. Scott, not liking the rude detail proper to this style, has chosen to array his design in Gothic apparel, and, in doing so, ventures to assign his motive. He says

“We took that noble architecture which characterised the secular buildings in Scotland of the sixteenth century, and worked it out with details of the fourteenth-century architecture in France, and in doing so I believe we very nearly succeeded in recovering what was the early architecture of Scotland.”[8]

Now, if the recovery of the early architecture of Scotland was of the slightest consequence, Mr. Scott has taken very little trouble in the matter, for I believe that everybody but himself knows quite well that no such architecture as that in question existed in Scotland previous to the sixteenth century. But in this Mr. Scott admits the fact that art is only a secondary consideration with him. Granting that it is both interesting and useful to know what style of architecture prevailed in Scotland at a particular period, he has surely taken a most expensive mode of illustrating his archaeological discoveries, by building in stone and lime, at a cost of two or three hundred thousand pounds, what might have been sufficiently well done by a series of woodcuts for a very small sum. However charming rusticity may be in itself, the affectation of it is simply ridiculous – a thing to be shunned by all sober-minded men. The sentimental conceit of reproducing in effigy the architecture of a rude age, and distorting our habits to fit into its sinuosities, is, as I have already said, a mere fashion which has come in of late, and by-and-bye will go out again, leaving this great pile of nonsense to be a laughing-stock to succeeding ages. Mr. Scott was employed as an architect, not as an archaeologist, and his duty clearly was to have ascertained which style was the best and most suitable to express the character of the institution for which he was to provide a local habitation, and to have recommended that style to his clients.

Seeing that these designs will not bear criticism from the archaeological point of view, we shall submit them to the architectural test. The principal front consists of a central mass, two end masses with curtains filling up the intervening spaces. From the central mass a high tower rises. The curtains have each a central feature marking the entrances to the courts. As I have already observed, this mode of arrangement of the leading features is in accordance with the classic principle by which the mind is enabled to comprehend the whole in unity, while the minor features are Gothic, with a little of the element of diversity introduced in order to baffle the mind and evade comprehension. From the want of bold projections and deep recesses there is a deficiency of shadow on the front; indeed, the darkness of the windows is mainly relied on for this element of contrast, and consequently the whole front has very much the appearance of the side of a street, instead of the bolder effect characteristic of suburban architecture, which is required to tell from a distance, and more especially in such a case as the present, where the site is the top of a hill. The sky-line is in general effect horizontal, broken by the tower, the central and end masses, and by the gables over the entrances to the courts. The height of the tower appears to be somewhat more than half the length of the front, and about eight times its own breadth. The tendency of an object of this kind standing in the middle of a horizontal line is to depress the centre and throw up the ends; and, in order to obviate this, a classic architect would have raised his central mass until the illusion was rectified. But the Gothic architect does not know about these things. He looks at everything by itself, and so, caring only about preserving the height of his tower, he aggravates the offence by making his central mass very considerably lower than the ends; and, as if the blunder was not sufficiently obvious, he proceeds to waste the precious height at his disposal by perforating the parapet and consequently weakening its effect as compared with those upon the curtains and end masses, which are plain and telling. Another thing which increases this defect is that the horizontal currents have not been carried through the perpendicular with the necessary degree of distinctness to unite the various parts and give an expression of vigour to the backbone of the design. Every feature stands by itself, disconnected and unsympathetic; the central mass may go down over the head for anything that the ends can do to save it.

But if the design lacks unity for the want of girdling, it is quite as defective in grouping. While there is really a repetition of features for the purpose of establishing relations between the central and end masses and the upper part of the tower, it is not so managed as to attain that object. For some reason which does not appear, or for no reason at all, the end masses present their sides to the front – that is to say, while they are furnished with gables towards the flanks, the wallheads are finished on the front with horizontal parapets. These end masses, being square in plan, might with perfect propriety have been finished alike on all sides; and if a pointed feature had been added at the intersection of the ridges so as to echo, in a subordinate way, the composition of the tower, acknowledging at the same time the presence of the gables over the entrances to the courts, the grouping of the whole would have been considerably more harmonious. It will be observed that the entrances are not at all in keeping with the magnitude of the building. They are, on the contrary, extremely mean – mere rat-holes in short – and with that inveterate tendency to incongruity which distinguishes these designs, the central entrance is the meanest of the three, for although those leading to the courts are cruelly loaded with corbelled oriels, bearing upon the points of their arches, the fault is so far corrected by flanking-buttresses, which serve to unite the different stages of these features. The central entrance has no provision of this kind, but is completely dowsed by a heavy projecting balcony, and an ungainly square recess, containing two large windows. The treatment here also helps to strengthen the impression already formed that the tower is inclined to sink. A couple of good buttresses, uniting the entrance with the balcony and the window-recess above, would be a decided improvement at this point.

I noticed that while Mr. Scott had adopted the classic element of regularity and comprehensibility in the arrangement of the principal features, he had let in a little confusion amongst the minor features in order to Gothicize the design. This is more apparent in the first drawing, which was exhibited in the Fore Hall of the College, than in the more recent ones which were hung up in the Exchange Reading-Room, and the larger of which was photographed and circulated along with the statement of the committee, and has since been published in The Illustrated London News.[9] I know nothing whatever about the arrangements of Mr. Scott’s establishment, but there can be no doubt that the first design is the work of a comparatively inexperienced hand, and that the second is a revisal by some one of much greater skill. This last drawing is also much more agreeable, and conceals in some measure the faults of the design by being presented more upon the angle. The proportions of the front and the grouping appear to greater advantage, and the whole thing looks much smarter and more homogeneous.

I shall consider the first as superseded, and therefore direct attention to the last. The element of confusion to which I have alluded consists in an unequal number of bays in the two curtains, that on the west side of the tower having four bays on each side of the entrance to the court, while the curtain to the east has four bays on one side of the entrance and five on the other. These bays again are unequally filled, some having windows of two lights, others of three, others again of four. Then the buttresses are irregularly disposed. The westmost half of the western curtain has buttresses on each pier In the eastmost half there is one omitted. In the westmost half of the eastern curtain there is also one omitted, but the vacant pier seems wider than that on the western curtain. And on the eastmost half of the eastern curtain there are two buttresses left out. The bad effect of these vagaries will be more apparent on the buildings than on the drawings, for from the inequality of blackness in the windows, and the irregularity of the buttresses, the plane of the wall will seem as if bent out and in, while the line of the parapet remains rigid. Of course this mode of treatment is only objectionable as in connection with the uniform arrangement of the principal features; with genuine rigmarole Gothic it would be quite consistent.

The next point I shall notice in the Gothic aspect of these designs, is the adoption of a discordant mode of composition in the principal features. It is a rule in all good designs that the centre should be occupied by something which the eye can rest upon agreeably, and, while gently constrained to linger there, is allowed to survey the surrounding, parts only to such an extent as to feel their influence, and draw as much from them as is necessary in making up an impression of the whole. In Classic architecture it is the practice to have a window or void in the centre, around which the eye moves while examining the design. But it will be observed, that in this design the tower, the two side spaces of the central building, and the two end buildings, are each divided up the centre by objects upon which the eye cannot rest. The remark applies also to many of the windows. This is a mode of treatment often observed in Gothic architecture, and constitutes one of those clever tricks by which the old Goths concealed their weak points. When they could not succeed in composing a harmony, they dashed in a discord, which had the effect of averting or repelling scrutinising eyes from the scene of discomfiture, and compelling them to take a more general, if less satisfactory, view of things. This will be observed in the tower, which for a considerable part of its height is divided by a plain uninteresting pier between pairs of windows, while the end masses are most offensively split up the middle by a buttress as keen as a razor. The difficulty of composing with two equal figures is well known in other departments of art, and is generally avoided, but the Goths have not got the length of seeing any objection to it, and so it is freely adopted throughout these designs. The advocates of Gothic architecture have enlarged upon the glories of the pointed arch, and the expression of aspiration which belongs to it, but here we have it generally deprived of this character by being placed within square-headed recesses. This mode is adopted in the curtains, while in the centre and end masses the pointed effect is well marked. These different modes of treatment serve still more to isolate those parts which ought to have been combined.

The minute size of the drawings renders it impossible to judge of the detail. In this department Mr. Scott is likely to save himself to some extent, as the most tolerable part of modern Gothic is the carving, which in many cases is worthy of all praise. This is usually intrusted to men who are almost or altogether artists, and we see in their work that impress of character and individuality which is the great charm of Old Gothic. Many a very so-and-so modern building is redeemed by securing the services of a good carver, and we hope it will be so here.

Before leaving the exterior, it may be remarked that, for all that remains of Scottish architecture in the new design, it might as well have been left out altogether. The corner-turrets do not exhibit the true Scottish character; they are too long, their roofs are much too tall and slender, and the threatening attitude which they in ordinary cases assume to those approaching the walls is altogether removed by the introduction of buttresses to support them. The tower reminds us of that in Mr. Scott’s fine design for the Town Hall at Hamburg;[10] and there can be no objections to an architect’s repeating objects of this kind, if in doing so he were to correct mistakes, or render the recent versions more perfect than those which had gone before. But my recollection of the Hamburg Tower is not sufficiently distinct to enable me to judge whether this is an improvement. I am inclined to think that it is far otherwise.

In adopting the regular style of design for this building, Mr. Scott has dropped the best apple out of his basket. The laboratory is apart from the main building, as it ought to be, in consequence of the deleterious fumes which sometimes arise in chemical processes; but had the design been irregularly treated, its isolation might have been made less apparent than real. From the care which has been bestowed upon this little bit it would have formed an admirable termination to a broken line of buildings. As it is, the expression of composure and self-containedness which it exhibits, would lead us to suppose that it had not appeared here for the first time – probably if we were very familiar with Mr. Scott’s works we might recognise it as somebody’s kitchen.

The terrace-wall has been introduced in the new design apparently as a mere foreground to the picture, as it is not studied with any degree of care – the arcading upon the front of it, which adds nothing to its force, stops abruptly against a plain sloping parapet of overwhelming power. In the courts the Scottish character has been carried out very well, and makes us regret that the exterior has been so much Gothicized. The interior of the Common Hall has a ponderous effect, which the columns, standing as they do upon the floor without anything to counterbalance the weight of the roof above, do not harmonise with. The effect of the interior of the library is the very opposite to that of the Common Hall. The roof has not been designed at all, but is just what we see done by railway engineers in their sheds. It is a simple arch boarded up on each side so far, and the centre filled with glass without any adequate treatment at the junction of these two materials so very dissimilar in their nature. Upon the whole, I think that the less the Professors say about the artistic merits of these designs the better, and certain]y the local architects have nothing to fear from this invasion from the South.

I know that it is vain to fight with fashion. Crinoline has withstood with equal determination the attacks of reason and of ridicule, and I do not expect that my arguments will be productive of any good results in the present instance, and certainly it is not my wish that they should do any harm to the interests of the University. The Professors believe that these plans, if carried out, will form a new era in the architecture of Scotland. I have a hope, founded upon the good sense of my countrymen, that this anticipation may be fulfilled, – that men’s minds may be opened to the absurdity of being bound by any considerations apart from those of truth, – that they will discard all sentimental revivals, and look to their architects for a style which shall not only satisfy the wants of the present age, but create new and higher desires, – a style that shall tax the resources of the skilled workman, and sympathise with the highest attainments of the artist; and if the demand be steadily persisted in, it will sooner or later be complied with.

When we look at the endless variety of forms and proportions which beauty assumes in the works of nature, – when we consider the attainments of the present generation of men in the various fields of discovery, it is evident that our want of progress in architecture can be attributable neither to the exhaustion of the field, nor of our power to work it. The fact is, that we have been for the most part trying to adapt the old garments of our predecessors to our new wants, or we have been looking for fragments of ore amongst the debris of the old workings, and as the heaps have been often and again turned over, the finds are very small, and occur but seldom. But if we take up the lamp of reason, and boldly enter the mine, resolved to search diligently and to persevere courageously, we shall not fail to strike again the vein of truth, and with the many advantages which we possess over all the old workers, we ought to show a correspondingly abundant yield.

The races of men which have developed architectural styles hitherto, have laboured within comparatively restricted spheres. But the zeal of modern delineators and photographers has enabled us to gather together examples of the achievements of all who have gone before us; so that we may sit by our firesides and quietly analyse them, marking their constituent elements, watching the gradual expansion of principles, and tracing the relation of different styles and varieties to each other. We have also the productions of the pencil and the chisel brought under our notice in the same convenient form. And, beyond these, we have the wide world of nature spread out before us. What a glorious prospect opens to our view, and how is the vision to be realised. We have hitherto looked at the outsides of things, – we have collected and brought together their cold hard forms, unmitigated and unchanged, into mere incoherent juxtaposition; and no wonder that the result has been unsatisfactory. But if ever success is to be attained, we must look upon all that has been accomplished in art, and all that we see in nature, as so much raw material. We must throw our knowledge into the crucible to be transmuted by thought into new forms. Even the best of the old or existing forms are unfit for use until they are thus born again into a new life. He who made us after His own image endowed us with a creative faculty, and our using or abusing of that talent cannot be matter of indifference to Him. The pagan Phidias placed his wonderful frieze of the Parthenon at the top of the wall of the Cella, almost concealed from view by the columns and entablature of the peristyle; and the back of the Ilissus, which Canova and Flaxman pronounced to be one of the greatest marvels of the sculptor’s art, was turned towards the tympanum, never to be seen by man from the time that the figure was set up there under the eye of the artist, until it was taken down again under the eye of Lord Elgin. And it may be asked, “Why this waste?” The answer is, that Phidias believed that the gods knew all things. And when we exhibit the like faith, the like success will follow.

I know the difficulties which bar the way to excellence in this branch of art, and that if we would secure a needful share of the husks which the swine do eat, we must submit to have our brightest visions blurred and disfigured. But if we qualify ourselves with proper care, and endeavour humbly and faithfully to fulfil our mission, by the help of a sympathetic client now and then, we may be permitted to do some little towards the inauguration of a better state of things.

[An interesting and prolonged discussion followed the reading of the paper, in which Mr. Douglas, Mr. Honeyman, Mr. Boucher, Mr. Bromhead, Mr. Watt, Mr. Cottier, Mr. Leiper, Mr. Robertson, and Mr. Gildard, the president, took part.

On the motion of the president a vote of thanks to Mr. Thomson for his paper brought the meeting to a close.]

Notes

1.    ‘An Enquiry as to whether the Character and Purpose of the University can be fully expressed in Medieval Architecture – and whether the merits of the proposed Plans have justified the University Authorities in going from home for an architect’ was read to the Glasgow Architectural Society by Alexander Thomson on 7th May, 1866. A slightly revised text was published in the Proceedings of the Glasgow Architectural Society for 1865–1867 (Part 1) and an abbreviated version was printed in The Builder for 19th May 1866, pp.368–371. The full original text was published by Andrew McLaren Young in The College Courant, the Journal of the Glasgow University Graduates Association, volume vi, no.12, pp.103–115, & volume vii, no.13, pp.14–22, 1954; this incorporated certain passages which had been omitted for publication but which appear in the manuscript copy made by Thomas Gildard and given to the Mitchell Library in Glasgow. The text printed here includes this material, as well as adopting the paragraphing introduced by McLaren Young. Nikolaus Pevsner, in Some Architectural Writers of the Nineteenth Century (Oxford 1972), discussed Thomson’s lecture and, although under the mistaken assumption that it had never been published, could describe it as “the most comprehensive contribution to the battle of the Styles, and the last one in which Grecian, not Italian, is set against Gothic.”

Following the sale of the Old College site in the High Street to the City of Glasgow Union Railway Company and the acquisition of land on Gilmorehill, sanctioned by Act of Parliament, George Gilbert Scott was appointed architect for the new University buildings in September 1864. His final design was submitted in the spring of 1866; construction began the following year. Thomson would have been familiar with the problem of designing new buildings for the University: an earlier abortive scheme to move the institution to Woodlands had resulted in three sets of designs in an eclectic Scottish Renaissance style being made by John Baird in 1845–47; Thomson was then Baird’s chief assistant and almost certainly worked on the project – hence, perhaps, his anger and frustration two decades on. These designs were submitted by the Treasury to Charles Barry and A.W.N. Pugin, architects of the New Palace of Westminster in London, then rising, who were not impressed – see the illustrated article by Anne Ross on ‘The University at Woodlands’ in The College Courant vol.26, no.53, Martinmas 1974, pp.25-30.

Jacinta Feltis has discovered that the ‘Glasgow College Removal – Minute Book of Building Committee of Senate’ records that on 2nd February 1866 Scott wrote to the Convener, Dr Allen Thomson, thanking him “for your letter to Mr Thomson” which suggests that Thomson had approached the University privately after seeing Scott’s plans on display in the Royal Exchange before going public with his criticisms.

2.    The “magnificent architectural compositions of the late John Martin” included such paintings as Joshua commanding the Sun to stand still (1816), The Fall of Babylon (1819), Belshazzar’s Feast (1821) and The Fall of Ninevah (1828), which Thomson would have known from the widely distributed engravings published by the artist, if not from seeing the actual canvasses. The ‘Architectural backgrounds in the pictures of John Martin’ were discussed by Norah Monckton in the Architectural Review for August 1948.

3.    The “portland-cement models of Professor Owen at Sydenham” were full-size hollow replicas of dinosaurs proposed by Professor Richard Owen and made in 1854, and which still lurk at the bottom end of the park in South London where Paxton’s Crystal Palace was re-erected that year.

4.    Thomson’s criticism of “hatching the individual blocks with a pen” in Gothic drawings is reminiscent of the observation reputedly made on the drawings of G.E. Street: “What a pity that he cannot build his cross-hatchings,” by William Burges (an unlikely admirer of Thomson’s drawings and designs on display at the Architectural Exhibition in 1867 – “the best modern Greek architecture it has ever been my lot to see” – as recorded in The Builder for 1st June 1867, p.387),

5.    “the two finest buildings in the kingdom” were the Royal High School in Edinburgh (1825–29), designed by Thomas Hamilton, and St George’s Hall in Liverpool (1841–54), by Harvey Lonsdale Elmes.

6.    The New Palace of Westminster in London designed by Charles Barry, assisted by A.W.N. Pugin, had been completed in 1860; Somerset House, the complex of government buildings overlooking the Thames in London, was designed by Sir William Chambers and built 1776–96; Donaldson’s Hospital in Edinburgh, built 1841–51, had been designed by the Neo-Classicist W.H. Playfair in an untypical style: “a Building,” he said, “which in the correctness of its parts shall be worthy of comparison with the remains of Old English Architecture. I avoid carefully all mixture of Roman mouldings with the Gothic.”

7.    The National Monument on Calton Hill in Edinburgh is the fragment of the facsimile of the Parthenon designed by W.H. Playfair and C.R. Cockerell, begun in 1824 and left incomplete five years later; the monument to Dugald Stewart, also on Calton Hill, is the small circular temple of 1831 by Playfair inspired by the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates in Athens; the Surgeon’s Hall in Nicholson Street, built in 1830–33, was also designed by Playfair, as was the Royal Institution on the Mound of 1822–35, now the Royal Scottish Academy.

8.    In his Personal and Professional Recollections, published posthumously in 1879, Scott wrote in 1872 that “I was commissioned to erect the new University buildings at Glasgow, a very large work, for which I adopted a style which I may call my own invention, having already initiated it in the Albert Institute at Dundee. It is simply a thirteenth or fourteenth century secular style with the addition of certain Scottish features, peculiar in that country to the sixteenth century, though in reality derived from French style of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. I think the building, though as yet incomplete, has been a success.”

9.    Scott’s design was engraved for the Illustrated London News for 21st April 1866.

10.   “Mr Scott’s fine design for the Town Hall at Hamburg” was exhibited at the Royal Academy in London in 1855 and published in The Builder that year; inspired by the Cloth Hall at Ypres, it won first prize in the competition held in Hamburg for a new Rathaus in 1854, but was not carried out.

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