 In previous classes we discussed the idea of historical eclecticism, the whole question of the battle of the styles, which style to choose, why to choose it, and we saw in part these choices arose from an impulse toward the picturesque, something that would create a mood or be suggestive of the program of the building. For example in England we see here a couple of projects by John Nash, the Royal Pavilion and Brighton and Blaise Hamlet in Bristol that we discussed earlier. Both of these are incredibly cute and incredibly exotic. The Royal Pavilion exotic in that it conjures up mogul monuments in India, and the little Hamlet in that it conjures up a kind of earlier, more tranquil, more simple moment in English life when people lived in thatched cottages in the wood. At the same time both of these projects are specifically English and that may seem hard to believe looking at the Brighton Pavilion, but England was a great empire at the time and the great jewel of the English empire was the Indian subcontinent. So to conjure up the image of India and thereby to suggest the vast expanse of the imperial holdings of England was an appropriate way to make visible the power of the state or the ambitions of the state or the scope of England's power throughout the world. And likewise Blaise Hamlet in a more insular way looks at the history of England and looks at the mythology of England, this notion of the simple farmer living in the simple cottage. The whole question of statehood or what is the national identity in England had become a question of some interest in the 1800s and at the end of the 1700s. But England had been a country since the Magna Carta, since 1066. In other places in Europe the question of national identity was even more critical. For example if you look at Germany, there was no unified German state until the 19th century. And even what counts as Germany was constantly partitioned and fragmented and divided and subdivided. Here we see a map that we've looked at before. Germany after the Thirty Years War where the southern part more or less is Catholic and the northern part is more or less Protestant. Affiliations which define not only the culture of the cities but also the architecture and also the kind of engagement with traditional or progressive philosophies that were current at the time. Protestant North much more aligned with the Enlightenment, Catholic South still cleaving closely to the values of the Roman Church. The coherence of Europe was further disrupted at the turn of the 18th to 19th century by the rise of Napoleon. In the period between more or less 1800 and 1814 he conquered most of Europe and consolidated incredible amounts of territory and incredible power. We think of Napoleon as a little tyrant which is true. Was Napoleon's conquest came a spread of Enlightenment attitudes about the rights of man and equality before law? Probably this came in the form of the Napoleonic Code which was put into effect in all areas under Napoleon's sway. This had to do really with dismantling feudalism. There were no longer going to be distinctions based on class or locale. The special status for church and nobility were ended. Government offices couldn't be purchased anymore but rather they would be distributed based on merit and so forth. Of course there were a lot of bad things still in place. Women had it rough. Children had it rough. Others had it rough. But certain feudal institutions that favored the atomization of Europe into lots of little states, municipalities and duchies so forth came to an end. In 1806 Napoleon dissolved the Holy Roman Empire and gathered together the remnants of the Holy Roman Empire into the Confederation of the Rhine. In 1812 Napoleon tried to invade Russia with a giant army of over 600,000 men and returned defeated. And it was very difficult for him to consolidate power after that. By 1814 Napoleon was out, this is just a very interesting map. Brown shows you the number of men marching into Russia with Napoleon. Black shows you the number of men returning. And it's graft against the rise and the fall in temperature. This is the German Confederation that was established out of the remnants of the Holy Roman Empire. At this moment, at the beginning of the 19th century, Germany is grappling in a more profound way than countries like France or England would have to deal with since those countries had assumed nationhood long before. At the end, when Napoleon's forces were defeated on several fronts, including the Battle of Leipzig, there was a Congress held in Vienna, the Congress of Vienna 1815, which had to decide a number of questions. One question was a question that had been in the air for a while, and that was how to make sense of the aftermath of the French Revolution and all of the upheavals and the distribution of power that were left unresolved at that point. Another had to do with issues that ensued from the Napoleonic wars and also the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire. In the aftermath of the Congress of Vienna, when Germany was beginning to figure out what it was as a country, how new alliances and new self-definition could be formed, architecture began to play a very important role. Also at this period, there was an idea circulating in a very limited sphere of people. Let me say only the Germans thought this and only some Germans. And that was that there was this great spiritual kinship between the Greeks and the Germans. And they would suggest that the Greeks and the Germans had an original architecture. The Greeks had an original classical architecture and the Germans had an original Gothic architecture. And all other nations were just copyists. They had this shared originality and therefore to build something in a Greek revival style was akin to building something in a Gothic style because you were going back to these two original architectures. A lot of prominent German intellectuals held close to this idea of the conflation between Greekness and Germanness. Winckelmann wrote this big treatise on art history. And he talks a lot about Greece as more original than Rome. If you think about the idea that the Romans borrowed classical architecture from Greek sources, then why not look back at Greek sources to get the most authentic, the most original architecture possible? Here's a picture of Winckelmann with a beloved statue of Apollo. Greek, pure, clear, rational, like the Germans. Winckelmann's contemplation of Greek classicism exemplifies the commingling of a classical spirit and a romantic spirit. It's not sufficient for Winckelmann to simply rationally engage aesthetic qualities or proportional qualities. But he begins to find a way that emotional responses are stimulated and stirred up by these kinds of works. He states, in the presence of this miracle of art, I forget all else. My breast seems to enlarge and swell with reverence, like the breasts of those who were filled with the spirit of prophecy. And I feel myself transported to Delos and the Lycean groves, places which Apollo honored by his presence. The strongest motive for conflating Greek and German architectures and arts was the idea that these were two original cultures and that there were two original European architectures. Classical architecture, which comes from the Greeks, and Gothic architecture, which in German romantic thought, was believed to have arisen in Germany. And in fact, if you look at this picture, this famous picture we've seen at Azillian times, of Loge's primitive hut, it's easy to read affinities both to the left and to the right. To the left, we see a little Doric temple looking a lot like the primitive hut, and in fact, rising up in the forest in the same way that Loge's hut is rising up in the forest. To the right, we see the interior of the Strasbourg cathedral, a forest-like interior, the britiation and the spreading ribs of the cathedral vaults looking a lot like the spreading branches of a tree, or looking a lot like a forest clearing. Strasbourg is in France, but it's in the part of France, Alsace-Lorraine, that switches between France and Germany frequently. So Goethe thought it was a German building, although the style actually is more French than German. And he wasn't the only one. A lot of these great 18th century and 19th century figures like Wilhelm von Holmboldt, after whom the great university in Berlin was named, wrote about the character of the Greeks. Nietzsche's Birth of Tragedy is another example of a mythology of Germany being cast in Greek characters. Nietzsche talks about the battle between the Apollonian and the Dionysian deities, the battle between reason exemplified by the Apollonians and spirit exemplified by the Dionysians. All of these things were translated in a fairly automatic way to Germany. Additionally, there was this whole enlightenment notion of personal determination, personal responsibility for yourself, self-consciousness. Kant speaks about it, and Johann Gottlieb Ficht, who comes slightly later, speaks about it in a specifically political way, urging the German people to have character and be German. When you're thinking about the formation of a nation out of city-states, this idea of Germanness seems attractive. It seems like a way that these people who historically have been a part can come together and become something new. Of course, philosophies like Ficht is fed right into the national chauvinism that gave rise to the Nazi state in the next century. Probably the first architect to take on the burden of representing this new notion of the state, or the dream of the state of Germany, was Friedrich Gilly. And Friedrich Gilly is important not only because of his own work, which is not so much, but also because he was the teacher for the two most important architects of the next generation, Leo von Klenze and Karl Friedrich Schinkel. This is a monument to Frederick the Great of Prussia, designed by Gilly. It's a temple. It's a temple on a giant plinth. The use of classical language is extended to the landscape, where we have a series of obelisks, and so forth. This is a drawing of the Propolaea in Athens, magnificent. We know this, we saw it when we looked at Greece, a temple that gets enfolded into a wall with a path moving through it. Look what Karl Gotthard Langens does when asked to design a gate for precious capital Berlin, the Brandenburg Gate. It basically is an attempt to remake the Propolaea. So here we have the gate to Berlin, modeled as directly as possible on a Greek example. So this is Greek revival, but it's Greek revival not simply for the picturesque value of it, but also for the strong political and cultural associations that Germany saw in its relationship to this other original culture, the Greeks. There are two really important architects that we'll be talking about. One is Leo von Klenze, and the other is Karl Friedrich Schinkel. Let's start with Klenze. And by the way, look at this. This is a photograph of Klenze. This is the first photograph we've had. We've been looking at lots of paintings of people, but we're moving so close to the present in the dates of Klenze that it's possible to have a photograph. Klenze studied under Gilly, and he had this interesting career where he spent part of his early life working for some of the most important architects in Paris, Persia and Fontaine, and then he was actually working for a minor bonapart in Westphalia, and then became court architect to Ludwig I of Bavaria. Bavaria's capital, of course, is Munich. The king was very interested in Greek things, and through that impulse, and also through his own interests, Klenze began to work on a number of Greek-ish projects. The imagined connection between Germany and Greece became even more strongly defined in 1830 when Greece won its independence from the Ottoman Empire. Royal families in Europe are so mixed up that at that point, Ludwig's son Otto became the first king of Greece. So Greece and Germany really were under the same rule. Klenze said some interesting things. Here's a quote which I think exemplifies this whole crisis of style that we've identified everywhere in Europe. He states, we no longer live in a period of an unconscious natural artistic creation, such as gave birth to earlier architectural dictates, but rather in an era of thought, of research, and self-conscious reflection. This is the whole romantic agony that you are no longer authentically acting in nature, but you're somehow pulled out of it and you're witnessing things from outside. If you think about what Klenze does, he is a classicist, and he's a classicist in the manner of Winckelmann. Klenze minds Greek revival in a fairly serious and relentless way. This is just an imaginary reconstruction of Athens. These are Klenze's reconstructions of the Acropolis, looking good, and Klenze's propolaia. Just as Langans in the Brandenburg Gate found an ideal model for a gate to Berlin in the propolaia to Athens, so too did Klenze use this model to make a gate to Munich. It is a temple framed by two towers that marks the boundary between not Munich and Munich. Klenze is not a bit shy about trying to get it right, and by get it right, I mean, be as archeologically close to the model as possible. Of course, this is not a bit close to the model because the real propolaia negotiates a complex topography, moving uphill, and this is flat. There's an elaborate city planning move. You can get a sense of that by seeing the obelisk on axis here and twin museums flanking it on either side. You pop through the gate and you find a square flanked by these two buildings. This one over here is Klenze's Glyptotech. And what it is is a sculpture museum. Glyp means stone, and Otec means museum. So the Glyptotech is a sculpture museum, and this is often thought to be the first real museum, the first building deliberately designed with the task of being a museum. We've seen, for example, Sohn's house, which was Sohn's private collection that expanded into a museum. But as one of your classmates pointed out, you walk inside there, and it's fairly claustrophobic. It doesn't get laid out with the anticipation that vast crowds of people will be moving through it. And other things like the Vatican Palace and the Louvre got opened up to tourists and art enthusiasts, but only on a provisional basis. But the Glyptotech became the first museum, sculpture museum. Why? Well, a lot of it has to do with this notion of taste. That the more great examples of works of art that you come into contact with, the better your taste will be. And if you can raise the taste of an entire nation, then you've got something. If you can raise the taste of an entire nation at the dawn of the Industrial Revolution, then maybe even the industrial goods produced by that nation will have qualities that the industrial goods produced by other nations don't have. So here's the Glyptotech. And you look at this thing and you have to say, hmm, this is a bit of historical eclectic hybrid. Nice Greek temple over here, but the wall is a Renaissance wall with these little edicules, blind windows, with little pieces of sculpture stuck in there. Also the plan is a kind of hybrid plan. Nice piece of a Greek temple over here, but you pop inside and you get a palazzo. And you get a palazzo with all these vaulted spaces. There are these highly sculpted spaces. Here's a section showing you a series of vaults and a view showing you the vaults. Clemsa was quite specific in knowing that he was making a hybrid, but he felt that the sculptural value of vaulted spaces was the best way to show off the sculptural value of three-dimensional plastic works of art. And so that's what you have. This is a courtyard in the middle. Perhaps Clemsa's most extreme example of a Greek revival building is in Regensburg, the Valhalla. The program of the Valhalla is a museum to celebrate great Germans, great characters from German history. And the word Valhalla, as you may know, is the mythological home for the Nordic gods, people like Thor and all the others. This is a kind of, you know, bit of patriotism here to call this thing Valhalla and to put your own historical characters in it. And look how, look at its appearance. If you went out and measured the two of these things, you would find that they're the same size. There is a real attempt to rebuild the Parthenon on the hill overlooking the river, on the opposite side of the river of Regensburg, and make it as much like the Parthenon as possible to connect to those meanings. But also, again, to celebrate this believed kinship between the people of Greece and the people of Germany as the originals, the cultural originals. Here's a plan showing you how this thing moves up and down the slopes. So it's not the beautiful serpentine meandering picturesque path that you get moving up to the Athenian Acropolis, but rather it's more axial. And the interior space, instead of being chopped up into cellas and prognosis and so forth, is a continuous space full of information about German heroes. Here's a section showing you how the Valhalla sits on the slope above the river. This is this kind of amazing, amazing passageway up through a series of terraces and into the building. From certain angles, it looks a lot like the real one. I just have to show you a slide, not necessarily really, but I just have to show it to you. This notion of the kinship between the Greeks and the Germans feeds right into Nazi superior race stuff. And the Nazis had a competition to see who could look the most like the deriferous. And so this guy's the winner. He looks the most like the deriferous. Fabulous. And here's Arnold Schwarzenegger in a younger moment, overdoing it a bit, not quite getting that classical repose and the harmony of all the numbers that the deriferous and the naked Nazi have going for them. This one more, Klänze moment, and this is a square in Munich, Franz Josefplatz. Klänze designed all the buildings, or let's say most of the buildings on the square. And he designed most of the buildings on the square based on different historical precedents, this kind of borrowing from history. There is a chunk of the residence, which is the place where the ruler lives that's modeled after the Pitti Palace in Florence. This is the residence, and this is the Pitti Palace. There is a theatrical building called theater, that's another word for theatrical building, modeled after a Greek temple because the Greeks were very good at theater. There is a government building modeled after Brunelleschi's Hospitale di Inocente Foundling Hospital. So Klänze is very, very happy to put together these pieces from different histories, which image connects the most strongly to the meaning of the building, and the fact that you get this kind of hodgepodge of different buildings around the edges, I think just makes it more picturesque. He's not looking for the kind of totalizing wrapper that others might be looking for. The real, let's say genius of the German 19th century is Carl Friedrich Schinkel. He too was a student of Gilly. He was strongly influenced by Hegelian ideas, particularly ideas that history was teleological, that it was moving towards something. Here's a quote from Schinkel. Every great period of civilization has left beyond its own style of architecture. Why shouldn't we attempt to find a style of our own? So Schinkel is suggesting that this dilemma of style, this crisis of style that had been vexing Europe since the 18th century could be solved and it had to do with looking at what was particular about the culture and what was particular about the time. Schinkel began his career as a landscape painter. And you can see from these landscape paintings, he's really interested in the sublime, in how landscape and weather and strong light can convey feelings and moods. There are a lot of clawed techniques like the backlighting or picking a time of day when it's either dusk or dawn to get the most extreme emotional impact from the landscape. I think one reason Schinkel's work is so great is that he simultaneously has this strong sense of a picturesque and this strong sense of how architectural values can be extended through a strong relationship to landscape. Really great paintings. We talked about the poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe when we discussed the Grand Tour. And Goethe is a great romantic poet, great thinker, great Paulina. And certainly the Grand Tour taught him taste as it was supposed to. But this taste was a taste for the classical, a taste for the cultivated individual, the correct taste. And this notion of taste and propriety is at odds with the romantic spirit that someone like Goethe has. In 1772, Goethe writes a little pamphlet about 16 pages long on German architecture. Von Deutsch auf Baukunst. What prompts him to write this is that he's returned from the Grand Tour with all these highfalutin ideas about classicism and he stops and sees the Strasbourg Cathedral. And he's absolutely dazzled by it. He just cannot believe it. He writes in his pamphlet in this belittling way of what other nations might think about something like this cathedral, which at the moment is in Germany. What a trivial style says the Italian and passes by. Childishness lists the Frenchman and snaps his fingers against his snuffbox a la greck. And so he continues. When I went for the first time to the Minster, my head was full of the concept of good taste. I was an admirer of the harmony of mass, the purity of line, and was a sworn enemy to the confused arbitrariness of Gothic adornment. Under the term Gothic, I piled all the misconceptions which had ever come into my head of the indefinite, the unregulated, the unnatural, the patched up, the strung together, the superfluous in art. Everything was Gothic to me that did not fit into my system. With what unexpected emotions did the sight surprise me when I actually saw it? An impression of grandeur and unity filled my soul, which because it consisted of a thousand harmonizing details, I could taste and enjoy, but by no means understand and explain. They say it is thus with the rapture of heaven. He concludes by identifying the fact that this kind of architecture, Gothic architecture is particularly German, is particularly appropriate to the German taste and the German character. He states, it could not be compared with the architecture of the Greeks and Romans because it sprang from quite another principle. If these, the Greeks and Romans, living under a more favorable sky allowed their roof to rest upon columns, a wall broken through a rose of its own accord, we, however, who must always protect ourselves against the weather and everywhere surround ourselves with walls, have to revere the genius who discovered the means of endowing massive walls with variety of apparently breaking them through. In Schinkel's work, there's a huge variation in style. He's happy to pick and choose anything. He does Gothic stuff. He does classical stuff. He does vernacular Tuscan stuff. He does stuff that looks like fortification. This is a Gothic revival church, fairly straightforward little church in Berlin called the Friedrichsverdes Kirche. And you see that he's good at his Gothic revival or let's say at least as good as any 19th century guy is gonna be at Gothic revival because at least at this period, everything's gonna be pretty darn symmetrical. You're gonna line it up. You're gonna get your towers to match unlike those Gothic people. We see here a plan with some Gothic-y vaulting. We see a big pointy window, a couple of towers. And even the interior has this kind of elaborate arboreal bratiation of columns that remind us of this forest imagery so appropriate to northern climes. At the same time, when it was designing this, he was working on two schemes in parallel and these are the two schemes, a classical scheme with a series of domes and piers and ionic columns and the Gothic scheme that eventually got built. They were interchangeable. They were both possible. So probably ended up picking up a Gothic style simply because Gothic seemed more appropriate for a religious building. He also did another building and this is the Neue Wache, a guard tower near the palace where he's as deliberately working in a classical style. Here, we see something that looks like a little baby propolaia. The features we saw in Clint's propolaia of two towers and a temple now become contracted into a single building. And it's a beautiful classicism. And by beautiful classicism, I mean it's a really highly edited classicism. It's a stripped-down classicism where quite a lot of the work gets done with these severe proportions. You know that the Germans are looking at Greece because here the Doric doesn't have bases and Greek Doric doesn't have a base. The Greek Doric order doesn't have a base. But by the time you get to the Romans, the Doric has a base and so most of the Renaissance will put a base on the Doric. This is stripping away all that stuff, getting back to origins. And when you cross the bridge from the Neue Wache onto this island, now called the Museum Island, but formerly the island that held the palace, you find another great building by Schinkel and this is the Altus Museum. And the Altus Museum is frequently called the Second Museum after the glipped attack. Its ambitions are exactly the same, you know, to elevate the taste of the people. Here's the site plan, which I think is pretty interesting. This little square here is the Neue Wache and then you cross the bridge. This is an island surrounded by water and the Altus Museum is here, big square and opposite the Altus Museum is the Royal Palace. So that's a kind of interesting axial relationship. If you put two things on opposite ends of an axis, you're saying that they have some kind of equivalency. For example, at the University of Virginia, we saw Jefferson put on one side of the axis, the library and on the other side of the axis, the open sweep of nature and pairing those two things together really exemplifies Jefferson's attitude about nature and knowledge and so forth. Here we have art and the patrons suggesting that the benevolence of these people make possible this knowledge. But also because of this difficult site, the Altus Museum has to think long and hard about exactly how does it configure itself? What is the decorous way for a building to confront a Royal Palace? I think what Schinkel comes up with is pretty smart and that is edge, edge, edge, edge, edge. This big edge of the building is simultaneously Portico and Stoa and by that, I mean the scale of it is the scale of a Portico but because it stretches across the entire edge, it doesn't congeal into a single figure and therefore it deflects figureality back to the Palace across the way. So it's fabulous and in fact, if you look at the plan, you might almost say that it's a kind of introverted Portico that it becomes more and more spatially complex the deeper you dig into the building and it's fabulous as might be expected. There's a central space which is a rotunda and two little courtyards and wrapping it on all sides are galleries. I would say if you go to Berlin, don't bother going in because it's been so badly renovated. The only space that has any original characteristics left is the rotunda space. But this stuff is pretty great. Here we are, this is the Stoa edge. Unfortunately, I flipped these from the previous slide. There's this wonderful layering of space. Edge, slot of space along the front, really narrow. Slot of space. Stairs layering and moving you up to an upper level entry. Really quite amazing. And notice the Portico here. I mentioned that the Germans were busy looking at the Greeks rather than the Romans. And one of the things that Schinkel is getting is the notion that architecture and sculpture for that matter would have been polychromatic. We think about Greek architecture as being this severe white marble. And to a large extent that's because the paint fell off. You keep things standing in the rain long enough and the paint will fall off. But archaeologists, at least by this point, had suggested that no, no, no, this is polychromatic. And so Schinkel makes the Portico to his Altus Museum likewise polychromatic. He's interested in layering and so he uses the ionic order because it's so good at emphasizing a plane as you move back in here. Layer upon layer upon layer, fabulous. When you move inside, you get something that looks kind of pantheonic in that it's got the coffering stripped down. It doesn't have the plasticity of the wall that you might expect in the pantheon. Instead, you have this very light ring of columns here and this polychromatic dome. Schinkel did a number of projects out by Schloss Saint-Soussi which we looked at when we were talking about Rococo. These projects are the Charlottenhoff and the Gardener's House. You see the Charlottenhoff over here and we see the Gardener's House over here. So they're kind of related together and in terms of their plan strategy, they're really quite similar. This is really a perfect project for someone who started his career as a landscape painter to engage in. Because so much of the task that Schinkel confronts here is not simply that of designing buildings but designing a picturesque way in an intellectually cagey way that the building can engage the landscape. The relationship of the building with the landscape can transform and provoke multiple readings and responses. He's in a park. In a situation like opposite the Royal Palace in Berlin, there's only so much you can do to play with a landscape. Ditto with a Neue Wache or the Vierdes Kirche. Not much you can do. But here, the whole theme of this building and this is the Gardener's House is all about how the thing engages with a landscape. All of these ideas about different kinds of landscapes or the sublime and the beautiful, the regular, the geometrical controlled and the expansive, the natural, the sublime seem to come to a meeting here in Schinkel's building. For example, if you look at this drawing of it up here, you see that this house has as its style tusk and vernacular. It looks like a farmhouse might look on the outskirts of Florence. Has a strong center and then a flanking wing almost like a basilica. And then you have this big trellis which really just is like a missing tooth, you might say. It's a gaping hole suggesting something should be there and something isn't there. You get this opportunity to begin to read the site, not as one of these symmetrical things that gets plopped down, but a series of adjustments, recenterings and displacements aimed at locking into the specifics of the landscape. And so what are the specifics of the landscape? Well, this project often is also called the Roman Baths because this little pavilion over here is a Roman Bath or at least a giant hulking bathtub. And here you have rectilinear ponds of water that oppose the curvilinear, irregular, picturesque pool of water on this side. There's definitely this kind of dialectic set up between conditions of landscape. This is a channel of water, geometricized. This is not at all geometric. And so it's as if the house pulls away at this point where we see absence. It's as if part of the house scoots up and becomes free from the boundary of the house and begins to set up this path. And the path leaves behind it elements like the Roman Bath and the little Gothic house that never got built. It's interesting to look at this thing in terms of transformation from object to edge, but also to think about the house, the little house here, as some kind of nine square grid that either begins to initiate a series of transformations throughout the scheme or that becomes one of the transformations. If you read the entire site as some kind of nine square grid, fabulous. This is a tunnel, a vegetal tunnel that you can go through. And when Schinkel does his drawings of this, let's see if we see one. Yes, he often puts gondolas in. As if to say, this is as picturesque as Venice. The best way to get around Potsdam, Germany is in a gondola. So it's really, really quite evocative and beautiful. This is that absent corner, which is a trellis, a covered trellis with this sectional interest of moving up from terrace to terrace. This is looking at it from the picturesque water pool. You can see a breakdown in scale from the building to a series of little temples that scatter as objects and populate the edge. Fabulous. Here we have that vine covered tunnel that you can take your gondola through and the building just pulling apart. These are some of the pavilions that break off from the gardener's house, by the way. And here's the Charlottenhof, also in Potsdam. And the plan strategy of the Charlottenhof is very similar to the plan strategy of the gardener's house. That is to say, you have a little villa, which is kind of a nine square villa, and one piece of it pulls out to begin to give you an L-shaped building and it wraps a courtyard. The Charlottenhof does all of that in a classical language, while the gardener's house does it in this hybrid language of Greek and Roman and Tuscan vernacular. An element that they use in both of these schemes is something called the pergola. And a pergola is a great middle term. You see it here, you see it here, you see it here. It's sort of half architecture and half landscape. It's this trellis that pulls out and gives you an edge but also belongs to the world of nature because it's vine covered and inundated with light. The Charlottenhof has this interesting section also. On the side facing the courtyard, the courtyard wrapped by the L-shaped building, you have this wonderful pavilion. But on the other side, it steps down and you have this differently scaled pavilion that you move up into through a grand stair. One more building that operates on the same theme of nine square that gets pulled apart, also in Potsdam, is Schloss Babelsberg, right over here in Park Babelsberg. And this Schloss Glienicke over here is another Schinkel project. This red line, by the way, represents the line between East and West Germany, East Berlin and West Berlin. Cuts right through the Glienicke Bridge. And if you've ever read any Jean Le Carré spy novels or seen movies based on them, this is where spies get exchanged during the Cold War. You have all the communists on one side and all the lovers of freedom on the other side and they march their prisoner halfway across the bridge. The other people march their prisoner halfway across the bridge and then they exchange. It's very exciting. Anyhow, here's Schloss Babelsberg and this is the plan of Schloss Babelsberg. So again, you can see it's this kind of organization that gets cranked and dismantled. That if you want to read this thing, the round thing meaning corner and round thing meaning corner, it's the same kind of Z-shaped plan that we've seen in the gardener's house and in Charlottenhoff. And it comes into this Gothic revival language which I think is pathetic Gothic revival, barely Gothic revival. Schinkel could do better than that. And it looks better there. These are some views from Schloss Glienicke where really his intervention is more follies in the garden than architectural elements. But it's a good example of the Pergola and here I've written the word out for you where this thin thing makes an edge that begins to frame a significant view toward the Vance, the lake over here. Now one thing that I think is really interesting about Schinkel is that he did a number of these grand tours like anybody would, right? Anybody who hopes to be an architect in the 19th century has to do a grand tour, has to go to Italy, has to look at this stuff, has to get it right, has to think if you're a German about the patrimony of Greek architecture as well. But in the case of Schinkel, he also made a grand tour to England and his grand tour to England showed him very different kinds of models than the models he would have got looking at examples in Italy or Greece. He's got a sketchbook full of stuff and the stuff that's in his sketchbook are factories. I think this is really interesting and prescient on his part to not simply be looking at what came before but also to open up his purview to what's coming and specifically in the early 19th century, what's coming is the industrialization of Europe. So he's got sketchbooks that are, in a sense, kind of picturesque. This is the Thames with a nice boat here, not quite a gondola, more like a garbage scow, with all these buildings lining the edges and these buildings are rectilinear blocks with punch windows. These are just simple industrial buildings at the time and look what he fills his sketchbook with. His sketchbook is full of things like iron trussets or plans that just show you fields of columns like he's thinking, oh my God, is it possible that everything I ever thought about architecture, in fact, has been eclipsed by this new possibility and certainly we already saw architects like Nash opening up to new materials but doing so within a historical eclectic style. These factories in England are not a bit interested in historical eclecticism but are mining the new possibilities of these new materials in every way they can. The project I wanted to show you and end with is the project that Schinkel did for the Bau Academy, the School of Architecture. Everybody's building academies, right? Germany is no different and they give the great architect Karl Friedrich Schinkel the task of building the Bau Academy. You look at this thing and I think given the work that we've seen Schinkel doing so far, this strong picturesque sensibility, this extreme ease from which he moves from classical to gothic to Tuscan vernacular, what are the images he's picking up here? What does this thing look like? And I would have to say it looks more like factories he's sketched in London than any historical architecture that we've looked at so far. As if to say or at least to suggest in choosing this association and this style for the Bau Academy that the future of architecture is not looking backward at historical examples but looking forward at these new possibilities that the new materials can give you. Here's the plan and here's a section. On one level, it's kind of a palazzo. It's kind of historicist. It's got a courtyard in the middle. It's a square donut. But if you look at the language of this thing and you see these little columns floating in here, it suggests a very different structural system than the structural system of a typical palazzo. It suggests that the structural system has to do with structural frames. The likes of which he sketched in London and which he deploys for this very fancy building of his. Okay, so next time, we'll move on to the Industrial Revolution.