It all began as a rumor, a tip, a story somebody told somebody. One of the rarest architectural drawings in Richmond had been spotted in an office at City Hall, maybe a year before, in 1995. I was the archivist for architectural records at the Library of Virginia, so on a cold and rainy Friday afternoon, I went to see if I could find it.
“Well, well….” I stammered, looking at the drawing in my
hands, and half kidding said, “Ah, I guess I’ll just go on back to the Library
with this…” and the guy gathered up his stuff and said, “Yeah, you better. No
telling what will happen to it here,” and walked out the door and left me standing
there. I carefully put the drawing in my copy of Weddell’s book, put the book
under my jacket, and ran back to the LVA before anybody could stop me. The
following year the same drawing was published in The Common Wealth –
Treasures from the Collection of the Library of Virginia.
As a document of national importance from the hand of one of America’s premier early architects, at first glance the little plan of a building is not too impressive. The little sheet is about the size of a legal pad: only 10 x 14 inches. Nevertheless, it testifies to a variety of important elements in the history of Richmond, about one of our first and finest architects, is an amazing example of the draftsman’s craft and is a unique record of a building that was destroyed 149 years ago. All architectural drawings hold within their sheets the secrets of their birth: the building’s decoration, its underpinnings, and the illustrated engineering that moves it from paper to brick and stone. Incredibly, this sheet in the collection of the Library of Virginia also testifies to the structural changes that literally killed it and led to the demolition of this once-admired building.
The plan of the building came from the hand of Robert Mills,
one of America’s first professional architects. Mills’ most famous commission
was the Washington Monument in Washington, D.C., whose construction was begun
in 1848, but he had a long list of buildings he designed up and down the East Coast
in the first half of the nineteenth century.
Architect Robert Mills, (1781-1855). (Library of Congress)
Mills had perfected his craft under the apprenticeship under some early American architects including B. Henry Latrobe and Thomas Jefferson, sometimes serving as Jefferson’s draftsman. Ironically, much of the astonishing skill and ability of Mills at the drafting table was never meant to be seen, and instead make up an entirely separate vocabulary of information hidden in plain sight.
When Mills noted in his pocket diary that on March 18, 1816,
he met with Richmond commissioners who had approved his plan for the “Court
House,” this plan of the building must have been among those drawings he displayed
for them. As Mills spread out the sheets, City officials probably never noticed
the tiny details in the drawings in front of them. Solid masonry walls and columns
at first glance appear to be simply a watercolor wash indicating their material,
but a close look with backlighting shows these areas are actually shaded with
Mills’ precise lines, one after another, drawn by hand with machine-like
precision. Perhaps even more astonishing are the galaxy of tiny holes, known as
“pricking,” created by a needle-like drafting tool called a “protracting pen,”
these holes allowed the architect to layout or copy a drawing by making these holes
at every junction of every line. There are almost a thousand of them in this
sheet of paper, so small they are only visible by backlighting the drawing
under magnification. How Mills was able to accomplish this amazing display of
draftsmanship with the lighting available in his day defies comprehension.
A magnified and back-lit view of Mills’ plan for the City Hall. Notice the precise diagonal lines on this drawing indicating masonry, and the tiny holes at the juncture of each line made by the architect’s needle-like protracting pen.
The City Hall was constructed as designed, and Richmond’s
City Council and courts began using the building in December 1818. Mills’ most
famous Richmond commission, Monumental Church at 1224 East Broad Street, was
completed four years before. It is interesting to imagine the scene on Richmond’s
grand boulevard with these two domed temples within sight of each other, one to
secular law and governance, and one as a memorial to the dead, but these two buildings
livened the Richmond skyline for decades.
Robert Mills’ Monumental Church (1812-1814) on Broad Street.
Visitors to Monumental Church today can admire the interior
features: the wooden dome above their heads, the light coming down from far
above from the lantern in the dome, and the gallery held up by thin columns and
know that the main courtroom in Mills’ City Hall must have looked very similar.
Information about the interior of City Hall is scant, with vague references to
the flags that hung inside as compared to the austere interior of Monumental Church.
Nevertheless, the light filtering down from the large lantern at the top of the dome must have been much the same.
Interior of Monumental Church, showing the lantern, or skylight, in the top of the dome.
The French hero of the American Revolution, the Marquis de
Lafayette, visited Richmond as part of his triumphant tour of the United States
in 1824. His reception at City Hall that October was one of the events from
Richmond’s history recorded in a series of dioramas created for the Valentine
Museum for the bicentennial celebrations in 1937. In this diorama scene, Lafayette
emerges from his carriage in Capitol Street and is applauded by excited
Richmonders who line the street and crowd the windows of City Hall.
The Marquis de Lafayette arriving at Richmond City Hall in October 1824. (The Valentine Museum)
For decades, the credit for the design of Richmond’s 1818 City
Hall has been muddied by statements by French architect Maximilian Godefroy. Godefroy
was a self-promotor whose work in Richmond survives only as a partly-executed
plan for the landscaping of Capitol Square. The straight lane that runs from
the Washington Monument to the Governor’s Mansion is the last trace of Godefroy
in Richmond. In an 1816 letter describing the bitter falling out that he had
with fellow architect B. Henry Latrobe involving a commission in Baltimore, Godefroy
also lashes out at his rival, Mills. Godefroy claimed to have been given the ”painful”
task of transforming Mills’ Richmond City Hall into a “regular edifice.”
This is typical of Godefroy’s self-promotion and, although this
claim is often repeated by historians as late as a major biography of Mills in
2001, it is completely untrue. Tellingly, even the French architect’s
biographer, John Bryan, had to admit that Godefroy’s “constant exaggerations --
these are all verbal constructions, some of which Godefroy himself came to
believe…” A thorough search of City of Richmond records show Godefroy was never
hired or paid for any work and indeed his name does not appear in the City government
records at all.
Comparison of Mills’ drawing and photographs of the City Hall confirm Mills as the architect of City Hall, despite the complicity of major historians in the myth that Godefroy was in any way an influence, let alone the designer of the building. As befitting someone who played so lightly with the truth, Godefroy’s eventual fate is unknown other than he returned to France and died there.
Maximilian Godefroy (1765-1838?)
From The Architecture of Maximilian Godefroy, 1974.
The first threat to the structural integrity of City Hall occurred
when a committee appointed by the Hustings Court recommended in 1850 that
another large room be created on the north side of the City Hall for additional
courtroom space: “the present Sergeant’s office, the room on the same side of
the building formerly used occasionally as a Courtroom and the open space
between the two be thrown into one for the use of the Hustings Court.” This
change eliminated two load-bearing walls in the upper story of the building,
walls that served as buttresses for the central drum of the City Hall.
In 1858, Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper ran an
illustration which showed an interior on the second floor on July 3, 1858 being
used as a space where citizens could pay their respects to the remains of
President Monroe before his Richmond reburial. In the picture, Richmonders are
shown filing in the room to look down on Monroe’s coffin, draped with a flag
and seemingly held up on one end by a broken chair. The scene is lit by the
three large, south-facing windows shown in Mills’ plan. The newspaper
illustration is interesting in that it shows the interior as not only a civic
space, but a richly decorated and detailed ceremonial one as well, heavily
draped and lined with portraits.
Richmonders pay their respects at the coffin of James Monroe at the Richmond City Hall. Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, July 17, 1858.
Richmond Dispatch, June 20, 1854.
Visitors to Monumental Church are often impressed with the
odd acoustics of the space, and apparently, the courtroom in City Hall suffered
from the same effect, with the lawyer’s dogged prosecutions, petitions, and fervent
defenses rapidly dissipating into the thin air of Mills’ domed courtroom. In October,
1853, members of the Richmond Bar submitted a petition to the Court, asking for
changes to make the round room a more orator-friendly space. “President Myers
stated that the City Engineer had under a consideration a plan for the room….”
Richmond’s City Engineer was Washington Gill (1819-1902), formerly
an employee of a local canal company, who had apparently come up with a fix for
the central domed courtroom on the cheap. “The Committee have also had an
estimate carefully prepared by Mr. Gill…” recorded the Committee secretary, “…and
are agreeably disappointed in the aggregate amount, which they certainly
apprehended would have been much greater.” By the following June, workmen were
making their ill-advised, low-cost modifications to the City Hall.
These modifications and their consequences were ruefully recalled
twenty years later in the Richmond Dispatch: “The building, however, has
been altered, and in making the change which was ordered it very probably
received its mortal wound. The old court-room was circular, the walls of solid
brick, and supported a dome of great weight. Now, it was said that the circular
shape of the room made speech inaudible, and the lawyers and orators making a
dead set at the circle, they succeeded in squaring it. This, it is now
believed, broke the back, so to speak, of the edifice. Its chief props are gone,
and time discloses a weakness that has caused the present alarm.”
Always second fiddle: Richmond’s City Hall on the left peeps out from under the frame of this 1860 painting of the Virginia State Capitol attributed to Howard Montague. (LVA)
The
consequences of having a round dome supported by a square building was soon evident
to Mayor Joseph Mayo, who irritably presided over City government in a building
that would not keep the rain out. “A leak in the roof of the City Hall is
seriously injuring the plastering and floors, and needs prompt attention,” recalled
one history of Richmond during the Civil War: “Yesterday morning the water was
dripping through the ceiling into the Mayor's courtroom, very much to the annoyance
of the members of the bar and others having business with His Honor.” Despite
its tattered condition, the City Hall was still an important and symbolic
objective for Federal troops when they entered Richmond on April 5, 1865.
A Civil War-era City of Richmond fifty-cent bill, showing the Richmond City Hall.
In the years that followed the Civil War, the venerable City
Hall continued to decline from the modifications made in the 1850s. The whole
issue of Richmond’s older buildings came to the fore in a tragic manner when a
courtroom in the nearby Capitol collapsed on April 20, 1870, killing more than
60 people and injuring dozens more. Grieving Richmonders had to only look
across Capitol Street to the now leaking and tilting City Hall to be reminded
of the dangers of their historic if deteriorating civic buildings.
Richmond City Hall, 1865. In the background is the steeple of First Presbyterian Church. (Library of Congress)
A growing number of complaints addressed to the City Council
began in the years following the Capitol disaster. “I feel it again to be my
duty to present the matter before you for your action,” insisted Richmond judge
Abe Guigon, “…that you may take such action about it as will prevent another
catastrophe as filled our city and State with mourning not long ago.” Judge
Guigon refused to hold court in the building, pointing out that the western
wall of the building was held in place only by rods and the whole structure
could collapse. He also made the point that the City Hall was the repository of
Richmond’s titles and deeds and the destruction of the building would be not
only an economic but a legal disaster. He demanded the convening of a Grand
Jury of Richmond architects and engineers to determine what should be done.
Richmond Dispatch, February 2, 1874.
The Grand Jury, composed of local experts such as architect
Albert Lybrock, City Engineer Wilfred Cutshaw, and several Richmond engineers
and builders was formally canvassed after a complete inspection of the City
Hall from top to bottom. The result was a grim litany of condemnation: “1st
Question: Do you consider the building in its present condition unsafe for the
purposes for which it is used? Answer: Aye. 2nd Question: Do you
think the present building should be repaired? Answer: No.”
On February 7, 1874, Richmond architect Albert West commented on the City Hall and recalled meeting Robert Mills, who, “… told me he was the architect of the building… I therefore determined to examine the record, and from it have made the following extract.” Reading the Journal of the Common Hall (the predecessor to today’s City Council), West found the entry where Mills was hired on June 6, 1814. West also correctly concluded:
The building is a beautiful specimen of Roman Doric order of architecture, and as originally built was of ample strength; but the alterations made in it some fifteen to eighteen years ago materially damaged its strength and durability, which added to the ordinary decay of time, has brought it to its present condition.
On the same day, Albert West paid tribute to the skill of Robert Mills, the Richmond Dispatch brought the news to its readers: “The City Hall is at last ordered to execution. The testimony is all against it, and is damming. No man - architect, councilman, judge, policeman, officer…dares to say a word in its defense, and down the old building must come.” On the afternoon of June 16, 1874, the last City functionary moved their office and the doors were closed, ending more than a half-century of service to the people of Richmond.
Demolition of the City Hall began almost immediately, but the Panic of 1873 had created a national financial depression, and in cash-strapped Richmond, building a replacement was nothing more than wishful thinking. A cheap, low office building was constructed in the next block which would serve Richmond as its City Hall for another 20 years. The site of City Hall was a vacant lot that became a public gathering place and the scene of concerts and hot air balloon ascensions.
F. W. Beers Illustrated Map of the City of Richmond (1876) from the Library of Congress, showing the vacant site of Mills’ City Hall (“Old City Hall Lot”) and the temporary City offices in the next block to the west.
Concerning the demolition of the City Hall, Richmond
architectural historian, Mary Wingfield Scott, noted “the wreckers found it so
solidly constructed that they had difficulty in tearing it down.” How does one
reconcile this statement with the report of the Grand Jury? It may actually
describe the solid condition of the eastern (unaltered) side of the City Hall
in contrast to the heavily modified rotunda and western wall of the building. Because
it retained the fabric and sinews that Mills intended, the east portion of the
City Hall withstood the wrecker’s tools. On the other hand, those walls that were
the victims of less-skilled hands in the 1850s practically fell of their own
weight.
Demolition of Richmond City Hall, 1874. (Library of Congress)
City Engineer Wilfred Cutshaw, always short of appropriations
to fund his office, reused the steps from the City Hall and ordered them placed
as part of the foundation for the new reservoir being built in what we today
call Byrd Park. The bricks shown being carefully cleaned and stacked in the photograph
above were sold by the City. One building known to have used them is 3 South Twelfth
Street, which still stands. You can go there today, 200 years after they were
first laid, and run your hands over the last surviving material of Robert Mills’
once-grand building.
The side wall of 3 South 12th Street in Richmond,
built in 1874 with bricks salvaged from the demolition of the 1818 City Hall.
An even more remarkable case of survival is that of Robert Mills’ original plan for the City Hall. The little sheet tells the story of the building from the very first day that Mills chose a sheet of paper, positioned it to the light, and began to draw. Not only is the pre-natal structure documented, but there is evidence, like that left at a murder, on the sheet as well. The light penciled lines by other hands in the 1850s reveal the slow structural poison that doomed Richmond’s 1818 City Hall.
- Selden Richardson
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7 comments:
Do we have any idea whose portraits those are in the First City Hall engraving?
I'm sorry I didn't see your comment earlier - here at the Shockoe Examiner editorial offices we have become so used to the lack of comments we often overlook them.
In answer to your question, no, I'm afraid I don't know who the portraits are of on the walls of City Hall, but they seem to be individual and distinct images. An interesting exercise would be to sit down with some textbooks of Virginia portraiture and try to match them up. This is the only view I'm familiar with of the interior of the building and I'd love to see what that room under the dome looked like before it was modified - in fact, I'd settle for seeing the modified version, some to think of it.
Good morning,
Yes, they are rather individual, distinct . . . and large. You would think they would have to be prominent Virginians- so then what prominent Virginians, before 1858, had such large full length portraits done? Of the five full length portraits one at least on seems to be a military officer.
I work at a courthouse and find these details interesting because there seems to be a history of poor cataloguing such artworks by the government institutions where they are hanging. These days I worry about portraits being silently removed and put away with poor documentation and oversight.
Thank you so much for sharing this article and all of the memorabilia! You do such a great job! I know, I know - you worked in an amazing library and know your ins and outs of Richmond history and there are probably more reasons that you are good at this. But to me, a lowly local amateur genealogist, you have put all of the pieces together and solved the puzzle! I have a couple of City Hall connections too. I found out recently that my maternal great-great grandfather immigrated from Italy in the 1870's and as a stonemason worked on the "New" City Hall. Secondly, my grandfather ran Caravati's and he ended up with a cupola off of City Hall in the late 70's. He put it in our backyard. Thanks for the all of the info!
Thank you so much for this detailed article! I’ve been researching about Robert Mills due to stumbling across some old letters that were written by Isabel Cochran McCue in 1964, who was the daughter of Isabel Evans Cochran who was the daughter of John Jaquelin Evans who was the son of Dr. John Evans (whom married Sara Zane Mills) who was the daughter of Robert Mills. I have also pages of info ( they are described as “facts given by his daughter Sara Zane Mills, wife of John Evans, who was my grandmother” ) and letters from Sara Zane Mills to Dr. Charles T Jackson.
Thank you again for the abundance of information in your article, it has very much helped me know more about Robert Mills the architect who I am proud to say, was my great great great grandfather.
-Molly Woodzell May
How is it that I'm only now seeing this detailed account of the indignities performed against Robert Mills' dignified design? Bravo! I knew that alterations made to the dome disturbed its strength, though not how exactly that happened. But how depressing is it that the city is shown to be as miserable a caretaker of its properties 200 years ago as it is today. As to those portraits in the grand hall -- one of them may be Peticolas' Lafayette, which is recorded as being placed there for the Marquis' 1824 visit. The full-length painting ended up in "New" now "Old" City Hall -- where it was discovered in the clocktower during the abandonment of the edifice. The art was thankfully rescued and is now in the Valentine collection. Displayed there, too, in 1824. a full-length George Washington portrait by would-be Virginia Museum curator, artist James Warrell. My guess is most of those works shown in the illustration were dispersed, or lost, or hanging in some house without knowledge of their provenance, perhaps bought at a junque shop for a few bucks.
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