In 1816 Klenze began his first major construction, the Munich Glyptothek, a characteristic and externally somewhat dull sculpture gallery. This is dominated in the established French way by a tall temple portico in the centre, and the blank walls at either side are relieved, none too happily, by aedicular niches. But if the exterior (which survived the blitz) is conventional enough the interiors, completed in 1830 and originally filled—among other magnificent antiquities—with the sculpture from the temple at Aegina as repaired and installed by Thorwaldsen, made it one of the finest productions of the great early age of museum-building as long as they existed (Plate 9B). The plan, with a range of top-lit galleries around a court, was generically Durandesque in its square modularity; the sections followed almost line for line one of Durand’s paradigms for art galleries (Figure 3). The sumptuous decoration of the vaults and the superb sculpture so handsomely arranged by Thorwaldsen provided a mixture of periods—real fifth-century Greek and Empire—distressing to purists but wonderfully symptomatic of the ideals of the age. The Glyptothek was the first building erected in the Königsplatz, a very typical Romantic Classical urbanistic entity. Faced by an even more completely columniated picture gallery, built by G. F. Ziebland (1800-73) in 1838-48, with Klenze’s Propylaeon of 1846-63 forming the far side of the square, the Königsplatz has all the coldness and barrenness which Weinbrenner happily avoided in his Marktplatz; by the time of its completion this must have seemed very out of date, not least to Klenze himself. But as the Propylaeon indicates, Klenze never eschewed trabeated Classicism, however much his best later work belongs to—indeed to a considerable extent actually initiates—the Renaissance Revival. [Illustration: Figure 3. J.-N.-L. Durand: ‘Galleries’ (from _Précis des leçons_, 1805) ] His Walhalla[42] near Regensburg, built in 1831-42 but based on designs prepared a decade or more earlier, is the most grandly sited of all the copies of Greek and Roman temples which succeeded in the first half of the nineteenth century Jefferson’s initial large-scale example at Richmond, Virginia. Like the finest ancient Greek temples, it is raised high on a hill—that is actually what is most truly Classical about it, as it is also, paradoxically, what may today seem most specifically Romantic (Plate 16A). But the tremendous substructure of staircases and terraces, derived from Friedrich Gilly’s project for the monument to Frederick the Great (Plate 9A), could belong to no other period than this.