Returning to the South Gardens
From where we stood we could get a good view of those green columns in the Tower of Jewels, occasionally criticised as being too atmospheric to give the sense of support. "Those columns were colored by Guerin to get an effect of contrast. That shade was one of the first of the shades he experimented with. He tried it out on the sashes in Machinery Hall. The French landscape painters used it a good deal in outdoor scenes, on trellises, for example. It made a pleasing effect against the deeper tones of the grass and foliage. The notion that it isn't suited to columns seems to me unwarranted. As a matter of fact, there are several kinds of green stone that have often been successfully used for columns in architecture, like malachite and Connemara marble. The Bank of Montreal has some magnificent Connemara columns. Of course, the use up there is theatrical, exactly as Guerin intended it to be. People seem to forget that Guerin got his earlier training as a scene painter. He was recognized as one of the greatest scene painters of his time. He deliberately undertook to make this Exposition a great spectacle, and he ought to be judged according to what he tried to do. It seems to me that his success was astonishing. He created a picture that was spectacular without being garish or cheap and that harmonized with the dignity and the splendor of the architecture. One explanation of his success lies in his being so fond of the Orient, where the architects have worked in color as far back as we can go. Every chance he makes a trip to the Orient and he comes back with a lot of Oriental canvases that he has painted there. Only a lover of the Orient would have dared to put that orange color on the domes. See what a velvety look he got, almost wax-like. He was careful not to apply, in most instances, more than one coat of paint. He wanted it to sink in and to become weathered. He knew that nature was the greatest of all artists, always trying to remove the shiny appearance of newness and to give seasoning."
As we looked up toward the center of the South Garden the white globes on the French lamp posts caught the architect's eye. "Don't you remember how cheap they looked on the first days?" he said. "The trouble was that they were too white. They seemed cold and raw. So they were sprayed with a liquid celluloid to soften them into their present ivory hue. The change shows how important detail is, and how carefully Guerin's department has worked. While the construction was going on there was one remark that often used to be heard, 'It will never be noticed,' and a most foolish remark it was. It showed that the people who made it were lacking in imagination. Millions of eyes have been watching the details of this Exposition and very little has escaped notice."
A great crowd was pouring out of the afternoon concert in Festival Hall. The architect, as he looked on, remarked: "It's like being in Paris, isn't it? Or, perhaps, it's more like being in a lovely old French provincial city, where the theater is the chief architectural monument. It's hard for me to understand why the French have encouraged that kind of architecture for their theaters and opera houses. It seems so unrelated to sound, which ought to give the clue to the building. The use of the word festival here is a little old-fashioned and misleading. It doesn't mean what we usually consider festivity. It is essentially a concert hall, and the architecture ought to suggest concentration of sound by being built in a way that shall make such concentration inevitable. But this kind of building is obviously related to dissipation of sound. No wonder the acoustics turned out bad and the interior had to be remodeled."
The Half Courts
In front of the Court of Palms we stopped to admire James Earl Fraser's "End of the Trail," the most popular group of sculpture in the Exposition. "It deserves all its popularity, doesn't it? It's finely imagined and splendidly worked out. The pony is excellent in its modeling and the Indian is wonderfully life-like."
At our side a man and a woman were standing, the man more than six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a face that had evidently seen a good deal of weather. "I've known fellers just like that Indian," we heard him say, "up in Minnesota. He might be a Blackfoot after a couple of days' tusselling with the wind and the rain in the mountains. I've seen 'em come into town all beat out. The man that made that statue knew his business. An' I guess he knew what he was doing when he called it 'The End of the Trail."'
When the visitor had passed, the architect said: "The symbolism gets them all, doesn't it; and the realism, too? But Fraser couldn't have expressed so much if he hadn't put a lot of heart into his 'Work. He really felt all that the Indian represented, as a human being and as a representative of a dying race."
"The Court of Palms" captured us both, by its shape, by the splendor of the Ionic columns, by the loveliness of its detail, by its coloring and by that charm of its sunken garden. "You can feel here the mind that developed those four Italian towers. It shows the same balanced judgment, and skill and taste. The two towers here, though they stand at either end of the court, and make a beautiful ornamentation, are really a part of the wall. They help to give it dignity and variety. And how artistically the palms have been used here. They can be among the least graceful of plants; but here they are really decorative. And those laurel trees at the side of the main doorway make fine ornamental notes. The sculptured vases, too, are wonderfully graceful."
Above the doorways we found the three murals that gave further distinction to this court and enriched the coloring. In "Fruits and Flowers" Childe Hassam had done one of his purely decorative pictures, without a story, contenting himself with graceful pictures and delicate color scheme. Charles Holloway made "The Pursuit of Pleasure" frankly allegorical, the floating figure of the woman pursued by admiring youths. Over the main doorway Arthur Mathews had also painted an allegory, "Victorious Spirit," the Angel of Light, with wide-spread wings of gold, standing in the center and keeping back the spirit of materialism, represented by a fiery horse driven by his rider with brutal energy. "Observe how successfully Mathews has chosen his colors. These deep purples help to bring out the splendor of those golden tones. This canvas is unquestionably one of the best of all the murals. It shows that in Mathews San Francisco has a man of remarkable talent, one of the great mural painters of the country."
On the way to the second half-court we had a chance to see the South Wall at close range, with its rich ornamented doorways, its little niches and fountains devised to make it varied and gay. Those little elephant heads were another sign of Faville's careful attention to ornamental detail. And the coloring gave warmth to the background, contrasting with the deep green of the planting.
At the Court of Flowers we met Solon Borglum's "Pioneer, too old to be typical, different from the man in lusty middle age or in youth who came to California in the early days. But it justified itself by suggesting perhaps the greatest of the pioneers in old age, one who had grown with the community, the poet, Joaquin Miller. "It's Miller sure enough," said the architect, "even if the likeness isn't close. But why those military trappings on the horse? Like the rest of the pioneers, Joaquin was a man of peace."
The Court of Flowers we thought well named, both for its planting, McLaren at his best, and for its Italian Renaissance decoration, with that pretty pergola opening out on the scene, Calder's Oriental "Flower Girl" decorating the spaces between the arches. And those lions by Albert Laessle were a fine decorative feature. The fountain, "Beauty and the Beast," by Edgar Walter, of San Francisco, was one of the most original and decorative pieces of sculpture we had seen. The figure of the girl standing on the coils of the beast was remarkably well done and the water flowing over the bowl, with the pipes of Pan glimpsed underneath, made a charming picture. There was a whimsical and a peculiarly French suggestion in the use of the decorative hat and sandals on the nude figure. In detail those two towers at the end were slightly different from the other two. Like the others they served as a decoration of the wall, breaking the long lines."
Near Festival Hall
At close view we found the Festival Hall more interesting than it had seemed at a distance. It unquestionably had something of the elegance associated with the best French architecture. But, unlike most of the buildings here, it did not develop out of a central idea. Much of its ornamentation seemed put on from the outside.
Of all the domes this dome impressed us as being the least interesting. It did not even justify itself as being a means of giving abundant light. "This kind of architecture doesn't really belong in this country; but it seems to be making its way. Observe the waste of space involved. However, the curving arches on either side are rather charming. And the architect has succeeded in putting into the whole structure a certain amount of sentiment. In fact, throughout the whole Exposition you feel that the architects haven't worked merely for money or for glory. They have appreciated the chance of doing something, out of the commonplace."
The sculpture by Sherry Fry was evidently executed with the idea of festivity in mind, the "Bacchus" and "The Reclining Woman" and two "Floras" decorated with flowers, and "Little Pan," and "The Torch-bearer" reproduced above each of the smaller domes. But, somehow, those figures did not quite indicate the real character of the building, intended for concerts and lectures and conventions, rather serious business. The coloring, too, of the statues, was disappointing, the dull brown being out of key with the light green of the domes.
"In the smaller concert room upstairs, Recital Hall," said the architect, "there is some very fine stained glass; two windows, and on the landing of the north stairway there's a third window, all done by the man who has been called the Burne-Jones of America, Charles J. Connick, of Boston. Instead of being hidden away there, they ought to have been put in the Fine Arts Building. They represent something new in the way of stained glass, and they have a wonderful depth and brilliancy."
As we drew near the Avenue of Progress we saw the magnificent doorway of the Varied Industries, overladen with ornamentation. "It was clever of Faville to put that doorway just in this spot where it would be seen by the crowds that entered by Fillmore Street. It comes from the Santa Cruz Hospital, in Toledo, Spain, built by the Spanish architect, De Egas, for Cardinal Mendoza, one of the most famous portals in Europe. The adaptation has been wonderfully done by Ralph Stackpole, with those figures of the American workman carrying a pick at either side and the semicircular panel just above the door and the group on top. That panel is one of the finest pieces of sculpture in the Exposition. It has tenderness and reverence. It's the kind of thing the mediaeval sculptors who worked on religious themes would have been enthusiastic over. See how simple it is, just a group of workers, with the emblems of their work, the women spinning with the lamb close by, the artist and the artisan, and the woman with the design of a vessel's prow in her hands, suggesting commerce. The single figure in the center is the intelligent workman who works with his hands and knows how to work, too. The group on top is a very pretty conception, the Old World Handing Its Burden to the Younger World, with its suggestions of the European people coming over here and raising American children."
The Palace of Machinery
On reaching the Avenue of Progress we found ourselves at the gayest corner of the Exposition, with two fine vistas of the two avenues. To our right stood the massive Palace of Machinery, one of the largest buildings in the world, so successfully treated by the architect that it did not give the faintest suggestion of being cumbersome or monotonous. "It's the Baths of Caracalla in Rome," said the architect, "adapted by a master. Those three gables above the main entrance are taken directly from the baths. See how simple the ornamentation is and yet how satisfying. The building as a whole is a perfect example of old Roman architecture, feeling its way toward the big architectural principles that are in vogue today, among others the economical principle involved in the counteracting of thrusts. If the Roman Emperor who was nicknamed Caracalla on account of the hooded military tunic that he made fashionable in his day hadn't built those baths we should probably not have the glorious Pennsylvania station in New York, that some of the architectural authorities consider the most important building of its kind built in this country. Although the work here is all concrete, Clarence Ward, the architect, says that with care, it could last hundreds of years."
Now we were struck by those vigorous-looking figures, by Haig Patigian, that stood on top of the Sienna columns all evidently designed to express the power of machinery. At the entrance the reliefs of the columns were in the same spirit and, as one might have surmised, by the same sculptor working out the meaning of the buildings in designs that kept the contour of the columns, strong and well-modeled.
"There's distinctive character in this building," said the architect. "It actually conveys the sense of tremendous energy, and by the simplest means. And inside, Ward has done something new and interesting."
When we entered we found the supports of the roof left bare. Instead of being unsightly, they had a kind of beauty and impressiveness. "Observe the magnificence of the spaces here on the floor and up to the ceiling. Some one asked Ward if all this height were necessary. He said it wasn't; but he wanted it for pictorial effect, to carry out the feeling of massiveness and splendor."
In the great figures that stood on the columns in front of the Palace of Machinery the architect found a theme for a discourse on the human figure as the chief inspiration of art. "It is possible that we shall change our minds on that subject," he remarked. "Already the world is showing a tendency to get away from the worship of the body. Ever since the Christian era, of course, the physical has been deprecated. We may come to see that the body is useful as it develops and serves the spiritual, that is, as it subordinates itself. The marvel is that the pagan tradition has persisted so long in spite of the Christian influence. This Exposition shows how strong it remains."
"But what would you have in place of the human figure as the inspiration of art?" I asked.
"Oh, there are plenty of things that might take its place. Flower themes are just as beautiful in decoration as the shapes of men and women. I can conceive of the time when it will be considered uninteresting and commonplace to have human bodies used as a means of aesthetic display. The self-glorification in it alone becomes wearying. We are gradually learning that the best we can do in life is to forget about ourselves and our old bodies. There are even those who go so far as to look forward to the time when we shall escape from our bodies altogether. It would be interesting, by the way, to get the point of view of a very spiritual Christian Scientist on the display here. I suppose that it would see good in the tendency to reach finer and nobler conceptions of art according to our present understanding."
Then the architect proceeded to discuss the artistic superiority of the Japanese. Though they used the human figure in their art, they did not play it up, after the habit of the Western world. They did not make it seem to be of supreme importance. They conventionalized and subordinated it to outline and color. The use of the nude they never cultivated. Their attitude toward the body was characterized by discretion and modesty, qualities that they showed in their dress. You would never see a Japanese woman, for example, wearing a dress that conspicuously brought out the lines of her figure.
"On the other hand," the architect went on, "there's no doubt we've become absurdly prudish in this country. We're afflicted with shame of the body which, in itself, is unhealthy. If art can help us to get back to a more normal attitude it will do a big service. All the more reason then why it should keep within reasonable bounds."
The Court of the Ages
As we turned from the Avenue of Progress toward the Court of the Ages the architect said: "The workmen about here call this inner court 'Pink Alley,' not a bad name for it, though its real name is the Court of Mines. Throughout the Exposition Guerin shows that he is very fond of pink, probably on account of its warmth. He has been criticised for using it so much on the imitation Travertine for the reason that there is no stone of exactly this color. And yet there is pink marble. But even if there weren't any pink stone in the world, Guerin would be justified in his use of the color for purely decorative purposes, just as he was justified in using it on his four towers."
Inside the Court of the Ages the architect drew a long breath.
"In this court we architects feel puzzled. We think we can read new architectural forms like a book, and find that they are saying things repeated down the ages. But we can't read much here. In that lovely round arch there are hints of Gothic, and yet it is not a Gothic arch. Throughout the treatment there are echoes of the Spanish, and yet the treatment is not Spanish. The more one studies the conception and the workmanship the more striking it grows in originality and daring. Mullgardt has succeeded in putting into architecture the spirit that inspired Langdon Smith's poem 'Evolution,' beginning 'When you were a tadpole and I was a fish.' In the chaotic feeling that the court gives there is a subtle suggestiveness. The whole evolution of man is intimated here from the time when he lived among the seaweed and the fish and the lobsters and the turtles and the crabs. Even the straight vertical lines used in the design suggest the dripping of water. When you study the meaning of the conception you find an excuse for Aitken in flinging his mighty fountain into the center of all this architectural iridescence. He caught the philosophy of Mullgardt without catching the lightness and gaiety of the execution. In that fountain he has brought out the pagan conception of the sun, and he has used the notion that the sun threw off the earth in a molten mass to steam and cool down here and to bring forth those competitions between human beings that reveal the working of the elemental passions. Aitken is material and hard, where Mullgardt is delicate and fine. How subtly Mullgardt has interwoven the feeling of spirituality with all the animal forces in man. That tower alone is a masterpiece. I know of no tower just like it in the world. From every side it is interesting. And at night it is particularly impressive from the Marina."
The architect went on to explain something of the court's history. "When Mullgardt started to work out his plans he must have had in mind the transitional character of an exposition. He knew that he could afford to try an experiment that might have been impracticable if the court had been intended for permanency. He evidently was determined to cast tradition to the winds and to strike out for himself."
"I should think most architects would like to work in that way."
"The usual process is very different. As soon as an architect decides to design a building. he first chooses a certain type of architecture; then he saturates his mind with designs that have already been done along that line. Out of the mass of suggestions that he receives he is lucky if he evolves something more or less new. Often he merely re-echoes or he actually reproduces something that he is fond of or that has happened to catch his fancy. The chances are that Mullgardt will go down into history for his daring here. It isn't often that a man takes a big biological conception and works it out in architecture with such picturesqueness. It's never intrusive and yet it's there, plain enough for anyone to see who looks close. It represented a magnificent opportunity and Mullgardt was big enough to get away with it."
Then the architect told me the human story behind all this beauty as we wandered back into the center of the court and stood there. "Notice the incline," he said, "from the entrances? It reminds me that Mullgardt had originally intended to have the floor of the court like a sunken garden. And remember that the name expresses the original idea. The Court of Abundance, that it is wrongly called, would have applied much better to the Court of Four Seasons. Well, after the notion came to Mullgardt to suggest in the court the development of man from the life of the sea to his present state as a thinking being, less physical than spiritual, he planned to build a court that should be the center of the pageants for the Exposition, where art should have its living representation in the form of processions and of plays, some of them written for the purpose. In the sunken garden there should be plenty of room for the actors to move about, using it as a stage. There should also be room for the sculptured caldron that was to be an architectural feature and that later developed into Aitken's massive evolutionary fountain. For the base of the tower there was designed a gorgeous semi-circular staircase, which was to serve as an entrance for the actors. Around the court there was to run an ornamental balcony, covered with a great canopy in red and gold, making an effect of Oriental magnificence. The people were to watch the spectacles from the balcony and from between the arches. In addition to the main tower, very like the present tower, but to contain a great pipe organ, there were to be two others, in the corner at right angles, to be called echo towers. The music of the organ was to be transmitted to the echo towers by wires and the echoes were to serve as a sort of accompaniment. The effect, if it had been managed right, would have been stunning."
"Mullgardt has kept the spirit of the pageant in his court," I said. "Just as it is it would make an ideal setting, particularly for pageant with music, opera, for example."
"Of course," said the architect. "But the music ought not to come as it does now, from a band. It ought to come from the orchestra. Violins belong there. Put brass never!"
"Well, what happened to the pageant scheme?"
"Oh, when Mullgardt showed the preliminary sketches it was ruled out as too expensive. Then he removed the balcony and the staircase and, in place of the staircase, he introduced a cascade, keeping the rest of the court as it had been before. His idea was to use the water in the cascade only in a suggestive way. It was to be almost completely hidden by vines, after the manner of Shasta Falls, and to symbolize the mysterious appearance and disappearance of water that came from - one didn't know where. But that scheme was rejected, too, as too expensive. However, Mullgardt accepted the situation. He was so interested that he worked out himself many of the details that most architects would have left to subordinates. He really cared enough to make the whole effect as close to perfection as he could. Everything he did he had a reason for doing. Not one thing here did he use gratuitously. He evidently doesn't agree with the idea that, in architecture, beauty is its own excuse for being; he wants to make it useful, too."
Then I was initiated into the details of the workmanship. "Observe how the ideas in the structure of the walls of the court are carried on in the ornamental details and in the tower." The primitive man and primitive woman repeated in a row along the upper edge had been finely conceived and executed by Albert Weinert. And the nobility of outline in the tower was sustained by the three pieces of sculpture in front made by Chester Beach. That top figure some people believed to be Buddhistic in feeling. But it belonged to no particular religion. It stood for the Spirit of Intelligence. The ornamentation on the head was not an aureole, as bad been reported, but a wreath of laurel, symbolic of success. The group beneath was mediaeval, depicting mankind struggling for the light, expressed in the torches, through those conflicts that so pitifully came out of the aspirations of the soul, expressed in religion. The lowest group showed humanity in its elemental condition, related to the animal, close to the beasts. So, to be followed in sequence, the groups ought to be studied from the lowest to the highest, and then the eyes should be able to catch the meaning of the lovely ornamentation, crowning the tower, the petals of the lily, emblem of spirituality, the arrow-like spires above expressing the aspirations of the soul.
On the sides of the tower the symbolism was consistently maintained, war and religion marking the progress of man toward the state indicated by the single figure of The Thinker.
"And, speaking of the soul," the architect went on, "Observe these great clusters of lights that illuminate this court and the approach on the other side of the tower. They look like stars, don't they? And the intention evidently is to use them for their star-like character. But there is history behind them. They are like the monstrance used in the Catholic Church, to hold the sacred host, the wafer that is accepted by the faithful as the body and blood of Jesus Christ. Since the sixteenth century it has been used by the church, a beautiful emblem, made of gold and designed to suggest the prayer of the sun, the Spirit of God in radiance. Its use here helps to give the court its ecclesiastical character."
As we made our way toward the Marina we noted how much the court gained by its general freedom from color. In the colonnade, to be sure, Guerin had been particularly successful with the shade of blue. But he would have done better if he had omitted the color, in fact all color, from the niches in the tower.
Viewed from the Marina, the entrance to the court proved to be a vision of loveliness. There was only one intrusive note to jar the harmony, the coarse sea figure by Sherry Fry, presumably Neptune's, Daughter, standing in the center, with a great fish at her feet, plainly out of place here, in spite of the court's celebration of the sea as the source of human life.
The Brangwyns
We lingered in the colonnade to view the eight mural decorations by Frank Brangwyn, of London. In front of The Bowmen we found a friend, a gifted woman painter, fairly bursting with enthusiasm. "What delights me in Brangwyn," she said, "is his artistic courage. He dares to put down just what he feels. This sturdy figure in the foreground, for example, peering through the trees, how many other painters would have allowed him to turn his back on the spectator? And yet how interesting he is and how alive."
"Some of those heads strike me as curious," I remarked. "That fellow closest to the center, just about to let his arrow fly, seems to have no head to speak of."
"Sometimes he's careless with his drawing. And yet he can draw magnificently, too. He evidently had a purpose in making so many of the heads in these murals almost deformed. He wanted to suggest that these types were in no way mental. They were wholly physical. Notice the care he has lavished on their muscular bodies, their great shoulders and legs."
"It doesn't seem like English work, does it?" said the architect.
"No, there's something almost Oriental about it both in the feeling and the coloring. And there's the Pagan love of the elemental life."
"But what a chance Brangwyn had to do something new with this magnificent subject," the architect went on. "At last, after centuries of effort, men are actually conquering the air. They've learned to fly. They've become birds. Now why didn't Brangwyn give us a pictorial expression of that miracle? Why didn't the artist have as much sense as the man of affairs who pays Art Smith to come out here and fly before the multitude?"
I argued that Brangwyn preferred to deal with antique themes - they were so much more pictorial.
The architect interrupted with some impatience. "But that's exactly what they're not. In my opinion Whistler was perfectly right when he said that if a mural decorator couldn't make modern life pictorial he didn't know his business. Flying through the air is only one of many wonders in the life of today that cry out for expression in art; but you scarcely catch a note of them here."
"For example?" said the painter.
"Industry - our great machines, the new power they bring into the world, the change in industrial relations and social and moral ideals. Now in these murals, Brangwyn has simply repeated himself and he hasn't by any means done his best work. And I question whether his observation is so accurate as you admirers of his try to make it appear. Look at the way those fellows are holding their bows - with the left hand, presumably for the pictorial effect of the composition. Well, let that point pass. One fellow has shot his arrow. The other is holding his arrow between the fore finger and the middle finger. Well, it won't go very far. The Indians know better. They let the arrow rest on the thumb to give it plenty of freedom to fly. One of those bows, by the way, has no string. Brangwyn probably thought it wouldn't be missed."
As we looked at the other panels the architect conceded that the points the painter raised for Brangwyn, the brilliant use of color; the dramatic grouping and the fineness of characterization, were true enough. "But he's too monotonous. Though his groups are of different periods, some of them ages apart, they're all essentially alike and the figures are even dressed alike. I'm perfectly willing to make allowance for artistic convention. But why should an artist limit himself unnecessarily when he has all the ages to draw on? Why should he neglect the present, the greatest of all the ages?"
"Ah, I'm afraid you're too literal said the painter. "You want to limit a genius to rules."
We turned from The Bowmen to study in detail the second illustration of Air, much more modern and yet charmingly old-fashioned, the windmill and the little mill high in the background, the group of naked boys flying kites, the toilers and their children, going home as fast as they could, fighting the wind, their picturesque draperies flying around them.
The architect was impressed. "He's caught the feeling of the thunderstorm, hasn't he?" he said.
"And he's brought out all the picturesqueness and the color and the majesty and even the humor," said the painter. "See how wonderfully be has composed the picture, what pictorial use he has made of every detail. The background of the clouds and the rain, the dark blues and the green and the pink; and the kites catching some of the color, and the lovely color of the mill and of the grass dried by the sun. And see that figure up there on the steps, all windblown and rushing under cover. It's all beautiful and yet there's not one face or figure there that would be considered beautiful by the painter who works for prettiness. He has no interest whatever in what the average mural decorator considers beautiful. And yet he sees beauty everywhere and he makes it felt. How pictorially he has used those purple flowers in the foreground at the base of the composition. And observe their relation to the purple clouds on top. And then what character he has put into those active figures, particularly in this queer little boy, naked except for the purple drapery flying from his waist. He has caught something of the fantastic spirit that you often see in children."
In nearing the two panels illustrating Water we had a chance to see how dexterously Brangwyn could manage his design without perspective, which would have made a hole in the wall. Those women with jars on their heads stood against a sky none the less lovely because it was flat. It was exquisite in its varieties of blue and white and green. That sturdy fellow lifting a heavy jar was actually working and working hard. "And how splendidly Brangwyn has modeled the figure with his back turned to us," the painter exclaimed. "What a stroke of genius it was that a yellow handkerchief of just that shade should hang from his neck. And the figures in the companion panel drawing their nets, they are putting their heart and soul into their work and they are having a good time, too. And this man here in the corner, with the purple shadows on his bare back, lifting his net, he's evidently had a big catch. He's holding the net in a way that shows it's heavy. And how decorative those men in the background are, with the baskets on their heads. Brangwyn loves to use figures in this attitude. They are interesting and picturesque and dramatic at the same time."
"But they're too conscious," the architect insisted, "too posed.
"Remember, they're not paintings," the painter insisted. "They're formal decorations."
In the panel representing the elementary use of Fire we were all struck by Brangwyn's daring and fine treatment of the ugly. Nearly every face was almost grotesque. And yet every face was appealing for the simple reason that it expressed attractive human qualities. Two, a man and a woman, had noses ridiculously large. The group of men in the center of the background, at the base, around the fire, had apparently started the fire by rubbing sticks together. One was intently leaning forward, as if in the act of blowing. Among the figures behind the group stood a man with an infant in his arms, vividly characterized by the unseeing eyes.
That infant was instantly singled out by the painter.
"Brangwyn is very wonderful in his observation of children. He has a quality that is almost maternal. Observe the difference between the expression in the face of that baby and the expression in the face of that little boy to the left of the fire-makers. How intently he is looking on as he leans against the brown jar. He shows all the interest of a boy just learning how to do things."
The kiln charmed us, too, though we regretted that it did not explain itself quite so spontaneously as most of the other panels. "But symbolism ought not to be too obvious, you know," the painter argued. "There's a certain charm in vagueness. It makes you feel your way toward a work- of art. The more you think about this panel the more you find there. To me it suggests the relation between fire and the abundance of the earth. See how cleverly, in each case of these two panels, Brangwyn has used smoke, first as a thin line, breaking into two lines as it goes up and interweaving, and then as a great flowing wreath, dividing the panel in two parts without weakening the unity."
For composition we decided that the two Earth panels were among the most remarkable of all. With satisfaction I heard Brangwyn compared by the painter to a great stage manager. "When I look at these groupings, I am reminded of Forbes-Robertson's productions of plays." Now we could see how brilliantly the decorator had planned in securing his effects of height by starting his group of figures close to the top of the canvas. And with what skill he had used trees and vines and vegetables and fruits, both for design and for coloring. "He has always been mad about apples and squashes," said that feminine voice. "In nearly every picture here you will find not one squash only, but several squashes. He loves them for their color and their shape. And how wonderful he makes the color of the grape. He suggests the miracle of its deep purple."
We admired the painter's pictorial use of shadow on those powerful and scantily draped figures and the animation he put into the bodies of the wine-pressers. And down there in a corner he had perfectly reproduced the attitude and facial expression of the worker at rest, holding out his cup for a drink. "There's another of those queer and interesting children. But oh, most wonderful of all is the opposite panel that ought to be called Abundance. See that mother, holding her lusty baby. The face is commonplace enough, but it has all motherhood in it. And the woman behind, she looks as if she might be a mother bereft or one of those women cheated out of motherhood."
The architect, though he still had his reservations on the subject of the Brangwyns, conceded that they were distinctly architectural. They blended into the spirit of the court.
The painter at once supported the opinion. "In these colonnades Guerin has done some of his finest coloring. The blue and the red are in absolute harmony with Brangwyn's rich tones. They must have been applied to fit the canvases. But the marvel is that the murals should show up so magnificently. Brangwyn painted them in London and he must have had second sight to divine just the right scheme. Do you realize," she went on enthusiastically, fairly losing herself in her enjoyment, "the immense difficulties he had to contend with? In the first place, see how huge those canvases are. Their size created all kinds of problems. To view them right, to get a line on the detail, so to speak, would have meant, for the average painter, walking long distances. But, in his studio, Brangwyn could not have taken anything like accurate measurements."
"Perhaps he painted them out of doors," the architect suggested.
"I believe the explanation is that he thought them all out and he saw them in their places. From Mr. Mullgardt he had probably received a complete account, with drawings, of just what the court was going to be like. Then it lived before him and he made the murals live. His work shows that he begins in the right place, unlike so many people who paint from outside. He feels the qualities of the people he is going to paint. He really loves them. He loves their surroundings. He must be very elemental in his nature. They say he is a great, uncouth sort of a fellow. When he first went to London he was very contemptuous of the work done by the academicians. It must have seemed to him, a good deal of it, effeminate and trifling. Can't you see how those murals show that he is a man clear through? They are masculine in every detail."
"And yet they have a good deal of delicacy, too, haven't they?" said the architect. "See how atmospheric those backgrounds are. They actually suggest nature."
"Because they are unconventional and because they are true. And yet they are purely decorative. You wouldn't like to think of them as standing apart in a great frame. When you go close you will see that the colors are laid on flat. And they don't shine. For this reason they have great carrying power. Observe The Bowmen down there in the distance. Even from this remote end of the court it expresses itself as lovely in color and composition. Let us walk down and see how it grows on us as we approach."
Slowly we moved along the colonnade, the figures seeming to grow more and more lifelike as the painter indicated their technical merits. "They are of the earth, those men, aren't they? They are the antithesis of the highly civilized types used by so many of the painters today. They suggest red blood and strength of limb and joy in the natural things of life, eating, drinking, the open air, and simple comradeship. They make us see the wonder of outdoor living, the kind of living that most of us have missed. What a pleasure it is to find a worker in any kind of work trying to do a thing and actually doing it and doing it with splendid abandon. Now if Brangwyn hadn't entered into the feelings of those bowmen in the foreground, he couldn't have made the figure alive. And the life, remember, isn't merely brought out by the happy use of the flesh tints or by the play of the muscles. It's in the animating spirit. As Brangwyn painted those fellows, he felt like a bowman. So he succeeded in putting into his canvas the strength that each bowman put into his bow. He isn't pretending to shoot, that sturdy fellow in front. He is shooting, and he's going to get what he is after."
Before each of the four pairs of murals, the painter indicated to us the happy way in which, by the deft use of the coloring, each blended into the other, and she called my attention to the clearness of the symbolism. So often, she remarked, the mural decorators used compositions that seemed like efforts to hide secrets, a childish way of working, sure to defeat itself. Brangwyn had no secrets. He was sincere and direct. He was happy over this work. He said that he had enjoyed doing it more than anything else he had ever done before. If these canvases had been found in the heart of Africa they would have been identified as coming from Brangwyn. No one else used color just as he did, with his kind of courage. His colors were arbitrary, too. He didn't follow nature and yet he always conveyed the spirit of natural things. Throughout his work he showed that he was a close and subtle observer. The sweep of rain through the air, the movement of figures and of draperies in the wind, the expression of human effort, how wonderfully he managed to suggest them all and to make them pictorial. But he wasn't interested in merely an activity. He loved repose. In nearly all of these eight canvases, so brimming with life, there were figures looking on serenely, calmly, conveying the impression of being absolutely at rest.
In every particular, according to the searching observer, Brangwyn was successful, with the exception of one, his treatment of birds. He evidently didn't know birds. If he had known them he would have loved them, and if he had loved them he would have entered into their spirit and he would have flown with them and he would have made them fly in his painting. Now they merely flopped. They were just about as much alive as the clay figures used in a shooting match. Even his highly decorative flamingoes weren't right. They did not stand firmly on the ground. They weren't alive. And the necks of the two flamingoes never could have met in the curves that Brangwyn gave them. This very failure, amusing as it was and hardly detracting from the effect of his work as a whole, was another proof that he was an instinctive painter, who relied for his guidance on feeling. But it was plain enough that he had chosen those flamingoes for their color, and a right choice it was.
We could not decide which of the eight murals we liked best. Perhaps, after all, they could not be considered apart. Though each was in itself a unity, the eight completely expressed a big conception. And in detail each canvas was full of delightful bits. If you closed your hand and peered between your thumb and your fingers, you could see how beautifully the color had been applied and how, throughout the whole surface, the workmanship sustained itself. Never was there the sense of faltering or of petering out. And everywhere there were expressions of fine understanding and sympathy, in the study of a peasant mother holding her babe, nude boys flying kites, a happy face with the lips blowing a pipe, a muscular figure lifting a jar, all conveying abundant life and rich coloring.
The painter finally ran away from us, apologizing for her enthusiasm.
In discussing her opinions, the architect said: "Well, I don't altogether agree. But she may be right. She sees from the inside, which is very different from seeing from the outside. There is a great deal of artistic appreciation that can be felt only by the artist, by the fellow-craftsman. No wonder we go so far astray when we criticise aspects of art that we're only related to indirectly or not related at all."
We walked to the Marina. From there we saw the sun, a great red ball, sinking behind the Golden Gate.
Watching the Lights Change
"There probably never was an Exposition in a more magnificent setting," said the architect. "The stretch from here to the Golden Gate makes one of the most splendid bits of scenery in the whole world. It was a good idea on the part of the Exposition people to build the little railway here so that visitors should get a glimpse of all the beauty. But, ideally, the view ought to be seen from a height. The curve from here to the Cliff House makes our foreign visitors gasp. It also makes them wonder why our boasting over San Francisco doesn't include some of the things we have the best excuse to boast about."
We stopped at one of the open-air restaurants, where we could eat and watch the fading light at the same time. Then we went to the lagoon, which the architect declared to be particularly interesting at this time of day.
The rotunda and the colonnade began to take on a deeper mystery. Across the surface of the water ran a faint ripple. In the background, over the Golden Gate, the sky was turning to flame. Delicate, gray cobwebs seemed to float in the air like veils, dusk and fog intermingled.
The light grew dim as we sauntered along the colonnade of the Palace. Through the columns we could see the Tower of Jewels, suddenly illuminated from inside, all in red, obscuring the sculptured figures and giving the lines greater unity and reach.
In the red glow the Italian towers fairly leaped into the air. "It's curious how the light makes them taller," said the architect.
Now the grounds were twinkling with a multitude of bulbs.
Presently the red light in the tower softened into white. Two of theItalian towers grew paler, the other two retaining their brilliancy.Ryan was putting on his colors like a painter, one over another.
We made our way back to the Marina, where the scintillators were soon to blaze. Before we arrived they informed us of their presence by the great feathered fan, of many colors, that rose into the sky.
"There was some opposition to the decorating of the Tower with jewels. The architects with conservative ideas very naturally felt that architecture which depended on its lines for beauty didn't need that kind of ornament. But Ryan has unquestionably justified himself. The feature has been talked about throughout the country more than any other. See how the light falls on the tower like a great shimmering robe. It gains by the contrast it makes with the subdued lighting beneath."
The group on the Column of Progress stood out against the sky.
The doorways were taking on the color of gold, becoming even more beautiful than they had been by day.
"What Ryan tried hardest to get," said the architect, "was evenness of lighting. He wanted to bring out clearly the details of the architecture and he succeeded."
The Illuminating and the Reflections
That motionless steam engine, all in gray, harmonizing with the Travertine, was furiously at work. Into the air it sent clouds of steam that turned to red and blue and green under Ryan's magic. And up there, at the top of the Column of Progress, we saw the Adventurous Bowman and his companions in two groups, one reflected on the illuminated fog.
Through the smoke and the fog the bombs were shooting and breaking into great masses of liquid fire, golden and green and pink and yellow. "Someone says we're all children at heart," the architect remarked. "These fireworks get more attention than all the architecture and the art put together. But, after all, they're just about as beautiful as anything man can make and, in the way of color, they put the artists to shame."
We were part of the crowd that swept to the Court of the Universe, never so splendid as at night, with the columns reflected in the pool and Calder's star figures shining from the concealed electric bulbs. On reaching the court itself we stood at the end of one of the corridors and looked down. Great drops of light hung on the columns like molten gold. "Ryan has done something very artistic and unusual there," the architect remarked. "So far as I know nothing just like it has ever been done before. It suggests the tongues of fire mentioned in the Scripture that descended from Heaven."
In the sunken garden those two shafts, rising from the fountains, looking like stone by day, had become great candles, glowing from the base to the glass globe on top. "They're practically the sole means of illuminating this court. The other lights are merely ornamental. So far as I'm aware nothing just like these shafts has ever been tried in an Exposition or anywhere else. It's a novel Expositional effect. Some people don't like it; but most people admire it immensely. It symbolizes the gold that first drew the multitude to this part of the world. If the golden color had been used more extensively throughout the Exposition it would have helped a lot. Guerin gets it at night by means of the light that shines through the windows and Faville gets it in the light behind those wonderful doorways of his that haven't been praised half as much as they ought to be."
The Court of the Ages lured us along the dimly lighted inner court, the arches taking on an even more delicate beauty in the night light. Once within the court we found ourselves under the spell of Mullgardt's genius. The architecture, the cauldrons sending out pink steam, the flaming serpents, the torches on the tower, the warm lights from within the tower, the great ecclesiastical stars, brilliant with electricity, all carried out the idea of the earth, cast off by the sun.
In the entrance court we found the effects less magnificent but, in their way, just as beautiful. The lighting emphasized the refinement of the court, the rich delicacy of the ornamentation. "Mullgardt ought to go down into history for this contribution to the Exposition," said the architect. "He has shown that originality is still possible in architecture."
In the Court of the Four Seasons we watched the Emerald Pool turning the architecture into a mermaids' palace. The water flowing under the four groups of the seasons shone from an invisible light beneath, coloring it a rich green. "When Ryan promised to illuminate the water here without letting the source of the light be seen, it was thought by the people it couldn't be done." For a long time we sat in front of the lagoon where the swans were silently floating and, and the Palace of Fine Arts was reproduced with a deeper mystery. Now we could feel the relation between the colonnade and Gerome's chariot race. "It would please Gerome if he could know that he had helped to inspire so magnificent a conception," said the architect. "And if Boecklin could see this vision and hear that his Island of the Dead had started Maybeck's mind thinking of it he would probably be astonished and delighted at the same time. With his fine understanding of the influences operating in art he would see that his contribution did not in any way detract from Maybeck's originality. Down the centuries minds have been influencing one another and, in this way, adding to the sum of wisdom and beauty in the world. Now and then, as in this instance, we can plainly see the influences at work. Behind Boecklin and Gerome there were doubtless influences that led to their making those two pictures, inspirations from nature or from other artists, or both together. And this palace will doubtless inspire many another noble conception."
"When we apply that thought to the Exposition as a whole," I said, "we can see what a big influence it is likely to have on the art of the country."
"It has undoubtedly had a big influence already, even though we may not he able, as yet, to see it working. The very interest the Exposition has, aroused in the people that come here, whether they are artists or not, can't help being productive."
Seeing the Lights Fade
We went over to the South Gardens to see the lights change on the Tower of Jewels, passing the half-dome of Philosophy, the stained glass of the windows enveiling the background. They were still robing the tower in pure white, and the hundred thousand pieces of Austrian cut glass were shimmering. "They must have had a hard time getting those jewels fastened on the ornamentation of the upper tiers. The wind up there is very strong. Some of the men came near being blown off. It took pretty expert acrobatic work to hang the jewels out on the extreme edges.
Suddenly the lights on the tower glowed into red. The tower itself seemed to become thinner and finer in outline.
"There are people who don't like this color," said the architect. "It's fashionable nowadays to feel a prejudice against red. But it is one of the most beautiful colors in nature and one of nature's greatest favorites, associated with fire and with flowers. To me the tower is never so beautiful as it is when the red light seemed to burn from a fire inside. See how it tends to eliminate the superfluous ornamentation. It brings out the grace of line in the upper tiers, like folded wings. With just a few eliminations the improvement in that tower would be astonishing."
Presently the lights in the tower went out altogether. The four Italian towers also grew dim. It was getting late. People were hurrying out. But we lingered. We wished to see this city of domes as it appeared without any lights at all, except for those that were kept burning to meet the requirements of the law.
For an hour we roamed about the deserted place. Here and there we would meet a belated visitor or a group of people from some indoor festivity.
The material had taken on a finer quality. It looked like stone. Wonderful as the Exposition was by day and in the evening, it was far more wonderful at this hour.
Now it was easy to imagine the scene as a city, with the inhabitants asleep in their beds. But just what kind of city it was I could not make up my mind. When I expressed this thought to the architect, he said:
"Have you ever seen David Roberts' big illustrated volumes, 'Travels in the Holy Land'? If you haven't, look them up. Then you will see what kind of a city this city is. It's a city of Palestine. It's Jerusalem and Jaffa and Akka all over again."
Features that Ought to be Noted by Day
The South Gardens
Hedge. Idea suggested by W. B. Faville, of Bliss & Faville, architects, of San Francisco, and developed by John McLaren, landscape gardener and superintendent of the Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, to give impression of old English wall. African dew plant grown in shallow boxes, two inches deep, covered with wire netting.
Design of entrance at Scott Street, by Joseph J. Rankin.
South Gardens, French in character, with suggestions of Spanish.Planting by John McLaren.
In center, "Fountain of Energy," by A. Stirling Calder, acting chief of sculpture; French influence. Expresses triumph of energy that built the canal. Youth on horseback, standing in stirrups, "Energy." Figures on shoulders, "Fame" and "Valor." Figures on globe, two hemispheres; Western, bull-man; Eastern, lioness-woman. Figures on base, sea-spirits. Upright figure on globe, Panama. Large figures in pool, the oceans: The Atlantic, a woman with coral in her hair, riding on back of armored fish; North Sea, an Eskimo hunting on back of walrus; Pacific, a woman on back of large sea lion; and South Sea, a negro on back of trumpeting sea-elephant. Sea-maidens on dolphins' backs, in pool.
To right and left, in front of Festival Hall, and Horticultural Palace, at ends of long pools, French fountain of "The Mermaid," figure, by Arthur Putnam, of San Francisco.
To right, large building, Festival Hall, by Robert Farquhar, of LosAngeles; French theatre architecture. Studied from the theatres of theBeaux Arts style of French architecture. Details, French Renaissancedeveloped from the Italian influence.
To right, Press Building, designed and built by the Exposition; HarrisH. D. Connick, Director of Works.
To left, large building, Palace of Horticulture, Bakewell & Brown, architects.
To left, Young Women's Christian Association.
French light standards, by Walter D'Arcy Ryan and P. E. Denneville.
French ornamental vases, filled with flowers, by E. F. Champney.
The wall, by Faville, with ornamental Spanish entrances, runs around main courts and palaces, making the walled city. Tiled roofs suggesting mission architecture, associated with early California missions, a style developed from the Spanish.
Four smaller towers, two on either side of large tower, by George W.Kelham, of San Francisco; Italian Renaissance.
Sand on walks, selected by Jules Guerin for its pink color to harmonize with color scheme. Binds together buildings, its pink harmonizing with pink of walls. Grains of sand in walks translucent.
Flag poles, ornamented with gilt star, by Faville. Orange-colored streamers by Guerin.
Heraldic designs related to history of Pacific Coast, by Ryan.
Thoroughfare running along wall and lined with palms, Avenue of Palms.
Equestrian statue, to right of Tower of Jewels, by Charles Niehaus,"Cortez," conquerer of Mexico.
Equestrian statue, to left, by Charles Cary Rumsey, "Pizarro," conqueror of Peru. Fine in action and spirit.
Tower of Jewels
Main tower breaking southern wall, facing South Gardens, the Tower of Jewels, by Thomas Hastings, of Carrere & Hastings, New York. Developed from Italian Renaissance architecture, with Byzantine modifications, and designed to suggest an Aztec tower; 433 feet high; original intention to make it 100 feet higher.
Inscriptions on wall at base of tower chosen by Porter Garnett of Berkeley, explain steps that led to building of Panama Canal, celebrated by Exposition. On both sides of inscriptions Roman fasces denoting public authority. From left to right: "1501 Rodrigo de Bastides pursuing his course beyond the West Indies discovers Panama"; "1513 Vasco Nunes de Balboa crosses the Isthmus of Panama and discovers the Pacific Ocean"; "1904 the United States, succeeding France, begins operations on the Panama Canal"; "1915 the Panama Canal is opened to the commerce of the world."
Large Composite columns on base. Arched capitals with acanthus, ornamented with the American eagle, the nude figure of child, and ornamental design suggesting California fruits. Colored to resemble Sienna marble.
Corinthian columns at either side, eagles at corners of capital, human head above.
Figures by John Flanagan, of New York, represent types in early California history: Spanish adventurer of sixteenth century, who came to California and started Spanish influence; priest, who brought the Catholic religion to California Indians; philosopher, or scholar and teacher; and the Spanish warrior, the soldier of sixteenth century, who came to win territory for Spanish king. Above cornice of tower stand four figures on each of the four sides, twice life-size.
Between statues by Flanagan, square decorative panels; youthful figures with wreath, repeated on north of tower. Designed by Hastings, modelled by Newman and Evans, New York.
Armored horsemen on terrace, by F. M. L. Tonetti, type of Spanish soldier. Repeated four times on each side. Well modeled, but damaged in effect by being placed in row.
Rows of eagles on niches of tower, symbol of American initiative.
Decorative vase on wings of tower, Italian. Use of ram's head below bowl.
Wreaths of laurel under eagles, rewards of courage, suggesting triumph of building canal.
Prows of triremes, at corners on third lift, denoting worldwide commerce.
Ornamental use of niches, columns, vases, head-piece, breastplates, shields, the pagan bull, Cleopatra's Needle.
Human figures supporting globe, encircled with girdle, point of tower; suggest Atlas; ancient idea; somewhat like the group of the four quarters of the world by Jean Baptiste Carbeaux in the gardens of the Luxembourg.
Tower broken into seven stages. Horizontal lines have flattening effect; tower does not appear so high as it really is.
One hundred and thirty-five thousand jewels on tower, suspended to vibrate. Ruby, emerald, aquamarine, white, yellow. Made in Austria, of Sumatra stone.
Arch of Tower of Jewels, 110 feet high, 60 feet broad; fine example ofRoman arch, like Arch of Constantine and Arch of Titus.
Figure of Minerva on centerpiece of arch, north and south.
Recessed or coffered panels in ceiling, richly colored, blue harmonizing with murals on east and west walls.
Murals by William de Leftwich Dodge, of New York. To west, "Atlantic and the Pacific," with the "Purchase" to right, and the "Discovery" to left. Opposite, "Gateway of All Nations," with "Labor Crowned" and the "Achievement" on sides. Tone of murals strengthens arch. Subjects related to history of California and the Panama Canal.
Fountains, one in each of the colonnades. To right, "Fountain of Youth," by Mrs. Edith Woodman Burroughs, of Flushing, New York. Figure of girl, simple and well-modeled; panels at either side show boats, youth rowing the older people; eagle and laurel wreath at back, suggest that central figure is United States. One figure shows a woman with hand at ear, her attention turned toward the beauty and happiness of lost youth. To left, "Fountain of El Dorado," by Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney (Mrs. Harry Payne Whitney), of New York. Panels at either side show human struggle for "land of gold," or "happiness," or "success." Portals ajar, but Egyptian guardians bar the way. Dramatic subject, vigorous handling.
View of San Francisco hills between the columns, one of the most beautiful views on the grounds.
Inscriptions on north of tower, by Garnett, discovery of California andunion with United States. From left to right: "1542 Juan RodriguezCabrillo discovers California and lands on its shores." "1776 JoseJoaquin Moraga founds the Mission of San Francisco de Asis"; "1846 theUnited States upon the outbreak of war with Mexico takes possession ofCalifornia"; "1850 California is admitted to the Union as a sovereignState."
Forecourt of Court of Universe; coloring good, graceful planting of cypress.
Trees in niches under tower; contrast of colors, dark green, blue and pink.
Court of the Universe
Elephant poles, Roman, by McKim, Mead & White; streamers by Guerin.
Bear fountains, in walls of Palaces of Liberal Arts and Manufactures, north of Tower of Jewels. Three on each wall. Colors, pink, dark blue, light green.
Largest court in Exposition. By McKim, Mead & White, architects, of NewYork. Inspired by Bernini's entrance to St. Peter's, in Rome.
Area of court, seven acres; 650 feet wide from arch to arch; 1200 feet from Tower of Jewels to Column of Progress.
Palaces around court: northeast, Transportation; northwest, Agriculture; southwest, Liberal Arts; southeast, Manufactures.
Sunken Garden, planted by John McLaren.
Height of Arches of Rising Sun and Setting Sun, 203 feet from base to tip of sculpture.
East, Arch of Rising Sun; Arch of Setting Sun, in west. Suggested by arches of Constantine and Titus in Rome; modified by use of green lattices, Oriental, and by colossal sculptural groups, the East and the West, in place of Roman chariot or quadriga.
Columns in front of arches; composite, mingling of Ionic and Corinthian; female figure used as decoration.
"Angel of Peace," by Leo Lentelli, on each side of arches on Sienna columns, repeated four times. Sword is turned down, but not sheathed, a commentary on modern peace.
"Pegasus," in triangular spaces above arch, by Frederick G. R. Roth, repeated on the other side.
Medallions, right and left sides of arches. Female figures suggestingNature, by Calder; male figures suggesting Art, by B. Bufano, of NewYork.
Above medallions on frieze, decorative griffons.
Quotations on Arch of Rising Sun, west side, facing court, chosen by Garnett. Panels from left to right: "They who know the truth are not equal to those who love it," from Confucius, the Chinese philosopher; "The moon sinks yonder in the west while in the east the glorious sun behind the herald dawn appears; thus rise and set in constant change those shining orbs and regulate the very life of this, our world," from "Shakuntala" by Kalidasa, the Indian poet; "Our eyes and hearts uplifted seem to gaze on heaven's radiance," from Hitomaro, the Japanese poet.
Quotations on Arch of Rising Sun, east side, facing Florentine Court. Panels from left to right: "He that honors not himself lacks honor wheresoe'er he goes," from Zuhayr, the Arabian poet; "The balmy air diffuses health and fragrance; so tempered is the genial glow that we know neither heat nor cold; tulips and hyacinths abound; fostered by a delicious clime, the earth blooms like a garden," from Firdausi, the Persian poet; "A wise man teaches, be not angry. From untrodden ways turn aside," from Phra Ruang, the Siamese poet.
Crenellated parapet on arches, note from military architecture. Archers used to shoot from behind.
Cleopatra's Needle repeated on edge of arches. Used by the Egyptians as historical records and public bulletins. Merely decorative.
Green jars, beautifully designed, in niches at base of Arches of Rising and Setting Sun, McKim, Mead & White. Eight in each arch.
Arch of the Rising Sun, surmounted by group representing types of Oriental civilization. "Nations of the East," designed by Calder, and executed in collaboration with Lentelli and Roth. From left to right: Arab sheik on horse, negro slave, Egyptian on camel, Arab falconer, Indian prince, Buddhist priest or lama from Thibet, Mohammedan with crescent, negro slave, and Mongolian on horseback.
Murals in arch by Edward Simmons, of New York. On north wall, from left to right, True Hope and False Hope, Commerce, Inspiration, Truth, Religion, Wealth, Family; in background Asiatic and American cities. On south wall: historical types, nations that have crossed the Atlantic; from left to right, "Call to Fortune," listening to the past, the workman, the artist, the priest, Raleigh the adventurer, Columbus the discoverer, the savage of lost Atlantis, the Graeco-Roman, and the Spirit of Adventure sounding the call to fortune. In background, ancient and modern ships.
Arch of Setting Sun. Statues, frieze, spandrels, parapet, identical withArch of Rising Sun. Group on top, "The Nations of the West," designed byCalder, executed in collaboration with Lentelli and Roth. Americanfigures grouped around prairie wagon, drawn by two oxen. Above wagon,"Enterprise"; in front, "The Mother of Tomorrow," white boy on one side,colored boy on other; south, a French-Canadian, an Alaskan woman, aSpanish-American, a German; north, an Italian, British-American, squaw,American Indian.
Quotations on Arch of Setting Sun, chosen by Garnett. Panels from left to right, facing court: "In Nature's infinite book of secrecy a little I can read," from "Antony and Cleopatra," by Shakespeare, the English poet;
"Facing west from California's shores,Inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound,
I, a child, very old, over waves, toward the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar,
Look off the shores of my Western sea, the circle almost circled. from"Leaves of Grass," by Walt Whitman the American poet; "Truth, witnessof the past, councillor of the present, guide of the future," from "DonQuixote," by Cervantes, the Spanish novelist.
Murals in Arch of the Setting Sun, by Frank Vincent Du Mond of New York. "Westward March of Civilization," beginning on north and continuing on south wall. Four groups in north panel, from left to right, Emigrants setting out for the west; two workmen and a woman holding child; symbolic figure of the Call to Fortune; types of those who crossed the continent, the driver, the Preacher, the Pioneer, the Judge, the Schoolmistress, the children; youth bidding farewell to parents; in background, New England home and meeting place. South wall: four groups in panel, from left to right; two Spanish-American soldiers and captain with a Spanish priest, suggesting Mission period; symbolical figure "Spirit of Enlightenment"; types of immigrants, the Scientist, the Architect, the Writer Bret Harte, the Sculptor, the Painter William Keith, the Agriculturist, the Laborer, women and children; California welcoming the easterners, figures of California bear, farmer, miner, fruit pickers; orange tree, grain and fruit, symbols of state.
Classic groups at head of steps in front of arches leading down into gardens by Paul Manship, of New York. North side, "The Dancing Girls"; south, "Music and Art."
Star-figure, along upper edge of court, by Calder. Repeated ninety times. Contrast with angel in front of arches.
Lion's head, on cornice below star-figure, repeated around court.
Gilt balls on the domes of all six pavilions. Represent an ornamental motive borrowed from the Byzantines and often used on synagogues. A feature of St. Mark's. Dr. Jacob Nieto, rabbi of the Temple Israel, of San Francisco, has an interesting theory as to their origin. "The ancients always had the greatest regard for the central star of each of the constellations that made tip the zodiacal signs. No doubt in their method of representation they would symbolize the central stars by a globe, as they also did the sun and the moon, looking upon them all as servants of the earth, and having, possibly, no idea that these other constellations might be separate solar systems."