Chapter 5

Under the Arch of the Rising Sun two delicate murals by Edward Simmons charmed us by their grace, their lovely coloring, by the richness of their fancy and by the extraordinary fineness of their workmanship. "There's a big difference of opinion about those canvases as murals. But there's no difference of opinion in regard to their artistic merit. They are unquestionably masterpieces. Kelham and Guerin, who had a good deal to do with putting them up there, believe they are in exactly the right place. But a good many others think they are almost lost in all this heavy architecture. You see, Simmons didn't take Guerin's advice as to a subject. Each of his two murals has a meaning, or rather a good many meanings, but no central theme, no story that binds the figures into a distinct unity. So, from the point of view of the public, they are somewhat puzzling. People look up there and wonder what those figures are doing. But to the artist they find their justification merely in being what they are, beautiful in outline and in posture and coloring. You don't often get such atmosphere in mural work, or such subtlety and richness of feeling."

Both murals unmistakably showed the same hand. "There's not another man in the country who could do work of just that kind. That group in the center of the mural to the north could be cut out and made into a picture just as it stands. It doesn't help much to know that the middle figure, with the upraised arm, is Inspiration with Commerce at her right and Truth at her left. They might express almost any symbols that were related to beauty. And the symbolism of the groups at either end seems rather gratuitous. They might be many other things besides true hope and false hope and abundance standing beside the family. But the girl chasing the bubble blown out by false hope makes a quaint conceit to express adventure, though perhaps only one out of a million would see the point if it weren't explained."

The opposite mural we found a little more definite in its symbolism, if not so pictorial or charming. The figures consisted of the imaginary type of the figure from the lost Atlantis; the Roman fighter; the Spanish adventurer, suggesting Columbus; the English type of sea-faring explorer, Sir Walter Raleigh; the priest who followed in the wake of the discoverer, the bearer of the cross to the new land; the artist, spreading civilization, and the laborer, modern in type, universal in significance, interesting here as standing for the industrial enterprise of today.

"Those murals suggest what a big chance our decorators have in the themes that come out of our industrial life. They've only made a start. As mural decoration advances in this country, we ought to produce men able to deal in a vigorous and imaginative way with the big spiritual and economic conceptions that are associated with our new ideals of industry."

One feature of this court made a special appeal to the architect, the use of the large green vases under the arches. "They're so good they're likely to be overlooked. They blend perfectly in the general scheme. Their coloring could not have been better chosen and their design is particularly happy."

VI

On the Marina

Along one of the corridors we passed, enjoying the richness of the coloring and the beauty of the great lamps in a long row, then out into the wide entrance of the court to the Column of Progress.

"I wonder if that column would be there now," said the architect, "if Trajan had not built his column in Rome nearly two thousand years ago. The Christianizing of the column, by placing St. Peter on top instead of Trajan, is symbolic of a good deal that has gone on here. But we owe a big debt to the pagans, much more than we acknowledge."

When I expressed enthusiasm over the column the architect ran his eye past the frieze to the top. "In the first place, that dominating group up there ought at once to express the character of the column. But it doesn't. You have to look twice and you have to look hard. One figure would have been more effective. But there is a prejudice among some sculptors against placing a single figure at the head of a column, though the Romans often did it. But if a group had to be used it could have been made much clearer. Now in that design MacNeil celebrated the Adventurous Archer in a way that was distinctly old-fashioned. He made the archer a superman, pushing his way forward by force, and by the dominance of personality. And see how comparatively insignificant he made the supporting figures. The relation of those three people implies an acceptation of the old ideals of the social organization. MacNeil had a chance here to express the new spirit of today, the spirit that honors the common man and that makes an ideal of social co-operation on terms of equality."

At the base we studied the figures celebrating labor. "Konti is a man of broad social understanding and sympathy," said my companion. "But picturesque as those figures are, they're not much more. They give no intimation of the mighty stirring among the laborers of the world, a theme that might well inspire the sculpture of today, one of the greatest of all human themes."

From the Column of Progress the Marina drew us over to the seawall. "The builders were wise to leave this space open and to keep it simple. It's as if they said: 'Ladies and gentlemen, we have done our best. But here's Mother Nature. She can do better.' "

To our right stood Alcatraz, shaped like a battleship, with the Berkeley hills in the distant background. To the left rose Tamalpais in a majestic peak.

When I mentioned that there ought to be more boats out there on the bay, a whole fleet, and some of them with colored sails, to give more brightness, the architect shook his head.

"The scene is typically Californian. It suggests great stretches of vacant country here in this State, waiting for the people to come from the overcrowded East and Middle West and thrive on the land."

Our point of view on the Esplanade enabled us to take in the sweep of the northern wall, with its straight horizontal lines, broken by the entrances to the courts and by the splendidly ornate doors in duplicate. Of the design above the doorway the architect said: "It's a perfect example of the silver-platter style of Spain, generally called 'plateresque,' adapted to the Exposition. Allen Newman's figure of the Conquistador is full of spirit, and the bow-legged pirate is a triumph of humorous characterization. Can't you see him walking the deck, with the rope in his hand? It isn't so many generations since he used to infest the Pacific. By the way, that rope, which the sculptor has made so realistic and picturesque at the same time, reminds me that a good many people are bothered because the bow up here, on the Column of Progress, has no string. The artistic folk, of course, think that the string ought to be left to the imagination."

In the distance, to the west, we commented on the noble outlines of the California Building, an idealized type of Mission architecture, a little too severe, perhaps, lacking in variety and warmth, but of an impressive dignity. The old friars, for all their asceticism, liked gaiety and color in their building.

As we were about to start back to the Court of the Universe the architect reminded me of the two magnificent towers, dedicated to Balboa and Columbus, that had been planned for the approach to the Court of Four Seasons and the Court of Ages from the bay side, but had been omitted to save expense. They would have given the Marina a far greater splendor; but they would have detracted from its present simplicity.

VII

Toward the Court of Four Seasons

"There are critics," I remarked, as we walked back to the Court of the Universe, on the way to the Court of Four Seasons, "who say that the entrance courts ought to have been placed on the other side that the Exposition ought to have been turned round."

"They don't understand the conditions that the architects had to meet. That plan was considered; but when it was pointed out that the strongest winds here blow from the south and southwest, it was seen that it would not be feasible. Besides, the present arrangement has the advantage of leading the people directly to one of the most beautiful bays in the world. The only bays at all like it that I know anything about are the Bay of Palermo and the Bay of Naples. The view of the Exposition from the water is wonderfully fine. It brings out the charm of the straight lines. All things considered, the architects did an uncommonly fine job in making the courts run from the Esplanade."

Under the star figures, among the sculptured flowers' surrounding the head of the sacred bull, birds were nestling. We wondered if those birds were really fooled by those flowers or whether, in these niches, they merely found a comfortable place to rest. "There's an intimate relation, by the way, between birds and architecture. It's said that the first architectural work done in the world consisted in the making of a bird's nest. Some critics think that architecture had its start in the making of a bird's nest. Have you ever watched birds at work on their nests? If you have, you must know that they go about the job like artists. In our profession we like to insist, you know, that there's a big difference between architecture and mere building. In its truest sense architecture is building with a fine motive. It's the artistic printing press of all ages, the noblest of the fine arts and the finest of the useful arts. I know, of course," the architect went on, "that there's another tradition not quite so flattering. It makes the architect merely the worker in the rough, with the artistic finish left to the sculptors. But the outline is nevertheless the architect's, the structure, which is the basis of beauty. Even now a good many of the great French buildings are roughed out in this way, and finished by the sculptors and the decorators."

Under the western arch, leading to the inner court that united the Court of the Universe with the Court of the Four Seasons, we found the two panels by Frank Vincent Du Mond. Their simple story they told plainly enough, the departure of the pioneers from the Atlantic border for the Far West on the Pacific. In the panel to the right we saw the older generation saying farewell to the younger, and on the other side we saw the travelers arriving in California and finding a royal welcome from the Westerners in a scene of typical abundance, even the California bear showing himself in amiable mood. "That bear bothered Du Mond a good deal. He wasn't used to painting bears. It isn't nearly as life-like as those human figures."

What I liked best about the murals was their splendor of coloring, and their pictorial suggestiveness and vigor of characterization. Perhaps there was a little too much effort on the part of the painter to suggest animation. But why, I asked, had Du Mond made most of the faces so distinctively Jewish?

My question was received with an exclamation of surprise. Yes, the strong Jewish types of features were certainly repeated again and again. Perhaps Du Mond happened to use Jewish models. It hardly seemed possible that the effect could have been intentional.

When I pointed to one of the figures, a youth holding out a long bare arm, and remarked that I had never seen an arm of such length, my criticism brought out an unsuspected principle of art. "The Cubists would say that you were altogether too literal. They are making us all understand that what art ought to do is to express not what we merely see with our eyes, but what we feel. If by lengthening that arm, the painter gets an effect that he wants, he's justified in refusing to be bound by the mathematical facts of nature. Art is not a matter of strict calculation, that is, art at its best and its purest. It's a matter of spiritual perception. All the resources of the artist ought to be bent toward expressing a spiritual idea and making it alive and beautiful through outline and color."

"But how about the mixture of allegory and realism that we see in these murals and in so much of the art here? Don't you find it disturbing?"

"Not at all. There's no reason in the world why the allegorical and the real should not go together, provided, of course, they don't grossly conflict and become absurd. What the artist is always working for is the effect of beauty. If a picture is beautiful, no matter how the beauty is achieved, it deserves recognition as a work of art. In these murals Du Mond has tried to reach as closely as he could to nature without being too literal and without sacrificing artistic effect. He has even introduced among his figures some well-known Californians, a Bret Harte, in the gown of the scholar, and William Keith, carrying a portfolio to suggest his painting."

In that inner court we noticed how cleverly Faville had subordinated the architecture so that it should modestly connect the great central courts. McLaren was keeping it glowing on either side with the most brilliant California flowers. The ornamental columns, the Spanish doorways, and the great windows of simple and yet graceful design were all harmonious, and Guerin and Ryan had helped out with the coloring.

VIII

The Court of the Four Seasons

As we entered the Court of the Four Seasons the architect said: "If I were to send a student of architecture to this Exposition, I should advise him to spend most of his time here. Of all the courts, it expresses for me the best architectural traditions. Henry Bacon frankly took Hadrian's Villa for his model, and he succeeded in keeping every feature classic. That half dome is an excellent example of a style cultivated by the Romans. The four niches with the groups of the seasons, by Piccirilli, screened behind the double columns, come from a detail in the baths of Caracalla. The Romans liked to glimpse scenes or statuary through columns. Guerin has applied a rich coloring, his favorite pink, and McLaren has added a poetic touch by letting garlands of the African dew plant, that he made his hedge of, flow over from the top. See how Bacon has used the bull's head between the flowers in the ornamentation, one of the most popular of the Renaissance motives. And he has introduced an original detail by letting ears of corn hang from the top of the columns. Those bulls up there, with the two figures, carry the mind back to the days when the Romans made a sacrifice of the sacred bull in the harvest festivals. This Thanksgiving of theirs they called 'The Feast of the Sacrifice.' "

Crowning the half dome sat the lovely figure of Nature, laden with fruits, by Albert Jaegers. On the columns at either side stood two other figures by Jaegers, "Rain," holding out a shell to catch the drops, and "Sunshine," with a palm branch close to her eyes. At each base the figures of the harvesters carried out the agricultural idea with elemental simplicity in friezes that recalled the friezes on the Parthenon. Here, on each side of the half-dome, we have a good example of the composite column, a combination of the Corinthian and the Ionic, with the Ionic scrolls and the acanthus underneath, and with little human figures between the two.

What we liked best about this court was its feeling of intimacy. One could find refreshment here and rest. Much was due to the graceful planting by John McLaren. His masses of deep green around the emerald pool in the center were particularly successful. He had used many kinds of trees, including the olive, the acacia, the eucalyptus, the cypress, and the English laurel.

We lingered in front of these fountains, admiring the classic grace of the groups and the play of water over the steps. We thought that Piccirilli had been most successful with his "Spring." "Of course, it's very conventional work," said the architect, "but the conventional has its place here. It explains just why Milton Bancroft worked out those murals of his in this particular way. He wanted to express the elemental attitude of mind toward nature, the artistic childhood of the race."

When we examined the figures of the Piccirilli groups in detail, we found that they possessed excellent qualities. They carried on the traditions of the wall-fountains so popular in Rome and often associated with water running over steps. The figures were well put together and the lines were good. All of the groups had the surface as carefully worked out. In "Spring" the line of festooning helped to carry on the line leading to the top of the group. There was tender feeling and fine workmanship in "Summer," with the feminine and masculine hands clearly differentiated. "The men of today have a chance to learn a good lesson from Rodin," said the painter. "He is teaching them what he himself may have learned from the work of Donatello and Michael Angelo, the importance of surface accentuation, the securing of the light and shade that are just as necessary in modelling as in painting. In these groups there is definite accentuation of the muscles. It makes the figures seem life-like. The work reminds me of the figure of The Outcast, by the sculpter's brother, Attilio Piccirilli, that we shall see in the colonade of the Fine Arts Palace. So many sculptors like to secure these smooth, meaningless surfaces that excite admiration among those people who care for mere prettiness. It is just about as admirable as the smoothing out of character lines from a photograph. But the Piccirillis go at their work like genuine artists."

Those murals we were inclined to regard as somewhat too simple and formal. "After all," said the architect, "it's a question whether this kind of effort is in the right direction. So often it leads to what seems like acting in art, regarded by some people as insincerity. At any rate, the best that can be said of it is that it's clever imitation. But here it blends in with the feeling of the court and it gives bright spots of color. Guerin has gone as close to white as he dared. So he felt the need of strong color contrasts, and he got Bancroft to supply them. And the colors are repeated in the the other decorations of the court. It's as if the painter had been given a definite number of colors to work with. In this matter of color, by the way, Bancroft had a big advantage over the old Roman painters. Their colors were very restricted. In this court they might have allowed more space for the murals. They're not only limited in size, but in shape as well. Bancroft used to call them his postage-stamps.

In the entrance court we found Evelyn Breatrice Longman's "Fountain of Ceres," the last of the three fountains done on the grounds by women, and decidedly the most feminine. "Mrs. Longman hasn't quite caught the true note," the architect remarked. "The base of the fountain is interesting, though I don't care for the shape. But the figure itself is too prim and modish. Somehow I can't think of Ceres as a proper old maid, dressed with modern frills. The execution, however, shows a good deal of skill. The frieze might be improved by the softening of those sharp lines that cut out the figures like pasteboard. And these women haven't as much vitality as that grotesque head down near the base, spouting out water." The architect glanced up and noticed the figure of "Victory" on one of the gables, so often to be seen during a walk over the grounds. "There's more swing to that figure than to the one here, and yet there's a certain resemblance between them. They both show the same influence, the Winged Victory of Samothrace. Of course, Miss Longman has purposely softened the effect on account of the mildness of her subject. But she might have been more successful with her draperies if she had followed the suggestions in the Winged Victory more closely. There the treatment of the draperies is magnificent. Both the Greeks and the Romans were very fond of this type of figure. And it's often found among the ruins of Pompeii, which kept so close to Rome in its artistic enterprise."

The need of separating the entrance to the Court of the Four Seasons from Ryan's display of scintillators on the imitation of Morro Castle at the edge of the bay, had given John McLaren a chance to create another of these deep green masses that surrounded the pool. It shut the court off from the rest of the world and deepened the intimacy, leaving, however, glimpses of the bay and the hills beyond.

IX

The Palace of Fine Arts From Across the Lagoon

In returning to the Court of the Four Seasons, we started along another of those inner courts, made charming by those Spanish doorways and by the twisted columns, a favorite of the Romans, evidently borrowed from the Orientals. "All through the Exposition," the architect remarked, "we are reminded of the Oriental fondness for the serpent. Some people like to say that it betrays the subtlety and slyness of the Oriental people. But they admired the serpent chiefly because, in their minds, it represented wisdom, the quiet and easy way of doing things, a little roundabout perhaps, but often better than the method of opposition and attack."

Before us, looking down as if from an eminence, stood, the Palace of Fine Arts. The architect reminded me of the clever planning that had placed this magnificent conception in so commanding a position, looking down into the courts, on what he called "the main axis."

"It's the vision of a painter who is also a poet, worked out in terms of architecture. Maybeck planned it all, even to the details. He wanted to suggest a splendid ruin, suddenly come upon by travelers, after a long journey in a desert. He has invested the whole place with an atmosphere of tragedy. It's Roman in feeling and Greek in the refinement of its ornamentation. That rotunda reminds one of the Pantheon in Rome. Those Corinthian columns, with the melancholy drooping of the acanthus and the fretwork and the frieze, by Zimm, are suggestive of Greece. Maybeck says that his mind was started on the conception, 'The Island of Death,' by Boecklin, the painting that the German people know so well as the 'Todteninsel,' and by 'The Chariot Race,' of Gerome."

The architect went on to say that the resemblance was remote and chiefly interesting as showing how a great artist could carry a suggestion into an entirely new realm. The Boecklin painting merely suggested the general scope of the work, and the chariot race gave the hint for that colonnade, which Maybeck had made so original and graceful by the use of the urns on top of groups of columns with the figure of a woman at each corner. He had used that somewhat eccentric scheme on account of its pictorial charm. All through the construction Maybeck had defied the architectural conventions; but he had been justified by his success.

My attention was directed to a group of columns at the end of the colonnade. "There's just a hint of the Roman Forum over there. Perhaps it's accidental. Perhaps it's developed from a picture way down in Maybeck's consciousness. However, the idea of putting two columns together in just that way comes from the French Renaissance. The great French architect, Perrault, used it in the Louvre. In the competition he won out over Bernini, who is living again in the Court of the Universe. It gives great architectural richness."

People had wondered what McLaren had meant to indicate by the high hedges he had made over there with his dew plant. He had merely carried out the designs put into his hands. Maybeck had intended the hedge to be used as a background for willow trees that were to run up as high as the frieze, in this way gaining depth. Through those trees the rotunda was to be glimpsed. Willow trees, with overhanging boughs, were also to be planted along the edge of the lagoon, the water running under the leaves and disappearing.