Chapter VI: Part 6

Perseus was the son of Jupiter and Danaë. Danaë’s father had heard that his daughter’s son would be the cause of his death. He therefore set the mother and child afloat in the sea in a chest, which was safely cast upon the island of Seriphos, the ruler of which was Polydectes. By the time Perseus had grown to manhood, Polydectes had fallen madly in love with Danaë, and, fearing lest Perseus should be a bar to his passion, he ordered him to cut off the head of the Gorgon Medusa, whose face turned to stone everyone who looked upon it. Assisted by Minerva, Perseus succeeded in his adventure. Returning to Seriphos he found Danaë persecuted by Polydectes, and, appearing at the palace of the king while he and his court were sitting at dinner, he drew the head of Medusa from his wallet and turned the whole company into stone.

Prometheus is represented as warning his brother Epimetheus not to accept Pandora from the gods. Prometheus, who, with his brother, was the first of mankind, had outwitted Jupiter in the matter of offering sacrifices; Jupiter, in return, had withheld fire from earth. Prometheus, however, secured it by stealth from heaven, and Jupiter in revenge formed Pandora, the first woman, and sent her to become the bride of Epimetheus. Epimetheus disregarded his brother’s advice and took Pandora and with her the fatal box, which, when opened, let loose a cloud of evils to torment, with only delusive Hope to console, mankind.

Theseus is directed by Minerva to leave Ariadne, who sleeps beside him, and proceed to Athens alone. Athens had been compelled for years to send an annual tribute of youths and maidens to Minos, king of Crete, to be devoured by the Minotaur, a savage monster, half bull, half man, who was confined in a Labyrinth. Theseus voluntarily sailed on the tribute-ship, and reaching Crete gained the love of the daughter of Minos, Ariadne, by whose aid he was enabled, after slaying the Minotaur, to find his way out of the Labyrinth. Returning, he bore Ariadne away with him, but deserted her at the island of Naxos, as here depicted, at the command of Minerva. There she was found by Bacchus, who made her his bride.

Achilles, disguised as a maiden, and living among the women of the court of Lycomedes, king of Scyros, is discovered by Ulysses. Thetis, the mother of Achilles, had been forewarned that her son would die an early death, as it turned out afterwards that he did, being slain by Paris before the walls of Troy. She therefore dipped him, while still an infant, in the River Styx. He was thus made invulnerable in every part of his body except his heel, by which his mother had held him, and which therefore remained unaffected by the sacred water. To make assurance doubly sure, Thetis sent him to Lycomedes to be reared as a maiden, far from the dangers of war. When the Greeks were arming for the siege of Troy, the oracle informed them that without Achilles the city could never be taken. The crafty Ulysses was therefore sent in search of him. He arrived at the court of Lycomedes disguised as a pedler, bearing in his basket weapons of war and feminine trinkets. Showing these among the women, all were eager to examine the ornaments; Achilles clutched at the sword and shield, thus discovering himself immediately to the keen eye of Ulysses.

Hercules was sold as a slave by Mercury to Omphale, Queen of Lydia. They became enamored of each other, and Hercules, to please her, wore female garments, and spun among the female slaves. The artist here exhibits him aiding the queen in her task.

THE HOUSE READING ROOM.

Mr. McEwen’s corridor opens directly into a richly decorated gallery, serving as a special reading room for members of the House of Representatives. No apartment in the Library is more lavishly and sumptuously ornamented. The floor is dark quartered oak; the walls have a dado of heavy oak panelling about eleven feet high; and the deep window-arches are finished entirely in the same material. Above the dado the walls are hung with olive green silk. The ceiling is beamed and panelled, and is finished in gold and colors, with painted decorations in the panels, and encrusted conventional ornament in cream white along the beams. Over the three doors are carved oak tympanums, by Mr. Charles H. Niehaus, comprising two different designs--the first a central cartouche bearing an owl, and supported on either side by the figure of a seated youth; the other, the American eagle flanked by two cherubs. At either end of the room is a magnificent mantel of Sienna marble. Over the fireplace is a large mosaic panel by Mr. Frederick Dielman, representing, at one end of the room, _Law_, and at the other, _History_. Above is a heavy cornice, supported on beautiful columns of Pavannazzo marble, the general color of which is gray instead of yellow, but with a system of veining which agrees very well with that of the Sienna. In the centre of the cornice is a small cartouche, of green onyx in the mantel to the south, and of labradorite, or Labrador spar, in the other, the latter stone being remarkable for its exquisite gradations of deep peacock-blue, continually changing with the light and the point from which it is seen.

=Mr. Dielman’s Mosaics.=--Mr. Dielman’s mosaic panels are of the same size and shape, each being seven and a half feet wide and three feet seven inches high. They were executed in Venice, which for generations has been celebrated for the delicacy, accurate coloring, and nicety of fitting, of its mosaics. The process and methods used in this work are much the same as in the ordinary sorts of mosaic--such as would be required for a ceiling, for example--although, of course, the pieces, or _tesseræ_, must be fitted with much greater care and patience, so that every piece may take its place in a perfect gradation of color. The work of the painter consisted in making full size cartoons in the exact colors desired in the mosaic; from these the Italian workmen prepared the finished panels, and sent them to this country ready to be put in place. The cartoons, however, were necessarily painted as much as possible in simple outlines and shades of color, for, although the Italian shops are said to have at their command enamels of no less than twenty-five thousand different tints, it would be obviously impossible with such a material to reproduce exactly every variation of tone and line of which the brush is capable. Certain refinements of technique, therefore, and more especially the vagueness of color which is often so desirable in the painted canvas, must be avoided in a cartoon made for such a purpose as Mr. Dielman’s.

The mosaic at the north end of the room represents _Law_, typified by a young and beautiful woman seated on a massive marble throne and holding in one hand a sword with which to chastise the guilty, and in the other a palm branch with which to reward the meritorious. Her head is surrounded by a glory, and she wears on her breast the Ægis of Minerva to signify that she is clad in the armor of righteousness and wisdom. On the steps of her throne are the scales of Justice and the book of Law, and a pair of white doves emblematic of mercy. The visitor will notice that Mr. Dielman’s conception of Law includes the conventional typification of Justice, but at the same time slightly differs from it. The reason is that he has wished to indicate not only the judicial but the legislative side of Law; hence the freer air of command, and, in particular, the outdoor landscape of woods and hills, signifying a less restricted authority than that of the courtroom. Such a typical symbol of Justice as the scales is less conspicuously introduced, and the usual globe is entirely omitted.

To the left of the central throne are three figures representing, as one may see by the names in the streamer above them, respectively Industry, Peace, and Truth, the friends and supporters of Law; while to the left Mr. Dielman introduces three other figures typifying Fraud, Discord and Violence, the enemies of Law. Industry and Violence are represented as male figures; the other four as female. Very appropriately, the first group seems to be advancing unafraid toward the throne of the Goddess; while the figures to the right shrink terrified from her presence. The emblems which distinguish the various figures are easily understood: Industry with a wheel and hammer; Peace with an olive-branch and crown of olive; Truth with the lilies; Fraud, represented as a withered hag; Discord, with disordered hair and garment, and holding a pair of knotted serpents; and Violence, in a steel cap with the blazing torch lying on the ground before him.

Mr. Dielman’s second panel represents _History_. The titular figure, that of a woman of great charm and beauty, stands in the centre holding a pen and a book. On either side are marble tablets bearing the names of great historians--Herodotus, Thucydides, Polybius, Livy, Tacitus, Baeda, Comines, Hume, Gibbon, Niebuhr, Guizot, Ranke, Bancroft, Motley. At the foot of one tablet is a laurel wreath, for peace, and on the other side an oak wreath, for war--the twin topics of history--each accompanied by a palm branch, the general reward of success. On either side of the panel extends a marble bench on which are seated two female figures representing Mythology and Tradition, the predecessors of history. Mythology, the expounder of the ancient tales of the gods and heroes, stands for theories of the system of the universe, in token of which she holds in her right hand a globe of the earth. Beside her is a sphinx--the female sphinx of the Greeks, not the male sphinx of Egypt--suggesting the eternally insoluble Riddle of the World. At the other end of the panel, Tradition, an aged granddame, relates her oldwives’ tales to the boy who sits listening before her. The figure represents the whole body of mediæval legend and folk-tale. Reminders of a past age are brought out in the distaff she holds in her lap, the Romanesque capital on which the boy sits, the harp he holds in his hand--with its reference to the wandering minstrel of the Middle Ages and his store of tales--and in the shield, very likely the text of the story which is being told, which leans against the tablet.

In the background of the panel, seeming to float amidst the clouds, are three ancient buildings, an Egyptian pyramid, a Greek temple, and a Roman amphitheatre--signifying the three nations of antiquity in which History was most highly developed.

=Mr. Gutherz’s Paintings.=--Along the centre of the ceiling are seven panels containing decorations by Mr. Carl Gutherz, representing _The Spectrum of Light_. Each of the seven colors shown in the spectrum is typified by a central figure standing for some phase of achievement, human or divine. Other features of the panel are two cherubs in each corner, representing arts or sciences, and a series of eight escutcheons, one with the title of the decoration, and the other containing the seals of the various States, the whole being combined in a single arabesque pattern by an elaborate design of scroll ornamentation.

The order of the subjects begins in the centre and goes first north and then south from that point. The color of the centre panel is _Yellow_, and the subject _The Creation of Light_. The Divine Intelligence, sitting enthroned in the midst of Space, and enveloped in mist and clouds, utters the words, “Let there be Light.” The corner figures represent Physics, Metaphysics, Psychology, and Theology.

The second color is _Orange_, and the subject _The Light of Excellence_, suggested to the artist by Longfellow’s poem, _Excelsior_. A spirit stands midway on a pyramid of steps (signifying Progress), which is lost in the unknown distance. She beckons to man to join her on the heights where she is standing, and holds in one hand the wreath which crowns every effort for Excellence. In the corner, the cherubs typify Architecture and Sculpture; Transportation; the Phonograph and Telephone; and Invention and Design.

The third panel is _Red_, representing _The Light of Poetry_. Poetry, mounted upon Pegasus, holds a torch in one hand and with the other reaches toward that light of the ideal for which he must always strive, but which he can never attain. In the background half-seen figures represent the afterglow of Tradition and Mythology. The corner groups stand for Tragedy and Comedy; Lyric Poetry; Pastoral Poetry; and Fable.

_Violet_, the fourth color, is symbolized as _The Light of State_. The United States being regarded as the highest form of government yet achieved, its emblems are selected as the best expression of the ideal State. This being the case, _Violet_ was the color under which, according to the conception of the artist, the United States might best be represented, since violet results from the union of the American colors, Red, White, and Blue. The figure is that of Columbia, with a shield emblazoned with the United States flag, and carrying a staff surmounted by a liberty-cap, while the American eagle hovers above her shoulder. The cherubs in the corners represent the Suffrage, Justice, Liberty, and Equality.

The next subject is _Green_, or _The Light of Research_. The central figure is the Spirit of the Lens, which in the telescope and the microscope reveals to the scientist the secrets of the universe. She is surrounded by the sea, with its myriad forms of life furnishing her with the material for her investigations. The cherubs in one corner have a microscope. In another, they represent Chemistry; in the third Archæology (Egyptology deciphering the hieroglyphics); and in the fourth, Mineralogy--all selected as being especially concerned with original investigation and research.

_Blue_ is _The Light of Truth_. The Spirit of Truth crushes the dragon of Ignorance and Falsehood under foot, and reaches to heaven for a ray of light with which to inflict the final wound. The blue of the background is the blue of daylight,--light from darkness. The cherubs hold the level, the plumb, and the Bible, each considered as an agent in indicating the presence of a universal law.

The last panel represents _Indigo_ as _The Light of Science_. The figure represents Astronomy, who is guided by the soul (figured as a butterfly fluttering above her head) to explore the movement of the stars. The cherubs represent various phases of astronomical study. One of the figures, for example, explains the theory of mathematics, showing on the fingers of the hand that _one_ is the unit of everything; a second looks through a telescope; and others are studying books and making calculations.

SENATE READING ROOM.

At the end of the corridor leading to the House Reading Room, is a little lobby, from which one enters the Southwest Pavilion, or Senate Reading Room, reserved for the use of members of the Senate. The little lobby itself is one of the most beautiful examples of pure architectural design to be found in the Library. The walls are of Vermont marble--the same as in the corridor--panelled with Sienna marble. The moulded ceiling is finished entirely in gold, with a central rosette, surrounded by coffers and conventional Greek mouldings, one of which, a rather elaborate fret, is laid upon a ground of deep red. The whole effect of the decoration, taken in connection with the low light which prevails, is remarkably fine--a combination of great richness with soberness and refinement.

The Senate Reading Room is finished in much the same style as the House Reading Room, but with less elaboration of ornament. On the whole, the effect, though quieter, is perhaps more restful and satisfying. A toilet room, leading from the lobby just spoken of, cuts off a portion of the pavilion, but allows space above for a low gallery enclosed by a delicately carved balustrade of Sienna marble. Below, the oak dado is ornamented with delicate inlaid arabesques of white mahogany. Above the dado the walls are covered with figured red silk. In the southwest corner is a fireplace of Sienna marble, with a sculptured panel of the same material by Mr. Herbert Adams. The design shows an eagle with arrows in his claws, and an American shield supported by flying cherubs. The doorhead tympanum is of oak, like those in the House Reading Room, and contains a carved panel, also by Mr. Adams, with a heraldic shield bearing the monogram, “U. S. A.,” and supported by mermaids. The gold ceiling contains six square panels, each containing four graceful female figures holding garlands in their hands--the work of Mr. William A. Mackay.

THE NORTH CORRIDOR.

The corridor leading to the north from the Main Entrance Hall is, as has been said, similar in design to that opening into the Congressional Reading Rooms. The design of the floor and ornament upon the arches is somewhat different, however. The tympanums which it contains are ornamented by a series of paintings, by Mr. Edward Simmons, representing the nine _Muses_.

=Mr. Simmons’s Paintings.=--The Muses, according to the Greek mythology, were the goddesses of the various departments of Art, Poetry, and Science. Apollo, the God of Song, was their father, and Mnemosyne (Memory) their mother. Their names, given in the order in which they occur in Mr. Simmons’s series, beginning at the south end of the corridor, were as follows: Melpomene, Clio, Thalia, Enterpe, Terpsichore, Erato, Polyhymnia, Urania, and Calliope. Melpomene was the Muse of Tragedy; Clio, of History; Thalia, of Comedy and Bucolic Poetry; Enterpe, of Lyric Song; Terpsichon, of Dancing; Erato, of Erotic Poetry; Polyhymnia, of Sacred Song; Urania, of Astronomy; and Calliope, of Epic Poetry.

In Mr. Simmons’s panels, each of the Muses is shown as a seated figure. On either side a laurel wreath is displayed, as the general symbol of intellectual pursuits, and the background is diversified by curving lines of smoke proceeding from the flame of a torch or a censer--thus signifying the inspiration of Art and Poetry. In several of the tympanums the Muse is accompanied by little geniuses who serve to bring out the special character of the central figure. In the panel devoted to Thalia the genius is a satyr, with goat’s legs, and carrying a pair of Pan’s pipes. The Muse playfully catches him in a fold of her garment--the whole suggesting the rustic sportiveness of the early Greek Comedy. Certain of the panels, also, contain various distinguishing objects. Melpomene, for example, is accompanied by a tragic mask; Clio by a helmet, for the warlike exploits recorded by History; Thalia, by a comic mask; Urania by a celestial globe. Terpsichore is represented as if swaying to the music of the dance, and is striking a pair of cymbals. Erato is nude, and bears a rose--the flower of love--in her hand. Polyhymnia holds an open book in her lap. One of the geniuses in the tympanum of Calliope holds a scroll, and the other some peacock’s feathers--the latter symbolical, perhaps, of the dignity and beauty of the Epic.

SPECIAL ROOMS.

Of the two rooms leading from this corridor--the Northwest Gallery and the Northwest Pavilion--the first is decorated in a cheerful spring-like green ornamented with garlands, and the Pavilion in a deep Pompeiian red with medallions containing figures of dancing girls, by Mr. R. L. Dodge, and conventional ornaments adapted from Pompeiian designs. In the six window bays, also, is the series of the signs of the zodiac, designed by Mr. Thompson.

The various galleries and pavilions on this floor, excepting, of course, the Congressional Reading Rooms, are designed to accommodate the clerical and cataloguing work of the Library and the Copyright Department, or to furnish room for special collections of books. There is every reason to hope that in time many valuable private libraries throughout the country will find their permanent home in some one of these apartments, given or bequeathed by their owners to the Nation, and preserved for all time in convenient, well lighted and fireproof rooms as a memorial to the liberality of their donors. Already one such collection has been received, presented several years ago to the Library by the late Dr. J. M. Toner of Washington. It is kept by itself in the Northeast Pavilion. The most remarkable feature is its Washington letters, gathered either in the original or in copies, during a period of many years.

THE BASEMENT.

The basement of the Library, which may be reached through the doors under the staircases in the Main Entrance Hall, is arranged in the same way as the first and second stories, except that the whole floor is connected by a series of corridors which extend entirely round the building.

The walls of the West Pavilion are sheathed in a dado of white Italian marble about ten feet high, above which is a vaulted ceiling ornamented with a bright, open arabesque in green, blue, and yellow on a cream-colored ground. The corridors have dados of American marbles, usually dark in color, as Lake Champlain or Tennessee. For the walls and vaults, plain colors harmonizing with the marble and set off with simple arabesques and borders, have been used. The effect is well worth the attention of the visitor--the rich tones of the marble and the brighter coloring of the walls and vaults framing a long vista seen through a succession of low, narrow arches.

THE

ARCHITECTURE

SCULPTURE AND PAINTING

BY CHARLES CAFFIN

It is interesting to note that the ground plan of the new Library of Congress was suggested by that of the British Museum. There, however, the central reading room was placed inside the quadrangle as an afterthought. Building on this, as well as on the architectural experience of other libraries, our own Library has had the advantage of organic growth. Every part is related to the whole, and practical and æsthetic requirements are logically and naturally fulfilled.

These requirements were: an imposing edifice, with plenty of well-lighted rooms; facilities for the storing of books; and ample space for the reading and general public. With one exception the exterior of the building indicates the character and relative importance of the interior divisions. That exception is the book-stacks, radiating from the sides of the Rotunda or central reading room. But their position is in completely natural relation to the rest, and by being hidden from the outside, they could be made just what they pretend to be, viz. huge book-shelves of iron, bricks, and marble, well lighted and ventilated. Their construction is æsthetically perfect, and yet without injury to the façades.

The latter, albeit severe and lacking the indefinable artistic spirit of the Capitol, are grand and imposing. The ground floor, resting on a continuous plinth, is constructed of huge blocks, quarry or rock-faced, with bold joints and square lights. The masonry of the first story is fine pointed with vermicular or coral-like quoins at the angles of the pavilions. In the second story, the _bel étage_, the face of the granite is smooth; the windows are framed with pilasters and surmounted with pediments; the pavilions are emphasized by porticoes resting on Corinthian columns. The horizontal mouldings are boldly accentuated and carefully graduated, terminating in a modillioned cornice surmounted by a balustrade. The shadow effects are strong and tender, and the set-back of each floor well marked.

While the exterior of the building represents a single thought and one engrossing individuality, the interior reveals a complexity of thought and a variety of distinct personal influences, due to the parts played by the sculptors and painters. Yet there is no lack of homogeneousness. The architect has balanced the individual notes by the breadth and force with which he has treated the purely decorative parts of his scheme. His effects are massed. Sumptuous expanses of mosaic, or painted surfaces, or stuccoed vaults, compel our attention and divide our interest with the special objects of beauty. The spectator’s mind is not bewildered by a jumble of elaboration, but passes quietly from one impression to another. On entering the Entrance Hall, for instance, marble is beneath our feet and on all sides of us. The impression is instantaneous, irresistible, and entirely undistracted. In the adjoining halls, the prevailing theme is varied by the colors of the marble mosaic vaults, which assert their own beauty at the same time that they modestly bring the painted compositions of the tympanums into color-relation with the grey-white marble walls.

Upstairs, in the corridors beyond the arcades, the marble impression is prolonged in the mosaic floors, delicate in their play of color, and splendid in their very spaciousness. But the main impression is still that of painted ornament. In the adjacent galleries marble is continued in the floors, but the chief architectural interest here is in the stucco work. It is true we are attracted by the painted lunette at the end, but simultaneously we feel how superbly framed it is by the vista of vaulted ceiling. The importance of the four pavilions is emphasized by painted compositions, but here again an equipoise of interest is maintained by the mosaic floors, and the beautiful lines of the stucco, which weave the octagon of walls into the circle of the vault. Beneath the great central dome of the Rotunda all these forces are massed with excellent judgment. The dome itself rests upon massive columns of Numidian marble connected by two tiers of arcades of Sienna marble; mounts up in successive gradations of stucco, from bold accentuation to tender elaboration, till it melts into the calm of Mr. Blashfield’s painting and ends in the dreamy spirituality of his figure in the cupola.

In the little corridors to the north and south of the Entrance Hall the architect has epitomized his methods. They are miniature _éditions de luxe_, in which arch and vault, marble, stucco, mosaic, and pictures are blended with the daintiness of an Elzevir.

THE SCULPTURE.

Including under Sculpture the plastic, carved, and bronze work, it will be convenient to consider the sculpture of the Rotunda by itself and apart from that of the rest of the building, for it consists mainly of statues linked together by a common thread of thought, while elsewhere the motive is solely decorative.

One of the prominent features of the Entrance Hall is the balustrade of the staircase, executed by Mr. Martiny. The coil of babies and garlands is irresistibly fascinating. Bold in line and generous in massing of light and shade, as befits the grandeur of the construction, the design has, besides, much daintiness of detail. Joined to an exquisite fancy, playful without grotesqueness, are a fluency and certainty of technique in the best sense French. In somewhat the same vein is Mr. Adams’s tympanum over the Senate Reading Room door. The main masses have an exuberance, boldly contrasting with the delicate details that overspread the entire panel. The modelling and lines are so excellently adjusted that the animation of the laughing faces seems to circulate to the very tips of the tails. In Mr. Perry’s _Sibyls_ the balance between the filled and empty spaces and the simple force of the beautiful lines and masses are admirable. The thought embodied is equally admirable. The sculptor has chosen the four races to which we immediately owe our modern civilization, and pictured each Sibyl as the personification of the special quality or genius of that race: Religion, Beauty, Order, Progress. Conspicuous in the four pavilions are Mr. Pratt’s _Seasons_. The composition of each is simple and united, while the circle is well filled with an embroidery of light and shade. In _Winter_, for example, the design converges towards the patiently folded hands; in _Autumn_ it revolves around the infant; we note the circling solicitude of the mother, centering on the baby at her breast.

In the Rotunda, the statues embody the basic elements of civilization, and some of its noblest exponents; a theme beautifully appropriate to the soaring edifice. Primarily, however, the statues have an architectural purpose; the larger ones to prolong the lines of the columns and emphasize the spring of the arches, the smaller to break the level of the balustrade with a series of upward accents. The sculptors have not been as one in interpreting this obligation, for their work varies from monumental simplicity to extreme characterization. Mr. Pratt’s _Philosophy_ is grandly simple and reposeful. A little intricacy of drapery upon the bosom serves to isolate the bowed head and give more severity to the unbroken folds below. By a calm immobility, also, Mr. Bissell, Mr. Boyle, and Mr. Dallin have secured impressiveness in their statues of _Kent_, of _Bacon_, and of _Newton_. Much the same, too, may be said of Mr. St. Gaudens’s _Art_.

In Mr. Donoghue’s _Science_ the repose is re-inforced with movement. The strong masses of drapery on one side contrast with the supple line along the right of the figure, and with the placidly extended hands. The hands conform to the spread of the arches, while the whole figure prolongs the columns. Symbolically, it suggests the combined restlessness and contemplation of Science.

In this brief analysis we must include in one group Mr. Niehaus’s _Moses_ and _Gibbon_, Mr. French’s _Herodotus_, and Mr. Potter’s _Fulton_. All of them are rich in characterization, extremely picturesque, and yet sober and controlled in contour. We shall find examples of exquisite technique in modelling in Mr. French’s _History_, Mr. St. Gaudens’s _Homer_, and Mr. Macmonnies’s _Shakespeare_. In Mr. Ruckstuhl’s _Solon_ and Mr. Bauer’s _Religion_ and _Beethoven_ characterization seems the foremost thought.

Mr. Macmonnies’s door is very noble, with increased richness and emphasis in the lunette. In thus giving a sense of greater elevation and dignity by lifting the eye upwards, it is interesting to note how he has adopted a form of composition similar to that introduced by Mr. Vedder for the same purpose over the entrance to the Rotunda. The main composition is a square, modelled in such bold relief that the attention is immediately arrested and directed upwards. Yet there is no sense of emptiness in the accessory portions of the lunette, which are richly encrusted with ornament. To assist this elevation the figures in the panels are in low relief, broadly and simply treated. But the comparatively emphatic folds of the drapery on each side strengthen the figures, while the torches seem as a bold frame to the design, with pronounced accent at the four corners.

Somewhat similar must have been the motive of Mr. Warner. He has made the interest of his doors ascend, but on reaching the top has spread it throughout the lunette. In the latter the balance of raised and hollow parts, and the mingled repetition and contrast in the direction of his lines are admirable.

THE PAINTING.

The general painted decoration, as carried out for the architect by Mr. Garnsey, is always loyal to the architecture, and yet asserts the essential and peculiar value of color. First and foremost the constructional value of color is fully realized. In the central Reading Room, for instance, not only have the white walls and stucco been brought into color harmony with the rich red and yellow of the Numidian and Sienna marbles, but the tints have been so distributed and their strength graduated in relation to the spaces they cover, that a strictly structural fabric of color has been constructed in and around the architectural edifice. The grand suite of rooms running round the entire second story is a charming example of color sequence. The keynote is yellow, the most joyous of all colors--the hue of sunshine. The note is struck positively in the four pavilions, where the yellow has been carried as far as possible in the two directions of red or blue. These positive colors are connected by the tertiary tints in the intervening rooms, where the walls are dull yellow or olive, relieved by red and green in the frieze. In the room on the north side the painter has suffused the olive-green with a neutralized bloom of the complementary violet, thus securing a harmony of opposition as well as of similarity. In the central room on the east side, the scheme for a brief space swings to blue, with yellow in the frieze, and the more important rooms on the west side echo some of the brilliancy of the adjacent stair-hall. To name but one other phase of this work in which the decorator has worked so well for the architect, the emotional value of color or its quality of expression is exhibited in numerous instances. Above the high oak wainscot of the Librarian’s Room, the panels are a deep blue, enamelled with subdued arabesques. Age seems to have dimmed them. There is a patina of green rust upon the ivory ceiling, the tender touch of time upon the owls and lamps, that hints at the antiquity of thought. Compare with this the robustness of the design of the ceiling in the Pavilion of the Seals. The first impression is of a turbulence of gorgeous clouds veiled in a golden haze. Gradually the details of form and color grow, and we discover an elaborate harmony in which the great Seal of the United States and the American flag, are predominating features.

Of the special paintings which complete and accentuate this great general scheme of architecture, Mr. Blashfield’s occupy the most important position.[13] The problem was a conflicting one. The space demanded a noble theme and stately treatment, conforming to the monumental majesty of the structure, and yet responding to the tenderness and airiness of the cobweb of arabesque. It was necessary to continue and also to conclude the converging ribs; to solidify and also to disperse them; to create a design subordinate to the architecture and yet completing it and dominating it. His treatment is geometrical. Four figures crown the axial spaces, conspicuously white, full fronted, self-contained, emphasizing the spaciousness and symmetry of the structure, and symbolizing the four basic constituents of civilization. Each of these is supported by a figure to the right and left, which are so subtly posed that they prolong the converging lines of the ribs of the dome. While the eye is thus continually carried up, it is diverted horizontally by the interlacing lines of the limbs, the necklace of recurring banderoles and cartouches, and finally by the majestic sweep of wings, the sculpturesque simplicity of which merges the painting into the architecture above. To this wreath of form the artist has imparted a suffused bloom, tenderly iridescent; giving quiet distinction to each figure and a satisfying harmony to the whole composition. His intellectuality reveals itself, not only in the technical solution of his problem, but also in the depth and comprehensiveness with which he has interpreted his theme. It matters not which figures one selects; all are beautiful and richly suggestive. Compare the representation of Religion and of Philosophy; the yearning of the one for outside strength and light with the calm, passionless scrutiny of the other; or the dreamy transcendentalism of _Islam_, and his rounded limbs, with the square strenuous determination of the young giant, _America_. This composition, however, is not a circle, the recognized geometrical symbol of eternal completeness, but a concave ring whose lines converge toward a centre outside of and above itself. That centre is the figure in the Lantern, representing that Higher Wisdom to which the wisest are always striving to attain. This concave ring represents Civilization, which, kept in perfect balance by the harmony of the various elements of human life, spins easily and surely upon its axis. This is the greatest good of all; but it is impossible to maintain Civilization without Progress; it must forever speed upward to the Higher Wisdom.

Mr. Pearce’s panels in the north corridor are notable examples of decorative color. The positive tints are clear and fresh against soft backgrounds of secondary greens and violets. The composition, except in the panel of _The Standard-Bearers_, leans to the pictorial rather than to the decorative method. Perhaps _Labor_ and _Religion_ combine the two methods most happily. In the former the lines of the limbs repeat and relieve each other most agreeably. There is enough sameness of movement to emphasize the sharing of toil, sufficient difference to suggest individual effort. There is a suggestive contrast in _Religion_ between the man’s awe and the woman’s placid confidence. He recognizes the mystery, she the comfort of fire. A germ of the love of the beautiful is shown in the choice for an altar of the curious stone which they have propped up so unstably, and yet with so much affectionate care.

In the east corridor, Mr. Alexander’s six panels are to be taken as so many fragments cut from the picture of the ages. They are terse and vigorous; they compel our interest. The figures are dramatic, in the true sense that they are doing something simple and natural, while their local surroundings, like the old chorus, interpret the significance--in some cases, from the standpoint of to-day, the insignificance--of the act. For, by the exercise of keen imagination, and through the resources of his technique, the artist has rendered with pathetic vividness the dumbness and isolation of early man and the unresponsiveness of his surroundings. With the skill of an expert dramatist, he has developed the growing permanence of the record, and the widening of the circle of influence, and led up to the climax when the written speech of one becomes the property of all.

In Mr. Walker’s panels, Nature and not Humanity is the inspiration. In his largest panel, she is exhibited in the unrestraint of stream and rock and verdure. Yet she is represented in Mr. Walker’s paintings not so much for her own sake as for the inspiration which she lends to the mind of the poet. It is Nature viewed through the medium of the imagination--Nature refined by the alchemy of human emotion.

In the opposite panel, man’s relation to Nature is introduced; in a suggestion of the old idyllic, pastoral life, with a hint, too, on one side of the panel, of man’s creative genius, the stately edifice into which, working upon Nature’s plan, he has built his own personality. The scheme is completed by the smaller panels in which the artist has suggested the various moods of lyric poetry, as illustrated by the special genius of Shakespeare, Milton, Tennyson, Emerson, Keats, and Wordsworth.

Mr. Vedder, in his _Government_ series, has played upon a simple scale of low-toned reds, blues, greens, and yellows, thus responding in his work to the mosaic and marble which surround it. Each composition has a separate geometrical motive, built up by the distribution of the colors, the balance or contrast of light and dark, the flow of the lines, and, not least, by the arrangement of the spaces. The central panel succeeds completely in its twofold purpose of giving dignity and height to the entrance, and of expressing the solidity and elevation of Government. The use of line is throughout remarkable. In the panels of _Good Administration_ and _Peace and Prosperity_ the lines of direction are downward from the zenith. In the former, these lines fall in tenderly embracing curves; in the latter they widen out and form that strongest of all structures, a broad-based pyramid. In _Corrupt Legislation_, the eye is first arrested by the tilted leg and slovenly slipper, and follows down to the money-bag. We know it all: the shamelessness, shiftlessness, and corruption. It is a compression of multiplied experience into one illuminating flash. The direction of the picture is diagonal, and the masses of form and color purposely accentuate its lop-sidedness. Yet the picture seems evenly balanced, for the simplicity and distinctness of the standing figure attracts one’s eye from the intentional confusion of the opposite side. In the spaces one will notice the harsh gashes made by the chimneys, and the unpleasant parallelism of the smoke wreaths, so suggestive of the dead monotony of sordid lives. The triumph of ordered disorder is reached in the panel of _Anarchy_, which is based on a reversal of geometric methods. The masses of dark and light tumble diagonally across the picture towards the desolate space with the broken wheel. The spaces at the top are shattered and splintered as if by an explosion. But most remarkable is the jagged space near the centre. It is as if a shot had ploughed its way through the chaos and allowed a glimpse of the void beyond.

Mr. Vedder’s _Minerva_ recognizes at once the strong points and the limitations of mosaic. The design itself is a mosaic in which the full and empty spaces, and the light and darker portions, and the embroidery of lines, together form a rich brocade. Sumptuousness is added by contrasting the smooth outlines of the one side with the intricate elaboration of the other. It is very interesting to note how the spear ties together the lighter portions, and prevents the strong figure from being too sharply silhouetted.

Around the statuesque simplicity of Mr. Shirlaw’s _Sciences_ flows a sinuous play of lines, and their broad masses of color reflect the surrounding tints, so that these panels are more than punctuations; they are at once the focus-points and distributing centres of the whole corridor. There is a geometrical plan apparent in the building-up of the figures. Often the main lines intersect diagonally, and one is tranquil, the other energetic; there are centres of repose and of movement to which these lines converge; and these are also the points of main interest in the symbolism of the picture. In _Mathematics_, for instance, the line of the nude position, suggesting the naked accuracy of figures, leads up to the calm, frank face; while the more intricate line of the drapery winds across diagonally, and merges in the convolutions of the scroll, with its hint of abstruse calculations. The arrangement of the draperies, indeed, is invariably worthy of close attention. Compare the stem-like lines and petal-shaped folds which cling to the form of _Botany_, with the successive eddies that circle round _Astronomy_.

In Mr. Reid’s panels the sensitive vibration of color and the luxurious lines eloquently express the delight of the Senses. But there is no note of decadence. There is so much decision in the drawing, free expansion in the masses of form and color, and such energy in the flashing color of the drapery, that we feel in these beautiful women, not the enervation of pampered senses, but merely a moment’s pleased suspension of activity. This is least noticeable in the elegant deliberation of _Taste_; it is finished to a delicate point in the exquisite conception of _Touch_. This is a picture of an instant of arrested energy, shown in the forward lean of the body, and the momentary stillness of the outstretched arm on which the butterfly has alighted. In a moment the insect will be gone, the limbs will relax and vibrate again with active life. Throughout, it is enjoyment of the senses, not abandonment to them, that the artist has depicted.

What may be called the debonair quality of Mr. Barse’s figures is very noticeable. It is due not only to the purity of type, and to the tenderness and simplicity of the coloring, laid on so flatly in two or at most three tones; but mainly to the sensitive elaboration of line. The figures are of ample proportion, and the draperies voluminous, but the artist’s appreciation of the value of line in mural decoration does not stop with the broad effects. He weaves into his draperies a diaper of delicate folds, each of which counts. In this way, by contrasting the smooth portions with the comparative intricacy of others, he gives to his figures, notwithstanding their simplicity, a certain richness, a quiet assertiveness, and a most agreeable refinement.

The striking contrast of dark and light in Mr. Benson’s panels gives them decorative distinction; a nearer view reveals the emotional tenderness of detail. The white figures, graciously delicate in drawing and color, are silhouetted against a dark background, brocaded with a bold design, and lustrous with interpenetrating tints. The originality of conception in the four _Seasons_ is interesting. They are the four seasons of human feeling: the Springtime of anticipation; the Summer of possession; the Autumn, not of harvest, but of waning joyousness; the Winter of accepted loss. Yet hope and youth remain, and the beauty deepened by experience in the last face is an earnest of still another spring and summer, which shall be fuller, richer, and more precious.

Mr. Cox’s paintings in the Southwest Gallery exhibit a strong sense of responsibility to the aims and limits of mural decoration. The method he has adopted is to carry the surrounding architecture up into his pictures and melt it into a canopy of sky. Before this he has suspended, in the case of _Science_, a delicate arabesque, as it were, of line and color accentuated by three important masses. Everything that could interfere with the flatness of his decoration has been rigidly eliminated. It is _to_ the wall and not beyond it that he would direct our attention. The architectural features are only faintly depicted, and the foliage breaks up the background without introducing another plane. But it is in the figures that the artist’s mastery over his restrictions is most complete. With practically no recourse to light and shade, but relying solely on drawing and the handling of a few tones, he has given form and substance to his figures. The work throughout reveals clearness of purpose and certainty of accomplishment.

The decorations by Mr. Maynard, in the Pavilion of the Discoverers, strike a distinctly independent note. The starting-point of the scheme is the honor-roll of illustrious men toward whom the central composition stands as a sort of coat-of-arms, symbolically expressing the principle which links the names into a common family. The treatment, in fact, is heraldic, and subtly suggests the mediæval chivalry out of which the various movements grew. This formal character is assisted by the symmetrical distribution of the colors. Virility of mind and method characterizes every detail of the compositions. Compare, for instance, the panels of _Discovery_ and _Adventure_. Energy, assertion, and full-blooded life characterize all the figures. The aims and animating impulse which especially distinguish the Discoverer are expressed in the eager, generous movement of one of the flanking figures, and in the strong calm and steadfastness of the other, shown, for example, in the self-restraint of the sword-arm. In _Adventure_, on the other hand, the roystering abandon of the figures, the easy carriage of the sword, epitomize the Adventurer’s sordid purpose and unscrupulous methods.

Mr. Maynard’s figures in the Staircase Hall (the _Virtues_) are dignified and elegant. Though they are so many vivid interludes to the repose of the architecture, and are instinct with buoyant vitality, yet, by their coloring, sensitive refinement, and noble proportions, they echo the surrounding marble.

Mr. R. L. Dodge has adopted a similar composition to Mr. Maynard’s in the Southeast Pavilion, in his designs symbolizing the four natural elements. The color schemes are in a light key. The backgrounds, to which the panels are most indebted for their decorative value, have a considerable poetic quality. Their intention is clear, and its expression agreeably fanciful. The names in the tablet below have an interesting significance, recording the Greek personification of the characteristics of the elements. The majesty of ocean, for instance, was embodied in Poseidon; Proteus personified its quality of assuming any shape; Galatea, its surpassing beauty.

In the next pavilion--the Pavilion of the Seals--Mr. Van Ingen has attacked his problem from the standpoint of color. The treatment of the subject is formal, for which, however, the artist has abundant warrant in tradition. The soul is infused into it by color. In the density and richness of the tones, the sumptuous texture of the surfaces, he has embodied the abstract idea of the solidity, grandeur, and delicate complexity of well-ordered government. The color schemes vary. In _Post-Office_ and _Justice_, there is a diffusion of motive. Rose and violet penetrate the panel, playing with each other and affecting the other colors with subtle variations. In _Treasury_, however, the blue-green impression, which swims over the whole, is brought into a depth of tone in the woman’s dress; while in _War_ there is a crispness of color throughout in quick accord with the alertness of the figure and the flash of her robes. These panels are essentially a painter’s vision, expressed through a painter’s special medium.

Mr. W. L. Dodge, in the Pavilion of Art and Science, has grappled with his problem in a big way; exhibiting an eager acceptance of difficulty, and a resolute choice of intricate interest. For instance, he has arranged the light to fall upon his figures at short range, so that, instead of a simple scheme of light and shade, there is a multiplicity of unexpected effects. This purpose has expanded under the influence of the various subjects. The panels of _Art_ and _Music_ are crowded with sensations. We feel that here the painter is consciously and unconsciously reproducing the sensations of his Art life. In _Literature_, however, he has emerged into a more impersonal atmosphere. In _Science_ the reproduction of sensations even more clearly yields to the creation of thought. Lastly, the ceiling is the climax of this growing artistic and intellectual effort. Here the problem is at its biggest, and the technical solution most successful. It is not by this or that accident of professional attainment that Mr. Dodge wins us here. It is because we feel that here the technique finally becomes the handmaid of real creative faculty.

In Mr. Melchers’s _War_ and _Peace_, it is not beauty, in the popular acceptation of the term, that attracts us. Our interest is seized by their masterful character, held by their strong technique, and confirmed by their deep human significance. The brush-work is simple and sure, applied with breadth and in few tones, imitating the manner of frescoes in the old manner, painted rapidly while the plaster was still damp. Everything counts, and the artist’s thought is brought close to us. The composition varies with the subjects. In _Peace_, Mr. Melchers has relied on smooth masses balanced athwart a pleasing leafy background. Movement is suspended. _War_, however, shows the vigorous construction of moving forms: solid masses and a tangle of gnarled limbs displayed naked against a harsh landscape. We have muscular and mental tension. We see only the horror and hideousness of war, and none of its pomp and circumstance. Laurel, indeed, crowns the leader’s head, but his son is stretched a corpse upon the rude bier. One man blows a trumpet, but none of the dogged faces kindles. Only the hounds show eagerness, and they are straining at the leash to get home. The religious procession is in its way just as strong. It is entirely unsentimental. These simple folk are entering naturally into what is merely a part of their life and thought.

A great deal of the charm of Mr. McEwen’s panels is due to the landscapes, which are instinct with poetical imagination. The artist has given them an atmosphere which sets them back in the past, when the world was in its youth and full of promise rather than fulfilment. In the episodes selected, it is not the heyday of heroic achievement that he has commemorated, but the first impulses, such as those of Jason and Paris, or the reverses and inadequate results of human effort as illustrated in the other heroes. Stripped of its glamor, this is perhaps the true story of heroism in all ages.

Mr. Gutherz in his seven panels on the ceiling of the House Reading Room, has symbolized Light in its physical and metaphysical aspects. The starting-point of the scheme is the central panel--“Let there be light”--and the others follow in prismatic sequence. He has not painted the clearness of light, but its subtle play upon various surfaces. For example, from the central figure, “whose face no man hath seen and lived,” radiates a pale saffron glow, struggling through the formless void of primeval chaos, and piercing it with stars and splinters of light. In the next panel of _Progress_ light is burnishing the dry atmosphere of an eastern sky; while in that of _Research_ it acts and re-acts upon the particles of deep water, and spends itself in a soft suffused luminousness.

Mr. Dielman has adopted in his _History_ an almost sculptural design; in _Law_ rather a pictorial. In the latter the group on the spectator’s right is an especially attractive portion of the composition. In the case of the centre figure, it is well worthy of notice how the flexible lines on one side woo the figures, while on the other the drapery as well as the figure of Fraud slinks away from the hard line of the sword and the strong angle of the arm.