In the first place our country has arbitrarily forced our painters to
work on a miniature scale, and with little exception our men affronted
their task with theory and enthusiasm as their preparation. The
sculptors had at least the practice of modelling large works; but with
the exception of Mr. Maynard, who has taken Pompeian motives and given
us under the porches of the Agricultural building a thoroughly
architectural and adequate decoration in which his past experience has
rendered him service, the painters were virtually winning their first
spurs. Taking this into consideration their success is marked. Tried by
the standard that the space allotted to a decoration should be filled,
and filled by a composition which could not serve within any other
shaped space than that for which it is devised, Mr. Blashfield’s seems
the most successful. In addition to this quality it has great charm of
color and dignity of conception, which latter quality, combined with
clean, workmanlike drawing, is shared by Mr. Cox. Mr. Reid’s and Mr.
Weir’s domes also have charming qualities, while Mr. Shirlaw’s gives one
the impression of a complete mastery of his scheme and intention. At the
southern end of the Liberal Arts building, Mr. Melchers and Mr. McEwen
have large compositions, those of the latter being marked perhaps by the
greater individuality; but while they are all (each painter having two
compositions) executed in a very able manner, they seem somewhat lacking
in spontaneity. In another part of the grounds in the Women’s building
the feminine contingent makes a brave show. Mrs. MacMonnies here leads
the van with a composition sober in line and excellent in color. Miss
Cassatt, having apparently defied the laws of decoration, has divided
her space in three parts, in each of which she has painted pictures
which, from her previous work, must be judged to be of excellent
quality, but which, from the height at which they are seen and by reason
of the small scale of the figures, are virtually lost. But this partial
and cursory enumeration of what may be seen at the Fair could be
continued beyond the limits of an article like this, and still leave
unnamed and apparently unappreciated much that is admirable and more
that is hopeful. Of the delights of living in the midst of this, of
seeing our people in holiday trim and, albeit, taking their pleasure
somewhat sadly and getting as much instruction combined with it as
possible, still enjoying it, much could be said. No mention has been
made of the State buildings, which give, however, so much character to
the grounds. New York’s imperial palace, bright and luxurious, is
flanked on one side by Massachusetts’s staid and trim reproduction of
John Hancock’s mansion, with additions of a character which must temper
the smile of gentle reproof with which it regards its frivolous
neighbor; while on the other stands Pennsylvania’s broad piazzaed home
which shelters the Liberty bell. New Jersey reproduces a colonial
“Head-quarters” mansion, and Washington is big and new and booming;
California shows her fruits and extols her wines in a lowlying structure
which recalls the _adobe_ missions of her first settlers; and each and
every State has here its home, first for its own people and then for the
neighbors. Strange neighbors we have too, for the Midway Plaisance is
not far away with its turbaned, sandalled, greased, and befeathered
inhabitants, with its German and Austrian bands, its great difference of
tongues and great similarity of _cuisine_. The outdoor life which is
made so much of in Europe here seems unappreciated; the numberless
cafés and out-of-door restaurants which make up so much of the comfort
with which one sees an exposition there still “leave to be desired”
here. But these are details and of things earthy. The moral of the tale
is short and easily read.
Our work-a-day nation awakened, it has been frequently said, to
knowledge of the existence of art as a factor in life at Philadelphia
seventeen years ago, and here and now attains as it were its majority.
We may leave out our exhibit in the Fine Arts building proper, with the
mere registration of the fact that by general consent it holds its own
as well or better than close students of our art have known that it has
done for several years past. The exhibition, or that part controlled by
the Columbian Commission, is our best sign of progress, nay, of
achievement. It has proved that throughout the land when occasion arises
to build, to carve, or to paint, we have the men to do it. Art hath her
victories no less than commerce; the qualities which have given us our
place among nations, now that the struggle is past, are turned in
gentler paths; and that which was prophecy so short a time ago is now
truth realized:
“Following the sun, westward the march of power,
The rose of might blooms in our new-world mart;
But see just bursting forth from bud to flower
A late, slow growth, the fairer rose of art.”
[Illustration] FOREGROUND AND VISTA AT THE FAIR
_By W. Hamilton Gibson_
By the time this brief sketch shall have appeared in print the world’s
greatest international fair will have thrown open its gates to the
impatient multitudes, and millions will have looked with rapture upon
its impressive perspectives of palaces and enjoyed their treasures. Even
to the great general public, who are as yet awaiting with eager
anticipation the indispensable outing at the Fair, its surpassing
architectural features are already enticingly familiar. The “White City”
is already a heritage of delight and inspiration to a vast multitude who
have spent their available days beneath the spell of its enchantment.
It is no small thing thus to have penetrated the veil, as it were, as is
here actually done for many--to have materialized a vision--to have
embodied a paradise. The “Heavenly City,” the “New Jerusalem,” with
gates of gold and pearl, which in one questionable shape or another
hovers in the hopeful, faithful fancy of so many of the sons of Adam
will here find a realization, supplanting or exalting the ideal which
has hitherto not always been to the glory of Heaven.
But in thus paying tribute to the architect we are perhaps unconsciously
crediting him with more than his due; certainly more than he would
himself claim. Of what avail were beautiful palaces if they could not be
seen? and how easily might such an assemblage of heroic structures such
as these at Jackson Park, as in previous similar expositions, have been
so disposed, with relation to each other and their environment, as to
have completely lost not only their individual impressiveness but the
infinite advantage of their imposing _ensemble_.
We traverse the winding lagoon for an hour in continual delight, every
passing moment, every quiet turn of our launch or gondola beneath
arching bridge or jutting revetement opening up in either direction new
and ravishing vistas of architectural beauty. Yet how little have we
considered that the very means of our enjoyment, the pure blue waterway
upon which our gondola so listlessly floats, is the crowning artifice by
which the work of the architect is glorified--a very triumph and
inspiration in the great scheme of landscape--say rather
waterscape--gardening, which has made this Columbian Fair a unique model
for all others of its kind. I think it is conceded by the architects of
the Fair that in no way are its buildings to be seen to such
satisfaction or full effect as from the lagoon. And it is well to
remember, if only as an instructive object-lesson, as we glide upon this
liquid street, how much of our present enjoyment is due to the
forethought of a supreme design, which, even before a single
foundation-wall was laid, had taken into account the most effective
grouping of the architectural features.
More than this, too, how many of these fortunate architects must have
realized the rare satisfaction of having builded better than they knew,
when for the first time they viewed their works from the vantage point
afforded by their collaborator, the landscape artist, and saw these
superb creations given back to them in twofold beauty from the clear
mirror of the lagoon. The unique character and important innovation of
this lagoon feature may be inferred when we consider that we have here
an Exposition covering over five hundred and fifty acres, comfortably
filled to its limits with the ample buildings, and yet no vehicles are
to be allowed within its enclosure, and none will be required. The
circuitous elevated
[Illustration: THE BORDER OF THE LAGOON.]
railroad will of course transport the multitudes; while by the interior
skilful distribution of the water-ways, rippling with gayly caparisoned
gondolas by the score, and a hundred trim electric launches and other
equally picturesque craft, every portion of the grounds will be easily
accessible. The entire circuit on this water-course, from any given
point, will occupy nearly an hour. The luxurious tourist arriving at his
destination is invited at the water’s edge by ascending terraces of
marble steps, their balustrades on either side overtopped by picturesque
masses of tropic and other luxuriant vegetation. Huge bronze-like
agaves surmount the lofty marble urns; cannas, musas, caladiums, in most
effective and artistic groups, are dispersed among broad expanses of
velvety sward, begemmed with parterres of brilliant bloom.
But it is not alone in these picturesque settings of lawn and garden
which everywhere abound throughout the grounds that we find our fullest
appreciation of the landscape art. In the spell of these imposing
structures, towering above the revetement walls on each side as we
traverse the lagoon, we had utterly ignored another feature of its
banks, or perhaps had our attention only momentarily inveigled thither
by the invitation of the bevy of snowy ducks or geese or graceful swans
hastening from our prow, and gliding beneath the overhanging boughs of
feathery gray willows. Here indeed is a haven for a tired soul, a fairy
realm whose modest charms are apt to be overlooked in the claims of the
overwhelming architectural surroundings. But sooner or later its restful
refuge will be discovered and welcomed. How many a foot-sore mortal,
weary from the very excess of enthusiasm, will seek this quiet
retirement, content for the moment to consign the architect to the
accessory place of vista and horizon, while he roams and pries and muses
among the labyrinthian paths, fragrant bowers, and shadowy glades, and
along the reedy flowery borders of this sylvan fairy island, which the
artistic genius of Olmsted and Codman has here, in two short years,
conjured up like magic from the muddy, dreary marsh.
[Illustration: A BIT OF THE CALIFORNIAN BUILDING.]
Connected to the mainland by a half-dozen spans of bridges, it is
readily accessible from any approach. It is a realm of strange
inconsistencies and surprises, harmonies and pleasant discords, unified
with the rarest skill. The familiar park or garden at one moment, its
curving walks encircling more or less--generally less--conventional
parterre, diversified with closely bedded mosaic of bright blossoms; and
now a path leading us between high walls of blossom-laden shrubbery,
skirting a rustic arbor, or winding beneath the shade of tall, dense
branches of trees, which, however at home they may appear, so
wonderfully has the skill of the landscapist concealed his artifice, are
still almost as much strangers to the soil as ourselves; the adjustment
and grouping giving the complete illusion of nature’s random planting.
[Illustration: THE CALIFORNIAN BUILDING.]
Only a very few of the thousands of trees upon this “wooded
island”--medium-sized white-oaks--are native tenants of the place. Only
two years ago isolated in the more elevated dunes of a great morass,
they now find themselves in strange company; the soil from the bed of
the lagoon, having levelled the former slopes about their feet, is now
peopled with individuals as large as themselves. Many a rare nook upon
the island’s borders would defy the critical scrutiny of the botanist or
artist to detect a single tell-tale evidence of artifice. Would you step
from the conventional park to the wild garden in
[Illustration: A COVE IN WOODED ISLAND.]
ten paces? Follow me through this winding path, embowered with its snowy
banks of spiræa. Pry your way here beneath the branches. A few more
steps, and the ripples gleam through the branches before us, and we
emerge at the water’s edge beneath a tangle of willows, while a brood of
white ducks, disturbed at our approach, glide out upon the
mill-pond--for such indeed is the irresistible association from the
surroundings. This haphazard chaos of willows and alders disarms all
suspicion of artificial planting. We already anticipate the scene at the
brink, and as we press our way among the yielding oziers, find ourselves
listening for the familiar “c-r-o-n-k” among the spatter-docks. In a
moment more we confront a tiny cove bordered with sedges and tall
bulrushes, and intermingled gray-green willows and alders, while the
water beneath is hidden by dense clumps of lush pickerel-weed, luxuriant
in their feathery spikes of azure bloom. A tiny sportive frog leaps from
the border mud, and a dragon-fly darts past on shimmering wing.
It is only as we contemplate the vista across the water that we realize
the beautiful deception as yonder beetling dome, in its gilded splendor,
or sunlit palaces everywhere gleaming through the waters are brought to
our feet in ripples from gliding gondola, swan, or duck.
Was ever border-tangle brushed by mill-pond raft or fishing-punt more
wild or spontaneous than this! Foreground and vista in endless
combination and surprise greet us as we follow our course about the
shore, with Flora’s own wild calendar from week to week. Here a secluded
harbor, bristling with arrowheads and white with its spires of bloom,
its sedgy banks aflame with cardinal flowers, whose scarlet reflections
mingle with the snowy glints from the sunlit façade or spangling flashes
from the crystal dome across the water. Here we invade the sheltered
retreat of a bittern or small heron, which stalks away with ruffled
temper at our intrusion. Creeping between the neighboring bank of
alders, we emerge upon a sequestered nook shut off from the main lagoon
by a small, straggling islet, plumy with willows and sedges, the main
banks fringed with rushes and burr-marigolds and tall galingales that
wave their graceful heads above a wild garden of blossoming blue flag.
In and out among its willows beyond, the ever-present fleet of ducks
glides among the dancing ripples, or snow-white swans “float
double--swan and shadow,” as in the enchanted vision of “St. Mary’s
Isle.”
As we leave this beguiling haunt the air is suddenly bewitched with
entrancing perfume, and our fancy lit with luminous visions of the
Orient from the great golden doorway which glows through the branches
from the opposite brink and floods the water with its liquid replica.
Attar of roses! One such inviting whiff is sufficient. Leaving the
water’s edge we return toward the interior of the island, and are soon
confronted by the wonderful rose-garden wherein are assembled all the
roses of the world, with their thousands of varieties. Roses single and
double, pink roses, white roses, roses yellow, crimson, orange, and
saffron, and, indeed, of every hue but blue, mingling their beauty and
their fragrance in an acre of bloom, and sprinkling the ground in
showers of petals with every breeze.
[Illustration: THE EDGE OF THE ROSE GARDEN, WOODED ISLAND.]
The now famous rose-garden lies in the southern end of the island,
approached through winding walks, garlanded with flowery shrubs of every
habit and hue, of graceful blossom-burdened spiræas, drooping as with a
weight of snow, or varied with rare foliaged plants which vie with the
flowers in the endless play of their brilliant colors. Through the
skilful foresight and planning of Mr. John Thorpe, the custodian of this
realm dedicated to Flora, the fair goddess has crowned him with a new
decoration of wreath or laurel for every week, from the earliest yellow
glow of May to the brilliant maples and the final autumnal glory of the
chrysanthemum.
[Illustration: JAPANESE BUILDING ON WOODED ISLAND.]
Japonica! Japonica! How continually does the spirit of the flowery land
hover here! It is, indeed, scarcely a surprise that the actual, familiar
outlines of its quaint massive gables suddenly confronts us, looking
down above a mass of the Mikado’s own chrysanthemum, and we suddenly
find ourselves transported to Tokio or Yokohama, surrounded by a
veritable epitome of Japan, embracing all the actual features, floral,
ornamental, and utilitarian, with which, through the educational
influence of painted fan and screen and household gods of vase and
kakemono, we have become so pleasantly familiar.
The long, low-roofed, wooden temple is surrounded from its foundation by
a characteristic terraced garden, embracing many examples of those
“precious goods done up in small parcels,” which have always been the
particular fad of the Japanese horticulturist--tiny giants of trees, so
to speak, arranged in miniature parks, which, for the moment, make the
beholder seem to be upon a mighty cliff or in flight with the soaring
falcon, else how could he thus gaze down upon the summit of such a huge,
lofty pine as this which he now sees beneath him! A fine example of one
of these arboreal paradoxes is to be seen in the Japanese exhibit in the
Horticultural Building--an aged dwarf of an _arbor vitæ_ (_Thuja_) like
a gigantic cedar of Lebanon, which, while having all the inherent
characteristics of an actual age and dignity of over one hundred years,
is still, with the big vase which it occupies, barely the height of
one’s shoulders.
[Illustration:
AN AGED JAPANESE DWARF, ONE HUNDRED YEARS OLD--A CORNER OF THE
HORTICULTURAL BUILDING.
]
In no structure within the grounds is the outward expression so
sympathetically reflective of its architectural purpose as in the
Fisheries Building. Itself reflected in the blue lagoon, in its
architectural functions and sculptural ornament, it in turn reflects the
lacustrine life of the waters, which not only almost lave its foundation
walls but actually pour into its interior in fountain and cascade and
gigantic aquaria. As we follow around these green translucent walls
within, our passage lit only from the diffused light transmitted from
above the water, we can almost fancy ourselves walking on the actual
river-bed, ogled by familiar forms of sun-fish, perch, or pickerel; or
perhaps wandering as in a dream among fair ocean caves abloom with
brilliant sea-anemones, and embowered with mimic groves of branching
corals and all manner of softly swaying sea-weed--graceful crimson
laminaria reaching to the surface of the water, responding in serpentine
grace to the soft invasion of waving fin. Rare living gems of fishes,
very butterflies of the deep, float past flashing in iridescence with
every subtile turn of their painted bodies. Star-fish, at first
apparently stationary, as though in mid-water, glide across the illusive
plane of glass, with their thousand fringy discs of feet. Strange crabs
and mollusks and bivalves sport on the pebbly bottoms, and portentous
monsters, with great gaping mouths, threaten us as they emerge from
their nebulous obscurity and steal to within a few inches of our faces.
[Illustration: PORTAL OF THE FISHERIES BUILDING.]
All of its interior ichthyological features might have been anticipated
even at the threshold of the building, with its rich and effective
portals, where so many of these very forms are seen petrified in surface
ornament. The building is in the form of a rectangular central structure
with two octagonal annexes, each with its own beautiful portal, and
connected to the main edifice by curved colonnades, with arch and
balustrade--portal and pillar, capital, entablature and arch and
panel--everywhere sculptured with ornaments whose themes are drawn from
the subaqueous life to which the building is dedicated. The very balcony
upon which we lean is supported by columns composed of four ingeniously
and gracefully interlocked dolphins, while the pillars on right and left
and throughout the entire exterior suggest curious geometric fossils
from the deeps. Here a spiral procession of huge toads, whose uncouth
shapes thus embodied in conventional ornament are singularly agreeable
and effective. Each successive pillar is a study alike for the
naturalist or designer--here a sinuous procession of river-horses
(hippocampus), the incurved tail forming a volute repeated with pleasant
effect in the spiral bands of ornament. Accommodating star-fishes
embrace their respective pillars, touching points in geometric design.
Here are eels and fishes meandering among bulrushes and arrowheads.
Lizards, crabs, and turtles, each combine in effective ornament about
their particular columns, which are surmounted by capitals of even
greater ingenuity and effectiveness of design, perhaps because less
geometric. Gaping frogs leaping among water-weeds; lobsters captive and
sprawling in their wicker “pots;” fishes entangled in the meshes of
nets, or engaged in mortal combat, their gaping mouths finely utilized
in effective points of shadow--the modelling of each and all suggests
the perfection of a cast from nature. To those who look for a happy
blending of architectural purpose and harmonious ornament, this building
will be a welcome innovation. To the naturalist or the idler in quest of
the mere picturesque, the Fisheries Building with its wandering façade
and colonnade, its roof of ruddy tiles and almost Moresque richness of
surface ornament in high relief, will be found well worth careful study.
How many are the obvious natural themes yet awaiting their sculptured
memorial in the temple of architecture. Must the classical and testy
acanthus
[Illustration:
ELKHORN FERN, A SUGGESTION FOR AN ARCHITECT--IN THE AUSTRALIAN
EXHIBIT, HORTICULTURAL HALL.]
forever guard that exalted basket unchallenged, and the antique, indeed
almost palæontologic lotus forever keep us oblivious to the abounding
wealth of natural suggestion of even surpassing opportunity? What a rare
suggestion for a national architectural theme, for instance, has nature
thus far wasted on the wilderness in that elk-horn fern of Australia,
which forms one of the most conspicuous features of the arboreal
exhibit of that land of tropic contradictions and zoölogical anomalies.
Where can there be found another such ready-made and graceful model for
a massive capital?
Had this remarkable plant chanced to have been a native of ancient Egypt
or Rome or Greece, it is difficult to conceive of its having escaped
being immortalized in stone. Will the future national architecture of
Australia ever embody its opportunities? Here is a veritable capital of
clustered fern-forms, springing in graceful relief from a solid
sculptured base. In some of the examples shown it simply surrounds the
trunk upon which it is a parasite, and in others, the architectural
suggestion is heightened by the cluster appearing at the summit of its
pillar, the dead continuation of the trunk above having fallen.
* * * * *
Superlative anticipation of our hopes is often disastrous to their full
realization. But no such danger awaits the visitor to the Columbian
Fair. The most extreme glorification of this superb achievement at
Chicago still leaves us the superlative of actual experience.
Dull indeed must be the intelligence which fails to respond to the
vision of beauty which the genius of architecture has here created.
Whatever oblivion may await the other features of the Exposition, the
fame of the architect is secure. Even though in their substance his
creations here are but as the flowers of a day, to be cut down ere the
coming of winter, their very evanescence constitutes their most abiding
charm.
Though we may spend weeks in the enjoyment of the unexampled treasures
within these walls, confusion will at length claim most of our minor
reminiscences, and the winnowing process of the years will at last leave
few tokens. But the glamour of this celestial city, this throng of
ethereal palaces hovering between sky and sky, buoyant as with uplifting
archangel wings from dome and pinnacle and acroteria--these will abide
to the end of our days.
[Illustration] THE PICTURESQUE SIDE
_By F. Hopkinson Smith_
I.
A blazing sun and a clear limpid sky, a long lagoon, gray-green and
silver, a noble flight of steps serving as water-landing for half a
dozen gay-colored gondolas, a grand balustrade protecting a broad
platform leading to the porch and entrance of the most exquisitely
beautiful building of modern times--the Art Palace of the Great
Exposition!
From the corner of this balustrade a red rag of an awning, torn from an
old tarpaulin, is stretched to an oar, its black shadow spilling down
the white steps. Under this awning, flat on his back, sound asleep, lies
a gondolier, fresh from Venice. Despite his nondescript costume of
brigand’s leggings and cavalier’s cap I cannot mistake that broad chest
and sunny face, the crisp black hair, and the fine lines of the throat
and thigh.
“Espero!” I call out in glad surprise.
“_Commandi Signore_,” comes the quick reply, as he springs to his feet.