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.
In the lagoon swans were swimming and arching their long necks. "The old
Greeks and Romans would have loved this scene, though they would, of
course, have found alien influences here," said the architect. "They
would have enjoyed the sequestration of the Palace, its being set apart,
giving the impression of loneliness. The architects were shrewd in
making the approach long and circuitous."
"They might have done more with the water that was here before they
filled in," I said. "It offered fine chances."
"Yes, and they thought of them and some ambitious plans were discussed.
But the expense was found to be prohibitive."
At that moment a guard, in his yellow uniform with brass buttons, came
forward with a questioning lady at his side. They stood so close to us
that we could not help hearing their talk.
"What are those women doing up there?"
The guard looked at the urns, surmounting the columns. "They're supposed
to be crying," he said.
"What are they crying about?"
The guard looked a little embarrassed. "They are crying over the sadness
of art," he said. Then he added somewhat apologetically, "Anyway, that's
what the lecturer told us to say."
The lady appealed to us for information. "What this gentleman says is
true," remarked the authority at my side. "The architect intended that
those figures should express something of the sadness of life as
reflected in art."
"Oh," said the lady, as if she only half understood.
Then she and the guard drifted away.
"Those people have unconsciously given us a bit of art criticism,
haven't they? One of the most pictorial notes in this composition of
Maybeck's is the use of these figures. But it's also eccentric and it
puzzles the average looker-on who is always searching after meanings,
according to the literary habit of the day, the result of universal
reading. Perhaps the effect would have been, less bewildering if those
urns were filled with flowers as Maybeck intended they should be. Then
the women would have seemed to be bending over the flowers. The little
doors were put into the urns so that the man in charge of the flowers
could reach up to them. But this item of expense was included among
the sacrifices."
The coloring of the columns had been a subject of some criticism. The
ochre columns were generally admired; but the green columns were
considered too atmospheric to give the sense of support. And that
imitation of green marble directly under the Pegasus frieze of Zimm's,
near the top, had been found to bear a certain resemblance to linoleum.
But in applying, the colors Guerin had worked with deliberate purpose.
The green under the frieze was really a good imitation of marble, and
the shade used on the column suggested the weather-beaten effect
associated with age.
"There are columns that, in my opinion, have more beauty than those
Maybeck used. But that's a matter of taste. In themselves those columns
are fine and they blend into impressive masses. That altar under the
dome, with the kneeling figure, only a great artist could have conceived
in just that way. Ralph Stackpole, the sculptor of the figure, worked it
out in perfect harmony with Maybeck's idea. To appreciate his skill one
ought to get close and see how roughly it has been modeled in order that
the lines should be clear and yet give an effect of delicacy across the
lagoon. And those trees along the edge of the lagoon, how gracefully
they are planted, in the true Greek spirit. The lines in front of the
rotunda are all good, as they run down to the water's edge. And how
richly McLaren has planted the lagoon. He has given just the luxuriance
that Maybeck wanted."