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.