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The Courier Review.
forced into the design for the sake of some favorite architectural effect to make the building appear different from what it really is or to impose upon it a fictitious aspect of academical symetry.
But truth in itself, without adornment, is only a nominal virtue. In so far as this building tells the truth gracefully or elegantly, and not with brutal frankness, it fulfills one of the primary requirements of a work of art. If, on the other hand, one misses in these uncompromising outlines any expressions of beauty or fitness, any happy adjustment of proportion, any effective disposition of the windows, which are the eyes of the house, any feature of high breeding, as it were, which would have made the composition more agreeable to the mind of the beholder and illustrate its expression of truth, then the building is to that extent wanting in the primary requirements of a work of art.
The humble position which this building seeks to hold among works of modern architecture is not attained by making it in this way merely grammatical, correct and workmanlike, this is mere prose; it must, if possible, be converted or exalted into poetry before it can pretend to any such rank. This process of conferring poetic expression on a work of practical common sense is as difficult to explain as it is to tell how the description of an evening scene in an English village became Gray's Elegy. There are very few in our profession, or in fact any other, who are really inspired by the divine afflatus, the rest of us in attempting process of conversion are constrained to content ourselves with the use of certain more or less conventional formulas of what may be called poetic diction, which, if applied with feeling and discretion, are sufficient to elevate the design above the mere prosaic condition of common sense and to make it acceptable as a work of architecture. These formulas are available to us in our reminiscences of the historic styles, among which we are compelled to make a choice more or less arbitrary. For there is as yet no vernacular architectural language of universal acceptance, expressive of our own civilization and belonging peculiarly to
our time. This fact, as I have already stated, is the most serious reproach to modern architecture. The especial problem of a University Library is peculiarly modern in character and requires a modern treatment. If such a problem had been possible in the 12th century it could only have taken a form like a cloistered monastery: in the 13th century in France or England it would have been a gothic chapter house; in the 15th century in Italy it would inevitably have been a little palace with a stately portico and systematical facades; in the 17th century in England it would have resulted in a stiff and extremely artificial academic building according to the fashion of Sir Chris Wren. But why should the same problem be solved in the most America of American States, in the heart of the new world, at the end of the 19th century, with a building decorated in the style which prevailed in the 10th century in Southern France? This seems like a strange anachronism. But because of our knowledge of all the architecture of the past we have no distinctive architecture of our own. We are embarassed by this knowledge, and consequently with more or less system we have been compelled to experiment with these old forms hoping presently by unity of effort to develop from them a style consistently belonging to our own civilization. Among these experiments the revival of Southern Romanesque is the only purely American one, the only one which has thus far given some promise of elasticity and of capacity of adjustment to modern needs, and in the present case we have not merely followed a temporary fashion in using it, but have tried to carry the experiment one step farther on towards a possible acclimatization of these exotic forms. We were guided also in this choice by the character of the masonry which certain local conditions made it convenient to use; for this masonry was peculiarly adapted to the style in question. Under the circumstances the construction and the material used needed no costly additions and adjustments to bring it into conformity with the selected type. The type itself in its original form was rude and primitive, but, as has been