A SKETCH OF THE UNIVERSITY ARCHITECTURE.

THE original conception of the University of Virginia was essentially the
product of the brain of Thomas Jefferson.  Whatever emanated from that
master-mind should not fail for want of completeness or boldness of
design. He saw that the requirements of an advancing civilization
demanded a broader and freer scope of study and restraint, yet recognized
that the study and thought of past ages, as engrafted into its architecture,
could not be improved upon. Not confining his conception to the narrow
limits of a provincial architecture, he formed his designs upon the broad
basis of the most approved and enduring results of Roman and Grecian
architecture. Only after years of patient study and European travel did he
mature his plan and collect his designs which produced upon the virgin
soil of the young republic a reproduction of the pure classic forms of old
Rome and older Greece.

	To attempt to give a true picture of the University architecture is
impossible. The harmonious effect, the blending of each line, the complete
harmony of all must be seen to be appreciated, and one can only attempt to
represent to the mind some of its features. The most prominent figure
among the buildings is the RotundaÑthe real hub of the University, where
flows all day the stream of professors and students, as it were, the life
blood circulating through the heart of the University worldÑI almost
wrote the universe. I trust that I would have been forgiven by some who
are so ardent in their filial love for their alma mater that they believe it
truly is the bene esse of all their hope and thought. This building is a copy
of the Roman Pantheon, somewhat modified and diminished in size, also
bereft of its disfiguring towers, erected by some medi¾val architect, but
retaining still all the beauty and symetry of its original Greek model. The
porch has thirteen Corinthian columns, surmounted by carved marble
capitals and broad steps leading up to the base of the columns. It is
constructed of brick and wood; alas, that we could not have stone, but
necessity knows no law. Scarcely is there an angle in the building
properÑevery line is a curve. Though one can barely perceive it in some,
yet, such a knowledge of perspective had the Greeks from whom the
Romans copied nearly all the principles of their architecture, that all is
accommodated to that which is most pleasing to the eye. The veriest
rustic cannot fail to be struck with its beauty and impressed with its
completeness; he does not comprehend it, still he perceives its effect.
High above all towers the red Roman dome, announcing to the scholastic
pilgrim afar off that the Mecca, toward which he journeys, has been
reached.

	In order to meet the demands for additional accommodations, the
Annex was added to the Rotunda. One would have thought that this
addition, seemingly so out of place, would mar its beauty; yet it does not,
but gives it a more extended and impressive appearance. This is likewise
of the Corinthian order, with a porch at each end and columns similar to
those of the Rotunda porch, yet, in some respects, they do not possess
their beauty, especially the capitals. The Public Hall is in the Annex. Here
hangs Balze's copy of Raphael's celebrated " School of Athens," presented
to the University by its ante bellum alumni. A battlement, partly of earth
and partly of stone, surrounds the Annex, adding much to its general effect
by counteracting the disadvantage of the natural slope of the ground, thus,
seemingly, making the foundation on a level with that of the Rotunda.
Class rooms are in both the Rotunda and Annex. In the former is also the
library, containing fifty-one thousand volumes. The marble statue of
Jefferson, by Galt, stands in the library. But of much more interest to the
love-sick student than either books or statue is the whispering gallery,
where he can dare to tell of love to his skeptical charmer who does not
believe in such things as whispering galleries, or rather says she does not.
At the foot of the dome of the Rotunda is the old yellow clock, whose
glaring face has regulated many men for many years, and ticked on
unconcerned while the youthful faces that gazed upon it have come and
gone, grown old and died, yet it still ticks on.

"For men may come,
And men may go.
While I go on forever."

Near by is its co-partner and help-mate, the bell, whose clanging sounds,
regulated by old Henry Martin, himself as much an indelible feature of the
University architecture as any of its carved capitals or broad porticoes,
have hurried men to the classic halls beneath and announced to the little
world nestled around what the clock was doing and that time was
speeding.

	From the foot of the Rotunda stretches out the Lawn, the pride of the
University, whose velvet grass and quivering maples are Nature's aid to
man in the construction of the quadrangle. On each side of the Lawn are
the arcades, containing the rooms of the students and the pavilions of the
professors. The covered way in front of the students' rooms is of Tuscan
order, supported by Doric columns. This colonnade is broken at intervals by
the pavilions of the professors, which help to prevent what would
otherwise be a tiresome monotony. The ten pavilions are all of a different
style of architecture, embracing each of the three great orders:
Corinthian, Ionic, and Doric; each one is a reproduction of some prominent
Roman building. None of them are constructed simply to display a useless
ornamentation. A celebrated architect has said that " The construction
should be ornamented, not the ornament constructed." This theory has been
followed in the construction of the University buildings, and is one of the
principal means that obtained their perfection. Here Jefferson, it seems,
intended to produce an object lesson for the student, one that he would
understand and appreciate more and more as he became more familiar with
it.

	One of the most beautiful of the pavilions is the first on the West.
This is after the Doric of Diacletian's Baths, which, with the
corresponding one on the East after the Ionic of Fortuna Virilis, are
probably the best of them; an ornamental prize surmounts the columns in
both. The style of the last one on the West is one of the most striking, so
different is it from what is usually seen. A casual observer would say that
it was a modification of our modern Queen Ann craze, yet it is after the
Ionic of the temple of Fortuna Virilis. The pavilion opposite, the largest on
the Lawn, is a copy of the Roman theatre of Marcellus. These two pavilions
stand at each end of the base of the celebrated "triangle," where those
seeking the dolce far niente are wont to linger. The Lawn is somewhat
similar to the quadrangle of the English Universities of Oxford and
Cambridge, but, unlike them, there is no gate to be closed at ten o'clock,
forcing the belated student to turn over a reluctant fee to the stern
porter.

	The lawn is best seen and appreciated upon a bright moonlight night,
when standing at the triangle, one sees the white colonnades glistening in
the silvery light, while at the further end gleam the tall Corinthian
columns of the Rotunda in their purity and sublimity. There is then only a
black and white effect, all imperfections of material and construction are
obscured, and only the perfect proportion and faultless symetry stand out
to the view of the enchanted beholder. An ancient classical spirit reigns
over all. We can almost imagine ourselves in old Rome or historic Athens,
eagerly expecting to see the figures on the canvass of the School of
Athens return to life, and Socrates, surrounded by his fellow philosophers,
with their spotless, flowing togas, sweep down the broad porticoes,
coming to teach us their learned doctrines and the vanities of life. But
soon a merry shout rings through the still air; more quickly follow; then,
distinguishing the words of a college song, we are brought rudely back to
the practical " Iron Age" in which we live.

	On either side, three hundred feet distant and parallel with the
Lawn, run the Ranges, very similar to the colonnades, yet lacking in
architectural detail and construction. In place of the columns are brick
arches, unrelieved and beautified by any pavilions. Only two buildings on
either Range change the order of construction, and these but little. The
Washington and Jefferson Library Societies are situated on East and West
Ranges, respectively. In these political storm centers the hopes and
ambitions of the college politicians, striving for empty honors, are lost
and won.

	The walks between the Lawn and Ranges are bordered on each side by
curved brick walls; this is one of the most picturesque and striking
features to be seen at the University. A first impression of them is that
Jefferson was a very conservative Virginian, for as he built his rail
fences in that manner, so should be his walls. But we are soon told that
they were constructed thus in order to follow the wandering footsteps of
the students after they had worshipped too freely at the shrine of
Bacchus. The truth is that they were built so for economy's sake.

	The Brooks Museum, constructed in 1876, is the most modern
building in the University, except the Chapel. Pressed bricks, with facing
of light grey stone, are the materials used in construction. No
architectural order is followed in this building, yet it is a very handsome
building and serves well for the purpose for which it is designed. Midway
of the building is a stone coping, extending entirely around. Carved upon it
are the names of the world's most famous scientists. Just under the
coping, at the top of the window arches, are carved stone heads of various
animals. A student once wisely remarked that he had never heard of the
animals of any such names as those carved above.

	The Chapel is of the Gothic style, built entirely of rough, grey
sandstone. The face has a tower surmounted by an open belfrey. The evil
spirits fleeing from the sacred precincts stand as a remnant of the
superstitious medi¾val age. The Chapel is a perfect gem of construction
and finish. Almost under the shade of the majestic Rotunda, its sharp
angles and pointed arches produce a pleasing contrast to the sweeping
curves of this modern PantheonÑreminding one strongly of the rude
barbarism that produced it after sweeping away the proud civilization of
the Romans. The other buildings of the University were constructed more
for practical use than with an eye to beauty, but looking upward from the
banks of the larger pond, the Laboratory, with the ivy clinging to its
walls, takes on a new aspect, and a lurking, unsuspected beauty comes
forth to prove an exception to the rule.

	The University is situated upon a ridge, the ground sloping away
gradually on both sides, diversified by hill and valley; the Rotunda stands
on the highest point of the ridge; opposite to it aristocratic Carr's Hill
looks down upon all. Nature is ever the most perfect architect; her work
here is no exception; she crowns with her lovely hand the work of man, and
the architect that directs her work will best succeed. This the University
has accomplished in a large degree by the ponds, trees, grass, etc.

	Very aptly, some one has compared the University to a monastery.
Such is its air of antiquity with the cell-like appearance of the students'
rooms that one can almost image it a large monastery, when, at the call of
the bell, the monks issue from their cloisters and wend their way to their
devotions; but it is sincerely to be hoped that their predecessors went
more willingly to their prayers than these later-day monks, or small will
be their chances of heaven. Here, among the red hills and " Ragged
mountains " of Albemarle, the architecture of Athens, Rome, medi¾val
Europe and the modern world are blended together, forming a strange and
instructive picture.

	But upon the history of its country, through its alumni, has the
University on many a bloody battle field or in the scholastic or forensic
arena built the most lasting monument to its fame and greatness.