Washington as It Should Be

To the stranger, passing a few weeks in Washington, observing its appearance and manners, the city is tantalizing and provoking ; a city of the future, certainly not of the present or of the past; a city of great promise and small performance ; a city of disappointments in every way : like our democracy, magnificent in conception, but crude, unfinished, unsatisfactory, in its actual condition, full of opportunity, deficient of achievement. If its founders had a vision of its intellectual and moral splendor, their anticipations have not been justified by events, thus far. The city is not emblematic of republicanism in any respect. There was no symbolical city when this was laid out, nearly a century ago. In many respects it reminds one of Versailles, which suggested several of its features, especially its broad, straight avenues and numerous small parks. To display the public buildings to advantage, and to create squares, areas, points of view, vistas near or remote, seems to have been an element of attraction in the original design of the projectors, who had made a study of Continental towns, and were partial to things European. At present Washington is, unavoidably in the circumstances, in the military phase. Its statues represent warriors on horseback or on foot, some of them — most of them, in fact — wonderful to behold: Washington charging, with a tremendous cavalry sabre in his hand ; Jackson pirouetting on a skillfully poised, precarious steed ; Green, McPherson, Scott, Thomas, Farragut with cockedup-knee, Rawlins, and the remarkable naval monument that intercepts the view from the Capitol up Pennsylvania Avenue. The statue of Professor Henry, which stands in front of the Smithsonian Institution, is the only tribute to science in the city, and Ball’s statue in honor of the man who issued the decree of emancipation is the only monument to humanity. A very different sculptor has executed Lincoln several times, once conspicuously in front of the City Hall. How far it is possible to take the character out of a great man’s face and form is here well shown. The artist can claim preëminence in the power to leave out personality, to represent the crowning virtue of self-abnegation, the grace of the saintly soul, as, doubtless, she intended. In this regard, hers is the only figure that stands for the highest order of qualities. There is, as yet, with the single exception of Professor Henry, no image in honor of an artist, a poet, a man of letters, a historian, educator, statesman, builder, sculptor, illuminator of the ideal world, maker of institutions, inspirer of mankind. There is no hall of music, no gallery of art. Theodore Thomas brought his fine musicians and played the Heroic Symphony of Beethoven in a miserable room which was used for purposes wholly uncongenial, and possessed a singular property of absorbing the sound that was meant for delicately attuned ears. There are no walls, except those of the Corcoran Gallery, where pictures can be hung for the sake of exhibiting their beauties. Mr. Matthew Arnold gave his lecture in a vast church. There are literary clubs and gatherings in private parlors, with a good deal of “ circumscription and confine;” but of public literary performances of excellence there are few. The theatres would be large and admirable if they could be, but the encouragement of high art in that direction is not great. The fact seems to be that the upper classes are too much addicted to social pleasures to lend countenance to interests that might interfere with their dinners and assemblies. The town is small; there is hardly room enough for more than one excitement at a time ; and so far, politics and society occupy all the departments of the general mind. There is no commerce, no large business, no diversity of employments, as in cities like New York, Boston, Chicago, Cincinnati. Washington is peculiar in being the national centre, in having an ideal character, in being in a certain sense “American ” by genius and sentiment. As such it must be judged, to this standard it must be held, and it is its glory that it can be regarded in this æsthetic light. Fortunately, it has as yet done little that cannot with slight pains be undone. Two or three mistakes are beyond remedy, but the imperfections are more numerous than the errors, though in a few instances the heroic treatment may in the end prove the wisest.

The Capitol is the most disappointing single building. A more ineffectual pile of costly stone it is hard to find anywhere. It seems to be set on high, and yet to the eye it is low. One climbs up to it by tiers of steps only to find it set in a pit. From the foot of the hill the lower part cannot be seen, while from a distance its base is lost sight of, being merged in the surrounding plain. The dome does not command the wings, which stretch out without paying the least regard to it. The central portion is of a different color from the modern additions, being made of a marble that must be painted in order to prevent its presenting a dirty brown hue ; and as the surface cannot be made to resemble marble, the effect is almost ludicrous. By grading the grassy bank and surrounding the entire pile with a stone terrace something may be done towards increasing the apparent height of the structure, but nothing less than the removal of the older portion, and its reconstruction according to new designs, will make the edifice harmonious in style, and add materially to its visible majesty. To bring forward the façades will change the aspect a good deal; to replace the present mean columns with noble ones will render the whole more dignified; but such half-way measures will, there is ground to fear, throw into relief the existing absence of proportion, and make evident the actual ugliness. The removal of the low dwellings in the immediate neighborhood of the Capitol grounds will help the effect, while by taking away the pretentious and meaningless monument which interrupts the view up Pennsylvania Avenue the grounds about the building will gain in beauty and loftiness. Some of these improvements are contemplated already ; nay, are now proceeding. It is hoped that they may suggest other more radical changes, to be introduced in due course of time.

Close to the Capitol are the Botanical Gardens, which are so handsome that it is a pity they should not be handsomer, as at very small outlay of money and of care they might be’. The removal of the hideous wall and of the obnoxious iron fence would be an admirable beginning; the substitution of grass for rubbish in the corners is imperative ; the grading of parts would give variety of surface ; and the planting of trees would render the square attractive to visitors. “ A boundless contiguity ” of sun is not inviting in summer. Even the stately palm-house, helped by Bartholdi’s fine fountain, will not make barrenness pleasant. An occasional seat in a shady spot, with a circle of bright flowers hard by, is necessary to the full enjoyment of nature by unregenerate human beings.

Treating of shade, it would not be difficult, one might surmise, to set out some satisfactory trees — elm-trees, for example — along Pennsylvania Avenue, instead of the uncertain, various, desultory, and quite infrequent foliage that pretends to fringe the northern side ; or even to plant a row of umbrageous trees up and down the opposite side of the way. The street is immensely broad, and would be really improved by some commanding objects along the route, as no houses would be tall enough to dominate the pavement. Should more space be wanted, it might with advantage be taken from the southern sidewalk, which is much too wide for actual or possible travel. That is now the unpopular side of the avenue, but no popularity could render its space overcrowded, while the luxury of shade in warm weather would be unspeakable. The withdrawal of the Baltimore and Potomac station from its present position near the avenue to some point outside the populous centre of the town, which will be compulsory in the event of a municipal reform now contemplated, must add materially to the beauty of that part of the city; release, as it would, the garden from an unsightly intrusion, secure safety in the streets, and open a clear passage from the Capitol across the extensive grounds of the Smithsonian Institution. The establishment of a central station for the Baltimore and Ohio and the Baltimore and Potomac railways can have no other result than this.

The authorities are already at work on a vast scheme for converting into solid land a long reach of thg Potomac River from the Observatory to the lower confines of the city. This space, including many scores of acres, it is proposed to lay out as a park, with drives, walks, lakes, and all the features of a delightful pleasure ground. A deep, wide inlet will welcome vessels to its shelter between the new land and the city, and a line of piers will offer facilities for business near the heart of the town. The tall Washington monument will thus be pushed somewhat into the background ; not, unfortunately, nearer to Mount Vernon, where it belongs, if it belongs anywhere, but still into the interior of the district. If the miserable shanties between Ohio Avenue and the Mall were removed, bringing into view the Smithsonian and the Agricultural buildings, and opening the landscape in the direction of the Park, the expanse would be very fine, and the huge white, staring monument, relieved by massive structures, would appear less solitary and less conspicuous. As it cannot be taken down, can it not, in some measure, be concealed, be rendered unobtrusive and innocuous, be “ planted out,” as it were ? For so much we should be grateful. If the government owned Mount Vernon ; could maintain there half a dozen of its infirm soldiers ; could place there its relics of Washington ; could consecrate the home as a national shrine, a place of pilgrimage ; could clear away the desecrating refuse of lunch baskets and restore the lovely spot to its noblest associations, the monument of marble would be useless, and might be taken down. Mount Vernon would be a true memorial of Washington. Here people could see how he lived from day to day. His library might be replaced on its old shelves; for though the original books are scattered, their titles are known, and the volumes are capable of being easily restored, at least in other copies, to the cases. Here might be’ kept his diary. The garden is substantially as he left it. The elements of his personality — simplicity, industry, prudence, economy — are illustrated at every turn. The small, plain chambers, the modest furniture, the humble decorations, are a perpetual lesson of selfabnegation. He was a great character. No sculptured stone can commemorate qualities such as he possessed. Nature alone, as recreated by his private virtues, shown in life, can do that, and at Mount Vernon he lived and died. They who revere that sacred memory, and wish to keep it fresh, pray that his home and last resting-place may be made his monument ; that his countrymen may find here the shade of their heroic friend, and may renew their own patriotism by association with his. The sanitary condition of the White House is no longer in question. The drainage is excellent; the grounds about the building have been raised; the marshes have been dried up. The mansion has beautiful points outside, and the taste of its present occupant has made it very handsome within. But it is not suitable for a private residence and a public office at the same time. It would admirably meet the purpose of either ; it can hardly serve the uses of both. Few know how little available space there is in it. The rooms are large, some of vast size, but there are not many of them. The halls are wide, the corridors long, the vestibules spacious. Four large apartments are allotted to the necessary secretaries, clerks, administrative functionaries of the government, telegraph operators, and so forth. The grand reception-room occupies the entire east wing on the first floor; the smaller reception-rooms lead from it ; the state banqueting-hall is an enormous apartment. This leaves but limited space below for private needs, diningroom and parlor. Upstairs, beside the rooms for government work, already mentioned, there is an apartment devoted to the meetings of the cabinet, the library, and a state chamber. There remain but five chambers for the use of the family, which, if it happens to be large, may overflow its accommodations, and must be very small to allow a suitable entertainment of guests, who cannot be received in any number.

But these things, though bad enough, are not the worst, by any means. The victim in the White House has no private life, to speak of. He belongs to the nation ; he has been placed there by the choice of the people, and they assume the right to see him as often as they feel inclined, which may be at any hour in the day. The demand for his presence and service is incessant. It is forgotten, apparently, that the man has a personal as well as an official side, that he must be a gentleman now and then, that he cannot be President all the time, that he is not the property of the community at large, that he must have his special friends, that he must enjoy the human privilege of refusing the visits of strangers, that he is excusable for guarding against intrusion, and has no more responsibility outside of his official duties than the ordinary citizen has, who is let alone at his home, and is at liberty to put the affairs of his shop behind him, when business is over. This is no fancied grievance. The President is a very busy man, full of cares, and needing quiet, rest in the society of family or friends, more than most, together with social amenities of a various kind. Especially he needs to be for a part of each day taken out of the associations of his office, and placed where his mind can be refreshed by other concerns than those of the public. He will work better, more heartily, more cheerfully, more effectually, for such a respite.

There are two ways of bringing about this most desirable change : either the present edifice might be given over wholly to business, for which it is admirably adapted, and even now is none too large, in which case the President’s house might be situated wherever convenience prompted, at a distance from the building that contained the office, where, by appointment, he would find himself at certain hours out of the twenty-four; or the business might be carried to another part of the town, and the White House be assigned to the President for his private residence. The former plan is preferable for several reasons. In the first place, the mansion is designed for a public purpose. No private dwelling offers such facilities for receptions and dinners, which must be given on a grand scale. In the next place, the increasing business of the country will be furthered by the aid to concentration that so large a mansion affords. Then the habits of the multitude who flock to the house on practical errands will not be interrupted. Experience shows the difficulty, not to say the impossibility, of breaking up such habits, and the removal of the President’s private house would render the effort to break them up unnecessary. The present amphibious arrangement, besides being a public disgrace, is a singular piece of foolishness in a community that prides itself on its good sense in getting out of the people it employs the utmost they are capable of performing. The actual President is crippled in his working faculty by the fretting annoyances to which he is now subjected. A thick-skinned person may not complain of this ceaseless notoriety, — nay, may like it; but a sensitive man must feel it keenly. Even to a casual observer the invasion of individual privilege is exceedingly unpleasant to the eye.

An incidental advantage of the change here suggested would be the remanding of the President to the condition of citizenship, and the weakening of the bands of ceremony that are tightening about the incumbent of the White House. The chief magistrate of a republic is a great personality, entitled to every mark of national regard. His lodging, equipment, and social surroundings ought to be worthy of one whom the people have chosen to represent them. But he is not, in any sense of the word, except Thomas Carlyle’s (König, the man who can), a king, whose hand is to be lifted to the lips, at whose feet subjects prostrate themselves in homage. He should be the “ first gentleman ” of the nation ih a broad, human, American way; not, like the English George IV., claiming ascendency over all others, but, after the manner of Abraham Lincoln, serving mankind. His prerogative should be moral, not official ; personal, not of rank or eminence. He should be large enough to look well on a pedestal, — for he stands on a pedestal the elevation of which ought not to call attention to his faults,—but his size should consist of character. If grace can be added to conduct, so much the better, but the conduct is primary. By all means we must have humanity. At present we depend on Western ruggedness to keep the traditions of the White House simple, clean, and honest. The periodical breaking up of the routine brings this benefit: that it saves us from any fixed observance by introducing variety of taste into executive manners. Thus separating the office from the man, it will not be easy for anybody to elude accountability by seeking refuge beneath his title or wrapping the official mantle around his person. It is pleasant to believe that the moral standard is rising, that a higher and higher order of man is selected for the people’s representative, that humane considerations are more prominent than they were once,—a sign that the nation is increasing in the virtue of self-respect. The baser qualities are no recommendation. The era of war-cries, let us trust, is ended. It remains that the era of civilization should come in, as in due time it will. The detachment of the President from the man will favor the introduction of that era by throwing the person back on his qualities, and making those supreme.

This emancipation from the thralldom of etiquette will help to keep society in Washington simple and sincere. The character of the President naturally exerts an influence on the intercourse of the saloon. Social entertainment seems now to be pretty much all there is for those not immersed in the cares of business. Of intellectual life there is little or none. There are few accessible books. The circulating libraries are few and small. The congressional library is immense and admirably administered, but the space allotted to it is surprisingly inadequate ; volumes are piled up in heaps; and while everything is there, the omniscience of the librarian alone avails often to find what is wanted. It is too far away for popular use, and if the proposed new building is erected on the Capitol Hill it will be still further removed from common reach. The state library is excellent for its purposes, and has an ambitious as well as a thoroughly competent director. Each department has its own collection of books, which it is all the time enlarging ; still it is true that the literary spirit is not prominent in Washington. There are, of course, men of letters there, but they do not much frequent society ; and they, in several instances, where their studies lie off the beaten track, possess libraries of their own, seldom resorting to the general collections. In fact, there are not many cities that offer so few facilities to the literary man. Literature, like art, occupies a subordinate place in the social life of the town, and to this, as much as to anything, is owing the light, superficial character of the social intercourse, the absence of solidity in the conversation, the amount of small talk that people carry about with them. There is no commerce or large trade; consequently, money is not a topic at receptions. Politics are avoided as by common consent: perhaps because men have enough of them during the day, possibly because the papers contain all there is to be said, peradventure because there is nothing important to communicate, some think because the whole subject is unprofitable and stale. The diplomatists, of course, keep their own counsel. They who know a good deal tell nothing, while they who do nothing but chatter are frowned down. By and by, as the city grows larger and richer, society will become more elaborate, stately, and expensive than it is now ; entertainments will be more sumptuous ; the company will be more homogeneous. The generous simplicity, the heartiness, the free welcome, will disappear, and they who maintain this kind of social amusement will belong to a special circle.

When that time comes, society will occupy a smaller place relative to other interests. It will be less sought after than it is to-day. The “ season ” will be of less significance to the community at large. The movements of the President, the cabinet, the judges, the senators, will be less prominent. There will be many other concerns to engage the attention of mankind. Business will probably always be confined to the task of distribution, in moderate quantities, of what is made elsewhere ; but art and literature and science will employ multitudes of devotees, theatres and opera houses will spring into existence, halls will be built for music, the higher kinds of entertainment will be encouraged, and the best people will find something to do beside observing the deeds of their neighbors. The topics of conversation will be more numerous and interesting; couversation itself will be more attractive ; even fashionable people will go to concerts, exhibitions, dramas, which will render constant parties less absorbing and fascinating. Society in New York is more dashing, costly, exacting, than it is in Washington, but it occupies less space in the public eye. It is interesting to none but those absorbed in it. The papers chronicle its “ events ” along with other items of news, but the proportion between the paragraphs given to it and those given to matters that engage the whole community is not by any means so large as it must be in smaller places. Washington will improve in this respect as time goes on. Society may be no less varied and charming, — the presence of European diplomatists will keep it so, — but it will challenge the consideration of a smaller relative number of men and women.

Already complaints are heard in some quarters, chiefly among the older residents, that Washington is losing many of its former characteristics ; that it is becoming larger, more stately, more ceremonious. It is true. The “delightful village” will, one day, be a beautiful city ; the “ great town ” will swell into a national metropolis; the little, low houses of wood will be succeeded by huge buildings, palatial, vast, with towers, balconies, gilded railings, carriage-ways, and other appurtenances of wealth; the frequent vacaut spaces will be filled with architecture of the largeminded, cosmical — the profane will say promiscuous — description peculiar to Washington ; the long avenues will not be stretches of desolation ; residences will not be confounded with shops,as in rural districts ; stores will be enlarged and adorned; an immense city, unique, peculiar, different from any seat of government in the world, singular among American towns, will grow up on the shore of the Potomac.

Washington, it will be seen, is to be a creation of the future. In the years that are coming, it will not be a cheap place to live in, as it is now, comparatively. Real estate will be more valuable ; rents will rise ; the cost of provisions will increase; taxes will augment; desirable situations will be more difficult to obtain ; the price of building material will be enhanced ; in a word, all the consequences of advanced civilization will be felt. It is a pity that some things were not differently done at the outset, — the design of the Capitol, for instance, the laying out of Pennsylvania Avenue above Fourteenth Street, the provision for a continuous line between the Capitol and the White House, the rounding of the corner near the treasury, with a wide sweep beyond ; but every detail cannot be thought of at once. The ugly buildings in front of the treasury mausoleum will be removed one of these days ; the huge, unsightly pillars that bar the street beyond the treasury grounds will be taken down; the grim iron fences will not be left to perplex or madden Strangers forever ; and one by one conveniences will be introduced. The city deserves all that can be spent or lavished on its embellishment, the love of its citizens, the care of its public-spirited men and women. Its promise is of the fairest; its performance thus far errs on the negative rather than on the positive side, and can easily be mended as taste and elegance dictate. There is money enough, if it can be expended judiciously, in the right direction ; not in heaping up granite and marble when ideas give out, not in buying bad pictures or horrible statues, not in paint and gilding where none is needed, not in tessellated floors on common corridors,not in stucco and frescoing, but in solid appliances for public comfort. There is room for satire, but more need of suggestion, on the part of critics who wish well to the capital of the nation. Ridicule has been poured out unstintingly and to excellent purpose, but the day is approaching when suggestions by competent minds will be demanded and the authority of the best judges will be sought. The uncomely features are many, but they are evident to observing eyes, and can be altered at an hour’s warning. The permanent objects — buildings that cannot be disturbed, streets that cannot be straightened, squares that cannot be displaced — are not numerous. Even a fastidious taste finds little to be made over again, though much to alter and complete.

Washington is an interesting city, which naturally excites a good deal of comment. There has been much talk about it: sometimes in derision of its art, sometimes in scorn of its claims, sometimes in disapproval of its management, sometimes in extravagant praise of its beauty. It is worth while to judge it fairly; remembering its history, bearing in mind its progress of late years, acknowledging the public spirit of its citizens, and holding it to the highest standard of attainment as the home of the republican idea. Too much cannot be written on the subject of its possibilities or its future, provided it is written wisely, with a sincere desire for its greatness and a hearty sympathy with its ambition. The best skill is at work on the problems of its material adornment; the most enlightened minds are busy with its social position ; the most active consciences are endeavoring to put it abreast of larger cities in respect to humane effort and philanthropic achievement; and the time is not very far off when it will justify all that is said in its honor, when it will be as distinguished for its character as it is for its associations. There is an Italian story of a new convert to Romanism, whose faith moved him to undertake a pilgrimage to the eternal city in order to confirm his zeal. His priest, knowing well the iniquities of the papal government and court, tried to dissuade him by representing the length of the journey and the dangers of the way. But the man insisted on going, and went. The priest saw him depart with sorrow, never expecting to meet the traveler as a believer again. On his return, one of the first to greet him was his old confessor, who asked, after some preliminaries, about the condition of his soul ; presuming that his friend had relapsed into Protestantism, at least. To his astonishment, the man professed to be a more ardent believer than before. What ? and you went here? and there ? You looked on the Pope? You attended the ceremonies of the church ? You witnessed all that went on in the streets, — all the immoralities, all the atheism ? Yes, said the convert, I saw it all with my own eyes ! And you still remain in the faith ? Yes ; for I was more than ever persuaded that no power less than that of omnipotence could preserve so corrupt an institution. May no visitor to Washington go away with such an argument for his belief in democracy. Rather let us hope he will have his confidence increased there in the dignity and beauty of republican principles.

O. B. Frothinqham.