It was fitting that such an achievement should be celebrated with an exposition of the arts, the resources, the productions, and the inventions of the civilised world. It was the vivid drama of international achievement. There were more than eighty thousand single exhibits, and groups of related exhibits, representing every phase of the highest efforts of man in contemporary progress. Industries and economics, inventions and discoveries, arts and sciences, education and ethics, met under the striking architectural beauty and in a scenic setting never before equalled in any land. Against a background of the blue Pacific lying under a glowing western sky, with a splendour of decoration hardly paralleled, the scene was one worthy to be forever perpetuated in the world's history. It struck the note of a new life. The contrast between this illustration of the development of the arts of peace—the vision of the spirit that united East and West in the common cause of all that ennobles and exalts—and those awful scenes of carnage that were raging in central Europe on the other side of the globe, was a contrast that might well employ the genius of Thucydides to depict, with a pen lighted from the living coal on the altar. Yet, such is the leading of divinely-guided destiny, each was doing its work in the regeneration of the world. The seemingly irreparable calamity of the war was sweeping away old conditions that the new life of spiritualisation should enter in; it was the preparing the way of the Lord and making His paths straight. Faith constantly discerned the triumphant exhortation:
"Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in!"
More than three hundred congresses met in these palaces under the shadow of the Tower of Jewels; in the halls of music, of art, or in the terraced pavilion of the Court of the Universe. All were welcomed with that royal hospitality that has ever characterised the generous heart of San Francisco. These congresses dealt for the most part with the vital topics of the day. They concerned themselves less with the life of literature and more with the life of nature; less with the life that takes note of abstract and profound intellectual problems and more with the practical applications of ethical truth. The congresses thus discussed open-air life, foods, clothing, motoring, the political enfranchisement of women, new theories in education, hygiene, economics, charities. In the building of Liberal Arts there was one exhibit from the Observatory on Mount Lowe, labelled by the director of that institution, as the stuff of which the universe and man were made: that of electrons and mentoids. The distinctively new note of the twentieth century was everywhere in evidence. The Exposition planted its standard in an approaching Future, not in a receding Past. By this standard alone could it be truly judged. The salons of fine art did not measurably offer, in any extent, the quality of art displayed at Chicago in 1893, nor was it comparable with that transcendently superb collection of paintings and sculpture that concentrated the inspiration of the centuries in the Paris Exposition of 1900. Naturally, there were physical barriers of space and the barriers of war conditions that effectually determined this. It was easy for Europe and the Orient to send to Paris their most adequate representation. And France, alone, is so rich in her national treasures of art, both of the past and of contemporary work, that her own display alone would have made a profound impression. For San Francisco, in 1915, conditions effectually debarred her from securing much of the great art of the world. Very wisely, she did not dash herself blindly and unavailingly against destiny, but wisely struck the key of desire from a new centre. The result was in that the Exposition suggested its own ideals with but slight reference to traditions.
Singularly fortunate was it, indeed, in its administration. President Charles C. Moore seemed the man best fitted for the high and responsible place that he so ably filled. Never was a great world-exposition conducted with a more remarkable combination of wisdom, courtesy, admirable judgment, and comprehensive treatment. Not less fortunate was the great undertaking in its vice-presidents: William H. Crocker, R. B. Hale, I. W. Hellman, jun., M. H. De Young, Leon Sloss, and James Bolph, jun., while Dr. Frederick J. V. Skiff, as Director-in-Chief; George Hough Perry, at the head of the Publicity Department; and Mr. A. M. Mortesen, as Traffic Manager, were all felicitously equipped for their special service.
"The Future is our kingdom,"
said George Sterling, the poet of the day, whose poem entitled The Builders was read by George Arlett, a member of the California State Commission, at the closing ceremonies.
Mr. Sterling struck the keynote of the splendid enterprise in these stanzas:
"We do but cross a threshold into day.
Beauty we leave behind
A deeper beauty on our path to find
And higher glories to illume the way.
The door we close behind us is the Past;
Our sons shall find a fairer door at last.
"A world reborn awaits us! Years to come
Shall know its grace and good,
When wars shall end in endless brotherhood
And birds shall build in cannon long since dumb.
Men shall have peace, though then no man may know
Who built this sunset city long ago."