For it was colored in the gorgeous gamut of the Orient, clamant yellows,
oranges, golds, combined with mysterious blues, muted scarlets. And it
was illuminated as no Exposition has ever before been illuminated; with
lights that dripped down from the cornices of the buildings; or shot up
from their foundations; or gleamed through transparent pillars; or
glistened behind tumbling waters; or sparkled within leaping fountains.
Some of this light even floated from enormous braziers, thereby filling
the night with clouds of mist-flame; or flooded across the bay from
reservoirs of tinted glass, thereby sluicing the whole dream-world with
fluid color. All this was reflected in still lakes and quiet pools. The
procession of one year's seasons gradually subdued its gorgeousness to
an effect of antiquity, toned but still colorful. The quick-growing
California vines covered it with an age-old luxuriance of green. As for
the architecture - I repeat that the Californian, seeing for the first
time the square of St. Peter's in Rome and of St. Mark's in Venice, is
likely to suffer a transitory but definite sense of disappointment. For
the big central court of the Exposition held suggestions of both these
squares. It seemed quite as old and permanent. And it was much more
striking in situation, with the bay offering an immense, flat blue
extension at one side and the city hills, pricked with lights, slanting
up and away from the other. By day, the joyous, whimsical fantasy of the
colossal Tower of Jewels, which caught the light in millions of rainbow
sparkles, must, for children at least, have made of its entrance the
door to fairyland. At night, there was the tragedy of old history about
those faintly fiery facades . . . those enormous shadow-haunted hulks .
. .

Remember, last of all, as naturally as from infancy the Native Son has
breathed the tonic and toxic air of California, he has breathed the
spirit of democracy. That spirit of democracy is so strong, indeed, that