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National Geographic : 1947 Nov
Contents
The National Geographic Magazine beneath a heavy stone arch, you realize that you have entered a different building, a part of the main structure and yet not part. It is the only surviving portion of the original Par liament building which was built more than 80 years ago and destroyed by fire in 1916. Pass through the old pine doors and you find yourself in a curious, quaint, and utterly Victorian room, the Library of Parliament. It is octagonal, rather like a chapel appended to the new building, a retreat from the strife of politics, where legislators can consult every branch of knowledge and all the archives of the nation (Plate VIII). On all sides the bookshelves rise tier on tier, jutting out into the room in strange wooden galleries and little recesses where the student can retire into the world of books. The room is dominated by a statue of the young Queen Victoria in white marble, and around her are clustered, in a strange litter, tables of books and showcases filled with an cient documents, historical treasures of Can ada which escaped the great fire. To walk out of a Commons debate in these strenuous days and enter the Library, with its creaky wooden floors, its Victorian jimcrack galleries, wrought-iron ornaments, and friendly hush is to leave one age and find repose in an other-the 19th century when Canada was a simple little country and Parliament had no larger problems than the construction of rail ways and the collection of taxes. Senators Appointed for Life To the east of the dividing line life is slower, easier, and more comfortable by far than on the west side. The Senate, which occupies its own little world, was established in the constitution to protect the rights of minorities, free from party passion, and its 96 members are appointed by the Government for life. All the legislation of the Commons must receive the approval of the Senate, which in theory could reject any objectionable act but in practice almost never does. The Senate Chamber in the east end per fectly reflects the largely honorary position of its occupants. It is perhaps a third the size of the Commons-a veritable jewel box of rich ornament and soft, scarlet cushioning. Entering through the huge main doors, you are attracted first by the beautiful oaken walls, carved to the fineness of lace; then by the huge and vivid murals which picture Canada's part in the first World War, and by the sweep of the arched stone ceiling above them. Deep in the scarlet carpet rest the desks and ample chairs of the elderly Senators, and at their head the black-robed Speaker occupies the splendid dais which is used by the Gov ernor-General and his lady in the opening and closing of Parliament (Plates IV-V and page 582). The Senate chairs, in any given year, are not long occupied. It is in accordance with this easy tradition and the supremacy of the elected Commons that the Senators' offices are more ornamental and luxurious than the more businesslike offices in the west wing. The pay, incidentally, is the same, $4,000 a year, plus an expense allowance of $2,000. Canada's Most Sacred Shrine As you return to the center of the building you may pause to inspect the most sacred spot in Canada, a little chamber in the central tower, the Peace Tower. You reach the cham ber by a narrow stairway and, entering, in stinctively fall silent. This is a shrine. The genius of Gothic architecture, by which the Anglo-Saxon peoples have expressed their deepest religious feelings, has revealed in this Memorial Chamber the glory of Canada's war dead and the reverence of their countrymen. The carved stone, which came from France and Belgium, where 60,000 Canadian boys fell in World War I, tells their story in brief, austere language, records the history of their battles, and pictures them and the faithful animals that served them. Through the superb stained-glass windows the sun slants down as in an ancient English church, throwing into bold relief the carving of the Altar of Remembrance. On this block of English marble lies the Book of Remembrance, recording the names of the war dead for the ages. The carved walls, between soaring pillars, hold the poem, "In Flanders Fields," one of the few great literary works of the last war, written by Col. John McCrae, a Canadian whose name is inscribed in the book near by. On the altar are carved these words from Pilgrim's Progress: "My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles . . ." They are carved also on the heart of Canada. As you stand contemplating the sheer, clean beauty of this little room and perhaps ponder ing the tragedy of the recent war, which will add another Book of Remembrance, the bells of the carillon high above suddenly peal out with a swelling throb. It seems to shake the very stone, and it will sweep far across the countryside to be heard in remote villages and in lonely habitant farms. Sixty tons of bells are clanging. The largest, 100 inches in diameter, weighs more than 572
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