It's not a pretty scene.
"Weren't you looking?" the older woman bellows. She's cradling a bruised ankle in her left hand; her right is knotted up in a fist, thrust out like a promise to the erstwhile driver. "You'll pay for this," it's saying.
"Me?" he flies back. "You put that table in the middle of the street!"
The younger woman inspects the damage. They might repair a few of the pieces, but that plate is a goner. Too bad Clark Hall is no longer a law school, or they could have settled the matter right there on the spot. Then again, there's no rush: This unhappy trio's gone nowhere in 78 years. Also, they're made of paint.
They're children of Allyn Cox, one of the most celebrated muralists of 20th-century America and son of renowned artist Kenyon Cox. Off-Grounds, Cox's brush swept such walls as Grant's Tomb and the U.S. Capitol. His stained glass lights murals throughout the George Washington National Masonic Memorial and his more portable works hang in galleries across the nation. In 50 years of work, he won countless awards and the presidencies of multiple national artistic leagues.
He gave the University the most poignant traffic accident you'll ever witness. Everyone -- driver and pedestrians -- is frozen forever in the southeast corner of the Mural Room. In 1934, their circumstances made more sense, as Clark bustled with students and professors for whom a romantic vision of tort law might just have been inspiring. If you can't quite tell, the man has run his chariot into a woman and her property, injured one and damaged the other, and now must make amends. Civil cases, it seems, have changed little since the Romans.
Their scene completed a tableau of legal legends, proudly nestled among Achilles and Moses and the Children of Israel, in the southeast corner of the chamber. Now they are peculiar wallflowers to the Greenberry's-sipping, science-studying, armchair-lounging undergraduates who shuffle into Brown Library. William Andrews Clark, Jr., class of 1899 and commissioner of the murals, called that room "one of the bright spots of my life." We call it "a dim place to nap."
In fact, Clark never laid eyes on the finished product: He died just days after the paintings were installed. In the preceding weeks, the Ten Commandments panel had impressed cosmopolitan critics at New York's Grand Central galleries. The Roman traffic accident, alas, wasn't up for viewing. It has spent all its public days on that same panel. Most passersby see as much of it as Clark did.
Really, you can run an experiment: Count the number of passing persons and the subgroup who throw a glance toward that corner. At intervals, you'll find a few, and occasionally, one who stops just long enough to raise an eyebrow, thinking, no doubt: "A ... broken plate?" It may be a good thing Clark isn't around. It's not a pretty scene.
So -- a New Year's resolution. It's a fresh semester, a fine time to meet new people. Buy yourself a coffee, sidle into one of those luxurious chairs and introduce yourself to a quiet beige threesome. They open up quickly. You could ask if the ladies are sisters, or servant and mistress, or random victims of the same reckless charioteer. Maybe inquire about the man's choice of vehicle. Why the grotesque little face on the side? Why not a model he can steer and stop?
You could check out their neighbors as well -- not giant, colorful Moses and Gang, they already get enough notice -- but Cox's other minor players in the corners. How about the two serene women above the crash scene? They're Equity, eager to punish the fellow, and Common Law, holding her back so he can right things himself. Try the other three panels: Can you find the specters of Canon Law, Civil Law, Contract Law, Admiralty (that's the legal system on the seas)? Or even simpler: Crime and Punishment themselves. They've all got a face and some splendid props alongside.
Of course, you could always march straight to the library, eyes to the ground or on this thrilling Cav Daily. Those folks have been hanging around for decades already, and they're unlikely to walk away soon. If a plate breaks in an overlooked painting, alas, nothing much results. But maybe that's the problem.
Rachel Carr's column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at rcarr@cavalierdaily.com
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