PARIS IN JUNE, 1878.—No.
The two defects of the Exhibition are the absence of coup d'ceil, and the insufficient ventilation. The great size of the building is not so much impressive to the imagination as oppressive, when one travels along corridor after corridor opening on the Grande Galerie at either end, turns out of one aperture to go in at another, and retraces one's steps in a contrary direction. There is vastness, and there is height, but the effects of extent and of -variety which were preserved by the elliptical form of the Paris building of 1867, and which were so perfectly produced in the International Exhibition of 1862, in London, are wanting in the big agglomeration of bazaars in the Champ de Mars. Just as one feels the want of an eclaircie in the formal alleys of a French forest, and hails it with pleasure when at length it is reached, so the weary, though dazzled wayfarer through the lanes of splendid objects, representing the earth and the wealth of it, longs for the spaces which permit him to see across the building on both sides of him (there is no view of its length except piecemeal), and to rest awhile in freer air, and with glimpses of the floral decorations, which fall very far short of what might have been expected. The Annexes des Machines into which the wealth-crowded lanes debouch affords a welcome relief, by its great size, and its opening into the
outer air; whereas the interior galleries are bounded by corridors, and are lamentably deficient in air. One frequently hears melancholy forebodings of what will happen when the "great heat," considerably overdue this season, shall have arrived. The splendid Pavilion de la Ville de Paris even, though it is a welcome interruption of the great length of the Picture Galleries, in which the lack of air is painfully felt, does not provide a complete escape from the enclosed sensation that grows upon one with one's progress through the building, and the Rue des Nations is as valuable as breathing-space as it is an interesting feature in the spectacle.
The Rue des Nations is like a long row of " set " scenes en permanence. The Russian house, with its brilliantly painted roof and window-frames, and its grotesque ornaments, might be all ready for Les Danichef; the Swiss chalet for Guillaume Tell; the old English house for one of Mr. Wills's poetical reconstructions of Cavalier and Roundhead history ; the Chinese and Japanese houses for anything in which screens, parasol roofs, and a general impression of indoor life being all shelves and dwarf tables might be required. Nothing can be more admirable than the arrangement of the department to which admittance is gained by the Rue des Nations. The "houses" are simply the decor of the section in each case. Behind the wooden front of the house at Moscow, for instance, is what we would call the Russian "Court," with all the productions of the country, the furs, the precious metals, the curious jewellery, the gorgeous church ornaments and vestments, the beautiful gem- encrusted cabinets which attracted so much attention in London in 1862; the graceful carriages and sledges, and—always sur- rounded by a crowd—some exquisitely ornamented church bells, in silver, with their several legends translated into French for the public good. Over the cereal products and the matieres premieres (which always reminds us of M. Thiers) nobody has time to linger, but they are all there in their places, and anybody can find anything in a moment by the exceedingly ingenious and simple "Plan Boussole" which is the only " plan" of any place within the knowledge of the present writer intelligible to the unscientific intellect. Who has not despaired before the incomprehensibility of a map, or a bird's-eye view— an invention which may be all very well for birds, who do not want it, but is a mockery to the human race, who do—or with smiling hypocrisy, surveying the hopeless puzzle, has not said,—" Ah, yes, I see ; this is the way to so-and-so," and then gone blindly on, trusting in the equal ignorance of everybody else in one's party for escape from detection ? The "Plan Boussole" looks like a game of some kind, and at first inspires a misgiving that one is expected to be clever about figures, or locality, or measurement, at any rate about something, in order to profit by it, but the misgiving is vain ; the plan is so simple that it staggers one with a notion of one's own intelligence, and entirely justifies the recommendation with which it was handed to the present writer by a friend, who said with pleasant frankness,—" There, no one short of an idiot can blunder over that." Guided, then, by the "Plan Boussole," we find that in the rear of each several department there is a restaurant special to the same, where national eatables and drinkables are dis- pensed by natives; and finally, that each country has sent a few soldiers to act as police in its interest. Here Russia and Tur- key meet on neutral ground, and the heroes of Greece mount peaceful guard over the jackets and the pipes, the amber and the filigree, the tasselled caps and the inlaid gtinstocks of Albania. Pretty Russian girls, with white muslin bodices, red petticoats and stomachers, plaited hair, and tinsel necklaces, just like the chorus-singers in L'Etoile du Nord, dispense petits verres of kiimmel, suspiciously like the anisette of Paris and else- where ; Dutch young persons, sturdy of build and phlegmatic of manner, attached to the section of Holland—rich in linen fabrics, golden ornaments, wonderful toys, carvings, and much solid merchandise—administer schnapps to the multitude, who also flock to the black-velvet-and-bead-coiffed Bavarians for beer as if they had it not on tap in Paris ; the Italian confectionery has its attendant handmaidens, in the costumes which have been dis- carded beyond the Apennines ; courageous boulevardiers venture on the delicacies of Japan. The Chinese buffet is probably not popular ; what could one ask for there, except the nasty nests that people affect to like when they find them in their soup at pretentious dinners, and who could approach the place without thinking of that fearsome nursery rhyme which tells of "snips, and snails, and puppy-dog's tails ?" Amazing drinks from the United States also find favour with the crowd, and it is needless to add that the great restaurants, those at the extremities of
the building and in the grounds, are always crowded ; for the most accustomed visitor to Paris, equally with the novice to whom the Capital of Pleasure reveals itself for the first time, beholds in it the eating-and-drinkingest city in the world. Inside the Exhibition, as well as outside, that feature of Paris life is equally striking,—everywhere the grand object of existence is restauration. Possibly, even if our climate rendered it practic- able, English people would never grow used to eating and drink- ing in the open air in the presence of a crowd, and that is, per- haps, why the prevalence of the custom becomes tiresome and provoking to us,—as provoking as the sight of numbers of young men driving about with cigars in their mouths, in open back carriages, daring what we are accustomed to regard as business hours. The complaints of exorbitant charges at the Exhibition restaurants are unceasing, but the restaurateurs drive a roaring trade for all that, and so do all the nzarchands of every kind of sweetmeat and edible dispersed throughout the grounds ; while all the entrances are beset with vendors of something to eat, and the bells of the man with the shining fountain of something to drink, combined with brass and red velvet, are never silent.
Of course one always meets at exhibitions people who want to know why such and such things have not been done, just as certain frequenters of the opera-houses in London are always comparing the April programmes of Mr. Gye and Mr. Mapleson with the opera advertisements during the season, and wanting to know what has become of the Fliegende Hollander, and whether anybody has heard anything of Carmen? The malcontents of the Champ de Mars are asking about the Salle des Conferences, and the magniloquently announced concerts, at which such won- derful instruments as never hitherto had been heard of were to produce such harmony as never had hitherto been heard. "Eh hien ! et II n'y a rien de tout cela I" exclaim the malcontents ; though where the public would have been found to attend the Conferences among the restless, shifting crowds, during the hottest part of the year, one cannot guess,—aud the same consideration would apply to the concerts. A number of new and curious musical instruments form a portion of the Exhibition, but a feeble tinkling, which reminds one of the desert galleries at the Crystal Palace, is all the melody that reached the ears of the present writer, except in one instance, when a sudden, terrible blare, pre- sumably the utterance of a novel and awful wind instrument, prompted a momentary apprehension that a mad bull, whose mental affliction had taken a musical turn, had got into the "section." The cases and ornaments of the pianofortes are in many instances extremely beautiful, in others merely curious and extravagantly expensive, in none so tasteful as the old-fashioned spinnet and harpsichord cases of polished satin-wood, painted with wreaths of flowers and knots of ribbon. Pianos in gorgeous cases of red and gold lacquer, with the elaborate grotesqueness of Chinese ornament all over them, are merely ugly and unwieldy things on which a heap of money may be spent with disadvantage. A similar description might be given with justice of a vast num- ber of the articles in the furniture department, in which, with the exception of the bed and bed-hangings, London beats Paris easily. The heavy-topped, bulky-legged tables of the Paris section, bristling with metal, and impossible to be sat at without misery ; the monumental wardrobes and secretaires, the ponderous sofas, the etageres, and the dressoirs are all too big and too stiff ; but the beds are marvellous, and the carpets and wall tapestries are exquisite. There is one small bed, with loftily-bung curtains, in the most graceful folds that can be imagined, entirely covered in with the richest pale-blue satin, matching the curtains, which fall to the ground, heavily fringed, and the whole so exquisitely embroidered that it looks as if it had been pelted with roses by fairies at play. This is bnly one of many, each more gorgeous and beautiful than its neighbour, and all around lie embroidered pillows and cushions which would take hours to examine fairly. The specimens of Boule are magnificent, and all the clock, Console, bracket, and girandole department is of bewildering richness and variety. Time-pieces of all sizes and curious work- manship reproduce the beautiful design in which the fatal sister Jets fall from her distaff the thread which turns the wheel and the hands upon the dial, selected for the huge clock in the Vestibule. The display of articles of luxury and ornament is largely assisted by the draperies and decorations of the e'talage, and by the superb tapestries, which play an unexampled part in this exhibition. A carpet, intended for the palace at Fontainebleau, is a real treat to the eye ; and a screen in Beauvais tapestry bangs near it, with vases, tazze, grapes, and bold clusters of hollyhocks, than which no painting could be finer. Of course, beyond the general effect, one sees little in such a vast collection of beautiful things, but every
now and then a particular object catches the eye, such as the ivory frame of a large mirror, with carved bunches of white lilac unsur- passably beautiful, amid the trumpery inlaid wood and the gaudy crockeryware of the principality of Monaco ; a bronze bust of Bussy-Rabutin, whose keen, proud features are instinct with life and purpose ; a plain band of diamonds, each stone a miracle of colour in the heart of clearness, like that of a drop of water on a thorn in the sunshine, a vase in Dresden or Sevres ware, or one of the shining marvels of Hungarian jewellery or Austrian glass, which one must examine, though a thousand of it surrounding rivals go all unnoticed. The Indian treasures of the Prince of Wales and the jewels of the Princess have great attractions for the French people, who are more familiar with Chinese and Japanese than with East Indian productions ; next to these, the show of diamonds from Amsterdam and Brazil and the machinery for diamond-cutting interest them. The excitement about the huge model of the Marteau-Pilon, which partakes of the features of a suspension bridge and a diving-bell, reminds one of the cele- brity of Nasmyth's hammer ; and the enormous building conse- crated to Creusot, with the internal arrangements of a huge iron ship set up in the middle, approached by a staircase, up and down which a crowd is always swarming, actually brings back the old, familiar, oily and tarry odour of the machinery depart- ment in 1862, out of which people used to stagger, wild-eyed and pallid, as if their temporary but loathed home were on the ocean wave.
In the Rue des Nations stands the pavilion of the Prince of Wales, outside whose jealous grille and Moorish-looking curtained entrance there is always an expectant group of people, who hate you when you go in with an order, and have their doubts about the strict republicanism of the proceeding. It is the prettiest little bijou retreat possible, in excellent but distinctly grave taste ; all the colouring is dark and harmonious, all the fitting-up is handsome and simple. The dining-room only has a touch of sumptuosity about it ; it is adorned with the tapestries manu- factured at Windsor, including a portrait of the Queen, who pre- sides with singular inappropriateness over the Merry Wives. The most curious object among the furniture is a wonderful lavatory, which does not occupy more space than the upper part of a very slim pianino, and presents an unbroken surface of carved oak to the eye, but being opened, discloses a complete toilet apparatus of the most elaborate kind, with a self-filling and emptying washing-stand and cistern. Not even on board the Arctic ships has space been better used, or more successfully economised.
There is something amusing in the fervour with which the Parisians admire and praise the Prince of Wales. They are not even annoyed by the comparisons between the punctuality and completeness with which all the business of England and her Colonies has been done, and the unpunctuality and incomplete- ness that have marked their own share in the Exhibition, because this excellence redounds to the credit of his Royal Highness. They begin to long for a little more representation ; the advent of the Shah was eagerly expected, though they were duly apprised that the diamond-fronted coat and the faithful charger with the pink tail would not make their pppearance at the Trocadero. Rumours that the Czarevitch is coming are received with great favour, and even " unser Fritz" would be welcome. It is curious to observe how completely every vestige of the Empire has been suppressed in the Universal Exhibition. One small picture, hung as much out of sight as possible, representing a review of troops by Napoleon III., is the only trace that the Empire, of which the last Exhibition was a gigantic glorification, ever had any existence. The Napoleonic policy is faithfully imitated in this, for the careful obliteration of the Orleans episode was one of its striking features. The paintings of the French school have been carefully selected, with a view to avoiding "the wounding of national susceptibilities," - which reads oddly, considering that France was beaten, and Germany could hardly object to her battle-pieces ; but there is to be a separate exhibition of military pictures, in a salle, in the Rue Taitbout. The best way to enjoy the contents of the vast Picture-Galleries of the Champ de Mars is to resort to them at intervals, when the Matieres Premieres, the Force Motrice, the Pro- dulls Chimiques, the Alimentation, and the finery become too much to bear any longer. Entering the Department of the Beaux Arta, under the immense draped archway, in blue tiles, with an allegorical design, the visitor naturally buys the Fine-Arts volume of the official catalogue—it costs two francs, an absurd price, which causes great popular discontent—and is immediately struck by the excellence of its arrangement. The pictures are classified alpha- betically, according to the names of the painters, and thus each school is subdivided into groups. The pictures in the English
gallery are mostly old friends, and one passes them with a pleased glance of recognition, and of satisfaction at the interest and admiration they are exciting, to go in search of the Austrian and Spanish paintings, of which on all sides, "On dit des merveilles !"
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