THE

NINETEENTH

CENTURY.

No. CL.-AUGUST 1889.

A BREAKFAST-PARTY IN PARIS.

I WAS in Paris the other day, where I proposed to make some arrangements with my friends for our annual gathering in September, and I paid a visit, as I always do, to my old friend Dr. Leblanc. He is a well-known physician of the Panthéon district, a member of the Municipal Council, a very popular ex-Mayor, and a stout Republican. His house is the rendezvous of many of the more active students, of some of the most thoughtful amongst the workmen, and of leading politicians of various colour. I willingly accepted his invitation to breakfast, for he told me that he expected a Radical deputy from the Chamber to consult with him about a new popular library, and that a few of his political friends were likely to join them. In Paris I delight to listen to all sides in turn; and, as your true Parisian asks for nothing more than a patient listener, I usually confine my share in the conversation to a series of questions, and to recalling my voluble neighbours to the point in discussion. I promised to myself an occasion for gathering some ideas about the opinion of Paris and the present situation.

'And do you find that this great Exhibition has fulfilled its purposes,' I said to my old friend, as we were waiting for his guests, and does it prove a fitting memorial of the centenary of the Revolution?'

"This wretched fair!' he cried, 'this monster bazaar which the advertising shopmen have set up in the Champ de Mars as an imitation of the Empire in the race of vulgar display! We thought VOL. XXVI.—No. 150.

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the new Opera the last word of tasteless extravagance; but this mammoth booth of glass and iron out-herods the Opera. All honest Republicans have seen its progress with shame and indignation; and our workmen regard it as the Golden Calf at whose shrine the bourgeoisie worship. It would be difficult to devise anything which could show more plainly how the spirit of 1789 is forgotten and dishonoured to-day.'

'It seems popular enough,' I replied,' with a good many Parisians whom I meet, and the newspapers write as if Paris were keeping what we call at home one long Bank Holiday.'

'Yes,' he said,' the hotels and the shops, the theatres and the cabmen, are doing a capital trade, and money is flowing in the city like water. But what has a big tradesman's advertisement to do with the Republic of 1789? We thought that our grandsires then had fought and died for something more sacred than quick returns for their money, that the downfall of the Ancien Régime meant less of selfish ostentation and a simpler and a nobler life for all citizens alike. And the monument they have raised to the men who fought Europe is a pyramid of silks and lace, of porcelain and of jewels, piled up in a Tonquin pagoda of blue and gold. But here comes in our friend from the Chambers, and you shall hear the other side of the question.'

The Radical deputy was now introduced, and as some other guests began presently to drop in, we sat down to that most agreeable kind of entertainment, the free and easy breakfast in a political house; where a light meal, skilfully served by a single neat bonne, brings together for an hour, half a dozen intimate friends. They have different occupations, opinions, and rank; they contradict each other frankly enough, and are too much given to talking at the same moment. Their habits have more vivacity than is usual in a London Club, and a stranger might almost imagine that they were on the verge of a quarrel. So, in fact, they occasionally are; but the brandished knife is only used to enforce an argument; and between the sardines and the coffee, one hears a continuous rattle of pointed and ingenious ideas.

Breakfast began with a general talk about the latest move of the Boulangists, Ferry's speech, how Monsieur Carnot looked as he kissed the fish-wives, Pelletan's last article, the International Congress, and Millet's Angelus. So our friend here has already been abusing the exhibition,' said the Radical deputy to me, le vieux Cordelier, that he is!

'Well!' said I, 'there are many things which interest me in Paris beside the shops, but of course I shall walk round the Fair now I am here. And I shall be glad to hear what is the importance attached to the big show by an homme sérieux. We have had for years past in London our Fisheries, Healtheries, Japanneries, and

Colinderies, with plenty of shops, music, restaurants, fountains, and electric lights. But no one supposed that these had any connection with the British Constitution or our glorious revolution of 1688. And, except that a great many people saw some pretty things and passed pleasant evenings, and that some of them stayed out too late at night, and ate more than was good for them, I never heard much of good or bad about these new bazaars, though the Archbishop of Canterbury does annually open them with his archiepiscopal blessing, and the poet-laureate celebrates them in a new ode. You think that in Paris it has a serious political aspect?'

'Certainly, we do,' said the Radical deputy, and the result has proved it. Every one can see how much it amuses and interests the people, and figures prove the immense impetus it has given to trade. But all this is a very trivial and low estimate of its effect. The Exhibition has in many ways very great educational uses, and is being used by the people as a real popular school. It has shown to Frenchmen and to the world the vast resources of France in industry, in organisation, in science, and in art. It is the revanche of peace. It has raised the self-respect of our countrymen. And it has proved. to Europe that, in the arts of peace at any rate, we are still second to none.'

names.

At this point a young journalist on the staff of the République Française, whose eagerness to enlighten me I had already observed, broke into the conversation with all the impetuosity of the Parisian who has seen the world: that is to say, one who has spent three weeks in London and four days in Rome and Vienna. Monsieur,' said he, 'I have seen your "Fisheries" and "Japanneries" at Souze Ken-sin-taun, and I have seen every one of the Expositions Universelles in Europe for the last ten years. They were nothing-mere sheds, iron girders, and bunting. No art, no science, nothing marvellous about them: simply Foires au pain d'épice, under different Our Exposition here is a very different thing. In mere mass and space, it would swallow up a dozen such shows as you have at Kensington. In brightness, gaiety, and varied interest, nothing like it has ever been seen on earth. All this, of course, is merely intended to delight the tourist and the badaud. The art of the galleries is not high art; but there is everywhere in the vast building a serious aim at decorative design. Such a profusion of artistic fancy, such industrial aptitude, and such mastery of the resources of organising gigantic undertakings, could nowhere be produced to-day outside the city of Paris. Could Berlin or St. Petersburg get a million visitors, week by week, to pay their entrance? Could Rome, Vienna, or Madrid furnish workmen, artists, designers, and decorators in sufficient number to raise such a building in a year? And though your countrymen in England could no doubt produce another great machinery hall, and even another Eiffel Tower, you will hardly

feel confident of equalling the paintings, sculptures, carvings, bronzes, and porcelains, which are displayed by the mile.'

'Bah!' cried the old doctor, who could hardly contain his indignation; does a mile of porcelain figures equal one honest citizen doing his duty? Are the people taught or ennobled by this lavish display of wanton extravagance? And what have all these shopfronts and cheap-jack réclames to do with the centenary of the Revolution and the patriots who founded the first Republic? If this Exhibition had been simply announced as a big tradesmen's bazaar, where they might show their wares and amuse idlers by night in a monster café chantant, the affair would have ended there, so long as manifest fraud was not committed, or public decency outraged. But your party,' said he with a glance at the Radical deputy, 'have made it a matter of state; you have called upon Europe to keep high festival and to witness how the third Republic can honour the memory of the first.'

men.

'Mon cher,' replied the deputy, let us look at things like practical In politics anything may be made to look preposterous, if we treat it in an absolute way, and look at it from the extreme point of view. How would you have the centenary of the Revolution celebrated? By reviews, processions, an historical masquerade, salvos of artillery, buncombe orations, another Festival of Federation, a ball, a banquet-or what? Pray, what were the suggestions for a commemoration, what are the examples, where can we go for a reasonable model? The world, even the transatlantic world, is sick of Fourthof-July orations by prominent citizens, and the late American Centenary was a hollow and wearisome affair. They make pretty masquerading processions in Vienna; but you would hardly enjoy to see the events of 1789 reproduced in the streets by a set of Porte St. Martin tableaux. Foreign historians, I know, and especially that old tyrant-worshipping Carlyle, have made broad fun of the original Festival of the Federates. What would they have said of a mere imitation ? No! every sort of commemorative ceremony that was ever suggested was a ceremony, and nothing more- -a mimic representation of something real, or a monotonous gathering of persons who came, not to do anything, but to be looked at-soldiers, artillery, citizens, firemen, clubs, workmen, or the like, carrying banners and emblems. Or else it was a stream of speeches, recitations, or other rhetorical displays, that had no other object except display. Every form of public ceremonial that the wit of man has devised, is, after all, a piece of stage-play, a scenic effect which is over in a day and which has, and can have, no operative value. Well! like men of sense our Chamber decided that it would have no stage-play at all, but something which could be seen continuously the whole year through, and something which twenty millions of people should see. The age, after all, is the age of industry; the great achievements o

our generation are scientific, practical, inventive. Material achievements are not the greatest of man's works: but they are the only ones that can be handled, tested, and exhibited for inspection. The moral and intellectual, the social and political forces of a people cannot be put into glass cases and tried or weighed by a jury of experts. The mechanical, artistic, and productive forces of a people can be. We cannot display the genius of our people, nor their courage. We can display their skill of hand. In the Champ de Mars you may see to-day a manifold encyclopædia of the material civilisation of France to-day.'

'An encyclopædia indeed!' cried our indignant friend the There was an doctor, let me beg you not to degrade that name. encyclopædia once, in the great century, the work of the immortal Diderot and his noble colleagues, which was a worthy tribute to the equality of citizens and to the dignity of manual labour. They toiled to bring about the marriage of Science with Industry, and they thought the highest aim of philosophy was to teach men how to improve human life. Do not compare that glorious enterprise with the greedy puffs of their wares put forth by the creatures of our modern luxury. Diamonds for American speculators, services of plate, costly satins, feathers, and sweatmeats, seem the principal trophies of modern civilisation.'

'The Government of M. Carnot did not invent modern civilisation, and is not responsible for its defects,' said our friend the deputy; 'the Government takes industry and art as it finds them, and enables all who are occupied with them to show their products to the world. There is no doubt much wanton luxury and much vile taste in the industry of the day. But no Government whatever can suppress luxury or punish vulgarity. If it gives all producers a fair field, encouraging none in particular, and establishes a tribunal of honest and competent judges, it has done everything which it can do or ought to do. I say it most seriously that a man who would honestly devote some months to a patient study of the whole contents of the Exhibition would come away with a first-hand knowledge of the state of industry and art; a knowledge far wider and more real than any reader of Diderot's Encyclopédie ever had, and indeed more so than any of its authors. Diderot, could he have walked round these galleries to-day, would have seen in the flesh his vision of the apotheosis of labour. Now have you ever been inside the place yourself, my dear doctor?"

'Yes,' said our pessimist friend, 'I walked round the fair one day; but I certainly did not sing Nunc Dimittis. As I passed along those weary miles of plate-glass cases and beer-shops, where the idlers of all nations, colluvies gentium, were staring at gew-gaws and consuming bocks, I could think only of the scenes which that Champ de Mars has witnessed of old. How often has it rung with the tramp