UNIVERSAL EXHIBITIONS ARE FAIRS.
Ugh! these blessed universal exhibitions! What good do they do to art, to true art, to great art? None whatever. I believe, at the best, they only bring about the sale of some smart humoristic or coarse statuette, and nothing more. I am aware that Vela's "Napoleon I.," which was sold in Paris, will be brought up in opposition to this. That is an exception to the rule; and then—who knows?—if Napoleon III. had not been on the throne, perhaps Vela's beautiful statue would have come back to the artist's studio at Turin. Many fine Italian statues returned at that time; and did not the "Jenner" come back from Vienna? These universal exhibitions—let us say it in plain words—are fairs and markets, in which the merchandise most appreciated is something odd, humoristic, or ridiculous. But of this I have spoken elsewhere, and do not like to retrace my steps.
I have said that the office of president was grateful to me because it enabled me to hasten on the work in our section; but I have not given the reason for this hurry. The poor artists, the greater part of them strangers, that had never seen Vienna, felt a longing to do so; and when at mid-day, after three hours of work, I suspended the meeting until one o'clock, they said to me, "Mr President, have a little patience; be reasonable. We have never seen anything of this city. We will work as much as you wish in the mornings, but only let us be free the rest of the day." And I answered: "Have a little patience yourselves. Let us work now that we are at it: it is for this reason we have come here. As soon as we have finished, we will rest and amuse ourselves, and will enjoy all the beautiful objects in the town and in the country; but now that we are here, we must stick to work. Good-bye; I shall see you again shortly—at one o'clock." And with very long faces they went away. But why, wherefore, all this hurry—this uninterrupted work, without rest? This is why: I was there alone; and when I am alone, away from home, without one of my daughters, whatever may be the city or country, however beautiful and attractive, everything bores me to a superlative degree. When, in answer to my colleagues, I said that as soon as our work was finished we would amuse ourselves and see and enjoy all the wonders of the town, I repeated mentally to myself, I will take the fastest direct train, and without leaving the railway carriage, in thirty-six hours will get back to Florence; and I did so.
WORK AND AMUSEMENTS AT VIENNA.
Notwithstanding all my persistence, we took, however, one or two half-days' rest, and each one of us went the way he liked best to satisfy his desire of amusing himself. As for me, I wrote long letters home, and in the evening went to the theatre, where they were singing (and really singing) Wagner's 'Lohengrin'; or joined, in brotherly symposiums, the Italian, German, Hungarian, or French members of our jury. The Viennese and Hungarian members gave us a dinner, and it went off in a most gay and friendly fashion: the toasts burst forth, one after the other, in a bright rapid line of fire. There is no doubt about it—Art fraternises all nations. Our speeches, half French and half Italian and Hungarian-Latin, were spoken freely, and without giving even a thought that a phrase or word might offend the political opinion or oratorical taste of any one. Everything was good, everything applauded, and we drank to everything. I remember a Hungarian artist, who, drinking to the toast of Art and the Italians, said that Italy had always been great; and if, in days gone by, she had been able to glory in Michael Angelo, to-day she gloried in Garibaldi! And we drank even to this, although the comparison seemed to us to be very far-fetched. But I repeat, when once we opened our mouth, it did not much matter what came out of it. I also spoke, and was applauded; but if I wanted to repeat what I said, I should have to draw upon my imagination, because I don't remember a word of it.
DINNERS AT VIENNA.
We enjoyed other evenings of feast and merriment, but none like this one. We were invited to a dinner given by the Italian General Commissioner, which went off most splendidly, but was naturally more dignified. We were all Italians, but not all artists; for, in fact, the greater number were scientific men—and where there are scientific men, all is at an end, and seriousness at once walks in. The imaginative, frisky, and reckless words of the artist do not venture to come out at such meetings; and the talk there gains as much in rhetoric as it loses in living art, sincerity, and unexpectedness.
AN ADVENTURE WITH A CABMAN.
We were also invited by his Imperial Highness the Archduke Ranieri to an entertainment, which was most splendid, cordial, and brilliant. The Archduke talked to every one in his own language; and if he expressed himself with the same exactness and propriety to the English, Russians, or Spaniards, as he did to us Italians and to the French, he is really a wonderful polyglot. At this fête something happened to me which proves that the Viennese cabmen are more quarrelsome than ours. This is how it was. I got into the cab at the hotel, and said that I wanted to go to the palace of his Highness Archduke Ranieri, to remain there two hours, and then return to the hotel; and for this the price of six florins (fifteen lire) was agreed upon. Having stayed my time at the fête, I descended to look for my charioteer. He was not there. To be sure, the cab was there, and the poor beast in harness seemed to be deep in thought or sleeping; but the coachman was not there. He was looked for everywhere, in all the neighbouring beer-houses, but could nowhere be traced. So in a rage I had to go up again, and coming down about half an hour afterwards, I called him, but he was not there. The poor beast stood with his nose nearly on the ground, I do not know whether more from sleepiness or hunger; and I in a rage, as may well be imagined, got inside the cab to wait for him. Finally, after about half an hour the man returned, and I abused him roundly; but it was like speaking to the wall, for he understood nothing, and off he drove. On arriving at the hotel I put the six florins briskly into his hand; he refused to take them, and I could not understand why. The porter of the hotel intervened, and said that the cabman had agreed to wait at the fête for two hours, instead of which I had kept him there three hours. I explained to the porter the whole thing, and what a rascal he was! But not to discuss the matter any longer, I paid even for the hour that I had to wait that canaille's convenience. Really I would have paid anything to have been able to say two or three words after my own heart in German to the miserable scamp.
MONUMENT TO COUNT LUIGI CAMERINI.