Let us join the throng rushing into the suite of rooms furnished by the upholsterers of Vienna. These rooms are indeed magnificent, and must afford a high treat to the lovers of wood carving. There is a bookcase, which is almost a miracle of art; the flowers seem to wave, and the leaves to tremble, so nearly do they approach the perfection of nature. Then there is, it is said by judges, the most superb bed in the world; it is literally covered with carvings of the most costly and delicate description. Since the time of the famous Grinling Gibbons, the English carver, nothing has been seen like it. These Austrian rooms are among the great guns of the show, and will repay repeated visits.
Here stands the glorious Amazon of Kiss, of Berlin. This group, of colossal proportions, represents a female on horseback, in the act of launching a javelin at a tiger which has sprung on the fore quarter of her affrighted steed. This is a wonderful work of art, and places its author in the first rank of sculptors. Nothing can surpass the lifelike character of the Amazon's horse and the ferocious beast. As a tribute to the genius of Kiss, a grand banquet is to be given to him by the sculptors and artists of England. Well does he deserve such an honor.
Close by the Amazon is a colossal lion in bronze. This is the softest piece of casting I ever saw; the catlike motion of the paw is perfectly lifelike. I turn back again to that Amazon. I could gaze on the agony of that horse for hours, and think I should continue to discover new beauties.
The Crusader, a colossal equestrian statue of Godfrey of Bouillon, is also very imposing. The entire floor is covered in the centre of the avenue, from east to west, with beautiful statues, models, &c.
We ascended to one of the galleries for the purpose of taking a bird's eye view of the gay, busy scene; and a most splendid scene was thrown open to our gaze. Far as the eye could reach, the building was alive with gayly-dressed people, who, amidst statues, and trophies, and trees, and fountains, wandered as in the groves of some enchanted land. As I strolled onwards, I came to where a tiny fountain sent up its silvery jet of eau de Cologne, and an assistant of Jean Marie Farina, from a little golden spoon, poured on my handkerchief, unasked, the odoriferous essence. Then we lingered to witness two of the noblest cakes, the sight of which ever gladdened the heart of a bride. Gunter, the great pastry cook, was the architect of the one which was a triumph of taste. The other was adorned with Cupid and Psyche-like emblems. Then came wax flowers, beaded artfully with glass, so as to appear spangled with dewdrops. Then we inspected Cashmere shawls, on which I saw many a lady cast looks, of admiration, and, I almost fancied, of covetousness.
Down again, and we are beneath the transept. Beautiful, head, far higher than the tops of the huge elm-trees, is a crystal arch which spans this intersecting space. Around are marble statues, which gleam lustrously amid the foliage of tropical plants, which, shielded from the chilling air without, seem to be quite at home here. And in the midst up rises Osler's crystal fountain—a splendid affair, twenty-seven feet in height, and consisting of four tons of cut glass. So exquisitely is it arranged that no metal, either of joint or pipe, can be seen. It is "one entire and perfect chrysolite." From its lofty summit issues forth a dome of water, which separates, and falls in prismatic showers into a spacious basin beneath. There are three other fountains, but this is the monarch of all. On either side of this beautiful production of a Birmingham manufacturer are two equestrian statues of the queen and Prince Albert, about which I cannot speak in admiration. Groups of figures line the sides of the transept, and there is a Puck which I would like all friends to look at. O, he is alive with fun, and there marble speaks and laughs.
We have been greatly delighted with the English room of sculpture. There is a fine portrait statue of Flaxman, from the chisel of Franks; a very clever statue of John Wesley; but if I were to chronicle all the sculptures here, I may as well write a catalogue at once. But before I quit the subject of marble, let me just allude to the Italian gallery. There the specimens are indeed exquisite, and remind us that the genius of art yet loves to linger in the "land of the cypress and myrtle"—in that beautiful country
"Where the poet's eye and painter's hand
Are most divine."
Among the gems of marble is one which I told, you was the only possible rival of Powers's Greek Slave. This lovely production is "the Veiled Vesta." It represents a young and exquisitely-formed girl, kneeling and offering her oblation of the sacred fire. Her face is veiled; but every feature is distinctly visible, as it were, through the folds which cover her face. So wonderfully is the veil-like appearance produced, that myself and others were almost inclined to believe that some trick of art had been practised, and a film of gauze actually hung over the features. It was not so, however; the hard marble, finely managed, alone caused the deception. Raffael Monti, of Milan, is the illustrious artist of "the Veiled Vesta."
One of the most interesting machines in the whole exhibition is the envelope machine of Messrs. De la Rue & Co., of London. In its operations it more resembles the efforts of human intellect than any thing I have seen before in machinery. It occupies but a small space, and is worked by a little boy. In a second, and as if by magic, a blank piece of paper is folded, gummed, and stamped, and, in fact, converted into a perfect envelope. As soon as finished, a pair of steel fingers picks it up, lays it aside, and pushes it out of the way in the most orderly manner possible. These envelopes, so made, are given to all who choose to accept them. Opposite to this machine is the stand of Gillott, of steel pen celebrity. Here are pens of all sizes, and of various materials. One monster pen might fit a Brobdignagian fist, for it is two feet long, and has a nib one quarter of an inch broad; and there are others so small that no one but a Liliputian lady could use them. Between these extremes are others of various dimensions, arranged in a very tasteful manner. Something must be got out of this branch of business, for it is only a month or two since Mr. Gillott purchased an estate for ninety thousand pounds sterling. Here, too, is a novelty—the model of St. Stephen's Church, Bolton, Lancashire. The model and the church itself are both composed of terra cotta. This material was also employed in the construction of the principal fittings, such as the screen, pews, organ gallery, pulpit, &c. This is a new adaptation of terra cotta. The spire severely tests its capabilities, as it is of open Gothic, or tracery work.