O Iris! bringing balm for Summer's tears,
So lightly gliding down thy bridge of rose,
I know not why my spirit drinks repose
Soon as thy footfall the horizon nears.
Spellbound I watch the crimson-shaded piers
As arch by arch the blooming pathway grows,
And where the richest flush of color glows
I trace thy trailing garments. Sighs and fears
Have vanished: in one long and ardent gaze
Thy steps I follow down the heavenly slope.
Iris, be mine thy message! Let thy rays
Write out how I with destiny may cope.
Ah! spanned with light would be all coming days,
Could I but read thy oracle of hope.
Frances L. Mace.
THE PARIS EXPOSITION OF 1878.
III.—FINE ARTS.
IT is the "Memorial Hall" of the Champ de Mars—the Gallery of Fine Arts which there takes the place of the familiar building in Fairmount Park—that has decided the really great success of the Exposition of 1878. The unanimous verdict of popular admiration was given at Philadelphia to the machinery: in Paris it is as strongly pronounced in favor of the fine arts. Paris is, indisputably, the capital of modern art, and her title to this proud distinction is to-day confirmed by the assembled peoples with all the solemnity and authority of a universal congress.
I have, like all visitors no doubt, yielded to the seductive spell of this magnificent collection of objects of art, to which two worlds have contributed, and under the influence of the keen and exalted enjoyment of the first few days I should have found it impossible to qualify by a single censure the expression of my admiration. But after a short retirement in the country, where I allowed my mind to lie fallow, I found that I could revisit the galleries of the Champ de Mars with more judgment and method, and that the beauties of the first order, which I admired as much as ever, no longer made me blind to the defects and the weak points of certain parts.
First of all, it must be admitted that the Exhibition of this year is not equal to that of 1855; and this is no more than was to be expected, when one remembers that the latter had brought together the scattered masterpieces of the long period of half a century—a period illustrated by such names as Ingres, Delacroix, Decamps and others. This splendid assemblage of so many important works could not be repeated in 1867; and at that time there were unmistakable indications that a new artistic current had set in, and we saw the first rays of the coming glory of the painter of genre and of landscape—the triumph of Meissonier, of Gérôme, of Théodore Rousseau, of Corot.
This year, the tiny, pleasing genre pictures are still very numerous, and in this respect the Exposition of 1878 is not unlike that of 1867, while in another aspect it is superior to it. If, on the one hand, we miss the names of the great masters of landscape, who, dying, have left no successors, we have, on the other hand, to hail the advent of some others who have risen above the level of genre and have returned to the traditions of high art: I refer to MM. Bonnat, J.P. Laurens and Baudry. Thanks to these great artists, one can assert with confidence that there has been an advance within the last ten years. And how art widens its borders and augments the number of its adepts! How many painters there are to-day!—of the second or of the third rank, to be sure, but masters of their business, skilful and conscientious. In 1867 the jury admitted but four hundred pictures. In 1878 it has had to receive eleven hundred! Evidently, French art is in the fulness of its summer bloom. Its decline will come, for Art, which knows no country, and has wandered from the East to the South, and from the South to the West, will doubtless travel still, and will some day leave Paris to dwell with other races and under other skies. But to-day her home is Paris—Paris, her well-beloved city.
Since 1871 especially, we have witnessed a fresh starting into life, an activity, indeed, almost feverish. In 1871 and in 1874 the Minister of Fine Arts officially recognized a general return toward serious and vigorous work, and in 1876 he bore testimony to the exceptional brilliancy of the Salon, which showed the "influence and impulse of a genuine revival."