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M. GOBEMOUCHE’S AUTHENTIC ACCOUNT OF THE GRAND EXHIBITION.

“IN the good town of London, in the Squares, in the Coffees, in the Parks, In the society, at the billiards, there is but one conversation— it is of the Palace of Industry; it is of the QUEEN and PRINCE ALBERT; it is of the union of all nations. ‘Have you been there, my friend?’ everyone says to everyone.
“Yes, I have been there. Yes, I am one of the myriads who visited the palace of Industry on the first of May, and witnessed the triumph of France.
“Early in the day, following in the track of the myriads who were rushing towards the romantic village of Kinsington, and throu1s the Bridge of Chevaliers, I engaged a cabriolet of place, and bidding the driver conduct me to the Palace of all Nations at Kinsington, sate in profound reverie smoking my cigar, and thinking of France, until my driver paused, and the agglomeration of the multitude, and the appearance of the inevitable Poliseman of London, sufficiently informed us that we were at the entrance of the Industrial Palace.
“Polisemen flank the left pillar of the gate surmounted by a vase, emblem of plenty; policeman flank the right pillar decorated by a hon (this eternal Britannic lion, how his roars fatigue me; his tail does not frighten me I his eternal fanfaronnades regarding his courage make me puff of to laugh !)—and as nothing is to be seen in England without undoing purse, a man at a wicket stops the influx of the cu’icus, and the tide cannot pass the barrier except through the filter of a sclulhng.
“0 cursed schilling! He haunts me, that scilling. He pursues me everywhere. If a Frenchman has to produce his passport, there is no moment of the day when an Englishman must iot produce his schtlhug. I paid that sum, and was with others admitted into the barrier, and to pass the outer wall of the Great Exhibition.
“When one enters, the sight that at first presents itself has nothing of remarkable—a court, two pavilions on either side, a château, to the door of which you approach by steps of no particular height or grandeur, these were the simple arrangements which it appears that the Britannic genius has invented for the reception of all people of the globe.
“I kuocir in the English fashion—the simple baronnet gives but one knock, the postman, ofliner of the government many and rapid strokes, the LORD MAYOR knocks and rings. I am ‘but the simple baronnet, and SIR GoBEMoucisE wishes to be thought no more singular than Sia BROWN or Sia SMITH.
“Two pages—blond children of Albion—their little coats, it being spring-time, covered with a multiplicity of buds—fling open the two beatings of the door, and 1 enter the little ante-hall.
“I look up—above me is an azure dome like the vault ethereal, silver stars twinkle in its abysses, a left-hand lancing thunderbolt is above us
—I read above, in characters resembling the lighitning—’Filk de l’oraqe’ in our own language, and ‘Symbolinm of all Nations in English.’
“Is the daughter of the tempest then the symbol of all nations P [s the day’s quiet the lull after yesterday’s storm P Profound moralist, yes—it is so—we enter into repose through the imtiation of the hurricane—we pass over the breakers and are in the haven!
“This pretty moral conveyed in the French language, the world’s language, as a prelude to the entertainment—this solemn antichamber to the palace of the world, struck me as appropriate as sublime. With a beating heart I ascend further steps—I am in the world’s vestibule.
“ What do I see around me P Another magnificent allegory. The cities of the world are giving each other the hand—the Tower of Pisa nods friendly to the Wall of China—the Pont Neuf and the Bridge of Sighs meet and mingle arches—Saint Paul, of London, is of accord with his brother Saint Peter, of Rome—and the Parthenon is united with the Luqsor Obelisk, Joining its civilisation to the Egyptian mysteries, as the Greek philosophers travelled to Egypt of old ;—a great idea this— greatly worked out, 111 an art purposely naïve, in a design expressly confused.
“From this vestibule I see a staircase ascending, emblazoned with the magic hieroglyplnes and strange allegoric images. In everything that the Briton dma lurks a deep meaning—the vices of his nobility, the quarrels of his priests, the peculiarities of his authors, are here dramatised ;—a Pope, a Cardinal appear among fantastic devils—the romancers of the day figure with their attributes—the statesmen of the three kingdoms with their various systems—fiends, dragons, monsters, curl and writhe through the multitudinous hieroglyphic, and typify the fate that perhaps menaces, the venomous enemies that empoison the country.
“The chambers of this marvellous palace are decorated in various styles, each dedicated to a nation. One room flames in crimson and yellow, surmounted y a vast golden sun, which you see, in regarding it, must be the chamber of the East. Another, decorated with stalactites and piled with looking-glass and eternal snow, at once suggests Kamschiatka or the North Pole. In a third apartment, the Chinese dragons and lanterns display their fantastic blaEons while in a fourth, under a canopy of midnight stars, surrounded by waving palm-trees, we feel ourselves at once to be in a primeval forest of Brazil, or else in a scene of fairy—I know not which ;—the eye is dazzled, the brain is feverous, in beholding so much of wonders.
“Faithful to their national economy, of what, think you, are the decorations of the Palace P—Of calico !—Calico in the emblematic halls, Calico in the Pompadour boudoirs, Calico in the Chamber of the Sun— Calico everywhere. Indeed, whither have not the English pushed their cottons P their commerce P Calico has been the baleful cause of their foreign wars, their interior commotions. Calico has been the source of their wealth, of their present triumphant condition, perhaps of their future downfall! Well and deeply the decorators of the Palace meditated when they decorated its walls with this British manufacture.
“Descending, as from a vessel’s deck, we approach a fairy park, in which the works of art bud and bloom beside the lovely trees of Spring. What green pelouses are here! what waving poplars! what alleys shaded by the buds and blossoms of Spring! Here are parterres blooming with polyanthuses and coloured lamps a fountain there where NUMA might have wooed EGEJUA. Statues rise gleaming from the meadow; APOLLO bends his bowS DOROTHEA washes her fair feet; ESMERALDA sports with her kid. *liat know I? How select a beauty where all are beautiful? how specify a wonder where all is miracle P
“In you long and unadorned arbour, it has been arranged by the English (who never do anything without rosbif and half-an-half) that the nations of the world are to feast. And that vast building situated on the eastern side of the pelouse with battlemented walls, and transparent roof, is the much-vaunted Palaee of Crystal! Yes; the roof is of crystal, the dimensions are vast—only the articles to be exhibited have not been unpacked yet; the walls of the Palace of Crystal are bare.
“‘That is the Baronial Hall of all Nations,’ says a gentleman to me
—a gentleman iii a flowing robe and a singular cap, whom I had mistaken for a Chinese or an enchanter. ‘The hail is not open yet, hut it will be inaugurated by the grand Sanitary dinner. There will be half. crown dinners for the commonalty, five shilling dinners for those of mediocre fortune, ten shilling dinners for gentlemen of fashion like Monsieur. Monsieur,I have the honour to salute you.’—And he passes on t greet another group.
‘ I muse, I pause, I meditate. Where have I seen that face P where noted that mien, that cap? Ab, I have it !—in the books devoted to gastronomic regneration, on the flasks of sauce called Relish. This is not the Crystal falace that I see—this is the rival wonder—yes, this is the Symposium of all:Nations, and yonder man is ALEXIS SOYER!
“Gobemouche.”