‘A small masterpiece: an architectural jewel’
PARIS 1900
It was the middle of the night – more accurately, early in the morning. Friday night had slipped into Saturday morning with no one noticing and it was less than 12 hours until the grand opening of the Paris World’s Fair 1900. All over the vast exhibition grounds, thousands of frantic hands worked through the night. Hardly anyone spoke; there was only the occasional shout. The silence was broken by the constant pounding of hammers and the rasping of saws. These sounds were amplified not only by the stillness of the night but also by the wet, lingering ground from the heavy downpours of the day before. Working at night had been difficult because most of the international pavilions had not yet been supplied with electricity. It was easier to work at night when the moon was bright, but those working on interiors were forced to work by oil or acetylene lamps. Some worked by lit torches, which at least gave off a little warmth. It had been this way for weeks and months.
The inauguration day was on Saturday, 14 April. That day had come. It had been 11 years since the last Exposition Universelle in Paris, yet memories of this previous event remained fresh. Expectations of the World’s Fair returning to Paris were high. The combination of the city and the World’s Fair was an unbeatable draw. Running from 14 April until 12 November 1900, organisers expected 300,000 to 400,000 visitors just this opening weekend. Despite 500 acres of grounds, 33 official pavilions and 40 national ones, it would still be crowded. And even busier during the summer.
Eliel Saarinen, architect, 26, was on location to oversee completion of the Finland Pavilion. This was the tenth time Finland had attended a World’s Fair (the first in London in 1851) but the first with pavilions separate from Russia’s. It was he and his partners who had caused controversy when they beat 18 entries and won the Finland Pavilion competition. Their radical building, ‘Isidar’ – the one he was now standing in – would be formally unveiled in just a few hours. His partners Herman Gesellius and Armas Lindgren were still in Helsinki overseeing a consignment of bespoke furniture designed by them that was being finalised for shipment to Paris.
Overseeing the project alongside Saarinen was Axel Gallén (later Akseli Gallen-Kallela), Finland’s most important artist. He would turn 35 in 11 days’ time. His tall decorative paintings dominated the central hall, right under the tower and just inside the main entrance. His frescoes depicted key scenes from the Kalevala painted in epic-ornamental style, all painted in situ after construction of the pavilion. These featured the characters Ilmarinen, Sampo, etc. His unique works had already been dubbed, “Finland’s Sistine Chapel”.
The 1900 exhibition was the fifth time that the prestigious event had been held in Paris, and it was the twentieth World’s Fair. The Eiffel Tower had been constructed for the 1889 event. This year’s exhibition was dedicated to the latest in the decorative arts. (More broadly, the fields on display this year were art, arts & crafts, agriculture and industry.) But technology was all around: the Paris Metro was due to be inaugurated in the summer and exhibition organisers had built the world’s first travellator (a moving viewing platform) that traversed the grounds by rail. This was causing a lot of excitement.
The Finnish Pavilion was located at one end of the tree-lined La Rue des nations boulevard, along the southern bank of the Seine. The harsh winter had caused delays for everyone, and the problems had snowballed. Many of the international pavilions were not yet finished and the boulevard was still not clear of construction debris. Just hours before inauguration dignitaries would arrive, the “street of nations” remained cluttered and difficult to navigate.
Saarinen had yesterday witnessed thousands of French soldiers arriving at the grounds, drafted in at the exhibition director’s disposal. The conscripts were now busy cleaning streets, clearing roads and polishing windows, floors and interiors. Others were frantically working on the gardens. There was still much to do. Saarinen remembered how, with just days to go, as many as 1000 carts of exhibition materials had been waiting outside the main gate, unable to get in. Most of the infrastructure was in place and a lot of the scaffolding removed, but an army of landscapers worked desperately to prepare the avenue and the gardens. There in the dark, Saarinen could see light from lamps and small fires being used for heat through the vast complex.
* * *
Finland had a foothold in two main areas of the 1900 World’s Fair. The first was the exhibition in the Grand Palais pavilion, which was dedicated to the fine and decorative arts. The scaffolding had only recently been removed and the floor was being polished. Artists of all nations were working to complete their installations. In charge of overseeing Finland’s Grand Palais exhibition was Albert Edelfelt, the 46-year-old painter known for his naturalistic and realistic style. His canon of work stretched three decades. He had studied in Antwerp, Paris and St Petersburg. And now he was leading a contingent of Finland’s best artists, including landscape painter Eero Järnefelt – a medal winner at the 1889 exhibition. There were also more Kalevala-themed paintings by Gallén. The works on display here were “real artworks”, their best work, whereas the paintings in the Finland Pavilion were “decorative paintings”.
Edelfelt still talked about the risqué poster he had designed for the 1889 event, featuring a young girl (symbolising Finland) being delivered by a rowing boat steered by a boy (symbolising Russia) and being welcomed by the open arms of a smiling lady (Paris). This year’s act of defiant subversion was to include as part of the sculpture exhibition a giant statue of a woman crying. The woman symbolised Finland.
Listening to surrounding conversations, the Finnish artists were hearing surprise by many how several countries that had been behind the leading industrial nations in 1889 had since caught up. Russia had stunned everyone with its recent rapid development. Artistically, however, Russia was not at the forefront. The Russian pavilion was only showcasing old styles. On an artistic level alone, Edelfelt knew, it was only right that Finland exhibited separately. The other front-line artists representing Finland were Juho Rissanen, Adolf von Becker, Pekka Halonen, Eemil Halonen, as well as younger painters Hugo Simberg, Magnus Enckell, Väinö Blomstedt, Ellen Thesleff and Albert Gebhard. The sculptors included Robert Stigell, Emil Wikström and Ville Vallgren.
These modern-thinking artists were in good company. This was the “new style” and National Romantic idiom that had developed at pace in the last few years – as were Sweden, Norway and Denmark. The artists and architects of the Finnish pavilion were presenting with great confidence. With the exhibition being held in Paris and the Belle Époque was in full bloom, French Art Nouveau style, art and design dominated. There was a large exhibition from Nancy. The French ruled the roost in Paris in 1900. To the annoyance of the Belgians, Art Nouveau was being presented as a French-led movement. Everyone was talking about the notable absence of Belgian pioneer, Henry van de Velde. The artist Auguste Rodin had his own pavilion. And everyone was eager to see the first section of the Paris Metro, with the new stations designed by Hector Guimard, when it opened in July.
As expected, the famous art dealer Siegfried Bing had invested heavily. He had paid for his own pavilion at the Paris exhibition, headlined in grand style as ‘La Maison Bing, L’Art Nouveau: decoration et l’ameublement’. He had no fewer than six rooms packed with decorative objects, fabrics and furniture – designed by Eugène Gaillard, Georges de Feure and Edward Colonna. Bing’s pavilion was no doubt going to be a success.
* * *
For Axel Gallén and Eliel Saarinen, their focus this evening/morning was finishing the Finnish pavilion that would shine a light on Finland for all the world to see. Construction of the pavilion had been completed over a month ago and the last few weeks had been spent on painting and preparing the interior.
The Pavillon Finlandais stood in stark contrast to its neighbours. For a start, it was small. Or at least seemed small among the over-proportioned giants nearby. But it was solid. The ‘temporary’ pavilion looked as though it had stood on this very spot for 100 years. It was a long, low building of one level spanning some 10x40 metres. Although the original plans had called for an iron frame, wood had been used instead. Rising from its roof was a quirky, octagonal church-like tower in yellow and green. The tower was blighted by what Axel Gallén called “the crow” – the double-headed Russian eagle that was mandatory. At the tower’s base sat four man-sized bears carved in stone by sculptor Emil Wikström. While the building design derived from traditional Finnish medieval church architecture, the approach to ornamentation was new. There were stone frogs, elk and squirrels around windows, portals and gables. The roof was covered in hexagonal shingles of the type traditionally used in old Finnish churches. The planned-for stairs had been scrapped, so there was no access to the tower.
The Finland Pavilion was on the south side of La Rue des nations, squeezed between Bulgaria (overloaded with Baroque in pink and white) and Luxembourg (mundane, with not even a spec of character). The “trottoirs roulants”, or “travellator”, was at the rear. The four pavilions opposite, facing from left to right, were Spain, Germany, Norway and Great Britain. (Only the important nations got waterfront plots.) Overall, the pavilions were surprisingly dull: Germany (towered above them all), Britain (a dull replica of a Jacobean English country manor). Saarinen was disappointed that Charles Rennie Mackintosh was not exhibiting – but he could see why. There was no Modern Style to be seen. That would be to Finland’s advantage.
The entrance to the pavilion comprised three semi-circular double doors made of birch painted mahogany-red with green iron hinges. The doors were 4m wide. The text carved into the stone arch above the entrance of the pavilion read ‘SECTION RUSSE PAVILLON FINLANDAIS SECTION RUSSE’. This was at the insistence of the Russian authorities. (Postcards sold in Paris airbrushed the Russian connection out.) Through the main entrance was the central hall, a central display and high, pointed ceilings with four massive Kalevala paintings by Gallén. To either side of the central chamber were two church-like exhibition halls, with large windows. The largest hall was dominated by frescoes Gallén. There were six large paintings in Finnish theme along the ceiling on each side of the vault, countless Finnish exhibits – from 144 Finnish exhibitors – as well as wood carvings and even a “press centre”. The smaller hall contained the so-called “Iris Room”, complete with textiles, ceramics, furniture, handicraft objects, etc. These were presented as artistic unity in Art Nouveau fashion; as the Germans called it, Gesamtkunstwerk.
Nevertheless, the moment of truth was now just hours away. When the scaffolding came down on the Finnish pavilion, and when Saarinen and Gallén had been able to walk within the building unobstructed, came the first realisations that after two years of work the pavilion was far more magnificent than they had even dared hope. The buzz of electric excitement had intensified as they saw passers-by were showing signs of interest and admiration. Looking around at their neighbours in the international section, they knew Finland would stand out, even if their 3-storey and 4-storey neighbours loomed above them. Even more so, the French – who don’t compliment easily and who know pastiche and pomp when they see it – recognised that the Finns had come to Paris with passion, intellect and heart.
In a hint of things to come for the Finnish contingent, not only were the French complimentary about the pavilion from the land of a thousand lakes, but so too were early reviews by the international press. One correspondent had described it as the “most characteristic” of the entire street and called both Edelfelt and Gallén “master artists”. For architect Eliel Saarinen, it had not even been three years since the night he felt a similar rush of excitement at the celebration of the completion of his firm’s first commission at Satamakatu 7, in Katajanokka. It already seemed a world away.
* * *
The grand opening of the Exposition Universelle 1900 was a triumph. The spring weather had been perfect – warm, bright and still. Three-thousand people had poured in through the main entrance every minute. Women wore their best floral hats, puffy blouses and flute skirts, while the best-dressed men had worn coat, tails and top hats. All of Paris was in celebration mode. The 1900 World’s Fair in Paris was significant for another reason. The 14th of April marked not only the fair’s opening but also the start of the second modern Olympic Games. After two millennia, Greece had revived the ancient sporting and athletic games in 1896. Now, four years later, the Olympics were being held in Paris. Officially called Les Jeux olympiques d'été de 1900, these games would continue for the same duration as the Exposition Universelle, until November. A thousand athletes would compete in 19 sports. And unlike the exhibition, the sporting event would have no opening or closing ceremony.
There were queues at all 50 entrances but the greatest crowding had been around the travellator, or moving platform, which took visitors around the exhibition at speeds of up to 15 km an hour. It cost Fr.120,000 to build but – at half a franc per person – achieved Fr.50,000 in revenue on day one. That evening, the President of France, Emile Loubet, held an invitation-only dinner for 6000 people. The following day, Sunday, saw 200,000 people visit the exhibition. Over the next seven months, more than 50 million visitors would stream through the exhibition gates. One unexpected popular attraction was a statue entitled, ‘The American Girl’. Standing 6 feet tall, it was a life-size statue of the American screen actress Maude Adams – made from 322 kg of pure gold.
* * *
After two years of planning and hard work, the rest was now down to the eyes of the world. Visitors to La Rue des Nations during the first month were often disappointed because 20 of the 40 national pavilions remained closed. Most stayed unfinished for weeks. Just three international pavilions were fully open: Finland, Bosnia and Hungary. This was good news for the plucky Finns because the eyes of the world now saw Finland as it had never done before. The immediate verdict was: this is a smash hit. Finland hit the headlines as it had never done before. The press reviews were gushing:
“brilliantly executed”
“the pearl of the exhibition”
“Finland’s pavilion is one of the most original at the exhibition”
“a fully formed work of Finnish creation and heartfelt patriotism”
“a peaceful punch for Finland's owner and name”
“done wholeheartedly and with passion”
Of everything there was to see and do at the Paris World’s Fair, the Finland Pavilion became a must-see destination. One correspondent wrote, “come here and see what with love and talent can be made of an ordinary rural church when made into an exhibition building.” Again, the normally stuffy and reticent French recognised this was no plywood stage production. They, too, were full of praise: “Will any other country have something so genuine and artistically thought-provoking to offer in their area of the Quai d’Orsay, as the Finns?”
Considering how the original announcement of the winning design by Gesellius, Lindgren, Saarinen had caused establishment uproar in 1898, the effusive praise and encouragement pouring in from the outside world were almost as shocking to those back in Finland. The glowing positivity was almost too much for the naturally modest Finns to take. A correspondent at the Hufvudstadsbladet newspaper, writing on 21 April, was openly thankful for Finland's International success on the world stage:
“Even if one reads between the lines of everything that has been written about the Finnish Pavilion in Paris, there remains one joyous fact: that alongside Greece’s beautiful, Italy’s magnificent, Paris’s stately and other countries’ expensive buildings on ‘the Street of Nations’ in Paris, it has made itself prominent.
To be seen, to stand out, to be remembered among the countless beautiful and expensive, small and large buildings that now cover the banks of the Seine from the Flora Pavilion to the Trocadero, is no insignificant thing, especially in these times, when the world's eyes – not even by our own doing – are cast upon us.
It is more than likely that the national chauvinism in us sees this fact – that our pavilion succeeded – with a magnifying glass, exaggerating both its meaning, as well as what the words of the international press really mean, especially when everything that is written about other nation’s pavilions naturally passes us by, remaining unread.
One fact that cannot be excused, however, is that we – among the fortunate, large, rich nations – thanks to beauty and good taste and originality fought for and achieved a place that is honourable, exceptional. This is more than even the most optimistic among us could have dared hope for.”
Two weeks later, the same newspaper triumphantly declared that “the Finnish pavilion, from the inner to the outer, is a small masterpiece – an architectural jewel”. Finland had created something with depth and heritage. “And for this magnificent home-grown success, we all know a debt of gratitude to Messrs. Gesellius, Lindgren and Saarinen.” The article concluded that, “what they have created … manifests a promising sign for the future.”
This statement could not have been further from the truth.
Thanks to this sturdy little building, and all its glories within, the world was discovering Finland – and liked what it saw. The long-held dream of being seen as Finns and not Russians, being seen as modern and European, and being seen as a capable individual nation was coming true.
