The "Paris Salon" was usually only open during the day, closing in the evening—because without natural light, gas lamps alone couldn't provide enough illumination to view the paintings.
But tonight was different. With the sponsorship of a British businessman, the Louvre had installed a new type of lighting that used "electricity." According to a reporter from Le Petit Journal who had seen it, it was "brighter than daytime!"
This novel invention was usually very expensive, and the bustling daytime wasn't suitable for its display, so it was moved to the evening, with only a small number of people invited.
Lionel, of course, knew what it was better than anyone else in this era, having even caught a glimpse of it at the Orby Trading Company, but he couldn't resist his curiosity and asked Mr. Charpentier for an invitation.
When he arrived, the colonnade on the north wing of the Louvre was already packed with carriages: four-wheeled sedans, two-wheeled phaetons, open Bordeaux-style coaches…
Carriage shafts crisscrossed, horse bits and brass bells jingled, and the air was a sweet mix of leather, horse sweat, and perfume.
Although it was an "exclusive invitation," it seemed everyone in Paris with a carriage had come tonight.
Lionel looked up and saw two rows of newly installed "electric lights" above the main entrance, like two rows of small suns, illuminating the stone reliefs of the Louvre in exquisite detail, leaving no smallest fold in the goddess's skirt hidden.
Handing the gilded invitation Mr. Charpentier had given him to the doorman, Lionel smoothly entered the exhibition.
Amidst the high-end perfumes, cigar tobacco, oil paints, and the warm, distinct scent of a dense crowd, Lionel stepped into the hall and was instantly captivated by the scene before him.
In the enormous exhibition hall, where natural light from skylights was once relied upon, countless hanging and wall-mounted electric light bulbs now illuminated it as brightly as day.
Crystal chandeliers were also given new life; each facet refracted dazzling light under the electricity, illuminating the oil paintings hanging beneath them for all to see.
Gentlemen in exquisite evening attire and ladies in floor-length gowns, adorned with pearls and jewels, strolled, conversed, and paused to admire in this artificial "daylight."
Deep male voices, clear female voices, and French and English accents intertwined into a buzzing background, occasionally punctuated by restrained laughter or exclamations.
The allure of "electric lights" this evening even surpassed that of the outstanding artworks!
However, while others were curious and awestruck, Lionel felt as if he had stepped into another time and space.
"Leon! Over here!" Mr. Charpentier's voice cut through the crowd, jolting Lionel from his reverie.
He turned to look and saw Georges Charpentier standing before a massive painting depicting a scene from Greek mythology, accompanied by his wife and a slender man in a suit.
Lionel squeezed through the crowd and joined the three.
Georges Charpentier introduced them: "Leon, this is Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who illustrated the extraordinary adventures of benjamin button; Pierre, this is Lionel Sorel."
The two quickly shook hands and exchanged, "Pleased to meet you!"
Lionel carefully observed the Impressionist painter, who would become famous in later generations, noting his new, well-tailored dark formal coat, light-colored waistcoat, and neatly combed and trimmed hair and beard, all exuding an air of respectability.
He was nothing like the struggling, disheveled painters in the self-portraits Lionel remembered.
Georges Charpentier clearly wanted the two artists he valued to get to know each other better: "Let Pierre show you around. Although he has strong opinions about these paintings…"
With that, he took his wife to socialize with others.
"Lionel, look here!" Renoir was very enthusiastic and showed no shyness towards Lionel.
"Doesn't it look like a giant gilded birdcage? Filled with brightly feathered parrots that only mimic sounds? What's there to introduce, really?"
Renoir didn't deliberately lower his voice; instead, he spoke with his usual hint of sarcasm, his gaze sweeping over the academic masterpieces that gleamed golden under the electric lights.
Other spectators nearby cast curious glances, successfully drawing attention to the two of them.
Lionel had no interest in participating in the artistic disagreements of "artists disparaging each other," so he smiled and changed the subject: "Pierre, you look radiant, different from what I imagined."
"Thanks to you, young man!" Renoir's voice was full of emotion: "Those little illustrations! My God, I never thought the ladies and wealthy merchants of the Salon would come to know me because of them, and then buy all the works I had consigned to the gallery!"
He clapped Lionel on the shoulder, his eyes shining: "Sold out! Completely empty! Paint money, canvas money, I even got a studio that doesn't leak! I owe you a huge favor, Lionel!"
Lionel smiled and said, "That's because your paintings are excellent to begin with!"
Renoir looked Lionel up and down: "You'd make a great model… When are you free to come to my studio? I'll paint your portrait!"
Lionel smiled and agreed.
As they walked through the exhibition hall, Renoir continued to scoff at the displayed works: "Look at these 'Bouguereau legions,' how smooth, how sweet, how… empty! Like wood covered in thick frosting.
Their canvases only have 'correctness,' not 'life'!"
William-Adolphe Bouguereau was the chairman of this year's jury, and many of his students' works were among the paintings.
As he spoke, the crowd suddenly surged in one direction, accompanied by a louder commotion.
In the center of the exhibition hall, a tall man in an exquisite tailcoat stood before a massive painting depicting a fierce cavalry charge from the Napoleonic era.
Renoir whispered, "This is tonight's'sponsor,' Sir Morton Cavendish from England; all these 'electric lights' are his."
Sir Cavendish held a glass of champagne, his voice booming as he spoke in French with an English accent: "Ladies and gentlemen! This painting, 'Emperor Napoleon in 1814,' with its unparalleled detail and magnificent grandeur, has deeply moved me.
Therefore, I have decided to acquire it for my collection at a price of forty thousand francs!"
"Forty thousand francs!" A gasp and a buzz of discussion erupted in the crowd; even in art-loving Paris, this was an astonishingly high price.
Sir Cavendish's face broke into a satisfied smile, and he raised his hand, pointing to the brilliant electric lights on the ceiling: "And all of this, presented so clearly, so gloriously before us tonight, is thanks to the great light of progress—electricity!
Sir Joseph Swan's invention, this pure, stable, artificial light that surpasses the sun! It dispels the ignorance of night, allowing the treasures of art to shine at any moment! This is the future of…"
The Sir's impassioned speech abruptly stopped!
Directly above his head, in the center of one of the most magnificent crystal chandeliers, several light bulbs suddenly erupted in a dazzling white light, immediately followed by—
"Bang!"
"Crash—!"
A series of ear-splitting explosions rang out! The fragile glass casings of the light bulbs scattered like hail!
"Ah—!"
"My God!"
Gasps and women's screams instantly replaced the admiration and discussion! The crowd instinctively covered their heads and recoiled.
Sir Cavendish was in the direct line of fire; several glass shards splattered onto his expensive formal wear, even cutting a blood mark on the back of his hand, and his champagne glass shattered from his grasp.
A chain reaction began! Several other electric lights in different parts of the exhibition hall flickered erratically, emitting a "sizzling" electrical sound, and then several more bulbs "popped" and exploded!
The once elegant and composed crowd instantly descended into chaos.
Ladies' skirts were trampled, gentlemen shoved others, and screams, shouts, and curses filled the entire space.
Lionel quickly became separated from Renoir and, carried by the surging crowd, was pushed out the main doors of the Louvre.
The cool air invigorated him; behind him was the still noisy and chaotic palace, and before him lay the quiet Tuileries Garden.
On the street, rows of gas streetlights emitted a soft glow, outlining the trees and buildings in the night.
Just then, an unusually tall young man emerged from the nearby shadows and stopped beside Lionel.
Lionel, at one hundred and eighty centimeters, was already considered tall for this era, yet he still had to look up to see his face—
Shoulder-length dark wavy hair, a square jaw, a straight nose, and gray-blue eyes with a lazy, cynical gaze.
The young man took out a silver cigarette case, extracted a cigarette, then fumbled around on himself, showing an annoyed expression, and then turned his gaze to Lionel: "Excuse me, sir. Could I trouble you for a light?"
Lionel took out his matchbox from his pocket and handed it to him.
The young man took the match, lit his cigarette, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled smoke: "Thank you very much."
He nodded slightly in acknowledgment, then, with unconcealed curiosity and scrutiny, he carefully observed Lionel, and after a moment, he spoke: "My name is Wilde, Oscar Wilde.
This chaotic night, finally, some surprise has appeared."
Lionel unconsciously took a step to the side.