In 1878 came the Paris Exhibition, and to this he went himself as President of the Chinese Government’s Commission.  He arrived in Paris just before the Exhibition opened—­just in time to be present at the great opening ceremony in fact.  This was a very grand affair, but with—­for him—­a ludicrous climax.  Coming away, he and his secretary lost their carriage in the crowd, and had to walk the whole way home, not a cab being obtainable—­and this, too, in elaborate and heavy uniforms, and at the risk of being hooted by gamins.  But by good luck, in those days gold lace and medals were so plentiful that they attracted no embarrassing attention.

[Illustration:  SIR ROBERT HART IN 1878.]

Numberless functions, of course, took place in connection with the Exhibition, and scarcely a night passed without some gigantic official reception at which two or three thousand people were present.  The Minister of Education, for example, gave a magnificent soiree at which the old dances, the stately minuet and the graceful pavane, were danced in splendid and appropriate costumes.  Bernhardt, then at the height of her powers, recited one night at the Elysee; so also did Coquelin.  But to Robert Hart these “crushes” were often an ordeal.  Conventional entertainments never had a great attraction for him; besides, these gatherings were really too big for any one’s comfort or pleasure; conversation was nearly impossible, and nobody felt at home.

What he did enjoy was a drive in the beautiful Bois with his children, from whom, for the sake of their education, he had already been separated for several years.  Or else he liked to take them to the many excellent concerts then being held.  They often went to hear the Norwegian singers who, so the advertisements said, had walked all the way from their northern home in their quaint national costume, and they scarcely missed a Wednesday at the Trocadero, where there were contests of massed bands.

Music, in fact, would draw Robert Hart any day, for he loved it dearly.  Other people might talk learnedly about various schools and tone poems; he took all he could get silently and with a thankful heart; and because in far-away Peking he could not count upon others playing for him, he performed the prodigious feat of learning to play both violin and ’cello himself without a teacher, and long after he was a man grown.

Just before the Exhibition closed, all the fine blackwood furniture of the Chinese pavilion was presented to the Marechale MacMahon.  The I.G. had to make a speech on this occasion, which he greatly dreaded, having none of that love of getting on his feet that is characteristic of the south of Ireland Irishman; but when he did so his voice, always soft and gentle, with the faintest trace of Irish accent, never wavered for a moment, and every word he said could be heard by all.

Whether it was the speech making or the festivities or the hard work or a combination of all three I cannot say, but Robert Hart suddenly found himself over-tired and threatened with a breakdown of health by the time the Exhibition closed.  Sir William Gull, the famous specialist, whom he consulted, put the case tersely to him:  “If you will do work, work will do you.”