The Colonial City: Empire,Authenticity,and Urban Imagination at the 1906 Marseille Colonial Exposition

An Exposition in the Colonial City

Beginning with the Great Exhibition of 1851 in London, international exhibitions were immensely popular throughout Europe and the United States, and to a lesser extent in non-Western countries, growing in frequency as the nineteenth century drew to a close. The Great Exhibition was an innovative production at which thirty-four nations exhibited their national accomplishments, although it was primarily devoted to showcasing advances in British industry and technology. Following its success, other nations developed the concept further. International exhibitions rapidly grew in size and scope, while specialized national exhibitions, devoted to industry, art, or colonial projects, also proliferated. At each exposition, the hosting nation constructed lavish pavilions across extensive exhibition grounds to display a range of national achievements. Their organizers lauded expositions as both a didactic and a diplomatic opportunity, through which domestic populations could be instructed in the appreciation of their own culture, and international relations, particularly trade networks, could be strengthened. ¹⁷

For imperial states, colonial sections quickly became an essential feature of expositions, serving to both attract and educate visitors. By reconstructing interesting colonial locations and featuring ethnographic spectacles of colonized peoples, the exhibits drew visitors who were less interested in purely informational displays. Jules Charles-Roux, the general commissary of the 1906 Colonial Exposition, nevertheless drew a sharp distinction between colonial exhibits and popular fairs, attempting to boost the legitimacy of the former by insisting that a visitor was supposed to leave with “more than a picturesque and agreeable memory.” Rather, after “glancing not only at the display cases, the walls of the palaces, but also just on the general aspect of things, [the visitor’s] knowledge and understanding should have grown.” ¹⁸ Along with most exposition organizers, he emphasized that colonial exhibits were not intended to be sensationalist, but to provide an authentic picture of the colonies that would be instructional for visitors.

Following the success of the colonial section of the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris, Dr. Édouard Heckel proposed that the city of Marseille host the first exposition devoted entirely to the French colonies. Heckel had already been involved in similar ventures: a decade earlier, he had founded the Institut Colonial and the Musée Coloniale, both designed to “showcase[e] the profits of applied [colonial] science.” ¹⁹ Both Jules Charles-Roux, a prominent member of the Marseille elite who was actively engaged in French colonial endeavors, and the Marseille Chamber of Commerce lent their support. Through the museum, Heckel and Charles-Roux aimed to demonstrate “colonialism’s ultimate value as a system to bring about national prosperity at home in the metropole” and organized the exhibits to display raw materials from the colonies alongside the products that French industrialists created from them. ²⁰ The museum particularly highlighted Marseille’s role as the nexus of both colonial importation and industrial production, portraying the city “as a site where colonialism merged with consumerism.” ²¹ By connecting colonialism to consumer products, the Musée Coloniale affirmed the value of empire for the average French citizen.

With the idea of a National French Colonial Exposition, Heckel, Charles-Roux, and the Marseille Chamber of Commerce had found a new venue to promote the twin interests of Marseillais business and empire. On October 28, 1902, the Marseille City Council approved the proposal brought by Charles-Roux and Heckel. The following year, the city, the Marseille Chamber of Commerce, and the Bouches-du-Rhône department each voted a subsidy for the 1906 Colonial Exposition, amounting to 1,500,000 francs in total. After repeated requests from the newly formed Exposition Committee, a presidential decree in March 1904 finally accorded the exposition official recognition as a national event and granted a further 150,000 francs in support, as well as appointing Charles-Roux and Heckel as the general commissary of the exposition and deputy commissary, respectively. ²² Thus, every level of French government—municipal, departmental, national, and colonial—was involved in the production of the Exposition, but its genesis came not from the national government but rather from a professor of colonial medicine and a businessman based in Marseille.

The national contribution should neither be overemphasized nor dismissed. The official recognition of the event as a national colonial exposition was significant, as the 1906 Exposition was the first national exposition to take place outside of Paris. Furthermore, several French cities had already hosted colonial expositions, but they were not recognized by the French government; indeed, a small colonial exposition held in Paris itself in late 1906 did not receive the same honor as the Marseille event. ²³ However, in terms of both financial aid and personnel, the actual contribution of the national government to the Colonial Exposition remained quite small, dwarfed by the efforts of both public (municipal and departmental) and private (the Chamber of Commerce) entities based in Marseille. Although its organizers saw the Colonial Exposition as an event of national significance that would bring glory to the nation and the empire as well as the city, the national government does not seem to have shared their enthusiasm.

According to the speeches given by Charles-Roux, the prefect of the Bouches-du-Rhône department, and the mayor of Marseille at the opening of the exposition, the primary goal of the event was to serve as an “extensive and useful object lesson [leçon des choses] for the mass public.” ²⁴ This lesson was twofold, educating visitors about both the ideas of empire and the products of empire. To Charles-Roux, whose efforts to promote his city and his own business interests had involved him in imperial projects across the globe, the centrality of the colonial empire to French interests on both a national and an individual level seemed self-evident. As he assumed that only ignorance could prevent the public from properly appreciating the importance of the empire, an educational Colonial Exposition was a logical solution. French visitors would learn to appreciate the advances in infrastructure, agriculture, and education accomplished throughout the empire and to better understand the peoples who lived there, while the residents of the colonies, both citizens of metropolitan descent and colonial subjects, would develop a stronger connection to the “mother country [mère-patrie].” ²⁵ Both groups would find “new motives for cohesion, mutual confidence, intimacy, and patriotic union.” ²⁶ Foreign nations, for their part, would recognize the strength and glory of the French Empire, particularly that of its premier port city. In short, the value of the French colonial project and the progress achieved in the French colonies would be incontrovertibly substantiated.

Alongside intangible imperial ideology, however, the “object lesson” provided a much-needed opportunity to promote imperialism’s concrete benefits. In the closing decades of the nineteenth century, both import and export traffic through Marseille’s port had notably declined. Although it continued to be France’s most important port city, Marseille faced increasing competition with other Mediterranean ports, particularly Genoa, for trade with the French colonies. The opening of the Suez Canal in 1869 had provided Marseille with a faster route to Asian countries, but the decreasing costs of steamship travel neutralized its benefits, as ships could go directly to other ports rather than docking in Marseille and shipping their goods overland. In addition, improved transportation through the Alps changed overland routes to Central Europe, favoring Italian ports. ²⁷ Annual traffic in Marseille’s port continued to increase, but at a slower rate than its competitors: at the turn of the century, the port had fallen from being the fourth most-important port globally to occupying the seventh position. ²⁸ An economic depression in the 1880s–1890s, along with unrest among the dockworkers, further exacerbated the sense of crisis in the city. ²⁹ As one Marseillais journalist declared after the city council approved the Exposition, it was imperative that Marseille “neglect nothing to bring attention back to her coast” and the Exposition would surely “call the attention of foreigners to our great port of commerce [and] bring back the important traffic of the olden days.” ³⁰ It was not sufficient to laud the progress accomplished in the empire simply so that French visitors could feel supportive of their government’s investment in overseas territories. Rather, as the Marseillais journalist argued and Charles-Roux agreed, it was essential that the nation recognize Marseille as “the principal pivot, the fulcrum, of the economic life of our country” and “the great door through which the products of our beautiful colonies enter.” ³¹ Thus, strengthening colonial networks—with Marseille at their center—was not an abstract goal motivated by nationalist ideals, but one that would have direct material benefits for the city. ³²

If Jules Charles-Roux and Édouard Heckel had local interests at heart in formulating the Colonial Exposition, their aims were no less imperial. In expressing their hopes for increased contact and communication between the metropole and the colonies, the committee was not creating a smokescreen for the “real” goal of municipal development. Rather, as historian John F. Laffey argues, city leaders in Marseille, including Charles-Roux, had actively furthered colonial expansion throughout the nineteenth century, in hopes of benefiting their nation and their city simultaneously, without seeing a tension between promoting both. ³³ Charles-Roux, in particular, had played a prominent role in the parti colonial, had served on the board of directors of the Suez Canal Company, promoted trade interests in the colonies through Marseille’s Chamber of Commerce and as president of the Union Coloniale, and had acted as the commissary of the colonial exhibit at the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris. ³⁴ In short, dual promotion of imperial and municipal interests was his life’s driving ambition.

The organizers’ view of the goals and significance of the event is visible in the two principal posters produced to advertise the Colonial Exposition. A year before the inauguration of the Exposition, the Publicity Committee hired the Marseillais artist David Dellepiane to create the main image that would represent the Exposition in train stations, newspapers, and guidebooks across France and abroad (Figure 1). ³⁵ In the image, a sailboat containing twelve individuals, modeled after a Polynesian pirogue from France’s Pacific colonies, approaches Marseille’s Vieux Port, recognizable by its distinctive skyline. Each of the figures represents one of the “racial types” of France’s colonies. The distinctive headdress and striped garment of a male figure in the foreground, for example, identifies him as Malagasy. One journalist applauded the poster as admirably encapsulating the essence of the exhibition:

It is difficult, indeed, to synthesize the idea of the Exposition of 1906 under a more attractive or simultaneously artistic aspect. . . All the types of France, yellow and black, are represented there in an enticing collage of colors and costumes, all eyes fixed on the entrance to our ports; it is truly “The march of the Colonies towards Marseille.” ³⁶

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Figure 1.

Advertisement for the Colonial Exposition (AMVM 7Fi29).

As the journalist noted, the image visually links the colonies and the city of Marseille. Although the official title of the exposition was “L’Exposition coloniale nationale de Marseille,” Dellepiane did not include the modifier “national” in the image. Furthermore, the colonial peoples are certainly encountering France, but its presentation is distinctly Marseillais. Rather than using Marianne or another symbol of French Republicanism to represent the French nation, the artist pairs the visitors with the silhouette of Marseille’s Cathédral de la Major on the left side of the image, the Fort Saint-Jean and Fort Saint-Nicolas, which guard either side of the Vieux Port, in the middle, and the towering Basilique Notre-Dame de la Garde, the city’s unofficial symbol, on the right side. As the colonial subjects arrive in France, Marseille serves as the gateway through which they are connected to the “mother country.” The inclusion of the skyline also provides a further draw to the Exposition, presenting the city as an attractive travel destination. The close perspective of the print, where the viewer is placed just behind the group of figures, suggests that the viewer is also a tourist captivated by the colonial city.

The other principal poster also highlights the important role played by Marseille in the empire by combining a group of colonial subjects with the city skyline (Figure 2). Used as an advertisement for special trains stopping at Marseille for the Exposition, as well as on the cover of the Official Guide to the Colonial Exposition, the image depicts four individuals: a Cambodian woman, an Arab man, a Vietnamese man, and a sub-Saharan African man. ³⁷ The poster borrows from a contemporary trope of depicting “the world” as four people arranged around a globe (typically stylized figures representing Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Americas, though the exact composition varied). ³⁸ In advertising, the trope served to prove the universal value of a product. In the Exposition poster, however, the figures are again framed against the Marseille skyline rather than a globe, suggesting that Marseille was the place that united the diverse peoples and lands of the French Empire. By including representatives of the “four corners of the globe”—alongside clusters of tropical fruit, plants, and a parrot scattered about their feet—the image also subtly certified that the Colonial Exposition was comprehensive: all of France’s far-flung colonies were represented, and a visitor could expect to see a diverse array of colonial peoples and products.

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Figure 2.

Private collection of Jean-Marie Milleliri.

A third poster, advertising Algeria’s participation in the exposition, continued the theme of Marseille uniting France and the colonies. ³⁹ In this image, Algeria is represented by a dark-haired woman dressed in exotic clothing and wearing elaborate jewelry, standing in a boat that approaches the Marseille shoreline. Holding a billowing French flag above her head and smiling eagerly at the viewer, she seems to have found the “new motives for . . . patriotic union” that the Exposition’s organizers had prophesied. ⁴⁰ The violence and oppression inherent in colonization are completely absent from this poster; the Algerian woman is but too glad to call France her “mother country.” Furthermore, the French national flag notwithstanding, Marseille’s role as the meeting point of metropole and colony is still clear: the cityscape fills the background and the label once again omits to identify the exposition as “national.”

In addition to images, the Marseillais organizers promoted the Exposition by explicitly connecting Marseille’s suitability as a host city to its reputation as the “colonial city par excellence.” ⁴¹ This designation seemed to have both a physical aspect—referencing the constant flow of trade, travelers, and immigrants between the city and the colonies—but also an intangible one, implying that Marseille’s culture was in some sense “colonial.” Detractors and devotees alike agreed that the “ambiance of Marseille is colonial,” as Henri Malo, secretary of the organizing committee, put it. ⁴² The exact meaning of this phrase was ambiguous. Malo pointed to the environmental features of the city, citing the sun, “its brilliance yet untarnished by the mists of colder climates,” and “the Mediterranean breezes still carrying the impalpable molecules of the African continent.” ⁴³ Marseille’s geographic proximity to the North African coast had long prompted an association between the city and the North African colonies. ⁴⁴ Its Mediterranean climate, which differed from most of mainland France, also suggested comparisons with the Maghreb. Thus, although the city’s environmental features were far from analogous with sub-Saharan Africa, the Indochinese tropical forest, or many other of the climatic zones across the French colonies, Malo considered the city’s climate to be sufficiently exotic to be termed “colonial.”

The term also called to mind the purportedly “colonial” demographics of the city. The former minister of the colonies, Gaston Doumergue, in a commentary on the Exposition published shortly before its opening, pointed to the racial composition of the city’s inhabitants, arguing that the citizens of Marseille saw “exotics, Blacks, Yellows, and parrots” every day. ⁴⁵ Even as Doumergue was presenting the city’s ethnic diversity as a positive feature that qualified it to host a colonial exposition, his comments were simultaneously disdainful: the value clearly lay not in the blend of cultures, but simply in the fact that Marseille had people and animals who looked as though they came from the colonies and could give the city a “colonial ambiance.” Indeed, though records testify that the permanent immigrant population before World War I derived predominantly from Italy, not the colonies, colonial subjects frequently entered the port city as undocumented residents, temporary workers, or travelers moving on to other locales; official censuses thus fail to fully represent the flow of migration through the city. ⁴⁶ Regardless of the precise demographics, the statement underlines the image of the city as an exotic blend of foreign cultures, goods, and animals. As with the climatic features of the city, popular perception was more important than literal conditions. Furthermore, most writers drawing upon the theme of the “colonial city” did not point to specific features of the city at all; while Marseille’s ambiance is frequently invoked, it is rarely explained, suggesting that contemporary readers did not need to be convinced of the city’s colonial character.

Observers both within Marseille and outside of it understood Marseille’s coloniality in distinct contrast to Paris. Although regional identification was acquiring new vigor across France in reaction to the centralizing efforts of the government, the rivalry between Marseille and Paris was particularly notorious. ⁴⁷ Gaston Doumergue explicitly compared the two cities in his comments on the forthcoming Exposition. He noted that many people had expressed doubts to him about the value of a colonial exposition in Marseille. If Marseille was colonial already, then “the spectacle won’t mean anything to them. . . . There is no point in this Exposition at Marseille.” In some sense, to outsiders, Marseille already was a colonial exposition. If fin-de-siècle Parisians increasingly viewed everyday life as a spectacle, as Vanessa Schwartz argues, then Marseille was a particular kind of spectacle, embodying the colonial with no need for specialized exhibits. ⁴⁸ Doumergue dismissed this objection, arguing that the city’s colonial ambiance was the very reason why no other place was “more fitting for a colonial Exposition than the city of Marseille.” In Paris, the public was “too attached to the picturesque and the frivolous . . . [Attraction] should have its place, but it is only accessory. At Paris, it would have been essential.” ⁴⁹ While the appeal of a Colonial Exposition for Parisians would have been the exoticism of the production, Marseille’s prior cultural connection to the colonies meant that a sensationalized depiction of the empire was both unnecessary and undesirable, as attractions created purely for spectacle might distract from the real purpose of the event. Thus, the city was inherently better positioned for the production of a serious and authentic Exposition.

If Marseille’s coloniality provided the justification for hosting a colonial exposition, the event was also an opportunity to cement the city’s role as the “colonial capital of France.” ⁵⁰ While Paris was France’s unquestioned imperial capital—the locus of governmental power and authority—Marseille, as the contact zone between the metropole and the colonies, could fill a role that Paris could not. By establishing the city’s own sphere of influence, the Exposition served to redeem the city’s colonial associations, which were not entirely positive, as Doumergue’s dismissive comments illustrate.

Although not all observers saw Marseille as the ideal location for a Colonial Exposition, neither did they consider the city to be irrelevant to the production of the event. One Parisian newspaper, while commenting on the general silence of the Parisian press on the subject of the Exposition, lamented that the Exposition’s location in Marseille doomed it to obscurity. While insisting that the event had been “marvelously achieved,” he argued that

transported to Paris, the Colonial Exposition would lose a part of this exotic character that is one of its charms: the whiteness of its palaces would be less brilliant, the vegetation could no longer contribute in giving a moment of illusion of the Orient . . . and yet it would still obtain an immediate and justified success. But alas! It is not in Paris, nor in Liege, Milan, or Chicago, it is in Marseille, and that is a reason for mistrust. ⁵¹

Although he regretted the prejudice that would diminish the number of visitors to the Exposition, as the public did not view Marseille as an equal among other major cities in Europe or the United States, the journalist ultimately agreed with the organizers that an authentic Colonial Exposition could not have been created outside of Marseille.

Constructing Authenticity

In order to demonstrate the validity of a national exposition held outside of Paris, Charles-Roux and Heckel strove to connect the intangible “colonial ambiance” of their city to concrete, scientific metrics that could prove the authenticity of their event. By gathering statistics on resource production, conducting ethnographic studies, commissioning geographic expeditions, and consulting colonial experts, they attempted to create a genuine exposition systematically. ⁵² They insisted that individual exhibitors meet certain standards of “objective” accuracy. The subcommittees that represented each colony, for example, composed of colonial officials and other prominent settlers, were required to conduct research in their territories to ensure that their displays would rest “on an absolutely serious foundation.” ⁵³ Officially, at any rate, the committee was committed to an empirical basis for the exhibits that would demonstrate their serious attention to contemporary expectations of scientific rigor.

Simultaneously, the organizers relied on visitors’ popular perceptions of the non-Western world to validate the authenticity of their displays. Despite the committee’s pride in the rigor of the research that underlay the exhibits, the impression of authenticity could not be obtained systematically; it required recognition by the audience. As with Marseille’s identification as “the colonial city,” concrete factors were less important than an abstract “ambiance.” For the average French citizen, whose experience with non-European peoples was likely limited to popular Orientalist literature and images, such as Gustave Flaubert’s travel account, Voyage en Égypte, or the work of Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, who painted multiple putatively Middle Eastern scenes, though he never left France, representations needed to contain recognizable racial types and popular stereotypes about the colonies to be read as “authentic.” ⁵⁴

Although the unquestioning acceptance of commonly held ideas about colonized territories and people seems to contradict the scientific approach explicitly advocated by the commissioners, the two criteria had worked in tandem in the production of past expositions. ⁵⁵ Indeed, these two markers of authenticity—systematic study combined with an intangible ambiance—can be separated for the purpose of analysis but in practice were indistinguishable. A belief in the essential value of French colonization and its civilizing mission—as serving to uplift civilizations that were supposedly lower in the racial hierarchy than the French—shaped the knowledge the committees produced. ⁵⁶ Seeking to justify their hierarchical arrangement of humanity, their aims informed their conclusions. Thus, the science on which the Exposition organizers relied was both produced by and productive of racialized, essentialist views of the colonies. ⁵⁷ Whether the committees obtained knowledge through “scientific” means or gathered it from popular beliefs, the data they produced were equally self-serving and uncritical.

Furthermore, as Timothy Mitchell argues, “The representation of the Orient obeyed, inevitably, this problematic and unrecognized logic, a logic determined not by any intellectual failure of the European mind but by its search for the certainty of representation—for an effect called ‘reality.’” ⁵⁸ Both the insistence on systematic study and the assurance that the reality must match preconceived expectations were sustained by the belief that the “reality” of representation could and must be achieved.

The physical arrangement of the ninety-acre exposition plot in south Marseille and the design of the more than fifty pavilions, representing individual colonies, industries, and businesses, exemplify the committee’s use of colonial knowledge-gathering in planning the Exposition. ⁵⁹ The grounds themselves, formerly military parade grounds, were chosen for their close proximity to the city center; preexisting tramlines allowed tourists to make “the voyage” to the Exposition from the train station in just ten minutes, and even less from the Vieux Port, the heart of the city. ⁶⁰ Although the distribution of the pavilions across the exhibition grounds may seem intuitive—grouping the Indochinese colonies together, for example—these decisions reflect colonial knowledge systems rather than innate realities (Figure 3). As Panivong Norindr explores in detail, “Indochina” was a French colonial construct, not a reflection of the historic division of southeast Asian territory by its inhabitants. ⁶¹ Grouping the Cochinchinese, Cambodian, Tonkinese, Annamite, and Laotian pavilions together thus made an implicit argument for the French imperial vision of territory.

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Figure 3.

Plan of the exposition (Commemorative Album, ADBR, PHI 427/1).

Similarly, the size and position of the Palace of Exportation are striking, leaving no room for doubt about the promotional goals of the Exposition. As one Marseillais journalist explained, the arrangement of any exposition was designed to “illuminate” the “characteristic fact” that shaped its production. In the case of the 1906 Colonial Exposition, a large avenue led the visitor straight from the entrance to the Palace of Exportation, which was by far the largest building on the grounds. Although the avenue was flanked with colonial buildings to educate and attract the public, the prominence of the trade pavilion reminded visitors that “[commercial] exchange” was the “master idea” underpinning both the event and the French colonial project more generally. ⁶² If Heckel and Charles-Roux hoped that the Exposition would be educational for the public, a key part of that education was clearly a better knowledge of the products produced in and shipped from the city, with the goal of attracting potential investors and customers.

To further convey an authentic French vision of the world, the Exposition Committee required that each colonial pavilion be either an “exact” reproduction of a particular colonial landmark or reflect a composite of typical regional styles. ⁶³ The committee hired architects who had “a deep knowledge of the style and customs of the Orientals,” whether by long-term residence in a particular colony or through research trips undertaken for the express purpose of gathering details that would give the buildings “the authentic allure that is their principal charm.” ⁶⁴ Even while they required a demonstrable level of expertise, however, the organizers were still primarily interested in the “allure” of authenticity. The structures were only facades: visitors could imagine they were in Tonkin (Vietnam) while viewing the pavilion from the outside, which was a reproduction of a temple, but once inside, they entered a space that more closely resembled a museum or trade fair, with orderly glass cases and informational plaques on life in the colony. The exoticism of the exterior served to attract visitors, while the modern interior implicitly reminded visitors that the exotic was contained, under the careful control of French authority.

Although the colonial pavilions contributed to the “allure” of the Exposition, the organizers also expected that the facades themselves would be educational for visitors. Contemporary theories of human geography supported this assumption. Geographer Paul Vidal de la Blache, for example, writing a few years after the Colonial Exposition, posited that every culture developed through the interaction of humans with their environment, and their physical environmental adaptations reflected their culture. Thus, the local architecture indicated the “comparative evolution of a given human group,” allowing viewers to learn about a culture and place it on a scale of human development simply through the observation of its buildings. ⁶⁵ Indeed, one guide to the Colonial Exposition, published by a local Marseille printer, claimed that “the Cambodian pavilion, which is the reproduction of one of the famous pagodas of Angkor, certainly gives Westerners the highest degree of understanding of the foreign construction of the lands of the Rising Sun.” ⁶⁶ Simply by observing the architecture of one pavilion, proponents of the Exposition suggested, viewers would develop a thorough understanding of the Indochinese structural landscape.

Reviewers testified even more boldly concerning the West African section, suggesting that the synthetic architecture fully embodied the character of African peoples. The main pavilion, a massive structure covered in brilliant red earth, was a composite of architectural styles, rather than the reproduction of a particular monument, but nonetheless was praised for its authenticity (Figure 4). Le Petit Marseillais went so far as to proclaim that “one could not translate more exactly the character of the Mosque of Sankoré.” ⁶⁷ The Guide Azur was similarly effusive in its description of the pavilion:

Even for those who know nothing, the West African pavilion, a kind of highly primitive castle with earthen walls, arrow slits, and a fierce, 40-meter-high tower, evokes the warring life of the peoples of central Africa, their perpetual conflicts and numerous bloody dramas provoked by the jealousy of the innumerable rulers of these countries that are unfortunately still so backwards. This work, owed to M. Deglane, is inspired by constructions in Timbuktu and translates the character of a Sankoré mosque. ⁶⁸

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Figure 4.

West African pavilion (Commemorative Album, ADBR, PHI 427/1).

If the design of the Cambodian pavilion was expected to give ignorant Europeans a thorough knowledge of Cambodian architecture, the guide suggested, the design of the West African pavilion could even teach visitors about the history and culture of the region. The guide exemplifies the racial stereotypes pervading all of the displays at the Exposition, however: the building reaffirmed the image of Africans as primitive and brutal, unable to live at peace without French influence. In that sense, the architecture certainly was instructive; even before viewing the didactic displays inside the pavilion, visitors were already absorbing messages about the relative positions of French and colonized civilizations in the human hierarchy.

The didactic element in the exhibits reinforced the need for authenticity. The organizers believed that verisimilitude provided the key to effectively delivering a leçon des choses that served their purposes—that is, to inspire consumption of colonial ideologies and colonial products. This was not a unique idea; the French architect Albert Robida had relied on a similar strategy when he created a reproduction of Le Vieux Paris for the 1900 Exposition Universelle. In order to instill a sense of connection to the historic city in the public—with the ultimate goal of winning their support for his efforts at urban conservation—Robida “fus[ed] popular entertainment with scholarship” to produce a bona fide model city. ⁶⁹ Like Heckel and Charles-Roux, Robida felt that the authentic quality of the exhibit was essential to teaching the public this lesson.

The newspaper and guidebook reviews of the pavilions in the West African section and others, however, reveal that an “authentic” or even “exact” representation did not necessarily mean an actual duplicate of the original structure. In the case of the West African section, there was even some confusion over the structures the buildings were supposed to represent. According to the report published by the Exposition committee, the central pavilion was based on West African fortresses, while a side building, used as a theater, was inspired by a mosque from French Soudan (Mali). Different accounts confidently described the buildings otherwise, however: Le Petit Marseillais referred to both structures as mosques and the Guide Azur identified the main building as both a fortress and a replica of the Sankoré Mosque in Timbuktu. A quick comparison between the Exposition buildings and Timbuktu’s mosques reveals that the central pavilion was not a replica of any of them. Although the West African Theatre does bear some resemblance to the Sankoré Mosque, it is certainly not an “exact” representation. As photos of many of the reproduced monuments were available for sale inside the pavilions, allowing visitors to make their own comparisons, ignorance may not be the best explanation for the confusion. Rather, it may be that precise identification was not necessary for the sense of exactness, because the original monuments were not as important as their representation.

The amalgam of styles also highlights that French architects judged which features were most salient to the region’s architectural profile without reference to the cultural meanings of the different structures. One perceptive journalist made no claim that the West African pavilion was an “exact” reproduction, admitting that “the solitudes of Africa have never seen the likes of it,” but argued that the composite served its own purpose, as “by the simplicity of its lines and above all by the savage aspect given by the beaten earth and the thatched roofs, it synthesizes and embellishes all the architectural spirit of [the region].” ⁷⁰ In the absence of a building that the architects deemed striking enough to merit reproduction, they could produce a pavilion that was equally “authentic,” as it still had the “savage aspect” that French visitors expected.

Alternatively, the replication of particular details also worked to prove the authenticity of the entire structure. As Isabelle Flour argues, reproductions of Angkor Wat, a Cambodian temple that figured at both the 1906 Exposition and other French expositions throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, were considered “accurate” because of the use of plaster casts to reproduce its ornamentation (Figure 5). ⁷¹ The 1906 replica differed significantly in structure from the real monument but there was no suggestion by either the organizers or the viewers of the exposition that structural deviation inhibited their goal; commentators repeatedly describe the reproduction of Angkor Wat and the other pavilions as “exact” recreations. ⁷² As with the requirement that the architects take research trips and compile reports before designing the pavilions, the “objective” accuracy of the casting process allowed the organizing committee to tout the authenticity of the structure.

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Figure 5.

Reproduction of Angkor Wat (Commemorative Album, ADBR, PHI 427/1).

Just as frequently, however, observers cited subjective impressions rather than putatively empirical factors as the source of authenticity, often with reference to the effect of Marseille’s colonial atmosphere. After seeing the Algerian pavilion—an amalgam of various mosques from Oran—one writer remarked that

one believes oneself to be transported to the very heart of this part of our colonial empire that is called the extension of France. Nothing is missing: The Arab sellers enveloped in their white burnous, the brilliant garb of the proud spahis, the beautiful Mediterranean sky: all works together to give the illusion of life in this beautiful land. ⁷³

In saying “nothing is missing,” of course, the writer is speaking in hyperbole; he did not actually believe that he was in Algeria or that everything from Algeria was present in Marseille. Rather, nothing was missing that he considered essential to represent Algeria. For the writer, a few classically Orientalist elements—Arab workers in burnous, minarets, Marseille’s exotic climate—sufficed to represent the entire colony.

Indeed, the construction of modern buildings and other signs of French colonization in Algeria meant that the real colony would not match the writer’s essentialized vision of it. ⁷⁴ Expositions themselves contributed to the hybridization of French colonial culture and to the consequent reshaping of the built environment in the colonies. As at expositions, architects in the colonies sought to preserve what they deemed valuable and “essential” in the representation of a particular culture while melding it with the blessings of French civilization and modernity. Colonial cities—particularly their European quarters—often changed significantly in the course of colonization. ⁷⁵ The “beautiful land” described in the guide existed in the author’s imagination only.

While the Marseillais organizers and reviewers continually proclaimed the accuracy of the pavilions, the architects only reproduced selective elements of monuments. For instance, the description of the Algerian pavilion does not mention that the mosque was a facade; like all the other pavilions, the interior was furnished with product displays, art, information panels on the history of colonization in Algeria, machinery, and even the reproduction of another Algerian landmark, the ruins of the Roman city of Timgad. For the designers of the pavilions, the inside of the mosque and its spiritual purpose were not considered essential to accurate reproduction. Only the outside was necessary to create the “illusion of life” in Algeria. Like the exterior ornamentation made from plaster casts to recreate Angkor Wat, even hollow exteriors could be authentic if the public recognized them as such.

Not all visitors found the Colonial Exposition to be as genuine as it claimed, however. One writer, in particular, in an anonymous opinion piece published in the Algiers-based journal Annales Africaines, described the Algerian pavilion as “a bad reproduction” of the “shapeless building” built for the 1900 Universal Exposition, rather than a convincing mosque capable of virtually transporting viewers to the Maghreb. He further claimed that the committee directing the reproduction of the Tunisian souks had not recruited true native artisans, but instead had hired peddlers who sold “Tunisian carpets made in Germany” and “Tunisian jewels furnished by Austria.” ⁷⁶ Although the anonymous critic was not impressed with the results of the organizers’ efforts, he shared their concern with the accuracy of the Colonial Exposition; for both, a visibly inauthentic exposition was a failed exposition. However, if his claims were accurate, they suggest that the organizers were willing to allow exhibits that were not completely accurate if they served to attract tourists to the city and increase the economic benefits of the Exposition.

The disgruntled writer also recognized the other central conceit of the organizing committee: elevating the city of Marseille. He declared,

Marseille has her Exhibition. Because Marseille, eighth wonder of the world, in which Paris is only a simple parish, could not tolerate the French Colonies constructing muddy pavilions on her soil, though that would be fitting for them. No; the seven million spent by the various Colonies, the constructions, the riches brought from the Far East, from Madagascar, from West Africa, from Oceania and North Africa, the Cambodian dancers, the Annamite theatre, the priests of Mohammed, the elephants, the camels, etc.—all that is Marseillais, and nothing but Marseillais. It’s Marseille that has done everything. Messieurs the Marseillais directors aren’t sending us to say this. At the beginning, when they didn’t know yet what would come next, the prudent citizens of Marseille were reserved: they spoke of the colonial Exhibition. Now that . . . the success is affirmed . . ., the colonies have disappeared, the colonies don’t exist anymore: “Enter, ladies, and gentlemen, come see OUR EXHIBITION OF MARSEILLE!” ⁷⁷

While he is certainly not praising the Exposition for its inseparability from the city, the author’s language parallels Mayor Chanot’s speech at the inauguration of the Exposition, who proclaimed that

it must be said, it must be cried aloud, that it is Marseille herself, with the support of the colonies, which has made her Exposition. . . . The Colonial Exposition is uniquely owed to Marseille, that is, to all who feel, all who think, all who live—to all who can live—by Marseille and for Marseille. ⁷⁸

Though the mayor wished to laud the accomplishment of the city, and while the writer of the editorial disdained it as pretentious and provincial, both agreed that the Colonial Exposition would have been different in any other city. For both critics and admirers, the authenticity of the Colonial Exposition and its location in Marseille were central to its significance.

Conclusion

Marseille’s 1906 exposition holds the distinction of being the first National French Colonial Exposition, but it has largely been eclipsed by those that followed. French colonial expositions grew in size and extravagance, culminating in the spectacular 1931 International Colonial Exposition in Paris. The event included dozens of pavilions spread over more than five hundred acres and attracted around five times as many visitors as the 1906 exposition. ⁷⁹ If the goal of the Marseille Exposition consisted solely in bringing attention and praise to national-imperial achievements in the French Empire, its success pales in comparison with the Paris event. The 1906 Exposition was significantly smaller, drew far fewer visitors, and, if we can believe the frequent complaints in Marseillais newspapers, received very little attention from outside of the city. ⁸⁰

However, by relocating the history of the Colonial Exposition in its urban context—the port city of Marseille—a different set of metrics for success surfaces. Charles-Roux, Heckel, and their compatriots seized upon the idea of a colonial exposition as a means to promote their city and advance their own economic interests in the empire. They strove to produce a successful exposition not only to bring praise to France but to reveal Marseille’s particular value and unique place in the empire. To earn the respect of observers in Paris and elsewhere, they emphasized the authenticity of their exhibition, demonstrating its accuracy in terms of contemporary standards and expectations, as well as by emphasizing Marseille’s coloniality. By realizing these goals, they believed they could rectify the perceptions of outsiders and prove that “the colonial capital” played a crucial role in French importation and industry.

In the immediate wake of the Exposition, the organizers deemed the event to be a resounding success. Thoroughly pleased by the number of visitors and the revenue the Exposition generated, they began planning the next Colonial Exposition without delay. ⁸¹ In terms of their bigger goals, however, the success of the Exposition is less certain. The Marseille economy does not seem to have attained the level of growth anticipated by Charles-Roux: traffic to the port continued to decrease, particularly after World War I, and Marseille failed to become France’s industrial center. ⁸²

In terms of the city’s national reputation, the Exposition’s success is also dubious. Marseille continued to be considered the “colonial city,” but lost the positive connotations of this term intended by the Exposition organizers in 1906. The population of immigrants and children of immigrants continued to grow, particularly from the French colonies, and the city’s culture has grown ever more diverse. In the postcolonial period, these ties to former colonies are less welcome. Marseille is considered to be dangerous or even less than fully French. ⁸³ For a country wishing to close the door on its colonial past, perhaps it is easier to cut off Marseille from the French nation than to acknowledge that its demographics and culture are not un-French but a natural and ongoing result of a century and a half of French colonization. ⁸⁴

In 1906, French administrators, politicians, merchants, medical scholars, and other elites intentionally cultivated those ties to the colonies that today are considered unappealing. To contemporary actors, it was perfectly plausible that Marseille could be simultaneously metropolitan and colonial, without being accused of being less than fully French. This is not to suggest that Marseille elites at the fin-de-siècle embraced colonial residents as fellow citizens or that colonialism did not produce inequalities and differentiation by definition. However, if France’s colonial past is to be acknowledged, surely recognizing the source of its present cultural diversity is part of that process. Marseille’s hybrid culture was once considered a strength and an asset; perhaps one day it will be considered so again.