A Parisian _Pension_—The Widow of Walewska—Napoleon’s
Daughter-in-Law—The Changeless—A Moral and Orderly City
I
I have said that I knew the widow of Walewska, the natural son of
Napoleon Bonaparte by the Polish countess he picked up in Warsaw, who
followed him to Paris; and thereby hangs a tale which may not be
without interest.
In each of our many sojourns in Paris my wife and I had taken an
apartment, living the while in the restaurants, at first the cheaper,
like the Café de Progress and the Duval places; then the Boeuf à la
Mode, the Café Voisin and the Café Anglais, with Champoux’s, in the
Place de la Bourse, for a regular luncheon resort.
At length, the children something more than half grown, I said: “We
have never tried a Paris _pension_.”
So with a half dozen recommended addresses we set out on a house hunt.
We had not gone far when our search was rewarded by a veritable find.
This was on the Avenue de Courcelles, not far from the Pare Monceau;
newly furnished; reasonable charges; the lady manager a beautiful
well-mannered woman, half Scotch and half French.
We moved in. When dinner was called the boarders assembled in the very
elegant drawing-room. Madame presented us to Baron ——. Then followed
introductions to Madame la Duchesse and Madame la Princesse and Madame
la Comtesse. Then the folding doors opened and dinner was announced.
The baron sat at the center of the table. The meal consisted of eight
or ten courses, served as if at a private house, and of surpassing
quality. During the three months that we remained there was no evidence
of a boarding house. It appeared an aristocratic family into which we
had been hospitably admitted. The baron was a delightful person. Madame
la Duchesse was the mother of Madame la Princesse, and both were
charming. The Comtesse, the Napoleonic widow, was at first a little
formal, but she came round after we had got acquainted, and, when we
took our departure, it was like leaving a veritable domestic circle.
Years after we had the sequel. The baron, a poor young nobleman, had
come into a little money. He thought to make it breed. He had an
equally poor Scotch cousin, who undertook to play hostess. Both the
Duchess and the Countess were his kinswomen. How could such a ménage
last?
He lost his all. What became of our fellow-lodgers I never learned, but
the venture coming to naught, the last I heard of the beautiful
high-bred lady manager, she was serving as a stewardess on an ocean
liner. Nothing, however, could exceed the luxury, the felicity and the
good company of those memorable three months _chez l’Avenue de
Courcelles, Pare Monceau_.
We never tried a _pension_ again. We chose a delightful hotel in the
Rue de Castiglione off the Rue de Rivoli, and remained there as
fixtures until we were reckoned the oldest inhabitants. But we never
deserted the dear old Boeuf à la Mode, which we lived to see one of the
most flourishing and popular places in Paris.