of France passed through our rooms. People generally came early--by ten
o'clock the rooms were quite full. Every one was announced, and it was
most interesting to hear the names of all the celebrities in every
branch of art and science. It was only a fleeting impression, as the
guests merely spoke to me at the door and passed on. In those days,
hardly any one shook hands unless they were fairly intimate--the men
never. They made me low bows some distance off and rarely stopped to
exchange a few words with me. Some of the women, not many, shook hands.
It was a fatiguing evening, as I stood so long, and a procession of
strangers passed before me. The receptions finished early--every one had
gone by eleven o'clock except a few loiterers at the buffet. There are
always a certain number of people at the big official receptions whose
principal object in coming seems to be to make a comfortable meal. The
servants always told me there was nothing left after a big party. There
were no invitations--the reception was announced in the papers, so any
one who felt he had the slightest claim upon the minister appeared at
the party. Some of the dresses were funny, but there was nothing
eccentric--no women in hats, carrying babies in their arms, such as one
used to see in the old days in America at the President's reception at
the White House, Washington--some very simple black silk dresses hardly
low--and of course a great many pretty women very well dressed. Some of
my American friends often came with true American curiosity, wanting to
see a phase of French life which was quite novel to them.
W. remained two years as Minister of Public Instruction, and my life
became at once very interesting, very full. We didn't live at the
ministry--it was not really necessary. All the work was over before
dinner, except the "signatures," which W. could do just as well in his
library at home. We went over and inspected the Hôtel du Ministère in
the rue de Grenelle before we made our final decision, but it was not
really tempting. There were fine reception-rooms and a pretty garden,
but the living-rooms were small, not numerous, and decidedly gloomy. Of
course I saw much less of W. He never came home to breakfast, except on
Sunday, as it was too far from the rue de Grenelle to the Etoile. The
Arc de Triomphe stands in the Place de l'Etoile at the top of the
Champs-Elysées. All the great avenues, Alma, Jéna, Kléber, and the
adjacent streets are known as the Quartier de l'Etoile. It was before
the days of telephones, so whenever an important communication was to be
made to him when he was at home in the evening, a dragoon galloped up
with his little black bag from which he extracted his papers. It made
quite an excitement in our quiet street the first time he arrived after
ten o'clock. We just managed our morning ride, and then there were often
people waiting to speak to W. before we started, and always when he came
back. There was a great amount of patronage attached to his ministry,
nominations to all the universities, lycées, schools, etc., and, what
was most agreeable to me, boxes at all the government theatres,--the
Grand Opera, Opéra Comique, Français, Odéon, and Conservatoire. Every
Monday morning we received the list for the week, and, after making
our own selection, distributed them to the official world
generally,--sometimes to our own personal friends. The boxes of the
Français, Opéra, and Conservatoire were much appreciated.
I went very regularly to the Sunday afternoon concerts at the
Conservatoire, where all classical music was splendidly given. They
confined themselves generally to the strictly classic, but were
beginning to play a little Schumann that year. Some of the faces of the
regular habitués became most familiar to me. There were three or four
old men with grey hair sitting in the first row of stalls (most
uncomfortable seats) who followed every note of the music, turning
around and frowning at any unfortunate person in a box who dropped a fan
or an opera-glass. It was funny to hear the hum of satisfaction when any
well-known movement of Beethoven or Mozart was attacked. The orchestra
was perfect, at its best I think in the "scherzos" which they took in
beautiful style--so light and sure. I liked the instrumental part much
better than the singing. French voices, the women's particularly, are
thin, as a rule. I think they sacrifice too much to the
"diction,"--don't bring out the voices enough--but the style and
training are perfect of their kind.
The Conservatoire is quite as much a social feature as a school of
music. It was the thing to do on Sunday afternoon. No invitation was
more appreciated, as it was almost impossible to have places unless one
was invited by a friend. All the boxes and seats (the hall is small)
belong to subscribers and have done so for one or two generations. Many
marriages are made there. There are very few theatres in Paris to which
girls can be taken, but the Opéra Comique and the Conservatoire are very
favourite resorts. When a marriage is pending the young lady, very well
dressed (always in the simplest tenue de jeune fille) is taken to the
Conservatoire or the Opéra Comique by her father and mother, and very
often her grandmother. She sits in front of the box and the young man in
the stalls, where he can study his future wife without committing
himself. The difference of dress between the jeune fille and the jeune
femme is very strongly marked in France. The French girl never wears
lace or jewels or feathers or heavy material of any kind, quite unlike
her English or American contemporaries, who wear what they like. The
wedding-dress is classic, a simple, very long dress of white satin, and
generally a tulle veil over the face. When there is a handsome lace veil
in the family, the bride sometimes wears it, but no lace on her dress.
The first thing the young married woman does is to wear a very long
velvet dress with feathers in her hair.
I think on the whole the arranged marriages turn out as well as any
others. They are generally made by people of the same monde, accustomed
to the same way of living, and the fortunes as nearly alike as possible.
Everything is calculated. The young couple usually spend the summer with
parents or parents-in-law, in the château, and I know some cases where
there are curious details about the number of lamps that can be lighted
in their rooms, and the use of the carriage on certain days. I am
speaking of course of purely French marriages. To my American ideas it
seemed very strange when I first came to Europe, but a long residence in
a foreign country certainly modifies one's impressions. Years ago, when
we were living in Rome, four sisters, before any of us were married, a
charming Frenchwoman, Duchesse de B., who came often to the house, was
very worried about this family of girls, all very happy at home and
contented with their lives. It was quite true we danced and hunted and
made a great deal of music, without ever troubling ourselves about the
future. The duchesse couldn't understand it, used often to talk to
mother very seriously. She came one day with a proposal of marriage--a
charming man, a Frenchman, not too young, with a good fortune, a title,
and a château, had seen Madam King's daughters in the ballroom and
hunting-field, and would very much like to be presented and make his
cour. "Which one?" we naturally asked, but the answer was vague. It
sounded so curiously impersonal that we could hardly take it seriously.
However, we suggested that the young man should come and each one of the
four would show off her particular talent. One would play and one would
sing (rather like the song in the children's book, "one could dance and
one could sing, and one could play the violin"), and the third, the
polyglot of the family, could speak several languages. We were rather
puzzled as to what my eldest sister could do, as she was not very
sociable and never spoke to strangers if she could help it, so we
decided she must be very well dressed and preside at the tea-table
behind an old-fashioned silver urn that we always used--looking like a
stately maîtresse de maison receiving her guests. We confided all these
plans to the duchesse, but she was quite put out with us, wouldn't bring
the young man nor tell us his name. We never knew who he was. Since I
have been a Frenchwoman (devant la loi)--I think all Americans remain
American no matter where they marry,--I have interested myself three or
four times in made marriages, which have generally turned out well.
There were very few Americans married in France all those years, now
there are legions of all kinds. I don't remember any in the official
parliamentary world I lived in the first years of my marriage--nor
English either. It was absolutely French, and rather borné French. Very
few of the people, the women especially, had any knowledge or experience
of foreign countries, and didn't care to have,--France was enough
for them.
W. was very happy at the Ministry of Public Instruction,--all the
educational questions interested him so much and the tournées en
province and visits to the big schools and universities,--some of them,
in the south of France particularly, singularly wanting in the most
elementary details of hygiene and cleanliness, and it was very difficult
to make the necessary changes, giving more light, air, and space.
Routine is a powerful factor in this very conservative country, where so
many things exist simply because they have always existed. Some of his
letters from Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Montpellier were most interesting.
As a rule he was very well received and got on very well, strangely
enough, with the clergy, particularly the haut clergé, bishops and
cardinals. His being a Protestant was rather a help to him; he could
take an impartial view of things.
At Bordeaux he stayed at the Préfecture, where he was very comfortable,
but the days were fatiguing. He said he hadn't worked so hard for years.
He started at nine in the morning, visiting schools and universities,
came home to breakfast at twelve, and immediately after had a small
reception, rectors, professors, and people connected with the schools he
wanted to talk to, at three started again seeing more schools and going
conscientiously over the buildings from basement to garret,--then visits
to the cardinal, archbishop, general commanding, etc.--a big dinner and
reception in the evening, the cardinal present in his red robes, his
coadjutor in purple, the officers in uniform, and all the people
connected in any way with the university, who were pleased to see their
chief. There was a total absence of Bonapartist senators and deputies
(which was not surprising, as W. had always been in violent opposition
to the Empire), who were rather numerous in these parts. W. was really
quite exhausted when he got back to Paris--said it was absolute luxury
to sit quietly and read in his library, and not talk. It wasn't a luxury
that he enjoyed very much, for whenever he was in the house there was
always some one talking to him in his study and others waiting in the
drawing-room. Every minute of the day he was occupied. People were
always coming to ask for something for themselves or some members of
their family, always candidates for the Institute, anxiously inquiring
what their chances were, and if he had recommended them to his friends.
It is striking even in this country of functionaries (I think there are
more small public employees in France than in any other country) how
many applicants there were always for the most insignificant places--a
Frenchman loves a cap with gold braid and gilt buttons on his coat.
All the winter of 1876, which saw the end of the National Assembly and
the beginning of a new régime, was an eventful one in parliamentary
circles. I don't know if the country generally was very much excited
about a new constitution and a change of government. I don't think the
country in France (the small farmers and peasants) are ever much excited
about the form of government. As long as the crops are good and there is
no war to take away their sons and able-bodied men, they don't care,
often don't know, whether a king or an emperor is reigning over them.
They say there are some far-off villages half hidden in the forests and
mountains who still believe that a king and a Bourbon is reigning in
France. Something had to be decided; the provisoire could no longer
continue; the country could not go on without a settled government. All
the arguments and negotiations of that period have been so often told,
that I will not go into any details. The two centres, centre droit and
centre gauche, had everything in their hands as the great moderating
elements of the Assembly, but the conflicting claims of the various
parties, Legitimist, Orleanist, Bonapartist, and advanced Left, made the
question a very difficult one.
W. as a member of the Comité des Trente was very much occupied and
preoccupied. He came back generally very late from Versailles, and, when
he did dine at home, either went out again after dinner to some of the
numerous meetings at different houses or had people at home. I think the
great majority of deputies were honestly trying to do what they thought
best for the country, and when one remembers the names and personalities
on both sides--MacMahon, Broglie, d'Audiffret-Pasquier, Buffet, Dufaure,
and Thiers, Casimir Périer, Léon Say, Jules Simon, Jules Ferry,
Freycinet, and many others, it is impossible to think that any of those
men were animated by any spirit other than love of the country and an
ardent desire to see some stable government restored which would enable
France to take her place again among the great powers. Unfortunately the
difference of opinion as to the form of government made things very
difficult. Some of the young deputies, just fresh from the war and
smarting under a sense of humiliation, were very violent in their abuse
of any Royalist and particularly Bonapartist restoration.
[Illustration: Meeting of officers of the National Assembly, and of
delegates of the new Chambers, in the salon of Hercules, palace of
Versailles. From _L'Illustration_, March 11. 1876.]
IV
THE SOCIAL SIDE OF A MINISTER'S WIFE
My first big dinner at the Ministry of Public Instruction rather
intimidated me. We were fifty people--I the only lady. I went over to
the ministry in the afternoon to see the table, which was very well
arranged with quantities of flowers, beautiful Sèvres china, not much
silver--there is very little left in France, it having all been melted
at the time of the Revolution. The official dinners are always well done
in Paris. I suppose the traditions of the Empire have been handed down.
We arrived a few minutes before eight, all the staff and directors
already there, and by ten minutes after eight every one had arrived. I
sat between Gérôme, the painter, and Renan, two very different men but
each quite charming,--Gérôme tall, slight, animated, talking very easily
about everything. He told me who a great many of the people were, with a
little commentary on their profession and career which was very useful
to me, as I knew so few of them. Renan was short, stout, with a very
large head, almost unprepossessing-looking, but with a great charm of
manner and the most delightful smile and voice imaginable. He often
dined with us in our own house, en petit comité, and was always
charming. He was one of those happy mortals (there are not many) who
made every subject they discuss interesting.
After that first experience, I liked the big men's dinners very much.
There was no general conversation; I talked exclusively to my two
neighbours, but as they were always distinguished in some branch of art,
science, or literature, the talk was brilliant, and I found the hour our
dinner lasted a very short one. W. was very particular about not having
long dinners. Later, at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, where we
sometimes had eighty guests, the dinner was never over an hour. I did
not remain the whole evening at the men's dinners. As soon as they
dispersed to talk and smoke, I came away, leaving W. to entertain his
guests. We often had big receptions with music and comédie. At one of
our first big parties we had several of the Orléans family. I was rather
nervous, as I had never received royalty,--in fact I had never spoken to
a royal prince or princess. I had lived a great deal in Rome, as a girl,
during the last days of Pius IX, and I was never in Paris during the
Empire. When we went back to Rome one winter, after the accession of
King Victor Emmanuel, I found myself for the first time in a room with
royalties, the Prince and Princesse de Piémont. I remember quite well
being so surprised by seeing two of the Roman men we knew very well come
backward into the ballroom where we were sitting. I thought they must be
anticipating the Mardi Gras and were masquerading a little, didn't
realise that every one was standing. I remained sitting for a moment
(much to the horror of one of the English secretaries who was with us
and who thought we were going to make a spread-eagle American
demonstration and remain sitting when royalty appeared). However, by
some sort of instinct, we rose too (perhaps to see what was going on),
just as the princes passed. Princess Marguerite looked charming, dressed
in white, with her splendid pearls and beautiful fair hair.
When it was decided that we should ask the Orléans princes to our party,
I thought I would go to see the Duc Décazes, the foreign minister, a
charming man and charming colleague, to get some precise information
about my part of the entertainment. He couldn't think what I wanted when
I invaded his cabinet, and was much amused when I stated my case.
"There is nothing unusual in receiving the princes at a ministry. You
must do as you have always done."
"But that is just the question, I have _never done_. I have never in my
life exchanged a word with a royal personage."
"It is not possible!"
"It is absolutely true; I have never lived anywhere where there was a
court."
When he saw that I was in earnest he was as nice as possible, told me
_exactly_ what I wanted to know,--that I need not say "Altesse royale"
every time I spoke, merely occasionally, as they all like it,--that I
must speak in the third person, "Madame veut-elle," "Monseigneur veut-il
me permettre," etc., also that I must always be at the door when a
princess arrived and conduct her myself to her seat.
"But if I am at one end of the long enfilade of rooms taking the
Comtesse de Paris to her seat and another princess (Joinville or
Chartres) should arrive; what has to be done?"
"Your husband must always be at the door with his chef de cabinet, who
will replace him while he takes the princess to her place."
The Marquise de L., a charming old lady with white hair, beautiful blue
eyes, and pink cheeks, a great friend of the Orléans family, went with
me when I made my round of visits to thank the royal ladies for
accepting our invitation. We found no one but the Princesse Marguerite,
daughter of the Duc de Nemours, who was living at Neuilly. I had all my
instructions from the marquise, how many courtesies to make, how to
address her, and above all not to speak until the princess spoke to me.
We were shown into a pretty drawing-room, opening on a garden, where the
princess was waiting, standing at one end of the room. Madame de L.
named me, I made my courtesies, the princess shook hands, and then we
remained standing, facing each other. She didn't say anything. I stood
perfectly straight and quiet, waiting. She changed colour, moved her
hands nervously, was evidently overcome with shyness, but didn't utter a
sound. It seemed very long, was really only a few seconds, but I was
getting rather nervous when suddenly a child ran across the garden. That
broke the ice and she asked me the classic royal question, "Avez-vous
des enfants, madame?" I had only one, and he was rather small, but still
his nurse, his teeth, and his food carried me on for a little while and
after that we had some general conversation, but I can't say the visit
was really interesting. As long as I was in public life I regretted
that I had but the one child,--children and nurseries and schoolrooms
were always an unfailing topic of conversation. Frenchwomen of all
classes take much more interest in the details of their nurseries and
the education and bringing-up of their children than we Anglo-Saxons do.
I know several mammas who followed all the course of their sons' studies
when they were preparing their baccalauréat, even to writing the
compositions. The head nurse (English) who takes entire charge of her
nursery, who doesn't like any interference, and brings the children to
their mother at stated hours, doesn't exist in France.
Our party was very brilliant, all sorts of notabilities of all kinds,
and the leading Paris artists from the Grand Opera, Opéra Comique, and
the Français. As soon as the performance was over W. told me I must go
and thank the artists; he could not leave his princes. I started off to
the last of the long suite of salons where they were all assembled.
Comte de L., W.'s chef de cabinet, went with me, and we were preceded by
a huissier with sword and chain, who piloted us through the crowd. I
felt very shy when I arrived in the greenroom. The artists were drawn up
in two rows, the women on one side, the men on the other, all eyes of
course fixed upon madame la ministresse. Madame Carvalho, Sarah
Bernhardt, and Croizette were standing at the head of the long line of
women; Faure, Talazac, Delaunay, Coquelin, on the other side. I went
first all along the line of women, then came back by the men. I realised
instantly after the first word of thanks and interest how easy it is for
princes, or any one in high places, to give pleasure. They all responded
so smilingly and naturally to everything I said. After the first two or
three words, I didn't mind at all, and found myself discussing
acoustics, the difficulty of playing any well-known part without
costumes, scenery, etc., the inconvenience of having the public so near,
quite easily. We often had music and recitations at our parties, and
that was always a great pleasure to me. I remember so well one evening
when we had the chorus of the Conservatoire and they sang quite
beautifully the old "Plaisirs d'Amour" of our childhood. It had a great
success and they were obliged to repeat it. W. made one great innovation
in the dress of the ladies of the Conservatoire chorus. They were always
dressed in white, which was very well for the young, slight figures, but
was less happy for a stout middle-aged lady. So after much discussion it
was decided to adopt black as the official dress and I must say it was
an enormous improvement.
THE SOCIAL SIDE
All sorts of interesting people came to see us at the Ministry of Public
Instruction,--among others the late Emperor of Brazil, Don Pedro de
Bragance, who spent some months in Paris that year with his daughter,
the young Comtesse d'Eu. He was a tall, good-looking man, with a
charming easy manner, very cultivated and very keen about
everything--art, literature, politics. His gentlemen said he had the
energy of a man of twenty-five, and he was well over middle age when he
was in Paris. They were quite exhausted sometimes after a long day of
visits and sightseeing with him. He was an early riser. One of the first
rendezvous he gave W. was at nine o'clock in the morning, which greatly
disturbed that gentleman's habits. He was never an early riser, worked
always very late (said his best despatches were written after midnight),
and didn't care about beginning his day too early. Another interesting
personality was Mommsen, the German historian and savant. He was a
picturesque-looking old man with keen blue eyes and a quantity of white
hair. I don't think anything modern interested him very much. He was an
old man when I first saw him, and looked even older than his age. He and
W. used to plunge into very long, learned discussions over antiquities
and medals. W. said the hours with Mommsen rested him, such a change
from the "shop" talk always mixed with politics in France.