one or two nights at the British Embassy, passing through Paris on her
way South. She sent for W., who had never seen her since his
undergraduate days at Cambridge. He found her quite charming, very easy,
interested in everything. She began the conversation in French--(he was
announced with all due ceremony as Monsieur le Ministre des Affaires
Etrangères) and W. said she spoke it remarkably well,--then, with her
beautiful smile which lightened up her whole face: "I think I can
speak English with a Cambridge scholar." She was much interested in his
beginnings in England at Rugby and Cambridge--and was evidently
astonished, though she had too much tact to show it, that he had chosen
to make his life and career in France instead of accepting the
proposition made to him by his cousin Waddington, then Dean of Durham,
to remain in England and continue his classic and literary studies under
his guidance. When the interview was over he found the Queen's faithful
Scotch retainer, John Brown, who always accompanied her everywhere,
waiting outside the door, evidently hoping to see the minister. He spoke
a few words with him, as a countryman--W. being half Scotch--his mother
was born Chisholm. They shook hands and John Brown begged him to come to
Scotland, where he would receive a hearty welcome. W. was very pleased
with his reception by the Queen. Lord Lyons told him afterward that she
had been very anxious to see him; she told him later, in speaking of the
interview, that it was very difficult to realise that she was speaking
to a French minister--everything about him was so absolutely English,
figure, colouring, and speech.
Many old school and college experiences were evoked that year by the
various English who passed through Paris. One night at a big dinner at
the British Embassy I was sitting next to the Prince of Wales (late King
Edward). He said to me: "There is an old friend of your husband's here
to-night, who will be so glad to see him again. They haven't met since
he was his fag at Rugby." After dinner he was introduced to me--Admiral
Glynn--a charming man, said his last recollection of W. was making his
toast for him and getting a good cuff when the toast fell into the fire
and got burnt. The two men talked together for some time in the
smoking-room, recalling all sorts of schoolboy exploits. Another school
friend was Sir Francis Adams, first secretary and "counsellor" at the
British Embassy. When the ambassador took his holiday, Adams replaced
him, and had the rank and title of minister plenipotentiary. He came
every Wednesday, the diplomatic reception day, to the Quai d'Orsay to
talk business. As long as a secretary or a huissier was in the room,
they spoke to each other most correctly in French; as soon as they were
alone, relapsed into easy and colloquial English. We were very fond of
Adams--saw a great deal of him not only in Paris, but when we first
lived in London at the embassy. He died suddenly in Switzerland, and W.
missed him very much. He was very intelligent, a keen observer, had
been all over the world, and his knowledge and appreciation of foreign
countries and ways was often very useful to W.
We continued our dinners and receptions, which always interested me, we
saw so many people of all kinds. One dinner was for Prince Alexander of
Battenberg, just as he was starting to take possession of the new
principality of Bulgaria. He was one of the handsomest men I have ever
seen,--tall, young, strong. He seemed the type of the dashing young
chief who would inspire confidence in a new independent state. He didn't
speak of his future with much enthusiasm. I wonder if a presentiment was
even then overclouding what seemed a brilliant beginning! He talked a
great deal at dinner. He was just back from Rome, and full of its charm,
which at once made a bond of sympathy between us. Report said he had
left his heart there with a young Roman. He certainly spoke of the happy
days with a shade of melancholy. I suggested that he ought to marry,
that would make his "exile," as he called it, easier to bear. "Ah, yes,
if one could choose." Then after a pause, with an almost boyish
petulance: "They want me to marry Princess X., but I don't want to." "Is
she pretty, will she help you in your new country?" "I don't know; I
don't care; I have never seen her."
Poor fellow, he had a wretched experience. Some of the "exiles" were
less interesting. A lady asked to see me one day, to enlist my
sympathies for her brother and plead his cause with the minister. He had
been named to a post which he couldn't really accept. I rather demurred,
telling her messenger, one of the secretaries of the Foreign Office,
that it was quite useless, her asking me to interfere. W. was not very
likely to consult me in his choice of nominations--and in fact the small
appointments, secretaries, were generally prepared in the Chancellerie
and followed the usual routine of regular promotion. An ambassador, of
course, was different, and was sometimes taken quite outside the
carrière. The lady persisted and appeared one morning--a pretty,
well-dressed femme du monde whom I had often met without making her
acquaintance. She plunged at once into her subject--her brother's
delicate health, accustomed to all the comforts and what the books call
"higher civilisation" of Europe, able to do good service in courts and
society, as he knew everybody. It was a pity to send him to such an
out-of-the-way place, with an awful climate,--any consul's clerk would
do as well. I supposed he had been named to Caracas, South America, or
some other remote and unhealthy part of the globe, but when she stopped
for a moment, I discovered that the young man was named to Washington. I
was really surprised, didn't know what to say at once, when the
absurdity of the thing struck me and I answered that Washington was far,
perhaps across the ocean, but there were compensations--but she took up
her argument again, such an impossible place, everything so primitive, I
really think she thought the youth was going to an Indian settlement,
all squaws and wigwams and tomahawks. I declined any interference with
the minister's appointments, assuring her I had no influence whatever,
and she took leave of me very icily. I heard the sequel afterward--the
young man refused the post as quite unworthy of him. There were several
others ready and pleased to take it, and M. de X. was put en
disponibilité.
We saw too that year for the first time the Grand Duke Alexander of
Russia (later Emperor Alexander III, whose coronation we went to at
Moscow) and the Grande Duchesse Marie. Prince Orloff arranged the
interview, as he was very anxious that the Grand Duke should have some
talk with W. They were in Paris for three or four days, staying at the
Hotel Bristol, where they received us. He was a tall, handsome man,
with a blond beard and blue eyes, quite the Northern type. She recalled
her sister (Queen Alexandra), not quite so tall, but with the same
gracious manner and beautiful eyes. The Grand Duke talked a great deal,
principally politics, to W. He expressed himself very doubtfully about
the stability of the Republic, and was evidently worried over the
possibility of a general amnesty, "a very dangerous measure which no
government should sanction." W. assured him there would be no general
amnesty, but he seemed sceptical, repeated several times: "Soyez stable,
soyez ferme." The Grande Duchesse talked to me about Paris, the streets
were so gay, the shops so tempting, and all the people so smiling and
happy. I suppose the contrast struck her, coming from Russia where the
people look sad and listless. I was much impressed with their sad,
repressed look when we were in Russia for the coronation--one never
heard people laugh or sing in the streets--and yet we were there at a
time of great national rejoicings, amusements of all kinds provided for
the people. Their national melodies, volklieder (songs of the people),
have always a strain of sadness running through them. Our conversation
was in French, which both spoke very well.
The winter months went by quickly enough with periodical alarms in the
political world when some new measure was discussed which aroused
everybody's passions and satisfied neither side. I made weekly visits to
my own house, which was never dismantled, as I always felt our stay at
the Quai d'Orsay would not last much longer. One of our colleagues,
Madame Léon Say, an intelligent, charming woman, took matters more
philosophically than I did. Her husband had been in and out of office so
often that she was quite indifferent to sudden changes of residence.
They too kept their house open and she said she had always a terrine de
crise ready in her larders.
The diplomatic appointments, the embassies particularly, were a
difficulty. Admiral Pothnau went to London. He was a very gallant
officer and had served with the English in the Crimea--had the order of
the Bath, and exactly that stand-off, pompous manner which suits English
people. General Chanzy went to St. Petersburg. It has been the tradition
almost always to send a soldier to Russia. There is so little
intercourse between the Russian Emperor and any foreigner, even an
ambassador, that an ordinary diplomatist, no matter how intelligent or
experienced he might be, would have very few opportunities to talk to
the Emperor; whereas an officer, with the various reviews and
manoeuvres that are always going on in Russia, would surely approach him
more easily. I was so struck when we were in Russia with the immense
distance that separated the princes from the ordinary mortals. They seem
like demigods on a different plane (in Russia I mean; of course when
they come to Paris their godlike attributes disappear, unfortunately for
themselves).
Chanzy was very happy in Russia, where he was extremely well received.
He dined with us one night, when he was at home on leave, and was most
enthusiastic about everything in Russia--their finances, their army--the
women of all classes so intelligent, so patriotic. He was evidently
quite sous le charme. When he had gone, M. Desprey, then Directeur de la
Politique, a very clever man, who had seen many ambassadors come and go
from all the capitals of Europe, said:
"It is curious how all the ambassadors who go to Russia have that same
impression. I have never known it to fail. It is the Russian policy to
be delightful to the ambassadors--make life very easy for them--show
them all that is brilliant and interesting--open all doors (society,
etc.) and keep all sordid and ugly questions in the background."
St. Vallier remained at Berlin. His name had been mentioned for Foreign
Minister when Dufaure was making his cabinet, but he hadn't the health
for it--and I think preferred being in Berlin. He knew Germany well and
had a good many friends in Berlin.
W. of course had a great many men's dinners, from which I was excluded.
I dined often with some of my friends, not of the official world, and I
used to ask myself sometimes if the Quai d'Orsay and these houses could
be in the same country. It was an entirely different world, every point
of view different, not only politics--that one would expect, as the
whole of society was anti-Republican, Royalist, or Bonapartist--but
every question discussed wore a different aspect. Once or twice there
was a question of Louis XIV and what he would have done in certain
cases,--the religious question always a passionate one. That of course I
never discussed, being a Protestant, and knowing quite well that the
real fervent Catholics think Protestants have no religion.
I was out driving with a friend one morning in Lent (Holy Week),
Thursday I think--and said I could not be out late, as I must go to
church--perhaps she would drop me at the Protestant Chapel in the Avenue
de la Grand Armée. She was so absolutely astonished that it was almost
funny, though I was half angry too. "You are going to church on Holy
Thursday. I didn't know Protestants ever kept Lent, or Holy Week or any
saint's day." "Don't you think we ever go to church?" "Oh, yes, to a
conference or sermon on Sundays, but you are not pratiquant like us." I
was really put out, and tried another day, when she was sitting with me,
to show her our prayerbook, and explained that the Creed and the Lord's
Prayer, to say nothing of various other prayers, were just the same as
in her livre de Messe, but I didn't make any impression upon her--her
only remark being, "I suppose you do believe in God,"--yet she was a
clever, well-educated woman--knew her French history well, and must have
known what a part the French Protestants played at one time in France,
when many of the great nobles were Protestants.
Years afterward, with the same friend, we were discussing the proposed
marriage of the Duke of Clarence, eldest son of the late King Edward VII
of England, who wanted very much to marry Princess Hélène d'Orléans,
daughter of the Comte de Paris, now Duchesse d'Aosta. It was impossible
for the English prince, heir to the throne, to marry a Catholic
princess--it seemed equally impossible for the French princess to become
a Protestant. The Pope was consulted and very strong influence brought
to bear on the question, but the Catholic Church was firm. We were in
London at the time, and of course heard the question much discussed. It
was an interesting case, as the two young people were much in love with
each other. I said to my friend:
"If I were in the place of the Princess Hélène I should make myself a
Protestant. It is a big bait for the daughter of an exiled prince to be
Queen of England."
"But it couldn't be; no Catholic could change her religion or make
herself Protestant."
"Yet there is a precedent in your history. Your King Henri IV of beloved
memory, a Protestant, didn't hesitate to make himself a Catholic to be
King of France."
"Ah, but that is quite different."
"For you perhaps, chère amie, but not for us."
However, the poor young prince died suddenly of pneumonia, so the
sacrifice would have been in vain.
All the autumn of '79 was very agitated. We were obliged to curtail our
stay at Bourneville, our country home. Even though the Chambers were not
sitting, every description of political intrigue was going on. Every day
W. had an immense courrier and every second day a secretary came down
from the Quai d'Orsay with despatches and papers to sign. Telegrams came
all day long. W. had one or two shooting breakfasts and the long tramps
in the woods rested him. The guests were generally the notabilities of
the small towns and villages of his circumscription,--mayors, farmers,
and small landowners. They all talked politics and W. was surprised to
see how in this quiet agricultural district the fever of democracy had
mounted. Usually the well-to-do farmer is very conservative, looks
askance at the very advanced opinions of the young radicals, but a
complete change had come over them. They seemed to think the Republic,
founded at last upon a solid basis, supported by honest Republicans,
would bring untold prosperity not only to the country, but to each
individual, and many very modest, unpretending citizens of the small
towns saw themselves conseilleurs généraux, deputies, perhaps even
ministers. It was a curious change. However, on the whole, the people in
our part of the world were reasonable. I was sorry to go back to town. I
liked the last beautiful days of September in the country. The trees
were just beginning to turn, and the rides in the woods were delightful,
the roads so soft and springy. The horses seemed to like the brisk
canter as much as we did. We disturbed all the forest life as we
galloped along--hares and rabbits scuttled away--we saw their white
tails disappearing into holes, and when we crossed a bit of plain,
partridges a long distance off would rise and take their crooked flight
across the fields. It was so still, always is in the woods, that the
horses' feet could be heard a long way off. It was getting colder (all
the country folk predicted a very cold winter) and the wood-fire looked
very cheerful and comfortable in my little salon when we came in.
However, everything must end, and W. had to go back to the fight, which
promised to be lively. In Paris we found people wearing furs and
preparing for a cold winter. The house of the Quai d'Orsay was
comfortable, well warmed, calorifères and big fires in all the rooms,
and whenever there was any sun it poured into the rooms from the garden.
I didn't take up my official afternoon receptions. The session had not
begun, and, as it seemed extremely unlikely that the coming year would
see us still at the Quai d'Orsay, it was not worth while to embark upon
that dreary function. I was at home every afternoon after five--had tea
in my little blue salon, and always had two or three people to keep me
company. Prince Hohenlohe came often, settled himself in an armchair
with his cup of tea, and talked easily and charmingly about everything.
He was just back from Germany and reported Bismarck and the Emperor (I
should have said, perhaps, the Emperor and Bismarck) as rather worried
over the rapid strides France was making in radicalism. He reassured
them, told them Grévy was essentially a man of peace, and, as long as
moderate men like W., Léon Say, and their friends remained in office,
things would go quietly. "Yes, if they remain. I have an idea we shan't
stay much longer, and report says Freycinet will be the next premier."
He evidently had heard the same report, and spoke warmly of
Freycinet,--intelligent, energetic, and such a precise mind. If W. were
obliged to resign, which he personally would regret, he thought
Freycinet was the coming man--unless Gambetta wanted to be premier. He
didn't think he did, was not quite ready yet, but his hand might be
forced by his friends, and of course if he wanted it, he would be the
next Président du Conseil. He also told me a great many things that
Blowitz had said to him--he had a great opinion of him--said he was so
marvellously well-informed of all that was going on. It was curious to
see how a keen, clever man like Prince Hohenlohe attached so much
importance to anything that Blowitz said. The nuncio, Monseigneur
Czaski, came too sometimes at tea-time. He was a charming talker, but I
always felt as if he were saying exactly what he meant to and what he
wanted me to repeat to W. I am never quite sure with Italians. There is
always a certain reticence under their extremely natural, rather
exuberant manner. Monseigneur Czaski was not an Italian by birth--a
Pole, but I don't know that they inspire much more confidence.
X
PARLIAMENT BACK IN PARIS
The question of the return of the Parliament to Paris had at last been
solved after endless discussions. All the Republicans were in favour of
it, and they were masters of the situation. The President, Grévy, too
wanted it very much. If the Chambers continued to sit at Versailles, he
would be obliged to establish himself there, which he didn't want to do.
Many people were very unwilling to make the change, were honestly
nervous about possible disturbances in the streets, and, though they
grumbled too at the loss of time, the draughty carriages of the
parliamentary train, etc., they still preferred those discomforts to any
possibility of rioting and street fights, and the invasion of the
Chamber of Deputies by a Paris mob. W. was very anxious for the change.
He didn't in the least anticipate any trouble--his principal reason for
wanting the Parliament back was the loss of time, and also to get rid of
the conversations in the train, which tired him very much. He never
could make himself heard without an effort, as his voice was low, had no
"timbre," and he didn't hear his neighbours very well in the noise of
the train. He always arrived at the station at the last minute, and got
into the last carriage, hoping to be undisturbed, and have a quiet
half-hour with his papers, but he was rarely left alone. If any deputy
who wanted anything recognised him, he of course got in the same
carriage, because he knew he was sure of a half-hour to state his case,
as the minister couldn't get away from him. The Chambers met, after a
short vacation in November, at last in Paris, and already there were so
many interpellations announced on every possible subject, so many
criticisms on the policy of the cabinet, and so many people wanting
other people's places, that the session promised to be very lively--the
Senate at the Palais du Luxembourg, the Deputies at the Palais Bourbon.
W. and I went over to the Luxembourg one morning early in October, to
see the arrangements that had been made for the Senate. He wanted too to
choose his seat. I hadn't been there in the daytime for years--I had
dined once or twice at the Petit Palais with various presidents of the
Senate, but my only impression was a very long drive (from the Barrière
de l'Etoile where we lived) and fine high rooms with heavy gilt
furniture and tapestries. The palace was built by Maria de' Medici, wife
of Henri IV. After the death of that very chivalrous but very undomestic
monarch, she retired to the Luxembourg, and from there as regent (her
son Louis XIII was only ten years old when his father died) for some
years directed the policy of France under the guidance of her favourite,
the Italian Concini, and his wife.
The palace recalls very much the Palazzo Pitti in Florence, with its
solid masonry and rather severe heavy architecture. It must have been a
gloomy residence, notwithstanding the beautiful gardens with their broad
alleys and great open spaces. The gardens are stiff, very Italian, with
statues, fountains, and marble balustrades--not many flowers, except
immediately around the palace, but they were flooded with sunshine that
day, and the old grey pile seemed to rise out of a parterre of bright
flowers. The palace has been slightly modernised, but the general
architecture remains the same. Many people of all kinds have lived there
since it was built--several royal princes, and the Emperor Napoleon when
he was First Consul. He went from there to the Tuileries. The Luxembourg
Palace has always been associated with the history of France. During
the Revolution it was a prison, and many of the curious scenes one reads
of at that period took place in those old walls--the grandes dames so
careful of their dress and their manners, the grands seigneurs so brave
and gallant, striving in every way by their witty conversation and their
music (for they sang and played in the prisons all through that awful
time) to distract the women and make them forget the terrible doom that
was hanging over them. Many well-known people went straight from the
palace to the scaffold. It seemed a fitting place for the sittings of
the Senate and the deliberations of a chosen body of men, who were
supposed to bring a maturer judgment and a wider experience in the
discussion of all the burning questions of the day than the ardent young
deputies so eager to have done with everything connected with the old
régime and start fresh.