The Writer appointed Assistant Secretary of Legation to Paris.
--Presented to the Emperor.--Court Balls.--Diplomatic Dress.--Opening
of Corps Législatif.--Opening of Parliament.--King of the Belgians.
--Emperor of Austria.--King of Prussia.--Queen Augusta.--Emperor
Alexander.--Attempt to assassinate him.--Ball at Russian
Embassy.--Resignation of General Dix.
In October, 1866, at the request of General Canby, Mr. Seward
appointed the writer to be Assistant Secretary of Legation at Paris.
Johnson was then President, but he very properly left all these minor
appointments in the State Department to its chief. Frederic Seward
told me that it was impossible to have a better friend at their court
than General Canby--"they always accepted his bills at sight."
General Dix had then been named Minister to France, but had not
sailed. Mr. Bigelow still filled the office. On presenting my
credentials, he requested me to await the arrival of the General
before entering upon my duties, that the proposed changes might all
be made at the same time.
Late in December General Dix arrived, and was presented. Court
carriages were sent for the minister, and he was accompanied by the
secretaries of legation, and by the "Introducteur des Ambassadeurs"
in gorgeous uniform. Those were the halcyon days of the diplomatic
service, before Congress had come to the conclusion that the safety
of the republic depended upon its foreign representatives being
dressed in swallow-tail coats. We were then permitted to dress like
other gentlemen of the diplomatic corps in the same grade.
The Emperor was always happy in his reception of the diplomates
accredited to him. The custom was to send in advance to the Minister
of Foreign Affairs a copy of the address to be delivered, that the
Emperor's reply might be prepared. These speeches, under ordinary
circumstances, might be stereotyped: change the names, and one
will answer for another. After the formal addresses, an informal
conversation followed. General Dix then presented the secretaries.
The Emperor spoke English very well, and liked to ventilate it.
He did not speak it perfectly, however, as was claimed by his
enthusiastic admirers. He translated French into English, as we
so often translate English into French. He said, for instance, to
Colonel Hay, "You have made _ze_ war in _ze_ United States?" ("_Vous
avez fait la guerre?_") meaning, "Did you serve?" Hay was strongly
tempted to tell him that it was not he; it was Jeff Davis.
After the presentation to the Emperor, we paid our respects to
the Empress. That charming and beautiful woman was then in the
zenith of her beauty and grace. She received us in her bonnet and
walking-dress, as she had come from mass; for in Catholic countries
diplomatic presentations generally take place on Sunday. Nor in
Catholic countries only, for in England the Prince of Wales sometimes
receives on that day. The Empress too speaks English, and with less
accent than the Emperor, though not so fluently.
The imperial court in 1866-'67 was at the height of its splendor.
France was apparently prosperous and powerful, and Paris reigned
the queen-city of the world. All nations paid her willing tribute.
She was preparing for the Exhibition of 1867, the most successful
ever held, except our own at Philadelphia. The winter was unusually
gay, the palace setting the example. As a rule, the Emperor gave
four grand balls during the season. They were very magnificent, and
would have been very pleasant except for the great crowd. But those
balls were given principally to the military, and the garrison of
Paris thronged them to the number of two or three thousand. Some of
the subordinate officers were wholly unused to any other society
than that of the barracks, and they brought their barrack manners
with them, crowding, pushing, treading upon the ladies' dresses,
scratching their shoulders with their epaulets. When the supper-room
was opened, the Centgarde on duty at the door had great difficulty in
keeping back the hungry crowd. Once they actually broke through and
rushed in. The sentries were thereupon doubled, but even then were
compelled to threaten to report the most prominent disturbers to the
Emperor. Every private in the Centgardes ranked as an officer of the
army.
It may interest some of my readers to know how presentations were
made at these balls. The United States Minister was allowed to
present twenty-six persons in all. They were selected generally upon
the principle of first come, first served; but the matter rested
wholly in his discretion. No one had a right to a presentation. Mr.
Seward settled this in a clear and positive dispatch to Mr. Dayton,
and his instructions now regulate the action of our ministers in
most of the courts of Europe. Occasionally we asked for one or two
extra presentations. The inquiry was then generally made, "Is it a
young and pretty woman?" If it were, there was no difficulty, for the
Empress, like other ladies, was pleased to have her balls set off
with beautiful and well-dressed women. American ladies were always
well received by her for this reason. Her balls were sometimes called
by the envious "_bals américains_."
The persons to be presented were arranged round one of the rooms at
the Tuileries. The Emperor entered and passed down the line, each
person being named to him. He sometimes stopped, though rarely, and
addressed a few words to one of the presentees. The Empress followed
in the same manner. She exacted that every lady should be in full
evening dress, and if by chance one slipped in not _décolletée_, the
minister was pretty sure to hear of it. General Dix was once asked to
present a young lady with her mother. He consented. She turned out to
be a child of fourteen. Before many days he heard that the Empress
had said that she did not receive children.
But the Empress's Mondays, _petits lundis_, were charming. They
were not unpleasantly crowded, and they were composed exclusively
of people who knew how to behave themselves. Frequently they were
musical parties, and there one heard the best musical talent of the
world. No money was paid to the leading artists; for the theory is
that the honor of singing before the sovereign is sufficient; but a
bracelet or other piece of jewelry was sent to the singer, and always
of value, for the Emperor was very generous--too much so for his own
interests and those of his family, as events have shown.
The _petits lundis_ were a paradise for our American diplomates.
There we wore our swallow-tail coats, with black tights and silk
stockings. The most rabid anti-uniformist could not object to that.
To wear swallow-tail at one of the balls, however, was by no means a
pleasant duty. After one or two experiments our secretaries gave up
going. The French officers--not those of high rank, of course--would
stare with all the impertinence they could muster, and take the
opportunity to jostle them accidentally in the crowd. It was very
different in London. If one of us went to a ball at Buckingham Palace
in mufti, the page at the door simply asked, "United States, sir?"
and he passed in without difficulty. Of course every one present
noticed the dress, but no one appeared to do so. They evidently felt
sorry for the poor devil who found himself in such an awkward fix,
and wished to make it as easy for him as possible. French politeness
did not shine by the contrast.
Early in the winter the Emperor opened the Corps Législatif. In all
constitutional monarchies this is an occasion of great ceremony and
splendor. A hall in the Louvre was used for the purpose. All the
great bodies of state attended in their gorgeous uniforms. Senators,
deputies, judges, members of the Academy and of the Institute,
marshals, admirals--every thing that France possessed of glorious in
arms, or eminent in literature, science, art, and statesmanship, was
congregated there. When all was ready, the Empress, attended by the
ladies of the imperial family, and by her ladies in waiting, walked
up the whole length of the centre aisle to her seat on the throne,
amidst the indescribable enthusiasm of the audience. Her beauty, her
grace, and her stately bearing carried the enthusiasm to its height.
You would have sworn that every man there was ready to die for his
sovereign. Within less than four years she sought in vain for one of
them to stand by her in her hour of danger.
The opening of the Corps Législatif, splendid and interesting as
it was, did not compare in either respect--in American eyes, at
least--with the opening of Parliament by the Queen in person. She has
done this so rarely of late that, when she does appear, the interest
and excitement in London are very great. The ceremony takes place in
the House of Lords. The peers are in their robes of office, scarlet
and ermine. Each particular robe is ugly enough, very much like red
flannel and cat-skin; but the effect of all together is very fine.
The peeresses are in full dress. The diplomatic corps are present in
their rich uniforms. The princes enter and take their seats as lords.
That graceful and beautiful woman, the Princess of Wales--perhaps
the most beautiful woman in England--and the Princess Mary and the
Duchess of Edinburgh, follow and take their seats upon the wool-sack
facing the throne. When all is ready, the Queen, preceded by the
white rod and the black rod (they call them the "sticks" in England),
the lord chancellor and the lord chamberlain, and all her high
officers of state, appears and seats herself upon the throne, the
Princess Louise and the Princess Beatrice supporting her on either
side. Short and stout as is the Queen, she has the most graceful
and stately walk perhaps in Europe. It is a treat to see her move.
Then the lower doors are opened; there is a rush and a scramble,
and loud voices are heard, and the Commons of England, headed by
their Speaker, the very body for whom all this show and state and
splendor are got up, crowd into a narrow space behind a railing,
and there stand while the Queen reads her speech. It seems strange,
when one reflects that the Commons really govern England, to see
them shut out in the cold as if they were not fit to associate with
the distinguished company present. When the speech is finished, the
Speaker bows, the Queen descends from the throne, the Commons return
to their House, and the pageant is ended.
The Great Exhibition opened on the 1st of May, 1867. It was not
nearly ready, but was opened punctually to the day with all the
well-arranged ceremony for which the French are noted. The sovereigns
of Europe began to flock to Paris. "The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein"
was then in the full tide of success at one of the theatres. It was
odd to note that among the first visits the great royalties paid (the
Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia) was one to "The Grand
Duchess." The minor sovereigns, the kinglings, rarely went; and when
they did, they saw nothing amusing in it.
The diplomatic corps had admirable opportunities to see the
different sovereigns visiting Paris. It is the custom for a monarch
to receive the diplomatic corps accredited to the capital at which
he is a guest. We stood in a circle, and, while the royal visitor
talked to our own minister and to those near him on either side,
we had excellent opportunities to study his features, expression,
and manners. The most agreeable of them all, with an apt word for
every one, was the King of the Belgians. He had a great deal to say
to General Dix about Mr. Seward, whom he had known, and the port
of Antwerp as convenient for American shipping. He spoke English
admirably. He was accompanied by the Queen, a young and pretty
woman, who, by-the-way, was the only sovereign lady who came to the
Exposition, much to the Empress's disappointment, and somewhat,
it was said, to her mortification. Next in tact to the King of
the Belgians came the Emperor of Austria, a small, well-made,
military-looking man, with most polished manners. He spoke to me--for
General Dix was then temporarily absent--of his brother, the Emperor
Maximilian, and expressed his gratitude to our Government for its
efforts to save his life. Later, while _chargé_ at London, I met the
Empress of Germany. She, too, has the gift of saying the right thing
in the right place. I heard her conversation with two or three of my
colleagues who stood near me. It was always happy. To me she spoke
of all that the Legation at Paris had done to protect "_mes pauvres
Allemands dans ces tristes, ces pénibles circonstances_." She was
glad to have the opportunity to thank me in person, and wished me to
convey her thanks to Mr. Washburne.
But the chief guest, the man to whom all eyes were turned, was the
Emperor of Russia, a pale, handsome, silent, gentlemanly-looking man.
For him reviews were held, gala operas given, and magnificent fêtes
at the Tuileries and at the Hôtel de Ville. I doubt if the world
ever saw a more beautiful fête than that given to him by the Empress
at the Tuileries. It was summer, the month of June. The gardens of
the palace were closed to the public. The flower-beds (the flowers
were then in full bloom) were bordered with gas-jets, the trees were
festooned with variegated lamps, the fountains played, and electric
lights--blue, pink, and yellow--were thrown alternately upon the
sparkling waters. It was very beautiful. And when, at midnight, the
Empress, accompanied by a number of ladies, and by the Emperors and
their suites, descended into the gardens, and the electric light
flashed on their bright dresses and jewels, and brilliant uniforms,
the effect was fairy-like.
The review was next in order. Sixty thousand men passed before the
Emperors without check or delay. The King of Prussia was present,
accompanied by Bismarck and Moltke. Bismarck even then attracted much
attention. I have rarely seen a finer-looking man. More than six feet
high, large and powerful in proportion, with a grand head well set
upon the shoulders, he looks like Agamemnon--"king of men."
It was on the return from this review that the Emperor of Russia was
shot at by a Pole. Fortunately, he was not hit. The only creature
hurt was the horse of one of the equerries. The blood spurted from
a wound in the animal's neck upon the Emperor's second son, who was
in the carriage with him. The father's only thought was for his
son; and, leaning forward, he laid his hand tenderly upon him while
he anxiously inquired if he was wounded. It was reported that the
Emperor of the French turned to his imperial guest, and said, "Sire,
we have been under fire together for the first time to-day;" to which
the Emperor replied, with much solemnity of manner, "Sire, we are in
the hands of Providence."
That evening I saw him at a ball at the Russian embassy. It was very
small, not more than two hundred persons present. He looked pale
and _distrait_, evidently anticipating, with some apprehension, the
effect to be produced in Russia, and upon her relations with France,
when the news should reach St. Petersburg. Madame Haussmann, the
wife of the Prefect of the Seine, a well-meaning woman, but who did
not shine precisely by her tact, was trying to make conversation
with him. He looked over her head, as if he did not see her, and
finally turned upon his heel and left her. It was not perhaps polite,
but it was very natural. The Emperor and Empress of the French
made extraordinary exertions to enliven the ball, but there was a
perceptible oppression in the air. The would-be assassin was not
condemned to death. Strange to say, a French jury found "extenuating
circumstances." But the French sympathize strongly with the Poles;
and I doubt if, under any circumstances, a French jury would condemn
to death a Pole who had attempted to murder a Russian.
The Emperor of Russia is a man of the highest sense of personal
honor. When lately he sought an interview with the English
embassador, and assured him on his honor that he had no thought of
conquest, or any desire to occupy Constantinople, those who know
his character believed him implicitly. It was reserved for certain
ultra Tory journals in London to doubt his word. No language would
be strong enough for these journals to employ if a Russian newspaper
were to doubt the word of honor of Lord Derby or any other prominent
English gentleman. Happily, the _Standard_ and its _confrères_ do not
yet direct public opinion in England.
In the fall of 1867, the Exhibition closed with great ceremony,
and Paris settled down for a time to the even tenor of its way. In
1868, General Grant was elected President, and was inaugurated in
1869. In the spring of this year General Dix resigned. He preferred
the comforts of his home, with the society of his children and
grandchildren, to the attractions of the imperial court. No minister
ever represented the United States with more dignity than General
Dix. A man of marked ability, an accomplished scholar and gentleman,
he possessed precisely those qualities which are the most highly
prized at a court like that of France. The ladies, too, of his family
shone in their sphere; a matter of much greater importance than
is generally supposed in our country. The general has left a very
pleasant impression in France; and not unfrequently since the fall
of the empire I have been stopped in the street by some sad looking
ex-official with inquiries after his health.