_Mr. Grover Cleveland, President of the United States.--A
Public Reception at the White House.--A Private Audience.--Why
a Yankee Refrained from Accompanying Me.--What the President
Costs the Nation.--Mrs. Cleveland.--Her Popularity.--Life at
the White House._
The President is the most accessible citizen of the great Republic of
the New World. Three times a week, he descends to the ground floor
drawing-room, and passes an hour shaking hands with all who wish to make
his acquaintance. There cannot be a man in the world who does so much
hand-shaking as this President of the United States. You enter the White
House at the hour of the public reception, as you enter a church at
service time. I saw three negroes, market women, who had left their
baskets in the antechamber; all sorts and conditions of men. It is the
most democratic sight imaginable. Each person passes to the front in his
turn.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. President. I hope both Mrs. Cleveland and
yourself are well." Then the next one's turn comes, and so on.
Thanks to an amiable letter of introduction, which our esteemed
Minister, M. Roustan, gave me for Colonel Lamont, the President's
Secretary, I easily obtained a private audience of Mr. Grover
Cleveland.
Mr. Cleveland is a man of about fifty, tall, portly, powerful-looking,
with quiet force and resolution written in every line of his face and
figure. As you look at him, you say to yourself, "Here is a man with a
cool head, and a pretty clear insight into human nature." His face is
pleasant, has a sympathetic smile, and a kind look in the keen eyes. His
bearing is full of natural dignity, without the least suspicion of
haughtiness, and you are at your ease with him at once. The President is
a born helm-holder: a man with steady nerves, and a clear cool brain;
withal a captain who has worked his way up from before the mast by
indomitable energy and plodding.
In the ten minutes that our interview lasted, he managed to say many
amiable things of France, and was most cordial in wishing me a pleasant
sojourn in the States. I left the library, where the President had
received me, greatly impressed with the simplicity with which things are
done at the White House. It was a revelation. Here was the chief of
executive power, the Sovereign, so to speak, of a great people,
certainly of the greatest nation of the future, receiving without more
ceremony than the plainest private individual. And I thought of the kind
of reception an ordinary English ratepayer would meet with, who would
take the liberty of asking for an interview with one of the legion of
German princelings to whom John Bull gives outdoor relief. The very
lacquey at the door would wonder how far the audacity of the common herd
can go.
After my interview, a little incident occurred, which was, I thought,
very American. I had gone to the White House with an American gentleman,
who sat in the carriage we had driven in, while I went to present my
respects to Mr. Grover Cleveland.
"Why did you not come up and see the President with me?" I asked when I
rejoined him.
"Why?" he said; "simply because I pay the President to work and not to
talk. Is it likely I should go and disturb him? It is quite enough for
him to have to spend time over the visitors to Washington."
In truth, the President is paid to work.
His pay is 50,000 dollars, about L10,000 a year, and all the expenses of
the White House come out of his pocket. Mr. Cleveland works from twelve
to fourteen hours a day. He is the most active and hard-working man of a
hard-working nation. For the enormous amount of work he undertakes, the
President of the United States costs Jonathan half the sum of money John
Bull pays the Viceroy of Ireland to open a few bazaars, and imprison a
few Irish patriots. No king, no queen, no princes, no dukes, no
chamberlains, no palace watch-dogs of any kind.
Happy country whose executive power costs her but a few thousand pounds,
and whose rulers are recruited from the intelligent plodders of the
nation!
* * * * *
Mr. Cleveland, already respected and looked up to, three years ago, for
his talents, his zeal, and his integrity, has seen his popularity grow
greater every day since he united his destiny with that of the most
charming of America's daughters.
Mrs. Cleveland is a lady of scarcely five-and-twenty summers, whose
beauty has been so often described that it would be tedious to dwell
longer on the subject. She is lovely, simply lovely. Whether Republicans
or Democrats, all the Americans look upon Mrs. Cleveland with the eyes
of the President.
I remember having one day seen, in a comic paper, a caricature
representing Mrs Cleveland bringing back her husband on her shoulders to
the White House. A caricature has no value, except when founded upon
reality. At this time, everyone was unanimous in saying that, if Mr.
Cleveland were re-elected President, he would in a large measure owe the
honour to his wife.
Send a President home to his own fireside, is a thing the Americans do,
with few exceptions, every four years; but send away from the White
House a pretty woman who, for three years, has done the honours of it
with as much tact as grace,--the Americans are gallant, and had to think
twice about doing that. Many an American threw a "Cleveland" into the
electoral urn for the sake of the bright eyes of the pretty
_Presidente_.
The manner in which Mrs. Cleveland has filled the position of mistress
of the White House was constantly being spoken of with glowing praise,
in newspapers and in private circles, during my stay in America. In
truth, it is no small thing for a young woman of twenty-two, with no
special education or training for such a position, to be able, from the
first day she stands, if not "in the fierce light that beats about a
throne," yet in a glare of publicity, to display such tact and charm as
to win praise from every tongue.
But the way in which Mrs. Cleveland has filled the position of first
lady of the land is an illustration of the remarkable adaptibility of
American women generally. In this, Jonathan's daughters resemble the
women of my own country. This inborn talent does not only exist in good
society, but even among the lower-middle classes. Put a little French
seamstress in a drawing-room full of well-bred people, and at the end of
an hour, in her walk, and talk, and behaviour, you will not know her
from a lady. In the Americans and French there is suppleness. The
English keep the marks of the mould their childhood is formed in, and
with difficulty take other impressions.
* * * * *
The White House is a two-storied mansion, very unpretentious, standing
in pretty grounds. It is as simple within as without; not the abode of
luxury and display, but the abode of work.
Life at the White House is very homely.
Breakfast is served at nine, and generally consists of half a dozen
dishes, such as any American with a sound appetite would order at a good
hotel. The President takes coffee with his morning meal, while the young
mistress of the house prefers tea.
At half-past one the President returns from the Capitol, where he has
passed four hours hard at work, and luncheon is served. A dish of game
or poultry, ham, pastry, such is generally the bill of fare.
On Sundays, luncheon is a cold repast, and served in the simplest and
quickest way, so as to give the servants as much free time and as little
work as possible.
Dinner is served at half-past six, and usually lasts but half an hour.
The President drinks wine, but sparingly, and Mrs. Cleveland never
touches anything stronger than Apollinaris water.
The steward buys what he thinks will please the palates of the master
and mistress of the Executive Mansion, but has no orders. He has to
cater for easily-pleased tastes, and the bill of fare invariably gives
satisfaction.
Whether guests are present or not, the President is served first.
Perhaps Louis XIV. might have refused to be served before the ladies;
but Mr. Cleveland has so many qualities which the _grand monarque_ did
not possess, that it would be very ungenerous indeed to dwell on such an
insignificant detail. After all, it is not Mr. Cleveland that is served
first, but the first magistrate of America. The politeness is one done
to the nation.
Mrs. Cleveland calls her husband "Mr. President." Her own name is
Frances Folsom, which, it is said, her husband shortens into "Frank" in
private. There appears to be no etiquette established on this subject.
Martha Washington called the founder of the great American Republic
"General." Mrs. Hayes called the President "Mr. Hayes," whilst Mrs.
Lincoln and Mrs. Garfield called their respective husbands "Abram" and
"Jim."