[Illustration:
_From the painting by Cabanel._
NAPOLEON III.]
France from Behind
the Veil: Fifty Years
of Social and Political Life
BY
COUNT PAUL VASSILI
Illustrated
[Illustration]
FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
New York and London
1914
PUBLISHERS’ NOTE
While this volume has been passing through the press certain of the
personages still living at the time Count Vassili was at work on the
manuscript of “France from Behind the Veil” have passed away.
Also, incidents have occurred which are a reflex of matters mentioned in
these pages.
In such instances the publishers have thought well to bring the
manuscript right up to date, leaving the reader to understand that
events happening in 1914, and therefore subsequent to the Count’s death,
have been so treated.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
1. LAST DAYS OF THE EMPIRE: NAPOLEON AND EUGÉNIE 1
2. THE SURROUNDINGS AND FRIENDS OF THE SOVEREIGNS 13
3. FONTAINEBLEAU AND COMPIÈGNE 25
4. POLITICAL MEN OF THE TIME 38
5. BEFORE THE STORM 52
6. THE DISASTER 63
7. LETTERS FROM PARIS DURING THE SIEGE 73
8. THE COMMUNE 87
9. M. THIERS 99
10. THE COMTE DE CHAMBORD AND HIS PARTY 112
11. THE ORLEANS PRINCES 123
12. THE DUC D’AUMALE AND CHANTILLY 133
13. THE PRESIDENCY OF MARSHAL MACMAHON 144
14. TWO GREAT MINISTERS 156
15. PARIS SOCIETY UNDER THE PRESIDENCY OF MARSHAL MACMAHON 166
16. A FEW PROMINENT PARISIAN HOSTESSES 177
17. MADAME JULIETTE ADAM 190
18. A FEW LITERARY MEN 205
19. THE 16TH OF MAY AND THE FALL OF MARSHAL MACMAHON 218
20. LEON GAMBETTA 231
21. THE ADVENTURE OF GENERAL BOULANGER 244
22. THE PANAMA SCANDAL 257
23. TWO PRESIDENTS 271
24. IMPERIAL AND PRESIDENTIAL VISITS 285
25. THE FRENCH PRESS 297
26. THE PRESIDENCY OF M. LOUBET 308
27. THE DREYFUS AFFAIR 318
28. PARISIAN SALONS UNDER THE THIRD REPUBLIC 332
29. THE PRESENT TONE OF PARIS SOCIETY 343
30. M. FALLIÈRES AS PRESIDENT 358
31. M. BRIAND AND THE SOCIALISTS 366
32. A FEW LITERARY MEN OF THE PRESENT DAY 372
33. A FEW FOREIGN DIPLOMATS 382
L’ENVOI 389
INDEX 391
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
NAPOLEON III. _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
EMPRESS EUGÉNIE 10
M. ADOLPHE THIERS 118
MARSHAL MACMAHON 118
COMTE DE CHAMBORD 118
LEON GAMBETTA 118
MADAME JULIETTE ADAM 212
ALEX. DUMAS (PÈRE) 212
ANATOLE FRANCE 212
OCTAVE MIRBEAU 212
CAPTAIN DREYFUS 246
GENERAL BOULANGER 246
EMILE ZOLA 246
M. DE LESSEPS 246
M. M. F. SADI-GARNOT 310
M. J. P. P. CASIMER PÉRIER 310
M. F. F. FAURE 310
M. E. LOUBET 310
M. A. FALLIÈRES 360
M. R. POINCARÉ 360
M. A. BRIAND 360
M. G. CLEMENCEAU 360
THE CHAMBER OF DEPUTIES SITTING 370
France from Behind the Veil
CHAPTER I
LAST DAYS OF THE EMPIRE: NAPOLEON AND EUGÉNIE
Towards the end of the year 1868 I arrived in Paris. I had often before
been in the great city, but had never occupied any official position
there. Now, however, having been appointed secretary to our (Russian)
embassy, I consequently enjoyed special privileges, not the least being
opportunity to watch quite closely the actors in what was to prove one
of the greatest dramas of modern history. I had many acquaintances in
Paris, but these belonged principally to the circle known still by the
name of Faubourg St. Germain, for I had never frequented the
Imperialistic world. Consequently I found myself thrown in quite a
different _milieu_, and had to forgo a great many of my former friends,
who would not have cared to receive in their houses one who now belonged
to the intimate coterie of the Tuileries. In a certain sense I felt
sorry; but on the other hand I discovered that the society in which I
now found myself was far more pleasant, and certainly far more amusing,
than my former circle. To a young man such as I was at that time, this
last consideration, of course, was most attractive.
Paris, during that autumn of the year 1868, was extremely congenial;
indeed, it has never been so brilliant since the Napoleonic Eagle
disappeared. The Sovereigns liked to surround themselves with nice
people, and sought popularity among the different classes of society;
they gave splendid receptions, and did their best to create around them
an atmosphere of luxury and enjoyment. They frequented the many theatres
for which Paris was famed, were present at the races, and in general
showed themselves wherever they found opportunity to appear in public.
During the summer and autumn months the Imperial hospitality was
exercised with profusion and generosity, either at Compiègne or at
Fontainebleau, and it was only at St. Cloud or at Biarritz that the
Emperor and his lovely Consort led a relatively retired life, while they
enjoyed a short and well-earned holiday.
As is usual in such cases, the Imperialistic society followed the lead
given to it from above, and pleasure followed upon pleasure, festivity
crowded upon festivity during these feverish months which preceded the
Franco-Prussian War. In 1868 the clouds that had obscured the Imperial
sky at the time of the ill-fated Mexican Expedition had passed away, and
the splendours which attended the inauguration of the Suez Canal were
already looming on the horizon.
The political situation as yet seemed untroubled; indeed, though the
Emperor sometimes appeared sad and anxious, no one among all those who
surrounded him shared the apprehensions which his keen political glance
had already foreseen as inevitable. The Empress, too, appeared as if she
wanted to make the most of her already disappearing youth, and to gather
her roses whilst she still could do so, with all the buoyancy of her
departed girlish days.
The leading spirit of all the entertainments given at the Tuileries, the
Princess Pauline Metternich, was always alert for some new form of
amusement wherewith to enliven the house parties of Compiègne, or the
solemnity of the evening parties given in the old home of the Kings of
France--that home from which Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette had gone to
the scaffold, and to which their memory clung in spite of all those who
had inhabited it since the day they started upon their tragic journey to
Varennes.
The fair Eugénie had a special reverence for the memory of the beautiful
Austrian Archduchess whose destiny it had been to die by the hand of the
executioner within a few steps of the grand old palace that had been
hers. With all the impressionability of her Spanish nature she used to
say that she was sure a like fate awaited her, and so prepared herself
to die as had died the unfortunate Princess whose place she had taken.
Eugénie often spoke of what she would do when that day should come, and
sometimes amused her friends with her conviction that she, too, was
destined to endure tragic misfortunes and calamities. Her presentiments
were fulfilled; but, alas! she did not bear them with true dignity.
At the time of which I am speaking--October, 1868--Napoleon III. had
just completed his sixtieth year. In spite of the agonies occasioned by
the painful disease from which he was suffering, he retained his good
looks, and notwithstanding his small height and the largeness of his
head, which, compared with the size of his body, would have been
ridiculous in any other person, he presented a most dignified
appearance, and bore himself like a Sovereign born to the purple would
have done. When he chose, the expression of his face was charming, and
the eyes, which he always kept half closed, had a dreamy, far-away,
mysterious look that gave them a peculiar charm. He spoke slowly, as if
carefully weighing every word he uttered; but what surprised one when
talking with him for the first time was a German accent in speaking
French--a habit retained from his early days spent in Switzerland--from
which he could not rid himself, in spite of all his efforts, as well as
those of M. Mocquard, his faithful secretary and friend, who, so long as
he lived, gave him lessons in elocution. I believe that the slowness
with which Napoleon III. expressed himself must be attributed to that
circumstance more than anything else. But it is a fact that sometimes it
had the effect of irritating those with whom he was engaged in
conversation; they never knew what he was going to say next, and
ofttimes gathered the impression that some ulterior motive actuated his
speech.
With ladies the Emperor was always charming, and his manner with them
had a tinge of chivalry that savoured of olden times, and generally
succeeded in winning for him all that he wanted. His love intrigues were
numerous, and his wife was not always wrong when she complained, though
not improbably she would have done better to notice and talk of them
less than she did. In general the Empress was much too fond of
communicating her feelings and impressions to those whom she considered
her friends without the slightest reason for thinking them to be such.
Her many intimacies with ladies who bore her no real sympathy, such as
Princess Metternich, for instance, did her much harm and caused her many
annoyances which she could well have avoided had she shown herself more
careful in what she did or said. She never realised that community in
amusement does not constitute community of feelings, and that whilst one
may like the society of some people because one enjoys their good
dinners, or spends one’s time pleasantly in their company, it does not
mean that one really cares for them, or trusts them.
Napoleon III. had been a very clever politician. I use the words “had
been” intentionally, because, unhappily, it is certain that toward the
end of his reign he had lost some of his former sharpness. Neither did
he see so plainly the dangers of his situation, nor realise that he
could not act as freely as he had done at the time of the _coup d’état_
of December, 1852, and during the Crimean and Italian campaigns.
He felt himself weakened, in part through the mistakes of his early
youth, as well as by his associations, which were beginning to tell upon
him, and of which he had a nervous dread of being reminded. As an
example of this the following anecdote is typical. A Russian lady, the
Countess K----, who used to frequent the Tuileries, met one day an
Italian statesman, whose name I won’t mention as he is still living.
This gentleman suddenly asked whether it would not amuse her to frighten
the Emperor. She was young and giddy, and accepted with enthusiasm. He
then told her that at the next fancy ball that was going to take place
at the Naval Office, the Sovereigns were to attend as the guests of the
Marquis and the Marquise de Chasseloup Laubat. The lady was to approach
Napoleon and to whisper in his ear the name of an Italian then in Paris,
and to remind Napoleon of an interview he had had with him in a small
inn near Perugia. No explanations were given to the lady, and she never
asked for any, but when the ball took place she managed to approach the
Emperor, who was present in a domino, and to murmur in his ear the
phrase given her, without, it must be owned, attaching any special
importance to it. Napoleon’s face became white, and, seizing her hand,
he asked her, in an agitated voice, to tell him from whom she had
obtained this information. The Countess was terrified, and replied that
a domino had whispered it to her during the ball. The Emperor plied her
with questions, but to no purpose, as his extreme emotion had put her
on her guard. Two days later, to her surprise, she was invited to dine
at the Tuileries. When the meal was over, the Empress, who had been
unusually gracious, called her to her side, and taking care no one
should hear them, asked her to explain from whom she had heard the
incident to which she had alluded during her conversation with the
Emperor, at the ball of Madame de Chasseloup Laubat. The Countess,
though taken quite unawares, persisted in her assurance that she did not
know the domino who had imparted it to her; that she was now very sorry
for heedlessly repeating words to which she had attached no importance.
Eugénie pressed her again and again, and at last exclaimed with
impatience, as she rose from her chair: “People like to be asked to the
Tuileries, but do not seem to consider that it is a grievous want of
tact to hold converse with the enemies of the Sovereign whilst doing
so.” “And,” added the Countess when she related to me this anecdote,
“from that moment I was watched at every step by the secret police, and
to this day I do not know why I was chosen as the instrument to deal
such a blow to Napoleon III.”
I have related this anecdote to prove how very much the Emperor dreaded
all that related to his first steps in political life, under the
patronage of the Carbonari and other secret associations that were
working towards the unification of Italy. He did not feel himself a free
agent in that respect; no one knew exactly why, because he never
expressed himself on the subject--but it is certain that some of the
most unexpected things he did had their source in this mysterious
influence which made him appear to be more or less averse to thwarting
the desires of his former Italian friends.
Napoleon was not brilliant by any means; but he was certainly clever,
though sometimes lacking in initiative. It is not likely that he would
ever have had the courage either to escape from Ham, or to overthrow the
second Republic, had he not been emboldened in the first of these
attempts by Conneau, and in the second by Morny and Fleury, together
with the active Maupat. He lived under the spell of the Napoleonic
tradition, and being before everything else a fatalist, he thought
himself destined to ascend the throne which his uncle had conquered. He
never fought against destiny, and so acquired an apathy which totally
unfitted him for any unexpected struggle. At Sedan he surrendered with
hardly a murmur, as, though he well knew the step to be a fatal one, he
had tolerated MacMahon’s fatal occupation of that fortress. He had lost
all faith in his future, and he had given up the game long before he
handed his sword to the conqueror.
The Emperor’s was essentially a kind nature. During the eighteen years
of his reign he did an enormous amount of good, and certainly France
owes to him a good deal of her present prosperity. He thought about his
people’s welfare more than had any previous Sovereign; the economic
question was one to which he had given his most earnest attention. He
wanted his country to be strong, rich, an example to others in its
energetic progress along the path of material and intellectual
development. He was a lover of art; he was a keen student, an admirer of
literature; and he appreciated clever men. Catholic in his tastes, he
had the rare faculty of forgetting the wrongs done to him, in the
remembrance of the many proofs of affection he had experienced. Gifted
with a sweet and sunny temperament, he had been brought up in the school
of adversity. Amidst all the grandeur that he enjoyed later on, he never
forgot the lesson; and when misfortune once more assailed him, he was
never heard to murmur, or to reproach those whose incapacity had
destroyed his life’s work.
Socially, Napoleon never forgot that the first duty of a monarch is ever
to appear to be amiable. Whenever he swerved from that axiom it was
always for some very good reason. He had great tact, and possessed to
perfection the art of invariably saying the right thing in the right
place. Yet he knew very well how to differentiate between persons, and
to accord the exact shade of behaviour towards an Ambassador or to an
Attaché, to a simple tourist, or to a foreign personage entrusted with a
mission of some kind.
He was entirely interesting in all his remarks, and always conversant
with the subject about which he spoke. Though he had pretensions to
scientific and historical knowledge, he was not at all a well-read man
in the strict sense; but he had a wonderful faculty of assimilating all
that he read, and after having quickly run through a book, was at once
acquainted with its principal points or defects. Sceptical in his
appreciations, and perhaps in his beliefs, he had the utmost respect for
the convictions of his fellow creatures, and though by no means a
religious man, reverenced religion deeply. His faults and errors, in the
political sense, proceeded more from the influence of his immediate
entourage than from his own appreciation of right and wrong. In many
things he deserves to be pitied, and in many of his mistakes he was the
scapegoat of those who threw their blame upon his shoulders--a blame
that either from indifference or from disdain he accepted without a
murmur.
Paradoxical as it may seem to say so, he knew humanity, but not the
people with whom he lived. He never expected gratitude, and yet he
believed that the men upon whom he had showered any amount of benefits
would feel grateful to him. To the last hour of his life he thought that
his dynasty had some chance to recover the throne; and he remained
convinced of the fidelity of his partisans in spite of the many proofs
that he had to the contrary. His many illusions proceeded from the
kindness of his nature, a kindness that never failed him, either in
prosperity or in disaster.
I was introduced to Napoleon III. at Compiègne. I had been invited
there, together with the Russian Ambassador, in the course of the month
of November that had followed upon my appointment in Paris. We assembled
before dinner in what was called the Salle des Gardes, a long apartment
panelled in white, to which a profusion of flowers, scattered
everywhere, gave a homely look. We were a very numerous company, and it
was on that evening I became acquainted with many leading stars in the
Imperial firmament. We did not have to wait long before a door was
opened and an _huissier_ called out in a loud voice: “L’Empereur!”
The Sovereigns entered the room, the Empress slightly in front, Napoleon
following her with the Princess Clotilde on his arm. He began at once to
talk with the members of the Corps Diplomatique, whilst his Consort
approached the ladies gathered together at one end of the vast hall.
When my Ambassador presented me, Napoleon asked me whether I was the son
“of the lovely Countess Vassili” he had known in London, and when I
replied to him in the affirmative he at once began to talk about my
mother, and the many opportunities he had had to meet her. “I am glad to
see you here,” he added, “and I hope you will enjoy your stay in
France.”
The Empress on that day, when I beheld her for the first time, did not
strike me as so absolutely beautiful as I had been led to expect. Later
on I found out that her greatest attraction was in the varying charm of
her expressive face. The features were quite lovely in their regularity,
but a certain heaviness in the chin robbed them of what otherwise would
have been absolute perfection. The mouth had a curve which told that on
occasion the Empress could be very hard and disdainful, but the eyes and
the hair were glorious, the figure splendid, and she had an inimitable
grace in her every movement. With the exception of the Empress Marie
Feodorovna of Russia, I have never seen anyone bow like Eugénie, with
that sweeping movement of her whole body and head, that seemed to be
addressed to each person present in particular and to all in general. On
that particular evening she was a splendid vision in evening dress. Her
white shoulders shone above the low bodice of her gown, and many jewels
adorned her beautiful person. But though she excited admiration she did
not at first appeal either to the senses or to the imagination of men.
At least, so it seemed to me, whatever might have been said to the
contrary. Later on, however, when one had opportunity to see her more
frequently, and especially to talk with her, her personality grew upon
one with an especial charm that has never been equalled by any other
woman. She was not brilliant; she held strong opinions; she was very
much impressed by her position, though, it must be owned, not in the
least dazzled by her extraordinary success; she was impulsive; she was
not overwhelmingly tactful; had much knowledge of the world, but little
knowledge of mankind; she wounded sometimes when she had no intention of
doing so; she was romantic, though unsentimental; there were the
strangest contradictions in her nature, the strangest mixtures of good
and bad; but with all her defects she completely subjugated those who
got to know her, whatever might have been the first impression. Her
glances had something of Spanish softness blended with French coquetry.
In a word, she was a most attractive woman--one of the
[Illustration: EMPRESS EUGÉNIE]
most attractive that has ever lived--but she certainly was not an ideal
Sovereign.
When Eugénie married she was already twenty-seven, and therefore it was
not easy for her to become used to the various duties and obligations of
her new position. She was a thorough woman of the world, which rendered
her especially charming when at Compiègne or at Fontainebleau, where
etiquette was not so strict as at the Tuileries. At those moments she
was positively bewitching, but when she thought it necessary to assume
her Imperial manner she lost her womanly charm.
There have been many beautiful moments in Eugénie’s life; such, for
instance, as her famous visit to Amiens at the time the cholera was
raging there, and when, with a truly royal indifference, she exposed
herself to very real and serious danger. She was charitable, and
preferred not to boast of her charities; but, not possessing the
Emperor’s disposition, she resented injuries done to her. She was
impetuous in all that she did, thought, or felt; certainly bigoted and
superstitious, as Spaniards generally are. She was not courageous,
though brave, because these are two very different things. She would not
have minded being murdered in state, and the memory of the deed being
handed down to posterity; but she could not find the resolution to face
an intricate situation, nor to remain silent and firm at a difficult
moment. Her nature was essentially restless; she could never wait with
patience for what the future might hold. Her attitude on the 4th of
September was characteristic, and it was in accordance with her nature
that she tried to explain the abandonment of her position as Regent by
the word “necessity,” when, in reality, it was the shrinking of a lonely
woman, with no one near her to tell her what she ought to do, or to show
her how to resist the demands of the mob.
But once more I must say she exercised a wonderful fascination on all
those whom she entertained. There was something remarkable in the
influence she exercised. In her presence one forgot all save her
extraordinary charm.
In her private life Eugénie de Montijo, in spite of all that has been
said and written on that subject, has always been irreproachable. Amid
all the gaieties of the Court over which she presided she remained pure
and chaste, and redeemed the many frailties of her outward demeanour by
the dignity and blamelessness of her existence as a wife and mother. She
bitterly resented the indiscretions of the Emperor, but she kept herself
aloof from everything that could have been construed as a desire on her
part to retaliate. Perhaps her temperament helped her; but it is certain
that as a wife she was blameless, and that she showed herself an
enlightened mother, trying to bring up her son above the flatteries that
usually surround children born in such a high position, teaching him to
obey, to be grateful to those who took care of him, and loving him quite
as well and more wisely than the Emperor, who was perhaps too indulgent
in matters which concerned his only son. That the Prince Imperial
remained an only child was a source of deep grief to Napoleon III.
When first I saw Eugénie, her whole appearance was fairy-like; in spite
of her forty years, she eclipsed all other women. Her slight, graceful
figure was almost girlish in its suppleness, and she is the only woman I
have ever seen who, though in middle life, did not prompt one to utter
the usual remark when lovely members of the fair sex have attained her
age: “How beautiful she must have been when she was young!”