THE PRESIDENCY OF MARSHAL MACMAHON
When a coalition of the different parties who constituted the Right in
the National Assembly overturned M. Thiers, it was felt everywhere,
though perhaps none would say it aloud, that this event was but the
first step towards the re-establishment of a monarchy, which could only
be that of the Orleans family. In fact, the Chamber was almost entirely
composed of Orleanists. The few Bonapartists were too timid to come out
openly as such after the catastrophes that had accompanied the fall of
the Empire, but they were determined nevertheless to do their best to
bring the Prince Imperial back to France as Emperor. There were but few
extreme Radicals in the Assembly. Gambetta was perhaps the most advanced
member in that direction, together with Jules Ferry and Jules Favre, and
their Radicalism would be considered Conservatism nowadays. In fact, the
Left, or what was called the Left, resembled rather an opposition as it
is understood in England, than a revolutionary party such as later on
tried to snatch the government of the country into its hands. France was
still under the influence of the eighteen years of Imperial regime it
had gone through, and respect for authority had not yet died. The
elections, which had been conducted under the eyes of the enemy, had
brought back a large monarchical majority to the Assembly. That majority
knew very well that so long as M. Thiers remained at the head of the
Republic, a restoration, either of the Comte de Chambord, the Comte de
Paris, or the Prince Imperial, was not to be thought of. The little man
would have defended his own person in defending the Republic. His manner
of crushing the Commune, indeed, had shown that he would not hesitate
before a display of force, and would be quite capable of sending to
prison the leaders of any movement to destroy the government over which
he presided.
But when M. Thiers had been put aside, the field was free to the
Royalists, and in order to pave the way to a restoration they offered
the Presidency of the Republic to the Duc d’Aumale, in the hope that he
would see his way to resign his functions to his nephew, and be strong
enough to bring him back in triumph to the Elysée.
The Duc d’Aumale accepted. Whether he would have fulfilled the hopes
that had been centred in him is another question. My opinion is that he
would have shown himself even more respectful of the Republic who had
called him to her head than M. Thiers or Marshal MacMahon. But we need
not go into suppositions, as his election did not take place on account
of the Bonapartists refusing to vote for him, being frightened at the
thought that he might feel tempted to accomplish another _coup d’état_,
and at all events would exclude them from the ranks of his advisers. The
Duc d’Aumale once put aside, there remained but two people whose names
could have rallied around them the different parties that constituted
the Assembly; they were Marshal Canrobert and Marshal MacMahon.
The last mentioned was chosen partly because some believed he was more
favourable than his illustrious colleague to the idea of an Orleanist
restoration, partly because it was hoped that he would allow others to
govern in his name. They forgot that, being used to obedience in
military matters, he would insist on being listened to on political
issues, and that his very honesty would not allow him to associate
himself with intrigue in governing the country, whose welfare he would
consider it was his duty to promote above all other considerations.
Marshal MacMahon was essentially a gentleman. Not superabundantly gifted
with intelligence, not, perhaps, possessing much strength of character,
he had, nevertheless, a keen sense of right and wrong, a horror of
anything that approached intrigue, a great respect for his duty, before
the accomplishment of which he never hesitated no matter how painful it
might be for him to perform it. He was a brave soldier, an honest man,
but he was no politician, and whenever he tried to interest himself in
politics he failed utterly in his attempts, partly through want of
experience, partly through want of knowledge, and especially because he
never knew how to find among the people who surrounded him a majority of
supporters.
He never understood why he had been elected President of the Republic,
and always imagined that he owed it to his personal merits. This
illusion was carefully fostered by his entourage, and by ministers who
wanted to persuade him to adopt their own views. It was a great mistake
on their part, because had the Marshal been less sure of the
infallibility of his own judgments, he might not have risked the _coup
d’état_ of the 16th of May, which threw France into the arms of the
extreme Republican and Radical parties, which have ruled it ever since.
The first ministers of MacMahon were Orleanists of the purest water, and
they did their best to bring the Orleans dynasty back to the throne,
especially after the publication of the famous letter of the Comte de
Chambord, which sealed for ever his fate as a Pretender. They were all,
too, gentlemen by birth and by education, and men of learning and
experience. Two among them, the Duc de Broglie and the Duc Decazes, have
left their impress on the history of France, and deserve its gratitude
for the services they have rendered to her. But all of them were utopian
in the sense that they believed in the triumph of the opinions they
held. They never admitted the possibility of new people coming to the
front, new ideas developing so quickly that they would have to be
reckoned with by every government no matter to what shade it belonged.
More especially did they fail to foresee the triumph of the Radical and
revolutionary elements. They considered them as of no serious
importance, perhaps because they had never troubled to study them
carefully, and so appreciate their strength.
It is said that the Duc d’Aumale, when sounded as to whether or not he
would accept the Presidency of the Republic, and under what conditions,
had replied: “Je veux bien être une transaction; une transition jamais.”
Marshal MacMahon was to form the bridge of transition from the
government of a gentleman to that of a political man, such as the
Presidents who have succeeded him have all essentially been. He brought
with him to the Elysée traditions that are still respected, and customs
that have become a dead letter since his fall. His tenure of office was
attended with great dignity, and an amount of state that savoured a
little of real Court life such as he had known and understood how to
represent. He did not indulge in petty economies unworthy of his high
position, and kept open house for his followers and friends, dispensing
at the same time a generous and unbounded hospitality in regard to all
who came to pay their respects to him in his capacity as First
Magistrate of the French Republic. His wife, too, the Duchesse de
Magenta, was a really great lady, by birth as well as by education, and
she seconded him to the best of her ability--entertaining for him on a
grand scale, receiving foreign ambassadors with a queenly grace combined
with the affability of a true _grande dame_. La Maréchale, as she was
familiarly called by her friends, was a remarkable woman in her way, and
it is very much to be regretted that she refused the whole time that her
husband remained in office to interest herself in public affairs, from
which she kept aloof as much as she possibly could; she was exceedingly
generous, and the poor of Paris remember her to this day.
When the Marshal had to retire into private life, it was found that he
had not only spent all the allowance that he received from the State,
but also a great deal of his own private fortune, so that when he gave
up his high office, he was a poorer man than when he had entered upon
it. The Duchesse de Magenta, when she became a widow, was left with less
than moderate means, and had to lead a simple existence, devoid of
accustomed luxuries. She was a very modest woman, and it is related that
she was often to be met in the morning riding in an omnibus, with a
basket on her arm, doing her own marketing in company with her cook or
housemaid. France did not show herself grateful for the services which,
in spite of his many political errors, Marshal MacMahon undoubtedly
rendered to her, and did not trouble itself as to the fate of his widow
or his children. The Duchesse only received the pension attached to the
military position which her late husband had occupied, and had her son,
the present Duc de Magenta, not married the daughter of the Duc de
Chartres, the Princess Marguerite of Orleans, he would have hardly had
enough to live according to the exigencies of his rank as a captain in
the French army. The example is rare, and ought not to be forgotten,
especially nowadays, when the first preoccupation of people in power is
to lay aside as much money as they can against the time when they have
to abandon office.
During the whole time that Marshal MacMahon remained at the Elysée he
kept beside him, in the quality of private secretary, the Vicomte
Emmanuel d’Harcourt, one of the pleasantest, most amiable, and most
intelligent men in Paris society. He was perhaps the only real statesman
among the many politicians who surrounded the President, and, had he
only been listened to, it is probable that the monarchical restoration,
so much desired at that time by all the sane elements in French
political life, could have been brought about. Unfortunately, the
majority did not credit him with being in earnest, and the few who did
so were too much afraid of him not to do all that was in their power to
counteract his influence on the Duc de Magenta. It is related that one
evening when the President happened to be irritated by all these
perpetual hints he was receiving concerning Monsieur d’Harcourt, he
asked him abruptly: “Pourquoi, est-ce que vous tenez à rester auprès de
moi, et que vous ne cherchez pas à faire partie d’une combinaison
ministérielle?” (“Why do you care to stay with me, why don’t you try to
enter into a Cabinet?”) The Vicomte simply replied: “Parce que j’ai de
l’affection pour vous, Monsieur le Maréchal, et que je ne tiens pas à
vous abandonner aux mains de ceux qui n’en ont pas” (“Because I have an
affection for you, Monsieur le Maréchal, and I don’t care to abandon you
to those who haven’t”).
MacMahon became very red, but never more after that day did he try to
wound the feelings of a man in whom he recognised a sincere friend.
The Republican party has always accused Monsieur d’Harcourt of having
inspired the famous letter which the Marshal addressed to Jules Simon,
and which brought about what is known as “the crisis of the 16th of
May.” This reproach was partly true and partly unjust. It is quite
certain that the Vicomte encouraged the President to dismiss a Cabinet
which he considered far too advanced in its opinions, and especially
because he could not agree with the ideas of Jules Simon, its chief,
notwithstanding the great intelligence and the sincere patriotism of the
latter. But, on the other hand, it must be said, and it cannot be
repeated too loudly, that Emmanuel d’Harcourt always told the President
that he could not venture upon such a grave and important step without
every possible precaution to ensure its success. First of all he advised
the exercise of a considerable pressure on the new elections that were
bound to follow upon such a step and the imprisonment of a few leaders
whose influence might make them turn against the government. He was a
partisan of strong measures, and had that contempt for legality that all
daring statesmen have ever professed. The Marshal, on the contrary,
would never have dreamed of defying the law, and he refused to adopt any
of the measures which not only his secretary but also his
ministers--with the exception of the Duc de Broglie, whose rigid
Protestant principles, which he had inherited from his mother, prevented
him from resorting to any violent actions--recommended to him. I have
heard that on the eve of these elections, which had such an enormous
influence on the future destinies of France, the Vicomte d’Harcourt was
discussing them with M. de Fortoul, who was Minister of the Interior,
and they were both deploring the obstinacy of the President of the
Republic, who would not understand that once he had entered upon the
road of resistance to the wishes of the Chambers, represented by the
ministers whom he had dismissed, he was bound to go on and to enforce
his wishes upon the nation. Fortoul knew he had been called by the
confidence which the Duc de Magenta had in his honesty to the difficult
post which he occupied, but he was well aware that he did not possess
the latter’s sympathies, so asked the Vicomte d’Harcourt whether there
was no means by which the Chief of the State could be convinced that it
would be cowardice not to see to the bitter end the adventure in which
he had engaged himself. He got from him this characteristic reply: “No!
One cannot convince him; because he is a man who, though in a position
to command, has never forgotten how to obey.”
Fortoul understood, and did not attempt further to shake the convictions
of the President, but prepared himself to lose the game which with a
little energy might so easily have been won.
Emmanuel d’Harcourt was the man who best understood that honest, feeble,
and in some parts enigmatical character of Marshal MacMahon. Apart from
him it is to be doubted whether anyone save the Marquis d’Abzac, who was
attached to his person during long years, ever guessed what went on in
that narrow but well-intentioned mind. The Marquis d’Abzac was at one
time a leading figure in Paris society, and I think that no one who has
ever known him has forgotten the charming, amiable man he was, the
perfect gentleman he always showed himself, and the true friend he
remained to all those who had treated him as such. He was the leading
spirit of the little Court of the Elysée, where he organised all the
balls and receptions that gave it such brilliancy during the tenure of
office of the Duc de Magenta, when all that was illustrious in France,
even the most confirmed Royalists, considered it an honour to pay their
respects to the Head of the State and to his amiable wife. He had the
entire confidence of the President, who, perhaps, was more inclined to
give it to a soldier like the General d’Abzac than to a civilian with
whom his military soul had but little in common, and whose subtleties of
reasoning appeared too complicated for his simple mind. The Marquis had
married a Russian, Mlle. Lazareff, whose mother had been a Princess of
Courland, related to the famous Duchesse de Sagan. His wife had vast
estates in Silesia, and though he did not live with her yet he visited
there often, and always made an appearance at the German Court, where he
was essentially a _persona grata_, ever since he had accompanied Marshal
MacMahon when the latter had been sent to Berlin as an Ambassador of
Napoleon III. to represent that Sovereign at the coronation of William
I. as King of Prussia.
Very often his visits to the German Court allowed him to clear up
misunderstandings between the French Government and the Prussian Foreign
Office; misunderstandings that were often provoked by the state of
antagonism which existed between Prince Bismarck and the French
Ambassador, the Vicomte de Gontaut Biron, about whom I shall have more
to say presently. The German Chancellor liked the Marquis d’Abzac, and
frequently took him into his confidence, well aware of his tact and
discretion. I have heard from a person very much _au courant_ of what
was going on in the Wilhelmstrasse, that Bismarck once expressed himself
to the aide-de-camp of the President of the French Republic, concerning
the monarchical intrigues that were going on in Paris. He spoke with a
mixture of contempt and regret of the woeful way they were conducted,
and of what small chances they had of being successful. D’Abzac replied
that of course it was not for him to venture an opinion on a subject
that did not enter at all into his activities, but that he had always
imagined that Prussia was very much adverse to the re-establishment of a
Monarchy in France. The Prince immediately replied: “You are entirely
mistaken, we have nothing against it, our objection is to the people
who would inevitably come into power and prominence with it. If we could
see in Paris a King without those who want at the present moment to
proclaim him, we should, on the contrary, feel far more reassured than
we do now at the immediate future both of France and of Germany. Neither
the Comte de Paris nor the Prince Imperial would, nor could, risk
position by declaring a war against us, the price of which might be the
loss of the newly recovered throne. But we greatly dread all the
councillors and advisers who would be eager to prove before the country
who had sent them to represent it, that they had been right in changing
the form of the government, because the one whom they had helped to call
into existence was ready to win back for the nation the provinces as
well as the prestige that it had lost.”
Later on, when speaking of this remarkable conversation with one of his
intimate friends, the Marquis d’Abzac had been obliged to own that the
German Chancellor had been right in his appreciation of a situation he
understood better than did many Frenchmen.
I have already spoken of the obstinacy that was one of the
characteristics of MacMahon. Those who induced him so unnecessarily to
assert himself in regard to Jules Simon, played on that chord when they
persuaded him that it was his duty to check the growing tide of
Radicalism, and to attempt to save the Republic from those who were
leading it into a path which would alienate from it the sympathy of
Europe, at a time when France sorely needed this support. He imagined
that by dismissing his Cabinet he was doing a great thing for his
country, but being the faithful slave of his convictions, i.e. that the
nation ought to be free to express its opinions and its wishes as to the
form of government it liked, he did not pursue what he had begun so
well, and refused to allow the Cabinet whom he had called together to
fight the battle to the bitter end. For thus he might have ensured, with
the help of some moral pressure, the triumph of the step which he had
taken more violently than wisely. The result is well known, and though
the death of M. Thiers, which happened on the very eve of the elections,
carried away one of his greatest and most powerful adversaries, yet the
Radical party secured a complete victory. One of the greatest mistakes
that Marshal MacMahon ever made in his life was in failing to resign
when the result of the elections became known. He sacrificed his
ministers, he allowed those who had borne the brunt of the battle to be
ousted out of the field and almost out of political life, which for some
of them remained fast closed after that experience, and he himself,
instead of following them in their retreat, remained still Head of the
State, and continued to occupy the Elysée, losing the esteem of those
who had considered him, until that time at any rate, a respectable
nonentity. He received the new ministers whom his own stupidity had
brought into power, he still discussed with them, and he went on trying
to push forward his own opinions and his own wishes, unobservant of all
the slights that were continually poured upon him. The only time that
his Cabinet seriously tried to assure itself of his help in a matter of
international politics--the advisability of making some advances to
Russia in view of a possible _rapprochement_ in the future--he violently
opposed the idea, invoking the remembrances of the Crimean War, which,
as someone wittily remarked, “he had gone through, but not outlived.”
After that no one attempted even to keep him in the current of the
affairs of the government, and after the elections which took place in
the Senate, and which resulted in a majority holding the same ideas as
those which already existed in the Chamber, the Marshal himself saw that
nothing was left to him but to resign, and, bereft of the prestige
which would have attached to his name had he done so after the 16th of
May had been condemned by the nation, he retired into private life, and
also into obscurity, which is far worse.
By a strange coincidence he died just when that Russian alliance to
which he had been so opposed was very near to becoming an accomplished
fact. Also, he was followed to his grave by a deputation of Russian
sailors, headed by Admiral Avellan, who came to Paris from Toulon during
the memorable visit paid to that town by the Russian squadron which had
been sent to return the visit paid to Cronstadt by the French fleet a
few months before. It was one of those freaks of destiny which occur so
often in life, that at his funeral, too, should be represented the
nation against whom he had fought in the Crimean fields and at
Sebastopol, and whose soldiers he had never expected would, together
with those he had commanded, fire the last volleys over his grave. The
old warrior, who, in spite of his mistakes and errors, still represented
something of the glory of his country, and was one of the remnants of an
epoch and of a regime that had given to the world the illusion of a
strong and powerful France, was accompanied to his last resting-place by
the sincere regrets of all those who had loved the man, while they
distrusted and condemned the statesman, and perhaps even despised his
capacity as a politician. But his personal honesty had come out
unimpaired from the trials of his public career, his honour had never
been questioned, his courage had never been the subject of the slightest
doubt. He deserved fully the honours which were paid to him at his
death, and the homage that France rendered to him at his funeral.