Part 11
There were many speculations as to who would be charged by Grévy to form his first cabinet--and almost permanent meetings in all the groups of the Left. W.'s friends all said he would certainly remain at the Foreign Office, but that depended naturally upon the choice of the premier. If he were taken from the more advanced ranks of the Left, W. could not possibly stay. We were not long in suspense. W. had one or two interviews with Grévy, which resulted in his remaining at the Foreign Office, but as prime minister. W. hesitated at first, felt that it would not be an easy task to keep all those very conflicting elements together. There were four Protestants in the ministry, W., Léon Say, de Freycinet, and Le Royer. Jules Ferry, who took the Ministry of Public Instruction, a very clever man, was practically a freethinker, and the Parliament was decidedly more advanced. The last elections had given a strong Republican majority to the Senate. He consulted with his brother, Richard Waddington, then a deputy, afterward a senator, president of the Chamber of Commerce of Rouen, and some of his friends, and finally decided to accept the very honourable, but very onerous position, and remained at the Foreign Affairs with Grévy, as prime minister.
If I had seen little of him before, I saw nothing of him now, as his work was exactly doubled. We did breakfast together, but it was a most irregular meal--sometimes at twelve o'clock, sometimes at one-thirty, and very rarely alone. We always dined out or had people dining with us, so that family life became a dream of the past. We very rarely went together when we dined out. W. was always late--his coupé waited hours in the court. I had my carriage and went alone. After eight or ten days of irregular meals at impossible hours (we often dined at nine-thirty) I said to Count de P., W.'s chef de cabinet: "Can't you arrange to have business over a little earlier? It is awful to dine so late and to wait so long," to which he replied: "Ah, madame, no one can be more desirous than I to change that order of things, for when the minister dines at nine-thirty, the chef de cabinet gets his dinner at ten-thirty." We did manage to get rather more satisfactory hours after a little while, but it was always difficult to extract W. from his work if it were anything important. He became absorbed, and absolutely unconscious of time.
The new President, Grévy, installed himself at once at the Elysée with his wife and daughter. There was much speculation about Madame Grévy--no one had ever seen her--she was absolutely unknown. When Grévy was president of the National Assembly, he gave very pleasant men's dinners, where Madame Grévy never appeared. Every one (of all opinions) was delighted to go to him, and the talk was most brilliant and interesting. Grévy was a perfect host, very cultivated, with a marvellous memory--quoting pages of the classics, French, and Latin.
Madame Grévy was always spoken of as a quiet, unpretending person--occupied with domestic duties, who hated society and never went anywhere--in fact, no one ever heard her name mentioned. A great many people didn't know that Grévy had a wife. When her husband became President of the Republic, there was much discussion as to Madame Grévy's social status in the official world. I don't think Grévy wanted her to appear nor to take any part in the new life, and she certainly didn't want to. Nothing in her former life had prepared her for such a change, and it was always an effort for her, but both were overruled by their friends, who thought a woman was a necessary part of the position. It was some little time before they were settled at the Elysée. W. asked Grévy once or twice when Madame Waddington might call upon his wife--and he answered that as soon as they were quite installed I should receive a notice. One day a communication arrived from the Elysee, saying that Madame Grévy would receive the diplomatic corps and the ministers' wives on a fixed day at five o'clock. The message was sent on to the diplomatic corps, and when I arrived on the appointed day (early, as I wanted to see the people come in, and also thought I must present the foreign ladies) there were already several carriages in the court.
[Illustration: M. Jules Grévy elected President of the Republic by the Senate and Chamber of Deputies meeting as the National Assembly. From _l'Illustration_, February 8. 1879.]
The Elysee looked just as it did in the marshal's time--plenty of servants in gala liveries--two or three huissiers who knew everybody--palms, flowers, everywhere. The traditions of the palace are carried on from one President to another, and a permanent staff of servants remains. We found Madame Grévy with her daughter and one or two ladies, wives, I suppose, of the secretaries, seated in the well-known drawing-room with the beautiful tapestries--Madame Grévy in a large gold armchair at the end of the room--a row of gilt armchairs on each side of hers--mademoiselle standing behind her mother. A huissier announced every one distinctly, but the names and titles said nothing to Madame Grévy. She was tall, middle-aged, handsomely dressed, and visibly nervous--made a great many gestures when she talked. It was amusing to see all the people arrive. I had nothing to do--there were no introductions--every one was announced, and they all walked straight up to Madame Grévy, who was very polite, got up for every one, men and women. It was rather an imposing circle that gathered around her--Princess Hohenlohe, German ambassadress, sat on one side of her--Marquise Molins, Spanish ambassadress, on the other. There were not many men--Lord Lyons, as doyen of the diplomatic corps, the nonce, and a good many representatives of the South American Republics. Madame Grévy was perfectly bewildered, and did try to talk to the ladies next to her, but it was an intimidating function for any one, and she had no one to help her, as they were all quite new to the work. It was obviously an immense relief to her when some lady of the official world came in, whom she had known before. The two ladies plunged at once into a very animated conversation about their children, husbands, and various domestic matters--a perfectly natural conversation, but not interesting to the foreign ladies.
We didn't make a very long visit--it was merely a matter of form. Lord Lyons came out with me, and we had quite a talk while I was waiting for my carriage in the anteroom. He was so sensible always in his intercourse with the official world, quite realised that the position was difficult and trying for Madame Grévy--it would have been for any one thrown at once without any preparation into such perfectly different surroundings. He had a certain experience of republics and republican manners, as he had been some years in Washington as British minister, and had often seen wives of American statesmen and ministers, fresh from the far West, beginning their career in Washington, quite bewildered by the novelty of everything and utterly ignorant of all questions of etiquette--only he said the American women were far more adaptable than either French or English--or than any others in the world, in fact. He also said that day, and I have heard him repeat it once or twice since, that he had _never_ met a stupid American woman....
I have always thought it was unnecessary to insist upon Madame Grévy's presence at the Elysée. It is very difficult for any woman, no longer very young, to begin an entirely new life in a perfectly different milieu, and certainly more difficult for a Frenchwoman of the bourgeoisie than any other. They live in such a narrow circle, their lives are so cramped and uninteresting--they know so little of society and foreign ways and manners that they must be often uncomfortable and make mistakes. It is very different for a man. All the small questions of dress and manners, etc., don't exist for him. One man in a dress coat and white cravat looks very like another, and men of all conditions are polite to a lady. When a man is intelligent, no one notices whether his coat and waist-coat are too wide or too short and whether his boots are clumsy.
Madame Grévy never looked happy at the Elysée. They had a big dinner every Thursday, with a reception afterward, and she looked so tired when she was sitting on the sofa, in the diplomatic salon, making conversation for the foreigners and people of all kinds who came to their receptions, that one felt really sorry for her. Grévy was always a striking personality. He had a fine head, a quiet, dignified manner, and looked very well when he stood at the door receiving his guests. I don't think he cared very much about foreign affairs--he was essentially French--had never lived abroad or known any foreigners. He was too intelligent not to understand that a country must have foreign relations, and that France must take her place again as a great power, but home politics interested him much more than anything else. He was a charming talker--every one wanted to talk to him, or rather to listen to him. The evenings were pleasant enough in the diplomatic salon. It was interesting to see the attitude of the different diplomatists. All were correct, but most of them were visibly antagonistic to the Republic and the Republicans (which they considered much accentuée since the nomination of Grévy--the women rather more so than the men). One felt, if one didn't hear, the criticisms on the dress, deportment, and general style of the Republican ladies.
[Illustration: The Elysée Palace, Paris]
I didn't quite understand their view of the situation. They were all delighted to come to Paris, and knew perfectly well the state of things, what an abyss existed between all the Conservative party, Royalists and Bonapartists, and the Republican, but the absence of a court didn't make any difference in their position. They went to all the entertainments given in the Faubourg St. Germain, and all the société came to theirs. With very few exceptions they did only what was necessary in the way of intercourse with the official world. I think they made a mistake, both for themselves and their governments. France was passing through an entirely new phase; everything was changing, many young intelligent men were coming to the front, and there were interesting and able discussions in the Chambers, and in the salons of the Republican ministers and deputies. I dare say the new theories of liberty and equality were not sympathetic to the trained representatives of courts, but the world was advancing, democracy was in the air, and one would have thought it would have interested foreigners to follow the movement and to judge for themselves whether the young Republic had any chance of life. One can hardly imagine a public man not wishing to hear all sides of a question, but I think, _certainly_ in the beginning, there was such a deep-rooted distrust and dislike to the Republic, that it was impossible to see things fairly. I don't know that it mattered very much. In these days of rapid travelling and telephone, an ambassador's rôle is much less important than in the old days when an ambassador with his numerous suite of secretaries and servants, travelling by post, would be days on the road before reaching his destination, and when all sorts of things might happen, kingdoms and dynasties be overthrown in the interval. Now all the great measures and negotiations are discussed and settled in the various chancelleries--the ambassador merely transmits his instructions.
I think the women were rather more uncompromising than the men. One day in my drawing-room there was a lively political discussion going on, and one heard all the well-known phrases "le gouvernement infect," "no gentleman could serve the Republic," etc. I wasn't paying much attention--never did; I had become accustomed to that style of conversation, and knew exactly what they were all going to say, when I heard one of my friends, an American-born, married to a Frenchman of very good old family, make the following statement: "Toute la canaille est Républicaine." That was really too much, and I answered: "Vous êtes bien indulgente pour l'Empire." When one thinks of the unscrupulous (not to use a stronger term) and needy adventurers, who made the Coup d'Etat and played a great part in the court of the Second Empire, it was really a little startling to be told that the Republicans enjoyed the monopoly of the canaille. However, I suppose nothing is so useless as a political discussion (except perhaps a religious one). No one ever converts any one else. I have always heard it said that the best political speech never changed a vote.
The first person who entertained Grévy was Prince Hohenlohe, the German ambassador. They had a brilliant reception, rooms crowded, all the official world and a fair contingent from the Faubourg St. Germain. The President brought his daughter with him (Madame Grévy never accepted any invitations) and they walked through the rooms arm-in-arm, mademoiselle declining the arm of Count Wesdehlen, first secretary of the German Embassy.
However, she was finally prevailed upon to abandon the paternal support, and then Wesdehlen installed her in a small salon where Mollard, Introducteur des Ambassadeurs, took charge of her and introduced a great many men to her. No woman would ask to be introduced to an unmarried woman, and that of course made her position difficult. The few ladies she had already seen at the Elysée came up to speak to her, but didn't stay near her, so she was really receiving almost alone with Mollard. Grévy was in another room, très entouré, as he always was. The diplomatic corps did not spare their criticisms. Madame Grévy received every Saturday in the afternoon, and I went often--not every time. It was a funny collection of people, some queerly dressed women and one or two men in dress coats and white cravats,--always a sprinkling of diplomatists. Prince Orloff was often there, and if anybody could have made that stiff, shy semicircle of women comfortable, he would have done it, with his extraordinary ease of manner and great habit of the world. Gambetta was installed in the course of the month at the Palais Bourbon, next to us. It was brilliantly lighted every night, and my chef told me one of his friends, an excellent cook, was engaged, and that there would be a great many dinners. The Palais Bourbon had seen great entertainments in former days, when the famous Duc de Morny was Président de la Chambre des Députés. Under Napoleon III his entertainments were famous. The whole world, fashionable, political, and diplomatic thronged his salons, and invitations were eagerly sought for not only by the French people, but by the many foreigners who passed through Paris at that time. Gambetta must have been a curious contrast to the Duc de Morny.
We went to see a first function at the Elysée some time in February, two Cardinals were to be named and Grévy was to deliver the birettas. Mollard asked to see me one morning, telling me that the two ablegates with their suite had arrived, and wished to pay their respects to me. One of them was Monsignor Cataldi, whom we had known well in Rome when we were living there. He was a friend of my brother (General Rufus King, the last United States minister to the Vatican under Pia Nono), and came often to the house. He was much excited when he found out that Madame Waddington was the Mary King he had known so well in Rome. He had with him an English priest, whose name, curiously enough, was English. They appeared about tea-time and were quite charming, Cataldi just as fat and cheerful and talkative as I remembered him in the old days in Rome. We plunged at once into all sorts of memories of old times--the good old times when Rome was small and black and interesting--something quite apart and different from any other place in the world. Monsignor English was much younger and more reserved, the Anglo-Saxon type--a contrast to the exuberant Southerners. We asked them to dine the next night and were able to get a few interesting people to meet them, Comte et Comtesse de Sartiges, and one or two deputies--bien-pensants. Sartiges was formerly French ambassador in Rome to the Vatican, and a very clever diplomatist. He was very autocratic, did exactly what he liked. I remember quite well some of his small dances at the embassy. The invitations were from ten to twelve, and at twelve precisely the musicians stopped playing--no matter who was dancing, the ball was over. His wife was an American, from Boston, Miss Thorndike, who always retained the simple, natural manner of the well-born American. Their son, the Vicomte de Sartiges, has followed in his father's footsteps, and is one of the most serious and intelligent of the young diplomatists.
Cataldi made himself very agreeable, spoke French perfectly well, though with a strong Italian accent. He confided to me after dinner that he would have liked to see some of the more advanced political men, instead of the very conservative Catholics we had invited to meet them. "I know what these gentlemen think; I would like to talk to some of the others, those who think 'le clericalism c'est l'ennemi,' and who are firmly convinced that the soutane serves as a cloak for all sorts of underhand and unpatriotic dealings; I can only see them abroad, never in Rome." He would have talked to them quite easily. Italians have so much natural tact, in discussing difficult questions, never irritate people unnecessarily.
W. enjoyed his evening. He had never been in Rome, nor known many Romans, and it amused him to see how skilfully Cataldi (who was a devoted admirer of Leo XIII) avoided all cross-currents and difficult questions, saying only what he intended to say, and appreciating all that was said to him.
Henrietta and I were very anxious to see the ceremony at the Elysée, and asked Mollard, Introducteur des Ambassadeurs and chef du Protocole--a most important man on all official occasions, if he couldn't put us somewhere in a corner, where we could see, without taking any part. W. was of no use to us, as he went officially, in uniform. Madame Grévy was very amiable, and sent us an invitation to breakfast. We found a small party assembled in the tapestry salon when we arrived at the Elysée--the President with all his household, civil and military, Madame and Mademoiselle Grévy, three or four ladies, wives of the aides-de-camp and secretaries, also several prominent ecclesiastics, among them Monsignor Capel, an English priest, a very handsome and attractive man, whom we had known well in Rome. He was supposed to have made more women converts to Catholicism than any man of his time; I can quite understand his influence with women. There was something very natural and earnest about him--no pose. I had not seen him since I had married and was very pleased when I recognised him. He told me he had never seen W.--was most anxious to make his acquaintance.
While we were talking, W. came in, looking very warm and uncomfortable, wearing his stiff, gold-embroidered uniform, which changed him very much. I introduced Capel to him at once. They had quite a talk before the Archbishops and ablegates arrived. The two future Cardinals, Monseigneur Pie, Archbishop of Poitiers, and Monseigneur Desprey, Archbishop of Toulouse, were well known in the Catholic world. The Pope's choice was generally approved. They were treated with all due ceremony, as befitted princes of the church. One of the Elysée carriages (always very well turned out), with an escort of cavalry, went to fetch them, and they looked very stately and imposing in their robes when they came into the room where we were waiting. They were very different, Monseigneur Pie tall, thin, cold, arrogant,--one felt it was a trial for him to receive his Cardinal's hat from the hands of a Republican President. Monseigneur Desprey had a kind good expression. I don't think he liked it much either, but he put a better face on the matter.
Both Cardinals said exactly what one imagined they would say--that the traditional fidelity of France to the church should be supported and encouraged in every way in these troubled days of indifference to religion, etc. One felt all the time the strong antagonism of the church to the Republic. Grévy answered extremely well, speaking with much dignity and simplicity, and assuring the Cardinals that they could always count upon the constitutional authority of the head of the state, in favour of the rights of the church. I was quite pleased to see again the red coats and high boots of the gardes nobles. It is a very showy, dashing uniform. The two young men were good-looking and wore it very well. I asked to have them presented to me, and we had a long talk over old days in Rome when the Pope went out every day to the different villas, and promenades, and always with an escort of gardes nobles. I invited them to our reception two or three nights afterward, and they seemed to enjoy themselves. They were, of course, delighted with their short stay in Paris, and I think a little surprised at the party at the Foreign Office under a Republican régime. I don't know if they expected to find the rooms filled with gentlemen in the traditional red Garibaldian shirt--and ladies in corresponding simplicity of attire.
[Illustration: Her Majesty Queen Victoria, about 1879. From a photograph by Chancellor, Dublin.]
We saw a great many English at the Quai d'Orsay. Queen Victoria stayed 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.