Chapter M: Waddington as Minister of Public Instruction (1)

In March, 1876, W. was made, for the second time, "Ministre de l'Instruction Publique et des Beaux Arts," with M. Dufaure Président du Conseil, Duc Décazes at the Foreign Office, and Léon Say at the finances. His nomination was a surprise to us. We didn't expect it at all. There had been so many discussions, so many names put forward. It seemed impossible to come to an understanding and form a cabinet which would be equally acceptable to the marshal and to the Chambers. I came in rather late one afternoon while the negotiations were going on, and was told by the servants that M. Léon Say was waiting in W.'s library to see him. W. came a few minutes afterward, and the two gentlemen remained a long time talking. They stopped in the drawing-room on their way to the door, and Say said to me: "Eh bien, madame, je vous apporte une portefeuille et des félicitations." "Before I accept the felicitations, I would like to know which portfolio." Of course when he said, "Public instruction," I was pleased, as I knew it was the only one W. cared for. My brother-in-law, Richard Waddington, senator of the Seine Inférieure,[1] and one or two friends came to see us in the evening, and the gentlemen talked late into the night, discussing programmes, possibilities, etc. All the next day the conferences went on, and when the new cabinet was presented to the marshal, he received them graciously if not warmly. W. said both Dufaure and Décazes were quite wonderful, realising the state of affairs exactly, and knowing the temper of the house, which was getting more advanced every day and more difficult to manage.

[Footnote 1: My brother-in-law, Richard Waddington, senator, died in June, 1913, some time after these notes were written.]

W. at once convoked all the officials and staff of the ministry. He made very few changes, merely taking the young Count de Lasteyrie, now Marquis de Lasteyrie, grandnephew of the Marquis de Lafayette, son of M. Jules de Lasteyrie, a senator and devoted friend of the Orléans family, as his chef de cabinet. Two or three days after the new cabinet was announced, W. took me to the Elysée to pay my official visit to the Maréchale de MacMahon. She received us up-stairs in a pretty salon looking out on the garden. She was very civil, not a particularly gracious manner--gave me the impression of a very energetic, practical woman--what most Frenchwomen are. I was very much struck with her writing-table, which looked most businesslike. It was covered with quantities of letters, papers, cards, circulars of all kinds--she attended to all household matters herself. I always heard (though she did not tell me) that she read every letter that was addressed to her, and she must have had hundreds of begging letters. She was very charitable, much interested in all good works, and very kind to all artists. Whenever a letter came asking for money, she had the case investigated, and if the story was true, gave practical help at once. I was dismayed at first with the number of letters received from all over France asking my intercession with the minister on every possible subject from a "monument historique" to be restored, to a pension given to an old schoolmaster no longer able to work, with a large family to support. It was perfectly impossible for me to answer them. Being a foreigner and never having lived in France, I didn't really know anything about the various questions. W. was too busy to attend to such small matters, so I consulted M. de L., chef de cabinet, and we agreed that I should send all the correspondence which was not strictly personal to him, and he would have it examined in the "bureau." The first few weeks of W.'s ministry were very trying to me--I went to see so many people,--so many people came to see me,--all strangers with whom I had nothing in common. Such dreary conversations, never getting beyond the most ordinary commonplace phrases,--such an absolutely different world from any I had ever lived in.

It is very difficult at first for any woman who marries a foreigner to make her life in her new country. There must be so many things that are different--better perhaps sometimes--but not what one has been accustomed to,--and I think more difficult in France than in any other country. French people are set in their ways, and there is so little sympathy with anything that is not French. I was struck with that absence of sympathy at some of the first dinners I went to. The talk was exclusively French, almost Parisian, very personal, with stories and allusions to people and things I knew nothing about. No one dreamed of talking to me about my past life--or America, or any of my early associations--yet I was a stranger--one would have thought they might have taken a little more trouble to find some topics of general interest. Even now, after all these years, the difference of nationality counts. Sometimes when I am discussing with very intimate friends some question and I find that I cannot understand their views and they cannot understand mine, they always come back to the real difficulty: "Ecoutez, chère amie, vous êtes d'une autre race." I rather complained to W. after the first three or four dinners--it seemed to me bad manners, but he said no, I was the wife of a French political man, and every one took for granted I was interested in the conversation--certainly no one intended any rudeness. The first big dinner I went to that year was at the Elysée--the regular official dinner for the diplomatic corps and the Government. I had Baron von Zuylen, the Dutch minister, one of our great friends, on one side of me, Léon Renault, préfet de police, on the other. Léon Renault was very interesting, very clever--an excellent préfet de police. Some of his stories were most amusing. The dinner was very good (always were in the marshal's time), not long, and mercifully the room was not too hot. Sometimes the heat was terrible. There were quite a number of people in the evening--the music of the garde républicaine playing, and a buffet in the dining-room which was always crowded. We never stayed very late, as W. always had papers to sign when we got home. Sometimes when there was a great press of work his "signatures" kept him two hours. I don't think the marshal enjoyed the receptions very much. Like most soldiers he was an early riser, and the late hours and constant talking tired him.

I liked our dinners and receptions at the ministry. All the intelligence of France passed through our rooms. People generally came early--by ten o'clock the rooms were quite full. Every one was announced, and it was most interesting to hear the names of all the celebrities in every branch of art and science. It was only a fleeting impression, as the guests merely spoke to me at the door and passed on. In those days, hardly any one shook hands unless they were fairly intimate--the men never. They made me low bows some distance off and rarely stopped to exchange a few words with me. Some of the women, not many, shook hands. It was a fatiguing evening, as I stood so long, and a procession of strangers passed before me. The receptions finished early--every one had gone by eleven o'clock except a few loiterers at the buffet. There are always a certain number of people at the big official receptions whose principal object in coming seems to be to make a comfortable meal. The servants always told me there was nothing left after a big party. There were no invitations--the reception was announced in the papers, so any one who felt he had the slightest claim upon the minister appeared at the party. Some of the dresses were funny, but there was nothing eccentric--no women in hats, carrying babies in their arms, such as one used to see in the old days in America at the President's reception at the White House, Washington--some very simple black silk dresses hardly low--and of course a great many pretty women very well dressed. Some of my American friends often came with true American curiosity, wanting to see a phase of French life which was quite novel to them.

W. remained two years as Minister of Public Instruction, and my life became at once very interesting, very full. We didn't live at the ministry--it was not really necessary. All the work was over before dinner, except the "signatures," which W. could do just as well in his library at home. We went over and inspected the Hôtel du Ministère in the rue de Grenelle before we made our final decision, but it was not really tempting. There were fine reception-rooms and a pretty garden, but the living-rooms were small, not numerous, and decidedly gloomy. Of course I saw much less of W. He never came home to breakfast, except on Sunday, as it was too far from the rue de Grenelle to the Etoile. The Arc de Triomphe stands in the Place de l'Etoile at the top of the Champs-Elysées. All the great avenues, Alma, Jéna, Kléber, and the adjacent streets are known as the Quartier de l'Etoile. It was before the days of telephones, so whenever an important communication was to be made to him when he was at home in the evening, a dragoon galloped up with his little black bag from which he extracted his papers. It made quite an excitement in our quiet street the first time he arrived after ten o'clock. We just managed our morning ride, and then there were often people waiting to speak to W. before we started, and always when he came back. There was a great amount of patronage attached to his ministry, nominations to all the universities, lycées, schools, etc., and, what was most agreeable to me, boxes at all the government theatres,--the Grand Opera, Opéra Comique, Français, Odéon, and Conservatoire. Every Monday morning we received the list for the week, and, after making our own selection, distributed them to the official world generally,--sometimes to our own personal friends. The boxes of the Français, Opéra, and Conservatoire were much appreciated.

I went very regularly to the Sunday afternoon concerts at the Conservatoire, where all classical music was splendidly given. They confined themselves generally to the strictly classic, but were beginning to play a little Schumann that year. Some of the faces of the regular habitués became most familiar to me. There were three or four old men with grey hair sitting in the first row of stalls (most uncomfortable seats) who followed every note of the music, turning around and frowning at any unfortunate person in a box who dropped a fan or an opera-glass. It was funny to hear the hum of satisfaction when any well-known movement of Beethoven or Mozart was attacked. The orchestra was perfect, at its best I think in the "scherzos" which they took in beautiful style--so light and sure. I liked the instrumental part much better than the singing. French voices, the women's particularly, are thin, as a rule. I think they sacrifice too much to the "diction,"--don't bring out the voices enough--but the style and training are perfect of their kind.

The Conservatoire is quite as much a social feature as a school of music. It was the thing to do on Sunday afternoon. No invitation was more appreciated, as it was almost impossible to have places unless one was invited by a friend. All the boxes and seats (the hall is small) belong to subscribers and have done so for one or two generations. Many marriages are made there. There are very few theatres in Paris to which girls can be taken, but the Opéra Comique and the Conservatoire are very favourite resorts. When a marriage is pending the young lady, very well dressed (always in the simplest tenue de jeune fille) is taken to the Conservatoire or the Opéra Comique by her father and mother, and very often her grandmother. She sits in front of the box and the young man in the stalls, where he can study his future wife without committing himself. The difference of dress between the jeune fille and the jeune femme is very strongly marked in France. The French girl never wears lace or jewels or feathers or heavy material of any kind, quite unlike her English or American contemporaries, who wear what they like. The wedding-dress is classic, a simple, very long dress of white satin, and generally a tulle veil over the face. When there is a handsome lace veil in the family, the bride sometimes wears it, but no lace on her dress. The first thing the young married woman does is to wear a very long velvet dress with feathers in her hair.

I think on the whole the arranged marriages turn out as well as any others. They are generally made by people of the same monde, accustomed to the same way of living, and the fortunes as nearly alike as possible. Everything is calculated. The young couple usually spend the summer with parents or parents-in-law, in the château, and I know some cases where there are curious details about the number of lamps that can be lighted in their rooms, and the use of the carriage on certain days. I am speaking of course of purely French marriages. To my American ideas it seemed very strange when I first came to Europe, but a long residence in a foreign country certainly modifies one's impressions. Years ago, when we were living in Rome, four sisters, before any of us were married, a charming Frenchwoman, Duchesse de B., who came often to the house, was very worried about this family of girls, all very happy at home and contented with their lives. It was quite true we danced and hunted and made a great deal of music, without ever troubling ourselves about the future. The duchesse couldn't understand it, used often to talk to mother very seriously. She came one day with a proposal of marriage--a charming man, a Frenchman, not too young, with a good fortune, a title, and a château, had seen Madam King's daughters in the ballroom and hunting-field, and would very much like to be presented and make his cour. "Which one?" we naturally asked, but the answer was vague. It sounded so curiously impersonal that we could hardly take it seriously. However, we suggested that the young man should come and each one of the four would show off her particular talent. One would play and one would sing (rather like the song in the children's book, "one could dance and one could sing, and one could play the violin"), and the third, the polyglot of the family, could speak several languages. We were rather puzzled as to what my eldest sister could do, as she was not very sociable and never spoke to strangers if she could help it, so we decided she must be very well dressed and preside at the tea-table behind an old-fashioned silver urn that we always used--looking like a stately maîtresse de maison receiving her guests. We confided all these plans to the duchesse, but she was quite put out with us, wouldn't bring the young man nor tell us his name. We never knew who he was. Since I have been a Frenchwoman (devant la loi)--I think all Americans remain American no matter where they marry,--I have interested myself three or four times in made marriages, which have generally turned out well. There were very few Americans married in France all those years, now there are legions of all kinds. I don't remember any in the official parliamentary world I lived in the first years of my marriage--nor English either. It was absolutely French, and rather borné French. Very few of the people, the women especially, had any knowledge or experience of foreign countries, and didn't care to have,--France was enough for them.

W. was very happy at the Ministry of Public Instruction,--all the educational questions interested him so much and the tournées en province and visits to the big schools and universities,--some of them, in the south of France particularly, singularly wanting in the most elementary details of hygiene and cleanliness, and it was very difficult to make the necessary changes, giving more light, air, and space. Routine is a powerful factor in this very conservative country, where so many things exist simply because they have always existed. Some of his letters from Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Montpellier were most interesting. As a rule he was very well received and got on very well, strangely enough, with the clergy, particularly the haut clergé, bishops and cardinals. His being a Protestant was rather a help to him; he could take an impartial view of things.

At Bordeaux he stayed at the Préfecture, where he was very comfortable, but the days were fatiguing. He said he hadn't worked so hard for years. He started at nine in the morning, visiting schools and universities, came home to breakfast at twelve, and immediately after had a small reception, rectors, professors, and people connected with the schools he wanted to talk to, at three started again seeing more schools and going conscientiously over the buildings from basement to garret,--then visits to the cardinal, archbishop, general commanding, etc.--a big dinner and reception in the evening, the cardinal present in his red robes, his coadjutor in purple, the officers in uniform, and all the people connected in any way with the university, who were pleased to see their chief. There was a total absence of Bonapartist senators and deputies (which was not surprising, as W. had always been in violent opposition to the Empire), who were rather numerous in these parts. W. was really quite exhausted when he got back to Paris--said it was absolute luxury to sit quietly and read in his library, and not talk. It wasn't a luxury that he enjoyed very much, for whenever he was in the house there was always some one talking to him in his study and others waiting in the drawing-room. Every minute of the day he was occupied. People were always coming to ask for something for themselves or some members of their family, always candidates for the Institute, anxiously inquiring what their chances were, and if he had recommended them to his friends. It is striking even in this country of functionaries (I think there are more small public employees in France than in any other country) how many applicants there were always for the most insignificant places--a Frenchman loves a cap with gold braid and gilt buttons on his coat.

All the winter of 1876, which saw the end of the National Assembly and the beginning of a new régime, was an eventful one in parliamentary circles. I don't know if the country generally was very much excited about a new constitution and a change of government. I don't think the country in France (the small farmers and peasants) are ever much excited about the form of government. As long as the crops are good and there is no war to take away their sons and able-bodied men, they don't care, often don't know, whether a king or an emperor is reigning over them. They say there are some far-off villages half hidden in the forests and mountains who still believe that a king and a Bourbon is reigning in France. Something had to be decided; the provisoire could no longer continue; the country could not go on without a settled government. All the arguments and negotiations of that period have been so often told, that I will not go into any details. The two centres, centre droit and centre gauche, had everything in their hands as the great moderating elements of the Assembly, but the conflicting claims of the various parties, Legitimist, Orleanist, Bonapartist, and advanced Left, made the question a very difficult one.

W. as a member of the Comité des Trente was very much occupied and preoccupied. He came back generally very late from Versailles, and, when he did dine at home, either went out again after dinner to some of the numerous meetings at different houses or had people at home. I think the great majority of deputies were honestly trying to do what they thought best for the country, and when one remembers the names and personalities on both sides--MacMahon, Broglie, d'Audiffret-Pasquier, Buffet, Dufaure, and Thiers, Casimir Périer, Léon Say, Jules Simon, Jules Ferry, Freycinet, and many others, it is impossible to think that any of those men were animated by any spirit other than love of the country and an ardent desire to see some stable government restored which would enable France to take her place again among the great powers. Unfortunately the difference of opinion as to the form of government made things very difficult. Some of the young deputies, just fresh from the war and smarting under a sense of humiliation, were very violent in their abuse of any Royalist and particularly Bonapartist restoration.

IV

THE SOCIAL SIDE OF A MINISTER'S WIFE

My first big dinner at the Ministry of Public Instruction rather intimidated me. We were fifty people--I the only lady. I went over to the ministry in the afternoon to see the table, which was very well arranged with quantities of flowers, beautiful Sèvres china, not much silver--there is very little left in France, it having all been melted at the time of the Revolution. The official dinners are always well done in Paris. I suppose the traditions of the Empire have been handed down. We arrived a few minutes before eight, all the staff and directors already there, and by ten minutes after eight every one had arrived. I sat between Gérôme, the painter, and Renan, two very different men but each quite charming,--Gérôme tall, slight, animated, talking very easily about everything. He told me who a great many of the people were, with a little commentary on their profession and career which was very useful to me, as I knew so few of them. Renan was short, stout, with a very large head, almost unprepossessing-looking, but with a great charm of manner and the most delightful smile and voice imaginable. He often dined with us in our own house, en petit comité, and was always charming. He was one of those happy mortals (there are not many) who made every subject they discuss interesting.

After that first experience, I liked the big men's dinners very much. There was no general conversation; I talked exclusively to my two neighbours, but as they were always distinguished in some branch of art, science, or literature, the talk was brilliant, and I found the hour our dinner lasted a very short one. W. was very particular about not having long dinners. Later, at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, where we sometimes had eighty guests, the dinner was never over an hour. I did not remain the whole evening at the men's dinners. As soon as they dispersed to talk and smoke, I came away, leaving W. to entertain his guests. We often had big receptions with music and comédie. At one of our first big parties we had several of the Orléans family. I was rather nervous, as I had never received royalty,--in fact I had never spoken to a royal prince or princess. I had lived a great deal in Rome, as a girl, during the last days of Pius IX, and I was never in Paris during the Empire. When we went back to Rome one winter, after the accession of King Victor Emmanuel, I found myself for the first time in a room with royalties, the Prince and Princesse de Piémont. I remember quite well being so surprised by seeing two of the Roman men we knew very well come backward into the ballroom where we were sitting. I thought they must be anticipating the Mardi Gras and were masquerading a little, didn't realise that every one was standing. I remained sitting for a moment (much to the horror of one of the English secretaries who was with us and who thought we were going to make a spread-eagle American demonstration and remain sitting when royalty appeared). However, by some sort of instinct, we rose too (perhaps to see what was going on), just as the princes passed. Princess Marguerite looked charming, dressed in white, with her splendid pearls and beautiful fair hair.

When it was decided that we should ask the Orléans princes to our party, I thought I would go to see the Duc Décazes, the foreign minister, a charming man and charming colleague, to get some precise information about my part of the entertainment. He couldn't think what I wanted when I invaded his cabinet, and was much amused when I stated my case.

"There is nothing unusual in receiving the princes at a ministry. You must do as you have always done."

"But that is just the question, I have _never done_. I have never in my life exchanged a word with a royal personage."

"It is not possible!"

"It is absolutely true; I have never lived anywhere where there was a court."

When he saw that I was in earnest he was as nice as possible, told me _exactly_ what I wanted to know,--that I need not say "Altesse royale" every time I spoke, merely occasionally, as they all like it,--that I must speak in the third person, "Madame veut-elle," "Monseigneur veut-il me permettre," etc., also that I must always be at the door when a princess arrived and conduct her myself to her seat.

"But if I am at one end of the long enfilade of rooms taking the Comtesse de Paris to her seat and another princess (Joinville or Chartres) should arrive; what has to be done?"

"Your husband must always be at the door with his chef de cabinet, who will replace him while he takes the princess to her place."

The Marquise de L., a charming old lady with white hair, beautiful blue eyes, and pink cheeks, a great friend of the Orléans family, went with me when I made my round of visits to thank the royal ladies for accepting our invitation. We found no one but the Princesse Marguerite, daughter of the Duc de Nemours, who was living at Neuilly. I had all my instructions from the marquise, how many courtesies to make, how to address her, and above all not to speak until the princess spoke to me. We were shown into a pretty drawing-room, opening on a garden, where the princess was waiting, standing at one end of the room. Madame de L. named me, I made my courtesies, the princess shook hands, and then we remained standing, facing each other. She didn't say anything. I stood perfectly straight and quiet, waiting. She changed colour, moved her hands nervously, was evidently overcome with shyness, but didn't utter a sound. It seemed very long, was really only a few seconds, but I was getting rather nervous when suddenly a child ran across the garden. That broke the ice and she asked me the classic royal question, "Avez-vous des enfants, madame?" I had only one, and he was rather small, but still his nurse, his teeth, and his food carried me on for a little while and after that we had some general conversation, but I can't say the visit was really interesting. As long as I was in public life I regretted that I had but the one child,--children and nurseries and schoolrooms were always an unfailing topic of conversation. Frenchwomen of all classes take much more interest in the details of their nurseries and the education and bringing-up of their children than we Anglo-Saxons do. I know several mammas who followed all the course of their sons' studies when they were preparing their baccalauréat, even to writing the compositions. The head nurse (English) who takes entire charge of her nursery, who doesn't like any interference, and brings the children to their mother at stated hours, doesn't exist in France.

Our party was very brilliant, all sorts of notabilities of all kinds, and the leading Paris artists from the Grand Opera, Opéra Comique, and the Français. As soon as the performance was over W. told me I must go and thank the artists; he could not leave his princes. I started off to the last of the long suite of salons where they were all assembled. Comte de L., W.'s chef de cabinet, went with me, and we were preceded by a huissier with sword and chain, who piloted us through the crowd. I felt very shy when I arrived in the greenroom. The artists were drawn up in two rows, the women on one side, the men on the other, all eyes of course fixed upon madame la ministresse. Madame Carvalho, Sarah Bernhardt, and Croizette were standing at the head of the long line of women; Faure, Talazac, Delaunay, Coquelin, on the other side. I went first all along the line of women, then came back by the men. I realised instantly after the first word of thanks and interest how easy it is for princes, or any one in high places, to give pleasure. They all responded so smilingly and naturally to everything I said. After the first two or three words, I didn't mind at all, and found myself discussing acoustics, the difficulty of playing any well-known part without costumes, scenery, etc., the inconvenience of having the public so near, quite easily. We often had music and recitations at our parties, and that was always a great pleasure to me. I remember so well one evening when we had the chorus of the Conservatoire and they sang quite beautifully the old "Plaisirs d'Amour" of our childhood. It had a great success and they were obliged to repeat it. W. made one great innovation in the dress of the ladies of the Conservatoire chorus. They were always dressed in white, which was very well for the young, slight figures, but was less happy for a stout middle-aged lady. So after much discussion it was decided to adopt black as the official dress and I must say it was an enormous improvement.

THE SOCIAL SIDE

All sorts of interesting people came to see us at the Ministry of Public Instruction,--among others the late Emperor of Brazil, Don Pedro de Bragance, who spent some months in Paris that year with his daughter, the young Comtesse d'Eu. He was a tall, good-looking man, with a charming easy manner, very cultivated and very keen about everything--art, literature, politics. His gentlemen said he had the energy of a man of twenty-five, and he was well over middle age when he was in Paris. They were quite exhausted sometimes after a long day of visits and sightseeing with him. He was an early riser. One of the first rendezvous he gave W. was at nine o'clock in the morning, which greatly disturbed that gentleman's habits. He was never an early riser, worked always very late (said his best despatches were written after midnight), and didn't care about beginning his day too early. Another interesting personality was Mommsen, the German historian and savant. He was a picturesque-looking old man with keen blue eyes and a quantity of white hair. I don't think anything modern interested him very much. He was an old man when I first saw him, and looked even older than his age. He and W. used to plunge into very long, learned discussions over antiquities and medals. W. said the hours with Mommsen rested him, such a change from the "shop" talk always mixed with politics in France.

We often had political breakfasts at home (more breakfasts than dinners). Our Aisne deputies and senators were not very mondains, didn't care much to dine out. They were pleasant enough when they talked about subjects that interested them. Henri Martin, senator of the Aisne, was an old-fashioned Republican, absolutely convinced that no other government would ever succeed in France, but he was moderate. St. Vallier, also a senator from the Aisne, was nervous and easily discouraged when things didn't go smoothly, but he too thought the Republic was the only possible government now, whatever his preferences might have been formerly.

W.'s ministry came to an end on the famous 16th of May, 1877, when Marshal MacMahon suddenly took matters in his own hands and dismissed his cabinet presided over by M. Jules Simon. Things had not been going smoothly for some time, could not between two men of such absolute difference of origin, habits, and ideas. Still, the famous letter written by the marshal to Jules Simon was a thunderclap. I was walking about the Champs-Elysées and Faubourg St. Honoré on the morning of the 16th of May, and saw all the carriages, our own included, waiting at the Ministry of the Interior, where the conseil was sitting. I went home to breakfast, thought W. was later than usual, but never dreamed of what was happening. When he finally appeared, quite composed and smiling, with his news, "We are out of office; the marshal has sent us all about our business," I could hardly believe it, even when he told me all the details. I had known for a long time that things were not going well, but there were always so much friction and such opposing elements in the cabinet that I had not attached much importance to the accounts of stormy sittings and thought things would settle down.

W. said the marshal was very civil to him, but it was evident that he could not stand Jules Simon any longer and the various measures that he felt were impending. We had many visitors after breakfast, all much excited, wondering what the next step would be--if the Chambers would be dissolved, the marshal trying to impose a cabinet of the Right or perhaps form another moderate liberal cabinet without Jules Simon, but retaining some of his ministers. It was my reception afternoon, and while I was sitting quietly in my drawing-room talking to some of my friends, making plans for the summer, quite pleased to have W. to myself again, the butler hurried into the room telling me that the Maréchale de MacMahon was on the stairs, coming to make me a visit. I was very much surprised, as she never came to see me. We met very rarely, except on official occasions, and she made no secret of her dislike to the official Republican ladies (but she was always absolutely correct if not enthusiastic). I had just time to get to the head of the stairs to receive her. She was very amiable, a little embarrassed, took a cup of tea--said the marshal was very sorry to part with W., he had never had any trouble or disagreement with him of any kind, but that it was impossible to go on with a cabinet when neither party had any confidence in the other. I quite agreed, said it was the fortunes of war; I hoped the marshal would find another premier who would be more sympathetic with him, and then we talked of other things.

My friends were quite amused. One of them, Marquise de T., knew the Maréchale quite well, and said she was going to ask her if she was obliged to make visites de condoléance to the wives of all the fallen ministers. W. was rather astonished when I told him who had come to tea with me, and thought the conversation must have been difficult. I told him, not at all, once the necessary phrases about the departing ministers were over. The piano was open, music littered about; she was fond of music and she admired very much a portrait of father as a boy in the Harrow dress, asked who it was and what the dress was. She was a perfect woman of the world, and no one was uncomfortable.

It seemed quite strange and very pleasant to take up my old life again after two years of public life. W. breakfasted at home, went to the Senate every day and to the Institute on Fridays and we dined with our friends and had small dinners in our own house instead of official banquets at all the ministries (usually from Potel and Chabot at so much a head). Politics were very lively all summer. The Chambers were dissolved almost at once after the constitution of the new cabinet, presided over by the Duc de Broglie. It was evident from the first moment that the new ministry wouldn't, couldn't live. (The Duc de Broglie was quite aware of the fact. His first words on taking office were: "On nous a jetés à l'eau, maintenant il faut nager.") He made a very good fight, but he had that worst of all faults for a leader, he was unpopular. He was a brilliant, cultured speaker, but had a curt, dictatorial manner, with an air always of looking down upon his public. So different from his colleague, the Duc Décazes, whose charming, courteous manners and nice blue eyes made him friends even among his adversaries. There is a well-known story told of the two dukes which shows exactly the personality of the men. Some one, a deputy I think, wanted something very much which either of the gentlemen could give. He went first to the Duc Décazes, then Minister of Foreign Affairs, who received him charmingly, was most kind and courteous, but didn't do what the man wanted. He then went to the Duc de Broglie, Président du Conseil, who was busy, received him very curtly, cut short his explanations, and was in fact extremely disagreeable but did the thing, and the man loved Décazes and hated de Broglie. All sorts of rumours were afloat; we used to hear the wildest stories and plans. One day W. came in looking rather preoccupied. There was an idea that the Right were going to take most stringent measures, arrest all the ministers, members of Jules Simon's cabinet, many of the prominent Liberals. He said it was quite possible and then gave me various instructions. I was above all to make no fuss if they really came to arrest him. He showed me where all his keys, papers, and money were, told me to go instantly to his uncle, Mr. Lutteroth, who lived next door. He was an old diplomat, knew everybody, and would give me very good advice. I did not feel very happy, but like so many things that are foretold, nothing ever happened.

Another rumour, from the extreme Left this time, was that a large armed force under the command of a well-known general, very high up in his career, was to assemble in the north at Lille, a strong contingent of Republicans were to join them to be ready to act. I remember quite well two of W.'s friends coming in one morning, full of enthusiasm for this plan. I don't think they quite knew what they were going to do with their army. W. certainly did not. He listened to all the details of the plan; they gave him the name of the general, supposed to have very Republican sympathies (not generally the case with officers), the number of regiments, etc., who would march at a given signal, but when he said, "It is possible, you might get a certain number of men together, but what would you do with them?" they were rather nonplussed. They hadn't got any further than a grand patriotic demonstration, with the military, drums beating, flags flying, and the Marseillaise being howled by an excited crowd. No such extreme measures, however, were ever carried out. From the first moment it was evident that a large Republican majority would be returned; almost all the former deputies were re-elected and a number of new ones, more advanced in their opinion. In the country it was the only topic of conversation.

Parliament was dissolved in June, 1877, but we remained in town until the end of July. It wasn't very warm and many people remained until the end of the session. The big schools too only break up on the 15th of July, and many parents remain in Paris. The Republican campaign had already begun, and there were numerous little dinners and meetings when plans and possibilities were discussed. W. got back usually very late from Versailles. When he knew the sitting would be very late he sent me word and I used to go and dine with mother, but sometimes he was kept on there from hour to hour. I had some long waits before we could dine, and Hubert, the coachman, used to spend hours in the courtyard of the Gare St. Lazare waiting for his master. We had a big bay mare, a very fast trotter, which always did the train service, and the two were stationed there sometimes from six-thirty to nine-thirty, but they never seemed the worse for it. W., though a very considerate man for his servants generally, never worried at all about keeping his coachmen and horses waiting. He said the coachmen were the most warmly dressed men in Paris, always took care to be well covered, and we never had fancy, high-stepping horses, but ordinary strong ones, which could wait patiently. W. said the talk in the Chambers and in the lobbies was quite wild--every sort of extravagant proposition was made. There were many conferences with the Duc d'Audiffret-Pasquier, Duc de Broglie--with Casimir Périer, Léon Say, Gambetta, Jules Ferry, and Freycinet--where the best men on both sides tried hard to come to an agreement. W. went several times in August to see M. Thiers, who was settled at St. Germain. The old statesman was as keen as ever, receiving every day all sorts of deputations, advising, warning, encouraging, and quite confident as to the result of the elections. People were looking to him as the next President, despite his great age. However, he was not destined to see the triumph of his ideas. He died suddenly at St. Germain on the 3d of September. W. said his funeral was a remarkable sight--thousands of people followed the cortège--all Paris showing a last respect to the libérateur du territoire (though there were still clubs where he was spoken of as le sinistre vieillard). In August W. went to his Conseil-Général at Laon, and I went down to my brother-in-law's place at St. Léger near Rouen. We were a very happy cosmopolitan family-party. My mother-in-law was born a Scotch-woman (Chisholm). She was a fine type of the old-fashioned cultivated lady, with a charming polite manner, keenly interested in all that was going on in the world. She was an old lady when I married, and had outlived almost all her contemporaries, but she had a beautiful old age, surrounded by children and grandchildren. She had lived through many vicissitudes from the time of her marriage, when she arrived at the Château of St. Remy in the Department of Eure-et-Loire (where my husband, her eldest son, was born), passing through triumphal arches erected in honour of the young bride, to the last days when the fortunes of the family were diminished by revolutions and political and business crises in France. They moved from St. Remy, selling the château, and built a house on the top of a green hill near Rouen, quite shut in by big trees, and with a lovely view from the Rond Point--the highest part of the garden, over Rouen--with the spires of the cathedral in the distance. I used to find her every morning when I went to her room, sitting at the window, her books and knitting on a table near--looking down on the lawn and the steep winding path that came up from the garden,--where she had seen three generations of her dear ones pass every day--first her husband, then her sons--now her grandsons. My sister-in-law, R.'s wife, was also an Englishwoman; the daughter of the house had married her cousin, de Bunsen, who had been a German diplomatist, and who had made nearly all his career in Italy, at the most interesting period of her history, when she was struggling for emancipation from the Austrian rule and independence. I was an American, quite a new element in the family circle. We had many and most animated discussions over all sorts of subjects, in two or three languages, at the tea-table under the big tree on the lawn. French and English were always going, and often German, as de Bunsen always spoke to his daughter in German. My mother-in-law, who knew three or four languages, did not at all approve of the careless habit we had all got into of mixing our languages and using French or Italian words when we were speaking English--if they came more easily. She made a rule that we should use only one language at meals--she didn't care which one, but we must keep to it. My brother-in-law was standing for the deputation. We didn't see much of him in the daytime--his electors and his visits and speeches and banquets de pompiers took up all his time. The beginning of his career had been very different. He was educated in England--Rugby and Woolwich--and served several years in the Royal Artillery in the British army. His military training was very useful to him during the Franco-Prussian War, when he equipped and commanded a field battery, making all the campaign. His English brother officers always remembered him. Many times when we were living in England at the embassy, I was asked about him. A curious thing happened in the House of Lords one day, showing the wonderful memory of princes for faces. R. was staying with us for a few days, when the annual debate over the bill for marriage of a deceased wife's sister came up. The Prince of Wales (late King Edward) and all the other princes were present in the House. R. was there too, standing where all the strangers do, at the entrance of the lobby. When the debate was over, the Prince of Wales left. As he passed along, he shook hands with several gentlemen also standing near the lobby, including R. He stopped a moment in front of him, saying: "I think this is Mr. Waddington. The last time I saw you, you wore Her Majesty's uniform." He hadn't seen him for twenty-five or thirty years. I asked the prince afterward how he recognised him. He said he didn't know; it was perhaps noticing an unfamiliar face in the group of men standing there,--and something recalled his brother, the ambassador.

In September we went down to Bourneville and settled ourselves there for the autumn. W. was standing for the Senate with the Count de St. Vallier and Henri Martin. They all preferred being named in their department, where everybody knew them and their personal influence could make itself more easily felt. W.'s campaign was not very arduous. All the people knew him and liked him--knew that he would do whatever he promised. Their programme was absolutely Republican, but moderate, and he only made a few speeches and went about the country a little. I often went with him when he rode, and some of our visits to the farmers and local authorities were amusing if not encouraging. We were always very well received, but it wasn't easy to find out what they really thought (if they did think about it at all) of the state of affairs. The small landowners particularly, the men who had one field and a garden, were very reserved. They listened attentively enough to all W. had to say. He was never long, never personal, and never abused his adversaries, but they rarely expressed an opinion. They almost always turned the conversation upon some local matter or petty grievance. It didn't seem to me that they took the slightest interest in the extraordinary changes that were going on in France. A great many people came to see W. and there would be a curious collection sometimes in his library at the end of the day. The doctor (who always had precise information--country doctors always have--they see a great many people and I fancy the women talk to them and tell them what their men are doing), one or two farmers, some schoolmasters, the mayors of the nearest villages, the captains of the firemen and of the archers (they still shoot with bow and arrow in our part of the country; every Sunday the men practise shooting at a target)--the gendarmes, very useful these too to bring news--the notary, and occasionally a sous-préfet, but then he was a personage, representing the Government, and was treated with more ceremony than the other visitors. It was evident from all these sources that the Republicans were coming to the front en masse.

The Republicans (for once) were marvellously disciplined and kept together. It was really wonderful when one thought of all the different elements that were represented in the party. There was quite as much difference between the quiet moderate men of the Left Centre and the extreme Left as there was between the Legitimists and any faction of the Republican party. There was a strong feeling among the Liberals that they were being coerced, that arbitrary measures, perhaps a coup d'état, would be sprung upon them, and they were quite determined to resist. I don't think there was ever any danger of a coup d'état, at least as long as Marshal MacMahon was the chief of state. He was a fine honourable, patriotic soldier, utterly incapable of an illegality of any kind. He didn't like the Republic, honestly thought it would never succeed with the Republicans (la République sans Républicains was for him its only chance)--and he certainly had illusions and thought his friends and advisers would succeed in making and keeping a firm conservative government. How far that illusion was shared by his entourage it is difficult to say. They fought their battle well--government pressure exercised in all ways. Préfets and sous-préfets changed, wonderful prospects of little work and high pay held out to doubtful electors, and the same bright illusive promises made to the masses, which all parties make in all elections and which the people believe each time. The Republicans were not idle either, and many fiery patriotic speeches were made or their side. Gambetta always held his public with his passionate, earnest declamation, and his famous phrase, that the marshal must "se soumettre ou se démettre," became a password all through the country.

V

A REPUBLICAN VICTORY AND A NEW MINISTRY

The elections took place in October-November, 1877, and gave at once a great Republican majority. W. and his two colleagues, Count de St. Vallier and Henri Martin, had an easy victory, but a great many of their personal friends, moderates, were beaten. The centres were decidedly weaker in the new Chambers. There was not much hope left of uniting the two centres, Droite et Gauche, in the famous "fusion" which had been a dream of the moderate men.

The new Chambers assembled at Versailles in November. The Broglie cabinet was out, but a new ministry of the Right faced the new Parliament. Their life was very short and stormy; they were really dead before they began to exist and in December the marshal sent for M. Dufaure and charged him to form a Ministère de Gauche. None of his personal friends, except General Borel at the War Office, was in the new combination. W. was named to the Foreign Office. I was rather disappointed when he came home and told me he had accepted that portfolio. I thought his old ministry, Public Instruction, suited him so well, the work interested him, was entirely to his taste. He knew all the literary and educational world, not only in France but everywhere else--England, of course, where he had kept up with many of his Cambridge comrades, and Germany, where he also had literary connections. However, that wide acquaintance and his perfect knowledge of English and English people helped him very much at once, not only at the Quai d'Orsay, but in all the years he was in England as ambassador.