My First Years As A Frenchwoman, 1876 to 1879 - Mary King Waddington
When I had had enough of the speeches and the bad atmosphere, I used to
wander about the terraces and gardens. How many beautiful sunsets I have
seen from the top of the terrace or else standing on the three famous
pink marble steps (so well known to all lovers of poetry through Alfred
de Musset's beautiful verses, "Trois Marches Roses"), seeing in
imagination all the brilliant crowd of courtiers and fair women that
used to people those wonderful gardens in the old days of Versailles! I
went sometimes to the "Reservoirs" for a cup of tea, and very often
found other women who had also driven out to get their husbands. We
occasionally brought back friends who preferred the quiet cool drive
through the Park of St. Cloud to the crowd and dust of the railway. The
Count de St. Vallier (who was not yet senator, but deeply interested in
politics) was frequently at Versailles and came back with us often. He
was a charming, easy talker. I never tired of hearing about the
brilliant days of the last Empire, and the fetes at the Tuileries,
Compiegne, and St. Cloud. He had been a great deal at the court of
Napoleon III, had seen many interesting people of all kinds, and had a
wonderful memory. He must have had an inner sense or presentiment of
some kind about the future, for I have heard him say often in speaking
of the old days and the glories of the Empire, when everything seemed so
prosperous and brilliant, that he used often to ask himself if it could
be real--Were the foundations as solid as they seemed! He had been a
diplomatist, was in Germany at the time of the Franco-German War, and
like so many of his colleagues scattered over Germany, was quite aware
of the growing hostile feeling in Germany to France and also of
Bismarck's aims and ambitions. He (like so many others) wrote repeated
letters and warnings to the French Foreign Office, which apparently had
no effect. One heard afterward that several letters of that description
from French diplomatists in Germany were found unopened in a drawer at
the ministry.
It was rather sad, as we drove through the stately alleys of the Park of
St. Cloud, with the setting sun shining through the fine old trees, to
hear of all the fetes that used to take place there,--and one could
quite well fancy the beautiful Empress appearing at the end of one of
the long avenues, followed by a brilliant suite of ladies and
ecuyers,--and the echoes of the cor de chasse in the distance. The
alleys are always there, and fairly well kept, but very few people or
carriages pass. The park is deserted. I don't think the cor de chasse
would awaken an echo or a regret even, so entirely has the Empire and
its glories become a thing of the past. A rendezvous de chasse was a
very pretty sight.
We went once to Compiegne before I was married, about three years before
the war. We went out and breakfasted at Compiegne with a great friend of
ours, M. de St. M., a chamberlain or equerry of the Emperor. We
breakfasted in a funny old-fashioned little hotel (with a very good
cuisine) and drove in a big open break to the forest. There were a great
many people riding, driving, and walking, officers of the garrison in
uniform, members of the hunt in green and gold, and a fair sprinkling of
red coats. The Empress looked charming, dressed always in the uniform of
the hunt, green with gold braid, and a tricorne on her head,--all her
ladies with the same dress, which was very becoming. One of the most
striking-looking of her ladies was the Princess Anna Murat, the present
Duchesse de Mouchy, who looked very handsome in the tricorne and
beautifully fitting habit. I didn't see the Empress on her horse, as we
lost sight of them very soon. She and her ladies arrived on the field in
an open break. I saw the Emperor quite distinctly as he rode up and gave
some orders. He was very well mounted (there were some beautiful horses)
but stooped slightly, and had rather a sad face. I never saw him again,
and the Empress only long years after at Cowes, when everything had gone
out of her life.
The President, Marshal MacMahon, was living at the Prefecture at
Versailles and received every Thursday evening. We went there several
times--it was my first introduction to the official world. The first two
or three times we drove out, but it was long (quite an hour and a
quarter) over bad roads--a good deal of pavement. One didn't care to
drive through the Park of St. Cloud at night--it was very lonely and
dark. We should have been quite helpless if we had fallen upon any
enterprising tramps, who could easily have stopped the carriage and
helped themselves to any money or jewels they could lay their hands on.
One evening the Seine had overflowed and we were obliged to walk a long
distance--all around Sevres--and got to Versailles very late and quite
exhausted with the jolting and general discomfort. After that we went
out by train--which put us at the Prefecture at ten o'clock. It wasn't
very convenient as there was a great rush for carriages when we arrived
at Versailles, still everybody did it. We generally wore black or dark
dresses with a lace veil tied over our heads, and of course only went
when it was fine. The evening was pleasant enough--one saw all the
political men, the marshal's personal friends of the droite went to him
in the first days of his presidency,--(they rather fell off later)--the
Government and Republicans naturally and all the diplomatic corps. There
were not many women, as it really was rather an effort to put one's self
into a low-necked dress and start off directly after dinner to the Gare
St. Lazare, and have rather a rush for places. We were always late, and
just had time to scramble into the last carriage.
I felt very strange--an outsider--all the first months, but my husband's
friends were very nice to me and after a certain time I was astonished
to find how much politics interested me. I learned a great deal from
merely listening while the men talked at dinner. I suppose I should have
understood much more if I had read the papers regularly, but I didn't
begin to do that until W. had been minister for some time, and then
worked myself into a nervous fever at all the opposition papers said
about him. However, all told, the attacks were never very vicious. He
had never been in public life until after the war when he was named
deputy and joined the Assemblee Nationale at Bordeaux--which was an
immense advantage to him. He had never served any other government, and
was therefore perfectly independent and was bound by no family
traditions or old friendships--didn't mind the opposition papers at
all--not even the caricatures. Some of them were very funny. There was
one very like him, sitting quite straight and correct on the box of a
brougham, "John Cocher Anglais n'a jamais verse, ni accroche" (English
coachman who has never upset nor run into anything).
There were a few political salons. The Countess de R. received every
evening--but only men--no women were ever asked. The wives rather
demurred at first, but the men went all the same--as one saw every one
there and heard all the latest political gossip. Another hostess was the
Princess Lize Troubetskoi. She was a great friend and admirer of
Thiers--was supposed to give him a great deal of information from
foreign governments. She was very eclectic in her sympathies, and every
one went to her, not only French, but all foreigners of any distinction
who passed through Paris. She gave herself a great deal of trouble for
her friends, but also used them when she wanted anything. One of the
stories which was always told of the Foreign Office was her "petit
paquet," which she wanted to send by the valise to Berlin, when the
Comte de St. Vallier was French ambassador there. He agreed willingly to
receive the package addressed to him, which proved to be a grand piano.
The privilege of sending packages abroad by the valise of the foreign
affairs was greatly abused when W. became Minister of Foreign Affairs.
He made various changes, one of which was that the valise should be
absolutely restricted to official papers and documents, which really was
perhaps well observed.
The Countess de Segur received every Saturday night. It was really an
Orleanist salon, as they were devoted friends of the Orleans family, but
one saw all the moderate Republicans there and the centre gauche (which
struggled so long to keep together and be a moderating influence, but
has long been swallowed up in the ever-increasing flood of radicalism)
and a great many literary men, members of the Institute, Academicians,
etc. They had a fine old house entre cour et jardin, with all sorts of
interesting pictures and souvenirs. Countess de S. also received every
day before three o'clock. I often went and was delighted when I could
find her alone. She was very clever, very original, had known all sorts
of people, and it was most interesting to hear her talk about King Louis
Philippe's court, the Spanish marriages, the death of the Duc d'Orleans,
the Coup d'Etat of Louis Napoleon, etc. When she first began to receive,
during the reign of Louis Philippe, the feeling was very bitter between
the Legitimists (extreme Royalist party) and the Orleanists. The Duc
d'Orleans often came to them on Saturday evenings and always in a good
deal of state, with handsome carriage, aides-de-camp, etc. She warned
her Legitimist friends when she knew he was coming (but she didn't
always know) and said she never had any trouble or disagreeable scenes.
Every one was perfectly respectful to the duke, but the extreme
Legitimists went away at once.
We went quite often to Monsieur and Madame Thiers, who received every
evening in their big gloomy house in the Place St. Georges. It was a
political centre,--all the Republican party went there, and many of his
old friends, Orleanists, who admired his great intelligence, while
disapproving his politics,--literary men, journalists, all the
diplomatists and distinguished strangers. He had people at dinner every
night and a small reception afterward,--Madame Thiers and her sister,
Mademoiselle Dosne, doing the honours for him. I believe both ladies
were very intelligent, but I can't truthfully say they had any charm of
manner. They never looked pleased to see any one, and each took
comfortable little naps in their armchairs after dinner--the first
comers had sometimes rather embarrassing entrances,--but I am told they
held very much to their receptions. Thiers was wonderful; he was a very
old man when I knew him, but his eyes were very bright and keen, his
voice strong, and he would talk all the evening without any appearance
of fatigue. He slept every afternoon for two hours, and was quite rested
and alert by dinner time. It was an interesting group of men that stood
around the little figure in the drawing-room after dinner. He himself
stood almost always leaning against the mantelpiece. Prince Orloff,
Russian ambassador, was one of the habitues of the salon, and I was
always delighted when he would slip away from the group of men and join
the ladies in Madame Thiers's salon, which was less interesting. He knew
everybody, French and foreign, and gave me most amusing and useful
little sketches of all the celebrities. It was he who told me of old
Prince Gortschakoff's famous phrase when he heard of Thiers's death--(he
died at St. Germain in 1877)--"Encore une lumiere eteinte quand il y en
a si peu qui voient clair,"--(still another light extinguished, when
there are so few who see clearly). Many have gone of that
group,--Casimir Perier, Leon Say, Jules Ferry, St. Vallier, Comte Paul
de Segur, Barthelemy St. Hilaire,--but others remain, younger men who
were then beginning their political careers and were eager to drink in
lessons and warnings from the old statesman, who fought gallantly to
the last.
I found the first winter in Paris as the wife of a French deputy rather
trying, so different from the easy, pleasant life in Rome. That has
changed, too, of course, with United Italy and Rome the capital, but it
was a small Rome in our days, most informal. I don't ever remember
having written an invitation all the years we lived in Rome. Everybody
led the same life and we saw each other all day, hunting, riding,
driving, in the villas in the afternoon, generally finishing at the
Pincio, where there was music. All the carriages drew up and the young
men came and talked to the women exactly as if they were at the opera or
in a ballroom. When we had music or danced at our house, we used to tell
some well-known man to say "on danse chez Madame King ce soir." That was
all. Paris society is much stiffer, attaches much more importance to
visits and reception days.
There is very little informal receiving, no more evenings with no
amusement of any kind provided, and a small table at one end of the room
with orangeade and cakes, which I remember when I was first married (and
always in Lent the quartet of the Conservatoire playing classical
symphonies, which of course put a stop to all conversation, as people
listened to the artists of the Conservatoire in a sort of sacred
silence). Now one is invited each time, there is always music or a
comedie, sometimes a conference in Lent, and a buffet in the
dining-room. There is much more luxury, and women wear more jewels.
There were not many tiaras when I first knew Paris society; now every
young woman has one in her corbeille.
[Illustration: The foyer of the Opera.]
One of the first big things I saw in Paris was the opening of the Grand
Opera. It was a pretty sight, the house crowded with women beautifully
dressed and wearing fine jewels which showed very little, the decoration
of the house being very elaborate. There was so much light and gilding
that the diamonds were quite lost. The two great features of the evening
were the young King of Spain (the father of the present King), a slight,
dark, youthful figure, and the Lord Mayor of London, who really made
much more effect than the King. He was dressed in his official robes,
had two sheriffs and a macebearer, and when he stood at the top of the
grand staircase he was an imposing figure and the public was delighted
with him. He was surrounded by an admiring crowd when he walked in the
foyer. Everybody was there and W. pointed out to me the celebrities of
all the coteries. We had a box at the opera and went very regularly. The
opera was never good, never has been since I have known it, but as it is
open all the year round, one cannot expect to have the stars one hears
elsewhere. Still it is always a pleasant evening, one sees plenty of
people to talk to and the music is a cheerful accompaniment to
conversation. It is astounding how they talk in the boxes and how the
public submits. The ballet is always good. Halanzier was director of the
Grand Opera, and we went sometimes to his box behind the scenes, which
was most amusing. He was most dictatorial, occupied himself with every
detail,--was consequently an excellent director. I remember seeing him
inspect the corps de ballet one night, just before the curtain went up.
He passed down the line like a general reviewing his troops, tapping
lightly with a cane various arms and legs which were not in position. He
was perfectly smiling and good-humoured: "Voyons, voyons, mes petites,
ce n'est pas cela,"--but saw everything.
What W. liked best was the Theatre Francais. We hadn't a box there, but
as so many of our friends had, we went very often. Tuesday was the
fashionable night and the Salle was almost as interesting as the stage,
particularly if it happened to be a premiere, and all the critics and
journalists were there. Sarah Bernhardt and Croizette were both playing
those first years. They were great rivals and it was interesting to see
them in the same play, both such fine talents yet so totally different.
III
M. WADDINGTON AS MINISTER OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION
In March, 1876, W. was made, for the second time, "Ministre de
l'Instruction Publique et des Beaux Arts," with M. Dufaure President du
Conseil, Duc Decazes at the Foreign Office, and Leon 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. Leon 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 felicitations." "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
Inferieure,[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 Decazes 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 Orleans family,
as his chef de cabinet. Two or three days after the new cabinet was
announced, W. took me to the Elysee to pay my official visit to the
Marechale 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, chere amie, vous etes 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 Elysee--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,
Leon Renault, prefet de police, on the other. Leon Renault was very
interesting, very clever--an excellent prefet 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 republicaine 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 Hotel du Ministere 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-Elysees. All the great avenues, Alma, Jena, Kleber, 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, lycees, schools, etc., and, what
was most agreeable to me, boxes at all the government theatres,--the
Grand Opera, Opera Comique, Francais, Odeon, 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
Francais, Opera, and Conservatoire were much appreciated.