LAST DAYS AT THE FOREIGN OFFICE
The end of December was detestable. We were en pleine crise for ten days. Every day W. went to the Chamber of Deputies expecting to be beaten, and every evening came home discouraged and disgusted. The Chamber was making the position of the ministers perfectly untenable—all sorts of violent and useless propositions were discussed, and there was an undercurrent of jealousy and intrigue everywhere. One day, just before Christmas, about the 20th, W. and his chef de cabinet, Comte de P., started for the house, after breakfast—W. expecting to be beaten by a coalition vote of the extreme Left, Bonapartists and Legitimists. It was an insane policy on the part of the two last, as they knew perfectly well they wouldn't gain anything by upsetting the actual cabinet. They would only get another one much more advanced and more masterful. I suppose their idea was to have a succession of radical inefficient ministers, which in the end would disgust the country and make a "saviour," a prince (which one?) or general, possible. How wise their reasoning was time has shown! I wanted to go to the Chamber to hear the debate, but W. didn't want me. He would be obliged to speak, and said it would worry him if I were in the gallery listening to all the attacks made upon him. (It is rather curious that I never heard him speak in public, either in the house or in the country, where he often made political speeches, in election times.) He was so sure that the ministry would fall that we had already begun cleaning and making fires in our own house, so on that afternoon, as I didn't want to sit at home waiting for telegrams, I went up to the house with Henrietta. The caretaker had already told us that the stock of wood and coal was giving out, and she couldn't get any more in the quarter, and if she couldn't make fires the pipes would burst, which was a pleasant prospect with the thermometer at I don't remember how many degrees below zero. We found a fine cleaning going on—doors and windows open all over the house—and women scrubbing stairs, floors, and windows, rather under difficulties, with little fire and little water. It looked perfectly dreary and comfortless—not at all tempting. All the furniture was piled up in the middle of the rooms, and W.'s library was a curiosity. Books and pamphlets accumulated rapidly with us, W. was a member of many literary societies of all kinds all over the world, and packages and boxes of unopened books quite choked up the room. H. and I tried to arrange things a little, but it was hopeless that day, and, besides, the house was bitterly cold. It didn't feel as if a fire could make any impression.
As we could do nothing there, we went back to the ministry. No telegrams had come, but Kruft, our faithful and efficient chef du matériel, was waiting for me for last instructions about a Christmas tree. Some days before I had decided to have a Christmas tree, about the end of the month. W. then thought the ministry would last over the holidays, the trêve des confiseurs, and was quite willing I should have a Christmas party as a last entertainment. He had been too occupied the last days to think about any such trifles, and Kruft, not having had any contrary instructions, had ordered the presents and decorations. He was rather depressed, because W. had told him that morning that we surely would not be at the Quai d'Orsay on the 29th, the day we had chosen for our party. However, I reassured him, and told him we would have the Christmas tree all the same, only at my house instead of at the ministry. We went to look at his presents, which were all spread out on a big table in one of the drawing-rooms. He really was a wonderful man, never forgot anything, and had remembered that at the last tree, the year before, one or two nurses had had no presents, and several who had were not pleased with what was given to them. He had made a very good selection for those ladies,—lace scarfs and rabats and little tours de cou of fur,—really very pretty. I believe they were satisfied this time. The young men of the Chancery sent me up two telegrams: "rien de nouveau,"—"ministère debout."
[Illustration: M. de Freyeinet. After a photograph by M. Nadaz, Paris]
W. came home late, very tired and much disgusted with politics in general and his party in particular. The cabinet still lived, but merely to give Grévy time to make another. W. had been to the Elysée and had a long conversation with Grévy. He found him very preoccupied, very unwilling to make a change, and he again urged W. very much to keep the Foreign Office, if Freycinet should succeed in making a ministry. That W. would not agree to—he was sick of the whole thing. He told Grévy he was quite right to send for Freycinet—if any man could save the situation he could. We had one or two friends, political men, to dinner, and they discussed the situation from every point of view, always ending with the same conclusion, that W. was right to go. His policy wasn't the policy of the Chamber (I don't say of the country, for I think the country knew little and cared less about what was going on in Parliament), hardly the policy of all his own colleagues. There was really no use to continue worrying himself to death and doing no good. W. said his conversation with Grévy was interesting, but he was much more concerned with home politics and the sweeping changes the Republicans wanted to make in all the administrations than with foreign policy. He said Europe was quiet and France's first duty was to establish herself firmly, which would only be done by peace and prosperity at home. I told W. I had spent a very cold and uncomfortable hour at the house, and I was worried about the cold, thought I might, perhaps, send the boy to mother, but he had taken his precautions and arranged with the Minister of War to have a certain amount of wood delivered at the house. They always had reserves of wood at the various ministries. We had ours directly from our own woods in the country, and it was en route, but a flotilla of boats was frozen up in the Canal de l'Ourcq, and it might be weeks before the wood could be delivered.
We dined one night at the British Embassy, while all these pourparlers were going on, en petit comité, all English, Lord and Lady Reay, Lord Edmond Fitz-Maurice, and one or two members of Parliament whose names I have forgotten. Both Lord and Lady Reay were very keen about politics, knew France well, and were much interested in the phase she was passing through. Lord Lyons was charming, so friendly and sensible, said he wasn't surprised at W.'s wanting to go—still hoped this crisis would pass like so many others he had seen in France; that certainly W.'s presence at the Foreign Office during the last year had been a help to the Republic—said also he didn't believe his retirement would last very long. It was frightfully cold when we came out of the embassy—very few carriages out, all the coachmen wrapped up in mufflers and fur caps, and the Place de la Concorde a sea of ice so slippery I thought we should never get across and over the bridge. I went to the opera one night that week, got there in an entr'acte, when people were walking about and reading the papers. As I passed several groups of men, I heard W.'s name mentioned, also that of Léon Say and Freycinet, but just in passing by quickly I could not hear any comments. I fancy they were not favourable in that milieu. It was very cold in the house—almost all the women had their cloaks on—and the coming out was something awful, crossing that broad perron in the face of a biting wind.
I began my packing seriously this time, as W.'s mind was quite made up. He had thought the matter well over, and had a final talk with Freycinet, who would have liked to keep both W. and Léon Say, but it wasn't easy to manage the new element that Freycinet brought with him. The new members were much more advanced in their opinions. W. couldn't have worked with them, and they certainly didn't want to work with him. The autumn session came to a turbulent end on the 26th of December, and the next day the papers announced that the ministers had given their resignations to the President, who had accepted them and had charged M. de Freycinet to form a cabinet. We dined with mother on Christmas day, a family party, with the addition of Comte de P. and one or two stray Americans who were at hotels and were of course delighted not to dine on Christmas day at a table d'hôte or café. W. was rather tired; the constant talking and seeing so many people of all kinds was very fatiguing, for, as long as his resignation was not official, announced in the Journal Officiel, he was still Minister of Foreign Affairs. One of the last days, when they were hoping to come to an agreement, he was obliged to come home early to receive the mission from Morocco. I saw them arrive; they were a fine set of men, tall, powerfully built, their skin a red-brown, not black, entirely dressed in white from turbans to sandals. None of them spoke any French—all the conversation took place through an interpreter. Notwithstanding our worries, we had a very pleasant evening and W. was very cheerful—looking forward to our Italian trip with quite as much pleasure as I did.
W. made over the ministry to Freycinet on Monday, the 28th, the transmission des pouvoirs. Freycinet was very nice and friendly, regretted that he and W. were no longer colleagues. He thought his ministry was strong and was confident he would manage the Chamber. W. told him he could settle himself as soon as he liked at the Quai d'Orsay, as we should go at once, and would sleep at our house on Wednesday night. Freycinet said Madame de Freycinet (whom I knew well and liked very much) would come and see me on Wednesday, and would like to go over the house with me. I was rather taken aback when W. told me we must sleep in our own house on Wednesday night. The actual packing was not very troublesome, as I had not brought many of my own things from the rue Dumont d'Urville. There was scarcely a van-load of small furniture and boxes, but the getting together of all the small things was a bore,—books, bibelots, music, cards, and notes (these in quantities, lettres de condoléance, which had to be carefully sorted as they had all to be answered). The hotel of the Quai d'Orsay was crowded with people those last two days, all W.'s friends coming to express their regrets at his departure, some very sincerely sorry to see him go, as his name and character certainly inspired confidence abroad—and some delighted that he was no longer a member of such an advanced cabinet—(some said "de cet infect gouvernement"), where he was obliged by his mere presence to sanction many things he didn't approve of. He and Freycinet had a long talk on Wednesday, as W. naturally wanted to be sure that some provision would be made for his chef de cabinet and secretaries. Each incoming minister brings his own staff with him. Freycinet offered W. the London Embassy, but he wouldn't take it, had had enough of public life for the present. I didn't want it either, I had never lived much in England, had not many friends there, and was counting the days until we could get off to Rome. There was one funny result of W. having declined the London Embassy. Admiral Pothnau, whom W. had named there, and who was very much liked, came to see him one day and made a great scene because Freycinet had offered him the London Embassy. W. said he didn't understand why he made a scene, as he had refused it. "But it should never have been offered to you over my head." "Perhaps, but that is not my fault. I didn't ask for it—and don't want it. If you think you have been treated badly, you should speak to Freycinet." However, the admiral was very much put out, and was very cool with us both for a long time. I suppose his idea was that being recalled would mean that he had not done well in London, which was quite a mistake, as he was very much liked there.
We dined alone that last night at the ministry, and sat some time in the window, looking at the crowds of people amusing themselves on the Seine, and wondering if we should ever see the Quai d'Orsay again. After all, we had had two very happy interesting years there—and memories that would last a lifetime.—Some of the last experiences of the month of December had been rather disillusioning, but I suppose one must not bring any sentiment into politics. In the world it is always a case of donnant—donnant—and—when one is no longer in a position to give a great deal—people naturally turn to the rising man. Comte de P., chef de cabinet, came in late as usual, to have a last talk. He too had been busy, as he had a small apartment and stables in the hotel of the ministry, and was also very anxious to get away. He told us all the young men of the cabinet were very sorry to see W. go—at first they had found him a little cold and reserved—but a two years' experience had shown them that, if he were not expansive, he was perfectly just, and always did what he said he would.
The next day Madame de Freycinet came to see me, and we went over the house. She didn't care about the living-rooms, as they never lived at the Quai d'Orsay, remained in their own hotel near the Bois de Boulogne. Freycinet came every day to the ministry, and she merely on reception days—or when there was a party. Just as she was going, Madame de Zuylen, wife of the Dutch minister, a great friend of mine, came in. She told me she had great difficulty in getting up, as I had forbidden my door, but my faithful Gérard (I think I missed him as much as anything else at first) knowing we were friends, thought Madame would like to see her. She paid me quite a long visit,—I even gave her some tea off government plate and china,—all mine had been already sent to my own house. We sat talking for some time. She had heard that W. had refused the London Embassy, was afraid it was a mistake, and that the winter in Paris would be a difficult one for him—he would certainly be in opposition to the Government on all sorts of questions—and if he remained in Paris he would naturally go to the Senate and vote. I quite agreed that he couldn't suddenly detach himself from all political discussions—must take part in them and must vote. The policy of abstention has always seemed to me the weakest possible line in politics. If a man, for some reason or another, hasn't the courage of his opinions, he mustn't take any position where that opinion would carry weight. I told her we were going to Italy as soon as we could get off after the holidays.
While we were talking, a message came up to say that the young men of the cabinet were all coming up to say good-bye to me. I had seen the directors earlier in the day, so Madame de Zuylen took her leave, promising to come to my Christmas tree in the rue Dumont d'Urville. The young men seemed sorry to say good-bye—I was, too. I had seen a great deal of them and always found them ready and anxious to help me in every way. The Comte de Lasteyrie, who was a great friend of ours as well as a secretary, went about a great deal with us. W. called upon him very often for all sorts of things, knowing he could trust him absolutely. He told one of my friends that one of his principal functions was to accompany Madame Waddington to all the charity sales, carrying a package of women's chemises under his arm. It was quite true that I often bought "poor clothes" at the sales. The objects exposed in the way of screens, pincushions, table-covers, and, in the spring, hats made by some of the ladies, were so appalling that I was glad to have poor clothes to fall back upon, but I don't remember his ever carrying my purchases home with me.
They were much amused when suddenly Francis burst into the room, having escaped a moment from his Nonnon, who was busy with her last packing, his little face flushed and quivering with anger because his toys had been packed and he was to be taken away from the big house. He kicked and screamed like a little mad thing, until his nurse came to the rescue. I made a last turn in the rooms to see that all trace of my occupation had vanished. Francis, half pacified, was seated on the billiard-table, an old grey-haired huissier, who was always on duty up-stairs, taking care of him. The huissiers and house servants were all assembled in the hall, and the old Pierson, who had been there for years, was the spokesman, and hoped respectfully that Madame "would soon come back…." W. didn't come with us, as he still had people to see and only got home in time for a late dinner.
We dined that night and for many nights afterward with our uncle Lutteroth (who had a charming hotel filled with pictures and bibelots and pretty things) just across the street, as it was some little time before our kitchen and household got into working order again. The first few days were, of course, very tiring and uncomfortable—the house seemed so small after the big rooms at the Quai d'Orsay. I didn't attempt to do anything with the salons, as we were going away so soon—carpets and curtains had to be arranged to keep the cold out, but the big boxes remained in the carriage house—not unpacked. We had a procession of visitors all day—and tried to make W.'s library possible—comfortable it wasn't, as there were packages of books and papers and boxes everywhere.
I had a good many visits and flowers on New Year's day—which was an agreeable surprise—Lord Lyons, Orloff, the Sibberns, Comte de Ségur, M. Alfred André, and others. André, an old friend of W.'s, a very conservative Protestant banker, was very blue about affairs. André was the type of the modern French Protestant. They are almost a separate class in France—are very earnest, religious, honourable, narrow-minded people. They give a great deal in charity and good works of all kinds. In Paris the Protestant coterie is very rich. They associate with all the Catholics, as many of them entertain a great deal, but they live among themselves and never intermarry. I hardly know a case where a French Protestant has married a Catholic. I suppose it is a remnant of their old Huguenot blood, and the memories of all their forefathers suffered for their religion, which makes them so intolerant. The ambassadors had paid their usual official visit to the Elysée—said Grévy was very smiling and amiable, didn't seem at all preoccupied. We had a family dinner at my uncle's on New Year's night, and all the family with wonderful unanimity said the best wish they could make for W. was that 1880 would see him out of politics and leading an independent if less interesting life.
An interesting life it certainly was, hearing so many questions discussed, seeing all sorts of people of all nationalities and living as it were behind the scenes. The Chamber of Deputies in itself was a study, with its astounding changes of opinion, with no apparent cause. One never knew in the morning what the afternoon's session would bring, for as soon as the Republican party felt themselves firmly established, they began to quarrel among themselves. I went back to the ministry one afternoon to pay a formal visit to Madame de Freycinet on her reception day. I had rather put it off, thinking that the sight of the well-known rooms and faces would be disagreeable to me and make me regret, perhaps, the past, but I felt already that all that old life was over—one adapts one's self so quickly to different surroundings. It did seem funny to be announced by my own special huissier, Gérard, and to find myself sitting in the green drawing-room with all the palms and flowers arranged just as they always were for me, and a semicircle of diplomats saying exactly the same things to Madame de Freycinet that they had said to me a few days before, but I fancy that always happens in these days of democracy and equalising education, and that under certain circumstances, we all say and do exactly the same thing. I had quite a talk with Sibbern, the Swedish minister, who was very friendly and sympathetic, not only at our leaving the Foreign Office, but at the extreme discomfort of moving in such frightfully cold weather. He was wrapped in furs, as if he were going to the North Pole. However, I assured him we were quite warm and comfortable, gradually settling down into our old ways, and I was already looking back on my two years at the Quai d'Orsay as an agreeable episode in my life. I had quite a talk too with the Portuguese minister, Mendes Leal. He was an interesting man, a poet and a dreamer, saw more, I fancy, of the literary world of Paris than the political. Blowitz was there, of course—was always everywhere in moments of crisis, talking a great deal, and letting it be understood that he had pulled a great many wires all those last weeks. He too regretted that W. had not taken the London Embassy, assured me that it would have been a very agreeable appointment in England—was surprised that I hadn't urged it. I replied that I had not been consulted. Many people asked when they could come and see me—would I take up my reception day again? That wasn't worth while, as I was going away so soon, but I said I would be there every day at five o'clock, and always had visits.
[Illustration: Mme. Sadi Carnot. From a drawing by Mlle. Amelie
Beaury-Saurel.]
One day Madame Sadi Carnot sat a long time with me. Her husband had been named undersecretary at the Ministry of Public Works in the new cabinet, and she was very pleased. She was a very charming, intelligent, cultivated woman—read a great deal, was very keen about politics and very ambitious (as every clever woman should be) for her husband and sons. I think she was a great help socially to her husband when he became President of the Republic. He was a grave, reserved man, didn't care very much for society. I saw her very often and always found her most attractive. At the Elysée she was amiable and courteous to everybody and her slight deafness didn't seem to worry her nor make conversation difficult. She did such a charming womanly thing just after her husband's assassination. He lay in state for some days at the Elysée, and M. Casimir Périer, his successor, went to make her a visit. As he was leaving he said his wife would come the next day to see Madame Carnot. She instantly answered, "Pray do not let her come; she is young, beginning her life here at the Elysée. I wouldn't for worlds that she should have the impression of sadness and gloom that must hang over the palace as long as the President is lying there. I should like her to come to the Elysée only when all traces of this tragedy have gone—and to have no sad associations—on the contrary, with the prospect of a long happy future before her."
[Illustration: Photograph, copyright by Pierre Petit, Paris.
President Sadi Carnot.]
W. went the two or three Fridays we were in Paris to the Institute, where he was most warmly received by his colleagues, who had much regretted his enforced absences the years he was at the Foreign Office. He told them he was going to Rome, where he hoped still to find some treasures in the shape of inscriptions inédites, with the help of his friend Lanciani. The days passed quickly enough until we started. It was not altogether a rest, as there were always so many people at the house, and W. wanted to put order into his papers before he left. Freycinet made various changes at the Quai d'Orsay. M. Desprey, Directeur de la Politique (a post he had occupied for years) was named ambassador to Rome in the place of the Marquis de Gabriac. I don't think he was very anxious to go. His career had been made almost entirely at the Foreign Office, and he was much more at home in his cabinet, with all his papers and books about him, than he would be abroad among strangers. He came to dinner one night, and we talked the thing over. W. thought the rest and change would do him good. He was named to the Vatican, where necessarily there was much less to do in the way of social life than at the Quirinal. He was perfectly au courant of all the questions between the Vatican and the French clergy—his son, secretary of embassy, would go with him. It seemed rather a pleasant prospect.
W. went once or twice to the Senate, as the houses met on the 12th or 14th of January, but there was nothing very interesting those first days. The Chamber was taking breath after the holidays and the last ministerial crisis, and giving the new ministry a chance. I think Freycinet had his hands full, but he was quite equal to the task. I went late one afternoon to the Elysée. I had written to Madame Grévy to ask if she would receive me before I left for Italy. When I arrived, the one footman at the door told me Madame Grévy was un peu souffrante, would see me up-stairs. I went up a side staircase, rather dark, preceded by the footman, who ushered me into Madame Grévy's bedroom. It looked perfectly uncomfortable—was large, with very high ceilings, stiff gilt furniture standing against the wall, and the heat something awful,—a blazing fire in the chimney. Madame Grévy was sitting in an armchair, near the fire, a grey shawl on her shoulders and a lace fichu on her head. It was curiously unlike the bedroom I had just left. I had been to see a friend, who was also souffrante. She was lying under a lace coverlet lined with pink silk, lace, and embroidered cushions all around her, flowers, pink lamp-shades, silver flacons, everything most luxurious and modern. The contrast was striking. Madame Grévy was very civil, and talkative,—said she was very tired. The big dinners and late hours she found very fatiguing. She quite understood that I was glad to get away, but didn't think it was very prudent to travel in such bitterly cold weather—and Rome was very far, and wasn't I afraid of fever? I told her I was an old Roman—had lived there for years, knew the climate well, and didn't think it was worse than any other. She said the President had had a visit from W. and a very long talk with him, and that he regretted his departure very much, but that he didn't think "Monsieur Waddington was au fond de son sac." Grévy was always a good friend to W.—on one or two occasions, when there was a sort of cabal against him, Grévy took his part very warmly—and in all questions of home policy and persons W. found him a very keen, shrewd observer—though he said very little—rarely expressed an opinion. I didn't make a very long visit—found my way down-stairs as well as I could—no servant was visible either on the stairs or in the hall, and my own footman opened the big doors and let me out. We got off the first days of February—as, up to the last moment, W. had people to see. We went for two or three days to Bourneville—I had one or two very cold tramps in the woods (very dry) which is quite unusual at this time of the year, but the earth was frozen hard. Inside the woods we were well sheltered, but when we came out on the plain the cold and icy wind was awful. The workmen had made fires to burn the roots and rotten wood, and we were very glad to stop and warm ourselves. Some had their children with them, who looked half perished with cold, always insufficiently clad, but they were quite happy roasting potatoes in the ashes. I was so cold that I tied a woollen scarf around my head, just as the women in Canada do when they go sleighing or skating.
We had a breakfast one day for some of W.'s influential men in the country, who were much disgusted at the turn affairs had taken and that W. could no longer remain minister, but they were very fairly au courant of all that was going on in Parliament, and quite understood that for the moment the moderate, experienced men had no chance. The young Republic must have its fling. Has the country learned much or gained much in its forty years of Republic?