The Prince de Sagan was offered by Baron Hirsch the liberal fee of £40,000 to go to Constantinople and conduct a business “deal.” Needless to say, the Prince closed with the tempting offer at once. The news soon reached the ears of the Princess, for, as M. de Blowitz very wittily said, “In Paris the fish talk—in Berlin the parrots are dumb.” Mme. de Sagan was furious, and, bursting in upon her husband at his bachelor’s “diggings” near the Petit Club (his favourite cercle), angrily exclaimed: “Is what I have heard true, Boson?” “What, ma chère?” innocently inquired the dandy. “That you are going to sell your name—going to be the commission agent and tout of that Jew Hirsch for some speculation of his in Turkey? Is it true?” “Hélas, ma chère, it is only too true. As I have but little money, and can hardly make both ends meet on what you allow me, I am forced to take advantage of any opportunity which arises to add to my scanty store.” “Oh, you are going to Turkey for the sake of the money which that Hirsch gives you?” “Of course; why else should I take the trouble of going all the way to Constantinople about this wretched railway business, dont je m’en fiche comme de l’année quarante?” (Which I care no more for than for the year forty.) “Well, then,” continued the Princess, now somewhat mollified, “if you got the same amount as that which Hirsch offers you, you would give up all idea of going?” “Ma foi, oui,” smiled the Prince. “Will you promise?” asked “Canaillette,” suspiciously. “Yes, I will promise.” “How much did Hirsch say he would give you?” “Oh, a bagatelle to you, but a large sum to me—a million francs.” “Indeed! Well, I will send you a cheque for the million this afternoon, on condition that you give up this absurd, degrading trip to Turkey. Is it a bargain?” The Prince, much amused at his wife’s earnestness, kissed her hand, thanked her, and accepted the terms. That afternoon De Sagan received Madame’s promised cheque, and the next morning saw him with one for a similar amount in his pocket from Baron Hirsch on his way to Constantinople!
To Mme. de Sagan we owe this epigram: “A husband can only hope to be a hero in his wife’s eyes for two months—the month before he is married, and the month after his death.”
Frank Seillière, brother of the Princesse de Sagan, married Mlle. Diane de Galliffet, of whose mother, the Marquise (the wife of the famous General), a few words must now be said.
The Marquise de Galliffet was half English, her father, M. Lafitte, the banker (“Major Fridolin,” of Turf celebrity), having married an English lady. The blonde Marquise was truly beautiful—“as beautiful as the Empress,” some enthusiasts vowed; “blonde comme les blès,” as my friend “Sornette” wrote of her “in the days that were earlier.” “Her few faults,” he asserted, “for all of which she was most bitterly punished, proceeded from her tenderness of heart. The beautiful and dainty Marquise could not find it in that sweet little cardiac arrangement which I suppose she called her heart to say ‘No’ to anybody who did not ask too audacious a favour, the result being that her generosity was abused.”
The Marquise was in great favour with the Empress, and the Emperor spoke of her in the most rapturous, but perfectly respectful, terms. Her nickname, “Cochonette,” to which she never objected, is said to have been conferred upon her because she was supposed to pay less attention to soap and water than she might have done. De Grammont-Caderousse (according to “Sornette,” the all-knowing and ever-humorous) used to tell this story of Mme. de Galliffet:
Her husband,[83] having reason to believe that his wife did not care over-much for soap and water, played upon her a practical joke in order to satisfy himself whether his suspicions were or were not well founded. One night, after they had returned from a ball at the Tuileries, he went into his wife’s dressing room, and, lighting a cigarette, began to talk over the events at the Palace before retiring to his own rooms. He found Madame taking off her jewels and (like the Empress) throwing them about on the carpet, for her maids to pick up in the morning. After a brief talk, the Marquis kissed his wife’s hand and retired for the night. On the following morning he came in again, and asked the Marquise to let him take a ruby bracelet to Boucheron’s to be reset, as they had previously arranged he should do. The Marquise told one of her maids to bring the bracelet, but, after a long search in all the rooms, the jewel
THE COMTESSE EDMOND DE POURTALÈS.
The Author is indebted to the Comtesse for the loan of this beautiful portrait.