Before leaving Paris I was invited to take part in a congress of woman's rights (congrès du droit des femmes). It was deemed proper to elect two presidents for this occasion, and I had the honor of being chosen as one of them, the other being a gentleman well known in public life. My co-president addressed me throughout the meeting as "Madame la Présidente." The proceedings naturally were carried on in the French language. Colonel T. W. Higginson was present, as was Theodore Stanton, son of Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Among the lady speakers was one, of whom I was told that she possessed every advantage of wealth and social position. She was attired like a woman of fashion, and yet she proved to be an ardent suffragist. Somewhat in contrast with these sober doings was a ball given by the artist Healy at his residence. In accepting the invitation to attend this party, I told Mrs. Healy in jest that I should insist upon dancing with her husband, whom I had known for many years. Soon after my entrance Mrs. Healy said to me, "Mrs. Howe, your quadrille is ready for you. See what company you are to have." I looked and beheld General Grant and M. Gambetta, who led out Mrs. Grant, while her husband had Mrs. Healy for his partner.
At this ball I met Mrs. Evans, wife of the well-known dentist, who, in 1870, aided the escape of the Empress Eugénie. Mrs. Evans wore in her hair a diamond necklace, said to have been given to her by the Empress.
I found in Paris a number of young women, students of art and medicine, who appeared to lead very isolated lives and to have little or no acquaintance with one another. The need of a point of social union for these young people appearing to me very great, I invited a few of them to meet me at my lodgings. After some discussion we succeeded in organizing a small club which, I am told, still exists.
Marshal MacMahon was at this time President of the French republic. I attended an evening reception given by him in honor of General and Mrs. Grant. Our host was supposed to be the head of the Bonapartist faction, and I heard some rumors of an intended coup d'état which should bring back imperialism and place Plon-Plon[4] the throne. This was not to be. The legitimist party held the Imperialists in check, and the Republicans were strong enough to hold their own.
I remember Marshal MacMahon as a man of medium height, with no very distinguishing feature. He was dressed in uniform and wore many decorations.
We passed on to Italy. Soon after my arrival in Florence I was asked to speak on suffrage at the Circolo Filologico, one of the favorite halls of the city. The attendance was very large. I made my argument in French, and when it was ended a dear old-fashioned conservative in the gallery stood up to speak, and told off all the counter pleas with which suffragists are familiar,—the loss of womanly grace, the neglect of house and family, etc. When he had finished speaking a charming Italian matron, still young and handsome, sprang forward and took me by the hand, saying, "I feel to take the hand of this sister from America." Cordial applause followed this and I was glad to hear my new friend respond with much grace to our crabbed opponent in the gallery. The sympathy of the audience was evidently with us.
A morning visit to the Princess Belgioiosa may deserve a passing mention. This lady was originally Princess Ghika, of a noble Roumanian family. She had married a Russian—Count Murherstsky. I never knew the origin of the Italian title. My dear friend, Mrs. Ednah D. Cheney, went with me to the princess's villa, which was at some distance from the city proper. Although the winter was well begun she received us in a room without fire. She was wrapped in furs from head to foot while we shivered with cold. She appeared to be about sixty years of age, and showed no traces of the beauty which I had seen in a portrait of her taken in her youth. She spoke English fluently, but with idioms derived from other languages, in some of which I should have understood her more easily than in my own.
Our first winter abroad was passed in Rome, which I now saw for the first time as the capital of a united Italy. The king, "Il Re Galantuomo," was personally popular with all save the partisans of the Pope's temporal dominion. I met him more than once driving on Monte Pinciano. He was of large stature, with a countenance whose extreme plainness was redeemed by an expression of candor and of good humor.
In the course of this winter Victor Emmanuel died. The marks of public grief at this event were unmistakable. The ransomed land mourned its sovereign as with one heart.