We saw a great many English at the Quai d'Orsay. Queen Victoria stayed one or two nights at the British Embassy, passing through Paris on her way South. She sent for W., who had never seen her since his undergraduate days at Cambridge. He found her quite charming, very easy, interested in everything. She began the conversation in French—(he was announced with all due ceremony as Monsieur le Ministre des Affaires Etrangères) and W. said she spoke it remarkably well,—then, with her beautiful smile which lightened up her whole face: "I think I can speak English with a Cambridge scholar." She was much interested in his beginnings in England at Rugby and Cambridge—and was evidently astonished, though she had too much tact to show it, that he had chosen to make his life and career in France instead of accepting the proposition made to him by his cousin Waddington, then Dean of Durham, to remain in England and continue his classic and literary studies under his guidance. When the interview was over he found the Queen's faithful Scotch retainer, John Brown, who always accompanied her everywhere, waiting outside the door, evidently hoping to see the minister. He spoke a few words with him, as a countryman—W. being half Scotch—his mother was born Chisholm. They shook hands and John Brown begged him to come to Scotland, where he would receive a hearty welcome. W. was very pleased with his reception by the Queen. Lord Lyons told him afterward that she had been very anxious to see him; she told him later, in speaking of the interview, that it was very difficult to realise that she was speaking to a French minister—everything about him was so absolutely English, figure, colouring, and speech.
Many old school and college experiences were evoked that year by the various English who passed through Paris. One night at a big dinner at the British Embassy I was sitting next to the Prince of Wales (late King Edward). He said to me: "There is an old friend of your husband's here to-night, who will be so glad to see him again. They haven't met since he was his fag at Rugby." After dinner he was introduced to me—Admiral Glynn—a charming man, said his last recollection of W. was making his toast for him and getting a good cuff when the toast fell into the fire and got burnt. The two men talked together for some time in the smoking-room, recalling all sorts of schoolboy exploits. Another school friend was Sir Francis Adams, first secretary and "counsellor" at the British Embassy. When the ambassador took his holiday, Adams replaced him, and had the rank and title of minister plenipotentiary. He came every Wednesday, the diplomatic reception day, to the Quai d'Orsay to talk business. As long as a secretary or a huissier was in the room, they spoke to each other most correctly in French; as soon as they were alone, relapsed into easy and colloquial English. We were very fond of Adams—saw a great deal of him not only in Paris, but when we first lived in London at the embassy. He died suddenly in Switzerland, and W. missed him very much. He was very intelligent, a keen observer, had been all over the world, and his knowledge and appreciation of foreign countries and ways was often very useful to W.
We continued our dinners and receptions, which always interested me, we saw so many people of all kinds. One dinner was for Prince Alexander of Battenberg, just as he was starting to take possession of the new principality of Bulgaria. He was one of the handsomest men I have ever seen,—tall, young, strong. He seemed the type of the dashing young chief who would inspire confidence in a new independent state. He didn't speak of his future with much enthusiasm. I wonder if a presentiment was even then overclouding what seemed a brilliant beginning! He talked a great deal at dinner. He was just back from Rome, and full of its charm, which at once made a bond of sympathy between us. Report said he had left his heart there with a young Roman. He certainly spoke of the happy days with a shade of melancholy. I suggested that he ought to marry, that would make his "exile," as he called it, easier to bear. "Ah, yes, if one could choose." Then after a pause, with an almost boyish petulance: "They want me to marry Princess X., but I don't want to." "Is she pretty, will she help you in your new country?" "I don't know; I don't care; I have never seen her."
Poor fellow, he had a wretched experience. Some of the "exiles" were less interesting. A lady asked to see me one day, to enlist my sympathies for her brother and plead his cause with the minister. He had been named to a post which he couldn't really accept. I rather demurred, telling her messenger, one of the secretaries of the Foreign Office, that it was quite useless, her asking me to interfere. W. was not very likely to consult me in his choice of nominations—and in fact the small appointments, secretaries, were generally prepared in the Chancellerie and followed the usual routine of regular promotion. An ambassador, of course, was different, and was sometimes taken quite outside the carrière. The lady persisted and appeared one morning—a pretty, well-dressed femme du monde whom I had often met without making her acquaintance. She plunged at once into her subject—her brother's delicate health, accustomed to all the comforts and what the books call "higher civilisation" of Europe, able to do good service in courts and society, as he knew everybody. It was a pity to send him to such an out-of-the-way place, with an awful climate,—any consul's clerk would do as well. I supposed he had been named to Caracas, South America, or some other remote and unhealthy part of the globe, but when she stopped for a moment, I discovered that the young man was named to Washington. I was really surprised, didn't know what to say at once, when the absurdity of the thing struck me and I answered that Washington was far, perhaps across the ocean, but there were compensations—but she took up her argument again, such an impossible place, everything so primitive, I really think she thought the youth was going to an Indian settlement, all squaws and wigwams and tomahawks. I declined any interference with the minister's appointments, assuring her I had no influence whatever, and she took leave of me very icily. I heard the sequel afterward—the young man refused the post as quite unworthy of him. There were several others ready and pleased to take it, and M. de X. was put en disponibilité.
We saw too that year for the first time the Grand Duke Alexander of Russia (later Emperor Alexander III, whose coronation we went to at Moscow) and the Grande Duchesse Marie. Prince Orloff arranged the interview, as he was very anxious that the Grand Duke should have some talk with W. They were in Paris for three or four days, staying at the Hotel Bristol, where they received us. He was a tall, handsome man, with a blond beard and blue eyes, quite the Northern type. She recalled her sister (Queen Alexandra), not quite so tall, but with the same gracious manner and beautiful eyes. The Grand Duke talked a great deal, principally politics, to W. He expressed himself very doubtfully about the stability of the Republic, and was evidently worried over the possibility of a general amnesty, "a very dangerous measure which no government should sanction." W. assured him there would be no general amnesty, but he seemed sceptical, repeated several times: "Soyez stable, soyez ferme." The Grande Duchesse talked to me about Paris, the streets were so gay, the shops so tempting, and all the people so smiling and happy. I suppose the contrast struck her, coming from Russia where the people look sad and listless. I was much impressed with their sad, repressed look when we were in Russia for the coronation—one never heard people laugh or sing in the streets—and yet we were there at a time of great national rejoicings, amusements of all kinds provided for the people. Their national melodies, volklieder (songs of the people), have always a strain of sadness running through them. Our conversation was in French, which both spoke very well.
The winter months went by quickly enough with periodical alarms in the political world when some new measure was discussed which aroused everybody's passions and satisfied neither side. I made weekly visits to my own house, which was never dismantled, as I always felt our stay at the Quai d'Orsay would not last much longer. One of our colleagues, Madame Léon Say, an intelligent, charming woman, took matters more philosophically than I did. Her husband had been in and out of office so often that she was quite indifferent to sudden changes of residence. They too kept their house open and she said she had always a terrine de crise ready in her larders.
The diplomatic appointments, the embassies particularly, were a difficulty. Admiral Pothnau went to London. He was a very gallant officer and had served with the English in the Crimea—had the order of the Bath, and exactly that stand-off, pompous manner which suits English people. General Chanzy went to St. Petersburg. It has been the tradition almost always to send a soldier to Russia. There is so little intercourse between the Russian Emperor and any foreigner, even an ambassador, that an ordinary diplomatist, no matter how intelligent or experienced he might be, would have very few opportunities to talk to the Emperor; whereas an officer, with the various reviews and manoeuvres that are always going on in Russia, would surely approach him more easily. I was so struck when we were in Russia with the immense distance that separated the princes from the ordinary mortals. They seem like demigods on a different plane (in Russia I mean; of course when they come to Paris their godlike attributes disappear, unfortunately for themselves).
Chanzy was very happy in Russia, where he was extremely well received. He dined with us one night, when he was at home on leave, and was most enthusiastic about everything in Russia—their finances, their army—the women of all classes so intelligent, so patriotic. He was evidently quite sous le charme. When he had gone, M. Desprey, then Directeur de la Politique, a very clever man, who had seen many ambassadors come and go from all the capitals of Europe, said:
"It is curious how all the ambassadors who go to Russia have that same impression. I have never known it to fail. It is the Russian policy to be delightful to the ambassadors—make life very easy for them—show them all that is brilliant and interesting—open all doors (society, etc.) and keep all sordid and ugly questions in the background."
St. Vallier remained at Berlin. His name had been mentioned for Foreign Minister when Dufaure was making his cabinet, but he hadn't the health for it—and I think preferred being in Berlin. He knew Germany well and had a good many friends in Berlin.