My First Years as a Frenchwoman, 1876-1879

by Mary King Waddington

W. and his friends were very discouraged and disgusted. They had gone as far as they could in the way of concessions. W., at any rate, would do no more, and it was evident that the Chamber would seize the first pretext to overthrow the ministry. W. saw Grévy very often. He was opposed to any change, didn't want W. to go, said his presence at the Foreign Office gave confidence to Europe,—he might perhaps remain at the Foreign Office and resign as Premier, but that, naturally, he wouldn't do. He was really sick of the whole thing.

Grévy was a thorough Republican but an old-fashioned Republican,—not in the least enthusiastic, rather sceptical—didn't at all see the ideal Republic dreamed of by the younger men—where all men were alike—and nothing but honesty and true patriotism were the ruling motives. I don't know if he went as far as a well-known diplomatist, Prince Metternich, I think, who said he was so tired of the word fraternité that if he had a brother he would call him "cousin." Grévy was certainly very unwilling to see things pass into the hands of the more advanced Left. I don't think he could have done anything—they say no constitutional President (or King either) can.

There was a great rivalry between him and Gambetta. Both men had such a strong position in the Republican party that it was a pity they couldn't understand each other. I suppose they were too unlike—Gambetta lived in an atmosphere of flattery and adulation. His head might well have been turned—all his familiars were at his feet, hanging upon his words, putting him on a pinnacle as a splendid patriot. Grévy's entourage was much calmer, recognising his great ability and his keen legal mind, not so enthusiastic but always wanting to have his opinion, and relying a good deal upon his judgment. There were of course all sorts of meetings and conversations at our house, with Léon Say, Jules Ferry, Casimir Périer, and others. St. Vallier came on from Berlin, where he was still ambassador. He was very anxious about the state of affairs in France—said Bismarck was very worried at the great step the Radicals had made in the new Parliament—was afraid the Moderate men would have no show. I believe he was pleased and hoped that a succession of incapable ministries and internal quarrels would weaken France still more—and prevent her from taking her place again as a great power. He wasn't a generous victor.

As long as W. was at the Foreign Office things went very smoothly. He and St. Vallier thought alike on most subjects, home politics and foreign—and since the Berlin Congress, where W. had come in touch with all the principal men in Germany, it was of course much easier for them to work together. We dined generally with my mother on Sunday night—particularly at this time of the year, when the official banquets had not begun and our Sundays were free. The evenings were always interesting, as we saw so many people, English and Americans always, and in fact all nationalities. We had lived abroad so much that we knew people all over the world,—it was a change from the eternal politics and "shop" talk we heard everywhere else. Some of them, English particularly (I don't think the Americans cared much about foreign politics), were most interested and curious over what was going on, and the probable fall of the cabinet. An English lady said to me: "How dreadful it will be for you when your husband is no longer minister; your life will be so dull and you will be of so much less importance." The last part of the sentence was undoubtedly true—any functionary's wife has a certain importance in France, and when your husband has been Foreign Minister and Premier, you fall from a certain height, but I couldn't accept the first part, that my life would be necessarily dull because I was no longer what one of my friends said in Italy, speaking of a minister's wife, a donna publica. I began to explain that I really had some interest in life outside of politics, but she was so convinced of the truth of her observation that it was quite useless to pursue the conversation, and I naturally didn't care. Another one, an American this time, said to me: "I hope you don't mind my never having been to see you since you were married, but I never could remember your name; I only knew it began with W. and one sees it very often in the papers."

Arthur Sullivan, the English composer, was there one night. He had come over to Paris to hear one of his symphonies played at the Conservatoire, and was very much pleased with the way it had been received by that very critical audience. He was quite surprised to find the Parisians so enthusiastic—had always heard the Paris Salle was so cold.

Miss Kellogg, the American prima donna, was there too that evening, and we made a great deal of music, she singing and Sullivan accompanying by heart. Mrs. Freeman, wife of one of the English secretaries, told W. that Queen Victoria had so enjoyed her talk with him—"quite as if I were talking with one of my own ministers." She had found Grévy rather stiff and reserved—said their conversation was absolutely banal. They spoke in French, and as Grévy knew nothing of England or the English, the interview couldn't have been interesting.

We saw a great many people that last month, dined with all our colleagues of the diplomatic corps. They were already dîners d'adieux, as every day in the papers the fall of the ministry was announced, and the names of the new ministers published. I think the diplomatists were sorry to see W. go, but of course they couldn't feel very strongly on the subject. Their business is to be on good terms with all the foreign ministers, and to get as much as they can out of them. They are, with rare exceptions, birds of passage, and don't trouble themselves much about changing cabinets. However, they were all very civil, not too diffuse, and one had the impression that they would be just as civil to our successor and to his successor. It must be so; there is no profession so absolutely banal as diplomacy. All diplomatists, from the ambassador to the youngest secretary, must follow their instructions, and if by any chance an ambassador does take any initiative, profiting by being on the spot, and knowing the character of the people, he is promptly disowned by his chief.

I had grown very philosophical, was quite ready to go or to stay, didn't mind the fight any more nor the attacks on W., which were not very vicious, but so absurd that no one who knew him could attach the least importance to them. He didn't care a pin. He had always been a Protestant, with an English name, educated in England, so the reiteration of these facts, very much exaggerated and leading up to the conclusion that on account of his birth and education he couldn't be a convinced French Republican, didn't affect him very much. He had always promised me a winter in Italy when he left office. He had never been in Rome, and I was delighted at the prospect of seeing that lovely land again, all blue sky and bright sun and smiling faces.

We dined often with M.L., W.'s uncle, who kept us au courant of all (and it was little) that was going on in the Royalist camp, but that was not of importance. The advanced Republicans were having it all their own way, and it was evident that the days of conciliatory measures and moderate men were over. W. was not a club man, went very rarely to his club, but his uncle went every afternoon before dinner, and gave us all the potins (gossip) of that world, very hostile to the Republic, and still quite believing that their turn would come. His uncle was not of that opinion. He was a very clever man, a diplomatist who had lived in a great many places and known a great many people, and was entirely on the Royalist side, but he thought their cause was a lost one, at least for a time. He often asked some of his friends to meet us at dinner, said it was a good thing for W. to hear what men on the other side thought, and W. was quite pleased to meet them. They were all absolutely opposed to him in politics, and discussion sometimes ran high, but there was never anything personal—all were men of the world, had seen many changes in France in their lives; many had played a part in politics under the former régimes. It seemed to me that they underrated the intelligence and the strength of the Republican party.

One of the regular habitués was the Marquis de N., a charming man, fairly broad-minded (given the atmosphere he lived in) and sceptical to the highest degree. He was a great friend of Marshal MacMahon, and had been préfet at Pau, where he had a great position. He was very dictatorial, very outspoken, but was a great favourite, particularly with the English colony, which is large there in the hunting-season. He had accepted to dine one night with an English family, who lived in a villa a little out of town. They had an accident en route, which delayed them very much, and when he and the marquise arrived the party was at table. He instantly had his carriage called back and left the house in spite of all the explanations and apologies of his host, saying that when "one had the honour of receiving the Marquis de N. one waited dinner for him."