Prince Hohenlohe’s successor, Count Munster, as I think I have already remarked, was in appearance more an Englishman than a German. His wife had been English, and he affected great sympathies for everything that was British, loving London, where he always declared he spent the happiest time of his life, and crossing the Channel whenever he found it possible to do so. He was in Paris at the time of the Dreyfus affair, and contrived not to make for himself too many enemies, in spite of the difficult position and circumstances in which he found himself during that anxious period. Among diplomats he was liked, his advice being always appreciated and mostly followed. I cannot say the same thing about his successor, Prince Radolin, formerly Count Radolinski, who, in spite of the many years he remained in Paris, did not succeed in attaining the great position which had belonged to Prince Hohenlohe or to Count Munster.

During the latter’s tenure of the German Embassy, the present Prince von Bülow was one of his secretaries. Intelligent, clever in noticing what ought to be noticed, and in not seeing the things which apparently did not concern him, he contrived to keep himself exceedingly well au courant of all that was going on around him, and of the intentions and designs of French diplomacy. He was a man singularly unprejudiced, for whom the end always justified the means. He may perhaps have had too high an opinion of his own merits, and too much confidence in his power to do always what he liked and wanted. He could make himself very charming when he saw a personal advantage, and he was constantly on the look out for the things that others did not see or did not care to notice. His admiration for Prince Bismarck was unbounded, and he fondly nursed an ambition to replace him as Chancellor of the German Empire. Even at the time when he was a simple secretary at the Paris Embassy, he told a friend of his that he would probably never become an ambassador, but might, if circumstances favoured him, come to be at the head of Germany’s foreign policy.

Prince Bülow, who fell from his high position because he had not understood the character of the Emperor William II., and imagined that the latter would not notice or would forgive him for trying to keep him in leading-strings, married one of the most distinguished women in Europe, an Italian by birth, and the daughter of the Princesse de Camporeale. Madame Bülow was the wife of another German diplomat, Count Donhoff, when she made the acquaintance of the future Chancellor. No one can doubt his love for the beautiful and intelligent woman who at present is his wife.

The first Ambassador whom Russia sent to Paris after the signature of peace with Germany was Prince Orloff, one of her greatest noblemen. His exalted position and high moral character put him above any suspicion of playing a double game between France and Prussia, and he had, moreover, the advantage of being a personal friend of President Thiers. He remained at his post for something like ten years, and when he was removed to Berlin, at the express desire of Prince Bismarck, his departure was mourned by all those who knew him.

Of his successor, Baron Mohrenheim, I shall say no more than that he had a very complex personality. He was not liked in France nor in Russia; it is said that he only kept his post because he enjoyed the protection of the Empress Marie Feodorovna, the Consort of Alexander III.

It was M. Nelidoff who replaced him, and who remained in possession of the Russian Embassy in Paris until his death. M. Nelidoff was a diplomat of the old school, who had spent almost his whole career in the East, and who had served under Count Ignatieff in Constantinople, accompanying him to San Stefano, where his signature figures on the famous treaty which was signed there, and which Europe did not consent to accept. He was not a man who would shrink with horror when seeing something dirty under his feet, but rather one who would try not to step into it. No one knew better than he did how to get over a difficulty, or how to avoid a mistake. He can certainly be considered as an able diplomat, and certainly also he cut a better figure in Paris than his successor, M. Izvolski, whom wicked tongues in St. Petersburg nicknamed Izvostchik, which means a cabdriver.

Prince Orloff had had for private secretary during his stay in Paris Count Mouravieff, whom he took with him to Berlin, and who was ultimately to be put in possession of the Russian Foreign Office after the unexpected death of Prince Labanoff. Count Mouravieff was one of the most charmingly amiable men that Russian diplomacy ever possessed. His tact was something surpassing, and his cleverness, which had no shade of pedantry mixed with it, made him delightful. He has been accused of many things, including that of not being either a good or a faithful friend. I have had occasion to see that this was a most unjust and untrue reproach, because Count Muravieff, far from deserting those who had been his companions, when their worldly star did not shine any longer as brightly as it had done, was, on the contrary, always eager to oblige them in anything that he could possibly do for them, and kept up his relations with them sometimes even at the cost of some personal sacrifices. He was not liked by those who saw in him a possible rival, his quick career interfering with their own, but the few who knew him well esteemed him as much as they appreciated his intelligence and his pleasant conversation.

I must, before ending with these few words of remembrance that I have given of my former colleagues, say something about the Italian Ambassador, Count Tornielli, or rather about his wife, who was a Russian by birth, a Countess Rostopschine, the granddaughter of that Count Rostopschine who burned Moscow rather than give it up to Napoleon. She was an amiable woman, whose house was always open to her compatriots; one who had kept a great attachment for the land of her birth, and whose salon was a favourite resort for those who cared more for clever conversation than for polo or for tennis. She had a sister, the Countess Lydie Rostopschine, who has written several books full of interest, among them one called “Rastaquèropolis,” which is the best description that has ever been published of Nice society and in general of the life and the people of the French Riviera.

L’ENVOI

When I think of all those bright, happy days I spent in Paris I regret often that I cannot live them over again. I had hoped to be allowed to end my days on the banks of the Seine, in the gay city which has always proved so attractive to Russians. St. Petersburg did not interest me any longer. Its climate is far too severe for my old lungs and my everlasting rheumatism, and all the persons who were my friends in the old days have either died or disappeared from the social horizon. Fate ruled it otherwise, and my seventy-five years have not been allowed to remain in Paris where they believed they had found a home. An Imperial order removes me to another place where very probably I shall miss the attractions of Paris, and the resources which it offers to a bookworm like myself. Before going away I have read over again the reminiscences that in my idle moments I have scribbled for the benefit of those who care to read them when I am gone, and I have found a melancholy pleasure in doing so. It has been such a happy time, even for a misanthrope like myself. Each time I have left Paris it has been a joy to return, and to look once more on the familiar haunts where I used to walk in company with friends who, alas! have already gone. Would that I could follow them on that journey whence no one returns, before leaving Paris for ever; because at my age one cannot hope for anything that the morrow may bring along with it—this wonderful Paris, where is so much of what constituted my former pleasures, will remain buried. Russia can only increase my melancholy, it is so different from what it was when I was young, and when the sadness of the snow which covered its ground found no echo in my young heart.