One of the results of their marriage was the creation of a new salon in Paris, which very soon became a centre of political activity. It was at the time when the Republican party, vanquished by the coup d’état of Napoleon III., by which he had definitely imposed himself and his dynasty upon a more surprised than terrified France, was beginning to raise its head again. Thiers, who at that particular moment thought fit to join the ranks of the enemies of the Empire, was continually reproaching Edmond Adam for his hesitation to throw himself into the battle, and was inviting him to work with all his strength for the overthrow of the Bonapartes, adding, what in fact he did not believe but he thought it to his advantage to seem to profess, that no government was possible in France except a Republic. Adam then said to his wife the following memorable words which she repeats in her memoirs: “I am quite ready to work for the Republic, more and better than I have done hitherto, but what can abstentionists like ourselves do for her?” Husband and wife organised their salon as a meeting place where adherents of Republican ideas could gather together and exchange their ideas and opinions. The parties given by Thiers in his hotel in the Rue St. Georges were generally frequented by the older members of the party, whilst the younger ones assembled with Laurent Pichat; both young and old could be met in the house of Madame Adam, who, with all the charm of her lovely face and the elegance of her graceful manners, made a most delightful hostess. The first people who assembled around her were for the most part literary men like Henri Martin, Legouvé, Hetzel the editor, Gaston Paris, Bixio, Garnier-Pagès, Toussenel, Nefftzer, Texier, Challemel-Lacour, Jules Ferry, Pelletan—all men well worthy to be appreciated by her. Some are already forgotten, whilst others will never be consigned to oblivion by those who follow them on the road of life. But very soon she tried to draw towards her all the younger forces of the Republican party, concentrating her attention specially upon Gambetta. She did not, in the early days, know him, but Adam, who had met him at a dinner with Laurent Pichat, had spoken to her of him with an enthusiasm that surprised her the more because he was not generally addicted to such expansive feelings. In this connection she relates with humour that she spoke to Hetzel, and asked him to bring to one of her dinners the young advocate, who had made for himself such a name already and whose reputation at the Bar was fast becoming considerable, especially since he had defended Delescluze against the government. Hetzel screamed with surprise when she proposed it, declaring that she did not know the man whom she proposed to admit at her hospitable table. Gambetta, he told her, was a vulgar, common sort of individual, blind of one eye, dirty and unkempt, with black nails, and walking about in disreputable clothes which, to add to his uncouth appearance, were never properly put on or properly fastened. Madame Adam insisted nevertheless. Her womanly instinct had guessed that if the man in question was really in possession of the genius attributed to him, it would be easy for him when once admitted in the houses of civilised people to adopt their manners and to polish his own. On the other hand, if he failed to notice the inadequacies of his first education, he would not be the man of value she had been led to think he could become, and in that case it would be easy to drop him after this first attempt at drawing him from the society with which he had hitherto associated. But she wanted to judge for herself, she persisted with Hetzel, and at last persuaded him to take her invitation to Gambetta.
The young advocate was at first very much surprised. He knew Edmond Adam, had vaguely heard he had a wife, but had never troubled to think about her much, therefore he was rather astonished to find himself the object of her attention; still he decided to go, saying at the same time to one of his friends of the Café Procope, where he generally used to spend his afternoons: “I shall accept; it will be curious to see what kind of woman Adam’s bourgeoise may be.”
A large and distinguished company had been asked to meet the Republican orator. Laurent Pichat, Eugène Pelletan, Challemel-Lacour, Jules Ferry, Hetzel, of course, and, lastly, the Marquis Jules de Lasteyrie, an intimate friend of Thiers and an ardent Orleanist, who, moreover, was one of the most elegant men in Paris. The latter had begged hard to be included in that dinner, as he was excessively interested in Gambetta, and having arrived a little in advance of the other guests, he said to Madame Adam that he would repeat all the incidents of the dinner to Thiers, whom he knew to be very anxious to hear his opinion about “the young monster,” as he called him.
Gambetta had imagined that he was going to one of those houses where an utter absence of the conventionalities of life is the order of the day, and that consequently he would not be required, as it were, even to wash his hands before making his appearance at the hospitable board to which he had been bidden. He arrived in one of those indescribable costumes which are neither evening nor morning dress, with a waistcoat buttoned high up to the throat and a flannel shirt. He found the whole company in orthodox evening dress, and his hostess in a lovely velvet costume, out of which the most beautiful pair of shoulders were looming in their snowy whiteness. He tried to excuse himself, saying vaguely: “If I had only guessed.” “You probably would have refused my invitation,” replied his hostess. “It is not nice of you to say so.”
Everybody felt more or less embarrassed. Lasteyrie, who was always indulgent with the extravagances of mankind, could not help whispering into Adam’s ear: “If at least he had donned the blouse of the common workman, I could have forgiven him, but this kind of get up!” And he made a gesture of despair.
No woman alive had greater tact than Madame Adam. Seeing the embarrassment of Gambetta, as well as the look of disgust with which her other guests observed him, she went up to the Marquis de Lasteyrie, and in a low voice told him that in order to try and mend matters she was going to dispossess him from the seat of honour which belonged to him by right, and to give her arm to Gambetta. “You are quite right,” replied the Marquis. “If you did anything else, the servants might be tempted to forget to offer him some soup. And besides, this will allow us to see whether he understands great things and their meaning.”
Juliette Lambert, to give her her pseudonym in literature, to her husband’s amazement, walked up to Gambetta, and took his arm to go down to the dining-room. When they were seated, the Radical leader bent down towards her ear, and in very humble tones told her that he would never forget the lesson she had given to him in such a delicate manner. He understood the meaning of great things, and had emerged to his honour from a very trying experience.
It was, however, much later that Gambetta became a regular visitor at the house of Madame Adam. Years had passed since his first introduction to her, and poor Juliette Lambert had gone through bitter trials that had left their everlasting impress on her ardent and enthusiastic nature. The war with all its horrors, the Commune with all its terrors, had shaken her bright equanimity, and in that generous soul one feeling had taken the place of almost every other—a deep love for her poor humiliated country; a passionate desire to see her once more occupying the proud position from which fate and the mistakes of men had despoiled her. Later on, when the husband she loved so fondly was snatched away from her, and when, beside her daughter and the children of the latter, she found herself with no one to love in the whole wide world, she attached herself to that one idea and ambition—to revenge the humiliations of 1870, to get back for that France, to whom all her energies were devoted, those provinces which she had lost, and to revenge herself on the conqueror to whom she had owed the shattering of so many of her brightest dreams.
She had always been the enemy of the Bonaparte dynasty; she could not, though she was on very good terms with several members of the Orleans family, reconcile herself to their stepping upon the throne left vacant by Napoleon III. She had always adored liberty, that of nations as well as that of individuals, and she imagined that that ideal Republic she had dreamt of could be brought into existence and would be able to give back to France her glory and prestige.
This one idea dominated all her actions and inspired all her writings. She used all the resources of her wonderful intelligence, all the activity of her remarkable mind, and all her knowledge and her experience of the world to realise it. She opened once more the doors of her salon, which had remained closed after the death of Edmond Adam, and though at the bottom of her heart an inconsolable widow, she forced herself to present to the glances of others the appearance of a woman without heartache. Everybody who approached her, even those who did not share her opinions either in politics or in intellectual and moral matters, fell under the influence of her charm, and were subjugated by her enthusiasm and her earnest, ardent words. One could see at a glance that she was sincere, true—a friend on whom one could always rely, and an enemy who would always fight loyally. Moreover, her clear mind had the faculty of looking into the future with an extraordinary perspicacity, and she seldom was mistaken in her judgments of men or facts. She it was who for the first time suggested to her friends the possibility of an alliance with Russia, by which French prestige might be strengthened. She it was who began working for it at a time when even wise political men in both countries only smiled when such a thing was mentioned in their presence.