Part 7

W.'s days were very full, and when the important sittings began it was sometimes hard work. The Congress room was very hot (all the colleagues seemed to have a holy horror of open windows)--and some of the men very long and tedious in stating their cases. Of course they were at a disadvantage not speaking their own language (very few of them knew French well, except the Russians), and they had to go very carefully, and be quite sure of the exact significance of the words they used. W. got a ride every morning, as the Congress only met in the afternoon. They rode usually in the Thiergarten, which is not very large, but the bridle-paths were good. It was very difficult to get out of Berlin into the open country without going through a long stretch of suburbs and sandy roads which were not very tempting. A great many officers rode in the park, and one morning when he was riding with the military attache of the embassy, two officers rode up and claimed acquaintance, having known him in France in '70, the year of the war. They rode a short time together, and the next day he received an invitation from the officers of a smart Uhlan regiment to dine at their mess "in remembrance of the kind hospitality shown to some of their officers who had been quartered at his place in France during the war." As the hospitality was decidedly forced, and the presence of the German officers not very agreeable to the family, the invitation was not very happy. It was well meant, but was one of those curious instances of German want of tact which one notices so much if one lives much with Germans. The hours of the various entertainments were funny. At a big dinner at Prince Bismarck's the guests were invited at six, and at eight-thirty every one had gone. W. sat next to Countess Marie, the daughter of the house, found her simple and inclined to talk, speaking both French and English well. Immediately after dinner the men all smoked everywhere, in the drawing-room, on the terrace, some taking a turn in the park with Bismarck. W. found Princess Bismarck not very femme du monde; she was preoccupied first with her dinner, then with her husband, for fear he should eat too much, or take cold going out of the warm dining-room into the evening air. There were no ladies at the dinner except the family. (The German lady doesn't seem to occupy the same place in society as the French and English woman does. In Paris the wives of ambassadors and ministers are always invited to all official banquets.)

Amusements of all kinds were provided for the plenipotentiaries. Early in July W. writes of a "Land-parthie"--the whole Congress (wives too this time) invited to Potsdam for the day. He was rather dreading a long day--excursions were not much in his line. However, this one seems to have been successful. He writes: "Our excursion went off better than could be expected. The party consisted of the plenipotentiaries and a certain number of court officers and generals. We started by rail, stopped at a station called Wannsee, and embarked on board a small steamer, the Princess Royal receiving the guests as they arrived on board. We then started for a trip on the lakes, but before long there came a violent squall which obliged the sailors to take down the awnings in double-quick time, and drove every one down into the cabins. It lasted about half an hour, after which it cleared up and every one reappeared on deck. In course of time we landed near Babelsberg, where carriages were waiting. I was told off to go in the first with the Princess Royal, Countess Karolyi (wife of the Austrian ambassador, a beautiful young woman), and Andrassy. We went over the Château of Babelsberg, which is a pretty Gothic country-seat, not a palace, and belongs to the present Emperor. After that we had a longish drive, through different parks and villages, and finally arrived at Sans Souci, where we dined. After dinner we strolled through the rooms and were shown the different souvenirs of Frederick the Great, and got home at ten-thirty." W. saw a good deal of his cousin, George de Bunsen, a charming man, very cultivated and cosmopolitan. He had a pretty house in the new quarter of Berlin, and was most hospitable. He had an interesting dinner there with some of the literary men and savants--Mommsen, Leppius, Helmholtz, Curtius, etc., most of them his colleagues, as he was a member of the Berlin Academy. He found those evenings a delightful change after the long hot afternoons in the Wilhelmsstrasse, where necessarily there was so much that was long and tedious. I think even he got tired of Greek frontiers, notwithstanding his sympathy for the country. He did what he could for the Greeks, who were very grateful to him and gave him, in memory of the efforts he made on their behalf, a fine group in bronze of a female figure--"Greece" throwing off the bonds of Turkey. Some of the speakers were very interesting. He found Schouvaloff always a brilliant debater--he spoke French perfectly, was always good-humoured and courteous, and defended his cause well. One felt there was a latent animosity between the English and the Russians. Lord Beaconsfield made one or two strong speeches--very much to the point, and slightly arrogant, but as they were always made in English, they were not understood by all the Assembly. W. was always pleased to meet Prince Hohenlohe, actual German ambassador to Paris (who had been named the third German plenipotentiary). He was perfectly au courant of all that went on at court and in the official world, knew everybody, and introduced W. to various ladies who received informally, where he could spend an hour or two quietly, without meeting all his colleagues. Blowitz, of course, appeared on the scene--the most important person in Berlin (in his own opinion). I am not quite convinced that he saw all the people he said he did, or whether all the extraordinary confidences were made to him which he related to the public, but he certainly impressed people very much, and I suppose his letters as newspaper correspondent were quite wonderful. He was remarkably intelligent and absolutely unscrupulous, didn't hesitate to put into the mouths of people what he wished them to say, so he naturally had a great pull over the ordinary simple-minded journalist who wrote simply what he saw and heard. As he was the Paris correspondent of The London Times, he was often at the French Embassy. W. never trusted him very much, and his flair was right, as he was anything but true to him. The last days of the Congress were very busy ones. The negotiations were kept secret enough, but things always leak out and the papers had to say something. I was rather émue at the tone of the French press, but W. wrote me not to mind--they didn't really know anything, and when the treaty was signed France would certainly come out very honourably. All this has long passed into the domain of history, and has been told so many times by so many different people that I will not go into details except to say that the French protectorate of Tunis (now one of our most flourishing colonies) was entirely arranged by W. in a long confidential conversation with Lord Salisbury. The cession of the Island of Cyprus by Turkey to the English was a most unexpected and disagreeable surprise to W. However, he went instantly to Lord Salisbury, who was a little embarrassed, as that negotiation had been kept secret, which didn't seem quite fair--everything else having been openly discussed around the council table. He quite understood W.'s feelings in the matter, and was perfectly willing to make an arrangement about Tunis. The thing was neither understood nor approved at first by the French Government. W. returned to Paris, "les mains vides; seulement à chercher dans sa poche on y eut trouvé les clés de la Tunisie"--as one of his friends defined the situation some years ago. He was almost disavowed by his Government. The ministers were timid and unwilling that France should take any initiative--even his friend, Léon Say, then Minister of Finances, a very clever man and brilliant politician, said: "Notre collègue Waddington, contre son habitude, s'est emballé cette fois pour la question de la Tunisie." (Our colleague Waddington, contrary to his nature, has quite lost his head this time over the Tunis question.) I think the course of events has fully justified his action, and now that it has proved such a success, every one claims to have taken the initiative of the French protectorate of Tunis. All honours have been paid to those who carried out the project, and very little is said of the man who originated the scheme in spite of great difficulties at home and abroad. Some of W.'s friends know the truth.

There was a great exchange of visits, photographs, and autographs the last days of the Congress. Among other things which W. brought back from Berlin, and which will be treasured by his grandsons as a historical souvenir, was a fan, quite a plain wooden fan, with the signatures of all the plenipotentiaries--some of them very characteristic. The French signatures are curiously small and distinct, a contrast to Bismarck's smudge. W. was quite sorry to say good-bye to some of his colleagues. Andrassy, with his quick sympathies and instant comprehension of all sides of a question, attracted him very much. He was a striking personality, quite the Slav type. W. had little private intercourse with Prince Gortschakoff--who was already an old man and the type of the old-fashioned diplomatist--making very long and well-turned phrases which made people rather impatient. On the whole W. was satisfied. He writes two or three days before the signing of the treaty: "As far as I can see at present, no one will be satisfied with the result of the Congress; it is perhaps the best proof that it is dealing fairly and equitably with the very exaggerated claims and pretensions of all parties. Anyhow, France will come out of the whole affair honourably and having done all that a strictly neutral power can do." The treaty was signed on July 13 by all the plenipotentiaries in full uniform. W. said there was a decided feeling of satisfaction and relief that it was finished. Even Bismarck looked less preoccupied, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Of course he was supposed to have had his own way in everything. Everybody (not only the French) was afraid of him. With his iron will, and unscrupulous brushing aside, or even annihilating, everything that came in his way, he was a formidable adversary. There was a gala dinner at the Schloss, to celebrate the signing of the treaty. "It was the exact repetition of the first, at the opening of the Congress. I sat on the left of Bismarck, and had a good deal of conversation with him. The Crown Prince and Princess were just opposite, and the Princess talked a great deal with me across the table, always in English." The Crown Princess could never forget that she was born Princess Royal of England. Her household was managed on English principles, her children brought up by English nurses, she herself always spoke English with them. Of course there must have been many things in Germany which were distasteful to her,--so many of the small refinements of life which are absolute necessaries in England were almost unknown luxuries in Germany,--particularly when she married. Now there has been a great advance in comfort and even elegance in German houses and habits. Her English proclivities made her a great many enemies, and I don't believe the "Iron Chancellor" made things easy for her. The dinner at the Schloss was as usual at six o'clock, and at nine W. had to go to take leave of the Empress, who was very French in her sympathies, and had always been very kind to him. Her daughter, the Grand Duchess of Baden, was there, and W. had a very pleasant hour with the two ladies. The Empress asked him a great many questions about the Congress, and particularly about Bismarck--if he was in a fairly good temper--when he had his nerves he was simply impossible, didn't care what people thought of him, and didn't hesitate to show when he was bored. The Grand Duchess added smilingly: "He is perfectly intolerant, has no patience with a fool." I suppose most people are of this opinion. I am not personally. I have some nice, foolish, kindly, happy friends of both sexes I am always glad to see; I think they are rather resting in these days of high education and culture and pose. W. finished his evening at Lady Salisbury's, who had a farewell reception for all the plenipotentiaries. He took leave of his colleagues, all of whom had been most friendly. The only one who was a little stiff with him and expressed no desire to meet him again was Corti, the Italian plenipotentiary. He suspected of course that something had been arranged about Tunis, and was much annoyed that he hadn't been able to get Tripoli for Italy. He was our colleague afterward in London, and there was always a little constraint and coolness in his manner. W. left Berlin on the 17th, having been five weeks away.

VIII

GAIETIES AT THE QUAI D'ORSAY

W. got home on the 17th, and was so busy the first days, with his colleagues and political friends that I didn't see much more of him than if he had been in Berlin. He was rather disgusted and discouraged at the view his colleagues of the cabinet and his friends took of France's attitude at the Congress. The only man who seemed to be able to look ahead a little and understand what a future there might be for France in Tunis was Gambetta. I remember quite well his telling of an interesting conversation with him. Gambetta was very keen about foreign affairs, very patriotic, and not at all willing that France should remain indefinitely a weakened power, still suffering from the defeat of 1870. There were many fêtes and reunions of all kinds, all through the summer months, as people had flocked to Paris for the exposition. We remained in town until the first days of August, then W. went to his Conseil-Général in the Department of the Aisne, and I went down to Deauville. He joined me there, and we had a pleasant month--bathing, driving, and seeing a great many people. We had taken Sir Joseph Oliffe's villa, one of the best in Deauville. Oliffe, an Englishman, was one of Emperor Napoleon's physicians, and he and the Duc de Morny were the founders of Deauville, which was very fashionable as long as Morny lived and the Empire lasted, but it lost its vogue for some years after the Franco-German War--fashion and society generally congregating at Trouville. There were not many villas then, and one rather bad hotel, but the sea was nearer than it is now and people all went to the beach in the morning, and fished for shrimps in the afternoon, and led a quiet out-of-doors life. There was no polo nor golf nor automobiles--not many carriages, a good tennis-court, where W. played regularly, and races every Sunday in August, which brought naturally a gay young crowd of all the sporting world. The train des maris that left Paris every Saturday evening, brought a great many men. It was quite different from the Deauville of to-day, which is charming, with quantities of pretty villas and gardens and sports of all kinds, but the sea is so far off one has to take quite a long walk to get to it, and the mornings on the beach and the expeditions to Trouville in the afternoon across the ferry, to do a little shopping in the rue de Paris, are things of the past. Curiously enough while I was looking over my notes the other day, I had a visit from an old friend, the Duc de M., who was one of the inner circle of the imperial household of the Emperor Napoleon III, and took an active part in all that went on at court. He had just been hearing from a friend of the very brilliant season at Deauville this year, and the streams of gold that flowed into the caisse of the management of the new hotel and casino. Every possible luxury and every inducement to spend money, racing, gambling, pretty women of all nationalities and facile character, beautifully dressed and covered with jewels, side by side with the bearers of some of the proudest names in France. He said that just fifty years ago he went to Deauville with the Duc de Morny, Princesse Metternich, and the Comtesse de Pourtéles to inaugurate the new watering-place, then of the simplest description. The ladies were badly lodged in a so-called hotel and he had a room in a fisherman's hut.

Marshal MacMahon had a house near Trouville that year, and he came over occasionally to see W., always on horseback and early in the morning. W. used to struggle into his clothes when "M. le Marechal" was announced. I think the marshal preferred his military title very much to his civic honours. I suppose there never was so unwilling a president of a republic, except many years later Casimir Périer, who certainly hated the "prison of the Elysée," but the marshal was a soldier, and his military discipline helped him through many difficult positions. We had various visitors who came down for twenty-four hours--one charming visit from the Marquis de Vogüé, then French ambassador at Vienna, where he was very much liked, a persona grata in every way. He was very tall, distinguished-looking, quite the type of the ambassador. When I went to inspect his room I was rather struck by the shortness of the bed--didn't think his long legs could ever get into it. The valet assured me it was all right, the bed was normal, but I doubt if he had a very comfortable night. He and W. were old friends, had travelled in the East together and discussed every possible subject during long starlight nights in the desert. They certainly never thought then that one day they would be closely associated as ambassador and foreign minister. Vogüé didn't like the Republic, didn't believe in the capacity or the sincerity of the Republicans--couldn't understand how W. could. He was a personal friend of the marshal's, remained at Vienna during the marshal's presidency, but left with him, much to W.'s regret, who knew what good service he had done at Vienna and what a difficult post that would be for an improvised diplomatist. It was then, and I fancy is still, one of the stiffest courts in Europe. One hears amusing stories from some diplomatists of the rigid etiquette in court circles, which the Americans were always infringing. A great friend of mine, an American, who had lived all her life abroad, and whose husband was a member of the diplomatic corps in Vienna, was always worrying over the misdemeanours of the Americans who never paid any attention to rules or court etiquette. They invaded charmed circles, walked boldly up to archdukes and duchesses, talking to them cheerfully and easily without waiting to be spoken to, giving them a great deal of information upon all subjects, Austrian as well as American, and probably interested the very stiff Austrian royalties much more than the ordinary trained diplomatist, who would naturally be more correct in his attitude and conversation. I think the American nationality is the most convenient in the world. The Americans do just as they like, and no one is ever surprised. The explanation is quite simple: "They are Americans." I have often noticed little faults of manners or breeding, which would shock one in a representative of an older civilisation, pass quite unnoticed, or merely provoke a smile of amusement.

We drove about a great deal--the country at the back of Deauville, going away from the sea, is lovely--very like England--charming narrow roads with high banks and hedges on each side--big trees with spreading branches meeting overhead--stretches of green fields with cows grazing placidly and horses and colts gambolling about. It is a great grazing and breeding country. There are many haras (breeding stables) in the neighbourhood, and the big Norman posters are much in demand. I have friends who never take their horses to the country. They hire for the season a pair of strong Norman horses that go all day up and down hill at the same regular pace and who get over a vast amount of country. We stopped once or twice when we were a large party, two or three carriages, and had tea at one of the numerous farmhouses that were scattered about. Boiling water was a difficulty--milk, cider, good bread and butter, cheese we could always find--sometimes a galette, but a kettle and boiling water were entirely out of their habits. They used to boil the water in a large black pot, and take it out with a big spoon. However, it amused us, and the water really did boil.

We had an Italian friend, Count A., who went with us sometimes, and he was very débrouillard, made himself delightful at once to the fermière and got whatever he wanted--chairs and tables set out on the grass, with all the cows and colts and chickens walking about quite undisturbed by the unusual sights and sounds. It was all very rustic and a delightful change from the glories of the exposition and official life. It amused me perfectly to see W. with a straw hat, sitting on a rather rickety three-legged stool, eating bread and butter and jam. Once or twice some of W.'s secretaries came down with despatches, and he had a good morning's work, but on the whole the month passed lazily and pleasantly.

We went back to Paris about the 10th of September, and remained there until the end of the exposition. Paris was again crowded with foreigners--the month of October was beautiful, bright and warm, and the afternoons at the exposition were delightful at the end of the day, when the crowd had dispersed a little and the last rays of the setting sun lingered on the Meudon Hills and the river. The buildings and costumes lost their tawdry look, and one saw only a mass of moving colour, which seemed to soften and lose itself in the evening shadows. There were various closing entertainments. The marshal gave a splendid fête at Versailles. We drove out and had some difficulty in making our way through the crowd of carriages, soldiers, police, and spectators that lined the road. It was a beautiful sight as we got near the palace, which was a blaze of light. The terraces and gardens were also illuminated, and the effect of the little lamps hidden away in the branches of the old trees, cut into all sorts of fantastic shapes, was quite wonderful. There were not as many people at the entrance of the palace as we had expected to find, for the invitations had been most generously given to all nationalities. At first the rooms, which were brilliantly lighted, looked almost empty. The famous Galerie des Glaces was quite enchanting, almost too light, if there can be too much light at a fête. There were very few people in it when we arrived rather early--so much so that when I said to M. de L., one of the marshal's aides-de-camp, "How perfectly beautiful it is, even now, empty; what will it be when all the uniforms and jewels are reflected in the mirrors," his answer was: "Ah, Madame, I am afraid we shan't have people enough, the hall is so enormous."

I thought of him afterward when an angry crowd was battering at the doors of one of the salons where the royalties were having refreshments. I don't think they realised, and we certainly didn't, what the noise meant, but some of the marshal's household, who knew that only a slight temporary partition was between us and an irate mob, struggling up the staircase, were green with anxiety. However, the royalties all got away without any difficulty, and we tried to hurry immediately after them, but a dense crowd was then pouring into the room at each end, and for a moment things looked ugly. The gentlemen, my husband and my brother-in-law, Eugene Schuyler, Lord Lyons, British ambassador (a big square-shouldered man), and one or two others, put us, my sister Schuyler and me, in a recess of one of the big windows, with heavy furniture in front of us, but that was not very pleasant--with the crowd moving both ways closing in upon us--and the men were getting nervous, so one of our secretaries squeezed through the crowd and found two or three huissiers, came back with them, and we made a procession--two big huissiers in front, with their silver chains and swords, the mark of official status, which always impresses a French crowd, then Lord Lyons, my sister, and I, then W. and Schuyler, and two more men behind us--and with considerable difficulty and a good many angry expostulations, we made our way out. Happily our carriages and servants with our wraps were waiting in one of the inner courts, and we got away easily enough, but the evening was disastrous to most of the company.

There must have been some misunderstanding between the marshal's household and the officials at Versailles, as but one staircase (and there are several) was opened to the public, which was of course absolutely insufficient. Why others were not opened and lighted will always be a mystery. Every one got jammed in the one narrow stairway--people jostled and tumbled over each other--some of the women fainted and were carried out, borne high aloft over the heads of the struggling multitudes, and many people never saw their cloaks again. The vestiaire was taken by storm--satin and lace cloaks lying on the ground, trampled upon by everybody, and at the end, various men not having been able to find their coats were disporting themselves in pink satin cloaks lined with swan's-down--over their shoulders. Quantities of people never got into the palace--not even on the staircase. The landing was directly opposite the room where the princes had their buffet--and if they had succeeded in forcing the door, it would have been a catastrophe. While we were standing in the window, looking into the park, which looked an enchanted garden, with the lights and flowers--we wondered if we could jump or climb down if the crowd pressed too much upon us, but it was too high and there were no projecting balconies to serve as stepping-stones. It was a very unpleasant experience.

We were giving a ball at the Quai d'Orsay a few nights afterward, and had also asked a great many people--all the ambassadors sent in very large lists of invitations they wanted for their compatriots, but much the largest was that sent in by the American minister. The invitations sent to the United States Legation (as it was then) were something fabulous. It seemed to me the whole of the United States were in Paris and expecting to be entertained. It is a very difficult position for the American representative on these occasions. Everybody can't be invited to the various entertainments and distinctions are very hard to make. We had some amusing experiences. W. had a letter from one of his English friends, Lord H., saying he was coming to Paris for the fêtes, with his two daughters, and he would like very much to be invited to some of the parties at the Elysee and the ministries. W. replied, saying he would do what he could, and added that we were to have two large dinners and receptions,--one with the Comédie Française afterward and one with music--which one would they come to. Lord H. promptly replied, "to both." It was funny, but really didn't make any difference. When you have a hundred people to dinner you can quite easily have a hundred and three, and in such large parties, arranged weeks beforehand, some one always gives out at the last moment.

We had a great many discussions in W.'s cabinet with two of his secretaries, who were especially occupied with the invitations for our ball. The Parliament of course (le peuple souverain) was invited, but it was a different question for the women, wives of the senators and deputies. We finally arrived at a solution by inviting only the wives I knew. We had an indignant response from one gentleman: "M. X., Député, ne valsant qu'avec sa femme, a l'honneur de renvoyer la carte d'invitation que le Ministre des Affaires Etrangères et Madame Waddington lui ont adressée pour la soirée du 28...." (Mr. X., Deputy, who waltzes only with his wife, has the honour to send back the card of invitation which the Minister of Foreign Affairs and Madame Waddington have sent to him for the party of the 28... ) It was unanimously decided that the couple must be invited--a gentleman who went to balls only to dance with his wife must be encouraged in such exemplary behaviour. Another was funny too, in a different style: "Madame K., étant au ciel depuis quelques années, ne pourrait pas se rendre à la gracieuse invitation que le Ministre des Affaires Etrangères et Madame Waddington ont bien voulu lui adresser. Monsieur K. s'y rendra avec plaisir."... (Madame K., being in heaven for some years, cannot accept the amiable invitation of the Minister of Foreign Affairs and Madame Waddington. Mr. K. will come with pleasure.) We kept the letters in our archives with many other curious specimens. The house was given over to workmen the last two or three days before the ball. With the remembrance of the staircase at Versailles in our minds, we were most anxious to have no contretemps of any kind to interfere with our entertainment. Both entrances were arranged and the old elevator (which had not worked for years) was put in order. It had been suggested once or twice that I should use it, but as I always had heard a gruesome tale of Madame Drouyn de l'Huys, when her husband was Foreign Minister, hanging in space for four or five hours between the two floors, I was not inclined to repeat that experience.

My recollection of the lower entrance and staircase, which we never used, was of rather a dark, grimy corner, and I was amazed the morning of the ball to see the transformation. Draperies, tapestries, flags, and green plants had done wonders--and the elevator looked quite charming with red velvet hangings and cushions. I don't think any one used it. We had asked our guests at nine-thirty, as the princes said they would come at ten. I was ready about nine, and thought I would go down-stairs by the lower entrance, so as to have a look at the staircase and all the rooms before any one came. There was already such a crowd in the rooms that I couldn't get through; even my faithful Gérard could not make a passage. We were obliged to send for two huissiers, who with some difficulty made room for me. W. and his staff were already in the salon réservé, giving final instructions. The servants told us that since eight o'clock there had been a crowd at the doors, which they opened a little before nine, and a flood of people poured in. The salon réservé had a blue ribbon stretched across the entrance from door to door, and was guarded by huissiers, old hands who knew everybody in the diplomatic and official world, and would not let any one in who hadn't a right to penetrate into the charmed circle (which of course became the one room where every one wanted to go). There were, too, one or two members of W.'s cabinet always stationed near the doors to see that instructions were obeyed.

I don't think the salon réservé exists any more--the blue ribbon certainly not. The rising flood of democracy and equality wouldn't submit to any such barrier. I remember quite well one beautiful woman standing for some time just the wrong side of the ribbon. She was so beautiful that every one remarked her, but she had no official rank or claim of any kind to enter the salon réservé--no one knew her, though every one was asking who she was. She finally made her entrée into the room on the arm of one of the members of the diplomatic corps, a young secretary, one of her friends, who could not refuse her what she wanted so much. She was certainly the handsomest woman in the room with the exception of the actual Queen Alexandra, who was always the most beautiful and distinguished wherever she was.

The royalties didn't dance much. We had the regular quadrille d'honneur with the Princes and Princesses of Wales, Denmark, Sweden, Countess of Flanders, and others. None of the French princes came to the ball. There was a great crowd, but as the distinguished guests remained all the time in the salon réservé, they were not inconvenienced by it. Just before supper, which was served at little round tables in a room opening out of the rotonde, the late King of Denmark, then Crown Prince, brother of the Princess of Wales, told me he would like to go up-stairs and see all the rooms; he had always heard that the Palais d'Orsay was a beautiful house. We made a difficult but stately progress through the rooms. The staircase was a pretty sight, covered with a red carpet, tapestries on the walls, and quantities of pretty women of all nationalities grouped on the steps. We walked through the rooms, where there were just as many people as there were down-stairs, an orchestra, supper-room, people dancing--just like another party going on. We halted a few minutes in my petit salon at the end of the long suite of rooms. It looked quite charming, with the blue brocade walls and quantities of pink roses standing in high glass vases. I suggested taking the elevator to go down, but the prince preferred walking (so did I). It was even more difficult getting through the crowd down-stairs--we had the whole length of the house to cross. Several women stood on chairs as we passed along, in the hope of seeing one of the princesses, but they had wisely remained in the salon réservé, and were afraid to venture into the crowd.

Supper was a serious preoccupation for the young secretaries of the ministry, who had much difficulty in keeping that room private. Long before the supper hour some enterprising spirits had discovered that the royalties were to sup in that room, and finding the secretaries quite inaccessible to any suggestions of "people who had a right to come in"--presidents of commissions and various other distinctions--had recourse to the servants, and various gold pieces circulated, which, however, did not accomplish their object. The secretaries said that they had more trouble with the chamberlains of the various princes than with the princes themselves; they all wanted to sup in the private room, and were much more tenacious of having a good place, or the place they thought was due to them, than their royal masters. The supper was very gay--the Prince of Wales (the late King Edward) perfectly charming--talking to every one, remembering every one with that extraordinary gracious manner which made him friends in all classes. Immediately after supper the princes and distinguished strangers and W. departed. I remained about an hour longer and went to have a look at the ballroom. It was still crowded, people dancing hard, and when finally about two o'clock I retreated to my own quarters, I went to sleep to the sound of waltzes and dance music played by the two orchestras. The revelry continued pretty well all through the night. Whenever I woke I heard strains of music. Supper went on till seven in the morning. Our faithful Kruft told us that there was absolutely nothing left on the tables, and they had almost to force the people out, telling them that an invitation to a ball did not usually extend to breakfast the next morning.

There was a grand official closing of the exposition at the end of November, with a distribution of prizes--the city still very full and very gay--escorts and uniforms in every direction--the Champs-Elysées brilliant with soldiers--equipages of all descriptions, and all the afternoon a crowd of people sitting under the trees, much interested in all that was going on, particularly when carriages would pass with people in foreign and striking costumes. The Chinese always wore their costume; the big yellow birds of paradise became quite a feature of the afternoon défilé. An Indian princess too, dressed entirely in white--a soft clinging material, with a white veil, not over her face, and held in place by a gold band going around the head--was always much admired. Every now and then there would be a great clatter of trotting-horses and jingling sabres, when an escort of dragoons would pass, escorting some foreign prince to the Elysée to pay his formal visit to the marshal. Everybody looked gay--French people so dearly love a show--and it was amusing to see the interest every one took in the steady stream of people, from the fashionable woman driving to the Bois in her victoria to the workmen, who would stand in groups on the corners of the streets--some of them occasionally with a child on their shoulders. Frenchmen of all classes are good to children. On a Sunday or fête day, when whole families are coming in from a day at the Bois, one often sees a young husband wheeling a baby-carriage, or carrying a baby in his arms to let the poor mother have a rest. It was curious at the end of the exposition to see how quickly everything was removed (many things had been sold); and in a few days the Champ de Mars took again the same aspect it had at the beginning of the month of May--heavy carts and camions everywhere, oceans of mud, lines of black holes where trees and poles had been planted, and the same groups of small shivering Southerners, all huddled together, wrapped in wonderful cloaks and blankets, quite paralysed with cold. I don't know if the exposition was a financial success--I should think probably not. A great deal of money came into France (but the French spent enormously in their preparations) but the moral effect was certainly good--all the world flocked to Paris. Cabs and river steamers did a flourishing business, as did all the restaurants and cafés in the suburbs. St. Cloud, Meudon, Versailles, Robinson, were crowded every night with people who were thirsting for air and food after long hot days in the dust and struggles of the exposition. We dined there once or twice, but it was certainly neither pleasant nor comfortable--even in the most expensive restaurants. They were all overcrowded, very bad service, badly lighted, and generally bad food. There were various national repasts--Russian, Italian, etc.--but I never participated in any of those, except once at the American restaurant, where I had a very good breakfast one morning, with delicious waffles made by a negro cook. I was rather glad when the exhibition was over. One had a feeling that one ought to see as much as possible, and there were some beautiful things, but it was most fatiguing struggling through the crowd, and we invariably lost the carriage and found ourselves at the wrong entrance, and had to wait hours for a cab. Tiffany had a great success with the French. Many of my friends bought souvenirs of the exposition from him. His work was very original, fanciful, and quite different from the rather stiff, heavy, classic silver that one sees in this country.

M. WADDINGTON AS PRIME MINISTER

There had been a respite, a sort of armed truce, in political circles as long as the exposition lasted, but when the Chambers met again in November, it was evident that things were not going smoothly. The Republicans and Radicals were dissatisfied. Every day there were speeches and insinuations against the marshal and his government, and one felt that a crisis was impending. There were not loaves and fishes enough for the whole Radical party. If one listened to them it would seem as if every préfet and every general were conspiring against the Republic. There were long consultations in W.'s cabinet, and I went often to our house in the rue Dumont d'Urville to see if everything was in order there, as I quite expected to be back there for Christmas. A climax was reached when the marshal was asked to sign the deposition of some of the generals. He absolutely refused--the ministers persisted in their demands. There was not much discussion, the marshal's mind was made up, and on the 30th of January, 1879, he announced in the Conseil des Ministres his irrevocable decision, and handed his ministers his letter of resignation.

We had a melancholy breakfast--W., Count de P., and I--the last day of the marshal's presidency. W. was very blue, was quite sure the marshal would resign, and foresaw all sorts of complications both at home and abroad. The day was gloomy too, grey and cold, even the big rooms of the ministry were dark. As soon as they had started for Versailles, I took baby and went to mother's. As I went over the bridge I wondered how many more times I should cross it, and whether the end of the week would see me settled again in my own house. We drove about and had tea together, and I got back to the Quai d'Orsay about six o'clock. Neither W. nor Count de P. had got back from Versailles, but there were two telegrams--the first one to say that the marshal had resigned, the second one that Grévy was named in his place, with a large majority.

W. was rather depressed when he came home--he had always a great sympathy and respect for the marshal, and was very sorry to see him go,--thought his departure would complicate foreign affairs. As long as the marshal was at the Elysee, foreign governments were not afraid of coups d'état or revolutions. He was also sorry that Dufaure would not remain, but he was an old man, had had enough of political life and party struggles--left the field to younger men. The marshal's letter was communicated at once to the Parliament, and the houses met in the afternoon. There was a short session to hear the marshal's letter read (by Grévy in the Chamber of Deputies) and the two houses, Senate and Chamber of Deputies, were convoked for a later hour of the same afternoon. There was not much excitement, two or three names were pronounced, but every one felt sure that Grévy would be the man. He was nominated by a large majority, and the Republicans were jubilant--thought the Republic was at last established on a firm and proper basis. Grévy was perfectly calm and self-possessed--did not show much enthusiasm. He must have felt quite sure from the first moment that he would be named. His first visitor was the marshal, who wished him all possible success in his new mission, and, if Grévy was pleased to be the President of the Republic, the marshal was even more pleased not to be, and to take up his private life again.

There were many speculations as to who would be charged by Grévy to form his first cabinet--and almost permanent meetings in all the groups of the Left. W.'s friends all said he would certainly remain at the Foreign Office, but that depended naturally upon the choice of the premier. If he were taken from the more advanced ranks of the Left, W. could not possibly stay. We were not long in suspense. W. had one or two interviews with Grévy, which resulted in his remaining at the Foreign Office, but as prime minister. W. hesitated at first, felt that it would not be an easy task to keep all those very conflicting elements together. There were four Protestants in the ministry, W., Léon Say, de Freycinet, and Le Royer. Jules Ferry, who took the Ministry of Public Instruction, a very clever man, was practically a freethinker, and the Parliament was decidedly more advanced. The last elections had given a strong Republican majority to the Senate. He consulted with his brother, Richard Waddington, then a deputy, afterward a senator, president of the Chamber of Commerce of Rouen, and some of his friends, and finally decided to accept the very honourable, but very onerous position, and remained at the Foreign Affairs with Grévy, as prime minister.

If I had seen little of him before, I saw nothing of him now, as his work was exactly doubled. We did breakfast together, but it was a most irregular meal--sometimes at twelve o'clock, sometimes at one-thirty, and very rarely alone. We always dined out or had people dining with us, so that family life became a dream of the past. We very rarely went together when we dined out. W. was always late--his coupé waited hours in the court. I had my carriage and went alone. After eight or ten days of irregular meals at impossible hours (we often dined at nine-thirty) I said to Count de P., W.'s chef de cabinet: "Can't you arrange to have business over a little earlier? It is awful to dine so late and to wait so long," to which he replied: "Ah, madame, no one can be more desirous than I to change that order of things, for when the minister dines at nine-thirty, the chef de cabinet gets his dinner at ten-thirty." We did manage to get rather more satisfactory hours after a little while, but it was always difficult to extract W. from his work if it were anything important. He became absorbed, and absolutely unconscious of time.

The new President, Grévy, installed himself at once at the Elysée with his wife and daughter. There was much speculation about Madame Grévy--no one had ever seen her--she was absolutely unknown. When Grévy was president of the National Assembly, he gave very pleasant men's dinners, where Madame Grévy never appeared. Every one (of all opinions) was delighted to go to him, and the talk was most brilliant and interesting. Grévy was a perfect host, very cultivated, with a marvellous memory--quoting pages of the classics, French, and Latin.

Madame Grévy was always spoken of as a quiet, unpretending person--occupied with domestic duties, who hated society and never went anywhere--in fact, no one ever heard her name mentioned. A great many people didn't know that Grévy had a wife. When her husband became President of the Republic, there was much discussion as to Madame Grévy's social status in the official world. I don't think Grévy wanted her to appear nor to take any part in the new life, and she certainly didn't want to. Nothing in her former life had prepared her for such a change, and it was always an effort for her, but both were overruled by their friends, who thought a woman was a necessary part of the position. It was some little time before they were settled at the Elysée. W. asked Grévy once or twice when Madame Waddington might call upon his wife--and he answered that as soon as they were quite installed I should receive a notice. One day a communication arrived from the Elysee, saying that Madame Grévy would receive the diplomatic corps and the ministers' wives on a fixed day at five o'clock. The message was sent on to the diplomatic corps, and when I arrived on the appointed day (early, as I wanted to see the people come in, and also thought I must present the foreign ladies) there were already several carriages in the court.

The Elysee looked just as it did in the marshal's time--plenty of servants in gala liveries--two or three huissiers who knew everybody--palms, flowers, everywhere. The traditions of the palace are carried on from one President to another, and a permanent staff of servants remains. We found Madame Grévy with her daughter and one or two ladies, wives, I suppose, of the secretaries, seated in the well-known drawing-room with the beautiful tapestries--Madame Grévy in a large gold armchair at the end of the room--a row of gilt armchairs on each side of hers--mademoiselle standing behind her mother. A huissier announced every one distinctly, but the names and titles said nothing to Madame Grévy. She was tall, middle-aged, handsomely dressed, and visibly nervous--made a great many gestures when she talked. It was amusing to see all the people arrive. I had nothing to do--there were no introductions--every one was announced, and they all walked straight up to Madame Grévy, who was very polite, got up for every one, men and women. It was rather an imposing circle that gathered around her--Princess Hohenlohe, German ambassadress, sat on one side of her--Marquise Molins, Spanish ambassadress, on the other. There were not many men--Lord Lyons, as doyen of the diplomatic corps, the nonce, and a good many representatives of the South American Republics. Madame Grévy was perfectly bewildered, and did try to talk to the ladies next to her, but it was an intimidating function for any one, and she had no one to help her, as they were all quite new to the work. It was obviously an immense relief to her when some lady of the official world came in, whom she had known before. The two ladies plunged at once into a very animated conversation about their children, husbands, and various domestic matters--a perfectly natural conversation, but not interesting to the foreign ladies.