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M. WADDINGTON AS MINISTER OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION

In March, 1876, W. was made, for the second time, "Ministre de l'Instruction Publique et des Beaux Arts," with M. Dufaure Pr?sident du Conseil, Duc D?cazes at the Foreign Office, and L?on Say at the finances. His nomination was a surprise to us. We didn't expect it at all. There had been so many discussions, so many names put forward. It seemed impossible to come to an understanding and form a cabinet which would be equally acceptable to the marshal and to the Chambers. I came in rather late one afternoon while the negotiations were going on, and was told by the servants that M. L?on Say was waiting in W.'s library to see him. W. came a few minutes afterward, and the two gentlemen remained a long time talking. They stopped in the drawing-room on their way to the door, and Say said to me: "Eh bien, madame, je vous apporte une portefeuille et des f?licitations." "Before I accept the felicitations, I would like to know which portfolio." Of course when he said, "Public instruction," I was pleased, as I knew it was the only one W. cared for. My brother-in-law, Richard Waddington, senator of the Seine Inf?rieure, and one or two friends came to see us in the evening, and the gentlemen talked late into the night, discussing programmes, possibilities, etc. All the next day the conferences went on, and when the new cabinet was presented to the marshal, he received them graciously if not warmly. W. said both Dufaure and D?cazes were quite wonderful, realising the state of affairs exactly, and knowing the temper of the house, which was getting more advanced every day and more difficult to manage.

W. at once convoked all the officials and staff of the ministry. He made very few changes, merely taking the young Count de Lasteyrie, now Marquis de Lasteyrie, grandnephew of the Marquis de Lafayette, son of M. Jules de Lasteyrie, a senator and devoted friend of the Orl?ans family, as his chef de cabinet. Two or three days after the new cabinet was announced, W. took me to the Elys?e to pay my official visit to the Mar?chale de MacMahon. She received us up-stairs in a pretty salon looking out on the garden. She was very civil, not a particularly gracious manner--gave me the impression of a very energetic, practical woman--what most Frenchwomen are. I was very much struck with her writing-table, which looked most businesslike. It was covered with quantities of letters, papers, cards, circulars of all kinds--she attended to all household matters herself. I always heard that she read every letter that was addressed to her, and she must have had hundreds of begging letters. She was very charitable, much interested in all good works, and very kind to all artists. Whenever a letter came asking for money, she had the case investigated, and if the story was true, gave practical help at once. I was dismayed at first with the number of letters received from all over France asking my intercession with the minister on every possible subject from a "monument historique" to be restored, to a pension given to an old schoolmaster no longer able to work, with a large family to support. It was perfectly impossible for me to answer them. Being a foreigner and never having lived in France, I didn't really know anything about the various questions. W. was too busy to attend to such small matters, so I consulted M. de L., chef de cabinet, and we agreed that I should send all the correspondence which was not strictly personal to him, and he would have it examined in the "bureau." The first few weeks of W.'s ministry were very trying to me--I went to see so many people,--so many people came to see me,--all strangers with whom I had nothing in common. Such dreary conversations, never getting beyond the most ordinary commonplace phrases,--such an absolutely different world from any I had ever lived in.

It is very difficult at first for any woman who marries a foreigner to make her life in her new country. There must be so many things that are different--better perhaps sometimes--but not what one has been accustomed to,--and I think more difficult in France than in any other country. French people are set in their ways, and there is so little sympathy with anything that is not French. I was struck with that absence of sympathy at some of the first dinners I went to. The talk was exclusively French, almost Parisian, very personal, with stories and allusions to people and things I knew nothing about. No one dreamed of talking to me about my past life--or America, or any of my early associations--yet I was a stranger--one would have thought they might have taken a little more trouble to find some topics of general interest. Even now, after all these years, the difference of nationality counts. Sometimes when I am discussing with very intimate friends some question and I find that I cannot understand their views and they cannot understand mine, they always come back to the real difficulty: "Ecoutez, ch?re amie, vous ?tes d'une autre race." I rather complained to W. after the first three or four dinners--it seemed to me bad manners, but he said no, I was the wife of a French political man, and every one took for granted I was interested in the conversation--certainly no one intended any rudeness. The first big dinner I went to that year was at the Elys?e--the regular official dinner for the diplomatic corps and the Government. I had Baron von Zuylen, the Dutch minister, one of our great friends, on one side of me, L?on Renault, pr?fet de police, on the other. L?on Renault was very interesting, very clever--an excellent pr?fet de police. Some of his stories were most amusing. The dinner was very good , not long, and mercifully the room was not too hot. Sometimes the heat was terrible. There were quite a number of people in the evening--the music of the garde r?publicaine playing, and a buffet in the dining-room which was always crowded. We never stayed very late, as W. always had papers to sign when we got home. Sometimes when there was a great press of work his "signatures" kept him two hours. I don't think the marshal enjoyed the receptions very much. Like most soldiers he was an early riser, and the late hours and constant talking tired him.

I liked our dinners and receptions at the ministry. All the intelligence of France passed through our rooms. People generally came early--by ten o'clock the rooms were quite full. Every one was announced, and it was most interesting to hear the names of all the celebrities in every branch of art and science. It was only a fleeting impression, as the guests merely spoke to me at the door and passed on. In those days, hardly any one shook hands unless they were fairly intimate--the men never. They made me low bows some distance off and rarely stopped to exchange a few words with me. Some of the women, not many, shook hands. It was a fatiguing evening, as I stood so long, and a procession of strangers passed before me. The receptions finished early--every one had gone by eleven o'clock except a few loiterers at the buffet. There are always a certain number of people at the big official receptions whose principal object in coming seems to be to make a comfortable meal. The servants always told me there was nothing left after a big party. There were no invitations--the reception was announced in the papers, so any one who felt he had the slightest claim upon the minister appeared at the party. Some of the dresses were funny, but there was nothing eccentric--no women in hats, carrying babies in their arms, such as one used to see in the old days in America at the President's reception at the White House, Washington--some very simple black silk dresses hardly low--and of course a great many pretty women very well dressed. Some of my American friends often came with true American curiosity, wanting to see a phase of French life which was quite novel to them.

W. remained two years as Minister of Public Instruction, and my life became at once very interesting, very full. We didn't live at the ministry--it was not really necessary. All the work was over before dinner, except the "signatures," which W. could do just as well in his library at home. We went over and inspected the H?tel du Minist?re in the rue de Grenelle before we made our final decision, but it was not really tempting. There were fine reception-rooms and a pretty garden, but the living-rooms were small, not numerous, and decidedly gloomy. Of course I saw much less of W. He never came home to breakfast, except on Sunday, as it was too far from the rue de Grenelle to the Etoile. The Arc de Triomphe stands in the Place de l'Etoile at the top of the Champs-Elys?es. All the great avenues, Alma, J?na, Kl?ber, and the adjacent streets are known as the Quartier de l'Etoile. It was before the days of telephones, so whenever an important communication was to be made to him when he was at home in the evening, a dragoon galloped up with his little black bag from which he extracted his papers. It made quite an excitement in our quiet street the first time he arrived after ten o'clock. We just managed our morning ride, and then there were often people waiting to speak to W. before we started, and always when he came back. There was a great amount of patronage attached to his ministry, nominations to all the universities, lyc?es, schools, etc., and, what was most agreeable to me, boxes at all the government theatres,--the Grand Opera, Op?ra Comique, Fran?ais, Od?on, and Conservatoire. Every Monday morning we received the list for the week, and, after making our own selection, distributed them to the official world generally,--sometimes to our own personal friends. The boxes of the Fran?ais, Op?ra, and Conservatoire were much appreciated.

I went very regularly to the Sunday afternoon concerts at the Conservatoire, where all classical music was splendidly given. They confined themselves generally to the strictly classic, but were beginning to play a little Schumann that year. Some of the faces of the regular habitu?s became most familiar to me. There were three or four old men with grey hair sitting in the first row of stalls who followed every note of the music, turning around and frowning at any unfortunate person in a box who dropped a fan or an opera-glass. It was funny to hear the hum of satisfaction when any well-known movement of Beethoven or Mozart was attacked. The orchestra was perfect, at its best I think in the "scherzos" which they took in beautiful style--so light and sure. I liked the instrumental part much better than the singing. French voices, the women's particularly, are thin, as a rule. I think they sacrifice too much to the "diction,"--don't bring out the voices enough--but the style and training are perfect of their kind.

The Conservatoire is quite as much a social feature as a school of music. It was the thing to do on Sunday afternoon. No invitation was more appreciated, as it was almost impossible to have places unless one was invited by a friend. All the boxes and seats belong to subscribers and have done so for one or two generations. Many marriages are made there. There are very few theatres in Paris to which girls can be taken, but the Op?ra Comique and the Conservatoire are very favourite resorts. When a marriage is pending the young lady, very well dressed is taken to the Conservatoire or the Op?ra Comique by her father and mother, and very often her grandmother. She sits in front of the box and the young man in the stalls, where he can study his future wife without committing himself. The difference of dress between the jeune fille and the jeune femme is very strongly marked in France. The French girl never wears lace or jewels or feathers or heavy material of any kind, quite unlike her English or American contemporaries, who wear what they like. The wedding-dress is classic, a simple, very long dress of white satin, and generally a tulle veil over the face. When there is a handsome lace veil in the family, the bride sometimes wears it, but no lace on her dress. The first thing the young married woman does is to wear a very long velvet dress with feathers in her hair.

I think on the whole the arranged marriages turn out as well as any others. They are generally made by people of the same monde, accustomed to the same way of living, and the fortunes as nearly alike as possible. Everything is calculated. The young couple usually spend the summer with parents or parents-in-law, in the ch?teau, and I know some cases where there are curious details about the number of lamps that can be lighted in their rooms, and the use of the carriage on certain days. I am speaking of course of purely French marriages. To my American ideas it seemed very strange when I first came to Europe, but a long residence in a foreign country certainly modifies one's impressions. Years ago, when we were living in Rome, four sisters, before any of us were married, a charming Frenchwoman, Duchesse de B., who came often to the house, was very worried about this family of girls, all very happy at home and contented with their lives. It was quite true we danced and hunted and made a great deal of music, without ever troubling ourselves about the future. The duchesse couldn't understand it, used often to talk to mother very seriously. She came one day with a proposal of marriage--a charming man, a Frenchman, not too young, with a good fortune, a title, and a ch?teau, had seen Madam King's daughters in the ballroom and hunting-field, and would very much like to be presented and make his cour. "Which one?" we naturally asked, but the answer was vague. It sounded so curiously impersonal that we could hardly take it seriously. However, we suggested that the young man should come and each one of the four would show off her particular talent. One would play and one would sing , and the third, the polyglot of the family, could speak several languages. We were rather puzzled as to what my eldest sister could do, as she was not very sociable and never spoke to strangers if she could help it, so we decided she must be very well dressed and preside at the tea-table behind an old-fashioned silver urn that we always used--looking like a stately ma?tresse de maison receiving her guests. We confided all these plans to the duchesse, but she was quite put out with us, wouldn't bring the young man nor tell us his name. We never knew who he was. Since I have been a Frenchwoman --I think all Americans remain American no matter where they marry,--I have interested myself three or four times in made marriages, which have generally turned out well. There were very few Americans married in France all those years, now there are legions of all kinds. I don't remember any in the official parliamentary world I lived in the first years of my marriage--nor English either. It was absolutely French, and rather born? French. Very few of the people, the women especially, had any knowledge or experience of foreign countries, and didn't care to have,--France was enough for them.

W. was very happy at the Ministry of Public Instruction,--all the educational questions interested him so much and the tourn?es en province and visits to the big schools and universities,--some of them, in the south of France particularly, singularly wanting in the most elementary details of hygiene and cleanliness, and it was very difficult to make the necessary changes, giving more light, air, and space. Routine is a powerful factor in this very conservative country, where so many things exist simply because they have always existed. Some of his letters from Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Montpellier were most interesting. As a rule he was very well received and got on very well, strangely enough, with the clergy, particularly the haut clerg?, bishops and cardinals. His being a Protestant was rather a help to him; he could take an impartial view of things.

At Bordeaux he stayed at the Pr?fecture, where he was very comfortable, but the days were fatiguing. He said he hadn't worked so hard for years. He started at nine in the morning, visiting schools and universities, came home to breakfast at twelve, and immediately after had a small reception, rectors, professors, and people connected with the schools he wanted to talk to, at three started again seeing more schools and going conscientiously over the buildings from basement to garret,--then visits to the cardinal, archbishop, general commanding, etc.--a big dinner and reception in the evening, the cardinal present in his red robes, his coadjutor in purple, the officers in uniform, and all the people connected in any way with the university, who were pleased to see their chief. There was a total absence of Bonapartist senators and deputies , who were rather numerous in these parts. W. was really quite exhausted when he got back to Paris--said it was absolute luxury to sit quietly and read in his library, and not talk. It wasn't a luxury that he enjoyed very much, for whenever he was in the house there was always some one talking to him in his study and others waiting in the drawing-room. Every minute of the day he was occupied. People were always coming to ask for something for themselves or some members of their family, always candidates for the Institute, anxiously inquiring what their chances were, and if he had recommended them to his friends. It is striking even in this country of functionaries how many applicants there were always for the most insignificant places--a Frenchman loves a cap with gold braid and gilt buttons on his coat.

All the winter of 1876, which saw the end of the National Assembly and the beginning of a new r?gime, was an eventful one in parliamentary circles. I don't know if the country generally was very much excited about a new constitution and a change of government. I don't think the country in France are ever much excited about the form of government. As long as the crops are good and there is no war to take away their sons and able-bodied men, they don't care, often don't know, whether a king or an emperor is reigning over them. They say there are some far-off villages half hidden in the forests and mountains who still believe that a king and a Bourbon is reigning in France. Something had to be decided; the provisoire could no longer continue; the country could not go on without a settled government. All the arguments and negotiations of that period have been so often told, that I will not go into any details. The two centres, centre droit and centre gauche, had everything in their hands as the great moderating elements of the Assembly, but the conflicting claims of the various parties, Legitimist, Orleanist, Bonapartist, and advanced Left, made the question a very difficult one.

W. as a member of the Comit? des Trente was very much occupied and preoccupied. He came back generally very late from Versailles, and, when he did dine at home, either went out again after dinner to some of the numerous meetings at different houses or had people at home. I think the great majority of deputies were honestly trying to do what they thought best for the country, and when one remembers the names and personalities on both sides--MacMahon, Broglie, d'Audiffret-Pasquier, Buffet, Dufaure, and Thiers, Casimir P?rier, L?on Say, Jules Simon, Jules Ferry, Freycinet, and many others, it is impossible to think that any of those men were animated by any spirit other than love of the country and an ardent desire to see some stable government restored which would enable France to take her place again among the great powers. Unfortunately the difference of opinion as to the form of government made things very difficult. Some of the young deputies, just fresh from the war and smarting under a sense of humiliation, were very violent in their abuse of any Royalist and particularly Bonapartist restoration.

THE SOCIAL SIDE OF A MINISTER'S WIFE

My first big dinner at the Ministry of Public Instruction rather intimidated me. We were fifty people--I the only lady. I went over to the ministry in the afternoon to see the table, which was very well arranged with quantities of flowers, beautiful S?vres china, not much silver--there is very little left in France, it having all been melted at the time of the Revolution. The official dinners are always well done in Paris. I suppose the traditions of the Empire have been handed down. We arrived a few minutes before eight, all the staff and directors already there, and by ten minutes after eight every one had arrived. I sat between G?r?me, the painter, and Renan, two very different men but each quite charming,--G?r?me tall, slight, animated, talking very easily about everything. He told me who a great many of the people were, with a little commentary on their profession and career which was very useful to me, as I knew so few of them. Renan was short, stout, with a very large head, almost unprepossessing-looking, but with a great charm of manner and the most delightful smile and voice imaginable. He often dined with us in our own house, en petit comit?, and was always charming. He was one of those happy mortals who made every subject they discuss interesting.

When it was decided that we should ask the Orl?ans princes to our party, I thought I would go to see the Duc D?cazes, the foreign minister, a charming man and charming colleague, to get some precise information about my part of the entertainment. He couldn't think what I wanted when I invaded his cabinet, and was much amused when I stated my case.

"There is nothing unusual in receiving the princes at a ministry. You must do as you have always done."

"It is not possible!"

"It is absolutely true; I have never lived anywhere where there was a court."

"But if I am at one end of the long enfilade of rooms taking the Comtesse de Paris to her seat and another princess should arrive; what has to be done?"

"Your husband must always be at the door with his chef de cabinet, who will replace him while he takes the princess to her place."

The Marquise de L., a charming old lady with white hair, beautiful blue eyes, and pink cheeks, a great friend of the Orl?ans family, went with me when I made my round of visits to thank the royal ladies for accepting our invitation. We found no one but the Princesse Marguerite, daughter of the Duc de Nemours, who was living at Neuilly. I had all my instructions from the marquise, how many courtesies to make, how to address her, and above all not to speak until the princess spoke to me. We were shown into a pretty drawing-room, opening on a garden, where the princess was waiting, standing at one end of the room. Madame de L. named me, I made my courtesies, the princess shook hands, and then we remained standing, facing each other. She didn't say anything. I stood perfectly straight and quiet, waiting. She changed colour, moved her hands nervously, was evidently overcome with shyness, but didn't utter a sound. It seemed very long, was really only a few seconds, but I was getting rather nervous when suddenly a child ran across the garden. That broke the ice and she asked me the classic royal question, "Avez-vous des enfants, madame?" I had only one, and he was rather small, but still his nurse, his teeth, and his food carried me on for a little while and after that we had some general conversation, but I can't say the visit was really interesting. As long as I was in public life I regretted that I had but the one child,--children and nurseries and schoolrooms were always an unfailing topic of conversation. Frenchwomen of all classes take much more interest in the details of their nurseries and the education and bringing-up of their children than we Anglo-Saxons do. I know several mammas who followed all the course of their sons' studies when they were preparing their baccalaur?at, even to writing the compositions. The head nurse who takes entire charge of her nursery, who doesn't like any interference, and brings the children to their mother at stated hours, doesn't exist in France.

Our party was very brilliant, all sorts of notabilities of all kinds, and the leading Paris artists from the Grand Opera, Op?ra Comique, and the Fran?ais. As soon as the performance was over W. told me I must go and thank the artists; he could not leave his princes. I started off to the last of the long suite of salons where they were all assembled. Comte de L., W.'s chef de cabinet, went with me, and we were preceded by a huissier with sword and chain, who piloted us through the crowd. I felt very shy when I arrived in the greenroom. The artists were drawn up in two rows, the women on one side, the men on the other, all eyes of course fixed upon madame la ministresse. Madame Carvalho, Sarah Bernhardt, and Croizette were standing at the head of the long line of women; Faure, Talazac, Delaunay, Coquelin, on the other side. I went first all along the line of women, then came back by the men. I realised instantly after the first word of thanks and interest how easy it is for princes, or any one in high places, to give pleasure. They all responded so smilingly and naturally to everything I said. After the first two or three words, I didn't mind at all, and found myself discussing acoustics, the difficulty of playing any well-known part without costumes, scenery, etc., the inconvenience of having the public so near, quite easily. We often had music and recitations at our parties, and that was always a great pleasure to me. I remember so well one evening when we had the chorus of the Conservatoire and they sang quite beautifully the old "Plaisirs d'Amour" of our childhood. It had a great success and they were obliged to repeat it. W. made one great innovation in the dress of the ladies of the Conservatoire chorus. They were always dressed in white, which was very well for the young, slight figures, but was less happy for a stout middle-aged lady. So after much discussion it was decided to adopt black as the official dress and I must say it was an enormous improvement.

THE SOCIAL SIDE

All sorts of interesting people came to see us at the Ministry of Public Instruction,--among others the late Emperor of Brazil, Don Pedro de Bragance, who spent some months in Paris that year with his daughter, the young Comtesse d'Eu. He was a tall, good-looking man, with a charming easy manner, very cultivated and very keen about everything--art, literature, politics. His gentlemen said he had the energy of a man of twenty-five, and he was well over middle age when he was in Paris. They were quite exhausted sometimes after a long day of visits and sightseeing with him. He was an early riser. One of the first rendezvous he gave W. was at nine o'clock in the morning, which greatly disturbed that gentleman's habits. He was never an early riser, worked always very late , and didn't care about beginning his day too early. Another interesting personality was Mommsen, the German historian and savant. He was a picturesque-looking old man with keen blue eyes and a quantity of white hair. I don't think anything modern interested him very much. He was an old man when I first saw him, and looked even older than his age. He and W. used to plunge into very long, learned discussions over antiquities and medals. W. said the hours with Mommsen rested him, such a change from the "shop" talk always mixed with politics in France.

We often had political breakfasts at home . Our Aisne deputies and senators were not very mondains, didn't care much to dine out. They were pleasant enough when they talked about subjects that interested them. Henri Martin, senator of the Aisne, was an old-fashioned Republican, absolutely convinced that no other government would ever succeed in France, but he was moderate. St. Vallier, also a senator from the Aisne, was nervous and easily discouraged when things didn't go smoothly, but he too thought the Republic was the only possible government now, whatever his preferences might have been formerly.

W.'s ministry came to an end on the famous 16th of May, 1877, when Marshal MacMahon suddenly took matters in his own hands and dismissed his cabinet presided over by M. Jules Simon. Things had not been going smoothly for some time, could not between two men of such absolute difference of origin, habits, and ideas. Still, the famous letter written by the marshal to Jules Simon was a thunderclap. I was walking about the Champs-Elys?es and Faubourg St. Honor? on the morning of the 16th of May, and saw all the carriages, our own included, waiting at the Ministry of the Interior, where the conseil was sitting. I went home to breakfast, thought W. was later than usual, but never dreamed of what was happening. When he finally appeared, quite composed and smiling, with his news, "We are out of office; the marshal has sent us all about our business," I could hardly believe it, even when he told me all the details. I had known for a long time that things were not going well, but there were always so much friction and such opposing elements in the cabinet that I had not attached much importance to the accounts of stormy sittings and thought things would settle down.

W. said the marshal was very civil to him, but it was evident that he could not stand Jules Simon any longer and the various measures that he felt were impending. We had many visitors after breakfast, all much excited, wondering what the next step would be--if the Chambers would be dissolved, the marshal trying to impose a cabinet of the Right or perhaps form another moderate liberal cabinet without Jules Simon, but retaining some of his ministers. It was my reception afternoon, and while I was sitting quietly in my drawing-room talking to some of my friends, making plans for the summer, quite pleased to have W. to myself again, the butler hurried into the room telling me that the Mar?chale de MacMahon was on the stairs, coming to make me a visit. I was very much surprised, as she never came to see me. We met very rarely, except on official occasions, and she made no secret of her dislike to the official Republican ladies . I had just time to get to the head of the stairs to receive her. She was very amiable, a little embarrassed, took a cup of tea--said the marshal was very sorry to part with W., he had never had any trouble or disagreement with him of any kind, but that it was impossible to go on with a cabinet when neither party had any confidence in the other. I quite agreed, said it was the fortunes of war; I hoped the marshal would find another premier who would be more sympathetic with him, and then we talked of other things.

My friends were quite amused. One of them, Marquise de T., knew the Mar?chale quite well, and said she was going to ask her if she was obliged to make visites de condol?ance to the wives of all the fallen ministers. W. was rather astonished when I told him who had come to tea with me, and thought the conversation must have been difficult. I told him, not at all, once the necessary phrases about the departing ministers were over. The piano was open, music littered about; she was fond of music and she admired very much a portrait of father as a boy in the Harrow dress, asked who it was and what the dress was. She was a perfect woman of the world, and no one was uncomfortable.

It seemed quite strange and very pleasant to take up my old life again after two years of public life. W. breakfasted at home, went to the Senate every day and to the Institute on Fridays and we dined with our friends and had small dinners in our own house instead of official banquets at all the ministries . Politics were very lively all summer. The Chambers were dissolved almost at once after the constitution of the new cabinet, presided over by the Duc de Broglie. It was evident from the first moment that the new ministry wouldn't, couldn't live. He made a very good fight, but he had that worst of all faults for a leader, he was unpopular. He was a brilliant, cultured speaker, but had a curt, dictatorial manner, with an air always of looking down upon his public. So different from his colleague, the Duc D?cazes, whose charming, courteous manners and nice blue eyes made him friends even among his adversaries. There is a well-known story told of the two dukes which shows exactly the personality of the men. Some one, a deputy I think, wanted something very much which either of the gentlemen could give. He went first to the Duc D?cazes, then Minister of Foreign Affairs, who received him charmingly, was most kind and courteous, but didn't do what the man wanted. He then went to the Duc de Broglie, Pr?sident du Conseil, who was busy, received him very curtly, cut short his explanations, and was in fact extremely disagreeable but did the thing, and the man loved D?cazes and hated de Broglie. All sorts of rumours were afloat; we used to hear the wildest stories and plans. One day W. came in looking rather preoccupied. There was an idea that the Right were going to take most stringent measures, arrest all the ministers, members of Jules Simon's cabinet, many of the prominent Liberals. He said it was quite possible and then gave me various instructions. I was above all to make no fuss if they really came to arrest him. He showed me where all his keys, papers, and money were, told me to go instantly to his uncle, Mr. Lutteroth, who lived next door. He was an old diplomat, knew everybody, and would give me very good advice. I did not feel very happy, but like so many things that are foretold, nothing ever happened.

Another rumour, from the extreme Left this time, was that a large armed force under the command of a well-known general, very high up in his career, was to assemble in the north at Lille, a strong contingent of Republicans were to join them to be ready to act. I remember quite well two of W.'s friends coming in one morning, full of enthusiasm for this plan. I don't think they quite knew what they were going to do with their army. W. certainly did not. He listened to all the details of the plan; they gave him the name of the general, supposed to have very Republican sympathies , the number of regiments, etc., who would march at a given signal, but when he said, "It is possible, you might get a certain number of men together, but what would you do with them?" they were rather nonplussed. They hadn't got any further than a grand patriotic demonstration, with the military, drums beating, flags flying, and the Marseillaise being howled by an excited crowd. No such extreme measures, however, were ever carried out. From the first moment it was evident that a large Republican majority would be returned; almost all the former deputies were re-elected and a number of new ones, more advanced in their opinion. In the country it was the only topic of conversation.

Parliament was dissolved in June, 1877, but we remained in town until the end of July. It wasn't very warm and many people remained until the end of the session. The big schools too only break up on the 15th of July, and many parents remain in Paris. The Republican campaign had already begun, and there were numerous little dinners and meetings when plans and possibilities were discussed. W. got back usually very late from Versailles. When he knew the sitting would be very late he sent me word and I used to go and dine with mother, but sometimes he was kept on there from hour to hour. I had some long waits before we could dine, and Hubert, the coachman, used to spend hours in the courtyard of the Gare St. Lazare waiting for his master. We had a big bay mare, a very fast trotter, which always did the train service, and the two were stationed there sometimes from six-thirty to nine-thirty, but they never seemed the worse for it. W., though a very considerate man for his servants generally, never worried at all about keeping his coachmen and horses waiting. He said the coachmen were the most warmly dressed men in Paris, always took care to be well covered, and we never had fancy, high-stepping horses, but ordinary strong ones, which could wait patiently. W. said the talk in the Chambers and in the lobbies was quite wild--every sort of extravagant proposition was made. There were many conferences with the Duc d'Audiffret-Pasquier, Duc de Broglie--with Casimir P?rier, L?on Say, Gambetta, Jules Ferry, and Freycinet--where the best men on both sides tried hard to come to an agreement. W. went several times in August to see M. Thiers, who was settled at St. Germain. The old statesman was as keen as ever, receiving every day all sorts of deputations, advising, warning, encouraging, and quite confident as to the result of the elections. People were looking to him as the next President, despite his great age. However, he was not destined to see the triumph of his ideas. He died suddenly at St. Germain on the 3d of September. W. said his funeral was a remarkable sight--thousands of people followed the cort?ge--all Paris showing a last respect to the lib?rateur du territoire . In August W. went to his Conseil-G?n?ral at Laon, and I went down to my brother-in-law's place at St. L?ger near Rouen. We were a very happy cosmopolitan family-party. My mother-in-law was born a Scotch-woman . She was a fine type of the old-fashioned cultivated lady, with a charming polite manner, keenly interested in all that was going on in the world. She was an old lady when I married, and had outlived almost all her contemporaries, but she had a beautiful old age, surrounded by children and grandchildren. She had lived through many vicissitudes from the time of her marriage, when she arrived at the Ch?teau of St. Remy in the Department of Eure-et-Loire , passing through triumphal arches erected in honour of the young bride, to the last days when the fortunes of the family were diminished by revolutions and political and business crises in France. They moved from St. Remy, selling the ch?teau, and built a house on the top of a green hill near Rouen, quite shut in by big trees, and with a lovely view from the Rond Point--the highest part of the garden, over Rouen--with the spires of the cathedral in the distance. I used to find her every morning when I went to her room, sitting at the window, her books and knitting on a table near--looking down on the lawn and the steep winding path that came up from the garden,--where she had seen three generations of her dear ones pass every day--first her husband, then her sons--now her grandsons. My sister-in-law, R.'s wife, was also an Englishwoman; the daughter of the house had married her cousin, de Bunsen, who had been a German diplomatist, and who had made nearly all his career in Italy, at the most interesting period of her history, when she was struggling for emancipation from the Austrian rule and independence. I was an American, quite a new element in the family circle. We had many and most animated discussions over all sorts of subjects, in two or three languages, at the tea-table under the big tree on the lawn. French and English were always going, and often German, as de Bunsen always spoke to his daughter in German. My mother-in-law, who knew three or four languages, did not at all approve of the careless habit we had all got into of mixing our languages and using French or Italian words when we were speaking English--if they came more easily. She made a rule that we should use only one language at meals--she didn't care which one, but we must keep to it. My brother-in-law was standing for the deputation. We didn't see much of him in the daytime--his electors and his visits and speeches and banquets de pompiers took up all his time. The beginning of his career had been very different. He was educated in England--Rugby and Woolwich--and served several years in the Royal Artillery in the British army. His military training was very useful to him during the Franco-Prussian War, when he equipped and commanded a field battery, making all the campaign. His English brother officers always remembered him. Many times when we were living in England at the embassy, I was asked about him. A curious thing happened in the House of Lords one day, showing the wonderful memory of princes for faces. R. was staying with us for a few days, when the annual debate over the bill for marriage of a deceased wife's sister came up. The Prince of Wales and all the other princes were present in the House. R. was there too, standing where all the strangers do, at the entrance of the lobby. When the debate was over, the Prince of Wales left. As he passed along, he shook hands with several gentlemen also standing near the lobby, including R. He stopped a moment in front of him, saying: "I think this is Mr. Waddington. The last time I saw you, you wore Her Majesty's uniform." He hadn't seen him for twenty-five or thirty years. I asked the prince afterward how he recognised him. He said he didn't know; it was perhaps noticing an unfamiliar face in the group of men standing there,--and something recalled his brother, the ambassador.

In September we went down to Bourneville and settled ourselves there for the autumn. W. was standing for the Senate with the Count de St. Vallier and Henri Martin. They all preferred being named in their department, where everybody knew them and their personal influence could make itself more easily felt. W.'s campaign was not very arduous. All the people knew him and liked him--knew that he would do whatever he promised. Their programme was absolutely Republican, but moderate, and he only made a few speeches and went about the country a little. I often went with him when he rode, and some of our visits to the farmers and local authorities were amusing if not encouraging. We were always very well received, but it wasn't easy to find out what they really thought of the state of affairs. The small landowners particularly, the men who had one field and a garden, were very reserved. They listened attentively enough to all W. had to say. He was never long, never personal, and never abused his adversaries, but they rarely expressed an opinion. They almost always turned the conversation upon some local matter or petty grievance. It didn't seem to me that they took the slightest interest in the extraordinary changes that were going on in France. A great many people came to see W. and there would be a curious collection sometimes in his library at the end of the day. The doctor , one or two farmers, some schoolmasters, the mayors of the nearest villages, the captains of the firemen and of the archers --the gendarmes, very useful these too to bring news--the notary, and occasionally a sous-pr?fet, but then he was a personage, representing the Government, and was treated with more ceremony than the other visitors. It was evident from all these sources that the Republicans were coming to the front en masse.

The Republicans were marvellously disciplined and kept together. It was really wonderful when one thought of all the different elements that were represented in the party. There was quite as much difference between the quiet moderate men of the Left Centre and the extreme Left as there was between the Legitimists and any faction of the Republican party. There was a strong feeling among the Liberals that they were being coerced, that arbitrary measures, perhaps a coup d'?tat, would be sprung upon them, and they were quite determined to resist. I don't think there was ever any danger of a coup d'?tat, at least as long as Marshal MacMahon was the chief of state. He was a fine honourable, patriotic soldier, utterly incapable of an illegality of any kind. He didn't like the Republic, honestly thought it would never succeed with the Republicans --and he certainly had illusions and thought his friends and advisers would succeed in making and keeping a firm conservative government. How far that illusion was shared by his entourage it is difficult to say. They fought their battle well--government pressure exercised in all ways. Pr?fets and sous-pr?fets changed, wonderful prospects of little work and high pay held out to doubtful electors, and the same bright illusive promises made to the masses, which all parties make in all elections and which the people believe each time. The Republicans were not idle either, and many fiery patriotic speeches were made or their side. Gambetta always held his public with his passionate, earnest declamation, and his famous phrase, that the marshal must "se soumettre ou se d?mettre," became a password all through the country.

A REPUBLICAN VICTORY AND A NEW MINISTRY

The elections took place in October-November, 1877, and gave at once a great Republican majority. W. and his two colleagues, Count de St. Vallier and Henri Martin, had an easy victory, but a great many of their personal friends, moderates, were beaten. The centres were decidedly weaker in the new Chambers. There was not much hope left of uniting the two centres, Droite et Gauche, in the famous "fusion" which had been a dream of the moderate men.

The new Chambers assembled at Versailles in November. The Broglie cabinet was out, but a new ministry of the Right faced the new Parliament. Their life was very short and stormy; they were really dead before they began to exist and in December the marshal sent for M. Dufaure and charged him to form a Minist?re de Gauche. None of his personal friends, except General Borel at the War Office, was in the new combination. W. was named to the Foreign Office. I was rather disappointed when he came home and told me he had accepted that portfolio. I thought his old ministry, Public Instruction, suited him so well, the work interested him, was entirely to his taste. He knew all the literary and educational world, not only in France but everywhere else--England, of course, where he had kept up with many of his Cambridge comrades, and Germany, where he also had literary connections. However, that wide acquaintance and his perfect knowledge of English and English people helped him very much at once, not only at the Quai d'Orsay, but in all the years he was in England as ambassador.

The new ministry, with Dufaure as President of the Council, L?on Say at the Finances, M. de Freycinet at Public Works, and W. at the Foreign Office was announced the 14th of December, 1877. The preliminaries had been long and difficult--the marshal and his friends on one side--the Republicans and Gambetta on the other--the moderates trying to keep things together. Personally, I was rather sorry W. had agreed to be a member of the cabinet; I was not very keen about official life and foresaw a great deal that would be disagreeable. Politics played such a part in social life. All the "society," the Faubourg St. Germain , was violently opposed to the Republic. I was astonished the first years of my married life in France, to see people of certain position and standing give the cold shoulder to men they had known all their lives because they were Republicans, knowing them quite well to be honourable, independent gentlemen, wanting nothing from the Republic--merely trying to do their best for the country. I only realised by degrees that people held off a little from me sometimes, as the wife of a Republican deputy. I didn't care particularly, as I had never lived in France, and knew very few people, but it didn't make social relations very pleasant, and I should have been better pleased if W. had taken no active part. However, that feeling was only temporary. I soon became keenly interested in politics and in the discussion of the various questions which were rapidly changing France into something quite different. Whether the change has been for the better it would be hard to say even now, after more than thirty-five years of the Republic.

Freycinet was a great strength. He was absolutely Republican, but moderate--very clever and energetic, a great friend of Gambetta's--and a beautiful speaker. I have heard men say who didn't care about him particularly, and who were not at all of his way of thinking, that they would rather not discuss with him. He was sure to win them over to his cause with his wonderful, clear persuasive arguments.

The first days were very busy ones. W. had to see all his staff of the Foreign Office, and organise his own cabinet. He was out all day, until late in the evening, at the Quai d'Orsay; used to go over there about ten or ten-thirty, breakfast there, and get back for a very late dinner, and always had a director or secretary working with him at our own house after dinner. I went over three or four times to inspect the ministry, as I had a presentiment we should end by living there. The house is large and handsome, with a fine staircase and large high rooms. The furniture of course was "ministerial"--stiff and heavy--gold-backed chairs and sofas standing in rows against the walls. There were some good pictures, among others the "Congr?s de Paris," which occupies a prominent place in one of the salons, and splendid tapestries. The most attractive thing was a fine large garden at the back, but, as the living-rooms were up-stairs, we didn't use it very much. The lower rooms, which opened on the gardens, were only used as reception-rooms. The minister's cabinet was also down-stairs, communicating by a small staircase with his bedroom, just overhead. The front of the house looks on the Seine; we had always a charming view from the windows, at night particularly, when all the little steamers were passing with their lights. I had of course to make acquaintance with all the diplomatic corps. I knew all the ambassadors and most of the ministers, but there were some representatives of the smaller powers and South American Republics with whom I had never come in contact. Again I paid a formal official visit to the Mar?chale de MacMahon as soon as the ministry was announced. She was perfectly polite and correct, but one felt at once she hadn't the slightest sympathy for anything Republican, and we never got to know each other any better all the months we were thrown together. We remained for several weeks at our own house, and then most reluctantly determined to install ourselves at the ministry. W. worked always very late after dinner, and he felt it was not possible to ask his directors, all important men of a certain age, to come up to the Quartier de l'Etoile at ten o'clock and keep them busy until midnight. W.'s new chef de cabinet, Comte de Pont?coulant, was very anxious that we should move, thought everything would be simplified if W. were living over there. I had never known Pont?coulant until W. chose him as his chef de cabinet. He was a diplomatist with some years of service behind him, and was perfectly au courant of all the routine and habits of the Foreign Office. He paid me a short formal visit soon after he had accepted the post; we exchanged a few remarks about the situation, I hoped we would faire bon m?nage, and had no particular impression of him except that he was very French and stiff; I didn't suppose I should see much of him. It seems curious now to look back upon that first interview. We all became so fond of him, he was a loyal, faithful friend, was always ready to help me in any small difficulties, and I went to him for everything--visits, servants, horses, etc. W. had no time for any details or amenities of life. We moved over just before New Year's day. As the gros mobilier was already there, we only took over personal things, grand piano, screens, tables, easy chairs, and small ornaments and bibelots. These were all sent off in a van early one morning, and after luncheon I went over, having given rendezvous to Pont?coulant and M. Kruft, chef du mat?riel, an excellent, intelligent man, who was most useful and devoted to me the two years I lived at the ministry. I was very depressed when we drove into the courtyard. I had never lived on that side of the river, and felt cut off from all my belongings,--the bridge a terror, so cold in winter, so hot in summer,--I never got accustomed to it, never crossed it on foot. The sight of the great empty rooms didn't reassure me. The reception-rooms of course were very handsome. There were a great many servants, huissiers, and footmen standing about, and people waiting in the big drawing-room to speak to W. The living-rooms up-stairs were ghastly--looked bare and uncomfortable in the highest degree. They were large and high and looked down upon the garden, though that on a bleak December day was not very cheerful--but there were possibilities. Kruft was very sympathetic, understood quite well how I felt, and was ready to do anything in the way of stoves, baths, wardrobes in the lingerie, new carpets, and curtains, that I wanted. Pont?coulant too was eminently practical, and I was quite amused to find myself discussing lingeries and bathrooms with a total stranger whom I had only seen twice in my life. It took me about a week to get really settled. I went over every day, returning to my own house to eat and sleep. Kruft did wonders; the place was quite transformed when I finally moved over. The rooms looked very bright and comfortable when we arrived in the afternoon of the 31st of December . The little end salon, which I made my boudoir, was hung with blue satin; my piano, screens, and little things were very well placed--plenty of palms and flowers, bright fires everywhere--the bedrooms, nursery, and lingeries clean and bright. My bedroom opened on a large salon, where I received usually, keeping my boudoir for ourselves and our intimate friends. My special huissier, G?rard, who sat all day outside of the salon door, was presented to me, and instantly became a most useful and important member of the household--never forgot a name or a face, remembered what cards and notes I had received, whether the notes were answered, or the bills paid, knew almost all my wardrobe, would bring me down a coat or a wrap if I wanted one suddenly down-stairs. I had frequent consultations with Pont?coulant and Kruft to regulate all the details of the various services before we were quite settled. We took over all our own servants and found many others who were on the permanent staff of the ministry, footmen, huissiers, and odd men who attended to all the fires, opened and shut all the doors, windows, and shutters. It was rather difficult to organise the regular working service, there was such rivalry between our own personal servants and the men who belonged to the house, but after a little while things went pretty smoothly. W. dined out the first night we slept at the Quai d'Orsay, and about an hour after we had arrived, while I was still walking about in my hat and coat, feeling very strange in the big, high rooms, I was told that the lampiste was waiting my orders . I didn't quite know what orders to give, hadn't mastered yet the number that would be required; but I sent for him, said I should be alone for dinner, perhaps one or two lamps in the dining-room and small salon would be enough. He evidently thought that was not at all sufficient, wanted something more precise, so I said to light as he had been accustomed to when the Duc D?cazes and his family were dining alone . Such a blaze of light met my eyes when I went to dinner that I was quite bewildered--boudoir, billiard-room, dining-room , and corridors all lighted "? giorno." However, it looked very cheerful and kept me from feeling too dreadfully homesick for my own house and familiar surroundings. The rooms were so high up that we didn't hear the noise of the street, but the river looked alive and friendly with the lights on the bridges, and a few boats still running.

We had much more receiving and entertaining to do at the Quai d'Orsay than at any other ministry, and were obliged to go out much more ourselves. The season in the official world begins with a reception at the President's on New Year's day. The diplomatic corps and presidents of the Senate and Chamber go in state to the Elys?e to pay their respects to the chief of state--the ambassadors with all their staff in uniform in gala carriages. It is a pretty sight, and there are always a good many people waiting in the Faubourg St. Honor? to see the carriages. The English carriage is always the best; they understand all the details of harness and livery so much better than any one else. The marshal and his family were established at the Elys?e. It wasn't possible for him to remain at Versailles--he couldn't be so far from Paris, where all sorts of questions were coming up every day, and he was obliged to receive deputations and reports, and see people of all kinds. They were already agitating the question of the Parliament coming back to Paris. The deputies generally were complaining of the loss of time and the discomfort of the daily journey even in the parliamentary train. The Right generally was very much opposed to having the Chambers back in Paris. I never could understand why. I suppose they were afraid that a stormy sitting might lead to disturbances. In the streets of a big city there is always a floating population ready to espouse violently any cause. At Versailles one was away from any such danger, and, except immediately around the palace, there was nobody in the long, deserted avenues. They often cited the United States, how no statesman after the signing of the Declaration of Independence would have ventured to propose that the Parliament should sit in New York or Philadelphia, but the reason there was very different; they were obliged to make a neutral zone, something between the North and the South. The District of Columbia is a thing apart, belonging to neither side. It has certainly worked very well in America. Washington is a fine city, with its splendid old trees and broad avenues. It has a cachet of its own, is unlike any other city I know in the world.

The marshal received at the Elys?e every Thursday evening--he and his staff in uniform, also all the officers who came, which made a brilliant gathering. Their big dinners and receptions were always extremely well done. Except a few of their personal friends, not many people of society were present--the diplomatic corps usually very well represented, the Government and their wives, and a certain number of liberal deputies--a great many officers. We received every fifteen days, beginning with a big dinner. It was an open reception, announced in the papers. The diplomats always mustered very strong, also the Parliament--not many women. Many of the deputies remained in the country, taking rooms merely while the Chambers were sitting, and their wives never appeared in Paris. "Society" didn't come to us much either, except on certain occasions when we had a royal prince or some very distinguished foreigners. Besides the big official receptions, we often had small dinners up-stairs during the week. Some of these I look back to with much pleasure. I was generally the only lady with eight or ten men, and the talk was often brilliant. Some of our habitu?s were the late Lord Houghton, a delightful talker; Lord Dufferin, then ambassador in St. Petersburg; Sir Henry Layard, British ambassador in Spain, an interesting man who had been everywhere and seen and known everybody worth knowing in the world; Count Schouvaloff, Russian ambassador in London, a polished courtier, extremely intelligent; he and W. were colleagues afterward at the Congr?s de Berlin, and W. has often told me how brilliantly he defended his cause; General Ignatieff, Prince Orloff, the nunzio Monsignor Czascki, quite charming, the type of the pr?lat mondain, very large in his ideas, but never aggressive or disagreeable about the Republic, as so many of the clergy were. He was very fond of music, and went with me sometimes to the Conservatoire on Sunday; he had a great admiration for the way they played classical music; used to lean back in his chair in a corner and drink in every sound.

We sometimes had informal music in my little blue salon. Baron de Zuylen, Dutch minister, was an excellent musician, also Comte de Beust, the Austrian ambassador. He was a composer. I remember his playing me one day a wedding march he had composed for the marriage of one of the archdukes. It was very descriptive, with bells, cannon, hurrahs, and a nuptial hymn--rather difficult to render on a piano--but there was a certain amount of imagination in the composition. The two came often with me to the Conservatoire. Comte de Beust brought Liszt to me one day. I wanted so much to see that complex character, made up of enthusiasms of all kinds, patriotic, religious, musical. He was dressed in the ordinary black priestly garb, looked like an ascetic with pale, thin face, which lighted up very much when discussing any subject that interested him. He didn't say a word about music, either then or on a subsequent occasion when I lunched with him at the house of a great friend and admirer, who was a beautiful musician. I hoped he would play after luncheon. He was a very old man, and played rarely in those days, but one would have liked to hear him. Madame M. thought he would perhaps for her, if the party were not too large, and the guests "sympathetic" to him. I have heard so many artists say it made all the difference to them when they felt the public was with them--if there were one unsympathetic or criticising face in the mass of people, it was the only face they could distinguish, and it affected them very much. The piano was engagingly open and music littered about, but he apparently didn't see it. He talked politics, and a good deal about pictures with some artists who were present.

I did hear him play many years later in London. We were again lunching together, at the house of a mutual friend, who was not at all musical. There wasn't even a piano in the house, but she had one brought in for the occasion. When I arrived rather early, the day of the party, I found the mistress of the house, aided by Count Hatzfeldt, then German ambassador to England, busily engaged in transforming her drawing-room. The grand piano, which had been standing well out toward the middle of the room, open, with music on it , was being pushed back into a corner, all the music hidden away, and the instrument covered with photographs, vases of flowers, statuettes, heavy books, all the things one doesn't habitually put on pianos. I was quite puzzled, but Hatzfeldt, who was a great friend of Liszt's and knew all his peculiarities, when consulted by Madame A. as to what she could do to induce Liszt to play, had answered: "Begin by putting the piano in the furthest, darkest corner of the room, and put all sorts of heavy things on it. Then he won't think you have asked him in the hope of hearing him play, and perhaps we can persuade him." The arrangements were just finished as the rest of the company arrived. We were not a large party, and the talk was pleasant enough. Liszt looked much older, so colourless, his skin like ivory, but he seemed just as animated and interested in everything. After luncheon, when they were smoking , he and Hatzfeldt began talking about the Empire and the beautiful f?tes at Compi?gne, where anybody of any distinction in any branch of art or literature was invited. Hatzfeldt led the conversation to some evenings when Strauss played his waltzes with an entrain, a sentiment that no one else has ever attained, and to Offenbach and his melodies--one evening particularly when he had improvised a song for the Empress--he couldn't quite remember it. If there were a piano--he looked about. There was none apparently. "Oh, yes, in a corner, but so many things upon it, it was evidently never meant to be opened." He moved toward it, Liszt following, asking Comtesse A. if it could be opened. The things were quickly removed. Hatzfeldt sat down and played a few bars in rather a halting fashion. After a moment Liszt said: "No, no, it is not quite that." Hatzfeldt got up. Liszt seated himself at the piano, played two or three bits of songs, or waltzes, then, always talking to Hatzfeldt, let his fingers wander over the keys and by degrees broke into a nocturne and a wild Hungarian march. It was very curious; his fingers looked as if they were made of yellow ivory, so thin and long, and of course there wasn't any strength or execution in his playing--it was the touch of an old man, but a master--quite unlike anything I have ever heard. When he got up, he said: "Oh, well, I didn't think the old fingers had any music left in them." We tried to thank him, but he wouldn't listen to us, immediately talked about something else. When he had gone we complimented the ambassador on the way in which he had managed the thing. Hatzfeldt was a charming colleague, very clever, very musical, a thorough man of the world. I was always pleased when he was next to me at dinner--I was sure of a pleasant hour. He had been many years in Paris during the brilliant days of the Empire, knew everybody there worth knowing. He had the reputation, notwithstanding his long stay in Paris, of being very anti-French. I could hardly judge of that, as he never talked politics to me. It may very likely have been true, but not more marked with him than with the generality of Anglo-Saxons and Northern races, who rather look down upon the Latins, hardly giving them credit for their splendid dash and pluck--to say nothing of their brains. I have lived in a great many countries, and always think that as a people, I mean the uneducated mass, the French are the most intelligent nation in the world. I have never been thrown with the Japanese--am told they are extraordinarily intelligent.

We had a dinner one night for Mr. Gladstone, his wife, and a daughter. Mr. Gladstone made himself quite charming, spoke French fairly well, and knew more about every subject discussed than any one else in the room. He was certainly a wonderful man, such extraordinary versatility and such a memory. It was rather pretty to see Mrs. Gladstone when her husband was talking. She was quite absorbed by him, couldn't talk to her neighbours. They wanted very much to go to the Conciergerie to see the prison where the unfortunate Marie Antoinette passed the last days of her unhappy life, and Mr. Gladstone, inspired by the subject, made us a sort of conf?rence on the French Revolution and the causes which led up to it, culminating in the Terror and the execution of the King and Queen. He spoke in English , in beautiful academic language, and it was most interesting, graphic, and exact. Even W., who knew him well and admired him immensely, was struck by his brilliant improvisation.

We were often asked for permits by our English and American friends to see all the places of historical interest in Paris, and the two places which all wanted to see were the Conciergerie and Napoleon's tomb at the Invalides. When we first came to Paris in 1866, just after the end of the long struggle between the North and South in America, our first visits too were for the Conciergerie, Invalides, and Notre Dame, where my father had not been since he had gone as a very young man with all Paris to see the flags that had been brought back from Austerlitz. They were interesting days, those first ones in Paris, so full of memories for father, who had been there a great deal in his young days, first as an ?l?ve in the Ecole Polytechnique, later when the Allies were in Paris. He took us one day to the Luxembourg Gardens, to see if he could find any trace of the spot where in 1815 during the Restoration Marshal Ney had been shot. He was in Paris at the time, and was in the garden a few hours after the execution--remembered quite well the wall against which the marshal stood--and the comments of the crowd, not very flattering for the Government in executing one of France's bravest and most brilliant soldiers.

Some of the old ch?teaux are very stately--sometimes one enters by a large quadrangle, quite surrounded by low arcades covered with ivy, a fountain and good-sized basin in the middle of the courtyard, and a big clock over the door--sometimes they stand in a moat, one goes over a drawbridge with massive doors, studded with iron nails and strong iron bolts and chains which defend the entrance, making one think of old feudal days, when might was right, and if a man wanted his neighbours property, he simply took it. Even some of the smaller ch?teaux have moats. I think they are more picturesque than comfortable--an ivy-covered house with a moat around it is a nest for mosquitoes and insects of all kinds, and I fancy the damp from the water must finish by pervading the house. French people of all classes love the country and a garden with bright flowers, and if the poorer ones can combine a rabbit hutch with the flowers they are quite happy.

I have heard W. speak sometimes of a fine old ch?teau in our department-- belonging to a deputy, who invited his friends to shoot and breakfast. The cuisine and shooting were excellent, but the accommodations fantastic. The neighbours said nothing had been renewed or cleaned since the ch?teau was occupied by the Cossacks under the first Napoleon.

We got very little country life during those years at the Foreign Office. Twice a year, in April and August, W. went to Laon for his Conseil-G?n?ral, over which he presided, but he was rarely able to stay all through the session. He was always present on the opening day, and at the pr?fet's dinner, and took that opportunity to make a short speech, explaining the foreign policy of the Government. I don't think it interested his colleagues as much as all the local questions--roads, schools, etc. It is astonishing how much time is wasted and how much letter-writing is necessitated by the simplest change in a road or railway crossing in France. We had rather a short narrow turning to get into our gate at Bourneville, and W. wanted to have the road enlarged just a little, so as to avoid the sharp angle. It didn't interfere with any one, as we were several yards from the highroad, but it was months, more than a year, before the thing was done. Any one of the workmen on the farm would have finished it in a day's work.

At one of our small dinners I had such a characteristic answer from an English diplomatist, who had been ambassador at St. Petersburg. He was really a charming talker, but wouldn't speak French. That was of no consequence as long as he only talked to me, but naturally all the people at the table wanted to talk to him, and when the general conversation languished, at last, I said to him: "I wish you would speak French; none of these gentlemen speak any other language." "Oh no, I can't," he said; "I haven't enough the habit of speaking French. I don't say the things I want to say, only the things I can say, which is very different." "But what did you do in Russia?" "All the women speak English." "But for affairs, diplomatic negotiations?" "All the women speak English." I have often heard it said that the Russian women were much more clever than the men. He evidently had found it true.

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