My First Years as a Frenchwoman, 1876-1879

icans were in favour of it, and they were masters of the situation. The President, Grévy, too wanted it very much. If t

rumbled too at the loss of time, the draughty carriages of the parliamentary train, etc., they still preferred those discomforts to any

ys arrived at the station at the last minute, and got into the last carriage, hoping to be undisturbed, and have a quiet half-hour with his papers, but he was rarely left alone. If any deputy who wanted anything recognised him, he of course got in the same carriage, because he knew he was sure of a half-hour to state his case, as the minister couldn't get away from him.

ents of the Senate, but my only impression was a very long drive (from the Barrière de l'Etoile where we lived) and fine high rooms with heavy gilt furniture and tapestries. The palace was built by Maria de' Medici, wife of Henri IV. After the death of that very chivalr

re remains the same. Many people of all kinds have lived there since it was built-several royal princes, and the Emperor Napoleon when he was First Consul. He went from there to the Tuileries. The Luxembourg Palace has always been associated with the history of France. During the Revolution it was a prison, and many of the curious scenes one reads of at that period took place in those old walls-the grandes dames so careful of their dress and their manners, the grands seigneurs so brave and gallant, striving in every way by their witty conversation and their music (f

im and neat, dressed generally in black, their clothes fitting extremely well-most of them bareheaded, but some had hats of the simplest description-none of the flaunting feathers and bright flowers one sees on the boulevards. They are a type apart, the modern grisettes, so quiet and well-behaved as to be almost respectable. One always hears that the Quartier Latin doesn't exist any more-the students are more serious, less turbulent, and that the hardworking little grisette, quite content with her simple life and pleasure, has degenerated into the danseuse of the music-halls and barrière theatres. I don't think so. A certain class of young, impecunious students will alwa

ed-a handsome young man with a tragic face, always alone, walking up and down muttering and talking to himself-he may have been an aspirant for the Odéon or some of the theatres in the neighbourhood-a lame man on crutches, a child walking beside him looking wistfully at the children playing about but not daring to leave her charge-groups of students hurrying th

lways reminded me of some of the staircases in the Roman palaces). Her rooms were large, very high ceilings, very little furniture in them, very little fire in winter, fine old family portraits on the walls, but from the windows one looked down on a lovely garden where the sun shone and the birds sang all day. It was just like being in the country, so extraordinarily quiet. A very respectable man servant in an old-fashioned brown livery, with a great many brass buttons, who looked as old as the house itself and as if he were part of it, always opened the door. Her husband was a literary man who made conférences at the Sorbonne and the Collège de France, and they lived entirely in that quarter-came ve

the courtyard of the Convent there was a complete transformation. One found one's self in a large, square, open court with arcades and buildings all around-the chapel just opposite the entrance. On one side of the court were the rooms for the patients, on the other nice rooms and small apartments which were let to invalids or old ladies, and which opened on a garden, really a park of thirteen or fourteen acres. The doors were

tion of becoming a nun-sold her house and lovely garden, where she had spent so many happy hours with her flowers and her birds, distributed her pretty things among her friends, and accepted all the small trials of strict convent life-no bath, nor mirror, coarse underlinen and sheets-no fire, no lights, no privacy, the regular irksome routine of a nun's life, and is perfectly h

visitors as they like in the afternoon at stated hours, and the rooms are very tempting with white walls and furniture, and scrupulously clean. The cuisine is very good, everything very daintily served. All day one saw black-robed figures moving quietly across the court, carrying all kinds o

we would see one of the sisters, her black skirt tucked up and a blue apron over it, bringing the cows back to their stables. No man could have a room in the house. F. wanted very much to be with his wife at night, as he was a busy man and away all day,

k figure pacing backward and forward, with eyes fixed on a breviary. Once or twice a soeur jardinière with a big, flat straw hat over her coiffe and veil tending the flowers (there were not many) or weeding the lawn, sometimes convalescents or old ladies seated in armchairs under the trees, but there

one wanted, that it was a pleasure to deal with them. Everything was much cheaper on that side-flowers, cakes, writing-paper, rents, servants' wages, stable equipment, horses' food. We bought some toys one year for one of our Christmas trees in the country from a poor old lame woman who had a tiny shop in one of the small streets running out of the rue du Bac. Her grandson, a boy of about twelve or fourteen, helped her in the shop, and they were so pleased and excited at having such

spread out on tables in her little parlour at the back of the shop (her little girl attending to the customers, who were consumed with curiosity as to why our carriage was waiting so long at the door) and we made our selection. She was a great help to us, as she knew all the children, their ages, and what they would like. She was very pleased to execute the commission-it made her of importance in the town, having the big boxes

t my "lingerie" was pretty well stocked, but one gentleman wanted four blankets on his bed, three over him and one under the sheet. A couple wanted the same, only one more, a blanket for a big armchair near the fire. I went in to La Ferté to see what I could find-no white blankets anywhere-some rather nice red ones-and plenty of the stiff (not at all warm) grey blankets they give to the soldiers. Those naturally were out of the question, but I took three or four red ones, which of course could not go in the guests' rooms, but we

he country with some friends, and their views of the future were so gloomy that it was almost contagious. One afternoon when we were all assembled in the drawing-room for tea, after a beautiful day's shooting, the conversation (generally retrospective) was so melancholy t

nk more from curiosity and the novelty of seeing deputies again at the Palais Bourbon than from any other reason. If it were quiet outside, one couldn't say the same of the inside of the Chamber. The fight began hotly at once. Speeches and interpellations and attac

he Chamber would seize the first pretext to overthrow the ministry. W. saw Grévy very often. He was opposed to any change, didn't want W. to go, said his presence at the Foreign

t honesty and true patriotism were the ruling motives. I don't know if he went as far as a well-known diplomatist, Prince Metternich, I think, who said he was so tired of the word fraternité that if he had a brother he

Grévy's entourage was much calmer, recognising his great ability and his keen legal mind, not so enthusiastic but always wanting to have his opinion, and relying a good deal upon his judgment. There were of course all sorts of meetings and conversations at our house, with Léon Say, Jules Ferry, Casimir Périer, and others. St. Vallier came on from Berlin, where he was still ambassador. He was very an

t was a change from the eternal politics and "shop" talk we heard everywhere else. Some of them, English particularly (I don't think the Americans cared much about foreign politics), were most interested and curious over what was going on, and the probable fall of the cabinet. An English lady said to me: "How dreadful it will be for you when your husband is no longer minister; your life will be so dull and you will be of so much less importance." The last part of the sentence was undoubtedly true-any functionary's wife has a certain importance in France, and when your husband has been Foreign Minister and Premier, you fall from a certain he

s played at the Conservatoire, and was very much pleased with the way it had been received by that very critical a

the English secretaries, told W. that Queen Victoria had so enjoyed her talk with him-"quite as if I were talking with one of my own ministers." She had found Grévy rather stiff

. Their business is to be on good terms with all the foreign ministers, and to get as much as they can out of them. They are, with rare exceptions, birds of passage, and don't trouble themselves much about changing cabinets. However, they were all very civil, not too diffuse, and one had the impression that they would be just as civil to our successor and

pin. He had always been a Protestant, with an English name, educated in England, so the reiteration of these facts, very much exaggerated and leading up to the conclusion that on account of his birth and education he couldn't be a convinced French

sip) of that world, very hostile to the Republic, and still quite believing that their turn would come. His uncle was not of that opinion. He was a very clever man, a diplomatist who had lived in a great many places and known a great many people, and was entirely on the Royalist side, but he thought their cause was a lost one, at least for a time. He often asked some of his friends to meet us at dinner, said it was a good thing for W.

l, very outspoken, but was a great favourite, particularly with the English colony, which is large there in the hunting-season. He had accepted to dine one night with an English family, who lived in a villa a little out of town. They had an accident en route, which delayed them very

knew everybody, and remembered all the faces and all the names, no easy thing in England, where the names and titles change so often. I know several Englishwomen who have had four different names. Lady Holland was also a friend of "Oncle Alphonse" and dined there often. She was delicate-looking, rather quiet in general conversation, though she

particularly the stars (who hardly accepted the slightest observation from the writer of the play), were most amusing. Once the piece was accepted it passed into the domain of the theatre, and the actors felt at liberty to interpret the r?les according to their ideas and traditions. She had a perfect d

estroyed society. It has been a godsend to many people of no particular importance or position who have used it as a stepping-stone to get into society. If people play a good game of bridge, they are welcome guests in

company agreeable. He always asked the ministers, ambassadors, and many of the leading political men and very often some of his old friends, lawyers and men of various professions whom W. was delighted to meet. Their ideas didn't run in grooves like most of the men he lived w

as thankful to be well wrapped up in furs. The Pavillon d'Hiver looked very inviting as we drove up-an immense fire was blazing in the chimney, another just outside, where the soup and ragout for the army of beaters were being prepared. We all had nice little foot-warmers under our chairs, and were as comfortable as possible. It was too warm in fact when

ady to receive any suggestions-but nothing practical ever came out of the discussions. I think the most delightful political position in the world must be "leader of the opposition"-you have no responsibilities, can concentrate all your ener

ything and start again with no dark memories to cast a shadow on the beginnings of the young Republic. How many brilliant, sanguine, impossible theories I heard advanced all those days, and how the few remaining members of the Centre Gauche tried to reason with the most liberal men of the Centre Droit and to persuade them frankly to face the fact that the country had sent a strong Republican majority to Parliament and to make the best of the fait accompli. I suppose it was asking too much of them to go back on the traditions of their lives, but after all they were Frenchmen, their c

is de Boulogne, but on the lakes, which happens very rarely, as the water is fairly deep. The Seine was full of large blocks of ice, which got jammed up against the bridges and made a jarring ugly sound as they knoc

ut on the principle that you never forget anything that you know well, I thought I would try, and will say that the first half-hour was absolute suffering. It was in the old days when one still wore a strap over the instep, which naturally was drawn very tight. My feet were like lumps of ice, as heavy as lead, and I didn't seem able to lift them from the ground. I went back to the dressing-room to take my skates off for a few minutes, and when the blood began to circulate again, I could have cried with the pain. A friend of mine, a beginner, who was sitting near waiti

se. W. caught the top of his skate in a crevice in the ice, and came down rather heavily in a sitting posture. Comte de Pourtalès, who was standing near on the bank, saw the fall and called out instantly, "Est-ce possible que je voie le Président du

vard during the Christmas holidays were installed on the ice close to the banks, and the river was black with people. They couldn't skate much, as the ice was rough and there were too many people, but they ran and slid and shouted and enjoyed themselves immensely. I wanted to cross one day with my boy, that he might say he had crossed the Seine on foot, but W. was rather unwilling. However, the préfet de la Seine, whom he consulted, told him there was absolutely no danger-the ice was several inches thick, so I started off one afternoon, one of the secretaries going with me. He was much astonished and rather nervous at seeing me in my ordinary boots. He had n

ry comfortable in the big rooms of the ministry. There were roaring fires everywhere, and two or three calorifères. The view from the windows on the Quai was charming as long as the great cold lasted, particularly at night, when the river was ali

ia. One of our great friends, Sir Henry Hoare, was dining that night, but he didn't want to go down, preferred smoking his cigar in a warm room and talking politics to W. He had been a great deal in Paris, knew everybody, and was a member of the Jockey Club. He was much interested in French politics and au fond was very liberal, quite sympathised with W. and his friends and shared their opinions on most subjects, though as he said, "I don't air those opinions at the Jockey Club." He came often to our big receptions, liked to see all the

n. Neither Madame nor Mademoiselle Grévy came, but some of the ministers' wives did, and it was funny to see the ladies of society looking at the Republican ladies, as if they were denizens of a different planet, strange figures they were not accustomed to see. It is curious to think of all that now, when relations are much less strained. I remember not very long ago at a party at one of the embassies, seeing many of the society women having themselves presented to the wife of the then Minister of Foreign Affairs, with whom they certainly had nothing in common, neither birth, breeding, nor mode of life. I was talking to Casimir Pé