Mr PARIS NOTE-BOOK BT THE AU'THOR OF AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS PHILADELPHIA J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANT MDCCCXCIV Copyright, 1894, BY J. B. LippiNcoTT Company. Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia. TO DR. GEORGE LICHTENBERG, BUT FOR WHOSE UNREMITTING KINDNESS I SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN ALIVE TO WRITE THIS OR ANY OTHER BOOK. THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE My first glimpse of Paris — The return of the troops from the Crimea — My uncles part-authors of this book — Their attach- ment to Louis Napoleon — Their frequent interviews with him after he ascended the Imperial throne — An anecdote of Baron James de Rothschild— Napoleon's gratitude— The probable truth of the rouge on the Emperor's face on the morning of Sedan — The Emperor as a causeur — The Emperor and Mgr. Sib'our, Archbishop of Paris — The Emperor and Gustave Flau- bert — "Madame Bovary" and the Emperor's criticism — A word about myself— The first impression produced by the sight of the Boulevards — An educated Yorkshireman defines that impression — My first impression of the French troops — The Emperor on the Turcos and Zouaves —A bit of unpub- lished history — The Emperor's feelings towards the Haps- burgs — An unknown story of Napoleon I. and Marie Louise — A bit of Marie Louise's biography — M. Sardou's Madame Sans-Gene 9 CHAPTER II. Napoleoniana — Napoleon I. a bad shot — The Emperor at his best when talking about Napoleon I. — Napoleon I. as a pa- tron of the drama — About' s Guillery and Lemercier's Chris- tophe Colomb — Napoleon I. within an ace of becoming a theatrical manager himself^Was Napoleon I. conscious of his future greatness ?— Louis Napoleon at Lady Blessington's — He and Charles Dickens have their fortunes told — Roger the great tenor — A curious coincidence — My uncle's opinions about Frenchmen's courage — An anecdote of Alexandre Dumas the elder — The Parisians' love of spectacular display and dramatic sensation — How Napoleon I. provided for it — Napoleon HI. an equally good stage-manager, though in a different way — The truth about the famous " Committee of Resistance" 32 3 Contents. CHAPTER III. Some notes on Victor Emmanuel— His portrait in later years —The sculptor Marochetti's opinion of Victor Emmanuel's physical appearance — A note of my younger grand-uncle— Victor Emmanuel's dislike of politics and Jinesse— A recep- tion at the Tuileries — Victor Emmanuel and Napoleon HI. — Victor Emmanuel as a raconlezir.— Massimo d'Azeglio's stories of Victor Emmanuel — His estimate of the man and of the King — Victor Emmanuel's idea of accomplishing the uni- fication of Italy — His dislike of etiquette and restraint — A hunting story — Victor Emmanuel at La Mandria — Rosina Vercellana, afterwards Contessa di Mirafiori ; Victor Em- manuel's morganatic wife— Victor Emmanuel's appetite— The story of his hair-dye and " make-up" — Contessa Rosina and the King at home — Contessa Rosina wants to dye her hair also — Contessa Rosina's temper — Napoleon III. on mor- ganatic wives 58 CHAPTER IV. A chapter on the Comedie-Franfaise— My reasons for writing it — A country has the drama and theatrical institutions it de- serves — Causerie, not history — My first glimpse of the late Augustine Brohan— Few of those whom I saw in my youth re- main— Edmond Got— Got and Emile Augier— The genesis of Les jFourchamdauli— Theatrical Paris in 1861 — Les Ef- f routes — Louis Veuillot and Emile Augier— Got' s preparation for playing Bernard— Got' s preparations for playing Rabbi David Sichel— Got and M. Isidore, the late Chief Rabbin of France— Proposed epitaph for Parade— Got's extensive read- ing— Got and Mounet-Sully— Mounet-Sully as an actor— "A ladder for M. Mounet-Sully"— Got and Raoul Rigault of the Cornmune— The mise en scene of the Comedie-Franjaise- A retrospective view— The late M. Emile Perrin and some other administrators of the Comedie-Franjaise— A curious official mistake — MM. Erckmann-Chatrian and their begin- nings—Mr. Henry Irving and " The Bells"— Got in search of a piano — His interview with the superior of a convent — Nourrit, the celebrated tenor, and King Bomba— The supe- rior's eye for the main chance— Got's diplomacy— The i^ra^^y- erie V Esperance— Brasseries of former days— A wo/ of Au- gustine Brohan 72 Contents. CHAPTER V. PAGE Personal recollections of two eminent men : Ernest Renan and Paul de Kock. — My first glimpse of Renan — The physical man — Renan's way of teaching the philosophy and the poetry of life — His way of composing his speeches and his works — What life may have meant to Renan— Renan's fondness for children — His grief at his own plainness — His almost bound- less admiration of beautiful women — The genesis of PAb- besse de Jouarre — An anecdote of his youth — Renan and Jules Simon — Renan as a mimic and actor — Renan's imita- tion of Egger the savant — His imitation of Labeche the play- wright — Renan and the Abbe Delille — Renan's indifference to spiteful criticism— Paul de Kock — A Dutch lad's disap- pointment at Paul de Kock's appearance — The silence of the critics with regard to de Kock's works — Paul de Kock's method of work — His dress — His apartment on the Boule- vard St. Martin — Pius IX. 's appreciation of Paul de Kock's works 107 CHAPTER VI. A view of French society under the Third Republic — Wanted a Sebastien Mercier — In default of such an one, the author attempts the task — The author's qualifications — The author's knowledge of most of the present rulers of France — The author's system of getting at the truth — Look for the woman — The absence of the nice female element from the principal thoroughfares — The author takes a walk with an English friend — The lady's antecedents and present position — A re- mark of M. Edouard Herve of Le Soleil — The author's friend explains the situation — The attitude of the Faubourgs Saint- Germain and Saint-Honore towards the Republican big- wigs — The women of the Chaussee d'Antin — A scene from Dumas' Etrangere in real life — The late General Boulanger and his second daughter — Why the wives of the Republican bigwigs shun the public thoroughfares — A minister's "lady" on the prevalence of Offenbachian music in the Church service — An invitation to a dinner-party— My first impression . — The late Emile Perrin on diamonds as heirlooms — A scrap of conversation 137 I* 6 Contents. CHAPTER VII. PAGE Politics without petticoats — Marshal Mac-Mahon and the Du- chesse de Magenta — The "friends" of the Republican big- wigs — Mme. Thiers and Mile. Dosne— Their influence over Theirs— A letter from Mile. Dosne — Mme. Grevy— Mme. Dan- iel Wilson, nee Grevy— Jules Grevy and Mesdames de Rainneville and d'Harcourt — Mme. Ferry — Mme. de Frey- cinet and Mile, de Freycinet — Boulanger and Mme. de Bonne- main — Women who influenced kings — Mme. Edmond Adam and Louise Michel— Political salons of former days— More conversation at the dinner-party — My friend's husband on the situation — The reason of the dislike to woman's influence — Corbiere's mother and Gambetta's father — Skobeleff" and the Jewish soldier — A short retrospect — The modern politi- cian's love-affairs and his way of conducting them 156 CHAPTER VIII. Round about the Palais-Bourbon — The Salle des Pas-Perdus — M. Adolphe Ranc — Actors and critics — The editor of Le Matin — M. Arthur Meyer of Z,^ Gaulois — M. Edouard Herv6 of Le Soleil — An anecdote of the Due de Noailles — M. Ribot — M. Clemenceau — An anecdote of Gambetta in the heyday of his popularity — An anecdote of King Christian IX. — M. Henri Brisson — M. Goblet — Some late ambassadors — A hint to future historians — The President of the Chamber — The President's bell 176 CHAPTER IX. Round about the Palais-Bourbon — More about the President's bell— Past Presidents and their performances on the instru- ment— Dupin aine—K mot oiM. Floquet— Unruly deputies — M. de Cassagnac— M. Baudry d'Asson— The President's task more difficult now than it was formerly— The President's hat — The President's chair and table— The eight secretaries — The rostrum— Orators of former days, and speakers of to- day—Interrupters—The official shorthand reporters and sum- mary writers — Their honesty — French journalists and their duties — M. Emile Ollivier, the ex-Empress Eugenie, and Sir John Lintorn Simmons— The Quaestors— The members' sti- pend, and what it led to in one instance— First appearance Contents. 7 PAGE of Gambetta on the political scene — A word about " An Eng- lishman in Paris" — Refreshments for deputies — Quaestor Baze's reform — Distribution of the members' seats — The min- isterial bench — The manner of voting — Ladies in the Cham- ber — Parliaraentory oratory 202 CHAPTER X. Three Presidents of the Republic— A test of the popularity of an eminent man in France — The theatres as a barometer in times of public excitement — The receipts at the theatres on the day of Mirabeau's death— On the day of Gambetta's funeral— On the day of Thiers' funeral — Not a single kindly note about Adolphe Thiers — An epitaph attributed to M. Victorien Sardou— Thiers and Louis Philippe— a wzo/ of Al- phonse Karr— The Charivari's opinion of Thiers— The real aim of Thiers' life— Old Prince Metternich on Thiers— Thiers and Mac-Mahon during the Commune— Thiers and Louis Napoleon — Louis Napoleon's opinion — A conversation be- tween these two— Thiers and Mr. Senior — His dread of Mr. Senior's publication — His family — Mac-Mahon— Madame de Mac-Mahon— The story of the Comte de Chambord's fa- mous manifesto— Mac-Mahon' s story o^ \hQ plebiscite of 1852 — Mac-Mahon's genealogy— Mac-Mahon the real founder of the Third Republic "in spite of himself" — Mac-Mahon's title— Mac-Mahon's modesty 235 CHAPTER XI. Three Presidents of the Republic (continued)— M. Jules Grevy —His spotless political past— The truth about his famous amendment— The origin of his fall as a President— M. Gra- vy's early career— His acquaintance with Alfred de Musset— The love-letters of Alfred de Musset to George Sand— My uncle at Musset's funeral— My uncle's notes about Grevy — Theodore Barriere, the famous playwright— M. Grevy's won- derful memory — M. Gr6vy's fondness for women's society — Madame Gr6vy— Where she failed — M. Grevy's mesalliance — The sequel to the mesalliance — M. Grevy's literary attain- ments — His character a puzzle — M. Grevy's love of money — Anecdotes to that effect— A comparison between his greed and that of Thiers — M. Grevy's real age— His genealogy . 261 8 Contents. chapter xii. PAGB Round about the Elys6e-Bourbon— What an invitation to the Tuileries meant ; what an invitation to the Elysee means— My friend on M. Mollard, the " Introducteur des Ambassa- deurs"— M. Mollard— His origin— His beginnings— How he became an employ^ at " Le Protocole"— His duties there — His functions at the beginning of the Third Republic— Some of his blunders— The menu on the occasion of the dinner to Archduke Albrecht— A quadrille d'honneur— A mot of Mac- Mahon— A/^/^ at Versailles— A reception at the Ministry of Finances— M. Mollard's portrait— The massacre of the hats — M. Mollard and M. Grevy— The Presidency during Thiers' time — The Presidency during Mac-Mahon's time — M. Gr^vy from a social point of view — Madame Grevy — Madame Wil- son, nee Grevy — M. Daniel Wilson — M. Mollard and the Grand Cordon of the Legion of Honour — M. Mollard and the Sultan of Zanzibar's present — M. Mollard covets a horse — What he does with it — The guests at the Elysee during the presidency of M. Grevy— My barber at the Elysee — The story of 35,000 cigars 283 MY PARIS NOTE-BOOK. CHAPTER I. My first glimpse of Paris — The return of the troops from the Crimea — My uncles part-authors of this book — Their attachment to Louis Napoleon — Their frequent interviews with him after he ascended the Imperial throne — An anecdote of Baron James de Rothschild — Napoleon's gratitude — The probable truth of the rouge on the Emperor's face on the morning of Sedan — The Em- peror as a causeur—The Emperor and Mgr. Sibour, Archbishop of Paris — The Emperor and Gustave Flaubert — " Madame Bovary" and the Emperor's criticism — A word about myself— The first impression produced by the sight of the Boulevards — An edu- cated Yorkshireman defines that impression — My first impression of the French troops — The Emperor on the Turcos and Zouaves — A bit of unpublished history — The Emperor's feelings towards the Hapsburgs — An unknown story of Napoleon I. and Marie Louise — A bit of Marie Louise's biography — M. Sardou's Madame Sans- Gene. I AM beginning this book on the last day of the year (1893), and not without a certain feehngof sadness ; for I cannot help remembering that exactly thirty-eight years have elapsed since I first caught sight of the Paris Boulevards. It was on the occasion of the return of some of the troops from the Crimea (December 31, iS55)« We had a police pass, and were enabled to walk in the middle of the road, unhindered by any one. My two maternal grand-uncles, with whom I had come to stay, ostensibly on a short visit — which, in reality, only ended with their lives — ^were, to some extent, influential 9 lo My Paris Note-Book. people, though neither of them ever did anything re- markable. Nor was their influence due to wealth, their competence being but modest. They had both been army surgeons, and came to Paris shortly after Quatre- Bras and Waterloo, and never left the French capital again for any length of time until the day of their death ; for, odd to relate, these two men, who had become Parisians to the backbone and finger-tips, objected to sleep their last sleep in or near the city of their adop- tion. They both lie in a little cemetery near Amster- dam, where the yellow waters of the Y splash against the shore. "It won't do to sleep one's last sleep at Pere-la-Chaise's or Montmartre," they said in French — they had left off speaking their mother tongue long be- fore that ; *' it won't do to sleep one's last sleep there ; the noise and din would be almost sure to disturb one ; and if one took it into his head to revisit the old haunts, there might be a blank stare, if not a cold shoulder, for in Paris a man is forgotten in a fortnight by his best friends." From this it will be gathered that they did not cherish many illusions with regard to the durability of Frenchmen's regret for, or recollection of, those who have gone before them ; they themselves were, how- ever, capable of very deep-seated attachments. One of those deep-seated attachments was to the person of Louis Napoleon, whose mother and father they had known when the latter were queen and king- of Holland. My relatives had, moreover, been able to render some slight services to the son before he became President of the Second Republic, and he, who was gratitude personified, gave them their grandes and petites entrees to the Tuileries when he ascended the Imperial throne. They availed themselves seldom of the former, but very often of the latter privilege. Louis My Paris Note-Book. ii Napoleon would have given them some lucrative ap- pointment had they wanted it, but they were stubbornly though unostentatiously independent, and furthermore, almost contemptuously indifferent to money. When they settled in Paris they took to private practice. Up till within a short time of their death, their waiting- room was crowded for three hours in the morning, but I feel certain that the patients were much more numerous than the fees. But though refusing to accept anything for them- selves, they had no scruples about asking for others ; and where their own resources failed, or those of their less wealthy friends were exhausted, they unhesitatingly applied to the Emperor — when they dared no longer apply to Baron James de Rothschild. A mission to Baron James with such an object, entailed rising at six — whether it was summer or winter — in order to catch him after he had read the morning papers. ' ' Reading the papers" was in this instance a mere figure of speech ; Baron James rarely, if ever, read the papers himself; he had them read for him by a veteran actor named Charles Boudeville, who declaimed the ' ' money article' ' with the same art he would have employed declaiming the soliloquy of Hamlet. We shall perhaps meet with him again. Of the many stories told to me by my relatives con- cerning Baron James — for unfortunately they did not commit all their recollections to paper — here is one. One morning on being admitted to Baron James' private room, my uncle found him apparently deeply engaged in examining a magnificently chased golden vase of the most exquisite workmanship, and incrusted with precious stones. The temporary owner, one of the best known bric-a-brac dealers of those days, was holding forth upon 12 My Paris Note-Book. its beauty, and giving a recital of its pedigree, inter- larding nearly every sentence with a — ' ' I feel certain, M. le Baron, that you have never seen anything like it before. ' ' The baron let him go on for nearly ten minutes uninterruptedly, during which time the sentence recurred at least a dozen times. At last he replied, ' ' You are right, I have never seen anything like it before ; and what is the price ?" *' The price is 220,000 francs, M. le Baron," answered the dealer. " Hm," remarked Baron James, " it's a stiff figure ; but you are right, I have never seen anything like it before. By-the-by," he added, rising, and with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, ** if you'll wait a few minutes, I fancy I'll be able to show you something the like of which you have never seen before. ' ' With which he disappeared into an inner room. In a little while he returned, and the three stood chatting for a moment or so. ''Now, if you'll come this way, I'll show you the thing the like of which you have never seen before. You may come too, ' ' he laughed, turning to my uncle, who was discreetly keeping back ; " I do not think you have ever seen the like before." The three men entered the room together, but it was in vain that my uncle strained his eyes in search of the object Baron James had promised to show them. The furniture was of the plainest ; bookcases all along the walls ; and in the centre of the apartment a somewhat large table, on which lay a bandana handkerchief that looked as if it had been forgotten there by its owner. ' ' Now, tell me if you have ever seen anything like this ?' ' asked Baron James, carelessly lifting the foulard, and "dis- covering," as the dramatists say, a small mahogany tray containing two hundred and twenty rouleaux of louis with their wrappers stripped off. The dealer was fairly dazzled, and did not answer. There was no **deal" My Paris Note-Book. 13 that morning, the baron deciding that each should keep the thing the Hke of which the other had never seen. To return to the Emperor, who, as I remarked just now, was gratitude personified. Shortly after his es- cape from Ham, and while he was in London, he went one night to see Bouffe in two of his remarkable im- personations, viz. , the title-r61es of Le Gamin de Paris and Michel Perrin, both which pieces, if I mistake not, are known to Englishmen in their English guise of **Andy Blake" and ''The Spy" respectively. The name of Dion Boucicault is inseparably connected with the first play, that of the late Benjamin Webster with the other ; but, so far as I am aware, no English or foreign actor ever attempted to enact both characters. Bouif6, on the contrary, considered this as one of his greatest achievements, and felt so proud of it that on the days when Le Gamin held the bills, he used to ap- pear on the Boulevards as a broken-down old man, painfully dragging himself along, though, in reality, he was as hale and hearty as ever ; while on the days of Michel Perrin, he made it his business to repair to the popular promenade spruce and active, with the buoyant step of a young fellow, and all this in order to impress those who might have seen him on the previous night, or those who were going to see him on that night, with the perfection of his method of changing his individu- ahty. What he delighted in most, though, was to represent the stripling of fourteen or fifteen and the septuagenarian in the same evening ; and during his London engagement at the time just mentioned, he did this very frequently. It was on one of these occasions that the future Emperor happened to be in the theatre in company with Count D'Orsay, who knew the great 14 My Paris Note-Book. actor personally. Prince Louis was very anxious to see the transformation actually performed, and his friend took him to Bouffe's dressing-room in the interval be- tween the two pieces, to the secret annoyance of the artist, who, first of all, did not care to discount his secrets before the rise of the curtain, and secondly, had not much time to entertain visitors. He had not the remotest idea of the identity of D'Orsay's companion. At the instance of D'Orsay, though, he let him stay, to Prince Louis' great delight. Just before they were leaving D'Orsay told Bouife whom he had obliged. Years went by, and Bouff6, from no fault of his own, came to grief. Failing health prevented him from taking a permanent engagement. His resources, which had never been very large — for it must be remembered that in the forties and fifties the salaries of even great actors were not what they are now — dwindled to their lowest ebb. His debts soon began to worry him. His former comrades offered him their services for a fare- well performance, which offers were gladly accepted. But Bouffe knew that the proceeds of an ordinary the- atre, however crammed, and at twice the ordinary prices, would only be as a drop of water in the sea of his liabilities. As the day fixed upon for the perform- ance drew near, his friends pressed him in vain to apply to Montigny, the manager of the Gymnase ; Bouff6 merely shook his head. ''I'm waiting," he said. "Waiting for what?" they asked. *' Waiting for the Opera House to be given to me," was the answer. They simply looked at bim ; they were under the im- pression that he had gone mad. But Bouff6 knew what he was doing ; he had sent a petition to the Emperor, and the moment the latter saw the signature he remem- bered the incident in London, and taking up a pen, My Paris Note-Book. 15 wrote on the margin of the document — ^'Pour M. Bouffe, ouiy oui^ oui. Napol^on^ The receipts exceeded ;£iooo, exclusive of a hand- some donation from the Emperor, but notwithstanding the general esteem in which Bouffe was held by his fel- low actors, this then unprecedented favour aroused a good deal of jealousy, and a few days after the event my uncle Mark, who was the younger of the two, and who often went to see the Emperor either early in the morning or after dinner, told him so. "Your Majesty has raised a hornet's nest about his head ; henceforth every actor of note, and for that matter, every one who thinks himself one, will apply to your Majesty for the Opera." "And every one who has afforded me as genuine a quarter of an hour's amusement as Bouffe did, shall have it," was the answer. Thereupon the Emperor told my uncle the story as I have noted it down, winding up with a — "Besides, it may turn out that Bouffe has unwittingly rendered me a service. The time may come when I shall have to show a pleasant face under circumstances the reverse of pleasant, and the lesson learnt from Bouffe that evening will stand me in good stead. He showed me how to transform a young man into an old one ; I fancy I shall have sufficient in- genuity to reverse the process, or better still, to hide the ravages of despair beneath a layer oi fard (make- up). I have a great admiration for the memory of Mazarin ; the thing that appeals most to me is his put- ting on rouge on his bed of sickness, which proved to be his death-bed." One may well doubt whether these words foreshadowed a resolution for the future to Louis Napoleon' s mind, but they become interesting in connection with M. Zola's late revelations in " La Debacle' ' as to the Emperbr hav- i6 My Paris Note-Book. ing put on rouge on the morning of Sedan. But for an author's selfishness, I should have published that story eighteen months ago. I have already said that my uncles were very fond of the Emperor, and to the day of their death maintained that he could have given odds to the wittiest French journalist of his time, if not with pen in hand, at any rate in conversation. Making allowance for their par- tiality, the notes I have by me of some of the Emperor's sallies lend colour to their assertion. Here is one which, until I gave it to a London paper while I was its Paris correspondent, had never appeared in print. One morn- ing shortly after the Emperor's accession, my uncle Joseph — the elder of the two — found him in the bright- est of spirits ; he was chuckling to himself, a thing of rare occurrence, for, though Louis Napoleon frequently smiled, *'his risible nerves seldom left their moorings," to use an expression which, albeit that it came from a medical man, was nevertheless not scientifically 'accu- rate. After they had been chatting for a little while, the Emperor said suddenly — ''Those priests are very funny now and then." ' ' Why date, Sire ?' ' replied my uncle, who had read a good deal, and who remembered the mot of Mirabeau when some one told him that the National Assembly had been dull that day. ' ' You are right, they are funny always, when they are not assommantSy^^ assented the Sovereign, who did not mind using a popular locution in talking to his friends. * ' I have been wasting my breath trying to persuade Si- bour" (the then Archbishop of Paris, who was stabbed at St. Etienne-du-Mont), "that I cannot remove the tombs of, or rather the monuments to, Jean-Jacques and Vol- taire from the Panth6on just to please some of his flock." My Paris Note-Book. 17 * * Why do they wish them removed, Sire, seeing that these monuments do not contain a pinch of Rousseau's or Voltaire's ashes ?' ' "That's just what I have been asking him ; but he would not answer the question, nor listen to my argu- ment. He simply kept repeating that ' his flock felt uncomfortable in the presence of these two atheists.' " " How did you pacify him. Sire?" *'I didn't pacify him at all. I got out of temper myself in the end ; and then I exclaimed — ' Look you here, Monseigneur, how do you think these two atheists feel in the presence of your believers?' That settled him, and he did not say another word. " Here is another instance of Louis Napoleon's ten- dency to take a ' ' topsy-turveydom' ' view of things in general, and of serious things in particular. When public opinion clamoured for the prosecution of the author of "Madame Bovary," the Emperor consented, though most reluctantly. He was one of the first who had read the book, and in his inmost heart he admired both the author and his work. "Then why prosecute him, Sire ?' ' asked my uncle Mark. ' ' V 11 tell you why, ' ' replied the Emperor, smiling. " If we do not prosecute, we shall have every cabman in Paris and in the provinces asking for double his fare the moment an affectionate- looking couple try to step into his vehicle. Flaubert ought to have known better ; if it was absolutely neces- sary to his plot to have Emma Bovary and L^on Dupuis drive round Rouen for a whole day in a conveyance with the blinds down, he ought to have made Leon go to a livery stable for the carriage, and not have made him take a mere hackney from the rank. This soi-disant, unmolested drive round and round the city casts, to begin with, and inferentially, a slur upon the vigilance b 2* i8 My Paris Note-Book. of the Rouen police, who, stupid as they may be, would not have allowed such a thing to pass unchallenged, and who, to make up for their alleged neglect, will stop every cab that has its blinds down. They have a perfect right to do so in the matter of carriages plying for hire in the public thoroughfares, and we shall have the innocent uncle with his pretty niece, and the somewhat passee aunt with her lamb-like nephew, hauled before the magis- trate for outrage aux mceurs. There is, furthermore, an outcry already that people cannot get into a hackney cab without being fleeced. It is not my fault, after all, that the spread of education has reached ^ cabby " — the Emperor liked to use an English word now and then — ' ' and that he has read this masterpiece of realistic fiction. No, Flaubert must be indicted ; there will be more scan- dals if we do not than if we do." I have often wondered since whether Mr. Gilbert could have produced a more deliberately comical and distorted view of a moral problem. I need scarcely say that my uncle's notes, from which I extracted the foregoing, were not left open to the inspection of a somewhat precocious lad of thirteen, and that my own ' ' note-book' ' was not begun until many years afterwards. I would state once for all that these pages are not exclusively personal recollections ; still I claim the right to call myself the author of this book, just as the custodian of Madame R6camier's notes claimed to be the author of " Madame R6camier's Re- collections. ' ' A bon entendeur salut. If I can possibly help it, I shall not refer to the subject again, and merely assure the reader that I have more precedents than one for my claim. During this, my first visit to my grand-uncles, which was intended to last but a few weeks, but which lasted My Paris Note-Book. 19 uninterruptedly for over four years, I saw many men and things, of whom and which I have still a most vivid recollection, but most vivid of all is the recollection of the sensation produced by the first glimpse of the Boule- vards, probably because that sensation is practically re- vived whenever I set foot in Paris. Odd to relate, the delight, if not the awe, at the sight of that magnificent artery, has remained as keen in the man as it was in the boy. It stirs something within me which I am not able to define exactly, but which must be akin to the sensa- tion of the poor old woman I once saw emerge from one of the side streets on to the King's Road at Brighton. * ' Well, old girl, what do you think of the sea?" asked a young fellow, who was evidently her son. ''Think," replied the old dame, after a long pause ; " I can't think, Jim ; I can only thank God for His hav- ing shown me something in my life of which there seems to be enough and to spare." Perhaps the definition of an educated but very unworldly Yorkshireman is bet- ter still. I met him on board the steamer, and he asked me to recommend him an hotel. I took him to mine, and brought him by way of the Rue Auber and the Place de F Op6ra on to the Boulevards. It was early in February 1882, and the temperature was as mild as that of a mid-summer's day. We had driven to the hotel by way of the Rue de Lafayette and the Boulevard Haussmann. He had not caught a glimpse of the Boulevards. After dinner I took him out. "What do you think of this ?' ' I asked. He stood for a moment as if transfixed, then he answered — " Cowper said that 'God made the country; man the town.' The devil made the country-town, and the angels must have made the Boulevards." But on his second visit, which hap- pened about eighteen months later, the delight was not 20 My Paris Note-Book. so keen. I merely note this to indicate that my sensa- tion in that respect may be abnormal. I was not struck to the same degree with the appear- ance of the troops, albeit that, child as I was, I had heard of their prowess from my father, whom I often accompanied in the daytime to his caf^, where he and his friends closely followed the various incidents of the Crimean War. It was not because these troops were travel-stained, and, as a matter of course, threadbare, not to say ragged, that my childish admiration kept merely **on the simmer, and refused to bubble up." In fact, the four or five regiments of the Hne, in their patched and worn greatcoats, with their far from bright accoutrements, interested me more than the two or three regiments of the Guards, in their spick and span uniforms, who opened the march. The latter had re- turned a few months previously, and been provided for afresh. In spite of the magnificent drum-major, the bearded sappers with their white leather aprons, the inspiriting band headed by its "Jingling Jimmy," my boyish mind fell a-criticising the men's physique, and began to compare them to the crowds of disbanded Englishmen — if Englishmen they were — whom I had seen a few weeks before at Rotterdam. They were the first red-coats I had beheld since I was a very little urchin, and I remember them well now, tall, strapping fellows, who seemed giants. The Frenchmen, in ap- pearance at any rate, were no better than the ordinary Dutch troops, and certainly not as good as the colonial ones whom we frequently saw on their way to the ves- sels. My scepticism with regard to the real value of the French army if compelled to cope unaided with that of a hardier race, may have taken root at that moment ; I am not prepared to say. Certain is it, that during the many My Paris Note-Book. 21 years which elapsed between that December day and the army's utter collapse in 1870, I never implicitly believed in its invincibility, and that notwithstanding the gorgeous spectacles I witnessed now and then ; notwithstanding the results of the Franco-Austrian War. I should not like to express an opinion as to the results of the next struggle between Germany and France, but I intend at some future period to re- produce some letters I have by me from uii volo7itaire (TMn an, whose patriotism did not blind him to facts, and from these the reader will be enabled to judge the chances of either party, granting an equal degree of valour and staying power to both sides. One of the gorgeous spectacles to which I referred just now was the return of the troops from Italy in 1859, on which occasion the Parisians were treated for the first time to a sight of the Zouaves and Turcos. The latter became even greater favourites with the female population than the former ; they were magnifi- cent, stalwart fellows, and for the next fortnight could be seen with some of the prettiest women in Paris hang- ing fondly on their arms. When the Emperor was told of this, he smiled, and uttered a sentence which has since become proverbial among the French, after Jules Noriac had appropriated it in his " Betise Humaine." *' Tous les gotits sont dans la nature." Not long after that he happened to see a set of ebony brushes intended as a birthday present for one of the ladies of the Em- press's suite. *' A la bonne heure," he said, "le gotat du noir se repand ; voila du Turco sur la table de toilette maintenant ; quant ^ moi, en matiere d' amour et d' hy- giene, je pr6fere I'ivoire." In connection with the Zouaves and Turcos, I have before me a note in the handwriting of my younger 22 My Paris Note-Book. uncle, which, read by the light of later events, contains a terrible prophecy, and shows once for all the real opinion of Napoleon III., not only with regard to those over- rated troops, but with regard to the whole of the French army. The note is dated August 27th, 1859, conse- quently less than a fortnight after the grandiose spectacle on the Boulevards. It runs as follows: — ^'* Saw the Emperor yesterday, and congratulated him on the mag- nificent appearance of the Zouaves and Turcos. To my great surprise, he did not seem to share my enthusiasm. He hung his head and pulled at his moustache. * Oui, ' he said, after a while ; * ce sont, en effet, de tres beaux soldats ; c'est le levain, peut-^tre, de I'arm^e fran9aise, mais je n'ai guere besoin de vous dire que le levain qui fermente trop pent g^ter toute une fournee. II faudrait ^tre sur, absolument star, de la nature, de la qualite et du levain et de la p^te avant de les mettre ensemble. ' ' ' This was eleven years before the Franco-German War. As in the case of his comment upon the service Bouff6 rendered him, I refrain from attributing to Louis Napo- leon the gift of seeing into the future ; I simply wish to add this. In 1870 the inhabitants of Nancy, whatever the reaction may have been afterwards, hailed as a relief the advent of the German troops, who delivered them from the Zouaves. Still in connection with the defeat of Francis Joseph in 1859, I have a note, the substance of which has never been published by the historians, and which, with many other things, must have gone far to justify to Louis Napoleon's own mind his belief in his star. "Louis Napoleon," runs the note in my younger uncle's writing, and dated September 1859, ''must have kept a close watch on events in France even during the life of his cousin the Due de Reichstadt, for about a fortnight ago My Paris Note-Book. 23 he showed me a placard, the existence of which had sHpped my memory, though I had seen a similar one on the walls of Paris during the July Revolution (1830). It is a proclamation emanating from some provisional government evidently sitting at the Hotel de Ville, for the bill is dated from there, calling upon the French to raise the son of the great Napoleon to the throne. ' If Francis I. (of Austria) had not been blinded by his jealousy of one grandson, his other grandson would not have been in the plight he is,' said the Emperor, ' for my cousin the Due de Reichstadt would not have been pledged to revolutionary Italy as I was ; and it is more than probable that I should have gone to my grave as a simple prince of the blood. It is by no means an un- comfortable position, that of a prince of the blood, if, as the English have it, ' ' blood be thicker than water, ' ' which unfortunately in a good many cases it is not.^ This," remarks my uncle, "was a sly allusion to Jerome and his son. 'The Due de Reichstadt,' the Emperor went on, * would have married, he might have had a child, and even if he had died two years later, as he did, I should not have ascended the throne of France ; but it is my opinion, ' this very emphatically, ' that he would have lived to a very ripe old age away from the Aus- trian Court. ^ ''On my remarking," continues the note, "that Francis I. could not have sent a mere lad of nineteen, and such a weak lad too, to Paris on the mere strength of that bit of paper, the Emperor replied — ' My cousin was not as weak as you imagine. Besides, there was no need to send him on the mere strength of that bit of paper. Some one had already been sent to fetch him, and that some one was none other than Talleyrand. I am perfectly certain of my facts, for careful inquiry has 24 My Paris Note-Book. convinced me that he was absent from Paris for several days.' " So far the note of my uncle as relating to his con- versation with the Emperor. When the "Talleyrand Memoirs' ' appeared, I looked for some possible clue in confirmation of the Emperor's statement, without much hope of finding it, albeit that long before then I had stumbled upon a paragraph to that effect in a work or pamphlet, the title of which has entirely slipped my memory. I do not think that it was in the ' * M^moires de M. de Metternich." I have an idea that it was in an interesting study of the Due de Reichstadt, emana- ting from a French source. I repeat, however, that I considered my search in the ' * Talleyrand Memoirs' ' as a forlorn hope, for though I never had the honour of an introduction to M. le Due de Broglie, I have watched him at work for the last twenty-three years under the Third Republic, and I know that he would not willingly blacken the memory of Talleyrand needlessly. Still, I feel confident that the Emperor was correctly informed, and that Talleyrand made the attempt to bring the son of the first Napoleon and Marie Louise to Paris during the Revolution of 1830 ; hence, the younger branch of the Bourbons owes him nothing. Perhaps none was better aware of this than Louis Philippe himself when he called him ' ' le commissaire-priseur du trone de Francey When, after his flight to England in Feb- ruary 1 848, Louis Philippe was told that the mob had carried that throne to the Place de la Bastille and made a bonfire of it, he said to his informant — " That's the best thing they could have done with it, seeing that Talleyrand is dead, and that he was the only man under whose hammer it would have not only fetched its value • — though that is not much — but a fancy price." My Paris Note-Book. 25 To return for a moment to the Emperor. In subse- quent years I was enabled to gather from my uncle's conversation that Louis Napoleon felt by no means grateful to the Hapsburgs for the service they had ap- parently rendered him by ''suppressing" his cousin the Due de Reichstadt ; I am quoting his own words. He neither liked nor trusted them, though, of course, the position in which he was placed prevented him from giving vent openly to his dislike, especially after ' 59, when he had defeated Francis Joseph. He was fully cognisant of the political mistake he had committed in allowing Austria to be crushed in 1866, but in his in- most heart he rejoiced at Francis Joseph's humiliation. It is not too much to say that the only members of the family of the great Napoleon who were absolutely loyal to his memory were, besides Madame Laetitia Bonaparte, his two cousins, viz., Louis Napoleon and Princess Mathilde. Lucien was not disloyal — this is all that can be said of him in that respect ; but the rest were all more or less indifferent to the man himself, though not to his glory. The Emperor and Princess Mathilde worshipped the memory of the man apart from that of his genius. In their dislike of his enemies they discriminated between Russia, England, Prussia, and Austria, and their respective rulers. That the treatment Napoleon received at St. Helena was never entirely effaced from their minds, may be taken for granted ; but Czar Nicholas' generous protection of the Countess Demidoff against her husband, and Queen Victoria's hospitality to Louis Napoleon, had done much to take the edge off their resentment ; as for Francis Joseph, they could never be brought to look with any degree of cordiality upon him. They could never forget that he was the grandson of Francis I. of B 3 26 My Paris Note-Book. Austria, and above all, the nephew of Marie Louise. The latter' s name — to use plain language for once — stank in their nostrils ; and during another conversa- tion, still on the subject of Talleyrand's ascertained mission to Vienna, the Emperor warmed to his subject, and let out the following: — " My cousin the Due de Reichstadt was by no means the weakling he has been represented. The deception was a deliberate one on the part of his grandfather, his mother, Metternich, and the whole of the Austrian Court generally, and, I am sorry to say, on the part of an eminent Frenchman too, who, at the outset at any rate, abetted it with his eyes open. I am alluding to Antoine (afterwards Baron) Dubois, the great accoucheur, who brought my cousin mto the world. ' ' Then the Emperor went off, appar- ently at a tangent. " Have you read Balzac's ' Physi- ologic du Mariage' ? " he asked. ' ' You have ; well, you recollect that clever chapter on the Family Doctor, in which the author warns husbands against him. Being a medical man yourself, you will be able to appreciate the truth and humour of it better than I can. Of course the woman's wiles described must be as old as the hills, or at any rate contemporaneous with the institution of monogamy among Christians, and Balzac did, after all, nothing more than draw attention to these wiles in his admirable way ; but who would have suspected that prim archduchess, who looked and acted as if butter would not melt in her mouth, of having recourse to them in order to get rid of the marital endearments of a man she disliked ? For that was what she undoubt- edly did do, and Dubois helped her — I repeat, with his eyes open, for I am loath to believe that so great an au- thority on those matters as he was could have been un- consciously deceived. And yet, on the plea that Marie My Paris Note-Book. 27 Louise's confinement had been a dangerous one, he strictly forbade the Emperor all further cohabitation with the woman who a few years later gave birth to three children within a comparatively short period with- out the least hurt to her health. It was Dubois who sounded the first alarm with regard to the constitution of the King of Rome. He was bound to a certain ex- tent to do so — at first in order to justify his prohibition. Did he ever find out that he had been beguiled, if be- guiled he was ? It would be difiicult to say ; but be- guiled or not, he was bound to keep up the fiction that Napoleon's son was a weakling, to save his own reputa- tion. That's how the report first spread ; but there was absolutely nothing the matter with my cousin or- ganically. He was as healthy as two out of the three children Marie Louise bore the Count de Neipperg : the first was still-born ; the other two are alive, and, barring accidents, likely to live to a hundred. ' ' My uncle having remarked that, after all, a woman could not force her inclinations, the Emperor nodded his head. ' ' I quite agree with you, ' ' he said ; * ' and if Marie Louise had simply and openly refused to co- habit with my uncle after her son was born, I * would have admired rather than blamed her. I would have pitied my uncle for the unrequited affection he had con- ceived for her, but not have considered her bound to requite that affection, seeing the circumstances under which the marriage was contracted. She might have taken her stand on the fact that she had fulfilled the mission for which she had been selected from political considerations, namely, the givmg of an heir to the Imperial crown, and that henceforth she had no duties to perform in that respect. That would have been worthy of a woman and of a princess who respects herself, 28 My Paris Note-Book. and who resents the fact of having been sold like an Eastern slave both upon the buyer and the seller, though she was powerless to prevent the transaction. But that she should have shown less concern for the glory of a Napoleon than the merest female sutler of one of his regiments , that she should have been less moved by the downfall of such a giant than the merest hind, is a thing I can never forgive nor forget." " But is your Majesty so very sure that such was the case?" objected my uncle. *' In most of the memoirs of the time I seem to have read the contrary." ' ' Perfectly sure, ' ' repHed the Emperor. ' ' Every one of the writers of these memoirs told a deliberate false- hood in that respect, though one is bound to acknowl- edge, with the most laudable intentions. They them- selves were so anxious not to diminish the grandeur of the fallen hero by a single inch, that they hesitated to write the truth on the subject. They argued that the callousness of Marie Louise with regard to the greatest man of his time would breed a reaction in the public mind with regard to that grandeur. Of course, I am alluding to the genuine memoirs, and not to the works of historians. But the fact is that Marie Louise did not shed a tear either in public or in private from the mo- ment she left Paris to that when the abdication of the Emperor and his suspected attempt to commit suicide was communicated to her. It was the Comte de Sainte- Aulaire who undertook to announce the catastrophe to her, and I have the tale from his own lips. I do not think it has ever found its way in print. It was early morning when he reached Blois, and the Empress was still in bed. Nevertheless, he was admitted to her pres- ence, and she rose into a sitting posture, her feet peep- ing from under the coverlet. There was not a cry nor a My Paris Note-Book. 29 word in response to the news, and the messenger, dread- ing to look up, lest he should be considered indiscreet, face to face with such intense, though silent, grief, kept his eyes fixed on the floor. * You are looking at my feet, M. de Sainte-Aulaire,' said Marie Louise, after a long interval ; * I have always been told they are very pretty.' She did not make any further allusion to an event which in a few days was to convulse the whole of the civilised world, which would and did affect the mean- est of menials who had come in contact with the great- est captain of all ages. Verily, my uncle was right when he said that ' F amour est 1' occupation de I'homme oisif, la distraction du guerrier, et F^cueil du souverain. ' " . This was the woman who fell desperately in love with one of her father's soldiers, Lieutenant-Marshal Count Adam Albert von Neipperg, an honourable, upright, brave, and clever man, but who, compared to Napoleon, was what Mr. Healy is to Daniel O'Connell. When I first came upon the above note in my uncle's papers, I supplemented it by one of my own, without any definite purpose, and merely in obedience to the family craving for notes. It may be found interesting, especially at the present moment, not as a marginal to the Emperor's conversation with my uncle, but as a sidelight on M. Victorien Sardou's latest production, Madame Sans- GSne, the main interest of which is evolved from an alleged intrigue between Count Adam and Marie Louise while she was Empress of the French. M. Sardou has not the slightest historical authority for the existence of such an intrigue, nor for his dramatic situation in the first act which represents Count Adam as taking refuge from the pursuit of the revolutionary mob in the shop of a laundress, afterwards Madame Lefebvre, and finally Duchesse de Dantzic. As far as is known. Count Adam 30 My Paris Note-Book. was not in France during the First Revolution, nor did he ever see the Archduchess Marie Louise until 1814. Assiduous student of history as he may be, M. Sardou seems to be ignorant of the way Austrian princesses were, and are to a certain extent still, brought up. In Marie Louise's case, not only were all the supposedly objectionable passages of every book she read bodily cut out, but no male creature was allowed within the apartments occupied by her, and this prohibition ap- plied to the males of the animal world also. True, Marie Louise may have fallen in love with Count Neip- perg during the few days previous to her departure for France, but that is highly improbable, and there is no mention of his having been in the suite that accompa- nied Marie Louise to the Austrian frontier. Further- more, at the period of Marie Louise's departure for France, Count Neipperg was married, and had three or four children ; his wife only died in 1813, two years before the second invasion of France by the allied troops, when the Count was invested with the military command of the Departments of the Gard, the Ardeche, and the Herault. I would not argue the fact of Count Neipperg' s being a married man as an absolute bar to Marie Louise's sudden passion for him, but the fact con- stitutes a presumption against it. We may conclude that M. Sardou has drawn entirely upon his imagina- tion. The unvarnished truth seems to be this : Count Neipperg, "the German Bayard," — as Madame de Stael, who knew him personally, called him — was en- trusted by Francis L in 18 14 with the task of escorting his daughter back to Vienna. From that moment these two rarely left one another ; and when two years later Marie Louise assumed the sovereignty of the Duchies of Parma, Placenza, and Guastallas, secured to her by My Paris Note-Book. 31 the Treaty of Paris, which was ratified at the Congress of Vienna in 181 5, she morganatically married Neip- perg, who, until then, had simply borne the title of chevalier d'honneur. Count Neipperg had four chil- dren by his first wife, three of whom met with a tragic end. Of his two children by Marie Louise, the Con- tessa San-Vitale is the better known, from the part she played in the Italian revolutionary movement of '48. The son entered the Austrian army with the Italianised patronymic of Montenuovo. Personally, I fail to see how Neipperg can be made into Newmount, unless the Viennese pronunciation is taken into account ; but that is a mere detail. 32 My Paris Note-Book. CHAPTER II. Napoleoniana— Napoleon I. a bad shot — The Emperor at his best when talking about Napoleon I. — Napoleon I. as a patron of the drama — About' s Guillery and Lemercier's Christophe Colomb — Napoleon I. within an ace of becoming a theatrical manager himself— Was Napoleon I. conscious of his future greatness ? — Louis Napoleon at Lady Blessington's — He and Charles Dickens have their fortunes told — Roger the great tenor — A curious coin- cidence — My uncle's opinions about Frenchmen's courage — An anecdote of Alexandre Dumas the elder — The Parisians' love of spectacular display and dramatic sensation — How Napoleon I. provided for it— Napoleon HL an equally good stage-manager, though in a difterent way— The truth about the famous "Com- mittee of Resistance." I HAVE already said that my uncles were favourites with Louis Napoleon ; I may add that, though they had served under the Prince of Orange (afterwards William II. of Holland) during the campaign of 1815, they shared to the full the idolatry of the third Napoleon for the memory of his uncle, and that this worship of which .1 was a constant witness as a child has not been without its effect upon me in my later life. I have always found it difficult when writing about France to keep the head of Napoleon I. out of my memoirs. Le pli est pris ; but I trust the reader will not grumble in this instance. Nearly all the following anecdotes are to all intents and purposes new. Both my relatives were very bad shots ; nevertheless, during their annual visits to Fontainebleau and Com- piegne they always went shooting with Napoleon III., My Paris Note-Book. 33 who, it seems, was a fair marksman. ' ' We must have some muffs among us, just as the Spartans had their drunken helots, as an example to be avoided," said the Emperor, to console them for their frequent discomfiture. " If we had not you, we should have to invite M. Thiers, and the gamekeepers could not scowl at him as they do at you, even if he would come. Besides, you need not fret about it ; the Emperor (by which he meant his uncle) was even a worse shot than you or your brother are ; the only time they put a gun in his hand, he killed a poor hound, and went away thinking he had killed a stag." Thereupon he told them a story, which, though it has not been mentioned by any of the great captain's biog- raphers, is unquestionably true. "In those days the stag, wherever brought to bay, was left for the Emperor to kill. One day, however, the Emperor was not to be found, and the Master of the Staghounds finished the animal with his knife. Just then the Emperor came in sight. They hurriedly got the dead stag on its legs, propping it up with branches, &c. , &c. , and handed the Emperor the 'carabine of honour,' as it was called. The Emperor fired, and, of course, the stag tumbled over, but at the same time there was a piteous whine from one of the hounds, which had been shot through the head. The Emperor, who was on horseback, wheeled round, utterly unconscious of the mischief he had done, saying to one of his aides-de-camp — ' Apres tout, je ne suis pas aussi mauvais tireur qu'on ne le pretend.' " Admirable catiseur as was Napoleon III. when in the mood, he shone brightest on the subject o^ his famous uncle. There was an almost inexhaustible flow of anec- dote absolutely unknown to the biographers, and inter- 34 My Paris Note-Book. larded with quaint comment, mainly tending to show the nephew's ever-predominant wish to tread in the footsteps of the founder of the dynasty — of course, not as a mihtary leader, for Napoleon III., in his wildest moments of ambition, was thoroughly aware of his shortcomings in that respect, but as a social reformer and a patron of art and literature ; like his uncle, in his zeal for these latter causes, he often brought about re- sults the very opposite to those aimed at. Frenchmen will brook no interference with their judgments on books, statues, pictures, and plays, albeit these judg* ments are nearly always influenced by considerations more or less foreign to the true principles of criticism. What they resent most Is the supposed or real patronage by '* the powers that be" of an author, painter, sculptor, or composer. Many a clever production has been posi- tively hounded off the stage — for the playhouse lends itself most effectually to that kind of cabal — on the mere supposition of such patronage; while, on the other hand, many a work has been lauded to the skies, and hailed with rapture in no way justified by its merits. In the instance to which I wish to allude in particular, various causes had combined to create a prejudicial feel- ing against the author long before his piece saw the footlights while the piece itself had not suflicient vitality either to withstand the onslaught of the caballers on the first two nights, or to recover subsequently from the attack. Edmond About was looked upon by all political parties with suspicion, if not with positive antagonism. His polemical writings satisfied no one. They were too literary for the thorough-going politician ; they were too political to please the amateur of literature proper, who, too frequently perhaps, has an ill-disguised con- tempt for the so-called affairs of State. About had My Paris Note-Book. 35 alienated the sympathies of the clerical party, and not succeeded in enlisting those of the Liberals and Repub- licans. It is not my intention to dwell at length upon About himself or upon his writings ; such an attempt would be at variance with the plan, or rather absence of plan, of this book ; I am merely noting the state of pubHc opinion with regard to one of the wittiest French writers of the century at the particular period when he turned his attention to the stage. His first venture in that direction, which took place when I had been but a few months in Paris, ought to have taught him that it is one thing to have a piece accepted at the Comedie- Fran9aise, and another to have it accepted in the Com6- die-Fran9aise : but it did not teach him. I recollect my yo anger uncle, who had been to the premiere of Guil- lery discussing it with his brother next morning at breakfast — I am speaking of the mid-day meal — and telling him of the hisses and cat-calls most of the situa- tions had provoked. Since then I have read the piece, and though by no means insensible to the many clever things it contains, have come to the conclusion that the public were not wrong in attributing its acceptance by the "Reading Committee" of the Comedie-Frangaise to ''outside influence," and what, to the public's mind, was worse, to influence from the ' ' Chateau, ' ' as the Tuileries in those days was called. The Emperor did not altogether deny the impeach- ment, but he denied being responsible for more than the initial step, and this brings me back to his ever fresh delight of referring to his uncle's doings. ''You are right," he said a few days afterwards to my uncle Mark, who gave him some particulars of the disturb- ances that had occurred on the first night — the piece only ran for two — "you are right," he repeated; "I 36 My Paris Note-Book. ought to follow my uncle's system in such matters to the bitter end, or else not engage in them at all. I cannot imagine how he found time to read plays or to have them read to him ; but it is very certain that he did find time, and that he recommended no piece personally unless he had made himself acquainted with it. That's what I ought to have done with Guillery ; but would you like to know the whole of my share in the transac- tion ? It virtually amounts to this, and to no more. I had no need to give About a letter of introduction to Arsene Houssaye, who knows him and his worth better than I do, but it was Fould who beguiled me into it. I know by this time that Fould had an ulterior motive, that there was a woman in the whole of this plot ; but I did not know it then. As it was, I only said that I should be pleased to see M. About' s play enacted at the Comedie- Fran^aise. When handing About the letter, I made use of Louis Philippe's sentence to Victor Hugo when he handed him the pardon of Barbes — ' I give you his head, Monsieur ; it will be your business to obtain it from my ministers.' Where I have failed, perhaps, is in not saying B when I had said A. My uncle would not have allowed the piece to be hounded off the stage after he had recommended its acceptance. No, as you say, he could not have compelled the pubUc to go and see it, or to applaud it when they did go, but he would have compelled them to sit still and not kick up ' the devil's own delight.' How? I'll tell you. By being present at the first or second performance ; more probably at the third or fourth, if there had been signs of systematic opposition at the premiere. The historians of the French stage have given Charles X. credit for saying to Victor Hugo that in matters theatrical he was simply one of the public and no more. My uncle did much My Paris Note-Book, 37 better than coin the mot ; he now and then acted up to it ; which Charles X. did not do. Except where he detected a real or fancied political allusion, he judged impartially ; and when he found that the play failed to please the spectators, he counselled its withdrawal, however much he liked it himself. But ... he went to see it. You have heard of N6pomucene Lemer- cier, and you probably know that until the advent of the Empire he was sincerely attached to my uncle. After that they became estranged, though the Em- peror never ceased to speak in the highest terms of him. Both were, however, exceedingly obstinate, and neither the one nor the other would take the first step towards a renewal of their friendship. In the heyday of my uncle's glory, Lemercier brought out a play at the Od6on, entitled Christophe Colomb. Lemercier, it ap- pears, had more genius than all the dramatists of the Empire put together, and in this Christophe Colomb he made an attempt to break through the iron chain of the three unities of time, place, and action. Odd to relate, the most violent opposition to this innovation came from the students of the Quartier Latin, the pre- decessors of those who, a score of years later, led the vanguard of the partisans of the elder Dumas and Victor Hugo against the classicists. The Emperor had neither read nor recommended the play ; in fact, to be fair, the hostility shown to Christophe Colomb was not a protest against the supposed patronage of the sovereign, but the soi-disant vindication of a purely arbitrary literary con- ventionality. Nor need we suppose for a moment that the students were influenced in their attack by the well- known estrangement between the dramatist and the Emperor, which, on the face of it, would afford them a guarantee of non-interference on the latter' s part ; and 4 38 My Paris Note-Book. from what I have heard of Lemercier, I feel confident that he harboured no such a suspicion. But in order to prevent the germ of such a thought sprouting in the pubHc's mind, the Emperor took the matter up after the first night, which had already been fruitful in broken heads and limbs. There was a second performance ' by- command ;' on which occasion there was a strong display of military and police, who, if anything, aggravated the situation, for over three hundred students were arrested, the blood flowed freely, and the unmarried among the rioters were ordered to be incorporated in a regiment under marching orders for Germany. ' They had better vent their bellicose ardour on the enemy than on their own countrymen,' said the Emperor ; and I am afraid there would have been no appeal from his decision, which spread like wildfire through the capital, and would have been sufficient to strike terror into the boldest, but for the sequel. The Emperor would not give in, and he decided that there should be a third per- formance, at which he and the Empress would be present. On the night in question, the house, as you may imagine, was crammed from floor to ceiling, while the streets leading to the Odeon were blocked by eager and expect- ant crowds. The first two acts went ofl" without a hitch ; the scene was laid in France, and there had been no opposition to them, for the principle of the unities for which the students battled was not violated. It was the change from terra firma to the deck of Columbus' vessel that had aroused their ire. At the opening of the third act the Emperor was seen to straighten himself, while Josephine looked uneasy. Every one knew that the critical moment had come ; no one was deceived by the Emperor's apparent attention to the business of the stage ; they caught him casting sidelong glances at the My Paris Note-Book. 39 house itself. A deep silence had fallen upon the latter, a silence so intense that, without exaggeration, one might have heard a pin drop. This went on for several minutes, when suddenly there arose upon the air a gentle, soft breathing, as of so many people catching what the English call * forty winks. ' Thereupon the Emperor looked round. The auditorium presented a most curious sight. From the upper galleries to the front benches of the pit, three-fourths of the spectators had donned white nightcaps, with large tassels standing erect ; their heads were reclining on their breasts, and they seemed wrapt in peaceful slumber. The Emperor burst out laughing, and Lemercier's play was virtually doomed, though it ran for another eight nights. The rioters of the second night were not drafted into the regiment under marching orders." I need scarcely remind the reader that the conver- sations of my grand-uncles with Napoleon III. extended ^T)ver a period of several years, and that, many of my notes being undated, I am unable to reproduce them in their chronological order ; but the following extract is appar- ently connected with the foregoing, and may have been recorded on the same day. There is, however, no evi- dence to that effect ; it may therefore refer to a subse- quent or previous conversation on the same subject. ' ' Yes, ' ' said the Emperor, ' ' my uncle took a great interest in the theatre even before he made his mark in the world. It is not generally known that he was once within an ace of becoming an impresario himself In 1792 the Italian performers, with the exception of one, left Paris. They did not feel their heads safe on their shoulders, and subsequent events proved that their fears were not altogether groundless. Shortly afterwards, the one who had remained was denounced as suspect^no 40 My Paris Note-Book. reason was given for the accusation, nor was there any need in those days, and brought before Fouquier-Tin- ville. His name was Puppo. ' What was your occu- pation under the old regime f asked the pubUc prose- cutor of the Revolutionary Tribunal. ' I played the violin,' answered Puppo. * What are you doing at present ?' was the next question. * I am playing the violin,' was the reply. 'What do you intend to do in the future?' ' I intend to play the vioHn,' said Puppo. 'That seems to me reasonable enough,' growled the prosecutor. ^ You are acquitted. ' " Puppo' s next would-be employer, who was none other than the celebrated Mile. Montansier, did, how- ever, not fare so well. She had made a great deal of money, and built a theatre, which she intended to devote to Italian opera, in the Rue de la Loi ' ' (now the Rue de Richelieu). " She was known to have been a favourite of Marie-Antoinette, and Chaumette denounced the enterprise as an attempt on her part to set the Biblio- theque Nationale on fire. The theatre was closed, and she herself imprisoned for ten months. It was after her liberation that my uncle was introduced to her by Mme. Dugazon, the celebrated actress. He was then a poor lieutenant, without a penny in the world ; she was sixty- three, but exceedingly well to do. It appears that he was going to marry her ; meanwhile, I feel certain that there was a liaison between them. It was Seveste who first told me of this. You remember Seveste, who, in conjunction with his brother, used to run several sub- urban theatres, and who was the immediate predecessor of Arsene Houssaye at the Comedie-Fran9aise. He had the story from his father, who was an actor in Mile. Montansier' s company. As I told you, I had never heard the story before, nor do I think that it was ever My Paris Note-Book. 41 known publicly ; but I caused enquiries to be made, and I ascertained its perfect truth. It was only then that I understood why my uncle, by the decree of Moscow, had ordered 300,000 francs to be paid to Mile. Montan- sier. The money was ostensibly a kind of ' damages' for the loss she had sustained by the closing of her theatre, for which at the time she claimed seven millions of francs, which she did not get ; in reality, it was what the English call ' conscience money,' or, better still, * a compensation for breach of promise of marriage.' " * ' Do I think that my uncle had a presentiment of his future greatness ?' ' said Napoleon on another occa- sion. ^ * Frankly, I do not think he had when he was merely a poor lieutenant of artillery. I do not think so, and this in spite of the many stories to that effect by my uncles and father. On the face of it, I doubt whether he would have dreamed of marrying a woman old enough to be his grandmother, as was Mile. Mon- tansier ; nay, I doubt whether he would have married Josephine de Beauharnais under the circumstances, and yet, here is a proof that he had some such presenti- ment ; but it was after he had his foot on the first rung of the ladder. I am not certain whether it was the son of Berthier (the son of the first Prince de Neufchatel et de Wagram) or Saint- Hilaire who told me the story, but it was one of these two, and though either of these two might have printed it, I do not think they did. At that time my uncle was a lieutenant- colonel, and in the habit of visiting General d' Augeranville, who was Berthier' s brother-in-law, consequently my informant's uncle. One evening after a dinner-party at which Mme. Tallien was present also, one of the guests proposed to go and have ices at Frascati, a proposal which was unanimously approved. They started on foot, and 4* 42 My Paris Note-Book. their way lay through the Place Vendome, which at that particular period was a howling wilderness, dark and deserted at night especially, and, moreover, dis- figured by the remains of the statue of Louis XIV., which the revolutionaries had destroyed. When they got to the middle of the square, my uncle stopped and drew his companions' attention to the terrible state of decay around him. ' The square itself is magnificent,' said my uncle ; ' but it wants something grandiose in the centre, and promenaders to impart life and bustle to it.' 'Statues have had their day, my dear commandant; and if they had not, ' replied General D' Augeranville, *I fail to see whom or what we could put there.' *I was not exactly thinking of a statue, Tnon general,^ mildly protested my uncle. * What I was thinking of was a column like that of Trajan in Rome, or else an immense sarcophagus that would hold the ashes of the great captains of the Republic' ' Both ideas are good,* remarked Madame d' Augeranville ; ' but I should prefer a column.' 'And we'll have that column one day,' smiled my uncle, ' if they let Berthier and myself have a chance. What say you, Berthier?' he added, turn- ing to the future hero of Wagram. * What do I say ?' answered Berthier ; ' I say, that as far as I am con- cerned, the dream is too splendid to be realised.' As far as I am personally in question," Napoleon III. went on, ' ' people are perfectly correct in crediting me with what they choose to call 'fatalism.' From the moment I began to think for myself, I had an unalter- able conviction that I should rule over France one day ; but if I had wavered for an instant in that belief, the Macbethian episode I am going to relate to you would have revived that belief, and for evermore. It hap- pened in London in 1846, shortly after my escape from My Paris Note-Book. 43 Ham. One afternoon I was at Lady Blessington's, and talking to my hostess, when the servant brought in a letter, and told her that the bearer, an elegantly dressed young woman, was in the ante-room. I stood aside while Lady Blessington opened the letter, and after having read it, she looked up. ' Do you believe in palmistry?' she asked point-blank. Though I failed to guess the drift of her question, I answered as frankly — * I believe in my own instinct, rather than in the prophe- cies of fortune-tellers, irrespective of the methods by which they profess to arrive at their predictions ; but, after all, it would not be very wonderful if I did believe in such predictions, seeing that my grandmother made a special favourite of Mile. Lenormand^ and my mother, to a certain extent, was tarred with the same brush. But why do you ask ?' " 'I'll tell you,' said Lady Blessington. 'Here is a letter from a friend in Paris, introducing the bearer as one of the most astonishing chiromancers since the days of the woman you just named. In fact, the letter says that she is a pupil of Mile. Lenormand. What shall we do ?' " Frankly," the Emperor went on, "I did not know what to %ay. It was, as I have told you, shortly after » Mile. Lenormand lived for fifty years in the Rue de Tournon, facing the Luxembourg. She was the mistress of Hebert, the Jacobin, the editor of the infamous Pere Duchene (the first of the name ; the second was edited during the Commune by M. Alphonse Humbert, the late President of the present Paris Municipal Coun- cil). Some compromising revelations led to her arrest. During that period it appears she predicted the future grandeur of Jo- sephine de Beauharnais, and when these predictions were realised, became the fashionable fortune-teller. She died in 1843. Among the celebrated personages who attended her funeral was Jules Janin. . . 44 My Paris Note-Book. my escape from Ham, and my aspirations and affairs were pretty well known in the circles I visited ; but though there were a great many people who sympa- thised with both, there were many more who treated me as a rank impostor : politely, but nevertheless as a rank impostor. Especially was this the case with those who were perhaps nearest to the throne, and I need not tell you that the majority of those at the Court took their cue from them. But three years before that there had been a visit of Queen Victoria and her family to Eu, and among the upper and upper middle classes there was a sincere wish to live in amity with the d' Or- leans, the head of which house was not only looked upon as a model ruler, but as a model father and hus- band, which, from an English point of view, was of supreme importance. I doubt whether at that time I gave much promise to the uninitiated of becoming either a model ruler, a model husband, or a model father. Worse than all, though the principal organs of the press, with the exception of one, left me severely alone, there was every now and then a good deal of tittle-tattle, founded upon truth or the reverse, about me in the smaller papers. I felt that an interview like this with a fortune-teller, if it leaked out— and it was sure to leak out — would be setting people's tongues wagging, and at that particular moment, for reasons of my own, I did not wish to be talked about ; and yet, call it superstition, or what you will, I wished to see the pupil of Mile. Lenormand very much indeed. So I did not know what to say, and kept silent. But a fellow-guest to whom I had been talking when the ser- vant brought the letter, and who had overheard Lady Blessington's question and my reply, came to the rescue. * Why not test the lady's powers on the spot?' he said. My Paris Note-Book» 45 * On whom ?' asked our hostess. ' On the Prince, on me, on any one you Hke,' he repHed. ' * In another minute the bearer of the letter was shown into the room. She was young — I should say under thirty — good-looking, well dressed, and her manner betokened the well-bred woman. After a few words my fellow-guest who had spoken stepped forward and held out his hand. ' Is it with regard to your past or your future that you would be informed?' asked the new-comer. ' Oh, I know all about my past ; I would like to know about my future,' he answered, laughing ; ' but tell me, Madame, have you ever seen me before ?' ' I arrived in London this morning, Monsieur — how could I have seen you before?' saying which, she took hold of his hand and began to examine it very carefully. She was evidently impressed with his good looks, for it was with a sigh of relief that she spoke. * Your life, Monsieur, will be peaceful, and your death painless ; but you'll not live till a very advanced age. One day you and one o^ your children will escape death by something very little short of a miracle. ' * ' Then she turned to me, seeing that I was waiting. She examined my hand over and over again, but to our great surprise did not utter a word, and kept looking in turns at our hostess and at us. At last she shook her head. * It's too absurd, my lady,' she said ; 'it's abso- lutely ridiculous what I am reading in this gentleman's hand ; and yet I can read nothing else. ' * * ' Never mind the absurdity of it, ' I remarked. *Tell us.' * Well, Monsieur,' she repHed, 'I can only answer you by the line of your greatest poet — "Mac- beth, thou shalt be king hereafter ;" in other words, Monsieur, your hand tells me that you will reign over a great nation.' The other visitors — there were not many 46 My Paris Note-Book; —had gathered around us, and looked somewhat in- credulously at Lady Blessington — for I must tell you that she had left the apartment herself in search of the fortune-teller, instead of asking the servant to show her in. I myself felt shaken in my confidence in my hostess, but she assured me subsequently that she had not ex- changed a word with her visitor. The name of my fel- low-guest whose fortune was told before mine, will Hve when mine has been utterly forgotten : it is Charles Dickens. Up till now the miracle that was to save his life and that of one of his children has not happened, and I sincerely trust that the danger predicted to him may be averted whenever it comes ; nevertheless, I can- not close my eyes to the fact that in my case the prophecy has proved true."* I may state here that my uncles, in spite of their scientific training, believed in palmistry, in fortune- telling, in spiritualism, and the rest. I am not called upon to give my own views on such matters. I should be sorry to say, though, that I do not believe in them. Anyhow, here is a story which I found among their notes, and which might have justified their belief in things not dreamt of in ordinary people's philosophy. I may remark that the note was fastened with a wafer to that just given, and that it is dated 30th July 1859. It relates to the accident that befell the eminent tenor Roger, the *' creator" of the title-role of Meyerbeer's Prophete^ a few days previously, which accident cost "^ I need scarcely remind the reader that Dickens was in the ter- rible railway accident at Staplehurst, and escaped unhurt. On that day he had upon him the MS. of " Our Mutual Friend," one of his offspring — though begotten of his brain. When the accident happened, one of my uncles was dead, and the other dangerously ill ; but I know that the Emperor was terribly affected by it. My Paris Note-Book. 47 him his right arm. On the day of the accident (26th or 27th July '59), Roger expected some guests at his coun- try house, several miles distant from Paris ; among others the well-known musical critic Fiorentino, and the celebrated prima-donna Mme. Borghi-Mamo, the same who worked herself up to the required pitch by frequent libations of liquorice water and pinches of snuff. On looking at a brace of pheasants which he had shot a few days previously, Roger concluded that they were but * * poor things, ' ' and decided to go and shoot another brace, from which it would appear that the French gourmet of those days did not insist on having his game ''high." At a couple of hundred yards from his park gates Roger put down his gun, in order to jump a nar- row ditch or a hedge, I do not know which — I should think the latter : for when he got to the other side, his gun was still sufficiently near for him to take hold of it, which, in fact, he did. Unfortunately, he caught hold of it by the barrel ; the stock and butt-end got entangled in the undergrowth ; the gun went off, and shattered his right forearm. Five hours later the Hmb had to be amputated ; and Drs. Laborie and Huguet, who had been summoned in hot haste from Paris to perform the operation, told my uncles that while under the influence of chloroform, Roger sang the romance of Raoul {Plus blanche que la blanche hermine') as they had never heard him sing it on the stage. "It appears, ' ' writes my uncle, ' ' that Roger Is out of danger. I met Fiorentino yesterday afternoon in the Rue Vivienne. He is absolutely mad with grief; he cries aloud that he is the cause of the accident. Like all Italians, he is terribly superstitious, but this is undoubt- edly the most wonderful instance of superstition that has ever come under my notice. We walked as far as 48 My Paris Note-Book. the Boulevards together ; we sat down at Tortoni's, and there he told me the story. Some years ago when Roger lived in the Rue Rochechouart, he gave a supper, at which, among others, Anicet Bourgeois, Berlioz, and Fiorentino himself were present. Towards three or four in the morning the guests became somewhat noisy, and Fiorentino got up * to stretch his legs,' as he said. After looking for a while at the pictures on the walls of the dining-room, and especially at a beautiful 'full- length' of Roger, Fiorentino strayed into the next room which contained a small but interesting collection of fire and side arms, whence he issued in about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, carrying a fowling-piece or some such weapon in his hands. During his absence the fun had grown more fast and furious, and Fiorentino evi- dently became infected with it,, for he began to handle the gun in the most reckless manner, taking aim at every one in turns, and finally pointing the muzzle at Berlioz. * I am going to kill BerHoz,' he said ; ' Berlioz is a formidable rival ; he is in my way as a musical critic. Berlioz, you had better make your will, and appoint me your successor at the Debats.' Berlioz, it appears, turned very pale, and shook with fear, though Roger assured him that there was no danger, that the gun was not loaded. Seeing which, Fiorentino changed his aim. * Berlioz is not worth the killing, at any rate not from my point of view. I should not get his place at the Debats, for they would say I had used undue influence. I have got a grudge against the grand opera and against Meyerbeer, for not having given me a bit of his genius, so I'll kill Roger instead ; that will stop the receipts at the Rue Le Peletier. Thereupon Fiorentino took aim at his host, who, sure of the gun being unloaded and of his friend's cool head and hand, did not budge an My Paris Note-Book. 49 inch. But in another second Fiorentino changed his mind again. ' There is no pleasure in kilUng Roger ; he isn't even afraid of dying. But I must kill some- thing ; I'll kill his portrait.' With which he turned the muzzle towards the * full-length' of Roger, pulled the trigger, and, to everybody's horror, simply riddled the canvas with shot. The most curious part of the story, though, is this. The most terrible gash in the portrait was in the right forearm, the presentment of the fore- arm which three days ago was carried to the Hospital Beaujon to show that Drs. Labordie and Huguet had no alternative but to amputate. Fiorentino refuses to be comforted. He says that but for his mad freak of years ago, all this would not- have happened ; that Roger is reaping the penalty of his (Fiorentino' s) tempting of Providence." Here is another note dated a few days previously, and on an entirely different subject, although it also deals with a prediction to those who will read between the lines. ' ' The war is at an end, and I for one am glad of it. This joy does not spring absolutely from purely humane motives, though I would not hurt a fellow- creature — and I include animals among my fellow- creatures — if I could help it. But I believe war to be one of the clever devices of nature to get rid of the superfluous population. Proof whereof is, that when science fashions a Jenner to stay the mortality from small-pox by inoculation, nature almost immediately afterwards produces a Napoleon, lest too overcrowded Europe should get still more over- crowded. Hence, it is not a horror of the bloody scenes on the battlefields, nor from a feeling of sympa- thy with the relatives of those who perish, that I am glad. Of course, I feel for those who sustain such irre- c d 5 50 My Paris Note-Book. parable losses, still my joy does not spring from a posi- tive hankering after peace. The fact is, that one gets so dreadfully tired of the constant bragging of the French. No one ever denies their courage, so why should they be always thrusting it down people's throats, and by so doing inferentially cast a suspicion on that of other nations ? A friend of mine who happened to be at Marseilles when some of the troops took ship there, told me that all the while there was the cry — * Eh, Mes- sieurs les voyageurs, prenez vos billets pour T Autriche.' After all, the Quadrilateral is a good distance from Vienna. Then there are illustrations which make one's gorge rise. I saw one the other day, in which a chas- seur de Vincennes was seated on the ground, calmly smoking his pipe. Before him were two Austrian grenadiers, not attacking, but ready to repel an attack. Text : One Austrian grenadier to the other — ' Eh bien, il ne nous attaquera done pas, ce petit Franfais ?' The chasseur de Vincennes — ' J'attends que vous soyez six.' If ever the hour of defeat sounds again for France, which I trust will not happen during my lifetime, all this will be remembered against her ; of that I feel cer- tain. And yet that same overweening confidence — I will not call it by a harsher name— when displayed by others, provokes their ire to a degree ; they have no words sufficiently contemptuous to stigmatise such outre- cuidance. It appears that the authorities at Turin seized iive or six letters with the Vienna postmark, and addressed to Austrian officers, 'Bureau restant^ Turin.* The writers of these letters took the triumphal entry of the Austrians into the capital of Piedmont for granted ; the difference between the writers, and the French troops shouting — ' Messieurs les voyageurs, prenez vos billets pour I'Autriche,' was, all things considered, not My Paris Note-Book. 51 so very great ; but to listen to the French, the thing was too monstrously ridiculous and despicable." * * ' According to the official bulletins, the losses on the Austrian side were invariably terrible, while the French casualties were scarcely worth mentioning. Even Alex- andre Dumas, who, Heaven knows, can be Chauvinistic enough, put his back up against this constant and sys- tematic perversion of the truth. But, of course, it was done in his own inimitable way. The other night when he was sitting at Tortoni's, the news of the victory at Montebello had just reached Paris. Dumas' face looked very grave, while everyone else's was beaming with sat- isfaction and delight. At last they asked him the reason of his seeming depression. ' Well, ' he said slowly, ' it is quite true, I feel sadly grieved, and that notwithstanding our victory, or rather because of our victory, for I am concerned about the 400 or 500 of our countrymen that are gone and standing at the gates of Heaven without the remotest chance of being admitted. I am not very religious myself, but I fancy that when a man goes all the way up to Heaven, he does not care to have the gates shut in his face, and that's what Peter is doing to them. ' We all knew that something good was coming, and humoured him. * Do you mean the 400 or 500 men that fell at Montebello ?' asked some one. ' I mean 400 or 500 of those that have fallen,' was the answer, ' for that Peter is an obstinate brute.' We looked puz-* zled, seeing which Dumas explained — ' You see, I am, as you are aware, in communication with the spirits' (Dumas had pretensions that way) * and I have just re- * On the evening of Mars-la-Tour, some of the German generals spent "a most comfortable night" in a French country house, and on inquiry found that Bazaine had sent word to have it prepared for him. 52 My Paris Note-Book. ceived the news that there are tremendous rows. Peter got the official bulletin which mentions 400 or 500 ; it happens that there are more than 1000, and he is treat- ing the rest as rank impostors, shouting that they have donned the French uniform, in order to impose upon him ; and he swears he's not going to stand it. That's why I am so sad.' With which he got up and recited La Fontaine's fable ' Le Lion abattu par 1' Homme.' " ' L'ouvrier vous a dejus ; II avait liberte de feindre ; Avec plus de raison nous aurions le dessus, Si mes confreres savaient peindre.' * * This was a sly allusion to the various sketches from the battlefields that were already reaching us, and in which the Austrians never seemed to have ' the ghost of a chance.' It was especially a kind of witty protest against the Ministry of War which had tacitly invited this one-sided delineation of events by the despatch to the Quadrilateral of a staff of young artists with the high-sounding title of ' Painters to the Ministry of War.' I happened to see one of these, M. Armand Dumaresq, at the moment of his departure ; he wore a uniform specially designed for the staff : dark blue tunic, light blue trousers, and — a sword by his side. It stands to reason that no impartial accounts could come from such a source." I have an idea that my uncle was not merely satisfied with consigning these thoughts to paper, but mentioned them to the Emperor. I cannot say for certain at what period, but it was probably after the Emperor's return from Italy, perhaps when he congratulated him on the appearance of the Zouaves and Turcos. At any rate, the note transcribed below appears to me to contain an allusion to some such conversation. My Paris Note-Book, 53 * * * Take it for granted, ' said the Emperor, the other morning, while we were talking about the craving for spectacular display and dramatic surprises of the Pari- sians ; ' take it for granted that Napoleon I. knew the idiosyncrasies of the Parisians in that respect better than any ruler who has come after him, and perhaps better than any ruler that went before. He has been accused of pandering to these idiosyncrasies ; he prob- ably did, and he was wise in his generatioUo The news of an important victory was never published to the Parisians until rumours of a serious defeat had been cir- culated beforehand. Of course, the sudden change from grief to joy produced a startHng effect, but you must remember that with regard to the transmission of news, we are living under entirely different conditions. In the smallest campaign we have the correspondents of the foreign papers on every side of us, not to men- tion the correspondents of our own press, who are scarcely more discreet than the rest. No, decidedly, Napoleon I. was better off in that respect than any of his successors, including his nephew. It has often been said that he was a great actor, or, at any rate, a stage- manager of genius. Great as he may have been, I fancy that as a stage-manager I am as great as he ; for there are a good many political dramas — or, if you like it better, comedies — enacted, in which the wires which set the puppets in motion are not only absolutely invis- ible to the public, but the identity of the wire-puller a profound secret. I know I may trust you implicitly, so I will tell you a story. Have you ever noticed on the walls of Paris the bills of that famous ' Committee of Resistance,' the guiding spirits of which have succeeded in baffling all the researches of the police for the last ten or eleven years, for if I remember aright, it began 5* 54 My Paris Note-Book. to exhibit its manifestos and warnings and threats almost immediately after the June disturbances during the Second Republic ?' ' ' I nodded assent, for I remembered very well ; in fact, it would have been difficult not to remember ; for from the moment of its birth the ' Committee' was bent upon reminding us of its existence, at every hour of the day, and for that matter, at every hour of the night. It sounded its first cry while Paris was still reeking with the blood shed during those two terrible days in June, 1849, and henceforward, at every shock, at every crisis, its concisely worded bills appear on the walls of the capital. The ' Committee' jeers and flouts at Lamar- tine ; it withers Cavaignac with its contempt ; after the review at Satory, it holds the Prince-President up to ridicule ; it endeavours to strangle the Empire * in the making,' and when it finally comes into the world, the * Committee' worries and harasses it at every turn and twist with bills scarcely larger than the size of one's hand, but which, nevertheless, do their work, for not a day goes by but what the Constitutionnel and the Pa- trie, and other Conservative papers, draw attention to 'another manifesto,' and besiege the Prefecture of Police with so-called clues to the whereabouts of the 'Committee's' head-quarters. But it is all in vain: this powerful police, powerful in spite of its many short- comings, has not succeeded in laying hands once in nearly twelve years on one of the members of the ' Com- mittee,' let alone on its chief. " I remembered all this, so I nodded assent. ' Well,' remarked the Emperor, ' what if I were to tell you that this dreaded ' ' Committee' ' has virtually no existence, save in the imagination of one individual, or, to be positively accurate, that the whole of that Committee My Paris Note Book. 55 consists of that one individual ?' I must have looked very incredulous, for the Emperor went on immediately — ' I see you doubt my word, but what I am telling- you is a fact, nevertheless. If you want a better proof, go and see Fleury as you leave here ; you are sure to find him at this hour in the Cour de Caulaincourt (the Im- perial stables), and ask him about the " Committee of Resistance." You may tell him that I give him leave to speak. But you may take my word for it. I am telling you the absolute truth. The man's name is Pr^aut de Morand — but of the affix I am not sure. He Hves in the Grande Rue des Batignolles ; he has been a journalist or a printer in the south — I believe a printer ; for though the handbills which set Paris a-wondering every now and then, and are supposed to terrify me out of my wits, are produced with my money, I do not know who prints them ; nor does Fleury, of whose identity Preaut pretends to be ignorant, though I have my doubts about that also.' * ' ' With your money ?' I said. ' ' ' With my money, ' replied the Emperor. * I will tell you how it happened. You know that Fleury, ac- cording to his own account, is an early riser ; according to that of others, he simply goes to bed very late. The Bible says — ''Let not him that girdeth on his harness boast himself as he that putteth it off. ' ' Fleury, though he never boasts about anything, mistakes the taking off of his harness for the girding of it on. Anyhow, one morning in the summer of '53, he was sitting at the window of a house in the Faubourg Poissonniere, oppo- site the Conservatoire, just at daybreak. He had his harness on — how long he had had it on we'll not in- quire, though he was far enough from home ; he was, then, sitting at that window, just about daybreak, when 56 My Paris Note-Book. he noticed a man and a woman sticking little handbills on the walls of the Conservatoire. He did not say a word, but went into the street, and for more than two hours dogged the footsteps of the couple, who continued to stick bills wherever they could, and when there was no sergent-de-ville in sight. He dogged them till they got home. He did not watch them himself afterwards, but had them watched for more than a fortnight without telling the man whom he employed the reason of that surveillance. Then he bearded the couple in their own den ; he felt perfectly certain by that time that the whole of the so-called ' ' Committee of Resistance' ' consisted of Pr6aut and his wife. Fleury pretended that he and his relations had suffered at my hands, or, at any rate, at the hands of my ''creatures," and he has supplied Preaut with money ever since. Why did I leave Pr6aut unmolested ? For a very good reason. If I had him arrested and tried, he would get a twelvemonth's, at the most two years' imprisonment, and be a hero and a martyr for ever afterwards. At the elections following his release he would become a deputy. At his trial he would assume a defiant attitude, preserve a stubborn silence, not because he had anything of importance to reveal, but in order to impress the country with the idea of his magnanimity in not divulging the names of his fellow-conspirators, and so forth. Then there is an- other thing. This very Pr6aut serves me as a sword of Damocles, which I hold suspended over any and every important official of the Prefecture of PoHce, from the Prefect himself downward. The moment any of these show a tendency to become "skittish," I throw the failure of discovering the "Committee of Resistance" in his face. It has generally the effect of "shutting him up." There is a third consideration which makes My Paris Note-Book. 57 me "lie low." Pr6aut would either preserve a stub- born silence, or else ''blab" out all he knows. In the latter case, it would not be difficult to identify Fleury, mind, one of the most devoted friends of the Emperor himself, and the Emperor would be charged with having taken the role of agent provocateur out of the hands of the police, to assume it himself No, things are better as they are, and the little money Preaut costs me is well spent' " Thus far my uncle's note, which, like all the others in my possession, I never saw until the death of both brothers. I may be permitted to add a short one of my own in . connection with this particular story. Fre- quently during our strolls in Paris, when I had reached years of discrimination, we came upon the handbills of the ''Committee of Resistance," and as frequently I used to remark upon the shortcomings of the police with regard to them. These remarks were invariably received by both my relatives with a silent smile. They never hinted that they were the custodians (in common with Fleury and the Emperor) of a secret in connection with those threatening scraps of print. Something else. Up to this day, when the Empire is stark dead, when pretty well everything concerning it has been told, when those who profess to have been instrumental in over- throwing it have received their rewards, no one has ever come forward as an erstwhile member of the * ' Commit- tee of Resistance," though even now it is alluded to at rare intervals by the ultra- Republican papers as "that powerful organisation which effectually kept in check the man of the 2nd December^ and prevented the spirits of the true friends of liberty from falling below the freezing- point." Can you refrain from laughter, friends? 58 My Paris Note-Book. CHAPTER III. Some notes on Victor Emmanuel — His portrait in later years — The sculptor Marochetti's opinion of Victor Emmanuel's physi- cal appearance — A note of my younger grand-uncle — ^Victor Emmanuel's dislike of politics and finesse — A reception at the Tuileries — Victor Emmanuel and Napoleon III. — Victor Em- manuel as a raconteur. — Massimo d'Azeglio's stories of Victor Emmanuel— His estimate of the man and of the King— Victor Emmanuel's idea of accomplishing the unification of Italy — His dislike of etiquette and restraint — A hunting-story — Victor Em- manuel at La Mandria— Rosina Vercellana, afterwards Contessa di Mirafiori ; Victor Emmanuel's morganatic wife — Victor Em- manuel's appetite— The story of his hair-dye and "make-up" — Contessa Rosina and the King at home— Contessa Rosina wants to dye her hair also — Contessa Rosina's temper — Napoleon III. on morganatic wives. I HAVE by me some notes which, though not dated, were evidently written in the middle of the fifties, during (or perhaps after) the visit of Victor Emmanuel to the Emperor. They do not relate to political questions, albeit that the name of Massimo d'Azeglio crops up in them once or twice. It is well known that the son-in- law of Manzoni accompanied Victor Emmanuel during his voyage. Nor can I state positively whether any of the conversations recorded in these notes were held ex- clusively with the painter of ' ' Orlando Furioso. " I am under the impression, however, that the notes are the result of conversations with Napoleon III., but that some remarks of the painter-author and statesman in one to my younger grand-uncle led to these conversa- tions. My uncles, I fancy, had no idea that these notes My Paris Note-Book. 59 would ever prove useful to their nephew, who, to say the least, gave no promise at that time of embracing either journalism or literature as a profession. They scribbled for their own amusement, just as I did at first, hence the still-chaotic state of these documents. I saw Victor Emmanuel three or four times during a short journey to Italy two years before the outbreak of the Franco-German War. His portraits and the ac- counts of those who had been very close to him had prepared me for the sight of a very ugly man, not to say a facial deformity. Well, I frankly confess that I did not think him ugly at all. I could name straight off a half-dozen eminent men whom I have known, who were distinctly uglier than he. The great drawback to his appearance was his corpulence and shortness of stature, and both these disappeared to a great extent when he was in uniform and on horseback. I never saw him in mufti or on foot, and that may explain my disa- greement with the general opinion, though I do not stand alone in that disagreement. When the great sculptor Marochetti had finished the statue of Victor Emmanuel's father, Charles Albert, he openly said that he would have preferred carving that of the son ; then added — *' He is certainly not handsome, our sovereign ; but with him as a model, I could have produced a strik- ing, original work, for there is something picturesque, nay, savage and barbaric about him which would lend itself to a grandiose conception. In marble or bronze he would look like a chief of the Huns, a leader of barbarians. Put him on horseback, and his appearance will favourably compare with that of any prince or sover- eign in Europe, not excepting the Hohenzollerns and the Romanoffs." My younger uncle had virtually arrived at the same 6o My Paris Note-Book. conclusion several years before. ' ' I saw Victor Em- manuel riding by the side of the Emperor," he wrote in one of the notes referred to above, ' ' and plain as he may be in the conventional acceptation of the term, I could not help being struck by the face. I have never seen the like among the better classes, let alone among the members of the royal houses ; and yet he did not ap- pear a bit out of place amidst the brilliant cortege arpund him ; on the contrary, in spite of his short stature, he seemed to tower above them all, although there were some positive giants among them — Russian and Ger- man princes, I was told. The blue eyes, the fierce moustache, but, above all, that matchless, I might say phenomenal nose, impart an air of determination and obstinate daring which it is difficult to describe. I cannot say what the future may have in store for Victor Emmanuel and Italy ; but of one thing I feel certain — if that future has to be shaped by diplo- macy alone, and if that diplomacy has to be shaped by the son of Charles Albert, there will be no united Italy in his lifetime, for, on the face of it, he has not got an ounce oi finesse in him. Ferrari* told me yesterday that they have the greatest difficulty in making him dis- cuss a political question. The other night, however, d'AzegHo and some others of the King's suite were rubbing their hands with great glee. For nearly an hour the King was engaged in an apparently serious conversation with the Emperor ; both monarchs were evidently very pleased with one another, especially the Emperor, who, though he often smiles, rarely laughs. ^ Joseph Ferrari was an Italian by birth, but spent the greater part of his time in France. He was, and is still considered, one of the greatest authorities on the history of " Revolutionary Italy," but his book best known in France is " Philosophes Salaries." He died in Rome in 1876. My Paris Note-Book, 6i He was, however, heard to laugh outright twice or three times during that hour. Of course, every one stood respectfully aside, so that not a word of the conversation was overheard ; nevertheless, the Italians were delighted, for they felt certain that Victor Emmanuel was gradually becoming alive to the necessity of being a diplomatist as well as a soldier and sovereign. While we were talking, Ferrari and I, strolling up and down m front of Tor- toni's, my brother came up ; he was beaming all over his face, and chuckling to himself, as is his habit when pleased. I had not seen him since the early morning ; it had been my turn to attend to our gratuitous clientele^ and I knew that he intended to go to the Tuileries to request a favour of the Emperor for one of our proteges. * Did the Emperor promise you the place ?' I asked him the moment he joined us. * Yes,' was the answer ; ' I might have asked for anything I liked, for I never saw the Emperor so pleased as he was this morning. The whole of the transaction was settled in about five minutes, but I remained for more than two hours, during which the Emperor told me about a dozen of the funniest, but at the same time spiciest garrison and hunting stories I have ever heard. They all come from Victor Emmanuel, who, it appears, entertained him with them for an hour or more the other night, at the grand reception at the Tuileries. ' But the best of it was,' said the Emperor, 'that all the while his Majesty's aides-de-camp and sundry chamberlains stood at a distance looking as grave as owls, and taking it for granted that we were settling the map of Europe.' I looked at Ferrari, and Ferrari looked at me, but he walked away without saying a word." "Ferrari," says another note which Is obviously a sequel to the last, * * did not get over his disappointment e 6 62 My Paris Note-Book. for at least forty-eight hours. I met him this morning in company with d* Azeglio, to whom he introduced me. Ferrari had told him my brother's story, and almost as a matter of course the conversation turned on the subject of Victor Emmanuel's dislike of all restraint and eti- quette. ' He feels cramped and cabined at Court, even at his own,' remarked d' Azeglio. * I do not mean to say that he despises the arts and refinements of our epoch, but he feels a kind of pity for them. If he could have his way, the question of a united Italy would be settled in a day, without the aid of diplomacy, or without the aid of armies for that matter. He would simply chal- lenge every sovereign whom he considers an obstacle to the realisation of that idea, to single combat, Francis Joseph included. But he would hold his hand at Pius, even if Pius were as young and vigorous as he, Victor Emmanuel, is. Some of us call this feeling of moral fear — for I need not tell you that physical fear has no place in his heart — superstition ; others call it religion. Whatever it be, it will be productive of curious results in the final attempts to create a united Italy. We may live to see this, and then you'll remember my words.* Such armies as the Holy Father, whether it be Pius or his successor, will be able to call to his aid will not avail In the least finally, even if they succeed in checking Victor Emmanuel's advance at first ; but I'll tell you what would stop him, provided he himself headed his own troops — the Pope himself, in full pontificals, the triple tiara on his head, the ring of St. Peter on his finger, and the cross in his outstretched hand. Prac- tically, I am a more fervent Catholic, though perhaps not a more fervent Liberal, than the King, and I doubt whether such an appearance would make me recoil one » Massimo d' Azeglio did not live to see this. He died in 1866. My Paris Note-Book. 63 single step ; but it would have that effect upon Victor Emmanuel. In short, the King is, in my opinion, a phenomenon, for in spite of his illustrious origin, in spite of the advantages of education and surroundings, he is not only a stranger to all refinement, but it is throughout irksome to him. He does things for which it is almost logically impossible to account, and not out of mere affectation, but simply because his nature prompts him to do them. Here is one among many. A couple of years ago, during a shooting expedition round about the Col di Tende^ he and an intimate friend, having come considerably out of the way, were obliged to take shelter for the night in a poor peasant's hut, and what was worse, perhaps, in a poor peasant's hut the occupants of which as well as the hut were the reverse of clean or savoury. After their frugal supper, they gathered round the log fire, and whether it was the effect of the heat or something else, the friend, who was by no means squeamish, averted his face from their host, and persistently kept it averted until the king himself could not help noticing it. ' What's the matter ?' he asked in a low voice. ' Noth- ing much,' was the answer in the same tone; 'only this man smells Hke a wild beast in his den.* * Is that all,' laughed the King ; ' so should we if we didn't wash for a week.' 'Never to that extent, your Majesty.' * That's what you think ? Well, I'll make you a bet on it ; I'll try.' The King was as good as his word ; or, at any rate, he conscientiously endeavoured to win his wager. But at the end of the fifth day his friend re- spectfully put his arm on his. ' Your Majesty has won his wager, not at the end of the week, but in two days less.' Victor Emmanuel burst out laughing ; neverthe- less, according to the loser of the wager, ' he did not hurry to part with the trophies of his victory.* 64 My Paris Note-Book. * ' ' This is almost of a piece with what he does at La Mandria," continued d'AzegHo. 'Seeing that the walls with which he chose to enclose the demesne cost close upon a million of lire, I need not tell you that there was sufficient room to have built a comfortable dwelling-house away from the stables, cow-houses, and the rest, even if he wanted to indulge his dislike to staircases. He might have erected a dozen, nay a score, of one-storied houses. But, for no earthly reason whatever, he built a two-storied house, that is, a ground floor and a story atop of it, and lodged all his animals — a perfect menagerie, apart from the cows, horses, pigs, and poultry — on the ground floor, so that there is abso- lutely not a single living room into which the pungent smell from below does not penetrate. He maintains that it is the best soporific in the world. I pledge you my word that a soporific is the last thing he wants, as his officers sleeping in the apartment next to him know to their cost. Luckily, he is a very early riser, and does not mind in the least being left to tramp about the the farm by himself, or, for that matter, going out alone either in town or country. As for the place itself, part of it looks like a fourth or fifth rate zoological garden, and a badly-kept zoological garden, while the land, ex- cept in a few rare spots, is very poor. There are over 5000 hectares of it. The interior, with the exception of one room, is simply a model of discomfort to any one with the most elementary notions of comfort. Faded curtains ; very few carpets, and these all thread- bare ; rickety furniture. Save the chairs and tables, the former of which are uncompromisingly hard, there ' La Mandria, situated at about four miles from Turin, was Vic- tor Emmanuel's favourite residence, and was built by him for Rosina Vercellana, afterwards Contessa di Mirafiori. My Paris Note-Book, 65 is not an article that would not be contemptuously re- jected by the poorest country gentleman, and that means something, seeing that in our outlying districts and provincial towns we are not at all fastidious in those matters. And when one comes to the exceptional room in the house, the Contessa Rosina's drawing-room, one is inclined to envy the poverty of the remainder. To find the counterpart of that room in Paris, you would have to go to one of the large cafes on the outer Boule- vards just after it has been ' redecorated ;' large masses of gilding and looking-glasses everywhere, and the fur- niture in keeping with the whole. As for the Contessa di Mirafiori herself — I am giving her her new title, though I am confident that the people will never call her any- thing but Rosina — she is a good creature, provided you know how to manage her, which at times is by no means an easy task, just because at the first blush it seems easy. She has neither the ambition nor the intellect of a Maintenon, a Pompadour, or even of a DuBarry. Her afiection for Victor Emmanuel does not even spring from the causes that fascinated La Valliere. Unlike La Valliere, she does not love the King, because he is, in her opinion, the most brilliant among a brilliant throng ; for, in truth, the King is not very brilliant, nor his throng ; she simply loves him as the strong, healthy peasant lass loves the robust, vigorous peasant lad ; she would have loved him if he had been no more than one of her father' s fellow-soldiers — instead of being the first in the land — for Vercellana was only a trooper in the King's Bodyguard — a company like the Emperor's Cent Gardes — though he is an officer now. Rosina is as proud of her bodily strength as is the King, and seldom misses an opportunity of showing it. Here is an instance of such an exhibition, which, let me add, 6* 66 My Paris Note-Book. was contrived for a double purpose, showing that Ro- sina, though not possessed of a high order of intellect, can be very crafty when it suits her. About a twelve- month ago a very intimate and sincere friend of Victor Emmanuel felt convinced that Rosina had done him a bad turn, and slightly poisoned the King's mind against him. He felt determined not to sit down tamely under such injustice — to go and see the King and ask for an explanation. The King was in villegiatura, and had just sat down to breakfast with Rosina when the visitor was announced. I ought to tell you that the latter is one of the most splendid, stalwart creatures you would meet anywhere ; he is reputed to be the handsomest and strongest man in Piedmont. The moment he entered the room Rosina knew what he had come for ; so with- out giving him time to say a word, she got up, appar- ently overjoyed to see him, and flung herself with all her might on his breast. Taken unawares, he, of course, staggered for a moment under this vigorous welcome ; thereupon Rosina, beaming with delight, turned round, saying — "You see, Victor, you thought your friend very strong ; well, I nearly threw him down." The King laughed, his friend could but follow suit, and the danger of an explanation was averted — at least for that day. "'In spite of his embonpoint y^ d'Azeglio went on, * the King is not only very strong, but likes to appear stronger than he is. He has an almost undisguised contempt for weaklings; "carpet-knights" he posi- tively abhors, and he frequently inveighs about their "pomatums and cosmetics." And yet, he is not above using "make-up" himself, though not "for the sake of looking pretty, " as he styles their attempts. Truly, no such wish influences him — quite the contrary. It is not My Paris Note-Book. 67 generally known that originally the King's hair and moustache were fair. But on the morning of the battle of Novara he discovered that he did not look fierce enough. He would there and then have changed his ** milksop's appearance," as he called it, but, as you may imagine, the materials to that effect were not at hand. Certain it Is, however, that a few days later not only his hair and moustache had become darker, but the face was considerably tanned and sprinkled with brown spots, the result of the unskilful application of the dye. Since then he has grown somewhat more deft ; but at the best of times he is not very clever at * * faking, ' ' and as he hates barbers or valets to come near him, he often presents a comical sight, especially when he has been away from Rosina for a week or so, for when he is with her she attends to the operation. I really believe that It is about the only artifice of which Victor Emmanuel has ever been guilty. But now comes the funnier part of the story. Rosina also took a fancy to dyeing her hair. One of the officers in attendance upon His Majesty told her of the women of Titian, and of the particular hue of their tresses, and went as far as to get the necessary chemicals for Rosina. When the King heard of this he flew Into a towering rage, and Rosina was obliged to leave her really beautiful hair alone. I feel almost certain that It was the only dis- agreement they ever had, for they are really very united and fond of one another, and In this instance the close bond springs not from a dissimilarity of tastes and dis- position, but from a similarity. The conventionalities and restraints of ' * good society' ' are as irksome to her as to him. From the story of her flinging herself upon the neck of the visitor, in order to avoid an explanation, you may gather that she is not devoid of tact of a cer- 68 My Paris Note-Book. tain kind. She has the sense to know that she would be at a disadvantage among women of birth and educa- tion, whom, to her credit be it said, she never tries to ape in manners or speech, and so she avoids coming in contact with them. She is fond of the theatre, and when in Turin, goes very frequently ; but the higher form of the drama, and even the opera, does not appeal to her ; she likes a stirring melodrama or a roaring farce, by preference, with light, catchy tunes in it ; and though she always occupies a box, she never wears evening dress. In fact, to look at her, you might take her for a rich tradesman's wife with a taste for showy bonnets, loud colours, and glittering diamonds. It is in the ex- hibition of the latter that she is most often at fault ; for, even when in walking costume, she is absolutely smoth- ered in them. Like the majority of the women of the class whence she sprang, * ' she dresses to go out ;' ' at home, and especially at La Mandria, she is somewhat careless, though not untidy in her attire. Like the '* daughters of the people," she wears by preference the camisola, and a kirtle reaching to her ankles ; and it is rather curious to see the royal lover — the King of united Italy that is to be — and his favourite seated at breakfast. Her camisola is matched by his unbuttoned shirt. As often as not, there is not even a cloth on the table ; the salt lies in a heap by the King's plate ; he invariably empties the salt-cellar in that way, because it worries him to have to dip his spring onions, of which he eats a great quantity, and raw, into the salt-cellar. You look in vain for the bones on their plates ; if there be any of the former at all, they will be found on the floor, where the two or three dogs that are nearly always in the room have left them after having had their fill. Rosina is a fair trencher-woman, though, in comparison My Paris Note-Book. 69 to Victor Emmanuel's, her appetite may be said to be delicate, for the latter' s is almost phenomenal. Unlike most Italians, he eats a great deal of meat, though he by no means despises vegetables. A little while ago he was on a shooting expedition in his favourite region about the Col di Tende, and, as usual, they halted at a farmer's house for supper. I am told that the hosts on such occasions are invariably left in ignorance of the high position of their guest, but I have my doubts about the statement. Neither the King's appearance nor his face are likely to remain unnoticed in a crowd, let alone in an unfrequented, or little-frequented spot. Be this as It may, the supper on that occasion consisted of an enormous dish of veal cutlets. Towards the end of the meal, the King, whose plate was absolutely empty, seeing that he had given all his bones to the dogs, asked his nearest neighbour to guess the number of cutlets he, the King, had eaten. The oihcer, out of deference, perhaps, to his royal companion, answered that, though he had noticed the King ' ' being very busy," he had paid no particular attention to the num- ber of cutlets that had disappeared. * ' I should say three," he suggested modestly. Victor Emmanuel shook his head, and repeated the question to every one around. But they were all evidently determined not to overstep the first estimate of the King's appetite, until a Savoyard gentleman, an Intimate friend of the sover- eign, and as outspoken as he, settled the matter by say- ing that he had seen Victor Emmanuel help himself nine times. 'That's quite right,' laughed the King; 'I've eaten nine cutlets.' These are the stories," concluded d' Azeglio, ' ' with which he entertains Rosina ; for Ro- sina has to be entertained, not to say conciliated, espe- cially after a week or a fortnight's absence. She is ab- 70 My Paris Note-Book. solutely Incapable of fathoming the grandeur of the task in which Victor Emmanuel is engaged. Nay, more ; if ever she expresses an opinion on that task, which, truth to tell, is very seldom, it is to the effect that ' Victor would do better to look after his own, after what he's got,' as she puts it, and that the revenues of Piedmont are quite sufficient for his purpose and his wants, ' which, after all, are very small,' for she has no idea that the revenues of Piedmont are not the King's to do with just as he pleases. In reality, apart from her utter inability to understand these matters, she is very jealous of the King's every look and movement when away from her, and not without cause, though, whatever infidelities Victor Emmanuel may commit, he always returns to La Mandria with renewed zest. During one of those ab- sences lately, while he was presiding at a Council, there came a mounted messenger from La Mandria asking him to come back immediately. Of course, he could not leave like that, at a moment's notice, and he sent an answer in that sense. In a little over an hour the mes- senger returned with a second note, which this time he showed to his ministers, saying, ' Rosina wants to see me. I must go, for she threatens to fling her son out of the window if I don't go. I know her, and she would be as good as her word.' At present Rosina has only two children ; but she is not above twenty-three, and before the end there may be a dozen. It will not mat- ter much to the King ; on the contrary, I believe he would be very pleased, for he is exceedingly proud of these two, prouder, in fact, than of his legitimate off- spring, with whom he is always comparing them in point of health and strength, to the disadvantage of the latter, and somewhat unjustly, for I think the others are quite as vigorous and good-looking." My Paris Note-Book. 71 So far that particular note of my uncle, to which I have not been able to find a sequel, relating directly to ''^ la bella del Re^ I have, however, by me some per- sonal notes, resulting from conversations with Ferrari and others, and which, though not so amusing from an anecdotical point of view, are perhaps quite as interest- ing from a historical. If possible, I will give them at some future time. Meanwhile, it would appear that my uncle told the Emperor a few days afterwards about the scene on the Boulevards, and the disappointment of Ferrari, and incidentally repeated part of d'Azeglio's re- marks about Victor Emmanuel's attachment to Rosina Vercellana. The Emperor seemed very much inter- ested, nodded his head significantly several times, and finally gave his own personal and private opinion. ' ' Up till now," he said, ''there is not much harm done, and provided he does not contract a morganatic marriage with her, there will be no harm done. I need scarcely tell you that the greatest mistake Louis XIV. ever com- mitted was to marry Mme. de Maintenon, and though the Comtesse de Mirafiori has probably not a tithe of widow Scarron's brain or ambition, that kind of union is always a dangerous experiment. ' * 72 My Paris Note-Book. CHAPTER IV. A chapter on the Comedie-Franjaise^My reasons for writing it — A country has the drama and theatrical institutions it deserves — Causerie, not history — My first glimpse of the late Augustine Brohan— Few of those whom I saw in my youth remain— Edmond Got— Got and Emile Augier— The genesis of Les Fourcham- ^'flw//— Theatrical Paris in 1861 — Les Effrontes—'LoViis Veuillot and Emile Augier— Got's preparation for playing Bernard — Got's preparations for playing Rabbi David Sichel— Got and M. Isi- dore, the late Chief Rabbin of France— Proposed epitaph for Parade — Got's extensive reading— Got and Mounet-Sully — Mounet-Sully as an actor— "A ladder for M. Mounet-Sully"— Got and Raoul Rigault of the Commune — The mise en scene of the Comedie-Franfaise — A retrospective view — The late M. Emile Perrin and some other administrators of the Comedie-Franjaise — A curious official mistake — MM. Erckmann-Chatrian and their beginnings— Mr. Henry Irving and "The Bells" — Got in search of a piano — His interview with the superior of a convent — Nourrit, the celebrated tenor, and King Bomba — The supe- rior's eye for the main chance— Got's diplomacy — The brasserie V Esperance— Brasseries of former days — A mot of Augustine Brohan. In his * * HIstoire des Petlts Theatres de Paris depiiis leur Origine," Nicolas Brazier tells the following anec- dote. In 1 8 14, when the Allied Armies entered Paris, a Russian officer was heard to inquire anxiously for his nearest way to the Comedie-Fran9aise, and, the neces- sary information having been obtained, seen to drive straight off to the Rue de Richelieu, to secure his seats for that very evening. This story must be the apology for my having devoted so large a space in these notes to the Com6die-Fran9aise in particular, and theatrical doings My Paris Note-Book. 73 in general ; for I fancy that the interest in those doings has increased rather than diminished, especially with educated English and American readers, since the begin- ning of the century, and in this instance I do not profess to write for any other class. But they must not expect long dissertations on the comparative merits of the French and English stages, nor would-be-profound criti- cisms. If I have any opinions at all on the subject, I intend to keep them rigorously to myself Montesquieu has said that every country has the government it deserves. I think that the same might be said with regard to a nation's dramatic literature and theatrical institutions ; besides, when a man who is no longer in the prime of Hfe, and who has never been addicted to frolics, has taken off his coat and hat, turned up his shirt-sleeves, and carried a band-box for an actress — even the greatest of her time — in order to be present at a dress rehearsal, from which the author of the piece was determined to exclude any and every journalist, that man has virtually abdicated all claim to the title of a serious historian of the drama. He is at best but an anecdote-monger, a chronicler of small talk, a gossiper. I am, after all, no more than that ; and if I should suc- ceed now and then in amusing others, it is because I have strictly fulfilled the essential condition becoming a causeur ; for many, many years I have listened a good deal. Auguste Vacquerie, Victor Hugo's most intimate friend and staunchest admirer, has laid it down that ^^ savoirparler, n' est que s avoir par ler ; savoir qkvs^^^ c' est savoir parler et ecoutery For the first three or four years after my introduction to the green-room of the Com^die-Frangaise, which happened early in the sixties, I did not open my lips once a week, except to answer a question. To begin with, I was too young, 7* 74 My Paris Note-Book. and though my grand-uncles were by no means starched or conventional in their mode of bringing me up, they would have gently but firmly resented any attempt of mine to take part in the conversation, even when I had reached the age of twenty. Secondly, on the evening of my first visit to the green-room of the Comedie- Fran9aise, the late Augustine Brohan was engaged in a " trial of wit," to use the stereotyped expression, with three or four would-be young admirers, and she posi- tively frightened me out of my wits — I do not mean to perpetrate an atrocious pun, but am merely recording a sober fact. I judged the whole of her fellow actors and actresses by her. In after years, I learned to discrim- inate between real wit and flippant mechancete^ and fancied that I would not have been afraid to pit myself against her in the latter respect ; but for the moment I was stricken dumb in her presence. For at least a decade she had the effect of a wet blanket on me. When I heard Albert Chevalier sing, *' It isn't what he says; it's the nasty way he says it," I was irresistibly reminded of Augustine Brohan, to whom, in the course of these pages, I shall probably refer again. But few of those whom I saw there in my young days remain ; most of them are dead ; the rest have retired from the stage. The woman I was afraid of was laid to rest last year ; Bressant, whom I admired more than any actor of his time in his own parts ; Regnier and Samson, two geniuses in their own way, have gone over to the majority long ago ; Delaunay and Febvre, the latter a new-comer at the period of which I treat, have said farewell to the public to all intents and purposes ; Madame Madeleine Brohan no longer delights us with her finished impersonations ; Madame Judith, after she became Madame Bernard-Derosnes, took to her hus- My Paris Note-Book. 75 band's profession, and gives the French some admirable translations of Miss Braddon's novels and others. For- tunately, among those who still bear an active part in upholding the prestige of the " House of Moliere" is Edmond Got — a host in himself, and one of the men of whom I have a most vivid recollection, both as an artist and as a man, for he is no less admirable in the latter than in the former capacity ; as such I may be permitted to dwell upon him at greater length than on any of the others. Lest this praise should seem exaggerated, I give an anecdote which I had from the late Emile Augier him- self, and I am the more inclined to do this, seeing that it supplies, as it were, the genesis of the last, and per- haps the most remarkable piece that came from the great play-wright's pen. I am alluding to Les Four- chambault, for the failure of which on the English stage, under the title of ' ' The Crisis, ' ' I have never been able to account. The author and the actor had been college chums, but college chums such as one rarely meets with nowadays, except in novels and plays. They climbed the ladder of fame together, and but for their mutual aid, the ascent might have been slower than it was. There is great doubt whether, clever as were Les Effrontes and Le Fils de Giboyer^ they would have withstood the ordeal of hostile criticism as successfully as they did, but for Got's abso- lutely electrical acting. I remember the premiere of Les Effrontes as well as if it had been yesterday, though exactly thirty-three years have elapsed as I write about it. They were rehearsing Tannhauser at the Opera in that month of January 1861. It was bitterly cold, large masses of ice were obstructing the navigation of the Seine ; the Second Empire was in all its glory ; the New 76 My Paris Note-Book. Year's reception at the Tuileries had been most brilliant, for every one was congratulating every one else on the victories of the French armies in China ; Graziani, Gar- doni, and Mile. Marie Battu were drawing crowded houses at the Italian Opera ; the public were besieging the Vaudeville, at that time situated on the Place de la Bourse, to see Sardou's Femmes Fortes ; the Gymnase turned money away every night with another of Augier's pieces — that one written in collaboration with Jules San- deau ; but what I remember that particular January most by was by my New Year's present, which came directly from Napoleon III., though it was not handed to me personally. It was a set of newly-minted silver coins, with the laurel-wreathed head of the Emperor. I had them four days before the end of the year, and for the next six weeks people were vainly trying to get them. Napoleon III. was present at the first performance of Les Fffrontes, and stayed till the very end, frequently giving the signal for applause. Subsequently, he had to take up the cudgels for Augier against his detractors and assailants, the most violent of whom was Louis Veuillot, the clerical champion, who, as was his wont, indulged in personal vituperation, and called Augier's grandfather, Pigault Lebrun, "a gaol-bird." There- upon, Augier sent his seconds to Veuillot, who refused to fight on the ground of religious scruples. Augier took his revenge, and gave a striking portrait of the polemist in the sequel to Les Fffrontes, viz. , Le Fils de Giboyer. He called Veuillot ' ' a juggler before the Holy Ark," to which the "saintly man" replied that he was only the * ' * chucker-out' of the establishment, appointed specially to take by the scruff of the neck the rowdy jokers and ill-behaved dogs that might trouble the divine service." My Paris Note-Book. 77 I repeat, clever as were these pieces, they might have met with a different fate but for the electrical acting of Got, for every now and then they drag. On the other hand, it is but fair to say that this was the grandest op- portunity Got had had until then, and he had been a societaire for over eleven years. French actors have before now been indebted for great chances to play- wrights, and it is generally the latter who have proved the more grateful. In the instances of Got and Augier, the gratitude was absolutely mutual, though, as both often said, ' ' The bonds of friendship could not very well be closer than they are. " "To arrive at a more intense feeHng for one another," added Augier, on the occasion of his telling me the story of Les Four- chambault, ''one of us would have to be changed into a woman." Then he went on. "I had produced nothing for several years, and my comrade, more tena- cious of my reputation than I was myself, regretted this, especially in view of the frequently recurring suc- cessful productions of Dumas and Sardou. Got was frequently urging me to write a new play, but, as a rule, I shook my head, until one evening during a conversa- tion in the green-room an idea struck me. ' Perhaps you are right,' I said of a sudden. 'It won't do, maybe, to get more rusty than I am already. I think I will write you a new part.' I never saw my old friend's countenance change so suddenly as at that moment. He looked positively distressed, and after a while he replied in a tone of protest — ' You misunder- stood me, that was not what I meant when I asked you to write a new play. I do not want you to write a new part for me ; my capabilities in that respect are pretty nigh exhausted. You and others have pretty well drawn everything I could represent. Besides, I have neither 7* 78 My Paris Note-Book. the time nor the inclination to study a new part. ' ' Don't you worry about that,' I answered, for, having once got hold of my idea, I clung to it ; 'don't you worry about that. There will be no need for you to study or to polish your part. I am merely going to photograph the real Got as I know him, a good sort, a good chum ; in short, a thorough brick.' '* That was the commencement ofLes Fourchambault, and all those who know my old friend agree that Ber- nard is only Got under another name, and that, given the circumstances. Got would have acted as did Bernard. Conscious, however, as was Got from the beginning of the similarity of character between himself and the ship- owner whom I had drawn, he was equally aware that the outer man could not be like him either in speech or in manners. He felt more worried about this than I did, for I knew that, come what might, he would get over the difficulty. I knew exactly what he would do, though he did not suspect me of divining his thoughts. It turned out exactly as I expected ; for three or four weeks running he was absent from Paris for a whole day and night, and no one seemed to know whither he had gone. Serious as they appear to be in the Rue de Richelieu, they are fond of a joke, and in this instance they relished the one they had concocted more than usually, for they thought they were speaking the truth when they said — ' Voila que Got se derange malntenant.' With his never-relaxing conscientiousness, he had simply put himself Into communication with an intimate ac- quaintance at Havre, taken a few trips to the seaport, and from half-a-dozen individuals constructed a type which I have no hesitation in proclaiming to be one of, if not the most perfect on the modern stage. ' ' Augler was right ; Bernard is one of the most won- My Paris Note-Book. 79 derful creations of the modern stage, just because at the first blush ' * there is nothing in it. ' ' It was a far more diffi- cuh task to portray Bernard than to portray Rabbi David Sichel in H Ami Fritz ^ for in the latter case there were many salient points to get hold of ; there was the dress, the gait, the gesture, the diction, the accent, and above all, the facial play of the provincial Jewish minister, who, in spite of his oflicial position, does not occupy a very elevated plane in society. In that, as in the later study, Got adopted the same method. He went to M. Isidore, the late Grand Rabbin of France, and told him of his predicament ; and the latter invited the actor to supper one Friday night, when there were gathered around his hospitable board a dozen or more models to choose from. They were not hampered by the conventionalities of ''good society," which enjoins, even in France, the duty of not displaying one's feelings physiognomically, orally, or plastically, which votes picturesque attitudes *' bad form," decrees the adoption of a certain diapason irrespective of emotion, and bids the features to remain stolid whether in joy or sorrow. The comedian had only to single out one specimen, and to reproduce his peculiarities in every detail, which, in fact, he did. That's how Got "constructs," or ** composes," as the French say, his characters, plus his own brains, as Opie would have remarked. That such an artist should have no history apart from his profession is not unnatural. There are, however, two utterly different ways of looking at one's profession. One man considers it a watch-tower, the altitude of which gives him greater facilities for surveying his fel- low-creatures ; another considers it merely the top of a wall enclosing the whole of the world, beyond which there is nothing worthy of his attention. When that 8o My Paris Note-Book. very clever actor Parade died a few years ago, some of his old comrades were discussing in the cafi next to the Vaudeville a suitable inscription for his gravestone. For the better guidance of the reader, I may inform him that I am alluding to the Cafe Am6ricain ; but I wish to add that with regard to the clientele of this famous house of entertainment, ' ' the evening and the morning are not one day." Having pointed this out, I proceed. We were, then, discussing a suitable epitaph, when one of the brothers Lionnet, both of whom play-goers of the last generation but one are sure to remember, re- marked — " Save an allusion to his eminence in his pro- fession, I fail to see what one could put on that grave- stone, except that 'he played baccarat and did not draw at five.' " The whole of Parade was painted in that one sentence. Not his greatest detractors — if he have any, which I doubt — would accuse Got of such onesidedness ; he and Febvre are men of extensive reading, and need not yield the palm in that respect to their famous predecessor at the Comldie, Regnier. Got's literary baggage is, however, very small ; it con- sists of a solitary operatic libretto, entitled Frangois Villon ; but those competent to judge have voted it a small masterpiece from a literary point of view. Apropos of this extensive reading, and the use Got makes of it in everyday life, the late M. Emile Perrin, of whom I shall have occasion to speak now and then in these pages, told me a rather amusing anecdote. The late Administrator-General was, though a clever man, by no means a sprightly one, especially in busi- ness hours; and he disliked "scenes." M. Mounet- Sully, who has considerably toned down within the last ten years, did not always have his temper under control, and there were many violent altercations at the meet- My Paris Note-Book. 8i ings of the Board of Management, of which the famous representative of the heroes of Shakespeare and Victor Hugo is a member. Animated by the best intentions, he had, Uke Lamartine, the misfortune to fancy himself a great authority on financial and economical questions, and, as such, objected frequently to M. Perrin's lavish expenditure in the way of scenery, adjuncts, and dresses. I am afraid I shall puzzle the reader by call- ing M. Mounet-SuUy an idealist and naturalist in one, so I hasten to explain. Hamlet, Othello, Orestes, Hippolyte, Hernani, Ruy-Blas and Rodrigue are to M. Mounet-Sully not the mere creations of the poet's fancy, but beings that have existed in the flesh. He can enter fully into the motives that swayed their actions, which, extravagant as they may seem to sober- minded people, are perfectly logical to him ; if pressed very hard, he would probably admit that they spoke as the poet makes them speak. He would fain endow the public with his own imagination ; and where he himself is concerned, he succeeds to a marvellous extent. So far so good. But they refuse to see with their mind's eyes the battlements of Elsinore, the sunlit island of Cyprus, the majestic cathedrals of Spain ; they want all these pictorially represented to them, and M. Mounet- Sully, who, his idealism notwithstanding, is naturalistic enough to rehearse for weeks in his stage clothes, so as to get used to them and destroy their unpractical, brand-new look, called the public names in consequence, and nearly always discussed M. Perrin's budget, where it related to such adjuncts, in violent terms. There was no means of stopping him until Got one day bethought himself of a masterly move. Some time before that he had told Mounet-Sully the well-known story of Ed- mund Kean lashing himself into a rage by shaking a / 82 My Paris Note-Book. ladder before entering upon the grand scene of The Merchant of Venice. ' ' Here you have got your real artist," exclaimed Mounet-Sully, carried away by admiration. A characteristic trait of Mounet-Sully' s was that, like Beethoven in some of his sympho- nies, he prefaced the storm by peaceful, gentle strains. Mounet-Sully nearly always began by dis- claiming all idea of making himself disagreeable ; the moment they heard such protestations, his fellow- com- mitteemen knew what to expect. On the occasion in question, Mounet-Sully was softly delivering his pream- ble, when in the middle of it Got held up his hand and asked permission of M. Perrin to ring the bell. "A ladder for M. Mounet-Sully," said Got to the attendant who answered the summons. Then turning to his com- rades, he explained — ' ' The ladder will facilitate the busi- ness, as in the case of Kean." The tragedian sat as if thunderstruck, but there was no scene during that meet- ing, and subsequently, whenever he showed signs of becoming restless, the order was repeated. There is no longer any necessity for doing so, for Mounet-Sully has become one of M. Claretie's most valuable coadjutors in budgetary questions, but the conversion has given rise to a delightful saying at the Com6die : ' ' Mounet s'agite et Got le mene." Anglice : " Mounet proposes and Got disposes." ' ' After all, ' ' said Got one evening more than fifteen years ago, when he told us this story, * ' after all, Mou- net' s bark is worse than his bite (il offense plus qu'il ne punit), and I have tamed more formidable creatures, and not only more formidable, but more vicious." We knew^ that we were in for a good thing, and gathered round him, for Got is at all times reluctant to talk about himself, and when for the nonce he relaxes this reserve, My Paris Note-Book. 83 one has to seize the opportunity. ''It's the only time I felt my head very insecure on my shoulders," the comedian went on. ' ' It was during the Commune, and we were going to London. There might and there might not have been a difficulty for the elder members of the Comedie, but," this with a jolly smile, "there was Delaunay" — Delaunay must have been consider- ably over fifty at the time — "and Laroche, and several other youngsters whom we wanted to take with us, and who, in virtue of their youth, came under the provisions of the new decree of incorporation into the battalions of the Commune, issued by the Central Committee. To have attempted to take our young comrades out of Paris with us without some kind of passport would have not only resulted in their arrest, but in the arrest of all of us, and, by common consent, I was selected, as the doyen of the Comedie, to beard the hyena in his lair, for, really and truly, it is no misnomer to apply the word to Raoul Rigault and his coadjutor Dacosta. So I made my way to the Prefecture, and, after a good deal of preliminary inquisition, was ushered into the presence of ' the delegate at the police. ' I have seen a great many villainous faces in my time. I rarely saw a more villainous, and if there was one drop of the milk of human kindness in Rigault' s disposition, he ought to have brought an action for libel against nature for having given him such a face. Not on account of its ughness, for I do not think it was very ugly, but on ac- count of its fiendish expression. His reception of me was exactly what I expected. He put up his eye-glass, and when I told him the nature of my business, looked me down from head to foot and began to grin. I con- sidered it best to grin too, and waited silently. * So you want to give the signal for deserting the Commune 84 My Paris Note-Book. at the very moment when Versailles is making up its mind to attack us ?' he said, scowling at me as hard as he could scowl. ' These young men for whom you want passports no doubt consider play-acting a higher mission than shouldering a musket in defence of their country. Let me tell you that I would not give twopence for the whole of that crew.' Curiously enough," Got inter- rupted himself, ' ' Rigault at that moment reminded me of my former colonel, when I told him years ago of my intention to leave the service when my term had expired. 'What,' he yelled, 'you want to leave the regiment to go a-play-acting, and at the very time you have got your first promotion. Very well ; go back to your paint and tinsel. If you had remained here you might have become a marechal des logis (quartermaster-sergeant) ; among that lot you'll never be anything at all.' But I bit my tongue and said nothing. I merely continued to grin, for I saw plainly enough that the slightest remark on my part would set him in a blaze. Seeing that I did not answer, he went on in the same strain, until at last I perceived a little opening to put a word in. ' What good would our remaining do to the Commune ? I do not suppose it wants Mascarilles or Scapins, ' I observed in a slightly bantering tone, though I pledge you my word that I felt by no means in a bantering mood. The public and the critics have often praised me for my act- ing ; if one of them had been able to see me on that day, they would have called me a Garrick or a Talma, I feel sure, for never before or since have I acted as I did then. I knew that one unguarded movement, one mis- placed word, would mean imprisonment, and I knew equally well what imprisonment meant, so I merely continued to grin until Rigault left off grinning and burst into laughter. ' You' re a d . . . good sort, ' he My Paris Note-Book.. 85 roared ; ' you are . . . ' I followed suit Immediately. ' I am trying to be the best d . . . sort possible,' I roared in unison. ' Well, you shall have your permits,' he went on. ' For Laroche and the others ?' ' For citizens La- roche and the others ; but take care you do not make yourself a nuisance anymore.' 'In order to prevent my being a nuisance, you should give me the permits at once.' 'At once! at once!' he repeated; 'that kind of thing requires time.' 'Time! time!' I said, imitating him as well as possible ; ' it does not require much time. All it wants is some paper and a pen, ' ' tout ce qu' 11 faut pour ecrire. " ' ' " Tout ce qu' 11 faut pour ecrire," as that idiot of a Scribe said in his idiotic plays. ' ' As that idiot of a Scribe said In his idiotic plays,' I echoed. 'After all, that won't take long.' 'That's true; you are right. Dacosta, give me some paper. Here are your permits ; and now, be off as quickly as you can, and let me hear no more of you and your mummers.' " Subsequently, Got had to confess that there were people who, if not so dangerous as Raoul Rigault, were harder "to get over" than he. In order, however, to place this story In its suitable frame, I must be allowed to say a few words about the properties of the Comedie- Frangalse. I again beg to remind the reader that these pages are absolutely made up of random notes, pri- marily collected with the object to amuse, but not dis- daining to convey an Interesting bit of Information to the student of history, literature, and art, as well as to the mere lover of anecdote. For many years I was a constant visitor to the Biblio- theque Nationale — the Bibliotheque Imp6riale that was — and among my most favourite researches were those connected with the stage. The man who as a lad of 8 86 My Paris Note-Book. eleven was taken to see Rachel and every other theatri- cal and operatic celebrity, visiting the capital as well as the second most important town of Holland, who had sat spell-bound at the questionable talent of that curious negro actor Ira Aldridge when he came accompanied by a German company, he being the only one performing in English, the lad who a year or so before that had been a member of a "Children's Comedy Company," under the management of Mr. Edouard van Biene, the eldest brother of Mr. Auguste van Biene ; that lad was almost sure to preserve his taste for things theatrical in his later life. Among the extracts from these MSS. in the Bibho- theque Nationale, I have before me several, dealing with the question of scenery, dresses, and properties of the French stage in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. I am aware that in a book of this kind such notes are somewhat out of place. ''Anybody might have collected them," says the impatient reader. ''True ; but no one did ;" consequently they are, as it were, voices from the past. Besides, in this instance they are not voluminous. As a rule— the comedies of Moliere were the excep- tion — the stage represented a palace, or a room — un palais a volont^, or une chambre a quatre partes, as the original has it. The first was used as a frame for heroic tragedy — no matter whether the scene was laid in Greece, Rome, or elsewhere ; the second when less ex- alted personages had to be shown ' ' in their habit as they lived." They might be Spaniards, as in Corneille's Cid, where the action of the whole of the five acts is unfolded in the said "room with four doors," or they might be Assyrians ; the local colour of their surround- ings was deemed of no importance : the play was the My Paris Note-Book. 87 thing. And when at last the French comedians, stimu- lated by the example of the Opera, did make an attempt at a little more accuracy, they took care to emulate the thrift of which Hamlet speaks. In 1702 they order a new set of scenery for a tragedy entitled Montezume^ but with the express proviso that it shall be aussi peu Mexicain que possible (textual), so that it may be used for other tragedies. Moliere's Psyche was written for the express purpose of utilising a magnificent set repre- senting the ' ' lower regions, ' ' which originally had been painted for the Italian opera of Ercole Ajnante, per- formed before Cardinal Mazarin, thus showing that Mr. Vincent Crummies with his pump was an unconscious plagiarist, and that the late Mr. Wills was worse when he mutilated Holtei's Lorbeerbaum und Bettelstab in his "Man o' Airlie," lest a statue he had modelled should be lost to the admiration of the public. I agree with Moliere that a dramatist ' ' pent prendre son bien o^ il le trouve," but I object to the dramatist taking * * son mal la ou il ne le trouve pas. ' ' To return to my subject. The indifference to topo- graphical and chronological accuracy in the matter of scenery continued to prevail as late as the most flour- ishing period of Scribean comedy. The Com6die-Fran- gaise, thanks to the persistent efforts of the masters of the Romanticist School, was perhaps not so flagrantly ridiculous in that respect as the rest of the Paris theatres, in which, even late in the sixties, I have seen comedies and melodramas of sterling value enacted amidst sur- roundings and with adjuncts that would not have been tolerated at a London transpontine play-house at that period. And the difference between the Comedie-Fran- 9aise and the rest — with the exception of the Gymnase under Montigny — was one of degree rather than of 88 My Paris Note-Book. kind. With the advent of M. Arsene Houssaye, the first serious blow at the old-fashioned system of ' ' mak- ing things do" was aimed. Since then the Com6die- Frangaise has pursued a steadily progressive policy ; but I have an idea that in the matter of scenic reform, England has outstripped her nearest Continental neigh- bour — nay, the French will tell us now and then that we are ' ' overdoing the thing. ' ' I fancy the question might be solved by a conscientious examination of the respective values of ' ' realism' ' and ' ' impressionism. ' ' To the late M. Perrin belongs the credit of having manfully upheld the new reform inaugurated by M. Arsene Houssaye, and it is not disparaging M. Jules Claretie's artistic capabilities to say that the utmost he can do is to follow in his immediate predecessor's foot- steps. A little while ago I ventured to remark, that a nation has not only the government, but the dramatic literature and theatrical institutions she deserves. What- ever France may deserve in the way of government, she decidedly deserves her Comedie-Fran9aise, for Re- publicans and Legitimists, Imperialists, and Constitu- tional Monarchists alike, have for at least a half-century vied with one another in keeping up its prestige. Ne- potism and corruption may have been rife in every de- partment of the public service ; but no Minister of Public Instruction, or Director of Fine Arts under him, has ever attempted, for the last forty-five years at least, to select as Administrator- General of the Comedie- Fran^alse a man who had not already made his name in some other branch of art. By preference the minis- ter selected a man versed in the literature of his coun- try, for, if as the French say, ' ' literature in France may lead to any and every thing, even to a bed in the hospital, and to a pauper's grave;" it has also fre- My Paris Note-Book. 89 quently led to the Administratorship of the Comedie- Fran9aise. During the time mentioned, there has been only one man at the head of affairs in the Rue de Richelieu who was not a litterateur by profession — namely, the late M. Emile Perrin. Seveste, the imme- diate predecessor of M. Arsene Houssaye, does not count. It is not libelling his memory to say that no minister would have appointed him. In spite of all his shortcomings, he was placed in his position by the Comedians themselves ; Samson and Regnier, the two most literary and cultured comedians of their time, de- liberately setting at defiance the laws that govern the Com6die-Fran9aise, in order to gratify their political passions. For this happened at the beginning of the Second Republic. Much may be pardoned to French- men under such circumstances. Good cometh out of evil, notwithstanding the Biblical warning to the con- trary, and we must not forget that the Comedie-Fran- 9aise, as we see it to-day, is in reality the outcome of the scission of a company much more divided by political hatred than by professional jealousy. I, on the other hand, must not forget that I am not writing history. The appointment of the late M. Emile Perrin, then, was the only exception to the rule that had prevailed for many years, though that appointment would have never been made but for a mistake that happened long ago. After the Revolution of '48, Emile Perrin, who was a painter and a pupil of Gros and Delaroche, and Perrin' s brother, who knew a great deal about litera- ture, were warmly recommended to the then Minister of Public Instruction — Emile for a curatorship of one of the museums, his brother for the directorship of one of the subsidised theatres. Both were successful in their 8* 90 My Paris Note-Book. applications, but through a curious error of one of the clerks, the Christian names were changed In the official decrees appointing them, and Emile, the painter, be- came the director of the Op^ra-Comlque, while his brother, with very distinct literary tendencies, was sent as curator to the museum at Rouen. EmIle Perrin took a liking to his new occupation, and some years later simply * ' stepped across the way' ' from the Place Boiel- dleu to the Rue Le Pelletier, where, in spite of the glorious memory of Dr. Louis V6ron, who had mounted and staged the first grand opera Meyerbeer composed for the Parisians, he amazed the sons of these Parisians by his gorgeous production of the composer's last — r Africaine. At the beginning of the Third Republic, when Halanzier took the direction of the Academic Natlonale de Muslque, M. Thiers appointed Emile Perrin to the Administratorship of the Com6dIe-Fran- 9alse. Now, It must not be inferred for a moment that Emile Perrin was a great painter, or that he would have become one, if. Instead of taking to theatrical man- aging, he had pursued his original career ; but I may safely say, that no great artist ever understood the blending of shades better than he, and his technical art — training made him a true coUaborateur of the scenic artists he employed, instead of a hindrance, as are many managers, who are not only absolutely Igno- rant of the laws of perspective, composition, &c., but unwilling to admit that ignorance. If the dead could speak, and the living would speak, the shades of Clark- son-Stanfield, David Roberts, and Beverley, and the voices of those who have so worthily succeeded them, would give us the explanation of the frequent but start- ling spectacle of a David looking in at Goliath's second- floor bedroom, without as much as standing on tiptoe. My Paris Note-Book. 91 With men like Emile Perrin, and his immediate suc- cessor, with whom we may meet again, such things be- come impossible, and the stage becomes a banquet to the eye as well as to the intellect. Emile Perrin was too sensible to devote all his ener- gies to the attainment of scenic perfection only ; he was probably the ' ' greatest fidget, ' ' with regard to proper- ties, that ever ruled the destinies of the ' ' House of Moliere," and this "fidgetiness" brings me to Got's second encounter with adversaries * ' harder to concili- ate than Raoul Rigault" — I am quoting his own words. The absence of M. Coquelin aine during the late visit of the Comedie-Frangaise to London deprived us of the pleasure of seeing Erckmann-Chatrian's Rajitzau ; but those who have heard Mascagni's opera founded on the piece, will remember that the action of it is laid in Alsace during the late twenties, and that in the second act there is a piano in the room. The difficulty was to find the piano of the period, and Perrin would be satis- fied with nothing but the real thing, or a very close simulacrum. He listened most attentively to all the suggestions for having one manufactured, a grim smile playing on his lips. "There is but one objection to what you say," he remarked quietly, as was his wont ; ' ' where will you get the model to copy from ? Consult any piano manufacturer who knows his business, and he will tell you that the difference between the instru- ment of to-day and that of sixty years ago" — Les i?<2;z/^<22^ was produced in March 1882 — "does not lie so much in the outside as in the inside. An old en- graving, therefore, would not advance you in the least. And if you did get a genuine model, would it not be more sensible to buy or borrow it, and so save unneces- sary trouble ?' ' 92 My Paris Note-Book. There is one member of the Com6die-Fran9aise upon whom words of wisdom are never lost, Edmond Got. He forthwith began to consult some of the friends of his youth, giving them an exact description of what he wanted. One of these, a lady, remembered having learnt her scales on such an instrument, but at the death of her mother, when she had already set up housekeeping for herself, she had parted with it to a young musician, who since then had made a name, but who, alas, was in the sere and yellow leaf By dint of cudgelling his brain, the superannuated composer man- aged to recollect that he had disposed of the piano years ago to a convent. He offered to give Got a letter of introduction to the Lady Superior ; and provided with these credentials the comedian made his way to the Rue d'Enfert Rochereau. " The moment I had rung the bell, ' ' said Got, ' ' I felt Uke taking to my heels ; but while I was making up my mind, a key was turned in the door, and I found myself face to face with a Sister, who told me to wait in the courtyard while she took the letter to the Superior. In a few moments she returned. ' Monsieur has come for the piano,' she remarked, taking stock of me as if I were some strange, outlandish ani- mal. ' If Monsieur will come along with me, the Supe- rior will show it to him.' On the threshold of the in- ner building, in fact, the Superior stood waiting for me, and she took me through a couple of seemingly end- less passages, with a great number of doors on each side — the doors of the nuns' cells, as I discovered after- wards — while another Sister came on behind, making a terrific din all the while with a large bell she carried. For the life of me I could not make out the meaning of that incessant clanging, until I suddenly remembered the wording of the musician's letter — 'I have the My Paris Note-Book. 93 honour to present to you M. Got, of the Comedie- Frangaise, who is desirous of buying the old piano which I sold to the convent years ago, and of which he stands in the most urgent need.' To these 'simple souls ' I was an actor, and as such excommunicated by the Church, and every one who could, had to get out of my way. That's why the bell kept clanging, for, my eyes being opened, I immediately noticed what I may call the ' spasmodic ' closing of several doors as I went along. Instinctively I hung my head, not from shame, but to discover whether there might not be some faint odour of sulphur about me. At last we got to a small room with a grand piano in it, but not at all the instru- ment of M. Perrin's dreams. Its age was right enough, but there was no individuality about it. It might have done as a makeshift, and I asked the price. I was told five hundred francs. I shook my head, and remarked that a bric-a-brac dealer would have asked me about twenty francs. ' That may be, ' replied the Lady Supe- rior, 'but you would have to find it first, and your friend says that you stand in urgent need of it. Besides, we are virtually doing a wrong thing in dispos- ing of the instrument for so profane an entertainment as a theatrical performance.' * ' I ventured to point out to the worthy Superior that Erckmann-Chatrian's play aimed at inculcating a highly moral, nay, a divine lesson — that of forgiveness between brothers ; but her answer almost took my breath away, or would have done, if I had not had a precedent of it in my own recollection. ' There may be truth in what you say, ' remarked the Superior, ' but the Church ex- plicitly discountenances all attempts of the stage to usurp her functions, and preaching that lesson ' ' from behind the footlights, ' ' I think you call it, ' she added 94 My Paris Note-Book. with a smile, ' is distinctly usurping the functions of the Church. ' * ' The reply instantly reminded me of an episode in the life of Nourrit, after he had voluntarily exiled him- self at Naples, not from jealousy but from ungrounded fear of Duprez. The story was told to me by my pro- fessor, Provost. I don't think it is generally known, so I give it you here. Provost had it from Auber or Doni- zetti himself, but I am not certain which. Nourrit signed an engagement with the celebrated impresario Barbaja, the same who brought out Rossini's Barbief de Seville. As a matter of course, though afraid of Duprez, Nourrit was anxious to try conclusions with his rival, and he chose for his debut Guillaume Tell^ seeing that Duprez had selected the same for his debut in Paris. *' But in those days King Bomba reigned at Naples. It is only fair, though, to the memory of this idiotic would-be tyrant, to say that Nourrit would have been looked upon by every European monarch of that time as a dangerous firebrand, for, during the Revolution of 1830, he had made it a point of singing 'the Marseil- laise' in and out of season, in fact, he had, in the opinion of many competent judges, distinctly impaired his voice by so doing. No sooner, therefore, did the notice go forth of Nourrit' s proposed debut in Guil- laume Tell than the Censorship interfered. * A piece which is virtually the apotheosis of rebellion against the constituted authorities,' it said, 'Never, never, never.' After that Barbaja proposed Les Huguenots, and found that he had got from the frying-pan into the fire. ' A piece which is virtually an indictment of Catholicism ' said the Censorship ; ' preposterous ; not to be thought of for a moment.' 'What about La Juivef asked My Paris Note-Book. 95 Barbaja, a few days later. ' We should be at all times reluctant to sanction a piece by a Jew,' was the reply. 'We do not consider that Meyerbeer's selection of Les Huguenots was a mere matter of accident, but a piece by a Jewish composer which tends to the glorification of a Jewish hero ; impossible.' The impresario was pretty well at his wit's end, and, as happens usually when a man is in such a state of mind, the further he went, the worse he fared, for he was ill advised enough to offer La Muette de Portici (Masaniello), the prin- cipal act of which, as you all know, represents a revo- lution in Naples itself. The result of that suggestion may easily be guessed. In sheer despair, Barbaja sent for Donizetti, being determined to have a new opera to which no possible objection could be taken. The sub- ject of it was to be Polyeucte, and the libretto to follow as closely as possible Corneille's tragedy of the same name. Donizetti composed the music in a compara- tively short time. Nourrit was delighted with his part ; but no sooner had the title of the new work transpired than the Censorship interfered once more. Then Bar- baja prevailed on Nourrit to ask a special audience of the King, which was granted. The tenor deferentially points out to the sovereign that Polyeude represents the victory of faith. 'That's true enough,' repHes Bomba : ' Polyeucte is a saint ; the saints have their place in the calendar, their actions supply valuable texts from the pulpit ; but the stage should not encroach upon the Church's functions, and I will not give you leave to perform the work. ' " It was this answer," Got went on, " which recurred to me when I heard the Lady Superior's motive for asking such an utterly extravagant price for her old piano. Of course, I kept my thoughts to myself, and 96 My Paris Note-Book. attempted to bargain ; but she proved as hard as a rock, for she had made up her mind that we had not the time to look elsewhere. Seeing which, I asked for twenty- four hours to consider the matter. It was well I did, for on my return to the solitary passages — still accompanied by the bell — I caught a glimpse, in an open room, of another instrument, very rickety and dusty, and emitting a plaintive, jingling sound. The moment I saw it, I knew that it was much more suitable to our purpose than the other. But I said little, merely remarking that I would like that one, to save the costly instrument at home, on which an adopted daughter of mine — you know that I have no adopted daughter — was learning her scales. Next day I returned and asked for another week to con- sider about the first instrument, and bought the second for fifty francs. I took particular care to have it carted to the theatre before I left the convent. It was, it ap- pears, the very thing that was wanted, though no one had the faintest idea of its being there. Perrin was de- lighted, and so was I ; but I'll undertake no more expe- ditions of that kind. I do not mind the bell, but I object to the greed of ' those simple souls.' " Twice within a comparatively short space have the names of Erckmann-Chatrian — for they were two — cropped up under my pen, and I fancy that the English reader will not be displeased to become better acquainted with two men to whom, if he, the reader, be a lover of the drama, and if that love be accompanied by the ambition of seeing the English stage become the equal of that of other countries, he owes a certain amount of gratitude. I am fully aware that Mr. Henry Irving had made his mark before the evening on which he startled London play-goers by his truly masterly impersonation of Mathias in The Bells, but I fancy I am justified in My Paris Note-Book. 97 saying that but for the late Leopold Lewis' adaptation of Le Juif Polonais^ Mr. Irving' s great popularity might have been longer in coming. If proof of this were wanted, it would be found in Mr. Irving' s generous provision, for Lewis till the day of his death, though Lewis was little more than the translator of Erckmann- Chatrian's play ; but Mr. Irving considered — and justly — that the finger-post to the road of fame, however meagre its information, should not be left to fall into decay after the wayfarer had reached a magnificent goal. I trust I may be forgiven this indiscretion — if it be one — seeing that the fact is not absolutely a secret ; I only wanted to point out the English play-goer's indebtedness to the two Alsatian playwrights, but could scarcely do so without mentioning Mr. Irving' s handsome recognition of his small obligation to Lewis. Macaulay tells us that ' * the dexterous Capuchins never choose to preach on the life and miracles of a saint until they have awakened the devotional feelings of their auditors by exhibiting some relic of him — a thread of his garment, a lock of his hair, or a drop of his blood. ' ' To cultured English- men, the most interesting fact in connection with Erck- mann-Chatrian is, that their play gave the greatest actor on the contemporary English stage his first real chance. This is the thread of their garment I wished to exhibit. It is more than thirty years ago that I first caught sight of the two novelists and dramatists whose stories, at any rate, have met with such a cordial reception in England. But they were far from famous then. On the day of the ex-King of Westphalia's funeral I happened to sprain my ankle, and was taken home by an old German gentleman who was a native of Cassel, and his grandson, who was a Parisian by birth. The elder's stories about the Court of King Jerome caused E ^ 9 98 My Paris Note-Book. my grand-uncles to take a great fancy to him, and he and his grandson became frequent guests at our house. The grandfather, who was considerably over seventy, was hale, hearty, and active to a degree, a veiy enter- taining raconteur^ but, of course, scarcely fitted as a companion for a lad of my age. Young Korner, who was only a few years my senior, was somewhat more serious than his grandsire, but by no means what we would call a * ' prig, ' ' though exceedingly well read. He had spent several years in Germany, and spoke German as fluently as French, a great advantage from my uncle's point of view, seeing that they were anxious that I should do the same. They had not the courage, how- ever, to send me away for any length of time for that purpose, so young Korner seemed, therefore, a kind of godsend to them. Young Korner had brought a good deal of knowledge back with him from Germany, but also a decided taste for lager bier, and in those days lager bier, and especially good lager bier, was not to be had in Paris by merely putting one's money down for it. The stuff sold in the so-called brasseries was, even to my uneducated taste, as vile as the faro and lambiek dispensed in the Belgian esiaminets. Young Korner, who, without being a drunkard, was decidedly of the opinion of the German student with regard to his favourite beverage, "that one might have too much, but could never have enough of it," steadfastly refused to patronise any establishment where the genuine article was not on tap. And these establishments were few. One of the most amusing, if not the most famous, was the Brasserie Lang at the corner of the Rues de Ren- nes and Notre- Dame des Champs, but that was vir- tually in the Quartier Latin, and I had given my uncles my word that I would not go into the Quartier Latin My Paris Note-Book. 99 either by myself or unaccompanied by some one much older than myself until I was twenty, and I meant to keep it. Korner, to his credit be it said, never tempted me to do so, albeit that it was a great sacrifice to him to forego the jolly company of Bohemians which foregath- ered at Lang's ; but as he felt unable to do without his beer, we went to '' L'Esperance," which exists up to the present day. Those curious in such matters will find it half-way up the Faubourg St. Denis, and almost op- posite the prison of St. Lazare ; and if they have never been in Germany, they will be repaid for their trouble, for it is a real bier brasserie^ as different from the new- fangled brasserie as was the old-fashioned coaching inn from the modern railway hotel. Save for the name, there was nothing French about the place, and it seemed to me very little changed when I saw it about eighteen months ago. The Parisians gave it, and give it still, a wide berth after their first or second visit, for the lan- guage spoken there was and is as unfamiliar to them as Greek, though I have no doubt that now and then a detective with a smattering of German looks in ' ' on spy-catching intent." In the time of which I am treat- ing, the French jeered good-naturedly at the language they did not understand ; at present it provokes their ire while still grating their nerves. Thirty years ago the habitues were nearly all Alsatians and Lorrainers, four-fifths employes of the Chemin de Fer de 1' Est hard by, and the stranger unfamiliar with the tongue that Goethe and Heine spoke was virtually left out in the cold as far as conversational entertainment went. To the right on entering the room, in an angle made by the counter, there was a table occupied throughout the year by two customers, one of whom was always ad- dressed by every one as ' ' Monsieur le Chef de Bureau.'* L..fC. \ -s loo My Paris Note-Book. Though not very tall, he looked lank ; he had a swarthy- face, dark brown hair, growing low upon an intelligent forehead, a pair of restless eyes looking down upon a hooked nose, and a sensual upper lip ornamented with a stubborn moustache, He looked, in fact, more like an Italian than like a German. His companion pre- sented a most startling contrast to him. He was a pot- bellied man, with a bald head, a florid complexion, and bright eyes glistening behind his gold spectacles, a thick moustache hiding his mouth like a curtain, and a double or triple and somewhat retreating chin. He also was an employe of the Chemin de Fer de I'Est, though I am unable to define his position, for the visitors simply ad- dressed him as M. Erckmann. The other was M. Cha- trian. They were both inveterate smokers, but M. Cha- trian indulged sometimes in a cigar ; M. Erckmann, as far as I could judge, never did. Some of their works had appeared then, but had not caused the slightest sen- sation. Of that I am certain. At that early period of my life I was a much more voracious reader than I am now. At my grand-uncles' home there foregathered a set of men, Alexandre Dumas the elder, Paul de Kock, and Joseph Mery, among the number, whose constant talk was of books, and especially of books by new authors who bade fair to make their mark. Well, un- til I was told during my first or second visit to * ' L' Es- p6rance" that the somewhat depressing looking couple in the angle by the counter were authors, I had not heard of them, and when after that I inquired of one of the principal booksellers in Paris with whom I was in con- stant communication, owing to his being the correspond- ent of another uncle of mine who was and is one of the two largest booksellers in Amsterdam, I was informed that Messrs. Erckmann-Chatrian's works scarcely com- My Paris Note-Book. ioi manded a sale. It did not prevent me from getting ' * Les Contes Fantastiques, " " Les Confessions d'un Joueur de Clarinette," and one or two others. Of course, a lad of eighteen or nineteen is not a very good judge of literary- merit, and perhaps the man has not grown into a better judge than was the lad, but I may confess that I liked the works then, and that I like them better now. I have my doubts whether the French who have made such a fuss about them since Alsace-Lorraine ceased to belong to France, like them better now than they liked them then, and, apropos of this, I will take leave to di- gress for a moment. At the trial of Madame Lafarge, the celebrated savant Raspail offered to extract as much arsenic from the legs of the judge's chair as his rival, Orfila, had extracted from the viscera of the dead Lafarge. Those who know can extract the arsenic of history from almost any event, however unimportant, and in this instance I am going to attempt the thing in connection with the novels and plays of MM. Erckmann-Chatrian, in order to show the real value of that affection of the French for the Alsatians and Lorrainers of which we have heard so much for the last twenty-three years. There is not the slightest in- tention on my part to cast the least reflection on the two authors. I consider most of their work exceedingly clever and showing an intense love of their country. But at the beginning of their career, at any rate, their primary object in writing these stories was to make money. I am not blaming them, I am merely stating a fact which I will prove more fully in the last chapter of this book, which chapter will probably be devoted exclu- sively to the development and transformations of the ''^revanche idea." Only those who wear the shoe know where it pinches, 19* I02 My Paris Note-Book. and even the principal employes of the railway com- panies during the Second Empire were not weltering in gold. Under the circumstances, MM. Erckmann-Cha- trian said to themselves — " George Sand earned a great deal of money with "La Petite Fadette," '' La Mare au Diable," ''Fran9oisle Champi," and other works, the principal characters of which are simply rustic, speaking a rustic language, reproduced and renovated with con- summate art. As artists we are, no doubt, inferior to Mme. Dudevant, but we are sufficiently artistic not to spoil the Alsatian and Lorraine patois, and, after all, there is no harm in attempting to show that there are other interesting peoples in France besides the Beauce- rons, the Morvandieux, and Salognots." I may point out that I did not make MM. Erckmann- Chatrian say — ''Alsatians and Lorrainers are just as good Frenchmen as the Beaucerons and Morvandieux." My reason for not doing this is that, before the war, the Alsatians, and to a certain extent the Lorrainers, repu- diated the idea of being Frenchmen at all. It was no uncommon thing to hear a Strasburger or Mulhauser say — "Je suis Alsacien, je ne suis pas Francois." Before the war, the signboards in the principal towns of Alsace, if not of Lorraine, were v/ritten both in French and German, and a goodly number did not display a single word of the former language. One frequently met natives who probably knew French, but who stead- fastly refused to answer your questions if you happened to address them in that tongue, and especially if they suspected your knowledge of German, just as in certain parts of Belgium up to this day the inhabitants refuse to answer you in French. I was at Strasburg for a few days in the latter end of '71, and, in spite of the mar- vellous organisation of the Germans, things looked a bit My Paris Note-Book. 103 chaotic ; but what surprised me most was the ahnost entire disappearance of the German inscriptions on many of the signboards, and the seeming anxiety of the inhabitants to air their French. An old friend of my family, who has resided many years in the capital of Alsace, who is neither a Frenchman nor a German, gave me the clue to this sudden transformation in about a dozen words. * ' There is money in it, ' ' he said, ' ' and the Alsatian loves money above all things. You must ask me no further, for I cannot and dare not tell you." From other sources I discovered that he had told me the truth. The Alsatians were content to forget for the nonce, and for a consideration, that for years they had been made the laughing-stock of the French. This is by no means a mere assertion of mine. Though re- puted, and justly reputed, to be the best soldiers in the French army, they were the constant butt of the French on account of their inability to catch the right accent. As for the civilians, they were simply considered so many inferior beings. The Alsatian farmer is a very shrewd creature, hard-working, and saving, and never very free with his money, even on festive occasions. But he is not one whit worse than the Normandy peasantry, and if I had to ask a favour, I would prefer to apply to the former rather than to the latter, or to the bourgeois de Paris, and yet the French disliked the Alsatian for the very virtues they practise with such success. Not to mince matters, the French always looked upon the Alsatians as a conquered race. I feel certain, should this book command as many readers as the last, that this statement will be denied by self-appointed champions, either of the French themselves, or of Alsatians, just as many of my statements with regard to the late Emperor's illness have been denied ; yet, on the very day I pen I04 My Paris Note-Book. these words, the Paris Figaro (January 9, '94) contains an article by one of the greatest authorities on these matters, bearing out every word I said more than eighteen months ago. I am not alluding to duly ac- credited reviewers, but to irresponsible and very ama- teurish scribblers, who, on the strength of their official position, are sometimes allowed to rush into print without being required to produce proofs of what they state. ^ To return to MM. Erckmann-Chatrian, and their works, which, as I have said, fell flat for no other reason than because the French did not care a snap for the originals, let alone for their portraits. It was the story of Genxis and his model over again ; so flat, in fact, that a gentleman who joined the depressing couple now and then at * ' L' Esp6rance, ' ' and who, I discovered many years afterwards, was Hetzel the publisher, seemed quite to approve one night of Erckmann's suggestion that he (Erckmann) and his collaborateur should drown themselves. ' ' If you carried out your idea this very night," remarked the very practical man, "it might cause a sensation, and I should be sure of getting rid of the whole of the stock." This was said in my hearing. However, neither Erckmann nor Chatrian as much as attempted to make a hole in the water ; they put their heads together and wrote " Le Consent de 1813," which was their first success, not because it treated of Alsace, but because it dealt with the invasion. Since then, MM. Erckmann-Chatrian have written nothing else but " Le Consent," with variations, just as the Adelphi dramatists always write the same play and produce the same per- sonages in different guises and with different names. The reader need not take my word for it, let him peruse the works, one after another, and he will find that I My Paris Note-Book. 105 have not misstated the case. The French novelist who did that kind of thing most successfully was Paul de Kock ; and I doubt whether Paul de Kock had more talent than either of the Alsatian authors, but he had more verve than both put together. Not long ago I was talking to an exceedingly well-read Frenchman on the subject. *' There is much truth in what you say,'* he remarked; "but, after all, your Dickens has done the same." I stopped him at once. " Have you read Dickens lately?" I asked. "Not very recently," was the answer. ' ' Then go and renew your acquaintance with him. There is no necessity to go through the whole of his works. Take ' Bleak House' first, and study Guppy ; then read 'Our Mutual Friend,' and study Mr. Venus. They are swayed by the same pas- sion, unrequited love, they belong to the same class ; study them carefully, and then tell me whether they are the same man, but under two different names and in different guises." My friend did as I told him, and confessed himself in the wrong. Whatever the merits and defects of MM. Erckmann- Chatrian' s works, one thing is very certain : their books would have never commanded the sale they did and do command, nor their plays been accepted at the Com6- die-Fran9aise, but for the fortuitous circumstances of the Franco- German war. Their first and best piece, from a dramatic point of view, viz. , Le Juif Polonais, was brought out at the Th^^tre de Cluny, one of the minor transpontine houses ; and L* Ami Fritz and Les Rantzau would have probably shared a similar fate, but for the loss of Alsace-Lorraine. That part of their his- tory belongs to an altogether different chapter, which may or may not be written in this book. One more story in connection with one of their pieces, and I have io6 My Paris Note-Book. done with them for the present. It will prove that Augustine Brohan's cleverness and spitefulness were frequently confounded by her admirers. At the pre- Tniere of L' Ami Fritz, when Mile. Reichemberg, who played Tuzel, exclaimed — "Oh, my poor fritters, they are spoilt !" some one remarked — "That's a cry from the heart." "No," protested Augustine ; " that's the cry of her mother." In order to appreciate this good- natured criticism, it should be known that Mile. Reich- emberg' s mother was the cordon bleu of the Brohan family. My Paris Note-Book. 107 CHAPTER V. Personal recollections of two eminent men : Ernest Renan and Paul de Kock — My first glimpse of Renan— The physical man— Renan's way of teaching the philosophy and the poetry of life — His way of composing his speeches and his works — What life may have meant to Renan — Renan's fondness for children — His grief at his own plainness — His almost boundless admiration of beautiful women — The genesis of VAbbesse de Jouarre — An anecdote of his youth — Renan and Jules Simon — Renan as a mimic and actor — Renan's imitation of Egger the savant — His imitation of Labeche the play-wright — Renan and the Abbe De- lille — Renan's indifference to spiteful criticism — Paul de Kock — A Dutch lad's disappointment at Paul de Kock's appearance — The silence of the critics Vtfith regard to de Kock's works — Paul de Kock's method of work — His dress — His apartment on the Boulevard St. Martin— Pius IX.'s appreciation of Paul de Kock's works. One of my most pleasant recollections is that con- nected with Renan, whose Christian name, by-the-by, was Antistius, and not Ernest, and who, at the time of his death in '92, I had known for more than thirty years ; for I saw the author of ' * Vie de Jesus' ' for the first time four or five years before that work appeared. He was a visitor at my uncles' , to whom he had prob- ably been introduced by his father-in-law, Henri Schef- fer, a brother of the great Ary Scheffer, and, like the latter, a countryman of theirs. I remember Henri Scheffer distinctly, for he painted my uncles' portraits, which are preserved in the old home at Amsterdam ; but I only remember his more famous brother vaguely, having only seen him once. My uncles had been of io8 My Paris Note-Book. some assistance to Renan in translating for him extracts from the works of a Dutch critic (Kuehnen, perhaps), but even at that time Renan never talked "shop." If he had done so, it is more than probable that I should not have liked him as I did, or paid much attention to his conversation. But if he talked of ' ' higher things' ' at all, it was in such a way that they became intelligible to a lad of my age, and I fancy that this faculty of ' ' talking' ' both poetry and philosophy without being aware of it, just as Moliere's M. Jourdain talked prose, constituted one of his great charms throughout his life. The physical man was not much to look at. Though not so corpulent as he became in later years, he was, to say the least, awkward in his movements; he had the habit, that clung to him to the end, of folding his fat, podgy hands on his abdomen, of stretching out one leg at full length and dreamily contemplating one foot. I was forcibly reminded of that charm of talking poetry and philosophy without being aware of it, and of the method of secret training by which he had ar- rived at it, some twelve years ago at the reception of M. Victor Cherbuliez at the Academie-Fran^aise. The author of '' L'Aventure de Ladislas Bolski," " Le Comte Kostia," Samuel Brohl et Cie., could certainly not complain of a want of appreciation on the part of that peculiar audience whose laughter scarcely ever rises above a mere titter, and whose emotion rarely betrays itself except by a slight cough. They had, with a due regard for the texture of their gloves, applauded his scholarly and even brilliant speech, but it was evidently looked upon by them in the light of a preface, a kind oilever de rideau to the business of the day — Renan' s reply. When the latter' s squat and somewhat ungainly figure slowly rose on its legs, there was a distinctly My Paris Note-Book. 109 audible rustling of silks, a faint sound as of the gliding of feet ; the audience was settling itself more comfort- ably in order to listen more attentively. I have heard similar sounds at great premieres, or in the House of Commons, at the entree of some eminent actor or actress, or at the rising of some "master of debate ;" it is the unspoken grace before intellectual meat. But even the intellectual banquet is subject to certain rules : however independent a genius its dispenser be, he must not disturb the sequence. In this instance the delicate dishes were soon forthcoming. Reviewing the new member's university career and his philosophical studies, Renan stopped short for a moment, then went on : "A Berlin, Monsieur, vous avez vu le vieux Schelling, qui vous parlait de dout, excepte de philosophie. Oh ! Vhabille homme T^ The audience burst into loud laughter ; it was Renan' s reward for having afforded them a glimpse of his system of teaching philosophy. I have seen Renan rewarded still more generously for a lesson in the poetry of life, with tears this time — tears which glistened in the eyes of brave men and fair women. I believe it was at the reception of Pasteur, in the previous month of the same year (1882), but will not be certain. Touching on the modern scepticism so frequently accompanying scientific labours, Renan sud- denly and without the slightest warning exclaimed — " Quant aux sceptiques, ils sont peut-etre attendus apres leur mort, par la belle deception d'une vie future." It is doubtful whether the sentences I have quoted were in the manuscripts of his speeches, never, I should say, very carefully prepared, although I have heard it stated that they were. My assumption is not without foundation. But a few years ago I translated one of Renan' s books from the first proofs ; when the second 10 no My Paris Note-Book. came, the work had to be done all over again. * * He had taken up on the way," as one of his friends said. And in his speeches, I fancy, he was not unlike the smart stage-coach which starts with one or two passen- gers who intend going the whole of the journey. The vehicle, nevertheless, picks up travellers here, there, and everywhere, who are not mentioned in the way-bill, and which it sets down at intermediate points. Renan, in fact, was "a recruiting- sergeant of thought," if I may be permitted that expression. He rarely failed to per- ceive the possibilities of making robust soldiers for his cause out of apparently very unpromising material by dint of good feeding and judicious training. That prob- ably was the secret underlying the charm of his conver- sation, and by his conversation I do not necessarily mean his familiar talk at home with his friends, or his brilliant gossip at the dinner-table ; I include his official discourses, and, if it were possible to classify them as causeries, a good many of his meetings. Unlike Cole- ridge, he never preached, not even in his most solemn moments, though truth compels one to state that appar- ently these were few and far between. At the first blush, in fact, it was difficult to determine whether to Renan life meant "a great bundle of small things, or a small bundle of great things ;' ' but at the first blush only. The attentive listener soon became convinced that to Renan life meant a great bundle of great things — so great a bundle and so great the things as to demand the constant exertions and labours of generations upon gen- erations of intellectual workers to gather them into one congruous, harmonious, and sightly whole ; of genera- tions upon generations of workers who should refuse to be discouraged by the unfulfilled purposes of their predeces- sors, who should endeavour to hide the disappointment My Paris Note-Book. hi begotten from their abortive attempts from their succes- sors. * ' Every man worthy of the name, ' ' he said one day in my hearing, ' ' should be Hke that piper lad who, amidst the good and evil fortunes of a long battle under Freder- ick the Great, kept on piping from sunrise till sunset." For Renan was very fond of introducing children into his metaphors, and yet the sight and the mere mention of them had a curious effect upon him. He who was rarely serious with grown-up people was apt to become grave in the presence of little ones, the reverse in that respect of the late Emile Perrin of the Com^die-Fran- 9aise, who rarely unbent with youngsters. I happened to have some business with Perrin one Sunday in the summer of the year before his death. I was accompa- nied by a little girl of six, the daughter of an English lady then residing in Paris. I did not care to leave her in the victoria by herself, and took her up with me. At the sight of the child an instantaneous change came over the whole man. Though the question between us could have been settled in a few minutes, it took me an hour to get an answer to it, the porter being meanwhile despatched for sweets. Perrin had neither eyes nor ears but for the child, who left loaded with two large picture- books, which would be worth a small fortune to any cos- tumier, and a bag of bonboyis^ * ' which, ' ' as her mother said afterwards, * ' no man in his senses would have dreamt of buying." The day being fine, we took a short drive, and on our way homeward I saw Renan strolling along the Quai Malaquais. I stopped the victoria, and got out to pay my respects to him. He noticed the little girl, and went up to her, but did not say a word, merely stroking her fair hair and kissing her on the cheek. His eyes became positively filled with tears. I could not help saying — " How is it, M. 112 My Paris Note-Book. Renan, that you, who are so cheerful with every one, are so grave with children ?' ' for I had noticed the same thing on former occasions. For a moment or so he was silent, and then I told him of the little one's interview with Perrin, mainly, I confess, with the object of draw- ing him out. ' ' I can quite understand it, ' ' he said at last ; * ' to Perrin a pretty child is a picture ; to me a child, whether ugly or pretty, is a problem. This one is very beautiful, but she is as likely to become the mother of so many Calibans and Sycoraxes as of so many Apollos and Dianas. In the latter end of the nineteenth century the former possibility ought to have been already guarded against by law. We have socie- ties for the prevention of cruelty to animals, to women and children. Do not you think that it is cruel to chil- dren to endow them from their birth with hereditary ugliness ? I do, et Dieu sait, je parle en coitnaissance de cause. ' ' The latter words were spoken with an em- phasis difficult to produce. I feel personally certain, though I have no more direct evidence than the protest just quoted, that Renan' s ''want of good looks," to use the mildest term, was probably the only drawback to his thorough enjoyment of life. " As a young man," ' he says in his ''Souvenirs," "j'entrevoyaisquelabeaute est un don tellement superieur, que le talent, le genie, la vertu meme ne sont rien aupres d'elle, en sorte que la femme vraiment belle a le droit de tout dedaigner, puis- qu'elle assemble dans sa personne m^me, comme un vase myrrhin, tout ce que le genie esquisse peniblement en traits aflfaiblis, au moyen d'une fatiguante reflexion." Some would-be critics have construed these lines into ^ I have purposely put the first words of the quotation in English, because it has been asserted several times that these lines were ad- dressed to an imaginary young man, which is not the case. My Paris Note-Book. 113 a tacit licence for every beautiful woman to tread under foot the dictates of honour, virtue, and decency. I doubt whether Renan meant this ; nay, I feel almost convinced that, theoretically, he meant nothing like it. I feel equally convinced, though, that to a beautiful woman he would have forgiven much, for he, perhaps better than any one, felt that — " L'ame et le corps toujours s'en iront a deux, Tant que le monde ira, pas ^ pas, cote a cote ; Comme s'en vont les vers classiques et les boeufs, L'un disant : ' Tu fais mal !' et I'autre : * C'est ta faute.' " To understand how intensely he felt this, one must have seen him, as I have, seated at dinner between two handsome women, more or less decolletees ; " le chaste vieillard entre deux Suzanne," as one of the guests put it. Only those who have seen him thus will or can imagine the mental genesis of " I'Abbesse de Jouarre ;" for that romantic production is simply the despairing cry of another Faust for his vanished youth and manhood. And as in real life there is no Mephistopheles at hand to respond to the cry, and as men of Renan' s stamp remain worthy of themselves and of their art and calling, in spite of the temptations of the flesh and the craving of the heart and the senses for more passionate endear- ments than ' ' hallowed love' ' affords ; their imagination becomes unbridled, the sensuous worship of woman, the idolatrous love of love itself, pervades their every thought ; their study, which they leave less than ever, lest temptation should assail them on its threshold, finally reeks with the odor di femina, which henceforth exudes from the historical treatise as well as from the religious essay. They are no more conscious of this than was Beaumarchais' cherubin, or M. Cousin himself k 10* 114 My Paris Note-Book. when he wrote his book on the Duchesse de Longue- ville. Was it Goethe who said that, ' ' When a great man has a dark corner in him, it is terribly dark?" Whosoever said it gave the key to the enigma of the many mesalliances — legaHsed or the reverse — contracted by men of genius. Renan's dark corner, like that of Michelet and others, especially Frenchmen, contained the radiant image of some physically perfect, albeit wholly imaginary woman, or perhaps of that playmate of his infancy, of that Noemi after whom he named his daughter, and who became more and more beautiful as she grew up, until at twenty-two she was a miracle of loveliness, '* of that Noemi, qui mourut vierge, qui mourut d' ^tre trop belle. ' ' Most of us remember the words of Don Gomez to Dona Sol in Hernani: — " On n'est pas maitre De soi-meme, amoureux comme je suis de toi. Derision, que cet amour boiteux, Qui nous remet au coeur tant d'ivresse et de flamme, Ait oublie le corps en rajeunissant Vdme T* Personally, we can hear Renan address the lines to' some beauteous creature of his own imagination, and the only error in his literary and philosophical career is explained to us. ** II desir vivo, e la speranza e morta," sighs Petrarch. More pleasant is it to turn to the Renan of our daily observation — to the Renan with the dark corner as yet undiscovered by his most intimate friends, with the dark corner as yet unsuspected by himself; to Renan the wizard, who, though cursed with nearly every physical disadvantage, cast an irresistible spell over every one with whom he came in contact ; to the Renan who flung pearls of philosophy into your wine as you sat opposite My Paris Note-Book. 115 to him at table, who never said a harsh word, even about his most persistent detractors. "Je respecte tout le monde, meme Challamel-Lacour, comme je respecte ma goutte." He prided himself upon having never contradicted any one, except on one occasion, when he was a young man. He loved to tell this story, and no one, perhaps, was fonder of hearing it told than M. Jules Simon, the very victim of that only instance of contradiction on Renan's part. It happened long ago, when Jules Simon — whose real name is Suisse — was canvassing the Arrondissement of Lannion. The candidate for Par- hamentary honours held a meeting at the Mairie of Tre- guier, and among the audience there was a student of theology from the Petit Seminaire, who kept persistently * ' heckling' ' the speaker without, however, disconcerting him in the least. Unfortunately, the rege^it of the col- lege, who happened to be a Liberal, was present also. When the young seminaristey rather elated with his doings, entered the class-room after the meeting, his tutor stopped his further progress, and flung, as was the custom in those days, a Latin distich at his head — " 'Culpa trahit culpam, post culpam culpa revertit, Et post tot culpas cogeris ire foras !' " he exclaimed ; then added, ** You'll copy the original text and translation twenty times before you go to bed to-night." "And the answer, too, if you wish," said the young fellow, without a moment's hesitation. *' Pinta trahit pintam, post pintam pinta revertit, Et post tot pintas nascitur ebrietas." Jules Simon lost his election, and Renan won his pensum. When the latter had become famous, and the former one degree less than famous, they hap- pened to be at the same time at Tr6guier. Simon paid a visit to the Seminary, and came upon Renan in the ii6 My Paris Note-Book. very same class-room where he had sat as a lad. Simon kept bending over the forms, evidently examining them carefully. ' ' What are you looking for ?' ' asked Renan. ' ' I am looking for your name on the forms, ' ' was the answer. ^ '*Mon cher ami," remarked Renan, **je n'ai jamais 6gratign6 un banc, ni un camarade. Qo. n' entre pas dans mons temperament, de donner des coups de canif." But between * ' slashing' ' a friend and innocently mimicking his peculiarities of speech, manner, and gait, there was a wide difference in Renan' s opinion. These imitations were never premeditated, they were the ac- companiment to some story, told in such a way as to breed the connection that Heine was right when he said, ' ' All Frenchmen are actors ; the worst are often on the stage." I have frequently heard and seen Fusier, who, with all due deference to MM. Coquelin ai7te and cadet, towers a head and shoulders above both as an ''entertainer," or to use the French expression, ''^ diseury I have never met with his equal except once, and that was when I saw Mr. Corney Grain. Well, in spite of the structural and facial disabilities under which he laboured, Renan, as a raconteur^ was as good as either of these. I have already said that those Imitations were never premeditated, but the ac- companiment to some story. To most Englishmen and Americans, even to travelled Englishmen and Americans, the name of Emile Egger conveys little or nothing, though Egger was a great man in his way. To get at a true estimate of his value, we should have to go to Oxford and consult Professor Max Miiller ; for my present purpose it is sufficient to state that Emile Egger was one of Renan' s dearest friends, an eminent My Paris Note-Book. 117 philologist, and the man to whom Renan by preference entrusted his MSS. to read before he confided them to the printer. Utterly unlike Renan physically, intellectu- ally, and morally, the only trait these two had in com- mon was their unvarying kindness to the poor and lowly, their readiness to make smooth the thorny path of the serious student. Egger, in spite of his great abilities, was very retiring, almost shy, consequently not fond of society, moreover, very simple in his do- mestic arrangements. In the heyday of the Second Empire he received an invitation to Compiegne. I have given elsewhere a lengthy sketch of the festivities at Compiegne, so I need not repeat it here. His friends had. told the savant that, though everything was most lavishly provided, and the attendance perfect, it was the custom to take a servant of one's own, as much for the sake of appearance as to lighten the burden of the Imperia.] perso7zne I, which was often driven out of their wits by the plethora of guests. We may be cer- tain that the second reason had more weight with the simple-minded gentleman than the first, and finally in- duced him to engage a temporary man-servant on the recommendation of one of his neighbours, for it need scarcely be said that he had none of his own. Egger was poor all his life, and but for the windfall of a thou- sand pounds, left to him by a fellow-student whom he nursed for many years and till the day of his (the friend's) death, he would not have been able to marry ; though he was in utter ignorance of his friend's re- sources, being under the impression that his parents made him a small allowance. On the day appointed, a magnificent young fellow, with jet black hair and eyes like carbuncles, presents himself, and Egger, struck by his appearance, engages ii8 My Paris Note-Book. him there and then, congratulating himself on having found so prepossessing a personal attendant, ''who," he says mentally, "will compare favourably with any one of the domestic staff at Court." But as there is no accommodation in the servants' modest home for the new-comer, it is arranged that he shall enter upon his duties the next day only, the day on which Egger is to start for Compiegne. Behold the two fairly settled in the apartment allotted to them in the Imperial chateau, Egger somewhat un- comfortable in his new character of a master who has not the slightest use for a valet, and, moreover, wonder- ing uneasily at the accent of the latter, which, in the hurry of the previous day's interview, he had mistaken for that of a Provencal. At last, unable to hold out any longer, he begins questioning the young fellow. ' ' Tell me, my lad, ' ' he says benevolently, ' ' are you a Frenchman ?' ' ' ' No, monsieur, I am not a Frenchman, ' ' is the answer. ' ' What nationality are you ?' ' '' I am an Italian, monsieur," '' I forgot to mention," said Renan, when he told us, or rather enacted the story— for it really amounted to that — " I forgot to mention that this happened in 1858, consequently but a few months after the attempt on the Emperor's life in the Rue Le Pelletier, so you may imagine Egger' s terror," and forthwith, and without the least effort, we had an imitation of the great Greek scholar, which those who knew him well voted perfect. ** ' Great God !' says Egger to himself,' " — I am quoting Renan textually—" ' Great God, what have I done? Here am I, a member of the Institute, a member of the Legion of Honour, a professor at one of the State col- leges, an honoured guest of the sovereign— here am I My Paris Note-Book. 119 introducing an Italian into the palace, an Italian against whose appearance not a word can be said, but who may be, for all I know, a second Orsini or Pianori, who en- tered my service in order to carry out his fell designs upon Napoleon.' " The upshot of all this was that Egger did not get a wink of sleep during the whole of his stay at the chateau, lest his valet should murder the Emperor. The savant lay trembling in his bed, listening for every sound, and every now and then rising to take a peep along the corridors, going as far as the Italian's room in his dress- ing-room, opening the door softly, taking a peep at him by the light of the flickering candle, and then softly stealing to his bed, but not to rest. No words of mine could, however, convey the scene as enacted by Renan. It was a treat for which his friends clamoured on all occasions, and which was rarely refused, for I honestly believe that Renan was prouder of his mimic talents than of all his philological attain- ments put together. One evening he got more than usually excited over the scene, and in his excitement snatched the cruet frame from the table in order to rep- resent Egger carrying a dark lantern, though there was not the slightest evidence that Egger had such an article at hand. It was upon the whole a great performance — I cannot give it another name — and according to those who knew Egger better than I did — I only saw him twice in my life — a masterly reproduction of all his peculiarities of diction, of accent, of gait, &c. , &c. And, I repeat, there was a wonderful difference physically between Egger and Renan, though not so great as the contrast between Renan and Labiche, whom I saw him imitate on another occasion. The play-wright was tall, with a 120 My Paris Note-Book. face the skin of which seemed drawn so tight over the bones as to make people wonder at his being able to shut his eyes and mouth at the same time ; the philoso- pher was short, squat, with a gait which reminded one unconsciously of the hippopotamus, or, to put it mildly, of a bear, and a face the angles of which were concealed beneath layers of flesh, while the nose looked, not like an integral part of the whole, but like an excrescence on it ; "a contemptuously lavish afterthought of nature," as some one said. And yet I have heard Renan imitate the author of Le Chapeau de Paille d' Italie (A Wed- ding-March) and Les Petits Oiseaux (a Pair of Specta- cles) to such perfection that with one's eyes shut one could not have told the one from the other. Labiche, as is well known, was elected to the chair left vacant at the Acad6mie by Silvestre de Sacy, also a friend of Renan. The eulogy of such a predecessor, of a writer of whom Thiers said, ''C'est lui qui 6crit le mieux," must have been a difficult task to a man who, as a boy, was dismissed from the Lycee Bourbon as "hopelessly incapable ; ' ' who, by his own confession, was not une bHe a concours (literally " a prize-competing animal") ; whose master, in order to keep him quiet, repeated constantly — '' Monsieur Labiche, ne faites pas de bruit, et Ton ne vous demandera ni devoirs, ni legons." Under the circumstances the great farce writer hit upon the idea of consulting Renan, whose admiration for Silvestre de Sacy was well known. The interview must have been satisfactory to both parties, for Renan averred afterwards that he had never enjoyed anything so much in his life. But he was commendably silent with regard to the details, and would not admit that he had given Labiche any active aid in the composition of his speech. Subsequent events, however, nay, his own My Paris Note-Book. 121 story, went far to prove that such aid must have been given, seeing that the discourse was voted a master- piece by every one. If, however, reticent with regard to the first interview with Labiche, he was perfectly wiUing to communicate the particulars of the second, at which the Academician elect read his speech, not only to the suspected author of it, but to three more future fellow-members, namely, the Due d'Aumale, M. Gaston Boissier, and M. Henri Martin, the historian. *' I shall never forget the faces of the Due and Martin as they watched Labiche glibly delivering his sentences," said Renan one evening, and forthwith we heard the encour- aging "Tres bien" of the author of "I'Histoire du Grand Cond6, ' ' and the more reserved ' * Pas mal ' ' of Martin, reproduced in a way that set the whole room in a roar. When the laughter had subsided, Renan went on : * ' As for Labiche himself, he kept winking one eye, as was his wont, at me, until I felt very uncomfortable, and at last I took the bull by the horns. ' Monsieur Labiche,' I said, * all this is positively admirable ; I was not aware that you had devoted so much time to the study of the higher sciences.' Thereupon there was another wink, more significant than all the preceding ; and he repHed, 'Monsieur, le soleil n'est jamais pale ; quelquefois seulement il est voil6.' They were the very words I had used once in an address to the boys at Louis-le-Grand. Then he added, 'You remember what that old savant Babinet said : ^ *' It happens now and then that you go to one of the eating-houses at the barriere and you ask for a rabbit. You feel positive that they are going to give you cat, don't you? In fact, you reckon upon their giving you cat. Well, ^ Jacques Babinet, who did more for the popularising of science in France than any one before him F 11 122 My Paris Note-Book. they don't give you cat at all; they give you rat." The Academie is asking me for rabbit in the matter of this speech, and the members are positive, thoroughly convinced that I am going to give them cat. Weil, I am not going to give them cat at all ; I am going to give them hare. As I have had the honour of telling you already, the sun himself is never dim, only now and then there is a veil across.' And Labiche triumphantly put his MS. in his pocket, while for several minutes we sat staring at him, amazed at his aplomb, then we simply choked with laughter. ' ' ' It was not so much the story as the manner of telling it which fascinated the listener, and yet, as a rule, Renan made a very sparing use of gesture. His favourite attitude was one of absolute repose : his two podgy hands crossed on the abdomen, his left leg stretched at full length, and showing between the bottom of the trousers and the very capacious shoes the strip of black stocking which he never seemed tired of con- templating. Black stockings are rarely worn by French- men so little addicted to fashion as was Renan, though, as a matter of course, the Catholic clergy never wear any other, which caused Renan to remark every now and then, *'C'est tout ce qui reste du pretre." For once, in a way, he was utterly mistaken ; for he had remained the typical priest from head to foot, in every- thing but the dress, much more, in fact, than the priest who died nearly eighty years before him in the self-same room where he breathed his last. I am referring to the Abbe Delille, who lived for many years in London, and about whom we ought to know a good deal, about whom we scarcely know anything. Jacques Delille did » I have translated Labiche's words for the better convenience of the reader. My Paris Note-Book. 123 not fling his cassock away as did Renan ; he put it on a shelf until the revolutionary hurricane had subsided. Meanwhile he selected for himself a ^ ' niece, ' ' who was so disagreeable and ignorant as to draw forth Rivarol's remark — " Puisque vous avez choisi votre niece, vous auriez pu la mieux choisir." The ''niece" did not think the "alleged blood relationship" a sufficiently strong guarantee against the possibility of being ousted by another ' * niece, ' ' and made Delille marry her. Then she donned the breeches, or, what was tantamount to it, prevented her husband wearing them until he had com- pleted his daily task of thirty lines of verse, paid for by Michaud, the Paris publisher, at the rate of six francs a line, plus thirty sous for the lady. Then, and then only, was the garment restored to the hen-pecked Abbe. The lady, furthermore, had a habit of flinging books at her husband's head, generally quartos. Delille' s pro- test against that playful kind of endearment was only a qualified one. '' Madame," he said one morning in the presence of Chateaubriand orMalouet, " ne pourriez-vous vous contenter d'un in-octavo ?" Well, I feel convinced that at the appearance of ' ' Vie de Jesus' ' there were thousands of Frenchmen, laymen as well as priests, and that there are thousands of Frenchmen now, who would have tolerated, and would still tolerate, a Delille who never questioned the truth of the Christian dogma, a Delille with the niece, but who would not tolerate a Renan with a wife. ' ' Le malheur de M. Renan est d' avoir conserve du pretre la chastet6 et non la foi. J'eusse prefere le contraire pour lui" — thus wrote an in- fluential French journalist a few years ago in the most widely-read French newspaper. I do not know whether Renan saw the article, but a couple of weeks later that journalist had his answer, though indirectly. Speaking 124 My Paris Note-Book. of the criticisms in general which a new book had brought forth, Renan said, "Je ne m'etonne plus de rien, en fait d'ex6gese, Gavroche a la pretention d'en savoir plus que moi, ' ' And when Renan had uttered the word " Gavroche," he had practically exhausted his vocabulary of contempt. For, unlike Victor Hugo, he refused to look upon Gav- roche as a hero ; he had seen him at work in '48, on the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th December 1851, and on several minor occasions. His " Caliban," which is worth study- ing as well as reading, is only another kind of Gavroche. If Renan had lived long enough, we might have had ' ' The Book of Gavroches, " as we have ' ' The Book of Snobs," for the Pressenses and Peyrats, and others whom it would take too long to name here, were just as many Gavroches to him as If their nether garments had not held together, and their chief claim to fame had consisted of a performance on a barricade with a rusty rifle. * ' II y a des gens qui font de Dieu leur raison sociale, comme 11 y a des courtiers marrons, qui cher- chent dans ' Hozier, ' des noms titres pour les niettre a leurs en-t^te. Avec ces gens la on ne discute pas ; autant vaut payer son avocat pour poursulvre I'homme d'affaires vereux qui vous a vole." This was the bit- terest expression I have ever heard him use. That was Renan at his worst ; to see him at his best, one had to see him after a good dinner — for Renan was somewhat of 2, gourmand as well as gourmet — talking to a pretty woman in the cozy nook of a drawing-room, his left hand travelling slowly every now and then to his chin, his eyes partly closed, and listening with the gravity of a diredeur — not of a confessor, for there Is a wide differ- ence between the two — to the semi-sentimental, semi- worldly confidences of his fair Interlocutor. I have got My Paris Note-Book. 125 an idea that Renan guessed more secrets than were ever confided to half-a-dozen of the most worldly /r|/"^/^ de police during the most ' ' festive' ' days of the Second Empire, which is not saying little. I am speaking of the days before *' 1' Abbesse de Jouarre." Lamartine's niece, the clever Madame de Pierreclos, said one day of Littre, * ' G' est un saint qui ne croit pas en Dieu." A woman might even write such a sentence, a man may scarcely say it. But, truth to tell, I never troubled much about Renan' s belief, for it would have made no difference to mine. I have often heard him talk of life, and of the mysteries surrounding death, and am bound to confess that after each conversation I was as much at sea as ever with regard to Renan' s view of that one secret we all would like to fathom ; but I did not trouble. I remembered the story of that successor of Quasimodo who shows the towers of Notre-Dame to strangers. One day he invited one of his friends to sup with him on the topmost landing. The host talked and ate a good deal ; his guest felt his head whirling round, and could not swallow a morsel. "A bon entendeur, salut." Among the many celebrities who were on intimate terms with my uncles was Paul de Kock, the real French Dickens, though he fell short of the genius of the Englishman. He was virtually, though not nomi- nally, a countryman of theirs, and their admiration of him was distinctly influenced by the fact. For though my uncles were capable judges in literary matters, they could see no faults in their friend's works. Every new volume that appeared was carefully bound and added to their collection. But though these books were within my reach, and I was never forbidden to read them, I was at least sixteen or seventeen before I thought of 126 My Paris Note-Book. doing so, and then only In consequence of an accidental conversation with a lad of my own age. He was the cousin to a young Dutch girl who was within an ace of becoming the wife of Theodore Barriere, about whom I shall probably have to say something by and by. For once, in a way, my gossip, if it be not amusing, may be instructive, that is, if by chatting about one of the best play- Wrights France has produced during the nineteenth century, I can induce English adapters to try their hand at some of his pieces. To return to my theme. Paul de Kock came to my uncles' two or three times a week. They had known his father's brother, who was some time Minister of the Interior in Holland. Paul de Kock's father perished on the scaffold during the Reign of Terror, the wealthy Dutch banker having been denounced as a foreign spy and an agent of Pitt. One day my young friend en- tered our apartment as the novelist was leaving it. De Kock was very fond of young people, and he bowed to my visitor with that old-fashioned, high-bred, grave courtesy that belonged formerly to the French middle classes, as well as to the French aristocracy, but the traces of which it is very difficult to find among the bourgeoisie of the Third Republic. Flattered by the dapper, well-dressed gentleman's notice — for Paul de Kock was scarcely above the middle height, and always looked as neat as a new pin — my young comrade, with the curiosity of a somewhat precocious stripling, asked me his name. ' ' That, ' ' I answered, ' ' is M. Paul de Kock. ' ' "The father of the clever novelist of that name?" re- marked my companion interrogatively. ''No," I said ; ''his son's name is Henri de Kock, he is a novelist, too' ' "I know that, and the gentleman who went out just now is his grandfather," persisted my interlocutor. My Paris Note-Book. 127 * ' Not at all ; the gentleman who went out just now is M. Paul de Kock, the novelist. His father's name was Conrad de Kock, and he was beheaded during the First Revolution." "Do you mean to say that the nice, elderly looking gentleman whom I met at your door is the writer of all these funny stories ?" **I don't know about the stories being funny ; I have never read them, but if they are funny, he is the man who wrote them." ''Well, then, all I can say is this, he must have got some one to write them for him, for he does not look as if he had an ounce of fun or humour in him." Such was the first impression M. Paul de Kock inva- riably produced upon people much older and much more observant than my companion. Only those who knew De Kock intimately ever caught a glimpse of that vis comica which set, and still sets, thousands of readers throughout the civilized world screaming with laughter. It need not be said that a lad of my age could not have been very intimate with a sexagenarian not belonging to his family, and who was, moreover, very reserved in ordinary company. That was the reason why his books had had no attraction for me. I judged very much by the outside of men and things then. Alfred de Musset, whom I saw at my uncles' once ; Maris, who was a con- stant visitor when in Paris ; Theodore Barriere, whom we met at the Cafe des Vari6tes — for my uncles took me thither with them in the daytime ; Alexandre Dumas the elder, who appeared and disappeared like a meteor — these were my heroes ; while Joseph Mery, of whom Englishmen have scarcely heard, but whose every line should be translated for them, was my "jester in ordi- nary." Paul de Kock was simply a kind, elderly gen- tleman — for he was kindness itself, and the constant purveyor of seats for the theatres, big and small, whom 128 My Paris Note-Book. I liked very much, but who in no way struck me as the ideal romancier^ as I conceived the romancier then. Faultlessly dressed, generally in a cafe-au-lait overcoat and light trousers, dazzlingly white Hnen and blue bird's- eye cravat, his hair and narrow side-whiskers carefully trimmed — I have a suspicion the latter were curled — somewhat corpulent and by no means tall, there was a difficulty of picturing that man's "eye in fine frenzy rolling ;" in fact, I feel convinced it never did roll in that manner, though later on in life I have often seen it dance with mirth. But even in his most expansive moments there was a tinge of sadness in his smiles. People said that it was the recollection of his father's terrible death that ever and anon obtruded itself upon his thoughts, but I fancy this was a mere theory. In spite of his great success, nay, because of that great success, Paul de Kock, from the moment I was capable of forming an opinion on such matters, seemed to me a disappointed man. The silence of the critics must have been a bitter drop in his brimful cup of happiness. His first book was written when he was barely seventeen, and was, from the publisher's view, a success. Next to the elder Dumas, he was the most voluminous writer of fiction France has had during the nineteenth century, not a single book of his ever proved a financial failure ; but " criticism" passed superciliously by, disdaining to blame or to praise. At a rough guess, I should compute Paul de Kock's Hterary baggage at over four hundred plays and novels, exclusive of the short stories. For over fifty-five years he kept the whole of France in a constant roar of laughter ; a protracted and laborious search might unearth about a dozen criticisms worthy of the name. That, in my opinion, was the principal cause of Paul de Kock's carefully suppressed melancholy. My Paris Note-Book. 129 And yet, those who watched the man and who, to use the French expression, ''know their Paris" — I am putting the verb in the present tense purposely, for the Paris of which Paul de Kock treated has to a consider- able extent remained stationary, morally and mentally, though not materially — I repeat, those who watched the man and had the opportunity of comparing his por- traits and groups with the originals must have surely come to the conclusion that it required no small amount of skill to paint those petits bourgeois and bourgeoises in their habit as they lived. Whenever I think of the in- justice done to Paul de Kock by those who, from a cre- ative, if not from a literary point of view, were not fit to stand in his shadow, I am always reminded of two an- ecdotes, one of which may not be absolutely new to English readers, but both of which will bear repeating for the sake of the admirable lesson they convey. The first sight of Mount Lebanon produced such an effect on Lamartine that there and then he improvised an admirable description of the scene, face to face with the scene itself. One of his companions, a young offi- cer, could not help remarking : * ' But, Monsieur de Lamartine, where do you see all you describe ? I fail to perceive a single thing of what you describe." ''I can understand that, ' ' was the answer ; ' ' I look with the eyes of a poet, you with the eyes of a staff-ofiicer." When Turner had finished his picture of ' ' Covent Garden," he invited a friend of his, a lady, to come and see it. ''It's no doubt very fine, Mr. Turner," was the comment, after a little while, ' ' I also have been to Covent Garden, but I am unable to see it in that light." "Don't you wish you could. Madam?" growled the painter with a savage smile. Although Paul de Kock liked the country, he was as I30 My Paris Note-Book. often in Paris as at Romainville, where he had bought a modest estate, which on the first day of the week during the summer months became the rendezvous of many- sincere friends, the ' ' bigwigs of criticism' ' being, how- ever, conspicuous by their absence. I doubt whether it would have been possible to dislike the popular nov- elist as a man, or the man as a novelist ; but it was, perhaps, equally impossible to enjoy the hospitality of the one without noticing the works of the other ; and as these high and mighty critics were determined to ignore the books, they were perforce compelled to abstain from visiting their author. I fancy they would have done the same with Jan Steen, Adriaan Brouwer, Franz Hals, Gerard Douw, and Van Ostade, if they had happened to wield the pen in the days of those worthies. On the other hand, Paul de Kock, after a certain time, probably ceased to invite them, lest his invitation should be construed into a bribe. The critics were the losers, for apart from the thoroughly pleasant entertainment provided by the host and hostess, they might have witnessed the ' ' genesis' ' of a couple of amusing chap- ters, nay, of the whole of a novel when, after dinner, Paul de Kock took his guests to one of the open-air balls in the neighbourhood. The novelist had, more- over, built a small theatre, on which he tried his pieces before submitting them to theatrical ^managers. Towards the latter end of his life, when I was no longer a thoughtless lad, I often witnessed a "genesis" of that kind when standing by his side at the window of the small apartment he occupied for more than forty years on the Boulevard Saint-Martin, a few doors from the theatre of that name. He would stand motionless for a long while, steadfastly looking at the busy scene below, through his old-fashioned, pearl-handled lorgnon^ My Paris Note-Book. 131 without uttering a syllable ; then would turn round and say, '' 5^ y ^st> j'ai ce qu'il me faut." As a matter of course, I had seen nothing remarkable about the chaffer- ing noisy crowd, and would tell him so. *' C'est bien probable, mais vous ne voyez pas comme moi ;" he replied one day. '^Un Bichat ou un Cuvier ne voit dans un Napoleon ou un Cromwell qu'un animal ver- tebre, le romancier ou I'historien y trouve ou un heros ou un grand criminel ; 1' inexperience a aussi ses Bichats et ses Cuviers." It was on that day that I told him the story of Turner, and he in his turn told me the well- known story of Lamartine. He wound up by paying me a compliment : " D'apres ce que vous m'avez dit, mon ami, vous y verrez clair assez tot pour votre bon- heur." He stopped for a moment, then clenched the whole. *' Apres tout," he sighed ; '' il n'y a que deux manieres d' envisager le monde ; c' est de le traiter en asperge ou en artichaut, de chercher la t^te ou le coeur des gens. Moi je cherche le coeur." I do not think that the critics who ignored him so persistently could have formulated a better philosophy in fewer words. Those who are familiar with the novelist's habits, were enabled to guess without difficulty the mood that would preside at the day's work by glancing at his at- tire. The white-serge monk's frock of Balzac has be- come legendary ; Alexandre Dumas the elder mostly worked with his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and with the collar of that garment unfastened ; Auber frequently composed with his baton ; Horace Vernet, who looked like the trimmest of cavalry officers out- doors and in society, would have willingly done with- out clothing at all while painting, but, to use his own words, '' donned a pair of trousers and shirt, as a con- cession to decency." The famous battle painter, who 132 My Paris Note-Book. was physical and moral courage and energy personified, who read Nicholas I. one of the severest lessons a mon- arch ever received from a humbler mortal, painted as he would have fought ; consequently, after an hour or so, the shirt became dripping wet. Eugene Delacroix, a thorough man of the world, and exceedingly careful of his appearance when abroad, was more than slovenly when at home. An old jacket buttoned up to the chin, a large muffler round his neck, a cloth cap pulled over his ears, and a pair of thick felt slippers made up his usual garb in his studio. A chronic affection of the throat and an extreme sensitiveness to cold scarcely justified this utter disregard of appearances ; in com- mon fairness, however, it should be said that Delacroix never professed ' ' to make a show, ' ' either of himself, his work, or his studio. Though he was "at home" from three till five to visitors of both sexes, it was dis- tinctly understood that he would not interrupt his work, or play the host in the sense of the popular painter of to-day. Paul Delaroche wore a blouse when at work ; and Ingres, until he became "a society man," which was very late in life, always wore a dressing-gown. Scribe, like Buffon, who sat down to his table in lace ruffles and frilled shirt, dressed very carefully early in the morning, and had only to take up his hat when his self-allotted task was done. All these men, though, and several others whom I could mention, never de- parted from the custom once adopted : their dress did not vary with the nature of their work. Whether the subject they treated was a playful or a tragic, their attire underwent no modification. Different was it with Paul de Kock. When engaged upon a serious chapter — I use the word serious in the comparative sense— he never failed to ' ' get into ' ' a blue frock coat of military My Paris Note-Book. 133 cut, and ornamented with frogs — a coat such as was still worn within my recollection by some of the veterans of the First Empire when in mufti. When the subject had to be treated in the lighter vein, he wrapped him- self in a blue flannel dressing-gown, and jauntily poised an elaborately embroidered smoking-cap with a mar- vellous golden tassel on his head. My uncles told me that during the composition of ' * L' homme aux trois Culottes " — the only political novel De Kock wrote — the last mentioned articles entirely disappeared. A couple of years since, while at Monte Carlo, I was reminded of this attempt of the novelist to suit his attire to the business in hand by the remark of an old acquaintance, a former croupier^ who was then discharging the duties of superintendent of the rooms. While we were chat- ting together, an old gentleman, faultlessly dressed in the fashion of a quarter of a century ago, made his appearance. ' * Voici Monsieur qui va jouer, ' ' said my interlocutor, glancing at the new-comer, whose name I have suppressed purposely, seeing that it is an his- toric one, and that the bearer of it may still be alive. *' A quoi voyez-vous cela?" I asked, somewhat sur- prised. ''Rien qu'a le voir, on dirait qu'il joue tous les jours." ** Non pas," was the answer ; '* il ne joue pas t ous les jours; il s'^coule meme des semaines sans qu'il joue. ' ' * ' Done, je r^pete ma question : A quoi voyez-vous qu'il va jouer aujourd'hui?" * ' C est qu' il a mis son frac, sa belle cravate, ses bot- tines vernies et tout le reste. II ne s'habille comme 5a que quand il a de 1' argent pour jouer ; quand il est a sec il vient en veston ou en jaquette. II vient a I'assaut de la banque en grande tenue." 134 ^Y Paris Note-Book. I have already said that Paul de Kock's apartment in Paris was small to a degree — I might have said un- comfortably small ; but in virtue of its situation, it con- stituted an admirable watch-tower, for the Boulevard St. Martin was to the Quartier du Marais what the Boulevard des Italiens was, and to a certain extent still is, to the Chaussee d'Antin and the Faubourg St. Honor6 — its playground and promenade. That was probably the reason of the novelist's remaining there to the last. There were only two rooms looking on to the street, the drawing-room and a small bedroom ; the latter did duty at the same time as a study. A descrip- tion of the drawing-room would baffle a more skilled pen than mine, just because it was the absolute counter- part of a hundred similar ones I saw in those days. Mahogany chairs, upholstered in red material, arranged methodically along the walls ; a couple of Voltaires (read, easy chairs) standing sentry by the fireplace ; red cur- tains at the windows ; a gilt clock and candelabra on the mantel-shelf; a table standing in the centre of a carpet — which gave one the impression of an oasis of worsted in a wilderness of waxed flooring — on the table a cellaret which would probably fetch a long price at present, but the like of which in those days could be bought by the dozen. A few engravings and two or three pictures, by no means masterpieces, completed the furniture. More interesting was the study and bedroom in one. If the drawing-room was like a hundred others, the study was unlike that of any literary man I knew or know. To begin with ; there was absolutely no litter, and the mahogany writing-table, placed by the side of the window, which was left free of access, was the smallest I have seen under similar conditions. There My Paris Note-Book. 135 were no stray papers, no dictionaries, nor books of reference of any kind ; a large white earthenware ink- stand — I have got its twin-brother, left to me by my uncles ; a sous-viain^ which must not be confounded with a modern blotter, for Paul de Kock clung to the old-fashioned method of drying his manuscript with sand, a capacious wooden bowl filled with which flanked the inkstand ; a few steel pens in primitive holders ; a quire or so of quarto paper ; and that was all. Paper- weights, letter-clips, and the paraphernalia of the luxu- riously appointed sanctum of the well-to-do author were conspicuous by their absence. The principal feature of the long and narrow room was a set of book-shelves made of plain deal, that had either been stained originally, or become darkened with age. At a rough guess, they contained between 400 and 500 volumes, three-fourths of which were the author's own works — of course, I mean the various editions of his works, from the cheap piracies, printed in Belgium, which drove him almost mad with grief on account of their terrible printer's errors, to the magnificently bound and handsomely illustrated Edition de luxe, which drove him nearly crazy with delight, albeit that pecuniarily he had suffered as much by the publication of the latter as by the publication of the former. A simple walnut bed- stead, hung with primitive chintz curtains, a tiny couch and one arm-chair, both upholstered in green morocco, and a washhand-stand completed the furniture of the apartment in which one of the most laborious and useful of lives was spent, for, in spite of all opinions to the contrary, Paul de Kock's was a useful life, for he did for his contemporaries, and to a certain extent for posterity, what it is given to few men to do. He made them laugh, and the laughter left no bitter after-taste. If proof of 136 My Paris Note-Book. this were wanted, it would be found in the two following facts. In 1835, Emile de Girardin, in answer to an article by Balzac, drew up a rough statement of the marketable value of the then famous authors, whom he divided into five categories. Victor Hugo stood at the head of the list in company with Paul de Kock. The only man who, besides the author himself, had a complete edition of his works, was not only one of the shrewdest judges of humanity, but one of the best critics of the intrinsic — read, moral — value of books, as dis- tinguished from their literary merits — I am alluding to Giovanni-Maria Mastai-Ferretti, better known to the world at large as Pope Pius IX. My Paris Note-Book. 137 CHAPTER VI. A view of French society under the Third Republic — Wanted a Sebastien Mercier — In default of such an one, the author attempts the task— The author's qualifications — The author's knowledge of most of the present rulers of France — The author's system of getting at the truth — Look for the woman — The absence of the nice female element from the principal thoroughfares — The author takes a walk with an English friend — The lady's ante- cedents and present position — A remark of M. Edouard Herve of Le So leil— The author's friend explains the situation— The attitude of the Faubourgs Saint-Germain and Saint-Honor6 towards the Republican bigwigs— The women of the Chauss^e d'Antin — A scene from Dumas' Etrangere in real life— The late General Boulanger and his second daughter — Why the wives of the Republican bigwigs shun the public thoroughfares — A minis- ter's "lady" on the prevalence of Oflfenbachian music in the Church service— An invitation to a dinner-party — My first impres- sion — The late Emile Perrin on diamonds as heirlooms — A scrap of conversation. Some one — I do not remember who — has suggested that a new ' ' Tableau de Paris' ' might be written every ten years. I quite agree with the suggestion, and I do not even make it an essential condition that the limner of such a word-picture sho'uld be a Sebastien Mercier ; although there are Paris journalists of the present day to the full as able to accomplish the task as the eighteenth century chronicler. Nevertheless, they seem to shirk it. Perhaps they are wise in their generation. They are, perhaps, conscious of lacking, not the required talent, but the required impartiality. They are either partisans of one of the fallen dynasties, or else cham- 12* 138 My Paris Note-Book. plons of the existing regime and their pohtical tendencies notwithstanding, they are mindful, under the circum- stances, of Spinoza's precept — " It is not our duty to praise or to blame, but simply to observe. ' ' I have no such fear with regard to my impartiality, albeit it has been questioned, not once, but a score of times ; the latest onslaught on me only dating from a fortnight ago.' I made up my mind long since not to answer such attacks. I have been called ' ' a spy in the pay of Bismarck," and a "canting, hypocritical priest," the latter because they, the assailants, remembered the great Father Prout, one of whose humble successors I was as the Paris correspondent of The Globe ; I have been called many things. The term ' ' canting, hypo- critical priest" was flung at me by Madame S6verine, who succeeded Jules Valles as the editor of Le Cri du Peuple. If her predecessor, with whom I was on very cordial terms for many years, had been alive, he would have probably told her that my godliness consisted in holding up the right cheek when the left is kissed by a pretty woman, not in holding up the left when the right is smitten by a man. It was some consolation, though, to be mistaken for a Father Prout, even by a Madame Severine. With regard to my other qualifications for giving a comprehensive and at the same time concise view of Paris society in the third decade of the Third Republic, I will say as little as possible. I have known personally most of the men who have lorded it over France during the last twenty-three years ; I have known them when they were obscure — and deservedly obscure— adventur- ers who, with the exception of Gambetta, had not be- ^ This was written on the 5th February, and I am alluding to a violent attack in La Liberie of the 23rd January 1894, My Paris Note-Book. 139 tween them a fourth of the talent of Perslgny, let alone of Louis Napoleon. I know the means by which they have attained their present positions, I know the women they have taken to their hearts and homes — perhaps a little too well — and I mean to speak out freely about all. I would warn the reader squeamish in those mat- ters, to put down my book at once. When Joshua the son of Nun sent out spies to view the land, even Jeri- cho, the latter did not apply for information to the care- ful housewife and mother ; they went to Rahab. During the last twenty-five years I have often adopted a similar proceeding. In France, as elsewhere, respectability that drives a gig is exceedingly selfish ; more than com- monly ignorant ; nine times out of ten afraid to open its lips ; and downright uninteresting when it does open them. Non-respectability, especially when it is being driven in a brougham, or when it tools its own mail- phaeton, is not half such a coward ; is frequently very sympathetic ; nearly always amusing ; and not more mendacious than the other. Besides, in France more than in any other country, the axiom first formulated by Marie Stuart's son — for it was he and not a judge who formulated it — ''Look for the woman," used to hold good in almost every case. It does not do so now in politics. There is only one instance during the last two decades in which the influence of a woman indi- rectly provoked a political crisis, and she was not a strange goddess, but a very legitimate spouse ; I am alluding to the Duchesse de Magenta. But for his wife Marshal Mac-Mahon would not have gone to the Elysee, and if a less honest man had been there at the time, the RepubHc would have been strangled at its birth. For its father was neither Adolphe Thiers, nor Jules Favre, nor Gambetta, nor any of the men who usurped power 140 My Paris Note-Book. on the 4th September 1870, even more flagrantly than did Louis Napoleon on the morning of the 2nd Decem- ber 1 85 1, for he, at any rate, had been placed by the "voice of the nation" in the position whence he could usurp power ; they had not. The real founder of the Third RepubHc, the founder in spite of himself, was Mac-Mahon. He will duly figure in my ** attempted" picture, which as yet is merely a blank canvas before me, a canvas before which, remembering what I said about the talent of some of the Paris journalists, I am standing asking myself whether I have the literary skill either to begin or finish it ? But at the same time there occurs to me the answer of Machiavelli to that princess who went to consult him about her son. * ' Whatever he does, he does badly," she sighed. " It is better to do things badly than not to do them at all," was the reply. The background to my picture does not promise well. I have no groups of well-dressed, fascinating, sprightly women comme il faut to incorporate with it. I have only women comme il en faut — to use Gautier's expres- sion to Heine — and even of these there is a scarcity. To the man who, like myself, knows every inch of his boulevards from the Rue Scribe to the Rue Drouot, this absence of the nice female element from the prin- cipal thoroughfare is a subject of perpetual wonder and regret, and he cannot help remarking upon it to his companion for the time being. Until the year before last, I failed to get a valid, or call it a plausible, expla- nation of the supposed voluntary exile of the sweeter part of humanity from her customary haunts. It came from a dear old friend, a woman of the world, who is about my own age — that is no longer young — and who has a catholic sympathy with the foibles, nay, with the My Paris Note-Book. 141 vices of mankind, and especially with those of her own sex. She is English though she speaks French like a native, and has been married twice. Her first husband was one of her countrymen, a naval officer ; her second is a Frenchman, the bearer of a name which is virtually a rallying cry among the Republicans, although ' ' the exploit whence sprung the fame" was not performed by him, but by his brother, who died recently. My friend's husband is, however, as sincere a Republican as was his brother, but of a different type. If I could see a Re- public with such men as he is at the helm, I would be- come a Republican myself Curiously enough, for there are not many women who are RepubHcans at heart, his wife shares his political convictions to the full. She and her husband remained in Paris during the Commune, and, in spite of the latter' s well-known antipathy to everything savouring of violence, were never molested. During that period she was invited on several occasions "to contribute her pav^ to the making of a barricade," with which invitations she in- variably complied graciously. I have said this much about her to show that, intellectually and morally, she is not hostile to a Republican regime. But whenever I discuss the subject with her, I am reminded of a remark made to me some years ago by M. Edouard Herve, the editor of Le Soleil : ' ' In every French aristocrat there is the making of a democrat ; in every English demo- crat there is the basis of an aristocrat." I am bound to say that my friend's republicanism is pretty well shaken off at her front door, and very seldom allowed to invade her home. On the occasion referred to, I happened to meet her by accident a few hours after my arrival in Paris, and we strolled down the Boulevards Malesherbes and 142 - My Paris Note-Book. Haussmann as far as the Rue Auber, and from thence to the Place de 1' Opera. It was a mild December day, the sky being somewhat overclouded and the pavement rather damp. Now I am no longer young, but never- theless a great admirer of a pretty pair of feet and ankles, and on a damp day, ^^j^ai la vue basse, ^^ as M. Francisque Sarcey said once when remonstrated with by a lady whose nether extremities he was scrutinising a little too closely. During our stroll, however, there was nothing to admire in that respect. But for the lan- guage spoken around me, I might have been in Berlin or Amsterdam ; in these two cities only could I have seen so many pairs of galoches outside the shop win- dows during so short a period. Nor was this all. Though it was the hour at which the Parisienne with nothing par- ticular to do, takes her walks abroad, I did not see a dozen well-dressed women. The weather was not suffi- ciently bad to justify this abstention on her part, and, as a matter of course, I commented upon it. * ' The Fau- bourg St. Germain and the Faubourg St. Honor6 no longer take their womankind on to the boulevards of an afternoon," replied my friend. *' The men are more or less compelled to come in contact with the new rulers of France, but they object to introduce them to their wives, daughters, and sisters. And it is exceedingly difficult not to introduce them without being downright rude, or, to say the least, impolite, for Louis Napoleon's father was right when he said ' qu'il n'y a pas de laide duchesse pour un bourgeois.' If the partisans of the vanished dynasties were bent merely on fighting against measures instead of bringing back rulers, they might have accom- plished the former object long ago by throwing one or two of their salons open to the wire-pullers and the lead- ers of the various RepubHcan sections, for there is not My Paris Note-Book. * 143 one of these leaders, with the exceptions of Brisson and Freycinet, the latter of whom is an aristocrat himself, who could not be wheedled into anything by a charming woman belonging to the older or even newer noblesse. *' As for the women belonging to the Chaussee d' An- tin," my friend went on, "their disappearance from their favourite promenades is due to another cause. A great many are not sufficiently sure of their own social standing not to be afraid of being mistaken for, or being obliged to be introduced to, the wives of some of the present bigwigs. Their husbands, I mean the husbands from the Chaussee d' Antin, unlike the Legitimists, Mon- archists, and Bonapartists, do not mind their spouses coming in contact with the male section of the powers that be, for there is something to be gained by that con- tact ; but they draw the line at their wives' contact with the women, unless they are absolutely driven into a cor- ner ; for it has happened before now that the granting of a concession or the signing of a fat contract has been made dependent upon the admission of the wife of a minister or permanent secretary to the salon of the wife of a big brasseur d' affaires^ who, the wife, petite and VQvy petite boiirgeoise as she may have been, considers herself above the petite ouvriere or modiste. We'll re- main within the narrowest bounds, and still be charitable — the petite ouvriere or modiste whom the whirligig of politics has pitch-forked into a conspicuous position. You remember that scene in the younger Dumas' V Etrangere in which Mrs. Clarkson offers ever so many thousand francs for a cup of tea in the Duchesse de Sept-Monts' drawing-room? That scene has been enacted over and over again in real life during the past few years ; the bribe, of course, not being so many thou- sands of francs for the poor, but the large concession, 144 ^^ Paris Note-Book. the profitable sinecure for a relation, or the fat contract to which I have alluded. You must remember that la courtisane sur le retour, la Jille du peiiple, and the rest of the women of les nouvelles couches enrichies — if their mankind be ofiicially connected with the Republic — can no longer take a ticket for a social haven or paradise of some sort en route for heaven ; that is, they can no longer call the priest to their aid, as they did formerly, by lar- gesse for his flock, or contributions for a new or restored church. That would jeopardise their husbands' or fathers' position. Boulanger, who had sent his second daughter to a convent when he was a mere general, took her out again when he became Minister for War. See- ing that each of the parties, except the Republican, was hoping, if not deluding itself into the belief, that the General was working for them, they accepted, though not without a wry face, the lame explanation furnished by the General's friends, that the General's altered cir- cumstances would enable him to provide a dot for the second daughter as well as for the first. The Repubh- cans themselves, and, for that matter, Boulanger too, knew well enough that with his daughter in a convent he would not have been able to hold ofhce for a month, and at that time they, the Republicans, had not taken the measure of the man, and were not afraid of him, or else he had not taken the measure of the extreme sec- tion, and thought that he could throw dust in their eyes by his daughter's return to society. To this argument of mine you may oppose the fact that Madame la Duchesse de Magenta and Madame Carnot are faithful Catholics and perform the duties of their religion. This may be. I doubt, however, whether a priest ever en- tered the Elys6e during Mac-Mahon's tenancy of the Presidential chair, or if he enters there now except on My Paris Note-Book. 145 business. Besides, a President is a President, and the mob and the wire-pullers of the extreme Radical sections cannot hound him away unless he should commit some flagrant breach of the Constitution. Take my word for it, that no minister's wife could edge her way into soci- ety by means of the priest without her husband's life being made a burden to him, not only by his Republican opponents, but by his colleagues also. ' ' ' ' But, ' ' I observed, * ' all these parvemtes may not be able to get into the right set, or what they think to be the right set, or the only set that is at all attainable ; still there is no reason why they should voluntarily exile themselves from the streets. Nay, I read the other day in a paper which I feel confident is well informed on the subject, a list of dresses and cloaks, &c., ordered by one of these. They must be shown somewhere, for my own experience tells me that woman — of no matter what nationality— does not order all that finery for the mere pleasure of sitting at home in it." ''You are right," replied my friend, smiHng ; '' they do not sit at home in it ; but, I repeat, they do not come out into the streets, not even in an open carriage, let alone on foot. Of course there are exceptions, but I am talking of the majority. I could tell you of scenes which the Palais-Royal farce-writer would think too ex- travagant, too far-fetched, to reproduce on the stage, but which nevertheless have occurred not once, but a half-dozen times in real life. I will do so one day ; meanwhile let me tell you what does keep them out of the street — the fear of being recognised and accosted by their former companions, acquaintances, and friends, who, if the truth be told, are probably much more creditable than they. But it is not pleasant for a min- ister's or even an ambassador's wife, however honest in G k 13 146 My Paris Note-Book. the main her former acquaintances may be, to be hailed by them while she is sitting proudly in a grand carriage with coachman and footman on the box, and while they, the acquaintances, are en cheveux^ with a large bonnet- box dangling from their hands, or a laundry-basket slung on their arm. * Tiens,' says the little dressmaker or ironer, * tiens, voila Phoemie, et en voiture ;' and forthwith she steps up to the carriage and claims ac- quaintance. * Comment, tu ne me remets pas ; tu ne reconnais pas la petite Anna ?' says the girl, as the occu- pant of the carriage gives her a stony stare in response to her salutation ; ' tu ne reconnais pas la petite Anna avec qui tu travaillais chez Madame Bronvart ?' ' There is still no response, and meanwhile a small group has collected, for the girl's last words have been uttered in a somewhat shrill tone. Badauds, /Idneurs, and d^- sceuvr^s of all kinds instinctively stop, expecting a ' scene' ; the group swells into a crowd, but there is no * scene' ; there is only an exposition of a * scene' that might have been by the offended workgirl, for the foot- man at a wink from his mistress has told the coachman to drive home ; but Madame la Ministre is highly ex- cited, and promises herself not to risk a repetition of the rencontre. Within a few days all the servants get notice, for I need not tell you that the 'incident,' ' V aventure de Madame y as it is called by the valetaille, has pro- voked great merriment, not unmixed with spiteful com- ment in the kitchen, and possibly in the concierge's lodge, and that the engagement of a w^vj personnel was decided upon that very evening between His Excellency and his spouse. If the thing were possible, the magnifi- cent official residence, 'newly decorated' and sumptu- ously furnished, would be abandoned, for the concierge is to be trusted no more than the rest. But the trouble My Paris Note-Book. 147 and expense of such a sudden flitting to the private residence which has been dismantled are too great. As it is, the ministere is left for a week or so to the tender mercies of the ushers, during which time another staff of private servants is recruited, if possible from the country. Madame goes to Dieppe, Etretat, or Caute- rets, if in the summer ; to Biarritz, Pau, or Monte Carlo, if in the winter ; while Monsieur le Ministre takes up his quarters at an hotel. You look incredulous ; I can assure you I am not drawing upon my imagination ; to my knowledge the thing has happened twice within a twelvemonth. I myself have heard a minister's wife apostrophised from the gallery of a very good theatre while she was seated in a stage box." "But," I objected, "there are some bigwigs of the Republic whose wives belong to very good families ; for instance, Jules Ferry, Floquet, Flourens, the former Minister for Foreign Affairs, Freycinet, and others." ' * ' True, ' ' was the answer ; * ' but wherever that is the case, they receive the wives of their husbands' col- leagues only 'officially,' albeit that some of these — I mean the wives — are their equals in point of birth and education. They are bound to do this, else the others would slip in, and their private social gatherings would become the laughing-stock of the nation ; for there is always some good-natured nouvelliste a la main or chroniqueur who, though belonging to the Republican party, is not above making capital out of the pataques and malaprop remarks he hears by selling them embel- lished to the Opposition papers. This wholesale ostra- cism of all ministers' wives by one another is largely due to the bulls and blunders of Madame . . . ,' which * The name was duly mentioned ; at my publisher's request I have suppressed it. 148 My Paris Note-Book. for the first few years after her appearance in society made the round of the press. Here is one of these unfortunate remarks which has never appeared. Some six or seven years ago she took it into her head to attend the Lenten Services at St. Eustache. About the same time there was a successful revival of several of Offenbach's operas, and one or two of the more seriously inclined papers protested against this, on the score that La Belle Helene, La Grande Duchesse^ and the rest had contributed largely to the prevailing corruption during the Second Empire ; that after the war, France had faithfully promised herself not to be betrayed into such follies again, and so forth ; with all of which remarks the lady cordially agreed. From what I have heard, it would seem that, previous to this sudden fit of religious observance, the lady had not been in a church for years, perhaps not since her ' first communion,' if she was ever confirmed at all, or she may never have set foot in a sacred building in her life ; for I have been told, though I do not know how far the story is true, that she was the daughter of a working- man who about '48 loudly professed his Voltairean prin- ciples. There is not much harm in that, for every one has the right to think as he likes ; the worst is that these working-men, though they read a good deal them- selves, rarely impart their knowledge to their female offspring, and simply forbid them to go to mass. The habit of staying away, being once contracted, is rarely changed except under extraordinary circumstances. Anyhow, the lady had no prayer-book on the first day of her devotional pilgrimage, and some one obligingly offered her one. In the afternoon she paid a visit to the wife of another minister, and was in a state of great indignation. Her hostess, as a matter of course, asked My Paris Note-Book. 149 the reason. * It is positively disgraceful, ' was the re- ply ; * they are not content with having the music of that Offenbach here, there, and everywhere, but they must needs introduce it into the Church service.' * Surely, chere Madame, you are mistaken ; I went to Notre- Dame yesterday, but I heard no music of Offen- bach,' remarked the hostess. 'That's rather curious,' was the rejoinder, ' for it is marked in the prayer-book they lent me ; but perhaps it is a prayer-book intended for St. Eustache only.' ' I fancy there is no such special prayer-book, but I will see in mine ; I happen to have a new one, ' with which the hostess vanished for a mo- ment, and returned with her prayer-book. * I cannot find a mention of it anywhere, ' she said after a while. 'But here it is, plain enough,' protested her visitor, pointing to three letters printed in italics and brackets in several places. She had mistaken the abbreviation of the word ' offertory' (Off.) for the name of the popular composer." I laughed, but knew that my friend, clever as she is, had not invented this. She went on. "When you come to Paris nowadays on a flying visit, you spend too much time in the theatres and the streets. I am having some people to dinner to-morrow. Come and have a look at them. And mind, they are the best, le dessus du pa7iier de hi troisihne republique ; it will give you an idea of what the lower layers are, and a pretty correct notion about the aspirations of the women especially. Mind, these are the best ; it is virtually my husband's nephew's dinner-party, not mine ; but his father is strange, and said that he could not have it at his official residence, as he would be compelled to invite the wives of some of the bigwigs of the Chamber, and that I always made a fuss. I don't make a fuss, but I would 13^ 150 My Paris Note-Book. willingly dispense with the nuisance of doing the honours of his home. If he were not too old, I would advise him to marry again." Vril be pleased to come ; but the chances are that some of my impressions will eventually find their way into print," I replied. ' ' You may write whatever you like, provided you mention no names. The reverse of les grandes dames de par la republique, I object to see my name in print j but I should not be sorry to give my countrymen either vicariously or personally an insight into the social mean- ing of the words ' liberty, equality, and fraternity.' " My first impression on entering my friend's drawing- room on the following evening was that ' ' I had come in for a good thing." The seven or eight women — exclu- sive of the hostess — grouped about the apartment were all good-looking ; one was positively handsome, two sisters — I discovered the relationship later on — were sweetly pretty, and the rest comely. A glance told me that one and all were dressed literally ' ' regardless of expense and in excellent taste." At a rough guess, the diamonds worn by them must have cost collectively be- tween fifteen and twenty thousand pounds ; but there was not a single ornament or jewel but what might have been purchased seance tenante at any first-rate shop in the Rue de la Paix or on the Boulevard des Capucines. My friend's old-fashioned garnets and Honiton lace proved a welcome relief ; her female guests reminded me of the showroom at Worth's or Pingat's, with this dif- ference that the essayeuse never wears a low dress, and that they, the guests, were sufficiently d^collet^es to damn a dozen Tartuffes. It was an absolute case of " neck or nothing," as the Anglo-Egyptian in the Said Pasha time My Paris Note-Book. 151 termed it in 1867 at the Tuileries. " Cela sent la par- venue, ' ' said Madame de Coislin to Madame de Chateau- briand nearly a hundred years before that at a similar exhibition in the salo?is of Madame de Stael and Madame Suard. ** Nous autres, femmes de la cour, nous n'avions que deux chemises ; on les renouvelait quand elles 6taient usees ; nous etions vetues de robes de sole et nous n'avions pas I'air de grisettes comma ces demoiselles de maintenant. ' ' I may admit that the display of diamonds fairly sur- prised me, and after a few moments I remarked upon them in an undertone to my hostess. *' Most of them are heirlooms," she replied with a significant smile ; ''at any rate, that's what I am told." My friend's smile re- called to my mind a conversation I had one day with the late M. Emile Perrin of the Comedie-Fran9aise, whose portrait I intend to give before the end of these pages. In days gone by, the Comedians, male and female, had to provide everything in the way of dresses for them- selves, which made Augustine Brohan say one day, " On nous mettait sur la scene toutes nues, il est vrai nous Etions assez jolies pour 5a." When the clever artist launched that epigram, many things were already paid for by the treasury. At present the management pro- vides even the boots, hats, and bonnets of the actresses in modern as well as costume plays ; nay, a laundress — une blanchisseuse de Jin, s'entend — is attached to the establishment. And everything is of the very best, and thoroughly genuine, with the exception of the paste that still does duty for diamonds. Talking about the latter on a certain occasion, the late Administrator- General blinked his eyes, as was his habit when he felt in a jocular mood, which by-the-bye was not often. " It does not matter," he said, '* seeing that from one 152 My Paris Note-Book. year's end to another the stage jewellery is never used. It is surprising, ' ' he added, ' * how many heirlooms of jewellery there seem to be in actresses' families, for every remark upon the subject invariably elicits the same reply — ' Oh, my mother had them long before her marriage. ' And yet, to look at these mothers one would hardly think so." Balzac was right ; the whole of the world' s stories are founded upon seven originals. If that adventure of Judah with Tamar, as related in Genesis, had not been productive of such a terrible esclandre, she would have afterwards averred that that tell-tale ring was an heir- loom. I must remind the reader that this particular visit to Paris occurred at the time when the Panama scandals were reaching the acute stage, when initials, which but too thinly disguised names, freely appeared in almost every newspaper in connection with true or fictitious stories attributing rightly or wrongly a good deal of the spoil to certain women, the * ' friends' ' of this or that minister, of this or that highly placed personage. By my hostess' own admission, I was in the society of women who pretended with more or less reason — I dis- covered that it was with less reason — ^^ defaire la pluie et le beau temps^ ' in the affairs of State, and I naturally concluded that they would be somewhat reluctant to discuss the articles, paragraphs, and apologues in ques- tion, which, if they did not aim at them, aimed, at any rate, at those with whom they were known ' ' to row in the same boat." In less than five minutes after my arrival I was thoroughly undeceived on that point, for there was not the slightest reticence on the subject. But a still greater surprise was in store for me. I expected that every one would pretend ignorance with regard to My Paris Note-Book. 153 the originals of some of these cleverly drawn portraits, for I had read two or three, and they were decidedly cleverly drawn in spite, or perhaps because, of their want of resemblance ; or, in default of the confidence or tact to plead such ignorance, would tax others with being the involuntary models. Not at all. The following scrap of conversation will afford the reader an idea of my second surprise. "You know," said a piquante brunette of about thirty to the handsomest woman in the room — ''you know for whom that portrait in Le Gaulois was meant ? And you know whose salon they wanted to depict ?' ' ' ' I have got a faint suspicion to that effect, ' ' was the answer, with a magnificent, semi-supercilious smile, show- ing a splendid set of teeth. ' ' I fancy I have got a faint suspicion to that effect." *' I am told it is meant for Madame R. . . ." * * For Madame R. . . . ? I can assure you that it is not meant for Madame R. . . ." "Well, I have been positively assured it is." "You have been thoroughly misinformed, and you may contradict the rumour on my authority. I am furthermore certain that it is Madame R. . . . herself who spreads these rumours. But it cannot be meant for her, seeing that " "Seeing that " "Seeing that it is meant for me." "For you?" This in a tone of astonishment and vexation impossible to convey. * ' For me. I feel perfectly certain of it, for I happen to know the writer of the article very well." I repeat, I had read two or three of these articles, and at the time of reading them felt that if any woman in whom I took ever so slight an interest had been held 154 My Paris Note-Book. up to obloquy — although exceedingly witty obloquy — in that way, I should have horsewhipped the writer within an inch of his life, or risked being horsewhipped by him. The original of that particular portrait not only felt evidently flattered, but I discovered afterwards that all the others shared the feeling, and that those who had been left in the "satirical cold" could scarcely disguise their disappointment. The greatest injury that could be done to them had been inflicted : they had been passed over in silence. In the course of the evening, it became clear to me that one might say almost anything of them, provided it was said in print and in a paper that could command a wide circulation. I doubt whether, with the exception of my hostess, one of the women I met that night could have given even a moderately intelligible account of Mme. Roland, Mme. de Sainte-Amaranthe, let alone of Mme. Necker, Mme. de Beauharnais, or Mme. de Genlis. They were un- questionably familiar with the names of Pompadour and Du Barry, with the name of the first in connection with dress fashions and silk stuff's, with that of the second in connection with a certain shade of porcelain ; beyond that they knew nothing of their doings or their lives ; as for her who for good or evil influenced the latter years of the reign of Louis XIV. , she who was mainly responsible for the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, but to whom France also owed the foundation of the *'Maison de St. Cyr," her name was probably as a Greek word to them. And yet every one of these women, who were and are only the samples of perhaps three or four hundred others, aspired and still aspires to play a role similar to that played by the women of brain of the eighteenth century. Their failure has been most flagrant, for even Gambetta, the most susceptible to My Paris Note-Book. 155 woman's charms and wiles, of all those who have lorded it over France for the last twenty-three years, was de- termined to conduct ''politics without petticoats." In his case the tussle was perhaps harder than in that of any other leader or subordinate, for reasons which will become sufficiently apparent when I come to deal more fully with him. At present, I may be permitted to "open a parenthesis," anglic^, to digress for a while, and to draw upon my earlier recollection, aided, may be, by a little historical knowledge, in order to show what ' ' la politique sans les femmes ' ' really means to France. 156 My Paris Note-Book. CHAPTER VII. Politics without petticoats— Marshal Mac-Mahon and the Duchesse de Magenta — The "friends" of the Republican bigwigs — Mme. Thiers and Mile. Dosne— Their influence over Theirs— A letter from Mile. Dosne— Mme. Grevy— Mme. Daniel Wilson,n^e Grevy —Jules Grevy and Mesdames de Rainneville and d'Harcourt— —Mme. Ferry — Mme. de Freycinet and Mile, de Freycinet — Boulanger and Mme. de Bonnemain — Women who influenced kings — Mme. Edmond Adam and Louise Michel — Political salons of former days — More conversation at the dinner-party — My friend's husband on the situation — The reason of the dislike to woman's influence — Corbiere's mother and Gambetta's father — ■ Skobelefl" and the Jewish soldier — A short retrospect — The mod- ern politician's love-affairs and his way of conducting them. Never, in the history of France, have her public men been exposed to such merciless scrutiny as within the last twenty-three years. Their integrity in political as well as in money matters has been frequently and not altogether unjustly assailed, but no one has ever said or written of them — ' ' This or that one is under the thumb or in the power of a woman whom he cannot or dare not disobey ; it is in this or that alcdve that he finds or looks for his inspirations." No one has ever been able to say — ''France is governed by a ballet-dancer, or by a duchess ;' ' though in one instance a duchess tried for a very, very little while to get the upper hand. She failed utterly, mainly, perhaps, because the man was too hon- est, also, probably, because they had been married many, many years, and though the affection subsisting between them was rare and sweet indeed, the glamour of passion My Paris Note-Book. 157 had departed ; it was the influence of the spouse, but, to use a French expression, of "r6pouse mtirie, ayant laiss6 son sexe aux asp6rites des ann^es ; de I'epouse austere, demi-confesseur, demi-belle-mere." I need not mince matters ; neither the dead husband nor the Hving wife have aught to be ashamed of in that episode in their Hves. I am alluding to the late Marshal Mac- Mahon and the Duchesse de Magenta. Of course, there are women who have substantially- benefited by their relations, more or less avowable, with the men in power : they have had the first news of important events, which has enabled them to gam- ble on the Stock Exchange ; they have received pots- de-vin for securing ministerial influence for a new pat- ent or a new joint-stock company ; they have placed their husbands, fathers, and brothers in snug berths ; but of political influence they have wielded none — always with the exception of the Duchesse de Magenta just named. They have been on the pirate ship and shared in the spoils and booty ; but they had to keep their hands off the helm ; they have not been allowed to shape its course. When Mme. Thiers died, an ama- teur, who was curious in such matters, offered a com- paratively large sum for one of her autograph letters, or for one of her sister. Mile. Dosne, written during the life of Adolphe Thiers. His main object was to discover whether the wife or the sister-in-law, his almost insep- arable companions, had ever influenced his political actions in the slightest degree. Naturally, the dealers, having been put on their mettle, began their hunt, and after a fortnight our amateur received a visit from one of them, who informed him in a very important man- ner that he had discovered one of the desired docu- ments, which had already been sold during the states- 14 158 My Paris Note-Book. man's life to another amateur, who was, however, will- ing to part with it for a consideration. The dealer, though, was unable to enlighten him as to the nature of the epistle, but volunteered to put him in communica- tion with its owner. So said, so done. The latter re- plied most courteously to the request of the intending purchaser, and sent a copy of the note, which consisted of two Hues from Mile. Dosne to the baker : ' ' Monsieur, je vous prie de tenir dorenavant le pain que vous nous fournissez un peu plus cuit." I will return to Madame Thiers and Mile. Dosne by-and-bye, but I may state that the amateur never had a second offer of any kind. Madame Mac-Mahon had her moment of victory when she led the conjugal horse to the water — read the Elys6e — but she failed to make him drink out of the Legiti- mist pond. Of Madame Jules Grevy, it would be simply ridiculous to speak in connection with political influence ; and Grevy' s ' ' bosom friend' ' of many years' standing even before he was President of the Republic, if ever she had the slightest ambition to have a finger in the political pie, saw the futility of such an attempt so clearly that in sheer despair she arranged the marriage of her brother, Daniel Wilson, with Mile. Alice Gr€vy. The result of that union is written in letters, the reverse of gold, in the annals of the Third Republic (anno 1887). And though Jules Gravy's eyes sparkled at the charm and fascination of the delighted Madame de Rainneville and the equally fascinating Comtesse d' Har- court, though he put his hand familiarly and even caress- ingly on their arms, and called them ''7nes belles en- fants,^^ '^ mes toules-delles,'^ and so forth, neither their charm nor their fascination had sufficient power over him to make him hold his hand when the decree expell- ing the Orleans princes had to be signed. My Paris Note-Book. 159 Madame Jules Ferry, who is a mild Protestant, and a nice, liberal-minded woman, was unable to prevent her husband from framing and launching the edict against the religious congregations, which edict is better known to the general reader as 'T Article 7." Madame de Freycinet, more austere in her Protestantism, and per- haps not quite so nice, but sensible withal, failed to per- suade her spouse not to lend himself to proscription of any kind ; all she could accomplish was to extract a promise from him that he would confine his measure to the Jesuits only ; but when he proclaimed that decision at a political meeting at Montauban, the radical mob was nigh tearing him to pieces, and in spite of his wife im- ploring him to hold firm, to ''enact the man," to leave the Jesuits alone as well as the rest, he resigned and gave M. Ferry a free hand. Mile, de Freycinet, a most accomplished girl, who was for some years her father's private secretary, had become very intimate at the Prince von Hohenlohe's, and sincerely attached to Fraulein von Hohenlohe, the ambassador's daughter. It was even whispered — with how much truth I am not in a position to say — that a marriage was contemplated between the minister's daughter and the ambassador's son. That was enough for a good many of M. de Frey- cinet' s colleagues and their henchmen. They began to throw out hints that all this aristocratic commerce was foreign to the spirit of true Republicanism ; that if parents were bent upon patrician husbands or wives for their children, they should not accept dignities and emoluments in a democracy, and so forth. I have already said that the rumours with regard to the alliance may have been utterly without foundation ; the friendship between the two young girls was, however, an ascer- tained fact, and what was perhaps more to the point, M. i6o My Paris Note-Book. de Freycinet was at the time the only Republican min- ister who, by his courtesy and distinguished manners, had become an unquestionable favourite with the corps diplomatique. M. Flourens has been one of his worthy successors in that respect. I know — not from hearsay — that Mgr. de Rende, the present Bishop of Perugia, and perhaps the coming Pope, devoted an hour weekly to a mere friendly call on M. de Freycinet, and that Prince von Hohenlohe paid him frequent visits. I know, fur- thermore, that in consequence of the cordial relations between the two fathers, if not between the two daugh- ters, some difficult negotiations had been carried on in Berlin with satisfactory results to both Governments. Well, this very fact was made a weapon against M. de Freycinet, and especially against the rumoured marriage which, I repeat once more, may have been at the outset a pure invention on the part of some more than usually imaginative gossiper. Anyhow, the mere rumour was treated as an almost accomplished fact, and produced a formidable, albeit carefully hidden, ferment within min- isterial circles. The mildest adjective flung at it in serious comment was that it was ' ' unpatriotic. ' ' Less responsible critics went much further. They declared nearly openly that it should be prevented by all means, ''because" — I heard the words myself—" Mile, de Frey- cinet, as the private secretary of her father, was in pos- session of secrets, notably relating to the plan for mobil- ising the French army, which in the flush of her first happiness she might voluntarily impart to her husband, or which the latter, in default of such voluntary state- ment, might succeed in 'worming' out of her." I hasten to add that the speaker was officially irresponsi- ble, but he was hand-in- glove with a half-dozen actual and past ministers, and I feel confident that the sentence My Paris Note-Book. i6i and the dastardly suspicion it implied were not of his own invention. The project, if it had any existence at all, came to nought, and the relations between Germany and France towards the latter end of Prince von Hohenlohe's stay in Paris became much more strained than they had been during the previous two or three years ; nor was M. de Freycinet's altogether the same towards Germany. In fact, the change was so apparent to me that I pointed it out in the columns of the paper I had the honour to represent at that period, saying, that * * la souris blanche' ' — the sobriquet generally applied to M. de Freycinet — * ' had become la souris rouge, ' ' The change may have commended itself to M. de Freycinet in order to disarm all further comment and distrust. I fancy I was right in saying that under the Third Republic the influence of woman in the affairs of State is nil. A Fillon under the Third Republic may organise a traffic in decorations and orders which will develop eventually into a * ' Caflarel scandal, ' ' and have its denouement in the Assize Courts ; she cannot raise a Dubois to an archbishopric ; there is no room for a Madame de Prie, a Madame de Chateauroux, or a Madame de Pompadour, least of all for a Madame de Polignac. If Boulanger had lived and undertaken the dreamt~of ''^revanche campaign" against Germany,^ we may be certain that no Madame de Bonnemain would have been allowed to send a map to his headquarters with the strategical positions marked by patches taken from her patch-box, as did Madame de Pompadour on one occasion. But in this witty France, where, in spite of the Salic law, woman has reigned and governed more efl"ectually » I will refer to this more fully by-and-bye. / 14* 1 62 My Paris Note-Book. than in any country with the exception of England — where her sex could hold the sceptre legally ; in this witty France, the history of which is studded with the clever doings of those exquisite drdlesses who henpecked kings, as with sparkling diamonds ; in this witty France, which has coined the proverb — " Ce que femme veuty Dieu le veut ;'' in this witty France, which can boast of a Joan d' Arc who led armies to victory, as well as con- demn an empress who impelled them to their ruin ; in this witty France, which numbers among her daughters a Marguerite de Valois as well as a Madame de Main- tenon, an Adelaide d' Orleans as well as a Du Barry, and among her adopted daughters a Catherine de M^dicis and a Duchesse de Berri — I am putting the good and evil geniuses together ; in this witty France, where, to say no more than that woman, until recently, enacted the part of the cotton-wool in a case of porcelain, that is, prevented the contents from being smashed ; in this witty France, woman, even the least intellectual, is re- luctant to abdicate voluntarily her sway. But when the most intellectual — and I have no hesitation in counting Madame Edmond Adam and even Louise Michel, fanatic and dHraquee as she may be, among the number — see that power dwindling to nothing, it is not very surprising that their less gifted sisters should fashion themselves a semblance of it, and cling to it desperately. With this preface, for which I heartily beg to apologise, I resume for a little while my observations at my friend's dinner-table. In the latter part of the eighteenth century a salon was, before everything, literary. Madame Geoifrin, that charming bourgeoise who did not believe in ghosts, but was afraid of them — the reverse of Dr. Johnson, who believed in the ghost of Cock Lane, but was not My Paris Note-Book. 163 afraid of it — Madame Geoffrin, that charming bour- geoise who corresponded with most of the sovereigns of Europe, cared for nothing but Hterature, and hers is in reahty the most perfect salon on record, not even excluding that of the Hotel de Rambouillet. To Mad- ame Necker, that very unpleasant, politically pedantic Genevese woman, whom Carlyle has so skilfully drawn with a few words, belongs the credit — if credit it be — • of having invented the political salon^ for the women whom I mentioned but a few moments ago exercised their power without pretending to establish headquar- ters whence to issue instructions. Madame Necker had many imitators, notably Madame de Genlis, who ostra- cised Bernardin de Saint- Pierre to make room for Bris- sot and his friends. Brissot was one of the honest Republicans of 1789, and an able man besides, but just imagme putting the author of ' ' Paul et Virginie' ' out in the cold to make room for the originator of the Radical or Socialist dogma — " The possession of property means the commission of theft on the part of the proprietor thereof," for there is no doubt that Proudhon was in- spired by Brissot when he wrote that famous sentence. I soon discovered that my female fellow-guests had not an ounce of the brain of Mme. de Stael's mother, or of the former governess of Louis Philippe, but that, nevertheless, they each kept a salon whence everything but politics was banished, and where at critical political periods there was a kind of attempt at computing the number of * ' ayes' ' and ' ' noes' ' the bill of the hour was likely to obtain. That, it appears, was the chief raison (T etre of these salo?is. But they arrogated to themselves a rigorous control over the consciences of deputies. When one of these became lukewarm, or was suspected of a tendency that way, his entrance into i64 My Paris Note-BooK. the apartment was marked by a general and pettily or- ganised silence, accompanied by frowns on the part of the ladies — of which frowns I had a good sample pour rire. In the course of the conversation I made a re- mark to my neighbour at the table-r-the handsome woman — about the prettiness of one of the two sisters afore-mentioned. ''Yes, she is very pretty, but she can be very stern and forbidding when she is annoyed, ' ' was the answer. ' ' I should not have thought that so pretty a woman could look anything but pretty and sweet under no matter what circumstances," I pro- tested mildly, half in earnest, half in fun. ' ' Would you like a proof of what I say?" she asked. " I don't mind," I answered, for, after all, the good or bad temper of the lady in question was a matter of pro- found indifference to me, though on principle, perhaps, I would have done nothing to arouse the latter. "Well, then, listen and watch," she said. As a matter of course, there was no need to tell me twice, and after a few moments my neighbour raised her voice sufficiently to be heard across the table, and for that matter by every one present. *' Ma chere," she began, addressmg her vis-a-vis, "perhaps you, who know M. D. . . . better than most of us, will be able to tell us why he and M. Edouard Herv6 have met so often for the last week ?' ' That was all that was said ; but the lady thus addressed looked up, and the scowl on her face reminded me exactly of an ugly, badly-mended fracture in a Dresden china figure. I frankly confess that, easily "fetched" as I am by a pretty woman's smile, and little afraid of an ugly or pretty woman's sneers and superciHous stares, I should not have liked to confront that one in her ' ' tantrums. ' ' "That's how they all are," said my host, when next My Paris Note-Book. 165 day I gave him the key to the little incident. ' ' My brother, who, you know from his past career, is by no means a coward, avers seriously that he would far sooner face a company of soldiers from the top of a barricade than enter a drawing-room with a dozen of those amiable creatures in it bent upon making him un- comfortable. On the other hand, when they are pleased, they are just as ready to show it. I have been at some of their gatherings when there happened to be among the guests a deputy who on that day or the day before had made a clever speech — or to speak by the card, a speech which the Republican papers had praised as clever, for these would-be critics, I mean the women, are absolutely incapable of discriminating between ster- ling and hollow cleverness — or a newly appointed min- ister or an ambassador. Well, my dear fellow, the most loving husband of the most loving wife on their honeymoon-trip is not so pampered or so idiotically worshipped and ' coddled' as such a guest. They don't take their eyes off him ; they arrange the pillows on the sofa by their side for him, as if he were made of the thinnest Venetian glass ; they offer him their scent- bottles, and their gossamer handkerchiefs to brush the moisture from his brow ; their fans are worked with the regularity of a punkah ; I have expected every minute that they would offer him a * shampoo' and a rub down with a coarse bath-towel. 'Just shut that window, please ; his Excellency is sitting in a draught. ' * Do open that door a trifle, please, his Excellency will faint with the heat.' In reality, they would not mind his Excellency fainting in their rooms, for it would give them a paragraph m the papers ; nay, the sudden death of one of these great little men would suit their book still better, for that would mean an article of at least a i66 My Paris Note-Book. column, and they would be less affected by the loss of the man himself than by the loss of their pet canary or pet dog. These women, my dear friend, never enter- tain angels unawares. * ' Of course, I need scarcely tell you, ' ' he went on, ' * that there are never sufficient ' big pots' at the same time to go round, apart from the fact that some of the ' big pots' of the last twelve or fourteen years are social savages, and absolutely refuse to be worried into being amiable in or out of the Chamber. Equally, as a matter of course, the greater the difficulty of catching such an one, the greater the glory to the catcher. There is only one exception in that respect ; he is never worried or badgered into going to ' receptions ;' he is severely left alone ; and that is Henri Brisson. One of these women, somewhat more epigrammatic than the rest, said that * receiving him' entailed too great an outlay of fuel ; for he positively chills the whole of the house the moment he sets his foot in it. The next * big catch' used to be M. Dufaure, who, during his periods of office, went to bed very late, got up at four, and worked like a nigger. He came out of his shell now and then — very rarely, though ; consequently his appearance in a salon ranked as an event. The men most in demand and cordially responsive to invitations are Edouard Lockroy and Charles Floquet. Lockroy always was, still is, and will probably remain to the end of his days, a delightful companion. Success has smoothed many of the angles of Floquet' s character; he can be most amusing when he likes, and he generally does like. As a rule, however, these hostesses have to be content with the minor gods, and to fall back upon quantity rather than quality." All this was virtually a comment on the conversation My Paris Note-Book. 167 of the previous night, which had nearly exclusively- borne on the delight of the ladies at the presence of one or more ministers at their dinner-table. ''What a pity, chere amie," said a comely woman, who ought to have brought an action for libel against her face, for she looked clever ; * ' what a pity you were unable to dine with us, for we had the Ministre des Beaux- Arts. He was positively charming. ' ' '* Really?" drawled another, and by her tone I con- cluded that she had "something up her sleeve" — the expression is figurative, for there was not sufficient sleeve to conceal anything. ' ' Really ' ' * ' Yes, he was really charming. ' ' * ' I am not surprised, though ; he is nearly always charming. He was very charming at our dinner on Thursday ; but I could not pay him the attention I ought to have paid, for we had the Ministre de I ' Inte- rieur too." The blow had been admirably prepared and was as admirably delivered, for though, as I have said already, quantity has often to do duty for quality in the enumeration of ' ' distinguished' ' guests, both the quantity and quality enumerated by the last speaker were superior to those of her interlocutor ; there being ministers of the first and second water ; and in that particular set of which I am treating, a Minister of the Interior is to a Minister of Fine Arts, what in music a semi-breve is to a crochet. I might go further still, and say that to a hostess fond of social display, and bent upon showing her importance to the outer world, a Minister of the Interior is worth all the other ministers put together ; for the nature of his duties compels him to have * ' his finger on the pulse of France hourly, ' ' as the late M. Beule, who was Minister of the Interior himself, said one day. As a consequence, the telegrams i68 My Paris Note-Book. and reports from the provincial prefects and sub-prefects to the Place Beauveau never cease, and increase as the evening advances. They are, in the absence of the minister from his official residence, despatched to him by the mounted troopers of the municipal guard, and "that is where the sensation comes in." The sight of such a messenger outside a dwelling not only proclaims urbi et orbi the fact that the great man is "at meat within," but it secures the reverence of the concierge, who, to most Parisians, but especially to that class, is the " God Almighty viewing things from below," and whose testimony to the grandeur of the tenants must be as valuable to them as was the approval of that little waitress at the Aerated Bread Shop at the corner of Parliament Street, where canons and deans are wont to forgather for mid-day refreshment. She had not the remotest idea of their social status, but on my remark- ing that there were a great many sable-coated gentlemen in the place, she replied — " Oh, yes, they are very re- spectable and civil ; they never make a noise as some of the others do." "The others," I learnt subse- quently, were the jaunty clerks of the parliamentary agents and lawyers of the neighbourhood. France is the most monarchical country in the world, and now that her kings have disappeared, the people — from the highest to the lowest — fashion for themselves kinglets. Whether their names be Comte de Mun, Comte de Douville-Maillefeu, Gambetta, Rochefort, Boulanger, Paul Deroulede, Cllmenceau, or Blanqui, their tenure of the tinsel crown and sceptre is very pre- carious ; they are subject to proscription, obloquy, and martyrdom, like real kings. Proscription is, after all, the best thing that can happen to them, for it frequently saves them from obloquy, which is sure to come to My Paris Note-Book. 169 them, if they show a dislike to frequently recurring martyrdom. ' ' Apres tout, papa ne pent pas se faire coffrer a chaque instant pour plaire a Montmartre et Belleville," said Rochefort's son one day a few years before his sad death. But for the time being the ' ' kinglet' ' is adulated as was no king in the feudal age, as is no English lord at a suburban dinner-party or ball. The lady who had ad- ministered the telling blow to her would-be social rival, sat still for a moment or so, then with a beaming face, she followed up her advantage. * ' Oui, ' ' she remarked, " nous avons eu M. le Ministre de I'lnterieur ; il a m^me admirablement din6. II a repris deux fois de la bisque. Deux fois, deux fois." Madame de S6vign6 chroni- cling the gastronomic feats of " Le Roi-Soleil ;" Herr Moritz Busch enumerating the viands despatched by Bismarck, were lukewarm in their enthusiasm com- pared to that lady. But the minister in question not being, perhaps, such a formidable trencherman as the great king or the great chancellor, the fact of taking * ' bisque^ ' twice acquired additional importance. These are some of the would-be imitators of the woman who — excepting Louise Michel — is the only one among those of the Third Republic worthy of serious consideration — I mean from a political point of view. It is an open secret, at any rate in France, that Gam- betta, who intellectually towered a head and shoulders above any of his successors, proved refractory to the attempt to influence him, though the means employed thereto are probably not so well known, even in France. I may, if space permits, come back to the subject. I intend to state facts, authenticated facts, and not to be beguiled into comment. For the present, I will confine myself to asking a simple question which may already lyo My Paris Note-Book. have presented itself to the reader's mind, and en- deavour to supply its answer — of course, according to my own lights. This is probably the first time that we witness in France the spectacle of politics without the influence of woman. What is the cause of this new departure? One is bound to admit that a monarchy, especially in France, is more favourable than a republic to the influ- ence of woman in the aflairs of State ; but the First Repubhc had its remarkable women, not all as great as Madame Roland, but remarkable, nevertheless, and women with whom some of its leaders did not disdain to confer. Then why this startling diflerence under the Third Republic, though truth compels one to add that the diflerence was already visible under the Second Republic. The reason is simply this. The majority of the men who have jumped or been pitch-forked into power by a blatant democracy or by the pusillanimity of the bour- geoisie, aided by the wilfully impotent recriminations of a physically decadent and morally and mentally stagnant aristocracy — these men, whether they like it or not, do not belong to the class whence, in former days, minis- ters, ambassadors, and dignitaries were recruited. They may have received the same education, but their home surroundings are diflerent. The lower middle class, whence they sprang, is the least susceptible to the refined fascination of woman's wit and charms. Of course, there are exceptions in this case, just as there were exceptions in the other — that is, all the ministers, &c. , of the Third Republic do not necessarily belong to the lower middle classes, any more than all the minis- ters, &c. , of the First Empire, the Restoration, and the monarchy of Louis Philippe sprang from the upper My Paris Note-Book. 171 middle classes. For instance, Corbiere, who rose to high dignities under the last two Bourbons, was the son of a poor Breton peasant woman, but the feeling with regard to the choice of ministers and leaders was such that Corbiere' s mother, on receiving the tidings of his nomination, exclaimed — *'My son a minister? Is the Revolution not at an end, then?" As a contrast to this I may recite the remark of Gambetta's father at the period when his son was President of the Chamber, and when he saw him pass between the two rows of soldiers, who presented arms while the drums were beating. ' ' Tant mieux, ' ' said the old grocer from Cahors ; " it appears that L^on has tumbled into a very good berth. I trust he may keep it and save money." He had no notion of the dignity of the position, he only saw the material benefits accruing from it. He reminds me of the Polish Jewish soldier to whom Skobeleff on the eve of Plevna offered the choice between a hundred roubles and the Cross of St. George for having saved his life. ' * The Cross of St. George, the Cross of St. George, ' ' said the young man; "what is it worth, the Cross of St. George ?" * * My good fellow, it is not for the worth of the thing, but for the honour, that I offer it to you. The Cross itself is worth no more than five roubles." *'In that case," came the answer, 'Til have the Cross of St. George and ninety-five roubles." Corbiere was, however, not the only one who from lowly beginnings rose to eminence in the State during the first six or seven decades of the century. The Thouvenels, Billaults, Magnes, had no greater ad- vantages at the outset of their lives than the other. Magne, who was the son of poor artisans, won his pro- motion as a statesman step by step ; his great capabili- ties in financial matters were admitted even by his adver- 172 My Paris Note-Book. sarles, his sterling honesty did the rest. When he had reached the pinnacle of power he took a kind of pride in showing his friends the rough-hewn stone table on which, as a child, he had conned his lessons and writ- ten his exercises. It is due to the memory of Napoleon III. to say that he recognised merit, and enlisted it wherever he found it. But, I repeat, all these men had not only served their apprenticeship to the State in sub- ordinate capacities, but that apprenticeship, with its con- comitant contact with polite society, had transformed them into * ' men of the world ' ' of refined habits and manners ; it had, above all, taught them tact ; they were more respectful in dealing with the leaders of the Opposition than the present leaders are in dealing with their own followers ; consequently, the Opposition was prouder of the ministers it combated than is the present majority of the ministers it supports. Their attitude towards women was altogether different from what it has become. There was far less empressement towards them in public, but a more intelligent understanding of the feeling that caused them to fill the galleries of the Palais-Bourbon and the salle des stances over the Cour de Caulaincourt — ^where the Imperial stables were situ- ated — at the Tuileries. In one word, the politicians of to-day do not look upon woman nor love her as did the statesmen of old. They feel a certain restraint in her society, and as a consequence, fail to please and amuse her, even if they would take pains to that effect, which they do not take. When one of my fellow-guests laid such stress upon the fact of the Ministre des Beaux- Arts having been so charming at her dinner-table, a more logical mind than mine might have concluded that the ministre was not amiable every day of the week or at every entertainment, notwithstanding the testimony of My Paris Note-Book. 173 the second speaker, to which, Hke Falstaff's tailor, he might have required more unimpeachable guarantee. I wish to point out that I am not deahng just now with women who are on the fringe of RepubUcan society, but with those who are, as it were, the ornamental pattern interwoven with its fabric. To all intents and purposes they are gra7ides dames de par le monde — le monde re- publicain, if you will ; and whatsoever ' ' Brantom- esque" traits they may be possessed of, they never degenerate into '' Zolaesque," as far as the outer world is enabled to judge. Their intellectual qualities are not of a very high order, but as the Duchesse de Chev- reuse said of her diamonds when Napoleon I. asked her if they were all real — ''They are not, but they are good enough for here. ' ' Well, with very few exceptions, the politicians of to- day — it would be idle to call them statesmen — prefer the ''Zolaesque." At the age when the young man, however studious and hardworking, gives the greater part of his thoughts and heart to a woman or to women, the sprouting politician is compelled to reserve his soul, his thoughts, his ardour, for the all-absorbing career he pursues. He lives amidst a pushing, jostling, and unscrupulous crowd, which frequently works and vociferates itself into a semi-lunatic condition. Ever and anon there is an almost literal interpretation of the motto, * ' Each one for himself, and the devil take the hindmost. ' ' At such times he is compelled to watch every movement while carefully directing his own steps, lest by slackening his pace he should become the prey of the evil one, or by stumbling have the political life trampled out of him. He must be for ever on the alert ; he must not be diverted for a single moment from the path along which he is tearing at a breakneck 15* 174 ^Y Paris Note-Book. speed ; least of all must he take his eyes off the goal— • the winning-post from which is suspended a portfolio with the figures " 60,000 francs " inscribed on it. Any- body or anything calculated to obstruct his view of, or his progress towards it, must be ruthlessly swept out of the way, were it the handsomest and most seductive woman ever created. Nay, he knows at the very out- set that whatever consideration he may or would dis- play to any other obstacle, human or otherwise, he cannot or dare not display it to woman ; for to be diverted from his pursuit by her means absolute perdi- tion from his point of view. But as, notwithstanding the hard and fast lines of his carefully drawn-up pro- gramme, he is not altogether without a spark of chivalry towards her, he warns her off the course to be traversed beforehand ; she may stand at the ropes as a spectator if she likes — that is a matter of supreme indifference to him. ' ' And if I love thee, what is that to thee ?' ' says the King to Goethe's " Iphigenia." The politician boldly reverses the line. ' * And if thou lovest me, what is that to me?" he asks. He is not more chaste than his fellow men, perhaps less. He has got all the sexual appetite of the others, but he grudges himself the time to sit down at the carefully appointed board and to enjoy an artistically prepared menu. When his hunger gets too much for him, he gorges, and in hot haste too. He reminds one of the traveller who at each stoppage of the express rushes to the refreshment bar and devours any and everything that he can lay hold of; flings down a gold piece at the very moment the guard's whistle sounds, without being able to wait for the change — for our politician pays heavily for those hurried crammings ; risks a succession of fits of indi- gestion ; and at the end of his journey is incapable of ^1 My Paris Note-Book. 175 doing justice to the excellent fare prepared for him. The latter of my poor metaphor is not so extravagant as it may seem, for there comes a time and tide in the affairs of the politician when he is accounted ' * a good match," and, as such, introduced to a well-to-do and important Republican family, ayant tine demoiselle a marier^ a sweet and practically innocent girl, une bonne botiche, fit for a king ; to whom, before marriage, he is not unlike young Marlow to ' ' women of reputation and virtue, ' ' while after marriage . . . well ; we all know that Byron said — "What one man neglects, another picks up," and need not insist upon the consequences. If his health hold out, he may continue to be a gros mangeur — au restaurant ; he'll noYQYhQd. Jin gourmet. Gambetta had a notion of the fate in store for such men, and persistently refused to marry. " Je ne tiens pas a 6cailler les huitres, pour les voir avalees pa les autres, ' ' he said on one occasion when hardly pressed to become a Benedick. As for dwelling upon his own aspirations with the goddess de rencontre, the passing caprice of a more refined category, the mattresse en titre, the sweet fiancee, or even the legitimate spouse, the politician has no time for it. In his love afiairs (?) he has all the brutality of the First Napoleon without his genius. 176 My Paris Note-Book. CHAPTER VIII. Round about the Palais-Bourbon — The Salle des Pas-Perdus — M. Adolphe Ranc — Actors and critics — The editor of Le Matin — M. Arthur Meyer of Z^ Gaulois — M. Edouard Herve oi Le Soleil — An anecdote of the Due de Noailles— M. Ribot— M. Clemenceau — An anecdote of Gambetta in the heydey of his popularity — An anecdote of King Christian IX.— M. Henri Brisson— M. Goblet- Some late ambassadors — A hint to future historians— The Presi- dent of the Chamber — The President's bell. And now let us glance at some of these men enacting the play — the farce, if you will — of shaping the destinies of France, at the Palais-Bourbon, the erstwhile residence of the illegitimate daughter of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan, of the Mademoiselle de Nantes of Saint- Simon' s ''Memoires," the widow of that mischievous dwarf, Louis, third Due de Bourbon-Cond^, the small- minded and small-bodied son of the great Cond^. The prologue to the play, which is enacted in the Salle des Pas-Perdus, officially the Salle de la Paix, is often more amusing than the play itself, especially to those on whom the strutting and posing of some of the actors produces as much effect as would a Bramah latch- key on the lock of a feudal castle ; so let us linger for a little while in the Salle des Pas-Perdus. Here is an actor who neither struts nor poses, but who, without being a great man, according to the gospel of greatness preached to-day, is profitable company, take him whatever way you will — an actor who has stead- fastly refused to assume a principal part — an actor who My Paris Note-Book. 177 has never claimed more than the daily hire of which the humblest labourer is said to be worthy — who has been much maligned when the mere ''mummers" were ap- plauded — who has never played for effect, though his real patrons were always the ' ' gods' ' and the ' ' ground- lings" — an actor with whose part I have no sympathy, but whom I cannot help respecting for the unselfish manner in which he conceived and rendered it. He is not much to look at, this Adolphe Ranc, who said to Mr. (afterwards Sir) Richard Wallace when the latter handed him the first monthly instalment of 10,000 francs for the poor of Paris during the siege — ''Monsieur, if there were many aristocrats like you, there would be need of fewer Republicans like myself." There is nothing very remarkable about him except his some- what careless dress ; the black beard, largely streaked with grey, is allowed to run more or less wild ; there is a noteworthy absence of that white shirt-front, the presence of which always distinguishes the well-to-do Frenchman ; and yet, in spite of all this, in spite of his unbending radical opinions, of his share in the doings of the Commune, or just because of them — for I do not happen to get my opinions from the glib leader-writers on one side or the other — I would sooner trust my honour and my life in an emergency — property I have none ; if I had, I would trust that, too — to Adolphe Ranc, than to most of the men who profess to look upon him as a firebrand. All the others, or nearly all, are actuated by their wants and material appetites. I have known Adolphe Ranc for nearly thirty years ; I caught my first glimpse of him at the Caf6 de Madrid when I was twenty ; and I feel confident that he has never com- mitted a shabby or dishonourable act, politically or otherwise ; and that he has never bartered his convic- 178 My Paris Note-Book. tions for money or advancement, though he has been tempted, not once, but a dozen times. In this green-room, for the Salle des Pas-Perdus is virtually that, the critics forgather in large numbers. Some are critics and actors in one, like MM. Paul de Cassagnac, Henri Maret, Georges Clemenceau, Joseph Reinach, Camille Pelletan, and three or four others. They are neither the worst critics nor the worst actors, and preferable by far to the critics ' ' pure and simple' ' whether they are the editors of the papers they represent or not. Here is one of the editor-critics, M. Edwards of Le MatiUy a tall, stylish-looking man, whose semi- English origin is mainly shown in his appearance, for he rarely misses an opportunity of saying something dis- agreeable about his father's native land. He is con- versing with M. Ranc, or rather he is talking to him, for M. Ranc listens more often than he speaks. The physical and sumptuary contrast between these two is somewhat startling — not so startling, though, as the mental and moral contrast if everything were known. M. Ranc is ''peuple,^' as La Bruyere has it ; M. Edwards would be aristocratic ; the one's heart is decidedly in the right place ; the other's, after prompting him to be the henchman of M. Corn61y, the most uncompromising champion of sovereign power by right divine, suddenly caused him to drift into political eclectism, as represented by Le Matin ; M. Ranc clings frantically to that sup- posed lightning-conductor "constitutional radicalism," in order to avert another crash of anarchy ; M, Edwards is astride on that weather-cock "liberal journalism," and fancies himself in an observatory. M. Edwards "patronises" the Republic as the natty little man a few yards away from him "patronises" the Constitutional Monarchy and the Comte de Paris, whose My Paris Note-Book. 179 staunchest follower he proclaims himself to be. I never meet M. Arthur Meyer, diredeur- of Le Gaulois, whether it be at Sheen House, Bignon's — where M. Meyer lunches and dines nearly every day when his social engagements allow him, and where I dine only when I am taken — or in the Salle des Pas-Perdus, without being reminded of that scene at Wigan between a collier and a street preacher. The latter was holding forth, dealing out death, destruction, and perdition after the manner of the clergy of old, to all those who refused to believe in his doctrines, when the former interrupted him — " Who art thou, my man, as talk' st in that way ?" he asked. " I am an humble follower of Christ," was the reply. * ' Art thou ? Well, if a' d been Christ, and thou'dst followed me, a'd ha' stoned thee." However, there is no knowing what may happen, in spite of the Duke de Broglie's exclamation when he heard of t>he death of the Prince Imperial — " The Republic has the luck of it ; the Comte de Paris is alive, and the Prince Imperial is dead." And after all, it was an ass that carried Christ into Jerusalem. That ''Apollo all but the head" fights on the same side with M. Meyer ; but how differently ! It is M. Edouard Herv6, the editor of Le Soleily the Conserva- tive candidate for Paris, who in the general election of 1885 managed to secure 140,000 votes — not sufficient, however, to carry him to the Chamber. He is one of the two journalists on whom was conferred the honour of membership by the Academic,* where he occupies the chair of the late Due de Noailles, between whom * The other was M. John Lemoinne, the editor of the Journal des Debats, who at the very hour I write has been succeeded by M. Ferdinand Brunetiere, the editor of La Revue des Deux-Mondes. Prevost Paradol does not count from my point of view. He owed his election to the influence of Napoleon III. i8o My Paris Note-Book. and his successor there exists a curious trait of political resemblance. One evening in the early part of August 1830, the young and recently married nobleman was seatedwith his wife at the Chateau de Maintenon, which has become so solitary since. The young couple, not- withstanding their married happiness, were anxious in- deed ; they were waiting for tidings of that sudden and unforeseen revolution which was to shatter so many hopes to the ground. All at once the rumbling sound of several carriages was heard. They were evidently advancing slowly, those conveyances, more like those forming part of a funeral procession than those of ordi- nary travellers eager to reach their destination. It was, in fact, a funeral procession, the funeral of the ' ' sover- eign right divine, ' ' for in another moment Charles X. , almost bent double with fatigue and grief, entered the great hall, and a little later the Due and Duchesse de Noailles were listening reverently to the last instructions — as far as the Duke was concerned — of the last Bour- bon King. Next morning the Duke was politically free, and he remained free up to the day of his death, which enabled him to render some service to his coun- try during the monarchy of Louis Philippe and under the Third Republic. During the Second Empire he retired from public life ; but I am under the impression, in fact, have been as good as told by the informant to whom I owe the above story, that this retirement was due to his personal dislike of an exalted personage dan- gerously near to the throne, and not to a want of sym- pathy with the sovereign or his aspirations. As my portrait-gallery does not include a sketch of the Due de Noailles, whom I saw only once in my life, I need not insist upon this, and may return to M. Herv6, who, as I have said, has for several years already acted some- My Paris Note-Book. i8i what like his predecessor in the Acad^mie chair. He has, without reHnquishing his well-known allegiance to the House of Orleans, endeavoured to serve his country within the measure of his abilities, which are very great indeed. His predecessor's sons are acting in the same manner, or at any rate were doing so a few years ago. But they served their country without for- feiting their liberty of conscience, awaiting better days perhaps. Here is an anecdote which will perhaps more fully illustrate my meaning. A brilliant general who is at the same time an accomplished gentleman, and the bearer of an historic name, was talking to a friend. The latter said, ''You are remaining in the army in spite of everything ; you whose place is on the steps of the throne." "The steps of the throne?" was the an- swer. "Well, I am on the steps of the throne. I am waiting. The one who is not in his place is not I." That was what the Due de Noailles thought, albeit that he did not give utterance to his thoughts. That is what his sons think ; that is what M. Herve, this truly grand seigneur of journalism thinks. Chateaubriand said — * * I have often driven with a golden bridle a pair of old crocks of reminiscences which I fondly imagined to be a pair of spirited three-year-old hopes. ' ' M. Edouard Herv€ does not fall into that error. His cattle, whatever they be, are young ; he has not thought fit to drape himself, in his faithful adherence to the House of Or- leans, either in a shroud or in motley. M. Ribot, who is just passing by, has gone a step further, and frankly rallied to the Republic. One might easily mistake him for a grandson of Louis- Philippe, for there is a striking likeness between him and the Due de Nemours when the latter was young, albeit that the late Premier himself is turning grey. I i82 My Paris Note-Book. happened to be in the Salle des Pas-Perdus on the day of his d^but as President of the Council, and could not help thinking that no man had ever waited more pa- tiently for his chance than he. He is one of the few- men who are not afraid of M. C16menceau. The strug- gle between these two is inevitable. It will be terrible, though not long ; for whatever may happen, the dis- ciple of M. Dufaure will fight fair, and I should not like to pledge myself to the same extent with regard to the Radical deputy's tactics. One thing is, however, cer- tain — whenever M. Ribot fights a pitched battle, and not an outpost afiair like that of the beginning of last year — and happens to be worsted, he will fall fighting, and probably like a thorough-bred — that is, never to rise again, while all the other ministers since the real advent of the Third Republic (by which I mean the election of M. Grevy to the Presidency) have simply fallen like so many cab-horses, to be on their legs again in so many minutes. From this wholesale statement I do not even exclude the late M. Jules Ferry ; but I am not concerned with the dead at present, but with the living. I said just now that M. Ribot has patiently awaited his chance, so patiently, in fact, as to make the Estan- celirs, the Bochers, the Haussonvilles, and even the royal tenants of Stowe themselves, wonder whether he might not be waiting for them. If at any period of his political career M. Ribot intended to throw in his lot with the Orleanists, such intentions must have received their death-blow long ago at the hands of the very head of the illustrious family, and M. Ribot said, no doubt mentally, what Rivarol wrote to Louis XVI. — *' Vous n'avez pas voulu ^tre mon roi, je ne veux plus itre votre sujet." M. Ribot is made of very stern stuff, by which I do not mean that he is ' ' starched' * My Paris Note-Book. 183 like the erstwhile Ambassador to England and actual President of the Senate, M. Challemel-Lacour, or the late Jules Ferry. On the contrary, M. Ribot is most courteous and agreeable, even to the merest casual ac- quaintance ; but he towers mentally a head and shoul- ders above the majority of the men in power, and that is a decided disadvantage, especially if the mental superiority be allied to unbending honesty, under a regime which would fain make us believe that "/« carriere est ouverte aux talents'^ ("the tools to those who can use them," as Carlyle translated it), but which (the regime) has until now proved by its every action that its borrowed motto is a lie, and that any man of great talent, let alone of genius, is sure to find the ground * * spiked' ' by the mediocrities, apprehensive of losing their emoluments. Though not particularly apt at, or fond of prophesying, I would not hesitate to pre- dict the future of a good many of these mediocrities ; I should not like to commit myself with regard to M. Ribot. In the country of the blind the one-eyed is king ; but the two-eyed would most likely be regarded as a monster and suffer martyrdom. Seeing that M. C16menceau's name has cropped up incidentally under my pen, I may just as well sketch him as he stands with his back against the reproduction of the " Laocoon," which has given rise to so many bad jokes. Englishmen ought to be particularly interested in M. Clemenceau ; but for him England's position in Egypt would not be what it is, for it was he who over- threw the Freycinet Ministry on the question of joint action. M. Clemenceau warned France not to be made England's cat's paw the second time ; the Crimean War having furnished the first occasion, &c. , &c. M. Clemenceau is, moreover, the idol of the English Radi- 184 My Paris Note-Book. cals, who never fail to pay him a visit during their trips to Paris, visits the honour of which is not, perhaps, so greatly appreciated as they imagine. I have quoted elsewhere the remark of M. Edouard Herv6, to the effect that beneath every French aristocrat there lurks a democrat. M. Clemence'au, though belonging to a very honourable Vendean family, is decidedly not an aristocrat by birth, and it is probably on account of this that I and a good many qui ne se paient pas de mots fail to find the real democrat behind the professed one. He is overbearing to his inferiors, and superciliously polite to his superiors — for M. Clemenceau has supe- riors, mentally, morally, and socially, in and out of the Chambers, and the very fact of his not adopting the same tone with every one proves that he himself has an uncomfortable suspicion of that superiority. But he has not his equal in or out of the Chamber — I am almost tempted to say in any European Assembly, as a debater ; albeit that for the last thirteen years I have never heard him address the House for longer than ten minutes at a time. His style is to that of Gambetta as a flash of forked lightning to a prolonged thunder-clap. I no more believe in the sincerity of M. Clemenceau than Madame de Stael believed in that of Mirabeau ; I have, moreover, no sympathy with the legislation M. C16menceau affects, apart from the question of the sin- cerity or the reverse of its advocate ; and of the value of M. Clemenceau' s sincerity I have as profound doubts as I have of the political regeneration of France since 1 87 1. And yet I feel inclined every now and then to applaud him as frantically as Necker's daughter ap- plauded the great tribune more than a hundred years ago. Each sentence is like a sword thrust, when it is not a hot iron applied to quivering flesh. If I wished to con- My Paris Note-Book. 185 tinue the metaphor, I mig-ht add that it produces a hissing sound from those at whom it is aimed. I have never met with a man calculated to impress one more at the first glance than M. Clemenceau ; but I am not quite certain — I am speaking for myself alone — whether the impression would last or be intensified if I were to be very long in his company. I lived for a long while within a quarter of a mile of M. C16menceau's place at Montmartre ; that is, I lived in the Avenue Trudaine and adjacent streets, which are within the boulevards excentriques, while his residence was beyond ; and I used to meet the ex-deputy frequently. I gradually got used to the extraordinary skull and features, which to describe scientifically would require a Gall and a Lavater combined. The skull especially would puzzle any one but a thoroughly capable phrenologist and osteologist ; it is, though apparently round like a bullet, full of knobs and ridges, while the features, but for the nose, are Mongolian, or Mongoloid- American would perhaps be a more correct term. But for that nose, the like of which I have only seen once before on a white man's face (on that of Fr6d6ric LemaJtre), one might mistake M. C16menceau for a cannibal, a very intelligent cannibal, but a cannibal for all that. Odd to relate, this powerful, almost phenomenal, debater winces at an epigram lev- elled at himself. In republicanism it is not the first but the last step which becomes most difficult. A man who has been for several years the idol of the most mischievous and tur- bulent section of the Paris population, finds it hard to realise that there can be people audacious enough to withstand his will on the plea that all men are equal. Rightly or wrongly, M. Clemenceau was for a consider- able while the idol of the proletariat ; but the worship 16* 1 86 My Paris Note-Book. brought its penalties to the idol. When Gambetta was at the height of his popularity, he went one day to one of the agricultural districts in the south of France to support a Republican candidate. As was his wont, he inquired after the farmers' wants, and was told that the country wanted rain. ' ' Rain, ' ' he said, in his jaunty, jovial manner ; ** well, I'll see about it when I get back to Paris ; I'll have a talk with the Minister of Agriculture and the Director of the Observatory. ' ' And these shrewd, but withal, simple-minded folk trusted in his implied promise to procure for them the much-needed downpour. This beats the story told by Dean Ramsay in his ' ' Rem- iniscences," of the Scotch minister who not only prayed for rain from the pulpit, but proceeded to give the Al- mighty directions as to the exact manner in which it should descend ; but I can vouch for the truth of what I state. About that same period I was walking down one of the side streets in the Chaussee de Clignancourt, when I heard a violent altercation between an old dame and a sergent de ville on account of the dust before her door. The former let the latter have it all his own way ; she gave her name and so forth; then she lifted her shrivelled arms to heaven. ' * Grand Dieu, grand Dieu !' * she exclaimed ; "si Gambetta savait seulement ce qui se passe ^ Paris. ' ' The Princess of Wales could proba- bly cap the last anecdote by relating a dozen similar ones about the times when she was a young girl, and when her father used to perambulate the poorer quarters of Copenhagen, accompanied by his two great danes. "Wait till King Christian comes by, and we'll ask him about it," was the usual exclamation when a conflict arose between the police and the humbler inhabitants. What was better still, His Majesty was never appealed to in vain, and, best of all, his decision was never ques- My Paris Note-Book. 187 tioned, however much it might go against the appellant. Well, in the heyday of his success, M. C16menceau's name was as frequently invoked as that of Gambetta, and that of King Christian, and mostly by the Paris cabmen. Not once, but a score of times, have I had M. Clemenceau's name thrown in my teeth when in- scribing a complaint against an insolent Jehu in the reg- ister provided at every rank by the police ; for that is a thing they decidedly manage better in Paris than in London. One need not put up with bullying there un- less one likes. One is not bound to waste one's time by taking out a summons and losing a valuable day in court. An official appointed for the purpose settles such matters for the complainant, who is invited to at- tend only when the charge is denied. Under no cir- cumstances is the complainant called upon to provide cabby with a day's leisure and give him six shillings for doing nothing. Neither Gambetta nor Christian IX. was ever besieged by his idolaters as was M. Cl^men- ceau, who found them at last too numerous to be pleas- ant, for they came on the slightest pretext, in spite of the far from polite reception accorded to them. They did not mind it. It is wonderful what an amount of downright insolence the Republican artisan will bear from his favourite deputy, while he will scarcely allow his employer to remonstrate with him. The following may serve as an instance in point- M. Clemenceau was originally a doctor, and used to give gratuitous advice at certain hours of the day. In one respect, at any rate, M. Clemenceau was like Abernethy — he was rough and abrupt with his patients. One morning one of these entered his consulting-room. "Take off your coat, waistcoat, and shirt," said the physician as he went on writing, "I'll attend to you directly." Three 1 88 My Paris Note-Book. minutes later, on looking up, he found the man stripped to the waist. * ' There is nothing the matter with you, ' ' said M. Clemenceau when he had examined him. ' ' I know there isn't." " Then what did you come for?" * ' To consult you on a political question. " * * Then what did you strip for?" "I thought you wanted an illus- tration of the emaciated body of the man who lives by the sweat of his brow. ' ' This must have been too much even for M. Clemen- ceau, for shortly afterwards he removed from Mont- martre. M. C16menceau, if I am not mistaken, went to the Quartier Marbceuf— or Marbeuf — but seven times out of ten your Radical deputy, after a little while, takes up his quarters in the Faubourg Saint- Germain. Of course the pretext is the short distance from the Palais- Bourbon ; the real reason is the considerable distance that divides the aristocratic quarter from the Faubourgs Saint-Antoine, Belleville, and M6nilmontant, the hot- beds of turbulent, restless demagogy. If we are to believe the late, though still living, Mad- ame Clemenceau, her erstwhile husband is the galantin of the Third Republic, as Barere was the galantin of the ' ' Terror. ' ' Barere said soft nothings to the fair pe- titioners that crowded his ante-chamber. He smiled on them ; promised to look after their welfare ; pretended to be moved by their looks and tears ; and toyed with them as a kitten plays with a ball of knitting-wool. When on the evening of the 3rd September 1793, thirty- one actors and actresses of the Com^die-Frangaise were taken to prison en masse for having performed on the previous night an adaptation of Richardson's " Pamela" by Fran9ois de Neufch^teau, which displeased the Jacob- ins on account of the praise lavished on the English Government, and the moral maxims placed on the lips My Paris Note-Book. 189 of Lords while the Duke of York was overrunning the territories of the Republic : when that wholesale incar- ceration took place, only three of the " enemies of the Republic' ' were released after three weeks ; the rest re- mained under lock and key for eleven months, in fact until after the death of Robespierre. One of the three fortunate comedians was our old acquaintance, Mile. Lange, of ' ' Madame Angot' ' notoriety. It was Barere's influence which opened the doors to her. M. Clemen- ceau has never had an opportunity of interceding for one of the fascinating actresses of the Comedie-Frangaise of to-day ; first of all, because recalcitrant actresses, whatever their offence, are no longer consigned to the Four-L'Ev^que, which house of detention itself has dis- appeared, or to other prisons ; secondly, because his favourite /r In days gone by, the word protocole {anglice, protocol) was applied to the formulary used for drawing up various public acts. There was the notarial protocol, the protocol of process-serving, &c. &c. The diplomatic world has preserved the word and given it two decidedly distinct interpretations. It has applied the name both to the reports of diplomatic conferences, congresses, and con- ventions, and to the registers in which those reports are copied. At present, in French administrative language, the word is used to designate the ensemble of the formulas of courtesy regulating the correspondence between governments, and between governments and ministers. The "protocole" has tabulated the qualifications and titles given to sovereigns and ministers, &c. &c. M. de Freycinet has invented a much happier title than " protocole." He calls it "le livre des politesses." The office of " Le Protocole" in France is a branch of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. My Paris Note-Book. 287 more points of resemblance with the dramatis persona of Paul de Kock's novels than with the hysterical hero- ines and blas6 heroes of Alphonse Daudet's and Guy de Maupassant's works. M. MoUard manages to im- press the former ; he would be simply laughed to scorn, even at the Elys^e- Bourbon, by the latter. In the appended footnote I have endeavoured to con- vey an idea of the duties assigned to '' Le Protocole." It is more than doubtful whether M. Mollard ever mas- tered those duties thoroughly ; but when the Empire fell with a crash and the ' ' men of the fourth Septem- ber' ' made a clean sweep of those to whom the tradi- tions of etiquette and courtesy were as the air they breathed — for Napoleon III. had not made the mistake of dismissing them at his accession — M. Mollard was virtually the only one who possessed any knowledge at all of these matters. He did not become the head of * ' Le Protocole' ' at once : a dummy was placed over him, but he was practically consulted on all important occasions by the fast succeeding ministers. Gambetta suspected his ignorance, Freycinet felt certain of it, but still they consulted him. Thiers had no need of his services ; he could have given his ministers all the in- formation they wanted, although even he ' * made a hole in his manners," now and then, as for instance when Bismarck had to check him at one of the interviews at Ferrieres ; but Thiers was selfishness and vainglory per- sonified, and it did not displease him to show to the outer world in general, to the Corps Diplomatique in particular, the difference between himself and the men who surrounded him. Had he not said to Mr. Senior that by taste, habits, and associations, he belonged to the aristocracy, and was not this the opportunity to make good his claim without appearing to do so ? 288 My Paris Note-Book. M. Mollard rose to the situation. At any rate, he thought he had. The knowledge he prides himself most upon is that involved in the ' ' niceties' ' of leaving cards. He may listen to suggestions on other sub- jects ; on that particular one he will not hear a word.* Whether he has a code of his own, or whether he has mixed several, it is impossible to say ; certain it is that the attaches to the various embassies in Paris are as much puzzled as I am in that respect. For, with the fast-succeeding Administrations, the number of "bits of pasteboard' ' left by the brand-new, half-worn, and utterly used-up ministers at those embassies is enormous. Sometimes the corners of those cards are turned down ; at others they are left intact. Sometimes they are left by the porters of the Ministries ; at others by an attach^ or secretary, driving round in the carriage of the min- ister — that is, if the minister have a carriage immedi- ately after his entering upon office, or just before re- tiring. M. Barth61emy Saint-Hilaire was for more than a fortnight without a conveyance of his own ; he could not agree upon the price of hire with Brion. In several instances ministers have given up their carriages, for the sake of economy, before the fall of the Administra- tion to which they belonged. One, M. Cazot, who went to the races at Longchamps in evening dress, put " p.p.C." on his cards when he retired from office. He was not leaving Paris, but he considered it the right thing to do. This time M. Mollard was furious, and gave him a good wigging, for M. Mollard has become fkmiliar with those who lord it over France. If he does not call them by their names when they are present, he never refers in any other terms to them when they are I I speak of him in the present tense, for, though assisted by his son at present, he is still the guiding spirit. My Paris Note-Book. 289 absent. * * I told Gontaud and Gr^vy , " " Munster sent for me," '* Ressmann called when I was out," &c., &c. These are his habitual expressions. One does not know whether to laugh or to be disgusted, but, as a rule, laughter gets the upper hand, for, take him for what he is, a sublimated butler, M. Mollard is not a bad fellow. I have read somewhere — I believe in Mrs. Crosse's " Red-Letter Days" — an amusing anecdote of the poet Rogers' butler, who used virtually to control the num- ber of his master's guests. M. Mollard to a certain extent did that, and more than that, long before he was the head of Le Protocole ; he drew up the programmes of the official entertainments at the Presidency, at the Palais-Bourbon, at the various Ministries — in fact, every- where except at the H6tel-de-Ville, where there was the right man in the right place, the late M. Alphand. M. Mollard composed the menus of the dinners, he ar- ranged the qjiadrilles (Vhonneur, and so forth. His fitness for all these tasks may be gathered from the fol- lowing stories, which I have selected from a great num- ber. To give them all would fill a volume — a volume that would probably rank as one of the most comic books ever published. During Mac-Mahon's tenancy of the Presidential chair. Archduke Albrecht, the victor of Custozza, paid a visit to Paris, and the Marshal gave a dinner in his honour. Madame de Mac-Mahon's cook invented a new ice-pudding, and gave it a new name ; which name, however, conveyed nothing to M. Mollard, who was charged with the drawing up of the me7iu. He be- thought himself of a delicate compliment to the Presi- dent of the Republic, leaving the feelings of the guest out of the question, and altered the name into that of N / 25 290 My Paris Note-Book. ^^ Bombe glade a la Magenta.'^ I leave the reader to picture the face of Madame la Duchesse when the strip of printed cardboard stared her in the face just as she took her seat at the table. Her husband tried to soothe her. "After all, he did it out of compliment to me," he said ; " a Republican master of the ceremonies is not bound to have the Almanack de Gotha by heart, and to know that Archduke Albrecht is related to the Emperor of Austria." The second blunder was perhaps less serious, but more productive of frank laughter from all the victims to it, including the Prince of Wales. . It happened on the occasion of a ball given at the French Foreign Office, in the Exhibition year of 1878, in honour of the heir to the English throne. As far as I can recollect, M. Waddington was Minister of Foreign Affairs, for I was at the ball myself, and remember M. and Madame Waddington figuring in the quadrille d' honneur. Still, I will not be positive, for there have been something like thirty six or seven Ministers of Foreign Affairs during the twenty-three years of existence of the Third Re- public. The Prince and Princess of Wales, the late Duke d'Aosta, the Comte de Flandres, also figured in the quadrille ; but M. Mollard had utterly forgotten to include the Chief Magistrate of France and his wife. Next morning, M. Mollard came to the Elys6e in a very contrite state of mind. Like the true gentleman he was, Mac-Mahon made very light of the matter. '* Never mind, my dear Mollard," he smiled; "per- haps you were right after all — I am somewhat too old to dancCc David must have been about my age when he danced before the ark, and you know what hap- pened. The Bible tells us that Michal, Saul's daughter and David's own wife, looked out of the window and My Paris Note-Book. 291 despised him. Old as I am, I object to being despised by any one in petticoats, whether it be a mother or a daughter." It is, as far as I know, the only clever thing standing to the record of Mac-Mahon ; but it was more than clever, it was good-natured besides. M. Mollard must have sorely tried Mac-Mahon' s patience more than once, for, though the Marshal was utterly indifferent to personal homage, he was most punctilious with regard to the pomp and circumstance attaching to his office, and M. Mollard had not the most elementary knowledge of things. At the Marshal's advent to the Elysee, the free and easy running in and out of deputies and ministers ceased, the shabby car- riages and spavined horses of his predecessor disap- peared, to make room for well-appointed turnouts and thoroughbred cattle. The servants wore powder, and on grand occasions the out-riders and coachmen wore wigs. M. Grevy was not fond of display, first of all, because it was irksome to him ; secondly, because it cost money ; thirdly, because he thought that the ad- vanced section of the Republicans would resent it, for by that time the ' ' amnestied' ' Communards had returned in shoals. Nevertheless, he endeavoured to get a pre- sentable and experienced head coachman, and had over- tures made to that effect to the coachman of the Comte Bernard d'Harcourt. M. Mollard was entrusted with the mission. The coachman asked for a week to con- sider the matter, during which time he consulted the Count, who told him to please himself, while the coach- man's fellow-servants advised him to decline the offer. ** I cannot take service with M. Gr^vy," said the man when M. Mollard came for the answer ; "for it would damage my prospects of getting another good situation. ' ' '*Trompette is with M. Gambetta," protested M. Mol- 292 My Paris Note-Book. lard jauntily ; ' ' he could enter any family to-morrow if he chose." **Trompette is a cook," was the reply. ' * Do you know your Bible, M. MoUard ?' ' came the question immediately afterwards. * ' Not particularly ; but why do you ask ?" ' * Because it says, ' Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man ;' and it might have added, Nor does it defile the man who pro- videth that which goeth into the mouth. I cannot take service with M. Grevy." But though very patient with M. Mollard, the Marshal was very nigh getting angry with him once. It was during that same Exhibition year of which I have already spoken. The reader is aware that for nine years after the proclaiming of the Third Republic its Parliament sat at Versailles, and that, though during part of that time all ministerial business was conducted from Paris, the official residence of the President of the Republic was also in the erstwhile royal borough. Of course, the Elys6e-Bourbon was always held in readiness, and when in the capital — which was sup- posed to be undergoing punishment for its behaviour during the Commune — the Chief Magistrate took up his quarters there. The Prefecture of Versailles was, however, the centre of the Presidential orbit, for the palace, inseparably connected with the memory of the Bourbon dynasty, was rarely used, and then only on grand occasions. In October 1878, Marshal Mac- Mahon gave a magnificent ftte there, the direction of which was, as usual, entrusted to M. Mollard. Every- thing went well, or comparatively well, until the guests, to the number of 15,000, began to think of going home. Chaos, pure and simple, set in there and then. During that October night numberless women with bare shoulders and bare arms were seen returning to My Paris Note-Book, 293 the Versailles stations, where special trains were await- ing to convey them to Paris ; they were escorted by men without hats, their coats almost torn to rags in their endeavours to obtain their partners' wraps. It was a sorrowful sight indeed. I have by me a note enumerating the flotsam and jetsam, in the shape of wearing apparel, resulting from the cyclone. It is as follows : 1532 overcoats ; 544 opera cloaks, capes, shawls, &c., &c. ; 315 men's hats; a considerable number of umbrellas ; 17 chignons — we may take it that they were torn off in the struggle ; 9 wigs — a proof that we can ' ' keep our hair on' ' better than the other sex ; and one pair of boots. The whole of the facetious articles written during the next fortnight were for their greater part devoted to attempts at elucidating the mystery of that pair of boots. Not a single writer alluded to Thackeray's Mr. Minchin, a proof that a generation had arisen which knew not the minor works of the author of ' ' Vanity Fair. ' ' I remarked just now that this time the Marshal's patience with M. Mollard was well-nigh exhausted. In spite of the tension between the President and the Republicans, the history of M. Mollard' s ''greater glory" would have come to an end then, but for an incident happening which put the honest old soldier into a thorough good temper — on the Rochefoucauldian principle, perhaps, ''that other people's misfortunes make us cheerfully bear with our own. ' ' During that year the fUes and receptions succeeded one another very quickly, and a fortnight or so after that ill-fated October night, there was an important gathering at the Ministry of Finances. M. Mollard, whose confidence in himself was considerably shaken by the late event, felt that the slightest blunder on his 25* 294 My Paris Note-Book. part would be fatal to him. He was, above all, anxious about the organisation of the cloak-room, the rock on which he had split on the last occasion. He reviewed his staff on the morning of the entertainment and, not- withstanding the repeated assurances of the porters and ushers that they were fully competent and sufficiently numerous to deal with no matter what rush, insisted upon engaging a couple of supplementary hands. And here I must break off" for a moment to sketch M. Mollard " in his habit as he lived," as he probably lives still, for though he was replaced in his functions of Introdudeiir des Ambassadeurs by the Comte d'Or- messon shortly after M. Carnot's election to the Presi- dency, M. Mollard has — as far as I know — not resigned his other duties.* It is greatly to M. Mollard' s credit that the lofty position he had attained did not affect his republican simpHcity. Like M. Alphonse Humbert, the late Presi- dent of the Paris Municipal Council, who, when in- vested with high dignities under the Commune, carried his own beer to the Ministry in the Place Vendome * ' in order to have it good," M. Mollard has never forsaken the mannezingue where, in his less prosperous days, he used to ^^ tuer le ver*^ — read "take his early morning dram." A little while ago, I as good as said that, at the outset of his career, M. Mollard was a kind of French Eccles. There is no more pride about M. Mollard than there was about the father-in-law of the Hon. George d'Alroy. With his livid flabby face and ^ M. le Comte d'Ormesson has recently accepted a diplomatic mission to Copenhagen, whither, owing to an accident, he has not gone as yet. He has been succeeded by M. de Bourqueney as Introducteur des Ambassadeurs. M. Mollard's son has, to a certain extent, replaced his father. My Paris Note-Book, 295 iron-grey, somewhat unkempt, whiskers, clear blue eyes, and pendulous abdomen, M. MoUard is not much to look at, either in repose or in motion ; but the knowing, though not unkindly, smile puckering the self-satisfied mouth, bereft of several of its front teeth, redeems much of what otherwise would be positively disagreeable. He is hail fellow well met with all his old acquaintances, and with none more so than with the owner of the wine-shop near the Pont de I'Alma, close to which bridge he has taken up his quarters — over the stables which once formed part of the Imperial establishment. Morning after morning, year in year out, M. Mollard used to stand before that pewter counter, conversing affably with those around him, his toothless gums hold- ing a somewhat valuable meerschaum — a present prob- ably — his fur-lined coat, lined with rabbit skin, thrown carelessly back to show the inside. When the weather got too warm, the garment was carried over his arm, for, hke Professor Pettifer in Mr. Sim's ''London Day by Day," M. Mollard was exceedingly proud of his coat. Well, on the morning in question, when, after reviewing the staff at the Ministry of Finances, he made up his mind to engage a couple of supplementary hands, M. Mollard, instead of directing his steps from the Rue de Rivoli to the Quai d'Orsay, made his way back to the wine-shop at the Pont de I'Alma. He had hit upon an idea, and was going to carry It out there and then. There had come to his friend the pubhcan a couple of cousins from the country — big brawny rustics, deter- mined to try their luck in Paris, and the publican had enHsted M. Mollard' s sympathy in their behalf M. Mollard considered this an excellent opportunity of giving them their chance of a debut in the official world. Arrangements to that effect were made with the chaw- 296 My Paris Note-Book. bacons in question, and in the evening they repaired to the Ministry of Finances, washed, combed, and dressed, and took up the stations in the cloak-room allotted to them by their patron. The latter in a few words initi- ated them in their duties, which, upon the face of it, were not difficult to perform. The cloak-rooms had been divided into sections of 300 numbers each, about 3000 invitations having been issued. Unfortunately, M. Mollard had not considered it necessary to inform his protegh of the difference between an opera-hat and an ordinary silk one. Odd as it may seem, in the land that has the honour of having given birth to Gibus, the convenient crush hat is not worn as often in the even- ing as in England, Russia, and Austria, though one may see Frenchmen — not exactly the best dressed Frenchmen — wear them in the daytime. At that particu- lar period, moreover, the opera-hat had been tempora- rily discarded for its more sightly rival, the silk one. I fancy that a few years ago a similar change of fashion was observable with us. At any rate, the proportion of silk hats worn that evening by the guests of the Minister of Finance and Madame la Ministre was as five to one opera-hat. And every one of the silk hats in- trusted to the care of M. Mollard' s proteges was reli- giously " telescoped" by them, then deposited on the top of the coat, and finally returned to its owner in that state. Fate so willed it that the first four or five men who availed themselves of the peasants' services wore opera-hats, which they flattened in the orthodox fashion by putting them against their chests. After that, every hat, whether silk or other, handed to them was sub- jected to the same process of "foreshortening," prob- ably after its owner was gone, and when space became scant. The scene at the Ministry of Finances was, as My Paris Note-Book. 297 Mac-Mahon called it, ''the comic after-piece to the tragedy at Versailles," but it saved M. MoUard from dismissal. ' ' My time is running short, ' ' said the Mar- shal ; ' ' besides, I could never do away with a man who afforded me ten minutes of such unalloyed amusement as Mollard has afforded me." The fact was, that the victor of Magenta roared outright when the scene was described to him, and the honest old soldier did not laugh often. And thus it came about that M. Mollard was enabled to flourish during the whole time of M. Grevy's tenancy of the Elys6e. Flourish is the exact word, for, in spite of all I have written, M. Mollard had, previous to M. Grevy's ad- vent, to put up with many reprimands both from Thiers and Mac-Mahon, and notably from Madame la Mar6-. chale. Thiers was very tenacious about the opinions of Europe in general, and France in particular, in all that concerned etiquette — especially where that etiquette made no demands on his purse. His boast that he be- longed to the aristocracy by taste, habit, and associa- tions was not altogether an empty one. He had been accustomed to the pomp and circumstance of Louis- Philippe's court, which, inferior as they may have been to those at the court of the Bourbons, were, compared to the republican entertainments, as High Mass at the pro-cathedral to a monster meeting of the Salvation Army. During the whole of the thirties he had more- over frequented excellent society, and the juxtaposition with ' ' people of quality' ' afforded him intense delight. When in 1871 the project of a monarchical restoration was debated, his first question was, " How will Madame Thiers and Mademoiselle Dosne be received at Court ?" Hence, though he could not do much, he endeavoured to preserve a semblance of "good form" and elegance, 298 My Paris Note-Book. as M. MoUard often found to his cost. For he would not instruct M. MoUard : he took a fiendish deHght in pointing out his blunders ' ' after they had been com- mitted. ' ' From Mac-Mahon and his wife MoUard might have learnt much, had his self-sufficiency, and especially his eager desire to please the Republicans rather than the President of the Republic, not stood in his way, for during the Marshal's occupancy of the mansion in the Faubourg St. Honor6, ''good society" had not alto- gether deserted the salons ; and whether they liked it or not, the Republicans had to He low — more or less — conversationally, terpsichorically, and otherwise. With the advent of M. Gr6vy all this changed, and M. MoUard, as the organiser of the presidential balls, receptions, fetes, and dinners, had it all his own way. There was no one to call his decisions in matters of eti- quette into question. The President himself was not absolutely ignorant of the ways of polite society ; there was a fatherly dignity about him with men which in- spired a kind of respect, and an insinuating grace with women which could not faU to please when he chose to exert it ; but he did not always choose ; he was making his pile, and that, if the truth must be told, seemed all sufficient for him. During the five years of my last permanent stay in Paris as the correspondent of a London paper, I frequently went to the presidential soirees ; at three distinct times I found M. Gr6vy dozing in a capacious arm-chair in a small apartment adjoining the grand reception room. But even when he put his best foot forward, there was a striking dift'erence between M. Grevy and his two predecessors. One evening, in the presence of about two score of people, myself among the number, Princess Hohenlohe said, "I can assure you that M. Gr^vy makes an excellent President of the My Paris Note-Book. 299 Republic. Among all but the best lawyers at Dresden or Stuttgart you would look in vain for his equal, let alone for his superior. ' ' It was a left-handed compliment, and I have no reason to suppose that it was intended as other than such. I am afraid it was not altogether the right thing to say, whatever the princess may have thought, considering her position in France. At the same time, I have an idea that, for the nonce, the princess allowed her liking for M. de Freycinet to run away with her dis- cretion. I have already alluded to the friendship exist- ing at one time between the family of the German Am- bassador and that of the sometime Minister for Foreign Affairs ; and it is an open secret that the latter aimed at succeeding M, Grevy in the Presidential chair. Never- theless, the truth underlying the ambassadress' remark is almost incontestable : M. Gr6vy took his honours and the duties involved in them * ' un peu trop a la bonne franquette." From personal observation I feel con- vinced that Jules Grevy might have been an almost matchless talon rouge, if he had not been so inordi- nately wedded to felt slippers, metally, morally, and sumptuarily. '*Do whatsoever you like, but do not let's have any fuss," was his stereotyped remark at the termination of every ministerial council. It was this constant craving for the schlafrock, the besetting sin of the middle-class, professional German, that provoked Princess Hohenlohe's criticism. The first and foremost result of this love of ease was M. Mollard's omnipotence at the Elys6e in all ceremonial matters, for, I repeat, there was no one to contest his decisions, and least of all Mme. Grevy, who, worthy woman as she may have been, was not fitted by previous training to set M. Mol- lard right. The home she had occupied from 1848 to 1870, in the Rue de Richelieu, had been conducted on 30O My Paris Note-Book. the narrowest bourgeois principles. Her enforced re- moval to a more luxurious apartment in the Rue Volney frightened her, and notwithstanding her husband's in- creased income, she was for ever trying to keep down expenses. M. Grevy was an admirable judge of good wine, and his partial restocking of the cellars of the presidency at the Palais-Bourbon and Versailles almost drove her out of her wits. She would fain have put aside the 81,000 francs per annum her husband received as President of the Chamber and Deputy (72,000 francs and 9000 francs), without spending a penny of these ; and the desire to hoard grew stronger as the emolu- ments increased from 81,000 to 1,200,000 francs. Be- tween the two they had raised a daughter, whose ideal of magnificent manhood was M. Capoul, the tenor, and who ended up by marrying M. Daniel Wilson, the brother of her father's ''bosom friend." Madame Daniel Wil- son was scarcely calculated to imbue M. Mollard with great respect for her authority on questions of ele- gance. Of M. Daniel Wilson himself I would say as little as possible. One early summer's morning, while living at Ferney, Voltaire took it into his head to see the sun rise. He climbed one of the hills hard by, followed by his man-servant. At the sight of the glorious spectacle, the philosopher lifted up his hands in ecstasy. His en- thusiasm got the better of his scepticism. ' ' Seigneur Dieu, tu es grand, beau et tout-puissant !' ' he exclaimed. " Mais quant au Seigneur ton fils . . ."he continued ; then looked round and noticed the valet listening atten- tively. " Quant au Seigneur ton fils . . . je pr6fere ne pas le discuter." Even so, I prefer not to discuss M. Grevy' s son-in- law. I said just now that M. Gr^vy might have become My Paris Note-Book. 301 an almost matchless talon rouge, but for his inveterate love of felt slippers. In virtue of his association with the Due de Gramont-Caderousse — the same who killed the journalist Dillon in a duel, and provided for his widow — and other young bloods of the Empire, M. Daniel Wilson was supposed to be tres talon rouge. Those who had the opportunity of watching him very closely could not but come to the conclusion that the heel, however red it might be, was fastened to a very ordinary boot indeed, not to say to a * * godillot. " * Enough of M. Daniel Wilson, who was not the man to worry about the dignity attaching to the office of the chief magistrate of France ; hence M. Mollard did not meet with any opposition from him, as long as the bills for the entertainments were kept within small limits. M. Mollard was shrewd enough to perceive that, with such a family around him, he had to assert his authority now and then or else lose his footing altogether. Of course his most convenient victim was the President himself, and the blunders he made him commit defy description. Here is one, however : the rest may be imagined from that. On the occasion of the distribu- tion of new colours to the army in July 1880, there was a grand State performance at the Opera. There could be no doubt about the significance of that ceremony ; it had a military significance or none at all. The Presi- dent of the RepubHc, with his sound sense, felt this well enough, and in default of a uniform to don, he in- tended to display the only outward sign that linked him with the military institutions of the country, namely, the * A "godillot" is the nickname for the infantry soldier's boot. The Godillots were the army contractors who supphed the shoe leather (?) of the French army during the last war. Godillot him- self started life, I believe, as a banker's clerk. 26 302 My Paris Note-Book. Grand Cordon of the Legion of Honour. M. Mollard put his foot down, and the President of the RepubHc made his appearance without his insignia of Grand Master of the Order. I called M. Mollard a butler, and as a butler he had an eye to his perquisites. A crystal vase, nearly a yard high, and filled with attar of roses — a present from the Sultan of Zanzibar to the Introdudeur des Ambassa- deurs — found its way to a perfumer's in exchange for 2500 francs. A mission from the Emperor of Morocco brought ten horses for M. Grevy : M. Mollard managed to work the oracle so well, although vicariously — for, as an English journalist who knows French excellently well, said of him, " He speaks no foreign language but his own" — that only nine of the animals found their way to M. Grevy' s stables, the tenth was sold at the French Tattersall's in the Faubourg St. Honor6. Is it necessary, after all this, to insist on the truth of the remark I made at the beginning of this chapter, that an invitation to the Elysee-Bourbon does not enhance a man's social standing ? I think not. Nor does it en- hance a man's opinion of himself to know that he is going to an entertainment where detectives are posted at the entrances to the card-rooms in order to warn the more innocent guests of the presence of cheats and blacklegs. This is a fact for which I can give my au- thority if necessary. And yet a visit to the Elys6e- Bourbon on one of those grand nights was not without its compensations. It brought a man in contact with a section of society, a good many components of which — I mean of the section — he had no opportunity of studying elsewhere, unless he himself happened to belong to that section. I am not speaking of myself in this instance : the force of circumstances has brought My Paris Note-Book. 303 me in contact with all classes of French society, from the highest to the lowest. I take no credit to myself for this somewhat wide experience, and I trust there is no disgrace attached to it. At various periods of my life I have been obliged to write in order to live : the habit of writing has become so strong that I would not care, perhaps, to live without writing ; but throughout evil and good, my eyes have been the faithful allies of my pen, and I fear that I have led my allies into places where angels would have hesitated to tread. When I said just now that a visit to the Elysee-Bourbon on a grand night brought a man in contact with a section of society a good many members of which section he had no opportunity of studying elsewhere, unless he hap- pened to belong to that section, I was not thinking of myself I was thinking of men who have had neither the difficulties I have had to contend with, nor the sorry facilities I have enjoyed ; who have felt neither the in- clination to play voluntarily the part of a minor Haroun- Al-Raschid, nor the spur of want to goad them into doing so. I was thinking of men who, in virtue of their birth and position, are debarred from seeing les nouvelles couches in their habit as they live, and who therefore must have enjoyed the sight of them at the Elys6e, albeit that neither their attire nor their de- meanour was absolutely normal on such occasions. *'Me permettrez-vous de vous dire, milord, que vous ne connaissez pas Paris?" said M. de Fourtoul to a late English ambassador. ' ' Dans vos visites a mes com- patriotes, vous n'^tes jamais mont6 plus haut qu'au premier ou au second etage au-dessus de V entresol ; et le vrai Paris ne demeure ni au premier, ni au second." The majority of the guests at the Elys^e-Bourbon dur- ing M. Gr6vy's time decidedly did not live on the first 304 My Paris Note-Book. or second floor, and that was what ought to have made them interesting to those who did not merely come to sneer. They were decidedly more interesting than the immediate entourage of M. le President ; the Floquets, the Ferrys, the Andrieux, the Koechlins, and the rest of the gros bonnets of the Third Republic, who are connected (by marriage mainly) with the great indus- trial families of Alsace-Lorraine, with la noblesse repub- licaine, as Mme. Floquet termed them recently. They are about as interesting as the majority of the pros- perous commercial and industrial elements elsewhere — with this difference, that they are, if possible, a little more pompous than the English or German aristocracy of commerce ; and, what is more surprising, especially in France, their womankind are too resplendent for words. One-Speech Hamiltons every man and woman, for I have never heard them talk of anything else but the "crime" of the 2nd December 1851, the subse- quent misdoings of the Empire, and the punishment of the * ' Highest ' ' thereon. They are all Protestants, un- less they are freethinkers, and the French Protestant is almost as calmly and impertinently confident of being able to assign the decrees of Providence to their true cause as the most ranting English Dissenter. Of the benefits the Empire conferred upon them by opening English markets to their products, this Republican nobility never breathes a syllable. What afforded one a little more amusement was the group which called itself the ** proscribed, " though, at that particular moment, the ** proscribed " had come back in shoals, and were coming back in greater num- bers still. But they would not allow Jules Valles the monopoly of coining chapter-headings for the future martyrology of France. He had called himself le de- My Paris Note-Book. 305 pute des fusilles ; they would call themselves the ''pro- scribed." They did not say much : they strolled through the rooms in silence, stroking their long beards and scowling at every one, but especially at the Imperial monogram, which in those days had not been effaced from the walls of the Elysee. They did not ex- press it in so many words, but their looks betokened that they meant to see to this. Unlike that of M. Maxime Lisbonne later on, their dress-coats did not smell of benzine. The interesting part of the guests at the Elysee were the young men and girls who had come to enjoy them- selves ; the wives and daughters of the minor Govern- ment employes and their friends, to whom the balls at the Elysee were and still are an event in their lives. Neither the Comte d'Ormesson nor the Comte de Bour- queney would have done half as well with them as M. MoUard, who now and then checked their exuberance as he would have checked it at Lemardelay's, V6four's, or the Elys^e-Menilmontant — by teUing their young men to take their companions to the refreshment rooms, where, all things considered, and the many tempta- tions in the shape of dehcacies the very name of which they did not know, they behaved a good deal better than the guests that I have seen at balls of far greater pretensions. The young officers who stood smiling at them — somewhat superciliously — ought to have remem- bered that famous episode in the life of the late M. Henri de Pene, when all the threats of their (the officers' ) pre- decessors failed to make him retract what he had written about their gorging. My barber, in the Avenue Tru- daine, confided to me one day that he had an invitation to the Elysee. The morning after the entertainment he told me all about it. At supper he came upon an old u 26* 3o6 My Paris Note-Book. crony of his, an erstwhile waiter of Chevet's, who looked after his creature comforts. " The only thing I object to," he said, ''is the way in which most of the male guests fill their pockets with cigars. I smoked one in the smoking-room, and took a second to smoke on my way home." I greatly approved of my tonsor's moderation, and, but for the fear of meddUng with what did not concern me, would have written to M. Mollard to invite him again and again, for I considered and still consider him an ornament to Republican society. When the reader has cast his eye over the following lines with which I must conclude these notes, he will agree with me on that point, however much he may disagree with me on others. At a reception given by Gambetta in 1880, at the Palais-Bourbon, 10,000 cigars disappeared in less than half-an-hour. At the inauguration of the H6tel-de-Ville, on the 13th July 1882, to which ceremony I have already referred in connection with the admirable speech of M. Grevy on that occasion, I happened to be in a small drawing-room whither M. Floquet, then Prefect of the Seine, had taken some of his more distinguished guests after dinner, in order to guard them somewhat from the surging crowd merely invited to the reception following the dinner. Lest I should be suspected of wishing to class myself among the distinguished guests, I hasten to add that I was taken thither by the late Lord Lyons, in order to be presented to the Burgomaster of Amsterdam. All at once a French 'Arry entered the room, his hat jauntily poised on his head, his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, the remaining eight fingers drumming a tattoo on his manly chest. M. Floquet turned very pale ; but My Paris Note-Book/ 307 the fellow meant no harm, he had merely come to have a closer look at the "swells." In another moment he strolled out again. A message was sent immediately to the usher, who stood at the top of the staircase, to re- mind the new-comers to take off their hats, a reminder not generally necessary in France. The contre-temps did not occur again. In a little while, perhaps half-an- hour in all after the removal of the cloth, the air had become very close, and the Burgomaster, seeing that smoking was going on everywhere, asked M. Floquet for a cigar. They were all gone. The late M. Alphand told me that the regie had sent 25,000. I think I was right in wishing to recommend my barber to the notice of M. Mollard as an ornament to his soirees. 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By Ossip Schubin, -^^ author of "O Thou, My Austria!" ** Erlach Court," " Countess Erika's Apprenticeship," etc. Translated from the German by Mary J. Safford. i2mo. Cloth, ^^1.25. " Our author treats of her subjects with an ease and fehcity which give them life and reality, and we gladly glide with her through the gilded saloons of the Parisian and Viennese aristocracy, or amid the dimmer splendors of Roman and Venetian palaces, on intimate terms with that society of which Motley wrote that ' You must be intimate with the Pharaohs or stay at home !' For it is among the fashions and fortunes, the loves, hates, and humors of one class that Ossip Schubin seeks her themes, and a very pleasant society it is."— London Athencsum. A RIDDLE OF LUCK. By Mary E. Stone, author of " A Fair Plebeian," etc. i2mo. Cloth, jSJi.25. "A genuinely entertaining story. The hero is a disappointed litterateur, who turns tramp. In his wanderings he encounters a ghost, who agrees to help him to fame and fortune if he will give him his body six months in the year. The bargain is struck, the tramp writes under the spirit's direction, and, of course, finds a pub- lisher. Various complications arise from the joint partnership, and an unblushing attempt is made to cheat the poor ghost. ' The Riddle of Luck' is worth gViQSs\ng."— Philadelphia Ledger. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 715-717 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. (^TORIES BY MRS. H. LOVETT CAMERON, *^ i2mo. Cloth, ;^i.oo. Paper, 50 cents per volume. A Sister's Sin. A Daughter's Heart. Jack's Secret. " A wide circle of admirers always welcome a new work by this favorite author. Her style is pure and interesting, and she depicts marvellously well the daily social life of the English people."— St. Louis Republic. Bound only in cloth, ^i.oo per volume. A Lost Wife. The Cost of a Lie. This Wicked World. A Devout Lover. A Life's Mistake. Worth Winning. Vera Neville. Pure Gold. In a Grass Country. •' Mrs. Cameron's numerous efforts in the line of fiction have won for her a wide circle of admirers. Her experience in novel writing, as well as her skill in inventing and delineating characters, enables her to put before the reading public stories that are full of interest and pure in tone." — Harrisburg Telegraph. n^AKEN BY SIEGE. i2mo. Cloth, ^1.25. -^ "A graphic and very interesting anonymous story of a young journalist's experience in New York. Who the hero may be is enveloped in mystery, but that the heroine is Miss Clara Louise Kellogg there is httle doubt. The other characters will be readily recognized as conspicuous in New York society. The story reveals the inside workings of some of the metropolitan newspapers, and shows how, by pluck, brains, and luck, a new man may sometimes rise rapidly to the highest rank in journalism, distancing the veterans. The author has unusual abihty as a writer of fiction." — Albany yournal. n^HE STOR Y OE D ON MIFE. By Virginius J- Dabney, author of " Gold That Did Not Glitter." i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. " Hardly a single chapter can be read without a laugh, and yet there are some which will bring an inevitable lump into the reader's throat. . . . There are passages which in simple pathos remind one vividly of Bret Harte. . . . Taken altogether it is one of the most entertaining books we have read of late, and will, no doubt, be as widely appreciated here as in its own country," — London Pall Mall Budget {Gazette). Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 715-717 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. y^IfjE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, By Elizabeth -^ Wetherell. Printed from new plates, and illustrated by eight full-page pictures and thirty engravings in the text from drawings by Frederick Dielman. i2mo. Cloth, attractively bound, 75 cents. Paper Edition. Thirty illus- trations in text, 50 cents. Also published in small 8vo. volume. With eight etchings by Frederick Dielman. Printed on laid paper. Extra cloth binding. ^2.50. "A friend of our youth comes before us in a new dress in the shape of Ellen Montgomery, the gentle and pious heroine of Susan Warner's ' The Wide, Wide World.' How many girls have made up their minds to be good girls because Ellen was. Where is the girl that has not fallen in love with that prig John ? The artist has made no attempt to modernize the personages, and has well preserved the character- istics of the period to which the story belongs." — New York Critic. GUEECHY. By Elizabeth Wetherell. Printed from new plates and illustrated with thirty engravings from drawings by Frederick Dielman. Uniform with " Wide, Wide World." i2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo. Paper, 50 cents. " Miss Warner is not so unlike some novelists of greater preten- sion ; there is always, for the readers whom she desires to reach, a fresh interest, a direct appeal, which makes sure that she will reach them, that her book will be read, and that it will make an impression. The moral and religious tone of her stories is always above any reproach," and now comes a new edition to supply the demand which previous editions have not exhausted. pATIENCE. By Anna B. Warner. i2ino. -^ Cloth, $1.25. " It is a pretty, wholesome story of country ways and a country home in the days of stage-coaches, spinning-wheels, and the district school. The heroine is captivating, and the rural scenes are charming." Other Stories by the Misses Warner. Daisy. A Sequel to Melbourne House. Dollars and Cents. Queechy. The Hills of the Shatemuc. My Brother's Keeper. Say and Seal. The Wide, Wide WorLd. l2mo. Cloth, j^i.50 per volume. Sets of eight volumes, uniform binding, in neat box, ^11.75. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 715-717 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. JiyfA^-D MARIAN AND R OB IN HO OD. By IVJ. J. E. MuDDOCK, with Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. i2mo. Cloth, ^1.25. " The story of Robin Hood and his bold Foresters will never lose in- terest while our language lasts, and no story founded upon their lives and deeds possesses a greater charm than Muddock's. We are intro- duced to the wide and comparatively unknown woods, to the gallant Robin Hood and his men, and to brave knights and fair women. The story has all the interest and life of the old time romances, and will be read with unflagging pleasure." — Public Opinion. 'J^HE THOUSAND AND ONE DAYS. A J- collection of Persian Tales in two volumes. Edited by Justin Huntley McCarthy, with Illustrations by Stan- ley L. Wood. i2mo. ^4.00. •' Nothing good is ever lost, and these stories are so excellent, so reminiscent of the ever-fresh night-tales of all our youths, that it is surprising they have not long ago wandered into a modern English dress. To say that they will at once be accorded a place in the library beside the hallowed version of old is to say all that need be said in their praise." — London Athcsneum. y^HE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. His Rise, J- His Voracity, and His Downfall. A Romance. By Owen Wistar. Illustrated by Mr. John Stewardson. 8vo. Cloth, gilt top. ;^2.oo. " It would deprive the reader of half the pleasure of reading this uncommonly bright tale, were we to anticipate even a part of the plot. Suffice it to say that there is the prettiest and freshest of love episodes woven through the mistletoe leaves of a hearty Christmas story; that the Baron of Wantley, the Monks of Oyster-le-Main, Elaine, and Geoffrey, and Uttle Whelpdale the Buttons, and Old Popham the Butler, — that all these and a score more are the most laughable and lovable characters that we have encountered in fiction this many a day. In Mr. John Stewardson, Mr. Wistar has had an artistic collaborator born. The humorous pen-and-ink work which illustrates the text and adds to the fun of almost every page opens an entirely new vein in art." — Chicago Times. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 715-717 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. LJIS GREAT SELF. By Marion Harland, -*■ ■*■ author of " Alone," " True as Steel," etc. i2mo. Cloth, ^1.25. " It calls up the days when the ladies flashed in brocades and swelled in hoops ; when the men were autocrats and discussed Shakespeare and Mr. Pope ; a time that even Thackeray, seeing tlie picturesque opportunities which it afforded the novelist, did not disdain to deal with, and which will always be treasured by the lovers of the old and the picturesque. Some of the author's pages have about them the fragrance that scents a room when some antique cabinet has been opened, and there steals out the perfume of thyme and lavender placed there by a hand that has long ago mouldered into dust." — Philadelphia Record. yOHN GRAY. A Kentucky tale of the olden time. By James Lane Allen, author of " Flute and Violin," etc. i2mo. Cloth, J^i.oo. " The unhappy love experience which forms the thread of the tale is but a chapter out of the life of almost any young man. And it is not dramatically told, either. Yet there is an intangible some- thing in the book that now and then touches the spring of tears when the reader is least expecting it. The central character, John Gray, is as noble a specimen of young manhood as any idealist could create, yet always and everywhere he is entirely natural and human." — Boston jfournal. n^HE MAN OF FEELING. By Henry Mac- -* KENZiE. Illustrated by William CuBiTT Cooke. i6mo. Cloth, uncut, ^i.oo; Large paper, buckram, $3.00. " While other works are extolled, admired, and reviewed, those of Mackenzie will be loved and wept over. They cannot be out of date till the dreams of young imagination shall vanish and the deepest sympathies of love and hope be stilled forever. The tender pleasure which • The Man of Feeling' excites is wholly without alloy. Its hero is the most beautiful personification of gentleness, patience, and meek sufferings which the heart can conceive." — London Saturday Review. Philadelphia: J. B. LiPPiNCOTT Company, 715-717 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. n^HE HOYDEN. By ''The Duchess" (Mrs. -^ Hungerford) . l2mo. Paper, 50 cents. Cloth, ;Ji.oo. " One of the brightest and prettiest of this writer's books. The plot is more elaborate than is usual, and is developed with great cleverness. The humor is bright, the pathos is dehcate, and the animated style of the narrative makes the story charming reading. The heroine is an admirable study, and, on the whole, one of the most thoughtful and careful of its author's creations." — Washington Tribune. Other Stories by « The Duchess." A Little Irish Girl. Lady Patty. Bound in Paper, 50 cents each. Cloth, ^i.oo. Phyllis. A Life's Remorse. Molly Bawn. Mrs. Geoffrey. Airy Fairy Lilian. Portia. Beauty's Daughters. Loys, Lord Berresford, and other Faith and Unfaith. Stories. Doris. Rossmoyne. "O Tender Dolores." A Mental Struggle. A Maiden all Forlorn. Lady Valworth's Diamonds. In Durance Vile. Lady Branksmere. The Duchess. A Modern Circe. Marvel. The Honourable Mrs. Vereker. Jerry, and other Stories. Under-Currents. l2mo. Bound only in cloth, 75 cents. " ' The Duchess' has well deserved the title of being one of the most fascinating novelists of the day. The stories written by her are the airiest, hghtest, and brightest imaginable, full of wit, spirit, and gayety,but contain, nevertheless, touches of the most exquisite pathos. There is something good in all of them." — London Academy. " There is no author in fiction to compare with ' The Duchess,' and each of her novels reaches thousands of readers."— ^cj/c'w Globe. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 715-71 7 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. O N BOTH SIDES. By Frances Courtenay Baylor. i2mo. Cloth, ^1.25. " No such faithful, candid, kindly, brilliant, and incisive presenta- tion of English and American types has before been achieved. The wit of the story is considerable. It is written brilliantly, yet not flimsily. It is the best international novel that either side has hitherto produced. It is written by an American woman who really knows both countries, and who has shown that she possesses powers which ought to put her in the front rank of fiction." — New York Tribune. IDE HIND THE BLUE RIDGE, By Frances -^-^ Courtenay Baylor. i2mo. Cloth, ^1.25. " It is lightened through and through by humor as subtle and spontaneous as any that ever brightened the dark pages of life history, and is warmed by that keen sympathy and love for human nature which transfigures and ennobles everything it touches." — Chicago Tribune. A SHOCKING EXAMPLE, By Frances Courtenay Baylor. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. " An entertaining collection of stories by a clever writer who does not adhere to any single line of scenes, incidents, or characters. Few of our women writers have ventured upon so wide a range of character or been more successful." — New York Herald. " Miss Baylor is one of the best and brightest of American short story writers." — Boston Transcript. F AR IN THE FOREST. By S. Weir Mitchell, author of " Hepzibah Guinness," etc. i2mo. Cloth, ^l .25. " Dr. Mitchell shows in this, as in his other novels, a keen knowl- edge of human nature, the power to grasp and portray remarkable situations, a hearty recognition of manliness in all its phases, and a thorough understanding of the intricacies of the feminine mind. It is a capital novel." — Boston Beacon. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 715-717 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. N OVELS BY MISS CAREY. But Men Must Work. Sir Godfrey's Granddaughters. Mary St. John. Heriot's Choice. I2mo. Paper, 50 cents. Cloth, jgi.oo. The Search for Basil Lyndhurst. Wooed and Married. Barbara Heathcote's Trial. Nellie's Memories. For Lilias. Queenie's Whim. Robert Ord's Atonement. Not Like Other Girls. Uncle Max. Wee Wifie. Only the Governess. Bound only in cloth, ;^i.oo. " Miss Rosa Nouchette Carey has achieved an enviable reputation as a writer of tales of a restful and quiet kind. They tell pleasant stories of agreeable people, are never sensational, and have a genuine moral purpose and helpful tone, without being aggressively didactic or distinctly religious in character." — Boston Herald. /J DIPLOMAT'S DIARY. By Julien Gordon. ■^-^ New Edition in paper covers. i2mo. 50 cents. " A strong story. Realistic enough to be either a clever work of art or a record of fact. The stage upon which the little drama is played, the people who pass over it, the customs and manners, — these are accurately taken from hfe, and by one who has occupied a position within the diplomatic circle."— iV^w York Tribune. " The two characters that figure in the foreground of this story are alive ; we can hear them speak ; we see them ; we should recognize them in the street. That is the right artist's touch, and he who pos- sesses it can at will make us commune and sympathize with other human beings, no matter what their social status or what the stage- setting of their lives." — New York Sun. Also bound in cloth, jgl.oo. By the same author : A Successful Man. Vampires and Mademoiselle Reseda. i2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo each. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 7x5-717 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. T EAVES FROM THE LIFE OF A GOOD- ■«-— ' FOR-NoTHiNG. Translated by Mrs. A. L. Wister. From the German of Joseph F. von EichendorfF. Handsomely illustrated by photogravures from designs by Johann and Kanoldt. Printed on fine plate paper throughout. Small 4to. Bound in cloth, gilt top. New Edition, ^2.50. " The autobiography of this young itinerant German philosopher is deUghtful. It reads like a mixture of Goethe and Daudet. The romance of it is warm and colorful ; the humor fine and delicate. One's interest in the narrative is greatly enhanced by the plentiful and beautiful process illustrations." N OVELS OF E. MARLITT. It is through the delightful translations of Mrs. A. L. Wister that the novels of this celebrated German author have become so popular in America. They have now been profusely illustrated with characteristic full-page drawings from the original German editions, and include the following volumes : 'Old Mam'selle's Secret. , Countess Gisela. At the Councillor's. In the Schillingscourt. The Second Wife. The Bailliff's Maid. The Lady with the Rubies. Gold Elsie. The Owl's Nest. >The Little Moorland Prin- cess. Price in sets, 10 volumes, jjl 10.00. " No one who has read ' The Old Mam'selle's Secret,' with its rapid story, its melting pathos, and its strong characterization, needs to be told of the singular merits of the writer. That was universally recognized as one of the most absorbing, powerful, and dramatic stories which had come across the ocean in many a day. The sams German original and the same English reproducer have given us the other volumes." — Albany jfournal. nTHE HOL COMBES. A Story of Virginia Home- ■^ Life. By Mary Tucker Magill. i2mo. Cloth, ^1.50. " A picture of home-life in old Virginia before the war. Diaries, letters, dialogues, conversation, and action make up the character of the story. The stranger to the domestic life of the South can nowheve find a more faithful picture of its former quahties and surroundings." Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Company, 715-717 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S FICTION. pOUND WANTING, By Mrs. Alexander, ■'- author of " For His Sake," *• The Wooing O't," etc. l2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo. " In some respects ' Found Wanting' is the best of her books, for it contains Madame Falk, a faithful sketch of a modern journalist, carefully finished in all essentials. One always feels sure in taking up a story by this writer that the heroine will command respect and esteem, and this is something to be thankful for. There are two women in 'Found Wanting;' either one would pose acceptably as heroine. This is a good story." — Philadelphia Public Ledger, NOVELS BY AMELIE RIVES. IDA REAR A BERING, A Sequel to ''The Quick -^-^ or the Dead?'' i2mo. Cloth, ^1.25. Paper, 50 cents. " Miss Rives has treated the plot of her story with such wonderful skill that the characters seem not the creatures of a novelist, but creatures of real flesh and blood, living and moving, thinking and doing, not with the set regularity of so many puppets, but with the hfe and reality of beings of this world, moved by the same motives and inspired by the same thoughts as ourselves." — Boston journal. y^HE QUICK OR THE DEAD? By Am^lie -* Rives. i2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo. "To me her novels have been of the greatest interest and value : they have suggested new trains of thought; given me new ideas; opened up new vistas — in fact, their reading has been not only pleasurable but profitable." — Philadelphia Evening Telegraph. Y^HE WITNESS OE THE SUN. By Amelie -* Rives. i2mo. Cloth, ^i.oo. " That Miss Rives has been thought worthy of recognition at the hands of critics North and South is the strongest evidence of the fact that she has done something out of the common, and we will preface whatever we have to write by saying that we are not among the least of her admirers." — Chicago Times. Philadelphia: J. B. LiPPiNCOTT Company, 715-717 Market St. J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANrS FICTION. M RS. A. L. WISTER'S TRANSLATIONS FROM THE German. |i.oo per volume. Countess Erika's Apprenticeship. By Ossip Schubin •* O Thou, My Austria !" By Ossip Schubin Erlach Court. By Ossip Schubin The Alpine Fay. By E. Werner The Owl's Nest. By E. Marlitt Picked Up in the Streets. By H. Schobert Saint Michael. By E. Werner ViOLETTA. By Ursula Zoge von Manteufel The Eichhoffs. By Moritz von Reichenbach A New Race. By Gola Raimund Castle Hohenwald. By Adolph Streckfuss Margarethb. By E. Juncker Too Rich. By Adolph Streckfuss A Family Feud. By Ludwig Harder Thh Green Gate. By Ernst Wichert Only a Gikl. By Wilhelmine von Hillern Why Did He Not Die? By Ad. von Volckhauser The Lady with the Rubies. By E. Marlitt Vain Forebodings. By E Oswald A Penniless Girl. By W. Heimburg Quicksands. By Adolph Streckfuss Banned and Blessed. By E. Werner A Noble Name. By Clare von Gliimer From Hand to Hand. By Golo Raimund Severa. By E. Hartner HuLDA. By Fanny Lewald ^„.^The Bailiff's Maid. By E. Marlitt In the Schillingscourt. By E. Marlitt Countess Gisela. By E. Marlitt At the Councillor's. By E. Marlitt The Second Wife. By E. Marlitt The Old Mam'selle's Secret. By E. Marlitt Gold Elsie. By E. Marlitt The Little Moorland Princess. By E. Marlitt l2mo. Attractively bound in cloth. Thirty-four volumes in twenty-three. Sold only in sets. ;^30.oo per set. " Mrs. A. L. Wister, through her many translations of novels from the German, has estabhshed a reputation of the highest order for literary judgment, and for a long time her name upon the title-page of such a translation has been a sufficient guarantee to the lovers of fiction of a pure and elevating character, that the novel would be a cherished home favorite. This faith in Mrs. Wister is fully justified by the fact that among her more than thirty translations that have been published by Lippincott's there has not been a single disappoint- ment. And to the exquisite judgment of selection is to be added the rare excellence of her translations, which has commanded the admiration of literary and linguistic scholars." — Boston Homeyournal. Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott Company, 715-717 Market St.