My Memoirs Part 8

And what pleasant and brilliant conversations, even when the _causeurs_ were too short-sighted or too far-sighted in their views. Thus I had friends who wished all music was destroyed and forgotten except the works of Richard Strauss, others who would have given their lives for Maeterlinck, and quite a number of men who wanted to _save_ France (there is an amazing number of people in France who believe that the country is irretrievably lost unless their advice is followed). All these persons may have been rather foolish, but they never bored; their ideas were often wrong but never absurd.... And there always happened to be present some one who made them agree--with themselves.

I have been further criticised for "doing everything myself."

"Everything" is an exaggeration, but I certainly did a great deal in my house, and I am proud of it. At Beaucourt my father made me do as many things as possible in our home, although he was wealthy. I then made at least half my dresses and hats, and fulfilled a thousand and one household duties. I thought my father was right, and marriage did not change my views on the matter.

Should I have given up my salons and my receptions, the pleasant and interesting relations with men and women of the world, with men of talent and men of genius, just because my husband and I had not an unlimited account at the bank? Should I have deprived myself of those intellectual and artistic joys which add so much to life because I could not entertain as lavishly as did some of my wealthier friends?

Yes, I helped with the household work in the morning, and when I thought that a room would be improved by changing the position of a piece of furniture, I helped the servants to move it.... I may here mention that all this was carefully noted, after my arrest, and the examining magistrate, M. Andre made the following argument in all seriousness: "A woman who is strong enough to a.s.sist in moving a cupboard or a sideboard is strong enough to strangle one or two persons with her own hands."...

Although I loved that "mundane" life, it was not on account of its "brilliant" side, but because I found there satisfactions of the mind which to some extent made up for my unfortunate married life, and also because I was able to make some use of my numberless acquaintances--those especially who held high office--to help in their careers my husband's relatives or mine, or any friend.

But there were hours of bitter dejection, when it seemed to me that of the crowd of people I knew who proclaimed themselves my devoted friends, there were not ten men and women on whom I could absolutely rely and who fully deserved the beautiful name of "friend"; hours when the compliments with which I was overwhelmed rang formal and untrue, when sympathy was hypocrisy or calculation; hours when I loathed the artificiality of Parisian life!...

I sought then a refuge in long conversations with my husband in his studio, where I helped him in his work, and in the tender love of my mother. Or I pressed my little Marthe to my heart and a fierce craving would seize me to flee with her to Beaucourt, to beautiful Beaucourt, the home of my happy youth, and lead there a modest, normal life with my child! But Paris does not let go of its victims....

CHAPTER VI

FeLIX FAURE

Beyond the hours of depression and the every-day troubles that fall to the lot of all human beings: disappointed dreams, thwarted ambitions, shattered illusions, financial cares and family worries, there happened nothing particularly eventful in my life until the day when I became the friend and confidante of Felix Faure, elected President of the Republic in January 1895.

The political and other events of general interest which took place in France during the years immediately preceding that date, may be summed up in a few words.

After the Panama scandal and the vanis.h.i.+ng of the "two hundred and fifty million francs," cabinets were formed and cabinets fell with symptomatic and alarming rapidity. For instance, in January 1898, Ribot becomes Premier, but already in March Dupuy succeeds him. The general election reveals nothing... except the nation's apathy. The election of fifty Socialists as deputies, however, is worth noting. Later Casimir Perier becomes Prime Minister. He has a revered name, is capable, and he is wealthy, but his Ministry does not last six months, and in May 1894, Dupuy returns to power. The next month an Italian anarchist murders President Carnot, the n.o.blest of men and an able statesman, worthy grandson of the victor of Wattignies, of Lazare Carnot, the "Organiser of Victory." Four days later, the Congress sitting at Versailles, elects Casimir Perier to the highest office in the Republic, but in January 1905, tired of being slandered, fettered, and insulted, and for private reasons, too, Casimir Perier resigns and Felix Faure becomes President.

He had rapidly reached the supreme rank. Under-Secretary for the Colonies from 1882 to 1885 in Jules Ferry's Cabinet, he was elected vice-president of the Chamber in 1893, became Minister for the Navy in 1894, and President of the Republic in 1895.

That very year he received the Lord Mayor of London, Sir Joseph Renals, and the following year, in October, the Czar and the Czaritza. I attended the gala performance at the Opera, the laying of the first stone of the Alexander III. bridge, which was to ill.u.s.trate in stone and bronze the Franco-Russian Alliance, and even went to Chalons to see the military review held there. I had left Beaucourt for the purpose of attending these ceremonies in the company of an important official. The Czar struck me as more una.s.suming than the President, and the rather pathetic beauty of the Empress of all the Russians made a deep impression upon me. France went Russia mad, and Felix Faure became extremely popular.

The Alliance which had been marked by the visit of a French squadron commanded by Admiral Gervais to Kronstadt (1891), the mission of General Boisdeffre to St. Petersburg in the following year, and the visit of the Russian Admiral Avelan to Toulon and Paris in 1893, was to become a _fait accompli_ during the return visit of Felix Faure to the Czar in August 1897.

Three months before this momentous visit there occurred in Paris the terrible catastrophe of the _Bazar de la Charite_ which claimed some hundred and fifty victims. I miraculously escaped death that day. I was one of the ladies in charge of the buffet, and was serving tea, when I felt suddenly unwell, so much so that, reluctantly, I had to leave the Bazaar. The carriage in which I drove home had hardly turned the corner of the Rue Jean Goujon when the fire broke out.

My mother arrived at my house in a state of mad terror, for she had accompanied me a few hours before as far as the doors of the Bazaar, and when she had heard of the fire, had feared that I was one of the victims. I was safe but, alas, lost my dear friends in the catastrophe.

A few weeks later the second jubilee of Queen Victoria was celebrated, and with a few English friends staying in Paris, I attended the great garden-party given at the British Emba.s.sy by Sir Edmund Monson. Mme.

Faure and her daughter, M. Hanotaux, Minister of Foreign Affairs, and the whole literary, artistic, and political _elite_ of France were present.

I heartily congratulated an eminent English personage on the splendour of the reception and the atmosphere of pleasant mirth which permeated the Emba.s.sy.

"Of course, Madame," he remarked, "the Emba.s.sy has not always this bright animation! But you must not believe that we English are as sedate and stolid and gloomy as some people say. And I may inform you, by the way, that this house was once the residence of the notorious Pauline Borghese, whose only ambition was to be pretty and to... to be loved."

He then told us a number of lively anecdotes about the ravis.h.i.+ng sister of Napoleon--and concluded; "Don't you think there is something piquant in the fact that the Amba.s.sador of stern and solemn Old England lives in a house which once belonged to a famous crowned courtesan!"

On July 14th--the day of the _fete nationale_--the usual review took place at Longchamps, and I took my six-year-old daughter to see "the soldiers," but, instead of watching them, she kept staring at the Rajah of Kapurthala, who was close to us, and asking endless questions which brought smiles to the lips of all those who overheard her, but embarra.s.sed me very much.

I spent the rest of July and the whole month of August in the Alps, with my husband, who had to work "on the spot," for a vast "panorama of the Alpine Club," which was intended for the Exhibition of 1900. The Alpine manuvres were in progress at the beginning of August, and President Faure, who had been to Valence and Orange, came to witness them. Just before a sham fight by the Cha.s.seurs Alpins near the Vanoise Pa.s.s, my husband took up a position whence he could survey the coming scene, and I, further down and camera in hand, was preparing to take snap-shots from the top of a rock, when I heard some voices. There, below me, was a group of men, and one of them, wearing a red s.h.i.+rt, a brown suit, yellowish gaiters, and a white _beret_, looked up at me and said something I could not hear. I believe he asked whether he should stop to be photographed. I failed to recognise the President of the Republic and his suite. But shortly afterwards an officer came to ask whether M. and Mme. Steinheil would lunch with the President. I declined, thinking the invitation too sudden and too formal, but my husband accepted and told me he would ask the President for permission to paint the forthcoming "distribution of decorations" at La Traversette.

Needless to say, I had met the President before. For several years I had regularly attended functions at the Elysee, and had made the acquaintance of Felix Faure, as I had made that of Carnot and of Casimir Perier. I had even spoken at length with him on two or three occasions when he was Minister for the Navy.

That same day, in the village which at the time was my husband's headquarters, I saw the President once more. A group of little girls, wearing the quaint old dresses of Savoy, were offering flowers to him.... Felix Faure saw me, bowed deeply, and afterwards there came an invitation to dinner--which I declined. The next morning yet another invitation came, this time to lunch, near Bourg Saint-Maurice, at the redoubt which overlooks the Pet.i.t Saint Bernard. My husband accepted, but I declined again, under the first pretext that occurred to me....

The truth was that I was far too busy collecting native buckles, bracelets and crosses, the wooden birds in which the Savoy peasants keep salt, and all the headdresses I could buy, to care to lunch with the "first magistrate" in the land and his suite! I much preferred the milk, cheese, and brown bread of the mountaineers to all the dainties and wines of the presidential table. When at night my husband returned with his companions--a judge and a mayor--I was told the President repeatedly alluded to my absence. My husband made his sketches of the distribution by President Faure of "decorations" to Alpine soldiers at La Traversette, and joined me again. The Chief of the State left for Annecy and Paris, and later, while my husband and I were leading the simple life in the mountains of Savoy, the President was in Russia with the Czar, enjoying the banquets given in his honour at Kronstadt, St.

Petersburg and Peterhof.

My husband's painting of the Traversette scene included, of course, portraits of the various members of the President's suite and they--ministers and officers--came during the autumn to the studio in the Impa.s.se Ronsin to sit for their portraits. The President gave a sitting to M. Steinheil at the Elysee. An exchange of letters followed.

Felix Faure was anxious to see the "historic" painting, and I was told that he wished to visit our house, which had been described to him by his _entourage_, in which I numbered several friends. I was overwhelmed with invitations to the Elysee.... At the beginning of 1898 the picture was completed, and the President called one morning to see it.

My uncle, General j.a.py, was with my husband and me to receive him. My garden was one huge bouquet, and as soon as he had entered, with General Bailloud and a young officer, the President expressed his delight.

Marthe offered him a sheaf of flowers that was almost as big as herself, but absolutely refused to be kissed. Her obstinacy amused Felix Faure, who asked:

"What is the toy you like best?"

"A doll."

"What is your name?"

"Marthe."

"Well, little Marthe, I will give instructions for a perfect doll with a complete trousseau to be made and sent to you, exactly the same as I am sending to the Czar's daughter."

"Thank you," said Marthe quietly, but nevertheless refused to be kissed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PRESIDENT FELIX FAURE]

Felix Faure admired the drawing-room and the "winter-garden," examined closely as a connoisseur a few pieces of antique furniture, and then stopping near the piano: "Ah! It is no fun to be a President," he sighed. "I am deprived of music.... Of course the band of the Republican Guard plays at the dinner-parties at the Elysee, and there is the Opera, and... the Ma.r.s.eillaise, wherever I go, but I seldom, if ever, hear the music I love, chamber music, or a simple song, sung at the piano!"

He told me that he had heard about the musical parties at my house, and that his friend Ma.s.senet was also my friend, and finally asked whether I would sing, just for once, at the Elysee.

"No, M. le President," I replied. "I don't believe I could sing there.... It seems to me that everything official is necessarily inartistic, and I should not care to sing in surroundings that were uncongenial."

He walked to my husband's studio. The President was delighted with the picture.

"Do you know," he asked me, "that they are singing a song on the boulevards about the white _beret_ I wore at the Alpine manuvres?"

"I suppose they are comparing it to Henri IV.'s famous white plume, M.

le President," a young officer suggested.

"No,... I wish they did.... There's nothing historical about the song.

Still, it is an advertis.e.m.e.nt, and even Presidents need _reclame_.... It is a very caustic but still very jolly song."

Marthe exclaimed: "Please sing it to me!"

"I will if you will give me that kiss!"

Marthe ran away.

The President looked at the pictures in the studio. He paused before a small painting by my husband, representing a woman of Bourg Saint-Maurice, wearing the pretty mediaeval cap still in use in certain parts of Savoy. It is like a round helmet of brilliantly coloured material, with a point above the forehead. The hair tightly plaited is twisted round with black tape, which forms part of the helmet (a three hours' process which the women at Bourg Saint-Maurice told me they only went through twice a month), and from that strange but becoming headgear hangs a loose chain made of black and golden beads.