CHAPTER XIII

THE PRESIDENCY OF MARSHAL MACMAHON

When a coalition of the different parties who constituted the Right in the National Assembly overturned M. Thiers, it was felt everywhere, though perhaps none would say it aloud, that this event was but the first step towards the re-establishment of a monarchy, which could only be that of the Orleans family. In fact, the Chamber was almost entirely composed of Orleanists. The few Bonapartists were too timid to come out openly as such after the catastrophes that had accompanied the fall of the Empire, but they were determined nevertheless to do their best to bring the Prince Imperial back to France as Emperor. There were but few extreme Radicals in the Assembly. Gambetta was perhaps the most advanced member in that direction, together with Jules Ferry and Jules Favre, and their Radicalism would be considered Conservatism nowadays. In fact, the Left, or what was called the Left, resembled rather an opposition as it is understood in England, than a revolutionary party such as later on tried to snatch the government of the country into its hands. France was still under the influence of the eighteen years of Imperial regime it had gone through, and respect for authority had not yet died. The elections, which had been conducted under the eyes of the enemy, had brought back a large monarchical majority to the Assembly. That majority knew very well that so long as M. Thiers remained at the head of the Republic, a restoration, either of the Comte de Chambord, the Comte de Paris, or the Prince Imperial, was not to be thought of. The little man would have defended his own person in defending the Republic. His manner of crushing the Commune, indeed, had shown that he would not hesitate before a display of force, and would be quite capable of sending to prison the leaders of any movement to destroy the government over which he presided.

But when M. Thiers had been put aside, the field was free to the Royalists, and in order to pave the way to a restoration they offered the Presidency of the Republic to the Duc d’Aumale, in the hope that he would see his way to resign his functions to his nephew, and be strong enough to bring him back in triumph to the Elysée.

The Duc d’Aumale accepted. Whether he would have fulfilled the hopes that had been centred in him is another question. My opinion is that he would have shown himself even more respectful of the Republic who had called him to her head than M. Thiers or Marshal MacMahon. But we need not go into suppositions, as his election did not take place on account of the Bonapartists refusing to vote for him, being frightened at the thought that he might feel tempted to accomplish another _coup d’état_, and at all events would exclude them from the ranks of his advisers. The Duc d’Aumale once put aside, there remained but two people whose names could have rallied around them the different parties that constituted the Assembly; they were Marshal Canrobert and Marshal MacMahon.

The last mentioned was chosen partly because some believed he was more favourable than his illustrious colleague to the idea of an Orleanist restoration, partly because it was hoped that he would allow others to govern in his name. They forgot that, being used to obedience in military matters, he would insist on being listened to on political issues, and that his very honesty would not allow him to associate himself with intrigue in governing the country, whose welfare he would consider it was his duty to promote above all other considerations.

Marshal MacMahon was essentially a gentleman. Not superabundantly gifted with intelligence, not, perhaps, possessing much strength of character, he had, nevertheless, a keen sense of right and wrong, a horror of anything that approached intrigue, a great respect for his duty, before the accomplishment of which he never hesitated no matter how painful it might be for him to perform it. He was a brave soldier, an honest man, but he was no politician, and whenever he tried to interest himself in politics he failed utterly in his attempts, partly through want of experience, partly through want of knowledge, and especially because he never knew how to find among the people who surrounded him a majority of supporters.

He never understood why he had been elected President of the Republic, and always imagined that he owed it to his personal merits. This illusion was carefully fostered by his entourage, and by ministers who wanted to persuade him to adopt their own views. It was a great mistake on their part, because had the Marshal been less sure of the infallibility of his own judgments, he might not have risked the _coup d’état_ of the 16th of May, which threw France into the arms of the extreme Republican and Radical parties, which have ruled it ever since.

The first ministers of MacMahon were Orleanists of the purest water, and they did their best to bring the Orleans dynasty back to the throne, especially after the publication of the famous letter of the Comte de Chambord, which sealed for ever his fate as a Pretender. They were all, too, gentlemen by birth and by education, and men of learning and experience. Two among them, the Duc de Broglie and the Duc Decazes, have left their impress on the history of France, and deserve its gratitude for the services they have rendered to her. But all of them were utopian in the sense that they believed in the triumph of the opinions they held. They never admitted the possibility of new people coming to the front, new ideas developing so quickly that they would have to be reckoned with by every government no matter to what shade it belonged. More especially did they fail to foresee the triumph of the Radical and revolutionary elements. They considered them as of no serious importance, perhaps because they had never troubled to study them carefully, and so appreciate their strength.

It is said that the Duc d’Aumale, when sounded as to whether or not he would accept the Presidency of the Republic, and under what conditions, had replied: “Je veux bien être une transaction; une transition jamais.” Marshal MacMahon was to form the bridge of transition from the government of a gentleman to that of a political man, such as the Presidents who have succeeded him have all essentially been. He brought with him to the Elysée traditions that are still respected, and customs that have become a dead letter since his fall. His tenure of office was attended with great dignity, and an amount of state that savoured a little of real Court life such as he had known and understood how to represent. He did not indulge in petty economies unworthy of his high position, and kept open house for his followers and friends, dispensing at the same time a generous and unbounded hospitality in regard to all who came to pay their respects to him in his capacity as First Magistrate of the French Republic. His wife, too, the Duchesse de Magenta, was a really great lady, by birth as well as by education, and she seconded him to the best of her ability--entertaining for him on a grand scale, receiving foreign ambassadors with a queenly grace combined with the affability of a true _grande dame_. La Maréchale, as she was familiarly called by her friends, was a remarkable woman in her way, and it is very much to be regretted that she refused the whole time that her husband remained in office to interest herself in public affairs, from which she kept aloof as much as she possibly could; she was exceedingly generous, and the poor of Paris remember her to this day.

When the Marshal had to retire into private life, it was found that he had not only spent all the allowance that he received from the State, but also a great deal of his own private fortune, so that when he gave up his high office, he was a poorer man than when he had entered upon it. The Duchesse de Magenta, when she became a widow, was left with less than moderate means, and had to lead a simple existence, devoid of accustomed luxuries. She was a very modest woman, and it is related that she was often to be met in the morning riding in an omnibus, with a basket on her arm, doing her own marketing in company with her cook or housemaid. France did not show herself grateful for the services which, in spite of his many political errors, Marshal MacMahon undoubtedly rendered to her, and did not trouble itself as to the fate of his widow or his children. The Duchesse only received the pension attached to the military position which her late husband had occupied, and had her son, the present Duc de Magenta, not married the daughter of the Duc de Chartres, the Princess Marguerite of Orleans, he would have hardly had enough to live according to the exigencies of his rank as a captain in the French army. The example is rare, and ought not to be forgotten, especially nowadays, when the first preoccupation of people in power is to lay aside as much money as they can against the time when they have to abandon office.

During the whole time that Marshal MacMahon remained at the Elysée he kept beside him, in the quality of private secretary, the Vicomte Emmanuel d’Harcourt, one of the pleasantest, most amiable, and most intelligent men in Paris society. He was perhaps the only real statesman among the many politicians who surrounded the President, and, had he only been listened to, it is probable that the monarchical restoration, so much desired at that time by all the sane elements in French political life, could have been brought about. Unfortunately, the majority did not credit him with being in earnest, and the few who did so were too much afraid of him not to do all that was in their power to counteract his influence on the Duc de Magenta. It is related that one evening when the President happened to be irritated by all these perpetual hints he was receiving concerning Monsieur d’Harcourt, he asked him abruptly: “Pourquoi, est-ce que vous tenez à rester auprès de moi, et que vous ne cherchez pas à faire partie d’une combinaison ministérielle?” (“Why do you care to stay with me, why don’t you try to enter into a Cabinet?”) The Vicomte simply replied: “Parce que j’ai de l’affection pour vous, Monsieur le Maréchal, et que je ne tiens pas à vous abandonner aux mains de ceux qui n’en ont pas” (“Because I have an affection for you, Monsieur le Maréchal, and I don’t care to abandon you to those who haven’t”).

MacMahon became very red, but never more after that day did he try to wound the feelings of a man in whom he recognised a sincere friend.

The Republican party has always accused Monsieur d’Harcourt of having inspired the famous letter which the Marshal addressed to Jules Simon, and which brought about what is known as “the crisis of the 16th of May.” This reproach was partly true and partly unjust. It is quite certain that the Vicomte encouraged the President to dismiss a Cabinet which he considered far too advanced in its opinions, and especially because he could not agree with the ideas of Jules Simon, its chief, notwithstanding the great intelligence and the sincere patriotism of the latter. But, on the other hand, it must be said, and it cannot be repeated too loudly, that Emmanuel d’Harcourt always told the President that he could not venture upon such a grave and important step without every possible precaution to ensure its success. First of all he advised the exercise of a considerable pressure on the new elections that were bound to follow upon such a step and the imprisonment of a few leaders whose influence might make them turn against the government. He was a partisan of strong measures, and had that contempt for legality that all daring statesmen have ever professed. The Marshal, on the contrary, would never have dreamed of defying the law, and he refused to adopt any of the measures which not only his secretary but also his ministers--with the exception of the Duc de Broglie, whose rigid Protestant principles, which he had inherited from his mother, prevented him from resorting to any violent actions--recommended to him. I have heard that on the eve of these elections, which had such an enormous influence on the future destinies of France, the Vicomte d’Harcourt was discussing them with M. de Fortoul, who was Minister of the Interior, and they were both deploring the obstinacy of the President of the Republic, who would not understand that once he had entered upon the road of resistance to the wishes of the Chambers, represented by the ministers whom he had dismissed, he was bound to go on and to enforce his wishes upon the nation. Fortoul knew he had been called by the confidence which the Duc de Magenta had in his honesty to the difficult post which he occupied, but he was well aware that he did not possess the latter’s sympathies, so asked the Vicomte d’Harcourt whether there was no means by which the Chief of the State could be convinced that it would be cowardice not to see to the bitter end the adventure in which he had engaged himself. He got from him this characteristic reply: “No! One cannot convince him; because he is a man who, though in a position to command, has never forgotten how to obey.”

Fortoul understood, and did not attempt further to shake the convictions of the President, but prepared himself to lose the game which with a little energy might so easily have been won.

Emmanuel d’Harcourt was the man who best understood that honest, feeble, and in some parts enigmatical character of Marshal MacMahon. Apart from him it is to be doubted whether anyone save the Marquis d’Abzac, who was attached to his person during long years, ever guessed what went on in that narrow but well-intentioned mind. The Marquis d’Abzac was at one time a leading figure in Paris society, and I think that no one who has ever known him has forgotten the charming, amiable man he was, the perfect gentleman he always showed himself, and the true friend he remained to all those who had treated him as such. He was the leading spirit of the little Court of the Elysée, where he organised all the balls and receptions that gave it such brilliancy during the tenure of office of the Duc de Magenta, when all that was illustrious in France, even the most confirmed Royalists, considered it an honour to pay their respects to the Head of the State and to his amiable wife. He had the entire confidence of the President, who, perhaps, was more inclined to give it to a soldier like the General d’Abzac than to a civilian with whom his military soul had but little in common, and whose subtleties of reasoning appeared too complicated for his simple mind. The Marquis had married a Russian, Mlle. Lazareff, whose mother had been a Princess of Courland, related to the famous Duchesse de Sagan. His wife had vast estates in Silesia, and though he did not live with her yet he visited there often, and always made an appearance at the German Court, where he was essentially a _persona grata_, ever since he had accompanied Marshal MacMahon when the latter had been sent to Berlin as an Ambassador of Napoleon III. to represent that Sovereign at the coronation of William I. as King of Prussia.

Very often his visits to the German Court allowed him to clear up misunderstandings between the French Government and the Prussian Foreign Office; misunderstandings that were often provoked by the state of antagonism which existed between Prince Bismarck and the French Ambassador, the Vicomte de Gontaut Biron, about whom I shall have more to say presently. The German Chancellor liked the Marquis d’Abzac, and frequently took him into his confidence, well aware of his tact and discretion. I have heard from a person very much _au courant_ of what was going on in the Wilhelmstrasse, that Bismarck once expressed himself to the aide-de-camp of the President of the French Republic, concerning the monarchical intrigues that were going on in Paris. He spoke with a mixture of contempt and regret of the woeful way they were conducted, and of what small chances they had of being successful. D’Abzac replied that of course it was not for him to venture an opinion on a subject that did not enter at all into his activities, but that he had always imagined that Prussia was very much adverse to the re-establishment of a Monarchy in France. The Prince immediately replied: “You are entirely mistaken, we have nothing against it, our objection is to the people who would inevitably come into power and prominence with it. If we could see in Paris a King without those who want at the present moment to proclaim him, we should, on the contrary, feel far more reassured than we do now at the immediate future both of France and of Germany. Neither the Comte de Paris nor the Prince Imperial would, nor could, risk position by declaring a war against us, the price of which might be the loss of the newly recovered throne. But we greatly dread all the councillors and advisers who would be eager to prove before the country who had sent them to represent it, that they had been right in changing the form of the government, because the one whom they had helped to call into existence was ready to win back for the nation the provinces as well as the prestige that it had lost.”

Later on, when speaking of this remarkable conversation with one of his intimate friends, the Marquis d’Abzac had been obliged to own that the German Chancellor had been right in his appreciation of a situation he understood better than did many Frenchmen.

I have already spoken of the obstinacy that was one of the characteristics of MacMahon. Those who induced him so unnecessarily to assert himself in regard to Jules Simon, played on that chord when they persuaded him that it was his duty to check the growing tide of Radicalism, and to attempt to save the Republic from those who were leading it into a path which would alienate from it the sympathy of Europe, at a time when France sorely needed this support. He imagined that by dismissing his Cabinet he was doing a great thing for his country, but being the faithful slave of his convictions, i.e. that the nation ought to be free to express its opinions and its wishes as to the form of government it liked, he did not pursue what he had begun so well, and refused to allow the Cabinet whom he had called together to fight the battle to the bitter end. For thus he might have ensured, with the help of some moral pressure, the triumph of the step which he had taken more violently than wisely. The result is well known, and though the death of M. Thiers, which happened on the very eve of the elections, carried away one of his greatest and most powerful adversaries, yet the Radical party secured a complete victory. One of the greatest mistakes that Marshal MacMahon ever made in his life was in failing to resign when the result of the elections became known. He sacrificed his ministers, he allowed those who had borne the brunt of the battle to be ousted out of the field and almost out of political life, which for some of them remained fast closed after that experience, and he himself, instead of following them in their retreat, remained still Head of the State, and continued to occupy the Elysée, losing the esteem of those who had considered him, until that time at any rate, a respectable nonentity. He received the new ministers whom his own stupidity had brought into power, he still discussed with them, and he went on trying to push forward his own opinions and his own wishes, unobservant of all the slights that were continually poured upon him. The only time that his Cabinet seriously tried to assure itself of his help in a matter of international politics--the advisability of making some advances to Russia in view of a possible _rapprochement_ in the future--he violently opposed the idea, invoking the remembrances of the Crimean War, which, as someone wittily remarked, “he had gone through, but not outlived.” After that no one attempted even to keep him in the current of the affairs of the government, and after the elections which took place in the Senate, and which resulted in a majority holding the same ideas as those which already existed in the Chamber, the Marshal himself saw that nothing was left to him but to resign, and, bereft of the prestige which would have attached to his name had he done so after the 16th of May had been condemned by the nation, he retired into private life, and also into obscurity, which is far worse.

By a strange coincidence he died just when that Russian alliance to which he had been so opposed was very near to becoming an accomplished fact. Also, he was followed to his grave by a deputation of Russian sailors, headed by Admiral Avellan, who came to Paris from Toulon during the memorable visit paid to that town by the Russian squadron which had been sent to return the visit paid to Cronstadt by the French fleet a few months before. It was one of those freaks of destiny which occur so often in life, that at his funeral, too, should be represented the nation against whom he had fought in the Crimean fields and at Sebastopol, and whose soldiers he had never expected would, together with those he had commanded, fire the last volleys over his grave. The old warrior, who, in spite of his mistakes and errors, still represented something of the glory of his country, and was one of the remnants of an epoch and of a regime that had given to the world the illusion of a strong and powerful France, was accompanied to his last resting-place by the sincere regrets of all those who had loved the man, while they distrusted and condemned the statesman, and perhaps even despised his capacity as a politician. But his personal honesty had come out unimpaired from the trials of his public career, his honour had never been questioned, his courage had never been the subject of the slightest doubt. He deserved fully the honours which were paid to him at his death, and the homage that France rendered to him at his funeral.