In October, 1866, at the request of General Canby, Mr. Seward appointed the writer to be Assistant Secretary of Legation at Paris. Johnson was then President, but he very properly left all these minor appointments in the State Department to its chief. Frederic Seward told me that it was impossible to have a better friend at their court than General Canby—"they always accepted his bills at sight."

General Dix had then been named Minister to France, but had not sailed. Mr. Bigelow still filled the office. On presenting my credentials, he requested me to await the arrival of the General before entering upon my duties, that the proposed changes might all be made at the same time.

Late in December General Dix arrived, and was presented. Court carriages were sent for the minister, and he was accompanied by the secretaries of legation, and by the "Introducteur des Ambassadeurs" in gorgeous uniform. Those were the halcyon days of the diplomatic service, before Congress had come to the conclusion that the safety of the republic depended upon its foreign representatives being dressed in swallow-tail coats. We were then permitted to dress like other gentlemen of the diplomatic corps in the same grade.

The Emperor was always happy in his reception of the diplomates accredited to him. The custom was to send in advance to the Minister of Foreign Affairs a copy of the address to be delivered, that the Emperor's reply might be prepared. These speeches, under ordinary circumstances, might be stereotyped: change the names, and one will answer for another. After the formal addresses, an informal conversation followed. General Dix then presented the secretaries. The Emperor spoke English very well, and liked to ventilate it. He did not speak it perfectly, however, as was claimed by his enthusiastic admirers. He translated French into English, as we so often translate English into French. He said, for instance, to Colonel Hay, "You have made ze war in ze United States?" ("Vous avez fait la guerre?") meaning, "Did you serve?" Hay was strongly tempted to tell him that it was not he; it was Jeff Davis.

After the presentation to the Emperor, we paid our respects to the Empress. That charming and beautiful woman was then in the zenith of her beauty and grace. She received us in her bonnet and walking-dress, as she had come from mass; for in Catholic countries diplomatic presentations generally take place on Sunday. Nor in Catholic countries only, for in England the Prince of Wales sometimes receives on that day. The Empress too speaks English, and with less accent than the Emperor, though not so fluently.

The imperial court in 1866-'67 was at the height of its splendor. France was apparently prosperous and powerful, and Paris reigned the queen-city of the world. All nations paid her willing tribute. She was preparing for the Exhibition of 1867, the most successful ever held, except our own at Philadelphia. The winter was unusually gay, the palace setting the example. As a rule, the Emperor gave four grand balls during the season. They were very magnificent, and would have been very pleasant except for the great crowd. But those balls were given principally to the military, and the garrison of Paris thronged them to the number of two or three thousand. Some of the subordinate officers were wholly unused to any other society than that of the barracks, and they brought their barrack manners with them, crowding, pushing, treading upon the ladies' dresses, scratching their shoulders with their epaulets. When the supper-room was opened, the Centgarde on duty at the door had great difficulty in keeping back the hungry crowd. Once they actually broke through and rushed in. The sentries were thereupon doubled, but even then were compelled to threaten to report the most prominent disturbers to the Emperor. Every private in the Centgardes ranked as an officer of the army.

It may interest some of my readers to know how presentations were made at these balls. The United States Minister was allowed to present twenty-six persons in all. They were selected generally upon the principle of first come, first served; but the matter rested wholly in his discretion. No one had a right to a presentation. Mr. Seward settled this in a clear and positive dispatch to Mr. Dayton, and his instructions now regulate the action of our ministers in most of the courts of Europe. Occasionally we asked for one or two extra presentations. The inquiry was then generally made, "Is it a young and pretty woman?" If it were, there was no difficulty, for the Empress, like other ladies, was pleased to have her balls set off with beautiful and well-dressed women. American ladies were always well received by her for this reason. Her balls were sometimes called by the envious "bals amÉricains."

The persons to be presented were arranged round one of the rooms at the Tuileries. The Emperor entered and passed down the line, each person being named to him. He sometimes stopped, though rarely, and addressed a few words to one of the presentees. The Empress followed in the same manner. She exacted that every lady should be in full evening dress, and if by chance one slipped in not dÉcolletÉe, the minister was pretty sure to hear of it. General Dix was once asked to present a young lady with her mother. He consented. She turned out to be a child of fourteen. Before many days he heard that the Empress had said that she did not receive children.

But the Empress's Mondays, petits lundis, were charming. They were not unpleasantly crowded, and they were composed exclusively of people who knew how to behave themselves. Frequently they were musical parties, and there one heard the best musical talent of the world. No money was paid to the leading artists; for the theory is that the honor of singing before the sovereign is sufficient; but a bracelet or other piece of jewelry was sent to the singer, and always of value, for the Emperor was very generous—too much so for his own interests and those of his family, as events have shown.

The petits lundis were a paradise for our American diplomates. There we wore our swallow-tail coats, with black tights and silk stockings. The most rabid anti-uniformist could not object to that. To wear swallow-tail at one of the balls, however, was by no means a pleasant duty. After one or two experiments our secretaries gave up going. The French officers—not those of high rank, of course—would stare with all the impertinence they could muster, and take the opportunity to jostle them accidentally in the crowd. It was very different in London. If one of us went to a ball at Buckingham Palace in mufti, the page at the door simply asked, "United States, sir?" and he passed in without difficulty. Of course every one present noticed the dress, but no one appeared to do so. They evidently felt sorry for the poor devil who found himself in such an awkward fix, and wished to make it as easy for him as possible. French politeness did not shine by the contrast.

Early in the winter the Emperor opened the Corps LÉgislatif. In all constitutional monarchies this is an occasion of great ceremony and splendor. A hall in the Louvre was used for the purpose. All the great bodies of state attended in their gorgeous uniforms. Senators, deputies, judges, members of the Academy and of the Institute, marshals, admirals—every thing that France possessed of glorious in arms, or eminent in literature, science, art, and statesmanship, was congregated there. When all was ready, the Empress, attended by the ladies of the imperial family, and by her ladies in waiting, walked up the whole length of the centre aisle to her seat on the throne, amidst the indescribable enthusiasm of the audience. Her beauty, her grace, and her stately bearing carried the enthusiasm to its height. You would have sworn that every man there was ready to die for his sovereign. Within less than four years she sought in vain for one of them to stand by her in her hour of danger.

The opening of the Corps LÉgislatif, splendid and interesting as it was, did not compare in either respect—in American eyes, at least—with the opening of Parliament by the Queen in person. She has done this so rarely of late that, when she does appear, the interest and excitement in London are very great. The ceremony takes place in the House of Lords. The peers are in their robes of office, scarlet and ermine. Each particular robe is ugly enough, very much like red flannel and cat-skin; but the effect of all together is very fine. The peeresses are in full dress. The diplomatic corps are present in their rich uniforms. The princes enter and take their seats as lords. That graceful and beautiful woman, the Princess of Wales—perhaps the most beautiful woman in England—and the Princess Mary and the Duchess of Edinburgh, follow and take their seats upon the wool-sack facing the throne. When all is ready, the Queen, preceded by the white rod and the black rod (they call them the "sticks" in England), the lord chancellor and the lord chamberlain, and all her high officers of state, appears and seats herself upon the throne, the Princess Louise and the Princess Beatrice supporting her on either side. Short and stout as is the Queen, she has the most graceful and stately walk perhaps in Europe. It is a treat to see her move. Then the lower doors are opened; there is a rush and a scramble, and loud voices are heard, and the Commons of England, headed by their Speaker, the very body for whom all this show and state and splendor are got up, crowd into a narrow space behind a railing, and there stand while the Queen reads her speech. It seems strange, when one reflects that the Commons really govern England, to see them shut out in the cold as if they were not fit to associate with the distinguished company present. When the speech is finished, the Speaker bows, the Queen descends from the throne, the Commons return to their House, and the pageant is ended.

The Great Exhibition opened on the 1st of May, 1867. It was not nearly ready, but was opened punctually to the day with all the well-arranged ceremony for which the French are noted. The sovereigns of Europe began to flock to Paris. "The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein" was then in the full tide of success at one of the theatres. It was odd to note that among the first visits the great royalties paid (the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia) was one to "The Grand Duchess." The minor sovereigns, the kinglings, rarely went; and when they did, they saw nothing amusing in it.

The diplomatic corps had admirable opportunities to see the different sovereigns visiting Paris. It is the custom for a monarch to receive the diplomatic corps accredited to the capital at which he is a guest. We stood in a circle, and, while the royal visitor talked to our own minister and to those near him on either side, we had excellent opportunities to study his features, expression, and manners. The most agreeable of them all, with an apt word for every one, was the King of the Belgians. He had a great deal to say to General Dix about Mr. Seward, whom he had known, and the port of Antwerp as convenient for American shipping. He spoke English admirably. He was accompanied by the Queen, a young and pretty woman, who, by-the-way, was the only sovereign lady who came to the Exposition, much to the Empress's disappointment, and somewhat, it was said, to her mortification. Next in tact to the King of the Belgians came the Emperor of Austria, a small, well-made, military-looking man, with most polished manners. He spoke to me—for General Dix was then temporarily absent—of his brother, the Emperor Maximilian, and expressed his gratitude to our Government for its efforts to save his life. Later, while chargÉ at London, I met the Empress of Germany. She, too, has the gift of saying the right thing in the right place. I heard her conversation with two or three of my colleagues who stood near me. It was always happy. To me she spoke of all that the Legation at Paris had done to protect "mes pauvres Allemands dans ces tristes, ces pÉnibles circonstances." She was glad to have the opportunity to thank me in person, and wished me to convey her thanks to Mr. Washburne.

But the chief guest, the man to whom all eyes were turned, was the Emperor of Russia, a pale, handsome, silent, gentlemanly-looking man. For him reviews were held, gala operas given, and magnificent fÊtes at the Tuileries and at the HÔtel de Ville. I doubt if the world ever saw a more beautiful fÊte than that given to him by the Empress at the Tuileries. It was summer, the month of June. The gardens of the palace were closed to the public. The flower-beds (the flowers were then in full bloom) were bordered with gas-jets, the trees were festooned with variegated lamps, the fountains played, and electric lights—blue, pink, and yellow—were thrown alternately upon the sparkling waters. It was very beautiful. And when, at midnight, the Empress, accompanied by a number of ladies, and by the Emperors and their suites, descended into the gardens, and the electric light flashed on their bright dresses and jewels, and brilliant uniforms, the effect was fairy-like.

The review was next in order. Sixty thousand men passed before the Emperors without check or delay. The King of Prussia was present, accompanied by Bismarck and Moltke. Bismarck even then attracted much attention. I have rarely seen a finer-looking man. More than six feet high, large and powerful in proportion, with a grand head well set upon the shoulders, he looks like Agamemnon—"king of men."

It was on the return from this review that the Emperor of Russia was shot at by a Pole. Fortunately, he was not hit. The only creature hurt was the horse of one of the equerries. The blood spurted from a wound in the animal's neck upon the Emperor's second son, who was in the carriage with him. The father's only thought was for his son; and, leaning forward, he laid his hand tenderly upon him while he anxiously inquired if he was wounded. It was reported that the Emperor of the French turned to his imperial guest, and said, "Sire, we have been under fire together for the first time to-day;" to which the Emperor replied, with much solemnity of manner, "Sire, we are in the hands of Providence."

That evening I saw him at a ball at the Russian embassy. It was very small, not more than two hundred persons present. He looked pale and distrait, evidently anticipating, with some apprehension, the effect to be produced in Russia, and upon her relations with France, when the news should reach St. Petersburg. Madame Haussmann, the wife of the Prefect of the Seine, a well-meaning woman, but who did not shine precisely by her tact, was trying to make conversation with him. He looked over her head, as if he did not see her, and finally turned upon his heel and left her. It was not perhaps polite, but it was very natural. The Emperor and Empress of the French made extraordinary exertions to enliven the ball, but there was a perceptible oppression in the air. The would-be assassin was not condemned to death. Strange to say, a French jury found "extenuating circumstances." But the French sympathize strongly with the Poles; and I doubt if, under any circumstances, a French jury would condemn to death a Pole who had attempted to murder a Russian.

The Emperor of Russia is a man of the highest sense of personal honor. When lately he sought an interview with the English embassador, and assured him on his honor that he had no thought of conquest, or any desire to occupy Constantinople, those who know his character believed him implicitly. It was reserved for certain ultra Tory journals in London to doubt his word. No language would be strong enough for these journals to employ if a Russian newspaper were to doubt the word of honor of Lord Derby or any other prominent English gentleman. Happily, the Standard and its confrÈres do not yet direct public opinion in England.

In the fall of 1867, the Exhibition closed with great ceremony, and Paris settled down for a time to the even tenor of its way. In 1868, General Grant was elected President, and was inaugurated in 1869. In the spring of this year General Dix resigned. He preferred the comforts of his home, with the society of his children and grandchildren, to the attractions of the imperial court. No minister ever represented the United States with more dignity than General Dix. A man of marked ability, an accomplished scholar and gentleman, he possessed precisely those qualities which are the most highly prized at a court like that of France. The ladies, too, of his family shone in their sphere; a matter of much greater importance than is generally supposed in our country. The general has left a very pleasant impression in France; and not unfrequently since the fall of the empire I have been stopped in the street by some sad looking ex-official with inquiries after his health.