In Marshal MacMahon’s time there were two points on which he as president insisted on having his own way; that is, anything relating to army affairs, or to the granting civilians the cross of the Legion of Honor.  He did not object to the decoration of civilians, but he insisted upon knowing the antecedents of the gentlemen recommended for the distinction.  Well would it have been for M. Grevy had he followed the example of his predecessor.  The marshal would never give the cross to a man whom he knew to be a free-thinker.  His reply to such applications always was:  “If he is not a Christian, what does he want with a cross?”

It is said that in 1877, when the marshal thought of resigning rather than accepting such an advanced Republican as M. Jules Simon as chief of his Cabinet, he sent for M. Grevy, and asked him point-blank:  “Do you want to become president of the Republic?” “I am not in the least ambitious for that honor,” replied M. Grevy.  “If I were sure you would be elected in my place, I would resign,” continued the marshal; “but I do not know what would happen if I were to go.”  “My strong advice to you is not to resign,” said M. Grevy; “only bring this crisis to an end by choosing your ministers out of the Republican majority, and you will be pleased with yourself afterwards for having done your duty.”

“Well, you are an honest man, M. Grevy; I wish there were more like you,” said the marshal; and having shaken hands with M. Grevy, he dismissed him, though without promising to follow his advice.  He reflected on it that night, however, and adopted it the next morning.  But when advised to take Gambetta for his minister, he replied:  “I do not expect my ministers to go to mass with me or to shoot with me; but they must be men with whom I can have some common ground of conversation, and I cannot talk with ce monsieur-la.”  Indeed, Gambetta was often shy and awkward in social intercourse, seldom giving the impression in private life of the powers of burning eloquence with which he could in public move friend or foe.  Nor had M. Grevy been by any means always in accord with the fiery Southerner.  At Tours he objected to Gambetta’s measures as wholly unconstitutional.  “You are one of those men,” retorted Gambetta, “who expect to make omelettes without breaking the eggs.”  “You are not making omelettes, but a mess,” retorted M. Grevy.

Both the marshal and his successor were sportsmen and gave hunting-parties, those of the marshal being as much in royal style as possible.  M. Grevy preferred republican simplicity.  When he was allowed, as Speaker of the House, to live in Marie Antoinette’s apartments in the Chateau of Versailles, he might have been seen any day sauntering about the streets with his hands in his pockets, or smoking his cigar at the door of a cafe.  He had a brougham, but he rarely used it.  His coachman grumbled at having to follow him at a foot-pace when he took long walks into the country.  His servants