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Title: Letters of a Diplomat's Wife - 1883-1900
Author: Waddington, Mary King
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Letters of a Diplomat's Wife - 1883-1900" ***

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    [Illustration: Mary King Waddington]

    [Illustration: Signature: Mary King Waddington]



    LETTERS OF A
    DIPLOMAT'S WIFE

    1883-1900

    BY
    MARY KING WADDINGTON

    ILLUSTRATED FROM DRAWINGS
    AND PHOTOGRAPHS

    SMITH, ELDER & CO.
    LONDON 1903



    Copyright, 1903, by Charles Scribner's Sons
    for the United States of America

    Printed by the Trow Directory, Printing and Bookbinding Company
    New York, U. S. A.



    INTRODUCTORY NOTE

    BY THE COLLECTOR OF THE LETTERS


Mary Alsop King Waddington is a daughter of the late Charles King,
President of Columbia College in the City of New York from 1849 to 1864,
and a granddaughter of Rufus King, the second Minister sent to England
by the United States after the adoption of the Constitution.

Miss King was educated in this country. In 1871, after the death of her
father, she went, with her mother and sisters, to live in France, and in
1874 became the wife of M. William Henry Waddington.

M. Waddington was born in Normandy, France, in 1826. His grandfather was
an Englishman who had established cotton manufactories in France, and
had become a naturalised French citizen. The grandson, however, was
educated first in a Paris _lycée_, then at Rugby, and later at Trinity
College, Cambridge. As an under-graduate he rowed in the Cambridge boat
in the University race of 1849. Soon after leaving the University, M.
Waddington returned to France and entered public life. In 1871 he was
elected a representative from the Department of the Aisne to the
National Assembly, and two years afterward was appointed Minister of
Public Instruction in place of M. Jules Simon. In January, 1876, he was
elected a senator for the Department of the Aisne, and two months later
again became Minister of Public Instruction. In December, 1877, he
accepted the portfolio of Minister of Foreign Affairs.

M. Waddington was the first plenipotentiary of France to the Congress of
Berlin in 1878. On February 4, 1879, he became President of the Council
(Premier), retiring the following December. In the winter of 1879-1880
he refused the offer of the London Embassy. In May, 1883, he was sent as
Ambassador-Extraordinary to represent France at the coronation of the
Czar Alexander III at Moscow, and upon his return from Russia was
appointed Ambassador at the Court of St. James to succeed M. Tissot. He
held this post until 1893, and died in Paris in the following year.

Mme. Waddington accompanied her husband on his missions to both England
and Russia. The letters collected in this volume were written during the
period of her husband's diplomatic service to describe to her sisters
the personages and incidents of her official life. About a fourth part
of their number have lately been published in _Scribner's Magazine_;
with this exception, the letters are now given to the public for the
first time.

    #Tompkins McIlvaine.#

    #New York#, April 1, 1903.



ILLUSTRATIONS


    #Portrait of Madame Waddington#            _Frontispiece_

                                                               FACING
                                                                 PAGE

    #Colonel Benckendorff#                                         34
    _From a photograph by Bergamasco, St. Petersburg._

    #The Emperor Crowning the Empress. Church de
    l'Assomption#                                                  66

    #Empress Marie in her Coronation Robes#                        68

    #Grand Duc Wladimir#                                          104
    _From a photograph by Bergamasco, St. Petersburg._

    #M. William Waddington#                                       142
    _From a copyright photograph by Russell & Son._

    #The French Embassy, Albert Gate, London#                     168

    #The Dining-room of the French Embassy, London,
    Showing its Two Famous Gobelin Tapestries#                    172

    #J. J. Jusserand, Counsellor of the French Embassy#           178
    _Recently appointed French Ambassador to the United States.
     From a photograph by Walery, Paris._

    #The Duchess of Cambridge#                                    180
    _From a photograph by Walery, London._

    #Windsor Castle#                                              192

    #M. and Mme. Waddington and Their Son#                        198
    _From a photograph by Cesar, Paris._

    #The Salon of the French Embassy in London#                   210

    #Lady Salisbury#                                              216

    #Knowsley Hall#                                               228
    _The Earl of Derby's place at Prescot, Lancashire._

    #The Late Earl of Derby#                                      232
    _From a photograph by Franz Baum, London._

    #The Countess Fanny Karolyi, the Austrian Ambassadress#       240
    _From a photograph by Walery, London._

    #Queen Victoria, in the Dress Worn During the
    State Jubilee Celebration, June 21, 1887#                     250
    _From a photograph, copyright, by Hughes & Mullins, Ryde, England._

    #The Crown Prince Frederick of Germany, in the
    Uniform Worn by Him at the Jubilee Celebration,
    London, June, 1887#                                           254
    _From a photograph by Loescher & Petsch, Berlin._

    #Comtesse de Florian#                                         262
    _From a photograph by Walery, London._

    #Group at Hatfield House during the visit of the
    Shah of Persia, July 8, 1889#                                 304
    _From a photograph by Russell & Sons, London._

    #Lord Salisbury#                                              306
    _From a photograph by Lambert Weston & Son, Dover._

    #A Comedy for Children at the French Embassy#                 320
    _From a photograph by Barker & Pragnell, London._

    #The Empress Frederick, Wearing the Order of the
    Black Eagle#                                                  388
    _The last portrait of the Empress by the artist Angeli._

    #Entrance to the Club and Gardens, Cowes, Isle of
    Wight#                                                        392
    _From a photograph by Broderick._



    LETTERS
    OF A DIPLOMAT'S WIFE



    PART I

    THE CORONATION OF THE CZAR


    _To G. K. S_.

    #Paris#,
    31, Rue Dumont d'Urville,
    March 15, 1883.

Our breakfast at the English Embassy was most interesting. I began by
refusing on account of my mourning, but Lord Lyons wrote me a nice note
saying that there would be no one but the Léon Says and Mr. and Mrs.
Gladstone, so I accepted. I was very anxious to see Mr. Gladstone.

We had a pretty little breakfast upstairs in the small dining-room, and
the talk at table was most interesting. I thought Mrs. Gladstone looked
older than her husband. He of course did most of the talking. He has a
fine voice, bright, keen, dark eyes, holds himself very erect, and
apparently knows everything about everything. When the men were smoking
after breakfast I had quite a talk with Mrs. Gladstone, who told me
about the murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish. She said her husband heard
it at a big London party, and had to go and tell Lady Frederick. Mr.
Gladstone was more upset by the whole thing (and the having to tell the
unfortunate wife) than she had ever seen him. Il y avait de quoi, for
even here in Paris, where _outside_ questions don't trouble them very
much, there was great excitement when the news came.

I had a nice talk with Plunkett, who congratulated me on W.'s[1]
appointment as Ambassador to Vienna. I told him there was no truth in
the report (they had offered it to W., but he won't hear of it), and I
think he is quite right. He has no particular _attaches_ at Vienna. He
knows German well, but doesn't speak it absolutely perfectly, and hasn't
really the social talents that one needs in Vienna. They ought to send a
dashing general, or a courtier, not a serious savant.

[1] W. here and throughout these letters refers to Mme. Waddington's
husband, M. William Henry Waddington, "G. K. S.," "H. L. K.," "A. J. K."
and "J. K.," to whom the letters are addressed, refer to Mme.
Waddington's sisters, Mrs. Eugene Schuyler, Miss Henrietta L. King, and
the late Miss Anne J. King, and to her sister-in-law, the late Mrs.
Cornelius L. King.

We certainly are leading different lives. I am wrapped in my fur coat,
and driving in a shut carriage. Your tea in the garden sends a shiver
through me. It sounds quite romantic having the son of the "Roi des
Montagnes" to breakfast. I wonder if I shall ever see Athens; W. says
when I do that I will never care again for Rome; that colouring and
ruins are far superior in Greece. I almost think in that case I would
rather remain under my present impression of dear, beautiful Rome, not
quite like our American friend, who thought "the Colosseum was pretty,
but she liked the Court-House at St. Louis better."

    #Paris#,
    Sunday, March 18, 1883.

I will write a little this morning, Dear--I am just back from l'Étoile.
I have had rather an agitated week, and here is my news, good--bad--I
don't know myself. W. is going as Ambassador Extraordinary to Moscow to
represent France at the Coronation of the Emperor Alexander. It was a
"bolt from the blue" to us. I will tell you from the beginning. We went
to ride as usual Thursday morning, but rather earlier than usual (9.30).
When we came home Mdme. Hubert told us we hadn't been gone ten minutes,
when le Ministre des Affaires Étrangères (Challemel-Lacour) came to see
W., was much discomposed at not finding him, and told Mdme. H. he would
come back at 11. He didn't reappear, but one of the young attachés did,
with a note from Challemel begging W. to come and see him directly after
breakfast. We couldn't think what he wanted, but we both made up our
minds it was to insist on the Vienna Embassy. I protested, and I think
W. would not have taken it.

I went out in the afternoon with Anne to try on a dress at Redfern's,
and just as we were coming away W. appeared. He had seen the carriage at
the door and knew he would find us. He looked rather preoccupied, so I
said, "You are not surely going to Vienna?"

"No, not to Vienna, probably to Russia, for the Coronation."

I was too bewildered at first to take it in, and I must frankly say I
was wretched. Of course he asked 24 hours to think it over, though the
Minister urged him very much to accept at once. Challemel also wishes me
to go, says a woman gives more éclat to an Embassy. Of course it will be
a magnificent sight, but I am a perfect poltroon--I am so afraid they
will take advantage of that crowd to blow up everybody. However, if that
should happen it would be better to be blown up together, but I really
am nervous (I am not usually such a coward, but Russian Nihilists and
dynamiters are terrible elements to contend with), and wish they hadn't
asked him to go.

Of course it is a great honour and compliment to W.'s personal position,
and I have given no opinion, but I don't feel happy at all. I have
always said that I would never try to influence my husband's actions
(public) in any way, and I suppose I have kept to that as well as most
women do who marry public men, but I should like to put a decided veto
now. I will keep you au courant of the decision.

    March 20th.

Well, Dear, it is quite decided. W. accepts to go to Moscow, and takes
me with him. He consulted his brother and his friends and all told him
he could not refuse. As long as they didn't send a soldier (W. himself
would have asked Maréchal MacMahon to go, if he had been at the Foreign
Office), he was "tout indiqué."[2] It seems all the other Powers are
going to send Princes--Spain, the Duc de Montpensier; England, the Duke
of Edinburgh; Italy, the Duc d'Aoste, etc.

[2] After the Berlin Congress and the Foreign Office.

We are to start somewhere about the 8th or 10th of May. W. is busy now
composing his Mission. Of course everybody wants to go. It seems such an
undertaking. We had a nice ride this morning--various people riding
with us, and all talking about the Coronation. I overheard one timid old
gentleman saying to W., "Vous emmenez votre femme? Vous avez tort; on ne
sait pas ce qui peut arriver"--not very reassuring.

    April 1st.

My Dear, my letters will now become monotonous, as I have only one
idea--the Mission. All the arrangements are being made, such an affair.
W. has sent off a man to Moscow to see about a house big enough to hold
all the party, with ballroom, and large dining-room We are 9 people--W.
and I; Comte de Pontécoulant, Ministre Plénipotentiaire (W.'s ancien
Chef de Cabinet); Général Pittié (Général de Division, chef de la maison
militaire du Président de la République); Colonel Comte de Sesmaisons,
commandant les 6ème hussards; François de Corcelle, Secrétaire
d'Ambassade; Commandant Fayet (de la maison du Président--Jules Grévy);
Richard Waddington, Député, Capitaine dans l'armée territoriale; Robert
Calmon, lieutenant dans l'armée territoriale. L'uniforme est absolument
nécessaire en Russie.

We have three servants--W.'s valet Joseph and my two maids Adelaïde and
Mdme. Hubert. All the gentlemen have their servants. Then there is
Pierson, the huissier from the Quai d'Orsay (you know whom I mean, the
big man who wears a gilt chain, announces the people, and writes down
names, etc.), two cooks with one or two garçons de cuisine; 3 coachmen,
Hubert of course, and two Englishmen. One, Mr. Leroy, such a magnificent
person, came this morning to see W. He has already représenté on several
occasions, and driven gala carriages, etc. He seems graciously inclined
to go with us (with very high wages, and making his conditions--will
drive only the Ambassador and Ambassadress in the gala carriage, etc.).
That will necessitate very delicate negotiations with Hubert, who also
wishes to drive only the Ambassador and me. However, as he has never
driven a gala carriage, and they are very heavy, unwieldy vehicles to
manage, I think he must waive his claim.

    April 10th.

There has also been a long consultation about horses, how many for the
gala carriage. When Maréchal MacMahon went as Ambassador Extraordinary
to the Emperor of Germany's Coronation he had six horses and running
footmen (it seems there must be six or two--four are not allowed. Four
would be too sporting--not serious enough). We have four enormous
footmen, and one ordinary sized one for every-day use--2 gala carriages,
and a coupé d'Orsay, which must be painted dark blue with white stripes,
our colours.

    April 12th.

We are getting on slowly. The horse question is settled--no one has more
than two, so we take 9 enormous carrossiers. Hawes is commissioned to
get them. They could not be found anywhere in France. I forget the exact
height (as big as they make them), but he promises to get them from
England, or the Luxembourg, where it seems they have a special breed of
enormous, heavy coach horses.

We had a most satisfactory interview this morning with M. Lhermite, the
head man of the great restaurant, Potel & Chabot. W. had been rather
bothered about a head man, or major domo, who could take charge of the
whole household. Our Joseph is not very brilliant--he does W.'s service,
and can look after an ordinary household, but would not be at all up to
the mark in this case. Lhermite heard that W. was looking for someone,
so he came and volunteered to go with us, and superintend everything. He
was so well dressed and had such good manners that W. rather demurred,
and thought he was above the place; however Lhermite pressed it very
much, and wound up by saying, "J'ai été cuisinier moi-même, Monsieur,
personne ne vous servira mieux que moi." So it was settled, and he has
full powers to engage cooks, scullions, etc.

The man who went to Moscow has just sent us the plan of the house which
he has found. It seems large and handsome, a good entrance, marble
staircase, large ballroom and dining-room, and sufficient bedrooms. It
calls itself "Maison Klein," not a palace; and is evidently the house of
a rich Jew.

    Sunday, May 6th.

I am glad to have a day of rest, Dear. I didn't even get up for church.
The standing at the dressmaker's is something awful. Yesterday I tried
12 dresses (finished), 6 at Delannoy's before breakfast, and 6 at
Philippe's afterwards. They are all handsome--I think the Court dresses
will be handsome. The principal one for the day of the Coronation is
sapphire blue satin embroidered all round the train (3 mètres long),
with a beautiful wreath of flowers in chenille, and silk, and gold and
silver leaves; very showy, in fact rather clinquant (not at all like
me), but they said I must have "des toilettes à effet qui seraient
remarquées." The under-dress is salmon pink satin, the front all covered
with flowers to match the embroidery. I shall wear blue feathers (short
ones) in my hair. I am happy to say that the regulation white waving
plumes of the English Court are not de rigueur in Russia. The other
train is a pale pink satin with raised dark red flowers and velvet
leaves, all the front my old point de Venise flounces which look
handsome. I suppose I shall take about 18 dresses in all.

I have just had a nice visit from Prince Orloff, Russian Ambassador
here, who is a great friend of ours, and who was very anxious from the
first that I should go. I confided to him that I was very nervous and
uncomfortable. I don't mind so much in the day time when I am seeing
quantities of people, and interested in the preparations; but I don't
sleep, and have visions of the Kremlin being blown up, and all sorts of
horrors. As Richard[3] goes with us too, I have made W. appoint a
guardian for Francis, as Henrietta and Anne could hardly bring up a
Frenchman, and after all we may none of us ever come back.

[3] Richard Waddington, Mme. Waddington's brother-in-law, now Senator of
the Seine Inférieure.

Henrietta was reduced to tears this morning when W. gave her the key of
his secrétaire, and said his will and last directions were there, in
case anything happened to him--cheerful preparations for a festive
journey.

    Tuesday, May 8, 1883.

Our boxes and cases are being packed, and the house is a
curiosity--crowded with every conceivable thing. My two maids (I take
Mdme. Hubert too, as Adelaïde is not very strong, and if she gave out I
should be in a bad way) are much taken up with their outfit. They each
have two sets of new things, a blue serge costume and coat for
travelling, and a black silk for their gala occasions. Pontécoulant is
always teasing Mdme. Hubert, and asking if "ses toilettes sont prêtes."

This morning I saw the 9 gigantic horses which were paraded under the
windows. They started to-night, as they must rest at Berlin. M. Lhermite
is a treasure. He also starts to-night with his cooks and provisions of
all kinds. W. and Pontécoulant gave him all their instructions, and then
he came for mine. I told him I must have my maids in the room next to
me, and as we had a plan of the house, it is quite easy. I have a
fair-sized bedroom and dressing-room (which he will arrange as a sort of
boudoir) on the court (no living rooms are on the street), and the maids
a large room opening out of the dressing-room. He is eminently
practical; takes charge of the whole personnel, will arrange a sort of
dormitory for all the men servants; will see that they are ready in
time, clean and well turned out.

Pontécoulant, who is also very practical, overlooks that part of the
business; also the stables, and Mr. Leroy and Lhermite will report to
him every morning. Leroy has also just been in, much pleased with his
gala carriage and liveries. Hubert is beaming, and most particular about
his lace jabot and ruffles. I wonder how they will all ever settle down
to our quiet life again.

    Thursday, 10th.

I will finish this afternoon, Dear. I am ready to start, dressed in my
travelling dress, dark blue cloth, with a long coat lined with red
satin, and a black hat with blue feathers (I haven't got on the coat and
hat yet). There has been such a procession of people all day, and great
vans to carry off the luggage. I have been rather bothered about my
jewels--how to carry them. I have taken everything the family own.
Anne's necklace, with some extra stones I had, has been converted into a
tiara. All the Russian women wear their National coiffure at the
Coronation, the Kakoshnik. As that is very high, studded with jewels,
any ordinary arrangement of stars and feathers would look insignificant.
Freddy, who is an authority on such matters, advised me to concentrate
all my efforts on the tiara--he also suggested ropes of pearls
(artificial) but I couldn't make up my mind to that. Chemin, the
jeweller, was very anxious I should "louer" a sort of breastplate of
diamonds--but on the whole I preferred taking less--merely mine and the
sisters'. What I shall do if they are stolen or lost I am sure I don't
know. I don't care to carry them myself in a bag, as I never by any
chance carry my bag, I should certainly leave it somewhere; and I don't
like to give it to the maids either, so I have put all the jewels in two
trunks, scattered about the fond, wrapped up with silk stockings, etc.

I have given my last instructions to Nounou, and a nice young coachman
who comes to replace Hubert in our absence, and also provided a surprise
for baby in the shape of a large train, which will distract him the
first days. We saw also this morning the detective who goes with us. He
is one of those who always accompany the foreign Princes who pass
through Paris, and is said to know well all the great nihilist leaders
(all of whom he says will be at the Coronation). He has two ordinary
policemen with him. They go of course on the train with us, and never
lose sight of us. I shall feel rather like a distinguished criminal
being tracked across Europe.

Pontécoulant is very funny over Philippe the coiffeur, who presented
himself at the Quai d'Orsay, and insisted upon being included in the
suite (consequently travelling free of expense on the special trains,
etc., with us). He really isn't my coiffeur--I never have anyone except
Georges from time to time, but I daresay I shall be glad to have him. He
said to Pontécoulant, "Monsieur le Comte comprend bien qu'il faut que je
pose le diadème de Madame l'Ambassadrice le jour du Couronnement;"
however he has gained his point, and Madame l'Ambassadrice takes her own
coiffeur with her, as well as her two maids.

Well, Dear, we are going in an hour, and I must try and reason with
myself, and not be the arrant coward I really feel like.


    _To G. K. S._

    #Kaiserhof, Berlin#,
    Saturday, May 12th, 1883.

Here we are, having accomplished our journey so far most comfortably. We
arrived last night about 9, and this morning I am unpacking a little,
and settling myself, as we shall stay four or five days. Our departure
from the Gare du Nord Thursday night was a curiosity. We got rather
early to the station, as W. was preoccupied with the baggage, and
besides there were last words to say to all the people who came to see
us off. Henrietta, rather tearful, came with us to the station--Francis
was so engrossed with his new railway train that was careering round on
beautiful green rails in his father's study, that he was quite
indifferent. The whole quai was filled with boxes and trunks labelled
"Waddington, Moscow," and when you think that all the soldiers took
their saddles and trappings of all kinds, and what the stable alone
represented, 2 enormous gala carriages, one coupé d'Orsay, and all the
heavy harness and servants' liveries, you can imagine what an excitement
there was until everything was put on board.

We started, however, fairly punctually--W. and I had a lit-salon, with
cabinet de toilette; the two maids and W.'s man next door, and
Sesmaisons and François de Corcelle (the only two who came with us, the
rest of the Mission joins us Tuesday at Berlin), had their coupé next to
ours. There were all sorts of last directions to be given to
Pontécoulant, and to poor Henrietta, who remains in charge of Francis.

I slept pretty well all night, as you know I am a good traveller, and
about 7 Adelaïde came in to arrange me a little, as we were to breakfast
at Cologne (where we were due at 8 o'clock) with our consul there, and
also the consul at Düsseldorf, who is rather a friend of W.'s. We had a
very good little breakfast in the private room, and when we started
again, the Chef-de-Gare coming at the last moment to conduct us to our
coupé, there was much bowing and scraping to Monsieur l'Ambassadeur and
Mdme. l'Ambassadrice. We made quite an excitement at the station, and
all the people who were coming and going in the numerous trains that
passed through had their heads out of the windows to see what was going
on. They had filled our coupé with papers of all kinds (German),
illustrated and political, also a large bouquet for me.

We dined at Hanover, not in a private room this time, but at a round
table at one end of the large room. Who do you think came to see me? Mr.
Joy; he had seen in the papers that we were to pass through, so he took
himself down to the station to see if he could see us. I introduced him
to W.--we had only time for a little talk, as he came rather late. He
also brought papers and a magazine or two, so we are well supplied with
literature for the present.

When we arrived here at the station we found M. de Courcel, our
Ambassador in Berlin, waiting for us with all his staff. He drove us at
once in his carriage to the hotel, and said he would come in again an
hour later and tell W. about his audiences, etc. We have beautiful
rooms, a large salon looking on the street, dining-room, two good-sized
bedrooms and a very good ante-room (where by the way Pierson, with his
chain and sword and dress clothes, is already installed. When I came out
of the salon just now he was there, and I rather felt as if I was back
at the Quai d'Orsay, and he was announcing my visitors).

While we were talking to Courcel last night one of the hotel servants
came in to say--would I go for one moment to speak to the maids, he
couldn't make out what they wanted. I did go, but merely to tell these
ladies that I would thank them to get along as well as they could, and
to find a polygot waiter, or someone to translate for them; that I
certainly was not going to look out for them, and they had better try
and learn a little German.

Courcel says the Emperor, Prince Imperial, and Bismarck all want to see
W.--he also warns him that Bismarck is in an execrable humor. I don't
think W. minds that very much. He is a very cool gentleman himself, and
I imagine he will say all he wants to to the great man.

    10-30.

W. and I went for a walk before breakfast to the Pariser Platz to see
the outside of the French Embassy; it looks big and imposing. We came
home through "Unter den Linden." Berlin has much improved, and has much
more the air of a capital than when I first saw it a great many years
ago. Of course I was much struck with the quantities of soldiers one
sees in the streets. The officers are a fine lot of men, but, like
ramrods, so stiff; and when they are walking two or three together take
up the whole pavement.

Sesmaisons and Corcelle breakfasted with us--Sesmaisons is delighted to
be back in Berlin. He was military attaché there at the time of the
Berlin Congress, when St. Vallier was Ambassador, and has many friends.
M. de Courcel came in just as we were finishing, with a long list for
W., his audience cards, invitations, etc. Then came George de Bunsen
with his wife and daughters. I had never seen the ladies of the family,
and was glad to make their acquaintance. They were very friendly, and we
made various engagements with them. M. de Bunsen I had seen before in
France--he is quite charming, very good-looking, and not at all
Prussian, so cosmopolitan, which is always most attractive.

W. and I went out together and paid several visits, to the Embassy
first, where we found Mdme. de Courcel. The rooms are large and
handsome, with good pictures and splendid tapestries. We took a turn in
the Thiergarten, and the Jardin Zoölogique (where we saw an enormous
yellow lion--a terrible beast, handsome, too). W. then went to see
Hatzfeldt (Foreign Minister), who was very amiable, but said nothing in
particular--none of Bismarck's people ever do.

We dined early at the Embassy with all the personnel. The dinner was
good and handsome, plenty of servants, lights, flowers--everything in
very good style. While the men were smoking Mdme. de Courcel and I
talked. She told me some of her Berlin experiences, and how difficult
her beginnings were, but I suppose they always must be until one has had
time to look around a little. We have just come home, and after talking
a little with the gentlemen I have left them to their cigars and papers,
and am glad to be in my own quarters.

The maids have had a delightful afternoon. They have found a gérant who
speaks French, and who has taken them a little about Berlin, which they
find "très gentil." W. has his audience from the Emperor at one o'clock
to-morrow in uniform. None of the ladies, Empress nor Princesses, are
here, so I have nothing to do.

    Sunday, May 13th.

I didn't go out this morning, but wrote and read. The two gentlemen
breakfasted with us as usual, and a little before one W. went off for
his audience with the Emperor in full uniform, which is very becoming to
him. (He hates it as it is so heavy, with all the thick gold embroidery,
and he is very hot and uncomfortable.) The audience lasted about
three-quarters of an hour. W. was astounded at the Emperor's appearance
and conversation, said he was au courant of everything--he said among
other things--"Ah, vous emmenez Mme. Waddington à Moscow? eh bien! moi,
je n'envoie pas mon héritier," adding though immediately he didn't think
there was any danger from the Nihilists this time.

He had barely time to get home and out of his uniform when Lord and Lady
Ampthill arrived. They were quite charming, both of them. He and I
plunged into the old Roman days, where we knew him so well as Odo
Russell. They are great favourites here, both at court and with their
colleagues. He spoke a great deal about St. Vallier, said he was the
best colleague he had ever had.

At four W. started again to see Bismarck (not in uniform this time), and
I drove out to the George Bunsens' to have tea. They have a pretty
house. Theodore was also there, and we had a pleasant hour. They asked
us to come in to-morrow after our dinner at the Embassy. When I got back
I found W. smoking in a big arm-chair, quite pleased with his talk with
Bismarck, who was most amiable, had at least no "crise de nerfs" while
he was there. He said he was very frank, almost brutal, in his
appreciations of other countries, and particularly of different public
men whose views didn't coincide directly with his, but on the whole not
too offensive. He kept him until his dinner was announced (at 5
o'clock), and asked him to come and see him on his way back from Moscow,
and give him his impressions; so apparently it is only from his own
agents that he doesn't wish impressions. Do you remember C. writing to
him, from the Hague, I think, the account of some manifestation or
political crisis, and naturally saying what he thought about the matter;
and the very curt answer he received from the Minister, saying he had
asked for facts, and not for "personal appreciations." One would think
that the opinion of the most ordinary agent on the spot would have a
certain importance.

    Tuesday, 15th.

It is very warm--I have been out with Adelaïde trying to get a light
blouse, my cloth body is unbearable. Everything was shut yesterday, as
it was Whit Monday. W. dined at the Palace at 5, Sesmaisons also. I went
to the races with Mdme. de Courcel and some of the young men. It was
rather amusing, a lovely day, about three quarters of an hour by train
from Berlin. The public was not nearly so élégant as on a Paris
race-course, but there were more pretty women, and quantities of stiff,
arrogant officers (always en tenue).

When we got back to the hotel at 7.30 we found W. at the door, just back
from his dinner, so François de Corcelle and I dined tête-à-tête, and W.
talked to us--said the dinner was good, small and easy. The Prince
Imperial and Grand Duchess of Baden were both there. The Grand Duchess
told W. that in a telegram received that morning from her mother (the
Empress Augusta) she had said how much she regretted not seeing him,
that she had always watched his career with great interest, and was very
glad to see him coming to the front again.

The Emperor talked about everything--France; England; the religious
question in France; he believed French women of all classes were
clerical, and under the influence of the priests, so naturally they
could have no sympathy with a liberal government, "which is a pity, it
is a mistake to have the women against you." We had an audience with the
Prince Imperial after dinner, which was pleasant, but absolutely
commonplace. He and all the Princes were in uniform, petite tenue.

We finished our evening at the Bunsens', which was pleasant. W. was very
glad to have a quiet talk with M. de Bunsen, who is most attractive,
such a charming manner. This evening we have dined as usual at the
French Embassy with quite a party, including Bleichroeder, an Israelite
banker, bras droit of Bismarck, and therefore interesting. We came
early, as all the rest of our Mission arrived to-night at 9 o'clock, and
we wanted to see them. They all came up after supper, looking most
cheerful, had had a very pleasant journey, rather warm in the middle of
the day, and were quite game to see all they can of Berlin to-morrow, as
we go on to Warsaw to-morrow night.

    Wednesday, May 16th.

We are starting this evening, Dear, so I will scratch a few lines to
finish this very long epistle, and will send it from here. It is still
very warm. I went out to see some of the pictures (how beautiful the
Velasquez are) and the marbles of Pergamos, and Pontécoulant and I
breakfasted together at the hotel; W. and Richard at the George
Bunsens', who really have been as friendly and hospitable as possible.
After breakfast we had various visits, and then Pontécoulant, Corcelle
and I went for a last drive in the Thier-Garten. I hoped we should meet
either the Emperor (I have never seen him) or the Prince Imperial, but
we didn't. There were plenty of people riding and driving, as it was the
fashionable day "Corso." We saw the Princess Frederick Charles in an
open carriage with four horses, and a piqueur in front. The Court
liveries are handsome, but sombre, black and silver. Everybody bowed and
curtseyed, the officers saluting de front.

We went round by the Zoo to show Pontécoulant the big lion. Pontécoulant
was most amusing over their journey, and said he was nearly driven out
of his mind the day before they started with all the people who came to
see him. He says Philippe, the coiffeur, has never left him, that it
won't be his fault if my diadem is not perfectly posé, and that he plied
him with beer all along the route. He is here supping and living at the
hotel with all our suite, and sent word to me this morning that he was
at my disposition to make me a "coiffure de circonstance" for the night
journey. What do you suppose it would have been?

Pontécoulant had seen Henrietta and Francis the day he left, and had
left orders at the Foreign Office that the Havas telegrams which will
keep her au courant of our movements shall always be sent to her. All
the personnel except W. and me dine at the Embassy to-night. I am not
sorry to have a quiet evening. We leave at 11 to-night, and get to
Alexandrownow about 7.30 to-morrow. That is the Russian frontier, and
there we shall have some sort of official reception.

W. has been riding these last two days with Sancy, the military attaché,
and that always does him good. I couldn't find any sort of silk blouse,
so I trust it won't be very warm travelling to-night. When we cross the
frontier I shall feel as if our journey had begun. Here we have lived so
with the Embassy that I hardly feel as if I was abroad, only the cadre
is different, and the Prussian uniforms a disagreeable reminder. I don't
think it is an easy post to be Ambassador here, and I should think M. de
Courcel's succession would be a very difficult one. He knows German
well, and has always lived with diplomatists, but if they send a
political man, I think he will have a hard time; though as Bismarck said
to W. when they were talking about any possible war in Europe--"Je
désire la paix, je suis un homme satisfait," which wasn't very pleasant
for the French Ambassador to hear, as I suppose what has largely
contributed to his satisfaction is the possession of Alsace-Lorraine.

We have had our dinner, and W. smoked on the balcony, and we saw all the
gentleman-servants, omnibuses and baggage start. We shall only go just
in time to have 5 minutes talk on the platform with M. de Courcel, who
is coming to say good-by. The gérant of the hotel has just been up to
hope we were satisfied--would we telegraph when we came back, as of
course he would give us the same rooms, and presented me with a large
bouquet.

Did I say that the Malagache Embassy was at the hotel, on the same floor
with us. Every time I go down the corridor I see two or three tall, dark
men, dressed in white flowing garments and white turbans, who make me
low salaams. They are not going to the "Kronung," as they call it here.

My next letter will be from Warsaw, where we should arrive at 4
to-morrow afternoon.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Hôtel de l'Europe, Varsovie#,
    Thursday, May 17th, 1883.

Here we are, Dear, having arrived from Berlin at 3.30 this afternoon. We
started at 11--it was very hot even at that hour of the night, and the
coupé-lit stuffy and uncomfortable. M. de Courcel and all his staff were
at the station to see us off, and the two Embassies united made quite a
gathering. I had a little talk with Princess Guillaume Radziwill, who is
starting for the Coronation. It seems she has splendid jewels, and was
rather bothered to know how to carry them. She has got them all on, in
little leather bags around her waist, and she thinks she won't be very
comfortable all night, with pins, brooches, etc., running into her. She
was horrified when I told her where mine were.

The night was long, we were not very comfortable, and the gentlemen
were decidedly squeezed in one little carriage. We stopped somewhere,
I don't remember the name, about 6. The men all got out and had coffee.
I didn't move, but they sent me in a cup. We got to Alexandrownow, the
Russian frontier, about 8. The station had a decidedly festive
appearance--flags, greens, soldiers, music, etc. They were evidently
preparing a salute and a national anthem of some kind. We all thought it
was for us, and were proceeding to emerge to the strains of the
"Marseillaise," when we heard the "Wacht-am-Rhein." It seems there was a
Hessian Prince, nephew of the Emperor, on board, who was also going to
the Coronation, so we rentréed our heads, and remained quietly in our
carriages until they had disposed of him.

Then came our turn. We were received with all ceremony--a tall Russian
officer took charge of me, saying, in very good French, he was sure I
would like to brush off the dust, and have some tea, etc. He took me
upstairs to a very nice room, where a little maid was waiting with hot
water, towels, brushes, tea, and little rolls. I took off my dress to
have it brushed, and while I was standing in my petticoats several
gentlemen came to the door (which wouldn't shut), and made various
perfectly unintelligible remarks to me. The little maid laughed and made
signs, and carried off my dress, which I thought was dangerous--however
I couldn't say anything, so I put myself behind the door, and Adelaide
arranged my hair; and I was just thinking of having a cup of tea when
the maid reappeared with my dress, accompanied by another officer, who
told me in French, from the other side of the door, that his Royal
Highness of Hesse hoped I would do him the honour of breakfasting with
him. I said I would come with pleasure, but begged they wouldn't wait,
as I was not quite ready. As soon as I was dressed I sallied out, found
my officer waiting, who conducted me to a private room, where were the
Prince and his party, including W. and a Russian general, who had been
sent from Varsovie to meet the Hessian Prince.

They were all at table--the Prince put me next to him, introduced the
Russian general and all his suite, and we had rather a pleasant hour. We
had excellent tea in glasses (the first time I ever saw it), delicious
little rolls, eggs, and cold meat. The Prince is a tall,
broad-shouldered, good-natured German, speaking French quite well.

We had the same ceremony at starting, first the "Wacht-am-Rhein" for the
Germans, then the "Marseillaise" for us. The journey was not
particularly interesting from the frontier here, but Varsovie itself
most curious. We found the same bustle and preparation at the station
here--the Governor of Varsovie, and Préfet de Police en tenue, and our
Consul, M. Bérard.

We drove at once to the hotel, looked at our rooms, which are
comfortable, and started again for a little drive through the town
before dinner. Anything so unlike the cities one has been accustomed to
see can't be imagined, long, straggling streets, enormous spaces, many
houses tumbling down, and abominable pavement, deep holes, and paving
stones as big as ordinary rocks--why the carriage ever got along was a
mystery to us all. The Russian coachman, a perfect type with his long
caftan and flat cap. Why the horses remain attached to the carriage is a
problem, as they apparently have no harness of any description. I used
to think we didn't use much in America. Will you ever forget Coligny's
face at Oyster Bay when we started trotting down hill without any
breeching?

There were quantities of dirty Polish Jews in every direction, all with
their long caftans, greasy, black curls, and ear-rings. I had time to
rest a little before dinner. We all dined together, also Bérard the
Consul, all the men in their dress clothes, and I in my grey moiré with
white lace, and a big, black velvet bow, one string of pearls which I
had on under my corsage. Pontécoulant, who is the next man to W., took
me in, and I had General Pittié on the other side. The dinner was
handsome and well served. Pontécoulant had attended to that while we
were driving about.

After dinner the men all went off to the theatre in the Governor's box
to see a famous ballet. I was rather tired, and as we start again
to-morrow, and have two nights in the train, I sha'n't mind going to bed
early. I was interrupted, as we have had a visit, pleasant enough, from
Mavrocordato (Greek), who is also on his way to Moscow to represent his
country, and now I am going to bed. We leave to-morrow at 4, and I will
try and write a little en route. They say I can probably, as the Russian
roads (railroads) are smooth, and they go very slowly.

    Friday, 2 o'clock.

I will go on a little and send this letter also from here. We had an
expedition this morning to one of the châteaux belonging to some member
of the Sobieski family, or rather belonging to a Potocki quelconque,
where there are many souvenirs of Sobieski. I never was on such a
villainous pavement (they tell me Moscow is worse), and the road long
and straight through flat country, not very interesting. The château was
full of pictures and bibelots of all kinds, and every possible souvenir
of Sobieski, flags, swords, snuff-boxes, etc., and quite worth seeing. I
enjoyed the outing, as everything was absolutely unique, carriages,
costumes, carts, people, language, houses, a poor tumble-down little
hovel next to a great palace with gates and courts and gardens.

We lunched again with all the Embassy, and then I went to see what was
happening to the maids. I had left them in such a dejected condition on
the landing when I went out. They couldn't get hold of any servant
(couldn't make them understand when they did), couldn't get my boots or
travelling skirt, or hot water, or anything, in fact. The hotel is full
of people, all starting this afternoon, and there is a fine confusion,
but they really must learn to get along without all modern conveniences.

    #Entre Varsovie et Moscou#,
    en wagon, Samedi soir, 19.

I will try and write a little, Dear, while we are stopping at Smolensk
for tea. It is rather difficult when we are moving (though we go slowly)
as you will see by the writing, as the train shakes a great deal. As
soon as it stops we all tumble out, are received by railway officials in
uniform, and conveyed to a private room decorated with greens and flags,
where most elaborate repasts are provided. We got off from Varsovie
yesterday most comfortably about 4 o'clock. Various officials, our
Consul Bérard, were at the station to see us off, and an engineer of the
company, who goes with us to Moscow to interpret and look after us
generally. The train is most luxurious--for W. and me one long saloon
carriage lined with grey satin, and with every variety of easy chair,
sofa, table, writing-table, lamp, etc. Flowers on one of the tables and
maps of the route on another. Communicating with it and directly behind
are two bedrooms for us--mine is capitonné in blue satin, a very
good-sized bed, glass, chairs, table, etc., also a dressing-room with
every modern convenience. W.'s is grey satin, equally comfortable, with
dressing-room, bath, etc.--behind these again a coupé for the
maids--then a long carriage for the rest of the Mission with chairs,
tables, etc, and small coupés. The engineer showed us all the
arrangements, hoped we were satisfied, and also told us that two
employés would be stationed at each end of our carriage always for
whatever we might want.

We got off fairly punctually. I wonder if I shall ever see Varsovie
again. We stopped somewhere about 5.30, and found a charming little tea
waiting for us in a private room, served of course in glasses with
pieces of lemon, and excellent rolls and cakes. There we fraternized
with the Dutch Mission, who are also on the train. M. Schimmelpenninck,
a tall, stylish-looking man, with his son and gendre. The young men had
recognized W., having seen him at the Congrès de Berlin; so they
recalled themselves, and we made friends. We agreed to take all our
meals together, and as apparently we shall have about 6 in the day we
shall probably see a good deal of each other.

We had rather a pleasant evening, dined (very well) at Brest, always the
same ceremonial; and after dinner some of the gentlemen came and paid us
visits. We talked of course about "La Grande Armée" and Napoleon's
campaigns, as we are passing over the same ground that they followed.
The two moujiks at the doors are most attentive and intelligent; as soon
as they hear any noise in our carriage, opening or shutting a window, or
anything falling (some of the heavy books slipped off a table just now),
they seem to divine it, and appear instantly and ask, I suppose, what we
want. We have no means of communication, but they evidently understand.

I was very comfortable last night in my little blue room, and had been
sleeping quietly, when I seemed to divine that someone had come in. I
didn't stir, and half opened my eyes, and for a moment was rather
startled. The lamp, shaded, was burning, and in came one of the moujiks
quite quietly. He moved very softly about the room, rather an appalling
figure, with his high boots, fur cap, and curious half-savage face
(gentle too), touched door and windows, fussed over the lamp, drew the
curtain of the dressing-room a little closer to keep out any draught
(didn't come up to the bed), and went out again just as quietly. It was
a curious experience, flying through the darkness of the night, and
wakening to see that strange figure prowling about.

About 7, I think, in the morning he reappeared, this time standing at
the door, and making many perfectly unintelligible remarks. It was so
evident I didn't understand that he smiled, made a despairing gesture
with his hand, and disappeared. As I was quite sure he would come back I
got up and fastened the door. In a few moments I heard a colloquy
outside, and then the voice of the engineer asking when I would like my
maid and my tea--also saying they would stop in about an hour for early
breakfast, and that mine and the Ambassador's would be brought to our
carriage.

I asked to have the maid at once--so Adelaïde appeared with hot water
and a cup of tea, and I dressed as comfortably as if I was in my
dressing-room at the Rue Dumont d'Urville. As soon as I was ready I went
into the big carriage, which looked very nice and clean, had been swept
and dusted, window-panes washed (Adelaïde saw the men doing it); a very
nice little breakfast tray was brought, tea, every variety of good
little rolls, and some fish. We contented ourselves with the rolls,
didn't experiment upon the fish. The table was close to the window--all
the gentlemen came up and talked to us, and as usual there were
quantities of people about.

We have passed through most desolate country, miles of plains, with
scarcely any traces of human habitation. The cottages are very few and
far between--generally a collection of little wood hovels, or "isbas,"
as they are called. We go long distances without seeing houses, fences,
gates, or even a road. At all the stations there are people--the big
ones crowded--and at the smaller ones, where we hardly stop, merely
slacken, peasants--and such objects, one can hardly tell the men from
the women; long, unkempt hair, all barefooted, and all wearing a sort of
fur garment with a hole in the middle to pass the head through, and
which falls low down to their knees.

We have just had tea at Smolensk, which is very Russian looking, with
gilded domes and pink and green painted roofs. The gentlemen are smoking
and walking up and down the platform, always exciting great attention.
There are two rather pretty girls, with fair hair and red blouses, who
are giggling and looking, and evidently wish to be remarked.

We have gone on again now and are settled for the evening. The carriage
looks so comfortable, curtains drawn, lamps lighted, flowers on the
tables, and quantities of books and maps. Sesmaisons and Corcelle have
just been in with their maps and Napoleon's Memoirs. It is most
interesting to follow it all. They read out bits here and there as we
passed through some well-known locality. At the Beresina, I think, where
the passage of the river was so awful--some of the men quite exhausted,
and yet not wanting to lie down on the snow, made themselves seats out
of the dead bodies of their comrades. What an awful retreat!

We have crossed the Beresina, where we saw a long procession of wood
rafts. They are of the most primitive description--long logs lashed
together, and in the middle a sort of cabin or hovel, where the women
and children live. They were floating slowly down with the tide as we
passed, and singing a sort of sad, monotonous chaunt, which sounded
weird and pathetic, but impressionnant. They say all the Russian
National songs have that undercurrent of sadness.

Our dinner to-night was very gay. Schimmelpenninckg is most attractive.
We have become great friends--I have even confided to him where my
jewels are, as he thought I had left a bag in one of the stations, and
was convinced it held my diamonds. I told him what dress I was going to
wear at the Coronation, also my difficulty in finding out what the
French Court dress was. The Empress never wore a regular Court
train--her presentations in the Tuileries were always in the evening, in
ordinary ball dress. I didn't think Queen Marie Amélie's would have been
very pretty, so we concocted a Court dress from pictures, other people's
souvenirs, etc.

I was glad to walk up and down a little--one gets cramped sitting so
long, even with our outings for food, which are frequent. The tea is
extremely good always, a sort of greenish flavour, but very delicate,
and I should think very strong. Pontécoulant showed me Monsieur
Philippe in the distance, talking and gesticulating, evidently
considering himself a most important feature of the Mission--also the
detective, who looks like an amiable well-to-do bourgeois travelling for
his pleasure, until you meet his eyes, and there is a quick, keen look
which tells you he is very much on the alert. He has again just given W.
the pleasing piece of information that all the well-known Nihilist
leaders will be at Moscow.

Hubert came up and says the horses are quite well--their rest at Berlin
did them good. He is very much impressed with the absolute solitude of
the country--"pas de villages--pas de barrières, pas même de chemins."
We have also a telegram from M. Lhermite saying the house is quite in
order, he and his cooks and attendants installed, and he will have
breakfast ready for us to-morrow morning. We arrive about 8. We must be
ready early, as they say the approach to Moscow is very fine. It stands
low in a plain, but one sees the gilt domes and coloured steeples from a
great distance.

Our engineer tells us the railway officials are out of their minds. He
says the special envoys--Princes particularly--change their minds and
their routes all the time. They all have special trains, and the
confusion will be something awful. The Hessian Prince is just ahead of
us. We haven't crossed many trains, and yet there must be frequent
communication between Varsovie and Moscow.

I still feel rather in a dream, but not tired. I must stop now as it is
nearly eleven--my next letter will be from Maison Klein, Malaia
Dimitrofska, Moscow. Richard came in just now, and we have been talking
over our future--Russia is a "terra incognita" to all of us. It has
been certainly most novel and interesting so far. Just now we stopped
for a few moments at a little station, quite alive with people and
lights, as of course trains are going all night. The people look so
different--generally fair, with flat features, and a repressed look, as
if they had always been kept down.

This long effusion will go early to-morrow morning, as they send off a
valise at once from Moscow.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Ambassade de France, Moscow#,
    #Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska#,
    Monday, May 21st, 1883.

We arrived quite safely and comfortably yesterday morning--34 people,
counting servants, policemen, etc. I hadn't time to write, but you will
have had the Havas telegram announcing our arrival. I am writing in my
little boudoir, which looks on a large, square, light courtyard, and I
wish you could see the wild confusion that reigns there. Quantities of
boxes and "ballots" of every description. Mdme. Hubert, with a veil tied
over her head, struggling to get at some of my trunks, which are all marked
with an enormous M. K. W. in white letters (a private mark, so as not to
confound them with the general mark of the Mission). Leroy, Hubert, and
Pontécoulant trying to get the big carriage cases opened (they look like
small houses). Sesmaisons and Calmon fussing over their saddles, which they
apparently had got without much difficulty--quantities of Russian helpers
working, talking, but _not_ loud, nor yelling to each other. How anything
will ever come out of all that chaos I don't know.

However, I must begin at the beginning. We got here about 8.30 yesterday
morning. We were all up early, as the country grew more interesting as
we approached Moscow. We had a confused vision of gilt domes, high
coloured steeples, etc., but nothing stood out very distinctly. There
was a fine confusion at the station--quantities of officials, all in
uniform, detachments of soldiers, red carpets, etc. We were _not_
received officially, not being Princes. The Mission only exists here
_after_ they have presented their lettres de créance. We found our
consul, Lagrené, waiting for us, several members of the French Colony,
and Lhermite. We drove off at once to our Ambassade. The main street,
Tverskaya, looked very gay with quantities of flags and draperies in
every direction, and even at that time in the morning a great many
people. Our house looks well--the entrance isn't bad, and the staircase
marble, handsome. I hardly looked at the reception-rooms, as I was
anxious to get to mine. Lhermite had done them very well, quite as I
wanted, and a nice-looking woman, Russian of course, the femme de charge
left in the house, was there to see if everything was right.

I washed off a little dust, got a cup of tea, and then went with W. and
Pontécoulant to inspect the house. The ballroom, "serre," and 3
drawing-rooms are nice; the dining-room small in comparison and low. Not
a breath of air anywhere, double windows, hermetically sealed, with
_one_ pane opening in each; so the very first thing we did was to send
for someone to take down the extra window, and open everything wide--the
close smell was something awful. The femme de charge was astounded, and
most unwilling. I think she thought we wished to demolish the whole
establishment. W. has a large room opening out of the drawing-room.
Pontécoulant took charge of the distribution of the gentlemen's rooms
(which wasn't easy, as they were generally small, and not particularly
comfortable, but I must say they were all easy going, and not at all
inclined to make difficulties). He chose a room down-stairs for himself
next the Chancellerie, which he has arranged at once very well. The
ballroom is handsome, a parquet floor, and yellow satin furniture; the
other drawing-rooms too are well furnished in silk and satin. The
dining-room is small, but the serre will make a very good fumoir where
the gentlemen can sit and smoke. It has nice cane arm-chairs and tables,
and will be a resource.

I went back to my own rooms and arranged my affairs with the maids.
There is a large room, half lingerie, half débarras, upstairs, with good
placards and closets where I can put my dresses if I ever get hold of
them. They must be unpacked at once, particularly the velvet dresses. Of
course I am always at the window. My Dear, how it would amuse you, so
absolutely unlike anything you have ever seen.

The men seem to work well enough--they all wear red flannel shirts
tucked into their trousers, and high boots--at the present moment they
are all gaping at the horses, who certainly do look enormous (the
Russian horses are all small). It seems ours stand the cannon, and
shouting, and waving flags and draperies very well (so the lessons in
the École Militaire, where they were taken several times after they
arrived in Paris to have cannons and guns fired close to their heads,
and flags waved about, did them good).

A little Russian maid, in a red petticoat, and a blue handkerchief tied
over her head, has just appeared, and I suppose will be a sort of fille
de chambre. She smiles every time I speak to the maids, and watches
every movement I make. I moved a fauteuil just now, and in an instant
she had possession of it, and stood over it looking at me hard to see
where I wanted it put. I daresay we shall get on very well. We
breakfasted at 12.30 all together--a very good breakfast, flowers on
the table, and everything most correct. The gentlemen were amusing, all
giving their experiences. Just as we were finishing we heard someone
coming, with the clank of sabre, and those long, heavy spurs the
Russians wear; and a good-looking officer, Colonel Benckendorff, who
was attached to our Embassy, appeared. He will never lose sight of us
now until the ceremonies are over.

We adjourned to the serre, and he put us au courant of everything. He
told us the crowd and confusion at the Kremlin was indescribable (all
the foreign Princes are lodged there). He had all sorts of papers,
invitations, audiences, cartes de circulation, etc. W. is to present his
lettres de créance and all the Mission en grande tenue at 10.30 to-day.
(I am waiting now to see them start.) W. has just been in, looking very
well, as he always does in full uniform. He wears the Danish Grand
Cordon, he hasn't the Légion d'Honneur nor any Russian decoration. Two
Maîtres des Cérémonies, covered with gold lace and embroideries, have
arrived in an ordinary Russian Court coupé--they have also an Imperial
gala carriage for the Ambassador, and two ordinary Court carriages, and
they have just started, quite a crowd of people before the house to see
them depart. First went two Maîtres des Cérémonies, their coats covered
with gold embroidery; then W. alone in a gala carriage with four horses,
two footmen standing behind, two mounted, and an écuyer. The rest of the
Mission followed in two ordinary Court carriages, all with the Imperial
liveries, which are not very handsome, long red cloaks, with a sort of
cocked hat. Benckendorff followed alone in his private carriage.

[Illustration: Colonel Benckendorff From a photograph by Bergamasco St
Petersburg]

Our big footmen figured for the first time--the four in their blue and
silver livery were at the door when the Maîtres des Cérémonies arrived,
and Pierson with his chain in the anteroom. They looked very well;
Lhermite and our coachman saw the whole thing, and were not at all
impressed with carriages, liveries, or horses. They said the carriages
were absolutely shabby, the liveries neither well made nor well put on,
and the horses beneath criticism. They do look extraordinarily small
before those great heavy state carriages, rather like rats, as Hubert
says--"Quand on verra les nôtres ce sera une surprise," for they are
enormous.

What do you think I did as soon as they had all gone? I had rather an
inspiration--I told the maids to bring me my blue court train (they have
unpacked some of the boxes, the jewels are all right, and locked up in a
coffre-fort in W.'s room, but can't find one of Delannoy's caisses; I
suppose it will turn up though, as Pontécoulant says the compte was
quite right when we arrived yesterday, all the boxes here). I then
locked the door of the ballroom, stationed Pierson outside, with strict
orders not to let anyone in, put on my train over my brown cloth dress,
put Adelaïde and Mdme. Hubert at one end of the room, and whisked
backwards and forwards, making them low curtseys (they were rather
embarrassed). I have never worn a train in my life, as you know, and I
wanted to see how it would go. It seems perfectly cut, and follows every
movement, and doesn't get twisted around my ankles. The maids were quite
satisfied, and told me it worked beautifully, particularly when I backed
across the room. Madame Jaurès, wife of Admiral Jaurès, permanent French
Ambassador to Russia, told me such hideous tales yesterday, when she
came to see me, of women getting nervous and entangled in their trains
when they backed away from the Emperor, that I thought I had better take
some precautions. I indulged in those antics for about twenty minutes,
then unlocked the door, released Pierson, and went upstairs to the
lingerie to see how my unpacking was getting on. The missing trunk had
just arrived, and my two women, with the little Russian maid, whose eyes
opened wide when she saw the quantity of dresses being produced, and
W.'s man were putting things to rights.

The gentlemen got back to a late breakfast, much pleased with their
reception. They were received in a small palace outside of Moscow,[4] as
the Emperor makes his formal entrée into the town to-morrow only. They
found the Emperor very amiable, talking quite easily, saying something
to everyone. He had on the Grand Cordon of the Légion d'Honneur. They
were all presented also to the Empress. W. said she was very gracious
and charming; remembered quite well having seen us in Paris. We were
presented to her by the Prince of Wales, Exhibition year. He said she
recalled the Princess of Wales, not so tall, and had splendid eyes.

[4] Petrofski.

Benckendorff stayed to breakfast, and we told him his place would be
always ready for him at breakfast and dinner. The hours of standing
apparently will be something awful. About 3.30 Mdme. Jaurès came for
me, and we went to see Lady Thornton, who is Doyenne of the Corps
Diplomatique, but didn't find her. The Jaurès have just arrived
themselves with all the Corps Diplomatique from Petersburg. They said
the starting from there was frightfully mismanaged, not nearly carriages
enough for the people and their luggage. The Ambassadors furious,
railway officials distracted, a second train had to be prepared which
made a long delay, and a general uproar. The only man who was quite
quiet and happy was Mr. Mackay (Silver King from California). He formed
part of the United States Mission, had his own private car attached to
the train, in which were Mrs. Mackay and Mr. and Mrs. Hunt (U. S.
Minister and his wife), and was absolutely independent.

After leaving our cards we drove through the Tverskaya, the main street.
There were quantities of people, and vehicles of every description, from
the Ambassadors' carriages (all with small, black Russian horses, a
Russian coachman in caftan and flat cap, and a gorgeous chasseur, all
gold braid, and hat with feathers, beside him), to the most ordinary
little drosky or fiacre. Nigra, the Italian Ambassador, passed us going
very quickly with the regular Russian attelage--3 horses, one scarcely
harnessed, galloping almost free on one side.

All the houses are dressed with red and gold draperies, and immense
tribunes put up all along the street, as the procession passes through
it from one end to the other when the Emperor makes his formal entrance
to-morrow. There are crowds of peasants and country people, all the men
in flannel shirts tucked into their trousers, and the women with a
handkerchief or little shawl over their heads. They don't look the least
gay, or excited, or enthusiastic; on the contrary, it is generally a sad
face, principally fair, and blue eyes. They stand, apparently a compact
mass, in the middle of the street, close up to the carriages, which can
scarcely get on--then comes a little detachment of Cossacks (most
curious looking, quite wild, on very small horses, and enormous long
lances), rides into the crowd and over them. They make no resistance,
don't say anything, and close up again, as soon as the carriage
passes--and so it goes on all day.

I was quite excited when we drove into the Kremlin--it is enormous,
really a city, surrounded by a great crenellated wall, with high towers
at intervals, quantities of squares, courts, churches, palaces,
barracks, terraces, etc. The view of the town from one of the terraces
overlooking the river is splendid, but the great interest is the Kremlin
itself. Numbers of gilt domes, pink and green roofs, and steeples. It
seemed to me that pink predominated, or was it merely the rose flush of
the sunset which gave a beautiful colour to everything. We saw of course
the great bell, and the tower of Ivan the Terrible (from where they told
us he surveyed massacres of hundreds of his soldiers), everywhere a
hurrying, busy crowd (though always quiet).

Thanks to our "Carte de Circulation" we pass everywhere, though stopped
at every moment. We crossed, among other things, a procession of
servants, and minor court officials, with quantities of silver dishes,
flagons, etc., some great swell's dinner being sent from the Imperial
Palace. We went from one great square to another, stopping at the Palace
where all the fêtes are to be. There we found one or two Court officials
whom Mdme. Jaurès knew, and they showed us as much as they could, but
everybody is "sur les dents," and nothing ready; and in spite of all the
precautions one feels that there is a strong undercurrent of nervousness.
We went to the Church de l'Assomption, where the Coronation is to take
place. There too we found officials, who showed us our places, and exactly
where the Court would be. The church is small, with a great deal of gilding
and painting. All the tribunes are ready, and what we shall feel like when
the ceremony is over I am sure I don't know. It will last about three hours
and a half, and we stand all the time. There is not a vestige of a seat in
the Tribune Diplomatique--merely a sort of rail or "barre d'appui" where
one can lean back a little.

We lingered a little on the terrace overlooking the river where there is
a fine view of the town, and came out by the Porte St. Sauveur, where
everyone, Emperor and peasant, uncovers. I was glad to get home and rest
a little before dinner, but I have had a delightful afternoon.

I will finish this evening, as the bag goes to-morrow. We had a pleasant
dinner, our personnel only, and Colonel Benckendorff, who told us all we
had to do these days. The day of the Coronation we meet at the German
Embassy (General Schweinitz, who married Anna Jay, is Doyen of the Corps
Diplomatique), and go all together to the Kremlin. The hour of
rendezvous is 8 there, and as it is quite far off, and the gala
carriages go on a walk, we must leave here at 7, and get up at Heaven
knows what hour. What do you think we will look like in full Court dress
at that hour in the morning? Our dinner was very good--wines, fruit,
etc. W. complimented Lhermite.

To-morrow we start at 11 for the Palace of Prince Dolgourouky, Governor
of Moscow, from where we see the Emperor pass on his way to the Kremlin.
It is not far away, but the streets are so barricaded and shut up that
we must make a long détour. The most stringent measures are taken, all
windows closed, no canes nor umbrellas allowed, and a triple line of
troops all along the route. The maids are much excited. They have places
in one of the Tribunes, and M. Lhermite is going to escort them. In some
marvellous way they have been able to communicate with the Russian
maids, and have given me various pieces of information. I have left the
gentlemen all smoking in the serre, except W., who retired to his own
quarters, as he had some despatches to write. He has had a long talk
with Jaurès this afternoon, and has also seen Sir Edward Thornton,
British Ambassador. The house is quite quiet--the court-yard asleep, as
no carriages or horses have been out to-night. We have two ordinary
Russian landaus, with those fast little horses, for our every-day
outings, as the big coupé d'Orsay only goes out on state occasions.

The detective has made his report, and says the Nihilists will do
nothing to-morrow--_perhaps_ the night of the gala at the Opéra. It is
curious to live in such a highly charged atmosphere, and yet I am less
nervous--I wonder why--the excitement I suppose of the whole thing.
Well, Good-night, Dear; I would say it in Russian if I could, but so far
all I have learnt is "Tchai," which means tea, and "Karosch," which
seems to be an exclamation of delighted admiration. The little maid says
it every time I appear in a new garment.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Ambassade de France à Moscou#,
    #Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska#,
    Mardi, May 22d, 1883.

How shall I ever begin to describe to you, Dear, the wonderful life we
are leading. Everything is unlike anything I have ever seen. I suppose
it is the beginning of the real far-off East. This morning I am sitting
at the window reading and writing, and looking out into the court-yard,
which is a never-failing interest--such quantities of people always
there. The first thing I hear in the morning is Pontécoulant's voice. He
is there every day at eight o'clock, conferring with Leroy and Hubert,
examining the horses and carriages, deciding which ones are to be used,
and giving orders for the day.

Then arrive the two Russian landaus which go all day, and very different
they look from our beautiful equipages and big important servants. Then
comes Lhermite, rattling off, in a low pony cart, with the boy from the
Consulate along-side of him. He goes to market every day, and nearly has
a fit because he can't talk himself, and he knows they are all lying,
and stealing, and imposing upon him generally. In one corner there is a
group of little Russian horses tied to the stable doors, with Russian
soldiers fussing over them. They have been sent from one of the cavalry
barracks for the gentlemen to ride.

In every direction men are cleaning carriages, saddles, harness,
liveries; and with such little noise--they are extraordinarily quiet.

    May 22d, 5.30

We have just got back from the Governor's palace; and to-night the
Emperor is safe in the Kremlin.

It was a marvellous day. We started (the whole Mission) at 10.30 this
morning, W. and I alone in the d'Orsay, which looked very handsome. It
is dark blue with white stripes, like all our carriages, and lined with
blue satin of rather a lighter shade. The men were in demi-gala, blue
plush breeches, white silk stockings, and high hats (not tricornes),
with silver bands and cords. Thornton, the English coachman, looked very
smart, and handled his big black horses perfectly. The gentlemen told us
he used very strong language when he got back to the stables over the
abomination of the Moscow pavement. We were preceded as usual by Richard
and Benckendorff in a light carriage. I wore one of Philippe's dresses,
brown gauze embroidered in velvet flowers, all the front écru lace, and
an ecru straw bonnet, with a vieux rose velvet crown.

I was much amused while I was dressing to hear various members of the
party in the lingerie, "Madame, voulez-vous me coudre un bouton," "les
plumes de mon chapeau ne tiennent pas," etc., even Thornton came in to
have his lace cravate tied. We were a long time getting to Prince
Dolgourouky's palace; not that it is far away, but the streets are
barricaded in every direction, however I didn't mind--the crowd was so
interesting, packed tight; they had been standing for hours, they told
us, such pale, patient faces, but so _un_joyous; no jokes, nor bits of
songs, nor good-natured scuffling; so unlike our Paris crowd on a great
fête day, laughing and chaffing, and commenting freely on everything;
and certainly very much unlike the American-Irish crowd at home in New
York, on the 4th of July or St. Patrick's day. I remember quite well
putting boxes of fire-crackers in a tin pail to frighten the horses, and
throwing numerous little petards under people's feet, but no one seemed
to mind. Fancy the effect of a pailful of fire-crackers exploding in any
part of Moscow to-day. The tribunes covered with red cloth, or red and
gold, crammed; and armies of soldiers, mounted and on foot, in every
direction; and yet we were only in the side streets. The real crowd was
in the Tverskaya where the cortége was to pass.

When we finally arrived we were received by the Governor's two nieces,
Madame Mansouroff and Princess Obolenski. The Prince, like all the other
Russian noblemen, took part in the cortége. All our colleagues were
there, but the Duc de Montpensier was the only special envoy. All the
other foreign Princes were riding with the Emperor's suite. It was
almost a female gathering, though of course all the men of the Corps
Diplomatique were there. We waited some little time in the large
drawing-room, where many presentations were made; and then had a very
handsome breakfast, people talking easily, but the Russians visibly
nervous and preoccupied. As soon as it was over we went out on the
balconies, where we remained until the cortége had passed. They brought
us tea at intervals, but I never stirred from my chair until the end.

It was a beautiful sight as we looked down--as far as one could see,
right and left, flags, draperies, principally red and gold, green
wreaths, flowers and uniforms--the crowd of people well kept back behind
a triple row of soldiers, the middle of the street perfectly clear,
always a distant sound of bells, trumpets, and music. A salute of cannon
was to let us know when the Emperor left Petrofski, the small palace
just outside the walls where he has been all these days. As the time
drew near one felt the anxiety of the Russians, and when the first coup
sounded, all of them in the Palace and in the street crossed themselves.
As the procession drew near the tension was intense. The Governor's
Palace is about half way between the gate by which the Emperor entered
and the Kremlin. He had all that long street to follow at a foot's pace.
As soon as he entered the Kremlin another cannon would tell his people
he was safe inside.

At last the head of the gorgeous procession appeared. It was
magnificent, but I can't begin to tell you the details. I don't even
remember all I saw, but you will read it all in the papers, as of course
all their correspondents are here. There were quantities of troops of
all descriptions, the splendid chevaliers-gardes looked very imposing
with their white tunics and silver cuirasses; both horses and men
enormous. What I liked best were the red Cossacks (even their long
lances red). They look perfectly wild and uncivilized and their little
horses equally so, prancing and plunging all the time.

The most interesting thing to me was the deputations from all the
provinces of this vast Empire--Kirghis, Moguls, Tartars, Kalmucks, etc.
There was a magnificent chief from the Caucase, all in white, with
jewelled sword and high cap (even from where we were, so high above the
crowd, we saw the flash of the diamonds); the Khan of Khiva, and the
Emir of Bokhara, both with high fur caps, also with jewels on cap and
belt. A young fellow, cousin I think of Prince Dolgourouky, came and
stood near me, and told me as well as he could who the most important
people were. Bells going all the time (and the Moscow bells have a deep,
beautiful sound), music, the steady tramp of soldiers, and the curious,
dull noise of a great crowd of people.

Then a break in the troops, and a long procession of gala court
carriages passed, with six horses and six runners, a man to each horse,
with all the grands-maitres and high officials of the Court, each man
covered with gold lace and embroidery, and holding his staff of office,
white with a jewel at the top. After that more troops, the Emperor's
body-guard, and then the Emperor himself. He was in full uniform, riding
quite alone in front on his little white horse which he had ridden in
the Turkish campaign. He looked quite composed and smiling, not a trace
of nervousness (perhaps a little pale), returned all the salutations
most graciously, and looked up, bowed and smiled to our balcony. A
little distance behind him rode his two sons, and close up to him on
the left rode the Duke of Edinburgh in red; any bomb thrown at the
Emperor must have killed the English Prince.

Then followed a long suite of Princes--some of their uniforms, Austrian,
Greek, and Montenegrian standing out well. From that moment there was
almost silence on the balcony; as the Emperor disappeared again all
crossed themselves, and everyone waited for the welcome sound from the
Kremlin.

After a long interval, always troops passing, came the Empress. She was
with her daughter, the little Grand Duchess Xenia, both in Russian
dress. The carriage was shut, a coupé, but half glass, so we saw them
perfectly, and the high head-dress (Kakoshnik) and white veil, spangled
with silver was very becoming. The carriage was very handsome, all gold
and paintings; six white horses led, and running footmen. The Empress
and her daughter were seated side by side, and on a curious sort of
_outside_ seat, on one side of the coupé, was a page, dressed in red and
yellow, a sort of cloth of gold, with high feathers in his cap. The
Empress looked grave and very pale, but she smiled and bowed all the
time. It must have been an awful day for her, for she was so far behind
the Emperor, and such masses of troops in between, that he might have
been assassinated easily, she knowing nothing of it.

There was again a great sound of bells and music when the Empress
passed, all the people crossing themselves, but the great interest of
course was far ahead with the Emperor. A great procession of Court
carriages followed with all the Princesses, Grandes-Maîtresses, etc.,
and endless troops still, but no one paid much attention; every ear was
strained to hear the first sound from the Kremlin. When the cannon
boomed out the effect was indescribable. All the Russians embraced each
other, some with tears running down their cheeks, everybody shook hands
with everybody, and for a moment the emotion was contagious--I felt
rather a choke in my throat. The extraordinary reaction showed what the
tension had been.

After rather a whirl of felicitations we went into the drawing-room for
a few minutes, had tea (of course), and I talked to some of the people
whom I had not seen before. Montpensier came up, and was very civil and
nice. He is here as a Spanish Prince. He told me he had been
frightfully nervous for the Emperor. They all knew that so many
Nihilists were about--he added, "Il était superbe, leur Empereur, si
crâne!"

We had to wait a few moments for the carriage and got home about 5,
having been standing a long time. We were almost as long getting back to
the Embassy as we were coming. There was a dense crowd everywhere, and
the same little detachments of Cossacks galloping hard into the midst of
the people, and apparently doing no harm to anyone.

I will finish now before going to bed--happily all our dissipations
finish early. We dined quietly with only our own Embassy and
Benckendorff, and then drove about for an hour or so looking at the
illuminations, which were not very wonderful. We met all our colleagues
doing the same thing. W. has just had his report from the detective. He
said all the Nihilists were scattered along the route to-day, but
evidently had no intention of doing anything. It seems curious they
should be allowed to remain, as of course the Russian police know them
quite as well as our man does.

I have just had a notice that the Empress will receive me to-morrow. I
will try and write a few lines always late before going to bed, and
while the whole thing is still fresh in my memory. If this letter is
slightly incoherent it is because I have had so many interruptions.
The maids can hardly undress me, they are so anxious to tell me all they
have seen. It certainly was a magnificent sight to-day, and the fears
for the Emperor gave such a dramatic note to the whole thing. My eyes
are rather tired, looking so hard, I suppose.

    Wednesday, May 23d.

Well, Dear, I have had my audience. It was most interesting. I started
at 11 o'clock in the gala carriage, Hubert driving me, as he wanted to
go once to the Kremlin with the carriage before the day of the
Coronation. It seems there is a slight rise in the road just as one gets
to the gate, which is also narrow. I wore the blue brocade with bunches
of cherries, the front of moussé velvet, and a light blue crêpe bonnet,
neither gloves nor veil. Benckendorff and Richard, as "officer de
service," went ahead in a small carriage. Benckendorff said I must have
one of my own Embassy, and Richard thought it would amuse him to come.
W. rather demurred--was afraid we wouldn't be serious enough, but we
promised him to be absolutely dignes. Do you remember at the first
official reception at the instruction Publique he never would let you
and Pauline stand behind me--he was afraid we would make unseemly jokes,
or laugh at some of the dresses.

Our progress to the Kremlin was slow. The carriage is heavy, goes always
at a foot's pace, and has a swinging motion which is very disagreeable.
I felt rather shy, sitting up there alone, as of course there is a great
deal of glass, so that I was much "en évidence." Everybody looked, and
the people in the street crowded close up to the carriage. We found
grand preparations when we got to the Palace--the great staircase
covered with a red cloth, and every variety of chamberlain, page, usher,
and officer on the stairs and at the door. Benckendorff and Richard
helped me out of my carriage, and Richard's impulse was to give me his
arm to go upstairs, but he was waved back imperatively, and a
magnificent gentleman in a velvet coat, all lace and embroidery,
advanced, and conducted me up the grand staircase, always a little
behind me. I passed through a hedge of uniforms and costumes. When we
came to the landing where there was a piquet of soldiers my attendant
said--"La France," and they presented arms.

At the top of the staircase, at the door of the first of a long enfilade
of salons, I was handed over, with a very low bow, from my first
gentleman to another of the same description, equally all gold lace, and
embroidery; and so I passed through all the rooms, always meeting a new
chamberlain in each one. The rooms are large and high, with vaulted
roofs like a cathedral, little or no furniture (I believe the Russian
Court never sits down except at meals). We made a halt in one of the
salons, where we found several maids of honour of the Empress, who were
presented to me. They were all dressed much alike in long, light
dresses, and wore their badge--the Empress's chiffre in diamonds on a
blue ribbon. While I was talking to them a procession of diplomats and
special envoys passed through the room. They had just been received by
the Empress.

Presently appeared Prince Galitzin--Grand Maître des Cérémonies, attired
in red velvet and lace, and embroidery, who said, "Sa Majesté sera
bientôt prête." I continued my progress with the same ceremonial, passed
through the salle du trône, which is handsome, white and gold; and came
to a standstill in the next salon, evidently the ante-chamber of the
room where I was to be received, as the two colossal negroes who always
accompany the Emperor and Empress were standing at the door. They were
dressed in a sort of Asiatic costume, cashmeres, turbans, scimitars,
etc. I was received by the Princess Kotchoubey and Count Pahlen, Arch
Grand Maître des Cérémonies. The Princess K. is the mother of Princess
Lise Troubetzkoi (whom you will remember in Paris as having a salon the
first days of the Republic where political men of all opinions
assembled--Thiers was her great friend). She was a little old lady,
dressed entirely in white, with a jewel low on her forehead. Count
Pahlen was dressed in blue velvet and embroidery, and carried his staff
of office, white, with a large sapphire on the top.

We talked a few minutes, when apparently there came a signal from the
Empress. The doors flew open, and the Princess advanced to the
threshold, making a beautiful curtsey (I am sure mine was not half so
good), she seemed to go straight down to the ground, said--"J'ai
l'honneur d'annoncer l'Ambassadrice de France." She then withdrew to one
side--I made a curtsey at the door, which was instantly shut, another, a
little farther on (the regulation is 3), but hadn't time for my third,
as the Empress, who was standing in the middle of the room, advanced a
few steps, shook hands and begged me to sit down. I hadn't seen her for
some years, since she came to Paris with her husband, then Grand Duke
Héritier (his father was still alive), and I didn't find her changed.
She recalls the Princess of Wales, but is not so tall; has beautiful
dark eyes, and a very gracious manner. She was dressed almost as I was,
but in a different color, yellow brocade with bunches of plums, splendid
lace in front, and a beautiful pearl necklace, three rows of large
stones (my one row of fairly large ones was nowhere). I think I stayed
about 20 minutes.

We talked easily enough. She said the long day yesterday had been very
fatiguing, the going at a foot's pace all that long distance with the
peculiar swinging motion of the heavy gala carriage had tired her very
much; also the constant bowing right and left, and the quantities of
flags and draperies waving under her eyes. She didn't say anything about
being nervous, so of course I didn't. She gave me the impression of
having extraordinary self-control. I asked her what the little Grand
Duchess thought of it all. She said that she really didn't know--that
she didn't speak, but looked at everything and bowed to all the people
exactly as she did.

She said the day of the sacre would be very long and tiring,
particularly beginning so early in the morning; that she was very
matinale, quite accustomed to getting up early--was I? "Fairly--but I
hadn't often been up and dressed in full dress and diamonds at seven in
the morning." "You would prefer a ceremony by candle-light." "I think we
should all look better at 9 o'clock in the evening." She laughed, and
then we talked a little; Paris, chiffons, etc. She said some of her
dresses had come from Philippe. We talked a little about Moscow and the
Kremlin. She asked me what I had seen. When I spoke of the church and
the tribunes for the Corps Diplomatique with _no_ seats, and a very long
ceremony, she was quite indifferent; evidently didn't think it was of
the slightest consequence whether we were tired or not; and I don't
suppose it is.

When she congédied me the door flew open (she evidently had a bell under
her chair which she touched with her feet); she shook hands, and walked
immediately to a door at the other end of the room; so I didn't have to
back out all the way. Princess Kotchoubey and Count Pahlen were waiting
for me. The Princess said, "Sa Majesté vous a gardé bien longtemps,
Madame l'Ambassadrice. J'espère que vous avez été contente." Pahlen also
made me a polite phrase. They both accompanied me across the room, and
then the door opened, and another chamberlain took possession of me.
Just as we got to the door the Princess was saying something about her
daughter "devenue absolument une Parisienne," when it opened; she
stopped short in the middle of her phrase, and made me a little
curtsey--her function was over once I passed into the other room. It was
too funny.

I was conducted through all the rooms and down the great staircase with
the same ceremony. I found Richard waiting in one of the big rooms, with
the "Dames du portrait," but this time he didn't venture to offer his
arm to the Ambassadress, and followed with Benckendorff at a respectful
distance.

I found my carriage surrounded by an admiring crowd. The horses are
handsome and enormous, particularly here where the race is small, also
the French gala liveries are unlike anything else. Hubert, my own
coachman, sits up so straight and pompous on his box, and looks so
correct I hardly know him. The movement of the gala carriage is
something awful, makes me really ill.

    May 23d, 10 o'clock.

We have had a quiet evening--some of the gentlemen have gone off to hear
the famous Bohémiennes in one of the public gardens. They have been
leaving cards all day on the special envoys, Princes, etc. W. and
Pontécoulant are having a conference, and I have got into my tea-gown,
and am reading a little, writing a little, and being generally lazy. W.
and I also did a round of visits this afternoon.

As naturally none of our servants know either a word of Russian, or the
streets of Moscow, we took with us the little polygot youth from the
Consulate, who knows equally well French, Russian, and German. We gave
him our list, and he went ahead in a drosky.

We found no one but the Princess Obolenski, who spoke at once about the
Emperor's entrée; said no one could imagine the relief it was to all of
them to know that he was actually safe in the Kremlin. They had
evidently all dreaded that day, and of course notwithstanding all the
precautions a bomb _could_ have been thrown. The thrower, par exemple,
would have been torn to pieces by the crowd; but what makes the strength
of the Nihilists is that they all count their lives as nothing in what
they consider the great cause.

How hideous the life of the Emperor and the Empress must be. They say
they find letters on their tables, in their carriages, coming from no
one knows where, telling them of all the horrors in store for them and
their children.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Ambassade de France, à Moscou#,
    #Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska#,
    Thursday, 24 Mai, 1883.

I am having a quiet morning. We have no particular function to-day.
Madame Jaurès is coming to get me after breakfast, and we are going to
do a little sightseeing. The first thing I hear in the morning always is
Pontécoulant's voice in the court talking to Leroy and Hubert, and
examining the horses. The pair we had in the gala carriage yesterday
went beautifully. Hubert was rather nervous, as there is a steep little
bit just as one passes through the gates of the Kremlin--it is also
narrow, and those big, unwieldy carriages are not easily handled. The
pavement is so rough that I was actually a little sick yesterday after I
came in.

I was called off by a visit from Prince Orloff (Russian Ambassador in
France). He comes almost every day, and is much interested in all our
doings--said the carriage and general style of everything was much
admired yesterday. About two Madame Jaurès came, and we started off
sight-seeing. The admiral, Jaurès, and one or two of the young men met
us at the Kremlin, and we went over the two palaces--new and old. The
old one is most curious; small, dark, low rooms, vaulted ceilings, all
most elaborately ornamented in Byzantine style; a small steep, twisting
staircase; large porcelain stoves, and absolutely uncomfortable. We saw
the dining-room where the Emperor and Empress will dine in state the day
of the Coronation. The new palace is quite different--high, light, large
rooms, white, which must look beautiful at night lighted by thousands of
wax candles. In the great ballroom the two Throne chairs are on a gold
dais with great curtains of purple velvet and ermine--very royal
looking.

(I wonder if the sight of all this splendour will destroy my mental
equilibrium--I assure you I felt rather like a queen myself yesterday,
seated up alone in the great gala carriage, with everybody bowing and
gaping.) There is a splendid view over the Kremlin, the river and the
town from all the palace windows. We went again to the church of the
Assomption, where we found Count Pahlen superintending. He showed us
some of the famous paintings--among others a Madonna with a _black_
face, a splendid diamond necklace, and large sapphires and emeralds
disposed about her person. There are jewels about everywhere; on
pictures, brackets, etc. Pahlen told me, when I was noticing them, that
the Russian Court was famous for coloured stones, particularly emeralds
and sapphires--told me to notice the Grand Duchess Constantine's
emeralds, and the Empress's sapphires. I will, if ever I get time to go
into details, but everything is on such an enormous scale here.

He also asked me if I was accustomed to _standing_ three or four hours,
and if not he would suggest a _pliant_"dissimulé sous les plis de la
traine," and showed me with pride the rails, covered with red velvet, in
our tribune, which he had had put there so we should be comfortable! It
will really be an awful day, particularly as we have to begin it so
early, but I suppose we shan't die of it.

I came back about 4, changed my dress for something more élegant (the
blue silk with long blue redingote and white lace), and started off
again in the d'Orsay for some visits (the little boy in the drosky going
in front). I found the Princess Radziwill in two small rooms (she
received me in her bedroom), all she could find for herself and her
husband in Moscow--and that at an awful price (and she is Russian born).
I also found Countess Pahlen, wife of the Grand Master, who was very
smiling, and suggested that we should have an evening reception, which
would be much appreciated. Of course we shall be delighted, and had even
thought of a ball, but all those things had been settled in Russia
before we left Paris. The Russian Court wished to have _one_ ball only,
as the Coronation functions were numerous and fatiguing, and that is to
be at General Schweinitz's (Doyen of the Corps Diplomatique).

After leaving Countess Pahlen I went again to the Kremlin, the
d'Orsay always exciting much attention. I had the greatest difficulty in
finding out the Duchesse d'Edimbourg, for whom I had to write myself
down, and could find no servant who spoke either German, French, or
English. The crowd and confusion was something awful; apparently the
whole of Moscow was going wherever I was--Ambassadors, Generals,
Chamberlains, maids-of-honour, servants with tea, crowding in all the
corridors. You never saw such a sight, and just as many more in the
court-yards--carriages, soldiers, work-people, carpenters, bales of
stuffs, and planks for stands, and all in that beautiful cadre--the old
gray walls looked so soft, and the marvellous effects of colour
everywhere. I was well shaken up, such a pavement. I met the Duc
de Montpensier at every turn, sight-seeing too. We had a quiet dinner,
the personnel only with Benckendorff. The gentlemen had been going all
around too all the afternoon leaving cards. They all say the pavement
is most trying.

W. and Pontécoulant have come in late as usual for a last little talk. I
told them what Countess Pahlen had said about an evening reception. W.
had had the same idea. I think the house is large enough--the ballroom
ought to light well, all white with yellow satin furniture. We must have
a talk with Lhermite about flowers; he says there are none here, his
come from Paris.

    Friday, 25th.

The men of the Embassy went off early, as they had no end of audiences
with all the Grand Dukes; uncles and brothers of the Emperor. I walked
about a little with Adelaïde, but I didn't find that very pleasant. It
is curious I never see a lady of any kind walking, and we always attract
attention. It is very warm, the sun really powerful. I breakfasted alone
in the big dining-room, an elaborate meal, one maître d'hôtel and two
tall footmen waiting upon me--I was rather sorry I hadn't asked for tea
and cold chicken in my dressing-room.

At 3.30 the gentlemen all reappeared, put on their Austrian decorations,
and we started for the reception of the Arch Duke and Arch Duchess
Albert of Austria. We found quantities of people, as all the Corps
Diplomatique had been convoked. W. and I went as usual in the d'Orsay. I
wore my crème voile with lace and embroidery, straw bonnet with crème
feathers, lined with dark blue velvet. We waited some little time in a
large hall or anteroom where was Count Wolkenstein, Austrian Ambassador,
who presented all the suite of the Arch Duke. Then appeared the Arch
Duke alone--said his wife was coming in a few moments. We had known him
in Paris--he had dined with us at the Quai d'Orsay when W. was Foreign
Minister, our Exhibition year. He is a tall, distinguished looking man.
It was when he was dining at the Elysée one night with Maréchal MacMahon
that such a funny contre-temps occurred. Their dinners were always very
good and soignés, but evidently they had not thought about the names of
the dishes, and when we were well on with the dinner we suddenly
realized that something was wrong. My neighbour said to me "Look at your
menu," and what did I see--"Glace à la Magenta"--"Gateau Solférino," and
I forget the third thing--all battles where the Austrians had been
beaten. I spoke to one of the household about it afterwards who said
"J'ai froid dans le dos en pensant à ce que le Maréchal me dira." It
seems that when he was angry the Maréchal didn't mince matters, and used
most _emphatic_ expressions. You can imagine how carefully we studied
the menu of our dinner which came two days after--"Glace à la Régence,"
"Gâteau Moka," etc., nothing compromising.

While the Arch Duke was talking there was suddenly a move, and he went
to meet the Arch Duchess who came in, crossed the room quickly, and
asked us to follow. We did, into a smaller room, W. and I alone. She is
very handsome, younger than he is, tall and slight, dressed in a black
dress with a great deal of lace, a very long train, a handsome pearl
necklace, and a high comb of diamonds. She said she would like to make a
stay in Paris. After they had congédied us W. asked if he might present
the rest of the Mission, so I returned to the large salon and saw
various people to talk to, including Count Apponyi, whom I had known in
Paris, where his father was Ambassador for years.

We dined at home and went in the evening to a reception at M. de
Giers'--Foreign Minister. The rooms were not large, and there were a
great many people, I should think more foreigners and diplomatists than
Russians. Princess Kotchoubey and Countess Pahlen did the honours.
Quantities of people were presented to me--I shall never remember their
names or their faces. I wore fraise-écrasé velvet, the front covered
with white "point à l'aiguille." General Wolseley, who is here with the
Duke of Edinburgh, was presented. He is not at all the real British
type, small and dark, but very bright eyes. I also had quite a talk with
my Dutch friend Schimmelpenninck, who assured me my toilettes were très
réussies, particularly the white one, this afternoon. I had quite a talk
too with the Hunts, who are very nice. Both are tall and fine-looking,
she always very well dressed. The U.S. Mission is very distinguished--they
have Mr. and Mrs. Mackay with them, both very natural and quiet; she of
course has splendid jewels (they tell me her sapphires are beautiful),
but she wears them quite simply, without any ostentation. There is also
Admiral Baldwin, who has his ship at Cronstadt, and two charming young
aides-de-camp, Rogers and Paul.


    _To H. L. K._
    Saturday, May 26, 1883.

Well, Dear, I am just alive, but nothing more, having performed 5 Grand
Duchesses. The gentlemen all went off in full uniform at 11 to begin
their audiences. I followed later alone (they always go en bande) with
Richard going in the small carriage in front as officier de service
(which amuses us both perfectly). I wore the white soft silk with
Valenciennes that you liked, and the flower hat. Benckendorff
complimented me on my toilette. It was a long affair getting to our
different Princesses. They are all lodged in the Kremlin, and the
various palaces connect with all sorts of passages and staircases, but
the corridors are narrow and the block something awful. My first
audience was with the Grand Duchess Michel. Her husband is an uncle of
the Emperor, and was for a long time Governor of the Caucasus. When we
finally got to the door of the apartments I was received by 2
Chamberlains (all gold and embroidery), who never left me until they
deposited me in the carriage at 5 o'clock--I had started at 1.30. The
ceremonial was always exactly the same, one or two ladies-in-waiting
were in the room communicating with the one in which the Grand
Duchess was waiting. They announced "L'Ambassadrice de France," I got
through as many of my three regulation curtseys as I could--I never
really had time to make the third, as they all advanced a few steps and
shook hands. The Grand Duchess Michel is a Baden Princess, tall, slight,
very intelligent, simply dressed in black velvet, and of course a pearl
necklace. She spoke to me in English, French, and German, but the
conversation was mostly in French. She seemed well up in French
literature, and asked me what I thought of Zola's "L'Assommoir," was
really surprised when I said I hadn't read it, nor in fact scarcely
anything he wrote. She considered it a marvel, and couldn't understand
any French woman not reading every word that came from "un des plus
puissants cerveaux du siècle." She knew too all the pieces de théâtre,
and when I expressed surprise that she had had time to read so much,
said her life in the Caucasus was so lonely--no society of any kind,
and no resources outside of her own palace. I should think she was a
maïtresse femme.

After leaving her I was taken in hand again by my two chamberlains, and
walked some distance across one or two courts, always meeting more
chamberlains escorting colleagues, principally men, all in uniform and
orders, doing the same thing, and trying to get on as fast as they
could. My next visit was to the Grand Duchess Constantine. When we got
to the anteroom and small salon we found them full of gentlemen, who
proved to be our Mission, who had arrived a few minutes before. That
made a slight change of programme, as the Grand Duke decided to receive
W. and me together with the Duchess--accordingly we were received first,
alone, in a small room. The Grand Duke was standing close to the door;
the Grand Duchess in the centre of the room. He is a sailor, looks very
intelligent. She has been very handsome, carries herself beautifully,
and has a splendid figure. He was in uniform--she in red velvet (she
_didn't_ have on her emeralds--I suppose we shall see them all
to-morrow). They both talked very easily about all sorts of things;
Greece of course and the Schuylers, of whom she spoke very warmly. Her
daughter is the Queen of Greece--I hope we shall see her, as I have
heard Gert talk so much about her. The Grand Duchess said she was tired
already, and the Ceremonies haven't begun yet. She had received
yesterday 100 ladies of Moscow. They came in groups of 10, and she had
to find something to say to each one.

As soon as the audience was over W. asked permission, as usual, to
present the rest of the Mission. I remained in the outer salon talking
to the ladies-in-waiting. The apartment is high, with a splendid view
over Moscow. They pointed me out several churches and curious
roofs--were much interested in all my visits and my clothes, supposed I
had quantities of trunks.

After that I departed again alone, and saw the Grand Duchess Catherine,
who was very amiable, but kept me a few minutes only, as she had so many
people to receive. Then I took another long walk, and up several flights
of narrow, turning stairs (the chamberlains in front and Richard behind)
to the Duchesse d'Oldenburg. The Belgian Mission was being received, so
I waited in the outer salon, and again W. and the gentlemen arrived, and
he and I were received together. Evidently they like it better when we
can go together, as it saves time for them--and if we are tired, think
what they must be. I went off again alone, and was received by the Grand
Duchess Wladimir, who is charming--a German Princess. She is young, a
pretty figure, very well dressed in white. She looked rather delicate,
having just got over a rather bad attack of measles. She dreads the
fatigue very much to-morrow, and had asked the Empress if she might have
a folding-chair, a pliant of some kind, but her "demande n'a pas été
accueillie favorablement. L'Imperatrice elle-même sera debout tout le
temps. Il faudrait absolument que nous fassions comme elle." I didn't
mention my pliant, as I am quite sure no one will notice to-morrow
anything _I_ do.

That finished my audience, and I had been standing or walking since I
left the Embassy, so I was glad to find the carriage, which was by no
means easy. There were quantities at the Kremlin, and as we never by any
chance came out at the same door by which we went in, and the coachman
was told to follow, he naturally had some difficulty in getting it. Also
it is raining hard, which complicates matters. There are carpets down to
the doors, but so many people have passed over them that they are just
as wet and muddy as the streets. We met all the rest of the Mission at
the Embassy door, and then there was a general détente, the men all
calling for their servants to get them out of their uniforms, and to
bring beer and cigars.

W. came in to tea. He looked really done up--he had been at it steadily
since 12. There are so many Princes and Grand Dukes without any wives. I
am writing in bits, but will finish as usual the last thing. We have had
a small dinner--the other French Embassy (permanent), Lagrené, Consul,
and Orloff. Benckendorff of course. They all went away early, as our day
to-morrow is an awful one.

It is pouring still, and we are rather melancholy at the thought of our
gala carriages, and blue and silver liveries in a heavy rain. Just
before dinner I had a visit from Philippe, and he made various essais
with my diadem and feathers. He is to be here at six to-morrow morning
to coiffer me. He also requested that he might see my dress so as to
make his coiffure "harmoniser avec l'ensemble." I wanted to see it too,
so as to be sure that everything was right, and the flowers well sewn
on. It is now reposing on one of the big arm-chairs in the
dressing-room, covered up with a sheet.

My eyes are shutting of themselves, so I will stop. Please send all my
letters on to America, as I never can write _two_ accounts of our life
here.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Ambassade de France à Moscou#,
    #Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska#,
    Dimanche, 27 Mai, 1883.

I am perfectly exhausted, Dear, after the most beautiful, bewildering,
exhausting day I have ever gone through. We got home at 4.30. I rested a
little, had tea as usual in my boudoir with W. and Richard, and will
write as much as I can while I am still under the impression of all I
have seen.

I was up at 5.30, as we had to leave here at 7. Philippe was very
punctual--put on diadem and feathers very well. Happily it was all blue,
rather dark (as my dress too was blue), and he remarked pleasantly, to
put me at my ease I think, and make me feel as comfortable as I could at
that hour of the morning, "Le bleu c'est le fard de Madame." He couldn't
understand that I wouldn't let him maquiller my face--said all the
Princesses were painted--but I really couldn't go that.

When I appeared in the drawing-room, the men of the Embassy were very
complimentary about my dress. We went in our three carriages (I had the
white moiré cloak, trimmed with dark feathers over me), W. and I and
Pontécoulant in the first gala carriage driven by Leroy (I wish you
could have seen him, as much taken up with _his dress_ as I was with
mine). He stood giving directions to a quantity of understrappers, but
never touching harness, nor even whip, until we appeared, then got on
his box as we got into the carriage, settled himself in a fine pose, and
we started.

The second gala carriage driven by Hubert (who looked very well) came
next, and then the d'Orsay. It really was a very pretty cortége, and we
were much looked at and admired, as we drove very slowly, and jolting
very much, to the German Embassy. All our colleagues came up about the
same time. Some of the gala carriages were good, the Austrian, but ours
out and out the best. No one else had three.

We assembled in one of the large rooms of the palace, and then walked
through numerous rooms, galleries, and finally through an open court,
entirely covered with a red carpet, and lined with soldiers and
officers--every description of uniform. The Chevalier-Gardes,
magnificent in their white tunics, silver cuirasses and helmets.
Happily it was fine--I don't know what we should have done in the rain,
and also so early in the morning the sun was not gênant (as it was later
in the day). The long procession, the men in uniform and decorations;
the women in full dress, feathers and diadems, was most effective.

I left my cloak in the carriage, and didn't feel chilly, but some of the
women were uncomfortable, and had little lace and fur tippets. We filed
into the church (which is small), and into the Diplomatic Tribune, and
settled ourselves quite easily--there was plenty of room. The effect
inside was dazzling: tapers, flowers, pictures, jewels, quantities of
women already seated, all in the Kakoshnik, and a general impression of
red and gold in their costumes. All the Empress's ladies wear red velvet
trains, embroidered in gold. People seemed to be coming in all the time.
Deputations from the provinces, officials of Moscow, officers,
chamberlains, a moving mass of colour. The costume of the Popes was
gorgeous--cloth of gold with very high jewelled mitres.

We waited some time before the ceremony began, but there was so much to
see that we didn't mind, and from time to time one of the officials came
and stood with us a little, explaining who all the people were. The
whole church was hung with red, and red carpets everywhere. Just in the
middle there was a high estrade, covered with red velvet, and a great
gold baldaquin with Imperial eagles embroidered on it. It was all
surrounded by a gold balustrade, and on it were the two thrones. A
little lower on the same estrade were the places of the Princes of the
family, and the Foreign Princes.

A little before 9 the Imperial family began to arrive. Almost all the
Grand Duchesses in trains of drap d'argent, bordered with sable, and
magnificent jewels. Then there was a great sound of trumpets, and
cheering outside (those curious, suppressed Russian cheers), and they
told us the Emperor and Empress were coming. They were preceded by an
officer of the Chevalier-Gardes, with sabre-à-nu. The Emperor was in
full uniform, with the blue ribbon of St. André. The Empress quite
simple in white and silver, the Imperial eagles embroidered on the
front of her dress; no diadem, no veil, nor jewels; her train carried by
4 pages, her hair quite simply done--she looked so young, quite like a
school-girl. Then followed a glittering suite of Princes, officers,
etc.

The service was very long, the chanting quite fine; the men have
beautiful, deep voices--I cared less for the intoning, they all end on
such a peculiar high note. I didn't like the looks of the Popes
either--the long beards worried me. Of course the real interest was when
the Emperor took the crown from the hands of the Pope (kneeling before
him) and put it on his own head. He looked a magnificent figure,
towering over everybody, as he stood there in his Imperial robes, cloth
of gold lined with ermine, and a splendid jewelled collar. The crown
looked high and heavy--made entirely of jewels.

His two brothers, Grand Dukes Wladimir and Alexis, put on his robes. The
Grand Duke Wladimir always stands close behind his brother. He has a
stern, keen face. He would be the Regent if anything should happen to
the Emperor, and I think his would be an iron rule.

As soon as the Emperor was crowned the Empress left her seat, came to
the middle of the platform, made a deep curtsey to the Emperor, and
knelt. Her court ladies then gathered around her, and put on the
Imperial mantle, also in cloth of gold lined with ermine, and the same
jewelled collar like the Emperor's. When she was dressed, the Emperor,
stooping low over her, put on her crown, a small one made entirely in
diamonds, raised her and kissed her. As she stood a moment she almost
staggered back under the weight of the mantle--the 4 pages could hardly
hold it.

Then the long procession of Princes and Princesses left their seats on
the estrade, and passed before the Sovereigns. First came his two
brothers, Wladimir and Alexis. They kissed the Emperor, then bent low
before the Empress, kissing her hand. She kissed them each on the
forehead. Next came the two young Princes, in uniform like their father,
wearing also the blue ribbon of St. André, and the little Grand Duchess
(aged 10) in a short white dress, but the Kakoshnik.

It was a pretty sight to see the children bowing and curtseying low to
their parents. Some of the ladies' curtseys were wonderful--the Arch
Duchess Charles Louis extraordinarily graceful (I wonder how I ever
shall get through mine--I am certainly much less souple than these
ladies). When they had all passed the Emperor went alone into the chapel
to communier, and receive the sacred oil--the Empress remained kneeling
outside.

[Illustration: The Emperor Crowning the Empress Church de l'Assomption]

We had various incidents in our tribune--one or two ladies fainted, but
couldn't get out, they had to be propped up against the rail, and
brought round with fans, salts, etc. We stood for three hours and a
half.

The Emperor and Empress left the church with the same ceremony (we all
following), and then there was a curious function. Under a dais, still
in their court robes, their trains carried by six or eight officers,
they walked around the enceinte, going into three or four churches to
make their devotions, all of us and all the other Princes following, all
their suites, and an accompaniment of bells, cannon, music, and cheers.
(I forgot to say that when the Emperor put his crown on his head in the
church, the cannon announced to his people that their sovereign was
crowned.)

We had a few drops of rain, then the sun came out strong, and I was
rather wretched--however Général Pittié came to my rescue, and shaded me
with his hat (all the men were bareheaded). There were tribunes all
along the route for the people who hadn't been able to get into the
church; in one of them all the younger members of the Embassies, as of
course _all_ couldn't be got inside. These two were all gold and red,
filled with women, mostly in white, and men in uniform. You can't
imagine what a gorgeous sight it was, and the crowd below packed tight,
all gaping at the spectacle.

We didn't dirty our dresses (the trains of course we carried in our
arms), I don't know why, as the red carpet was decidedly damp and
muddyish in places. We finally arrived at the Vieux Palais, where we
were to breakfast, and the Emperor and Empress were also to have a
little respite before dining in state with their people.

We had a handsome breakfast, quantities of gold and silver plate, and
many Russian dishes. I didn't much like the looks of the soup, which was
clear, but had various things floating about on it--uncooked fish,
little black balls, which I thought might be caviar, which I don't ever
like; and I was rather wondering what I should eat (I was very hungry),
when my neighbor, Nigra, the Italian Ambassador, suggested I should
share his meal. He didn't like Russian cookery either, so he had
intrigued with a friendly official, who was going to bring him a cold
chicken and a bottle of good red wine. I accepted joyfully, and we had a
very good breakfast.

I think we were about three-quarters of an hour at table, and it was
very pleasant to sit down after those hours of standing. When the
breakfast was over, a little after two, we were conducted to the
Imperial dining-room, a square, low room in the old Kremlin with a
vaulted ceiling, and heavy Byzantine decorations; quantities of
paintings on a gold ground, bright coloured frescoes, most elaborate.
There were great buffets and tables covered with splendid gold and
silver plates, flagons, vases, etc. At the end of the room was a square,
raised platform covered with red, and a splendid dais, all purple
velvet, ermine, and gold embroidery where the Imperial couple were to
dine with their faithful subjects.

We strangers were merely admitted for a few minutes to see the beginning
of the meal, and then we retired, and the Emperor remained alone with
his people. Of course officers and officials of all descriptions were
standing close round the platform. There was a large table to the
left as we came in, where almost all the Russians were already
assembled--all the women in the national dress, high Kakoshnik, long
white lace spangled veil, and a sort of loose hanging sleeve which was
very effective. The ensemble was striking.

[Illustration: Empress Marie in her Coronation Robes]

Presently we heard a sound of music and trumpets, which told us the
Royalties were approaching, and as they came near we heard the familiar
strains of the Polonaise from Glinka's opera "La Vie pour le Czar,"
which is always played when the Emperor and Empress appear. They came
with the usual escort of officers and chamberlains, smiling and bowing
graciously to all of us. They seated themselves (always in their cloth
of gold mantles, and crowns on their heads) on the two throne chairs; a
small table was placed in front of them, and then the dinner began.

The soupière was preceded by a chamberlain in gold lace; held by a
Master of Ceremonies, and flanked on each side by a gigantic
Chevalier-garde, sabre-à-nu. There was always a collection of officials,
chamberlains, pages, etc., bringing up the rear of the cortége, so that
at each entrée a little procession appeared. We saw three dishes brought
in with the same ceremony--the fish was so large on a large silver dish
that _two_ Masters of Ceremonies held that.

It was really a wonderful sight, like a picture in some old history of
the Moyen Age. As soon as the Sovereigns had taken their places on the
thrones all the Russians at their table sat down too. We couldn't,
because we had nothing to sit upon, so we remained standing at the end
of the room, facing the estrade. They told us that when the Emperor
raised his glass and asked for wine that was the signal for us to
retire; and that it would be after the roast. (All our instructions were
most carefully given to us by Benckendorff, who felt his
responsibility.) Think what his position would have been if any member
of _his_ Embassy had made a "gaffe." Accordingly as soon as the roast
made its appearance all our eyes were riveted upon the Emperor. He
raised his glass slowly (very high) to give us time. General Schweinitz,
as Doyen, stepped well forward, and made a very low bow. We all bowed
and curtseyed low (my knees are becoming more supple) and got ourselves
out backwards. It wasn't very difficult, as we had our trains over our
arms.

I don't think we shall see anything more curious than that state
banquet. I certainly shall never see again a soup tureen guarded by
soldiers with drawn swords.

    10 o'clock.

We dined quietly, everyone giving his experiences--of course the younger
members of the Embassy, who had no places in the church, had a better
impression of the ensemble than we had. They said the excitement
and emotion of the crowd in the square before the church was
extraordinary. All crossed themselves, and many cried, when the cannon
told them that the Emperor was crowned. They seem to be an emotional,
superstitious race. They also said the procession around the courts,
when the Emperor and Empress were going to the various churches, was
wonderful--a moving mass of feathers, jewels, banners, bright helmets,
and cuirasses, all glittering in the sun.

After dinner we drove about a little, seeing the illuminations, but the
crowd was so dense we could hardly move, though the soldiers did all
they could, and battered the people about. Then it began to rain a
little, so I begged to come home. It is raining quite hard now--I
hear it on the marquise. Heavens how tired I am.

Of course I can't write half of what I have seen, but the papers will
keep you quite au courant. Some of the newspaper correspondents were in
the church, and of course plenty in the tribunes outside. Our carriages
certainly made a great effect, and we were cheered various times on our
way home.

Madame Hubert talks so much she can hardly get me my things. She is as
much pleased with her husband's appearance as I am with mine. What an
experience for them, when you think that she had never been out of
Villers-Cotterets and Bourneville when she came to us, and Paris seemed
a Paradise.

    #Ambassade de France à Moscou#,
    #Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska#,
    Monday, May 28th, 1883.

We were all again in Court dress at 11 this morning to go to the Palace
and present our felicitations to the Imperial couple. I wore the same
blue dress, as my pink one goes on to-night for the "courtag" at the
Palace. It seems there was some misunderstanding about our being
received this morning, so some of our colleagues had come, and gone,
rather put out at the vagueness of the instructions. We decided to
remain, as we had arrived there in all our finery, particularly as one
of the chamberlains told us it would be most interesting. Deputations
from the provinces were to present addresses of felicitation and we
would see all the national costumes.

As we had some time to wait, the Greek chamberlain suggested that we
should take advantage of that opportunity to be presented to the Queen
of Greece. He thought he could arrange it, so he went off to her
rooms, and presently reappeared with the maid of honour, Mlle.
Colocotroni (a friend of Gertrude's), and we were taken at once to the
Queen, who was standing in a small salon overlooking the river. She is
young and handsome, fair, stoutish, but tall enough to carry it off
well, and was chatty and sympathetic--said she supposed I was quite
tired after yesterday, that it was certainly very trying; that the
person who was the least tired was the Empress. She had met her in one
of the corridors in the interval between the ceremony at the church, or
rather the churches (as she went to three after leaving the Assomption).
She had taken off her Imperial mantle and crown, and was going to see
one of her numerous relations before beginning again.

As soon as our audience was over we returned to the large audience hall,
where we found Benckendorff tearing his hair, in a wild state, because
we were late--all our colleagues had taken their places. However we were
in time, and ranged ourselves, the ladies all together on the right, the
men opposite. I was the Doyenne, and stood at the head of the column (as
neither Lady Thornton nor Mdme. Schweinitz was there). All about the
room were groups of people from the provinces waiting their turn, but
there was such a crowd of uniforms and costumes that one could hardly
distinguish anything.

Presently the Court appeared--the Emperor always in uniform, the Empress
in a very handsome train, blue velvet, embroidered in gold, and a
splendid tiara, necklace and front of sapphires. They had the usual
train of Princes, chamberlains, aides-de-camp, etc. As soon as they had
taken their places on the platform all the Missions (men) advanced
according to their rank. The Ambassador made a few steps forward, said a
few words of felicitation to the Emperor (the Mission remaining at a
respectful distance behind), then made a low bow, and all retired à
reculons.

The Austrian Embassy looked very well--the Hungarian uniforms are so
handsome. The Americans also very well, though they have no uniform,
wear ordinary black evening clothes. The Admiral and his two
aides-de-camp of course wore theirs, but it is so quiet, dark blue with
little lace, and no orders, that one would hardly have remarked it
except for the epaulettes and aiguillettes.

As soon as all the men of the Corps Diplomatique had passed the Empress
left her place and came to us. Her train was carried by 4 pages, a high
official, red velvet and gold lace, carrying the extreme end. She passed
down the line of ladies, saying something to each one. I heard her speak
three languages--English, French, and German--quite easily.

We waited until the Court retired, and then there was the usual stampede
for the carriages. I have not been out again this afternoon. We start
for our Court ball at 8.45, and of course dine early. I was interrupted
by Philippe, who came to coiffer me, having as usual stopped in the
lingerie to inspect my dress, the pink one this time. He tells me he
began to dress some of the heads for to-night at 12 this morning.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Ambassade de France à Moscou#,
    #Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska#,
    Mardi, 29 Mai, 1883.

I will begin my letter while I am waiting to go with some of the
gentlemen and Benckendorff to see the preparations for the great
people's fête. I couldn't write last night, I was so tired out. Two
court dresses and functions, and hours of standing is a good deal for
one day. We started early, at a quarter to 9. We assembled in the same
room in the old Kremlin where the Imperial couple had dined this
afternoon. Almost all our colleagues and some of the swell Russians were
already there, and everyone moved about, talking and looking until the
welcome strains of the march told us the Emperor and Empress were
coming.

One of the chamberlains showed me some of the most curious old bowls and
flagons. The work is rather rough, and the stones enormous--not well
cut--but the effect is good, half barbaric. The Court appeared always
with the same brilliant suite--the Empress looked charming in a pink
velvet train, embroidered in silver. All the Grand Duchesses in drap
d'argent, bordered with beautiful black sable.

As soon as the Court arrived the polonaise began; the Emperor making the
first with Queen of Greece, the Empress with Schweinitz. It was a
charming sight. All the trains were étalées their full length. The
gentleman takes his partner's hand, holding it very high, and they
make a stately progress through the rooms. I didn't dance the first one.
We had a very good view of the whole thing. It was a beautiful
sight--the men all in uniform, with orders, and broad ribbons; and the
women with their trains down the full length. The Russian trains, of
white and silver bordered with fur, made a great effect.

The Emperor danced (which is a façon de parler only, as one walked
through the rooms) with the Queen of Greece, Arch Duchess Charles Louis,
and the Ambassadrices Lady Thornton, Mdme. Jaurès, Countess Dudzeele,
and me--the Empress with the 6 Ambassadors. I danced the second
polonaise with the Grand Duke Wladimir, who is handsome and spirited
looking. He told me who many of the people were. In one of the rooms
were all the Russian women, not in costume, but in ordinary ball dress,
all, however, wearing the Kakoshnik studded with jewels, and most
becoming it was.

I was much interested (before my turn came) to see how the ladies got
back to their places after having been deposited by the Emperor in the
middle of the room. He doesn't conduct his partner back as all the
others do. He goes back to his own place, the lady makes a curtsey,
and gets back to hers across the room backwards as well as she can. They
seemed to get through all right. I rather enjoyed my polonaise with the
Emperor. He showed me quantities of people--a splendid man from some
part of Asia dressed in white, with jewels, coloured stones mostly, all
down the front of his coat, and pistols in his belt with jewelled hilts.
Also the Khan of Khiva, with all the front of his high fur cap covered
with jewels, also his belt, which seemed made entirely of diamonds
and rubies.

The music was always the march from Glinka's opera; each band in turn
taking it up as the cortége passed through the rooms. The last Polonaise
finished about 11.30, and the Court immediately retired. We had no
refreshments of any kind, and made the same rush for the carriages.

Our rentrée to the Embassy is most amusing--the whole Mission precedes
us, and when we arrive we find them ranged in a semicircle at the foot
of the staircase, waiting to receive us. Richard says he never
understood the gulf that separates an Ambassador Extraordinary
from ordinary mortals until he accompanied his brother to Moscow.

    5 o'clock.

We had rather an interesting afternoon. We met one of the committee at
the place, sort of great plain, or meadow, where the Fête Populaire is
to be, near the Petrofski Palace, where the Emperor stayed before he
made his public entrée into Moscow, who showed us everything. There are
quantities of little sheds or baraques, where everybody (and there will
be thousands, he tells us) will receive a basket with a meat pâté, a
pâté of confitures, a cake, and a package of bonbons. There are also
great barrels of beer, where everyone can go with a mug and drink as
much as he can hold.

We asked M. (I forget his name) how it was possible to take precautions
with such a crowd of people, but he said they anticipated no danger, it
was the "people's day," which sounded to us rather optimistic. It was
rather nice driving about.

Now I have just been, at the request of Lhermite, to look at his table,
as we have our first big dinner to-night (all Russians); all the
flowers, "Roses de France," have just arrived from Paris--three nights
on the road; they look quite fresh and beautiful,--were packed alone in
large hampers. I shall wear my blue tulle ball-dress to-night, as we go
to the ball at the Governor's Palace after dinner.

    Wednesday, 30th.

Our dinner was pleasant last night. As it was entirely Russian we had
the curious meal they all take just before dinner. A table was spread in
the small salon opening into the dining-room, with smoked and salted
fish, caviare, cucumbers, anchovies, etc. They all partook, and then we
passed into the dining-room, where the real business began. I sat
between M. de Giers, Foreign Minister, and Count Worontzoff, Ministre de
la Cour. They were very pleasant, and rather amusing over the exigencies
of the suites of the foreign Princes; the smaller the Power the more
important the chamberlains, equerries, etc.--rather like our own
experience the year of the Exhibition in Paris, where a Baden equerry, I
think, was forgotten (which of course was most improper at the Quai
d'Orsay), and most delicate negotiations were necessary. Both gentlemen
were very complimentary over the dinner and the flowers--asked where in
Moscow we had been able to find them, and could hardly believe they had
arrived this morning, three nights and three days on the road. They were
beautiful, those lovely pink "Roses de France," which looked quite
charming with the dark blue Sèvres china.

The guests went off about 10; and we half an hour later to the great
ball. I wore my light blue tulle with silver braid; and I will add that
I left the greater part of the tulle at the Palace. Happily the silk
under-skirt was strong, or else I should have stood in my petticoats.
The crowd and heat was something awful--the staircase was a regular
bousculade, and I was thankful those big Russian spurs merely tore my
flounces, and didn't penetrate any further. We finally arrived,
struggling and already exhausted, in the ballroom, where we found all
the Grand Dukes and Grand Duchesses already assembled to receive the
Emperor.

We had some little time to wait, so they all came over and talked to us.
The Queen of Greece is most attractive--so simple. She noticed that my
dress was torn and flowers crushed, but said, what was quite true, that
no one would remark it in the crowd. We soon heard the sound of the
March, and then there was such a rush towards the door by which the
Emperor and Empress were to enter that we quickly withdrew into the
embrasure of the window, and let the torrent pass. They tried to make a
circle, but it was impossible. The crowd was dense. W. and I made our
way quickly to the head of the stairs and waited there, as they had told
us the Emperor would not stay long--merely make a tour through the
rooms.

They appeared very soon, shook hands with us both, and seemed very glad
to get away. The Empress was in light blue, with a beautiful diamond
tiara. It is rather pretty to see the Grand Duke Wladimir _always_ close
to his brother, to shield him from any danger. We were all rather cross
when we got home.

This morning I have been shopping with W., Richard, and Pontécoulant. It
is rather an unsatisfactory performance, as we can't either speak or
understand Russian. In the bazaars and real Moscow shops they know
nothing but Russian. We take the little polygot boy with us (always
ahead in his little droshky) but as he invariably announces "la grande
Ambassade" we _see_ the prices go up. Some of the enamel and gold and
silver work is beautiful. Richard was quite fascinated with the
Madonnas, with their black faces and wands, set in a handsome frame of
gold, with light blue enamel. He bought two, one for Louise and one for
me, which I am delighted to have. We bought various little boxes, some
of lacquer, others in silver, rather prettily worked, and a variety of
fancy spoons, buckles, etc.

I must stop now and dress. We dine at 6, so as to be at the Opéra at 9.
We shall go "en gala," our three carriages, as it is a fine warm night.
The detective is a little anxious for to-night (it would be such a good
opportunity to get rid of all the Russian Princes, to say nothing of the
foreigners). He and Pontécoulant suggested to W. that I should be left
at home, but I protested vigorously. If they all go, I am going too. I
don't feel very nervous, I wonder why; for it really is a little
uncomfortable--unusual to hesitate about going to the Opéra because one
might be blown up.


    _To H. L. K._

    Jeudi, May 31st, 1883.

I was too tired to write last night, though the opera was over fairly
early. It was a beautiful sight, the house brilliantly lighted and
crowded, nothing but uniforms, orders, and jewels. There was one dark
box, which of course attracted much attention; the Americans--all the
men in black, except the three naval officers--(we were acclamés all
along the route, and I must say Leroy and Hubert looked very well in
their tricornes and powdered wigs). I wore the crème embroidered velvet
with blue satin front, tiara, and blue feathers in my hair. I fancy
Philippe had made a sort of tower on the top of my head, but he again
assured me I must have a "coiffure de circonstance."

The square before the Opéra was brilliantly lighted (they certainly
light most beautifully in Russia--thousands of candles everywhere), a
red carpet down, and quantities of palms and flowers--always also
quantities of gilded gentlemen. We didn't wait very long for the
Court to appear--about a quarter of an hour--and were much taken up
looking at everything, and everybody, and trying to recognize our
friends. A large box at one end of the house, opposite the stage, was
reserved for the Royalties, all draped of course in red and gold.

Everyone rose when the Emperor and Empress arrived, always with their
brilliant cortége of Princes. One of the most striking uniforms was the
Prince of Montenegro's, but they all made a fine show, and a most
effective background for the women--the orchestra playing the Russian
Hymn, the chorus singing it, all the house applauding, and all eyes
fixed on the Royal box.

It was really magnificent, and the Emperor looked pleased. They gave the
first act of Glinka's opera "La Vie pour le Czar." When the curtain fell
the whole house rose again; when the Emperor and Empress left their box
there was a general movement among the people, and some of our
colleagues had come to pay us a visit when Count Worontzoff (Ministre de
la Cour) appeared and said, "Sa Majesté" hoped we would come and have
tea with her, and he would have the honour of showing us the way; so he
gave me his arm and took me to the foyer, which was very well arranged
with flowers, plants, and red carpets.

There were several round tables. He took me to the Empress' table, where
were the Queen of Greece, Grand Duchesses Constantine and Wladimir, Lady
Thornton, and Madame Jaurès; also Nigra, Schweinitz, and a brother of
the Shah de Perse. The Empress looked so young, in white, with a broad
red ribbon, and splendid diamonds. The Queen of Greece was charming,
asked me if I ever found time to write to Francis. The Emperor didn't
sit down--he walked about between the tables, and talked to everybody.

We stayed, I should think, about half an hour at the tea-table, and then
went back to the theatre. The ballet was long, but interesting, all the
mazurkas of the Empire were danced in costume. We got our carriages
easily enough, and the arrangements were good. The younger members of
the Mission who didn't go for tea with the Empress found the entr'acte
long.

    Saturday, June 2d.

I couldn't write yesterday, Dear, for I was in bed until dinner-time,
thoroughly tired out. Neither W. nor I went to the ball on Thursday
night given by the "Noblesse de Moscou." I hoped to be able to go to the
ball of the German Embassy last night, but I couldn't do that either. I
felt rather better about 6 o'clock, and sent for my dress, as W.
particularly wanted me to go, but the minute I stood up and tried to
dress I was half fainting, so there was no use persisting.

The fatigue has been something awful, and the hours of standing have
made it impossible to put on my Paris shoes, and I have been obliged to
buy white satin _boats_ at one of the Moscow shoemakers. The bootmakers
will make his fortune, as it seems everybody is in the same state. The
Empress even can't wear her usual shoes, and all the women have left off
coquettish little shoes that match their dresses, and taken to these
rather primitive chaussures.

W. and all the gentlemen went to the ball, and said it was very
handsome--everything, silver, supper, servants, etc., had been sent from
Berlin. Madame Schweinitz, who has a young baby, arrived from Petersburg
the morning of the ball. Count Eulenbourg--one of the German Emperor's
Maîtres des Cérémonies--had also arrived to decide about the questions
of precedence, place, etc. The Court remained to supper, so of course
the Ambassadors were obliged to stay. W. got home at 2 o'clock, very
late for this country, where everything begins early.

Richard and Pontécoulant are getting great friends. Pontécoulant
blagues[5] him all the time--says he is getting a perfect courtier, and
that his electors in the Seine Inférieure would be scandalized if they
could see him. I must dress now for the "Fête Populaire," and will write
more when I get back.

[5] Teases.

    9 o'clock.

I have retired to my own quarters. W. dines with Nigra, so I have
remained in my dressing-room, as I have still a "fond de fatigue." The
Fête Populaire was interesting. The day has been beautiful, and
there was not a hitch of any kind. The drive out was interesting, on
account of the people, a steady stream of peasants of all ages going the
same way. We went at once to the Loge Impériale, a large pavilion
erected at the entrance facing the great plain. The space was so
enormous that one hardly distinguished anything. The booths and towers
looked like little spots, and they were very far off. The Emperor and
Empress never left the Loge. He certainly didn't go down and walk about
among the people, as some enthusiastic gentlemen had told us he would.
Of course all the same people were assembled in the Loge--Diplomatists,
Court officials, officers, etc. There was a cold lunch always going on.

There were many white dresses--all Russian women wear white a great deal
at any age. The Princess Kotchoubey--78 years old--who put the Imperial
mantle on the Empress the day of the sacre, and who had done the same
thing for the late Empress, was dressed entirely in white, bonnet,
mantle, everything.

The Court remained about an hour, and we left as soon as they did. There
was some little delay getting our carriages, but on the whole the thing
was well managed. Already some people were coming away looking very
smiling, and carrying their baskets most carefully. I will bring you one
of the mugs they gave me with the chiffre of the Emperor and Empress,
and the date.

    Sunday, June 3d.

I stayed at home all the morning, quite pleased to have nothing to do.
This afternoon W., Pontécoulant, and I went for a little turn. We got
out of the carriage at the Kremlin, and walked about, having a quiet
look at everything. The view from the terrace was enchanting, the
afternoon sun lighting up all the curious old buildings, and bringing
out the colours of everything.

This evening we have had a diplomatic dinner. I was between Schweinitz
and Sir Edward Thornton. Both of them talked a great deal. After dinner
I talked some time to Hunt, whom I like very much. He says many people,
Russians particularly, couldn't understand why he didn't wear his
uniform--"ce n'est pas très poli pour nous." They can't conceive that
the representative of a great Power shouldn't be attired in velvet and
gold like all the rest of the Embassies.

The table was again covered with pink roses. They just last through the
dinner, and fall to pieces as soon as they are taken out of the vases.
Some of them looked so fresh, not even in full bloom, that I thought I
could send some French roses to Countess Pahlen, and the moment we left
the dining-room Lhermite took them off the table, but they fell to
pieces in his hands, covering the floor with their petals.

    Monday, June 4th.

This morning we have been photographed in the court-yard--the whole
establishment, gala carriages, servants, horses, moujiks, maids, cooks,
etc. First there was the "classic" group of the Mission, W. and I seated
in front, with all the gentlemen standing around us. It was very long
getting the poses all right so as to show everybody in an advantageous
light; and as it is (judging from the cliché) François de Corcelle looks
as if he was throttling me. Then came the group of the whole party, and
it was amusing to see how eager the Russian maids and the stable-men
were to be well placed. They stood as still as rocks. We waited a little
to see the gala carriages and horses taken, but that was too long. The
horses were nervous, and never were quiet an instant. Now someone has
gone to get a drum--they think the sudden noise may make them all look
in the same direction for a moment.

W. and I have been out for a turn--to the Kremlin of course, which is
really the most interesting part of Moscow. There is always the same
crowd hurrying and jostling each other. We went all over St. Basile. The
inside is curious, with a succession of rooms and dark recesses, but the
outside is unique; such an agglomeration of domes, steeples,
bell-towers; all absolutely different in shape and colour--perfectly
barbarous, but very striking.

W. enjoys our quiet afternoon drives, the perpetual representation,
seeing always the same people, and saying and hearing the same things,
is beginning to tire him. It is a curious life. We see nothing but the
Court and the people--no haute bourgeoisie nor intermediate class, and
yet they exist, people in finance and commercial affairs. They certainly
have had no part in the show--I should think there must be great
discontent. The young generation certainly will never be satisfied to
be kept entirely out of everything. Some of them have travelled, been
educated in England, have handsome houses, English horses, etc., but
apparently they don't exist--at least we have never seen any.

I must stop, as we dress and dine early for the Palace Ball. My Dear, my
dress is frightfully green (Delannoy's green velvet coat over pink
tulle). Of course we chose it by candle-light, when it looked charming;
but as we dress and start by daylight I am rather anxious. I consulted
Pontécoulant, who came in just as the maids were bringing it in. He
said, "C'est bien vert, Madame." Let us hope that the light of thousands
of wax candles may have a subduing effect.


    _To G. K. S._

    #Ambassade de France, Moscow#,
    #Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska#,
    June 5, 1883.

The Palace ball was quite beautiful last night. I had some misgivings as
to my dress until we got to the Palace, as the gentlemen of the Embassy
had evidently found me _very green_ when we assembled in the great hall
before starting; however as soon as we arrived in the big room of the
Palace where we were all marshalled, Countess Linden (an American born)
said to me at once "Oh, Mdme. Waddington, how lovely your pink roses
look on the _dark blue_ velvet," so I knew it was all right. I wore that
dress of Delannoy's which she was sure would be most effective--pink
tulle skirts--with a green velvet habit (chosen of course by
candle-light) so that it did look very green by daylight, and a wreath
of pink roses round the décolleté. I remember both Henrietta and Pauline
were a little doubtful--but it certainly made more effect than any dress
I wore except the blue manteau de cour. I will tell Delannoy. We always
go in by a special side entrance to these Palace functions, which is a
pity, as we miss the grand staircase, which they told us was splendid
with red carpets, soldiers, and gold-laced gentlemen to-night. We waited
some time, an hour certainly, before the Court came, but as all the
Corps Diplomatique were assembled there it was pleasant enough, and we
all compared our experiences and our fatigue, for everybody was dead
tired--the men more than the women.

The rooms are magnificent--very high, and entirely lighted by wax
candles--thousands; one of the chamberlains told me how many, but I
would scarcely dare to say. The Court arrived with the usual ceremony
and always the same brilliant suite of officers and foreign Princes. The
Emperor and Empress looked very smiling, and not at all tired. She was
in white, with splendid diamonds and the broad blue ribbon of St. André.
He always in uniform. As soon as they appeared the polonaises began,
this time three only, which the Emperor danced with the ladies of the
family. I danced the first with the Grand Duke Wladimir. He is charming
and amiable, but has a stern face when he isn't smiling. I think if the
Russians ever feel his hand it will be a heavy one. I danced the second
with the Grand Duke Alexis, and looked on at the third. It was not
nearly so fine a sight as the Court ball at the old palace. _There_ the
mixture of modern life and dress and half barbaric costumes and
ornamentations was so striking; also the trains made such an effect,
being all étaléd one was obliged to keep a certain distance, and that
gave a stately air to the whole thing which was wanting last night when
all the women were in ordinary ball dress, not particularly long, so
that the cortége was rather crowded and one saw merely a mass of
jewelled heads (the dress was lost). Also they merely walked around the
ballroom, not going through all the rooms as we did at the old palace.

When the polonaises were over there were one or two waltzes. The Empress
made several turns, but with the Princes only, and we stood and looked
on.

While we were waiting there until someone should come and get us for
some new function I heard a sort of scuffle behind me and a woman's
impatient voice saying in English "I can't bear it another moment," and
a sound of something falling or rolling across the floor. I turned
round and saw Mdme. A---- (a secretary's wife, also an American)
apparently struggling with something, and very flushed and excited. I
said, "What is the matter?" "I am kicking off my shoes." "But you can
never put them on again." "I don't care if I never see them again--I
can't stand them another minute." "But you have to walk in a cortége to
supper with the Imperial party." "I don't care at all, I shall walk in
my stockings," then came another little kick, and the slipper
disappeared, rolling underneath a heavy damask curtain. I quite
sympathized with her, as my beautiful white slippers (Moscow
manufacture) were not altogether comfortable, but I think I should not
have had the strength of mind to discard them entirely. When I was
dressing, Adelaide tried to persuade me that I had better put on the
pink satin slippers that matched my dress; but my experience of the
hours of standing at all Russian Court functions had at least taught me
not to start with anything that was at all tight.

While we were looking at the dancing the Grand Duke Michel came over and
asked me if I wouldn't come and stand a little with the Grand Duchesses.
He took me to a little group where were the Grand Duchesses Michel and
Constantine and the Queen of Greece (she is always so gay and natural).
They at once asked me who had made my dress, and what color it was. They
had been talking about it, and couldn't agree. The Grand Duchess
Constantine had on her emeralds, and beautiful they were--blocks of
stone, rather difficult to wear. She must have been very handsome, has
still a beautiful figure, and holds herself splendidly.

We talked music a little--she said I ought to hear some of the people's
songs. I should like to very much, but there doesn't seem any place
where one can hear the national songs. The men of the Embassy went one
night to the "Hermitage," where there was a little of everything, and
did hear some of the peasants singing their national airs, but they
didn't seem to think I could go. While we were still talking there was a
move, and they said the Empress (who had been dancing all the time in
a small circle made for her at her end of the ballroom and very strictly
kept) was going to have tea. All the Court and suite followed, and I was
rather wondering how to get back to my place and my colleagues when a
tall aide-de-camp came up and said he would have the honour of
conducting me to Her Majesty's tea--so we started off across several
rooms and corridors, which were crowded, and arrived at a door where the
two gigantic negroes were standing. He said something--the doors flew
open--he made me a low bow and retired (as he couldn't come any
farther), and I found myself standing alone in a large room with four or
five tables--everyone seated. For a moment I didn't know quite what
to do, and felt rather shy, but the Princess Kotchoubey, Grande
Maîtresse, who was standing in the middle of the room, came forward at
once and took me to the Duchesse d'Edimbourg's table, where there were
also the Arch-Duchess Charles Louis, the Duchess of Oldenburg, a young
Hessian Prince, and my two colleagues, Lady Thornton and Madame Jaurès.

We had tea and ices--didn't talk much, except the Duchess of Edinburgh,
who seems clever and ready to talk--but I wasn't near her. I didn't see
all the Ambassadors, mine certainly wasn't there, and of course very
few comparatively of our colleagues, as only Ambassadors and their wives
were invited to Her Majesty's tea (no small fry, like Ministers).

I had the explanation of W.'s absence later. When the Court moved off to
tea General Wolseley suggested that W. should come and smoke a cigar in
his room. He was lodged at the Kremlin with his Prince, the Duke of
Edinburgh. He, like a true Briton, had enough of bowing and standing. W.
was naturally quite of the same opinion, so they picked up Admiral
Seymour (also with the Duke of Edinburgh) and had a very pleasant hour
smoking and talking until they were summoned for supper. _That_ they
couldn't get out of, as we made a fine procession directly behind the
Court through all the rooms to St. George's Hall--a great white high
room magnificently lighted, with tablets all around the walls with the
names of the Knights of the Order of St. George who had died in battle,
and a souper assis for 800 people. Sir Edward Thornton, British
Ambassador, took me. As we were parading through the rooms between two
hedges of gaping people looking at the cortége, dresses, diamonds, etc.,
I thought of Mdme. A---- and her stockings, and wondered how she was
getting on. I daresay quite well; as she had a yellow satin dress and
yellow silk stockings perhaps no one noticed anything, and as long as
she didn't step on a needle or anything sharp she was all right. Someone
will find a nice little pair of yellow satin shoes under the
window-curtains in the ballroom when the cleaning up is done after the
fêtes.

The hall was a blaze of light and jewels--a long table across the end
for the Imperial party, and all of us at two long tables running the
whole length of the room. The gold and silver plate was very handsome,
particularly the massive flambeaux and high ornaments for the middle of
the table. The supper was good, hot, and quickly served. There was music
all the time--singers, men and women, in a gallery singing all sorts of
Russian airs which nobody listened to. The Emperor did not sit down to
supper. He remained standing in the middle of the room talking to his
gentlemen, and a few words to the diplomatists when supper was over and
one loitered a little before going back to the ballroom. He certainly
doesn't care to talk to strangers--seeks them out very little, and when
he does talk it is absolutely banal. Is it "paresse d'esprit" or great
reserve?--one hardly knows. I should think all this parade and function
bored him extremely. They say he is very domestic in his tastes, and
what he likes best is the country with his wife and children.

After supper we went back to the ballroom for about half an hour. Then
the Court retired and we followed them at once. We got our carriages
fairly quickly. There are always crowds in the streets waiting to see
the grand-monde pass. The Kremlin looks fairy-like as we drive
through--lights everywhere, some high, high up in a queer little octagon
green tower--then a great doorway and staircase all lighted, with
quantities of servants and soldiers standing about; then a bit of rough
pavement in a half dark court and under a little low dark gate with a
shrine and Madonna at one end--all so perfectly unmodern, and unlike
anything else.

       *       *       *       *       *

I began my letter this morning before breakfast, but didn't finish, as I
was called off by some visits, and now I will try and send this off by
to-night's courier. We have had a nice afternoon looking at the Trésor.
Of course it was very hurried--it would take weeks to see everything.
The collection of state carriages and sleighs is interesting. Almost all
the carriages are French--either given to the various Russian Sovereigns
by French Kings, or ordered in France by the Sovereigns themselves. The
great sledge in which Catharine II. made all her long voyages is
comfortable enough, and not unlike the "wagons impériaux" in which we
travelled from Varsovie to Moscow.

Then we saw all the Coronation robes, crowns, sapphires, swords,
jewelled belts and collars, furs, etc., of all the old Emperors from
Ivan the Terrible down to the late Emperor. Some of the crowns of the
first Ivans and Peters are extraordinary--a sort of high fur cap
covered with jewels, but heavy and roughly made--the jewels always
beautiful, such large stones, particularly sapphires and rubies. There
were vitrines full of splendid gold and silver cups and dishes, presents
to the Emperor from all the different provinces.

They tell us the present Emperor has had magnificent things given to
him, but we have not seen them yet. We met various people also going
through the Museum, and I had quite a talk with Radziwill (you know
which one I mean, who married Countess Malatesta's daughter). It seemed
funny to go back to the old Roman days, and the evenings (prima-sera) in
the Malatesta Palace. He says everybody is worn out with the ceremonies
and the standing--however, to-night is the end, with our dinner at the
Palace.

I have again been interrupted--this time by a visit from the Duc
d'Aoste, whom I always find charming. He is not at all expansive and
very shy, but when one breaks the ice he is interesting. He doesn't look
like anybody else, nor as if he belonged to this century. It is quite
the face one would see in any old Spanish picture--a soldier-monk of
Velasquez. He talked about the Exhibition of '78, when W. was at the
Foreign Office, and I was almost tempted to tell him how embarrassed
we all were on the opening day when there were so many Ex-Spanish
Sovereigns--King François d'Assises, Queen Isabella, and King Amédée.
There was a big reception in the evening at the Elysée, and the
Maréchal[6] was rather bothered with all his Spanish Royalties. However,
Queen Isabella and the Duc d'Aoste were evidently on the best of terms.
I saw them talking together, and I believe all the Spaniards liked
d'Aoste, though naturally they wanted a King of their own race.

[6] MacMahon, President at that time of the French Republic.

Here is Monsieur Philippe for his last coiffure, as he says somewhat
sadly. To-night's dinner is our last function. We have then the revue,
by daylight, of course, and leave on Sunday for Petersburg.

    Wednesday, June 6th.

The gala dinner was handsome and _short_ last night. W. and I went off
alone (none but chefs de mission were invited) in the coupé d'Orsay,
always with Benckendorff in his carriage in front--W. in uniform, I in
my white and silver brocade, white feathers and diamonds in my hair, no
colour anywhere, not even on my cheeks, which reduces Philippe to a
state of prostrate stupefaction--"Madame qui pourrait être si bien."

We were received at the foot of the staircase and at the doors by all
the Chamberlains as usual and taken at once to the same Salle St. George
where we were to dine--all at the Imperial table this time--about 500
couverts. We were shown at once our seats--all the places were marked,
and we stood waiting behind our chairs (like the footmen) for the Court
to appear. I found myself seated between the Duc d'Aoste and the young
Crown Prince of Sweden, so I was quite satisfied. One of my colleagues
was very anxious I should change the papers--give her my Duke and take
her's, who was never civil to her, but would be perhaps to me, but I
demurred, as I knew mine would be nice, and I didn't know her's at all.
I don't think he was very nice to her, certainly didn't talk much, but
perhaps he never does.

We didn't wait very long. The Court was fairly punctual--the Empress
looked very nice, all in white with diamonds. She had on her right the
Duc d'Edimbourg (who always had the place of honour), and on her left
the Prince Waldemar de Danemark, her brother. The Emperor had the Queen
of Greece on his right, the Arch Duchess Charles Louis on his left. The
dinner wasn't bad, and was quickly served. The fish were enormous,
served on large silver dishes as big as boats. There was always that
curious Russian soup with all sorts of nondescript things floating about
on the surface. The Duc d'Aoste was as nice as possible--said the Court
officials would be enchanted when everything was over, and all the
foreign Princes safely back in their own countries, that the question of
etiquette was something awful. As soon as the Russian Court decided
anything all the others immediately protested--used all sorts of
precedents, and complicated matters in every way. I suggested that he
himself was difficult to place on account of the Duc de Montpensier, who
was here as a Spanish Prince, husband of the Infanta. He replied
"Absolument pas--je suis ici comme prince italien, frère du roi,"
declining any sort of Spanish souvenir.

When dinner was over we passed into the salle St. André for coffee, and
that was funny too. As soon as the Emperor and Empress made the move all
our Dukes and Princes got up at once, and joined the Imperial
procession, and we followed all in a heap. There we had a pleasant half
hour, the Empress and the Grand Duchesses came over and talked to us,
hoped we were not tired, that we had been interested, etc. I said to the
Grand Duchess Constantine that they must be enchanted to be at the end
of their functions, and to get rid of us all--but she said not at all.
She herself was much less tired than when she began. She asked me what I
had found the most striking in all the ceremonies. I said certainly the
Coronation--first the moment when the Emperor crowned himself--the only
figure standing on the dais, and afterwards when he crowned the Empress,
she kneeling before him.

The Empress asked me if I was going straight back to France, but she
didn't say, as so many of the others did, "Ce n'est pas adieu pour vous,
Mdme. Waddington, mais au revoir, car vous reviendrez certainement."
Admiral Jaurès having already resigned many people think W. will be the
next Ambassador, but he certainly won't come.

About 9 the Court retired. We had dined at 7, so the whole thing took
about two hours. It was quite light when we came out of the Palace, and
when we got back to the Maison Klein we found the Embassy just finishing
dinner, still in the dining-room. We sat a few minutes with them telling
our experiences. W. had been next to the Grand Duchess Michel, who was
very animated and intelligent, and extremely well posted in all literary
and political matters, and fairly just for a Princess speaking about a
Republic.

Poor Pontécoulant has had a telegram telling him of his brother's death.
He is very much upset, and goes off to-night. W. will miss him
extremely--he was his right-hand man. I have been out this morning
shopping with François de Courcelle. It isn't easy, as our Russian is
not fluent, but still we managed to find a few things.

This afternoon I have been with Lagrené (Consul), Sesmaisons, Corcelle,
and Calmon to the great institution of the "Enfants Trouvés" fondée par
l'Impératrice Cathérine II. There we found Admiral Jaurès and all his
staff, and a director who showed us all over the establishment--of
course everything was in perfect order, and perfectly clean (and I
believe it always is), but I should have preferred not having our visit
announced, so as to see the every-day working of the thing. We went
through quantities of rooms. In all, the Russian nurses with their high
head-dress (kakoshnik), the colour of the room, were standing, and
showed us most smilingly their babies. The rooms are all known by their
colours and the nurses dressed to correspond. All pink kakoshniks, for
instance, in the pink room, blue in the blue room, etc. It was rather
effective when all the women were standing in groups. The nurses were
decidedly young, some rather pretty faces, almost all fair. The
surveillante is a nice, kindly looking woman. We saw the whole ceremony.
In one of the rooms of the rez-de-chaussée we saw several women waiting
to take the children. The operation is always the same--one writes down
at once the name and age of the child (which is generally written on a
piece of paper pinned on to the clothes), they are always very young, 5
or 6 days old. Then they are undressed, weighed, and carried off by one
of the nurses, wrapped up in a blanket, to a bath. After the bath they
are dressed in quite clean, nice garments, and the nurse gives them
the breast at once. All the rooms, dortoirs, salles-debain, laundries,
kitchens, are as clean as possible, plenty of light and air, and no
smells. We met Countess Pahlen going out as we came in, also the Arch
Duke Charles Louis.

As we still had time before dinner we went to see the new church of St.
Sauveur, where there is to be a great ceremony of consecration
to-morrow; but as it is principally to celebrate the retreat of the
French Army from Moscow the two French Embassies abstain from that
function. We met there Prince Dolgourouky, Governor of Moscow, who did
the honours, and showed us the marbles, which are very varied and
handsome, all from the provinces of the Empire. The place was full of
workmen putting up tribunes, red and gold draperies, etc., but the
Prince, with much tact, made no allusion to to-morrow's function--so we
apparently didn't notice anything unusual in the church, and
concentrated our attention on the beautiful Russian marble.

    11 o'clock.

I will finish to-night. We have had our second diplomatic dinner, and I
found it pleasant, I hope the guests did. I had Mgr.[7] Vannutelli, the
Nonce, next to me. He is charming--such an easy talker. He arrived after
the sacre, as of course he could take no part in the ceremony. He told
me the dream of his life was to come to Paris, and I think he would have
a great success. He and Prince Orloff talked very easily together, and
Orloff told him he ought to come to Paris. Orloff also says that W.
ought to come back here as Ambassador, that he would be decidedly a
"persona grata," but that isn't W.'s impression. He has talked to a good
many men who are about the Court and the Emperor, and he thinks a
soldier, not a political man, would be a much better appointment. We
shall miss Pontécoulant awfully. He is so easy-going and looks after
everything, always smoothing things over--very necessary in a temporary
Embassy like this where all pull apart a little, and there is a sort of
dull friction and rivalry between the soldiers and the diplomatists. It
is funny to live entirely with a quantity of men, but they are all
charming to me.

[7] Now cardinal.

    _To H. L. K._

    #Ambassade de France, Moscow#,
    #Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska#,
    Thursday, June 7th, 1883.

W. and I have had such a quiet conjugal day that we can hardly believe
we are still "Ambassadeur Extraordinaire." We breakfasted tête-à-tête,
as all the gentlemen have gone off to the Convent of St. Serge, which is
one of the things to see here. They have a very fine trésor. The Emperor
and Empress made retraite there before the sacre. After breakfast W.
looked over his despatches, and I played a little some Russian music
which Benckendorff had given me.

About three we started off for "les Moineaux," a hill near Moscow from
which Napoleon had his first view of the city. There was no sun, which
was a pity, as all the colour of Moscow makes it so original and
different from everything else--however the city looked mysterious and
poetical in a sort of pink brume. We met various colleagues going the
same way--Nigra always in his "Troika" (Russian attelage) and the Hunts.
Nigra came and joined us on the terrace, and we had tea together. They
offered us a great many things, but we declined experiments, and kept on
saying "Tchai" (which means tea), until they brought it. Nigra told W.
he should taste the peculiar brandy of the country which all
drink--prince and peasant--but I think W. did not like it much. Nigra
was most agreeable. He is Italian Ambassador to Petersburg, and knows
everybody. He says Russian Society is rather fermée, unless you take
their ways and hours. All the ladies receive late, after the theatres,
every evening. It is quite informal--a cup of tea, very often music, and
really interesting talk. He says the women are remarkably intelligent
and cultivated--en masse cleverer than the men. I wonder if he would go
as far about them as Lord Lyons did about American women. When he came
back from America he said he had _never_ met a stupid American woman. We
had a pleasant hour on the terrace, and then started home again.

We crossed the Empress driving with her brother, Prince Waldemar, in an
ordinary open carriage (harnessed Russian fashion--the three horses) and
with no escort nor _apparent_ policemen of any kind. She looked very
well and smiling, and so young. There was not much movement on the
road--a few carriages and peasant's carts. As soon as we got into Moscow
we fell at once into the same staring, quiet crowd; but I fancy many
people have already gone. The streets were not nearly so full.

I had just time to dress, and dined alone with the gentlemen. W. and
Général Pittié dined with the Nonce, Mgr. Vannutelli, and were to go to
Countess Pahlen's reception afterwards. The expedition to the Convent
seems to have been very successful, but long. They gave them breakfast
in the refectory--a very frugal meal--and showed them all their
treasures. I stayed a little while in the serre while they were smoking.
Now they have all gone out and I am not sorry to finish my evening
quietly in my little boudoir. I am getting quite accustomed to my little
room, with its ugly green and gold silk furniture (quite hideous, such a
bright, hard green). The chairs and sofa are so heavy it takes two of us
to move them. There are quantities of tables and candles (40 or 50 at
least, no lamps of any description), in branches, double candlesticks,
etc. I have great difficulty in persuading the little Russian maid not
to light them all, all the time; and when I have about 12 to dress by
she evidently considers me in the dark absolutely. I _think_ I have
dressed sometimes with two, quite contented, in the old days.

    Friday, June 8th.

I walked about a little with Corcelle this morning. We went into one fur
shop where we found a woman who spoke French, but there was nothing very
tempting. They all advise us to wait for our furs at Petersburg, all the
best furs are sent there--however we bought a very good fur lining for a
driving coat (each of us) and I a fur couverture--principally I think
because the woman was nice, and it was a pleasure to talk ourselves and
not through the little boy of the Consulate, of whom I am by no means
sure.

At 10 o'clock W. had his farewell audience with the Emperor, but it
wasn't particularly interesting--an insignificant conversation--might
have been any emperor, or any ambassador, of any country.

After breakfast we went out again "en bande" with a new polyglot youth
this time--a young Frenchman whom Lhermite had discovered. He took us to
all sorts of places, small shops and bazaars, where we had never been.
We bought a good many things, Circassian belts and buckles of wrought
silver, some studded with turquoises, some enamelled--pretty
work--Russian chains and crosses, small Madonnas in curious brass
frames--always the black face on a gold ground, and several of those
beautiful, light Orenburg shawls, so fine that they pass through a ring
(we all tried) and yet fairly large and warm when one shakes them out to
the full size. It was rather amusing going in and out of all the
funny little shops. We left the carriage in one of the big streets and
walked about.

Now we have come home. I have had my tea alone to-day. I must dress, as
we dine early, 7 o'clock, on account of our reception afterwards. I went
with Lhermite to see the flowers, fruit, bonbons, petits fours, etc.,
which arrived this morning from Paris. It is extraordinary how fresh
they all look. There are dozens of boxes in the dining-room and office,
and the men are putting the flowers all about the rooms, Lhermite
superintending the whole thing. He is an enormous help--I don't know
what we should have done without him.

I am going to wear my white and silver brocade to-night, the one I wore
at the Palace gala dinner--my last _full dress_ in Moscow. I am rather
shaken by my outing this afternoon--the going in some of those crooked
little old streets was something awful. The holes in the so-called
pavement were appalling, and the paving-stones tapered off generally to
a sharp point. I think nothing but a Russian carriage, driven by a
Russian coachman could have got along. I must say it is a straggling,
queer-looking town once you get out of the Kremlin and the main streets.
The houses are very far apart, generally white and low, with large
gardens, like a big overgrown village.

       *       *       *       *       *

Well, Dear, our reception is over. It is ended early, as everything does
here--and as I am wide awake I will write at once. People began to come
about 9.30, and at 11.30 everyone had gone. The rooms looked well,
quantities of lights and flowers, everyone noticed the flowers (there
are so few here), which were heaped up everywhere on consoles,
mantelpieces, wherever one could put them. We had a great many
people--all our colleagues in full force, but not so many Russians as we
expected. A good many were de service at the Palace, where there was a
function of some kind for Russians only (the provinces), and I am sure
many never received their invitations, as it is impossible to find out
where anyone lives. I had a talk with General Richter and one or two
others, and then some of the younger members of the party suggested
dancing--of course we had no music, as dancing had not been
contemplated, but various amateurs offered their services, and they had
about half an hour of waltzes. At the end they danced a little the
Russian mazurka, which I was very curious to see. It is quite different
from our cotillon or the Sir Roger de Coverley. There are all sorts of
steps and figures. The gentleman takes his partner by the hand, holding
it rather high (as in the polonaise). They hold themselves very
straight, heads well back, as in a minuet, and do various figures.
The women have a quick, sliding step when they change partners, which is
very effective. I should think none but Russians would dance it
well--one must be born to it.

Prince Orloff stayed on a little after everyone had gone, and we talked
over all the fêtes, and principally our own performances. He says he has
heard plenty of talk and criticisms of everything, and is much pleased
with the success of our Mission. I hope the people at home will be
satisfied.

We had a dinner for all the French newspaper correspondents the other
day--and they expressed themselves as quite gratified. They told us that
one of the correspondents (I forget which paper) had accepted W.'s
invitation, but the very day of the dinner there had been such a violent
attack on W. in his paper that he didn't like to come, and sent an
excuse. They say the Times' account is the best--the Figaro also very
good (Wolff).

    Saturday, June 9, 1883.

The court is most amusing this morning--all the gentlemen are trying
their horses, superintending the saddling, etc., as most of them follow
the Emperor to-day at the revue. The little Russian horses look very
lively and never stand still an instant. W. and I go together in the
d'Orsay, Corcelle preceding us in another carriage. Benckendorff rides
with all the others. Général Pittié is rather bored, he hates riding,
particularly on a horse he doesn't know, so he and Fayet will only mount
at the Champ de Mars. They say the Emperor's suite will be
enormous--over 100. I wore my écru batiste with the heavy white
embroidery and the écru bonnet with the wreath of pink and red roses. It
is almost white. (I wonder how I shall ever wear out all these
garments.)

The day is beautiful. We started about 10, as we were invited for 11 to
the Tribune Impériale. The road out was a sight--the middle alley had
been kept for the swells and Court, and there were quantities of
Imperial and Ambassadors' carriages, aides-de-camp, etc., dashing about.
I didn't see any handsome _private_ equipages. They told me the reason
was that the swells were attached to the Court and went about always in
Court carriages. Our gentlemen passed us riding--they had rendezvous in
the court-yard of the Palace Petrofski, where the Emperor mounted. We
went on to the Tribune. The cortége started fairly punctually. First
came the Empress in a victoria with four white horses. The Arch Duchess
Charles Louis was seated next to her, and on the box the Duchesse
d'Edimbourg and the Grand Duchess Wladimir, I think--at any rate another
Princess. There were 2 postilions, 2 mounted grooms, and a piqueur. Then
came the Emperor riding on the right of the Empress's carriage, always
on his little grey Cossack horse, the Grand Duke Héritier and the Duke
of Edinburgh directly behind him, and then a long, glittering suite of
foreign Princes and officers. The Grand Duke Wladimir commands the
Gardes, and was on the field to receive his brother. It is the first
time I have seen the Emperor without the Grand Duke Wladimir close
behind him. It was striking to see the stern, watchful face always
there. The Empress drove up and down the lines, the Emperor riding
alongside. It was difficult to distinguish any uniforms, as they were
rather far off, and there were clouds of dust. As soon as the Empress
had passed her revue she came up to the Tribune and took up her position
directly in front, _standing_ almost all the time. The Emperor and his
staff remained directly under the Tribune to see the défilé. That of
course was long--but we had breakfast, also a sort of goûter always
going on, and servants appearing at intervals carrying trays with tea,
chocolate, orangeade, etc. All the Grand Duchesses (not the Empress)
moved about and talked to us. The Duchesse d'Oldenburg sat down next me
for some time and told me about some of the regiments (Crimean fame),
named some of the generals, etc.

I had tea with the Duchess of Edinburgh. She is easy, clever, and was
much interested in all that was going on, told me I must come to the
front for the cavalry and Cossack charge, and that it would be soon. I
followed her when she made the move--the infantry were just
finishing--and in the distance one saw a movement and a flash of lances
in the sun, which showed that the Cossacks were getting ready. They
passed like a whirlwind--so fast, and in such clouds of dust that one
saw nothing but the glint of the lances, neither colour of uniforms,
horses, flags. All the troops, infantry as well as cavalry, saluted the
Emperor as they passed--a sort of dull sound, more like a groan than a
cheer--nothing like a ringing English hurrah.

That was the end, so I went to the Princess Kotchoubey, Grande
Maîtresse, to ask her if I should go and take leave of the Empress, as
she and the Emperor leave Moscow to-morrow. She said the Empress wished
us all, Ambassadrices and femmes de chefs-de-Mission, to stand near the
door, and she would say good-bye to us on her way out, so we moved down,
and after waiting a little she came. She made her circle very prettily,
shook hands with all, and talked a little, but she was evidently tired
and anxious to get away. She was dressed in a curious dress, a sort of
yellow cloth of gold, and gold bonnet with red flowers--always her
splendid pearl necklace.

We had to wait some little time before our carriages could get up, so I
went back to the front of the Tribune to see the troops disperse. It was
a pretty sight as they all filed off in long columns, music playing and
flags flying, and always little groups of Cossacks tearing all over the
place. I had another cup of tea with a very good little cake while I was
waiting. Lady Thornton was tired and wanted one, so we sat there quite
quietly and had our tea. It was a lovely, bright, warm day, and we liked
that better than waiting at the door in the crowd until our carriages
came.

[Illustration: Grand Duc Wladimir

From a photograph by Bergamasco St Petersburg]

We got back to the Embassy for breakfast, but were not very hungry. We
breakfasted alone with Corcelle, as the other gentlemen breakfasted with
all the Emperor's suite at the Petrofski Palace. I am writing this by
fits and starts, as you will perceive. I began at 9 this morning, and am
finishing now at 10.30, after a pleasant dinner at the Jaurès--merely
our two Embassies, everyone telling his experiences, amusing enough. The
Jaurès are quite ready to go. He wants to go to sea again, and will
command the Mediterranean Squadron, and she is tired of Russia. I have
no idea who will succeed them, but as long as it isn't W. I don't much
care.

Well, our fêtes are over. We shall have two days to see Moscow quietly,
and then break up. It has certainly been most interesting, and now that
it is over, and we all have still our heads on our shoulders, I am very
glad we came, for I shall never see such a sight again.

    Sunday, June 10th.

Richard and I made an ineffectual attempt to go to the English church
this morning, but after driving half over Moscow and going to various
wrong addresses, which had been given to us, we gave it up, and came
home rather mortified and well jibed at by the whole Embassy. Just as we
were going to breakfast Prince Ourousoff, one of the Chamberlains,
appeared to say that two special trains would start for Petersburg on
Monday and Wednesday to take back the Corps Diplomatique, and asked us
which day would suit us best. W. preferred Wednesday. W. must have a day
or two to send off horses, carriages, huissiers, cooks, etc., and also
to see a little of Moscow, for he has scarcely seen anything. All his
days were so taken up with the visits--those he made and those he
received--and his despatches, that he did little but his morning ride on
his funny little bay horse (which he liked very much and which carried
him well).

This afternoon we have been sight-seeing with Benckendorff, first to the
Kremlin to see the private apartments of the Emperor and Empress. The
Court, with all the foreign Princes and their suites, left last night
after the revue, and already one sees the difference in the streets. The
crowd of peasants has disappeared, there are fewer carriages, flags and
draperies are being removed from all the buildings, and the circulation
is so easy that one can scarcely realize that only yesterday that
brilliant throng was making its way with difficulty through the long,
straight allée to the Champ de Mars. It is very warm, the sun blazing,
and the white dust very trying; however we went about a good deal. We
saw the Romanoff house, an ordinary boyar house, with low, dark rooms
and a funny little winding staircase, but it had evidently been quite
done up (in the style of the epoch of course), and I didn't find it very
interesting.

We went into numerous churches and towers, and wound up with a visit to
the Monastère Siminoff, from where there is a splendid view over the
city. We saw the Director, who came out and showed us everything. We
dined quietly at home with the Embassy only. After dinner, when smoking
in the serre, the soldiers began talking, fighting their battles over
again--all that horrible time between the Commune and Versailles, where
one of our Embassy, Fayet, was wounded. It is always interesting when
they talk seriously like that, but, Heavens, how they shot people at the
end, it makes one shiver.

To-morrow will be a busy day, as all the packing must be done. One of
the French couturières here will send a packer, and will come herself to
help the maids. Lhermite, with his cooks, footmen, etc., start Wednesday
morning early. They must cook us our last dinner Tuesday night. Hubert,
too, with carriages, horses, etc.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Ambassade de France à Moscow#,
    #Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska#,
    Monday, June 11th, 1883.

Well, Dear, this is my last letter from Moscow--you will certainly never
again have any letter from Maison Klein, Malaia Dimitrofska, and I
suppose I shall never see Moscow again. The court is again most lively
(it is certainly an unfailing interest to me, and I am always looking
out of the window). Someone has come from one of the Grand Dukes,
Michel, I think, to see the big horses. Hawes was very anxious we should
sell them in Russia, if we could get a fair price. They have always
excited much attention and admiration, but they are very big, and here
the Russians are accustomed to a much smaller race, prefer three small
ones to one larger pair. I don't know either if they could stand the
climate. There seems to be a perfect army of helpers packing carriages,
saddles, harness, and all the stable equipment. Mdme. Gille (my
couturière) has arrived. She has made me a very nice little blue foulard
shirt, I couldn't stand my cloth body these hot days, and yet must
travel in that dress, as I have no other. When I think of the furs that
have always remained at the bottom of one of the trunks--so many people
told me that it would be impossible to be in Russia in May and June
without furs. It is fair to say that Mdme. Jaurès told me it was
freezing still the morning they left Petersburg--which seems incredible
now. I send back all my big trunks and swell garments with the Huberts.
I shall keep out only one or two dinner dresses for Petersburg. Poor
Mdme. Hubert is rather sad at leaving me, and going back to France
without having seen Petersburg, but of course I don't want two maids any
longer.

This afternoon I went out with Richard for some last shopping. The city
is completely changed--not a creature nor a carriage, nor servants in
livery, nothing but a deserted city. We met the Austrian Ambassador
walking about in a blue flannel vest and a pot hat. The courts of the
Kremlin were méconnaissables, not a soul, hardly a soldier--one or two
small detachments of Cossacks at the gates. It is an extraordinary
change in such a short time. It has become a sleepy little provincial
town.

We had two or three gentlemen to dinner, M. d'Orval, ancien officier de
Chasseurs, just back from a tour in the Caucasus with the Duc de
Chartres, and a Russian merchant for whom Richard had letters--the first
person I have seen in Russia who was neither noble nor peasant. Both men
were interesting enough. The Russian talked prudently, but fairly
openly--said there must be a great change--things couldn't go on as they
did now, there was a young generation to be reckoned with, active,
educated, intelligent, and they must have their say--that when the
uprising came there would be a Revolution such as Europe had never seen.
I wonder.

After dinner we went to the Hermitage, the great public gardens. They
are pretty enough, large, with trees and bosquets, and every variety of
amusement--theatres, concerts, dancing, and even conjurors. Some
shepherds from the Wladimir Government with long yellow cloaks and high
hats were playing a sort of reed pipe, curious enough. At last I heard
some of the Russian national songs--a quartette was singing them in one
of the theatres. They are very pretty, monotonous, with an undercurrent
of sadness. They sang very true, and the voices are rich, not at all the
thin, high northern voice that one expected to hear. We stayed there so
long, looking at the various things, that we didn't get home until
12.30--much the latest entertainment I have been to in Moscow, except
the Palace ball, where the supper of course prolonged the festivities.

    Monday, June 11th.

It was so warm to-day and I had so much to do with the
trunks--separating the things--that I only went out after tea, and of
course did a little more shopping. I wanted some photographs and also
some music--however Benckendorff said he would see about that for me.
We dined quite alone with the Embassy--a good dinner perfectly served,
tho' Lhermite leaves to-morrow. He came up to get his last instructions
from W. while we were having tea. His experiences are most amusing--he
says he has learnt a great deal of the language and the Russian ways of
doing business, and if ever he comes back he will know how to take care
of himself. He became quite excited at remembering various occasions
when he had been "roulé."

After dinner W. and I went for a last drive, to look at the Kremlin by
moonlight--and beautiful it was--the sky was so blue one could almost
see it like the Italian summer sky, and all the great white buildings
and towers stood out gloriously. The great church of St. Basile was
extraordinary. The colours, pink, green, red, yellow, all so vivid that
even at night one quite made them out. It is a mass of towers, domes,
and cupolas, every one different in shape, work, and colour. It was
planned and executed by an Italian architect, and the story is that the
Czar (of the epoch) was so pleased, and at the same time so afraid he
might make another like it, that he had his eyes put out. It was
curiously dark and quiet inside--scarcel any light; here and there a
glimmer high up in one of the Palace rooms. We met two or three
carriages with colleagues driving about in the moonlight like ourselves.
The river, too, looked beautiful from the terrace--a broad silver band
with moonlight full upon it. I took a last look at the black Madonna in
the gateway, and the little guard of Cossacks. I shall often think
of that last night in the Kremlin when I have returned to civilization
and modern life.

I will send this off by to-morrow's courier. My next letter will be from
Petersburg. My little boudoir still looks very nice. The little Russian
maid is rather sad, and has been in and out 20 times, lighting candles,
opening and shutting doors and windows, and keeping up a stream of
conversation which I can't possibly understand, though the maids say
they do. W. is deep in last despatches, and has departed to his own
quarters. I haven't learnt any Russian, which I think is rather weak
on my part. I thought I would have some lessons at first, but I don't
think I could have learnt much in two weeks. Lagrené was
discouraging--says he knows very little, and his mother is a Russian.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Hotel Demouth, Petersburg#,
    Jeudi, 14 Juin, 1883.

We arrived here last night at 12.30. The journey was comfortable enough,
but long--the Russian trains do not go a terrifying pace. We left Moscow
at 9.30, and the Maison Klein a little before 9. The départ was quite
imposing--all the personnel drawn up at the foot of the stairs, Lhermite
and the three coachmen outside at the door, and a regiment of
understrappers of all kinds. The little Russian maid was weeping and
kissing my skirts. The faithful Benckendorff accompanied us to the
station and saw us safely deposited in our wagon-salon--each Ambassador
had one and a smaller one for the suite. Two Chamberlains, not attired
in velvet and gold lace this time,--I felt rather aggrieved at having
ordinary mortals in plain clothes to look after us--were waiting at the
station to see that everything was well done, and they went with us to
Petersburg. There was a Mongole at the door of our wagon who appeared at
intervals with tea, oranges, and much information of all kinds (in
Russian). We had all our meals en route--breakfast at 11, dinner at
4.30, a nondescript sort of meal, half goûter, half supper, with cold
fish, fowl, mayonnaise, etc., at 8--and a very pretty little tea at
10.30. We all partook of every meal--how we managed to eat chicken and
mayonnaise at 8, having dined at 4.30, seems a mystery, but we did.

It was very hot at starting--the sun pouring down on the plains that are
around Moscow--not an atom of shade, but there was a sharp shower about
2 which cooled the air. They tell us Petersburg too is very hot. The
day passed quickly enough. Many of our colleagues came and paid us
visits. The Nuncio sat a long time. He is most interesting, with that
delightful, simple, easy Italian manner. He asked us a great deal about
the religious ceremony the day of the Coronation. He had only arrived
after that. He is very clever and sympathetic, ready to talk about
anything, and so moderate in his views. I think he would have a great
success in Paris, where people love to discuss and analyze everything.

Our Spanish colleague also came and sat with us. It seems he wanted W.
to come to his carriage and drink champagne and play cards (very high
play too), but it was conveyed to him that these were not exactly M.
Waddington's tastes. Rumour says he was naively surprised, and said,
"Comment, il ne joue pas!--le pauvre homme!" They were certainly a very
merry party--we heard roars of laughter every time the train stopped.
If anyone was losing heavily he took it most cheerfully.

Our last little tea at 10.30 was really very pretty--several round
tables very well arranged with flowers, tea, orangeade, and other
drinks--cakes, petits fours, etc. (but no more solid food). W. struck
and wouldn't get out, but Richard and I and the rest of the men were
quite ready to see what was going on. Do you remember how I always loved
getting out at all the buffets at no matter what time of night, when we
used to go down to Italy every year? I think the buffet at Bologna with
its "fricandeau de veau" is one of my most interesting souvenirs of
travel (not from an artistic point of view).

The arrival at Petersburg was curious. It was quite light, and there
were as many people at the station and in the streets as if it were 12
o'clock in the day. We read distinctly the names and numbers of the
streets and the signs of the shops, and yet it wasn't altogether
daylight--more like a late summer afternoon. We found very comfortable
rooms here--a large salon with large bedrooms on either side, and a room
next to me for Adelaïde. I was quite ready to go to bed--the heat and
dust were trying, and yet it seemed funny to go to bed by daylight. They
brought tea of course, but we really couldn't do any more, so I departed
to my own room. There I quite lost the impression of daylight, as there
were double, even triple curtains to all the windows.

This morning we slept late and breakfasted at 12.30, then W., Richard,
and I went off in a carriage to the Hermitage (the great Museum). W.
sent in his card to the Director of the Museum and also to the head of
the Cabinet des Médailles, as he wants a week's work at the medals. It
seems there is a splendid collection here. The gentlemen were very
civil, and we made rendezvous for to-morrow, W. for the medals and
Richard and I for the pictures. The Hermitage is an immense museum.
We shall only be able to have an idea of what is in it. We walked
through some of the rooms--Peter the Great's gallery, which is full of
course of souvenirs--his clothes, arms, tools, furniture, horse stuffed,
etc., and in another there were quantities of bibelots of all kinds, and
presents given to Peter and Catherine II--a collection of snuff boxes,
crystal flagons, and goblets (some with precious stones encrusted in the
glass), jewelled belts and caps--most interesting.

We had our first view of the Neva from the windows of one of the rooms.
It rushes past like the sea, so broad and strong, with very fair waves,
a splendid river. We stayed about an hour lounging through the rooms,
and then went on for a general view of the city. It is very handsome,
but has no particular cachet (except the Neva) at this season of the
year--one ought to see it in winter when the river is frozen and the
real winter life begins. It looks so modern after Moscow. We went to
the great cathedral of St. Isaac. It is very big and imposing as a mass,
but the architecture not very striking--afterwards to the fortress and
church of St. Peter and St. Paul, where all the Emperors are buried--to
Peter the Great's house (a most ordinary little wooden building), drove
a little along the quais, where the lovely fresh breeze from the river
was most welcome and invigorating after the heat and dust of Moscow.

There was a good deal of life on the river, boats of all kinds. We think
of going by steamer to Stockholm, all along the coast of Finland. They
tell us it is a beautiful journey, particularly at this time of year,
with the long, clear evenings. I want to see the boat before we decide,
as I have an idea that it wouldn't be very clean (they say the boats on
the rivers Volga, etc., are something terrible). We wound up in the
Perspective Nevsky--the great shopping street, but didn't get out of the
carriage, merely drove through. The shops look handsome and the vitrines
well arranged, just like Paris. There was very little animation in the
streets and very few carriages. They tell us many people have already
gone away for the summer.

We dined quietly at the hotel, and just as we were finishing Admiral
Jaurès came in to suggest that we should dine at Peterhof to-morrow
afternoon. He says it is a very nice excursion--a short hour on the
boat, and we can get a fair dinner there. About 9.30 we started again in
the carriage to drive to the Islands or "La Pointe"--the great
rendezvous in summer of all Petersburg. It is a long hour's drive,
crossing quantities of small islands all connected by bridges, and one
finally arrives at the "Pointe," end of the drive, and entrance of the
Gulf of Finland. There all the carriages draw up, the people get down
and walk about, or sit on the benches at the water's edge--a regular
salon--in summer one sees all the people who are still "en ville" there.
The place in itself is not at all pretty. The water of the Gulf is grey,
the banks low, no trees--but the air was delicious.

We met almost all our Moscow colleagues--also Princess Lise Troubetzkoi,
who was delighted to see W. and plunge into Paris politics. She wanted
us to go back and have tea with her, but it was 11 o'clock and I was
tired, having been going all day--evidently that is what people do, as
several of our colleagues too asked us, and expressed great surprise at
our wanting to go home so early.

We didn't get back to the hotel until 12, and then loitered a little in
the salon, as the windows were open, people walking and driving about
the streets, and nothing to make us think it was midnight, or at least
the midnight we are accustomed to. They brought us some tea, and a
little before one, making many excuses, I retired, rather feeling as if
I were going to bed with the chickens.

    Friday, June 15th.

We have been all the morning at the Hermitage, and I will write a little
now after breakfast, before we start for Peterhof. We took ourselves off
early in a droshky (Russian fiacre), the porter telling the coachman
where to drive to; and telling us how much to give him. It was a lovely
morning, not too warm, and we enjoyed our drive. W. was shown at once to
the Cabinet des Médailles, where the Conservateur was waiting for him,
and Richard and I were taken in hand by a young man attached to the
Museum who knew his work well, and was remarkably intelligent, speaking
French quite well. The pictures are beautiful--there are quantities of
every possible school. The finest we thought the Van Dycks and the
Rembrandts, though some of the Italian Madonnas were lovely too. I like
the Italian Madonna face so much--it is so pure and young and
passionless. Our guide was very talkative, and very anxious to know what
we thought of the Moscow ceremonies. We stayed about two hours, seeing
all sorts of things "en passant" besides the pictures. The whole Museum
is crowded--I don't think they could get much more in.

    Saturday, June 16th.

Our excursion to Peterhof was delightful yesterday afternoon. We took
the four o'clock boat, and had a nice sail down of an hour and a
quarter. The Jaurès came with us, also Pittié, Fayet, and Calmon.
Corcelle went back to Paris from Moscow--also Sesmaisons, so our
Mission is decidedly diminished. We met several of our Moscow friends on
the boat--General Richter, Comte Worontzoff, and some others. The Court
is at Peterhof and they are all established there. They told us the
Emperor and Empress were not very tired after the excitement and
emotions of the Coronation--very happy that all had gone so smoothly,
and now quite pleased to be quietly at Peterhof with their children.

The Russians are very proud of Peterhof, call it a "petit Versailles,"
and "petit" it certainly is in comparison; but the park is pretty, well
laid out, with terraces and gardens, and the water-works really very
good indeed. A very good Circassian band was playing, and a good many
people walking about. What was lovely and quite unlike Versailles were
the glimpses of the sea one had on all sides. We got carriages and drove
all about. We went into the big Palace, where the present Emperor never
lives. He prefers a small place, half farm, half cottage, close to the
sea, and lives there quite contentedly and quietly like an ordinary
country gentleman. However we couldn't get anywhere near that villa--the
gates and alleys were closed, and guards and soldiers everywhere.

We dined very badly at a restaurant we had been told of on the sea, and
took the 10 o'clock boat home. The return was enchanting--a beautiful
starlight night, and fresh, soft breeze. I had a nice talk with Mdme.
Jaurès, who told me a good deal of Russian ways and life. I think she is
glad to go back to France, and "au fond" there are very few French women
who care to _live_ abroad altogether. After three or four years they get
homesick for their own country. She asked me if I was never homesick for
America--but I told her I had been so long away, and my life had been
such a full one that I sometimes asked myself was I the same little girl
that used to run wild in the country at home with a donkey cart and a
big Newfoundland dog. Those years seem so long ago the memory is getting
duller. Sometimes I shut my eyes and see quite well the big white house
with the piazzas, and the climbing roses, the cherry trees, and the
white gate with the sharp turn, and the ditch where we upset so often in
the sleighs--all the children tumbling out into the snow drift, and
nobody minding.

We got home at 11.30 and found letters, which we read quite easily at
the window. It is a wonderful light--no one ever seems to think of going
to bed.

This morning we have been again at the Hermitage to finish the pictures.
Decidedly the Rembrandts are the gems of the collection. There was one
old man in a sort of fur robe and cap, with a wrinkled yellow face,
whose eyes seemed quite alive, and followed us all round the room. We
left W. with his medals and a sort of clerk attached to the Cabinet des
Médailles. It seems they never leave anybody alone in the room with the
medals. W. is delighted, he has found some rare coins he had never seen,
and he means to have a good day's work, will not come back to breakfast
with us.

Our young man, Baron Leeven, is always with us, and meets us at the
Winter Palace this afternoon to show us the rooms. Our Mission is
dwindling; Fayet went off this morning, Pittié and Calmon go Monday.
Richard remains to make the journey with us to Stockholm by sea. We have
just come in from a pleasant dinner at the Jaurès'. The Embassy is
small, but very well arranged, and we had a very good, handsome dinner.
All the personnel of the Embassy, Vannutelli and his two auditeurs, and
the French Consul and his wife. Admiral Jaurès was very hospitable and
en train--all sailors are, I wonder why? The officers of high rank must
have so many lonely hours, and are such swells on their ships, where no
one can associate much with them, that one would think it would make
them rather silent and reserved from long habit--but it is quite the
contrary. In all nations sailors are generally cultivated, and good
talkers.

We shall become quite intimate with Vannutelli. We met him at the Winter
Palace this afternoon, and went all about together. I can't say I found
it very interesting. The rooms are handsome--high, generally white, with
quantities of pictures--the portraits, some very old ones,
interesting--the large modern pictures of battles by sea and land less
so. I like very much the pictures of Peter the Great. He has a keen,
striking face, must have had splendid eyes, very intelligent, in some of
the portraits almost inspired, _hard_, not cruel. They were very anxious
to show us the rooms where the late Emperor died, but there had been
some mistake, and the man who has charge of the room could not be found,
nor the key either. I was very glad (not that I should have gone in),
for they said it was a horrid sight--the camp-bed and even his clothes
left as they were, thick with blood. He was carried there directly after
the attentat, and died on the little camp-bed. What I liked best was the
splendid view again of the Neva from the windows of the ballroom. It
looked a beautiful blue sea, the waves dancing in the afternoon light,
and all the white sails standing out well in the sun. The two young men
who were with us were most amusing. They showed us all the pictures in
detail _except_ those concerning the Grande Armée and the disastrous
retreat. We were hurried past them, "rien de très intéressant,
Madame--pas la peine de s'arrêter----."

    Sunday, June 17th.

This morning we went to the French Protestant Church--a large room with
white walls, and benches. There were very few people, but they tell us
it is fairly full in winter. There is a large French colony--shopkeepers,
theatre people, etc., and a great many Protestants. The Pasteur preached
a very fair, sensible sermon.

After breakfast we had some visitors--Sir Edward Thornton, who wants us
to dine one night; and a nice man, a Russian (whose name I never knew),
but who told us to come to this hotel in which he is interested, and who
has offered to go shopping with us one day, and show us the best
fur-shops. We went for a drive in the afternoon to the Park Catherine,
where a sort of fête populaire was going on. There were a great many
people, and a great many policemen (as there always are here), one would
think they lived in perpetual fear of an émeute, and yet the people all
looked so subdued and repressed--I haven't seen one fierce face. The
quantity of moujiks in their red shirts made a good effect of colour,
but the women are not attractive, nor pretty. All are wrapped up in
shawls, with a handkerchief over their heads.

We had a pleasant dinner at the Hunts' (United States Legation), all
their people, including of course George Wurts, whom I was very pleased
to see again--Admiral Baldwin and his two Aides-de-camp Rogers and Paul,
and M. et Mdme. de Struve. They are just going to America--he is named
Minister there. They have been in Japan, and didn't seem very keen about
America. I should think they would like it better than Japan, but I
believe he hoped for some post in Europe. She was very amusing, and from
her account life in Japan must still be very primitive.

We came away early--about 10.30--and have been poring over guide-books
ever since, making out our journey, always at the window (11 o'clock at
night, and with no lamps).

    Tuesday, June 19th.

We had a charming afternoon yesterday at Cronstadt on the Lancaster,
Admiral Baldwin's flag-ship. He had invited all the Corps Diplomatique,
and the few Russians who are still in Petersburg, Jomini, Struve,
Benckendorff, etc. We started about 3.30 in the regular Russian
steamer, and once under way the breeze was delicious. I wore my white
batiste with Valenciennes, and a big black hat (which wasn't very
practical on the steamer, as the wind blew the feathers about
considerably, but I thought it looked so nice with the white dress). The
American ship looked beautiful as we drew near--an old-fashioned
frigate, all dressed with flags. The getting on board was not very easy,
as she lay far out, and we had to get into small boats from our steamer
and go out to her. It didn't look very pleasant when they put the steps
down and told us to jump. There were fair waves, and when they told us
to jump the boat was apparently nowhere near, but of course swung under
the steps on the top of the wave at the right moment. Lady Thornton got
down all right, so did I; but one of our colleagues had a most trying
time. She was stout and nervous, looked wretched when she was standing
on the steps between two strong sailors who told her to jump. She did
her best, poor thing, and several times we in the boat below saw a stout
white leg suddenly descend, but it was immediately drawn back, and she
never let go of her sailors. Her husband, man-like, was furious, which
of course made her much more nervous; however, after several attempts
she gave it up, and they lowered her in an arm-chair, which didn't look
quite comfortable either when it was suspended in the air waiting for
the boat to arrive.

We danced about well in the little boat, for every time it came up, and
she didn't come down, we had to go back and repeat the performance. The
American Legation got off first and were received by a salute of 15
guns, and then we followed. The Admiral with all his officers received
us at the top of the ladder, and the band played our national airs, and
they gave the Ambassador's salute, 17 guns, and a great noise it made
just over our heads as we were mounting the ladder. Lady Thornton and
her husband were in front of me, and I heard the "God Save The
Queen"--then came the "Marseillaise," and for a moment I forgot I was a
Frenchwoman and looked to see whom the "Marseillaise" was for (W. hadn't
come in the boat with me, waited for the second one), but I recovered
myself in time to bow and smile my thanks.

I was delighted to find myself on an American ship, I so rarely see
American officers of any kind. The ship was in splendid condition, so
beautifully clean. We had a very handsome dinner in the Admiral's cabin.
He took me down to see the table before all the guests came, and very
pretty it looked, quantities of flowers and some handsome silver. No one
enjoyed the day more than Mgr. Vannutelli. He had a little doubt about
coming, as he heard there was to be dancing, and consulted us about it.
We told him the dancing would be mild, and he might never have a chance
to see a big American ship again, and strongly advised him to come.

While Lady Thornton and I were sitting together one of the young
officers came up to her (she knew several of them, as they were some
years in Washington) saying he heard one of the Ambassadresses was an
American, did she know which one, and could she introduce him.
"Certainly," she said, "it is Madame Waddington, wife of the French
Ambassador, who is sitting next to me now," and immediately presented
the young man, who said he had been looking at all the ladies to see
which was the American, but hadn't placed me, he supposed because he
heard me speaking French. We became great friends, and he took me all
over the ship. We danced a little on deck--a quadrille d'honneur--I with
my friend Schimmelpenninck, Lady Thornton with Jaurès, Madame Jaurès
with Admiral Baldwin. Then we left the dancing to the young ones and sat
quietly on deck till it was time to go. Just as we were starting the
Admiral asked me if I would say a few words to the band--they were
almost all Italians. I went over at once and talked to them, so did the
Nuncio, which of course delighted them.

We started back about 9 in a special Russian steamer. The sea was much
calmer, and the getting off one boat and on another was not such a
difficult operation even for poor Mdme. A----. The sail back was about
two hours--quite enchanting in that beautiful northern twilight, and we
were all sorry when it came to an end.

This morning it is very warm, and I am rather seedy, so I have stayed
quietly at home. Richard and I breakfasted tête-à-tête, as W. was off at
an early hour to his medals, and won't be back until dark. I wonder if
the Russian officials will be as astonished at his capacity for a long
spell of work as the Italians were. _They_ struck after _two_ days of
such work, and then took it in turns. One day at Milan I went to get him
at the end of the day, as we were going to drive somewhere in the
country, so the Italian smiled all over, and almost winked, saying,
"Ah, Madame est venue voir si Monsieur était vraiment aux Médailles
toute la journée." I suppose he felt that he wouldn't have stayed
working all those hours, and also quite understood that I suspected W.
of doing something else.

We have had a nice visit from Benckendorff, who has told us all about
the boat we want to take to go to Stockholm. He says they are Swedish
boats, very clean, and very good food; also very few people at this time
of the year.

Now I must dress and go with Richard to pay some visits. Calmon will go
and see you and give you all our news. He won't tell you what I will,
that he had a great success in Moscow--his artillery uniform, the
astrakhan tunique, was very becoming--all the ladies found him "très
beau garçon." I must add too that Richard also had a great
success--evidently artillery uniform is becoming. It was rather amusing
to see the face of one of the young ladies when I made some reference to
Madame Richard Waddington. "M. Waddington married--I never should have
dreamed of it"--and after a moment, "What is his wife like?" doubtfully.
"Is she pretty?" "Well, yes, she is very pretty." Richard won't tell you
that either when he comes back, but I shall tell Louise.

How curious all the Moscow life will seem when I am settled again at
Bourneville--walking in the park with the children, riding all over the
country with W., and leading an absolutely quiet life. I hope I shall
remember all I want to tell you.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Hôtel Demoult, Petersburg#,
    Wednesday, June 20th, 1883.

Richard and I went visiting yesterday. We found the Thorntons, who gave
us tea. Their Embassy is charming--a big house on the Quai Anglais. The
drawing-rooms are large and high. All the windows look out on the Neva,
and they say it is quite beautiful at night. Then we went back to the
hotel, got W., who had had a fine morning with his medals--says the
collection is magnificent, much larger than he had any idea of, and
started off to the Quais to see our boat. We leave to-morrow evening
between 6 and 7. It looked very nice and clean, and the Captain was
quite overwhelmed with the distinguished passengers he was to have the
honour of transporting. We have an enormous cabin (two thrown into one)
big enough for a family. I interviewed the stewardess, a nice
fresh-looking Norwegian woman. Conversation was rather difficult, as I
spoke German and she Norwegian, and neither of us understood the
other, but I am sure we shall get on very well. They tell us the voyage
is enchanting, all in and out of small fiords, islands, and narrow
rivers. We stop five or six hours each day to see the country, and never
have any sea until we cross to Stockholm, when it is generally rough.

We dined quietly at the hotel with Coutouly, our Consul, a very nice
man, very intelligent. He too had interviewed the Captain, and told him
to take every care of us. He says the trip is enchanting, and the two
Finnish towns, Helsingfors and Abo, very well worth seeing. About 10
o'clock we drove off to the "Pointe" and had a pleasant hour with some
of the colleagues. It is always cool there, and the drive out is
interesting, so unlike anything else.

Richard went off early this morning with Sermet and Moulin of the French
Embassy to see the Falls of Smatra, which are said to be very fine. We
pick him up at Helsingfors.

I walked about a little with Adelaïde--I never see anything the least
like a femme du monde in the streets. I suppose the "société" are away
for the summer, and the streets look rather as September streets do in
Paris.

W. and I dined at the Thorntons'--handsome and pleasant. Jaurès was
there, not his wife, she has already started for Paris, and the Ternaux
Compans, a nice young ménage (just married) attached to the Embassy. She
was very well dressed, in white. There was also the Danish Minister (I
forget his name). He is a friend of the Empress and très bien vu à la
cour. After dinner someone played on the piano, and he and Mary Thornton
danced a little, showing us some of the figures of the mazurka. Lady
Thornton says, like everyone else, that the society of Petersburg is
very fermé. They know everybody, but I fancy very few of the
diplomatists make real friends with anyone. I was rather surprised, as
the Russians one meets abroad are generally very easy and sociable. She
also finds the climate very trying. She showed me all the rooms, which
are charming. In all the bedrooms very thick curtains, as the light is
most trying, and of course people who live there must have regular hours
for sleep--for us birds of passage it is of no consequence, and going to
bed seems the last thing one would think of doing in Petersburg.

We came home about 11, and now W. is busy over his Paris letters, also
putting his notes in order, as he has finished with the medals. He has
had three or four days of real hard work, but says it rested him after
all the Court festivities.

    Jeudi, 21 Juin.

We have been shopping all the morning,--W. and I and M. Lomatch (I have
found his name). We bought, among other things, a sled for Francis--I
haven't seen one since I left America--and a good deal of Russian lace,
which they say is very solid, and embroidery. We came back to a late
breakfast, and I am writing now at the last moment while they are
carrying down the trunks. We are going at 4 to the steamer to leave our
boxes and Adelaïde, and install ourselves, and then go for tea to
Coutouly, who has an apartment on the Quai, just opposite the wharf
where the steamer starts from. I am quite sorry to go. We are very
comfortable here, and the streets are so amusing. I should like once to
hear a little laughing and singing, as the various groups of
work-people, soldiers, and peasants pass--but they are a curiously sad,
subdued race.

    Friday, June 22d.  "En mer."

We are just approaching Helsingfors (twelve o'clock), where we go on
shore for some hours, and I will write a little. I have a nice straw
arm-chair on deck (the sail shades me), a table with books, papers, etc.
We embarked at 6.30 yesterday. We went on the boat about 4--saw the
Captain, a very nice man, a Finn, who speaks English quite well, and who
is much pleased to have us on his boat. He went down to the cabin with
us, which is really a large, airy room, with two very fair beds, and
a sort of recess which makes a dressing-room. It opens into the ladies'
cabin, where he had also arranged the end near our cabin for us--two
arm-chairs, a table, etc. Adelaïde has a nice state-room just
opposite--also Richard. There were not many people on board--and he said
he hadn't many passengers, chiefly men.

We left cloaks, books, etc., and walked across to the Coutoulys', who
have a nice apartment directly on the river. It is so broad and swift
one feels almost as if one was on the sea-shore. There is much passing
all the time, and a good many little posts, as at Venice, where the
boats are tied. They gave us tea, and about 6 we went back to the boat.

Jaurès was there with some of his young men, and Benckendorff, who came
to say a last good-bye this time. We gave him rendezvous in Paris, as we
should like very much to do something for him. He was untiring and
devoted to us all the time we were at Moscow--never tired, always taking
a great deal of trouble to see that we were well taken care of, and
helping us in every way. I found three or four handsome bouquets in the
cabin--one from him, and one from M. Lomatch, the proprietor of our
hotel. He has written to the hotel at Stockholm for rooms for us. We
arrive Sunday morning--have three nights at sea. Adelaïde is quite
excited at the prospect of a real voyage "en mer."

We had a very good supper about 8.30, just as we were passing Cronstadt.
We have made a very nice arrangement for our meals. The idea of a
table-d'hôte with all the people who are on board (many more than I
thought) was appalling, so we are to have all our meals half an hour
before the others at a small table in the dining-room. It is a most
satisfactory arrangement, and we had a nice quiet hour on deck while
the other passengers were supping. It was a lovely evening--the sea
absolutely calm, and so warm I hardly needed my cloak. We sat late on
deck. They brought us a table with tea and Swedish punch, which seems to
be the favourite drink here.

The passengers all came up after their supper. They were quiet
enough--all had tea, punch, and cigars, and a great many played cards.
The men look like commis-voyageurs, or small shopkeepers--almost all, I
should think, Swedes or Norwegians. There are three or four English
women and girls, governesses, the Captain tells me, going to Stockholm
and Christiania.

We went down to our cabin about 12--always the same curious grey light.
I slept perfectly well. It seemed to me there was a little roulis about
3 o'clock (I heard a clock strike somewhere), but it was only pleasant.
I was up at 8 and had my tea and toast in the ladies' cabin close to a
port-hole, and was rather sorry I hadn't had it on deck. I went up as
soon as I had finished. We were passing through a series of little
bays, all dotted over with islands, some fairly large, some merely a
granite rock with a pine tree on it.

    Saturday, June 23d. "En mer."

I was interrupted yesterday by the Captain, who came to get us to stand
on the passerelle with him and see the approach to Helsingfors. The bay
has widened out into a sea, and the harbour seems important. There are
lots of ships and steamers--also small boats going backwards and
forwards between them and the quais. The men in the boats wear a red
cap, something like the Neapolitan fishermen. The town stands out
well--there are high cliffs rising straight out of the sea, and a great
many steeples (not the green and pink cupolas of Moscow).

We found Richard and our Consul waiting for us on the Quai, and we drove
at once to the hotel, and breakfasted. The steamer remains until 12
o'clock to-night, so we have ample time to see the town. Just as we were
finishing breakfast a gentleman appeared, a director of something
(Postes et Télégraphes, I think) who came to do the honours in the
absence of the Governor. He had an open carriage with a pair of nice
little Russian horses, and drove us all over the town. Helsingfors is
the capital of Finland, and I believe flourishing enough. The town is
small and rambling--entirely surrounded by water, and quantities of
little islands connected by bridges. I think we must have crossed about
20. Some of the villas are large with nice gardens. The Director showed
us his, which looked pretty and comfortable. The streets are narrow--not
much movement. The names of the streets are written in three
languages--Russian, Swedish, Finnish. All the functionaries are Russian,
the small merchants and shopkeepers Swedish, and the peasants and
sailors Finns. They (Finns) have a very marked type of their own, not
particularly Russian, nothing of the Tartar, only very Northern.

We dined at the famous Café du Parc. W. invited the Director and the
Consul to dine with us, and we had a pleasant little dinner, fairly
good. There was a good orchestra, who had evidently been told who we
were, for as soon as we arrived they played the "Marseillaise" very
well. It caused quite a sensation among the people who were dining, as
they evidently hadn't noticed particularly the quiet party which came
in--all of us of course in travelling dresses. The chef d'orchestre
asked our Director if we would like to hear some national airs--which
they played very well, and then I asked for the Polonaise from Glinka's
"La Vie pour le Czar," which they always played in Moscow whenever the
Imperial cortége arrived.

At 11 o'clock the Consul's steam launch came (the café is on the water),
and he took us all about the inner harbour, most curious and
interesting, and then outside. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and
we went sometimes so close up to one of the islands that we could have
spoken to anyone on the shore if there had been anybody to speak
to--sometimes we were in what seemed a great lake, with no perceptible
outlet. We cruised about until midnight, then went back to the hotel,
and walked down to the steamer. The light had changed--was rather like
dawn, but perfectly light. There were people and carriages, children,
badauds, loitering about the wharf. They told us a steamer had started
two or three hours earlier with tourists on board to see the midnight
sun.

We stayed on deck about half an hour to see the départ. The light was
getting much stronger--Richard read a letter quite easily, and at 1
o'clock, when I went down to the cabin, the sun was shining bright. I am
writing now on deck after breakfast. Young Moltke, a Dane, came on board
last night, and asked if he might have his meals with us. He too had
been at the Coronation, and found the standing all those hours very
tiring. The day is beautiful--the sea perfectly calm, and the long, lazy
hours on deck most resting.

This morning I was interviewed by two English girls--both young and
rather pretty, the fair English type. One was a governess going back to
her place, somewhere near Stockholm, in the country; the other was just
going out on a venture, had no engagement, knew no language but her own,
and had merely made the acquaintance of the other girl on the boat. I
suggested it was rather a risk coming so far without anything definite;
but she said she was sure she would find something, and she had a
little money. I asked her how old she was--17. "How could your parents
let you start off like that?" "Oh, there are so many of us, and I am
strong." They then asked me if I would tell them something about the
Coronation--so I talked to them a few minutes. They asked me if I saw
many Nihilists--as if they were a marked class--and did the Empress look
nervous.

I have also managed to talk a little to the stewardess, or rather to
understand her--as I have made out that she is married, and has young
children, and no one apparently to leave them with while she is cruising
about.

I wish I could sketch, there are so many charming little bits of scenery
that I would like to bring home with me. We are getting near Abo, and I
must stop. To-night is to be our rough night in the Baltic. At the
present moment the sea is like glass, but the Captain says there is
always movement crossing over to Stockholm. I should like to go on
forever in the boat. The long, long hours on the deck with this soft
grey sea and sky, with nobody to talk to, and no dressing of any kind
are enchanting. I have got a book, Tolstoy's "Guerre et Paix," but I
don't seem to get on much--I am always looking at something.

    8 o'clock.

We have just got back after a lovely afternoon at Abo (the old capital
of Finland). The approach was very picturesque as we went some distance
up a narrow river to the town, which is not directly on the sea. Our
Vice-Consul was waiting on the quai with a carriage, and we drove all
over the place. It is now a dead city--all the life and interest of
Finland is absorbed by Helsingfors, but it is interesting. We saw the
Cathedral, the public gardens, and then drove some distance into the
country to see the oldest church in Finland--a little old, grey building
that looks any age. The country is very pretty, always charming views of
the sea, and a few villas dotted about, but nothing like as many as at
Helsingfors. It seems people come sometimes in summer for sea air,
bathing, and fishing, and occasionally English yachts stop a day or two.

We got back about eight, and I am writing now before supper. We found
the boat all dressed with greens, as it is the St. Jean, and they tell
us we shall see lights, bonfires, and torches on all the little islands,
as they always celebrate the St. Jean here with greens and lights. My
next letter will be from Stockholm.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Stockholm#,
    Sunday, June 24th, 1883.

Well, Dear, we arrived at 12 o'clock this morning, and I was quite sorry
to leave the boat and my nice big cabin, and the good-natured
stewardess. Last night was enchanting. We sat on deck until 12.30. W.
treated us all to Swedish punch and cakes. It was decidedly cooler--for
the first time I had on the warm, long, blue cloth coat I started in
from Paris, and there was rather more motion. How it would amuse you--I
wish you were here. The deck looks quite picturesque--lots of little
round tables with groups of three or four people, all drinking
something, and most of them playing cards. Between 11 and 12 there is a
sort of night, or darkness, so they brought up some lamps, which looked
weird, and gave a faint, flickering light. We run sometimes so close to
the islands, between several, in a narrow channel, that one would think
it was impossible to pass, but evidently it is deep sea everywhere, and
we go steadily on without slackening. I am delighted we decided to come
by sea. It is again a most novel experience, and such a contrast to our
Moscow stay--all gold and glitter, and colour and courtiers.

We were just getting out of the little channels and islands and making
for the open sea when I went downstairs. The captain came and sat with
us a little while, and told us where we were. Some of the lights on the
small islands looked as if they were rising straight out of the sea. The
water was grey, and the rock grey--one only saw the light.

We didn't meet many ships--a few sailing boats as we left Abo--but no
steamers or big ships. We were up fairly early, as they told us the
entrance to Stockholm was so beautiful. Coming by water it rises
straight out of the sea like Venice. There were quantities of islands,
but much greener than those of the Finnish coast, and the cliffs higher.
Villas everywhere, close down to the water's edge, and running up the
hills. Little pleasure boats and yachts skimming all over the harbour.
As it was fête St. Jean all the peasants and country people were out in
flat-bottomed boats, crowded with women and children down to the water's
edge--the boats quite covered with green boughs and leaves, the women in
costume--a white skirt, coloured bodice embroidered in gold or
silver--silver charms and big pins in their hair. It really was
fairy-like for quite two hours before we arrived.

We got in at twelve exactly, and breakfasted on board. The river is so
deep that big ships run straight up into the town. The American frigate,
Lancaster, which arrived last night, is anchored directly in front of
the hotel, under our windows.

We took a most cordial leave of our Captain, who expressed great
gratification at having had us on board--hoped we were satisfied and
would recommend his boat to any of our friends who wanted to make the
same trip. W. and Richard were astounded at the cheapness of the
journey. I think they made out it was about 50 francs apiece--tout
compris. We were three nights on board, and had all our meals except the
day at Helsingfors.

We found various people waiting for us at the quai--one of the
secretaries of our Legation--the gérant of the Hôtel de l'Europe--one or
two members of the French colony here, and M. Mathias, a French engineer
who lives here. We went across to the hotel in a ferry-boat and found
charming rooms, with windows and balconies on the river. The proprietor
informed us with much pride that the last distinguished foreigner that
had occupied the apartment was Mdme. Sarah Bernhardt.

We found quantities of letters, unpacked a little--I wasn't sorry to get
out of my blue cloth into something lighter, as it is warm. They say it
is going to rain, and it has been dull and grey all the morning. M.
Patenôtre, French Minister, has sent word that he will come and see
us about 2.30. The King is here, and will receive W. The Queen and
Princesses are away, so I have nothing to do. The Royal Palace is
opposite--a big square building.

    7 o'clock.

Patenôtre and all his Legation appeared. They brought us some picture
papers with the Coronation, proclamation (the Heralds dressed in cloth
of gold, and preceded by trumpeters) and ball. They say the Graphic is
the best, but they hadn't it, you might perhaps, June 10th. We went for
a drive with M. Mathias, who will be our cicerone here, as he knows
Stockholm well. We went to the Royal Park, which is handsome--fine old
trees and allées, and to the Observatory, from which generally there is
a beautiful view of Stockholm and its surroundings--but it was grey and
misty, raining even a little, so we didn't see much.

We are to dine quietly here and go after dinner to a camp where soldiers
and peasants play games and dance and sing, in honour of St. Jean.

The river is still covered with little green boats darting about in
every direction.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Hôtel D'europe, Stockholm,#
    Monday, June 25th, 1883.

My Dear, this is the most enchanting place. The sun is out this morning,
and the river and green hills too lovely. The river is most animated,
quantities of sail boats and ordinary little rowing boats flying about
in all directions, and plenty of life on the quais. Our expedition
last night was not very successful. M. Mathias came to dinner early, at
7 (almost everyone dines at 6), and we went off to the camp. It was a
pretty drive all along the river, and would have been nice if it had
been clear, but it was a cold, grey evening, and began to rain a little
before we got home. We found plenty of people looking on--various
carriages drawn up, and it is evidently a thing to do--on a fine night
people get out and walk about in the crowd, but as it was misting a
little and decidedly muddy, we merely looked on from the carriage. One
of the military bands played very well, a sort of quickstep, and the
people danced with a certain entrain, but there were no particular
steps, nor national dances, nothing very different from what one
would see in a French assemblée when the people dance on the pelouse
before the Mairie. When they were all dancing round a may-pole dressed
with greens, it was pretty, with soldiers and the Dalecarlian
women--there were policemen, but not many, and the people looked quite
peaceable and happy, evidently enjoying themselves immensely. There were
quite a number of children--little tots that looked as if they could
just walk, joining in the ring. Some of the costumes were pretty. The
Dalecarlian women looked well--they wear a high black cap which is very
effective on their fair hair, which is plaited in heavy braids, and goes
around the head like a turban; a white bodice, bright coloured apron,
and gold or silver charms and hair-pins. The language sounded hard--no
more the soft Russian tongue--and, alas! I am afraid no more the long,
beautiful Russian twilight. The sky is grey and the clouds low. They
say we are going to have a spell of rain.

Mathias says the language is not at all difficult to learn, and it is
absolutely necessary to know it, particularly for anyone who is here in
any sort of business capacity.

We got home about 10 and went in to pay a visit to the Baldwins, who
have the rooms next to us. They had intended going too to the camp, but
the rain frightened them off. We told them they hadn't missed much. The
Admiral is charming--has been everywhere, seen everything, and takes
such a practical American view of everything. He was not at all
impressed with all the magnificence of Moscow--"All show (not much of a
one) and hollow. What is there underneath?" However, I said I thought
the show was pretty good as far as it went, and certainly no other
country in the world could offer such a sight; to which he replied,
smilingly, that I had been so long away from America that I had
forgotten what it was like. I stuck to my guns, and said that certainly
not all the intelligence, energy, education, and money of America could
produce such a pageant. What was so wonderful was the contrast. All the
modern life and luxury grafted upon that old half-Eastern, half-barbaric
world. I think I shall never again see anything like the dinner of the
Emperor and Empress the day of the Coronation. It looked exactly like
some old mediæval picture as they sat there in their robes and crowns in
that old dark-vaulted room of the old palace. We had quite an animated
discussion. I fancy he always takes the opposite side on principle.

This morning we have been very energetic. Mathias came at 10 o'clock,
and we started off sight-seeing. We walked across to the Palace, which
is directly opposite, and were there about an hour. There is not much to
see, the rooms are large and high, all very simply furnished. Those that
give on the river are very gay with all the water life of the city
passing under the windows. There is one large gallery "des glaces"
rather like the famous one at Versailles, which they told us was
beautiful when it was lighted. There are quantities of portraits
everywhere, and these, of course, are interesting; also some fine china,
large vases. We saw, of course, Bernadotte's room, left exactly as it
was when he died there. It was a curious mixture of French and Swedish,
several French papers and brochures lying about on the tables just as he
had left them, quite yellow with age and the print fading, also
note-books and "projets de loi" annotés in his handwriting. They say he
never knew a word of Swedish and yet was so popular. There was a fine
portrait of him over the fireplace, a handsome man, with fine soldierly
bearing.

We found a nice open carriage waiting for us at the door of the Palace
and drove off to Drottningholm, one of the Royal residences on Lake
Malar. The drive was charming, through pretty green country, and as soon
as we came near the Lake, villas (generally white) in every direction.
We crossed various little arms of the lake before we arrived at the
Château. It is an enormous pile, and stands very well in a large park.
The Governor, a fine old soldier (who rather reminded me of Marshal
MacMahon), was waiting for us with his son, and showed us everything.
The rooms are large and bright and exceedingly simple. It seems the
Royal Family are very fond of the place. There is so much room that they
can have as many people staying as they like, and they all live on the
water. We drove through the park, and saw the Governor's villa, not far
from the Palace. As we had been going since 10 o'clock the idea of tea
was not disagreeable, so we consulted our coachman (at least Mathias
did, as we couldn't talk), and he told us there was a good little café
in the park, at one end, far from the Château, where the public were
allowed, so we stopped there and had a very good cup of tea. It was cool
and green, and we rather liked sitting there with the lake before us in
the drowsy quiet of a summer afternoon. However we had to get back to
Stockholm, as W. had to make a visit to the Ministre es Affaires
Étrangères. He sent him word just as we were starting that the King
would receive him to-morrow at one o'clock. He must also see if he can
borrow anywhere a Swedish grand cordon. He sent all his decorations
back to Paris with his uniform, quite forgetting that he might want some
on his way home, and they tell him he must have his, that the King is
very particular about such matters, and wouldn't be at all pleased if he
presented himself without his order. Patenôtre's is no good, as it isn't
the same order.

We left W. the carriage and walked home, stopping and looking at all the
shop windows. I don't know that there is much to buy, but we are going
on a real shopping expedition to-morrow morning. Mathias showed us some
queer old streets and houses and a famous shop where there were all
sorts of fishing outfits. He is very anxious that we should go on to
Norway, see Christiania and some of the famous fiords. He says the
country is much finer than any part of Sweden, and there is much more
"couleur locale." It is just the season for it. I should like it
extremely, but I am afraid W. won't. He wants to get home, and must stay
three or four days at Copenhagen, where there is a fine collection of
medals.

Now I am sitting writing at the window, waiting until it is time to
dress for dinner at the Legation. The river is a perpetual enjoyment,
always something going on. A big boat has just put off from the American
man-of-war. The men look a fine sturdy lot, and come up in great style
with a good, long stroke. They attract much attention, for as soon as
the boat left the ship a little crowd gathered and watched their
progress.

Here is W., who enjoyed his visit to the minister very much--found him
easy and intelligent, and much interested in the Coronation. They will
send him a plaque and a ribbon from the jewellers, so he will be quite
correct to-morrow. Adelaïde is much disturbed because I have neither
fine dress nor jewels for the dinner to-night. It really is not of the
slightest consequence, as I am the only lady (Patenôtre is a bachelor),
and we are going to the gardens afterwards. I shall wear Delannoy's
blue and white striped silk, half long, and take my hat in my hand, as
it must go on for our outing.

    12 o'clock.

We have just come in from our dinner, which was pleasant and very good,
merely the three, Mathias, Patenôtre, and one of his secretaries, M. de
Bondy. The house is large, nice, and looks very pretty, as the Minister
has been both in China and Persia and has brought back some beautiful
things, carpets, tentures, and curios of all kinds. He evidently didn't
find Pekin a very pleasant or healthy residence, says the cold is
something awful. He likes Stockholm, says the Swedes are pleasant,
kindly people, lead simple lives, and do all they can to make it
pleasant for the Corps Diplomatique. There are few large fortunes--very
little life, and little private entertaining. The Court gives several
balls and dinners every year.

About 8.30 we went off to the gardens and restaurant Haselbach, where
all the beau monde of Stockholm assembles in summer, but the season is
over and there were not many people there--of _Society_; _people_ there
were, plenty. The gardens are large, well lighted, a very good band was
playing, and everyone walking up and down the broad allées, or seated at
little tables with tea and punch. We sat there about an hour. Patenôtre
pointed out various notabilities to us, but said he didn't know many
people.

Now we are discussing routes with maps and books. We shall start for
Copenhagen to-morrow night viâ Malmo, and must send in the morning to
engage our sleepings. It is a long journey. We leave here at 8.30,
and don't get to Copenhagen until 4.30 the next day.

    Tuesday, June 26th.

It is lovely again this morning. Richard and I and Mathias have been
wandering about the streets shopping. There isn't much to buy--Norwegian
knives with carved wooden handles in a leather case, Scandinavian
charms, buckles, and brooches roughly worked, but rather pretty and
curious shapes--furs, too, of course, but we didn't want any more. I was
rather tempted by a large white stuffed bear. I thought it would look so
well in the hall in the country; but of course the only reason to have a
bear in the house is when you shot it yourself, and that was not
possible in the streets of Stockholm in the month of June. The day is
divine--sky blue and water dancing. The whole aspect of the place is
much gayer than anything we saw in Russia. People don't look sad or
preoccupied; there are always badauds hanging over the bridges and
exchanging jokes or remarks with the watermen.

Richard and I breakfasted tête-à-tête, as W. had gone off for his Royal
audience. His plaque and grand cordon came in time from the jeweller,
so he was quite proper. I shall go and see about the trunks, and as soon
as W. comes back we shall start again for some last sightseeing, the
Museum, churches, etc. We dine at 6 and start at 8 from the hotel.
Richard has decided to wait a day longer and go and see the Falls of
Upsala, which are quite worth seeing. Mathias will go with him, and
he will join us at Copenhagen Thursday. The Baldwins have just come in
to say good-bye. They, too, are leaving to-morrow.

I will finish, as I have a quiet hour before dinner. I left the
gentlemen at the Museum, as I was not very well, and thought better to
rest a little before starting this evening. W. came in a little after
two, having enjoyed the hour with the King very much. He says he is a
tall, handsome man, very intelligent, and well up in everything. He
received him quite informally in his cabinet de travail, which he said
had also been Bernadotte's. There was a good picture of him on the
walls. He was much interested in the Coronation, though he had heard all
about it already from his son, but he was anxious to have W.'s
impressions. He said _he_ personally had never been very anxious about a
Nihilist plot at that time. He didn't think they would choose that
opportunity. He was much interested in everything French, literature,
politics, theatres, and asked W. if he was going back to Petersburg as
Ambassador. He also asked him if he had ever been in America, as he
believed he had married an American, and was much surprised to hear he
had never crossed the big pond. He told him too just what some of the
Swedish diplomats told me, that all his best young men went to America.
They got such high wages, and got on so well, that they were all
leaving Sweden. I remember Sandford telling us years ago in Paris, that
all the workmen on his orange plantations in Florida were Swedes.

[Illustration: M. William Waddington From a copyright photograph by
Russell & Son]

W. had just time to get out of his dress clothes, and send back his
order when Mathias appeared, and we went for a last tournée. First to
the Church des Chevaliers, where all the Swedish Kings are buried, up
and down some old streets where there are curious old houses, and
wound up at the Museum. I only stayed there half an hour, saw some of
the pictures and souvenirs of Charles IX, and then came home, leaving
the others.

Now we have finished packing, I have on my travelling dress, and am
seated quietly at the window with my book, Tolstoy's "La Guerre et la
Paix," but I don't make much progress--I am always looking out. A
big steam yacht has just come in--ran straight up the river alongside of
the "Lancaster." About twenty little boats have immediately started out,
going close up to the yacht, and they have sent off a steam launch,
which has come up to the wharf in about five minutes.

Patenôtre and his secretary have come to say good-bye, and to say that
all the orders are given for this evening, and we shall have our
sleepings. I wonder if you have seen Pontécoulant. He said he would go
at once to find you. He has been saving up all he heard about the
Americans and their frock coats and grey trousers (when everyone else
was covered with gold embroidery and orders) for you, and hopes to get a
good rise out of you.

My next letter will be from Copenhagen--then Hamburg and home. The
gentlemen have come in--found the Museum very interesting, and we shall
dine in a few minutes, so this must stop and will go off from here by
the evening courier.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Copenhagen#,
    Wednesday, June 27th, 1883.

We arrived at one o'clock to-day, Dear, not tired at all, as our journey
was easy. We had a capital waggon, a large sleeping carriage, a bed on
each side, and a good toilette. We started punctually at 8.30, through
fairly pretty country, nothing very picturesque, but a general
impression of verdure. At 10.30 we stopped somewhere, had tea, and the
man came and made the beds. I slept quite well. We took the steamer at
Malmo, breakfasted on board, and enjoyed the crossing. The sea was
beautiful and there were quantities of boats of all kinds. There was a
thick fog for about half an hour, which was very uncomfortable, for we
knew how many boats there were all around us, and as soon as our own
whistle stopped, we heard many others unpleasantly near. However it
lifted as we neared Copenhagen.

The approach is good, but not nearly so fine as Stockholm. There are no
islands and the country all about is very flat. The quantity of boats of
all kinds made it a very pretty sight. We found M. de Kergorlay, Chargé
d'Affaires, waiting for us on the quai with a carriage, and drove at
once to the hotel. We wanted a little time to change, read our letters
(we found a quantity, two from you), which you may imagine I was glad to
have. I am so glad the boy has kept well--I am getting very homesick for
him now that our faces are turned homewards. M. de Kergorlay said he
would come back at 4 and take us a drive. W. too found various letters
and papers. We started again at 4 and had a beautiful drive to the "Deer
Park" for some distance along the sea, with quantities of villas,
casinos, cafés with music all the way. There were some very pretty
carriages, officers riding, and every description of pleasure boat, big
and small, on the sea. Just as we were leaving the sea and turning into
the forest we met a big break, with the Prince Royal driving himself and
his family. The carriage was full of children. He recognized of course
Kergorlay, then W.--however they are all in the country. We shall have
no visits nor audiences of any kind. I am rather sorry not to see the
Prince. He was in Paris and dined with us the Exhibition year, when W.
was at the Quai d'Orsay, and I found him most sympathetic, and very
good-looking.

It was so pretty driving through the deer park. We had tea in one of the
casinos, standing high over the sea, with a splendid view. We dined
quietly at the hotel at a small table in the dining-room. We saw there
General Appert and his family dining. They had come to Copenhagen
to see their son, who is military attaché here (Madame Appert is a
Dane), also Harry Whitehouse, who said they were in the country, but not
far, and would certainly come in and see us. I have written a few notes
since dinner, and W. has also sent one to be given early to-morrow
morning to the Conservateur des Médailles at the Museum. The hotel is
very comfortable, we have an enormous salon on the front, and good
bedrooms. Adelaïde has fraternised with the Apperts' maid, and is
delighted to have a compatriote to go about with. I was interrupted, as
W. suggested we should go out and make a little turn in the streets
while he smoked a cigar. The town is much less gay than Stockholm. All
the houses are built of grey stone, and are high and narrow, rather like
New York. There are a good many people in the streets and in the trams,
of which there seem plenty.

    Thursday, June 28th.

It is again a beautiful day, and at 10 o'clock W. and I started. I took
Adelaïde, for I knew W. would be absorbed at once by the medals, and I
didn't care to come home alone. We were received with much empressement
by the Director. As I supposed, the Conservateur des Médailles carried
off W. at once, and a sub. of some kind was deputed to show me the
Historical Museum, which really is very interesting, costumes and
interior groups of figures of the whole world. They say it is very
exact, but what a work it must have been. We saw it very well and fairly
quickly, as it wasn't a public day, and the young man only showed us
what was worth seeing. We walked home. It wasn't far, and he explained
the route to us. I really needed the exercise. The town is decidedly
gloomy, even in the bright sunlight, and might be any Northern town
anywhere.

I breakfasted alone at a small table in the dining-room, and had the big
room almost to myself--two gentlemen were breakfasting at one end.
Almost as soon as I got upstairs I had some visits. First Richard
appeared, very pleased with his excursion, said it would have been a
pity not to see the Falls, being so near; then came Col. Wyckham Hoffman
and Whitehouse. Hoffman was much interested in hearing about the
Coronation, as he was five years secretary in Russia and knew all the
people. He and Mrs. Hoffman are at Elsinore for the summer and want us
very much to come down and dine and stay over night, but I am afraid we
can't. W. wants all his time here for the coins, and it would take quite
a day to really see the place. Kergorlay came with a carriage at three,
and he and I and Richard started again for the same drive. It seems all
Copenhagen does it every afternoon. The sea looked enchanting, and I
think there were more boats than yesterday--several big steamers,
English bound they tell us--and such quantities of pleasure boats. We
drove rather further into the forest, as we had more time. It is really
very lovely--had tea in another casino with the same view of the sea. We
met various private carriages with good horses, a certain number were
breaks full of nurses and children; and some rather smart-looking
officers well mounted. We didn't meet the Royal break again. It seems
they are all (a big family party) at one of their châteaux near
Copenhagen, and come into town very often. Kergorlay seems to like
Copenhagen--not the climate, he says it is cold and foggy, there are
days when one never sees the sun. It makes rather a gloomy impression
on me. If I lived here I too would want to come every day to the Deer
Park, which wouldn't be convenient perhaps for domestic arrangements.

The streets are curiously banal--I wonder why? Of course one didn't
expect to find the colour and half-Eastern look of Moscow, nor the gay
half "bains-de mer" impression of Stockholm, but I am disappointed. One
thinks of Danes as descendants of the Vikings, heroes, enormous men with
long limbs and yellow hair. Do you remember the poem we were so mad
about in the days of our youth, "Word was brought to the Danish King
that the love of his heart lay dying"? I can see Mrs. Lawrence sitting
at the table, and reading it in her full rich voice. I don't remember
now who wrote it, but I am sure you will--and Copenhagen looks
singularly unpoetical and modern. We found W. on the balcony when we got
back, with his papers and his cigar, just tired enough after a long
day's work in the Museum to appreciate a quiet hour. It has been warm
all day, and is still. We felt the difference as soon as we turned into
the streets, and we haven't the river under our windows as we had at
Stockholm, and always a breeze.

    4 o'clock.

Richard and I are just back from an expedition to Tivoli--the great
garden here. We dined quietly at home, and I tried to persuade W. to
come with us to the garden, but he declined absolutely, so we left him
talking and smoking with General Appert, and we two started off in a
fiacre. We were rather pleased with ourselves and the way we got along
in a strange place and a strange tongue. We even made out strawberries
and cream--"med" and something else I forget now. I don't know which was
strawberries and which was cream, but we got them, and _med_ was
evidently one or the other. The garden is very pretty, very well
arranged, with every variety of entertainment. We sat and listened to
the band (a very good one, military) while we had _med_ and ----, and
then went into one or two of the small theatres and concert halls. All
this too was modern, might have been Paris or London. We saw one or two
of our diplomatic friends disporting themselves at one of the theatres
where there were "poses plastiques" very well done. I think they were
"en garçon"--the pink flower hats they were alongside of didn't give me
a family impression.

We rather enjoyed our evening lounging about. A fortune teller, a rather
pretty girl, evidently wished to tell our fortunes, _that_ we made out
by signs and the cards she had spread out before her, but we didn't
think our knowledge of the Danish tongue was sufficient to understand
all she would tell us of a brilliant future. Richard is delightful to go
about with. He likes to see everything and know about everything, and
certainly succeeds in some curious way getting all the information he
wants. W. was poring over his notes when we got back. We told him all
our experiences, and then talked a little about our day to-morrow.

    Friday, June 29th.

It has been frightfully hot all day. I stayed at home all the morning.
W. and Richard went off early to the Museum. I had a visit from
Kergorlay. He has an interesting face, is a widower, poor fellow, with
four children, one boy of two and a half. They say he is so devoted to
the children. I told him I should like to see them, and he will send
them--at any rate we shall see them to-morrow night, as we dine at the
Legation. Richard came back to breakfast. He said it was cool enough
in the Museum, and we started off for the Thorwaldsen Gallery. Of course
some of the statues and has reliefs are very fine, but they are
enormous, almost more than life size. We went on to the Frauen Kirche to
see his statues of the 12 Apostles which are there. They were strangely
familiar. We must have seen them reproduced in plaster at home. Both St.
Peter and St. John I knew quite well, and didn't like them much. While
we were loitering about the church the suisse told us a wedding was just
going to take place, it might perhaps amuse us to see it, so we stepped
into one of the side aisles and saw the cortége. The bride was the
regulation white-veiled figure, I think she had a _green_ wreath (it may
have been myrtle like the German brides), the man was in uniform. What
was really interesting was the dress of the two pastors. They wore black
coats with white ruffles, just as they did in Luther's time. That
reconciled me a little to this very uninteresting town.

It was still very warm, but we did a little shopping, photographs and
one or two trifles. Richard leaves to-night at 7.30, and we shall dine
early with him. He is to stop a day or two with Mary at Meiningen, pick
up his mother who is there, and bring her back to France. Mary wanted us
to come, and I wish we could have managed it. It would have been nice to
have been there all together, and they would have enjoyed hearing all
our impressions while they were so absolutely fresh, particularly
Charles, who leads a very quiet life now ever since his accident at the
Quai d'Orsay. It is extraordinary how the last thing seen remains in
one's memory. Already Moscow and that splendid pageant is fading a
little, and I see Stockholm, and the green islands, and the dancing
river.

    Saturday, June 30th.

It is still frightfully hot--not a breath of air. I have made as much of
a draught as I can by opening the door into the passage. It isn't very
convenient, as we are just at the head of the big staircase, but I have
put a high-backed arm-chair between me and the passers by. It was really
very warm until 11 o'clock last night. We dined downstairs with Richard,
and were very sorry to see him go. Then we went to Mrs. Baldwin (the
Admiral had gone off for two days) to ask her if she would drive with
us. We made the usual turn, the only variety being our tea place--we
take a new one every time. The gérant of the hotel explains to the
coachman where to go, and he chooses very well. It was lovely driving,
and so cool on the top of the cliff that we walked about a little after
tea. There is always a long, clear evening, not like Russia, but still
very pleasant and pretty, such a soft light over everything. The moment
we turned away from the sea back into the town we felt the difference,
but the long drive had cooled us. I have asked for my breakfast upstairs
in the salon. I really can't dress and sit in that hot room in this
weather. W. is at the Museum, but comes back at 4 with the Director, who
is to show us some of the treasures of the town. I am getting on very
well here with "La Guerre et la Paix," as I am not distracted all the
time as I was at Stockholm. I think you would like it, the _Russian_
side of Napoleon's great campaign is so interesting, also the
pictures of the society of Moscow at that time, which they say is
extremely well done.

W. came in about 4, not very warm, as he says the rooms of the Museum
are cool, with such thick walls, and while we were waiting for Monsieur
Warsoe, the Directeur, Mr. Vivian, English Minister, paid us a visit. He
is very anxious we should come and see them at Elsinore, says it is most
interesting (all memories of Hamlet). I should like it extremely, but W.
thinks we must get home. I liked Vivian very much. He talked very easily
about everything--he is going to dine with us at Kergorlay's, says all
the colleagues are most anxious to hear about the Coronation. M. Warsoe
appeared about 4.30 and we drove at once to Rosenburg, an old château
where there is a fine collection of all sorts of things. Some of the
Danish porcelain was lovely, also some fine tapestries. They showed us
with much pride their trésor, jewels, and gold and silver services, but
really after Moscow and the quantities of gold, silver, enamel, crowns,
and jewels of all sorts that one had seen the others made no effect,
though of course there were some handsome stones, rubies. What I did
like was the 4 lions (couchant) of massive silver, which are always put
at each side of the throne whenever there is a great ceremony at Court.
They must look splendid.

We went again to the Frauen Kirche, as W. had not seen it, and the
second time I liked the Apostles better, a little better. I think it was
too hot, and I was too tired when I was there before. We drove out to an
old bridge, which was curious, and in some old street where I had never
penetrated. The trams worry me, they are so frightfully civilized and
up-to-date, however they were crowded, so evidently the Danes are not of
my way of thinking.

Our dinner at Kergorlay's was very pleasant and handsome. Adelaïde was
again frightfully put out at my garment, and she is right, it is really
a street dress, and this time there are several women. I don't know why
I didn't keep out _one_ evening dress. It was rather stupid to send
everything back. However, I made my excuses to the ladies, and said I
was "en touriste." They were all very élégantes, though they were all
already settled in the country, and went off about 10 o'clock by the
last train. Kergorlay's children came in before dinner. The eldest girl
is 10, and the baby two and a half. It was so pathetic to see them in
their white dresses and black sashes and to think whom the mourning was
for. The dinner was very gay. We had Count and Countess Toll (he is
Russian Minister here, and a brother of Countess Pahlen), Marochetti
(Italian Minister) and his wife (a Frenchwoman, née Grandval), Vivian
(she didn't come, was in the country and rather exhausted with the great
heat), General and Madame Appert, and two secretaries. Count Toll was
very keen to hear all about Moscow, and what we thought of the great
show (he speaks English quite well). I told him we were enchanted, and
that one of the great features was Comte Pahlen with his velvet coat and
white staff of office with a big sapphire at the top. He certainly took
no end of trouble, and looked his part very well. They all seem to like
Copenhagen pretty well, except for the climate, which seems most trying.
Countess Toll was in white with handsome pearls. I felt rather like a
pensionnaire in my simple little dress--foolish, too; I ought to have
known better.

We got home quite early, so I can still have a little Tolstoy before I
go to bed. Adelaïde instantly inquired what the other ladies had on and
was much put out. "C'était Madame l'Ambassadrice qui était le plus
mal"--"oh! cela oui, et de beaucoup." I suppose it reflects upon the
femme de chambre when the mistress is not up to the mark.

    Sunday, July 1st.

It is still frightfully hot. I did not go out all morning, though they
sent a notice of services at the English Church. We shall leave
to-morrow night for Hamburg. W. says two days more of medals will give
him all he wants. After breakfast I went to see Mrs. Baldwin, whom I
found gasping, sitting with open doors and windows; also Madame Appert,
who looked quite cool and comfortable, as did her two daughters, pretty
girls; however, they said they didn't feel cool. When I got back to our
rooms I found several cards, and then Mrs. Hoffman appeared. She was
very nice and friendly, sent all sorts of messages to you and Anne, and
wished Anne would come and stay with her at Elsinore. She likes
Copenhagen very much, says the people are friendly and hospitable and
invite the diplomats; also that some of the country places are very
fine, quite in the English style. She made a great appeal to me to come
to Elsinore with her this afternoon, I could come back to-morrow in
plenty of time for the night train, but I couldn't manage. W. was still
at the Museum, and would have been in a great state of mind if he had
come home and found not me but a note saying I had departed for
Elsinore. While she was still here, young Moltke appeared, our compagnon
de voyage from Helsingfors to Stockholm. He hopes to be sent to Paris or
London. I told him if it was Paris he must look us up. He is a very nice
young fellow, very good-looking, tall, and fair.

We have had our usual drive. We dined at 5 and started out rather
earlier. If possible there were more people than we had ever seen
before, as it was Sunday and fête. All Copenhagen, high and low, were on
their way to the Deer Park. A stream of conveyances of all descriptions,
some peasants' carts with straw at the bottom filled with women and
children, everybody in a good humour. There were fewer officers riding,
and fewer big boats on the sea, but endless little pleasure yachts. As
we came back it was really a pretty sight, all the cafés, casinos, etc.,
brilliantly lighted, all the villas, too, and people sitting on the
verandas, some playing cards, some at tea tables, some walking about in
the gardens, we could see the light dresses fluttering about in the
shrubberies; animation, laughter, voices, music everywhere. We stopped
as usual for tea at one of the high casinos--the sea blue and calm at
our feet some distance down, and the whole summer out-door life of
Copenhagen behind in the woods and hills. It was delicious driving back,
and even the streets were pretty to-night, so many people, and the cool
air such a relief after the terrible heat of the day. We have decided to
start at 8.30 to-morrow evening.

I tried to glean some information from a Danish paper this afternoon.
Col. Hoffman told me that if one knew English or German one could read
Danish quite well, giving oneself a little trouble, but I can't say that
was my experience. It might have been Hebrew for all I made out. I
suppose I didn't keep at it long enough. It doesn't sound easy when one
hears the language spoken all about one, rather harsh. I mastered a
little Swedish (to understand it) much more easily.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Copenhagen#,
    Monday, July 2d, 1883.

The heat is something awful to-day,--I think the worst day we have had.
I was up early, as the salon is cooler than the bedroom, more doors and
windows. W. is off to his medals until 5, and we leave to-night for
Hamburg. The trunks are made (almost for the last time), as we shall
stay only one night in Hamburg, and arrive in Paris Thursday morning. I
had a nice visit from Kergorlay. He can't come to the station to see us
off, as he dines with the King in the country, but will send his
chancelier to see about places, luggage, etc. We talked a great deal
about his children. He feels such a responsibility, and it is hard for a
man to have such a young family to look after. He said their mother was
so devoted to them--it seems hard she couldn't have been left to them a
little longer.

I breakfasted downstairs, had a little talk with the Apperts, and then
went to the reading-room for a little while to see if there was any
news. The Comte de Chambord is very ill, dying they say. I wonder if his
death will make any difference now--I suppose not. He has been only a
memory practically all these years, as he never came to France, and only
a few, a very few fidèles clung to him in his exile. I must say I rather
admired him always. According to his lights (limited I grant), he was
absolutely consistent.

I had another visit from Col. Hoffman, who came to see if we were really
going to-night. We have a despatch from Richard saying that we will have
much difficulty in getting into any hotel in Hamburg--the town is very
full. There are races going on, also a scientific congress of some
kind--however, the proprietor of this hotel says it is all right, they
will keep us rooms. W. came in at 5, having been working steadily since
9.30 this morning. He took a cordial leave of the various Conservateurs
and Directors, but thinks they were not sorry to see him go, and take up
their quiet life, two or three hours a day in the cabinet instead of 6
or 7.

My next letter will be from Hamburg--and after that I will _tell_ all I
have seen and done, which will be much easier than writing.

    #Railway Station, Kiel, 7 A.M.,#

    Tuesday, July 3d.

We have two hours to wait here, so I will scribble a line to you, which
will help to pass the time. We got off very early last night. Some of
the young men from the Legation were waiting at the station with a
servant to help us with our baggage. It really was not necessary, as we
have only two trunks, and the porter of the hotel is most helpful and
energetic. It was very warm even at that hour, and the compartment was
stuffy, a good many passengers. We got to Korsoe about 11. The boat was
directly opposite the station, and we went on board at once. There was
some delay getting the baggage on board, so we sat quietly on deck and
had our tea, and cooled off. The cabin felt so hot when I went down to
leave my things that I couldn't make up my mind to install myself,
particularly as the crossing (the Belt) was short, about 5 hours. The
Captain said we should arrive between 4 and 5 at Kiel. We stayed on deck
till nearly one o'clock. It was a lovely night, the sea quite calm, but
a good breeze once outside, which freshened considerably as we drew away
from the land.

I went down about one, but didn't get much sleep, and was quite ready to
go up on deck when they called me at 4.30, and said we were approaching
Kiel. Almost all the passengers were on deck. The approach is not
particularly interesting. I heard two gentlemen discussing us in
English. They had seen our trunks all labelled _Waddington,
Couronnement_, had taken renseignements from the Captain, who assured
them W. was the French Ambassador. They thought he must be mistaken.
"That man is an Englishman--he is speaking English now to the lady--I
have heard them talking always in English. They certainly are not
French." They hovered about us, and then looked rather bewildered, for
Adelaïde came up to ask me something, and then W. and I finished our
talk in French. We speak sometimes French, sometimes English, it depends
upon our milieu.

The harbour is fine as one gets up to it. How hard for the Danes to give
it up, and how they must hate the Germans. We got off about 5.30. The
city was still wrapped in sleep. We walked about a little, and it was a
curious sensation to walk about in apparently a dead town. We had some
breakfast at the station, and have been out again. Then (7 o'clock) the
town was quite lively, workmen moving about. We shall start in about a
quarter of an hour, and have about two hours and a half to Hamburg. The
long wait here has been tiresome, nearly three hours. The movement on
the water and the quais was amusing, but really until after 7 not a soul
was stirring, at least not in this quarter, and no trains coming or
going.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Hamburg#,
    Tuesday, July 3d, 1883.

No words can tell, Dear, how uncomfortable we are, hot and cross. We
arrived at 11, after a very hot, dusty journey. The town is crammed,
even at this hotel where they had kept rooms for us (and such nasty
little rooms, a small salon, giving on the street it is true, so that we
can see all that goes on, and two minute bedrooms on one side) we can't
get our trunks, nor apparently our breakfast. The hotel people are quite
affolés. There are races (with a German Prince of some kind either
presiding or running horses, I can't make out which), "a horticultural
show, a cattle fair, (and an anniversary of something)."

We said we would take a carriage this afternoon and drive about the
city, and we might just as well have asked for a balloon--nothing to be
had before 7 o'clock. I should think every carriage in Hamburg was
out--quantities of all kinds and large omnibuses are passing under the
windows, filled with women in light dresses, and a generally festive
appearance. They hope to give us one then.

We have had breakfast--the dining-room large, fairly cool, and empty (as
it was late everyone had breakfasted and flown). They brought us the
Figaro. The Comte de Chambord is dead, and the Comte de Paris starting
for the funeral. Just as we had got upstairs again the man of the hotel
came and asked if Madame l'Ambassadrice de France would receive Madame
l'Ambassadrice de France. We were rather puzzled, but said of course we
would receive anyone who came, and in walked M. et Mdme. de Courcel, and
M. de Pina, our Consul here, M. de Sancy, the military attaché at
Berlin. We were delighted to see them. The Courcels had been paying a
visit to the Duke of Sagan in his splendid place, and, being not far
from Hamburg, had come on to see the town. They were going to the races
with M. de Pina, and wanted us to come, but we didn't care to (and
indeed I don't know how we should have gone, as they had a small
carriage which just held them, and we had none). M. de Pina asked us to
dine with the Courcels at 8.30, and that we were very glad to do, as the
prospect of a dinner in the big dining-room, with all the crowd of
hungry people back from the various festivities, was not alluring. Pina
told us as we couldn't get a carriage we had better take one of the
small steamers that ply about in the inner harbour, and have an hour's
sail. He was sure we would find it pretty and interesting. It would
certainly be cooler than sitting in that stuffy little salon.

There is nothing to see now in the streets, as the whole population is
out of town, and the rumbling of carriages has ceased for the moment. W.
is lying back in an arm-chair, with a cigar, in his shirt sleeves,
groaning with the heat; and very hot it must be to reduce him to that
state. I have a theory that no Waddington knows what heat means. No
words can describe what I feel. Certainly fine feathers make fine birds,
and I think no one would recognize the gold embroidered, bejewelled
couple that went in the coupé d'Orsay to the gala dinner at the Palace.

    11 o'clock.

We are just in from the Consul's dinner, and as it is cooler in the
salon with the windows open than in my room, I will finish my letter
to-night. We start to-morrow morning at 9 o'clock for Cologne and Paris.
Now that we are getting so near I am very homesick for the boy, and for
my own house. The constant moving about and living in hotels for the
last fortnight has been tiring. I have got nothing left either to say to
anybody--I have described the Coronation so many times that it is almost
mechanical now--the words come by themselves--a steady stream, like the
paper that rolls off the telegrams. I think I should never do for a
_permanent_ Ambassadress if six weeks of functions have exhausted me
physically and mentally. As usual tho' last impressions are the
strongest. I have already forgotten Moscow a little, and see the journey
from Petersburg to Stockholm more clearly than anything else. I am sorry
now that I didn't write a regular journal. Almost all the gentlemen did,
and it would have been no trouble if I had made up my mind to it, and
written regularly, but unfortunately my writing-table at Maison Klein
was on the court, and as soon as I established myself all sorts of
interesting things immediately began to take place under the window, and
the ink was bad and thick, and I got it all over my fingers, and even up
in my hair--I hate so to write.

We sat all the afternoon indoors until 6 o'clock, when a little breeze
sprang up, and we walked down a few steps only to the wharf from which
the little steamers sail. It is about an hour, the tour round the lake,
or inner harbour--quite charming--all the shores covered with pretty
houses and villas, with lawns, and gardens full of flowers, sloping down
to the water's edge. One would never have dreamed of finding anything so
pretty and so _country_ in this very business-like place. Many of the
villas had nice little jetties and piers that ran out quite far into the
water, and pretty boats and boat-houses. It seemed incredible to find
all this so close to the hot, crowded hotel where we had been all day.
The boat was quite full--principally business men going back to dine and
sleep at their country houses--all Germans--we were certainly the only
foreigners on the boat. It rather reminded me of Staten Island at
home--the afternoon boat with all the business men on board, only one
didn't have the broad expanse of the beautiful New York Bay, but a small
land-locked lake.

The sail and breeze (such as it was) revived us, and we had time to
dress comfortably for our dinner. We didn't see the great port--divined
it only, with the forest of masts of all sizes.

Our dinner was very pretty and pleasant. Our host was some time in
Holland, and has some lovely specimens of blue Delft, and some fine
carved furniture. We had only M. and Mdme. de Courcel (who arrived very
late, having been caught in the file of carriages coming from the
races), M. de Sancy, the first magistrate of the city, the Burgomaster,
all in black, a plain tight coat, with a white fraise, very stiff and
high around his neck, and a long gold chain. Also two of the principal
merchants of Hamburg--the Courcels were staying with one of them, as
they could get no rooms anywhere. The house was almost shut up--all the
family out of town, and a femme de charge to look after them. They said
the rooms were very comfortable, and they took their meals at a
restaurant or with M. de Pina, who is certainly most hospitable.

W. was delighted to see Courcel and tell him all about the Coronation,
and his impressions of all the people he had seen. The Burgomaster, too,
was very keen to hear what we thought about everything. He is a clever
old man, speaking French fairly well. They all evidently think there is
much discontent in Russia, and some day there will be a great
upheaving--de Sancy told me that Radziwill, Aide-de-Camp to the German
Emperor, told him that our equipages, horses, etc., were so good. We
thought so, but were not perhaps quite impartial. Richard says we all
used to sit up talking after every ceremony, and say how well we did
things.

After dinner M. de Pina showed us some of his curios, which are
interesting and very well arranged. One of the two merchants, I quite
forget the name, has a beautiful villa on the Elbe, some little distance
from Hamburg, and wants us very much to come and make them a visit. I
was much tempted--it would be amusing to see a bit of German business
life, and I think W. would not have minded if the invitation could be
accepted at once--but we would have to remain on here for two days, as
the gentleman is going somewhere else before he goes home, and really
two days in these horrid little rooms would be impossible. M. de Pina
told us the villas of some of these merchant princes are beautiful, with
splendid gardens and all the luxe that money can give. He says they
spend much more for their country houses than for their town
establishments.

We broke up about 10, as everyone was tired. It was a beautiful
moonlight night, so we told our coachman to take us round by the great
port. It was most curious. The water was black except just where the
streak of moonlight fell on it, and there were thousands of ships of all
kinds from all quarters of the globe--smoke coming out of the chimneys
of some of the big steamers, evidently preparing for an early start
to-morrow morning, and _millions_ of masts tapering up against the sky.
Lights in every direction, some high, some low, and even at that hour of
the night little boats flying about. One saw a dark object start off
from the wharf--suddenly stand out well crossing the moonlight streak,
and then disappear--there was a constant sound of oars and row-locks,
and long creaking noises like pulleys, and heavy things being hoisted on
board a ship. They say the animation, and noise, and dust, and _smells_
are extraordinary in the daytime--but at night-time all looked extremely
picturesque.

    #Cologne Gare#, 10 o'clock Mercredi soir,
    4 Juillet.

We got off this morning at 9.30 from Hamburg, and had a long, hot, dusty
journey--nothing very pretty to see. We arrived here about 6.30, found
the Consul, Mr. Brandt, waiting at the station with a carriage. He
proposed a drive--going first to the Cathedral, to see it by daylight,
and then to dine with him at the station, where there is a very good
restaurant, so we sent all our small things over to the private room,
and started off to the Cathedral. I was delighted to see it again after
so many years. Do you remember it was the first European Cathedral we
saw after Notre Dame, that first year when we came down the Rhine. How
magnificent it is, outside and inside--the long, stately vaulted aisles,
so high and so still. There was no one in the church at that hour, and
we had a delightful half hour. We walked all around the outside, and
then went back to the station to dine--and a very good dinner it was, in
the same room where we breakfasted when we started for Russia, now
nearly two months ago, when all seemed so vague, and rather a plunge
into the unknown. We shall certainly have souvenirs for all our lives.

As we were finishing dinner the Chef de Gare came to say that a
"lit-salon" was reserved for us, and he would have all the "kleines
gepack" put into the compartment, and tell us at the last moment. The
train starts at 10.30, and we get to Paris at 10 to-morrow morning, so
we thought we would go out again and drive about a little, as we had so
long to wait. We had a nice turn in the moonlight--the Cathedral looked
beautiful, and we crossed the Rhine and drove some little distance on
the other side of the river to have the view of the city. Now one or two
Frenchmen who are here are talking to W. They have brought us tea, and I
am scribbling this to you.

It is delightful, Dear, to think that to-morrow at breakfast I shall be
telling you all this, and Baby sitting up in his high chair, looking at
me hard out of his round, blue eyes. There is _one_ good thing in
getting home, I needn't write any more letters.


    _To G. K. S._

    #Paris#,
    31 #rue Dumont d'Urville#,
    July 5th, 1883.

We got back this morning at 10 o'clock. The journey was very
comfortable--there is nothing like those French "lits-salons." Our
departure from Cologne was rather amusing. The Chef de Gare summoned us
at the last moment--all the passengers had taken their places, the doors
were shut, officials careering up and down the platform, and _yet_ the
train didn't start. Various heads were put out of the windows, and one
or two irate gentlemen inquired what they were waiting for, and why
didn't we start. Then we appeared strolling leisurely down the platform,
with a small suite of gentlemen, officers, etc. The adieux were again a
little long, and really one man was bursting with rage, and not at all
mollified when he heard it was an Ambassador returning to France after
the Coronation; "he supposed Ambassadors could be as punctual as anybody
else, and when an express started at 10.30, it was 10.30 for everybody."

We were very pleased to find Hubert and the coupé waiting for us at the
Gare de l'Est, and Baby and Nounou in the street at the door of the
porte cochère.

Well, the Moscow Coronation is over--I wonder what the next turn of the
wheel will bring us.



PART II

TEN YEARS IN ENGLAND


    _To G. K. S._

    #Boulogne-sur-Mer#,
    August, 1883.

Here we are after all settled for a month at the sea. I really needed
the change and the sea-air after the fatigues of Moscow, and I was glad
to get out of my own house, which is still crowded with boxes and huge
cases labelled _Waddington Couronnement_, which now will not be
unpacked, but go direct to London, as all the Court dresses, gala
liveries, harness, etc., will be needed there.

We decided just at the last moment to come here, and consequently
couldn't get a house near the big hotels in the real "quartier des
baigneurs," so we have taken one quite the other end of the town near
all the fishing boats. They are a never-failing attraction. We love to
see them go out, and, above all, come in, when all the women,
bare-legged, and with flat baskets on their backs, go out to meet them
and bring in the fish. W. wanted us to come here, as he was in London
and thought he would often get over from Saturday to Monday.

I made my first visit to the Embassy on the 15th of August (Journée de
l'Assomption). W. thought I had better come over and see the house
before arriving in November to take possession. We started quite
cheerfully. It was warm and bright with a good breeze--a few white-caps,
but nothing out of the way. We saw the boats dance a little as they came
in, but didn't realise what a gale was blowing until we got on board of
ours. The wind was howling through the rigging, and the Captain told us
he couldn't start, as the wind was blowing the water off the bar. It
increased very much while we were waiting, and several passengers left
the boat and stayed over in Boulogne until the next day. However we had
promised to go; we are fairly good sailors, and W. had just two idle
days he could give us in London--so we started. It was certainly the
worst crossing I have ever made. The boat rolled and pitched terribly,
we shipped heavy seas all the time, and arrived at Folkestone shivering
and drenched. All the way to London we felt little streams of water
running down our backs, and our hats were a curiosity--filled with water
like a bowl. We emptied them on the quay, but the feathers, of course,
were finished. We were met at Victoria by two swell young secretaries,
in evening dress, with gardenias in their button-holes, who had come to
meet their Ambassadress; and I have wondered since what impression they
had of the limp, damp, exhausted female they extracted from the reserved
saloon carriage. It was only a few minutes' drive to the Embassy at
Albert Gate, where we were received by a stout porter and a most
distinguished "groom of the chambers," dressed in black, with a silver
chain around his neck. We dined alone in a fair-sized dining-room, with
splendid Gobelin tapestries on the walls. W. came in about 11, having
had a man's dinner with Gladstone.

[Illustration: The French Embassy, Albert Gate, London]

The next day we went all over the house, which is neither handsome nor
comfortable. It is high and narrow, like a cage, with no very large
rooms, and a general appearance of dinginess and accumulated dust.
However, the Minister has promised to paint and clean, and to do over
the small drawing-room entirely, just as I like. Of course I shall have
blue satin--you remember how I always like blue everywhere, on me and
near me. The situation is delightful, on the Park--just at Albert Gate.
The windows and balconies of the drawing-rooms give on the drive, and
the "Row" is so near that I could easily recognise horses and riders.
The season is practically over, but I have just seen a pretty group
pass; a lady mounted on a fine chestnut and a child on each side of her
on nice, small fat ponies; close to the little girl, about eight years
old, with her fair hair streaming down her back from under a blue cap,
rides an old groom, evidently much pleased with his little lady's
performance, and watching her so carefully.

Our inspection of the house took us all the morning. The kitchen,
offices, servants' hall and rooms are enormous, and in very bad order. I
should think it would take weeks to get it clean and habitable, and need
an army of servants to keep it so. I am thinking rather sadly of my
little hotel in Paris, so clean and bright, with not a dark corner
anywhere.

We went out driving in the afternoon, and I had my first experience as
Ambassadress, as the coachman drove down Constitution Hill--a right of
way reserved for Royalties and the Corps Diplomatique. We went straight
to Mrs. Brown, the famous milliner, in Bond Street, to get ourselves new
hats, as ours were quite impossible after our very lively passage, and
the housemaid at Albert Gate had a handsome present of two hats with
drooping feathers and a strong smell of sea and salt. London was of
course empty, but a few carriages were in the park, and it amused us to
drive about and see all the shops, and the general look of the streets,
so different from Paris.

We spent our evening quietly at home looking over our installation with
W., horses, carriages, servants, and in fact the complete organisation
of a big London house, which is so unlike a French one. I shall bring
over all my French servants and add as many English as are necessary. I
don't quite see Hubert, our French coachman, driving about the London
streets, and keeping to the left. I should think we should have daily
discussions with all the drivers in London; however, we must try. I
wonder if I shall like being an Ambassadress, and I also wonder how long
we shall stay here. My brother-in-law R. says perhaps two years.

We got back three days ago--started on a bright summer's day. The
Ambassador and secretaries came down to the station to see us off, and
W. promised to come over and spend Sunday. We had an ideal
crossing--blue sky, bright sun, and few passengers, and, notwithstanding
our hard experience in the first passage, we are glad to have been over
and made acquaintance with the personnel of the Embassy, also to have
seen the house and realized a little what I must bring over to give it a
look of home.

This morning we have the news of the Comte de Chambord's death, and I am
wondering if it will make any political complication. However, for years
past he has only been a name--a most honourable one certainly--but one
wants more than that to deal with the present state of France.

After all W. never came over. Although London was empty, he had always
some business to attend to, and on Sunday usually went to see some
friends in the country. Last Sunday he spent with Lord Granville at
Walmer, which he said was delightful. The castle so close to the sea
that the big ships passed almost under the windows; Granville himself a
charming host. He knows France and the French well, having been a great
deal in Paris as a boy when his father was British Ambassador to Louis
Philippe (1830-4); Lord Palmerston was then British Foreign Secretary.

We are very busy these days making our "pacquets," as we leave in three
days. I am sorry to go, as I have so much enjoyed the quiet life with
the sisters and the children. We have seen few people, as we are not in
the fashionable quarter, but we have become most intimate with all the
fishing population. The young women and girls jibe at us when we go
shrimp fishing, on terms of perfect equality--there are no distinctions
in the sea--because we have not the sleight of hand necessary to jerk
the shining, slippery little fish into the basket from the net. Some
local swell, the Mayor, I think, came to see me the other day, and was
told I was on the beach, so he came down and was much astonished when
they pointed out to him Madame l'Ambassadrice in a hat and feathers,
diamond ear-rings, very short skirts, and neither shoes nor stockings,
walking up to her knees in the water with a fishing-net in one hand and
a basket in the other, and followed by her little son and niece
similarly equipped, all quite happy and engrossed with their sport. We
have one or two country visits to make, and then I must have some time
in Paris to dismantle my house and make my preparations for London.


    _To J. K._

    #Mersham Hatch, Ashford, Kent#,
    Wednesday, November 28, 1883.

You will say I am taking up my old habits of writing to you always from
the country, but you cannot imagine how busy I have been in London since
I came over just 2 weeks ago to-day.

We came down here Monday afternoon to stay with W.'s old college friend
and cousin, Charles Monk. The house and park are charming--quantities of
large, comfortable rooms, and capital shooting. The gentlemen brought
down a great many pheasants yesterday. The party in the house are Lord
and Lady Abinger and Miss Scarlett, Sir George and Lady Chetwode, Mr.
Leveson-Gower, a brother of Lord Granville, with a most polished
courteous manner; a Mr. Price W. Powel, and a young Wm. Gladstone,
nephew of the Premier. Monk has no wife, and three unmarried daughters;
the eldest, Julia, does the honours very well and simply. I absolutely
declined the 9.30 breakfast and asked to have my tea sent up to me.

Yesterday I came down about 12, took a little turn in the garden until
one, and at 1.30 had luncheon. Then we went for a drive to Eastwood, the
Duke of Edinburgh's place. The house is not so large as this, but the
park is charming, with quantities of deer. We had tea when we came
in--some of the gentlemen appeared and we dined at 8, all the ladies
most gorgeous in satin, lace, and diamonds, the girls generally in
white. After dinner we talked a little, then some of them played whist,
and the young ladies sang. This morning the gentlemen have started again
shooting, and I shall sit in my room quite quietly until 12, which gives
me an hour and a half with the ladies before luncheon.

[Illustration: The Dining room of the French Embassy, London,
Showing its Two Famous Gobelin Tapestries]

    Thursday, 29th.

W. is off again "running for partridges," whatever that may mean, and at
3 we go back to London. He has a big dinner somewhere to-night.
Yesterday two ladies came over to luncheon, and in the afternoon Julia
Monk and I took a drive in the pony carriage to meet the sportsmen, who
had a very busy day. In the evening we made a little music, Miss
Scarlett played very well. I expect to be very busy all this next week
in London. The workmen will be out of the drawing-rooms, and I shall get
all kinds of little odd tables and chairs and unpack my own bibelots.
The carriages arrive, too, and we must decide about horses. Two English
giants are engaged as footmen, of equal height, to go on the gala
carriage, and we have our own two Frenchmen, one of whom is very tall.
He and Adelaïde came down here with us, and Adelaïde is much entertained
at the respect with which she is treated. She looked quite a swell
yesterday with her black silk dress, but she says the other maids are
much more dressy, attired in black velvet and satin and open dresses.
Soon there will be nothing left for the mistresses.

I will stop now, as I must be down a little earlier this morning. I hope
you will soon be settled in Washington, and that the children will have
no more scarlet fever or measles complications.


    _To H. L. K._

    #French Embassy, Albert Gate#,
    December 1, 1883.

I am gradually settling down, but everything, hours, service, habits,
servants, is so different that I still feel rather strange. I quite
sympathised with Francis, who was already unhappy at leaving Paris and
his dear "Nounou," and very much put out with his new German governess
who was deadly ill crossing. His woes culminated on arriving at Albert
Gate, when he was solemnly conducted upstairs by a very tall footman to
his room (a nice large nursery and bedroom giving on the Park), and he
wept bitterly and refused to eat any dinner or to have his coat and hat
taken off. A great many people have been to see us, and we shall have
some quiet dinners--and a shooting party at Mr. Monk's one of these
days.

The shooting party at Mr. Monk's was pleasant. He has a fine large house
and capital shooting. The ladies walked about a little and followed some
battues, and everyone assembled in the drawing-room for tea. All the
women in full dress and diamonds for dinner.

Our Harcourt dinner was pleasant. Sir William is charming--such an easy
talker, with no pose of any kind. It is decided that Lady Harcourt
presents me to the Queen. Lady Granville is away, and it falls upon her
as wife of the Home Secretary. Sir William had been to Windsor, and had
told the Queen of the curious coincidence--the French Ambassadress, an
American, presented by the wife of the British Home Secretary, also an
American,[8] and an amie d'enfance of Mrs. Waddington. I had some little
difficulty in finding out what I was to wear (as there is little
etiquette at the English Court upon these occasions), but they finally
told me ordinary visiting dress, so I shall wear my blue velvet. We go
down to lunch and see the Queen afterward.

[8] Lady Harcourt is a daughter of the late John Lothrop Motley, the
historian.

    December 7, 1883.

I have had my audience to-day, and will write to you at once while I
still remember it all. First I must tell you about Francis. He heard
someone asking me the other day if I had been yet to see the Queen. I
saw his face change a little, so when we were alone, he said,
tremulously, "Tu vas voir la Reine?" "Oui, mon fils." "Est-elle toujours
si méchante?" "Mais la Reine n'est pas méchante, mon enfant." "Elle ne
vas pas te faire couper la tête?" Evidently his mind had been running on
the Tower of London, where we went the other day, and where the block on
which Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey had their heads cut off was of
course shown. When he heard I was going to see the Queen, his heart
failed him, and I had some difficulty in comforting him, and explaining
that sovereigns in these days didn't have recourse to such extreme
measures (at least in civilised countries. I suppose the Shah of Persia
wouldn't hesitate to dispose of a head that was in his way).

Lady Harcourt and I started for Paddington at 1 o'clock, and got to
Windsor a little before two. We found a landau with two servants in
plain black liveries waiting for us, and we drove at once to the Castle.
It was a beautiful bright day, but snow had fallen heavily in the
country, so that the old gray walls and round towers stood out
splendidly as we drove up. We drove through several courts and finally
drew up at an entrance where there were five servants in the royal red
liveries with crape on their sleeves (all the Queen's household are
always in mourning), a big Highlander in full dress, and a butler in
black who ushered us into a large drawing-room with an enormous
bow-window looking on the Park. Instantly there appeared Lady Erroll,
lady in waiting, and four maids of honour. Lady Erroll shook hands and
introduced the maids of honour, who made us low curtseys. Then came Lord
Methuen--Lord in waiting--and we went at once in to luncheon. Everything
was served on silver plate; there were four footmen and a butler, but
the repast was of the simplest description--an ordinary English
luncheon--roast mutton, fowl, pudding, apple-tart, etc. After luncheon
we talked a little, and then Sir Henry Ponsonby appeared to give Lady
Harcourt her last instructions. It was the first time she had presented
an Ambassadress in a private audience. Precisely at three a servant in
black appeared and said, "Will you come to see the Queen?" Lady
Harcourt, Ponsonby, and I proceeded down a handsome long corridor filled
with pictures, vitrines, of china principally, and old furniture, to a
room at one end where a footman was standing. Sir Henry opened the door,
Lady Harcourt made a low curtsey at the threshold, saying, "I have the
honour to present the French Ambassadress," and then immediately backed
herself out, and I found myself in the room. I made a first low curtsey,
but before I had time to make another the Queen, who was standing in the
middle of the room with Princess Beatrice, advanced a step, shook hands,
and said, with a very pretty smile and manner, "I am very glad to see
you." She asked me to sit down, and talked a great deal, was most
gracious, asked me if I was getting accustomed to the climate and the
stairs, whether I had seen all my "colleagues," and how many children I
had. When I said one little boy whom I had left in London, she asked me
what he was doing; I thought I would tell her about his fears for his
mother's head, so I replied he was trembling at home until his mother
should return. She looked a little surprised, but was really amused, and
laughed when I told her his preoccupations; said, "Poor little boy, how
glad he will be to see his mother back with her head on her shoulders."

Princess Beatrice took no part in the conversation. She looked smiling
and very intelligent. The Queen was very simply dressed in black, with
her white widow's cap and veil, no ornaments, but a gold chain and
pearls around her neck, and a medallion with a portrait of a man in
uniform, whom I supposed to be Prince Albert. I think the interview
lasted about fifteen minutes. Then the Queen arose, shook hands, and
said she hoped my husband and I would like the life in England. Princess
Beatrice shook hands--I backed myself out, and it was over. I was very
much impressed with the Queen's personality. She is short, stout, and
her face rather red, but there is a great air of dignity and
self-possession, and a beautiful smile which lights up her whole face.

I never could find out any minor details in dress, as to taking off
veil, gloves, etc., but I did as I had done with other Royalties and
took off veil and gloves, which I hope was right.

Lady Harcourt and Ponsonby were waiting for me in the corridor, and
seemed to think my audience had been longer than usual--were also
surprised that the Queen made me sit down. It seems she sometimes
receives standing all the time, at a first formal presentation.

As we had some little time before starting for the station, Ponsonby
showed us part of the Castle. The great halls, St. George's and
Waterloo, are very fine, and it was interesting to see the great
pictures which one has always seen reproduced in engravings--the Queen's
Marriage, Coronation, Reception of King Louis Philippe, Baptism of the
Prince of Wales, etc. One room was beautiful, filled with Van Dycks. We
went back to the station in the same carriage, and Lady Harcourt and I
talked hard all the way home. It was certainly a very simple affair; as
little etiquette as possible, but the Castle was fine. The old gray
fortress and its towers and crenellated walls, the home of the sovereign
who lives there with little pomp and few guards--guarded by her people,
in the same Castle, and the same surroundings as when she began her long
reign, a mere girl. When one thinks of all the changes she has seen in
other countries--kingdoms and dynasties disappearing--one can realise
what a long wise rule hers has been. It is such a contrast to my last
Royal Audience at Moscow, which now seems a confused memory of Court
officials, uniforms, gold-laced coats, jewelled canes (I can see one of
the Chamberlains who had an enormous sapphire at the end of his staff),
princes, peasants, Cossacks, costumes of every description, court
carriages, Russian carriages, the famous attelage of three horses, every
language under the sun, and all jostling and crowding each other in the
courts of the Kremlin--with its wonderful churches and domes of every
possible colour from pink to green--only soldiers, soldiers everywhere,
and the people kept at a distance--very unlike what I have just seen
here.

    Sunday, December 16, 1883.

This afternoon we have had our audience of the Prince and Princess of
Wales--W. and I together. We got to Marlborough House a little before 4,
and were shown at once into a room on the ground floor, where we found
Miss Knollys and a gentleman in waiting. In a few minutes Sir Dighton
Probyn, comptroller of the household, appeared and took us upstairs to a
large, handsome salon. He opened the door, and we found the Prince and
Princess standing. The room was filled with pretty things. The Princess
was dressed in blue velvet (I too--I daresay Fromont made both dresses),
and looked charming, no older than when I had seen her in Paris three or
four years ago, and with that same beautiful slight figure and gracious
manner.

[Illustration: J J Jusserand Counsellor of the French Embassy, 1883

Recently appointed French Ambassador to the United States

From a photograph by Walery, Paris]

While the Prince and W. were talking she asked me a great deal about
Moscow and the Coronation, and particularly if the Empress was well
dressed always, as she had been rather bothered with the quantity of
dresses, manteaux de cour, etc., that she was obliged to have. The
Prince remembered that I was the granddaughter of Rufus King, who had
been United States Minister to London under George III. He was very
pleasant, with a charming, courteous manner. The Princess instantly
referred to Francis and his fears for his mother's head, of which she
said the Queen had told her.

    Friday, 21st.

This afternoon we had tea with the Duke and Duchess of Albany. She is a
German Princess, and was rather shy at first, but when the tea came it
was easier. The Duke is very amiable, talks easily. He looks, and is, I
believe, delicate. We have a few dinners before us, and I am gradually
getting to know all my colleagues. Mohrenheim is Russian Ambassador;
Münster German; and Nigra Italian. Münster is practically an Englishman.
His second wife was Lady Harriet St. Clair, a sister of Lord Rosslyn. He
is evidently English in his tastes and habits, rides regularly in the
Park, and drives a coach with four chestnuts that are known all over
London. Mr. Lowell is United States Minister, and is much liked and
appreciated in England. Mrs. Lowell is in bad health and goes out very
little.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Albert Gate#,
    January 5, 1884.

This afternoon we had our audience from the old Duchess of Cambridge. We
found her in handsome rooms in St. James's Palace, and one lady in
waiting with her. She was lying on a sofa--she is very old,
eighty-four--has seen and known everyone, and talks easily both French
and English. It really seemed a page of history to listen to her. She
asked us to come back, and Lady G. told us that when she felt well,
visits were a great pleasure to her, and also that she was always glad
to see any members of the French Embassy.

We got home to tea--and then I had various skirmishes with the servants.
It really is difficult to make French and English servants work
together. The butler is an Englishman, and directs all the men of the
house. It is not easy to make the Frenchmen take their orders from him.
They all want to be in direct communication with me. There are always
two together in the hall--one Frenchman and one Englishman, and the
result of that is that when anything goes wrong, and the bell is not
answered, the Frenchman tells me he was not there, it was the
Englishman's turn; and of course the Englishman the same--so now I have
told Holmes (the butler) to make me out a regular paper every Monday
with the men's names and their hours of service--Yves et George, 10-12;
William and Charles, 12-2--I hope that will work. As to Hubert he hasn't
driven me yet. He goes about London all day in a brougham, with one of
those non-descript English servants, half French, half English, that we
got from the British Embassy in Paris. I find the domestic part of the
Embassy rather a bore, but I suppose things will settle down. The
housemaids are a delightful institution, though I was amazed upon
inquiring one day from my own maid as to who was a young lady with a red
velvet dress, and a large hat and feathers, I had met on the stairs,
when she replied, "C'est Alice, Madame, la seconde fille de chambre." It
seems that my maid remonstrated with her for spending her money on
clothes, to which she replied that all housemaids in big houses dressed
like that, and that she herself would be ashamed if she dressed as
plainly as my maids. The two thrifty Frenchwomen were scandalised.

[Illustration: The Duchess of Cambridge

From a photograph by Walery London.]

    #London#,
    January 9, 1884.

I paid a visit to-day to the Dowager Lady Stanley of Alderley. I found
her at her tea-table in her drawing-room, with Mr. Gladstone having his
cup of tea with her, and talking easily and cheerfully about all sorts
of things (never a word of politics); no one would have imagined that he
was to make a great speech that evening in the House. He really is an
extraordinary, many-sided man. In the course of conversation the talk
fell upon the Roman Catholic religion, and its extension in many
countries, _particularly in America_. He said, turning to me, that a
great friend of his, an American, Mr. Hurlbert, certainly the most
brilliant talker he had ever heard, and one of the most intelligent, had
told him how much the Roman Catholic religion was gaining ground in the
Northern States of America. I rather demurred to his statement, even
though it came from Mr. Hurlbert. His intelligence and brilliancy are
undeniable, but I should have thought his views were a little fantastic
at times. "I rather agree with you," said Mr. Gladstone; "but I have
recently had letters from my friends Bishop P. of New York, Bishop A. of
Massachusetts, and other distinguished Churchmen in the United States,
who tell me that the Roman Catholic religion is making certain progress;
their preachers are so clever, and know so well how to adapt themselves
to the liberal views they must have in America." We then talked some
time about the various Bishops and clergymen he knew in America, the
slight difference between the two Prayer Books, etc. One would really
have thought it was a Church of England clergyman, who has passed all
his life studying theological questions. A few moments after something
turned his thoughts in another direction, and he was discussing with
Lady Stanley the translation into English of an Italian sonnet which he
thought was badly done. "Too literal, really not understanding the
poetry, and the beautiful imagination of the writer." It was
extraordinary. I was rather mortified when he asked if I knew the two
Bishops. I didn't, but it is fair to say he understood when I said how
many years I had been away from America.

Lady Stanley is a delightful old lady. She has seen and known everyone
worth knowing in Europe for the last fifty years, and it is most amusing
to hear her down-right way of talking. She was killing over the
"Professional Beauties," a style of modern woman she couldn't
understand. She asked me to come in again and have a cup of tea with
her, and I shall certainly go, as one doesn't hear such talk every day.

We dined with Mr. Childers, and there was a big reception in the
evening, with all the celebrities of the Liberal party, the Harcourts,
Hayters, Lord Northbrook, Tennyson (son of the poet), and many others,
but of course in a crowd like that one can't talk. I hope I shall
remember the faces. About 11 o'clock we went on to Lady Stanhope's,
where there was a big reception of the Conservative party. There I found
the Lyttons and some few people I knew, and many more were presented.
They were all talking politics hard; said the Ministry couldn't last
another week, as there is to be a vigorous attack on them in both Houses
on Tuesday. Everyone says the Lyttons are going to Paris when Lord Lyons
leaves. She will be a charming Ambassadress, and he is so fond of France
and so thoroughly well up in French literature that they will be
delighted to have him in Paris.

The political talk was exactly like what I have heard so often in Paris,
only in English instead of in French, and the men talking more quietly,
though they abused one another well, and with less gesticulating. Also
they don't carry politics into private life as they do with us; the men
of opposite sides lavish abuse upon each other in the House, but there
it ends, and they meet at dinner and chaff each other, and the wives are
perfectly intimate. In France there is a great gulf between parties,
even moderates, royalists, and republicans, and I was astounded when I
first mixed in political life in France to see people in society turn
their backs upon some perfectly distinguished, honourable gentleman
because he had not the same opinion as themselves in politics.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Sandringham#,
    January 12, 1884.

We arrived this afternoon at two o'clock, and I am writing in my room,
as we have come up to bed, and the gentlemen have retired to smoke. We
came down at 2-1/2, found a saloon carriage reserved for us, and the
Mohrenheims installed--father, mother, and daughter. We got to Wolverton
at six, one of the Prince's gentlemen was waiting for us with two or
three carriages and footmen. We had all sent our servants and baggage by
an earlier train, as it had been suggested to us. The house looked large
and handsome as we drove up. The party was assembled in a great hall,
with a long low tea-table at which the Princess presided. It was easy
enough, and I should think a nice party. The Goschens, Lady Lonsdale,
the Master of Magdalen, Lord Carlingford, and others. The three young
Princesses, Prince Eddy, and the Prince were all there. We talked some
little time and then the Princess said Miss Knollys would show us our
rooms. I found two large comfortable English rooms opening into each
other, a blazing coal fire in mine, which I immediately proceeded to
demolish as much as I could. Miss Knollys had told us not to bring low
dresses--merely open bodices.

We went down to the drawing-room about 8-1/2, and a little before 9 the
Prince and Princess and Prince Albert Victor (better known as Prince
Eddy) came in. The dinner was handsome and pleasant, footmen in royal
red liveries, men in black in culottes and silk stockings, and a
Highlander in full dress, who stood behind the Prince's chair, and at
the end of the dinner walked solemnly round the table playing the
bagpipes. The evening was pleasant. The Prince showed us the new
ballroom just redecorated with Indian stuffs and arms, and at 11 we went
upstairs with the Princess, bidding her good-night at the top of the
stairs, and the men went to the smoking-room.

    Sunday.

This morning we went to church, the ladies in an omnibus with the
Princess and her three daughters, and the gentlemen walked across the
Park, the Prince appearing as the sermon began. It is a pretty English
country church in the grounds. In the afternoon we walked about the
grounds; I was much interested in the large stables, where there are
certainly over fifty horses.

We had changed our dresses after lunch for walking, and the Princess
looked marvellously young in her short walking skirt and little toque.
One could hardly believe she was the mother of her big son, twenty-one
years old. After the walk we assembled again in the big hall for tea, a
substantial meal with every variety of muffin, crumpet, toast, cakes and
jam that can be imagined, but it seemed quite natural to consume
unlimited quantities after our long walk. The Princess and English
ladies were in very dressy tea-gowns, velvet and satin with lace and
embroidery; Madame de Mohrenheim and I in ordinary tailor costumes. The
evening was pleasant; I remarked the absence of the Highland piper at
dinner, and asked the Prince if he was not going to play. "Oh, no," he
said, "not on Sunday, he certainly wouldn't; I shouldn't like to ask him
to, and if I did I am sure he wouldn't do it." We all leave to-morrow,
the Prince going with us to London. We have enjoyed our visit very much,
the Princess always charming and lovely to look at, and the Prince a
model host, so courteous and ready to talk about anything.

    Monday.

We got off this morning at 11 o'clock. There is one curious custom. The
Prince himself weighs everyone, and the name and weight are written in a
book. Some of the ladies protested, but it was of no use, the Prince
insisted. One young lady weighed more than her father, and was much
mortified.

I went downstairs to breakfast, which I don't generally do; I keep to my
old habit of a cup of tea in my room. It was a most informal meal. None
of the Royal family appeared, except Prince Eddy, who was going to hunt,
and his red coat made a nice patch of colour. All the rest of us sat
down anywhere, and the servants brought the menu. We travelled up with
the Prince in his private car, and had luncheon in the car, served by
two tall footmen, and everything on silver plate and hot. The Prince
himself quite charming, talking a great deal, and seeing that everyone
had enough to eat. I should think all servants, railway guards, and
small functionaries generally would adore him. He has always a pleasant
word and a smile.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Albert Gate#,
    January 31, 1884.

We have had two days in the country with the D.s at their little hunting
box at Bicester, one of the great hunting centres. It was my first
experience of an English hunt and hunt ball, and amused me perfectly.
The house is small, with enormous stables and splendid horses. His four
in hand is well known, one of the best in England, and the coach and
servants so perfectly turned out. We have two young German secretaries,
good-looking Teutons, and two girls who have just returned from a four
months' excursion in the tropics with the Brasseys in their beautiful
yacht, the "Sunbeam."

We started on the coach on Tuesday at 10.30, well wrapped up, as there
were occasional showers and violent gusts of wind, particularly when we
stopped at crossroads to see which way the hunt was going. The meet was
at Middleton Park, Lord Jersey's fine place, and the park was a pretty
sight as we drove up. A good many people, almost all the men in pink,
but not so many women as I had expected to see. We really followed very
well, as D. knows the ground perfectly and apparently at what spot the
fox was to cross the road, which he did close to us, followed by the
whole hunt, all jumping out of the field on to the road and back again
into the other field, very good fences, too, but the horses evidently
knew just what they had to do. We drove about till 3 o'clock, and then
went back to Middleton to have luncheon. We found a most hospitable
table, and it was funny to see the people dropping in at intervals, some
of the men in their red coats, one or two ladies, and two or three
children who had been scampering about on ponies. Evidently the meal had
been going on for some time, and the supply inexhaustible; we had a very
good hot luncheon.

After lunch Lady Jersey (who is charming, very intelligent, and
interested in everything) showed us the house. Beautiful pictures and
old furniture, a massive silver table that was the dressing table of
Queen Elizabeth. Of course we hadn't time to really see all the
interesting things in the house, as it was getting late, and we still
had a fair drive before us. Notwithstanding the good and late luncheon
we were very glad to have tea when we got home. I certainly eat much
more here, I suppose it is the climate, and then the food is a little
different from what we are accustomed to, and I think very good.

The hunt ball was really very pretty, the ballroom well arranged with
foxes' heads, brushes, etc., all the men in pink. Everyone was "en
train," and everybody of all ages dancing. I should think W. and D. were
the only men in the room who didn't dance. They went home about 12, but
H. and I stayed until 2. We heard afterward that the Master of Hounds
was much depressed all the evening, as he knew he must take the French
Ambassadress to supper (of course, he didn't know that I was American
born, and could speak English), and the prospect of a long conversation
in French with a woman he didn't know filled him with dismay. However we
made friends (in English), and I hope he didn't find the supper hour too
tiresome. There are two reasons why an Englishman hates to speak French;
first, a sort of natural timidity which they all have more or less, and
then a decided objection to doing anything he doesn't want to do, or
which bores him. This country is certainly a Paradise for men, from the
nursery days when all the women of the household--nurses, maids, and
sisters, are slaves of the boys, to manhood, when equally all the women
do exactly what the men want, and regulate their lives to suit the men
of the family, who have everything their own way.

    #London#,
    February, 1884.

I made my début in the official world last night at a reception at Mr.
Gladstone's in Downing Street. There were four large men's dinners (and
receptions afterward) for the opening of Parliament. Lord Granville and
Mr. Gladstone, Ministerial; Lord Salisbury and Sir Stafford Northcote,
"Her Majesty's Opposition."

The Gladstone house is small and dark (that is one of the things that
strikes me here--the rooms are so much less lighted than in Paris), and
always the chintz covers left on the furniture, which makes the rooms
look ordinary. We found a great many people there. The Duke of Cambridge
had been dining and was presented to us. He looks a fine old English
soldier (was in uniform), was very amiable, and spoke to me in French,
which he speaks very well. Quantities of people were presented to me, I
can't remember half the names. Almost all the women were in black,
half-high and no display of jewels. Mrs. Gladstone is an old lady, very
animated and civil, she wears a cap, with blue ribbons, rather as I
remember Mother. I was also presented to Countess Karolyi, Austrian
Ambassadress, very handsome, and charming manner; she speaks English as
well as I do. It seems strange to me to hear so much English spoken, it
is so long since I have been in a purely English salon. W. brought me up
various old friends of Rugby and Cambridge days; also some of the minor
diplomats, as of course I have not yet seen all my colleagues.

    #Albert Gate#,
    February, 1884.

I am rather bewildered by the number of people I see and the quantity of
cards left at the Embassy. I shall have to ask an English friend of mine
to look over my list and tell me who the people are, and, above all,
which cards I must return personally (or even make a personal visit) and
which can be distributed by the Chancellerie. I drive about every
afternoon for two hours leaving cards, and as no one has regular
reception days here as in Paris, I rarely find people. We have had
various dinners, political chiefly, at Mr. Gladstone's, Lord Stanhope's,
Lord Northbrook's, a child's party at Marlborough House, which was very
pretty. Francis made great friends with the two charming little
daughters of the Duchess of Edinburgh, and sat between them at tea, the
Duchess herself supplying them with cakes and sandwiches.

Yesterday there was a pleasant dinner at Lord Granville's. Two tables of
12; one presided over by him and one by Lady Granville. Her table was
covered with red tulips, and his with yellow--nothing but flowers on the
table. The drawing-rooms are large and handsome, and he has some
splendid pictures. One thing seems curious to me--all the furniture at
this season is covered with ordinary chintz housses or coverings--and
the effect is strange with all the guests in full dress, diamonds and
orders, servants in powder and breeches. We would never dream of doing
it in Paris. When we have distinguished people of any kind to dine we
make our salons as pretty as possible, and would want particularly to
uncover our handsome furniture. Here it seems they consider that the
season only begins after Easter.

Apropos of powder, it was rather an affair to put the two French footmen
in powder, as they of course had never worn it or seen it. Francis was
much excited at Yves' appearance in blue velvet breeches and powder,
Yves being a young Breton, his own special attendant. I think the maids
powdered him in the laundry. However Francis came flying downstairs
holding the reluctant Yves by the hand, to my room, saying, "Oh, Maman,
viens voir Yves, il est joli, joli!" with the youth naturally much
abashed at being so complimented in my presence.


    _To H. L. K._

    February 29, 1884.

We are commanded to Windsor this evening to dine and sleep. It is
inconvenient, as we have to put off a dinner of twenty-one people. The
chef is tearing his hair, as of course all his dinner is ready. When my
maid came to pack the trunks she had rather a flustered look; I thought
it was on account of the Windsor visit. Not at all. It seems a friend of
Juteau's (our chef), who is also a chef in one of the great houses,
heard that we were going to Windsor, so he wrote him a note telling him
that his wife (my maid) must be well dressed and take a low or open
bodice to Windsor for their dinner. The maid was most indignant for
being supposed not to know what was right, and answered the note saying,
"she had accompanied her mistress to every court in Europe, and knew
quite well how to dress herself."

    #Windsor Castle#,
    March 1, 1884.

Our dinner last night went off very well, and was not so stiff as I had
expected. We took the 6 o'clock train from Paddington, and found the
Russian Ambassador, Baron Mohrenheim, and his wife at the station. At
Windsor two or three carriages and footmen were waiting, but no equerry
as at Sandringham. We were driven to a side door at the Castle, where
two servants in plain black were waiting, who showed us at once to our
rooms. We had a pretty apartment furnished in yellow satin, with
beautiful pictures, principally portraits; a small salon with a bedroom
on each side, bright fires burning, and a quantity of candles. They
brought us tea, beautifully served all on silver, with thin bread and
butter (no muffins or toast), and almost at the same moment Sir John
Cowell, Master of the Household, came to pay us a visit. He told us who
the party was, said dinner was at 8.45, that a page would come and tell
us at 8.30, and that we should assemble in the great corridor. Quite
punctually at 8.30 they notified us, and we proceeded down the long
corridor, W. in black breeches and stockings (no order, as he hadn't the
Légion d'Honneur, and couldn't wear a foreign order), I in white
brocaded velvet and diamonds. We found the party assembled, the
Mohrenheims; Lord and Lady Kimberley; Nigra, Italian Ambassador; Lady
Churchill (who was in waiting); Lord Kenmare (Lord Chamberlain), and
Lord Dalhousie (Lord in waiting) and one or two other men. We moved up
to a door just opposite the dining-room, and about 9 the Queen came with
the Duchess of Edinburgh and Princess Beatrice. She shook hands with me
and Madame Mohrenheim; bowed very graciously to all the others, and
passed at once into the dining-room alone. Mohrenheim followed with the
Duchess of Edinburgh; Nigra with Princess Beatrice; W. with Madame
Mohrenheim; and Kimberley took me. The table was handsome, covered with
gold and silver plate, quantities of servants in red livery, plain
black, and two Highlanders in costume behind the Queen's chair.

The conversation was not very animated. The Queen herself spoke little,
and the English not at all--or so low that one couldn't understand
them--however, my Ambassador couldn't stand that long, so he began
talking most cheerfully to the Duchess of Edinburgh about Moscow,
Kertch, and antiquities of various kinds, and as the Duchess is clever
and inclined to talk, that corner became more lively. I can't say as
much for our end. I think most Englishmen are naturally shy, and the
presence of Royalty (the Queen above all) paralyses them.

[Illustration: Windsor Castle]

After dinner, which was quickly served, we all went out as we had come
in, and the Queen held a short cercle in the corridor, in the small
space between the two doors. She stood a few minutes talking to the two
Princesses, while she had her coffee (which was brought for her alone on
a small tray), and then crossed over to Madame Mohrenheim and talked a
little. She sat down almost immediately, Madame Mohrenheim remaining
standing. She then sent for me, Lord Dalhousie summoning us all in turn.
She was very gracious, saying that she could not yet stand or walk,
which worried her very much--asked me a great deal about my life in
London, did I find everything very different from Paris, and had I found
little friends and a school for Francis? The conversation was not easy.
She sat on rather a low chair, and I standing before her had to bend
down always. She was dressed in black, with her usual little cap and
veil, opal necklace, diamonds and orders. While she was talking to the
others the two Princesses moved about and talked to us. It was
pleasant--the whole cercle lasted about an hour. The Queen and
Princesses retired together, all shaking hands with me and Madame
Mohrenheim, and bowing to the others. We finished the evening in the
drawing-room with the household, staying there about half an hour, and a
little after eleven we broke up. W. has gone off to smoke--at the
extreme end of the Castle, as the Queen hates smoke and perhaps doesn't
know that anyone dares smoke here--and I am writing with about twelve
tall wax candles on my table.

It is a bright moonlight night, and the Castle looks enormous. A great
mass of towers, vaulted gateways, walled courts, and the beautiful grass
slopes that look quite green in the moonlight. The lights at the far end
seem like twinkling tapers. It is certainly a magnificent Royal
residence.

    Saturday, March 1884.

We got back for lunch, leaving the Castle at 10.30. We breakfasted with
the household at 9.30; no ceremony, people coming in as they liked, and
sitting down anywhere. We loitered a little in the corridor until it was
time to start, looking at the pictures, portraits, and the curious
cabinets and the bits of old furniture which are interesting.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Albert Gate#,
    March 14, 1884.

To-day was our first Drawing-room, and we turned out in great force, I
had three secretaries' wives. We had out our two carriages. W. and I in
the gala carriage with Count de Florian, Secretary of Embassy, Hubert
driving us, and two English giants behind; then came the landau with
merely one footman on the box, all in full dress livery, blue breeches,
silk stockings, and powdered wigs. There was a great display of troops,
and a crowd waiting on the pavement outside the door at the Embassy to
see us start. There are no porte-cochères in London, so you go straight
out into the street to get your carriages, and a carpet is kept in the
hall, which is rolled down the steps every time you go out. The streets
were crowded as we came near Buckingham Palace.

We entered the Palace by a side entrance, leaving our wraps in one of
the rooms, and went up the great staircase, which was a pretty sight.
Quantities of plants and flowers and a long procession of women with
handsome Court dresses, splendid tiaras, and a few men in uniform--of
course women preponderate. We walked through various rooms all filled
with Court functionaries, officers in uniform, and finally arrived in
the large salon opening into the Throne-Room where all the Corps
Diplomatique and English people who had the entrée were assembled.
Countess Granville, wife of the Foreign Secretary, Earl Granville,
looked most distinguished, tall and fair, in black with a handsome
tiara. Countess Karolyi, Austrian Ambassadress, was beautiful in her
Hungarian costume and splendid jewels. The Russians also most
picturesque in their national court dress, red velvet trains heavily
embroidered in gold, white veils spangled with gold, and the high
head-dress (kakoshnik) in velvet studded with jewels.

When the doors were opened the Foreign Secretary and his wife passed
first and took up their station close beside the Princess of Wales, to
name the members of the Corps Diplomatique. Then the Master of
Ceremonies gave his hand to the Doyenne--the Austrian Ambassadress--her
train was spread out by two pages,--and they entered the Throne-Room,
making low bows or curtseys on the threshold. One makes 3 curtseys; one
on entering the room, one half way and a third as one gets close to the
Princess. We followed quickly, I with my ladies coming directly behind
the Russians. The Court was small--Princess of Wales, Princess Beatrice,
Prince of Wales and Duke of Cambridge. The Princess, a charming graceful
figure dressed in dark velvet with coloured embroideries and jewels and
orders; Princess Beatrice in mauve, and the two Princes in uniform of
English Field Marshal. The Princesses shook hands with us chefesses and
bowed to the young ladies--the Princes the same. There was no sort of
trouble about the train; they are down only for a moment, just as you
pass the Queen or Princess--a chamberlain picks them up most adroitly,
puts them in your arm, and one never gives them a thought. As soon as we
had passed the group of Princes we turned into a deep window recess and
stood there until the end. That was most amusing, as we faced the door
and saw everyone come in. It amused and interested me extremely to see
how differently people passed. Most of the women looked well, their
fresh, fair skins standing the test--and a pretty severe one it is--of
full dress, white feathers and veil at three in the afternoon of a cold
March day. Many had been dressed since 12, first sitting a long time in
their carriages, and then waiting a long time in the drawing-room at the
Palace, until their turns came. They were generally timid and nervous
when they passed--some bracing themselves as if they were facing a
terrible ordeal, some racing past very quickly, forgetting to take their
trains in their arms, and pursued down the room by an impatient
chamberlain, and some, especially the débutantes, making carefully and
conscientiously the low regulation curtsey to each Prince, and trembling
with shyness. When the last person had passed the Court turned and made
us bows and curtseys--the Princess' half curtsey is charming--and it was
over. We all got away quickly.

The great hall was an interesting sight, filled with women and uniforms
of every kind, and a band playing in the great square. We had the usual
"Drawing-room tea" to show our dresses. I wore the blue embroidered
Court dress I had made for Moscow, with blue feathers and diamond tiara.
All the English women wear white feathers and veils, which naturally
does not suit everyone, particularly if they are not well put on. Some
of the coiffures were almost eccentric, one rather high feather, and a
long one very low running down one's back. The young men were pleased,
as they had many compliments for our carriages and liveries. We were the
only Embassy that had out two carriages.


    _To G. K. S._

    #London#,
    May, 1884.

We went to the Derby this morning with Lord Cork. I had never been, and
W. not for many years. We went down by train--(special, with the Prince
and racing coterie) and I enjoyed the day. We were in the Jockey Club
box, and it was a curiosity to see the crowd on the lawn, packed tight,
and every description of person, all engrossed with the race, and wildly
interested in the horses. There was almost a solemn silence just before
the Derby was run. This time there was a tie, which is rare, I believe.
It was rather amusing driving home from Victoria, as all the balconies
along the road were decorated, and crowded with people, but I believe
the great fashion of driving down had almost disappeared. Nearly
everyone now goes down by train.

    #London#,
    June 28, 1884.

This morning H. and I went to the second meet of the Coaching Club on
D.'s coach. It was a pretty sight; a bright beautiful morning and Hyde
Park crowded with equipages, riders, and pedestrians--quantities of
pretty women all much dressed, principally in white, with hats trimmed
with flowers, and light parasols. The tops of the coaches looked like
flower beds. Everyone engrossed with the teams, criticising and admiring
with perfect frankness. The fly-drivers were killing, knew all the
horses, and expressed themselves freely on the way they were handled.

We drove through the Park, and then on to Richmond (not all the
coaches), where we breakfasted at the "Star and Garter." The breakfast
was good, and at dessert we had "Maids of Honour," the famous cakes that
one always gets there. We walked about the Park a little after
breakfast; it was delightful under the big trees, and then mounted our
coach again and went back by Hurlingham to see a polo match. The road
was crowded and driving very difficult, but D. is a capital whip, and I
wasn't in the least nervous, though sometimes it did seem as if the bit
of road they left us was rather narrow. However D. drove straight on
without slackening--and they do make way for a coach. I think it is a
sort of national pride in a fine team.

Hurlingham is very pretty and there were quantities of people there. We
saw very well from the top of the coach, and I must say the game was
beautifully played. Of course the men all rode perfectly, but the ponies
were so clever, quite as keen as the riders, and seemed to know all
about it. We got back to the Embassy about 8, and happily had no one to
dinner, but sat on the balcony all the evening, W. smoking, and talking
about his conference, which is not going smoothly. The English are
stiff, and the people at home unreasonable. I can't imagine how French
and English can ever work together--they are so absolutely unlike.

    #London#, July, 1884.

W. went to Paris this morning and H. and I are left to our own devices.
I dined alone at the Speaker's and it was pleasant. After dinner we went
down to the terrace and walked and sat about. It was so warm that we all
sat there with bare arms and necks. It was so pretty; boats passing on
the river, all the bridges lighted, and so cool and dark on the terrace
that one could hardly recognise the people as they walked up and down. I
went back to the Embassy to get H., and we went to Devonshire House,
where there was a big reception--all the world there, and the house very
handsome, a fine staircase; Lord Hartington receiving us, as the Duke is
an old man and couldn't stand the fatigue.

[Illustration: M and Mme Waddington and Their Son

From a photograph by Cesar Paris]


    _To G. K. S._

    #Albert Gate#,
    February 9, 1885.

This morning we have the news of the fall of Khartoum and the murder of
Gordon. W. is in the country trying horses, so I put on my hat and went
out into the Row to hear what was going on. It was crowded with people
talking and gesticulating. The Conservatives furious, "such a ministry a
disgrace to the country," and a tall man on a handsome chestnut, talking
to Admiral C. most energetically, "I am a moderate man myself, but I
would willingly give a hand to hang Gladstone on this tree." They are
much disgusted--and with reason.

    Monday, February 23, 1885.

It seems to be my week, Dear Gertrude, so I will at any rate begin this
morning. We are now in full tide of dinners and routs, which last is the
most frightful species of entertainment that the human mind has ever
devised. They consist of 400 or 500 people packed close in a house which
holds about 150--so warm in the rooms that you almost stifle--and so
cold on the staircase and halls where the door is always open wide that
I always wonder how I can escape without a fluxion de poitrine. We had a
banquet ourselves last Tuesday, Harcourts Münsters, Corks, etc.,
followed by a mild dance, which was however successful, as Pourtalès,
who is a gay little fellow, led a spirited cotillon, and there were 22
couples. I performed 2 quadrilles, which, naturally, is the extent of my
dancing now, unless I take a stray turn with an old partner.

Of course the great excitement has been the departure of the Guards for
Egypt, as it takes the husbands, sons, and brothers of half London away.
It does seem such a useless campaign and sacrifice of human life.

There was a child's party at Marlborough House on Friday afternoon which
was very successful. Mimi and I were bidden, or _commanded_, as the
correct phrase is, at 4 o'clock, so we took ourselves off, he in his
white sailor suit, with blue collar, and I in blue velvet. Both Prince
and Princess were very amiable, and the Duchess of Edinburgh was very
good to Mimi, as she always is, making him sit by her daughters to see
the conjuror, and at her table for tea. The children had their tea in
the dining-room, with a great many little round tables, we had ours with
the Princess. It is very informal, she always makes it herself, and
everyone sits down. The Princess Louise was also there, looking very
nice, and such a pretty figure. After the tea the children had a fine
romp, ending with a most animated Sir Roger de Coverley, in which all
the Princes--I mean the 2 younger ones, Prince Eddy and Prince
George--joined, and all the Aides-de-Camp. We didn't leave till 7--and
the afternoon was rather long, but still I must say I enjoyed myself.

Yesterday we had a pleasant dinner at Lady Hayter's--a Liberal political
salon. She has big dinners--receptions every Saturday. It was pleasant
at first, until many more people came than the house would hold, but
that is what the "Maîtresse de Maison" particularly aims at.

Everyone here sympathises with Lowell on the death of his wife. She was
so very peculiar. I wrote him a little note, as he was always very
amiable to me and complimentary about Father and Grandpa. This evening
we had a dinner at Julia, Lady Tweeddale's, who is chaperoning her
niece, Sir Robert Peel's daughter.

    Tuesday.

I couldn't finish last evening, so take up my letter now at 7 o'clock,
while I am waiting to dress for dinner. It is a quiet dinner at the Miss
Monks'--two cousins, maiden ladies--and I shall wear a high dress, which
is much easier to get into. Our dinner last night was pleasant and
swell--Duke and Duchess of Leeds, Lord and Lady Delawarr, Lord and Lady
Claud Hamilton (she a beauty, with a fine figure; he an attractive
Irishman, son of the Duke of Abercorn) and others. They danced
afterwards, and we stayed till 12 o'clock. The pose of the fast young
married set is not to dance. There is no one to dance with, the Guards
are gone. The Row was lovely this morning, like a May day, everybody
out. I hope to begin to ride again next week. I am in treaty for a very
handsome chestnut, if the man will come down a little in his price.

    #Albert Gate#,
    February 25, 1885.

We have been to-day to the House of Lords to hear Lord Salisbury speak
and the vote of censure passed. The House was full--the Prince and Duke
of Cambridge there. Lord Salisbury spoke well; very calm, very nasty for
his adversaries, and as he had the beau rôle he was much applauded. The
defence was weak, the orator feeling evidently that his cause was a bad
one, and the temper of the House against him. I should think Lord
Salisbury would be a most unpleasant adversary, though always perfectly
courteous in manner.


    _To J. K._

    #Ambassade de France à Londres#,
    Monday, March 9, 1885.

This is my week again, Dear Jan, and I will begin to-day.

We are going on in a wildly dissipated manner. Last week was very full.
We went to a very pretty ball given by the Artillery Company of London
to the Prince and Princess. The Duke of Portland, a young fellow, is
colonel of the regiment, and the thing was very well done. Both Prince
and Princess danced several times. The supper was very pretty. When it
was ready everybody made a line all down the ballroom, and then the
procession, with the Princess first and the Duke of Portland, then the
Prince with me and various other Princes and swells, walked down the
long room, the band playing the "British Grenadiers," and all the people
bowing and curtseying. The Royal party supped on a platform and there
were 1,000 people seated at supper at long narrow tables, everyone
looking hard at the Princess.

    Thursday, 12th.

I never got any further and never have had time since, but I will begin
this morning and finish my letter this evening. To-day is the first
Drawing-room of the season. As Countess Karolyi doesn't come, I am the
Doyenne, and shall have to go in first, led by Sir Francis Seymour. Mr.
Lowell has asked me to take his presentation. However there is only
Bessie V. R., Eugene's daughter, who is pleased at being presented by an
Ambassadress. She will also see the Diplomatic Corps pass. I wish Jess
were here, and so does Adelaïde, who would be so delighted to dress her.
Last night we had a very pleasant dinner at Lady Jersey's. Such a
handsome woman was there, the young Duchess of Montrose. After dinner we
went to the Speaker's reception, which was crowded, but rather
amusing--such funny looking people and such dresses.

I am overrun with artists. There are several French artists of all kinds
here, and I must make them play once, so I have decided upon next Friday
afternoon. It is my day and I shall invite all the musical and
entertaining people I know, as of course they all wish to be heard. One
girl really does play very well on the violin, and wants me very much to
sing with her accompaniment, which, naturally, I shan't, and another
sings, not very remarkably, and a third, Marie Dubois, plays really
beautifully--premier prix du Conservatoire. I will write you all about
it when it is over.

    7 o'clock.

Well, we have performed the Drawing-room--it was short, not more than an
hour and a quarter, and I must say very few pretty faces or pretty
dresses--Bessie V. R. looked very well, very distinguished. She followed
directly behind me--even in front of my secretaries' wives, and was the
third lady in the room. There were quite a lot of Princes--Prince and
Princess of Wales, Prince Waldemar of Denmark, Duke and Duchess of
Edinburgh, Duke of Cambridge and Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar. Mme. de
Bylandt, wife of the Dutch Minister, presented Mme. and Mlle. de Brenen,
Dutch ladies, both mother and daughter handsome and well dressed. The
Princess looked charming in white and gold. The Duchess of Edinburgh had
a dark green velvet train. We all came back here to tea and had various
visitors to look at the dresses, including Baron Pawel-Rammingen,
husband of Princess Frederica of Hanover, who also happened in and was
much amused at finding such an étalage of trains--happily we have
nothing this evening. Next week is the marriage of the Duke of B.'s
daughter. It is to be at Westminster Abbey and very swell, the Prince
and Princess going. There is to be a party Tuesday night, where all her
jewels are to be shown, which they say are splendid. I am sorry not to
go, but we have a dinner and a dance ourselves. I shall go to the
wedding. She is small and quiet--rather shy. I don't know whether one of
those mysterious changes will take place which one sees sometimes after
marriage--coronets and trains do a great deal. I must finish, as I have
of course several notes to answer. I hate it so, when people wait for
answers. I suppose I shall have a fine account of the Inauguration from
Gertrude. I hope the girls have enjoyed it.


    _To G. K. S._

    #London#,
    March 12, 1885.

I went yesterday to say good-bye to Lady R. They are leaving for Bombay,
where he is named Governor. It is for five years; I think I should be
unwilling to go so far, and to such a trying climate, but she seems
plucky enough and will certainly do well.

Francis and I were driving up Constitution Hill yesterday just as the
Queen arrived, so we had a very good look at her. She was in an open
carriage with Princess Beatrice and her fiancé, Prince Henry of
Battenberg (such a handsome man), and the usual escort of Life-Guards.
She recognised me perfectly, and always has a gracious bow and smile.
Just before she came one of our English friends who was walking about
with her daughter (a young girl who had never seen the Queen) suddenly
spied me (as mine was the only carriage that was allowed to stand) and
asked me if she and her daughter could get into the carriage with me, as
that would be such a good chance for the girl to see the Queen. I of
course was delighted to have them, as Francis and I were alone, and the
girl saw perfectly. So many English people, except those who go to
Drawing-Rooms, never get a chance to see the Queen at all.

    Sunday, March.

We have been to Church this morning at Westminster Abbey, such a
magnificent service. The Dean always gives us seats, and I love the
music, the boys sing very well, and the hymns are grand as they echo
through the fine old church. In every direction there is some historical
souvenir; tombs, old glass windows, tattered flags, crests,--all
England's past. We walked home through Green Park, and it is curious to
notice the absence of equipages--so many English people don't take out
their carriages on Sunday (to rest the horses and let the servants go to
church), again such a striking contrast to Paris, where every kind of
conveyance is out on that day. I think of the little grocer near H. who
goes out every Sunday as soon as it is at all warm with his whole family
and 2 or 3 dogs in his little covered cart. All the "Société" is out
also; at the big concerts, reviews, races, etc. Sunday is the great
Parisian holiday.

This morning before starting I had my head out of the window on the
other side of the Embassy, looking at the Guards pass on their way to
the little church just behind the Embassy in Knightsbridge. They came
down from the barracks at a swinging pace, a fine body of men, the
sergeants with their canes, and several officers. The band, a very good
one, plays all the time (to-day they marched to the French tune "Le Père
Victoire"), and takes up its station, always playing, at the door of the
church. They play until the last man files in, then suddenly the music
stops, and the band goes in also. It always interests the French
servants immensely, the two maids had their heads out too, and said to
me just now, "C'est bien beau, Madame, quel dommage que cela ne se passe
pas comme cela chez nous." The service in the Guards' Chapel at
Wellington Barracks is also a fine one, the chapel filled with soldiers,
a mass of red (as one sees only their tunics), and the singing very
good--a little loud sometimes when it is a favourite hymn and all join
in.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Albert Gate#,
    March 13, 1885.

We have had our second "Drawing-room" to-day, and were asked to come in
"demi-deuil," as it was the first time the Queen had received any of the
Corps Diplomatique since the Duke of Albany's death. There are always
more people when the Queen holds the Drawing-room, as it is the only
chance so many of her subjects ever have of seeing her. She rarely comes
to London, and stays only two or three days. She was dressed with her
little closed diamond crown, the blue ribbon of the Garter, and many
diamonds. I thought the black becoming generally.

    March 16th.

At our dinner to-day at Lord A.'s Mr. Campbell was next to me, and told
me he was most anxious to be recalled to the French Ambassador, that he
had been his fag at Rugby, and had never seen him since. Of course they
made acquaintance again after dinner, and plunged into all sorts of
recollections of their school days. The other men who were smoking with
them said the talk was most interesting and curious, as their careers in
after life had been so very different. At every turn W. finds someone
who had been at Rugby or Cambridge with him.


    _To H. L. K._

    April 9, 1885.

This morning it is pouring, so I gave up the Oxford and Cambridge boat
race. W. and Count de Florian started all with light blue rosettes
(Cambridge). W. was on the umpire boat. Cambridge won easily, which was
of course a great pleasure to him (having rowed himself so many years
ago in the Cambridge crew), in the evening. He said he was so much
cheered when he got up to speak--young men standing on chairs to see
him--that he had to wait some time before he could begin. He is
certainly the only foreign Ambassador that ever rowed in the Cambridge
eight. He was quite pleased when he came home, so many old memories of
happy boyish days had been brought back. We talked for some time after
dinner, and recalled all sorts of Cambridge experiences--once when the
Queen came with Prince Albert to Cambridge the students were all
assembled in the court-yard as her carriage drove up. It had been
raining, and the Queen hesitated a moment in getting out, as the ground
was wet and there was mud. Instantly W. had his gown off and on the
ground, the others followed his example, and she walked over a carpet of
silk gowns the few steps she had to make. W. said he had never forgotten
her smile as she bowed and thanked them.


    _To J. K._

    #The Garth, Bicester#,
    Sunday, April 19, 1885.

I believe this is my week, Dear Jan. I am staying here at a queer little
hunting box in Oxfordshire with Hilda Deichmann (née de Bunsen). It is
literally an enormous stable, with a cottage attached, but they have
added a story and wings and it is the most wonderful-looking place, very
low--but comfortable. W. went off to Paris Sunday, and I came down here
last Saturday with Mimi. He is very fond of the children--a big boy of
11 and a girl of 7--and has enjoyed himself thoroughly. We feel awfully
cut up at Pontécoulant's death. He has been such a good friend to us,
and so completely associated with all our political life. It seems
incredible that a strong man should be carried off like that in 4 days
from a cold. Henrietta will miss him awfully, as, now that we are so
much away he was always there and attending to anything she wanted done.

Of course everyone is talking and speculating about the Anglo-Russian
question. W. thinks the English must fight, and that they will. I think
this government, with Gladstone at its head, will never make up their
minds to fight seriously or in time, judging from the way the Soudan
campaign has been conducted.

We have been driving all over the country, which is charming, flat, but
all grass (Oxfordshire is a regular hunting country), and since three
days the weather has been enchanting. Yesterday we made a lovely
excursion to Blenheim on Deichmann's coach. We picked up 2 neighbours,
nice, pretty English girls, and had a beautiful drive over the downs.
Mimi had never been on a coach before, and was in a wild state of
delight when all four horses galloped up the hills, and they blew the
horns at all the railway stations and passing thro' the villages. I had
forgotten how magnificent Blenheim was. The house is rather dismantled,
as the present Duke has sold all the books and some of the handsomest
pictures, but there are plenty left--Van Dycks, Rubens, etc., and the
rooms and halls are splendid. There were lots of portraits of the Dukes
and Duchesses, from the great Duke down, some curiously like the present
Churchills, particularly the women. When we had finished sauntering
through the house, we drove about the park looking for a shady place to
lunch, and then established ourselves; the horses were taken out, the
lunch basket opened, and we had a very good lunch on the top of the
coach. We drove back through Woodstock and stopped for tea at Dashwood
Park, one of the great places of the country. They gave us tea, with
every variety of toast, cake, and bread that can be imagined, in a
beautiful room as large as a church, opening on a stone terrace, and the
most lovely (English) views of grass meadows and trees, stretching miles
away. There were quantities of family portraits there, too, but we
hadn't time to see them. We got home at 7 o'clock, rather exhausted, but
having had a lovely day.

I began my letter this morning before breakfast and will finish it now.
The children are off to the woods with the German tutor after primroses,
but it is too warm for us--so we shall take a walk after tea. I am very
fond of Hilda Deichmann. She is very clever--knows a great many
things--draws well, paints well, is a good musician, and is womanly and
practical. We fraternised from the first moment. We are going back to
London to-morrow afternoon. Mimi's school begins on Tuesday, and I think
he has had a good outing for the present. I haven't an idea what we
shall do this winter. Perhaps when W. comes back he will have some
plans. With this new Ministry, it is difficult to make any. I am so
afraid of their proposing some beastly measure, like the exile of the
Orléans Princes, or something of that kind to be popular before the
election. The Wales' visit to Ireland seems to be progressing most
delightfully and much more quietly than people thought. He has such
wonderful charm of manner. I should think personal contact with him
would always work wonders. I must stop now or my letter will not go this
afternoon.


    _To G. K. S._

    May 6, 1885.

We had yesterday a typical London _Season_ evening. We dined at Lady
Vivian's--a large, handsome dinner, everybody rather in a hurry to get
away, as there were two big parties; Lady Derby's in St. James's Place,
and Lady Salisbury's in Arlington Street. We drove down Piccadilly with
much difficulty, getting along very slowly in spite of our "white card,"
but finally did arrive at Lady Derby's. The staircase was a mass of
people struggling to get in, an orchestra playing, and about 1,200
people in rooms that would hold comfortably about half. Of course on
such occasions one doesn't talk. We spoke to our host and hostess, were
carried on by the crowd, made the tour of the rooms and got down again
with much waiting and jostling, as there were two currents coming and
going. However, we did finally get our carriage, and then with many
stops and very slowly, got to Arlington Street, where apparently the
same people were struggling on the staircase, the same orchestra
playing, and just as big a crowd (I should think the whole Conservative
party), for though the house is larger they had invited more people, so
the result was practically the same. We did exactly the same thing,
exchanged a few words with Lady Salisbury, made the tour, and came home.
We were two hours performing these two receptions, but I suppose it was
right to do it once. However, the English certainly enjoy the sight, and
don't mind the waiting. Lady Jersey, who is a grandmother, told me this
afternoon she had bored herself to death last night. "Why did you go?" I
said, "you must know these big political parties by heart." "Oh, I like
the parties," she said; "only I didn't get to either," and then she
explained her evening. She started alone in her carriage at 10 o'clock
for Lady Derby's, was kept waiting an interminable time in Piccadilly,
and when she finally did reach Lady Derby's door, a friendly link-man
advised her not to go in as everybody was coming away, and she would
never get up the stairs, so she turned back and proceeded to Arlington
Street. She had the same crowd, the same long wait, and when she arrived
at Lady Salisbury's the party was over, and no one could possibly get
in. It was then midnight, and she drove home, having passed her whole
evening since 10 o'clock alone in her brougham in Piccadilly.

[Illustration: The Salon of the French Embassy in London, 1891]

    May 9, 1885.

This afternoon we have had a conférence "sur Racine" in the big
drawing-room. A good many people came and apparently listened, and I
hope it may do the young lady good. Mlle. de B. wishes to get up classes
of French literature for ladies, but I hardly think it will succeed here
in the season; on a bright day no one will shut herself up in a smallish
room to hear about Racine, Molière, etc. I was amused by one of our
colleagues whom I invited. He refused promptly, "he really couldn't do
that even for me. He hadn't thought about Racine since he left school,
and hadn't felt it a blank in his life." Mlle. de B. did it very well;
she sat on a little platform with a table in front of her, and all the
swells in red and gilt arm-chairs facing her, and looking at her hard.
She was a little nervous at first, but soon got over that, and her
language was good and well chosen, she knew her subject perfectly, and
spoke in a pretty clear voice. This was the invitation:--

    MADAME WADDINGTON

    SERA CHEZ ELLE

    le Samedi, 9 Mai, 2 à 4 heures,

    _Mlle. de Bury lira une étude de critique littéraire sur Racine, son
    milieu, et sa tragédie de Bérénice._

Do you think it would have tempted you? I am afraid Schuyler wouldn't
have come.


    _To H. L. K._

    #London#,
    May, 1885.

We are having most beautiful weather, Dear, and our morning rides are
delightful. If only the Park was a little bigger. We always get a good
gallop on the other side by the Marble Arch, but it is small, and one
goes round and round. When I ride with W. we generally make three or
four turns as fast as we can go, he hates to dawdle. When I ride with
the military attaché, or some other friends, we do the Row, and amble up
and down, talking to the people walking as well as the riders. The
children always delight in scampering along on their ponies, and they
certainly begin young. A friend of ours, who has a nice sturdy boy of
about six, was wondering whether he should begin with his child on a
narrow pony, thinking he was still rather young, so he consulted Lady
P., a beautiful rider, and an authority on all matters connected with
riding. "You mustn't begin too early with boys," she said; "one must be
careful; I never put any boy of mine on a horse until he was two years
old."

    May 13th.

To-day we have had a very long Drawing-room held by the Queen, which of
course attracts everyone. She rarely stays more than an hour, just long
enough to receive the Corps Diplomatique and the people who have the
entrée. The Queen looked very well, merely shook hands with me, but
talked some little time to W., said she had enjoyed her stay at
Aix-les-Bains so much, and that everything had been done to make her
comfortable. I watched her while she was talking and I never saw a smile
make such a difference in a face. Hers is quite beautiful and lights up
her whole face. It was tiring to-day--unending. Lord R. told me there
were 400 presentations, and at the end said about 1,200 people had
passed. They say the Queen is sometimes made sick by the quantity of
people curtseying before her--the constant movement of the people
bending down and rising has the same effect upon her as the waters of
the sea. I can understand it.

The long Drawing-room to-day was a god-send to Lady A.,--one of Lord
C.'s daughters. She is a "débutante," had a very pretty new dress, and
was much excited over her presentation, had started very early with her
mother so as to see the Queen (who stays only a short hour). The early
start and the long waiting in the row of carriages and also the
ante-room, exhausted her absolutely. She was sick and faint; they did
all they could, brought her brandy, put her near an open window--nothing
did any good. She had to retire from the room, go downstairs, have her
dress cut open (there was a knot in the lace and they couldn't unlace
her bodice), and remained extended on a sofa in the hall--train, veil,
feathers, all in a heap. After a rest of two hours, and a cup of tea
(procured with great difficulty, as there is no buffet on these
occasions) she felt better, and her mother hearing from a friend
upstairs, who was "de service," that the Drawing-room was still going
on, was most anxious that the girl should pass, so they arranged her
veil, hair, and feathers as well as they could, tied the bodice of her
dress, and filled in the intervals with some bits of tulle cut from her
veil. She passed, and I don't believe anyone noticed anything wrong with
her dress, and she was so thankful not to have to go through that long
waiting again. It is a most fatiguing day for those who haven't the
entrée, as they must sit so long in their carriages in the file.

    #Hatfield#, May 30th.

We came down yesterday to this most beautiful old place. A large
Elizabethan castle, standing rather high, with courts and terraces in
every direction. We found Lady Salisbury at her tea-table on the terrace
with a lovely view of park and woods on all sides. Various members of
the family and house-party sauntered up, some of the young ladies in
their habits, having been riding; and some guests having walked up from
the station, which is quite near at the end of the Park. After an hour's
talk Lady Salisbury took me to my room (miles away through the long hall
and up a great staircase), and told me dinner was "easy 8." The room is
large, all panelled in oak which has become almost black with age, an
enormous bed (they have always had their sheets made especially for
these beds for more than 200 years, in Germany I think, as no ordinary
sheets could cover more than half). The beds are very long and almost
square. They would easily hold Brigham Young and all his wives. Do you
remember the picture in Mark Twain? Mine was so high I had to take a
footstool to clamber into it. W.'s room, next, about the same. We went
downstairs at 8.10 and certainly didn't dine until after 8-1/2. We were
about 30 in the great dining-room, a splendid hall with portraits of
Queen Elizabeth (one in fancy dress, most curious with bright red hair),
Henry VIII, Mary Queen of Scots, etc. We played cards in the evening and
broke up rather early. This morning Lady Salisbury showed me the
house--most interesting, full of treasures and memories, a great library
with all sorts of letters from the time of Elizabeth, and in the
drawing-room a vitrine filled with relics of the "Virgin Queen." It was
curious to see her gloves, shoes, hat. I think Lady Salisbury was
somewhat surprised at my interest in these last things, but I told her
she must make allowances for the American, who was not accustomed to old
family traditions and souvenirs of that kind. When I think of our
Revolution, then it seems ages ago to me. We enjoyed our visit
extremely, they are all so nice and simple.

We got back to London this morning and of course dined out somewhere. I
was amused by one of the ladies saying to me after dinner, "Did you
really enjoy your visit to Hatfield? Aren't they all _dreadfully_
clever?" I don't think I should have applied the same adverb, but clever
they certainly are. Lord Salisbury has such a fine, thoughtful face.


    _To H. L. K._

    June, 1885.

We went to Ascot this morning, a beautiful day, and the lawn like a
flower garden with all the women in their light dresses dotted about. We
lunched with the Prince and Princess of Wales. The Maharajah of Johore
was there, and had brought down his own cook, attired in yellow satin
with a large flat hat on his head. He made a sort of curry for his
master, which everybody tasted--except me--I don't like culinary
experiments, and I think the yellow satin garments didn't inspire me
with confidence. I told Juteau when he came up for orders just now how
far below the mark he was as to costume.

    June 29th.

I went this afternoon with Francis to Lord Aberdeen's, where they had a
hay-making party. They have a pretty little cottage, or rather a small
farm about an hour's drive from London. There were plenty of people, and
all sorts of amusements for the children; Punch and Judy, lawn-tennis,
and two tea-tables on the lawn. After tea they all rushed down a steep
hill to a field where there were quantities of little heaps of hay, and
harmless wooden pitchforks. They had a fine time rolling and tumbling
about in the hay and making hay-stacks. Then a cow appeared on the
scene, dressed with flowers and ribbons, and the maids made syllabub on
the spot, which the children enjoyed immensely.

[Illustration: Lady Salisbury]

    June 30th, 1885.

We dined at Lady Molesworth's with the Duc d'Aumale, who is always
charming, and makes everything easy, as there are always bothering
little questions of official etiquette with non-reigning Princes. He is
a fine type of the soldier-prince. It seems hard that a man of his
intelligence and education shouldn't play a great part in his own
country.

    #Albert Gate#,
    July, 1885.

We had the Court concert this evening. The Duc d'Aumale was there,
looking so well and so royal. He is always charming to us, and we were
very proud of our French Prince. H. came with us and enjoyed herself
extremely. The entrance of the Court amused her very much, the two tall
Chamberlains with their wands walking backwards. She says she never saw
anything so pretty as the curtsey the Princess of Wales made to the
assembled company as soon as she got into the room. What always appeals
in some sort of way to our _irreverent_ American minds is the singing of
the "God Save the Queen," all the company, including Prince and
Princess, rising and standing.


    _To J. K._

    #Chevening, Sevenoaks#,
    Sunday, July 27, 1885.

I will begin my letter here to-day, Dear Jan, from the Stanhopes' place,
where we came last evening to spend Sunday. It was awfully hot
yesterday. I almost died on the way from London down, fortunately it was
only an hour. We are a party of 14--Lord and Lady John Manners, Lord
Derby and his step-daughter, Lady Margaret Cecil, Mr. and Mrs. Edward
Stanhope, Mr. and Mrs. Jeune, Lord Boston, a nice young fellow, and a
Mr. Praed, a riding man, who has travelled everywhere. We had tea on the
terrace overlooking a lovely garden and lake, and dined at 8. After
dinner we sat on the terrace, and it was charming, a beautiful full
moon, and not a breath of air. Friday we had the closing festivity of
the season at Marlborough House. A beautiful ball it was, about 600
people, all the crème de la société and beautiful dresses and jewels. I
wore my pink and green Moscow dress (my Russian garments have done me
good service this year), and it was much admired. All the Battenberg
family were there in great force, and I renewed acquaintance with the
Prince of Bulgaria, whom I used to know. They had covered in a great
part of the garden, and the room was beautifully arranged with the
Prince's Indian carpets and arms. The supper room, also built out in the
garden, was so pretty--a collection of small round tables for 8 or 10
persons, with flowers and handsome silver. Prince Albert Victor took me
in, and I had a young Battenberg next. Neither Phelps nor Harry White
was there, on account of Grant's death, which I thought very nice of
them. I danced once or twice after supper, and we came away at 2. I hear
they kept it up until 5, having begun at 11. There is a reception at
Lady Salisbury's on Tuesday, which will be really the end of all things,
and purely political, as all the swells go off to Goodwood Monday.

    11.30.

We have just come upstairs after a very hot day. I didn't go to church,
as I knew I could not stand the heat, and talked a little and read very
happily in the big drawing-room till luncheon. Lady Stanhope took me
over the house, which is not very large, but interesting. There is a
charming library full of books and manuscripts and letters, some from
Lord Chesterfield to his son, written in French, and beginning "Mon cher
ami, comment vont les grâces et les manières." After luncheon, we sat
out under the lime trees, and after tea I made a little tournée with
Lord Stanhope and prowled about the park, and went also to the church,
where there are several interesting monuments. This evening we have been
sitting again on the terrace, quite delicious. I in my white dress, with
nothing on my shoulders.

    #London#,
    Tuesday, 28th.

We got back yesterday at 2 o'clock and the weather has changed to-day.
It was very hot all day yesterday. I spent the afternoon on my sofa
until 6.30, when we went for a ride and met the few last people who are
still here. Last night we discussed our summer plans, and I shall go
over to France on Saturday with Francis, stay three or four days in
Paris, and then go down to St. Léger. It is curious how London is
suddenly empty. There were not 5 carriages in the park yesterday. This
morning I have been careering about the stable-yard trying a new habit.
They are so difficult to make in these days, so tight that the least
change of saddle makes them go every way but the right one. I don't know
if I wrote after the Harwoods lunched with us. W. was much pleased with
them and found them a most attractive family. The girls are charming, so
pretty and simple. I must stop, as Holmes (the English butler) is
waiting for me to tell him all sorts of final arrangements before we
start.


    _To G. K. S._

    #Albert Gate#,
    November 9, 1885.

The young King of Spain is dead. The Ambassador, M. de Casa La Iglesia,
was to have dined with us. He sent a note at 5.30 saying that he must
give up the pleasure of dining with us for a "bien pénible raison," but
without saying what it was--so one of the secretaries went off "aux
informations" and came back with the news that the King was dead. Poor
young fellow, his reign was short.

    December 5th.

We had a service at the Spanish chapel in Manchester Square for the King
of Spain. All the Diplomats and official world there. It was very
long--all the ladies were in black--Comtesse Karolyi (Austrian
Ambassadress) and Comtesse de Bylandt (wife of the Dutch Minister) in
crêpe, long veils. They told me I was not at all correct, that a crêpe
veil was "de rigueur" for crowned heads. I thought I was all right in
black velvet, a tulle veil, and black gloves (in fact was rather pleased
with my get-up), but the ladies were very stern.

    #London#,
    December 15, 1885.

I wish you were here this morning, Dear, as the Embassy is a
curiosity--might just as well be in Kamtchatka as far as the outside
world is concerned--for nothing exists beyond the walls of the house.
When they drew back my curtains this morning I couldn't really think for
a moment where I was. Adelaïde had a lighted candle in her hand (it was
8.30 o'clock in the morning) and I thought my window panes had been
painted a dirty yellow in the night. However it was only a yellow London
fog; I could literally see nothing when I went to the window. It has
lightened now a little, but we have had lamps for breakfast, and I am
writing with my candles! The big shops opposite are all lighted, and one
sees little glimmers of light through the fog. I can't see across the
street. The fog gets into everything--was quite thick and perceptible in
the hall when we went down to breakfast. The coachman has been in and
said he couldn't take out his horses, not even with a link-boy running
alongside, so let us hope it will brighten up a little in the course of
the afternoon.

    December 16th.

The fog did lift about 4; but the day was trying and the traces most
evident the next day, as everything in the house was filthy--all the
silver candlesticks and little silver ornaments that are on the tables;
the white curtains--in fact everything one touched. I should think
laundresses would make their fortune in London. My maid came to my room
about 3 o'clock, just as I was going out, with her apron really black
with smuts. I said, "What in the world have you been doing, cleaning the
chimneys?" "Non, Madame, je n'ai fait que travailler chez Madame et dans
la lingerie; j'ai voulu montrer mon tablier à Madame, c'est le troisième
que je mets depuis ce matin...!"

    December 17, 1885.

Yesterday I made an excursion to the city with Hilda Deichmann and her
husband to buy things for our Christmas trees. It was most amusing
ransacking in all the big wholesale houses, and reminded me of my
childish days and similar expeditions to Maiden Lane. There is so much
always in England that recalls early days. I think it is not only the
language, but the education and way of living are the same. We have read
the same books and sung the same hymns, and understand things in the
same way. Our shopping was most successful. All the prettiest things
come from the German shops. The ginger-bread animals were
wonderful,--some horses and dogs with gilt tails and ears most
effective. The decorations were really very pretty--the stars and angels
quite charming. When we had finished our shopping Deichmann took us to
Pym's, a celebrated oyster cellar, to lunch. A funny little place well
known to all City people. We had a capital lunch--all oysters.

This afternoon we have been playing, 8 hands, two pianos, which was
interesting. Two of our colleagues, Princess Ghika, Roumanian Legation,
and Countess de Bylandt, Dutch, are excellent musicians. They lead, and
Hilda and I follow as well as we can. I am the least good, but I manage
to get along, and of course whenever I know the music my ear helps me.
We have two fine Érard grand pianos in the drawing-room, which is large,
and fairly light for London. I was much tempted by a beautiful Steinway
piano, but thought it right at the French Embassy to have Érards, which
are of course fine instruments. I fancy Steinway is more brilliant, but
I think we make noise enough, particularly when we are playing
Wagner--the _Kaiser March_ for instance.

    December 23d.

It was not very cold this morning, so I tried the new horse, and he went
very well. I have had a thick hunting habit made, and was quite
comfortable, except the hands, which were cold at starting. I fussed all
day over the Christmas tree which we are to have on the 26th, and this
evening we had a small farewell dinner for Nigra, the Italian
Ambassador, who is going away to Vienna. I am very sorry, as he is a
good colleague and an easy and charming talker. He sat a long time with
me the other day talking over his Paris experiences and the brilliant
days of the Empire--Tuileries, Compiègne, etc. It was most interesting
and new to me, as I only know Paris since the war (1870) and have never
seen either Emperor or Empress. I suppose I never shall see her, as she
never comes to London, and lives a very secluded life at Farnborough
with a small household, and some Paris friends who come sometimes, not
very often, to see her. What a tragic "fin de vie" hers is, having had
everything and lost everything. We had also the Russian and Spanish
Ambassadors--Staal charming, clever, easy, simple--"simpatico," the only
word I know in any language which expresses exactly that combination of
qualities. Casa La Iglesia, the Spaniard, is a tall, handsome,
attractive-looking man. He made havoc in the various posts he has
occupied, and when we want to tease him we ask him about his departure
from Berlin, and all the "femmes affolées" who were at the station to
see the last of him. Henrietta and Anne have arrived for Christmas,
laden of course with presents and souvenirs for everybody, and Francis
is quite happy with his aunts.


    _To G. K. S._

    #Albert Gate, London#,
    December 24, 1885.

The sisters and I have been shopping all day getting the last things for
the tree, which is to be on the 26th. The streets are most animated,
full of people, all carrying parcels, and all with smiling faces. The
big toy-shops and confectioners crowded. "Buzzard," the great shop in
Oxford Street, most amusing; hundreds of Christmas cakes of all sizes.
There are plum cakes frosted with sugar icing, the date generally in red
letters and a sprig of ivy or evergreen stuck in at the top. We had
ordered a large one, and they were much pleased to do it for the French
Embassy, and wanted to make the letters in "tri-color," red, white, and
blue. We wound up at the Army and Navy Stores, and really had some
difficulty in getting in. They had quantities of Christmas trees already
decorated, which were being sold as fast as they were brought in.

There were splendid turkeys, enormous; and curiously enough they told us
many of them came from France, from a well-known turkey farm in the
Loiret. I must ask the Ségurs, who live in that part of the country, if
they know the place. There were quantities of plum-puddings of all sizes
and prices, and it must be a very poor household that doesn't have its
plum-pudding to-morrow. We were glad to get back to tea and hot buttered
toast--a thoroughly English institution. I would like some of my French
servants to learn how to make it, but I don't suppose they will. In fact
I don't know exactly who makes it here--I am quite sure neither Juteau
nor his "garçon de cuisine" would condescend to do anything so simple. I
suppose it isn't the "odd man" who seems to do all the things that no
one else will, but I sha'n't inquire as long as it appears.

We had a quiet evening--talked a little politics while W. was smoking.
Henrietta always sees a great many people of all kinds, and tells him
various little things that don't come to him in his official despatches.
The house is comfortable enough, though there is no calorifère, and it
is a corner house. There are enormous coal fires everywhere, except in
my bedroom and dressing-room, where I always burn wood--and such
wood--little square pieces like children's blocks.

    Christmas Day.

It was dark and foggy this morning, we could hardly see the trees
opposite, and the lamps are lighted in the house and the streets.
Francis was enchanted with his presents. I think the billiard-table from
Paris and the big boat ("aussi grand que Monsieur Toutain"--one of our
Secretaries) were what pleased him most. There is a sort of sailing
match every Sunday morning on the Serpentine. Some really beautiful
boats (models) full-rigged, and it is a pretty sight to see them all
start a miniature yacht race across the river. Francis always goes with
Clarisse, and Yves, his own little Breton footman, carries his boat,
which is much bigger than he is, also Boniface, a wise little
fox-terrier who knows all about it, and gallops around the top of the
lake to meet his master's boat on the other side. They have also one of
the Park keepers and a gigantic policeman, who is always on duty at
Albert Gate, to look after them. Not a useless precaution, as the boat
often gets entangled in the reeds, and _has_ been known to go to the
bottom of the lake, and Boniface always gets lost and is brought back by
a policeman or a soldier, or a friend--Hilda Deichmann brought him back
one day.

We had a cheerful Christmas dinner--all our personnel--M. Blanchard de
Forges, Consul General, and Villiers, the correspondent of the "Débats"
in London. We did a little music after dinner. I tried for some
Christmas carols "We Three Kings of Orient Are" (do you remember that at
Oyster Bay? how long ago it seems), but the English-speaking element was
not strong enough. We danced a little, winding up with a sort of Scotch
reel--Henrietta, Waru (our Military Attaché), and Petiteville being the
chief performers.

    December 26th.

We are all rather exhausted after the Christmas tree; however, the
children were quite pleased, and the tree really very pretty. A gigantic
pine, reaching to the top of the ceiling in the ballroom, a star on the
top and very well lighted. We had 34 children of all ages and
nationalities, from Nadine Karolyi, aged 18, daughter of Count Karolyi,
Austrian Ambassador and Doyen of the Corps Diplomatique, to Florence
Williams' baby girl of 16 months. The little ones were sweet, speechless
at first, with round eyes fixed on the tree, and then little fat arms
stretched out for something. The children's tea-table looked pretty,
arranged with coloured candles and holly, and an enormous Christmas cake
in the middle with a wreath of holly around it. Nadine Karolyi cut the
first slice of cake, as daughter of the Doyen she sat on Francis's right
hand, and Thekla Staal, daughter of the Russian Ambassador, on his left.
W. was much amused at the correct placing of the young ladies. We start
to-morrow for Knowsley and Luton Hoo, and the packing is quite an
affair. I take 10 dresses, besides jackets, hats, etc. I must have short
costumes to follow the battues for fine and bad weather--a swell day
dress, as we are to lunch at Croxteth, Lord Sefton's place near
Knowsley; and two ball dresses, as there is to be a county ball for all
the neighbourhood at Luton, New Year's night, and a small dance with a
cotillon (which is unusual in England) the next night. Adelaïde is
rather fatigued, as besides my trunk she has to finish off her
toilettes, and she has just come in to ask me if she shall take the
regulation black silk, or a blue silk, which is more dressy; as they
tell her the _ladies_ in the housekeeper's room are very dressy at
Luton. I said the blue silk by all means--she must be up to the mark.
The fog has kept up pretty well all day. I hope it will clear to-morrow,
we are going straight into the coal country. Knowsley is near Liverpool,
and I fancy it is always dark there.

I was telling Nigra the other day about our first Roman Christmas and
what an impression it made upon us. Such a splendid winter, always a
bright blue sky, and roses straggling over all the old grey walls. The
Pifferari singing to the Madonnas at all the street corners, the
midnight Mass and mysterious Pastorale in St. Peter's at early dawn with
the tapers trembling on the high altar so far away; and the grand
Christmas ceremony at St. Peter's, with all the magnificent pomp of the
Catholic Church in Rome. We talked on for some time about "Roma com'
era," which of course he doesn't regret, and I told him of our last
night in Rome, when we all went "en bande" to drink at the Fountain of
Trevi (which is supposed to act as a charm and to bring people back to
Rome). I remember quite well how tearful I was when we left. I didn't
think then that life was worth living out of the shadow of St. Peter's,
and think so a little still even now, though my lines have lain in very
different places.

We leave Francis in the sisters' charge, with the joys of a pantomime
before him.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Knowsley#,
    December 29, 1885.

We arrived here late yesterday afternoon. It is a long, uninteresting
journey (almost to Liverpool), was cold and foggy all the way down, and
we found snow when we arrived in the Park--also a perfect gale of wind,
the enormous bare, black winter trees swaying like poplars. The large
house, with all the façade brightly lighted, gave us at once a cheerful
welcome. Lady Derby was waiting for us in the long, low drawing-room
with tea, and we went up almost immediately to dress for dinner. We had
sent the servants by an earlier train, which was convenient, as they had
time to unpack and have everything ready for us. We have a charming
apartment--a very good-sized salon, with bedrooms large and comfortable
on each side. The salon furnished in a bright chintz, and good pictures,
mostly family portraits, on the walls. There were blazing fires
everywhere--these enormous rocks of Liverpool coal one sees here. I
instantly proceeded to demolish mine in my bedroom. Adelaïde had already
tried to make the housemaid understand that her lady didn't like warm
rooms, but the other one pointed to the snow under the windows, and
heaped on her pieces of coal.

Dinner was at 8 _punctually_ (which was a contrast to Hatfield, where we
had been staying the other day. There dinner was easily half past eight,
and after we had been at table some little time various friends and
members of the family appeared, and slid quietly into their places at
the end of the very long table). There is a large family party here and
some other guests, including the two historians, Froude and Lecky, both
most interesting.

[Illustration: Knowsley Hall

The Earl of Derby's place at Prescot Lancashire]

We dined in a fine hall with family portraits of all the Derbys, from
the first one at Bosworth down to the present Earl, who is the 16th Earl
of Derby. There was beautiful plate on the table--fine racing cups--as
the Stanleys were always quite as much racing men as statesmen. These
are such curious things in England, the love of sport is so strong.
Fancy any of our statesmen, Thiers, Guizot, Dufaure, etc., with racing
stables. Lord Derby is very easy and rather inclined to chaff Americans
a little, but I didn't mind. The evening was short after we adjourned to
the drawing-room. Lady Derby is rather delicate, and is suffering just
now from a bad eye. I sat some time in my comfortable room upstairs, but
was glad to get to bed early after the cold journey. W. went off to the
fumoir, and had a most interesting talk over Ireland and Irish questions
with Mr. Lecky. This morning was awful; snow, sleet, and a cold
rain--however, the sportsmen were not to be deterred by any such mild
obstacle, and started at 9.30 in a big break with four horses. I watched
the departure from my window, and was very glad I was not going to make
any such expedition. I had my breakfast upstairs, and had an amusing
explanation with the housemaid who appeared at 9.30 with an enormous
tray and breakfast enough for a family--tea, beefsteaks, cold
partridges, eggs, rolls, toast, potatoes, buns and fruit--you never saw
such a meal. She couldn't believe that I only wanted tea and toast and
an egg (which was an extra, but as I knew we should only lunch at two,
and I am accustomed to have my déjeuner à la fourchette at 12, I was
sure I should be hungry if I didn't take something), and asked me most
respectfully if I was not well, and would like something else--"a little
soup perhaps."

I went downstairs about 12 and found the ladies in the drawing-room all
complaining of the cold. Lady Derby took me over the house--it has not
the beautiful proportions of Hatfield--is long, low, and rambling, but
most comfortable. The library is a fine room with deep window recesses,
and most comfortable with a bright fire burning. The librarian was there
and showed us some of his treasures, among them an old copy of the
"Roman de la Rose," and various old manuscripts. We went on to the
dining-room, and Lady Derby explained the family portraits to me. The
long, unbroken line of Earls of Derby is most interesting, and the
change in the portraits for the two or three generations where the
French blood shows itself, most curious. The wife of the Earl of Derby
who died on the scaffold, giving his life for his King, was the famous
Charlotte de la Trémouille, who defended her castle--Lathom House--so
gallantly against Fairfax and his Roundheads. Do you remember one of our
school-room books in America, "Heroines of History," where there was a
description of the siege of Lathom House, and a picture of the Countess
of Derby standing on the ramparts in a riding habit and hat and feathers
and apparently loading a cannon herself and showing a gunner how to
point it?

The portraits are most interesting; first the regular Saxon type, then
the French streak, pale oval faces, and dark eyes and hair (not unlike
the Stuarts, who have always a foreign look); then the true British,
more and more accentuated down to the present Earl. They have also in
one of the halls the block on which the Lord Derby knelt who was
beheaded in 1631.

The sportsmen arrived about tea-time, apparently neither cold nor tired,
and having had a fine shoot.

    New Year's Day, 1886.

We are leaving this afternoon for Luton, Mme. de Falbe's place, where
there is a ball and cotillon to-night. We were to go and join the
shooters yesterday, but it was rainy and cold, and the ladies didn't
care to go out. The talk at luncheon was pleasant; Froude is brilliant
and easy. His American experiences and stories were amusing, but I told
him he mustn't take the very eccentric ladies and gentlemen whom he had
encountered as specimens of Americans. I didn't know any such people,
that really most of us were quite quiet and ordinary, and like everybody
else. Lord Derby rather urged him on, and was amused at our perfectly
amicable discussion. We drove over to Croxteth, Lord Sefton's place,
after lunch. The park is fine and they have capital shooting. Our
evening was quiet, and we broke up early, as they always have a midnight
service in the chapel on New Year's eve for the family and servants and
any of the guests who like to attend. We left the drawing-room at 10.30,
so that the servants might put out the lights, finish their work, etc.,
and also to have time to get out of our low dresses and jewels. A little
before 12 Lady Margaret Cecil (Lady Derby's daughter by her first
husband, Lord Salisbury) came for us and we went to the chapel. I had
put on a dark cloth dress and jacket, nothing on my head. The chapel was
full, all the servants (including my French maid) and household. Lady
Margaret, looking like a saint in her plain black dress, and beautiful
earnest expression, sat at the little organ, and everybody, gardeners,
keepers, coachmen, cooks, housemaids, joined in the singing. It was very
solemn and impressive. At the end of the service we all went out first,
and then Lady Margaret and her brother Lord Lionel stood at the head of
the stairs and shook hands with all the guests, and all the servants,
wishing all a "Happy New Year." It was a nice beginning of the New Year.
Lord Derby hopes our next one will be also in England and at Knowsley,
but everything is so uncertain, and of such short duration in our
country (especially Cabinets) that we can hardly look forward a year.

    #Luton#,
    January 3, 1886.

Our journey yesterday from Knowsley was not very long, and some of the
country all about Matlock, in Derbyshire, quite wild and lovely. Our
host here is M. de Falbe, Danish Minister, who married Mrs. Leigh, owner
of this charming place. We found the house party, mostly young,
assembled in the morning-room with tea, the ladies all, as usual, in
very dressy tea-gowns. I can't quite get used to that fashion, though I
see it is very practical in the country at this season. Everyone goes
out (in all weathers generally) from luncheon till tea-time, and of
course one must get out of short skirts and muddy boots before coming
down to the drawing-room. We went up early to dress, as Mme. de Falbe
wanted to dine precisely at 8, on account of the ball afterwards. The
house is large, with endless corners and corridors, fine drawing-rooms,
library, and a large chapel with a fine organ. The dinner was handsome
and very well arranged, five round tables, and quantities of silver,
flowers, servants, etc. About 10.30 the company began to arrive, many
county neighbours, Salisburys, Lyttons, Caledons, etc., bringing their
house parties with them. We had a very pretty cotillon. At the end the
children's pony came in carrying two big baskets filled with presents.
The poor little thing was very gentle, but was evidently afraid of
slipping on the parquet floor.

[Illustration: The Late Earl of Derby

From a photograph by Franz Baum, London]

    Sunday, 3d.

To-day has been charming; first the service in the house chapel, very
good organ music--Mme. de Falbe is musical and arranges everything.
After breakfast they organized a paper hunt for the "jeunesse" in the
park, and the older people walked about. The rendezvous was the dairy--a
model one, quite delightful with tiles, and creepers running along the
walls and peeping everywhere in at the windows. One by one the young
people assembled, flushed and exhausted with running, and all clamouring
for tea. Comte Jacques de Pourtalès (one of our Secretaries), a young
officer of the Blues, and Forbes, Mme. de Falbe's son-in-law, were the
hares and got in some time before the hounds. After tea Falbe took me
over to the stables, where there were plenty of horses, and also to the
"vacherie," which was perfect. They have 40 small Alderney cows, all the
same breed and colour, pretty little beasts, and so wonderfully clean,
kept like pet dogs.

The dinner and evening was most lively, choruses, banjos (which is a
favourite instrument in English houses), and every kind of game,
including musical chairs--M. de Falbe at the piano. I think everyone
played except the Falbes and ourselves. W. and Falbe retired afterwards
to the smoking-room, and were deep in foreign politics. Falbe is a
perfect type of the diplomatist, tall, good-looking, and a charming,
courteous manner. We ladies went off about 11, and an hour later we
heard the most unearthly noises in the house. All the men parading the
corridors with banjos, bells, gongs, etc., and singing (if singing it
can be called) at the top of their voices. They stopped at every door to
serenade. The party breaks up to-morrow, and we all go back to London.


    _To G. K. S._

    #London#,
    Sunday, January 17, 1886.

We had a musical dinner last night for Miss Griswold and Albanesi, and
they sang and played all the evening. Albanesi has a charming, delicate
touch, and plays with all the Italian brio. He told me--what surprised
me--that he was always frightfully nervous when playing in public, and
much preoccupied with the "composition de la salle"--if he saw one or
two unsympathetic faces he had at once a disagreeable sensation!
Gertrude Griswold has always the same lovely voice with a beautiful
clear ring in it, and sings most artistically.

This morning we have been to church at St. Paul's. It is a fine service,
a splendid organ, and very good well-trained choir--but not at all
solemn. I felt as if I was in one of the great Catholic cathedrals in
Italy. People were coming and going all the time, and walking about the
church. It is so enormous that it is quite a walk from the big doors to
the small (comparatively) enclosed space where the congregation
assembles.

I have been at home all the afternoon receiving--men only, which is a
regular London custom. Adams came in at tea-time. He and W. always like
to have a good talk over old times. They were at school and college
together, and Adams, when he was Chargé d'Affaires at the British
Embassy, used to have all sorts of questions to treat with W., who was
then Ministre des Affaires Étrangeres in Paris. They always began their
conversations in French, and then fell into English, which of course
they had always spoken together.

To-night we have a small dinner for Rustem Pacha, and I have asked one
or two people in the evening. I should like to be at home always on
Sunday night, as we did in the Champs Élysées, but they tell me no
English will come. Many of them don't go out on Sunday night, and don't
take their horses out, and give servants a rest. I asked Lady A., who is
very mondaine, if she would come to dinner to meet a few colleagues, and
she said--"Dear Mme. Waddington, let me come another night; I never take
out my carriage and servants on Sunday."

Jean Gordon Gumming is very much exercised over what she calls my French
ways, and constantly tells me people don't do such and such things in
England; but I always tell her the French Embassy is _not_ England;
however, she is rather worried over me, and finds me un-English (which
is not surprising) and unconventional, which is also not surprising,
considering my nationality.


    _To H. L. K._

    January 21, 1886.

We have had a great function to-day, the Queen opened Parliament. We all
went in gala, Countess D'A. and P. with us, the men in uniform, I in red
satin, low, with diamonds and feathers. The road was lined with
policemen and mounted soldiers in lieu of infantry, as there would have
been with us. As we passed through the Horse-Guards the trumpeters
saluted. We went at once into the great hall of the Lords', which was a
fine sight. All the peers were there in their scarlet robes trimmed with
white fur, and the women in low dresses, diamonds, and feathers
(feathers play a great part in all English toilettes). The Judges also
were in full dress, with wigs and gowns. About 1.30 the Princes began to
arrive, Prince of Wales, Dukes of Edinburgh, Connaught, and Cambridge
all also in scarlet robes with bands of ermine and gold, and the collar
of the Garter. We sat close to the Throne (Countess Karolyi didn't come,
so I was Doyenne), then Madame de Staal and the Duchesses Bedford,
Hamilton, Sutherland, and others. The Prince of Wales stood next to me
some time, presenting the Duke of Connaught, whom I had not seen, and
talked pleasantly enough, explaining various things to me; also said he
was rather shy at taking his seat on the raised platform until the last
moment. He had an arm-chair on the right of the Throne. I asked him for
whom the other arm-chair was and he said it was his father's, had never
been used since his death, and showed me the Saxon arms on it. The three
brothers, Wales, Edinburgh, and Connaught, remained standing together.
The other Princes, Christian, Duke of Teck, and Henry of Battenberg,
were opposite to us; Battenberg, who has a slight, stylish figure,
looking handsome in British Volunteer Uniform (dark green) with the
collar of the Garter. Teck looks badly, older and thinner. He must have
been a very handsome man (which, by the way, he tells one frequently).
When Prince Alexander of Battenberg was at one of the Court balls
everyone was talking about him and saying what a magnificent man he was.
Teck, who was dancing a quadrille with me, was much put out, and said to
me, "Do you really find Battenberg so very handsome? It is a pity you
didn't know me when I was his age; I was much handsomer," and appealed
to Count D., Austrian Ambassador, an old friend and "compagnon d'armes,"
to support his statement, which I must say he did most warmly, and one
can quite see it.

All the Ambassadors and men of the Corps Diplomatique faced us--the
English women were upstairs. About 2.30 (we had been there since 1.30)
we heard a trumpet call, and all the company stood up. We women dropped
our cloaks, and the Prince took his place standing on the dais.
Presently appeared the Garter King-at-Arms and various officers of the
household. The Duke of Portland stood on the right of the Throne holding
a Royal crown on a cushion. Lord Salisbury (Premier) carried a large
sword with a double handle, and then came the Queen followed by Princess
Beatrice and Princes Eddie and George of Wales. The Queen was dressed in
black satin with a long train, lined and trimmed with ermine, quantities
of diamonds on her neck and corsage, the blue ribbon of the Garter, and
a regular closed crown of diamonds, and white veil. As she came in the
Prince of Wales advanced, touched the ground with one knee, kissed her
hand, and led her to the Throne. He did his part most easily and
gracefully, and didn't look at all shy. The Queen's train was carried by
Sir Henry Ponsonby and two pages in red and gold. Princess Beatrice and
the Duchess of Buccleuch (Mistress of the Robes) stood behind the Queen
on her right, Princes Eddie and George on her left, Lord Salisbury,
Halsbury, Lathom, and some others were also on the dais. As soon as the
Queen was settled on her Throne she bowed to us all right and left. We
made deep curtseys, and then she made a sign that we were to sit down.
There was a few moments' silence while they went to summon the Commons.
Then one heard a noise of scrambling and racing in the corridors--and
they appeared; the Speaker, looking very well in his wig and gown, came
first, fairly shot into the hall like a bomb by the impatient crowd
behind him. Then the Lord Chancellor, asking the Queen's permission,
read her speech in a clear, distinct voice, so that one heard every
word. It was very short, and as soon as it was over the Queen went away
with the same ceremony as when she came. When she got to the foot of the
dais she made a very pretty half curtsey. The Princes left directly
afterwards--we too. The crowd in the street was tremendous, everyone
always is anxious to see the Queen, and much excited over the
cream-coloured Hanoverian horses which she uses when she goes anywhere
in semi-state. As they only go out very seldom it is rather a
responsibility for the Master of the Horse to see that they are
perfectly quiet.

    #Windsor#, March 8, 1886.

We are at Windsor for the second time to dine and sleep, and we are
"Doyens" now, so have a sweller apartment in one of the towers--the
walls so thick that they make splendid deep window recesses (and a
piano). We had asked an audience of Princess Beatrice, who received us
before dinner about 7. I wore my brown velvet in which I had come down,
and we found her in a small salon with a piano and pretty pictures and
bibelots about. She was in an ordinary red costume, and was rather cold
and shy at first, but thawed when Battenberg appeared. He has a
delightful easy way, that sort of charm that so many Poles have. The
party was a small one--no other diplomats but Mr. and Mrs. Phelps, both
charming, and some English. The ceremony was quite the same as before.
The Queen came about nine and went alone into the dining-room, and had
her two sons-in-law, Christian and Battenberg, on each side. W. took in
Princess Beatrice, and Mr. Phelps me, so I was quite happy. The Queen
spoke little, in German, principally, to her neighbours, the English
scarcely at all, and almost in whispers. I don't know what would happen
to me if I dined often at court, I couldn't sit at table for an hour
without talking to someone. Mr. P. says American women are not made for
courts and convenances. They lose all their charm if they are not
natural, and I think he is right. The cercle lasted about an hour. The
Queen and I talked music. She regrets Münster, who is going to Paris.

    #London#, March 9.

We were asked this morning if we would like to drive to the Mausoleum
before we went back to town, which we accepted of course. W. and I went
in an open carriage, a pair of horses and postillion, and Lord Thurlow,
Lord in Waiting, with us. In the next came Mr. and Mrs. Phelps with Mrs.
F., Lady in Waiting. We drove down the "long walk" to the Mausoleum,
which is not very far from the Castle. It is a handsome building with a
fine marble floor like some of the old Italian chapels. The tomb of the
Prince Consort is very fine, with a recumbent marble statue and a place
beside it for the Queen when her turn comes. There is a pretty monument
"In Memoriam" to Princess Alice (of Hesse) with her child in her arms,
and a tablet to the memory of John Brown as "a grateful tribute from
Queen Victoria to the faithful servant and friend of 34 years." We then
drove to Frogmore and saw the farm, basse-cour, dairy, etc., and took
the 12.30 train back to London. This evening we have had a handsome
dinner and reception at the Russian Embassy; the whole house open, band
playing, and all London there. The Duchess of Edinburgh dined. Corti
made his first appearance in the "grand monde" as Ambassador. He is much
pleased to be in London. I don't know if he and W. will be very cordial
colleagues, as Corti decidedly resented W.'s attitude in the Berlin
Congress.


    _To J. K._

    #Clieveden, Maidenhead#,
    Sunday, March 29, 1886.

I will begin my letter this evening, Dear Jan, in this most lovely place
of the Duke of Westminster's which Karolyi, the Austrian Ambassador,
always hires, until after Easter, as his wife hates to spend the winter
in town. We came down yesterday afternoon with one of their secretaries,
a nice young fellow. We found the Karolyis alone in a charming library
filled with books in all languages, and with the most enchanting view of
the Thames--quite like the view from Richmond Terrace, if you remember
it. They gave us tea--and about 7 we went up to our rooms. Mine is the
one the Duchess always has, and W. has the dressing-room next, a large
room, all hung with rose-coloured silk, faded into yellow now, an
enormous bed with yellow silk curtains and counterpane, a bath-room with
marble bath opening out of a little passage, quite complete, and always
the same divine view. The rooms are filled with pictures, souvenirs of
all the Sutherlands (whose place it was originally), Westminsters, and
all the English Royal family of all ages. At 8 a gong sounded and we
went down to the library (where they live entirely), and found them
there with the addition of Count Victor Karolyi, a cousin. The dinner
was good, 4 servants, their chasseurs, in Hungarian uniform, 2 in black
and one in plain livery. After dinner the 2 Karolyi men sat down to
cards, W. and the young man talked, also Mme. K. and I--and all the men
smoked. It was easy enough, as everyone talked a great deal. We broke up
at 11. This morning we had breakfast at 10, and afterwards Mme. K.
showed me the house, which is very handsome, one large, beautiful
drawing-room opening on the terrace and river view. They live only in
the library, as the rest is so enormous to light and heat. At 12 M. and
Mme. de Staal, the Russian Ambassador and his wife, arrived, and we went
for a stroll in the grounds. Went out again after lunch for a long walk
down by the river in short skirts and thick boots, as it was very
damp--almost always is on the banks, generally low, of the Thames. It
looked very pretty and gay, quite a number of boats and some people we
all knew, staying in one of the houses near, got out of their boats and
walked along with us. We came in for tea at 5.30, and after that
adjourned to our respective rooms till dinner. The evening was pleasant,
as we were more numerous and Staal talks a great deal. Now I am going to
bed, as it is 11 o'clock, and we breakfast at a quarter to ten
to-morrow, and get back to London at 11.30.

[Illustration: The Countess Fanny Karolyi 1888 the Austrian Ambassadress

From a photograph by Walery London]

    #London#, Monday, 30th.

We got back this morning at 1 for lunch, and have been in a wild state
ever since with the bad news from Tonkin and the defeat of our troops.
The Ministry is out, and Heaven knows what will happen. W. is as blue as
indigo over the news, as he had been very cocky over Tonkin, as compared
with the English blunders in the Soudan. Already there are despatches in
the clubs here, saying W. has been asked to take the Foreign Office. Of
course he hasn't been asked, and I hope he won't be, for I should hate
to begin that official life in Paris again, and I am very happy here
now--however, one never knows in political life. Do you know anything
about Phelps? W. is very anxious to have your opinion. He says you ought
to know about a Vermont man. He will have a difficult "succession." Mr.
Lowell is much liked and admired.

    #London#,
    April 10, 1886.

We have had a pleasant morning luncheon at Roll's Court with Lord Esher,
who showed us a quantity of most interesting old manuscripts. A letter
from "Bloody Mary" to Cardinal Pole announcing her "grossesse" (the
arrival of a Prince), also the confession and signature of Guy Fawkes
after torture, such a wavering, faint signature, "Guido." It is
extraordinary how all the papers and handwriting have lasted. All these
old-world things are so interesting to me, I seem to realize history so
much more. I hope to get over to Paris for a little this month. We had a
nice party (music) at Louisa Lady Ashburton's this evening, and an
interesting collection of people, fashionable, literary, and _Salvation
Army_. The house is crowded with statues, pictures, and artistic
treasures of all kinds.


    _To J. K._

    #Ambassade de France à Londres#,
    Sunday, May 29, 1887.

We seem to have a gleam of sunshine this afternoon, Dear Jan, after
weeks of bleak east winds and grey skies, and we are going to take
advantage of it to drive out to White Lodge, Richmond Park, and see the
Tecks. We are revelling in Whitsuntide recess, and no dinners or
banquets until Friday, the second Court Concert. Last night I went to
the Opéra with the Staals. It was "Faust," very well given, with Albani,
Scalchi, and Gayare. The house was fairly brilliant, but not full--the
Prince and Princess of Wales, Rothschilds, and a certain number of
people, who came to hear Albani (she is such a favourite here). I should
think it would be a losing operation. Tell Janet Mlle. de Staal looks so
nice, is so much more animated, really very pretty, so high bred and
always well dressed. Lady Salisbury's reception at the F. O. on Tuesday
for the Queen's Birthday was very brilliant; there were quantities of
Princes; a Danish Prince, brother of the Princess of Wales; a young
Russian Grand Duke, a son of the late Prince Frederick Charles, brother
of the Duchess of Connaught, and any quantity of Maharajahs, covered
with gold and silver embroidery and diamonds and emeralds as big as
eggs. They always make a great fuss over the Indian Princes at
Court--treat them like Royalty, and give them very good places. The
Corps Diplomatique always protests. The lion of the evening was Herbert
Bismarck. From the Prince of Wales down everyone, men and women, was
overwhelming him with attentions. I didn't think the Danish Prince
looked much pleased. He remarked that "Bismarck had a most disagreeable
voice." Lizzie P. was wandering about looking very handsome. I didn't
see Buffalo Bill, which rather surprised me. I suppose he is genuine,
isn't he? He professed to remember Captain King perfectly when I said I
had a brother who had been some time on the plains with his regiment.
Certainly the "Wild West Show" is most original and entertaining. The
Indians look savage enough to satisfy anyone, and Buffalo Bill and the
King of the Cowboys are splendid specimens of frontiersmen.

    Monday.

I will finish this morning; it is still dark and rainy. We went out
yesterday to White Lodge and had a pleasant visit. It was much too cold
to sit out, so we had tea in the gallery and enjoyed it very much.
Princess Mary is always so easy. The young Princess May looked very nice
in a light tweed with a white waistcoat. She asked after Janet, and
wanted to know if she was to be here this season. I asked Princess Mary
what she was going to wear at the Jubilee Te Deum at Westminster. She
said she had no idea, but she had been told long dress, smart bonnet,
decorations and diamonds. It seems the Queen is going to wear a white
bonnet covered with diamonds. I have asked no questions and mean to wear
a short dress--no one will see, as we do not join any cortége. We arrive
quite simply and go straight to our places. I shall wear white lace with
mousse velvet, and a mousse bonnet with pink roses. Tell Janet, I am
convinced I shall never wear my moiré apricot dress from Roulf, that I
couldn't wear last year at any of the Court fêtes. I am sure the German
Prince will die. They say he may at any moment, as the excrescence in
his throat may increase, and then he would suffocate. Wouldn't it be
strange if that old Emperor outlived the son. Neither sled nor fans have
yet arrived. I suppose they will appear soon. We have one or two things
we mean to send out, as soon as we have an opportunity--gloves, etc. I
should think some of the 75,000 Americans who are coming over would go
back in the course of the summer. Princess Mary told me yesterday that a
pretty American girl--an heiress--she couldn't remember the name--did I
know?--is probably going to marry a Count Btetju, aide-de-camp to the
Prince of Denmark. It seems he saw her here and fell in love with her at
once. I must stop now. Have any quantity of notes to write.


    _To G. K. S._

    #London#,
    June 14, 1887.

London is getting ready for the Jubilee and the streets are crowded.
Various Royalties have arrived, and one meets Royal carriages, escorts,
and strong squads of police at every turn. It is warm and lovely
to-day--so was yesterday. W., Francis and I drove out to Sheen, where W.
plays tennis in Lord F.'s private court. I wandered about under the
trees, and Francis sailed his boat in the pond and was quite happy. It
is such a rest to get a few hours in the country when one is going out
all the time as we are here--and above all not to have to talk. We had a
remarkable entertainment last night, given by the Hawaiian Secretary
(who is a German-American) for his Queen, of the Sandwich Islands. We
arrived in due time, I rather protesting.

There was a large reception after dinner and the mistress of the house
asked us if we wouldn't stand by the Queen and make a sort of cercle,
and a funny contrast we made--Mrs. P. beautifully dressed in white satin
and lace, Lady R. with splendid jewels, I wore my pink brocade and old
Venetian lace. It really was too absurd. I talked a little to the
Princess, who is intelligent enough. The Queen is a great stickler for
etiquette, and insisted upon the same honours as any other Royalties, an
escort of _Life Guards_;--wouldn't accept any less distinguished escort.

    #London#,
    June 18, 1887.

We have had rather an amusing afternoon. I think I wrote you that we
wanted to leave Westminster Abbey the minute the ceremony was over, get
through the line of troops, and back to a friend's house in Piccadilly
to see the cortége--we being Mrs. Phelps and I. Our respective husbands
were most discouraging (as men always are), but we dined last night with
Knowles to meet the Duke of Cambridge, and I told His Royal Highness
what we wanted to do, and asked him if he could help us. After some
little discussion he said he would advise us to go directly to Sir
Charles Warren (Chief of Police) and see what he could arrange for us.
Again our husbands remonstrated, "Warren was overrun with applications
of all kinds, worked to death, and it was very unreasonable," but backed
by the Duke we determined to try.

I told His Royal Highness I should put on my most becoming Paris bonnet
and beard the lion in his den. He said, "Quite right, my dear, a man is
always flattered when a woman tries to please him," so accordingly about
3 Mrs. Phelps and I started for Scotland Yard. George was rather
surprised when I gave the order. We drove through one or two courts and
were stopped once by a huge policeman, who let us go on when we said it
was the French Ambassadress. We were shown at once into Sir Charles's
room, and I must say he was charming, most kind and courteous. We had
arranged beforehand that I was to be spokeswoman, and I went at once to
the point. He was sitting at his table with letters and papers and
telegrams, the telegraph ticking all the time, despatches and telegrams
being brought in, and as busy a man as I ever saw. He immediately sent
for maps of the route, distribution of the troops, etc., and said he
thought he could manage it. We must have a light carriage (of course we
must go to the Abbey in state in the gala coach) waiting at the Poets'
Corner, as near the door as it can get; he will send us a pass to break
through the lines, and will have three or four policemen waiting for us
at the corner of Piccadilly and one of the smaller streets to pass us
through the crowd. We really didn't derange him very much. The whole
conversation lasted about ten minutes, and he was rather amused at this
sudden appearance of the two "femmes du monde" in his "milieu" of
clerks, policemen, telegraph boys, type-writers and a hurrying, bustling
crowd of employés of all kinds. We returned triumphant to our respective
houses.

We had a fine reception last night at the Austrian Embassy in honour of
Prince Rudolph. We arrived late, having dined out. The Prince is very
good-looking, slight, elegant figure, and charming manners and smile.
All the world was there--quantities of pretty women, and pretty
dresses--the Countess Karolyi always the handsomest.

    #London#,
    June 20, 1887.

London is really a sight to-day, the streets gay with flags, draperies,
stands, illuminations, and quantities of people gaping all day long. I
went for a drive with Mary Sheridan, daughter of Mr. Motley, late
Minister from the United States to the Court of St. James. We didn't
attempt going down Piccadilly, as we saw what a dense crowd and block
there was, so we crossed to Constitution Hill. We went all round
Westminster Abbey; I wanted to see the Poets' Corner where we are to go
in to-morrow, and the House of Commons stand where she is to be with her
sister. We were blocked for a quarter of an hour standing close to the
Embankment. Some of the mottoes are very nice. I like the humble ones
best, "God bless our Queen." We were a long time getting back to the
Embassy, Piccadilly almost impassable. It was amusing, as everyone was
arranging their balconies, and we recognised various friends standing at
windows, and on balconies directing the arrangement of chairs, plants,
flags, etc. After dinner W. took his cigar and we walked about a little
in Piccadilly. Some of the illuminations had already begun and the crowd
was dense, but no jostling or roughs, everyone good-humoured and wildly
interested in the decorations. London is transformed for the moment and
looks like a great continental city, all lights and flags and an "air de
fête." We didn't stay out very late, as we have a long day before us
to-morrow. They say the Queen is well, but rather "émue" and a little
nervous, which must be expected. I shall wear white, the only objection
to that being that jewels won't show out, as they would on a darker
colour.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Albert Gate, London#,
    June 22, 1887.

I am still exhausted, Dear, with the visions of a brilliant, motley,
moving crowd, when I shut my eyes. Yesterday was beautiful, a glorious
summer day. I was waked up at 6.30 by the dull rumble of carriages, and
people already on the move. I thought they must have forgotten to call
me, but the house was still wrapped in slumber, and though it was only
6.30 the Park was full of carriages, men in uniform and women in full
dress. We started at 9.30 in the gala carriage, W. in uniform, and were
followed by a second carriage, landau, the men equally in gala. We
remained blocked for a long time in Piccadilly, it didn't seem possible
to get on; distracted policemen, mounted and on foot, and officers did
what they could, but there we remained, curiously enough all the
Ambassadors' carriages together. Finally an order was given to let the
Ambassadors' carriages pass, and we got on a little. Various Court
carriages passed us--one so pretty with the three little daughters of
the Duke of Edinburgh all in white with straw hats, and long white
feathers, sitting on the back seat, and smiling and bowing, and looking
quite charming with their fair hair streaming down their backs. They had
an equerry in uniform with them on the front seat. Once past St. James's
Street we went quickly enough thro' long lines of soldiers, and behind
them quantities of people waiting patiently to see the great show. We
went into the Abbey at the Poets' Corner, where an entrance was reserved
for the Corps Diplomatique and Court functionaries. It was a fine sight;
tier upon tier of seats covered with red cloth and filled with men in
uniform, and women in handsome dresses. The Peers and Peeresses sat just
below us and looked very well; as it was Collar Day, all the Garter men
wore their white shoulder-knots, which were most effective. It was very
difficult to distinguish people, the building is so enormous, but as we
were close to the dais we saw all the Royalties perfectly. At last
various members of the Royal Family came in, and the first Sovereign to
enter was Her Majesty of the Sandwich Islands with her cortége; then
came quickly the King of the Belgians, King of Denmark, various other
Princes, and they all took their places on a platform facing the Queen's
dais. We waited some time, and then came a flourish of trumpets which
announced the Queen's arrival. It was most interesting to see her come
up the aisle--quite alone in front--her three sons, Wales, Edinburgh,
and Connaught, just behind her. She was dressed in black with silver
embroidery, a white lace bonnet with feathers, and lace caught back by
diamond pins. As she reached the dais she stepped on it quite alone, and
advancing to the front made a pretty curtsey to the assembled Royalties.
Then came a long procession of family Princes, headed by the Prince of
Wales and the German Crown Prince, who looked magnificent in his white
uniform, and the Princess of Wales and the German Crown Princess. They
all passed before the Queen, and it was most striking to see her seated
there, a quiet figure dressed in black, very composed and smiling, yet
"émue" too, as the long line of children and grandchildren representing
all Europe passed to do her homage. It was a gorgeous crowd of uniforms,
orders, jewels, and really _glittering_ garments of all kinds; but every
eye was fixed on the central figure. The service began at once and was
impressive. The Prince Consort's "Te Deum" sounded magnificent with
organ and full band. I must own to considerable distraction during the
service, as I was quite taken up with looking at everything. When the
ceremony was over--or nearly--we started at once, found our carriage
(ordinary landau) at the Poets' Corner again, and drove quickly around
by Belgravia and Albert Gate (breaking the lines of troops once or
twice, but with no difficulty, as orders had been given), to the corner
of Hamilton Place and Piccadilly. There we had to leave the carriage,
but it was merely a few steps to my friend's house where we were to see
the procession pass; however we should never have got there if we hadn't
found the 4 gigantic policemen who were waiting for us, and who
deposited us rather pulled about, but intact, at the door. We found the
balcony prettily decorated and filled with people, and had an excellent
view of the procession. The Queen's carriage was handsome, an open
landau red and gold, with six cream-coloured horses with red and gold
trappings, and running footmen. She was alone on the back seat; the
Princesses of Wales and Germany on the front seat. The escort of Princes
was very brilliant. The Prince of Wales looked well on a fine horse, and
the German Crown Prince superb, towering over everyone else, and his
helmet shining in the bright sunlight. The cheering was tremendous as
the Queen passed, and one felt it was absolutely genuine (nothing
commandé), her people (I always like that phrase so much, "My people,"
when she uses it in a speech or proclamation) really delighted to have
her still with them. Another who also was much cheered was Princess Mary
of Teck. They love her, and she looked so happy and smiling as she
acknowledged the salutation. She has such a gracious manner always to
everyone--never seems bored. However I must say that for the Prince of
Wales; no matter what the function is (and he must be bored very often)
he never looks it, but always does graciously, and as if he liked it,
whatever he undertakes. There was a very substantial lunch provided for
us at Lady Borthwick's, and as soon as the cortége disappeared I
clamoured for something to eat, as it was nearly 3.30, and I had had
nothing to eat but my early cup of tea and piece of toast about 8.30. I
went straight back to the Embassy after luncheon--even then, at 4
o'clock, we had to go at a foot's pace thro' the crowd--and I didn't
stir again all the afternoon, but I had visitors at tea-time, as of
course the windows and balconies giving on the Park were most
attractive. There were thousands of people still in the Park, and Royal
carriages and escorts coming and going; music, flags, and a general
impression of movement and colour everywhere.

[Illustration: Queen Victoria, in the Dress Worn During the State
Jubilee Celebration, June 21, 1887.

From a photograph copyright, by Hughes & Mullins, Ryde, England.]

In the evening we started at 10 for the Palace, and they thought there
would be such a crowd that we had a mounted policeman, but we had no
trouble. Everyone made way for the carriage, though, of course, the
general traffic was stopped, and everybody (including our own
secretaries, who weren't invited to the Palace, merely the "chefs de
mission") in the middle of the streets, looking at the illuminations.
There was great confusion at the Palace--dinners still going on and
servants hurrying backward and forward with dishes, and piles of plates
on the floor as we passed through the long corridor. We had to pass
through the great hall where the numerous "suites" were dining--and we
naturally hesitated a moment as they were still at table--but Colonel
Byng came forward and ushered us upstairs, and into one of the large
rooms. There were very few people--the "chefs de mission," the Nunzio
who had come expressly, Lord and Lady Salisbury, and Lord C., Indian
Secretary (as there were many Indian Princes). We waited nearly an hour
and were then summoned to the ball-room, where the Queen and Court were
assembled. The Queen was standing, dressed just as she always is for a
Drawing-room, with her small diamond crown and veil, and again the
background of Princes and uniforms made a striking contrast to the one
black-robed figure. The Prince of Wales stood a little behind, on her
right, also Lord Lathom (Lord Chamberlain). We all passed before her,
two by two, with our husbands, and she said a few words to each one, but
no real conversation; it was evidently an effort, and we felt we must
not stay a moment longer than necessary. I talked to one or two people
while the others were passing. The German Crown Princess came over and
talked to us. I asked her if the Queen was very tired. She said not
nearly as much as she expected, it was more the anticipation of the day
that had made her nervous, that she was very agitated when she started,
but that wore off, and she was not very tired this evening, and very
happy, as were all her children, I said, "You might add her people,
Madam, for I never saw such a splendid outburst of loyalty." The Crown
Princess herself is perfectly delightful, so clever and cultivated, and
so easy, with such beautiful, clear, smiling eyes. Do you remember how
much I admired her in Rome the first time I met her? She is always so
kind to us. W. loves to talk to her; they don't always agree, but she
quite understands people having their own opinions, rather prefers it, I
think, as she must necessarily be so often thrown with people who never
venture to disagree with her. The Crown Prince of Sweden also came and
recalled himself to me, and the Duc d'Aoste. The Queen remained about an
hour; then the Royal party moved off in procession, and we got our
carriages as quickly as we could. I have written you a volume (but you
must say that doesn't happen often from my lazy pen, but I felt I must
write at once, or I should never have the courage). Please send the
letter to the family in America. I am dead tired, and my eyes shutting
by themselves.

    #London#, June 22, 1887

We went this afternoon with the Florians, Comte de Florian, Secretary of
the Embassy, and Comtesse de Florian, Francis, Baroness Hilda Deichmann
and her children and some of the Embassy men, to the children's fête in
Hyde Park. It was very pretty, and very well arranged; 30,000 children
from all parts of London, and amusements, food, and jubilee mugs
provided for all. We got there a little after 3, and it was warm and
fatiguing standing and walking about. There were various refreshment
tents for the "quality committee," etc., and the children got iced cream
and cakes to their hearts' content, also each a jubilee mug with which
they were much pleased. The Prince and Princess of Wales, with some of
the foreign Princes, came about 4 (and horribly bored the foreigners
looked--naturally). We stood and walked about until 6, when the Queen
arrived. Her procession was rather pretty, just a troop of mounted
police, then the Life Guards, the Indian contingent, and the Queen in an
open carriage with 4 horses, the postilions in black, and two Highland
servants in costume behind. The Crown Princess of Germany, Princess
Christian, and Duke of Edinburgh in the carriage with her; and the Duke
of Cambridge (Ranger of the Park) riding at the portière. Several Royal
carriages followed, all the women in smart clothes, and the men in
uniform, as the Queen was to make her formal Jubilee entrée into Windsor
on leaving London after the fête. There was such a press and jostling
when the Queen came--even the women pushing and struggling to get to the
front, that I should have been nearly crushed with the two children (I
had Hilda and Francis with me) if Prince Hermann of Saxe-Weimar hadn't
recognised me and come to my rescue. He is very tall and broad, so he
made way for me, put the children in front, and then stood behind me so
that no one could get at me. I must say it was a fine struggle, the
ladies used their arms valiantly. A small slight woman would have had no
show at all. The Queen didn't get out of her carriage. The Prince stood
bareheaded at the carriage door all the time the Queen was there, and
various people were brought up and presented to her. I found plenty of
people to talk to, among others the German Crown Prince, who they say is
in a very bad way; he doesn't look changed, perhaps a little thinner,
but the voice has gone. He spoke in a whisper. He noticed the children,
said Francis was very like his father. I told him Hilda was a little
compatriote, and named her to him. He knows her parents well. The Queen
was much cheered as she drove off; then there were more cheers for the
Prince, who acknowledged them most graciously, as he does always. We had
again rather a struggle to get through the crowd and across to the
Embassy, and then at 6.30 I had some tea, got into a tea-gown, and
refused to move again. W. tried to entice me to the Foreign Office where
there was a big reception, but I was utterly incapable of another word
(the heat always tries me so); so he departed sadly, but didn't stay
long--merely showed himself. He said the crowd was awful, and Lord
Cranborne, the son of the house, in a wild state on the stairs, with his
supper list, as he couldn't find half the people. W. told him not to
worry about us, as he was going home, and I was in bed.

[Illustration: The Crown Prince Frederick of Germany, in the Uniform
Worn by Him at the Jubilee Celebration, London June, 1887

From a photograph by Loescher & Petsch Berlin]

    _To H. L. K._

    #London#,
    June 24, 1887.

Yesterday I had rather a quiet day, I was still so dead tired after the
children's fête. Jean and I drove about in the afternoon. She wanted to
see the "Black Queen," as the Queen of the Sandwich Islands is called,
and we crossed her once or twice driving in the Park. It does look funny
to see her sitting up in the Royal carriage with red liveries. We had a
beautiful ball last night, given by Lord and Lady Rosebery at Lansdowne
House for all the Royalties. The House was beautifully arranged; the
ballroom panelled half way up the wall with red roses and green leaves.
I danced a quadrille with the King of Greece, who is easy and talks a
great deal; he speaks English perfectly well. He asked about the
Schuylers, and spoke most warmly of them--said Schuyler was one of the
few perfectly intelligent men he had ever met, "knew everything about
everything," I must write it to them. The supper was very well arranged,
small tables of eight or ten. Almost all the Royalties were there, but
not the Hawaiian Queen. I asked our host why he hadn't invited Queen
Kapiolani; but he said he really couldn't. The ball was small, and Lady
Rosebery left out many of her friends, who naturally were not pleased.
W. actually stayed to supper--I was so surprised, as he hates it.

    June 24, 1887.

This afternoon all the swells went to Ranelagh to see a polo match, but
I thought I would reserve myself for the Palace Ball. The Queen didn't
appear, but we had two others, the Queen of the Belgians, and always
Kapiolani. It was badly managed at first, the result being that when the
Court came we had a crowd of people, officers, pages, etc., about four
deep in front of us, so that we could neither see nor be seen, nor
hardly move. When the first "quadrille d'honneur" was being danced we
saw nothing, so after a consultation we all left the ball-room. Then
there were various "pourparlers," and they finally did what they should
have done at first, enlarged the circle, so that we were out of the
crowd and near the Court. There was also a great rush at supper, so that
they had to shut one door for a moment. I didn't see many people to talk
to, but of course it was very difficult. The Grand Duchess Serge looked
beautiful, with splendid emeralds (she is the daughter of Princess
Alice), and the Duchesse de Braganza (daughter of the Comte de Paris)
was charming, so very high-bred, tall and slight, with a pretty little
dark head. I always find the Princess of Wales the most distinguished
looking. She stands out everywhere. Our "Doyenne," Countess Karolyi, was
superb--also with magnificent jewels. The Indian Princes made a great
show, of course, with their silk, heavily embroidered tuniques, and the
quantities of jewels, but they are not often well cut, nor well set, and
they themselves are certainly off color--they look barbarians, and have
such false faces--I wouldn't trust one of them.

    #London#,
    July 3, 1887.

It is delicious summer weather now, and yesterday we went to Buckingham
Palace to see the Queen review the Volunteers. I wore for the first time
my Jubilee Medal. It came Friday with a note from the Duchess of
Roxburghe saying the Queen hoped I would wear it as a souvenir of her
Jubilee. It is a plain little silver medal about the size of a
two-shilling piece, with the Queen's head on one side and an inscription
on the other, fastened to a bow of blue and white ribbon. We three
Ambassadresses are the only women of the Corps Diplomatique that have
it. All the Queen's household have it, Duchesses of Bedford, Buccleuch,
Roxburghe, etc. The Princesses, also, of course, but theirs are in gold.

It was most amusing waiting in the courtyard of the Palace seeing
everyone arrive. All the Royalties took up their positions at the foot
of the Queen's tribune, and waited for her. Our tribune was on one side
of hers, and one for the Indian Princes opposite. The Volunteers looked
and passed very well; as it was Saturday afternoon and the shops in
London are closed early always Saturday, all the various butchers,
bakers, and candle-stick-makers could leave their shops and parade, and
extremely well some of them looked; stout, heavy men moving quite
lightly and at ease in their stiff uniforms. It was pretty to see the
various Princes break away from their places on the Duke of Cambridge's
staff and ride ahead of the various regiments of which they are honorary
colonels. The Prince of Wales looked well on his handsome chestnut,
which is perfectly trained and steps beautifully. The Duke of Connaught
is a handsome soldier. We were a long time getting away, but as we had
no dinner-party it wasn't of any consequence. It was such a pleasure not
to put on a low bodice and diamonds. I always grumble about putting on
my diadem--as a rule I never wear anything in my hair, not even feathers
(except at Court), and the diadem is heavy. After dinner W. and I went
for a drive along the Thames Embankment--our favourite recreation after
a long, hot day. There are still people about, and a general air of
festivity.

    #London#,
    July 21, 1887.

It is just four years to-day since W. came to London. We got back from
Moscow and the Coronation the 6th, and almost immediately the Minister
offered W. London. My "beau-frère" said he would give us two years when
we came over. I wonder how much longer it will last. We had a big dinner
to-night, and Lord Lathom, the Lord Chamberlain, was next to me. He said
no one could imagine how difficult it had been to arrange everything for
the Jubilee ceremonies; that the Queen was consulted _on every point_,
as she knew more about etiquette and court ceremonies than anyone else.
One day he had 42 telegrams from her. We told him we thought everything
was well managed (except the ball, where all the young officers crowded
in front of us, and stepped on our toes, and on our trains). He quite
admitted that that might have been better done, but also remarked that
he thought the Corps Diplomatique a little exacting; so, as usual, there
are two sides to every question.


    _To H. L. K._

    #London#,
    July 25, 1887.

We have had a nice outing, Dear, thanks to the Naval Review; two such
beautiful interesting days. I am burned brown as a berry, but, as the
season is over, that is of no consequence, and I shall have plenty of
time at Bourneville to bleach. We started Saturday at 9.30 for
Portsmouth with the Florians, Waru, and R., Naval Attaché, in a special
train. The harbour looked so pretty as we came in sight of it. Every
description of vessel (even the "Victory," Nelson's old ship, now a
training ship), and all sorts of ironclads, big steamers, yachts, and
the smallest sort of pleasure-boat, dressed with flags. We went at once
on board the "Helicon," a small despatch boat, especially destined to
the Corps Diplomatique and distinguished strangers. There were about 150
people on board, all colleagues, also the Arch Duke Regnier of Austria,
and the two young sons of the Duc d'Aoste with their suites. Directly
after us came two great English transports painted white, one for the
Lords, and one for the Commons, and all around us a fleet of ordinary
rowing-boats and barges filled with people--quantities of women and
children. We steamed slowly across the Solent to Osborne to meet the
Queen, and passed close to the great ironclads, which looked monsters,
and formidable ones. We had a handsome substantial lunch on board, to
which we all did honour. There were not many foreign ships. Our two
looked very well and were much admired, an old frigate, the "Iphigénie,"
now a training ship, with the midshipmen on board, and the "Élan," a
pretty little despatch boat. There were only two other foreign boats: a
German and a Dutchman. The Italian ships put into Spithead, and then
went off to Dartmouth, no one knows why exactly. Some say they were not
satisfied with their place (they arrived after the French ships, and
would have been decidedly farther off, and behind ours), others that
they were not in good condition, not smart enough; however, they were
not there and the Italian Princesses who had expected to sleep on board,
and meet their brother who is on one of the ships, were much disgusted.
As soon as the "Osborne," with the Queen, the Prince of Wales, and the
King of Greece (we didn't understand the Greek flag at first, as we
didn't know the King was on board), had passed, we followed and went
down the line. It was a beautiful sight, and England could certainly be
proud of her great ironclads filling the harbour, and showing her
strength as a naval power. We went slowly, and it was amusing to hear
the criticisms and appreciations of all the assembled foreigners on the
show--however, I suppose all ironclads now are pretty much alike, only
England happens to have three times as many as any of the rest of us.
About 6 o'clock there was a halt. We of course had tea on deck, and
suddenly we saw quantities of steam launches coming across the water in
all directions. They looked like enormous white birds in the distance.
They were almost all white, low in the water, and going very fast. The
captains of all the ships had been called on board the Queen's yacht to
be received by her. This made a long delay, and our colleagues were
getting impatient, as they foresaw that they would be very late in
getting back to London. We took that opportunity to ask the Captain of
the "Helicon" to bear down toward the "Iphigénie," as we were to dine
and sleep on board. We changed our course a little, and in about 10
minutes two very smart French boats ran alongside, coming up in grand
style. The three English officers stood on the bridge and helped us off,
and I must say it was all done admirably--not the slightest confusion,
and we were a big party. Our fellow-passengers decidedly envied us. The
Bylandts (Dutch Minister) were much put out. They had asked the Captain
of their ship to let them dine and sleep on board, but he refused
absolutely; said he had just arrived from a long cruise, and was not
prepared to receive anyone. We got to the "Iphigénie" in about 15
minutes. The Commandant, Noccomore, was standing on the bridge. W. got
out first, then T., and as soon as W. put his foot on the deck, where
all the sailors, officers, and midshipmen were drawn up, there was a
salute of drums and clarions (they couldn't give the regular salute of
guns to the Ambassador, as, when the Queen is in the harbour, no one
else can be saluted). The Commandant gave me his arm, and we went at
once to his quarters (or rather "carré," as they say on board ship). We
passed through a fine room or hall, the entire width of the frigate,
where a good-sized dinner-table was ready. The Commandant asked when we
would dine; we said in a "quart d'heure," just the time to wash our
faces, which were black with smoke and red with sun, and he showed W.
and me our quarters (his of course), and most comfortable. The cabin
large, with a wardrobe, and a large "cabinet de toilette," with English
wash-stand, bath-room, etc. For one person it was perfectly roomy. Of
course when a second bed was put in the "cabinet de toilette" it was a
little small. Mmes. de Florian and Heurtel had the second officer's
cabin, and the men hammocks in some part of the ship.

The dinner was good and handsome. I had the "Aumônier" on the other side
of me. He was intelligent, ready to talk about anything, and the dinner
was very agreeable. Plenty of talk. W. talked a great deal, and the
naval officers were interesting, as they always are. They have seen so
much, and had such varied experiences. After dinner we had coffee in the
Commandant's salon, and then went on deck, where we spent a delightful
evening. The sea was perfectly calm, not a ripple, and lights
everywhere--all the ships illuminated and sending off fireworks at
intervals. We could hardly see our own, but the little "Élan" looked
very smart and natty. We broke up about 11, and I don't know when I have
enjoyed anything so much as that perfectly quiet summer night on the
water; such a rest after the long day, and early start from London. We
promised to be ready at a quarter to 10 for Mass, and the visit of the
ship. You would have been amused to see how well Drejet did my service
(they asked me if I could do without my maid for one night, as they
really didn't know what to do with her). He told Adelaïde he could do
everything for me except my hair, and tying my sash, which seemed to be
a serious performance to him, and really all my dressing things were put
out and a "saut de lit" disposed gracefully over the back of a chair
just as A. always did. I supposed she coached him. I was stirring early
enough the next morning, but I couldn't tie my sash either, so I
wandered out on the deck to have my early tea, and Countess de Florian
helped me to finish my toilette. We went all over the ship before Mass.
The midshipmen's quarters are small, but of course beautifully kept, and
the young men all looked as smiling and prosperous as possible, and were
much pleased at the Ambassador's visit. At 10 o'clock we assembled on
deck for Mass. Part of the deck was covered in with flags, and as a
compliment to my nationality they had put the "Stars and Stripes"
immediately over my head. I was much pleased, as it is a good many years
since I have sat under the old flag. I suppose I can't say _my flag_ any
more, but I feel it all the same. There were three armchairs directly in
front of the altar--two big ones for W. and me and a smaller one between
for the Commandant. As soon as we were seated the Abbé came, made a bow
to W. and me, and began his Mass. It was very impressive--so still, not
a sound except the little waves beating against the side of the ship,
and the word of command for the marines at the raising of the Host, when
there was a fine salute of drums and bugles. We had a very gay
breakfast, the Captain of the "Élan" coming to join us, and at 1 o'clock
we left our hospitable frigate for the "Élan" which was going to cruise
about with us all the afternoon. They certainly received us most
hospitably and charmingly; I shall often think of those quiet hours on
the deck, and the Mass this morning, which impressed me very much. We
had a lovely afternoon on the "Élan," practically doing the Review over
again, and going close up to the big ironclads, such ugly, heavy masses
as they seem when one is near them. We crossed over to Cowes, went
alongside of the Prince of Wales' yacht, but didn't stop. The captain
gave us an interesting account of their reception on the "Osborne." It
seems there was some mistake in the orders brought by the Aide-de-Camp
of the Admiral of the Fleet. The Commandant of the "Iphigénie" thought
he could take several officers with him, and when he appeared on the
"Osborne" with 5 or 6 officers, the Admiral was much embarrassed, and
didn't know what to do, as the Queen intended to receive only the
Commandants. However the Prince of Wales, with his never-failing tact,
said he would put it all right, and in a few moments they were told that
the Queen would be very pleased to receive _all_ the French officers.
They told us they saw a lady in deep mourning, with perfectly white
hair, standing behind the Queen, who looked so earnestly at the French
uniforms, and was agitated when they passed; they only realised
afterward that it was the Empress.[9] I wonder if I shall ever see her,
I would like to so much. We dined on board, anchored just off
Portsmouth, and got back to London about 11 o'clock, having enjoyed our
two days immensely. It was a beautiful ending to the Jubilee, and a
beautiful sight. The "cadre" was so lovely for all those big ships. All
the line of the Isle of Wight is so pretty, beautifully green, and the
Solent covered with boats of all descriptions, and plenty of room for
all. Some of the small row-boats seemed dangerously near the big
steamers, but nothing ever happened. When I get back to Bourneville and
take up my quiet life in the woods, these last days will seem a sort of
fairy-tale.

[9] Empress Eugénie, widow of Napoleon III., who has lived in England
for many years.

[Illustration: Comtesse de Florian
From a photograph by Walery, London.]

    #London#,
    July 29, 1887.

We are starting to-morrow. I had a farewell ride this morning, hardly
anyone in the Row, Dandy going beautifully (you know he is the chestnut
I called after the famous horse in one of Charlie's stories), except a
good kick from time to time, which is a bore, not only for me (I lost my
hat the other day), but for the neighbours. We dined at Lord A.'s last
night, and he gave us a funny account of his experience on the House of
Lords boat. To begin with he had much difficulty in getting tickets, and
could get none for his daughters, only himself and Lady A. (and he is
Hereditary Lord Chamberlain), and when he finally did get on the boat he
found it crowded with all sorts of unknown people, very few peers, and
very little food. They were faint with hunger before the end of the day,
so I told him about our handsome dinner and hospitable reception on our
frigate. Bylandt then told us how badly they fared. They cruised about
for some time in the "Helicon" after we got off, then finally the
passengers begged to be landed. They were at last deposited at
Portsmouth, and then made a rush for the buffet in the railway station,
but that had been completely "devalisé," there wasn't a crumb, not even
a dry biscuit. Then they were conducted with much pomp to reserved
carriages which were _locked_, and there they remained for over an hour,
seeing various trains start, and at last arrived in London at one
o'clock in the morning. Poor Bylandt was much disgusted. We thought a
little of asking to keep the "Élan" for a week, and of doing the Cowes
week, but W. thought on the whole it would be close quarters, and was
not very keen about it. I should have liked it. We had all the staff who
remain to dine to-night. London is curiously empty--all the chairs being
taken away from the Park, which gives it a decided air of "fin de
saison."

    _To G. K. S._

    #Albert Gate House#,
    March 2, 1888.

I have been back about two weeks and am quite settled again. I have
always two or three disagreeable days when I first come back from
France. The coal fires try me very much and I think regretfully of the
enormous chimneys at Bourneville and the _trees_ that we burned there.
We have a fog and it is very cold. Francis and I went to skate yesterday
at the Botanical Gardens. The ice was very bad, there was very little
room, and swarms of children struggling along on their little skates,
but the outing was pleasant. I also went one day with a friend to
Wimbledon, and that was better. We drove down and had a pleasant
afternoon, but the ice was soft, and it was the end. Really though, in
March in England, one could hardly expect to skate.

    March 8th.

Hilda came in this morning with very bad news of the German Emperor. The
Crown Prince was to start from the Riviera, and I am afraid he is in a
bad way too. He looked such a magnificent man at the Jubilee Fêtes. Of
course even then his voice and colour showed that something was wrong,
but it was difficult to believe that a mortal disease was mining his
strength. We have had telegrams all the afternoon, and at 5 they told us
the Emperor was dead. We sent immediately to Mrs. Jeune, where we were
engaged to dine to meet Prince and Princess Christian of
Schleswig-Holstein, to know if her dinner was put off; but the answer
came back that the dinner was to take place. We went of course, and
found Princess Christian and Lady Salisbury. Prince Christian, as a
German Prince and a relation of the German Royal Family, did not come;
neither did Lord Salisbury, who had received a telegram from Berlin
announcing the Emperor's death. The Princess looked anxious and was
evidently very much worried at the journey of the Crown Prince in such
weather, in his delicate state. She left almost instantly after dinner.
The Drawing-room is postponed. The Crown Prince starts to-morrow
morning. All eyes are upon him, and will follow his journey with hopes
and fears.

    Sunday, March 18th.

We all went to the funeral service for the German Emperor this morning
in the German Lutheran Chapel close to Marlborough House. I was quite
correct this time, and was swathed in crêpe; Mrs. Lecky has lent me her
long crêpe veil, which will serve again probably, as everyone seems to
think the Emperor Frederick is doomed. All the men were in uniform with
crêpe on their sleeves and sword hilts (the Germans with their helmets
covered with crêpe) and the women in woollen dresses with crêpe veils.
Almost all the Princesses were there (not the Princess of Wales), but
the Princes were in Berlin. The service was long, and curiously enough
was _not_ the Lutheran service, but the regular Church of England
service translated into German. It was done, it seems, for George II,
who was obliged to follow the Church of England service, and who didn't
understand a _word_ of English. There was much chanting, two addresses,
and a sermon.

Everyone of course is talking and speculating over what will happen in
Germany. All the doctors say the Emperor Frederick is near his end. No
one seems to know exactly what will be the attitude of the present Crown
Prince. He is young, intelligent, with an iron will; all good qualities
in a sovereign, but he has little experience and an absolute confidence
in his own judgment.


    _To H. L. K._

    #London#, April 25, 1888.

We hear a great deal now here about Boulanger, and there seems to be the
most extraordinary "engouement" for him here as well as in France.
Roustan, the Naval Attaché, has just come back from Paris and says the
state of things is very serious, people have lost their heads over
Boulanger. He (R.) thinks it is the most serious crisis France has
passed through since the Commune. W. is less blue--he knows the famous
General very little, but doesn't think there is much character or
backbone there.

We had a big dinner the other night at Lord Rothschild's, and Lord
Hartington, a well-known political and social figure, sat between me and
the Princesse de Wagram. He naturally asked us, the only two Frenchwomen
at table, what we thought of Boulanger. The Princess spoke most
enthusiastically of him. The one man in France who could regenerate the
country, and who would be supported by all parties. I said exactly the
contrary, and that I thought his popularity and power very much
exaggerated. Lord Hartington was rather amused at the two opinions so
absolutely at variance.

The Deichmanns came to see us the other day, just back from Berlin, and
in despair over the Emperor. Deichmann said he came into the room with
the same straight, soldierly bearing he had always had, and except that
he was thinner, looked unchanged; but he couldn't speak, and his friends
fear the worst. He is worried too over the friction between the Empress
and Bismarck--too such strong wills in conflict.

    #London#,
    April 26, 1888.

I wonder if you are as cold as I am to-day. I have been driving about
shivering in the open carriage and my seal-skin felt like a foulard. I
think I got cold last night. We had a pleasant dinner at Lord
Knutsford's. I had Count Kufstein next to me. He was for years in Paris
at the Austrian Embassy just when I was first married and making my
début in the official world. He is here now for the sugar conference,
and we were delighted to go back to old times, as he knows everybody in
Paris of all kinds: Imperialists, Royalists, and Republicans. It wasn't
always easy for a foreigner to get along and not offend somebody. On our
way home W. suggested that we should go in for a moment to the W. H.
Smiths' who had a big political reception. In a weak moment I agreed. It
is not really necessary to go to those big parties--one can be written
down in the book by one of the secretaries, or give the names to the
lady of the _Morning Post_ who sits with her hat and coat behind the
door, and puts down as many names as she can manage. I should think she
would have perpetual rheumatism, as the hall door is open and the
draught something awful. The moment I set my foot in the hall my heart
sank, such a crowd on the stairs, I should think all the House of
Commons and all their female relations. There was a double current going
and coming, and I was thankful not to have my dress torn to bits. We met
Tom Leigh coming down. He said he had been 15 minutes on the same step.
However we did manage to get upstairs--tried to find either host or
hostess, but they had evidently left the door--so after struggling
through one or two rooms packed tight with people I discovered a high
wooden stool behind one of the doors which had evidently been used for
lighting the candles and been forgotten, so I seated myself on that and
told W. I would wait for him there, as he thought he would try and find
some one of the family. I sat there some little time rather interested
in the stream of perfectly unknown faces which passed until I was
rescued by Correa, the Brazilian Minister, who couldn't believe that it
was really the French Ambassadress sitting alone on a three-legged stool
behind the door. W. came back in about a quarter of an hour not having
seen any one he knew, and then we started down the staircase where we
had the same struggle, and the cold air blowing in upon my bare
shoulders. I was cross when I got home--however I suppose exactly the
same thing happens when we have a big reception, as the Embassy is not
nearly large enough. The other night when the Duke of Cambridge dined
with us we had a party afterward. W. went down to the door with him and
never got up again, there was such a crowd on the stairs.


    _To H. L. K._

    #London#, May 19, 1888.

The season is animated enough and we are out every night (not all day,
as so many people are, as we refuse all lunches and teas). Our music the
other evening with Wolff, the young Dutch violinist, and Mdme. Kleeberg,
was nice. We had invited only about 50 people, all musical. Everyone
could sit down (which the men appreciated, as they usually _stand_ in
the doorway all through the concert), and also we were not obliged to
have those rows of gilt chairs which grate so on my nerves. I know the
women hate it so when they are all seated in rows very close to each
other and not a man anywhere near. Wolff played divinely, with so much
tone and sentiment. He had a great success. Mdme. Kleeberg always plays
beautifully. She is well known here and much liked. It was the first
time Wolff had played in London, and he was a little nervous.

Last night we dined with Lady Delawarr to meet Princess Louise and Lord
Lorne. The Princess is charming; a pretty, graceful figure and
attractive manner, absolutely what the Italians would call "simpatica."
Lord Lorne took me to dinner, and I found him most entertaining and
original. He talked a great deal about Canada and America, and certainly
knows and appreciates "the States." He said if he hadn't been born the
eldest son of an English Duke he would certainly emigrate to the West of
America and pitch his tent there.

There was a reception and music in the evening, Wolff playing
beautifully, but, alas! no one listening. Lady Borthwick (who is a good
musician) and I moved into the large drawing-room at his request when he
began to play, and I really don't think anyone else scarcely listened,
and certainly no one realised when, after playing a few moments under
great difficulty (people coming and going and talking all the time), he
calmly laid his violin on the piano and stopped. He came up to me to
explain, what I quite understood, that he could hear neither his own
violin nor the accompaniment, and I could not urge him to continue. It
is very hard on the artists, an evening like that. If they don't play
well, everyone criticises; and if they stop altogether, people think it
is high-handed, and criticise equally. I have learnt now by experience
and never invite _many_ people when I have music.

    May 22, 1888.

We had a pleasant evening last night at Sir Arthur Sullivan's who had a
dinner for the Prince of Wales and the Duke and Duchess Paul of
Mecklenburg. There were all kinds of artists--singing, reciting, and
dancing. An American girl, with a very pretty voice, sang very well, and
Letty Lind was charming. The Duchess Paul looked very pretty and chic,
and was most amiable. The Prince is so nice to artists--always a
gracious word and smile. Sullivan is an excellent host, and keeps
everything going. Just as we arrived the electric light went out. I
couldn't imagine why the house looked so dark as we drove up, for I knew
the Prince was dining, and there was the red carpet which always
indicates Royalty, so there could be no mistake, but the hall-door was
open and lamps and candles being brought in from all quarters. We took
off our cloaks in the dark, but in a very few minutes things were put
right, and the rooms brilliantly illuminated. W. never remains long on
these occasions, but I stayed until the end, even for supper, which was
very gay.

    #London#, May 24, 1888.

My small musical tea for the Duchess Paul was very successful I think
yesterday. I could not have Johannes Wolff, the violinist, which I
regretted extremely. He plays quite beautifully, with so much "entrain"
and sentiment. I think I have already written to you about him, he is a
Dutchman who was sent to me by Mdme. de Zuylen (you remember Zuylen who
was so long Dutch Minister in Paris). It was a little discouraging at
first, there is such a tremendous concurrence in London, and English
people like to hear the same artists, whom they know well; Joachim,
Sarasate, and Mdme. Neruda have it all their own way. However, I made a
small party for him, all musical people, Lady Borthwick, Mrs. Ronalds,
Tosti, Lord Lathom, etc., and he conquered his public at once. It was
splendid playing and a style quite his own. We replaced him by Mdme. Le
Valloit, who plays very well; and had besides Picolellis (from
Florence), who plays well (cello), and Carpe, the Italian baritone who
has a big voice and sings in the Italian style. The audience listened
pretty well at first, then came tea and the clatter of tea-cups in the
blue room where all the jeunesse had congregated, talking and laughing
and having their tea with a fine unconsciousness of the music going on
in the next room. They are really very tiresome. That reminds me of
Grieg who was very "difficile," and who couldn't stand a sound when he
was playing. He and his wife came to the Embassy one night and played
and sang quite charmingly, and everybody was delighted. Quite at the
last moment one of the Royalties talked a little while he was playing,
and I saw the moment when he would get up from the piano. However, Wolff
and I between us managed to calm him. When it was over I told him what a
success he had had--that the Prince had enjoyed his playing so much, to
which he replied--"Ja, der hat es laut gesagt."

Duchess Paul was very amiable, stayed until after 7 and seemed to enjoy
it; at least she listened and spoke very nicely to the artists
afterward. I had just time to dress for a dinner at the Austrian
Embassy.

    May 26, 1888.

We dined to-night with our cousins the Ivor Herberts, a dinner for the
Duke and Duchess Paul of Mecklenburg. We were asked for 8.15, and they
never came until 9, looking quite unconcerned. I can't imagine how the
cooks manage. Juteau tears his hair when we are so late, but he is
getting accustomed to English hours now, and doesn't get ready himself
until a quarter of an hour after the time fixed. We were a perfect bore
to all our friends at first with our French punctuality, and arrived
once or twice before the master of the house. W. consulted Lord
Granville, who told him his rule was to leave his house _at the hour
named for the dinner_; but as we dine sometimes around the corner, and
sometimes at Kensington that is not always practical. People in Paris
are very punctual and never wait more than a quarter of an hour for
anyone. I remember quite well when I was first married, and my husband
was a Cabinet Minister, being late for dinner at Comte Paul de Ségur's.
When we arrived they were at table. Among the guests was the Duc
d'Audifret-Pasquier, President of the Senate--he had arrived in time and
they wouldn't keep him waiting more than the "quart d'heure de grâce." I
was very much surprised, as after all my husband was a personage, but I
must say I think the rule is a good one. I was next to the Duke and
found him very pleasant. He is a brother of the Grand Duchess Wladimir,
and he talked about the Coronation, and some of the curious, half
barbaric ceremonies. He had been lunching at Sheen with the Comte de
Paris, and was much impressed with the dull, sad look of the place. It
does look gloomy, enclosed in high walls, such a contrast to Eu and the
beautiful, bright sunny homes where the Orléans Princes spent their
childish years.

    #Albert Gate#, May 30th.

To-night we have a quiet evening, and are glad to have a chance to talk
over Boulanger (who is coming here) and various troublesome questions.
We dined last night with the Duchess of Westminster to meet Princess
Mary and the Duke of Teck. The dinner was handsome and pleasant, and
there was a small ball afterward. They danced in the picture gallery, a
beautiful, large room, where the dresses and jewels showed to great
advantage. We didn't stay very late as W. never dances, not even the
regulation "Quadrille d'Honneur" at Court. He and Karolyi are the only
diplomatists who never dance.


    _To H. L. K._

    #London#, June 5, 1888.

Yesterday was a beautiful summer day, the ideal Sunday of Bishop
Keble--"The bridal of the earth and sky." We walked through the "Church
Parade" coming back from Westminster. There were quantities of pretty
girls dotted about the Park, looking so fresh and cool in their white
dresses. I had various visits. Sunday is the _man's_ day in London, and
the afternoon is generally interesting. The Spanish Ambassador came in.
He had been lunching at Sheen with the Comte de Paris, and told me that
the Prince asked him if he had seen his Collègue de France lately, and
what _he_ thought of the state of things in France, and particularly
what he thought of Boulanger. I told him I didn't think the French
Ambassador shared the Comte de Paris' enthusiasm for that hero, but that
_he_ had better ask him.

About 5.30 W. and I started for White Lodge, Richmond Park, to dine with
Princess Mary and the Duke of Teck. We found quite a party assembled in
the garden around a tea-table, the Princess making the tea herself,
Princess May and some of the young ones helping. The talk was pleasant
and easy, Princess Mary is a charming hostess and _likes_ to talk (which
is certainly not the case with all English women). She is very stout,
but has a beautiful head and fine presence. Tosti and Picolellis dined,
and played divinely after dinner. The evening was enchanting. We all sat
in the big drawing-room opening on the garden. There was not much light,
the moon shining through the trees, and the two artists playing as if
inspired anything anyone asked for, from a Spohr sonata to an Italian
canzonetta. I thought we should stay there all night--no one wanted to
go home. The drive home was lovely, the London streets are so quiet
Sunday night.

    June 6th.

This morning was the great meet of the coaches, and our terrace of
course is in great request as it gives directly on the Park. It is
always a pretty sight as everyone turns out. Lord Fife had the Prince of
Wales with him, and the Princess was driving about with her three
daughters in a victoria. The news of the German Emperor is very bad.

    June 10th.

This afternoon we had lovely music at Frank Schuster's. Both Wolff and
Hollman played divinely. They are great rivals, both Dutchmen, and both
great favourites (Hollman is 'cello). A trio with them and Mdme.
Kleeberg at the piano is absolutely perfect.

Our dinner at the Monks' was pleasant. I had Sir Rivers Wilson next to
me, and he is a charming neighbour, has been everywhere, knows
everybody, and talks easily without any pose. There was a concert in the
evening--very good--Trebelli, Lloyd, Nordica, etc. I made acquaintance
with Nordica, who is an American, Miss Norton, from Boston I think. She
sings beautifully. I said to her (they were all talking hard between the
songs), "What a noise! Can you ever begin?" "Oh, certainly," she said,
"I shall make much more noise than they do," and she was quite right.
Her voice rang through the room. One of her songs was Delibes' "Filles
de Cadiz," which she sang splendidly.

    June 12th.

This afternoon we have been sight-seeing. Jean came to breakfast, and we
started off with Jusserand and St. Genys to see the Panorama of Niagara,
which they say is extremely well done. I wanted the foreigners to have
an idea of our great Falls, for I think in their hearts they were rather
disposed to agree with a statement in one of the Swiss guide-books in
speaking of the falls of the Rhine at Schaffhausen, "generally supposed
to surpass the celebrated Falls of Niagara in America." However they
were agreeably disappointed and were much pleased and interested. The
Panorama is really very good. It is so many years since I have seen
Niagara that I had forgotten how magnificent the Horse Shoe Fall is, and
I almost expected to hear the roar of the cataract, and to see the
little Indian boy selling moccasins and maple sugar. I wonder if I would
like maple sugar now. One of my French friends, Mdme. Casimir Perier, to
whom I offered as a great treat some American home-made gingerbread,
could hardly swallow it, and assured me that I couldn't eat it either if
it had not been a "souvenir d'enfance." On leaving Niagara we went to
the Aquarium to see a dog show. There were some fine specimens, but I
didn't think any of the fox terriers as good as my Boniface. We also saw
a swimming match, young ladies disporting themselves in the water in
most wonderful costumes. Then to change our ideas we went into
Westminster Abbey, just getting there for the end of the afternoon
service. We heard the anthem, which was beautiful. It is such a good
choir--some of the boys' voices divine, and they look like such little
angels in their white surplices. A good many people were waiting to go
round the Abbey at the end of the service, and we had some difficulty in
getting away from the various guides who haunt the church and fall upon
strangers. We wandered about with Jusserand for our cicerone. He knows
everything about everything, and we had an interesting hour. Some of the
old tombs are so curious. We got back to the Embassy for tea, having
enjoyed ourselves immensely. I think in her heart Jean was rather
shocked at the Aquarium performance--didn't think it was exactly the
place for me--that was the reason I liked it, I suppose, I am so often
now in the place where I ought to be.


    _To H. L. K._

    #London#,
    June 12, 1888.

It is beautiful again to-day. We had a nice canter in the Row. Everyone
was talking about the German Emperor, and speculating over the future.
There is a curious mistrust of the young Prince. No one seems to know
exactly what he will do, and what will be his attitude toward England.
This afternoon we have been out to Chiswick with the Florians, and
Francis, to launch a torpilleur built for the French Navy by
Thornycroft. We found Thornycroft and some of his friends waiting for us
at the entrance of the dockyard. They took us to a platform covered with
red cloth erected quite close to the boat--which was prettily dressed
with flags--the men said her shape was wonderful (for a torpilleur,
which never can be graceful). They gave me a bottle of champagne, and
told me what to do. I flung the bottle as hard as I could against the
stern of the boat, saying "Success to the 'Coureur.'" It broke into a
thousand pieces, the champagne spattering all over my dress. We then
adjourned to a summer-house overlooking the river for tea, and afterward
went over the boat. There are accommodations (such as they are) for two
officers and nine men, but it must be most uncomfortable, particularly
in rough weather. However, she was built for speed, Thornycroft told us,
and everything was suppressed that was not absolutely necessary. I hope
she will make a good record.

    June 13th.

Yesterday I decided quite suddenly to go to Ascot. It was a beautiful
day, not too hot, and the Florians were quite ready to go with me. W.
hates races and a long day in the country. We got down all right,
hearing vague rumours on the way about the Emperor's death, but the
Royal box was open, prepared evidently for the Princes, and there were
quantities of people on the lawn. We were standing near the gate waiting
to see the procession appear, when suddenly Lord Coventry, Master of the
Buckhounds, rode in alone. Instantly everyone said there must be bad
news from the German Emperor (which was true). The Prince of Wales had a
telegram, just as he was getting into his carriage, from the Queen, to
say the news was very bad, and none of them must go to the races. Very
soon some of the gentlemen of the Prince's party arrived, among others
Karolyi, who said the Emperor was dying--dead probably at that moment.
The Prince's servants and lunch were sent back as soon as possible (of
course all their provisions and servants had been sent to Ascot, as they
have a big lunch party there every day), so we all lunched with Lord
Coventry. I went up after lunch to the top of the stand to see the race,
and had the satisfaction of seeing the French horse come in an _easy_
last.

We went to tea with Lady Diana Huddleston, who has a pretty cottage
close to the course, and sat under the trees some time. I had refused a
dinner in London, and was in no hurry to get back. We quite expected to
see the Emperor's death in the evening papers, but he seems to have
rallied again a little. Poor man, how terrible it is the way he fights
for his life--and he has known from the first, they say, that there was
no hope. I am so sorry for her--she is so clever, so ambitious, and
would have done so much for Germany.

    #Woburn Abbey#,
    June 15, 1888.

We arrived here yesterday for tea. It had rained hard in the morning. W.
and I were riding and were taking our usual quick canter at the far end
of the Park (Marble Arch) when the storm began. We got home as fast as
we could, but were dripping, both of us. The water poured off my hat
like a shower-bath when I took it off. We had just time to get dry and
dress before starting for the station where we found the Duke's[10]
régisseur waiting for us with a "wagon-salon." We had a short railway
journey through pretty English village country; then a drive of half an
hour brought us here. The Park is enormous, fine trees and beautifully
green--such a rest after London smoke. The house is very large, with a
great square court and corridors running all around it filled with
family and historical pictures. The Duchess and her daughters were
waiting for us in the morning room. We had tea and almost immediately
went upstairs, as it was late. I have a charming big room with such
views over the Park. There are always in these large houses lovely bits
of old furniture, pictures, old china, etc. The dinner was
handsome--quantities of gold and silver plate, and the table covered
with azaleas. The Duke talked a great deal. He speaks French and German
like a native (was brought up in Germany) and has the courteous,
dignified manner of the old-fashioned English gentleman--a little stiff
perhaps (they say people, even his children, are afraid of him), but I
find him most attractive, particularly in these days when people haven't
time apparently to be polite. The house party is small--Lord Tavistock,
son of the house, with his handsome wife, Lady Ampthill, widow of Lord
Ampthill (whom you will remember well as Odo Russell in Rome, and who
was for years British Ambassador in Berlin). We saw him there when we
stopped three or four days on our way to Moscow for the Coronation. They
loved him in Berlin, just as they did in Rome. Do you remember how much
put out all the women were there when his engagement was announced? Lady
Ampthill looks sad, and is of course most anxious about the Emperor
Frederick, and eager for news, she knew him and the Empress so well at
Berlin. There is also Böhm, the sculptor, and one or two young men. The
evening was short, everyone talking of course about the Emperor. The
Duke says his death will be an immense loss to the whole world. The
ladies came upstairs about 10.30--the men went to the smoking-room. This
morning it is showery--I didn't go down to breakfast, but about 12.30 I
found my way to the drawing-room, and the Duchess showed me the house
before lunch. It would take weeks to see all that is in it. The gallery
that runs round the court is filled with portraits of Russells of every
degree, also various Kings and Queens of England. There are splendid
pictures all over the house--one drawing-room absolutely panelled with
Canalettos. When we had been over the house we went into the garden to
dedicate a fountain which Böhm had made, and also to see a full length
statue of the Duchess which he had also just completed for the garden. I
am very glad to know Böhm. He is intelligent and sympathetic, original
too. He and W. had a long talk last night in the "fumoir," and it seems
he was much struck with W. and said afterward to the Duke "Der weiss
alles."

[10] The Duke of Bedford.

After lunch, just as we were starting to have tea at Ampthill, we
received two telegrams--one from the Embassy, and one from
Deichmann--telling of the Emperor's death at 11 this morning--so that
long struggle is over. We drove over to Ampthill, and walked about in
the garden with umbrellas and waterproofs, but of course the place
looked triste and dark as there are great trees close to the house.
There was a very good picture of Lord Ampthill in one of the
drawing-rooms, and souvenirs of their diplomatic life in every
direction; signed photographs of all sorts of distinguished
people--snuff-boxes, medals, etc.

    June 16th.

It is still grey and damp, but no rain. The Duchess took us for a
beautiful _grass_ drive through miles of rhododendrons, quite
enchanting--I have never seen anything like it;--but again the want of
sunlight made a great difference. The contrast between the deep green of
the lawn and the extraordinary amount and variety of colour was most
striking. We left about 3--immediately after lunch. I had quite a talk
with the Duke while we were waiting for the carriage. He told me he had
been so pleased to have had W. at his house and to hear him talk. He
said--"I am not a Republican, but I must say that so long as the
Republic finds men like him to serve her, there can be nothing better
for France."

    #London#, June 24th.

We all went to the funeral service for the Emperor Frederick this
morning, all of us smothered in crêpe with long crêpe veils. It was
precisely the same service over again as we had had for the old Emperor
a few months ago. The heat was something awful--so many people--and it
was very long. I dined in the evening at Hurlingham with Sir Roderick
Cameron, and that was nice; deliciously cool, lights all about the
place, and the Hungarian band playing.

    _To H. L. K._

    #London#,
    July 12, 1888.

Last night I had a novel and most amusing experience. I went with Count
and Countess de Florian (they are always ready to do anything I want) to
dine at the Mansion House. W. could not go. As soon as we arrived they
roared out my name, or rather my official title--"Her Excellency the
French Ambassadress," and I walked alone (the Florians a little behind)
up the great hall lined with people to where the Lord Mayor was
standing, with his robes, chains, etc., a mace-bearer on one side, and a
sort of trumpeter on the other. He stood quite still until I got close
to him, then shook hands and asked my permission to remove his robes
(ermine). We then went in to dinner. The Lord Mayor and his wife sat
side by side, and I was on his right. The dinner was fairly good (a
regular banquet, 70 or 80 people), with music and speeches. I rather
like the ceremony of the "loving cup." The cup was a handsome heavy gold
tankard, with handles and a cover, and was brought first to the Lord
Mayor. He rose--I did the same, and he asked me to take off the cover,
which I did, and held it while he drank. Then he wiped the edge with his
napkin, and passed it to me. The man next to me got up and held the
cover while I drank. (The cup is very heavy and I had to take it with
both hands.) The same ceremony was repeated all around the enormous
table, and it was a pretty and curious sight to see a couple always
standing--the women in full dress and jewels standing out well between
the black coats of the men. It seems it is a very old custom, a remnant
of rough feudal times, when the man drinking was obliged to have a
friend standing next to him, to ward off a possible blow, his hands
being occupied. I don't know what we drank--I should think a sort of hot
spiced wine. Of course one just touches the edge of the cup. A wonderful
man, in old-fashioned garb and a stentorian voice, stood always behind
the Lord Mayor's chair, and called out all the names, toasts, etc. We
went in afterward to Mrs. Oppenheim, who had a musical party--all the
pretty women, and Mme. Nordica singing beautifully, with the orchestra
of the Opera.

    #London#,
    July 14, 1888.

I am rather tired to-night, but I think you must hear about the comédie
while it is still fresh in my mind. It really went very well. We
arranged a sort of rampe with flowers and ribbons (Thénard's suggestion)
at the end of the ball-room, and made up the background with screens,
curtains, etc. The little troupe had been well drilled by Thénard, who
took a great deal of trouble, not only with their diction, but with
their movements. At first they were always standing in a heap and
tumbling over each other, or insisting upon turning their backs to the
audience. "Ce n'est pas bien joli, ce que vous montrez au public, mes
enfants," says Thénard. Here is the programme:--


    A FRENCH COMEDY

    AMBASSADE DE FRANCE À LONDRES

    #Samedi#, 14 #Juillet#, 1888

    L'EDUCATION À LA MODE

    PAR BERQUIN

    MADAME VERTEUIL              #Mlle. Béatrice de Bunsen#
    MADAME BEAUMONT              #Mlle. de Langhe#
    LÉONORA, sa nièce            #Lady Mary Pepys#
    DIDIER, son neveu        }
    M. DUPAS, Maître de danse}   #M. Francis Waddington#
    TRUETTE, soubrette           #Mlle. Cameron#

I was very proud of my little troupe. Béatrice looked very well and
stately in powder, black satin, and lace. Mile. de Langhe and Daisy very
well got up, and the two children charming. Lady Mary Pepys was too
sweet, and they danced their minuet perfectly. There were roars of
laughter when Francis appeared as "Maître de Danse" with a white wig and
his violin. The children were not at all shy, enjoyed themselves
immensely. B. was a little "émue" at first when she saw how many people
there were, but it didn't last and she was excellent, so perfectly
correct, and unfrivolous, and boring. Francis said his little poetry,
"Le bon Gîte" of Déroulède, quite prettily. W. was rather surprised and
quite pleased, and Thénard beamed, as she had coached him. She recites
some of those "Chants du Soldat" of Déroulède's divinely. It is a
perfect treat to hear her recite in her beautiful rich voice "Le Petit
Clairon," also "La Fiancée du Timbalier," with an accompaniment of soft
music.

All the children (as we had invited Francis's young friends to see the
performance) had tea together afterward, and they wound up with a dance.
The men of the Embassy were much pleased, particularly Jusserand, who is
rather "difficile." They complimented B. very much; said she spoke so
distinctly and with very little accent. It was rather trying for her to
play before all the Embassy and an ex-member of the Comédie Française.
Francis's blue velvet coat and lace ruffles were very becoming to him.
Wolff told him how to hold his violin, I wish you could have seen it. It
was much prettier than the original little play at Bourneville, when we
executed as well as we could a menuet.

We had a very select public, among others Wyndham of the Criterion, who
is an interesting man and a charming actor. When you come over I will
take you to see his David Garrick, which I consider a perfect bit of
acting. I wrote and asked him to "assister aux débuts d'un jeune
collaborateur." The funny formal old-fashioned Berquin phrases amused
him. He knows French well.

#London#, August.

We have decided to go to Scotland with Sir Roderick Cameron and his
family, and are starting in a day or two. London is dull and empty, has
suddenly become a deserted city. Even the shops are empty, and the Park
a wilderness. All our colleagues have gone. I think W. is the only
Ambassador in London, and he wants to get off to France and have a few
days on the Aisne before he goes to the Conseil Général. We means
Francis and me for Scotland.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Inveraylort#,
    August 17, 1888.

I will try and give you an account of our journey, Dear. We arrived in
this most lovely place for late dinner yesterday, and went almost at
once to bed, having begun our day at 7 o'clock. We left London Tuesday
morning by the Flying Scotchman, and a tremendous pace we came. There
were quantities of people at the station, all going apparently by our
train--children, dogs, guns, fishing rods, provision baskets, tall
footmen racing after distracted French maids, and piles of luggage. We
had our saloon carriage reserved (as we were a fair party--C., the four
girls, Duncan, a friend Miss W., Francis and I and two or three maids).
We had also a fair amount of baskets, shawls, cushions, etc. It was a
lovely morning, not too warm, and I think W., who came down to the
station to see us off, was half sorry he was not going too.

We stopped for luncheon at York, and got to Edinburgh at 6.30. The pace
was frightful, but we went so smoothly that one hardly realised the
speed. We went straight to the hotel to see our rooms and order dinner,
and then went out for a walk. The streets were crowded; omnibuses and
cabs with luggage in every direction. The old town and castle looked
most picturesque in the soft summer light. Daisy and I went out again
after dinner, and after loitering a little near the hotel we saw a
tramcar, asked where it went, and mounted on the top, telling the man we
would go as far as we could, and then come back. It was a beautiful
moonlight night, and we were very cool and comfortable perched on the
top of the car. When the man came to get the money for the places I
discovered that I had no change--merely a sovereign. The old gentleman,
a tall, white-bearded Scotchman, grumbled a good deal, and made various
uncomplimentary remarks to himself in a low tone. However after some
little time he appeared with a handful of silver. I took the money
mechanically and began to stuff it into my portemonnaie, as he looked at
me severely and said--"First count your money to see that it is right,
and then give me what you owe for your places."

We were up early the next morning--breakfasted at 9 o'clock as we wanted
to see a little of Edinburgh before starting for Oban at 12 o'clock. It
was an enchanting morning, not too warm, and we went first to the
Castle. There is not much to see inside--always a beautiful view of sea
and hills. There is a chapel and some old rooms which various Kings and
Queens of Scotland have inhabited at various times. A company of
Highlanders in Cameron plaids were being exercised in the courtyard, and
a fine stalwart set of men they were.

From there we drove through some of the old streets (Cannongate, etc.)
to Holyrood, which was most interesting. The children of course were
most anxious to see the spot where Rizzio was murdered, and the
blood-stains on the floor, but they have disappeared years ago. We were
delighted with the pictures. There are quantities of course of Mary,
Queen of Scots--one large portrait with that beautiful, sad Stuart
face--as if they all foresaw their destinies. I had forgotten how small
and low the rooms are. In these luxurious days no ordinary lady would be
satisfied with Queen Mary's bedroom and boudoir; and the servants,
accustomed to be quite as comfortable as their masters, would give
warning at once. We drove straight from the Palace to the station, where
our carriage was waiting for us. All our wraps, cushions, etc., neatly
arranged; and started for Oban, a most lovely journey, particularly all
about Loch Awe. We got to Oban about 7, and I shall often think of that
lovely evening. The harbour filled with yachts and sail-boats of all
kinds--the water blue and dancing, and the most divine soft pink lights
on the hills, a little like what we used to love at Capri and
Ischia--quite beautiful. Daisy and I did some shopping before
dinner--bought clean collars for the children, who were decidedly the
worse for the two days' journey, and we also interviewed the well-known
Ewan at the tartan shop with a view to kilted skirts. D. found their
tartan at once of course as there are so many Camerons--ours was rather
more difficult as there are few _Chisholms_ left (my Mother-in-law was
born Chisholm) and the authorities in London told us we could certainly
wear the family plaid. The shop people promised to get it for me. The
man was much interested in the skirt for Miss W. Being an American there
was no family tartan to be looked up, and she couldn't quite make up her
mind. However he came to the rescue, telling her that "all the
_American_ ladies take the Royal Stuart, Miss." We had an excellent
dinner at the very small hotel where we were obliged to go--all the
swell hotels were full--and there are quantities of people in the
streets, and boats coming and going from the yachts. The Englishwomen
all look so nice in their yachting dresses, almost all of dark blue
serge and a sailor hat or regular yachting cap. The cap is rather
trying, but the young and pretty women look charming in it. Some of the
trippers and their ladies are wonderful to behold. We stood near a
couple who were just starting for Skye on one of the steamers. The man
was in a wonderful checked suit, and the lady in a brilliant red and
green tartan (not unlike the Chisholm), on her head was a Scotch
stalking cap, which was not becoming to a red, round face. However _she_
was satisfied and so was her companion, who looked at her most
admiringly, saying--"I say, you are fetching in that cap." "Il y en a
pour tous les goûts." When we got back to the hotel we found that Sir R.
had quite changed our "itinéraire." He had seen the boat, a fine large
one which made the outside passage to Arishaig, so instead of taking the
Caledonian Canal and landing at Fort William where carriages and carts
were ordered for us, he decided that we should go by sea, and take our
chance of finding some means of transport. He did, however, send a
telegram to Arishaig, as the hotel man told him he would never find any
conveyance for such a large party.

We started at 9 o'clock, and the sail was enchanting. About 12 we ran
rather close to a small headland, and the Captain told us we had
arrived. Apparently we were in broad Atlantic with a rocky shore in the
distance--however a boat appeared, one of those broad, flat boats which
one sees all over in Scotland. Our disembarkation was difficult as we
were 11 people with quantities of trunks and parcels. Happily the sea
was quite smooth. All the passengers were wildly interested in the
operation and crowded to the side of the steamer. When all the party had
finally got off with trunks, bags, a bird in a cage, and a kitten in a
basket, one of the passengers remarked--"They only need a pony in that
boat, to make the party complete."

To say we found a landing-place would be absolute fiction. As we neared
the shore we saw a quantity of black, slippery rocks, and on these we
landed, the boatmen holding the boat as near as they could, and we
climbing, and slipping, and struggling to get on shore. Our baggage was
dumped on the rocks and there we were--not a habitation or a creature in
sight. At last we found a sort of house behind a mass of rocks, and saw
several carriages in the distance which we supposed were for us. Not at
all! Sir R.'s telegram had not been received and those were carriages
waiting for a "Corps" which was being conveyed across on a yacht. We
tried to persuade them to take some of us at any rate, and at last with
great difficulty one carriage was given to us. The negotiations were
extremely difficult, as nobody spoke anything but Gaelic, except an old
woman, and she was so cross and apparently so suspicious of the whole
party that we got on better by signs and a few extra shillings. Sir R.
and the maids walked (4 miles through lovely country) and we all finally
arrived at the little fishing village of Arishaig, where there is a good
inn. It is a little place, three or four fishermen's cottages, a
post-office, and two churches, a large Roman Catholic Cathedral and a
small Established Church. We had a good lunch and started at 3.30,
getting here at 5.30. Such a beautiful drive--all blue sky, and heather
almost as blue--and great grey mountains. We walked up two very steep
hills, but had such glorious views at the top that we didn't mind the
climb.

This place is charming--the house fairly large. It stands low on the
lake or arm of the sea, and has pine woods and high mountains behind. It
is absolutely lonely--no houses near, except one or two (agent's and
farmer's) that belong to the estate. The country is lovely, wild and
picturesque, but it would be a terrible place to be in except with a
large party. There is nothing nearer than 10 miles, and no real village
or settlement for 25. We are about half way between Fort William and
Arishaig (each 20 or 25 miles away). I think all our provisions come
from Fort William. A stage passes twice a day, morning and evening. Our
baggage arrived at 10.30, and we were all glad to go to bed, as we had
begun our day early. It is so still to-night--I am writing in my
room--the lake looks beautiful in the moonlight, and there is not a
sound.

    #Inveraylort#,
    Sunday, August 19th.

We have settled down most comfortably in the house, which is fairly
large, but we are never indoors except to eat and sleep. We had a lovely
drive yesterday all through this property, and to a neighbour's where
there is a pillar to show where Prince Charlie landed. There are many
Roman Catholics in these parts, which accounts for the large church in
the little fishing village of Arishaig.

This morning we had a service in the "Wash-house"--a red-headed Scotch
peasant was the "Minister." It was a curious sort of independent
service, impromptu prayers, and a long sermon. The congregation
consisted of ourselves and the household. Miss Cameron, the owner of
this place, who is staying at her agent's cottage on the place, some
friends of hers, and the people of the little inn where the daily coach
from Fort William stops for rest and luncheon. There are no other
habitations of any kind except a few crofters' cottages across the lake.
After luncheon we went for a long walk along the stream where there are
plenty of fish, and came home over the hills. They are blue and deep
purple, with heather, and there are divine views in every direction.

    Thursday, August 22d.

It is again a beautiful day. We intended to row down to see some friends
of Sir R.'s about 5 or 6 miles off at the mouth of the lake, where it
runs into the sea, but there is some trouble about the boats. Our
"propriétaire," Miss C., seems to have singular ideas as to the
respective rights of owners and tenants. It was so fine and cool that we
decided to walk, and the B.'s promised to send us back in their boat. It
was long, but the path was not too steep all along the lake, and we
arrived not too exhausted. They gave us tea, showed us the house and
garden, and we started back about 9. The row home was enchanting, but
weird--not a thing to be seen of any kind, except seals, which came up
close to the boat. I had never seen one near, and thought at first they
were dogs and was so surprised to see so many swimming about; not a
sound except the splash of our oars in the water when we turned our
backs to the sea, the heather-covered mountains shutting us in on all
sides. It was quite wild and beautiful, but a solitude that would be
appalling if one lived altogether in the country.

    #Inveraylort#, August 27th.

After all they are not going to stay the month, Sir R. and his
proprietor can't come to terms, and I think they will probably take a
yacht and cruise about a little. The lake is decidedly rough this
morning, but still we thought we must row across to some crofters'
cottages. They told us they were of the poorest description, and we
wanted to see what their life and houses were. Most wretched little
houses (our horses much better off in their stables), generally one
room, sometimes two; no floor, merely the earth trodden hard, and
covered with straw. To-day it had been raining; there were puddles in
the corners and the straw was decidedly damp. A peat fire was burning,
and the only opening (no window) was a hole in the thatched roof, which
lets the smoke out and the rain in. An old woman was spinning and an old
man was sitting in the corner mending a fishing net. They were tall,
gaunt figures--might be any age. They spoke nothing but Gaelic, but soon
a young woman appeared on the scene who knew English. She looked as old
as her mother, but had a keen, sharp face. I was rather interested in
the spinning-wheel, so the two women suggested that I should try; but I
could do nothing. Either I went too fast and broke the yarn, or else the
wheel remained absolutely motionless. I bought some yarn, as I had
broken various bits, and then we started home, carrying away an
impression of wretched poverty and hard lives of toil, with little to
lighten the burden.

    #Oban#, August 29th.

We are back here after a most eventful journey from Inveraylort. We
started in the rain, the mist closing round us and blotting out the
whole landscape. We had two carriages, but the pony cart came to grief,
and the two girls and Francis were thrown out. Miss W. had an ugly cut
on her face, but poor N. was lying on the ground, pale and suffering,
convinced that her arm was broken. When we got up to them we took her
into the waggonette and got on as quickly as we could to Caupar, our
destination, where we had been told of a wonderful bone-setter who was
well known in all these parts. He saw at once what was wrong--her
shoulder was dislocated, and said she must not continue the journey, so
we left her there with her sister and brother, and we came on here. They
all appeared this afternoon--N. with her arm in a sling and looking
fairly well. She said the man set it so quickly and gently she hardly
had time to feel any pain.

    #Oban#,
    September 3d.

We had a beautiful day yesterday for our excursion to Staffa and Iona.
The sea was perfectly calm, and the lights and shades on the mountains
enchanting. It was a lovely sail; sometimes we ran into little shaded
harbours with two or three cottages and a hotel perched high up on the
top of a mountain, and sometimes passed so close to land under the great
cliffs that one could throw a stone on the shore. The islands are most
interesting, with their old churches and their curious stone crosses,
and there were not too many people on the boat. The return was delicious
as we sat on deck, watching all the colours fade away from sea and
hills.

We leave to-morrow for London and Paris, and I am very sorry to go. We
have enjoyed our three weeks immensely. The country is so beautiful, and
then it was a great pleasure to be with some of my own people; we have
been away so long that the family ties get weaker. Francis was quite
happy with some cousins to run about with.


    _To G. K. S._

    #Albert Gate#,
    May 21, 1889.

I got back from Paris last night, rather sorry to come. The weather was
enchanting, warm and bright, and, of course, quantities of people for
the Exhibition. It isn't half ready yet, but is most interesting--so
much to see. I dined and breakfasted there several times at the various
restaurants--one evening with the Walter Burns and a party, and we went
afterward to see the "fontaines lumineuses," which are really
fairy-like; but such a crowd. I also heard the two American prima
donnas--Miss Eames, who is very handsome, has a fresh, young voice, and
is an ideal Juliette. She is a vision really in her bridal dress as
Juliette. Miss Sanderson is also very handsome, but in quite a different
style. Her voice is very high and true; she was singing "Esclarmonde" at
the Opéra Comique. Massenet has taught her everything. I have found
quantities of invitations here, in fact was obliged to come over, as we
have a big dinner the day after to-morrow, and the Court ball.

    Tuesday, May 28, 1889.

We had our first encounter with Boulanger this morning. W. and I were
walking our horses down the Row when we met three gentlemen cantering
toward us. As they passed we heard they were speaking French, but didn't
pay any particular attention. I merely said, "I wonder who those men
are," one so rarely hears French spoken in the Row. A few minutes later
we met Lord Charles Beresford, who took a little turn with us, and said
to W., "The other distinguished Frenchman is also in the Row,"--then we
divined. A few moments afterward (the Row is so small one crosses people
all the time) we met them again, Boulanger in the middle riding his
famous black horse--a man on each side riding good horses, chestnuts.
They all wore top-hats, which no Englishmen do now in the morning. The
men all wear low hats, the women also, and covert coats, the girls
cotton blouses; not at all the correct style we used to admire as
children in _Punch_ when those beautiful women of Leech's riding in the
Park filled our childish hearts with envy. I was rather curious as to
what would happen, as W. knows Boulanger slightly, and went to him when
he was Minister of War about something concerning the military attaché;
however, there was no difficulty, as Boulanger was apparently too
engrossed in conversation with his companions to notice anyone. I wonder
if we shall meet him anywhere? They tell us that some of the society
people mean to invite him, but I suppose they will scarcely ask us
together.

    Thursday, May 30th.

Yesterday was the last Drawing-room of this season. I rather feel as if
it were my last in London, but one never knows. We (Corps Diplomatique)
were still all in black, the English in colours. It was long and tiring.
We dined at Lord Sudeley's--I rather wishing I had no engagement. I am
always tired after those hours of standing, and the diadem is heavy, and
the train, too, held over one's arm; however, I was quite repaid, as I
had a charming neighbour. I didn't know at all who he was, as they
rarely introduce in England, so we embarked on one of those banal, inane
conversations one has with a stranger of whom one knows nothing, and
were talking on smoothly about nothing at all, when he remarked,
casually, "I suppose you never go to church." This I at once resented
vehemently, so he explained that he didn't know, as I was a Frenchwoman,
probably a Catholic (as if they didn't go to church), etc. He turned out
to be Canon Rogers, a charming, intelligent, well-known man, most
independent in his words and actions. He is rector of St. Botolph's, a
church in Bishopsgate, the most disreputable part of London. We became
great friends, and he asked me if I would go and lunch with him one
Sunday, and he would show me Petticoat Lane. I agreed of course, and we
decided for next Sunday. He said he had never had a French lady and an
Ambassadress as a guest, and didn't quite know what to do. Should he ask
the Prince of Wales and order champagne? I told him my tastes were very
simple, and if I might bring my cousin Hilda, and one of the
Secretaries, I should be quite happy--also I liked apple-pie, which he
says his cook makes very well. I haven't had such a pleasant dinner for
a long time.

    Monday, June 3d.

We made our expedition to Bishopsgate yesterday, and most interesting it
was. I went with Hilda and M. Lecomte, one of the secretaries, who knows
English, and is very keen to see anything a little out of the way. We
had a long drive to the church through the city, and arrived only to
hear the end of Canon Rogers' sermon, which was strong and practical. As
soon as the service was over we went down to the door and found him and
his curate waiting for us. The first thing he did was to send away my
carriage, which had already attracted much attention with the tall
footman, velvet breeches, cockades, etc. He said he would never venture
into Petticoat Lane in such an equipage, and would we please share his
modest conveyance; so Hilda and I got into his victoria, and Lecomte and
the curate walked close to the carriage behind. We had two policemen in
front, two behind, and a detective. I rather demurred to such a display
of municipal strength on my account, but he said it was necessary, he
much preferred having them, he was afraid people would crowd around us
and insist upon my buying something. The street was narrow, crowded with
people, as there was also a fair going on and everything imaginable
being sold (it is the one place in London where you can buy _one_ shoe
or _one_ stocking!). The people were almost all Jews, and I must say
they were a bad-looking lot, frightfully rough specimens. Some of the
women, girls too, with such sullen, scowling faces. We went at a foot's
pace (the only carriage), and hadn't the slightest difficulty in making
our way. Everyone knew Mr. Rogers and spoke to him--"Good morning,
Governor," "God bless you, Sir." Two or three children ran up to him,
one a pretty little dark-eyed girl breathless to tell him she was in
church, though she came late. He was so nice to them all, called them
all by name, patted the children on the head, and exhorted some of the
women to keep their husbands out of the drinking shops, and to wash
their children's faces. They say he does an immense amount of good down
there, but it must be uphill work. I have rarely seen such a forbidding
looking set of people. Some of the women came up rather close to the low
victoria and made comments on our garments. (We had dressed very simply
at his request. I wore my blue foulard and a blue straw bonnet with iris
on it. Hilda was in light grey with a black hat.) "You have got a
beautiful bonnet, my lady. Oh, look at her umbrell!" The "umbrell"
excited much attention. I couldn't think why at first, as it was also
rather dark and plain; when I remembered that it had a watch in the
handle upon which, of course, all eyes were fixed. I think the detective
kept his eye upon it too, as he came up rather close on my side. The
detective took Lecomte to a famous jeweller's shop near in Whitechapel,
where there had been a murder some days ago. We drove all through the
fair surrounded by these villainous faces (here and there a pretty,
fair, innocent, childish face) and I wasn't sorry to get back to
civilisation and the rectory, though I am very glad to have seen it. The
rectory is a large old-fashioned house in Devonshire Square, shut in
with high houses and high trees, and never, I should think, could a ray
of sunshine get anywhere near it. One felt miles away from London and
life of any kind. It was a curious contrast to the turbulent, noisy,
seething crowd we had just left. We had a charming breakfast, Mr. Rogers
talking all the time delightfully, so original and so earnest, convinced
that everyone in their small circle could do so much to help, not only
the poor but the really bad, if only by example and a little sympathy;
he says no one ever helps the bad ones, only the deserving poor get
looked after.

About 3.30 we started again to see the People's Palace, which he takes
great interest in, and hopes he may succeed in keeping the men away from
the drinking shops in the evening. It looked comfortable and practical,
the reading-room particularly, which is large and airy, with all sorts
of morning and evening papers (some foreign ones), illustrated papers,
and good, standard books. The librarian told me that Walter Scott was
always asked for, also some American books, particularly Indian stories,
and travels of all kinds. I was rather interested in hearing that, as
whenever W. gives books to a school library, or prizes in France, Walter
Scott or Fenimore Cooper are still the favourites (translated, of
course. I read the "Last of the Mohicans" in French, and it was very
well done). There were not many people, but Mr. Rogers says on a fine,
warm Sunday they all prefer to be in the open air. There is also a large
swimming bath, given by Lord Rosebery. We parted from our host at the
door, having had a delightful afternoon. It is a long time since I have
heard anyone talk who interested me so much.

The drive home along the Embankment was nice--quantities of people out,
quite like a Sunday in France. We dined quietly at home. W. was much
interested in my day. I think if he had known exactly where I was going,
and that an escort of police was necessary, he wouldn't have agreed to
the expedition.


    _To H. L. K._

    Thursday, June 4, 1889.

The Court Ball was brilliant last night. The Prince opened the ball with
Princess Louise, and the Princess with Lord Fife. The engagement of
Princess Louise of Wales to Lord Fife is just announced, and has of
course created quite a sensation. Of course there are two currents of
opinion--the old-fashioned people are rather shocked at the idea of a
Royal Princess marrying a subject; but I fancy the entourage of the
Prince and Princess of Wales are pleased,--and Fife is a general
favourite. It is not very easy for the English princesses to marry. They
_must_ marry Protestants, and there are not many Protestant princes who
are not near relations.

I talked a little to the Shah, but I didn't find that very amusing. He
knows very little English or French, and has a most disagreeable way of
looking hard at one. He planted himself directly in front of me, very
close, and said "he thought he had seen me before," which of course he
had, in Paris.

It seems that one of the Princesses pointed out to him, in the
supper-room, a lady neither very young nor very beautiful, who was
covered with splendid jewels, thinking they might interest him. He
stopped short in front of her--then turned his back at once, saying
"monstre." They say he finds no woman handsome who has passed twenty.

    Tuesday, July 2d.

It was a splendid summer day yesterday, ideal, for the Shah's arrival by
water. We drove down to the Speaker's to see him come. The streets were
lined with troops, and there were quantities of people about. They let
us drive through the Mall and to Westminster between the lines of
soldiers (all the traffic was stopped). Almost all the houses and
balconies on the way were draped with red, and crowded with women in
their light, gay summer dresses. There were a good many people at the
Speaker's, who gave us some tea and strawberries. The Royal Barge
arrived very punctually. It was not very beautiful--an ordinary river
steamer, painted light grey, with gold lines, and fitted up with palms,
red cushions, and carpets, etc. The Thames was a pretty sight, such
quantities of boats of all kinds. We saw everything quite well. There
was a fair procession of state carriages, and an escort of Life Guards;
but what a barbarian the Shah looks, with his embroidered coat and his
big jewels, and his coarse, bad face--however he was smiling, and seemed
pleased with his reception.

We waited to let the crowd disperse a little, and then came home the
same way through Constitution Hill. We met the Prince and Princess
coming back from Buckingham Palace. Both looked very well--he in
uniform, and she in white, extraordinarily young in face and figure. The
two princes, Eddy and George, were with them, and they were much
applauded as they passed. In the evening we had a musical party at
Blumenthal's. The garden was lighted and everyone sitting outside. The
party was in honour of Princess Louise, and the music very good, as it
always is there. Mdme. Grondal, a Swedish woman, played beautifully, and
Plunkett Greene sang very well. He always brings down the house with
"I'm Off to Philadelphy in the Morning." Lord Lorne took me to supper. I
always like to talk to him. He was not much impressed with his Persian
Majesty either--thought the days of Eastern potentates were over. I
asked him what he had come for, and why the English were so civil to
him; to which he replied, "Oh, I suppose some of the swells want
concessions, or railways."

    Monday, July 8, 1889.

We went to Hatfield this morning, where there was a luncheon party for
the Shah. It was decidedly grey and uncertain, in fact, raining a little
when we started, and I looked once or twice at my crème linon trimmed
with Valenciennes--but as I had ordered it especially for that occasion,
I decided to wear it. I put on a long cloak for the train. The Hatfield
parties are always very well arranged--trains starting every ten
minutes. It is hardly three-quarters of an hour from London. There were
lots of people, and the short trajet passed quickly enough. All the
women were looking at each other to see the dresses, as the weather was
really bad. At Hatfield, one of Lord Salisbury's sons was at the station
to receive the swells. I got separated in the crowd from W., so Lord
Edward put me into a brougham, and asked me if I would take another
Ambassador, as mine was missing for the moment. I agreed, of course, so
Comte Hatzfeldt came with me. There was a large party staying in the
house, including the Prince and Princess, the Shah, and various members
of the family and Court. Lady Salisbury was standing at one of the big
doors opening on the terrace. Lord Salisbury, she told me, was taking
the Shah for a drive in the park. We all loitered about a little on the
terrace. The rain had stopped and, though there was no sun, the house
looked beautiful with its grey walls and splendid lines. The first
person I saw was the Duc d'Aumale, and we had quite a talk while waiting
for luncheon. The Prince also came out and talked. Luncheon was served
at small, round tables in the great dining-room. As Doyens we were at
the Royal table. The Prince took me, and I had next to me the Grand
Vizier, who had taken in Lady Londonderry. She is very handsome, very
well dressed, and the Grand Vizier enjoyed himself very much. It seems
he is a very difficult gentleman, and at some man's house party,
Ferdinand Rothschild's, I think, he was not pleased with his reception,
or his place at the table, and declined to come downstairs. There were
about 70 people at luncheon, and as many more, they told me, upstairs.
Quantities of flowers, silver, servants, etc., and a band playing. After
breakfast we all adjourned to the terrace and some photographic groups
were taken. There was some wonderful shooting by some Americans which
interested the Persians very much, and one of the Shah's suite was most
anxious to try his hand at it, and forcibly took a rifle from the
American, who protested vigorously, but the Persian kept hold of his gun
and evidently meant to shoot, so the American appealed directly to the
Prince, saying there would be an accident if he was allowed to go on;
and the Prince interfered and persuaded the irate Oriental to give up
his weapon.

They had asked a great many people to tea, but evidently the rain had
kept many away. The toilettes were most varied--every description of
costume, from the Duchess of Rutland in white satin and diamonds (large
stones sewed all over the body of her dress) to the simplest description
of blue serge, covert coat, and even a waterproof carried over one's
arm. I was thinking of going to get a cup of tea, when I crossed again
the Duc d'Aumale, who was also looking for the tea-table, so we went off
together and had a pleasant "quart d'heure." He is always so nice to W.
and me, and is so distinguished-looking wherever he is--such
extraordinary charm of manner and so soldierly. He had been much amused
by the stories he had heard of the eccentricities of the Persian suite.
One of the ladies staying in the house found two gentlemen sitting on
her bed when she went up to dress for dinner. I must say I think it was
awfully good of Lady Salisbury to ask them all to stay.

[Illustration: Group at Hatfield House during the visit of the Shah of
Persia, July, 8, 1889 From a photograph by Russell & Sons London

The following are among those in the picture Prince of Wales Lord
Salisbury Shah of Persia Princess of Wales Rustem Turkish Ambassador
Hatzfeldt German Ambassador Lord Halsbury the Lord Chancellor M de
Staal Russian Ambassador Duc d'Aumale Countess of Cadogan M
Waddington French Ambassador Madame Waddington Countess of Galloway
Duchess of Devonshire]


    Saturday, July 27th.

Princess Louise of Wales and Fife were married this morning in the small
chapel at Buckingham Palace. Very few people were asked, no diplomats
except Falbe, Danish Minister, who is a great favourite at Court, and
asked always. The streets, especially Piccadilly, were crowded with
people. We had to go round by Belgrave Square and Buckingham Palace to
get to Marlborough House. We were invited at 2 o'clock to see the bride
and the presents. The wedding party drove up just as we arrived. Fife's
coach, dark green with green and gold liveries, was very handsome. The
Princess of Wales looked radiant, and the bride charming--beautifully
dressed and just pale enough to be interesting. The King of Greece and
Crown Prince of Denmark were both there. The presents were
beautiful--every imaginable thing in diamonds and silver. The Prince and
Princess's tiara very handsome--also Fife's. There was a buffet and tea
in the garden, also in the drawing-rooms; and we waited to see the young
couple start. They looked very happy and smiling. Their carriage was
very handsome, with four black horses and an outrider. Everyone cheered
and threw rice after them. They started with a Royal escort, but at the
top of the park Fife sent it back, and they made their entry into Sheen
in his carriage only. They said he made a condition that there should be
no lady-in-waiting, that his wife should be Duchess of Fife only; but of
course she can never lose her rank. None but Ambassadors were asked to
the reception at Marlborough House--no other diplomats.

    July 30th.

We had our last dinner this season--musical and all Italians, Tosti,
Vinci, and Picolellis. Mme. de Florian came in late with her dinner
guests, among others the Duchesse de Richelieu, who is very fond of
music. Tosti is delightful once he gets to the piano, sings (with no
voice) and plays whatever one wants--his own music, anybody's, and
always so simply. It was very warm. We all sat and stood on the balcony
when we were not playing and singing.


    _To G. K. S._

    #Hatfield#, January 8, 1891.

We came down last night for dinner. It was very cold, snow and ice in
London, and skating everywhere. We are not a very large party--the
family, some of Lord Salisbury's secretaries, Casa Laiglesia (just made
Ambassador--very happy. Spain had only a _Minister_ here till now), the
Duke and Duchess of Newcastle, etc. After dinner the older members of
the party played whist, and the young ones danced in the great hall.
This time we have King James I.'s rooms, an enormous bed (with a Royal
crown on the top) where he really slept. We have been out all day; the
gentlemen went off early to shoot, and I got down about 12. I found some
of the young women, Ladies Cranborne and Northcote, in the hall and we
decided we would go and skate. It was bitterly cold, but no wind, and
the pond is not far, just at the end of the terrace. There was a little
wooden house on the edge where we put on our skates, and plenty of
chairs and canes. Ladies Northcote and Gwendoline Cecil skate very well.
Lady Salisbury came down to the pond, took a broom from one of the
numerous sweepers, and swept hard to keep herself warm. After lunch I
went for a sleigh ride with Lady Salisbury in a pretty little one-horse
sleigh she had bought at the Exhibition. It was very good going in the
park, but we bumped occasionally going across the fields. To-night we
broke up rather early; we were all tired with the first day's skating,
and the men with their shooting.

[Illustration: Lord Salisbury
From a photograph by Weston & Son Dover]

    Friday.

It has been again a beautiful winter's day, and we have skated all the
afternoon until dark. Lady Salisbury came again with her broom and swept
vigorously. It seems many doctors recommend sweeping now for women who
need exercise and cannot ride or walk. We tried hard to make Casa
Laiglesia come down to the pond, but he refused absolutely--that was not
at all his idea of pleasure. We spent some time in the library looking
over some of the old manuscripts of the time of Queen Elizabeth and King
Philip of Spain, and we saw him taking a short, very short turn on the
terrace in the sun, wrapped up so as to be almost "méconnaissable."

    #London#, January 18th.

It is still very cold--the Serpentine is quite frozen, and quantities of
people skating. The ice is very bad, rather like a ploughed field, but
it is amusing to see all the people. We have been this afternoon to
Wimbledon, and there it was delightful. There was quite a large part
reserved and beautifully smooth, belonging to a club; so Comte de St.
Genys (one of the secretaries), who was with us, sent in his card,
saying he was there with the French Ambassadress; and they were most
civil, brought us chairs, and begged us to come back whenever we liked.
We saw some beautiful fancy skating, both men and women. We skated
afterward a little on the big lake to see the people. It was a beautiful
day, and a very pretty sight, quite like a Dutch picture.

I was interrupted by a visit from Mr. Bryce. He came really to ask about
you and to know if you would stay on at Alassio. He spoke so warmly and
admiringly of Schuyler that it was a pleasure to hear him. He said he
was certainly the cleverest, most cultivated American he had ever seen,
that he had never met anyone who knew so many things well. He couldn't
conceive how any Government that had such a man to place could have let
any party feeling prevent them from giving him a prominent place, in
their own interest.

    #Albert Gate#,
    Thursday, February 19th.

We have had a funny day. There was a sale of horses, hunters
principally, at Cricklewood, a place just outside of London, where they
have very good horses. We have been there several times with Deichmann,
who has always fine horses, and have bought two or three ourselves. I am
looking for a saddle horse, so W. and I drove out the other day, and I
tried two which I liked very much (there is a riding-school where one
can try). Then Newman, the head man, rode them over some hurdles to show
me how well they jumped. They promised to let us know when the sale
would be, and yesterday sent word we must come to-day. I drove out with
Hilda in her pony carriage. We drew up close to the ring and the
auctioneer's stand and saw everything well. Her horses were taken out
and we made ourselves as comfortable as we could with furs and
couvertures. It was bitterly cold, with a high wind that cut one in two.
W. and Deichmann wandered about in the crowd. The collection of people
was most amazing, horsey to a degree; horse dealers, trainers, jockeys,
racing men and women--a few gentlemen here and there, not many. There
was a champagne lunch going on at Newman's, but that we declined--so
they brought us tea and excellent bread and butter to the carriage. The
two horses I had tried were among the first and I hoped I should get one
of them, but they brought much more than the dealers supposed they
would. They looked extremely well when they were brought out first,
galloped over the grass, and then jumping their hurdles beautifully,
taking them easily in a long stride (of course they were beautifully
handled, every point made the most of). W. made various bids, but when
it got beyond a certain sum he wouldn't give any more, as it was a fancy
price and could have gone up indefinitely. I was rather disappointed, as
I had set my heart on the black horse. It was cold driving home in the
teeth of the wind. We dined with the Deichmanns, with some of our
colleagues, and everyone was discussing the Empress Frederick's visit to
Versailles. Until then everything had gone most swimmingly, but of
course all French people were "froissés" at that. I don't exactly
understand her going. She is so intelligent, and had apparently realised
quite well how difficult it would be for her ever to go to Paris. Years
ago in Rome, where we met her almost every night, she told us she was so
anxious to go to Paris, but she was afraid she could not manage it. She
wanted very much to meet Renan--admired his books so much, and his great
intelligence; and I think she would have been delighted with him. He was
a charming talker on every subject, and so easy.


    _To G.K.S._

    #Albert Gate#,
    Tuesday, March 10, 1891.

We had an awful storm yesterday, a regular blizzard, and a terrible
night in the Channel. One of the good boats, the Victoria, was out all
night, not daring to land at either Dover or Calais. One of our young
attachés was on board, bringing over despatches, and they say he looked
green when he finally did arrive. The trains were snowed up everywhere,
even between Folkestone and London, and the passengers nearly frozen and
starved. It seems incredible in such a short distance. The young men are
generally rather eager to bring over despatches, but I rather think this
one won't try it again, in winter at any rate. I am extraordinarily
lucky in my crossings, because probably I am a good sailor. I go
backward and forward in all seasons and always have good weather. The
Florians have had some wonderful crossings, nine hours between Calais
and Dover, both of them _tied_ in their chairs, and the chairs tied to
the mast.

    Thursday, March 12, 1891.

Yesterday we were at Windsor to dine and sleep. The party was
small--Staal, the Russian Ambassador, Lord Hartington, Sir Frederick
Leighton, Lord and Lady Curzon, Countess Perponcher and Count
Seckendorff in attendance on the Empress Frederick, and of course the
regular members of the Queen's Household. Lady Antrim was in waiting. We
assembled as usual in the long corridor close to the door by which the
Royal party entered. We were all in black, as the Empress was there. The
Queen and the Empress came in together. The Queen shook hands with me
and the two Ambassadors--the Empress with me only, bowing to the others.
She is still in deep mourning--her dress black (woollen stuff of some
kind) covered with crêpe, and a crêpe veil arranged in a point, or sort
of Mary Stuart cap, on the top of her head, and falling behind to the
edge of her skirt. The corsage was a little open, and she had a splendid
necklace of pearls, also a miniature of the Emperor Frederick set in
diamonds fastened on the front of her bodice. The dress was very
becoming--she looked very stately and graceful as she walked through the
corridor. She gave her arm to the Queen, and they walked in first to the
dining-room, the Empress sitting next to the Queen on her right. W.
followed with Princess Beatrice, sitting on the Queen's left; Staal with
Princess Margaretta, and sat on the right of the Empress. Lord
Hartington took me. The Queen talked a great deal to W.--the Empress
joined in occasionally. They were both much interested in the
Protestants in France, and wanted to know if the feeling was as strong
as in the old days of Huguenots and Catholics. I think there is a very
strong feeling, and it is rare when a French Protestant marries a
Catholic--rarer still when they become Catholics.

The dinner is always quickly served, and the conversation nil. Nobody
talks except those who are next the Princesses. The cercle was, as
usual, in the corridor between the two doors. The Queen stood a little,
but not all the time. She spoke to me about Johannes Wolff--admired his
playing so much. The Empress talked a long time to W., and spoke
immediately about her visit to Paris and Versailles, which was rather
awkward for him, as he regretted very much that she had gone. All the
first part of her stay went so well. She told W. she had had nothing but
respect, and even sympathy wherever she had been, and that she was much
astonished and distressed when she saw the papers and found what a storm
was raging in the press. The Queen said a few words to me about the
visit, and seemed to think it was a radical demonstration against the
Government. I answered vaguely that all radicals made mischief--it
wasn't a very easy subject to discuss. The cercle was not very
long--about three-quarters of an hour--and then the Court retired, the
two Sovereigns going out as they came in, together. We finished the
evening in the drawing-room, but broke up early. W. went off to smoke,
and I had a nice hour in the beautiful little yellow salon. I had a
splendid fire, quantities of candles (always my mania--I hate lamps,
particularly in these days of petroleum), and was quite happy. Adelaïde
was very eloquent over the style of the housekeeper's room, and was
funny over Charles, our French footman, and his indignation at being
excluded from the society of the valets and ladies' maids. W.'s man was
ill, so he took the French footman, who has often done his service. That
gentleman being in livery was considered one of the lower servants (sat
some way below the salt) and when the swells (Adelaïde, of course,
included) retired to the housekeeper's room for dessert and coffee he
remained with the under servants. All these domestic arrangements are
quite unheard of in France--any distinctions of that kind would set the
whole establishment in a storm.

It was a cold night, snow lying thick on the ground, clouds dark and
low, and the great towers looked grim and formidable. W. came in about
12--said the talk in the fumoir was pleasant. He likes Count Seckendorff
very much, finds him intelligent and moderate and sensible in his
opinions--like all men who have knocked about a great deal and who know,
not only other countries but the _people_ of the country. After all,
churches, and palaces, and picture galleries have a certain
"resemblance," but people are different, and sometimes very interesting.
We came away this morning at 10.30. I did not see anyone except Lady
Antrim, as I never go to the dining-room for breakfast. I was ready a
little before the time, and wandered about the corridor a little,
looking at all the pictures. I met Staal doing the same thing. There is
so much to see.

It is a beautiful bright day, and Hyde Park looked very animated as we
drove through. Everyone was waiting to see the Queen pass. She arrived
about an hour after us, as there is a Drawing-room to-morrow. We had
some music this afternoon--2 pianos, 8 hands--and we play rather well a
splendid symphony of Brahms'--not at all easy. We dined with Mr. Henry
Petre, one of the most soigné dinners in London. It is always pleasant
at his house--they say it is because he is a bachelor, which is not very
flattering to _us_, but I think it is true, I don't know why. As we were
out we _went on_, as they say here, to Lady Aberdeen, who had a small
dance, but did not stay very long, as it was rather a young company.
People always say there is nothing going on in London before the season,
but we dine out every night and often have (I at least) something in the
afternoon--a tea, or music. I don't believe anybody ever dines at home
in London. The theatres are always crowded, quite as much as in Paris.
Hilda and I went the other night with Count Seckendorff to see
"Charlie's Aunt," a ridiculous farce which is having a great success. He
protested at first at our choice--would have preferred something more
classic, but he was perfectly amused (though protesting all the time).
The piece is absolutely stupid, but so well played that the house was in
roars of laughter, and that is always infectious. The man who played the
part of the maiden aunt was extraordinarily well got up. His black silk
dress and mittens were lovely--he looked really a prim old spinster and
managed his skirts so well.

    Saturday, April 4, 1891.

We lunched to-day with Ferdinand Rothschild to meet the Empress
Frederick. We were a small party, principally Diplomatists. The Deyms,
Hatzfeldt, Soveral, Harry Whites, etc. The Empress came (punctually)
with Countess Perponcher and Seckendorff. The lunch was very handsome,
quickly served and very animated, everybody talked. I had Hatzfeldt on
the other side (I sat between him and Rothschild) so I was quite
happy--there is nobody I like so much to talk to. He is very clever,
very entrain, speaks French beautifully and talks about anything--just
enough "moqueur" to keep one's wits sharpened. We had a discussion as to
what was the origin of "Mrs. Grundy." None of us knew. I must ask
Jusserand, who will I am sure be able to tell us.

We were all dressed in black velvet, one would have thought it was a
"mot d'ordre." The Empress is very easy and likes to talk. She asked me
if I knew Déroulède, said she heard some of his poetry was charming. I
told her the "Chants du Soldat" were delightful, but _I_ couldn't send
them to her (they are all about the Franco-German War). One of the
ladies, Mrs. White I think, said she would.

    Tuesday, April 21, 1891.

We had a pleasant little dinner Sunday night for Wormser, the composer
of "L'Enfant Prodigue," which has had an enormous success here. Wolff
came too, and they played all the evening. I haven't seen the piece yet,
so I was delighted to hear the music. I promised him I would go on
Wednesday, my first free night.

Last night I went with Lady Northcote to the Opera; it was "Lohengrin"
with Miss Eames and the Reszkes. The girl looked beautiful, quite the
patrician maiden, and sang very well; a little cold, but that was of
less importance in that opera than in "Romeo and Juliet," which needs
more passion. The house was very full and she was much applauded. Jean
de Reszke looked magnificent and sang divinely. What a voice it is, and
how well he knows how to use it. I fancy Covent Garden is a much better
salle to sing in than our great Paris Opéra. The voices seem so far off
there, and all the singers complain and get soon tired. W. came in late
just as I did. He had had a delightful dinner at Mr. Murray's (the
publisher) with Mr. Gladstone. He said Mr. G. was in great form, talking
about everything: books, politics, theories, and always with a perfect
knowledge of each subject expressed in beautiful English. He must have a
marvellous memory.


    _To H. L. K_.

    #French Embassy#,
    June 6, 1891.

You will be amused, Dear, to hear that after all we have decided to have
the children's comedy. The moment is not exactly propitious in the
height of the London season when every instant is taken, but I think we
can make something pretty, and Mdme. Thénard is very keen about it. We
shall take the "Reine des Fées"--but very much changed, and parts added
for every child--also a gavotte and a chorus. I saw some of the mammas,
Countess Deym; Mdme. de Bille; Ladies Londonderry, Clanwilliam, etc.,
yesterday, and they will let me have their daughters. Thénard will
direct the whole thing, with Count de St. Genys (Secretary of the French
Embassy in London) as régisseur and also décorateur, as he has begun
painting a charming décor (the interior of the bailiff's cottage). Mdme.
de Langhe will undertake the choeurs and leçons de diction, and I don't
quite know yet whom we shall get for the gavotte, or how many children
we must have. The dresses will be pretty--two sets--Marie Antoinette and
all her ladies in powder--Trianon costumes--and peasants, market women,
etc. Of course the boys are a difficulty. There are so few who are here
of Francis's old friends--they are all at school. Thénard has a little
friend (girl) whom she will dress as a Marquis--she says she will look
the part very well. Francis is much excited--he is to be the cruel
bailiff who takes all the money and everything else he can get from the
poor peasants. St. Genys will see about his costume, and make a croquis
from some picture of the period.

    June 12, 1891.

We are all (except the Ambassador) perfectly taken up with the
comédie--and to-day we had our first répétition of the gavotte in the
drawing-room. I hadn't thought of saying anything about the dancing to
the young men, and it seems the "chancellerie" went nearly mad; their
rooms being directly under the salons, they heard everything--the music
beginning the same thing over and over again--and the heavy little feet
that couldn't stay long on the tips of their toes. I had some trouble in
finding a dancing-mistress--I thought first of the American who had that
dancing class here where all the children went, but she didn't seem to
understand exactly what I wanted. Finally some one told me I had much
better send for Mrs. Roffy--ballet-mistress at the Alhambra--who has
sometimes arranged menuets and gavottes for "les femmes du monde"; so I
wrote to her to come and see me. She knew exactly what I wanted, would
undertake the whole thing--how many children--what sort of a dance--was
most business-like--and we fixed the first répétition at once. There
were about 20 children, of all ages and sizes, varying from 3 years to
14--Muriel White, Gay Edwardes and her brother, a little de Breunen,
Elsa Deichmann, etc. Mrs. Roffy looked very nice. She is very tall, but
rather graceful--she had a little black bag in which were her black silk
stockings and pointed slippers, and asked if she might have a room to
arrange herself--so Clarisse took charge of her. I took the piano--and
most distracting it was--as no two of the children ever began their
steps at the same time. It was amusing to see Mrs. Roffy. She moved
extraordinarily gracefully for such a tall woman, and was so
patient--holding up her dress, pointing her toes, and talking to them
all the time--"Heads up, Dears--Heads up! Look at me--very proud,
please." I should have given up in despair after a quarter of an hour.
All the little arms and legs went at wrong times in wrong directions,
and no one seemed to have the slightest idea of time. She will give one
or two private lessons to some of the very small ones.

Madame de Langhe, too, has her hands full with the chorus, "Vive la
Reine"--but I think she must have some one behind the scenes to sing the
solo, and then the children will come out strong in the chorus. The
rôles are all distributed--Bianca Deym--a tall handsome girl--is to be
Marie Antoinette; and the various other Court ladies are Lady Helen
Stewart (Lady Londonderry's daughter), Lady J. Meade (Lady Clanwilliam's
daughter), Marguerite Phelps, Anna Lawrence, Elsa de Bille, etc. I think
it will be pretty.

    June 15, 1891.

Hilda and I have been half over London to-day for our stage scenes. We
must have real ones representing a sort of wood where the market people
have their stands, and the Queen and the ladies come to buy
flowers--also sufficient space for the gavotte. The man promises to send
it all the day before, as the children must rehearse at least once with
the real scenes--for their entrées--that is always a little difficulty.
The bigger girls do all right, but the little ones rush in--speak very
quickly--and _always_ to Thénard, who stands at one side--looking hard
at her to see if they are doing right--and paying no attention whatever
to Her Gracious Majesty Queen Marie Antoinette. Muriel White is very
good, very deliberate, very careful, and taking all the French nuances
and intonations very well. Gay Edwardes, too, is very good--her French
is pretty and easy, she learnt it so young in Paris. One of the others
(I forget which one) was having a private lesson in a corner with
Francis, who was trying to make her roll her Rs in a proper French
fashion. She had a complaint to make of her garden--all about "carottes"
et "giroflées," and the sentences had a true British ring. Francis is
very important, takes himself quite "au sérieux," and is most interested
in the proper diction of all the young ladies. I sat some time in the
drawing-room while St. Genys was painting his scenes. We had various
visitors (even W., who was very complimentary over the décor), tea, and
Thénard to settle about a rampe of flowers and tapestry curtain.

    Saturday, June 20, 1891.

I am rather lazy this morning and feel as if I had suddenly nothing to
do. The comédie went off very well yesterday and was a pretty sight.
Until the last moment I was doubtful, as we had so many péripéties. At
the dress rehearsal on Thursday, Bianca Deym (Marie Antoinette) was so
hoarse she could hardly speak. The girl looked very handsome and
distinguished in powder (trés bien coiffée) and one of her mother's
handsome Court dresses, but Thénard wouldn't let her speak--said all her
part herself, and told Bianca to pay great attention to her voice and
gestures. Toupet (Francis), the cruel bailiff, had such a stiff neck and
sore throat that he could hardly move--so he was rubbed hard with
Elliman's Embrocation and sent to bed as soon as the répétition was
over. His costume was very good--coat and long waistcoat of prune
cloth--lace jabot--tricorne and gold-headed cane lent by one of his
English cousins--a wig of course--which quite changed him. The girls
looked charming--I don't know which was the most becoming--the powder
and Court dress or the short skirts and high caps of the paysannes. The
gavotte went very well. The small children in front and the bigger ones
behind. I never could have believed that anyone could evolve anything
like a gavotte from the whirling chaos of arms and legs that was my
first impression. M. Lecomte (Secretary of the Embassy), who is a very
good musician, was at the piano, and marked the time very exactly, which
was absolutely necessary for such young performers.

Various friends and Mammas came to look on and criticise--which was what
we wanted--and all were pleased. Thénard and St. Genys were quite
delighted--and as they have seen it from the first and noted the
improvement, that was reassuring. Henry Edwardes came, much amused and
slightly astonished at his children's performance (the boy was so good).
He told me he considered it quite remarkable. He offered to take charge
of the green-room the day of the performance, and I accepted with
pleasure, as I am sure the children will be rather excited and probably
unruly.

I had a note from Miss Knollys while the répétition was going on saying
that the Princess of Wales and her two daughters, Princesses Victoria
and Maud, would be present on Friday at the performance. I announced
this at once to my young troupe, and they were filled with pleasure and
dismay at the appalling prospect of playing before Royalties. I went for
a ride Friday morning with Pontavice and when I came in was given a wild
note from the Countess Deym saying that Bianca had a complete
"extinction de voix" and what could be done. If someone else could take
the part (which was impossible at such short notice) she would send all
her daughter's dress, which was very handsome, or Bianca would come and
look the part and Thénard do the talking from the coulisses. Of course I
chose the latter, and sent off Clarisse at once to the Austrian Embassy
with a remedy that Mdme. Richard of the Opéra gave me. Francis was all
right, his neck quite straight. After breakfast I had a last practice
with him and Lecomte for the gavotte. I got in a small piano from Érard
(my big one took up too much room behind the scenes) and then I
dismissed the whole thing from my mind, and went to dress. I told the
children to be there at 4.30 so as to begin the minute the Princess
arrived. She said she would come at five.

The little blue salon was a pretty sight when it was filled with all the
children in costume. Thénard's Marquis looked too sweet--she had dressed
the girl so well in satin coat, ruffles, and silk stockings, and
enormous paste buckles on her shoes. She did her part perfectly--so
easy, and such pretty French. The Princess came punctually with her two
daughters, and the play began at once. I think there were about 100
people--we couldn't seat any more as the stage took up a good deal of
room. The prettiest scenes were the Trianon and the Market Place. In the
Trianon, Marie Antoinette was seated surrounded by her ladies, and le
Marquis telling them "les petites nouvelles de la cour." The child was
killing when she took out her snuff-box and made flowery phrases. The
Market was very well arranged with flowers and vegetables. Violet
Freeman made a splendid old woman at one stall, and Hilda Deichmann did
her boy's part very well. After the Queen had made her round (her voice
came back, though she was rather hoarse still) she and her ladies
retired a little to the background, where the Court made a brilliant
group, while the peasants sang their chorus, "Vive la Reine." Then came
the gavotte, which really went extremely well. Mrs. Roffy was breathless
with recommendations until the last moment. Both chorus and gavotte were
encored, and there was much applause when the curtain fell.

[Illustration:
Violet Freeman                     Francis Waddington
A Comedy for Children at the French Embassy
From a Photograph by Barker & Pragnell London]

The Princess, who is always so gracious, asked me what I would like her
to do, so I said if she would allow the whole troupe to defile before
her I would name each one--and I knew it would give them great pleasure.
She agreed at once, so the procession, headed by Marie Antoinette,
passed, and the Princess shook hands with every one, talking a little to
those she knew. They all applauded when Toupet, with his wig and cane,
appeared. Then I named Mdmes. Thénard and Roffy--and I wish you could
have seen those ladies' curtseys (Mdme. Roffy's particularly splendid),
also St. Genys and Lecomte. The whole thing lasted a short hour, even
with the répétition of chorus and gavotte. We had tea in the
drawing-room--the children downstairs. The Princess told me she thought
it charming--quite wonderful. The only two French children were Francis
and the Marquis, but I must say I thought the others quite wonderful.
When the Princess went away all the children assembled in the hall at
the foot of the stairs, bowing and curtseying--and it was a pretty
sight, such a mass of colour and flushed, eager little faces. The
Princess told them all again how much she had enjoyed the performance,
and it was quite a happy little crowd that dispersed soon afterward to
their respective homes. W. complimented Thénard very much, who had given
herself no end of trouble--also Mdme. de Langhe, who had undertaken the
chorus. Some of the ladies were rather anxious we should repeat the
performance for the benefit of some charity, but W. didn't like to have
a paying thing at the Embassy; and at one of the public halls it would
not have been very easy--some of the ladies objected.

I dined at home, but went to a concert in the evening, and had various
compliments for my troupe. The Prince of Wales told me that the Princess
had told him it was quite charming. I think on the whole W. was pleased.
He was rather doubtful about inviting the Princess--thought it was a
little informal, and would bore her, but I don't think it did.

    Tuesday, June 23, 1891.

We have had various notices in the French papers of the comédie; generally
"une bonne presse," but one or two of the very Republican papers expressed
great surprise at such a _Royalist Demonstration_--couldn't imagine _why_
we had chosen that particular chorus, "Vive la Reine," at an Embassy
representing the French Republic!

I am sorry you couldn't come over--all the répétitions would have amused
you so much. Nothing was funnier than to see Francis always in a corner
with some of the girls. Madame Campan (Elsa de Bille) had a long thing
to say, and was most anxious to have the correct accent.


    _To H. L. K._

    #London#,
    July 8, 1891.

I dined quietly with some of the personnel last night, and had Thekla
Staal, as her mother and father had gone to Windsor for the State
banquet for the German Emperor. Mdme. de Staal came in for a moment on
her way home--she said it was very handsome, very well done, as it
always is at Windsor, only they were all rather uncomfortable, as they
went down from London by special train in full dress--diamonds and
feathers--and when they arrived at the Castle they were asked to take
off their wraps in the hall, no dressing-room of any kind provided. I
don't know what my erratic hair would have looked like. Of course I
couldn't go on account of my mourning.

All London was on the "qui vive" this morning, as the German Emperor was
to make his formal entry into London. I thought I wouldn't go in the
carriage and take up a position, so Mrs. Edwardes suggested that I
should go with her to Constitution Hill, where she had places, and see
the Emperor pass there; so we started off on foot quite cheerfully, but
as soon as we got outside the Park and wanted to cross the Square, we
were confronted by lines of soldiers and policemen, who refused to let
us pass. I explained who I was and that I was merely going to cross to
Constitution Hill, but they evidently thought nothing of an Ambassadress
in a simple black dress with neither equipage nor servants, and we were
getting rather discouraged when I saw a Park-keeper who knew me, so he
instantly went after one of the heads of the mounted police, who
appeared, made way for us and accompanied us (he riding) across the
Square. Some of our friends, who were looking on from windows in the
houses opposite, were rather anxious--thought we had been arrested. We
waited a little while and very soon the head of the procession appeared.
We made ourselves as small as we could and squeezed close up to the
gate, but the Horse Guards on their big, black horses came unpleasantly
near and the least plunge or kick would have been disastrous. The Royal
carriage passed quite close to us at a quick trot. The Emperor looked
very wide-awake and soldierly in blue dragoon uniform; the Empress, tall
and fair, in white, was seated next to him; the Prince of Wales and the
Duke of Edinburgh on the front seat. There was not much enthusiasm, a
few hats (not all) lifted. The Emperor saluted all the time,
mechanically. When he saw me he leaned forward, smiled and bowed in
evident recognition. I can't think how he knew me, standing there in a
crowd of nursery-maids and children. He had seen me but twice before,
and then in the evening in full dress. I suppose it is that
extraordinary memory, instinct almost, that all Princes have, and which
does them such good service. Everyone is pleased and flattered at being
recognised by a Royalty. I was, too, just like all the rest. I wasn't
mistaken in thinking he knew me. He told one of our secretaries at the
reception at the Palace that he had seen Mdme. Waddington _standing_ in
the crowd.

Hilda came to dinner with Countess Eulenbourg (wife of the Master of
Ceremonies of the German Court) and her boy. They were very late, as the
Countess had been to Buckingham Palace to see the Empress. She said the
confusion was something awful. She had great difficulty in getting in,
was sent from pillar to post and finally the carriage was allowed to
enter through the stable-yard. She was glad to have a quiet evening. Her
husband was at the gala performance at the Opera with the Emperor and
Empress. She spoke a great deal about the Emperor, said it was
impossible to be with him without feeling what a strong personality he
is; that what he felt was right and best for Germany he would certainly
do--also that he would never shirk a responsibility, or put the blame on
others if he made a mistake. It seems curious to be suddenly out of
everything. W. is still in France[11] and of course our deep mourning
makes all Court and gala things impossible for us. I think W. must come
back before the Emperor goes and try to see him in a private audience,
if nothing else can be arranged.

[11] Where he had been summoned on account of the death of his mother.

    Thursday, 9th.

All the Corps Diplomatique were received this morning at Buckingham
Palace--the men by the Emperor, the women by the Empress. Hatzfeldt
presented the men. In W.'s absence, d'Estournelles represented the
Embassy (with all the secretaries of course). As he was only Chargé
d'Affaires, he could not take W.'s place as Doyen at the head of the
row--on the contrary, was quite at the end; after all the Ministers of
the small Powers--however they made a little group apart. The Emperor
talked a little while to d'Estournelles--regretted very much not seeing
W.--knew that he was still in France, and told him to tell me that he
had recognised me at once in the Park. He said a few words to each
member of the Embassy. The ladies were presented by Mdme. de Staal--my
young women told me she did it very well, passing down the line with the
Empress and naming every one. They also found the Empress very gracious,
saying something to each one--of course there is never any real
conversation on such occasions, people are usually in a hurry and
anxious to get through their _function_.

This afternoon was the garden party at Marlborough House--Mdme.
d'Estournelles and Florian came in afterward to tell me about it; also
Mme. de Bille (wife of the Danish Minister), she is an American, née
Zabriskie. They said there was a great crowd, and such a hedge of loyal
subjects around the Royalties that it was almost impossible to see them
even. Princess of Monaco (née Heine), who was with the Court (her
husband being a "prince regnant," of a minute principality certainly),
made a sign to Countess de Florian to come and speak to her, and she
also had quite a talk with Princess Amélie of Schleswig Holstein, cousin
of the German Emperor, whom she had known as a girl in Pau, when her
father, Marquis de Nadaillac, was Préfet there. Staal came in late, and
hopes that W. will come back (he is always such a good colleague). He
thinks it will make a bad effect, the French Ambassador being the only
one absent. He thinks he ought to come over for the breakfast at the
Mansion House, which is strictly official, and where the Emperor will
probably make a speech. I will write to him to-night and tell him what
they all say.

    Friday, July 10th.

I rode this morning with Pontavice, the Military Attaché, and just
missed the Emperor, who was riding with six or seven officers, all in
uniform, which seems strange, as the officers never wear uniform except
when they are on duty. We sometimes see the officer of the day riding in
the Row in uniform, but never any other. In Paris it is quite different;
all the officers of the Paris garrison, which is a very large one,
always ride in uniform in the Bois in the morning. I went to the War
Office afterward to see the Emperor, Empress, and Prince and Princess
pass on their way to the Lord Mayor's banquet. The display of troops was
rather mesquin--the Grenadiers standing so far apart that there were
groups of street boys in between. The Royalties were fairly applauded
(the Prince and Princess are always whenever they appear). The Emperor
was in a white uniform, but his helmet is so big and heavy and so low on
his face that one could hardly see him. Francis and I dined quietly at
the Russian Embassy, and the Staals told us all about the various fêtes.
They said the getting away from the Mansion House was awful--when the
gentlemen of the household were trying to make a passage for the
Princess of Wales there was a general skirmish, one of the ladies of the
Corps Diplomatique was struck on the shoulder by one of the gentlemen,
and there was a fine row--the husband of the lady furious, the
unfortunate equerry protesting, saying he was incapable of such an
enormity, etc. However, excuses were made and peace restored.

    Saturday, July 11th.

I rode this morning with Pontavice, and we met the Emperor, also riding,
several times; but he did _not_ recognise me this time in my habit. He
had six or seven officers with him and two grooms. All the officers, the
Emperor also, in uniform, and wearing those long German sabres that hang
loose and make a great clatter. They all rode at a gallop and set all
the horses in the Row by the ears. I really had some trouble with my
quiet animal, who was jumping and kicking all over the place. I had
several visits at tea-time. My windows and balconies giving on the Park
are most attractive, as there are quantities of people about--a sort of
general excitement in the air, and royal carriages and soldiers passing
all the time. D'Estournelles came in and told me about the review. He
said the troops looked splendid, but the arrangements were very bad--no
seats reserved--he and his wife and many ladies standing all the time.
Mme. d'Estournelles was dead tired and had gone home to bed. W. came
back for dinner; he looks grave and sad. We sat on the balcony after
dinner while he smoked. He said he must go to the luncheon at Hatfield
for the Emperor and Empress. As long as he was Ambassador, he had no
right to let any private grief prevent his taking part in a public
function, particularly in this case, when his absence might be
misconstrued.

    Sunday, July 18th.

I went this afternoon to consult some of my colleagues about my dress
for Hatfield. Of course I am in deep mourning, and I didn't know if I
could meet Royalties in black. At some Courts, Russia for instance,
black is not allowed--when people are in mourning they wear white. After
various consultations, I decided that I would go in my black dress; so I
have had some lace put on top of the flounce of "crépon de laine," which
is really very deep mourning.


    _To H. L. K._

    Tuesday, July 19, 1891.

We had a most interesting day at Hatfield, and evidently we were right
in going. We went down by a special, W. in deep mourning, I in my black
crépon, my big pearls in my ears and around my neck, a little crêpe
bonnet (with a soupçon of jet) and an ordinary dotted tulle veil. All
our colleagues were most empressés and nice--said it had been so strange
not to see either of us at any of the fêtes. There were, as usual, a
certain number of young men, sons of the house, secretaries, etc., at
the station at Hatfield; plenty of carriages, and in a few minutes we
were at the house. We passed straight through the rooms to the terrace,
where a very smart company was assembled. Some of the young women in
white satin and lace, high bodices of course, all very much dressed, and
all with necklaces and jewels on their corsages. No one in particular
received us. Lady Salisbury was driving with the Empress, Lord Salisbury
talking with the Prince of Wales, and the Emperor riding. (The
Salisburys had an enormous house party, all arrived the night before for
dinner--the Emperor and Empress with their suite, also the Prince and
Princess and theirs.) I was strolling about the terrace with Countess
Deym when we came suddenly upon the Princess of Wales, walking about
with her "Kodak" and looking about 25 in her simple grey foulard and big
black hat. As we went up to speak to her, she made us a sign to stop,
saying "I want you in my picture." We talked to her a little while and
then she said she must go and make herself "smart" for the lunch-party.
There was still some time before there was any sign of Princes--or
lunch. Mr. Barrington asked us to stand near the perron, as he had
charge of the placing of the people. The Emperor and Empress appeared
first, and immediately made a sort of cercle. Lady Salisbury presented
me at once to the Empress, and she was most amiable, regretted not
having seen me at the reception at Buckingham Palace, adding, "J'ai vu
toutes vos jeunes femmes, plus jolies les unes que les autres." The
Emperor, too, was easy and pleasant, but so many people were brought up
to him all the time that he couldn't talk much. It was interesting to
watch him. He was of course _the_ central figure, and there is always a
certain curiosity as to what he will do. He holds himself very straight,
has a stern face and rather a stiff manner, not particularly gracious,
speaks English of course perfectly well (in fact looks like an
Englishman, particularly in ordinary dress--of course the uniform
changes him a little). I think he knew about everybody who was presented
to him; soldiers, statesmen, artists, and seemed to be interested in the
very short talks he had with each one. He and W. had quite a talk, and
he again expressed his regret at not having seen him before, and also
for the cause which had kept him away. The Prince and Princess stood
about on the terrace while all the presentations were going on, talking
to their friends. After about half an hour there was a move to the great
dining-hall. I think there were about 150 guests. The Royalties and
swells lunched in the great hall at small tables of ten, and the others
in the ordinary dining-room. I was at Lord Salisbury's table, who took
in the Empress; the Prince took me; Hatzfeldt (German Ambassador) Mdme.
de Staal; Rustem (Turkish Ambassador) Princess Maud; Soveral (Portuguese
Minister) Countess Spencer. At Lady Salisbury's table were the Emperor,
Princess, Staal, W., etc. The talk was fairly easy at our
table--Hatzfeldt said to me rather pointedly, "Je suis très heureux de
vous voir ici aujourd'hui, Madame Waddington." The Prince also said we
were quite right to come. I said I thought my plain black dress was
rather out of place at such a brilliant entertainment, but he assured me
it was quite correct.

About half way through luncheon came the pearl necklace incident (which
you saw in the papers). I suddenly felt that my necklace was unclasped.
It was sewed on the corsage in front, as the pearls are large and heavy,
and I am always afraid of breaking the string. I asked Soveral, who was
next to me, if he couldn't clasp it for me. He tried, but was nervous or
awkward; at any rate couldn't manage it, and we were both getting red
and flustered when suddenly we heard the Emperor from his table calling
W.'s attention to the fact that "le Portugal était en train d'étrangler
la France"; also Staal, saying that his "Collègue du Portugal se livrait
à une gymnastique étrange." They all made various jokes at my expense,
and the Prince said "Let me do it," but he couldn't either, and again we
heard the Emperor remarking, "Maintenant c'est plus sérieux--l'Angleterre
s'en mêle." W., who had his back to me and who couldn't see what was going
on, was decidedly mystified, and wondered what on earth I was doing to
attract so much attention, in fact was rather annoyed. When we got up from
table the Prince and I retreated to a corner of the terrace, and he cut the
stitches that held the necklace in front with his knife (which again looked
funny to the people assembled on the terrace). He advised me to put the
pearls, _not_ in my pocket, but in a safe place, as they were very
handsome, so I put them _inside_ my dress. Of course everybody asked me
what had happened, and what the Emperor was saying to me from the other
table. I asked the Empress if she was never afraid of losing her pearls,
but she said all her jewels were most carefully sewn on and strung on a
very thick string or sort of silk cord.

Very soon after lunch the Emperor and Empress left, as they were
starting in the evening for Germany, and had to go to Windsor to take
leave of the Queen. The Prince and Princess followed quickly, and then,
of course, all of us. W. had again a talk with the Emperor, and all his
colleagues told him he was quite right to come. Any little incident
between France and Germany always assumes gigantic proportions, and the
papers, both French and German, would have been full of the _marked_
absence of the French Ambassador from all the fêtes for the Emperor; his
mourning a pretext, etc. It was a beautiful entertainment--bright,
perfect summer day, quantities of pretty women beautifully dressed (a
great many in white) and representative people of all kinds. The general
impression was that the Emperor was not a lady's man--he evidently
preferred talking to army and political men. My talk with him was so
perfectly banal that I can scarcely have an opinion, but I should think
one might talk to him easily. His face is certainly stern, and the
manner very cold, but his smile, like the Queen's, lights up and softens
the face. I said to one of the pretty young women who had made a
luncheon-party for him, that I had heard that it was beautifully done,
and that he was much pleased. She said she hoped he was, that as far as
she personally was concerned he hadn't the slightest idea whether she
was 25 or 50.


    _To H. L. K._

    #London#,
    January 12, 1892.

W. and I came over yesterday in a snowstorm. It was beastly getting out
of the train and on the boat at Calais. I am rather depressed, having
left Francis behind at a professor's near the Lycée Janson, to follow
the cours there as externe. I shall miss him frightfully, but it was
quite time for him to go to France and go through the regular course. He
was forgetting his French here. Of course he and his father always speak
French to each other, but he went to a little English school, Miss
Quirim's, in Sloane Street (where there were quantities of little
friends beginning their education), played all day with English
children, heard nothing else spoken around him, and was rapidly becoming
an Englishman. The house seems dreadfully quiet without him, and poor
little Bonny, the fox-terrier, is miserable. He couldn't think why he
wasn't with us to-day on our journey and galloped up to his room as soon
as he arrived at the Embassy, asking everybody really with his eyes
where his master was. Florian came in at once to see us, and told us
that the Duke of Clarence was frightfully ill at Sandringham. He always
looked rather delicate, tall and slight and colourless, but I hope his
youth will pull him through. He had been rather more en évidence these
last months since his engagement to Princess May, daughter of Princess
Mary, Duchess of Teck. I think it is a marriage that pleases the nation.
Princess May is young and pretty, with a pretty figure and essentially
English--born and brought up in the country. Everybody adores her
mother, Princess Mary, and I think it will be a very happy marriage.

    January 13, 1892.

I am afraid there is no chance for the poor young Prince. Florian came
in for a moment, just back from Marlborough House, where the bulletins
are posted twice a day. There were crowds of people reading them and
trying to get some detailed information. Florian saw one of the
equerries, who told him there was no hope, he was sinking fast and would
probably not live through the night. He told him the Princess never left
him and was heart-broken, her eldest boy. It is hard for her. They seem
to think it was a neglected cold, caught out shooting, and not taken in
time. All the personnel came in to see me and brought their New Year's
present--4 pretty corbeilles for bonbons. They always give me something
New Year's Day and I am much pleased to have the souvenirs. I can hardly
realise that we have been here nearly 9 years. We came in '83 and
thought we should stay perhaps two years. I am so accustomed to the life
now that I feel as if I had always spent half the year in England and
the other half in France. I suppose I shall miss a great many things
when we retire into private life, perhaps most of all the family life
with all the personnel of the Embassy. We have had various changes, of
course, but I generally pull well with them all, and I must say they are
always ready to help me in every way. I haven't had too many women,
which is pleasant; women are much more complicated to deal with than
men--there are always so many small jealousies and rivalries.

    Thursday, January 14, 1892.

The poor young Duke is dead at 9 o'clock this morning, in spite of all
that tender nursing and skill could do. He had not strength to fight
against the malady. It is awfully hard at his age and in his position;
just now, too, when his marriage was so popular. Florian came at once to
tell us, and said there was such a crowd outside Marlborough House that
he could hardly get through into the court, where the policeman showed
him the Prince of Wales's telegram, "All is over." We had various visits
at tea-time; Deym among others, who had done just what we did--sent
telegrams to the Prince and Princess and the Tecks at Sandringham. He
told me he had dined at White Lodge with the Tecks on Christmas Eve (for
their Christmas tree) and that they were all so happy. Princess Mary
took him upstairs and showed him all the presents--coupons of velvet,
brocade, etc., for dresses, also the wedding dress, and said to him, "Je
suis si heureuse que j'en ai peur." Poor thing; perhaps it was a
presentiment. I am awfully sorry for them, for her perhaps more than for
Princess May, who is young and must of course get over it, as youth
happily is elastic and rebounds; but Princess Mary is different. She has
her share of worries and disappointments, and she was so happy and proud
of the marriage. It must be an awful blow to her.

    Sunday, January 19, 1892.

I went to the little church behind the Embassy this morning and am very
sorry now that I didn't go to St. Paul's, where there was a fine
service--the organ playing the Dead March in Saul, and all the
congregation standing, a good many women crying, all in black. It was
impressive in the little church--everyone in black. There is a general
mourning ordered for three weeks, and Court mourning for six (which is a
shorter time than I thought). (I send on a sheet apart what I would like
you to order for me. I have nothing black but my black satin evening
dress, which fortunately is all black, no white, lace, or colour). They
sang the funeral hymn "Labourer, thy work is o'er," the first time I had
ever heard it, and beautiful it was; read the prayer for the "Royal
Family in affliction," and one for the influenza--which surprised me, as
I should not have thought the epidemic was bad enough for that. The
sermon, of course, was all about Prince Eddie and the young life cut
short. It was very simple and earnest and the congregation certainly
felt and showed great sympathy. I went for a short turn in the Park
afterward and walked about a little with Henry Edwardes and his
children. He is rather down, poor fellow, as his congé drags on and they
seem in no hurry at the Foreign Office to give him another post. I
believe he didn't get on very well with his last chief, and of course
all chiefs are not commodes, but equally of course when there comes a
question the secretary is _always_ in the wrong. Edwardes is very clever
and cultivated. W. thinks him an excellent agent. In Paris he always
knew what was going on, and knew so many people of all kinds.

This afternoon I had my usual Sunday visits--principally diplomatists
this time, and all talking about Prince Eddie's funeral. It seems a pity
they don't make a grand military funeral, the procession passing through
London. There was such a striking outburst of sympathy and loyalty when
his death was announced that the people would have been glad to
associate themselves with the last rites. They don't invite all the
Chefs de Mission to the funeral at Windsor (which also seems strange,
Prince Eddie being the heir), merely those of the "Cours apparentées."
That will take in Hatzfeldt, German Ambassador; Staal, Russian; de
Bille, Danish Minister; Gennadius, Greece; Soveral, Portugese; and
Solvyns, Belgian. All the others go to a special service at St. James's
Chapel, in uniform.

    Wednesday, January 20, 1892.

To-day is the funeral. Our flag is half-mast, and all the windows shut
in the drawing-rooms. It is mild and damp, but not cold. Mdme. de
Florian and I have been driving about this afternoon to have an
impression of the streets. All the shops are shut, blinds down in all
the houses, flags at half-mast, and everyone in black. Some of the
hansom cab drivers with bits of black ribbon or stuff on their whips,
and everybody looks grave. I can't help thinking it was a pity not to
let the people participate in the mourning and feel they were taking
some part. In these days of democracy one should take any chance of
strengthening the feeling of loyalty. W. went off in uniform, with crêpe
on sleeve and sword hilt, at 3, to the service at the Chapel Royal, St.
James's, which seems to have been rather mild. The diplomatists (4
Ambassadors), Chefs de Mission, were received by Mr. Eric Barrington,
Lord Salisbury's secretary; Mr. Thomas Sanderson, and Colonel Chaine.

W. dined in the evening with Hilda, to meet Count Seckendorff and Bülow,
who had come over from Germany to the funeral. They said the service was
very simple and impressive, and that the Prince of Wales and Prince
George looked badly, the Prince of Wales much agitated. Seckendorff said
he could just manage to speak to them when they all filed past him after
the ceremony. The Princesses were all in the chapel in a sort of
gallery. Quite at the end the Prince stepped forward and laid a white
wreath (given by Princess May) on the coffin.

    Saturday, January 30, 1892.

It is still very mild and damp, rather dismal weather, and the streets
are depressing, everyone in black--the mourning is very general, not at
all confined to the fashionable world. Mdme. de Florian and I drove out
to White Lodge, and cheerless it looked, so lonely and sad with the
black winter trees all around the house. We did not see either of the
Princesses; they were in London, but Teck came out to speak to us. I
never saw him appear so well--he was so simple and distressed for his
daughter. He said she was very quiet, but perfectly heart-broken, and
that he had always had a presentiment that something would
happen--everything had gone too smoothly. He said the coming back there
after the funeral was something too awful--all the wedding presents and
stuffs and laces scattered about the rooms--letters and telegrams of
congratulation, bouquets of white flowers, in fact all the preparations
for a wedding; and at the same time people waiting to try on
mourning--telegrams of condolence, etc. What a tragedy! He said he had
no hope from the first. Prince Eddie was struck down at once, and he
didn't think the Princess of Wales ever had a gleam of hope. She never
left her boy until all was over.


    _To G. K. S._

    Wednesday, February 10, 1892.

I went as usual to have tea with the Countess de Bylandt this afternoon,
who receives always Wednesday. She always has plenty of people and one
has a pleasant hour. She was worried about her husband to-day, who is
ill. He is not very young and I should think has always been delicate.
He is Dutch Minister, and has been here for years. She is a Russian
born, very clever and amusing. We dined with Baron Gevers, Dutch
Secretary, at the new restaurant or club, l'Amphytrion, which is
supposed to be the best and dearest in London. It is kept by Émile, a
well-known Parisian. We were a _young_ party, the Florians, St. Genys,
and the Lataings (Belgian Legation). The dinner was excellent,
certainly--Émile knew that his Ambassador was coming and had done his
best. He was always hovering about the table to see that all was right,
and we complimented him very much on the way everything was cooked and
served. I said to him that he had very good material in London to work
upon, to which he replied, with magnificent contempt for anything that
was not French--"Il n'y a pas de marché à Londres, je fais venir tout de
Paris." When one thinks of Covent Garden, with its piles of splendid
salmon, haunches of venison, hot-house fruits, grapes, pine-apples, and
_primeurs_ of all kinds, the answer was amusing. We went upstairs for
coffee and cigarettes and had a very pleasant evening. It is so good for
W. to be with young people occasionally. He talked a great deal, and the
young men were interested in some of his Cambridge reminiscences.

    Thursday, February 11, 1892.

It is still quite mild. After breakfast I went with Hilda to the British
Museum to hear a young Oxonian lady lecture on Greek Antiquities and the
Eleusinian Mysteries. She did it very easily--a pretty, cultivated voice
and very distinct pronunciation. The lecture lasted about an hour. She
had all sorts of photographs of bas-reliefs, statues, paintings, etc.,
and it was very interesting, much more so than I expected, as Greek
antiquities are not much in my line. After the lecture was over, Mr.
Thomson, the director of the Museum (a charming man), came to get us and
showed us as much as we could see before 4, when it gets dark and the
Museum is shut. The reading-room and library are enormous, and for
London very light. The collection of missals, autographs, etc., is
splendid. Some of the old, old missals so beautiful still, the colours
so wonderfully preserved. We went to Mr. Thomson's room in the Museum
building for tea. His daughter was there and gave us very good tea and
muffins. Altogether we had a most interesting afternoon. We dined with
Mrs. Mitford (widow of Percy Mitford, diplomatist). She has a very
pretty and original house and is a very easy hostess, having lived much
abroad. She is a great friend of Princess Mary and told me I ought to go
and see her. Mr. Lincoln, the American Minister, was there, and we all
teased him about the Presidential election (the papers say he is to be
the next President). Mdme. de Bille and I told him we were racking our
brains to think what we could ask him for our friends at home when he
would be at the White House. He assured us there was no possible chance
of it, and no one would be as sorry as he himself if ever the thing came
to pass. It certainly would be difficult to be a second President
Lincoln.

    Friday, February 19, 1892.

It is still very cold, snow lying on the ground (in the parks), which is
rare in London. I have just had a little note from Princess Mary, asking
me to come and see her on Sunday at White Lodge, as she leaves early in
the week for the Riviera. Wolff came in late to ask me if I would take
him out to White Lodge, as Princess Mary had also written to him to
come. He had his violin, so he played for about an hour, and most
enchanting it was. I occasionally forgot about the accompaniment,
listening to his beautiful long notes. He didn't mind, was standing in
the middle of the room (playing by heart) and went on quite serenely
until I caught him up somewhere and went on again. I dined quietly with
Jean (as W. had a man's dinner at one of the clubs) and we made music
all the evening. She is very busy translating a German book, Lady
Blennerhasset's "Life of Madame de Staël." It looked easy at first, but
I fancy is rather a formidable undertaking, as Lady B. has a very
distinct style--very German, and I should think it must lose in
translation. She had rather come to grief over one page. I looked over
it, and said I didn't find it _very_ difficult, and I know German well,
upon which she replied, "Please read it out to me, then, in good
English." I began, but came to grief at once. I had got the meaning
right enough in my head, but couldn't at all express it at once in
correct or fluent English, and I don't know that a dictionary would have
helped me much. It was more the turn of the phrase and a peculiar form
of expression.

    Sunday, February 21, 1892.

It is very mild to-day--a complete thaw. Wolff came to breakfast, also
Mdme. de Florian, and we drove out to White Lodge for tea. It was
pleasant enough driving, as there was no wind, but the park and place
looked dreary. I had always seen it so gay, with so many young people
about, that I could hardly realise that it was the same house. We were
expected--two or three footmen in deep mourning were at the door and
took us at once to the drawing-room. In a few minutes the three
appeared: father, mother, and daughter. I was rather nervous, but they
were so natural, it was such real grief, that we felt quite at our ease,
and so sorry for them all. Princess May looked lovely. She has grown
much thinner, and the long black dress covered with crêpe, with the
white collar and cuffs (that all widows wear in England), was most
becoming. Her complexion was beautiful, so delicate, and her eyes had
that peculiar bright look that one sees in people who have cried a great
deal. Before tea I had a long talk with Princess Mary, who said that it
all seemed a dream--the first days at White Lodge, when the young couple
were so happy, making all sorts of plans, for their future seemed so
bright and brilliant; so convinced that long years of happiness and
usefulness were before them that she was frightened sometimes, and used
to tell them that there would be great cares and responsibilities in
their position, and that they must both help each other as much as they
could (she said Prince Eddie was naturally timid, and rather disposed to
underrate his intelligence). Then came the sudden change. Those terrible
days at Sandringham, where she hoped against hope, and then the coming
back to White Lodge, which must have been heart-breaking. I only said a
few words to Princess May as we were going away, but Mdme. de Florian
had some talk with her. She said she felt stunned--could hardly believe
that all was over, but that she must try and take up her life again. "It
will be very hard; I suppose I was too happy."

They are starting at once for the South, and I hope it will do her good.
Various people came in, among others Mrs. Mitford, who is a devoted
friend of the Tecks, and so sorry for them. She said it was melancholy
to see them the first days after they got back to White Lodge. All the
presents had to be put away or sent back; all the letters and telegrams
sorted and put away, and that Princess May moved about like a ghost.

We had a quiet evening until some late telegrams came announcing a
Ministerial crisis in France, for nothing apparently. W. and his
secretaries were disgusted. There are so many changes in France, and we
never know who is coming to the Foreign Office. I think it is time for
us to go back. We have been away a long time, and it isn't good for a
man to live too much out of his own country.

    #Albert Gate#,
    Wednesday, February 24, 1892.

It is very cold and foggy this morning, impossible to ride; we see all
the grooms exercising the saddle horses in the Park. I went for tea as
usual to Mdme. de Bylandt. He is still in his bed, and very bad I
imagine. This evening we have been to "Venice," the great show at
Olympia. We went a family party (Embassy), Florians, St. Genys,
Pontavice, d'Agoult. It is really very prettily done; you must see it
when you come over. We had a capital box directly in the centre of the
house, but the director, hearing we were there, came to pay us a visit,
and transferred us to the Royal box, which is very large and
comfortable--seats twenty people easily. He sent us some ices, and said
he would have two gondolas waiting at the end of the performance to take
us through the lagoons. The performance was a sort of ballet--very
pretty girls well got up in Venetian costume, very artistically grouped,
and quantities of colour. As soon as it was over we went down to the
"Canal," where we found two gondolas, the real thing, with Venetian
gondoliers, who were much pleased when I spoke Italian to them. We went
all around the show, passing under the Bridge of Sighs, and finally
wound up at a Neapolitan café, where they were playing and singing all
the well-known Italian songs, "Santa Lucia," "Bella Napoli," etc.
Florian of course found a friend, one of the singers, who recognised
him, having seen him in Rome when she was singing there; so of course we
all fraternised, and we stayed there some time listening to all the
familiar songs and accompaniment of guitar and mandoline. We had quite
the impression of having spent our evening in Italy. W. was much amused
when we told him of Florian's "connaissance," as he always says he knows
more people than anyone he has ever seen, and is related to half France.
He is always going to some cousin's funeral in Paris. French people are
so particular about funerals--never fail to pay that last respect to
their dead friends; also wear mourning much more than we do. They are
constantly in real mourning (not merely fancy black) for three weeks or
a month, for a very distant cousin.

    #Albert Gate#,
    Monday, March 9, 1892.

It is cold and snowing, not a very pleasant day for our excursion to
Herkomer's studio, in the country; however, I had a line from Hilda
saying they were quite willing to go if I didn't mind the weather, so I
consulted with Lecomte, one of the secretaries who was going with us,
and we thought we would go. It would be very difficult for me to find
another day, as London is filling up for its avant-saison, and we have
quantities of engagements. We met the Deichmanns at the station, and
there discovered that we had 40 minutes to wait, so we breakfasted there
in the big dining-room, and it wasn't bad at all. Deichmann knows
everybody and is well known at Euston--so thanks to him we had a really
excellent breakfast (and it turned out very well, as we only got to
Herkomer's for tea, and we should have been half starved). We had about
three-quarters of an hour by rail to our destination, Bushey, in the
county of Herts. It was bright and beautiful when we got to the station,
but the trees were white with frost and snow everywhere. We found our
host in a temporary installation. He is building himself an enormous
castle, and all the work, stone-cutting, wood-carving, painting, etc.,
is done on the spot by his pupils, Herkomer himself superintending and
directing everything. He is most interesting; full of all sorts of
knowledge and fancies. We went over the studios and saw everything. Some
dull red wood they were using came from America he told me--I forget the
name of the tree, I think a Californian. It would have amused you to see
the eager, intelligent faces of the young workmen, especially when
Herkomer was going about explaining his ideas and criticising or
encouraging. It reminded me rather of an evening at Wilhelmj's (the
great violinist) long ago in Germany. He had a villa near my
sister-in-law's, Mdme. Charles de Bunsen, at Mosbach, near
Biebrich-am-Rhein. We all went over there one night to a musical party
when I was staying with my sister. His house was most artistically
arranged, all "Alt Deutsch," with an enormous music-room. He was waiting
for us there surrounded by all his pupils, about 10, with their violins
and music-stands, and all looking so eager and anxious to begin. He
played himself quite beautifully, and when he was accompanied by all the
others it was a very pretty sight, he in the middle and all the young
ones around him with their eyes fixed on him. He was one of Wagner's
right-hand men and played often with him. They played among other things
the prelude of "Parsifal," which haunted me for days afterward. You
can't imagine anything more divine than those beautiful long notes of
his and the soft arpeggio accompaniments of the violins. I couldn't hear
anything else afterward. Someone asked him to play Schubert's "Ave
Maria," which he did of course beautifully, but it sounded so tame after
the other, which I told him; but he said I was quite wrong, that
Schubert had written beautiful things, so melodious. All the same, I
would have preferred remaining with the impression of that wonderful
prelude. What reminded me of all this was the same sort of
cadre--"Maître et apprentis," for Herkomer is quite the old-fashioned
embodiment of the "Master" with his pupils. We had tea in the studio,
where there were some fine portraits. I think I like his men better than
his women. It is so difficult to make an interesting picture of a man in
ordinary everyday dress. Herkomer has certainly succeeded in making some
wonderful pictures, without uniform, or costume, or colour of any kind
to appeal to the imagination. We got back late for dinner. I was rather
tired and cold after my long day--we had started early, and I persuaded
W. with some difficulty to go to Lord Salisbury's reception without me.
However, he rather enjoyed himself. He didn't get much farther than the
door, where he remained talking with Lady Salisbury, which he always
likes. I don't think he was away more than an hour.

    #Albert Gate#,
    March 28, 1892.

We had a nice canter this morning. There were a good many people out. We
had a pleasant dinner last night at Lady Winifred Gardner's, one of
those curious mixtures one only sees in London. The Brownlows, Lord
Carrington, Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone, Hare the actor and his wife, also
various stray men. I found Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone both much
changed--much older--but he is marvellous--talked, eat, and drank like a
man of 50. Hare talked a great deal, and a great deal to W., who found
him clever and original.

    Wednesday, 30th.

Well, my Dear, I opened my bazaar yesterday, and you will be surprised
to hear that I was rather nervous--only for one moment, I must say, when
they asked me, after one or two speeches and a little "Marseillaise," if
I would pronounce the sacramental phrase and declare the bazaar open. I,
with the committee, was seated in a red chair on the platform. When I
got up (the only person standing) and saw the crowd of faces beneath me
looking hard at me, for a moment I was shy, but that didn't last. They
all cheered me, so I recovered myself and made my statement, I think in
a clear voice. W. jibed at me well afterward when I told him. I made a
tour of the bazaar, buying something at each stall, Lecomte bringing up
the rear, carrying a large doll. Do you remember what Lasteyrie used to
say when he was W.'s Chef de Cabinet at l'Instruction Publique--that one
of his principal functions was to accompany Madame Waddington to all the
"Ventes de Charité" carrying a "paquet de chemises de femme," which
means that I get so tired of all the fancy boxes, and pin-cushions, and
screens I accumulate at the various sales that I finally asked for
"layettes" and "vêtements de pauvres." Of course I can never have too
many in the country. I was amused to hear one of my friends here who
collects for the numerous "guilds" dilate upon the _smallness_ of the
objects sent her. She says she receives dresses and "brassières" (a sort
of body with sleeves) that would go on _no_ child of any age that she
has ever seen. It is rather my own experience--people usually give me
very minute garments, also in the most delicate colours, and my children
work in the fields and at the "tourbières."

After we had visited all the stalls we had tea (not in a private room)
at a round table at one end of the hall near the buffet. M. Dupoutet de
la Harpe, the Protestant pasteur who got up the bazaar, explaining that
the people would so like to see us. I am always very dressy on those
occasions, so I was dressed in black satin with a great deal of jet, and
light blue feathers in my bonnet. I had just time to get home, have some
tea, and see that my "orgue Mustel" had arrived and was properly placed
and tuned to go with the piano, and to assist at a small rehearsal with
M. Guillemain (organist at La Trinité in Paris), for whom I am having a
dinner to-night, Mérindol, and Miss Stuart, an American girl who has a
fine voice. The "orgue Mustel" is small and looks like a harmonium, but
it has wonderful tones, particularly when played by a master hand like
Guillemain's.

My dinner interested _me_ very much--I hope the guests had the same
impression. I called it my "dinner of organists," and I tried to get as
many of the great English organists as possible, but only two came (the
notice was short), Dr. Stainer of St. Paul's and Dr. Bridge of
Westminster Abbey. Both have splendid instruments, and it is a great
pleasure to stay sometimes after a week-day service and hear a fugue
rolling through those great vaulted aisles. I had only asked musical
people, and warned them that it was _serious_. We were 24 at dinner, and
about 100 in the evening. The music was in the ballroom and the organ
sounded very well, quite a volume of sound. Guillemain played, of
course, beautifully and made it give all it could. The duos, organ and
piano, were charming. Miss Stuart sang very well. I found Dr. Bridge
most sympathetic. He and Florence Williams made great friends, and he
promised to play her a gavotte whenever she likes if she would dance. I
think you would have liked the evening--it wasn't banal. Staal was
sympathetic and interested, and asked me what was the next original
entertainment I was contemplating.

    Wednesday, 31st.

We have rather a worrying letter from Henrietta this morning saying
their house in Paris was watched by the police, having been threatened
by the dynamiters on account of a judge who lives in the house. All the
locataires are leaving, and she is bothered, and wants to know what she
must do with Francis (who always goes to her Thursday and Sunday). I
want W. to write to the Préfet de Police to ask for an extra man, but he
doesn't seem to attach importance to it--says no harm ever comes when a
thing is announced beforehand. I can't help feeling uncomfortable.


    _To G. K. S_.

    #Albert Gate#,
    April 3, 1892.

It is rather nice to-day. After breakfast we drove down to Battersea
Park, not a very fashionable resort, and walked about along the river,
which is always alive--boats, barges, steamers, children in battered old
scows that look as if they would break in two on the smallest
provocation, and loungers of all kinds, some fishing, most doing nothing
and keeping up a running fire of chaff and criticisms. The river life
plays a great part in London--the Thames is such a thoroughfare all
about London, and a beautiful pleasure ground higher up by Maidenhead,
Clieveden, etc. We dined this evening at Lady Mary Lloyd's. She sang
very well after dinner, and we went later to Lady Ashburton's, who has a
beautiful house crammed with pictures and curios of all kinds. She had a
concert of "old music" with old instruments--spinet, viola, viol
d'amour, etc. It was interesting in its way as a souvenir, but sounded
weak and _tinkly_. In these days of great orchestras no one would listen
to it.

    Easter Tuesday, April 19, 1892.

I am delighted to have Henrietta and Francis, the boy's first holidays
since he has been in Paris, and he is enjoying himself extremely. He
rides with his father every morning, and goes about all day with his
friends. We are busy getting up a "toy symphony"--Mlle. Levisohn,
Francis's piano mistress, organises it. Francis has the piano, Comte
Vinci, our Roman friend (who plays extremely well), is first violin; a
little boy, a friend of Mlle. Levisohn's, the 2nd, and the minor
instruments are distributed among all the children, Edwardes, Lawrence,
Billes, Deichmann, etc. We gave young Bille, son of the Danish Minister,
the drum--but the unfortunate boy could do nothing with it, and his
mother said he must have some lessons. I applied to Pontavice (our
Military Attaché), who said he was sure one of his friends, an officer
in the Guards, would arrange it for me, so accordingly there appeared
one morning a gentleman (Mr. Lloyd, I think) who said his friend, Comte
de Pontavice, had told him that I wished to have some lessons on the
drum, and that the drum-major of the regiment was quite at my service. I
hastily explained that the lessons were not for me, but for a young
friend who was to play that instrument in a toy symphony. He didn't seem
at all surprised at my wishing to learn to play the drum, and yet I
can't help thinking that he hadn't often been applied to for lessons on
the drum for an Ambassadress. He promised to send his man to the Danish
Legation, and Mdme. de Bille told me that all the household was upset,
and the maids distracted by the magnificent drum-major who came three or
four times, and retired to a sort of basement, where he and the boy
rattled away on the drum. If I had ever imagined what an undertaking it
was, I never should have agreed to the performance. The principal
instruments, piano and violins, were all right, but all the small ones,
quails, nightingales, and cuckoos (oh, the cuckoos!) were something
awful. The children distracted (sometimes they had 25 measures to
count), the mammas and governesses equally so, and the impartial
assistants (who had no children taking part) remarking to me with
absolute frankness that it was the most awful noise they had ever heard.
Comte Vinci, first violin, was a tower of strength, and kept them all in
order. It is awfully good of him to come and play with all those
children.

    Friday, April 22, 1892.

I will write you about the performance at once, as I am too tired to do
anything else, and have dined quietly at home. We had a last répétition
this morning--Mlle. Levisohn directing from a small platform covered
with red cloth. For the first time I thought it would go--really almost
all the instruments were in tune and in time. Francis had been giving
private rehearsals all the morning to Wilhelm Deichmann (trumpet) and
the child, I forget which one, that had the triangle. The performance
began at 4, and the orchestra was most effective. All the young ladies
were in white and the men in dress clothes and white boutonnières. It
was killing to see all eyes fixed upon Mlle. Levisohn as she stood on
her platform with her baton raised. It really went extremely well.
Pfeffer happened in, and said he had never heard the Romberg Symphony
better given. After the music was over Francis and Hilda Deichmann
played a little comedy, "La Souris," really very well--Mdme. Thénard had
coached them both. They weren't at all shy, and looked funny perched on
chairs, standing, afraid of an imaginary mouse. They wound up with a
dance, Gevers leading a most spirited cotillon. Francis danced with
Nannie, who looked very pretty. He was very proud of his American
cousin. Mlle. Levisohn had many compliments, and I think she was
pleased. She certainly took no end of trouble.

    #Albert Gate#,
    Thursday, April 28th.

I had a nice ride this morning with Pontavice. W. and Francis went off
on Monday--W. to Laon and Francis to school. Last night Henrietta and I
went to the Italian Embassy, where there was a contract party for
Tornielli's niece, who is to marry the Marquis Paulucci, one of the
secretaries. The fiancée looked charming in pink satin, with a very
pretty diamond tiara that her uncle had given her. There were a great
many people. I had the Camerons with me--Nannie looking very pretty and
chic in red satin with gold wings in her hair. I told her the dress was
much too old and heavy for her, she should have been in white tulle,
with nothing in her hair, but she says all the American girls wear
satin. The Tornielli entertainments are always handsome; their full
dress livery red is so effective. Henrietta and I have been driving
about shopping. I never go near a shop alone, but Mrs. Edwardes told us
there were wonderful "occasions" for silks at Marshall & Snelgrove's. We
did pick up several things not dear. The English shops are not at all
like the French ones.


    _To H. L. K._

    #French Embassy, London#,
    May 1, 1892.

It is very cold to-day, and I think generally is on the 1st of May. One
can't imagine a Queen of the May, crowned with flowers, dancing around a
May-Pole. We are rather shivering, with a good fire in the room. It is
true that we have been sitting for some time at the window looking at
the crowds of people pouring into the Park for their great demonstration
(anti-capitalist). It seems to be all going quite quietly--there are
processions, and banners, and brass bands (such horrors), the usual
thing, and I am sure there will be no row and that nothing will
happen--nothing ever does happen in England.

The Salvation Army are also holding their service in the Park, so near
that we can almost hear the hymns. There are always soldiers hovering
near when they have their service; I wonder if it does any good. When we
were at Dover last year I went quite often to their service--they had
one almost every afternoon, late, on the beach. It was a curious sight,
such a motley crowd, rugged old fishermen, boys (half water rats),
women, children, and occasionally a well-dressed, prosperous small
tradesman, often soldiers--some lounging on the outskirts of the little
circle, some sitting on boats, some reverent, some merely curious, but
all joining in the hymns. I must say it interested me very much; not the
sermon, nor the preachers as a general thing, but the little earnest
group gathered on the sands with the swash of the waves for an
accompaniment, and the red coats of the soldiers making a patch of
colour. Some of the women looked pretty even in their regulation
poke-bonnets.

    #French Embassy, London#,
    May 8th.

It is a beautiful, fine day. I did not perform the Drawing-room, but
walked about in the crowd with Pontavice, which was decidedly amusing.
We saw a good many people we knew in the carriages and talked to some of
them. Very tired they looked, having been for hours in the string. I
wanted too to see some of the handsome English turn-outs, as when we go
ourselves we hardly see anything but colleagues. The policeman, who knew
us, let us stand where we liked--I told him to stop the French
Ambassador's carriage when it came out. He did, and I jumped in, much to
the astonishment of the crowd. We had a pleasant dinner at Lady
Delamere's. About the middle the electric light went out and we sat for
a few minutes in perfect darkness, except for a succession of matches
that Lord Wimborne, who was next to me, lit. The servants lost their
heads, and didn't think at first of lighting candles which were on the
table. It only lasted those few minutes. Of course such accidents will
happen perpetually until the system is perfected and universally
applied.

    Saturday, May 20th.

We had a pleasant dinner to-night at Lord Tweedmouth's and I went
afterward to a very handsome ball at the Burtons' with Nannie and
Pontavice. They have Chesterfield House--one of the best London
houses--flowers and electric light everywhere, and such splendid
pictures. All the smart women in London were there, and all with their
tiaras, except one, who explained to me that tiaras should only be worn
at Embassies, or when one was invited to meet Royalties, "which of
course you understand, as you haven't put yours on"--so I didn't tell
the reason, which was that I had forgotten mine, I so rarely wear
anything in my hair, and a tiara is heavy; also I have to be
"recoiffée," which I hate. My hair is done in the morning, and walks or
rides all day, and is merely pulled out a little at night.

    Saturday, May 21, 1892.

We dined to-night at the Trevelyans, all Conservatives. The Stanleys
(African Stanley) were there. He looks as hard as steel, but I suppose
couldn't do what he has done if he were not. Many say he wants to be an
M.P. and is sure of his election. His wife can help him enormously. It
is so curious to me to see all the women occupying themselves so
energetically with politics. They go about the country canvassing for
their husbands; wear the colours of the party; and have affiches
sometimes in their windows. I saw one well-known political woman in
London who had large bills posted on her window, "Vote for Lord R." We
should be hooted in France if we did that sort of thing. My husband has
been candidate very often, for many offices, but I have scarcely seen
his name at the bottom of a circular and never heard him address a
public meeting of any kind--in fact, have never been in the country when
the elections were going on. It is rather curious, as women have such a
strong position in France--a mère de famille, and above all a
grandmother, is somebody. A clever, strong-minded grandmother is a power
in her family and immediate circle.

    #French Embassy, London#,
    Wednesday, June 1, 1892.

We had a funny experience to-night. We had been engaged for some time to
dine with the Gladstones, to meet the Archbishop of Canterbury and Mrs.
Benson. Mrs. Gladstone wrote to me yesterday, asking me to come
punctually at 7.45, as the Archbishop didn't like late hours (he is
rather a delicate man) and had asked to dine early. We made a great
effort to get there in time--and _did_; so did everybody else--except
the Bensons. We waited one hour--then went to dinner (they had sent a
messenger to Lambeth and the answer came back that the Archbishop and
Mrs. Benson had started _hours_ ago. Everyone was worried and feared
there must have been an accident. At 9.30 o'clock, when dinner was
practically over (we had got to the jellies and ices), a message was
brought to Mr. Gladstone. He left the room and reappeared with the
Bensons. The explanation was that Mrs. Gladstone had written her
invitation from Dollis Hill, a place belonging to Lord Aberdeen, some
miles out of London. They often stay there, so the Archbishop naturally
imagined he was to dine there, and they had been driving about in the
country. The poor old lady was dreadfully put out--"The Archbishop might
have known that we were in London." Of course the dinner was all brought
back and our evening was long. However, we managed to go for a moment to
the Foreign Office. I said to Lady Salisbury I hoped it wasn't the last
time we were supping with her at the Foreign Office (everyone says the
Liberals are coming in again). "Will you think me very rude if I say I
hope so, though of course I shall always want to see my friends in
Arlington Street" (their private residence). I think she and Lord
Salisbury are both tired and will be glad to have a rest, not that they
will _socially_, for they are always receiving, both in London and at
Hatfield. We got home fairly early, though the streets were crowded,
Piccadilly something awful. It is a regular London night--carriages
rolling in every direction, and all the world dining, dancing, supping.
W. was rather funny over the dinner and the long wait, but said that if
he had been in Benson's place he would have gone straight home from
Dollis Hill, and had a cup of tea in his library.

    Thursday, July 2, 1892.

We had a small luncheon party this morning to hear the band of the Garde
Républicaine, who have come over from Paris for a few days to the
Exhibition. They play magnificently--we have been to hear them once or
twice and I assure you when they play the "Marseillaise" it makes one's
pulses leap. We had the Duke of Cambridge, Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar,
Staals, Coventrys, etc. They played on the terrace--we had draped the
balcony with red stuffs, and had some flowers and plants and about 70
chairs on the terrace. The Duke talked a great deal. As soon as luncheon
was over he went straight to the library, which opens on the terrace. We
presented the Chef-de-Musique, and they played at once a few bars of
"God Save the Queen"; then the "Marseillaise," everyone standing.
Someone said to the Duke, "It is very fine, but not an anthem like our
'God Save the Queen.'" "Non," he answered, "mais c'est un magnifique
chant de guerre." They played for about an hour, people coming and going
and standing about on the terrace. Some of our friends passing couldn't
imagine what was going on--there was quite a crowd collected in the Park
listening. My dress hadn't come from Paris, so I wore white, trimmed
with Valenciennes; I thought a little of wearing a tiny tricolour bow,
but didn't after all. One of the prettiest women there was Mrs. Astor,
in black, with a big black picture hat.


    _To H. L. K._

    #Walmer Castle#,
    July 17, 1892.

We came down here yesterday and hoped (at least I did) to have a lovely
day on the water. Lord Dufferin is a great yachtsman and cruises all
about in his own little boat. At the present moment it is pouring--I can
hardly see the sea--every now and then comes a partial break and I get a
glimpse of a great grey expanse of water. We got down for dinner last
night; a small party, as there are not many bedrooms--Lord and Lady
Wantage (he such a nice man, one of the few Englishmen who has the
"Légion d'Honneur," which he got in the Crimean War), the Marchesa Chigi
from Rome, and various young men. The dinner was handsome--Lord Dufferin
always a charming host--and we finished the evening in the big
drawing-room, where I always feel as if I were in the cabin of a ship,
it is so directly on the water. It looks exactly as it did in Lady
Granville's time, and in fact Lady D. told me she had not changed
anything. When I went to the drawing-room this morning I found the three
ladies talking and trying to persuade themselves that it would clear
after lunch. I said I did not mind weather and could not stay in the
house all day, so we agreed to equip ourselves suitably and go for a
walk after lunch. In the meantime Lady D. took me over the house--we
went to see Wellington's room (where he died). His little camp-bed is
still there, and some interesting relics, bits of uniform, and one or
two letters framed and hung upon the wall. The room is small, in one of
the towers, nothing magnificent or ducal about it. In fact the whole
house is simple and not large, one good drawing-room, looking straight
out to sea, so that sitting inside you see the big ships pass apparently
close under the windows--a fair dining-room, no library or
billiard-room, and a few bedrooms--an ideal place for a _water_ life.
The moat has been changed into a garden and there is a tennis-court
somewhere, though I didn't exactly make out where. We went for a walk
along the sea wall with waterproofs and umbrellas, and I wondered if we
should be blown over into the sea, the wind came in such violent gusts
sometimes. It seems a child and a perambulator were blown off the other
day, and strange to say nothing was hurt, neither child nor
perambulator--only the nurse had hysterics. We walked to Deal and paid
Lady Herschell a visit. I rather demurred at going in, as my hair was
decidedly ruffled and I was very wet, but they all wanted to and I
didn't look any worse than any of the others. The Castle is fine,
interesting--not so large as Walmer, but with always the same beautiful
situation close to the sea. It is one of the Cinque Ports, and Lord
Sydney had it as long as he lived. The Herschells walked back with us,
and coming home was pleasanter, as the rain had stopped and the wind
diminished a little. I came up after tea, as I was a little tired and
thought I would take advantage of a quiet moment to write to you. I will
finish to-night, as we have come upstairs early. We had rather an
amusing evening. The young people proposed playing "Historical
Portraits," and insisted upon our all taking part. I protested
vehemently, as I never have drawn anything in my life. I remember the
drawing class years ago at Mrs. Ward's, when we all copied a Greek girl
with an amphora on her head, and the tears I shed over my performance.
The amphora (that might have been anything) was crooked and toppling
over, and all her arms and legs were of different lengths. Even the
drawing master was obliged to say I had no facility with my pencil. The
game is really an undertaking. Everyone is given paper and pencils and
you have 5 minutes by the watch to draw a historical portrait or
portraits. My neighbour, one of the sons, was doing something most
elaborate--a quantity of figures--my other neighbour, about my calibre,
looked helpless, but said she must do something. What do you think she
did? "The House that Jack Built," an infantine production with 4 lines
and a chimney, the sort of thing that we all have done as children. That
gave me courage, particularly as she had played the game before, and
knew what could be received, so I drew the "Man in the Moon." Can't you
see it--a large, round O with dots for eyes, nose, and mouth. Some of
the drawings were really very clever--the "Field of the Cloth of Gold"
with a great many figures, and Raleigh and his cloak before Elizabeth;
Queen Elizabeth with a chignon and a short bicycle skirt. We amused
ourselves very much. We leave to-morrow morning, W. by the first train,
as he had an early rendezvous in London. I shall go a little later with
the Wantages.

    #London#,
    Friday, July 22, 1892.

W. and I drove out to Lyon House this afternoon to a garden party at the
Duke of Northumberland's. It is a fine old place, about an hour's drive
from London, with big iron gates, with the Percy lion with its tail
straight out on top. The Duke did not appear--his daughter-in-law,
Countess Percy (who is a daughter of the Duke of Argyll) did the
honours. She showed us the great corridor and large drawing-room with a
fine Adam's ceiling, and then we went out into the garden, where there
were quantities of tents, carpets, tea-tables--and half London. Everyone
was talking elections. I sympathised with Philip Stanhope, who has been
beaten, and said, "Why didn't you spend more money while you were about
it?" He was not in the least outraged at such a question, and replied
promptly, "I should have certainly, if I hadn't been so sure of being
named." They say a great deal of money has been spent this time.

    #London#, July 27th.

We had our last outing for this year last night; a handsome dinner at
Tornielli's for the Duc d'Aoste. He is a tall, good-looking young
fellow, decidedly dashing, and inclined to amuse himself. He is a
curious contrast to his father, whom I liked extremely, but who was cold
and silent, looked like a Spanish grandee of the Middle Ages, or a
soldier-monk--a very striking face and figure. Countess Somaglia (née
Gwendoline Doria) was among the guests, with her two daughters. We
talked a little of old days in Rome. I remember so well when she was
married.

To-morrow I shall make our paquets, and we four, Francis and I, May and
Beatrice, leave for Bayreuth and the Tyrol by the Club train on
Saturday. I ordered my mountain dresses at Nicoll's--two skirts to one
jacket--a real short one faced with leather for mountaineering, and a
longer one, shortish too, for travelling, in blue serge; a shortish blue
linen, and an alpaca. All the personnel dine to-night for good-bye. This
is my 9th season in London--I wonder if I shall ever see it again. I
have a presentiment that next year we shall only go back to take leave.

    _To G. K. S._

    #French Embassy#,
    February 1, 1893.

We came over last night; a very good crossing, the shortest I ever made;
we were just one hour on the boat. Lady Salisbury was on board, coming
from the Riviera. We talked all the way over. She is very sorry we are
going--says the Queen will regret M. Waddington very much; that she had
great confidence in him, and now, at her age, rather dreads seeing
strange faces around her. W. is very glad to get back to France--I too.
After all, ten years is a long time to be away from one's country.

    Sunday, 5th.

W. and I drove out this afternoon to White Lodge to say good-bye to
Princess Mary. As we came quite near to the house we crossed very
quickly two gentlemen in a hansom and just recognised the Prince of
Wales and Prince George. Everyone is saying that that marriage will be
arranged. Princess Mary and Princess May were alone, and decidedly more
cheerful. Princess May still in black, but with no crêpe and a little
jet. Princess Mary was charming and friendly as she always is, and
seemed really sorry we were going, also wanted to know who was coming in
our place; but that I couldn't tell her. She promised to come to tea one
afternoon at the Embassy before we went away. Various people came in to
tea, as they always do here on Sunday afternoon, and someone said the
marriage was certainly decided and would be announced after the 27th,
which was to have been the wedding-day last year. They certainly looked
much brighter and happier than I expected to see them.

    #French Embassy#,
    February 13, 1893.

I went this afternoon to the House of Commons to hear Mr. Gladstone make
his great Irish speech. I had an excellent place in the front row of the
ladies' gallery, and heard and saw everything. The House was packed,
chairs all along the gangway--the Prince, Dukes of York and Teck in
their places, quantities of peers and some diplomats--no Ambassadors,
which surprised me. I know that W. always prefers reading a speech the
next day, but I thought some of the others would be there. Mr. Gladstone
was much cheered by both sides when he came in (a tribute to his age and
intelligence rather than to his politics). He rose to speak at a quarter
to 4, finishing at 5 minutes past six (two hours and 20 minutes). He was
much quieter and less passionate than I had expected. There was no
vehement appeal for the wrongs of Ireland. It was more an "exposé de
motifs" than a real speech, but it was an extraordinary effort for a man
of his age (83). His voice was so clear and strong, never faltering: a
little weaker and lower perhaps toward the end. I suppose it is the last
great political speech he will ever make.


    _To H. L. K._

    #French Embassy#,
    March 3, 1893.

We are beginning our tournée of farewell visits, and to-day we have been
to take leave of the Prince and Princess of Wales at Marlborough House.
I had not seen the Princess since Prince Eddie's death. I wore blue
velvet and my Jubilee medal. We were received at the door by all the
household--Probyn, Lord Suffield, Stanley Clark, Lady Suffield, and Miss
Knollys. Prince George was in the first drawing-room. The Prince and
Princess with two daughters in the big long room. I can't say I found
the Princess changed or grown older. She looked sad, but it was the same
slight, youthful figure. She was still in deep plain black (woollen
stuff) with no ornaments. She was charming, with the sweet, simple
manner she always has. Tears came into her eyes when she said she hadn't
seen me for so long on account of her mourning. I asked her about her
first grandchild--Princess Louise Fife's little girl. She said she was a
dear little thing, talked a great deal, trotted about everywhere, and
called her "Granny." W. and the Prince talked together, but we didn't
stay very long. I didn't say a word to the Princess about Prince Eddie
(they told me not to), only just as we were going I said I hoped the end
of the year would bring her happiness and blessing. She squeezed my
hand, but her lips quivered and she couldn't speak. She has been
unfailing to us always and said we should certainly meet again, and that
I must always let her know when I came to England. I begin to realise
now that we are going, with all these leave-takings. After all we have
been here 10 years, and that is a good piece out of one's life.

    #Albert Gate#,
    March 5, 1893.

I wish you had been here yesterday to see the farewell dinner for W. at
the Mansion House. It was a great tribute to a departing Ambassador--all
the distinguished men in England assembled to say good-bye. The Lady
Mayoress had asked me to dine with her and bring anyone I wanted, so I
took Hilda and Mdme. de la Villestreux. Hilda and I started together a
little before 7. As we drew near the Mansion House there was quite a
crowd; quantities of policemen, and empty carriages driving away. We
went in by the same entrance as the men, and then turned off sharp to
the right and were conducted to the drawing-room of the Lady Mayoress. I
wore black moiré with a great band of orange velvet on the corsage, and
all the jewels I possessed--tiara, pearls, and diamond necklace and
diamond stars and ornaments fastened on the front of the dress, as I
knew we were to sit in the gallery after dinner to hear the speeches. We
found Mdme. de la Villestreux already there--there were 16 women. The
Lady Mayoress presented them all to me. They were all ex-Lady
Mayoresses--"ladies who had passed the chair," which it seems is the
technical term. She also gave me a splendid bouquet tied with a
tricolour ribbon. The dinner was very good, the traditional London
public dinner menu--turtle soup, salmon, etc. There was very handsome
silver on the table: great massive bowls and flagons and beautiful
flowers--very quickly served, and really very pleasant. After the first
five minutes everyone talked. Some of the women were handsome, all well
dressed and with quantities of diamonds. Just as we were finishing a
servant came to summon us to the gallery. The loving cup was going round
and the speeches were to begin. The Lady Mayoress led the way to the
gallery in the great banqueting hall directly opposite the table
d'honneur. It was a striking sight, particularly that table where was
the Lord Mayor in his robes, and all the diplomatists with stars and
broad ribbons. There was a blaze of light and at first I couldn't
recognise anyone (we were very high), and then I saw W. standing,
drinking out of the loving cup, with the Lord Mayor on one side and
Rustem on the other, and gradually I made out a good many people. There
were two long tables besides the table d'honneur, and they told me about
300 guests. All the representative men and intelligence of England
assembled to say God-speed to the departing Ambassador. The Speaker and
Lord Herschell (Presidents of the two Houses) were both there, and men
of every possible coterie from Lord Lorne to James Knowles of the
"Nineteenth Century." As soon as the regular toasts had been drunk there
was a pause and then came the toast of the evening with "bumpers," "The
French Ambassador." There were roars of applause when W. got on his
legs, and I must confess to a decided choke in my throat. W. spoke (in
English, which they had asked him to do) very simply and very well,
going back to his early days. When he said that he had done his best
always to keep up good and friendly relations with England, and that he
had had much sympathy from all sides, he was much cheered; but much more
when he said that perhaps what had given him more friends in England
than any of his public acts as a statesman was the fact that he had
rowed in the University eight at Cambridge. Then there were roars of
applause, and he heard quite distinctly the people below saying--"he is
quite right, we always remember it." He was quite ému when he came to
the end; his voice taking that grave tone I like so much when he said
"good-bye." One heard every word. He was much cheered when he finished.
The Lady Mayoress came and shook hands with me and asked me if I wasn't
proud of my husband. Some of the speeches were charming--the Speaker's
particularly; Lord Lorne also made a very pretty little speech, and
Rustem (Turk), who answered the toast for the "Corps Diplomatique," made
a very good speech. I can't remember all the names and all the speeches,
but it was a most brilliant assembly, and as Countess Deym said to me, a
wonderful tribute to W. As soon as the speeches were over we all went
down to the great hall, where I had a perfect défilé of compliments and
regrets, Lord Lorne again repeating his words "that W.'s departure was a
national calamity." All had something friendly to say--the two Law
Lords, Judge Bowen and Sir Francis Jeune, most sympathetic. S. too told
me I should be much pleased--he had never seen such a demonstration in
England for a foreigner. Of course some of the young men came in to the
Embassy to talk the dinner over, and gave their impressions. They were
all much pleased. W. certainly was, and said he felt quite ému when he
saw all the faces turned to him and knew that every word he said would
tell--also he knew quite well that his reference to the boat-race would
appeal much more to the _general_ public than any expressions of good
feeling toward England. He hasn't always had an easy time with his
English name and his English education. Of course it has been very
useful to him here, as he has been thrown with all sorts of people, and
could understand the English point of view, but in France they were
always afraid he was too English. I think when he has gone they will
realise at home what good work he has done here _because_ he understands
them.

    #French Embassy, London#,
    March 8, 1893.

W. and I went together to the Mansion House, Tuesday, to pay a farewell
visit to the Lady Mayoress, who was receiving formally with music, tea,
and quantities of people. The Lord Mayor appeared too when he heard we
were there, and was quite pleased when W. said how gratified and touched
he had been by the banquet and the universal expression of regret at his
departure. The Lord Mayor said to him, "You can't find any warmer
friends, Ambassador, in France than those you are leaving here, but I
quite understand that a man can't live long out of his own country." We
had just time to get back to the Embassy, dress, and start for Windsor,
where we dined: our last stay in the yellow rooms. The dinner was almost
entirely Royal--the Empress Frederick, Prince and Princess Christian,
Prince and Princess Henry of Battenberg, Duchess of Connaught, del Mazo,
the Spanish Ambassador, I the only other lady. The cercle was not
long--I thought the Queen looked tired. She sat down at once; said she
wouldn't say good-bye, as she hoped to see me once more at Buckingham
Palace. She said at her age she rather dreaded saying good-bye, also
seeing new faces, and she was very sorry we were going. "Who comes to
replace you?" I said I thought nothing was yet decided. I talked some
time to the other Princesses after the Queen had congédied me. The
Empress was as usual charming, and said, "I am afraid we sha'n't meet
again often, Mdme. Waddington, you won't cross to Berlin, and I can't go
to Paris, but that isn't my fault. I think we shall have to meet in
Italy, where I first had the pleasure of seeing you." The end of the
evening we spent as usual in the drawing-room with the "household." I
had quite a talk with Prince Henry, who is very good-looking and
attractive. We left the drawing-room about eleven--W. going as usual to
smoke, and I to my rooms. I sat some time in front of the fire in the
beautiful little yellow drawing-room wondering if I ever should see it
again, and going back to our first Windsor visit, when all was so new
and strange to me. I wonder where we shall be this time next year, and
if we shall settle down easily to our quiet life in France. W. came in
rather late from the smoking-room: he said all the men were so nice to
him, and seemed really sorry he was going; also were very anxious to
know if he wasn't sorry himself.

This morning (Wednesday) it was beautiful. I breakfasted as usual in my
rooms and sat some time in the deep window recess watching all the
people coming and going. There is always so much life about Windsor when
the Queen is there. About 10 Colonel Byng came to take us to the Chapel
to see the sarcophagus of Prince Eddie, which is enormous and has rather
too much colour--almost gaudy. I went with Hilda the other day to
Gilbert's studio to see the monument he is making, and which I liked. It
is very elaborate and complicated, but the sleeping figure good: so
reposeful and young; the long straight limbs. One quite realised a young
life cut short. Gilbert is clever and interesting, and begged us to
criticise freely.

We got home about 12 and I took a short turn in the Park before
breakfast, which was full as usual when the Queen passes. She came this
afternoon for two Drawing-rooms. I shall do my last to-morrow--I sha'n't
go to the second.

    #French Embassy#,
    March 10, 1893.

I am doing all my last things. I went to the Drawing-room yesterday (our
last). Countess Spencer presented the ladies, and looked very stately
and handsome in black, with splendid jewels. The Queen didn't stay very
long, but looked less tired, I thought, than the other night at Windsor.
I said good-bye to a great many people whom I sha'n't see again. At this
season plenty of people are still in the country, and only come up for a
day or two for Drawing-rooms, theatres, etc. Teesdale and I had quiet an
affectionate parting. For so long now we have made our entrée together
into the Throne Room: he holding my hand and both of us making a deep
bow and curtsey at the door, that we have become quite like puppets.

This afternoon I have had my farewell audience from the Queen at
Buckingham Palace at 4 o'clock. I wore as usual the blue velvet, which
will walk about alone soon, as it has done all the ceremonies lately; my
pearls, and a crême velvet bonnet with light blue feathers. I went in
the ordinary open carriage (not gala). The gala carriage with the
powdered wigs, big footmen, canes, etc., went out yesterday for the last
time to the Drawing-room. I had some difficulty in getting into the
court-yard, which was filled with carriages, luggage-vans, soldiers,
etc., as the Queen was leaving this afternoon for Windsor. I was sent
from one entrance to another, in spite of the tricolour cockade, and
finally drew up at a side-door (where a shabby little victoria was
standing). A man in ordinary black livery appeared, and after a short
parley (in which I intervened myself, saying that I was the French
Ambassadress and had an audience with the Queen) he showed me into a
room on the ground floor. I waited about 15 minutes (it was 5 minutes to
4 when I arrived) and then Lady Southampton, Lady in Waiting, appeared,
with many apologies for being late--she didn't think I would come so
soon (and I was a little afraid of being late, they kept me so long in
the court-yard). We went upstairs to a small drawing-room looking out on
the court-yard, and in about 10 minutes the same servant in black
appeared, saying, "The Queen is ready to receive the French
Ambassadress." Lady Southampton said she couldn't come, as the Queen
wished to see me alone, so I followed the servant down a long
corridor--he stopped at a door, knocked, a voice said "come in," and I
found myself in the Royal presence. It was a small, ordinary room,
rather like a sort of waiting-room, no traces of habitation, nothing
pretty or interesting. The Queen was standing, very simply dressed in
black (her travelling dress she said, she was starting at once for
Windsor) before a writing-table which was in the middle of the room,
covered with books and papers. She was most kind, made me sit down on
the sofa next to her, and said she was afraid she had kept me waiting,
but that she had been kept by a visit from Mr. Gladstone--she then
paused a moment, so I made a perfectly banal remark, "what a wonderful
man, such an extraordinary intelligence," to which she replied, "He is
very deaf." She expressed great regret at our departure, and hoped we
were sorry to leave England and all our friends, but after all Paris was
not very far off, and she hoped she should see me again. She was sure M.
Waddington would find plenty to do when he got back--would he continue
his literary work? I said he would certainly have plenty to do, as he
was Senator and Membre de l'Institut, but that we should both miss the
Embassy life and the varied interests it brought. She repeated that she
hoped to see me again, so I asked if ever I came back to England might I
write to one of her ladies, and ask if I could be received. "Pray do,
and I shall not say good-bye, but au revoir." We talked about 15 minutes
about all sorts of things--some of our colleagues--our successor, etc.
She asked again who was coming to London, and said, "My last two
Ambassadors to France were ex-Viceroys." It seemed to me that she said
it on purpose, and that she wanted France to send one of her best men to
St. James's. I repeated the remark to my husband, and the chancellerie.
It is quite true. The present British Ambassador, Lord Dufferin, is
certainly the first diplomatist they have. He has had every
distinguished post England can offer--Ambassador to St. Petersburg and
Rome, Governor of Canada, and Viceroy of India, and has played a great
part. His predecessor, Lord Lytton, was also Viceroy of India, and very
distinguished, though in a different way from Lord Dufferin. I rather
fancy that Montebello would be an acceptable appointment. He knows
English well, has English relations, and I should think would like the
post, but I have really no idea. Some of the papers say that Ribot wants
the place, but I think he prefers home politics and would not care to
leave France; however, I could not tell the Queen anything definite. She
kissed me at parting, and gave me her photograph, signed, in a handsome
silver frame--then half turned her back, moving to a door on the other
side of the room, so that I could get out easily and not altogether à
reculons, which would have been awkward to open the door. I tucked my
parcel under my arm, opened the door myself (a thing I don't often do in
these days, except my bedroom door) and found myself again in the long
corridor. My audience was over, and I daresay I shall never see the
Queen again. She was unfailing to us both from the first moment, always
welcomed us with the same smile, was always inclined to talk about
anything and to understand and smooth over any little difficulty or
misunderstanding. I think she is a wonderful woman and a wonderful
Queen. In her long life she must have had many difficult questions and
responsibilities, and certainly England has not suffered under her rule.
I met Lady S. in the corridor, who came downstairs with me, and said she
was quite sure the Queen meant it when she said she would like to see me
again, that she _never_ said anything she didn't mean.

I found Hilda and one or two friends when I got home who told me that
the English ladies, headed by Ladies Salisbury and Spencer, representing
the two parties, Conservative and Liberal, were going to give me a
souvenir (in memory of my ten years in London), a jewel of some kind. I
was rather pleased. The last days of adieux are rather melancholy. I
shall be glad when they are over. I forgot to say that Wednesday I had a
message about 3 o'clock from the Princess Beatrice, saying she and
Prince Henry of Battenberg would come about 5 and ask me for a cup of
tea. The notice was so short that I hadn't time to ask anyone except
Hilda, who happened in, and some of the secretaries. They came alone and
were most friendly--said they had not given me any more time on purpose,
as they didn't want a party, but merely to see us. They were as easy and
pleasant as possible, she talking much more than she ever does in the
grand monde. I told her I hoped she would let me know if ever she came
to Paris. She said. "Oh, yes--and we will do a lively play together."


    _To H. L. K._

    #Albert Gate#,
    Tuesday, March 14, 1893.

I went this afternoon with Mdme. de la Villestreux to the French bazaar
at Kensington Town Hall to receive Princess Mary, who opened it (and
very much better than I did the day I performed the same thing). Mdme.
de Bylandt, de Bille, Mdme. du Poutel de la Harpe were all there waiting
at the foot of the stairs. Princess Mary was easy and charming, and I
really think was not bored. She had all the ladies presented to her,
talked to them all, knew apparently all their relations, young and old,
complimented them on the arrangement of their stalls, said the various
objects made and presented by the Ladies' Art Association were very
artistic and useful (I wish you could have seen them--_our_ pincushions
at the Vente des Diaconnesses were things of beauty next to them), took
her tea, said the cake was so good, and delighted everybody. When I see
how easy it is for Royalties to win golden opinions with a few gracious
words and a smile, I wonder at the stiff, stand-off manner some of them
adopt. Princess May looked very slight and pretty, and is always well
dressed. I again wore the blue velvet, which will fall off me soon, but
this time I changed the bonnet and wore a black jet one with a red rose,
and it wasn't very pretty.

    March 16, 1893.

We had a last musical afternoon to-day at Marie Humlicher's: 8 hands,
two pianos, she directing and the performers being Ctesse. de Bylandt,
Mlle. de Staal, Hilda and I. We played Mozart and Schumann, really very
well. Mlle. Humlicher has a nice big room over a coutourière on Fulham
Road. She always gives us tea after the music, which is generally
brought up by a tidy little English maid with her cap and apron. She was
astounded this afternoon when the tea was brought in by a most elegant
young person, dressed in the latest fashion, and attended by a second,
also most stylish--however, as the tea was all right she did not say
anything; neither did I, but I waited a moment after the other ladies
had gone and she had a mysterious conversation on the stairs and came in
highly amused. It seems the two elegant ladies were the dressmaker and
her assistant. When they saw all these ambassadorial equipages at their
door--enormous powdered footmen, wigs, cockades, etc., also Hilda's
beautiful carriage (Deichmann has splendid horses always and everything
perfectly well turned out), their curiosity got the better of them and
they felt they _must_ see the swells; so they interviewed the maid,
installed her in their rooms to attend to any customer who might come,
got into their swell garments, and brought up the tea. Wasn't it funny?
Luckily we were all rather elegant. I had been paying some farewell
visits, and it so happened that we were all up to the mark. I have
sometimes gone to Mlle. Humlicher's on foot in a cloth dress, as it is
not far from the Embassy. I am sorry to have done with those
afternoons--Mlle. Humlicher plays beautifully--she is a pupil of
Rubinstein's and has a real artistic nature.

    Friday, March 17th.

I had a line from Lady Salisbury yesterday, asking if to-day at 5 would
suit me to receive the ladies and my present. I accepted of course,
asking her about how many would come. She answered, between 50 and 60,
she thought. As the moment drew near I got rather nervous, for W. said
they would certainly make me a little speech and that I would have to
reply, and he suggested thinking it over; but that I refused and said I
must trust to the inspiration of the moment. I wore my purple satin. The
ladies arrived very punctually. There were one or two men, all the
personnel, including W., and one or two of my friends, Sir George
Arthur, Gevers, etc. Lady Salisbury asked me where I would stand, so I
put myself in the middle of the big drawing-room, under the chandelier.
Lady Salisbury was spokeswoman, flanked on one side by Lady Spencer, the
other by Mrs. Gladstone; all the other ladies, including Ladies
Londonderry, Cadogan, Shrewsbury, Harcourt, etc., forming a circle round
me. Lady Salisbury made a very pretty little speech, beginning--"Madame
Waddington, Ambassadress," and saying they hoped I would sometimes think
of England and my English friends, that I had been there so long that I
seemed one of themselves, etc., and then handed me a blue velvet étui. I
don't know exactly what I replied (I was rather émue and W. just
opposite to me was looking at me hard), but evidently only a few words,
to say that the ten years I had spent in London had been very happy
ones, that France wasn't very far away, and that I hoped to come back
often--but I think they understood that I was pleased and grateful for
the present, and above all with the feeling that prompted it. The jewel
is very handsome, a circle of large, beautiful white diamonds with a
large pearl in the centre and another as pendant. It was passed around
the company and they all found it very handsome. We had tea in the blue
room, and I talked to them all and said what was perfectly true, that
they had been ten perfectly happy years we had spent in London, and ten
years is a good piece out of one's life. They left me a book with the
names of all the "signataires." W. was much pleased, and I fancy it was
rather an unusual demonstration. One of these days, when Francis's wife
wears it, it will be a historic jewel. After all the company had gone
the secretaries stayed on a little while. I think they are all sorry we
are going, and they certainly regret W. as a chief. They all say he is
so absolutely just.

    #Albert Gate#,
    Monday, March 27, 1893.

We walked about in the Row this morning. It was cold and raw, not many
people. We dined at the Italian Embassy in the evening with Tornielli.
The Comtesse is at Naples with her niece, the young Marquise Paulucci,
who has just had a fine boy. The dinner was small, mostly colleagues. We
sat after dinner in the red drawing-room, which is very picturesque--a
fine old carved chimney, enormous, and beautiful old red silk hangings
just faded enough to give an old-world look. He has brought quantities
of things from his palace in Italy. Lincoln was there. He knows who his
successor is--Mr. Bayard. We don't know ours.

    #Albert Gate,#
    March 29, 1893.

Princess Mary and Princess May had promised to come once to tea before I
left and they named to-day. I asked very few people--Duchess of St.
Albans, Ladies Arran, Randolph Churchill, Hilda, and some men, Deym,
Tornielli, Mensdorff, George Arthur, etc. Lady Randolph is very musical,
plays extremely well and is very kind to all the artists. I asked Mlle.
Jansen (Swedish), who sang quite beautifully--a fine voice, such a ring
in it. She is going to America, and I am sure she will have a great
success. Both Princesses were as cordial and nice as possible, said it
would seem strange not to see me about everywhere any more. "Of course
you will come back to London," Princess Mary said; "but it can never be
the same thing--you will be a visitor; now you are living your life with
us, and London is your home." Princess May looked very pretty, and so
bright that I fancy her engagement is settled--everyone seems to think
so. I didn't say anything to her, but when I parted from Princess Mary
at the foot of the stairs I couldn't help saying that I heard that very
soon all her friends would be able to congratulate her, and that as I
was going I would like to think that very happy days were before her.
She said "I hope so--I think so," and kissed me. At the door she turned
and said, "I wonder when I shall have tea and music again in these
rooms. I shall always think with pleasure of the French Embassy." We had
a farewell dinner at our cousin's, Mrs. Mostyn's. Lord Herschell was on
one side of me and talked a great deal about the banquet at the Mansion
House. He said W.'s English was so good, too classical if anything; said
he would like very much to hear him speak in French and at the Tribune.
He couldn't imagine such a quiet speech and manner in the fiery French
Chamber. I told him the Senate was much more sedate than the Chamber
(consequently much less amusing) and that he would often hear a
perfectly quiet academic speech there.

    #French Embassy#,
    Good Friday, March 31, 1893.

We went to the afternoon service at St. Paul's, where the anthem was
beautiful. There were a great many people, a great many men following
the service, and a great many also walking about looking at the tombs
and tablets.

We really have not a moment these last days. I shall go over a little
before W., about the 12th of next month. We have had all sorts of
leave-takings. The Empress Frederick received us the other day--always
charming and interesting, but still talking of her visit to Paris, which
she can't get over. She said to me, "I would have liked so much to see
you in Paris, in your own house. M. Waddington promised me a dinner with
all your clever men." "I should have been much pleased and honoured,
Majesté; perhaps a little later he may have that pleasure--but I'm
afraid----"

We had all a pleasant visit to Princess Louise at Kensington, who said
she would certainly let us know when she came to Paris--I think she
often comes. We went to White Lodge, of course, where they all look so
happy I can't help thinking that the marriage is arranged. We also went,
for a farewell cup of tea, to Alma Tadema, who receives once a week in
his beautiful studio. He is going to send me an engraving of one of his
lovely Greek pictures. His atelier is most picturesque and full of
interesting things. He has a set of panels painted by all his artist
friends which are gems. He is very attractive himself--so simple. There
were a good many people there.

We had a dinner and party (music) last week at Lady Wimborne's. Their
entertainments are always successful. The house (Hamilton House) is one
of the best in London. Lord B., a great friend of W.'s, took me to get
an ice at the buffet, and was deploring W.'s departure. "Such a pity
that Waddington had gone back to France after graduating so brilliantly
at Cambridge. He would certainly have made the same career in England,
and would have been Premier in England, so much better than being
Premier in France"--a truly British sentiment (what makes their
strength, perhaps), but naif.


    _To G. K. S._

    #Albert Gate#,
    Easter Sunday, April 2, 1893.

My last Easter in London, a beautiful bright day. Henrietta, Francis,
and I walked down to Westminster Abbey in the morning. It was crowded,
as it always is--Easter is such a splendid service--the fine old Easter
hymn always the same, with the Hallelujah echoing through the vaults and
arches. We had a small dinner in the evening--Jusserand (who had come
back to see his friends, of whom he has thousands here), the La
Villestreux, the personnel, and a few young people in the evening. I
wore my jewel, which they all found very handsome.

    #French Embassy#,
    April 9th.

Henrietta, Francis, and I went to the Temple Church this morning. It is
a grand old place, right in the heart of London. We were met at the door
by one of the "benchers," who gave us very good places and took us all
over the church and various halls after service. Francis had never been
there and was wildly interested, particularly in the tombs of the old
Crusaders with their crossed legs. We lunched with quite a party of
benchers and their wives in the "parlement" room, a charming room
looking out on the river and across a garden filled with roses, streams
of sunlight pouring in at all the windows. They told us the War of the
Roses, white and red, was planned in those gardens, and asked us if we
remembered the old lines:

    "If this red rose offend thy sight,
      It in thy bosom wear;
    'Twill blush to find itself less white
      And turn Lancastrian there."

Yesterday we had a handsome "Diner d'Adieu" at the Turkish Embassy,
principally colleagues. Lincoln was there--he too is going, his wife
left yesterday. They have raised the United States Legation here to an
Embassy, and I hope they will raise the salaries. No one is more asked
out or has a better position here than the United States Minister. I
always remember the remark of one of our colleagues, Baron Solvyns, who
had been long in London and knew it well. We were talking one day about
the Corps Diplomatique, small Powers, Embassies, etc., and were
discussing who was the most important Ambassador in London. Solvyns
said, "There is no doubt about it, the American _Minister_ is the first
Ambassador in London."

    #French Embassy#,
    April 12, 1893.

My last letter from Albert Gate, Dear. Yesterday all our small things,
silver, house linen, etc., departed. The packing seemed well done. We
put everything that was to go in the ballroom (little Dresden figures,
glasses, silver ornaments), nothing packed, all spread out, on tables. A
man came and made an inventory, packs everything in a great van that
comes to the door and arrives at our door in the Rue Dumont d'Urville,
where equally everything is taken out and unpacked. He says nothing will
be broken. It is certainly a very easy way of moving, and I shall be
anxious to see how they arrive. The Florians had their furniture taken
over like that, and I think one table was a little démantibulée. We
leave to-morrow; we being Henrietta and I. W. stays some little time
still. I take over all the French servants, both coachmen, and my
victoria and horses, as I must settle myself for the spring in the Paris
house. W. sends over one of the secretaries, M. Lecomte, with us, and
the colleagues are all coming to the station to say good-bye. The rooms
look melancholy to-night, so many things gone; piano of course and all
books and small tables, screens, etc.--all the gros mobilier belongs to
the Embassy. We sat some time talking, just we three: W., Henrietta, and
I, after dinner. W. has just been named one of the Directeurs du Canal
de Suez. I think he will find plenty of occupation when he gets back.

    #Paris, 31, Rue Dumont d'Urville,#
    April 16, 1893.

Here I am, Dear, back in my little salon, writing at my table in the
corner by the window, and rather distracted by the quantities of
carriages passing. There is so much more movement in the street than
when we left ten years ago, and I have got accustomed to such a quiet
bedroom and salon. All our living rooms (except the dining-room) at
Albert Gate gave on the Park, so we never heard the rattle and noise of
carriages over pavements, and as no cabs nor camions are allowed in the
Park the passing never disturbed us. We came over very comfortably on
Thursday. All our colleagues were at the station to see us off, and I
think they are sorry to say good-bye. We found our voiture-salon filled
with flowers. Sir George Arthur and S. came over with us. It was very
cold and very rough. All the men disappeared at once, but Henrietta and
I remained on deck and were quite happy, well wrapped up with rugs, and
tarpaulins stretched in front of us to keep out the wet. Lecomte had
arranged our lunch in the private room of the buffet at Calais (where W.
and I always breakfasted when we came over) and it was comfortable to
see a bright fire. I am ashamed to say that the ladies of the party eat
a very good breakfast. The men looked rather white, and certainly were
not good "fourchettes" at that meal. At Dover we had found Lord William
Seymour in uniform, with his aide-de-camp, wife and daughter waiting for
us. He took me on the boat, and to the cabin, where there were more
flowers, and stayed until the last moment, giving the captain all manner
of instructions for my comfort, and particularly to see that my cabin
was warm, with plenty of rugs, etc. I never went near it. I think
Adelaïde and Bonny had a very comfortable time there. Francis met us at
the Gare du Nord, much pleased to have us back. We went to Henrietta's
to dine. I was glad to come home directly after dinner and go to bed.
Well, Dear, there is one chapter of my life closed--I wonder what the
future reserves for us. I shall be uncomfortable for a few days until my
van arrives. It left the same day we did, and the man said it would take
a week to bring the things over, but I shall not expect them for ten
days. I found quantities of cards and notes here, and Louise and
Henrietta of course will give me dinner or anything else I want until I
can get quite settled. Hubert got over only to-day. The sea was so rough
he wouldn't cross on Thursday; he waited a day at Folkestone, and
another at Boulogne, to rest the horses which had been knocked about. W.
writes that the Embassy seems absolutely empty. Still he dines out every
night (at the club when he hasn't an invitation) and will come over as
soon as he can. The house looks so small after the big rooms at Albert
Gate, and the stable and little cour minute. It sounded so familiar to
hear the carriage coming in under the voûte, and also the street cries.
I daresay in a few days I shall take up my ordinary Paris life, and
London will seem a dream--like Moscow.


    _To G. K. S._

    #Bayreuth#,
    Saturday, July 31, 1897.[12]

We arrived Thursday evening from Nuremberg in a pouring rain, which
continued all day Friday, and detestable it was--streets crowded,
everybody's umbrella running into one and catching in your veil (really
twice in mine), mud everywhere, carriages scarce and dear. Our rooms are
comfortable, Mary de Bunsen got them for us, a good-sized salon (with a
piano), three bedrooms, and two maids' rooms. We have our early
breakfast and supper, but dine out. Our experience at the Sonne was not
very agreeable--a long, hot dining-room, quantities of hungry people and
no servants to speak of. I was rather interested in my neighbour, a
long, thin American, a Western man from Iowa I think, a school-master.
He told me he had been saving for years to get money enough "to come
across" (as he said) and hear "Parsifal." He had taught himself German
in the evenings when his class was finished. The man was in such a
quiver of delighted anticipation that it was a pleasure to see him. I
told him I was sure he would not be disappointed, as Van Dyck was to
sing "Parsifal." There were quite a number of priests at table, and one
heard a little French, but the talk was principally German and English.
We got up to the theatre easily enough, as carriages were going backward
and forward all the time. The opera, "Parsifal," was beautifully
given--Van Dyck as good as ever. I always think he stands so wonderfully
in that scene where he has his back to the public and is absorbed by all
he sees. He told me it was one of his most difficult parts. We had great
difficulty in getting our coffee between the acts, and greater still in
finding our carriage at the end. The crowd, and scramble, and mud were
something awful.

[12] Waddington died in 1894. Hence the interruption in the series of
Madame Waddington's letters from 1893 until 1897.

    Friday, August 6th.

We are leaving this afternoon, having had an enchanting week. Monday,
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, the whole Ring beautifully given. All the
music is racing through my brain, from the lovely wave chorus of the
swimming Rhine maidens to the magnificent end of the "Götterdämmerung"
with all the different motifs worked in. They played the funeral march
of "Siegfried" splendidly. It is a curious life one leads here. In the
morning everybody walks about the town--the streets are narrow and it is
amusing to be hailed from windows over small shops, grocers', bakers',
watchmakers', by friends who are lodging there. About 3 a sort of
restless excitement is in the air and one sees a long procession
mounting the hill to the Opera House, everyone absorbed by the one idea.
There are quantities of people we know. I didn't go and see Mdme. Wagner
this time, as Henrietta and Pauline don't know her. Her evenings, the
off night, are very interesting. One sees all the distinguished people
of any kind at her house, all the artists, critics, etc. Of course no
one ventures to criticise the _music_--merely the execution.

    #Meingeningen, Biebrich,#
    Sunday, August 15, 1897.

I have been here two or three days and am glad to have some quiet hours
in the garden after the fatigue and excitement of Bayreuth. Four Wagner
operas in succession is a strain on one's brain (not that I wouldn't do
it straight over again this week if I could, but one wants the rest
between). The crowd at Bayreuth the day we started was something
wonderful, as of course everyone leaves after their série--there is
nothing to do or see in the town. At Nuremberg, too, the scramble to get
something to eat was funny, as there were two courants, all of us
leaving Bayreuth, and just as many more arriving to take our places.
There is always a crowd at the Nuremberg station, though they have
multiplied little buffets outside the regular salles d'attente with
coffee, beer, sausages, etc. We were late all along the line, and again
there was such a crowd at the big Frankfort station that I could not get
my trunks in time to take the first train for Mosbach--however, I
arrived finally and was pleased to see Heinrich's broad, good-humoured
face, and we drove at once to the house, where Mary was waiting for me
with supper. We talked a little, but even that took us on to 2 o'clock,
as it was after midnight when I arrived.

We have seen various people, and made expeditions to Wiesbaden. We wrote
to the Empress Frederick's lady-in-waiting the other day (Countess
Perponcher, whom Mary knows very well) to say that I was here near
Cronberg, and would be so pleased if the Empress would receive me. The
answer has just come, asking me to lunch at Cronberg on Wednesday. I am
delighted to go--first to see the Empress, and then to see the house,
which is filled with beautiful things. The Empress has travelled so
much, and been so much in Italy, and has bought all sorts of treasures.

    Tuesday, August 17, 1897.

Last night we went to the opera at Wiesbaden. It was "Hansel and
Gretel," beautifully given--the orchestra very good and the angel scene
with all the angels coming down a sort of ladder and circling round the
sleeping children quite exquisite. It was a funny contrast to the London
and Paris Opera. Mary and I started off about 5.30 in ordinary summer
dress--foulard and voile. We went to the great confectioner at Wiesbaden
for our tea and cakes, and a little before 7 walked across to the Opera.
There we took off our hats and jackets, hung them up on a little peg,
found our seats without any trouble, and had a very pleasant evening.
The entr'actes are much shorter than in France, so that we were out a
little before 10. The drive home was lovely on a bright starlight summer
night; about three-quarters of an hour. It was such an easy, independent
way of going, without the complications of a man to go with us, servant
to take our cloaks, etc. I often think I should like to live a little in
Germany, there is so much that I like in the country, and life seems so
easy, though I believe German women wouldn't say so. They all seemed
weighed down with cares, and apparently all with very small incomes. I
wonder if you have read Hauptmann's "Versunkene Glocke"; I am fascinated
by it. It was a little difficult reading at first on account of the sort
of patois, but it is a wonderful book, so weird and full of sentiment. I
will finish my letter after our day at Cronberg.

    Thursday, August 19, 1897.

We had a charming day; I am so glad we went. We started a little after
ten for Frankfort, where we had a wait of 20 minutes. I wore my black
voile and a little black and jet toque in which I put a white aigrette,
and white gloves, so as not to be too black. The trajet is short from
Frankfort to Cronberg, about an hour. We found two carriages (rather
pretty victorias in wood natural colour and cushions the same
colour--they looked very chic and country) and tall powdered footmen in
the black and silver Imperial livery. There were two or three people in
the second carriage whom I didn't recognise at first, but made out when
we arrived. Val Prinsep, the artist, and his wife, a very pretty woman,
and a German lady, also an artist I think. The Castle is not far from
the station, and Cronberg (the town) is rather picturesque. The house is
large--nothing particular in the way of architecture, but stands well in
a fair-sized park. We were received in a fine hall, with pictures,
carvings, and plenty of old furniture. Countess Perponcher and Baron
Reischach received us. Count Seckendorff was not there, which I
regretted, as I like him very much and should have been glad to see him
again. Countess Perponcher took us to a small room on the ground floor
where we left our parasols, wraps, etc., and then we went through one or
two handsome rooms into a large salon where the company was already
assembled. Lady Layard and her niece were staying in the house, also
Prince Albert Solms (our old friend) with his wife. He is very ill, poor
fellow, and can hardly get about. Some English friends arrived from
Hombourg--Lady Cork, Lord Algy Lennox. About 1.30 the Empress
came--always the same charming manner, and always her sad eyes. I
thought she looked thinner and paler perhaps, but not ill. We went
immediately to luncheon--the Empress first, alone, all of us following.
Baron Reischach sat opposite to her, between me and Lady Cork. The talk
was easy, the Empress talking a great deal. Val Prinsep too did his
share, and Lady Cork is always clever and original. After luncheon we
went back to the big drawing-room and looked at some of the beautiful
things. Angeli's last portrait of the Empress had just come and had been
placed (temporarily only) in a corner where the light was not very good.
It is a fine picture--the Empress all in black with her splendid pearl
necklace, seated on a sort of carved throne, or high-backed chair--all
the shading dark, the only bit of colour the yellow ribbon of the Black
Eagle. It is a striking picture and very like her, but so inexpressibly
sad. She called each one of us in turn to come and sit by her. She spoke
very warmly of W. to me, and asked me if I didn't regret my London life,
and if I did not find it very difficult to settle down in France after
having lived ten years in London, "the great centre of the world." It is
curious how universal that feeling is with English people (and "au
fond," notwithstanding all the years she has lived in Germany, the
Empress is absolutely English still in her heart). They think that life
in England--London--spoils one for everything else. I told her I didn't
think I was to be pitied for living in Paris--after all, my boy was a
Frenchman and all his interests were in France. She asked about Francis,
how old he was, and couldn't believe that I was going back to fêter his
21 years, and thought it was fortunate for him that his early education
had been in England.

[Illustration: The Empress Frederick, wearing the Order of the
Black Eagle
The last portrait of the Empress by the artist Angeli]

We talked a little about French literature--I think she reads
everything--and she asked about Bayreuth, were there many French people
there. I told her the Director of the Grand Opéra, among others, who
wants to have the "Meistersinger" in France, but Mdme. Wagner is rather
unwilling--the choruses, she thinks, are too difficult either to
translate or to sing with the true spirit in any other language. The
Empress said, "She is quite right; it is one of the most difficult of
Wagner's operas, and essentially German in plot and structure. It
scarcely bears translation in English and in French would be impossible;
neither is the music, in my mind, at all suited to the French character.
The mythical legend of the Cycle would appeal more to the French, I
think, than the ordinary German life." I daresay she is right. When she
congédied me I talked some little time to Prince Solms, Reischach, and
others. Then it was getting time for us to go, as we had to take the
4.30 train back to Frankfort. I was standing by the window, from which
there is a fine open view over plain and woods, when the Empress came up
to say good-bye. She supposed I was going back to France, where I would
find my boy. "You are very fortunate to have him still with you; it
gives such an interest to your life." She kissed me, and then said
sadly, "_My_ task is done--I am quite alone." I watched her go out of
the room, across the hall, and up the great staircase, with her long
black dress trailing behind, alone--as she said. It must be an awful
solitude for her--living there in her beautiful house, filled with art
treasures of all kinds, and with friends near all summer at Hombourg,
Wiesbaden, etc., who are only too happy to go to her--but her real life
is over, and she is as far away from Germany and the throbbing pulse of
the nation as if she were a cloistered nun.

The Val Prinseps came away with us, and we made a bout de chemin
together until they branched off to Hombourg. He has quite the same idea
of the Empress; says "elle se ronge," that she had always had such
aspirations and wanted to do so much for the intellectual life of
Germany. Mary and I got to Frankfort in good time, and home for dinner.
We were glad to prowl about in the garden after dinner, when it was
deliciously cool and the air heavy almost with the scent of roses, of
which she has quantities. We saw the Rhine and the lights of Mayence in
the distance. I suppose this place too I shall never see again, as I
think Mary has made up her mind to sell Meingeningen. I think she will
settle in Ireland if she can get the old Townshend place where she was
one summer. It is ideal, close on the sea, with a splendid park rising
up behind the Castle, but will be a great change for her.


    _To H. L. K._

    #South Pavilion, West Cowes#,
    August 9, 1900.

We are becoming accustomed, Dear, to the wind and rain and a general
damp feeling. I don't think I have been really dry since we left Paris.
I live in my serge dress and a waterproof. I should have been quite
comfortable if I could have changed with the other one, but Bessie
Talleyrand is disporting herself in it. When we arrived we found
everyone in mourning for the Duke of Edinburgh, the first days not so
marked, but since the Osborne has arrived with the Prince and Princess
on board one sees nothing but black, and Bessie was much disgusted,
having only blue. The steam launches and boats go all day between the
yachts and the shore. Everyone, men and women, wears those remarkable
yellow mackintoshes; you can't tell them apart, and the boats look as if
they were loaded with great yellow "ballots." The two American yachts,
Nahma, Mrs. Goelet, and Itwana, Mr. Armour, are splendid, enormous
steamers and beautifully kept. Yesterday after lunch Bessie and I
started in the wind and rain to drive over to Osborne and write
ourselves down for the Queen. I am afraid I sha'n't see her, which will
be a great disappointment to me; but the ladies here tell me she is much
affected by the Duke of Edinburgh's death, and after all, the Prince has
only just got back from his funeral. The drive through Cowes is not very
interesting, through dirty, smelly little streets; but once over the
ferry (which one crosses in a boat large enough to take the Queen's
carriage with four horses) it is pretty enough, up a long hill with fine
trees and a few places. We didn't see the Castle, as of course we were
stopped at the gates, which were open, with a policeman standing just
inside. The park looked fine, grass and flower beds beautifully kept. We
wrote ourselves down and I left a card for the Duchess of Roxburghe, who
is in waiting. We went for tea to the Club garden, and there I saw the
Duchess of Roxburghe, who told me the Queen would certainly see me. We
dined quietly at home, rather a fancy meal, but we prefer that to going
out. There is a nice little dining-room, and Joseph waits. How he gets
on down-stairs with the three maiden ladies who run the establishment I
don't know. He doesn't speak or understand one word of English and has
never been out of France before. He went nearly mad over that remarkable
railway journey of ours across country from Eastbourne to Cowes, where
we changed about 10 times (all the luggage naturally being transferred
each time), lost all our connections everywhere and arrived at Cowes at
10.30 at night, having left Eastbourne at 2. He is much impressed with
the uncleanliness of the house, and said to me just now, "Si Madame
voyait les torchons _sales_ dont on se sert pour essuyer les assiettes
_propres_, Madame ne mangerait jamais à la maison."

    #East Cowes#,
    Sunday, August 12, 1900.

I had two notes this morning, one from Miss Knollys saying the Princess
would receive me, and one from Madame d'Arcos saying the Empress Eugénie
would like us to come to tea with her on the Thistle at 5. I had rather
hesitated about writing myself down for the Empress. I had never seen
her, and W. was in such violent opposition always to the Empire that I
never saw any of the Imperial family; but Madame d'Arcos said Bessie and
I were the only Frenchwomen at Cowes; we had been everywhere--on the
Osborne, to the Queen, etc., and it was rude not to do the same thing
for the Empress--au fond, I was rather glad to have the opportunity, as
I had never seen her. We went to the club garden after church, as I
wanted to find a friend who would lend me a steam launch to go out to
the Osborne. Lord Llangattock offered his, and also said he would take
us to the Thistle for tea, as they were going on board to say good-bye
to the Empress (they leave to-night). I wore my black and white foulard
and a big black hat with feathers (never a sailor hat), which could go,
as the day was fine and the sea smooth. The Princess was not there when
I arrived; she had gone to the service on the Victoria and Albert. Miss
Knollys appeared and we sat some time talking on deck. I was leaning
over the railing when the Royal launch arrived, and I was astounded,
after all these years (7), at the appearance of the Princess. Just the
same slight, youthful figure and light step. The Duke of York came
forward first and talked a little. He was dressed in undress admiral's
uniform and looked very well. Then the Princess came, quite unchanged.
She was simply dressed, in mourning, and looked quite as she did the
last time I saw her, when she was also in mourning (for Prince Eddie).
She kissed me, seemed pleased to see me, and we sat on two straw chairs,
under the awning on the deck, talking about all sorts of things. She
said the Duke of Edinburgh's death was a great grief to them. They were
very fond of him, and it was sudden; and spoke most sadly about the
Empress Frederick, who seems to be dying, and of a cancer. It seems that
she knows quite well what is the matter with her and what is before her,
as she nursed her husband through his long malady. Isn't it awful? She
spoke about Francis, recalling his first afternoon at Marlborough House,
when he was quite small and wept bitterly when the negro minstrels
appeared. I told her he was working for diplomacy, and she said she
would be much pleased to see him when he came to London as attaché.

[Illustration: Entrance to the Club and Gardens, Cowes, Isle of Wight.
From a photograph by Broderick.]

The Prince came and talked a little while, and also recalled the last
time we met last summer on the quai at Nuremberg, both coming from
Marienbad, and swallowing hastily a cup of very hot coffee. I thought he
looked grave and preoccupied. He talked a little about Cowes. He said he
never remembered such a bad week--awful weather and few yachts. He was
very complimentary about the two big American yachts, Itwana and Nahma;
said he had never seen the Nahma, which he regretted, but he didn't know
Mrs. Goelet--did I? "Oh yes, very well, ever since she was a child, and
her mother and father before." I was sure she would be very pleased to
receive them. The Prince said they were in such deep mourning that they
had been on no yacht, and he hoped there would be no party. I said Mrs.
Goelet herself was in deep mourning. After some consultation with the
Princess they said they would like to go on board to-morrow morning at
12 o'clock (they leave early Tuesday morning), and I promised to speak
to Mrs. Goelet.

He was amused when I said I liked the "Japs" so much, as he rather
invented them. They came to sing to him one summer when he was ill at
Cowes and on his yacht all the time. There are four people, three women
and a man (a Frenchman), all masked, the women in pretty Japanese
dresses and the man in ordinary clothes. One woman accompanies at the
piano by heart, and extremely well; the other two and the man sing and
dance--dancing very moderate--a sort of "walk around," but the singing
very good; all English except one or two little French songs the man
sings alone. One of their favourite ditties, "Mary housemaid," always
brings down the house. It is just the sort of thing that would have
amused us in our young days when we used to play and sing by heart and
invent steps. The women are very graceful--I don't know if they are
pretty, as one never sees their faces--and the man extraordinary, very
amusing and never vulgar.

I think I must have been a long time on the yacht, and nothing could be
more gracious and sympathetic than the Princess. She told me the Queen
would certainly receive me. I hadn't more than time to get back where
Bessie and Borghese were very hungry waiting for luncheon, and to start
again at 4; this time with Bessie and the Llangattocks for the Thistle.
We were received by Madame d'Arcos, Mlle. Darauvilliers, and M. Rambaut.
They told us the Empress had a cold and was very hoarse; had been
forbidden by the doctor to come on deck, and also to talk, but that she
would receive us in the cabin. We went down almost immediately, preceded
by Madame d'Arcos, who said we must not stay long, as the Empress ought
not to talk. She was standing in her cabin, still a handsome, stately
figure, with beautiful brow and eyes, and charming manner, more animated
than I had imagined. She was very well dressed in black. She made us sit
down and talked herself a great deal, always about Paris, the Bassanos
(speaking most warmly of the Duke), d'Albuféras, and various mutual
friends. She knew Francis was to work for diplomacy, and said she could
wish him nothing better than to walk in his father's footsteps. We were
afraid we were tiring her, as she talked all the time. Twice the "dame
d'honneur" appeared, but she waved her away. When she finally dismissed
us she said "Je ne dirai pas adieu, mais au revoir"--regretted very much
that she could not come on deck and have tea with us, but that we must
certainly stay. We had a pleasant half hour talking with the others, and
then there came a message from her begging that we would take her launch
and cruise about in the harbour. I accepted gladly, as I wanted to
communicate with the Nahma and didn't exactly know how to manage. The
French ladies too wished to see the American yacht, so off we started in
the Empress's launch. It seemed funny after all these years to be
suddenly thrown with the Empress and her suite and careering about in
her launch. Mrs. Goelet was not on board, but the steward took the
visitors all over the yacht, and I discovered Mrs. Warren and told her
that the Prince and Princess would like to go on board to-morrow--she
said she was quite sure her daughter would be very happy to see them. I
found a note from the Duchess of Roxburghe when I got home, saying that
the Queen would receive me to-morrow at 4.30 at Osborne, so my day will
be full, as I told Mrs. Goelet I would come to the Nahma to present her
to the Prince and Princess.


    _To H. L. K._

    #East Pavilion, Cowes, Isle of Wight#,
    Monday, August 13, 1900.

Well, Dear, I am just back from Osborne. I have the salon all to myself,
Bessie and Borghese are out, and I will write you all about my audience
while it is fresh in my memory, but I must begin at the beginning and
tell you about the Royal visit to the Nahma, which went off very well. A
little before twelve Mr. Warren, Mrs. Goelet's brother, came for us and
we went off at once to the yacht. The Royal party arrived very
punctually, Prince and Princess, Duke and Duchess of York, Princess
Victoria, and various gentlemen. They were all delighted with the yacht,
particularly the Duke of York, who saw everything. He called an officer
of the Osborne to see some arrangement of signals which it seems is
wonderful, and said they had nothing so perfect in the Royal Yacht. Mrs.
Goelet did the honours very well and simply, receiving the Princes at
the gangway, with her son and daughter on each side of her, a pretty,
graceful figure in her plain black dress. I remained on board to lunch
after the Princes departed, and they sent me ashore at 2.30 as I had
just time to dress and go to Osborne.

I started again a little before 4, wearing my black taffetas trimmed
with lace and a tulle bonnet and white aigrette (quite costume de
ville--I could not go to the Queen in a serge skirt and big hat). I took
Joseph with me in plain black livery. We arrived quite in time, as there
was no delay at the ferry this time, and the large gates were open, the
man making a sign to us to drive in. There were two or three policemen
standing near the gate and in the park. The park is pretty--not very
large but beautifully green, and as we got near the house, quantities of
flowers--a mass of colour. The house is not handsome--rather imposing, a
large grey stone house with two wings, and flower-beds close up to the
windows. Three or four footmen in plain black livery were waiting in the
hall, and they took me at once upstairs to the ladies' drawing-room--a
nice room at the side of the house not looking out to sea. The Duchess
of Roxburghe was waiting for me, and we talked about fifteen minutes.
Then came a Highland servant saying, "Her Majesty was ready to receive
_Lady_ Waddington." The Duchess and I went downstairs, walked through
various galleries, and stopped at a door where there was no servant. The
Duchess knocked, the Queen's voice said, "Come in," and I found myself
in a beautiful large salon, all the windows opening on the sea. The
Queen, dressed as usual in black, was seated in the middle of the room
facing the door. I had barely time to make one curtsey--she put out her
hand and made me sit down next to her. She spoke to me first in French
(just as she always did when I was at the Embassy--to mark, I suppose,
that I was the French Ambassadress), "Je suis très heureuse de vous
revoir--I think we can speak English--how much has happened since we
met"; and then we talked about all sorts of things. I thought she looked
extremely well--of course I couldn't tell if her sight was gone, as she
knew I was coming and I sat close to her. Her eyes were blue and clear,
and her memory and conversation quite the same. She thanked me for my
letter; said the Duke of Edinburgh's death was a great blow to her. It
was so sudden, she had not thought him ill. She had lost three children
all very dear to her, and it was hard at her age to see her children go
before her. She spoke at once (so moderately) of the caricatures and
various little incidents that had occurred in France. I said I was very
glad to have an opportunity of telling her that everybody in France
(except for a few hot-headed radicals and anti-English) was most
indignant at such gratuitous insults not only to the Queen but to a
woman. She said she quite understood that--that wherever she had been in
France everybody had done what they could to make her stay happy and
comfortable; that she never could forget it, and hoped the French nation
felt that--also that she would never dream of holding the country
responsible for the radical press, but "my children and my people feel
it very deeply." We talked about the King of Italy's murder (she was
much pleased with the expression in one of the Italian papers "è morto
in piedi") and she expressed great sympathy for Queen Margherita--"She
is fond of Italy and is always thinking and planning what she can do for
the people." We also talked about the Shah and the attentat in Paris. I
said that left me rather indifferent, but she answered instantly, "You
are quite wrong--it is the principle, not the person, that is attacked
in those cases." I then remarked that it was a great pity, I thought,
that one of those gentlemen (anarchists, not sovereigns) shouldn't be
lynched; that I believed the one thing they were afraid of was the
justice of the people. She said, "That is not a very Christian
sentiment"; but I think she didn't altogether disagree with me. She
asked me about Francis--was he working for diplomacy; and then, I don't
know exactly how, we began talking about mixed marriages. She said she
didn't think religion ought to be an invincible obstacle. I said I
thought with her, but that French Protestants were very strict. I told
her it had been said that my husband, who was certainly a very
large-minded man in most things, was really narrow about Catholics. She
said, with such a charming smile, "Oh, I can't think M. Waddington was
ever narrow about anything, I always thought him one of the most
large-minded, just men I ever knew." I must say I was pleased, and W.
always felt that for some reason or another he was sympathetic to her.
We talked a little about the Empress Frederick; she said the last news
was better, but she evidently didn't want to pursue the subject. We
talked on some little time, and when she finally dismissed me, she said,
"I hope you will come back to England, and whenever you do I shall be
very glad to see you." She shook hands--I backed myself to the door,
opened it, and there found the Highland servant, who took me back to the
drawing-room where the Duchess of Roxburghe was waiting. She suggested
that we should go for a turn in the garden, and when she went to get her
hat I looked about the room, which is quite plainly furnished--a grand
piano, comfortable furniture, not pretty, and no particular style.

We walked about the gardens a little, which are pretty, such quantities
of flowers, and had tea under the trees. Two of the ladies came
out--Mrs. Grant and Miss Harbord. They were very anxious to know if I
found the Queen changed after seven years, but I really can't say I did.
My impression is that they find her older. They say she felt the Duke of
Edinburgh's death very much, and that she is very worried about the
Empress Frederick, though she doesn't talk much about her. It was lovely
sitting under the trees, so cool and quiet after the noise and glare of
Cowes. All the people bowed as we drove home through Cowes. I think they
took Joseph in his black livery for one of the Queen's servants.

I must tell you that Joseph and Élise are also moving in high society.
Joseph came with a most smiling face to me Saturday night to say that
one of his friends was chef on the Empress's yacht (the Thistle) and had
invited them to breakfast on Sunday on the yacht. I said they could go,
and when Bessie and I were going to church we saw them start--he in the
regulation Cowes blue serge costume (_not_ the short, very short, Eton
jacket which is the dress attire of the Club men) and yellow shoes, and
she in my old purple foulard, with a very nice little toque. A very
smart little boat was waiting for them.

Now, my Dear, I must stop, as I am exhausted, and a perfect Mrs.
Jellyby, papers flying all over the place, as I am writing at the open
window, and ink all over me, fingers, hair, etc. I can't say, as Madame
de Sévigné did, "ma plume vole," for mine stops and scratches, and makes
holes in the paper, and does everything it can to make my writing
difficult. I wonder why I hate it so--I do--as soon as I sit down to my
writing-table I want to go out or play on the piano, or even crochet
little petticoats--anything rather than write. I suppose I shall never
see the Queen again--at her age it isn't very likely, especially if I
wait another seven years without coming over. I am glad she received me,
it was a great pleasure.


    _Note._

    #Paris, 29, Rue Auguste Vacquerie#,
    Dimanche, 29 Decembre, 1901.

Of course I never saw the Queen again. She began to fail that same
autumn (1900) after her return home from Balmoral, and died at Osborne
the 22d of January, 1901--a beautiful death, painless, sleeping away and
all her children and grandchildren with her. It isn't only the Queen who
has disappeared--it is the century. England will enter on a new
phase--but it must be different from the chapter that has just closed.



    INDEX


d'A----, Countess, 235

A----, Lady, 214, 235

A----, Lord, experience on the House of Lords boat at the Naval Review,
       264, 265

A----, Mdme., 87, 89, 122

Aberdeen, Lady, 313

Aberdeen, Lord, 216

Abinger, Lord and Lady, 172

Adams, 234

Adelaïde, Mlle., 7, 10 _et passim_

d'Agoult, 343

Albanesi, 234

Albani, 242, 243

Albany, Duke and Duchess of, 179;
  death of the Duke, 206

Albert, Arch Duke and Arch Duchess, of Austria, 56;
  incident in Paris, 57

Albert, Prince, 177; tomb, 239

Albert Solms, Prince, 388

Albert Victor, Prince, Duke of Clarence, 184, 186, 218, 237;
  illness, 333;
  engagement to Princess May, 333;
  death, 334;
  funeral, 336;
  sarcophagus, 369

d'Albufèras, 395

Alexander III., Emperor of Russia, 4;
  the procession to the Kremlin, 44-46;
  danger from the Nihilists, 52, 53;
  coronation of, 65-67;
  the breakfast following the Coronation, 68-70;
  the reception after the Coronation, 71-73;
  at the Court Ball, 74, 75;
  at the great ball at the Palace, 78;
  the Fête Populaire, 82;
  at the Palace ball, 86-90;
  the gala dinner, 93, 94;
  the revue, 102-104;
  his home at Peterhof, 116, 117

Alexander, Prince, of Battenberg, 236

Alexis, Grand Duke, at the coronation of his brother, Emperor Alexander
        III., 66; at the Palace ball, 86

Alice, Princess, of Hesse, 239

Amédée, King, 92

Amélie, Princess, of Schleswig-Holstein, 326

Ampthill, Lord and Lady, 17, 281, 282

Anne, ----, 5

Antrim, Lady, 310, 312

d'Aoste, Duc, 6; described, 91, 92, 361

Appert, General, 145, 148, 153

Appert, Madame, 153, 154;
  her daughters, 154

d'Arcos, Madame, 395

Armour, Mr., 391

Arran, Lady, 377

Arthur, Sir George, 375, 377, 382

Ashburton, Lady, 349

Ashburton, Lady Louisa, 242

Astor, Mrs. 357

Augusta, Empress, 18

d'Aumale, Duc, 217, 303, 304


Baden, Grand Duchess of, 18

Baldwin, Admiral, 58, 120, 142;
  entertains the Waddingtons and others on his flagship, 120-123;
  impressions of the Coronation, 137

Baldwin, Mrs., 151

Barrington, Mr. Eric, 329, 337

Bassanos, 395

Bayard, Mr., 377

Beatrice, Princess, 176, 177, 192, 195;
  at the opening of Parliament, 237;
  at Windsor Castle, 238, 311

Bedford, Duchess of, 236, 257, 280

Bedford, Duke of, 280, 281

Belgians, King of the, 249

Belgians, Queen of the, 256

Benckendorff, Colonel, 34 _et passim_

Bérard, M., 24, 26

Beresford, Lord Charles, 296

Bernadotte, 138

Bernhardt, Mdme. Sarah, 135

Bille, Elsa de, 317, 323

Bille, Mdme. de, 315, 326

Bismarck, 15;
  talks with M. Waddington, 17, 18, 21;
  friction with the Empress, 268

Bismarck, Herbert, 243

Bleichroeder, 19

Blennerhasset, Lady, 340

Blumenthal's, 302

Böhm, 281, 282

Boleyn, Anne, 175

Bondy, M. de, 140, 142

Borghese, 395

Borthwick, Lady, 251, 271, 272

Boston, Lord, 218

Boulanger, 267, 268, 296

Bowen, Judge, 367

Braganza, Duchesse de, 256

Brandt, Mr., 163

Brasseys, 187

Brennen, Mme. and Mlle. de, 203

Bridge, Dr., 348

Brown, Mrs., 169

Brown, John, tablet in memory of, 239

Brownlows, 346

Bryce, Mr., 307

Btetju, Count, 244

Buccleuch, Duchess of, 237, 257

"Buffalo Bill," 243

Bulgaria, Prince of, 218

Bülow, 337

Bunsen, George de, 15, 16, 17

Bunsen, Mlle. Beatrice de, 285

Bunsen, Mary de, 386, 390

Burns, Walter, 295

Burtons, 354

Bury, Mlle. de, "sur Racine," 212

Bylandt, Comte de, at the Naval Review, 261, 265

Bylandt, Comtesse de, 203, 220, 222, 259, 338

Byng, Colonel, 252, 369


C----, Lord, Indian Secretary, 252

Calmon, Robert, 7, 95

Cambridge, Duchess of, 180

Cambridge, Duke of, 189, 195, 201, 236, 246, 258

Cameron, Sir Roderick, 283, 286;
  in Scotland, 287 _et seq._

Campbell, Mr., 207

Carlingford, Lord, 184

Canterbury, Archbishop of, 355, 356

Carpe, 272

Carrington, Lord, 346

Catherine II., 90, 95

Cavendish, Lord Frederick, murder of, 3

Cecil, Lady Gwendoline, 306

Cecil, Lady Margaret, 218, 231, 232

Cecil, Lord Edward, 303

Chaine, Col., 337

Chambord, Comte de, illness of, 156;
  death, 159, 170

Charles IX., 143

Charles Louis, Arch Duke and Arch Duchess, of Austria, 88, 93, 96;
  at the Coronation of Emperor Alexander, 66;
  at the Court ball, 74;
  drive with the Empress at the revue, 103

Chemin, 11

Chesterfield, Lord, 219

Chetwode, Sir George and Lady, 172

Chigi, Marchesa, 358

Childers, Mr., 182

Christian, Prince, of Schleswig-Holstein, 266, 368

Christian, Princess, 254, 266, 368

Churchill, Lady, 192

Clanwilliam, Lady, 315

Clark, Stanley, 363

Colocotroni, Mlle., 71

Compans, Ternaux, 125

Connaught, Duchess of, 368

Connaught, Duke of, 236;
  at the Jubilee Te Deum, 249;
  as a soldier, 258

Constantine, Grand Duchess, 60, 61, 80, 87, 88, 94

Constantine, Grand Duke, 60, 61

Corcelle, François de, 7, 13, 95

Cork, Lady, 388

Cork, Lord, 197

Correa, Brazilian Minister, 270

Corti, Ambassador, 239, 240

Courcel, Mdme. de, 16, 18, 20, 21, 159, 162

Courcel, M. de, 14, 15, 159, 162

Coutouly, M., 125, 127

Coventry, Lord, 279, 357

Cowell, Sir John, 191, 192

Cranborne, Lady, 306

Cranborne, Lord, 255

Cumming, Jean Gordon, 235

Curzon, Lord and Lady, 310


D----, Count, Austrian Ambassador, 236

Dalhousie, Lord, 192, 193

Darauvilliers, Mlle., 395

Deichmann, Baron, 268, 344

Deichmann, Baroness Hilda, 208, 222, 253;
  described, 210

Deichmann, Elsa, 317

Deichmann, Hilda, 254, 255, 321

Deichmann, Wilhelm, 351

Delamere, Lady, 354

Delawarr, Lord and Lady, 201

Denmark, Crown Prince of, 305

Denmark, King of, 249

Derby, Lady, reception at home of, 210, 211;
  entertains at Knowsley, 228-232

Derby, Lord, 218, 231, 232

Déroulède, 314

Deym, Bianca, 317, 318, 320

Deym, Countess, 315, 329

Dolgourouky, Prince, 96

Dubois, Marie, 203

Dudzeele, Countess, dances with the Emperor at the Court ball, 74

Dufferin, Lord and Lady, entertain at Walmer Castle, 358-360;
  rank, 371

Duncan, 287

Dupoutet, 347


Eames, Miss, 295, 314

Edinburgh, Duchess of, 88, 103, 192, 200, 203

Edinburgh, Duke of, 6, 45, 93, 103, 203, 236, 254;
  daughters, 249;
  at the Jubilee Te Deum, 249;
  death, 391, 393

Edward, Prince, of Saxe-Weimar, 203, 357

Edwardes, Gay, 317, 318, 336

Edwardes, Henry, 319

Edwardes, Mrs., 323

Érard, 320

Erroll, Lady, 176

Esher, Lord, 242

d'Estournelles, 325, 328

d'Estournelles, Mdme., 326, 328

Eugénie, Empress, 266;
  at Cowes, 395, 396

Eulenbourg, Count, 81

Eulenbourg, Countess, 324


Falbe, Mme. de, 232, 233

Falbe, M. de, 232, 233, 305

Fawkes, Guy, confession, 242

Fayet, Commandant, 7

Fife, Duke of, 276;
  engagement to Princess Louise, 301;
  marriage, 305

Florian, Count de, 194, 207, 253, 259, 278, 283

Florian, Countess de, 253, 259, 262, 278, 283, 306;
  at White Lodge, 341, 342

Forbes, 233

Forges, M. Blanchard de, 226

Francis, Miss W., 287

François d'Assises, King, 92

Frederick,  Empress,  Crown Princess, 250, 252;
  described, 253;
  visit to Versailles, 309;
  at Windsor, 310-312, 368;
  luncheonat Ferdinand Rothschild's, 314;
  receives the Waddingtons, 378;
  at Cronberg, 387-390;
  illness, 394

Frederick III., Emperor, Crown Prince, 250, 251;
  failing health, 254, 266, 267;
  death, 282;
  funeral service, 282, 283

Frederica, Princess, of Hanover, 204

Frederick Charles, Prince, 243

Frederick Charles, Princess, 20

Freeman, Violet, 321

Froude, J. A., 229;
  on America, 231


Galitzin, Prince, 49

Gardner, Lady Winifred, 346

Gayare, 242

Gennadius, 336

George II., 267

George, Prince, 200, 237, 337;
  report of marriage to Princess May, 362

Gevers, Baron, 338

Ghika, Princess, 222

Giers, M. de, 58, 76

Gilbert, 369

Gille, Mdme., 107

Gladstone, Mr. W. E., described, 3;
  versatility, 181, 182;
  gives a reception, 188, 189;
  dines at Mr. Murray's, 315;
  age, 346;
  makes his great Irish speech, 363

Gladstone, Mrs. W. E., 3, 189, 346;
  gives a dinner for the Archbishop of Canterbury, 355, 356

Gladstone, Wm., 172

Glinka's opera, "La Vie pour le Czar," 69, 75, 80

Goelet, Mrs., 391;
  receives the Royal party aboard the Nahma, 397

Gordon, "Chinese," murder of, 199

Goschens, 184

Gower, Mr. Leveson, 172

Grant, General U. S., death, 218

Grant, Mrs., 400

Granville, Countess, 195

Granville, Earl, entertains M. Waddington, 170, 171, 190, 195, 273

Greece, King of, 256, 260, 305

Greece, Queen of, 71, 77, 80, 93;
  described, 72;
  at the Court ball, 74

Greene, Plunkett, 302

Grey, Lady Jane, 175

Grieg, 273

Griswold, Miss Gertrude, 234

Grondal, Mdme., 302

Guillemain, M., 348


Halsbury, 237

Hamilton, Duchess of, 236

Hamilton, Lord and Lady Claud, 201

Harbord, Miss, 400

Harcourt, Lady, 174;
  presents Mme. Waddington to the Queen, 175, 176, 177

Harcourt, Sir William, 174

Hare, the actor, 346

Hartington, Lord, 199, 268, 310, 311

Hatzfeldt, Comte, 16, 303, 314, 325;
  at Hatfield, 330, 331

Hawaiian Secretary, 245

Hayter, Lord and Lady, 183, 200

Henrietta ----, 10 _et passim_

Henry, Prince, of Battenberg, 204, 236, 368, 373

Herberts, Ivor, 273

Heretier, Grand Duke, 103

Herkomer, his studio and pupils, 344-346

Herschell, Lady, 359

Herschell, Lord, 366, 378

Heurtel, Mme., 261

Hoffman, Col. and Mrs., 147, 154, 155, 156

Hollman, 276

Hubert, 7, _et passim_

Hubert, Mdme., 5, 10

Huddlestone, Lady Diana, 279

Humlicher, Marie, 374, 375

Hunt, Mr. and Mrs., 37, 58, 83, 120

Hurlbert, Mr., 181, 182


Isabella, Queen, 92

Ivan the Terrible, 91


Jansen, Mlle., 377

Jaurès, Admiral, 36, 94, 105;
  his hospitality, 118

Jaurès, Mdme., 36, 37, 80, 88, 117;
  at the Court ball, 74;
  aboard the Lancaster, 122

Jay, Anna, 39

Jersey, Lady, 187, 203;
  experiences at receptions, 211

Jersey, Lord, 187

Jeune, Mr. and Mrs., 218, 266

Jeune, Sir Francis, 367

Joachim, 272

Johore, Maharajah of, 216

Jomini, M., 120

Joseph, 7

Joy, Mr., 14

Jusserand, J. J., 276, 277, 286, 380

Juteau, 191, 216


Kapilani, Queen, of the Sandwich Islands, 245, 249, 255, 256

Karolyi, Count, 226, 240, 241

Karolyi, Count Victor, 240

Karolyi, Countess Fanny, 189, 195, 220, 240, 241

Karolyi, Nadine, 226

Kenmare, Lord, 192

Kergorlay, M. de, 145, 147, 155;
  his children, 150, 152, 156

Khiva, Khan of, 75

Kimberley, Lord and Lady, 192

King, Rufus, 179

Kleeberg, Mme., 270

Knollys, Miss, 179, 184, 320, 363

Knowles, 246

Knowles, James, 366

Knutsford, Lord, 268

Kotchoubey, Princess, 49-51, 58, 82, 88

Kufstein, Count, 269


Lacour, Challemel, Ministre des Affaires Étrangères, appoints M.
Waddington Ambassador Extraordinary to Moscow, 5

Lagrené, M., 32, 95

La Iglesia, M. de Casa, 220, 223, 275;
  appointed Ambassador, 306

Langhe, Mlle. de, 285;
  helps with the children's comedy, 315 _et seq._

Lasteyrie, 347

Lataings, 338

Lathom, Lord, 237, 252;
  on the Jubilee ceremonies, 258, 259

Lawrence, Mrs., 148

Lawrence, Anna, 317

Layard, Lady, 388

Lecky, Mr., 229

Lecomte, M., 298, 299, 319

Leeds, Duke and Duchess of, 201

Leeven, Baron, 118

Leigh, Tom, 269

Leighton, Sir Frederick, 310

Lennox, Lord Algy, 388

Leroy, Mr., 7

Le Valloit, Mdme., 272

Levisohn, Mlle., organizes a "toy symphony," 351 _et seq._

Lhermite, M., 8

Lincoln, Mr., 340, 377, 380

Lind, Letty, 271

Linden, Countess, 85

Lionel, Lord, 232

Llangattock, Lord, 393

Lloyd, 276

Lloyd, Lady Mary, 349

Lomatch, M., 126

London, Lord Mayor and Mayoress of, 364, 365, 367

Londonderry, Lady, 303, 315

Lonsdale, Lady, 184

Lorne, Lord, 271, 302, 366

Louis Philippe, 171

Louise, Princess, 200, 271;
  announcement of her engagement, 301;
  marriage, 305; at Kensington, 379

Lowell, James Russell, 180, 202, 242;
  death of his wife, 200

Lowell, Mrs., 180; death of, 200

Lyons, Lord, 3, 98, 183

Lytton, Lord, 183, 372


Mackay, Mr. and Mrs., 37, 58

MacMahon, Maréchal, 6, 7

Magdalen, Master of, 184

Malagache Embassy, 21

Manners, Lord and Lady John, 218

Mansouroff, Madame, 43

Margaretta, Princess, 311

Margherita, Queen, 399

Marochetti, Italian Minister, 153

Mary of Teck, Princess, 244, 251;
  described, 275;
  at White Lodge, 341, 342, 362;
  opens the French bazaar, 373;
  tea at Mme. Waddington's, 377, 378

Mary, Queen, "Bloody Mary," letter to Cardinal Pole, 242

Mary, Queen of Scots, portraits of, 288

Massanet, 295

Mathias, M., 134, 135, 136

Maud, Princess, 320, 330

Mavrocordato, 25

May, Princess, 244, 275;
  engagement to the Duke of Clarence, 333;
  grief for, 341, 342;
  rumour of marriage to Prince George, 362, 377;
  at the French bazaar, 374

Mazo, del, Spanish Ambassador, 368

Mead, Lady J., 317

Mecklenburg, Duke and Duchess Paul of, 271, 272, 273

Mensdorff, 377

Merindol, 348

Methuen, Lord, 176

Michel, Grand Duchess, receives Mme. Waddington, 59, 60, 87;
  described, 94

Michel, Grand Duke, 87

Mitford, Mrs., 340, 342

Mohrenheim, M. de, Russian Ambassador, 179, 184;
  at Windsor Castle, 191, 192

Mohrenheim, Madame de, 185, 191, 192, 193

Molesworth, Lady, 217

Moltke, 131, 154

Monaco, Princess of, 326

Monk, Mr. Charles, 172, 174

Monk, Miss Julia, 172, 173, 201

Montebello, 372

Montpensier, Duc de, 6, 43, 46, 93

Montrose, Duchess of, 203

Mostyn, Mrs., 378

Moulin, M., 125

Münster, German Ambassador, 179, 180, 239

Murray, Mr., 315


Naidillac, Marquis de, 326

Nannie, 352

Neruda, Mdme., 272

Newcastle, Duke and Duchess of, 306

Newman, 308

Nigra, Italian Ambassador, 37, 68, 80, 82, 97;
  describes Russian society, 98;
  in London, 179;
  at Windsor Castle, 192;
  departure for Vienna, 223

Noccomore, Commandant, 261

Nordica, 276, 284

Northbrook, Lord, 183

Northcote, Lady, 306, 314

Northcote, Sir Stafford, 189

Northumberland, Lord, 360


Oborlenski, Princess, 43, 52

Oldenburg, Duchess of, 61, 88, 103

Oppenheim, Mrs., 284

Orléans Princes, 274

Orloff, Prince, 9, 53, 96, 101

d'Orval, M., 108

Ourousoff, Prince, 105


P----, Lady, 213

P----, Lizzie, 243

Pahlen, Count, 49, 51, 54

Pahlen, Countess, 55, 58, 96

Palmerston, Lord, 171

Paris, Comte de, 159, 274, 275

Pasquier, Duc d'Audifret, 274

Patenôtre, M., 135, 139;
  characterises the Swedes, 140, 141;
  bids farewell to the Waddingtons, 143

Paul, Mr., aide-de-camp, 58, 120

Paulucci, Marquis, 352, 377

Pawel-Rammingen, Baron, 204

Peel, Sir Robert, his daughter, 201

Pepys, Lady Mary, 285

Percy, Countess, 360

Perier, Mdme. Casimir, 277

Perponcher, Countess, 310, 314, 388

Persia, Grand Vizier of, 303

Persia, Shah of, at the Court Ball, 301;
  arrival by water, 301, 302;
  luncheon party at Hatfield in his honour, 302-304

Peter the Great, portraits of, 118, 119

Petiteville, 226

Petre, Mr. Henry, 313

Pfeffer, 351

Phelps, Edward J., American Ambassador, 238, 239

Phelps, Marguerite, 317

Phelps, Mrs., 238, 239, 247

Phillipe, the coiffeur, 12

Picolellis, 272, 275

Pierson, 7

Pina, M. de, 159, 162, 163

Pittié, Général, 7, 24, 67, 98

Plunkett, Mr., 4

Ponsonby, Sir Henry, 176, 177, 237

Pontavice, 320, 326, 327

Pontécoulant, Comte de, 7, 10, 20 _et passim_;
  death of his brother, 94;
  his death, 208

Portland, Duke of, 202, 237

Pourtalès, Comte Jacques de, 233

Poutel, Mdme. du, 373

Powell, Mr. Price W., 172

Praed, Mr., 218

Prince Imperial of Germany, 18, 19

Probyn, Sir Digby, 179, 363


Quirim, Miss, 333


Radziwill, 91, 162

Radziwill, Princess, 22

Rambaut, M., 395

Randolph Churchill, Lady, 377

Regnier, Arch Duke, of Austria, 259

Reischach, Baron, 388, 390

Renan, 309

Reszke, Jean de, 315

Ribot, 372

Richard, Mdme., 320

Richelieu, Duchesse de, 306

Richter, General, 101, 116

Rizzio, murder of, 288

Roffy, Mrs., 316, 317, 321

Rogers, aide-de-camp, 58, 120

Rogers, Canon, 297;
  takes Mme. Waddington through Petticoat Lane, 298, 299;
  his good work, 299, 300

Ronalds, Mrs., 272

Rosebery, Lady, 204;
  gives a ball, 255

Rosebery, Lord, 255, 256

Rothschild, Ferdinand, 314

Rothschild, Lord, 268

Roustan, naval attaché, 268

Rudolph, Prince, 247

Roxburghe, Duchess of, 257, 392, 398

Russia, Empress of, 45;
  coronation of, 65-67;
  at the Coronation breakfast, 67-70;
  versatility as a linguist, 73;
  at the Court ball, 74, 75;
  at the great ball, 78;
  gives a tea between the acts at the Opera, 80;
  at the gala dinner, 93, 94;
  drives without escort, 98;
  at the revue, 103, 104

Rustem Pacha, 235, 330, 366

Rutland, Duchess of, 304


Sagan, Duke of, 159

St. Albans, Duchess of, 377

St. Clair, Lady Harriet, 179

St. Genys, 276, 306, 315, 316

St. Vallier, 15, 17

Salisbury, Lady, gives reception, 210, 211;
  entertains the Waddingtons at Hatfield, 215, 216;
  luncheon party in honour of the Shah, 302-304;
  on the ice, 306, 307;
  gives luncheon for the German Emperor, 329-332;
  desire for rest, 356;
  crosses the channel, 362;
  makes a speech, 376

Salisbury, Lord, 189;
  speaks in the House of Lords, 201, 202;
  at opening of Parliament, 237;
  reception, 243;
  entertains the Shah, 303;
  and the German Emperor, 329-331

Sancy, M. de, 20, 159, 162

Sanderson, Miss, 295

Sanderson, Mr. Thomas, 337

Sandford, Mr., 143

Sarasate, 272

Saxe-Weimar, Prince Herman, 254

Say, Léon, 3

Scalchi, 242

Scarlett, Miss, 172, 173

Schimmelpenninck, M., 27, 29, 30, 58, 122

Schubert, 345

Schuster, Frank, 276

Schuyler, 308

Schweinitz, General, 39, 80, 83;
  at the Coronation Breakfast, 70;
  at the Court ball, 73

Schweinitz, Madame, 81

Seckendorff, Count, 310, 312, 313, 314, 337

Sefton, Lord, 231

Ségur, Comte Paul de, 274

Serge, Grand Duchess, 256

Sermet, M., 125

Sesmaisons, Colonel Comte de, 7, 13, 15, 95 _et passim_

Seymour, Admiral, 89

Seymour, Lord William, 382

Seymour, Sir Francis, 202

Sheridan, May, 247

Smith, W. H., holds a political reception, 269, 270

Solvyns, Baron, 336, 381

Somaglia, Countess, 361

Southampton, Lady, 370

Soveral, Portuguese Minister, 314, 330, 331

Spain, King of, death of, 220

Spencer, Countess, 330, 369

Staal, M. de, Russian Ambassador, 223, 241, 310, 326;
  at Hatfield,330, 331

Staal, Madame de, 236, 241, 323;
  described, 243

Staal, Thekla, 226, 323

Stainer, Dr., 348

Stanhope, Lady, 18;
  entertains the Waddingtons and others, 218, 219

Stanhope, Lord, 219

Stanhope, Mr. and Mrs. Edward, 218

Stanhope, Philip, 361

Stanley, Dowager Lady, 181, 182

Stanleys, 355

Struve, M. and Mdme. de, 120

Stewart, Lady Helen, 317

Stuart, Miss, 348

Sudely, Lord, 297

Suffield, Lady, 363

Suffield, Lord, 363

Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 271, 272

Sutherland, Duchess of, 236

Sweden, Crown Prince of, 93, 253

Sweden, King of, 142, 143

Sweden, Prince Royal of, 145

Sydney, Lord, 359


Tadema, Alma, 379

Talleyrand, Bessie, 391

Tavistock, Lord, 281

Teck, Duke of, 236

Teesdale, 369

Tennyson, 183

Thénard, 284, 285;
 assists producing the children's comedy, 315 _et seq._

Thomson, Mr., 339

Thornton, Lady, 37, 80, 88, 104;
  at the Court ball, 74;
  aboard the Lancaster, 121, 122

Thornton, Mary, 126

Thornton, Sir Edward, 40, 83, 89

Thornycroft, 278, 279

Toll, Count and Countess, 153

Tornielli, 352, 361, 377

Tosti, 272, 275, 306

Trebelli, 276

Trémouille, Charlotte de la, 230

Trevelyans, 355

Troubetzkoi, Princess Lise, 49, 115

Tweeddale, Lady, 201

Tweedmouth, Lord, 354


Val Prinsep, 388, 390

Vannutelli, Mgr., 96, 98, 118;
  visits the Lancaster, 122, 123

Victoria, Princess, 320, 397

Victoria, Queen, receives Mme. Waddington, 176, 177;
  described, 177;
  at Windsor Castle, 192, 193, 238, 239;
  Drawing-room, 206;
  holds long Drawing-room, 213, 214;
  opens Parliament, 235-238;
  at the Jubilee ceremonies in Westminster Abbey, 249, 250;
  in the procession after the service, 250, 251;
  receives at the Palace, 252, 253;
  at the children's fête in Hyde Park, 254, 255;
  reviews the Volunteers, 257, 258;
  at the Naval Review, 260-264;
  with the Empress Frederick at Windsor, 310, 311;
  bids farewell to the Waddingtons, 368, 370-372;
  receives Mme. Waddington at Osborne, 397-401;
  death, 402

Villiers, 226

Villestreux, Mdme. de la, 364, 365, 373

Vinci, Comte, 350

Vivian, Lady, 210

Vivian, Lord, 151, 153


Waddington, Francis, 10 _et passim_;
  as an actor, 285, 315 _et seq_;
  placed in a French school, 332

Waddington, Mme., meets Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone, 3;
  M. Waddington appointed Ambassador Extraordinary to Moscow, to
  represent France at the Coronation of Emperor Alexander, 4-6;
  preparations for Moscow, 6-12;
  arrives at Berlin, 13, 14;
  impression of Berlin, 15;
  visits the de Bunsens, 17, 19;
  goes to the races, 18;
  departure from Berlin, 22;
  dines at Alexandrownow with a Hessian Prince, 23;
  reaches Warsaw, 24;
  describes the city, 24;
  visits a chateau, 25;
  the trip from Warsaw to Moscow, 26-31;
  arrival at Moscow, 31, 32;
  description of the Maison Klein, 32, 33;
  experiences with a Court train, 36;
  drives through Moscow, 37-39;
  the Emperor's entrance into the Kremlin, 42-46;
  received by the Empress, 47-52;
  visits Princess Obolenski, 52;
  goes over the palaces at the Kremlin, 54;
  famous paintings and jewels in the Church of the Assomption, 54;
  visits Princess Radziwill and Countess Pahlen, 55;
  at the reception of the Arch Duke and Duchess Albert of Austria, 56-58;
  attends reception at M. de Giers', 58;
  audience with Grand Duchess Michel, 59, 60;
  with the Grand Duchess Constantine, 60, 61;
  with the Duchesse d'Oldenburg, 61;
  and the Grand Duchess Wladmir, 61;
  dines with the permanent French Embassy, 62;
  the Coronation of Emperor Alexander, 63-67, 70, 71;
  the Coronation breakfast, 67-70;
  at the presentation of felicitations to the Emperor and Empress, 71-73;
  presented to the Queen of Greece, 71, 72;
  appearance of the Embassies, 72, 73;
  goes to the Court ball, 73-75;
  dances with the Emperor and Grand Duke Wladimir, 74, 75;
  the Fête Populaire, 76, 82;
  gives a Russian dinner, 76, 77;
  the great ball at the Palace, 77, 78;
  goes shopping, 78, 95;
  attends the Opera, 79, 80;
  tea with the Empress, 80;
  gives a diplomatic dinner, 83, 96, 99, 100;
  photographing the whole establishment, 83, 84;
  at the Palace ball, 85-90;
  sees the Trésor, 91;
  the gala dinner, 92-94;
  the institution of the "Enfants Trouvés," 95, 96;
  gives a reception, 100, 101;
  the revue at the Tribune Imperiale, 102-104;
  sightseeing in Moscow, 106;
  preparations for leaving Moscow, 107, 108, 109;
  takes a moonlight drive to the Kremlin, 109, 110;
  departure from Moscow, 111;
  the journey to Petersburg, 111, 112;
  description of Petersburg, 113, 114;
  the Hermitage, 113, 115, 116;
  "La Pointe," 114, 115;
  the pictures at the Hermitage, 116, 117, 118;
  makes an excursion to Peterhof, 116, 117;
  dinner at the Hunts', 120;
  entertained by Admiral Baldwin on board the flagship Lancaster, 120-123;
  visits the Thorntons, 124, 125;
  shopping in Petersburg, 126;
  the voyage by steamer to Stockholm, 126-134;
  description of Helsingfors, 129, 130;
  Abo, the old capital of Finland, 132;
  the approach to Stockholm, 134;
  drives through Stockholm, 135-139;
  to Drottningholm, 138, 139;
  shopping in Stockholm, 141, 142;
  journeys from Stockholm to Copenhagen, 144, 145;
  drives through Copenhagen, 145, 147, 151, 154, 155;
  visits the Historical Museum, 146;
  a pleasant expedition to Tivoli, 148, 149;
  the Thorwaldsen Gallery, 149;
  a Swedish wedding at the Frauen Kirche, 149, 150;
  the excessive heat, 150, 153, 160;
  sees the treasures at Rosenburg, 152;
  M. de Kergorlay's dinner, 152, 153;
  departure from Copenhagen, 157;
  from Korsoe to Kiel, 157, 158;
  arrives at Hamburg, 158;
  view of Hamburg from the lake, 161;
  a moonlight drive, 163;
  leaves Hamburg, 163;
  arrives at Cologne, 163, 164;
  returns to Paris, 165; stays at Boulogne-sur-Mur, 167;
  crosses to England, 167, 168;
  inspects her future home in London, 168, 169, 170, 171;
  visits the Monks, 172, 173, 174;
  getting settled in London, 173, 174;
  presented to the Queen, 175-177;
  Windsor Castle, 177, 178;
  has an audience of the Prince and Princess of Wales, 178, 179;
  with the Duchess of Cambridge, 180;
  domestic arrangements, 180, 181;
  visits the Dowager Lady Stanley, 181;
  talks with Mr. Gladstone, 181 182;
  politics, 183;
  entertained by the Prince and Princess of Wales at Sandringham, 184-186;
  attends a hunt and hunt ball, 187, 188;
  at Mr. Gladstone's reception, 188, 189;
  commanded to dine and sleep at Windsor, 191-194;
  first Drawing-room, 194-197;
  goes to the Derby, 197;
  to the meet of the Coaching Club and a polo game, 197, 198;
  reception at Devonshire House, 199;
  dinners and routs, 199, 200;
  Lady Tweeddale's dinner, 201;
  at the ball of the Artillery Corps, 202;
  Drawing-room, 203, 204;
  sees the Queen, 204, 205;
  Westminster Abbey, 205;
  visits Blenheim, 209;
  conference "sur Racine," 212;
  long Drawing-room, 213, 214;
  visits Lady Salisbury at Hatfield 215, 216;
  lunches with Prince and Princess of Wales, 216;
  at Lord Aberdeen's hay-making party, 216, 217;
  Court concert, 217;
  spends Sunday at the Stanhopes, 218, 219;
  London fog, 221;
  Christmas shopping, 222, 224;
  farewell dinner to Nigra, 223;
  celebrates Christmas, 225, 226;
  impressions of a Roman Christmas, 227;
  visits at Knowsley, 227, 228-232;
  portraits and literary treasures at Knowsley, 229, 230;
  visits the Falbes at Luton, 232-234;
  St. Paul's, 234;
  gives dinners, 234, 235;
  attends the opening of Parliament, 235-238;
  at Windsor Castle again, 238, 239;
  drives to the Mausoleum, 239;
  spends Sunday at the Karolyis at Clieveden, 240, 241;
  defeat of the French troops at Tonkin, 241;
  interesting old manuscripts at Roll's Court, 242;
  Lady Ashburton's house, 242;
  at the Opera, 242, 243;
  visits the Tecks, 243, 244;
  presented to the Queen of the Sandwich Islands, 245-247;
  preparations for the Jubilee, 245, 247, 248;
  arranges to see the cortége immediately after the service in
         Westminster Abbey, 245-248;
  the Jubilee Te Deum, 248-250;
  the procession after the service, 250, 251;
  the reception at the Palace, 251-253;
  the children's fête in Hyde Park, 253, 254;
  at the Rosebery's ball, 255, 256;
  the Palace ball, 256, 257;
  receives the Jubilee Medal, 257;
  the Naval Review, 259-264;
  aboard the Iphigénie, 261-263;
  skating, 266;
  funeral service for the German Emperor, 267;
  at the Smiths' political reception, 269, 270;
  musicales, 270-273, 276;
  meets Princess Mary, 275;
  sightseeing, 276-278;
  christens a torpilleur, 278;
  races at Ascot, 279;
  visits the Duke and Duchess of Bedford, 280-282;
  death of the Emperor Frederick, 282;
  dines with the Lord Mayor, 283, 284;
  production of a play by Berquin, 284-286;
  decides to go to Scotland, 286;
  the journey to Edinburgh, 287;
  sightseeing in Edinburgh, 287, 288;
  arrives at Oban, 288;
  Scottish tartans, 289;
  by sea to Arishaig, 290, 291;
  stays at Inveraylort, 291-295;
  returns to London, 296;
  goes through Petticoat Lane with Canon Rogers, 298, 299;
  the People's Palace, 300;
  at the Court Ball, 300, 301;
  the Shah's arrival by water, 301, 302;
  the luncheon party at Hatfield in the Shah's honour, 302-304;
  wedding of Princess Louise and the Duke of Fife, 305;
  skates at Hatfield, 306, 307;
  and at Wimbledon, 307;
  attends a horse sale, 308, 309;
  at Windsor, 310-313;
  sees "Charlie's Aunt," 313;
  luncheon with the Empress Frederick, 314;
  with Lady Northcote at the Opera, 314, 315;
  the children's comedy, 315 _et seq._;
  formal entry of the German Emperor William II. into London, 323, 324;
  reception of the Emperor and Empress, 325, 326;
  Garden Party at Marlborough House, 326;
  goes to the luncheon at Hatfield for the German Emperor, 328-332;
  places son in a French school, 332;
  sickness and death of Prince Eddie, 333 _et seq._;
  visits the British Museum, 339;
  visits the Tecks, 340-342;
  visits "Venice," 343;
  excursion to Herkomer's studio, 344-346;
  opens the bazaar, 346, 347;
  gives a dinner of organists, 348;
  arranges a "toy symphony," 350-352;
  at the Italian Embassy, 352, 377;
  the Salvation Army, 353;
  English women in politics, 355;
  dines with the Gladstones to meet the Archbishop of Canterbury, 355,
          356;
  band of the "Garde Républicaine," 357;
  visits the Dufferins at Walmer Castle, 358-360;
  last outings, 361;
  leaves for the Tyrol, 361;
  returns to England, 362;
  says good-bye to Princess Mary and Princess May, 362;
  hears Mr. Gladstone's speech on Ireland, 363;
  farewell visits, 363, 364;
  farewell dinner for M. Waddington at the Mansion House, 364-367;
  last visit to Windsor, 368, 369;
  last Drawing-room, 369;
  farewell audience from Queen Victoria, 370-372;
  at the French bazaar, 373, 374;
  a musical afternoon at Mlle. Humlicher's, 374, 375;
  presented with a jewel, 375, 376;
  entertains Princess Mary and Princess May, 377, 378;
  visits Princess Louise and Alma Tadema, 379;
  Easter Service in Westminster Abbey, 379, 380;
  in the Temple Church, Turkish Embassy, 380;
  departure from London, 381-383;
  arrival in Paris, 383;
  hears the Wagner operas at Bayreuth, 384, 385;
  visits Mary de Bunsen, 386;
  goes to the opera in Wiesbaden, 386, 387;
  received by the Empress Frederick at Cronberg, 387-390;
  at Cowes, 391 _et seq._;
  meets the Prince and Princess of Wales at Cowes, 393-395;
  visits the Empress Eugénie, 395, 396;
  aboard the Nahma, 397;
  a long audience with the Queen at Osborne, 397-400

Waddington, Richard, 7 _et passim_

Waddington, M. William, report of his appointment as Ambassador to
            Vienna, 4;
  appointed Ambassador Extraordinary at Moscow to represent France at
            the Coronation of Emperor Alexander, 4-6;
  personnel of the Mission, 7;
  has an audience from the Emperor of Germany, 17, 19;
  visits Bismarck, 17, 18, 21;
  received by Emperor Alexander, 35, 36;
  at the reception of the Arch Duke and Duchess Albert of Austria,
            56-58;
  at the Coronation of Emperor Alexander, 42 _et seq._;
  farewell audience with the Emperor, 99;
  studies the medals at the Museum in Petersburg, 113, 115, 116, 118,
              123;
  his capacity for work, 122;
  visits the Ministre des Affaires Etrangères at Stockholm, 139, 140;
  received by the King of Sweden, 142, 143;
  examines the medals in the Museum at Copenhagen, 146, 148, 149, 154,
              155, 156;
  dines with Gladstone, 168;
  entertained by Lord Granville, 170, 171;
  shoots with Charles Monk, 172-174;
  audience with the Prince and Princess of Wales, 178, 179;
  at Windsor Castle, 191-193, 238;
  goes to Paris, 198;
  meets old friends, 207;
  sees the Oxford and Cambridge boat race, 207;
  follows Sir Walter Raleigh's example, 207, 208;
  goes to Paris, 208;
  talks with the Queen, 214;
  shoots at Knowsley, 229;
  talks with Lecky on Ireland, 229;
  dislike of dancing, 274;
  bids at a horse sale, 308, 309;
  at Windsor, 311, 312;
  dines at Mr. Murray's with Mr. Gladstone, 315;
  death of his mother, _n._, 325;
  at the luncheon at Hatfield for the German Emperor, 328-332;
  at the funeral of Prince Eddie, 337;
  talks with Lady Salisbury, 346;
  given a farewell dinner at the Mansion House, 364-367;
  farewell visit to Windsor, 368, 369;
  Directeur du Canal Suez, 382

Wagner, Mdme., 389

Wagner, Richard, 345

Wagram, Princesse de, on Boulanger, 268

Waldemar de Danemark, Prince, 93, 98, 203

Wales, Prince and Princess of, 37;
  receive the Waddingtons, 178, 179;
  entertain at Sandringham, 184-186;
  at Buckingham Palace, 195;
  in House of Lords, 201;
  at the ball given by the Artillery Corps, 202;
  Drawing-room, 203;
  visit to Ireland, 210;
  at the opening of Parliament, 236-238;
  at the Opera, 243;
  at the Jubilee Te Deum, 249, 250;
  at the children's fête, 253-255;
  driving, 276;
  open the Court Ball, 300, 301;
  at Hatfield, 303, 304, 329-331;
  at the children's comedy, 320-322;
  their popularity, 327;
  death of Prince Eddie, 334;
  bid farewell to the Waddingtons, 363, 364;
  at Cowes, 393 _et seq._

Warren, Mrs., 396

Warren, Sir Charles, 246, 247

Wantage, Lord and Lady, 358

Warsoe, M., 151, 152

Waru, military attaché, 226, 259

Wellington, Lord, 358

Westminster, Duchess of, 274

White, Harry, 218, 314

White, Muriel, 317, 318

Whitehouse, Harry, 145, 147

Wilhemi, 345

William I., Emperor, gives an audience to M. Waddington, 17, 19;
  death, 266;
  funeral service, 267

William II., Emperor, as Crown Prince, 267;
  State Banquet for, 323;
  formal entry into London, 323, 324;
  at the Opera, 325;
  receives at Buckingham Palace, 325, 326;
  goes to the Lord Mayor's Banquet, 327;
  rides in the Row, 327;
  given a luncheon at Hatfield, 328-331;
  returns to Germany, 331

Williams, Florence, 226, 348

Wilson, Sir Rivers, 276

Wimborne, Lord, 354, 379

Wladimir, Grand Duchess, 61, 80

Wladimir, Grand Duke, at the coronation of his brother,
        Emperor Alexander, 66;
  at the Court ball, 74, 75;
  his care for the Emperor, 77;
  at the Palace ball, 86;
  at the revue, 103

Wolff, Johannes, 270-272, 276, 314

Wolseley, General, 58, 89

Wormser, 314

Worontzoff, Count, 77, 80, 116

Wurts, George, 120

Wyckham, Col., 147

Wyndham, 286


York, Duke of, 363, 393, 397

Yves, 190


Xenia, Grand Duchess, 45


Zuylen, Mdme. de, 274


Transcriber's Notes: The following spelling corrections were made:

p. 23: "I said I would come with pleassure" changed to read "I said I
would come with pleasure".

p. 28: "generally a collection of litttle" changed to read "generally a
collection of little".

p. 34: "they all wear red flannnel" changed to read "they all wear red
flannel".

p. 69: "As soon the the Sovereigns had taken" changed to read "As soon
as the Sovereigns had taken".

p. 109: "where the suppper" changed to read "where the supper".

p. 110: "I took a last look at the black Madonnna" changed to read "I
took a last look at the black Madonna".

p. 111: "how we managed to eat chicken and mayonnaaise" changed to read
"how we managed to eat chicken and mayonnaise".

p. 118: "We have just come in from a pleasant dinner at the Juarès"
changed to read "We have just come in from a pleasant dinner at the
Jaurès".

"Admiral Juarès was very hospitable" changed to read "Admiral Jaurès was
very hospitable".

p. 142: "there are always babauds hanging over" changed to read "there
are always badauds hanging over".

All instances of "cortege" and "cortège" were changed to "cortége".

Small Caps denoted by "#" and Italics by "_".





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