M and Mme Waddington and Their SonM and Mme Waddington and Their SonFrom a photograph by Cesar Paris
M and Mme Waddington and Their SonFrom a photograph by Cesar Paris
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 littlefellow, 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, orcommanded, 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 deathof 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 LordSalisbury would be a most unpleasant adversary, though always perfectly courteous in manner.
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. ThePrincess 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.
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, lookingat 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.
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.
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.
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 hasbeen 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 veryfond 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.
May 6, 1885.
We had yesterday a typical LondonSeasonevening. 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.
The Salon of the French Embassy in London, 1891The Salon of the French Embassy in London, 1891
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:—
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.
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 sawa 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'tthe 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 8½. 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 withrelics 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 alldreadfullyclever?" I don't think I should have applied the same adverb, but clever they certainly are. Lord Salisbury has such a fine, thoughtful face.
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'sdrive 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.
Lady SalisburyLady Salisbury
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 ourirreverentAmerican minds is the singing of the "God Save the Queen," all the company, including Prince and Princess, rising and standing.
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 careeringabout 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.
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 montablier 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 Ithink we make noise enough, particularly when we are playing Wagner—theKaiser Marchfor 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.
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 todo 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, andhasbeen known to go to the bottom of the lake, and Boniface always gets lost and is broughtback 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 packingis 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 theladiesin 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 alittle 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.
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 8punctually(which was a contrast to Hatfield, where we had been staying the other day. There dinner was easily half past eight, and after we hadbeen 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.