A Comedy for Children at the French EmbassyViolet FreemanFrancis WaddingtonA Comedy for Children at the French EmbassyFrom a Photograph by Barker & Pragnell London
Violet FreemanFrancis Waddington
A Comedy for Children at the French EmbassyFrom 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, butI 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 aRoyalist Demonstration—couldn't imaginewhywe 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 thegirls. Madame Campan (Elsa de Bille) had a long thing to say, and was most anxious to have the correct accent.
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 knewme, 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. Waddingtonstandingin 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 difficultyin 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.
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 andnaming 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 theirfunction.
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 ridingin 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 didnotrecognise 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.
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 crêpebonnet (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 andpleasant, 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 coursethecentral 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 suddenlyfelt 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,notin my pocket, but in a safe place, as they were very handsome, so I put theminsidemy 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 allhis 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 themarkedabsence 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.
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 alwaysspeak 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 onChristmas 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. Iwent 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 isalwaysin 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 inblack. 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 perfectlyheart-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.
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 ayoungparty, 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 himthat 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, andprimeursof 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 ofPercy 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 mustlose in translation. She had rather come to grief over one page. I looked over it, and said I didn't find itverydifficult, 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 andbrilliant; 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 thananyone 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 allsorts 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 etapprentis," 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, afterone 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 thesmallnessof the objects sent her. She says she receives dresses and "brassières" (a sort of body with sleeves) that would go onnochild 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 witha 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 interestedmevery 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 wasserious. 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.
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 inits way as a souvenir, but sounded weak andtinkly. 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.
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 18th.
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'ttell 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—anddid; 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 startedhoursago. 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 willsocially, 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.
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 sittinginside 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 awaterlife. 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 sayI 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.