ALDERSHOT
And now our Irish home under the glorious Wicklow Mountains broke up,
and I was to become acquainted with life in the great English camp. The
huts for officers were still standing at that time, wooden bungalows of
the quaintest fashion, all the more pleasing to me for being unlike
ordinary houses. The old court-martial hut became my studio, four
skylights having been placed in it, and I was quite happy there. I
worked hard at “The Réveil,” and finished it in that unconventional
workshop.
To say that Aldershot society was brilliant would be very wide of the
mark. How could it be? But to us there was a very great attraction close
by, at Farnborough. There lived a woman who was and ever will be a very
remarkable figure in history, the Empress Eugénie. She hadn’t forgotten
my husband’s connection with her beloved son’s tragic story out in South
Africa, nor her interview with him at Camden Place, and his management
of the Prince’s funeral at Durban. We often took tea with her on Sundays
during our Aldershot period, her “At Home” day for intimate friends and
relatives, at the big house on the hill. She became very fond of talking
politics with _Sair William_, and always in English, and she used to sit
in that confidential way foreign politicians have, expressive of the
whispered divulgence of tremendous secrets and of occult plots and
plans in various parts of the world. She talked incessantly with him,
but was a bad listener; and if a subject came up in conversation which
did not interest her, a sharp snap or two of her fan would soon bring
things to a stop.
[Illustration: ALDERSHOT MANŒUVRES.
THE ENEMY IN SIGHT.]
Entries from the Aldershot Diary:
“_January 9th_, 1894.--We went to the memorial service at the Empress’s
church in commemoration of the death of Napoleon III. After Mass we went
down to the crypt, where another short service was chanted and the tombs
of the Emperor and Prince Imperial were incensed. Between the two lies
the one awaiting the pathetic widow who was kneeling there shrouded with
black, a motionless, solitary figure, for whom one felt a very deep
respect.
“_March 14th_.--Delightful dinner at Government House, where the Duke
and Duchess of Connaught proved most cheery host and hostess. He took me
to dinner, and we talked other than banalities. All the other generals’
wives and the generals and heads of departments were there to the number
of twenty-two.
“_March 25th_.--To a brilliant dinner at Government House to meet the
Duke of Cambridge. Good old George was in splendid form, and asked me if
I remembered the lunch we gave him at Alexandria. It was a most cheery
evening. We sat down about twenty-eight, of whom only six were ladies.
Grenfell, our old friend of Genoese days, and Evelyn Wood were there.
“_May 17th_.--A glorious day for the Queen’s Review, which was certainly
a dazzling spectacle. Dear old Queen, it is many a long year since she
reviewed the Aldershot Division; nor would she have come but that her
son is now in supreme command here. Old people say it was like old
times, only that she has shrunk into a tinier woman than ever she was,
and by the side of the towering Duchess of Coburg in that spacious
carriage she looked indeed tiny, and nearly extinguished under a large
grey sunshade. A good place was reserved for my little carriage close to
the Royal Enclosure, and I enjoyed the congenial scene to the utmost.
Was I not in my element? The review took place on Laffan’s Plain, a
glorious sweep of intense green turf which I often take little Martin to
for our morning walk, and no Aldershot dust annoyed us. I was very proud
of the general commanding the 2nd Brigade riding past the saluting base
at the head of his troops on that mighty charger, ‘Heart of Oak,’ that
fine golden bay, set off to the utmost advantage by the ceremonial
saddle-cloth and housings of blue and gold. That general gives the
salute with a very free sweep of the sword arm. The march past took a
long time. As to the crowd of officers behind the Queen’s carriage, my
eyes positively ached with the sight of all that scarlet and gold. I
must say this scarlet is pushed too far to my mind. It must have now
reached the highest pitch of dyeing powers. It was a duller tone at
Waterloo; and certainly still more artistic when Cromwell first ordered
his men to wear it. But I may be wrong, and it is certainly very
splendid. The Duke of Cambridge and Prince of Wales were on huge black
chargers, and wore field marshals’ uniforms. It was pretty to see the
Duke of Connaught--who, at the head of his staff, in front of the
division drawn up in line, had sat awaiting the Queen’s arrival--canter
up to his mother and salute her as her carriage drove into the
enclosure. Then he cantered back to his place, a very graceful rider,
and the review began. I managed to do good work at ‘The Réveil’ in
forenoon. What a contrast and rest to the eyes that picture is after
such glittering spectacles as to-day’s. War _versus_ Parade! It was
pathetic to see the Queen to-day with her soldiers. She cannot pass them
in review many more times.
“The Empress Eugénie has returned, and we had a long interview with her
the other day at her beautiful home at Farnborough. She is by no means
the wreck and shadow some people are pleased to describe her as being,
but has the remains of a certain masculine power which I suppose was
very masterful in the great old days of her splendour. She is not too
tall, and has a fine, upright figure. She lives apparently altogether in
the memory of her son, and is surrounded by his portraits and relics,
including drawings showing him making his heroic stand, alone, forsaken,
against the savage enemy. I feel, as an Englishwoman, very uneasy and
remorseful while listening to that poor mother, with her tearful eyes,
as she speaks of her dead boy, who need not have been sacrificed. There
is no trace in her words of anger or reproach or contempt, only most
appealing grief. She has one window in the hall full to a height of many
feet of the tall grass which grows on the spot where her treasured son
was done to death by seventeen assegai wounds, all received full in
front. I remember his taking us over some artillery stables, I think, at
Woolwich once. He had a charming face. The Empress rightly described to
us the quality of the blue of his eyes--‘the blue sky seen in water.’
“We often go to her beautiful church these fine summer days. Her only
infirmity appears to be her rheumatism, which necessitates some one
giving her his arm to ascend or descend the sanctuary steps when she
goes to or comes from her _prie-Dieu_ to the right of the altar.
Sometimes it is M. Franceschini Pietri, sometimes it is the faithful old
servant Uhlmann who performs this duty.
“_August 13th._--We have had the Queen down again for another review in
splendid (Queen’s) weather. The night before the review Her Majesty gave
a dinner at the Pavilion to her generals, and for the first time in her
life sat down at table with them. Will gave me a most interesting
account. In the night there was a great military tattoo, which I
witnessed with C. from General Utterson’s grounds. Very effective, if a
little too spun out. Will and the others were standing about the Queen’s
and the Empress Eugénie’s carriages all the time, in the grass soaked
with the heavy night dew, and felt all rather blue and bored. In the
Queen’s carriage all was glum, while the Empress with her party chatted
helpfully in hers to fill up the time. It was pitch dark but for the
torches carried by long lines of troops in the distance.
“To-day was made memorable by the review held of our brilliant little
division by the German Emperor on Laffan’s Plain, in perfect weather. He
wore the uniform of our Royal Dragoons, of which regiment he is honorary
colonel, and rode a bay horse as finely trained as a circus horse (and
rather suggestive of one, as are his others, too, that are here), with
the curb reins passing somewhere towards the rider’s knees, which supply
the place of the left hand, half the size of the right and apparently
almost powerless. The poor fellow’s shoulders are padded, too, and one
sees a _hiatus_ between the false, square shoulder and the real one,
which is very sloping. But the general appearance was gallant, and the
young man seemed full of gaiety and martial spirit. He took the salute,
of course, and was a striking figure under the Union Jack which waved
over his British helmet. Then followed a little episode which, if rather
theatrical, was enlivening, and a pretty surprise. As the Royal
Dragoons’ turn came to pass the saluting base the Kaiser drew his sword
and, darting away from his post, placed himself at the head of his
British regiment, the Duke of Connaught replacing him at the flagstaff
_pro tem_. The Kaiser couldn’t salute himself, of course, so saluted the
Duke, and, when the Dragoons were clear, back he came at a circus canter
to resume his post and continue to receive the salute of the passing
legions, as before. We all clapped him for this graceful compliment. It
was smartly done. The detachment (seventy-five in number) had been sent
over from Dublin on purpose for this little display. In the evening Will
dined at Government House in a nest of Germans, who seemed afraid to sit
well upon their chairs in the august presence of their Emperor, and sat
on the very edge. One particularly corpulent general was very nearly
slipping off. I went to the evening reception, no wives being asked to
the dinner, as the dining-room is so small and the German suite so
voluminous.
“I was at once presented to H.I.M., who talked to me, like a good boy,
about my painting and about the army, which he said he greatly admired
for its appearance. He is just now a keen Anglo-maniac (_sic_)! We shall
have him dressing one of his regiments in kilts next. He is not at all
as hard-looking as I expected, but not at all healthy. His face, seen
near, is unwholesome in its colour and texture, and the eyes have that
_boiled_ look which suggests a want of clarity in the system, it seems
to me. He is nice and natural in his manner and in the expression of his
face, with light brown moustache brushed up on his cheeks. He wore the
mess dress of the Royal Dragoons, and his right hand was twinkling with
very ‘loud’ rings on every finger, coiled serpents with jewelled eyes.
“_August 14th._--A glorious sham fight in the Long Valley and heights
for the Kaiser. I shall always remember his appearance as, at the head
of a large and brilliant staff of Germans and English, he came suddenly
galloping up to the mound where I was standing with the children,
riding, this time, a white horse and wearing his silver English Dragoon
helmet without the plume. He seemed joyous as his eye took in the lovely
landscape and he sat some minutes looking down on the scene,
gesticulating as he brightly spoke to the deferential _pickelhauben_
that bent down around him. He then dashed off down the hill and crested
another, with, if you please, C. on her father’s huge grey second
charger careering after the gallant band, and escaping for an anxious
(to me) half-hour from my surveillance. The child looked like a fly on
that enormous animal which overtopped the crowd of staff horses. Adieu
to the old gunpowder smoke. It has cleared away for ever. One sees too
much nowadays, and that mystery of effect, so awful and so grand, caused
by the lurid smoke, is gone. How much writers and painters owe to the
old black powder of the days gone by!
“_September 23rd._--Had a delightful evening, for we dined with the
Empress Eugénie. I seemed to be basking in the ‘Napoleonic Idea’ as I
sat at that table and saw my glass engraved with the Imperial ‘N,’ and
was aware of the historical portraits of the Bonaparte Era that hung
round the room. The Empress was full of bright conversation and chaff;
and I find, as I see her oftener, that she has plenty of humour and
enjoys a joke greatly. We didn’t go in arm in arm, men and women, but
_Sa Majesté_ signed to me and another woman to go in on either side of
her. She called to Will to come and sit on her right. I was very happy
and in my element. Oh! how the mind feels relieved and expanded in that
atmosphere. We had music after dinner, and I had long talks on Egypt
with the Empress, whose recollections of that bright land are
particularly brilliant, she having been there during the jubilant
ceremonies in connection with the opening of the Suez Canal. One year
before the great calamities to her and her husband! She told me that
just for a freak she walked several times in and out between the two
pillars on the Piazzetta at Venice, that time, to brave Fate, who, it
was said, punished those who dared to do this. ‘Then _les évènements_
followed,’ she added. Well might she say that life is an up and down
existence. She waved her hand up and down, very high and very low, as
she said it, with a very weary sigh. Her face is often very beautiful;
those eyes drooping at the outer corners look particularly lovely as
they are bent downwards, and her white hair is arranged most gracefully.
She is always in black.
“Will has accepted the extension of his command here to my great
pleasure; the chief charm to us in this place is the neighbourhood of
the Empress. That makes Farnborough unique. Not only is she so
interesting, but now and then there are visitors at her house whose very
names are sonorous memories. The other day as we came into her presence
she went up to Will and asked him to let Prince Murat, Ney (Prince de la
Moscowa) and Masséna (duc de Rivoli), see some of the regiments in his
brigade at their barracks. When the inspection was over these three
illustrious Names came to lunch with us, and I sat between Murat and
Masséna, with _le Brave des Braves_ opposite. What’s in a name?
Everything, sometimes. I thought myself a very favoured creature last
Sunday as I sat by Eugénie at her tea table and she sprinkled my muffin
with salt out of her little muffineer. I am glad to know she likes me
and she is very fond of Will. One Sunday she and I and the Marquise de
Gallifet were sitting together, and the Empress was talking to the
latter about ‘The Roll Call,’ pronouncing the name in English, but
Madame, who looked somewhat stony and unsympathetic, could not pronounce
the name when the Empress asked her to, and made a very funny thing out
of it. The Empress tried to teach her, making fun of her attempts which
became more and more comic, combined with her frigid expression. At last
the Empress turned to me and asked me to show how it ought to be said in
the proper way; but, as she had just given me an enormous chocolate
cream, I was for the moment unable to pronounce anything with this thing
in my cheek, and she went into fits of laughter as I made several
attempts to say the unfortunate name. So it was never pronounced, and
Madame la Marquise looked on as though she thought we were both rather
childish, which made the Empress laugh the more. The least thing, if it
is at all comical, sends her into one of her laughing fits which are
very catching--except by Gallifets.
“Talking of camel riding (and they say she rode like a Bedouin in the
desert) I sent her into another fit which brought the tears to her eyes
by saying I always forgot ‘_quel bout de mon chameau se lève le
premier_’ at starting. But she sent me into one of my own particular
fits the other day. I was telling her, in answer to her enquiry as to
insuring pictures on sending them by sea, that I thought only their
total loss would be paid for, and what the artist considered an injury
of a grave nature amounting to total loss might not be so considered by
the insurance company. ‘And if,’ she said, ‘you have a portrait and a
hole is made right through one of the eyes?’ Here she slowly closed her
left eye and looked at me stolidly with the right, to represent the
injured effigy, ‘would you not get compensation?’ The one-eyed portrait
continued to look at me out of the forlorn single eye with every vestige
of expression gone, and I laughed so much that I begged her to become
herself again, but she wouldn’t, for a long time.
“There has been a great deal of pheasant shooting, particularly at the
De Worms’ at Henley Park, where a _chef_ at £500 a year has made that
hospitable house very attractive; but there has been one shoot at
Farnboro’ made memorable by Franceschini Pietri distinguishing himself
with his erratic gunnery. Suddenly he was seen on a shutter, screaming,
as the servants bore him to the house. Every one thought he was wounded,
but it turned out he was sure he had hit somebody else, which happily
wasn’t true. People are shy of having him, after that, at their shoots,
especially Baron de Worms, who showed me how he accoutred himself by
padding and goggles, one day, bullet-proof against that excitable little
southerner, who was a member of the party at Henley Park.”
After one of the Empress’s dinners at Farnboro’ Hill, a small dinner of
intimate friends, we had fun over a lottery which she had arranged,
making everything go off in the most sprightly French way. What easy,
pleasant society it was! One admired the courage which put on this
brightness, though all knew that the dead weight on the poor heart was
there, so that others should not feel depressed. Even with these kind
semblances of cheeriness no one could be unmindful of the abiding sorrow
in that woman’s face.
“_January 9th, 1895._--The anniversary of the Emperor Napoleon’s death
come round again. There was quite a little stir during the service in
the church. The catafalque, heaped up with flowers, was surrounded with
scores of lighted tapers as it lay before the altar. A young priest, in
a laced _cotta_, went up to it to set a leaf or flower or something in
its place, when instantly one of his lace sleeves blazed. Almost
simultaneously the General, in full uniform, springing up the altar
steps without the smallest click of his sword, was at the priest’s side,
beating out the fire. Not another soul in that crowded place had seen
anything. That was like Will! We laid wreaths on the tombs in the
crypt.”
An entry in March of that year records good progress with “The Dawn of
Waterloo,” and mentions that we had the honour of receiving the Empress
Frederick and her hosts, the Connaughts, and their suites, who came to
see the picture. I found the Empress still more like her mother than
when I first saw her, when she and the Crown Prince Frederick dined at
the Goschens’--a memorable dinner, when the fine, serious-looking and
bearded Frederick told my husband he would desire nothing better for his
sons than that they should follow in his footsteps. The Empress was
beaming--that is exactly the word--and a few minutes after coming into
the drawing-room she showed that she was anxious to get on to the
studio, to save the light. So out we sallied, walking two and two, a
formidable procession, and we were nearly half an hour in the little
court-martial hut. They all had tea with us afterwards, quite filling
the tiny drawing-room. The Empress was very small, and as she talked to
me, looking up into my face, I thought her the most taking little woman
I ever saw. She had what I call the “Victoria charm,” which all her
sisters shared with her--absolutely unstudied, homely, and exceedingly
friendly. At least it so appeared to me in a high degree in her that
day. But what a sorrow she had had to bear!
The picture was taken to the Club House, there to be shown for three
days to the division before Sending-in Day. The idea was Will’s, but I
got the thanks--undeserved, as I had been reluctant to brave the dust on
the wet paint. Crowds went to see it, from the generals down to the
traditional last drummer.
I thought the Academicians were again unkind in the placing of my
picture, and a trip to Paris was all the more welcome as a diversion,
for there I was able to seek consolation in the treat of a plunge into
the best art in the “City of Light.” One interesting day in May found us
at Malmaison, the country house of Napoleon and Josephine. There is
always something mournful in a house no longer tenanted which once
echoed the talk, the laughter, the comings and goings, the pleasant and
arresting sounds of voices that are long silent. But _this_ house, of
all houses! It was absolutely stripped of everything but Napoleon’s
billiard table, and the worm-eaten bookshelves in his little musty study
the only “fixtures” left. The ceilings we found in holes; that garden,
once so much admired and enjoyed, choked with dusty nettles. We went
into every room--the one where poor derelict Josephine died; the guests’
bedrooms; the dining-room where Napoleon took his hurried meals; the
library where he studied; the billiard-room, where he himself often took
part in a game surrounded by “fair women and brave men” in the glitter
of gorgeous uniforms and radiant _toilettes_. One lends one’s mind’s ear
to the daily and nightly sounds outside--the clatter of horses’ hoofs as
the staff ride in and out of the courtyards with momentous despatches;
the sharp words of command; the announcement of urgent arrivals
demanding instant hearing. We found our minds revelling in suchlike
imaginings. The chapel, the coach-houses, the great iron gates were all
there, but seen as in a dream.
We were back at Aldershot on May 30th. “The Queen’s Ball, at Buckingham
Palace, brilliant as ever. The Shahzada, the Ameer of Afghanistan’s son,
was the guest of the evening, as it is our policy just now to do him
particular honour, after having made his father ‘sit up.’ A pale,
wretched-looking Oriental, bored to tears! The usual delightful medley
of men of every nationality, civilised and semi-civilised, was there in
full splendour, but the rush of that crowd for the supper-room, in the
wake of royalty, was most unseemly. Every one got jammed, and it was
most unpleasant to have steel cartridge boxes and sword hilts sticking
into one’s bare arms in the pressure. I think there was something wrong
this time with the doors. I was much complimented that night on my ‘Dawn
of Waterloo,’ but that was an inadequate salve to my wounded feelings.
“_June 15th._--A great review here in honour of the young Shahzada, who
is being so highly honoured this season. I don’t think I ever saw such a
large staff as surrounded that pallid princeling as he rode on to the
field. The whole thing was a long affair, and our bored visitor
refreshed himself occasionally with consolatory snuff. The whole of the
cavalry finished up, as usual, with a charge ‘stem on,’ and as the
formidable onrush neared the weedy youth he began to turn his horse
round, possibly suspecting deep-laid treachery.”
My husband and I were present when Cardinals Vaughan and Logue laid the
foundation stone of Westminster Cathedral. The luncheon that followed
was enlivened by some excellent speeches, especially Cardinal Logue’s,
whose rich brogue rolled out some well-turned phrases.
A week later we were at dinner at Farnborough Hill. “There was a large
house-party, including Princes Victor and Louis Napoleon, the elder a
taciturn, shy, dark man about thirty-three, and the younger an alert,
intelligent officer of thirty-one, who is a colonel in the Russian
cavalry, and is the hope and darling of the Bonapartists. I call him
Napoleon IV. Victor went in with the Empress to dinner and Louis with
me, but on taking our seats the two brothers exchanged places, so that I
sat on Victor’s right. I had an uphill task to talk with the studious,
silent Victor, and found my right-hand neighbour much more pleasant
company, Sir Mackenzie Wallace. I had not caught his name and his accent
was so perfect and his idioms and turns of speech so irreproachable that
I never questioned his being a Frenchman. Away we went in the liveliest
manner with our French till suddenly we lapsed into English, why I don’t
know. This gave the Empress her chance. She began chuckling behind her
toothpick and asked me in French if he had a good accent in speaking
English. ‘Yes, madame, very good!’ ‘Ah? _really_ good?’ (chuckle).
‘Really good, madame.’ ‘Ah, that is well’ (chuckle). I saw in Will’s
face I was being chaffed and guessed the truth. Much laughter,
especially from Louis. He told Will, across the Empress, that he had
seen an engraving of ‘Scotland for Ever’ in a shop window in Moscow, and
had presented it to the mess of his own cavalry regiment, the Czar being
now colonel of the Scots Greys, and that he little expected so soon to
meet the painter of that picture. The dinner was very bright and
sparkling, so unlike a purely English one. How gratefully Will and I
conformed to the spirit of the thing. His Irish heart beats in harmony
with it. I didn’t quite recover from my _faux pas_ at table, and, on our
taking leave, brought everything into line once more by wishing Prince
Louis ‘_Felicissima Sera!_’ in a way denoting a bewilderment of mind
amidst such a confusion of tongues. I left amidst applause.
“_July 8th._--There was a sham fight on the Fox Hills to-day to which
the two French princes went. Will mounted Victor on steady ‘Roly Poly,’
and sent H. on ‘Heart of Oak’ to attend on His Imperial Highness
throughout the day. Louis was mounted by the Duke. My General loves to
honour a Napoleon, so, when he was riding home with Louis after the
fight, and the Guards were preparing to give the General the usual
salute, he begged the Imperial Colonel to take the salute himself. ‘But,
General, I am not even in uniform!’ answered Louis. ‘One of your name,
sir, is always in uniform,’ was the ready reply. So Louis took it. On
his way back to the Empress he stopped at our hut, and after a glass of
iced claret cup on this grilling day, he looked at my sketches, and at
the little oil picture I am painting for Miss S.--‘Right Wheel!’--the
Scots Greys at manœuvres. I wonder if he has it in him to make a bid
for the French Throne!
“_July 12th._--The Queen came down to-day, and there was a very fine
display of the picked athletes of the army at the new gymnasium in the
afternoon, before Her Majesty, who did not leave her carriage. She
looked pleased and in great good humour. She gave a dinner to her
generals in the evening at the Pavilion as she did last year. Will sat
near her, and she kept nodding and smiling to him at intervals as he
carried on a lively conversation with Princesses Louise and Beatrice.
Her Majesty expanded into full contentment when nine pipers, supplied by
the three Highland Regiments of the Division, entered the room at the
close of dinner in full blast. They tell me that each regiment jealously
adhered to its own key for its skirls, or whatever the right word is,
and so in three different keys did the pibrochs bray, but this detail
was not particularly noticeable in the general hurly-burly. The Queen
stood it well, though in that confined space it must have tried her
nerves. Give me the bagpipes on the mountain side or in the desert,
where I have heard them and loved them.
“_July 13th._--At a very fine review for the Queen, who brought her
usual weather with her. She looked well pleased, especially with the
stirring light cavalry charge at the close, when Brabazon pulled up his
line at full charging pace within about 12 yards (it seemed to me) of
the royal carriage. Really, for a moment, I thought, as the dark mass of
men and horses rolled towards us, that he had forgotten all about
‘Halt!’ It was a tremendous _tour de force_, and a bit of swagger on the
part of this dashing hussar. That group of the Queen in her carriage,
with the four white horses and scarlet coated servants; the Prince of
Wales and the rest of the glittering Staff; Prince Victor Napoleon in
civilian dress, his heavy face shaded by his tall black hat as he
uneasily sat his excited horse; the other carriages resplendent in red
and gold; the Empress’s more sober equipage full of French _élégantes_,
and the wave of dark hussars bursting in a cloud of dust almost in
amongst the group, all the leaders of the charging squadrons with sabres
flung up and heads thrown back--what a sight to please me! I feel a
physical sensation of refreshment on such occasions. What discipline and
training this performance showed! Had one horse got out of hand he might
have flopped right into the Queen’s lap. I saw one of the squadron
leaders give a little shiver when all was over. On getting home I was
doing something to the bearskins of my Scots Greys in ‘Right Wheel,’
showing the way the wind blew the hair back, as I had just seen it at
the review, while fresh in my mind, when a servant came to tell me
Princess Louise was at the Hut. I had got into my painting dress with
sleeves turned up for coolness. I ran in, changed in half a minute, and
had a nice interview, the Duchess of Connaught being there also, and we
had one of those ‘shoppy’ art talks which the Duchess of Argyll likes.
“_August 16th._--My ‘At Home’ day was made memorable by the appearance
of the Empress Eugénie, who brought a remedy for little Eileen’s cold.
It was a plaster, which she showed me how to use. I cannot say how
touched we were by this act, so thoughtful and kind--that poor childless
widow! She seems to have a particularly tender feeling for Eileen,
indeed Mdlle. d’Allonville has told me so.”
The rest of the Aldershot Diary is filled with military activities up to
the date of the expiration of my husband’s time there, and his
appointment to the command of the South Eastern District with Dover
Castle as our home. But between the two commands came an interlude
filled with a tour through some parts of Italy I had not seen before,
and a visit to the Villa Cyrnos at Cap Martin, whither the Empress had
invited us.