was amused by one of the ladies saying to me after dinner, "Did you
really enjoy your visit to Hatfield? Aren't they all _dreadfully_
clever?" I don't think I should have applied the same adverb, but clever
they certainly are. Lord Salisbury has such a fine, thoughtful face.
_To H. L. K._
June, 1885.
We went to Ascot this morning, a beautiful day, and the lawn like a
flower garden with all the women in their light dresses dotted about. We
lunched with the Prince and Princess of Wales. The Maharajah of Johore
was there, and had brought down his own cook, attired in yellow satin
with a large flat hat on his head. He made a sort of curry for his
master, which everybody tasted--except me--I don't like culinary
experiments, and I think the yellow satin garments didn't inspire me
with confidence. I told Juteau when he came up for orders just now how
far below the mark he was as to costume.
June 29th.
I went this afternoon with Francis to Lord Aberdeen's, where they had a
hay-making party. They have a pretty little cottage, or rather a small
farm about an hour's drive from London. There were plenty of people, and
all sorts of amusements for the children; Punch and Judy, lawn-tennis,
and two tea-tables on the lawn. After tea they all rushed down a steep
hill to a field where there were quantities of little heaps of hay, and
harmless wooden pitchforks. They had a fine time rolling and tumbling
about in the hay and making hay-stacks. Then a cow appeared on the
scene, dressed with flowers and ribbons, and the maids made syllabub on
the spot, which the children enjoyed immensely.
[Illustration: Lady Salisbury]
June 30th, 1885.
We dined at Lady Molesworth's with the Duc d'Aumale, who is always
charming, and makes everything easy, as there are always bothering
little questions of official etiquette with non-reigning Princes. He is
a fine type of the soldier-prince. It seems hard that a man of his
intelligence and education shouldn't play a great part in his own
country.
#Albert Gate#,
July, 1885.
We had the Court concert this evening. The Duc d'Aumale was there,
looking so well and so royal. He is always charming to us, and we were
very proud of our French Prince. H. came with us and enjoyed herself
extremely. The entrance of the Court amused her very much, the two tall
Chamberlains with their wands walking backwards. She says she never saw
anything so pretty as the curtsey the Princess of Wales made to the
assembled company as soon as she got into the room. What always appeals
in some sort of way to our _irreverent_ American minds is the singing of
the "God Save the Queen," all the company, including Prince and
Princess, rising and standing.
_To J. K._
#Chevening, Sevenoaks#,
Sunday, July 27, 1885.
I will begin my letter here to-day, Dear Jan, from the Stanhopes' place,
where we came last evening to spend Sunday. It was awfully hot
yesterday. I almost died on the way from London down, fortunately it was
only an hour. We are a party of 14--Lord and Lady John Manners, Lord
Derby and his step-daughter, Lady Margaret Cecil, Mr. and Mrs. Edward
Stanhope, Mr. and Mrs. Jeune, Lord Boston, a nice young fellow, and a
Mr. Praed, a riding man, who has travelled everywhere. We had tea on the
terrace overlooking a lovely garden and lake, and dined at 8. After
dinner we sat on the terrace, and it was charming, a beautiful full
moon, and not a breath of air. Friday we had the closing festivity of
the season at Marlborough House. A beautiful ball it was, about 600
people, all the creme de la societe and beautiful dresses and jewels. I
wore my pink and green Moscow dress (my Russian garments have done me
good service this year), and it was much admired. All the Battenberg
family were there in great force, and I renewed acquaintance with the
Prince of Bulgaria, whom I used to know. They had covered in a great
part of the garden, and the room was beautifully arranged with the
Prince's Indian carpets and arms. The supper room, also built out in the
garden, was so pretty--a collection of small round tables for 8 or 10
persons, with flowers and handsome silver. Prince Albert Victor took me
in, and I had a young Battenberg next. Neither Phelps nor Harry White
was there, on account of Grant's death, which I thought very nice of
them. I danced once or twice after supper, and we came away at 2. I hear
they kept it up until 5, having begun at 11. There is a reception at
Lady Salisbury's on Tuesday, which will be really the end of all things,
and purely political, as all the swells go off to Goodwood Monday.
11.30.
We have just come upstairs after a very hot day. I didn't go to church,
as I knew I could not stand the heat, and talked a little and read very
happily in the big drawing-room till luncheon. Lady Stanhope took me
over the house, which is not very large, but interesting. There is a
charming library full of books and manuscripts and letters, some from
Lord Chesterfield to his son, written in French, and beginning "Mon cher
ami, comment vont les graces et les manieres." After luncheon, we sat
out under the lime trees, and after tea I made a little tournee with
Lord Stanhope and prowled about the park, and went also to the church,
where there are several interesting monuments. This evening we have been
sitting again on the terrace, quite delicious. I in my white dress, with
nothing on my shoulders.
#London#,
Tuesday, 28th.
We got back yesterday at 2 o'clock and the weather has changed to-day.
It was very hot all day yesterday. I spent the afternoon on my sofa
until 6.30, when we went for a ride and met the few last people who are
still here. Last night we discussed our summer plans, and I shall go
over to France on Saturday with Francis, stay three or four days in
Paris, and then go down to St. Leger. It is curious how London is
suddenly empty. There were not 5 carriages in the park yesterday. This
morning I have been careering about the stable-yard trying a new habit.
They are so difficult to make in these days, so tight that the least
change of saddle makes them go every way but the right one. I don't know
if I wrote after the Harwoods lunched with us. W. was much pleased with
them and found them a most attractive family. The girls are charming, so
pretty and simple. I must stop, as Holmes (the English butler) is
waiting for me to tell him all sorts of final arrangements before we
start.
_To G. K. S._
#Albert Gate#,
November 9, 1885.
The young King of Spain is dead. The Ambassador, M. de Casa La Iglesia,
was to have dined with us. He sent a note at 5.30 saying that he must
give up the pleasure of dining with us for a "bien penible raison," but
without saying what it was--so one of the secretaries went off "aux
informations" and came back with the news that the King was dead. Poor
young fellow, his reign was short.
December 5th.
We had a service at the Spanish chapel in Manchester Square for the King
of Spain. All the Diplomats and official world there. It was very
long--all the ladies were in black--Comtesse Karolyi (Austrian
Ambassadress) and Comtesse de Bylandt (wife of the Dutch Minister) in
crepe, long veils. They told me I was not at all correct, that a crepe
veil was "de rigueur" for crowned heads. I thought I was all right in
black velvet, a tulle veil, and black gloves (in fact was rather pleased
with my get-up), but the ladies were very stern.
#London#,
December 15, 1885.
I wish you were here this morning, Dear, as the Embassy is a
curiosity--might just as well be in Kamtchatka as far as the outside
world is concerned--for nothing exists beyond the walls of the house.
When they drew back my curtains this morning I couldn't really think for
a moment where I was. Adelaide had a lighted candle in her hand (it was
8.30 o'clock in the morning) and I thought my window panes had been
painted a dirty yellow in the night. However it was only a yellow London
fog; I could literally see nothing when I went to the window. It has
lightened now a little, but we have had lamps for breakfast, and I am
writing with my candles! The big shops opposite are all lighted, and one
sees little glimmers of light through the fog. I can't see across the
street. The fog gets into everything--was quite thick and perceptible in
the hall when we went down to breakfast. The coachman has been in and
said he couldn't take out his horses, not even with a link-boy running
alongside, so let us hope it will brighten up a little in the course of
the afternoon.
December 16th.
The fog did lift about 4; but the day was trying and the traces most
evident the next day, as everything in the house was filthy--all the
silver candlesticks and little silver ornaments that are on the tables;
the white curtains--in fact everything one touched. I should think
laundresses would make their fortune in London. My maid came to my room
about 3 o'clock, just as I was going out, with her apron really black
with smuts. I said, "What in the world have you been doing, cleaning the
chimneys?" "Non, Madame, je n'ai fait que travailler chez Madame et dans
la lingerie; j'ai voulu montrer mon tablier a Madame, c'est le troisieme
que je mets depuis ce matin...!"
December 17, 1885.
Yesterday I made an excursion to the city with Hilda Deichmann and her
husband to buy things for our Christmas trees. It was most amusing
ransacking in all the big wholesale houses, and reminded me of my
childish days and similar expeditions to Maiden Lane. There is so much
always in England that recalls early days. I think it is not only the
language, but the education and way of living are the same. We have read
the same books and sung the same hymns, and understand things in the
same way. Our shopping was most successful. All the prettiest things
come from the German shops. The ginger-bread animals were
wonderful,--some horses and dogs with gilt tails and ears most
effective. The decorations were really very pretty--the stars and angels
quite charming. When we had finished our shopping Deichmann took us to
Pym's, a celebrated oyster cellar, to lunch. A funny little place well
known to all City people. We had a capital lunch--all oysters.
This afternoon we have been playing, 8 hands, two pianos, which was
interesting. Two of our colleagues, Princess Ghika, Roumanian Legation,
and Countess de Bylandt, Dutch, are excellent musicians. They lead, and
Hilda and I follow as well as we can. I am the least good, but I manage
to get along, and of course whenever I know the music my ear helps me.
We have two fine Erard grand pianos in the drawing-room, which is large,
and fairly light for London. I was much tempted by a beautiful Steinway
piano, but thought it right at the French Embassy to have Erards, which
are of course fine instruments. I fancy Steinway is more brilliant, but
I think we make noise enough, particularly when we are playing
Wagner--the _Kaiser March_ for instance.
December 23d.
It was not very cold this morning, so I tried the new horse, and he went
very well. I have had a thick hunting habit made, and was quite
comfortable, except the hands, which were cold at starting. I fussed all
day over the Christmas tree which we are to have on the 26th, and this
evening we had a small farewell dinner for Nigra, the Italian
Ambassador, who is going away to Vienna. I am very sorry, as he is a
good colleague and an easy and charming talker. He sat a long time with
me the other day talking over his Paris experiences and the brilliant
days of the Empire--Tuileries, Compiegne, etc. It was most interesting
and new to me, as I only know Paris since the war (1870) and have never
seen either Emperor or Empress. I suppose I never shall see her, as she
never comes to London, and lives a very secluded life at Farnborough
with a small household, and some Paris friends who come sometimes, not
very often, to see her. What a tragic "fin de vie" hers is, having had
everything and lost everything. We had also the Russian and Spanish
Ambassadors--Staal charming, clever, easy, simple--"simpatico," the only
word I know in any language which expresses exactly that combination of
qualities. Casa La Iglesia, the Spaniard, is a tall, handsome,
attractive-looking man. He made havoc in the various posts he has
occupied, and when we want to tease him we ask him about his departure
from Berlin, and all the "femmes affolees" who were at the station to
see the last of him. Henrietta and Anne have arrived for Christmas,
laden of course with presents and souvenirs for everybody, and Francis
is quite happy with his aunts.
_To G. K. S._
#Albert Gate, London#,
December 24, 1885.
The sisters and I have been shopping all day getting the last things for
the tree, which is to be on the 26th. The streets are most animated,
full of people, all carrying parcels, and all with smiling faces. The
big toy-shops and confectioners crowded. "Buzzard," the great shop in
Oxford Street, most amusing; hundreds of Christmas cakes of all sizes.
There are plum cakes frosted with sugar icing, the date generally in red
letters and a sprig of ivy or evergreen stuck in at the top. We had
ordered a large one, and they were much pleased to do it for the French
Embassy, and wanted to make the letters in "tri-color," red, white, and
blue. We wound up at the Army and Navy Stores, and really had some
difficulty in getting in. They had quantities of Christmas trees already
decorated, which were being sold as fast as they were brought in.
There were splendid turkeys, enormous; and curiously enough they told us
many of them came from France, from a well-known turkey farm in the
Loiret. I must ask the Segurs, who live in that part of the country, if
they know the place. There were quantities of plum-puddings of all sizes
and prices, and it must be a very poor household that doesn't have its
plum-pudding to-morrow. We were glad to get back to tea and hot buttered
toast--a thoroughly English institution. I would like some of my French
servants to learn how to make it, but I don't suppose they will. In fact
I don't know exactly who makes it here--I am quite sure neither Juteau
nor his "garcon de cuisine" would condescend to do anything so simple. I
suppose it isn't the "odd man" who seems to do all the things that no
one else will, but I sha'n't inquire as long as it appears.
We had a quiet evening--talked a little politics while W. was smoking.
Henrietta always sees a great many people of all kinds, and tells him
various little things that don't come to him in his official despatches.
The house is comfortable enough, though there is no calorifere, and it
is a corner house. There are enormous coal fires everywhere, except in
my bedroom and dressing-room, where I always burn wood--and such
wood--little square pieces like children's blocks.
Christmas Day.
It was dark and foggy this morning, we could hardly see the trees
opposite, and the lamps are lighted in the house and the streets.
Francis was enchanted with his presents. I think the billiard-table from
Paris and the big boat ("aussi grand que Monsieur Toutain"--one of our
Secretaries) were what pleased him most. There is a sort of sailing
match every Sunday morning on the Serpentine. Some really beautiful
boats (models) full-rigged, and it is a pretty sight to see them all
start a miniature yacht race across the river. Francis always goes with
Clarisse, and Yves, his own little Breton footman, carries his boat,
which is much bigger than he is, also Boniface, a wise little
fox-terrier who knows all about it, and gallops around the top of the
lake to meet his master's boat on the other side. They have also one of
the Park keepers and a gigantic policeman, who is always on duty at
Albert Gate, to look after them. Not a useless precaution, as the boat
often gets entangled in the reeds, and _has_ been known to go to the
bottom of the lake, and Boniface always gets lost and is brought back by
a policeman or a soldier, or a friend--Hilda Deichmann brought him back
one day.
We had a cheerful Christmas dinner--all our personnel--M. Blanchard de
Forges, Consul General, and Villiers, the correspondent of the "Debats"
in London. We did a little music after dinner. I tried for some
Christmas carols "We Three Kings of Orient Are" (do you remember that at
Oyster Bay? how long ago it seems), but the English-speaking element was
not strong enough. We danced a little, winding up with a sort of Scotch
reel--Henrietta, Waru (our Military Attache), and Petiteville being the
chief performers.
December 26th.
We are all rather exhausted after the Christmas tree; however, the
children were quite pleased, and the tree really very pretty. A gigantic
pine, reaching to the top of the ceiling in the ballroom, a star on the
top and very well lighted. We had 34 children of all ages and
nationalities, from Nadine Karolyi, aged 18, daughter of Count Karolyi,
Austrian Ambassador and Doyen of the Corps Diplomatique, to Florence
Williams' baby girl of 16 months. The little ones were sweet, speechless
at first, with round eyes fixed on the tree, and then little fat arms
stretched out for something. The children's tea-table looked pretty,
arranged with coloured candles and holly, and an enormous Christmas cake
in the middle with a wreath of holly around it. Nadine Karolyi cut the
first slice of cake, as daughter of the Doyen she sat on Francis's right
hand, and Thekla Staal, daughter of the Russian Ambassador, on his left.
W. was much amused at the correct placing of the young ladies. We start
to-morrow for Knowsley and Luton Hoo, and the packing is quite an
affair. I take 10 dresses, besides jackets, hats, etc. I must have short
costumes to follow the battues for fine and bad weather--a swell day
dress, as we are to lunch at Croxteth, Lord Sefton's place near
Knowsley; and two ball dresses, as there is to be a county ball for all
the neighbourhood at Luton, New Year's night, and a small dance with a
cotillon (which is unusual in England) the next night. Adelaide is
rather fatigued, as besides my trunk she has to finish off her
toilettes, and she has just come in to ask me if she shall take the
regulation black silk, or a blue silk, which is more dressy; as they
tell her the _ladies_ in the housekeeper's room are very dressy at
Luton. I said the blue silk by all means--she must be up to the mark.
The fog has kept up pretty well all day. I hope it will clear to-morrow,
we are going straight into the coal country. Knowsley is near Liverpool,
and I fancy it is always dark there.
I was telling Nigra the other day about our first Roman Christmas and
what an impression it made upon us. Such a splendid winter, always a
bright blue sky, and roses straggling over all the old grey walls. The
Pifferari singing to the Madonnas at all the street corners, the
midnight Mass and mysterious Pastorale in St. Peter's at early dawn with
the tapers trembling on the high altar so far away; and the grand
Christmas ceremony at St. Peter's, with all the magnificent pomp of the
Catholic Church in Rome. We talked on for some time about "Roma com'
era," which of course he doesn't regret, and I told him of our last
night in Rome, when we all went "en bande" to drink at the Fountain of
Trevi (which is supposed to act as a charm and to bring people back to
Rome). I remember quite well how tearful I was when we left. I didn't
think then that life was worth living out of the shadow of St. Peter's,
and think so a little still even now, though my lines have lain in very
different places.
We leave Francis in the sisters' charge, with the joys of a pantomime
before him.
_To H. L. K._
#Knowsley#,
December 29, 1885.
We arrived here late yesterday afternoon. It is a long, uninteresting
journey (almost to Liverpool), was cold and foggy all the way down, and
we found snow when we arrived in the Park--also a perfect gale of wind,
the enormous bare, black winter trees swaying like poplars. The large
house, with all the facade brightly lighted, gave us at once a cheerful
welcome. Lady Derby was waiting for us in the long, low drawing-room
with tea, and we went up almost immediately to dress for dinner. We had
sent the servants by an earlier train, which was convenient, as they had
time to unpack and have everything ready for us. We have a charming
apartment--a very good-sized salon, with bedrooms large and comfortable
on each side. The salon furnished in a bright chintz, and good pictures,
mostly family portraits, on the walls. There were blazing fires
everywhere--these enormous rocks of Liverpool coal one sees here. I
instantly proceeded to demolish mine in my bedroom. Adelaide had already
tried to make the housemaid understand that her lady didn't like warm
rooms, but the other one pointed to the snow under the windows, and
heaped on her pieces of coal.
Dinner was at 8 _punctually_ (which was a contrast to Hatfield, where we
had been staying the other day. There dinner was easily half past eight,
and after we had been at table some little time various friends and
members of the family appeared, and slid quietly into their places at
the end of the very long table). There is a large family party here and
some other guests, including the two historians, Froude and Lecky, both
most interesting.
[Illustration: Knowsley Hall
The Earl of Derby's place at Prescot Lancashire]
We dined in a fine hall with family portraits of all the Derbys, from
the first one at Bosworth down to the present Earl, who is the 16th Earl
of Derby. There was beautiful plate on the table--fine racing cups--as
the Stanleys were always quite as much racing men as statesmen. These
are such curious things in England, the love of sport is so strong.
Fancy any of our statesmen, Thiers, Guizot, Dufaure, etc., with racing
stables. Lord Derby is very easy and rather inclined to chaff Americans
a little, but I didn't mind. The evening was short after we adjourned to
the drawing-room. Lady Derby is rather delicate, and is suffering just
now from a bad eye. I sat some time in my comfortable room upstairs, but
was glad to get to bed early after the cold journey. W. went off to the
fumoir, and had a most interesting talk over Ireland and Irish questions
with Mr. Lecky. This morning was awful; snow, sleet, and a cold
rain--however, the sportsmen were not to be deterred by any such mild
obstacle, and started at 9.30 in a big break with four horses. I watched
the departure from my window, and was very glad I was not going to make
any such expedition. I had my breakfast upstairs, and had an amusing
explanation with the housemaid who appeared at 9.30 with an enormous
tray and breakfast enough for a family--tea, beefsteaks, cold
partridges, eggs, rolls, toast, potatoes, buns and fruit--you never saw
such a meal. She couldn't believe that I only wanted tea and toast and
an egg (which was an extra, but as I knew we should only lunch at two,
and I am accustomed to have my dejeuner a la fourchette at 12, I was
sure I should be hungry if I didn't take something), and asked me most
respectfully if I was not well, and would like something else--"a little
soup perhaps."
I went downstairs about 12 and found the ladies in the drawing-room all
complaining of the cold. Lady Derby took me over the house--it has not
the beautiful proportions of Hatfield--is long, low, and rambling, but
most comfortable. The library is a fine room with deep window recesses,
and most comfortable with a bright fire burning. The librarian was there
and showed us some of his treasures, among them an old copy of the
"Roman de la Rose," and various old manuscripts. We went on to the
dining-room, and Lady Derby explained the family portraits to me. The
long, unbroken line of Earls of Derby is most interesting, and the
change in the portraits for the two or three generations where the
French blood shows itself, most curious. The wife of the Earl of Derby
who died on the scaffold, giving his life for his King, was the famous
Charlotte de la Tremouille, who defended her castle--Lathom House--so
gallantly against Fairfax and his Roundheads. Do you remember one of our
school-room books in America, "Heroines of History," where there was a
description of the siege of Lathom House, and a picture of the Countess
of Derby standing on the ramparts in a riding habit and hat and feathers
and apparently loading a cannon herself and showing a gunner how to
point it?