Moscow and the Coronation the 6th, and almost immediately the Minister
offered W. London. My "beau-frere" said he would give us two years when
we came over. I wonder how much longer it will last. We had a big dinner
to-night, and Lord Lathom, the Lord Chamberlain, was next to me. He said
no one could imagine how difficult it had been to arrange everything for
the Jubilee ceremonies; that the Queen was consulted _on every point_,
as she knew more about etiquette and court ceremonies than anyone else.
One day he had 42 telegrams from her. We told him we thought everything
was well managed (except the ball, where all the young officers crowded
in front of us, and stepped on our toes, and on our trains). He quite
admitted that that might have been better done, but also remarked that
he thought the Corps Diplomatique a little exacting; so, as usual, there
are two sides to every question.
_To H. L. K._
#London#,
July 25, 1887.
We have had a nice outing, Dear, thanks to the Naval Review; two such
beautiful interesting days. I am burned brown as a berry, but, as the
season is over, that is of no consequence, and I shall have plenty of
time at Bourneville to bleach. We started Saturday at 9.30 for
Portsmouth with the Florians, Waru, and R., Naval Attache, in a special
train. The harbour looked so pretty as we came in sight of it. Every
description of vessel (even the "Victory," Nelson's old ship, now a
training ship), and all sorts of ironclads, big steamers, yachts, and
the smallest sort of pleasure-boat, dressed with flags. We went at once
on board the "Helicon," a small despatch boat, especially destined to
the Corps Diplomatique and distinguished strangers. There were about 150
people on board, all colleagues, also the Arch Duke Regnier of Austria,
and the two young sons of the Duc d'Aoste with their suites. Directly
after us came two great English transports painted white, one for the
Lords, and one for the Commons, and all around us a fleet of ordinary
rowing-boats and barges filled with people--quantities of women and
children. We steamed slowly across the Solent to Osborne to meet the
Queen, and passed close to the great ironclads, which looked monsters,
and formidable ones. We had a handsome substantial lunch on board, to
which we all did honour. There were not many foreign ships. Our two
looked very well and were much admired, an old frigate, the "Iphigenie,"
now a training ship, with the midshipmen on board, and the "Elan," a
pretty little despatch boat. There were only two other foreign boats: a
German and a Dutchman. The Italian ships put into Spithead, and then
went off to Dartmouth, no one knows why exactly. Some say they were not
satisfied with their place (they arrived after the French ships, and
would have been decidedly farther off, and behind ours), others that
they were not in good condition, not smart enough; however, they were
not there and the Italian Princesses who had expected to sleep on board,
and meet their brother who is on one of the ships, were much disgusted.
As soon as the "Osborne," with the Queen, the Prince of Wales, and the
King of Greece (we didn't understand the Greek flag at first, as we
didn't know the King was on board), had passed, we followed and went
down the line. It was a beautiful sight, and England could certainly be
proud of her great ironclads filling the harbour, and showing her
strength as a naval power. We went slowly, and it was amusing to hear
the criticisms and appreciations of all the assembled foreigners on the
show--however, I suppose all ironclads now are pretty much alike, only
England happens to have three times as many as any of the rest of us.
About 6 o'clock there was a halt. We of course had tea on deck, and
suddenly we saw quantities of steam launches coming across the water in
all directions. They looked like enormous white birds in the distance.
They were almost all white, low in the water, and going very fast. The
captains of all the ships had been called on board the Queen's yacht to
be received by her. This made a long delay, and our colleagues were
getting impatient, as they foresaw that they would be very late in
getting back to London. We took that opportunity to ask the Captain of
the "Helicon" to bear down toward the "Iphigenie," as we were to dine
and sleep on board. We changed our course a little, and in about 10
minutes two very smart French boats ran alongside, coming up in grand
style. The three English officers stood on the bridge and helped us off,
and I must say it was all done admirably--not the slightest confusion,
and we were a big party. Our fellow-passengers decidedly envied us. The
Bylandts (Dutch Minister) were much put out. They had asked the Captain
of their ship to let them dine and sleep on board, but he refused
absolutely; said he had just arrived from a long cruise, and was not
prepared to receive anyone. We got to the "Iphigenie" in about 15
minutes. The Commandant, Noccomore, was standing on the bridge. W. got
out first, then T., and as soon as W. put his foot on the deck, where
all the sailors, officers, and midshipmen were drawn up, there was a
salute of drums and clarions (they couldn't give the regular salute of
guns to the Ambassador, as, when the Queen is in the harbour, no one
else can be saluted). The Commandant gave me his arm, and we went at
once to his quarters (or rather "carre," as they say on board ship). We
passed through a fine room or hall, the entire width of the frigate,
where a good-sized dinner-table was ready. The Commandant asked when we
would dine; we said in a "quart d'heure," just the time to wash our
faces, which were black with smoke and red with sun, and he showed W.
and me our quarters (his of course), and most comfortable. The cabin
large, with a wardrobe, and a large "cabinet de toilette," with English
wash-stand, bath-room, etc. For one person it was perfectly roomy. Of
course when a second bed was put in the "cabinet de toilette" it was a
little small. Mmes. de Florian and Heurtel had the second officer's
cabin, and the men hammocks in some part of the ship.
The dinner was good and handsome. I had the "Aumonier" on the other side
of me. He was intelligent, ready to talk about anything, and the dinner
was very agreeable. Plenty of talk. W. talked a great deal, and the
naval officers were interesting, as they always are. They have seen so
much, and had such varied experiences. After dinner we had coffee in the
Commandant's salon, and then went on deck, where we spent a delightful
evening. The sea was perfectly calm, not a ripple, and lights
everywhere--all the ships illuminated and sending off fireworks at
intervals. We could hardly see our own, but the little "Elan" looked
very smart and natty. We broke up about 11, and I don't know when I have
enjoyed anything so much as that perfectly quiet summer night on the
water; such a rest after the long day, and early start from London. We
promised to be ready at a quarter to 10 for Mass, and the visit of the
ship. You would have been amused to see how well Drejet did my service
(they asked me if I could do without my maid for one night, as they
really didn't know what to do with her). He told Adelaide he could do
everything for me except my hair, and tying my sash, which seemed to be
a serious performance to him, and really all my dressing things were put
out and a "saut de lit" disposed gracefully over the back of a chair
just as A. always did. I supposed she coached him. I was stirring early
enough the next morning, but I couldn't tie my sash either, so I
wandered out on the deck to have my early tea, and Countess de Florian
helped me to finish my toilette. We went all over the ship before Mass.
The midshipmen's quarters are small, but of course beautifully kept, and
the young men all looked as smiling and prosperous as possible, and were
much pleased at the Ambassador's visit. At 10 o'clock we assembled on
deck for Mass. Part of the deck was covered in with flags, and as a
compliment to my nationality they had put the "Stars and Stripes"
immediately over my head. I was much pleased, as it is a good many years
since I have sat under the old flag. I suppose I can't say _my flag_ any
more, but I feel it all the same. There were three armchairs directly in
front of the altar--two big ones for W. and me and a smaller one between
for the Commandant. As soon as we were seated the Abbe came, made a bow
to W. and me, and began his Mass. It was very impressive--so still, not
a sound except the little waves beating against the side of the ship,
and the word of command for the marines at the raising of the Host, when
there was a fine salute of drums and bugles. We had a very gay
breakfast, the Captain of the "Elan" coming to join us, and at 1 o'clock
we left our hospitable frigate for the "Elan" which was going to cruise
about with us all the afternoon. They certainly received us most
hospitably and charmingly; I shall often think of those quiet hours on
the deck, and the Mass this morning, which impressed me very much. We
had a lovely afternoon on the "Elan," practically doing the Review over
again, and going close up to the big ironclads, such ugly, heavy masses
as they seem when one is near them. We crossed over to Cowes, went
alongside of the Prince of Wales' yacht, but didn't stop. The captain
gave us an interesting account of their reception on the "Osborne." It
seems there was some mistake in the orders brought by the Aide-de-Camp
of the Admiral of the Fleet. The Commandant of the "Iphigenie" thought
he could take several officers with him, and when he appeared on the
"Osborne" with 5 or 6 officers, the Admiral was much embarrassed, and
didn't know what to do, as the Queen intended to receive only the
Commandants. However the Prince of Wales, with his never-failing tact,
said he would put it all right, and in a few moments they were told that
the Queen would be very pleased to receive _all_ the French officers.
They told us they saw a lady in deep mourning, with perfectly white
hair, standing behind the Queen, who looked so earnestly at the French
uniforms, and was agitated when they passed; they only realised
afterward that it was the Empress.[9] I wonder if I shall ever see her,
I would like to so much. We dined on board, anchored just off
Portsmouth, and got back to London about 11 o'clock, having enjoyed our
two days immensely. It was a beautiful ending to the Jubilee, and a
beautiful sight. The "cadre" was so lovely for all those big ships. All
the line of the Isle of Wight is so pretty, beautifully green, and the
Solent covered with boats of all descriptions, and plenty of room for
all. Some of the small row-boats seemed dangerously near the big
steamers, but nothing ever happened. When I get back to Bourneville and
take up my quiet life in the woods, these last days will seem a sort of
fairy-tale.
[9] Empress Eugenie, widow of Napoleon III., who has lived in England
for many years.
[Illustration: Comtesse de Florian
From a photograph by Walery, London.]
#London#,
July 29, 1887.
We are starting to-morrow. I had a farewell ride this morning, hardly
anyone in the Row, Dandy going beautifully (you know he is the chestnut
I called after the famous horse in one of Charlie's stories), except a
good kick from time to time, which is a bore, not only for me (I lost my
hat the other day), but for the neighbours. We dined at Lord A.'s last
night, and he gave us a funny account of his experience on the House of
Lords boat. To begin with he had much difficulty in getting tickets, and
could get none for his daughters, only himself and Lady A. (and he is
Hereditary Lord Chamberlain), and when he finally did get on the boat he
found it crowded with all sorts of unknown people, very few peers, and
very little food. They were faint with hunger before the end of the day,
so I told him about our handsome dinner and hospitable reception on our
frigate. Bylandt then told us how badly they fared. They cruised about
for some time in the "Helicon" after we got off, then finally the
passengers begged to be landed. They were at last deposited at
Portsmouth, and then made a rush for the buffet in the railway station,
but that had been completely "devalise," there wasn't a crumb, not even
a dry biscuit. Then they were conducted with much pomp to reserved
carriages which were _locked_, and there they remained for over an hour,
seeing various trains start, and at last arrived in London at one
o'clock in the morning. Poor Bylandt was much disgusted. We thought a
little of asking to keep the "Elan" for a week, and of doing the Cowes
week, but W. thought on the whole it would be close quarters, and was
not very keen about it. I should have liked it. We had all the staff who
remain to dine to-night. London is curiously empty--all the chairs being
taken away from the Park, which gives it a decided air of "fin de
saison."
_To G. K. S._
#Albert Gate House#,
March 2, 1888.
I have been back about two weeks and am quite settled again. I have
always two or three disagreeable days when I first come back from
France. The coal fires try me very much and I think regretfully of the
enormous chimneys at Bourneville and the _trees_ that we burned there.
We have a fog and it is very cold. Francis and I went to skate yesterday
at the Botanical Gardens. The ice was very bad, there was very little
room, and swarms of children struggling along on their little skates,
but the outing was pleasant. I also went one day with a friend to
Wimbledon, and that was better. We drove down and had a pleasant
afternoon, but the ice was soft, and it was the end. Really though, in
March in England, one could hardly expect to skate.
March 8th.
Hilda came in this morning with very bad news of the German Emperor. The
Crown Prince was to start from the Riviera, and I am afraid he is in a
bad way too. He looked such a magnificent man at the Jubilee Fetes. Of
course even then his voice and colour showed that something was wrong,
but it was difficult to believe that a mortal disease was mining his
strength. We have had telegrams all the afternoon, and at 5 they told us
the Emperor was dead. We sent immediately to Mrs. Jeune, where we were
engaged to dine to meet Prince and Princess Christian of
Schleswig-Holstein, to know if her dinner was put off; but the answer
came back that the dinner was to take place. We went of course, and
found Princess Christian and Lady Salisbury. Prince Christian, as a
German Prince and a relation of the German Royal Family, did not come;
neither did Lord Salisbury, who had received a telegram from Berlin
announcing the Emperor's death. The Princess looked anxious and was
evidently very much worried at the journey of the Crown Prince in such
weather, in his delicate state. She left almost instantly after dinner.
The Drawing-room is postponed. The Crown Prince starts to-morrow
morning. All eyes are upon him, and will follow his journey with hopes
and fears.
Sunday, March 18th.
We all went to the funeral service for the German Emperor this morning
in the German Lutheran Chapel close to Marlborough House. I was quite
correct this time, and was swathed in crepe; Mrs. Lecky has lent me her
long crepe veil, which will serve again probably, as everyone seems to
think the Emperor Frederick is doomed. All the men were in uniform with
crepe on their sleeves and sword hilts (the Germans with their helmets
covered with crepe) and the women in woollen dresses with crepe veils.
Almost all the Princesses were there (not the Princess of Wales), but
the Princes were in Berlin. The service was long, and curiously enough
was _not_ the Lutheran service, but the regular Church of England
service translated into German. It was done, it seems, for George II,
who was obliged to follow the Church of England service, and who didn't
understand a _word_ of English. There was much chanting, two addresses,
and a sermon.
Everyone of course is talking and speculating over what will happen in
Germany. All the doctors say the Emperor Frederick is near his end. No
one seems to know exactly what will be the attitude of the present Crown
Prince. He is young, intelligent, with an iron will; all good qualities
in a sovereign, but he has little experience and an absolute confidence
in his own judgment.
_To H. L. K._
#London#, April 25, 1888.
We hear a great deal now here about Boulanger, and there seems to be the
most extraordinary "engouement" for him here as well as in France.
Roustan, the Naval Attache, has just come back from Paris and says the
state of things is very serious, people have lost their heads over
Boulanger. He (R.) thinks it is the most serious crisis France has
passed through since the Commune. W. is less blue--he knows the famous
General very little, but doesn't think there is much character or
backbone there.
We had a big dinner the other night at Lord Rothschild's, and Lord
Hartington, a well-known political and social figure, sat between me and
the Princesse de Wagram. He naturally asked us, the only two Frenchwomen
at table, what we thought of Boulanger. The Princess spoke most
enthusiastically of him. The one man in France who could regenerate the
country, and who would be supported by all parties. I said exactly the
contrary, and that I thought his popularity and power very much
exaggerated. Lord Hartington was rather amused at the two opinions so
absolutely at variance.
The Deichmanns came to see us the other day, just back from Berlin, and
in despair over the Emperor. Deichmann said he came into the room with
the same straight, soldierly bearing he had always had, and except that
he was thinner, looked unchanged; but he couldn't speak, and his friends
fear the worst. He is worried too over the friction between the Empress
and Bismarck--too such strong wills in conflict.
#London#,
April 26, 1888.
I wonder if you are as cold as I am to-day. I have been driving about
shivering in the open carriage and my seal-skin felt like a foulard. I
think I got cold last night. We had a pleasant dinner at Lord
Knutsford's. I had Count Kufstein next to me. He was for years in Paris
at the Austrian Embassy just when I was first married and making my
debut in the official world. He is here now for the sugar conference,
and we were delighted to go back to old times, as he knows everybody in
Paris of all kinds: Imperialists, Royalists, and Republicans. It wasn't
always easy for a foreigner to get along and not offend somebody. On our
way home W. suggested that we should go in for a moment to the W. H.
Smiths' who had a big political reception. In a weak moment I agreed. It
is not really necessary to go to those big parties--one can be written
down in the book by one of the secretaries, or give the names to the
lady of the _Morning Post_ who sits with her hat and coat behind the
door, and puts down as many names as she can manage. I should think she
would have perpetual rheumatism, as the hall door is open and the
draught something awful. The moment I set my foot in the hall my heart
sank, such a crowd on the stairs, I should think all the House of
Commons and all their female relations. There was a double current going
and coming, and I was thankful not to have my dress torn to bits. We met
Tom Leigh coming down. He said he had been 15 minutes on the same step.
However we did manage to get upstairs--tried to find either host or
hostess, but they had evidently left the door--so after struggling
through one or two rooms packed tight with people I discovered a high
wooden stool behind one of the doors which had evidently been used for
lighting the candles and been forgotten, so I seated myself on that and
told W. I would wait for him there, as he thought he would try and find
some one of the family. I sat there some little time rather interested
in the stream of perfectly unknown faces which passed until I was
rescued by Correa, the Brazilian Minister, who couldn't believe that it
was really the French Ambassadress sitting alone on a three-legged stool
behind the door. W. came back in about a quarter of an hour not having
seen any one he knew, and then we started down the staircase where we
had the same struggle, and the cold air blowing in upon my bare
shoulders. I was cross when I got home--however I suppose exactly the
same thing happens when we have a big reception, as the Embassy is not
nearly large enough. The other night when the Duke of Cambridge dined
with us we had a party afterward. W. went down to the door with him and
never got up again, there was such a crowd on the stairs.
_To H. L. K._
#London#, May 19, 1888.
The season is animated enough and we are out every night (not all day,
as so many people are, as we refuse all lunches and teas). Our music the
other evening with Wolff, the young Dutch violinist, and Mdme. Kleeberg,
was nice. We had invited only about 50 people, all musical. Everyone
could sit down (which the men appreciated, as they usually _stand_ in
the doorway all through the concert), and also we were not obliged to
have those rows of gilt chairs which grate so on my nerves. I know the
women hate it so when they are all seated in rows very close to each
other and not a man anywhere near. Wolff played divinely, with so much
tone and sentiment. He had a great success. Mdme. Kleeberg always plays
beautifully. She is well known here and much liked. It was the first
time Wolff had played in London, and he was a little nervous.
Last night we dined with Lady Delawarr to meet Princess Louise and Lord
Lorne. The Princess is charming; a pretty, graceful figure and
attractive manner, absolutely what the Italians would call "simpatica."
Lord Lorne took me to dinner, and I found him most entertaining and
original. He talked a great deal about Canada and America, and certainly
knows and appreciates "the States." He said if he hadn't been born the
eldest son of an English Duke he would certainly emigrate to the West of
America and pitch his tent there.
There was a reception and music in the evening, Wolff playing
beautifully, but, alas! no one listening. Lady Borthwick (who is a good
musician) and I moved into the large drawing-room at his request when he
began to play, and I really don't think anyone else scarcely listened,
and certainly no one realised when, after playing a few moments under
great difficulty (people coming and going and talking all the time), he
calmly laid his violin on the piano and stopped. He came up to me to
explain, what I quite understood, that he could hear neither his own
violin nor the accompaniment, and I could not urge him to continue. It
is very hard on the artists, an evening like that. If they don't play
well, everyone criticises; and if they stop altogether, people think it
is high-handed, and criticise equally. I have learnt now by experience
and never invite _many_ people when I have music.
May 22, 1888.
We had a pleasant evening last night at Sir Arthur Sullivan's who had a
dinner for the Prince of Wales and the Duke and Duchess Paul of
Mecklenburg. There were all kinds of artists--singing, reciting, and
dancing. An American girl, with a very pretty voice, sang very well, and
Letty Lind was charming. The Duchess Paul looked very pretty and chic,
and was most amiable. The Prince is so nice to artists--always a
gracious word and smile. Sullivan is an excellent host, and keeps
everything going. Just as we arrived the electric light went out. I
couldn't imagine why the house looked so dark as we drove up, for I knew
the Prince was dining, and there was the red carpet which always
indicates Royalty, so there could be no mistake, but the hall-door was
open and lamps and candles being brought in from all quarters. We took
off our cloaks in the dark, but in a very few minutes things were put
right, and the rooms brilliantly illuminated. W. never remains long on
these occasions, but I stayed until the end, even for supper, which was
very gay.
#London#, May 24, 1888.