yesterday. I could not have Johannes Wolff, the violinist, which I
regretted extremely. He plays quite beautifully, with so much "entrain"
and sentiment. I think I have already written to you about him, he is a
Dutchman who was sent to me by Mdme. de Zuylen (you remember Zuylen who
was so long Dutch Minister in Paris). It was a little discouraging at
first, there is such a tremendous concurrence in London, and English
people like to hear the same artists, whom they know well; Joachim,
Sarasate, and Mdme. Neruda have it all their own way. However, I made a
small party for him, all musical people, Lady Borthwick, Mrs. Ronalds,
Tosti, Lord Lathom, etc., and he conquered his public at once. It was
splendid playing and a style quite his own. We replaced him by Mdme. Le
Valloit, who plays very well; and had besides Picolellis (from
Florence), who plays well (cello), and Carpe, the Italian baritone who
has a big voice and sings in the Italian style. The audience listened
pretty well at first, then came tea and the clatter of tea-cups in the
blue room where all the jeunesse had congregated, talking and laughing
and having their tea with a fine unconsciousness of the music going on
in the next room. They are really very tiresome. That reminds me of
Grieg who was very "difficile," and who couldn't stand a sound when he
was playing. He and his wife came to the Embassy one night and played
and sang quite charmingly, and everybody was delighted. Quite at the
last moment one of the Royalties talked a little while he was playing,
and I saw the moment when he would get up from the piano. However, Wolff
and I between us managed to calm him. When it was over I told him what a
success he had had--that the Prince had enjoyed his playing so much, to
which he replied--"Ja, der hat es laut gesagt."
Duchess Paul was very amiable, stayed until after 7 and seemed to enjoy
it; at least she listened and spoke very nicely to the artists
afterward. I had just time to dress for a dinner at the Austrian
Embassy.
May 26, 1888.
We dined to-night with our cousins the Ivor Herberts, a dinner for the
Duke and Duchess Paul of Mecklenburg. We were asked for 8.15, and they
never came until 9, looking quite unconcerned. I can't imagine how the
cooks manage. Juteau tears his hair when we are so late, but he is
getting accustomed to English hours now, and doesn't get ready himself
until a quarter of an hour after the time fixed. We were a perfect bore
to all our friends at first with our French punctuality, and arrived
once or twice before the master of the house. W. consulted Lord
Granville, who told him his rule was to leave his house _at the hour
named for the dinner_; but as we dine sometimes around the corner, and
sometimes at Kensington that is not always practical. People in Paris
are very punctual and never wait more than a quarter of an hour for
anyone. I remember quite well when I was first married, and my husband
was a Cabinet Minister, being late for dinner at Comte Paul de Segur's.
When we arrived they were at table. Among the guests was the Duc
d'Audifret-Pasquier, President of the Senate--he had arrived in time and
they wouldn't keep him waiting more than the "quart d'heure de grace." I
was very much surprised, as after all my husband was a personage, but I
must say I think the rule is a good one. I was next to the Duke and
found him very pleasant. He is a brother of the Grand Duchess Wladimir,
and he talked about the Coronation, and some of the curious, half
barbaric ceremonies. He had been lunching at Sheen with the Comte de
Paris, and was much impressed with the dull, sad look of the place. It
does look gloomy, enclosed in high walls, such a contrast to Eu and the
beautiful, bright sunny homes where the Orleans Princes spent their
childish years.
#Albert Gate#, May 30th.
To-night we have a quiet evening, and are glad to have a chance to talk
over Boulanger (who is coming here) and various troublesome questions.
We dined last night with the Duchess of Westminster to meet Princess
Mary and the Duke of Teck. The dinner was handsome and pleasant, and
there was a small ball afterward. They danced in the picture gallery, a
beautiful, large room, where the dresses and jewels showed to great
advantage. We didn't stay very late as W. never dances, not even the
regulation "Quadrille d'Honneur" at Court. He and Karolyi are the only
diplomatists who never dance.
_To H. L. K._
#London#, June 5, 1888.
Yesterday was a beautiful summer day, the ideal Sunday of Bishop
Keble--"The bridal of the earth and sky." We walked through the "Church
Parade" coming back from Westminster. There were quantities of pretty
girls dotted about the Park, looking so fresh and cool in their white
dresses. I had various visits. Sunday is the _man's_ day in London, and
the afternoon is generally interesting. The Spanish Ambassador came in.
He had been lunching at Sheen with the Comte de Paris, and told me that
the Prince asked him if he had seen his Collegue de France lately, and
what _he_ thought of the state of things in France, and particularly
what he thought of Boulanger. I told him I didn't think the French
Ambassador shared the Comte de Paris' enthusiasm for that hero, but that
_he_ had better ask him.
About 5.30 W. and I started for White Lodge, Richmond Park, to dine with
Princess Mary and the Duke of Teck. We found quite a party assembled in
the garden around a tea-table, the Princess making the tea herself,
Princess May and some of the young ones helping. The talk was pleasant
and easy, Princess Mary is a charming hostess and _likes_ to talk (which
is certainly not the case with all English women). She is very stout,
but has a beautiful head and fine presence. Tosti and Picolellis dined,
and played divinely after dinner. The evening was enchanting. We all sat
in the big drawing-room opening on the garden. There was not much light,
the moon shining through the trees, and the two artists playing as if
inspired anything anyone asked for, from a Spohr sonata to an Italian
canzonetta. I thought we should stay there all night--no one wanted to
go home. The drive home was lovely, the London streets are so quiet
Sunday night.
June 6th.
This morning was the great meet of the coaches, and our terrace of
course is in great request as it gives directly on the Park. It is
always a pretty sight as everyone turns out. Lord Fife had the Prince of
Wales with him, and the Princess was driving about with her three
daughters in a victoria. The news of the German Emperor is very bad.
June 10th.
This afternoon we had lovely music at Frank Schuster's. Both Wolff and
Hollman played divinely. They are great rivals, both Dutchmen, and both
great favourites (Hollman is 'cello). A trio with them and Mdme.
Kleeberg at the piano is absolutely perfect.
Our dinner at the Monks' was pleasant. I had Sir Rivers Wilson next to
me, and he is a charming neighbour, has been everywhere, knows
everybody, and talks easily without any pose. There was a concert in the
evening--very good--Trebelli, Lloyd, Nordica, etc. I made acquaintance
with Nordica, who is an American, Miss Norton, from Boston I think. She
sings beautifully. I said to her (they were all talking hard between the
songs), "What a noise! Can you ever begin?" "Oh, certainly," she said,
"I shall make much more noise than they do," and she was quite right.
Her voice rang through the room. One of her songs was Delibes' "Filles
de Cadiz," which she sang splendidly.
June 12th.
This afternoon we have been sight-seeing. Jean came to breakfast, and we
started off with Jusserand and St. Genys to see the Panorama of Niagara,
which they say is extremely well done. I wanted the foreigners to have
an idea of our great Falls, for I think in their hearts they were rather
disposed to agree with a statement in one of the Swiss guide-books in
speaking of the falls of the Rhine at Schaffhausen, "generally supposed
to surpass the celebrated Falls of Niagara in America." However they
were agreeably disappointed and were much pleased and interested. The
Panorama is really very good. It is so many years since I have seen
Niagara that I had forgotten how magnificent the Horse Shoe Fall is, and
I almost expected to hear the roar of the cataract, and to see the
little Indian boy selling moccasins and maple sugar. I wonder if I would
like maple sugar now. One of my French friends, Mdme. Casimir Perier, to
whom I offered as a great treat some American home-made gingerbread,
could hardly swallow it, and assured me that I couldn't eat it either if
it had not been a "souvenir d'enfance." On leaving Niagara we went to
the Aquarium to see a dog show. There were some fine specimens, but I
didn't think any of the fox terriers as good as my Boniface. We also saw
a swimming match, young ladies disporting themselves in the water in
most wonderful costumes. Then to change our ideas we went into
Westminster Abbey, just getting there for the end of the afternoon
service. We heard the anthem, which was beautiful. It is such a good
choir--some of the boys' voices divine, and they look like such little
angels in their white surplices. A good many people were waiting to go
round the Abbey at the end of the service, and we had some difficulty in
getting away from the various guides who haunt the church and fall upon
strangers. We wandered about with Jusserand for our cicerone. He knows
everything about everything, and we had an interesting hour. Some of the
old tombs are so curious. We got back to the Embassy for tea, having
enjoyed ourselves immensely. I think in her heart Jean was rather
shocked at the Aquarium performance--didn't think it was exactly the
place for me--that was the reason I liked it, I suppose, I am so often
now in the place where I ought to be.
_To H. L. K._
#London#,
June 12, 1888.
It is beautiful again to-day. We had a nice canter in the Row. Everyone
was talking about the German Emperor, and speculating over the future.
There is a curious mistrust of the young Prince. No one seems to know
exactly what he will do, and what will be his attitude toward England.
This afternoon we have been out to Chiswick with the Florians, and
Francis, to launch a torpilleur built for the French Navy by
Thornycroft. We found Thornycroft and some of his friends waiting for us
at the entrance of the dockyard. They took us to a platform covered with
red cloth erected quite close to the boat--which was prettily dressed
with flags--the men said her shape was wonderful (for a torpilleur,
which never can be graceful). They gave me a bottle of champagne, and
told me what to do. I flung the bottle as hard as I could against the
stern of the boat, saying "Success to the 'Coureur.'" It broke into a
thousand pieces, the champagne spattering all over my dress. We then
adjourned to a summer-house overlooking the river for tea, and afterward
went over the boat. There are accommodations (such as they are) for two
officers and nine men, but it must be most uncomfortable, particularly
in rough weather. However, she was built for speed, Thornycroft told us,
and everything was suppressed that was not absolutely necessary. I hope
she will make a good record.
June 13th.
Yesterday I decided quite suddenly to go to Ascot. It was a beautiful
day, not too hot, and the Florians were quite ready to go with me. W.
hates races and a long day in the country. We got down all right,
hearing vague rumours on the way about the Emperor's death, but the
Royal box was open, prepared evidently for the Princes, and there were
quantities of people on the lawn. We were standing near the gate waiting
to see the procession appear, when suddenly Lord Coventry, Master of the
Buckhounds, rode in alone. Instantly everyone said there must be bad
news from the German Emperor (which was true). The Prince of Wales had a
telegram, just as he was getting into his carriage, from the Queen, to
say the news was very bad, and none of them must go to the races. Very
soon some of the gentlemen of the Prince's party arrived, among others
Karolyi, who said the Emperor was dying--dead probably at that moment.
The Prince's servants and lunch were sent back as soon as possible (of
course all their provisions and servants had been sent to Ascot, as they
have a big lunch party there every day), so we all lunched with Lord
Coventry. I went up after lunch to the top of the stand to see the race,
and had the satisfaction of seeing the French horse come in an _easy_
last.
We went to tea with Lady Diana Huddleston, who has a pretty cottage
close to the course, and sat under the trees some time. I had refused a
dinner in London, and was in no hurry to get back. We quite expected to
see the Emperor's death in the evening papers, but he seems to have
rallied again a little. Poor man, how terrible it is the way he fights
for his life--and he has known from the first, they say, that there was
no hope. I am so sorry for her--she is so clever, so ambitious, and
would have done so much for Germany.
#Woburn Abbey#,
June 15, 1888.
We arrived here yesterday for tea. It had rained hard in the morning. W.
and I were riding and were taking our usual quick canter at the far end
of the Park (Marble Arch) when the storm began. We got home as fast as
we could, but were dripping, both of us. The water poured off my hat
like a shower-bath when I took it off. We had just time to get dry and
dress before starting for the station where we found the Duke's[10]
regisseur waiting for us with a "wagon-salon." We had a short railway
journey through pretty English village country; then a drive of half an
hour brought us here. The Park is enormous, fine trees and beautifully
green--such a rest after London smoke. The house is very large, with a
great square court and corridors running all around it filled with
family and historical pictures. The Duchess and her daughters were
waiting for us in the morning room. We had tea and almost immediately
went upstairs, as it was late. I have a charming big room with such
views over the Park. There are always in these large houses lovely bits
of old furniture, pictures, old china, etc. The dinner was
handsome--quantities of gold and silver plate, and the table covered
with azaleas. The Duke talked a great deal. He speaks French and German
like a native (was brought up in Germany) and has the courteous,
dignified manner of the old-fashioned English gentleman--a little stiff
perhaps (they say people, even his children, are afraid of him), but I
find him most attractive, particularly in these days when people haven't
time apparently to be polite. The house party is small--Lord Tavistock,
son of the house, with his handsome wife, Lady Ampthill, widow of Lord
Ampthill (whom you will remember well as Odo Russell in Rome, and who
was for years British Ambassador in Berlin). We saw him there when we
stopped three or four days on our way to Moscow for the Coronation. They
loved him in Berlin, just as they did in Rome. Do you remember how much
put out all the women were there when his engagement was announced? Lady
Ampthill looks sad, and is of course most anxious about the Emperor
Frederick, and eager for news, she knew him and the Empress so well at
Berlin. There is also Boehm, the sculptor, and one or two young men. The
evening was short, everyone talking of course about the Emperor. The
Duke says his death will be an immense loss to the whole world. The
ladies came upstairs about 10.30--the men went to the smoking-room. This
morning it is showery--I didn't go down to breakfast, but about 12.30 I
found my way to the drawing-room, and the Duchess showed me the house
before lunch. It would take weeks to see all that is in it. The gallery
that runs round the court is filled with portraits of Russells of every
degree, also various Kings and Queens of England. There are splendid
pictures all over the house--one drawing-room absolutely panelled with
Canalettos. When we had been over the house we went into the garden to
dedicate a fountain which Boehm had made, and also to see a full length
statue of the Duchess which he had also just completed for the garden. I
am very glad to know Boehm. He is intelligent and sympathetic, original
too. He and W. had a long talk last night in the "fumoir," and it seems
he was much struck with W. and said afterward to the Duke "Der weiss
alles."
[10] The Duke of Bedford.
After lunch, just as we were starting to have tea at Ampthill, we
received two telegrams--one from the Embassy, and one from
Deichmann--telling of the Emperor's death at 11 this morning--so that
long struggle is over. We drove over to Ampthill, and walked about in
the garden with umbrellas and waterproofs, but of course the place
looked triste and dark as there are great trees close to the house.
There was a very good picture of Lord Ampthill in one of the
drawing-rooms, and souvenirs of their diplomatic life in every
direction; signed photographs of all sorts of distinguished
people--snuff-boxes, medals, etc.
June 16th.
It is still grey and damp, but no rain. The Duchess took us for a
beautiful _grass_ drive through miles of rhododendrons, quite
enchanting--I have never seen anything like it;--but again the want of
sunlight made a great difference. The contrast between the deep green of
the lawn and the extraordinary amount and variety of colour was most
striking. We left about 3--immediately after lunch. I had quite a talk
with the Duke while we were waiting for the carriage. He told me he had
been so pleased to have had W. at his house and to hear him talk. He
said--"I am not a Republican, but I must say that so long as the
Republic finds men like him to serve her, there can be nothing better
for France."
#London#, June 24th.
We all went to the funeral service for the Emperor Frederick this
morning, all of us smothered in crepe with long crepe veils. It was
precisely the same service over again as we had had for the old Emperor
a few months ago. The heat was something awful--so many people--and it
was very long. I dined in the evening at Hurlingham with Sir Roderick
Cameron, and that was nice; deliciously cool, lights all about the
place, and the Hungarian band playing.
_To H. L. K._
#London#,
July 12, 1888.
Last night I had a novel and most amusing experience. I went with Count
and Countess de Florian (they are always ready to do anything I want) to
dine at the Mansion House. W. could not go. As soon as we arrived they
roared out my name, or rather my official title--"Her Excellency the
French Ambassadress," and I walked alone (the Florians a little behind)
up the great hall lined with people to where the Lord Mayor was
standing, with his robes, chains, etc., a mace-bearer on one side, and a
sort of trumpeter on the other. He stood quite still until I got close
to him, then shook hands and asked my permission to remove his robes
(ermine). We then went in to dinner. The Lord Mayor and his wife sat
side by side, and I was on his right. The dinner was fairly good (a
regular banquet, 70 or 80 people), with music and speeches. I rather
like the ceremony of the "loving cup." The cup was a handsome heavy gold
tankard, with handles and a cover, and was brought first to the Lord
Mayor. He rose--I did the same, and he asked me to take off the cover,
which I did, and held it while he drank. Then he wiped the edge with his
napkin, and passed it to me. The man next to me got up and held the
cover while I drank. (The cup is very heavy and I had to take it with
both hands.) The same ceremony was repeated all around the enormous
table, and it was a pretty and curious sight to see a couple always
standing--the women in full dress and jewels standing out well between
the black coats of the men. It seems it is a very old custom, a remnant
of rough feudal times, when the man drinking was obliged to have a
friend standing next to him, to ward off a possible blow, his hands
being occupied. I don't know what we drank--I should think a sort of hot
spiced wine. Of course one just touches the edge of the cup. A wonderful
man, in old-fashioned garb and a stentorian voice, stood always behind
the Lord Mayor's chair, and called out all the names, toasts, etc. We
went in afterward to Mrs. Oppenheim, who had a musical party--all the
pretty women, and Mme. Nordica singing beautifully, with the orchestra
of the Opera.
#London#,
July 14, 1888.
I am rather tired to-night, but I think you must hear about the comedie
while it is still fresh in my mind. It really went very well. We
arranged a sort of rampe with flowers and ribbons (Thenard's suggestion)
at the end of the ball-room, and made up the background with screens,
curtains, etc. The little troupe had been well drilled by Thenard, who
took a great deal of trouble, not only with their diction, but with
their movements. At first they were always standing in a heap and
tumbling over each other, or insisting upon turning their backs to the
audience. "Ce n'est pas bien joli, ce que vous montrez au public, mes
enfants," says Thenard. Here is the programme:--
A FRENCH COMEDY
AMBASSADE DE FRANCE A LONDRES
#Samedi#, 14 #Juillet#, 1888
L'EDUCATION A LA MODE
PAR BERQUIN
MADAME VERTEUIL #Mlle. Beatrice de Bunsen#
MADAME BEAUMONT #Mlle. de Langhe#
LEONORA, sa niece #Lady Mary Pepys#
DIDIER, son neveu }
M. DUPAS, Maitre de danse} #M. Francis Waddington#
TRUETTE, soubrette #Mlle. Cameron#
I was very proud of my little troupe. Beatrice looked very well and
stately in powder, black satin, and lace. Mile. de Langhe and Daisy very
well got up, and the two children charming. Lady Mary Pepys was too
sweet, and they danced their minuet perfectly. There were roars of
laughter when Francis appeared as "Maitre de Danse" with a white wig and
his violin. The children were not at all shy, enjoyed themselves
immensely. B. was a little "emue" at first when she saw how many people
there were, but it didn't last and she was excellent, so perfectly
correct, and unfrivolous, and boring. Francis said his little poetry,
"Le bon Gite" of Deroulede, quite prettily. W. was rather surprised and
quite pleased, and Thenard beamed, as she had coached him. She recites
some of those "Chants du Soldat" of Deroulede's divinely. It is a
perfect treat to hear her recite in her beautiful rich voice "Le Petit
Clairon," also "La Fiancee du Timbalier," with an accompaniment of soft
music.
All the children (as we had invited Francis's young friends to see the
performance) had tea together afterward, and they wound up with a dance.
The men of the Embassy were much pleased, particularly Jusserand, who is
rather "difficile." They complimented B. very much; said she spoke so
distinctly and with very little accent. It was rather trying for her to
play before all the Embassy and an ex-member of the Comedie Francaise.
Francis's blue velvet coat and lace ruffles were very becoming to him.
Wolff told him how to hold his violin, I wish you could have seen it. It
was much prettier than the original little play at Bourneville, when we
executed as well as we could a menuet.
We had a very select public, among others Wyndham of the Criterion, who
is an interesting man and a charming actor. When you come over I will
take you to see his David Garrick, which I consider a perfect bit of
acting. I wrote and asked him to "assister aux debuts d'un jeune
collaborateur." The funny formal old-fashioned Berquin phrases amused
him. He knows French well.
#London#, August.
We have decided to go to Scotland with Sir Roderick Cameron and his
family, and are starting in a day or two. London is dull and empty, has
suddenly become a deserted city. Even the shops are empty, and the Park
a wilderness. All our colleagues have gone. I think W. is the only
Ambassador in London, and he wants to get off to France and have a few
days on the Aisne before he goes to the Conseil General. We means
Francis and me for Scotland.
_To H. L. K._
#Inveraylort#,
August 17, 1888.
I will try and give you an account of our journey, Dear. We arrived in
this most lovely place for late dinner yesterday, and went almost at
once to bed, having begun our day at 7 o'clock. We left London Tuesday
morning by the Flying Scotchman, and a tremendous pace we came. There
were quantities of people at the station, all going apparently by our
train--children, dogs, guns, fishing rods, provision baskets, tall
footmen racing after distracted French maids, and piles of luggage. We
had our saloon carriage reserved (as we were a fair party--C., the four
girls, Duncan, a friend Miss W., Francis and I and two or three maids).
We had also a fair amount of baskets, shawls, cushions, etc. It was a
lovely morning, not too warm, and I think W., who came down to the
station to see us off, was half sorry he was not going too.