was frightful, but we went so smoothly that one hardly realised the
speed. We went straight to the hotel to see our rooms and order dinner,
and then went out for a walk. The streets were crowded; omnibuses and
cabs with luggage in every direction. The old town and castle looked
most picturesque in the soft summer light. Daisy and I went out again
after dinner, and after loitering a little near the hotel we saw a
tramcar, asked where it went, and mounted on the top, telling the man we
would go as far as we could, and then come back. It was a beautiful
moonlight night, and we were very cool and comfortable perched on the
top of the car. When the man came to get the money for the places I
discovered that I had no change--merely a sovereign. The old gentleman,
a tall, white-bearded Scotchman, grumbled a good deal, and made various
uncomplimentary remarks to himself in a low tone. However after some
little time he appeared with a handful of silver. I took the money
mechanically and began to stuff it into my portemonnaie, as he looked at
me severely and said--"First count your money to see that it is right,
and then give me what you owe for your places."
We were up early the next morning--breakfasted at 9 o'clock as we wanted
to see a little of Edinburgh before starting for Oban at 12 o'clock. It
was an enchanting morning, not too warm, and we went first to the
Castle. There is not much to see inside--always a beautiful view of sea
and hills. There is a chapel and some old rooms which various Kings and
Queens of Scotland have inhabited at various times. A company of
Highlanders in Cameron plaids were being exercised in the courtyard, and
a fine stalwart set of men they were.
From there we drove through some of the old streets (Cannongate, etc.)
to Holyrood, which was most interesting. The children of course were
most anxious to see the spot where Rizzio was murdered, and the
blood-stains on the floor, but they have disappeared years ago. We were
delighted with the pictures. There are quantities of course of Mary,
Queen of Scots--one large portrait with that beautiful, sad Stuart
face--as if they all foresaw their destinies. I had forgotten how small
and low the rooms are. In these luxurious days no ordinary lady would be
satisfied with Queen Mary's bedroom and boudoir; and the servants,
accustomed to be quite as comfortable as their masters, would give
warning at once. We drove straight from the Palace to the station, where
our carriage was waiting for us. All our wraps, cushions, etc., neatly
arranged; and started for Oban, a most lovely journey, particularly all
about Loch Awe. We got to Oban about 7, and I shall often think of that
lovely evening. The harbour filled with yachts and sail-boats of all
kinds--the water blue and dancing, and the most divine soft pink lights
on the hills, a little like what we used to love at Capri and
Ischia--quite beautiful. Daisy and I did some shopping before
dinner--bought clean collars for the children, who were decidedly the
worse for the two days' journey, and we also interviewed the well-known
Ewan at the tartan shop with a view to kilted skirts. D. found their
tartan at once of course as there are so many Camerons--ours was rather
more difficult as there are few _Chisholms_ left (my Mother-in-law was
born Chisholm) and the authorities in London told us we could certainly
wear the family plaid. The shop people promised to get it for me. The
man was much interested in the skirt for Miss W. Being an American there
was no family tartan to be looked up, and she couldn't quite make up her
mind. However he came to the rescue, telling her that "all the
_American_ ladies take the Royal Stuart, Miss." We had an excellent
dinner at the very small hotel where we were obliged to go--all the
swell hotels were full--and there are quantities of people in the
streets, and boats coming and going from the yachts. The Englishwomen
all look so nice in their yachting dresses, almost all of dark blue
serge and a sailor hat or regular yachting cap. The cap is rather
trying, but the young and pretty women look charming in it. Some of the
trippers and their ladies are wonderful to behold. We stood near a
couple who were just starting for Skye on one of the steamers. The man
was in a wonderful checked suit, and the lady in a brilliant red and
green tartan (not unlike the Chisholm), on her head was a Scotch
stalking cap, which was not becoming to a red, round face. However _she_
was satisfied and so was her companion, who looked at her most
admiringly, saying--"I say, you are fetching in that cap." "Il y en a
pour tous les gouts." When we got back to the hotel we found that Sir R.
had quite changed our "itineraire." He had seen the boat, a fine large
one which made the outside passage to Arishaig, so instead of taking the
Caledonian Canal and landing at Fort William where carriages and carts
were ordered for us, he decided that we should go by sea, and take our
chance of finding some means of transport. He did, however, send a
telegram to Arishaig, as the hotel man told him he would never find any
conveyance for such a large party.
We started at 9 o'clock, and the sail was enchanting. About 12 we ran
rather close to a small headland, and the Captain told us we had
arrived. Apparently we were in broad Atlantic with a rocky shore in the
distance--however a boat appeared, one of those broad, flat boats which
one sees all over in Scotland. Our disembarkation was difficult as we
were 11 people with quantities of trunks and parcels. Happily the sea
was quite smooth. All the passengers were wildly interested in the
operation and crowded to the side of the steamer. When all the party had
finally got off with trunks, bags, a bird in a cage, and a kitten in a
basket, one of the passengers remarked--"They only need a pony in that
boat, to make the party complete."
To say we found a landing-place would be absolute fiction. As we neared
the shore we saw a quantity of black, slippery rocks, and on these we
landed, the boatmen holding the boat as near as they could, and we
climbing, and slipping, and struggling to get on shore. Our baggage was
dumped on the rocks and there we were--not a habitation or a creature in
sight. At last we found a sort of house behind a mass of rocks, and saw
several carriages in the distance which we supposed were for us. Not at
all! Sir R.'s telegram had not been received and those were carriages
waiting for a "Corps" which was being conveyed across on a yacht. We
tried to persuade them to take some of us at any rate, and at last with
great difficulty one carriage was given to us. The negotiations were
extremely difficult, as nobody spoke anything but Gaelic, except an old
woman, and she was so cross and apparently so suspicious of the whole
party that we got on better by signs and a few extra shillings. Sir R.
and the maids walked (4 miles through lovely country) and we all finally
arrived at the little fishing village of Arishaig, where there is a good
inn. It is a little place, three or four fishermen's cottages, a
post-office, and two churches, a large Roman Catholic Cathedral and a
small Established Church. We had a good lunch and started at 3.30,
getting here at 5.30. Such a beautiful drive--all blue sky, and heather
almost as blue--and great grey mountains. We walked up two very steep
hills, but had such glorious views at the top that we didn't mind the
climb.
This place is charming--the house fairly large. It stands low on the
lake or arm of the sea, and has pine woods and high mountains behind. It
is absolutely lonely--no houses near, except one or two (agent's and
farmer's) that belong to the estate. The country is lovely, wild and
picturesque, but it would be a terrible place to be in except with a
large party. There is nothing nearer than 10 miles, and no real village
or settlement for 25. We are about half way between Fort William and
Arishaig (each 20 or 25 miles away). I think all our provisions come
from Fort William. A stage passes twice a day, morning and evening. Our
baggage arrived at 10.30, and we were all glad to go to bed, as we had
begun our day early. It is so still to-night--I am writing in my
room--the lake looks beautiful in the moonlight, and there is not a
sound.
#Inveraylort#,
Sunday, August 19th.
We have settled down most comfortably in the house, which is fairly
large, but we are never indoors except to eat and sleep. We had a lovely
drive yesterday all through this property, and to a neighbour's where
there is a pillar to show where Prince Charlie landed. There are many
Roman Catholics in these parts, which accounts for the large church in
the little fishing village of Arishaig.
This morning we had a service in the "Wash-house"--a red-headed Scotch
peasant was the "Minister." It was a curious sort of independent
service, impromptu prayers, and a long sermon. The congregation
consisted of ourselves and the household. Miss Cameron, the owner of
this place, who is staying at her agent's cottage on the place, some
friends of hers, and the people of the little inn where the daily coach
from Fort William stops for rest and luncheon. There are no other
habitations of any kind except a few crofters' cottages across the lake.
After luncheon we went for a long walk along the stream where there are
plenty of fish, and came home over the hills. They are blue and deep
purple, with heather, and there are divine views in every direction.
Thursday, August 22d.
It is again a beautiful day. We intended to row down to see some friends
of Sir R.'s about 5 or 6 miles off at the mouth of the lake, where it
runs into the sea, but there is some trouble about the boats. Our
"proprietaire," Miss C., seems to have singular ideas as to the
respective rights of owners and tenants. It was so fine and cool that we
decided to walk, and the B.'s promised to send us back in their boat. It
was long, but the path was not too steep all along the lake, and we
arrived not too exhausted. They gave us tea, showed us the house and
garden, and we started back about 9. The row home was enchanting, but
weird--not a thing to be seen of any kind, except seals, which came up
close to the boat. I had never seen one near, and thought at first they
were dogs and was so surprised to see so many swimming about; not a
sound except the splash of our oars in the water when we turned our
backs to the sea, the heather-covered mountains shutting us in on all
sides. It was quite wild and beautiful, but a solitude that would be
appalling if one lived altogether in the country.
#Inveraylort#, August 27th.
After all they are not going to stay the month, Sir R. and his
proprietor can't come to terms, and I think they will probably take a
yacht and cruise about a little. The lake is decidedly rough this
morning, but still we thought we must row across to some crofters'
cottages. They told us they were of the poorest description, and we
wanted to see what their life and houses were. Most wretched little
houses (our horses much better off in their stables), generally one
room, sometimes two; no floor, merely the earth trodden hard, and
covered with straw. To-day it had been raining; there were puddles in
the corners and the straw was decidedly damp. A peat fire was burning,
and the only opening (no window) was a hole in the thatched roof, which
lets the smoke out and the rain in. An old woman was spinning and an old
man was sitting in the corner mending a fishing net. They were tall,
gaunt figures--might be any age. They spoke nothing but Gaelic, but soon
a young woman appeared on the scene who knew English. She looked as old
as her mother, but had a keen, sharp face. I was rather interested in
the spinning-wheel, so the two women suggested that I should try; but I
could do nothing. Either I went too fast and broke the yarn, or else the
wheel remained absolutely motionless. I bought some yarn, as I had
broken various bits, and then we started home, carrying away an
impression of wretched poverty and hard lives of toil, with little to
lighten the burden.
#Oban#, August 29th.
We are back here after a most eventful journey from Inveraylort. We
started in the rain, the mist closing round us and blotting out the
whole landscape. We had two carriages, but the pony cart came to grief,
and the two girls and Francis were thrown out. Miss W. had an ugly cut
on her face, but poor N. was lying on the ground, pale and suffering,
convinced that her arm was broken. When we got up to them we took her
into the waggonette and got on as quickly as we could to Caupar, our
destination, where we had been told of a wonderful bone-setter who was
well known in all these parts. He saw at once what was wrong--her
shoulder was dislocated, and said she must not continue the journey, so
we left her there with her sister and brother, and we came on here. They
all appeared this afternoon--N. with her arm in a sling and looking
fairly well. She said the man set it so quickly and gently she hardly
had time to feel any pain.
#Oban#,
September 3d.
We had a beautiful day yesterday for our excursion to Staffa and Iona.
The sea was perfectly calm, and the lights and shades on the mountains
enchanting. It was a lovely sail; sometimes we ran into little shaded
harbours with two or three cottages and a hotel perched high up on the
top of a mountain, and sometimes passed so close to land under the great
cliffs that one could throw a stone on the shore. The islands are most
interesting, with their old churches and their curious stone crosses,
and there were not too many people on the boat. The return was delicious
as we sat on deck, watching all the colours fade away from sea and
hills.
We leave to-morrow for London and Paris, and I am very sorry to go. We
have enjoyed our three weeks immensely. The country is so beautiful, and
then it was a great pleasure to be with some of my own people; we have
been away so long that the family ties get weaker. Francis was quite
happy with some cousins to run about with.
_To G. K. S._
#Albert Gate#,
May 21, 1889.
I got back from Paris last night, rather sorry to come. The weather was
enchanting, warm and bright, and, of course, quantities of people for
the Exhibition. It isn't half ready yet, but is most interesting--so
much to see. I dined and breakfasted there several times at the various
restaurants--one evening with the Walter Burns and a party, and we went
afterward to see the "fontaines lumineuses," which are really
fairy-like; but such a crowd. I also heard the two American prima
donnas--Miss Eames, who is very handsome, has a fresh, young voice, and
is an ideal Juliette. She is a vision really in her bridal dress as
Juliette. Miss Sanderson is also very handsome, but in quite a different
style. Her voice is very high and true; she was singing "Esclarmonde" at
the Opera Comique. Massenet has taught her everything. I have found
quantities of invitations here, in fact was obliged to come over, as we
have a big dinner the day after to-morrow, and the Court ball.
Tuesday, May 28, 1889.
We had our first encounter with Boulanger this morning. W. and I were
walking our horses down the Row when we met three gentlemen cantering
toward us. As they passed we heard they were speaking French, but didn't
pay any particular attention. I merely said, "I wonder who those men
are," one so rarely hears French spoken in the Row. A few minutes later
we met Lord Charles Beresford, who took a little turn with us, and said
to W., "The other distinguished Frenchman is also in the Row,"--then we
divined. A few moments afterward (the Row is so small one crosses people
all the time) we met them again, Boulanger in the middle riding his
famous black horse--a man on each side riding good horses, chestnuts.
They all wore top-hats, which no Englishmen do now in the morning. The
men all wear low hats, the women also, and covert coats, the girls
cotton blouses; not at all the correct style we used to admire as
children in _Punch_ when those beautiful women of Leech's riding in the
Park filled our childish hearts with envy. I was rather curious as to
what would happen, as W. knows Boulanger slightly, and went to him when
he was Minister of War about something concerning the military attache;
however, there was no difficulty, as Boulanger was apparently too
engrossed in conversation with his companions to notice anyone. I wonder
if we shall meet him anywhere? They tell us that some of the society
people mean to invite him, but I suppose they will scarcely ask us
together.
Thursday, May 30th.
Yesterday was the last Drawing-room of this season. I rather feel as if
it were my last in London, but one never knows. We (Corps Diplomatique)
were still all in black, the English in colours. It was long and tiring.
We dined at Lord Sudeley's--I rather wishing I had no engagement. I am
always tired after those hours of standing, and the diadem is heavy, and
the train, too, held over one's arm; however, I was quite repaid, as I
had a charming neighbour. I didn't know at all who he was, as they
rarely introduce in England, so we embarked on one of those banal, inane
conversations one has with a stranger of whom one knows nothing, and
were talking on smoothly about nothing at all, when he remarked,
casually, "I suppose you never go to church." This I at once resented
vehemently, so he explained that he didn't know, as I was a Frenchwoman,
probably a Catholic (as if they didn't go to church), etc. He turned out
to be Canon Rogers, a charming, intelligent, well-known man, most
independent in his words and actions. He is rector of St. Botolph's, a
church in Bishopsgate, the most disreputable part of London. We became
great friends, and he asked me if I would go and lunch with him one
Sunday, and he would show me Petticoat Lane. I agreed of course, and we
decided for next Sunday. He said he had never had a French lady and an
Ambassadress as a guest, and didn't quite know what to do. Should he ask
the Prince of Wales and order champagne? I told him my tastes were very
simple, and if I might bring my cousin Hilda, and one of the
Secretaries, I should be quite happy--also I liked apple-pie, which he
says his cook makes very well. I haven't had such a pleasant dinner for
a long time.
Monday, June 3d.
We made our expedition to Bishopsgate yesterday, and most interesting it
was. I went with Hilda and M. Lecomte, one of the secretaries, who knows
English, and is very keen to see anything a little out of the way. We
had a long drive to the church through the city, and arrived only to
hear the end of Canon Rogers' sermon, which was strong and practical. As
soon as the service was over we went down to the door and found him and
his curate waiting for us. The first thing he did was to send away my
carriage, which had already attracted much attention with the tall
footman, velvet breeches, cockades, etc. He said he would never venture
into Petticoat Lane in such an equipage, and would we please share his
modest conveyance; so Hilda and I got into his victoria, and Lecomte and
the curate walked close to the carriage behind. We had two policemen in
front, two behind, and a detective. I rather demurred to such a display
of municipal strength on my account, but he said it was necessary, he
much preferred having them, he was afraid people would crowd around us
and insist upon my buying something. The street was narrow, crowded with
people, as there was also a fair going on and everything imaginable
being sold (it is the one place in London where you can buy _one_ shoe
or _one_ stocking!). The people were almost all Jews, and I must say
they were a bad-looking lot, frightfully rough specimens. Some of the
women, girls too, with such sullen, scowling faces. We went at a foot's
pace (the only carriage), and hadn't the slightest difficulty in making
our way. Everyone knew Mr. Rogers and spoke to him--"Good morning,
Governor," "God bless you, Sir." Two or three children ran up to him,
one a pretty little dark-eyed girl breathless to tell him she was in
church, though she came late. He was so nice to them all, called them
all by name, patted the children on the head, and exhorted some of the
women to keep their husbands out of the drinking shops, and to wash
their children's faces. They say he does an immense amount of good down
there, but it must be uphill work. I have rarely seen such a forbidding
looking set of people. Some of the women came up rather close to the low
victoria and made comments on our garments. (We had dressed very simply
at his request. I wore my blue foulard and a blue straw bonnet with iris
on it. Hilda was in light grey with a black hat.) "You have got a
beautiful bonnet, my lady. Oh, look at her umbrell!" The "umbrell"
excited much attention. I couldn't think why at first, as it was also
rather dark and plain; when I remembered that it had a watch in the
handle upon which, of course, all eyes were fixed. I think the detective
kept his eye upon it too, as he came up rather close on my side. The
detective took Lecomte to a famous jeweller's shop near in Whitechapel,
where there had been a murder some days ago. We drove all through the
fair surrounded by these villainous faces (here and there a pretty,
fair, innocent, childish face) and I wasn't sorry to get back to
civilisation and the rectory, though I am very glad to have seen it. The
rectory is a large old-fashioned house in Devonshire Square, shut in
with high houses and high trees, and never, I should think, could a ray
of sunshine get anywhere near it. One felt miles away from London and
life of any kind. It was a curious contrast to the turbulent, noisy,
seething crowd we had just left. We had a charming breakfast, Mr. Rogers
talking all the time delightfully, so original and so earnest, convinced
that everyone in their small circle could do so much to help, not only
the poor but the really bad, if only by example and a little sympathy;
he says no one ever helps the bad ones, only the deserving poor get
looked after.
About 3.30 we started again to see the People's Palace, which he takes
great interest in, and hopes he may succeed in keeping the men away from
the drinking shops in the evening. It looked comfortable and practical,
the reading-room particularly, which is large and airy, with all sorts
of morning and evening papers (some foreign ones), illustrated papers,
and good, standard books. The librarian told me that Walter Scott was
always asked for, also some American books, particularly Indian stories,
and travels of all kinds. I was rather interested in hearing that, as
whenever W. gives books to a school library, or prizes in France, Walter
Scott or Fenimore Cooper are still the favourites (translated, of
course. I read the "Last of the Mohicans" in French, and it was very
well done). There were not many people, but Mr. Rogers says on a fine,
warm Sunday they all prefer to be in the open air. There is also a large
swimming bath, given by Lord Rosebery. We parted from our host at the
door, having had a delightful afternoon. It is a long time since I have
heard anyone talk who interested me so much.
The drive home along the Embankment was nice--quantities of people out,
quite like a Sunday in France. We dined quietly at home. W. was much
interested in my day. I think if he had known exactly where I was going,
and that an escort of police was necessary, he wouldn't have agreed to
the expedition.
_To H. L. K._
Thursday, June 4, 1889.
The Court Ball was brilliant last night. The Prince opened the ball with
Princess Louise, and the Princess with Lord Fife. The engagement of
Princess Louise of Wales to Lord Fife is just announced, and has of
course created quite a sensation. Of course there are two currents of
opinion--the old-fashioned people are rather shocked at the idea of a
Royal Princess marrying a subject; but I fancy the entourage of the
Prince and Princess of Wales are pleased,--and Fife is a general
favourite. It is not very easy for the English princesses to marry. They
_must_ marry Protestants, and there are not many Protestant princes who
are not near relations.
I talked a little to the Shah, but I didn't find that very amusing. He
knows very little English or French, and has a most disagreeable way of
looking hard at one. He planted himself directly in front of me, very
close, and said "he thought he had seen me before," which of course he
had, in Paris.
It seems that one of the Princesses pointed out to him, in the
supper-room, a lady neither very young nor very beautiful, who was
covered with splendid jewels, thinking they might interest him. He
stopped short in front of her--then turned his back at once, saying
"monstre." They say he finds no woman handsome who has passed twenty.
Tuesday, July 2d.