in going. We went down by a special, W. in deep mourning, I in my black
crepon, my big pearls in my ears and around my neck, a little crepe
bonnet (with a soupcon of jet) and an ordinary dotted tulle veil. All
our colleagues were most empresses and nice--said it had been so strange
not to see either of us at any of the fetes. There were, as usual, a
certain number of young men, sons of the house, secretaries, etc., at
the station at Hatfield; plenty of carriages, and in a few minutes we
were at the house. We passed straight through the rooms to the terrace,
where a very smart company was assembled. Some of the young women in
white satin and lace, high bodices of course, all very much dressed, and
all with necklaces and jewels on their corsages. No one in particular
received us. Lady Salisbury was driving with the Empress, Lord Salisbury
talking with the Prince of Wales, and the Emperor riding. (The
Salisburys had an enormous house party, all arrived the night before for
dinner--the Emperor and Empress with their suite, also the Prince and
Princess and theirs.) I was strolling about the terrace with Countess
Deym when we came suddenly upon the Princess of Wales, walking about
with her "Kodak" and looking about 25 in her simple grey foulard and big
black hat. As we went up to speak to her, she made us a sign to stop,
saying "I want you in my picture." We talked to her a little while and
then she said she must go and make herself "smart" for the lunch-party.
There was still some time before there was any sign of Princes--or
lunch. Mr. Barrington asked us to stand near the perron, as he had
charge of the placing of the people. The Emperor and Empress appeared
first, and immediately made a sort of cercle. Lady Salisbury presented
me at once to the Empress, and she was most amiable, regretted not
having seen me at the reception at Buckingham Palace, adding, "J'ai vu
toutes vos jeunes femmes, plus jolies les unes que les autres." The
Emperor, too, was easy and pleasant, but so many people were brought up
to him all the time that he couldn't talk much. It was interesting to
watch him. He was of course _the_ central figure, and there is always a
certain curiosity as to what he will do. He holds himself very straight,
has a stern face and rather a stiff manner, not particularly gracious,
speaks English of course perfectly well (in fact looks like an
Englishman, particularly in ordinary dress--of course the uniform
changes him a little). I think he knew about everybody who was presented
to him; soldiers, statesmen, artists, and seemed to be interested in the
very short talks he had with each one. He and W. had quite a talk, and
he again expressed his regret at not having seen him before, and also
for the cause which had kept him away. The Prince and Princess stood
about on the terrace while all the presentations were going on, talking
to their friends. After about half an hour there was a move to the great
dining-hall. I think there were about 150 guests. The Royalties and
swells lunched in the great hall at small tables of ten, and the others
in the ordinary dining-room. I was at Lord Salisbury's table, who took
in the Empress; the Prince took me; Hatzfeldt (German Ambassador) Mdme.
de Staal; Rustem (Turkish Ambassador) Princess Maud; Soveral (Portuguese
Minister) Countess Spencer. At Lady Salisbury's table were the Emperor,
Princess, Staal, W., etc. The talk was fairly easy at our
table--Hatzfeldt said to me rather pointedly, "Je suis tres heureux de
vous voir ici aujourd'hui, Madame Waddington." The Prince also said we
were quite right to come. I said I thought my plain black dress was
rather out of place at such a brilliant entertainment, but he assured me
it was quite correct.
About half way through luncheon came the pearl necklace incident (which
you saw in the papers). I suddenly felt that my necklace was unclasped.
It was sewed on the corsage in front, as the pearls are large and heavy,
and I am always afraid of breaking the string. I asked Soveral, who was
next to me, if he couldn't clasp it for me. He tried, but was nervous or
awkward; at any rate couldn't manage it, and we were both getting red
and flustered when suddenly we heard the Emperor from his table calling
W.'s attention to the fact that "le Portugal etait en train d'etrangler
la France"; also Staal, saying that his "Collegue du Portugal se livrait
a une gymnastique etrange." They all made various jokes at my expense,
and the Prince said "Let me do it," but he couldn't either, and again we
heard the Emperor remarking, "Maintenant c'est plus serieux--l'Angleterre
s'en mele." W., who had his back to me and who couldn't see what was going
on, was decidedly mystified, and wondered what on earth I was doing to
attract so much attention, in fact was rather annoyed. When we got up from
table the Prince and I retreated to a corner of the terrace, and he cut the
stitches that held the necklace in front with his knife (which again looked
funny to the people assembled on the terrace). He advised me to put the
pearls, _not_ in my pocket, but in a safe place, as they were very
handsome, so I put them _inside_ my dress. Of course everybody asked me
what had happened, and what the Emperor was saying to me from the other
table. I asked the Empress if she was never afraid of losing her pearls,
but she said all her jewels were most carefully sewn on and strung on a
very thick string or sort of silk cord.
Very soon after lunch the Emperor and Empress left, as they were
starting in the evening for Germany, and had to go to Windsor to take
leave of the Queen. The Prince and Princess followed quickly, and then,
of course, all of us. W. had again a talk with the Emperor, and all his
colleagues told him he was quite right to come. Any little incident
between France and Germany always assumes gigantic proportions, and the
papers, both French and German, would have been full of the _marked_
absence of the French Ambassador from all the fetes for the Emperor; his
mourning a pretext, etc. It was a beautiful entertainment--bright,
perfect summer day, quantities of pretty women beautifully dressed (a
great many in white) and representative people of all kinds. The general
impression was that the Emperor was not a lady's man--he evidently
preferred talking to army and political men. My talk with him was so
perfectly banal that I can scarcely have an opinion, but I should think
one might talk to him easily. His face is certainly stern, and the
manner very cold, but his smile, like the Queen's, lights up and softens
the face. I said to one of the pretty young women who had made a
luncheon-party for him, that I had heard that it was beautifully done,
and that he was much pleased. She said she hoped he was, that as far as
she personally was concerned he hadn't the slightest idea whether she
was 25 or 50.
_To H. L. K._
#London#,
January 12, 1892.
W. and I came over yesterday in a snowstorm. It was beastly getting out
of the train and on the boat at Calais. I am rather depressed, having
left Francis behind at a professor's near the Lycee Janson, to follow
the cours there as externe. I shall miss him frightfully, but it was
quite time for him to go to France and go through the regular course. He
was forgetting his French here. Of course he and his father always speak
French to each other, but he went to a little English school, Miss
Quirim's, in Sloane Street (where there were quantities of little
friends beginning their education), played all day with English
children, heard nothing else spoken around him, and was rapidly becoming
an Englishman. The house seems dreadfully quiet without him, and poor
little Bonny, the fox-terrier, is miserable. He couldn't think why he
wasn't with us to-day on our journey and galloped up to his room as soon
as he arrived at the Embassy, asking everybody really with his eyes
where his master was. Florian came in at once to see us, and told us
that the Duke of Clarence was frightfully ill at Sandringham. He always
looked rather delicate, tall and slight and colourless, but I hope his
youth will pull him through. He had been rather more en evidence these
last months since his engagement to Princess May, daughter of Princess
Mary, Duchess of Teck. I think it is a marriage that pleases the nation.
Princess May is young and pretty, with a pretty figure and essentially
English--born and brought up in the country. Everybody adores her
mother, Princess Mary, and I think it will be a very happy marriage.
January 13, 1892.
I am afraid there is no chance for the poor young Prince. Florian came
in for a moment, just back from Marlborough House, where the bulletins
are posted twice a day. There were crowds of people reading them and
trying to get some detailed information. Florian saw one of the
equerries, who told him there was no hope, he was sinking fast and would
probably not live through the night. He told him the Princess never left
him and was heart-broken, her eldest boy. It is hard for her. They seem
to think it was a neglected cold, caught out shooting, and not taken in
time. All the personnel came in to see me and brought their New Year's
present--4 pretty corbeilles for bonbons. They always give me something
New Year's Day and I am much pleased to have the souvenirs. I can hardly
realise that we have been here nearly 9 years. We came in '83 and
thought we should stay perhaps two years. I am so accustomed to the life
now that I feel as if I had always spent half the year in England and
the other half in France. I suppose I shall miss a great many things
when we retire into private life, perhaps most of all the family life
with all the personnel of the Embassy. We have had various changes, of
course, but I generally pull well with them all, and I must say they are
always ready to help me in every way. I haven't had too many women,
which is pleasant; women are much more complicated to deal with than
men--there are always so many small jealousies and rivalries.
Thursday, January 14, 1892.
The poor young Duke is dead at 9 o'clock this morning, in spite of all
that tender nursing and skill could do. He had not strength to fight
against the malady. It is awfully hard at his age and in his position;
just now, too, when his marriage was so popular. Florian came at once to
tell us, and said there was such a crowd outside Marlborough House that
he could hardly get through into the court, where the policeman showed
him the Prince of Wales's telegram, "All is over." We had various visits
at tea-time; Deym among others, who had done just what we did--sent
telegrams to the Prince and Princess and the Tecks at Sandringham. He
told me he had dined at White Lodge with the Tecks on Christmas Eve (for
their Christmas tree) and that they were all so happy. Princess Mary
took him upstairs and showed him all the presents--coupons of velvet,
brocade, etc., for dresses, also the wedding dress, and said to him, "Je
suis si heureuse que j'en ai peur." Poor thing; perhaps it was a
presentiment. I am awfully sorry for them, for her perhaps more than for
Princess May, who is young and must of course get over it, as youth
happily is elastic and rebounds; but Princess Mary is different. She has
her share of worries and disappointments, and she was so happy and proud
of the marriage. It must be an awful blow to her.
Sunday, January 19, 1892.
I went to the little church behind the Embassy this morning and am very
sorry now that I didn't go to St. Paul's, where there was a fine
service--the organ playing the Dead March in Saul, and all the
congregation standing, a good many women crying, all in black. It was
impressive in the little church--everyone in black. There is a general
mourning ordered for three weeks, and Court mourning for six (which is a
shorter time than I thought). (I send on a sheet apart what I would like
you to order for me. I have nothing black but my black satin evening
dress, which fortunately is all black, no white, lace, or colour). They
sang the funeral hymn "Labourer, thy work is o'er," the first time I had
ever heard it, and beautiful it was; read the prayer for the "Royal
Family in affliction," and one for the influenza--which surprised me, as
I should not have thought the epidemic was bad enough for that. The
sermon, of course, was all about Prince Eddie and the young life cut
short. It was very simple and earnest and the congregation certainly
felt and showed great sympathy. I went for a short turn in the Park
afterward and walked about a little with Henry Edwardes and his
children. He is rather down, poor fellow, as his conge drags on and they
seem in no hurry at the Foreign Office to give him another post. I
believe he didn't get on very well with his last chief, and of course
all chiefs are not commodes, but equally of course when there comes a
question the secretary is _always_ in the wrong. Edwardes is very clever
and cultivated. W. thinks him an excellent agent. In Paris he always
knew what was going on, and knew so many people of all kinds.
This afternoon I had my usual Sunday visits--principally diplomatists
this time, and all talking about Prince Eddie's funeral. It seems a pity
they don't make a grand military funeral, the procession passing through
London. There was such a striking outburst of sympathy and loyalty when
his death was announced that the people would have been glad to
associate themselves with the last rites. They don't invite all the
Chefs de Mission to the funeral at Windsor (which also seems strange,
Prince Eddie being the heir), merely those of the "Cours apparentees."
That will take in Hatzfeldt, German Ambassador; Staal, Russian; de
Bille, Danish Minister; Gennadius, Greece; Soveral, Portugese; and
Solvyns, Belgian. All the others go to a special service at St. James's
Chapel, in uniform.
Wednesday, January 20, 1892.
To-day is the funeral. Our flag is half-mast, and all the windows shut
in the drawing-rooms. It is mild and damp, but not cold. Mdme. de
Florian and I have been driving about this afternoon to have an
impression of the streets. All the shops are shut, blinds down in all
the houses, flags at half-mast, and everyone in black. Some of the
hansom cab drivers with bits of black ribbon or stuff on their whips,
and everybody looks grave. I can't help thinking it was a pity not to
let the people participate in the mourning and feel they were taking
some part. In these days of democracy one should take any chance of
strengthening the feeling of loyalty. W. went off in uniform, with crepe
on sleeve and sword hilt, at 3, to the service at the Chapel Royal, St.
James's, which seems to have been rather mild. The diplomatists (4
Ambassadors), Chefs de Mission, were received by Mr. Eric Barrington,
Lord Salisbury's secretary; Mr. Thomas Sanderson, and Colonel Chaine.
W. dined in the evening with Hilda, to meet Count Seckendorff and Buelow,
who had come over from Germany to the funeral. They said the service was
very simple and impressive, and that the Prince of Wales and Prince
George looked badly, the Prince of Wales much agitated. Seckendorff said
he could just manage to speak to them when they all filed past him after
the ceremony. The Princesses were all in the chapel in a sort of
gallery. Quite at the end the Prince stepped forward and laid a white
wreath (given by Princess May) on the coffin.
Saturday, January 30, 1892.
It is still very mild and damp, rather dismal weather, and the streets
are depressing, everyone in black--the mourning is very general, not at
all confined to the fashionable world. Mdme. de Florian and I drove out
to White Lodge, and cheerless it looked, so lonely and sad with the
black winter trees all around the house. We did not see either of the
Princesses; they were in London, but Teck came out to speak to us. I
never saw him appear so well--he was so simple and distressed for his
daughter. He said she was very quiet, but perfectly heart-broken, and
that he had always had a presentiment that something would
happen--everything had gone too smoothly. He said the coming back there
after the funeral was something too awful--all the wedding presents and
stuffs and laces scattered about the rooms--letters and telegrams of
congratulation, bouquets of white flowers, in fact all the preparations
for a wedding; and at the same time people waiting to try on
mourning--telegrams of condolence, etc. What a tragedy! He said he had
no hope from the first. Prince Eddie was struck down at once, and he
didn't think the Princess of Wales ever had a gleam of hope. She never
left her boy until all was over.
_To G. K. S._
Wednesday, February 10, 1892.
I went as usual to have tea with the Countess de Bylandt this afternoon,
who receives always Wednesday. She always has plenty of people and one
has a pleasant hour. She was worried about her husband to-day, who is
ill. He is not very young and I should think has always been delicate.
He is Dutch Minister, and has been here for years. She is a Russian
born, very clever and amusing. We dined with Baron Gevers, Dutch
Secretary, at the new restaurant or club, l'Amphytrion, which is
supposed to be the best and dearest in London. It is kept by Emile, a
well-known Parisian. We were a _young_ party, the Florians, St. Genys,
and the Lataings (Belgian Legation). The dinner was excellent,
certainly--Emile knew that his Ambassador was coming and had done his
best. He was always hovering about the table to see that all was right,
and we complimented him very much on the way everything was cooked and
served. I said to him that he had very good material in London to work
upon, to which he replied, with magnificent contempt for anything that
was not French--"Il n'y a pas de marche a Londres, je fais venir tout de
Paris." When one thinks of Covent Garden, with its piles of splendid
salmon, haunches of venison, hot-house fruits, grapes, pine-apples, and
_primeurs_ of all kinds, the answer was amusing. We went upstairs for
coffee and cigarettes and had a very pleasant evening. It is so good for
W. to be with young people occasionally. He talked a great deal, and the
young men were interested in some of his Cambridge reminiscences.
Thursday, February 11, 1892.
It is still quite mild. After breakfast I went with Hilda to the British
Museum to hear a young Oxonian lady lecture on Greek Antiquities and the
Eleusinian Mysteries. She did it very easily--a pretty, cultivated voice
and very distinct pronunciation. The lecture lasted about an hour. She
had all sorts of photographs of bas-reliefs, statues, paintings, etc.,
and it was very interesting, much more so than I expected, as Greek
antiquities are not much in my line. After the lecture was over, Mr.
Thomson, the director of the Museum (a charming man), came to get us and
showed us as much as we could see before 4, when it gets dark and the
Museum is shut. The reading-room and library are enormous, and for
London very light. The collection of missals, autographs, etc., is
splendid. Some of the old, old missals so beautiful still, the colours
so wonderfully preserved. We went to Mr. Thomson's room in the Museum
building for tea. His daughter was there and gave us very good tea and
muffins. Altogether we had a most interesting afternoon. We dined with
Mrs. Mitford (widow of Percy Mitford, diplomatist). She has a very
pretty and original house and is a very easy hostess, having lived much
abroad. She is a great friend of Princess Mary and told me I ought to go
and see her. Mr. Lincoln, the American Minister, was there, and we all
teased him about the Presidential election (the papers say he is to be
the next President). Mdme. de Bille and I told him we were racking our
brains to think what we could ask him for our friends at home when he
would be at the White House. He assured us there was no possible chance
of it, and no one would be as sorry as he himself if ever the thing came
to pass. It certainly would be difficult to be a second President
Lincoln.
Friday, February 19, 1892.
It is still very cold, snow lying on the ground (in the parks), which is
rare in London. I have just had a little note from Princess Mary, asking
me to come and see her on Sunday at White Lodge, as she leaves early in
the week for the Riviera. Wolff came in late to ask me if I would take
him out to White Lodge, as Princess Mary had also written to him to
come. He had his violin, so he played for about an hour, and most
enchanting it was. I occasionally forgot about the accompaniment,
listening to his beautiful long notes. He didn't mind, was standing in
the middle of the room (playing by heart) and went on quite serenely
until I caught him up somewhere and went on again. I dined quietly with
Jean (as W. had a man's dinner at one of the clubs) and we made music
all the evening. She is very busy translating a German book, Lady
Blennerhasset's "Life of Madame de Stael." It looked easy at first, but
I fancy is rather a formidable undertaking, as Lady B. has a very
distinct style--very German, and I should think it must lose in
translation. She had rather come to grief over one page. I looked over
it, and said I didn't find it _very_ difficult, and I know German well,
upon which she replied, "Please read it out to me, then, in good
English." I began, but came to grief at once. I had got the meaning
right enough in my head, but couldn't at all express it at once in
correct or fluent English, and I don't know that a dictionary would have
helped me much. It was more the turn of the phrase and a peculiar form
of expression.
Sunday, February 21, 1892.
It is very mild to-day--a complete thaw. Wolff came to breakfast, also
Mdme. de Florian, and we drove out to White Lodge for tea. It was
pleasant enough driving, as there was no wind, but the park and place
looked dreary. I had always seen it so gay, with so many young people
about, that I could hardly realise that it was the same house. We were
expected--two or three footmen in deep mourning were at the door and
took us at once to the drawing-room. In a few minutes the three
appeared: father, mother, and daughter. I was rather nervous, but they
were so natural, it was such real grief, that we felt quite at our ease,
and so sorry for them all. Princess May looked lovely. She has grown
much thinner, and the long black dress covered with crepe, with the
white collar and cuffs (that all widows wear in England), was most
becoming. Her complexion was beautiful, so delicate, and her eyes had
that peculiar bright look that one sees in people who have cried a great
deal. Before tea I had a long talk with Princess Mary, who said that it
all seemed a dream--the first days at White Lodge, when the young couple
were so happy, making all sorts of plans, for their future seemed so
bright and brilliant; so convinced that long years of happiness and
usefulness were before them that she was frightened sometimes, and used
to tell them that there would be great cares and responsibilities in
their position, and that they must both help each other as much as they
could (she said Prince Eddie was naturally timid, and rather disposed to
underrate his intelligence). Then came the sudden change. Those terrible
days at Sandringham, where she hoped against hope, and then the coming
back to White Lodge, which must have been heart-breaking. I only said a
few words to Princess May as we were going away, but Mdme. de Florian
had some talk with her. She said she felt stunned--could hardly believe
that all was over, but that she must try and take up her life again. "It
will be very hard; I suppose I was too happy."
They are starting at once for the South, and I hope it will do her good.
Various people came in, among others Mrs. Mitford, who is a devoted
friend of the Tecks, and so sorry for them. She said it was melancholy
to see them the first days after they got back to White Lodge. All the
presents had to be put away or sent back; all the letters and telegrams
sorted and put away, and that Princess May moved about like a ghost.
We had a quiet evening until some late telegrams came announcing a
Ministerial crisis in France, for nothing apparently. W. and his
secretaries were disgusted. There are so many changes in France, and we
never know who is coming to the Foreign Office. I think it is time for
us to go back. We have been away a long time, and it isn't good for a
man to live too much out of his own country.
#Albert Gate#,
Wednesday, February 24, 1892.