the grooms exercising the saddle horses in the Park. I went for tea as
usual to Mdme. de Bylandt. He is still in his bed, and very bad I
imagine. This evening we have been to "Venice," the great show at
Olympia. We went a family party (Embassy), Florians, St. Genys,
Pontavice, d'Agoult. It is really very prettily done; you must see it
when you come over. We had a capital box directly in the centre of the
house, but the director, hearing we were there, came to pay us a visit,
and transferred us to the Royal box, which is very large and
comfortable--seats twenty people easily. He sent us some ices, and said
he would have two gondolas waiting at the end of the performance to take
us through the lagoons. The performance was a sort of ballet--very
pretty girls well got up in Venetian costume, very artistically grouped,
and quantities of colour. As soon as it was over we went down to the
"Canal," where we found two gondolas, the real thing, with Venetian
gondoliers, who were much pleased when I spoke Italian to them. We went
all around the show, passing under the Bridge of Sighs, and finally
wound up at a Neapolitan cafe, where they were playing and singing all
the well-known Italian songs, "Santa Lucia," "Bella Napoli," etc.
Florian of course found a friend, one of the singers, who recognised
him, having seen him in Rome when she was singing there; so of course we
all fraternised, and we stayed there some time listening to all the
familiar songs and accompaniment of guitar and mandoline. We had quite
the impression of having spent our evening in Italy. W. was much amused
when we told him of Florian's "connaissance," as he always says he knows
more people than anyone he has ever seen, and is related to half France.
He is always going to some cousin's funeral in Paris. French people are
so particular about funerals--never fail to pay that last respect to
their dead friends; also wear mourning much more than we do. They are
constantly in real mourning (not merely fancy black) for three weeks or
a month, for a very distant cousin.
#Albert Gate#,
Monday, March 9, 1892.
It is cold and snowing, not a very pleasant day for our excursion to
Herkomer's studio, in the country; however, I had a line from Hilda
saying they were quite willing to go if I didn't mind the weather, so I
consulted with Lecomte, one of the secretaries who was going with us,
and we thought we would go. It would be very difficult for me to find
another day, as London is filling up for its avant-saison, and we have
quantities of engagements. We met the Deichmanns at the station, and
there discovered that we had 40 minutes to wait, so we breakfasted there
in the big dining-room, and it wasn't bad at all. Deichmann knows
everybody and is well known at Euston--so thanks to him we had a really
excellent breakfast (and it turned out very well, as we only got to
Herkomer's for tea, and we should have been half starved). We had about
three-quarters of an hour by rail to our destination, Bushey, in the
county of Herts. It was bright and beautiful when we got to the station,
but the trees were white with frost and snow everywhere. We found our
host in a temporary installation. He is building himself an enormous
castle, and all the work, stone-cutting, wood-carving, painting, etc.,
is done on the spot by his pupils, Herkomer himself superintending and
directing everything. He is most interesting; full of all sorts of
knowledge and fancies. We went over the studios and saw everything. Some
dull red wood they were using came from America he told me--I forget the
name of the tree, I think a Californian. It would have amused you to see
the eager, intelligent faces of the young workmen, especially when
Herkomer was going about explaining his ideas and criticising or
encouraging. It reminded me rather of an evening at Wilhelmj's (the
great violinist) long ago in Germany. He had a villa near my
sister-in-law's, Mdme. Charles de Bunsen, at Mosbach, near
Biebrich-am-Rhein. We all went over there one night to a musical party
when I was staying with my sister. His house was most artistically
arranged, all "Alt Deutsch," with an enormous music-room. He was waiting
for us there surrounded by all his pupils, about 10, with their violins
and music-stands, and all looking so eager and anxious to begin. He
played himself quite beautifully, and when he was accompanied by all the
others it was a very pretty sight, he in the middle and all the young
ones around him with their eyes fixed on him. He was one of Wagner's
right-hand men and played often with him. They played among other things
the prelude of "Parsifal," which haunted me for days afterward. You
can't imagine anything more divine than those beautiful long notes of
his and the soft arpeggio accompaniments of the violins. I couldn't hear
anything else afterward. Someone asked him to play Schubert's "Ave
Maria," which he did of course beautifully, but it sounded so tame after
the other, which I told him; but he said I was quite wrong, that
Schubert had written beautiful things, so melodious. All the same, I
would have preferred remaining with the impression of that wonderful
prelude. What reminded me of all this was the same sort of
cadre--"Maitre et apprentis," for Herkomer is quite the old-fashioned
embodiment of the "Master" with his pupils. We had tea in the studio,
where there were some fine portraits. I think I like his men better than
his women. It is so difficult to make an interesting picture of a man in
ordinary everyday dress. Herkomer has certainly succeeded in making some
wonderful pictures, without uniform, or costume, or colour of any kind
to appeal to the imagination. We got back late for dinner. I was rather
tired and cold after my long day--we had started early, and I persuaded
W. with some difficulty to go to Lord Salisbury's reception without me.
However, he rather enjoyed himself. He didn't get much farther than the
door, where he remained talking with Lady Salisbury, which he always
likes. I don't think he was away more than an hour.
#Albert Gate#,
March 28, 1892.
We had a nice canter this morning. There were a good many people out. We
had a pleasant dinner last night at Lady Winifred Gardner's, one of
those curious mixtures one only sees in London. The Brownlows, Lord
Carrington, Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone, Hare the actor and his wife, also
various stray men. I found Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone both much
changed--much older--but he is marvellous--talked, eat, and drank like a
man of 50. Hare talked a great deal, and a great deal to W., who found
him clever and original.
Wednesday, 30th.
Well, my Dear, I opened my bazaar yesterday, and you will be surprised
to hear that I was rather nervous--only for one moment, I must say, when
they asked me, after one or two speeches and a little "Marseillaise," if
I would pronounce the sacramental phrase and declare the bazaar open. I,
with the committee, was seated in a red chair on the platform. When I
got up (the only person standing) and saw the crowd of faces beneath me
looking hard at me, for a moment I was shy, but that didn't last. They
all cheered me, so I recovered myself and made my statement, I think in
a clear voice. W. jibed at me well afterward when I told him. I made a
tour of the bazaar, buying something at each stall, Lecomte bringing up
the rear, carrying a large doll. Do you remember what Lasteyrie used to
say when he was W.'s Chef de Cabinet at l'Instruction Publique--that one
of his principal functions was to accompany Madame Waddington to all the
"Ventes de Charite" carrying a "paquet de chemises de femme," which
means that I get so tired of all the fancy boxes, and pin-cushions, and
screens I accumulate at the various sales that I finally asked for
"layettes" and "vetements de pauvres." Of course I can never have too
many in the country. I was amused to hear one of my friends here who
collects for the numerous "guilds" dilate upon the _smallness_ of the
objects sent her. She says she receives dresses and "brassieres" (a sort
of body with sleeves) that would go on _no_ child of any age that she
has ever seen. It is rather my own experience--people usually give me
very minute garments, also in the most delicate colours, and my children
work in the fields and at the "tourbieres."
After we had visited all the stalls we had tea (not in a private room)
at a round table at one end of the hall near the buffet. M. Dupoutet de
la Harpe, the Protestant pasteur who got up the bazaar, explaining that
the people would so like to see us. I am always very dressy on those
occasions, so I was dressed in black satin with a great deal of jet, and
light blue feathers in my bonnet. I had just time to get home, have some
tea, and see that my "orgue Mustel" had arrived and was properly placed
and tuned to go with the piano, and to assist at a small rehearsal with
M. Guillemain (organist at La Trinite in Paris), for whom I am having a
dinner to-night, Merindol, and Miss Stuart, an American girl who has a
fine voice. The "orgue Mustel" is small and looks like a harmonium, but
it has wonderful tones, particularly when played by a master hand like
Guillemain's.
My dinner interested _me_ very much--I hope the guests had the same
impression. I called it my "dinner of organists," and I tried to get as
many of the great English organists as possible, but only two came (the
notice was short), Dr. Stainer of St. Paul's and Dr. Bridge of
Westminster Abbey. Both have splendid instruments, and it is a great
pleasure to stay sometimes after a week-day service and hear a fugue
rolling through those great vaulted aisles. I had only asked musical
people, and warned them that it was _serious_. We were 24 at dinner, and
about 100 in the evening. The music was in the ballroom and the organ
sounded very well, quite a volume of sound. Guillemain played, of
course, beautifully and made it give all it could. The duos, organ and
piano, were charming. Miss Stuart sang very well. I found Dr. Bridge
most sympathetic. He and Florence Williams made great friends, and he
promised to play her a gavotte whenever she likes if she would dance. I
think you would have liked the evening--it wasn't banal. Staal was
sympathetic and interested, and asked me what was the next original
entertainment I was contemplating.
Wednesday, 31st.
We have rather a worrying letter from Henrietta this morning saying
their house in Paris was watched by the police, having been threatened
by the dynamiters on account of a judge who lives in the house. All the
locataires are leaving, and she is bothered, and wants to know what she
must do with Francis (who always goes to her Thursday and Sunday). I
want W. to write to the Prefet de Police to ask for an extra man, but he
doesn't seem to attach importance to it--says no harm ever comes when a
thing is announced beforehand. I can't help feeling uncomfortable.
_To G. K. S_.
#Albert Gate#,
April 3, 1892.
It is rather nice to-day. After breakfast we drove down to Battersea
Park, not a very fashionable resort, and walked about along the river,
which is always alive--boats, barges, steamers, children in battered old
scows that look as if they would break in two on the smallest
provocation, and loungers of all kinds, some fishing, most doing nothing
and keeping up a running fire of chaff and criticisms. The river life
plays a great part in London--the Thames is such a thoroughfare all
about London, and a beautiful pleasure ground higher up by Maidenhead,
Clieveden, etc. We dined this evening at Lady Mary Lloyd's. She sang
very well after dinner, and we went later to Lady Ashburton's, who has a
beautiful house crammed with pictures and curios of all kinds. She had a
concert of "old music" with old instruments--spinet, viola, viol
d'amour, etc. It was interesting in its way as a souvenir, but sounded
weak and _tinkly_. In these days of great orchestras no one would listen
to it.
Easter Tuesday, April 19, 1892.
I am delighted to have Henrietta and Francis, the boy's first holidays
since he has been in Paris, and he is enjoying himself extremely. He
rides with his father every morning, and goes about all day with his
friends. We are busy getting up a "toy symphony"--Mlle. Levisohn,
Francis's piano mistress, organises it. Francis has the piano, Comte
Vinci, our Roman friend (who plays extremely well), is first violin; a
little boy, a friend of Mlle. Levisohn's, the 2nd, and the minor
instruments are distributed among all the children, Edwardes, Lawrence,
Billes, Deichmann, etc. We gave young Bille, son of the Danish Minister,
the drum--but the unfortunate boy could do nothing with it, and his
mother said he must have some lessons. I applied to Pontavice (our
Military Attache), who said he was sure one of his friends, an officer
in the Guards, would arrange it for me, so accordingly there appeared
one morning a gentleman (Mr. Lloyd, I think) who said his friend, Comte
de Pontavice, had told him that I wished to have some lessons on the
drum, and that the drum-major of the regiment was quite at my service. I
hastily explained that the lessons were not for me, but for a young
friend who was to play that instrument in a toy symphony. He didn't seem
at all surprised at my wishing to learn to play the drum, and yet I
can't help thinking that he hadn't often been applied to for lessons on
the drum for an Ambassadress. He promised to send his man to the Danish
Legation, and Mdme. de Bille told me that all the household was upset,
and the maids distracted by the magnificent drum-major who came three or
four times, and retired to a sort of basement, where he and the boy
rattled away on the drum. If I had ever imagined what an undertaking it
was, I never should have agreed to the performance. The principal
instruments, piano and violins, were all right, but all the small ones,
quails, nightingales, and cuckoos (oh, the cuckoos!) were something
awful. The children distracted (sometimes they had 25 measures to
count), the mammas and governesses equally so, and the impartial
assistants (who had no children taking part) remarking to me with
absolute frankness that it was the most awful noise they had ever heard.
Comte Vinci, first violin, was a tower of strength, and kept them all in
order. It is awfully good of him to come and play with all those
children.
Friday, April 22, 1892.
I will write you about the performance at once, as I am too tired to do
anything else, and have dined quietly at home. We had a last repetition
this morning--Mlle. Levisohn directing from a small platform covered
with red cloth. For the first time I thought it would go--really almost
all the instruments were in tune and in time. Francis had been giving
private rehearsals all the morning to Wilhelm Deichmann (trumpet) and
the child, I forget which one, that had the triangle. The performance
began at 4, and the orchestra was most effective. All the young ladies
were in white and the men in dress clothes and white boutonnieres. It
was killing to see all eyes fixed upon Mlle. Levisohn as she stood on
her platform with her baton raised. It really went extremely well.
Pfeffer happened in, and said he had never heard the Romberg Symphony
better given. After the music was over Francis and Hilda Deichmann
played a little comedy, "La Souris," really very well--Mdme. Thenard had
coached them both. They weren't at all shy, and looked funny perched on
chairs, standing, afraid of an imaginary mouse. They wound up with a
dance, Gevers leading a most spirited cotillon. Francis danced with
Nannie, who looked very pretty. He was very proud of his American
cousin. Mlle. Levisohn had many compliments, and I think she was
pleased. She certainly took no end of trouble.
#Albert Gate#,
Thursday, April 28th.
I had a nice ride this morning with Pontavice. W. and Francis went off
on Monday--W. to Laon and Francis to school. Last night Henrietta and I
went to the Italian Embassy, where there was a contract party for
Tornielli's niece, who is to marry the Marquis Paulucci, one of the
secretaries. The fiancee looked charming in pink satin, with a very
pretty diamond tiara that her uncle had given her. There were a great
many people. I had the Camerons with me--Nannie looking very pretty and
chic in red satin with gold wings in her hair. I told her the dress was
much too old and heavy for her, she should have been in white tulle,
with nothing in her hair, but she says all the American girls wear
satin. The Tornielli entertainments are always handsome; their full
dress livery red is so effective. Henrietta and I have been driving
about shopping. I never go near a shop alone, but Mrs. Edwardes told us
there were wonderful "occasions" for silks at Marshall & Snelgrove's. We
did pick up several things not dear. The English shops are not at all
like the French ones.
_To H. L. K._
#French Embassy, London#,
May 1, 1892.
It is very cold to-day, and I think generally is on the 1st of May. One
can't imagine a Queen of the May, crowned with flowers, dancing around a
May-Pole. We are rather shivering, with a good fire in the room. It is
true that we have been sitting for some time at the window looking at
the crowds of people pouring into the Park for their great demonstration
(anti-capitalist). It seems to be all going quite quietly--there are
processions, and banners, and brass bands (such horrors), the usual
thing, and I am sure there will be no row and that nothing will
happen--nothing ever does happen in England.
The Salvation Army are also holding their service in the Park, so near
that we can almost hear the hymns. There are always soldiers hovering
near when they have their service; I wonder if it does any good. When we
were at Dover last year I went quite often to their service--they had
one almost every afternoon, late, on the beach. It was a curious sight,
such a motley crowd, rugged old fishermen, boys (half water rats),
women, children, and occasionally a well-dressed, prosperous small
tradesman, often soldiers--some lounging on the outskirts of the little
circle, some sitting on boats, some reverent, some merely curious, but
all joining in the hymns. I must say it interested me very much; not the
sermon, nor the preachers as a general thing, but the little earnest
group gathered on the sands with the swash of the waves for an
accompaniment, and the red coats of the soldiers making a patch of
colour. Some of the women looked pretty even in their regulation
poke-bonnets.
#French Embassy, London#,
May 8th.
It is a beautiful, fine day. I did not perform the Drawing-room, but
walked about in the crowd with Pontavice, which was decidedly amusing.
We saw a good many people we knew in the carriages and talked to some of
them. Very tired they looked, having been for hours in the string. I
wanted too to see some of the handsome English turn-outs, as when we go
ourselves we hardly see anything but colleagues. The policeman, who knew
us, let us stand where we liked--I told him to stop the French
Ambassador's carriage when it came out. He did, and I jumped in, much to
the astonishment of the crowd. We had a pleasant dinner at Lady
Delamere's. About the middle the electric light went out and we sat for
a few minutes in perfect darkness, except for a succession of matches
that Lord Wimborne, who was next to me, lit. The servants lost their
heads, and didn't think at first of lighting candles which were on the
table. It only lasted those few minutes. Of course such accidents will
happen perpetually until the system is perfected and universally
applied.
Saturday, May 20th.
We had a pleasant dinner to-night at Lord Tweedmouth's and I went
afterward to a very handsome ball at the Burtons' with Nannie and
Pontavice. They have Chesterfield House--one of the best London
houses--flowers and electric light everywhere, and such splendid
pictures. All the smart women in London were there, and all with their
tiaras, except one, who explained to me that tiaras should only be worn
at Embassies, or when one was invited to meet Royalties, "which of
course you understand, as you haven't put yours on"--so I didn't tell
the reason, which was that I had forgotten mine, I so rarely wear
anything in my hair, and a tiara is heavy; also I have to be
"recoiffee," which I hate. My hair is done in the morning, and walks or
rides all day, and is merely pulled out a little at night.
Saturday, May 21, 1892.
We dined to-night at the Trevelyans, all Conservatives. The Stanleys
(African Stanley) were there. He looks as hard as steel, but I suppose
couldn't do what he has done if he were not. Many say he wants to be an
M.P. and is sure of his election. His wife can help him enormously. It
is so curious to me to see all the women occupying themselves so
energetically with politics. They go about the country canvassing for
their husbands; wear the colours of the party; and have affiches
sometimes in their windows. I saw one well-known political woman in
London who had large bills posted on her window, "Vote for Lord R." We
should be hooted in France if we did that sort of thing. My husband has
been candidate very often, for many offices, but I have scarcely seen
his name at the bottom of a circular and never heard him address a
public meeting of any kind--in fact, have never been in the country when
the elections were going on. It is rather curious, as women have such a
strong position in France--a mere de famille, and above all a
grandmother, is somebody. A clever, strong-minded grandmother is a power
in her family and immediate circle.
#French Embassy, London#,
Wednesday, June 1, 1892.
We had a funny experience to-night. We had been engaged for some time to
dine with the Gladstones, to meet the Archbishop of Canterbury and Mrs.
Benson. Mrs. Gladstone wrote to me yesterday, asking me to come
punctually at 7.45, as the Archbishop didn't like late hours (he is
rather a delicate man) and had asked to dine early. We made a great
effort to get there in time--and _did_; so did everybody else--except
the Bensons. We waited one hour--then went to dinner (they had sent a
messenger to Lambeth and the answer came back that the Archbishop and
Mrs. Benson had started _hours_ ago. Everyone was worried and feared
there must have been an accident. At 9.30 o'clock, when dinner was
practically over (we had got to the jellies and ices), a message was
brought to Mr. Gladstone. He left the room and reappeared with the
Bensons. The explanation was that Mrs. Gladstone had written her
invitation from Dollis Hill, a place belonging to Lord Aberdeen, some
miles out of London. They often stay there, so the Archbishop naturally
imagined he was to dine there, and they had been driving about in the
country. The poor old lady was dreadfully put out--"The Archbishop might
have known that we were in London." Of course the dinner was all brought
back and our evening was long. However, we managed to go for a moment to
the Foreign Office. I said to Lady Salisbury I hoped it wasn't the last
time we were supping with her at the Foreign Office (everyone says the
Liberals are coming in again). "Will you think me very rude if I say I
hope so, though of course I shall always want to see my friends in
Arlington Street" (their private residence). I think she and Lord
Salisbury are both tired and will be glad to have a rest, not that they
will _socially_, for they are always receiving, both in London and at
Hatfield. We got home fairly early, though the streets were crowded,
Piccadilly something awful. It is a regular London night--carriages
rolling in every direction, and all the world dining, dancing, supping.
W. was rather funny over the dinner and the long wait, but said that if
he had been in Benson's place he would have gone straight home from
Dollis Hill, and had a cup of tea in his library.
Thursday, July 2, 1892.
We had a small luncheon party this morning to hear the band of the Garde
Republicaine, who have come over from Paris for a few days to the
Exhibition. They play magnificently--we have been to hear them once or
twice and I assure you when they play the "Marseillaise" it makes one's
pulses leap. We had the Duke of Cambridge, Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar,
Staals, Coventrys, etc. They played on the terrace--we had draped the
balcony with red stuffs, and had some flowers and plants and about 70
chairs on the terrace. The Duke talked a great deal. As soon as luncheon
was over he went straight to the library, which opens on the terrace. We
presented the Chef-de-Musique, and they played at once a few bars of
"God Save the Queen"; then the "Marseillaise," everyone standing.
Someone said to the Duke, "It is very fine, but not an anthem like our
'God Save the Queen.'" "Non," he answered, "mais c'est un magnifique
chant de guerre." They played for about an hour, people coming and going
and standing about on the terrace. Some of our friends passing couldn't
imagine what was going on--there was quite a crowd collected in the Park
listening. My dress hadn't come from Paris, so I wore white, trimmed
with Valenciennes; I thought a little of wearing a tiny tricolour bow,
but didn't after all. One of the prettiest women there was Mrs. Astor,
in black, with a big black picture hat.
_To H. L. K._
#Walmer Castle#,
July 17, 1892.