Truly, I am like to suffocate with astonishment at the things that are
going on around me here. It is all odd, it is all queer enough, I can
tell you; but last night’s work transcends anything I ever heard of in
the way of--well, how shall I express it? how can I word it? I find it
awkward to get at it. But to say it in a word--and it is a true one,
too, as hundreds and hundreds of people will testify--last night the
Corporation of the City of London, with a simplicity and ignorance which
almost rise to sublimity, actually gave a ball to a Shah who does not
dance. If I would allow myself to laugh at a cruel mistake, this would
start me. It is the oddest thing that has happened since I have had
charge of the Shah. There is some excuse for it in the fact that the
Aldermen of London are simply great and opulent merchants, and cannot be
expected to know much about the ways of high life--but then they could
have asked some of us who have been with the Shah.
The ball was a marvel in its way. The historical Guildhall was a scene
of great magnificence. There was a high dais at one end, on which were
three state chairs under a sumptuous canopy; upon the middle one sat the
Shah, who was almost a Chicago conflagration of precious stones and gold
bullion lace. Among other gems upon his breast were a number of emeralds
of marvelous size, and from a loop hung an historical diamond of great
size and wonderful beauty. On the right of the Shah sat the Princess of
Wales, and on his left the wife of the Crown Prince of Russia. Grouped
about the three stood a full jury of minor princes, princesses, and
ambassadors hailing from many countries.