WASHINGTON, _November, 1875_.
Dear Mother,--After my hurriedly written letter of the 24th you will
know that we have arrived here safely. My first introduction to my
first post as diplomat's wife was made unwittingly by a gentleman
walking with a friend just behind me. "Who is that gentleman?" said he,
indicating Johan. "That? That is the Minister of Denmark." I,
struggling with an arm-load of flowers culled from well-intentioned
friends at different stations on the road, my maid and Johan's valet
bringing up the rear with the overflow of small baggage, passed
unnoticed. Now we are quite established here, and I have already
commenced my diplomatic duties. There seems to be no end of
card-leaving and card-receiving, and a list of rules on etiquette (the
Ten Commandments of a Diplomat) as long as your arm. I never knew of
anything so confusing. I try to remember the things that I must do and
the things that I must not do. How many cold shower-baths of reproval
have I already received; how many unruly things have I already done! We
are invited to many dinners, luncheons, and entertainments of all
kinds. I am knee-deep in engagements, actually wading in them. The
engagement-book you gave me is already overfilled.
We were very much amused at the collection of newspaper cuttings you
sent us. Johan thought the one describing him as "a massive blonde of
magnificent proportions, whose pure heart and clean hands had won all
hearts in Washington" [previous to winning mine], was much too
personal. "The medals [his prized decorations] were not his fault, and
should not be laid up against him; and as for the gold key which he
wears on his back, it is considered a great honor, as few Danes have
had it conferred on them, being, as it is, the key of the king's own
bedchamber, and giving the wearer the privilege of entering there when
he likes."
Another one which amused us says "the bride is to be congratulated on
having annexed as fine a specimen of a viking as any one could desire,
and, although she has not secured a golden crown for her marble brow,
she has secured a name that ought to be good for a '_three-bagger_' on
any diamond, and that just to see it written on a hotel register makes
any hotel clerk faint." Johan asked me what a "three-bagger" was, but I
could not tell him. Then the worst one! "Mr. de Hegermann is envoy
extraordinary and parson to his Danish 'nibs.'" Johan was horrified at
this _lèse majesté_. We looked the word "nibs" out in the dictionary,
only to find that in cribbage "nibs" means the knave of trumps. This
made matters worse; to call his sovereign a knave--even of
trumps--seemed too disrespectful.
It was very nice of Norris, your Cambridge grocer, to placard the fruit
in his shop window in our honor. "Lindencrone beauties" and "the Danish
pair" show a certain amount of humor which ought to be applauded. Such
a pun goes to my heart. I hope you encouraged him by buying them all
and can tell me what a "Danish pair" looks like.
It would take more than one letter of mine written on foolscap paper to
tell you of our colleagues and friends. I can do it in sections when I
have time. But, oh, when can I get the time!
* * * * *
I have had my "audience" (Johan calls it an "audience"; I call it a
"call on Mrs. President Grant at the White House"). There was nothing
formal or formidable about it. Mrs. Grant and I sat on the sofa
together and talked generalities. Johan could not tell me what to
expect. He said _his_ audience with the President had been a surprise,
unprecedented by anything he had ever seen. As it was his first post as
Minister, he had pictured to himself that it would be somewhat like the
ceremonies abroad--very solemn and impressive. Of course he was in his
red gala uniform, with all his decorations. A hired landau brought him
to the steps of the White House, which he mounted with conscious
dignity. His written speech, nicely folded, he carried in his hand. In
Europe there would have been a crowd of gorgeous chamberlains to
receive him, but here he found a negro, who, on seeing him, hurriedly
donned a coat and, with an encouraging wave of the hand, said: "Come
right along in, sir. I'll let them know you're here, sir." Johan was
shown into a room and waited with patience until the President and Mr.
Hamilton Fish came in. Mr. Grant was dressed in a gray walking-suit and
wore a colored tie; and Mr. Hamilton Fish (Secretary of State) had
evidently just come in from a walk, as his turned-up trousers
signified.
Johan read his speech, and the President answered by reading, with some
difficulty, a paper which Mr. Fish handed to him at the last moment.
After this exchange of formalities Johan shook hands with the
President, and without further ceremony he left the room, the door this
time being opened by a white servant in black clothes. Mr. Fish at
parting casually observed that the weather was fine.
I was officially presented on their reception days to the wives of all
the Ministers, and made my visits to the members of the _Corps
Diplomatique_. We were invited to dinner at the White House--a dinner
given to the _Corps Diplomatique_. I was taken in by M. de Schlözer,
the German Minister, and sat between him and Sir Edward Thornton (the
English Minister), who sat on the right of Mrs. Grant. We were opposite
to the President. I noticed that he turned his wine-glasses upside
down, to indicate, I suppose, that he did not drink wine during dinner.
Afterward we amused ourselves by walking in the long Blue Room. The
President disappeared with some of the gentlemen to smoke and was lost
to view. The company also faded gradually away. Mrs. Grant did not seem
inclined to gaze on us any longer, and appeared to be relieved when we
shook her outstretched hand and said "Good night."
A dinner to which we went, given by the Schiskines (the Russian
Minister) in honor of the Grand-Duke Constantine of Russia, was most
delightful. The Grand Duke is very charming, natural, with a sly
twinkle in his mild blue eye. He has a very handsome face, is extremely
musical, and plays the piano with great _finesse_, having a most
sympathetic touch.
[Illustration:
MRS. U.S. GRANT
From a photograph taken about 1876, when she was mistress of the White
House.]
[Illustration:
SARAH BERNHARDT
From a photograph taken at the time of her visit to Boston.]
After dinner we darned stockings. This sounds queer, but nevertheless
it is true. The Schiskines had just bought a darning-machine. They paid
eighty-six dollars for it; but to darn, one must have holes, and no
holes could be found in a single decent stocking, so they had to cut
holes, and then we darned. The Grand Duke was so enchanted with this
darning that he is going to take a machine home to the Grand Duchess,
his august mother.
The darning done, we had some music. M. de Schlözer improvised on the
piano, and after the Grand Duke had played some Chopin I sang. M. de
Schlözer went through his little antics as advance-courier of my
singing: he screwed the piano-stool to the proper height (he thinks it
must be just so high when I accompany myself); he removed all albums
from sight for fear people might be tempted to glance in them; he
almost snatched fans from the hands of unoffending ladies, fearing they
might use them; no dogs were to be within patting distance, _and no
smoking_; he turned all the chairs to face the piano so that no one
should turn his back to it. These are all heinous crimes in his eyes.
He would, if he could, have pulled down all the portières and curtains,
as he does in his own house when I sing there. What must people think
of him?
You ask me, "What kind of a cook have you?" Don't speak of it--it is a
sore subject! We have the black cook from the White House (so her
certificate says). She is not what our fancy painted her. Neither is
the devil as black as he is painted (I don't know why I associate them
in my mind). We had painted this cook white. I shudder to think how the
White House must have lived in those years when she did the cooking.
Our dinners are simply awful. Although she has _carte blanche_ to
provide anything and everything she wants, our dinners are failures. I
look the fact in the face and blush. Our musical parties are better
when I do the cooking and Johan does the serving--I mean when I sing
and he fills the gaps. The diplomats groan. "Think," they say, "what a
finished cook would do with all the delicious things they have
here--all these wonderful birds and meats and vegetables, and only the
one sauce!"
The charity concert, of which I was _dame patronesse_, went off with
success. We made a great deal of money. M. de Schlözer paid twenty
dollars for his ticket. My chorus covered itself with glory and was
encored. As the concert finished at ten, we adjourned to the Zamaconas'
(Minister of Mexico) first ball, and I hope, for them, their only one.
It was one of those _soirées_ where people appropriate the forks and
spoons. It cost, they say, ten thousand dollars. The assemblage was
promiscuous, to say the least. Every one who asked for an invitation
got one, and went. The Minister had hired the house next the Legation,
and cut doors into it so that there should be plenty of room, but even
then there was not sufficient space to contain the crowd of
miscellaneous guests. There were two orchestras, but no one wanted to
dance. Every one wandered about through the rooms or lolled in the
grottoes, which were lighted with different-colored lamps. In every
corner were fountains of cologne, around which the gentler sex stood in
crowds saturating their handkerchiefs--some of which had cross-stitch
initials in red thread. Mirrors were placed at the end of each room to
prolong the vista. "Mexico," in enormous letters formed by gas-jets,
stood over the entrances. And as for the supper, it was in a room out
of all proportion to the gathering! There was no question of getting
into it; only prize-fighters and professional athletes could elbow
their way through the crowd. The waiters had long since disappeared,
frightened at their formidable task. The chairs intended for the guests
were utilized as tables on which to put unfinished plates of food and
half-empty glasses. Everything that was not spilled on the floor was
spilled on the table. Such things as bonbons, cakes, etc., that could
be stowed away in pockets, vanished like magic. Gentlemen (?) broke the
champagne-bottles by knocking them on the table, sending the contents
flying across the room. The lady guests drew out the silver skewers
which ornamented the _plats montées_ and stuck them in their hair as
mementoes of this memorable evening.