"But," I replied, "how can I?"
Her Majesty answered, "Your husband would not like you to refuse. Take
it!--_you must!_" and added, "The ribbon [the blue Order of the
Elephant] is beautifully painted"--as if the rest were not!
The Princess Thyra said, "Papa has only had six portraits painted of
himself. This one is painted by Mr. Shytte. I don't think that it is
half handsome enough for papa. Do you?"
"Well," said the King, "I shall have it sent to your hotel." I could
not thank his Majesty enough, and I am sure I looked as embarrassed as
I felt.
As we were going away the next day, this was my last visit to the
Queen. On bidding me good-by she pressed something into my hand and
said, "You leave me so many _souvenirs_! I have only one for you, and
here it is."
It was a lovely locket of turquoises. On opening it I found the Queen's
portrait on one side and the Princess Thyra's on the other.
She kissed me, and I kissed her hand, with tears in my eyes.
We return to Björnemose to bid our parents good-by; then farewell to
Denmark.
We leave in four days for New York.
WASHINGTON, _February, 1879_.
Dear Mother,--Monsieur de Schlözer is one of the colleagues whom we
like best. I wish you knew him! I do not know anything more delightful
than to see him and Carl Schurz together. They are not unlike in
character; they are both witty, refined, always seeing the beautiful in
everything, almost boyish in their enthusiasm, and clever, _cela va
sans dire_, to their finger-tips. They bring each other out, and they
both appear at their best, which is saying a great deal. We consider
that we are fortunate to number them among our _intimes_.
Would it interest you to know how these _intimes_ amuse themselves?
Life is so simple in Washington, and there are so few distractions
outside of society, that we only have our social pleasures to take the
place of theaters and public entertainments. It is unlike Paris and
other capitals in this respect.
We have organized a club which we call "The National Rational
International Dining Club," to which belong Mrs. Bigelow Lawrence, her
sister Miss Chapman, Mr. de Schlözer, Carl Schurz, Aristarchi Bey (the
Turkish Minister), Count Dönhoff (Secretary to the German Legation),
and ourselves. So when we are free, and not invited elsewhere, we dine
together at one another's houses. I am the president, Mrs. Lawrence the
vice-president, Schurz the treasurer, Schlözer the sergeant-at-arms,
and Johan has the most difficult--and (as Mr. Schurz calls it) the
"onerous"--duty of recognizing and calling attention to the jokes,
which in his conscientious attempts to seize he often loses entirely.
The "rational" part is the menu. We are allowed a soup, one roast, one
vegetable and dessert, and _two_ wines, one of which, according to the
regulations, _must be good_. We do not even need so much, for there is
more laughing than eating. A stuffed goose from the Smithsonian
Institution serves as a _milieu de table_, and is sent, on the day of
the dinner, to the person who gives it.
We always have music. Schurz and Schlözer play the piano alternately,
and I do the singing. I must say that a more appreciative audience than
our co-diners cannot be imagined.
We have laws and by-laws written on large foolscap paper, bearing a
huge seal which looks very official. Mr. Schurz carries it in his
inside pocket, and sometimes at large dinners he pulls it out and
begins reading it with the greatest attention, and every one at the
table believes that there is something very important going on in
politics. But we, the initiated, know that the document is the law of
the N.R.I. Dining Club. Then, when all eyes are fastened on him, he
puts the paper deliberately back in his pocket, with a sly wink at the
members.
Mr. Schurz is now Secretary of the Interior, and a great personage.
When one thinks that he hardly knew a word of our language when he came
to this country (a young man of twenty), and that now he is one of our
first orators, one cannot help but admire him. Because he has entirely
identified himself with the politics of our country he has risen to the
high position which he now holds. You said, when you heard him deliver
that oration at Harvard College, that you were astonished that any
foreigner could have such complete command of the language. He is
integrity itself, with a great mind free from all guile, and is filled
with the enthusiasm and vivacity of youth. During the revolutionary
movement in Germany in 1848 he helped a political friend escape from
the Schandau prison, and on account of that was himself condemned to
death. However, he managed to evade pursuit and took refuge in America,
where he has lived ever since.
_Le Chevalier_, as we call Senator Bayard, because he is so entirely
_sans reproche_, sent his photograph to Mrs. T. and wrote on the back
of it, "_Avec les regards de T. Bayard_." She showed it to her friends
with the scathing remark, "People should not write French if they don't
understand the language." Others, who understood the language, thought
it very clever.
Schlözer has let it be known in the Foreign Office in Berlin that a
secretary who has money to spend is more desirable in America than one
who has not. He thinks that it is more advantageous for a young man to
travel through the country and learn things than to sit copying
despatches in the _chancellerie_ in Washington.
In this respect Count Dönhoff, his new secretary, ought to satisfy him,
for never was a person so determined to see everything, know everybody,
and do all that is doing. He begged Mr. Schurz to give him permission
to accompany General Adam, who, because he knew the Indians and their
little ways and how to deal with them, was sent out to Montana to
rescue the family of one of the commissioners who had been captured.
These two gentlemen (Adam and Dönhoff) went to the place where the
women and children were concealed, and remained there a week, trying to
induce the Indians to give them up. They were finally successful, but
it was known afterward that the Indians during the time they were there
were holding council every night to decide whether or not they would
hang the two "pale-faces" to the first tree in the morning.
Both Schurz and Schlözer were relieved to see Count Dönhoff when he
returned safe and sound. They reproached themselves for allowing him to
start on such an expedition, as it was a very reckless adventure, and a
great risk for him.
WASHINGTON, _March, 1879_.
My dear Mother,--We have taken the Fant House for this winter. People
say it is haunted. As yet we have not seen any ghosts nor found any
skeletons in the closets. The possible ghosts have no terrors for me.
On the contrary, I should love to meet one face to face! But the rats
are plentiful and have probably played ghosts' parts and given the
house its reputation. Those we have here are so bold and assertive that
I have become quite accustomed to them. I meet them on the staircase,
and they politely wait for me to pass. One old fellow--I call him
Alcibiades, because he is so audacious--actually gnaws at our door, as
if begging to be allowed to come in and join us. We put poison in every
attractive way we can think of all about, but they seem to like it and
thrive upon it. Johan, having had a Danish sailor recommended to him,
allows him to live in a room up-stairs and to help a little in the
house while waiting for a boat. He is very masterful in his movements,
and handles the crockery as if it were buckets of water, and draws back
the portieres as if he were hauling at the main-sheet.
Mr. Robeson (Secretary of the Navy), who ought to know _le dernier cri_
on the subject of the habits of rats, told us that the only way to get
rid of them was to catch one and dress him up in a jacket and
trousers--red preferable--tie a bell round his neck, and let him loose.
"Then," he said, "the rat would run about among his companions and
indicate the pressure brought upon rats, and soon there would not be
one left in the house."
This was an idyl for our sailor. He spent most of his days making a
jacket with which to clothe the rat, and actually did catch one (I
hoped he was not my friend of the staircase) and proceeded to put him
into this sailor-made costume, which was not an easy thing to do, and
had he not been accustomed to bracing up stays and other nautical work
he never could have accomplished the thing. However, he _did_
accomplish it; he tied the bell on the rat's neck and let him loose.
The remedy (though uttered from an official mouth for which we have
great respect) was worse than the evil. The rat refused to run about to
warn his friends. On the contrary, he would not move, but looked
imploringly into the eyes of his tormentor, as if begging to be allowed
to die in his normal skin. Then, I believe, he went and sulked in a
corner and committed suicide--he was so mortified. We said one rat in a
corner was worse than twelve on the staircase.
The Outreys (the French Minister) had their diplomatic reception, and
sent cards to every one they knew and many they did not know. The
ladies who went expected Madame Outrey to be dressed in the latest
fashion; being the wife of the French Minister, it was her duty to let
society into the secrets of Parisian "modes," but she was dressed in a
simple, might-have-been-made-at-home black gown. This exasperated the
ladies (who had gone with an eye to copying) to such a degree that many
went home with pent-up and wounded feelings, as if they had been
defrauded of their rights and without supper--which, had they stayed,
they would have found to be the latest thing in suppers.