Chapter XI: Part II: Ten Years in England (4)

We went this afternoon with the Florians, Comte de Florian, Secretary of the Embassy, and Comtesse de Florian, Francis, Baroness Hilda Deichmann and her children and some of the Embassy men, to the children's fete in Hyde Park. It was very pretty, and very well arranged; 30,000 children from all parts of London, and amusements, food, and jubilee mugs provided for all. We got there a little after 3, and it was warm and fatiguing standing and walking about. There were various refreshment tents for the "quality committee," etc., and the children got iced cream and cakes to their hearts' content, also each a jubilee mug with which they were much pleased. The Prince and Princess of Wales, with some of the foreign Princes, came about 4 (and horribly bored the foreigners looked--naturally). We stood and walked about until 6, when the Queen arrived. Her procession was rather pretty, just a troop of mounted police, then the Life Guards, the Indian contingent, and the Queen in an open carriage with 4 horses, the postilions in black, and two Highland servants in costume behind. The Crown Princess of Germany, Princess Christian, and Duke of Edinburgh in the carriage with her; and the Duke of Cambridge (Ranger of the Park) riding at the portiere. Several Royal carriages followed, all the women in smart clothes, and the men in uniform, as the Queen was to make her formal Jubilee entree into Windsor on leaving London after the fete. There was such a press and jostling when the Queen came--even the women pushing and struggling to get to the front, that I should have been nearly crushed with the two children (I had Hilda and Francis with me) if Prince Hermann of Saxe-Weimar hadn't recognised me and come to my rescue. He is very tall and broad, so he made way for me, put the children in front, and then stood behind me so that no one could get at me. I must say it was a fine struggle, the ladies used their arms valiantly. A small slight woman would have had no show at all. The Queen didn't get out of her carriage. The Prince stood bareheaded at the carriage door all the time the Queen was there, and various people were brought up and presented to her. I found plenty of people to talk to, among others the German Crown Prince, who they say is in a very bad way; he doesn't look changed, perhaps a little thinner, but the voice has gone. He spoke in a whisper. He noticed the children, said Francis was very like his father. I told him Hilda was a little compatriote, and named her to him. He knows her parents well. The Queen was much cheered as she drove off; then there were more cheers for the Prince, who acknowledged them most graciously, as he does always. We had again rather a struggle to get through the crowd and across to the Embassy, and then at 6.30 I had some tea, got into a tea-gown, and refused to move again. W. tried to entice me to the Foreign Office where there was a big reception, but I was utterly incapable of another word (the heat always tries me so); so he departed sadly, but didn't stay long--merely showed himself. He said the crowd was awful, and Lord Cranborne, the son of the house, in a wild state on the stairs, with his supper list, as he couldn't find half the people. W. told him not to worry about us, as he was going home, and I was in bed.

From a photograph by Loescher & Petsch Berlin]

_To H. L. K._

#London#,
June 24, 1887.

Yesterday I had rather a quiet day, I was still so dead tired after the children's fete. Jean and I drove about in the afternoon. She wanted to see the "Black Queen," as the Queen of the Sandwich Islands is called, and we crossed her once or twice driving in the Park. It does look funny to see her sitting up in the Royal carriage with red liveries. We had a beautiful ball last night, given by Lord and Lady Rosebery at Lansdowne House for all the Royalties. The House was beautifully arranged; the ballroom panelled half way up the wall with red roses and green leaves. I danced a quadrille with the King of Greece, who is easy and talks a great deal; he speaks English perfectly well. He asked about the Schuylers, and spoke most warmly of them--said Schuyler was one of the few perfectly intelligent men he had ever met, "knew everything about everything," I must write it to them. The supper was very well arranged, small tables of eight or ten. Almost all the Royalties were there, but not the Hawaiian Queen. I asked our host why he hadn't invited Queen Kapiolani; but he said he really couldn't. The ball was small, and Lady Rosebery left out many of her friends, who naturally were not pleased. W. actually stayed to supper--I was so surprised, as he hates it.

June 24, 1887.

This afternoon all the swells went to Ranelagh to see a polo match, but I thought I would reserve myself for the Palace Ball. The Queen didn't appear, but we had two others, the Queen of the Belgians, and always Kapiolani. It was badly managed at first, the result being that when the Court came we had a crowd of people, officers, pages, etc., about four deep in front of us, so that we could neither see nor be seen, nor hardly move. When the first "quadrille d'honneur" was being danced we saw nothing, so after a consultation we all left the ball-room. Then there were various "pourparlers," and they finally did what they should have done at first, enlarged the circle, so that we were out of the crowd and near the Court. There was also a great rush at supper, so that they had to shut one door for a moment. I didn't see many people to talk to, but of course it was very difficult. The Grand Duchess Serge looked beautiful, with splendid emeralds (she is the daughter of Princess Alice), and the Duchesse de Braganza (daughter of the Comte de Paris) was charming, so very high-bred, tall and slight, with a pretty little dark head. I always find the Princess of Wales the most distinguished looking. She stands out everywhere. Our "Doyenne," Countess Karolyi, was superb--also with magnificent jewels. The Indian Princes made a great show, of course, with their silk, heavily embroidered tuniques, and the quantities of jewels, but they are not often well cut, nor well set, and they themselves are certainly off color--they look barbarians, and have such false faces--I wouldn't trust one of them.

#London#,
July 3, 1887.

It is delicious summer weather now, and yesterday we went to Buckingham Palace to see the Queen review the Volunteers. I wore for the first time my Jubilee Medal. It came Friday with a note from the Duchess of Roxburghe saying the Queen hoped I would wear it as a souvenir of her Jubilee. It is a plain little silver medal about the size of a two-shilling piece, with the Queen's head on one side and an inscription on the other, fastened to a bow of blue and white ribbon. We three Ambassadresses are the only women of the Corps Diplomatique that have it. All the Queen's household have it, Duchesses of Bedford, Buccleuch, Roxburghe, etc. The Princesses, also, of course, but theirs are in gold.

It was most amusing waiting in the courtyard of the Palace seeing everyone arrive. All the Royalties took up their positions at the foot of the Queen's tribune, and waited for her. Our tribune was on one side of hers, and one for the Indian Princes opposite. The Volunteers looked and passed very well; as it was Saturday afternoon and the shops in London are closed early always Saturday, all the various butchers, bakers, and candle-stick-makers could leave their shops and parade, and extremely well some of them looked; stout, heavy men moving quite lightly and at ease in their stiff uniforms. It was pretty to see the various Princes break away from their places on the Duke of Cambridge's staff and ride ahead of the various regiments of which they are honorary colonels. The Prince of Wales looked well on his handsome chestnut, which is perfectly trained and steps beautifully. The Duke of Connaught is a handsome soldier. We were a long time getting away, but as we had no dinner-party it wasn't of any consequence. It was such a pleasure not to put on a low bodice and diamonds. I always grumble about putting on my diadem--as a rule I never wear anything in my hair, not even feathers (except at Court), and the diadem is heavy. After dinner W. and I went for a drive along the Thames Embankment--our favourite recreation after a long, hot day. There are still people about, and a general air of festivity.

#London#,
July 21, 1887.

It is just four years to-day since W. came to London. We got back from Moscow and the Coronation the 6th, and almost immediately the Minister offered W. London. My "beau-frere" said he would give us two years when we came over. I wonder how much longer it will last. We had a big dinner to-night, and Lord Lathom, the Lord Chamberlain, was next to me. He said no one could imagine how difficult it had been to arrange everything for the Jubilee ceremonies; that the Queen was consulted _on every point_, as she knew more about etiquette and court ceremonies than anyone else. One day he had 42 telegrams from her. We told him we thought everything was well managed (except the ball, where all the young officers crowded in front of us, and stepped on our toes, and on our trains). He quite admitted that that might have been better done, but also remarked that he thought the Corps Diplomatique a little exacting; so, as usual, there are two sides to every question.

_To H. L. K._

#London#,
July 25, 1887.

We have had a nice outing, Dear, thanks to the Naval Review; two such beautiful interesting days. I am burned brown as a berry, but, as the season is over, that is of no consequence, and I shall have plenty of time at Bourneville to bleach. We started Saturday at 9.30 for Portsmouth with the Florians, Waru, and R., Naval Attache, in a special train. The harbour looked so pretty as we came in sight of it. Every description of vessel (even the "Victory," Nelson's old ship, now a training ship), and all sorts of ironclads, big steamers, yachts, and the smallest sort of pleasure-boat, dressed with flags. We went at once on board the "Helicon," a small despatch boat, especially destined to the Corps Diplomatique and distinguished strangers. There were about 150 people on board, all colleagues, also the Arch Duke Regnier of Austria, and the two young sons of the Duc d'Aoste with their suites. Directly after us came two great English transports painted white, one for the Lords, and one for the Commons, and all around us a fleet of ordinary rowing-boats and barges filled with people--quantities of women and children. We steamed slowly across the Solent to Osborne to meet the Queen, and passed close to the great ironclads, which looked monsters, and formidable ones. We had a handsome substantial lunch on board, to which we all did honour. There were not many foreign ships. Our two looked very well and were much admired, an old frigate, the "Iphigenie," now a training ship, with the midshipmen on board, and the "Elan," a pretty little despatch boat. There were only two other foreign boats: a German and a Dutchman. The Italian ships put into Spithead, and then went off to Dartmouth, no one knows why exactly. Some say they were not satisfied with their place (they arrived after the French ships, and would have been decidedly farther off, and behind ours), others that they were not in good condition, not smart enough; however, they were not there and the Italian Princesses who had expected to sleep on board, and meet their brother who is on one of the ships, were much disgusted. As soon as the "Osborne," with the Queen, the Prince of Wales, and the King of Greece (we didn't understand the Greek flag at first, as we didn't know the King was on board), had passed, we followed and went down the line. It was a beautiful sight, and England could certainly be proud of her great ironclads filling the harbour, and showing her strength as a naval power. We went slowly, and it was amusing to hear the criticisms and appreciations of all the assembled foreigners on the show--however, I suppose all ironclads now are pretty much alike, only England happens to have three times as many as any of the rest of us. About 6 o'clock there was a halt. We of course had tea on deck, and suddenly we saw quantities of steam launches coming across the water in all directions. They looked like enormous white birds in the distance. They were almost all white, low in the water, and going very fast. The captains of all the ships had been called on board the Queen's yacht to be received by her. This made a long delay, and our colleagues were getting impatient, as they foresaw that they would be very late in getting back to London. We took that opportunity to ask the Captain of the "Helicon" to bear down toward the "Iphigenie," as we were to dine and sleep on board. We changed our course a little, and in about 10 minutes two very smart French boats ran alongside, coming up in grand style. The three English officers stood on the bridge and helped us off, and I must say it was all done admirably--not the slightest confusion, and we were a big party. Our fellow-passengers decidedly envied us. The Bylandts (Dutch Minister) were much put out. They had asked the Captain of their ship to let them dine and sleep on board, but he refused absolutely; said he had just arrived from a long cruise, and was not prepared to receive anyone. We got to the "Iphigenie" in about 15 minutes. The Commandant, Noccomore, was standing on the bridge. W. got out first, then T., and as soon as W. put his foot on the deck, where all the sailors, officers, and midshipmen were drawn up, there was a salute of drums and clarions (they couldn't give the regular salute of guns to the Ambassador, as, when the Queen is in the harbour, no one else can be saluted). The Commandant gave me his arm, and we went at once to his quarters (or rather "carre," as they say on board ship). We passed through a fine room or hall, the entire width of the frigate, where a good-sized dinner-table was ready. The Commandant asked when we would dine; we said in a "quart d'heure," just the time to wash our faces, which were black with smoke and red with sun, and he showed W. and me our quarters (his of course), and most comfortable. The cabin large, with a wardrobe, and a large "cabinet de toilette," with English wash-stand, bath-room, etc. For one person it was perfectly roomy. Of course when a second bed was put in the "cabinet de toilette" it was a little small. Mmes. de Florian and Heurtel had the second officer's cabin, and the men hammocks in some part of the ship.

The dinner was good and handsome. I had the "Aumonier" on the other side of me. He was intelligent, ready to talk about anything, and the dinner was very agreeable. Plenty of talk. W. talked a great deal, and the naval officers were interesting, as they always are. They have seen so much, and had such varied experiences. After dinner we had coffee in the Commandant's salon, and then went on deck, where we spent a delightful evening. The sea was perfectly calm, not a ripple, and lights everywhere--all the ships illuminated and sending off fireworks at intervals. We could hardly see our own, but the little "Elan" looked very smart and natty. We broke up about 11, and I don't know when I have enjoyed anything so much as that perfectly quiet summer night on the water; such a rest after the long day, and early start from London. We promised to be ready at a quarter to 10 for Mass, and the visit of the ship. You would have been amused to see how well Drejet did my service (they asked me if I could do without my maid for one night, as they really didn't know what to do with her). He told Adelaide he could do everything for me except my hair, and tying my sash, which seemed to be a serious performance to him, and really all my dressing things were put out and a "saut de lit" disposed gracefully over the back of a chair just as A. always did. I supposed she coached him. I was stirring early enough the next morning, but I couldn't tie my sash either, so I wandered out on the deck to have my early tea, and Countess de Florian helped me to finish my toilette. We went all over the ship before Mass. The midshipmen's quarters are small, but of course beautifully kept, and the young men all looked as smiling and prosperous as possible, and were much pleased at the Ambassador's visit. At 10 o'clock we assembled on deck for Mass. Part of the deck was covered in with flags, and as a compliment to my nationality they had put the "Stars and Stripes" immediately over my head. I was much pleased, as it is a good many years since I have sat under the old flag. I suppose I can't say _my flag_ any more, but I feel it all the same. There were three armchairs directly in front of the altar--two big ones for W. and me and a smaller one between for the Commandant. As soon as we were seated the Abbe came, made a bow to W. and me, and began his Mass. It was very impressive--so still, not a sound except the little waves beating against the side of the ship, and the word of command for the marines at the raising of the Host, when there was a fine salute of drums and bugles. We had a very gay breakfast, the Captain of the "Elan" coming to join us, and at 1 o'clock we left our hospitable frigate for the "Elan" which was going to cruise about with us all the afternoon. They certainly received us most hospitably and charmingly; I shall often think of those quiet hours on the deck, and the Mass this morning, which impressed me very much. We had a lovely afternoon on the "Elan," practically doing the Review over again, and going close up to the big ironclads, such ugly, heavy masses as they seem when one is near them. We crossed over to Cowes, went alongside of the Prince of Wales' yacht, but didn't stop. The captain gave us an interesting account of their reception on the "Osborne." It seems there was some mistake in the orders brought by the Aide-de-Camp of the Admiral of the Fleet. The Commandant of the "Iphigenie" thought he could take several officers with him, and when he appeared on the "Osborne" with 5 or 6 officers, the Admiral was much embarrassed, and didn't know what to do, as the Queen intended to receive only the Commandants. However the Prince of Wales, with his never-failing tact, said he would put it all right, and in a few moments they were told that the Queen would be very pleased to receive _all_ the French officers. They told us they saw a lady in deep mourning, with perfectly white hair, standing behind the Queen, who looked so earnestly at the French uniforms, and was agitated when they passed; they only realised afterward that it was the Empress.[9] I wonder if I shall ever see her, I would like to so much. We dined on board, anchored just off Portsmouth, and got back to London about 11 o'clock, having enjoyed our two days immensely. It was a beautiful ending to the Jubilee, and a beautiful sight. The "cadre" was so lovely for all those big ships. All the line of the Isle of Wight is so pretty, beautifully green, and the Solent covered with boats of all descriptions, and plenty of room for all. Some of the small row-boats seemed dangerously near the big steamers, but nothing ever happened. When I get back to Bourneville and take up my quiet life in the woods, these last days will seem a sort of fairy-tale.

[9] Empress Eugenie, widow of Napoleon III., who has lived in England for many years.

#London#,
July 29, 1887.

We are starting to-morrow. I had a farewell ride this morning, hardly anyone in the Row, Dandy going beautifully (you know he is the chestnut I called after the famous horse in one of Charlie's stories), except a good kick from time to time, which is a bore, not only for me (I lost my hat the other day), but for the neighbours. We dined at Lord A.'s last night, and he gave us a funny account of his experience on the House of Lords boat. To begin with he had much difficulty in getting tickets, and could get none for his daughters, only himself and Lady A. (and he is Hereditary Lord Chamberlain), and when he finally did get on the boat he found it crowded with all sorts of unknown people, very few peers, and very little food. They were faint with hunger before the end of the day, so I told him about our handsome dinner and hospitable reception on our frigate. Bylandt then told us how badly they fared. They cruised about for some time in the "Helicon" after we got off, then finally the passengers begged to be landed. They were at last deposited at Portsmouth, and then made a rush for the buffet in the railway station, but that had been completely "devalise," there wasn't a crumb, not even a dry biscuit. Then they were conducted with much pomp to reserved carriages which were _locked_, and there they remained for over an hour, seeing various trains start, and at last arrived in London at one o'clock in the morning. Poor Bylandt was much disgusted. We thought a little of asking to keep the "Elan" for a week, and of doing the Cowes week, but W. thought on the whole it would be close quarters, and was not very keen about it. I should have liked it. We had all the staff who remain to dine to-night. London is curiously empty--all the chairs being taken away from the Park, which gives it a decided air of "fin de saison."

_To G. K. S._

#Albert Gate House#,
March 2, 1888.

I have been back about two weeks and am quite settled again. I have always two or three disagreeable days when I first come back from France. The coal fires try me very much and I think regretfully of the enormous chimneys at Bourneville and the _trees_ that we burned there. We have a fog and it is very cold. Francis and I went to skate yesterday at the Botanical Gardens. The ice was very bad, there was very little room, and swarms of children struggling along on their little skates, but the outing was pleasant. I also went one day with a friend to Wimbledon, and that was better. We drove down and had a pleasant afternoon, but the ice was soft, and it was the end. Really though, in March in England, one could hardly expect to skate.

March 8th.

Hilda came in this morning with very bad news of the German Emperor. The Crown Prince was to start from the Riviera, and I am afraid he is in a bad way too. He looked such a magnificent man at the Jubilee Fetes. Of course even then his voice and colour showed that something was wrong, but it was difficult to believe that a mortal disease was mining his strength. We have had telegrams all the afternoon, and at 5 they told us the Emperor was dead. We sent immediately to Mrs. Jeune, where we were engaged to dine to meet Prince and Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein, to know if her dinner was put off; but the answer came back that the dinner was to take place. We went of course, and found Princess Christian and Lady Salisbury. Prince Christian, as a German Prince and a relation of the German Royal Family, did not come; neither did Lord Salisbury, who had received a telegram from Berlin announcing the Emperor's death. The Princess looked anxious and was evidently very much worried at the journey of the Crown Prince in such weather, in his delicate state. She left almost instantly after dinner. The Drawing-room is postponed. The Crown Prince starts to-morrow morning. All eyes are upon him, and will follow his journey with hopes and fears.

Sunday, March 18th.

We all went to the funeral service for the German Emperor this morning in the German Lutheran Chapel close to Marlborough House. I was quite correct this time, and was swathed in crepe; Mrs. Lecky has lent me her long crepe veil, which will serve again probably, as everyone seems to think the Emperor Frederick is doomed. All the men were in uniform with crepe on their sleeves and sword hilts (the Germans with their helmets covered with crepe) and the women in woollen dresses with crepe veils. Almost all the Princesses were there (not the Princess of Wales), but the Princes were in Berlin. The service was long, and curiously enough was _not_ the Lutheran service, but the regular Church of England service translated into German. It was done, it seems, for George II, who was obliged to follow the Church of England service, and who didn't understand a _word_ of English. There was much chanting, two addresses, and a sermon.

Everyone of course is talking and speculating over what will happen in Germany. All the doctors say the Emperor Frederick is near his end. No one seems to know exactly what will be the attitude of the present Crown Prince. He is young, intelligent, with an iron will; all good qualities in a sovereign, but he has little experience and an absolute confidence in his own judgment.

_To H. L. K._

#London#, April 25, 1888.

We hear a great deal now here about Boulanger, and there seems to be the most extraordinary "engouement" for him here as well as in France. Roustan, the Naval Attache, has just come back from Paris and says the state of things is very serious, people have lost their heads over Boulanger. He (R.) thinks it is the most serious crisis France has passed through since the Commune. W. is less blue--he knows the famous General very little, but doesn't think there is much character or backbone there.

We had a big dinner the other night at Lord Rothschild's, and Lord Hartington, a well-known political and social figure, sat between me and the Princesse de Wagram. He naturally asked us, the only two Frenchwomen at table, what we thought of Boulanger. The Princess spoke most enthusiastically of him. The one man in France who could regenerate the country, and who would be supported by all parties. I said exactly the contrary, and that I thought his popularity and power very much exaggerated. Lord Hartington was rather amused at the two opinions so absolutely at variance.

The Deichmanns came to see us the other day, just back from Berlin, and in despair over the Emperor. Deichmann said he came into the room with the same straight, soldierly bearing he had always had, and except that he was thinner, looked unchanged; but he couldn't speak, and his friends fear the worst. He is worried too over the friction between the Empress and Bismarck--too such strong wills in conflict.

#London#,
April 26, 1888.

I wonder if you are as cold as I am to-day. I have been driving about shivering in the open carriage and my seal-skin felt like a foulard. I think I got cold last night. We had a pleasant dinner at Lord Knutsford's. I had Count Kufstein next to me. He was for years in Paris at the Austrian Embassy just when I was first married and making my debut in the official world. He is here now for the sugar conference, and we were delighted to go back to old times, as he knows everybody in Paris of all kinds: Imperialists, Royalists, and Republicans. It wasn't always easy for a foreigner to get along and not offend somebody. On our way home W. suggested that we should go in for a moment to the W. H. Smiths' who had a big political reception. In a weak moment I agreed. It is not really necessary to go to those big parties--one can be written down in the book by one of the secretaries, or give the names to the lady of the _Morning Post_ who sits with her hat and coat behind the door, and puts down as many names as she can manage. I should think she would have perpetual rheumatism, as the hall door is open and the draught something awful. The moment I set my foot in the hall my heart sank, such a crowd on the stairs, I should think all the House of Commons and all their female relations. There was a double current going and coming, and I was thankful not to have my dress torn to bits. We met Tom Leigh coming down. He said he had been 15 minutes on the same step. However we did manage to get upstairs--tried to find either host or hostess, but they had evidently left the door--so after struggling through one or two rooms packed tight with people I discovered a high wooden stool behind one of the doors which had evidently been used for lighting the candles and been forgotten, so I seated myself on that and told W. I would wait for him there, as he thought he would try and find some one of the family. I sat there some little time rather interested in the stream of perfectly unknown faces which passed until I was rescued by Correa, the Brazilian Minister, who couldn't believe that it was really the French Ambassadress sitting alone on a three-legged stool behind the door. W. came back in about a quarter of an hour not having seen any one he knew, and then we started down the staircase where we had the same struggle, and the cold air blowing in upon my bare shoulders. I was cross when I got home--however I suppose exactly the same thing happens when we have a big reception, as the Embassy is not nearly large enough. The other night when the Duke of Cambridge dined with us we had a party afterward. W. went down to the door with him and never got up again, there was such a crowd on the stairs.

_To H. L. K._

#London#, May 19, 1888.

The season is animated enough and we are out every night (not all day, as so many people are, as we refuse all lunches and teas). Our music the other evening with Wolff, the young Dutch violinist, and Mdme. Kleeberg, was nice. We had invited only about 50 people, all musical. Everyone could sit down (which the men appreciated, as they usually _stand_ in the doorway all through the concert), and also we were not obliged to have those rows of gilt chairs which grate so on my nerves. I know the women hate it so when they are all seated in rows very close to each other and not a man anywhere near. Wolff played divinely, with so much tone and sentiment. He had a great success. Mdme. Kleeberg always plays beautifully. She is well known here and much liked. It was the first time Wolff had played in London, and he was a little nervous.

Last night we dined with Lady Delawarr to meet Princess Louise and Lord Lorne. The Princess is charming; a pretty, graceful figure and attractive manner, absolutely what the Italians would call "simpatica." Lord Lorne took me to dinner, and I found him most entertaining and original. He talked a great deal about Canada and America, and certainly knows and appreciates "the States." He said if he hadn't been born the eldest son of an English Duke he would certainly emigrate to the West of America and pitch his tent there.

There was a reception and music in the evening, Wolff playing beautifully, but, alas! no one listening. Lady Borthwick (who is a good musician) and I moved into the large drawing-room at his request when he began to play, and I really don't think anyone else scarcely listened, and certainly no one realised when, after playing a few moments under great difficulty (people coming and going and talking all the time), he calmly laid his violin on the piano and stopped. He came up to me to explain, what I quite understood, that he could hear neither his own violin nor the accompaniment, and I could not urge him to continue. It is very hard on the artists, an evening like that. If they don't play well, everyone criticises; and if they stop altogether, people think it is high-handed, and criticise equally. I have learnt now by experience and never invite _many_ people when I have music.

May 22, 1888.

We had a pleasant evening last night at Sir Arthur Sullivan's who had a dinner for the Prince of Wales and the Duke and Duchess Paul of Mecklenburg. There were all kinds of artists--singing, reciting, and dancing. An American girl, with a very pretty voice, sang very well, and Letty Lind was charming. The Duchess Paul looked very pretty and chic, and was most amiable. The Prince is so nice to artists--always a gracious word and smile. Sullivan is an excellent host, and keeps everything going. Just as we arrived the electric light went out. I couldn't imagine why the house looked so dark as we drove up, for I knew the Prince was dining, and there was the red carpet which always indicates Royalty, so there could be no mistake, but the hall-door was open and lamps and candles being brought in from all quarters. We took off our cloaks in the dark, but in a very few minutes things were put right, and the rooms brilliantly illuminated. W. never remains long on these occasions, but I stayed until the end, even for supper, which was very gay.

#London#, May 24, 1888.

My small musical tea for the Duchess Paul was very successful I think yesterday. I could not have Johannes Wolff, the violinist, which I regretted extremely. He plays quite beautifully, with so much "entrain" and sentiment. I think I have already written to you about him, he is a Dutchman who was sent to me by Mdme. de Zuylen (you remember Zuylen who was so long Dutch Minister in Paris). It was a little discouraging at first, there is such a tremendous concurrence in London, and English people like to hear the same artists, whom they know well; Joachim, Sarasate, and Mdme. Neruda have it all their own way. However, I made a small party for him, all musical people, Lady Borthwick, Mrs. Ronalds, Tosti, Lord Lathom, etc., and he conquered his public at once. It was splendid playing and a style quite his own. We replaced him by Mdme. Le Valloit, who plays very well; and had besides Picolellis (from Florence), who plays well (cello), and Carpe, the Italian baritone who has a big voice and sings in the Italian style. The audience listened pretty well at first, then came tea and the clatter of tea-cups in the blue room where all the jeunesse had congregated, talking and laughing and having their tea with a fine unconsciousness of the music going on in the next room. They are really very tiresome. That reminds me of Grieg who was very "difficile," and who couldn't stand a sound when he was playing. He and his wife came to the Embassy one night and played and sang quite charmingly, and everybody was delighted. Quite at the last moment one of the Royalties talked a little while he was playing, and I saw the moment when he would get up from the piano. However, Wolff and I between us managed to calm him. When it was over I told him what a success he had had--that the Prince had enjoyed his playing so much, to which he replied--"Ja, der hat es laut gesagt."

Duchess Paul was very amiable, stayed until after 7 and seemed to enjoy it; at least she listened and spoke very nicely to the artists afterward. I had just time to dress for a dinner at the Austrian Embassy.

May 26, 1888.

We dined to-night with our cousins the Ivor Herberts, a dinner for the Duke and Duchess Paul of Mecklenburg. We were asked for 8.15, and they never came until 9, looking quite unconcerned. I can't imagine how the cooks manage. Juteau tears his hair when we are so late, but he is getting accustomed to English hours now, and doesn't get ready himself until a quarter of an hour after the time fixed. We were a perfect bore to all our friends at first with our French punctuality, and arrived once or twice before the master of the house. W. consulted Lord Granville, who told him his rule was to leave his house _at the hour named for the dinner_; but as we dine sometimes around the corner, and sometimes at Kensington that is not always practical. People in Paris are very punctual and never wait more than a quarter of an hour for anyone. I remember quite well when I was first married, and my husband was a Cabinet Minister, being late for dinner at Comte Paul de Segur's. When we arrived they were at table. Among the guests was the Duc d'Audifret-Pasquier, President of the Senate--he had arrived in time and they wouldn't keep him waiting more than the "quart d'heure de grace." I was very much surprised, as after all my husband was a personage, but I must say I think the rule is a good one. I was next to the Duke and found him very pleasant. He is a brother of the Grand Duchess Wladimir, and he talked about the Coronation, and some of the curious, half barbaric ceremonies. He had been lunching at Sheen with the Comte de Paris, and was much impressed with the dull, sad look of the place. It does look gloomy, enclosed in high walls, such a contrast to Eu and the beautiful, bright sunny homes where the Orleans Princes spent their childish years.

#Albert Gate#, May 30th.

To-night we have a quiet evening, and are glad to have a chance to talk over Boulanger (who is coming here) and various troublesome questions. We dined last night with the Duchess of Westminster to meet Princess Mary and the Duke of Teck. The dinner was handsome and pleasant, and there was a small ball afterward. They danced in the picture gallery, a beautiful, large room, where the dresses and jewels showed to great advantage. We didn't stay very late as W. never dances, not even the regulation "Quadrille d'Honneur" at Court. He and Karolyi are the only diplomatists who never dance.

_To H. L. K._

#London#, June 5, 1888.

Yesterday was a beautiful summer day, the ideal Sunday of Bishop Keble--"The bridal of the earth and sky." We walked through the "Church Parade" coming back from Westminster. There were quantities of pretty girls dotted about the Park, looking so fresh and cool in their white dresses. I had various visits. Sunday is the _man's_ day in London, and the afternoon is generally interesting. The Spanish Ambassador came in. He had been lunching at Sheen with the Comte de Paris, and told me that the Prince asked him if he had seen his Collegue de France lately, and what _he_ thought of the state of things in France, and particularly what he thought of Boulanger. I told him I didn't think the French Ambassador shared the Comte de Paris' enthusiasm for that hero, but that _he_ had better ask him.

About 5.30 W. and I started for White Lodge, Richmond Park, to dine with Princess Mary and the Duke of Teck. We found quite a party assembled in the garden around a tea-table, the Princess making the tea herself, Princess May and some of the young ones helping. The talk was pleasant and easy, Princess Mary is a charming hostess and _likes_ to talk (which is certainly not the case with all English women). She is very stout, but has a beautiful head and fine presence. Tosti and Picolellis dined, and played divinely after dinner. The evening was enchanting. We all sat in the big drawing-room opening on the garden. There was not much light, the moon shining through the trees, and the two artists playing as if inspired anything anyone asked for, from a Spohr sonata to an Italian canzonetta. I thought we should stay there all night--no one wanted to go home. The drive home was lovely, the London streets are so quiet Sunday night.

June 6th.

This morning was the great meet of the coaches, and our terrace of course is in great request as it gives directly on the Park. It is always a pretty sight as everyone turns out. Lord Fife had the Prince of Wales with him, and the Princess was driving about with her three daughters in a victoria. The news of the German Emperor is very bad.

June 10th.

This afternoon we had lovely music at Frank Schuster's. Both Wolff and Hollman played divinely. They are great rivals, both Dutchmen, and both great favourites (Hollman is 'cello). A trio with them and Mdme. Kleeberg at the piano is absolutely perfect.

Our dinner at the Monks' was pleasant. I had Sir Rivers Wilson next to me, and he is a charming neighbour, has been everywhere, knows everybody, and talks easily without any pose. There was a concert in the evening--very good--Trebelli, Lloyd, Nordica, etc. I made acquaintance with Nordica, who is an American, Miss Norton, from Boston I think. She sings beautifully. I said to her (they were all talking hard between the songs), "What a noise! Can you ever begin?" "Oh, certainly," she said, "I shall make much more noise than they do," and she was quite right. Her voice rang through the room. One of her songs was Delibes' "Filles de Cadiz," which she sang splendidly.

June 12th.

This afternoon we have been sight-seeing. Jean came to breakfast, and we started off with Jusserand and St. Genys to see the Panorama of Niagara, which they say is extremely well done. I wanted the foreigners to have an idea of our great Falls, for I think in their hearts they were rather disposed to agree with a statement in one of the Swiss guide-books in speaking of the falls of the Rhine at Schaffhausen, "generally supposed to surpass the celebrated Falls of Niagara in America." However they were agreeably disappointed and were much pleased and interested. The Panorama is really very good. It is so many years since I have seen Niagara that I had forgotten how magnificent the Horse Shoe Fall is, and I almost expected to hear the roar of the cataract, and to see the little Indian boy selling moccasins and maple sugar. I wonder if I would like maple sugar now. One of my French friends, Mdme. Casimir Perier, to whom I offered as a great treat some American home-made gingerbread, could hardly swallow it, and assured me that I couldn't eat it either if it had not been a "souvenir d'enfance." On leaving Niagara we went to the Aquarium to see a dog show. There were some fine specimens, but I didn't think any of the fox terriers as good as my Boniface. We also saw a swimming match, young ladies disporting themselves in the water in most wonderful costumes. Then to change our ideas we went into Westminster Abbey, just getting there for the end of the afternoon service. We heard the anthem, which was beautiful. It is such a good choir--some of the boys' voices divine, and they look like such little angels in their white surplices. A good many people were waiting to go round the Abbey at the end of the service, and we had some difficulty in getting away from the various guides who haunt the church and fall upon strangers. We wandered about with Jusserand for our cicerone. He knows everything about everything, and we had an interesting hour. Some of the old tombs are so curious. We got back to the Embassy for tea, having enjoyed ourselves immensely. I think in her heart Jean was rather shocked at the Aquarium performance--didn't think it was exactly the place for me--that was the reason I liked it, I suppose, I am so often now in the place where I ought to be.

_To H. L. K._

#London#,
June 12, 1888.

It is beautiful again to-day. We had a nice canter in the Row. Everyone was talking about the German Emperor, and speculating over the future. There is a curious mistrust of the young Prince. No one seems to know exactly what he will do, and what will be his attitude toward England. This afternoon we have been out to Chiswick with the Florians, and Francis, to launch a torpilleur built for the French Navy by Thornycroft. We found Thornycroft and some of his friends waiting for us at the entrance of the dockyard. They took us to a platform covered with red cloth erected quite close to the boat--which was prettily dressed with flags--the men said her shape was wonderful (for a torpilleur, which never can be graceful). They gave me a bottle of champagne, and told me what to do. I flung the bottle as hard as I could against the stern of the boat, saying "Success to the 'Coureur.'" It broke into a thousand pieces, the champagne spattering all over my dress. We then adjourned to a summer-house overlooking the river for tea, and afterward went over the boat. There are accommodations (such as they are) for two officers and nine men, but it must be most uncomfortable, particularly in rough weather. However, she was built for speed, Thornycroft told us, and everything was suppressed that was not absolutely necessary. I hope she will make a good record.

June 13th.

Yesterday I decided quite suddenly to go to Ascot. It was a beautiful day, not too hot, and the Florians were quite ready to go with me. W. hates races and a long day in the country. We got down all right, hearing vague rumours on the way about the Emperor's death, but the Royal box was open, prepared evidently for the Princes, and there were quantities of people on the lawn. We were standing near the gate waiting to see the procession appear, when suddenly Lord Coventry, Master of the Buckhounds, rode in alone. Instantly everyone said there must be bad news from the German Emperor (which was true). The Prince of Wales had a telegram, just as he was getting into his carriage, from the Queen, to say the news was very bad, and none of them must go to the races. Very soon some of the gentlemen of the Prince's party arrived, among others Karolyi, who said the Emperor was dying--dead probably at that moment. The Prince's servants and lunch were sent back as soon as possible (of course all their provisions and servants had been sent to Ascot, as they have a big lunch party there every day), so we all lunched with Lord Coventry. I went up after lunch to the top of the stand to see the race, and had the satisfaction of seeing the French horse come in an _easy_ last.

We went to tea with Lady Diana Huddleston, who has a pretty cottage close to the course, and sat under the trees some time. I had refused a dinner in London, and was in no hurry to get back. We quite expected to see the Emperor's death in the evening papers, but he seems to have rallied again a little. Poor man, how terrible it is the way he fights for his life--and he has known from the first, they say, that there was no hope. I am so sorry for her--she is so clever, so ambitious, and would have done so much for Germany.

#Woburn Abbey#,
June 15, 1888.

We arrived here yesterday for tea. It had rained hard in the morning. W. and I were riding and were taking our usual quick canter at the far end of the Park (Marble Arch) when the storm began. We got home as fast as we could, but were dripping, both of us. The water poured off my hat like a shower-bath when I took it off. We had just time to get dry and dress before starting for the station where we found the Duke's[10] regisseur waiting for us with a "wagon-salon." We had a short railway journey through pretty English village country; then a drive of half an hour brought us here. The Park is enormous, fine trees and beautifully green--such a rest after London smoke. The house is very large, with a great square court and corridors running all around it filled with family and historical pictures. The Duchess and her daughters were waiting for us in the morning room. We had tea and almost immediately went upstairs, as it was late. I have a charming big room with such views over the Park. There are always in these large houses lovely bits of old furniture, pictures, old china, etc. The dinner was handsome--quantities of gold and silver plate, and the table covered with azaleas. The Duke talked a great deal. He speaks French and German like a native (was brought up in Germany) and has the courteous, dignified manner of the old-fashioned English gentleman--a little stiff perhaps (they say people, even his children, are afraid of him), but I find him most attractive, particularly in these days when people haven't time apparently to be polite. The house party is small--Lord Tavistock, son of the house, with his handsome wife, Lady Ampthill, widow of Lord Ampthill (whom you will remember well as Odo Russell in Rome, and who was for years British Ambassador in Berlin). We saw him there when we stopped three or four days on our way to Moscow for the Coronation. They loved him in Berlin, just as they did in Rome. Do you remember how much put out all the women were there when his engagement was announced? Lady Ampthill looks sad, and is of course most anxious about the Emperor Frederick, and eager for news, she knew him and the Empress so well at Berlin. There is also Boehm, the sculptor, and one or two young men. The evening was short, everyone talking of course about the Emperor. The Duke says his death will be an immense loss to the whole world. The ladies came upstairs about 10.30--the men went to the smoking-room. This morning it is showery--I didn't go down to breakfast, but about 12.30 I found my way to the drawing-room, and the Duchess showed me the house before lunch. It would take weeks to see all that is in it. The gallery that runs round the court is filled with portraits of Russells of every degree, also various Kings and Queens of England. There are splendid pictures all over the house--one drawing-room absolutely panelled with Canalettos. When we had been over the house we went into the garden to dedicate a fountain which Boehm had made, and also to see a full length statue of the Duchess which he had also just completed for the garden. I am very glad to know Boehm. He is intelligent and sympathetic, original too. He and W. had a long talk last night in the "fumoir," and it seems he was much struck with W. and said afterward to the Duke "Der weiss alles."

[10] The Duke of Bedford.

After lunch, just as we were starting to have tea at Ampthill, we received two telegrams--one from the Embassy, and one from Deichmann--telling of the Emperor's death at 11 this morning--so that long struggle is over. We drove over to Ampthill, and walked about in the garden with umbrellas and waterproofs, but of course the place looked triste and dark as there are great trees close to the house. There was a very good picture of Lord Ampthill in one of the drawing-rooms, and souvenirs of their diplomatic life in every direction; signed photographs of all sorts of distinguished people--snuff-boxes, medals, etc.

June 16th.