Kitabı oku: «Letters of a Diplomat's Wife, 1883-1900», sayfa 19
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 Attaché, 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 début 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 Ségur'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 grâce." 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 Orléans 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 Collègue 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's10 régisseur 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 Böhm, 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 Böhm 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 Böhm. 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."
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.
It is still grey and damp, but no rain. The Duchess took us for a beautiful grass drive through miles of rhododendrons, quite enchanting—I have never seen anything like it;—but again the want of sunlight made a great difference. The contrast between the deep green of the lawn and the extraordinary amount and variety of colour was most striking. We left about 3—immediately after lunch. I had quite a talk with the Duke while we were waiting for the carriage. He told me he had been so pleased to have had W. at his house and to hear him talk. He said—"I am not a Republican, but I must say that so long as the Republic finds men like him to serve her, there can be nothing better for France."
London, June 24th.
We all went to the funeral service for the Emperor Frederick this morning, all of us smothered in crêpe with long crêpe veils. It was precisely the same service over again as we had had for the old Emperor a few months ago. The heat was something awful—so many people—and it was very long. I dined in the evening at Hurlingham with Sir Roderick Cameron, and that was nice; deliciously cool, lights all about the place, and the Hungarian band playing.
