Kitabı oku: «Letters of a Diplomat's Wife, 1883-1900», sayfa 22
To G.K.S
Albert Gate,Tuesday, March 10, 1891.
We had an awful storm yesterday, a regular blizzard, and a terrible night in the Channel. One of the good boats, the Victoria, was out all night, not daring to land at either Dover or Calais. One of our young attachés was on board, bringing over despatches, and they say he looked green when he finally did arrive. The trains were snowed up everywhere, even between Folkestone and London, and the passengers nearly frozen and starved. It seems incredible in such a short distance. The young men are generally rather eager to bring over despatches, but I rather think this one won't try it again, in winter at any rate. I am extraordinarily lucky in my crossings, because probably I am a good sailor. I go backward and forward in all seasons and always have good weather. The Florians have had some wonderful crossings, nine hours between Calais and Dover, both of them tied in their chairs, and the chairs tied to the mast.
Thursday, March 12, 1891.
Yesterday we were at Windsor to dine and sleep. The party was small—Staal, the Russian Ambassador, Lord Hartington, Sir Frederick Leighton, Lord and Lady Curzon, Countess Perponcher and Count Seckendorff in attendance on the Empress Frederick, and of course the regular members of the Queen's Household. Lady Antrim was in waiting. We assembled as usual in the long corridor close to the door by which the Royal party entered. We were all in black, as the Empress was there. The Queen and the Empress came in together. The Queen shook hands with me and the two Ambassadors—the Empress with me only, bowing to the others. She is still in deep mourning—her dress black (woollen stuff of some kind) covered with crêpe, and a crêpe veil arranged in a point, or sort of Mary Stuart cap, on the top of her head, and falling behind to the edge of her skirt. The corsage was a little open, and she had a splendid necklace of pearls, also a miniature of the Emperor Frederick set in diamonds fastened on the front of her bodice. The dress was very becoming—she looked very stately and graceful as she walked through the corridor. She gave her arm to the Queen, and they walked in first to the dining-room, the Empress sitting next to the Queen on her right. W. followed with Princess Beatrice, sitting on the Queen's left; Staal with Princess Margaretta, and sat on the right of the Empress. Lord Hartington took me. The Queen talked a great deal to W.—the Empress joined in occasionally. They were both much interested in the Protestants in France, and wanted to know if the feeling was as strong as in the old days of Huguenots and Catholics. I think there is a very strong feeling, and it is rare when a French Protestant marries a Catholic—rarer still when they become Catholics.
The dinner is always quickly served, and the conversation nil. Nobody talks except those who are next the Princesses. The cercle was, as usual, in the corridor between the two doors. The Queen stood a little, but not all the time. She spoke to me about Johannes Wolff—admired his playing so much. The Empress talked a long time to W., and spoke immediately about her visit to Paris and Versailles, which was rather awkward for him, as he regretted very much that she had gone. All the first part of her stay went so well. She told W. she had had nothing but respect, and even sympathy wherever she had been, and that she was much astonished and distressed when she saw the papers and found what a storm was raging in the press. The Queen said a few words to me about the visit, and seemed to think it was a radical demonstration against the Government. I answered vaguely that all radicals made mischief—it wasn't a very easy subject to discuss. The cercle was not very long—about three-quarters of an hour—and then the Court retired, the two Sovereigns going out as they came in, together. We finished the evening in the drawing-room, but broke up early. W. went off to smoke, and I had a nice hour in the beautiful little yellow salon. I had a splendid fire, quantities of candles (always my mania—I hate lamps, particularly in these days of petroleum), and was quite happy. Adelaïde was very eloquent over the style of the housekeeper's room, and was funny over Charles, our French footman, and his indignation at being excluded from the society of the valets and ladies' maids. W.'s man was ill, so he took the French footman, who has often done his service. That gentleman being in livery was considered one of the lower servants (sat some way below the salt) and when the swells (Adelaïde, of course, included) retired to the housekeeper's room for dessert and coffee he remained with the under servants. All these domestic arrangements are quite unheard of in France—any distinctions of that kind would set the whole establishment in a storm.
It was a cold night, snow lying thick on the ground, clouds dark and low, and the great towers looked grim and formidable. W. came in about 12—said the talk in the fumoir was pleasant. He likes Count Seckendorff very much, finds him intelligent and moderate and sensible in his opinions—like all men who have knocked about a great deal and who know, not only other countries but the people of the country. After all, churches, and palaces, and picture galleries have a certain "resemblance," but people are different, and sometimes very interesting. We came away this morning at 10.30. I did not see anyone except Lady Antrim, as I never go to the dining-room for breakfast. I was ready a little before the time, and wandered about the corridor a little, looking at all the pictures. I met Staal doing the same thing. There is so much to see.
It is a beautiful bright day, and Hyde Park looked very animated as we drove through. Everyone was waiting to see the Queen pass. She arrived about an hour after us, as there is a Drawing-room to-morrow. We had some music this afternoon—2 pianos, 8 hands—and we play rather well a splendid symphony of Brahms'—not at all easy. We dined with Mr. Henry Petre, one of the most soigné dinners in London. It is always pleasant at his house—they say it is because he is a bachelor, which is not very flattering to us, but I think it is true, I don't know why. As we were out we went on, as they say here, to Lady Aberdeen, who had a small dance, but did not stay very long, as it was rather a young company. People always say there is nothing going on in London before the season, but we dine out every night and often have (I at least) something in the afternoon—a tea, or music. I don't believe anybody ever dines at home in London. The theatres are always crowded, quite as much as in Paris. Hilda and I went the other night with Count Seckendorff to see "Charlie's Aunt," a ridiculous farce which is having a great success. He protested at first at our choice—would have preferred something more classic, but he was perfectly amused (though protesting all the time). The piece is absolutely stupid, but so well played that the house was in roars of laughter, and that is always infectious. The man who played the part of the maiden aunt was extraordinarily well got up. His black silk dress and mittens were lovely—he looked really a prim old spinster and managed his skirts so well.
Saturday, April 4, 1891.
We lunched to-day with Ferdinand Rothschild to meet the Empress Frederick. We were a small party, principally Diplomatists. The Deyms, Hatzfeldt, Soveral, Harry Whites, etc. The Empress came (punctually) with Countess Perponcher and Seckendorff. The lunch was very handsome, quickly served and very animated, everybody talked. I had Hatzfeldt on the other side (I sat between him and Rothschild) so I was quite happy—there is nobody I like so much to talk to. He is very clever, very entrain, speaks French beautifully and talks about anything—just enough "moqueur" to keep one's wits sharpened. We had a discussion as to what was the origin of "Mrs. Grundy." None of us knew. I must ask Jusserand, who will I am sure be able to tell us.
We were all dressed in black velvet, one would have thought it was a "mot d'ordre." The Empress is very easy and likes to talk. She asked me if I knew Déroulède, said she heard some of his poetry was charming. I told her the "Chants du Soldat" were delightful, but I couldn't send them to her (they are all about the Franco-German War). One of the ladies, Mrs. White I think, said she would.
Tuesday, April 21, 1891.
We had a pleasant little dinner Sunday night for Wormser, the composer of "L'Enfant Prodigue," which has had an enormous success here. Wolff came too, and they played all the evening. I haven't seen the piece yet, so I was delighted to hear the music. I promised him I would go on Wednesday, my first free night.
Last night I went with Lady Northcote to the Opera; it was "Lohengrin" with Miss Eames and the Reszkes. The girl looked beautiful, quite the patrician maiden, and sang very well; a little cold, but that was of less importance in that opera than in "Romeo and Juliet," which needs more passion. The house was very full and she was much applauded. Jean de Reszke looked magnificent and sang divinely. What a voice it is, and how well he knows how to use it. I fancy Covent Garden is a much better salle to sing in than our great Paris Opéra. The voices seem so far off there, and all the singers complain and get soon tired. W. came in late just as I did. He had had a delightful dinner at Mr. Murray's (the publisher) with Mr. Gladstone. He said Mr. G. was in great form, talking about everything: books, politics, theories, and always with a perfect knowledge of each subject expressed in beautiful English. He must have a marvellous memory.
To H. L. K
French Embassy,June 6, 1891.
You will be amused, Dear, to hear that after all we have decided to have the children's comedy. The moment is not exactly propitious in the height of the London season when every instant is taken, but I think we can make something pretty, and Mdme. Thénard is very keen about it. We shall take the "Reine des Fées"—but very much changed, and parts added for every child—also a gavotte and a chorus. I saw some of the mammas, Countess Deym; Mdme. de Bille; Ladies Londonderry, Clanwilliam, etc., yesterday, and they will let me have their daughters. Thénard will direct the whole thing, with Count de St. Genys (Secretary of the French Embassy in London) as régisseur and also décorateur, as he has begun painting a charming décor (the interior of the bailiff's cottage). Mdme. de Langhe will undertake the chœurs and leçons de diction, and I don't quite know yet whom we shall get for the gavotte, or how many children we must have. The dresses will be pretty—two sets—Marie Antoinette and all her ladies in powder—Trianon costumes—and peasants, market women, etc. Of course the boys are a difficulty. There are so few who are here of Francis's old friends—they are all at school. Thénard has a little friend (girl) whom she will dress as a Marquis—she says she will look the part very well. Francis is much excited—he is to be the cruel bailiff who takes all the money and everything else he can get from the poor peasants. St. Genys will see about his costume, and make a croquis from some picture of the period.
June 12, 1891.
We are all (except the Ambassador) perfectly taken up with the comédie—and to-day we had our first répétition of the gavotte in the drawing-room. I hadn't thought of saying anything about the dancing to the young men, and it seems the "chancellerie" went nearly mad; their rooms being directly under the salons, they heard everything—the music beginning the same thing over and over again—and the heavy little feet that couldn't stay long on the tips of their toes. I had some trouble in finding a dancing-mistress—I thought first of the American who had that dancing class here where all the children went, but she didn't seem to understand exactly what I wanted. Finally some one told me I had much better send for Mrs. Roffy—ballet-mistress at the Alhambra—who has sometimes arranged menuets and gavottes for "les femmes du monde"; so I wrote to her to come and see me. She knew exactly what I wanted, would undertake the whole thing—how many children—what sort of a dance—was most business-like—and we fixed the first répétition at once. There were about 20 children, of all ages and sizes, varying from 3 years to 14—Muriel White, Gay Edwardes and her brother, a little de Breunen, Elsa Deichmann, etc. Mrs. Roffy looked very nice. She is very tall, but rather graceful—she had a little black bag in which were her black silk stockings and pointed slippers, and asked if she might have a room to arrange herself—so Clarisse took charge of her. I took the piano—and most distracting it was—as no two of the children ever began their steps at the same time. It was amusing to see Mrs. Roffy. She moved extraordinarily gracefully for such a tall woman, and was so patient—holding up her dress, pointing her toes, and talking to them all the time—"Heads up, Dears—Heads up! Look at me—very proud, please." I should have given up in despair after a quarter of an hour. All the little arms and legs went at wrong times in wrong directions, and no one seemed to have the slightest idea of time. She will give one or two private lessons to some of the very small ones.
Madame de Langhe, too, has her hands full with the chorus, "Vive la Reine"—but I think she must have some one behind the scenes to sing the solo, and then the children will come out strong in the chorus. The rôles are all distributed—Bianca Deym—a tall handsome girl—is to be Marie Antoinette; and the various other Court ladies are Lady Helen Stewart (Lady Londonderry's daughter), Lady J. Meade (Lady Clanwilliam's daughter), Marguerite Phelps, Anna Lawrence, Elsa de Bille, etc. I think it will be pretty.
June 15, 1891.
Hilda and I have been half over London to-day for our stage scenes. We must have real ones representing a sort of wood where the market people have their stands, and the Queen and the ladies come to buy flowers—also sufficient space for the gavotte. The man promises to send it all the day before, as the children must rehearse at least once with the real scenes—for their entrées—that is always a little difficulty. The bigger girls do all right, but the little ones rush in—speak very quickly—and always to Thénard, who stands at one side—looking hard at her to see if they are doing right—and paying no attention whatever to Her Gracious Majesty Queen Marie Antoinette. Muriel White is very good, very deliberate, very careful, and taking all the French nuances and intonations very well. Gay Edwardes, too, is very good—her French is pretty and easy, she learnt it so young in Paris. One of the others (I forget which one) was having a private lesson in a corner with Francis, who was trying to make her roll her Rs in a proper French fashion. She had a complaint to make of her garden—all about "carottes" et "giroflées," and the sentences had a true British ring. Francis is very important, takes himself quite "au sérieux," and is most interested in the proper diction of all the young ladies. I sat some time in the drawing-room while St. Genys was painting his scenes. We had various visitors (even W., who was very complimentary over the décor), tea, and Thénard to settle about a rampe of flowers and tapestry curtain.
Saturday, June 20, 1891.
I am rather lazy this morning and feel as if I had suddenly nothing to do. The comédie went off very well yesterday and was a pretty sight. Until the last moment I was doubtful, as we had so many péripéties. At the dress rehearsal on Thursday, Bianca Deym (Marie Antoinette) was so hoarse she could hardly speak. The girl looked very handsome and distinguished in powder (trés bien coiffée) and one of her mother's handsome Court dresses, but Thénard wouldn't let her speak—said all her part herself, and told Bianca to pay great attention to her voice and gestures. Toupet (Francis), the cruel bailiff, had such a stiff neck and sore throat that he could hardly move—so he was rubbed hard with Elliman's Embrocation and sent to bed as soon as the répétition was over. His costume was very good—coat and long waistcoat of prune cloth—lace jabot—tricorne and gold-headed cane lent by one of his English cousins—a wig of course—which quite changed him. The girls looked charming—I don't know which was the most becoming—the powder and Court dress or the short skirts and high caps of the paysannes. The gavotte went very well. The small children in front and the bigger ones behind. I never could have believed that anyone could evolve anything like a gavotte from the whirling chaos of arms and legs that was my first impression. M. Lecomte (Secretary of the Embassy), who is a very good musician, was at the piano, and marked the time very exactly, which was absolutely necessary for such young performers.
Various friends and Mammas came to look on and criticise—which was what we wanted—and all were pleased. Thénard and St. Genys were quite delighted—and as they have seen it from the first and noted the improvement, that was reassuring. Henry Edwardes came, much amused and slightly astonished at his children's performance (the boy was so good). He told me he considered it quite remarkable. He offered to take charge of the green-room the day of the performance, and I accepted with pleasure, as I am sure the children will be rather excited and probably unruly.
I had a note from Miss Knollys while the répétition was going on saying that the Princess of Wales and her two daughters, Princesses Victoria and Maud, would be present on Friday at the performance. I announced this at once to my young troupe, and they were filled with pleasure and dismay at the appalling prospect of playing before Royalties. I went for a ride Friday morning with Pontavice and when I came in was given a wild note from the Countess Deym saying that Bianca had a complete "extinction de voix" and what could be done. If someone else could take the part (which was impossible at such short notice) she would send all her daughter's dress, which was very handsome, or Bianca would come and look the part and Thénard do the talking from the coulisses. Of course I chose the latter, and sent off Clarisse at once to the Austrian Embassy with a remedy that Mdme. Richard of the Opéra gave me. Francis was all right, his neck quite straight. After breakfast I had a last practice with him and Lecomte for the gavotte. I got in a small piano from Érard (my big one took up too much room behind the scenes) and then I dismissed the whole thing from my mind, and went to dress. I told the children to be there at 4.30 so as to begin the minute the Princess arrived. She said she would come at five.
The little blue salon was a pretty sight when it was filled with all the children in costume. Thénard's Marquis looked too sweet—she had dressed the girl so well in satin coat, ruffles, and silk stockings, and enormous paste buckles on her shoes. She did her part perfectly—so easy, and such pretty French. The Princess came punctually with her two daughters, and the play began at once. I think there were about 100 people—we couldn't seat any more as the stage took up a good deal of room. The prettiest scenes were the Trianon and the Market Place. In the Trianon, Marie Antoinette was seated surrounded by her ladies, and le Marquis telling them "les petites nouvelles de la cour." The child was killing when she took out her snuff-box and made flowery phrases. The Market was very well arranged with flowers and vegetables. Violet Freeman made a splendid old woman at one stall, and Hilda Deichmann did her boy's part very well. After the Queen had made her round (her voice came back, though she was rather hoarse still) she and her ladies retired a little to the background, where the Court made a brilliant group, while the peasants sang their chorus, "Vive la Reine." Then came the gavotte, which really went extremely well. Mrs. Roffy was breathless with recommendations until the last moment. Both chorus and gavotte were encored, and there was much applause when the curtain fell.
The Princess, who is always so gracious, asked me what I would like her to do, so I said if she would allow the whole troupe to defile before her I would name each one—and I knew it would give them great pleasure. She agreed at once, so the procession, headed by Marie Antoinette, passed, and the Princess shook hands with every one, talking a little to those she knew. They all applauded when Toupet, with his wig and cane, appeared. Then I named Mdmes. Thénard and Roffy—and I wish you could have seen those ladies' curtseys (Mdme. Roffy's particularly splendid), also St. Genys and Lecomte. The whole thing lasted a short hour, even with the répétition of chorus and gavotte. We had tea in the drawing-room—the children downstairs. The Princess told me she thought it charming—quite wonderful. The only two French children were Francis and the Marquis, but I must say I thought the others quite wonderful. When the Princess went away all the children assembled in the hall at the foot of the stairs, bowing and curtseying—and it was a pretty sight, such a mass of colour and flushed, eager little faces. The Princess told them all again how much she had enjoyed the performance, and it was quite a happy little crowd that dispersed soon afterward to their respective homes. W. complimented Thénard very much, who had given herself no end of trouble—also Mdme. de Langhe, who had undertaken the chorus. Some of the ladies were rather anxious we should repeat the performance for the benefit of some charity, but W. didn't like to have a paying thing at the Embassy; and at one of the public halls it would not have been very easy—some of the ladies objected.
I dined at home, but went to a concert in the evening, and had various compliments for my troupe. The Prince of Wales told me that the Princess had told him it was quite charming. I think on the whole W. was pleased. He was rather doubtful about inviting the Princess—thought it was a little informal, and would bore her, but I don't think it did.
Tuesday, June 23, 1891.
We have had various notices in the French papers of the comédie; generally "une bonne presse," but one or two of the very Republican papers expressed great surprise at such a Royalist Demonstration—couldn't imagine why we had chosen that particular chorus, "Vive la Reine," at an Embassy representing the French Republic!
I am sorry you couldn't come over—all the répétitions would have amused you so much. Nothing was funnier than to see Francis always in a corner with some of the girls. Madame Campan (Elsa de Bille) had a long thing to say, and was most anxious to have the correct accent.
