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I found Hilda and one or two friends when I got home who told me that the English ladies, headed by Ladies Salisbury and Spencer, representing the two parties, Conservative and Liberal, were going to give me a souvenir (in memory of my ten years in London), a jewel of some kind. I was rather pleased. The last days of adieux are rather melancholy. I shall be glad when they are over. I forgot to say that Wednesday I had a message about 3 o'clock from the Princess Beatrice, saying she and Prince Henry of Battenberg would come about 5 and ask me for a cup of tea. The notice was so short that I hadn't time to ask anyone except Hilda, who happened in, and some of the secretaries. They came alone and were most friendly—said they had not given me any more time on purpose, as they didn't want a party, but merely to see us. They were as easy and pleasant as possible, she talking much more than she ever does in the grand monde. I told her I hoped she would let me know if ever she came to Paris. She said. "Oh, yes—and we will do a lively play together."

To H. L. K

Albert Gate,

Tuesday, March 14, 1893.

I went this afternoon with Mdme. de la Villestreux to the French bazaar at Kensington Town Hall to receive Princess Mary, who opened it (and very much better than I did the day I performed the same thing). Mdme. de Bylandt, de Bille, Mdme. du Poutel de la Harpe were all there waiting at the foot of the stairs. Princess Mary was easy and charming, and I really think was not bored. She had all the ladies presented to her, talked to them all, knew apparently all their relations, young and old, complimented them on the arrangement of their stalls, said the various objects made and presented by the Ladies' Art Association were very artistic and useful (I wish you could have seen them—our pincushions at the Vente des Diaconnesses were things of beauty next to them), took her tea, said the cake was so good, and delighted everybody. When I see how easy it is for Royalties to win golden opinions with a few gracious words and a smile, I wonder at the stiff, stand-off manner some of them adopt. Princess May looked very slight and pretty, and is always well dressed. I again wore the blue velvet, which will fall off me soon, but this time I changed the bonnet and wore a black jet one with a red rose, and it wasn't very pretty.

March 16, 1893.

We had a last musical afternoon to-day at Marie Humlicher's: 8 hands, two pianos, she directing and the performers being Ctesse. de Bylandt, Mlle. de Staal, Hilda and I. We played Mozart and Schumann, really very well. Mlle. Humlicher has a nice big room over a coutourière on Fulham Road. She always gives us tea after the music, which is generally brought up by a tidy little English maid with her cap and apron. She was astounded this afternoon when the tea was brought in by a most elegant young person, dressed in the latest fashion, and attended by a second, also most stylish—however, as the tea was all right she did not say anything; neither did I, but I waited a moment after the other ladies had gone and she had a mysterious conversation on the stairs and came in highly amused. It seems the two elegant ladies were the dressmaker and her assistant. When they saw all these ambassadorial equipages at their door—enormous powdered footmen, wigs, cockades, etc., also Hilda's beautiful carriage (Deichmann has splendid horses always and everything perfectly well turned out), their curiosity got the better of them and they felt they must see the swells; so they interviewed the maid, installed her in their rooms to attend to any customer who might come, got into their swell garments, and brought up the tea. Wasn't it funny? Luckily we were all rather elegant. I had been paying some farewell visits, and it so happened that we were all up to the mark. I have sometimes gone to Mlle. Humlicher's on foot in a cloth dress, as it is not far from the Embassy. I am sorry to have done with those afternoons—Mlle. Humlicher plays beautifully—she is a pupil of Rubinstein's and has a real artistic nature.

Friday, March 17th.

I had a line from Lady Salisbury yesterday, asking if to-day at 5 would suit me to receive the ladies and my present. I accepted of course, asking her about how many would come. She answered, between 50 and 60, she thought. As the moment drew near I got rather nervous, for W. said they would certainly make me a little speech and that I would have to reply, and he suggested thinking it over; but that I refused and said I must trust to the inspiration of the moment. I wore my purple satin. The ladies arrived very punctually. There were one or two men, all the personnel, including W., and one or two of my friends, Sir George Arthur, Gevers, etc. Lady Salisbury asked me where I would stand, so I put myself in the middle of the big drawing-room, under the chandelier. Lady Salisbury was spokeswoman, flanked on one side by Lady Spencer, the other by Mrs. Gladstone; all the other ladies, including Ladies Londonderry, Cadogan, Shrewsbury, Harcourt, etc., forming a circle round me. Lady Salisbury made a very pretty little speech, beginning—"Madame Waddington, Ambassadress," and saying they hoped I would sometimes think of England and my English friends, that I had been there so long that I seemed one of themselves, etc., and then handed me a blue velvet étui. I don't know exactly what I replied (I was rather émue and W. just opposite to me was looking at me hard), but evidently only a few words, to say that the ten years I had spent in London had been very happy ones, that France wasn't very far away, and that I hoped to come back often—but I think they understood that I was pleased and grateful for the present, and above all with the feeling that prompted it. The jewel is very handsome, a circle of large, beautiful white diamonds with a large pearl in the centre and another as pendant. It was passed around the company and they all found it very handsome. We had tea in the blue room, and I talked to them all and said what was perfectly true, that they had been ten perfectly happy years we had spent in London, and ten years is a good piece out of one's life. They left me a book with the names of all the "signataires." W. was much pleased, and I fancy it was rather an unusual demonstration. One of these days, when Francis's wife wears it, it will be a historic jewel. After all the company had gone the secretaries stayed on a little while. I think they are all sorry we are going, and they certainly regret W. as a chief. They all say he is so absolutely just.

Albert Gate,

Monday, March 27, 1893.

We walked about in the Row this morning. It was cold and raw, not many people. We dined at the Italian Embassy in the evening with Tornielli. The Comtesse is at Naples with her niece, the young Marquise Paulucci, who has just had a fine boy. The dinner was small, mostly colleagues. We sat after dinner in the red drawing-room, which is very picturesque—a fine old carved chimney, enormous, and beautiful old red silk hangings just faded enough to give an old-world look. He has brought quantities of things from his palace in Italy. Lincoln was there. He knows who his successor is—Mr. Bayard. We don't know ours.

Albert Gate,

March 29, 1893.

Princess Mary and Princess May had promised to come once to tea before I left and they named to-day. I asked very few people—Duchess of St. Albans, Ladies Arran, Randolph Churchill, Hilda, and some men, Deym, Tornielli, Mensdorff, George Arthur, etc. Lady Randolph is very musical, plays extremely well and is very kind to all the artists. I asked Mlle. Jansen (Swedish), who sang quite beautifully—a fine voice, such a ring in it. She is going to America, and I am sure she will have a great success. Both Princesses were as cordial and nice as possible, said it would seem strange not to see me about everywhere any more. "Of course you will come back to London," Princess Mary said; "but it can never be the same thing—you will be a visitor; now you are living your life with us, and London is your home." Princess May looked very pretty, and so bright that I fancy her engagement is settled—everyone seems to think so. I didn't say anything to her, but when I parted from Princess Mary at the foot of the stairs I couldn't help saying that I heard that very soon all her friends would be able to congratulate her, and that as I was going I would like to think that very happy days were before her. She said "I hope so—I think so," and kissed me. At the door she turned and said, "I wonder when I shall have tea and music again in these rooms. I shall always think with pleasure of the French Embassy." We had a farewell dinner at our cousin's, Mrs. Mostyn's. Lord Herschell was on one side of me and talked a great deal about the banquet at the Mansion House. He said W.'s English was so good, too classical if anything; said he would like very much to hear him speak in French and at the Tribune. He couldn't imagine such a quiet speech and manner in the fiery French Chamber. I told him the Senate was much more sedate than the Chamber (consequently much less amusing) and that he would often hear a perfectly quiet academic speech there.

French Embassy,

Good Friday, March 31, 1893.

We went to the afternoon service at St. Paul's, where the anthem was beautiful. There were a great many people, a great many men following the service, and a great many also walking about looking at the tombs and tablets.

We really have not a moment these last days. I shall go over a little before W., about the 12th of next month. We have had all sorts of leave-takings. The Empress Frederick received us the other day—always charming and interesting, but still talking of her visit to Paris, which she can't get over. She said to me, "I would have liked so much to see you in Paris, in your own house. M. Waddington promised me a dinner with all your clever men." "I should have been much pleased and honoured, Majesté; perhaps a little later he may have that pleasure—but I'm afraid–"

We had all a pleasant visit to Princess Louise at Kensington, who said she would certainly let us know when she came to Paris—I think she often comes. We went to White Lodge, of course, where they all look so happy I can't help thinking that the marriage is arranged. We also went, for a farewell cup of tea, to Alma Tadema, who receives once a week in his beautiful studio. He is going to send me an engraving of one of his lovely Greek pictures. His atelier is most picturesque and full of interesting things. He has a set of panels painted by all his artist friends which are gems. He is very attractive himself—so simple. There were a good many people there.

We had a dinner and party (music) last week at Lady Wimborne's. Their entertainments are always successful. The house (Hamilton House) is one of the best in London. Lord B., a great friend of W.'s, took me to get an ice at the buffet, and was deploring W.'s departure. "Such a pity that Waddington had gone back to France after graduating so brilliantly at Cambridge. He would certainly have made the same career in England, and would have been Premier in England, so much better than being Premier in France"—a truly British sentiment (what makes their strength, perhaps), but naif.

To G. K. S

Albert Gate,

Easter Sunday, April 2, 1893.

My last Easter in London, a beautiful bright day. Henrietta, Francis, and I walked down to Westminster Abbey in the morning. It was crowded, as it always is—Easter is such a splendid service—the fine old Easter hymn always the same, with the Hallelujah echoing through the vaults and arches. We had a small dinner in the evening—Jusserand (who had come back to see his friends, of whom he has thousands here), the La Villestreux, the personnel, and a few young people in the evening. I wore my jewel, which they all found very handsome.

French Embassy,

April 9th.

Henrietta, Francis, and I went to the Temple Church this morning. It is a grand old place, right in the heart of London. We were met at the door by one of the "benchers," who gave us very good places and took us all over the church and various halls after service. Francis had never been there and was wildly interested, particularly in the tombs of the old Crusaders with their crossed legs. We lunched with quite a party of benchers and their wives in the "parlement" room, a charming room looking out on the river and across a garden filled with roses, streams of sunlight pouring in at all the windows. They told us the War of the Roses, white and red, was planned in those gardens, and asked us if we remembered the old lines:

 
"If this red rose offend thy sight,
It in thy bosom wear;
'Twill blush to find itself less white
And turn Lancastrian there.:
 

Yesterday we had a handsome "Diner d'Adieu" at the Turkish Embassy, principally colleagues. Lincoln was there—he too is going, his wife left yesterday. They have raised the United States Legation here to an Embassy, and I hope they will raise the salaries. No one is more asked out or has a better position here than the United States Minister. I always remember the remark of one of our colleagues, Baron Solvyns, who had been long in London and knew it well. We were talking one day about the Corps Diplomatique, small Powers, Embassies, etc., and were discussing who was the most important Ambassador in London. Solvyns said, "There is no doubt about it, the American Minister is the first Ambassador in London."

French Embassy,

April 12, 1893.

My last letter from Albert Gate, Dear. Yesterday all our small things, silver, house linen, etc., departed. The packing seemed well done. We put everything that was to go in the ballroom (little Dresden figures, glasses, silver ornaments), nothing packed, all spread out, on tables. A man came and made an inventory, packs everything in a great van that comes to the door and arrives at our door in the Rue Dumont d'Urville, where equally everything is taken out and unpacked. He says nothing will be broken. It is certainly a very easy way of moving, and I shall be anxious to see how they arrive. The Florians had their furniture taken over like that, and I think one table was a little démantibulée. We leave to-morrow; we being Henrietta and I. W. stays some little time still. I take over all the French servants, both coachmen, and my victoria and horses, as I must settle myself for the spring in the Paris house. W. sends over one of the secretaries, M. Lecomte, with us, and the colleagues are all coming to the station to say good-bye. The rooms look melancholy to-night, so many things gone; piano of course and all books and small tables, screens, etc.—all the gros mobilier belongs to the Embassy. We sat some time talking, just we three: W., Henrietta, and I, after dinner. W. has just been named one of the Directeurs du Canal de Suez. I think he will find plenty of occupation when he gets back.

Paris, 31, Rue Dumont d'Urville,

April 16, 1893.

Here I am, Dear, back in my little salon, writing at my table in the corner by the window, and rather distracted by the quantities of carriages passing. There is so much more movement in the street than when we left ten years ago, and I have got accustomed to such a quiet bedroom and salon. All our living rooms (except the dining-room) at Albert Gate gave on the Park, so we never heard the rattle and noise of carriages over pavements, and as no cabs nor camions are allowed in the Park the passing never disturbed us. We came over very comfortably on Thursday. All our colleagues were at the station to see us off, and I think they are sorry to say good-bye. We found our voiture-salon filled with flowers. Sir George Arthur and S. came over with us. It was very cold and very rough. All the men disappeared at once, but Henrietta and I remained on deck and were quite happy, well wrapped up with rugs, and tarpaulins stretched in front of us to keep out the wet. Lecomte had arranged our lunch in the private room of the buffet at Calais (where W. and I always breakfasted when we came over) and it was comfortable to see a bright fire. I am ashamed to say that the ladies of the party eat a very good breakfast. The men looked rather white, and certainly were not good "fourchettes" at that meal. At Dover we had found Lord William Seymour in uniform, with his aide-de-camp, wife and daughter waiting for us. He took me on the boat, and to the cabin, where there were more flowers, and stayed until the last moment, giving the captain all manner of instructions for my comfort, and particularly to see that my cabin was warm, with plenty of rugs, etc. I never went near it. I think Adelaïde and Bonny had a very comfortable time there. Francis met us at the Gare du Nord, much pleased to have us back. We went to Henrietta's to dine. I was glad to come home directly after dinner and go to bed. Well, Dear, there is one chapter of my life closed—I wonder what the future reserves for us. I shall be uncomfortable for a few days until my van arrives. It left the same day we did, and the man said it would take a week to bring the things over, but I shall not expect them for ten days. I found quantities of cards and notes here, and Louise and Henrietta of course will give me dinner or anything else I want until I can get quite settled. Hubert got over only to-day. The sea was so rough he wouldn't cross on Thursday; he waited a day at Folkestone, and another at Boulogne, to rest the horses which had been knocked about. W. writes that the Embassy seems absolutely empty. Still he dines out every night (at the club when he hasn't an invitation) and will come over as soon as he can. The house looks so small after the big rooms at Albert Gate, and the stable and little cour minute. It sounded so familiar to hear the carriage coming in under the voûte, and also the street cries. I daresay in a few days I shall take up my ordinary Paris life, and London will seem a dream—like Moscow.

To G. K. S

Bayreuth,

Saturday, July 31, 1897.¹²

We arrived Thursday evening from Nuremberg in a pouring rain, which continued all day Friday, and detestable it was—streets crowded, everybody's umbrella running into one and catching in your veil (really twice in mine), mud everywhere, carriages scarce and dear. Our rooms are comfortable, Mary de Bunsen got them for us, a good-sized salon (with a piano), three bedrooms, and two maids' rooms. We have our early breakfast and supper, but dine out. Our experience at the Sonne was not very agreeable—a long, hot dining-room, quantities of hungry people and no servants to speak of. I was rather interested in my neighbour, a long, thin American, a Western man from Iowa I think, a school-master. He told me he had been saving for years to get money enough "to come across" (as he said) and hear "Parsifal." He had taught himself German in the evenings when his class was finished. The man was in such a quiver of delighted anticipation that it was a pleasure to see him. I told him I was sure he would not be disappointed, as Van Dyck was to sing "Parsifal." There were quite a number of priests at table, and one heard a little French, but the talk was principally German and English. We got up to the theatre easily enough, as carriages were going backward and forward all the time. The opera, "Parsifal," was beautifully given—Van Dyck as good as ever. I always think he stands so wonderfully in that scene where he has his back to the public and is absorbed by all he sees. He told me it was one of his most difficult parts. We had great difficulty in getting our coffee between the acts, and greater still in finding our carriage at the end. The crowd, and scramble, and mud were something awful.

Friday, August 6th.

We are leaving this afternoon, having had an enchanting week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, the whole Ring beautifully given. All the music is racing through my brain, from the lovely wave chorus of the swimming Rhine maidens to the magnificent end of the "Götterdämmerung" with all the different motifs worked in. They played the funeral march of "Siegfried" splendidly. It is a curious life one leads here. In the morning everybody walks about the town—the streets are narrow and it is amusing to be hailed from windows over small shops, grocers', bakers', watchmakers', by friends who are lodging there. About 3 a sort of restless excitement is in the air and one sees a long procession mounting the hill to the Opera House, everyone absorbed by the one idea. There are quantities of people we know. I didn't go and see Mdme. Wagner this time, as Henrietta and Pauline don't know her. Her evenings, the off night, are very interesting. One sees all the distinguished people of any kind at her house, all the artists, critics, etc. Of course no one ventures to criticise the music—merely the execution.

Meingeningen, Biebrich,

Sunday, August 15, 1897.

I have been here two or three days and am glad to have some quiet hours in the garden after the fatigue and excitement of Bayreuth. Four Wagner operas in succession is a strain on one's brain (not that I wouldn't do it straight over again this week if I could, but one wants the rest between). The crowd at Bayreuth the day we started was something wonderful, as of course everyone leaves after their série—there is nothing to do or see in the town. At Nuremberg, too, the scramble to get something to eat was funny, as there were two courants, all of us leaving Bayreuth, and just as many more arriving to take our places. There is always a crowd at the Nuremberg station, though they have multiplied little buffets outside the regular salles d'attente with coffee, beer, sausages, etc. We were late all along the line, and again there was such a crowd at the big Frankfort station that I could not get my trunks in time to take the first train for Mosbach—however, I arrived finally and was pleased to see Heinrich's broad, good-humoured face, and we drove at once to the house, where Mary was waiting for me with supper. We talked a little, but even that took us on to 2 o'clock, as it was after midnight when I arrived.

We have seen various people, and made expeditions to Wiesbaden. We wrote to the Empress Frederick's lady-in-waiting the other day (Countess Perponcher, whom Mary knows very well) to say that I was here near Cronberg, and would be so pleased if the Empress would receive me. The answer has just come, asking me to lunch at Cronberg on Wednesday. I am delighted to go—first to see the Empress, and then to see the house, which is filled with beautiful things. The Empress has travelled so much, and been so much in Italy, and has bought all sorts of treasures.

Tuesday, August 17, 1897.

Last night we went to the opera at Wiesbaden. It was "Hansel and Gretel," beautifully given—the orchestra very good and the angel scene with all the angels coming down a sort of ladder and circling round the sleeping children quite exquisite. It was a funny contrast to the London and Paris Opera. Mary and I started off about 5.30 in ordinary summer dress—foulard and voile. We went to the great confectioner at Wiesbaden for our tea and cakes, and a little before 7 walked across to the Opera. There we took off our hats and jackets, hung them up on a little peg, found our seats without any trouble, and had a very pleasant evening. The entr'actes are much shorter than in France, so that we were out a little before 10. The drive home was lovely on a bright starlight summer night; about three-quarters of an hour. It was such an easy, independent way of going, without the complications of a man to go with us, servant to take our cloaks, etc. I often think I should like to live a little in Germany, there is so much that I like in the country, and life seems so easy, though I believe German women wouldn't say so. They all seemed weighed down with cares, and apparently all with very small incomes. I wonder if you have read Hauptmann's "Versunkene Glocke"; I am fascinated by it. It was a little difficult reading at first on account of the sort of patois, but it is a wonderful book, so weird and full of sentiment. I will finish my letter after our day at Cronberg.

Thursday, August 19, 1897.

We had a charming day; I am so glad we went. We started a little after ten for Frankfort, where we had a wait of 20 minutes. I wore my black voile and a little black and jet toque in which I put a white aigrette, and white gloves, so as not to be too black. The trajet is short from Frankfort to Cronberg, about an hour. We found two carriages (rather pretty victorias in wood natural colour and cushions the same colour—they looked very chic and country) and tall powdered footmen in the black and silver Imperial livery. There were two or three people in the second carriage whom I didn't recognise at first, but made out when we arrived. Val Prinsep, the artist, and his wife, a very pretty woman, and a German lady, also an artist I think. The Castle is not far from the station, and Cronberg (the town) is rather picturesque. The house is large—nothing particular in the way of architecture, but stands well in a fair-sized park. We were received in a fine hall, with pictures, carvings, and plenty of old furniture. Countess Perponcher and Baron Reischach received us. Count Seckendorff was not there, which I regretted, as I like him very much and should have been glad to see him again. Countess Perponcher took us to a small room on the ground floor where we left our parasols, wraps, etc., and then we went through one or two handsome rooms into a large salon where the company was already assembled. Lady Layard and her niece were staying in the house, also Prince Albert Solms (our old friend) with his wife. He is very ill, poor fellow, and can hardly get about. Some English friends arrived from Hombourg—Lady Cork, Lord Algy Lennox. About 1.30 the Empress came—always the same charming manner, and always her sad eyes. I thought she looked thinner and paler perhaps, but not ill. We went immediately to luncheon—the Empress first, alone, all of us following. Baron Reischach sat opposite to her, between me and Lady Cork. The talk was easy, the Empress talking a great deal. Val Prinsep too did his share, and Lady Cork is always clever and original. After luncheon we went back to the big drawing-room and looked at some of the beautiful things. Angeli's last portrait of the Empress had just come and had been placed (temporarily only) in a corner where the light was not very good. It is a fine picture—the Empress all in black with her splendid pearl necklace, seated on a sort of carved throne, or high-backed chair—all the shading dark, the only bit of colour the yellow ribbon of the Black Eagle. It is a striking picture and very like her, but so inexpressibly sad. She called each one of us in turn to come and sit by her. She spoke very warmly of W. to me, and asked me if I didn't regret my London life, and if I did not find it very difficult to settle down in France after having lived ten years in London, "the great centre of the world." It is curious how universal that feeling is with English people (and "au fond," notwithstanding all the years she has lived in Germany, the Empress is absolutely English still in her heart). They think that life in England—London—spoils one for everything else. I told her I didn't think I was to be pitied for living in Paris—after all, my boy was a Frenchman and all his interests were in France. She asked about Francis, how old he was, and couldn't believe that I was going back to fêter his 21 years, and thought it was fortunate for him that his early education had been in England.

We talked a little about French literature—I think she reads everything—and she asked about Bayreuth, were there many French people there. I told her the Director of the Grand Opéra, among others, who wants to have the "Meistersinger" in France, but Mdme. Wagner is rather unwilling—the choruses, she thinks, are too difficult either to translate or to sing with the true spirit in any other language. The Empress said, "She is quite right; it is one of the most difficult of Wagner's operas, and essentially German in plot and structure. It scarcely bears translation in English and in French would be impossible; neither is the music, in my mind, at all suited to the French character. The mythical legend of the Cycle would appeal more to the French, I think, than the ordinary German life." I daresay she is right. When she congédied me I talked some little time to Prince Solms, Reischach, and others. Then it was getting time for us to go, as we had to take the 4.30 train back to Frankfort. I was standing by the window, from which there is a fine open view over plain and woods, when the Empress came up to say good-bye. She supposed I was going back to France, where I would find my boy. "You are very fortunate to have him still with you; it gives such an interest to your life." She kissed me, and then said sadly, "My task is done—I am quite alone." I watched her go out of the room, across the hall, and up the great staircase, with her long black dress trailing behind, alone—as she said. It must be an awful solitude for her—living there in her beautiful house, filled with art treasures of all kinds, and with friends near all summer at Hombourg, Wiesbaden, etc., who are only too happy to go to her—but her real life is over, and she is as far away from Germany and the throbbing pulse of the nation as if she were a cloistered nun.

The Val Prinseps came away with us, and we made a bout de chemin together until they branched off to Hombourg. He has quite the same idea of the Empress; says "elle se ronge," that she had always had such aspirations and wanted to do so much for the intellectual life of Germany. Mary and I got to Frankfort in good time, and home for dinner. We were glad to prowl about in the garden after dinner, when it was deliciously cool and the air heavy almost with the scent of roses, of which she has quantities. We saw the Rhine and the lights of Mayence in the distance. I suppose this place too I shall never see again, as I think Mary has made up her mind to sell Meingeningen. I think she will settle in Ireland if she can get the old Townshend place where she was one summer. It is ideal, close on the sea, with a splendid park rising up behind the Castle, but will be a great change for her.