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To H. L. K

Hôtel Demoult, Petersburg,

Wednesday, June 20th, 1883.

Richard and I went visiting yesterday. We found the Thorntons, who gave us tea. Their Embassy is charming—a big house on the Quai Anglais. The drawing-rooms are large and high. All the windows look out on the Neva, and they say it is quite beautiful at night. Then we went back to the hotel, got W., who had had a fine morning with his medals—says the collection is magnificent, much larger than he had any idea of, and started off to the Quais to see our boat. We leave to-morrow evening between 6 and 7. It looked very nice and clean, and the Captain was quite overwhelmed with the distinguished passengers he was to have the honour of transporting. We have an enormous cabin (two thrown into one) big enough for a family. I interviewed the stewardess, a nice fresh-looking Norwegian woman. Conversation was rather difficult, as I spoke German and she Norwegian, and neither of us understood the other, but I am sure we shall get on very well. They tell us the voyage is enchanting, all in and out of small fiords, islands, and narrow rivers. We stop five or six hours each day to see the country, and never have any sea until we cross to Stockholm, when it is generally rough.

We dined quietly at the hotel with Coutouly, our Consul, a very nice man, very intelligent. He too had interviewed the Captain, and told him to take every care of us. He says the trip is enchanting, and the two Finnish towns, Helsingfors and Abo, very well worth seeing. About 10 o'clock we drove off to the "Pointe" and had a pleasant hour with some of the colleagues. It is always cool there, and the drive out is interesting, so unlike anything else.

Richard went off early this morning with Sermet and Moulin of the French Embassy to see the Falls of Smatra, which are said to be very fine. We pick him up at Helsingfors.

I walked about a little with Adelaïde—I never see anything the least like a femme du monde in the streets. I suppose the "société" are away for the summer, and the streets look rather as September streets do in Paris.

W. and I dined at the Thorntons'—handsome and pleasant. Jaurès was there, not his wife, she has already started for Paris, and the Ternaux Compans, a nice young ménage (just married) attached to the Embassy. She was very well dressed, in white. There was also the Danish Minister (I forget his name). He is a friend of the Empress and très bien vu à la cour. After dinner someone played on the piano, and he and Mary Thornton danced a little, showing us some of the figures of the mazurka. Lady Thornton says, like everyone else, that the society of Petersburg is very fermé. They know everybody, but I fancy very few of the diplomatists make real friends with anyone. I was rather surprised, as the Russians one meets abroad are generally very easy and sociable. She also finds the climate very trying. She showed me all the rooms, which are charming. In all the bedrooms very thick curtains, as the light is most trying, and of course people who live there must have regular hours for sleep—for us birds of passage it is of no consequence, and going to bed seems the last thing one would think of doing in Petersburg.

We came home about 11, and now W. is busy over his Paris letters, also putting his notes in order, as he has finished with the medals. He has had three or four days of real hard work, but says it rested him after all the Court festivities.

Jeudi, 21 Juin.

We have been shopping all the morning,—W. and I and M. Lomatch (I have found his name). We bought, among other things, a sled for Francis—I haven't seen one since I left America—and a good deal of Russian lace, which they say is very solid, and embroidery. We came back to a late breakfast, and I am writing now at the last moment while they are carrying down the trunks. We are going at 4 to the steamer to leave our boxes and Adelaïde, and install ourselves, and then go for tea to Coutouly, who has an apartment on the Quai, just opposite the wharf where the steamer starts from. I am quite sorry to go. We are very comfortable here, and the streets are so amusing. I should like once to hear a little laughing and singing, as the various groups of work-people, soldiers, and peasants pass—but they are a curiously sad, subdued race.

Friday, June 22d. "En mer."

We are just approaching Helsingfors (twelve o'clock), where we go on shore for some hours, and I will write a little. I have a nice straw arm-chair on deck (the sail shades me), a table with books, papers, etc. We embarked at 6.30 yesterday. We went on the boat about 4—saw the Captain, a very nice man, a Finn, who speaks English quite well, and who is much pleased to have us on his boat. He went down to the cabin with us, which is really a large, airy room, with two very fair beds, and a sort of recess which makes a dressing-room. It opens into the ladies' cabin, where he had also arranged the end near our cabin for us—two arm-chairs, a table, etc. Adelaïde has a nice state-room just opposite—also Richard. There were not many people on board—and he said he hadn't many passengers, chiefly men.

We left cloaks, books, etc., and walked across to the Coutoulys', who have a nice apartment directly on the river. It is so broad and swift one feels almost as if one was on the sea-shore. There is much passing all the time, and a good many little posts, as at Venice, where the boats are tied. They gave us tea, and about 6 we went back to the boat.

Jaurès was there with some of his young men, and Benckendorff, who came to say a last good-bye this time. We gave him rendezvous in Paris, as we should like very much to do something for him. He was untiring and devoted to us all the time we were at Moscow—never tired, always taking a great deal of trouble to see that we were well taken care of, and helping us in every way. I found three or four handsome bouquets in the cabin—one from him, and one from M. Lomatch, the proprietor of our hotel. He has written to the hotel at Stockholm for rooms for us. We arrive Sunday morning—have three nights at sea. Adelaïde is quite excited at the prospect of a real voyage "en mer."

We had a very good supper about 8.30, just as we were passing Cronstadt. We have made a very nice arrangement for our meals. The idea of a table-d'hôte with all the people who are on board (many more than I thought) was appalling, so we are to have all our meals half an hour before the others at a small table in the dining-room. It is a most satisfactory arrangement, and we had a nice quiet hour on deck while the other passengers were supping. It was a lovely evening—the sea absolutely calm, and so warm I hardly needed my cloak. We sat late on deck. They brought us a table with tea and Swedish punch, which seems to be the favourite drink here.

The passengers all came up after their supper. They were quiet enough—all had tea, punch, and cigars, and a great many played cards. The men look like commis-voyageurs, or small shopkeepers—almost all, I should think, Swedes or Norwegians. There are three or four English women and girls, governesses, the Captain tells me, going to Stockholm and Christiania.

We went down to our cabin about 12—always the same curious grey light. I slept perfectly well. It seemed to me there was a little roulis about 3 o'clock (I heard a clock strike somewhere), but it was only pleasant. I was up at 8 and had my tea and toast in the ladies' cabin close to a port-hole, and was rather sorry I hadn't had it on deck. I went up as soon as I had finished. We were passing through a series of little bays, all dotted over with islands, some fairly large, some merely a granite rock with a pine tree on it.

Saturday, June 23d. "En mer."

I was interrupted yesterday by the Captain, who came to get us to stand on the passerelle with him and see the approach to Helsingfors. The bay has widened out into a sea, and the harbour seems important. There are lots of ships and steamers—also small boats going backwards and forwards between them and the quais. The men in the boats wear a red cap, something like the Neapolitan fishermen. The town stands out well—there are high cliffs rising straight out of the sea, and a great many steeples (not the green and pink cupolas of Moscow).

We found Richard and our Consul waiting for us on the Quai, and we drove at once to the hotel, and breakfasted. The steamer remains until 12 o'clock to-night, so we have ample time to see the town. Just as we were finishing breakfast a gentleman appeared, a director of something (Postes et Télégraphes, I think) who came to do the honours in the absence of the Governor. He had an open carriage with a pair of nice little Russian horses, and drove us all over the town. Helsingfors is the capital of Finland, and I believe flourishing enough. The town is small and rambling—entirely surrounded by water, and quantities of little islands connected by bridges. I think we must have crossed about 20. Some of the villas are large with nice gardens. The Director showed us his, which looked pretty and comfortable. The streets are narrow—not much movement. The names of the streets are written in three languages—Russian, Swedish, Finnish. All the functionaries are Russian, the small merchants and shopkeepers Swedish, and the peasants and sailors Finns. They (Finns) have a very marked type of their own, not particularly Russian, nothing of the Tartar, only very Northern.

We dined at the famous Café du Parc. W. invited the Director and the Consul to dine with us, and we had a pleasant little dinner, fairly good. There was a good orchestra, who had evidently been told who we were, for as soon as we arrived they played the "Marseillaise" very well. It caused quite a sensation among the people who were dining, as they evidently hadn't noticed particularly the quiet party which came in—all of us of course in travelling dresses. The chef d'orchestre asked our Director if we would like to hear some national airs—which they played very well, and then I asked for the Polonaise from Glinka's "La Vie pour le Czar," which they always played in Moscow whenever the Imperial cortége arrived.

At 11 o'clock the Consul's steam launch came (the café is on the water), and he took us all about the inner harbour, most curious and interesting, and then outside. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and we went sometimes so close up to one of the islands that we could have spoken to anyone on the shore if there had been anybody to speak to—sometimes we were in what seemed a great lake, with no perceptible outlet. We cruised about until midnight, then went back to the hotel, and walked down to the steamer. The light had changed—was rather like dawn, but perfectly light. There were people and carriages, children, badauds, loitering about the wharf. They told us a steamer had started two or three hours earlier with tourists on board to see the midnight sun.

We stayed on deck about half an hour to see the départ. The light was getting much stronger—Richard read a letter quite easily, and at 1 o'clock, when I went down to the cabin, the sun was shining bright. I am writing now on deck after breakfast. Young Moltke, a Dane, came on board last night, and asked if he might have his meals with us. He too had been at the Coronation, and found the standing all those hours very tiring. The day is beautiful—the sea perfectly calm, and the long, lazy hours on deck most resting.

This morning I was interviewed by two English girls—both young and rather pretty, the fair English type. One was a governess going back to her place, somewhere near Stockholm, in the country; the other was just going out on a venture, had no engagement, knew no language but her own, and had merely made the acquaintance of the other girl on the boat. I suggested it was rather a risk coming so far without anything definite; but she said she was sure she would find something, and she had a little money. I asked her how old she was—17. "How could your parents let you start off like that?" "Oh, there are so many of us, and I am strong." They then asked me if I would tell them something about the Coronation—so I talked to them a few minutes. They asked me if I saw many Nihilists—as if they were a marked class—and did the Empress look nervous.

I have also managed to talk a little to the stewardess, or rather to understand her—as I have made out that she is married, and has young children, and no one apparently to leave them with while she is cruising about.

I wish I could sketch, there are so many charming little bits of scenery that I would like to bring home with me. We are getting near Abo, and I must stop. To-night is to be our rough night in the Baltic. At the present moment the sea is like glass, but the Captain says there is always movement crossing over to Stockholm. I should like to go on forever in the boat. The long, long hours on the deck with this soft grey sea and sky, with nobody to talk to, and no dressing of any kind are enchanting. I have got a book, Tolstoy's "Guerre et Paix," but I don't seem to get on much—I am always looking at something.

8 o'clock.

We have just got back after a lovely afternoon at Abo (the old capital of Finland). The approach was very picturesque as we went some distance up a narrow river to the town, which is not directly on the sea. Our Vice-Consul was waiting on the quai with a carriage, and we drove all over the place. It is now a dead city—all the life and interest of Finland is absorbed by Helsingfors, but it is interesting. We saw the Cathedral, the public gardens, and then drove some distance into the country to see the oldest church in Finland—a little old, grey building that looks any age. The country is very pretty, always charming views of the sea, and a few villas dotted about, but nothing like as many as at Helsingfors. It seems people come sometimes in summer for sea air, bathing, and fishing, and occasionally English yachts stop a day or two.

We got back about eight, and I am writing now before supper. We found the boat all dressed with greens, as it is the St. Jean, and they tell us we shall see lights, bonfires, and torches on all the little islands, as they always celebrate the St. Jean here with greens and lights. My next letter will be from Stockholm.

To H. L. K

Stockholm,

Sunday, June 24th, 1883.

Well, Dear, we arrived at 12 o'clock this morning, and I was quite sorry to leave the boat and my nice big cabin, and the good-natured stewardess. Last night was enchanting. We sat on deck until 12.30. W. treated us all to Swedish punch and cakes. It was decidedly cooler—for the first time I had on the warm, long, blue cloth coat I started in from Paris, and there was rather more motion. How it would amuse you—I wish you were here. The deck looks quite picturesque—lots of little round tables with groups of three or four people, all drinking something, and most of them playing cards. Between 11 and 12 there is a sort of night, or darkness, so they brought up some lamps, which looked weird, and gave a faint, flickering light. We run sometimes so close to the islands, between several, in a narrow channel, that one would think it was impossible to pass, but evidently it is deep sea everywhere, and we go steadily on without slackening. I am delighted we decided to come by sea. It is again a most novel experience, and such a contrast to our Moscow stay—all gold and glitter, and colour and courtiers.

We were just getting out of the little channels and islands and making for the open sea when I went downstairs. The captain came and sat with us a little while, and told us where we were. Some of the lights on the small islands looked as if they were rising straight out of the sea. The water was grey, and the rock grey—one only saw the light.

We didn't meet many ships—a few sailing boats as we left Abo—but no steamers or big ships. We were up fairly early, as they told us the entrance to Stockholm was so beautiful. Coming by water it rises straight out of the sea like Venice. There were quantities of islands, but much greener than those of the Finnish coast, and the cliffs higher. Villas everywhere, close down to the water's edge, and running up the hills. Little pleasure boats and yachts skimming all over the harbour. As it was fête St. Jean all the peasants and country people were out in flat-bottomed boats, crowded with women and children down to the water's edge—the boats quite covered with green boughs and leaves, the women in costume—a white skirt, coloured bodice embroidered in gold or silver—silver charms and big pins in their hair. It really was fairy-like for quite two hours before we arrived.

We got in at twelve exactly, and breakfasted on board. The river is so deep that big ships run straight up into the town. The American frigate, Lancaster, which arrived last night, is anchored directly in front of the hotel, under our windows.

We took a most cordial leave of our Captain, who expressed great gratification at having had us on board—hoped we were satisfied and would recommend his boat to any of our friends who wanted to make the same trip. W. and Richard were astounded at the cheapness of the journey. I think they made out it was about 50 francs apiece—tout compris. We were three nights on board, and had all our meals except the day at Helsingfors.

We found various people waiting for us at the quai—one of the secretaries of our Legation—the gérant of the Hôtel de l'Europe—one or two members of the French colony here, and M. Mathias, a French engineer who lives here. We went across to the hotel in a ferry-boat and found charming rooms, with windows and balconies on the river. The proprietor informed us with much pride that the last distinguished foreigner that had occupied the apartment was Mdme. Sarah Bernhardt.

We found quantities of letters, unpacked a little—I wasn't sorry to get out of my blue cloth into something lighter, as it is warm. They say it is going to rain, and it has been dull and grey all the morning. M. Patenôtre, French Minister, has sent word that he will come and see us about 2.30. The King is here, and will receive W. The Queen and Princesses are away, so I have nothing to do. The Royal Palace is opposite—a big square building.

7 o'clock.

Patenôtre and all his Legation appeared. They brought us some picture papers with the Coronation, proclamation (the Heralds dressed in cloth of gold, and preceded by trumpeters) and ball. They say the Graphic is the best, but they hadn't it, you might perhaps, June 10th. We went for a drive with M. Mathias, who will be our cicerone here, as he knows Stockholm well. We went to the Royal Park, which is handsome—fine old trees and allées, and to the Observatory, from which generally there is a beautiful view of Stockholm and its surroundings—but it was grey and misty, raining even a little, so we didn't see much.

We are to dine quietly here and go after dinner to a camp where soldiers and peasants play games and dance and sing, in honour of St. Jean.

The river is still covered with little green boats darting about in every direction.

To H. L. K

Hôtel D'europe, Stockholm,

Monday, June 25th, 1883.

My Dear, this is the most enchanting place. The sun is out this morning, and the river and green hills too lovely. The river is most animated, quantities of sail boats and ordinary little rowing boats flying about in all directions, and plenty of life on the quais. Our expedition last night was not very successful. M. Mathias came to dinner early, at 7 (almost everyone dines at 6), and we went off to the camp. It was a pretty drive all along the river, and would have been nice if it had been clear, but it was a cold, grey evening, and began to rain a little before we got home. We found plenty of people looking on—various carriages drawn up, and it is evidently a thing to do—on a fine night people get out and walk about in the crowd, but as it was misting a little and decidedly muddy, we merely looked on from the carriage. One of the military bands played very well, a sort of quickstep, and the people danced with a certain entrain, but there were no particular steps, nor national dances, nothing very different from what one would see in a French assemblée when the people dance on the pelouse before the Mairie. When they were all dancing round a may-pole dressed with greens, it was pretty, with soldiers and the Dalecarlian women—there were policemen, but not many, and the people looked quite peaceable and happy, evidently enjoying themselves immensely. There were quite a number of children—little tots that looked as if they could just walk, joining in the ring. Some of the costumes were pretty. The Dalecarlian women looked well—they wear a high black cap which is very effective on their fair hair, which is plaited in heavy braids, and goes around the head like a turban; a white bodice, bright coloured apron, and gold or silver charms and hair-pins. The language sounded hard—no more the soft Russian tongue—and, alas! I am afraid no more the long, beautiful Russian twilight. The sky is grey and the clouds low. They say we are going to have a spell of rain.

Mathias says the language is not at all difficult to learn, and it is absolutely necessary to know it, particularly for anyone who is here in any sort of business capacity.

We got home about 10 and went in to pay a visit to the Baldwins, who have the rooms next to us. They had intended going too to the camp, but the rain frightened them off. We told them they hadn't missed much. The Admiral is charming—has been everywhere, seen everything, and takes such a practical American view of everything. He was not at all impressed with all the magnificence of Moscow—"All show (not much of a one) and hollow. What is there underneath?" However, I said I thought the show was pretty good as far as it went, and certainly no other country in the world could offer such a sight; to which he replied, smilingly, that I had been so long away from America that I had forgotten what it was like. I stuck to my guns, and said that certainly not all the intelligence, energy, education, and money of America could produce such a pageant. What was so wonderful was the contrast. All the modern life and luxury grafted upon that old half-Eastern, half-barbaric world. I think I shall never again see anything like the dinner of the Emperor and Empress the day of the Coronation. It looked exactly like some old mediæval picture as they sat there in their robes and crowns in that old dark-vaulted room of the old palace. We had quite an animated discussion. I fancy he always takes the opposite side on principle.

This morning we have been very energetic. Mathias came at 10 o'clock, and we started off sight-seeing. We walked across to the Palace, which is directly opposite, and were there about an hour. There is not much to see, the rooms are large and high, all very simply furnished. Those that give on the river are very gay with all the water life of the city passing under the windows. There is one large gallery "des glaces" rather like the famous one at Versailles, which they told us was beautiful when it was lighted. There are quantities of portraits everywhere, and these, of course, are interesting; also some fine china, large vases. We saw, of course, Bernadotte's room, left exactly as it was when he died there. It was a curious mixture of French and Swedish, several French papers and brochures lying about on the tables just as he had left them, quite yellow with age and the print fading, also note-books and "projets de loi" annotés in his handwriting. They say he never knew a word of Swedish and yet was so popular. There was a fine portrait of him over the fireplace, a handsome man, with fine soldierly bearing.

We found a nice open carriage waiting for us at the door of the Palace and drove off to Drottningholm, one of the Royal residences on Lake Malar. The drive was charming, through pretty green country, and as soon as we came near the Lake, villas (generally white) in every direction. We crossed various little arms of the lake before we arrived at the Château. It is an enormous pile, and stands very well in a large park. The Governor, a fine old soldier (who rather reminded me of Marshal MacMahon), was waiting for us with his son, and showed us everything. The rooms are large and bright and exceedingly simple. It seems the Royal Family are very fond of the place. There is so much room that they can have as many people staying as they like, and they all live on the water. We drove through the park, and saw the Governor's villa, not far from the Palace. As we had been going since 10 o'clock the idea of tea was not disagreeable, so we consulted our coachman (at least Mathias did, as we couldn't talk), and he told us there was a good little café in the park, at one end, far from the Château, where the public were allowed, so we stopped there and had a very good cup of tea. It was cool and green, and we rather liked sitting there with the lake before us in the drowsy quiet of a summer afternoon. However we had to get back to Stockholm, as W. had to make a visit to the Ministre des Affaires Étrangères. He sent him word just as we were starting that the King would receive him to-morrow at one o'clock. He must also see if he can borrow anywhere a Swedish grand cordon. He sent all his decorations back to Paris with his uniform, quite forgetting that he might want some on his way home, and they tell him he must have his, that the King is very particular about such matters, and wouldn't be at all pleased if he presented himself without his order. Patenôtre's is no good, as it isn't the same order.

We left W. the carriage and walked home, stopping and looking at all the shop windows. I don't know that there is much to buy, but we are going on a real shopping expedition to-morrow morning. Mathias showed us some queer old streets and houses and a famous shop where there were all sorts of fishing outfits. He is very anxious that we should go on to Norway, see Christiania and some of the famous fiords. He says the country is much finer than any part of Sweden, and there is much more "couleur locale." It is just the season for it. I should like it extremely, but I am afraid W. won't. He wants to get home, and must stay three or four days at Copenhagen, where there is a fine collection of medals.

Now I am sitting writing at the window, waiting until it is time to dress for dinner at the Legation. The river is a perpetual enjoyment, always something going on. A big boat has just put off from the American man-of-war. The men look a fine sturdy lot, and come up in great style with a good, long stroke. They attract much attention, for as soon as the boat left the ship a little crowd gathered and watched their progress.

Here is W., who enjoyed his visit to the minister very much—found him easy and intelligent, and much interested in the Coronation. They will send him a plaque and a ribbon from the jewellers, so he will be quite correct to-morrow. Adelaïde is much disturbed because I have neither fine dress nor jewels for the dinner to-night. It really is not of the slightest consequence, as I am the only lady (Patenôtre is a bachelor), and we are going to the gardens afterwards. I shall wear Delannoy's blue and white striped silk, half long, and take my hat in my hand, as it must go on for our outing.

12 o'clock.

We have just come in from our dinner, which was pleasant and very good, merely the three, Mathias, Patenôtre, and one of his secretaries, M. de Bondy. The house is large, nice, and looks very pretty, as the Minister has been both in China and Persia and has brought back some beautiful things, carpets, tentures, and curios of all kinds. He evidently didn't find Pekin a very pleasant or healthy residence, says the cold is something awful. He likes Stockholm, says the Swedes are pleasant, kindly people, lead simple lives, and do all they can to make it pleasant for the Corps Diplomatique. There are few large fortunes—very little life, and little private entertaining. The Court gives several balls and dinners every year.

About 8.30 we went off to the gardens and restaurant Haselbach, where all the beau monde of Stockholm assembles in summer, but the season is over and there were not many people there—of Society; people there were, plenty. The gardens are large, well lighted, a very good band was playing, and everyone walking up and down the broad allées, or seated at little tables with tea and punch. We sat there about an hour. Patenôtre pointed out various notabilities to us, but said he didn't know many people.

Now we are discussing routes with maps and books. We shall start for Copenhagen to-morrow night viâ Malmo, and must send in the morning to engage our sleepings. It is a long journey. We leave here at 8.30, and don't get to Copenhagen until 4.30 the next day.

Tuesday, June 26th.

It is lovely again this morning. Richard and I and Mathias have been wandering about the streets shopping. There isn't much to buy—Norwegian knives with carved wooden handles in a leather case, Scandinavian charms, buckles, and brooches roughly worked, but rather pretty and curious shapes—furs, too, of course, but we didn't want any more. I was rather tempted by a large white stuffed bear. I thought it would look so well in the hall in the country; but of course the only reason to have a bear in the house is when you shot it yourself, and that was not possible in the streets of Stockholm in the month of June. The day is divine—sky blue and water dancing. The whole aspect of the place is much gayer than anything we saw in Russia. People don't look sad or preoccupied; there are always badauds hanging over the bridges and exchanging jokes or remarks with the watermen.

Richard and I breakfasted tête-à-tête, as W. had gone off for his Royal audience. His plaque and grand cordon came in time from the jeweller, so he was quite proper. I shall go and see about the trunks, and as soon as W. comes back we shall start again for some last sightseeing, the Museum, churches, etc. We dine at 6 and start at 8 from the hotel. Richard has decided to wait a day longer and go and see the Falls of Upsala, which are quite worth seeing. Mathias will go with him, and he will join us at Copenhagen Thursday. The Baldwins have just come in to say good-bye. They, too, are leaving to-morrow.