Part 6

The dinners and receptions at the Elysée and at all the ministries those first weeks of the exposition were interesting but so fatiguing. Happily there were not many lunches nor day entertainments. I used to get a good drive every afternoon in the open carriage with mother and baby, and that kept me alive. Occasionally (not often) W. had a man's dinner, and then I could go with some of my friends and dine at the exposition, which was very amusing--such a curious collection of people. The rue des Nations was like a gigantic fair. We met all our friends, and heard every language under the sun. Among other distinguished foreign guests that year we had President and Mrs. Grant, who were received everywhere in Europe (England giving the example) like royalties. When they dined with us at the Quai d'Orsay W. and I went to the top of the great staircase to meet them, exactly as we did for the Prince and Princess of Wales.

It seems funny to me when I think of the very unceremonious manner in which not only ex-presidents but actual presidents were treated in America when I was a child. I remember quite well seeing a president (I have forgotten which one now) come into the big drawing-room at the old Cozzen's Hotel at West Point, with two or three gentlemen with him. There was a certain number of people in the room and nobody moved, or dreamt of getting up. However, the Grants were very simple--accepted all the honours shown to them without a pose of any kind. The marshal gave them a big dinner at the Elysée. We arrived a little late (we always did) and found a large party assembled. The Grants came in just after us.

The Maréchale said to me: "The Chinese ambassador will take you to dinner, Madame Waddington. He is an interesting, clever man, knows England and the English well--speaks English remarkably well." Just before dinner was announced the ambassador was brought up to me. He was a striking-looking man, tall, broad-shouldered, dignified, very gorgeously attired in light-blue satin, embroidered in bright-coloured flowers and gold and silver designs, and a splendid yellow bird of paradise in his cap. He didn't come quite up to me, made me a low bow from a certain distance, and then fell back into a group of smaller satellites, all very splendidly dressed. When dinner was announced the first couples filed off--the marshal with Mrs. Grant and the Maréchale with President Grant and W. with his lady. There was a pause; I should have gone next, but my ambassador wasn't forthcoming. I looked and wondered. All the aides-de-camp were making frantic signals to me to go on, and the whole cortège was stopped. I really didn't know what to do--I felt rather foolish. Presently the ambassador appeared--didn't offer me his arm, but again made me a low bow, which I returned and moved a few steps forward. He advanced too and we made a stately progress to the dining-room side by side. I heard afterward the explanation. It seemed that in those days (things have changed now I fancy) no Chinese of rank would touch any woman who didn't belong to him, and the ambassador would have thought himself dishonoured (as well as me) if he had offered me his arm. The dinner was anything but banal.

When we finally got to the table I found myself on the marshal's left--Mrs. Grant was on his right. The marshal neither spoke nor understood English. Mrs. Grant spoke no French, so the conversation didn't seem likely to be very animated. After a few moments Mrs. Grant naturally wished to say something to her host and she addressed him in English. "Mr. President, I am so happy to be in your beautiful country," then the marshal to me: "Madame Waddington je vous en prie, dites à Madame Grant que je ne puis pas répondre; je ne comprends pas l'anglais; je ne puis pas parler avec elle." "Mrs. Grant, the marshal begs me to say to you that he regrets not being able to talk with you, but unfortunately he does not understand English." Then there was a pause and Mrs. Grant began again: "What a beautiful palace, Mr. President. It must be delightful with that charming garden." Again the marshal to me: "Mais je vous en prie Madame, dites à Madame Grant que je ne puis pas causer avec elle. Il ne faut pas qu'elle me parle, je ne comprends pas." "Mrs. Grant, the marshal is distressed that he cannot talk to you, but he really does not understand any English." It was very trying for Mrs. Grant. Happily her other neighbour knew a little English and she could talk to him, but all through dinner, at intervals, she began again at the marshal.

After a few moments I turned my attention to my ambassador. I had been looking at him furtively while I was interpreting for the marshal and Mrs. Grant. I saw that he took everything that was offered to him--dishes, wines, sauces--but he never attacked anything without waiting to see what his neighbours did, when and how they used their knives and forks,--then did exactly as they did,--never made a mistake. I saw he was looking at the flowers on the table, which were very well arranged, so I said to him, speaking very slowly and distinctly, as one does to a child or a deaf person: "Have you pretty flowers in your country?" He replied promptly: "Yes, yes, very hot, very cold, very hot, very cold." I was a little disconcerted, but thought I had perhaps spoken indistinctly, and after a little while I made another attempt: "How much the uniforms add to the brilliancy of the fête, and the Chinese dress is particularly striking and handsome," but to that he made such a perfectly unintelligible answer that I refrained from any further conversation and merely smiled at him from time to time, which he always acknowledged with a little bow.

We went back to the salons in the same way, side by side, and when the men had gone into one of the other rooms to talk and smoke, I went to speak to the Maréchale, who said to me: "I am sure you had a delightful dinner, Madame Waddington. The Chinese ambassador is such a clever man, has travelled a great deal, and speaks such wonderful English." "Wonderful indeed, Madame la Maréchale," and then I repeated our conversation, which she could hardly believe, and which amused her very much. She spoke English as well as I did.

The Grants were very much entertained during their stay in Paris, and we met them nearly every night. W. liked the general very much and found him quite talkative when he was alone with him. At the big dinners he was of course at a disadvantage, neither speaking nor understanding a word of French. W. acted as interpreter and found that very fatiguing. There is so much repartee and sous-entendu in all French conversation that even foreigners who know the language well find it sometimes difficult to follow everything, and to translate quickly enough to keep one au courant is almost impossible. When they could they drifted into English, and W. said he was most interesting--speaking of the war and all the North had done, without ever putting himself forward.

We had both of us often to act as interpreters with French and Anglo-Saxons, neither understanding the other's language, and always found it difficult. I remember a dinner at Sandringham some years ago when W. was at the embassy. The Prince of Wales (late King Edward) asked me to sit next to a foreign ambassador who understood not one word of English. The dinner was exclusively English--a great many clever men--the master of Trinity College, Cambridge (asked especially to meet my husband, who graduated from Trinity College), Lord Goschen, James Knowles of the Nineteenth Century, Froude, the historian, Sir Henry James, Lord Wolseley, etc. The talk was very animated, very witty. There were peals of laughter all around the table. My ambassador was very fidgety and nervous, appealing to me all the time, but by the time I had laboriously condensed and translated some of the remarks, they were talking of something quite different, and I am afraid he had very hazy ideas as to what they were all saying.

We saw, naturally, all the distinguished strangers who passed through Paris that year of 1878. Many of our colleagues in the diplomatic corps had played a great rôle in their own country. Prince Orloff, the Russian ambassador, was one of our great friends. He gave us very good advice on one or two occasions. He was a distinguished-looking man--always wore a black patch over one eye--he had been wounded in the Crimea. He spoke English as well as I did and was a charming talker. General Cialdini was at the Italian embassy. He was more of a soldier than a statesman--had contributed very successfully to the formation of "United Italy" and the suppression of the Pope's temporal power, and was naturally not exactly persona grata to the Catholics in France. Prince and Princess Hohenlohe had succeeded Arnim at the German embassy. Their beginnings were difficult, as their predecessor had done nothing to make the Germans popular in France, but their strong personality, tact, and understanding of the very delicate position helped them enormously. They were Catholics (the Princess born a Russian--her brother, Prince Wittgenstein, military attaché at the Russian embassy) and very big people in their own country, so absolutely sure of themselves and their position that it was very difficult to slight them in any way. They would never have perceived it unless some extraordinary rudeness were shown. The Princess was very striking-looking, tall, with a good figure, and splendid jewels. When she was in full dress for a ball, or official reception, she wore three necklaces, one on top of the other, and a big handsome, high tiara, which added to her height. She was the only lady of the diplomatic corps whom Madame Grévy ever recognised in the first weeks of her husband's presidency. Madame Grevy was thrown suddenly not very young into such an absolutely new milieu, that she was quite bewildered and couldn't be expected to recognise half the women of the diplomatic corps, but the German ambassadress impressed her and she knew her always. The princess was not very mondaine, didn't care about society and life in a city--preferred the country, with riding and shooting and any sort of sport.

We had a very handsome dinner at the German embassy the winter of 1878--given to the Marshal and Madame de MacMahon. After dinner, with coffee, a bear made its appearance in the drawing-room, a "baby bear" they said, but I didn't think it looked very small. The princess patted it, and talked to it just as if it were a dog, and I must say the little animal was perfectly quiet, and kept close to her. I think the lights and the quantity of people frightened it. It growled once or twice, and we all had a feeling of relief when it was taken away. I asked the Maréchale afterward if she were afraid. "Oui, j'avais très peur, mais je ne voulais pas le montrer devant ces allemands." (Yes, I was very frightened, but I would not show it before those Germans.) They had eventually to send the bear away, back to Germany. It grew wilder as it grew older, and became quite unmanageable--they couldn't keep it in the embassy.

Hohenlohe was always pleasant and easy. I think he had a real sympathy for France and did his best on various delicate occasions. The year of the exposition (1878) we dined out every night and almost always with the same people. Hohenlohe often fell to me. He took me in to dinner ten times in succession. The eleventh time we were each of us in despair as we filed out together, so I said to him: "Don't let us even pretend to talk; you can talk to your other neighbour and I will to mine." However, we did talk chiffons, curiously enough. I had waited for a dress, which only came home at the last moment, and when I put it on the corsage was so tight I could hardly bear it. It was too late to change, and I had nothing else ready, so most uncomfortable I started for my dinner. I didn't dare to eat anything, hardly dared move, which Hohenlohe remarked, after seeing three or four dishes pass me untouched, and said to me: "I am afraid you are ill; you are eating nothing." "No, not at all, only very uncomfortable"--and then I explained the situation to him--that my dress was so tight I could neither move nor eat. He was most indignant--"How could women be so foolish--why did we want to have abnormally small waists and be slaves to our dressmakers?--men didn't like made-up figures." "Oh, yes, they do; all men admire a slight, graceful figure." "Yes, when it is natural, but no man understands nor cares about a fashionably dressed woman--women dress for each other" (which is perfectly true).

However, he was destined to see other ladies very careful about their figures. The late Empress of Austria, who was a fine rider, spent some time one spring in Paris, and rode every morning in the Bois. She was very handsome, with a beautiful figure, had handsome horses and attracted great attention. Prince Hohenlohe often rode with her. I was riding with a friend one morning when we saw handsome horses waiting at the mounting-block, just inside the gates. We divined they were the Empress's horses and waited to see her mount. She arrived in a coupé, her maid with her, and mounted her horse from the block. The body of her habit was open. When she was settled in her saddle, the maid stepped up on the block and buttoned her habit, which I must say fitted beautifully--as if she were melted into it.

The official receptions were interesting that year, as one still saw a few costumes. The Chinese, Japanese, Persians, Greeks, and Roumanians wore their national dress--and much better they look in them than in the ordinary dress coat and white tie of our men. The Greek dress was very striking, a full white skirt with high embroidered belt, but it was only becoming when the wearer was young, with a good figure. I remember a pretty Roumanian woman with a white veil spangled with gold, most effective. Now every one wears the ordinary European dress except the Chinese, who still keep their costume. One could hardly imagine a Chinese in a frock coat and tall hat. What would he do with his pigtail?

The entertainments went on pretty well that year until August, almost all the embassies and ministries receiving. Queen Isabella of Spain was then living in the big house in the Avenue Kléber, called the "Palais d'Espagne" (now the Hotel Majestic). We used to meet her often driving in the Bois. She was a big, stout, rather red-faced woman, didn't make much effect in a carriage in ordinary street dress, but in her palace, when she received or gave an audience, she was a very royal lady. I asked for an audience soon after W. was named to the Foreign Office. We knew one of her chamberlains very well, Duc de M., and he arranged it for me. I arrived at the palace on the appointed day a little before four (the audience was for four). The big gates were open, a tall porter dressed in red and gold lace and buttons, and a staff in his hand, was waiting--two or three men in black, and four or five footmen in red liveries and powder, at the door and in the hall. I was shown at once to a small room on the ground floor, where four or five ladies, all Spanish and all fat, were waiting. In a few minutes the duke appeared. We talked a little (he looking at me to see if I had taken off my veil and my right-hand glove) and then a man in black appeared at the door, making a low bow and saying something in Spanish. The duke said would I come, Her Majesty was ready to receive me. We passed through several salons where there were footmen and pages (no ladies) until we came to a very large one quite at the other end of the palace. The big doors were open, and at the far end I saw the Queen standing, a stately figure (enormous), dressed in a long black velvet dress, a high diamond tiara on her head, from which hung a black lace veil, a fan in her hand (I suppose no Spanish woman of any station ever parts with her fan) and a splendid string of pearls. I made my curtsey on the threshold, the chamberlain named me with the usual formula: "I have the honour to present to Your Majesty, Madame Waddington, the wife of the Minister of Foreign Affairs," then backed himself out of the room, and I proceeded down the long room to the Queen. She didn't move, let me make my two curtseys, one in the middle of the room, one when I came close up to her--and then shook hands. We remained standing a few minutes and then she sat down on a sofa (not a very small one) which she quite filled, and motioned me to take an armchair on one side. She was very amiable, had a charming smile, spoke French very well but with a strong Spanish accent. She said she was very glad to see my husband at the Foreign Office, and hoped he would stay long enough to do some real work--said she was very fond of France, loved driving in the streets of Paris, there was always so much to see and the people looked gay. She was very fond of the theatres, particularly the smaller ones, liked the real Parisian wit and gaiety better than the measured phrase and trained diction of the Français and the Odéon. She spoke most warmly of Marshal MacMahon, hoped that he would remain President of the Republic as long as the Republicans would let him, was afraid they would make his position impossible--but that the younger generation always wanted reforms and changes. I said I thought that was the way of the world everywhere, in families as well as nations--children could not be expected to see with the eyes of their parents. Then we talked about the exposition--she said the Spanish show was very good--told me to look at the tapestries and embroideries, which were quite wonderful--gold and silver threads worked in with the tapestries. The interview was pleasant and easy. When I took leave, she let me back down the whole length of the room, not half turning away as so many princesses do after the first few steps, so as to curtail that very inconvenient exit. However, a day dress is never so long and cumbersome as an evening dress with a train.

The chamberlain was waiting just outside the door, also two ladies in waiting, just as fat as the Queen. Certainly the mise en scène was very effective. The number of servants in red liveries, the solitary standing figure at the end of the long enfilade of rooms, the high diamond comb and long veil, quite transformed the very stout, red-faced lady whom I used to meet often walking in the Bois.

We dined once or twice at the palace, always a very handsome dinner. One for the Marshal and Madame de MacMahon was beautifully done--all the footmen, dozens, in gala liveries, red and yellow, the maître d'hôtel in very dark blue with gold epaulettes and aiguillettes. The table was covered with red and yellow flowers and splendid gold plate, and a very good orchestra of guitars and mandolins played all through dinner, the musicians singing sometimes when they played a popular song. We were all assembled in one of the large rooms waiting for the Queen to appear. As soon as the Marshal and Madame de MacMahon were announced, she came in, meeting them at the door, making a circle afterward, and shaking hands with all the ladies.

Lord Lyons gave a beautiful ball at the embassy that season. The hotel of the British embassy is one of the best in Paris--fine reception-rooms opening on a very large garden, and a large courtyard and side exit--so there was no confusion of carriages. He had need of all his room--Paris was crowded with English. Besides all the exposition people, there were many tourists and well-known English people, all expecting to be entertained at the embassy. All the world was there. The Prince and Princess of Wales, the Marshal and Madame de MacMahon, the Orléans princes, Princesse Mathilde, the Faubourg St. Germain, the Government, and as many foreigners as the house could hold, as he invited a great many people, once his obligations, English and official, were satisfied. It was only at an embassy that such a gathering could take place, and it was amusing to see the people of all the different camps looking at each other.

There was a supper up-stairs for all the royalties before the cotillion. I was told that the Duc d'Aumale would take me to supper. I was very pleased (as we knew him very well and he was always charming to us) but much surprised, as the Orléans princes never remained for supper at any big official function. There would have been questions of place and precedence which would have been very difficult to settle. When the move was made for supper, things had to be changed, as the Orléans princes had gone home. The Crown Prince of Denmark took me. The supper-room was prettily arranged, two round tables--Lord Lyons with the Princesses of Wales and Denmark presiding at one--his niece, the Duchesse of Norfolk, at the other, with the Princes of Wales and Denmark. I sat between the Princes of Denmark and Sweden. Opposite me, next the Prince of Wales, sat a lady I didn't know. Every one else at the table did. She was very attractive-looking, with a charming smile and most animated manner. I asked the Prince of Denmark in a low voice, who she was--thought it must be one of the foreign princesses I hadn't yet met. The Prince of Wales heard my question, and immediately, with his charming tact and ease of manner, said to me: "You don't know the Princesse Mathilde; do let me have the pleasure of presenting you to her," naming me at once--in my official capacity, "wife of the Minister of Foreign Affairs." The princess was very gracious and smiling, and we talked about all sorts of things--some of her musical protégées, who were also mine. She asked me if I liked living at the ministry, Quai d'Orsay; she remembered it as such a beautiful house. When the party broke up, she shook hands, said she had not the pleasure of knowing M. Waddington, but would I thank him from her for what he had done for one of her friends. I tried to find W. after supper to present him to the princess, but he had already gone, didn't stay for the cotillion--the princess, too, went away immediately after supper. I met her once or twice afterward. She was always friendly, and we had little talks together. Her salon--she received once a week--was quite a centre--all the Bonapartists of course, the diplomatic corps, many strangers, and all the celebrities in literature and art.

With that exception I never saw nor talked with any member of that family until I had been some years a widow, when the Empress Eugénie received me on her yacht at Cowes. When the news came of the awful tragedy of the Prince Imperial's death in Zululand, W. was Foreign Minister, and he had invited a large party, with music. W. instantly put off the party, said there was no question of politics or a Bonapartist prince--it was a Frenchman killed, fighting bravely in a foreign country. I always thought the Empress knew about it and appreciated his act, for during his embassy in London, though we never saw her, she constantly sent him word through mutual friends of little negotiations she knew about and thought might interest him, and always spoke very well of him as a "clear-headed, patriotic statesman." I should have liked to have seen her in her prime, when she must have been extraordinarily beautiful and graceful. When I did see her she was no longer young, but a stately, impressive figure, and had still the beautiful brow one sees in all her pictures. One of our friends, a very clever woman and great anti-Bonapartist, told us an amusing story of her little son. The child was sometimes in the drawing-room when his mother was receiving, and heard her and all her friends inveighing against the iniquities of the Imperial Court and the frivolity of the Empress. He saw the Empress walking one day in the Bois de Boulogne. She was attracted by the group of children, stopped and talked to them. The boy was delighted and said to his governess: "Elle est bien jolie, l'Impératrice, mais il ne faut pas le dire à Maman." (The Empress is very pretty, but one must not say it to mother.)

VII

THE BERLIN CONGRESS

Seventy-eight was a most important year for us in many ways. Besides the interest and fatigues of the exposition and the constant receiving and official festivities of all kinds, a great event was looming before us--the Berlin Congress. One had felt it coming for some time. There were all sorts of new delimitations and questions to be settled since the war in the Balkans, and Europe was getting visibly nervous. Almost immediately after the opening of the exposition, the project took shape, and it was decided that France should participate in the Congress and send three representatives. It was the first time that France had asserted herself since the Franco-Prussian War in 1870, but it was time for her now to emerge from her self-imposed effacement, and take her place in the Congress of nations. There were many discussions, both public and private, before the plénipotentiaires were named, and a great unwillingness on the part of many very intelligent and patriotic Frenchmen to see the country launching itself upon dangerous ground and a possible conflict with Bismarck. However, the thing was decided, and the three plenipotentiaries named--Mr. Waddington, Foreign Minister, first; Comte de St. Vallier, a very clever and distinguished diplomatist, actual ambassador at Berlin, second; and Monsieur Desprey, Directeur de la Politique au Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, third. He was also a very able man, one of the pillars of the ministry, au courant of every treaty and negotiation for the last twenty years, very prudent and clear-headed. All W.'s colleagues were most cordial and charming on his appointment. He made a statement in the House of the line of policy he intended to adopt--and was absolutely approved and encouraged. Not a disparaging word of any kind was said, not even the usual remark of "cet anglais qui nous représente." He started the 10th of June in the best conditions possible--not an instruction of any kind from his chief, M. Dufaure, Président du Conseil--very complimentary to him certainly, but the ministers taking no responsibility themselves--leaving the door open in case he made any mistakes. It was evident that the Parliament and Government were nervous. It was rather amusing, when all the preparations for the departure were going on. W. took a large suite with him, secretaries, huissiers, etc., and I told them they were as much taken up with their coats and embroideries and cocked hats as any pretty woman with her dresses. I wanted very much to go, but W. thought he would be freer and have more time to think things over if I were not there. He didn't know Berlin at all, had never seen Bismarck nor any of the leading German statesmen, and was fully conscious how his every word and act would be criticised. However, if a public man is not criticised, it usually means that he is of no consequence--so attacks and criticisms are rather welcome--act as a stimulant. I could have gone and stayed unofficially with a cousin, but he thought that wouldn't do. St. Vallier was a bachelor; it would have been rather an affair for him to organise at the embassy an apartment for a lady and her maids, though he was most civil and asked me to come.

I felt rather lonely in the big ministry when they had all gone, and I was left with baby. W. stayed away just five weeks, and I performed various official things in his absence--among others the Review of the 14th of July. The distinguished guest on that occasion was the Shah of Persia, who arrived with the Maréchale in a handsome open carriage, with outriders and postilions. The marshal of course was riding. The Shah was not at all a striking figure, short, stout, with a dark skin, and hard black eyes. He had handsome jewels, a large diamond fastening the white aigrette of his high black cap, and his sword-hilt incrusted with diamonds. He gave a stiff little nod in acknowledgment of the bows and curtseys every one made when he appeared in the marshal's box. He immediately took his seat on one side of the Maréchale in front of the box, one of the ambassadresses, Princess Hohenlohe I think, next to him. The military display seemed to interest him. Every now and then he made some remark to the Maréchale, but he was certainly not talkative. While the interminable line of the infantry regiments was passing, there was a move to the back of the box, where there was a table with ices, champagne, etc. Madame de MacMahon came up to me, saying: "Madame Waddington, Sa Majesté demande les nouvelles de M. Waddington," upon which His Majesty planted himself directly in front of me, so close that he almost touched me, and asked in a quick, abrupt manner, as if he were firing off a shot: "Où est votre mari?" (neither Madame, nor M. Waddington, nor any of the terms that are usually adopted in polite society). "A Berlin, Sire." "Pourquoi à Berlin?" "Comme plénipotentiaire Français au Congrès de Berlin." "Oui, oui, je sais, je sais. Cela l'intéresse?" "Beaucoup; il voit tant de personnes intéressantes." "Oui, je sais. Il va bien?" always coming closer to me, so that I was edging back against the wall, with his hard, bright little eyes fixed on mine, and always the same sharp, jerky tone. "Il va parfaitement bien, je vous remercie." Then there was a pause and he made one or two other remarks which I didn't quite understand--I don't think his French went very far--but I made out something about "jolies femmes" and pointed out one or two to him, but he still remained staring into my face and I was delighted when his minister came up to him (timidly--all his people were afraid of him) and said some personage wanted to be presented to him. He shook hands with me, said something about "votre mari revient bientôt," and moved off. The Maréchale asked me if I were not touched by His Majesty's solicitude for my husband's health, and wouldn't I like to come to the front of the box and sit next to him, but I told her I couldn't think of engrossing His Majesty's attention, as there were various important people who wished to be presented to him. I watched him a little (from a distance), trying to see if anything made any impression on him (the crowd, the pretty, well-dressed women, the march past, the long lines of infantry,--rather fatiguing to see, as one line regiment looks very like another,--the chasseurs with their small chestnut horses, the dragoons more heavily mounted, and the guns), but his face remained absolutely impassive, though I think he saw everything. They told a funny story of him in London at one of the court balls. When he had looked on at the dancing for some time, he said to the Prince of Wales: "Tell those people to stop now, I have seen enough"--evidently thought it was a ballet performing for his amusement. Another one, at one of the European courts was funny. The monarch was very old, his consort also. When the Shah was presented to the royal lady, he looked hard at her without saying a word, then remarked to her husband: "Laide, vieille, pourquoi garder?" (Ugly, old; why keep her?)

I went to a big dinner and reception at the British Embassy, given for all the directors and commissioners of the exposition. It was a lovely warm night, the garden was lighted, everybody walking about, and an orchestra playing. Many of the officials had their wives and daughters with them, and some of the toilettes were wonderful. There were a good many pretty women, Swedes and Danes, the Northern type, very fair hair and blue eyes, attracting much attention, and a group of Chinese (all in costume) standing proudly aloof--not the least interested apparently in the gay scene before them. I wonder what they thought of European manners and customs! There was no dancing, which I suppose would have shocked their Eastern morals. Lord Lyons asked me why I wasn't in Berlin. I said, "For the best of reasons, my husband preferred going without me--but I hoped he would send for me perhaps at the end of the Congress." He told me Lady Salisbury was there with her husband. He seemed rather sceptical as to the peaceful issue of the negotiations--thought so many unforeseen questions would come up and complicate matters.

I went to a ball at the Hôtel de Ville, also given for all the foreigners and French people connected with the exposition. The getting there was very long and tiring. The coupe-file did no good, as every one had one. Comte de Pontécoulant went with me and he protested vigorously, but one of the head men of the police, whom he knew well, came up to the carriage to explain that nothing could be done. There was a long line of diplomatic and official carriages, and we must take our chance with the rest. Some of our cousins (Americans) never got there at all--sat for hours in their carriage in the rue du Rivoli, moving an inch at a time. Happily it was a lovely warm night; and as we got near we saw lots of people walking who had left their carriages some little distance off, hopelessly wedged in a crowd of vehicles--the women in light dresses, with flowers and jewels in their hair. The rooms looked very handsome when at last we did get in, particularly the staircase, with a Garde Municipal on every step, and banks of palms and flowers on the landing in the hall, wherever flowers could be put. The Ville de Paris furnishes all the flowers and plants for the official receptions, and they always are very well arranged. Some trophies of flags too of all nations made a great effect. I didn't see many people I knew--it was impossible to get through the crowd, but some one got me a chair at the open window giving on the balcony, and I was quite happy sitting there looking at the people pass. The whole world was represented, and it was interesting to see the different types--Southerners, small, slight, dark, impatient, wriggling through the crowd--the Anglo-Saxons, big, broad, calm, squaring their shoulders when there came a sudden rush, and waiting quite patiently a chance to get a little ahead. Some of the women too pushed well--evidently determined to see all they could. I don't think any royalties, even minor ones, were there.

W. wrote pretty regularly from Berlin, particularly the first days, before the real work of the Congress began. He started rather sooner than he had at first intended, so as to have a little time to talk matters over with St. Vallier and make acquaintance with some of his colleagues. St. Vallier, with all the staff of the embassy, met him at the station when he arrived in Berlin, also Holstein (our old friend who was at the German Embassy in Paris with Arnim) to compliment him from Prince Bismarck, and he had hardly been fifteen minutes at the embassy when Count Herbert von Bismarck arrived with greetings and compliments from his father. He went to see Bismarck the next day, found him at home, and very civil; he was quite friendly, very courteous and "bonhomme, original, and even amusing in his conversation, but with a hard look about the eyes which bodes no good to those who cross his path." He had just time to get back to the embassy and get into his uniform for his audience with the Crown Prince (late Emperor Frederick). The Vice Grand-Maitre des Ceremonies came for him in a court carriage and they drove off to the palace--W. sitting alone on the back seat, the grand-maître facing him on the front. "I was ushered into a room where the Prince was standing. He was very friendly and talked for twenty minutes about all sorts of things, in excellent French, with a few words of English now and then to show he knew of my English connection. He spoke of my travels in the East, of the de Bunsens, of the Emperor's health (the old man is much better and decidedly recovering)--and of his great wish for peace." All the plenipotentiaries had not yet arrived. They appeared only on the afternoon of the 12th, the day before the Congress opened. Prince Bismarck sent out the invitation for the first sitting:

Le Prince de Bismarck a l'honneur de prévenir Son Excellence, Monsieur Waddington, que la première réunion du Congrès aura lieu le 13 juin à deux heures, au Palais du Chancelier de l'Empire, 77, Wilhelmstrasse. "Berlin, le 12 juin 1878."

It was a brilliant assemblage of great names and intelligences that responded to his invitation--Gortschakoff, Schouvaloff, Andrassy, Beaconsfield, Salisbury, Karolyi, Hohenlohe, Corti, and many others, younger men, who acted as secretaries. French was the language spoken, the only exception being made by Lord Beaconsfield, who always spoke in English, although it was most evident, W. said, that he understood French perfectly well. The first day was merely an official opening of the Congress--every one in uniform--but only for that occasion. After that they all went in ordinary morning dress, putting on their uniforms again on the last day only, when they signed the treaty. W. writes: "Bismarck presides and did his part well to-day; he speaks French fairly but very slowly, finding his words with difficulty, but he knows what he means to say and lets every one see that he does." No one else said much that first day; each man was rather reserved, waiting for his neighbour to begin. Beaconsfield made a short speech, which was trying for some of his colleagues, particularly the Turks, who had evidently much difficulty in understanding English. They were counting upon England's sympathy, but a little nervous as to a supposed agreement between England and Russia. The Russians listened most attentively. There seemed to be a distrust of England on their part and a decided rivalry between Gortschakoff and Beaconsfield. The Congress dined that first night with the Crown Prince at the Schloss in the famous white hall--all in uniform and orders. W. said the heat was awful, but the evening interesting. There were one hundred and forty guests, no ladies except the royal princesses, not even the ambassadresses. W. sat on Bismarck's left, who talked a great deal, intending to make himself agreeable. He had a long talk after dinner with the Crown Princess (Princess Royal of England) who spoke English with him. He found her charming--intelligent and cultivated and so easy--not at all stiff and shy like so many royalties. He saw her very often during his stay in Berlin, and she was unfailingly kind to him--and to me also when I knew her later in Rome and London. She always lives in my memory as one of the most charming women I have ever met. Her face often comes back to me with her beautiful bright smile and the saddest eyes I have ever seen. I have known very few like her. W. also had a talk with Prince Frederick-Charles, father of the Duchess of Connaught, whom he found rather a rough-looking soldier with a short, abrupt manner. He left bitter memories in France during the Franco-German War, was called the "Red Prince," he was so hard and cruel, always ready to shoot somebody and burn down villages on the slightest provocation--so different from the Prince Imperial, the "unser Fritz" of the Germans, who always had a kind word for the fallen foe.