The Sunny Side of Diplomatic Life, 1875-1912

by L. de Hegermann-Lindencrone

BERLIN, 1902-1912

BERLIN, January 22, 1903.

Dear L.,—J.'s presentation of his lettres de créance to the Emperor was a small affair compared with former functions, which were combined with gala coaches, powdered coachmen, and pourboires. It was simply taking a train to Potsdam, in which there was a section called Kaiserlich. The Minister of Foreign Affairs accompanied him, as was his duty. In a royal carriage from the court they were driven to the Neues Palais. J. was met by the Introducteur des Ambassadeurs (Herr von Knesebeck) and conducted into the presence of the Emperor, where J. made his speech. The Emperor was very official and ceremonious when he responded, but in the conversation afterward was affability itself. J.'s audience with the Empress was very hurried, because of the Crown Prince of Denmark, who had arrived the night before in Berlin. He stayed two days at Neues Palais.

I arrived two weeks after this. The custom here is for a Minister's wife to be presented by the doyenne (Madame Sjögeny) to the grande maîtresse (Countess Brockdorf) on one of her reception-days before the Schleppenkur. I found her very charming. My audience with the Empress was fixed for a date a week later, and the Swedish and the Peruvian Ministers' wives were to be received at the same time.

We met in the salon of Countess Brockdorf on the day appointed, and, preceded by her, went together to the salon of the Empress, where we found Her Highness already waiting. We sat about in a circle. The Empress talked French with us and was most gracious. She has a wonderful figure; her white hair and youthful face and her lovely, kind smile make her very beautiful. She said that the Emperor remembered me from Rome and Prince Henry (her brother-in-law) recollected having met me at Monza.

I went in company with these same two ladies at an audience to the Princess Henry, who lives in the pretty pavilion on the left of the palace, overlooking the canal. She only comes to Berlin when there are fêtes at court, otherwise she and the Prince live at Kiel.

Our next visit was to Princess Friedric-Leopold, the Empress's sister. She lives in a palace in Wilhelm-strasse when in Berlin. She is very lively, talkative, and extremely natural in conversation. She has a beautiful country place near Potsdam.

The Schleppenkur is a great event in Berlin. It takes place before the birthday of the Emperor. I had never seen anything like this ceremony, and it interested me very much. Perhaps it will you. It takes place at a very early hour in the evening—eight o'clock. This makes it necessary for one to begin to dress at six. Naturally, you go without any dinner—a cup of bouillon is considered sufficient to keep you alive.

It is the custom for diplomats to engage for the evening a Schutzmann—a heavy mounted policeman. Our particular one was waiting for us before our house and rode by the side of our carriage until we arrived at the entrance of the Schloss. He looked very important, but I do not think he was of much use. However, it seems that a Schutzmann comes under the chapter of Noblesse oblige, and we took him. He did a great deal of horsemanship, but never dared to disobey the chief policeman's orders, and when we arrived at Portal 4 we had to wait for the file like other people. He did not call up our carriage at the end, but had to be called up himself by the police force; then he appeared, bristling with energy, and galloped at our horses' heads to our door, where we laid our offering in his hand and bade him good night. The Schutzmann is one of our privileges and nuisances. I felt sorry for people who had been standing in the cold street for hours to watch the procession of carriages and the gala coaches (which the Ambassadors use on this occasion), because they only get a glimpse through the frost-covered windows of glittering uniforms and dazzling diamonds. Your dress (instructions as to which are printed even to the smallest detail on the back of your invitation) must be a ball-dress, with a train four meters long, short sleeves, and a décolletage of the Victorian period, and white kid (glacé) gloves.

EMPEROR WILHELM IN THE UNIFORM OF THE GUARDS

THE EMPRESS OF GERMANY ON HER FAVORITE MOUNT

We arrived at the Wendel entrance and mounted the long and fatiguing staircase before we reached the second story where the state apartments are. In the hall of the corps de garde were several masters of ceremony, who received us with deep bows. I wondered what certain large baskets which looked like clothes-baskets were, and was told that ladies wearing boas or lace wraps around their shoulders were expected to drop them into these baskets. They would then be conveyed to the other staircase, where, after the ceremony, we would find our servants and carriages—and, we hoped, our boas! We passed through different rooms where groups of ladies were assembled. The Corps Diplomatique filled two rooms. The ladies were in the first one, which leads to the Throne Room.

The Hungarian and Russian ladies wear their national costumes, which are very striking and make them all look like exotic queens. The English ladies wear the three feathers and the long tulle white veil, which make them look like brides. We others wear what we like, ball-dresses of every hue, and all our jewels. No one can find fault with us if our trains, our décolletage, our sleeves and gloves, are not according to regulations.

The chamberlains arranged us, consulting papers which they had in their hands, after the order of our rank. Being the latest member, I was at the very end, only the wives of two charges d'affaires being behind me. The one directly behind me held up my train, just as I held the train of the Peruvian Minister's wife in front of me. I hope that I have made this clear to you. The doyenne stood by the door which led into the Throne Room through which she was to enter. Four meters behind her was her daughter holding her train, and behind her were the ladies who had not already been presented at court.

The room not being long enough, we formed a serpentine curve, reminding one of the game called "Follow the leader." It must look funny to any one not knowing why we were so carefully tending the clothes of other people. I never let go the train of the colleague in front until she reached the door of the Throne Room, where I spread it out on the floor. Then, as the lady passed into the room, two lackeys, one on each side of the door, poked the train with long sticks until it lay peacock-like on the parquet.

TWO VIEWS OF ROYALTY From photographs taken at Lyngby, near Copenhagen, in 1894. In the facing photograph the former Czar of Russia is seen, with black hat and light clothes, holding his favorite dog. From left to right the others are: the Princess of Hesse; the Princess Marie; Prince Waldemar with his dog; a dame d'honneur; King Christian X. of Denmark; and the present Czar of Russia. The man at the extreme left of the picture is the present King, George of Greece.

This is rather a critical moment. One has a great many things to think of. In the first place, you must keep at the proper distance from your predecessor. Of this you can be pretty sure, because if you walk too fast there is the restraining hand of the chamberlain to prevent you. Still, there is always the fear of dropping your fan or tripping over the front of your gown or of your tiara falling off.

When I came in I saw His Majesty standing on the throne, stately and solemn. For two hours he stands thus. With a mass of officers on my right and a few chamberlains at intervals on my left I advanced very slowly and, I hope, with a certain dignity. I saw the train of my colleague turn the corner around the officers. Two other lackeys darted forth and pronged my train in place. I made my courtesy first to the Emperor and then to the Empress, who stood at his left.

Next to her Majesty stood the grande maîtresse. I put myself by her side and presented Frederikke and our secretary's wife, and the grande maîtresse said their names to the Empress. Then as we passed out a servant picked up our trains and threw them over our arms, disappearing through the door of the immensely long gallery which is filled with pictures commemorating the numerous battles and events of the last forty years. I wondered, when I looked at the stretch of carpet, how any one carpet could be made so long.

As I am the latest arrived Minister's wife, I and my two acolytes were the last persons to enter the Weissesaal where the buffet stood. This buffet extended almost the whole length of the vast room. We refreshed ourselves. My little self was in sad need of being refreshed, and I devoured the sandwiches spread out temptingly under my eyes, and drank some reviving champagne, and waited for my better half, who, with the other better halves, was making his bow to the sovereigns. The ladies of the Corps Diplomatique pass before the throne first and are followed by the gentlemen; then come the highest-ranked princesses, and so forth. It is very fatiguing moving about with one's court train dragging on one's arm, and I for one know that I was glad when we went down the marble staircase and found the servant who had sorted our boas from the baskets. There is no antechamber at the foot of the staircase, so one must stay exposed to the wintry blasts when the door is opened to let people out. It is extraordinary how long it takes ladies to disappear after their carriages are announced. They say a few last words, linger over the picking up of their skirts, and go out leisurely; also the servant seems unnecessarily long mounting his box, settling himself before the coachman drives away.

BERLIN, January, 1903.

Dear ____,—The 21st was the Emperor's birthday.

The whole city is beflagged, and there are all sorts of illumination preparations. "W's" in every dimension and color, the Emperor's bust surrounded by laurel leaves, and flags in every window. Johan went in gala uniform to the chapel in the Schloss, where a religious service is always held, after which every one goes to congratulate his Majesty and see the défilé cour afterward.

In the evening was the gala opera. Johan dined at Count Billow's (the Reichskanzler) at five o'clock, while I dressed for the theater. We were obliged to be there at eight o'clock sharp. "Sharp" is the word here. There is no loitering where the Emperor is concerned. Everything is on time, and his Majesty is sometimes before the hour mentioned, but never after.

The Opera-house is rather small, but was beautifully decorated with garlands of artificial flowers hanging from the center of the dome down to the balconies, and from the proscenium boxes to the orchestra. In the center of the house is the royal box, the balustrade of which is covered with real flowers. From all the balconies are hung beautiful carpets covered with festoons. The whole interior was a mass of color.

The Emperor and Empress sat, of course, in the front of the box, while the other chairs were filled by royal guests who had come to Berlin to congratulate the Emperor. The King of Saxony, the King of Würtemberg, and the other German royalties, all sat in the royal box. The Emperor's sons had their seats in the balcony.

The Ambassadors occupied the four proscenium boxes. The highest princesses of the German nobility sat in the next balconies. The Corps Diplomatique occupied the boxes and balconies adjoining the royal box. All the officers and secretaries of the Embassies sat in the parquet.

When the audience was seated the directeur générale des théâtres entered the royal box, came forward, and rapped with his stick three times, a signal that their Majesties were about to enter. The royal party came in very quietly and took their places. Every one in the house, of course, stood up and bowed. It was a pretty sight from our balcony to see all the men's heads in the parquet bend down while they saluted their Majesties. It looked like the swaying of wheat by the wind.

Gradually all the lights were turned out and the overture commenced. The opera was "Carmen" and Madame Destinn sang.

In the entr'acte the diplomats and the ladies and gentlemen in the first balcony were begged to go in the foyer, where they were presented to the different royalties assembled there.

The Empress was covered with magnificent diamonds and pearls, and the jewels displayed by all these royal ladies, and all the glittering uniforms of the princes and officers made a splendid sight.

The Emperor came toward me with a gleam of recognition, and commenced in an entirely unceremonious way, shaking me heartily by the hand:

"How do you do? It's a long time since I saw you."

"Not since Rome, when your Majesty was there in 1889," I answered.

"So long ago? I remember it so well! As if it was yesterday!"

"I, too," I said. "I remember your Majesty being in the Statue Gallery of the Capitol, where you looked like one of the statues itself, in your white uniform."

"I remember," he said. "It was a dreadful glare."

"It was the first time they ever put electricity in the Capitol."

"They put too much in," he said, "and such a lot of people! Dear me! I shall never forget it. Didn't I look bored?"

"No, your Majesty looked very serious and as handsome as a Lohengrin" I answered.

"Lohengrin, really! I did not see any Elsa I wanted to save."

"Oh, I meant only a Lohengrin de passage," I replied.

The Emperor laughed. "That is good."

"I recollect what your Majesty wrote on the photograph you gave Monsieur Crispi."

"Really? What was it? I don't remember."

"You wrote: 'Gentilhomme, gentilhomme; corsaire, corsaire et demi'."

"What a good memory you have!" he said, and added, very kindly, "I am very glad to have you and your husband here, and I hope you will like Berlin. But"—holding a finger warningly—"don't look for many Lohengrins."

In case, my dear, you don't understand this, I will tell you what it means: If you are nice to me I will be equally nice to you, but if you are horrid I will (pokerly speaking) see you and go you one better.

BERLIN, January, 1903.

Dear ____,—Every diplomatic lady has a reception-day. Mine is Thursday. Last Thursday there were one hundred and sixty people.

My first receptions in January were very perplexing, because so many people came whom I did not know and who did not know me. Our two secretaries, Frederikke and I have a code of signals which help me over many a rough place. Visitors leave their cards in the antechamber. The secretary stands in the first salon and waves them into the large salon where I am. If I raise my eyebrows the secretary knows that I depend upon him to find out who the person is, and the name, if possible. He, therefore, gets the card and shows it to me by some magical twist. Sometimes he manages to whisper the name. Often I fail to grasp either the whisper or the card; then I am lost, and flounder hopelessly about without bearings of any kind, asking leading-questions, cautiously feeling my way, not knowing whether I am talking to a person of great importance or the contrary. When at last my extreme wariness and diplomacy get hold of a clue, then I swim along beautifully on the top of the wave.

Frederikke helps me by taking odds and ends off my hands and sorting them out behind her teacups. All the young people flock about her, and with their laughter and flutterings add a gay note to the official element around me.

The Emperor desires that all his officers should be accustomed to society, and they receive orders to make afternoon visits, which they do—poor things—I suppose, much to their distaste. As no one knows them and they do not know any one, it must be very awkward for them. They come six at a time, leave a package of cards in the antechamber, present themselves, and each other. They click their heels, kiss the hand of the hostess, give a hopeless glance about them, move in a body toward the tea-table, return, and go through the same ceremony, and leave together, making a great clinking of swords and leaving an odor of perfumed pomade.

BERLIN, January, 1903.

Dear L.,—I have been to my first court ball here, I will describe this one to you, and never again.

The invitation we received was very large. It told us that we were invited by order of his Majesty, King and Emperor, to appear at the Königlicheschloss, Thursday, at eight. We were accompanied, as usual, by the policeman on horseback. It amused me, while we were waiting in the carriage, to see standing before one of the entrances to the palace a whole line of soldiers with serviettes hung over their shoulders. They were there for the purpose of washing the dishes after the supper.

As I have said before, the Wendel treppe is very high and tiresome to mount. We found the hall of the corps de garde filled with youthful pages whose ages are anywhere from fifteen to twenty. They were dressed in red coats, with large frills of lace, held in place by their mothers' best diamond brooch, and neat little low shoes with buckles and neat little white silk legs.

I glided along the polished floor through the different rooms, which were empty, save for the numerous chamberlains. All had papers and diagrams in their hands, and they told the gentlemen as they passed who they were to take in to supper, and the name of the supper-room. Each room has a name, like "Marine Room," "Black Eagle Room," and so forth.

The long gallery was filled with officers, whose uniforms were of every imaginable color and description, and gentlemen who looked as if they had just stepped out of a picture-frame. They wear their calling on their sleeves, as it were. The Academician has a different costume from the judge. I noticed a clergyman in his priestly robes, his Elizabethan ruff around his neck, his breast covered with decorations. He was sipping a glass of hot punch and smiling benignly about him. He had a most kind and sympathetic face. I would like to confess my sins to him, but just now I don't happen to have any to confess.

Tea was passed about while we were waiting to enter the ballroom. In the Weissesaal the Corps Diplomatique has a raised platform reserved for it on the right of the throne where we ladies, beginning with the ambassadress, stand, following precedence. On the other side are all the princesses of the German nobility. I was shown to my place on the platform.

When the two thousand people collected in this room raised their voices a little more than was seemly, the master of ceremonies pounded his stick on the floor—there was to be no loud talking—silence reigned a moment, and then the unruly guests burst out again, and were again reduced to silence by another and more ominous thump. The orchestra began the march of "Tannhaüser." This was the signal for the entrance of the sovereigns. No one dared to breathe. People straightened themselves up, the ladies stepped down from their platform. From the middle arcades the young pages—twenty-four in number—entered in pairs. Then came the Oberhof Marshal alone, followed by the four greatest personages in Berlin, the Duke Trachenberg, Prince Fürstenberg, Prince Hohenlohe, and Prince Solms-Baruth. After them came the Emperor with the Empress on his arm. Every one bowed. They were followed by the five sons of the Emperor—the Crown Prince, Prince Adalbert, Prince Eitel Fritz, Prince August Wilhelm, and Prince Joachim; then all the princes and princesses of the house of Prussia.

THE THRONE-ROOM OF THE ROYAL PALACE, BERLIN

It was a very imposing sight as they all marched in. When the Emperor and the Empress reached the throne they made a stately bow to each other and separated, the Empress turning to the doyenne (the first ambassadress) and the Emperor crossing to the Ambassadors. Each chef de mission stood in front of his secretaries and presented them.

My place was between the wives of the Swedish and the Brazilian Ministers. My neighbor was very unhappy because she was not able to use her eyeglasses. Eye-glasses are one of the things that are not allowed, nor are such things as boas or lace wraps.

The Empress spoke to all the ladies in either German, French, or English. She was accompanied by the grande maîtresse, who stood near.

Right behind the Emperor are two gentlemen who are always within speaking distance. The first is the tallest young man to be found. He wears a red uniform, white knee-breeches, very high boots, a breastplate representing a brilliant rising sun, and a high blazing helmet surmounted by a silver eagle. This makes him the most conspicuous person in the room, so that you may always know where the Emperor is by seeing the young officer's towering helmet above the crowd. The other is General Scholl, a dear, kind old gentleman, who is dressed in the costume of Frederick the Great's time, with a white wig, the pigtail of which is tied with black ribbon, a huge jabot of lace with a diamond pin on his breast.

All the other court persons wear dark blue dress-coats, with gold buttons, and carry in one hand the awe-inspiring stick, and in the other the list for the suppers. Some of them are rather vain about their legs, and stand profile-wise so that they can be admired. They do look very well turned out, I must say, with their silk stockings and low buckled shoes.

The ladies of the Corps Diplomatique are not always as observant of court rules as they ought to be, and their décolletage is not always impeccable. If Worth sends a corsage with the fashionable cut—what do they do? They manage, when they stand on their platform en vue, to slip their shoulders out, thereby leaving a tell-tale red mark, only to slip the shoulders in place when royalty has its back turned.

The Empress was followed by a second tall young officer. He wore a red uniform and a hat with a high red feather, easily seen from a distance. Countess Brockdorf, to distinguish her from other ladies, wears a long black mantilla on her head and looks like a duègne à l'Espagnole. The other ladies of honor stand near the Empress in the background. I forgot to say that the wives of foreign Ministers have fauteuils on their platform, behind which stand their secretaries' wives.

The ball was opened by the Crown Prince, who danced with the youngest demoiselle d'honneur, then the other princely couples joined. None but the princes have the privilege of dancing at first. The valse a deux temps only is permitted. The court likes better the old-fashioned method of revolving in circles round and round the room, but occasionally it permits the lancers.

The young ladies and gentlemen, who had been practising their dancing for weeks, began their gavotte. The ancient ballet-danseuse sat up under an arch in the ceiling, and held up a warning finger if any mistake happened. The dances they learn are gavottes and minuets, which are very ingeniously arranged. Some of the officers looked rather awkward when they had to point their toes or gaze in the eyes of their partners. During one of these dances the Empress went off into the gallery, next to the ballroom, and ladies new to the court were brought up and presented to her.

Princess Henry and Princess Leopold then made the tour of the guests. Each time a royal person came to speak to us we were obliged to descend from our platform, in order to be on the same level. The Emperor talked with all the ladies. To me he spoke in English, which, of course, he speaks perfectly. He was dressed in a Hussar uniform, and held his casque in his left hand, and offered his right. He showed me a new decoration he had just received from the Sultan. He pointed out the splendid diamonds, and seemed very pleased with it.

A Vortänzer (the leader of the dance) is chosen in the beginning of the season. His duty is to arrange all balls and lead all cotillions that are given by society during the winter. He gives advice, indicates the officers who dance well—in fact, arranges everything. The young people pass three delightful flirtatious weeks learning these gavottes and minuets. Many a happy couple date their bliss from those dancing-lessons.

As I knew who was to take me in to supper, I waited in my place until my partner, the Minister of Justice, came to fetch me. I was very happy to be portioned off to such a charming gentleman. We were told to go in the Marine Room, where were the Emperor and the Empress. Each Prince had a table for twelve, over which he presided. At ours was Prince Adalbert, the Emperor's naval son. A supper for two thousand guests sounds rather formidable, does it not? With a slight difference in favor of the first three rooms, the same supper is served to all. A supper here is just like a dinner, beginning with soup, two warm dishes, an entrée, dessert, fruit, and coffee.

On our return to the ballroom there was some more dancing. The last dance was the prettiest of them all. Their Majesties took their places on the throne, stood watching with a pleased smile the procession of dancers who came in, four pairs at a time, from the last door of the ballroom. In each group the four officers belonged to the same regiment. First they danced a gavotte, and then twirled off in a waltz. Then the other four couples came in. There were forty or fifty couples altogether. When they had all entered they formed a fan-shaped line and advanced toward their Majesties, making the deepest of courtesies. Then they spread out and made a large circle. The Emperor and the Empress bowed their thanks, and the dancers retired, and the orchestra sounded a fanfare. The ball was over. The Emperor offered his arm to the Empress, and all the Princes followed in the same order in which they had entered. As we went through the long gallery servants handed glasses of hot punch about, which were very acceptable before going out in the cold air. I happened to glance in the open door of a room we passed and saw a Mont Blanc of serviettes piled up to the ceiling, and next to that room was a regiment of soldiers wiping plates.

After the Schleppenkur and before the Kaiser's birthday comes the Ordens Fest. It is a yearly entertainment the Emperor gives to those who have received the Prussian Order of the Red Eagle, the highest in rank of the elder members, and all the newly made. Johan has just received the decoration.

Here every one sees all sorts of people, from cab-drivers to princes. There is a luncheon for two thousand guests. The Emperor and the Empress walk about and talk to as many as they can. The other evening we went to the Winter Garden, and the head waiter said to Johan, "I have not seen you for a long time, your Excellency—not since we lunched together at the Schloss at the Or dens Fest."

BERLIN, 1903.

Dear L.,—The dear old King of Denmark came to Berlin to pay a visit to the Emperor. He arrived the night before last. We went to fetch him at the station. Johan was instructed to take rooms at the hotel for the suite, but the Emperor begged the King to stay at the Schloss, which he consented to do. The next morning the Emperor came to Berlin and drove the King out to the Neues Palais at Potsdam, where there was a luncheon. Johan said it was quite touching to see how tender and affectionate the Emperor is toward the King. Johan and his secretary were the only persons present outside the family. It was very amusing (Johan said) after luncheon to see the young Princess Victoria Louise and Prince Oscar, who went about with their fingers on their lips. J. wondered why. The Crown Prince told him that his young brother and sister talked so much that he had bribed them to keep silent for ten minutes and had promised them a mark each. They got the two marks! The Kaiser has great affection for the King. His speech of welcome when he drank the King's health at lunch was very touching.

This afternoon the King came to take tea with us. I had not seen him since the death of the Queen. It was a great pleasure to have him in my house. He and I sat in the large salon, while Johan, the King's adjutant, and a German gentleman attached to the King during his stay here remained in the next room. The King only talked about the Queen. I, who loved her so much, was all tears. His Majesty once in a while would put his hand on mine and say, "You loved her." We had our tea alone. He told me that the Queen's room in Amalienborg remains just as she had left it. My photograph was on the mantelpiece in her boudoir, and the cushion that I had embroidered for her was still on her chaise-longue. Nothing there was to be disturbed.

As the King left I pointed to the portrait of himself he had given me, which was hanging on the wall. I said:

"I prize this, your Majesty, more than anything I own, because you gave it to me yourself."

"I was better-looking then than I am now. Is that not true?"

"Your Majesty is always handsome in my eyes," I answered.

"Dear madame, you make me vain." And he took my hand, and the kind King kissed it like a preux chevalier of the old school.

As I followed him to the door he said, "Do not come any farther; you will take cold. I will bid you good-by here." He is about eighty-five years old, and as youthful in his movements as a young man.

J. said, "I am sorry we have no lift."

QUEEN LOUISE OF DENMARK
From a photograph taken in 1878. She was the wife of King Christian IX., and the mother of Queen Alexandra of England, Empress Dagmar of Russia, King George of Greece, and various royalties.

"I do not need a lift; I can still run down the stairs." Which he did in a surprising manner.

The King left that evening; and as he begged me not to come to the station, J. went without me.

February, 1903.

As Johan is accredited to the Court of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, we were invited to a great court ball which was to be given. We arrived at Schwerin at twelve o'clock, and found the maréchal de la cour, the court servants and carriages at the station awaiting us. We were not installed in the castle, but at the Grand Duchess Marie's palace in the town itself. The maréchal who met us informed us that we were expected to luncheon at one o'clock. We just had time to change our dresses and drive to the castle. The lady of honor and the maréchal de la cour received us in the hall on the ground floor, and the elevator took us up to the salon where the Grand Duke and the Grand Duchess were awaiting us.

The Grand Duchess is very charming and very handsome. She is the daughter of the Duchess of Cumberland, granddaughter of King Christian. We had luncheon in one corner of the vaulted hall—a luncheon of twenty people. I sat on the right of the Grand Duke, who was most amiable. After luncheon the Grand Duchess took me into her boudoir and showed me all her souvenirs—photographs of Bernstorff, a screen painted by the Queen of Denmark, and aquarelles of Gmunden, her home. She has all the charm of her dear mother and her beloved grandmother.

At four o'clock we left and drove about Schwerin, making the obligatory visits. A court carriage with a lackey was put at our service during our stay. I rested, having rushed about since eight o'clock in the morning.

Our apartment in this palace looked as if the mistress had just left it. The drawing-room is filled with knick-knacks, a piano with music on it, and tables with writing-materials. At seven o'clock we dined with the grand master of ceremonies and his wife at their palace. A dinner where you know none of the guests and no one knows you must naturally be uninteresting, and this one did not prove the contrary. At half past nine we went again to the château to attend the ball. A chamberlain met us at the antechamber and preceded us into the ballroom. The grand-ducal pair came toward us, and I was led to my place on a raised dais. I danced the quadrille d'honneur with the Grand Duke. Very nearly every one in the room was presented to me, and I found among them many people I had known before—therefore we had some subjects of conversation, for which I was thankful.

The château is a bijou. It has a winding staircase which is worthy of Blois. We mounted this to go to the supper-room. The supper was served at small tables, and was excellent. Frederikke danced the cotillion, and we stayed until the end. It had indeed been a long day for me. The next day we drove to the château and bid their Highnesses good-by.

BERLIN, 1904.

Dear L.,—At one of the Towers's costume balls Mr. X, of American renown, dressed conspicuously as Jupiter (of all ironies!), stalked about, trying to act up to his part by shaking in people's faces his ridiculous tin bolts held in white kid-glove hands, and facetiously knocking them on the head. He happened, while talking to a lady, to be right in front of the young Prince. A friend tapped him discreetly on the shoulder, giving him a significant look. "What is the matter?" said Mr. X, in a loud voice, glaring at his friend. A gentle whisper informed him that he had better turn round and face the Prince. "Heavens!" said the ungracious Jupiter. "I can't help it; I'm always treading on their toes" (meaning the Prince's).

Speaking of indiscretions, I was told (I cannot say whether it is true) that Mrs. Z, one of our compatriots, having met the Emperor in Norway, where their yachts were stationed, and feeling that she was on familiar enough terms, said to him:

"Is it not lovely in Paris? Have you been there lately?"

"No, I have not," answered the surprised Kaiser.

"Oh, how queer! You ought to go there. The French people would just love to see you."

"Do you think so?" said the Emperor with a smile.

Thus encouraged, she enlarged on her theme, and, speaking for the whole French nation, continued, gushingly, "And if you would give them back Alsace and Lorraine they would simply adore you."

The Kaiser, looking at her gravely, as if she had solved a mighty problem, said, "I never thought of that, madame."

The dear lady probably imagines to this day that she is the apostle of diplomacy. She came to Berlin intending (so she said) to "paint Berlin red." She took the list of court people and sent out invitations right and left for her five-o'clock teas, but aristocracy did not respond. Berlin refused to be painted.

BERLIN, September, 1905.

Dear ____,—The Kaiser went to Copenhagen on the Hohenzollern. Johan and I met Frederick and Nina and stayed with them during the Emperor's visit. There was a very large dinner at Fredensburg, a dinner at Charlottenberg (the Crown Prince's château) in honor of the Kaiser. Prince Carl, who is about to be made King of Norway, was there. Princess Maud was in England. The King seemed to be in the best of spirits, and the two sovereigns laughed and joked together. The Emperor has a great affection for the King, and loves to show his respect and devotion. He often puts his arm around the King's shoulder when talking to him. I will just add here that Johan received another decoration, and Frederick, who is now Minister of Foreign Affairs, received a grand cordon, as well as a bust in bronze of the Kaiser. My gift from the Emperor is a beautiful gold cigarette-case with his autograph in diamonds on the front, with the imperial crown, also in diamonds.

The Kaiser went to a dinner given in his honor at the Y's.... Johan, Frederick, Nina, and I were among the guests. At the end of the rather long dinner a little episode happened which shows how quick the Emperor is to understand a situation and perceive its humorous side. According to custom, the Emperor occupies the hostess's place, with her at his right. Herr Y made signs to his wife across the table, and in a stage whisper begged her to find out from the Emperor if he wished coffee served at table or in the adjoining salon. The hostess apparently neither heard nor understood; at any rate, she said nothing to the Emperor. The host asked again, in a stagier whisper, and made signs with his head toward the other room. Still no answer. The Emperor, looking over to me (I sat next to the host), said, with a merry twinkle in his eye, "Something wrong in the code of signals." A few moments after he said quite casually to the host, "Would you mind if we had coffee in the other salon?"

The Emperor that evening was in excellent spirits. In his short mess-jacket he looked like a young cadet. He told us several amusing anecdotes and experiences in a most witty manner. Nina said to him:

"Your Majesty, I have been looking in all the shop-windows to-day to see if I could find a good photograph of you. I wanted to bring it, and was going to ask you to sign it, but—"

"But you could not find anything handsome enough, hein?" inquired the Emperor, laughing.

"That is true," Nina answered. "Your Majesty's photographs do not do you justice."

Beckoning to an adjutant, the Emperor said, "I want you to send to the shops and bring what photographs of me you can find."

The man departed. Although it was nine o'clock and most of the shops must have been shut, he did manage to bring some. Then the Kaiser examined the photographs, with a little amusing remark on each. "I do not think this is handsome enough—I look so cross. And this one looks conceited, which I don't think I am. Do you?"

"Not in the least," Nina answered.

"In this one," he remarked, "I look as if I had just ordered some one to be hanged. And this one [taking up another] looks like a Parsifal de passage"—referring to something I had once said.

"I did not say Parsifal, your Majesty. I said Lohengrin."

"All the same thing," said he.

"Not at all," I said. "One was a knight, and the other was a fool."

"Well," he laughed, "I look like both."

He did not like any of the photographs, and sent to the Hohenzollern for his own collection. His servant came back almost directly (he must have had wings) and brought a quantity of portraits, which were much finer and larger than those from the shops. He begged us to choose the one we liked best, and he wrote something amusing on it and signed his name.

BERLIN, January, 1906.

Dear ____,—The sad news of the death of our adored old King arrived this evening. We were very surprised, as the last account we had heard of him seemed more hopeful. Though he was so very old (eighty-six years), he had a wonderful constitution and always was so active. I am glad that I saw him when he was here last year and had such a pleasant afternoon with him.

Johan was one of the pall-bearers at the King's funeral at Roskilde. I did not go on to Copenhagen. There was a funeral service here at the Scandinavian chapel. We are to have mourning for six months.

BERLIN, June 6, 1906.

Dear L.,—If I were going to be married and had to go through all the ceremonies which attend the marriage of a German princess, I think I would remain an old maid.

I will tell you what the wedding of the Princess Cecilia of Mecklenburg was like. As it was the first royal wedding that I had ever attended, my impressions are fresh, if not interesting. I have seen royal silver and golden weddings, but never anything like this.

The day before yesterday, the hottest day of all the tropical days we have been having, the Princess arrived in Berlin. The Emperor and the Empress met her at the station and drove her to Bellevue Castle, where there was a family lunch. She had numerous deputations and visits of all sorts until five o'clock, when she made her public entrance into Berlin, passing through Brandenburger Tor. All the streets where the Princess was to pass were decorated à l'outrance with flags and flowers. Carpets were hung from the balconies.

The middle of the Unter den Linden, usually left to pedestrians, was freshly strewn with red earth for the procession of the carriages. All the public buildings were festooned with enormous paper roses as big as cabbages. There were high poles holding gilded baskets filled with flowers. In order that every one of the populace should have a souvenir these flowers were soaked in a preparation of wax, which made them quite hard, and they were warranted to last for some time. Streamers of paper flowers, graduating from light yellow through the whole gamut of rainbow colors and ending in dark blue, reached to the ground from the tops of the houses. The Opera House outdid itself. It was wise to cover it as much as possible—it is such an ugly building.

The French Ambassador invited us to see the entrée from the balcony of the Embassy in Pariser Platz. The little maidens, their heads crowned with wreaths, had been waiting in the sun for hours with their baskets filled with roses, which they were to throw before the Princess as she passed.

It was a splendid procession, headed by the Hofstalmeister, followed by a staff of officers spangled with orders and decorations, in the most gorgeous uniforms. Then the blast of trumpets and a mounted military band preceded the gala coach, only used for weddings, drawn by six horses with huge white plumes on their heads. In the coach was the Empress, and on her right the Princess Cecilia in a light-blue dress, white hat, and long blue feathers.

The coach stopped in the Platz, and the Mayor of Berlin approached the window and presented a huge bouquet and delivered an address to the Princess, who bowed graciously and smiled.

The Empress looked very happy.

After this came all the other gala coaches, followed by the garde du corps.

There was a family dinner, and after that the gala performance at the Opera. I have already told you about these gala performances, so this will be only a repetition, except that there were more flowers and more carpets. All around on the ledge of the balcony there were fresh and real roses and carnations, so that every lady could take a bouquet away with her. Garlands of paper flowers hung the entire distance from the ceiling to the prompter's box. One wondered how they found hands enough in Berlin to make all these thousands of flowers.

The parquet was a garden of uniforms. The Emperor entered with the bride-elect on his arm, and the Empress with the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince wore the white uniform of the Guards, and a silver helmet. The other princes followed, all entering very quietly. Every one in the theater bowed and courtesied, and save for the rustling of dresses and the rattling of swords there was not a sound to be heard. The Crown Prince and his fiancée sat in the middle seats, the Emperor to the right of his daughter.

The overture was a composition made for the occasion, and played while all the lights were blazing, in order that every one could have a good look at the Princess.

Then gradually the theater became dark, and the opera commenced. It was "Orphée," by Glück. Madame Destinn sang the principal part. Her voice is very beautiful, but she is so small, and somewhat dumpy, that she did not look much like an Orphée. To make the opera shorter they combined the first and second acts, and to allow Orphée to go from hell to heaven without letting down the curtain they had invented a sort of treadmill on which Orphée and Eurydice should walk while the landscape behind them moved. It was a very ungraceful way of walking. They looked as if they were struggling up a hill over rough and stony ground.

We went into the foyer after the performance and were presented to the Princess. I had known her as a young girl in Cannes, where her parents lived, therefore we had something to talk about. She is very charming, tall and willowy, and has a pleasant word and smile for every one.

The wedding-day dawned in a relentless haze. We were invited to be at the chapel of the Schloss at five o'clock. The regulations about our court dress were the same as for the Schleppenkur, only we were begged not to wear white. My dress was yellow, with a yellow manteau de cour. Frederikke wore a light-green pailletted dress with a light-green train. We were a little late in starting; our Schutzmann had waited patiently in the courtyard for a long time. We drove through the crowded streets, lined with spectators. Each clock we passed pointed in an exasperating way to the fact that we were late. J.'s sword seemed always to be in the way; every time he spoke out of the window to urge on the already goaded coachman the sword would catch on something. The air was more than suffocating, and there was evidently a storm brewing.

We arrived before the portal of the Schloss at the last moment. Ours was the last carriage to arrive. The pompous Suisse pounded his mace on the ground and said, warningly, "You must hurry; the Kaiser is just behind you." And we did hurry.

The staircase makes three turns for each flight, and the chapel is the highest place in the palace, meaning seven turns for us. I grasped the tail of my ball dress in one hand and my heavy court train in the other and prepared to mount. On each turn I looked behind and could just see the eagle on the top of the Emperor's silver helmet. We hurried as I never hurried in my life, for if his Majesty had got ahead of us on any of these turns where the two flights meet and part, we would have been shut out from the chapel. As it was, one door was already closed. They opened it for us, and we were the last to enter before the princes. We crossed the chapel to reach the estrade on which stood the Corps Diplomatique. In my hurry I forgot to let down my dress, and I don't dare to think how much stocking I must have exhibited. When finally I did reach my place I was so out of breath it took me a long time before I was in it again.

THE ROYAL PALACE AND LUSTGARTEN, BERLIN

There was a general who stood before me with his plumed hat in his hand, and the plumes waved about like palm-trees, so near were they to my panting!

Then the Emperor appeared with his suite, and stood at the right of the altar. He was a little ahead of time. There were about seventy-two princes and princesses. Each of the princesses had a page or a young lady to hold up her train.

The Empress then entered, followed by her suite. The youngest demoiselle d'honneur held her train, which was of red velvet covered with heavy embossed gold embroidery.

After the Empress came the Crown Prince in his white garde de corps uniform. He looked very young and slender and quite pale.

A moment after the bride came in. Six young ladies held her train, which was light-blue velvet embroidered in silver, over a white-satin gown covered with beautiful point lace. The train was carefully spread on the floor.

The choir of boys high up in the dome sang psalms with many verses. Then the clergyman commenced his exhortation, which was very long. The heat was intense. Some ladies about me thought they were going to faint, but happily they could not make up their minds.

Although the music was delicious, I longed to hear the organ. Especially when the ceremony was finished I hoped that we should hear Mendelssohn's March. But there was no organ in the chapel.

It took the royal persons a long time to leave the chapel, each princess taking up a great deal of space with her train and her train-bearer. The last princely couple were strangely contrasted. The young Duchesse d'Aosta, who is unusually tall, walked with a tiny Siamese prince. We followed down the steps to the Weissesaal, where the members of the Diplomatic Corps defiled before the throne and made our courtesy—one only—before the Emperor. All the suites and court gentlemen stood massed together opposite the throne. It was quite an ordeal to walk under the fire of so many eyes, as the parquet was without any carpet and very slippery, and the length of the room immense.

After waiting what seemed an hour, the royalties, headed by the Emperor and the Empress, walked past us.

The spectacle of these fifty princesses with their magnificent dresses, blazing with jewels, made one gasp.

Besides all the royal people of Germany, representatives from other countries were present. Prince Christian and his wife, who is the sister to the bride, represented Denmark.

They all disappeared in the banqueting-hall at the end of the gallery. We others sat down at tables each containing twelve people, and were served a regular dinner.

Each table in our room had a superb surtout de table in silver, and silver drinking-cups worthy of a museum. The ménus and bonbons were trimmed with white-satin frills and had the photographs of the Crown Prince and Princess, and were laid by each plate. A dinner for three thousand people! The young ladies and officers had their dinner at a standing buffet.

We went back to the ballroom after the royalties had passed us again. The clouds outside were very oppressive.

Then the traditional Fackeltanz commenced. The Corps Diplomatique had a platform to itself, fenced in with cords. We were so crowded that had it not been for the cord which held us in our places we would have tumbled out.

The ladies of the nobility also had a platform. The herald, dressed in a short medieval, red-velvet costume, with the embroidered coat of arms of Germany on his breast, advanced, trumpet in hand, and announced that the Fackeltanz was about to begin. The orchestra played a gavotte; and the Crown Prince, giving his hand to the Empress, and the Crown Princess giving hers to the Emperor, preceded by eight pages with torches and by Prince Fürstenberg, walked around the room. When they arrived before the throne they made the most reverential of bows before parting with their Majesties, who took their places on the throne. The Princess's train was carried by four young ladies, and by her side walked Countess Harrach, one of the dames de palais. After this the Princess walked with every prince according to his rank, sometimes with two, one on each side, and the Prince walked with two ladies. Each tour of the salon they made they stopped in front of the Emperor and bowed and received their next partner. Fancy what fatigue!

The storm which we had expected now really burst upon us. Peals of thunder mingled with the strains of the orchestra, and almost shook the ground.

At eleven o'clock the Princess had danced with every one and had made hundreds of courtesies, and on the signal given by their Majesties retired with her suite. We went down the Hölletreppe (in English, hell-stairs), a rather diabolical name, but I hope it was paved with better intentions than the Wendeltreppe, where we went up. My intention was, bed.

We found our carriages and drenched coachman and dragged our trains home to their resting-places.

We had been eight hours under arms.

Every one received a white ribbon with a little gold fringe on the end, bearing the monogram of the married couple. It was a honi soit qui mal y pense remembrance of the royal wedding.

Prince Wilhelm Hohenzollern,[^[2] ] cousin of the Emperor, is a great philatelist, and brought his magnificent collection of albums (eight or ten large ones) to show me, and a pile of duplicates. His victoria was quite filled when he drove up to our door, and his chasseur had to make two trips to bring them all up. Collectors of postage-stamps make a brotherhood in themselves. He knew each stamp in his books, and explained all to us.

He has twelve thousand! I brought out my little collection very shyly—it was so insignificant beside his. We passed two hours going through the two collections. He left six thousand duplicates with me to look over and chose from, so my collection was enriched by one thousand new specimens. He told me he had inherited a whole collection from his uncle, the King of Rumania. He came to drink with us, and was always most amiable. He does not play cards, nor is he musical in any way, therefore conversation was our only resource. I brought in all my animals and put them through their tricks; the parrot played up wonderfully. He followed me about the room, sat on my shoulder, sang, and whistled. What amused people most was, when I sang "Medje," a very sentimental song, he imitated a rire-fou which seemed so inappropriate that every one was convulsed with laughter. Then I showed my doves, which were pronounced "perfect darlings." My seven dogs did their best to amuse us. The parrot ran after them and bit their tails, which the dogs did not resent in the least.

Prince Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia also dined with us—a very formal dinner. He is rather serious for such a young man. He is tall and thin, and in his high, buttoned-to-the-chin uniform he looks even taller than he really is. He is very musical, and brought his violin and several books of music. He only approves of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart in his severer moods. He likes Bach best of all. He plays very correctly, one might say without a fault, but I have heard violinists who play with more brio. He listened with kindness to a young Danish girl who executed a dashing solo by Brahms divinely, and nodded his head in approval when she had finished. The Prince was begged to play several times, and he went through the entire répertoire of sonatas he had brought with him. The guests were immensely pleased, and the soirée was very successful.

His brother, Prince Joachim Albrecht, is also a very good musician, but differs radically from Prince Wilhelm. He plays the violoncello very well, and favors modern music. He composes ballads, and leads his own regimental orchestra. He is as jolly and unconventional as his brother is reserved and grave. When he dines with us he brings his violoncello, and I accompany him on my piano. He composed two very pretty and successful ballets, both given for charity. The first one was danced by Frederikke and two other girls and three young officers. It was called "La Leçon de Danse." On the top of the program, instead of the English device, "Honi soit qui mal y pense," I put "Honi soit qui mal y danse" in the same shield. Hardly any one in the German audience saw the joke—nothing more than that it was a druckfehler (printer's error). The rehearsals were in my salon, and we had great amusement over them. The second ballet was more pretentious, and was danced in one of the largest theaters in Berlin. It was called the "Enchanted Castle." A parvenu buys an ancestral castle, and on his arrival there falls asleep in the great hall, filled with the portraits of ancestors and knights in armor. The ladies, in their old-fashioned dresses, step out from their frames, and with the knights in armor move in a stately quadrille. After they return to their frames, thirty young couples dance a ballet, and when they finish, the parvenu wakes up. It was very pretty and brought in a lot of money, and there was a question of its being repeated for the Emperor, but this was not done.

February, 1908.

Dear L.,—The Crown Prince and the Crown Princess gave a small bal-costume. It was their first entertainment of any importance, though there were very few people invited. As Frederikke is a dancing young person, we were invited, enabling me to take many girls under my protecting wing. The Emperor was dressed as the Grand Elector of Brandenburg. The Empress had copied an old family portrait at San Souci. She had a voluminous blond peruke and a flowing blue dress. She looked very handsome. The Princes were generally dressed as their ancestors and looked very familiar, as almost all of them stand in the Sièges Allée. I learned much of German history that evening. The Emperor was very kind and gave me a spirited and concise history of those whom his six sons represented. No one except the Kaiser would ever have had the persistency to stay booted and spurred during the whole evening without a murmur, though he must have suffered from the heat and been uncomfortable to a great degree. He had thick, brown curls which hung close about his ears; thick, high, and hot leather boots; and heavy leather gloves which he conscientiously kept on till the very end.

The Kaiser is a wonderful personality. The more I see him the more I admire him. He impresses you as having a great sense of power and true and sound judgment. And then he is kind and good. I do not think him capable of doing a mean or small action.

Mrs. Vanderbilt drove me out to Potsdam in her motor, and, going through the forest, we passed in our hurried flight an automobile which we did not have time to remark upon. That evening there was a ball at court. When the Emperor spoke to me he said: "You flew by the Empress and me like lightning this afternoon when we were walking in the forest."

"Was that your Majesty's motor?" I asked. "We went so fast that I did little else than hold on to my seat. It must have seemed ill-mannered to have flown by like that."

There is to-night a Gesinde Ball to which we are going. I know that you have no idea as to what a Gesinde Ball is, so I will tell you that it is a ball given at some kind house by a kind lady. People dress themselves up as servants. It is our wildest dream, and we are never so happy as when we are gotten up to look like ladies' maids. I can tell you how some of them will look—self-made and to the manner born. I am going, since commands from superior quarters make it imperative, as a giddy old housekeeper or a care (worn) taker who has taken a smart gown from her mistress's wardrobe on the sly.

Several evenings later I heard your prima donna with patience (because you sent her), but not with enthusiasm. She is like a hundred other would-be prima donnas who cannot sing now and never can. These flock to Berlin, study with all their might for two or three years, and sing worse each year. Then they give a concert, for which they give away the tickets. They say they must have the Berlin criticism. In the mean time their families are eating dry bread and their friends are squeezed like lemons. They get their criticism in some paper, cut it out, stick it on a nice piece of paper, and send it to their countrymen, who are out of pocket for a thousand marks or so. Then they go back to their homesteads, discouraged and unhappy, and sing for nothing in the village choir for the rest of their lives.

Our winters are very much alike—always the same routine. The season commences with the reception of the grande maîtresse, then comes the Schleppenkur, the Ordensfest, and after that the Emperor's birthday, with a gala opera in the evening; then the first, second, and third balls at court, and the gala performances at the Opera when any sovereign comes to Berlin on a visit. In Lent there is always one entertainment at court. After Easter every one disappears and all the blinds are pulled down. Those who remain in Berlin pretend they are away.

The Emperor speaks French and English with equal ease, but he likes best to speak English. He can be very lively at times, and then the next moment just as serious again. While talking to you he never takes his eyes off your face. He is seemingly all attention. Sometimes when the diplomatic ladies stand side by side he glances to the next lady, evidently making up his mind about what he will talk with her. His voice is singularly clear, and what he says is straight to the point. He has the rare gift of making the person to whom he is talking appear at his very best. The life in Potsdam is, I have been told, very home-like and cozy. The Emperor often spends the evening reading aloud, while the Empress sits near with her knitting. They love to be in the Neues Palais and stay there until after Christmas. Their Christmas festivities must be worth seeing. Each prince has a Christmas tree and a table of his own, makes his own choice of presents, and ties up his own packages—as it were—and lights the Christmas candles. These festivals are held in the mussel-room, on the ground floor, original if not pretty—a combination of shells, mother-of-pearl, and glass stone, which must be very effective in the brilliantly lighted room.

The Empress is very fond of riding, but often drives a little pony-carriage with two English "high-steppers." Once when the Shah of Persia was spending the day at Potsdam the Empress offered to take him out for a drive in the park. Half-way to their destination the lively pace of the horses alarmed the Shah. He put his hand over hers, which held the reins, and said in his pigeon-French, "Vous-mourir seule" and got out and walked back.

The Emperor said to me, "Do you know Mr. Carnegie?"

I said that I did not.

"He is a clever gentleman," continued the Emperor. "Can you guess what he said to me?"

I shook my head.

The Emperor then quoted Mr. Carnegie: "You and Mr. Roosevelt would make a nice tandem."

"That shows tact and discrimination," I remarked.

The Emperor laughed. "I asked him which he thought would be the wheel-horse?"

"What did he answer to that?" said I.

"I am afraid Mr. Carnegie did not find anything to answer just then. He has not your talent for repartee."

"In this case," I assured his Majesty, "I should not have answered at all, for I have no idea what a wheel-horse is. If it is the horse which makes all the wheels turn, then it must be your Majesty."

"You see!" said the Emperor, shaking his finger and laughing.

We had the great pleasure of welcoming Prince Hans (King Christian's brother). Johan was with him in Greece many years ago and has never ceased to love him. He is the most polite gentleman I ever saw; he almost begs your pardon for being kind to you. He dined with us yesterday. We invited to meet him Prince Albert Schleswig-Holstein (his nephew) and Prince and Princess Wied[^[3]]. This young couple are delightfully charming. The Prince has the most catching smile. It is impossible not to be in good spirits when you are with him. We sat out on the balcony after dinner and took our coffee and looked out into the brilliantly lighted square of Brandenburger Tor with its network of trams. I think our apartment is the most beautifully situated in all Berlin.

March, 1908.

Dear L.,—The King of Spain is in Berlin now on a visit of a few days to the Emperor. We only saw him at the gala performance at the Opera. The Kaiser had chosen "The Huguenots." It was beautifully put on. Madame Hempel sang the part of Marguerite de Valois, and Madame Destinn sang Valentine. The house was decorated in the usual manner, with carpets hanging from the balconies and flowers in great profusion everywhere. The King of Spain sat between the Kaiser and the Kaiserin. He looks very young and very manly. After the first act, when we all met in the foyer, the Emperor stood by him, and sometimes would take him by the arm and walk about in order to present people to him. I was presented to him, but I did not get more than a smile and a shake of the hand—I could not expect more. Johan was more favored, for the King asked him how long he had been in Berlin. You must confess that even that was not much.

I was compensated by having quite a long talk with the Kaiser—long for him, as he has so many people to talk to, and he feels, I am sure, every eye of the hoping-to-speak-to-him person in the room. He said:

"I have just been reading the memoirs of General von Moltke. Did you ever know him?"

"No," I said, "I never saw him, but I have a letter from him, written in 1856 to my father-in-law, dated from the Tuileries."

"He often speaks in his letters of your husband's grandparents' home in Copenhagen—how he always felt at home and happy there, and was always sure to find a charming circle of interesting and literary people. You must read it; it would interest your husband, too."

"Did your Majesty ever hear about Moltke's visit to some grand-ducal court? Moltke thought, of course, that as he had all the grand cordons and decorations in creation, he had also that of this court. When he was going to visit the Grand Duke he said to his servant, 'Don't forget my decoration,' The servant looked high and low, but could not find it, and, thinking that he had mislaid it, went and bought one. Moltke put on his uniform, the decoration being in place on his breast. When the Grand Duke entered he had in his hand an étui containing the decoration, intending to hang it around Moltke's neck himself. Imagine his surprise at seeing it there already!"

BERLIN, November, 1908.

Dear L.,—Our King and Queen visit Berlin.

When the Emperor learned of the date for the visit, and that their Majesties were to be accompanied by the Minister of Foreign Affairs (Frederick) he proposed that Nina should also come, and he invited them to be his guests at the Schloss. This was joyful news for me. Though Nina had just had a dreadful fall while riding and had broken her arm and wrist, she had the courage to undertake the journey. They traveled with their Majesties.

The Lehrter Bahnhof is particularly well adapted to receive royalties. It has a fine façade, and the open square in front is large enough to contain the military bands and the hundreds of carriages of all sorts. Today it was overflowing.

Inside the station a broad flight of steps lead down to the platform, where was spread the traditional red carpet; the plants, bushes, and flowers all made it look very gay and festive. The train was expected at eleven o'clock. We hoped to get there very early, but found the Emperor and his staff already on the platform, waiting. As our little party arrived (we and the Secretaries) the Emperor came forward, took my hand, and kissed it very graciously. We stood talking until the Empress came, accompanied by all her ladies and suite. The train was announced by many signals and many whistlings, but no train came in. The locomotive had given out and the train had stopped a good way out of the station. The carpet not reaching so far, their Majesties were obliged to walk quite a distance on the wet platform. By means of shunting and jerking the royal train was brought in under the station roof, but nowhere near the carpet. The small steps were put up to the carriage door, and the King and Queen descended. The Emperor kissed the King on both cheeks. The Empress received the Queen affectionately and gave her a bouquet, which she carried in her hand. I saw Nina's pale face, pinched with pain, in the distance, and longed to fly to her, but etiquette compelled me to stay to make my obeisance to their Majesties. The band which was in the station struck up the Royal Danish March, and we could hardly hear ourselves speak on account of the tremendous resonance. The procession of resplendent uniforms and the bright colors of the ladies' dresses made a brilliant sight as they walked through the station. The Empress led the way, and we all followed to the waiting-room, where presentations to the Queen took place. The Empress presented every one of the ladies to the Queen, even me. All the royal carriages seemed to be out—two open barouches with four horses were for the four royalties. I drove to the castle to see Nina, who was already installed in her regal apartment. I went up the Wendeltreppe, through two antechambers and a small salon, before reaching her magnificent drawing-room. It had superb tapestries on the walls and was filled with fine old Dutch inlaid furniture. It is called the Braunschweig suite, nine rooms in all. Frederick had a separate staircase and entrance. Nina and I went to the window to look out onto the Platz in front of the castle, and saw the parade pass before the Emperor and the King, who stood in the rain while the troops marched by.

Nina had a court carriage and lackey at her disposal all the time she was in Berlin. In the evening there was a state dinner in the superb Weissesaal. Johan and I and the members of the Legation were the only diplomats present. We all met in the Grand Gallery; the Emperor took in the Queen of Denmark, placing her on his right, and the King gave his arm to the Empress and sat facing the Emperor. The table was in the shape of a horseshoe, and there were about eighty people present. Prince Schleswig-Holstein (familiarly called Prince Abby) took me in, and the Emperor's son, Prince Adalbert, sat on my left. The ménu was in German. Some of the French dishes seemed to have puzzled the translator. The Empress wore a dress of blue brocade and many beautiful jewels. Our Queen wore a light-gray satin trimmed with lace, and her famous diamond-and-pearl necklace. The Emperor wore the Danish uniform, and the King was in the uniform of his Prussian regiment. A military band played throughout dinner.

I was amused when the fruit and bonbons were passed. Both the princes next to me piled their plates high with them and passed them over their shoulders to the young gentlemen pages who stood behind each royal person, thus depriving many ladies of the longed-for bonbons, which were adorned with the portraits of their Majesties.

The Emperor made a very charming and touching speech in German, when we all stood up and emptied our glasses. The King replied in German, and we again got up and drank. After dinner every one went into the long gallery, and their four Majesties talked very informally with us while taking their coffee. At eleven o'clock their Majesties retired. I was glad, for Nina's sake, that she could rest after her fatiguing day. I knew that she was suffering agonies from her tightly bandaged wrist. Her arm was in a plaster cast, and she carried it in a sling cleverly hidden under her laces. The next day the Empress took the Queen with her to visit some charitable institutions. The King and the Queen had graciously promised to lunch at our house, which was surrounded by a cordon of police, on foot and on horseback, in front and in the courtyard belonging to the Legation.

At two o'clock quite a procession of court carriages entered our porte-cochère, where I met the Queen, presenting her with a bouquet tied with ribbons of the Danish colors—red and white. Our lunch was for forty people, and was served in two rooms. The King gave me his arm. The Emperor had sent in the morning a life-sized crayon portrait of himself by Lenbach as a present. The whole staircase was lined with palms and bushes, and of course there were plenty of flowers in the rooms.

After luncheon a deputation of the Danish colony met in the large salons and were presented to their Majesties. It was after five o'clock before every one had departed. The policemen had filed off, and the crowds which had collected in the street disappeared.

The gala opera in the evening was like all the other gala operas I have described. At eight o'clock every one had assembled and was in his place. The opera was called "Der Lange Kerl," written at the Emperor's command by some German composer. It was a beautiful production, and represented Frederick the Great at Sans-Souci. In the first act the interior of Sans-Souci was copied after the famous picture of Mezzler where Frederick the Great is playing on the flute. The "Long Fellow" was a giant, who, it seems, was a common soldier in the King's regiment. Madame Destinn took the part of a peasant woman, and washed up the pavement and prepared her vegetables for sale in the most realistic manner. The second scene, when Potsdam wakes up in the morning, reminded me of the opening of the second act of "Lohengrin." The last act was very sad, and rather lugubrious, representing Frederick the Great seated in the garden in front of Sans-Souci. There was no singing in this act at all, only pantomime. The respectful manner and the sad faces of the lackeys as they helped the poor old King to his chair and covered his knees with rugs, leaving him alone, was very pathetic.

We went into the foyer after the performance. The Empress presented all the notable people to the Queen, and I stood near her in order to present others if necessary.

BERLIN, May, 1910.

Dear L.,—Do not be surprised that you have not heard from me. We have been motoring. A most delightful tour. One does not know the bliss of traveling until one motors through Germany as we have just done. I would send you my diary, but it reads too much like a ship's log. We started from Berlin on the 1st of May and went as far as Eisenach. In trying to climb the steep hill which leads to the halls where Tannhauser sang his naughty description of Venusberg our motor broke down, as if to commemorate the spot. We had to spend the night at Eisenach for repairs. The next day we passed Gotha, where we lunched, and passed the night at Fulda. The next day we went on to Weimar, where Liszt's memory is as green as the trees in the grand-ducal park.

Everything is beautiful in this time of the year, and the days are long. What could be more enchanting I leave to your imagination.

In Munich we galleried from morning to night, and were utterly exhausted and hardly had the courage to dress for the opera; but, having tickets, economy got the better of prudence, and we sat through the long performance of "Don Giovanni" with Geduld.

Andrada, the Portuguese barytone, was very good and looked the part to perfection. In real life I am told he is a Don Juan himself. If the list of his victims has not yet reached mille et un the fault cannot be laid at his door. His stage victims were all fat German Frauen. Zerlina wore a blond wig, showed very black eyebrows and red lips. Her golden molars showed from afar. Our visit to the artist Lenbach and his wife was followed by an invitation to tea the next day. Lenbach is divorced from his first wife, married to a Countess Arnim (also divorced). They have a dear little girl whom Lenbach has painted several times. The studio is in a charming garden, arranged in the most artistic manner, full of broken columns and antique relics resembling the gardens on the Venice canals. Lenbach seen in the bosom of his family is a different Lenbach from the one we knew in Rome and Paris—half society man, half artist. Here he is simply all papa.

We motored over the mountain to Oberammergau. I do not dare to say that I was disappointed in the performance. I suppose years ago, when people began to go to Oberammergau, it was more interesting, but now it is simply an enterprise, speculation kept alive by travelers and sight-seers. As a representation it is impressive in a way, but your illusions are dimmed by the prosaic manner in which everything is done. I felt a little queer when I met Jesus Christ smoking and wiping his muddy sandals with a dirty handkerchief, and saw Mary Magdalene flirting with the chauffeurs. When we sat at a café, enjoying a mug of beer and a sausage, we were surrounded by St. Joseph and a brood of angels, all drinking beer. People may rave about the Stimmung, the poetry, and the romance of it, but I saw beauty neither in the acting nor in the play. I do not speak of the music, there was so little of it. Physical comfort goes a long way with yours lovingly. To sleep in a narrow bed having a piece of flannel buttoned between two coarse pieces of linen, to eat bad food, to sit on hard benches for hours under an open heaven which lets down occasionally a mild shower—this is what the Germans call Stimmung and others call "local color" and what I call discomfort. Still, it is one of the things one must do once in ten years. For a European to say, "I have not been to Oberammergau," is like an American saying, "I have never been to Niagara."

Whoever has been to see the crazy King Ludwig's châteaux knows more about them than I do, for I hated to go inside them. I gazed at the magnificent view and wondered how any but a crazy person could have furnished the interiors.

What a life the King led his faithful subjects! They are still taxing all they can tax in order to pay his debts. Poor things! They won't finish for a long time yet!

BERLIN.

Dear L.,—The visit to the Berlin court by King Edward and Queen Alexandra is already a thing of the past, but I must tell you about it while it is still fresh in my mind. We, as légation de famille, went to the Lehrter station to meet them on their arrival. When the train steamed in the Emperor and the Empress went forward to the door of the carriage, and as the King and the Queen descended they all embraced affectionately. The Empress led the Queen to the waiting-room, where she presented all the ladies who were there. There was music inside and outside of the station. In fact, everything was so exactly like the reception of our King and Queen, which I have described before, that I will not repeat myself.

King Edward looked tired and coughed constantly. The Queen, whom I had not seen for a long time, seemed quite unchanged and charming as ever. There is not much time on such occasions to say more than a few words to each. We saw them drive off amid the most enthusiastic greetings from the populace massed together in the square.

That evening there was a state banquet, served in the Weissesaal, at which the Kaiser read his speech in English to the King, and the King read his reply.

I sat between Lord Granville and Sir Charles Hardinge, between a cross-fire of wit and fun. The court orchestra, up in the gallery, played subdued music during the dinner, so that conversation was possible. Their four Majesties sat next to one another on one side of the table, and the Chancelier de l'Empire sat opposite the Empress. The English Embassy and ourselves were the only diplomats among the hundred guests. The bonbons which were served with the fruit had photographs of King Edward, the Queen, and the German Imperial family, and were, as is the custom, handed to the pages. These offerings are meant, I suppose, as a polite attention, and little souvenirs of the occasion, but the guests for whom the bonbons are intended go away empty-handed. These pages belong to the highest families in Germany, and are present at all court functions, such as balls and dinners, and stand behind the chairs of the royal personages at the table.

COUNT HATZFELDT
From a recent photograph. He was Prime Minister of Germany and German Ambassador to London, brother-in-law of Madame de Hegermann-Lindencrone. The picture shows over sixty decorations, all the important ones of Europe, which have been given him. It is custom that the decorations of orders in diamonds are kept by the family after the death of the recipient. All other orders go back to the governments bestowing them.

After dinner we went into the long gallery, which in one part was arranged as a salon, with fauteuils and chairs in circle.

To show what a wonderful memory King Edward has, he said to me:

"Do you remember a song you used to sing [I thought he was going to say 'Beware'] with something about, 'I mean the daughter'?"

"Yes, your Majesty, I remember very well. It was, 'I know a lady, a Mrs. Brady.'"

"Yes, that was it...'and has a daughter,' wasn't it?"

I said, "What a memory your Majesty has! Fancy remembering that all these years. It was when your Majesty came to Sommerberg to play tennis with Paul Hatzfeldt."

"That was a long time ago," continued King Edward. "I was stopping then with the King and the Queen of Denmark at Wiesbaden. I remember it all so well. Poor Hatzfeldt. You know what Bismarck said about him?"

"Was it not something about his being the best horse in his stable?"

"That is it," the King answered. "You have a good memory, too. How is Countess Raben?"

"You mean 'the daughter'?"

The King laughed. "Yes, I mean 'the daughter.'"

We did not stay long after the dinner, as evidently their Majesties were fatigued after their journey. The King coughed incessantly, and the Queen looked very tired. I think that she is beginning to look very like her mother, the dear old Queen.

The next day hundreds of court carriages were flying about Berlin; I wish you could see the packages of cards that were sent to us. In the evening was the gala opera. The Opera House is always decorated in the same way, and there is always the same audience.

"Sardanapal" was the play chosen by the Emperor for this performance. I thought it very interesting to look at, but impossible to understand. It was a combination of orchestral music, choruses, and pantomime. A dreadful-looking Nubian came out before the curtain between acts and told us in German poetry what was going to happen. The Emperor had taken a great interest in the play, and had indicated all the costumes himself. Every dress was a study and entirely correct, you may be sure, if the Kaiser had anything to do with it. The ornaments which the actors wore were copied from specimens in the museums. The scenery was very fine, and when Sardanapal was burned up, with his wives and collection of gold and silver things, the whole stage seemed to be on fire. This almost created a panic, and would have done so if the audience had not seen that their Majesties sat calmly in their seats. It was very realistic. The Emperor told me afterward in the foyer that the flames were nothing but chiffon, lighted with electric lights, and blown up with a fan from beneath. When the fire had done its work there was nothing left upon the stage but red-hot coals and smoldering débris. It was all very well, if we only had been spared the lugubrious man with the beard made of tight black curls, who did the talking.

The next day the luncheon in honor of their English Majesties at the English Ambassador's, Sir Edward Goschen, was full of emotion. King Edward wore the uniform belonging to his German regiment, which, besides being buttoned tightly and apparently much padded, has a high and tight collar. He had received a deputation of most of the English colony and already looked wearied before we went in to luncheon. This was served in the ballroom, and was a long and elaborate affair. The King sat opposite the Queen, and Sir Edward and Lady Goschen sat at either end of the table. All the princes, the German nobility, and ministers of state were present.

The King apparently had a good appetite, and talked with his neighbors right and left and opposite, and seemed to enjoy himself. When we re-entered the drawing-room the King lit an enormous cigar and, seating himself on a low sofa, talked and smoked, when suddenly he threw his head back against the sofa, as if gasping for breath. The Queen, who was on the other side of the room, rushed instantly to the King and quickly unbuttoned his collar and opened his coat. The two English physicians who had come with the King were finishing luncheon in another room. They were instantly called in, and they begged the guests to leave the salon in order that the King might have more air. The King had not fainted, but on account of the tight collar, the heat of the room, the big cigar, and the violent fit of coughing, it was almost impossible for him to get his breath. The physicians helped him up from the low sofa into a high chair, and took away the cigar; but the King, as soon as he could speak, said, "Give me another cigar." The physicians protested, but the King insisted upon the cigar, which they were obliged to give him. The guests returned, and the conversation rallied for a while, but the emotion of the few moments before could not be easily calmed.

The King left the room quietly, hardly any one seeing him, reached the automobile, and drove to the castle. The Queen followed him a few moments later.

We were prepared to receive notice at any moment that the ball fixed for that evening would be countermanded. But it was not, and at eight o'clock—the hour one goes to court balls here—found every one assembled. As usual, we took our places on the platform reserved for the ladies of the Corps Diplomatique, and then, with the ceremonial which I have so often described, their Majesties, preceded by the pages and court notables, entered. The Emperor gave his arm to Queen Alexandra, and the Empress entered with King Edward. It is customary for the Emperor and the Empress to make a tour of the invited guests, but this evening the royal persons stayed on the throne and did not move during the dances.

King Edward and the Queen supped at the table of the Emperor, and immediately afterward retired to their rooms and were seen no more. During the whole evening they had not spoken to a single person.

The next morning their Majesties took their departure from the Lehrter station. We went to bid them good-by. The Emperor, in speaking to me, said, "You know, my uncle had such a fright the other night when he saw the fire, he wanted to leave the theater; it was only when I told him that the flames were chiffon that I could quiet him."

When King Edward bade me good-by he said, "Please remember me to Countess Raben," and added, laughingly, "I mean the daughter."

Saint-Saëns and Massenet came to Berlin to assist at a sort of Congrès de musique. Massenet was invited to lead the orchestra in "Manon," and Saint-Saëns that of "Samson and Delilah." They accepted an invitation to lunch at our house, and I was delighted to see them again. They had come, they said, with prejudices on fire. They were sure that they would dislike everything German; but, having been begged to visit the Kaiser in his loge after the performance, they came away from the interview burning with enthusiasm. How charming the Emperor was! How full of interest! So natural! etc., etc. They could not find words for their admiration. That is the way with the Emperor. He charms every one.

The first of my articles about Compiègne appeared in Harper's Magazine in the summer. At the ball at court in the following January the Kaiser came to speak to me, his face beaming with the kindest of smiles.

"I can't tell you how I have enjoyed your articles, I read them to myself and read them out loud to the Empress."

"How," said I "did your Majesty discover them?"

"I have always taken Harper's Magazine, ever since I was a little boy. You may imagine how astonished I was when I saw something from your pen. Your description of Napoleon the Third is quite historical. You gave me a new idea of him. In many ways I always regret that I never saw him. I could have once, when I was quite small. I was with my parents at Nice, and the Emperor came there, but I did not see him."

BERLIN, May 1912.

Dear L.,—On the 14th we had just returned from a long motor trip, arriving late in the evening. How fortunate that we did not arrive a day later! The next morning Johan was called on the telephone. The message was from Hamburg, to say that our King (Frederick VIII) had died there, suddenly in the night. Johan, of course, took the first train for Hamburg.

This was dreadful news.

The King was traveling with the Queen, Princess Thyra, Prince Gustave, and the usual suite. His Majesty had bade them good-night and retired—alas! not to his room, for he wished to take a stroll through the streets of the town. It was only at two o'clock that the valet noticed that the King had not been in his room. Then he alarmed the Hof-Marshale, who, with the other gentlemen, commenced a search. At five o'clock they found his Majesty in the Krankenhaus. He had fainted in the street and had been put into a cab, in which he died. Johan stayed all the next day in Hamburg, accompanying the Queen on board the Daneborg (the royal yacht), which had been sent to take the King's body back to Denmark.

THE EMPEROR IN 1905
From an autographed photograph given to Madame de Hegermann-Lindencrone.

The Queen was overwhelmed with grief, but showed the greatest self-control.

It has been a distressing time indeed for the Duchess of Cumberland. She has lost her eldest son (killed in an automobile accident on the way to Schwerin to see his sister, the Grand Duchess) and now it is her brother who is taken so tragically. The young duke was very unwise to take that particular road. We had passed over the same route, or tried to, on our way to pay a visit to the grand-ducal pair not more than two weeks before. Our chauffeur was appalled at the dreadful condition of the road and advised turning back. We made a great détour and avoided an accident. The Duke was driving himself, and the ruts in the road made the car jump so that the wheel struck him under the chin, he lost control, and the machine struck a tree, killing the Duke instantly. The chauffeur was saved.

BERLIN.

Mr. Roosevelt and family arrived in Berlin three days ago. Society was on tiptoe with expectation. They talked of giving Arthur Nevin's Indian opera, "Poia," in order that the ex-President should have the thrill of seeing his compatriots in a German setting. This idea was abandoned, though Count Hülsen had accepted the opera and at an enormous expense had had it mounted at the Grand Opera.

The Kaiser received Mr. Roosevelt and was charmed with him, just as Mr. Roosevelt was charmed with the Kaiser. Of course, who could resist the magnetic forces of these two dii ex machinâ.

Ambassador and Mrs. Hill gave a large and all-comprising reception at the Embassy in honor of their distinguished guest, which is much too small to contain the entire society of Berlin and embrace (I like that word) all the American colony.

To gain a little more space they very practically turned the porte-cochère into a vestiaire, where we took off our mantles before crossing the carpet-covered carriage-drive.

Mr. Roosevelt was most amiable. He greeted people with a cordiality which bordered on épanchement—giving their hands a shaking the like of which they had never had before. Mr. Roosevelt remained by Mrs. Hill's side and smiled kindly at the guests as they poured in and out of the salon. That was about all the guests did—pour in and pour out. One could not expect even the most favored to exchange more than a few words with the great man.

Our conversations were in the style of the reception, short and quickly done with.

MRS. HILL: "This is Madame de Hegermann. She is American, from Cambridge, Massachusetts."

MR. ROOSEVELT: "Ah!... I am a Harvard man."

ME: "So am I! I mean I am a Harvard woman! I was born and brought up in Radcliffe College."

MR. R.: "Ah!" (Puzzled, trying to match the possible date of my birth with the birth of Radcliffe College.)

ME: "Radcliffe College was my grandparents' home."

MR. R.: "Oh, I see! Well, madame, I am delighted to shake hands with any one from Cambridge."

Johan's was like this:

MRS. HILL: "Monsieur de Hegermann was Danish Minister in Washington some years ago."

MR. R.: "I am sorry I was not President then. Ha! ha! Pleased to have met you, sir!"

We were told that there would be speeches under the flag, but we poured out without anything of the kind occurring.

BERLIN, 1912.

Dear L.,—It is not only the unexpected that arrives: the expected arrives also.

The news we have been expecting these last years arrived yesterday.

Diplomacy has decided to divorce us.

We are to leave Berlin.

Johan ought to have left the service four years ago. According to the protocole in Denmark, a Minister must retire when he reaches the d'age limite—the Ambassador retiring at the age of seventy.

The Prime Minister asked him to remain, and he did. But now it seems that the powers that be have decided.

It is very sad, but true.

Countess Brockdorf came to make me a visit of condolence. She said that her Majesty had begged her to express her regrets. In the course of the visit she asked me when my book[^[4] ] would come out, and when I told her that I thought in October she said, "I know that the Emperor is counting on your giving him a copy." I promised that I would not forget it.

---

On the day fixed for Johan's audience to present his letters of recall we were invited to luncheon at Neues Palais with their Majesties. At Wildpark, the Emperor's private station, a few miles from Potsdam, we were met by his carriage and drove through the beautiful park to the palace. The carriage stopped at the principal entrance, where a broad red carpet was stretched from the carriage-drive to the door. Johan got out there. Then I was driven to the other side of the palace, where I found another red carpet. This was the entrance which leads to the Empress's suite of apartments.

Countess Keller (the lady of honor) was waiting for me and led me to the Empress.

Her Majesty was most gracious; no one could have been more so. We remained talking until a lackey announced that Johan's audience was finished and that the Emperor was waiting in the dining-room for us. The Kaiserin kindly took me by the arm, and we went together into the adjoining salon, where we found the Emperor, the Princess Victoria Augusta, Johan, William von Kidderling (Minister of Foreign Affairs), who is always present at these official audiences, a chamberlain, an adjutant—not more than ten people in all.

The Kaiser, on seeing me, kissed my hand, and was, as usual, most kind and altogether delightful. I sat at his left, the young Princess being at his right. I tried to say how grieved we were at the idea of leaving Berlin, where we had spent ten happy years. He was gracious enough to say that both he and the Empress were very sorry to lose us. He said many appreciative things about what I had written in Harper's, and asked many questions showing that he had really read them. He seemed interested to hear about the Emperor Napoleon and the life at Compiègne. He said that he met Empress Eugénie for the first time when in Norway, three years ago. He had made a visit to her on her yacht, and she had "honored" him by taking tea with him on the Hohenzollern. He said, "How beautiful she must have been when she was young!"

"I saw her," I replied, "last spring at her villa at Cape Martin. She is still beautiful, though she is eighty years old."

"Eighty years!" cried the Kaiser, "and still a charmeuse! That is unique."

All through luncheon I was thinking that this was the last time I should be talking to the interesting and wonderful charmeur who was sitting next to me. The Kaiser has a way of fixing those discerning gray eyes of his on you when he talks, and you have the feeling that he is sifting and weighing you in his mind—and when he smiles his face lights up with humor and interest. You feel as if a life-buoy were keeping you afloat. He has that wonderful gift of making people appear at their best. I gave him my book after luncheon. It looks very fitting in its red morocco binding. He appeared greatly delighted with it and begged me to write my name on the first page, which, of course, I was happy to do.

The Empress exclaimed: "'Do give me one, too! Once the Emperor has it, I shall never get it."

The Kaiser's last words to us were, "Promise not to forget Berlin!"

Forget Berlin—never!

THE END

---

Footnotes:

[ ^[1] ]
King George of Greece who was assassinated in 1913.

[ ^[2] ]
Father of the princess who married the young ex-King of Portugal, Manuel, in 1913.

[ ^[3] ]
Now King and Queen of Albania.

[ ^[4] ]
In the Courts of Memory, published in the autumn of 1912.