“Yes, very happy,” I could answer truthfully enough; “I had not once hoped to see so much and that so speedily done.” To the first question I had to reply that I expected from this Conference only that it would be a beginning, a first step, a foundation stone laid.
I am becoming acquainted with the majority of the participants, even with the delegate from China and his wife. He is at the same time ambassador to the court of Russia.
“In St. Petersburg I heard you much talked about,” said Yang-Yü to me, through his interpreter, Lu Tseng-Tsiang; “Count Muravieff told me about his talk with you.”
The Chinese delegate’s young wife wears her native costume, including an embroidered silk robe, a tiny cap on her head, and paper flowers on each side of her temples. She is a pretty young woman, yet quite of the type which you see on Chinese porcelain; at the same time she is so heavily rouged that her face resembles a changeless enameled mask. She is very friendly and shakes hands vigorously with all who are presented to her. She is accompanied by her son, a lad of twelve or thirteen, who speaks English and French and interprets for her.
Meet many of the old friends, Descamps, Beernaert, Rahusen, and others.
A stranger approaches me: “Baroness, I am happy to meet you again.” It is Baron d’Estournelles. We have not met before, but our preceding correspondence justifies the word “revoir.” He is a genial man, with fine head, dark mustache, and diplomatic manners; we have a heart-to-heart conversation. His speech sparkles with witty observations, but a profound earnestness inspires him for the Cause.
At my request he introduces to me his chief, Léon Bourgeois. The former French Prime Minister is the youngest head of a delegation, and when seen among all the white-haired ambassadors, veterans in diplomacy, such as Staal, Münster, Nigra, and Pauncefote, he with his black head resembles (as Stead says) a starling among sea gulls.
M. Bourgeois tells me about Frédéric Passy, whom he has lately seen and talked with. Our doyen would gladly have come to The Hague, but he had to give it up on account of an eye trouble. He submitted to an operation in the hope that he might be able to come to the city of the Conference with restored eyesight; but Bourgeois says that the operation, although it was successful, has not been attended by so prompt a recovery as had been expected.
May 20. Again a round of calls. The drive through the streets of The Hague is exactly like going through a park. Not only in the bosch, where the huis put at the service of the Conference stands, but everywhere are gigantic old trees; everywhere are green grassplots; and everywhere, in this May time so rich in flowers, are heard the lovely carols of the birds. Almost every house has a garden, and houses for rent are not to be seen; every house, built in the style of a villa or a small château, is the home of only one family. Of course this is true only of the aristocratic quarter, which surrounds the royal palace and leads from the squares where the best hotels, like Vieux Doelen and others, are situated, down to Scheveningen.
Our drawing-room is always full of callers, and from early in the morning with interviewers; to-day, among others, the editors of the Frankfurter Zeitung, the Écho de Paris, and Black and White.