I had a reception day every Tuesday, beginning in January, besides which there were various times at which we received diplomats and titled Belgians by themselves. One of the most interesting figures was the Papal Nuncio, who came in his robes, with magenta cape and cap and gloves, wearing his ring outside. The concierge and a chauffeur waved his motor under the porte-cochère; two servants opened the doors à double battant; and L. met him and escorted him upstairs, where we had tea and cakes.
On Washington’s birthday we had another reception for Americans. The chancery was closed, the Stars and Stripes waved in all their glory over the door, and flowers were arranged around the bust of Washington in its niche high between the windows on the main landing of the staircase. We received about one hundred and forty guests—men, women, and children of all ages—in the room at the head of the stairs, where some of the tapestries were hung. It was a most democratic assembly—young schoolgirls, teachers, most of the regular “colony,” American women who had married Belgians—and they seemed to enjoy the dancing, to American airs. On the table in the dining-room was a splendid cake of many stories, all flag-bedecked—every one of the flags was proudly carried off before the afternoon was over.
For a change from the official routine and the formal entertainments, we often started out on a rainy evening and walked the glistening boulevards down into the town, so gay with its brilliantly lighted shops and restaurants. Having been duly advised by our Secretary of Legation of a respectable place to which diplomats “might” go, we sought it out and had happy little dinners together, forgetting our troubles for the time.
Perhaps the most delightful day I spent in Brussels was at Laeken. The Summer Palace stood on a hill overlooking the city, and was built of gray stone in Renaissance style. The greenhouses, which were erected by old King Leopold, were supposed to be the largest in the world. One could walk for miles through covered glass walks, with climbing geraniums and fuchsias hanging from the roof and heliotrope filling the air with its perfume.
The place was at its best for the royal garden party in May. As the invitations said two o’clock, we had luncheon early and set out at half after one. Soon we were careering up the fine avenue du Parc Royal, zigzagging from one side to the other as different officials gave us conflicting directions. Farther on, the road skirted the splendid park of Laeken, and we could look out over wide sweeps of lawn with great masses of trees and artificial waters winding in and out. Fine vistas led the eye up to the palace, which stood in a more formal setting of garden and terraces.
At the great gate in front of the palace, grenadiers in bearskin shakos stood guard, with uniformed officials and red-coated servants in gold lace and plumed hats. The palace was still unfinished, but looked very impressive. About it were great clumps of rhododendrons and magnificent lilacs.
The carriages stopped at the orangery, which had a long façade of stone columns and glass. Alighting, we passed into a perfect wonderland. To each side of us stretched a wing of a palace of crystal, with three rows of enormous orange trees arcading promenades.
Beyond this we passed into the great palm house, a vast dome with palms so huge that they seemed to lose themselves in the height of the rotunda. The people strolling beneath them looked quite like pygmies in contrast.
All the parterre was laid out with bright-coloured flowers. In a paved space in the center was held the royal circle. When the King and Queen arrived, the people arranged themselves along the sides—the Diplomatic Corps, the ministry, and prominent Belgians—and a band played gaily while Their Majesties came down the line. The scene was really fairylike.