About half way through luncheon came the pearl necklace incident (which you saw in the papers). I suddenly felt that my necklace was unclasped. It was sewed on the corsage in front, as the pearls are large and heavy, and I am always afraid of breaking the string. I asked Soveral, who was next to me, if he couldn't clasp it for me. He tried, but was nervous or awkward; at any rate couldn't manage it, and we were both getting red and flustered when suddenly we heard the Emperor from his table calling W.'s attention to the fact that "le Portugal était en train d'étrangler la France"; also Staal, saying that his "Collègue du Portugal se livrait à une gymnastique étrange." They all made various jokes at my expense, and the Prince said "Let me do it," but he couldn't either, and again we heard the Emperor remarking, "Maintenant c'est plus sérieux—l'Angleterre s'en mêle." W., who had his back to me and who couldn't see what was going on, was decidedly mystified, and wondered what on earth I was doing to attract so much attention, in fact was rather annoyed. When we got up from table the Prince and I retreated to a corner of the terrace, and he cut the stitches that held the necklace in front with his knife (which again looked funny to the people assembled on the terrace). He advised me to put the pearls, not in my pocket, but in a safe place, as they were very handsome, so I put them inside my dress. Of course everybody asked me what had happened, and what the Emperor was saying to me from the other table. I asked the Empress if she was never afraid of losing her pearls, but she said all her jewels were most carefully sewn on and strung on a very thick string or sort of silk cord.
Very soon after lunch the Emperor and Empress left, as they were starting in the evening for Germany, and had to go to Windsor to take leave of the Queen. The Prince and Princess followed quickly, and then, of course, all of us. W. had again a talk with the Emperor, and all his colleagues told him he was quite right to come. Any little incident between France and Germany always assumes gigantic proportions, and the papers, both French and German, would have been full of the marked absence of the French Ambassador from all the fêtes for the Emperor; his mourning a pretext, etc. It was a beautiful entertainment—bright, perfect summer day, quantities of pretty women beautifully dressed (a great many in white) and representative people of all kinds. The general impression was that the Emperor was not a lady's man—he evidently preferred talking to army and political men. My talk with him was so perfectly banal that I can scarcely have an opinion, but I should think one might talk to him easily. His face is certainly stern, and the manner very cold, but his smile, like the Queen's, lights up and softens the face. I said to one of the pretty young women who had made a luncheon-party for him, that I had heard that it was beautifully done, and that he was much pleased. She said she hoped he was, that as far as she personally was concerned he hadn't the slightest idea whether she was 25 or 50.
To H. L. K.
London,
January 12, 1892.
W. and I came over yesterday in a snowstorm. It was beastly getting out of the train and on the boat at Calais. I am rather depressed, having left Francis behind at a professor's near the Lycée Janson, to follow the cours there as externe. I shall miss him frightfully, but it was quite time for him to go to France and go through the regular course. He was forgetting his French here. Of course he and his father always speak French to each other, but he went to a little English school, Miss Quirim's, in Sloane Street (where there were quantities of little friends beginning their education), played all day with English children, heard nothing else spoken around him, and was rapidly becoming an Englishman. The house seems dreadfully quiet without him, and poor little Bonny, the fox-terrier, is miserable. He couldn't think why he wasn't with us to-day on our journey and galloped up to his room as soon as he arrived at the Embassy, asking everybody really with his eyes where his master was. Florian came in at once to see us, and told us that the Duke of Clarence was frightfully ill at Sandringham. He always looked rather delicate, tall and slight and colourless, but I hope his youth will pull him through. He had been rather more en évidence these last months since his engagement to Princess May, daughter of Princess Mary, Duchess of Teck. I think it is a marriage that pleases the nation. Princess May is young and pretty, with a pretty figure and essentially English—born and brought up in the country. Everybody adores her mother, Princess Mary, and I think it will be a very happy marriage.
January 13, 1892.
I am afraid there is no chance for the poor young Prince. Florian came in for a moment, just back from Marlborough House, where the bulletins are posted twice a day. There were crowds of people reading them and trying to get some detailed information. Florian saw one of the equerries, who told him there was no hope, he was sinking fast and would probably not live through the night. He told him the Princess never left him and was heart-broken, her eldest boy. It is hard for her. They seem to think it was a neglected cold, caught out shooting, and not taken in time. All the personnel came in to see me and brought their New Year's present—4 pretty corbeilles for bonbons. They always give me something New Year's Day and I am much pleased to have the souvenirs. I can hardly realise that we have been here nearly 9 years. We came in '83 and thought we should stay perhaps two years. I am so accustomed to the life now that I feel as if I had always spent half the year in England and the other half in France. I suppose I shall miss a great many things when we retire into private life, perhaps most of all the family life with all the personnel of the Embassy. We have had various changes, of course, but I generally pull well with them all, and I must say they are always ready to help me in every way. I haven't had too many women, which is pleasant; women are much more complicated to deal with than men—there are always so many small jealousies and rivalries.
Thursday, January 14, 1892.
The poor young Duke is dead at 9 o'clock this morning, in spite of all that tender nursing and skill could do. He had not strength to fight against the malady. It is awfully hard at his age and in his position; just now, too, when his marriage was so popular. Florian came at once to tell us, and said there was such a crowd outside Marlborough House that he could hardly get through into the court, where the policeman showed him the Prince of Wales's telegram, "All is over." We had various visits at tea-time; Deym among others, who had done just what we did—sent telegrams to the Prince and Princess and the Tecks at Sandringham. He told me he had dined at White Lodge with the Tecks on Christmas Eve (for their Christmas tree) and that they were all so happy. Princess Mary took him upstairs and showed him all the presents—coupons of velvet, brocade, etc., for dresses, also the wedding dress, and said to him, "Je suis si heureuse que j'en ai peur." Poor thing; perhaps it was a presentiment. I am awfully sorry for them, for her perhaps more than for Princess May, who is young and must of course get over it, as youth happily is elastic and rebounds; but Princess Mary is different. She has her share of worries and disappointments, and she was so happy and proud of the marriage. It must be an awful blow to her.
Sunday, January 19, 1892.