French Embassy, London,
March 8, 1893.
W. and I went together to the Mansion House, Tuesday, to pay a farewell visit to the Lady Mayoress, who was receiving formally with music, tea, and quantities of people. The Lord Mayor appeared too when he heard we were there, and was quite pleased when W. said how gratified and touched he had been by the banquet and the universal expression of regret at his departure. The Lord Mayor said to him, "You can't find any warmer friends, Ambassador, in France than those you are leaving here, but I quite understand that a man can't live long out of his own country." We had just time to get back to the Embassy, dress, and start for Windsor, where we dined: our last stay in the yellow rooms. The dinner was almost entirely Royal—the Empress Frederick, Prince and Princess Christian, Prince and Princess Henry of Battenberg, Duchess of Connaught, del Mazo, the Spanish Ambassador, I the only other lady. The cercle was not long—I thought the Queen looked tired. She sat down at once; said she wouldn't say good-bye, as she hoped to see me once more at Buckingham Palace. She said at her age she rather dreaded saying good-bye, also seeing new faces, and she was very sorry we were going. "Who comes to replace you?" I said I thought nothing was yet decided. I talked some time to the other Princesses after the Queen had congédied me. The Empress was as usual charming, and said, "I am afraid we sha'n't meet again often, Mdme. Waddington, you won't cross to Berlin, and I can't go to Paris, but that isn't my fault. I think we shall have to meet in Italy, where I first had the pleasure of seeing you." The end of the evening we spent as usual in the drawing-room with the "household." I had quite a talk with Prince Henry, who is very good-looking and attractive. We left the drawing-room about eleven—W. going as usual to smoke, and I to my rooms. I sat some time in front of the fire in the beautiful little yellow drawing-room wondering if I ever should see it again, and going back to our first Windsor visit, when all was so new and strange to me. I wonder where we shall be this time next year, and if we shall settle down easily to our quiet life in France. W. came in rather late from the smoking-room: he said all the men were so nice to him, and seemed really sorry he was going; also were very anxious to know if he wasn't sorry himself.
This morning (Wednesday) it was beautiful. I breakfasted as usual in my rooms and sat some time in the deep window recess watching all the people coming and going. There is always so much life about Windsor when the Queen is there. About 10 Colonel Byng came to take us to the Chapel to see the sarcophagus of Prince Eddie, which is enormous and has rather too much colour—almost gaudy. I went with Hilda the other day to Gilbert's studio to see the monument he is making, and which I liked. It is very elaborate and complicated, but the sleeping figure good: so reposeful and young; the long straight limbs. One quite realised a young life cut short. Gilbert is clever and interesting, and begged us to criticise freely.
We got home about 12 and I took a short turn in the Park before breakfast, which was full as usual when the Queen passes. She came this afternoon for two Drawing-rooms. I shall do my last to-morrow—I sha'n't go to the second.
French Embassy,
March 10, 1893.
I am doing all my last things. I went to the Drawing-room yesterday (our last). Countess Spencer presented the ladies, and looked very stately and handsome in black, with splendid jewels. The Queen didn't stay very long, but looked less tired, I thought, than the other night at Windsor. I said good-bye to a great many people whom I sha'n't see again. At this season plenty of people are still in the country, and only come up for a day or two for Drawing-rooms, theatres, etc. Teesdale and I had quiet an affectionate parting. For so long now we have made our entrée together into the Throne Room: he holding my hand and both of us making a deep bow and curtsey at the door, that we have become quite like puppets.
This afternoon I have had my farewell audience from the Queen at Buckingham Palace at 4 o'clock. I wore as usual the blue velvet, which will walk about alone soon, as it has done all the ceremonies lately; my pearls, and a crême velvet bonnet with light blue feathers. I went in the ordinary open carriage (not gala). The gala carriage with the powdered wigs, big footmen, canes, etc., went out yesterday for the last time to the Drawing-room. I had some difficulty in getting into the court-yard, which was filled with carriages, luggage-vans, soldiers, etc., as the Queen was leaving this afternoon for Windsor. I was sent from one entrance to another, in spite of the tricolour cockade, and finally drew up at a side-door (where a shabby little victoria was standing). A man in ordinary black livery appeared, and after a short parley (in which I intervened myself, saying that I was the French Ambassadress and had an audience with the Queen) he showed me into a room on the ground floor. I waited about 15 minutes (it was 5 minutes to 4 when I arrived) and then Lady Southampton, Lady in Waiting, appeared, with many apologies for being late—she didn't think I would come so soon (and I was a little afraid of being late, they kept me so long in the court-yard). We went upstairs to a small drawing-room looking out on the court-yard, and in about 10 minutes the same servant in black appeared, saying, "The Queen is ready to receive the French Ambassadress." Lady Southampton said she couldn't come, as the Queen wished to see me alone, so I followed the servant down a long corridor—he stopped at a door, knocked, a voice said "come in," and I found myself in the Royal presence. It was a small, ordinary room, rather like a sort of waiting-room, no traces of habitation, nothing pretty or interesting. The Queen was standing, very simply dressed in black (her travelling dress she said, she was starting at once for Windsor) before a writing-table which was in the middle of the room, covered with books and papers. She was most kind, made me sit down on the sofa next to her, and said she was afraid she had kept me waiting, but that she had been kept by a visit from Mr. Gladstone—she then paused a moment, so I made a perfectly banal remark, "what a wonderful man, such an extraordinary intelligence," to which she replied, "He is very deaf." She expressed great regret at our departure, and hoped we were sorry to leave England and all our friends, but after all Paris was not very far off, and she hoped she should see me again. She was sure M. Waddington would find plenty to do when he got back—would he continue his literary work? I said he would certainly have plenty to do, as he was Senator and Membre de l'Institut, but that we should both miss the Embassy life and the varied interests it brought. She repeated that she hoped to see me again, so I asked if ever I came back to England might I write to one of her ladies, and ask if I could be received. "Pray do, and I shall not say good-bye, but au revoir." We talked about 15 minutes about all sorts of things—some of our colleagues—our successor, etc. She asked again who was coming to London, and said, "My last two Ambassadors to France were ex-Viceroys." It seemed to me that she said it on purpose, and that she wanted France to send one of her best men to St. James's. I repeated the remark to my husband, and the chancellerie. It is quite true. The present British Ambassador, Lord Dufferin, is certainly the first diplomatist they have. He has had every distinguished post England can offer—Ambassador to St. Petersburg and Rome, Governor of Canada, and Viceroy of India, and has played a great part. His predecessor, Lord Lytton, was also Viceroy of India, and very distinguished, though in a different way from Lord Dufferin. I rather fancy that Montebello would be an acceptable appointment. He knows English well, has English relations, and I should think would like the post, but I have really no idea. Some of the papers say that Ribot wants the place, but I think he prefers home politics and would not care to leave France; however, I could not tell the Queen anything definite. She kissed me at parting, and gave me her photograph, signed, in a handsome silver frame—then half turned her back, moving to a door on the other side of the room, so that I could get out easily and not altogether à reculons, which would have been awkward to open the door. I tucked my parcel under my arm, opened the door myself (a thing I don't often do in these days, except my bedroom door) and found myself again in the long corridor. My audience was over, and I daresay I shall never see the Queen again. She was unfailing to us both from the first moment, always welcomed us with the same smile, was always inclined to talk about anything and to understand and smooth over any little difficulty or misunderstanding. I think she is a wonderful woman and a wonderful Queen. In her long life she must have had many difficult questions and responsibilities, and certainly England has not suffered under her rule. I met Lady S. in the corridor, who came downstairs with me, and said she was quite sure the Queen meant it when she said she would like to see me again, that she never said anything she didn't mean.
I found Hilda and one or two friends when I got home who told me that the English ladies, headed by Ladies Salisbury and Spencer, representing the two parties, Conservative and Liberal, were going to give me a souvenir (in memory of my ten years in London), a jewel of some kind. I was rather pleased. The last days of adieux are rather melancholy. I shall be glad when they are over. I forgot to say that Wednesday I had a message about 3 o'clock from the Princess Beatrice, saying she and Prince Henry of Battenberg would come about 5 and ask me for a cup of tea. The notice was so short that I hadn't time to ask anyone except Hilda, who happened in, and some of the secretaries. They came alone and were most friendly—said they had not given me any more time on purpose, as they didn't want a party, but merely to see us. They were as easy and pleasant as possible, she talking much more than she ever does in the grand monde. I told her I hoped she would let me know if ever she came to Paris. She said. "Oh, yes—and we will do a lively play together."