Letters of a Diplomat's Wife, 1883-1900

by Mary King Waddington

We dined at the famous Café du Parc. W. invited the Director and the Consul to dine with us, and we had a pleasant little dinner, fairly good. There was a good orchestra, who had evidently been told who we were, for as soon as we arrived they played the "Marseillaise" very well. It caused quite a sensation among the people who were dining, as they evidently hadn't noticed particularly the quiet party which came in—all of us of course in travelling dresses. The chef d'orchestre asked our Director if we would like to hear some national airs—which they played very well, and then I asked for the Polonaise from Glinka's "La Vie pour le Czar," which they always played in Moscow whenever the Imperial cortége arrived.

At 11 o'clock the Consul's steam launch came (the café is on the water), and he took us all about the inner harbour, most curious and interesting, and then outside. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and we went sometimes so close up to one of the islands that we could have spoken to anyone on the shore if there had been anybody to speak to—sometimes we were in what seemed a great lake, with no perceptible outlet. We cruised about until midnight, then went back to the hotel, and walked down to the steamer. The light had changed—was rather like dawn, but perfectly light. There were people and carriages, children, badauds, loitering about the wharf. They told us a steamer had started two or three hours earlier with tourists on board to see the midnight sun.

We stayed on deck about half an hour to see the départ. The light was getting much stronger—Richard read a letter quite easily, and at 1 o'clock, when I went down to the cabin, the sun was shining bright. I am writing now on deck after breakfast. Young Moltke, a Dane, came on board last night, and asked if he might have his meals with us. He too had been at the Coronation, and found the standing all those hours very tiring. The day is beautiful—the sea perfectly calm, and the long, lazy hours on deck most resting.

This morning I was interviewed by two English girls—both young and rather pretty, the fair English type. One was a governess going back to her place, somewhere near Stockholm, in the country; the other was just going out on a venture, had no engagement, knew no language but her own, and had merely made the acquaintance of the other girl on the boat. I suggested it was rather a risk coming so far without anything definite; but she said she was sure she would find something, and she had a little money. I asked her how old she was—17. "How could your parents let you start off like that?" "Oh, there are so many of us, and I am strong." They then asked me if I would tell them something about the Coronation—so I talked to them a few minutes. They asked me if I saw many Nihilists—as if they were a marked class—and did the Empress look nervous.

I have also managed to talk a little to the stewardess, or rather to understand her—as I have made out that she is married, and has young children, and no one apparently to leave them with while she is cruising about.

I wish I could sketch, there are so many charming little bits of scenery that I would like to bring home with me. We are getting near Abo, and I must stop. To-night is to be our rough night in the Baltic. At the present moment the sea is like glass, but the Captain says there is always movement crossing over to Stockholm. I should like to go on forever in the boat. The long, long hours on the deck with this soft grey sea and sky, with nobody to talk to, and no dressing of any kind are enchanting. I have got a book, Tolstoy's "Guerre et Paix," but I don't seem to get on much—I am always looking at something.

8 o'clock.

We have just got back after a lovely afternoon at Abo (the old capital of Finland). The approach was very picturesque as we went some distance up a narrow river to the town, which is not directly on the sea. Our Vice-Consul was waiting on the quai with a carriage, and we drove all over the place. It is now a dead city—all the life and interest of Finland is absorbed by Helsingfors, but it is interesting. We saw the Cathedral, the public gardens, and then drove some distance into the country to see the oldest church in Finland—a little old, grey building that looks any age. The country is very pretty, always charming views of the sea, and a few villas dotted about, but nothing like as many as at Helsingfors. It seems people come sometimes in summer for sea air, bathing, and fishing, and occasionally English yachts stop a day or two.

We got back about eight, and I am writing now before supper. We found the boat all dressed with greens, as it is the St. Jean, and they tell us we shall see lights, bonfires, and torches on all the little islands, as they always celebrate the St. Jean here with greens and lights. My next letter will be from Stockholm.