We got off this morning at 9.30 from Hamburg, and had a long, hot, dusty journey—nothing very pretty to see. We arrived here about 6.30, found the Consul, Mr. Brandt, waiting at the station with a carriage. He proposed a drive—going first to the Cathedral, to see it by daylight, and then to dine with him at the station, where there is a very good restaurant, so we sent all our small things over to the private room, and started off to the Cathedral. I was delighted to see it again after so many years. Do you remember it was the first European Cathedral we saw after Notre Dame, that first year when we came down the Rhine. How magnificent it is, outside and inside—the long, stately vaulted aisles, so high and so still. There was no one in the church at that hour, and we had a delightful half hour. We walked all around the outside, and then went back to the station to dine—and a very good dinner it was, in the same room where we breakfasted when we started for Russia, now nearly two months ago, when all seemed so vague, and rather a plunge into the unknown. We shall certainly have souvenirs for all our lives.
As we were finishing dinner the Chef de Gare came to say that a "lit-salon" was reserved for us, and he would have all the "kleines gepack" put into the compartment, and tell us at the last moment. The train starts at 10.30, and we get to Paris at 10 to-morrow morning, so we thought we would go out again and drive about a little, as we had so long to wait. We had a nice turn in the moonlight—the Cathedral looked beautiful, and we crossed the Rhine and drove some little distance on the other side of the river to have the view of the city. Now one or two Frenchmen who are here are talking to W. They have brought us tea, and I am scribbling this to you.
It is delightful, Dear, to think that to-morrow at breakfast I shall be telling you all this, and Baby sitting up in his high chair, looking at me hard out of his round, blue eyes. There is one good thing in getting home, I needn't write any more letters.
To G. K. S.
Paris,
31 rue Dumont d'Urville,
July 5th, 1883.
We got back this morning at 10 o'clock. The journey was very comfortable—there is nothing like those French "lits-salons." Our departure from Cologne was rather amusing. The Chef de Gare summoned us at the last moment—all the passengers had taken their places, the doors were shut, officials careering up and down the platform, and yet the train didn't start. Various heads were put out of the windows, and one or two irate gentlemen inquired what they were waiting for, and why didn't we start. Then we appeared strolling leisurely down the platform, with a small suite of gentlemen, officers, etc. The adieux were again a little long, and really one man was bursting with rage, and not at all mollified when he heard it was an Ambassador returning to France after the Coronation; "he supposed Ambassadors could be as punctual as anybody else, and when an express started at 10.30, it was 10.30 for everybody."
We were very pleased to find Hubert and the coupé waiting for us at the Gare de l'Est, and Baby and Nounou in the street at the door of the porte cochère.
Well, the Moscow Coronation is over—I wonder what the next turn of the wheel will bring us.