Letters of a Diplomat's Wife, 1883-1900

by Mary King Waddington

French Embassy, Albert Gate,
December 1, 1883.

I am gradually settling down, but everything, hours, service, habits, servants, is so different that I still feel rather strange. I quite sympathised with Francis, who was already unhappy at leaving Paris and his dear "Nounou," and very much put out with his new German governess who was deadly ill crossing. His woes culminated on arriving at Albert Gate, when he was solemnly conducted upstairs by a very tall footman to his room (a nice large nursery and bedroom giving on the Park), and he wept bitterly and refused to eat any dinner or to have his coat and hat taken off. A great many people have been to see us, and we shall have some quiet dinners—and a shooting party at Mr. Monk's one of these days.

The shooting party at Mr. Monk's was pleasant. He has a fine large house and capital shooting. The ladies walked about a little and followed some battues, and everyone assembled in the drawing-room for tea. All the women in full dress and diamonds for dinner.

Our Harcourt dinner was pleasant. Sir William is charming—such an easy talker, with no pose of any kind. It is decided that Lady Harcourt presents me to the Queen. Lady Granville is away, and it falls upon her as wife of the Home Secretary. Sir William had been to Windsor, and had told the Queen of the curious coincidence—the French Ambassadress, an American, presented by the wife of the British Home Secretary, also an American,^[8] and an amie d'enfance of Mrs. Waddington. I had some little difficulty in finding out what I was to wear (as there is little etiquette at the English Court upon these occasions), but they finally told me ordinary visiting dress, so I shall wear my blue velvet. We go down to lunch and see the Queen afterward.

December 7, 1883.

I have had my audience to-day, and will write to you at once while I still remember it all. First I must tell you about Francis. He heard someone asking me the other day if I had been yet to see the Queen. I saw his face change a little, so when we were alone, he said, tremulously, "Tu vas voir la Reine?" "Oui, mon fils." "Est-elle toujours si méchante?" "Mais la Reine n'est pas méchante, mon enfant." "Elle ne vas pas te faire couper la tête?" Evidently his mind had been running on the Tower of London, where we went the other day, and where the block on which Anne Boleyn and Lady Jane Grey had their heads cut off was of course shown. When he heard I was going to see the Queen, his heart failed him, and I had some difficulty in comforting him, and explaining that sovereigns in these days didn't have recourse to such extreme measures (at least in civilised countries. I suppose the Shah of Persia wouldn't hesitate to dispose of a head that was in his way).

Lady Harcourt and I started for Paddington at 1 o'clock, and got to Windsor a little before two. We found a landau with two servants in plain black liveries waiting for us, and we drove at once to the Castle. It was a beautiful bright day, but snow had fallen heavily in the country, so that the old gray walls and round towers stood out splendidly as we drove up. We drove through several courts and finally drew up at an entrance where there were five servants in the royal red liveries with crape on their sleeves (all the Queen's household are always in mourning), a big Highlander in full dress, and a butler in black who ushered us into a large drawing-room with an enormous bow-window looking on the Park. Instantly there appeared Lady Erroll, lady in waiting, and four maids of honour. Lady Erroll shook hands and introduced the maids of honour, who made us low curtseys. Then came Lord Methuen—Lord in waiting—and we went at once in to luncheon. Everything was served on silver plate; there were four footmen and a butler, but the repast was of the simplest description—an ordinary English luncheon—roast mutton, fowl, pudding, apple-tart, etc. After luncheon we talked a little, and then Sir Henry Ponsonby appeared to give Lady Harcourt her last instructions. It was the first time she had presented an Ambassadress in a private audience. Precisely at three a servant in black appeared and said, "Will you come to see the Queen?" Lady Harcourt, Ponsonby, and I proceeded down a handsome long corridor filled with pictures, vitrines, of china principally, and old furniture, to a room at one end where a footman was standing. Sir Henry opened the door, Lady Harcourt made a low curtsey at the threshold, saying, "I have the honour to present the French Ambassadress," and then immediately backed herself out, and I found myself in the room. I made a first low curtsey, but before I had time to make another the Queen, who was standing in the middle of the room with Princess Beatrice, advanced a step, shook hands, and said, with a very pretty smile and manner, "I am very glad to see you." She asked me to sit down, and talked a great deal, was most gracious, asked me if I was getting accustomed to the climate and the stairs, whether I had seen all my "colleagues," and how many children I had. When I said one little boy whom I had left in London, she asked me what he was doing; I thought I would tell her about his fears for his mother's head, so I replied he was trembling at home until his mother should return. She looked a little surprised, but was really amused, and laughed when I told her his preoccupations; said, "Poor little boy, how glad he will be to see his mother back with her head on her shoulders."

Princess Beatrice took no part in the conversation. She looked smiling and very intelligent. The Queen was very simply dressed in black, with her white widow's cap and veil, no ornaments, but a gold chain and pearls around her neck, and a medallion with a portrait of a man in uniform, whom I supposed to be Prince Albert. I think the interview lasted about fifteen minutes. Then the Queen arose, shook hands, and said she hoped my husband and I would like the life in England. Princess Beatrice shook hands—I backed myself out, and it was over. I was very much impressed with the Queen's personality. She is short, stout, and her face rather red, but there is a great air of dignity and self-possession, and a beautiful smile which lights up her whole face.

I never could find out any minor details in dress, as to taking off veil, gloves, etc., but I did as I had done with other Royalties and took off veil and gloves, which I hope was right.

Lady Harcourt and Ponsonby were waiting for me in the corridor, and seemed to think my audience had been longer than usual—were also surprised that the Queen made me sit down. It seems she sometimes receives standing all the time, at a first formal presentation.