Berlin, November 20, 1895.
My Dear Mother: The grand ball, the mention of which seems to catch your fancy, is to be given at the Chateau d’Or, a magnificent edifice on the heights overlooking the river. Its turrets, and domes, and roofs, and arches, and balustrades, glitter against the background of bluest skies like shining gold—hence its name. Indeed, its architectural device is so cunningly conceived as to catch and fill the eye with radiant color like the facets of a diamond, while its proportions suggest all the beauties of form to be found in the scale of harmonized effects.
It is just completed, and is a wonder. Its occupants are not much talked about; indeed, I do not even know who they are, though I fancy the baron does, for I recall that he replied curtly to my question concerning them, that I should not wish to know them, by which I fancied they might be Americans.
Neither can I give you any idea of the bidden guests, although, of course, it promises to be a magnificent affair. As you know, in compliance with custom, I could, in no event, make excuse for non-appearance with my husband. Such women as accept their titles and position from their lords, are expected to follow, unquestioning, his leadership through all social labyrinths, and I am no exception to the rule.
Dear mother, forgive me, if I say I feel very disinclined to these gayeties. Since our experiences at Mentone, I decided to give over all control of the exchequer into the hands of the baron, accepting only a regular stipend. I find this the only means of securing harmony and altercations weary and depress me overmuch. Wherefore it is I have lost interest in handsome toilets, and therefor it is I shall have nothing new for the occasion.
Did papa receive my letter acknowledging and thanking him for his munificent gift? and does it occur to you that it is a good deal of money to invest in methods of pacification? But what is the remedy? This is a question I am puzzling my head about to a much larger extent, let me say, than about what I shall wear to the ball.
The baron dines at home to-day, so I will close, in order not to be a moment late. You see I am growing to be a model wife, if not a heroic woman. I see the baron from my window beating a poor dwarf, at the entrance of the alley. He has lost at play. In haste and love, dear ones, adieu.
Faithfully your own, Ellen.
From the Baroness Von Eulaw to Mrs. Perces Thornton.
Berlin, December 2, 1895.