Letters of a Diplomat's Wife, 1883-1900. Mary King Waddington
my experience of the hours of standing at all Russian Court functions had at least taught me not to start with anything that was at all tight.
While we were looking at the dancing the Grand Duke Michel came over and asked me if I wouldn't come and stand a little with the Grand Duchesses. He took me to a little group where were the Grand Duchesses Michel and Constantine and the Queen of Greece (she is always so gay and natural). They at once asked me who had made my dress, and what color it was. They had been talking about it, and couldn't agree. The Grand Duchess Constantine had on her emeralds, and beautiful they were—blocks of stone, rather difficult to wear. She must have been very handsome, has still a beautiful figure, and holds herself splendidly.
We talked music a little—she said I ought to hear some of the people's songs. I should like to very much, but there doesn't seem any place where one can hear the national songs. The men of the Embassy went one night to the "Hermitage," where there was a little of everything, and did hear some of the peasants singing their national airs, but they didn't seem to think I could go. While we were still talking there was a move, and they said the Empress (who had been dancing all the time in a small circle made for her at her end of the ballroom and very strictly kept) was going to have tea. All the Court and suite followed, and I was rather wondering how to get back to my place and my colleagues when a tall aide-de-camp came up and said he would have the honour of conducting me to Her Majesty's tea—so we started off across several rooms and corridors, which were crowded, and arrived at a door where the two gigantic negroes were standing. He said something—the doors flew open—he made me a low bow and retired (as he couldn't come any farther), and I found myself standing alone in a large room with four or five tables—everyone seated. For a moment I didn't know quite what to do, and felt rather shy, but the Princess Kotchoubey, Grande Maîtresse, who was standing in the middle of the room, came forward at once and took me to the Duchesse d'Edimbourg's table, where there were also the Arch-Duchess Charles Louis, the Duchess of Oldenburg, a young Hessian Prince, and my two colleagues, Lady Thornton and Madame Jaurès.
We had tea and ices—didn't talk much, except the Duchess of Edinburgh, who seems clever and ready to talk—but I wasn't near her. I didn't see all the Ambassadors, mine certainly wasn't there, and of course very few comparatively of our colleagues, as only Ambassadors and their wives were invited to Her Majesty's tea (no small fry, like Ministers).
I had the explanation of W.'s absence later. When the Court moved off to tea General Wolseley suggested that W. should come and smoke a cigar in his room. He was lodged at the Kremlin with his Prince, the Duke of Edinburgh. He, like a true Briton, had enough of bowing and standing. W. was naturally quite of the same opinion, so they picked up Admiral Seymour (also with the Duke of Edinburgh) and had a very pleasant hour smoking and talking until they were summoned for supper. That they couldn't get out of, as we made a fine procession directly behind the Court through all the rooms to St. George's Hall—a great white high room magnificently lighted, with tablets all around the walls with the names of the Knights of the Order of St. George who had died in battle, and a souper assis for 800 people. Sir Edward Thornton, British Ambassador, took me. As we were parading through the rooms between two hedges of gaping people looking at the cortége, dresses, diamonds, etc., I thought of Mdme. A– and her stockings, and wondered how she was getting on. I daresay quite well; as she had a yellow satin dress and yellow silk stockings perhaps no one noticed anything, and as long as she didn't step on a needle or anything sharp she was all right. Someone will find a nice little pair of yellow satin shoes under the window-curtains in the ballroom when the cleaning up is done after the fêtes.
The hall was a blaze of light and jewels—a long table across the end for the Imperial party, and all of us at two long tables running the whole length of the room. The gold and silver plate was very handsome, particularly the massive flambeaux and high ornaments for the middle of the table. The supper was good, hot, and quickly served. There was music all the time—singers, men and women, in a gallery singing all sorts of Russian airs which nobody listened to. The Emperor did not sit down to supper. He remained standing in the middle of the room talking to his gentlemen, and a few words to the diplomatists when supper was over and one loitered a little before going back to the ballroom. He certainly doesn't care to talk to strangers—seeks them out very little, and when he does talk it is absolutely banal. Is it "paresse d'esprit" or great reserve?—one hardly knows. I should think all this parade and function bored him extremely. They say he is very domestic in his tastes, and what he likes best is the country with his wife and children.
After supper we went back to the ballroom for about half an hour. Then the Court retired and we followed them at once. We got our carriages fairly quickly. There are always crowds in the streets waiting to see the grand-monde pass. The Kremlin looks fairy-like as we drive through—lights everywhere, some high, high up in a queer little octagon green tower—then a great doorway and staircase all lighted, with quantities of servants and soldiers standing about; then a bit of rough pavement in a half dark court and under a little low dark gate with a shrine and Madonna at one end—all so perfectly unmodern, and unlike anything else.
I began my letter this morning before breakfast, but didn't finish, as I was called off by some visits, and now I will try and send this off by to-night's courier. We have had a nice afternoon looking at the Trésor. Of course it was very hurried—it would take weeks to see everything. The collection of state carriages and sleighs is interesting. Almost all the carriages are French—either given to the various Russian Sovereigns by French Kings, or ordered in France by the Sovereigns themselves. The great sledge in which Catharine II. made all her long voyages is comfortable enough, and not unlike the "wagons impériaux" in which we travelled from Varsovie to Moscow.
Then we saw all the Coronation robes, crowns, sapphires, swords, jewelled belts and collars, furs, etc., of all the old Emperors from Ivan the Terrible down to the late Emperor. Some of the crowns of the first Ivans and Peters are extraordinary—a sort of high fur cap covered with jewels, but heavy and roughly made—the jewels always beautiful, such large stones, particularly sapphires and rubies. There were vitrines full of splendid gold and silver cups and dishes, presents to the Emperor from all the different provinces.
They tell us the present Emperor has had magnificent things given to him, but we have not seen them yet. We met various people also going through the Museum, and I had quite a talk with Radziwill (you know which one I mean, who married Countess Malatesta's daughter). It seemed funny to go back to the old Roman days, and the evenings (prima-sera) in the Malatesta Palace. He says everybody is worn out with the ceremonies and the standing—however, to-night is the end, with our dinner at the Palace.
I have again been interrupted—this time by a visit from the Duc d'Aoste, whom I always find charming. He is not at all expansive and very shy, but when one breaks the ice he is interesting. He doesn't look like anybody else, nor as if he belonged to this century. It is quite the face one would see in any old Spanish picture—a soldier-monk of Velasquez. He talked about the Exhibition of '78, when W. was at the Foreign Office, and I was almost tempted to tell him how embarrassed we all were on the opening day when there were so many Ex-Spanish Sovereigns—King François d'Assises, Queen Isabella, and King Amédée. There was a big reception in the evening at the Elysée, and the Maréchal6 was rather bothered with all his Spanish Royalties. However, Queen Isabella and the Duc d'Aoste were evidently on the best of terms. I saw them talking together, and I believe all the Spaniards liked d'Aoste, though naturally they wanted a King of their own race.
Here is Monsieur Philippe for his last coiffure, as he says somewhat sadly. To-night's dinner is our last function. We have then the revue, by daylight, of course, and leave on Sunday for Petersburg.
The gala dinner was handsome and short last night. W. and I went off alone (none but chefs de mission were invited) in the coupé d'Orsay, always with Benckendorff in his carriage in front—W. in uniform, I in my white and silver brocade, white feathers and diamonds in my hair, no colour anywhere, not even on my cheeks, which reduces Philippe to a state of prostrate stupefaction—"Madame qui pourrait être si bien."
We were received at the foot of the staircase and at the doors by all the Chamberlains as usual and taken at once to the same Salle St. George where we were to dine—all
MacMahon, President at that time of the French Republic.