Chapter 1

THE SUNNY SIDE OF DIPLOMATIC LIFE

1875-1912

By

L. DE HEGERMANN-LINDENCRONE

Author of "In The Courts of Memory"

ILLUSTRATED WITH PORTRAITS, FACSIMILES, ETC.

Harper & Brothers Publishers New York and London MCMXIV

1913, 1914 By Harper & Brothers Printed in The United States of America Published October, 1914

CONTENTS

PAGE

NOTE vii

THE ALPHABET OF A DIPLOMAT ix

WASHINGTON, 1875-1880 1

ROME, 1880-1890 89

STOCKHOLM, 1890-1897 201

PARIS, 1897-1902 237

BERLIN, 1902-1912 277

ILLUSTRATIONS

LILLIE DE HEGERMANN-LINDENCRONE _Frontispiece_

MRS. U.S. GRANT _Facing p._ 6

SARAH BERNHARDT " 12

DOM PEDRO " 12

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW " 50

JAMES G. BLAINE " 50

OLE BULL " 82

QUEEN MARGHERITA " 102

KING VICTOR EMANUEL " 106

TWO YOUNG QUEENS " 130

THE PALACE, MONZA (FRONT) " 136

PALACE AND GARDENS " 136

NOTE FROM F. LISZT " 152

AALHOLM. BUILT IN 1100 " 168

INSCRIPTIONS IN ONE OF THE ROOMS AT AALHOLM, BEARING THE DATE 1585 " 168

FRANCESCO CRISPI " 198

KING OSCAR " 212

THE KING OF SWEDEN " 220

THE RIKSDAG OF SWEDEN " 224

FACSIMILE OF LETTER FROM GRIEG " 230

A LETTER IN ENGLISH FROM KING OSCAR " 234

JULES MASSENET AT THE HEIGHT OF HIS CAREER " 246

A NOTE FROM MASSENET " 248

FÉLIX FAURE WHEN PRESIDENT OF FRANCE " 252

LINES FROM "LA PRINCESSE LOINTAINE" WITH ROSTAND'S AUTOGRAPH " 260

BJÖRNSON " 270

THE EMPRESS OF GERMANY ON HER FAVORITE MOUNT " 280

EMPEROR WILLIAM IN THE UNIFORM OF THE GUARDS " 280

TWO VIEWS OF ROYALTY " 282

THE THRONE-ROOM OF THE ROYAL PALACE, BERLIN " 290

QUEEN LOUISE OF DENMARK " 296

THE ROYAL PALACE AND LUSTGARTEN, BERLIN " 306

COUNT HATZFELDT " 326

THE EMPEROR IN 1905 " 332

NOTE

MADAME DE HEGERMANN-LINDENCRONE, the writer of these letters, is the wife of the recently retired Danish Minister to Germany. She was formerly Miss Lillie Greenough, of Cambridge, Massachusetts, where she lived with her grandfather, Judge Fay, in the fine old Fay mansion, now the property of Radcliffe College.

As a child Miss Greenough developed the remarkable voice which later was to make her well known, and when only fifteen years of age her mother took her to London to study under Garcia. Two years later Miss Greenough became the wife of Charles Moulton, the son of a well-known American banker, who had been a resident in Paris since the days of Louis Philippe. As Madame Charles Moulton the charming American became an appreciated guest at the court of Napoleon III. Upon the fall of the Empire Mrs. Moulton returned to America, where Mr. Moulton died, and a few years afterward she married M. de Hegermann-Lindencrone, at that time Danish Minister to the United States, and later periods his country's representative at Stockholm, Rome, Paris, Washington and Berlin.

THE ALPHABET OF A DIPLOMAT

_Ambassador_ A man, just a little below God. _Attaché_ The lowest rung of the ladder. _Blunder_ How absurd! Why, _never_!... _Chancellery_ The barn-yard where he is plucked. _Chief_ The cock of the walk. _Colleagues_ A question merely of time and place. _Court_ Where one learns to make courtesies. _Decorations_ The balm for all woes. _Dinners_ The surest road to success. _Disponsibility_ The Styx, whence no one returns. _Esprit_ (_de corps_) The corps is there, but where is the _esprit_? _Etiquette_ The Ten Commandments. _Finesse_ A narrow lane where two can walk abreast. _Friendships_ Ships that pass in the night. _Gotha_ (_almanack_) The Bible of a Diplomat. _Highness_ _His_, _Her_, make a deep courtesy. _Ignoramus_ A person who does not agree with you. _Innuendo_ An obscure side-light of truth. _Joke_ Something beneath the dignity of a diplomat to notice. _Knowledge (private)_ _News_ which every one already knows. _Legation_ Apartments to let. _Letters_ (_de créance_) The first impression. _Letters_ (_de rappel_) The last illusion. _Majesté_ (_lèse_) Too awful to think of. _Majesties_ Human beings with royal faults. _Nobodies_ People to be avoided like poison. _Opulence_ When in service. _Pension_ Too small to be seen with the naked eye. _Poverty_ When out of service. _Quo_ (_status_) Diplomatic expression, meaning in French, _Une jambe en l'air_. _Ruse_ A carefully disguised thought as transparent as a soap-bubble. _Secretary_ Furniture easily moved. _Traditions_ A door always open for refuge. _Traités_ (_de paix_) A series of dinners paid for by a lavish government. _Uniform_ A bestarred and beribboned livery. _Visits_ The most important duty of a diplomat. _Wisdom_ Good to have, but easily dispensed with. _Xpectations_ A tree which seldom bears fruit. _Yawn_ What a diplomat does over his _rapports_. _Zeal_ Something a diplomat ought never to have too much of.

THE SUNNY SIDE OF DIPLOMATIC LIFE

WASHINGTON, 1875-1880

WASHINGTON, _November, 1875_.

Dear Mother,--After my hurriedly written letter of the 24th you will know that we have arrived here safely. My first introduction to my first post as diplomat's wife was made unwittingly by a gentleman walking with a friend just behind me. "Who is that gentleman?" said he, indicating Johan. "That? That is the Minister of Denmark." I, struggling with an arm-load of flowers culled from well-intentioned friends at different stations on the road, my maid and Johan's valet bringing up the rear with the overflow of small baggage, passed unnoticed. Now we are quite established here, and I have already commenced my diplomatic duties. There seems to be no end of card-leaving and card-receiving, and a list of rules on etiquette (the Ten Commandments of a Diplomat) as long as your arm. I never knew of anything so confusing. I try to remember the things that I must do and the things that I must not do. How many cold shower-baths of reproval have I already received; how many unruly things have I already done! We are invited to many dinners, luncheons, and entertainments of all kinds. I am knee-deep in engagements, actually wading in them. The engagement-book you gave me is already overfilled.

We were very much amused at the collection of newspaper cuttings you sent us. Johan thought the one describing him as "a massive blonde of magnificent proportions, whose pure heart and clean hands had won all hearts in Washington" [previous to winning mine], was much too personal. "The medals [his prized decorations] were not his fault, and should not be laid up against him; and as for the gold key which he wears on his back, it is considered a great honor, as few Danes have had it conferred on them, being, as it is, the key of the king's own bedchamber, and giving the wearer the privilege of entering there when he likes."

Another one which amused us says "the bride is to be congratulated on having annexed as fine a specimen of a viking as any one could desire, and, although she has not secured a golden crown for her marble brow, she has secured a name that ought to be good for a '_three-bagger_' on any diamond, and that just to see it written on a hotel register makes any hotel clerk faint." Johan asked me what a "three-bagger" was, but I could not tell him. Then the worst one! "Mr. de Hegermann is envoy extraordinary and parson to his Danish 'nibs.'" Johan was horrified at this _lèse majesté_. We looked the word "nibs" out in the dictionary, only to find that in cribbage "nibs" means the knave of trumps. This made matters worse; to call his sovereign a knave--even of trumps--seemed too disrespectful.

It was very nice of Norris, your Cambridge grocer, to placard the fruit in his shop window in our honor. "Lindencrone beauties" and "the Danish pair" show a certain amount of humor which ought to be applauded. Such a pun goes to my heart. I hope you encouraged him by buying them all and can tell me what a "Danish pair" looks like.

It would take more than one letter of mine written on foolscap paper to tell you of our colleagues and friends. I can do it in sections when I have time. But, oh, when can I get the time!

* * * * *

I have had my "audience" (Johan calls it an "audience"; I call it a "call on Mrs. President Grant at the White House"). There was nothing formal or formidable about it. Mrs. Grant and I sat on the sofa together and talked generalities. Johan could not tell me what to expect. He said _his_ audience with the President had been a surprise, unprecedented by anything he had ever seen. As it was his first post as Minister, he had pictured to himself that it would be somewhat like the ceremonies abroad--very solemn and impressive. Of course he was in his red gala uniform, with all his decorations. A hired landau brought him to the steps of the White House, which he mounted with conscious dignity. His written speech, nicely folded, he carried in his hand. In Europe there would have been a crowd of gorgeous chamberlains to receive him, but here he found a negro, who, on seeing him, hurriedly donned a coat and, with an encouraging wave of the hand, said: "Come right along in, sir. I'll let them know you're here, sir." Johan was shown into a room and waited with patience until the President and Mr. Hamilton Fish came in. Mr. Grant was dressed in a gray walking-suit and wore a colored tie; and Mr. Hamilton Fish (Secretary of State) had evidently just come in from a walk, as his turned-up trousers signified.

Johan read his speech, and the President answered by reading, with some difficulty, a paper which Mr. Fish handed to him at the last moment. After this exchange of formalities Johan shook hands with the President, and without further ceremony he left the room, the door this time being opened by a white servant in black clothes. Mr. Fish at parting casually observed that the weather was fine.

I was officially presented on their reception days to the wives of all the Ministers, and made my visits to the members of the _Corps Diplomatique_. We were invited to dinner at the White House--a dinner given to the _Corps Diplomatique_. I was taken in by M. de Schlözer, the German Minister, and sat between him and Sir Edward Thornton (the English Minister), who sat on the right of Mrs. Grant. We were opposite to the President. I noticed that he turned his wine-glasses upside down, to indicate, I suppose, that he did not drink wine during dinner. Afterward we amused ourselves by walking in the long Blue Room. The President disappeared with some of the gentlemen to smoke and was lost to view. The company also faded gradually away. Mrs. Grant did not seem inclined to gaze on us any longer, and appeared to be relieved when we shook her outstretched hand and said "Good night."

A dinner to which we went, given by the Schiskines (the Russian Minister) in honor of the Grand-Duke Constantine of Russia, was most delightful. The Grand Duke is very charming, natural, with a sly twinkle in his mild blue eye. He has a very handsome face, is extremely musical, and plays the piano with great _finesse_, having a most sympathetic touch.

After dinner we darned stockings. This sounds queer, but nevertheless it is true. The Schiskines had just bought a darning-machine. They paid eighty-six dollars for it; but to darn, one must have holes, and no holes could be found in a single decent stocking, so they had to cut holes, and then we darned. The Grand Duke was so enchanted with this darning that he is going to take a machine home to the Grand Duchess, his august mother.

The darning done, we had some music. M. de Schlözer improvised on the piano, and after the Grand Duke had played some Chopin I sang. M. de Schlözer went through his little antics as advance-courier of my singing: he screwed the piano-stool to the proper height (he thinks it must be just so high when I accompany myself); he removed all albums from sight for fear people might be tempted to glance in them; he almost snatched fans from the hands of unoffending ladies, fearing they might use them; no dogs were to be within patting distance, _and no smoking_; he turned all the chairs to face the piano so that no one should turn his back to it. These are all heinous crimes in his eyes. He would, if he could, have pulled down all the portières and curtains, as he does in his own house when I sing there. What must people think of him?

You ask me, "What kind of a cook have you?" Don't speak of it--it is a sore subject! We have the black cook from the White House (so her certificate says). She is not what our fancy painted her. Neither is the devil as black as he is painted (I don't know why I associate them in my mind). We had painted this cook white. I shudder to think how the White House must have lived in those years when she did the cooking. Our dinners are simply awful. Although she has _carte blanche_ to provide anything and everything she wants, our dinners are failures. I look the fact in the face and blush. Our musical parties are better when I do the cooking and Johan does the serving--I mean when I sing and he fills the gaps. The diplomats groan. "Think," they say, "what a finished cook would do with all the delicious things they have here--all these wonderful birds and meats and vegetables, and only the one sauce!"

The charity concert, of which I was _dame patronesse_, went off with success. We made a great deal of money. M. de Schlözer paid twenty dollars for his ticket. My chorus covered itself with glory and was encored. As the concert finished at ten, we adjourned to the Zamaconas' (Minister of Mexico) first ball, and I hope, for them, their only one. It was one of those _soirées_ where people appropriate the forks and spoons. It cost, they say, ten thousand dollars. The assemblage was promiscuous, to say the least. Every one who asked for an invitation got one, and went. The Minister had hired the house next the Legation, and cut doors into it so that there should be plenty of room, but even then there was not sufficient space to contain the crowd of miscellaneous guests. There were two orchestras, but no one wanted to dance. Every one wandered about through the rooms or lolled in the grottoes, which were lighted with different-colored lamps. In every corner were fountains of cologne, around which the gentler sex stood in crowds saturating their handkerchiefs--some of which had cross-stitch initials in red thread. Mirrors were placed at the end of each room to prolong the vista. "Mexico," in enormous letters formed by gas-jets, stood over the entrances. And as for the supper, it was in a room out of all proportion to the gathering! There was no question of getting into it; only prize-fighters and professional athletes could elbow their way through the crowd. The waiters had long since disappeared, frightened at their formidable task. The chairs intended for the guests were utilized as tables on which to put unfinished plates of food and half-empty glasses. Everything that was not spilled on the floor was spilled on the table. Such things as bonbons, cakes, etc., that could be stowed away in pockets, vanished like magic. Gentlemen (?) broke the champagne-bottles by knocking them on the table, sending the contents flying across the room. The lady guests drew out the silver skewers which ornamented the _plats montées_ and stuck them in their hair as mementoes of this memorable evening.

WASHINGTON, 1876.

Dear Aunt,--The best way I can spend this Ash-ful Wednesday is to write a penitent letter to you and beg you to forgive my long silence; but if you could imagine what a life we have been leading, I think that, being the being you are, you would make excuses for a niece who gets up with the sun and goes to bed with the morning star. When that morning star appears I am so tired I can think of nothing but bed and the bliss of laying my diplomatic body down to rest.

Dear old Mr. Corcoran (almost blind now) gave a unique banquet in honor of Johan and me. We went first to the theater to see "Rip Van Winkle" played by Jefferson. It was delightful, though I cried my eyes out. From the theater we went to Mr. Corcoran's house for a roasted-in-the-shell oyster supper. Johan, who had never before attended such a feast, thought he had got loose among a lot of milkmaids and firemen, each with his bucket and pail, and when he saw the enormous pile of oysters brought in on platters he wondered how many "r's" March had in her. However, like a lamb he sat next to his pail, and after having consumed about a bushel himself he became quite expert at opening the oysters and throwing the shells in his pail. It was a most amusing and original evening, and the amount of oyster-shells we left behind us would have paved the way to the Capitol.

Another original entertainment I must tell you about. We received a note from General Burnside (Senator from Rhode Island): "Will you come to my codfish dinner on Thursday next?" We of course accepted and went. General Burnside and Senator Anthony are great friends and live together. I never could understand, and never dared to ask, why such a little state as Rhode Island needed two Senators. However, that is neither here nor there. The other guests were Mr. Bayard, Mr. Blaine, Mrs. Blaine, Mrs. Lawrence, General Sherman. According to the rules of a codfish dinner, every one was provided with the same amount of boiled codfish, hard-boiled eggs, beets, carrots, and potatoes, and every English sauce ever made. Every one made his own mixture, which was passed about and "sampled." The lucky person who got the greatest number of votes received a beautiful silver bowl. The dining-room was arranged as if it were a camp. There were no ornaments of any kind, and we sat on little iron tent-chairs. You may imagine after we had finished with the codfish that our appetites were on the wane, and we felt that we had dined sumptuously, if monotonously, when, lo! our genial host surprised us with an enormous turkey (reared on his own estate), twenty-seven pounds in weight, with its usual accompaniments of cranberry sauce, sweet-potatoes, and so forth. Mr. Blaine and Mr. Bayard were fountains of wit.

Then another entertainment, a sort of _mardi-gras maigre_ feast, was a champagne tea given for us at the Capitol by Mr. Blaine. He had invited a great many of the Senators and the Ministers, his wife, and some other ladies. These mighty people talked politics and had prodigious appetites. Sandwiches and cake disappeared in a hazy mist, and they drank oceans of champagne. They took cocktails before, during, and after! I amused myself--as I can't talk politics, and would not if I could--by noticing the ingenuity and variety of the spittoons placed about in convenient spots. The spittoons that tried to be pretty were the most hideous. I liked best the simplicity of the large, open, ready-to-receive ones filled with clean, dainty sand. There was no humbug about them, no trying to be something else; whereas the others, that pretended to be Etruscan vases or umbrella-stands or flower-pots, were failures in my eyes. Why are they ashamed of themselves? Why do they call themselves by the graceful name of "cuspidor"--suggestive of castanets and Andalusian wiles? Why such foolish masquerading? Spittoons will be spittoons--they risk not being recognized. I said as much as this to Mr. Blaine. "You are right," he said, "to fight their battles. Did you ever hear the story about the Western man who was not accustomed to such artistic objects, and said in one of his spitting moods, 'If you don't take that darned thing away I'll spit in it'?"

I forgot to tell you that the Emperor and Empress of Brazil are here "doing" Washington--doing it so thoroughly that they have almost overdone it. The Brazilian Minister is worn out. Every day he has a dinner and an entertainment of some kind. The Emperor wants to see everything and to know everybody. No institution is neglected, and all the industries are looked into thoroughly. He goes to the Senate very often and sits through the whole _séance_, wishing to understand everything. He always tries to get hold of the people who can give him the most information on any subject. Dom Pedro is most popular; one sees him everywhere. At the ball at the English Minister's for their Majesties, a gentleman presented to the Empress said, "_Je suis le Sénateur qui parle frangais_." The Empress said to Johan, "I beg of you to keep near me and talk to me so that the '_Senateur qui parle français_' may be discouraged in his pursuit."

PHILADELPHIA, 1876.

My dear Aunt,--Is your heart melted with pity, or does it burst with national pride, and do you disregard such trifles as heat and exhaustion? I told you in my last letter that the diplomats were invited _en bloc_ (at the country's expense) to be present at the opening of the Centennial Exposition. The country provided good rooms for us at this hotel, where we are invited to spend two days: one of those days was the day before yesterday, and I think that the other will be enough for me, for anything more awful than the heat at the present moment cannot well be conceived. It is as if Philadelphia had said to its friends, "You provide the exposition, and we'll provide the heat." There were carriages placed at our disposal for the opening, and we drove out to the grounds in great style. We were welcomed at the entrance by some officials and ushered to our seats on the red-hot platform draped with flags. President Grant then entered, accompanied by all his Ministers. After the opening speech by the President all the church-bells in the city began ringing, cannons were fired, the orchestra burst forth with national hymns--"Star-spangled Banner" and "Hail, Columbia." People waved handkerchiefs, and the display of patriotism was overpowering. In coming out, after the President had left the tribune, the crowd filled in after him, and we had to fight our way out as best we could.