Italian Letters of a Diplomat's Life Part 1

Italian Letters of a Diplomat's Life.

by Mary Alsop King Waddington.

NOTE

In December, 1879, M. William Henry Waddington resigned the Premiership of France, and the following month, accompanied by his wife, left Paris for a winter of rest and recreation in Italy, chiefly in Rome. The letters from Madame Waddington to her mother and sister, which const.i.tute "Part I" of this volume, describe this journey and residence.

Those forming "Part II" relate the incidents of a similar Roman sojourn some twenty years later, M. Waddington having died in the meantime. The two series together compose a picture of life and society in the Italian capital with a wide range of contrast and comparison, corresponding with those of London and Moscow in the well-known "Letters of a Diplomat's Wife" by the same writer.

PART I

ITALY IN THE EIGHTIES

_To G. K. S._[1]

31, RUE DUMONT D'URVILLE, PARIS, January 10, 1880.

Well, dear, here I am back again in my little hotel, and very small and uncomfortable it looks--like a doll's house after the enormous rooms of the Quai d'Orsay--however I am very glad to be a _private_ individual once more (no longer a "femme publique" as our friend used to say). Our departure was hurried, as once W.[2] had made up his mind and resigned he wanted to get away at once. We got off in two days, which I thought quite wonderful. Of course ever since the opening of the session in November it was evident that he couldn't stay. He and his Ministers were hardly ever agreed on any point, and it wasn't worth while for him to spend his energy and intelligence in trying to carry out a policy which neither the Chamber nor the country apparently desired. There were endless conferences all through December, but it was clear that it was time for him to go.

[1] Mrs. Eugene Schuyler, nee King.

[2] W. here and throughout these letters refers to M. William Henry Waddington, Madame Waddington's husband.

The weather was something awful--bitterly cold--the Seine frozen tight, booths and games established, and everybody sliding about and trying to skate--but that was under difficulties as the ice was rough and uneven.

I walked over with Francis,[3] that he might say he had walked across the Seine. We had great difficulty in warming the house--many trains with wood and coal were blocked just outside Paris, and nothing could get in. I don't know what we should have done, but happily the Ministre de la Guerre gave us an order to take some wood from some depot in Paris where they had a provision; so for the two days before we moved in great fires were going in the calorifere. I really think the only person who hated to leave the Quai d'Orsay was Francis. He was furious at seeing all his things packed up, and was carried out to the carriage kicking and screaming--"veux pas quitter ma maison--veux pas aller vilaine pet.i.te maison." The huissiers (6, all standing solemnly in a row to say good-bye) were much impressed, and the old grey-headed Pierson who has been there for years and seen many Ministers depart, remarked--"au moins Monsieur Francis est desole de partir." It seemed funny to drive out of the big gates for the last time. I wonder if I shall ever go through them again. Things go so quickly in France now.

[3] Francis, son of M. and Madame Waddington.

You can't conceive anything more uncomfortable than this house to-day--no carpets down nor curtains up; all the furniture, books, rugs, dumped in the middle of the rooms, and the hall and corridors full of trunks and boxes. W. has had a steady stream of people ever since we arrived--some to condole--some (old friends) to congratulate him upon no longer serving such an infecte government--some a little embarra.s.sed to explain that, though they regret him extremely, still ... they must serve their country, and hope he won't take it amiss if they make up to the rising sun (in the shape of Freycinet, who has taken W.'s place). I expect we shall have some curious experiences. When one is no longer in power it is surprising how things change their aspect. I had to settle the salons as soon as I could as I had invited a big party for Francis's Christmas Tree, thinking it would be at the Quai d'Orsay. I didn't want to put the people off--particularly the diplomatists who have all been most civil and proper--so after a consultation with Kruft--(chef du materiel at the Quai d'Orsay) who had already begun to make his preparations, I decided to have it here, and Kruft and one of his men came and helped dress it. Of course the tree had to be cut at the top--our rooms are fairly high, but nothing like the Quai d'Orsay naturally--but it looked rather prettier, quite covered with toys and shiny ornaments. Francis had beautiful presents--a hand-organ with a monkey on top from Madame Sibbern, the wife of the Swedish Minister, from which he can't be extracted. He can't turn it alone, but some of the bigger children helped him, and we had the "Cloches de Corneville"

and "Niniche" almost all the afternoon. There were about 100 people, children and parents, and the rooms looked pretty. All the people and lights warmed them too--it wasn't quite so Siberian. We couldn't attempt cooking of any kind as the kitchen range was out of order, and besides we hadn't fuel enough--l'Oncle Alphonse[4] who lives next door feeds us.

W. and I go to him for breakfast and dinner, and his chef (a very distinguished artist and well dressed gentleman--quite a superior person--Monsieur Double) submits Francis's menu every morning to Nounou, as he says he has no experience with children.

[4] M. Alphonse Sutteroth, ancien diplomatist under Louis Philippe.

We have decided to go to Italy for two or three months, and shall make Rome our headquarters. W. has never been there, and says it wouldn't be worth while going for less than three months. What fun it will be to be there together--I can hardly believe it is true. I am sure we are wise to get away. There must always be little jarring things when one has been in office some time--and it would be rather a bore to W. to take his place as senator and be in opposition to the present Ministry. If he stayed in Paris he would have to take part in all the discussions, and would certainly be interviewed by all sorts of people to whom he would say nothing (he never does--he hates newspaper people) but they would say he did all the same, and so many people believe implicitly whatever they see in a paper. The Minister has offered W. the London Emba.s.sy, but he won't take it, doesn't wish to have any function of any kind at present. He is looking forward to long, happy hours in Rome, deciphering all the old inscriptions, and going over the old city with Lanciani[5]

and some of his literary friends.

[5] Director of Excavations in Rome under Rossi.

January 12, 1880.

After all I have been back to the Quai d'Orsay. W. said I must go and make a formal visit to Madame de Freycinet (who is a very nice woman--a Protestant, and has one daughter--a charming intelligent girl).

Henrietta and I went together, taking Francis with us, who was delighted as soon as he got to the Place de la Concorde and crossed the bridge--"C'est Paris--C'est Paris." Poor little boy--the rue Dumont d'Urville is so quiet, nothing pa.s.sing and nothing to see when he looks out of the window. He was always at the window at the Quai d'Orsay looking at the boats, the soldiers, and the general liveliness of a great thoroughfare. It was a funny sensation to go and pay a visit to Madame de Freycinet in the little blue salon where I had received her so often, and to be announced by my own pet huissier, Gerard, who spent his life all the time I was at the Quai d'Orsay sitting outside the door of any room I happened to be in. He knew all my visitors--those I wanted to see and those I didn't--kept all the cards, and books, and remembered every quete I had given to--and the bills that had been paid. I don't remember that he ever occupied himself with my garments, but I am sure that he could have found anything that I asked for.

The house is gradually getting warm and comfortable, and the furniture settling into its place; but I have a curious feeling of smallness--as if I hadn't room to turn. We hope to get off in three or four days. We leave Francis of course, but Nounou and Hubert will look after him, and he will go to breakfast every day with Mother, where of course he will be well spoiled and have everything he asks for.

_To G. K. S._

January 18, 1880.

I hope we shall get off now in a day or two--W. really needs the rest, which he never will get here as all day long people come to see him and suggest various plans. We have written to the Hotel de Londres. You or Eugene might go there some day and see the rooms they propose. It will be nice to be back in our old quarters Piazza di Spagna. We had a pleasant small dinner last night at the British Emba.s.sy--Lord Lyons is always so nice and cordial. He was a little surprised and not _quite_ pleased that W. hadn't accepted the London Emba.s.sy, he would have been so entirely a "persona grata" with his English education, connections, etc. All the Diplomates seem to regret us (but I think they will like the Freycinets just as much) and really here, where Ministers are such pa.s.sing figures in the political world, they would have a hard time if they set their affections on any particular man.

I am becoming very philosophical--though the att.i.tude of some of my friends has rather surprised me (not W.; he is never surprised at anything). L'Oncle Alphonse keeps us well informed of what is said on the other side. He is quite a Royalist, a great friend of the Orleans Princes, and a great deal at the club where they always call him "l'oncle du gouvernement"--and when the "gouvernement makes a 'betise'"

(which sometimes happens) they criticize freely, and he tells it all to us. I fancy he always defends W. in public--but of course in private pitches into him well.

I rather miss the big life--seeing so many people, and being as it were behind the scenes--also our conversations at night when W. had finished his signatures, and Pontecoulant[6] came up from his quarters with the report of the day, and got his instructions for the next morning. W. is not at all "matinal" and hates doing any kind of business early--must always have his ride first. We used to sit in W.'s cabinet until two in the morning sometimes, telling our experiences--some of mine were funny.

I hated an official reception day, but the gentlemen of the protocol department thought it absolutely necessary, so I was obliged to give in--and certainly nothing I did tired me so much as those long Fridays in the big yellow drawing-room. From 3 to 6 streams of people--women mostly--of all nationalities--and of course no conversation possible--however it wasn't always ba.n.a.l, as you will see.

[6] Comte de Pontecoulant, chef de Cabinet.

Our last Friday one of my friends had been in, very much taken up with the journey to Rome--her clothes, the climate, which hotel was the best, etc. When she went out in a whirl of talk and excitement I turned to one of the 14 women who were seated in a semicircle on each side of me, and by way of continuing the conversation said: "Il me semble qu'on serait tres bien a l'Hotel de Londres a Rome en plein soleil," to which she replied haughtily "Je n'en sais rien, Madame, je n'ai jamais quitte Paris, et je m'en vante." W. wouldn't believe it, but as I told him I couldn't have invented it. I was rather sorry I hadn't pursued the conversation, and asked her why she was so proud of that particular phase of her life. I suppose she must have had a reason, which naturally I couldn't understand, having begun my career so very far away from either Rome or Paris. It is a real pleasure though to be back in my own salon, and have my nice little tea-table, and three or four of my friends, and talk about anything and everything, and even do a little music occasionally.

January 20, 1880.

I didn't find my tea quite so pleasant the other day. I was sitting in the little salon talking to one or two ladies, and receiving their congratulations at being no longer of the official world, and obliged to a.s.sociate with the Government people, when the footman appeared with his eyes round, to announce that "La Presidente" (Madame Grevy) was coming upstairs to pay Madame a visit. I flew to the door and the top of the stairs (I couldn't get any further) and received "ma Presidente" in proper style. I ushered her into the salon where I had left my friends (mad Royalists both). They were much disgusted--however they were too well-bred to make things disagreeable for me in my own house--and rose when we came in. I named Madame Grevy--and as soon as she had taken her seat, and declined a cup of tea, they went away. Of course they _hated_ getting up for Madame Grevy, but there was nothing else to be done as she and I were both standing. Happily no one else came in but Prince Orloff, Russian Amba.s.sador, who of course knew Madame Grevy and talked easily enough. She didn't stay long--it was the cla.s.sic "visite de condoleance" to the wife of the ex-Minister (if she only knew how glad this _Ex_ was to return to private life and her own house, and to be no longer "logee par le gouvernement"). This is the second visit of condoleance I have had. When Marshal MacMahon dismissed (suddenly) all his cabinet presided by Jules Simon, 16th of May, 1877, Madame de MacMahon came also to see me--and at the same time--5 o'clock on my reception day--so I knew precisely what the conversation would be--and Madame Grevy and I both said exactly the same things that the Marechale and I had said two or three years ago. I suppose everybody does say the same thing on certain occasions. After she had gone Orloff asked me if I remembered those two ladies meeting (for the first time in their lives) at the Quai d'Orsay on one of my Fridays. Just after the Marshal resigned Madame de MacMahon came to see me. She was announced by all the servants and I had plenty of time to get to the door of the first drawing-room, not quite to the anteroom, to receive her. When her husband was President she was received always like Royalty--at the door of the apartment. She was very simple and easy, quite pleased evidently at still having all her honours. Prince Orloff came in to pay a visit, and we were having a very pleasant talk, when I heard quick footsteps in the second salon, and again appeared my faithful Gerard (I had also visions of numberless doors being opened all down the enfilade of salons) announcing Madame Grevy. I was embarra.s.sed for a moment as I didn't like to leave the Marechale, and yet I knew I must go and meet Madame Grevy--all the ceremony of course was for the official position, and one Presidente was just the same as the other. Madame de MacMahon was most amiable--said at once--"Je vous en prie, Madame, ne pensez pas a moi"--and "au fond" was rather curious to see her successor. I went as quickly as I could (Orloff giving me a funny little smile, _almost_ a wink, as I pa.s.sed him) and got my other Presidente just at the door. She was rather astounded I think at her reception--she hadn't been long in her exalted position. We proceeded majestically through three or four salons, and when we arrived at my drawing-room Madame de MacMahon got up at once, saying quite simply "Voulez-vous me presenter, Madame, a Madame Grevy?" She was quite at her ease--Madame Grevy rather shy and embarra.s.sed--however Madame de MacMahon talked at once about some of the great charities, artists, etc., and it really wasn't too stiff--Orloff of course always helping and making jokes with the two ladies. One or two visitors came in and gasped when they saw the situation--also one of the young men of the Cabinet, who instantly disappeared. I always thought he went to tell W. what was happening upstairs so that he might come to the rescue in case I wasn't up to the mark ... but he swears he didn't. When the Marechale got up to go there was again a complication as I wanted to accompany her to the door, and I didn't like to leave Madame Grevy. She wouldn't hear of my going through all the salons--took leave of me at the door--and then Orloff came to the rescue--gave her his arm and took her to her carriage. It was a curious meeting, and, as Orloff said just now, "je lui devais une fameuse chandelle."[7]

[7] French idiom difficult to translate, meaning "I ought to be very grateful to him."

February 6, 1880.

We are starting to-night, straight for Florence, where we shall stay a week or ten days with the Bunsens before going on to Rome. W. is much pleased at the Roman prospect--and I can hardly believe that I am going to see Rome again. We have our lit-salon straight through to Florence, and I hope we shall be warm enough. It is bitterly cold to-day--even walking I was glad to have my sealskin coat. Nounou is rather tearful at being left in sole charge of Francis, but as that young gentleman is perfectly well, in roaring spirits, and will be given everything his heart desires by his Grandmother and Aunts, I don't feel very unhappy about him. It seems incredible that we should be going to meet soon. How we will prowl about Rome. I suppose I shall find it absolutely changed--so many more people--not our dear old dead Rome.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mrs. Charles King.]

_To H. L. K._[8]

FLORENCE, VIA ROMANA, VILLA MCDONNELL, February 8, 1880.

We arrived quite comfortably, dear mother, but almost frozen, particularly W. He has not been extracted from the fire since we got here. Henrietta will have told you of our start. Pontecoulant and one or two men were at the station to see us off--also the Chef de Gare, most civil, and saying we should not be disturbed at the frontier--and that our coupe-lit would take us straight through to Florence. We had a perfectly easy journey, and I slept quite peacefully--waking up merely when we pa.s.sed through the tunnel, as the guard came in to shut all the windows. It was a beautiful, cold, starlight winter night. The great mountains covered with snow looked gigantic as we approached--"sinistres"

as Madame Hubert[9] said. She was much impressed and rather nervous. There were very few people in the train. When we arrived at Modane the Chef de Gare was waiting for us--he had been telegraphed from Paris to expect us.

We had breakfast in the private room, and a nice woman was waiting for us upstairs in the ladies' room with hot water, towels, etc. I made quite a toilet--she carried off my dress and jacket to brush--and then we went down to a nice little breakfast which tasted very good, as I hadn't had anything since our 7 o'clock dinner. They offered us coffee somewhere--Dijon I think--but I didn't want anything then. All the first part of the road--in fact all the road to Turin was lovely. It was a bright, cold morning, and the snow mountains looked beautiful. It was such a pleasure to hear Italian once more--even the names at the stations "capo stazione"--"grande velocita"--"uscita," etc., also the shrill "partenza" when we started. The last time I crossed the Mont Cenis was by the Fell railway when we all started together from Aix. That was certainly very beautiful--but rather terrifying--particularly as we neared the top and looked at the steep places and the various zigzags we were to follow going down. One couldn't help feeling that if a brake or chain broke there would be a terrible catastrophe. I remember so well some of the women who were quite sea-sick--the swaying motion, I suppose, as we rounded the curves, of which there were many. I can see one now stretched out on the floor on a rug in the small salle d'attente at Susa, quite exhausted and absolutely indifferent to the outside world.

[8] Mrs. Charles King, mother of Madame Waddington.

[9] Madame Waddington's maid.

We had quite a wait at Turin. Our coupe was detached and put on the Florence express. They locked the doors, and we left all our things--books, shawls, bags, etc.--and had a very fair dinner at the buffet. We had so much time that Madame Hubert and I went for a little walk. There was not much to see close to the gare--but it was delightful to me to hear Italian again, and to see the idle, placid crowd standing about--n.o.body in a hurry apparently, and n.o.body jostling and pushing through, though there were trains starting or coming in all the time. W.