The overture was a composition made for the occasion, and played while all the lights were blazing, in order that every one could have a good look at the Princess.

Then gradually the theater became dark, and the opera commenced. It was "Orphee," by Glueck. Madame Destinn sang the principal part. Her voice is very beautiful, but she is so small, and somewhat dumpy, that she did not look much like an Orphee. To make the opera shorter they combined the first and second acts, and to allow Orphee to go from hell to heaven without letting down the curtain they had invented a sort of treadmill on which Orphee and Eurydice should walk while the landscape behind them moved. It was a very ungraceful way of walking. They looked as if they were struggling up a hill over rough and stony ground.

We went into the foyer after the performance and were presented to the Princess. I had known her as a young girl in Cannes, where her parents lived, therefore we had something to talk about. She is very charming, tall and willowy, and has a pleasant word and smile for every one.

The wedding-day dawned in a relentless haze. We were invited to be at the chapel of the Schloss at five o'clock. The regulations about our court dress were the same as for the Schleppenkur, only we were begged not to wear white. My dress was yellow, with a yellow manteau de cour. Frederikke wore a light-green pailletted dress with a light-green train. We were a little late in starting; our Schutzmann had waited patiently in the courtyard for a long time. We drove through the crowded streets, lined with spectators. Each clock we passed pointed in an exasperating way to the fact that we were late. J.'s sword seemed always to be in the way; every time he spoke out of the window to urge on the already goaded coachman the sword would catch on something. The air was more than suffocating, and there was evidently a storm brewing.

We arrived before the portal of the Schloss at the last moment. Ours was the last carriage to arrive. The pompous Suisse pounded his mace on the ground and said, warningly, "You must hurry; the Kaiser is just behind you." And we did hurry.

The staircase makes three turns for each flight, and the chapel is the highest place in the palace, meaning seven turns for us. I grasped the tail of my ball dress in one hand and my heavy court train in the other and prepared to mount. On each turn I looked behind and could just see the eagle on the top of the Emperor's silver helmet. We hurried as I never hurried in my life, for if his Majesty had got ahead of us on any of these turns where the two flights meet and part, we would have been shut out from the chapel. As it was, one door was already closed. They opened it for us, and we were the last to enter before the princes. We crossed the chapel to reach the estrade on which stood the Corps Diplomatique. In my hurry I forgot to let down my dress, and I don't dare to think how much stocking I must have exhibited. When finally I did reach my place I was so out of breath it took me a long time before I was in it again.



There was a general who stood before me with his plumed hat in his hand, and the plumes waved about like palm-trees, so near were they to my panting!

Then the Emperor appeared with his suite, and stood at the right of the altar. He was a little ahead of time. There were about seventy-two princes and princesses. Each of the princesses had a page or a young lady to hold up her train.

The Empress then entered, followed by her suite. The youngest demoiselle d'honneur held her train, which was of red velvet covered with heavy embossed gold embroidery.

After the Empress came the Crown Prince in his white garde de corps uniform. He looked very young and slender and quite pale.

A moment after the bride came in. Six young ladies held her train, which was light-blue velvet embroidered in silver, over a white-satin gown covered with beautiful point lace. The train was carefully spread on the floor.

The choir of boys high up in the dome sang psalms with many verses. Then the clergyman commenced his exhortation, which was very long. The heat was intense. Some ladies about me thought they were going to faint, but happily they could not make up their minds.

Although the music was delicious, I longed to hear the organ. Especially when the ceremony was finished I hoped that we should hear Mendelssohn's March. But there was no organ in the chapel.

It took the royal persons a long time to leave the chapel, each princess taking up a great deal of space with her train and her train-bearer. The last princely couple were strangely contrasted. The young Duchesse d'Aosta, who is unusually tall, walked with a tiny Siamese prince. We followed down the steps to the Weissesaal, where the members of the Diplomatic Corps defiled before the throne and made our courtesy—one only—before the Emperor. All the suites and court gentlemen stood massed together opposite the throne. It was quite an ordeal to walk under the fire of so many eyes, as the parquet was without any carpet and very slippery, and the length of the room immense.

After waiting what seemed an hour, the royalties, headed by the Emperor and the Empress, walked past us.

The spectacle of these fifty princesses with their magnificent dresses, blazing with jewels, made one gasp.

Besides all the royal people of Germany, representatives from other countries were present. Prince Christian and his wife, who is the sister to the bride, represented Denmark.

They all disappeared in the banqueting-hall at the end of the gallery. We others sat down at tables each containing twelve people, and were served a regular dinner.

Each table in our room had a superb surtout de table in silver, and silver drinking-cups worthy of a museum. The menus and bonbons were trimmed with white-satin frills and had the photographs of the Crown Prince and Princess, and were laid by each plate. A dinner for three thousand people! The young ladies and officers had their dinner at a standing buffet.

We went back to the ballroom after the royalties had passed us again. The clouds outside were very oppressive.

Then the traditional Fackeltanz commenced. The Corps Diplomatique had a platform to itself, fenced in with cords. We were so crowded that had it not been for the cord which held us in our places we would have tumbled out.

The ladies of the nobility also had a platform. The herald, dressed in a short medieval, red-velvet costume, with the embroidered coat of arms of Germany on his breast, advanced, trumpet in hand, and announced that the Fackeltanz was about to begin. The orchestra played a gavotte; and the Crown Prince, giving his hand to the Empress, and the Crown Princess giving hers to the Emperor, preceded by eight pages with torches and by Prince Fuerstenberg, walked around the room. When they arrived before the throne they made the most reverential of bows before parting with their Majesties, who took their places on the throne. The Princess's train was carried by four young ladies, and by her side walked Countess Harrach, one of the dames de palais. After this the Princess walked with every prince according to his rank, sometimes with two, one on each side, and the Prince walked with two ladies. Each tour of the salon they made they stopped in front of the Emperor and bowed and received their next partner. Fancy what fatigue!

The storm which we had expected now really burst upon us. Peals of thunder mingled with the strains of the orchestra, and almost shook the ground.

At eleven o'clock the Princess had danced with every one and had made hundreds of courtesies, and on the signal given by their Majesties retired with her suite. We went down the Hoelletreppe (in English, hell-stairs), a rather diabolical name, but I hope it was paved with better intentions than the Wendeltreppe, where we went up. My intention was, bed.

We found our carriages and drenched coachman and dragged our trains home to their resting-places.

We had been eight hours under arms.

Every one received a white ribbon with a little gold fringe on the end, bearing the monogram of the married couple. It was a honi soit qui mal y pense remembrance of the royal wedding.

Prince Wilhelm Hohenzollern,[2] cousin of the Emperor, is a great philatelist, and brought his magnificent collection of albums (eight or ten large ones) to show me, and a pile of duplicates. His victoria was quite filled when he drove up to our door, and his chasseur had to make two trips to bring them all up. Collectors of postage-stamps make a brotherhood in themselves. He knew each stamp in his books, and explained all to us.

[2] Father of the princess who married the young ex-King of Portugal, Manuel, in 1913.

He has twelve thousand! I brought out my little collection very shyly—it was so insignificant beside his. We passed two hours going through the two collections. He left six thousand duplicates with me to look over and chose from, so my collection was enriched by one thousand new specimens. He told me he had inherited a whole collection from his uncle, the King of Rumania. He came to drink with us, and was always most amiable. He does not play cards, nor is he musical in any way, therefore conversation was our only resource. I brought in all my animals and put them through their tricks; the parrot played up wonderfully. He followed me about the room, sat on my shoulder, sang, and whistled. What amused people most was, when I sang "Medje," a very sentimental song, he imitated a rire-fou which seemed so inappropriate that every one was convulsed with laughter. Then I showed my doves, which were pronounced "perfect darlings." My seven dogs did their best to amuse us. The parrot ran after them and bit their tails, which the dogs did not resent in the least.

Prince Friedrich Wilhelm of Prussia also dined with us—a very formal dinner. He is rather serious for such a young man. He is tall and thin, and in his high, buttoned-to-the-chin uniform he looks even taller than he really is. He is very musical, and brought his violin and several books of music. He only approves of Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart in his severer moods. He likes Bach best of all. He plays very correctly, one might say without a fault, but I have heard violinists who play with more brio. He listened with kindness to a young Danish girl who executed a dashing solo by Brahms divinely, and nodded his head in approval when she had finished. The Prince was begged to play several times, and he went through the entire repertoire of sonatas he had brought with him. The guests were immensely pleased, and the soiree was very successful.

His brother, Prince Joachim Albrecht, is also a very good musician, but differs radically from Prince Wilhelm. He plays the violoncello very well, and favors modern music. He composes ballads, and leads his own regimental orchestra. He is as jolly and unconventional as his brother is reserved and grave. When he dines with us he brings his violoncello, and I accompany him on my piano. He composed two very pretty and successful ballets, both given for charity. The first one was danced by Frederikke and two other girls and three young officers. It was called "La Lecon de Danse." On the top of the program, instead of the English device, "Honi soit qui mal y pense," I put "Honi soit qui mal y danse" in the same shield. Hardly any one in the German audience saw the joke—nothing more than that it was a druckfehler (printer's error). The rehearsals were in my salon, and we had great amusement over them. The second ballet was more pretentious, and was danced in one of the largest theaters in Berlin. It was called the "Enchanted Castle." A parvenu buys an ancestral castle, and on his arrival there falls asleep in the great hall, filled with the portraits of ancestors and knights in armor. The ladies, in their old-fashioned dresses, step out from their frames, and with the knights in armor move in a stately quadrille. After they return to their frames, thirty young couples dance a ballet, and when they finish, the parvenu wakes up. It was very pretty and brought in a lot of money, and there was a question of its being repeated for the Emperor, but this was not done.

February, 1908.

Dear L.,—The Crown Prince and the Crown Princess gave a small bal-costume. It was their first entertainment of any importance, though there were very few people invited. As Frederikke is a dancing young person, we were invited, enabling me to take many girls under my protecting wing. The Emperor was dressed as the Grand Elector of Brandenburg. The Empress had copied an old family portrait at San Souci. She had a voluminous blond peruke and a flowing blue dress. She looked very handsome. The Princes were generally dressed as their ancestors and looked very familiar, as almost all of them stand in the Sieges Allee. I learned much of German history that evening. The Emperor was very kind and gave me a spirited and concise history of those whom his six sons represented. No one except the Kaiser would ever have had the persistency to stay booted and spurred during the whole evening without a murmur, though he must have suffered from the heat and been uncomfortable to a great degree. He had thick, brown curls which hung close about his ears; thick, high, and hot leather boots; and heavy leather gloves which he conscientiously kept on till the very end.

The Kaiser is a wonderful personality. The more I see him the more I admire him. He impresses you as having a great sense of power and true and sound judgment. And then he is kind and good. I do not think him capable of doing a mean or small action.

Mrs. Vanderbilt drove me out to Potsdam in her motor, and, going through the forest, we passed in our hurried flight an automobile which we did not have time to remark upon. That evening there was a ball at court. When the Emperor spoke to me he said: "You flew by the Empress and me like lightning this afternoon when we were walking in the forest."

"Was that your Majesty's motor?" I asked. "We went so fast that I did little else than hold on to my seat. It must have seemed ill-mannered to have flown by like that."

There is to-night a Gesinde Ball to which we are going. I know that you have no idea as to what a Gesinde Ball is, so I will tell you that it is a ball given at some kind house by a kind lady. People dress themselves up as servants. It is our wildest dream, and we are never so happy as when we are gotten up to look like ladies' maids. I can tell you how some of them will look—self-made and to the manner born. I am going, since commands from superior quarters make it imperative, as a giddy old housekeeper or a care (worn) taker who has taken a smart gown from her mistress's wardrobe on the sly.

Several evenings later I heard your prima donna with patience (because you sent her), but not with enthusiasm. She is like a hundred other would-be prima donnas who cannot sing now and never can. These flock to Berlin, study with all their might for two or three years, and sing worse each year. Then they give a concert, for which they give away the tickets. They say they must have the Berlin criticism. In the mean time their families are eating dry bread and their friends are squeezed like lemons. They get their criticism in some paper, cut it out, stick it on a nice piece of paper, and send it to their countrymen, who are out of pocket for a thousand marks or so. Then they go back to their homesteads, discouraged and unhappy, and sing for nothing in the village choir for the rest of their lives.

Our winters are very much alike—always the same routine. The season commences with the reception of the grande maitresse, then comes the Schleppenkur, the Ordensfest, and after that the Emperor's birthday, with a gala opera in the evening; then the first, second, and third balls at court, and the gala performances at the Opera when any sovereign comes to Berlin on a visit. In Lent there is always one entertainment at court. After Easter every one disappears and all the blinds are pulled down. Those who remain in Berlin pretend they are away.

The Emperor speaks French and English with equal ease, but he likes best to speak English. He can be very lively at times, and then the next moment just as serious again. While talking to you he never takes his eyes off your face. He is seemingly all attention. Sometimes when the diplomatic ladies stand side by side he glances to the next lady, evidently making up his mind about what he will talk with her. His voice is singularly clear, and what he says is straight to the point. He has the rare gift of making the person to whom he is talking appear at his very best. The life in Potsdam is, I have been told, very home-like and cozy. The Emperor often spends the evening reading aloud, while the Empress sits near with her knitting. They love to be in the Neues Palais and stay there until after Christmas. Their Christmas festivities must be worth seeing. Each prince has a Christmas tree and a table of his own, makes his own choice of presents, and ties up his own packages—as it were—and lights the Christmas candles. These festivals are held in the mussel-room, on the ground floor, original if not pretty—a combination of shells, mother-of-pearl, and glass stone, which must be very effective in the brilliantly lighted room.

The Empress is very fond of riding, but often drives a little pony-carriage with two English "high-steppers." Once when the Shah of Persia was spending the day at Potsdam the Empress offered to take him out for a drive in the park. Half-way to their destination the lively pace of the horses alarmed the Shah. He put his hand over hers, which held the reins, and said in his pigeon-French, "Vous-mourir seule" and got out and walked back.

The Emperor said to me, "Do you know Mr. Carnegie?"

I said that I did not.

"He is a clever gentleman," continued the Emperor. "Can you guess what he said to me?"

I shook my head.

The Emperor then quoted Mr. Carnegie: "You and Mr. Roosevelt would make a nice tandem."

"That shows tact and discrimination," I remarked.

The Emperor laughed. "I asked him which he thought would be the wheel-horse?"

"What did he answer to that?" said I.

"I am afraid Mr. Carnegie did not find anything to answer just then. He has not your talent for repartee."

"In this case," I assured his Majesty, "I should not have answered at all, for I have no idea what a wheel-horse is. If it is the horse which makes all the wheels turn, then it must be your Majesty."

"You see!" said the Emperor, shaking his finger and laughing.

We had the great pleasure of welcoming Prince Hans (King Christian's brother). Johan was with him in Greece many years ago and has never ceased to love him. He is the most polite gentleman I ever saw; he almost begs your pardon for being kind to you. He dined with us yesterday. We invited to meet him Prince Albert Schleswig-Holstein (his nephew) and Prince and Princess Wied[3]. This young couple are delightfully charming. The Prince has the most catching smile. It is impossible not to be in good spirits when you are with him. We sat out on the balcony after dinner and took our coffee and looked out into the brilliantly lighted square of Brandenburger Tor with its network of trams. I think our apartment is the most beautifully situated in all Berlin.

[3] Now King and Queen of Albania.

March, 1908.

Dear L.,—The King of Spain is in Berlin now on a visit of a few days to the Emperor. We only saw him at the gala performance at the Opera. The Kaiser had chosen "The Huguenots." It was beautifully put on. Madame Hempel sang the part of Marguerite de Valois, and Madame Destinn sang Valentine. The house was decorated in the usual manner, with carpets hanging from the balconies and flowers in great profusion everywhere. The King of Spain sat between the Kaiser and the Kaiserin. He looks very young and very manly. After the first act, when we all met in the foyer, the Emperor stood by him, and sometimes would take him by the arm and walk about in order to present people to him. I was presented to him, but I did not get more than a smile and a shake of the hand—I could not expect more. Johan was more favored, for the King asked him how long he had been in Berlin. You must confess that even that was not much.

I was compensated by having quite a long talk with the Kaiser—long for him, as he has so many people to talk to, and he feels, I am sure, every eye of the hoping-to-speak-to-him person in the room. He said:

"I have just been reading the memoirs of General von Moltke. Did you ever know him?"

"No," I said, "I never saw him, but I have a letter from him, written in 1856 to my father-in-law, dated from the Tuileries."

"He often speaks in his letters of your husband's grandparents' home in Copenhagen—how he always felt at home and happy there, and was always sure to find a charming circle of interesting and literary people. You must read it; it would interest your husband, too."

"Did your Majesty ever hear about Moltke's visit to some grand-ducal court? Moltke thought, of course, that as he had all the grand cordons and decorations in creation, he had also that of this court. When he was going to visit the Grand Duke he said to his servant, 'Don't forget my decoration,' The servant looked high and low, but could not find it, and, thinking that he had mislaid it, went and bought one. Moltke put on his uniform, the decoration being in place on his breast. When the Grand Duke entered he had in his hand an etui containing the decoration, intending to hang it around Moltke's neck himself. Imagine his surprise at seeing it there already!"

BERLIN, November, 1908.

Dear L.,—Our King and Queen visit Berlin.

When the Emperor learned of the date for the visit, and that their Majesties were to be accompanied by the Minister of Foreign Affairs (Frederick) he proposed that Nina should also come, and he invited them to be his guests at the Schloss. This was joyful news for me. Though Nina had just had a dreadful fall while riding and had broken her arm and wrist, she had the courage to undertake the journey. They traveled with their Majesties.

The Lehrter Bahnhof is particularly well adapted to receive royalties. It has a fine facade, and the open square in front is large enough to contain the military bands and the hundreds of carriages of all sorts. Today it was overflowing.

Inside the station a broad flight of steps lead down to the platform, where was spread the traditional red carpet; the plants, bushes, and flowers all made it look very gay and festive. The train was expected at eleven o'clock. We hoped to get there very early, but found the Emperor and his staff already on the platform, waiting. As our little party arrived (we and the Secretaries) the Emperor came forward, took my hand, and kissed it very graciously. We stood talking until the Empress came, accompanied by all her ladies and suite. The train was announced by many signals and many whistlings, but no train came in. The locomotive had given out and the train had stopped a good way out of the station. The carpet not reaching so far, their Majesties were obliged to walk quite a distance on the wet platform. By means of shunting and jerking the royal train was brought in under the station roof, but nowhere near the carpet. The small steps were put up to the carriage door, and the King and Queen descended. The Emperor kissed the King on both cheeks. The Empress received the Queen affectionately and gave her a bouquet, which she carried in her hand. I saw Nina's pale face, pinched with pain, in the distance, and longed to fly to her, but etiquette compelled me to stay to make my obeisance to their Majesties. The band which was in the station struck up the Royal Danish March, and we could hardly hear ourselves speak on account of the tremendous resonance. The procession of resplendent uniforms and the bright colors of the ladies' dresses made a brilliant sight as they walked through the station. The Empress led the way, and we all followed to the waiting-room, where presentations to the Queen took place. The Empress presented every one of the ladies to the Queen, even me. All the royal carriages seemed to be out—two open barouches with four horses were for the four royalties. I drove to the castle to see Nina, who was already installed in her regal apartment. I went up the Wendeltreppe, through two antechambers and a small salon, before reaching her magnificent drawing-room. It had superb tapestries on the walls and was filled with fine old Dutch inlaid furniture. It is called the Braunschweig suite, nine rooms in all. Frederick had a separate staircase and entrance. Nina and I went to the window to look out onto the Platz in front of the castle, and saw the parade pass before the Emperor and the King, who stood in the rain while the troops marched by.

Nina had a court carriage and lackey at her disposal all the time she was in Berlin. In the evening there was a state dinner in the superb Weissesaal. Johan and I and the members of the Legation were the only diplomats present. We all met in the Grand Gallery; the Emperor took in the Queen of Denmark, placing her on his right, and the King gave his arm to the Empress and sat facing the Emperor. The table was in the shape of a horseshoe, and there were about eighty people present. Prince Schleswig-Holstein (familiarly called Prince Abby) took me in, and the Emperor's son, Prince Adalbert, sat on my left. The menu was in German. Some of the French dishes seemed to have puzzled the translator. The Empress wore a dress of blue brocade and many beautiful jewels. Our Queen wore a light-gray satin trimmed with lace, and her famous diamond-and-pearl necklace. The Emperor wore the Danish uniform, and the King was in the uniform of his Prussian regiment. A military band played throughout dinner.

I was amused when the fruit and bonbons were passed. Both the princes next to me piled their plates high with them and passed them over their shoulders to the young gentlemen pages who stood behind each royal person, thus depriving many ladies of the longed-for bonbons, which were adorned with the portraits of their Majesties.

The Emperor made a very charming and touching speech in German, when we all stood up and emptied our glasses. The King replied in German, and we again got up and drank. After dinner every one went into the long gallery, and their four Majesties talked very informally with us while taking their coffee. At eleven o'clock their Majesties retired. I was glad, for Nina's sake, that she could rest after her fatiguing day. I knew that she was suffering agonies from her tightly bandaged wrist. Her arm was in a plaster cast, and she carried it in a sling cleverly hidden under her laces. The next day the Empress took the Queen with her to visit some charitable institutions. The King and the Queen had graciously promised to lunch at our house, which was surrounded by a cordon of police, on foot and on horseback, in front and in the courtyard belonging to the Legation.

At two o'clock quite a procession of court carriages entered our porte-cochere, where I met the Queen, presenting her with a bouquet tied with ribbons of the Danish colors—red and white. Our lunch was for forty people, and was served in two rooms. The King gave me his arm. The Emperor had sent in the morning a life-sized crayon portrait of himself by Lenbach as a present. The whole staircase was lined with palms and bushes, and of course there were plenty of flowers in the rooms.

After luncheon a deputation of the Danish colony met in the large salons and were presented to their Majesties. It was after five o'clock before every one had departed. The policemen had filed off, and the crowds which had collected in the street disappeared.

The gala opera in the evening was like all the other gala operas I have described. At eight o'clock every one had assembled and was in his place. The opera was called "Der Lange Kerl," written at the Emperor's command by some German composer. It was a beautiful production, and represented Frederick the Great at Sans-Souci. In the first act the interior of Sans-Souci was copied after the famous picture of Mezzler where Frederick the Great is playing on the flute. The "Long Fellow" was a giant, who, it seems, was a common soldier in the King's regiment. Madame Destinn took the part of a peasant woman, and washed up the pavement and prepared her vegetables for sale in the most realistic manner. The second scene, when Potsdam wakes up in the morning, reminded me of the opening of the second act of "Lohengrin." The last act was very sad, and rather lugubrious, representing Frederick the Great seated in the garden in front of Sans-Souci. There was no singing in this act at all, only pantomime. The respectful manner and the sad faces of the lackeys as they helped the poor old King to his chair and covered his knees with rugs, leaving him alone, was very pathetic.

We went into the foyer after the performance. The Empress presented all the notable people to the Queen, and I stood near her in order to present others if necessary.

BERLIN, May, 1910.

Dear L.,—Do not be surprised that you have not heard from me. We have been motoring. A most delightful tour. One does not know the bliss of traveling until one motors through Germany as we have just done. I would send you my diary, but it reads too much like a ship's log. We started from Berlin on the 1st of May and went as far as Eisenach. In trying to climb the steep hill which leads to the halls where Tannhauser sang his naughty description of Venusberg our motor broke down, as if to commemorate the spot. We had to spend the night at Eisenach for repairs. The next day we passed Gotha, where we lunched, and passed the night at Fulda. The next day we went on to Weimar, where Liszt's memory is as green as the trees in the grand-ducal park.

Everything is beautiful in this time of the year, and the days are long. What could be more enchanting I leave to your imagination.

In Munich we galleried from morning to night, and were utterly exhausted and hardly had the courage to dress for the opera; but, having tickets, economy got the better of prudence, and we sat through the long performance of "Don Giovanni" with Geduld.

Andrada, the Portuguese barytone, was very good and looked the part to perfection. In real life I am told he is a Don Juan himself. If the list of his victims has not yet reached mille et un the fault cannot be laid at his door. His stage victims were all fat German Frauen. Zerlina wore a blond wig, showed very black eyebrows and red lips. Her golden molars showed from afar. Our visit to the artist Lenbach and his wife was followed by an invitation to tea the next day. Lenbach is divorced from his first wife, married to a Countess Arnim (also divorced). They have a dear little girl whom Lenbach has painted several times. The studio is in a charming garden, arranged in the most artistic manner, full of broken columns and antique relics resembling the gardens on the Venice canals. Lenbach seen in the bosom of his family is a different Lenbach from the one we knew in Rome and Paris—half society man, half artist. Here he is simply all papa.

We motored over the mountain to Oberammergau. I do not dare to say that I was disappointed in the performance. I suppose years ago, when people began to go to Oberammergau, it was more interesting, but now it is simply an enterprise, speculation kept alive by travelers and sight-seers. As a representation it is impressive in a way, but your illusions are dimmed by the prosaic manner in which everything is done. I felt a little queer when I met Jesus Christ smoking and wiping his muddy sandals with a dirty handkerchief, and saw Mary Magdalene flirting with the chauffeurs. When we sat at a cafe, enjoying a mug of beer and a sausage, we were surrounded by St. Joseph and a brood of angels, all drinking beer. People may rave about the Stimmung, the poetry, and the romance of it, but I saw beauty neither in the acting nor in the play. I do not speak of the music, there was so little of it. Physical comfort goes a long way with yours lovingly. To sleep in a narrow bed having a piece of flannel buttoned between two coarse pieces of linen, to eat bad food, to sit on hard benches for hours under an open heaven which lets down occasionally a mild shower—this is what the Germans call Stimmung and others call "local color" and what I call discomfort. Still, it is one of the things one must do once in ten years. For a European to say, "I have not been to Oberammergau," is like an American saying, "I have never been to Niagara."

Whoever has been to see the crazy King Ludwig's chateaux knows more about them than I do, for I hated to go inside them. I gazed at the magnificent view and wondered how any but a crazy person could have furnished the interiors.

What a life the King led his faithful subjects! They are still taxing all they can tax in order to pay his debts. Poor things! They won't finish for a long time yet!

BERLIN.

Dear L.,—The visit to the Berlin court by King Edward and Queen Alexandra is already a thing of the past, but I must tell you about it while it is still fresh in my mind. We, as legation de famille, went to the Lehrter station to meet them on their arrival. When the train steamed in the Emperor and the Empress went forward to the door of the carriage, and as the King and the Queen descended they all embraced affectionately. The Empress led the Queen to the waiting-room, where she presented all the ladies who were there. There was music inside and outside of the station. In fact, everything was so exactly like the reception of our King and Queen, which I have described before, that I will not repeat myself.

King Edward looked tired and coughed constantly. The Queen, whom I had not seen for a long time, seemed quite unchanged and charming as ever. There is not much time on such occasions to say more than a few words to each. We saw them drive off amid the most enthusiastic greetings from the populace massed together in the square.

That evening there was a state banquet, served in the Weissesaal, at which the Kaiser read his speech in English to the King, and the King read his reply.

I sat between Lord Granville and Sir Charles Hardinge, between a cross-fire of wit and fun. The court orchestra, up in the gallery, played subdued music during the dinner, so that conversation was possible. Their four Majesties sat next to one another on one side of the table, and the Chancelier de l'Empire sat opposite the Empress. The English Embassy and ourselves were the only diplomats among the hundred guests. The bonbons which were served with the fruit had photographs of King Edward, the Queen, and the German Imperial family, and were, as is the custom, handed to the pages. These offerings are meant, I suppose, as a polite attention, and little souvenirs of the occasion, but the guests for whom the bonbons are intended go away empty-handed. These pages belong to the highest families in Germany, and are present at all court functions, such as balls and dinners, and stand behind the chairs of the royal personages at the table.



After dinner we went into the long gallery, which in one part was arranged as a salon, with fauteuils and chairs in circle.

To show what a wonderful memory King Edward has, he said to me:

"Do you remember a song you used to sing [I thought he was going to say 'Beware'] with something about, 'I mean the daughter'?"

"Yes, your Majesty, I remember very well. It was, 'I know a lady, a Mrs. Brady.'"

"Yes, that was it...'and has a daughter,' wasn't it?"

I said, "What a memory your Majesty has! Fancy remembering that all these years. It was when your Majesty came to Sommerberg to play tennis with Paul Hatzfeldt."

"That was a long time ago," continued King Edward. "I was stopping then with the King and the Queen of Denmark at Wiesbaden. I remember it all so well. Poor Hatzfeldt. You know what Bismarck said about him?"

"Was it not something about his being the best horse in his stable?"

"That is it," the King answered. "You have a good memory, too. How is Countess Raben?"

"You mean 'the daughter'?"

The King laughed. "Yes, I mean 'the daughter.'"

We did not stay long after the dinner, as evidently their Majesties were fatigued after their journey. The King coughed incessantly, and the Queen looked very tired. I think that she is beginning to look very like her mother, the dear old Queen.

The next day hundreds of court carriages were flying about Berlin; I wish you could see the packages of cards that were sent to us. In the evening was the gala opera. The Opera House is always decorated in the same way, and there is always the same audience.

"Sardanapal" was the play chosen by the Emperor for this performance. I thought it very interesting to look at, but impossible to understand. It was a combination of orchestral music, choruses, and pantomime. A dreadful-looking Nubian came out before the curtain between acts and told us in German poetry what was going to happen. The Emperor had taken a great interest in the play, and had indicated all the costumes himself. Every dress was a study and entirely correct, you may be sure, if the Kaiser had anything to do with it. The ornaments which the actors wore were copied from specimens in the museums. The scenery was very fine, and when Sardanapal was burned up, with his wives and collection of gold and silver things, the whole stage seemed to be on fire. This almost created a panic, and would have done so if the audience had not seen that their Majesties sat calmly in their seats. It was very realistic. The Emperor told me afterward in the foyer that the flames were nothing but chiffon, lighted with electric lights, and blown up with a fan from beneath. When the fire had done its work there was nothing left upon the stage but red-hot coals and smoldering debris. It was all very well, if we only had been spared the lugubrious man with the beard made of tight black curls, who did the talking.

The next day the luncheon in honor of their English Majesties at the English Ambassador's, Sir Edward Goschen, was full of emotion. King Edward wore the uniform belonging to his German regiment, which, besides being buttoned tightly and apparently much padded, has a high and tight collar. He had received a deputation of most of the English colony and already looked wearied before we went in to luncheon. This was served in the ballroom, and was a long and elaborate affair. The King sat opposite the Queen, and Sir Edward and Lady Goschen sat at either end of the table. All the princes, the German nobility, and ministers of state were present.

The King apparently had a good appetite, and talked with his neighbors right and left and opposite, and seemed to enjoy himself. When we re-entered the drawing-room the King lit an enormous cigar and, seating himself on a low sofa, talked and smoked, when suddenly he threw his head back against the sofa, as if gasping for breath. The Queen, who was on the other side of the room, rushed instantly to the King and quickly unbuttoned his collar and opened his coat. The two English physicians who had come with the King were finishing luncheon in another room. They were instantly called in, and they begged the guests to leave the salon in order that the King might have more air. The King had not fainted, but on account of the tight collar, the heat of the room, the big cigar, and the violent fit of coughing, it was almost impossible for him to get his breath. The physicians helped him up from the low sofa into a high chair, and took away the cigar; but the King, as soon as he could speak, said, "Give me another cigar." The physicians protested, but the King insisted upon the cigar, which they were obliged to give him. The guests returned, and the conversation rallied for a while, but the emotion of the few moments before could not be easily calmed.

The King left the room quietly, hardly any one seeing him, reached the automobile, and drove to the castle. The Queen followed him a few moments later.

We were prepared to receive notice at any moment that the ball fixed for that evening would be countermanded. But it was not, and at eight o'clock—the hour one goes to court balls here—found every one assembled. As usual, we took our places on the platform reserved for the ladies of the Corps Diplomatique, and then, with the ceremonial which I have so often described, their Majesties, preceded by the pages and court notables, entered. The Emperor gave his arm to Queen Alexandra, and the Empress entered with King Edward. It is customary for the Emperor and the Empress to make a tour of the invited guests, but this evening the royal persons stayed on the throne and did not move during the dances.

King Edward and the Queen supped at the table of the Emperor, and immediately afterward retired to their rooms and were seen no more. During the whole evening they had not spoken to a single person.

The next morning their Majesties took their departure from the Lehrter station. We went to bid them good-by. The Emperor, in speaking to me, said, "You know, my uncle had such a fright the other night when he saw the fire, he wanted to leave the theater; it was only when I told him that the flames were chiffon that I could quiet him."

When King Edward bade me good-by he said, "Please remember me to Countess Raben," and added, laughingly, "I mean the daughter."

Saint-Saens and Massenet came to Berlin to assist at a sort of Congres de musique. Massenet was invited to lead the orchestra in "Manon," and Saint-Saens that of "Samson and Delilah." They accepted an invitation to lunch at our house, and I was delighted to see them again. They had come, they said, with prejudices on fire. They were sure that they would dislike everything German; but, having been begged to visit the Kaiser in his loge after the performance, they came away from the interview burning with enthusiasm. How charming the Emperor was! How full of interest! So natural! etc., etc. They could not find words for their admiration. That is the way with the Emperor. He charms every one.

The first of my articles about Compiegne appeared in Harper's Magazine in the summer. At the ball at court in the following January the Kaiser came to speak to me, his face beaming with the kindest of smiles.

"I can't tell you how I have enjoyed your articles, I read them to myself and read them out loud to the Empress."

"How," said I "did your Majesty discover them?"

"I have always taken Harper's Magazine, ever since I was a little boy. You may imagine how astonished I was when I saw something from your pen. Your description of Napoleon the Third is quite historical. You gave me a new idea of him. In many ways I always regret that I never saw him. I could have once, when I was quite small. I was with my parents at Nice, and the Emperor came there, but I did not see him."

BERLIN, May 1912.

Dear L.,—On the 14th we had just returned from a long motor trip, arriving late in the evening. How fortunate that we did not arrive a day later! The next morning Johan was called on the telephone. The message was from Hamburg, to say that our King (Frederick VIII) had died there, suddenly in the night. Johan, of course, took the first train for Hamburg.

This was dreadful news.

The King was traveling with the Queen, Princess Thyra, Prince Gustave, and the usual suite. His Majesty had bade them good-night and retired—alas! not to his room, for he wished to take a stroll through the streets of the town. It was only at two o'clock that the valet noticed that the King had not been in his room. Then he alarmed the Hof-Marshale, who, with the other gentlemen, commenced a search. At five o'clock they found his Majesty in the Krankenhaus. He had fainted in the street and had been put into a cab, in which he died. Johan stayed all the next day in Hamburg, accompanying the Queen on board the Daneborg (the royal yacht), which had been sent to take the King's body back to Denmark.



The Queen was overwhelmed with grief, but showed the greatest self-control.

It has been a distressing time indeed for the Duchess of Cumberland. She has lost her eldest son (killed in an automobile accident on the way to Schwerin to see his sister, the Grand Duchess) and now it is her brother who is taken so tragically. The young duke was very unwise to take that particular road. We had passed over the same route, or tried to, on our way to pay a visit to the grand-ducal pair not more than two weeks before. Our chauffeur was appalled at the dreadful condition of the road and advised turning back. We made a great detour and avoided an accident. The Duke was driving himself, and the ruts in the road made the car jump so that the wheel struck him under the chin, he lost control, and the machine struck a tree, killing the Duke instantly. The chauffeur was saved.

BERLIN.

Mr. Roosevelt and family arrived in Berlin three days ago. Society was on tiptoe with expectation. They talked of giving Arthur Nevin's Indian opera, "Poia," in order that the ex-President should have the thrill of seeing his compatriots in a German setting. This idea was abandoned, though Count Huelsen had accepted the opera and at an enormous expense had had it mounted at the Grand Opera.

The Kaiser received Mr. Roosevelt and was charmed with him, just as Mr. Roosevelt was charmed with the Kaiser. Of course, who could resist the magnetic forces of these two dii ex machina.

Ambassador and Mrs. Hill gave a large and all-comprising reception at the Embassy in honor of their distinguished guest, which is much too small to contain the entire society of Berlin and embrace (I like that word) all the American colony.

To gain a little more space they very practically turned the porte-cochere into a vestiaire, where we took off our mantles before crossing the carpet-covered carriage-drive.

Mr. Roosevelt was most amiable. He greeted people with a cordiality which bordered on epanchement—giving their hands a shaking the like of which they had never had before. Mr. Roosevelt remained by Mrs. Hill's side and smiled kindly at the guests as they poured in and out of the salon. That was about all the guests did—pour in and pour out. One could not expect even the most favored to exchange more than a few words with the great man.

Our conversations were in the style of the reception, short and quickly done with.

MRS. HILL: "This is Madame de Hegermann. She is American, from Cambridge, Massachusetts."

MR. ROOSEVELT: "Ah!... I am a Harvard man."

ME: "So am I! I mean I am a Harvard woman! I was born and brought up in Radcliffe College."

MR. R.: "Ah!" (Puzzled, trying to match the possible date of my birth with the birth of Radcliffe College.)

ME: "Radcliffe College was my grandparents' home."

MR. R.: "Oh, I see! Well, madame, I am delighted to shake hands with any one from Cambridge."

Johan's was like this:

MRS. HILL: "Monsieur de Hegermann was Danish Minister in Washington some years ago."

MR. R.: "I am sorry I was not President then. Ha! ha! Pleased to have met you, sir!"

We were told that there would be speeches under the flag, but we poured out without anything of the kind occurring.

BERLIN, 1912.

Dear L.,—It is not only the unexpected that arrives: the expected arrives also.

The news we have been expecting these last years arrived yesterday.

Diplomacy has decided to divorce us.

We are to leave Berlin.

Johan ought to have left the service four years ago. According to the protocole in Denmark, a Minister must retire when he reaches the d'age limite—the Ambassador retiring at the age of seventy.

The Prime Minister asked him to remain, and he did. But now it seems that the powers that be have decided.

It is very sad, but true.

Countess Brockdorf came to make me a visit of condolence. She said that her Majesty had begged her to express her regrets. In the course of the visit she asked me when my book[4] would come out, and when I told her that I thought in October she said, "I know that the Emperor is counting on your giving him a copy." I promised that I would not forget it.

[4] In the Courts of Memory, published in the autumn of 1912.

* * * * *

On the day fixed for Johan's audience to present his letters of recall we were invited to luncheon at Neues Palais with their Majesties. At Wildpark, the Emperor's private station, a few miles from Potsdam, we were met by his carriage and drove through the beautiful park to the palace. The carriage stopped at the principal entrance, where a broad red carpet was stretched from the carriage-drive to the door. Johan got out there. Then I was driven to the other side of the palace, where I found another red carpet. This was the entrance which leads to the Empress's suite of apartments.

Countess Keller (the lady of honor) was waiting for me and led me to the Empress.

Her Majesty was most gracious; no one could have been more so. We remained talking until a lackey announced that Johan's audience was finished and that the Emperor was waiting in the dining-room for us. The Kaiserin kindly took me by the arm, and we went together into the adjoining salon, where we found the Emperor, the Princess Victoria Augusta, Johan, William von Kidderling (Minister of Foreign Affairs), who is always present at these official audiences, a chamberlain, an adjutant—not more than ten people in all.

The Kaiser, on seeing me, kissed my hand, and was, as usual, most kind and altogether delightful. I sat at his left, the young Princess being at his right. I tried to say how grieved we were at the idea of leaving Berlin, where we had spent ten happy years. He was gracious enough to say that both he and the Empress were very sorry to lose us. He said many appreciative things about what I had written in Harper's, and asked many questions showing that he had really read them. He seemed interested to hear about the Emperor Napoleon and the life at Compiegne. He said that he met Empress Eugenie for the first time when in Norway, three years ago. He had made a visit to her on her yacht, and she had "honored" him by taking tea with him on the Hohenzollern. He said, "How beautiful she must have been when she was young!"

"I saw her," I replied, "last spring at her villa at Cape Martin. She is still beautiful, though she is eighty years old."

"Eighty years!" cried the Kaiser, "and still a charmeuse! That is unique."

All through luncheon I was thinking that this was the last time I should be talking to the interesting and wonderful charmeur who was sitting next to me. The Kaiser has a way of fixing those discerning gray eyes of his on you when he talks, and you have the feeling that he is sifting and weighing you in his mind—and when he smiles his face lights up with humor and interest. You feel as if a life-buoy were keeping you afloat. He has that wonderful gift of making people appear at their best. I gave him my book after luncheon. It looks very fitting in its red morocco binding. He appeared greatly delighted with it and begged me to write my name on the first page, which, of course, I was happy to do.

The Empress exclaimed: "'Do give me one, too! Once the Emperor has it, I shall never get it."

The Kaiser's last words to us were, "Promise not to forget Berlin!"

Forget Berlin—never!

THE END