Reminiscences of a diplomatist's wife; further reminiscences of a diplomatist's wife in many lands

Front matter

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Introduction

Since the following is a book of reminiscences, I think I am justified in opening it with one from a side of my life for which no place has been found either in this or the preceding volumes. Some years ago I was honored by an invitation to lecture before a certain distinguished Literary Society comprising among its members many old friends of my own. The pleasure I felt in being about to address these dear people on a subject rather close to their hearts caused me to forget the etiquette usually practised on such occasions. When the final notes of the overture died away, I skipped lightly up the steps to the stage; but a strong hand pulled me down, and the President's stern whisper sounded in my ear, " Hold on, hold on ! I must introduce you ! "

Feeling very small, I shrank back among the palms and azaleas, while the kind President sounded my praises to the audience, in terms so far beyond my merits that when he drew me forth from my hiding place I was overcome with confusion. For a minute or two I could not find my voice, and I had something like an attack of stage-fright. But I had been introduced!

It seems that this book must go through the same ceremony. It came back to me from the Publishers with the curt intimation, "Introduction required." What shall I say of it? Only this, that it was asked for by the readers of its predecessors and that I hope they will be as kind to it as they were to them. Two years ago, with many tremors and hesitations, I sent the " Diplomatist's Wife in Many Lands " out into the world, trusting that its shortcomings would be forgiven for the sake of certain

INTRODUCTION

new and true things it had to tell. Its reception overwhelmed me. The generous appreciation of far greater writers than myself, and the delighted sympathies of readers were conveyed to me by every mail, till my hermitage in the Rockies became peopled by a host of kindred spirits, loving what I loved, enjoying what I enjoyed, and all asking for " more."

If the " more " is somewhat less connected than the narrative in the former volumes, that is because many events and experiences in my life had to be omitted there for want of space. Such as they are, may the following pages give some pleasure to the readers who have crowned my other work with so much kind approval and heartened the writer's lonely way with so much encouragement. To that encouragement the present venture is due, and to their judgment I commit it, only begging that they will be " to its virtues very kind, to its faults a little blind."

Mary Crawford Fraser.

WiNTHROP, August 24, 19 I 2.

VI

Contents

I

From the Odescalchi to Buckingham Palace . .

A Roman Sunday — A Long-lost Uncle, and a Pearl — A Lover of Horace Sees Rome in a Day — Recollections of my Aunt Medora — Strawberries, Sunshine, and Songs — An Unmourned Mother-in-Law — Bath, the Forsaken — The Mistake of a Great Physician — I Make My Curtsey to My Sovereign — "The First Turn at the Mill!"

II Page

A Forgotten Picture in the House of Thought — A Premature Excursion and a Breach of Discipline — The First Fairy Story — Croatian Nurses — The Masked Lady — A Summer at Weissenbach — A Mad King and a Wise Regent — The Emperor and Count Andrassy — Haynau the Repressor.

Ill

A House Divided against Itself — Croatia and Hungary — Wooden Soldiers and M. de Bonaparte's "youngster" — Archduke John and Tyrol — "The Old Colours Last the Best" — Hapsburg Eccentricities — An Inconvenient Member of the Family and His Mysterious End — The Emperor's Reception Day — The Story of Murat — A Headless Corpse — The Fall of Metternich — Traditions of Diplomacy — " Accidents Will Happen" — The Afterward of a Pitiful Tragedy.

IV In Polish Prussia 81

A Haunted Country and a Lonely Ride — In the Tracks of the Grand Army — The "Extra Post" — Unexpected! — Italy in Prussia — A Devout General — Church-going under Difficulties — A Ghostly Chair — The "Starost's" Boots — A Consolable Widower — The Last of the Old Guard — Polish Poets and the Polish Jeanne d'Arc — A Family of Exiles — Lord Palmerston's Prophecy — The Foe within the Gates.

CONTENTS

Villa Sforza Cesarini and the Duke of My Day — An Obscure Victim — The Sforza Line — Lady Fraser and a Little Girl's Terrors of " Boney " in 1804 — Sir John at Eton — Sir George Nugent — A Duel at Sea — A Scottish Grand Vizier — The Strange Case of Doctor Burns — Simon Fraser, the Brigadier — An Epidemic of Bogeys — Uncle Sam's Last Journey — General de Sonnaz — Admiral Caracciolo — Where Nelson Was not Great — The Dead Admiral Demands Christian Burial.

VI Friends and Friendly Places 129

The Cocumella, a Haven of Rest — Sorrento Sailors and Their Families — The Influence of the Religious Sodalities — Faith's Insurances — On the Crest of the Pass — The Road to Amalfi — Rival Ports — Salerno and the Crusaders — An Alarming Journey and a Considerate Villain — The De RaaslofF Family — My Friend Anna — A Bit out of the Bible of Youth — Anna in Thuringia — The Frau Hof-Pastorin's Convict Christmas Party — " Beata Lei!"

VII North of the Alps 148

A Danish Subaltern — The Schleswig-Holstein Riddle — De RaaslofF Settles the Elsinore Complication — The Pitiful Story of a Young Queen

— Von Moltke's Boyhood — A Stern Tutor — Too Much Goat! — A Nameless Student and a Gruesome Parcel — Von Moltke's First Sight of the Prussian Army Decides His Fate — His Long Struggle with Poverty — His Patience and Perseverance — Discouragement and Projected Emigration to Australia in Middle Life — The Emperor's Attachment to Him — Count SeckendorfF Makes a Little Mistake — The Crown Prince's Servant

— •' Nanti Strumpf," the German Pasquino.

VIII Sunshine and Shadow in the Penisola . . . . 170

"Zoroaster" at Pompeii — My Brother's Wife and Her Family — The Duke of Wellington's Maxim — A Young Turk — Filangieri the Fireeater — King Ferdinand's Dismissal of the Swiss Guards — The Surrender of Palermo — Garibaldi's "Double" — A Veteran's Experiences — Roast Goose for Four — A Franciscan in England — The Amiable Crispi — The Disaster of Massouah — Tragedy in the Flesh — Hill-road Pictures — A Contrast in Funerals.

viii

CONTENTS

IX Page

A Twilight Drive — Ravello by Moonlight — *' The Immortals " — Uncle Sam at the Cocumella — A Purely Personal Question — A Squall in the Bay — The Sun-smitten Island — Uncle Sam at Anacapri — " Oh, wrenn es nur immer so bliebe!" — Doctor Munthe's Villa — The Library of My Dreams — A Homesick Sphynx — Marion's Rock-study — A "Festa on the Terrace" — The Barber Musician and His Troupe — The Catastrophe of Casamicciola — The Parroco and His Free-thinkers.

Our Lady of the Rosary at Pompeii . . . . 221

The Study in the Tower — A Marvellous Night Scene — "Japan, the Impersonal ' ' — The Santuario of Pompeii — A Pious Lawyer and a Forsaken District — A Successful Mission — The Miraculous Picture Found behind a Door — Its Humble Conveyance to Pompeii — A Splendid Throne and a Heartful of Names — Thank-offerings of Great Price — Saintly Collaborators — The Parish Church of the World — Orphan Girls and Sons of Convicts — The Fifteen Saturdays — The Miracle of Don Pasquale Bortone — A True Love Story — My Wayfarers — A Visit to the Santuario.

XI

A Trying Journey — A Neapolitan Bridal Party — Wedding Presents and Business-like Precautions — Sponsorial Liabilities — Concetta Changes Her Mind — " Over the Cliff ! " — A Church under the Sea — Two Venturesome Ladies and a Fortunate Catastrophe — The Water Trust and Its Guardian — Living Pictures at the Villa — Henry James Pays Us a Visit There — A Triumph of Ambition — The Children's Tarantella — Embarrassing Guests — A Goddess of the Hills.

XII The Out-Trail 279

In Tyrol — Mary Howitt and the Dominican Father — An Ideal Home — The Prince Bishop's Manor House — Hansi and Liesel — Across the World Again ! — Rio Pictures — • A Monte Video Couple — A Fragile Cargo — Good-bye, Summer — The Frozen Straits — Antarctic Cannibals — The Globe Rainbow — A Forgotten Rock — Santiago, the " Paris of South America " — Wet Lodgings — My First Earthquake — A " Little Place " in Peru — A Pretty Quiverful — Chilean Family Life.

ix

CONTENTS

XIII Page

A Mistake and Its Consequences — My Heavy Handful — The Grocer's Assistant — Scandal and Compromise — Revelations of the Ice-chest — A Conquering Substitute — A Painful Interview — "Them Jams, Madam!"

— The Disappearance of Juan — A Sympathetic Inspector — A Good Friday Misadventure — "Muffins!" — Clara's Irish Lover.

XIV In a South American Capital 321

Sarah Bernhardt in Santiago — The Luxury of Tears — A Paternal Impresario and a Forsaken Opera Company — Dangers of Dining Out — The Nitrate War — The Arbitration Courts — An Official Surprise — The "Impartial" Brazilian — "Think of our Wives and Families!" — The Cholera Comes over the Passes — Death Traps in the Andes — Two Errors of Judgment — A Gruesome Caller — Seiior B.'s Brilliant Idea — Santiago Apaches — A Discriminating Thief — Those Honest Policemen!

XV

Spanish-American Ways and Traditions .... 347

Treacherous Sisters — The "Toothache" Signal — A Young Diplomatist in Guatemala — Forgotten ? — An Unauthorised Flight — Remembered Music — A Little " Pronunciamento " — The Christmas Fair in Santiago

— A Tireless Dancer — Turn on the Hose ! — Country Dandies and Their Splendours — What the Girls Learn — Strange Funeral Customs — Unexplained! — A Were-wolf of the Campagna.

XVI " Battle, Murder, and Sudden Death ! " ... 366

The Curse of the Latins — Mademoiselle Jaures and the Broken Crucifix — Santa Maria Desecrates the Cemeteries — A Clandestine Funeral — Chilean Heroines — The Tram-car Riot — A Resolute Mob — A Massacre of the Innocents — Stolen Bullion — The President in Hiding — The Children's Game and the Tyrant's End.

XVII A Watering Place in the Andes 381

A Trying Situation — Degenerate Spanish — "No Doctors or Lawyers!" The Mystical " Manto " — Pretty Prayer Carpets — A Startling Sight — The Parrot in Church — The Ways of Good Women — A Piously Conducted Pilgrimage — The Baths of Cauquenes — Conservative Grandees — - White Acacias — A Lonely Bloom — The Dream-letter — Where Our Marching Orders Found Me — A Memory and a Farewell. X

ILLUSTRATIONS

Mrs. Hugh Fraser Frontispiece ^

View of the Palazzo Odescalchi Facing page 40 ^ F. Marion Crawford . . . . " " 172 ^x

Mr. Hugh Fraser " " 300 ^

I

FROM THE ODESCALCHI TO BUCKINGHAM PALACE

A Roman Sunday — A Long-lost Uncle, and a Pearl — A Lover of Horace Sees Rome in a Day — Recollections of my Aunt Medora — Strawberries, Sunshine, and Songs — An Unmourned Mother-in-law — Bath, the Forsaken — The Mistake of a Great Physician — I Make My Curtsey to My Sovereign — "The First Turn at the Mill!"

ON a certain Sunday morning, when I was about nineteen, I awoke with the conviction that something unusually pleasant was going to happen. The time was winter — but Roman winter, with dazzling sunshine, sparkling air, and a sky of radiant blue doming in a city of softly-tinted palaces and diamond-tossing fountains, a blue that painted soft reflections of itself in every undulation of the Campagna and darkened to cobalt on the distant peaks of the Sabines, where the rare whiteness of new-fallen snow shone out for winter's signature. Indoors all was flowery with roses and lilies and violets filling the house with perfume that mingled heavily with the warm smell of pine and olive wood burning in the open fireplaces; but "indoors" is hardly the word for the interior of the Odescalchi, as there the windows were almost always open to the rush of air and sunshine and fountain-made music that came in on every breath.

Of all the days I remember, none was ever more harmoniously born for the entrance of a great new personality into my life; indeed, he who was even then on the way to us was one of those for whom beneficially invincible influences always seemed to prepare the most characteristic and happy setting. I knew the setting was not made for nothing, and as I wandered through the rooms, pausing to smell a rose or glance in a mirror, I felt that the delightful happening was coming nearer every moment.

It was before the mirror that it caught me, rejoicing in the effect of sunlight on a champagne-coloured poplin frock that my mother had just given me. There came a ring at the bell, so loud and long that I was too startled to move for a minute, but then I flew to the front door,

— no one but myself should answer that call, — and when I flung the portal open I found myself instantly enfolded in a mighty embrace, while a voice, unheard since my earliest childhood, cried, " You are Mimoli ! Ah, I knew it!"

" Uncle Sam ! " I managed to say against a broad grey shoulder, and then he held me off to look at me and gave me a chance to look at him. How I remember it now, the fine face so like my mother's, the dark eyes

— like hers too but full of sharper, more piercing light

— the beautiful, harmonious mouth, the full, dominant brow — more of it visible than of old when the brown hair used to hang a little over it!

The hair was rather grey now and so was the " Imperial," which I remembered so well. I seemed to remember even the shepherd's plaid suit and the darkred tie and the black sapphire on the right hand. Uncle Sam! We had been hoping year after year that he would pay us a visit, and he had come at last.

I led him as far as the red room and there he stopped short, sniffing at the warm flower-and-fire scents in visible delight. " Will you stay here," I asked, " while I go and tell mamma? I hope she won't go quite crazy with happiness! "

" Wait a minute," he replied, and drew me to the window, where, with the sun shining Into his eyes, he felt for and pulled something out of his waistcoat pocket. " There, my dear," he said, " that is for you — because you opened the door to me." And he held out a great lustrous pearl that shimmered as If It had a living light inside of it. I gasped as he put It into my hand. " Have it set as a ring," he commanded. " It Is a stud now."

" It 's the moon. Uncle Sam — you have given me the moon ! I shall never have to cry for her again ! " I was so overcome that I forgot to thank him.

" There, go and call your mother," he said, laughing at my ecstasy as I departed to do as I was bid.

We left them alone for a little while and then we all took possession of him, Annie and I and the little children, and " Paterno," as we called my step-father; and the good Italian servants began to fly about in sympathetic excitement to prepare a room for him, while 3 the old cook thought out a dream of a breakfast. But a great blow was In store for us. My mother brought it on herself too soon — for one should never ask the fairies about their gifts.

" You will stay all the winter, Sam! " she said. "We must have a Roman spring together."

He shook his head, and then in a tone of terrific secrecy he replied, " Only one day this time, Louisa. I am here on most urgent business for a friend of mine — the Emperor of Brazil! "

How the dear man enjoyed the effect of that dramatic announcement ! Our amazed silence spoke our awe better than any words could have done. He went on, quite airily now, to explain that it was a matter of railways for Brazil, some monster contract to put through and financiers to interview, though, as all the world knows, Rome has not been noted for steel or money for a good many centuries past, and then the steel, at any rate, did not take the form of rails. Whatever the business was, it was completed, to Uncle Sam's apparent satisfaction, during the first hour or so after breakfast, and then he returned to us demanding to be " shown Rome " before sunset. It was his first visit to the capital of the world and he certainly made the most of it, for he managed to see St. Peters', part of the Vatican (as a great favour, since the galleries were closed on Sundays), the Colosseum, and I forget how much more, and to remember it too, though he was talking of everything under the sun, except Rome, all the time. There must be many living still who can recall the extraordinary charm of his 4 talk, — that torrent of anecdote, reminiscence, criticism — this last ended generally in delicately trenchant sarcasm, — many who can smile still, remembering his admirable telling of ever-new stories, his swift characterisation of men and women, his inimitably witty impromptu speeches, of which no printed record could give more than the faintest impression. Ah, dear Uncle Sam, who that ever knew you did not love you ? And who that loved you would not give untold treasure for one hour of your golden company, could you but come back to us again?

After all, I think It was In his serious moments that I loved him best. Even on that first day there was a quiet interval when all the sightseeing was done; in the falling twilight he took his Horace from his pocket and, without opening the worn volume, began to repeat the description of the Sabine farm; then, yielding to the friendly melancholy of the Roman dusk, he told us all that Horace had been to him through life and earnestly recommended me to make the great poet my own. " No one can ever be lonely or sad who possesses Horace," he said. " All my life I have carried him about with me and he Is the most faithful and sustaining of companions. Some day I may show you my Horaces, the greatest treasure in my library. I have all the first editions known to exist, but this little brown volume is the dearest of all. It never leaves me." He explained the date and preciousness of the wee book and went on: " My only regret to-day Is that I cannot get out to visit the farm. But that will be for next time, so don't be 5 downhearted, my dear," for I was ready to cry at the thought of his departure that night. " I shall come back very soon. I could not keep away from Rome now that I have seen her."

He meant what he said, but he was caught back and swept on by the tide of active life, which was his real sphere, and to Rome he did not return for many years. Nevertheless, that one triumphantly joyful day forged a new link in the chain that held him to us, and when we did meet again there was no sense of strangeness and very little memory of intervening separation. Before, he had been a part of the American Legend to me, one of the shining realities of the circle across the water, with which my mother's indefatigable correspondence and my own early memories never allowed me to become unfamiliar. But after his coming he had his place in my own life, and he has his place there still, with my other immortals.

Samuel Ward was my mother's eldest brother and was already launched in life when my grandfather died. My mother, as I have related in an earlier volume,^ was then sixteen, — the second of the three sisters, who all lived to a good old age. The eldest, my dear Aunt Julia, only recently passed away, in her ninety-third year, younger in heart and brain still than any of her own or the next generation. There were three more brothers, but they were not endowed with the extraordinary vitality of the remainder of the family and died in youth or early manhood, having made but little mark in their

1 See "A Diplomat's Wife in Many Lands."

time. They were bright, handsome boys, and one, my Uncle Harry, was living when, as a little girl, I was taken to America, and was very kind to me. All I remember of him was his sunny face, short golden hair, and blue eyes, and his delightful readiness to romp with small children. Of Uncle Sam I saw very little at that time, but his second wife, my Aunt Medora, was instantly set up in my heart as an image of everything lovely and worshipful, and her two boys were sometimes playmates of ours at Bordentown. The history of Uncle Sam's second marriage was rather a stirring one, owing chiefly, it was thought in the family, to his dismal bad luck in choosing a mother-in-law.

If any woman can be said to have justified the ordinary vulgar conception of that ever-risky connection by marriage, that woman was Mrs. Grimes. She out- Mackenzied Mrs. Mackenzie in every trait except the one of unkindness to her offspring, and for that exception she may, let us hope, have been forgiven her other shortcomings. Uncle Sam, rich, young, ardent, and in evident need of consolation for the untimely death of his first wife, sweet and good Emily Astor, at once caught the discerning eye of Mrs. Grimes when (from nowhere in particular) she appeared in New York with two beautiful but portionless daughters. He was musical, and had a charming voice — so had Medora; and she had, besides, the feminine grace, the large dark eyes, the Madonna forehead, and perfect though rather expressionless features so much admired in the post-Byronic, early-Victorian period. Her colouring was like 7 that of a June rose, and in speaking her voice was rich and sweet.

She and her sister were, I think, Creoles, and had all the glow and languor of their accidental origin, and their exotic names, Medora and Athenais, suited them perfectly. My chief recollection of Aunt Medora is a very bright and pretty one. I must have been just six years old when I was sent in state to pay her a morning visit in her house in New York. It was in summer time and I found her standing before a Louis Quinze dressing-table, looking at herself in the mirror as she arranged her dark hair in wide braids low over her ears, in the fashion of the day. There was a plate of ripe strawberries on the dressing-table, and a mixture of sweet unfamiliar perfumes In the air. Aunt Medora was dressed in an embroidered white muslin peignoir that had an under-robe of pink silk just the colour of her cheeks. The sun came into the big luxurious bedroom through green Venetian blinds and one long shaft lay on the moss-green carpet. She smiled at me and held out the plate of strawberries, saying, " Sit down on the floor, my dear, and eat them while I finish doing my hair."

It was such a delightful way of receiving a child. No putting one on one's best behaviour and making one answer a lot of stupid questions — just the fragrant fruit and the soft carpet and the stealing sunshine, and her beautiful self to look at in happy silence. When she had finished her toilet and I the strawberries, she got out her guitar and sang to me the songs that had sung her into my uncle's heart, — " Oh, bring to me my Arab

Steed," " The Minstrel Boy to the Wars is gone," " My Earrings, my Earrings, I Ve dropped them in the well," and I don't know how many more, — songs that entirely met the emotional wants of our simple-minded forbears, but whose very titles send people into fits of laughter now. I doubt if we are any the better for that. Sentimentality with a large S keeps people much younger than realism with a small r. I had thought that Aunt Medora must be old, because my cousins were great boys of twelve and thirteen, but when I saw her that day I concluded that there was some mistake; I felt with certainty that, though she was so beautiful and looked so grown up, she was in reality not much older than myself, so completely had she understood my childish inclinations and sympathies.

I think Aunt Medora was a very simple person, and as my Uncle Sam was an extremely complex one, she understood only the sides of his character which appealed to her. This need not have come between them, perhaps, since such is the case with many harmonious couples; but alas, the old lady, her mother, was of a disposition neither simple nor harmonious. Aggressive^ domineering, and grasping, she heated misunderstandings to quarrels, made herself disliked by the whole of the Ward family, and inspired in Uncle Sam's generous heart the only hatred I believe it ever nourished. In after years, long after the death of Medora and the two sons, — neither of them grew to manhood, poor boys, — he used to say, alluding to his mother-in-law, " She is still alive, but I shall outlive her." I happened to be 9 with him when he received the announcement that she had at last passed away, and his naughty jubilation would have scandalised any one ignorant of the provocations he had endured. He was an old gentleman himself by that time, but the memory of his early trials was still hot within him, and he skipped around the room like a boy exclaiming, "I have outlived her! I have outlived her!"

My next meeting with Uncle Sam took place in London, in the winter of 1879-80. My husband returned from China and rejoined me in Rome in the May of '79, and soon afterwards we travelled to England, where he wished to spend his few months of leave after his five years' stay in China. Our children were still small and exceedingly rampant, not good travelling companions for their father, whose nerves were always rather overstrung and just now in crying need of rest; so I sent him on before us and followed a couple of days later with their nurse, a much-travelled woman, who had replaced our Chinese amah when the latter returned to the East. Incidentally I had a very pleasant experience on that journey. One of my childhood's friends, Gordon Greenough, the son of the well-known sculptor of that name, had come to Rome during the preceding winter with John Sargent. They had both been studying in Paris and were generally looked upon as inseparables. Young Greenough was, we all thought, quite as gifted as Sargent, although in the strict routine of the Paris " ateliers " he had only just been advanced beyond charcoal drawing, to which Carolus Duran, whose pupils they 10 both were, held his aspirants sternly for two years, while Sargent was already playing about joyously on rainbow oceans of oil colour. Gordon's drawings — he executed some striking portraits that winter — had a " maestria " and a fidelity which promised great things for his future, and he had besides a peculiarly charming personality and just that touch of romance without which youth is never quite youth.

He is one of those who will be young forever, for the future never came, here. He died a few years after that winter in Rome. Our last meeting, in Paris, was one which I have always been able to look back upon with the greatest pleasure. Mrs. Greenough, a brilliant and charming woman from whom I had received untold kindness, wrote to tell her son I was passing through Paris, and Gordon rose to the occasion gallantly. At four o'clock in the morning, after an allthrough journey from Rome, our train crawled into the Gare de Lyons, and the first face that showed at our window was that of my dear Gordon, smiling joyfully and ready to take our rather forlorn little party in hand. How glad I was to see him ! I had just had one of those hours of black fatigue and depression which I have come to know too well since, for they almost always attack me at the end of a lonely journey to some unfamiliar place. My responsibilities had been looming monstrous ever since the grey dawn shone in through the compartment window, and I had been, as the saying is, " kicking myself " for having let my natural protector go on alone. I had not been in Paris for many years and never knew It well, and I was sure I should lose my children and II my nurse and all my money before I made the Gare du Nord. So the relief was proportionately great when Gordon took us in charge in his masterful way, packed us and our many belongings into a carriage, and told the driver to go to the Continental. Then I found my breath to ask him the one question which appeared insoluble to my knowledge of his habits. " How on earth did you manage to get up in time? "