The godfather was Count Herbert Bismarck, son of the famous chancellor.
At the time of the christening I was in France, staying with some
friends in the country. The son of the house had been through the war,
had distinguished himself very much, and they were still very sore over
their reverses and the necessity of submitting to all the little
pin-pricks which came at intervals from Germany. Bismarck sent me a
telegram regretting the absence of the godmother from the ceremony. It
was brought to me just after breakfast, while we were having our coffee.
I opened it and read it out, explaining that it was from Bismarck to
express his regret for my absence. There was a dead silence, and then
the mistress of the house said to me: "C'est tres desagreable pour vous,
chere amie, cette association avec Bismarck."
I didn't see much of W. in the daytime. We usually rode in the morning
in the Bois and immediately after breakfast he started for Versailles in
the parliamentary train. Dinner was always a doubtful meal. Sometimes he
came home very late for nine-o'clock dinner; sometimes he dined at
Versailles and only got home at ten or eleven if the sitting was stormy.
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