The Sunny Side of Diplomatic Life, 1875-1912 | Page 7

the honor which has been conferred on
me. I have been admitted into the enchanted circle of the Brain Club. I
am an honorary member. Mrs. Dahlgren is the president, and I suppose
all the set of intellectuals, "Les élus des élus" belong to it. I have only
been twice to the meetings. I think I am a failure as far as brains go, but

the members like my singing, and I am only called upon to take an
active part when the members are falling off their chairs, trying with
literary efforts to keep awake.
The first meeting was a ghastly affair. The subject to be discussed was
the "Metamorphosis of Negative Matter." You may imagine that I was
staggered. I had no more idea what negative matter was than the
inhabitants of Mars. They took us alphabetically. When they got to
"H," Mrs. Dahlgren (who, as president, sat in a comfortable chair with
arms to it, while the others sat on hard dining-room, cane-bottomed
chairs) turned to me and said, "Has Mrs. Hegermann anything to say
concerning the Metamorphosis of Negative Matter?" I had on my blue
velvet gown, and thought of it fast becoming chair-stamped, and I
wondered if negative matter would comprise that. However, I wisely
refrained from speech, and shook a sad smile from my closed lips.
"H" to "K" had a great deal to say. Every one looked wise and wore an
appearance of interest. They slid down to "L." Then Mrs. Dahlgren said,
"Has Mrs. Lindencrone anything to say on the Metamorphosis of
Negative Matter?" I answered that I had not discovered anything since
the last time they asked me. They were not accustomed to one lady
having two names, each beginning with a capital letter.
The members had a beautiful time when they got to "R." Up rose a
gaunt female who knew all about it and seemed positive about the
"Negative" part. We were pulled suddenly up to time, and some one
turned upon poor me and asked if I agreed. I answered hastily,
"Certainly I do." Dear me! What had I said? Half the company rose
with a bound. "Do you, really?" they asked in chorus. "That is more
than we do. We cannot at all agree with a theory which is utterly false
from the base." How I wished I knew what the false base had been.
Was it the Negative, or the Metamorphosis, or the Matter? I murmured
humbly, hiding behind a lame neutrality, that I had mistaken the cause
for the effect. They all turned and looked at me with fierce eyes. I think
they were staggered at this colossal utterance, for they gave up
discussing, and "S" to "Z" never had a chance to say anything. Then
they adjourned to the supper-room. After having eaten scalloped

oysters and chicken salad, no more questions were discussed.
I was asked to sing. I am afraid that I am only looked upon as a bird on
these mighty occasions. On the piano-stool I felt myself safe, and I
sang. In the middle of my song some heavy person leaning against a
shaky bookcase uprooted it, and it fell with a crash on the floor. I halted
midway in my song. People rushing in from the supper-room asked,
"What is the matter?" "Negative," answered Miss Loring, quick as
thought, at which they all laughed. Mr. Brooks, to cover the confusion,
said in a loud voice, "This is not the first time Madame Hegermann has
brought down the house." There was more laughter, and I sat down
again at the piano and sang "Tender and True," an exquisite song
written by Mrs. Lincoln about a young soldier killed during the war,
who wore to the last a knot of blue ribbon his sweetheart had given
him.
M. de Schlözer is bubbling over with joy, for he has the famous pianist,
von Bülow, staying with him at the German Legation. He says von
Bülow is most amiable about playing, and plays whenever he is asked.
His technique is wonderful and perfect. The ladies in Washington are
wild over him, and figuratively throw themselves at his feet. He is
giving two concerts here, and everybody has taken tickets. M. de
Schlözer gave last evening one of his memorable dinners, followed by
music. I know two people who enjoyed it--Schlözer and myself.
Schlözer was going to ask Julian Sturgis, but Julian Sturgis had on
some former occasion crossed his legs and looked distrait or had shown
in some such trivial manner that he was bored, which so exasperated
Schlözer that he barred him out, and invited Mr. Bayard instead, who
perhaps loved music less, but showed no outward signs of boredom.
Von Bülow is not only a wonderful pianist, but a very clever man of
the