When the ceremonious utterances were ended, the King put his arm on J.’s shoulder and said:  “Now let us sit down and have a good talk together of old times.”  The King “thee-and-thoued” Johan, and said, “Her, du.  Naar kommer din husfru?” which in English means, “Listen thou.  When is thy wife coming?” It is so strange that the Swedish language has no word for you.  One must either address people by their title, which is sometimes very awkward, or else say thou.

I was dreadfully puzzled when I first came here.  Right opposite my window was a sign, “Dam Bad Rum!” I said:  “How queer!  People generally cry up their wares, not down.  Who ever heard of a seller saying that his rum was as bad as that?” I found out afterward that the sign was merely to let people know that a ladies’ bath-room was to be found there.

The next excitement was my audience with the Queen, and thereby hangs, if not a tale, a teapot with a tempest in it.  I must tell you all about it.  I hope you will appreciate the tremendously complicated position in which I was placed.

It seems that in the time of Queen Christina of Sweden, one hundred and fifty years ago, the ladies of her court wore black silk or satin dresses and sleeves of a certain pattern.  The court has seen no reason to make any change of dress since that time.  To-day it wears the same style of dress and the same sleeves—­the cause of the tempest!

In answer to my request for an audience I received a letter from the grande maitresse, saying that the Queen would receive me on Thursday next; the doyenne of the Corps Diplomatique would present me.  Then followed instructions:  my dress was to be a black satin ball-dress, a train of four meters, lined with black silk, decollete, white glace gloves, et les manches de cour.  I had no idea what les manches de cour were, and, naturally, I went to the doyenne to find out.

If I had announced that I intended to throw a bomb under the King’s nose the effect could not have been more startling than when I said those fatal words, “Les manches de cour.”

Madame la doyenne was so overcome that for a moment speech left her.  She proceeded to tell me that in order to keep on the right side of the colleagues it would be advisable not to wear the sleeves.

“Why not?” I asked, perplexed.  “My husband says it is only on this one occasion that a foreign minister’s wife is required to wear the sleeves.”

She acknowledged that this was true, but the diplomatic ladies had refused to wear them, and it was as much as peace and happiness were worth to displease the colleagues.

“How can they refuse?” I asked.

She explained that the idea of wearing the sleeves was disagreeable to them; therefore the court had passed over the point and made a compromise:  the Queen received them at the summer palace, Drottningholm, en toilette de ville.  In this way the difficulty had been temporarily overcome, but now it seemed they wished me to draw the chestnuts out of the fire.