ream, 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. T