The doyen made a short welcome speech in English and presented the bride and groom with a large silver tureen and two silver salad bowls on behalf of the entire diplomatic corps. (Today, I received a letter from the doyen, notifying me that the cost of the present was 300 pounds, of which my share is 6). The facsimile signatures of all the heads of mission who contributed to the gift are engraved on the inside of the tureen, and my name is among the first. It immediately catches the eye when one looks inside. Won’t that be fun for Marina! It may spoil her appetite, I’m afraid. But there’s nothing to be done: such are the contradictions of our times. Grin and bear it. Moreover, I shall be attending Marina’s wedding. Responding to the doyen, the duke mumbled a few embarrassed words of gratitude, after which he and the princess went closer to inspect the silverware. Then the doyen and his wife started introducing all the members of the diplomatic corps to the duke and Marina, and also to Marina’s parents. It was all quite badly organized. There was even a minor commotion at the beginning. As a result, Agniya and I, having greeted the bride and groom, failed to exchange greetings with the bride’s parents. Some ladies did not understand that they should curtsey, as etiquette demands. Some had their trains trodden on, or their feet. In the end, though, everybody was introduced. I watched Marina attentively: when the doyen announced my title, her bright eyes suddenly became as tense and cold as steel, yet she remained utterly composed. But when we moved away, Marina cast furtive, searching glances at A. and myself…

The doyen and his wife obviously thought they were in seventh heaven. Mrs de Oliveira’s secretary told our Finimor afterwards, when Finimor came to make some inquiries: ‘Her Excellency is so very happy to have received this rare honour – to participate in a royal wedding, to the greater splendour and glory of the royal family…’

Yes, ‘to the greater splendour and glory…’ Hm!

When the first excitement subsided and the guests of honour entered into lively conversation with the more sociable members of the diplomatic corps, the room filled once again with the hum of idle chatter. The gathering divided into groups. I found myself in a corner talking to the new Norwegian envoy, Colban.

Erik Andreas Colban, Norwegian ambassador in France, 1930–34, and in London, 1934–46.

He arrived in London only recently, after representing his country for ten years at the League of Nations and four in Paris. Thin, with a slight limp, he gives the impression of a thoughtful, intelligent man. Our conversation developed as follows:

I: Our doyen’s daughter is a beauty, isn’t she? (she was passing us at that moment).

Colban: Oh, yes, she is charming… And this dazzling society supplies such a fine frame for her beauty!

I: Do you think so? But this dazzling society also represents a great danger to such a young girl.

C.: (interpreting my words in his own way): You may be right. Just think: this beautiful young girl will marry a man with neither the means nor the status to mingle in such fine society. She will be unsatisfied and will consider herself unhappy.

I: It’s quite possible. But I’m thinking of another thing. What will happen to this pretty girl, pampered with a refined upbringing, unfit for any of life’s struggles, in another 10, 15, or 25 years?

C. gives me a perplexed and somewhat frightened look.

I: Well, yes – there are plenty of reasons to believe that many of those who are now at the top will find themselves at the bottom over the next 25 years…

C.: (with bated breath): So you think it will take another 25 years?!…

I: (smiling): I can’t vouch for an exact period, but even assuming it to be 25 years, what will happen to this beautiful girl by that time? In what conditions will she see out her life?

C.: (after pausing for thought): I fear that 25 is too many. Take Central Europe, the Balkans, or some eastern countries… They won’t stay the way they are for another 25 years. They are sure to be transformed much earlier… In a peaceful way, perhaps… But more likely through violence.

I: I won’t argue with you on that. But am I not right, then, to be sceptical about the future of this pretty girl?

C.: You are certainly right. I have a daughter who is 15 years old, and I try my best to isolate her as best I can from diplomatic society. Most of all, I would like to keep her at home, in Norway… The atmosphere there is quite different… In Norway, I believe that the inevitable transformation will occur peacefully.

I: (to myself): Every bourgeois tends to claim that revolution is inevitable in all countries but his own. Well, if it makes them feel better…

Quite an indicative conversation, isn’t it? And isn’t it indicative that the conversation took place during an official function intended ‘for the greater splendour and glory’ of the British royal family?

A sign of the times, the prince of Wales should have said.

She paused and added gloomily: ‘When I think of my children’s future, sometimes I don’t know whether I should rejoice that I have them, or be sorry.’

The shadow of the future clouds the face of the present like the London fog. The more thoughtful representatives of the bourgeoisie feel this and understand it.