HOMBURG-VOR-DER-HÖHE
It does not take long to discover that my small charge has inherited the
temperament of her race. What Carlyle calls “Hohenzollern choler,” and a
certain foot-stamping manner of expressing opinion, exhibit themselves
at an early stage of our acquaintance. She is a highly-strung, nervous,
excitable child of generous wayward impulses, who needs an existence of
calm routine for the healthy development and cultivation of her mind,
but by the circumstances of her life is kept in a restless vortex of
activity which places considerable difficulties in the way of her
education.
She is in her tenth year when I first know her, a well-grown child of
her age, with rather pale features and a lively, alert expression. She
wears her fair hair cut in a straight fringe across her forehead and
hanging in long “nursery ringlets” over her shoulders. These ringlets
are produced, in what is naturally perfectly straight hair, by the art
of her English nurse, whom I often watch with a certain fascination as
she brushes the shining strands round her finger, forming without any
extraneous aid the most beautiful and regular curls possible.
There are but two people of whom the Princess really stands in awe. Her
“Papa” of course is one, and I am not sure if her English nurse does not
occupy an almost equal position with His Majesty in this respect.
“Nanna” is a disciplinarian of the first water, and like other
disciplinarians, brooks no interference with her own laws, which, in a
court where many overlapping interests exist, is apt to breed many
difficulties. She has been thirteen years in the service of the Empress,
has brought up the younger children from birth, watched by them together
with their mother many nights when they were ill, and practically saved
the life of Prince Joachim, the youngest of the Kaiser’s six sons, by
her constant and faithful care of his delicate infancy. But one by one
her nurslings have been taken from her, not without a certain fierce
opposition on her part. Prussian princes are given early into military
hands. It is a tradition of their training, and the shrewd old nurse has
a very strong opinion, shared by the Kaiserin, that an inexperienced
young officer is no person to be entrusted with the superintendence of a
young child’s physical and mental needs. She has battled indomitably,
and often successfully, for her charges, invading even the professorial
departments; and, aided and abetted by the Court doctor, who naturally
considers physical before intellectual development, has often entirely
routed the educational authorities, who have had to retire baffled and
disconcerted.
But her triumphs were short-lived. An elaborate educational machine
equipped with expert professors for every subject, with a carefully
thought-out programme, in which every hour of the day is rigidly mapped
out, cannot be stayed for the whims of one obstructive woman obviously
prejudiced against German institutions. The frequent skirmishes had
developed into something of the nature of a campaign. It is not good
for children to be, as they frequently are even in less illustrious
circles, the centre of warring elements; so at last the inevitable
happened, and with much reluctance “Nanna’s” dismissal to England, of
course with an ample pension, was finally decided upon. When I first
made her acquaintance in Homburg her influence was a waning one; her
autocratic rule was loosening--her departure delayed only by the
beneficent hand of Majesty, which shrank from the final severance from a
faithful if somewhat injudicious servant.
“Nanna” subsequently asserted that I had been specially deputed as an
instrument of Providence to console her during those last few weeks; and
though I myself am not personally conscious of any qualifications for
the office of consoler, I may at any rate lay claim to the credit of
having been a very efficient safety-valve for her emotions, which poured
over me in a constant flood of retrospect and admonition. She was
uncompromisingly British, in spite of her thirteen years’ residence
abroad. It was at once her strength and her undoing. She refused to
strike her flag to any mere lady-in-waiting or German _Ober-Gouvernante_,
and maintained an inflexible principle of behaviour in situations where
the tact and pliability indispensable to diplomatic relations were most
needed.
“Do you think I was going to stand her putting the thermometer in the
bath-water to see how hot it was?” she asked me indignantly, referring
to the absent _Ober-Gouvernante_; and I agreed that it was the kind of
thing that no one could be expected to bear.
She was a good faithful soul, rather crabbed and cross sometimes, and
she inspired in the German footmen and housemaids under her orders a
good deal of respect and fear, and also, as I subsequently discovered, a
certain amount of affection, such as sterling qualities will always earn
for themselves somehow; and if the German associations modified nothing
in her character, the same cannot be said of her speech, which, while
still remaining British in outward form, became in the course of years
somewhat warped from its original purity.
“At Christmas,” she told me once, when showing the gifts that the
Empress had made to her, “last year I became a set of teaspoons, and the
year before I became a lovely silver teapot.” She had obviously confused
the German word _bekommen_, “to get,” with the similar-sounding but
different-meaning English word.
It was at a picnic that I was first presented to His Majesty the
Emperor. We had all driven one afternoon in a series of carriages to a
beautiful spot in the surrounding hills, where, a little way into the
forest which bordered the roadside, a table on trestles was laid for
tea. I had already been warned by the Princess of the impending joy.
“You’ll see Papa now, and be introduced,” she said before we started,
her face glowing in sympathy with what she supposed I must be feeling.
“Won’t it be _lovely_?”
His Majesty and the gentlemen with whom he is talking volubly when I
first catch sight of him are all in uniform, which gleams brightly under
the deep green of the pine trees. The German officer, it is well known,
wears uniform continually, and adds greatly thereby to the colour and
gaiety of the social functions in which he takes part. The Emperor sets
an example also in this respect, and on the very few occasions when he
appears in _mufti_ loses a great deal of his imposing appearance. Civil
dress has with him something of the baffling nature of a disguise, and
the ordinary easy lounge tweed suit, which many Englishmen wear with
advantage, is distinctly unflattering to him, although he looks well in
a frock-coat and silk hat. But he never appears quite himself, never
really fits into any but military or naval garments.
“When His Majesty has finished talking you will be introduced,” said
one of the ladies-in-waiting. “The Empress will present you, so do not
go far away.”
So I stand waiting under the trees, watching the footmen while they
place camp-stools and arrange cakes and teacups, and hearing gusts of
the Emperor’s conversation, which, being carried on in German, is quite
unintelligible to me, though there is one word “_Kolossal_” which keeps
emerging frequently from the rumble of talk.
Presently the group of uniforms breaks up. His Majesty turns towards the
Empress, somebody signs to me, and I step out of the shadows and come
forward. “Papa’s” keen blue eyes look at me with that characteristically
penetrating, alert, rather quizzical brightness which I afterwards learn
to know so well. They seem almost too violent a contrast with the deep
sunburn of his face. My hand is enveloped in a hearty, almost painful
handshake, and I am confronted with a few short, sharp questions.
“From what part of England do I come? Have I ever been in Germany
before? What do I think of Homburg? Do I speak German?”
I subsequently have the pleasure of many stimulating discussions with
His Majesty, when we debate a variety of questions, from armaments to
suffragettes, and are not invariably accordant in our views; but on this
occasion our talk is necessarily short and perfunctory.
Presently we are all sitting at the tea-table, but the Emperor remains a
little apart, continuing the conversation with his adjutants, dipping
from time to time his _Zwieback_ into his tea, as is permitted by German
custom.
_Ausflüge und Land-Partien_--excursions and picnics--are an integral
part of German existence in summer-time, and the _Hof_ lags no whit
behind in this respect. Though the Emperor detests cold, damp weather,
he leads an open-air existence, and loses no opportunity of being _im
Freien_. He breakfasts, drinks tea and eats supper out in the garden
whenever the weather permits; and it is probably for this reason more
than any other that the principal German meal, _Mittagessen_, whose
elaborateness does not allow it to be served _al fresco_, still keeps
its place in the middle of the day, allowing the simpler supper to be
served out of doors in the cool of the evening. It is a charming and
healthy custom, this eating under the blue sky, but naturally only
possible in the soft, warm Continental climate, where one misses the
sharp tang in the air of our sea-girt isle.
Near Homburg lies an ancient Roman fortress, which has been excavated
and restored by the Emperor. Excursions either on horseback or by
carriage to the _Saalburg_ are a great feature of the stay in Homburg,
and often the whole party is permitted to excavate in likely spots for
“remains.” The Empress once disinterred a very beautiful bowl, and it is
no unusual thing to come across fine specimens of pottery or iron-work.
Everybody is supplied with a short wooden implement for digging in the
soft loam, and the royalties, including Prince Joachim and the Princess,
together with the ladies and gentlemen of the party, labour
industriously through a summer afternoon under the direction of
Professor Jacobi, who directs the work of excavation and checks any
undue exuberance in digging which might lead to disastrous results.
These digging parties, which are only indulged in on rare occasions,
sometimes give scope for the exercise of a peculiarly characteristic
form of German humour. Often a broken cup or vase or an ancient Roman
dagger made in an excellent imitation _pâté_ of chocolate is previously
embedded in the soil, and the ardent excavator, glowing with the success
of a great discovery, finds to his chagrin, on reaching home, that at
the solemn washing of his find, which always takes place with great
ceremony in the presence of the assembled company after supper, not only
the encumbering soil but also the whole fabric of the precious antique
dissolves away into a hopeless ruin, at once revealing the unkind
imposture. This playful joke is easily carried out, since no one is
allowed to excavate excepting in carefully indicated spots.
The Emperor at his own expense has rebuilt portions of the old Roman
settlement; and the newness of these buildings, the freshly-painted
barrack-rooms of the old Roman militia with their Latin inscriptions
over the doorways, the brightness of the small glazed bricks of which
the walls are constructed, give a somewhat jarring sense of unreality to
the whole _Burg_, and raise the question whether it is advisable or not
to attempt to reconstruct the past in quite such a conscientious
manner--whether the actual ruins, scanty though they may be, do not tell
their tale better than these new up-to-date buildings so curiously
well-equipped with modern appliances.
But the buildings have their uses quite apart from intrinsic interest,
as is proved one afternoon when the children, including the “Hessians”
and “Greeks,” are invited to the _Saalburg_ by the Empress, who is
herself present, and a heavy rain coming on, a sort of spurious hockey
game, played with croquet mallets, is organized and pursued with the
greatest vigour in the “Hall of the Centurions.” The Emperor, who is out
driving somewhere in the neighbourhood, arrives with his suite during a
crisis in the game, and is much amused to watch the small horde of
princelings, among whom his own daughter is very conspicuous, as they
chase the ball backwards and forwards, sometimes only missing his own
Imperial legs by decimal fractions of inches.
Even in those first early days at Homburg it is at once noticeable what
a great difference the presence of the Emperor makes in the atmosphere
of the court. A certain vitality and still more a certain amount of
strain become visible. Everybody is to be ready to go anywhere and do
anything at a moment’s notice--to be always in the appropriate costume
necessary for walking, riding, or driving. His Majesty walks a great
deal. Often we drive out some distance beyond Homburg among the lovely
mountains and forests, and descending from our carriages tramp along at
a brisk pace for several miles, when the carriages meet us, and we
return. It is altogether a strenuous existence for the _entourage_, who
must always, so to speak, be mobilized for active service, which is
probably just what the Emperor wishes. From early morning till night
there is hardly a moment of respite from duty, and my own day is a very
crowded one, with hardly time left for the necessary frequent changes of
costume, which are one of the chief burdens of existence at court.
An elaborate toilette is customary at the midday dinner--something in
silk or satin, with a long train--and it must be completed by the
inevitable fan and white glacé gloves, of which one is worn on the hand,
the other carried.
We all assemble before dinner in a large drawing-room, where the ladies
and gentlemen of the suite and any visitors who are invited stand about
talking till the appearance of the Emperor and Empress. Often the
Princess comes in before them with Prince Joachim. The folding-doors are
thrown wide open for the entrance of Their Majesties, who always appear
at different doors, the Emperor usually being last, and are announced by
a footman. Everybody at once stops talking, wheels about and bows
simultaneously.
One day the guests at dinner include an elderly lady and gentleman of an
old-fashioned German type, who shrink into a corner and look rather
clever and scientific. The Princess and Prince Joachim run up and kiss
the old lady and shake hands with the old gentleman.
He is Professor von Esmarck, who, when he was a struggling young doctor,
fell in love with a Princess--the aunt of the present Empress of
Germany--and married her. The elderly lady with the tightly-brushed hair
is his wife. They live in a pleasant little house in Homburg, and
always dine at the Schloss when the court is staying there.
My own experience would lead me to testify to the truth of what
I have read somewhere, that the chief function of a lady-or
gentleman-in-waiting is to stand in a draught and smile.
“Standing and waiting,” said my kind Countess, “that is the chief part
of our lives; it makes one mentally and bodily weary till one gets used
to it.”
Hand-shaking too is practised to a considerable extent. It does not seem
to matter how many times people have met before in the day and shaken
hands, they generally seem to like to do it again while waiting for
dinner. Presumably it helps to pass the time away, and gives an excuse
for walking about from group to group. My place at the oval dinner-table
is at one end, between Prince Joachim’s governor and his tutor. The
Emperor and Empress are seated at the sides, opposite to each other,
while the guests, intermingled with court ladies and gentlemen, radiate
right and left. Footmen wearing the court livery, which includes rather
ill-fitting gaiters, wait behind every chair and the Emperor’s “Jäger”
in green uniform attends exclusively to his master’s wants. Red and
white wine and champagne are served to all the guests, but neither the
Emperor nor the Empress drinks anything but fruit-juice as a beverage.
William II has a horror of excessive indulgence in alcohol, and sets his
face against it by both precept and example.
“You English people,” he says to me on one occasion, “you drink those
awful fiery spirits--horrible stuff--whisky, brandy, what not? How can
you imbibe such quantities of poisonous liquid--ruining your
constitutions? Simply ruining them--whisky-and-soda everywhere--no, it’s
awful: I tasted it once--like liquid fire--ugh! Your drinking habits are
fearful.”
He admonishes me for our national failings with uplifted finger and
serious face, and I try feebly to maintain that, though in the past we
have been undeniably guilty and still drink far more than is good for
us, yet according to published statistics we are year by year growing
more sober--that the percentage of drunkenness in the army is slowly but
surely decreasing, that there are fewer crimes owing to drunkenness, and
so on--but His Majesty evidently has more faith in his own observations
than in any amount of statistics, and continues dubiously to shake his
head and his finger at me as though I were personally responsible.
Dinner is finished in about three-quarters of an hour, and at a sign
from the Empress every one rises and, the ladies preceding the
gentlemen, all file slowly into the salon, where coffee is served and
every one stands and drinks it. This standing about after dinner is one
of the most tedious of all court duties, lasting sometimes for an hour.
As the Emperor and Empress never sit down, but move from one group to
another, talking to this or that guest, the rest of us prop ourselves
surreptitiously against projecting pieces of furniture and try to look
as happy as circumstances permit. The little Princess and Prince Joachim
flit from one person to another, wrangling according to custom in
subdued undertones so that “Papa” may not hear, trying to tease their
mother into some concession, or whispering their experiences into the
ears of one of the ladies. There is always a good deal of surreptitious
stifled giggling, and it is easy to see that the waiting is an irksome
restraint to their active minds.
If there are a great many important guests, the children dine alone with
their governor and myself, when they are expected to speak English all
the time; but they lapse into German with the greatest facility,
especially when the usual _zanking_ begins. They also every evening eat
supper together, continuing cheerfully and acrimoniously their
criticisms of each other’s conduct. Prince Joachim indulges in the usual
cheap sneers at femininity with which many schoolboys goad their
sisters into revolt.
“_Mädchen_,” he remarks with superb disdain, “_die Mädchen_----”
“Speak English,” commands his governor, who is anxious to improve his
knowledge of that language.
“Girls,” replies the Prince, speaking with distinct and aggravating
deliberation, “Girls cannot be soldiers--zey are no use at all. It is
good zat we have but one girl in our family. She cannot be an officer.
She cannot fight. She cannot ride----”
“Much better than you--she rides,” returns the incensed Princess. “You
who fall off your horse if it gives a little jump. _Pfui!_” She bangs a
spoon on the table to emphasize her indignation.
The Prince is delighted at the success of his efforts, and continues to
jeer unmercifully.
“Girls can’t ride,” he reiterates; “zey can’t fight--zey are always
crying--zey are always cross----”
“Try to say ‘they,’ not ‘zey,’” I interpose, hoping to divert his
thoughts to other subjects.
“Joachim can’t speak English one bit,” says his sister; “he says ‘zey’
and ‘zese’ and ‘zose,’ and ‘I drink your healse.’ He is a silly boy; he
can’t jump, he can’t play tennis, he can’t ride----;” and so on _ad
infinitum_.
Twice a week after we have finished supper I take Prince Joachim away
and read English with him in his room, while the Governor sits listening
in a chair, his long red-striped military grey legs stretched out before
him, his hands clasped on his knee, an absorbed, concentrated look in
his eyes. The book chosen is Stevenson’s immortal “Treasure Island,” for
the Prince has stipulated that whatever we read shall not be about
_Muster-Kinder_, which I interpret as meaning “pattern-children,” the
kind abounding in certain books, but happily seldom met with in real
life. I consider it a hopeful and healthy sign in the Prince, his
objection to _Muster-Kinder_, and promise that my reading shall be
blameless in this particular respect. He seems a little suspicious as we
settle down and I open at the first chapter, but before many pages have
been turned he is holding his breath to listen, and his verdict on my
choice of a book is that it is magnificent--_prachtvoll_.
It may here be remarked that there are few if any original books in the
German language written especially for boys, who have to content
themselves with translations of Fenimore Cooper’s works, “Robinson
Crusoe” and “The Swiss Family Robinson,” and of late years with the
“Adventures” of the famous Sherlock Holmes, who has a great vogue upon
the Continent, and whose history may be bought at almost every railway
bookstall abroad.
Not only the Prince, but also the Governor, in spite of his thirty years
and his military experience, immediately fall under the spell of the
story, notwithstanding the many words in it of which they do not know
the meaning. When the hour comes to an end and the Prince begs for an
extension of his lesson, the Governor pulls out his watch and after a
slight hesitation, smilingly grants another ten minutes before bed-time.
“_Schnell, schnell_,"--“quick, quick,” implores the Prince, and I hurry
on towards the fatal Black Spot and the fate of the blind man, and am
pressed to come again as soon as possible and not wait till the lesson
becomes due, because they both--Prince and Governor--are so anxious to
know what happens next.
At the end of the following week the court is to leave Homburg for its
permanent residence--if anything so unpermanent can be so termed--in the
New Palace near Potsdam, where the _Ober-Gouvernante_ will be waiting to
share my multifarious labours, and where I am assured that the regular
routine--“only we never have any regular routine, it is always being
broken,” sighs the Countess--at any rate an approximate routine may be
confidently anticipated.
I pack feverishly in the small intervals of time snatched from my other
occupations, and at half-past seven one evening go down to the
courtyard, where files of carriages are waiting. I am supposed to
accompany the Princess to the station, but at the last moment something
is changed and I am sent off with a young adjutant whose English
vocabulary is very limited. We drive down the long street, packed with
people waiting to see Their Majesties go by. They cheer and wave
enthusiastic handkerchiefs at each carriage as it passes, and though we
may not usurp the royal prerogative and bow our acknowledgments, we
assume affable expressions indicative of vicarious enjoyment of their
exuberant loyalty, and so arrive presently at the royal waiting-room,
which is gaily decorated with flags and evergreens. A crowd of officers
and adjutants are on the steps awaiting the arrival of Their Majesties,
and here my Princess comes presently, having driven in with her brother.
In the waiting-room sits the venerable old Duke of Cambridge, who is
staying in Homburg and has come to say “farewell” to the Emperor and
Empress, whose approach is heralded by a louder burst of cheering, which
swells and increases outside the station.
The royal train, painted in blue and cream-colour with gold decorations,
is alongside the platform, the regulation red carpet is laid down, maids
and valets peep furtively from the windows of distant compartments,
footmen are hurrying to and fro, while the ladies and gentlemen of the
suite continue their normal occupation of waiting, chatting to each
other in the usual desultory manner. Presently Their Majesties emerge
from the waiting-room and walk over the red carpet into the train, we
all get in after them, and our journey begins among the frantic “hochs!”
and “hurrahs!” of the crowd outside.
We in England may believe in our own loyalty, but I doubt if we can
compete with a German crowd in giving it expression. We are never able
quite to abandon ourselves to the same unrestrained, wild enthusiasm,
are always just a little too self-conscious--too afraid of being absurd.
The German is untrammelled by considerations of that kind; he revels in
his own emotions, encourages his wife and family to revel in theirs,
waves patriotic flags on the least provocation, puts his small son of
six into a complete miniature Hussar uniform, lets him swagger about in
the streets wearing it, to the undiluted envy of other small boys, sings
“_Heil dir im Sieger-Kranz_” (which goes to the same tune as “God Save
the King,” and has therefore a pleasantly familiar air to British ears),
and is rather proud than ashamed at being moved to tears of national
pride as his Kaiser passes by. No nation is more emotionally patriotic
than the German, and that patriotism finds its chief centre in the
personality of their Emperor.
So that, as long as the daylight lasted, outside every little wayside
station and crossing was a palpitating crowd of little girls wearing
wreaths of wilted flowers on their heads, of little bare-legged boys
waving Prussian flags, of perspiring officials of _Vereine_--any kind of
Association for doing anything--in hot-looking dress-suits and tall
chimney-pot hats: there they stood as they had obviously been standing
for some hours, wedged together in one solid, impenetrable mass, leaning
heavily upon each other in rows against the station railings, while on
the platform, where no one else was allowed to intrude, the
station-master, in his military-looking blue uniform, remained saluting
with his hand at his red cap as the train steamed slowly by. Always the
same station and the same crowd it seemed, with just a different name
over the booking-office door--the same _Eingang_ and _Ausgang_, the same
brown, alert peasant faces gazing through the railings.
The Princess and Prince Joachim had their supper in the long dining-car
of the train, together with the Governor, tutor and myself; and as they
imbibed their soup and ate their _Kalte Schnitzel_ were in full view of
the shouting crowd.
By means of frequent promptings they were induced to suspend the
customary _zanking_ and distribute a few bows among the people, Prince
Joachim in particular distinguishing himself by an air of fine courtesy
as he raised his round white sailor cap, which he flourished gracefully
over his head in answer to the enthusiastic roars that swelled and died
outside.
We had to hurry over our meal so as to allow of the table being re-laid
for the supper of Their Majesties and the suite, so we swallowed one
course after another with headlong speed, curtailing conversation to its
utmost limits, and when the last mouthful was despatched the children
went to say good-night to their parents while the rest of us retired to
the sleeping-_coupés_ provided for the night, although it was as yet
much too early to think of going to bed.
The royal train, in which I made many journeys, is, as may be imagined,
“replete with every modern convenience” of travel, but this did not
prevent it oscillating, banging and shaking to an appalling extent. One
was hurled backwards and forwards and jolted and jerked with every form
of movement known to science. Sometimes we seemed to be moving over
rippled granite, and then a horizontal spasm mixed up with weird
scrunchings seized the whole train, which appeared to be having some
kind of hysterical fit. Occasionally we pulled up with a jolt and jar
and remained stationary for a few minutes, before resuming our
shuddering, jerking journey, which stretched out every mile into a
nightmare length.
Time seems interminably long in such circumstances, and the weary hours
dragged on very slowly. An attempt at undressing forced into the
foreground the question of how--in view of the difficulty of taking off
clothes--one was ever likely to be in a favourable position to put them
on again. Brush and comb, hairpins, all went sliding gently away on to
the floor; and after washing in a basin in which a miniature tempest of
soap-tipped wave-crests was raging, I renounced the adventure of
undressing as one needing more intrepidity than I possessed, and lay
down uncomfortably in most of my clothes to wait for morning. Through
the ventilator came a choking, smoke-laden odour. The pillow, covered
with beautifully fine linen, on which I laid my head was hard as the
nether millstone and productive of a dislocating feeling in the neck;
the sheets and blankets were of the finest and best, but no one wants to
go to bed in one’s garments of the day. We were due to arrive in
Wildpark, the station of the New Palace, somewhere about eight
o’clock--nine hours more of the terrible shaking. I lay down and turned
out the electric light, and became for the rest of the night a mere
oscillating body, whirled continually back and forth through space.
Fortunately the dawn comes early in August, and at the first faint
greyness of the atmosphere I sat up giddily and watched the flat
Prussian dew-bathed landscape glide by, so different from the hilly
region we had come from the night before. Somewhere about five o’clock a
low tap comes to my door, and “Nanna,” with her finger on her lip, hands
in a cup of tea which she has managed to produce from somewhere.
“I knew you’d not sleep much,” she whispers. “Did you ever know trains
shake like this one? You’d think they’d manage to take His Majesty along
at a more comfortable pace, wouldn’t you? A royal train indeed! Enough
to shake you to pieces.” “Nanna” loses no opportunity of drawing
comparisons to the disadvantage of the German nation, which she
considers hardly worthy to be governed by the illustrious family she
serves.
I drink her tea with much appreciation, and she comes and sits beside me
and converses, or I might say talks--for it is more outpouring than
conversation--in a hoarse whisper, so that she may not disturb the
gentleman who is supposed to be sleeping in the next _coupé_, but is
probably lying awake yearning for the end of the journey.
The greyness of the fields departs, they are threaded with gleams of
colour as the sun slowly penetrates the clouds; great wreaths and ragged
eddies of mist begin to rise, cattle stand about half plunged in an
ocean of vapour, the peasants are at work, women with red handkerchiefs
tied over their heads kneel among the bright green of the potato crops;
the dreary night has departed, a new day is born.
The train rattles and jerks its way along. “Nanna’s” voice continues to
croon in my ear words of warning, admonishment, advice. I listen without
hearing or comprehension. Her voice is as some soothing accompaniment to
my thoughts, giving a pleasant sense of companionship without exacting
much attention.
Somewhere about seven o’clock another soft tap is heard and the door
slides back, revealing a footman with another tray of tea and
_Zwieback_--those nice brown crunchy toast-like biscuits which pervade
the Fatherland.
“You’ll have your proper breakfast when you arrive at the New Palace,”
whispers “Nanna,” “but you’ll not get it much before nine. You’d better
have some more.”
I accept the fresh tea with pleasure, and listen as I drink it to the
movement in the corridor. There is a sliding of doors, a sound of
subdued voices--everybody is getting up. Nanna disappears to dress her
Princess, who has slept soundly all night--happy capacity of
childhood!--and when I peep out into the corridor I see some of the
ladies-in-waiting already dressed, looking rather wearily out of the
window. A man comes in and makes my bed-clothes disappear in some
miraculous manner, leaving behind him, instead of the two sleeping
berths, in one of which I had lain awake so long, just the ordinary
seat of a first-class carriage, of which the upper berth now forms the
padded back.
Some of the ladies kindly come and sit beside me and point out
interesting objects of the landscape. The Countess is one of them, and
grows quite excited when at length a round green dome is visible over
some trees.
“There, there!” she cries, “that is the roof of the New Palace; we shall
be there very soon--I hope you will be very happy there,” and she
squeezes my hand in the kindly sympathetic, sentimental, but very
delightful manner of old-fashioned Germans. She feels that it is an
important day of my life, the moment when I enter what she calls the
“real home” of the Emperor and Empress.
“Like Windsor to your King and Queen,” she explains, fearing that the
forty castles which the Emperor possesses may create some confusion in
my ideas. “Here is their real ‘home,’ you know.”
The train, which has been proceeding much more evenly since we entered
the Prussian district, glides smoothly into a station, coming gently and
imperceptibly to a stop. A few officers in uniform are waiting at the
door of the simple, picturesque wooden _Warte-Saal_--which a few years
later is to be replaced by a substantial stone building provided with
lifts and luxurious and artistically-furnished waiting-rooms.
There is a sudden opening of carriage-doors and activity of footmen and
“Jägers.” The Emperor, enveloped in a long grey cavalry cloak, strides
across the platform with the Empress and his children, salutes the
waiting officers, pauses for a word with each, and then drives away. A
long row of carriages is in waiting. Everything seems admirably
organized; no confusion, no waiting. My turn comes, and I am whirled
away out of the station yard across a road where people are standing
kept in order by a green-clad _Gendarm_, along a pleasant tree-shaded
avenue, past some sentries who guard a small iron gate, over the Mopke,
a big open gravelled space bordered by fine buildings on each side, and
past the front of the huge Palace, which reminds one a little of
Versailles and is built in French Rococo style. I descend at a broad
flight of stone steps, and am ushered by a pleasant-faced footman
through what looks like a window, but is really a door, into a corridor,
up a wooden staircase, painted white, to the apartment which is to be my
future home for the next few years. It is a lofty, pleasant room, and in
spite of its bare, uninhabited look, has an air of brightness and
repose. The sunshine floods it with gleams of welcome; outside are trees
in which the birds are singing; a little dog in the courtyard below, a
quaint little beast of the dachshund breed, looks up at me as I stand at
the open French windows and gives his tail a deprecatory wag. He is
obviously determined to be friendly.
The New Palace has an alluring aspect. It is very palatial of course,
looked at as a whole; but there is something very home-like, gracious,
and friendly in this particular corner of it, in the smiling flowers
which grow on each balcony, in the canary whose notes can be heard
trilling from the dining-room of the Princess close at hand, in the
pleasant face of a white-capped elderly housemaid, who enters with a bow
and a _Guten-Tag_, and an expression of delight at my arrival. She comes
and shakes hands, and says something congratulatory and welcoming. It is
very German, and strikes one as intensely pleasant and human, this
obvious kindness and goodwill. From this hour Frau Pusch--the
housemaid--is the cushion and buffer of my existence, intervening
between me and a harsh world. She teaches me German, mends and irons my
clothes, packs and unpacks, fetches and carries, is always cheerful and
smiling.