CHRISTMAS AT COURT
Christmas at Court, as elsewhere, was a time of jubilant festivity
preceded by long weeks of hard work and preparation. As the Princess
herself remarked, “one never dare sit down and think for a minute
without a piece of work in one’s hand.”
Somewhere about the middle of November, or even earlier, was the great
time in Berlin for charity bazaars, which the Court ladies assiduously
attended, making large purchases of clothing on behalf of Her Majesty. I
often accompanied one of them to the various big shops of Berlin, and
gasped at the prompt and wholesale manner of her orders--fifteen
cushions and twenty-five photograph frames being selected in as many
seconds, together with other objects in like proportion.
Enormous bales of goods began to arrive, and were placed in the _Marmor
Saal_, a splendid apartment which was used on great occasions for the
entertainment of royal guests, but in the weeks before Christmas took on
a more homely human aspect, being piled up with warm garments of every
description, heaps of toys, books, almanacks, cakes of soap, boots and
shoes.
Every man, woman and child having any connection with the royal estates
in Cadinen, Hubertus-stock, Rominten, Neues Palais or Berlin was
remembered, and the work involved in choosing their various gifts was
always personally superintended and shared by Her Majesty, the Princess
and the ladies of the Court. I can still feel in my nose the
disagreeable tingle, analogous to a mild form of hay fever, caused by
the fluffiness of those multitudinous piles of flannelette garments,
thick woolly stockings and socks which I helped to sort and count. The
_Inspektor_ (agent) or clergyman of every district had to furnish a list
of every family in it, with the name and age of each member of it
accurately inscribed. Everybody received one garment at least, together
with a toy (if a child), a book, a text, and one or two packages of
_Pfeffer-Kuchen_. Each bundle was tied up separately with pink or blue
tape, and labelled with the name of the person for whom it was intended,
together with the list of gifts.
Often there were families of nine or ten children, and nearly every year
one more infant was added to their list. The Empress when distributing
the cakes of soap would relate how the good peasants at first preferred
to keep them as souvenirs rather than use them for their legitimate
purpose, bringing them out with pride to show to Her Majesty a year or
so later, carefully wrapped up and put away.
One of those persons whose idea of the German Empress is that she spends
her life in a series of domestic duties once sent for her acceptance a
small parcel, together with the following letter:
“MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY, BERLIN.
“MOST GRACIOUS EMPRESS,
“May it please your Majesty. I crave your Majesty’s patronage,
hailing from the Emerald Isle: the enclose (_sic_) cover for
painting arranging china is procurable in any shade of linen. I
have the honour to remain with the profoundest veneration,
“Your Majesty’s most dutiful servant,
“JAMES BARKER (Belfast)”
The “enclose cover” was a green apron with a nice large pocket in what
is called, I believe, “art shade,” but as such gifts are never accepted
without payment it was put on one side with the idea of being returned.
Her Majesty, however, happening to need something as a protection for
her dress when handling the before-mentioned fluffy garments, found that
the green apron supplied a distinct want, and it was worn every day by
the Empress for the next few weeks. Obviously “James Barker,” even if
his literary style was not of the highest order, had an instinct for
supplying the right thing at the right moment. The “Irish apron” was the
subject of constant praise, and during “the wearin’ o’ the green” Her
Majesty frequently expressed her appreciation of its practical utility.
It was, I believe, the only apron Her Majesty ever wore.
To the Princess personally, the approach of Christmas was a serious time
for many reasons, chiefly financial. Until she was seventeen she
received only a personal allowance of five marks a month, out of which
she was supposed to buy her own stamps and to spare a Sunday
contribution towards the collection. It may perhaps be a breach of
confidence to reveal that this contribution was never allowed to exceed
ten pfennigs, amounting to one penny in English coin; and I can never
forget the look of sorrowful indignation when I tendered to her one day
in chapel, out of pure inadvertence, the smallest silver coin of German
currency, a fifty-pfennig-piece, worth a little less than sixpence. She
had to put it in the plate, but absolutely refused to refund me the
excess value.
“How am I to buy my stamps when you are so reckless?” she demanded when
outside the chapel door.
The balancing of her small accounts was always fraught with many sighs
and groans.
“Always thirty-five pfennigs too little,” she would announce as she drew
the final double line. She had the greatest sympathy with Mr. Micawber
when we read “David Copperfield” together, and agreed heartily with his
dictum that, given an income of twenty pounds a year, the spending of
nineteen pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence would result in
happiness, but that if the expenditure reached twenty pounds and
sixpence it would spell misery. So that as soon as Christmas began to
loom in the distance there were many anxious consultations as to how to
obtain the necessary presents for her various relations. Of course “Papa
and Mamma” had to have something very special and individual worked by
herself--anything bought ready-made in a shop was not to be thought of.
“Cushions and lampshades seem to be the only things one can make
oneself,” said the Princess disconsolately, “and Mamma has twenty-four
lampshades already and dozens and dozens of cushions. We must think of
something cheap too. I’m so awfully poor.”
Year after year this problem re-emerged. Fortunately the powers that
controlled the purse-strings decreed that all materials for presents
should be bought out of the Princess’s own money, but that in the matter
of “making up” the exchequer would provide the needful funds.
So the harassed child was forced into the manufacture of those articles
which are cheap in the initial outlay but rather expensive to complete,
such as slippers, worked picture-frames, cushions, and so on.
One Christmas, at an acute crisis when for some reason the list of
presents expanded to twenty-eight, the advent into fashion of
ribbon-work saved her from despair. She begged some odd pieces of silk
and brocade from Her Majesty’s workroom for the purpose of making glove
and handkerchief sachets. Ribbon-work is, as everyone knows who has done
it, capable, especially the broad kind, of making the maximum of effect
with the minimum of effort. So while I hastily sketched simple but
pleasing designs of apple-blossom or violets on the corners of
everything, the Princess sat and worked feverishly. She was an
indefatigable and rapid needlewoman--perhaps a little too rapid to be
very accurate--and got through a tremendous amount of work, sticking to
it hour after hour if the occasion demanded it and any one would read to
her. To this day certain portions of “Kidnapped” or “Hereward” seem
inextricably interwoven in my mind with the sound of those long-drawn
gay ribbons and an intensely absorbed face surrounded by tumbled golden
hair, bending in the lamplight over her self-imposed task.
Sometimes the Princess and Prince Joachim when they were sitting in the
evening with the Empress would both be working at the very Christmas
present destined for her, and she was therefore bound, under
often-reiterated promises, to ignore what they were doing and to turn
her eyes conscientiously in another direction. Her Majesty often
laughingly complained of the suspicions they both harboured as to her
integrity in this matter. They would erect newspaper screens around
themselves and their occupations, and if the screens fell down, as
frequently happened, then “Mamma” had to shut her eyes or turn away her
head until they were temporarily re-erected, only to fall down again in
another five minutes.
About three weeks or less before Christmas, a further inroad on our time
was made by the practice of carol-singing, which took place (on account
of the piano) in the salon of the Princess, leading out of that of the
_Ober-Gouvernante_. Every one of the ladies and gentlemen of the Palace
possessing the very faintest pretension to vocal ability was pressed
into the service, and the unfortunate _Hof-Prediger_ or Court Chaplain,
who undertook the herculean task of training this very scratch choir to
sing together in some kind of time and tune, was, especially as he was a
very musical man, much to be pitied; but with unfailing good-humour he
bravely battled with his task.
All the sons of the Emperor on leaving the University have homes and
households of their own provided in Potsdam, where they live until they
marry; and these Princes, with their adjutants, were invited to come
and help to swell the chorus, and, as they stayed in the Neues Palais
itself during Christmas week, were, although they grew a little restive
under the process, constantly summoned from their rooms for “one more
practice.”
One of their adjutants was a great disappointment to us. We had built
great hopes upon him, as he had declared himself capable of singing
bass, but his idea was to boom out the air an octave below the treble,
which was of course very unsatisfactory.
By means of ceaseless drilling and practising the Princess and Prince
Joachim had been taught to sing alto; the _Hof-Prediger_ himself sang
tenor; and as the ladies managed the treble very well we had great hopes
of being able to perform _a capella_, that is without instrumental
accompaniment. But, however well we sang beforehand, at the critical
moment this design had always to be abandoned. Somebody had a cold, or
another was not sure of a C sharp, and most of us were frightfully
nervous, so that after much discussion and wrangling we invariably fell
back on the support of the piano.
These carols, _Stille Nacht_, _Kommet ihr Kinder_, and others were to be
performed first before the assembled maids, footmen and Jägers who came
to receive presents from Her Majesty, and afterwards before the Emperor
himself, so that we naturally were anxious to acquit ourselves as well
as possible.
All over Germany the _Bescherung_ or presentation of Christmas gifts
always takes place on Christmas Eve--_Weihnachts Abend_--usually in the
evening.
To understand something of the intensity to which at Christmas the
atmosphere can attain, one must be at that time in the Fatherland. A
good six weeks beforehand, those who happen to be near the railway line
may note the passing of luggage trains bearing nothing but small pine
trees--that is to say comparatively small for many are ten or twelve
feet high. They are the thinnings of the big pine forests of the
Thüringer-Wald, and come down daily to Berlin and the other large towns
to supply the wants of the dealers in such trees. Every public square
becomes a miniature pine-wood. Even the stringent police regulations are
relaxed for the time. In all the broad streets are dealers in trees,
sellers of toys, of _Pfeffer Kuchen_, of filigree ornaments, of
air-ships, toy flying-machines and other Christmas luxuries.
Travellers in the train can see depending by a string from the sill of
every window of those huge barrack-like flats which surround Berlin,
usually hanging upside down, the _Weihnachts-Baum_, the tree of promise,
which has to be kept in as out-of-door conditions as possible, or, being
cut off at the root, it would soon become dangerously dry if it were not
occasionally damped with the watering-can. It is safe to say that hardly
any house in Germany, whether the inhabitants be young or old, rich or
poor, is without its tiny tree at Christmas-tide. One sees them in
lonely signal-boxes on the railway, in poverty-stricken cottage windows,
in workshops, in barracks, in churches and chapels. There is a touching
and peculiar sentiment towards Christmas inherent in every German heart,
which makes the very scent of a burning pine branch, that aromatic smell
which pervades the air at this season, recall the old childish days, the
wonder and the glory of _Weihnachts-Glanz_.
So that everybody in the Neues Palais, wearing the slightly worried look
peculiar to the time, strains every nerve to add his or her quota to the
general _Weihnachts-stimmung_--or “Christmasmood.”
It is in the big _Muschel-Saal_ that the glory and brightness
concentrate. Here in this wonderful hall of shells the row of big
Christmas trees is arranged--one for every child of the Emperor, one for
His Majesty and the Empress, and another for the ladies-in-waiting, nine
trees in all, besides two for the servants’ distribution. In addition to
this every one must have a private tree. It would be a terrible thing to
find a single sitting-room without its little pine-tree and shining
tinsel ornaments.
The _Muschel-Saal_ occupies the centre of the Palace. On its walls are
every variety of shell, arranged in fantastic patterns--roses, stars,
and spirals of every kind--while the middle pillars are decorated with
specimens of various beautiful stone or marble in a kind of irregular
rockwork. Here are to be found large lumps of amber from the shores of
the Baltic Sea (one with a fly distinctly visible far below the
surface), pieces of blue lapis lazuli, green malachite, red jasper and
ringed onyx, alabaster, porphyry, quartz of every shape and colour,
irregular pieces all highly polished and set in cement on the massive
square pillars that uphold the roof. They sparkle in a thousand colours
under the wax lights of the candelabra and the twinkling tapers of the
trees.
These last are decorated almost entirely by the young princes and their
sister. Besides the candles they are hung with _Konfekt_, most delicious
chocolate rings covered with “hundreds and thousands.” Sometimes the
decorators take slight nibbles at broken pieces, and are sternly checked
for it by the others. Then plenty of silver “lametta” and
“angels’-hair,” filmy silvery threads giving an impression of
hoar-frost, are added, and a _Christbaum-Engel_ with wide-open wings or
a large silver star is put at the apex of each tree, which is then
firmly fixed in a large green-painted stand, specially made for its
reception.
The real business of _Bescherung_ begins already upon the day before
Christmas Eve, or even sooner. The Empress rushes from one _Kinder-heim_
to another, to hospitals and schools, putting in a few minutes here and
there, always with the same ready smile for every one, the same fresh
look of interest in the oft-repeated ceremony, the oft-sung carol. She
never tires of giving pleasure to others, and has little time to rest.
It is a very busy day, too, for the Princess, for all the morning she is
busy decorating a small tree for two needy
[Illustration: THE KAISER AND HIS TWO ELDEST GRANDSON’S, PRINCES WILHELM
AND LOUIS FERDINAND OF PRUSSIA]
children--little girls who are chosen by the _Hof-Prediger_ with the
help of a deaconess who visits the poorer quarters of the town. These
two children with their mother or an elder sister are invited to come to
the Palace in the afternoon, where they are given coffee and cake in the
little kitchen of the _Prinzen-Wohnung_. Their ages are usually between
seven and nine, and they are often painfully shy, though there are
brilliant exceptions whose naturalness breaks through the artificial
barrier of onerous and excessive _Manieren_ imposed on them by anxious
relations imperfectly instructed in such things.
While they consume their coffee and cake, the Princess directs her
footman to draw down all the blinds of the big salon, so as to shut out
the two-o’clock winter daylight and create a proper background for the
twinkling lights on the tree, which are all reflected from the mirrors
of the room. On a table are spread out a complete suit of clothing for
each child, not excepting boots and stockings, a large basket of
provisions, containing among other things some of those famous German
sausages, _Leber-Wurst_ and _Blut-Wurst_, besides coffee, sugar,
_Pfeffer-Kuchen_ and other Christmas delicacies. There is always a large
doll on each side of the table supported by the heap of clothing and
staring into the middle distance with the usual doll-like look of
vacuity.
The _Ober-Gouvernante_ and one or two of the ladies of the Empress are
always present, and the Princess professes to feel very nervous, though
there is little sign of it in her greeting of the shy little mites, when
the big doors are opened by the footmen and they creep in with their
mother, almost overcome with the beauty and the wonder of it all. Hand
in hand they stand in front of the tree, the light shining on their
little pinched faces, and together repeat the _Weihnachts-Geschichte_,
the Bible story of the first Christmas, which every well-brought-up
German child, rich or poor, learns as soon as it can lisp. Sometimes,
with much nervous twisting of clean pinafores, they even sing a carol in
a breathless, desperate kind of way. Everybody feels relieved when this
ordeal is safely over and the childish voices with their nasal twang
have ceased. Then the Princess tells them it was very nice, and taking
them by the hand leads them up to the tree and shows them the shoes and
stockings and dresses and dolls, while the rest of us draw aside and
leave them together a little. Almost invariably the children are taken
into the bedroom of the Princess to try on the new dresses to see if
they fit, and presently emerge to gratify our eyes with their beauty.
After a while they depart, usually carrying the dolls and some of the
clothes and provisions, but leaving the bulk of them, including the
tree, to be brought next morning to the place where they live by the
_Commissions-Wagen_ of the Palace, which is always on the road to or
from Potsdam in those terribly busy weeks. Different children were, of
course, invited every year, and this pleasant custom continued until the
Princess was seventeen years of age, when she began to share her
mother’s charities. In her earlier days, the names of the children were
of the greatest interest, and she was delighted with two who bore the
unusual patronymic of Ballschuh.
At about eleven o’clock on the morning of Christmas Eve takes place the
_Bescherung_ for the servants of the Princess, including the grooms and
stablemen. The latter come across the Mopke in their neat livery and
follow the housemaids and footmen, who enter with smiling bows and range
themselves round the table on which stands the tree. The blinds have
again been drawn, for no Christmas Tree can do itself justice in the
daylight. The little plates, eggcups and _Bier-gläser_, bought with the
pocket money of the Princess, each bear the recipient’s name written by
herself. These things have all been personally selected from the shops
which, until the time she was grown up, she was allowed to visit only
once a year, and the proper allocation of gifts has caused her much
heart-searching. She utters a sigh of relief as the last servant files
out, each carrying his present with the invariably accompanying packet
of _Pfeffer-Kuchen_.
On Christmas Eve the Emperor, as is well known, has a habit of walking
abroad, his pockets, or rather those of his accompanying adjutants, full
of gold and silver coin. These coins he distributes in a promiscuous
manner to whomsoever he may chance to meet; it may be to a gardener, or
a sentry on duty at the gates, or a little schoolboy or girl, or even an
officer may be the recipient of this Christmas dole, which is always
highly prized by those who chance to receive it. The sentry is prevented
by the regulations from taking the coin (usually a twenty-mark piece)
when on duty, so it is generally placed in the sentry-box till guard is
relieved. One Christmas the Princess was walking with four of her
brothers down the wide drive of the Neuer Garten, when in the distance
they saw the Emperor approaching accompanied by his adjutants. Knowing
the errand which had taken His Majesty abroad, Prince Fritz laughingly
suggested that there might be a chance of receiving some Christmas
money, so under his orders they ranged themselves in military formation
beside the road, standing at the salute (at least the Princes did--the
ladies merely kept “eyes front”) as the Emperor drew near. He returned
the salute, but said in a gruff voice as he passed, speaking in English,
“No, you won’t get anything--all labour in vain,” and gave an emphatic
nod, while the would-be recipients giggled at each other and felt rather
foolish.
“He might have given us a mark each,” complained the Princess.
It was always notable how many gardeners there were out on the paths,
sweeping invisible leaves away on Christmas Eve; but His Majesty’s
selection of a route was always unexpected, so that there was little to
be gained by any attempt to guess the probable course of his
wanderings.
The _Bescherung_ to the servants took place about two o’clock in the
_Schilder-Saal_ or Hall of Shields. Long tables were laid down the
centre of the room, on which were arranged in due order everybody’s
gifts. Two or three large Christmas trees were lighted, and in the
corner stood the piano which was to reinforce our efforts at
carol-singing. In poured a crowd of white-capped housemaids, green-clad
Jägers, footmen, and _Kammer-diener_ (butlers). All the ladies were
assembled in _décolletée_ evening dress, and those who had undertaken to
help in singing carols were beginning to tremble, especially when the
leading soprano whispered that she had a slight sore throat and couldn’t
sing a note.
Then the Empress, also in evening dress, arrived with the Princess and
the princes in full uniform, including, until his marriage, the Crown
Prince; and the choir timidly sang the first carol, which always sounded
a little thin and chirpy in that large room. It was listened to with the
greatest respect, if not pleasure, and then another was sung at the
request of the Empress, while everybody stood patiently waiting till it
was finished. Her Majesty then walked round and showed everybody their
presents, which consisted of dress-pieces, counterpanes, curtains,
clocks, etc. She began with the housekeeper, and as year after year the
tables were arranged in the same order, the whole ceremony, if it could
be called ceremony where everything was so simple and kindly, was soon
at an end, and they all trooped away with their cutlery, silver,
pictures and photographs--leaving nothing behind but the bare tables
with their white cloths and the Christmas trees.
Then, after a short pause, a general move was made to the apartment of
the Empress, where carols were to be sung for the delectation of His
Majesty. There was the last almost acrimonious dispute as to whether
they should be sung with or without accompaniment, ending, as was
confidently expected, in favour of the moral support afforded by the
piano. One lady is warned about her E, which is inclined to be a little
flat, and the question hurriedly discussed as to whether somebody who
has been singing seconds had not better join the trebles weakened by
incipient colds. Nothing is settled when the door from the next room
opens and His Majesty steps in, bows, and stands in an attitude of
attention not unmixed with boredom which makes everybody’s blood run
cold.
The _Hof-Prediger’s_ face wears a look of concentrated anxiety and
apprehension as he counts the first bar and plunges into the
accompaniment. The top E is safely passed--not perhaps quite exact as to
pitch, but not so very bad--the adjutants are booming their tenor and
bass with praiseworthy conscientiousness if little skill, and we settle
down to verses two and three with renewed confidence. The second high E
is on the down grade, and the third one almost painful, but as soon as
the last note has died away the Princess and Prince Joachim both
together begin feverishly to recite the _Weihnachts-Geschichte_, which
it is customary for every Prussian prince and princess to repeat yearly
from the age of six until Confirmation.
When they have got half-way through, “Stille Nacht” is sung, and then
they finish the Christmas story to the end, and a third carol is
performed; all hoping that it didn’t really sound as bad as it seemed to
do.
Sometimes His Majesty takes hold of a hymn-book and sings with the rest;
while, since their marriage, the Crown Prince and Princess are
accustomed to join in the music, and everyone feels that this attempted
harmony is “_sehr nett_” if not particularly brilliant.
Then all file in to dinner at the impossible hour of four o’clock. It is
given thus early so that the numerous guests may still be in time for
their own private festivities at home. All the Emperor’s old adjutants
and court officials are invited, and assemble in the big salons near the
Jasper Gallery, in which dinner is served at a series of small round or
oval tables. Monster carp are brought round boiled in ale, looking
plethoric and porpoise-like, and the meal winds up with English
plum-pudding and mince-pies served with flaming brandy sauce. The German
gentlemen are not at all fond of plum-pudding--they think it horrible
stuff; but they like the mince-pies, especially the brandy-sauce part.
As soon as dinner is finished, the Emperor gives a signal, the doors
into the _Muschel-Saal_ are thrown open, and all walk through into the
Christmas brilliancy. The whole row of lighted trees ranged the length
of the immense hall shed that clear yet soft subdued light of
multitudinous wax tapers which is more beautiful than any other.
Electricity has been installed in the _Muschel-Saal_ within the last few
years, and much of the old glamour of the scene has departed--the
candles burn palely, they have lost some of the old warmth and glow, the
green of the foliage has become faded.
Round the Saal, tables are arranged as at a bazaar, and each lady has
one to herself loaded with presents. The Emperor sometimes walks round
and shows his own gift, usually a very beautiful fur, where it lies on
each person’s table; but one of the great charms of His Majesty is that
he has no stereotyped line of conduct--if he doesn’t feel like walking
round and making himself agreeable he doesn’t do it. He is no slave to
precedent. So then we find his present on our tables by ourselves, and
go up and curtsey and thank him as opportunity offers. The Empress has
always given one principal present, the nature of which each recipient
has herself chosen; and in addition scatters with liberal hand small
additional trifles such as work-bags, pincushions, books, small articles
of jewellery. All the adjutants and generals receive something handsome
and substantial: one has a Turkey rug, another a bronze bust of the
Emperor, a third a pair of silver candelabra. But whatever else they
get, a large plate of nuts, cakes and chocolates accompanies each
table--and those gentlemen who have to return to Berlin early may
presently be seen, aided by footmen, pouring their nuts and gingerbread
into large brown-paper bags, which they carry away under one arm, for
all the world like children from a Sunday-school treat. This procession
of grey-haired generals and officers in uniform going off like
schoolboys with their booty seems to afford the Emperor much pleasure.
The tables of the Empress and Emperor are covered with offerings from
their relatives in England and elsewhere; but the chief interest is in
the presents to the Princess. When she reached her twelfth year, on her
Christmas table appeared the plans of a tiny _Bauern-Haus_, the gift of
her father. It was built the following spring in the children’s
garden--a real peasant’s wooden kitchen, with a real stove and saucepans
where cooking and washing may be done. It had bottle-glass windows and
half-doors with bottle-glass in the upper portions. There was a larder
with a buttery-hatch, and it speedily became the scene of fearsome
cookery experiments involving lavish outlay in eggs and milk. Here was
dispensed much hospitality to all classes of visitors.
Another Christmas she received from the Emperor a pony-cart, to replace
the blue-lined Turkish victoria of the Sultan, which was now deemed too
childish and theatrical in appearance. The ponies were promoted to a
workmanlike little vehicle of light-coloured ash, capable of holding, at
a pinch, six persons; and it remained the chief medium of transport
until after the Emperor’s visit to Highcliffe, near Bournemouth, when he
brought back with him a beautiful little New Forest pony and “tub,”
which completely eclipsed Ali and Aladdin, who were given away to a
friend in the country. Perhaps, however, the most charming of all the
Christmas presents which the Emperor gave his daughter was a most
beautiful little Arab mare called “Irene.” She was brought from the
stables at the time of the _Bescherung_ and led up the terrace steps
into the big hall in front of the _Muschel-Saal_, where she stood
gazing round in her well-bred gentle manner at all the ladies in their
evening finery and the brilliant uniforms that crowded round her. She
looked at them out of her beautiful eyes with a fearless, rather
disdainful, air, and the lights of the many candles shone on the satin
of her bright strawberry coat--for she was a wonderfully-coloured
red-roan of an unusual tone. She had all the marvellous dignity of poise
and light springy footsteps of her race, and had been highly trained and
schooled in the “Spanish trot,” “passaging,” and other riding-school
attainments, while her action across country was, as the Princess said
when someone called it poetry, “almost a love-song in sixteen verses.”
Unfortunately a year or two after her entrance into the stables she was
seized with influenza, and died in spite of all efforts to save her.
Towards six o’clock the household, one by one, slips away, and leaves
the Imperial Family alone to spend the rest of the evening in each
other’s society. Every year from Christmas to New Year’s Day the
_Muschel-Saal_, especially in the evenings, is the family rendezvous. As
soon as it is dark the Christmas trees are lighted and tea and supper
are taken under the shadow of their branches. The Emperor sits at a
table writing his New Year cards or reading, sometimes aloud, sometimes
to himself; everybody is busy examining and comparing presents or
writing letters of thanks.
Christmas Day itself is passed very quietly, the luncheon strictly _en
famille_, with none even of the suite present. As many as can be spared
of the married servants are sent home, to be at least a part of the day
with their families. Every possible consideration is shown, so that not
the humblest worker is deprived of a share of leisure and opportunity to
visit his friends.
One Christmas the Emperor was in a very “anecdotal” mood, and chatted
for some time to his suite, telling many amusing traits of the late
Duke of Cambridge--“Uncle George” as he called him.
His Majesty mentioned the well-known fact that “Uncle George” was one of
the hard-swearing military type, now--it is said--practically extinct,
and scattered volleys of oaths abroad at the slightest excuse; but
somebody having once drawn attention to the great prevalence of
“language” in the army, he, quite unconscious of his own shortcomings,
set himself to reform the great organization of which at that time he
was Commander-in-Chief. After a long harangue to the assembled officers,
plentifully belarded with oaths, he concluded by saying: “I’m damned if
I’ll allow this habit of swearing to go on: who the devil ever heard me
swear?”
Once he had planned to show to the German Emperor and the King of
Greece, who were together in England, some pet improvements in drill
which he had recently introduced, and of which he was extremely proud.
After they had been feasted “right royally” at the officers’ mess, where
plenty of champagne was consumed, the Royalties all mounted their horses
and proceeded to Woolwich Common for the purpose of beholding the
proposed exercises. But unfortunately the Duke had forgotten to take
into account the fact that the day was Bank Holiday, and to his disgust
and astonishment found his beloved common black with “trippers” (“fifty
thousand of ’em,” sniggered the Emperor). The Duke was nearly suffocated
with rage and disgust, and ordered the escort (eighteen mounted Hussars)
to charge and disperse the people. The impossibility of this being,
however, demonstrated, he himself proceeded on his great raw-boned
charger to harangue the multitude, damning their bodies and souls with
the greatest impartiality, and vainly trying to inspire them with a
sense of the enormity of choosing this particular day for their sportive
gambols on the Common.
When he at last stopped, as the Emperor put it “for want of wind,” a
dead silence fell for a moment on the astonished crowd, who were
expected to melt sadly away; but suddenly a British workman standing
near, equal--as British workmen generally are--to the occasion, took off
his cap and waving it in the air cried out “Three cheers for ’is R’yl
‘Ighness the Dook o’ Cambridge,” which three cheers were immediately
given with the greatest spontaneity and goodwill, the crowd seeming to
enjoy being abused by Royalty. But, as the Duke himself afterwards sadly
observed, “They didn’t budge an inch, Sire, not an inch. They stopped
there all the same.” So the proposed military evolutions did not take
place that day and had to be postponed to a more convenient season.