ROYAL WEDDINGS
Royal betrothals and weddings have within the last few years been of
frequent occurrence at the Prussian Court. Many people seem doubtful as
to whether these marriages were the result of political arrangement or
of the mutual attraction which is the chief factor in such affairs where
humbler folk are concerned. Of my own personal knowledge I am able to
affirm that politics and worldly considerations have had nothing to say
in the matter.
German royalties are peculiarly fortunate in having an unusually wide
range of choice. The Fatherland is rich in numerous prolific princely
families, quite unremarkable for wealth or extent of territory--some
indeed are conspicuously poverty-stricken--but all of them classed as
_ebenbürtig_, that is equal in birth, to royalty, and therefore the
female members are eligible as brides for the occupiers of the most
powerful thrones. The Empire has long been the happy hunting-ground for
would-be bridegrooms.
The first royal _Verlobung_ which took place within range of my
cognizance was that of the young Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, son of
the Duchess of Albany, who was staying in Berlin Schloss at the same
time as the two nieces of the Empress, the Princesses Victoria and
Alexandra of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glucksburg--two bright,
pretty, fair-haired girls who had come to spend the season at Berlin
with their aunt.
The Princess burst into my sitting-room with the news one evening.
“Dick and Charlie are engaged,” she said, skipping about all over the
room. “Isn’t it nice? Just think! Dick and Charlie!”
“Dick” was the pet name of the Princess Victoria, the eldest of five
sisters.
I expressed my astonishment and pleasure at the news, and the Princess
gave me several reasons why she was not so surprised as some people,
although I am convinced that she really had known very little
beforehand. But at any rate she thought it most interesting that they
should become engaged “in Mamma’s sitting-room.”
The following September the Crown Prince announced, in a series of
laconic telegrams to his friends, his own engagement to the young
Duchess Cécile of Mecklenburg-Schwerin.
“We are engaged.--William and Cécile,” was the message sent by the happy
_Braut-paar_.
The Crown Prince had from early youth been frequently in love with
various pretty young girls within the range of his acquaintanceship. But
these harmless little love-affairs, so frank, so delightfully obvious,
and so soon dispersed into thin air by the advent of some new and
equally ineligible charmer, culminated at last in his meeting with the
young Duchess Cécile, a dark-eyed, clear-complexioned, tall, slim
maiden, just out of the schoolroom.
Any one seeing the happy pair together need not have troubled to ask if
they were in love with each other. It was palpably the case, and they
had not the least desire to conceal the fact. When the young _Braut_
came to stay at the _Neues Palais_ after her engagement, a very small
party--just the ladies-in-waiting and the two young Princesses--were
dining together in the Apollo-Saal, for the Emperor and Empress were
absent for the day. Suddenly a great clattering was heard outside the
window overlooking the terrace, and the Crown Prince appeared on
horseback, having ridden up the stone steps. His young _Braut_ was
charmed at his daring, and they sat down at table side by side,
obviously absorbed in each other, while the ladies talked about the
weather and tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. They were as
genuinely and whole-heartedly attracted, as palpably all-in-all to each
other, as the poorest young couple who bravely face the world together.
Nothing but personal liking entered into their marriage.
It is a pity that people are so sceptical as to any royal alliance being
founded on any other than political considerations. Yet politics are
rarely either forwarded or hindered nowadays by matrimonial
arrangements; and if propinquity, as most people believe, is the chief
factor in bringing about the usual love-affair, then it is obviously
most natural for a prince to be attracted towards the pretty girl--for
many princesses are remarkably pretty--whom he meets on equal terms,
with whom there is no consciousness of difference of rank, the girl who
has been brought up in the same atmosphere as himself, with whom
familiarity has bred a certain contempt for court ceremonies and court
traditions, who is related, perhaps, like himself, to various crowned
heads whom they both call “Uncle,” one with whom he has a common ground
of interest, bonds of relationship and mutual knowledge.
As soon as the announcement of this engagement became public, the
postcard shops of Berlin, whose name is legion, became mere
picture-galleries for the illustration of every possible moment of the
life and movements of the young couple. A whole army of photographers
must have been employed to lie in wait and photograph them under almost
every conceivable circumstance of their lives. Certainly German
royalties are very good-natured in this respect.
First there was the official photograph of the _Braut-Paar_ sitting
hand-in-hand, as is the orthodox photographic pose in Germany for all
newly engaged couples. Then there was a card called “The First
Congratulations”: rows and rows of little schoolboys and girls of
Schwerin, each with a bouquet of wilted flowers in the hand, and the
girls with wreaths entwined in their hair, presented in turn their
offerings to the smiling young Duchess, while the Crown Prince stood by,
helping things along to the best of his ability. “The First Drive”
pictured them both in a sort of dog-cart, duly chaperoned, taking the
air together, and there were dozens more cards portraying them at
tennis, drinking tea in the garden, or nursing the dogs. One felt that
one knew how every moment of their time was employed.
Although they were engaged in the month of September, their marriage did
not take place until the beginning of the following June. Ordinary
weddings usually mean a time of considerable stress to every one
concerned, but they are epochs of honeyed leisure as compared with the
multiple ceremonies attendant on royal functions of the same kind.
For weeks beforehand no one dared to let their thoughts wander from the
impending event. A few days before the State entry of the bride into the
town, we all had to leave the New Palace and migrate to Berlin.
A State entry means, for the bride, not only an entry in State carriages
but in State attire, wearing semievening dress and a long train.
The day before it took place the bride arrived with her mother, the
Duchess Anastasia, and took up her residence for the night in Belle Vue,
which was outside the city boundary. The next day, which turned out
remarkably hot, almost too hot to be agreeable, all Berlin was astir
early, and the streets were lavishly bewreathed and beflagged. Along
the route large wooden stands had been erected, for as far as the
populace is concerned the entry is the only part of the State ceremony
which they can enjoy, as the wedding itself takes place privately in the
Chapel of the Schloss.
So the good people of Berlin are astir betimes, and take their places
along the Tier-Garten, or as near as they can to the Brandenburger Tor,
at a very early hour, quite regardless of the fact that the procession
will not start before three. But they know there will be plenty to be
seen. Royal carriages, carrying notable personalities, will pass to and
fro, and the Emperor and Empress, the “little Princess” and her
brothers, will doubtless be in evidence. So they stand from hour to hour
waiting patiently in the heat. In the stables great activity prevails.
The eight fine black horses which draw the bride’s State carriage have
been daily exercised together, wearing the heavy red brass-studded
harness. The coach itself is made almost entirely of glass in the upper
panels, and is most beautifully painted and decorated. Three
gorgeously-clad footmen cling behind it, and two equally gorgeous pages
hold a seemingly precarious and uncomfortable footing behind the
coachman’s box, crowded up between it and the curvature of the coach
itself in a very complicated and mysterious manner. The ponderous
vehicle swings heavily from side to side, and has a peculiar
cross-Channel motion.
Its progress down towards Belle Vue is watched by crowds of delighted
spectators. The sight of its eight slowly-pacing horses, each wearing
wonderful plumes of ostrich feathers, and led at a foot’s pace by grooms
in red coats encrusted with gold lace, fill the crowd with joyful
ecstasy. They forget the heat and thirst and the long hours they have
already waited.
All the master-butchers of Berlin are very active and not a little
apprehensive, for it is an old-established privilege of their guild to
ride, in top-hats and frock-coats, at the head of the bride’s
procession, and they are divided between the fearful joy and doubtful
pleasure of the enterprise. They have been diligently pursuing
equestrian exercise for the last few weeks. Many who never made
acquaintance with a saddle before--except in the form of mutton--have
been learning, at the nearest “Tattersall,” some of the elementary
mysteries of horsemanship. Quiet, staid horses of mature years have
suddenly risen in price, and horse-dealers have reaped a rich harvest
from certain ancient but good-looking crocks which know how to walk with
an air of magnificence.
All these black-coated gentry assemble at the entrance to Belle Vue.
They are in the happy position of seeing to advantage all that goes on.
They may not look quite as smart as the mounted Uhlans of the escort,
but they add a quaint, homely German touch to the picture which is very
agreeable.
Only State carriages are allowed to drive, as they do on this occasion,
along the gravelled centre of the avenue of lime-trees on Unter den
Linden. All the _Stall-Meisters_, _Sattel-Meisters_, _Wagen-Meisters_
and other stable functionaries are assembled in Belle Vue Garden, while
the Master of the Horse in his plumed cocked hat casts an eye over the
horses and hopes that those well-trained quadrupeds will not be stirred
out of their usual calm by the unaccustomed character of the day’s
proceedings.
From the Schloss there is an excellent view of the long procession as it
at last comes slowly up the _Linden_. It stops at the Brandenburger Tor,
where the _Bürger-Meister_--the Lord Mayor of Berlin--has the pleasing
duty of making a speech of welcome to the bride, who is expected to make
a short speech in reply. A bouquet is also presented by one of a galaxy
of palpitating white-clad maidens, and, headed by the black-coated
butchers, amid the fluttering pennons of the Uhlans the big coach swings
slowly on its way, the bride smiling and bowing incessantly. Never was
anyone more joyously responsive than the future Crown-Princess, who
possesses in a high degree that capacity for appearing pleased and
amused which is so invaluable to royalties. She probably does not know
how to look bored. The world is to her an intensely amusing, interesting
place. That day she drove triumphantly into the hearts of the people,
where she has remained enthroned ever since--a stimulating, charming
presence.
Besides the bride, the coach contained the Empress and the Mistress of
the Robes, and when it turned at last from the shouting, waving populace
into the courtyard of the Schloss, the butchers having previously ridden
in at one gate and out again at the other, the Emperor, who had driven
up earlier from Belle Vue, was standing at the entrance to welcome his
future daughter-in-law, while the bridegroom waited at the head of his
regiment, which formed the guard of honour for the occasion.
The wedding itself took place three days later, at five o’clock in the
afternoon. Those people who were not invited to be present at the
wedding ceremony in the chapel itself received invitations to the
_Bilder Galerie_ or Picture Gallery, through which the wedding
procession must pass.
It is a very mixed assembly, for all having any connection with the
bride or bridegroom, professors, school friends, teachers, footmen or
their families, fellow students, all receive tickets. They must appear
in evening dress, and some very strange costumes are seen among the
ladies. One I remember, an obviously home-made and inartistic affair,
was trimmed with real water-lilies, which in the heat had turned a
dismal brown, and long before the procession drew near were depressingly
dying on the ample bosom of the lady who wore them. Everybody had to
stand all the time, and footmen holding scarlet cords kept back the
crowd as well as they could from encroaching on the space left in the
centre. There was a much better view here of the procession than in the
chapel itself, especially for the front rank of spectators, among whom I
was luckily placed. In the second row was a very stout woman, who leaned
frankly upon me for support, and tried unblushingly but unsuccessfully
to push her way to the front. When frustrated in this manœuvre, she
complained loudly of my disobligingness, and said that she had received
her entrance card from an _Ober-Kastellan_, and that she could not
understand how I could therefore expect her to remain in the second row.
I had to lean back on to her to prevent myself being pushed on to the
red carpet, and she again became tearfully indignant, not to say
unpleasant; but fortunately the procession began to arrive and saved any
further trouble.
It was headed by two heralds in tabards, and by twelve pages in red, and
then came the bride in a dress of silver tissue led by the bridegroom in
uniform. She had on her head the small jewelled crown which every
Prussian bride wears on her wedding day, and her train was carried by
four young ladies. The Empress followed with the bride’s brother, the
Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, and the Emperor with the bride’s
mother, the Grand Duchess Anastasia. They were followed by a crowd of
other royalties walking, as is the custom, hand-in-hand, sometimes one
Prince conducting two Princesses, or one Princess being conducted by two
Princes. They all looked very much amused at themselves, and those who
happened to know me grinned delightedly and nodded as they passed.
Prince Arthur of Connaught was there, and the very tall Duchess of
Aosta, who walked with a tiny little Japanese gentleman. The Princess,
who walked with Prince Joachim, made very friendly demonstrations as she
went by, and choked with laughter when I responded by a very deep
curtsy.
When the last of the procession had vanished we were all driven out at
once, and an army of housemaids with brooms entered and began to sweep
up the dirt and litter which the people had left behind. It was strange
that on the most ceremonious occasions, when people were waiting round
red carpets to welcome royal guests, or ambassadors weighed down with
state secrets were on the point of getting into their carriages after
audiences with the Emperor, always a print-gowned housemaid with a broom
made a jarring appearance, wielding her implement coolly in the midst of
state functionaries as though sweeping were the most important business
of life. Sometimes she had scarcely disappeared before royalty itself
emerged.
The Lutheran wedding-service is very simple. It begins with the long
address of the clergyman to the bridal couple, admonishing them as to
their duties to each other and the world at large. As everybody stands
the whole time--for no chairs are admitted into the chapel, excepting
one or two for specially exalted guests--this address is apt to appear
longer than it really is. Each lady is in Court dress, wearing the
regulation veil and long, heavy train which she must hold on her arm
during the service, as it is not to be displayed until the
_Defilir-Cour_ which follows immediately afterwards. From the chapel the
newly-married pair walk into the adjacent _Weisser-Saal_, where with the
Emperor and Empress they stand to receive the congratulations of the
invited guests, who pass quickly before them bowing, the ladies with
their trains spread out. When the bride and bridegroom have made several
hundred bows and the _Cour_ is at an end, an adjournment is made to
dinner, which is laid in several different rooms at small round tables,
excepting the one where the royalties sit, which is fairly large. Here
more quaint ceremonies take place. The Prince Fürstenberg as Marshal of
the Court serves the Emperor with soup, and the other royal guests are
also waited on by pages and gentlemen of birth, who take the dishes from
the footmen. The Lord-High-Steward or _Truchsess_ pours out the wine,
and in the middle of the dinner the Emperor proposes the health of the
newly-married pair.
The dinner, in spite of the attendant ceremonies, is not allowed to be
too prolonged, for the great climax of these stately formalities still
remains to be performed--the most beautiful, but perhaps for the
hard-worked bridal pair also the most tiring of all--the famous Torch
Dance, seen nowhere but at the Prussian Court, and when once seen, never
to be forgotten.
The wedding procession returns to the beautiful _Weisser Saal_, where a
regimental band, usually that of the Garde du Corps, is stationed in the
gallery. Here, at a signal from an official, the music begins: slow
stately marches are played, old-world tunes that seem an echo of past
times. The royal ladies are all seated with their parti-coloured trains,
which seem somehow to be the chief feature of all state functions,
spread out in front of them--while rows of red-clad pages stand behind
their chairs waiting to advance when the time arrives.
From the side entrance of the Saal, stepping in time to the music,
enters the Marshal of the Court carrying his wand of office, preceding a
double row of twenty-four pages who bear large torches. In stately
rhythm they move once round the room, when the Marshal stops, and bows
to the bride and bridegroom, who at once descend from the
slightly-raised platform where they sit, and hand-in-hand, preceded by
the torch-bearers, with four ladies carrying the bride’s train, the
group moves round the Hall in time to the music. I have seen this
ceremony four times, at as many royal weddings, and cannot express its
wonderful fascination, its mixture of poetry and romance, its glamour of
colour, its irresistible charm to the beholder. There is the lulling
monotony of sound, the flicker and smoke of the torches, the brilliant
blending of many tones, the dignified movement of the dancers, the crowd
of seated royalties opposite the crowd of standing courtiers. It takes
on something of the aspect of a fairy tale, is reminiscent of
“Cinderella” or of a half-forgotten ballad of bygone days.
The bride and bridegroom having made their tour of the room once alone,
return and separate, the bride now taking out the Emperor and her own
nearest male relative, while the bridegroom leads out his mother and
that of the bride, and they again march slowly round the room. All the
ladies’ trains, excepting those of the bride and the Empress, are
carried by four pages, the two exceptions by four ladies who themselves
wear trains. And so round after round bride and bridegroom return and
hand out the rest of the Princes and Princesses in turn.
In order to hasten matters, towards the end three or four of the younger
ones are linked together on either hand, and a chain of happy, smiling
youth treads the last stately measure round the Hall.
The Torch Dance finishes, and the torch-bearers wend their way out,
followed by the long glittering procession, away to the private
apartments. The ceremonies are at an end. It is nine o’clock, and
presently, if you listen, you may hear the cheers of the people in the
street greeting the bridal couple as they drive quickly through the
summer darkness on their way to the station.
After they are gone, there remains only one small ceremony, which is
often very unceremonious--the scramble of the courtiers for the
so-called Garter of the Bride. Hundreds of pieces of white satin ribbon
marked with her cipher are distributed by the Mistress of the
Ceremonies, and for a few moments pandemonium seems to reign. At the
last wedding I was flung bodily into the arms of a _Kammer-Herr_, a
gold-laced official of great dignity; and some of the royalties
returning to their apartments were plunged into the vortex of the
struggle and severely hustled and pushed about before a passage could be
made for them. The distributing lady was then kindly but firmly
requested to pursue her avocations in a side corridor farther away.
The wedding of the Emperor’s second son, Prince Fritz, to the Duchess
Sophie Charlotte of Oldenburg took place in February, on the same day
as the celebration of the Silver Wedding of Their Majesties, who on this
occasion walked hand in hand in the bridal procession, the Empress
wearing a wreath of silver myrtle as well as a beautiful diamond tiara
given to her by her husband.
This Silver Wedding was, of course, the occasion of many spontaneous
tributes of affection towards Their Majesties; and the Court
Chaplain--he who attempted to guide our Christmas carols--being an
indefatigable man, had determined that this notable day ought to be
ushered in by an _aubade_, an early-morning song, to be performed by the
Court ladies and gentlemen outside the bedroom door of the Emperor and
Empress. It was to be sacred in character; but, instead of taking some
old-established favourite, he was moved to ask a musical friend to write
something special to fit the occasion. Like most “specially-written”
melodies, it was rather uninspired, but by dint of constant practice at
most inconvenient times we got a more or less hazy idea of it, and hoped
that it would make a deep impression.
I think we were all a little resentful at having to rise so early on
what we knew would be a long, fatiguing day. The poor Court Chaplain,
who had to come over from Potsdam, must have started in the chilly
darkness of the winter morning. I myself, unaccustomed to rising quite
so early, fell asleep again after being awakened, and had to dress in
feverish haste and rush downstairs without any breakfast. We were
gathered, a group of rather sleepy, not conspicuously good-tempered
people, at the entrance to the narrow corridor leading to the private
apartments, where we waited an unconscionable time, growing every moment
more nervous, and studying the little ill-written scraps of music-paper
on which we had jotted down, somewhat undecipherably, our several parts.
Everybody inquired of his neighbour what we were waiting for, but no one
seemed to know, excepting the leading soprano, who frowned angrily when
we whispered and put her finger reprovingly on her lips.
We were obviously much in the way of certain Jägers and footmen, who
were passing up and down with garments and boots; and at last some of us
grew restive and threatened to depart.
At that moment a Jäger, who had cast disapproving glances at us as he
passed to and fro, came and told us that His Majesty had left his room
and was not likely to return, whereupon we felt much disappointment, but
subsequently congratulated ourselves on the happy chance that had led
the Emperor away--for our attempt at harmony turned out a most dismal
failure, owing to the chief soprano getting nervous and starting on an
absolutely false note. No less than three beginnings were necessary
before we got really “off,” and the suppressed titterings of the
bridegroom, Prince Fritz, who had joined his mother, were plainly
audible. Happily we finished better than we began--which is not saying
much--and the Empress thanked us in her usual pleasant, kindly manner,
and then hurried off after the Emperor to breakfast. It was rather hard
on the poor Court Chaplain, who had risen early and taken so much
trouble to reap so little satisfaction; and when I found on return to my
own room that my breakfast (which I had not touched) had been taken away
and eaten by the woman who waited on me, I felt that the day had not
begun as auspiciously as might have been wished.
The Crown Prince and Princess after their marriage lived at the Marmor
Palais, and here all their children were born. The arrival of their
first little boy, Prince Wilhelm, was an exciting day for the whole of
Germany. The great event happened about eight o’clock one morning, and
by eleven picture-postcards were on sale in which the Crown Princess,
naïvely represented in evening dress, was depicted holding in her arms
one of those dreadful abominations called a _Steck-Kissen_, a sort of
flat pillow much used in the Fatherland, on which was fastened with blue
ribbons, something in the manner habitual among Indian squaws, a
solid-looking infant purporting to be the newly-born Prince.
This same child on the same blue-ribboned _Steck-Kissen_ was also
represented on another postcard lying on the knees of the Emperor, who
was smiling into the middle-distance. It bore the inscription “The First
Grandchild”; but as His Majesty was at the time cruising off Kiel in the
_Hohenzollern_, he never saw his first grandchild until six weeks after
it was born. But manufacturers are not disturbed by minor details of
this nature, and the cards, however unveracious, doubtless supplied a
popular demand.
Later on the Emperor mentioned at table that, owing to the forgetfulness
of the young officer charged with the forwarding on board of his mails,
the telegrams informing him of the happy event did not reach him for a
good many hours after they arrived in Kiel; and it was from a
congratulatory message handed on board from the Sultan of Turkey that
His Majesty first heard that he was a grandfather.
The fact that the Empress was a grandmother and she herself an aunt made
the Princess very thoughtful for a time. She indulged for some time in
long fits of silence, pondering this new development. A few days after
her nephew came into the world, as we were driving in the Wildpark
together, she remarked with a certain wistful wonder, “This time last
week I was not yet an aunt, and Mamma was not a grandmother. Poor
Mamma!”
The christening was of great interest to her, because the youngest
Hohenzollern Princess is always chosen to carry the infant to the font.
She practised this ceremony a few times with a cushion, to which was
pinned a long table-cloth to present the white satin train which babes
of the Hohenzollern race wear at the ceremony. This train is embroidered
with the name of every prince or princess who has worn it; and a new
strip has to be added for every christening, so that the imagination
refuses to consider the length to which it must inevitably extend in the
course of ages. It is carried by four ladies of noble birth, and is
actually fastened, not to the infant itself, but to the white satin
cushion on which the child is laid.
Royal christenings are usually celebrated in the long Jasper Gallery in
the New Palace, a magnificent apartment which, owing to its length, was
the favourite scene of indoor sports for the Princess and her friends
when wet weather prevented their indulgence outside. Only the week after
the christening sack-races were held in the stately apartment, and the
mirrors which had lately reflected the stately tread, the brilliant
uniforms, and the trailing dresses of courtiers, now duplicated and
reduplicated a seemingly endless procession of wildly-hopping maidens
with jerking pigtails, who, shrieking with laughter and accompanied by
many tumbles, bumped along over the marble pavement to the goal. The
seventy-five _Stifts-Kinder_ had been invited to the palace; but the
afternoon turned out hopelessly wet, so that the “Gymkhana” which had
been planned had necessarily to take place indoors or not at all, and
the Jasper Gallery proved itself an excellent place for egg-and-spoon
races as well as for the needle-threading and bun-eating competitions.
A few rooms near the Gallery had been once occupied by Frederick the
Great. One of them still contained his harpsichord, and in another, row
upon row, were left the books he loved--all in French, not a single
German one amongst them. Sometimes the children would storm violently
through these older rooms, where all was left as much as possible
undisturbed, just as they had been when used by Frederick. They wakened
up for a few moments the sleepy, stifled atmosphere of the shut-up
apartments, the faded green silk curtains waved and trembled as they
passed boisterously onward; once I saw the yellow parchment label
bearing the old King’s handwriting drop from the back of a book in the
glass case, shaken from its timid, precarious hold by the rush of active
young feet. They were eerie places, where one did not care to linger
long alone when the shadows of night were falling. It was so easy to
imagine a bent old figure, in a crushed-looking cocked hat, in rusty
knee-boots, in a blue-lapelled riding-coat, peering round the corner to
see who was disturbing the silences, watching the flight of that
impetuous child of his house as her laugh echoed back towards the
deserted rooms where the air had for a moment been startled into
movement by the tones of her gay voice and the sound of her footsteps on
the polished floor.