ROMINTEN
Rominten, the Emperor’s favourite shooting domain, lies far away in East
Prussia, on the very frontier of the Russian Empire. For the first few
years of my life in Germany it existed merely as a name.
Every autumn towards the end of November came to the New Palace great
loads of antlers labelled “Rominter Heide,” magnificent outspreading
trophies of His Majesty’s gun.
Then one day the Princess announced, to the consternation of her
governesses, aghast at the possibility of further interruptions to her
education, that “Papa” was building a new wing to the _Jagdhaus_, so
that “Mamma” and she herself might join him there.
“Won’t it be lovely?” she said with sparkling eyes, and danced about the
room in a manner expressive of the deepest delight.
“When you are grown up and done with lessons, Princess,” suggested the
_Ober-Gouvernante_.
“Not a bit when I am grown up, but now this very autumn. Papa says so;
the house is getting on splendidly. It will all be ready by September.”
If “Papa” said a thing would happen, it naturally did, let who might
disapprove; so that a few weeks later the Princess in her brand-new
hunting-dress, accompanied by a blackboard, a desk, a large chest of
school-books, a tutor and myself, went off in the highest spirits to
join Their Majesties’ special train at Berlin.
The Emperor and Empress were already in the train when their daughter
arrived, and there was a very large suite with them, including Prince
Philip Eulenburg, who a year or two later fell into disgrace, and from
being the most trusted, most sought-after of all the Emperor’s friends,
was banished entirely from Court and seen no more.
The Empress was attended by one only of her ladies--the youngest of the
four resident _Hof-Damen_, who would be on duty the whole time; but as
in Rominten there are no ceremonious occasions and no constant changes
of costume--one of the chief burdens of Court life--the duties of the
lady-and gentleman-in-waiting are comparatively light.
We had a very merry supper in the train, the Emperor being in an
extremely happy, not to say hilarious mood, his face constantly crinkled
with laughter. He told one small anecdote after another, some of them
almost childish, but irresistibly comic when accompanied by his
infectious laugh. One was of a child at a _Volks-Schule_ who wrote an
essay on the Lion as follows: “The Lion is a fearful beast with four
legs and a tail. He has a still more terrible wife called the Tiger.”
The royal hunt uniform, which is only worn by those in the royal service
or by persons to whom the Emperor grants permission, is extremely
picturesque, being of a soft olive-green, with high tanned-leather boots
and a belt round the waist from which is suspended the _Hirschfänger_ or
short hunting-knife. In the soft green hat, turned up at both sides, is
generally fastened either the tail-feathers of the capercailzie, or the
beard of a gemsbock, which sticks up like a shaving-brush at the back.
At supper everybody was wearing ordinary costume, but they all assembled
at breakfast next morning after their night in the train in complete
hunting-dress, even to the footmen who waited at table. Although I
possessed no uniform, unwilling to be a jarring note in the
hunting-harmony, I had provided myself with a suitable green
_Sports-Kostüm_, while the Princess had a regulation green _Letevka_
(Norfolk jacket) and hunting-knife all complete.
The train passed through the station of Cadinen, but it was a further
journey of eight hours to reach Gross-Rominten, distant some seven or
eight miles from the hunting-lodge itself.
The usual rows of flower-crowned school-children lined the path and
threw flowers into the carriages and automobiles. All the population of
the country-side had, of course, turned out to see Their Majesties, and
through a flutter of handkerchiefs and waving of hats the procession of
carriages passed, presently entering the great 90,000-acre forest.
Formerly the village where the Emperor has built himself a house was
called _Teer-bude_, which might be translated Tarbooth. It was a poor
place, inhabited by people who made a spare living by distilling tar
from the pine-trees; and although the forest belonged to the Crown it
had not been properly developed and was in a somewhat neglected
condition.
A little stream called the Rominte ran through the district, so the
Emperor changed the name of the place to Rominten, and with
characteristic energy and determination set himself to build and
improve.
His frequent visits to Norway had given him a love for the houses there,
built of pine logs; and having all the necessary material at hand, he
determined to build in the Norwegian style of architecture.
The road to this _Jagd-Schloss_ lay through long vistas of pines, which
grow here to an enormous height--though a few years ago the devastations
of a caterpillar called _die Nonne_ (the Nun) had destroyed a great many
of the trees and made fearful havoc. The road wound past places where
whole plantations had perished and all the young trees were “in
mourning"--that is to say, they each had bands of tar-smeared paper
round their trunks to prevent the inroads of the insidious enemy. The
Emperor tried to persuade one lady that these black bands had been put
on the trees because an _Ober-Förster_ was dead; but being of a
sceptical turn of mind, and knowing a little about forestry, she
accepted the Imperial explanation with some reserve.
At the entrance to the village of Rominten itself, young pine trees cut
from the woods had been set at intervals along the road and triumphal
garlands of pine-branches stretched across it. Before the entrance to
the Schloss were ranged lines of sturdy woodmen and foresters in their
smart uniforms of soft olive-green, holding torches in their hands, for
the night falls early in this region and the immense trees growing so
close to the house intercept a good deal of light. In the inner
gravelled space between the two parts into which the Schloss is divided
were waiting the head-foresters, gentlemen of education and culture, who
are trained for some years in the excellent schools of forestry which
are to be found in Germany.
Baron Speck von Sternburg, whose brother was at that time German
Ambassador in Washington, was also there to meet Their Majesties. He is
the Head Administrator of the whole forest, lives and moves among it
from year to year, and knows every stag almost that roams its immense
solitudes. He is responsible for the Emperor’s sport, makes all
preliminary arrangements, knows by heart the habits, almost the thoughts
of the deer, and can tell at what particular moment they will come out
to browse on the open meadows that are to be found dotted about like
small green islands in the vast ocean of trees.
All the head foresters’ houses are in telephonic communication with the
Schloss itself, so that they can send word at once of any animal paying
an unexpected visit, as sometimes wolves and elk have been known to
wander over the Russian frontier close by.
The Emperor, almost before he has well descended from his carriage,
plunges at once into hunting-talk with Herr von Sternburg, while the
Empress and the Princess, after greetings and introductions, enter the
house to explore their new habitation. The Schloss is really two houses,
built entirely of pine logs, connected by an overhead gallery supported
on massive pine stems as thick as the masts of a ship. In every room the
walls consist of the bare logs, which have been trimmed into a slightly
oval form and then laid one on the top of the other, the whole being
smoothly varnished. Tables and chairs are made of the same wood, and the
green carpets of a moss-like pattern carry on the woodland suggestion.
The roof is deep and low, and the upper story has a gallery running its
length, which overshadows the windows of the lower rooms, making them
rather dark. The fireplaces and chimneys are made of unglazed red brick,
and the fire of logs is built on a wide flat hearth, raised a little
above the floor level. They too are, of course, also Norwegian in
character, running up in a Gothic pinnacled form. All is very simple and
solidly, almost ruggedly, built. The log walls have one drawback. Smells
and sounds penetrate their crevices very easily. If the footman in the
basement indulges in a cigar, the Empress in her sitting-room upstairs
is instantly aware of it.
The dining-room, which is in the part of the house occupied by the
Emperor, is a fine building with a high-pitched roof of massive beams,
from which hang many splendid trophies of the chase, fallen to His
Majesty’s gun. There is a long wide window to the left, two large brick
fireplaces at the end, a sideboard with a buttery-hatch into the
kitchen, and wooden chairs surrounding the massive table which are quite
penitential in their hardness; yet, since Majesty sits on them without
any ameliorating interposition of cushions, no one dare complain. In a
few days’ time they become more endurable.
The Emperor once overheard some comment of mine relative to their
unyieldingness.
“What’s the matter with the chairs?” he says sharply, bulging his eyes
at me in the usual Imperial manner. “Don’t you like them?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I reply meekly, “I think they are beautiful chairs,
but somewhat--er--harsh--on first acquaintance.”
“Harsh!” he laughs derisively--“I hope they are. Time you came here and
learned to do without cushions. Here we live hardily.” He laughs like a
delighted schoolboy, and asks every day afterwards if the chairs are
getting a little softer.
Certain friends of His Majesty came every year with him to Rominten.
First and foremost among them all was that Prince Philip Eulenburg
before mentioned, a pale, grey-haired, somewhat weary-looking man with a
pallid, fleeting smile, something of a visionary, with a nature
attracted to music and art, as well as towards all that is strange or
abnormal in life. He was a born _raconteur_, like the Emperor, but told
his tales in a quiet, soft, subtle voice, with a grave face and a
certain fascinating charm of manner. One could easily understand how the
robust personality of the Emperor, so frank, so generous, so
open-hearted, was attracted to the somewhat reserved, mysterious, gentle
nature of this brilliant man, who yearly entertained His Majesty at his
own home, Schloss Liebenberg, and was the repository of his thoughts and
aspirations.
He, however, disappeared. Rominten knew him no more. Yet probably no one
was more missed than he whose name was never afterwards mentioned there.
I can still see his pale face emerge from behind the red curtains of the
gallery when he came to the tea-table of the Empress and sat down to
entertain us with his store of literary and artistic reminiscences. He
had the look even then of an ill man, whose nerves are not in the best
condition, who is pursued by some haunting spectre, some fear from which
he cannot escape.
Another man of a different type who came yearly was Prince Dohna of
Schlobitten, a tall elderly gentleman who was a mighty hunter, and knew
all about deer and their habits. We ladies were much indebted to him for
instruction in the proper terms of venery--for, as the Princess forcibly
impressed on us, it was quite impossible when at Rominten to speak of
any part of an animal by its usual name, everything having a special and
peculiar designation. “Nose, eyes, ears and tail” were shocking to the
ear, and no longer to be tolerated, suffering a change into something
technical and sporting. The “ears” of the hare, for example, had to be
called its “spoons,” and the feet of the deer became “runners"--I
think--but it may have been something else.
One notable visitor came once to Rominten for a short stay of an hour or
two on his way back to Russia from America--a rather stern, silent,
harassed-looking man with peasant-features, who moved wearily and with
an air of abstraction beside the Emperor as they walked up and down on
the gravelled space before the _Jagd-Haus_. It was Herr Witte, the
Russian statesman, soon to become Count Witte, on his way home after
negotiating terms of peace between his country and Japan. At table he
sat eating soup somewhat nervously, with the air of a man in a dream,
listening politely to the Emperor’s talk, replying in monosyllables, but
conversing with no one else. He was obviously tired and apprehensive.
Soon after dinner we saw his carriage departing for the station. He
would be in Russia before nightfall.
Every morning in the early darkness somewhere between five and six, or
it may have been even earlier, the panting of a motor-car could be heard
outside, and presently it departed, bearing away the Emperor and his
loader to some remote corner of the forest where a lordly stag had been
marked as coming in the early mornings to browse.
At eight the Princess and I breakfasted alone in the little corridor
outside Her Majesty’s sitting-room upstairs. Often we made for ourselves
beautiful buttered toast at the big fire which blazed on the hearth; and
once the Princess, who always had a fine feminine instinct for that sort
of thing, took a large succulent plateful of this delicacy downstairs to
His Majesty, who happened for a wonder to be at home for breakfast at
the appointed hour. This was a thing which very seldom happened--for, as
a rule, we from our window could see the hungry courtiers waiting about
the courtyard for the Emperor’s return, which was naturally apt to be
rather uncertain as to time, sometimes being postponed till eleven.
Rominten was the only place where Their Majesties breakfasted with the
suite. Usually it was a meal taken strictly _en famille_ and at a very
rapid pace.
The Emperor appreciated the Princess’s buttered toast so much that the
Empress directed that some should be sent up every morning. Now buttered
toast is quite unknown in the Fatherland excepting perhaps in large and
fashionable hotels where international customs prevail. Rather leathery
dry toast is served at tea; but when the royal command for buttered
toast reached the kitchen through the medium of the footman it created
nothing short of consternation. A flurried lackey came hastening up to
me begging for some slight hints as to how it should be made. I foresaw
that any instructions I might give when they reached the cook distilled
through the footman’s mind would be vague and unsatisfactory.
Nevertheless I did my best; but the Empress told me afterwards that the
toast was quite uneatable--a result which rather gratified the Princess,
who liked to believe that she was the only person capable of making
toast for “Papa.”
The lessons with the tutor lasted from half-past eight until twelve
o’clock, when a short walk with the Empress was taken, weather
permitting. After luncheon, if the stag or stags slain by the Emperor
had arrived, we all assembled under the dining-room window for the
ceremony of “the Strecke.” The stags were laid on the small lawn beneath
the windows, and three of the Jägers of His Majesty blew on
hunting-horns the old hunting-call of the “Ha-la-li,” denoting to all
who hear the success of the sportsman.
Somewhere between three and four the Emperor in his hunting cart would
start off again to shoot, the Empress and suite waiting for his
departure and shouting “_Waidmann’s Heil_” as he drove away. Then Her
Majesty, with the Princess and the rest of us, would also climb into
other yellow-varnished hunting-carts and drive in another direction, to
try and get a glimpse of the stags browsing. Our conversation had to be
rather suppressed, for fear of alarming the deer in their “sylvan
solitudes,” and we usually descended from the carts to walk to one of
the numerous “pulpits” as they were called--small raised platforms
screened by a frame of pine twigs, from which the Emperor sometimes
shot--although, as a rule, they were used for purposes of observation
only, and the shooting was done from behind another screen down below.
It was always a little tantalizing going to see the deer feed, because
very often they didn’t appear. The stairs up to the pulpits creaked and
groaned as any one rather weighty went up them, and the rest regarded
the guilty one with annoyed looks and said “S’sh”; but the more silent
and stealthy we were the less the stags showed themselves. When they
did, stepping out proudly from the dark shadows of the trees, it was a
very fine sight. The deer on the _Rominter Heide_ are remarkable for
their splendid antlers, and there are few things more gracefully
beautiful than the manner in which a stag carries his splendid
wide-spreading ornaments, especially when running with the speed of the
wind among the forest trees.
Baron Speck von Sternburg lived in a large house in a corner of the
forest where it opened out into a meadow near a village called
Sittkehmen. He had three or four children, and his charming wife,
herself the daughter of an officer of the Forest Department, was quite
as keen, and possessed nearly as much knowledge of woodcraft as her
husband.
Once when the Empress had been with the Princess into the village
visiting some of the cottages, as we came back to the Schloss, hurrying
a little for fear of being late for our one-o’clock dinner, we were met
in the drive by an excited footman, who said that an _Elch_--which I
took to mean a moose or elk--had been seen by the Baroness in the
forest, that the Kaiser had ordered out all the automobiles and
carriages, and that every available person was to serve as beater, Her
Majesty and the Princess and the ladies being specially invited in that
capacity.
Everybody flew in and out of the Schloss fetching walking-sticks and
cloaks, and in a few seconds the first automobile, containing the
Emperor and Empress, the Princess and the two ladies, the Emperor’s
loader with the heavy sporting rifles being outside with the chauffeur,
started off in pursuit of this animal, which, not having a proper sense
of political boundaries, had wandered over from Russia in the night. We
only hoped it had not wandered back again, but I had a sneaking sort of
feeling down in my heart that I should be almost glad if it had done so.
The car flew along, the Emperor talking volubly about the _Elch_ and its
habits and his hopes of slaying the confiding creature; and at last we
were deposited about eight miles from home on a rather squelchy, marshy
piece of ground, where we were met by Baron von Sternburg and commanded
to follow him in perfect silence, the Emperor meantime going on in the
car in a different direction. After a long damp walk we were all posted
at intervals of about a hundred yards along a thick alley of pines, with
whispered instructions to stay where we were and prevent the quarry from
breaking through, although we all had grave doubts as to our ability to
prevent any animal as large as a moose from doing anything it felt
inclined. I went up to the gentleman on my left and whisperingly asked
what methods I must employ supposing the mighty beast suddenly appeared
in front of me, and he indicated a feeble waggling of the hands as being
likely to turn it back in the direction of the Emperor’s rifle.
I cannot say if we should have been able to intimidate the moose by
means of this manœuvre if it had really appeared; at any rate we were
not put to the test, for after having waited for an hour or two, growing
minute by minute more ravenously hungry, while the water penetrated into
our boot-soles, it became evident that the sagacious animal must have
returned to his native wilds, and we returned sadly to our long-delayed,
somewhat over-cooked dinner, where we found the unfortunate tutor of
the Princess, who had been waiting for his food without any of the
alleviating excitement of the chase from one o’clock until three, which
was the hour when we at last sat down to our long-delayed meal.
Once on our way from Rominten back to Berlin we had a rather
disagreeable adventure in Königsberg, where the Emperor stayed for a few
hours for the purpose of dining at the officers’ mess of one of the
Grenadier regiments stationed there.
We had started from Rominten very early in the morning, and the
Princess, rather unluckily as it turned out, was still wearing her green
hunting uniform, although the rest of the party had reverted to the
usual less conspicuous costume of ordinary wear. The Emperor and his
suite were to stop at Königsberg, while the Empress and her daughter,
with the ladies, Prince Eulenburg and the gentleman-in-waiting, Count
Carmer, after a short wait of half an hour to let the express pass
before us to Berlin, would proceed onwards to Cadinen, there to await
the arrival of His Majesty towards evening.
We had all descended on to the red-carpeted platform to witness the
reception of the Emperor, and had seen him drive away amidst the cheers
of an immense crowd waiting outside the station, when, to our surprise,
the Princess begged her mother to fill up the intervening twenty minutes
left to us by “a short walk,” as she was very tired of being in the
train. Her Majesty too appeared to think that it would make an agreeable
diversion, and though somebody suggested the difficulty of moving about
in such a crowd as would probably be gathered together, yet, the
Princess being very urgent, the expedition was undertaken.
We moved across the space in front of the station, which had been kept
clear by the police, in full view of the enormous mass of people
gathered there, the young Princess in her green uniform being a very
conspicuous object. A pleasant elderly officer was to escort us on what
the Empress called our “little stroll through the town,” though that was
hardly perhaps the appropriate expression.
Full of apprehension, which was amply justified by our subsequent
adventures, we walked over the empty space, the Empress chatting to the
officer, while the rest of us looked at each other, trying to think that
what we foresaw must happen would perhaps not be so inevitable after
all. The people began to cheer wildly as soon as they realized that the
Empress was before them, for her name naturally had not been included in
the programme of the day’s ceremonies; and as soon as we emerged from
the emptiness into the crowd itself, we all realized at once the
imprudence of the step taken, and the danger involved, not only to
ourselves, but also to the unwieldy mass of humanity.
Most of the extra policemen drafted into the town had naturally been
placed on the streets along the route where the Emperor would pass, and
as we had directed our steps to a more secluded thoroughfare, there were
none to be seen anywhere, with the exception of those near the station.
The enormous crowd seemed to break up at once with a yelp of astonished
joy, and to fling itself with that blindly loyal ardour so
characteristic of the nation upon our small group.
“Let us get back to the station,” implored the Empress, who saw at once
the danger of advancing into that yelling, shouting, scampering, excited
mass.
It was wonderful to see the orderly, apparently disciplined crowd of a
moment before, which had settled down peaceably to wait for the
Emperor’s return, suddenly disintegrate into a wildly-running horde, to
watch the policemen, voluble and excited, and absolutely nonplussed at
the unexpected turn of events, swept like leaves before the wind. Their
shouts, blows and expostulations were powerless to stem that torrent of
irresistible humanity. The shriek of their voices betrayed a fearful
anxiety and powerlessness, which sounded ominously in our ears.
We all wanted to return to the station--even the Princess was obviously
ready to renounce her “little walk” through the town--but a glance
behind showed its impossibility. All we could do was to keep on, the
officer pointing out a side-street which he thought led back to the
station in another direction.
He kept on continually shouting vain appeals to the crowd, which became
every moment denser, ruder and dirtier. It was the hour when the
workshops and factories vomited forth their occupants for _Mittagessen_,
so that it soon became a crowd composed largely of Socialists and Jewish
Poles, who congregate in Königsberg. Unfortunately we took a wrong
turning, and our road led through some of the worst quarters of the
town.
The cheering and hurrahing soon ceased, but the shouting and yelling
went on; we were the centre of a dirty, frowsy mob, who smelt
abominably, and treated our small group as though we were a show of some
kind out for their amusement. The officer again appealed to the better
feelings of the people, and begged the dirty children to remember what
they had been taught in school, but they only laughed and darted in and
out and laid their filthy hands on the dress of the Empress.
In my younger more unregenerate days I had learned from a schoolboy
brother a certain sudden grip at the back of the neck or collar which we
often employed in any slight dispute. Our nurses and governesses always
characterized it as “most unladylike,” which no doubt it was, but none
the less effective; and as these horrible children grew bolder and more
repulsive, and tried to dart between the Empress and the Princess, I
found this old “choker,” as we had called it, very useful in
intercepting them. As a yelling boy bumped along, he was suddenly
“brought up short” in mid career and by a grip at the nape of his neck
flung back among his comrades, helping to put them also into momentary
confusion. Even this slight check was a great help, and although it was
warm work for such a hot day, I continued unweariedly, with a certain
sporting pleasure which struck me at the time as amusing, to capture one
filthy youngster after another and fling him violently back into the
roadway. The officer still shouted after policemen, and presently I
became aware of one walking beside me, who was also aiding in the good
work of “chucking out.” I think he had caught the idea from me. At any
rate we toiled in tacit good-fellowship side by side for some time. Then
at last a few more policemen were picked up and we got into a rather
more respectable neighbourhood; but the crowd was still frightfully
dense, and the policemen banged and thrust unmercifully. Sometimes quite
innocent, unsuspecting people just coming out of their own doorways were
taken by the shoulders and whirled back into their homes again,
wondering, I am sure, if dynamite or an earthquake had struck them.
At last we came again in view of the station, and a mass of policemen
took us in charge, still rather nervous--the policemen I mean--and very
irritated with the crowd and perhaps a little with us.
The time for the train to start was overdue. We scrambled in hurriedly,
but the Empress wished to show the accompanying officer some recognition
of the strenuous activity he had displayed on her behalf. The
gentleman-in-waiting hastily produced a case full of those
royal-monogrammed-scarfpins, studs, and brooches, which are part of the
travelling equipment of every court. The officer received a tie-pin, and
one of the police-officers some studs, thrust into his hands almost as
the train moved off, and we were left to review and discuss the
experiences of the last half-hour.
“_Never_, no, _never_ in the whole course of my experience,” declared
the Empress, “was I in such a fearful crowd. I really began to think
that we never should emerge alive. It was _too_ horrible.”
She shuddered and was obviously unstrung. As for the Princess, she was
unusually pale and subdued, and it was a long time before she again
proposed “a tiny walk” in a strange town.
In the next morning’s _Königsberg Times_ was a paragraph in the news
column to the effect that the Empress and Princess, with a small
following, had walked “_ungezwungen_” (freely) through the town for a
short time. Obviously the reporter had not been in the thick of the
crowd.