sought relaxation and, at times, consolation and encouragement for
its rough task in the ever-smiling intimacy of the home. It resolved
that this home should be impenetrable to others, so impenetrable that
it excluded the sovereign and _à fortiori_ his official "set": the
husband and father alone are admitted. This is the secret of that close
union which has made people say of the Italian royal couple that they
represent the perfect type of a middle-class household which found its
way by accident into a king's palace.
I have tried to give a psychological picture of the two sovereigns
arising from the impressions which I picked up in the course of my trip
to Italy. Their visit to Paris was destined to confirm its accuracy and
to complete its details.
3.
I little thought, on the afternoon when I caught so unexpected a
glimpse of Queen Helena in a Milan glove-shop, that, two years later,
I was to have the honour of attending both Her Majesty and the King
during their journey to France. It was their first visit to Paris in
state; and our government attached considerable importance to this
event, which accentuated the scope of what Prince von Bülow, at that
time chancellor of the German Empire, called, none too good-humouredly,
Italy's "little waltz" with France.
[Illustration: THE KING AND QUEEN OF ITALY]
The letter of appointment which I received at the beginning of October,
1903, directed me to go at once and await our guests at the Italian
frontier and bring them safely to Paris. It was pitch-dark, on a
cold, wet night, when the royal train steamed out of the Mont-Cenis
tunnel and pulled up at the platform of the frontier-station of Modany
where I had been pacing up and down for over an hour. My curiosity
was stimulated, I must confess, by the recollection of the episode in
the Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele at Milan. Amused by the chance which
was about to bring me face to face with "the lady with the gloves," I
was longing to know if my first impressions were correct and if the
features which I had conjectured, rather than perceived, behind the
blue veil were really those which I should soon be able to view in the
full light.
The blinds of the eight royal railway-carriages were lowered; not a
sign betrayed the presence of living beings in the silent train.
After a long moment, a carriage-door opened and a giant, in a long
pale-grey cavalry cloak and a blue forage-cap braided with scarlet
piping and adorned with a gold tassel, stepped out softly and, making
straight for me, said:
"Hush! They are asleep."
It was two o'clock in the morning. The first official reception had
been arranged to take place at Dijon, where we were due to arrive at
nine o'clock. I took my seat in the train and we started. Not everybody
was asleep. In the last carriage, which was reserved for the servants,
a number of maids, wrapped in those beautiful red shawls which you
see on the quays at Naples, were chattering away, with the greatest
animation, in Italian. The echoes of that musical and expressive
language reached the compartment in which I was trying to doze and
called up memories of my childhood in my old Corsican heart.
It was broad daylight and we were nearing Dijon when Count
Guicciardini, the King's master of the horse, came to fetch me to
present me to the sovereigns.
Two black, grave, proud and gentle eyes; a forehead framed in a wealth
of dark hair; beautiful and delicate features; a smile that produced
two little dimples on either side of the mouth; a tall, slight figure;
I at once recognised the lady of Milan in the charming sovereign,
stately and shy, who came stepping towards me. It was the same little
white hand that she put out again, this time, however, that I might
press upon it the homage of my respectful welcome. Should I recall the
incident of the gloves? I had it on my lips to do so. I was afraid of
appearing ridiculous; of course, she did not remember. I said nothing.
"Delighted, M. Paoli, delighted to know you!" exclaimed the King,
fixing me with his piercing eyes and shaking me vigorously by the hand.
"Sir."
"But stay; Paoli is an Italian name!"
"Very nearly, Sir; I am a Corsican."
"A fellow-countryman of Napoleon's, then? I congratulate you!"
Our conversation, that morning, was limited to these few words. From
Dijon onwards, the journey assumed an official character; and I lost
sight of the King and Queen amid the crowd of glittering uniforms.
However, a few minutes before our arrival at Paris, I surprised
them both standing against a window-pane, the Queen in an exquisite
costume of pale-grey velvet and silk, the King in the uniform of an
Italian general, with the broad ribbon of the Legion of Honour across
his chest. While watching the landscape, they exchanged remarks that
appeared to me to be of an affectionate nature.
Meanwhile, a sedate footman entered and discreetly placed upon the
table, behind the sovereigns, an extraordinary object that attracted my
eyes. It looked like an enormous bird buried in its feathers; it was at
one and the same time resplendent and voluminous. I came closer and
then saw that it was a helmet, just a helmet, covered with feathers of
fabulous dimensions. I was not the only one, for that matter, to be
astonished at the imposing proportions of this head-dress; whenever the
King donned it in Paris, it met with a huge success; it towered above
the crowds, the livery-servants' cockades, the soldiers' bayonets; it
became the target of every kodak.
The Queen's shyness? The occasion soon offered to observe it; in fact,
that solemn entry into Paris was enough to make any young woman,
queen or no queen, shy. The authorities wished it to be as grand as
possible and sent the procession down the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne
and the Champs-Élysées. No doubt, the charming sovereign was deeply
impressed and a little bewildered; but the warmth of her welcome,
the heartiness of the cheering afforded her, as well as her consort,
a visible pleasure; and, from that very first day, she was full of
pretty thoughts and he of generous movements. At a certain moment, she
took a rose from a bouquet of _roses de France_ which she was carrying
and gave it to a little girl who had thrust herself close up to the
carriage. He, on the other hand, walked straight to the colours of
the battalion of Zouaves who were presenting arms in the courtyard of
the Foreign Office and raised to his lips the folds of the standard
on which were inscribed two names dear to Italian hearts and French
memories alike: Magenta and Solferino.
The Foreign Office was turned into a "royal palace" for the occasion of
this visit. While the government had set its wits to work to decorate
in the most sumptuous style the apartments which the King and Queen of
Italy were to occupy on the first floor, Madame Delcassé, the wife of
the foreign minister, on her side, did her best to relieve the somewhat
cold and solemn appearance of the rooms. With this object, she procured
photographs of the little Princesses Yolanda and Mafalda and placed
them in handsome frames on the Queen's dressing-table. The Queen was
greatly touched by the delicate attention. On entering the room, she
uttered a spontaneous exclamation that betrayed all a mother's fondness:
"Oh, the children! How delightful!"
The children! How often those words returned to her lips during her
stay in Paris! She spoke of them incessantly, she spoke of them to
everybody, to Madame Loubet, to Madame Delcassé, to the Italian
ambassadress, even to the two French waiting-maids attached to her
service:
"Yolanda, the elder, with her black hair and her black eyes is like
me," she would explain. "Mafalda, on the other hand, is the image of
her father. They both have such good little hearts."
Her maternal anxiety was also manifested in the impatience with which
she used to wait for news of the princesses. Every evening, when she
returned to the Foreign Office after a day of drives and visits in
different parts of Paris, her first words were:
"My wire?"
And, a little nervously, she opened the telegram that wras dispatched
to her daily from San Rossore, where "the children" were, and greedily
read the bulletin of reassuring news which it contained.
On the morning after her arrival, she rang for a maid as soon as she
woke up:
"I have an old friend in Paris," she said, "whom I want to see; it is
my old French mistress, Mlle. E----. She lives on the Quai Voltaire;
please have her sent for."
An attaché of the office hastened off at once and, in half an hour,
returned triumphantly with Mlle. E----, a charming old lady who had
once been governess to Princess Helena of Montenegro at Cetinje. She
had not seen her for ten years; and the reader can imagine her surprise
and her confusion. The mistress and pupil threw themselves into each
other's arms. And, when Mlle. E---- persisted in addressing the Queen
as "Your Majesty," the latter interrupted her and said:
"Why 'Your Majesty'? Call me Helena, as in the old days."
The authorities, conforming to royal usage, had considered it the
proper thing to prepare two distinct suites of rooms, one for the King
and one for the Queen, separated by an enormous drawing-room. Great was
our surprise when, on the following morning, the rumour ran through the
passages of the Foreign Office that the King's bed-room had remained
untenanted. Had he found it uncomfortable? Did he not like the room?
Everyone began to be anxious and it was felt that the mystery must be
cleared up. I therefore went to one of the officers of the royal suite,
took him aside and, while talking of "other things," tried to question
him as to the King's impressions:
"Is His Majesty pleased with his apartments?"
"Delighted."
"Was there anything wrong with the heating arrangements?"
"No, nothing."
"Perhaps the King does not care for the bed provided for His Majesty's
use? I hear it is very soft and comfortable, in addition to being
historic."
"Not at all, not at all; I believe His Majesty thought everything
perfect."
Alas, I felt that my hints were misunderstood! I must needs speak more
directly. Without further circumlocution, therefore, I said:
"The fact is, it appears that the King did not deign to occupy his
apartment."
The officer looked at me and smiled:
"But the King never leaves the Queen!" he exclaimed. "With us, married
couples seldom have separate rooms, unless when they are on bad terms.
And that is not the case here!..."
They never were parted, in fact, except at early breakfast. The King
was accustomed to take _café au lait_, the Queen chocolate; the first
was served in the small sitting-room, where the King, already dressed
in his general's uniform, went through his letters; the second in
the boudoir, where the Queen, in a pink surat dressing-gown, trimmed
with lace, devoted two hours, after her toilet, every morning, to her
correspondence, or to the very feminine pleasure of trying on frocks
and hats.
I twice again had the honour of seeing her shopping, as on a former
celebrated occasion; but this time I accompanied her in the course of
my professional duties. She bought no gloves, but made up for it by
purchases of linen, jewels, numerous knick-knacks and toys; and one
would have thought that she was buying those china dolls, with their
tiny sets of tea-things, for herself, so great was the child-like joy
which she showed in their selection.
"This is for Yolanda; this is for Mafalda," she said, as she pointed to
the objects that were to be placed on one side.
I saw her for the first time grave and thoughtful at the Palace at
Versailles, which she and the King visited in the company of M. and
Madame Loubet. I think that she must have retained a delightful
recollection of this excursion to the palace of our kings, an excursion
which left a lively impression on my mind. It seemed as though Nature
herself had conspired to accentuate its charm. The ancestral park was
as it were shrouded in the soft rays of the expiring autumn: the trees
crowned their sombre tops with a few belated leaves of golden brown;
the distances were mauve, like lilac in April; and the breeze that blew
from the west scattered the water of the fountains and changed it into
feathery tufts of vapour.
The sovereigns, escorted by the distinguished keeper of the palace,
M. de Noblac, first visited the state apartments, stopping for some
time before the portraits of the princes and princesses of the House
of France. And, in those great rooms filled with so many precious
memories, Queen Helena listened silently and eagerly to the keeper's
explanations. She lingered more particularly in the private apartments
of Marie Antoinette, where the most trifling objects excited her
curiosity; obviously her imagination as a woman and a queen took
pleasure in this feminine and royal past. Sometimes, obeying a discreet
and spontaneous impulse, when the overpowering memory of some tragic
episode weighed too heavily upon our silent thoughts, she pressed
herself timidly against the King, as a little girl might do. And once
we heard her whisper:
"Ah, if things could speak!"
4.
And the King? The King, while appreciating, as an expert, the
archæological beauties which we had to show him and the imperishable
evidences of our history, did not share the Queen's enthusiasm for our
artistic treasures. When coming to Paris, he had looked forward to two
chief pleasures: to see our soldiers and to visit the Musée Monétaire,
or collection of coins at our national mint.
As is well-known, Victor Emanuel is considered--and rightly so--an
exceedingly capable numismatist. He is very proud of his title as
honorary president of the Italian Numismatical Society and, in 1897,
undertook the task of drawing up the catalogue of the authentic old
coinages of Italy. He derived the necessary materials for his work
from his own collection, which at that time consisted of about forty
thousand pieces. Now, of the two hundred and sixty types of Italian
coinage known, barely one-half could lay claim to absolute genuineness;
and the work which he had to perform in bringing them together,
completing them and authenticating them was no light one.
A rather interesting story is told of the manner in which the King,
when still little more than a child, acquired a taste for the science
of numismatics. One day, he received a _soldo_ bearing the head of Pope
Pius IX, which he kept. A little later, finding another, he added it to
the first; and, in this way, he ended by collecting fifteen. Meanwhile,
his father, King Humbert, presented him with some sixty pieces of old
copper money; and he thus formed the nucleus of his collection.
Thenceforward, at every anniversary, on his birthday, at Christmas, at
Easter, the different members of the royal family, who used to chaff
him about his new passion, gave him coins or medals. He made important
purchases on his own account; and, finally, in 1900, he doubled the
dimensions of his collection at one stroke by buying the inestimable
treasure of coins belonging to the Marchese Marignoli, which was on the
point of being dispersed to the four corners of the earth.
He admits, nevertheless, that the piece that represents the highest
value in his eyes is a gold Montenegrin coin struck in the early days
of the Petrovich dynasty and presented to him by Princess Helena of
Montenegro at the time of their engagement. This coin is so rare that
only one specimen is known to exist, apart from that in the possession
of Victor Emanuel III; it is in the numismatical gallery at Vienna.
The King, moreover, has enriched his collection lately with an
exceedingly rare series of coins of the Avignon popes. They were sold
at auction at Frankfort; and a spirited contest took place between
buyers acting respectively on behalf of King Victor Emanuel, the Pope
and the director of our own gallery of medals.
It was, therefore, with a very special interest that he visited our
mint, whose collection is famed throughout Europe. The director,
knowing that he had to do with a connoisseur, had taken a great deal
of trouble; in fact, I believe that he intended to "stagger" the King
with his erudition. But he reckoned without his host, or rather his
guest; and instead of the expert dazzling the King, it was the King who
astonished the expert. He surprised him to such good purpose, with the
accuracy and extent of his information on the subject of coins, that
the learned director had to own himself beaten:
"We are school-boys beside Your Majesty," he confessed, in all
humility.
And I think that this was something more than a courtier's phrase.
The King, as I have said, takes a keen interest in military matters. He
displayed it on the occasion of the review of the Paris garrison. Even
as he had appeared bored at the concert at the Élysée on the previous
evening, so now he seemed to enjoy the impressive spectacle which we
were able to offer him on the drill-ground at Vincennes. He wished to
ride along the front of the troops on horse-back and had brought with
him from Italy, for this purpose, his own saddle, a very handsome,
richly-caparisoned, military saddle. The governor of Paris having lent
him a charger, he proved himself a first-rate horseman, for the animal,
unnerved at having to carry a harness heavier than that to which it was
accustomed, could hit upon nothing better than to make a display of its
ill-temper, regardless of the august quality of its rider. It was the
worst day's work that that horse ever did in its life, and it had to
recognise that it had found its master.
After making a thorough inspection of the troops by the side of the
minister of war, the King expressed a desire to examine the outfit
of one of the soldiers; and a private was ordered to fall out of the
ranks. Victor Emanuel took up the soldier's knapsack, handled it,
looked through it and made a movement as though to buckle it to the
man's shoulders again himself, whereat the worthy little _pioupiou_,
quite scared and red with dismay, cried:
"Oh, no, thanks, _mon_--_mon_--"
But the poor fellow, who had never even spoken to a general, had no
notion how to address a king!
Thereupon the King, greatly amused, made a charming reply:
"Call me what your forebears, the French soldiers in 1859, called
my grandfather on the night of the battle of Palestro; call me _mon
caporal_!"
Victor Emanuel has too practical and matter-of-fact a mind to be what
is known as a man of sentiment. Nevertheless, I saw him betray a real
emotion when he was taken, on the following day, to visit the tomb of
Napoleon I. The tomb was surrounded by six old pensioners carrying
lighted torches. There were but few people there; the fitful flames of
the torches cast their fantastic gleams upon the imperial sarcophagus;
and the invisible presence of the Great Conqueror hovered over us: it
seemed as though he would suddenly rise bodily out of that yawning
gulf, that coffin of marble, dressed in his grey overcoat and his
immemorial hat.
During a long silence, the King stood and dreamt, with bowed head. When
we left the chapel, he was dreaming still.
I had another striking picture of Victor Emanuel III during the
day's shooting with which M. Loubet provided him in the preserves
at Rambouillet. The King, whose love of sport equals his passion
for numismatics, is a first-rate shot. He aims at a great height,
is careful of his cartridges and rarely misses a bird. According to
custom, he was followed at Rambouillet by a keeper carrying a second
gun, loaded, of course, in advance.
Now it happened that the King, seeing a flock of pheasants, began by
discharging both barrels and bringing down a brace of birds. He then
took the other gun, which the keeper held ready for him, put it to his
shoulder and pulled the trigger; both shots missed fire. The keeper
had forgotten to load the gun! Picture the rage of the sovereign,
who, disconsolate at losing his pheasants, began to rate the culprit
harshly! The unfortunate keeper, feeling more dead than alive, did not
know what excuse to make; and he looked upon his place as fairly lost.
Then the King, guessing the man's unspoken fears, abruptly changed his
tone:
"Never mind," he said. "There's no forgiving you; but I shall not say
anything about it."
The King was obviously delighted with his day's sport. Yet, among
the many attentions which we paid our guests during their brief
stay in Paris, one surprise which we prepared for them was, if I
am not mistaken, more acceptable to them--and especially to the
Queen--than any other. This surprise consisted in the recital before
Their Majesties, by our great actress, Madame Bartet, of the Comédie
Française, of an unpublished poem from the pen of the Queen herself.
Helena of Montenegro had been a poet, in fact, in her leisure hours.
At the time when she was engaged to be married, she wrote a poem
in Russian which she sent to a St. Petersburg magazine, under the
pseudonym of "Blue Butterfly"; and the magazine printed it without
knowing the author's real name. It was written in rhythmical prose; and
I was fortunate enough to procure a copy of the translation:
VISION
The mother said to her daughter:
"Wouldst know how the world is made? Open thine eyes."
And the little maid opened her eyes. She saw lordly and towering
mountains, she saw valleys full of delights, she saw the sun which
shines upon and gilds all things, she saw twinkling stars and the deep
billows of the sea, she saw torrents with foaming waters and flowers
with varied perfumes, she saw light-winged birds and the golden
sheaves of the harvest. Then she closed her eyes.
And then she saw, she saw the fairest thing upon this earth: the image
of the beloved who filled her heart, the image of the beloved who
shone within her soul, the image of the beloved who gave his love in
return for the love that was hers.
[Illustration: THE KING AND QUEEN OF ITALY AND THE CROWN PRINCE]
This charming fragment had been recovered by a collector of royal
poetry some time before the visit of the Italian sovereigns. M. André
Rivoire, one of our finest poets, transposed it into French verse; and
M. Loubet delicately caused it to be recited to our hosts in the course
of a reception given in their honour at the Élysée. That evening, the
beautiful Queen enjoyed a twofold success, as a woman and as a poetess.
5.
The unpretending affability of the royal couple was bound to win the
affections of the French people. The daily more enthusiastic cheers
that greeted them in their drives through Paris proved that they had
conquered all hearts.
"It is astonishing," said an Italian official to me, "but they are even
more popular here than at home!"
"That must be because they show themselves more," I replied.
At the risk of disappointing the reader, I am bound to confess that
no tragic or even unpleasant incident came to spoil their pleasure
or their peace of mind. It appeared that the anarchist gentry were
allowing themselves a little holiday.
In the absence of the traditional plot, we had, it is true, the
inevitable shower of anonymous letters and even some that were
signed. The Queen, alas, had done much to encourage epistolary
mendicants by announcing her wish that replies should be sent to
all letters asking for assistance and that, in every possible case,
satisfaction should be given to the writers. The result was that all
the poverty-stricken Italians with whom Paris teems gave themselves
free scope to their hearts' delight; and the usual fraternity of French
begging-letter-writers--those who had formerly so artlessly striven to
excite the compassion of the Shah of Persia--also tried what they could
do.
But what reply was it possible to send to such letters as the following
(I have kept a few specimens)?
"_To Her Majesty the Queen of Italy._
"_Madame_,--
"We are a young married couple, honest, but poor. We were unable to
have a honeymoon, for lack of money. It would be our dream to go to
Italy, which is said to be the land of lovers. We thought that Your
Majesty, loving your husband as you do and, therefore, knowing what
love means, might consent to help us to make this little journey. We
should want 500 francs; we entreat Your Majesty to lend it to us. When
my husband has a better situation--he is at present an assistant in a
curiosity-shop--he will not fail to repay Your Majesty the money.
"Pray accept the thanks, Madame, of
"Your Majesty's respectful and grateful servant,
"MARIE G--,
"_Poste Restante 370_,
"PARIS."
"_To His Majesty the King of Italy._