"I am a young painter full of ambition and said to be not devoid
of talent. I am very anxious to see Rome and to study its artistic
masterpieces. Not possessing the necessary means, I am writing to
ask if you would not give me an employment of any kind, even in the
service of the royal motor-cars (for I know how to drive a motor), so
that I may be enabled in my spare time, to visit the monuments and
picture-galleries and to perfect myself in my art.
"Pray accept, etc.
"LOUIS S--,
"_At the Café du Capitole_,
"TOULOUSE."
Here is a letter of another description:
"_To Her Majesty Queen Helena._
"_Madame_,--
"You are the mother of two pretty babies: for this reason, I have the
honour of sending you herewith two boxes of lacteal farinaceous food,
of my own invention, for infants of tender years. It is a wonderful
strengthening and tonic diet and I feel that I am doing Your Majesty
a service in sending you these samples. You are sure to order more.
"In the hope of receiving these orders, I am,
"Your Majesty's respectful servant,
"DR. F. J.,
"_Rue de la Liberté_,
"NÎMES."
These few specimens of correspondence will suffice to give an idea
of the harmless and sometimes comical literature that found its way
every morning into the royal letter-bag. I must not, however, omit
to mention, among the humorous incidents that marked the sovereign's
journey, an amusing mistake which occurred on the day of their arrival
in Paris.
It was about half-past six in the evening. Our royal guests had that
moment left the Foreign Office, to pay their first official visit
to the President of the Republic, when a cab stopped outside the
strictly-guarded gate. An old gentleman, very tall, with a long white
beard and very simply dressed, alighted and was about to walk in with a
confident step.
Three policemen rushed to prevent him:
"Stop!" they cried. "No one is allowed in here."
"Oh," said the stranger, "but I want to see the King of Italy!"
"And who may you be?"
"The King of the Belgians."
They refused to believe him. When he persisted, however, they went in
search of an official, who at once came and proffered the most abject
apologies. Picture the faces of the policemen!
The King and Queen of Italy stayed only three days in Paris, as I have
said.
"We will come back again," the Queen promised, when she stepped into
the train, radiant at the reception which had been given her.
They have not returned hitherto. True, they passed through France, in
the following year, on their way to England. I made the journey with
them; but, as on their first arrival at Modane, the blinds of their
carriage were lowered. They remained down throughout the journey. Were
the royal pair asleep? I never heard.
VI
GEORGE I, KING OF THE HELLENES
1.
In one of the drawers of my desk lies a bundle of letters which I
preserve carefully, adding to it, from time to time, when a fresh
letter arrives. They are written in a neat and dainty hand, almost a
woman's hand; the paper is of a very ordinary quality and bears no
crown nor monogram; and the emblem stamped on the red wax with which
the envelopes are sealed looks as though it had been selected on
purpose to baffle indiscreet curiosity: it represents a head of Minerva
wearing her helmet.
And yet this correspondence is very interesting; and I believe that an
historian would attach great value to it, not only because it would
supply him with nice particulars concerning certain events of our own
time, but also because it reveals the exquisite feeling of one of the
most attractive of sovereigns, the youthfulness of his mind and the
reasons why a royal crown may sometimes seem heavy even under the
radiant skies of Greece.
It is nearly twenty years since I first met the writer of those
letters, the King of the Hellenes; and, since then, I have watched over
his safety on the occasion of most of his visits to France. This long
acquaintance enabled me to win his gracious kindness, while he has
gained my affectionate devotion. I often take the liberty of writing
to him, when he is in his own dominions; he never fails to reply with
regularity; and our correspondence forms, as it were, a sequel to our
familiar talks, full of good-humour and charm, begun at Aix-les-Bains,
in Paris, or in the train.
It would be puerile to state that King George loves France; the
frequency of his visits makes the fact too obvious. He does more than
evince a warm admiration for our country: this Danish prince, who
has worn the Greek crown for more than forty-six years, is, with his
brother-in-law, King Edward VII, the most Parisian of our foreign
guests. His Parisianism shows itself not only in the elegant ease with
which he speaks our language: it is seen in his turn of mind, which
is essentially that of the man about town, and in his figure, which
is slender and strong, tall and graceful, like that of one of our
cavalry-officers. The quick shrewdness that lurks behind his fair,
military moustache is also peculiarly French; and the touch of fun
which is emphasised by a constant twitching of the eyes and lips and
which finds an outlet in felicitous phrases and unexpected sallies is
just of the sort that makes people say of _us_ that we are the most
satirical people on the face of the earth.
King George's "fun," at any rate, is never cruel; and, if his chaff
sometimes becomes a little caustic, at least it is always, if I may say
so, to the point.
For instance, at the commencement of his reign, when he found himself
grappling with the first internal difficulties, one of the leaders of
the parliamentary opposition, which was very anxious for the fall of
the ministry so that it might itself take office, came to him and said,
with false and deceitful melancholy:
"Ah, Sir, if you only had a minister!"
"A minister?" replied the King, with feigned surprise. "Why, I have
seven at least!"
The King was brought up in the admirable school of simplicity,
rectitude and kindness of his father, King Christian, and was made
familiar, from his early youth, with all the tortuous paths of the
political maze. When the fall of King Otho placed him, by the greatest
of accidents, on the throne of Greece, he brought with him not only the
influence of his numberless illustrious alliances and the fruits of a
timely experience gained in that marvellous observation-post which the
Court of Denmark supplies: he also brought the qualities of his cold
and well-balanced northern temperament to that people which does not
require the stimulation of its Patras wine to become hot-headed.
And what difficult times the King has passed through!
The King of Saxony, visiting Corfu one day, said to him, the next
morning:
"Upon my word, it must be charming to be king of this paradise!"
"You must never repeat that wish," replied King George, without
hesitation. "I have been its king for thirty years; and speak as one
who knows!"
Events that have followed since have amply justified the bitterness
of this outburst, which I find renewed in the sovereign's letters.
And yet, grave as the Greek crisis is at the moment of writing, I
do not believe that the crown is in any danger. The Greeks, without
distinction of party, recognise the great services their ruler has
rendered to the national cause, which he has defended for the past
ten years in the European _chancelleries_ with indefatigable zeal and
eloquence.
"I never met a more persuasive or more able diplomat," said M.
Clémenceau, last year after a visit which he received from George I.
His ability has not only consisted in defending his country against
the ambitious projects of Turkey by placing her under the protection
of the powers interested in preserving the _status quo_ in the East;
it has been shown in the ease with which he effects his ends amid the
party quarrels that envenom political life in Greece. Guided by his
native common-sense and a remarkable knowledge of mankind, he has made
it his study, in governing, to let people do and say what they please,
at least to an extent that enables him never to find himself in open
opposition to the love of independence and the easily-offended pride of
his subjects; he has realised that what was required was an uncommon
readiness to yield, rather than inflexible principles; and, of all the
ministers who succeeded one another since his accession, the celebrated
Coumandouros appears to be the one from whom His Majesty derived and
retained the best system of ironical, easy-going government.
For the rest, it must be admitted that, although the Greek nation is
sometimes tiresome, with its faults and weaknesses which, for that
matter, are purely racial and temperamental, on the other hand it is
generous and impulsive to a degree; and its touchy pride is only the
effect of an ardent patriotism which is sometimes manifested in the
most amusing ways.
For instance, when Greece, not long ago, revived an ancient and
picturesque tradition and decided to restore the Olympic Games and when
it became evident that these would draw large numbers of foreigners
to Athens, the pickpockets held a meeting and pledged themselves one
and all to suspend hostilities as long as the games lasted, in order to
guard the reputation of the country. They even took care to inform the
public of the resolution which they had passed; and they did more; they
kept their word, with this unprecedented result, that the police had a
holiday, thanks to the strike of the thieves!
Last year, Mme. Jacquemaire, a daughter of M. Clémenceau, then prime
minister of France, made a journey to Greece. Returning by rail from
Athens to the Piræus, where she was to take ship for Trieste, she
missed her travelling-bag, containing her jewels. This valuable piece
of luggage had evidently been stolen; and she lost no time in lodging
a complaint with the harbour-police, although she was convinced of the
uselessness of the step. The quest instituted was, in fact, vain. But
meanwhile the press had seized upon the incident and stirred up public
opinion, which was at that time persuaded that M. Clémenceau, whose
Philhellenic leanings are notorious, had promised the Greek government
his support in its efforts to obtain the annexation of Crete. The
daughter of the man upon whom the Greeks based such hopes as these
must not, people said, be allowed to take an unfavourable impression
of Greek hospitality away with her. The newspapers published
strongly-worded articles entreating the unknown thief, if he was a
Greek, to give up the profit of his larceny and to perform a noble and
unselfish act; placards posted on the walls of Athens and the Piræus
made vehement appeals to his patriotism. Twenty-four hours later, the
police received the bag and its contents untouched; and they were
restored to Mme. Jacquemaire on her arrival at Trieste.
2.
The pilot's trade is a hard one when you have to steer through
continual rocks, to keep a constant eye upon a turbulent crew and to
look out for the "squalls" which are perpetually beating down from the
always stormy horizon in the East. It is easily understood that King
George should feel a longing, when events permit, to go to other climes
in search of a short diversion from his absorbing responsibilities.
"You see," said King Leopold of the Belgians to me one day, "our real
rest lies in forgetting _who_ we are."
And yet it cannot be said the distractions and the rest which King
George knew that he would find among us were the only object of the
journeys across Europe which he made every year until the year before
last. He always carried a diplomatist's dispatch-box among his
luggage; he is one of those who believe that a sovereign can travel for
his country while travelling for pleasure.
"I am my own ambassador," he often said to me.
The King used to come to us generally at the beginning of the autumn,
on his way to and from Copenhagen, where he never omitted to visit
his father, King Christian, and his sisters, Queen Alexandra and the
Empress Marie Feodorovna. He delighted in this annual gathering,
which collected round the venerable grandsire under the tall trees of
Fredensborg, the largest and most illustrious family that the world
contains, a family over which the old king's ascendency and authority
remained so great that his children, were they emperors or kings, dared
not go into Copenhagen without first asking his leave.
"When I am down there, I feel as if I were still a little boy," King
George used to say, laughing.
In France, he was a young man. He divided his stay between
Aix-les-Bains and Paris; and in Paris, as at Aix, he had but one
thought in his head: to avoid all official pomp and ceremony. He would
have been greatly distressed if he had been treated too obviously as
a sovereign; and, when he accepted the inevitable official dinner to
which the President of the Republic always invited him, he positively
refused the royal salute. When at Aix, he used to yield to the
necessity of attending the festivities which the authorities of that
charming watering-place, where he was very popular, arranged in his
honour; but only because he did not wish to wound anyone's feelings,
however slightly. And, when invited to go to some display of fireworks:
"Come!" he would sigh. "Another party in my honour!"
Other business detained me and I had not the privilege of being
attached to his person during his first stay at Aix. The French
Government sent two commissioners from Lyons to watch over his safety;
and these worthy functionaries, who had never been charged with a
mission of this kind before, lived in a continual state of alarm. To
them, guarding a king meant never to lose sight of him, to follow him
step by step like a prisoner, to spy upon his movements as though he
were a felon. They ended by driving our guest mad: no sooner had he
left his bed-room than two shadows fastened on to his heels and never
quitted him; if he went to a restaurant, to the casino, to the theatre,
two stern, motionless faces appeared in front of him, four suspicious
eyes peered into his least action. It was of no avail for him to try to
throw the myrmidons off the scent, to look for back-doors by which to
escape from them: there was no avoiding them; they were always there.
He made a discreet complaint and I was asked to replace them.
"You are very welcome," he said, when I arrived. "Your colleagues from
Lyons made such an impression on me that I ended by taking myself for
an assassin!"
To my mind the mission of guarding this particularly unaffected and
affable King was neither a very absorbing nor a very thankless task.
At Aix, where he walked about from morning to night like any ordinary
private person, everybody knew him. There was never the least need
for me to consult the reports of my inspectors; the saunterers, the
shopkeepers, the peasants made it their business to keep me informed.
"Monsieur le Roi," they would say, "has just passed this way; he went
down that turning."
Then I would see a familiar form twenty yards ahead, stick in hand,
Homburg hat on one ear, the slim, brisk figure clad in a light grey
suit, strolling down the street, or looking into a shop-window, or
stopping in the midst of a group of workmen. It was "Monsieur le Roi."
[Illustration: KING GEORGE OF GREECE IN THE STREETS OF PARIS]
"Monsieur le Roi" had even become "Monsieur Georges" to the pretty
laundresses whom he greeted with a pleasant "Good-morning" when he
passed them at the wash-tubs on his way to the bathing establishment.
For he carefully followed the cure of baths and douches which his
trusty physician, Dr. Guillard, prescribed for his arthritis. He left
the hotel early every morning and walked to the Baths, taking a road
that leads through one of the oldest parts of Aix. The inhabitants of
that picturesque corner came to know him so well by sight that they
ended by treating him as a friendly neighbour. Whenever he entered the
Rue du Puits-d'Enfer, the street-boys would stop playing and receive
him with merry cheers, to which he replied by flinging handfuls of
coppers to them. The news of his approach flew from door to door till
it reached the laundry. Forthwith, the girls stopped the rhythmic beat
of their "dollies"; the songs ceased on their lips; they quickly wiped
the lather from their hands on a corner of the skirt or apron and came
out of doors, while their fresh young voices gave him the familiar
greeting:
"Good-morning, M. Georges! Three cheers for M. Georges!"
They chatted for a bit; the King amused himself by asking questions,
joking, replying; then, touching the brim of his felt hat, he went his
way with the bright voices calling after him prettily:
"Au revoir, M. Georges! Till to-morrow!"
He enjoyed this morning call before getting into the "deep bath"
reserved for him; and he himself was popular in and around the laundry
in the Rue du Puits-d'Enfer, not only because of his good-nature and
good-humour, but because the girls had more than once experienced the
benefits of his unobtrusive generosity.
His days, at Aix as in Paris, were regulated with mathematical
precision: George I is a living chronometer! After making his daily
pilgrimage to the Baths, he returned to the hotel, read his telegrams,
dipped into the French and English newspapers and worked with his
Master of the Household, Count Cernovitz, or with his equerry, General
de Reineck, or else with M. Delyanni, the deeply-regretted Greek
minister to Paris, whom he honoured with a great affection and who
always joined his royal master at Aix.
From eleven to twelve in the morning, he generally gave audiences,
either to the authorities of Aix, with whom he maintained cordial
relations, or to strangers of note who were presented to him during his
stay. When he kept a few people to lunch--which often happened--they
had to resign themselves to leaving their appetite unsatisfied.
The King eats very little in the day-time and not only ordered a
desperately frugal _menu_, but himself touched nothing except the
_hors-d'oeuvre_. His visitors naturally thought themselves obliged,
out of deference to imitate his example, the more so as, otherwise,
they ran the risk of having their mouths full at the moment when they
had to reply to the King's frequent questions. His regular guests,
therefore, the prefect and the mayor, knowing by experience what was
in store for them, had adopted a system which was both practical and
ingenious: whenever they were invited to the royal table they lunched
before they came.
In the evening, on the other hand, His Majesty made a hearty meal. He
always dined in the public room of the restaurant of the Casino, with
his medical adviser and some friends; and, when Dr. Guillard cried out
against the excessive number of courses which the royal host was fond
of ordering:
"Don't be angry with me," he replied. "I don't order them for myself,
but for the good of the house; if the restaurant didn't make a profit
out of me, where would it be?"
After dinner, he took us with him either to the gaming-rooms or to
the theatre. Although the King did not play himself, it amused him to
stroll round the tables, to watch the expression of the gamblers, and
to observe the numberless typical incidents that always occur among
such a cosmopolitan crowd as that consisting of the frequenters of our
watering-places. He also loved to hear the gossip of the place, to know
all about the petty intrigues, the little domestic tragedies. Lastly,
he liked making the acquaintance of any well-known actor or actress
who happened to be passing through Aix.
One evening, seeing Mlle. Balthy, the famous comic reciter, at the
Casino and knowing, by hearsay, what a witty woman she was, he told
me that he would be glad to meet her; and nothing was easier than to
satisfy the King's wish. Nevertheless, the idea frightened me a little:
the humour of the charmingly eccentric artist that Balthy is, sometimes
adopts so very daring a form, and I dreaded lest her remarks might be a
little too "startling." I spoke my mind on the subject to the King.
"Never fear, Paoli," he said. "Mlle. Balthy's 'startling' side will
amuse me immensely: you need not be a greater royalist than the King!"
So I went in search of the delightful creature:
"My dear Balthy," I said, "come with me and be presented to the King."
"To George?" she replied, winking her eye.
I shuddered with dismay!
"To His Majesty the King of the Hellenes, yes."
"Come on!"
But lo and behold, in the King's presence, Balthy--O, wonder of
wonders!--lost all her self-assurance. I expected to see her tap the
King on the shoulder; instead, she made him an elaborate curtsey. In
reply to the compliments which he paid her she was content modestly to
lower her eyes: she even went so far as to blush! We might have been at
court.
And, when the King, not knowing what to think, and feeling perhaps a
trifle disappointed, confessed his surprise at her shyness:
"What can you expect?" she declared. "If even you were merely a
president of the republic, it wouldn't put me out; but a king--that
makes me feel uncomfortable! And, besides, no king can care for thin
women; and I should look like a sardine, even if you put me next to
Sarah Bernhardt!"
The ice was broken. The Balthy of tradition began to peep through the
surface and the King was delighted.
Our guest did more than show his liking for the shining light of the
profession: he numbered friends also among the humble performers at the
Grand Théâtre. Sabadon, the good, jolly, indescribable Sabadon, who for
twenty years had sung first "heavy bass" at the theatre of the town,
was one of them. This is how I discovered the fact: when the King came
to Aix, some years ago, Sabadon shouldered his way to the front row of
the spectators who were waiting outside the station to see His Majesty
arrive. The enthusiastic crowd kept on shouting, "Long live King
George!" and Sabadon, with his powerful voice, his "heavy bass" voice,
which had filled all the "grand theatres" in the provinces, Sabadon,
with his southern accent (he was from Toulouse) shouted louder than
all the rest and, so that he might shout more freely, had taken a step
forward.
But a policeman was watching; and fearing lest the royal procession
should be disturbed by this intrusive person, he walked up to him and,
in a bullying tone, said:
"Get back; and look sharp about it. You don't imagine you're going to
stand in the King's road, do you?"
Sabadon, who is a hot-blooded fellow, like all the men from his part of
the country, was about to reply with one of those forcible and pungent
outbursts which are the salt of the Gascon speech:
"You low, rascally--" he began.
But he had no time to finish. The King appeared at the entrance to the
railway-station, came across and, as he passed, said:
"Hullo, M. Sabadon! How do you do, M. Sabadon? Are they biting this
year?"
"Yes, Sir, Your Majesty. And your family? Keeping well, I hope? That's
right!"
Then, when the King had disappeared, Sabadon turned to the astounded
policeman:
"What do you say to that, my son? Flabbergasts you, eh?"
How did the King come to know the singer? And why had he asked with
so much interest if "they were biting this year"? One of the local
papers reported the incident and supplied the explanation, which I did
not trouble to verify, but which is so amusing and, at the same time,
probable that I give it here. The King, it seems, who often walked to
the Lac du Bourget, a few miles from Aix, thought that he would try his
hand at fishing, one afternoon. Taking the necessary tackle with him,
he sat down on the shore of the lake and cast his line. Ten minutes,
twenty minutes passed. Not a bite. The King felt the more annoyed as,
thirty yards from where he was, a man--a stranger like himself--was
pulling up his line at every moment with a trout or a bream wriggling
at the end of it.
The disheartened King ended by deciding to go up to the angler and
ask him how he managed to catch so many fish! But before he was able
to say a word, the man stood up, bowed with great ceremony and, in a
stentorian voice, said:
"Sir, Your Majesty...."
"What! Do you know me?" asked the King.