bass at the Théâtre du Capitole of Toulouse, at this moment first
chorus-leader at the Théâtre Municipal of Aix-les-Bains. I have seen
you in the stage-box."
"Ah!" said the King, taken aback. "But please explain to me why you get
so many fish, whereas...."
"Habit, Sir, Your Majesty, a trick of the hand and personal
fascination; it needs an education; I got mine at Pinsaquel, near
Toulouse, at the junction of the Ariège and the Gavonne.... Ah,
Pinsaquel!"
And Sabadon's voice was filled with all the pangs of homesickness:
"Have you never been to Pinsaquel? You ought to go; it's the anglers'
paradise."
"Certainly, I will go there one day. But, meanwhile, I shall be
returning with an empty basket."
"Never, not if I know it! Take my place, Sir, Your Majesty, each time I
say 'Hop'! pull up your line, and tell me what you think of it!"
The King, mightily amused by the adventure, followed his instructions.
In three minutes Sabadon's tremendous voice gave the signal:
"Hop!"
It was a trout. And the fishing went on, in an almost miraculous manner.
As they walked back to the town together, an hour later, Sabadon took
the opportunity to expound to the King the cause of his grudge against
Meyerbeer, the composer:
"You must understand, Sir, Your Majesty, that, at the theatre,
at Toulouse, it was I who used to play the night watchman in the
_Huguenots_. I had to cross the stage with a lantern; and, as I am very
popular at Toulouse, I used to receive a wonderful ovation: "Bravo,
Sabadon! Hurrah for Sabadon!" Just as when you came to Aix, Sir, Your
Majesty.... Well, in spite of that the manager absolutely refused to
let me take a call, because the music didn't lend itself to it! I ask
you, Sir, Your Majesty, if that lout of a Meyerbeer couldn't have let
me cross the stage a second time!"
3.
King George, who, like most reigning sovereigns, is an indefatigable
walker, used to start out every day in the late afternoon and come back
just before dinner-time. He nearly always took a member of his suite
with him; one of my inspectors would follow him. All the peasants round
Aix knew the King by sight and raised their caps as he passed. He is
very young in mind--in this respect, he has remained the midshipman
of his boyhood--and he sometimes amused himself by playing a trick on
the companion of his walk. For instance, as soon as he saw that his
equerry, after covering a reasonable number of miles, was beginning,
if I may so express myself, to hang out signals of distress, the King
suggested that they should turn into a roadside public-house for a
drink.
"They keep a certain small wine of the country here," he said, "which
has a flavour all of its own; but you must drink it down at a draught."
The other, whether he was thirsty or not, dared not refuse. They
therefore entered the inn and the King had a tumbler filled with the
famous nectar and handed it to his equerry, taking good care not to
drink any himself. It was, in point of fact, a _piquette_, or sour
wine, with a taste "all of its own" and resembling nothing so much
as vinegar; and the King's guest, when he had emptied his glass,
could not help pulling a frightful face. He dared not, however, be so
disrespectful as to complain; and when the King, who had enjoyed the
scene enormously, asked, in a very serious voice:
"Delicious, isn't it?"
"Oh, delicious!" the equerry replied, with an air of conviction.
You must not, however, think that the King's practical jokes were
always cruel. Most often, they bore witness, under a superficial
appearance of mischief, to his discriminating kindness of heart.
I remember, in this connexion, once going to meet him at the
frontier-station of Culoz, through which he was passing on his way from
Geneva to Aix. The members of his suite and I had left him alone, for
a few moments, while we went to buy some books and newspapers which
he had asked for. As he was walking up and down the platform, he saw
a good woman at the door of a third-class railway-carriage, a plump,
red-faced sort of peasant-woman, who was making vain efforts to open
the door and fuming with anger and impatience. Suddenly catching sight
of the King, who stood looking at her:
"Hi, there, Mr. Porter!" she cried. "Come and help me, can't you?"
The King ran up, opened the carriage-door and received the fat person
in his arms. Next, she said:
"Fetch me out my basket of vegetables and my bundle."
The King obediently executed her commands. At that moment we appeared
upon the platform, and to our amazement saw King George carrying the
basket under one arm and the bundle under the other. He made a sign
to me not to move. He carried the luggage to the waiting-room, took a
ticket for the fair traveller, who was changing her train, and refused
to accept payment for it, in spite of her insistence. What a pleasant
recollection she must have of the porters at Culoz Station!
Here is another adventure, which happened at Aix. The King had the
habit, on leaving the Casino in the evening, to go back with me in the
hotel-omnibus, which was reserved for his use: he found this easier
than taking a cab. One evening, just as we were about to step in, a
visitor staying at the hotel, a foreign lady, not knowing that the
omnibus was reserved exclusively for the King, went in before us, sat
down and waited for the 'bus to start. As I was about to ask her to get
out:
"Let her be," said the King. "She's not in our way."
We got inside in our turn; I sat down opposite the King; the omnibus
started; the lady did not move. Suddenly, the King broke silence and
spoke to me; I replied, using, of course, the customary forms of "Sire"
and "Your Majesty."
Thereupon the lady looked at us in dismay, flung herself against the
window, tapped at it, called out:
"What have I done? Heavens, what have I done?" she cried. "I am in the
King's omnibus! Stop! Stop!"
And turning to the King, with a theatrical gesture:
"Pardon, Sire."
The King was seized with a fit of laughing, in the midst of which he
did his best to reassure her:
"I entreat you, Madam, calm yourself! You have nothing to fear: a King
is not an epidemic disease!"
The good lady quieted down; but we reached the hotel without being able
to extract a word from her paralysed throat.
In this respect, she did not resemble the majority of her sisters
of the fair sex, before whose imperious and charming despotism we
have bowed since the days of our father Adam. As a matter of fact,
no sovereign that I know of ever aroused more affectionate curiosity
in the female circles than King George. The glamour of his rank had
something to say to the matter, no doubt; but I have reason to believe
that the elegance of his person, the affability of his manners and the
conquering air of his moustache were not wholly unconnected with it.
Whether leaving his hotel, or entering the restaurant or one of the
rooms of the Casino, or appearing in the paddock at the races, which
he attended regularly, he became the cynosure of every pair of bright
eyes and the object of cunning manoeuvres on the part of their pretty
owners, who were anxious to approach him and to find out what a king
is made of when you see him close. No man is quite insensible to such
advances. At the same time, George I was too clever to be taken in; he
was amused at the homage paid him and accepted it in his usual spirit
of bantering, but polite coyness, although the ladies' persistence
often became both indiscreet and troublesome.
For the rest, he led a very quiet, very methodical and rather
monotonous life, both at Aix and in Paris; for to the character of this
sovereign, as to that of most others, there is a "middle-class" side
that displays itself in harmless eccentricities. For instance, King
George, when he travels abroad, always goes to the same hotel, occupies
the same rooms and is so averse to change that he likes every piece
of furniture to be in exactly the same place where he last left it. I
shall never forget my astonishment when, entering the King's bed-room a
few moments after his arrival at the Hôtel Bristol in Paris, I caught
him bodily moving a heavy Louis-XV chest of drawers, which he carried
across the room with the help of his physician.
"You see," he said, "it used to stand by the fireplace and they have
shifted it to the window, so I am putting it back."
Certainly, he had the most wonderful memory for places that I ever
observed.
4.
I have spoken of my duties with regard to this monarch as an agreeable
sinecure. But I was exaggerating. Once, when I was with him at Aix,
I had a terrible alarm. I was standing beside him, in the evening, in
the _petits-chevaux_ room at the Casino, when one of my inspectors
slipped a note into my hand. It was to inform me that an individual of
Roumanian nationality, a rabid Grecophobe, had arrived at Aix, with,
it was feared, the intention of killing the King. There was no further
clue.
I was in a very unpleasant predicament. I did not like to tell the
King, for fear of spoiling his stay. To go just then in search of
further details would have been worse still: there could be no question
of leaving the King alone. How could I discover the man? For all I
knew, he was quite near; and instinctively, I scrutinised carefully all
the people who crowded round us, kept my eyes fixed on those who seemed
to be staring too persistently at the King and watched every movement
of the players.
At daybreak the next morning, I set to work and started enquiries. I
had no difficulty in discovering my man. He was a Roumanian student and
had put up at a cheap hotel; he was said to be rather excitable in his
manner, if not in his language. I could not arrest him as long as I had
no definite charge brought against him. I resolved to have him closely
shadowed by the Aix police and I myself arranged never to stir a foot
from the King's side. Things went on like this for several days: the
King knew nothing and the Roumanian neither; but I would gladly have
bought him a railway-ticket to get rid of him.
Presently, however, one of my inspectors came to me, wearing a
terrified look:
"We've lost the track of the Roumanian!" he declared.
"You are mad!" I cried.
"No, would I were! He has left his hotel unnoticed by any of us; and we
don't know what has become of him."
I flew into a rage and at once ordered a search to be made for him. It
was labour lost; there was not a trace of him to be found.
For once, I was seriously uneasy. I resolved to tell the whole story to
the King so that he might allow himself to be quietly guarded. But he
merely shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
"You see, Paoli," he said, "I am a fatalist. If my hour has come,
neither you nor I can avoid it; and I am certainly not going to let a
trifle of this kind spoil my holiday. Besides, it is not the first time
that I have seen danger close at hand; and I assure you that I am not
afraid. Look here, a few years ago, I was returning one day with my
daughter to my castle of Tatoï, near Athens. We were driving, without
an escort. Suddenly, happening to turn my head, I saw a rifle barrel
pointed at us from the road side, gleaming between the leaves of the
bushes. I leaped up and instantly flung myself in front of my daughter.
The rifle followed me. I said to myself, 'It's all over; I'm a dead
man.' And what do you think I did? I have never been able to explain
why, but I began to count aloud--'One, two, three'--it seemed an age;
and I was just going to say, 'Four,' when the shot was fired. I closed
my eyes. The bullet whistled past my ears. The startled horses ran
away, we were saved and I thought no more about it. So do not let us
alarm ourselves before the event, my dear Paoli: we will wait and see
what happens."
I admired the King's fine coolness, of course; but I was none the
easier in my mind for all that. Still, the King was right, this time,
and I was wrong: we never heard anything more about the mysterious
Roumanian.
5.
George I has preserved none but agreeable recollections of his
different visits to Aix. In evidence of this, I will only mention the
regret which he expressed to me, in one of his last letters, that the
Greek crisis prevented him from making his usual trip to France in
1909:
"Here where duty keeps me--nobody knows for how long--I often think of
my friends at Aix, of my friends in France, whom I should so much like
to see again; of that beautiful country, of our walks and talks. But
life is made up of little sacrifices; they do not count, if we succeed
in attaining the object which we pursue; and mine is to ensure for my
people the happiness which they deserve."
The King has depicted his very self in those few words: I know no
better portrait of him.
VII
QUEEN WILHELMINA OF THE NETHERLANDS
1.
I had the honour of presenting myself in person to Queen Wilhelmina on
the first of November, 1895, at Geneva, the city where, a year earlier,
I had gone to meet the tragic and charming Empress Elizabeth of Austria
and where, three years later, I was fated to see her lying on a bed in
an hotel, stabbed to death. The official instructions with which I was
furnished stated that I was to accompany their Majesties the Queen and
Queen Regent of the Netherlands from Geneva to Aix-les-Bains and to
ensure their safety during their stay on French soil.
I have preserved a pleasant recollection of this presentation, which
took place on the station-platform on a dull, wintry morning. I
remember how, while I was introducing myself to General Du Monceau,
the Queen's principal aide-de-camp, there suddenly appeared on the
foot-board of the royal carriage a young girl with laughing eyes, her
face agleam and pink under her flaxen tresses, very simply dressed in a
blue tailor-made skirt and coat, with a big black boa round her neck.
And I remember a fresh, almost childish voice that made the general
give a brisk half-turn and a courtly bow.
"General," she said, "don't forget to buy me some post cards!"
This pink, fair-haired girl, with the clear voice, was Queen
Wilhelmina, who at that time was the very personification of the title
of "the little Queen" which Europe, with one accord, had bestowed upon
her, a title suggestive of fragile grace, touching familiarity and
affectionate deference. She was just sixteen years of age. It was true
that, as a poet had written:
A pair of woman's eyes already gazed
Above her childish smile;
and that her apprenticeship in the performance of a queen's duties had
already endowed her mind with a precocious maturity. Nevertheless, her
ready astonishment, her spontaneity, her frank gaiety, her reckless
courage showed that she was still a real girl, in the full sense of
the word. She hastened, happy and trusting, to the encounter of life;
she blossomed like the tulips of her own far fields; she was of the
age that gives imperious orders to destiny, that lives in a palace of
glass! I doubt whether she really understood--although she never made
a remark to me on the subject--that the French government had thought
itself obliged to appoint a solemn functionary--even though it were
only M. Paoli!--whose one and only mission was to protect her against
the dagger of a possible assassin. The sweet little Queen could not
imagine herself to possess an enemy; and the people who had approached
her hitherto had learnt nothing from her but her gentle kindness.
As for Queen Emma, she was as simple and as easy of access as her
daughter, although more reserved. She fulfilled her double task as
regent and mother, as counsellor and educator with great dignity,
bringing to it the virile authority, the spirit of decision and the
equability of character which we so often find in women summoned by a
too-early widowhood to assume the responsibilities of the head of a
family. And nothing more edifying was ever seen than the close union
that prevailed between those two illustrious ladies, who never left
each other's side, taking all their meals alone, although they were
accompanied by a numerous suite, and living in a constant communion
of thought and in the still enjoyment of a mutual and most touching
affection.
Their suite, as I have said, was a numerous one. In fact, it
consisted, in addition to Lieutenant-General Count Du Monceau, of
two chamberlains: Colonel (now Major-general) Jonkheer Willem van
de Poll and Jonkheer Rudolph van Pabst van Bingerden (now Baron van
Pabst van Bingerden); a business secretary: Jonkheer P. J. Vegelin
van Claerbergen; two ladies-in-waiting: "Mesdemoiselles les baronnes"
(as they were styled in the Dutch protocol) Elizabeth van Ittersum
and Anna Juckema van Burmania Rengers; a reader: Miss Kreusler; five
waiting-women; and five footmen. Compared with the tiny courts that
usually accompanied other sovereigns when travelling, this made a
somewhat imposing display! Nevertheless and notwithstanding the fact
that this sixteen-year-old Queen appeared to me decked with the
glory of a fairy princess, I am bound to admit that the royal circle
presented none of the venerable austerity and superannuated grace so
quaintly conjured up in Perrault's Tales. The Jonkheers[4] were not
old lords equipped with shirt frills and snuff-boxes; _Mesdemoiselles
les baronnes_ were not severe duennas encased in stiff silk gowns: the
court was young and gay, with that serene and healthy gaiety which
characterises the Dutch temperament.
[Illustration: QUEEN WILHELMINA]
Why was it going to Aix? The choice of this stay puzzled me.
Aix-les-Bains is hardly ever visited in November. The principal hotels
are closed, for, in that mountainous region, winter sets in with full
severity immediately after the end of autumn.
I put the question to General Du Monceau, who explained to me that the
doctors had recommended Queen Wilhelmina to take a three-week's cure of
pure, keen air; and that was why they had selected Aix, or rather the
Corbières, a spot situated at 2,000 feet above Aix, on the slope of the
Grand Revard.
It goes without saying that there was no hotel there; and the only
villa in the neighbourhood had to be hired for the Queens' use. This
was a large wooden chalet, standing at the skirt of a pine-forest,
close to the hamlet. The wintry wind whistled under the doors and
howled down the chimneys; there was no central heating-apparatus and
huge fires were lit in every room. From the windows of this rustic
dwelling, the eye took in the amphitheatre of the mountains of Savoy
and their deep and beautiful valleys; and, above the thatched roofs
ensconced among the trees, one saw little columns of blue smoke rise
trembling to the sky.
Snow began to fall on the day after our arrival. It soon covered the
mountains all around with a cloak of dazzling white, spread a soft
carpet over the meadows before the house and powdered the long tresses
of the pines with hoar-frost. A great silence ensued; I seemed to be
living more and more in the midst of a fairy-tale.
The court settled down as best it could. The two Queens occupied three
unpretending rooms on the first floor; the royal suite divided the
other apartments among them; some of the servants were lodged in a
neighbouring farm-house. As for myself, I was bound to keep in daily
telegraphic touch with Paris and with the prefect of the department;
and I found it more convenient to sleep at Aix. I went up to the
Corbières every morning by the funicular railway, which had been
reopened for the use of our royal guests, and went down again, every
evening, by the same route.
The two Queens, who appeared to revel in this stern solitude, had
planned out for themselves a regular and methodical mode of life. They
were up by eight o'clock in the morning and walked to the hamlet,
chatted with the peasants and cowherds and, after a short stroll,
returned to the villa, where Queen Emma, who, at that period, was still
exercising the functions of regent, dispatched her affairs of State,
while little Queen Wilhelmina employed her time in studying or drawing,
for she was a charming and gifted draughtswoman. She loved nothing
more than to jot down from life, so to speak, such rustic scenes
as offered: peasant-lads leading their cows to the fields, or girls
knitting or sewing on the threshold of their doors. The people round
about came to know of this; they also knew that Her Majesty was in
the habit of generously rewarding her willing models. And so, as soon
as she had installed herself by the roadside, or in her garden, with
her sketch-book and pencils, cows or little pigs accompanied by their
owners, would spring up as though by magic!
I have said that the Queens were in the habit of taking their meals
alone. Nevertheless, outside meals, they mingled very readily with
the members of their suite, whom they honoured with an affectionate
familiarity.
The afternoons--whatever the weather might be--were devoted to long
walks, on which Queen Wilhelmina used to set out accompanied generally
by one or two ladies-in-waiting and a chamberlain; sometimes I would
go with her myself. Queen Emma, knowing her daughter's indefatigable
venturesomeness, had given up accompanying her on her expeditions. We
often returned covered with snow, our faces blue with the cold, our
boots soaked through; but it made no difference; the little Queen was
delighted. She dusted her gaiters, shook her skirt and her pale golden
hair that hung over her shoulders and said:
"I wish it were to-morrow and that we were starting out again!"
2.
Queen Wilhelmina was very expansive in her manner and yet very
thoughtful. Brought up in the strictest principles by a watchful and
inflexible mother, she had learnt from childhood to shirk neither work
nor fatigue, to brave the inclemencies of the weather, to distinguish
herself alike in bodily and in mental exercises, in short, to prepare
herself in the most serious fashion for her duties as Queen and to
realise all the hopes that were centred on her young head.
I often had occasion, during my stay at the Corbières, to notice the
thoroughness of her education. She already spoke four languages, in
addition to her mother-tongue, fluently: French, Russian, English
and German. She interested herself in agricultural matters and was
not unacquainted with social questions: for instance, she often
made me talk to her about the condition of the workmen in France
and the organisation of our administrative systems; nay, more, she
was beginning to study both judicial and constitutional law. I
would not, however, go so far as to say that this study aroused her
enthusiasm: she preferred I believe, to read historical books; she
took a great interest in the Napoleonic idyll and, knowing me to be a
fellow-countryman of Bonaparte:
"You must feel very sorry," she said to me, one day, "that you came too
late to have seen him!"
She also liked to talk to me about her ponies:
"I have four," she told me, "and I drive them four-in-hand."
I was often invited to share the meals of the miniature court and to
take my seat at the table of the chamberlains and ladies-in-waiting,
which was presided over, with charming courtesy and geniality, by my
excellent friend Count Du Monceau, who, although a Dutch general, was
of French origin, as his name shows.[5]
At one of these dinners, I met with a little mishap which gave a great
shock to both my patriotism and to my natural greediness. The cook
of the villa, M. Perreard, was a native of Marseilles and owned an
hotel at Cannes, where I had made his acquaintance. In his twofold
capacity as a Marseillese and a cook, he was a great hand at making
bouillabaisse, the national dish of the people of the south. Now, as he
knew that I was very fond of this dainty, he said to me one day, with a
great air of mystery:
"M. Paoli, I have a pleasant surprise in store for you at lunch this
morning. I have sent to Marseilles for fish and shell-fish so as to
give you a bouillabaisse cooked in the way you know of. Not another
word! But they'll have a good time up there, I can tell you, those
people from the north who have never tasted it!"