confidence with which she honoured me by admitting me to her intimacy
enabled me to become acquainted with several members of that large,
united and affable family; and I am bound to say that not one of them
has forgotten me. They all deign to give me a little corner in their
childish and youthful memories; they are good enough to remember that,
in the old days, when they came to Nice, to Aix, to Biarritz or to
Cannes to pay their duty to their grandmother and to bring her the
smile of their youth, there was always in the old-fashioned landau that
carried the good Queen along the country roads, or walking beside her
donkey-chair, somebody who shared the general gaiety and whom the Queen
treated with affectionate kindness. That "somebody" was myself.
I thus had the honour of seeing King George V when he was still wearing
the modest uniform of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy and, later, of
knowing Queen Mary when she was only Duchess of York and Cornwall.
And I hope that she will permit me, in this connexion, to recall an
incident that diverted Queen Victoria's little circle for a whole
evening. It happened during a visit which the Duchess of York was
paying to the Queen at Nice. I had informed the venerable sovereign
that the "ladies of the fishmarket"--one of the oldest corporations at
Nice--wished to offer her some flowers; and the Queen asked the Duchess
of York to receive them in her stead and to express her sincere thanks
for their good wishes.
The good women handed the Duchess their bouquets; and I then saw that
they were shy and at a loss what to do or say next. So I whispered to
them:
[Illustration: KING EDWARD VII]
"Go and kiss that gentleman over there," pointing to Colonel Carington,
the Queen's equerry. "That is by far the best speech that you could
make!"
The ladies evidently approved of my suggestion, for they forthwith,
one and all, flung themselves upon the colonel's neck; and he, though
flurried and a little annoyed, had to submit with the best grace
possible to this volley of kisses under the eyes of the princess, who
laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.
When I apologised to him afterwards for the abominable trick which I
had played him:
"Ah," he sighed, "if only they had been good-looking!"
The fact is that none of the ladies evoked the most distant memories of
the Venus of Milo!
Thanks to the recollections of those bygone years, of which any number
of charming and amusing stories could be told, I was no longer a
stranger to the Duke and Duchess of York when, after the accession of
King Edward VII, they were raised to the title of Prince and Princess
of Wales and travelled across France, under my protection, on their way
to Brindisi, where they were to take ship for India.
"I will present you to the prince myself," said Princess May, with
exquisite and simple kindliness, when she saw me waiting for them in
the railway station at Calais. And she continued, "George, this is M.
Paoli: you remember him, don't you?"
"I remember," said the prince, giving me his hand, "how much my
grandmother liked you and the affection which she showed you. I need
hardly say that we feel just the same to you ourselves."
I could not have hoped for a more cordial welcome from the prince,
whose features bore so striking a resemblance to those of the Emperor
of Russia, whom I had just left.
This journey was a particularly pleasant one for me, as it enabled me
to foregather once more with an old and faithful friend in the person
of the prince's secretary, of whom I had seen a great deal at the time
when he was private secretary to Queen Victoria and who now occupies
the same position under King George V; I refer to Sir Arthur Bigge.
Sir Arthur belongs to that race of servants of the monarchy whose
zeal and devotion cease only with their death. He met with a striking
adventure at the time of the interview between Queen Victoria and the
late M. Félix Faure at Noisy-le-Sec. The story has never been told
before; and I have no hesitation in publishing it, because it does
great credit to the generosity of feeling of the then President of the
Republic.
The Queen was on her way to Nice, that year, and had expressed a
wish to meet M. Félix Faure, whom she did not know. The interview
was arranged to take place during the stop of the royal train at
Noisy Junction; and it had acquired a certain solemnity owing to the
political circumstances of the moment. We began by witnessing a long
private conversation between the Queen and the president through the
windows of the royal saloon-carriage, after which, in accordance with
the usual etiquette, they presented the members of their respective
suites. When it came to Colonel Bigge's turn, the Queen said to M.
Faure, without having the least idea of mischief in her mind:
"My private secretary, Sir Arthur Bigge, who enjoys all my confidence
and all my esteem. Besides, I expect you know his name: it was he who
accompanied the Empress Eugénie on her sad pilgrimage to Zululand and
helped her to recover the body of her poor son."
The president bowed, without moving a muscle of his face or uttering
a word; and Sir Arthur, greatly embarrassed by the terms of the
presentation, thought the best thing for him to do was to lie low and
keep out of the way. How great, therefore, was his surprise when, after
everybody had been presented, he heard his name called by M. Félix
Faure:
"What can he want with me?" he asked, rather uneasily.
As soon as they were alone, the president said to him, point-blank:
"As a Frenchman, I wish to thank you for the devotion which you have
shown to one of our fellow-countrywomen in circumstances so terrible
for her. You behaved like a man of heart. I congratulate you."
M. Faure had the knack of enhancing the character of his office and
winning the respectful sympathy of foreigners by happy flashes of
inspiration of this kind.
But I am wandering from my subject. To return to the Prince of Wales,
the cordiality of the reception which he gave me at Calais promised
me a charming journey. In point of fact, I was able, during the run
across France, to perceive how fond both the prince and princess were
of simplicity and gaiety. They were evidently delighted to be going to
India, although the princess could not accustom herself to the idea of
leaving her children. As for the prince, he was revelling beforehand in
the length of the voyage:
"One never feels really alive except on board ship," he said to me.
"What do you think, M. Paoli?"
"I think, Sir," I replied, "that I must ask Your Royal Highness to
allow me to differ. When I am on board ship, I sometimes feel more like
dying."
"You're not the only one," he retorted, with a side glance at one of
his equerries, who stood without wincing.
The prince liked teasing people; but his chaff was never cruel and he
accompanied it with so much kindness that there was no question of
taking offence at it. At heart, the prince had remained the middie that
he once was, a "good sort," full of fun, full of "go," fond of laughing
and interested in everything.
We chatted in the train until very late at night, for I did not leave
the prince until we reached Modane, the station on the Italian frontier
where my service ended.
2.
I saw him next at the Queen of Spain's wedding; and again in 1908. The
prince and princess had just spent a week in Paris for the first time
in their lives, and were returning to England delighted with their
stay. The special train had hardly left the Gare du Nord, when the Hon.
Derek Keppel, who was with the prince, came to me in my compartment:
"M. Paoli," he said, "I am commanded by Their Royal Highnesses to ask
you to give them the pleasure of your company to luncheon."
I at once went to the royal saloon. The prince was chatting with M.
Hua, his sons' French tutor, a very agreeable and scholarly man whom
he treated as a friend; the princess was talking to Lady Eva Dugdale,
her lady-in-waiting. It goes without saying that the conversation was
all about Paris and the impressions which the prince and princess had
received from their trips to Versailles, Chantilly, Fontainebleau and
Chartres.
"I can understand my father's admiration and affection for France,"
said the prince to me. "It is a magnificent country and an interesting
people. I am glad that the _entente cordiale_ has strengthened the
bonds of friendship between the two nations. I must come and see you
oftener."
While the prince was saying these pleasant things to me, I was
surprised to observe his valet depositing two apparently very heavy
hampers on the floor in the middle of the carriage; but my astonishment
was still greater when I saw the princess herself open one of the
hampers and take out a table-cloth, plates, a chicken, tumblers, in
short, a complete lunch.
"By the way," said the prince, "I forgot to tell you: there's no
restaurant-car in the train, so we are going to have a pic-nic lunch
here. It will be much better fun!"
And it was. The man put out two folding-tables which were in the
carriage; and then, at the princess's suggestion, we all helped to lay
the cloth! One looked after the plates, another the glasses, a third
the knives and forks, while the princess herself carved the cold fowl.
When everything was at last ready, we sat down around this makeshift
luncheon-table and, with a splendid will, did justice to our meal,
which, I may say, was excellent. The proprietor of the Hôtel Bristol,
who had undertaken to pack the hampers, had had the happy thought of
adding a couple of bottles of champagne; and these were the cause of
an incident that crowned the gaiety of this merry lunch. The prince
declared that he would open them himself. Asking for the first bottle,
he prepared to draw the cork with a thousand cunning precautions; but
he certainly failed to reckon with the extraordinary impatience of that
accursed cork, which was no sooner freed of its restraining bonds than
it escaped from the prince's hands and went off like a pistol-shot,
while the wine drenched the princess's dress. The prince was very
sorry, but the princess laughed the thing off and declared that "it
didn't stain." She had her skirt wiped down at once with water; and
the luncheon finished as gaily as it began.
I could not give a more striking instance than the story which I have
just told of the charming simplicity of this princess, in whom all the
domestic virtues are so prettily personified. As I was taking leave of
her on board the ship that was to convey the illustrious travellers
from Calais to Dover:
"Do come and see us in England," she said. "I should like to show you
my children: you have never met them."
"Madam," I replied, "I would do so with pleasure, if my duties allowed
me to take a holiday. Meanwhile, may I respectfully remind Your Royal
Highness that, on the last journey, you promised me the young princes'
photograph?"
"That's true," she answered, "I forgot all about it. But, this time,
wait." And, taking her handkerchief from her waistband, the princess
made a knot in it. "Now I'm sure to remember," she added with a smile.
And, two days later, I received a splendid photograph of the children,
adorned with their mother's signature.
Nearly three years have passed since this last journey and I have
not had the honour of seeing King George and Queen Mary since.
Nevertheless, they are good enough to think of me sometimes, as will
be seen by the following affectionate letter which my friend Sir Arthur
Bigge sent me on my retirement:
"MARLBOROUGH HOUSE,
"PALL MALL, S. W.
"Feb'y 28th, 1909.
"_My Dear Paoli_,--
"Your letter to me of the 24th inst. has been laid before the Prince
and Princess of Wales, who received with feelings of deep regret the
announcement that you had asked for and obtained permission to retire.
Their Royal Highnesses are indeed sorry to think that they will never
again have the advantage of your valuable services so efficiently and
faithfully rendered and which always greatly conduced to the pleasure
and comfort of Their Royal Highnesses' stay in France. At the same
time the Prince and Princess rejoice to know that you will now enjoy
a well-merited repose after 42 years of an anxious and strenuous
service, and they trust that you may live to enjoy many years of
health and happiness.
"Their Royal Highnesses are greatly touched by your words of loyal
devotion and thank you heartily for these kind sentiments.
"As to myself, the thought of your retirement reminds me that a
precious link with the past and especially with the memory of your
great and beloved Queen Victoria is now broken. I remember so well
the first time we met at Modane when Her Majesty was travelling to
Italy and you will ever be inseparably connected in my thoughts with
those happy days spent in Her Majesty's service in France. I can
well imagine what interest you will find in writing your book of
reminiscences.
"Good-bye, my dear Paoli, and believe me to be
"Your old and devoted friend,
"ARTHUR BIGGE."
3.
I intended, in this chapter, to speak of those members of the royal
family with whom my long and frequent service about the person of Queen
Victoria gave me the occasion to come into contact; and I must not
omit to mention a princess now no more, a woman of lofty intelligence
and great heart, whom life did not spare the most cruel sorrows after
granting her the proudest destinies. I refer to the Empress Frederick
of Germany, eldest daughter of Queen Victoria and mother of William II.
I made her acquaintance in rather curious circumstances. It was at
the naval review held by Queen Victoria in 1897, on the occasion
of her diamond jubilee. As a special favour I was invited to see
this magnificent sight on board the _Alberta_ and I was gazing with
wondering eyes at the majestic fleet of iron-clads through which the
royal yacht had just begun to steam, when I heard a voice behind me
say, in the purest Tuscan:
"_Bongiorno, Signor Paoli ..._"
I turned round. A woman, still young in bearing, though her face was
crowned with grey hair under a widow's bonnet, stood before me with
outstretched hand:
"I see," she said, smiling at my surprise, "that you do not know me.
I am the Empress Frederick. I have often heard of you and I wanted to
know you and to thank you for your attentions to my mother."
I bowed low, thinking what an uncommon occurrence it must be for a
Frenchman to meet a German empress, talking Italian, on an English
boat; and she continued:
"I know that you are a Corsican; and that is why I am speaking to you
in your native language, which I learnt at Florence and which I love as
much as I do my own."
The Empress Frederick, in fact, was remarkably well-educated, as are
all the English princesses. She knew French as fluently as Italian and
hardly ever spoke German, except to the chamberlain, Count Wedel. I was
able to see, during our conversation, that she took a lively interest
in my country; she asked me a thousand questions about France and
particularly about French artists:
"I am a great admirer of M. Detaille's works," she said and added,
after a pause, "He is very like the Emperor, my son. Don't you think
so?"
I thought it the moment for prudence:
"I have never had the honour of seeing the Emperor William," I replied,
"and therefore I cannot tell Your Imperial Majesty if the resemblance
has struck me."
She then changed the conversation and spoke of the celebrations which
were being prepared in her mother's honour.
The only other occasion on which I saw her was two years later, when
she crossed French soil to go from England to Italy. This time, she was
nervous and ill at ease:
"Do you assure me," she asked, as she landed at Calais, "that I shall
meet with no unpleasantness between this and the Italian frontier?"
"Why, what are you afraid of, Ma'am?" I asked.
"You forget, M. Paoli, that I am the widow of the German Emperor and
that, as such, I am no favourite in this country. Suppose I were
recognised! There are memories, as you know, which French patriotism
refuses to dismiss."
She was alluding not only to the events of 1870, but to the bad
impression made in Paris by the visit which she had paid, a few
years earlier--without any ulterior motive--to the ruined palace
of Saint-Cloud, forgetting that it was destroyed and sacked by the
Prussians. I reassured her, nevertheless, and said that I was prepared
to vouch for the respect that would be shown her.
The journey, I need hardly say, passed off without a hitch. The
Empress, with her suite, entered the private saloon-carriage of her
brother, the Prince of Wales, which was coupled to the Paris mail-train
and afterwards transferred to the Nice express, for the Empress was
travelling to Bordighera, on the Italian Riviera.
She dared not leave her carriage during the short stop which was made
in Paris; but, when we arrived at Marseilles the next morning, she said:
"I should awfully like to take a little exercise. I have been eighteen
hours in this carriage!"
"But please do, Ma'am," I at once replied. "I promise you that nothing
disagreeable will happen to you."
She thereupon decided to take my advice. She stepped down on the
platform and walked about among the passengers. She was received on
every side with marks of deferential respect--for, of course, her
_incognito_ had been betrayed, as every _incognito_ should be--and
suddenly felt encouraged to such an extent that, from that moment, she
alighted at every stop. Gradually, indeed, as her confidence increased,
she took longer and longer in returning to her carriage, so much so
that she very nearly lost the train at Nice; and, when I took leave of
her at Bordighera, she said, as she gave me her hand to kiss:
"Forgive me, my fears were absurd. Now, I have but one wish, to make a
fresh stay in France. Who knows? Perhaps next year."
I do not know what circumstances prevented her from fulfilling her
hopes; and the next time I heard of her was at Queen Victoria's
funeral. I was astonished not to see her there and asked the reason of
her chamberlain, Count Wedel, who sat beside me in St. George's Chapel
at Windsor.
"Alas," he said, "our poor Empress is confined to her bed by a terrible
illness! Think how she must suffer: her body is nothing but a living
sore!"
A few months later, she was dead.
4.
I had only a more or less fleeting vision of this amiable sovereign,
whose fate, though not so tragic as that of the Empress Elizabeth of
Austria, was but little happier. On the other hand, I had opportunities
of coming into much more frequent and constant contact with two of her
sisters, Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein and Princess Henry of
Battenberg.
Closely though these two princesses resemble each other in the
admirable filial affection which they showed their mother, they are
entirely different in disposition. Whereas the elder, who is generally
known as the Princess Christian, is always ready to talk to those
about her, Princess Beatrice, the younger, is comparatively silent and
almost self-contained, but without the least affectation on her part:
in fact, I have seldom met a princess more simple in her habits or more
easy of access to poor folk. This contrast in their attitude towards
life comes, I think, from a difference in their temperaments and
tastes. The Princess Christian has inherited the homely virtues of the
German princesses: she interests herself mainly in philanthropic and
social questions. The Princess Henry, on the contrary, feels a marked
attraction for literature and the arts, which she cultivates with a
real talent; and, like all those who are endowed with an active brain,
she loves to isolate herself from the outside world.
I must say that I never knew the Princess Christian as well as I did
her sister, for the very good reason that she did not accompany Queen
Victoria to France as often as the Princess Henry. Her arrival at Nice
was usually later than that of the Queen and she very seldom remained
until the end of Her Majesty's stay.
I remember, however, that, one year, they returned to England together;
and, in this connexion, I can tell a story which goes to show how
keenly alive the great of this earth can sometimes be to the smallest
attentions paid them. The royal train, which had left Nice in the
morning, pulled up, at five o'clock in the afternoon, as usual, at a
little country station between Avignon and Tarascon, in order to enable
the Queen to take her tea without being inconvenienced by the jolting
of the wheels. Seeing me pacing the platform, the Princess Christian
stepped out and walked up and down beside me. In the course of our
conversation, she began to talk about her children:
"When I think," she said, with a certain melancholy, "that my daughter
Victoria will be thirty years old to-morrow--for to-morrow is her
birthday! How time flies!"
Princess Victoria was also one of the travelling-party. As soon,
therefore, as the Princess Christian had left me, I scribbled a
telegram to the special commissary at Caen, in Normandy, where we
were to stop for a few minutes, on the following day, on our way to
Cherbourg, and told him to order a bouquet and hand it to me as the
train passed through.
The next morning, when we entered the station at Caen, I found my
bouquet awaiting me: a modest spray consisting of all the rustic
flowers of the fields which my worthy commissary had had gathered in
the morning dew. I at once presented it to Princess Victoria, wishing
her many happy returns of her birthday; and I cannot say which of the
four of us--the Queen, the two princesses or I--was most touched by the
loving gratitude which they all three expressed to me.
[Illustration: KING EDWARD ARRIVING AT THE ÉLYSÉE PALACE]
[Illustration: KING EDWARD ON THE WAY TO CHURCH]
5.
But, as I have said above, of all Queen Victoria's daughters, the one
whom I knew best was the Princess Henry of Battenberg. In point of
fact, she hardly ever left her august mother's side from the day when
her married bliss received so cruel a blow in the tragic death of her
husband and when the distress of mind found a refuge and peace in the
affection of that same mother, whose heart was always filled with the
most delicate compassion for every sorrow.
A close link had been formed between those two women: the Princess
Henry had become the confidant of Queen Victoria's thoughts and was
also, very often, the intermediary of her acts of discreet munificence.
At Nice, she occupied the magnificent Villa Liserb, close to the hotel
at which the Queen resided. Here I watched the games and the physical
development of the princess's four children, Prince Alexander, Prince
Maurice, Prince Leopold and little Princess Ena, little thinking
that I should live to see the heavy crown of Charles V and Philip II
placed upon the pretty, golden hair which was then still done up with
pale-blue ribbons. Day after day, for many years, I saw those same
children hail their grandmother's appearance with cries of delight.
The daily drive in the grounds of the Villa Liserb was in fact, one of
Queen Victoria's favourite pleasures. She went there in her chair drawn
by Jacquot, the white donkey, solemnly led by the Hindoo servant whose
gaudy attire, like a monstrous flower, struck a loud note of colour
against the green of the surrounding foliage. Slowly and smoothly, with
infinite care, the little carriage advanced along the garden-paths
which the pines, eucalyptus and olive trees shaded with their luxurious
tresses. The Queen, holding the reins for form's sake, would cast her
eyes from side to side in search of her grandchildren, who were usually
crouching in the flower-beds or hiding behind the trees, happy in
constantly renewing the innocent conspiracy of a surprise--always the
same--which they prepared for their grandmother and which consisted in
suddenly bursting out around her.
Or else a shuttlecock of a hoop would stray between Jacquot's legs.
"Stop, Jacquot!" cried the children.
And Jacquot, best-tempered of donkeys, would stop all the more readily
as he knew that his patience would be rewarded with a lump of sugar.