1910
I had hardly arrived at Buckingham Palace and settled down to work
before the news was received of the assassination of King Carlos
and of his son, the Crown Prince, in the streets of Lisbon. It was
a particularly brutal murder, for Queen Amelie was in the carriage
with them, and saw her husband and son murdered before her eyes. The
late King Carlos and his Consort had been so very recently the guests
of our Royal Family, and were on such very friendly terms with them
that the shock must have been felt most acutely. I was in attendance
at both the Memorial Services that were held in London, the first of
which was a Requiem Mass at St. James' Church, Spanish Place, and on
the following day at St. Paul's Cathedral. It was said to have been the
first time an English Sovereign had been present at a Roman Catholic
Service since the Reformation. The Service at St. Paul's was very
beautiful and impressive, and in those days before the war, for many
of those present, it was a unique experience to hear the drums of the
Guards accompanying the organ in the Dead March; I know of no place
where drums are heard to such effect, as under the great dome of Sir
Christopher Wren.
[Illustration: _Photo: A. Debenham, Cowes_
ON BOARD H.M. YACHT "VICTORIA AND ALBERT," 1909
H.R.H. The Prince of Wales H.M. King Edward H.R.H. Prince Edward of Wales
]
Probably all my fellow-Londoners will agree with me that the average
February is about the most unpleasant month of the year to spend
in London, and there always seems to be more influenza and other
comparatively minor disorders prevalent then, than at any other time.
London was, moreover, apt to be very full in the month of February,
for Parliament generally met during the month, and there were always
endless dinners, political and otherwise. In 1908 there was a good
deal of influenza flying about, so the King was persuaded to go to
Brighton for a week, staying during this short visit at the Princess
Royal's house in Lewes Crescent that had been placed at his disposal.
Personally, I was very glad to be at Brighton for a week, for there is
something about the air there, that revives the jaded Londoner more
surely than anything else.
In the month of June I was again on duty, and consequently came in
for the visit their Majesties paid to the late Emperor and Empress
of Russia at Reval. It was an interesting occasion from many points
of view, and looking back on it from these days, I imagine there can
hardly be any of the Russians we met during that visit, including the
Imperial Family, that have not been murdered by Revolutionaries or
butchered by their successors, the Bolsheviks.
On June 5th, the Royal party, consisting of the King, the Queen, and
Princess Victoria, embarked on board the _Victoria and Albert_ at Port
Victoria. We were quite a large party in attendance, as, in addition
to the necessary Private Secretaries and Equerries, Lord Carnock
(then Sir Arthur Nicholson, the Ambassador at Petersburg) Mr. Hugh
O'Beirne, also of that Embassy, (who, poor fellow, met his death with
the late Lord Kitchener on their ill-fated voyage to Russia during the
war,) Lord Hamilton of Dalziel, (as Lord-in-Waiting, doing the duty
of Lord Chamberlain,) and Sir John Fisher, (then First Sea-Lord, and
Principal Naval Aide-de-Camp to the King,) were on board the Royal
Yacht. An escorting squadron of our latest type of armoured cruisers,
the then well-known "Minotaur" class, was ordered to join the Royal
Yacht at Kiel. (Incidentally, it was interesting to notice, during
the war, what a singularly useless class of vessel was the armoured
cruiser. After a little more than a year's warfare afloat, we had lost
nearly every specimen of that class we possessed, and oddly enough, the
Germans were in a similar state; the fact is they were too big and too
expensive for cruisers; they carried their main armament far too low,
and if they came across anything in the shape of a battle-cruiser they
were sunk for a certainty.) On this occasion the _Minotaur_ and her
consorts had, I believe, been chosen because they drew too much water
to go through the Canal, and though, of course, the Admiralty may have
thought it an excellent jest to score off the Germans, by poking fun at
their strategic Canal, the joke was not likely to delay the broadening
and deepening of that same channel, a work which, carried out at a
cost of many millions, was taken in hand very shortly afterwards, and
duly completed in time for the long-contemplated war of 1914. The
Royal Yacht arrived at Kiel in the evening and was at once boarded
by Prince Henry and the usual huge swaggering crowd of Germans, that
formed the Teutonic idea of what the suite of a Prince should be. We
were duly informed that the escorting squadron had arrived at Kiel,
which gave Sir John Fisher a chance of airing the carefully prepared
Admiralty gibe about the insufficient size of the Canal, and the
magnificence of our cruisers. Much as I always disliked the Germans,
on this particular occasion I was rather glad that Prince Henry had
also a well-thought-out impromptu ready. He retaliated by chaffing the
Admiral about the wireless installation that had just been put up at
Whitehall, the news of which extremely recent acquisition had already
reached Germany. There could be no secret about an installation that
the whole world could see, and from nowhere better than from Carlton
House Terrace; but it was instructive to learn how carefully our public
buildings were watched by the inmates of the German Embassy.
The Royal Yacht anchored for the night at Kiel, and left next morning
with her escorting squadron for Reval. For the first hour or so there
was an escorting flotilla of German Destroyers, who were evidently very
anxious to show off, and were certainly sufficiently well handled. The
next twenty-four hours or so were spent at sea, and nothing can be
more agreeable than a long day and night afloat in the Baltic during
the month of June, when it is light all night, except for a short hour
round midnight, when there is apt to be still a suspicion of pink in
the sky.
The Royal Yacht arrived at Reval on the morning of June 9th, and there
we found the two Imperial Yachts, _Polar Star_ and the _Standardt_, the
Dowager Empress being on board the one, the other being the temporary
residence of the Emperor and Empress and their children. There was
also a Russian squadron anchored in the roads, which, augmented by our
escorting cruiser squadron, made up a fine show of ships.
Even then, that part of Russia was in a very disturbed state, so much
so that none of the suite, or the officers of our fleet, were allowed
to land, in case of trouble; and no boats, with the exception of
men-o'-war's boats, were permitted to ply at all in the part of the
anchorage that had been assigned to the Royal Yachts of both nations.
The whole visit passed off very agreeably, the Russians in those days
being always the pleasantest of people to deal with, but underlying it
all there was the feeling that the country we were in was in a very
abnormal state. The Empress was palpably in a nervous condition, and
no wonder, considering the constant dangers to which her children were
exposed. Among the notable people in attendance on the Emperor were
Monsieur Stolypin, the President of the Council of Ministers; Baron
Zahamelsky, the Governor-General of the Baltic Provinces, besides such
personal attendants as General Count Paul Benckendorff and Prince
Orloff, who were Aides-de-Camp to the Emperor; the former was also a
brother of the well-known and much-liked Ambassador in London. Monsieur
Stolypin, as will be remembered, was eventually murdered in the Opera
House of St. Petersburg. After many attempts against his life, the
assassinating party at last succeeded in its object,--a previous attack
on his life, when a bomb was exploded in his house, had only wounded
him and maimed one of his children for life.
At the State dinner party I happened to sit next to one of the Russian
gentlemen who had held the post of Governor of the Palace for a couple
of years, and he gave me an idea of the terrible responsibility that
this office carried, in that, amongst other things, he was personally
responsible for the safety of the Emperor. But, as I have written in a
previous page, I doubt whether there is one of those men, (all of whom
were either public servants or else attached to the Emperor's person
during that visit), who is now alive. Of the fate of the members of the
Imperial Family, it is unnecessary to write. All Europe has read with
horror of the indignities they suffered before being murdered.
But to turn to less gloomy memories: there were the usual State
banquets on board the Royal Yachts of the two monarchs; at the one
given by King Edward we, of his suite, were much impressed by the
amusing way in which he settled a difficult question of etiquette. In
Russia the Dowager Empress is of higher rank than the Consort of the
Emperor; in England, of course, the reverse is the case. As both these
illustrious ladies were dining on board the _Victoria and Albert_,
anchored in Russian waters, it was a rather nice point to whom to
give precedence in arranging the seating of the guests at the banquet.
Following a precedent set by Solomon, in a reversed sense, the King
solved the difficulty by taking both Empresses in to dinner, one on
each arm!
After the dinner on board the Emperor's yacht, the _Standardt_, a
serenading party of singers came off from the shore in a tug, which was
then anchored close to the Royal Yachts. They sang deliciously while
the guests were smoking their cigars on deck. Of course it was still
broad daylight, so that the Royalties were in easy view of the singers,
and at the outside a couple of hundred yards off. This appeared to me
to be a very risky proceeding, so I sent for an old friend of mine,
(now Sir Patrick Quinn), then, the Special Detective Officer in charge
of the King, to ask him his opinion. I pointed out to him that in
broad daylight, as it was, any disaffected person on board the tug, if
prepared to give up his own life, could make a certainty of shooting
any member of the two Royal Families that he liked to select. Quinn's
answer was, "You need not fuss, Captain; there is not a man or a woman
on board the tug who has not been stripped by the Russian Police
and searched for arms before being embarked, and when it comes to
searching, the Russian Police do not make mistakes."
On the 11th the Royal Yacht left Reval for England via the Kiel Canal,
the escorting squadron parting company there and finding their way home
round Denmark. On our way through the Canal the Kaiser, with that
wonderful capacity he has always shown for unsuccessful theatrical
effects, arranged that the Royal Yacht should be escorted through the
Canal by detachments of Cavalry! It would be difficult to imagine
anything more incongruous and ridiculous than was this "cocktail"
performance. The German Cavalry, efficient as they are in many
respects, do not shine as horsemen, and it amused us enormously to see
these unfortunate troopers bumping along the road that runs parallel
to the Canal, in their attempts to keep up with the Royal Yacht, which
was, of course, condemned to go at her very slowest speed.
By the 16th the Royal party was back at Buckingham Palace; but London
was left almost immediately for Windsor, where there was a large
gathering for the Ascot Races.
Ascot Races in 1908 was a more than usually brilliant affair. There
was an exceptionally large party at Windsor, which filled the Castle
to its utmost capacity, and amongst the guests were some of the
King's French friends, such as the Prince and Princesse Murat, the
Marquis and Marquise de Gannay, and that very charming man, M. Édouard
Detaille, (long since dead I am sorry to say), so well known as the
very successful painter of military subjects. I had often been to his
studio in Paris, which was almost a museum in its way, for he not only
managed to acquire Napoleonic relics of all sorts, but had also made
a most remarkable collection of the head-dresses of all the regiments
of the different armies of that period. In these days it seems almost
incredible that men should have fought for years in such enormous
and fantastic head-coverings. A great many of them, I believe, were
not nearly as uncomfortable as they looked, and even in the later
Crimean days our Foot-guards stuck steadily to their bearskin, which
were always said to be the only sort of head-dress that the British
private did not try to get rid of, if he got the chance. But to return
to Monsieur Detaille; he was even then very delicate, and in rather
poor health generally, but his kind host had told him that he was to
go racing or not, just as he felt inclined, and to take life as easily
as he liked in wandering about the Castle, with all its wealth of
pictures to interest him. Incidentally, there was one of his own works
there, which still hangs in a very prominent position in the large
dining-room,--the fine equestrian portrait of King Edward, accompanied
by his brother, the Duke of Connaught, at an Aldershot review. The
portrait of the King was certainly one of the best of him that ever was
painted, and the fore-shortening of the fine chestnut charger that he
is riding is masterly; the horse really looks as if he were stepping
out of the frame towards the spectator.
Windsor for Ascot Races was rather a strenuous time for the Equerries,
whose duties it was to ride to Ascot and back with the Royal carriage.
Seven miles does not sound like a long ride, but after a sea-trip,
where no exercise can be taken, to ride at a full trot without any
chance of changing the pace, at mid-day in the month of June, made
me much hotter than did polo at Malta played in the great heat of a
Mediterranean summer.
In March 1909, I once more found myself _en route_ to Biarritz in
attendance on King Edward. Only a very short stay was made in Paris,
just time for a luncheon with the President at the Élysée, as the
King was anxious to get to the South. They were pleasant weeks, those
five or six that were spent there, for Biarritz was very full and
gay, and I came in for some agreeable and interesting motor trips.
Amongst others, was an excursion to Pau to see the Wilbur Wright
flying-machine. Mr. Wilbur Wright had, I fancy, chosen Pau for his
experimental flights because not only is there a nice flat tract of
country just outside the town, but Pau possesses, and also thoroughly
deserves, the reputation of being one of the most windless places in
Europe. When flying-machines were in their extreme infancy, a very
moderate breeze was enough to prevent an aviator from making an ascent.
On this occasion the elements were kind, and Mr. Wright made two or
three ascents, on one occasion taking his sister up with him. In those
earlier days of flying, the great difficulty was to get the machine off
the ground, and it was met by a combination of about a hundred yards
of light railway to take the wheels of the machine, and the erection
of a shears with a dropping weight to give the plane the necessary
cant-up in the air. Another interesting motor excursion was made to San
Sebastian. It is a lovely drive across the Spanish frontier, and full
of interest to Englishmen, with its historic memories of Wellington's
advance into France. Besides being a pleasant excursion it gave the
King an opportunity of paying an informal visit to King Alfonso, who
was then in residence at the Royal Villa at San Sebastian.
By the middle of April, what was to be my last visit to Biarritz in
attendance came to an end, and I returned to England, the King having
met Queen Alexandra and Princess Victoria at the station of le Bourget,
just outside Paris, where now, I hear, is placed the main Aerodrome in
the vicinity of that capital. The Royal party changed trains and went
on to Genoa for a short cruise in the Royal Yacht.
I was again on duty for the Cowes season, and an interesting season
it was, commencing, as it did, with a review of the Home and Atlantic
Fleets at Spithead, followed immediately afterwards by the arrival of
the Emperor and Empress of Russia and their children in the Imperial
Yacht _Standardt_. The Imperial Family began the official portion of
their visit by coming on board the _Victoria and Albert_, from which
vessel the Emperor reviewed the Fleet, which was still at Spithead.
The usual State dinners took place on board the two Royal Yachts,
but beyond that there were no further functions. The members of the
Russian Imperial Family were evidently delighted to be out of their own
country, even on a four days' visit, and it was pathetic to witness the
delight of the children at being able to run about the crowded little
town of Cowes and look at the shop windows at their own sweet will,
after being for so long accustomed to living in a comparative state of
siege, where their lives were never safe for a moment. The Emperor and
Empress landed one day at the steps of the Cadet College at Osborne,
the Empress being desirous of revisiting those surroundings where she
had spent so much of her girlhood in Queen Victoria's time. For the
Emperor to make even such a limited excursion as a visit to Osborne and
its dependencies, gave great anxiety to Scotland Yard, and every sort
of precaution was taken to ensure his safety. A swarm of detectives
were posted all round Osborne, and though, as usual, their work was so
well done that no one, except "those in the know" even suspected their
existence, the fact remains that an unusually large number had to be
employed at Cowes and its neighbourhood.
After the visit to Osborne House and its grounds, the Cadet College,
then a comparatively new institution, was visited, and the mention of
Osborne College makes it almost incumbent on any one who is interested
in the Navy to point out that of all the hopeless examples of bad
work done in a hurry, there is no more glaring instance than this
establishment. (This criticism does not apply to its educational
side, which I believe to be thoroughly well looked after.) I had an
opportunity of visiting it shortly after it was opened, have seen it
several times since, and, moreover, on the strength of having once been
in the Navy, I have been pestered by fond mothers on the subject of its
most unhealthy condition, ever since. Osborne itself was an undeniably
good choice as regards locality, embraced, as the property is, by
the sea on two sides, and being within easy reach of the great Naval
Establishment at Portsmouth. Unfortunately, owing to the vanity that
impels men in authority to get a new thing going without delay, it was
built on the lines of a temporary structure, with next to nothing in
the way of foundations, and very possibly on tainted ground, the actual
site selected being perilously near that of the old stables of Osborne
House. The apparent consequences have been that the wretched children,
(for the Cadets who go there are little more) are never really well,
and there have been constant epidemics of a serious nature. I have been
credibly informed that, amongst these epidemics was one of "pink eye"
some years ago, a disease that, until the Osborne College was started,
was supposed to be peculiar to horses.
But enough of these unsavoury medical details, which only serve to
remind me of my own "double event" in the _Britannia_, and of the
remark I once heard made almost under his breath by a famous London
surgeon, when he and I were visiting a celebrated Service Hospital not
so very far from Osborne: "Oh dear, oh dear, this is pre-Crimean!"
But I have wandered from my subject, and must return to the Russian
visitors.
Amongst the Emperor's entourage on this occasion were many of the
gentlemen I had met during the Reval visit, such as Count Orloff
and General Count Benckendorff, and in addition, Monsieur Isvolsky,
the Foreign Minister, and subsequently Russian Ambassador in Paris.
Monsieur Isvolsky was accompanied by a very old friend of mine as his
Private Secretary, in the person of that extremely agreeable man who,
with his charming wife, were both so well known in London Society as
Prince and Princess Demidoff. It amused me greatly to notice that,
when attached to the suite of the Emperor, he was known as Monsieur
Demidoff. The Princedom which London Society, or the snobs amongst
them (and they are numerous), had conferred on him came simply from
the fact that one of his forbears had bought the property of San
Donato, which lies in the environs of Florence, and gives the title of
Prince of San Donato to any owner who likes to use it. The truth is
that English people, as a rule, do not realise that so-called Princes
swarm in Central Europe, especially in Italy and Roumania. I know
both countries pretty well, and to use the colloquial expression, in
Bucharest you cannot throw a stone without hitting a Prince!
After the termination of their four days' visit,--a visit which I
veritably believe they enjoyed,--the members of the Russian Imperial
Family sailed away in the _Standardt_ on their return journey to their
own country, and a very few days afterwards I found myself in King
Edward's special train in attendance and _en route_ to Marienbad.
The Marienbad season of 1909 was more animated than ever; besides
the regular Marienbaders there were many new faces to be seen there,
noticeably the King of the Hellenes, the Duke of Teck, Princess
Stephanie and Count Longay, Prince and Princess Dolgorouki, Princess
Hélène Bariatinsky, Slatin Pasha, and such well-known Parisians as the
Vicomtesse Vigier, Comte and Comtesse de Waru, and my old friends,
Monsieur and Madame Jean de Reszke. I hardly can recollect a more
agreeable season there, and some of the details of conversation at one
particular luncheon given by King Edward during his stay are indelibly
stamped on my memory.
Monsieur Clemenceau, who had recently arrived at Karlsbad, having
just succeeded in obtaining his freedom by successfully wrecking his
own Ministry, came over for the day and lunched with King Edward, the
only other guests being Sir Fairfax Cartwright, our Ambassador at
Vienna, and Monsieur Crozier, whom I had met when French Minister at
Copenhagen. Monsieur Clemenceau was in tremendous form. I fancy that he
was really rather glad to be out of office for a time, and to do his
Karlsbad cure in peace. Although in Paris there were the usual number
of versions of the real reason for the breaking up of his Ministry,
none of them, I am sure, was as amusing as his own account of his fall
from power, on which topic he held forth for some time. But brilliant
and clever as his conversation was, there were, to my mind, some very
immortal truths shining out of it, as might the moon amongst a shower
of fireworks. It is pitiful having to try and render his beautiful
French into my halting English, but one or two remarks of his made
such an impression on me, that I have never forgotten them. One in
particular referred to a fact, or rather a quality, which we, in these
days, when the object seems to be to reduce every one and everything
to a dull level, may be apt to lose. Monsieur Clemenceau's contention
was, that the great fault of the French was their hopeless love of
logic. His countrymen had achieved a more or less successful Revolution
nominally in support of a perfectly logical idea, namely that France
should be governed on principles ensuring Liberty, Equality, Fraternity
for all its citizens. However successful the Revolution may have
been in a general sense, it certainly failed to establish its main
object. Liberty, he pointed out, is only a dream; the freest people
in the world, the English, spend their lives in inventing new yokes
to place on their own shoulders. Fraternity, may simply be said to be
non-existent, owing to the fact that man naturally and instinctively
preys on his fellow-man. The doctrine of Equality has no doubt been
fulfilled to a certain extent, for, as he somewhat cynically pointed
out, every one has an equal right to vilify his neighbour.
So much for the logic of the Latin races. According to Monsieur
Clemenceau, the great strength and mainstay of the men of the British
race is that, not possessing logical minds, they are not to be
frightened out of cherishing useful anomalies. One of the greatest
of its anomalies was the continual existence of an Hereditary Second
Chamber, which, in his opinion, _fonctionnait extrêmement bien_. And
then, turning round with a bow to his host, he finished up by saying
that as another instance the English, the most democratic nation in the
world, remained faithful to the Monarchical system, and could still
love and honour their King.
The conversation turned later on the inevitable war of the future,
that has now become the war of the past. It had always been understood
that England's main contribution, in the event of a war of aggression,
was to be her Navy, but that was not enough for Monsieur Clemenceau,
and his parting words on taking leave of King Edward were prophetic:
"Surtout, Sire, soignez votre Armée." And if it be true, as is averred,
that the war was virtually won by the Navy, it is surely equally true,
that it was that eminently _soigné_ article, the British Army of the
first days of the war, that saved the situation and gave time for the
power of the Navy to assert itself, and enable reinforcements, as soon
as they could be raised and trained, to be sent literally from all
parts of the world, to the battle-fronts where they were most needed,
almost without let or hindrance.
The visit to Marienbad having been concluded, I was a free man again
and could do my usual Scotch round of visits, and subsequently spend
a month in mid-winter in the south of France. In February I was in
attendance at Buckingham Palace, and, little as I realised it at the
time, it was fated to be my last month of waiting on King Edward.
As usual, London was full of influenza, and once more the King was
persuaded to go to Brighton for a few days. On this occasion he was the
guest of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Sassoon at King's Gardens, Hove, who had
so often entertained him at Tulchan Lodge, Spey Side, which had also
been, as I have mentioned before, one of the very happiest, of my own
happy hunting-grounds.
After a week at Brighton the King was back at Buckingham Palace again,
where Prince and Princess Henry of Prussia had arrived on a ten days'
visit, and on the 21st of the month, accompanied by Queen Alexandra, he
opened his last Parliament.
During Prince Henry's stay at Buckingham Palace, he succeeded in
giving me a curious example of that extraordinary mentality that is
apparently a German peculiarity. He had been frequently employed as
a sort of bagman by his brother, noticeably on his two visits, the
first to the Far East, to exhibit the mailed fist, and secondly to the
United States, in an effort that was made to win over the great heart
of the American public. Like his brother, he had, when he liked, a
considerable charm of manner, which could be produced when necessary,
like the pulling out of a certain stop of an organ. And, like his
brother, and indeed like most Prussians, he was a perfect specimen
of _le faux bonhomme_. But judging from my own experience, I rather
doubt his success as a political bagman, as I think he was inclined
to believe that every Englishman he met, was sure to be overcome by
his cordiality and condescension, and would consequently be prepared
to accept, and subsequently retail, his invaluable confidences. For
instance, at Buckingham Palace he kept me up until two in the morning
once, _tête à tête_, apparently for the sole purpose of impressing
on me that his brother was grossly ill-judged and misrepresented in
England; that he really loved our country, and that the preparations
that were being constantly made to perfect the German Army were
solely in view of the impending danger that the Emperor, (who was the
greatest genius and most far-seeing man in the world), was preparing
against, and that was the Yellow Peril! His Imperial Majesty, so Prince
Henry solemnly told me, was convinced that the yellow races in their
countless millions would eventually invade Europe, and the German Army
would prove to be its only saviour. I confess that I was not much
impressed by this harangue, and, besides disliked the fact that I was
evidently classed as "the village idiot." Poetic justice would have
attended the invasion of Eastern Europe by the Chinese, more especially
if they got as far as Berlin, and recovered some of the priceless
treasures looted from them by the German Expeditionary Force, at the
time of the Boxer troubles.
After a stay of some ten days the Prince and Princess left the Palace,
and my last month in waiting on King Edward came to an end.
Most of what remained of the year 1910 turned out to be one of the
saddest times of my life. With the rest of my fellow-subjects I mourned
the loss of a great King, but I had also lost the kindest master that
ever man served, and one, moreover, who was not only a good master to
his servants, but was also their best friend. My grief at the King's
death was, if possible, more poignant owing to the circumstance that I
had been obliged to change my month of waiting, and had consequently
done duty in February instead of being with him at Biarritz in April
as usual, in which case I should have had the melancholy satisfaction
of always remembering that I had been with him until almost the last.
The climate of Biarritz suited King Edward wonderfully well; though
shortly after his arrival there he had been taken seriously ill, by
the middle of April he was really better, revived by the strong air
that blows home there from the Atlantic. So far as we all knew, he
was well, when he returned to England, but a few days later, after
his visit to Sandringham, the news began to leak out that all was
not well with the King, so I hurried down to the Palace to inquire.
Though it never occurred to those of us who had been long with him
that any illness could possibly be fatal, so accustomed were we all to
his wonderful vitality and powers of recuperation, yet on the morning
of the 10th May there was no doubt but that he was very dangerously
ill, and for the first time I felt really anxious. After mid-day,
from what I could gather from those members of the Staff that I saw
at Buckingham Palace, it looked as if he had begun to rally, so once
again I was full of hope for the best. I went again after dinner, and
then at last realised that, though he was still alive, his case was
almost hopeless, and there I remained in the Equerries' room, with
several others of my brother Equerries, until the end came. When I
left the Palace shortly after midnight, there was still that quiet and
patient crowd of watchers outside the Palace gate waiting for the next
bulletin. Alas! when it came it was to tell them that Edward VII had
passed away. Many of the crowd had noticed that I had come out of the
Palace, and I was waylaid by questioners. The demand was always the
same--"Was it true?"--and when I was obliged to answer that it was, the
almost invariable response was that it was impossible! The fact was
that the man in the street loved him, and for that reason was for the
moment quite unable to realise that any like ill could befall him; such
a sudden end to that busy life appeared to be impossible. At the time I
quite understood this attitude; to me, also, it seemed as if those long
hours of suspense, waiting in the Equerries' room before the fatal
news reached us, could only be an evil dream, that would be dispelled
on the morrow.
For that mournful ceremonial the King's funeral I was attached to the
Mission sent to represent the French Republic, the chief of which was
M. Pichon, then Minister for Foreign Affairs. Practically all the
civilised countries in the world were represented; the other great
Republic, the United States of America, by a special Envoy in the
person of Mr. Roosevelt, the Ex-President. The chief mourners besides
the Royal Family were the German Emperor, the King's son-in-law, King
Haakon of Norway, and his two brothers-in-law, the Kings of Denmark and
of the Hellenes. The Kings of Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Bulgaria
were also present, and the heirs to the thrones of Austria, Turkey,
Roumania, Serbia, and Montenegro. Other representatives were the Grand
Duke Michael Alexandrovitch of Russia, the Duke d'Aosta and the Prince
Consort of the Netherlands. One evening, by the kind invitation of
Queen Alexandra, I was present at a small service held after nightfall
in the Throne-room of Buckingham Palace, where the mortal remains
of King Edward lay in state prior to the removal to Westminster
Hall. Perhaps the most moving part of that very beautiful and simple
service was the relieving of the Guard that happened to take place
immediately after the conclusion of the office. During the whole of the
lying-in-state at Buckingham Palace and Westminster Hall the coffin was
guarded by the officers and men of the King's Company of the Grenadier
Guards, four sentries standing at the four corners of the catafalque
by night and by day. These motionless figures standing on one of the
steps of the catafalque, resting on their reversed arms and wearing
their bearskins, looked gigantic in the interior of the room. The
changing of the Guard (they were relieved every hour) was a wonderfully
moving spectacle. The Officer of the Guard led the relief into the
room, preceded by a small Drummer-boy carrying a lantern, exactly
as the Sentries are relieved throughout the night outside the Royal
Palaces. This tiny procession of armed men marching noiselessly through
the Throne-room to take up the duty of guarding the mortal remains
of their deceased Sovereign and Colonel-in-Chief was extraordinarily
impressive. On the 16th the coffin was removed to Westminster Hall,
where the lying-in-state lasted for four days, during which time I
believe upwards of 400,000 persons passed through the Hall to take a
silent farewell of their late King.
The interment took place in the St. George's Chapel, Windsor, and
this was the last occasion that his Equerries were called upon to be
in attendance on him. We marched by the side of the gun-carriage that
was used as a bier, and lined up in the same position in the Choir of
the Chapel, where, after the funeral service, the coffin was finally
lowered into the family vault beneath it. A team of Horse Artillery
was used as far as Paddington Station, but from Windsor Station to the
Castle, passing through a portion of the town and up the commencement
of the Long Walk to the Chapel, the gun-carriage was pulled by a party
of Bluejackets from H.M.S. _Excellent_. The procession through the
streets of London, with the immense crowd that lined the streets and
literally swarmed the parks, was a marvellous sight, but the passage
of the cortège up the Long Walk at Windsor to the entrance to the
Castle was really beautiful, and never did Windsor Castle look more
magnificent than on the 20th of May, when all that was mortal of King
Edward VII was laid to rest.
It would not be becoming for me to argue on the merits or demerits of
the much-discussed life of King Edward as it appears in the _Dictionary
of National Biography_. A far better judge than I could ever pretend to
be, and, moreover, a practised writer, in the person of the late Lord
Redesdale, has left behind him his views on the subject, in the paper
that was read before the Royal Society of Literature on April 23rd,
1915. I have that pamphlet, as it was subsequently printed, now in my
possession, a greatly prized gift from the kind author, made to me not
very long before he died. I can only say that I agree with every word
of it, and that in my opinion no man in England was better qualified
than the writer, to form a really just estimate of the character and
attainments of King Edward VII.
Lord Redesdale was a very finished man of the world, and was also a man
of very wide experience, having in his time been Diplomatist, Author,
and Government Official, and in addition the late King and he shared a
hobby,--landscape gardening,--and I am always inclined to think that
men who happen to have the same hobby, are apt to know rather more of
each other, than do their other friends and acquaintances.
As to the relations that existed between the King and his Ministers,
I know nothing, but I have always understood that those of them that
were brought most into contact with him, thoroughly recognised and
appreciated his quick and strong grasp of great political questions,
especially as relating to foreign politics, and the unerring instinct
he had for brushing aside irrelevances and arriving at once at the
heart of the business. Possibly Ministers may not have always realised
that from the fact of his position and relationship with the various
reigning Sovereigns (the French had not named him "l'Oncle de l'Europe"
for nothing!), and also, from the amount of pains he had taken to make
the personal acquaintance of the Ministers of foreign countries, he was
apt to be better informed than was Downing Street. Moreover, he had a
genius for doing the right thing. I remember during the official visit
to Paris that I have already attempted to describe, when he proposed
calling at the Hôtel de Ville, having to pass that building on his way
to and from Vincennes for the Military Review, that was one of the
functions arranged for his visit, every effort was made, especially by
the French Authorities, to dissuade him. Fortunately he was, as usual,
extremely firm. In vain was he told that the Hôtel de Ville was a
hotbed of Socialism, and the headquarters of anti-monarchical feelings.
He determined that if the City Fathers of Paris would receive him,
nothing would deter him. His reception there was probably the greatest
triumph of a very successful visit.
But the day has probably not yet arrived for History to pass its final
verdict on Edward VII as a King. As a man, nothing to my mind can
better sum up his character than do those very simple words, that stand
engraved, under the east window of Sandringham Church:--
TO THE LOVED MEMORY
OF
KING EDWARD THE SEVENTH
THE EAST WINDOW IN THIS CHURCH IS DEDICATED
AND THE CHANCEL ADORNED AND DECORATED
BY HIS WIFE, HIS CHILDREN, AND HIS GRANDCHILDREN,
BY HIS HOUSEHOLD, AND HIS SERVANTS
AND BY THE TENANTS AND WORKERS UPON HIS ESTATE
MANY MOURNERS OF MANY CONDITIONS
YET ONE IN DEVOTION AND ONE IN REVERENCE
THROUGH THE POWER OF HIS SYMPATHY
AND THE MIGHT OF HIS LOVING-KINDNESS
REGUM REGI GLORIA
MCMXI
[Illustration: CHANCEL OF SANDRINGHAM CHURCH, DECORATED IN MEMORY OF
H.M. KING EDWARD VII]
AFTERWORD
Since King Edward's death I have had but few opportunities of being a
spectator of events. Instead of travelling all over England and Europe
on visits, official and otherwise, except for an occasional trip to the
South of France, I have hardly left London.
During the very first week of the present reign His Majesty King
George, with that extraordinary kindness and consideration that he
has always shown towards his father's old servants and his own old
comrades of the Navy, commanded me to Marlborough House, and there
most graciously informed me that I might continue to occupy the rooms
at St. James' Palace that had been granted to me by the late King, and
that, moreover, I was to receive the appointment of Groom-in-Waiting
and Gentleman Usher. This dual office did not last very long, for when
a vacancy occurred, through the death of General Sir Stanley Clarke,
the King very kindly gave me the post of Sergeant-at-Arms in the House
of Lords, which very pleasant appointment I still continue to hold, as
well as another that I prize very highly, namely that of Extra Equerry
to His Majesty the King.
During the few months that I was on the personal Staff of King George,
I came in for one very interesting experience. Towards the end of the
summer I was in attendance when the King, Queen Mary, and some of
the younger members of the Royal Family, embarked on board the Royal
Yacht for the purpose of witnessing the manœuvres of the Home Fleet,
then under the command of the present Admiral of the Fleet Sir Edward
May. During these exercises the headquarters of the Fleet was Torbay,
and there the _Victoria and Albert_ generally anchored for the night,
or remained during the day, while the King was on board one of the
battleships of the Fleet. Though it is many years since I have served
afloat, it is, even to this day, impossible for me to stand on the
quarter-deck of a man-of-war without the sensation of being amongst
familiar surroundings, so those days spent in the midst of old comrades
were very pleasant ones, and remain to me as a very happy memory. I
believe it was during that week that an aeroplane flew for the first
time over a British Fleet. The plane in question was piloted by one of
the pioneers of flying, who was giving an exhibition of aviation, and,
naturally, seized such an opportunity as being the first man to fly
over a British Fleet, a Fleet, moreover, that had the Royal Standard
flying at a masthead. I have still among my belongings the photograph,
here reproduced, of the King on the bridge of the flagship watching the
movement of the plane as it approaches.
[Illustration: ON BOARD THE FLAGSHIP OF THE HOME FLEET, 1910]
Before the end of the year 1910 the health of my poor old friend,
Stanley Clarke, became so bad that he was unable to carry on his duties
at the House of Lords as Sergeant-at-Arms, and it having been settled
that I was to succeed him eventually, I officiated for him until the
end of the session. Consequently, I am now about to commence the tenth
year of my tenure there, and am becoming quite an old "Officer of the
House."
The day may come, perhaps, when there might be something written
about events that have occurred, and speeches that have been made,
in what the newspapers delight in calling the "Gilded Chamber," but
certainly as far as I am concerned the time is not yet, and meanwhile
the only memory I will allow myself to mention is the passing of the
Parliament Bill. For a man like myself, who has absolutely no politics,
and is firmly convinced that the whole philosophy of governing and of
government, is contained in the Abbé Jérome Coignard's delightful fable
of the old woman of Syracuse, the assertions made across the table of
the House are sometimes very interesting. Readers of Anatole France
will remember that the old lady in question was living in Syracuse when
the tyrant, Dionysius, was behaving more inhumanly than usual. Being
asked by him why she daily prayed that his life should be spared, she
replied, "I am very old, and have lived under many tyrants, and I have
always noticed that each in turn, has been worse than the last. You
are the most detestable one that I have yet come across; from which I
conclude that your successor will be even more cruel than you are, so I
pray daily to the gods that his arrival may be postponed for as long as
possible."
So, in this philosophical frame of mind, I could watch the manœuvres
connected with that measure with the greatest interest and complete
impartiality. I remember speculating (in the case of the Lords throwing
out the Bill) whether that long list, of I forget exactly how many
scores of Peers, all to be at once created, that was supposed to be
in Lord Morley's pocket, ever really existed, or was only a gigantic
bluff! My knowledge of politics was, and is, much too limited to enable
me to form an opinion even now, but though knowing nothing of politics,
I had played poker a good deal, and from that point of view I always
believed the list to be a bluff, and a very successful one!
I have named these pages "Looking Back," for the sufficient reason
that, having permanently joined the ranks of the "fogies," at my time
of life it is pleasanter to look back than try to gaze into the future.
That life is beginning to be different, and is going to be increasingly
so in this country, is a simple platitude, and whether the changes are
going to be for the better or the worse, I know not. If the new order
of things makes for the greater happiness of the greater number, then
I suppose there is nothing more to be said, and "everything is for
the best in the best of worlds." The drawbacks seem, to my limited
vision, to be that life will be apt to become terribly drab and level.
The bricklayer having been long since limited as to the number of
bricks he may lay, before long, Mr. Sargent may be limited by his
Union to a fixed number of brush strokes, and that curious species
of tyranny might be extended to every Art and Craft in the kingdom.
Worst of all, with increasing Government control, we shall be apt to
lose our liberty, which has already diminished perceptibly during the
last few years. Liberty seems to me to be the most precious of all
possessions, and the only one that is really worthy of a League to
protect it. During the war it was inevitable that all sorts of control
had to be exercised, but now that war conditions no longer exist, we
do not seem to have the fetters struck off our wrists as rapidly as
could be wished. It is difficult to understand some of the anomalies
of Government control; for instance, why should dancing-halls be
allowed to be kept open until two in the morning, whilst the inmates of
respectable old-fashioned clubs are hounded into the street at 12 or
12.30, according to the day of the week? I am all for freedom, and am
entirely in favour of the dancing-places being open all night if the
proprietors prefer it, always supposing that ordinary clubs are allowed
to live under their own rules. Personally, the much-criticised existing
liquor control seems to me to be not only tyrannical, but ridiculous.
I was brought up to believe that Magee was one of the ablest of our
Churchmen of his own, or of any other time. He it was, who, in a great
speech delivered in the House of Lords used the words, "I should say
that it would be better that England should be free, than that England
should be compulsorily sober," and I entirely agree with him.
History teaches us that democracies in all times have been opposed to
liberty, and it is the possible loss of freedom in the future that
seems to me to be the coming danger to our beloved country. I am, in
my humble way, as ardent a lover of liberty as was the poet Heine
himself, so it is no comfort to feel that though this England of ours
will surely survive the succeeding Governments, that will have charge
of its destinies, each of which, according to Monsieur Anatole France,
must automatically be worse than the last, its prosperity will avail us
nothing, should we lose our most precious heritage, namely--our liberty.
THE END
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, BRUNSWICK
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FOOTNOTES:
[1] The Commander Edward Dawson here alluded to is, I am sorry to say,
one of the many of those who have joined the Majority since these pages
were commenced.
[2] Since these lines were written, Sir H. Stephenson is another of my
old friends who has passed away.
[3] Alas! since these lines have been in the printer's hands, that dear
friend of my youth, my much-beloved cousin--Constance Manners--has
passed away from us.