Kristiania last night, I found a most gracious telegram from the Queen,
through Countess Rosen, desiring that I would spend my last days in
Norway with her. So I came this morning by the early steamer. Most
beautiful were the long changing reaches of the fiord, with the rocks
covered with foliage, already waving towards autumn, the rich russet and
golden tints of the trees repeating themselves in the water. At Moss (to
the intense astonishment of a very vulgar American family on board, who
had given themselves indescribable airs to me) a royal carriage with two
chasseurs in cocked hats and plumes was in waiting, and the King’s
chamberlain was standing on the pier to receive me. We drove swiftly up
a rocky forest road to the large villa which a merchant of Kristiania
has lent to the Queen for the benefit to her health from the pine air.
Another merchant close by has lent his to the King, as the immense
personnel of the court could not possibly live in one house. As we drove
up through the garden, a tall figure in a wide-awake hat emerged from
one of the windows upon the terrace. ‘Sa Majesté le Roi!’ said the
chamberlain; so I jumped out of the carriage, and he came forward at
once with ‘Is it Mr. Hare? The Queen has spoken of you so much, that you
are not like a stranger. The Queen will be delighted to see you, and so
am I. We were so glad to hear that you would come to see us in our quiet
country life. You will find nearly the whole family, only my second son,
Oscar, has left us to-day. I am especially glad that you will see the
Prince Royal, my eldest son, Gustaf. You will have a very little room
with us, for we are so full, but you will have a good bed, and that is
the essential. Come now and take a walk with me in the garden.’ So we
walked and he talked, chiefly about Rome. Then he took me to the Prince
Royal, who was sitting under the trees with the Countess Rosen, two
maids of honour, and Baron Holtermann, the marshal of the palace. There
we sat some time and talked till the Queen emerged from the house. I
went towards her, and met her amongst the flower-beds. She looks
wonderfully well, far better than at Segenhaus. Nothing could be more
cordial or kind than her reception of me. We walked on the terrace for
some time, and she talked of the great event since we parted, the attack
on the Emperor, and of the Crown Princess.
“Then we went to sit under the trees and we talked of Throndtjem. The
Queen described her first journey thither to her coronation. The King
had been making a tour round by the North Cape, and she went to meet
him. She went in a succession of carrioles by Lilliehammer and then by
the Romsdal. At all the little stations people met her with flowers.
‘Art thou the mother of the land?’ they said, ‘art thou the mother of
the land? Thou lookest nice, but thou must do more than _look_ nice;
that is not the essential.’ She said that even at Throndtjem the
peasants touchingly and familiarly always called her ‘Du.’ ‘Art thou the
mother of these tall boys?’ they said, and they would pray aloud that
she might be blessed--in her husband, in her children, and in her home.
One old woman asked the Countess Rosen to beg the Queen to go upon the
roof of the house--‘then we shall all see her.’ The Queen also described
her last journey back from Segenhaus. Her two horses, her dog, and her
donkey travelled with her.
“Soon the beautiful donkey of our Segenhaus walk was brought round, with
its crimson trappings, and the Queen mounted, and went off through the
forest to the King’s house. I went in a kind of large open car with the
Countess Rosen, the maids of honour, and the chamberlain. We reached the
King’s villa before the Queen, and all drew up in two lines in the porch
to receive her. There were also a great number of the people of Moss to
see her arrive, as it is known she always does so at this hour. The King
gave his arm to the Queen, and we all went to luncheon in a garden
pavilion. Here the two youngest Princes came in,--Carl, a very handsome
boy of seventeen, and Eugène, of twelve. The King called me to come up
to a tiny round table at the end of the room on a daïs, where he and the
Queen were alone, and made me sit with them on their divan. He said, ‘I
shall now leave out your Mr. and only call you Hare, and upon that we
will all drink healths;’ and he made me clink my glass with his and the
Queen’s. The King talked much of the Prince Royal and his education, of
all the languages he thought he ought to learn, and (perfectly without
ostentation) of his own very great facility for
learning--‘catching’--languages, and of the great advantage it had been
to him through life. I had had no food since six o’clock in the morning
and was almost fainting with hunger, so, in spite of the honour of
sitting with the King and Queen, I greatly envied the court at their
good luncheon below, as their Majesties (and consequently I) had only
coffee cups for their soup, and a tiny slice of bread and cheese apiece.
“Then the Queen mounted her donkey again, the King lifting her up, while
the young Princes, climbing the pillars of the verandah behind their
mother, made a pleasant family group. The cap of the Queen’s chasseur
fell off, and the King picked it up for him and playfully pushed it
tight down upon his head. Then the King and Princes started to walk, and
I for a long drive with the Countess Rosen and some of the court. And
now I am resting and the Queen has sent me a number of English
newspapers to read. A propos of the picture of Lord Beaconsfield
receiving the Garter in the _Illustrated_, the King said, ‘Now, let us
talk a little politics. I like and admire most things English, but I
will not conceal from you that I do not admire Lord Beaconsfield. I did
not think his conduct about Cyprus was quite straightforward.’”
* * * * *
“_August 10._--At four o’clock yesterday the whole court met in the
drawing-room, so many gentlemen turning up from hidden corners, that it
made twenty-four persons in all. The Prince Imperial recognised me
immediately when he came in, and was exceedingly cordial and friendly. I
was really glad to see him again. He is as nice as he can be, but as to
appearance, his photographs flatter him, as he has such a bad complexion
and his legs are too short. He is, however, quite delightfully frank and
winning. He kissed the Queen’s hand very prettily and gracefully as she
came in, looking very well with large bunches of natural double geranium
upon the white lace of her dress and in her hair. He took the Queen, the
King took Countess Rosen, and we all followed to dinner. I was desired
to sit by the Prince Royal. His peculiar features are redeemed by a good
expression when animated. He talks no English and atrocious French, and
was difficult to get on with at first. Prince Carl, the third son, is
very handsome, and seems to have a charming disposition. After dinner
the princes were to go out fishing, and the head fisherman sent to say
that there would be no room for little Prince Eugène, as there were so
many of the Prince Imperial’s suite to be taken. Prince Carl came to the
Queen and begged that Eugène might not be told, he would be so
disappointed, and that he might stay at home in his place; and the Queen
said, ‘Charles is always like that; he never can be persuaded to think
of himself.’ I tried to talk of Rome to the Prince Royal, but whenever a
maid of honour on the other side claimed his attention, was glad to
subside into conversation with an old chamberlain. The King drank
healths at dinner, the Prince Imperial’s, mine, Count Murat’s. The
Prince Royal asked me to clink glasses with him. ‘Do you like that
custom?’ he said. A Swedish noble, appointed to wait on the Prince
Imperial, stood up when the King drank his health. Then I saw the other
side of the King--in very cold stern rebuke. ‘In good society gentlemen
do not stand up when their healths are drunk,’ and that in the severest
tones. The Queen looked surprised, and a momentary chill fell upon the
whole party. I am sure that the Swede, who was a very bumptious young
man, had done or said something before which had displeased the King.
“When the princes were gone to their fishing, the Queen made me come and
sit by her. She returned at once to the subject of the Prince Royal and
her great anxiety that I should be much with him abroad. ‘He must
_learn_ his world,’ she said, ‘he knows so little of it. He is
thoroughly good, but what he wants is enthusiasm, he wants to be incited
to knowledge, to learning his future out of the past, and oh! you can
help him so much, and if you will, I shall always be so grateful to you:
but remember, and I know it will always help you to be kind to my boy
if you do remember, what my boy’s future must in all probability be. Oh,
Mr. Hare, do when there is a chance, sow some little seeds of good in my
son’s young heart, and remember that what you do is not only done for
the Prince Royal, not even for his mother, who entirely trusts you, but
for the thousands upon thousands of people whom he may one day be called
upon to influence. Whatever happens, if you will only interest yourself
for my boy, you will believe in his mother’s gratitude.’
“The Queen continued to talk long in this manner with the utmost
animation, till the Countess Rosen, suddenly seeing some sign of illness
unobserved by us, ran round and said, ‘Dear Majesty, you must not now
speak any more,’ and led her away with a charming mixture of motherly
affection and playful deference.
“When Countess Rosen returned, she said, ‘The King desired that as soon
as the Queen had ceased speaking to you, you should go to him: he
especially wishes to talk to you alone.’ I found the King under a tree
in the garden, reading a book (the ‘Odes of Horace,’ I think), and,
fearing to disturb him, I pretended to occupy myself with the flowers,
but he perceived me at once, closed the book, and coming to me, took my
arm, and walked up and down on the terrace. ‘The Queen has been speaking
to you of our son,’ he said; ‘I know what the Queen has been saying, and
I wish to continue her conversation. He is a good boy, but he has not
been tried; he has no idea what the world is like, nor of the many
temptations which lie in wait for a young man, above all for a prince.
Now the Queen and I are quite agreed that it is our wish that you
should be as much to our son as possible, and I wished to see you alone
that you might believe that all that his mother wishes, his father
wishes also.’ The King then talked in detail of the Prince’s probable
life in Rome, of the places and people he must see. ‘Please understand
at once that my son must go to the Quirinal,’ he said. He went on to
talk more earnestly of England, of the difficulties of all the lines to
be drawn, and of all the individual persons whom it might be well for
the Prince to see, and also some to be avoided. He wished the Prince to
have a quiet month in England, to accustom himself to language and
people, before going to London: he thought of Torquay; I suggested St.
Leonards. He talked of Lady Waterford, whom he remembered many years
ago, and admired almost more than any woman living, and wished that she
might be persuaded to give an invitation to his son.
“Speaking of the course of study which would be best for the Prince led
the King to talk of the great pleasure a thorough knowledge of Latin had
been to himself, both for its own sake and as making all other languages
easy to him.
“The King talked much of the anxieties at Berlin, and of the cloud over
the royal life there. ‘Oh, how thankful I ought to be, how thankful I
continually _am_, for our quiet corner, for a reign which is one of
love. I never felt this more than in the Queen’s lonely carriole journey
to her coronation at Throndtjem, and it was renewed lately in our son’s
journey to Tellemarken. And though our people care for us, they do not
flatter us. When the Queen was in the little village churches, near the
different small stations where she passed her Sundays, the simple
village curates of those mountain districts did not hesitate to preach
to their Queen of all that she ought to do, of all that her life ought
to be for herself and others, and oh! we are so grateful to them.’
“While we were talking, the court ladies were playing at croquet on the
lawn. The King afterwards joined them, and I took a short walk with
Baron Holtermann, marshal of the palace, and then went in and sat down
to read in the drawing-room. Presently the King put in his head from the
Queen’s room--‘Yes, he is here,’ he said, and then he called me to come
in to the Queen. They then both of them took my hands and spoke to me in
a most touching manner about the Prince Royal. The Queen also spoke of
the uncertainty of her life, and of renewed meetings in distant Norway,
and of her hope of seeing me in another world. She gave me her portrait.
I could not but feel it a very solemn moment and very affecting. They
took me out on the balcony of the room for one quiet moment. ‘Remember
_how_ we trust you,’ they said. And we looked down upon the fountain
playing and the burnt grass and brilliant flowers in the moonlight and
then we went back to the public rooms.
“The Prince Imperial and the Swedish princes now returned from fishing,
singing at the pitch of their voices through the woods, and we all went
upstairs to supper. Their Majesties and the whole court had--Swedish
fashion--each a great bowl of sour milk, with a great hunch of bread and
two preserved peaches in a glass. The Prince Royal, by whom I again
sat, fortunately asked for sweet milk, so I was able to do so also. Then
the King and princes went to the other house, and I took a sad farewell
of the beloved Queen. If ever there was a woman who united the truest,
widest spirit of Christianity with every earthly grace, it is Queen
Sophie of Nassau.
“The Queen’s dresser was turned out of a room for me--a good room, but
with neither soap nor bath, no chance or understanding of hot water, and
the looking-glass quite unavailable! Swedes are accustomed to none of
these things as necessaries in houses where they visit.
“At 8 A.M. Baron Holtermann fetched me to walk through the woods to the
King’s house to breakfast, after which I walked with the King to the
pier at the end of the garden. There the younger princes kissed their
father, and the Prince Imperial (who was going away at the same time and
whom the King would accompany to Kristiania) took leave of the court. It
was an intensely hot day, the town of Moss and the shore of the fiord
seeming to steam with hot mist and the flowers all drooping. A little
steam-pinnace took us all to the luxurious steamer, where there was
boundless space for sitting or walking or whatever we liked. The voyage
was very long--five hours. I sat reading ‘Ticknor’s Memoirs,’ and the
King and Prince Imperial came occasionally to talk to me. I found in the
book an account of the Prince’s grandmother, Comtesse de Téba, in her
prime, which interested the King very much. He said, ‘The Prince
Imperial keeps me in a perpetual state of mental tension: he does ask
me _such_ questions. I am always wondering what he will say next. He is
almost _too_ intelligent a young man. He has just asked me to tell him
how long a steamer takes to get up steam. I have seen hundreds of
steamers getting up steam, but I never thought before how long it took.
However, I have had to think now, and it takes five quarters of an hour.
Oh, the Prince Imperial is very good mental exercise.’
“Half-way down the fiord, the Prince Imperial insisted upon it that he
must bathe. At first the King said it was impossible, that the moment of
his arrival at Kristiania was fixed, that the people were waiting to see
him, that the steamer could not be delayed--in fact, that it was out of
the question. But while the King was discoursing, the Prince Imperial
stripped off every article of clothing he had on, and after rushing up
and down the deck perfectly naked, jumped into the sea over the poop and
swam like a fish. The King then was obliged to stop the steamer, as he
could not leave the Prince Imperial in the middle of the fiord, and he
told an aide-de-camp to undress and go to pick out the Prince. The
Prince lay on the breast of the waves laughing at the King till the
aide-de-camp reached him, and then he dived, disappeared for some time,
and came up on the other side of the vessel. The Prince Royal then
undressed and went in too, and two aides-de-camp, and they all swam and
pursued each other like mermen. When at last the Prince was persuaded to
re-embark, he sang and shouted in most uproarious spirits. Then came
luncheon. The King proposed the Prince’s health--‘Mon cher hôte et mon
cher neveu’--and then he proposed mine, saying, ‘I drink to your
meeting with the Prince Royal at Rome, and you _will_ be kind to my
boy?’
“We entered Kristiania in triumph--all the towers, houses, and masts of
the vessels in the harbour decorated with flags, cannon firing, and
crowds of people on the quays. At the station were crowds too, waiting
for the royal carriages as they drove up. There was quite a procession
of them. I went in the second carriage with Count Murat. At the station
I had just time to present the Miss Hollands, then I took leave of the
king.”
* * * * *
“_August 17._--The Prince Imperial travelled with us from Kristiania. It
was an ovation to him the whole way--crowds at all the stations, and
shouts of ‘Hoch, Hoch!’ instead of ‘Hurrah.’
“We parted company with the Prince at Helsingor, whence we went to
Fredensborg, a dull château and pretty garden, and then to
Frederiksborg, really magnificent, one of Christian IV.’s grandest
buildings, on three islands in a lake.
“We have since seen Bremen with the grand calm face of the gigantic
Roland-Säule raised above the busy market, and Münster with its old
cathedral and Congress-hall, and now we are at Tournai, where there is a
noble cathedral, contrasting in its serious thoughtfulness of design
with the frippery and sameness of Cologne. And to-day, being in the
octave of St. Roch, Tournai is hung with flags for a really beautiful
procession--crosses, banners, images, reliquaries carried aloft by
troops of young girls in white and blue and little boys in mediaeval
dresses. Some of the tiny children in golden oak-chaplets, and with
great golden oak-bouquets or golden lilies, are quite beautiful.
“And to-day, too, we pass out of the peculiar existence of the last two
months into ordinary working life again. Great is the thankfulness I
feel for all, especially for my kind and pleasant companions.”
* * * * *
I spent the late summer of 1878 very quietly at home, busied in
completing the Life of the Baroness Bunsen. Many guests came and went,
amongst them Miss Wright, whose constant kindness and affection had been
so much to me for many years. Whilst with me she was very ailing, but it
was only supposed to be rheumatism, and doctors, who examined her
carelessly, sent her from Holmhurst to Buxton, which was fatal to her,
for her real disorder was heart-complaint. I never shall forget the
bitter anguish of the shock, gently and tenderly broken as it was by
Mary Lefevre, when I read that I should never see again the loving
devoted friend of so many years, who alone was always ready to help me
in any difficulty, always glad to fight a battle for me, and whose
humble nature so terribly overrated me, making me, however, long to
struggle up in reality to that higher shelf on which I saw she had
mentally placed me. Hers was one of--
“The many lives, made beautiful and sweet
By self-devotion and by self-restraint,
Whose pleasure is to run without complaint
On unknown errands of the Paraclete.”[289]
Wonderfully, though simply and unconsciously, did she fulfil the ideal
of a holy life which is given us in the 15th Psalm. But it was not till
she was gone, till her outpouring of gentle tenderness was silenced for
ever, that one realised all she had been, and that her loss left a void
for life which could never be filled up. Constantly have I gone back
with useless self-reproach--would that I had done more to make her
happy! would that I had always been more grateful in reciprocating so
much kindness!--and most constantly have I been reminded--
“How each small fretting fretfulness
Was but love’s over-anxiousness,
Which had not been had love been less.”
Years have passed away as I write, but I can scarcely bear to speak of
her, even to write of her, even now. “How holy are the holy dead! How
willingly we take _all_ the blame to ourselves which in life we were so
willing to divide.”[290] “Nevermore” is one’s echo of regret, but “too
late” is that of repentance.
Dear Lady Williamson passed away from us in the same autumn, deeply
loved too, but in her blindness and deafness one felt that her life--her
entirely noble and beautiful life--was lived out, which one could not
feel dear “Aunt Sophy’s” to be. She seemed to die, her life unfulfilled.
Throughout the autumn I had heard frequently from the Queen of Sweden
and Norway, through the medium of her principal lady in waiting, the
Countess Ebba von Rosen. The entire confidence and noble friendship
expressed in these letters made it impossible for me to hesitate, when,
after the Prince Royal had spent some time in Paris, it became the
strong wish of her Majesty that I should join him at Rome. It was in
entire concert with the King and Queen that I drew up the scheme of a
series of peripatetic lectures for the Prince, in which, by describing
historic events on the places with which they were connected, I hoped to
fix those events and their lessons in his recollection. Their Majesties
also agreed to the plan of my inviting others to join the excursions of
the Prince. It was, however, with great misgiving that I left England,
feeling that I gave up my pleasant home and congenial occupations in
England for the constant companionship of a young man who had not, in
our short previous acquaintance, made a very favourable impression upon
me, and who might--should he take that line--resent my exertions in his
behalf, and look upon me rather as a spy for his parents than as a
friend to himself. When I once reached Rome, however, these fears were
soon set at rest, and during the whole nine months which I passed in
constant intimacy with the Prince, I never once had to reproach him with
want of consideration for myself personally, but, on the contrary,
always received from him marks of the utmost esteem and affection.