_Memories of an Old Etonian 1860-1912_
[Illustration: The Rev. D. Hornby, Provost of Eton.
[_Frontispiece._]
_MEMORIES OF AN OLD
ETONIAN :: 1860-1912_
_By George Greville :: Author of “Society Recollections
in Paris and Vienna” and “More Society Recollections.”_
[Illustration]
_WITH 22 ILLUSTRATIONS
ON ART PAPER_
_LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO._
_:: :: PATERNOSTER ROW :: ::_
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I. 1
Early Recollections—Thackeray—The Princess Liegnitz—The
Austrian Bandmaster—Society at Homburg—Frankfurt—Goethe and
Beethoven—A Racing Coincidence
CHAPTER II. 18
An Adventure in the Oden Wald—The Coiners of the Black
Forest—Kirchhofer’s School
CHAPTER III. 27
Brussels—Ostend—General Sir John Douglas—Spa—“Captain
Arthy”—Boulogne
CHAPTER IV. 40
A Painting by Romney—Hunter’s School at Kineton—Corporal
Punishment—A Sporting Parson—My Schoolfellows at Kineton—The
Warre-Malets—Lord Charleville
CHAPTER V. 54
My Mother’s Recollections—The Cercle des Patineurs—Patti—Our
_Appartement_ in the Rue d’Albe
CHAPTER VI. 63
I go to Eton—New Boy Baiting—My House Master—Mr. James’s
“Jokes”—My Room at Eton—Some Eton Masters—A Disorderly
Form—Lacaita’s Silk Hat—“Billy” Portman
CHAPTER VII. 80
An Amusing Incident—Lady Caroline Murray—An Anecdote of Queen
Victoria—Lord Rossmore’s Wager—The Match at the Wall—Practical
Jokes—Some Boys at James’s
CHAPTER VIII. 94
Athletic Sports at Eton—A “Scrap”—Lord Newlands—An Old Boy on
Eton of To-day
CHAPTER IX. 103
Lady Grace Stopford—Tipperary in 1870—Robbed at Punchestown
Races—I get my own back
CHAPTER X. 110
Dieppe under Prussian Rule—A Toilette by Worth—A Confirmed
Gambler
CHAPTER XI. 116
The Princess von Metternich—The Lady of the Luxembourg Gardens
CHAPTER XII. 123
Bonn—An Anecdote of Beethoven—The King’s Hussars—The Howard
Vyses—A German Professor on England—Domesticated Habits of
German Girls—Professor Delbrück
CHAPTER XIII. 136
The Countess Czerwinska—The Countess Broel Plater—Mlle.
de Laval—The Duchesse de Grammont—An Absent-Minded
Gentleman—Dusauty, the Fencing Master—The Marquis of
Anglesey—Charming Venezuelans—Miss Fanny Parnell
CHAPTER XIV. 155
Captain Howard Vyse—An Anecdote of Paganini—New Hats for Old
Ones—Albert Bingham—Baron Alphonse de Rothschild—Madame Alice
Kernave—Gambetta
CHAPTER XV. 168
My First Night at Mess—Life at Shorncliffe—The Charltons
CHAPTER XVI. 175
An N.C.O. of the Old School—Major Blewett—Captain
Byron—Sandhurst
CHAPTER XVII. 183
I sail for India—Kandy—Dangerous Playmates—I arrive at Murree
CHAPTER XVIII. 190
My Brother-Officers—“The Oyster”—In High Society—Our Menagerie
CHAPTER XIX. 198
A Subalterns’ Court-Martial—A Terrible Experience—High
Mess-bills
CHAPTER XX. 205
Sialkote—Amateur Theatricals—An Ingenious Thief—Death of Albert
Phipps—Agra—Voyage to England
CHAPTER XXI. 217
Baroness James Édouard de Rothschild—At Carlsbad—Transferred to
the 3rd Battalion
CHAPTER XXII. 222
My Brother-Officers—A _Mésalliance_—Christy Minstrels and
Tobogganing
CHAPTER XXIII. 229
Sarah Bernhardt in _Phèdre_—Vienna and Buda-Pesth
CHAPTER XXIV. 233
Percy Hope-Johnstone—A “Special” to Aldershot—A Costume-Ball at
Folkestone
CHAPTER XXV. 238
The Oppenheims—St. James’s and Winchester—The Colonel and
Beauclerk
CHAPTER XXVI. 244
Paris Again—Eccentricities of Captain “Rabelais”—A Fire in
Barracks—A Trying Inspection
CHAPTER XXVII. 252
Madrid and Cordova—Seville—General von Goeben and the
Bull-fight—A View from the Alhambra—I rejoin my Regiment
CHAPTER XXVIII. 262
I meet Byron Again—I endeavour to Exchange—Basil Montgomery—My
Illness—Why I was not Placed on Half-pay
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Rev. D. Hornby, Provost of Eton _Frontispiece_
Mrs. Ronalds _Facing p._ 2
Mrs. R. C. Kemys-Tynte, of Halswell (now Mrs. Rawlins,
mother of Lord Wharton) ” 3
The Author’s Father ” 6
The Author’s Mother ” 12
The Author’s Daughter ” 20
The Author’s Mother ” 40
C. D. Williamson, at Eton with the Author ” 50
Miss Mabel Warre-Malet ” 51
The Author ” 62
Charles Balfour, at Eton with the Author ” 80
Miss Minnie Balfour, sister of Hilda, Lady de Clifford ” 81
W. H. Onslow, aged 13, afterwards Lord Onslow ” 82
The Hon. Emily Cathcart, Maid of Honour to Queen Victoria ” 83
Henry Hooker Walker, at Eton with the Author ” 90
The Hon. J. W. Lowther, present Speaker of the House of
Commons ” 91
The Duke of Rutland ” 98
The Author’s Father ” 144
Madame Alice Kernave ” 164
The late Earl of Berkeley ” 165
Miss Augusta Charlton ” 172
Miss Ida Charlton ” 173
MEMORIES OF AN OLD ETONIAN, 1860-1912
CHAPTER I
Early Recollections—Thackeray—The Princess Liegnitz—The
Austrian Bandmaster—Society at Homburg—Frankfurt—Goethe and
Beethoven—A Racing Coincidence
It happened so long ago, and I was so very young at the time—not more
than five or six years old—that I should be almost tempted to believe
that it was all a dream, were it not for certain incidents which made an
unforgettable impression upon my childish imagination. The scene was the
Hôtel de Russie at Frankfurt-on-the-Main; the occasion the birthday of
King William I. of Prussia, afterwards Emperor of Germany. The spacious
grand staircase of the hôtel was brilliantly lighted, and a red velvet
carpet was laid down on the steps leading to the first floor. Up these
steps came a succession of Ministers and generals, some in scarlet and
gold lace, with the attila, heavily embroidered with gold lace and
edged with brown fur, falling loosely over the left shoulder. Whenever
an Austrian general, in his white uniform with scarlet facings and red
trousers with deep gold lace stripe down the side, appeared, my heart,
for some unknown reason, seemed to beat with delight. How I came to be
there I don’t quite know, but I can remember my surprise when I saw the
big chandelier which hung over the staircase being lighted in broad
daylight, and the red blinds near the entrance being drawn down, which
gave me a curious impression, making me feel almost as though I were
present at a funeral. It was, however, merely done to create a more
imposing effect.
A great silence pervaded the whole of the Hôtel de Russie; no one but
royal servants stood by the front door; and the only sound which I can
recollect was the clinking of the sword worn by a general in full uniform
as he mounted the red-carpeted stairs. On approaching a door on the first
floor, the general or Minister gave his name in a mysterious whisper,
when, after a few seconds, the door was opened, and I heard a kind of
buzzing noise, as of several persons talking at once in low tones. Then
I can remember that, after a long interval, which seemed hours to me,
the mysterious folding-doors were thrown wide open, and a veritable
kaleidoscope of colour presented itself to my wondering eyes. It was the
effect of the various uniforms worn by the Ministers and generals, as
they emerged _en masse_ from the room and began to descend the staircase,
talking loudly as they passed.
Soon afterwards, when they had all taken their departure, the brilliant
lights were lowered, and silence again descended on the hôtel. That
is all I can remember, and of what became of me afterwards I have no
recollection. That afternoon remains in my memory like a fairy-tale,
and so comical did it appear to me, that I have often thought of it
since. There was something so mysterious about the way each Minister and
general entered that door after whispering his name; and then the buzz
of conversation, which was distinctly audible during the few seconds the
door stood open, to be succeeded by an almost death-like silence.
[Illustration: Mrs. Ronalds.
[_To face p. 2._]
[Illustration: Mrs. R. C. Kemys-Tynte, of Halswell (now Mrs. Rawlins,
mother of Lord Wharton).
[_To face p. 3._]
I can remember, just about this time, being alone in an immense salon
with six windows, all of which overlooked the Zeil, one of the principal
streets in Frankfurt. At either extremity of this room stood a big stove
of white porcelain, and its walls were decorated with large pictures.
One of these pictures represented the capture of Troy. The town was in
flames, and a huge, grey wooden horse stood in the foreground, with
a hole in its side from which soldiers were emerging and descending a
ladder supported against the horse’s flank. This was one of my favourite
pictures in the room. Another represented the Cyclopes, with their one
eye in the centre of their forehead, engaged in heating an iron bar in a
furnace. I remember that I used frequently to contemplate this picture
and wonder what it all meant, and if the Cyclopes really existed and
where they lived. At night, it used rather to frighten me, particularly
when I was left alone in the room, which frequently happened at this
time. Another picture represented Venus, with Cupid aiming one of his
arrows at her. This rather pleased me. I did not know then the mischief
wrought by Cupid’s arrows, and, in my innocence, was simple enough to
believe that Venus was an angel of love; and I pitied her for being
struck by one of Cupid’s arrows, which, in another picture in the room,
had penetrated her bosom, causing a stream of blood to trickle down the
alabaster whiteness of her body. The room had two large chandeliers, but
when I was alone in it, only one of them was lighted.
I can remember once, during the daytime, while looking out of the window,
I saw some Prussian Hussars, in their dark-blue uniforms trimmed with
silver lace, riding past. One of the horses shied at something, and its
rider fell heavily, which caused a great crowd to assemble. I don’t know
what happened afterwards; it was just one of those things that I saw as
though in a dream.
I recollect on one occasion occupying the bedroom and sleeping in the bed
used by the King of Prussia when he visited Frankfurt. This room was very
gorgeously furnished, the walls being draped with dark-blue satin, while
the bed had a canopy surrounded by heavy curtains of blue silk.
So far as I can remember, it must have been some months after this that
I spent an evening in the room where the King of Prussia’s birthday-fête
had been held. It was then occupied by the late Mrs. Ronalds, a lovely
woman, quite young, with the most glorious smile one could possibly
imagine and most beautiful teeth. Her face was perfectly divine in its
loveliness; her features small and exquisitely regular. Her hair was
of a dark shade of brown—_châtain foncé_—and very abundant. I was in
Mrs. Ronalds’s care on this occasion, and I can still see her before
me as she was then, and remember that she spoke with a slight American
accent. The late Captain Frederick Dorrien, of the 1st Life Guards, an
old Etonian and a very handsome man, whom Queen Victoria called “her
handsome lieutenant,” after inquiring his name when he rode beside her
carriage one day in full uniform, came to pay Mrs. Ronalds a visit that
evening; and I can still remember her singing in a very beautiful voice,
which everyone praised enthusiastically, and also a tiny watch set in
brilliants, and always very much admired, which she wore on her finger.
I used to be taken occasionally to the Zoological Gardens at Frankfurt,
where a Prussian military band played on Sunday afternoons, and I took
a fancy to what I thought was a large dog. I used to stroke it, and it
often licked my hand after I had fed it with biscuits and seemed to know
me. One day, however, to my surprise, I saw it put into the same cage as
the wolves, and learned that it was a wolf, which had been placed for a
time in a cage by itself. I still felt a great wish to stroke it, but was
not allowed to do so.
Whether it was some months later or some months earlier than this I
cannot say, for, with a child, such things as time and space are of
no account, which brings a child nearer to the Divinity than grown-up
people. I can only recall giving my hand, when at Homburg vor der Höhe,
to what seemed to me an elderly gentleman, who often took me across
the garden of the Kurhaus and up the steps of the Kursaal into the
restaurant, where, seated at a buffet, was a stout, pleasant-looking
old lady, who always greeted me affectionately and gave me, at the
gentleman’s request, my favourite fruit, nectarines and _amandes vertes_.
I can remember how kind this gentleman always was to me, taking me
constantly for walks in the garden of the Kurhaus, and always holding
me by the hand. The name of the pleasant old lady was Madame Chevet,
a Parisienne, to whom the restaurant at the Kurhaus belonged, and the
gentleman, who was a great friend of my parents, was Thackeray, the
author of “Vanity Fair.” I can remember nothing else about him, except
that he appeared to be very devoted to me.[1]
I used to wear white frocks with lace and embroidery, some of which had
been given to my mother for me by H.R.H. the Duchess of Gloucester, when
my mother’s aunt, Lady Caroline Murray, was lady-in-waiting to Her Royal
Highness.[2] I used at that time to be dressed like a girl, with my
hair in long, dark-brown ringlets, and on one occasion my mother took
me up to a very plain English lady in the grounds of the Kursaal, when
the latter exclaimed: “What a pretty boy? He is more like a girl!” Then,
turning to me, she said: “My dear, will you allow me to kiss you?” “Yes,”
I answered, and, holding up my bare arm, I added: “Kiss my elbow.” My
mother tried to persuade me to allow the lady to kiss me, but I only
cried and said: “Oh! not my face, only my elbow!”
One day, I remember, I was playing in the grounds of the Kursaal with a
large india-rubber ball with two little girls, when a lady called them
away, saying to the little girls, who were her daughters: “You must
not play with a boy when you don’t know who he is.” That same evening,
the Countess of Desart, who was lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria, was
dining at Madame Chevet’s restaurant at the Kurhaus with my parents, and,
happening to hear of what had occurred to me in the morning, said to my
mother: “I will pay that woman out for her insolence. She is a nobody,
and only the wife of a Law lord.” When Lady C——, the mother of the two
little girls, arrived for dinner at the Kurhaus, the countess purposely
did not rise to enter the dining-room for a very long time, which annoyed
Lady C—— immensely, as she dared not enter the dining-room until the
countess had risen from her seat to do so. At dinner the countess said
to Lady C: “I can understand how careful you have to be about whom your
girls play with, as you don’t quite know how to discriminate between
common children and others.” Lady C—— blushed crimson, but did not
venture to make any reply.[3] The Countess of Desart maintained quite a
princely establishment at Homburg, having a French chef at her villa and
a number of English servants, with carriages and horses besides.
[Illustration: The Author’s Father.
[_To face p. 6._]
Among my father’s friends then at Homburg was Sir Edward Hutchinson, whom
the Prince Consort said was the handsomest man in England. His brother,
General Coote Hutchinson, was also at Homburg. He had been a colonel
at six-and-twenty, and was for many years the youngest general in the
English Army.
At Homburg we lived in a villa on the Unter Promenade, in which the
Princess Liegnitz, the morganatic wife of Frederick III. of Prussia,
also resided. I can remember so well a box of toys representing various
animals which the Princess gave me, and also the Princess and her
daughter driving up to the villa one day when I was walking with my
father, when he made me go and speak to them. My father afterwards gave
me a beautiful bouquet of red roses, which I took to Princess Liegnitz’s
salon, at which she seemed pleased, and, when she thanked me for them,
gave me a kiss. King William of Prussia often visited his father’s widow
at the villa, where the Princess held a regular Court, and was treated as
though she were Queen of Prussia, even by the King. When he met me in the
grounds, His Majesty often gave me bonbons, and usually kissed me. I had
at that time a very pretty English nurse, and King William was well known
to be a great admirer of pretty faces. My pride was somewhat wounded when
I was told that His Majesty’s attentions to me may have been due in a
very great measure to the attractions of my nurse.
When the Princess Liegnitz left Homburg, great preparations were made at
the villa for the Duc de Morny, who intended to come and stay there.
But before he left Paris for Homburg he was suddenly taken ill and died.
His death caused a great sensation everywhere, and his servants, who had
already arrived at the villa, went away at once and returned to Paris.
Once a fortnight, on Sunday, an Austrian military band used to come from
Rastatt to play in the grounds of the Kursaal. It played both in the
afternoon and evening, and people sat on the lawns, enjoying the very
fine music. Sometimes the Prussian military band came from Frankfurt, on
which occasions I invariably used to cry. I sometimes sat with my parents
on a Sunday on the lawns. Count Perponcher, Oberst-Hofmeister to the
King of Prussia,[4] the Countess of Desart, Sir Frederick Slade and his
family, or other friends, generally sat with them. Count Perponcher was
a most agreeable and distinguished-looking man, and a great admirer of
the Countess of Desart. The latter was not only a great beauty, but had
a certain “grand air” about her, which is, as a rule, only to be found
amongst the old nobility.
One day, when the Austrian military band was playing, my nurse and I had
our early dinner at the Hôtel de l’Europe. Opposite to us, sitting at
the _table d’hôte_, was the bandmaster Jeschko, with a very pretty woman
seated on either side of him. I noticed that he was making love to both
of them, and said to my nurse:
“Look at the Austrian bandmaster: he has two such pretty wives!”
“You silly boy, why do you talk such nonsense?” answered my nurse.
“But he is making love to both, and so they are to him,” I persisted.
“You should not look at people you don’t know; they may be his sisters.”
“I am sure they are not, for look at papa and his sisters.”
“Well, whatever they may be, it is not for a child like you to ask about
them. I’ve no doubt that one is the gentleman’s wife and the other his
sister.”
“Couldn’t they both be his wives?”
“No; such a thing would not be allowed.”
I continued to gaze at this handsome man, with his very long, fair
moustache, highly curled. He seemed so good-looking in his white uniform
with its pink facings, and the two ladies kept stroking his hands on the
table and looking with admiration into his blue eyes. They both addressed
him as “_Du_,” and appeared so very fond of him, that I said to myself
that I could quite understand these girls being in love with him, as he
was so handsome. The white uniform and the fine military appearance of
this Austrian bandmaster at table no doubt greatly impressed my childish
imagination, as I had never seen any one like him before, while his fair
companions were both excessively pretty and dressed in the most charming
confections imaginable. It was a sight which, when I grew older, never
faded from my memory, while many other events, perhaps of far greater
importance, were entirely obliterated. Stilgebauer, a very celebrated
modern German author, who wrote “Love’s Inferno,” says: “Only that which
we do not wish to, or may not, remember is over; everything else is ours
and never over or lost to us.”
At Homburg, when the Austrian military band played, the grounds at night
were illuminated with red, white and blue lights, and the fireworks
were the admiration of the whole world, as M. Blanc spared no expense
whatever. This, indeed, he could well afford to do, in view of the
immense profits he derived from the gaming-tables.
There was at Homburg in those days a young French girl of noble family,
who was about thirteen years of age and very lovely, with a beautiful
complexion. She was always exquisitely dressed, usually in white tulle
with a great deal of lace, and was admired by everyone. This youthful
beauty used to play a game of forfeits in a ring with some boys, who
always arranged as a forfeit for the girl that she should kiss them.
One day, when I was about seven years old, the children invited me to
play with them. I did so, and was kissed by the little girl, at which I
was much ashamed, as, though I rather liked being kissed by her, I was
decidedly bashful when the operation was performed in the presence of
so many people. And so, when I was asked to play again, I refused. This
young lady often got her lovely white dress torn to shreds by the rough
boys who played with her, but she went on playing every day all the same.
I remember once travelling by train with my father from Homburg to
Frankfurt, when Goldschmid, a wealthy Jewish banker with red hair, who
was in the same compartment, went fast to sleep. My father told me he
was going to have some fun with him, and was pretending to take away his
watch and chain, when Goldschmid suddenly woke up and exclaimed:—
“_Gott, wirklich ich dachte Sie hätten meine Uhr weggenommen!_”
He was evidently under the impression that my father had evil intentions,
and it was not for some time afterwards that he could understand that it
was only a joke. Goldschmid, many years afterwards, was ruined by his own
brother, and committed suicide by drowning himself in the Main. They were
cent. per cent. Jew moneylenders and bankers, who helped to ruin many
English people in those days at Homburg.
I can well recollect seeing my father on one occasion in conversation
with Garcia, a dark, good-looking Italian, who had several times broken
the bank at Homburg by his high play. He had begun his gambling
operations when quite a poor man. I can also recollect Madame Kisilieff,
who was a great gambler in those days, and was a good deal with my
parents at Homburg. She was an immensely wealthy Russian lady of noble
birth, who lived there _en grand luxe_.
The English colony at Homburg during the gambling days was very different
from what it is now. There was more youth and beauty to be seen there
and more of the aristocracy; whereas to-day more old people and wealthy
_parvenus_ go to Homburg during the season. Chevet’s Restaurant, though
dreadfully expensive, was excellent; while the modern German one, though
also dear, is not especially good.
I cannot recollect what year it was, but I can remember the Railway King,
Hudson, taking another boy named Jeffreys and myself, whom I afterwards
met at Eton, to dine with him at Chevet’s Restaurant, where he regaled us
with every kind of luxury that the place could provide. My mother once
told me a story about Mrs. Hudson, which she had heard from her father:—
Mrs. Hudson one day received a visit from the Duke of Wellington,
whom she saw arrive, accompanied by a well-dressed and very
distinguished-looking man, who remained outside when the Duke entered the
house. Presently it came on to rain heavily.
“I will ask your friend up out of the rain,” said Mrs. Hudson to the Duke.
The Duke replied that the man was his servant; but Mrs. Hudson, who could
not bring herself to believe that such an aristocratic-looking person
could be the servant even of the Duke of Wellington, and thought that the
latter was joking, insisted on the man being shown upstairs.
My grandfather’s brother-in-law, General the Hon. Sir George
Cathcart, was A.D.C. to the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo, and was
second-in-command to Lord Raglan in the Crimea, where he was killed at
Inkermann. He was my godfather, and I often heard my father say that he
always had a cigar in his mouth, even in action. Once he was asked by
the authorities at the War Office how long he required to get ready
for active service. His answer was that he was ready to go anywhere at
twenty-four hours’ notice.
My parents, one year, lived at the Hôtel de Russie at Frankfurt, going to
Homburg in the evenings. There was a Baron von Neii, an Austrian major of
dragoons, staying at the “Russie.” He was married to an Englishwoman, but
they had no children, and, taking a great fancy to me, he wanted to adopt
me and give me the right to bear his name and title, which is frequently
done in Austria. He and his wife lived afterwards at Beaulieu, near Nice,
where they had a charming villa with a beautiful rose-garden, where I
have been to see them in more recent years.
Baron von Neii told me that there was once an Englishman, a Major
Isaacson, in his regiment, who could not speak two words of the Hungarian
language. Nevertheless, he contrived to retain his place in the regiment
for many years, being always prompted when he had to give orders by
a sergeant. One day, however, during an inspection by a general, the
sergeant happened to be away, with the consequence that the poor officer
was perfectly helpless, and, after calling out several wrong words of
command, was detected and placed on half-pay.
There were at this time at Homburg two Misses Lee Willing, nieces of the
famous General Lee, of the Southerners. One was a great beauty, who, it
was reported, had received innumerable offers of marriage, from a prince
downwards, but had refused them all. She was called the “Destroying
Angel,” because she had been the cause of so many duels being fought on
her account. She was constantly in the company of my parents, and, many
years later, we met her again in Paris. So far as I can remember, she
could never decide to take a husband, and died in Paris while still a
great beauty.
[Illustration: The Author’s Mother.
[_To face p. 12._]
Her cousin, Willing Lee Magruder, had been with the Emperor Maximilian of
Mexico at the time he was shot by his revolted subjects, and only escaped
a similar fate by the skin of his teeth. His sister was lady-in-waiting
to the Empress Charlotte of Mexico, and, after the Emperor’s death, the
brother and sister occasionally dined with us in Paris, and we often met
them in later years in Paris society. When leaving Mexico, Magruder and
his sister were shipwrecked, and he told me that they passed several
hours in the sea clinging to a plank. At night they were rescued by a
passing ship, almost exhausted by hunger, thirst and fatigue. His sister
never quite recovered from the shock to her system, and suffered much
from a nervous complaint ever afterwards.
I can remember that, while at the Hôtel de Russie, my mother used
constantly to be reading French novels, which, during her absences
at Homburg, my French nurse used to get hold of. I was particularly
interested in _la Reine Margot_ and _le Chevalier de Maison Rouge_, by
Alexandre Dumas _père_, which delighted me more than any other books. I
read “Joseph Andrews,” which my father bought for me, but he told me that
he thought I was not quite old enough to appreciate or even to understand
most of it.
I used always to be much interested in the Eschenheimer Thor at
Frankfurt, as at the top of it there was a tiny iron flag, in which nine
holes were pierced, representing the figure nine. The story about this
flag is that a certain poacher, who had been arrested and condemned to
death for shooting deer, was offered a pardon, if he could put nine
bullets into the flag in such a way as to form the figure nine. This he
succeeded in doing, and was set at liberty.
When you looked at the flag this seemed hardly credible; it was so tiny,
and the nine was so wonderfully pierced. The Eschenheimer Thor has since
disappeared to make room for the so-called improvements of Frankfurt.
I can remember being taken to the celebrated Römer at Frankfurt, where
the Emperors of Germany were formerly crowned. The Kaisersaal, where
the coronation used to take place, was an immense room, containing
portraits of the different Emperors. I was much interested in Karl I.,
and still more in Rudolph von Hapsburg, the ancestor of the present
Emperor of Austria, and I also took particular note of those of Günther
von Schwarzburg and Maximilian I., as I was very fond of German history.
The coronation room was beautifully decorated, the walls and doors being
sumptuously gilded. On the latter were represented several children,
wearing royal crowns and garments of gold, which pleased me very much.
Another time, I was taken by my French nurse, so far as I can remember,
to see Dannecker’s celebrated statue of Ariadne, and was somewhat
startled at finding myself in a perfectly dark room, in which you could
only see a red velvet curtain facing you. Soon, however, the curtain was
drawn back, when a perfectly white statue of a nude woman riding upon
a lion appeared before us. The woman was exquisitely formed, and was
reclining indolently upon the animal’s back. A rose-coloured light was
thrown upon the statue, which made its hue all the more dazzling, and
it revolved slowly on its axis, so as to display the lovely form of the
woman to better advantage. I was glad that it was dark, for I fancied
that I should have felt more awkward if anyone had seen me. As it was, I
blushed crimson, and was pleased to get into the street. All the same,
I have never forgotten this lovely statue and the rose-coloured light
employed to show off its beauty.
I went to the Jewish quarter, where the old tumbledown house in which
the Rothschilds had once lived[5] was pointed out to me, but it was such
a dirty quarter of the town that I never returned there. I once visited
the Synagogue, and was surprised to see all the men wearing their hats.
It made me think of the time of Christ, and that with certain Jews
very little had altered since those days. I wondered why such men as
Goldschmid at Homburg were allowed to carry on their villainous trade
with Christians.
The new theatre at Frankfurt is a very fine building, in which there is
a statue of Goethe, which is greatly admired. An amusing anecdote is
related of Goethe, who was born at Frankfurt. One day he and Beethoven
were walking together, and many people who met them raised their
hats. “How tiresome it often is to be recognized by so many persons!”
complained Goethe. To which Beethoven replied somewhat maliciously:
“Perhaps it is me they are greeting.”
Speaking of Goethe, the celebrated Austrian poet Grillparzer says:—
“_Schiller geht nach oben, Goethe kommt von oben._ His characters
usually say everything beautiful that can be said about a subject, and
for nothing in the world would I care to miss any of the beautiful
speeches in _Tasso_ and _Iphigenia_, but they are not dramatic. That is
why Goethe’s plays are so charming to read and so bad to act. However
much we may think of Goethe, the fact remains that his _Wanderjahre_
is no work, the second part of _Faust_ no poem, the maxims of the last
period no lyrics. Goethe may be a greater poet, and no doubt is; but
Schiller is a greater possession for the nation, which requires vivid
impressions in our sickly times. Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister and Philine
Sarto and the Countess have all distinct and artistically well-formed
characters, though they are all in danger of being condemned as
without any character. This fate they share with Hamlet and Phèdre,
with King Lear and Richard II.; perhaps also with Macbeth and Othello.
The _Wahlverwandtschaften_ is a great masterpiece. In knowledge of
humanity, wisdom, sentiment and poetic strain it has not its equal in any
literature. With the exception of those produced by Goethe in his youth,
his works were not popular with the nation, and the great respect shown
him was the result of the admiration which his masterpieces of the past
had aroused.”
Frederick the Great said of Goethe: “His early works are too natural,
and his late ones too artificial. Besides, he is an immoral poet. Fallen
girls are his favourite characters.” A very true saying of Frederick the
Great is: “A court of justice which pronounces an unjust sentence is
worse than a band of murderers.” Frederick was always a great admirer
of Voltaire, and one of his famous sayings is: “_Unsere Unsterblichkeit
ist, den Menschen Wohlthaten zu erweisen_.” (“Our immortality consists in
performing good deeds to mankind.”)
In recent years I went to the celebrated Palmen Garden in Frankfurt,
where the palm-trees are all from the late Duke of Nassau’s beautiful
palace at Biebrich. I went there with an English lady to an afternoon
concert. My companion remarked how ordinary all the people looked
compared with those one saw at a concert at Vienna, and drew my attention
to a table at which sat four men dressed in very shabby, old-fashioned
clothes. I was anxious to remain and hear the concert out, but was afraid
the lady might decide to leave early, owing to the little interest she
appeared to find in the audience. So I said at random:—
“You are quite right, but with regard to the men sitting at that table, I
should not be surprised if they were millionaires.”
She laughed and seemed to be much amused at the idea, and a waiter coming
up just at that moment with some coffee and cakes we had ordered, I asked
him if he knew who the four men were. He replied at once:—
“They are four millionaires.”
I may mention that I had never seen these men before in my life, and was
only staying at Frankfurt two days.
At Franzenbad, from which I had just come, I had a singular experience.
On entering the Kursaal one Saturday afternoon a programme of the music
was handed me. The piece which was being played was a polka, by Edward
Strauss, called _Con Amore_, and I noticed that each of the eight pieces
on the programme contained a letter of this name. I took this as a kind
of presentiment, and the same day telegraphed to a bookmaker named
Hörner, in the Krugerstrasse at Vienna, to back the horse of this name
running in the principal event in the Baden races the following Sunday.
He duly executed my commission, and the horse won, though it did not
start favourite. I won very little, however, as the odds were not as long
as I had expected. The programme of the concert at Franzensbad was as
follows:—
Saturday, 25th June, 1904. Kurhaus, 4 p.m.
1. Wiedermann Marsch Oelschlegel.
2. Ouverture, Oberon Weber.
3. Ballerinen Walzer Weinberger.
4. Potpourri aus Obersteiger Zeller.
5. Con Amore Polka Ed. Strauss.
6. Ouverture, Belagerung von Corinth Rossini.
7. Am Spinnrad Eilenberg.
8. Frisch heran Galop Johann Strauss.
The Hôtel de Russie, in those days, occupied the site of the present
Post Office. It was originally a palace, and the rooms were magnificent,
particularly those reserved for the King of Prussia, which my parents
occupied for a time, as did Mrs. Ronalds. Otherwise, this suite of
rooms was always kept for the King of Prussia when he cared to visit
Frankfurt, which His Majesty often did, staying there usually some
time. The proprietor of the Hôtel de Russie was a certain Herr Ried,
and, on his death, it was purchased by the Drexel brothers, who are now
wine-merchants of some celebrity in Frankfurt.