Paris Again—Eccentricities of Captain “Rabelais”—A Fire in
Barracks—A Trying Inspection
My next winter leave I spent in Paris with my parents, who now occupied
an _appartement_ at No. 65, Rue de Morny, Champs-Elysées, and, as the
winter season in the French capital was in full swing, had a very gay
time of it. Among the balls to which I went was one given by Mrs.
Hungerford, the mother of the well-known Mrs. Mackay, which was a very
grand affair indeed, and at which dancing was kept up until nearly five
in the morning. I met Mrs. Mackay shortly afterwards, when calling on
Mrs. Hungerford. She spoke Spanish quite fluently, and was at this time
very intimate with Isabella, the ex-Queen of Spain, to whose house she
was often invited. She was, as usual, beautifully dressed, and in the
most perfect taste. Another ball I attended was given by Mrs. Keogh, an
Irish lady, where I danced the cotillon with a very lovely young Russian
girl, a cousin of the Empress of Russia, who, together with her sister,
was made a great deal of at that time in Paris society. I also went to a
_bal-masqué_ at the Opéra with an American friend named Willing. There
was a great crowd there, all the women being, of course, masked and in
fancy costumes. I went into Baron Alphonse de Rothschild’s box to pay
my respects to Madame Adelsdorfer, a great friend of Lady Holland, with
whom she stayed when in London, and she invited me to accompany her on
the following evening to the “Italiens,” where we heard Albani sing in
_La Sonnambula_. I was delighted with Albani’s voice and also with her
acting.
Another evening, I went to see Salvini in _La Morte civile_, by
Giacometti. Mlle. Masini, a young girl, played the part of the daughter,
whom Salvini tries to kiss when he dies. She offers up a prayer for him
on her knees, which so affected the audience that nearly the whole house
was in tears. I saw Salvini on two other occasions: in _Il Gladiatore_,
when I sat next to a very pretty girl, who pointed out to me a
middle-aged man with a grey beard, whom she told me was Alphonse Daudet,
the celebrated novelist, and again in _Othello_, when Mlle. Checchi Bozzo
played Desdemona. She and Salvini acted magnificently and delighted
everyone. Mlle. Checchi Bozzo died suddenly two days after I had seen
her in _Othello_; she was only twenty-two, and her death caused a great
sensation in Paris.
Amongst other plays which I saw were Madame de Girardin’s _la Joie fait
Peur_, Alfred de Musset’s _Il ne faut jurer de rien_, and Augier’s
_Philiberte_, at the Théâtre-Français, in all of which the acting was
admirable, and a very amusing piece called _la Boule_, by Meilhac and
Halévy, at the Théâtre-du Palais-Royal.
One Sunday afternoon I went to Pasdeloup’s concert, where they played
the _Septuor_ of Beethoven beautifully. The greatest attraction there
was Sivori, who performed a violin solo in the most wonderful manner.
Sivori was Paganini’s best pupil, and Lord Berkeley used to say that
he preferred Sivori to any violinist he had ever heard, as he always
played with so much feeling, and eschewed those complicated pieces which
resemble gymnastic exercises for the fingers, and serve no better purpose
than to enable the violinist to display his execution.
At the Grand Opéra I heard _l’Africaine_, of Meyerbeer, which was
marvellously well-staged. Madame Krauss sang the title-part. She was an
Austrian, from Vienna, but sang at the Paris Opéra for years, and was
quite famous there. I also heard _Robert le Diable_—or rather part of it,
for my father, who was with me, could not sit it out. So we adjourned to
Thorpe’s, where we met Tom Hohler, whom I have mentioned earlier in this
volume, and remained talking to him for some time. Tom Hohler was now
married to Henrietta, Duchess of Newcastle, and they lived in the Avenue
d’Antin.
While in Paris, I visited a great many old friends, including Eugénie
de Lavaile and Gabrielle Tercin, with whom I went one evening to the
Scala and supped with them afterwards at a neighbouring restaurant.
Another evening, I went with the former to the Folies Dramatiques to see
_les Cloches de Cornéville_, in which Juliette Girard acted and sang
remarkably well and was very graceful. I also renewed my acquaintance
with Mrs. Michell and her daughter, whom I had not seen since I was
at Marienbad, and whom I came across one day while walking on the
Boulevards, and with the Vicomte Arthur d’Assailly, whom I had met in
India. The Vicomte lived in the Rue Las Cases, and was a member of the
Jockey Club, but he preferred les Mirlitons, he told me, as they gave
many evening entertainments, and he was passionately fond of music.
* * * * *
When my leave was up, I rejoined my battalion at Aldershot, to which it
had been transferred from Winchester. It had originally been ordered to
the Tower of London, but the Colonel, as on a previous occasion, had
used his influence at the War Office to get this order countermanded,
to the great disgust of most of the officers. However, our chief rarely
condescended to consult the wishes of anyone but himself in such matters.
On my arrival at Aldershot, I was summoned to the orderly-room by the
Colonel, who told me that I had somewhat exceeded my leave, to which I
merely replied:—
“Indeed, sir!”
The other officers present, amused at this laconic answer, burst out
laughing, at which the Colonel looked very black indeed. His temper,
I soon learned, had not improved since the battalion had removed to
Aldershot, as he found things there very far from what he had expected.
He was not nearly so much his own master as he had been at Winchester;
the constant parades irritated him, and he lived in perfect dread
of the field-days, as he was constantly being reprimanded by the
Brigadier-General in command, for not knowing his work. These reprimands
he endeavoured to pass off on to the majors and captains, telling them
that they did not attend sufficiently to their duties; but everyone knew
with whom the fault lay.
Much to the Colonel’s annoyance, both Allen and Smith had now got
their companies. Thanks to the former’s fidelity to his Folkestone
beauty, he succeeded in getting rid of him, telling him that it would
be simply impossible for him to remain in the battalion after making
such a _mésalliance_. But he had no excuse for getting rid of Smith,
and so was obliged to put up with him, though he lost no opportunity
of showing his dislike; and it was remarked that when offenders from
Smith’s company were brought before him, they were always more severely
punished than those from other companies. Smith, however, took it all
very philosophically, observing that, as the Colonel could not remain
in command for ever, he did not intend to gratify him by leaving the
battalion.
Neither could our chief succeed in ridding himself of Robinson, whose
eccentricities caused him great annoyance. Since the arrival of the
battalion at Aldershot, “Rabelais” had taken to sitting out of doors
on warm days, arrayed in a flaming red dressing-gown, with feet and
legs quite bare save for a pair of slippers, much to the disgust of
some ladies, who had frequently to pass by his quarters. The matter was
reported to the Colonel, who exclaimed angrily:—
“Confound that Robinson! What can I do with such a creature? He is a
disgrace to my battalion!”
Nevertheless, he did not dare to interfere with him personally, but
deputed the adjutant to remonstrate with him. “Rabelais,” however,
received that officer with such a volley of oaths that he beat a
precipitate retreat.
Whenever Robinson wrote to me or anyone, he did so on note-paper in the
corner of which was a picture of the devil in bright red, with black
wings, seated upon a swing, and the same device adorned the envelope.
Like Ludwig of Bavaria, he would only speak to some people from behind a
screen in his sitting-room. His sergeants, his subalterns and even the
adjutant, he would receive in this way, unless one of them happened to
come on some important business, when he would occasionally condescend
to reveal himself. His unfortunate subalterns, if they were not to
his liking, positively trembled before him, and generally ended, like
Beauclerk, by sending in their papers.
One of his subalterns, whom I recollect “Rabelais” treated particularly
badly, was a very nice fellow named Crawley, who had lately joined.
Crawley, however, put up with it, though when the battalion was ordered
to South Africa on active service, he exchanged into the Coldstream
Guards with an officer who was killed in the first engagement. In after
years, Crawley commanded a battalion of the Coldstreams, and died of
wounds received in the Boer War.
There was a good deal of society in and around Aldershot, and the
officers of my battalion were invited out a great deal, but our duties
soon grew so heavy that we were obliged to decline nearly all the
invitations we received. Colonel Wellesley, the governor of the military
prison, and his wife used to give very pleasant garden-parties, at which,
as we had not far to go, we were generally able to be present. The
Colonel, who was then an old man, was an uncle of the Duke of Wellington,
and Mrs. Wellesley was a most charming woman. They had several daughters,
who were very good-looking girls, and an only son, Cecil Wellesley, a
little boy about eleven years old.
A General Smythe, a retired officer of the Artillery, who lived with his
wife and daughter in a large house at Aldershot, with extensive grounds
attached to it, also used to give garden-parties, which were always
well attended. The Smythes were very hospitable people, and everything
was admirably arranged, including the refreshment department, of which
the champagne-cup was a feature. Their daughter was a remarkably fine
tennis-player, and could, as a rule, beat any officer who opposed her.
She played in a short skirt reaching just below the knee, and wore a
collar and tie and a man’s cap—a costume which suited her very well,
as she had a good figure and beautifully-shaped legs, but was, in those
days, considered a rather bold one for a woman to adopt. Miss Smythe was
not only a fine tennis-player, but a most accomplished musician. When
quite a young girl, she had studied singing and composition at Dresden,
under the direction of Madame Schumann, who declared that she had never
had a pupil with so wonderful an ear for music, as she could sing the
scales without a piano in every possible key, without the slightest
fault. She was also an excellent horsewoman and a very bold one, and
Holled-Smith, who used often to go for rides with her, told me that she
would put her horse at jumps that made him even think twice before he
ventured upon them, although he followed the hounds regularly when his
duties permitted. Some people thought that he and Miss Smythe would make
a match of it, as they were so much together, but they remained merely
friends, and Holled-Smith eventually married another lady.
* * * * *
One night, I was awakened by Cotton, who told me that the fire-bugle had
sounded. Pulling our great-coats over our night-shirts, we ran towards
the place where the fire had broken out, and found that it was in the
stables, which were soon almost gutted. Two of Allfrey’s hunters were
burned to death, for though we endeavoured to save the unfortunate
animals, it was quite impossible. Indeed, we had all our work cut out to
prevent the fire from spreading to the adjacent buildings, but, with the
aid of some men with the fire-hose, we succeeded in doing this.
During Ascot week Bagot drove our coach from Aldershot to Ascot and
back, while I sat on the box-seat and occasionally took a turn with the
ribbons. Bagot was a first-rate whip and the best in the battalion,
though Allfrey and Cotton were by no means to be despised. We lunched
at the Greenjackets’ tent, which was for the members of both Rifle
regiments, where I entertained my father and Sir George Wombwell and his
party. Among the party was the Hon. Mrs. Crichton, whom I had met at
Dover, and I was pleased at seeing again Savile Lumley, afterwards Lord
Savile, who had been at Eton with me.
Among the Line regiments stationed at Aldershot was one commanded by
Lieut.-Colonel Deane, brother-in-law of Lord Falmouth, who frequently
used to dine at our mess, as a guest of our chief. Lord Falmouth owned
some of the best racehorses in England, and had won both the Derby and
St. Leger. But he disliked betting, and Colonel Deane told us that
the only bet he had ever had in his life was one of sixpence with his
housekeeper. He lost, and, in payment of the bet, gave her the sixpence
set in brilliants for a brooch.
There were several cavalry regiments at Aldershot, including the 8th
Hussars and the 16th and 17th Lancers. The 16th Lancers had a circus,
composed of officers and men, which used to give performances which were
highly successful; in fact, it was almost as good as a professional
circus. Taaffe, whom I had met on my way out to India, was with the 16th
at Aldershot, and we used frequently to dine at one another’s messes.
When in town, I constantly met old Eton friends and acquaintances,
chiefly officers in the Guards. The Hon. Alfred Egerton, who was at that
time a lieutenant in the Grenadier Guards, was a particular friend of
mine and I saw a good deal of him. Egerton told me that his colonel,
Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar, had refused to allow his battalion to
comply with a senseless order during the manœuvres at Aldershot on a day
of almost tropical heat. Other commanding officers, however, had not the
courage to follow his example, with the result that a great number of men
got sunstroke. In those days, the Aldershot manœuvres took place in the
height of summer, instead of, as now, in the autumn. Several battalions
of the Guards and the “Blues” were sent to Aldershot for the manœuvres,
and amongst the Eton friends whom I met was Lord Edward Somerset, who had
exchanged from the 23rd Royal Welsh Fusiliers into the “Blues,” where he
was very popular.
The day the troops were inspected by the Duke of Cambridge rain fell in
torrents. The troops had to assemble on parade in the early morning in
full uniform without overcoats, and to wait, standing at ease, for fully
two hours in the midst of the most drenching rain until the Duke arrived.
Many men suffered afterwards from the effects of that deluge. I was one
of them, as shortly afterwards, I was laid up with a severe attack of
rheumatic fever, which has affected my heart ever since.