interest, because the old furniture and tapestries have been set aside
in favour of light coloured hangings. The place is but a pale and feeble
imitation of Versailles. The garden, tended with special care, reminded
me at every step of those avenues and shrubberies where Louis XIV.
strolled with his courtiers, whereas I had hoped to find traces of the
times of Don Carlos who, according to Schiller’s tragedy, is supposed to
have loved Aranjuez, or seen in it the summer residence of Philip II.,
which was deemed a place of such enchantment. It is here that the memory
of Queen Mercedes is most vivid, since it was from that Palace that she
went forth a happy bride, wearing those robes of purity and light which
no woman dons twice in her lifetime. But the future must thrust aside
the past, and even the sunlit memory of the Queen-Bride fades before the
fact that in the large drawing-room overlooking the Tagus was placed the
cradle of King Alphonse III. when he first came to Aranjuez. Here the
infant monarch loved to lie and listen to the rush of the river. When at
the age of three he eagerly inquired where the impetuous torrent went
to in such a hurry, and received the answer that the Tagus wanted to get
out of Spain and grow big in another land, the child cried bitterly,
asking again and again if no one could prevail upon the river to stay
and grow big in Spain. On this occasion his nurse, perhaps unwittingly,
made him the same answer as that which Victor Hugo caused the _duena_ to
give to an infanta: “Everything on earth belongs to Princes, except the
wind”--though this time it was the water that failed to respond to his
demand.
I had spent two months in Madrid and had only seen the Royal Family in
places of public resort such as the Castellana, the Casa di Campo or
Royal Park, and at the Opera. Once indeed I saw the Queen and her son
watching with deep interest a national game called _pelota_, an open-air
exercise very popular in the northern provinces of Spain; but though I
tried to catch as much of their features and expression as possible, all
I had been able to gather was that the young King was the merriest boy
of his age I had ever seen, and that his mother’s pathetic face became
young and happy again when she answered some saying of his by a smile.
Very amusing remarks they seemed to be to judge from the laughter going
on in the royal box, and once or twice the Queen put her handkerchief
over her mouth to stifle her hilarity, while the King plucked
desperately at his gloved fingers and assumed an air of portentous
seriousness while his mischievous eyes danced.
We were about to leave Madrid on account of the approach of the summer
season, but the friends with whom we were staying, who represented their
King at the Court of Spain, could not take their annual holiday without
first calling upon the Queen, a duty which they knew was as irksome to
her Majesty as to themselves, but which, nevertheless, had to be
performed. We had settled that our departure should take place the day
following that fixed on by the Queen, in announcing that she would
receive them in the afternoon. We did not expect them to have anything
very thrilling or new to report, as we had already heard from them every
detail concerning the Court. Yet, when they returned from the Palace,
they seemed greatly excited.
“The Queen, like us, is leaving to-morrow. Her Majesty wishes to see
_you_, Hélène. She cannot let you leave Spain without having been at the
Palace. She loves your poems, and is rather astonished that you have
never asked for the favour of an introduction, as she would have granted
it immediately. She is so curious, and asked us _so_ many questions
about your appearance and ideas. I assured her Majesty you would be
delighted to stop twenty-four hours in St. Sebastian if you were invited
to Miramar, and said you would follow the Royal party, as you are rather
anxious to return to Roumania without delay. This will also give you an
opportunity of seeing Miramar.”
Two days afterwards we arrived at St. Sebastian by the morning train,
and, according to the instructions we had received, at once sent a
messenger to Miramar, begging the lady-in-waiting to apprise the Queen
that my mother and myself were awaiting her Majesty’s commands. A young
attaché on the staff of the Spanish Foreign Office brought us the answer
that it was her Majesty’s pleasure to receive us that same day at three
o’clock. We had not an instant to lose, so ordering a carriage we drove
to Miramar. The place seemed to us at first devoid of all royal pomp or
solemnity, and a charming atmosphere of peace pervaded the wainscoted
hall, while the drawing-room into which we were ushered looked straight
upon the sunlit sea, whose soft summer tints seemed to be reflected from
the light hued walls and furniture. We had not much leisure to look
round us, as the equerry in waiting announced that her Majesty was
waiting to receive us. We followed him through a small door, and the
Queen Regent of Spain, for such was her title at that moment, stood
before us. I was startled to find her so slim and tall, while her
resemblance to the Austrian Archduchess struck me so forcibly that I
jumped to the conclusion our visit would prove a very tame affair,
interesting only because the personage who admitted us to her presence
was a queen.
Before, however, I could reach one of the low chairs to which her
Majesty pointed with open fan, I found myself obliged to change my
opinion, and muster all my faculties in the course of an interview in
which I felt it would require some exertion on my part to appear with
advantage. The Queen, with firm and easy grasp, had directed the
conversation into channels likely to reveal the trend of our personal
feelings, and events likely to prove of interest to her. She began, as
is usual with sovereigns when talking to foreigners, by praising our
country, and saying how greatly she appreciated Carmen Sylva’s talents
as a poet, and her virtues as a woman and queen. The manner in which she
discussed both subjects displayed such an inner knowledge of Roumania as
well as of the life and works of our Queen, that I held my breath from
sheer astonishment, and could scarcely refrain from asking, “But where
did your Majesty obtain so much information?”
Then passing to other topics, the Queen displayed the same accuracy of
knowledge, the same grasp of people, laws, and events which I had till
then regarded as out of the range of royal or feminine interest. Gentle
movements of the head and hands accompanied each observation, and when
she questioned, with soft, gay voice and merry brown eyes, there was a
kind of eager, childish expectation on her face, marked though it was
with furrows traced by tears.
“You cannot imagine how often or how much I have wept in my life, nor
how lonely I used to feel when my children were too little to be
companions to me. But as they began to play I used to play with them
too, and would frolic with them for hours, and thus gather courage and a
clear head for the Cabinet Councils at which I had to preside. I had
such a happy youth, and I tried to recall the memory of those days, till
gradually my mind became like a rainbow which smiles between two storms
till, smothered by clouds, it disappears only to reappear once more. It
is made up of sunlight and tears like my soul.... Don’t you love St.
Sebastian, though you can have been here only a few hours? It is a sweet
place, and the sea does the children a world of good. As to Alfonso, I
feel sure that if he were not a king he would have been a sailor, and
come ashore only for the _corridas_ (big bull-fights) and _pelotas_. Yet
he adores riding, and when he was quite little he would make regular
scenes when the time arrived to alight from his horse. I used to be
quite ashamed of him!... I am so disappointed that you cannot stay one
day longer here--are you really sure you cannot?--I had invited Pierre
Loti to lunch with you here at Miramar. He is our neighbour and lives at
Hendaye. He is _so_ kind and true and such a genius. I call his
descriptions of Brittany and of the Basque provinces quite remarkable.
He moves me even more than Chateaubriand, whom I used to adore before I
read Loti’s works. And then what a refined and gentle character he has.
I feel perfect trust in him and look up to him, his quiet manner, his
unobtrusive ways are such a contrast to his ardent soul, ever turned
towards thoughts of death and immortality.”
The Queen cast a long, lingering glance over the bright sea, whose
subdued murmur crept in between her words, then she resumed.
“I am keeping you a very long time, and I do not ask you whether you
have anything else or anything better to do, though I suppose Heaven
knows when you will return to Spain. You are young, yet what a number of
people you have seen whom I love and admire and shall never meet
again--many, too, whom I have never met or seen only once in my life.
For instance, Queen Victoria and the Princess of Wales. Tell me what
they are like now--describe your visit to England, and your stay at
Balmoral. You cannot understand what a treat this is to me. Of course I
hear from other Sovereigns through official despatches and through their
ambassadors, but one can seldom obtain personal details.... Now, I
suppose you want to see my children. They will be back from the shore in
ten minutes.... Am I very different from what you imagined me to be? You
see I am short-sighted, and short-sighted people look ten times more
cold and disagreeable than they are in reality. It is such a nuisance,
such a drawback to be short-sighted--I notice that you, too, wear
eye-glasses.”
“Yes, Madame, I am almost blind, though my eyes are excellent when I
look closely at an object, but I cannot distinguish things, or faces, or
landscapes even at a short distance. But I do not consider this defect
as a calamity, and fail to share your Majesty’s opinion.”
“Why?”
“Because my short sight has spared me many a disagreeable impression, a
cross mien, a look bent in harshness or anger upon me. I am thus enabled
to ignore most of the ugly sides of life, and with the help of a strong
imagination and a cheerful disposition I always keep in view the
illusion that the earth holds only beauty and grace.”
At this juncture, just as the Queen was about to reply, the doors were
thrown open, an usher announced “the King,” and the Infantas entered,
dressed in stiff white frocks, their charming young faces tanned by the
sea-breezes. The King followed close behind. Rushing forward and putting
his sisters aside, he almost dashed into his mother’s chair, but all at
once, becoming aware of our presence, he put on an air of dignity which
I could not have believed so young a boy capable of assuming. With
outstretched hands he advanced towards us.
“I have often seen you. Do you like Spain? Which do you prefer, the
bull-fights, the _pelota_, or a military display? I don’t know which of
these delightful things stands nearest my heart. A review, I suppose.”
He talked with a fluent amiability while the Infantas listened to the
Queen’s explanation of my theory concerning the benefits of short sight.
They laughed, and at that moment the family group formed a picture of
such perfect harmony and bliss that I said to the Queen: “I am so
pleased to have seen your Majesty thus standing in the sunshine before
the sparkling sea, with the rays of her life around her.”
The Queen’s brown eyes filled with tears, while a rainbow-like smile
played on her lips. “When will you come to Spain again? And you are
leaving this evening.”
“This evening?” said the King. “Mamma, I will not allow them to cross
our frontiers,” he added in his gay, defiant voice. His eyes shone at
that moment like those of his Austrian mother, but there was so much
Spanish grace and Spanish chivalry in the bearing of his lithe, supple
figure that I murmured: “A real Spaniard indeed, and a real King of
Spain.”
[Illustration:
_Photo by Wegner & Mottu, Amsterdam_
WILHELMINA I., QUEEN OF THE NETHERLANDS]
WILHELMINA I. QUEEN OF THE NETHERLANDS
There is something attractive and rather pathetic about the fate of this
young Queen, destined from the very hour of her birth to embody the most
fervent wish of her nation, when that nation had little expected the
boon of possessing a direct heir or heiress to the dynasty. Long before
the author of Cyrano de Bergerac called her “The little lily Queen who
reigns over the Kingdom of Tulips,” she was to the inhabitants of the
Netherlands a precious treasure; poets sang and fairies wooed her long
before the days when she became a smiling, girlish bride, whose hands
unlocked themselves from a bridegroom’s clasp in order to beg for mercy
and peace, who stood watching with anxious eyes for the olive branch
wafted across the seas from the land where the rush and din of battle
waged.
It is well known that after the death of his first wife and of his son,
Queen Wilhelmina’s father seemed to have abandoned all ideas of a second
marriage, and his subjects mourned to think that the throne of Holland
would find no successor in the direct line. Queen Sophia, born Princess
of Wurtemberg, was a very amiable, learned, and even somewhat pedantic
Princess. Her chief enjoyment lay in reading and travelling about from
place to place within her Kingdom, poring over all the old volumes she
could find in public libraries. Sometimes she would escape from the
solemnity of Court etiquette, and go to spend a few quiet months in
Paris, where she lived the existence of a wealthy _bourgeoise_,
insisting that no homage whatever should be paid to her, entering into
the views of the clever people with whom she associated, and always
being foremost when a great literary discussion was astir. Her dearest
ambition was to gain a place among the distinguished women whose _bons
mots_ still found worshippers after their death; and when some
well-informed courtier or friend would compare her with Madame de Stael,
Madame du Deffant or Madame Geoffrin, she thought but little of all the
privileges conferred by rank. Her husband approved of his wife’s
tastes--he was himself a very intellectual Prince, and had learnt the
art of dramatic elocution from the celebrated French actor _Talma_. When
he received a Royal visitor or a member of his family at the Palace, the
King was unable to conceive any greater attention to bestow on his guest
than the favour of hearing some famous piece of French tragedy uttered
by the Royal lips. As age came on, bringing the loss of teeth, the
shrill tones exacted by comical or pathetic scenes would rise to a
howl, the King’s eyes would roll furiously; and a Royal personage who
had been favoured with a representation told me how severe the ordeal
proved because it was so difficult on these occasions to forbear from
laughing, which the King would never have forgiven. At the end of the
recitations he would add: “_Povvero_ Talma! _He_ always said to me that
had I not been born a Prince, I would have proved his most dangerous
rival.” To the last year of his life the late King of Holland kept up
his love of tragedy, and often the courtiers who, trembling, heard him
scream aloud through the vast saloons of his palace were delighted to
find that instead of the Royal admonitions they feared to hear, he was
merely hurling at them Corneille’s famous “Qu’il mourut,” or the story
of Hippolyte’s last day....
Mirth and hope at his Court had died away on the death of the King’s
last son. The nation looked forward only to a continuation of these
gloomy days till their monarch in his turn should go and join his Queen
and his children in the Royal vault at Delft. It is therefore easy to
imagine with what joy the news of a second marriage was hailed, although
the prospect seemed unlikely that the Royal circle might regain its
former brightness and confer happiness again upon the land.
The deep attachment that the Hollander race has ever shown to the
dynasty of its rulers is one of the most admirable traits of their
national character, and is something quite apart from the loyalty
extant in many other countries. In Holland the sentiment is more one of
honoured affection than of reverence; in each member of the
Orange-Nassau family the people have recognised their favourite hero,
onward from the Saviour of the Netherlands, the Blest Conqueror, their
own William, as they even now call him, heedless that he has for some
centuries been laid in his tomb. The love they bestow upon those who
still bear his valorous blood in their veins is an eternal thanksgiving
for what the illustrious _stadtholder_ achieved.
It mattered little whether the King’s expected child should be a son or
a daughter; the dynasty was about to resume its unchecked career;
another descendant of the great William of Orange was coming to claim
the devotion of thousands. Thus it was that Wilhelmina tasted the cup of
popularity with the very first drop of milk which trembled on her infant
lips. “All the fairies are attending her cradle; she is going to receive
the most beautiful presents the fairies can bestow,” cried the
enthusiastic voice of the multitude, but another voice, firm and low,
seemed to answer: “She needs not the presents of fairies; her people
will pray for her welfare and these prayers must prove better than fairy
gifts and praise.” These words, full of wisdom and tenderness, were
uttered by one whose name will ever remain associated with Wilhelmina’s
dazzling fate, by a princess, young and fair, the Royal infant’s
mother, who, herself still almost a child, was delighted and awed when
the Court called her, “Our Queen,” and whose rosy cheek became a hue
redder when they said: “Your Majesty!” in answer to her slightest
question.
Emma, Princess of Waldeck-Pyrmont, had been brought up in one of those
dear old German castles where imagination can feel sure of meeting the
ghosts of loreleis or knights, and of hearing ballads sung at midnight
under the moon as it pours through the windows and bastioned towers. The
pretty Princess dreamt neither of foreign lands nor thrones; she enjoyed
her life, almost rustic in its simplicity, yet highly aristocratic in
the way of breeding; she learnt to use the distaff and the spindle, to
paint beautiful pictures on the margin of manuscripts and prayer-books,
to worship God’s children in every creature unfortunate or poor that she
met around the castle’s gates or in the park. Such was the bride that
the aged King of Holland had chosen for himself among all the Princesses
who would willingly have accepted the offer of being his Queen. Princess
Emma was only nineteen at the time she heard the King’s proposal from
her mother’s mouth.... She cried bitterly....
“And do you want me to accept him ... do you order me to do so?” ...
“No, no, dear, dear child, that is left completely to your own choice,
only the King is lonely and unhappy....”
“Unhappy?...” and the sobbing face became lovelier than usual, illumined
by a smile of compassion and sudden interest. When she had heard the
whole tale, she said: “I will go to him and to them”--meaning her future
subjects. “And I will do my duty to them all, so help me God!”
How well the fair Princess kept her promise is now clear to all eyes.
She soon stood high in the favour of her husband and of all the nation,
who looked up to her and admired her gentle visage, but her demeanour
remained as modest and quiet as before her marriage. And she proved the
best mother that Wilhelmina’s best friends could have asked Providence
to endow her with. Queen Emma’s task was by no means an easy one. The
child was petted by her father, and adored by all who approached her;
the nation idolised the heiress to the throne, and universal approval
smiled upon her every movement, her every step. The King forbade his
wife to thwart the little girl’s early caprices; and Wilhelmina seemed
to have inherited from her glorious ancestors no small portion of their
energy and natural wilfulness, which she was always ready to show off,
since every trait of the Orange temperament exhibited by the young
Princess drew forth outbursts of enthusiasm, genuine though imprudent.
Her defects were as much praised as her qualities, because they
represented all the splendid vitality of her race.
Against these defects Queen Emma did not endeavour to wage open war.
She interfered very little, even when one of the child’s whims was
instantly complied with by her father, but her presence, silent and
grave, sometimes weighed with the sensitiveness of Wilhelmina’s
conscience more heavily than the hardest rebuke. The rash girl would
turn from the eyes that looked tenderly upon her to read nothing but
disapproval and regret in her mother’s looks, and would burst into
tears, saying: “I am naughty, mamma says so with her eyes!” No one can
well imagine or recount how moving and arduous was this mute
interference, how much Queen Emma had to thank her own severe training
for having given her habits of discipline and fortitude. An anecdote,
among many others that I know, will prove to what extent her ability was
put forth to help her child and save her from the snares that render a
spoilt girl harmful to herself and others, the more so if that girl be
destined to become a ruler of men.
Wilhelmina is endowed with the gift of observation--nothing escapes her
quick eye. But the ready tact which is an instinct prominent in Royal
blood often prevented her from giving utterance to the result of her
vivid impressions. The Queen well knew when this quality was at work in
the young soul, because then Wilhelmina proved restless and
feverish--seemed to struggle with the desire of speaking and the fear of
doing something against her own opinion of good behaviour. One day she
brusquely asked the Queen: “Mamma, tell me how old are you?” The Queen,
who had at that time scarcely reached her thirtieth year, complied with
the request; she then saw Wilhelmina walk rapidly to and fro and make
some very serious calculation on the tip of her fingers. “How old is
papa, mother?” “Over seventy.” “Poor papa! But, mother, how happy he
must feel to have such a pretty young wife as you are, and such a little
girl as I am! And how I thank you for loving and tending papa, although
he is old. To me papa is young and handsome, but may-be he really looks
old to others and even to you.” “Oh! do not repeat this conversation to
your father, darling. You see now that I never scold you in his
presence, because old people do not know when little girls are naughty,
and should he discover me to be displeased with you, he would become
older still....” “Would he? Oh! how dreadful! Then, mamma, do go on
hiding all about me from him. I will try not to be naughty, but when I
cannot help myself, be prudent, mamma. Only think, he is over seventy
already....”
And from that day, when Wilhelmina was encouraged by the King in her
petty freaks, she would turn an imploring eye upon the Queen, and,
winking with a knowing air, put her tiny fingers upon her mouth.
Still the habit of command took complete hold of her nature, and Queen
Emma resolutely turned over another leaf in the book of practical
education to be given to a future Queen. She determined to keep the
pure, tumultuous soul aloof from the abundance of temptations that
enveloped its dawn, to guard the true heart against the adulation and
applause aroused by the child’s slightest action. Such indulgence would
in the long run mar the inward harmony, turn aside the current of
serious thought, and render Wilhelmina a danger to those who most relied
upon her. And she found a judicious if strange means of effecting this.
Instead of trying to deprive her of any of the joys she coveted, the
Queen allowed her daughter to wear jewels, costly dresses, pearls, and
gaudy costumes like any grown-up lady; to indulge in all the greedy
wishes of childhood; to see piles of toys heaped up in her nursery; to
run about with her dogs as much as she pleased, till Wilhelmina slowly
got tired of all that wealth could give. Such things she came to
understand would always be hers. She thrust the jewels and the toys
aside; she disdained dress and costly array; she sought what every
craving creature, every noble-minded nature is athirst after; she looked
into the souls and lives of those surrounded her. Pomp and luxury became
vain words in her ears; she knew that she would have to put up with them
all her life, but they no longer played any active part in her
existence. To some of her relatives, who raised their eyebrows when they
saw Princess Wilhelmina wearing a heavy necklace of jewels worth the
ransom of a rajah, the Queen replied: